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Copyrighted. 1896. bv BEADLE AND ADAMS.

  

 

ENTERED AS SECOND CLASS MATTER AT THE NEW YORK. N. Y.. POST OFFICE. September 1: 
N 9  Published Every fieadle j~ fldams, @ublis hers, Ten Cents a. Copy. V0] LYXI
0' ° Wednes‘my' 92 WILLIAM STREET, N13: v YORK. “'00 9‘ Ye“ ' “

 

 

 

 

 

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VICIOUSLY, AND I SAW THE DEVIL GLEAMING IN HIS EYE.

2 Detective Gordon’s Grip.

Beieciive Gordon’s Grip;

Bi

‘he Shadowed New York Swell. 5

A Romance of the Revelation at
Dead Man’s Gulch.

 

[I

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.
CHAPTER I.
THE WILL or ANSON LIVINGSTONE.

IN the parlorof one of the brown-stone palaces
on Fifth avenue, New York, sat two men, both
young, yet totally unlike in appearance. The

1

first, reclining in a luxurious arm-chair, his

bands playing nervously with his massive
watch-chain, was a young man, perhaps twenty-
three years of age. He was dressed in the height
of fashion; all about him was rich, costly and
becoming; evidently he was a favored son of
fortune.
peculiar blue—the flash of which reminded one
of the glint of light from steel. A long, silken
mustache of yellow hue, the same as his hair,
shaded his lip. The whole face was handsome,
yet there was a cold, ev11 expression upon it at
times—the look of one whose idol was self, and
self alone.

The second man was a complete contrast to
the first. His hair, which was cropped close to
his head, was black as night; his eyes the same
color; his face pale as death—an unnatural
whiteness. He was dressed in a rusty suit of
black, worn threadbare here and there. He
wore no beard, but his chin looked as if it sadly
needed the keen edge of the razor.

His whole appearance seemed to say: “I am
down; don’t strike mel”

Reader, the one in black is the one who now
writes these lines.

Years havo passed since Richard Livingstone,
the heir who had just come into a $100,000 by
his father’s death—for he was the one 1 have
previously described—and I sat together in the
Euler of his elegant mansion on lfth avenue,

ew York.

What then had I, the hanger-on, the poor
drudge of a private detective’s office, in common
with the wealthy Livingstone?

You shall learn.

But first, for a few words to introduce myself.
I am called Alexander Gordon. M y father was
one of the first lawyers in New York. In my
youth I received all the instruction that money
could procure, was sent to Yale College—Living-
stone and I being in the same class. There I
graduated, with the highest honors. I had
studied for the law, and, on return to New
York was admitted to the bar. Then my fa-
ther died suddenly, and, all his fortune, which
proved to be much smaller than the world sup-
posed, came to me. I was what was called a

‘good fellow " fond of a social glass, oreni ht’s
enjoyment w th a party of friends. Need tell
the result? Wine and the smiles of false beau-
ties-were m ruin. Step by step, I went down
the ladder 0 social degradation until one morn-
ing I awoke to find myself pennilees and friend-
less—my health broken, my reputation gone.

A My former friends—“ heaven save the mark 1”
-—-had suddenly become near sighted, and passed
me without notice, or else crossed over on the

other side of the street when they saw me com- -

lug, and thus avoided me.

hese things cut me to the heart. I would
hag) committed suicide, but I frankly own I did
not have the courage. Starvation stared me in
the face; what to do I knew not. I could not
hold a position, even the lowest, for I was not
to be depended upon. I could not resist the
temptation to drink. At the eleventh hour,
when I had not tested food for two days fate
chance, luck, call it what you will, sent a friend
to In aid. That friend was John Peters, the
de ive of No. —- Broadway.

Peters had been emgloy by my father in a
great many ticklish jo s, which “me within the
peculiar province of the detective.

He caught me by the bend and shook it warm-

In a few moments he with a few well-put
nations, learned my situation. He thought
or a moment, and then said:

“ I want a clerk; come to my emce.”

I accepted his ofler, and aftor'I entered the
oflce, strove to reform. In I succeeded;
but, at times. the old vice wou d come upon me
and I could not withstand temptation.

One day after I had been with Petors some
three oaths, Livi tone called to see Petors

sinees. business was to trace a
certain u—to find if the person was alive
or deed; and. if living, where.

Peters was very big}? the task was simple,
and the detective ask I would undertake it.
Iaccepted the chance at once. I hep to be
In the ofllce when Livingstone called and I saw
that he had forgotten me. No wonder, for the
change in my appearance had been great, and I
shunned recOgeition. ’

His features were regular, his eyes a ,

 

M

I set about my duties at once. I had very
little difficulty and soon procured the desired
information—not only the information desired,
but some that possibly Livingstone would have
been better pleased not to have known. There
was, as I discovered, a dark secret connected

1 with the Livingstone family—a secret that, once

known, would make Richard Livingstone as
mm as myself. He was in my power. I felt
it, and I gloried in it. “Why?” perhaps some
may ask. I will tell, although the memory is
bitter.

Olive Livingstone, Richard‘s sister, three years
younger than he—a fair-haired, bright-eyed
beauty, lovely as a painter‘s dream, cold as an
iceberg, with the steel-blue eyes, the mark of
the iron-hearted Livingstones—had been my be-
trothed bride. I loved her—oh! how I loved
herl—liut, when my father died, and I came in
possession of his fortune, which proved so much
less than report had given out, I noticed a grow-
ing coldness on the part of my promised bride
and her brother. This, of coursc, produced the
usual result. I drank deeper and harder than
ever. Then, in one mad hour, while flushed
with liquor, Ivisited Olive, and the blow fell
upon me. The lips thatI had kissed so often,
with all the joyous passion of a man’s first love,
told me that we must part forever. Bitter was
my reply. I spoke the thoughts that burned in
my heart. It told her that she was false, and
that I regretted the hour when I had first looked
upon her face.

Well, I knew the reason of my rejection. I
was poor; that was my crime. Drunkenness
could have been forgiven, covered by a golden
mask; but, to be poor, that was a crime that
admitted of no excuse.

I said but little, and left the house. But nOW,
the hour of my trium h was approaching. I re-
solved that Richard ivingstone should give me
half his fortune and his sister’s hand in mar-
riage, or the secret I had discovered I would
give to the world.

Behold me now, seated in Livingstone’s r-
lor, about to commence the interview w ich
would end in my triumph.

“Well, sir,” said Livin tone, a slight shade
of nervousness showing tself upon his face;
“you have procured the information I desired i”

“ Yes,” I answered, “ I have,”and then waited
for another question.

His embarrassment increased; he evidently
felt that it was a delicate subject. Had be
known thatI knew all the particulars of the
‘cese” he had desired John Peters to “work
up,” I do not doubt he would have been much
more agitated.

“ You are in Mr. Peters’s office?” he said, after
quite a pause.

" Yes, sir,” I answered.

“ Why did not Mr. Peters attend to my busi-
ness in person?” he asked. ,

“No time-other engagements,” I said, with
Spams brevity.- .

For perhaps five minutes Livin no set si-
lent, epperently enga ed in deept ought; then
he raised his head. saw b his manner that
he had determined to know al .

“ You have prooured the information I
wished?"

‘t Yes.”

” Well, does the child live?”

“ Before we proceed any further, Mr. Living-
stone, let us understand each other.”

“Sir!” he said, with a puzzled look.

“You wish to know the whereabouts of a
child named—”

“ What! you have discovored the name?” he
exclaimed, the glitter of his eyes betraying
strong excitement.

“I believe, when you a lied at our office,
you did not give the name of the child' you
only gave the names of the people at Little Falls,
who reared the infant.”

Livingstone leaned back in his chair again,
and from his half-closed axles shot ,a peculiar
girance at me—a glance seem gly of recognition.

ell, I did not care- in the space of ten or fif-
teen minutoe, I should announce myself. So I
continued, first, however, drawing a memoran-
dum-book from my pocket, in which Living-
stone’s instructions had been noted down.

“ Case No. 40; to find the whereabouts of a
child born at Little Falls, Herkimer county,
State of New York, in the year 18—; the mo-
ther’s name Salome Percy; the father’s name
unknown. Said child brought up at the farm-
house of George W. Wilson, uncle to Salome
Percy.” This reed from the memorandum-
book.

“ That is correct, sir, is it not?” I asked.

“ Quito," he answered, ulling the ends of his

silken mustache and fsvo g me with a peculiar

look. .

“ Well, sir, the child is living, and is s. girl.”

“ A girl I” he started.

“ Yes, named Salome, after the mother}, and—
her last name is the same as her father’s!

' “ Ah! you know it?” the question came quick

from his nervous li .

“ Yes,” I said, co d as ice.

“ Then you have discCVered bly more then
I cared for you to know "on his voice was as
cold and less as m c. This surprised me.

But I thought to myself that be had determined

\ .

" speaking. There was no week

 

\
a

to play a bold game: but, knowing what I did,
I knew I had him “ foul." -_

“ Perhaps!” I answered, laconically.

“ You say the child is known by the name of
the fathe. i”

H Yes.”

“ I am somewhat surprised at that. I should
have thought the mother would have been anx—
ious to conceal her shame and not to publish it
to the world by giving her child the name of
her betrayer,” and be bent a keen glance on me
as he spoke.

“ You are speaking in riddles, Mr. Living-
stone,”I anSWered, coolly, for i saw now that
his “little game” was to hoodwink me. “I
don’t see why alawful wife shouldn’t call her
child by its father’s name.”

“ You mean to say then, that this girl Salome
is the child of a legal marriage?" he questioned,
a dark frown gathering on his forehead and the
wicked light shining from his eyes. '

“ Exactly!” I came down on him sharp as a
needle. ‘

“ I think you would find it difficult to prove
that in a court of justice,” he said, with a
sneer.

“ I could prove it, if need be, in sixteen ecurts!
The minister is still living in Buffalo, who mar-
ried Salome Perc to—”

“ Hush!” he said, nervously. “Enough, that
we kn0w the name, without speaking it. This
child you say is still living?”

I‘ Yes!”

“ Where?"

“ Herein New York City!”

“ Is it possible?”

“Yes; I can put my hands on her at a mo-
ment’s notice.” Here I lied, because I couldn’t
do anything of the kind; still, he didn’t know
that. The acts were, I had discovered that the
girl was in New York, and I had a tolerably
good idea where she was to be found.

“ You can do this, Alexander Gordon?” he
asked. As I had suspected, he remembered me,
despite the change that liquor had made in my
face and a once.

“ Yes,” answered, without evincing any as-
tonishment at being saluted by my name.

“ You see I know you.” He was evidently
astonished that his recognition had not aflected

me.

“ Yes; I expected that you would know me.”
Down on him again needle-like, I came. “ Now,
as I said before, let us understand each other.
Only a fe'w monthlago I was coolly told that I
was too poor to be a match for our sister Olive.
Now, I tell you, I have proofs n m pomession,
which will strip on and yoursi rof every
dollar you have n the world, that will drive
both of you beggars into the street.”

Livingstone never changed color, or moved a
muscle at my threat. I saw at once that my
blow had failed; why or how I knew not.

“ You are speaking rash] ,” he mid, in a uiet
tone; a tone that, coming a man like
boded danger. "What are these proofs you
speak of!”

"The  of the mother and
the record of t e be tism of the child," I an-
swered, coolly, thro ng each word at him as
then h they were daggers aimed at his heart.

“ on have these proofs?”

H Yes. I)

“Ahl”and for a moment he was silent. i
could see that mentally he was preparing for an‘
attack. The struggle was about to commence.
I glanced over my plan of battle, figuratively
int—no loop-
hole for his escape. The proo s were in m
hands—proofs that could not be d' uted; an
in my own mind, I determined the he should
pull me up, or I would pull him down.

“ You ntend to use this knowledge nst
incl" he said, with a scorching glance in my

ace.

“ Yes!” I answered, in a tone that must have
shown him that I had hoisted the black flag,
and that he could expect but little mercy at my

hands. .

“ Alex—I will call you as I used to in the old
time, when we were chums at college together,”
he exclaimed, in a smooth voice-—‘ it is better
for us to be friends than foes. Forget the peat,

0 Y

which you have moreto in to your own
then to any other ceuea on are r. I am
rich. . Sell me these proofs you s pf, 1 win

pay on well for them.”

‘ '1 atis allthetcen beesked”Isaid. Now
came in turn. “ Give me fift dollars
and the d of your sister 0 ve, and the docu-
ments are ours.

“ In his!” he cried. “Olive will never
marrin of her own freewill,andlcumot
force er to do so.”

“ Yes but ary may!” My voice wee
ha‘rsYh; I would not show nielicy.kn t
ou cannot beggar us. no owledge
all gou have said regarding the birth of “the
chil and the marriage of the parents to be true;
but that truth, even if published to the world,

would not ruin Olive or myself.”

His earnest manner me. It was
plain that m cardswere notso goods-I had

then ht. 'Bu how could he escape mo?

“ his girl, lome, is the heirs-to all your
father’s fortune!” I cried. 

“ No, she is not,” he said, quietly, “'for my
father, Anson Livingstone, made a will.”

“ A will I” I exclaimed,for I well knew that no
such do<rument ever hall seen the light of a Pro-
bate Court.

“ Yes, here is a draft of it in my father‘s own
handwriting.” He took a paper from his pocket
and handed it to me. I opened it. As he had
said, it was in the handwriting of Anson Living-
stone. I read it through carefully. One item
of it alone concerned me. To his two children,
Richard and Olive, he left twenty-five thousand
dollars apiece; the bulk of his property went to
—but of that anon.

“You see,” he said, “you cannot ruin us. I
found this draft among my father‘s papers after
his death. The will itself is deposited in the
hands of a certain party, who will produce it
when it is required by me. Now, you see how
1 stand. Make public the proofs you have ob-
tained, you take from Olive and myself fifty
thousand dollars, but we shall still have fifty
thousand left; for then I shall at once make the
will public. Besides, before I produce the will,
I shall of course fight your proofs; you may
have the right, but I have the money—and
‘greenbacks’ are a very powerful argument in
some of our New York courts.”

I saw he had beaten me. My weak point was
that I hadn’t the girl yet, and I might not be
able to find her. resolved to compromise for
the present. I knew very well the influence of
mone upon some of our ‘ upright judges.”

1“ V hat will,you give me for these papers?”

“ I must first see them,” he said.

“ All right; come to my house, No. 42 Baxter
street, to-night, and I’ll show them to you. You
won’t have any difficulty to find my room, be-
cause tnere’s only two in the building and I
occupy both.”

He took down the direction.

“ Very well,” he said, “ I will come about
nine.”

I rose and left the house. Once outside I
laughed in my sleeve. Cunning as Livingstone
was, I had tricked him, for I had no more the
marriage-certificate and record of baptism than
hehad. It was a ruse on my part, and it had
succeeded. I saw that those articles did exist,
and he knew it, though I didn’t, but had made a
shrewd ess. To-night then we would have
another nterview—another encounter of wits—
not this time, though, in his brown-stone ace
on Fifth avenue, but in my house, the Old k-
erg, in Baxter street, right in the heart of the
“ oody Sixth Ward.”

CHAPTER II.
was: came: amt.

Fm o’clock found me located in in little
apartments in Baxter street. The buil in
which the were situated was a small wooden
house, but t probably sixty years at least before
the time at which I write. The first floor had
been used as a'sort of half-grocery, half-liquor-
store, but the was now closed. Two small
rooms over the store completed the house. Ac-
cess to the rooms was had b a tumble-down
sort of staircase at the side of t 9 building.

he rent of the room being but a trifle, suited

v m humble means; and then, too, I had a com-

flmion-a man of Irish descent, by name, Pat

cCarthy b profession a law or; one of the
class popular y termed “ Tombs s ysters.”

Pat had befriended me, at a time, too, when
friends were scarce. He was a la hearted
fe110w—a man of but little education, but with
a deal of natural shrewdness.

Our '11 ments were not luxuriously fur-
nished. e outer room contained a little table,
two chairs and a small stove; the inner one, a
cot-bedstead, a single chair, a washstand—the
drawer of which answered as a safe for the
keepin of our papers—a tin wash-basin and a,
small t n pail; two battered tin cups and a large
{bite itcher completed our furniture and‘house-

old u is.

Pat sat opposite to me, smokin a short black
pipe. In person he was a little fe low, with keen

y eyes, a short turn-up nese and coarse
lack hair, which stuck out from in. head like
bristles.

I needed Pat’s aid, so I related to him the par-
ticulars of my interview with Livingstona

“ Whistl” mid he, in the full rich brogue
peculiar to the South-of-Ireland men; “ ye want
a marriage-certificate an’ a record of baptism.
The first wan is shy, but the second, ’twould
bother the divil, began-a!"

“ How so!” I asked.

“Sorraawano’me knows what a record of
baptism is.”

Well, Pat,” I said, “ I don’t know exactl
In what form it should be drawn out, myscl .

Sta though!” I cried as a sudden thought
a ’ upon me; “a “tomcat b the
minister who officiated at e ceremony whl be

suflcient.”

“ It’s a big head ye have on yer shouldcnl”
exclaimed Pa in admiration. “J the pi
thatplayedbe oreMoses,if Ihad cationlIk-le

ou’vc’ot, narrin’ the likin’ ye have for whity,
Iwoul n‘t call a queen my uncle.”

, “That will do very well for the record of
baptism: but the marriage-certificate? I asked.

 

Detective Gordon’s Grip. 3

“ Aisy enough. I’ve got “an of a cousin of
mine, now dead an’ one—rest her soul~in peace!
It’s ould an’ worn. ’11 take out the names an’
the date wid acid, an’ ut in the wans you want.
Isn’t it a beautiful ideal Begorral I’ve the
makin’ of a judge in me, if I wasn’t such an
honest man l”

“ That will do excellently l" I said. “ Here
are the names of the minister who performed
the ceremony, and the parties married; also the
other particulars.” I handed him the paper
which was the result of my expedition to Buf-
falo and Little Falls. “ The next thing is to
find the girl. She’s about twenty-three years of
age now; and a year ago she was living with a
cousin of George Wilson, of Little Falls—the
man in whose family she was brought up—at
No. 178 Eldridge street. To-morrow i’ll see if I
can find her; and if I am successful, I’ll start ofl
for Buffalo again and hunt the minister uiBw.”

” lt‘s a bi brain ye have, Mr. Alex. y the
Powers! ye’Il worry Mr. Livingstone afore ye
git through wid him.”

“I’ll try to, Pat. NOW, mind, the paper for
the record of baptism must be ‘ doctored ’ to
give it the appearance of age.”

“ Aisy now i" cried Put, with a. cunning wink.
“Leave it to me. I’ll fix it so his own grand-
mother would take her oath on a stack of Bibles
that she wrote it herself, by raison of the old-
ness of the paper.”

A timid knock sounded on the door.

“Come inl” I said.

The door opened, and a young girl, with a
basket of oranges and apples on her arm, en-
tered the room. She was a pretty little thing,
possibly sixteen or seventeen ears old, with a
peculiar blue eye—the shade c that color that a

t would call steel-blue; her hair, which was
almost hidden from view by a hood, was of that
strange hue, not yellow nor yet golden, but a
shade between both. She was dressed very
poor] , but neatly.

Ne l the Orange Girl— as she was aptly
termed—was well known b all the Tombs law-
yers, as it was in the vic nity of that gloomy
Bile that she followed her avoeation and gained

er daily bread. ,

Nell was a strange girl. not forward and bold,
like nearly all her class, but retirihg and timid.
There was a modesty and gentleness about her
seldom to be seen in those reared to the street
life of the modern Sodom, New York City.

I had taken (tag: a fancy to Neil, and she to
me; that was use one day I defended her
from the advances of a drunken “rough,” who
had an idea that she was to be insulted with im-
punity. A well-directed blow between the eyes,
which knooked him into the muddy gutter, con-
vinced him of his mistake. From that moment
Nell looked upon me in the light of a protector.

“Ahi Nell, darlintl is it there ye arel” cried
Pat who, b his merry, jokin way, had also
made himsel afavorite with t e Orange Girl.
“ Will ye trust me for an orange!”

“ Why, Mr. Macarthy, you owe me fifty cents
already ’ replied the girl in a low, sweet voice
—one of those peculiar voices which can only be
com red to music.

“ he deuce I do 1” returned Pat, in a tone of
comic despair. “Fifty cents! Oh, mushai vn’
can’t you credit me more than that? Is not the
word an’ bond of Patrick Macarthy, Esquire,
worth more than fifty cents?”

Nell laughed, and for rep]
lar est oranges out of her

t e lawyer.

“ An’ is it for me!” said Pat, in astonishment.

“ Yes,” the girl replied. _

“ Do ye mind this, Alexi See what it is to be
a man possessed of credit!” _ .

Patroseinapom uswa ,andbowmgin an
extravagant manne , took t e orange.

“ Whistl” cried he, suddenl ;“shall I give {e
my note of hand for the debt Maybe it mig t
be of use to you; sorra use is it to me i" and he

took one of the
stand held it out

lau hed h ily at his own joke.

“ 0, thank on, Mr. Macarthy,”said Nell,
smiling. “ I’ll {rust to your honor.’

“An divil a better security could ye have,

thaw: word of an Irish gintleman, an’ that’s
m 0

at drew himself up proudly, as then h the
blood of all the ancient ings of Ireland owed
in his veins.

" By the way, Pat, you had better gain to
work on those papers. He’ll be here at nine,
and it’s beginning to get dark now," I said.

Pat vs a low whistle looked at me and then-
at n , and winked optimum

" All right; I’ll git out. A w ’s as Is
a nod tca blind horse. Oh, e divil e Nell.
kape yere eon him; he’sa d vill"an with this
advice, an another series of winks, Pat went
into the other room.

I laughed and glanced at Nell; she was blush-
i asredasaroee,andImentailysaid to my-

what a pretty girl she is.

“'You mustn’t mind Mr. Macarthy’s nonsense,
Kit??? to "sh lied ering

, on rl e rep , recov a
little from her confusion. “ I know he is good-
hearted and don’t mean evil by what he says.
Won’t you have an oran , Mr. on?”

“ No, thank you N The fact is, I’ve no

e
money now to pay tori "

' pay

 

,._..c.a..

“ Oh, that don’t make any difference. lVon’t
you let me give you one?” she answered, quick

. “ Remember that you have been very kind

to me, and I do so want to show my gratitude
in some way.”
i “ Oh, nonsense! Forget that little service; it
isn’t worth talking about. Now, if I were like
Mr. Macarthy, I shouldn’t have the least hesitar
tion about running in debt. I might, though,
adopt the suggestion he made the other day and
ou—in kisses.”

“ Vhy, Mr. Gordon 1” and again she blushed
up to her temples: but, strange to say, she did
not seem to be annoyed at the idea, as she had
been two or three days previous, when Pat had
advanced it.

“Don’t be alarmed, Nell; I shouldn’t try
that mode of squaring accounts unless I were
sure you were willing. And I’ve no doubt that
yoii p’refer ready money; it’s much more valu-
ab e.

“ Do you think so, Mr. Gordon i"

This was a strange question, and there was a
strange tone in her voice as she spoke.

“ Certainly,” I answered; “can you compare
kisses to money, for a single moment?”

“ Why not?” and her voice was deep and
earnest. “ I should think that sometimes a

single kiss would be of more value to a girl’s ‘

heart than all the money in the world.”

These words, coming in such an earnest way
from her lips, surprised me.

“I do not quite understand you,” and as I
spoke, I looked full into her eyes—those dark-
blue eyes—now so mild in their soft beauty, but
which, if enraged, I should' fancy would flash
forth like a lambent flame, scorchin in its fire.

Strange, too, somewhere before ad I seen
eyes like hers, but when or where I could not
remember. I searched mly memory over; the
effort was useless; but, as gazed upon her face,
I saw that not ,only were the eyes familiar to
me, but other features also, and yet I could not
tell whom the face resembled.

“ Do you not?” she said, in reply to my
words. “ Suppose, now, that a poor girl loved
a entleman—a man poor, too, Jierhaps, but

by birth and education agen eman. So

that, in time, he came tolove her, w d
not the first kiss thathis lips remed upon here
—the kiss that told her that s e was loved—be
worth more to her than all the money in the
world?”

“Yes,” I replied. “ In such a case, I do not
doubt that it would.”

Strange -were her words, e was her
manner. Could it be possible that this poor
Orange Girl loved some one! and that some one
far above her in social station! It ht be
so. Mysterious are the workings of the nman
heart. Love cannot be ruled; it springeth up
alike in the heart of the prince or the peasant.

“Nell, tell me about your life,” I spoke, im-
pelled‘by a sudden curiosit .

“ Do you really want to now?”

She asked the question with an eagerness that
I could not understand.

“ Of course I do, or I should not have asked
you. I really feel interested. It’s a terrible

'fe for a young girl like «you to lead. You
must be exposed to a great many insults, to a
great many dangers.”

“ Yes, I am,” she answered simply and earn-
estly; “ and from. one of the dangers you saved
me

“Now, Nell, don’t say any more about that,
if on love me i"
spoke in a careless, joking tone, but my
words had a strange eflect upon the girl, for
in her face was flooded with the ‘warm
b cod, and a peculiar gleam appeared in the
steel-blue eyes.

“Now, don’t blush so, Nell, I was only jok-
ing,”I continued; “ but sit down and tell me the
story of your life.”

She complied with my wish.

“ I cannot tell you all my life,” she said, “the-
cause i promised my mother on her leath—
bed, that would never tell all except to two

persons—one my husband, the other an old
riend of my father’s.”

“ A strange nest,” I said wonder-in l .

“ It washerrdging wish.” ’ x 8 y

tad-r sarcasm a...

‘ o. s e n e e . coun
where I was born.” try

“ And that was—”

“ You forget,” she said, with a sweet mile;
“1-?” am" a...

‘ our in not come with ,
to New York!” you

,“No,mymotherdiedtenvyears ,andim
mediateiy attu- her death I came to ew York
with a relation-a cousin of my mother. She
was employed ina tailorshopon Fultcnstrest
I learned her trade, but did not follow it long,
for my health suffered gy the constant conflnr
meat, soldetermined tumOrauchirl and
gain my bread that way,”

:: Igobrave resolve,’;” 3%“.

you think so a , looking at me

with inquiring 0!“.
“Yes, I do indeed. Few girls would haveflie
courage to attanpt it.”

“ButIdid. Isaidtcmyself, I an but try.
Idid tryaudI succeeded. Atflrst itwasverv

\

 

‘4

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

 

hard, for I was timid and almost afraid to ask
any one to buy; but then, as I kept on. day by
day I grew bolder and did better. Of course
share were a great many persons—I can‘t call
them gentlemen-who said rude things to me.
I never answered, but I looked at them in such
a way that they never dared to say them twice
to me i”

Her eyes flashed, and her pouting little red
lips rich and luscious in their dewy fullness,
cur ed in superb scorn as she spoke.

Poor child! Hardened man of the world as I
was—profiigate and drunkard as I had been,
still my heart bled for her. Mentally I com-

her fortune with that of the proud and
ughty Olive Livingstone. The one reared in
the midst of wealth and luxury, not a caprice
nngratifled born to wealth; the other, born to
—what? My reflections had led me too far.
How could I say what she was born to? I could
only say what she was; fate (plays strange antics
sometimes in this world; an from the mystery
that surrounded the Orange Girl, one might
safely think that she, too, was born to occup a
far higher station than that she now filled. er
language was amgleeeevidence that her early
education had not 11 neglected.

" Nell,” Isaid, “do you know that I have a
high opinion of you ?”

‘ Have you?”

The words came quick from her lips, and a
joyful light beamed in her eyes.

“ Yes, I have indeed.”

“Do you know, Mr. Gordon that I value
your opinion more than I do that of any one
else in the whole wide world?"

She meant what she said; her eyes showed
that, and the eyes seldom deceive. I was
pleased, of coursc. I was beginnin to take a
strong interest in the little blue-e girl, who,
with such innocence, confessed er liking for

me.
“ I am glad to hear on say that, Nell, for at
at you are probab y the only woman in the

world who thinks of me.”
“ The only one?” she said, with a look of won-

“ Yes, the only one. Perhaps, though, I have
only my cwn folly to thank for it."

“ But don‘t think about it, Mr. Gordon!” she
cried, quickly, “ for it makes you look so melan-
choly, and when you look sad, you don’t look
near as well as you do when you smile. But
you haven’t said whether you will accept my
orange or not,” and then she held one of the
oranges out to me, with a bright, quick look
and.a little pert toss of her fair, shapely head
that reminded me at once of a canary bird.

“But I tell you, Nell, I can’t pay for it!”I
said, laughing almost in spite of myself at the
arch' look of those gleaming blue e es.

“ Why yes you can; besides, said that if
you coul n't, I would make you a present of it."

“ But I wuuld rather pu y for it. ’ ~

“ Oh, Mr. Gordon,” she cried, rising and
shaking her finger archly at me, “ then on are
too proud to accept a present from t 0 poor
Oraililge Girl?”

“ o! no! I am not!” I exclaimed, hastily.

“ Well, then, I’m too proud to ask you to
accept a present from me,” she said, with mock
gravity, putting her lips close together in a vain
udsavor to look serious, an endeavor that was
‘sfeated b the laughing eyes.

“But, ell l”I cried, in remonstrance, rising
and approaching her.

“Yes, I am, indeed; but you shall have the
orange, and Myou shall pay for it, too.”

She hand itto me and I took it.

“But, as I said, I haven’t any money; will
you trust?”

“No!” came from the tightly-shut lips—the
lips that looked so dignified while the eyes

hed.

“ hen how can I pay you?”

I advanced a step and stood
ayes looked full into mine.

“Mr. Macarthy thought of a way. What I
would not accept from him, perhaps I would
from on.” ~

A burning blush read over her face; I was
not blind, and the ight that shone from her
eyes gave me both courage and consent. The
full red lips, not now compressed,’but parting
like a half-blown rosebud, showing the white,
pearl-like teeth, were upraised to mine. A mo-
ment I held her in my arms, ourllps met in a
long-lingering kiss—a kin such as my life ne’er
before had known—and then, light as a bird,
with a joyful smile upon her face, she stole soft-
ly and gently from my arms and was gone.

For a moment I stood motionless; then the
thought of what she had but a little while be-
fore said—of the kiss that was worth more than
money-flashed upon me. Her words were true.
No gold in the world could have bought from
me the kiss I had just received. I. confessed to
myself that I felt a deep interest in the girl who
had just left me—an interest that I could not
well explain.

It was rapidly growing dark. I lit a candle
and placed it upon the little table. In a few
hours Richard Livingstone would come for the

is. Suddenly a thou ht flashed into my
rain. .Nell the Orange irl, was like enough
Richard Livingstone to be his sister: This

\

|

by her side. Her

.i.‘ z. .. ‘-

 

i

x,»  , 

 

was the resemblance that at first I could not
trace. It was remarkable, to say the least.

I looked out of the window; it threatened to
be a dark night. I shuddered. A dark night in
a great city conceals many a scarlet crime.

CHAPTER III.
a DARK NIGHT AND a DARK nun.

I SAT down by the window and looked out
through the dirty, discolored panes into the
inky blackness of the night. As I sat there a
thought came into my head regardin the like-
ness between Nell, the Oran? Gir and the
wealthy Fifth avenue blood, ichard Living-
stone; it was, indeed, wonderful. Could not
that resemblance be used to aid my plans? This

'rl, tw enty-three years of age, reared at Little

ails, New York, and whom I desired to find,
might be dead, or gone to some distant part of
the Union. I had no proof that she was in New
York; that she was living in the city a year ago
was no evidence that she was here now. Why
should I search for her? Why not produce Nel ,
the Orange Girl, for her? The strikin resem-
blance to the Livingstone family wonl be half
the battle, and, backed by the “doctored ”
marriagecertificate and record of baptism, I
could possibly force Richard Livingstone to pay
me a ood round sum, say twenty thousand, to
keeph s secret. It was worth trying. There
was but one obstacle in the way—the age of the
girl. N elkdid not seem to be more than seven-
teen, while the real Salome would be, at this
time, twenty-three; but then, locks are decep-
tive. Nellmightbe older than she appeared;
at any rate, I did not consider the point stron
enough for Livingstone to make a successfu
struggle u n.

“Good,’ I cried to myself, after thinking the
matter over thorou hly, “ I will try it!”

I went into the nner room, where I found
Pat hard at work 11 n the papers-the papers
which, if I play my cards rightly, would
brin fortune to me.

“ ell, Pat, how do (you get on?” I asked.

“Beautiful! the aci has eat the culd ink
completely, an’ see how how natslg l’ve ut the
new names! Do e mind the t ree d flerent
styles of writing, t e minister’s an’ the two wit-
nesses’! The hand of the minister is round,
hate and flcwin’, wid jist the slightest bit of
runnin’ together bethune the letters, like a man
who writes adale, and sometimes in a hurry,
do ye mind? The hand is lar e, bekase he’s got
used to writin’ that hand in is sermons, so he
can r’ade ’em ’as on Sunday when he pr’uches
to his flock.” at called my attention to this
fact with an air of triumph.

” That is excellent!” I said. “ Macarthy was
indeed, asplendid penman one of those gif
ones in that line who could write a half-dozen
hands and all of them difl’erent.

“Of course it is! Begorra! I didn’t learn to
make pot-hooks for nothing! Now jist look at
the hand of the first witness—d0 ye mind? It’s
a cramped, u 1y hand like a man who didn’t
hold a pen bet une his ilngers more dan onc’t in
a year; then the second witness is signed in a
female hand Bridget O’Neil. J ist look at that
illigant hand! Musha! it looks like a ider had
dipped his legs into an ink~bottle an crawled
across the per in a straight line, an’ it’s not
strai ht ait er, when you look at it. Do 0 see
my idea now? These two went to the min ster’s
house to be married—it was a secret marriage;
of course they didn’t have any friends wid them,
and the witnesses were the servants in the house;
there’s logic in that now.”

“ Very true; I do not think that Livingstone
will for a moment doubt the correctness of the
documents. If he does, I have another plan to
worr him. I’ll produce the girl.”

“ is!” returned Pat, with a wink, “the rael

1 if ye can ' or if ye can’t, another gurl will
dyquite as wall. It’s a head ye have got on your
shoulders. Ye ought to go in partnership wid
me in the law; an , s ’akin’ of the law, What do

e s’pose that divilis old fool, J udfie Kenine—

s ’ake respectfully of him beka’se e’s a Judge
—did to-day ?"

see; what was it?”
slawns counsel for the deflndant in a
’sault and batthery case, an’ m client’s case
didn’t have a leg to stand on—for e did batther
the t‘other feller like the divil—so, as the cal

y to git out of it, I app’aled the case an’ o -
ered bail; it was only a trifle—a hundred dol-
lars, but begorral it might as well have been a
thousand, for divil a cint did my client have,
so I offered old Moses, the Jew ‘fence,’ in an
illegant black suit of clothes, for the bail, an’
the stupid old fool of a judge wouldn’t take
him, an he knows, too, he’s the most table-
looking straw-bail there’s in the district.”

“ So your client went to the ‘ Island ’ to rusti-
cate e ’

“biviia bit! Councilman Kerry kiin in an’
bailed him like a gintleman as heis, whin my
client an’ I an’ Mr. Councilman Kerry all went
and took a drink together, while the r divil
who was ’saulted and batthered was ocked up
as a witness, beka’se he couldn’t give ball 1”

“ Your client didn’t have any money, you

’i‘
x Divil a rap!"
“Then how did you get your pay ?”

 

“ I can't
“ Ye see,

2/ v." «iv -. 4, .,.' . a". K .{r-ur ’

 

I “ Aisy enough. My client is the flghtin’ fel-
l ler called ‘Curly Joe;’ he controls tin votes in
this ward, and he sold the votes to me, an’
that‘s the way I got my fees.”

“ I say, Pat,” exclaimed I, “,you Tombs law-
yers take queer fees sometimes.

“Yis, begorral I take what I kin git, an’
mighty little it is, too, sometimes.”

‘ By the way, Pat,” said I, examinin the
marris e-certiflcate, “ the acid has chang the
color 0 the paper a little—has made it li hter.”

“ Yis,” replied he “ I noticed that. sit till
a little while an’ I’ll ‘ doctor’ it for yees.”

From his pocket he took some chewing to-
bacco, laid it in the palm of his‘ hand and
moistened it with a little water; then, with the
mixture, using the end of his finger as a brush,
he proceededtostain the whitish s ts left by
the action of the acid—then he held t up for my
inspection. It was Perfect.

“ Good!" I cried; ‘that will do."

“Do!” be exclaimed. “Mushai I think it
will. Now, Alex, I’m going to take a snorize
beka’se I’m tired. I’ll put the papers in the
washstand drawer.”

“ All right! I’ll receive our honored guest in
the outer room.”

“Yis. I say, Alex, make him come down
wid the shekels, bad ’cess to him! Whg the
divil should he kape all the money, whin t ere’s
two handsome young men like you an’ I that
could make a good use of it?”

“Never fear! I'll bleed him like a leech, or
my name isn‘t Alex Gordon.”

Pat. with a grunt of satisfaction, stretched
himself upon the bed, and I went back to the
outer room.

I sat down by the window and looked out
again upon the darkness of the night. Not a
star was visible; the sky was black as ink. I
thought over the interview about to come.
There is an old saying that every family has a
skeleton in its closet; the Livingstones were not
an exception. I had opened their closet and
held its secret in my grasp!

Again the thOught of the resemblance that
Neil bore to Richard Livingstone came to my
mind. Fortune seemed to favor me here. If
Livingstone was obstinate and not disposed to
com romise. I would produce Nell as the child
of B'thme Percy; one glance at that face—that
face in which were set the blue eyes of his fa-
ther—the steel-blue e e, the mark of the Living-
stones handed down rom their ancestors—and I
felt sure he would yield, and accede to my de-
mands.

strange, too, the feelin that filled my heart
in regard to the Orange irl. Her face, since
we parted, had been ever before me; the blue
eyes seemed always gazing into mine. There
was no di uising the fact: I was beginning to
care more or her than I had ever done for any
other woman not even excepting the queenly
Olive. Was I 'nning to love her? Love!
folly for such as to think of; folly even to
dream of! What had I to do Iwith love? I, a.
slave to liquor! I had not drank for six hours.
and now my threat was parched with thirst
and craved the liquid fire, which quenched the
thirst but destroyed alike both body and soul.
I knew that drink was killing me, and yet I
drank—drank to drown thought—to remove the
remembrance of the past. But I fought against
the longing.

“No whisk to-night!” I cried. “I need a
clear head an all my senses; no devil’s draught
shall fire my brain and make me a child in
strength, a fool in reason."

I knew. well enough I needed all my wit—all
my cunmng in the cdming interview, Richard
Livingstone was no child, but a determined, un-
scrupulous man of the world; possessed. too, of
an abundance of money—money! that great
lever which movss half the world.

The bell of the City Hall run out nine sh
l on the night air. Hardly the last soun s
( ied awa in the distance, ere I heard a foot-
step crea ing upon the rotten staircase, then
came a knock at the door.

“ Aha !” cried I; “ that’s my man!”

I went to the door, opened it, and Richard
Livingstone entered.

“ Good-evenin , Alex,” he said, in a friendly
wiy; “ you see am punctual.”

e was habited in one of the large cape over-
coats, army style. I did not wonder at this, for
though early autumn, the night had already
begun to grow chill.

You are on time,”lsa.id;“ the clock has
just struck nine. Be seated.”

h‘fi'l‘hank you,” he replied, taking the offered
c air.

I noticed that he looked around the little room
with an inquiring glance. .

“ You are observing my a rtmente, eh
Richard? I’m not quite so we situated as I
was the last time you called upbn me; I had
rooms then, lbelieve, on Twenty-third street-
one hundred per month. I pay five now; some
difference.”

l spoke with a careless air, and with some-
thing of a sneer, and the thought went through
my mind that his money would place me again
in decent society.

“ I must confess, Alex. that you do not live
in a palace,” he said, with a light laugh.

 

 

7“.” e... 
. l

, ..~. -M

.. , I, _ a


:4
i

  
  
 

           
 

 

 Gordon’s Grip.

5

 

 

“Beggars, Livingstone, should not be bubbling fluid oiled my throat. Oh! it was

choosers. I have nothin ; I live on nothing.”

“ A light dict, Ale-x. t may agree with you;
but, for my part, I prefer Delmonico’s. But,
joking aside, didn’t you find it hard to get used
to this sort of thing!”

“ No!” I replied, bitterly; “ you forget how I
got used to it. A man steeped in liquor cares
but little where he lies; he can sleep almost any-
where. The police of this city have picked me

out of the gutter many a night, or rather inorn— -

ing, covered with mud from head to foot.”

” By Jove, Alex l” he cried, in astonishment,
“ you’ve led a deuce of a life. It’s a wonder to
me that you haven’t killed yourself, long before
now.

” Idon’t doubt that I should have done so,
had my money lasted. I dropped gradually
from getting drunk on champagne at five dol-
lars a bottle to tanglefoot whisky at five cents
a drink.”

b “”Five cents a glass! Wretched stuff it must
9!

“ Oh, no! It’s got the fire—the sting—that’s
alladrunknrd wants. Champagne is flat and
insi id; it doesn’t burn like whisky. That fires
the Ibrain and destro s the reason; a man for‘
gets his past life. here’s no Lethe like that
produced by whisky. Man a sad hour I’Ve
avoided b flying to the bott e.”

“ You’l kill ourself in time!"

“ There’s no onht of it whatever; that is, if
I keep on in the way.l am going now. I don’t
drink as much as I used to, though; I am trying
to cure myself, but it’s a hard task—no man
can tell how hard until he has been a slave to
liquor, and then attempts to free himself from
the war of the tyrant.”

0 you think you will succeed?"

“ I don’t know,’ I anSWered. “ I used to get
drunk every day—that is, if I could possibly
beg or borrow the mone to pay for the liquor;
but now I have forc myself to be content
with three glasses of whisky—one in the morn-
ing, one at noon and one at night. In this way
I have kept of! the ‘ man with the poker,’ who

Eenerall visits the reforming drunkard. It‘s a
srd th n to restrict in self, and every now
and then break over the ouuds and am lost to

sense and reason for three or four days.”
“ Well, Alex I wouldn’t lead your life for
'a million,” said Livingstone, with a half-shud-

er.

“ I don't doubt it; but I am something of a
believer in the Moslem idea. We each have our
path in life allotted to us; tread it we must,
whether we will or no.”

“ Perhaps it is so,” he replied, with a care-
less shrug of his shoulders: ‘ but let us to busi-
ness. You have the papers that you spoke,of

to-dgi”
“ as,” I answered;“ thay are in the next
room. Mr. Macarthy has them—"

“ Macarthy l" he said, with an air of astonish-
ment.

“ Yes, my room-mate.”

“ Oh! but don’t be in a hurry. VVe’ve plenty
of time before us. By the way, I often think
of the good old times we used to have at college
together and happening to think about them as
I by the Metropolitan Hotel coming
down, I sto in and got a bottle of cham-

e. I t ought it would be dry talking, and
t would remind us of old times.”

“ Yes,” Ire lied, absentlv.

I was think ng. I knew Richard Livingstone
well, and this movement of his surprised me. I
knew him too well to think for a single moment
that any thoughts of the old college days had

rompted him to bring this wine, No! no! he

.d a purpose in it. Was the wine drugged!
Did he think he could “ shanghae ” me, and
then rob me of the pa rs? Perhaps that was
his object—for that he ad some concealed mo-
tive I was sure.

“ Got a corkscrew!” he asked.

“ No, we don’t have luxuries here, hardly the
necessaries of life; but I’ve a Jack-knife in the
next room. I’ll take the neck ofi' the bottle with
iii-clean as a whistle."

“ That will do; get it,” he said, producing the
bottle of cham gne from his coat-pocket. The
“green seal ” enoted the brand; it was a long
time since I had tasted the sparkling nectar.
The cravin for drink wasstrong upon me; but
I resolved t at he should not drug me; he must
drink as well as I.

I went into the other room and got the knife.
Pat was sleeping soundly. I returned to the
other apartment, placed the two tin cups upon
the table, and with a clean upward-cut of the
knife took the neck 03 the bottle. Up bubbled
the foaming liquid. with its rich and rare bou-
quet—grateful Incense to the genial son] who
loves the life and spirit of the vine. I filled the
cups. Livingstone drained his at a draught;
the wine was not drugged then; so, without a
fear I tossed the sparkling liquor down my
parched throat. How grateful it was to my
seared palate! I now guessed Livingstone’s pur-

; the wine was merely to pave the wav—to
put me in good humor ~o that i would no drive
toohard a bargain.
should have the papers cheap—twenty thousand
dollars.

My visitor filled up the cups, and again the

 

Well, I felt no mal e: he.

Again we drank, and then we talked

glorious!
The liquid

of old college days, and drank again.

' put me in good humor, and, when the last drop

was poured into the cups, 1 heaved a deep sigh.
Livingstone laughed and drew another bottle
from his pocket—a bottle of French brandy, a
vintage fit for a king. pure as Oil, strong as fire.
If the champagne was good, this was glorious.
Before I knew what had happenel I was drunk
--drunk throughout, except my head. I could
not speak; my legs refused tosupport me; my
arms hung idly at my side but my'brain was
not all obscured; I still could understand.

Livingstone looked at me with a smile of
triumph.

“ '1‘ papers are mine!” he hissed through his
clinch d teeth. Fool that I was! He had made
me drunk, while the strong liquor had had no
more effect upon his clear, iron-like head than
so much water.

He rose from his seat, and, cautiously openin
the d0or of the other room. entered. I coul
hear the heavy breathin of Pat, fast asleep.

'Maddened with rage attempted to reach the
door which Livingstone had closed behind him.
The moment I left the chair 1 tumbled helpless
upon the floor, but my brain was still clear; so
I managed to roll mya-lf to the door—I knew I
could not walk. .By the side of the door there
was a small hole in the wall, from which the
plaster had fallen; through the hole I could see
into the other room.

Pat had left his candle burning, so that the
mom was light.

Livingstonehad opened the drawer of the
washstand, and stood with the precious papers
in his hands! He examined them; a smile of
triumph lit up his face; then he turned to leave
the room. The skirt of his heavy coat, as he
turned, brushed against the water-pitcher on
the stand, and it fell to the floor with a loud
crash.

Pat awoke from his slumbers, saw Livingstone,
and, evidently sus ting his object, sprun from
his bed, and won d have seized the ewe l, but
was met with a blow square between the eyes
that felled him to the floor, for the moment
wholly unconscious.

Livfngstone did not take that opportunity to
escape with the precious papers, much to my
surprise, but stood irresolute for a moment;
then, drawing from his breast pocket asmall
poniard, he eyed the lawyer viciously, andI
saw the devil gleaming in his wicked eye.

Macarth half-rose on his elbow.
“ You b oody thief!” he cried. “ I see your
game; but it’s small good it will do ye. Ye’ll

never git away from this_room wid dem papers 1”
and he s rung again to his feet.

He ha no time to move, however, for even as
hearose Livingstone stepped quickly forward,
struck him with the dagger in the breast, and
with a deft blow of the fist in the face, again
knocked poor Macarthy, now mortally wounded,
to the floor.

Glaring at his writhing Victim a moment, he
ver deliberate] y put the blood-stained blade in
its cather sheath, and placed it with the papers
in his breast pocket.

This done, he came again into my room,
where I lay as if in a drunken stupor.

He did not tarr there. Having secured
just what he came or, he passed out and was

one.
8 He had stained his soul with human blood. and
now I knew him for what he was—a very devil
in gentleman uise—a man to be‘ feared, but also
one to be run own to a villain’s dcom.

And that was my mission!

In vain I attempted to rise; my limbs would
not support me, and yet I seemed to be wing
stron er; the horrible deed that I had ust wit-
n had somewhat sobered me.

Then a terrible thought struckune; suppose
any one should discover me drunk in one room,
Macarthy murdered in the other! Might I not
be suspected of the crime? What chance was
there for me to escape!

 

CHAPTER Iv.
A CAGE OF FIRE.

_ I HEARD Livingstone close the street door; the
Jar sounded through the house.

I lay on the floor a drunken fool, incapable of
moving. My limbs were paral zed by the po-
tent power of the strong liquor had drank. I
was almost as hel less as an infant. I managed,
however, to craw into the other room. Macar.
thy lay on his back on the floor. Was be dead?
No; for, as I crawled to his side, I saw that he
prfighed faintly. Perhaps the wound was not

a it

Oh! h0w Icursed the liquor I had drank! But
for that I could give the alarm and save, per-
haps, the life of my friend. But now, in my
drunken and helpless c0ndition, achild of five
years would be of more assistance than I.

Something must he done, or Macarthy would
die before my eyes. Could I but ban lage up
the wound, he might live—live for vengeance
on the guilty villain who had attempted his
murder.

Again I tried to rise. ,

Thank Heaven, the liquor fume s were passing

i

ould sod afore

 

away. I succeeded, with the aid of achair in

' gaining my feet; but I could not stand alone.

upporting myself with the chair and moving it
along the floor with me, I tottered to toe wash-
stand. With an unsteady hand I seiz -d a cup of
water that stood there, and the 'owel: then
again, with drunken steps, I approached Macar-
thy. As I attempted to kneel by his side. I lost
my balance and fell upon him; the water from
the cup dashed full upon his face. With a deep
groan, he opened his eyes.

“ Oh, my God! what is this?” he cried, as h
gazed around with bewillered eyes. -

“ Livingstone!” I stammered,with a thickened
tongue.

“ Yis, I know now; had ’cess to the divil! He’s
kilt me!”

“No! no! you'll live,” I managed to say.

My power of speech was coming back; the
liquor was losing its influence.

“ He’s got the papers?"

(I  ’1)

“ Oh, the b’astel If he‘d only given me a fair
show for a fight, but the dirty blagguard, to
strike me widout warning. I’ll not die contint
till I’m aven wid him.”

“ Don’t talk of dying, old fellow! I’ll try and
bandage your wound.”

This was a long speech for my thick tongue to
make.

“ Alex,” he said, faintly, ing my hand,
“ I‘m dying; my time is come! he divil struck
me in a nasty place. Oh, musha! Alex, if ya
don’t reVenge me, l’ll never forgive yees.”

“ [’11 do it, Pat, so help me Heaven !"

I was getting a little stronger, and now knelt
by his side.

“ But the proof, Alex; ye Want proof that he
kilt me; fetch me the writin’ things. I’ll write
a death-bed declaration, begorra! this is a poor
Blace foradacent Christian to die, jist likea

’aste, on the bare fioiir. Oh, Holy Mother, save
Kat ,darlint, l’ll come back to the
die, pl’ase the pigs—”

Then his eyes sudden] became fixed; before,

my soul!

they had been rolling wi dly aqmnd the room.

“ Whist, iyl'er Honor! do yees refuse a decent
man like t at for bail? jist look at the black

suit on him; he‘s a ti inner-merchant, my lord—
I m'ane er Honor—”

Then e dropped his voice to a whisper and
chuckled to himself.

“Just as if ould Judge Kenine didn’t know
old Moses, the Jew ‘ fence.’ Oh. what a beauti-
ful thing justice is in New York City. Oh,
Kat darlint! I’ll come back wid hapes of gold,

I
and I’ll make a lady of yees.”

Then he broke into a low, moaning Irish

iioiliagl,s that sounded like a chant for the dead.

mind was wandering. I saw at once that
he had not long to live; the assassin hand of
Richard Livingstone had struck surel and

deeplgheThe poor exile from the Emera d Isle

woul var again look u n the green hills of
Erin and “Katy darlint would wait in vain
for the return of her true lover who had sought
freedom and wealth across the sea, in the land

guarded by the le’s wings.
“ Whistl” he ed, suddenly ceasing his low

song and grasping me nervously by the arm;
“ pager, pins and ink—let me write that I’m kilt
by t at blagguard, Livingstone.”

With an unsteady step 1 reeled to the table,
took a sheet of paper, the inkstand and a pen,
tibia: returned to Pat and again knelt by his

“ That’s good l”

With a painful eflort he turned on his side—a
groan escaped him.

“0h, musha! I feel as if I was on fire inside;
but I’ll soon be put out. Bring the candle so I
can see; I sba’n need candles long.”

I brought the candle and placed it on the
floor by his side. _

“ Now watch me while I write. I want ya to
sifiir your name as a witness.”

ith a painful effort he commenced to write
man a trembling hand he traced the following

, “ Ntw You. Sept. 29th, 1869.
“This is to certify that this evening, between the
hours of nine and ten, I was stabbed in the breast
with a dagge r in the hands of Richard Livingstone.
From that wound I am now dying, and I hereby
denounce the said Richard Livingstone as my mur-

erer. .
‘ (Signed) Pumas Macaa'mr,

" Attorney-at-Law.
“ Witness (signed).

ALEXANDER GORDON."

“ There,” he said, faintly, as he finished writ-I9
ing, and with a low groan rolled over again u '
on his back; “promise me now that you w
avenge my death. Swear that you will has-
I.ivingst0ne’s blood .for mine—that you
never rest till ye see the hangman’s rope are
his gIIII'ty white neck!”

“ acarthy. I swear it!” I Said, solemnly.

A low moan of pain came from his lips—he
closed his eyes and a vacant expression crossed
his face. He was sinking fast, it was evident,
even to my drunken eyes.

“ Katy, darlint!” he murmured; his thong} is
evidently were wandering to his early home.
“ Shale. shale ogra!"

He spoke the words common to his native
tongue. ,

 

' 6

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

 

With the water I moistened his lips and fore.
heed Kthen tore open his vest and shirt and ex-
amined the wound. But little blood came from
it—a dangerous sign; it showed internal bleed-
ing. i placed m hand upon his heart—the pul—
sat'mn could bar ly be felt; he breathed heavily
and with difficulty.

u"w’ather! watheri” he gasped.

Againl moistened his lips. It seemed to re-
lieve him a little; he opened his eyes; a faint
smile of recognition crossed his face; then, with
a great effort, the pain of which could be seen
from the convulsive Workin s of the muscles of
his face, he took my hand Within his and pressed
it slightly.

“ God bless ye, Alex!” he said, in a faint tone,
then his face began to grow rigid.

In accents that could scarce be heard, he mur.
mured:

“ Holy Mother, resaive the sowl of a poor
sinner—K y—ave—Marie-”

His voice became thick and indistinct: a single
convulsive movement of the lips, and I was alone
with the dead.

For a few moments his death paral zed me.
I could only remain by his side, stupid y gazm
upon his face—the face of the only riend that
had in the world.

He gone, and I left alone—utterly alone—no!
Ihad forgotten Nell, the Orange Girl. I still
had a friend left. '

But now to escape from this scene of horror.
I folded u the paper on which was written the
dying dec aration of Macarthy and placed it in
my pocket. Then, with one last look at the face
of my once-jovial friend, I managed to rise to
my feet and reel into the outer roam. I gave a
last glance around the room which, probably, on
the marrow I should quit forever.

I had determined to go into the street and try
and walk of! the stu r produced by the liquor;
then I would proe to the nearest station-house
and give the information of Livingstone’s crime,
and thus cause his arrest at once. J would keep
my oath to dead Patrick, and hang his murder-
er, if it were possi Ie so to do.

I reached the o ter door, turned the handle,
and—found it astl

The door ha been locked on the outside.

I was a prisoner—caught like a rat in a trap.
I remembered then that the key had been left
on the outside of the door, in the lock. Living-
stone, then, must have noticed it when he came
a; aild when he fled stayed a moment to turn

0 8y.

But what was his object? Apparently, to his
eyes, I was in a drunken stupor upon the floor—-
a stupor which mi ht last for hours. Why,
then, should he wis to fasten me inf It was
not to avoid pursuit on my part, that was clear.
What, then, was his motive? I puzzled my al-
ready befogged and muddled brain for an ex-
planation of the riddle, but no explanation
came.

At last I gave 11 the attempt to comprehend
the meaning of t e strange movement on the

rt of Richard Livingstone, in despair.

The first thing now for me to do was to free
myself and gain the open air. HadI been sober,
the task would have been easy, for I could have
smashed the nels of the door out in a few
minutes, but in my present helplem, drunken
state I was as weak as an infant.

What. then, could I do?

I might alarm the neighbors and bring some
of them to my assistance, but that I would
rather not do. Besides the front windows were
secure] fastened by heavy wooden shutters,
while t ose at the back of the house from which
came the light, looked upon a sma! yard, and
that was backed by the side of the tenement-
house, and in the side of that house there were
no windows. It was almost impossible to give
an alarm, even if I could raise the window-
mshes, and they were all securely nailed
down.

There was no disguisin the fact; I was caged.

A horrible thou ht—t t I must stay alone
with the dead all t rough the live-long nirht!
Not that I was given to superstition, but t ere
is a something about deat that is terrible—
terrible to think of—terrible to look upon.
There is a nameless something in the approach
and presence of' the “ grim king of Terrors,”that
mortals shrink from; and I must spend the
night here, alone with the icy tenant of the

ve.

xllThe thought maddened me. No! I would
make a desperate effort to escape. Reeling,1
«seized a chair and dashed it against the door.
Vain hope! in arms were nerveless, all strength
was gone, an the shock hurled me backward,
prostrate to the floor.

Oh! how I cursed my mad foly for drink!
For the sake of the accursed draught—the
poisonous alcoholic mixture that dries the blood
and sgps the life of man—I had destroyed my
frien .

HadI not been a druukard, Macarthy would
have been living; in my my madness—for the
love of strong drink is amadness—I had sacri-
ficed his life. ‘

Then; in the bitterness of my soul, I swore
that never again should a single drog of spirits
pas mi lips. Oh! if Heaven won! only give
me strengn to keep my oath!

Vi

 

I tattered to my feet. How could I escape
from my present prisen'i

No way! no way but to wait till morning and
soberness came.

Then I heard a dbor close. It soundedlike ire
door that led into the street, at the bottom of
the stairs. Could it be Livingstone returning?
It might be so, and his purpose, to complete his
work by murdering me; for now I could believe
him guilty of any crime. And I was drunk,
helpless and alone—an easy victim! I felt in
my pocket. I had a large knife there half
pocket—knife, half dirk, with a long, sharp blade,
and a spring at the back, which once the blade
was opened, held it firm in its lace. I drew
the knife out, and opened the lade with my
teeth. Drunk as I was, with this weapon I was
not utterly hel less.

I listened. heard a light footstep upon the
stairs, not like a man’s heavy tread. It was not
Livingstone. Who could it be!

The footstep halted at the door, and a voice
cried:

“ Mr. Gordon, are you in!”

“ ’Twas the voice of Neil, the Orange Girl.

She would free me!

“ Yes,” I answered, reeling up to the door,
“ but I am fastened in.”

“ You are not hurt!” she asked, in an anxious
tone. ,

“ No; why do you ask l” I re lied.

“ Because, a little while a 0 saw a man come
from our door, all wrap up in a heavy coat.
By t e light of the gas burning before the
door, 1 saw his face; it was deadly pale; he
looked up and down the street, as if afraid of
being watched. He looked like one who had
done something wrong. I was afraid that per-
haps you were in danger, so I thought I would
come over and see.”

She did care for me, then, and I felt a thrill of
joy at my heart as I heard her words. She had
seen Livingstone as he left the house—seen his
face, and could identify him—a strong point in
the web of proof thathas weaving around
him.

“ Do not fear, Nell; I am safe: but I am lock-
ed in. Is not the key in the door?"

H No.”

“He has carried it of! with him. Where
were you standing when you saw this man’s
“Peg h d f h i ”

‘ teint e oorwa o my ouse.

“ Agmen you saw his fa’ce distinctly!”

H Y“ I”

“Could Jon swear to him, were you to see
him again ’ I asked.

“ Yes!” again she answered.

“Could you pick him out from a crowd of
others?”

“ Yes, from a thousand!” came in clear tones
from her lips. “ He has not a common face;his
hair is the same color as mine—his eyes the

same dark-blue as mine. He looks like enough

to me to be my brother; but he is a bad man: I
know it by his look.” ‘

“ Nell, have you any key across the way, that
you think will unlock this door?” I asked.

“ Yes, I have a skeleton ke , that Mr.
Macarthy gave me the other day, najoke. I‘ll
run and get it!” And then I heard her light
footste as she ran down-stairs, and the hang
of the oor as she closed it behind her.

Now, then, once free, once again sober, and
Richard Livingstone would have a bloodhound,
go his track that would drag him down to his

oath.

“No mercy l” I said between my clinched
teeth, “ no mercy will I show him!”

I had strong proof against him—no loophole
for his escape! I lau had to myself with glee.
So far in the strugdgle tween us he had beaten
me, but now I he the winning hand!

I heard the slam of the outer door, but this
time ver faint, as though Nell had opened it
cautious y. She been speedy, hardly time to
have got across the street, let alone return. I
heard no footsteps upon the stairs. Why did
she not ascend? I listened. I heard a slight
noise in the lower entry; then a heavy step. It
was not Nell, but a man! What was he doing
there? .

Again, I heard footsteps—this time. in -the
empty store beneath me. Then I remembered.
A ittle side-door led from the entry into the
store; the man evidently had gained access
to the mom beneath in that way. What could
be his object? I could hearhim moving about
the room. He remained only a few minutes,
then passed into the street, shutting the door
carefully behind him.

Ten or fifteen minutes assed, though it seem-
ed twice as long to me. ell had not returned
but then, I thought, she lived at the very top of
the house, six stories; to ascend and descend re-
quired time.

I waited.

All at once I became conscious that somethin
in the atmosphere was chokin me. I glanc
around; the room’ was full 0 smoke; it was
pouring up in great clouds through the cracks in
the floor. I heard a slight cracklin noise in the
store beneath me. I comprehen ed it in a
glance—the house was on fire I

I saw now why Livingstone had locked me in;
’twas him that I heard a moment ago in the

i.
,. .1 ,

room beneath me; he had returned and fired tl‘c
house to destroy me and the bleeding evidenre
, of his crime.

Cursed villain, he would win at last!

‘ “Oh! if Nell returns in time i” I cried in ac-
’ cents of despair.

The smoke came pouring up faster and thicker;
then the long, shooting flames appeared, licking
their way upward.

l was entrapped in a cage of fire!

No ( scape! I row and staggered wildly to the
door. i felt I was going mad. The smoke
blinded and suffocated me; my sensils reeled—
my brain seemed on fire. Wildly i called on
Heaven to save me. Heaven answered my
prayer;tl~.e door was burst open: I was saved,
and fell fainting into the arms of my preserver.

. CHAPTER V.
WHO WON THE STAKES?

MY reserver was Nell, the Orange Girl.
With a most superhuman strength she dragged
me down the stairs, through the dense smoke and
hissin flames, into tie street. Some friendly
hand ashed a pitcher of water into my face and
brought me to myself again. ’

0n the opposite sidewalk I stood with Nell,
and gazed upon my former home, now being
iI‘Est infolded in the warm embraces of the Fire

ing.

The house was old and burnt like tinder.

The street was filled by a motley crowd at-
tracted by the fire. The engines came dashing
up, but their efforts were "fruitless; and in a
short’ time nothing remained of my old rooms
but a heap of smoking ashes.

l. Eggcarthy had found a grave where he had
iv . -

It was near eleven. The crowd still lingered
about the ruins. Those who compr'sed the
throng were night-birds all—the denizens of
the worst and poorest ward in all the great
cit of New York.

now had become quite sober. 1 determined
to go to one of the cheap hotels and take a bed
for the rest of the night, and have the mur-
derer arrested the first thing in the morning.

I parted with Nell, and told her that I would
meet her at the Tombs at ten o’clock the follow-
ing morning. And as I parted with h. r, in the
dim entr ~way of the tenement-house. I again
lgeld her in my arms and again kissed her sweet

ps.

I went to the Frankfort House and paid for
a bed for the night.

Once in in room, I bethought myself that I
had placed acarthy’s niggsation carelessly in
the breast-pocket of my t; that paper of so
much value; that per that held a human life
within its folds. resolved to place it in my
wallet, as being a much safer place.

1 put my hand in my pocket; the paper was
gone: I had lost it!

This was a terrible blow! I searched every
p0cket. Useless labor; it was gone!

Then I racked my brains to try and discover
where I had lost it. It must have passed from
my possession during the time when I was al-
meat suffocated by t esmoke. I had an indis-
tinct remembrance that in my madness I had
taken it from my pocket and then—what had I
done with it? Possiblly, when I fell fainting
into the arms of Neil, might have dropped it;
if so, it was, of course, destroyed by the flames
that consumed the house. The strong proof
then, upon which I relied to convict Richard
Livingstone, was gone. True, I could swam- to
the murder, and produce Nell as a witness that
Livingstone had been in the house. But, as I
carefully studied it over in my mind. I became
conscious that my case was weak. The strong
point was the dying declaration of Macarthy,"
and that was lost, perhaps destroyed in the
buy ning house. '

What, then, was to be done? Livingstone had
money on his side to back him, and money is a
terrible pOWer in this world to fight against.

Could I prove him uilty of the murder of
Macarthy. to the min s of a jury, by the evi-
dence of Nell and myself? I confess there was a
doubt. m

I resolved to go to bed; in the morning my
head would be clear; then I would think the
matter Over calmly and decide what to do.

I went to bed. .

Morning came at last. My rest all night had
been broken by fearful dreams. Macarthy had
appeared to his calling aloud for vengeance
followed by a child, or rather woman, that
Md been in search of—Salome, who seemed to
have the face of Nell, the Orange Girl. With
tears in her eyes, she cried to me to search for
and give her the inheritance that had been left
her y old Anson Livingstone. Then appeared
the face of Richard Livingstone, mud in its
beauty, haughty in its pride; the ace morked
me; a jeering smile was upon his lips: words
rung in my ears, seemingly from him:

“ I am your fate and W1" crush you !”

Of course, I was not sorry when I awoke. I
thought over the situation. I counted the cost
of an attack 11 n Livingstone. It was nut to
be thought of or a moment—should it fail, he
would triumph. No, I must imitate the pan-
ther, recoil for a time to make my spring more
certain. /

 

 

-—.—<____m_~_-_.a___nn.... . \ .
x._..._..._b_ . .u. _ i, A a .n A e

. )

.J_m

__-. -mfl....-.,_..._..~__

» Nam.—

.44.“...- .. -.

I a
—._.
/

. .-,-.. 4;.
.4‘, . .. f

is,

l

 etive Gordon’s Grip-

7

 

 

I would seeLivingstone. He, of course, would
read of the destruction of my late dwelling- lace
in the morning papers—Would think me ead.
My sudden and unexpected appearance would,

rhaps, throw him ofi‘ his guard; he might be
Induced to compromise; to pay me a sum of
money to keep quiet; that very money I would
use;to aid in utting the hangman’s noose around
his neck. hat would be vengeance with a
vengeancel Could I but succeed, it would be a
swoet consolation for all the past.

I got breakfast at one of the cheap eating~
houses on Chatham street, and then took a car
up—town. ‘

Arriving at Livingstone's house, I rung at the
door, and when the servant Opened it I walked
in at once.

“ Is Mr. Livingstone in the library or in his
own room?” I said, with an off-hand manner, as
though I had come by appointment.

“ In his own room, sir,” answered the servant,
to whom I was no stranger, as he had let me in
on my previous Visits.

" All right,” I said, as I walked past him ano
ascended the stairs.

I reached the door of Livin stone’s room,
turned the door-knob and enters .

Livingstone was sitting at a table at the fur-
ther end of the room. He started in amaze-
ment at my entrance, and his face grew white as
he looked upon mine.

“ Alive!” he gasped.

“ Yes!” said I, with a courtly bow.

“ Not dead 9”

“ Not to my knowledge.”

He bit his lip nervously. I had him at a dis-
advantage. I saw this and I enjoyed the tri-
umph.

“ I-—I saw the details of the burning of your

house in the paper: and, as you were drunk
when I left you, I thought perhaps that—” he
paused in his not over lucid explanation.

“ That perhaps your intentions had been car-
ried out, and that I had been burnt to death,”
said I , with a sneer.

“ What are you sayingl"he cried, nervously.

“ Exactly what I mean,” I answered, sternly.
“ You came to my house last night with the in-
tention of getting me drunk and then of robbing
wk”

“ You are drunk now, to say this!” he ex-
claimed, his face growing, if possible, still
whiter than it had been before.

“ Am If” cried I, fiercely, advancing toward
him. “ Look in my face and see if I am
drunk.”

He shook like an aspen-leaf at my approach.

“ Richard Livingstone, you carried outjour
intention last night; you did get me drunk, and
then you robbed me of two papers—”

“ You have been dreamingl” came in quick
accents from his pale lips.

“ No, I have not been dreaming. Shall I
canvince you that I speak the truth! You
thought I was drunk last night; you were right,
I was drunk. You thought that my senses
were all benumbed by the potent liquor, but
you were wron . I could not move; I could
not speak; but could see, and could under-
stand.”

Hestarted; his lips twitched nervously; the
iron hand of fright was u n him.

“ I do not understand t e object of your visit
here.” He spoke quickly, as though he would
willingly have seen me depart.

“Ohl don’t'you?”[ asked,with a sneer. “ In
a very few words then I will explain. I want
sOme money.”

" Money "he shouted. “ For what should I
pay you mone i”

“For what ’ I laughed bitterly at the idea.
I could afford‘to lau h now, for the power was
in my hands. “ Di I not just tell you, that
when I was. drunk last night you took advan-
tage of my condition and robbed me of two
va uable papers? Those papers I intended to
sell on, and I had determined to ask you, at
the east, twenty thousanddollars for them.”

“ Twenty thousand devils!" he cried, and a
purple spot, which showed rising anger, appear.
ed in his cheek.

“ Just so; twenty thousand dollars was the
sum I intended to ask,” I said coolly.

“ You are moderate in your demands!”

He was beginning to show fight; so Ideter-
mined that, in a very few minutes, I would put
the “ screws” on him and force him to a com-
pliance with my demand.

:dYes; I was always a moderate man,” 1 re-

li .
p " You expect that I will pay you this
money?”

“ Certainly I dol"

“ I shall do nothing of the sort,” he said, an-

1 .
gr‘i‘§ou will do nothing else.”

“ Indeed i” came in a sneer from his lips.

“ Yes, for I will force you to do it.”

“ May I ask how you intend to set about that
little operation?” For the first time during our
interview, a slight smile appeared upon his face.

“ In a few words I will explain I” I spoke
coolly. I felt a ferocious pleasure in knowing
that this ban hty villhin was in my power.
settled mysel down comfortably in a cushioned
arm-chair, that stood near at hand, and then

 

proceeded with my attack, Livingstone watch-
ing me the while with curious eyes.

“ Richard Livingstone, were you ever arrest-
ed for murder?” He stared at my question; the
smile faded from his lips, and again he became
deadly pale; the shot had struck home.

Why do you ask such a question!” he stam-
mered.

“ Oh, merely for curi05iry. What a sensa-
tion it would make in the fashionable world if
it should wake up some fine morning and find in
the newspaper the announcement that Richard
Livingstone, {of Fifth :avenue. New York, the
wealthy ‘ Hood ’——the:living gold mine—had been
arrested for murder. Why, it would create a
ten days’ sensation, and that’s a long time for
this city to remember anything.”

“ Do you dare to assert that I can be accused
of any such crime?" Though his face was dead-
ly pale, still an ominous light burned in his eyes:
that light said danger as plainly as words could
speak. But What cared I? I was sober now,
not drunk, and I would have given something
for an excuse to take this villain by the throat
and with my own hands avenge r Macar-
thy’s death. With difficulty I kept down the
rising devil within me, and ansWered him,
coolly:

“ Richard Livingstone, I accuse you of the
murder if Patrick Macarthy last night at my
house in Mulberry streetl”

1 He started as though I had struck him in the
ace.

“ You have no proof!" he cried, hoarsely.

“ I have; I saw you strike the blow l"

“ Last night you were drunkl”

“ But I could see!” I retorted.

“ My word is as good as yours.
lieve you?"

“ Do you wish me to try and find out who will
believe me?” I cried, with a sneer.

“Ah!” A sudden thought seemed to strike
him. “ Am I to understand, then, that you will
not move in this matter unless I force you to do
so?” He asked the question with some anxiety.

“ It is .possible that my words might be con-
strued to mean something of that sort.”

“ Ahl then there is something which will in-
ducegou to forget anything that you may have
seen

It Yes.”

“ And that something is money i”
“ Suite right,” I answered.

“ ow much!”

“ The same sum I asked for the papers—twen-
ty thousand.

“ Twenty thousand dollars?”

“ Yes; you see, you mi ht as well have paid
me in the first place an saved yourself some
trouble and your soul a crime.” ‘

“ You have not forgotten your college laglc,
I see. ” He was actually sneering at me. ell,
I suppose he thought he was out of danger now,
and that he could indulge his mood.

Livingstone touched a silver bell on the table.

“ Excuse me a moment,” he said, when the

servant ap in answerto the call.
. Then he went to the door, spoke to the servant
in a low tone; apparently ave him some orders;
the servant withdrew an Livingstone returned
to me. A thought occurred to me. \

Who will be

“ He‘s sent him for some wine; he wants to -

try last night’s ‘little game’ over again; but it'
won’t work n0w.”

Livingstone resumed the convorsation.

“ Do you know that this proof you have
against me is very weak? in fact, only your
word? and between you and I, Alex, your word
is not worth a great deal now.”

“ What you say is very true,” I answered;
“ but, I have something more than my own evi-
dence.”

“ Ahl you have!” he said, quickly; “ and what
is it? deal frankly with me; I confess I am
wholly in your wer.”

I did not like this speech. I should have liked
a bold defiance a great deal better. When a
man of iron, clear-headed, hard-hearted, and
totally unscrupulous—in short, a man of the
Livingstone stamp—confesses that he is beaten,
look Out for him; his Weakness is even more
dangerous than his strength, for it conceals 's
hid en power—a power born of desperation.
The danger that we can see and understand we
can guard against; but against an unknown
evil we are powerless. do it was now. In my
heart I felt convinced that Richard Livingstone
meditated some desperate stroke; but where
it would fall,and what its nature would be, I
could not guess. I hesitated to answer his qnes-
tion. I thought for a moment; the more proof
I could show against him, the stron er my hold
would be upon him ; so, at last I spo e.

., “ You were seen coming from the house by a
person who observed you closely an can
identify you if necessary.”

_ “ Ah l”and then he pulled the ends of his long
silken mustache with a thoughtful air. After a
moment’s pause, he resumed his speech. “ And
this person will either speak or be silent at your
bidding?”

is You.”

“Indeed, a convenient friend in a case like
this.” Another sneer; more danger ahead.
Like the mariner on an unknown Southern sea,
I could not tell where beneath the smooth sur-

 

face of the tide. lurked the reef ’twas certain
deathto touch; my only Course was straight on-
ward.

“ Do you know, Alex, that I?ve been a fool?”

” How?” I asked.

“ Why in this: that a year ago when I refused
you the hand of my sister and you commencedfithe
downward course that has made you a drunk—
nrd and a vagabond, I did not foresee my re«
fusal to let you have my sister would rankle
in your breast and turn you from a friend into
an enemy—that I did not take measures—whiv'i
I could have done then—to place you utterly ll]
my power and crush you like a reptile beneath
my feet if you should ever dare to turn against
me.

The blow was coming. I felt it in my heart—
but how? As yet he spoke in riddles.

“ HOW could you have done this?” I asked.

“ Ohl it was simple enough. You are aware
that in settling up both my father’s estate and
yourfather‘s, a great many checks signed by me,
passed throx gh your hands and were cashed ly
you ; so that my signature was perfectly familiar
to you, and your face and indorsuiient perfectly
familiar to my bankers.”

“Yes, that is true; but I do not see how you
could have got me in your power through these
simple circumstances,” I said.

“ Wait!” he answered, the devilish smile curlo
ing his lips and shining in his eyes; “ after you
had commenced to dissipate, and began to run
short of money, you frequently came to me to
advance you sums, which I always did and
always in checks, not cash. One day, I rememo
her it well, it was the 10th of September, you
came to me, flushed with liquor, hardly knoiv-
ing what you were doing, and requested a loan
of twenty-five dollars. I being in a generous
mood, or for some purpoce of my own, drew you
a check for ahundred dollars instead of tweniy-
five, you remember the circumstance?"

“ Yes," I answered, unable to comprehend his
object.

“How easy it would have been for me, in
signing my name to that check, to have written
my signature a little different from my usual
way of signing my name. so that, on careful
examination, it would look like a skillful
forgery.”

I started with horror.

“ Do you comprehend? You were too drunk
to notice any thing; you indorsed the check,
presented it and it was paid; hardly had you
eft with the money when the bank ( fiici r
happening to glance carefully at the check dis-
covered the ditference in the signature. I was
sent for and pronounced it a forgery al a glance;
but, sooner than convictmy friend, I would pay
the money and take the forged note, which now
I have.” . _

His voice swelled into a tone of triumph. A
knock sounded on the door. '

“Come in!” he said.

The door opened—the servant and two police-
ofilcers appeared.

“ Arrest that man,” he cried; “ Laccuse him
of forgery 1”

In another moment the handcuffs were on my
wrists. The game was over—the stakes, my
life against his: for the present he had won l

CHAPTER VI.

' a LEAP FOR LIFE.

IN thd custody of two police-officers, I was a
once colpveyedto the Tombs, where I was placed
in a ce .

I sent a messenger to Mr. Peters’s ofli‘o re-
questing him to come and see me. I knew that
the large-hearted detective would move heaven
and earth to procure in release.

My messenger gone, was left to my own re-
flections, which Were anything but agreeable.
For the third time Livingstone had beaten me.
It was of little use now to bring my accusation
of murder aaainst him, so ported onl by my
oath and Neil’s evider. re. 11 would Consider it
atrumped-up charge made by me in reVen c
for my arrest. In chess parlance, he had t e
“ move,” I was now in “ check ;”the next move
in the game might see me “ mated.”

What was to be done? That Richard Living-
stone would prove me guilty of the forgery of
which in reality I was as innocent as a babe un-
born—I had hardly a doubt. The evirlence was
strong against me. I had no proof that he had
given me the check. The web around me was
woven with devilish cunning. I could not dis-
cern a single weak spot in the meshes through
which I might esrape.

In due time, my messenger, whom I had sent
to Peters, returned with the information that
Mr. Peters had left New York for the West on
a professional trip and was not expecth to re-
turn for a week. No hope there, then. and the
detective Was the ’Only friend I had who could
or would aid me. It seemed as if fate itself
fought against me.

I thought over my situation calmly. Why
should Heaven favor Livingstone and not me!
I had the right on my side, and he naught but
the black armor of guilt on his. After a mo-
ment’s reflection I found the reason. Although
with the right on my side, I had not acted for
the right solely, but had tried to turn the cir.
cumstances which brought to my knowledge

 

\

/

 

‘5‘. ./  V

227;.{4-Rg‘12. . . ;

a; .- -.'

 

Jam

~

8

Detective Gordon’smG-rip.

 

 

a“ M.

the existence of the child Salome to myvown
benefit. I had betrayed the interests of the
orphan to serve myself. That was the reason
for my defeat; I was Convinced of this, and I
made a sOIemn vow that, if I escaped from my
present peril, I would devote my life to clearing
away the doubt that hung like a. dark cloud
over the good name of Salome Percy, and to re-
turn to her child the fortune stolen from her by
Richard Livingstone.

After this v0w I felt better; no more selfish
interest, but a battle for truth and for the right.

I had an examination: Richard Livingstone
stood before me in the court-room and swore
stoutly against me. The p out was pUSIlGIVl‘; so,
in default of bail, I was committed to the Tombs
again till the day of my trial, Which was to take
place in tWo weeks. I’ve often iiumd it said
that justice was slow but sure; in my case she
. was last and uncertain.

I had about fifteen dollars in my pocket when
I was arrested; ten of those 1 g-wu to a lawyer
to defeni me. After a careful examination of
all the points bearing upon the case, he shook his
head doubtfully.
i “ Is there no hope?" I asked.
‘ “Hardly,” replied he. “The proof, you see,
is very strong. Livingstone swears that he
never gave you any check for any such an
amount, and then the signature being different
from that usually signed by him. looking in
fact likea skillful forgery of his hnnd, and the
little circumstance that you were under the in-
fluence of liquor when you presented it, will tell
against you. You know a man will do a great
many things under the influence of strong drink,
that he would never dream of in his moments of

y true.” I replied; “ then you think
there is but little chance that I shall be ac-
quitted?”

“ My dear sir,” he said. “ I will be honest with
you; there is for you not one chance in five

undrrd. Your only hope is in some quibble of
the law, a flaw in the indiitment, or something
of that sort, otherwise you don’t stand a ghost
of a show.”

“And if I am found guilty, what will the
sentence he. do you suppose ?"

“ Oh, Sing Sing, from two to ten years—just
according to how the judge feels and how strong
the evidence is against you.” H3 spoke in a
careless tone, as though it was merely a pleas-
ure excursion up the Hudson that he had been
talking about. Then he gathered up his papers
and left the cell. I saw from his manner that
he behaved me guilty. What hope had 1 than
foraan acquitta , when my own lawyer did not
believe me to be innocent

The clouds were dark above my head; no ray
of light shone through them.

As I was wrapped in these gloomy reflections,
one of the prison officers entered my cell and in-
formed me that a gentleman wanted to see me.
I could not conjecture who it could possibly be;
3:”, of course, said I should be pleased to see

In.

In a few moments Richard Livingstone stood
before me. His con] gaze showed no trace of
emotion as he looked upon me, his victim.

H-Well?" I said, after he had gaz-id upoii me
for quite a little time, without evincing any de-
sire to speak. '

“ How do you like your quarters?” he said,
with a half-sneer.

“ All places are alike to me, or to any man
with a clear conscience. A prison-cell has no
terrors for me; can you say the same!" He
winced at my question. .

‘: {30 "cu hope for an acquittal!” he asked.

‘ o
i “No!” he said, with surprise.

“ Of course not. The lying evidence which
you swore to, is too strong. I shall be convicted
and sent to 8m Sing; once there, I shall think
ever my past 1i 0, and meditate upon my plans
for the future.” I said this with a voice as cool
god quiet as though I had announced my inten-

icn to spend a few days at the sea-shore.

“ Plans for the future! What are your plans?"

he asked.

“ Do you think I will tell you?” I replied with
a lau h.

“ by not?" he said; “I am willing to be
friends with you, if you will let me.”

“ Do you expect me to believe that?" I asked
with a sneer.

‘t  I” '

“ Do you generally send your friends to the
State Prison? Is that your idea of friendship?"

“ Self-preservation is the first law of nature;

on attacked me; i actedin self-defense solely.

ad you acted differently, I should have done
so, too.”

“ That may be,” I said, with a thee .

“It is true!” he answerel, earnest y; “but,
enough of this. i did not come here to taunt,
but to offer you my services.”

“ In what way, and what price am I to pay
for our valuabli- uselstancel”

e did not mind my covert sneer, but went
on in his speech. -

“ The papers 1 got from your house—”

“ That you tliieved from my house, you
mean!” cried i, defiantly. '

“ Never mind‘the means,” he answered, quiet—

 

 

l y; “ the end justifies them. The fact remains:
I ! ave them.”

“ Well!” I said, as he paused.

“ These papers—the inarringe-certificate of
Salome Percy, and the record of baptism of her
child are forgeries.”

His discovery of this fact now, mattered but
little to me. ’

“ Do you think so?” I asked.

“ I know so!" he answered.

“May 1 ask how you discovered it!”

“ Yes; in Searching ov 4r my father‘s papers 1
discovered a letter from the minister, and his
signature is entirely dim-rent from thatattached
to the marriage certifizato and the record of
baptism.” "

“ An!” I said. Coolly.

“ You have ttosii papers—the genuine ones—
I am certain of it, and you tricked me with the
false docu'nents. Now, 1 how come to make
you an offer.”

“ Is it possible!" I cried, in oil cteil mtoni h-
ment. “ Why, I thought you had just dropped
in to pay me a friendly Visit; llIlIl to think, now,
that selfish, personal interest Was at the bottom
of itl”

“ Enough of jesting—I am here to act the part
of a friend—”

“ You’ll be a failure in that line, I’m afraid.
If you Want to do anything in the way of a:t-
ing, let me sugge~t Ligo in the play of Oiled»;
he’s much morein your way, being a tale friend
aniia blackheariel Villain to boot. He’ilJust
suit you.” He was annoyed at my rem irks, and
showed it in his face.

“ What I am and what I have done, I my-
self wnl answizr for. It concerns me alone.”

“I beg your pardon—” said With no air of
extravagant politenes ; “it does concern m»,
as I shall probably go to Sing Sing for a term
of years solely on your account.”

“ it is more than probable—you will gol”

“ Are you sure of it?" I asked.

“ Q'llfe; I rode out to Central Park yesterday,
with Judge Keiiine. Among other things, we
spoke of your case, and the judge said it wis his
opinion that you ought to go to Sing Sing for
about five years.”

“ Ah!” the villain had a motive in telling me
this. What was it?

“ And, as he is on the bench at your trial, it is
extr’emel y possible that his ideas will be carried
out

“ What is your motive for telling me this?
I’m no fool—I know very well that 'm sure to
go u ths river; but, why do you want to come
and all me of it? Is it to show me you’ve got
the best of it?”

“ No, not for that purpose alone. I want to
make a bargain with you.” The secret was out;
he wanted semething.

“ Well, What is the bargain?” I asked.

' “The genuine papers relatin to Salome
Percy and her child, that you vs; I want
them.”

It was evident that he firmlv behaved I had
them. I resolved to humor his belief, because
if he should haplpi-n to discover that I did not
possess those va uahle documents, be, of course,
would search for them; and, With the aid of
the detective police, might find them; therefore
it was for my interest to keep up the deception.

“ What can tyou ofler me for them?" I asked.
“Money is 0 little use to me now. for the
State of New York, in her generosit , will
probabl previde the with board and {)dging
gratis, or a few years to come, at least; and
you cannot very well withdraw your forgery
citing; agaipst me without convicting yourself
0 r ury. -

‘ But, suppose I could procure your pardon
from the governor, after you had served a few
months? Such things can be done, you know,
very easy.” His manner shewed his anxiety to
get the recious documents within his clutches.
I couldn t very well accept his offer, for the best
of all ible reasons: I didn’t have the pa—
pers. ut this afforded me a capital chance for
what in the language of the drama, would be
called an “effective situation ;" and, to use our
soldier idiom, “ I went for it.”

“ Richard Livingstone, I would not wrong
the orphan child, Salome, even to save myself
from Sing Sing prison. Five years are soon
passed; they will not last forever. I’ll come
out of that prison as I entered it, your bitter,
unrelenting enemy, and I’ll hunt you down,
through all the devious windings of your cri mes,
until I strip you of every dollar you have in the
world and place the hangman’s noose around
your neck.”

Livingstone listened, unmoved, to my threat.

" Words are air, and air is nothing; your
threats are wasted on me. . In five years’ time. I
will remove all traces of this Salome; 1 shall set
the detectives on the track at once. As for the
hanging threat I laugh at that. You can never
prove me uiltyl”

“Then ’11 kill you with my own handl”l
said, through my close set teeth. My eyes told
him that I was in earnest, and for a moment his
cheek blanched; fhen withouta Word, he turned
upon his heel and left the cell.

I did not see him again until he entered the
witness-stand on the (luv of my trial.

The two weeks that intervened between my

l' " ..l

i c_ . "
‘ -‘.-,"‘.' n .It'l " l 3w  " 

 

3

interview with Livingstone and the day of my
trial passed slowly enough. Strange to say,
Nell, the Orange Girl, was in my thoughts
nearly all the time. The blue eves were ever
uazing into mine. I determined to see her if
possible.

I Sent a messenger to her ti tell her where I
was; he returned with the information that she
had left the city. Strange that she should go
.vvay without trying to see me, yet how could
me tell where I was!

At last the day of my trial came. The trial
w is a mere farce. I had no evidence to offer in
my defense, and I was sentenced to Sing Sing
for five years. '

For fl Ie years, then, Livingstone would rest
secure in his triumph, and I must no on nursing
my hate day by day, until the hour came to
wreak my vengeance upon him.

Behold me then, one bright September morn-
inv, seated i'l the smoking—car of the 2 00 RM.
train on t’lf) Hudson Riwr Railroad, bound for
the i risen at Sing Sing, handcuffed, and in the
cnst uly of a stout ofii '61'.

Five )ezirs in a man‘s life is a long time.
Should I waste five years of my life in a rison
aftvrl had already wasted so much 0 it in
drink and dissipation? Never! Hardly had our
train left the depot, when a plan of escape
flashed upon my mind.

I was apparently secume handcuffed; but,
fei'tuneitely for me, I possessed a slender, deli—
cute pair of hands, while the linnvicuffs were
designed for wrists of the usual size; therefore,
quietly, and without exciting the n tice of the
other by my side, who was busily engaged
in “ Wrestling ” with a pipe of huge dimensions,
lfouo'i t at I could, with a slight efi‘ort, slip
mv hands through the handcuffs. so far, so
good. I hid inv plan of escape fully developed
in my “out. The train wasnow approaching
Fort \Vaqviingti n. I knew thelocality well; use.
boy I hail (1.0184 and swam in almost every rod
of the river from Fiftieth street up to Spuyten
Duyvel creek.

W hen the train stopped at Fort Washington,
the officer‘s attention was taken up by some
passengers entering the train; so I quietl
slipped my right hand out of the handcuffs.
was sitting next to the open window, and bv
pretending to look out, and turning sideways, I
was able to accomplish this without detection.

On went the train again; we were near Spuy—
ton Duyvel cre k; in a few minutes more we
would be on the trestle-work; that was the
golden moment. Just before the train reached
the bridge over the creek, a passenger passed
through the car and left the di'or open behind
him; the officer bent forward—we were in the
first seat—to close the door; quick as lightning,
I drew back my right hand. and. with all my
strength, struck him a terrific blow under the
ear, which knocked him clean across the car,
and buried him, senseless, against its side; the
train thundered over the bridge: and I sprung
headforemost through the open window. It;
was in truth a leap for life, forI knew I should
not survive five years in Sing Sin , Heels over
head, turned by the motion of t 0 train, as I
leaped frOm it, I went swiftly through the air
splash into the waters of Spuvten Duyvel
creek, w ich received me in their chill embraces
and broke my fall. 1 was but_a few rods from
the shore. struck out ln-t'lv for is, Tim
water was cold as ice‘. The shore reached, I
ran quickly down the river-fortune favors the
bold the say—for .1 few hundrsd‘r‘yards on I
found a shins-bout. cars and all, on the beach.
It was fastenedto a stake by a common slip-
knot; it required but a second to noloose it, and
in another I was in the boat and was pulling
lustin down the stream. Luckily the tide was
with me. I heard the train stop, and then begin
to back up. By the time it had reached the
trestle-work, I had got round the little bend in
the river, and was bid from their sight. As
soon as I thought it safe to do so, I headed the
boat for the Jersey shore. The train had again
proceeded on its way; and. as its noise died
away in the distancc, I thanked Heaven for my

esca
Nil): Ishen, Livingstone, look to yourself, for
the bloodhound is en you track!

—_

CHAPTER VII.
ON THE TRACK AGAIN.

THE bow of the boat grated tn the Jersey
shore; the sound was to me the symbol of my
freedom. 1 was not pursued,that was evident.
They probably imagined me dead in the waters
of Spuyten Duyvel Greek.

But though free, I was hot yet safe. I knew
Livingstone too well to think for a single mo-
ment that he would be satisfied until he received
certain proofs of my death.

i left the boat on the shore, and climbed the
steep hill, until I gained a rocky ledge, fringed
from view, by a heavy growth of trees. The
sun shone bright on the rock. I stripped ofl‘ my
clothes an-l wrung them out as dry asl could,
and then spread them out in the sun to dry,
while I sat patiently on the rock—which, by
the way, was exceedingly uncomfortable—and
waited.

\

 

 

._.—_____———-—————

Detective Gordon’s Grip

9

 

 

I theight over my situation. What should I
do? The sentence still hanging over me, I had
escaped, for how long! That was the question.

Livingstone would probably read the account
of my escape in the morning pa r. Nothing,
then, wasto be feared of him unt l the morrow.
If I could elude the vigilance of the police—
which, by the way, would probably be more de-
voted to searching for me in the vicinit of
Spuyten Du vel than in the city of New ork
itself—I hadV time to escape to the West. But
on the morrow—in fact, the very moment Liv-

ne heard of my escape—he would set the
detectives on my truck ; so, before another sun,
to use a familiar expression, I must “ git."

But to fly required money, and I had none.
What was to be done!

Peters, the detectivel The thought came to
me lika a flash. He was m friend, and would
aidme. But if he was stil absent? Ahl there
was the rub. Possibly, h0wever, by this time
he had returned;if so, my mp6 was certain.
I would 0 to him at once, and tell him all.

WhenI finally had concluded upon my course
of action, my clothes were dry _enough to put

on.

Once dressed, I walked down the bank of the
river until I came to the‘ Weehuwken Ferry at
Forty-second street. I crossed to the city; then
I took a car down-town. Ihad on uite adecent
suit of black, and, on arriving n Cziatham
street, I htepped into one of t e' second-hand
clothing stores that abound there, and offered to
swap of! my black suit for a common on», anda
little money to boot, representing myself as
being in that peculiar interesting state, financial-
ly known as “ hard-up." '

The keer. Jevv, the master of the shop, had a
sharp eye to a lmrgain, and we soon struck a
trade, th~ result? f which was that I left the store
with a seedy-lookinggray suit, and ten dollars in
my pocket. Of course I had much the worse of
the bargain: in fact, got decidedly swindled—
but the suit was a disgui-e, and that was what I
wanted.

Then I stepped into a barber—shop and bou ht
a yellow.haired wig. the hair of which our ed
into little kinky curls. that I saw expOSed for
sale in the window. That cost me eight dollars,
and thus pretty near need 11 ) my funds.

My next purchase was a little pair of scissors;
then, in another barber-shop, I invested in a
little yellow mustache. I were no heard of any
kind myself. Then I boughta little mirror and

a small pack e of Chinese vermilion.
Now for a p to exchange the expression of
in v face.

I walked down Chatham street, till I came to
the Park, crossed over the Park to Murray street.
Then I went into one of the large buildings on
Broadway. near the corner of urray, walked
up to the to ‘floor; the lofts there hap ned to
be unoccup ed, so that I was not likey to be
disturbed by any one coming either up or
down.

There I made my toilet. First, with the little
so ssors I cut off all the hair of my eyebrows
and then cut of! the eyelashes. As I looked at
myself in the mirror, I wondered at the change
that this little operation had made in my per-
s-inal appearance—it wa's wonderful. Then with
my finger I applied the Chinese vermilion to my
cheeks and forehead, using it daintily, and just
staining the skin as though burnt by the sun.
Then I put on the wig—it fitted me nicely. The
kinky little curls stuck out in all directions.
With the scissors I trimmed the mustache
down, until it looked like one that a youth of
twenty would cultivate. Then I moistened the
mucilage attached to its back and a plied it to
my up r lip. When it dried, as it id in a mo-
ment, t looked quite nice, and as I had trimmed
it down so small, quite natural.

I surveyed myself carefully in the little
mug-or, My experment was a complete success.
I had entirely a tered my appearance. In fact,
.0 (311511 ed was I, thatI would have dared to
face Ric d Livingstone himself.

[descended into the streamin. ullin my
brown slouch hat, that I are ang my
natty little cap for, at the jew’s shop, down over

mi fl“

3 cod up at the CitIv Hall clock ;it wanted
afew minutes of six. 1: was getting late. I
walked ra idly up Broadway. Peters’s office
was near rooms street. I had hopes that I
would find him in, as I knew he seldom left the
office, unless called away on business, until
about half-past six.

It was about ten minutes past six when! ar-
rived at the corner of Brooms street.

I had my eves about me, and I noticed a seedy-
looking fellow, suckinga quill toothpick, loung-
ing about the doorway that led to Peters’sroom.
His face was familiar to me. I searched my
memory over, and then recalled the circum-
stance that] had once seen him in company
wuh Micarihv at the Tombs. Possibly, then,
ht' was a detective, or a any of one. “ The thief
doth fear each bush an officer,” and, though not
exactly a thief, still, in the peculiar position in
which, by the force of circumstances, I had
been plac< d, to me an officer and a foe were one
and the same.

How could I avoid this watcher, and get up
stairs without being seen by him? I had con-

 

fidence in my disguise: but still, on the whole, it
was just as well not to test it any more than I
could help.

Men speak of a “ streak of luck.” It was
evident to me I had just struck that streak.
First, my escape from that 0.1? ' then, the finding
of the boat; and now, just as I was pra ing to
fortune to take the seedy-dressed man th the
quill tOothpick out of the entry-way, an
omnibus horse slipped down right before the
door at which the man stood. Of course there
was an instant commotion; down jumped the
driver from his seat, and attempted to raise the
fallen brute; unsuccessful was the attempt A
crowd began to gather round—it doesn t take
much to raise a crowd in New York. Various
were the su cations given—various were the
attempts mag: The seedy looking man had left
the entry-way, and had advanced slowly to the
edge of the lidOWulk. Duty evidently struggled
with inclination; duty said, "Sta at your

tl" Inclination whispered. “ bhow them
ow toget the horse up, and astonish the crowd i”
To the free-born American, there is nothing
more delightful than being the oracle of an ad-
miring crowd.
I nclination triumphed, for the “ spy"—-such I
considered him, and of course call himse—
step off the curhstone, and with anair of
br dignity, walked into the crowd. '

“Say! kin yer git the boss up? Just loosen
that strap there, and—”

Ididn’t wait to hear any more, but darted
across the street, into the entry-way, and up-
stairs. Lucky chancel Fortune, at last, was on
my side. I laughed in my sleeve at the idea
that, in a few minutes, the “ spy ” would return
and resume his pesition and his watch, while
his prey would be safely hidden up—stairs.

Iknocked at the door of Peters’s room;his
Own voice said—“ Come inl”

lo ned the door and entered. Peters was
read mg a newspaper by the window.

"Mr. Pears?" sai , determined to try the
completeness of the disguise. He started at my
voice; dropped his newspaper, and advanced to-
ward me, surveying me with a puzzled look.

“ My name is Peters, sir,” he said. “ I beg
mar pardgn, but your voice is strangely famil-

to me.

“ Indeed?” This was a triumph for my dis-

ise—to baffle the keen eyes of John Peters,
Eusq. the smartest detective in New York City.

“ By Jove l" he cried, after coming close to and
look at me for a moment earnestly. His
puszl look disappeared. “ Alex Gordon, or
m name's not John 1" .

e took me by the hand and shook it heartily.

“ How did you discover me!" I asked.

“ By the‘eyes and voice. It’s adevilish good
get-up. Ginger! if you keep on you’ll be an
honor to the detective profession.”

“ You knew my eyes and voice, then!”

“ Yes," he replied; “ a man can‘t very well
change his eyes- and remembering eyes is my
strong point. Another thing helped me, too;

expected to see you."
‘ You did!" I cried. in astonishment.

“ Yes. I’ve gotan oifer of five hundred dollars
for your arrest. Just see how valuable some-
bod considers you I”

“ ichard Livingstone!” I exclaimed, im-
pulsively.

“ That's the very identical individual that
made the offer. He loves you, he does-much 1"
and the detective put his tongue in his cheek in
a h hly signitii-ant manner.

“ y escape has been discovered then—that
is, I mean they do not think thati have been
drowned!”

“ No. When they backed the train to search
for you, Timps—that‘s the name of the officer
who had charge of you—hadn’t recovered from
the effects of that lick ou gave him under the
ear, and the other 0 oer hadn’t a Very clear
idea of what you looked like. So they eft the
train, and came back to the cit . Timps went-
toLivingstone at once, and tod him of your
escape—the officer evidently had an idea that he
was deeply interested in your fate. The whole
party— ivingstone and the two « filcers—came
piling down here at once. Livin tone offered
me a reward of five hundred if I 'd hands on
you and sent you up to Sing Sin , where, be-
tween you and I and the bed-post, thinkif you
went, you'd sin small.

“ Of course accepted the offer at once. I
knpw the best way to keep the detectives off your
track was to put myself on it.”

“ You’re a friend indeed, Peters," I cried,
taking him by the hand warmly.

“ In course!” he said, with a grin; “but I tell
You. when Timps told me the particulars of your
escape, I nearly died of laughter; and when he
described how you gave him a. ‘cloutz’ under the
ear, I thought I should have died—ha! ha! ha i"
and the detective roared at the idea. “ He
swears bl00dy vengeance against you; when
you knocked him down, the fall sm hed his
pipe, and it cmt him twenty-five ollars4a
genuine imported article. He’s raving about
ii. and awears he'll kill you if he ever gets hold
of vou."

“ l'm not much afraid l" I answered.

“ That’s right!" he said, with a hearty slap on
the back. “ But, joking; aside, you are in great

 

danger. Livingstone has an Idea. that you will
come to me; Icouli tell that by tne way he
talked. He‘s a deep ’un, but he can’t throw any
dust in mv eyes. I‘ve seen rogues before I ever
laid 1» es on him.”

“ ave you seen the report of my trial!”

“ No; I had just got back from the West to-
day—but Timps told me all about it."

“ Well, what do you think of it!" I asked.

“Just as I said before." he answered; “this
Livingstone is a deep ’un; it wasa nice little
trap, and you walked me it. In fart, any
man would have none the same. By the way,
did you notice a man in the entry-way as you
came in—a seedy-looking fellow, wit a quill
tooth-pick!”

“ Yes, I saw him.”l answered; “but he was
not in the doorway when I entered; he went
into the street to seeahout a horse that fell
down, and in his absence I slipped up.”

“That was smart! ‘he cried; “)ou’ve got a
head on your shoulders. l‘ll back you to win
against Richard Livingstone, tiough he has got
the start. As you probably suspected, that
fellow'sa spy, put there to watch whether you
would come to see me or not. Livingston has
an idea that I’m a friend oi yours, and his visit
to me was a blind to fool me, but I ain’t fooled
quite so easy as he thinks for. B.) after he had
gone, I went quietly to the head of the stairs,
and there I saw Mr. Men in the entry.”

“ \Vhat is to be done?"

“ Well, you must get out of New York;
they’ll make it too hot for you here. There's an
emigrant train to-night at eight o’clook, ever
the Erie road, for the West : you must get off in
that; your disguise will not be discovered by
any ofiicer that may happen t» be owr there.
Besides, they won’t think that you’ll ‘ light out’
so quick.

“ Where shall I go?” I asked

“Oh, ’way out West any where—g0 into the
Gold mines round Pike’s 'l’eak. Vi ho knows!
You may strike a ‘lead ’ out there Worth a for-
tune, and if you should be Ui'k)', youcm come
home with your ‘ducat~,’ and just make Liv-
ingstone ‘ sick 1’ ”

“ But my ticket 1”

“ That’s all right—draw on me for what you
want; I ain’ta rich man, but I can stand the
press. I guess, and some day, why, you can
squire it off. By the way I’ve got an idea.
Some Buffalo men put a case in my hands about
ayear ago, afel10w absconded with consider-
able plunder belonging to other parties: I turn-
edit over to some Chicago parties, not being
able to attend to it myself, and they made a
botch of the whole affair—let the fellow slip
through their fingers and get of! "l the mines.
Then they wanted so much in advance before
they wouldgoon any further, and, as the Buffalo
parties wouldn’t pay anything until toe fellow
was caught. why, the whole thing fell to the
ground, and the papers were returned .to me.
Now, you m ht take ’em, and work the case up.
[think theres some mcney in it. You might
frighten the rascal into a compromise anyway.”

‘ Well, I’ll tr it!” I said.

Peters took a from a drawer

undle of {)a
,and gave them to me. paced them in my

ket.

“ How can I get out without this spy seeing
me?” I asked.

" I’ll go out first just as if I were going home.
which I generally do about thistime. ()r ('OUI‘IO
I’ll see him outside and I'll get him into con-
versation, and take him of! to get a drinl ; that
will fix it. Now, here's two hundred dollars;
I’ve just hauled in five hundred for a little
scandal job up in Fifth avenue, and I'm flush.
If on want any more just draw on me."

e large-hearted detective forced the money
into my hand! I accepted it, because I knew
that some day, I could repay it. ,

“ By the way," he cried, suddenly, “ ihere’sa
letter for you here,” he handed it over to me.
saw by the post-mark that it had been posted on
the very day that Ihad been arrested for the
forgery, over two weeks ago.

I opened it; it was from Nell, the Orange Girl '
she knew of in connection w ith Peters, an
pagoromembe it when she wrote. It read as

o ws:

“DEAR Ma. Goancs: ~

" 1 am obliged I-) leave New York very suddenly.
Poor erl as I am. I hav-a enemies—powerful ene-
mies. It is to avoid them that I fiv. I am going to
Buffalo. I have friends there friends of my mo-
ther; they will rotect me. [should dearly] we to
see you b fore go, out every moment I remain in
New York is a moment of danger. P ea~ e think of
me sometimes. for I shall think of you a great deal.
O'il how I Wish I could see you! Don‘t forget me,
please.
(Signed) “ N L ”

“P. s A letter addressed to N. Orange, Buflalo.
I sh ill I be sure to get. D) you know any one who
w- uld IikP io write to m. ? lknow some 0nd that I
wish would write. and if i should ever get a letter
from him, I would treasure it so much."

A thrill of joy went through my heart asI
read the words ned by her dear hand.
Writel—of course would, and gladly.

She the letter N. L; what was lmr last
name? had never inquired; but what did it
matter to me? So I thought thrnJ‘U? e.er
events proved that it matterd a great deal.

 

1.
It

10 ‘ Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

 

Thus it is in this life—we walk blindly on, un-
conscious of the future.

With a farewell press of the hand, Peters
went down the stairs. In about ten minutes I
ventured to descend. Peters and the spy had de-
parted. It had now grown quite dark. I went
to the Erie Ferry at once, boughta ticket for
Omaha, and entered the car.

In the car, I thought I would examine the papers
Peters had given me. I did so, and to my utter as-
tonishment, discovered thut the fellow who had
fled from Buffalo, and whom I was to hunt up,
was none other than the Rev. Robert Browning,
and the Rev. Robert Bro-wing. was the man
who, in the year 1843, at Buffalo, married
Salome Percy to— An! the clew was in my
hands.

Richard Livingstone had cause for fear, for I
was on the track again .’

CHAPTER VIII.
“DEAD MAN 5 GULCH.”

IN due time I arrived at ()ma‘na, no incident
worth mention occurring on the say.

During the journey I had fully examined the
gapers relating to the fugitive, Rev. Robert

rowning. Browning, from the description,
was something of a “ black she 3p ;” he bad man-
aged to get into his hands some ten thousand
dollars belonging to the society ovvr which he
had presided, and one fine morning he was
missing. From the letters of the Chicago detec-
tives, it appeared that the fl et-footed Robert
was a slippery customer. gle had been arrested
in Chicago, but in being c nVeyed to the “ Ar-
mory ”-—-the “ Tombs ” of the sulf styled “ New
York of the West ”——-he had managed to elude
the officers and esca The ('hicago detectives
had traced him as ar as DunVer City, but at
that point he had again given them the slip,
and the supposition was that he had gone to
the mountains to the mines; then the detec-
tives had given up the job and returned to Chi-
cage.

After considering these facts I came to the
conclusion that the old-time task of finding a
needle in a bundle of hay was more than
matched in this job.

In one way only could I hope for success, and
that was to stumble accidentally upon him.
Luck then must aid me. So far fortune had
stood my friend; should the blind den but
continue her favors, all would be we 1.

I stopped in Omaha onlya few hours, and
then pushed on via. the Union Pacific Railroad,
and the Overland coaches for Denver City,
where I arrived in due time.

I had been in Denver about three days, de-
liberating which of the mines to try first—de-
bating in regard to the ve claims to
auriferous wealth t forth by “ Gopher-town,"
“ Catfish Bend,” “ caring Gulch,” and a dozen
other embryo cities—when a little incident oc-
curred which determined my destination.

I went to my room at the hotel one night for
the purpose of retiring, and had just removed
my coat, when the door—which I had neglected
to fasten—opened suddenly, and a st r
came in. I looked at, him in astonishment. e
was dressed in the rough style common to the
Far West—a man below the medium size, but
what he lacked in height was amply made up in
breadth. Not that he was what could be called
fat, but, to use the old expression, he was built
from the ground upward. His dark-brown hair
was cro tight to his head, which was small
and bul et~shaped; a pu nose and square chin
combined with a genera expression which sai
“fight,” and you have the appearance of the
stranger who had so unceremoniously walked
into my apartment. _

After he had entered, he leaned against the
wall and an eyed the room with a look of ex-
treme gravit .

I approached for the purpose of asking his

usineu, when I suddenly became conscious of
the fact that the man before me was under the
the influence of the celebrated whisky denomi-
nated “tanglefoot”; in other words, he was
helplessly drunk.

Suddenly his legs gave way and he came
gently to the floor; with a grunt of satisfaction

e stretched himself out, and coolly and calmly
went to sleep.

I let him alone. I had a fellow-feeling for
him. I remembered how many nights I had
lain in the mud-gutter.

“ No,” I said. “ I'll not turn him out, I’ll let
the poor devil sleep off his drunk here.”

So I took one of the pillows from the bed, and
raising his head, gong, put it under it. A
drunken grunt reward my efforts; then I un-
dreued and went to bed. .

Sleep did not come for some time. The blue
eyes and sunny hair of Nell, the Orange Girl,
were in my thoughts, and banished sleep from
my eyes. Stran e how much I thou ht of that

1. It was use ess to deny the tru he—I loved‘

r! I. knew it; I felt it in every thrill that
through my heart whenever I thought of

er. I had not been fully sensible of the truth
until the caprices of fate so ted us; but now
I knew it. Was it possib e thou b, that we
should ever come together? Would tever be in
my power to make her my wife! My wife!

 

Oh, what a World of happiness was in that word,
coupled with her dear name!

But first, my vengeance! Macarthy’s death
must be avenged upon his ESSQSiID, Livingstone.
That once accomplished, then for Nell and love
eternal; and then I went to sleep.

The morning sun shining in through the win-
dow full upon my face awakened me. My first
thought was of Neil; my secon one of my
drunken friend. There he was, still sound
asleep upon the floor.

I roceeded to dress. Just as I was pulling on
my oots, the stranger turned over, and with a
snort, suddenly awoke.

“ What the blazes am I!“ was the first saluta-
tion, as he rubbed his eyes and gazed around
with a bewildered air.

“Precisely where you laid down last night,” I
replied.

“ Yes, strangr-r; but wbar the mischief am
I?“ responded the unknown, blinking his eyes
like an owl, trying to keep them open.

“Well, you are in- Room Number 40, Central
Hotel, DenVI-r City.”

“ Look-where, stranger!" said the unknown,
excitedly; “ was I drunk last night?”

“ Yes, I think you were,” I answered.

“Jist as I thought!” said the stranger, with
an air of deep disgust. “ Drunk ag’in—drunk
as a b’iled owl, by hockey! Hullol how did this
piller come under my head? Did I ‘ carbine’ it
from you, stranger? If 1 did, just ’scuse me,
’cos I’ve been li’isting benzine enough to run a
small-sized gristmill.”

“ Oh, my friengécyou came in here last night
a littlel bewilde , and laid down on the
floor—”

“ Bewildered! I was as drunk as an Injun at
a ‘ big talk,’ ” be interrupted.

" Exactly; you laid down on the floor, and I
put the pillow under your head to make you as
comfortable as possible,” I replied.

“ Stranger, you’re a boss on air! If you
ain’t, I don’t want a cent! ou’ve done me a
good turn an’ I ain’t the man to forgit it! M
name’s J00 Sparks, sometimes called the ‘ Sp -

dcr.’ "

“ What! the fugilisti” I asked for I had read
in the papers 0 a pugilist  the “ Spider,”
the hero of several (1 rate battles fought in-
side the “ ma ic circle, ’as the magnates of the
prize-rin (10] t to call it-——said battles taking
place in ontana.

“ I’m the man, but I ain’t no pug; I don’t
fight for a livin’ ” he said, modestly. “You
ssehOw it come. hen I were up to the dig-
gin’s in Montana, thar were an Englishman thar
——a foller that used to make fighting his busi-
ness in the old country. Wal, he was a-blOwin’
round ’bout bein’ the best man in the ’s.
Now, the bogs couldn’t stand bein’ crow over
by a cussed ritisher, so they and ms to take
the starch out 0’ him. Wal, I ‘ went for him,’
an’ I licked him. Then two or three more went
for me, an’ I licked them; but, I tell you, stran-

r, I didn’t like the biz, an’ I shook it. I’m a

lttle better than a bulldog; besides. the old wo-
man didn’t like it. She lives out East, in New
York, stranger, an’ she felt better when I quit.

t e name of the ‘Spider,’ ’cos the
say I ooked like one of the old qulis
bruisen ”

I felt. uite a degree of respect for Mr. Joe

Sparks ter he had defined his tion.
:eg’hat niought your name , stranger?" he
as .

" Robert James,” I answered giving him the
name which I had resolved to adopt to d ise
my identit , because there was just the east
chance in t e world that my frwnd Livingstone
might set the detectives on my track and at-
tem to hunt me down. ,

“ mm the East I s’posei" continued the
° Spider“ “ after gold, likely, eh?”

' Yes, am going to the mines,” I replied.

“ Wharare you going to locate? Pitched onto
any ranch yin”

‘ I haven t made up my mind,” I said; “ per-
haps you can tell me of a likely spot to ‘ strike
oil in the shape of gold!”

“I kin, of any man kin, you bet!” returned
Mr. Joe Sparks, with a knowing wink. “Jist
go to any of the mining-towns and start a
whisky ’shop; it pays a heap sight better than

dlg%lvl’.

“ ell, that’s a business that I don’t exactly
like. Can you tell me of some ranch "—I adopt-
ed the border phrase—“ that's not overcrowded,
and where there‘s a chance for a man to make
something!”

“ You can bet our bottom dollar I kin, an’
you’d rake the p lo every time, you bet! Jist
am: telling your traps au’ go to ‘Dead Man’s

u c .

\ “Dead Man’s Gulch!” I exclaimed, a little
surprised at this strange title for a town,
though I had no reason to be so rised at any
name, however odd, where “ S -tai1 Bend”
an “ Red Dog City ” were evidence of the taste
of the inhabitants in bestowing titles on their
local abiding- laces.

“ J ist so!
liveliest town for one only two months old that
you ever did see,” responded the “ Spider."

“ Only two months old?”

“Thar or tharabouts, stranger. It’s a lively

~ \

I

in a sucker of it ain't! It’s the-

 

place; got ’bout nigh onto a thousand people
thar now; ’bout fifty saloons, ten hotels, two
the-a-ters, an’ they do tell me that they think
’bout building a church next year or so. Oh,
it’s a lively place! Ef it ain’t, why, you can
take the heels right off my boots.”

“I do not doubt your word, my friend, in the
least,” I re lied; “but why in the name of
Heaven didn 1: they call it something else than
‘ Dead Man’s Gulch ’i"

“ We], now, stranger, you’ve hit on the very
identical boss that can tell you all about it.
’cos, you see, I was the fu‘st man to diskiver the
ranch.”

' “ You?" I responded, with some little aston-
ishment.

“ Fact! Ef it ain’t, you can cut off my Q'H‘S.
grease my head, and swal10w me whole-,”said
the redoubtable “ Spider,” with a grin.

“ I should like to hear all about it. Sit down
and give me the story," I said, offering Mr. Joe
Sparks a chair, which he accepted.

“ Wal, you see, just about time months ago,
there were a party of six on us out prospecting
for gold on a south fork of the Platte River; We
had bin out jist ’nout a week and nary sign of
gold had we struck. Our peck had ’bout gi’n
out, an’ there wasn’t much show for g'line
round; so we jist held a ‘ big talk’among our—
selves an’ concluded to take the back-track to
Catfish City, whar we started from. I guess we
were nigh onto a hundred miles south bv w.~st
from thar, an’ right into the Injun country,
though we hadn’t seen nary trail of the ro-d
devils yit. So, arter our big talk,’ we all
shouldered our shooting-irons and struck out in
different trails to see ef we couldn’t scare up
something fer supper, fer our peck, as I said
afore, were gittin o ..

“ Wal, I speck I tramped nigh onto five
miles, due north, ’fore I raised hide nor hair.
I’d got into a big gulch with a stream tumbling
down through 1:, muddy as blazes, one of the
head-waters of the Platte, I s’posed. Wal, jist
as I struck this branch or creek, somethin’
rustled in the bushes ahead. That air rustle
Wall to me like the smell of a good dinner to a
hungry man. I fotched the old gun down from
my shoulder quicker’n a wink, an’ then I waited
for an instant, first, to see whar to fire. Then
thar was another rustle in the bushes ahead an’
I saw a small dark thing among the leaves that
looked like a good-sized bird. I didn’t know
what in thunder it was, but thinks I to myself,
‘Ef it’s got fur or feather, I kin eat it,’ for,
’tween you an’ ms, stranger, I were hungry
enough to eat a crow; so I let drive. Bang
went old shootin’-iron an' I’m jl ered, stran-
ger, of out of them ushes thar idn’t rise a
cu-ed In an, holdin in his hand a piece of his
skin 1 n’ that I’ sent my ball throu h. I
see’d it
dodge on me, and drawed my fire. Like a
cussed fool, I had come out with nary other
we’pons ’o'ept my ride an‘ a bowie.

“The Indian grinned raised his rifle an'
drew a head on me. I tell you stranger, I felt
just like old Crookett’s coon. wa’n I any use
toshoot; I wereriad to come down. The In-
jun-he was a Pluto, I knew from his
paint an’ “Fury—motioned me to throw down
my knif . tell you it wont dawn lively.
Then he p’intod down the creek an’ nodded his
head, as much as to say ‘git’ an’ 1‘ IM.’
Thar wa’n’t any chance of at d ht.“ reck-
oned as how he had a down t e creek, an’
he were a- oin’ to ve me dawn to ’em.
Stranger, wouldn’t have given an ounce
of gol —dust for my life in then. I out
tolerany “VOIY. the ed Injun ollerin’
abind, with his gun well up to give me a shot in
case I tried a run.

“ I thought the matter over in the first fifty
steps. I were goin’ to certain death an y:
[night’s well be shot on ht as to be tic led to
death b their cussed v an hour or two
lam. f I made a bold the fur it, he’d flre
.c me; he nought miss, or only wound me
slightly. It were worth azin’. The gulch
afore me for a couple of hun red feet was to]-
erabl clear; so, with a b ump I started.
The njun were astonished. e hollered soma-
thing in his outlandish gibberish. an‘ then M
went his gun; whiz kiln the bullet an’ it lowed
through my left side. I were hit but reck-
oned not bad. I . tn’ wheeled round to
meet Mr. Injun. Ho m tearin‘ on an’ inadea
lick at me with the butt-end of his gun.
dodged an’ whack went_the stock ag’in' a rock.

littin of! a loco of it an’ mashin’ the gun
lke blazes” e dropK back a piece, and
drew his knife. Mic ed u a rock—the iece
he smashed off. th his lck—an’ right bar,
right in the excitement of that air free fight I
saw it was quartz rock an’ streaked with gold!
I’d struck a ‘lead,’ dead sure! Hers wasgold,
an’ Ienty of it. Of course the stream in the

1c , too, were filled with it. Ef I got out of
hi; i! ht a live man—an’ I wouldn’t have bet
my p e of rocks on it, ’cos it were shaky—
here were the ndulicks fur the asking.

“The Injun at me, roarin like a buf-
f’ler. I let drive with the rock an knocked the
knife out of his hand. That was luck, stran-

er. Then we climbed Jack was as good as

iis master now. We had it lively fur a time, I

aminuts. He’d come the old njun,

 

 

 

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

11

 

 

tell yer, fur the Injun were a tough cuss, an’ he ;

worked me all I knew how. We had it up and
down, over an’ under, mashin’ each other’s
heads ng’in’ the rocks. I got some ugly pokes,
an’ I give some ugly ones; but, fina , I got
him dos n on the rocks, an’ I got one arm free,
an’ then I lathered him. I felt that I were
growing weak, an’ either I must finish him or
he’d finish me. At last I got holt of a rock an’
I mashed him once or twice, an’ then I fainted,
fur you see, stranger, I had begun to bleed like
a pig from the wound in my side.

“ Wal, to finish my story: some of the boys
heard the report of my gun, and then the ln-
'un’s, an’, s’pectin’ somethin’ was up, they kim
tearing up the gulch, found the Injun dead :in’

me in a dead faint on top of him. They

fotched me to, doctored up my wound—~that ‘

were only a flesh wound after all—an’ then we
went fur the old.
to ‘ Catfish

Half the party went back 3
‘ity’ for provisions and tools;

“'a], one of the darned fools got h’isting more 
benziue than he could carry. an’ blabbed out ,

’bont our big strike; so, in course, in less than
a month, ‘Catiish Cit ’ kim pilin’ in upon us;
but we had made a b g strike store that. M
share were about three thousand dollars.

sent a thousand home to the old woman in the 1

East—1’

“ And the rest!” I inquired.

“Lost every blessed cent here in Denver,
ambling,” responded the “Spider,” sheepish-

Y- -

“ That was bad.”

“ It were bad—bad!” exclaimed Joe, em-
phatically. “ I were a fool; they got me drunk
au’ went fur me. But I’m going back to ‘ Dead
Man’s Gulch ’ right away. You see, they called
the town that, ’008 they found me and the dead
Injun thar; an’ if you’d like to go tnors
with me, I’m your man, an’ I ain’t a cuss
to travel with, ’00:, without blowing about it,
thar ain’t many of the roughs round these dig-
gin’s that care ’bout tacklin the ‘ Spider.”’

“ I’ll go with you !” I sai , at once.

“Shake!” cried he, extending his muscular,
well-knit hand.

I complied with his request.

“Now let’s p’ison ourselves!” he said, after
the ceremon of shaking hands was completed.

“ What!” asked, not understanding him.

“ Let‘s h’ist some ' 3 am_
:1 er. That’s the way we nominate it

yer.

We ad oumcdatonesto thesaloou.

As we “Dead Man’s Gulch” as any other
mining-town for me. Bel a new to and
the mines reported rich, course all vea-
tureis would naturally there. Perhaps the
rascal I was in search e —Browuiag——would be
attracted there. At any rate, I must do so»
thing to make money. for without money I was
powerless. Therefore every step I took toward
the new Eldorado, the “ lively ” cit
“Dead Man’s Gulch,” in reality me nearer
to fortune—nearer to my revenge—mare: to
Nell, the Orange Girl.

CHAPTER IX.
mus. JACKS m a nomxm

Ame. a tiresome journey, Joe Sparks the
“ Spider “and your humble servant, “ Robert
James,” to of New York City rode into th'
" lively ” town known as “ Dead Man’s Gulch.”

We arrived a tsix in the evsni . Joe
was well uain with the town—if t mis-
erable collection of small frame buildings that
looked as if they had been thrown, not nailed
together, and weather-beaten tents could be
dignified by such a title. One thing struck me
as being curious. and that was that every third
shanty was a liquor saloon. I wondered how
they all lived—in fact, put the question to
Joe, knowing him to be well posted in the

premises.

“ Live? Blazes! I reckon they do, an’ make
heaps of money. too. Why, you see, arter- dark
a teller hasn’t anywhar else to go ’cept to go an’
h'ist some benzine somewhat. Arter supper I'll
take Syou round an’ show the sights."

“ how ms the elephant, ch, as we say in New
York?”

" Elephant! Blazes!” nded J 00. em het-
icnlly; ' we ain’t got no 0 phant hyer; t’s a
grizzly—b'ar, claws an’ all.”

We proceeded to a hotel kept by an intimate
friend, as he assured me. It was a small two
story frame shanty, dignified by the title of
“ Metropolitan Hotel.” The was only
three dollars per day—which Joe assured me
was really dirtrcbeap—end the food was awful,
or,asJoc itin his homdly way,“the
peck was tough!"

Tine landlord of the Metropolitan was a b ,
bur y fellow, whom his guests familiarly -
dressed as Bill Jonea

 

Mr. Jones received as with a welcome that ‘

h esteem.
‘ Let’s licker, gentlemen!” was about his first
nlutation.

I had already noticed that, in the mining-
region, to be able to drink whisky well was an
accomplishment held in high regard. Now, as I
had entirel sworn of! from the use of the dan-
gerous fiui , it placed me in a peculiar predica-

minly showed that he held Mr. Joe Sparks in

 

ment, for to refuse to drink with a man in the
Far West is almost the same as to offer him a
direct insult' but in this dilemma I had happily
compromised the matter by drinking ale—that,
in my view of the subject, not containing spirits
enough to violate my oath.

The ceremony of ‘ 1i uoring” being over, Joe
proceeded to inquire ow matters and things
were in and around Dead Man’s Gulch.

“ Lively, gentlemen, lively!” was Mr. Bill
J ones’s response.

Another peculiarity of the Far West—the fre-
quent use of the term, “ gentlemen ;” and you
can offer no greater insult to some rough, un-
couth boor of a fellow than to tell him that he
is “no gentleman ;” that once spoken, look out
for bowie-knives and revolvers—about the first
“arguments ” that these “ gentlemen ” resort

“ Struck any new ‘leads’ lately?” asked Joe.

“Yes; quite a good one ’bout a week ago in
‘ Sucker Bend.’ t pans out first-rate, an’ they
do say that it’s the best strike yit,” responded
Mr. Jones.

“ Who struck it?” asked Joe.

“ A feller from Iowa, named Pete Brown—
a nice, quiet sort of a chap. He got out nigh
five thousand dollars’ worth of stuif store any-
body got wind of it. Ye know the Bend‘s out of
the way a little. Wal, in course the moment it
was knowed, the other fellers piled right in onto
him; but he’d staked out his claim all right, so
he kinder had the best of it; so they formed a
stock consarn, and bought out half his claim.”

Here the landlord deposited a huge chew of
tobacco in his capaclous jaws.

“ Brown has a good thing of it,” I said; “is be
working the claim now i!"

“ Northe poor cuss is dead,” said the landlord,
in a melanchol tone.

" Dead!” exc imed both Joe and I.

“ Yes; he‘s in his cheeks,” said Jones

“ How did t happen!” I asked.

“ Wal, thar ain’t anybodythat knows exactl ;
that is, ef they do knew, they don’t say. e
were found one morning on the road atween here
and Sucker Bend, stonedead.”

“ Murdered?” I exclaimed.

“ Wal, M’s jist what we can’t tell. Thar
wasn’t any mark of violence on the body—nary

bullebhole or knife-cut.”
“ Did he have an money with himf”
“Wal,he did. e see,he t quite a

pile up to town with him, an', utter he’d waited
snakesround withthehoys i'uraspellandpun~
ished considerable beasme, heweat into English
Bob‘s gambling saloon an’ played poker with
Bobaa oldW teheathan’theydo say We
nigh onto fivs'hundrsd dollars, so that he must
have had a cool thousand with him,”answcred

Jones.
“Did thede any money on the body!” I
asked.

“ N money i”
“ ,itisevidsutficuthathewasmur-
dared for his gold.”

“That’s the p’intl" cried Jones, bringing his
hands together with a hearty mack; “ but, how
the blues they ‘ fixed ' him without leaving any

is what knocks us.”
‘-Is anybody sus ted?”

“ Wal, some to have an idea—folks will
think, ye know—but a man don’t like to say
right out, ’ccs.we’ve t a heap of ugly custom-
ers kyer, an’ they er. I’ve my
’spicions, in course, but I ain’t. anxious to have
them git at me. Itwouldbeadarnedgood
thing for the town to raise a Vigilance Commit-
tee hycr, an’ clean some on ’em out.”

The landlord lowered his voice as he spoke.

" Who is this old Whitehead that you spoke
cfl” I asked. . .-

“ Who is he!” responded J ones, with a look of
disgust. “ He’s the darnedest skunk that ever
lived; he’s a fellow nigh onto sixty, with a head

in as white as snow, an' he’s the bi est thiev-

ng gambler you ever did see. W en he fu’st
come to town—that were ’bout a month a
gurtended to be dreadful pious, an’ they 0 say

e tried to git up a prayer-meeting one Sunday.
Anyway,_he’s an awful critter at speechifying.
But pooty soon he j’ined in with a set of ro s
an’ gamblers hyeruiistas natural as if he’d in
with them all his I' e.”

Here was food for reflection. Might not this
old Whitehead be the very man I was in search
of—Browning, the runaway preacher! The
landlord’s description answered to the one that
had been obtained of h in Buffalo; he was
about sixty years of age, (1 his hair was white
as an w

o .

“ Any idea where he came from, Mr. Jones?”

“Wal yes; from New York State, I heern
Ell. ”They say he used to be a preacher

ar.

It was my man, sure! Now, then, if fortune
but stood my friend—if I could discover from
him all the particulars of the marriage of
Salome Percy and the birth of her child—enough
pmto satisfy the law—I should win the game
. O

I roposed to Joe that, after supper,we should
str ldown the street to the saloon of English
Bob and seewhat was to be seen there. Joe
slanted to the proposition at once.

 

host, “if you play keerds down thar, jist keep
your eyes peeled, ’cos they’re on the gouge from
the word go; an’ jist keep your we’pons handy,
’cos nthey’re quick as lightning on the trig-
er.

8 “ J ist so,” said J 0e, laconically. “ I reckon
they’d better not try any little game onto me,
or I’ll start a graveyard hyer on my own
account.”

Mr. Jones winked both eyes in a highly signi-
ficant manner—sug ested that a little “ ben-
zine ” was good be ore supper, and remarked
that he’d back Joe “ag’in’ his weight in wild-
cats ;” then we “ p’isoned ” ourselves and went in
to supper.

Supper over, Joe and I started don the street.
The saloons seemed to be full of people—rough,
uncouth-looking fellows, but flush with money.
English Bob’s saloon was ’way d0wn the street,
pretty near the outskirts of the town.

The saloon was nothing buta one-story shanty.
It was filled by a crowd of rough fellows, nearly
all of them flushed with liquor. Gambling was
going on with great vigor. In the center of the
room a roulette—table was in full blast, sur-
rounded by an anxious crowd who were betting
their gold-dust freely.

Round went the wheel, spinning went the
marble: see how anxious were the faces of some
of the lockers-on, some of whom, perhaps, had
all their fortune hazarded upon this unCertain
chance.

“ Ace wins, gentlemen!” shouted the presiding
gambler.

“ Cuss the luck!” criesa bearded miner, “ thar
goes the last of my pile l”

Then, with an oath, he pulled his broad-
brimmed slouch over his eyes and sallied forth
into the darkness.

“ That feller’s lost all his pile,” whispered Joe
to me; “ it’s ten to one he’ll tackle somebody to-
night ’cos he feels had, an’ ’11 either kill some
one or gt killed.” ,

A group of four playing poker at a small side-
table attracted my attention. of the four
wererough-bearded men, with repulsive faces,
that had a sort of hang-d expression about
them—faces that one woul not dare to meet
alone on adark night. The fourth one was an
old man, with hair as white as snow, said hair
(‘11:: short and sticking out like bristles all over

He was cleanly shaven, something of a rang
in the mining region, where full boards
the fashion. Bisfacewas thia,theskin ofa
dirty w flags that contrasted with the
white ;hisnosewashookedlikcthebeakof
a birdof prey,aadthe listlegrayeyesthat

forth from under white eye-
 wall  the r: of face.
t my man said, myself. .

Then I called Joe’satuntion to theparty.

“That big fellsr thar with the red hair and
heard is I He’s a bruiser, he is.
Theytried to t upamatch atween him and
me onc’t, up is ontana, but he come an’ tuck
alook atmqan’thenbebackedoutofthejob,”
said J0e.

‘ILWhy, he‘s bigger than you are, Joe,” I

“ It tain’t a man‘s size that tells so much in a
fight as how hard he his hit au’ how plucky he
is. When I war on the fight, I warn’t afeard of
any man in the diggin’s, big or little. I don‘t
knowbut as how I liked one of these big, clumsy
chapsbest, ’cosi’m spryasacat an'could lie
’em all reflect! afcre they could git in a blow
at me at ”

“ Then you didn‘t make a match with himl”

“ No, cuss him! I’d have liked to, ’00s he did
some putty tall talking round ’hout how he could
handle me.”

And the “ Spider‘s ” eyes snapped as he looked
at English Bob, and mentally took his measure.

“ Do on know that old man with the white
head 1” asked.
“Naryknow!” nded Joe; “helookslikea

deep old cuss. Say, in you play poker?”

“Yes some,” I said.

“Wal, I can’t; that is, I can’t play well
one for them cha . Kin you cheat?”

5‘ eat?” I asked, u astonishment.

“Yes, ’eos that’s the game they play here.
Kin you tall when they iryto cheat you, an’
kin ou cheat back ag’inl”

“ es; there’s not many fessional gamblers
that can handicapacko cards better than!
gang, but, what do you want to know that
or

“’CosI want you to play poker with them
chaps an’ lather em, an’ of you find they cheat
better noryou can jist you catch ’em ri ht at
it, seize the e, vs me thewink,an’e they

11tho”w fight b on their eyebrows live-
y.
“ But, an the'fi draw pistols or knives?”
“Draw l I have the first lick in this

fight, an’ let me give one on ’em a hot ’un under
thz’ear, an’ they won‘t draw no we’pcns, not jiat

And the Spider’s hard hands closed convul-
sivslg at the idea.

“ old on, Joe; don’t be ina hurry,”I said;
“ Count thecost first. Is it safe to tackle this
fellow right here in his own saloon! He may

“ Looks. here, gentlemen,” cried our worthy have a lot of roughs to assist him.”

 

in.

~......_.. ~-—.—--w

“ That’s all hunky,” respouded Joe, with a
wink. ” There’s ’bout a dozen of my als hyer;
didn't you see me nod to that table-ml of chaps
over thar? They’ll back me. tooth an’ nail, hide
an ha’r. J ist you go in. Hyer’s five hundred
that I borrowed from Jones on my claim. Go
the hull pile of you git a chance.”

“ All right! I’m your man I” I cried.

I took the money, shoved it into my ,
and approached the table. The game they had
beenplaying had just come to an end. One of
the miners having “ lost his pile ”—-'that i-, lost
all he had—rose from the table and lounged over
toward the bar, which was at the further end of
tho saloon. I instantlytook his place.

“ Good-evening, gentlemen! should like to

oin in the game, if you haven’t any objection,”
said.

I noticed a glance of satisfaction exchanged
between English Bob and the white-headed old

n.

“ Certainlv, sir,” responded the old man, in a
clear, courtly voice. a relic of the civilization
he had left behind him; “ from the East, I pre-
sums!”

“ Yes,” I said.

. p “ What State!” ho asked.

“ Buffalo, New York.”

The old man started; Ibegan to think that
torture had again befriended me, and that the
fickle goddess had thrown right in my path the
very man I was in search of.

“From Buffalo, eh i" said the old gambler,
with a vain effort to conceal his agitation.
" What might I call your name!"

a, “ Anson Livingstone.”

Again the old man started; a puzzled look ap-
peared upon his face as he looked curiously into
mine.

“ I knew one Anson Livingstone about twent
{fats sgo. He was a native of New Yor

ity—

“ Yes, and he was married in Buffalo in
1843,” I said, quietly, interrupting him in his
speech.

“Ye—ye—yes!” he stammered, in utter be-
wilderment.

Fortune had indeed favored me; this was
Browuing, and no mistake!

“ That Anson was a distant relation of mine,”
I said, in explanation.

“ Yes, I supposed so,” said the old man, but I
could plainly see from his manner that my ex-
planation did not satisfy him.

He evidently looked upon me in the light of
an enemy, or, if not an enemy, one that might
become one. ,

“ Come, gents," said En lish Bob, in a hoarse
tonethat reminded one of she croak of a bull-
frog, “let’s begin; life is short, an’ we kin not
afford to waste any onto it.”

Bob shuffled the “ papers,” we cut for deal,
which fell to him, and we commenced to Slay.
Joe had taken up a position behind my cha . I
noticed that English Bob looked at him every
now and then in a manner that boded him no

The game went on. We played at first for
small amounts only. I soon discovered that the
worthy “ gentlemen” with whom i had the
honor of playing were not onl sad cheats, but
bungling ones. Another simpe fact, and that
was that they were all in partnership against

me.

That didn’t trouble me much, for I could han-
dle the cards much better than they; so, when-
ever the “ put a job " and “ packed ” the cards
for me, generally spoiled it by a skillful“ cut."
At the end of about two hours I was about five
hundred d =llars ahead on the game.

My worthy friends began to get agltated; their
money was about gone. Boo, with an oath,
called to his barkeeper to bring another thou-
und. The barkeeper—a stout young rou h—
bmught the gold-dust done up careful in ttle
gags. duly stamped, and placed himse f behind

‘I chair. I suspected some foul playb this,
ially when Bob and the barkeeper old a

w imed consultation together.
in“ k out fur squalls!” said Joe warningly
my

ear. ,
I bent over the table to take up my cards, and

at the same time threw in coat open by a care-
less motion so i could easi yoget at my bowie.

It was my deal, so I “ fix " the ck for Mr.
Bob. He cut them without distur ing in ar-
ran ements in the least, and I dealt o the
hen 8. To myself I gave four jacks and a king;
to English Bob three kings, a nine and an ace;
to the othersa small pair apiece. I calculated
that Bob would go in heavy on his hand, which
was a tolerably strong one, but which mine

would beat and take the pile. It was diamond ;

cut diamond.

As i anticipated, Bob went in strong; the
others “ passed,’ and the game lay between him
and myself. Up planked We the gold-dust, un-
til at last Bob put up the last of his thousand.
I could not understand his going in quite so
rashly, for his hand could be beat, and that he
knew as well as 1. So I made up my mind that
there was some trick in the background. How-
.ever, I covered his money and “called” him.
He grinned for a moment, deliberately dropped
his cards down upon the floor, and then stooped
to pick them up.

Detective corneas esp.

h.

 

i The barkeeper s We same time, as if
t to assist him. I saw as . go at once; the bar-
:keeper had another lid ready, and would
: change cards wmh Llf'm. My guess was correct,
3 for Mr. Bob 5. a grin, laid down on the table
Ii four apertflll‘a jack.

,f‘ ‘I "rake this‘pile!” he cried.
i “Not quite!’ I exclaimed. “I can beat
‘3 that!”

“ You kini With what!" he asked, contempt- ;

: uously.

l “ An Arkansas hand—four jacks and abowie-
‘ knife!" I cried, throwing down my cards and
! whipping out my bewie-knife, at the same time
' clutching the gold-dust.

BJh made a movement as if to draw a weapon,
when Joe, who had observed the motion, struck
him a terrific blow between the eyes which
knocked him into the crowd senseless. In an-
other second a free fight was in full operation.
Joe and i, however, had too man friends and
in about ten minutes we clean out al the
mug“, Bob was carried off by some of his
friends.

In the fight the white-headed old man had re-
ceived a blow on the head which had rendered
him insensible. Joe got a couple of his friends
to carry the old man up to Jones’s hotel at my
suggestion. I felt sure that it was Browning,
the minister Vi ho had married Salome Percyto—
Well, of that hereafter.

The clew was in my hands now; I must be
blind indeed if I could not unravel the tangled
skein of guilt.

 

CHAPTER X.
A s‘r'onv or THE PAST.

THE miners carried the old man known as
“ \Vhltelfi‘ild,” but who] felt sure was Brown-
ing, into 'Jones's hotel, and placed him on the
bed in the room assigned to Joe and myself.

The old man was still insensible, and Jones,
who examined the wound on his head, declared
it to be, in his opinion, a very dangerous one,
i and advi>ed that a doctor be sent Inl‘ at once.

“ Is it possible that there is a doctor near at
hand?" I inquired.

“ Sart’in,” responded Jones; “ Doctor Smith;
; he’s a hull team; heaps of ractice, too, ’special-
‘ 1y arter we’d had a leetle ifiiculty hyer an’ shot
half a dozen or so, jist fur fun.”

“ lVill some one go for him?" I asked. .

“ I’m your man, boss!” cried a stalwart speci-
men of humanity, who had been particularly
distinguished in the previous melee, using a
heavy arm-chair as a weapon with great suc-
cess upon the heads of his opponents, and away
he started.

I turned my attention to the wounded man.
At Jones’s suggestion, the. room was cleared
Joe and I alone remainifig. The rest accepted
the cordial invitation of Mr. Jones to “ licker,”
down-stairs.

I bathed the old man‘s head with water, and
a plied a wet towel to his temples. This had
tEe desired effect, for in a few minutes he opened
his 9. es.

“ here am I!” he asked, in a feeble voice.

“ You‘re among friends, sir,” I replied.

“That’s so!” cried Joe. “ You got an ugly
lick onto your h d down yonder. an’, as the
crowd you were angin’ onto bolted without
lookin’ arter you, we took care on you, though I
do think you’re a p’ison old can.”

“My head feels very bad,".he said, faintly.
“Iwonder if I am going to diei But I'm not
fitdto, die; I’ve much to do, much to say,
an —'

f Here he paused, happening to look up in my
ace.

“ You said your name was Livingstone—but
it isn’t; you lied/to me!" .

“ You are right,” I replied; " quite right, Mr.
Browning."

" Ah! you know my name?” and he looked up
eagerly in my face as he spoke.

“ Yes!” I answered.

“Are you a detective in search of me!” he

 

"I an: s. detective and in search of you,”I
answered, “ but not for the purpose which you
imagine. I am acting in behalf of the child of

Salome Percys”
“Salome ercy,'” muttered the old man
thcughtfull . “ es, I remember: the 

from Little alls that I married in Buflalo to
the New Yorker. Ah! it was a foolish marriage
for her, p00r child.”

“ Very true; and the child of that mar-
riago—’ _

‘ Yes, yes! I know; called Salome, like her
mother,” interrupted the old man.

“Exactly,” I replied; “that girl now suifes,
becausp there is no proof of her mother’s mar-
ria e.’

‘FNo proof!” cried the old minister, suddenly;
“yes there is, plenty of proof; the marria e-
certificate, the witnesses—all are in Bufia c;
all the witnesses are living—I know where they
are.

“ Will vou give me the information so that I
can find these proofs!” i asked. eagerly.

“ Givni He! he!” and the old man laughed, a
‘ crack-3d, broken laugh. "Give? No one ever
gave me anything! 1']! soil it, though."

It was evident that the wretch was recover-

 

. M -
‘4., 4‘ 'H -l .  ,.'i

 

ing. In his helpless condition I should have felt:

reluctant to use the power I had to force him to
comply with my wishes, but now as it was evi-'
dent that he meant to make the most of iii
knowledge he , and was not disposed t0
aid the orphan lgirl to gain her rights, unless he
was well paid, determined to show him that he
was entirely at my mercy.

“ You will not giVa me this information, then,
unless I pay you for it!"

“ Nol’ came dryly from his lips.

“ Ah, you think so!"

“ I know so,” was his answer. '

“ He's a p’ison skunk !" muttered Joe, in a not
very 10w tone. “ Here you‘ve ’bout saved his-
life, an’ now he wants to go back on yer. He’s
p‘ison now, sure!"

The old man paid no more attention to Joe’s
words than if he hadn’t spoken.

“Browning — that’s our name, isn't it?
Robert Browning ’i” I sai , quietly.

“ Yes ” he answered, sulkily; “ what of it.”

“ We} , not much: only I arrest you.”

“ What!" he cried, with a start. “ Arrest mei
for what?”
“ Emhezzlement and for ery !” J“

The old man sunk bac on the bed, from
which he had partly risen, with a groan.

“ That were a stunner!” said Joe, looking on
with an air of great satisfaction: " time I”

But Mr. Browning showed no dis sition to
come to “ time,"as Joe suggested. I e was per
fectly satisfied with the “ round” he had already
gone through.

“ Are you speaking truth l" asked Browning,
in a 10W, faint voice. “ Have you really a war«
rent for my arresz ?"

i‘Y’es," ansWered; “ you’re wanted in Buf-
fa o.

“ Blazes! I shouldn‘t think anybody would
want such a i-innin’ old cuss as he is anywhar.
[wouldn’t have his hide for a gift, nohow you
could fix it,” sa d Joe, in deep disgust.

“ And if 1. tell you all I kn0w about the affair
you spoke of, will you let me zilOnei for I haven’t
a dollar left of the money I ran away With, and
it will do you no good to take me back.”

it was plain that the old man was in earnest.
I cared nothing for the Buffalo parties; besides,
as the old man said, without I could recover the
money, what was the use (-I dragging him back?
No, the information, to use against Livingstone,
was all I wanted.

“I give you my hand and word I will not
press the charge against )you, if you will give
me the full particulars regarding the marriage
of Salome Percy, the birth of her child, and the
man she married. /

I suid this to put the old man completely at
his ease.

“ Very well, then,” he Ilaid' “ I ask for noth-
ing mom. I will tell on all I know coacernin
the affair; but my ead feels strange. on
such a pain as I have in my temples l”

Just at this mornent in hustled Jones and the
doctor, who was a little, withered-up man, with
a sharp face and little round eyes.

" Good evening, gents. Been having a little
dimculty, chi” and the doctor commenced to
examine the head of the old man, first clippin
the hair away from the wound with a pair 0
small scissors.

I noticed that the doctor’s face grew grave as
he looked at the wound—which was indeed an
ugly one—and felt the pulse of his patient.

After a few moments of silent examination,
the doctor left the bedside, and drew me into a
corner of the room.

“ A friend of yours!” he said, inquiringly.

“ Well, yes,” I answered, after a moment’s
hesitation.

“ He won’t live over five hours, sir; ma kick
the bucket in one; the blow was a very eavy
one. If he was a young man, an operation
mi ht be perform<:d and he might live through
it, at he is so old; he’s a one case; five dol-
lars,” and the doctor cone uded his pithy re-
marks and held out his hand.

I id the five dollars, much to Joe’s disgust.

“Ey! You don’t make money easy, do yer!”
was the “Spider’s” remark, addressed to the
doctor, who only grinned at the speech and
pocketed his five do are.

“ Sa !” continued Joe, “ of I ever git my head
mash ,.don‘t you come within ten foot of mo
gr  git right off the bed an’ swallow yer

u

The doctor retired precipitately.

“ He’s chain-lightning, he is!” said Mr. Jones,
referring to the de rtin doctor; “ f’ust-rate
feller; makes a lest e this 9 sometimes, they
do as , for I beam tell thdt u country a toilet
got h s leg mashed. an’ they ca led the doctor in,
an’ in a hurry he sawed oi! the wrong leg—ha!
ha!” and the worthy Mr. Jones roared at the

idea.

“ Did the wounded man feel bad?”

“Wal, he did some, but the doctor did the
squar’ thing; he bought him a-'wooden leg an’
stood the licker for the crowd.”

And Mr. J ones to-ik himself 011' to attend upon
his guests below.

I returned to the bedside of the dying man.

“ Am I going to die!” he said, suddenly.

I was astonished at the uestion, but, before I
could think of an answer, e spoke again:

{

 

 

‘Zv

._.. ..._.... h--- _ - A, ... .-.__-

 

“ Detective Gordon’s Grip.

13

 

 

“ I heard what the doctor said; the ears of
the dying are sometimes wonderfully quick.
Within the last ten minutes I have been think—
ing over my past life. If I had only been
placed differently in the world, and the tempta-
tions around me had not been so strong, and I
not so weak, I might have led a different life.
Ah i” here the old man heaved a deep sigh; “ the
snake is a snake, whether born in a wood or in
captivity. It was my fate to do wrong. Now,
as the last act of my life, I Will do a little good.
You are a friend to the child of Salome Percy?”

” Yes,” I answered.

“ You will see that she has her rights, if I ,

place the pr. ol‘s in your hands by which she
may obtain them ?"

“ Yes; that is my solemn duty.”

“Tth is all I ask. Listen, for my story must
be short; I feel that I am growing fainter.”

I brought a chair to the bedside and sat
down in it to li~tcn to the story of the dying
man.

“ In the year 1843 "he began, “ I was a rogu. '

larly-ordained minister in the city of Buffalo,
State of New York. One day a gentleman
called to see me; he was quite fl young man,
with light curly ~air and dark blue eyes—eyes
that shone as though they were made of polished
metal.

business with me was of a peculiar nature; he
desired me to marry him that night to a young
girl, by name Salome Percy. The marriage

was to be a secret one, unknown to his folks and ;

hers. At first I refused, but the ofler of one
hundred dollars—money was no object to him—
won me to consent. I was r and weak in
honesty; the temptation came, and I yielded.
That ni ht I united in marriage Anson Living-
stone, o New York City, to Salome Percy, of
Little Falls.”

“ This was in ’43?" I said, taking notes.

” Yes; the witnessel to the marriage were
Stephen Quirk, my servant, and the grocer who
kept in the store below, by name James
Watson. Both of these men are now living in
Banalo, and can testify regarding this marriage,
if necessary.”

“Then t e marriage can be proved beyond
the shadow of a doubt!" I asked.

“Yes. I have the marriage-certificate; but
of that I will air in a little while. Anson
Livingstone pal me the hundred dollars, and
he and his wife departed. About ten months
afterward, I happened to pick up a New York
paper, and in it I read a full account of the
marriage of Anson Livingstone and Clara Bre-
voort. I was thunderstruck; my first thought
was that Salome, his first wife, had died; but
two days after I was surprised by a visit from
Salome Livingstone in person. I, of course,
give her her husband’s name. She was in great
distress. She told me that, ever since her mar-
riage, ten months before, she had lived in Buf-
falo, her husband being with her of the
time: the rest he spent in New ork. They
lived happily together until Anson’s father, old
LiVIDZ‘WllO, happened to discover, from one of
his son's friends who was in his confidence, that
his son was married. This discovery put the
old man in a terrible rage, as he had arranged a
match for his son with Clara Brevoort, daugh-
tet and heiress of William Brevoort, who was
then one of the merchant princes of the great
.metropolis, and closely connected in business re-
lations with Livingstone. Old Livingstone was
a man of few words, but of man deeds; he
called his son to him and asked t e truth of
what he had heard. Anson did not deny his
marriage, but confronted his father and braved
him. This enraged the old man still more; he
said but little, but that little was terrible. He
told his son that he had arranghd a marriage
for him with Clara Brevoort, and that, if he
did not marry her, he would cast him u on the
world without a shilling. And, not 0 y that,
he would use all his influence, all his money, to
crush both him and his wife. But if he would
marry Miss Brevoort, why, he could easily keep
his Buffalo wife in ignorance. In fact ,coolly
’ roposed that his son should commit bigamy.

he son for an instant reflected, and then—con-
sented. The loss of wealth he could not hear;
he loved his wife, but he loved old better; be-
sides, like a reat many men, is mm for the
youn girlw 0 had left home and friends all
for h m, was not so strong now as in the first
few months of married life.

“ The Livingstones are a family whose hearts
are iron; the steel-blue eye is a true index to
their natures—cold and selfish. True to his
race, Anson Livingstone came to his you
wife, and, acting on her love for him—a wil ,

assionate love, that worshiped him as its god—
Ee won from her a promise that she would never
disturb him in his second marriage. He told
her all; 01;]? he represented that his father, for
apretend forgery, had powerto send him to

rison if he refused. Slie, r, weak child,

nowing but little of the “or d, believing fully
in his word and in his honor, and trembling for
his safet gave the required promise. He went
back to sw York and was married. or course
I did not know these facts then, and did not
learn them until, years aftermird, Salome Liv-
ingstone, on her death-bed, told me all.

This man was a New Yorker—a scion ,
of one of the oldest New York families. His .

i If“
a few“
canietot
as she‘ Wow 3 _.
once in my lids,
the friendless gin.
of course, did! mick
Should she go there a
of course she must ei
would betray her husband's
pose her-self to terrible sisspfe.
then tell me the reason for h».
riage concealed. i '

“ The plan I formed was- s'fim . Tm
slightly acquainted with George- Hi. ’him
uncle, at Little Falls. I went to
told of the marriage of his niece with An
Livingstone-4: rusin of the Anson Living“
'of New York—represented that her husband

bod been called away to Europe on business,
and was not expected to return for some time;
,reqiiestid that Salome niignt be allowed to
come and stop with him uii'il her husband's re-
turn. 'l‘he honest 014i farmer consented at
once, and at Little Falls, in the year 1844, Sa-
lome Livingstone gave ~ irth to a female child,
which. at my suggestion, was named Salome,
, after the mother. ’

Here the old lll'ln grew quite faint. I bathed
his tem les with water, and gave him some
' whisky rom Joe’s flask.

i “I was present at the birth of her child, as
i was also George Wilson and his wife,” be con-
tinued. “Salome Livingstone died one year
’ ago, only a few months before her husband,
Anson. His wife—in the eyes of the World,
i Clara—died two months after Anson‘s death.
: On her death-bed, Sal me related all these pur-
, ticularsto me, and implored me to go to New
York and demand justice from David Living-
stone for his child, Salome. S a save me her
marriage-certificate, and made me promise to
g protect her child. I gave that romise; but,
i just as I was preparing to go to ew York, to

~ths she would become a mother.

have sought a father‘s aid.
I did a good action.

now that she was married

“08.

R. 3 see Livingstone, the ten thousand dollars raised

3 b my society, for various pu s, were
,‘ p need in my andS. The temptation was too
‘ great to be resisted, and I fied with the money
. and left the orphan child to the cold mercy of
' the world.”

“How can I find her? and this marriage-

certificate, where is it?“ I asked.

I “Find J aines R. Watson, of Buffalo, who
formerly kept a grocery store there; he will
give On the papers. He lives somewhere in
the suburbs of the town. I intrusted the papers
to him when I ran away. I intended some
time, if possible, to go back and do something
for the orphan; but I’m a wicked man, I fear
to die, yet I am nearin the great mystery
fast. In the midst of 1i e—deathl" he cried,
suddenly, his mind evidently wandering.
“ What is it? ‘ To die, to sleep.’ Oh! I’m very
tired l"

He turned restlessly on his side; a faint groan
came from his lips, and the erring minister lay
dead before us. His spirit had fled to meet that
Great Jud e, who readsall human hearts and
receives all e the saint and sinner.

CHAPTER XI.
a niniuonr arracx.

As the dead minister had no relatives or friends
near 'at hand excepting the tElambling crew of
English Bob J ones. the lan, 0rd, and myself
attended the burial. -

The evenin after the funeral Joe and I sat in
our room deli rating. I had 0 lained to Joe
my reasons for possessing iiiysel of the infor-
mation pertaining to the child of Salome Percy,
and also told him of the enmity existing be-
tweeitliryoung Livingstone, the son of Anson, and
myse .

“ You see,” I said, “ that this girl, Salome,
who was born at Little Falls, in the year 1844,
and is therefore now about twenty-five years of
age, is the legal heir of Anson Livingstone,
deceased, but‘ his (pi-Openy is now held and
enjoyed l Richer Livingstone, hisaon by his
second wi e, Clara; you see, the moment I prove
the legalit of Anson’s first marriage and the
birth of to schild Salome, of course she comes in
for the property instead of Richard.”

“ J lst so; she a been making a waiting _ace on-
to it, but jict as soon as you git these documents
into your hands you'll loose her head an’she goes
in an’ wins in a canter l” exclaimed J 0e.

“ Well, not exactly,” I said.

I then related the interview between myself
and Richard, when he produced the draft of his
father’s will—that will that gave fifty thousand
dollars to Salome, his eldest child, and fifty
thousand apiece to Richard and Olive, his chil-
dren by his second marriage.

J “ But, ye didn’t see the will. did ye!" asked
as.

" No, only the draft of it; but it was in the
handwriting of Anson Livingstone; I can swear
to it. for I know his hand well."

“Jist so: I don't know much ’bout wills an’
sich like. .Ef it were a bass-race, or a sluggin’-

but when one on them rich cusses makes a will,
what does he ginerally do with it!”

 

' motive for seeking me now was thatsén
e
the minister who hurl married tier,
‘.,r
I aided
Her friends in Little Falls,
’n her present condition,
tell the truth—which

‘1 secret—or else ex-
She did not
Iping her mar-

I was
her
I
ion

1

i

 

match,why, i’m u hunky boy on all them things; '

l

at, but, thinking that he had some object in
view. I answered his question. '

“The will i<i g»—uerall left for safe-keeping
with the lawytr i.ho raws it out, and then
again, sometimes the rson winking the ‘will
puts it among his priva e papers. "

“ Then, ef a lawyer had this will, the moment
the old cuss kicked the bucket the lawyer would
have forked it over. an’ it would ha’ been made
public, wouldn’t it?” v.

“ Yes,”I answered, unable as yet to discern
the object of these questions.

“ An’ nary will, ’cept the draft shown you,
has bin heard on?" _,

“Aii"ef the old cuss kept the i- ill himself.
why, this son 0’ his, Richard, Would ha‘ got his
claws onto it?”

 

:: Y 95.” I respODded, “ that is proba‘t-Je,”
Then, ef he put this air will into the fire no
on. ‘ oulil ha’ been the wiser for it." ’

but“)! true; if the old m .n had drawn n
his Wm in“ self, which it H very likely he di ,
the wrtnmww‘re Pmbah'i’ "’9 Ewan“ in the
muse, whomago‘irse would not think toga, my-
thing about the P°"‘°PP°&mnC° 01’ the docu~
snout.” .

“ I don‘t believe any sici: paper exists!" cried
Joe, emphatically .

“ Why not?" I asked, for, truth to say, I did
nrt believeit existed, either; but still, I had he
reasons for my belief—nothing but the bare sus

iCion.
p “ Why, by the game this p’ison cuss, Liv «
stone is playing. Ef he had the will, why, hed
ha’ showed it to you, ’stead of t’other one, ’case
it was his little game to bluff you all he could.
An’, too, why wa’n’t it probated, as the lawyers
call it?”

I could not refrain from an expression of as-
sent to Joe’s remarks.

“ It’s jist as clear as old rye whisky i" he cried,
triumphantly; “he haia’f, got it! All you've
g: t to do is to find this air child. an’ back her up
with them documents that old Whitehead spoke
of, an’ you can clean this ones out of every dol-
lar he‘s got.”

“ W hat on say seems to me pretty near the
truth. I on’t think the old man destroyed the
will, if he made one, but Richard may have
done so, though his wisest course would have
been to have preserved it. Still, I suppcse he
thought the first marriage of his father could
not be proved, or the child of that marriage,
Salome, the heir, might be dead. All these
things might lead him to destroy the important
document; but, in all these cases it was his best
pogykn’ot to have destroyed it, but to have held
it c . -

“Jist so; but we don’t always do what’s best
in this air world,” said Joe, sagely.

“ That’s very true,” I replied. “ Now for the
plan of operation. Just as soon as I make
meiiey enough, I’m going East to Buffalo for
those papers, and once they are in my
hands—”

“ ,You’ll make Mister Livingstone pretty rICk.

,.

e .

And Joe indulged in a loud chuckle.

“ But, I say,” he continued, “ you said 1. Don‘t
you count me in, too? You ain’t a-goin’ to go
back on yer pal, are er? ’cos ef yer say tee
word, I‘m with yer toor a'.’ nail, as the painter
said when he went fur the hog.”

“ All right, Joe 1” I cried, taking his hand.
“ We’ll fight the good fight together."

“Jist so ,” he replied; “now fur oper-
ations “ e’ve got fifteen hundred dollars to
commence onto—that air monev you won last
night—an’ I’ve gota claim up here on Gopher
creek that‘s worth nigh onto five thousand, an’
of the dirt is ning out well, an’ the vein con-
tinues, I mig tgit eight thousand for it. You
see, I own oneaixth of the original ‘ strike’
hyer. Wal, now, my idee is this: we’ll go right
to work to onc’t onto that air claim, an’ as soon
as we can realize ’bout twenty thousand,we’ll go
East an’ put Mister Livingstone through. How's
that, pard 1”

“ Square 1” I replied, using the mining ex-
pression. ‘

“Honest InJun.” returned Joe. with a hearty
clasp of the hand.

It was now getting late. I looked at my
watch; it was a little past eleven. Joe annv vunc-
ed his intention of turning in, and immediately
g ed to do so. I sat down to writ» to

ellie at Buffalo. I had written her a few lines
from Denver City, but, as I was uncertain then
as to where I should go, I directed her not to
answer, but wait until she should hear from me
again. ‘-,

Now that I was certain of remaining in Dead
Man’s Gulch, I was desirous of h>aring from
her; so I wrote quite at length. I told her that
my prospects were good. and I hoped to return
East withina year at the most; and I finally

finished with an assurance that I the t of her
more and more every day, and that did not
knorzlw how ‘oll I liked her until fate had separ-
at u”.

I knew very well that her keen woman‘s eye
won] I discern more than the written 0 ex-
pressed. Leavea woman alone for finding out
when a man levee her! A subtle instinct in '

I could not exactly see what Joe was driving their natures always detects the truth. A care-

“Nil” 

  

/

‘Elled out my revolver.

14

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

w.

less word, spoken perhaps without thought—a  “Easy, Tim!” came in a. hoarse whisper from | taken oh! the top of Joe’s ear. It was only 9.

flash of the tell-tale eye, unseen by all, except
the one—a smile that lights up the face at the

proach of the loved object—all these trifles,
light in themselves, yet are proofs “ strong as
holy writ” to the girlish heart that the love she
seeks for is given.

I did not fear but that Nellie would guess my
meaning.

My letter finished, I sealed it up and prepared
to retire. First I turno-d the key in the lock of
the door. There was need of precaution, for we
were ina rough country, and of course it was
known all over town that we had won («insider-
able money the night before; and, as there was
no place to deposit said money, why, of course,
we must carry it on our pertains. Many a man
has been murdered in the mining-regth for a
few ounces of goldslnst. Protection in the Far
West has in revolvers and bowie-knives and not
in the strong band of the law.

Our money I carried in a belt around my
waist, and We slept with revolvers under our
pillmvs. Just before blowmg out the candle I
looked out of the window. The night was very
dark, and the street was quite silent—a. silence,
however, broken now and then by the drunken
whoop and hallo of some fellow staggering tohis
shanty. '

Out went the candle, and in I went into bed.

I lay quiet perhaps half an hour, but no sleep
came. in vain I closed my eyes; slumber u ould
not seal them. Something—what it was I could
not tell—impressed me with a feeling of uneasi-
ness. In the stillness of the night the ticking of
the watch under my pillow seemed to reverben
are through the room as loud as one of the old-
fashioned German clocks. In vain I turned
from side t1) side. I could not slewp. Then a
sensation of coming danger began to make itself
felt in my mind. What was it that gave me
this feeling? I answered, because I could not go
to sleep and my watch ticked loudlv. Not very
strong grounds for apprehension, turtl} !

Then my thoughts wandered to Nellie, the
strange girl who held my heart tangled up in
the meshes of her sunny hair. Would she ever
be mine? Oh! that it might be-l and, as her
face with the steel—blue 1» yes, the fair, pearly
skin, and the strange-hued hair—that in the sun-
light rippled like threads ot‘ gold—rose before
me in the darkness, the rosy lips, honey—sweet in
their full ripeness, smiled upon me; the eyes,
now beaming softly, melting with love, and with
the strange, Witching, thrilling glance that holy
passion alone can give, looked full upon me;
the lips unclosed; the warm breath, sense-en-
trancing in its purity and sweetness, came softly
against my fevered cheek and cooled its fire, as
the sea-breeze from old ocean in the summer-
time breathes cooling balm over the heated
earth; a single sentence came from the lips and
hOVered on the air: “I love you 1” so low, so
soft, yet so sweet, a lover’s ears alone could catch
the meaning of that sound.

heart can know.
nearer' a pair of arms, so round, so pluirp in
their pinkish whiteness, that even helen of Troy,
the Grecian beauty herself, might have envied,
were placed around my neck; the lips came close
to mine: a moment I pressed them in their
dewy fullness, drank the rich draught of love
that lay imprisoned beyond their scarlet surface,

"I —

“ Creak 1”

With a start and a shiver that seemed to chill
the blood leaping in my veins, I awoke from my
dream of love.

“Creakl”

Again the strange noise came from the entry
wa . It sounded as if aboard had yielded a
lit e under a footstep, and then resumed its
place again. In the night one hears even the
smallest sounds. It was certain that some one
was prowling about in the entry. What could
he be doing there? It was evidently not a be-
lated lodger seeking his room, for he would
have walked boldly, and not with this stealthy
caution.

Again I heard a sound—this time it wasa foot-
fall, there was no mistake. Some ‘one was out-
side the door, and his p was mischief.
QuietlyI put my hand un er the pillow and
I did not cook it, for I

ew the click of the hammer would alarm the
villain. That I'did not wish to do, for I was de-
termined to teach the thief a lesson.

Then came a sudden click, as though some one
was tampering with the key in the lock. Joe

slee ing soundly. I did not attempt to
awaken m, as I knew I would alarm the in-
truder if I did. '

Another click, and the key turned in the lock
and the bolt shot back at the same instant.
Covered by the noise—as a military man might
say—I cocked my revolver. I then realized
that I had, in all probability, to deal with a
gang of practiced burglars.

The door began to open slowly, and noiselessly
I leveled my revolver in the direction of the
door. The room was,so dark [could not see a
foot before me. I could onlyjudge by the sound

when the door was fully open.

 

i

‘_ zone of the hotel, who had flooded into the pas-
I was happy, for 1 was in the dreamland of I sage in very scanty costume, nearly all carrying

love—that bright clime which only the fiery l a revolver or bowie-knife in their hands.

The face came nearer and l

h

 

the doorway.

They were in the room then. The time for f
action was at hand. My finger was on the trig- =
ger; I was ready for them. Then I became j
conscious that the rutiians, with slow and !
stealthy steps were approaching the bed. I
judged from this that they were well acquainted
with the room.

Now, I thought, the time had come to play
in part in this mysterious midnight drama, so
With a sudden spring, I leaped to the floor am
pulled the trigger of my Colt. Crack went the
hammer down on the cap—but no report fOIIOw-
ed. The revolver for once had missed fire.
Quick as thought I join ed to the right, and at
the same time recocke my pistol. The move-
ment saved my life, for I received a terrible
blow upon my shoulder that otherwise would have
fallen upon my head—the blow giw nwith, to
me, some unknown weapon, for it was nota club,
but Seemed more like a slung-shot, but with a
peculiar soft feeling, which did not, however,
deaden its force; it almost paralynd my left
shoulder and knocked me to the floor. I pulled
the trigger againgthis time the Weapon did not
miss fire.

The flash of the discharge illumined the room
for a SPCODd and revealed a very melodramatic

icture. In and by the dolirway stood English

ob and three stalwart rufilans, while Joe sat
up in the bed, revolver in hand, with a sleepy
and astonished air. I caughtaglimpse of the
weapon in Bob’s hand that had knocked me
down. I recognized it in an instant, for I had
often read of it. It was a “sand-bug’t—that is,
a small bag shaped like the covering of a large
sausage and filled with sand. A more danger-
ous weapon man never took in his hand, for a
blow from it dealt on the head will general]
kill outright and scarcely leave a mark. Now
knew—for it flashed up0n my mind in an instant
—how Pete Brown, the miner, had been killed;
he had met his death by this weapon in the
hands of English Bob or some of his men; he had
been murdered for his gold-dust.

I felt it was a struggle for life or death.
Scarcely had the li ht from the flash of the
powder of mypistol iedawa ere, cracklcrack!
went J oe's revolver and one red by some of the
attacking party.

A how of pain from one of the rufllans an-
nounced that Joe‘s shot had told. Luckily, as
yet neither Joe nor I had been touched. A
noise outside in the entry and on the stairs told
that the house had been alarmed b the shots.
The ruifians, frightened by the no so, made a
rush for the entry.

“ Let’s git, boysl We’re in a trap l" gr0wled
Bob in his hoarse voice.

“ Go fur ’em,Jiml” yelled Joe, dashing OR the
bed and into the entry, blazin away at the re-
treating rufiians with his revo ver.

I followed him. The entr was lighted dimly
by candles in the hands of he astonished deni-

anee or four, with Jones, the landlord, at
their head were coming up the stairs. Jones
took in the situation in a moment.

“Throw down your we’ as and surrender
Bob, or PM put a bullet t rough you l” yelled
Jones, holding his candle in one hand and flour-,
ishin a revolver in the other.

“ he blazes on will I” shouted English Bob,
who was ind in a da erous sition, for the
landlord and his party lock up the stair-
way, while Joe and I and some other boarders
were advancin behind; so that the rumans
weig nned in tween two 

row down our we ponsl a sin re ted
the landlord. y 3 pa“

n Go to _ In

And Bob consigned the landlord to an ex—
tremely hot region. During this short parley
all Parties had ‘remained motionless.

‘ You be darned! Ef vou don‘t drop that
shooting-iron inside of a minute, 1’11 drill a. hole
right through you i” exclaimed Jones, mad as a
hornet. '

“You will, durn youl” growled Bob. “I’ll
have the first fire!”

Andgguick as lightning, he leveled at Jones,
and fir .

The landlord also fired} but in his haste the
ball went hi h over the rufflan’s head. Not so,
however, wi h the ball from the cracksman’s
pistol, for it struck Jones in the shoulder and for
a moment staggered him. The rufiians took ad-
vanta e of the confusion occasioned by Jones’s
woun among the defenders of the staircase,
and dashed u n them. Terrified, the men on
the stairway red a hasty shot or two that dam-
a ed the walls only, and then fied. Bob and

s crew t00k advanta e of this, and, rushin
down the stairs. esca into the street, follow
by shots from Joe and myself; but in the un-‘
ls;erta.in light, I think they escaped without

arm.

Jones had fallen at the head of the stairs and
fainted. I knew it was useless to pursue the
radians in the darkness, and said as much to
Joe, who was boiling with rage. One of the
balls fired by the brave defenders of the stair-
way at the scoundi'els had missed them and

 

l slight wound, but it enraged Joe fearfully. In

fact it was a wonder that, in the melee, we had
not been shot by mistake.

“ The cussed fools!” growled Joe; “ they
couldn‘t hit a house ’less they were near enough
to spit at it. Ex! I could find the chap I’d tan
him, blast me if I wouldn’tl the long-eared, no-
souled gopher!”

We raised Jones up, carried him into a room,
and put him upon a bed. His wound was quite
serious.

The row had aroused‘all the town around the
hotel, and crowds of the neighbors came flocking
in. Jones, our landlord, was very popular, and
loud and deep were the curses hurled against
the villains.

“ We ought to have a Vigilance Committee
hyer to clean out these suckers!” cried the tall
miner whom I have spoken of before and who
went for the doctor for poor Browning.

His suggestion met with general favor.

“ A Vigilance Coniniittw ! That’s bully l”
shouted a stalwart fellow, ill lurishing a large
bowieknife, and a chorus of veices took up the

cry.

“ Bully for a Vigilance Committeel"

I foresaw that there was gomg to be a stormy
time, and determined to give what little aid I
could to wiping out the gang of désperadoes.

CHAPTER XlI.
THE VIGILANTES.

“ HYER'S the doctor!” shouted a stentorian
voice; and the bustling little man entered.

“ How do, gents?” he ejaculated, shortly.
“ Where‘s Mr. Jones?”

“ Hyer I am, doctor,” said Jones, himself
from the bed, for he by this time had recovered
from his faint.

“ Been in a. Ieetle difficulty, eh ?” asked the
doctor, expertly examining the wounds, first
stripping off the shirt.

“ Leeilel Blazesl I reckon it would have bin
a heap of a fight, ef they hadn’t ot away with
me soquickl” growled Jones. “ m I hurt bad,
doctor?"

“ Oh, no! the bullet’s gone clean through the
shoulder. Take oare you don’t catch cold in it;
you’ll be all right in a few days,” was the con-
soling response of the doctor.

“ Ef I could only git out to flax them fellers, I
wouldn’t care a cuss I” cried Jones, emphatically.
“ See here, Bill Simmons, you’re a friend of
mine, you air; now ef you don't git up a Vigil-
ance Committee an’ clean out these cussed thieves
an’ gamblers I’ll say you’re a durned skunk.”
This was addressed to the stalwart miner, who
had done such tall fighting in the gambling
saloon.

“ I’m your man, hide an’ ha’rl” cried Bill.
“ Say, b0 s, who’ll o with me?” he said, ad-
dressing t ose presen .

A general yell of “ Mel me!" from the entire
crowd answered his question.

“ Hold on, boys, a momentl” the little doctor
sung out, etting on a chair. He had evidently
great weig t with the miners, as they all paused
at his request, and prepared to listen to what he
had to say.

“ Remember, gents,” said the doctor, “ that I
am mayor of this city—chosen by your votes,
and that it is my duty to see that the laws are
carried out. Remember that a Vigilance Com-
mittee is something not recognised by t e] (W;
consequently to form a Vigilance Committee is
to engage in an unlawful act, and it is my duty
to warn you against it.”

A growl of disapprobation greeted these re—
marks. I knew the temper of the miners well,
and I knew that, if the worthy mayor attempt—
ed to stem the current of popular vengeance, he
would get himself into trouble; but, the little
doctor was a. shrewd politician, and knew the
people he had to deal with Well.

“Patience, genh,” he said, with a. dignified
wave of the hand. “ Hear me out, then speak.
As I have said, this Vigilance Committee is an
unlawful rfrooeedin , but what are the reasons
that give setoit? will tell an, teller-citizens!
A gang of desperadoes have nded themselves
together, right in the midst of our lorious city,
which is the envy of the surrountfing country'
they have at the dead of night, when all nature;
is wrap in tranquil slumber, exce t the bull-
frog and the owl, they have come rig t into our
grincipal hotel and shot our esteemed friend,

ill Jones than whom a better cuss does not ex-
ist, and who keeps us good licker as ary man in
the diggJiE’l. And not only that; last night they
double- nked your mayor who now addresses
you, and won a hundred ollars from him at
prokerl These are the reasons why you form a.

igilance Committee. As a mayor, it is my duty
to warn on minst any Overt act, but as a.
man—a eller-Citisen—l sympathize with ye,
and I suspepd myself from the mayorship, until
theileetlfifiiifiicultylis concluded, so that I may
go n w you, w thout breakin m oath of
oiling, toothdand nail l” g y

remen ous shouttestified thecrowd’sa r9-
ciation of this telling stum speech. 9p

 

“And now, gents,” cont nned the doctor—411', _

we’ll give him his official title, and call him
mayor—“I move that we adjourn to the public
Square, kindle a bonfire, assemble ever" honest

 

 6’»

 

«is.

y .a..._7

 

 

 

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

15

 

r—i

man in town who is willing to pull a trigger
against these blackguards, choose a leader, and
move upon the enemy‘s works at once.”

Another shous'eh0wed the crowd's approval
of the movement.

“ And now. gents, I invite the crowd to licker
down-stairs!”

The crowd accepted the mnyor‘s invitation
with alacrity, and, the “licker” duly disposed
of, proceeded at once to the public Square.

It was now getting on totooi' o’cl iclc. A huge
bonfire was kindled in the center or" the Square:
runners were dispatched in dilhrent directions
to summon the fighting—men, and those assem-
bled on the ground so thered, in little knots to
talk over the approaching contest.

The miners were very bitter against “English
Bob” and his gang; scarCely one of them but
had some story to tell—h0w a miner had been
fleeced out of his gold-dust through the agency
of this gambling crew, and perhaps beaten half
to death afterward. No wander the feeling was
strong against them. _ .

As the morning was quite chilly, Joe and I
kept close to the fire. notice-l that the big
miner, whom Jones had addressed as Bill Sim-
mons, was circulating around from one group to
another, stoppin. awhile to talk with each little
knot. At last he luunged up to where Joe and I
stood.

“How are yer, stranger?" he said, nodding
familiarly to me. “ You raked that pile mighty
well, t’other night, d0wn at ‘Boh‘s’ saloon; cuss
me, of you didn’t go fur it like lightning. Thar
ain’t many men that gits away With them as
well as you did. You did it bull)~ l”

I thanked him for his compliment, and modest-
ly told him I did the best i could.

“ I see’d you arterwards in the skirmish, too.
Fura leetlo feller you hit like chain-lightning.
What niought yer name be?”

“ Robert James,” I answered.

“From the East, I s’posei” he continued.

“ Yes, from New York City.”

“Wal, now! Do you know, I reckoned that

on were from New York, ’c03 they raise some
fively boys thar. I’m from_‘ Egypt.’ ’Way down
in old Illinoy, nigh the Ohio. don’t want to
’pear curious, stranger, but what niought ha’
bin your bis’ness out in York?”

“ 1 am a detective," I answered.

“ Show!” he cried, in astonishment; “one of
the cusses that hunts dewn rascals? Wal, now,
you’ve got right into bis’ness, ain't yer?”

“ It looks like it,” I answered.

“ Do you know, we shouldn’t haVe cleaned ’em
out so the other night, of a lot of ‘ Bob‘s ‘ roughs
hadn’t bin up‘country. I ’spect we’ll have a
lively time ’fore long, cos I’ve bin talking with
the boys, an’ they all agree that these cusses
have got to leave town or fight. Ef they do
show gut, an’ we take any one on ’em alive,
Judge Lynch will have work ahead fur him;"
and with this sage reflection, Mr. Bill Simmons
strol ed away. ~—=- ~-

Si o’clock found about two hundred men in
the Square-the entire fighting force that cared
to take part in the melee. The mayor—we beg
his pardon, we mean the ex-mayor, as he ha
self suspended himself until the end of this difli-
culty—made a short speech, explained the object
of the “ free American citizens,” as he termed us,
and closed by advising the crowd to choose a
leader, he himself declining the honor.

For a few moments, the crowd was bus , evi-
dently discunin whom to select. At sat a
heavy-bearded f low in a red shirt. and with a
stentorian voice, proposed Bill Simmons. Simv
mons was ap ntly a popular man for the
crowd instant y took u the name an shouted
“Simmons l” with all t 6 power of their lungs.
In obedience to the popular cry, Simmons
mounted an empty flour-barrel. and from its top
delivered a short and pithy speech.

“ Boys. I‘m much obleeged to flyers, but I ain’t
the man for yer money. 1 kin ght, but I can’t
lead; I ain’t got the top-pieca fur it, but I know
a man that kin lead yer. an’ he’s a 'painter,’
claws an’ all. I nominate Robert James, the
New York detective!” _

Joe gave a yell of delight. _

“I second that air nomination l” he cried.

All eyes were now turned upon me.

“This is Mr. James, the celebrated detective i”
cried the ma or, introducing me. He was evi-
dent] boun to side with the crewd, though
how 0 knew that I was celebrated was, and is,
a m to me.

Joe’ an a sturdy fellow in a red shirt seized
me by main force and carried me to the flour-
barrel. ‘ Aycll of delight greeted my appearance
on the u stump.»

“ That’s the ease that cleaned out Bob’s saloon
t’other night!” I could hear round amdng
the crowd. There was no backing out; they
were resolved to make me a hero in ite of my-
self. Therefore I accepted the situa on. After
a short speech, expressing my thanks for the
high honor they had conferred upon me, I sug-
gested that a council be appointed to act with
me, and advise upon important questions. The
idea took with the crowd, and a council of five
was instantly ap intcd consistingof my friend,
Joe Sparks, r Smith, the mayor, ill Sim-

arton an Blake.

Isonshand a census of miners known respectively

{WW

 

After the council was selected, they and I re-
turned to J ones’s hotel to deliberate.

rushed in, full of intelligence.
“What is it, spit it out?” cried Simmons.
“’Bout all the gamblers an’ thieves in the

lower towi have gone into ‘ Bob's’ saloon, an’ 1 my messenger returned with the

Then we commenced to ~urr0nnd the shanty.

l Owingr to the excellent cover afforded by the
Scarcer had we arrived there ere a miner ; neighboring houses, we succeeded in completely

they swear they’ll fight till every durned sucker ]

of ’em goes under afore they'll give in,” said the
miner, breathlessly.

“ How many are there of them?” I asked.

“ Nigh onto thirtv,” I guess; some have put
fur the open country.”

Just then another excited miner rushed in.

l

l

“ Leek ahere, Hill, all the roughs ilp~tO‘Vll have :

gone into the Emerald saloon-Put Rooney‘s
place—an’ they’re putting shutters Up to th-~

windows an’ gittin’ all readv fur a tight; I'll, -

they say thar ain’t men ’nough in this air town
to git ’em out. i" and the courier stepped, blowing
like a porpoise.

 Wal, Mr. Chief, what‘s the ticket?" asked

1 .

“ We’ll divide our force; you, with Wharton
and Blake, go to the upper town and lay close
siege to the saloon; make them a fair offer, that
if they will leave town you will not molest them;
if they refuse don’t come to any open tight, but
just keep outside the range of their fire, till we
settle these fellOws down here; then we’ll come
up and attend to them.”

“ lie hard work to keep the boys in; they’re
spoiling fur a fight,” said Bill.

' If‘ I wish to aVOid bloodshed, if possible,” I re-
p lei .

“ You’re right, by hookey, squar’. every time 1”
Bill replied and then (1- parted. He went to the
Square, drew of! his men and took up his line of
march.

With my command, accompanied by DoctOr
Smith and Joe as assistants. 1 filed down the
first toward the saloon kept by “ English

0 . t

l halted: my column at a safe distance, and
then, with a handkerchief on a ramrod as a flag
of truce, I stepped boldly forward to hold a
parley with the enemy.

The shanty stood all alone on one side of the
road. As I have before said, it was at the ex-
treme end of the town, there being only a couple
of shanties beyond it. ...~. ...

I marked the situation well as I adVanced. If
they showed fight, by means of the surrounding
shanties I could bring my men up within easy
revolver range, Without exposing them much.

The saloon had all the shutters up, and I could
see here and there. in the walls, marks of freshly-
cut loop-holes. Thea intended to resist, then,
thinking perha , t _at this attack was only a
little out urst o passion, which would soOn sub-
side. It was a vain hope for I never saw people
more determined than the men who had chosen
me as their leader.

When I got within a hundred paces of the
saloon, now turned into a fortress, a hoarse voice
cried “ Haiti” and the shining barrel of a rifle
protruded from one of the loop-holes. I obeyed
the entle hint and halted. _

“ hat the blazes do you want?" was the
question that came from the loop-hole.

“ We want the
assaulted Bill Jones, the hotel-keeper, this morn-
ing. If you give him up, all the rest can go,
provided they leave town at once.” Such was
the ultimatum I delivered.

“ You kin go to—” (a very hot place. not to be
mentioned to ears polite) “ darn e. Ef we kin
all go, an’ ye will give a day to x in, we’ll git
up an’ dust."

“ Not a day!" responded I, tersely.

“ Then you kin come an’ git us, un' be durned
to yer!" was the answer of the ruflian, who was
none other than the redoubtable “ English Bob "
in rson.

returned to my force and held a council of
war. J oewas for makin a dash uponxthe enem
at once- the mayor an I did not agree with
him. we might possibly succeed but we should

NV. --.

lose men in the attack, for they could pick us off ‘

from their stronghold as we advanced, like so
many rabbits.

“No! no! Joe,” I said, “that plan will never
do. I have a scheme that will fix them; but,
first, I want the house surrounded. yet don’t
want a man to expose himself in doing it. By
takin advantage of the shanties. we can easily
get thin revolver range, and then not a man
of them can escape.”

“ I see!” said the mayor; “you meantostarve
them out!”

“ Blazes!” cried Joe; “ the moment ight
comes they’ll make a dash an’ git away, very
darned cuss on ’em.” '

“Yes, if we remain inactive till then; but,
Joe, I intend to have that shanty within two
hours, and every rufflan in it, Without losing or
exposing anv man of my force.”

Joe looked at me, astonished, as also did the
mayor.

“ e’ll do it!” cried Joe. “ Ef any man kin,
he kin l”

I sent a man up to Jones’s hotel for a gallon of
whisky, some cotton, and a few articles that I
had noticed hanging in his her-room, and which
had suggested the plan I had formed for cap-
turing the rnfii-sns.

person of ‘English Bob,’ who.

 

encircling the saloon, without giving them a
single chance t i fire at a man of our party.

Hardly was this movement accom lished when
ings I had
sent him for.

As yet, we had not fired a shot. From my
position behind a low shanty—by the way. it
was astonishing to see how quick the inhabitants
of the neighboring snanties got out of them when
they saw that a fig. t was approaching-l had a
good view of the war of the saloon, which was
loop-holed als . In fact. the shanty was in a
line state for defensi), but not against the weapon
I was about to use. I

Now that my materials—a gallon of whidiy, a
large roll of raw cotton an Indian bow and a
couple of dozwi arrows. the arrows tapering to
the feather and heav at the end, with a small
spike—had arrived, gave the signal, and. my
men opened a 3( uttering tire upon the beleaguered
house. This was to distract attention.

Then I took the arrows, tied some of the cotton
upon the ends, dipped the cotton in the v bi=:ky,
set fire to it, and then di>charged the arrows
from behind the low shanty that sheltered me
into the roof of Bob‘s “shehang,” which was in
full view. The consequence was, the burning
arrows set fire to the roof of the shanty, and, in-
side of twenty minutes, the whole building was
in a blaze.

Fire was a fee the rutfians could not fight. At
last, alumst suffix-sited by the smoke, they rushed
from the building and made a mad attempt to
break through our line. A deadly fire recii ed
them. Bob and some six of the advance We 9
shot dead at the first discharge; the rest, terri-
fied at the fate of their comrades, threw~ do a n
their arms and begged for mercy, which was
granted them on their swearing to leave town at
once.

As I stood, gazing on the burning shanty, the
mayor—Doctor Smith—who had been examining
Bob’s b0d y, came to me and said, quietly:

“ I've got a secret to tell you I”

——

CHAPTER XIII.
“STRIKING A LEAD.”

I LOOKED at the ms or in astonishment. Me-
chanically I repeated is words.

“ A secret to tell me?"

“ Yes,” he said; “keep quiet. Just ask some
of the boys to carry the dead bodies of Bob and
these other fellows into the shanty over there,”
pointing to the one that had served me as a

reastwork.

I called Joe at once and gave him the orders.
which he immediately attended to.
our party were now busily engaged in trying to
extinguish the fire, rolling out the barrels of
whisky, .ind making sad havoc with the cigars.

The fire, however, burned briskly. and could
not be subdued until the entire roiif had been
destroyed, and a g00d part of the side walls.

Hardl had the party finished carrying the
dead hr. ies into the shanty, when a messenger
from Bill Simmons arrived. He State d that Bill
and his men were anxious to attack and begged
me’ to allow them to go in and wipe « ut the
“ durned skunks.”

“Better send Joe with all our form up there
at once," said Doctor Smith. “ Let them take
one of these fellows that we captured here, and
send him in to talk to them cut-throats in the
up r saloon. I think when they hear that
Bo 's done for. they’ll be glad to leave without
anv more trouble.”

I acted upon Doctor Smith‘s suggestion at
once, by giving Joe the necessary instructions,
and within ten minutes he and his men v- ere on
the march for the upper town. I suspected that
the mayor had some object in wishing to get rid
of Joe and the miners, but ii bat the object was,
I coaldn’t guess.

“Now, come with me,” said Smith as Joe
and the miners disafiipeared in the distance;
and he led the way to the shanty where the
dead bodies of the rumans had been carried.

I followed him, a little astonished, I must
own.

As soon as I entered the shanty, Smith closed.
the door carefully behind me. i ,

“ I suppose you have never studieil medi-,
cine?” ' _,

I couldn’t understand what the mayor was
“ drivmg at. ”

“ No," I answered. _

“ Splendid study l” he said, with all the en-
thusiasm of the student. “ i suppose yvlu don't
care particularly about looking at the cead’i”

“ I can’t say that I do,” I replied.

“ It’s a wonderful study, the greatest thing in
this world is for man to study man.”

“ Well, now, I should prefer to study woman,”
I replied, thinking, by a joke, to change the sub«

J .

“ It‘s all the same, man or woman.” he an—
swered, ruthlessly passing an without regarding
my pleasantry. “Do you.ever think what a
strange piece of mechanis a man is. or a we-
men either! What is this strange principle
that we call life! We can destroy it, but we

’Most all of .

 

i.

16

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

cannot create it, except by the laws of nature.
See this piece of earth now,” and he touched
with his foot the body of “English Bob”;
“thirty minutes ago it was living, breathing,
actin ——a king among the other creatures of the
worl ;bnt, lol alittle bit of lead strikes it in
the temple, and the life flies foreVer.”

I couldn’t very well understand why the doctor
should bring me into the shanty to indulge in
these sage reflections, particularly as. from
what I had seen of him, they di-ln’t seem to be
at all in his line; but I held my tongue and sim-
ply bowed aSSent to his Words.

“ Did you eVer ‘ strike a lead "3” he asked, sud-
deuly.

This was a change of subject with a ven-
eance. “ Striking a lead,” in miner parlance,
s to discover a vein of ore. As I had but just

arrived at the “ diggin’s," and hadn’t as yet in-
dulged any in mining, l was obliged to answer
in the negative.

“Would you like to strike a leadl” was
Smith‘s next question.

" Oi' CUUIBG I should l” replied I. »

“That is natural. Now, you are not blind;
you of course know, or think, that I had some
object in telling "you to have these bodies
brought in here, an suggesting that the men be
sent off to the upper town?”

“ Well, yes,” 1 answered. “I must own I
thought you had some purpose in view.”

“You were right. I am about to strike a
lead, and I’m willing to let you go partners
with me, if you wish. ’ _

“ I am much obliged to you,” I replied.

“Not at all,” he ansivered. “ I consider that
you’ve done our tOwn a great service, and of
course what helps the town helps me, as i own
about thirty lots here.”

“Thirty? . Why, that must be a fortunel”l
cried.

“No, ’tain’t much of a fortune now, but I
think in about five years or so I can realize
somethin handsome from them, and then 1’“
glo beak ast and settle down. But to my

And the doctor knelt down by the side of
Bob’s body and cemmencsd unbuttoning his
vest. Then he passed his hand inside his shirt,
fumbled there a moment, drew out, and held
out to my astonished gaze,a buckskin money-
belt, i ell stufied with something. With a tri—
'nmphant smile, he laid the belt down on the
floor and roceeded to the body of the second
rufilan. T e searching operation was repeated,
and with a like success, and s) on he went,

,1 openin up his “lead” until he had laid sew-n
' well-fil ed money-belts upon the fl)Ol‘.

“What do you think of that 3’” he asked,
with a quiet smile.

“ What do they contain?”

6 In reply he totik out his knife and cut a little

slit in one end of one of the belts, and then held .

the belt 11 for my inspection. It was filled

with gold nstl 1 must acknowledge my heart
ave a great leap at the sight. Here was a little
ortune.

“What do you think of my ‘lead’l" ques-
tioned the doctor; “it o as rich, don’t it?"

“ Yes,” I replied; “ ut wh0se propertyis
this?”

The doctor looked at me in astonishment.

“ Why, it belongs to us, of course. You see,
I had a suspicion that these fellows would have
something valuable about them, for these seven
are the head men of this gang. That’s the rea-
son they hap ned to be IhOI; they were in the
advance, lea 'ng the others on. I consider, too.
that you have as much right as myself to this
booty for your wit put them in our power, al-
thou ii I discovered the ‘ lead.’ ”

“ ow mm b money do you suppose there is,
altogether!” I asked.

“ Oh, between six and eight thousand dollars,
I should judge. It u ill be at the least three
thousand apiece; it ain’t bad to take. _ You
needn’t have any scruples about taking your
share; it is the product of all sorts of rascalit ,
and certainly we have the best right of any y
to it.

It did not require much urging to induce me
to accept the windfall that fortune had placed
in my way. Eyery dollar was a ate. nearer to
Nell, the girl of my heart; every dol ar brought
me nearer and nearer to my Ven eance upon
Livingstone. Little did he dream, n his stately
mansion upon Fifth avenue, New York, sur-
rounded by all the luxuries that wealth could
prooure. that, in the Far West, where the golden
grains are wrested from the stubborn rock, or
washed from the wave-rippled sands, his mortal
foe was toilin to pile up the golden elements of
power. that e might once again measure
strength with, and perhaps hurl him to the

hat. .

“ I'll take what fortune sends me without

nation,” I cried.

“That’s the true way to look at it,” the doc-
tor replied. “Now. buckle three of these belts
around you, and I will take the other four. It
will bea heavy load, but I guess we can stand
it. After we get to my ofilce. we’ll empty the
bag. weigh the dust, and divide it equally. ’ '

e buckled the belts on, as the doctor had
hid. It was indeed a heavy load, but I must
.v we here up under it like men. This opera-

‘

 

tion finished, the doctor searched their pockets.
Nothing of any particular value was found, ex-
cept that in Bob I ocket was a roughly-drawn
diagram, apparent y representing the interior of
his shanty, und in one corner of the plan was an
X, made with a pencil.

“ What do you think of that!” asked the doc—
tor, handing it to me.

I examined it carefully; in one corner of
the plan was a figure 4, in another corner a fig-
ure .

“ Does that suggest anything to you l” I
asked.

“ Yes; anything to you?” he replied, with a
shrewd smile.

“ It dOes indeed. I think that this spot
marked with an X is where Bob has hidden
something of value, and that the figures 4 and 6
mean four feet from one wall and six feet from
the other.”

“ Yes; and the intersection of the four feet
and the six feet line is the hiding—place.”

“ My idea exactly!” I said.

“ Well, I must confess that when I found the
money- belts contained gold - dust only, the
thought Occurred to me that he must ave a
hiding-place somewhere, because. of course, he
must he ve some money in bars and bricks; and
as he couldn’t carry it with him, he must have
hidden it somewhere.”

“ That is like] ,” I re lied.

“ Yes, I thin so. ow, to-night we’ll go
quietly to the shanty over there, first providing
ourselves with the necessary tools and try to
unearth Master Bob’s treasure,” and the Worthy
mayor chuckled and rubbed his hands with de-
light at the idea.

“ Well, I suppose there‘s nothing more to be
done here, and we may as well go and see how
Simmons and the miners are getting along with
their sue e,” I said.

“ Yes, replied the doctor, “ but the si 0 has
prooably been turned into an attack long fore
now. I know our boys here'pretty well, and
it‘s hard work to hold them in when‘there’s a
fight in prospect.”

So Doctor Smith and I left the shanty, hear-
ing the precious gold-dust, bucklod securely
around our waists, and took the road to the cen-
ter of the town. Just as we reached the Square
we met J oe. Simmons, and all the miners, re-
turnihg in triumph.

“ fiyer we air, chief!” shouted Simmons;
“ we’ve cleaned the dumed cusses out.”

“ Have they gone, and without a fight?"

“That’s sol We frightened them out of their
bootsl” cried Joe, with a hoarse chuckle.

“ How did you manage to do that?”

“You‘d have diel a-laughing; you see, the
cusses were full of fight, an I know’d I c«-uldn‘t
get ’em out of their cussed shanty without a
heap of troubl-I; so I went to work to sarcum-
vent ’em. The boys giti the fore-pair of wheels
[3 a wagon, an’ mounts a piece of stovepipe
onto it, like a cannon—an’ it did look natural.
Then we times an’ draws it up in range, an’
makes a duriied fuss ’bout it, loading a.n’_fixing;
then I sends a flag of truce in to ’em. givmg ’91:;
ten minutes to git u an’ dust; ’cos if they
didn’t, at the eend of t at air time, I‘d blow ’em
to blazes. Hal ha! ha!” and Simmons roared
at the idea. “ It frightened ’0!!! High to fits.
Ye see, they’ve ot an old field-piece over in
Gopher City, an’ s’pose they thought we’d sent
over an’ got it; but the cussed fools mi ht have
know’d that we hain‘t had time, an’e we had
got it, it would be a durned Hng more likely to
hurt the fellers that firel it than any one else,
Wal, them cusses ware ji~~t l'ke the old coch—
the kim down, an‘ jist now the hull crowd air
ma ing toll tracks fur timber.”

A yell of lau htor from the crewd told tI-eir
appreciation 0 the joke. Even a Vigilance
Committee is not without its element of fun.

'The ms or made a short speech. congratulat,
ing the igilance Committee upon the success
that had attended their efforts, and as peace had
been once more restored, and the black sheep
had been driven from the “lively” town known
as “Dead Man‘s Gulch," he suggested that the
citizens disperse to their several homes. His
sh gestion was acted upon at once.

It was now near ten o’clook and, as I hadn’t
had any breakfast, I began to feel hungry. The
excitement under which we had all been labor-
ing caused us to think of anything rather than
of eating.

Joe, the mayor and myself all went in to
breakfast to ther at J ones‘s Hotel. Breakfast
being over, t e ma or de , making an ap-
pointment to me me at eleven o‘clock . that
evening, for the purpose of (pursuing our search
for the treasures of the dos ruiiians. We had
put oil! the division of the spoils until after our
nocturnal expedition.

Joe and I retired to our room; there I showed
him the money-belts; Joe’s eyes grew as large as
saucers at the sight.

“ Jerusalem! ou’ve made a big strike, ain’t

e?” and Joe in ulged in a low whistle of aston-

hment. “ Say, guess you‘ll be going back to
York, ’fore long. Hail Columbia! guess you’ll
be on somebod s trail, p’isen sure, soon l"

“ It is vary 1 kely, Jae ” I answered; and then
I told him of the midnight expedition that
Mayor Smith and I had planned.

 

“ He‘s a team, he is!” ejaculated Joe,. Darcie

y.

Then I talked over our return to the East, for
Ihad determined to go back at once. Joe‘was
as willing as I was, and started out immediately
to see how much he could realize on his “ claim. ’
Fortune again favored us here. Joe’s partners
were flush with money, and gave him six thou-
sand dollars for his share. Joe come back wild
with delight. I took my pencil and a sheet of
paper, and sat down to calculate hmv we stood.
Roughly figuring it up, 1 found that we were in
ponies-ion of between ten and elv-ven thousand
dollars—a small. fortune. Enough, at any rate,
to enable me to make head again-t Richard
Livingstone. That was all I desired. True,
too, I might strike another “lead” in my mid-
night expedit‘mn with Smith; but still, I t id
not count upon that, for I had money sufiicn-nt
Without it. . if I could succeed in placing my
hands upon a few thousand more, it would be
welcome.

Evening came at last; and at eleven o’clock,
punctual to the‘minute, came Dr. Smith.

“ All ready 3” he said.

“ Yes,” I answered.

It had been arranged that we should get a
shovel and 'ck from his ofiice, which was on
our way. hose, together with a dark lantern,
and a couple of small carpet-legs, for the
“loot” which we were to capture, comprised
our outfit.

No one was abroad as we passed through the
town, and so, luckily, we entirely eta-sped no-
tice. Arriving at the ruined shanty, we entered
it. By means of the roughly-drawn diagram
that we took from Bob’s locket, we easily dis-
covered the exact spor. urning the light of
the lantern onto the place we guessed at. we
found that a plank in the floorin was loose.
This was forced up: the ground u or it showed
marks of being freshly dug. There was no mis-
take—we had discovered the gambler‘s treasure.
We had, for the second time, struck a “ lead."

The spade sunk easily into the soft ground.
About a foot below the surface we unearthed a
common wooden soap-box, but it needed our
united strength to lift it to the surface. Once
there, we forced the cover 08, and the buried
treasure of “ English Bob ” was revealed to our
wondering eyes. The contents of the box con-
sisted of gold and silver “bricks” and bars,
bags of gold-dust, and a few diamonds—the
whole estimated by the doctor, at a rough
guess. to be worth sixteen or seventeen thousand
dollars. Here was a fortune indeed!

Three trips did we make between Doctor
Smith’s office and the ruined shanty, before we
convey e-i all the treasure away.

As I pnnted under the heavy weight of the
previous metal, I said to myself:

“ I am toiling for vengeance; love and hate,
the two ruling passions of this life, hold
sionof my breast: soon, both will be satisfied.
Livingstone. beware! 1am on your track. and
vo'ngeant‘e is burning in my veind Nell, re
'uice;”1 am seeking you out with love in my

eartl - "

l

 

CHAPTER XIV.
0N run Run).

Jon. Mavor Smith and myself all slept in
Smith’s cflice that night, guarding the treasure
we had louud. In the morning Smith brought
out a pair or' scales and proceeded to divide the
spoils. Judging by the weight, there was about
eighteen hundred dollars’ worth of gold and sil-
ver, not counting the diamonds, which were

robably worth three or four thousand more.
The division was at last completed.

Joe and I instantly made arrangements to
start at once for the East—first putting our
treasure in the hands of an Express company
and taking the receipt for the same, deliverable
in Denver City.

We went round town, bid good-b to all our
friends, received a hearty grasp o the hand
from Mayor Smith and a whispered intimation
that he would be East himself within six
weeks, and then we started on our homeward
jOurney.

Dead Man’s Gulch was the “ jumping-off
place of creation,” to use the expressive W est-
ernism.

The stage-line which ran from Catfish City to
the new diggings stopped at Dead Man’s Gulch
and want no further.

Joe Sparks, who had the history of the min-
ingeamp at his tongue’l end, explained to me
that, though a hundred—yes. a thousand at-
tempts had been made to strike “ pay dirt” in
the countr beyond the “Gulch,” no one had
made an; iscoveries, but there was plenty of
loose o] in the neighborhood of the Gulch, and
thereore the town had prospered.

The “stage,”as it was called. in which Joe
and i took passa e was nothing but a common
hack, decidedly t a worse for wear and, as it
ha pened, my campanion and myself were the
on 1y passengers.

he driver was an uncouth sort of a chap,with
a face like a pine-knot.

Jack Brannigan was his name, Joe informed
me when he saw the driver come out to take
charge of the stage, and after we 00

\

 >1

-Ih “mg... -

It passed away almost immediately, and if I

 

“Team. Gordon’éfirip;

 

 

our journey I chanced to remark that it was that he Won’t dare to try for to come at us I

 5;

my impression the driver was about as uglya
fellow as I had ever set eyes on.

“ \Val, I reckon the cuss will never be hung .

openly.”
” es, yes, I catch your idea! You think he
will endeavor to take us unawares," I sug-

for his beauty,” Joe avowed, with a prodigious  gested.

rin.
“ I should say there is not much danger of f

anything of that kind happening,” I replied.

“ And the was is jest as cross-grained as he
looks, too,” the Spider asserted.

“ Is that true?”

“ On, yes,” my companion answered; “I have
known all about the cuss ever since I struck
this ’ere country. Long Jack is the handle that
he most generally goes by, and the fellei's who
know jest what kind of a rooster he is are
mi hty skeery ’bont running up ag’in’ him, for
he is on the fight lvigger’n ii wolf!"

“Well, I should think he would be an ugly
customer in a row,” I observed.

“ lie ain’t no fist fighter, you mind!" the Spi—
der declared, in a c -ntemptuous Way.

“ The cuss is almost big enufl.’ to eat me, or at
least, anybody would be a t to think so to look
at him,”Joo continued. ‘But if it come to a
good, squar’ stand-up fight I would be willing to
put up two to one that I could whale the day-

ighte out of him, and it wouldn’t take me very
long to do it, either.”

I had seen enough of my companion to under-
stand that he was no boaster and never inclined
to oys-r-rate his own abilities.

“ He is one of the kind of men who immedi-
ately resorts to a weapon when he gets into any
dispute, I presume,” I remarked.

“ You’re right, for ducatsl" Joe declared.
“That is jest the kind of a hairpin he is, and
the miserable cuss don’t think any more of
shooting a man full of holes, or of r-arvmg him
up lgto mince-meat than I do of eating my din-
ner.

“ He is a good man to keep away from, then
unless a fellow is anxious to get into trouble,” I
sug ested.

“ ’es, that is so, and if a IPIIOW sees that he,

is in for a muss with a critter of this 'ere kind
he wants to sail in and climb him from the
start.”

“ Yes, that seems to me to be about the right
kind of a game to play,” I remarked.

Then my companion assumed a mysterious
air, and, lowering his voice as though afraid of
being overheard, said:

” Pard, i reckon thar is danger of our having
‘ a row with this pesky cuss afore we git through
with this trip.”

I was taken completely by surprise by this
revelation, for it was entirely unexpected.

“ What makes you think so?" i asked, being
careful to speak in the same cautious tone.

“ Wal, I saw that the cuss was a kinder look-
ing cross-ways at us afore we started,” the
Spider exclaimed. '

“ You see, pard, when a man takes up fight-
ing for a buainess, about the furst thing he
learns is to watch the eyes of the feller he is
goin up ag’in.”

“ lu, yes Iunderstandl” lexclaimed. “ That
is so he will be able to detect when his antago-
nist is about to attack.”

“ That is it! You have got it right the furst
timel" Joe declared.

“ I took a few lessons in fencing once, and my
instructor alwa s warned me to watch my op-
ponent’s eyes," remarked.

:‘ Sart’in! and arter a man gits the hang of the
thing he ain’t apt to make no mistake," Joe ob-
served with the air of an oracle.

“ That I can readily believe,” I responded.

“ I Jest .d the time 0’ day with Long
Jack wnen e came out to look arter his horses,
the Spider explained. “And 1 smelled a mice
jest as soon as i got a good look at his eyes.

“ He has got t in fur us, pard, and you kin
bet your bottom dollar on it too, every time!”

H Yes, ‘but why should he wish to quarrel
. with us!” I asked. “ It seems to me that it
would be a most unreasonable proceeding."

“ You don’t get the hang of the thing, I
reckon," Joe remarked with a grave shake of
the head.

“ I certainly must admit that I do not,” was
my answer.

“ I kin show ,you the rights of the thing in a
jiffy, I reckon the Spider asserted. '

“This ’ere ng Jack is a chum of English
Bob and his gang.

“ Ah. {08. now I understand!” I exclaimed.

” Eng ish Bob‘s saloon was allers Long Jack‘s
looting place when he was in the camp,” Joo ex-

lained. “ Why I reckon I have seen him there

fty times. and it is only natural, you know,
that he should kinder hanker to git a crack at
us, seeing that we cleaned out the gang he used
to go with.”

"Oh, yes, it is reasonable for him to wish to
avepge his friends, but as wears now on our
gun the chances are greatthat if he tries any
grins,“ that sort he wi l he apt to get the worst

t

.‘t‘ Waléhl rocker:l Vgehkiéi hold our own if we
g any ow at a , t e pider responded.

“ But this ’ere Long Jack is a p’ison cuss, and
as he knows I kin put up a still old fight, either
with my fists or weapons, and he has found out
too you ain’t noslouch, it is my opinion

 

“ It is my notion that he will try to play some
game of that kind.”

“ Well, We must be on the watch, and if he ,

succeeds in catching us napping he will be
smarter than I think he is,” l observ d.

“ I d0n’t exactly see bow tie critter is a-going
to git at u<.”J.ie remarked, shaking his head
with a puzzled air. “ But I am satisfied from
the way he looked at us that he has got some
scheme in his noddle, and I reckon we will make
a big mistake if we don‘t keep Our eyes peeled.”

I replied that we certainly would not be wise
if we did not watch the 1 river.

We had left Dead Man’s Gulch at seven in
the morning, and as the road was a bad one
it took the stage until twelve to get to the
first stopping place, some twenty-eight miles
away.

Mud Creek the station was named, and it
had once bid fair to be a good-sized place, but
the mines in the neighborhood had suddenly
“pctered out,” to use the mining expression,
and the inhabitants had sought “fresh fields and
pastures new.”

In the mining regions of the far West towus
grow up in a single week, and die fully as
rapidly.

Mud Creek was the dinner—station, and while
the passengers partook of the meal the horses
were changed.

There were now only about a half-a-dozen
horses left in the town—it is a peculiarity of the
new settlements in the mining region, that when
a man resolves to move from the camp in which
he is located on account of the gold playing out
that he usually moves his “shanty” too unless
the distance is too great.

As the houses are constructed in the most
flinli‘sy manner this is not such a very difficult
tas .

The dinner was in readiness when the hack
arrived: a gmd-natured little Irishman. with a
big buxom wife. had charge of the station, and
he ushered the passengers into the dining-room,
as soon as they alighted.

There was a couple already seated at the table,
a middleaged, smooth-faced, sleek-looking man
dressed in rather better clothes than the ma-
jvzérity of travelers wear in the wilds of the far

est.

A stranger to the men and customs of the
mining regions would have been apt to make
the mistake of thinking he was a minister, or if
not a clergyman, a deacon at least, but an old-
time Westerner, at the first glance, would have
guessed that the gentleman was a bright and
shining li ht of the adventuring band who
follow so c osely on the heels of the pioneers of
civilization, a “sport” Who made his living by
the aid or the printed pasteboards and the dotted
ivorv cubes. _

The sport's companion was a woman of twenty-
five or thereabouts, tall, welloformed and rather
good-looking.

She was dressed in a neat, dark-gran travel-
ing suit, and presented an extremely y-like
appearance.

“ Wal, now, if this hyer ain't a piece of luck l”
the (tiriver exclaimed, the moment he saw the

“ Why, Doc, you ar' jest the man I want to
see. I have got a hit of business that I want to
talk to you about.

“acme out hyer, so I kin have a chin with

on. '

“ Certainly, certainly! of course,” the sport
replied '

, And .then he followed the driver from the

room.

I had my e so on the woman’s face as the
sport departe<I, so 1 noticed that a shade passed
ever it, and she shot a glance full of distrust and
suspicion after the pair.

‘ ,Vg’fhat does this mean, I wonder?” I said to
in se .

‘hen I bowed politely to the lady and took a
seat at the table.

She returned my salutation courteously, and
then, to my surprise, fell to studying my face,
and an expression ap ared on her countenance
which seemed to indrceate that she was puzzled
about something. "

I took another look at the woman, thinking
possibl that I had encountered her at some pre-
vious me, for her face had a familiar look, but
I could not recall the circumstance of having
evor met her. ,

The Irishman proceeded to serve the dinner,
and in a few minutes the driver made his ap-
pearance.

“ Doc says you ar’ not to wait for him, but to
go right ahead with your dinner,” Long Jack
said. addressing the lady.

“Thar’s a lcetle bit of business that he has

got to look arter, and he will be back in a few ‘1
‘ evidlezntly a sport?” I
0.

minutes.”

The nodded assent and smiled pleasantly
at long ack; but as he turned away from her
to take his seat at the table, I saw {in expression
of angry resentment fluh rapid y across her

 

; now,” I

, “ The woman with
and agoooahlo, a rather superior creature to be

had not been watching her face intently, but in
a covert manner, I would never have noticed it.

“ I say, Mickey, you need not put in the hoeses‘
right to onc’t, for I don’t expect to git away
before one o’clock,” the driver said to the Irish-
man.

“ Phwat are yees afther doing?” the Irishman
exclaimed, in astonishment. ,

“ Thar‘sacouple of friends of the boss who
are on a huntingrtrip up in the mountains, and
they sent word to the old man that they call-u-
lated to take the stage at this p‘int today, but
they reckoned they wouldn’t be in much before
one o‘clock ; so the old man sent word to me that
I was to wait until one o’clock for them.”

“ Oh, yis, I see,” the IriShman replied.

Although apparently busy with my dinner, I
was keeping a close watch on the face of the
lady, and, while the driver was speaking, i could
plainly see that there was a 100k of distrust in
her eyes, and the thought immediately came to
me that she did not believe the driver was telling
the truth.

This was a very strange circumstance, and 1
meditated deeply over it.

Why should the driver tell a falsehood about
the matter! What had he to gain by so doing?

It was an extremely mysterious affair, and
the more I reflected upon the matter the more
puzzled I became.

In about ten minutes, just as we were about
through with the meal—for the station dinner
was far from being an elaborate one—the sport
came hurrying in.

“ Well, am not too late to get something to
eat, I hope i” he exclaimed in a jovial way.

“ I sent you word not to wait, Clara,” be con-
tinued. “ But I was detained longer than I
expected.”

“ Arrah, Doc, there’s hapes of grub for yeesl”
the Irishman declared.

The sport then seated himself by the side of
the lady and began his meal.

Joe and I had finished, so we rose and went
out to have a look at the, almost, deserted
camp.

There was a little mountain streamlet running
through the place, and we took our way down a
narrow trail whith followed the course of the
river.

We went on for a few hundred yards, until
we came to where the trail wound around some
beetling rocks, which jutt'rl out of the ground,
and then passed through a thicket of pines.

“ I say, pard, this ’ere is jest the place for a
nice quiet smoke.” the Spider suggested.

" Suppose we sit dawn and take a pull at our
pipes?’ he continued.

“ With all in heart!” I replied. “ It is a good
idea, for it wilIheip us pass the timeaway; we
have quite a wait.”

“ Yes, and we kin keep our eyes on the blamed
old hearse from ‘ere, so it can’t git away with-
out us.”

This was the truth, for from our position we
commanded a view of the station, and could see
the moment the horses were brought out to be
harnessed to the stage.

We seated ourselves in the shelter of a little
clump of junipers, so we were hid from the gaze
of any one in the town, although we command-
ed a complete view of the camp.

A moment after we sat down, the driver and
the sport came out of the station.

They halted in front of the house and cast
searching glances around. them. Q

There was something about this movement
which excited my suspicions.

“ Isay, Joe, do you notice the way the two
men are looking about them i” I asked.

“ 0 l, yes, I see ’em.”

“ Do you suppose they are trying to discover
what has become of us!”

" Wei, I dunno,” my companion replied in a
reflectiva wa . ,

“ Mebbe ey are,” he continued. “ But I
don’t see why they should trouble their heads
about us."

“ Neither do I, but somehow, I have got the
notion that they are looking after us,” I replied.

“ By sitting down in the shelter of the ever-
greens we have evidently concealed ourselves,
and, although we can see them they cannot see

“ I reckon that is so."
The two gazed about them, annoying all

, quarters of the compass for a few minutes, and
1 then they walked off, going down the valley in
l the opposite direction to the one which I and my

com ion had taken.

“ f they are arter us they will not be able to
smell us out by going ed to the southward," the
Spider declared with a grin.

“ Oh, I don"t; think they are in search of as
n ed.

“ Probab y it was only a bit of idle curiosity
on their part which prompted them to see where
we had gone,” I continued.

“ 3y the way, do you know this Doc, who is
inquired.

never ran up eg’in him afore, but I
'reckon there ain’t no doubt ’bout his being a
sport, to judge from the looks of the critter.”
him seem to beladyulike

   
 

.I. -i. .

~T. .. r... .- .41. ,3

18 Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

the wife of a man who is obliged to get his liv-
ing in such a precarious way.”

‘ Wal, this ’ere sport ’pears to me to be
much better than the Ordinary run on ’cm,” the
Spider remarked. “ And I should not be sur-
prised if he was from the East."

At this moment the woman came out of the
station, and we stopped talking in order to
watch her. ,

She looked after the sport, and the driver, un-
til they disappeared around a bend in the trail,
and then she came up the road heading directly
for us.

She advanced at a moderate pace, as though
she was merely walking to pass away the time,
find every now and then she cast a look behind

er.

“I reckon she acts kin'ier queer, hey?” the
Spider suggested.

“ Yes, there does seem to be something odd
about her movements,” I replied.

The woman fOIIOWed the trail and came
straight on to where we sat, and when she came
around the rocks, so that she had a. view of us,
she did not seem to be at all surprised.

She smiled, nodded slightly, and then cast a
careless glance down the trail, as if she wished
to ascertain whether any one was watching her
or not.

Apparently, she was satisfied that she was
not observed, for she came slowly on until she
got within the shelter of the evergreens, then
she halted, fixed her eyes on me and said:

“ I would like to speak to you alone for a few
moments, if tuis gentleman will be kind enough
to afford me an opportunity,” nodding to Joe as
she finished the sentence.

“ Sart’iu, marm!” exclaimed the Spider,
springing to his feet. ” Mighty glad to be able
to oblige ye!” And then With a polite bow, Joe
sauntered off up the trail.

The woman seated herseif upon one of the
bowlders, cast a searching look with her cold,
clear, ray-blue eyes upon my face, and said :

“ I hink this is not the first time that we
have met.”

“ Well, madam, [must admit that the thought
occurred to me,” I replied. “ Your face cer-
tainly seems to be familiar, and yet when I

-strive to recall when and where we encoun~

tered each other I find that my memory is at
fault.”

“ It was in New York City,” she remarked.

“ Yes, I presume ' was, but when you make
that statement it d not aid me to remember
the particulars of our meeting.”

“ It was almost five years ago.” 

I reflected for a moment, and then I shook my
head, for I could not remember the circum-
stance. .

“It was a cold and gloomy night in early
sprin ; it was near midnight, and on were
0 toNew York on one of the rooklyn
ferr -boats.

" here were not many passengers, and you
happened to stroll out to the stern of the boat
just in time to prevent a wretched girl from
jumping overboard—a poor, despairing, des r-
ate creature, who was intent upon burying or-
self and her sorrows beneath the dark waters.”

There was a world of thee in her voice as
she spoke, and the wo immediately recalled
the scene to my mind. ,

“Ah yes; yes, I remember you now!” I ex-
claimed.

" But it is got strafige thmgg not rgsfcginize

on at , or you ave c grea s nce
{hat tim ,” I added. y

“ Yes; that night was the turning-point in my
life,” she remarked.

“Ah, me!" and she uttered a deep sigh. “ I
do not think there ever wasa more miserable
creature in this world than I was on that dread-
ful n ht." .

“ es, I can recall that you were so utterly
given to dos ir that you thought the world

old no hope or you."

“I was in a terrible situation, so it 'was no
wonder that I was eager to end my sorrows by
seeking refuge in another world,” she replied.

“ I was a country girl, young, foolish and in-
clined to be gidd , she continued.

“ I had no mot or to advise me for I had the
misfortune to lose both my parents at an early
age, and I was brought up by my aunt, a
wealthy woman, but narrow-minded, and as she
never had any children of her own, she was not
able to understand or sympathize with the de-
sires of youth.

“ In her anxiety to bring me up in the right
way, she became a cruel, nagging tyrant, and
rendered me so uncomfortable that when a good-
looking stranger made my acquaintance and
professedto be deeply in lOVe' with me, it was
not a hard matter for him-to persuade me to
slope with him to New York, where we were
mar

ried.

“ But soon I awoke from my dream of bliss,”
the woman continued, with a deep sigh.

“ Within a week 1 made the discovery that
my husband was nothing but a miserable thief
and had married me with the idea that he could
in ti he, train the to aid him in his robberies
and when I told him that I would rather starve
than steal, he swore that if I did not do as he

wished he would kill me."

 

“ The miserable scoundrel l” I exclaimed, deep-
ly moved by the pathetic tale.

“ I replied hotly that I meant what ’I said;

$638? was preferable to such a life,” she re-
a .
“ My reply angered him, and he advanced
toward me with uplifted hand, and no doubt I
would have been cruelly beaten if the detective
officers had not at that moment entered the
room and arrested my husband. I was also
made prisoner, accused of being an accom—
plice.

“ He was tried and convicted, but, although
the detectives firmly believed me to be guilty,
yet, for want of evidence, I was released. ’

CHAPTER XV.
THE WARNING.

I HAD listened with the deepest interest to the
story. and new remarked that no doubt detec-
tive ofiirers often made the mistake of confound-
ing the innocent with the guilty.

“ In my case it was not a wonder that they
should not believe my story that I had no hand
in my husband’s misdeeds, for the very clothes
and jewelry which I Wore, presents from my
husband, were all stolen.”

” Oh, what a miserable wretch he must have
been!” I exolriimed.

“ Yes, but Heaven soon punished him for the
base wrong which he had done me, an innocent
and unsuspecting girl, for even while on his
way to prison, in a esperate attempt to escape
he was killed by the officers who had him in
char e.”

“ You are right, it was surely a righteous
doom!” I exclaimed.

“ After my discharge from the prison where I
had been confined during the court roceedings
I wandered around the city, utter y wretched
and disconsolate,” the woman continued.

“I had but a few cents in change in my
pocket, and knew not where to lay my head;
finally, late at night, I went on board of one of
the Brooklyn ferry-boats, having Come to the
conclusion that I would seek a refuge from my
sorrows beneath the dark waters, but there
were so many people on the boat that I could
not get a favorable opportunity to carry out my
purpose, and was obliged to wait for the return

r p.

“ It was a fortunate circumstance as it hap
pened, for by waiting you encountered me, and
. succeeded in persuading you to change your
mind ” I remarked.

“ Yes, the argument you used was an ex-
tremely strong one,” the lady observed with a
sun e.

“ When I told on that I was utterly wretched
and wanted to is, because I was al alone in
the world without friends or money, you in
the most generous manner put a twent -doilar
hill in my hand, without ever tak ng the
trouble to ask me for the particulars of my sad

wry;
“ ell, I suppose the action was not as pru-
dent as it might have been,” I observed.

“ But I was always an impulsive fellow, and I
had an idea, too, that I was a good judge of
human nature.

“ There was something in your face which
made me think you were fit for something tter
than to rush blind] to a watery grave, an then.
too, at that time happened to have plenty of
money, and could well afford to spare the twenty
dollars,” I added, laughing.

” Ah, it was a generous action, no matter
whether you had much money or little!” she
declared.

“ Your timely aid, accompanied as it was by
encouraging words, made me think that it was
possible that there might bea future for me,”
she related. “ So I took your money, and went
to a hotel that night where, on my bended knees
I prayed that the Lord would have mercy upon
me, and forgive me for daring to think of taking
the life which he had given.”

" Yes, .i t is a grievous sin for a man, or woman,
torush unsummoned into the presence of the
Creator ” l declared.

“ StilI, I can understand just how you felt,
for I have been the prey of dark despair my-
self, and at such a moment the unfortunate
wretch is headless whether he lives or dies,” I
continued.

“ It really seemed as if the meeting with you
turned the current of my luck,” the lad affirm-
ed. “ For the next morning I arose fee lug bet-
ter than I had since the cloud of trouble descend-
ed upon me, and 1 made up my mind to do my
best to earn an honest living.

“ I got a frugal breakfast in the restaurant of
the hotel, and then looked owr the advertise-
ments in a morning pa r which I purchased.

“ While I could not t of any accomplish-
ments, yet I understood all about housework and
was a good needlewoman.

“There was an advertisement of a lad going
to California who desired a nurse-girl and scam-
stress, and although I was afraid that the lack
of recommendations would hinder me from get—
fla’g the situation, yet'l made hold to apply for

“ The chances were in your favor, for it is not
alww easy to find any one willing to go to such
a 6 nos,” I remarked.

- would

 

“Yes, so it happened in this case. The lady
was a middle-aged Englishwoman, on her way
to join her husband in California. He was an
evngineer employed at one of the mines at Grass

e .

“ 1 {old the lady frankly that as I had always
lived with m aunt, and had never been out to
service, I b no recommendations. As it hap-
pened, she was pleased with my appearance, so

obtained the situation and departed for Cali-
fornia that very afternoon.”

“ You were singularly fortunate, and you see
how unwise you were to give way to despair,” I
remarked.

“Yes, your kindly interference completely
changed the current of my life.” she observe .
“ Before I had been a year in California I me“,
the gentleman who is now my husband, a‘d
after a brief courtship we were married,” unxi
as the lady came to the end of the sentence $1.0
heaved a deep sigh.

lwas rather perplexed by the situation. If
her husband was a sport, a gambler, as I sue-
pected, it would not be hardly the thing to con:
gratulate her upon making such a marriage,
and so, not exactly knowing What to s y I hell
my ace, contenting myself with nodding my
hes in a friendly way.

“Are you well enough acquainted with the
men and manners of this wild Weso-rn land to
detect from my husband’s <ire~s and appearance
what business he follows?” she asked, abruptly.

As the question was put thus plainly. I felt
that I ought to answer it without attempting to
beat about the bush.

" I imagined from your husband’s looks that
he is what is called a sport," I replied.

“Correct! the Western term for a gambler,”
she obserVed, in an extremely matter-of-fact

way.

“ Possibly, now that you are avquainted with
my history. the thought has c. line to you that I
have been almost as unlucky in my second mar-
ria e as in my first,” she observed with a sad
III" 6.

“ Well, really to tell the truth. I have not
given the matter a thought,” I answered. .

“ P <ibly y0u have been long enough in the
Wes to understand that a sporting man—a
gambler, is not considered to be suv-h a dreadful
creature as he is in the E11815,” she said.

“ Yes, I am aware of the fact,” was my re-

ly.
p “ He was a doctor with a good practice when
I married him, Doctor James Lawsou, of Grass
Valley, but he was always inclined to be a little
wild, and would ’most rather sit down with a
jovial party to a card-table than attend to his
patients, and so it followed that he gradually
eat his practice, and, finally, was compelled to
take up the life of a sport.”

“ That was certainly unfortunate,” I re«
marked.

“ As far as I am concerned Ihave no com-
plaint to make, for he has always been one of
the best and kindest of husbands, but since we
have come into this country we have had a terri-
ble run of ill-luck, and I greatly fear that my
husband, who is easily influenced, has made
friends with some bad men who will be apt to
get him into trt uble.”

“ That is certainly unfertunate," I assented,
not exactly knowing what to say, for I could
not understand why she should take the trouble
to make this disclosure to me.

" As a rule, my husband never has any secrets
from me, but since this run of had-luck com-
menced in Dead Man’s Gulch, I am convinced
that he has entered into an arrangement with
some men which he is desirous of keeping from
my knowledge.

“It is a rule with nearly all sporting men
when they have a fearful run of ba l-luck in any
particular town to go away, hopin to thus
charge their evil fortunes into good, she con-
tinu .

“ Y3, I have heard of such a scheme,” I re-

nd .

“ I have always acted as my husband‘s ban-
ker, and when our store of cash was reduced to
a certain sum then we concluded that it was
time for us to be on the move._ I

“ We arrived at that condition last week, so
we left Dead Man’s Gulch, but, to my surprise,
we stopped at this place, and we have been here
ever since.” .

I expressed my surprise at this, for, as I said,
there did not seem to be any chance for a spOrt
to make a living in a deserted town.

“ That is exactly what I said to my husband,
but he attempted to sat13fy me b vague hints
that he had been told that one of the abandoned
mine. was y valuable, and he had an idea
that something might be made out of it,” she
explained.

Is our husband a practical miner, who
able to tell by rsonal inspection
whether a claim was valuab am not!" I asked.

“ Oh, no!” she replied, immediately. “ He
knows nothing at all about such things, and so
the moment he began to explain that that was
why he had halted here I knew he was deceiv-
ing me. ”

“ It is a ver strange affair.” I suggested.

“ I think, t at, owing to his run of ill-luck.
he has allowed himself to be persuaded to go in

 

If 36>;

 

{‘1
If 36>;

 

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

19

 

 

with some of these mountain d radoes who
infest the trails in this part of the country,”

she remarked, an anxious expression on her

face.

there isn’t anything of the desperado about
him,” I observed.

“Oh, no; he would not join in any outrages,
I an) sure—that is, would not be a party to any
violence; but he could be of a great deal of as-

sistance to the outlaws without actually going .

with the gang,” she explained.

“ Possibly you have heard ( f Black Bert and
his road—agent band ?" she continued.

I answered in the affirmative, but further said

I knew but little about the man or his deeds, in '

conclusion remarking:

is a man who calls himself Black Bert, and he

commands a gang of outlaws who have c0m- 1
mith various depredations in the section of ;
country lying between Catfish City and the min— ,
' * Long Jack’s hostile lo« uks,” she admitted.

lug-camp of Dead Man’s Gulch.”

“ He has proved himself to be an unusually
active and skillful outlaw,” Mrs. Lawson re-
marked. “ It is only about three months since
he began operations, but during that time he
has suched in making a name for himself,and
although there have been half a dozen deter-
mined a' tempts made to capture himz yet none
of the parties have ever succevded in getting
sight of the outlaw, and the accounts in regard to
him are so conflicting that no one seems to know
what the man looks like, or even how many men
he has in his band.”

“ I can readily understand that it is to his ad-
vantage to keep the facts concealed as much as
possible,” I observed.

“ Oh, yes, that is undoubtedly true,” she re-
plied. “ When this outlaw succeeded in evading
the searches which were made for him so clev-
erly, it was suspected that he had spies in the
mining-camp w ho warned him of what was go-
ing on in time for him to hide away.”

‘ Well, I believe that is the usual way in
which these outlaws manage,” I suggested.

“ I am sadly afraid that my husband has been
persuaded to become one of Black Bert’s spies,
and I think his stay in this place was for the
purpose of putting himself in communication
with the outlaws.

“ It is my husband’s intention to try his luck
in Catfish City for awhile. and in a bustling
, .town like that, which is the headquarters for
three stage-routes, he could be of great assist-
ance to t e outlaws by giving them information
in regard to plunder and timely warning of any
attempts to capture them.”

“ Certainly his services would be valuable,” I
remarked.

“ I am sadly afraid that the bad luck which
has pursued my husband has induced him to lis-
ten to the voice 'of the tempter,” she declared
with a grave shake of the head.

“ It is certainly unfortunate if such is the
case,” I replied.

" Probably you think it is strange I should
speak to you about the matter,” she said, in a
peculiar, abrupt way.

“ But, in the first place, I reco 'zed you and
desired to extend my thanks or the service
which you once so kindly rendered me,”she con-
tinued. “And then, too, I thought there was a
chance that I might be able to repay the debt I
owe you.” .

“ Oh, that is all right l” I exclaimed. “ Don’t
mention it, I beg! At the time I met you I was
leading a pretty fast life, and if I had not given
you the twenty dollars it is certain that I would

ave thr0wn it away before morning.”

“ Ah, I did not mean that I wished to give
you back the money," she replied with a sad
smile. “For that, unfortunately, is out of my
power, at present, owing to the run of bad Inc
which has attended my husband during the past

month.

“ But I think I can do you a service, unless I
am atly mistaken.”

“ on are on your way to the East!”

u I am,” I  i“.

“Probably on have been fortunate in your
Ventures, an having made all the money you
require at present, have concluded to go back
to your former home—believe me," she con-
tinued in an abrupt and earnest way, “ I do not
seek to rpry into your affairs out of any more
idle c’u osity, but have a deep purpose in
view.

“ Oh, I have no objection to answering the
question,” I replied. '“ I have managed to make
a goqdl sum of money, and as that is all I came
to the est for, there is no reason now why '1
should not return to my old home.”

“ You are surely not imprudent enough to
carrv the money with ou l” she exclaimed.

“Oh, no, I havs on y a moderate amount—
enough to pay my expenses to Denver, and a
trifle over, possibly.”

“ I am glad of t at, for I think there is a lot
(in foot to rob you, and that is why I wish to
give you a warning.”

I was considerably astonished by this dis-
closure, and I presume the lady detected an in-
credulous look on my face for she immediately

f

“ But to judge from your husband’s looks, 1

‘ with whom the driver is on intimate terms.
“ About all I know of the fellow is that there .

.us with an overwhelming force, we ought to be

 

“I suppOSe that this does not seem possible,
but I think I can soon show you that there is a
deal of ground for suspicion.’

“I have too much confidence in your good
sense to think you would harbor such an idea
without there were good grounds for it," I re-
plied politer but at the same time I must ad-
mit thatI did think the idea was rather far-
fetched, and I doubted if she could bring for-
ward evidence to justify the suspicion.

“ In the first place I suspected from the way
the driver looked at you that something was
wrong,” she began.

“ I can throw a little light on that subject,” I
explained. “Myself and companion had some
trouble in Dead Man’s Gulch with a tough gang

“ “'e succeeded in getting the best of the fel- .
lows, and, as is only natural under the circum- i
stances. the driver would like to get a chance to
do us an ill turn.” ._

“ Well, that explanation might account Igor

ut
here is another circum~tance which I don’t think
you will be able to explain.

“ This wait of the stage until one o’clock.”

“ To accommodate the hunting-party," I sug-

ested. “ So the driver said.”

“That is utter nonsense!” she declared, in an
impatient way.

“ In the first place, if the hunting-party want-
ed to take the stage they could as easily arrange
to get there at welve o’clock as at one. ’

‘ That certainly seems to be the truth," I was
com lied to admit.

“ n the second place there is no hunting party
for it must be a small one, three or four men
only, or else they could not find accommodations
in the coach, and as toe Indians are ugly at pres-
ent, and resent any intrusion of the white men
into their territory it would be as much as the
lives of the hunters are worth to venture away
from the towns, so it is certain that if a small
party should dare to go up into the mountains
irito the Indian Territory, they would be killed
by the red-skins within four and twenty
hours.”

“ Yes, I know from What I have heard of the
temper of the Indians since I have been in
Dead Man’s Gulch that you are correct in that
statement, but when the hunting party was
spoken of I gave little heed to the matter, and
did not think of questioning the truth of the
statement. ” I

“ The yarn about the hunters is but an excuse
to account for the dela .”

“ But why do we wa ti” I inquired.

“ To give time for the driver to send word to
the out aws that there is sbmebod y in the stage
who is worth robbing, and to allow them an op-
portunity to get rea _y for the attack l” she de-
clared in a tone of voice which plainly indicated
that she felt certain she had guessed correctly in
r ard to the matter.

meditated over the affair for a few moments
and now that the explanation had been given I
saw how reasonable it was. '
I believe you are right i” I ex-

“ I feel sure of it!” Mrs. Lawson replied.
“ And that is why my husband and Long Jack
are holdin these mysterious conferences.”

“ Well, goth my companion and myself are
fully armed, and unless the road-agents attack

able to beat them 03," I suggested.

The lady shook her head.

“From the way in which you speak I judge
that you have not had any experience with
these outlaws who make a business of robbing
the coaches,” she said. '

. “5:9,; I have read of their proceedings; that
is a .

“ In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the
outlaws arrange the attack in such a way that
the passengers, no matter how well armed they
may be, are not all0wed the chance to offer
an resistance, for if they attem ted to show
fig t it would only result in the r death, and
so the submit.” »

“0 course, a man could not very well do
anything else under the circumstances,” I re.
mar

“ I think the obabilities are great that it
the stage is attac ed by road-agents—and I feel

itive that it will be—the attack will be made
11 such a way that it will be madness for you
to attempt to resist, so you had best prepare
yigilirself to submit with as good a grace as pos-
s e.

“ ‘ the most of your money, so that?“
you will not be robbed of all you have, and in-
struct your companion to do the same.

“ Dd not hide it all away, you know, because
if you are without any money the outlaws will
immediately suspect that you have hidden it
away,” she continued.

“Yes, that is true and I will take good care
not to make a mistake of that kind: and now I
must thank on for your friendly warning,” I
said. ratefu 1y.

 

‘ A , do not speak of that,” «he replied. 1 “ I
am but returning the kindness Which you showed
me five years ago.

“ You cast your bread upwn the waters then,
and it has returned to you after many days,

just as in the old Scriptural saying,” she con-
tinu

“ But one favor I will ask of you, though,”
Mrs. Lawson added. “My husband is weak,
but not willfully bad; he is terribly pushed for
money, and so has listened to the voice of the
tempter. If he should get into trouble, pray
have mercy upon himl”

And then, without waiting for my reply, she
turned and walked swiftly away.

Joe, who had been watching the interview
from a distance, now approached.

CHAPTER XVI.
'rns: ATTACK.

Knownm that the Spider could be trusted to
keep a secret, I did not hesitate to reveal to him
the main particulars of my interview with Mrs.
Lawson.

“ I reckoned that pesky stage-driver had it in
for us!” he exclaimed.

“ To my mind the warning is well worth con-
sidering,’ l remarked.

“Oh, yes, there ain’t any doubt ’bout that!”
Joe declared, immediately. “ Some of these
women are right smart in smelling out a game
of this kind, and there ain’t much doubt in my
mind that she has sized the thing up about
right.”

“ We had better stow away ou.‘ \aludbles
then." I suggested.

We had retained a hundred di-llars apiece,
thinking that Would be amply sufilcieu. :0 pay
our way to Denver, where we would get the
money which we had forwarded by Express,
and as all We had paid out of the hundred was
our fare to Catfish City we had consxderable
money on hand.

“ Let me see,”I remarked, reflectively. “I
think that if we allow the road-agents to get
about twenty dollars apiece out of us it would
be about doing the fair thing by these knights
of the road.” , ,

“ I reckon that fifteen is all I shall give them,”
the Spider suggested. “ A teller of my stamp
ain’tsupposed to go around heeled like a million-
sure.

As it happened the most of our money was
in hills, so retaining the coin in our pockets we
carefully folded the bills and put them under
the sweatband of our hate.

This was my idea and one that pleased my
companion eatly.

“ I have 0 ten heered of coves a-stowing away
their ducats in the lining of their coats, and in
their boots, but the hat trick is a new dodge,”
he remarked.

“ I ho it will succeed,” I replied. “ At any
rate it s the best we can do under the circum-
stances.” '

We remained on the‘hilLside until five min-
utes of one, and then returned to the station,
arriving there just as the horses were brought
out to be attached to the stage.

The driver came slouching up, the sport fol-
lowing a little in the rear.

Long Jack looked at his watch.

“ It wants two minutes of one,” he said.
“ And I don’t see hide nor Max of them ar’ hun-
tert'rpilgrimsi” ’

e doctor pretended to take a careful look
up and down the trail.

“ There is no sign of them coming in any di-
rection,” he remarked.\

f‘ We willgive ’em five mln’teslee-way,” Long
Jack announced. /

“ At five min’tes past one this hyer hearse is
a— oing to start, pilgrims or no pilgrims!

' I am one of the kind of tellers w’ot obeys
orders even if he breaks owners,” he continued
in a boastful way.

“ They said for me to wait hyer until one; I
am going to gi’n’em five mln’tes grace, and
then I’ll cut my lucky!

“Better git on board so as to be ready for a.
m, for we are going right sharp at the time I

Mrs. Lawson came from the station at this
moment, her husband assisted her into the sta ,
then got in himself while Joe and I followed is
example.

Mr. and Mrs. Lawson sat on the back seat
while I and my companion occupied the front

one.

“ I would like to know where in thunder the
driver reckoned to put any more passengers,”
Joe remarked. “’Cos this here thing is as full
as it can stick now.”

“I believe that he only expected two more
and he would have taken t em on top with him,”
Lawson explained.

The sport had an easy, good-natured way
with him, the sort of man who would be apt.
to produce a favorable impression upon,
strangers.

Of course when I made my companion ac-
quainted with the warning which 1 had re-
ceived I did not betray Mrs. Lawson’s confidence
by revealing that she was apprehensive that her
husband was in league with the road-agents.

The driver mounted \to the box and at exactly

. five minutes past one he cried out:

“Time's up, and we ar’oflf! If the pilgrims

.put in an appearance, ole man uru-r we 3,0

gone, jest gi’n ’em my compliments and .say that

 

 

2O

 

I couldn’t afford to wait all day for them so
they will have to take the next stage; solongl”

This speech was addressed to the Irishman,
‘who grinned as if he had an impression the
driver had cracked a famous joke, then the
driver chirruped tohis horses and away they
went.

For ten or fifteen minutes no one spoke and
then Lawson began by remarking that he was
glad he was getting out of the Dead Man’s Gulch
region, for he had not had a bit of luck since he
came into the country.

Then. in a dexterous way, he endeavored to
ascertain whether we had struck it rich in the
Gulch.

Of course I was satisfied that the driver had
'told him all that he knew about us, but as that
worthy was not aware of the streak of luck
which had “ come my way,” it was not p0‘81l)l€
for him to do anything more than guess at
whether I had been successful or not.

I answered in an evasive manner; said I had
no reason to complain, but did not think much
of the town as a dwelling-place and so was glad
.to get out of it.

Finding that I was not inclined to be commu-
nicative the sport gave up the attempt to
“ pump ” me, and the conversation finally turned
to the subject of road-agents.

The sport told a dozen different stories illus-
trative of the way in which these outlaws ()‘kfr‘
ated, for as he explained he was well qualified to
report upon the matter as he had the misfortune
to make the acquaintance of some of the most
notorious men in the line who had operated in
‘the West.

“ I cannot say that I ever lost much wealth,”
Lawson said in c0uclnsion. “ For every time
that I happened to be held up by these self-con-
stituted toll collectors I chanced to be playing in
bad luck as it happened and so I had very
little money to lose.’

I “ I do not suppose there is any danger of our
being stopped to-day,” Mrs. Lawson remarked,
in a careless way.

“ Well, no; I do not think there is much prob-
ability of our being interfered with,” the sport
re lied, in a reflective way.

‘It is some time since there has been any
trouble on this route, but there was a fellow
called Black Bert who used to make it lively for
the passengers on this line once in awhile.”

“Ah, yes; I have heard of the man,” I ob—
served. “ And according to all accounts he is a
bold and desperate fell. w.”

“ Yes, yes; he certainly carried matters with
.a bi h hand,” the sport affirmed.

“ at one thing about these attacks I never
understood—of course, as I am a stranger to this
part of the country and never happened to en-
counter one of these road-agents, I haven’t a
very clear idea of how they do business. But as
I commenced to say, I don’t see how two or

"three fellows manage to hold up a stage full of

well-armed men.

“ Now take us, for instance,” I continued,
directing the conversation intothis channel for
the ex press purpose of seeing what the sport
would say.

“ Here we are three men, provided with good
wea ns, and we on ht to be able, with the ro-
tect on afforded by t e coach,to giVe a good ght
to six or eight desperadoes.”

My words immediately made the sport ner-
vous.

“ Ah. my dear sir, it is plain that
know much about the way these roe -
business, or you would never talk like
declared.

“ In the first place, the outlaws arrange their
attack in such a way that it is not possible for
the men in the coach to offer resistance without
exposing themselves to certain death," the sport
continued.

“ I don’t pretend to be a great warrior, but I
have always been able to ho d my own,” he add-
ed. “ Yet, when it comes to trying to get my
revolver out while a couple of road agents are
covering me with double-barrelsd shot-guns or
Winchester rifles, I don’t want any of it in mine,
thank you.”

And the sport wound up the speech with an
expressive grimace.

“ Well, :under such circumstances as that’, I
gon’it guppose that a man could make a fight, I
’ e l e .

3 That is the way they work the ame, every
time," the sport declared. “ And am free to
say, my dear sir. that, «far as I am concerned,
I would very much prefer to give up a few dol-
lars than to risk my life by attempting to beat
oifuaogfang of thfise marauders. t

course, a man was carrying a grea
deal of mono —if he had his fortune with him,
which he h toiled hard to win, then I can un-
derstand why he should make a desperate ef-
fort to prevent it from being taken from him.”

And as he uttered the remarks the sport cast
a sly glance at me, as though anxious. to see what
im ression the speech produced upon me. .

laughed outright, somewhat to his surprise.
“ Well, as far as. I am concerned I most as-
rsuredly wouldn’t risk my life for the money I
now have in my pocket,” I declared.

“ And to my thinking a man must be decided-
ly foolish to make a journey like this with any

on do not
ents do
is,” he

 

 

 

amount of Wealth upon his person. It appears
to me like a sheer tempting of Providence. ’

“ If any road-agent goes for me you kin bet
your Ii fe that w’a't he gits won’t kee him out of
the poor-house for long!” the Spi er declared
with a grin.

“ Well, I must admit that my wallet has a
lean and hungry look,” the sport observed.

“ But I bail no idea that you two gentlemen
were as badly off.”

"‘ We are any thine: but flush,” I replied.
“ And if we don’t strike pay-dirt soon we will
be in a bad way.

“Throw up your hands!” cried a stern voice.

The coach came to a sudden halt.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
BLACK BERT.

DESPITE my avowalthatl would not be in-
clined to oil‘er resistance in the event of an at-
tuck, yet when the “ slogan” of the road-agents
fell on my ears I reached for my revolver in
haste as I looked out of the windo W.

The Spider acted in a similar manner, while
the sport lay back in his seat and cried out in
alarm:

“ You are very foolish to feel for your weap-
ons, gentlemen, unless you are anxnous to get us
all killed l”

And when I looked out of the window I MW
at a glance that Lawson was right in his state-
ment, that the road-agents usually arranged
their attacks in such a way that the passengers
stood no chance for their lives if they attempted
to resist.

A man on foot, dressed in the usual rough
clothes common to the region, With lllgxi mots,
the s urs of which seemed to indicate that he
had at lately dismounted, and with his face
concealed by a black mask, had stepped out of a
clump of pines by the side of the road, not over
five paces away, and, with a rifle leveled full at
the coach, presented a decidedly disagreeable
sight.

On the other side of the sta e was a second
man, dressed and armed exact y like the first,
while fifty feet ahead, in the woods, was a third
man, got up in the same fashion, but mounted
on a mettlesome steed.

This was evidently the road-agent leader, for
it was he who had halted the stage. and com-
manded the driver to throw up his hands.

From the fact, too, that a bushy, black beard
covered his chin, escaping from under the mask,
the presumption was strong that this was th
outlaw chief, Black Bert, in person. -

“ Don’t you reach for to ull no we’pons,
unless you want to git plugg for keeps! ’ the
road-agent on my side of t e coach exclaimed
as I stuck my head out of the window.

The fellow on the other side addressed a limi~
lar warning to the Spider.

Lawson was alarmed, and hastily spoke:

“ My dear airs, do not be hasty in opening
fire, I beg of you i” he cried.

“These two gentlemm are strangers to this
part of the country, and as this is the first time

they ever chanced to meet with any of you ,

gentlemen of the road they do not know exactly
ow to behave, but I am sure neither one of
them is anxious to get his ticket for the happy
hunting-ground at present, so I must r nest
you to go slow, and then, too, there is a y in
the coach.”

At this point the horseman spoke.

“ What is the matter down there?” he asked,

in a she , impatient way.

“Sure , none of the ilgrims are going to
bie foolis enough to s ow fight?" he con-
t nued.

“ Unless they are anxious to be put in a con-
dition to be planted without any ceremony, they
will not try any game of that kind.

“ Tell them who I am, Long Jack,” he com~
manded, in a loud and arrogant way.

“ Tell them that Black Bert, the King of the
Road, has come to collect his toll, and the man
who refuses to pay diel on the spot—dies the
death of a dog, and we leave him for the moun-
tain-wolves to feed upon!”

“Oh, that is all right, Bert," the driver re-
sponded. “ Everything is all right. The pas-
sengers in the hearse have too blamed much good
sense for to try to play any roots on a man who
means business every time, same as you do."

Then the driver addressed us:

“I say, gents, the toll-collectors have come,
and as thar ain‘t ary bit of use kicking up any
row ’bout the matter, unless some on you are
anxious for a chance to git filled full of holes,
you had better all git ready to step up to the
captain’s office and settle.”

“ It is all right, Jack,” Lawson declared.
“ There isn’t any one here who is foolish enough
to attempt to resist.

“That is correct, isn’t it, gentlemen!” he ex-
claimed, appealih to us.

Of course, un er the circumstances, to at-
tempt to fight would have been the height of
folly, particularly as we had made our prepar-
ltgmll so its)“ we had but little to lose.

0 as 3

“ Y: n are correct. Mr. Lawson; we haven’t
any intention of uttrmptlng to resist, for we are

,__. ~_.,._,--,_~ I

Potentive Gordonls an. ' I ..

1 not anxious to make our exit from the world at
present.”

“That is where your head is level,” the sport
exclaimed, in tones which betrayed decided sat-
isfaction. '

Then he called out to the driver:

“ Tell the gentleman, Long Jack, that none of
us has any idea of making any trouble particu-

larly as we have a lady in the Coach.”
l The driver delivered the message to the road-
! agent chief.

“ Very good!” he exclaimed.

“I am glad to learn that you passengers are
inclined to take a sensible view of the matter,”
he continued.

“ Little affairs of this kind will happen every
now and then, and the wise man always makes
up his mind to get through with as little trouble
as possible.

“ And as for the lady, I hope she will not be
at all alarmed, for she will he treated with the
utmost consideration and politeness.

“ Black Bert always allows ladies to pass free
over any road which he controls."

“ I am not afraid,” Mrs. Lawson remarked.

I suppose we looked at her with inquiring
eyes, so she felt impelled to answer.

The road-agent chief now rode up to the
coach and looked in through the window by
which 1 sat.

As it WIIS rather warm we had the windows
down, so ho was able to get a good view of the
interior of the coach.

line first one to come under his observation
was the sport.

“Hello! why, Doc Lawson, are you in the
hearse?” he asked in a tone of surprise, and
speaking as though the sport was an old ac-
quaintance.

“ Oh, yes; I am here,” Lawson replied, at-
ten: ting to put a cheerful face on the matter.

“ ell, well, I am glad to see you 1” Black
Bert declared.

“ I suppose I ought to be polite enough to re-
turn the compliment, but I cannot do it and
speak the truth. for 1 am so deucedly bad off
for money just now that a toll-gatherer is about
theeéast man that I want to meet,” the sport re-

li .

The road-agent chief laughed.

“ Oh, well, these little accidents will happen
once in awhile,” he remarked. “And you are
too old a sport not to accept the situation with
the calmness of a hilosopher.”

“ Yes, i genera ly take whatever comes with
as good a grace as pOssible,” Lawson remarked
with an air of resignation.

“Then you know, too, that as turn about is
fair play it is only right that I should get a back
at you, for I had the misfortune to buck against
your game one night when you were running
aplace in Catfish City, and at the end of an
hour or so I got up from the table much poorer
than when sat down,” the outlaw chief ex-

 

plained.

“ You have the advantage of me, you see,”
the‘sport remarked. “ For although you are
evidently acquainted with me yet it would be
‘ difficult for me to identify you.

“ Oh, yes, that is true enough 1” Black Bert
responded.

" You can bet your bottom dollar that I did
not walk into your gambling she bang rigged out
as I am fin—day.” '

“ No, I should say not.” the sport affirmed.

“I reckon it would have caused a deal of ex-
citement if I had, and the chances are big, that
some of the Catfish City men would have gone
for me with a n in an endeavnr toearn the
reward which understand my friend, his high
and mighty excellency the governor of the
Territory, has been kind enough to offer for my
apprehension, dead or alive,” and then the out-
law chief fave utterance to a scornful laugh.

“ Yes, reckon with all your nerve, Bert,
that a game of that kind would be a little too
big for you to handle," the sport remarked-

‘You are ri ht, Lawson, for a thousand
ducatsl” Black rt declared with a loud laugh.

“ I would be apt to consider an ante of that
kind a little too steep to allow me to come into
the game.

“ Oh, no; when I visit the haunts of civilisa-
tion, I dress like the rest of the world, and am
as mild-mannered a man as ever cut a throat or
scuttled a ship, as the saying is,

“ Are on bound for Catfish City i” the outlaw
asked, a ru tly.

“ I am,” wson replied.

" Going to open a game the-rel”

“ Not right away, for I hav‘n‘t the money to
back a speculation of that kind.”

“ You will probably get a situation, then, to
deal faro for some of the games now running in
that lively burg?”

"Very likely,” Lawson answered. “I have
got to do something of that sort, for I am about
down to the bed-rock.”

“I will make it a point to call on on and
risk a few stakes as soon as you get set ed,” the
outlaw remarked, in a patronixi way.

“You will not have an‘y troub e in recognisc
ing me the next time I ch p into your ame, for
i you will kn0w me by my beard! Ho, ho. ha!”

I And then Black Bert au hed loud and long.
The other road-agents f

 

oined in the ‘ merri-

M

 

’il

“‘W-w-r -

ment in such an extremely hearty way that it
was lain they considered that their leader
had ven utterance to an extremely Jeke.

I udged from this that the beard Was a false
one, worn for a disguise.

“ Oh, I am too much of a htleman to give
the thing away, even if I di recognise you,”
the s rt responded.

“ ell Doc, I don't doubt that that is the
truth, a though there isn’t many men who
would not be glad to get a crack at me if I had
ever gone through them on the road; that is, if
they thought there was a good chance for them
to call the turn.”

Then, with a polite bow to the lady, he con.
tinned:

“ This is Mrs. Lawson, I believel”

" Yes, sir," she replied.

“ I am gladto have the pleasure of meeting
you, madam, and I trust you will not allow
yourself to be alarmed by this little accident,
as there is not the slightest danger of your be-
ing disturbed in an wa ."

“ I am very muc ob iged indeed, sir, for the
assurance,” the lady replied.

“Don’t mention it, madam, I beg,” Black
Bert remarked, with a polite bow.

And then the outlaw chief cast his eyes on
me.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
_ in run ournaw's rowan.

“ I ’Dorz’r think i have ever had the pleasure
of seeing you before,” Black Bert remarked.

“Not to my knowledge,” I replied. “Still,
'as I am not able to get a view of . our face, I
cannot be certain about the matter.”

“I can satisfy your mind in regard to that
point,” the outlaw'chief replied, shortly.

“ This is the first time that we have ever
17 9t.

Then he fixed his eyes on my companion.

“ Hello, Spider, how do you find yourselfi’ he
exclaimed.

Joe did not seem to beat all surprised at being
thus accosted.

“ I am not doing any grumbling jest now,” he
replied.

‘ I am able to be up and around, and git
away with my three squar’ meals a day, when I
am lucky enough to git ’em," he added, with a

n.

“ I don’t doubt it!” the outlaw chief ex-
claimed. “ Well, Spider, I am glad to meet
you, and I don’t mind saying that I have been
v‘~ hopes i would run across you on the road for
so .etime.”

There’s an old saying, you know, that if a
man waits long enough almost everything is
bound to happen to him,” Joe remarked with
the air of a philosopher.

“ Ah, yes, 1 think I have heard that before,"
the outlaw chief remarked.

“ Well, Spider, I suppose you are a little
curious as to why I was anxious to meet you.”

“ You wanted to clean me out of my rocks, I
reckon, ’00s that -is the game that ducks of your
kind general] pla ,” my companion replied in
the bluntest k nd 0 way.

“ Your words go as strai htto the mark as
your lists usually do,” Black rt obserVed.

“ But the reason why I wanted to meet you
was so you would have an opportunity to square
up a little debt which you owe me.”

“ Owe nothing!" Joe declared. “ I don‘t owe
you a cent! How could I! I never run across
you store!” _

“ That may be, but I have run across on,
and- to my sorrow,” the read-agent chie re-
torted.

“ Go 'longl now on are trying to stuff me,
but it won‘t work!’ the Spider asserted.

“ Oh, no, honest Injunl Black Bert replied.

“ When you were matched to fight the English-
man I was fool enough to believe the arm they
told about his bein a manokiller, an so 1 put a
hundred dollars on im.”

H wu. he gi'n you a fight for your money and
did the best he knew how." J00 retort“.

“ And if you was donkev encugh to believe
that a man of forty odd, with a stomach on him
like an alderman, stood any whence a ‘in’ a
young chap of twenty-five, who took suc good
care of himself as to be able to fight a battle
right of! of his beer at any time, you ought to
have lost your coin.”

“ Oh, yes, Spider, I admit that I madea great
mistake about the matter, but that don’t pre-
vent me from being glad to get a chance to take
a few ducats out of you, so as to help square me
up a little,” Black Bert observed.

“ Well, pard, you are dead right on one thing,
and tha is, the ducats vou git out of me will be
few an no mistake!" JOe asserted, with a grin.

“Is it possible?” the outlaw chief exclaimed,
pretending to be deeply concerned.

“ Well, iiow,l must remark that I am truly
desoluied, (is a Frenchman would say.

" You are playing in bad luck too, then, just
the same as Dix,- Lawson here?"

“I ain‘t struck a good stake for a month of
Sunday~ !“ the Spider declared.

“ Is that sol and a month of Sundays is a
deal of time too,” Black Bert responded, in a re
flective way.

“ Well, well, I must say that it is really too

 

Detective Gerdon’s Gr

Am~1rri:~

ipi h

 

. —

2%

 

bad, and I am grieved to the soul,” ' the out-
law chief shook his head in a  way.

Then he turned his eyes upon liie.

“ I trust you are able to make a better re-
port,” he said in an insinuating manner.

“ You surely can aflord to do something for
the benefit of the toll-gatherers ”

“I am afraid that the way I pan out will be
as great a disappointment to you as the state-
ments of my companions here have been,” I

replied.

‘ A most astonishing circumstance!” the
gutldaw chief declared with a shake of his
6"

” The idea that three such Ood-looking chaps
as you are should be playing a bad luck at this
particular moment.

“ Really, it quite distresses me,” he added.
“ But there is a chance, you know, that t
are really better than you imagine them to be,”
Black Bert continued in a decidedly sarcastic
way.

“ I have known travelers to make mistakes of
this kind—to imagine, you understand, that they
had very little mone when I questioned them in
regard to their fun s, and then, after a careful
examination was made, they were really sur-
prised todiscover how much better of! they were
than they had supposed.

“Some men are so forgetful about little mat-
ters of this kind, you comprehend.

“ But we have done talking enough, and no»
we will come right down to'businessl” the road-
agent chief exclaimed, abruptly.

“I shall have to trouble you gentlemen to get
out of the stage by this right-hand door, one by
one, and as soon us you reach the ground you
will ban the politeness to deposit all your
weapons, and all your valuables, on the earth,
each man putting his things in a separate plum
from the others so l will be able to see what each
gentleman contributes.

“ Of course, gentlemen. I trust you understand
that my pards here with the rifles, are dead-shots,
and noted for being remarkably quick on the
trigger, so that if any one of you should be foil-
ish enough to imagine he could make anything
{iy showing fight his blood will be on his own
iead.

H 11; is my proud boast that I never use violence
in collecting my tolls, excepting when I am ab-
solutely forced to such a course by some fool,
with more courage than discretion, who, for the
sake of saving a few paltry dollars, is willing to
risk his life.”

“ I think I can answer that all three of us here
have too much sense to any game of that
kind ” Doc Lawson hasten to say.

“ e have not money enough to justify us in
risking our lives for it, ’ I remarked.

“ Nary time!” Joe declared.

“ It is your light, Mr. Man, and we throw up

the gouge l"

“ lad to hear it, gentlemen.” Black Bert re
marked in an extremely affable way.

“I always like to do business with as little
trouble as possible.

“ Now, gentlemen, I am waiting 00 You.” 11°
continued, briskl .

“ Doc Lawson {t is your plly fifltl”

“ Certainly, certainly!"

Then out got the sport, and when he reached
thrgground he drew his revolver from its holster

, need his wallet, counted out ten dollars.
hen put the money and the weapon by the side
of the coach.

L‘gow much cash, Docf” the outlaw chief
as .

“ Ten dollars only,” the sport replied. “ I told
as: I was clean down to the bed-rock, for! have

u laying in the worst run of luck that I ever
struc for the last month.”

“Yes, yes; I heard that things had not been
coming your way lately, and I am really so
for it, for asquare sporting man like your-.37,
30c, gught to be able to strike it rich all the

me.

" Well, the game will run that way once in
awhile,” the sport suggested.

“ You are right, and there isn’t any use of a
man’s fretting about the matter,” the road
agent chief observed, with the air of a philo»
p er.

“ A man must brace himself up, put on a heap
of st le, and try it again.

“ s thatall our w 1th, Doc?"

“ I have a si ver wa h.”

“ Oh, that is all right. I am no pawubroker,
and do a strictly cash business.

“See that little clump of cedars over by the
rocks?”

And the outlaw chief pointed to a bunch of
ever room a hundred feet or so along the trail
in a vance of the stage.

The sport nodded.

“ If you Will have the kindness to waltz over
there and take a t upon one of the bowlders
while I intervierathese gentlemen, I will be
much obliged.”

“ Certainly, of course; delighted!”

And with a polite how the sport started.

“Hold on a moment, Doc; I forgot!" 313011
Bert declared abruptly.

The sport halted in surprise.

lt g0es against my grain to cut a goodrlenn
square sport :ike yourself clear to the bone,” the

 

 

outlaw chief remarked. “ And, since you are?
playin in such bad luck,I am willing to do
what can to help you along.

“Take half the pile, Doc. I will divvy with
you—five for me, and five for y« u.”

“ Much obliged!” responded the sport, helping
himself to the money.

“ And if the opportunity ever cOmes in my
way, i will do as much for you,” Doc steon
continued.

“On, that is all right," the outlaw chief exe-
claimed, careles-li'.

“The next time I take a seat at your table»
when you get your legs under the green ehth,.
give me a square deal for my money.”

“Oh, yes; you can depend upon thatf”Doct
Lawson asserted.

Then he marched off and took a seat on one of‘
the bowlders which cropped out of too earth in'
the shade of the cedars.

“ You see, gentlemen, I am not disposed to be
a ho ,” Black Bert remarked.

“ kii0w that the doctor is as square a sport:
as ever flipped a card west of the old Mississippi;
and so when I, in the course of business, rum
against a man like that I am disposed to do all!
i can for him,” he continued.

“ The doctor is to be congratulated upon his!
gr.od fortune,” I remarked. “ And the circum—
stance shows how good it is sometimes for a man
to have a fine reputation.”

“ Oh, yes; if the Doc had been a common, or-
dinary sport of the shark or wolf breed, 1 would
have skinned him without mercy,” Black Bert
declared.

CHAPTER XIX.
A SURPRISE.

“NOW, Spider Joe, the court will hear from)
you!" the outlaw chief commanded.

I was not prepared for this, for I expected to
be the next one summoned; but I did not make
an remark, and Joe descended from the stage.

he Spider had a pair of i‘eviilvers and a.
bewie-knife is hich he deposited upon the.
ground.

Then he pulled out the buckskin bag which'
containcd his money and oflered it to the road-
agent.

“ How much have you git in there?’ Black
Bert demanded.

“ Blamed if I know.”

“ Suppose you count your wealth."

il‘ne Spider did so, then announced the re-
an t:

“ Fifteen dollars and a half!” the road-agent.
chief exclaimed, angrily. ‘

“ Well, well! that is a nice rake to offer a man:
like myself, I must say,” he continued.

“Oi, well, if'you don't want it, I can find a.
good use for it myself,” my companion w
to

“Ah, yes; but I reclo'i you must have made
some mistake about the matter,” Black Bert
declared in a decidedly ugly way. “ You have
more money than that, but you are not willing
to fork it over. ”

“ All rightgw are welcome to-think so if you
like,” the spi er declared.

“ You must not imagine that you can fool me
with any gum-game!’ the outlaw chief ex-
claimed. ‘

“ Oh, go ’long with you 1” Joe responded, de-
fiantly. “Who is trying to fool you! That is
jest what I ‘want to know.”

“ You are: but you will find that you are not
smart enough to do it,” the road-agent leader
declared.

“ If you don’t believe what Isa set one of

cm impa to searchin me and see he kin dis-
kiver anything l” the pider replied, in an indig—
nant way.

“Well, I don’t take any stock in our state—
ment " Black Bert retorted. “An I will do
you the honor to search you myself i”

“It don't make a bit of difference who does
the s’arching,” the Spider declared. “ If on
kin find any more coin on me I will be
to eat the brass, blame me if I won’t 1”

“Oh, yes, I understand all about that,” the
outlaw chief replied. “ You think, no doubt,
that you are playing an extremely shar ame
when you make a statement of that ill , hi. I
am up to all sorts of tricks and dodges.

” You. probably, haven’t got any coin hidden
away, but I think the chances are gcod that on
have some bills stowed in a safe place, and f I
don‘t succeed in finding them it will be because
you area hhmed sight smarter than I think you
are!” the road-agent leader announced in a very
ugly way. ‘

“ You are welcome to try the game as fares
I am concerned !” the Spider declared, stoutly.

“ I Will, and speedily tool” Black Bert cried.

“ Number One, on come with me, and keep
Your eyes on this ellow while I go through him.

umber Two, guard the stage, and be sure to
mind what you are about!

“ I think you are trying to play some roots on
me, and you will find that I am an awful tou h
customer if. you attempt to stroke my hairt e
wrong way!

“ Come on, Spider, and don’t you dare to at-
tempt to run any game on me. for ifI crutch you
at anything of the kind it will he as n iich as
your life is worth !” Blacl Bert threatened.

 

 

22

DeteCtive Gordon’s Grip.

 

 

“ Ah, go along with‘ ou~do you think you
kin scare the life out 0 me with any two—cent
bluff of this kind?” the S ider retorted.

“ I have met a heap 0 men afore I run across

on, and this isn’t the first time that I have been
11 a tight place by a jugful.

“ It is your little game, of course, to skin me
as clean as you kin, and I would be a fool not to
try for to do the best I kin for myself, but I
reckon ou must think I have been striking a
heap of uck lately by the way you talk; mebbe
I have, but I ain’t aware of the fact, for it
’ are to me at it has been as much as I could

o to git along."

“We will soon settle the matter!” the road-
agent replied, shortly.

“ But I must remark that if ten or fifteen
dollars apiece is all you pilgrims are going to
pan out, the toll-collectors on this road will not
get rich, unless they strike wealthier gangs.”

“ If the thing ain’t paying you I would throw
up the job,” the Spider remarked, with a grin.

“ When I want your advice I will ask you for
it!” Black Bert retorted.

“ Come alongl and I will soon see whether
you are trying to fool me or not.”

Then the road-agent marched Joe away, and
took shelter behind a clump of evergreens.
Mrs. Lawson watched them with curious eyes
until they disappeared, then she turned to me
and said:

“ If your friend has any money I hope he has
concealed it so carefully that the villains will be
bullied, for according to all the reports this out—
law is an ugl customer when he becomes
angry. And i he finds that the man is trying
to deceive him he may take it into his head to
resort to some unpleasant measures.”

“The gentleman is inclined to be.unreason-
able, I fancy,” was my reply.

“ Since I have been acquainted with the Spi-
der, I have not known him to make any big
strikes," 1 continued. “And men of his class
are not usually overburdened with wealth.
Then, too, ‘if he had been making money in
Dead Man’s Gulch the chances are that he
would have stayed there.”

I saw that my words had made an impresdon
on the woman, for she shook her head in a
doubtful way and remarked:

“ Yes, fellows like the Spider don’t as a rule,
take ‘much care of money, even 1 they are
luck? enough to make a bi strike.”

“ don’t doubt that th s road-agent will be
disappointed in the amount of wealth that I
will shell out,” I observed. ” But he might
know that if a man had any sense he would not
be fool enou h to carry any large amount of

money with im on a curacy of this kind,
wherenhe is liable to robbed at any mo-
ment.

“Very true; butsomemenarecarelessin re
gard to a matter of this kind," Mrs. Lawson ob-
serv

ed.

“This small amount of booty will be quite a
disappointment to your hmband,” I remarked,
in a cautious w.

“ He conssu to aid the road-agents because
his longrun of bad luck had made him des-
perate and it will be no wonderif he should

eel a little down in. the mouth upon making the
discovery that his association with the rascals
is not {filing to be productive of much profit as
far as t trip was con ”

She nodded ament.

In about ten minutes the road-agonts and Joe
made their appearance from behind the ever-
greens, and from the broad smile which shone
on the Spider’s face it was evident that the out-
laws had not succeeded in discovering any-

thing.

Black Bert directed Joe to join Lawson, and
as the Spider marched 0!, the outlaw chief
came 11 to the coach.

“ So you pil ims have turned out to be
the poorest crowd t at I have struck for a dog’s

’ Black Bert declared, in a disgusted way.
“ nt I suppose on are carrying the wealth of
the pfrty,” he ded. .

“ ou are making a bif mistake in supposing
an hing of the k nd ” replied, immediately.
“ have got a few dollars in my pocket—enough

to keep me for a con la of weeks, perhaps, in M

Catfish City, so as to ve me a chance to strike
something. If I ha been mono in
Dead Man’s Gulch, I would have reman
“mill get t d h k If f

e , on an s no 0 your
weapons and your wealth!” glack Bert com-
mended, evidently in a bad humor.

I descended 'from the coach, gave up my re-
volver and then handed over the buckskin bag
which contained my money.

“Em ty] the stud on the ground and count
it,”sai t e outlaw chief, handin the bag to
the rascal whom he had designa as Number

e.

The man obeyed. , _

"Twenty dollars and a quarterl” he an-
nounced, after com letin the count.

“ About forty do are al told 1" Black Bert ex-
claimed in a tone which lainly‘ showed how

disappointed he was at t e smallness of the

booty.
“ Well, well, this is about the poorest haul that
I ever made." the outlaw chief continued.

T‘

 

“ Hardly enough to pay for the wear and tear
of horse-flesh,” he added.

“ Yes, but you must not ex t to keno every
time, you know,” I remarkedfoc“You must be
content to take the bed with the good.”

“That is all right, but it has been about all
bad lately,and if it koepson I! think I shall have
to advertise this route for e for it will not ay
me to carry it on,” the outlaw chief remar ed
with a grim attempt at humor.

” IVell, I suppose I will have to try and see if
on have any Wealth concealed in your clothes,”
8 continued. ” I don’t doubt you are all ready

to swear black and white that you have not l”

“ Oh, there isn’t any use of my saying anything
about the matter,” I replied.

“Make your examination—search me thor-
ou hly, and then you will be satisfied.”

‘ You are right, talk is cheap but it takes
money to buy land!

“Come on, then!” Black Bert commanded.

I went with the road—agents, they conducted
me to the shelter of the evergreens, and there
they searched me in the most careful manner,
but neither one of the two were smart enough
to think of examining my hat, and so they did
not succeed in discovering the hidden money.

“ You fellows ought to be ashamed of your-
selves to come on the road with so little money
to pay your tolls," Black Bert declared.

“ Maybe the next coachful will pan out better,”
I su ested. ,

“ Veil, business haigot to pick up or I shall
have to quit,” the outlaw declared.

“ There are three of us who have got to t a
living out of this thing, and we must stri e it
better than this or we’ll all starve.”

Then we came from behind the evergreens and,
to my surprise, the coach was gone.

CHAPTER XX.
run ROAD~AGENTS’ GAME.

WHEN the outlaw beheld the look of surprise
on m face he burst into a loud laugh.

“ on don’t see the hearse, hey!"

“lNo, I do not,”I replied, as I gazed up the
trai .

The spot which the road-agents had selected
for their ambush was in the midst of a broken
and irregular bit of countr , and as, owing to
the nature of the nd, could only get a
view of the trail or a few huudl'edyardait
was not surprising that I could not see the
coachifit hadgone on itsway foracouple of
minutes’ drive remove it from sight.

” You see, young man, I have taken nits a
fanc toyou,andsoImade up mymi toen—
pleasnre of your company for awhile,"
the road-agent remarked in a bantering way.

“Iamsorryto saythatIamnot able to ap-
preciate the honor,” I replied. “For I pre-
sume it means that after you have concluded
you have enjoyed my socety long enough, I
shall have towalk to Catfish City,and1must
admit that I am not particularly fond of pedes-
trian exercise.”

“Well, I reckon you are in for a little walk-
ing; but that isn’t the worst of it,”the outlaw
remarked, with a clearly perceptible moor.

“Are you not satisfl with what you have
gotFIasked. “It seems to me thatafteryou
go throughaman and relieve him of all his
wealth, you might be content.”

‘9 Under ordinary circumstances I might be,
but I have got an idea in my head that you have
succeeded in playing a prettysharp game on
me, and I want to see if I can’t get even with
you in some way.”

“ Why, what game have I pla ad?” I asked.

“ I suppose you think that I on’t know any-

about you?” the outlaw retorted.

“ ell, really, I have never given a thought
to the matter, was my reply.

" I want you to understand that I am no com-
mon rascal who has taken to the road just be-
cause 1 am broke and want a stake which I
expect to get out of the first coach I hold up;
but on the contrary, I am running this thing
just as if it was a business, according to
a system, you comprehend, and thatis the reason
why I have been so successful as to induce the
Governor of this Territory to offer a reward of
(a1 t3pusand dollars for my capture, alive or

ea

“ You perceive there isn’t any personal
malice in it,” the outlaw chief continued with a
sarcastic smile. “ For m esteemed friend, the
governor,lis willing to ve just as much for
me dead as alive.

“ All he is anxious for is to get me out of the

 

we and he is willing to give a cool thousand

dol dn to any one who is keen enough to do the

oh.
1 “There have been half a dozen smart Alecks
who tried to earn the money, but none of them
has succeeded in doing it yet.

“But, to come back to my mutton: I want
you to understand that I am aflrst-class toll-
collector, and I always make it a point to be
well-informed concerning the people whchse my

“You think, I suppose, that I don’t know
anything about you?’
"Wel,Ii inethatIamastranerto
you,“ I certai this section 0 coun-

y am
try,,’ I replied.

 

“ Your name is Robert James, and you are a
detective from New York I" the road-agent ex-
claimed, abruptly.

“ It is true that I go by the name of Robert
James, but the detective businem is a little
yarn got up on the spur of the moment when
the trouble with the gamblers occurred in Dead
Man’s Gulch.”

“ Oh, yes, that is a good way for you to get
out of it!" the road-agent sneered. “ But you
cannot pull the wool over my eyes! I reckon

that your name isn’t Robert James, but that is
neither here nor there; in this Western country
it is the height of impohteness to express a
doubt in regard to a man’s name.

“That you are a detective from the East I
believe,” the outlaw chief continued, in a very
positive way

" And you have come out West here in search
of some man who has skipped from the East.
The Spider has come with you as a sort of
guide.

“You did not find your (prey in Dead Man’s
Gulch, and now you inten to try some other
place, but I am going to take a hand in the
game.

“ It is my impression that you are a man who
amounts to something, and it is my intention
to take you to my little den in the mountains
and keep you there until your friends in the
East pony up a good fat ransom for you.”

The cut was out of the bag now with a ven-
geance, but notwithstanding the serious nature
of my position I could not help laughing at "he
ridiculous mistake that the outlaw chief had
made in regard to the matter.

“ Why do you laugh?” he asked, in surprise.

“ I cannot help it when I reflect how far you
are awa from the truth,” I replied. .

“ Oh, am not cerrect in my surmise?" he ex-
claimed, in an angry way.

“Oh, no, you are away off,” I responded.
“ In regard to my name we will let that go, for,
as you justly remarked, names don’t amount to
anything in the West. A man’s name is what
he cheeses to call himself, and no one has any
right to dispute about it; but as to my being a
detective officer, or that there is any one in~ the
But who would be willing to give anything for
my ransom, is all nonsense.

‘You might hold me here for a hundred
years and you wouldn’t find anybody willing
to come forward and put up a cent for me!”

The earnest declaration rather bothered the
road-agent chief, for he shook his head in a
doubtful way, then remarked:

“Of course it is yourgametot'yaad make
me believe that there isn’t any money in the
th for me.”

“ ryitoaaadthen you will be satisfied,”1

‘ Now, then, to tell the exact truth: I
was forcedtcget onto theEast onaccountof
having got into trouble there,” I continued.
“ Not an particularly serious, but enough
to make t desirable for me to get out.

“ A certain able and unscru foe con-
trived to t mom" a til-Flat place; ofcourse, I
contend t at I ever d an wrong, but
the circa were such t I considered it
wiserformeto toutthantoattempttoflght,
and so I came est.

“ I made the Spider’s acquaintance in Denver,
and as he knew t e country while I. didn’t, I ac-
cepted his invitation to try my luck with him,
and there is m story in a nutshell.”

I could see cm the look in the eyes of the
outlaw chief that I had considerabl shaken his
belief that I was an important ca ve. M

“Well, it may be tha:dyou are giving it to me
all straight,” he remark , slowly. “ But I have
only got your word for it, you know, and if you
were a man worth a million you would be apt to
put on a poor mouth in order to fool me.”

“ Yes, that is true, of course, but I really am
to]? you the exact facts of the case.”

“ aybe so, but I reckon I will hold on to
you for a few days, and perhaps through the
aid of some friends of mine I may be able to
flndput whether you are telling me the truth or
not.

“ All right,” I lied. “ I am in your power
and, therefore, wii beobuaed to Whinin”

The conversation at this point was interrupted
by the appearance of the two road-agents.

Both were mounted, and each one led a spare

horse.

The eight of the extra horse, which had evi-
dently been provided for my accommodation,
convmced me that Black Bert had made up his
mind before he attacked the stage that he would
retain me for a ransom.

“ Now, then, friend J amen, mount your steed
and we will be ofl'l” the outlaw captain ex-
claimed.

“ We have an hour’s ride before my den up in
the mountains will be reached, and so the
quicker we are off the better.”

Black Bert indicated the horse which I was to
mount, and soon I was in the saddle.

My steed was a sorry-looking “ claybank ”
colored brute, and, to jud e from his appearance,
a sharp hour’s allop wou d be the dea h of him.

All three 0 the road-agents, though, had
excellent horses.

Black Bert evidently noticed that I was not

 

 

3/ ._ .

- r m rmmw'mzw

. /‘
u,

Detective Gordon's Grip.

23

 

 

favorably impressed by the brute, for he called
out-

“:Jaiiies, if you are not a good rider you need
not be afraid of that horse running away with

you for I can safely recommend him as being v

perfectly gentle,” then all the outlaws laughed,
as though they thought the remark was an ex-
cessively form one.

“ The poor rute hasn’t got spirit enough to
be anything but gentle,” I replied.

“You spoke about an hour’s ride,” I con-
tinned.
but really, to 'udge from his appearance, a
six ’or eight mile gallop would be the death of

‘ 9

1m.

“ Well, I didn’t know just how geod a rider
you were, you know, and so I did not think it
would be safe to previde a s iirited or mettle-
some animal,” Black Bert explained.

“And then, too, if I had provided you with a
good horce, you might be foolish enough to at-
tempt to escape from us on the road, and put us
to the trouble of chasing you; but I know there
isn't any danger of your attempting anything
of the kind now.”

And then again the outlaws laughed.

“You are right there isn’t much danger of
anybody trying to esotipe by flight who is un-
lucky enough to be mounted on this horse,” I
remarked.

“ it is my opinion that if I tried to make him
go ata good rate of speed he would be apt to
fall and break his neck," I continued.

This frank expression of m opinion of the
horse produced another burst o lau hter.

“ Oh, no; he is not as bad as all t at,” Black
Bert declared. “ He is far better than he looks;
but come; we most be off!”

CHAPTER XXI.
'rns: sors IN BLUE.

“ I WILL take the advance,” the chief of the
outlaws said. “ You James, follow after me,
and the others will bring up the rear.”

Then Black Bert htened his rein, and his
mettlesome steed, 0 rent to the pressure, start-
ed. I rodeaftsr him, and the two road-agents
folllgwed me. h 1 th m

any e opes 0 secs ing from s p
into which had fallen hadpentered my mind
when I found I was to ride, they would :Eeediiy
have been di-ipated afterwe starth on e trip,
for the outlaw chief had arranged the matter so
there was no possible chance for me to even
make an attempt to escape, unless I wanted to
rush to certain eath.

0n we rode for a hundred yards, following the
trail, and then, as we turned a band, we came
face to face with a squad of cavalry not a bun-
dred yards away!

The Boys in Blue were led by a lieutenant,
and by his side rode m cornrade, the S ider.

Immediately I un what oc-
curred.

The squad of cavalry, coming along the trail,
encountered the e-coach' Joe had related to
the emcee what h occu , and the lieutenant
instantly comprehended that if he acted prompt.
Kthere wasa good chance for him to capture

0 outlaws.

Joe had volunteered to act as guide, and the
soldiers had advanced so quickly and so quietly
as to take the road-agents completely by an.

“I
pr‘i‘ Surrender!” cried the lieutenant, puttin‘
spurs to his horse, an example follode 1mm,
dialtlely by his soldiers, and on they we, pew
me .

Fierce oaths escaped from the lips of the sur-
prised outlaws, then in hot haste they wheeled
their horses around and fled in wild confusion,
totally i gnorin me, their prisoner.

I pulled my orse to one side of the trail, so a.
to allow room for the troopers to pass, and the
Boys in Blue rode by me at the top of their
horses' speed.

In obedience to the lieutenant’s command tho
troopers unslung their carbines and as the road.
agents did not halt the soldiers opened fire.

It was the lieutenant’s desire to ca ture the
outlaws alive, and so before he orde his men
to open fire he was careful to caution them to
aim at the horses.

Sharply rung out the shots on the clear moon-

tain air.

As it happened the soldiers were a picked
squad of o Indian-fighters; all were good
marksman, and as the outlaws were wellw hin
rang: the troopert’ bullets did not miss the
mar .

As the soldiers sw t b me in the pursuit the
Spider drew rein an r e up to my side.

“ Them tellers are going to have a mighty
narrow squeeze of it!" Joe ed.

“They might as well surrender, for the do
not stand any chance to escape," I remark .

“Nar time!” the Spider exclaimed, em‘
phatical y.
“And if the ain‘t blanked keerlal the hull

t wiped right off the face of the

earth!
“ That is csrtainl true i" I declared.
Just then the sol iers began firing
The first ten shots did the business.

lot of ’3m will

“It may be that this horse is like a :
ringed cat, a great deal better than he looks, J

, All three of the road- ents’ horses went
‘ down, and apparently one the outlaws was
killed, for he pitched off the horse as it fell, and
; lay motionless by the side of the road.
The other two, Black Bert, and the tall fellow,
; whom he had called Number One, apparentl
‘ had not been wounded, for when their horses fe 1
they jumped nimbly to the ground and dashed
up on the hillside.
| “ By jinksl the blamed cusses are going to git
i off arter all 1” Joe cried, as we rode on down the
trail, eager to get the best View of the exciting
scene.

The countr through which the trail ran was
i so broken an irregular that it would be a clear
1 impossibility for horsemen topursue a fugitive
who was on foot amid the rocks.

But fortune was against the outlaws.

As it h uppened, there was a range of high
oliti’s so steep that nothing but a mountain goat
could hope to climb them, which, starting from
the trail just above the bend, where the outlaws
had first caught sight of the soldiers, bent
around in a semicircle to the trail again, and in
this scant area of ground the road-agents had
taken refuge.

The lieutenant was an old and experienced
soldier, and his quick eyes at once noticed that
by covering the trail with his men from the be-
ginning of the rocky range to the end where it
came again to the road it would not be possible
for the fugitives to escape.

And although the ba f-moon-ghaped piece of
ground to which the outlaws had fled, was
broken and irregular, yet there was no good
shelter for them excepting at one int, right in
against the cliff, wherea c ump of unipers threw
their spiny branches to the breeze.

By the side of the trail though there was plenty
of cover for the soldiers so they had by far the
best of the ition.

The fugitiVes’ refuge was just outside of
rifle-range, so that as long as the soldiers kept
by the trail neither party could damage the
other.

The lieutenant had just finished posting his
men, and, shielded by a friendly clump of ever-
greens, was peering through the branches at the
outlaws in their covert, when the Spider and I
rode up. .

“ You came in the nick of time,” I remarked,
after ti the ofiloer.

“ Yes, so t seems.” the lieutenant replied.
“ It was a lucky chance for you, and it is gcin
to be a lucky chance forms, for I understand
that this is the notorious Black Bert, and as
there is a thousand dollars ofl'ered for the ca
ture of the man, alive or dead, I think the 0d
are big that the vernor will be called upon
to pp} that money fore he is a day older.”

‘ ou oertainlyseem to have the man in a
corner.”

“ Oh, yes, blamed if he ain’t‘got him as mug
as a bug in a rug 1” the Spider eclared.

“ Oh, yes, he is in a trap fast enou h," the
lieutenant remarked, with a deal of sa action,
“ The man cannot possibl get out, for we have
him completely hemmed u.”

“If you attem to close in on him, though, I
reckon the pair 0 them Will give you a bloody
fighcti,” Joe remarked, with a grave shake of the
hen .

“ Oh yes, there is no doubt about that, I
think m what I know of the man,” the sol-
dier observed. “ He is a reckless devil and has

you proof in half a dozen fights that he sets

at little value on his life, but on this occasion
I am not going to give him a chance to fight,-
that is, on his own ground,” the lith
“I? n1 i str

‘ s most certai y occupes a '-
tion,” I remarked. one Do"

“ Oh, es, no doubt about that,” the officer re-
plied. ‘ Be is pret well protected, and if we
should attempt to vs him out, althou h there
isn’t much doubt but that we would c can out
the pair in the end, yet it is ‘probable we would
lose half a dozen men in the ght.”

“Itseemsashametorun such a risk,”I re-
marked.

“Oh, I not intend to do anything of the
kind,” the eutenant replied, immediately. “ I
hlvslgot the fellows in a trap,‘we would be apt
to s or several if we moved in to drive them

out, and they 1 be in exactly the same box if
they attempt to get out.”

“ Yes, yes, that is certainly true,” I observed.

“ I do not doubt that these fellows are plum-

,i themselves on their smartness in getting into

th s cover, but before they get through with
the roceedin I think they will come to the
con usion the the have made the biggest kind
of‘a mistake,” the lieutenant declared.

‘ You do not propose to attack them, than?"
I questioned_

, " N0. 1 am satisfied with the way matters are
Situated now,” the ofilcer replied, with a smile.

.“ I think that we are far more comfortabl

Situated than they are,” he continued. “ e
have two days’ rations with us and there is an
abundance of water in the little streamlet yon-
der, so that we will not suffer for either food or
drink.”

“ Ab. Y“. I see- and the chances are that these
unfortunate wretehss haven’t a mouthful to
eat,” I observed,

 

 

 

“ The absence of water is what is goi to
worry them more than anything else,” the eu-
tenant argued.

“A man can fast very well for a day or two,
but when it comes to going without water it
takes an extra good man to stand it,” the officer
declared.

“ Another point is in our favor, too,” be con-
tinued.

“There is a. full moon to-night, so if the idea
came into their heads that they might be able to
ste .1 off in the darkness, they are away off, for
they can’t work any dodge of that kind. ”

“ Circumstances are all against them, and if
they are wise they will surrender,” I sug-
gested.

“ Oh, yes; for if they attempt to break through
our line they will be killed to a dead certainty,”
the lieutenant remarked.

Then an idea. occurred to the lieutenant, and
he said:

“How would it do for you to o in under a
flag of truce and see what they think about the
matter?” he asked.

“ I am a.:~reeable,” was my answer.

“ You can set forth the situation justas I have
explained it to you,” he added.

” All right!"

And so, with a handkerchief tied to a stick, I
interviewed the outlaws.

Both the men were pretty well disgusted,
and after a little talk they agreed to sur-
render.

They came forth, and we all departed for Cat-
fish City in company.

Both. of the men were tried, convicted, and
sentenced to long terms of imprisonment; we
did not wait for the trial though. for there were
plenty of witnesses besides Joe and myself, but
hurried on our way East as fast as possible.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
an IMPORTANT wrrmrss.

As soon as we arrived at Denver City, we
changed our gold for drafts on New York, tak-
ing the precaution to give the banker my signer
tore, Robert James, to forward on to the house
in New York, on whom my drafts were drawn,
so that I should have no trouble in cashing them,
which, as a stranger, I might have.

We arrived at Buffalo, New York, without
having anything special to notice on the pas-

e.
y first act,on arriving at Buflalc-,wns to
write to Nell, telling her that I was in town,

stoppingat thew orth House,andsskr.nf
hertocalluponme. Thist at once. -
droning it, as she had directed me to do, to Miss
N. Orange. Of course I had not received any
answer to the letter I had written her
from “ Dead Man’s Gulch, as I had come
East two days after I had it, and had
probably arrived in Buflalo t, if not quite,
as soon as the letter. ‘

Theiotter toNell postsd,JoeaedIset outto
find the residence of Mr. James R. Watson, the
retired . By consul a Directory we
found t a Mr. James R. atson lived at
No. — Pinestreet. Joe and I proceeded there
at out». We found the gentleman at home.
He was a little, short. fat man, with hair and
whiskers quite gray. He was much of a gentle-
man,and upon my informing him that I had
some cular business, he invited us at once
into parlor, and nested us to be seated. I
went at once to the ob ect of my visit.

“Do you remember Mr. Robert Browning,
formerly of Buflalo?” I asked.

“Yes, sir; I remember him very well, al-
though I was not vex-albumsny acquainted
with him,” replied Mr. atson.

I could see that he was both surprised and an-
noyed at my question.

“Ibringam efromhim sir.”

“ Ah! indeed l" and the little int grocer gave
a short, dry cough; “1 hope he hasn’t ot into
an more trouble. He created a terrib e scan-

here in Buffalo. I suppose, as you know
him on also know of the c rcumstancei"

“ as, air,” I answered, “but Mr. Browninig
will never cause any more trouble in this war] ;
he is dead sir.” i

“ Dead! bless mel” and the little fat man
started as th h be had received an electric
shock' “ how di it hep f”

I b efly related the ncident of the death of
the f tive minister. Mr. WatsOn heard, me
with t e greatest attention. When I had fin-
ished, he heaved a deep figh.

” I do not think that r. Browning was what
could reallybecaliedabadmanatheart,”heseid;
“he was a weak man, though, and one easily
led into temptation; but I know of a case, gen-
tlemen, wherein he showed himself to be a man
processed of true Christian feelings.” \

“ You refer to his actions in regard to a cer-
tain widow and child?" I said.

Again the little man started, and then he
looked at me with unbounded astonishment.

“Is it possible,” he cried “that you know
about Mrs. Percy and her child!”

This was exactly what I wanted to know; I
wantedto find out under what name Mrs. Sup
lome Livingstone was known in Buffalo. I
saw now that she had kept her maiden name.

24:

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

 

 

“Oh, yes!” 1 said, in reply to his question,
“my visit to you has reference to Mrs. Percy
and her child, as well as to Mr. Browning. By
the way, you were one of the witnesses to Mrs.
Perc ’s marriage, were you not i”

1;” es; I was present at the ceremony,” he re-
p O
“ Do you remember the bridegroom l”
(t a.”

“ Can you describe his rsonal a pearancei”

“ Quite as well as if I hp:d only sgen him yes-
terday He was a fine young fellow, above the
mid e height, curly yellow hair, and a peculiar
dark-blue eye-”

“A very good description of Anson Living-
stone as he looked in 1843,” 1 said, quietly.

“ Hullo! Do you know his name!” cried Mr.
Watson, in another fit of astonishment.

“ Oh, eel why should any one conceal it!”

“ We] , that’s exactly what I don’t know,
only Mrs. Livingstone came to me about a year
or so after she was married and ed me
never to reveal to any one the fact that was a
witness to her marriage, or the name of her hus-
band. I (fitied her, for she seemed in such deep
grief, an ofecourse I said I would never men-
tion it. I suspected that her husband had com-
mitted some rascality—deserted her or some-
thing of that sort, and she didn’t want it
known.”

So far all was well. Browning had spoken
the truth. Here was a living witness to prove
the legality of the marriage of Salome Percy to
Anson‘Livingstone.

In as few words as possible, then, I explained
to Mr. Watson the secret of the mystery that
hung over the marriage of Salome Percy. I
told him how her husband, Livingstone, had
marrieda second time, and only a year after
his first marriage. How his first wife, Salome,
had kept his secret, for love of the villain hus-
band that had basely deserted her for another;
how the child of Salome Percy—or to give her
the name justly due her, the name of her hus-
band, Livingstone—was in reality the true heir
to the estate of her father—the estate now held
and enjoyed by the children of the second wife;
that my mission was, through the courts of jus—
tiCe, to give to the orphan child, Salome, the
property justly hers, and that 'I needed his aid
—first, to give me a clew to find the heir, and
next, to prove the mother’s marriage. The
grocer followed me in my story with rapt at-
tention, and, at its close, grasped me by the
hand warmly.

“ My dear sir you shall have every assistance
in my power!” he cried. “ Salome was here in
Buffalo, on] a few weeks ago. She’s a strange,
independen sort of creature. She came on from
New York, quite suddenly, and went back as
suddenly again. My wife says Ibe’s sure she’s
in love with some one in New York, for she
used to go to the post-office here every day, as
though she was expecting a letter from some
one. I don’t think she ever got a letter, though,
for she alligays came home again looking very

sorrowfu .

“ Have you her address in New York!” I
asked; " for of course before I proceed to
action, it will be better for me to see the young
lady and consult with her on the subject.

“ Yes, of course. As I said before, she’s a
strange creature for althou h she might have a

ood, comfortable home, eit er here with me in

uffalo, or with the folks she is now stopping
with—some distant relations of her mother’s—
she prefers to go and take a lodgin -room all by
herself, and supports herself with er needle.”

“ A strange fancy, indeed.” I said; at the
same time I must confess that I admired her in-
dependence.

‘Here’s the address,” he said, taking a card
from the mantel piece: “ ‘ Miss Salome Percy,
No. — West 30th street, New York City.’ ”

“ I shall find her there, then, beyond a doubt?”
I asked, taking the card.

“0h, es!” answered Mr. Watson; “my wife
got a le r from her about three days ago.”

" Does she know the facts connected with her
mother’s e?" I asked.

“ I have a shrewd suspicion that she does, be-
cause she has never made any i uiry about
her father; and, in fact, whenever I e has been
at our house and I have brought up the subject
of her mother, she always seemed to avoid
speaking of it, as if the matter was distasteful
to her. This makes me think that she knows all
about it.”

“ Probably the mother asked her not to re-
veal anyth ,”I said, “ passin the promise she
had made to er guilty husban on to her child,
and th'us keeping her faith, even beyond the

ve.

“ Yes, that is possibly the truth.”

“By the way, you have some papers, Mr.
iWatson, haves. you not, that Mr. Browning left
n our care

‘YYes,”” he answered; “they are up-stairs in

my desk.

‘ I shall probably be obliged to call upon you
to produce them shortly; for one of the 'papers
is t e marriage-certificate of Mrs. Livingstone.”

“ I shouldn’t be surprised,” answered the
grocer, “for Browning, when he ave them to
me to take care of, hinted that n time they
might be of great value.”

 

“ That time has come,” I replied, “ for I shall
set out instantly for New York, to hunt up the
heir, Salome the child of Salome; and the mn-
ment she is found I shall bring suit against Mr.
Richard Livingstone to compel him to give up
the roperty.” ,

“ xcuse the question,” said the worthy Mr.
Watson, after a moment’stfiause “ but ou seem
to take a deep interest in is affair. e you a
relative of the Percys!”

“ N o, sir,” I answered.

“ Ah!” said Mr. Watson, a little bothered;
“ a friend of the family, I presumei”

“ No, sir; I never even heard of them until my
attention was called to this case.”

“Oh! then may I ask why you take such an
interest in it!”

“Certainly,” I replied. “ 1n the first place,
allow me to introduce myself. My name is
Robert James; my business, detective officer;
my. residence, New York City.”

he little grocer stared at me open-menthed.

“ Bless me!" he cried; “ a detective officer!
why, on don’t looka bit like a detective offl-
cer; t t is, I mean my idea of one. I thought

. they were always great, strapping fellows, with

a general expression which said ‘ fight’ about
them.’

I laughed at the idea—a laugh in which Joe
joined, for he, being a fighting-man, enjoyed
being taken for a non-combatant. _

” AppearaDCes are dece tive, sir,” I said;
“ but to return to the su ject. About three
months ago, I was employed by Richard Living-
stone, in my capacity of detective officer, to
learn certain facts about a child named Salome,
and born at Little Falls, New York State, in
1844. \Vhile pursuing my search for the facts
conCerning this child, I discovered, much to my
astonishment, that she was the daughter of
Richard’s father, Anson Livingstone, and, as
she was his oldest child, of course was the heir
to all his property. When Livingstone discov-
ered that I knew these facts, and had, as h
thought, certain proofs in my possession, in or-
der to obtain those proofs, and stop my mouth.
he Committed a crime that will put his neck
within the halter, the very instant I prove that
crime against him. So you see, sir. that I have
a very strong motive for pulling Richard Liv-
ingstone down, and I can pull him down by giv-
ing the girl, Salome. her rights.”

‘ I see,” said Mr. Watson, who had listened to
all I had slid with the utmost attention; “by
giving the orphan child her rights, you at the
same time revenge yourself upon this man, who
has wronged ou."

“ Exactly l’ I said.

“ Squar’!” said Joe, in an undertone.

By the way, I have neglected to state that
Joe, on arriving at Buffalo, had bought himself
an entire suit of black, and, as he familiarly
termed it, a “ plug” hat, and that now, dressed
in his new rig, he looked quite “ hobby.”

“ My dear sir,” cried the fat grocer, warmly,
“I w sh on every success in your undertak-
ing, and must say I feel sure that you will
succeed.”

“ I’m much obliged to you, sir, for your good
wishes,” I lied.

“ Not g wishes alone!” he cried. “ I’m not
avery rich man, but I’m worth a little some-
thin , and if you need any money, sir, I should
be p eased to end you five hundred or a thou-
sand dollars to push on Miss Salome’s cause.”

“ Thank you, sir‘: I replied, astonished by his

kind offer; ‘ but I ave money enough to carry
out my plans, and I’ll nd eve dollar that
I’m worth, but this glrl, me, I l have her

ri hts.’

5‘That’s so!” cried Joe; “ you’re a brick, old
top, ou air; but we’ve got t e rocks, an’ we kin
put t throu h, we kinl’

The little at grocer looked astonished at the
gueerness of Joe’s speech, but I suppose he set it

own as a little bit of eccentricity appertaining
to the detective force!

We took our leave of the worthy grocer fol-
lowed by his best wishes for our success. on
Jos and I returned at once to the hotel. he
interview with Mr. Watson had taken up some
time, and we found that dinner was ready when
we returned. ' ,

Dinner over I gave notice at the emce that I
expected a tor, and should be in my room all
the afternoon. And in in room all the after-
noon I waited. Joe ex ed himself upon the
sofa and read a little while, and then went
to slee , while I, uneasy as a caged tiger paced
up an down the floor. The hours slow-
! b , and yet she did not come. Every time
thntl heard a footstep near the door, I expect-
ed that it was a waiter with a message that a
lady wished to see me. Butno message, no lady
came. What could it mean! I thought this:
Nell would probably go to the files be-
tween eleven and three. she woul find my let-
ter there, and then would come instantly to see
me. But flve o’clock had come, and no
Nellie!

Oh how impatient I grew! At last an idea
struc me. I‘would go to the post-ofllce and in-
quire if my letter had been called for. The
thought was a good one. I woke Joe up at
once, and told him if any one called, to tell
them I would be back soon, and to detain him or

.,, X
.‘ .,  , «I

 

her until I did come. Then I took my hat and
set out for the post—office.

On arriving there, I went to the ladies’ win-
dow. To the clerk there, I explained my
wishes.

The clerk was a gentlemanly yo fellow,
and appeared desirous to ive all the informa-
tion in his power. 1 co d see from his looks
that he thought that there was a low-scrape at
the bottom of it; possibly he was in love him-
self; most young men are. In fact, they take
to it as naturally as young ducks to water.

“ N. Orange,” he said; “ let me see. I think I
remember some directions left here about for-
warding all letters directed to that address-
here it is now,” and he took down from a nail
and handed out to me asmall paper, upon which
was written:

“ Please forward all letters addressed to Miss N.
Orange to New York City, and oolige. ‘

It was Neil’s small, legible hand. How well I
knew it! although I had never received but ;
sinfle letter from her, but that letter, every
syl bio of it, was in rinted on my heart.

Nell had gone to ew York, then. Good! I
was obliged to go there also, and MW I had
nothing to detain me any longer in Buffalo.

I ot back the letter that I had written, tell-
ing ell l was in Buffalo, got a sheet of paper
and an o-nVelope from the obliging clerk, and
wrote another now D her, telling her that I
would be in New York on Wednesday, and that
I would be at the posrroflice there every day at
precisely twelve o’clock, so that she could
ineelt me. Then I sealed it up ani put it in the
mai .

I returned to the hotel, told Joe of the move-
ments ahead. settled our bill, and took the 7:40
Express for New York.

CHAPTER XXIII.
run MISSING WILL.

Jon and l arrived at the depOt just in time to
catch the train. The cars were full of people
and seats were scarce. Joe, however, nianag
to get one on ahead while I found one at the rear
end of the car, beside an old gentleman with
iron-gray hair, and a face bronzed almost as
dark as an Indian’s.

I have neglected to mention that, before lea v-
ing the hotel, after su per I resumed the dis-
guise that I fled from - ew York in, namely, the
yelIOW, curly wig and mustache, and again
trimmed my eyebrows down, for it must not be
forgotten that the sentence of five years at Sin
Sing, which my friend Richard had been kin
enough to procure me, by his false charge of for-
gery, was still hanging over me; and that I was
liable to be arrested and sent to serve my term
out. Of course, if this should happen, it would
entirely block my game.

True, I had hopes of a pardon. for I had re-
ceived a letter in Denver City , from Peters, the
detective, telling me that, aided by some influen-
tial political friends, he had applied for my par-
don and hoped .to obtain it from the governor.
I knew that Peters h a great deal of influence
with certain parties w 0 controlled the wires by
which certain political pup ts danced; and
politics havsa great deal to o sometimes with
the pardon of criminals, in some States of our
great and glorious Union. Besides, the crime
which I was accused of committing, and for
which I had been convicted, was quite a trivial
one in the opinion of the world. Picking a
pocket or robb a house, are horrible offenses
against the law, ut forging a friend’s name for
a few thousand, or robbin , the bank of which
you are a trusted servan and sup d guar-
dian, are pleasant] denominated ‘ nancial ir-
regularities,” and i the skillful “ operator" hap-
pens to sometimes be unskillful enough to let
himself be detected in his little “ pleasantriss,”
the world exciaims, ” a very weak and foolish
young man—to allow himself to be caught."

After the train had been under way a short
time. I fell into conversation with the elderly

entleman, with the iron-gra hair and bronzed
ace, who occupied the seatw th me. Of course,
as was natural, our first remarks had reference
to the weather; from that we glided into poli-
tics—the election being near at hand. Soon I
found, to my utter astonishment, thatthe stran-
ger was towallyyignorant regarding the present
politics of New ork State—a fact which he ex.
lained by stating that he had been traveling in
ndia for the past five years. I soon “thou-ed
from his conversation—for he ke freer and
without Wkthat he was w t the French
would call a “savant;” in truth, was a very
learned man, about certain things. He had
traveled in the East a great deal, and, as he in-
formed me, spoke the Hindoo tongue like a
native. In order to penetrate to certain plac
in India, which he had wished to reach, be h
found it necessary to assume the native garb
and character of a Hindoo, which his bronsed
complexion and perfect knowledge of their lan-
guage easily enabled him to do.

I was quite interested in his story of his travels
for he spoke in an easy. off-hand manner, with
out any ticular desire tomake himself tho
hero 0 is tale, although he was so. in reality.
I soon discovered the charm of his manner; he
lOVed the subject he was speaking of. Although

“r

 

 

WV? -.< «1.. —v~.~ v. vr—f —-- Twwv— - .—.r fi.‘v—- W” a..- N—y—v—w---. . --.. _. .-. .

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

 

25

 

 

born in Albany and reared there, remaining in
that city, as he told me until he was twenty—one,
n' arly all the rest of his life had been spent in
the Orient.

“ I commenced the study of the Hindoo tongue
when I was yet a lad,” hesaid. “ I do not know
how it was, but the study seemed to ess a
peculiar charm for me. When I attained the

age of twenty-one my father died and left me 1

quite a fortune; my mother had died when I
was an infant. I had no brothers or sisters; my
nearest relatives were my cousins, who lived in

‘Bull'alo. After my father’s death, I stopped

with them some little time, when the idea took
possession of me to go to India, and in person
see the countrt, and there, from the natives,
thoroughly study the tongue. No sooner had I
thought of this than I set about it. So, sir,
when I was twenty-two years old, I went to In-
dia and have remained there most of the time
since; that is, when I say that, I except a visit
thatI made home about five years ago. It's
strange, sir, but I have been called home from
India twice by death. The first time, one (if my
cousins died, and, as he had some little property,
he chose to make a will and appoint me execu-
tor, knowing at the same time that I was in the
wilds of Hindostan, and for all he knew I might
be making a meal for some hungry tiger in one
of its dungles, or strangled by some religious
‘ Thu as an offering to the great Brahma.

“ T 8 letter. sir, informing me of the death of
my cousin, was two years in reachin me, for I
was on an ex tion up in the ‘hil country.’
and the letter ay in Calcutta until I returned.”

,“Well, that was a long time,” I said; “ I
should have thought the heirs here would have
become impatient.”

“ I rather think they did,” res nded the “ sa-
want,” with a dry chuckle. “ at, here a sin.
the reason for my return new is that one o my
e rly friends has seen fit to intrust his affairs in
my hands. Not a relative this time, mind, but
oulV an old friend. He and I were school fellows
piuether. at Alban , and when he was mnrrivd
“1 30331“ 1 Wow fled to be present, but unfor-
tunately I forgot the direction and missed the
minister’s house. That was ’way back in ’43. I
didn’t see him again until about five years ago,
when I returned from India, and, passin
through New‘ York, on route for Buffalo.I
called upon him. He was then one of the lead-
ing men Of New York. I only made a short
yisi don’t think Istopped over half an hour,
and remember that he asked particular] what
my post-011106 address was; and, when Iyspoke
about settling up this will business in Buffalo,
and what a trouble it was, he laughed, and
asked—should I happen to outlive him, would I
take charge of his will? Of course, for the joke
of the thing, I said I would, that I woull be do.
lighted. Now, what do you think, sir?” and the
old man laid the fore-finger of one hand im-
pressively on the palm o the other, or That
man remembered this conversation of five years
a o, and when he got ready to make his will,
w ich was about a year ago, after he had me
it, he sent it to my address at Buffalo, with d1.
rections to keep it there till I should return
home, and, with the will, he sent a letter to be
forwarded to me, wherever I mi ht be. The
letter was just about a year in reac ing me, for
it arrived in Calcutta shortly after I had started
on an ex ition for the headwaters of the
Ganges. hen I returned about a year after-
ward, I found it there waitiu for me. I read
it throu h, careful] . He di n’t give anyra.
son for utrusting t e will to my care—onl re.
minded me of my promise, and god 0 me
by the memory of our old friend i ,to keep
that promise, and obscurer hinted hat, upon
my faithfully carrying out his wishes as ex-

ressed in the will, depended the righting of a
gain wrong. All this, mind you, was quite mys.
terious; but, of course, there was no need of in
returning to the States until the man was deg ,
which event, he said in his letter, I must not be
.u find to hear of at any time, sshis health

been failin .

“Well, now,gas this letter had been waiting
for me nearlya year, and no other had come
notifying mo of his death—for of course his son
would have written in the event of his father‘s
death, knowing that I had the will—I concluded
that his health had improved. But, judge of my
astonishment, when, a few davs after this
happened to take up an old New York: Herald.
and read there an account of the death of Anson
Livingstone.”

“Livingstone!” I cried, with a start of sur-
prise. Luckily the “ savant” happened to look
out of the window just then, and did not notice
my astonishment.

“ Yes,” he replied, “ you have probably heard
of him; he was an old New Yorker. I‘ve got
his wil. now, here in my breastrpocket.”

Fortune had a sin favored me! Here was the
man with the missing willl

“Ah, indeedl” I said, more for the sake of
saying something, than anything else.

“Yes, sir: it‘s rather a strange story, for the
moment Isaw the notice of the death of my
friend, I started for home instantly. On arriv~
ing in New York. I wrote to Mr. Richard Liv-
ingstone, the son of my old friend—told him I
had his father’s will—that I would proceed to

! Buffalo, get it and return to the city and see him
on the subject. Then I pushed on instantly for
Buffalo. 1 had a little business there to arrange,
for one of my cousins, which I saw would detain
i me a week, so I wrote to Mr. Livin one and
told him I would be in New York on ednesday
, next—that’s to-morrow—and that I should like
. to meet him'at the depOt. Well, I received an
answer at once. I gathered from his letter that
l he knew that his father had left a will, and
I what the contents of the will were, but that he
5 had been in the dark as to who had it. Now,
l that seemed very strange to me, for I should
have certainly thought that the father would
have told the son all about it.”

Fortune was'putting Livin stone’s game right
into my hands. I. thought could guess what
the plan was, but I determined to learn all I
could in regard to it.

“ Perhaps the reiis:n that the old man did not
confide the secret of the will to his BOI), was that
he did not leave all his property to him. but be-
stowed the greater part of his Wealth else-
where,” I said, throwing this out as a sort of a
feeler.

“ No, no i” responded the “ sa'vant ;” “ Richard
says expressly, in his letter, that the disposition
of his father‘s property is perfectly sat actory,
both to himself and his sister, Olive.”

“Ah! you wrote him, then in regard to the
division made by the will,” i said, feeling my
way cautiously.

“ No, of course not l” he exclaimed; “ how
could I? The will is securely sealed up, and is

'not to be opened except in the pressure of cer-
tain parties, whom he names in connection with
to Self. I wrote as much to Richard.”
saw Livin stone’s “ little game ” now. He
had determine to get this will into his posses-
sion; to do that he must use foul means.

Little did the gray-haired “ suvant” dream
that he had journeyed through the wilds of in
dia, and escaped the gaws of the wild beasts, the
silken noose and kni e of the “ Thug ” assassin,
to encounter here, in his own native land, the
most terrible danger that he had ever met.

“ Will the gentleman you speak of meet you
at the depot?” I asked.

“So he Said in his letter,” he replied. “ I sent
him a description of my personal appearance; he
will no: he likely to mistake me,” he added, with
a laii .

Thg ast was all clear to me now; when Rich-
ard L viugstone showed me the draft of his
father’s Will, he did not believe the will itself
was in exisience, and no wonde‘r, for his father
had been dead a ear, and no one had come for-
ward with the ll. All this time it lay in Buf-
falo, while the letter apprising the “ savant " of
the fact was waiting in Calcutta for him to re-
turn from his expedition. Stran e are the ways
of fate, and I surely must be a avored son of
fortune. Here had I accidentally fallen in with
the very man whom, to serve Livingstone‘s pur~

se, fate should have kept out of my way.
Yet here we were, riding side by side, and he
had told me the very thing I ought to know.

Fortune, too, had favored the old “mount.”
for he was going to meet a terrible dan er—one
all the more terrible because it was no looked
for, and came at the hands of a supposed friehd:
but he had Joe and I to watch Over him- for I
had resolved not to lone sight of him, if could
help it. In thinking the matter over I came to
the conclusion that Livingstone would not take
him to his own house, forit was his policy not
to excite the old man‘s suspiCions, but to ap :-
anxious to have the will produced. If the ‘ sa-
vant” was robbed of the will in the house of
Richard, why, the old fellow would naturally
think that there was somethin wrong, but if he
lost the will before reaching 0 house. he could
not implicate Richard in the transaction. Liv-
ingstone‘s game, then, W“ to Send him to a
hotel, and then have some shrewd fellow “go
through him.”

I would have liked to have given the “sa-
vant” a slight warning, but I could not easily
do it without exposing my hand In the “little
game” too much; and that, I was afraid, would
spoil all. ‘ .

I thought the situation all over, and I rather
congratulated myself upon the favorable look
that things were. In the first place, I had the
“sinews of war ”--plenty of money; then I had
the proofs of the marria e of the mother, and
the birth of the child. hen I hld the heir her-
59". in New York, just where I could at m
hand upon her; and now, the crown ng tri-
um hi I had discovered the man who had the
Wil ! Then a sudden thought struck me—was I
particularly anxious to have this will produced?

 

fir

only claim one-third of the estate, while Rich-
ard and ()live would take the ’other two-thir is.
NM What the dent-e was I thinking of? Rich-
ard and Olive were bolh illegitimate children.
Their mother‘s marriage was not. legal, for An-
son Livingstone‘s first wife was then livmg.
Therefore they could claim nothing if the will
was destroyed, and Salome could take al‘.
elm”. then,‘it was for my interest that the
will should be destroyed. for that would make
Richard Livingstone, a beggar. _

Oh we went, in fine darkness of the night.
After a little more conversation, none of which

 

Yes; for if the will was de‘stroyed, Salome could,

 

has any bearing on my story, the gray-haired
“samnt” went to sleep. I endeavored to fol-
low his example, but for a long time was unsuc-
Cessful. A certain face, fringed with hair of
tawny beauty, and lit by steel blue orbs, was
ever and anon dancing before my eyes. Strange
how the two passions, love and hate, were ruling
my nature. If Idid not think of poor Pat‘s death,
and vengeance upon the assassin, Livingstone
then I thought of Nell, the Orange Girl, and
love. Is there nothing in this life but love? Is
this the beginning and the end of all’i Yes, it is;
life is love, and love is life!

Finally, my eyes closed in sleep, but, even in
my dreams, the fair round face, with its pure,
innocent ile, was always present.

We reac ed Albany about six in the morning.
During the stop there, 1 had a few minutes’ con-
versation with Joe, and told him all I had dis»
covered. For the better carrying out of my
plans, I suggested that, in the depét in New
York, we should ap r as strangers to each
other, but for him to cop a narrow watch upon
my movements, and when the time for other
action came, I would advise him.

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
A DOUBLE-BANKING OPERATION.

THE train on the Hudson River Railroad hear-
ing the “savant.” William Vanderwilt—so he
was called—Joe Sparks and myself, arriVed in
New York City a few minutes before one o‘clock.
It was a pleasant day, the sun beaming down
warmly, although the air was rather chilly.
Mr. Vanderwilt and myself, after the train had
stopped in the depOt, lei t the car. Hardly had
we step ' upon the platform, before a young,
stoutly- uilt fellow, dressed in a plain suit of
black, came up to Mr. Vanderwilt, and, speak-
ing quits politely, said: .

“ Isn’t this Mr. Vanderwilt, of Buffalo?”

“ Yes, sir,” said the “ savant,” in reply.

“ Ah, [thought 1 could not be mistaken, by
the description,” said the stranger. " Allow me
to introduce myself ; my name is Everett Clark.
I have the honvr to be Mr. Livingstone’s secre-
tary. Mr. Livingstone has been called out of
town suddenly, on important business, and re-
quested me to meet you at the depét.”

I “ tumbled” to this “little game ” at once, as

a detective might say. This was Livingstone’s
first move. He did not intend to see Vanderwilt
until the said Vanderwilt had been relieved of
the important document, the will of his father,
Anson, which the ray-haired guest carried in
his breast-pocket. guessed the movement that
this “secretar ,” Mr. Everett Clark was to
carry out. H s business was to reIieve Mr.
Vanderwilt of. the reclous will, without excit-
ing his suspicions. his Mr. Clark was probably
some shrewd “ confidence operator," one of those
gentlemen who have a “ check to cash,” but the
bank has just been closed; “ would Mr. Green-
horn, who has just arrived from the country,
lend him a hundred, or two or three hundred,
according to the amount of money said Green-
horn happens to have about him, and take the
check for security i” In nine cases out of ten,
Mr. Greenhorn is only too happy to oblige such
a perfect gentleman as Mr. Oily Gammon, Esq.,
the gentleman with the check. Mr. Greenhorn
lends his city friend all the loose cash he has
about him, takes the check, and then Mr. Oily
Gammon suddenly remembers that he has an
a pointment with Peter Cooper, Horace Greeley,

ayor Hall, or some other noted individual, and
hurries away, promising, however, to return in
an hour or so. and redeem the check. Mr. Green-
horn waits patiently; the time expires; the gui-
tleman from the rural “deestricks” begins to
feel anxious at the non appearance of his agree-
able friend; a peculiar sensation or over
him; a slight suspicion that perhaps al is not
right; but, then, 6 looks at the hank-check in
his hand: “Pay to bearer $50000,” drawn on
the First National Bank. That makes him safe
anyway, but, as a matter of precaution, he will
go to the bank and inquire. He does so, and is
somewhat astonished on receiving information
that the valuable check is worth simply what it
will fetch as waste paper. Mr. Greenhorn de-
parts for the rural “ deestricks,” by the firstoon-
veyanoe, a sadder, but a wiser man; or,
he is of a combative nature, and rushes at once
to the nearest policecstation to have the infernal
scOiindrel mated; the polite clerk in attendance
at the station listens to his woeful story, and
takes a description of the rogue, which is always
particularly indefinite. Mr. Greenhorn now feels
satisfied; justice is on the track ; he will sit down
and wait until the blue-coated Metropoli'ans
bring in the rascal. The gentlemen from the
rural districts always lava an immense idea of
the power of the city police; but the obligiigg
clerk informs him that the police stations are n
hotels, and that not only hours but days ma
elapse before the rogue is caught, and he w
take Mr. Greenhorns address and notify him
when his presence is desired to make his charge.
Mr. Greenhorn departs, fully satisfied that at
last he will have justice. As he goes through
the door, the ‘polite clerk puts his tongue in his
cheek in qute a significant manner and or
claims:

“ Walker 1”

26

The stout policeman on duty returns the pe-
culiar smile and says, briefly:

" Not muchi” '

All of which are su posed to refer to the im-
robability of Mr. Bonfidence Operator ever

mg caught. This is no fancy case that I have
been stating, but one that occurs in all our great
cities nearly every day. Once in a while it gets
into the police column of the newspaper; but,
nearly always, the sufferer, conscious of. his own
stupidity in being swindled in such an easy
manner, holds his tongue and says nothing about
it.
This Mr. Clark, from the peculiar, restless
look of his light-blue eyes, and the extreme
soberness of his “ get-up ’ ——that is, his dress and
general appearance—I set down at once as be-
onging to that class of people who are said to
get their living by their wits-or, in other words,
those who prey upon the weakness of their fel-
low-beings by cunning, not by force.

I knew very well that, two months ago, Liv-
ingstone had no secretary, and,as he had no

. particular busmess cares to attend to, it was

not likely that he had one now. As the police
would say, it was a “plant”; so I looked around
carefully for Mr. Clark’s coni'ederates. I was
not long in discovering them. Three men stood
in a little group on the platform—three flne
specimens of that peculiar class that flourish
only in cities, and are known by the general
term of “rough”-—-individuais generally very
well known to the police. They were stoutiy-
built fellows, with hair cut short to what my
friend Joe would call a “ fighting-crop ”; black,
bristling mustaches, red faces, and small, evil-
looking eyes. These fellows were standing near
the doorway, watching Mr. Everett Clark and
my friend, the savant, very intently. I had an
idea, now what their“little game” was. As
Vanderwilt passed through the door they would
probably block up the entrance, and, in the lit-
tle confusion thus occasioned, would pick his
pockets; but I had little fear of their getting the
will, because he had told me that it was in the
breast-pocket of his body-coat and he had his
overcoat tightly buttoned up. besides Joe and

.I would be near at hand, and I didn‘t intend to

let them proceed in their operations uninter-
rupted. But I thought to myself: I must warn
Joe, somehow, and put him on his guard, be—
cause I had a fancy that Joe’s powerful arm—
the terrible “ left duke” of the pugilistic “ Spi-
der”—would soon be brought into service. Joe,
for a little man, was the most terrible left-hand-
ed hitter that I had ever seen.

Of course all these thoughts passed through
my mind in a very few minutes. Minutes?
Seconds 1 should say for they occurred while

Mr. Vanderwilt replied to the secretary’s.

meech.
“ When does Mr. Livingstone return?"

“ To-morrow, sir, I expect him back. It was.

quite urgent business that took him away, and
he desired me to say to you that he was ex-
tremely sorry that he could not meet you as
agreed u n.

“ Oh, usiness is business, sir of course. 1
knowi that, although I’m not a business man,”
rcplied‘the savant.

. ‘ Well, I suppose we might as well go at once
to a hotel. 1 am obliged to take you to a hotel,
Mr. Vanderwilt, because at present there are re-
pairs being put upon Mr. Livingstone’s house,
and all the family are out of town.”

The “ secretary ” delivered this in such a nice,
easy manner that I was quite charmed with his

war of conversation and the easy facility with .

p0
which he lied It was truly a capital excuse to
revent Vanderwilt from going to Richard's
ones. At a hotel, he would be completely at
the mercy of the “ secretary.”

“ Ahi I am sorry for that, for I should
have liked to have seen Miss Olive,” said Van-
derwilt.

“ Oh she will return, sir, before you go away.
I has her speak of that particularly. The re-

irs in fact are all done, and they Will have the

se in order in a day or two; so that you will
only have to stop at the hotel a very short time.
By the way, is there any particular hotel that
you prefer going toi”

M , admiration for Mr. Everett was increased
cone derably by this adroitly-put speech. I
knew very well that “ Mr. Secretary” had al-
ready arranged in his own mind as to what ho—
tel my friend, the savant, should go, and had
even probably picked out the room for his
victim—the one most convenient for his pur-

pose.

“ No," said Vanderwilt; “ I have no particu-
lar ’preference; one is as good as another for
me.

“ Well, I had an idea that perhaps you hadn’t
any decided liking. and so I spoke about a room
for you at my place, the Metropolitan Hotel.
They had a very nice one right next tp mine, so
I engaged it, as Mr. Livingstone left particular
orders that nothing should be left undone to
make you comfortable.”

The smooth manners of the tricky agent of
Livingstone I saw had made quite a favorable
impression upon Vanderwilt; in fact, I must
own that the fellow was smart, and if I hadn’t
been on my guard, be possibly would have de—
ceived me; but] had looked behind the curtain

 

 

of deceit, and knew something of the wires that
made the puppets dance.

“I am really much obliged to Mr. Living-
stone,”replied Vanderwilt; “ I am much obliged
to him for his kindness."

“ Oh, don’t mention it, sir,” cried Mr. Everett,
quickly. “ As a friend of his father, of course,
sir, he must feel a high degree of respect for
you. ,

It was evident that the “agent” Was well
posted in the premises, as a lawyer would say.
Richard had chosen his man carefully. The
Metro olitan Hotel too—one of the leading ho-
tels ofPNew York City; nothing in that to ex-
cite the suspicions of the stranger. And in one
of the large New York hotels, what splendid
chances to play their “little game” and rob
Vanderwilt of the precious will, provnled they
could not pick his pocket and relieve him of it
beforehand! Decidedly, the whole scheme was
worthy the clear head of Richard. He was a
man of genius, beyond all question, although his
genius took the road that leads to the State
Prison. I

“ Have yen iany baggage, sir?” asked the
“ secretary.” ,

“ Yes, a car t-bag, only; here is the check.”

“If you wil permit, 1 ll get it for you, and
we can take an omnibus right down-town: I de-
test these close carriages,” said Evorett.

“ Certainly; I shall be much obliged,” replied
the savant; and away went the secretary with
the check.

Here was another chance for them; if they
couldn’t pick his pocket in the depdt, why, they
might in the omnibus. I could not but admire
the carefully arranged details of the plan, par-
ticularly as Joe and I could upset it all; but I
saw I must find a chance to speak to Joe, and
warn him.

“Quite an agreeable fellow, this Mr. Clark,
dod’t you think so?" said Vanderwilt.

" Yes, quite so.”

Then a thought occurred to me, and I turned
round and pretended to see Joe for the first
time; he was standing on the platform a short
distance from us.

“ Why, Mr. Sparksi” I cried, “ how are you?”
and rushed over to him and took him by the
hand warmly.

“ How do you do?" exclaimed Joe, under~
standing the little movement at once, and tak-
ing me by the hand as though 1 was an old
friend that he hadn’t seen for years.

“Joe,” said I, sinking my voice down low,
“have you noticed these three fellows standing
over, there together and watching Vander-
wiltl’ v

“ What—those three ‘ roughs 'i”

U Ya."

“ Wal, I have. What of ’emi” ‘

“ They’ll probably try the jam game as we go
through the doorway, and pick Vanderwilt’s
pocket. Now, I’ll take ou over and introduce
you to Vanderwilt, an just as we get to the
door you slip ahead of him and go through
first, and if there’s any difficulty, why, hit out
strong—”

“ You bet!” was Joe’s emphatic response.
“ Ef they give me any of their slack, I’ll climb
on their eyebrows lively.”

“ All right; keep your eyes open,” I replied;
then I took him over to Vanderwilt and intro-
duced him to the savant as Mr. Sparks from Ne-
braska.

Just then the secretary, Mr. biark, returned
with the savant’s carpethag.

“i’ve got it, sir,” said he. .“I suppose we
might as well go now,” and then he glanced sus-
piciously at Joe and myself.

Before I had stood behind Vanderwilt, and he
hadn’t noticed me.

“ By the way, Mr. James,” said Vanderwilt,
turning to me, “ are you going to any hotel? If
you ’are, why not come to the Metropolitan with
mel‘

Now, this was exactly what I wanted; in
fact, I was just trying to think of some excuse
to “ wring in ” on the party, and now here was
the o portunity offered! Of course I jumped at
the c ance.

‘31 guess I will go to the Metropolitan,”l
sai .
Mr. Everett looked disgusted; this was an
addition to his party that he had not counted

upom /

“ Mr. James Mr. Clark,’ said Vanderwilt, in-
troducing. ~

I, or course, immediately expressed my lea-
sure, which I could plainly see was not rec pro-
cated on Mr. lark’s part. Then I introduced
J0e. It was ard work for Mr. Everett Clark
to look pleased. In his heart, I’ve no doubt, he
wished us all in Tcpbet. But there was no help
for him. Here we were all together, and to
separate us would be difficult. Isaw that he
was thinking over his plan of action. I had an
idea that he was not going to try the pickpocket
business, as I noticed that his eyes wandered ir-
resoiutely over to where his confederates stood.
They were doubtless' waiting for some signal
from him. Suddenly he seemed to have decided,
for he raised his left hand and stroked his chin
carelessly. This was evidently the signal they
had been ex ting, for they walked quickly
over to the " oorwey nearest to us. They did

/
V l

 

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

not s through the doorwa however but
“god’s; the inside. I saw thaz’the movement
was to be attempted, so i winked a warning at
Joe, but his quick eye had also seen the move-
ment of the “roughs,”and I noticed that he
quietly closed his left hand in readiness for the
attack.

“ I suppose we may as well go,” repeated Mr.
Everett.

“ Certainly,” said Vanderwilt; and we start-
ed iii the following order: first came the
“ secretary,” carryihg the carpetrbag ; then
Mr. Vanderwilt; then Joe, and then rnySelf.

Just as we got to the doorway, Clark quick—
ened his pace and passed through, leaving a
s ace between him and Vanderwilt that “ rough

o. 1 ” instantly stepped forward and one" pied.
The other two roughs attempted to push in be—
tween Vanderwilt and Joe, but were roughly
shoved back by Joe, who, in the little confusion
that this occasionwd, changed positions and took
Vanderwilt’s place, so that when “ rough No. l ”
in the doorway turned round suddenly and
stopped, exiiecting by this movement to jam
Vanderwilt up against the other ‘two roughs in
the rear,so that in the confusion they Could
“ go through ” his pockets, he encountered
gpe, who carried his arms well up, ready for a

ow.

“ ’Who’re you pushin’l” sung out Joe, to
“rough No. 1,” giving him a shove in the
breast that forced him half-way through the
door space—I, at the same time, being between
Vanderwilt and the two roughs in the rear,
thulsK ptreventing ,them from operating upon his

e s.

“ What did yer do that fur 3” demanded
“ rough No. I,” turning upon Joe with an oath.

“ Fun fun!" responded Joe, coolly, still keep
ing hands up ready for a guard.

“ Fun i—you !” cried the rough, making a sud-l

den pass at Joe’s head, which would probably
have seriously damaged my friend’s nose, but
for his quick right arm, that threw the blow ed
to one side; then, with a suddenness that can
only be compared to the jump of a cat, he drew
back his terrible left arm, and, with the whole
weight of his muscular body, delivered a ter-
rible blow that took the rough square on the
chin, lifted him of! his feet, and knocked him
clean through the doorway down the steps onto
the hard sidewalk. ' '

Joe followed his fallen foe, and we all passed
through the d00rway.

“ Double-hank him, blast him i” cried “ rough
No. 2,” making a dash at Joe.

“Double-bank ” in sporting parlance, is to
take an unfair a vantage, two or more on one.
But Joe was not easily double-banked, especial-
ly when I took a hand in, as I speedily did,
knocking one of the ruffians into the gutter with
a swin ing hit under the car. A crowd as—
sembl speedily; the cry “ police!” was raised.
The two roughs that were able took to their
heels; the first, who was still insensible, was
captured lay the Metropolitans, while Joe, the
savaat an
crowd. I never saw a man look so thoroughly
(liqisgilisted as Clark did at the failure of plan

0. .

 

CHAPTER XX V.
THE MASQUERADE BALL Ai‘ THE ACADEMY.
“ YOU settled that fellow speedily,” said Vau—

V derwilt in admiration of the scientific manner

in whic my friend, Joe the Spider, had disposed
of the roug .

“ You bet!” said Joe, emphatically; ‘ we
handle some very rough customers cut in the
mines, sometimes, and a man’s got to know he w
to hit out, to travel fur in the diggin’s.”

Clark, the ‘,‘ secretary,” the wily agent of Liv-
ingstone, looked cresifailen at the failure of the
first attack, and uttered never a word as we
made our way to the omnibus.

As we rode down town, I could see that Clark
was busy thinking—probably revolving over in
his mind what scheme to try next to gain posses-
sion of the recious will that the savant, Vander-
wilt carri on his person. I watched him close-
ly, and soon 1 saw that his brow, clouded over
with the shades of depression. bilck as night,
began to grow lighter; than a faint smile ap-
peared around the corners‘of his thin, treacher-
ous-lookingllips. He had conceived a scheme to
suit him. must he on my guard, then, to defeat
him. I had until twelve o’clock of the next day
to myself, for at twelve on the morrow I was to
be at the t-ofilce to meet Nell, the girl of my
heart. I ad but little doubt that she would get
the letter I had written to her from Buffalo, and
kee the appointment I had made.

ow, m object was to keep close to Vander-
wilt, and has prevent this “ Mr. Clark ” or his
confederates from robbing him.

Of course Clark had no suspicion that either
Joe or myself knew his “little game ”—-hcw
should he! Both Joe and I were strangers . to
him: he could not possibly guess, for a sin le
moment, that we knew the mission on which i0
had been dispatched by Richard Livingstone, or
that we were determined to predent him from
accomplishing that mission. in this I had the
advanta e. Hethoughthisobject wasunknown,
whereas knew it as wellas he did. The row in

I

a

myself got 06 unnoticed in the‘

 

’V

7.._ ._,._...~

 

 

passes.) career Grip: ‘

27

 

 

the depot, in which Joe polished off his confed-
erates so handsomely, looked only as the result
of accident. He, of course, could not think that
it was a well-laid plan on the part of Joe and
myself to prevent his associates from robbing
the savant. But now the questioa was, what
little dodge would he try next, since his first
scheme had failed?

We reached the'hotel, registered our names,
and then went in to dinner.

Dinner over, our rooms were allotted to us.
Clark, of course, had his already, and one picked
out and saved for Vanderwilt; then we ascended
in the “ elevator”—the convenient machine that
saves goingup-stairs to the third story. Luckily
for my plans, we were all located on the same
story. As i had suSpected, Clark had picked
out the room next tohisown for Vanderwilt,
and a door led from one into the other—a nice
little arrangement for Mr. “ Secretary." truly.

After we had examined our rooms, Clark sent
for a bottle of champagne, and extended a. cor-
dial invitation for us to join him in a social glass
in his room. Of course we accepted.

The wine brought, we fell to discussing that
and the current topics of the day.

“By the way,” said the savant, “what do
these flaming hand-bills of the ‘ Wickedest Man
in New York’ mean, that I see about the
streets?"

“They have reference to John Allen, who
kee a sailor‘s dance—house, in Water street,”
rep led Clark.

‘ Well, is the man really so bad i”

“ No," responded Clark; “there are twenty
others just as bad as he. It’s all a money-making
scheme. A monthly magazine wants to st up
a sensation—something to make it sell. Io this
end it is necessary to get everybody to talk
about it. Some publishers achieve that by
large and persistant advertising, but that costs
a great deal of money. The great study of all

ood business men in this world is to have their
usiness advertised without costing them any—
thing. That was the idea of the publisher I
s ak of. He employed an able writer—one of
t t class of writers called sensational—to write
up some subject which “ould instantly attract
the public's attentionuand also be mentioned
ratuitously by every Journal in the country.
ho solectm‘l the suoject, this John Allen—
whether it was publisher ur-anthor—I, of course,
don’t know; but the article, headed the ‘ Wick-
edsst Man,’ was a decided success. Nearly every

. daily paper in the country copied portions of the

article. The result was that it rushed the sale
of the magazine up enormously; to use the pop-
ular expression, it went like ‘ hot cakes,’ and
John Allen, the keeper of a common sailors’
dance-house in Water street—a place neither
better nor worse than a dozen others of the same
class—became notorious. Everybod was talk-
ing about the ‘ Wickedest Man in ew York ;’
hundreds rushed down to see the dance-house
and the ‘ sorled doves,’ its inmates, who decayed
and fleeced poor ‘Jack.’ Of course Allen, the
keeper, liked it at first, because it brought custom
to his den; for it is a den, though, from the illus-
trations and descriptions in someof the weekly
apers, one would be apt to imagine it a palace.
Then this man pretended a sort of half-piet ,,as
though a man could serve Heaven and the eVll
at the same time, and thus the case stands. His
place was filled to overflowing every ni ht, and
quite a number used ts’go there in the aytime,
but Allen, just now, is beginning to grumnle be-
cause he says. the prayer-meetings don’t y;
so he has put back the girls and the liquor,r:nd
entices poor sailors, just the same as be ore.
By the way, we’ll go down there some night, if
you like, and you can see for yourself.”
“I should be pleased to go,” replied Vander-

wilt. -

This little description, by Mr. Clark, of the
Water street den, rather increased my Opinion
of his cleverness. He was a man of brain, though
working for evil, not for good. I felt that I
needed an my shrewdness, or he would beat me
in the game we were playing.

“ B -the—b Mr. Vanderwilt.” said Clark,
“ did yyou evil2 0 to aimasquerade ball!”

“ No,” repli the savant: “ I have never at-
tended one.

“The Arion Societ give a nd mas uerade
to-ni ht at the A emy of usic. e have
noth ng else to do; suppose we 20?" said Clark.

!‘ I think it’s a good idea. What do you fly,
gentlemen?" said Vanderwilt.

Both Joe and I signified an assent to the propo-

‘sition.

” I had batter go, then, and make arrange-
ments for costumes," said Clark. “ What dress
would you like. Mr. Vanderwilt!”

“ Well, I haven’t the slightest idea. What do
you think, Mr. James" asked the savant.

“ I think a monk’s dress—a plain domino, be-
cause it’s no trouble. and you can put it on over
your own citizen’s dress and save changing,” I

said.

“ That’s a capital ideal” said Vanderwilt.

“ Shall I get your dominos for you, gentlemen?
I can as well as not i” added Clark.

I thanked him kindly for the offer, but de-
clined. I knew at once that this visit to the
masquerade concealed some trap, and I did not
choose that he should select two conspicuous

 

dominos for Joe and myself, as I knew he would,

thus to be able to mark us for his confederates. 2

I had resolved to wear plain black.
that twenty others would be dressed the same,
and in the crowd it wouli be hard work to tell
one black domino from another.

I felt sure ‘

After a little more conversation, Clark and I ’

started to walk d0wn the street to get our tickets
and dresses.
strict instructions to keep his eyes open during
my absence. I did not fear, however, that Clark
and his conferlerates would attempt anything
before night.
he developed at the masquerade; what it would
be, however, I could not guess as yet, but I felt

I left Joe with Vanderwilt. with ,

I felt assured the next plan would i

I must trust, to my wits to defeat it when they ‘

began to put it in operation.

Clark and I w..lked down Broadway as far as
the corner of Brooms street. There we parted;
he went up Brooms street, to visit a costumer,
and I remained on the corner a few minuti s to
make sure that he would not return to spy upon
my footsteps. Then I crossed over to the other
side of the street. went up-stairs, and knocked
at the door of the ofiice of my friend, John Peters,
the detective.
He knew me in an instant.

“You’re just the man I wanted to see!” he

Peters opened the door in person. i

- for nothing better.

ally , “I think, you stand chance to win,
now.

“ I hope so," I replied.

“Youll start for the Academy about nine

o’clock, won’t you ?” he said.

N Yes.”

“Very well; Hank and I will be on guard
there at nine precisely.”

So, with a parting grasp of the hand, I left
Peters’s office. I went instantly to a oostumer’s
on Brooms street, and got a couple of black
dominos for Joe and myself, then bought a couple
of tickets for the masquerade.

So far. all had gone well. Could I but foil
Richard’s plans to gain possession of the will,
and manage to have it destroyed, I would ask
To-morrOW, too, I should
meet Nell, the blue-eyed witch, whose sweet face
haunted my slumbers—Nell, who was to be the

1 angel of my life.

l

cried, as be grasped me warmly by the hand and ;

drew me inside the deer.

“ Well, l’m glad of that,” I answered.

“I couldn’t very well write to you, because
you told me in your letter, from Denver City,

that you were going up the mountains, so I was 1

waiting to hear from you again.”

“ W hat is it-any good news?” I asked.

“Ohl not much; only this.” He went to the
little desk in the ofiice, and from one of the
gigeOn-holes took out a large yellow envelope.

rom this envelope he took a folded per,
opened it, and at the bottom of the paper s owed
me the seal of the State of New York, and the
clerkly signature of the governor. It was my
pardon!

I tell you, my heart gave a great leap when
my eyes took in the contents of that little sheet
of paper. It was life and liberty to me. Now,
once again, I could walk the streets of my native
city, without having the dismal fear that a
blue-coated Metropolitan, or a bird of prey in
the shape of a private detective, would be tap-
ping me on the shoulder with the ,polite but

niflcant intimation—“ I want on !’

armly I wrung Peters’s ban in my joy.

“Thank you, John,” I cried. . “I can never
reps; this service.”

‘ es, you can; if not to me, to some one else,”
he replied. “ it may be in your power one of
these days to help a fellow-creature; by helping
him you repay the servnce I have done you;

that’s the way I look at it. We were all put in“

this wprld to aid one another; that’s my doc-
ne.

“ And a good, sound one it is, too; but, tell
anefiow did you contrive to procure this par-

on

“Ohl it was simple enough. I am very well
acquainted with a prominent politician who
wields great influence in the politics of the State,
and through him the work was done.”

Again I thanked him, and then I proceeded to
tell him what had occurred during my absenée.

Peters listened to my story with attention.
He was particularly pleased when I told him
how I became heir to the gold left by “ English
Bob,” and of my discovery of all the proofs
needed to give Salome Livingstone the fortune
now held and enjoyed by the half-brother,
Richard. I also told him of the “secretary,”
Mr. Clark, who had met Vanderwilt and myself
at the depdt; of my conviction that he intended
to rob Vanderwilt of the precious will at. the
masquerade ball at the Academy of Music that

was to take place that ev ning.

Peters thought for a in meat.

“I tell you what it is,”he said; “I haven’t
any thing particular to do just now. Suppose I
take a hand in this ‘little game.”

Ifights very favor I would have asked 1” I
c O

“ All right; I’m your man! Hank and I—
Hank Henry, my partner, you know—will be
on hand at this 'masque e ball to-night. I
don‘t agree with you in one thing, though; 1
don’t think they’ll try the dodge the , because,
if he carries this will in a breast-[piglet it will
be difficult for them to get at it. heir plan will
Probably be to get him away somewhere to take
some supper, or something of that sort, and then

flx’ him. You see, the reason for going to the

masquerade is, that in the crowd they can easily-

se rate him from you and your friend."

could not help saying that this appeared ‘0

mf‘to be reasonable. ‘

. I think so,” he lied. “Now, Hank and I
Will watch outside, so that, if they do separate
him from you, and to run him of! to some
0m" 1‘06. Why we’ll be down on them, sharp
88‘}! .les. What do you think of my plan?"

“ It In .excellent,” 1 re lied.

}, think it will be] water, as the English
"Xi he laid. quietly.

And the moment we settle this will business,
I 31“" bunt! su‘t against Livingstone to force
big! to vacate the property.”

That“ your game i” cried Peters, emphatic-

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
MR. onaax‘s “LITTLE GAME.”

I RETURNED at once to the hotel. I found
that Clark had already got back, and was seated
in the office talking with Vanderwilt and Joe.

“ Did you get your dominos. Mr. James?” he
asked.

“ Yes, I have them.”

“ Did on think to get any masks?”

“ No, Ididn’t.”

“ Oh l we must have some masks by all means,”
cried Vanderwilt; “ we must be disguisedfor
a masquerade, or else there wouldn‘t be ‘imy

' fun.”

“ That’s so,” chimed in Joe.

“ Suppose, Mr. James,” said Clark, “ that we
take a walk up Broadway and get some masks.
We have plenty of time before supper.”

“ Certainly,” I replied; “ I’m agreeable; let’s
be oil! at once.”

80, up Broadway Mr. Clark and I started. I
noticed that, as we walked up the street, Clark
kept hiseyeson ahead ;‘as though he was lookin
for some one. I kept close watch upon him.
was playing a difficult game, and it was neces-
sary that I should see all the moves appertam' ing
to t. '
Just as we crossed over Bleecker street, I no
ticed that his eyes brightened. He had evident:
i seen what he had been looking for. Of course

was careful not to let him see that I was no-
ticing him. I looked on ahead at the throng
coming down the street, to see who it was that
Clark ad been expecting tomeet, for I felt sure,
from his movement, that he had been expecting
to meet some one. I soon saw who it was. it
was a woman—a woman dressed in the height
of fashion; a short dress, little hat, dainty ham,
pale- kid glOves, matching the underskirt
of all , peculiarly-arranged headdress, with the
long, loose trees of perfumed hair floatin down
over the shoulder. All was charming. S h was
pretty, too. A little below the medium height,
with a well-proportioned form—that is, to the
eye well-proportioned; i believe our fashionable '
ladies sometimes owa something of their exqui-
site iigures to the skill of their dressmakers and
toacertain Southern plant the product of Which,
before the war, was dignified by the title of
“ King.” Be that as it may, I will not attempt
to discover or reveal the secrets of the feminine
toilet. content to take them as they are,rangels
—when they are not-the opposite. The woman
advancin -—I use the good, old term, woman, as
being pre erable to the modern, shabby-genteel
appellation, lady—was fair to look upon. Her
face was oval; the features regular; the eyes
and hair dark-brown, and but for certain inde-
scribable lines about the eyes and month, she
could have been called beautiful. But, those
lines told of 6711 passions, swa ing the inner
nature—pamions not controlled, at allowed to_
have their free sway; of nights out in dissipa-
tion; of deep draughts of the l quid fire that
steals the brains away.

On she came, With her dainty tread, exciting
general notice. As she passed, men turned mun
to loohafter her. I saw that, at quite a distance,
she had noticed Clark, although as yet she had
not manifested any sign of recognition, but, just
as she passed, she ca‘ppeared to see him for the
first time, and bow . Clark instantly returned
the salutation.

“ Excuse me for a minute,” he said, hastily,
“ while I speak to that lady.

“ Certainly,” I answered.

Clark halted, turned round and hastened after
the feminine. In a few steps he caughtlnp with
her, for she had slackened her pace after passing
us. Then they both stopped and held a parent-
ly quite an interesting conversation. noticed
that the woman, ever and anon, turned her face
my way and indulged herself with a good,‘ long
glance at me. Had I been a vain man, I might
have thought that the “fair lady” had taken
quite a fancy to your “ humble servant ;” but,
not being a vain man, 1 merely asked myself
what “ little game ” they were going to try now,
for, in my ewn mind, I felt sure that this superb-
ly-dresssd feminine was onlv another one of
Clark‘s confederates. He had tried force and
failed: now he was probably going to try vii .V-t,
cunning would do; in fact. put in force me
shrewd maxim of the crafty Greek, “ a hen tt e
lion’s skin falls short, eke it out with the fox’s. ‘

 

‘28

 

w

But, in this case. forewarned was to be fore-
armed, and I had little fear but that I could
check all Mr. Clark’s moves.

Clark talked with the fair stranger, perhaps
ten minutes, and then, with a polite how, he left
her and joined me. As he came up, i happened
to glance across the street, and there, on the
opposite curb-stone, sucking a quill toothpick,
and swinging a light cane, in a particularly
careless manner. stood my friend, John Peters,
the detective. He evidently had been a witness
to the interview betvveen Clark and the unknown
female. I fancied just then that if Clark knew
the parties he had lo contend with, he would
have given up his “little game” in sheer dis-

list.

But, we little know in this world what is in
store for us. We walk blindly on in our life-
path, perhaps happily, ignorant-of the future.

“ Did on under: the lady?” asked Clark, after
'he had Joined me, and we had again resumed
our walk.

“ Yes,” I answered.

“ Pratt , isn’t she?”

“ Yes, quite pretty."

1“ She’s the daughter of one of the richest mer-
chants in New orkuone of the old families,
too—none of your modem Cudileh or coal-oil
stock.”

“Ah, indeed!” I remarked. I knew well
enough that he lied, but I was curious to know
what he was after.

" Yes, she’s a nice girl, too, not a bit stuck up.
She’s got plenty of money and she knows how to
use it. She drives as handsome a pair of horses
as war trotted through Central Park. I tell
you she cuts an awful ‘swath.’as they say, on
Saturde afternoon at the Park. 1 have known
her ever since we were children and went to
school together!”

“Ah, indeedl” I knew he was lying again,
but I waited.patiently for him to unmask the
battery,,which I felt certain he was bringing to
bear on me.

“ Yes, we’re old-acquaintances, you see, though
I’m poor and she’s rich; but as lsaid before,
theres no pride about her. She moves in the
best sOciety in New York, but she’s just as
friendly with me as though I was worth a
million. In fact, she’s a devilish nice girl, as
good-natured as she’s pretty. By the way, I’d
almost forgotten to mention it; she’s going to
the masquerade to-night."

‘9 What, to the Academy!”

" Yes. just where we are going.” be answered.

The murder was out now. i knew what the
next move was going to be.

“And, speaking of that,” he continued; “do
you kn0w that you made quite an impression
upon her!”

“ Did I?" It was the old game over again.
but my friend Clark had missed his mark.
was not a “ flat "or a “ greenhorn ” to he twisted
round the finger of even a pretty woman.

“ Yes, you did, upon my honor,” he replied.
“She wanted to know particularly who my
friend was. I, of course, ut in a good word for

on. and she looked qu te pleased when she
earned from me that you were going to the
masquerade to-night, and she made me promise
to introduce you to her. ”

“Did shel’ cried I, with an innocent smile of

deligpt.
“ h, yes! she did!” exclaimed Clark swallow-
ing the bait I had oifered him, and i suppose
laughing in his sleeve at the easy manner in
which he was going to humbug me. “ I tell you,
Vu’re a lucky fellow, the very first day in New
ork, to make a conquest of about the prettiest
girl in the city! Why, [ envy you.”

“ Do you?” I said this in such a simple inno-
cent way, how could the wily “secretary ’—the
shrewd, artful Mr. Clark—the gentleman up to
all the dodges of the metropolitan roguesi b;

in

. else but deceived! It is astonishing how b

J

' these cunning'men are sometimes.

“I’ll introduce you tonight. She told me
what she’s going to wear. Her dress is a scar-
let domino, trimmed with white. She said she
would be there about nine. Now, just you take
my advice and follow this thing up. Go in and
w 11.

Oh! how well this man knew the weakness of
his fellow-men. With his counsel he appealed
to the strongest passion that rules the will of
man. I saw his object. His idea was at the
masquerade to separate me from Vanrler wilt by

introducing me to this woman. In all prob-'

ability he had some similar scheme prepared
to entrap Joe. Once we were away from the
savant. and lost in the crowd, why he was in
their power. I saw the wisdom of Peters’s
thoughts; he was right ~they would not attempt
to rob Vanderwilt of the will at the Academy,
but would decoy him away elsewhere. The plan
was excellent, but it could not succeed. Joe,
Peters and myself were too strong for him to
cow with.
r e ste ped into a'store devoted to fancy-
goods, on bought four half—masks. all of them
alike and all black. Then we left the store and
ztrtzllled down Broadway again toward our

0 . -

As we entered the hotel, whom should we meet
right on the steps but J ohn Peters. Peters was
s l sucking his quill toothpick and swinginghis

v

‘ .

1391.399”??? Gords

 

n’s Grip.

 

light cane. As we came up the steps, Peters ‘
gave Mr. Clark a searching l< ok, but he paid no
more attention to me than if I had been an utter
stranger. I noticed tbnt Clark becamea shade
paler as he caught Peters’s eyes. It was evident
that he knew the detective, but of course he
could have no suspicion that Peters was on his
track.

After supper we all sat in the office—Vander-
wilt, Clark, Joe and myself—and smoked and
talked till about nine o'clock; then we took a
carriage and were driven to the Academy of
Music.

In the carriage we put on our dominos.
Clark had procured black d mines for Vander-
wilt and himself, so all four were dressed alike.

()n arriving at the Academy, we left the car-
riage and entered the building. There wasquite
a Ioc of people going in just then, and they form-
ed a small cr0wd at the door. 1 had not yet put
on my mask, but held it in my hand, half-con- ,
cesllng my faCe. with it. I wlls the last of our :
party; before me was Vanderwilt; before him 3
Joe; and, first of all, Clark. While waiting
some one gave a gentle tug at my domino. I 5
turned my head and found Peters behind me, I
clad also in a black domino and mask.

“ Which is Clark?” he said, in a whisper.

” The one in black ahead; third from me.”

“ And Vanderwiltl”

“ The one just ahead of me in black.”

“All right,” he answered. “Hank’s at the
door. I must mark these fe110ws, so that he and i
I will know them; there’s thirty black dominos 1
here already.” ‘

“ How mark?” I asked.

“Look over your right shoulder, at the back 4
of our right sleeve.”

did so, and found that where he had placed ’
his hand he had left a small daub of white
paint. With asmile, he showed me a little tin ,
tube of white paint, such as artists use for oil- I
painting.

“ Let me‘fo by you so as to mark the others.
Clark and anderwilt I will mark on the back;
your friend, on the arm like yourself.”

Quietly, and without exciting any one’s at- ;
teution, be marked each of the three before him
with white paint.

The crowd before us gave way, and we passed
into the Acadeigy of Music,the parquet of which
had been plank ovor even with the stage, thus
forming a splendid dancing-floor.

The interior was brilliant with lights. All cos-
tumes of the world and of all periods dilated
about the waxed floor in the giddy movement of
the dance. All was mirth and fun.

We four stood by the doorway and gazed upon
the gidd y and sense-entrancing scene. We had
been standing there perhaps ten minutes, when
a female form, clad in a scarlet domino, trimmed
with white, and leaning on the arm of a large
gentleman disguised as a red devil, came past.

he lady bowed to Clark, who had not covered
his face with his mask.

“ That is Miss Preston,” said Clark to me,
grasping my arm and pointing tothe figure in
scarlet; " come with me and l’ll introduce you.”

“ Is that the one who passed us on Broadway
to-da i”I asked.

“ es; but, confound it, I‘ve lost sight of her
now in thecrowd. Never mind ; she’ll be around

ain presently.” Then Clark turned his atten-
tion to Vanderwilt, and commenced explaining
to him the diflerent costumes.

“ Alex,” said Peters, who had guietly kept out
of sight and followed close bebin me ‘ what did
he as about that woman in scarlet?”

“ e’s oing to introduce me presently,” I re-
plied. “ t’s a ‘plant,’I think. She’s in with
this Clark. The idea is to se rate me from
Vanderwilt, and I suppose hes got something
also fixed to get Joe away.”

“ What did he call her?” asked Peters.

“Preston,”l answered. Then I told him of
the meeting in Broadway.

“ You’re right, it is a plant.’ ”

“ And who is this Clark!” I asked.

“He’s a ‘capper-in’ for one of the largest
gambliu hells in town —- one of those fellows

hat lay n wait around the hotels, rope in coun-
try merchants who come to the city to buy
goods. get them out for a little spree, and finish
up by oing to the ambling-hell to fight the
‘tiger’ net in little. f course the countryman
loses his money and the ‘capper-in ’ gets a per-
cwntage of what the house wins from his vio-
time.

“ What is best to be done; decline this intro-
duction?"

“ Oh, nol accept itl To decline might rouse
their suspicious, and our game is to let them
think everything is going all right for them.
But keep near the door, and when you hear a
shrill whistle, break for the pavement instant] y.
Say you’re sick, anything you like, but get
away. Here she comes again.”

The scarlet domino came sailing by. Clark
perceived her, and, darting forward, bowed and
stopped her. They stood a moment in conversa-
tion-Clark. the lady in the scarlet domino, and
the man dressed as the red devil: thén Clark left

l d

 

them and came to me.
:iNow 1 will introduce you, if you like, he
as . ‘ a
“ I shall be delighted,” I replied.

I
i
am. . ~i .12 H w» *‘ r' I

So Clark took me out and introduced the lady
in the scarlet domino to me as Miss Preston. I
bowed in acknowledgment. She asked the red
devil to excuse her; his Satanic Majesty said,
“Certainly.” I took Miss Preston’s arm, and
We commenced promenading up and down the
ballroom—I of course timing our walk so as to
keep within easy distance of the door.

After a short conversation of about a quarter
of an hour, I came to the (.- sncluslon that Miss
J ennie Preston was about as near a fool as she
could possibly be withOnt being one. It did not
take me long to lind out what her motive was

- for playing this “little game.” Clark had told

her that I had justreturned from the goldmines
and was absolutely rolling in wealth. I gather-
ed this from her conversation. She tried the
course usually adopted in these cases. She spoke
of the cold, heartless world—of the strong, never-
dying love of woman and faithlessness of man—
whut heartless creatures we were—how that she
never, never could possiblybe brought to low
any wicked, cruel man, she knew she never
wouldl During all the conversation I had been
keeping a wary eye on the three black domincs
by the door, but at the end of her speech, as I
turned round, the three forms had disappeared
in the crowd. The time for action was coming.

CHAPTER XXVII.
'rml: DANCE—HOUSE IN WATER STREET.

MISS PRESTON and I continued our romenade
for perhaps a half an hour after I ha noted the
disappearance of the lhree black don inos. I had
been listening intently for the whistle, the signal
for me to leave the ball-room.
As we walked up and down I tried in vain to
iscover my three friends. There were plenty
of black dominos all around me, but none of
them were marked with the white int—the
capital device.that Peters had adopte to enable
him to know us in the crowd.

While I was waiting for the time for action I

 

. amused myself by pretending to feel the (lee

admiration for Miss Jennie, who leaned so ov-
ingly upon my arm. But, in my heart, I com;
pared her to the blue-eyed golden-haired Nell,
and the thought absolutely made me loathe her.
Yet she was what men would cull prcity. As I
looked u n the crowd of gayly-dres~ed mas ue-
raders be ore me, I noticed one, enveloped n a
black domino, who seemed to be alone, and also
seemed to be seeking some one. As he came
nearer he turned, and I saw the white paint ot
upon the right arm. It was Joe. By some r so,
he had been separated from Clark and Vander-
wilt. I felt that it was necessary to warn him
of the signal appointment by the detective, so
that he could also be at hand to take 1: in the
approaching drama soon to be enac .

“ Will you excuse me for a minute, Miss Pres-
ton, while I speak to a friend!" I asked.

“ You will come right back!” she said. It was
evident her orders were not to lose sight of me.

“ Certainly,” I answered. gallantly.

A few sleps brought me to the black domino.

“Joel” I said.

“ That’s me,” replied the Spider’s well-known
voice. “Is that you? Cuss me, of I helievel
could tell my grandmother in these rags,” he
muttered.

“How did you become separated from Clark
and V'andeeriltl” _

“ Wal—you see, we got into a big crowd, an’
a darned cuss—a big. red devil-‘-got a-hold on
me, an’ store i knew it i lost the other fellows.
.I kinder got film when I looked round an'
couldn’t see ’em anywhar. an' I just told Mr.
Red Devil, that had aohold onto in arm, that
of he didn t let go, I’d walk into h s affections
lively. You ought to have seen him git up and
dust when I drew back to give bimone.”

“Joe,” I said “that fellow dressed as a red
devil is a confederate of Clark’s; it was a ‘ put-
i‘ip {ob ’ to separate you from Vanderwilt.

hi e the devil had you, Clark drew Vander-
wilt off in another direction.”

“ Blazes it were!" cried Joe, disgusted. “ M
{coupe across that devil, l’ll welt rocks out 0’

lm.

“ Look out yo don’t get into trouble with the
police, because at’s just what they want. If
they can get us out of the way to-night they’ll
fix the savant and the will, dead sure. ’

“ That’s sol N0w ou’re talking,” responded
Joe, sagely; “ what s ii I do?” .

" Go and stand near the door. When you
hear a shrill whistle, look out; that’s the signal
for me to leave the'ball-room. and you just stop
a moment and see if any 0119 attempts to follow
me. If I am followed, get up a. row in the door-

way if possible; then join me in the street; I’ll .

wait for you a. few minutes, if 1 can.”

“ All right, boss. an’ ef that h red devil
comes in my way, I’ll give him a 800 dologer he
won’t git over fur a week, you can jist bet high
on that.”

Then Joe began to make his way slowly to the
door. I again joined Miss Preston, a ho had not
moved from the spot where I had left her. She
was evidently determined not to lose sight of
me. For the next quarter of an hour I devoted
myself to the task of lulling her suspicions. and
making her believe i was desperately in love
with her. In this I succeeded admirably.

Suddenly and without previous warning, a

\

_/

 

' ,
l
l
l
l

 

 

 

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

29

 

 

shrill whistle sounded through the academy. It
rung high above the strains of the music. No
one minded it, though. All, of course, thought
it but some masquerading freak. The time had
come; I looked toward the door; I saw the
black domino that covered Joe’s person slowly
I pproaching it. There was quite a knot of mas—
queraders gathered around the door. All was
fa" orable to my purpose; nqw was the time to
escape from my partner. She was leaning quite
heat ily and lovingly upon my arm. Suddenly
renaming myself I pointed to the extreme end of
the room.

“ Isn’t that Peters, the detectivei” I asked. I
could see her lips tremble as she looked in the
direction I indicated. The moment she turned
her face away from me, I ran noiselessly through
the crowd for the dam Just as I reached it, the
fellow dressed as a red devil, who had evidently
been watching me with two others—one dressed
as a brigand, the other as a Turk—sprung for-
ward as if to detain me, thinking, probably, that
I would regard this as a piece of masquerading
pleasantry. But, before they could lay hands
upon me, .109, who had been watching for his
particular friend, the red devil, Jumped to my
rescue ; he hit the red devfl a whack in the face
which smashed his false nose and sent him reel-
ing back into a group of ladies disguised as
flower girls. The red devil, in endeavoring to
save himself from falling, caught hold of them;
they all caught hold (‘I each other, and the con-

uence W“! that the whole party came tum-
bling to the floor in a mixed heap, while the
screans of the ladies pealed on the air. The red
devil disposed ( f, Joe turned his attention to the
brigand, and doubled him up in mortal agony
with a blow in the stomach. Then he grappled
wi' u the Turk, and seizing him by the collar and
the waist, raised him clear of! his feet and slung
him head-first against a couple of policemen,
who had rushed in to suppress the disturbance.
All three came to the ground together. The
Turk, astonished at the attack and the sudden-
ness of his downfall, and imagining that he was
still grap ling with his antagonist, struck out
lustil an hit one of the policemen in the eye;
he, 0 course retaliated, and the consequence
was a brisk little skirmish between the two
policemen, the Turk, and several of the bystand-
ers, who had first ran to separate the combatants
and then joined in the melee. Under cover of
this timely diversion, Joe and I made our re-
treat.

We hastily stripped off our dominos and masks
as we ran down the steps. On the pavement we
found Peters.

“ Jump into that back, quick 1” he said, point-
ing to one that stood near the curbstone. We
obeyed instantly. The moment we were in, the
hack started.

“ I guess that .red devil won’t fool round any
more fellers in black dominos, fur some time, ’
muttered Joe to me, with an air of satisfaction.

“ Where are we bound, Peters?” I asked.

“ To one of the roughest places in New York
——Allen’s dance-house in Water street.”

“ Has Clark taken Vanderwilt there i”

“ Yes; can’t you see the ‘little game?’ He‘s

ne down there to see the sights. After they’ve

u there a little while, they’ll takeVanderwilt
into a rivate room and induce him to drink
something; the liquor'll be drugged; it will put
him to sleep almost instantly and then they’ll
“go through him’ for that ll.”

“ How did you learn this!” I asked.

“ Why, it was just as easy as falling off a log.
I don’t know as you noticed it, but when you
left the hack to enter the academy, Clark told
the driver to wait; that he should want him in-
side of an hour or so. Hank, my partner, heard
this; so he instantly told the hack-driver who he
was—that he was a detective officer on a ‘lay,’
and that he wanted his assistance. So that,
when this Clark came down with a pal of his
and Vanderwilt, and gave the direction where

.to drive, the driver repeated it in quite aloud

ice. so that I could hear it in the doorwa
3319113 I was bid. Hank quietly got on the be;
with the driver, in case the direction was ‘put
up’ to throw us off the‘ scent; wherever they so,
he’ll o with them."

" eters, you have worked this case up capital-
lyl” I exclaimed.

“ Well, things haven't 80110 bad), -

.“ Bad! They couldn’t very well so better.”

" That’s about so, I think myself. Their ‘little
game’ was good, though. but u '6 00”“ Ell?"

retty well what their movements would be. We

Binder had the inside track,” replied the detec-
tive, rubbing his hands quietly together With an
air of satisfaction.
. Oh we went. rattling over the payements. I
thought the situation all over. If I could only
surprise the agent of Livingstone, just as he got
the win in his hand, he robabl , rather than
give it up to me, would estroy t. This was a
reasonable supposition. because, of course, Liv-
ingstone had not told this Clark all the particu-
lars in regard to this will. He had probably
told him to steal it at all hazards, but had not
given express injunctions to pneerve it. Liv-
juqs'one’fi game was to get the will into his
hands; then. if evpnts were to occur to bring
forward the claim of Salome. his half-sister, and
prove that claim, why, he could produce the will

\

 

and take one-half the estate, under its conditions,
for himself and his sister, Oiive. But if the
orphan child could not prove her right, why, he
could hold the Will bac anl enjoy the whole of
the property. So it was clearly to his interest
to hold the will, not to have it destroyed. But,
as I said before, it was ten to one that he had not
explained this to his tool, Clark. 80 thechanoes
were that, if we could surprise Clark with the
will in his possession, he would probably attempt
to destroy it, thinking that, by so doing, he was
carrying out the wishes of his employer.

At last we arrived in Water street. Our hack
stopped at a corner, three blocks from the dance-
house, so as, not to excite suspicion by drawing
up to the door. We got out and walked u the
street. At the corner just below the dance- cuss
another hack was standing. Peters pointed it

out.

“That’s what brought the game we are in
search of," he said.

Just before we reached the dance-house, Hank
stepped out from the shadow of a doorway.

“ How are things?” questioned Peters.

“ All serene i” answered Hank, lacbnically. I
had noticed, during my short acquaintance with
this long-legged, countryfleddooking detective,
that he was sparing of words; “ they ve gone up-
stairs to try some of Allen's forty-rod whisky.
I’ve fixed it all right with Allen; told him we
were on a ‘lay ;’ he‘s ver anxious to keep in
with the police. We mig t as well go for ’em.”

We acted on his suggestion at once. 0n enter-
ing the dance-house, we found it well filled.
Dancing was going on briskl . The principal
patrons of the place seemed be sailors and
’longshoremen; together with a few better-
dressed men, who had been attracted an rently
by curiosity to seé’ the den of the “W‘igkedest
Man in New York.”

We passed through the dance—house saloon,
and went up the narrow staircase. At the top
of the stairs, Hank, i ho led the way, motioned
for us to walk quietly. He stopped berm-9 a
door; the hallway was but diml lighted, but
enough to answer our purpose. ank motioned
for me to look through the keyhole of the door.
I did so. The key was in the lock, but turned so
that it did not obstruct the view. The room was
occupied by three men—Vanderwilt, Clark and
a stranger, in whom I recognized one of the
roughs that had attacked Joe in the Hudson
River Railway Depot.

Vanderwilt sat by the fire—place, in which
blazed a huge fire, fast asleep. I saw at once
that he had been drugged, for a bottle and glasses
were on the table. Clark stood over him and
had gust drawn the will from his pocket and
held t up in triumph.

“ Go it I” I said to Hank.

Quick as thought, he applied his pincers to the
end of the key that proJected through the lock,
turned it, and thus unlocked the door, and we
entered. Clark and his companion started with
surprise. The wily “secretary” nized us
at once. He saw that the odds were against
him so he did the very thing I expected he
would do. With a laugh of triumph he thrust
the will into the fire, and in a moment it was
ashes! The game now was in my hands; the
will destroyed, and Salome’s claim proved,
Richard Livingstone was a beggar l

“ We don’t want you; get out!" said Peters,
coolly. Clark was astonished; he thought he
had played his “little game ” and won; but the
destruction of the will didn’t seem to annoy us
at all. He was evidently puzzled, but he took
the gentle hint given by Peters and left with his
companion. .

We took the sleeping savant, ut him in our
coach, and toiik him to the ho ; there we put
him to bed, he still sleeping.

I arranged the plan f action for the morrow
with Peters. He w to call upon the heir,
Salome, tell her of be good fortune, and bring
her to Livingstone’s- house, whither I was to
precede her. I felt sure that when I showed
Richard that I had both the heir and the proofs,
he twould relinquish the estate without a law-

_ sui

And to-morrow I was to see Nell, the girl that
I loved better and better every hour 1 To—morrow
would be an eventful day l

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.
run vaxorancu or aux Gonnxn.

I saw Peters about ei ht o'clock, just after
breakfast.~ This was ursda morning. I
gave him the direction role to Salome

ivingstone’s abode. I also in need him to
the savant, and we explained to that somewhat
astonished gentleman what had occurred “ the
previous night.

bout nine o’clock Peters departed tovisit the
heiress, and at eleven I started for the post-office,
leaving Joe to keep Vanderwilt company.

I arrived at the post office about half-past

eleven. lwalked down—town quite 310'“, 51‘

WOW?) I was in a fever of impatience. At the
post-(iiice, I took up a~ position at the 1! P0P
corner and waited. Just as the City Hall c ock
struck twelve. I saw a dainty little figure. 018d
neatly in black, coming down Nassau street.
Full well I remembered that little figure, the
blue eyes, and the strange-hued hair, that the

 

sun tinged with its ellow sheen. I advanced
and met her before s e crossed the street. The
meeting was commonplace enough. I held out
my hand and said, “ How do y( u do!” She just
pres~ed my offered palm and said, “ Very well,
thank you ;” then took my arm and we walked
up toward Broadway. Once on Broadway, we
turned down toward the Battery.

I don‘t exactly know how I said it, but, as we
walked along, I managed in a very few words to
tell Nell how much I loved her, and she, in as
few words in reply, told me that the love was
returned by her; but, I knew that before she
had said a word, for she had told me so with her
own eyes.

“ Ahl Nell,” I said, “ we shall be so happy.”

“ I hope so,” she replied, simply.

“ I know so,” I said, “ for l ove you and you
love me. By the way, Nell, I have prospered in
the world.” Then I told her of my adventures,
and how I had suddenly acquired a fortune.

“ How was it, Nell," I asked, “ that you came
to leave New York so suddenly i”

“ I will tell you all about it to-morrew. I
have something, too, besides that, to tell you to—
morrow; that is, I think I shall haVe. I’m not
quite sure yet. You know you asked me once
about my ife, but then I had a reason for not
telling you. To-morrew I think that reas n will
be removed, and then I can tell you all.”

And so we walked and talked—talked those
sweet nothings which are so pleasant to hear
sometimes, and it was two o clock before we
guessed it was one.

“ Oh! how late it is!” she cried, as I looked at
my watch.

‘ Yes, time flies quickly sometimes.”

“I must go home, for I have promised togo
out this afternoon,” she said.

“ And when shall I see you again!" I asked.

“Tonight; have you a pencil and card? I’ll
give you my address, so that you can call upon
me,” she answered.

I produced the pencil and card; she wrote her
deéess, and then I consigned it to my pocket-

UO . '

” Good-by,” she said; “ come to-night and
come early. Perhaps I may have something to
tell on then that may surprise you.”

“ cod-ER,” I answered; “ you may expect me
the first t ng after supper, and then, you mys-
teriou: little puss, you can satisfy my curi-
ositv.

She laughed, bid me good-by again, and then
we parted. Could I have but foreseen the events
of the next few hours, I do not think we would
have parted at all; but who can guess the
future?

I returned at once to the Metropolitan; there
I found Peters waiting for me, terribly impa—
tient.

“ Pretty fellow you areto keepaman waiting i”
he cried. “ It’s after two.”

“ Never mind, we have time enough. Did you
see the young lady—Miss Salome Livingstone?”

“ Exactly. ”

“ What sort of a person is she!”

“ Well, she lopks uite oung—don’t look
garish over seventeen n of being twenty-

ve.

” Pretty!” I asked.

“Well, she is very pretty; she has the Liv-
ingstone family marks, as ards hair and e es;
in fact, she looks enough li e Richard Liv g-
stone, to be his full sister instead of being only a
half-sister.”

“ How did she receive the intelligence?"

“Quite coolly, at first. It seems she made a
promise to her mother, never to trouble her
father, Anson Livingstone. or even to let him
know that she was living. She seemed to think
that she ought to extend that promise to take in
the son, but, when I told her of the will that her
father, Anson, had made, leaving her onehalf
the property, and how Richard had schemed to
get that wi 1 into his ion, and had, by his
agents destroyed it, in attempting to do so, all
the old Livingstone blood in her veins fired u ,
and she said that she would ut herself full in
our hands and be guided sole y by us. I tel on,
she looked just like a little ueen when I to] her
about the will businem. he drew herself up,
and said, ‘ If my half-brother Richard had treat-
ed me ri ht, I would never have troubled him,
only for ust enough to live on; but, since he has
chosen to treat me as an enemy, I will show him
that I am his father’s child as well as he.’ If I
hadn’t been a married man, with one of the
nicest women for a wife that ever lived, she
would have taken me for all I was worth.”

“She consent, then, to put her case in our
hands?”

“ Yes, of course. I didn’t mention any names,
because if I had s ken of you as an outsider
she naturally wou have wanted to know what
in thunder you were mixing yourself up in the
affair for. Then, if she learned that you were
after revenge for his murdering your friend, she
might not want to send her half~brother to the
gallowsor tothe stone-jug for life. By the way,”
asked the detective, sudden] . “ you’ve got Liv—
ingstone pretty well come now. This heiress
will strip him of all his money; then. if you.
bring the nocnsatlon of murder against him,
without money he will be powerless, and you
can crush him.”

, give me, if you can; I will restore all.

'30

Detective Gordon’s Grip.

 

 

“ Yes,” I answered, and I felt that a tone of
triumph was ,swelling in my voice; “ at last I
hold the winning'hand.”

“Trumps, erery one on ’em, or I’m a Dutch-
man!” returned Peters.

Then we arranged our plan of attack. Peters
‘was to go to Thirtieth street and get Salome,
the heiress, and bring her to Livingstone’s house,
vilhere I and Joe, as a body-guard, would precede
t em,

Arrivin at Richard’s stately brown-stone
mansion, walked up the steps, f0110wed by Joe,
and rung the bell. When the servant opened
the door we walked right in.

“ Tell Mr. Livingstone Mr. Robert James, de-
tective officer, desires to see him on particular
business,” I said, walking into the parlor, the
door of which stood open. Joe followed close at
my heels. The servant, a little astonished, at
once went with my message.

Within three minutes, Livingstone walked in-
to the arIor. I could see that he looked nervous
and a ittle surprised. I rose at his entrance and
took off both my hat and the light, curly wig.

“ Gordenl” he cried, in astonishment, and his
face blanched at the sight of me. '

“The same, quite at your service,” I replied.

“What do you want with me?” he exclaimed:
and then, without giving me time to answer,-he
continued his speech; “Do you not know that
you are an escaped felon—that a word from me
to the nearest policeman would send you to Sing

Sing?
“ ell, why don’t you speak that word i” I
asked with a slight tone of menace in my voice.

“ Why? Because, Alex Gordon, I have done
you mischief enou h already. Don’t force me

n my own self-de ense to strike you again. If
it is to be your life or mine, I am such a vile
coward I cannot sacrifice my own life, and must
fight you. But, I’ll make you a fair offer. I’ll
give you a thousand dollars a year to leave the

‘tatee and live in some foreign country. Alex,
we were friends once; I am not a good man, in
any sense of the word, but I think sometimes of
that old friendship, and I feel sorry that hatred
ever came between us. You know, now, Alex
that I have the best of the struggle, and that I
make you a fair offer.”

I saw that he was thorougth in earnest; here
was one good trait in this man s nature.

“You are wrong,” I re lied; “you have not
the best of the struggle. have been pardoned.
Your agent, Clark, was foiled in his attem t to
secure your father’s will last night an de-
stroyed the will sooner than let it fall into my
hands.” .

He started at this.

“ It was you, then, that baifled me there!” he

ed.

“Yes, it was Ii That will is destroyed. if I
find the heir Salome, the child of Salome Per 3y,
who was our father’s just and only wife—for
his secon marriage was void, being contracted
while the first wife lived—and prove her claim,
it will strip you and lyour~sister Olive of eve
dollar that you have, or on are illegitimate.
have found the heiress, alone; she is in New
York, and will be here within‘half an hour. I
have the proofs of the marriage of her mother
and of her birth.” ‘

It was thunder all around. Livingstone sat
down in a chair that stood near him, his face
deadly pale, his brow streaming perspiration in
large drops. It was a moment of triumph for
me. At eat I had won the diflicult ame. I
held the trumps—the stakes, he himself ad said
it; my life against his; and I had won!

The door-bell sounded. I hastened to open the
door, for, as l e ted it was Peters and the
heiress, Salome. can h of her

 
    
 

a 3:: passed in the and foil-owed eters
m C
motion of my hand. I in

r r.
"2‘ This is Mr. Peters)” said addre-ing Liv-
ingstone. He had risen to his feet, and the look
of anguish on his pals, handsome face was pain-
ful to behold but Macarth ’s spirit was b my
side; his voice said, “‘ s is my mu erer.

Vengeance!" .

“ his is Miss Salome Livieiagstonefisaid Peters,
in ucing the slight vail figure.

‘Brother," said a low, street voice. I could
hardy believe my ears.

“ es, I am your brother, Salome," said
Richard, in a low, broken tone “alth h I
have not acted toward you likea rother. I or-

can
make on some recompense—hut, there is one
other ere, whose debt can only be satisfied by
theforfeit of my life. Iam not fit todie; no
man is who hears with him a record of crime
—cr,i'me that perhaps ight have been stoned

or.

.“ Perhaps I an plead for you,” said the low,
sweet voice. '
“ Plead to him then,” said Richard, indicating
me. “ He alike is my accuser and my judge.
Then he again sunk hack in the chair. _

“ You will have mercy, Mr. Ga‘den,” mid
Salome Livingstone addrening me, at the same
moment rut-inf u the heavy h ack vail that had
concealed her ea res, and revealing tomOylgase
the steel-blue eyes and yellow hair of N , the
Orange Girl! .

 

Of course I had suspected this from the mo-
ment she .had spoken, as probably the reader
had. Then flashed upon me the truth. The
story that Nell had told me of her life, slight as
it was, was still the story of the heiress Salome.
My name never being mentioned in the affair,
of course she had no suspicion that I knew any-
thing about it. This was the secret that she was
to tell me on the morrow.

Livingstone set before me, the criminal, wait-
ing for his sentence. What should it be? I had
Sworn to Macarih to avenge his death; I had
avenged it, for I ad stripped his murderer of
wealth and station. Should I go further?

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,”a low,
sweet voice whispered in my ear, and a little
hand stole into mine with a gentle pressure.

“Richard Livingstone, I will make you the
same offer that you made me a moment ago.
Go to a foreign land; you shall have a certain
amount of money each year. You are young; a
new life is before you. In that new life strive
to forget the old.”

This was my vengeance—a more manly one
than if 1 had taken the life at m disposal.

A gentle pressure of a little and rewarded
me.

My story is done. In due time Nell came in
possession of all her property, excepting twenty-
flve thousand dollars she set apart for Olive, her
half-sister. Before the estate was settled, Nell
and I were arried; love like ours could not
wait for the aw’s cold delay. We were married
and we are as happy—well, as happ as it is
possible for mortals to be in this world):

Joe hunted up his mother, bought a house for
the “old woman,” as he terms,ber, at Stamford,
and lives‘there, amusing himself by cultivating
his littlenestateH

‘The savant, Vanderwilt, returned to India
and expressed his intention of living and d ing
there. ‘ He .prefers the “ Thugs ” to the ew
York sharpers.

Richard Livingstone sailed for Brazil to seek
a new fortune and lead a new life far from his
native land. May that new life atone for the
past.

THE END.

 

Beadle’s Half-Dime library-

I
BY ALBERT W. AIKEN.

11 The Two Detectlves; or, The Fortunes of a Bowery Girl.
70 Abe Colt. the CrowoKlller.
1'9 Sol Gln er, the Giant Tra per.
.88 Joe Due ' ofAngela an Ills Boy Ford.
447 New York Nat. A Tale of Tricks and Traps in Gotham.
458 New En land Nick; or, The Fortunes ofs handling.
404 Nimble lck, the Circus Prince.
498 Tune Ted, tne Arllons S ort.

 

' 510 Cool Colorado, the Hal -Breed Detective.

518 Cool Colorado In New York.

BY WM. 9. PATTEN.

489 The Diamond Sport} or, The Double Face of Bed Rock.

519 Captain Myaterg ; or, Ive in One.

081 Da nfi "are the port from Denver.

587 Did onsbshcll, the Ranger Detective.

604 Iron Fern, the Man of Fire.

619 The Do Tramp Detective; or,The Double GripWitnese

829 Violet 'Isne, the Velvet Sport.

641 Dlnmnl Dnvc’n Dund ' Part].

651 llound Boy Frank. t e Young Amateur Detective

(Hill "inlet Vanc’a Victory.

6933 Wild Vulcan, the Loneliange Rider.

698 Vlolct and Dnluy, the Po. ' Pards.

705 Vlolot Vane‘a Vow; or. Tie Crsi'ly Detective’s Gran, \
4 Misery, lhc Man from Missourl.

4 Violet. Vane’a Vcn ounce.

0 Violet Vnnc’s "or lot.

I Vlolet Vane, the Ventrilowlst Vidocq.

t 0 Vlolct Vane, the Vnnquisieil.

(8 \ lolct Vunc’s Vision.

‘34 (.‘lcar-llrlt Cal. the Nei~cr-Say~Die Detective.

Nflfilfilfl‘lwl

B Y CHARLES MORRIS.

19 Wlll Some", the Boy Detective.
'3 Phil Ilurdy, the Boss Boy.
90 l'lcoyune 'ctc; or, Nlcodemus, the Dog Detective.
newt-“Yo Dick; or, The Hero In Rags.
Handsome Harry, the Boothlack Detective.
e’ “'lll Wlldfire. the Thoroughbred.
Black Dena, Will Wildfire- s Racer.
Mlke merry the Harbor Police Boy.
Wlll ildllre in the Woods.
Billy age. the Railroad 3?.
A Trump ard; or, Will WIM re Wine and loses
Bob Roe kett; or, Mysteries of New York.
ociketti the Bank Runner.
on land tor, Will Wildlire‘s Revenge.
Fred Ill yard, the lie Boat Be)" or. The Smugglers.
ob Rocket" or, Driven to the Well.
it l-hadewed or, Bob Itochett’s Fight for Life.
.00 Dark Pun , the Tiger King.
I I Dashing Dave, the Dand Detective.
sso 'l‘eln Tanner or The thk Sheep 0! the Flock.
“5 D.- Charco the Premlum Darky.
.85 ilhadow Burn the Messenger Boy.
.4. ' The Two “ Bloods "3 or Shenandoah Bill and His Gang.
llek Dashawnyx or, A Dakota Boy In Chic. 0.
' ‘he Young Sharp" or, Rolllchlng Mike’s Hot Trail.
I 4 q olly J'-‘ the Detective An rentlce.
I .lolly In a Job; or, The con Detective.
.98 The nter-lleund; or, The onn Thorou sand.
80‘ Joel-away, of Dakota; or, A Wu rn Lad n Quaker City.
I04 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective.
341 Tony Thorns, the Vagabond Detective.
858 The Reporter-Demo“ re; or, Fred nyer's Bliss-rd.
01 Wide-Awake Joe: or. A Boy orni- Times.
79 Larry. the Leveler; or, The Bloods oi the Boulevard.
408 I‘ll-e y Jack, the River-Rat Detectlre.
408 The Inst Fin or; or, The Entrnppod Cashln.
4'8 Fred Fl or t e Reporter Detective.
48! lnvlneih e an, the Pinkerton Ferret.
480 Bl“ Brick, t o Jolly Vagabond.
400 WI e-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive.
:39 De court Dod‘eu or, The Mystery of Frank Ho .
8 WI I! Die Rae u

33 I59
“33"!”

 

nunuuuuuuuuuuu—uu
64.636
5 a:
r.
o
—
-
.—
E
A.

I- sandman»

 

see lsu- the Kid i». A
O on rice of Arkansas: or, The
lucky Paul. the Ig‘l‘loy Spec-later.
it oh and thlekugyubemtlvefi. H“ , a“ M
e or one . or. a s
or Emotive Frank’s Swezgstakum .
r .

l - . .

I: ' ,-..,r’i_ z .. ” ii"

 

BY JDSEI’II E. BADGER. JR.

2 Yellowstone Jack: or, The Trap r.
48 Black John, the Road<Agcni; or, he Outlsw's Retreat.
“5 Hurricane lllll; or Mustang Sam and His Pard.
119 Mustang Sallli‘ol’,Tlie King ol‘the Plains.
136 Night-Hawk 'lt; or, The Daughter of the Ranch.
144 Dainty Lance the Boy Sport.
lBl Panther Paul: or, Dainty Lance in the Rescue.
160 The "lack (Hunt: or, Dainty Lance in Jeopardy.
168 Deadly Dush; or, Fighting Fire Willi Fire.

181 The lloy Trssllcrn; nr, Dainty Lance on the War-Path.
201: The lloy l’urdu: or. lminiy Lann- Unmasks.
2‘1 (‘rooked l‘nlc, illo- Culihnn m‘i‘elcslinl City.
BID The llurruucn “'oll'; or, The Beautiful Decoy.
9 The "luck Rider; or,Th.- Horse-Thieves’lxsgue.

Dld Double. Flat; or, The Strange Guide

a!

BI

33

855 'l'ln- king: at “w “'nmln: or llnnlel Boone's Last Trail.
‘ID Kit Fox. the Border Bov Detective

625 (‘hlncupln Dun, thc loy 'l‘rnllcr.

$77 l‘llincupln Dnn‘n ficcond Trail.

6"“ (‘hlucupln Dun'n llmnc Flrctch.

69K 0111 Crazy, 1hr Mun Willi-ml u Head.

70" Light-"curt Luic'n Legacy.

718 LIght-llcurt Luic‘n Lust 'l‘rnll.

T23 Sllvcrlpludc, ihc Nlmslmnc.

729 th'crhludo. llli' llall-lllnmi: or, The Border Beagle at Bay.
739 Flhcrhludc, (hi- lhntilu.

7.13 fillyorlfludc’ [he Frlcllill)‘: ur, The- lioriler Bcagls’s Boy Pard.

BY J. “I IDSIHIN.

469 The lllvnl Giants ol'Nowhnr‘.

498 Cactus Burr, the Man Iroui Hard Luck.

53’? "Id Ilnckcyc. the Sierra Shadow.

564 Powder PM]. the Buy Miner,

609 Holly Dov-I'll. lhc \cillrnn Detective.

620 thtlc lehtuln ‘n Lcuguc: or. The Mystery (litm- Island
833 l’luck)‘ l'uul, if; llui Prnspertor.

751 Gold-Duet Dun, pin-Trail l‘nirul.

755 Gold Dust Dun‘n Duth; or, R.-rklvss Roy, the Ru-gulninr.

D" J0 PIERCE.

897 [Rob o’ "to Bowery : or, The Prince of Mulberry Street.
4H3 The Vagabond Detective; or. Bowery Bob’s Boom.
452 Ilots ur Bob, the Sireet-licy Detective.

460 The ‘luswycr’n Shadow: Ul‘ Luke’s Legacy.

4?? Jaunty Joe, the Young Horse-King.

494 Surly Him. the Young Ferrynmn Detective.

E504 Flve I’olnin l’hll.

509 Jack Jn gcrs, the Butcher Boy Detective.

516 'l'urinr 'l iln; or. Five Points Phil’s Menagerie.

526 North River Nut, the Pier Detective.

688 “'restllng Ila-x, the Prideofthe Sixth Ward.

541 Jcfl’ Fllcln‘cr. illc. Stuble Buy Detective.

551 Nlck thtlc, the liny Shadow.

1559 Ilurlcln Jnck, iln- Ofllcc lloy Detective.

589 Brooklyn llcn, the ()n-llls-Own-Hook Doucuva,
577 Pavement Pete the Same! Sifter.

5N8 Juck-o’-Luntcrn, the Undrr-Sea Prospector.

“08 “nae-Awake, Bert, tin-Sircrt-Sieerer.

614 “'lllc-tllng Jacob, Lhc Dcicctn'c’s Aid.

028 Duck Ilumhlchoc, ihc Huh-m Hummer.

819 Sum-lac. Nnul ill» Express-Train Ferret.

6 9 Gumln llnb,t p Bowery Hallgcr; nr, Scooplng s Slippery Sci
658 Sky-Rocket Rob. the Lilo-Saver.

8S8 Saltpeter Sol, the New York Navigator.

694 Spicy Jlln, the Only One of His Kind

706 Tons Thlstle. the Road—House Detective.

717 Mosquito Jack, the Hustler Gsmln.

796 Dennls Duff the Brown Sgwrt's Kid.

744 Dick of the Docks, the light-“etch.

765 Flipper Flynn, the Street Patrol.

771 Foxy Fred in (NM Par-dz or, The Keener’s Huge Hustle.
781 Cult-01' Cale, the Scapegoat Detective.

BY BUOKIKIN BAH (Melon Inns. 8. llall.)

.84 Old Rocky’s “Bo ecu; or, Benito, the Horse-Breaker.
.40 Giant George; or, he Ang’l oithe Range.

'75 Arizona Jack: or, Giant George's Paul.

.97 The Tarantula of Tamil or, GlantGoorgo’s Revenge.
80'! The Strange Pard or, lttle Ben's Death Hunt.

818 Ker-whoos. Ker-w oo: or, The Tarantula ofTaos. I
821' Creeping at, the Cnddo; or,TheRed and WhitePards.
[IQ l‘rlo Fred: or, The Tonkaway’e Trust. ’-
844 The F htlnl Trio: or, Rattlesnake, the Tonksway. ‘4 \
.49 Wlld all; or, Big-Fool Wallaceto the Front.

MS? The Ranch Holders; or. The Siege of Fort Pug-levy.
.04 Snap-Shot, the Boy Ranger.

875 Chlotu, the Creek; or The Three Thunderbolts.’

381 llandera “III: or. Frio l'rnnk to the Front.

89. Romeo and the lied" or, The Bole-guard Ranch.

‘04 Little Lariat; or Pecan Pete’s Big Rampage.

414 "he Daley from Denver.

'l‘he '1‘ rec Trailers: or, Old Rocky on the Rampage.
m Blulf III; or, The I.an oithe Leona.

455 Little Lone Star I or. The Belle of the Clholo.

684 Cache Carl. the Chico Giant

 

\
Ill SCELLAN EOUB AUTHORS.

4 The Wild-Horse llunten. By Capt. Mayne leis as
Frederick Whittaker.
9 Adventures of‘ Baron Munehausen.
1. Gulliver‘s Travels. By Dean Swift.
14 Aladdlni or, The Wonderful Lamp.
16 lloblnaon Crusoe. (911llustrstlons.)
18 Slndbud the Sailor. His Seven Voyages. '
I. {re Sea Serpent: Or, The Boy Rob neon Crusoe. By Juan
' ,

is.
88 The Deean Bloodhound; or, The lied Pirates of th
Carrlbeea. By 8. W. ierce.
88 The Boy Clown: or, The Arena Queen. By I 8. llnn.
.8 Ned Wylde, the Boy Scout. By Texas Jack.
51 The Boy Rifles: or. The Under und Camp. 3 MC.th
95 The Rival Rovers; or, The reehooters or the til-lady’s.
By Liana-Col. Haultine.
.8 Robin flood. the one-mu In]; or_‘l'he Merry Men of Green-
wood. 8 Prof. Glldersleeve.
105 01d lingo, the Hunter; or, The Crow Captive. By Capt“.
ijimlllmhfifllmn' 'h c (D a: By sum-s.”
11. e alter: or, e are 0 on . ,
1M "levy, the Texan; or, The Young Champion. Dy 6...” ,

- l .
138 rfii‘i"... Privateer: on". Pink’s Stronghold. By
H ' C .
148 3:33],  or, The Adventures oi s Headless Boy. 3, J,
“on.

a M "d wr- on'fl” “MI mum of». m. 1
y W

.l'egrnau lit the New Yrrk Boy. 3 a_ L. ‘1‘.

32,3}: aunties nob-r1 kaow- dream Troll.
. . a .

ses Bland aw smart!“ Tum». ".11. umum cu.

om -

Pete. the Lively w from mum. ny Ben-
tonnnt Alfred Thorns-

sss Thal‘lyul‘gteeflvol or. A BOY'II'ight for Lilo-disease ,
B r ey m .i

8“ ed-lloglprhdtgelmlgrcr Rover; «mm W b I.

I u .

ses mill—1.. Ben m Boothlsek mm... A. r. Berri.

I 4 Gold-Dust Tom 0?. Bell’s Douhlo Match. 0 ll. Iona

0;. Callfornla Joe’s Flrst Trail. Dy Co and The-

Ho er Monsiery. N
:3 Billy nuns-ken. the cur Climho'. sy r. s. Winthrop.
I The Black Shir By John s Warner.
Comanche Die and Ill: Three lnvinelhlee. fi‘
Henry J. Thomas.
“I The Cowboy nuke. Dy Idwln Brooke rm
“. Ariel the At Me. Iy David Druid.
'3‘ Wlll Waters, tlo Bov Ferret. Bv H. Intel.
0” The d “otcetlvc’s Double. ly Gerald Carlton.
7.1 Maverlek Mose. the Arisons Ddectlve; or, The Wise” d
Urkou Pass. Wlly Will Limb”.

A New Issue Every Tuesday. 

The Half-Dime Lib l f l ewedealers, ‘.
eastqu copy, or sent by midi?“   clash. .” f

BEADLE AND ADAII, Publishers, .
.8 'llllo- Street, New Tm. “‘

 

.Ar-y‘_‘

..,<..,,,...,. .. "in.

 

 

 

 

BEADLE’SrDIMErflBR/XRY.

Published Every lVednesday.‘ Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers.

 

 

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER. JR.
670 High-Water Mark; or. Silver-Tip Sid.
S62 Riata Rob. the Range Champion.
3,55 The C .whov Chief‘s Sure-S lot.
819 The Rival Red-Hat Sports.
837 Curly Kid. the Cheyenne Sport.
624 The Soft Hall‘l Deb ctivc.
315 The Soft II iiid’s Clutch.
809 Dan Dunn. the Soft-Hand Sport.
796 The Frisco Detectlve‘s Thug~Tangle.
789 Sam Cary. the River Sp. >rt.
780 The Dead Sport‘s Double.
771 Prince John. Detective S ecial.
76: Dandy Don, the Denver )etective.
7.31 ‘l he Man l‘ioin Texas; or. Dangerfield, the
Doctor Deter-live.
714 Sweepstde Sam, the Silver Sport.
T; The Secret Six: or, Old Halcyon.
712 The Man (:1' Silk.
70:") Bantam lioh, the. Beauty from Butte.
6113 Kent Kasspii, the Preacher Sport.
685% Bob Breeze, the Rounder Detective.
67.3 Steel Sui-ry, the Sport from Sunrise.
66H Solemn Saiil‘s Luck Strtak.
661 The Get-There Sharp.
651 Silvertip Steve, the Sky Seraperironi Siskiyou.
645 Gopher Gabe, the Unseen Detective.
636 Dandy Darling, Detective,
627 Mosshack Mose. the Mountaineer.
617 The Grip Sack Sharp‘s Even up.
597 Big Bandy. the Brigadier of Brimstone Butte.
588 Sandy Saiitls, the Sharp from Snap City.
576 Silver-Tougued Sid: 01‘, Grip Sack Sharp‘s Sweep.
564 The Gripka Sharp: or. The Seraphs of Sodom.
555 Grip-Sack Sid. the Sample Sport.
517 The lliiried Detective: or. Saul’s Six Sensations.
541 Major Magnet, the Man of Nerve.
535 Dandy Dutch. the Decorator front Dead-Lift.
527 Dandy Andy. the Diamond Detective.
.514 Gabe Giinii, the Grizzl ' from Ginseng.
501 Solemn Saul. the Sad lilan from San Saba. .
49.3 Rattlcpate Roi); or. The Rouudhead‘s Reprisal.
488‘The Thor iitzhbred Sport.
474 Daddy Dead-Eye, the Desnot 01’ Dew Drop.
466 Old Routrh and Ready, the Sage of Sundown.
4:38 Dutch Dan. the Pilgrim from Spitzenberg.
450 The Rustler Detective. _ _
443 A Cool Hand; or. Pistol Johnny‘s Picnic.
438 Oklahoma Nick.
433 Laughing: Leo; or. Sam’s Dandy Pard. I
426 The Ghost Detective: or. The Secret SerVice Spy.
416 Monte Jim. the Blacx Sheep of Bismarck.
409 Rob Roy Ranch; or, The Imps of Pan Handle.
403 The Nameless Sport.
1395 Deadly Aim. the Duke of Derrin ers.
38? D irk Du . the Ishmael of the ills.
.379 HowlinzTonathan, the Terror from Headwaters.
372 Cs tain Crisp. the Man with a Record.
.367 A yal Flush; or, Dan Brown‘s Big Game.
360 Jumping Jerry, the Gamecock from Sundown.
355 Storm Steve. the Mad Athlete.
351 Nor‘ _ est Nick. the Border Detective.
345 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective.
 Spread Eagle Sam. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
331 Chispa Charley. the Gold Nugget Sport.
.324 Old Forked Ligh think. the Solitary. r
317 Frank Lightl'oot. the Miner Detective. /
302 Faro Saul. the Handsome Hercules.
292 Moke Homer, the Boss ROiistabout.
$6 Pistol Johnny; or. One Man in a Thousand.
283 Sleek Sam. the Devil of the Mines. V
257 Death Trap Diggiiigs: or. A Man 'Way Back.
249 Elephant Tom. of Duranzo.
241 Spitfire Saul. King of the Hustlers.
233 The Old Boy of Tombstone.
20] Pirate of the Pincers: or. Joa uin’s Death Hunt.
197 Revolver Rob: or, The Belle 0 Nugget Camp.
180 Old ‘49; or. The Amazon of Arizona.
170 Sweet William. the Trapper Detective.
165 Joaquin. the Terrible
154 Joaquin, the Saddle King.
141 E uinox Tom, the Bull ' 1 Red Rock.
127 So Scott. the Masked iner.
119 Alabama Joe: or. The Yazoo Man-Hunters.
105 Dan Brown of Denver:’ or. The Detective.
88 Big George; or. The Five Outlaw Brothers.
71 Captain Cool Blade: or. Mississippi Man Shark.
67 The Boy Jockey: or, Honesty vs. Crookedness.
84 DoubleSight, the Death Shot.
"‘0 Jack Rabbit. the Prairie S rt.
1”. Pacific Pete, the Prince 0 the Revolver.
"-5 Old Bull's-E e, the Lizhtning Shot.
.0 Long-Hal Pards; or. The Tarters of the Plains.
,1) Gospel George; or, Fiery Fred. the Outlaw.
28 Three-Fingered Jack. the Road-Agent.

)1

BY WM. G. PATTEN.

810 Fire-E e. the Thug'fi Terror.
795 Old ght-Hawk, the Crook Shadower.

768 The Prin no of New York Crooks.

756 Old Burke, the Madison Square Detective.
747 Double-voice Dan‘s Double Disguise-

715 Double-Voice Dan on Deck.

702 Double-Voice Dan, the Always-on-Deck Detective
696 Double-Voice Dan, the Go-lt Alone Detective
689 The Sparkler Sharp.

676 Hurricane Hal, the Cowboy Hotspur.

669 Old True Blue, the Trusty.

3 The Giant ISJport; or, Sold to Satan-

' Old Plug gly. the Rough and Ready.

648 Gold Glove Gid the Man of Grit.

641 Aztec Jack, the esert Nomad.

631 Colonel Cool. the Santa Fe Sharp.

602 CaJJtain Nameless. the Mountain Mystery.
571 01 Dismal, the Barge Detective.

645 Hustler Harry, the owboy Sport.

BY 1m. FRANK POWELL.
746 The Dragoon Detective' or. A Man of Destiny
“8 The Doomed Donn. ' ‘

BY COLONEL DBLLE SARA. ‘

1m Shamus O’Brien, the Bouid Boy of Glingnl.
8? The Scarlet Csptsin’ or, Prisoner of the Tower.
66 Silver Sam: or. The vstory of Deadwood City.

 

BY \VILLIAI‘I R. EYSTER.

867 The Frisco Sport.

852 The Stranger S ort's Shake—11p.

828 Kirk King. the lan from Kirby.

818 Gentleman Dave, the Dead Game Sport.

783 The King-Pin Tramp.

767 The Sport of Silver Bend.

7'18 Uncle liedrock‘s Big Bounce.

707 The Rival Rovers.

687 Double (‘iiicli Dan. the Sport. With a Charm.
677 Mr. Jackson, the Gent front Jayhirit.

659 Giltifltlge Johnny: or. Roldan and His Rovers.
650 Lucky Lester‘s Lone Hand.

634 Old llandcart‘s Rig Dump.

622 The. All Around Sports.

603 Desert. All‘. the Man With the Cougar.

5110 Gentle Jack. the 111in Roller from Humbug.
57S Seven Shot Steve. the Sport with a Smile.

569 l‘lie Dude Detective. .

558 Hurrah Harry. the High Horse from Halcyon
549 lit-ls‘iazziir Brick, the lliiillll of Blue Blazes.
533 Oregon. the Sport With a Scar.

5:25 Fresh Frank. the Derringer Daisy.

503 The Dude from Denver.

478 Pinnacle Pete; or. The Fool from Way Back.
459 Major Sunshine, the Man of Three Lives.

429 Hair Trigger Tom 0? Red liend.

.102 Snapshot Sam; or, The Angels‘ Flat Racket.
396 The Piper Detective; or. The Gilt Edge Gang.
375 Royal George, the Three in One.

356 Three Handsome Sports: or, The Combination.
31-1 Douhlc Shot Dave of the Left Hand.

32:3 Derringer Dick. the Man with the Drop.

300 A Sport in Spectacles; or. Bad Time. at Bunco.
268 Magic Mike ‘he Man of Frills.

22!) Captain Cu'steeve; or. The Little Sport.

214 The Two Cool Sports; or, Gertie of the Gulch.
192 The Lightning S )"i‘b.

182 Hands Up; or, to Knights of the Canyon. r
160 Soft Hand. Sharp: or. The, Man with the Sand.
145 Pistol I’ards; or. The Silent Sport from Cinnabar

BY MAJOR DANGERFIELD BURR.

448 Hark Kenton. the Traitor.

188 The Phantom Mazeppa; or. The Hyena.

156 Velvet Face, the Border Bravo.

142 Captain Crimson, the Man of the Iron Face.

117 Buffalo Bill’s Strange Pard; or, Dashing Dandy.

BY LEON LEWIS.

797 Pistol Tommy. the Miner Sharp.

785 The Down-East Detective in Nevada.

7‘73 Buffalo Bill‘s Ban: or, Cody to the Rescue.

699 The Cowboy Couriers.

686 The On-the-Win Detectives.

621 The Submarine Detective: or. The Water Ghouls.
484 Captaii Ready.- the Red Ransomer.

481 The Slant Detective; or, The Bogus Nephew.
456 The Demon Steer.

428 The Flying Glim; or, The Island Lure.

BY B URKE BRENTFORD.

866 S ray Sprite, the Sea Witch.
316 T ie Sea Sweeper.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.

as? The White Squaw.

234 The Hunter's Feast.

228 The Maroon. A Tale of Voodoo and Obeah.

216 The Wild Huntress; or. The S uatter. .

213 The War Trail: or. The Hunt of (ihe Wild Horse.

208 The White Chief. A Romance of Mexico.

200 The Ride Rangers; 0r. Adventures in Mexico.
74 The Captain of the Rifles; or, The Lake Queen.
66 The Specter Barque. A Tale of the Pacific.

55 The Scalp Hunters. A Romance of the Plains.
12 The Death-Shot: or. Tracked to Death.
8 The Headless Horseman.

BY JACKSON KNOX—“Old Hawk.”

838 Old Grips Still Hunt.

827 Detective Walden‘s Web.

778 The Butler Detective; or, Old Grip‘s Grip.

770 The Showman Dete Live.

762 Old Grip. the Detective.

740 Captain Clew, the Fighting Detective.

732 The Hurricane Detective.

643 Castlemaine, the Silent Sifter.

616 Magniis. the Weird Detective.

606 The Drop Detective.

595 Wellborn, the Upper Crust Detective.

582 Joram. the Detective Expert.

574 Old Falcon ’s Double.

561 The Thug King' or, The Falcon Detective‘s Foe.
548 Falconbrid e. t e Sphinx Detective.

536 Old Falcon s Foe: or. The Detective’s Swell Job.
515 Short-Stop Ma'e, the Diamond Field Detective.
509 Old Falcon. t e Thunderbolt Detective.

501 S riiigsteel Steve, the Retired Detective.

494 T e Detective’s Spy).
485 Rowlock. the Hat- r Detective.

4 Dead-arm Brandt.

46 Mainwaring. the Salamander.

462 The Circus Detective. l
451 Grlpiock. the Rocket Detective.

444 The M ic Detective; or, The Hidden Hand.
424 Hawk eron’s De utv.

V 886 Hawk Heron. the alcon Detective.

BY EDWARD wunm.

483 Flush Fred. the River Sh . .

368 The Canyon King; or. s cc on his Hood.

848 Dan Dillon, Klgf of Crosscut.

837 Old Gabe the ountain Tram .

327 Terrapin hick. the Wildwood etectlve.

815 Flush Fred’s Double; or, The Squatters‘ League.
303 Hemlock Hank. Tough and True.

298 Logger Lem: or. Life in the Pine Woods.

289 Flush Fred‘s Full Hand.

274 Flush Fred. the Mississip 1 Sport.

1348 Montana Nat. the Lion 0 Last Chance Comp.
222 Bill the Blizzard: or. Red Jack's Crime.

209 Buck Fsrie . the Bonanza Prince.

12! Mississippi ose; or. a Strong Man’s Sacrifice.

I BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM.
8

54 The Ocean Gipsv.

834 The Wild Steer Riders; or, Texas Jack‘s Terrors.
819 The Rival )lonte (iristos.

805 The Inst of the Pirates; or. Doom Driven.

801 The. Water \Volves’ Detective; or, Trapping the

Grave Ghouls.

7.01 The Coast-Raidch l)eath~Chasc.

7.18 Arizona Charlie. the Crack-shot Detective.

704 invisible. lvan the \Vizard Detective.

685 The. Red-skin Suit Row-r.

679 RevellO, the Pirate Cruiser; or. The Rival Rovers
672 The Red Rapier: or, The Sea Rover’s Bride.

662 The Jew Drtective; or, The Beautiful Convict.
6.38 The Cowl) y Clan: or. The 'l‘iuress of Texas.

633 Lass.» King's l.e:igiie.-or. Buck Taylor in Texas.
610 Tue. Rov r’s Ret ihiition.

6:15 The ExBuceaneer; or, The Stigma of Sin.
630 The Sea Thief
625 Red Wings; or. The Gold Seekers of the Bahamas.
615 The Three 1 iiccaiieers.
610 The Red Fins: liover ; (ii-.White Wings of the Deep.
605 The Shadow Silver Ship.
600 The Silver Ship: or. The Sea Seoiits of ‘76.
5113 The Sea Rebel: or. Red Rovers of the Revolution.
5”? Conrad. the Sailor Spy; or. True Ileavts of ’76.
531 The Oiitlau'ed Skipper; or, The Gaiitlt-t Runner.
560 The Man from Mexico.
5.33 Mark Monte. the Miitincer; or. The Branded Brig.
516 TM Doomed Whaler: or. The Life Wreck.
510 The Fleet Sco urge: or, The Sea Wings of Salem.
530 The Savages of the Sea.
524 The Sea Chaser; or. The Pirate Noble.
516 Chatard, the Dead-Shot Duelist.
510 El Moro, th- Corsair Commodore.
493 The Scouts of the Sea.
469 The Pirate Hunter; or. The Ocean Rivals.
482 Ocean Tramps ' or, The Desperadoes of the Deep.
4T6 liob Brentthe uccaueer; or. the Red Sea Raider.
4:39 The Lieutenant Detective: or. the Fugitive Sailor.
457 The Sea Insurgo nt 2 or. The Conspirator Son.
446 Ocean Ogre. the Outcast Corsair.
435 The One—Armed Buccaneer.
4'30 The Fatal Frizate; or, Rivals in Love and War.
425 The Sea Sword; or. The Ocean Rivals.
418 The. Sea Siren: or. The Fugitive Pri'Nteer.
399 The New Monte Cristo.
393 The Convict Captian.
388 The Giant Buccaneer; or, The Wrecker Witch.
377 Afloat and Ashore: or. The Corsair L‘onspirator.
373 Sailor of Fortune; or. The Barnegat Bucoaneer.
369 The Coast Corsair: or. The Siren of the. Sea.
864 The Sea Fugitive; or, The Queen of the Coast.
346 Ocean Guerrillas; or, Phantom Midshipman.
341 The Sea Desperado.
336 The Magic Ship' or. Sandy Hook Freeboetsrs.
3‘25 The Gentleman Pirate ; or. The Casco Hermite.
318 The Indian Buccaneer; or. The Red Rovers.
30? The Phantom Pirate; or, The Water Wolves.
281 The Sea Owl; or. The Lady Captain of the (3111'
259 Cutlass and Cross; or, the Ghouls of the Sea.
255 The Pirate Priest; or. The Gambler’s Dau Mar.
246 ueen Helen. the Amazon of the Overlan .
235 d Lightning the Man of Chance.
231 The Kid Glove Miner: or. The Magic Doctor.
224 Black Beard. the Buccaneer.
220 The Specter Yacht; or. A Brother’s Crime.
216 The Corsair Planter; or. Driven to Doom.
210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness ot the Sea.
205 The Gambler Pirate; or, Lady of the Lagoon.
198 The Skeleton Schooner; or, The Skimmer.
189 The Ocean Vampire; or, The Castle Heiress.
184 The Scarlet Schooner: or. The Sea Nemesis.
181 Don Diablo. the Planter-Corsair.
177 Black Pirate; or. The Golden Fetters M .stery.
172 The Mad Mariner: or. Dishonored and isownod
168 The Corsair Queen: or, The Gypsies of the Sea.
147 Gold Spur. the Gentleman from Texas.
139 Fire Eye: or. The Bride of a Buccaneer.
134 Darke Dan, the Colored Detective.
131 Buckskin Sam. the Texas Trailer.
128 The Chevalier Corsair; or. The Heritage.
121 The Sea Cadet; or The Rover of the Rizolettfl.
116 Black Plume; or. e Sorceress of Hell‘Gate.
109 Captain Kyd. the King of the Black Flag.
104 Montezuma. the Merciless.
103 Merle, the Mutineer; or. The Red Anchoernd.‘
_94 Freelance. the Buccaneer.

89 The Pirate Prince; Or. The Queen of the Isle.

85 The Cretan Rover; or. Zuleikah the Beautiful.

2 The Dare Devil; or, The Winged Sea. Witch.

BY DR. NOEL DUNBAR.

858 Number One. the Dead-set Detective.

850 The Planter Detective.

730 Duke Despard, the Gambler Duelist.

604 The Detective in Rags; or. The Grim Shadow.
500 The True-Heart Paras.

BY J. C. COWDRICK.

752 The Bus t S rt- of Daisy Drift.

6% Ducats ion, t e Nabob Sport Detective.

612 Sherifl Stillwood. the Regulath of Raspberry.
5% The Dominic Detective. ,

501 Duke Daniels, the Society Detective.

5&3 Shadowing a. Shadow.

565 Prince Paul, the Postman Detective.

557 The M0 main Graybeards° or, Riddles‘ m
519 Old Ri dies. the Rockgoa or

499 Twilight Charlie, the (1 Sport.

4% Gilbert of Gotham. the Steel—arm Detective.
452 Rainbow Rob. the Tulip from Texas.

486 Kentucky Jean. the S rt from Yellow Pine.
422 Blue Grass Burt. the old Star Detective.

390 The Giant Cupid: or Cibuta. John's Jubilee.

4 new tune every Wednesday.
Bouillon Dime Library is for sale by .
Newsdeolers, ten cents per copy. or sent by all.
Realpt of twelve cents each. \
BEADIE AND ADAMS, Pom
fl Winn: 81'. In Y‘s

 

4

I

 

BEADLE’SrDIMErflBR/ARY.

Published Every

 

Wednesday.

 

 

BUFFA L0 BILL NOVELS.

By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

927 Buffalo Bill‘s Bluff; or, Du“ky Dick the Snort.

921 Buffalo Bill's Quandary: or. Velvet Bill's VOW.

915 Buffalo Bill and the SurgeonScout.

909 Buffalo Bill’s League: or. Red Butterfly.

904 Buffalo Bill's Tangled Trail.

900 Buffalo Bill‘s Rough Riders.

895 Buffalo Bill's Secret Ally.

890 Buffalo Bill‘s Lite-Stake.

882 The Three Bills: Buffalo Bill W'ild Bill and Band-
box Bill; or. The Bravo in Broadcloth.

874 Buffalo Nill‘s Buckskin Braves.

869 Buffalo Bill’s Road-Agent Round-up.

863 Buffalo Bill’s Death Charm.

857 Buffalo Bill’s Royal Flush.

851 Buffalo Bill‘s ltouble Dilemma.

845 Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Ruse.

830 Buffalo Bill‘s Bmsin Blue.

% Buffalo Bill's Shari Shooters.

822 Buffalo Bill's Best ower.

816 Buffalo Bi 1’s Bed Trail.

812 Buffalo Bill’s Death—Knell.

794 Buffalo Bill‘s Winning.r Hand.

787 Buffalo Bill’s Dead Shot.

781 Buffalo Bill‘s Brand.

777 Buffalo Bill’s Spy Shadowcr.

769 Buffalo Bill’s Sweepstnkc.

765 Buffalo Bill’s Dozen: or, Silk Ribbon Sam.

761 Buffalo Bill‘s Mascot.

757 Buffalo Bill’s Double.

750 Buffalo Bill‘s Bil: Four;0r, (‘uster‘s Shadow.

743 Buffalo Bill‘s Flush Hand. _

739 Buffalo Bill‘s Blind: or, The Masked Driver.

735 Buffalo Bill and His Merry Men.

731 Buffalo Bill‘s Beagles: or Silk Lasso Sam.

727 Buffalo Bill's Bodv~ Guard.

722 Buffalo Bill on the Wur— ath.

716 Buffalo Bill's Scout Sha owers.

710 Buffalo Bill Baffled: or. The Deserter Desperado.

697 Buffalo Bill‘s Buckskin Brotherhood.

691 Buffalo Bill’s lllind Trail; or. Mustang Madge.

667 Buffalo Bill‘s Swoop;or. The King of the Mines.

658 The Cowb v Clan: or. The 'l‘igress of Texas.

653 Lasso King‘s League; or. Buck Taylor in Texas.

649 Buffalo Bill‘s Chiefof Cowboys: or. Buck Taylor

644 Buffalo Bill‘s i'onarza;0r. Si ver (‘irclc Knights.

362 Buffalo Bill's Gri )2 or. Oath Bound to Custer.

329 Buffalo Bill’s Ple ge: or. The League of Three.

189 Wild Bill‘s Gold Trail; or. The Desperate Dozen.

175 Wild Bill's 'l‘rump Card: or. The lndian Heiress.

168 Wild Bill. the Pistol Dead Shot.

By Bu fl‘nlo Bill.

839 The Ranch King Dead-Shot.

820 White Beaver ’5 Still Hunt.

807 Wild Bill, the Wild West Duelist.

800 Wild Bill. the Dead Center Shot.

639 Buffalo Bill‘s Gold King.

599 The Dead Shot Nine: or. My Pards of the Plains.
414 Red Renard. the Indian Detective.

401 One-Armed Pard; or. Borderland Retribution.

897 The Wizard Brothers: or. White Beavers Trail.
894 White Beaver, the Exile. of the Platte. -

319 Wild Bill. the Whirlwind of the West.

804 Texas Jack. the Prairie Rattler.

M3 The Pilgrim Sharp: or. The Soldier's Sweetheart.
83 Gold Bullet Sport; or. Knights of the Overland.
152 Death-Trader. the Chief of Scouts.

By Leon Lew“, Ned Buntllne, etc.

773 Buffalo B'll’s Ban; or. Cody to the Rescue.

682 Buffalo Bill’s Seer-t Service Trail.

629 Buffalo Bill’s Darin Role; or. Daredeath Dick.
517 Buffalo Bil's First rail; or. The Express Rider.
158 Buffalo Bill, (‘hief of Scouts.

117 Buffalo Bill 5 Strange Pard; or. Dashing Dandy.
92 Buffalo Bill. the Buckskin King.

BY HAROLD PAYNE.

. 883 The Man from Mexico in New York. ,
872 The King-Pin Shark: or. Thad Burt‘s Ten Strike.
861 The Tenderloin Big Four
853 The Quaker City Crook.
644 Tracked to Chica o.
836 The Policy Broke '3 Blind.
829 The Frisco Sharper‘s Cool Hand.
821 The Tramp Shadoww’s Backer.
813 The Sham S otter‘s Shrewd Scheme.
806 The Grand treet Gold-Dust Sharpers.
798 Detective Burr‘s Luna ic Witness
792 The Wall Street Sharper’s Snap.
784 Thad Burr‘s Death Drop.
742 Detective Burr Amongthe New York Thugs.
734 Detective Burr’s Foil; or, A \\ oman’s Strategy.
728 Detective Burr. the Headquarters Special.
713 Detective Burr‘s Spirit Chase.
706 Detective Burr’s Seven Clues.
698 Tha‘d Burr, the Invincible; or, The “L ” Clue.
.690 The Matchless Detective. I
680 XX. the Fatal Clew: or, Burr's Master Case.

\ - BY LIEUT. A. K. SIMS.

914 Snowflake Sam’s Double.

897 The Six-Shot Spotter.

887 The Stranger Sport from Spokane.

873 The Sport Detective’s Colorado Clew.

860 The Spangled Sport Shadower.

843 I‘hu. Crescent City Sport.

832 Girl Gale‘s Block Game.

804 ’l‘ o King Pin of t e Leadville Lions.

786 Chit-am Charlie’s iamond Haul.

776 Chicago Charlie, the Columbia" Detective.
758 The W izar ! King Detective.

723 Toamstnr Tom. the Boomer Detective.

709 Lodestone Lem. the Clmmpion of Chestnut Burr.
695 Singer Sam. the Pilgrim Detective.

688 River Rustlers: or. the Detective from 'Woy Back 
673 Stuttering Sam, the “intent Sp. rt of Santa Fe. ‘

666 Old A'lamnnt. the Man of Rock.

6'8 Kansas Kurl. the Detective King.

552 Prince Primrose, the Flower of the Finch
528 Huckleberry, the Foot-Hills Detective.

 

BY CAPTAIN HO‘VARD HOLMES.
912 Gcnteel Joe's Lone Hand.
903 The Train Detective.
896 Kent Keen, the Crook-Crusher.
888 Nightshade in New York.
879 Falcon Flynn, the Flash Detective.
871 The Crook Cashier.
859 Clew-Hawk Keene‘s Right Bower.
847 Hiram Hawk, the Harlem Detective.
840 Major Bullion. Boss of the Tigers.
831 Shadowing the London Detective.
817 Plush Velvet, the Prince of Spotters.
803 The Bogus Broker‘s Right Bower.
7‘88 The Night-H urk Diviec‘ive.
779 Silk Rlbl)on‘s Cr. sit—out.
7‘66 Detectivl- Zach, the Broadway Spotter.
751 The Dark Lantern Det ctive.
736 The Never-le D tective. I
724 Captain Hercules. the Strong Arm Detective.
711 Dan Damon, the Gilt-Edge Detective.
701 Silver Stew, the Branded Sport.
694 Gideon Grip, the Secret Shadower.
684 Velvet Van, the Mystery Shadower.
678 The Dude Desperado
671 Jason Clcw, the Silk-Handed Ferret.
664 Monk Morel, the Man-Hun er.
651 S01 S hinx. the Ferret Detective.
612 Red ard and Yellow.
608 Silent Sam, the Shadow Sphinx.
592 Ca )trtin Sid, the Shasta Ferret.
579 01 Cormorant tlte Bowery Shadow.
569 Captain Cobra. the flooded Mystery.
559 Danton. the Shadow Sharp.
550 Silk Hand. the MoliaVe Ferret.
543 The Magnate Detective.
532 Jack Javert. the Independent Detective.
523 Reynard of Red Jack: or, The Lost Detective
512 Captain Velvet’s Big Stake.
505 Phil Fox. tlicGentoel Spotter.
496 Richard Reut‘ire. the Two Worlds’ Detective
487 Sunshine Sam. a Chip of the Old Block.
4:40 Hawkspear. the Man with a Secret.
48 Coldgrip in Deadwood.
460 Captain Coldlzrlp. the Detective
453 Captain Coldgrip’s Long Trail.
447 Volcano. the Frisco Spy.
411 The California Sharp.
434 Lucifer Lynx. the 1‘ onder Detective.
421 Father Ferret. the Frisco Shadow.
413 Captain Coldgrip in New York.
407 Captain Coldgrlp's Nerve: or. In 'un Nick.
400 Captain Coldgrip; or. The New ork Spotter.
392 The Lost Bonanza: or. The Boot of Silent Hound.
382 The Bonanza Band: or. Dread Don of 0001 Clan.
374 Major Blister. the Sport 01’ Two Cities.
365 Keen Kennard. the Shasta Shadow.
35? The Desperate Dom-n.
347 Denver Duke. the Man With “Sand.”
340 Cool Conrad. the Dakota Detective.
335 Flash Dan. the Nabob: or. Blades of Bowie Bar.
321 California Claude, the Lone Bandit.
294 Broadcloth Burt. the Denver Dandy.‘
278 Hercules Goldspur, the Man of the Velvet Hand.

BY WILLIAM II. MANNING.

920 The Montana Miner in New York.

908 The Doomsday ~Den Detective.

899 The Double-Quick Detective. !

893 Yellow Gid of Dark Divide.

885 The Expert Detective‘s Shakeup.

875 Trap :ng the Raceleck Judge.

864 The olice Special’s Dilemma.

84? The Genteei Sharper’s Combine

811 Graydon‘s Double Deal.

833 The Sport DetectiVe’s Gl‘l .

823 The Athlete Sport About Town.

808 TheCronk-Defcctive‘s Pull.

790 Plunger Pete, the Race Track Detective.

782 Royal Rock, the Roundup Detective.

774 Steve Starr. the Dock Detective.

764 The New York Sharp’s Shadower.

738 Detective Clax ton. the Recon Breaker.

714 Gabe Gall, the Gambolicr fro Great Hump.
703 Spokane Saul. the Samaritan Sus ct

692 Dead Shot Paul, the Deep-Range x lorer.

655 Strawberry Sam. 'the Man with the irthmark.
646 Dark John, the Grim Guard.

638 Murdock. the read Detective.

623 Dangerous Dave. the Nevrr-Beaten Defective.
611 Alliflll Abe. the Game Cl.icken from Texas.
596 Rustler Rube: the Round-Up Detective.

585 Dan Dixon’s Double.

575 Steady Hand. the Napoleon of Detectives
563 Wyoming Zeke, ti 9 Hotspur of Honeysuckle.
551 Garry Kean the Man with Backbone.

539 Old Doubletlark. the Wily Detective.

531 Saddle-Chief Kit. the Prairie Centaur.

521 Paradise Sam. the Nor’-West Pilot.

513 Texas Tartar. the Man With Nine Lives.
506, Uncle Honest. the leacrmaker of Homets’ Nest.
498 Central Pacific Paul. the Mail Train Spy.
49: Border Bullet, the Prairie Sharpshooter.
486 Kansas Kitten. the Northwest Detective.

479 Gladiator Gabe, the Samson of Snssajack:

470 The Duke 01' Dakota.

463 Gold Gauntlet. the Gulch Gladiator.

455 Yank Yellon bird. the Toll Hustler of the Hills.
4-19 Bluff Burke. King of the Rockies.

442 Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran.

437 Deep Duke: or. T e Man of Two Lives.

427 The Rivals of Mo tana Mill

415 Hot Heart, the Detective Spy.

405 Old Baldy the Bricadicr of Buck Basin.

385 Will 'Dicl: l‘urpin, the Leadville Lion. .

297 Colorado Rube. the Strong Arm of' Hotspur.
279 The Gold Dragoon, ul‘, California Bloodhound.

BY J W. 0‘BON.

922 Gilbert Goldspur, the Dandy Sport.
905 Shasta Sam. the Sp'trkler. '
877 (‘ool C‘reede, the DendShot

759 The Sport from St. Louis.

518 Royal Richard, the Thoroughbred.

 

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' 130

Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Umform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers.

 

ALBERT W. AIKEN’S NOVELS.
Dick Talbot Series.
741 Dick ’l‘alhot‘s Closo Call.
737 Die Talbot Ill Apache l and.
733 Dick Talbot. the Ranch King.
729 Dick Talbot’s Clean-Out.
72.3 Dick Talbot in No M ,n‘s Camp.
384 Dick Talbot in the Rockies: or. injun Dick.
354 Dick Til-lot: 01. The Brand of Crimson Cross.
319 Dick. the Gentltman Roau~Agent.
107 Dick Talbot. of (ill nnbar.
93 Dick Talbot. King of the Road.
Dick Talbot in Utah: or. Gold Dan.
hick Talbot‘s iron Grip; or, 'l he Velvet Hand.
36 Dick Talbot; or. The Death-Shot of Shasta.
35 Dick ’l‘albotat the Mines: or, Kentuck the Sport..
34 Dick T-wlbot’s For: 01‘. Rocky Mountain Rob.
33 Dick Talbot at White Pine: or Ovt rland Kit.
Alken’s Fresh 05 Frisco Series.

3'

'A
B...

8'25 Fresh, the Race-Truck r‘rt rt.

660 The Fresh in Motltann: ( r. i 1: L-e‘s Full Hand.
652 The Fl‘esli's Rustic at l'nillted City.

647 The Fresh at Santa he: I r. 'l ll Strange" Sharp.
556 Fresh. the. Sport: or. 'i he i i; Racket ntS'ide Out.
537 Fresh Against the Fir d: or. Blake. the Lion.
529 The Fresh of Fl’lSCO in New York.

497 The Fresh in Texas: or The Ercobedo Millions.

A
E

The Fresh of Frisco on the Rio Grande.
The Fresh in Arizona; or. California John.
The Fr~ shin Mexico; or. (‘aptain Votcnno.

173

97 The Fresh in Big: Walnut Camp; or. Bronze Jack
77 The Fresh of Frisco.
Alkt‘ll'l Joe Plrenlx Series.
, 865 The Female Barber Dc tectivl ; or, Joe Phenix in
Silver City.
799 Jon Pheoix’s Great Blue Diamrnd Case; or, The
New York Sport at Long Branch.
793 Joe Phenix’s Decoy: or, The Man of Three.
760 Joe Phcnix’s Lone Hand.
749 Joe Ph tnix's Big Bulge.
745 Joe Phenix’s Mad Case.
- 708 Joe Phenix‘s Siren; or, The Woman Howkslmw.
l 700 Joe Pheuix‘s Unknown; or. Crushing the Crooks-
681 Joe Phcnix's Specials; or. The Actress Detective
(£37 Joe Phenix ill Crazy Camp.
632 Joe l’henix‘s Master Search.
6‘ Joe Phenix's (‘Ollll‘lll ;t r,the Dandy (‘onsp‘rator
620 Joe Phenix’s Silent Six.
601 Joe Phenix‘s biladowmntllc Detective‘s Monitor
419 Joe Pheliix., the King of Detectives.
391 Joe. l’henix‘s Still Hunt.
161 Joe Phenix‘s Great Man Hunt.
112 Joe Phenix, Private Defective; or, The League.
79 Joe Phenix. the Police Spy.
Alken‘s NI'II‘CHIIIICOIIN Novels.
' 926 Old Sunflower. the Silent Snliter.
923 Old SuninWer. the Hayseed Detective.

l

901 The Hotel Swel-S' arr; t r, The Siren Shadower.
892 The Countrymnn Detective.

‘ 876 Gold Button Sport; or, Th. Miner Sharps.

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842 Teton Tom the Half-1 ll od.

835 The King-Pin Detective.

814 The New Yorker Antone Texas Sports.

775 King Dandy, the Silver Spor'.

753 Gideon's Grigflat l‘abylon 1 ar.

717 Captain Pat cGowen, tl e Grt'encont Detective.
674 Uncle Sun Up, the Born Defective.

670 The Lightw eight Detective.

665 The Frlsco Defective; or, The Golden Gate Find.
613 Keen Billy, the Sport.

“607 Old Brnzine. the “ Hard (‘aSe " Detective.

594 Fire Face, the Silver King’s Foe.

585 The Silver Sh arp Detective.

577 Tom, of Cztllff rma; or, D( tectiVe‘s Shadow Act.
570 The Actress Detective: or. The invisible Hand.
562 Lone Hand. the Shadow. -

520 The Lone Hand on the Caddo.
490 The Lone Hand in Texas.
475~Clnn Chin, the Chinese Detective.
465 The Actor Detective. ‘

440 The, High Hor e of the Pacific.
424 The Lone Hand; or. The Red River Recreants.

' 408 Doc Grip, thc Vendetta of Death.

381 The Gygsy Gen tlenmn: t r. Kick Fox. Detective
376 Black eards: or 'lhe Rio (lrande High Horse
370 The Dusky Detective: or, l‘ursued to the End.
363 Crowningshleld. the Detective
320 The Genteel Spo tter: or The N. Y. Night Hawk.
252 The Wall Street Blood; or. The Telegrarh Girl.
203 The Double Detec tive: or.’lhe Midnight Mystery.
196 La Marmoset, the Letecnve Queen.
101 The Man from New York.
91 The Winning Oar: or. The lnnkee 1"! Daughter-
84 Hunted Down: or. The Leagueo Three.
81 The Human Tiger: or. A Heart of Fire. ‘
75 Gentleman George: or. Parlor. Prison and Street.
72 The Phantom Hand; or. The 5th Avenue Heiress.
63 The Winged Whale: or. The Red Rupert of Gulf.
59 .The Man from Texas: 01". Tl 6 Arkansas Outlaw.
56 The Indian Mazeppa: or. Madmml of the Plains.
49'Th» Wolf Demon: or. The Kanawhn Queen.
42 The California Detective: or, The Wit clips of NY,
31 The New York Shor : or. The Flash r f Li liming.
27 The Spotter Detect ve: or. Girls of New orlr.

NEW ISSUES.
931 Frisco Frank at Glory Gulch; or. W1

lug Out
the Gold Duster’s Gang. By Vi m. H.

anning.

932 Detective Gordon‘s Grip; or. The Shadowed

' 933

New York Stw‘ll. By Albert W. Aiken,

Dashing Charlie, the Wild West Detective; or,

The Bravos of Borderland. By Col. P. Ingraham.

934 Sagebrush Sandy. the Sport at Large; or, The
Twin Toll-Taker‘s Tangle By Joe. E. Badger. a

JUST ISSUED.

923 Old Sobersi'ies, the Detective of St. Louis; or,

‘ The Crook-Dwrne Lay~0ut. -» Bv J. E. Badger.

} Publishers, 92 William street, New York.

1 929 Gentleman George. the Showman S art; or.
, Spotter Sponclus‘ Scoop. By Capt. H. olmes.

930 Dashing,r t‘hnriit-K Donbl' : or. The Old Miner's
Legacy. By Col. P. ingraham.

.1 new luv/e etH‘l'r lie ner'ddll.

eaclle‘s Ill v... [Jurory is for sole ty all
‘ N wstlt-alers, ten cents ywr ropv. or sent by mail on
i receipt ni’ tw¢~lvo cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS.
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