“mm-359.»; BEAD LE’S NIanke‘ruéb. The American News Company. New York \ mfm ‘- _l_‘ ,. ‘n , :4. In! {.‘J'u;7." BY HARRY HAZARD, AUTHOR ‘IIEABT-EATER,’ ‘wmm ouwmw,’ ‘An'nmws JAcx.’ NEW YORK: AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, as WILLIAM STREET. BEADLE Entered according to Act or Congress, in the you 1813; 5, FRANK STARR & 00., II. the office of the Librarian of Cungrcse, at Washington. RATTLING DICK, THE MOUNTAIN OUTLAW. 5‘ , i ‘1‘", CHAPTER I. S, TRIAL AND SENTENCE. THERE was an unusual excitement in Diamond Gulch, one April morning. As the mist rose from the valley, and crept up the somber sides of the mountains, the rays of the sun slanted over the crest of pines that croWned the eastern cliffs, and sent. shafts of light down among the cabins and hovels and tents and shel- ters of Diamond Gulch. It also brought into view a number 'of rough, heavilyvbearded men, with eyes ablaze with excite- ment, and faces dark with determination, who were collected in groups, with their weapons in their hands or conspicuously displayed upon their persons, earnestly talking in a rude lan- ,, gauge, that was copiously interlarded with strange oaths and '1. 'tntcouth expressions. V An outrage had shocked the “ moral sentiment” of the if N cunp. ' i Shasta Dick, an old Californian, who made a business of r o u v more than usually successful in his mining operations, crawled ,- out of his cabin. after the stupid sleep that. had succwded a heavy dehuuch, with a tale of rohht-ry on his blue lips. 3- He had lost not less than a hundred ounces of dust. gf’. When Shasta Dick had revived his shattered senses by gff,-p0\1ring down his Seasoned throat a big draught of fiery .I‘“. whisky, he told his story, and did not hesitate to charge the - theft upon the man who had been his sleeping partner for the ' follmving up the new discoveries, and who had lately been, namme man, The gold was contained in a canvas bag, which Shasta Dick declared that he had placed under the blanket that formed his pillow, when he laid down to sleep, The man who slept in the hat with him had seen him put it there, and who but he could have taken it? \ This was merely a strong ground for suspicion; but there - was other evidence in the case, sufficient to induce the dwelt: lers in Diamond Gulch to resolve tolay violent hands thOIr the person who was accused by Shasta Dick. That person was a man over fifty years of age, who was known as Ben Durk. In appearance he was altogether an? lovely, and by no means calculated to produce a favorable impression. He was tall, gaunt and bony, with bronzcd and wrinkled face, and with a heavy and grizzled beard. Small gray eyes, sunk deeply in his head, looked from under masses of bushy eyebrows. He had the air of a man whose life had been a continuous warfare with the elements and with his fellow-men, and who had been worsted in most of his 013- , counters. No one knew where he came from—in fact, no one cared -—and it was but a few weeks since he bail made his appear. ance at Diamond Gulch. As a miner, he had met with very poor success, but he had already acquired considerable repu~ tatioa as a hunter. It was supposed, from the style of his conversation and his habits, that he had lmnted and trapped in the wilds of the Far West during many years; but. hehad l volunteered very little information Concerning himself, and no one had cared to inquire into his history. ' He had been a Companion of Shasta Dick in his debauch, and had accepted the invitation of that worthy to “take a snooze in his shanty.” The gentleman from Shasta thought it very hard that his bottle-mate and room-mate should haw .“ gone back on him ” to the extent of stealing his; dust, and was of the opinion 'that the culprit ought to be punished for" the breach of the laws of good-fellowship, as well as for the I :2 crime of grand larceny. ‘ r v .‘n- y‘ a,” - r ‘ While Shasta Dick was telling the story of his loss, Ben ~ Durk was sleeping a broken, troubled slumber, from which he had not awakened when his fellow-citizens of the Gulch can}. ' toesptnrehim ' ‘ ~ .. . I . ’: .r t, . ‘ m roman omw. ' , {I r'fie had the reputation, although he had done nothing to ' deserve it, of being a dangerous man, and the men who went to take him had thonght it necessary not only to go well armed, but to use all proper precttutions to prevent him from doing them bodily injury. In fact, they wished to treathim as the Philistines treated Samson—to surprise him in his sleep—and for this purpose they carefully surrounded the but, before making any demonstrations toward the interior. Pushing open the door of the shanty, they looked in, and "Ith Durk wrapped in ablanket, lying on a rawhide bed, with his artns flung out and his mouth open, pumping forth his breath in huge enores. Softly as they filed in, only three had entered when he ’ BWoke and started up. The three threw themselves upon him. ‘~ Durk struggled and swore, and nearly succeeded in ridding himself of his assailants; but they were reinforced, and he was OVerpowered and Securely hound. He was taken Ottt of the shanty and down to Bart Traber’s grocery, where the sovereign citizens of Diamond Gulch pro- "'ce'eded to organize themselves into a Court, composed of jury, witnesses and audience. This done, the prisoner was informed of the charge that had beett preferred against him. Old Traps, as Durk was commonly called by the miners, shook his head, pried open his eyelids, and mildly petitioned that he might be allou'ed some whisky. Such a request could not reasonably be refused, and the primner, having lubricated his machinery, proceeded to in- form the audience that the charge was “ all a durned lie." 'I‘ltieremark being considered by Shasta Diek as a personal reference to him, there was a prospect of a lively little fight; but ‘ the belligerents Were restrained, and Shasta. Dick was Cliitvinced that it was beneath his dignity to fight a mu!) who was accused of stealing. It was deeided that the, statement of Old Traps should be lrea‘etl as a plea of not guilty, and that the eVitlettce should he heard. Shasta Dick told ltt< story, the .substance of which has al~ g ready been stated, and it was cheerfully corroborated by the combed. . ;, t 3 “That’s even so, gen’lemen,” said Dark. “1 saw him take \ tn .. w.» .Jv .. :u ,. “ .1 '1, H , ,' . __ ’1‘ ~ / , I me 1310*, a bag out of his black carpet-satchel, and put it under his blanket jest. afore he laid down. That’s all I know, about it, and I s’pose it‘s all he knows about it, too. I reckon he’s honest in his thinkin’ I took it, and I know I am honest in sayin' I didn’t.” The next witness was Calvin Peaslee, better known as “ the , doctor," a man who appeared to be about the same age as the prisoner, but much better preset‘Ved. He Was dressed in a suit of rusty black, surmounted by a battered silk hat. His demeanor, as well as his attire, showed that he considered himself entitled. to some consideration in that communityg._, but he had not as yet succceded in obtaining any exalted posi~ tion. He commenced his statement in this Style: “My tenement adjoins that which is occupied by the gentleman who is known as Shasta Dick. I occupy that tene- ment—referring to my own—in conjunction with my'assis- tant, John Smith, who, being a half-breed Shoshonie, is useful to me in procuring the valuable roots and herbs with which, this wild region abounds, and which enter into the Composir tion of various tnedicumcnts which I prepare for the cure’ of--” “ Easy on that, doctor," suggested Aleck \Vithers, or “ the: Judge,” who had once been an alcalde somewhere, and whose title, as a matter of course, had stuck to him. The doctor bowed benignantly, and continued his narra- tion. “ I was proceeding to state that I was awake until a late hour last night, being engaged in the preparation of some pills of my own invention, which have a magical effect inithe cure of fever-amldtgue, remittent fever, bilious complaints, rheumatism, nooralg_', and all diseases that are preValeut in—" ,‘f Cut it short, doctor, if it’s all the Same to you,” interrupt- ’ :1 “ We hain't got time to bother with talk.” ed the judge. 1 succeeded in, With a few more admonitions, PczlSlCB finishing his statement. ‘ He had been busy, until a. late hour of the night, with his assistant, compounding medicines. W N, 3 W3 "$4527; t f!‘* y, 5. .J} At about midnight, hap. , L lining to look in the direction of Shasta, Dick’s shanty,'bo ' N’"‘S;Ta ' , '- , , r - l ~I ‘ .‘ / ‘ in mm omnv. . \t, \hdseeh a person issuing from that tenement, Whom. he re- , wgnized as Ben Dark. The prisoner was walking un ‘ ’ ' '1teadily, as if somewhat intoxicated. In his right hand he carried a. canvas bag, in his left a pick-ax. Peaslec called the attention of his assistant to the movements of Durk, who went into the timber at the foot of the hill, and was absth some fifteen or twenty minutes. When he returned ta Shasta Dick‘s cabin, the pick was still in his hand, but thc .3 ' canvas bag was not in sight. ' ‘1‘ John Smith, the half-breed, was then offered as a witness and a discussion ensued as to whether there was enough white 1 blood in his veins to allow him to testify. His evidenceswas finally admitted, and corroborated that of Calvin Peaslee. A pick, that had been found in Shasta Dick’s shanty Was then produced, and it was evident that it had lately been "used. The case against the prisoner was closed,and he was asked ' whether he had any thing to say in his defense. Old Traps rubbed his eyes, and shook his head, mourn- ' 4. fully. ' He said that he couldn't understand it. It must be that be t Was guilty; but he wouldn't have belived it if it hadn’t been 'proved against him. He supposed that the witneSses had spoken the tmth; but he had no remembrance of leaving the "' shanty, and knew nothing about the canvas bag or the pick. If‘it was truo that he had stolen Shasta Dickie dust and buried it, he felt impelled to say they sold mighty mean Whisky at Beaver. He Would gladly repay the amount, but _ 7 chrybody knew that he had had no luck since he came to ’ the Gulch, and at that moment he was tetotally cleaned I' Out. . L It was suggested that he had better go dig up the bag he Lad‘buried, and restore it to its owner; but he declared that _ he khew nothing about it, and had not the least idea where 1.» he should go to IOok for it. ‘ This statement was considered as mere contumacy, and the ‘ jury retired to make up their verdict. ‘ In‘a few moments they returned, and reported the conclu- a't which» they had arrived. They found Ben ‘Durk "guilty as charged, and sentenced him to receive “7911'th . It \ 5‘9 ‘ ‘1‘. yr kw”. - . i. r . {flexift‘lffi' Sirens: -3 .«3'1, .r"-‘ . " ’ - 'v\- < 'r ummofirax, ,1 g ,‘ 1 I lashes on the bare back, and to be banished from the , i . Gulch. " v Old Traps was terribly indignant at this ignominious sen- tence. He strove to break his bonds and escape, but was un- able to cope with the many who were arrayed against him. He raved, cursed and threatened; but the violence of his lan- guage was as ineffectual as the violence of his actions. ' The sentence was duly executed, and Old Traps left the valley, without casting a look behind him. ' CHAPTER II. FALSELY ACCUSED. / ALECK WITHERS watched the convicted eulprit until he was out of sight, and then turned away, shakingr his head with the air of a man who was not satisfied. " Any thing the matter, Judge?" asked Calvin Peaslee. ,. . , r “ We ought to have hung that man or let him go entirely. ‘« I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he should go for some of us before long.” Peaslee winced, and his tallowy complexion looked yelo“ lower. . I ' “That man Durk was a dangerous individual,” he said." “ His punishment ought to have been more sevure; but thttt < can‘t be helped now. Our community is well rid of him, and I am in doubt whether we ought not to banish his part-- ner.” “ iIis partner? Didn’t know he had one.” I , ,v “ Henry Ashby is the only man who has been thick with ' l, him, here at the Gulch.” .3“, -“ Nonsense! There’s nothing wrong about young Ashby. r He has taken pity on the old man, because of his bad luck, " and has wanted to help him—nothing more.” \ “ I think he needs watching, anyhow." I ~ I. , v “ Have you any-grudge against Henry Ashby i" asked With” '1'; , , in rather sternly. I v v um roman: on'ruw. ‘ 1| l “I ? Of course not. I am only speaking for the good of he community.” I ‘f Uml I wouldn’t be surprised if the community is able to led: out for itself. I don’t want to hear any thing more about it. I am sick of the business, as it is.” “ Reckon the Judge is scared up,” muttered the doctor, as - "Withers turned aWay; “ but. I don’t see any thing to ge' frightened about.” The r-young man of whom Peaslee spoke was absent from the Gulch at the time of Ben Durk’a trial, having gone to ‘ BcaVer on business. Just before night he returned, and was highly indignant when he heard what had happened. But ' Peaslee had not neglected to throw out insinuations concern- ing “ Old Traps’ partner,” and Ashby perceived that his in- dignation only increaSed the suspicion with which he was evi- dently regarded. One miner Went so far as to hint that a. 7‘ _ man who could sympathize with a thief was no better than a ' abated. ’ safe, untouched, not a scale missing. -, bored having risen from his sleep, the night before, with a thief himself. As Ashby had partisans in the camp, it is probable that there Would have been a general fight, if the supply of whisky at 'I‘raber’s grocery had not run short. When the young man retired to rest, his anger had not He was mortified at the suspicions that were afloat concerning himself, and felt no stnall degree of pity for lf’e‘J .Durk, who had been, as he believed, St) harshly and unjustly treated. Before he fell asleep, his last thought was that he would “ settle the matter ” in some way, pretty soon. The next morning, however, a different face was put. on af- fairs. Shasta Dick crawled out of his cabin, looking very sheep- ish, and said that his conscience Compelled him to make a confession. He had dreamed, during the night, that his bag of dust was in his black carpet-sack. When he awakened from the dream, he Was 80 forcibly impresaed by it, that be hunted up the carpet-sack, opened it, and found the bag of dust lying there, Then he dimly remem- vagne suspicion of Old Traps in his mind, and having resolved ,-.9‘echange the hiding-place of his treasure. _ He could not data am has had carted out his intmttion, Mamie valid! BATTLING 010:, iasleep and three-fourths drunk, and that the occurrence had been obliterated from his memory, until it was partially re- vived by his dream. ‘ This statement was accepted as truth. It was certain that. the dust was in his shanty, and the conclusion was unmmidc able that Ben Durk had not stolen it. The next question was, had Calvin Peaslee and the young half-breed told a' lie l’ As it was the general opinion of the miners that they ought to be “ brought to law,” they were cross-examined very closely concerning the statement they had made; but both adhered, to it strictly, and no amount of persuading or threatening could inducs either of them to vary in any particular from the evidence they had given on the trial. . Their statement, also, was generally accepted as truth, al- though there were some chronic unbelievers who discredited it. There Were others who inclined tothe suspicion that Uld Traps had returned under cover of the night, had dug up the ‘ bag of dust that he had buried, and had replaced it in Shasta. Dick’s shanty. The general belief was that he had gone out at night, and had buried something, and the question arose, what had be buried? If his own statement was to be credited, he had no remembrance of the occurrence, and the matter was probably of no importance, as he was not believed to have been pos- sessed of any thing worth hiding. Henry Ashby was dissatisfied with the whole affair. He knew that Ben Durk had been wrongfully accused and pan- ished, and believed that the old man’s wrong ought to be righted in some Way. lie declared his intention of going to seek Olll Traps, for the purpose of telling him how he had been vindicated, and of persuading him to return to the' Gulch. There were some who advised him against this course, from motives of policy. So long as Old Traps believed him- self guilty, he might harbor no,vcry vengeful feelings toward those who had pmiished him. poem! that he would cherish a grudge against the 09101); and If, however, he should disco- . vet that he had suffered as an innocent man, it was to be ex»- ' ' z t . that he might feel-inclined ’to “ take it out ” of his ‘ Q3161! But no .05" infirm! mammals”! ‘ f, ,l l. l twmfiwwiaqin' here, boy r" asked the out-Jun; ‘ A ' ' um 20mm OUTLAW. =1"! ‘&"hmm should prevent Ashby from informing the old ’man f ,‘of the facts of the case, and he believed that he was fully jus- tified in what he pr0posed to do. He had a pretty good idea of the localityin which the ban- ished man was to be sought, and set out on his errand before neon, riding his own horse, and leading another, which he in- tended for Ben Durk. It was not until late in the afternoon of the next day that he came in sight of the place where he expected to find Old Traps. He had been ascending, with considerable difficulty, a spur of the“ Rockies,” and had reached an elevation where he was obliged to dismount, as it was impossible to proceed any fur- ther on horseback. ' As he was tethering the horses, he heard a shot above him. ‘Looking upward, he saw a mountain sheep at the edge of the clitf. After a vain attempt to cling to the rock, it fell, and dropped upon the ground, dead, a short distance from where he stood. “A good shot," muttered Ashby, when he had examined the animal, and perceived that it had been struck just behind the foreleg. “ Whoever fired that shot knew where and how to put in his bullet." Ashby supposed that the person who had fired would come down to claim his mountain mutton, and knew that he,could gain nothing by advancing or retreating, whether the hunter should prove to be a friend or an enemy. After examining his rifle and revolver, he took position near the horses, and Waited and watched. He soon heard a rattling of stones, and saw a man descend- ing. the mountain at no great distance. " At the same time he was seen by the stranger, and each reconnoitercd the other carefully. Apparently both were satisfied; for the hunter continued his descent, and Ashby came out from the favorable position in which he had placed himself. ' . “Glad ‘lo find you, Ben Dark,” said the latter, advancing holding out his hand to the hunter, when'he reached ‘tle platpau.“ I o’ ‘18 BA’I'I‘LING mcx,‘ strange moisture filling his eyes as be grasped the hand 01 his young friend. “ Whar did you come from i’” “ Diamond Gulch." - “ What brought you here ?” “I Came to see you." . “ Did you know that I was a thief, that I had been whipped and driv’ out o’ the Gulch for slealin’ '2” ' 1 know that, and more. I can‘t tell you how sorry I am for what has happened.” “ Sorry is no name for it, with me. Should think you’d be ashamed to take my hand. It was a bad business on my part; but those fellers marked me.” “Not for life, I hope, old friend.” “ The marks will fade off of thar,” replied Durk, touching his back ; “ but they’ve gone in, and I’m marked for life in that way, I reckon.” , " Let us try to look at it in some other light. I have brought you some news. Shasta Dick has found his gold- dust.” “ What .’ this crittur.” The hunter cut the throat of the sheep he had killed, and hung it upon a point of rock. When he returned to his young friend, he was quite tranquil in appearance; but. there was a puzzled look on his Countenance. Jest wait thar a minute, Harry, till I ’tend to “Say it ag’in, Harry—what you said a minute .ago. It may be that I didn’t rightly understand you.” “ I said that Shasta Dick has found his gold-dust. He had hid it himself. He got up at night and put it away, and for- got that he had done 80. Night before last he dreamed of it and found it, and yesterday morning he told us all about it.” “ It seems to me, if that is really the state of the case, that, I didn't steal it, after all." ' “ Of course you didn’t steal it.” “ Those folks lied, then, who said that they and hide the bag.” “ I believe not. you certainly did go out, with a pick in one hand and a can- vas bag in the other, and that you returned without the bag. The pick showed that it had Boon med during the night?!- \ . saw me go out . \ They stand to that story. They say that . I ,, ‘_, ,1 ' ,~F".' 1": / -~‘. . h 11.. 7 m locum OUTLAW. I , “That‘s a fact. I wonder now whose dust it was that/I stole. Anythin’ else missin’ about thar 1’" ‘ “ Nothing that I have heard of. Perhaps, old man, if you I buried any thing, it was something that belonged to your- , ' self.” " Didn’t haVe nothin’ to bury—nothin’ of the sort. The fact is, Harry, that when I have been drinkin’ beyond asartin limit, my memory is clean gone. I h’isted in consid’ahle p’json at Beaver—you heerd of that, prob’ly—and I don’t remember a thing that happened arter I left thar, until they piled in on me the next mornin’. How I got hold of the bag of dust, and/why I hi-l it, and whar I buried it, are three things that are jest as mixterious to me as they can be to anybody.” “ Perhaps it is all a mistake, and you buried nothing. At all events, the matter is settled, as far as Diamond Gulch is concerned. The people are sorry for what has happened, and allyou have to do is to go back with me, and hear them say so.” “ Not much, Harry. No more of that for me." “I hope you are not going to bear a grudge against those people ?” “Don't know whether that‘s the name for it, or not; but I've a notion that the sight of me Won’t be healthy for some of ’em. I’ve never been struck a lick since I was knee high, eXCept in a fair fight; and now—but I don’t want to talk ; about it. Come up to my den, boy. It’s gittin‘, on toward right.” a x \.‘-A CHAPTER III. THE HONEST MAIL-CARRIER. ' v «w, uvxxv.,,y 'l‘mrmr. was no pOSt-oflice at Diamond Gulch, as the camp was newly located, and the discoveries of gold had not been. wmcient thus far to attract any considerable population. The, ’ nearest stage route'was ten miles away, and Beaver, the near; ' . jk‘post-omoe,_was a fair day's ride distant. ' r X _v1f2~33' .‘ {two days more Shasta Dick, announced the loaof ,. filst y ‘ \ 1"va ,1 t z t a 'w y ' ‘,.' t ,. ‘v ,. t _‘ urnma max, of‘idust, Calvin Peaslee was at Beaver, his principal busineu‘ it" there being to procure the mail matter that belonged to Din. mond Gulch. A man was detailed for this purpose every few days, by .the inhabitants of the Gulch, and “the Doctor," who was not engaged in mining, and who frequently rode to Beaver, was generally delegated to bring out the mail for the Gulch. It» was not because Pensiee was considered more honest than the rest that he so often secured this appointment, but. simply because of his frequent trips to the post-ofllce, and be- cause he had never been detected in any dishonesty. Therc' , were those among the miners who regarded with feelings akin to aversion his tallowy complexion, his pursed-np mouth, and his weak, uncertain eyes. They (lid not hesitate to declare their belief that he was a “rotted humbug,” and that any Digger Indian knew more about doctoring than he knew. Peaslee appeared to prosper in spite of these opinions. He never wanted for any thing; he always had money to loan, on good security and at a high rate of interest ; he was quite successful as a physician, judging by the many journeys, on professional business, that he made in all directions. lie Was employed by those even who belieVed him to be a quack, and who declared that his pills and potions only serVed the. pur- pose of keeping people sick, so that the doctor’s bill might be lengthened. His fees were always as large as he dared to make them, and he had, on more than one occasion, ad- ministered on the estates of patients who had died under his ‘ hands. In fact, he was believed to be wealthy, and there was no “ deep scrutiny ” made into the means by which he had obtained his money. ' Having procured the mail for Diamond Gulch, be packed it in his saddiebugs, strapped them on the back of his mulev mounted, and set out to return. He kept the stage route until he was about two miles {rpm Beaver, when he turned aside into a deep and Wooded glen, where he dismounted, hitched his mule, unstrnpped the sad din-bags, and proceeded to examine their contents. ’5. scrutinized the letters carefully, poring‘ rovcr'the i paling of this packages, and striving to peep inside ‘ ~ ‘ Noland than he laid one edit... v j, l » l 1 m, aromas ‘omnr. ' ' ' Q: VI A pile of half a dozen of these selections had accumulated. when he came to a letter that made him start, and a little color appeared in his tallowy checks. The postmark was Richmond, and the letter was directed to .Henry Ashby, with instructions to the postmaster at Beaver . to forward it, if he should know the whereabouts of the per- . Son to whom it was addressed. After a little hesitation, Peaslee cut open the envelope, took out the letter, and read as follows: RICHMOND, Va, Feb. 4th, 18—. “FRIEND IIARRY: - “I am writing to you on speculation. It is so long since I have heard from you, that I have not been able to guess what has become of you. My knowledge has been limited to the bare supposition that you were somewhere in the mining re- ions, and hardly any thing could be more indefinite than that. twas only lately that I learned, by a st range sort of slant, that a person named tlenry Ashby had been seen or heard of in the far-away locality to which 1 direct this letter. Deemng ,. r it possible that you may be the person, Iwrite, as [have said, '1‘ on speculation, hoping and pray ing that these lines may reach on. y “ If you get this, and are alive when you read it—I knew I should have to make a bull—you will be informed that your uncle, Carroll Hundsden, is dead. It is nearly a year since he died. I am one of the executors of his will, and you are the 1 heir. He left his property, which is considerably larger than I ' >3 had’supposed, to you, as the only child of'his favorite sister. L‘ That is to say, it will be yottrs if you turn up and claim it =’ within tWo years from the date of his death. If you do not, .1 the property goes to his younger brother, Levi Hundsden. I have advertised for you all over creation and part of Canada, ,’ and had supposed that you must be dead until I heard of the ‘a‘ . Henry Ashby away out yonder. “ Levi Hundsden is also missing, and is supposed to be r somewhere at the West. He left here about eirht months -‘.‘v' . ago, and has not since been heard from, to m tiinowledge. . 3' But he knows the terms of the will, and will undoubtedly put in an appearance, if living, in time to claim the estate, if no . prior claim turns up. ‘ “ I mustn’t forget to say that your old flame, Clara Staunton, is westward bound, or will be before many Weeks. It was it t her fault that she was separated from you, but the work 0 her father, who was, as you know, nearly crazy on the sub- ‘ ct of money. He made a bad failure and it killed him. It 'tpy‘belief that Levi Hundsden who is one of the meanest r living.qu cans. of fir. Smutoe’l. M? rumma mcx, must have swindled him outrageously; but I have no proof of this. I know that the yellow-faced old reprobate was ‘ froze ’ for Clara to marry his son, Black Dick I‘lundsden, and that the punt' girl was persecuted until she nearly eonseu'tcd. Clara and her ln'other, Turner Staunton, have scarcely any thing“ hit in the way of propertv, and are about to emigrate to Oregon. where 'l‘urner hopes to make a livingr by practicing law, and (,‘lam expects to t'ntth school. Perhaps you may run across them, as I suppose everybody meets ever_\'hody out in that region, and a thousand miles or so is a matter of no Consequence. “ I must close by hoping that this letter may find you, and that you may prove to he my llenry Ashby. If so, you will write to me immediately. It not, why, then—somebody may learn that I am as rapahle of makingr hulls as any lrishmau. Seriously, I hope that this letter, if it should not reach Henry Ashby, may fall into the hands of some one who knows or has known him, and who will have the kindness to send such information as may he in his possession, concerning the said Henry Ashby, to me the undersigned, directing to Bpx 435, Richmond, Va. ' “GEORGE B. MAY." Peaslee’s eyes glistcned as he read the letter, and his talc ‘ lowy face was contorted into various shapes. “ No use to run any risks with the others now,” he mut- tered. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the hush. If I always have such good luck as this,I needn’t Complain. Business must be attended to now, without fail. When they get to shooting as close as this, another shot. may hit the mask.” Laying the letter on the grass, he bundled the others back _ into his saddlebags, including those which he had picked out and laid aside, and strapped the saddlehags upon the mule. As he buckled the strap, he heard a rifle-shot not far from ' where he was standing, and it startled him. He ran back, picked up the letter, and hastily thrust it into his pocket, then mounted the male, and rode rapidly away in the direction of the stage-route. . About. ten minutes after Peaslee had left the glen, a young man came dowa into it from the north. llis dress was not that of a hunter, although he Carried a rifle, hut in quality and cut was such as might be seen in the cities of the out. M‘ w. sawwt .1 a ‘ "wily: ‘43’V‘ v ‘19" “FT era-r ., minar- A ,, tie it a tad been he who tired the shot that startled Pedestal ‘ ,A ' .' . ix, , ~ { i I mt: uooxum OUTLAW. 38’ i had no game to show for it, and he wore a somewhat wearied " md disappointed look, as of one who had been endeavoring to hunt, but had met with poor success. : I-le reloaded his rifle—a day which should have been per- formed immediately after it was discharged—aim then seated himself on the grass, choosing the very spot that had lately been occupied by Calvin l’easlee. ‘ As he did so, he caught sight of the envelope of a letter \ ‘ . ' w .VKg—‘unw .. , E that lay on the ground near where he was seated, and picked g I [it up. 1‘ He started when he looked at the address on the envelope, ‘ . 'and‘a slight exclamation escaped from, his lips. Then he :5. perused the writing more carefully, examined the postmark, .itr and looked about the glen. , “ Harry Ashby l” he said, in a tone that indicated his sur- - prise. “It tnay be my old friend. The name is not such a L: common one, and he is supposed to be somewhere in the west. This handwriting seems familiar, too. I am greatly i. mistaken if it isn't George May’s. And the postmark—yes, it is certainly Richmond. The letter is from May, addressed to Henry Ashby, and Ashby must be somewhere in this vicinity. It is strange that May said nothing about it to us; but perhaps he hadn‘t learned Ashby’s whereabouts before we left Richmond.” The young man got up and walked about the glen, notic- ing the hoofmarks where Peaslce’s mule had stood, and the tracks that he had made in coming to the place and leav- ing it. “ It’s not long since some one was here,” he said, “ and it must haVe been the owner of the letter, IIenry Ashby him- elf. If I were as skillful as some of these western hunters, whom I have read about, I suppose I should have been able to tell how long ago he had come here, and the exact mo- ment when he left. It may be that I have missed seeing him > Only by a few minutes. But it is of no consequence that ,1 ".1 should See him, and Clara might not \tisll it. I have had such miserable luck with my hunting, that I believe I s. will get back to the town, or station, or whatever they ' .> \ filth." ‘ . ._. ’ t young'mn was afoot, and it took him nearly all-II“, v ' u to get to Beaver. When he reached the “ rattle-trap ” that ‘- "ult- ' / Mme, met, , ’ \ was called a hotel, he was hailed by the landlord, a hatchet? faced Yankee. “ Hello, Mr. Stauu‘ton l where’s your game? “I left it behind me. Haven‘t seen any thing Worth speak- ing of." ‘ “ It seems that you eastern chaps never do have any luck." “I have brought back a splendid appetite, and that is a» good thing for me, if not for you. I want to ask you, Mr. Cattell, while I think of it, whether you know a man in these parts named Henry Ashby." “ There is a young man of that name, or was, up at Dia- _ mond Gulch; but I don’t know much about him.” “ Has he been in town to-day ‘1” i r “ Not that I know of. There was one man from the Gulch here to-day, named Calvin Peaslee.” “How far is it to Diamond Gulch ?” . “Some thirty or forty mile, I calkilate. Thinkin’ of goin' up thar ?” ~ “I believe not. My sister is in the house, I suppose l” ' “ Reckon you will find her in her mom.” The young man passed through a rough, unpainted hall, ascended a rickety staircase, and knocked at the door of a room, which Wes opened by a young woman. u C H A P T E R I V . BROTHER AND srsrnn. THE young woman who opened the door to Turner Staun- . ton’s knock might have been a year or so over twenty, and " was a true type of darkvhaired, dark-eyed southern beauty; "with cheeks like the bloom of the peach, rich red lips, and .. large, eloquent eyes, each of which was, in itself, a working; ,fl , " . 7‘ . w.— h“. :Av'.r Jr, ,, ,r‘v . v. .t ,w .t‘ I , ‘ Wm, .' 1 x 1‘ m 110mm OUTLAW. . . “Already returned 2” she asked, as she admitted him. “ What luck have you had with your shooting ?” . h “ None at all,” he replied, as he entered and took a seat on .g‘ Lrude chair. ‘ “ Indeed! Here you are in the hunter’s paradise, and can find nothing to shoot, when I expected that you would at least bring home a grizzly or two. I shall be forced to be- lieve that you are not such a mighty hunter as you have claimed to be.” ‘f i must confess that I haven’t been attending to the busi- ' ness of hunting very closely, but have been walking about Ind thinking of other matters. My thoughts have been in the future and on the other side of the mountains. But I have brought you Some news, Clara.” ' “ You have- hrought it to a good market. I am nearly I: dead to hear some news." “ This news is about Henry Ashby." ,‘ Clara started. Her face turned pale, and then flushed ' deeply. 4 “ You startled me,” she said, when she had recovered her composure. “What news have you about Henry Ashby? _\ x Is be alive ?" -;m_. r‘ ‘