Izard.

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The

 

 

 

. THE RED WIZARD:

THE CAVE CAPTIVE.

BY LIEUT. NED HUNTER.

NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
93 WILLIAM STREET.

 

‘

,hmod AccordingtoActofCongmn.mthe year 161’,”
FRANK STARR a» 00..
Inde the ubnmn 0! Congress.“ Wuhlnztoa.

 

- THE RED WIZARD;

on,

T HE CAVE CIAPTIVE.

CHAPTER I.
mrouno BQUAW.

“Er yer strike that gel, by ther heavings erbove I‘ll send
or bullet through yer skull or bury my knife in yer heart,"
and the speaker‘s demeanor told that the words were not lde
ones.

“ You are uncommonly tender of a squaw !” was the sneer-
ing reply, though the man drew back and restored the hatchet

' he had drawn to his belt.

“ Am I ?" and his black eyes flashed fire. I

“ Yes, for I have heard that you trappers and seems make
it a point to kill every Indian you come across."

“ It may be the case with some, but it hain’t my gay. man.
When it comes ter fightin’ I always try tor do my share of

‘ ther killin', but. murder in cold blood ain’t in my line. No,
sir! An' what‘s more, no man ain’t er goin’ tor do it while
I am erround, without he calkerlatee tor fight with Wash
Lawton." '

“Lawton is right and 'you wrong. Parsons,” said a third
man, breaking in upon the conversation. “ The squaw has
done us no injury, and the wholesale butchery that. so many
appear to delight in, is not' only against reason but the most
bommon humanity."

“ Yes, I know I’m right,” answered the con fident scout.
“ B! it war er spy now, and thar war er party of Injuns out-
lyin’ eround, ther case would be different. But this am e:
gal, and er young and pooty one fer her tribe, and I hein’tgoln‘
ter see her erbused, nohow.”

O

 

 
 
    
    
 
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

  

10 THE RED WIZARD; OB,

“ And I am on your side,” chimed in the physician:

“ You’ll see what will come of it,” growled Parsons, as h-
turned sulkily away. “Even if it is nothing but a girl, she
has eyes and ears and (eat, and can carry the news far. You
might just as well spare a rattlesnake because it was little. '
They all have poison.” ‘

“ Wal," returned the unabashed Scout, " I never knew any
harm tencome by doin’ er good action even ter er Injun. " 1’
And, let me tell yer one thing, mister; those who are ther
most bloody-minded always come ter thar worst and most 
sudden end." '

“ And now,” continued the doctor, as Parsons disappeared.
“ suppose you talk to the girl and tell her she shall not be in-
jured. I presume you understand the lingo 2’"

“ Thar isn’t one between heah and ther mountings that I
hain’t had somethin’ ter do with, fust or last. Ther gal am
er Sioux."

“ How can you tell that ?” ~
_ “Jest as easerly as kin be,” and he turned to and bean
addressing her in her native tongue.

The little train of emigrants had been about camping for
the night in a little belt of timber by the side of a river when ’
George Parsons had come suddenly upon a young squaw ly-
ing, ambushed as he presumed, in a thicket, and the gin
would have been brained had not the scout interposed. ‘9

When spoken to in her mother tongue, by the scout, she
arese and conVersed freely, and for the first time the physi-
cian saw one with a red skin that had some claims to beauty;
for her-form was straight, her eyes soft in expression, though
fire was hidden in them, her hair long but finer than the gen-
erality, and of intense blackness, her features regular and the
mouth small and lips thin, her cemplexxon a light olive. To
add to all, she was neatly dressed.

Her story, as told to the scout and interpreted by him, was
a simple one. Traveling alone from one village to another,
her pony had fallen and escaped from her, and after follow-
ing the trail until night was at hand, she was preparing to
camp wheh she was surprised. _

' “ Ask her if she isn’t hurt," suggested the doctor; “ it
strikes me that she is in pain and trying to conceal it.“

0

 

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<¢vn

~ set and bandaged in the most approved fashion.

In CAVE 0mm 

The scout did so, and for answer the squaw let her tlanket

' lllp from one shoulder.

“ Great heaven l” shouted the doctor; “ arm broken and no
fuss made about it l"

‘He drew near and was about to lay his hand upon the in-
jured limb, but the squaw drew back, and, with her remaining
hand touched her knife in a significant manner.

“ He is a medicine,” explained the scout.

In an instant the girl became calm and submitted to the
manipulations of the physician. The fractured member was
She evi-
dently experienced great relief, and though she could not
thank the doctor with her tongue, she did with her eyes in a
very forcible manner.

“ Now tell her,” continued the doctor, “ that she will have
to keep quiet. I have known slighter fractures result danger-
ously—inflammation set in, and all that sort of thing. And

'tell her, too, that you and I will protect her and see that she

has a. comfortable place to sleep, and something to eat, and
that she-shall ride with us as fur as she pleases.”
g The information was duly given, and received with uncon-
cealed pleasure, though with little of demonstration, save the
simple words:

“ Washtndo Chemoekomuun.”

“ And that is '9” asked the doctor of the scout.

“ Good white-man.” '

“Well, it is something to receive praise from one of her
race. And now, Wash, you take care of her. I will see her

« again in the morning and try to have her comfortable before

she,leaves us. I never saw one so patient before under suf-
fering in all my practice.”

“ It is thar nature. But I want to see ther leetle blue-eyed
gel in ther camp that—"

“ Hush! What noise was that ?"

It proved that some of the men who had been scouting about
had caught a pony and brought him in. It was the squnw’s
own beast. Wash, at her request, saw that he was fastened
at a little distance and properly fed. Then he turned his at-
tention again to its mistress.

She followed him, partook thankfully of food, and though

 

 

    

112 run an mu; an,
the declined to accept of hi offer to sleep in one of the wa«
gons, she crept beneath, did not refuse an extra blanket, and
when he last looked at her she Was apparently enjoying a
healthy slumber.

But, how long she remained no one could ay. Just be-
fore dawn there was an alarm of Indians, and when matters
again became quiet they looked and found that both she and
her pony had disappeared.

“ It am ther nature of ther beast," said the scout.
she will not ferget our kindness, doctor, and ef ever She
kin do us er good turn yer kin safely bet yer life that she
will."

“ And bring the whole tribe down upon us,” suggested
George Parsons.

“Then mind yer hain’t ther fust ter lose yer scalp,” re-
joined the scout.

The little caravan started again and journeyed 'until the

westermsun warned them to prepare for the night. This
took place in nearly the center of a considerable prairie, with
nothing worthy of the name of timber in sight. It was then
noticed that Parsons—who had ridden ahead during the af-
ternoon—had not returned. and it was suggested by some that
he might have been captured by the Indians.

“ I don’t think it likely,” replied the scout, “ fer I hain’t
seen no signs. When er man starts on er huntin’-trail he
never kin tell whar the end will be. 'But all we’ve got to do
am ter keep er sharp look-out.” 1

Midnight came and the missing man had not returned.
But their own fate was on trial, and in what followed the
missing man was forgotten. '

“ But.

      

. {tram‘qr «.3.

    

    

C H A P' T E R I I .
'rnE BUDDEN AWAKENING.

“ LIaTRN to me, Olive, and believe that I feel very deeply
the words my tongue utters. You have become very dear to
me—dearer than any thing else of this world—and I love you,
Olive.” ’

The girl glanced swiftly up from under her long- lashes,
then drooped her eyes again and her face was crimsoned with.
blushes, and the little hand he had obtained and was holding
firmly, though tenderly, trembled fltfully, and nothing save a
sigh escaped her lips.

“ Olive,” he continued, drawing still nearer to her, “it can
not be that I am mistaken—that you look coldly upon me—
that you take no pleasure in my society—can not he that you
have not seen the true state of my heart 1’ Tell me, am I dis-
agreeable to you 1'"

“ Ohl no, no,” she murmured, in deep agitation.

“ Then, darling—may I not call you so? Give me hope
for the future. When we have finished our journey and the
shores of the Pacific are reached, may I not believe you wil
become mine—be my wife ‘r” ‘

As act'g‘ms speak even louder than words, so hers told him 7

all he desired to know, and with the clouds of doubt drifted
away from their souls, peace came, and love given and re-
turned made them very happy.
, Like all unmarried men who cross the plains, when there
are pretty women in the company, the doctor, Ernest Mayo,
soon found that he had a heart, and that its longings took
but one direction.

He met Olive Myers for the first time—a girl slightly his
juniot'. with. a, fair, pure face, laughing blue eyes, hair of the
color- of the ripe chestnut when just bursting from the shell,
and a mouth that appeared to woo kisses, , She was of good
parentage (though now an orphan) and well educated.

She was drifting California-ward with an uncle and his

    

was: man mum); on,

14.

family, and as Mayo was a gentleman, gladly accepted his ‘

company and protection.

More secure from molestation during the lonely night-
watches than at any other time, she was accustomed to keep
him company, and this night, when no one was within hear-
ing, the intensity of their hearts strung to passion found vent
for the first time. \

With his arm around her waist, with one hand clasped in
his, with her head resting on and showering down its wealth
of chestnut curls upon his shoulder, they remained whisper-
ing such impassioned words as only lovers use untill near the
hour for changing the guard. Then the girl suddenly asked
if Parsons had returned.

“ No, dearest,” he answered.
in him ?"

“ I have no interest in any one but you,” she answered,
turning her blushing face to him and profl‘ering her lips for
a kiss. “ But. I fear him."

s “ Fea‘r him ? “ On what account ?"

“ Not for myself, but you, darling.”

“ I can not understand why, Olive.”

“ Because, he is envious—jealous l”

“ Of me ‘2” ,

“ Yes. He once otfered me his love and I refused it, and
no later than yesterday he accused me of loving you.”

“ Do you take an interest

“ Which you denied, of course,” he replied with a smile.

“ I neither denied nor admitted. But I fear 3vhen he
learns the truth, he will seek an opportunity to injure you,"
and the bare anticipation made her shudder. ,

“ Don‘t tremble, little one,” he answered, glad of an oppor-
tunity to again kiss the red lips. “ No harm will come
of it. He is a coward." '

“ But if he should. 0h! heaven 1” and her beautiful eyes
became misty with tears.

“He will not, be assured. Yet I can pardon him for
something of his feelings, in being robbed of so great, so lovely a
prize. Olive, darling, what would I have done without you P”

“ And I without you ?” she murmured in response, as she

gave and returned his passionate caresses.
“ Indians 1 Indians 1”

 
   

 

  

 

 

 

 
 

r

:'"'44+.-—_...A ‘ A a: t

m can: cmrvn. 15
_ '“ They sprung apart, and the scout, who had been sleeping.
as he was wont to say, ‘ with one eye open,‘ was instantly
upon his feet and by their side. But “ wolf,” had been cried
‘so often that he was disposed to doubt. its truth, and spring-
.ing upon a wagon he looked abroad. The prairie lay as
, (lead and silent as when he last looked upon it, and he
would have laughed at their fears had not something in the
actions of the horses arrested his attention.

“ ’l'nar's something not exactly right thar," he muttered,
“for stock don’t ginerally make a fuss at this time of the
. night.” . r
_“ What do you think can be the cause ?" asked the doctor,

who, with the girl he loved so tenderly, had drawn near.

“ That’s mighty hard to tell. It may be a pack of wolves have
come between them and ther wind, or ef we war near the
timber I should say a b'ar, but that couldn’t well be ther case
heah. Howsomever, I’m goin’ to find out."

“ Let me go with you,” suggested the doctor. ,

“For the love of heaven, no t” whispered the distracted'
Olive," clinging to his arm. “ If any thing were to happen to
you, darling, I should die.”

“The gal am right,” replied the scout, sedately, though‘

' there was a merry twinkle in his eye. “Ihad better go
’. alone.

Hark l”

He dropped to the ground as suddenly as if felled by a
blow, and remained for some time unstirring. His entire
manner had changed; all of recklessness departed, and his
,xnovements became as cunning as those of a serpent. Still

 keeping his recumbent position he motioned the physician

and said:

“ You go and put out ther fires, and mind yer don’t git
in the light on ’em any more than you kin help.”

“ But I hear nothing but Some wolves whining and bowl-
ing.” '

“ Yes, wolves.
Sioux stands for.
ar’ death I" I

“ You can not mean that those sounds are counterfeit ?"

“It war well done—very well done—and would have de- .

That am ther very name, fer that’s what
Yes, wolves. Two-legged ones, whose bite

 égiyod most any one, but, it can’t me, by er long shot.”

 

 

       
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   

16 m ‘m  0'3,
“For goodness sake tell‘me‘what you think.” ' ~
“ That ther red-skins am eround—‘am er cellin’ter "on‘e
'enuther, and that they’ll most proberbly be down upon ’ther'
wagons like or drove of buiflers, that’s all i”

“ Then do not venture out. Your rifle might be worth 'ai
hundred men.” t

“ It kin do some good shootin’,1hat am er fact. But I must 
try and gather in ther hosses. They am ther fust thing ther 
red devils will be arter. Ther hosscs must be saved or we
am lost. Hist! No more talkin’. Get ther gal inter ‘ther

' most likely place fer safety, and then out with ther fire and

see that every one am ready fer fight. Br I shouldn't ever

come back, good-by, and may ther Lord take ‘a likin’ ter yer r

and—and yer sweetheart, and say that Wash Lawton did his 3
dooty, and died like er man.” '
He crawled swiftly away tov‘vard the horses, and it'sts

ctr:
der
da1
tut

gotflé‘g

time some controlling spirit was among them. A'few had 1,
already broken loose and were running hither and thither, with ‘

‘heads and tails erect, eyes wild with terror, snorting and .

whistling, while the remainder were straining at their halter:
and threatening instant stampede. ,

“ Thar am deviltry afoot,” he whispered to himself, “ and
of I can’t save all ther horses I’ll try and git one fer ther gal
ther doctor loves. Ef ther watch had been good fer any
thin’ it wouldn’t have happened, but it is too lategnow.” '

Indeed it was. At that very instant the terrible war-whoop
of the 'Indians rung on way side, and almost countless dark
forms skulked in every direction toward one common center.
When all further attempts at concealment were useless. and,
with an answering shout, the scout arose and dashed for-

_ Ward, determined—as he had said—to secure at least one I,

steed.

He reached the nearest, cut away the rope, struggled to
get Within mounting distance, was dragged along in the mad
race, nearly trampled under foot, hurried into the tall grass,
lifted from his feet and thrown headlong into an ambush of
his enemies. Then he was instantly bound and left helpless
until the battle was over.

‘Xl‘he war-whoop had aroused those 'about the wagons’to a

some «sum. tangy W’togetheriiihsheep‘mWn- 

vith 

3‘
7‘- “were

m can own. 10--

elrcled by enemies—evidently wanting a head. Like painted
demons the villains crowded around the doomed emigrants,
dancing, leaping, shouting and making the most frantic ges-
tures, accompanied by a shower of arrows, that were an-
swered by the sharp ringing of rifles.

Then the savages rushed forward an mate, and the battle
became hand-to—hand: The nmssacre of men and helpless-
women and innocent children followed, while the air rung
with shricks for mercy and, the groans of the dying as they
were cut down, bewcd by hatchets, pierced by arrows, crushed

. by clubs, scalped and hurled into the plundered and burning

wagons, even before life was extinct.

An hour after, three wretched prisoners—all that survived
of the band of emigrants—were dragged along with ropes
around their necks—tied to the horses’ tails of the cxultant
Indians—three“only—Olive, the doctor and the scout.

A forced march brought them to a village of the Indians,
and the two men were bound and thrown into a Wigwam,
while the girl was given into the care of the squaws.

What a sudden and bitter awakening from dreams of safety
and of love]

CHAPTER III.
wna'r HATE WILL MAKE a was no.

. Sums to the quick by the refusal of his love, and still
more so by the somewhat tyrannical conduct of the scout, sec~
.onded by the physician, George Parsons suddenly determined
upon a bitter revenge.

A'frontier born and bred man,he had from childhood oeen
brought in association with the Indians, and knew their ways.
Underi'pretense of hunting, be deserted from the little bend
to whom he had sworn faulty, and immediately sought for the
enemies of the white man.

" 'Fortune favored him. He came across an outlying spy—-
trailed his rifle, and turning the open palms of his hands to-
ward him. advanced. It was a sort of freemason sign, well

\

 

18 m m wrzm_ on,

known to all the dwellers of the prairies, and it was not long
before he and the Indian reached the main body of the sav-
ages, and he was soon seated in council with them.

But the Indians, crafty as treacherous, inquired deeply into
the motives that made a man thus‘turn against his own peo«
ple, and give them to the tomahawk and swiping-knife, or to
torture.

“There is a girl among them whom I would make my
wife," was the answer.

“ Then why does the pale-face not take her ?” questioned
the chief.

“ Because they are too many, and she will have nothing to
do with me—loves somebody else." _

“ Why, then, is not the scalp of the lover at the belt of the
brave r" '

“ That’s just what I want, but I have never had a fair
chance. Then, too, there is the guide of the party who has
more than once insulted rue—a trapper who has been here
before—knows every foot of the ground, and I presume you
know him.”

“ What sort of a man is the scout ‘9”

Parsons described him minutely, and the Indians looked
quickly from one to the other, and though there was no inti-
mation given in words, yet it was evident that they both
knew and feared him. '

“ How many of the pale-faces ?”

Parsons enumerated them, and gave an inventory of _the
train and its means of defense.

“ Will the pale-face fight?"

“ No. I don’t owe any of them a grudge, except as I have
told you, and it wouldn’t look well for me to be murdering
my own people.”

“ Tell the red-man how the girl looks, that she may not
fall by the arrow or the knife "

, He did as requested, and found himself forced to endure
in searching cross-questioning, for the Indians still feared
treachery. \

“ If the tongue of the pale-face travels the short trail of

truth,” continued the chief, “ he shall be as a brother to the
red-man. But if his talk twists as the path of the serpent,

 

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.Imi heshall die the same death of torture that he would give
to his enemies." ‘

“ You will find every thing as I have said." ..

“Then it will be well. Let him give his weapons to the
Ned-man." ‘

“ But I might want to use them."

“ Until the braves return from the dogs of the pale-fem,
te will be taken care of—be a prisoner."

' This was very much more than he had bargained for. But
resistance would have been useless, and with any thing but
pleasant feelings he handed over rifle, knife, and hatchet.

“ I will go with you and show you the way," he said,seek-
ing to gain their favor.

“The red-man needs nothing but the stars to guide them
at midnight—nothing but the smoke of the pale-man’s fire to
tell them where he lies hidden. Let the braves take him to
the Medicine and tell him to keep him safe until they .re-
turn. If his words are true he has nothing to fear. If not,
he will learn what it is to be treacheroi'c to the red-man. The
Sioux are great warriors and they laugh at the traps of their
enemies." .

At a signal from the chief the arms of the white renegade
were bound behind his back, and accompanied by half a doz-
en stalwart braves, he was led through and beyond the group
of wigwams, out into the forest, and when he questioned
where they were going, the only answer he could obtain
was:.
“ To the Medicine."

A short journey and they reached a bluff by the side of a
stream that found its way through a rocky canon. A low,
peculiar whistle called from a welleoncealed opening the old
trickster, who was supposed to hold communion with the
moon and stars, the dead, and the great Manitou.

» “ The great Medicine of the Sioux," said the. leader of the
party, “ will take care of the pale-face until the warriors re-
turn.”

“ It is well. Follow me."

Unable to resist, the already frightened man followed his
appointed keeper into the rocky cavern, and by his direction

. took aseat at the extreme rear. And as his eyes became

 

  

maximum“,

 

somewhat accustomed to the darkness, saw that he was sur-
rounded by every thing that was devilish and horrible-41y
the bones and skulls and sealps of dead men—by bats and
owls—by a hideous living bear and a grinning, snarling, spit-
ting wildcat, that exerted all their monstrous strength to tear

loose and spring upon him. '

  

“ The pale-face will be safe here," said the Medicine, with i

an almost fiendish smile. “ No one will come to do him any
harm while I am gone. The air is strong with blood. I can
smell it—the blood of the miserable pale-face. I must go
and prepare for the torture."

“ For the sake of mercy do not leave me alone.”

“ These,” pointing to the savage animals, “ will keep you
company. But you shall be doubly guarded."

Ile disappeared for a few moments. Then returned with
a handful of brush with the green leaves still clinging to
them. These he spread across the cavern, then tore away a
stone, and instantly a dozen great, hideous, crawling, hissing
rattlesnakes wriggled forth.

“Oh, God 1" burst in accents of agony from the lips of
the tortured prisoner, as he sunk back to the uttermost limit
that was possible.

“ These will keep guard over you—see that no one enters
and that you do not go out,” replied the Medicine, with a
devilish grin.

The serpents coiled, twined, twisted, reared their heads,
clashed their scales, shook their rattles, darted out their
forked tongues and flashed their eyes, that looked like great ,
halls of fire. And momentarily he expected them to creep
toward, to coil around, to sting him to death !

“ These,” repeated the Medicine, “ will be your guard.” .

“ And when, in the name of heaven, will you ’come
butt ‘3"

"' Perhaps tonight—perhaps tomorrow. But. fear not, for
you will be safe as long as you remain quiet. If you attempt
to escape, a dreadful death will follow."

From the moment the reptiles had been set free, the Medi-
cine had stood at the door of the eastern, through which a
little light came in. Now he quiekly retreated, shutting the .
entrance after him, and, more dead than alive, George Pan

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: sou-was left :to the most horrid companionshipvthat the mind

can think of. Every moment he expected would belhis last.
and hours passed of sumcient misery to have driven him stark
mad. /

He knew not the serpents could not reach him—knew not
that the subtle power of the white-ash leaves the Medicine
had scattered controlled the serpents far more efl‘ectually than
fire would have done.

CHAPTER IV.
um rest: or LOVE.

‘2 WAL,” was the characteristic exclamation of the scout,
though in a low, cautious whisper, as soon as they were alone,
“ ef this hain’t er finishin’ or trail about as suddint as any
thin’ I ever heard tell on.”

“ And my poor Olive,” groaned the physician.
not {other I could face death without a tremor."

“ That hnin’t ‘tell likely," was the reply. “Ther best on ,
us can‘t do that. I've tried it'more‘n once—hain’trno coward
--and I know. .But thatyisn’t ther thing to be looked .nrter
now, and thar hein’t no use mournin’ till ther time‘comes,
nuther. Yet I hope ter [heaven ther med-skins won’t know
me, for it will gothard ef they do.” '

“Is there nowayjn which we can save the life of the
poor girl 1?" continued his companion, his thoughts being in-
tent upon her and not giving the slightest heed to what was
being said. ' .

“ I don’t know yet. Ther first thing ter be done is tew git
ourselves clear. Ther red devils have tied me fer sartin, and
they‘ll have er high old time tar-night."

“ Do you think we shall be molested before morning?”

“It hain’t likely, onless ther cussed whisky should drive
them-so mad that ther elders can’tcontrol them. VIT-hen thank
Io=tellin’ whet. thought happen.” ' ,
t  wincometo visit mt”

“ If it were

 

’9 TRIBEDWIZARD;03,

 

“I reckon not. But it won’t matter.

Wolves in a tighter trap." t

“ You are mistaken. See."

In a few minutes, by some juggling operation the scout had
no idea of, the doctor had entirely freed himself, and also re-
leased his companion, and they could stretch their limbs at
ease. Then they drew still nearer together and the conver-
sation was continued.

“ When the whisky has done its work, do you think we
can get away ‘3” asked the physician.

7‘ That’s mighty hard ter tell.”

“ And poor Olive, is there any hope for her ?”

“ I’m goin’ ter see.”

The scout laid his ear to the ground and remained silent
for some time. Then he gently raised one side of the cur
tains of the Wigwam and crept out into the darkness, and the
doctor remained alone until the sun was well up.

Then he was dragged forth to the council of bravest

But astonishment was painted upon the faces of all as they
saw that his hands were free, and that the scout had disap-
peared.

“ Some traitor has done this l" thundered the chief. “What
has become of the other prisoner t"

“ That is more than I can tell," responded the physician,
who had determined upon his line of conduct. “ As to my
being untied it was done by spirits. r Ask your great Medicine.
He will tell you, for he is familiar with them."

“ The pale-face talks like a squaw l” sneered the chief.

“What says the great Medicine of the Sioux ?”

I At the command of the old trickster other ropes were
brought. With these he fettered the prisoner in the most
complex manner, and he was again thrust into the Wigwam.
Then wild and dismal groans were heard, low whisperings
and frantic laughter, and the physician stepped forth free
again, carrying his bonds in his hands 1 '

Although far less superstitious than the majority, the chief
was nonplussed—knew not what to say. It was a thing that
had never occurred before, and he was at a loss how to act.
But, something must be done, and he drew the old Medicine
aside and consulted with him. The latter was pale with rage,

Thar never way

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 with faces that told of being battled.

 

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not unmingled with fear. He had been fairly beaten with

dered forth:
“ Let the pale-face

Then he thtm-

tell who was concealed within the wig-

wam and untied his bonds, or his tongue shall be torn from

; his mouth and trampled under foot.”

“ No one but spirits.” ,

'“ Fool

Let my brothers go and 100k.”

A number of Indians rushed to do his bidding, but returned

No one was to be found.

“ Did not the Medicine of the Sioux hear me talking to

them l’" questioned th
There was another
Medicine resumed:

e prisoner. ..
whispered conversation, and then the
“I know how to unlock his lips and

make him cease his lies,” and he gave some command in a

very low tone.
- In an instant after,

bled, reeled and groaned aloud.

the doctor, strong man as he was, trem-
Dragged along between two

of the most brutal-looking warriors, with their hatchets whirl-
ing about her head and threatening death in case of resistance,
was the girl he loved!
’ “ For Heaven’s sake save me 1” she screamed, as soon as she
saw him, and rushing forward threw her arms around his
neck and fell almost fainting upon his bosom.

“My life for yours—a thousand deaths of torture to save
you a single pang,” he murmured, as he pressed her to his

heart.

“Tear, them apart,” yelled the chief, and then turning to
the Medicine he asked under his breath, “Where is your pris-

oner i”

“ Safe in my cave."

“ There let him stay until this trial is over. Then he must

I have so promised.

he released and the girl given to him.

Now to find out what we wish to know."
The doctor and Olive were standing at little apart, her
beautiful eyes streaming with tears, and his face couvulsed

with anguish.

“ You love this squaw,” continued the chief, “ and if you

do not want to see he
escape!

r tortured, tell us how you managed to

 

“u mmwum.;\m,

 

‘“>I have nothing to tell more than I have already done,” i

he replied. “ Oh Olive, Olive 1"

“Then let the squaw be prepared for death i"

In an instant she was surrounded by knives—walled in so
that the slightest movement would bring her soft, fair flesh
against some sharp point. Her lover trembled like one with
the-ague, then nerved himself with a mighty etlbrt, and re-
turning the defiant looks around him, answered: ‘

“ Is it well, great Medicine, that I should tell to other ears
than your own the Secrets that are whispered by the dead ‘2"

“The pale-face is a dog,” commenced the old man, but'be-
fore he could finish the sentence, a voice was heard coming

from the wigwam in which the prisoner had been confined, I:

forbidding that any thing should be told.

Then it was the Medicine‘s turn to tremble. He'looked at
the prisoner—at the Wigwam—at the sky—at the earth; lis-
tened to the waving of the trees and the low whistling of the
wind through the branches.
peated, he, after a time, gathered courage and said:

“ It is nothing. Unless the pale-face confesses, let the ter-
ture of the sqnaw go on."

“Oh, heaven 1" shrieked the girl, “ do you love me and
condemn me to this when a single word would save me ?"

Every accent—every glance .of her eyes went to his heart

far more keenly and deeper than a knife would have done, - "

but if he failed in a single point of what he had undertaken,
the rest would fall to the ground. So he kept buck his-own
tears, choked down his griefnan’d endeavored to inform the
wretched girl, by signs, of his purpose.

Little time, however, was given him. Indeed, before re
flection could come, Olive was dragged along to where a tire-
blackened post stood, bound, and half a hundred pair of hands
were busy piling‘bnrk and kindling, and pitohy fsgots around
her.

His head fell upon his breast. He became as one numbed '1

--helpless—powerless. Then, again, the screams of the bean:
tiful sufferer rung upon his ears:
-“ Darling, I die for you. Oh, God, have mercy.”
Inuinstsnthe had burst-through trammel,,piled=in sheep
those who would have restrained him, seized a brand 4“

s

But as the voice was not re. ’

    

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the pile around his loved one, beating back those who would
have opposed, had Olive again locked fast in his arms! Their
lips met once—twice, and then they were torn apart, and he
fettered so that a single motion was an impossibility.

“ Let the hound ‘of a pale-face untie himself now if he can,”
screamed the old Medicine, frantic with rage, “ and the squaw
sing her dcatlrsong.” '

“ My trust is in God," replied Olive, turning her beautiful
but pnle face heavenwm‘d. “ Darling, I pray for you.”

9 Then let her call upon the Munitou of her people, and
see if he will come. He will not, and we will send her to
him in ashes!"

The signal was given to fire the pile, and the warriors
Sprung forward, torch in hand. Likcdemons let loose they

. danced around, and as the lurid light flushed into the eyes

of the poor girl, and the hot flames touched her skin. she
fainted—sunk limp and would have fallen, had it not been
for her hands. IIer lover could not endure the sight, turned
his headrand as he was dragged away, saw the flames rising,
and believed the black smoke was wrapped like a shroud,
around his beautiful one—that she had passed from earth in
a pillar of fire! .

It was just such an ending as- the Indians desired; for,
failing to accomplish their purpose of forcing confession, they
would have him think her dead.

C H A P 'l‘ E R V.
TEMPTATION.

Umnmum, shaken to the very innermost part of his use
ture, and faint both from the stench of the cavern and lack,
of food and water. the wretched George Parsons waited the
return ot'the Medicine until hope gave way entirely to de-
spair.

Then a light broke in upon him; he saw the old trickster

I enter, take the poisonous serpents in his hands as if they hsd

 

30 m nun mum): on,
been sticks, toss them back into their dens and.close the
opening, drive bear and wildcat out of sight and advance to
ward him with a most sardonic smile.

“ The pale-face has been Well guardec ," he said, as if his
I-eepers had been of the most pleasant kind.

"' As I never wish to be again. God only knows what I
ii. ve suffered. I expected the snakes would crawl upon me
nail sting me to death—expected that every moment would
be my last.” . y

" And so it would have been had I not charmed them. But
come. '

Never did a men get more quickly out of a hateful place.
So great was his anxiety to be beyond the horrors he had
endured that it forced a smile from even the grim lips of the
Medicine, as he led him to a Wigwam, where he was treated
as a welcome guest might have been. .

Relieved from terror, and with his bodily wants supplied,
the first thought of the renegade was for the girl, her lover
and the scout. The latter he was told had fled like a coward,
but swift-footec warriors had started upon the trail and it
was more than :szobahle that his scalp was even then hang-
ng at their Of": the lever was in confinement and would
lie by tortu ,, and the girl he could see atf‘any time.

That time with him was then!

The sufl‘erings he had undergone, in place of softening his
heart and bringing pity, had made him still more revengeful,
and when he was led' into her presence his face was as black
as a thunder-cloud.

“ Great Heaven 1” she exclaimed, instantly surmising the
part he had played in the terrible drama, “ you here—mis-
erable traitor ?” I

“ Leave us," he said to the Indians. “ I would talk to her
alone.”

“ As the pale-face wills. When he is tired of the squaw‘
the red warriors would talk to him also." .

His request having been complied with, he hissed :

“ Traitor? Better that you use soft words, my lady.
Do you know that both yourself and your lover are in my
power?" .

“But for the love of mercy do not let any harm come to

  

       

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him,” and she flung herself upon her knees and raised her

I clasped hands to him.
{ “ His life is in your hands.”

“is “And you will help me save it 2”
c “ You can do so."
5 I « How? Tell me how. I will do any thing—give my
“‘3 ‘ own for him." -
1‘1 “ Let us then be friends." ‘

, “ I have never felt otherwise toward you.”
“t “ Give me your hand.” A .
‘ She laid her little trembling fingers gently within his

9- i profi'ered palm, and as he drew her nearer to him, he con-
‘d  tinued:
° i “Now a kiss, Olive.”
d  “ No, no,” she murmured, drawing back.

i ' ‘“ You are keeping them for your lover,” he sneered.
. ‘x “Have you forgotten that I told you his life was in your
1' hands ?" ' '

“ N 0, but—”

“ Will you not give me a kiss i’”

“ If'you are a man you would not ask me, knowing What
youdo.”

“ Ay, knowing What I do," he replied, bitterly, and fast
losing control of his temper. “ ThisI do know, that you
scorned my love and—” ‘

“ As God is my judge I was sorry to do so and—”

“ As he is my judge you shall be sorry almost unto death
that you ever did. But a kiss I will have."

“ Ohl heaven, are you a man or—”

“ Beast ?” he said. finishing the sentence for her, with a
mocking laugh, and he exerted his superior strength to draw
her to him. ‘

Her quickness bafiled him. She tore loose, retreated as
'far as possible and buried her face in her lap. But it was in

‘ ‘ vain she did so. He liftrd her up again—held her hands so

, that she was powerless, and forcing her to look in his face, r
continued:

“ You must and shall kiss me.”

“ Never 1” ' _

“ It is the first move toward friendship.” g

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9 Then we shall never be friends."
t“ Then you are cold-hearted toward Mayo.”
“ Cold~hearted ? God alone knows how I love him."
“And will not give even a kiss to keep him from an!
faring ‘t”

" He would scorn me—would have a right to do so if I 1

should consent—did not battle for his honor as well as my
own." I

“ But I love you just as well."

“ It can not be. You have plotted my destruction.”

“ With love turned to hatred and vengeance for the mo-
ment, by black despair, I might have sought to destroy. Now
I Would save all."

“ Can you do so ?” she asked, doubtfully.

“ Yes—yes.”

“ Save him—him, as well as me 1’"

He knew that every word was a lie, but went recklessly on,
determined to carry his point, cost what it might.”

“ Yes. I can and will save you both—upon one conditioll
——that you will fly with me."

“ Fly with you t" she repeated, slowly, and as if not fully
comprehending. “ Fly with you ?"

“ And be my wife.”

“Coward, traitor, fiend!" she exclaimed, struggling with
almost superhuman strength to get free from him.
wife? You, the betrayer of your own race—the murderer of
those who trusted you l A thousand times would the grave
be more welcome."

“But you shall, willing or unwilling.
the compact.”

He drew her still more closely to him and leaned down
his-face to kiss, but, in the fierceness of her utter detestetion,
she struck him with her little clenched hand upon his month
until he could not restrain an expression of pain.

Then, all of restraint was thrown aside, and standing forth
in his true colors, he was revealed before her with every
black passion starting from his face. I

“New, by heaven! you shall be mine, and, as for your
lover, he shall die with red-hot flames around him—die amid
the most horrid otter-three, and even while his scream for

v

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mercy are ringing in your ears, I will clasp you to my
heart and take a hundred kisses for every one you-refuse me
now.”

“ Horror 1"

“ That will be no name for what he shall suffer, and all
your tears and prayers and sorrow shall be of no avail to-
ward his release, but his horrible groans be sweet music in
my ears as well as those of the Indians.”

“ Oh, God! spare him. Oh ! why has Heaven abandoned
him to one whose heart is flint ‘2"

“ You have rightly named it, but you have made it so. It

' was as wax it! your hands, but you taunted, mocked, and re-

pulsed me. As I loved. even so can I hate.”

“ It shall not, must not be. I will appeal to the Indians
themselves,” she replied, wringing her hands in agony. “ Even
they must. be less brutal than you." - ‘ V

“ I have bought you-of them," he answered with a smile of
gratified malice. “ You are mine, body and soul. Do you
hear? body andsoull My wife you have got to befand if it
will make your future more happy to have your lover first
burned at the stake, why, be it so. But remember now, as
you will have to do in the hereafter, that his life is in year
hands—that you send him to destruction when you mighthuve
saved him even from pain."

“ Oh, God L save him—pity me—guide me.”

“ Think well and decide."

The terrible words almost drove her to distraction. -She
remembered with fearful minuteness how the great flames
leaped, roared, danced, cireled,and 'was rapidly giving way,
when his hand touched the naked flesh of her shoulder and
she instantly nerved herself, and with the stony countenance
of despair, ansWered: '

“ I have decided l”

u  Y” »

“ That I will never be your wife.”

“ And let your lover perish in the flanIes 1’”

“ Even that were better than tostain my soul, and I Icon
meet him invhnaven, as pure‘asnow.”

“It will be long beforeyou do sol 1mm .talte Scam that

yemdovmtlhavo wopportunity today violent We ’9. ‘

 

    

80‘ mmwumzon,

yourself,” and happy that the words would pierce her heart
like a knife, “ you will he a wife without even the ceremony
of marriage. Even the miserable apology the Indians some-
times indulge in shall be denied you.”

“ Your wife I will never be.”

“ I swear that you shall.”

“ And‘I, before heaven and the holy angels, thatI will not.
I would dash my brains out against a stone first."

“ We will see whose oath is kept. Now I go to complete
the means for getting ritl of your lover. Then I will come
and woo you for the last time."

She sunk upon her knees as he released her, ‘and raised her
hands on high while her thoughts were breathed forth in the
most agonizing prayer. But even as she was doing this—
even as he was unfastening the curtains of the Wigwam, an
Indian warrior dashed up, waving a bloody scalp.

“God! Heaven! Mercy 1" burst ‘from the lips of the

,heart-broken girl. “ It is that of—"

She could not finish the sentence, feeling that her lover
had been murdered, and fell senseless to the ground.

" It is that of the scout, thank God i" said Parsons, feeling
sure that the one he stood most in dread of was forever out
of the way. '

CHAPTER VI
lN ream.

IT was a terrible temptation to the scout when he crawled
forth from the Wigwam, to endeavor to find some weapon
and at once attempt to inflict condign punishment upon the
Indians, for the unprovoked murders they had been engaged
in. But the folly of the proceeding when their numbers was
taken into account, as well as the fact that the doctor and the
beautiful girl were at their mercy, restrained him.

‘ And what next was to be done was very difficult to deter-
mine. But the physician having thrown out a hint during

    

  

 

 

 

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I

m cave 0mm. 81

a

‘ their whispered conversation, that, if he could secure his
4 medicine-chest, he might be able to work upon the supersti-

: ing it.

K tion of the Indians, so as to make them afraid of him, he

at once took the back-track to make an investigation concern-

But, the journey resulted in nothing, save that he gathered

3: the mangled bodies that had been left to the mercy of the
V wolves, scooped out a rude grave, placed them within,

covered it with earth and sod, leveled and stamped it down,
and dragging the remnants of the wagons together, kindled a
fire, that Would keep away the animals and obliterate the
marks of what he had done.

Then he returned toward the encampment, and began
spying around for something that would be of advantage, and
to learn where the girl was concealed, and to take measures
to steal her away, if such a thing should prove to be possible. i
' Chance brought him to the vicinity of the cave of the Med-
icine, at the very moment when he was releasing the traitor
Parsons, and when the twain had departed, he could not re-
sist the temptation to explore the bowels of the earth, and
learn what it contained. But he very soon paid the penalty
of his folly, and death had laid his iron hand upon him.

Not being familiar with the locality, and the mysteries
contained within, he stumbled along in the darkness, came
suddenly upon the hissing, snarling wild-cat, and as it sprung
fiercely toward him, he leaped to avoid it, and fell directly
into the clutches Of the huge bear that had been watching
him with open jaws and snapping eyes, and was instantly im-
prisoned by its mighty arms! , ’

Had he been possessed of any weapon, even a knife—the
battle would have been short and decisive. But he had
nothing save his naked hands to fight with, and it would have
been madness to attempt such a thing, for the brute was of
monstrous size.

“ Ef I don’t play ’possum I’m a gene sucker,” muttered the
scout as he relaxed his muscles, fell to the rocky floor, held
his breath, and remained motionless. .

It was a difficult task, however, to remain so, for the
beer was moving him around, and its long sharp claws
Scratching his flesh, and my instant his heart might be m

 

tier training and strong self-command of the scout enabled
him to counterfeit death.

hausted, and then as a favorable opportunity presented itself,

he rolled swiftly away, and as soon as out of reach, grunted ’

forth, as if in answer to the astonished and angry brute:

“ You hug most mighty clue, that am er fact.
too much so fer friendship, and I rayther reckon once will do
me fer er lifetime. No, I shan’t fergit yer—shall remember
yer at least ontil I git short of meat and want er roast or or
steak.”

A few moments given to rest, and he dodged between the
watching animals, and was about to pass out when the hissing
of the snakes (that had been aroused by the noise) caught his
ear, and he stopped, listened and gave vent to his surmises:

“ Here’s more deviltry. But the old humbug knows what
he am erbout, and keeps a supply of ash leaves on hand.
Perhaps I‘ll come and see ye ag’in, ladies and gentlemen,”
making a bow in the direction of the den, “ but I hain’t got
time now—have rayther pressin’ business on hand.” And he
went out and carefully closed the opening to the‘cave in the
same manner as he had found it. ‘

And as he dared not venture near the wigwams until night,

came, he crawled into a neighboring thicket through which ‘

the trail to a spring passed, and covering himself with brush
and leaves, waited very anxiously for the darkness.

Very frequently the sound of voices reached his ears, and
he learned enough to satisfy him of the treachery of Persons,
and swore a deep oath that the scoundrel should sufl'er for
his villainy. I

Satisfied that. no actual harm had come to either of the
prisoners, this greatly relieved his mind, and gave him patience
to wait until the hour came when he could continue his
scout.

It came at last, and fortunately the night was dark and
stormy. Almost with the going down of the sun the clouds
had begun to gather, the wind to blow and the rain to fall,
and, knowing that the Indians would not long remain from,

finder shelter-the watched yet a little and then drew more
user. ,

out. ' A very dimcult task indeed, and nothing but the Iron- 

Er leetle V

 
    

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Yet he did so, until almost ex- ’

take

 

 
  
 

     

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ren-  An hour passed. Then some brute of an Indian, who had
bled  managed to conceal a portion of the fire-water that had been
ex- 1 taken from the wagons of the emigrants, came staggering

self,
ited

etle

do
her
' or

along and fell over him—saw him, and drawing his knife at-

‘ tacked and at the same time endeavored to give the alarm.

The situation of the scout became desperate. If the noise
reached the wigwams—if the warriors learned that a white
man was skulking so near, there would be no possibility of
escape, and if he attempted to strangle the Indian his knife
would not be idle. Indeed, he had already been slightly
wounded. .

But there was no time for thought. With a mighty blow
he felled his assailant to the earth, and before he could re-
cover spreng upon him, falling so that his knees struck full
upon his breast and completely taking away his breath.
That accomplished, the rest was easy. He immediately ob-
tained possession of the knife that had been aimed against his
own life, buried it in the heart of the Indian, left it sticking
there, and, finding that he was quivering in death, coolly turn-
ed him upon his face, arranged him so that it would appear
as if his life had been accidentally taken, and retreated to the
opposite side of the village.

The temptation was very strong to supply himself with
weapons, but he could only gratify it at the expense of the
danger of detection, and was forced to wait a better oppor-
tunity.

Driven by the storm, the Indians left the camp-fires early,
save the few who were detailed to watch the male prisoner
--the female one being secured by the attendance of squaws
—so that, with the exception of numerous dogs, the coast
was clear, and the scout no longer hesitated to enter the vil-
lage, though his movements were of the most crafty kind.

Fortune was in his favor, for, even as he came'near where

, the physician was confined, the discovery of the dead Indian

was made, and the guards rushed thither—at least he fancied
Sty-and was about to enter the Wigwam, when two of them,
who had been concealed, sprung upon him, and a desperate
struggle ensued. And very hard would it have been for him

_ had he not been fertile in expedients. Shaking loose, he

dodged between the legs of the foremost and threw him lib.

a

 

     
 
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
        

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a bombshell into the face of the other, darted to the nearest
fire, caught a handful of blazing brands, and whirled_them, as , '
he ran, into the wigwams, causing screams and dismay, and
forcing the majority to stop and put out the flames.

Still a few swift-footed ones followed ; the‘race was rapid,
and, to the scout at least, over unknown ground. But on he
dashed until his progress was suddenly stopped. A wall of

’Yrock rose in his path—the fierce cries of the savages were
ringing in his ears like a death-knell—therc was not a single
instant for delay. He gave one swift glance and boldly
leaped. At some distance below he had seen a tree, and cal-
culated to alight in its branches, trusting to luck for what
should follow. He did so, but luck was against him. The
impetus was too great—he whirled entirely over—caught his
foot in the forks and hung suspended between heaven and
earth, without the possibility of release.

The Indians flung over torches and saw his desperate sit-
uation—some watched till the light, saw him still hanging
there, and foul birds fluttering around and picking at him—
knew he was dead and carried the good news to the village.

 

 

CHAPTER VII.
KNOWLEDGE Is rowan.

' THE old Medicine of the Sioux, when he came to reflect .
upon the manner in which the prisoner had repeatedly untied ‘
himself, wu mystified. and though he determined to have no
rival yet he believed he might learn some things he could
turn to account before the white man was put to death by
holding out false ideas of safety and life. To that end he
had the prisoner brought to his Wigwam, and to his great joy
he found his chest there and uninjured. ‘ '

“ Is the pale-face a medicine?” asked the red one.

“ A little," was the cautious reply.

“ And the spirits taught him to untie ropes and set him»):
free i"

 

1

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MD

 

‘4 Ya.”

“Do they whisper other things in his ears 1’”

‘6 Many.”

“ Will he tell them to his red brother?’

“ They are the gift of the great Mnnitou, the same as in
life.”

“ The life of the pale-face is in the hands of the Medicine
of the Sioux. One word from his lips, and death would fol-
low—another and the path would be open for him to return
to his people. Which shall it be? What would the pale-

. face give for freedom?”

“ Very much."

“ Will he teach the wonders that were whispered to him by
the lips of the departed and the unseen voices of the winds 1’” .

“ What he may he will tell.” '

“ It is well. The ears of the red-man are open. He will
drink in the words as the dry ground the warm spring rains.
Let the fetters be taken from his tongue.”

“First he must go and bring the skull of one who has long
slumbered in death. It is the only means by which the se-
crets of the grave and the other world can he told.”

“ My brother, for he shall he as a brother to.me,wi11
wait ?”

“ As he now is, even so shall he be found.”

,. , With his greatest speed the old trickster departed, and re-
turned after the lapse of a. few minutes with the desired article.
But, long before, the white man had opened the coveted chest
and secured several small bottles and other things about him— '
-things valuable in chemistry and scientific experiments, but
far beyond the comprehension of the nomadic children of the
wilderness. Time also had been given him to somewhat ar-
range the plan he intended to follow, and when the Indian en-
tered with the grinning skull, he held it for a few moments,
“"311 placed it at the further end of the Wigwam, and drew
the curtains so as to secure almost total darkness.

“ Now," he continued, “ let the Medicine of the Sioux look
“‘1 351‘ What he would know.”

The Indian turned his eyes upon the skull and shrunk back
mm 3' groan of horror and intense alarm—shrunk back, and
had not the white men held him, would have fled shrieking.

 

 

    

 

for never had his superstitious mind dreamed of any thingone - '

half as horrible.

Around the fleshless lips—from the long, yellow, rattling
teeth—from the cavernous sockets of the eyes—dropping from
the threads of hair that still clung to the moldering bone,
pale blue flames appeared to creep and dance and drip, and
sulphurous fumes to fill the air! And even as he gazed in
terror, out from the hollow skull resounded the words in echo
to those of the white man:

“ Let the Medicine speak.”

The result would have been just the same if a stone had . .

been commanded to give utterance to words, for the trickster
was beaten, awed, incapable of either motion or sound. He
could not do any thing more than gasp. ‘

The affrighted victim motioned to his companion to do so
for him, and the physician asked:

“ What would the dead ‘3”

“ In the dark caverns of the earth where the worm crawls,
and the spotted toad breeds, where bones molder, and the
scaly serpent distills poison—in the far-away country of souls
the wish of the red-man was heard, and we have come at his
bidding. Let him answer 1" came in still more startling tones
from within the flaming skull.

“ You must answer,” whispered the doctor.
what you wish to know.”

Still the old man was dumb—sat with open mouth and
staring eyes, shivering in every limb and vainly endeavoring
to command himself.

“ Will you not speak?” questioned the voice.
pale-face come hither.”

Obey the red-man could not, and the white one stepped
forward, raised the skull, and after holding it for a moment,
held it toward the Medicine, who saw that the unnatural
light had faded away, but reeled back again as from the flesh-
less lips came the words: >

“ Coward, you have lost the opportunity to learn wisdom.
Take me back and bury me. Never again will I come at
your bidding. But remember this, and it you dare to dis-
obey me I will come in the red forked lightning and earth-
l‘ooking thunder-remember, the pale-face must be free.”

“ Must ask

“ Then

 

 

 

 

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The Medicine bowed his head, took with trembling 11de
the ghastly skull that was held toward him, and with all
possible speed restored it to the earth. But as soon as re-
lieved from what he believed‘to be great danger, the humilia-
tion he had passed through in the presence of the prisoner
awoke all his enmity against him, and stopping upon his way-
he urged the chiefs to immediately put him to torture.

To that they were more than willing, and as the doctor
issued from the Wigwam where he had been amusing him-
self at the expense of the old Medicine, he was seized, dragged
forward and bound to a post of torture. But he had no in-
tention to give up life without a struggle, and the articles he
had taken from his chest having prepared him in a great
measure, he believed he could so awe them that no one would
dare to lay violent hands upon him, or at least so lengthen
the time that the scout would be able to come to his relief
and eventually save him.

Acting upon this plan he watched his opportunity, and,
with little difficulty, loosened his bonds so that he could

'throw them oil‘ at any time, and waited until the fngots

were piled. around him ready for the lighting. And, evon as
the grim old Medicine gave orders for the consummation of his
wishes, the same voice that he had heard in the Wigwam
came once more to his ears as if from the bowels of the earth,
and made him tremble again.

“ Has the Medicine of the Sioux forgotten,” it said, “that
I’ commanded him to let the prisoner go free 1’"

‘ “ Such is my orders,” replied the red liar, shrinking back
out of the circle, though secretly motioning that the torture
should continue.

.“ Then why is it not done ll” questioned the 'voice, and its-
decp tones startled even the most hardy of the warriors, while
We squaws fled screaming away.

“ ASk of the chiefs. 1—1 have nothing to do with it.”-

“Beware! If any harm should come to him, my wrath
would‘fall upon you as it never has done before."

There was a brief council, and then the great war-chief of
the nation-took command, and having heard a garbled story
1'0“! the Medicine of what had transpired, and seeing noth-

inz in it to excite particular terror, especially as the old

 

 

 

 

  

88 ’ mmmmn;oa,

humbug had intimated that the voice was his own work, he
stepped forward, and striking his broad hand upon his breast
in defiance, exclaimed:

“ The great Manitou is ever the friend of the red-man, and
when a pale~face dies his laughter can be heard shaking the
hills. It is no good spirit that would have him go free, but
an evil one that wishes harm to the Sioux.”

The speech was received with applause, and those who had
trembled saw in it a solution of the difliculty and became
tenfold as anxious for the torture to begin. But, before the
fiendish work could be commenced, the voice was heard again
in contradiction :

“ The words of the chief are false. His tongue is travel-
ing a crooked trail. It is the good spirit—the friend of the
nation that speaks. He would save them from lightning,
and tempest, the ice and snow, from famine and the black
death.” ,

“ Then he can save the pale-face as well 1" was the sneering
reply.

“He can.”

“ Let him release him.”

“It is done i"

“ And save him from fire ?"

“ Fire can not harm him.”

“ That shall be seen."

A dozen brands were hauled into the pile that had been
cast around the prisoner, but, before the inflammable material
could ignite, he kicked them aside and walked forth un-
harmedl

“ What said the Great Spirit?” he asked of the wondering
savages. “ Was it not that no hands could ever fetter him i‘”

“ But,” granted the chief, “ fire would have burned had he
not got out of the way.”

“ No more than ice would have done. See 1"

He stepped back to where the flames were now burning
rapidly, picked up the most intense coals, held them in his
naked'hands until they went out, and then procured others
and tossed them into his mouth, and chewed them down with
as much ease as if they had been pleasant food.

“ What do jou think now i” he asked. ,

  

 
   

  

 

 

 

 

, 'rms cave cam. 89
, he , {- i. What could they think? They knew that fire sorely burned
cast I ’ 'their own flesh, and why should it not his? Still they urged
', ' each other on—whispered of trickery, and’relying upon the
and ' ' ‘lsupposed supernatural power of the Medicine, demanded that
the ‘ he should exercise his enchantments, and try if he could not
but -, light a fire that would burn the white devil, as it was begin—
L Iniug to be believed he in reality was. _
rad “ Will the Medicine dare disobey my commands l” thun-
me ‘ dered the mysterious voice. 7
the )4 He most certainly would not, had he not been so wel
tin backed up and literally driven forward, and was about to
raise a burning brand to hurl into the face of the prisoner,
el- ' when he stepped directly in front of him and asked:

he “ Will the great Medicine of the red-man show me the arm
ng, he would dare to raise contrary to the will of the Manitou ?’.'
ck ~ Scarcer knowing what he did, the wrinkled, skinny arm
was thrust out, and the prisoner looked at it attentively—made
fig ; a few mysterious passes over it and retreated. But even as

he did so, the awful voicc,coming from whence no one could
tell, was heard yet again:
v ' “ Now let him light a fire around the pale-face, if he can."
That was impossible. The hitherto supple arm, that had
ever worked the diabolical will of the owner, was completely
, , . paralyzed—had become as iron. He had no more power to
R)? bend it than if it belonged to another man thousands of miles
m away. And thus he stood until the pale-faced man took pity
l ' upon him, released him, and hoped he had made a friend.
L Though this was not the case—never could be—yet he had
completely subdued him, and the warriors gathered in groups,
r ‘ .' Wondering what kind of a man this could be who handled .
' ' -liVing fire as if it had been cold clay. And very long would
i ' lmvo been their council had not the renegade Parsons obtained
means to summon the chief privately to him, and explain, as
. far as he was able, the mysteries that had transpired—that
Such things were not uncommon among the white men—that
’ , I he had seen many do the same—that he was simply cheating
, : them—had no more .power than any other man, and that the
' . Voice they had heard was not that of any spirit, but simply a.
gift of nature that enabled him to disguise his own, so that it
v y. sounded as if Mining from a distance.

 

 

 

(0

mmmzaxn;oa,

 

But if tire would not harm him, what would? To what
torture could they put him that would be equal to it, and

how could they secure him beyond the possibility of escape, ‘ II
when he could untie knots as rapidly as they fastened them? , v

The renegade, prompted by his master, the devil, was equal
to the occasion—soon settled the difficulty, and the prisoner

was led—driven on by sharp knives and spears to a distance w '
from the village into a deep valley, whose huge walls of rock ‘

arose abruptly upon either side.

It was a dismal place as éould be conceived—enough to'

make a man shudder of itself, but the physician did still more
so when he saw a man swinging between heaven and earth,
suspended by one foot,'head downward, with hundreds of
foul birds peeking at and no doubt tearing his eyes out.

“ Thus perish the enemies of the Sioux,” said the old Med-
icine, triumphantly. ‘

" Great heaven! is it—can it he the scout?” gasped, the
prisoner, who knew far better than any one not of his pro-
fession, how the blood would settle into the head and a most
_ slow andhorrible death follow.

“It is the dog of a pale-face !” Was the savage response.
“ He thought to escape from the red-man, but the great Man-
itou brought swift destruction.”

“ May the fall have instantly deprived him of life i”

It was the only and best wish the prisoner could breathe
for one in so desperate a situation, but to increase his mental
agony and without knowing any thing of the matter, the Med
icine replied:

“While he was yet alive, he was devoured piecemeal by
buzzards and crows—is yet alive. see.”

The prisoner strained his eyes and was certain he could
see the arms uplifted as of one struggling in pain, and it
made his very flesh creep to think of such a death. But the

Medicine quickly recalled him to a sense of his own situation _

by saying : v

“ The torture of the pale-face will be no better, He will Wish
for death for hours and days before it comes—will not even
have carrion birds to help bring it, and though wolves will

howl around and serpents hiss, they will not come near enough

I to destroy, beg as he may the Manitou to: them to do so.“

 

 
  

   
    

 

  

 

 

    

s

 

 

 

\

But there was a single morsel 'of comfort—a single ray of
sunshine amid all the darkness. His darling Olive was spared

W-V the pain of knowing his fate. Her sufferings, heaven be

thanked, were ended. She could never. be tortured more, in
mind or body, and Would be standing a bright-winged angel,
to welcome him to the shining shore.

But the last drop of agony was quickly distilled into his
Cup of life. Dragged along still deeper into the noisome val-
ley, a cavern was reached, and even as he was about to enter
it he saw the renegade seated at a little distance holding his
loved one in his arms and forcing her to submit to his hatc-

' ful caresses.

‘Tomourn her as dead would have been heaven when com-
pared to this, and the fancied torture of hell could not, he
believed, be more an incarnation of suffering. The cries of
the wretched girl came to his cars, mingled with the hoarse,
triumphant laugh of the renegade, and he struggled like a inad-
man to get free—struggled until the leathern thongs cut deep-
iy into his flesh and the blood started from beneath them.

But it was useless. His every ctl‘ort was pleasure to the _
savagesehis curses music to their ears. Yet, regardless of
what terrors were in store for him, he shouted forth his never-
dying love as he was hurried into the cavern and flung rudely

it upon the stone floor a helpless prisoner, and yet comparatively

at liberty to what he soon would be.

The heart-wrecked girl had fainted. The swift-coming
death of her lover, and the horror of her own fate, was far
too much. But with fiendish malice, the black-hearted white

/ man carried her along until he stand by the side of the pris-

oner, and kissing the pure, pale lips—contaminating them
withhis touch, hurled into the shrinking cars:
“ Your wife, that was to be, will now be mine! May the

‘thonght of it make your dying moments supremely happy.

.Hul ha! how very happy! Think of her as being mine
alone while lying here in the darkness and slowly starving—
dying of thirst, with cool water trickling down within reach

"’1 your hand, and yet unable to get a single drop. Oh 1 how

I finvy you the pleasure 1”
“Devil 1" burst from the lips of the physician, and then,
“flurry that he had been betrayed into saying ev'“

 

 
 

 
 

48 m m wmnn; on,
much, he resolutely closed them, and nothing could induce him ~ ' l
- to open them again. .. ,

It was in vain the brute taunted him both by words and 
aetions. The blood surged from his heart as if it w-Iuld burst 
through every vein, and it would have been mercy had it 1y
done so, and at once put an end to his unequaled sufi‘ering. ’
But for an hour he was forced to endure. Then the Indians
became impatient, and, dropping the girl heavily, the renegade
assisted them in placing the fettered form of the prisoner
and piling stones around and upon him, so as to prevent move-
ment.

Then the entrance was walled up with massive rocks, and
the prisoner left to darkness and the slow, accumulated,
never-surpassed horrors of hunger and thirst!

  

nnmu'

 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

CHAPTER VIII.

MUCK-A-KEE. ,
. ,L
i

MUCH as all had appeared to give way to the white man, .
in the possession of his destined bride, yet there was at 1
least one of the rad-men who looked upon him with angry '
eyes and her with loving ones, and who was determined
that she should fill his Wigwam and“ minister to his com-
fort.

Muck-a‘kee, or the Bull-frog—a brave of the most undoubt-
ed courage and cunning, but brutally savage disposition, had
been inflamed with her rare beauty from the moment his
eyes had rested upon her, and he had marked her for his l"
own. But he was too wise to assert his preference as long
as the white man was held in so much favor.

With envious eyes he had marked the scene in the cavern,
and with envious ears had heard that, as soon as she was suf-
ficiently recovered, she, would be given to his rival. ' This he
swore by the Manitou should never be done. ' V ,
To accomplish hi ends, he enlisted the old squaws who

 

 

 
 
 

    

 

 

 

 to believe the purpose.

 

1 might have doubted.

I had/guard over her by means of presents, and the very night/
. she was to have been made a wife, the girl was missing, and

not a soul could be found )vho could, or would, give the

slightest information concerning it.

The guardian squaws declared that it must have been the
work of spirits—that even while their eyes were fastened
upon her they heard a terrible voice culling her by name,
and that she melted away into air—passed through their tin-
gers like smoke when they attempted to "hold her, and that
then they were struck down and blinded as if by lightning.

The rabble believed the story—the chiefs cared nothing

j about her so long as she was not destined to torture—the

Medicine was trying to recover his ‘lost ground, and in fact no
one but Parsons appeared to take the slightest interest in her
fate. He was angry without measure, and did every thing in
his power to find some clue to her whereabouts, for he knew
she could only have been taken away by mortal hands. But
he searched in vain. She was as securely hidden from him as
if already in her grave and her fair form ashes.

The abductor had been crafty. There was no impress of

- her little foot upon the'groundonothiug by which she could

be traced. And as it had been in fact, even so had she been led
Taking the place of and digitised as
one of the squaws, the Indian had filled her half-distracted
brain with lies—made her believe that he was the friend of
the white man—intended to release her lover, and that he
wished her to come and meet him. At another time she
But now any thing that promised to
free her from Parsons was eagerly snatched at, and the wily
warrior carried his end with far less difficulty than he had
imagined, and while the village was locked in slumber Olive
stole out like a shadow, met him beyond the limits of the

’ Wigwmns, submitted to be lift» in his brawny arms and car~
'ried along the bed of a creek, whose water obliterated every

“We. then mounted, he riding behind, and borne swiftly to a
considerable distance—where she knew not—scarcely cared,
‘0 long as it Was beyond the power of the black-sealed rene-
gade.

Before daylight they had reached the top of a mountain
and found a newly erected Wigwam, with another standing

THE CAVE CAPTIVI. ' «

 

m m mum); on,

4!

near that showed the marks of mm a storm. The former 7 I
was to be her home for a time, and she saw that it had been "
fitted up with some efi'ort at comfort, for it was covered with A

double skins and carpeted with them.

“ This,” said the warrior, craftily playing the part of friend
andtaking every possible means to gain her good-will, “is
your resting place. Here you will be in the most perfect
safety.”

“ But alone! Alone in this horrible wilderness,” she'
gasped, trembling in every limb at the bare thought of what

' dangers would surround her.

“ No. In the other wigwnm is an old squaw who will pro-
tect and provide for you. She is very old and crippled, and
sometimes not in her right mind.”

“ A mad-woman my sole companion l”

"‘ She is perfectly harmless.”

V“ And him I love?” she questioned, with her entire soul
going out to the physician in his living tomb.

“ Is safe, and shall soon be relieved." '

“ How well you talk my language.”

“Muck-a—kee has been often among them, and is their
friend. He will save the pale-face."

“And give him back unharmed to me? Oh! joy, joy!”

The face of the Indian darkened for a moment, and his
hand sought his knife, but he had too much self-command to
permit her to fathom his designs, and after turning away as
if to kick out, he continued:

“ The heart of Muck-a-kec will be glad when the White
Lily is again in thearms of the brave she loves. Her skin
is as the dan of a summer morning, her hair soft as the silk
of the maize, and her eyes like the stars shinning in the still
water.” .

“And,” resumed the girl, vithout taking the least notice of
his compliments, “there will be no danger in our being fol-
lowed and discovered ‘2"

“By the one of her own race, whose heart is like that of
the black snake ?”

it Yes."

“When he can follow the trail of the swift-winged swal-
low, then he can find ours."

 

 

 

 

  

    

_;
i:

 

 

 

 
   

 

 

    

 

 
    

  

   
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
 
  

  

  
 

 

  

    

41?}.

m can em;
| “ That is good news. When shall he who is confined in
the rocks he released ?”

“ As soon as the red warrior can do so without being de-
tected. But the White Lily need not mourn. No danger
can come to him, and it will be many hours before he will
even sulfer hunger. Let her rest in peace, and no tears stain
her bright eyes.”

“ You are very good. How shall I ever repay vou ?” and
she pressed his hand warmly, and looked up thankfully int:
his eyes.

The action still more tired his blood, and it was with the
greatest difiiculty that he could resist the temptation to clasp
her in his arms. But the time was not yet ripe for such an
action, and forced to ,resist he turned away and called in a
loud voice: i r

“Metiz.”

After Waiting for a few moments he repeated the name
even yet more boisterously, and at the same time explained to
the anxious girl that “ Metiz ” in the language of the pale-
face was “Thin Slick," but that when she had occasion to ad-
dress the equaw who was to guard her, she had better use the
Sioux word. I

Still the old woman came not, and after repeated efforts to
summon her he went out grumbling—returning dragging her
along, and it required a great effort for Olive to keep from
screaming. so hideous was she.

How old she was no one could have determined within a
score of years Her yet plentiful hair was white as snow, as
were brows and lashes, and the long growth upon the upper

’ “P, but 1191' eyes were black and sparkling as anthracite
.-—looked more like the serpent's when in its deadly coil than
i any thing human.

She had once been tall, but her form was now nearly
doubled by years and pain, though when aroused she could
1138 to hertull hight, and her broad shoulders and large arms
tom Of Power. Her fade was a mass of wrinkles. Her hands
were “mg and the untrimmed nails gave them the aPl’flfm'mme
0! the talons of some great bird. Her figure appeared to be
“may Wanting flesh—to be simply a compound of skin, mus-

chi and bones, and as she crept into the Wigwamleaninc

    
  

 
   
  

       
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
    
 
    

a

46 THE m manners,

upon a. huge knotted staff, her fierce manner and coarse "

voice and restless behavior gave her the appeaTrance of a wile
beast.

“ Metiz," said the chief, “ this is the girl you must guard
and feed until I come back.”

“ Ugh l” was the only reply, but the fiery eyes that were
turned upon Olive made her shudder.

“ You must take good care of her, do you hear, and you
shall have plenty of fire-water and tobacco."

u  In

She turned away and retreated again to her own Wigwam,
muttering as she went.

“ For the love of heaven do not leave me alone with her,”
pleaded the girl.

“ I will come back—"

“ And bring him I love ?”

“ Yes, as soon as I can. But have no fear ; she will do you
no harm. She is old and ugly but not dangerous in the least.
I must go to see that no one has found our trail.”

“ And if the black-hearted white man should do so i”

“This I" said the Indian, touching his knife in a manner
that could not be misunderstood.

“ And the one in the cave? Oh i release him quickly and
I will never cease to love you.”

“ Your lover shall come 1”

His reply was peculiarly accented, and could she have read
his face, her heart would have sunk within her as deeply as
it had ever done before. But it was expressionless to her
eyes, and after informing her that he would give the red

squaw still stronger directions to keep watch over and be -

kind to her, he disappeared, leaving her alone with her
thoughts. . ‘

Soon after she saw him mount and ride down the moun-
tain side, and feeling worn out and in a measure at least safe,
she closed the curtains of the Wigwam, and nestling among
the soft robes, fell asleep.

But what awoke her she could never have told. It was
the mysterious influence that often gives warning of com-
ing danger. I But awake she did, and that suddenly, and a
Scream burst from her lips as she saw the old squaw

    
 

 

 

rilc
1rd
are

Oll

 

m cave cm 47

kneeling by her side, with her face bent closely down to her

‘ o’wn.

“ Ohl heaven, what do you want 1’” Olive asked, shiver-
ing with undefined alarm.

“ The sun is seeking to hide itself behind the western
mountains, and the young squaw of the pale-faces must be
hungry. Metiz has brought her feed and drink."’

She saw that the eyes of the hideous Indian woman were
upon her, and, fearing to make her angry, she arose, and by
dint of a mighty exertion of will manung to eat.

“ When the squaw has lived until every thing upon earth
has been dead many, many winters she will not he so dainty,”
resumed her guardian, with a sneering voice, and instantly
dispatched the rest of the provisions very much after the
manner of a starving wolf. >

“But I was not very hungry,” replied Olive. “ It was
good, very good, and I thank you. Now I will go and take
a walk."

“ Where would the pale-face go ?" was questioned in any
thing but a pleasant voice. ‘

“ Oh! just to walk around a little. I am tired of being
shut up in a Wigwam.”

“ The grave is more narrow and dark."

“ What do you mean by that i“ asked Olive, beginning to
fear again.

“ If she walks far she may find out."

" Who would do me harm ?”

I “The woods are filled with great bears, with snarling
waves. With panthers, and almost every rock is a den of rat-
tlesnakes.” . l

“ Good heaven 1 Yet you live among them ?”

“I fear them not—fear nothing—am strong and know
how to take care of myself. The pale-face is weak as a lit-
tle pappoose." ‘

“ Will you not go with me i”

“What if I should? Your feet are swift as those of a
doe, mine heavy, as if my moccasins were lead. The chief

‘ gave her into the keeping of Metiz, and she must stay in the

Wigwam.”
“ Must t” . .

 

    
   

   
 
  

   
     
   
   
   
   
   
      
   
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
       
        

mm m; on,

u Ugh.”

“ Do you mean that I am a prisoner?‘

“Until the chief comes back."

“ He brought me here to save me for—”

“ Himself.”

“ 0h! heaven, tell me what you mean.”

“ He will make her his wife—will take her to his Wigwam.”

“ Can it be possible there is such treachery? He told me
he was my friend—.the friend of the white man.”

“ Then he lied l” she hissed like an adder. “Lied like the
serpent that charms the little sparrow, while guarding its
young.”

“ But you are a woman and can save me,” and she flung
herself at her feet.

“ Woman '3" screamed the squaw with a horrible laugh that
made the rocks ring. “Metiz a woman! She is a. devil,
and all the tribe fear her. When you have seen every thing
you love—father, mother, sisters, brothers, and husband and
children murdered by the pale-face; when your hair has
been turned, and you have lived in a. howling wilderness
alone, for the Munitou only knows how many winters, what
will you be then? No, the chief lied 1 He hates the pale-
face, even as I do. But talk not to me of them—-let me
get out of your sight, or I might be tempted to drive a knife
into your heart, even as your people did through those of
mine,” and she fled muttering the ,wildest imprecations.

Then the full horror of her situation burst upon the mind
of the poor girl, and bowing her head, she wept bitter tears.

But should she wait the return of the brutal Indian!
Was'not any fate better that} to be his wife? She had seen
enough to know, in all its brutality, what it meant with one
of their own race, and knew it would be infinitely worse
with her. Yes, she would run away, and that quickly, for-
getting what she had heard about the woods being filled
with wild beasts. ‘

She crept to the door of the Wigwam and looked out-—
could see nothing of the fiendish old woman, and stepped to
the outer side. But she had hardly passed the threshold
before her grim guardian presented herself, and whirling
her tomahawk, demanded her purpose. ' . 4

   

 

 

  

«m we cm; 49“-

   

“I was simply'taking the fresh air," replied Olive, to
throw her‘ofl‘ her guard. ‘

"Then let her lift the skins of the Wigwam. To walk
from it, will be to walk into her grave." ,

It would have been useless to attempt to either resist or
argue, and -the fair prisoner suuntcred back, baffled for'the
time, but without having her purpose changed in the least.
She would wait until night came, and then make another
u effort for freedom, even if she died in doing it. But could
she escape she might release her lover, and together they
could fly to safety and happiness.

The hours passed—how long and bitter to her, and night

   
  

ram.”
d me

 
 
 

’lhe
' its

   
   
 
 
  
  
  
   

“113' came at length. She lay upon ' the floor of the Wigwam
with the curtain slightly raised, peering out at the other, and
hat listening, as she had never done before, to every sound. At
vi], ' length she became convinced that the dreadful old crone had
11g gone to rest, and wrapping her garments closely around her,
nd she stepped forth to the long coveted freedom—the blessed
as boon she had never had the least idea of before. Her heart
as heat with lightning-like rapidity—she seemed to tread upon
it air! Then a heavy hand was laid upon her, she was hurled
a. backward, and a. creaking, angry voice breathed in her
3 cars:
3 “ The pale-face squaw would run away, and must die 1”
f “ Mercy.”

 

“ Did her race show any mercy to mine? Did they spare”
a single one? My brain is mad with blood. Every thing is
red—red!
_Poor Olive! She saw in the semi-light, the flash of a long
knife, the gleaming of the terrible eyes, burning with madness
,—saw the long, skinny arm that was raised to give strength to
the blow—exerted all her own. With the power of despair
she struggled to her feet, and grappled with the murderess.’
They fell together. An iron grasp was fastened upon her
Blender throat, and she knew her last hour had come. But
I. With a mighty effort she tore loose, and disappeared in the
A: darkness down the steep mountain side—fled she knew not
Whither. With many an arrow whistling over her head.
ud soon she would have paused for rest, for she had often
1 “he Ind was sorely braised, had she not fancied um m

 
 

 

  

 

  

   
       
        
      
   
   
   
       
     
   
     
  
   
 
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
    

50 mannwimn;on,

'heard the tread of a swiftly-ridden horse, and believed the
false-hearted Indian was upon her track, or at least soon would
be. Nerved by this, she pressed onward, deeper and deeper
into the fastness of the forest, tumbling over rocks, tearing
her dress and soft flesh upon the sharp thorns, creeping among
the tangled roots, with the face scratched by the low-growing
branches, and her feet out, and numbed, and bleeding. On-
ward till she could do no more, and sunk down as if ready I
to die. '

A low but startling grow: aroused her. She looked wildly
around, and saw, to her horror, the form of some beast crouch-
ing upon a limb above her, ready for its spring—saw the great
mouth, the long, sharp teeth, the blood-red tongue, the eyes
like balls of fire—knew that a panther had trailed her—
would instantly leap upon and tear her to pieces, and with a
great cry of agony fell insensible to the ground.

9‘:

AH'lG’

C H A P T E R I X .
I-RON-YAII-TEK—EA } L

“ 11‘ beats human natur’, Burning Cloud,” said Wash Law-
ton, the scout, as he lay concealed in a deep crevice of the
rocks, craftin emered by bushes and dirt and stones so as to ..
resemble the natural surface. of the hill, and at but a little f
distance from the spot where he had fallen—“ it beats human "
natur’ how yer could hev got me out of ther scrape, and it
war jest the tightest I war ever in durin’ all my days.”

“The daughter of the red-man,” replied the Indian girl,
who Was his companion, “ has never forgotten his kindness
when his pale-faced brother—but not in heart, for one is
white as the snow, and the other as black and treacherous as
a thunder-cloud—would have buried his tomahawk in her
head, and she with one arm broken and useless."

“It was er mean, cowardly trick, that am er fact, but I
hain’t half as well able to pen-tect myself as you war. I feel
- jest as of I had been run through or boom full of logs in or

 

 

   
  

m CAVE cums. '51.

I. was freshet, and as at every drop of blood [in my carcass

had settled inter my brains."
And so indeed he looked. His eyes were still so much

- bloodshm that the iris could not be distinguished, while the

skin of his face was swollen as if blood had been forced
through every pore, despite the constant bathing with cool
water by the gentle hands of his savior and nurse.

“ The pale-face would soon have gone to the land of spi
rits," she continued, “ had he not been released.”

“ But how did yer manage it? Sartinly yer could- never
have climbed down ther face of ther rocks.”

“ A bird could scarcely have found footing."

“ Then how in ther name of Common sense did yer do it ‘2"

“I-ron-yah-tek-ha. (using her unCOuth Indian name, though
the scout always (lid the interpretation of “ Burning Cloud,"
or more commonly, “ Cloud,") was watching the pale~fuce who
had been kind to her—followed as he run—saw him when he
fell, and as soon as the braves disappeared, she made a strong
line of deer-skin, looped it about :1. tree above, clnmbered
down and drew it after her."

“ It was bravely done, Cloud—bravely done."

“ Then she fastened him so that he would not fall, cut
away the limb that held him like a. wolf in a trap, lowered
him down and dragged him to this spot, thanking the Muni~
tou that he was not dead.”

“ But most mighty near to it, I kin tell yer. And I must
have had a. hard time on it, fer my huntiu’-shirt and leggins
am clean tore otf."

.“ They are hanging still in the tree-top," replied the squaw,
With a low and musical laugh.

“ Hangin‘ in the tree-top! What in thunder am they
that fer. I’d like ter know ?"

. “ Thé eyes of the red-man are like those of the lynx, and
IRS cunning that of the serpent.” , '

“ Oho l” and the laugh that followed, even though the ever-
cautious one of a trapper, made him fairly groan with pain,
3° 50"! was he in every muscle. “ Ha! ha i I see it all now.
1791’ knew of yer didn't {001 ’em in that manner, they would
hm el'lookin’ eround ter see what had become of me, fer it
wasn’t likely I’d rot and fall ter pieces-so soon.”

 

 
  

   
     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
     
   
   
     
       
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
        

52 THE RED mum); on,

  

The girl nodded, and the smile upon her face, in connec- ‘1
tion with her kindness, made her very beautiful, and he 0011- en
tinued : wo‘

“ So yer jest took ther buck-skins and stuffed them and fixed
on ther cap and hung them up, and it was so fu'r that. even
ther sharp eyes of ther warriors couldn’t tell whether it was — ~
or dead man or not." "  h"

“ And snared a rabbit and placed it where the head of the 1:
pale-face should have been."

“ W‘hat in “moderation was that for ?" _

The rest he could see through plainly, but that troubled him if
-——wns a puzzle he could not undrrstnnd, experienced as he ‘
was in all manner of woodland subterfuges.

“ That the birds would gather around and pick at it.” .

“ As they would have done at my poor head and eyes e! f f
they had bin thur! Give me n woman for cunnin, arter all i” "
and he rolled backward and forward over the soft, thick bed
she had pepared. in the excess of his merrimentat the manner
in which the crafty warriors had been deceived.

“The red-men knew well what would follow if the pale-
face had remainet,” she answered, with o umtified look at
his praises, and proceeded to describe more at length the dif-V
ficulties she had encountered.

“Yes, yer must have had a hard time on it gittin’ me heah.
I ain’t none of ther lightest or you none ther strongest, and
you couldn’t well have curried me."

“ The daughter of the red-1min raised the body in her arms,
and though his moccasins left a trail she easily covered it
UPI” ‘

/ “ And yer took all this trouble jest because I happened tew
do what any good man would have done 1'”

“ The Sioux never forget.”

If he had not been so entirely intent upon his own thoughts
and the skill she had displayed, he Would have noticed her
softly-beamng eyes, and that. the hot blood surged up from
her heart and flushed even the olive of her cheeks—that his
stalwart frame and kindness had wukcncd the most powerful

passion in her heart, notwithstanding,

“ She lmd struggled hard and long
Against her love, and reasoned with her has“,
A: simple Indian maiden mlzht.’

wueavnoamvm. /’ ‘53?

snag.  But he was not yet in a situation—was far too much shak-
con-  en to give a single thought to any thing but himself and his
' wonderful escape, and went recklessly on. ,
“ I know, Cloud, yer people remember er good deed as

well as or had one, and never forgit revenge, and I only
. hope I kin make it even with yer some time, and I will ef I
, live."
4 “ The pale-face is safe from the dark Manitou of death.”

“ Yes. for the present, I reckon, though I wouldn‘t be good ‘
fer much in a foot-race or a fight.” .,

“There are barks and roots in the forest that will make '
him Well again."

“ The sooner the better.”

“I will go gather and steep them. for I dare not build a
fire here.”

“ Yer right, Cloud. Thnr’ll be sharp eyes on ther valley
‘ fer er long time and any thin’ out of ther common would
1- “' draw er crowd of warriors. But will yer not be in danger

' V yerself ?"
. “I would do much more for the pale chief,” she replied,
:  ' in a trembling voice, and quickly left his side that her feelings
' might not betray her. ,

The time she was away appeared very long to the scout,
’nnd when she returned he saw from her agitated manner
that something uncommon had happened, and taking her
hand kindly, he asked, with far more of tenderness than he
was aware of: '

“ What’s ther matter, Cloud? Has anybody bin erbusin’
_ I yer? Ef so, jest tell me and when I git on my feet ag‘in I’ll

'3, thresh ther ground with him.”

i , “ A young brave—” ' .
 “Ha! er lover l" be interrupted, and the sound of the r l
i Y word though uttered by his own lips grated harshly upon his
a ‘ ears; 4 ,
'  « “ A young brave sought her side as the buck does that of
' the doe and would have remained there.”
“ Then yer drove him erway, Cloud ‘6” V
“ Had it not been for the pale chief I would have done so
. , ' foreverL”
5; ' “WhathadItewdowithiti”

rixed
aver;
Was

the

I'm .
he

 

e!

I”

A ......_l._~. paw“,

 

 

    

54 run man WIZARD; on,

“If I had made him an enemy he might have followed ‘

and found you.”

“ That’s jest as true as gospil and I hain’t in no condition
tew take my own part ner yours nuthcr, jest now.”

“ I wear a knife.”

“ Yes, and huin’t got no use of but one arm. But what
did ther painted raskil want ‘3”

She busied herself with bathing his swollen neck. kept her
face bowed and pretended not to hear, and he continued:

“ War he er lover, Cloud ?”

“ Helms often told me he loved me,” she responded in a
low voice, being thus compelled to answer.

“And don’t yer love him? Ef he am or likely young fel-

ler, and will git ter be er warrior some day, I don't see why
you shouldn‘t do so.”

“ She loves but one.”

“ Wal,” he replied, with a laugh, and not even then pene-
trating through her disguise, “I never knew er woman ter
take er likin’ ter two men at the same time,"

“Let the pale-face drink and try to sleep,” she said.
“ The child of the red-man will stay and watch him as long
as she dares. Then she will pray the Great Spirit to keep
guard over him until she comes and brings him food in the
morning.”

“ Yes. I do feel kinder sleepy, but I know I hain’t more’n
half thanked yer for what yer’ve done. Howsomever I will
do so when I get better. But can’t yer git me er drink of
cool water fust? I’m dry as er stump that has been dead for
forty years.”

“ The spring is not distant,” she replied, going quickly to
comply with the request.

“ I can’t understand the actions of ther red—skinned critter
at all,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “ She am
ther pootiest squaw I ever sot my eyes on, and has saved
my life and bin very good ter me. I wonder of she kin

“ have taken er fancy ter me? Here she comes ergin, and ef I
hadn’t er fool, I’ll find out what it all means, and ef she
would consent 'ter take pot-luck with erlpoor trapper like
me, I shan’t be backward, fer ter tell ther truth I never saw,
or woman I not so much store by.”

    

 

Mt
' follow
words
a «I
l I wil
t there
. muclv‘
i will

kneV

; s

inte
his
asle
dot
hes
it 1
lid
in

 

 
 

 

 

  

m can: cmrvn.

After the water had been drank and a brief conversation

 followed, the scout stretched himself out for slumber, her last
. words being :

“ I will watch until the pale chief sleeps soundly. Then
I will go to my wigwam, for I must not be missed from
there. Should he wake he must drink of this (pointing to 9.

~ muckuc of birch bark) and when she comes again all pain

will have left him and he will be fit to take the trail.”

“Wat Cloud, ycr ther dearest and best Medicine I ever
knew. Good-night."

She sat motionless for a long time, watching his face as
intently as a fond mother might have done a child. Then
his heavy and regular breathing convinced her that he was
asleep. But she must be certain beyond the shadow of a
doubt before she could give way to the promptings of her
heart, and lighting a. little strip of inflammable bark she held
it close to his eyes. No flinching of muscles or winking of
lids betray consciousness, and bending over him she breathed
in the softest of whispers as her lips touched his :

“ Ne-ne-moosha, sweetheart, how much I love you

“ And so do I you, Cloud 1" replied the scout, who had
been watching her—“ playin’ 'possum," as he would have said
—as he sprung up suddenly and clasped her in his arms and
returned her caresses with usurious interest.

She tried to escape, but could not, had been fairly caught,
and yielded gracefully while the hunter continued in his
rough but honest and warm, great-hearted way to tell her of
his affection.

“I knew I kinder liked yer,” he said, as he twined his arm
around and drew her close to his side, “ ther very fust time

ever sot my eyes on yer, but I didn’t know how much on-
til I heard yer talkin’ erbout ther young brave. Then it all
come ter me in er minit. Howsomevcr, it am all right now,
and jest as soon as I kin git out of this ar’ infernal scrape
we’ll travel to whar we kin build er Wigwam and live in
peace."

“ The pale-face is a great chief, brave and handsome,” she
replied, looking into his face with bashful confusion, though
making no effort to conceal either her great admiration or
love.

'7,

   

  

   
    
  
     
 
 
 
     
 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
     
     
       
     
     
   
   
     
   
   

rm: m mum); on,

“Wal, I don’t know erbout ther handsome part,” he re-
plied with a laugh, “ but I do know you have become very
dear ter me. And do yer love me so much ?”

“ He has become the Manitou of her heart.”

“ That’s lovin‘ most mighty well, Cloud. Give me ernuther
kiss. I hain‘t had or single one before since my poor mo«
ther kissed me, and that’s many or long year ergo."

“ If any thing should happen to him she would die," she
replied, with tears gathering in her eyes as she reluctantly
tore herself away and prepared for departure.

But yet she lingered for a. long time. She, both of them
were learning for the first time what bliss there was in lov-
ing, and it was not until after the squaw had soothed her
white lover into real slumber that she turned her re-
luctant feet home. But once having started her speed almost
rivaled that of a deer.

Yet broken would have been her slumbers and her dreams
far other than the heaven of lovers, could she have been

aware that the moment after she had started, a dark, painted a

form crept out from the concealment of the bushes, where
every ward must have been audible to him, and took her place
by the side of the sleeper.

It was the young brave who had sought to gain her love i I

But his face told of another and far more deadly passion
now, and more than once his knife was raised to find a.
bloody sheath. Yet he refrained from striking. His subtly-
working brain was devising a far more terrible vengeance—
one that would strike terror into the heart of the Burning
Cloud as well. And yet the leaving of a scalp so easily to
be obtained, and one that would bring him so much of res
nown, was hard for his nature—the most severe trial of his
life thus far. ' ,

But might it not be that he could force the squaw to be‘
come his wife—or at least bribe her to do so——the bribe be-

ing her lover’s life?

It was as be conceived a brilliant idea, and drawing back
without staining his soul or his hands with murder, he left
the sleeper to his rest, and followed the girl to the wig-warn
«sew hen—ulster}, what he had seen,snd attempted. to carry.
out his plans.

But
the stt
u T
An

I went

such '
found
ever

_ vwiamm.-~_..:zm‘g- .~

z‘f-—i<**--:-~4w—r--aW“ _. fl ;

 

I THE CAVE CAPTIVE.
t
But she laughed at him and his threats, and when he told
the story to the warriors, dared him to the proof.
“ The morning will decide," he said, sullenly.
And decide it did. The warriors and the spy and the gill

' Went to the spot he designated, and found nolhing of any

such place of concealment as he had described, but a torrent
foaming through the rocky gorge that bore no impress of
ever having been in another place since creation 1

C H A P T E R X .
'I‘IIE TORTURES on THE MEDICINE.

WITH the white Medicine completely in his power and at
his mercy, the red one determined to make him reveal every
secret charm and mystery—every trick of juggling that he
could possibly turn to account to extend his influence over
the tribe. ’

To do this he must be certain that no one should be any
the wiser—that there was no spy upon his movements, and
so he gave public notice that the Manitou would be very
angry with any one who ever: visited the vicinity where he
Was confined.

In this respect at least he was obeyed, for there was no
longer any interest taken in his fate, and the more especially
as they believed the scout was (lead, and the white girl had

’ stolen away, and most likely perished in the Wilderness.

With matters thus arranged it was easy for him to carry
out his purposes without danger of molestation, and he

 secretly took his departure for the cavern, removed a snfll-

ciency of the wall to enable him to creep through, replaced
it again' to baflie any curious eyes, and lighting a taper
(formed of wax and bear’s grease) took his place by the fet-
tered and helpless prisoner, and began tormenting him, though

at, first by words.
,“ How does the pale-faced dog like the prison-house of the

, red-man 1’” he questioned, in a sneering voice.

/

\

 

    

58 THE RED wrzann; on,

“ It is a good place to die as any other," replied the,

physician, somewhat cheered even by his presence, and re-
solved to show bravery if he did not feel it, and find out, if
possible, what had become of his lost love.

“ Would be live ?”

“ Who would not ?”

“ What would he give for life and freedom?”

‘ Any thing.”

“Then let him tell how he got clear from the many thongs
that were knotted around him."

“Remove the stones and I will show you.”

“ Is the Medicine a fool?"

“It is the only way I can explain, so that you will un-
derstand."

“ The tongue of the pale-face is used to traveling a crooked
trail, but the snows of many winters have fallen upon the
head of the Medicine of the Sioux, and brought wisdom,”
and then, as a further temptation to the revelation, he con-
tinued : “ Would he not learn of the squaw whose skin is like
the blossom of the prairie rose ?”

“ I would be willing to die, if I could but know that she
had escaped from the power of that black-hearted ruflian.”

“ If I will tell, will you reveal the secrets by which you
make yourself great among your people ‘1"

“ Yes, any thing that is in my power."

“ She fled in the night, and the pale-face can not find
her.”

“ Heaven be thanked l”

" But neither can the red-man. though they have tracked
her as the starving wolf does the wofinded and blood-drop-
ping deer.”

“ Then she must be lost in the wilderness." ,

“ Where the wild beasts roam,” answered the redman,
with almost fiendish delight. o

It was a terrible consummation of the bright dream of love,
and yet, any thing was better than to think of her being the:
reluctant and agonized wife of the remorseless renegade.
Even death was a release from never to be told suffering, and
V through the profound darkness, there is a very faint hope of
escape.

  

Q‘d Eff-1‘5

con-t4on

 

 

  

ho

firth:

an

tit
tu

a.

g.“- 4

L.

the, '

re-
, if

|g8

 

\ him tell what. he wishes to know.

  

'l

’“ Now,” resumed the old trickster, “let the pale-face tell
' how he untied himself.”

“I can not without showing you.”

‘ “ And how he made the voice that the red-man took for
,'those of a spirit CI”

“ It is a gift of nature, improved by practice," and he gave

" an illustration of the peculiar powers of a ventriloquist.

“And how he made my arm like iron ?”
“ That, also, is a gift—the exercise of a concentrated will,”

‘ and be related the manner of mesmerism.

But do what he might he could not illuminate the stolid
mind of the Indian—could not produce any tangible illustra-
tions, and consequently could not satisfy him, and his face
turned still blacker, and became even more hideous with
anger, as he thundered, “ The pale-face lies! He will make
Before he has done with
him, he will whine like a whipped dog—cry like a sick
pappoose, beg like a coward for his life, and be glad to tell

 

' making flesh from winelug.

 

every thing that is concealed within his black heart.”

Never was a poor wretch more at the mercy of his torturer.
. Besides the bonds with which he had been fette‘red,and which
cut deeply into the flesh, his limbs were loaded down with
heavy stones, so that while they did not actually crush they
yet restricted every movement. Then, too, he was already

' beginning to suffer from the combined effects of hunger and

thirst. ‘

“ 'l‘he pale-face handled and swallowed red-hot coals,” said
the Medicine, savagely. “ Let him keep the fire from burn-
ing him now if he can 1” \

Slowly, and by the exercise of more strength than his

‘, withered frame would have been thought to possess, the In-
dian removed the stones from about his feet and kindled a
fire there that would scorch, blister, burn deeply and yet be
in no danger of taking life. He was experienced in this
,kind of torture, and knew well how far it could be carried.

An icy sweat burst over the miserable prisoner—great drops
stood upon his brow. His agony was frightful. He could
have screamed for pain, and forced his tongue between his
teeth to,prevent his doing so, though he ceuld not keep the

 

  

    

00 mmmm;on,

“Will the palevface confess r" asked the diabolical old tor
turer, as he held a cup of cold water to the patching lips, and

then, as they were strained open to swallow, swiftly removed

it again. A -

“ I have told you all I can," gasped the suffering man,
adding beneath his breath: “Oh! God, have mercy upon
me !"

“ It is a‘lie !" I

The tortures were renewed—the fire drawn still a little
closer, and to make the horror more intense, the swollen, blis-
tered feet were scarified with the point of a sharp knife and
the blood and water spurted forth and hissed upon the glow-
ing coals.

“ Will the pale-face tell ‘3”

“ I can not—can not, more than I have already done.”

He felt as if he would instantly expire.
sional knowledge told him such would not be the case—that
human nature could endure such suffering, severe though it
was, for hours. And as the old fiend bent over him, with
looks of hatred and ferocity lighting up his dark features, he
registered the most solemn oath that ever was formed within
a human soul, that if he should survive and gain his freedom
he would rival him in revenge. \

But when to the tortures of fire was added the equally ter-
rible one of water falling drop by drop upon his head, he felt
that his agony was fast becoming too great for endurance—
every fiber of his frame shuddered, and he knew that he‘was
rapidly becoming insane.

Then he would have hartered every particle of knowledge
he possessed for a respite from pain, no matter how brief,
and did all that was in hispower to tell his tormentor what
' he was so anxious to know. But it was without avail. The.
fire still raged, and blistered. and burned—the skin was be.
ginning to crumble away, shriveling up like parchment and
gaping cracks appearing in the their! ~

Even the Medicine saw that it would not do to carry it
, further, and kicking aside the brands he drew some ointment
from his pouch, dressed the horribly-burned feet, and with
the very refinement of cruelty, said :

“ To-morrow all the fire will be removed, and the some he—

Yet his profes' ‘{

 

  

n;m»4

 

 

9-1an

m on: omrvr. 

or .j'giu to heal, for this salve is famous among the red-men,
,ud  Then I will come and burn again 1" \_
'ed,  The poor white man fancied, and a prayer of tlmnkfulness

went upward from his heart at the thought, that his torture
an.  for the time was ended. But it was not so. It was to be con-
onr tinned in a difl‘erent manner-fione equally diflicult to bear,
though bringing with it little danger.

Tearing the garments from about his body and as far as
tle ' he could well do from his limbs, the demon in human shape
ia- { produced a. bag of nettles and began rubbing the exposed

flesh, leaving such a. fierce, fiery, stinging sensation that even
w- k ‘ more than fire tended to drive the victim mud.

“ Ho! ho l” shouted the Medicine, making the cavern echo
with his derisive and joyous laughter. “How do you like
, this? Where are the spirits now that youhoastcd you could
as: l", 7 summon at your pleasure ? Why do they not come and save

a: you ‘3"

it “ ’Tnunt as you may I" replied the prisoner, choking down

th I v the great gasps of pain, “ but your day will come, and then,

)8 - God help you I"

n "t " “The Manitou of the pale-face is a dog." ‘

 

n ‘ There were other and equally bitter tortures floating
serve them until another occasion. His pleasure in the suffer—

Again the prisoner was left alone and in the darkness, suf-

\

K through the mind of the Medicine, but he was forced to re-

f.

It 1 ing of the helpless prisoner was too great to be glutted at

— it once, and so he gave him both food and drink to refresh and

s '{ sustain him. Besides he believed he would yet accomplish
'; “his purpose of cxtorting the secrets he desired, and would pro

e  "long human suffering to any extent to do so.

, .
t , » ‘fering, almost (lying, and even when worn out and he slum-
a z ' bered, his sufferings could only have been equaled by those 0!
- the bottomless pit.

l

 

    

    

CHAPTER XI.
THE RENEGADE.

WITH the peculiar cunning that belongs to such dastardly-
}ninded men, George Parsons watched for some sign of the
beautiful Olive, but without success. He could neither find
a token or a trace. That she was hidden somewhere in the
neighborhood he did not doubt any more than that she had
been spirited away by some of the Indians who were jealous
of him. But, failing to ascertain any thing, he resolved upon
blinding the eyes of the Indians for a time; so proclaiming
his wish to settle among them and become a chief, he boldly
began wooing a young squaw for his bride,little thinking that

the one whom he had so brutally intended to destroy was-

keeping an eye upon his movements and silently nursing her
revenge.

Yet such was the ease. The Burning Cloud had persist-
ently avoided him, or when forced to be seen by him, had
been so effectually mufiled and disguised that he did not re-
cognize her. In fact he had almost forgotten the episode of
their meeting amid the other excitements, and not having
seen her was led to believe that she did not belong to that
portion of the tribe, and soon gave the matter no further
thought. ‘

But she never failed to keep track of all his movements,
and as soon as she learned that he was endeavoring to gain
the affections of one (who chanced to be a friend and an in-
timate) of their number, she resolved to ascertain what his in-
tentions really were, for, with a woman‘s penetration she saw
that something was hidden.

First, however, she must take the girl whom he destined to
make his wife into her confidence, and'obtain from her a
pledge of secrecy, as well as to put. her upon her guard against
a love that could only prove disastrous. This was not ditfl~
- cult. Indian girls love mystery as well as their fairer-skinned
sisters, and it was so arranged that the Burning Cloud became
an unseen witness of many of their interview.

 

 

 

 
   

Iy.

 

{.

 

7.7

 

' \

 

m can carrrvn.

v

The girl played her part well. It was subtle treachery

‘ against treachery. She led him on by the arts well known
' '_ to all women—by a skillful management of sighs and voice

‘ . and eyes, until he plainly told her of his love, and. urged her

to consent to immediately become his wife. Then she played
the coquette—refused him even a kiss, but, after long plead-

. ing, promised to meet him the next evening, when no one
could see or hear them, and give him an answer.

The delay chafed, but he was fiorced to be satisfied, and

' when the appointed time came, he found the young squaw
waiting for him at the trysting, though the spot she had cho-
sen was so dark that he knew not of her presence until she
called him by a name given by the tribe—and a very appro-
priate one it was.

“ The eyes of White Wolf are not sharp,” she said, with a
low laugh at the manner in which he started, “ and his heart
beats not warm or it would have told him who was near."

“Why, Little Raven," he replied, “it is so dark that I
could not see any thing—so dark that I was afraid you would
not dare to come."

“ What should she fear? Her heart is pure and her trail
an open one. She is willing the Great Spirit should see
both—should know her every thought."

“ Why do you speak so low, and in a changed voice?"

/ “There is more than one of the braves jealous of White
Wolf, and until Little RaVen becomes his wife and has found
a home in his Wigwam, she would not have any one know
of their meeting.”

“ That is well enough. But, come nearer to me.
put my arm around you, and give me a kiss.”

“Is it thus the white squaws treat their lovers ?”

“ Certainly.” a

“The red one keeps her favors for her husband,” was the
proud response. “ He would have the flower before the dew
is brushed from it, or not at all.”

“ That‘s prudish, Raven. But who is there to see i”

“ The stars and the Manitou.”

“ Pshaw 1‘ Your coming to-night tells me that you will
be my wife, and why should there any longer be" formality

I

between us ?"

Let me

I

 

  

rummmn;on, -

“ Does not the pale-face bring gifts to the Wigwam of her 9‘

- he loves ‘2”

“Yes, and you shall have them in plenty after we are *

married. Then I am going back to my people for a. little

time, and when I come again you shall have beads and rib— "

- bone and every thing you desire.”

“ Why does he go if he wishes to become a chieftain of
the Sioux ?”.

“To get guns and powder.”

“ But what will he say when they ask him what has be-
come of the pale squaw who was in his company?” she asked,
gently lending him on.

“ I don’t know; shall have to tell some kind of a story.
What do you think has become of her, Little Raven ?" and
the tone of his voice told her sensitive ear that he was very
far from having lost his interest in her.

“The pale-face has hidden her, and will bring her back,
when he wills, to his Wigwam.”

“ What, when you are to be my wife ?”

“ Are the chiefs of the pale-faces so poor that they can not
have but one wife? The red warrior has many."

“ I hadn’t thought of that, but the fact is I don’t know
where she is, though I have searched fur and near, and in-
tend to continue to do so.”

“Then you do love her ?”

“ No; I hate her, and would soon hand her over to the
tribe for torture.
you any thing you ask.” .

“ If I should, I would drive a knife through her heart.”

“.,_\Vhat in the name of heaven would you do that for ?” he
asked, earnestly, and with far more of feeling than the intend-
ed to display.

“ So that she could not come between me and the love of
White Wolf."

“ That would never do.
a. hair of her head.”

She had found out all she desired to know of the state of
his heart—:knew just as plainly as if he had told her that he
still coveted the lovely white girl, and changing the subject,
Inked:

She must not be injured, even in

 

If you will find her, Raven, I will give ‘

 
      

 

      

 

her

are
ittle

rib- ’- I

)of

be-
ed.

ry.
nd

r,

L

mom.wm

4 “Will the pale-face take the Raven, after he has made

‘ t

4' her his wife, with him when he goes to visit his people 1’”

“ That I couldn’t do."

“ And he will soon come back ?"

“Very soon. I may not be gone over a week.”

“ Will he tell the warriors of his plans ?"

“ No, why should he 1’"

“ They are to be his brothers."

“ Does each tell the other when he starts upon a hunting-
tmil or for scalps ‘2”

" When there is any great purpose, yes.”

“ Well, I don’t choose to do 30. But, Raven, I want you

I

 

“V .

to keep a sharp look-out for the white girl while I am gone.
Will you do so ‘5’"

“ The eyes and ears of the Little Raven will be open.”

“ And you need not say what I have gone for to any one
I shall give out that it is to hunt ; that will be enough.”

“ \Vlien will \Vhite Wolf start ‘3"

“ I don’t know. When will you marry me?"

“When you come back, ask me.”

“Why not answer it now ?” _

“ Because he might never return, and then the girls of the
‘tribe would point their fingers at her and cry out shame !”

'~‘ I am certain to come back,” and had he finished the sen-

 tence as it was in his thoughts it would have been with, “ for

vengeance upon your cursed race who have robbed me of
Olive.” .

“ If so soon, he can wait until then for the Little Raven
. to fill his Wigwam, and he can bring presents to make her gay
-‘ for her bridal." 

That he did not Wish. the bride to know of his intentions
was proof positive to her mind of treachery, and though the
conversation drifted into love matters and he protested-it in
the most ardent fashion, yet she kept him at a distance and

‘ Would not permit him to enjoy caresses in the slightest de-
gree. But she managed to convince him (though without
‘ pledging herself) that she adored him more than all the world
--would keep his secrets and be true to him in all respects,
end when they separated he believed her heart to be all his

 

own.

 

  

  

66 mmmm;on,

upon her trail as soon as his back was turned, and entered
the village by another path—how she flung aside her blanket
and the face that was revealed was stamped with any thing
but tender emotions—was that of the Burning Cloud 1
But he met the Little Raven soon afterward, and they ha,
7a long and familiar conversation (though without referring
to what had already transpired that night), and she managed
to deepen still more the impression he had received, and he
felt that he was playing the part of a scoundrel. But, the

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

as little about breaking it.
With all his arrangements perfected, he took his rifle upon

farewell.
and whom he did not see. '

of her Wigwam, and as soon as he had disappeared turned to
her brother —a young warrior of very noble face and figure,
and whispered :

“ Follow him as the wolf follows the wounded bufi‘alo, as

.ever near him and yet never in sight. Hear every word that
issues from his lips but let yours be dumb as death. Be secret
as the mole and crafty as the spider. Let your footsteps be
as light as the falling snowflake, and your ear as sharp as the
stag. Let nothing escape you. More than you dream of
hangs upon what you may learn—perhaps even the fate of
the Whole tribe. If he turns back, bring me the news before
he can get half the way. Let nothing stop you, fire or tem-
pest; heat or cold, sunshine or rain, hunger, thirst, sleep, rest,
thunder or lightning. But should he not come back," and
her eyes flashed still more vividly and her frame trembled
with wild excitement, “should he attempt to fly like a loon-
hearted coward, this I” and she handed him a long knife that
had been ground to razor-like sharpness, “ and bring back

I his scalp or come not at all.”

“My ears are like the soft earth in the springtime to ro~

   

      

There would, however, have been a great revulsion in his: a i I
feelings if he could have seen how she doubled like a hare 

heart of woman was nothing more than a straw, and he cared _'

the following morning and started out as if for a brief hunt, "
passing the Little Raven, pausing and bidding her a kind v
But he also passed another who knew far more. ‘

Burning Cloud was peeping at him through the curtains.

the eagle does the dove—the panther the young doe. Be "

 

 

 

 

 

 

m can oar-run.
:oeive, and like it when frozen in the winter to retain,” he
said, and slowly disappeared from the village, as active, crafty

ti. i_ and well-prepared a spy as ever followed trail for knowledge

or for blood 1
For two clays and two nights he tracked the white man.

Then the trail of the emigrants was reached, and he easily
divined that the object of the renegade was to intercept some
passing train, and fortune favnred him. He saw one toiling

" along in the distance, knew where it would camp, reached

the spot ahead of them, and when Parsons came up was hid.
den so as to watch all that happened—watch and listen.

Free tongue was given to the _conversation, and the spy
heard it all. Then, and without waiting for the light, he
turned homeward, and scarcely a deer could have traveled
more swiftly—traveled without the slightest pause for rest——
burst, travel-stained, into the Wigwam of his sister even while

‘ she was sleeping, and the single word he uttered was the con-

densation of all he had to tell. It was:

“ Naudoway——see 1”

CHAPTER XII.
m'rns: FOREST.

TEE sudden fainting and falling of the wretched night-
Wandering Olive saved her life.

The panther had been startled by her shrill screams, mis-
calculated the distance, leaped over her and was instantly en-
gaged in deadly warfare with another of its kind, that had
also come upon the same errand—was stealing along like a
grim ghost through the bushes, and was hurled to the earth
by the one that leaped from the tree.

But the poor girl fortunately knew nothing of the savage
duel—heard nothing of the snarling, tearing. ripping—the
’, snapping of jaws—-—the reading of claws—the terrible howls.
All that was spared her, and when she awoke to something

 

‘ of consciousness she crawled in an opposite direction, though

 

 

  
       
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
        
      
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
     

mm mum-on,

  

l
'l
 wondering very much as. she paused to rest in the sunshine, to
 that streamed through the treetops, how her dress should have  j
 - become so spotted with blood—which she believed came from V 80
i human veins. “0
 ‘ Refreshing herself from acool spring that trickled out from m
1 the inossy’interstiees of a rock, she endtavored to think of what 33
1 ' it, was best to do. Of her exact locality she had no coneep- m
1' tion, but after an hour of reflection she believed she knew m
;,, , ' the course to the valley, where her lover had been walled in, w
‘ and following the dictation of her heart, womanlike, rather fc
‘» than her reason, she determined upon the desperate task of .- h;
finding and releasing him. i,
But how difficult the undertaking she was soon convinced
, —-(lilfieult and dangerous. More than once she fled in alarm d
1 i from a rustling in the bushes—~011ce she stood almost face to t'
face with a great, gaunt timber-Wolf—once she trod upon a h
shining, scaly serpent, whose horrid hissings mug in her ears i
1, for hours afterward, making her very flesh creep. 1
.1 It was a terribly long, tedious, laborious, foodiess day, and , (

when night gathered around she sought and found a large
hollow tree, gathered branches, crept within, barricaded it,
and, with a fervent prayer to Heaven, was soon 10st in the
deepest slumber of all her young lifetime.

Yet even blessed rest was denied her. Scareely an hour
had paSSed before she was awakened by something scratching
. without, and saw two red eyes peering in at her that flashed
1 “ angry lightnings, while a deep roar told of some wild
‘ beast. Then she intuitiver knew all that was to come——
I ’ knew how much she was at the mercy of some savage mon-
; ' sterl
' She had taken up her quarters in the home of one/of the

huge bears of the mountains, and it was returning to its
eubsl ‘

Guided far more by impulse than reason, she grasped one
of the largest of the branches and struck the hideous beast
in the face, and then, as it drew back in astonishment, she

. sprung forth screaming, to the full extent of her lungs—sprung
‘ ‘ forth and ran swiftly away, the bear following, and it would
‘ ' very soon have torn her limb from limb had not the plain-
tive cries of its cubs recalled it, and with nature triumphing

, 'great cry of misery escaped from her fevered 'lips.

. l

m ’ 0L" cm.

W Mon it returned to the tree, giving her an opportunity
to éflctlpe.

What should she do? She dared neither to stand still or

80 On—had lost all her reckoning—knew not. in what direc-

tion she was going—Was fainting front hunger—was powerless

to protect herself. But with constant prayer for him she loved

as well as her own safety she continued to wander, momen-

_ tarily expecting to be confronted by some of the monsters of

the forest. And so utterly hopeless became her state that she

Would have gladly gone back to the wigwams of the Indians,

- foolishly believing that her condition would excite their pity,

had she known the way—have gone like a bleeding lamb
into the den of wolves. '
Slower became her journeying—fainter was her breath
drawn. She could scarcely draw one poor bruised foot after
the other, and it was evident even to her reeling senses that
bar end was very near—that she would soon have to perish,
in the wilderness—die alone without a single soul to pity, or
kindly hand to close her eyes, and that her body would be-
come the sport of wolves’ whelps and foul carrion birds.
The idea was too horrible to be calmly endured, and a
She
reeled against a tree, grasped it within her arms, and stood
motionless as it turned into stone. The greatest horror of
her existence had burst suddenly upon her. She saw by the
dim light of the early morning that an Indian was coming
toward her—knew that he had heard her screaming—knew
that it was her fearful enemy, Muck-u-keel ’
In an instant he was by her side and his heavy hand was
.nid upon her shoulder, and his harsh voice hissed into her
trembling ears:
“ So the pale-face thought to escape and has nearly perished
- in the wilderness? But she will wander no more. The wings
of the dove shall be clipped so that she can not fly, and the
limbs of the doe fettered so that she can not run.”
“ Merciful God, protect me,” was all that she could gasp, as
film was hurried along with more than brutal rapidity.
“The red-man has been constantly upon her trail,” he con-
tinned, “since she escaped from the Wigwam of old Metiz.
He has followed her test and far. Now she shall nevel

 

70 ‘ V 'rnn‘nnn murmur, \

leave his side again. Where he goes she shall go and he will
make her obey." ‘ .

“Where, oh, where are you going to take me ?”

“ Far away from even the village of his tribe. There he
will keep her until her proud spirit is broken. He will tame
her by hunger and thirst, and heavy loads, and the whip,
and—"

“ Oh, misery l”

“ It is the song she will sing until death 1”

Striking in a directly opposite direction to that of the en-
campment of the tribe, he soon emerged from the timber, and
much to her comfort, even if not joy, she was lifted upon a
horse and carried along until near noon. Then a swift-
winged bullet suddenly put a stop to their course. It had
pierced the skull of the horse, and he reared and fell back-

.ward, carrying his riders to the ground with him, and, as it
appeared, crushing the Indian under him and hurling the girl
to some distance, where she lay crippled, even if not dead.

Then the renegade Parsons issued from the woods, cau-
tiously approached and crept around to obtain a better view
before venturing nearer. But at length he became convinced
that the Indian was powerless to do harm.

But, true to his training. the chief had counterfeited death
to draw the white man to him, for, save his knife and hatchet,
he was weaponless ; and the instant the white man came
within reach he sprung up and upon him with a. yell of de-
light. "

But, if a traitor and black-hearted villain, George Parsons
was a good fighter when the test came—was muscular and
desperate. He met the red warrior without flinching, and
though the heavy buck-skin garments he wore protected him
very much, while his antagonist Was naked, save the shaggy
bear-skin about his loins, yet the battle would have been a long
one and doubtful had not his foot caught in a hole in the
prairie, causing him to lose his balance and be thrown
heavily.

Hui-led backward upon the ground, the white man was at

’the mercy of one who never knew of such a thing, even in

name, and who had many motives besides life and gaining ~

the scalp of his enemy for winning the battle.

 

 

was our: cm 71

"L Quick as thought the Indian was upon the renegade, kneel-
-‘hg upon his arms and rendering them useless, while he felt
f“ the point of his knife with a smile, and then ran his fln-
vlcsrs along the ribs to make certain of the locality of the
heart. But yet he hesitated to strike, and his face wore the
"lick of the serpent when the bird is completely within its
’OWer, and it has only to dart out its forked tongue to bring
~ Heath.
“ Will the pale dog beg for his life ?” he asked.
“ Never 1" was the reply of Parsons, knowing how useless
' - t Would be to to do so.

“ Then he will die 1” hissed the Indian, “ and with his
bleeding scalp Muck-whee will deck the squaw of his race
as he carries her away to be his wife."

“,Devil 1”

“The pale-face was a fool to think the girl Would be his.
‘She'was destined from the first for the Wigwam of the war-
rior."

“ Oh i had I but known this i”

“ It is too late, and he had better sing his death-song.”

“Hal ha! There comes a party of white men and the

'zgirl is rushing toward them.”

For a single instant the red warrior forgot his cunning.
He turned his head and somewhat loosened his hold. Par-
' Ions took advantage of it—wormed himself from under and
8Mung again to his feet. Never was the tide of battle more
Mddenly changed—never one renewed with more intense
V illry or more gallantly contested even though in a bad cause.
A The knife of the Indian struck upon the hatchet of the
‘~' f White man and was shivered to the hilt. He flung the rem-
‘nfint aside with a curse upon the Manitou, and felt for his
"Omahawk. In the desperate struggle it had been loosened
and fallen to ground, and he was weaponless. With the cry
3‘” an enraged beast he closed with his antagonist, fastened
" ,his great teeth in his throat and hung on with the tenacity of
‘1 bulldog. But it was his very last battle—his very last

" ’ttmggle. ‘
Once—twice, the long knife of the white-man was driven
In“) his breast and twisted around with devilish malice.
9n the set jaw: relaxed—the eyes turned in their sockets,

 

7: rmmmzm;on.

and the powerful chief of the Sioux fell backward to the 
earth, dead, and without a. groan. ‘

Smarting from pain—half-strangled—with the marks of  

teeth in his threat that he would carry to the grave, Parsons
was forced to rest and take care of himself before he could
even give a thought to the prize he had battled so desperately

and nearly fatally for. But he hastened to tear away a por- ‘ 

tion of his garments, and having stanched the blood, crawled
to where she [was lying.

She saw him coming and attempted to fly—ran a little dis-  1-

tance into the wood and then fell exhausted. Nature had 31- 4
ready been too much overtaxed for her to endure more, and
unless she could have rest and care, death would certainly fol-
low and that at no great distance.

On gaining possession of Olive, the renegade would have ~
instantly returned and joined his new-made friends the emi-
grants. But neither the captive nor himself was in a condi-
tion to do so and he was forced to remain. Yet scarcely had
be fixed a place for a temporary encampment before there ap-
peared before his startled eyes the Indian girl—Little Raven!

“ The pale chief has found the squaw with the soft hair
and skin like snow,” she said, “and is taking her back to the
wigwams of the red-man ‘?”

“ Yes—yes," he stammered, not daring to deny it.

“ He has meta bear in the woods ?” she asserted rather than Vv

asked. ~
“ Yes,” and he willingly enlarged upon the story that
Would save him from telling the truth. ‘
“ The Little Raven will dress his wounds,” and having pro- ‘
cured soft bark and gum she did so with exceeding skill. ’
' “ How came you here ‘2" he asked. .
“She was coming to meet her lover. Her heart longed for '
him as the deer for the salt-lick.”
“ For the the love of heaven,” exclaimed Olive, “save me '
from this brutal man. He has killed—" .,
“ If the maiden of the white skin would live she must keep .
her tongue between her teeth,” hissed the Indian girl, with a h
‘ ecowling face and half-drawing her knife. ’ ;
“ You are right, Raven,” responded the renegade. “ She must ’
not speak, for she would utter nothing but lies.” -

,

 

 

v

miem cm 78

V‘“Has the pale chief visited his people and brought her
present i’” again questioned Little Raven. I .

“ No. He found this girl and was hastening back to give
her up to the tribe.” .
' “And make Raven his Wife ?”

(I Yes." ‘

“Has he seen any thing of Muck-whee f”

“ N o."

“ He is telling what is not true,” interrupted Olive, “ for
he kil.cd——”

“ Let the pale squaw come again between the Raven and

,her lover and I Will tear out her tongue 1” and the knife of

the squaw flashed so near her face that Olive shrunk back,
covered her face with her hands and remained silent.

But when the squaw had gathered branches and made a
shelter for Parsons and one at some distance for the white girl
--whcn she had built a fire, cooked it little venison she had
brought with her—had fed both—had steeped some roots
and herbs and given the renegade to drink, she came and sat
by her female companion with her drawn knife in her hand.

I Then once more Olive ventured to speak and ask :

“ Will you not tell me what is to he done with me 1’"
“ I will kill you as I would the rattlesnake that tried to

r. bite me if you attempt to escape l" was the stern answer.

‘

Another silence of an hour passed. Then the Little Ra:
ven arose and noiselessly sought the side of her pretended
lover. She bent down so that her face almost touched his
and listened long and earnestly, and having satisfied herself
that his slumber Was no counterfeit one, she returned to Olive,
lale down beside her, and whispered : ‘

“ Now the pale squaw may talk. The ears of the chief
ue like those of the deaf adder. Little Raven is her friend.

Let her tell all that has happened since she left the Wigwam
of the red-men."

“ I thought you lowd that man,” replied Olive.

“I hate him, but he must not know it. Let the pale
aquaw open her heart, and it will be Well for her," and she
drew her companion to her and left a reassuring kiss upon
her lips. ‘

Then the poor prisoner did indeed open her heart a: '

 

74 mm, m wrmn; on,

all. The girl dashed out into the prairie and assured herself
that the death of Muck-u—kee was no fable, and was come.
quently easily convinced of the truth of the rest, and after a
little, persuaded Olive to sleep. .

“ The sun will again be high,” she said, “ before the eyes
of the pale chief are open. The drink that Little Raven gave
him will hold him next to death.”

“ And you will protect me ‘3”

“ With my life. But it will not be needed. Let her
sleep.”

The squaw released her from her warm embrace—drew her
blanket over her head, and remained motionless for along time.
Then she cautiously arose, disappeared, and in an hour after
was in the Wigwam of the Burning Cloud.

CHAPTER XIII.
TEE scour.

Wrrn the dawnof light the scout was astir, and began care-
fully investigating the ground. But he had gone ovar very
little of it when he saw the old Medicine come sauntering
along and enter his cave, that was so well guarded by beasts
and reptiles. He watched until the old man came out again,
trailed him as he visited the walled up spot where the physi-
cian was confined, and waited unlil he returned to the vil-
lage, and then crawled near and gave vent to his thoughts at"
ter his own peculiar manner:

“ Here am ernother of ther old devil’s dens and I don’t
like ther looks on it nuther. But I-must know all of his
run-ways and what he am erbout. Besides, no one must
know that I am eround and it may come handy ef I should
have ter cut fer my life.”

It. was a wise though a dangerous resolution, and had
not a party of hunters stopped directly in front of it w
cook game, the suffering prisoner would have been immes V
diater rescued. That prevented, but still he linger ed neu— 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

,rnn'cnm mrvn. 75

crawled to the rocks above and watched them closely. It
was at too great a distance, however, for him to hear what
was being said, andcuriosity drew him nearer. But he soon
had occasion to regret. it, for venturing upon the very verge
of the cliff it crumbled beneath his weight and he rolled down

'like a great ball into their very midst!

The startled Indians tied in every direction, satisfied that
it was the ghost of the man they had seen swinging from the

, tree above, and, taking advantage of their f1 ight, the scout

also disappeared, making the woods ring with hideous moons)
and laughter.

This story he knew would be circulated far and wide and
believed by all but the Burning Cloud, and the valley avoided,
especially after nightfall, so he prepared a. number of rude
torches, and having lighted one, he removed a stone, as the
Medicine had done, and crawled into the prison-house of the
nearly dead physician.

“ Great God i” he exclaimed, as the sounds of sufl‘ering
came to his ears, and he started back with the intention of
retreating, for though he had enjoyed the fright of other: he
was not proof against the power of ghosts himself.

The sounds continued. Low moaning came distinctly,
and straining his eyes he could discover nothing but a pile of
stones, that so much resembled a grave as to make him shud-

" der. Yes, it must he a ghost that was luring him to de-

\struction, and the fate of the physician hung upon the most
slander of threads. ,

' “For the love of heaven," was breathed in a. faint and
trembling voice, “ come and put an end to my wretched life,
and I will even forgive all that you have done and pray for
'ou.” ‘ \

3 “ Great thunder-and lightning l” exclaimed the scent, even
more astonished than he had been before, “ who be yer i’”

“ 0h! Wash—thank God—I am the doctor.”

“ 'I‘her doctor 1"

He could scarcely believe what he had heard. The physi-
cian alone and in such a place, and more than all in a tomb
of stones! The scout hesitated not a moment, but, kindling
a fire sufficient to illuminate the cavern, he then set to work
with a will to remove the stones, muttering deep and bum

 

r

m imam wrzm;'on,

curses upon the hand that had placed them there. Then fol-

lowed the loosening of the bonds, and tears came into his eyes.

as he saw to what a state the physician had been reduced, and
holding him tenderly in his arms he heard his story.

“ May ther devil burn and tear him with red-hot pinchers
fere'rer and ever," growled the scout, from between his set
teeth. “ But, how much you must have sutfered l”

“ More than tongue can tell.
she alive? Is she Well ‘3"

" Yes—I believe so.
won’t: be gone very long and will bring yer somethin’ to
eat."

“ Do not stay away any longer than is necessary.”

“ Yer Kin bet all ther beaver-skins between heah and ther
Mississip, I shan’t be gone any longer than I kin posserbly
help. 1 don’t fancy ther neighborhood jest now any more
than yer do.”

“ Now,” muttered the scout, as he crawled forth into the
open air again, “ ter find ther ClOUC .”

It had grown very dark and he found his way along with
difliculty, but knowing the direction of the village he steadily
kept it until he could distinguish the light of the tires and
even hear voices. He «made his way to the trysting-place
in the Indian grave-yard and there awaited. '

He had not long to wait, however, for Burning Cloud
soon stole out from the wigwams, and when she reached the
blazed trees that marked the spot devoted to the dwellings

'of the dead, she softly called the name of her lover.

He leaped lightly forward, and drawing, her to him they
sat down and conversed long and earnestly, for each had very
much to tell.

Then he accompanied her as near the village as he dared

~lingered and caressed her—and at last would have torn‘

himself away and retreated to a more secure place. But,
even as he turned around he was confronted by half a dozen
warriors who had crept llke serpents around, and was in.
stantly pinioned.

But it was joy to him to know that the squaw had es-
caped, and still more so that she had been mistaken for a
man. This their excited conversation among themselves no-

But what of Olive? Is

But now, doctor, I must be off. I

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

I

m can 0mm. 77."

r‘ 'vealed, and when questioned he boldly gave the name 01'

Muck-a-kee l
Dragged into the center of the wigwams he was bound to
the post of torture, and great rejoicing at his capture followed.

1‘ And the very thing he had at first feared came to pass. He

was known, andthe air rung with the name of “ Beaver Tail !"

 

CHAPTER XIV.
PLOTTING.

“ Numowsymsee I” had been the exclamation of the
brother of the Burning Cloud when he (lashed almost breath-
less into her wigwam and flung himself pantingupon the
floor.

She did not question further at the time. The word
‘ enemy ’ convinced ln-r, as she had before believed, that the
renegade Parsons had proved as treacherous to her nation as
he had been to his own, and with the remarkable patience of
her race she waited for further revelation, brought water and

' bathed the feet of the nearly exhausted runner, gave him

food and stimulating drinks, and then filled, lighted and hand-
ed him a pipe.

“ The trail of my brother has been long and swift. He
has known neither rest or sleep. Will he tell his sister what
he has seen ‘t”

He related the story, taking a long time for what could
have been condensed into a few words. He had followed
'the white man—had seen him camp with a number of his
own race—armed men—with plenty of wagons and horses—-
had told them a false story about his wife having been cap-
,tured by the red-men and that she was destined to die of
torture. And, believing this, they had promised to come and
help kill the entire tribe and rescue her. But he was to
come first—they follow more slowly and wait in ambush until
he gave the signal. Then they were to rush forward,pour in
their murderous rifle-shots and slaughter indiscriminately
men, women and children.

9‘8 ' mm It!!!) wrung» on,

“ Is that all ‘2" questioned the girl, trembling with sup
pressed passion. I

It Yes."

“Does any one know of this ?”

“ No one but you and the Manitou."

“ Then keep it hidden within your heart. Keep it unti.
the Burning Cloud tells you to speak, and the dearest wish
of your heart shall be gratified.”

“ Does she know ?” he began asking, in confusion.

“ She knows that you love the Little Raven, and she shall
certainly be yours." ' -

“ But the pale-face ?”

“ The Raven hates him," and then, under her breath, “ even
as I love another.”

“ My sister will keep her promise ?”

“ Before the moon of the falling leaf, she shall be singing
sweet songs of love in your Wigwam, and for your ear alone.”

“ It is enough. No torture shall cause my lips to be opened
to any but you.”

He passed out, and as soon as he had disappeared, the ,
squaw took from her neck the richest string of wampum she
possessed. She had destined it to be the brightest ornament
at her own bridal. ,It was one she had woven for that ex-
press purpose. Mufiiing it in her blanket, she walked slowly
to the home of the Little Raven, and there being no one else
in the wigwum, she laid it in the‘lap of her friend, and said,
in a mysterious whisper: “ This from the Young Bear 1”

The eyes of the Raven flashed with as much delight as
surprise.i Among all the braves she would have chosen the
brother of the Burning Cloud for a lover. She turned the,
trinket over and over, and the visitor fancied at first it would

be rejected ; but when she saw it pressed warmly to her lips, "

and placed next to her heart, she was satisfied, and boldly
proclaimed the secret object of her mission.

“ The false-hearted pale-faced lover of the Raven is coming
back to croak into her ears his lying words. She must meet. '
him, pretend still to love him, lure him on, see that he does
not turn aside from the trail, and let the Burning Cloud know
ell he says and does. Then she will see that no other eye!
than hers look into the heart of the Young Bear, and tint ‘

 

’1» sings into no other cars than here He will yet be a great
‘chief, and his name be sung in the councils of the nation.”

Wild With delight at the prospect, the young and passion-
swayed squaw was ready to promise any thing, and, after lis-
tening t0 the instructions of her wiser and sharper sister, she
at once took the trail, and was seen no more in the village
until she came back bursting with the news of the death of
Muck-n-kee, and the capture of the white girl by the renegath
lover.

The Burning Cloud inquired very minutely into all the
particulars, and her face glowed with gratitude and smiles as
she learned how fate had favored her.

“But, will the pale-face sleep until the Raven returns
again ?" she asked.

/“ He drank deeply of the leaves that take away all feeling,”
was the reply,“ and the sun will be above the tree-tops before
’his eyes are open again.” I

“ And the squaw with the skin like the snow ?”

“She is worn to a shadow, and so tired, her moccasins
would grow faint, be the trail ever so short.”

“ It is well. Let the Raven go sleep.”

Left alone, the Burning Cloud pondered long and deeply
upon her course. The skein was twisted, and she saw no
way of unraveling it. The motives that swayed her were
various, and each was strong. Love was the master passion,
,and if driven to extremity, She would sacrifice every thing to
that, But revenge upon the renegade was burning strongly
within her soul, and longed to be satisfied with blood. As
for the beautiful Olive, gratitude to the physician would do
very much for him, but yet she had no very strongly marked
interest in her fate, save that she would keep her from tor-
ture.

The web was indeed strangely interwoven with bright and
dark threads, and she knew not which way to turn to clear the
meshes to her satisfaction. Had she known of the fate of the scout
1—115. she dill subsequently—all would ham been plain. Now
she was groping in the dark. But she had to decide quickly,
and after all the time that could be possibly given to thought
she took to the forest, trusting to chance.

Midnight had long since faded into the small hours, ad

 

    
 

t
i
i
5

30.

m m mum; on,

knowing that it would require all of her exertions to each
the spot—to which she had been directed by the Little Ra-

, ven—before the dawn, she ran as rapidly as her strength

would permit. Her keen eyes, trained to the darkness, en-, » «
abled her to find the way when another would have been at

' fault, and she was rapidly putting the miles behind her when

she came to a little spring that bubbled forth in the center
of a dense thicket, anti paused to quench her thirst and ob-
tain a. little rest. But even as she did so she became aware
that something was crashing along behind her and—it might
be man or beast—she drew back, hoping to escape unno-
ticed.

Vain hope! A black figure almost instantly stopped by
her side, and an angry voice hissed into her ears—a voice that
she knew but too well:

“ So you have come to meet your pale-face lover ‘2"

“ The trail is open and my foot is free,” she replied.
“ Who dare stop me ‘2”

“ I dare.”

“ By what right ‘t”

“Though you have refused to be my wife yet the honor
of the tribe is mine, and you shall not disgrace it.”

“ Honor ?" and she started as if serpent-stung.

“ Ay, honor,” he replied, knowing full well that the word
would reach her heart more painfully than a knife would

‘have done. “The words of the pale-face are ever false.

They whisper lies into the ears of the red-men—they trail
them on to shame, and when they are asked for the fa-
ther of their children they can only how their heads' into
the dust.” ‘

“ Burning Cloud is the daughter of a great chief,” she an- .
swered, drawing herself up proudly. “ He who couples her
name with disgrace must beware 1” and she half-drew her 7
knife. ‘

He knew as well as she did her pride of birth, and was
determined to sting her upon the most tender point.

“ The daughter of a. chief when she stoops to love an enemy
is worse than any other.”

“ Who says I have done so 1’”

“ The whole tribe.”

 

  

 

 

 

“ Then some serpent has hissed the venom in their but too
' willing ears.”

“It is the scout, Beaver Tail, though he stole the name like
a thieving dog, that she loves."

“ Well ‘2”

“He has a wife in every tribe."

“ It is false as the heart of the Wahkan Shecha."

“ The Evil Spirit has poisoned her cars so that she can not
‘ tell the straight trail from the crooked one.”

“ Who says he has a wife in every tribe ‘f” she questioned,
fiercely.

“ And when sleep has fallen upon the eyes of the red-man
she steals out to meet him,” he continued, without giving the
slightest heed to her question. ‘

“ May the Manitou curse and palsy the lips that dare
to utter such lies 1” and her eyes rayed out dangerous flash-
ings.

“ But the warriors will find his trail and then he will
die.”

“ He does not fear to do so.”

“ Does the Burning Cloud believe the words he Whispers
in her ears as she lies in his arms and gives her lips to his
kisses.”

V Every fiber in her frame quivered with passion, and the
mastery by which she restrained herself was wonderful. He
had heaped upon her the deepest insults she had ever re-
ceived, but she was determined to hide the time when she
could safely repay them with compound interest. Now she
had other ends in view—from policy restrained her impetu-
ous temper and he went on: . ‘

“ The name of the nation is blackened by Burning Cloud.”

“ Her trail has ever been open.” -

“It is hidden like that of the mole.”

“ What would he have her do i" ‘

“ Tell the red warriors where the dog of a pale-face is hid
den, and give him up to torture."

“ Well ?”

“Then let her choose a. husband of her own people.”

“ Which means YOU 1"

He saw that she had craftily read his purpose even baton

 

83‘ m m mum); on,

he had. spoken of it, and went on even more bitterly than be-
fore.

“ When the children cry for the father they shall never see
and beg for bread—"

She spat in his face before he could finish the sentence, so
intense was her passion. Her entire soul was up in arms and
she hissed back: ’

“ Oh, that I were a man but for a moment that I miglt :
cram the foul wcrds down your throat and tear out your lyin;a
tongue!”

He laughed tauntingly and she proceeded :

“ But, woman as I am, if you dare repeat your words or
say aught against my honor I will do my best to brain you on
the spot and let out your black blood for the cubs of the wolf
to lap and grow fat on.”

“ She should have been a brave,” he sneered.

“ I am brave. Stand aside and let me pass.”

“ Listen to me,” and he would have placed his hand upon
her arm had she not drawn back. “ You shall never be the.
wife of the pale-face—never see him again. I have long sought
for this hour and now you shall swear by the great Manitou
to be mine or—"

“ When you can make the. mountains bow down to the val-
leys, then I will be your wife, but until then, never.”

“ Because you love the pale-face ?"

“ Because I hate you 1”

“ And you shall have reason. Not far from here is the
home of the rattlesnakes. Burning Cloud knows it well. If
she will not be my wife I will throw her into their midst and
none will ever know of her fate. Thousands of forked tongues
will be darted at her— thousands of poisoned fangs be buried
in her flesh -.—thousands of slimy bodies crawl over and around
her while still living 1"

“ I would rather die even thus than become your wife,” she
cried as she sprung upon him, as suddenly and fiercely as
does the mountain-cat upon the one who would rob her of
her young.

Taken entirely by surprise the Indian received a severe
wound in his shoulder before he could defend himself, and
then, his anger at white heat, he grappled with the squew and

n

 

 

  

 

er" R .u, -- a,»

, v

me one  88.

its could disarm her, gain possession of her hands and hold
them. Then they stood face to face, she completely power-
‘less to either injure or escape.
“ Now,” he asked, triumphantly, “ will she promise to become
his wife ‘9”
“ Never !"
“ Then by the Manitou he will give her to the serpents 1"
She shuddered at such a terrible fate and made the most
desperate etl'orts to escape. And he found it most difficult to

‘ drag her along. But he succeeded in doing so, inch by inch

Ind foot by foot until at last they stood above the terrible den.
“ For the last time,” he asked, “ will you be my wife ?"
What should she answer? She could distinctly hear the

dashing of countless rattles—could smell the foul odors——

could see the flashing of myriads of lidless eyes—the vibrat-
ing of the forked tongues that played like lumbent lightning.

For all the darkness around she could see the scaly folds of

the numberless savage reptiles, that, disturbed by their foot-

steps, wormed in a living mass like boiling waves breaking
unon some rocky beach. Horrible—the‘ like of which earth
holds not, and what could she do to avert such a fate?

Renounce the scout—perjure her very soul and become
the wife of the one she not only detested but who would even
thus dastardly seek to make her his own? The bare thought
nerved her to even greater strength, and the battle became
fierce indeed.

Then, 'when 'the Indian had succeeded in dragging her to
the very verge of the rocky den, a strange light burst sud-
denly upon their eyes, and he drew her to him, and grasping
her throat, almost strangled her in his efforts to keep her si-
lent. A light flashed upon them—the report of a rifle was

' geard,’ and, with a mighty groan the treacherous Indian sunk

ackward to the ground.

A rush through the bushes was heard—a little party of
white hunters who were out ‘shining deer,’ appeared upon
the scene, and one exclaimed triumphantly :-

.“ Buck or doc, my boys, it was my shot.”

“ Great Heaven I" replied the one who carried the torch
" you have killed an Indian 1” .

o
'

84 THE RED WIZARD; on,

“ An‘Indian? You must be mad.”

“ Look for yourself.”

‘f God forgivenie. it is true. I would have sworn it was
the eyes of a. deer I shot at.”

“ You are not the first man who has been deceived in the
same way. But, what shall we do with the poor devil ? It
Won’t answer to have this known. Hark! \Vhat sound is
that? A rattlesnake den as I am a. sinner! Here is the
opening. In with him, men." '

It was soon done. Though he was already (lead, his body
found the same resting-place he would have given her living \
one, and that portion of the party who had promised to assist
the renegade Parsons (and were waiting for him) hastily de-
camped.

Of the Burning Cloud they knew nothing. The instant
the iron hand unclasped from her throat she had skulked into
the bushes and darted swiftly away.

C H A P T E R X V .
HIDDEN wonnmos.

Tr Was just after daylight when Olive awoke from her
numbers, but so busy had her brain been with dreams that it
was some little time before she could realize her situation.
Then she looked around for the squuw that had promised to
be kind to her—saw that; she was sitting at a little distance
with her blanket drawn over her head, and whispered:

“ Little Raven ‘3” after thinking for some time upon the
neon she had but once heard.

“ It is not Little Raven," was answered in a strange voice.
“ $1.: is in the wigwams of the Sioux. What would the
squsw of the pale-faces ‘3” '

“ Alas! she promised to be my friend.”

“ And why should I not be ?”

“ Because all of your people appear to hate me.”

3‘ There are good and had in every nation. One of you
on: race has been your worst enemy.”

 

   

\,

   

m can cm

     

‘ " It is too true. Where is he now i’”
4-.“ Sleeping as the Raven left him."

     
 

 
   
     
 

was . .
“ Then if you are a friend you Will fly With me.”

the 7 “ There is no danger. The snake is scotched. He may

It A turn his fangs upon himself but can bite no one else.” -

is “ Who are you ?” '

he “ A squnw 1"

   

The word was accented with the most extreme bitterness, >
and ‘for a moment her eyes flashed with outraged feelings, ‘

 
     
   
   
     
 

“h but seeing that the white girl shrunk from her in fear she
S: [smoothed her face, threw back her blanket and drawing
,_ nearer to Olive continued:

1 “ The Burning Cloud.”

r “ What is that ?"

“ My name, in the tongue of the pale-face. She is the friend
of Little Raven, and will be yours. But first let me tell what
you are longing to hear.”

‘“ Of whom ?”

“ Whose name does her heart whisper the most ?"

The girl blushed until her face would have shamed the
gorgeouslcrimson-piuk of the prairie, and leaned forward anx-
_ l  iously; but she made no reply, and the young'squaw con-
"'  . tinued: .

> ‘f It is the Medicine of the pale’face, and he is safe.”
“ Heaven be praised l”
,  “She can thank the Mauitou and the scout. But he has

_—_ passed through terrible trials.”

“ Alas! that he also has had to suffer."
“ When the black ravens of death were creaking into his
, ears, and in another hour he would have been wandering on *
'1 the shores of the dark river that rolls between this and the
> COuntry of souls, he waded through dangers as through a
mighty flood and saved him." -

“ Tell me, that I may know how to thank him

“He is himself upon the trail of death 1” she replied, very
1,0le and sorrowfully, and with her eyes overflowing with
tears “ But the Burning Cloud will save him or die 1”

“ You i” asked Olive, in astonishment.

' “ Can not one with skin like the chestnut, love as well u

- he who is like the my 22'

 
     
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
     
 

H

 
   
   
     
   
    
  

v

    

I It mam mum); on,

“ Certainly. Hearts are, the same. And you love—”

“ I came not to talk of him. The Medicine is his friend,
and for his sake Burning Cloud would save you. Let her get
up and come with me."

“ \Vhere ?”

” If she doubts, she may follow her own trail. If she trusts,
she may come.”

Too weak to contend, even if she had been disposed to do
50, Olive arose and accompanied her to the spot where the
renegade, Parsons, was lying, hound hand and foot, and loudly
cursing the one that had made him so.

“ Little Raven,” he said, as soon as the squaw came in sight,
“ what does this mean '3"

“ Let him look again,” she replied, calmly, stepping forward,
so as to give him a clear Vview of her face.

“ You—I do not know you.”

“ But I do you,” she hissed, rather than spoke.

“ No, no. You are mistaken. I have never met you be-
fore.”

“The pale thief has a bad memory or lies ”

“ I am certain I am right.”

“ Listen.”

She briefly recounted what had transpired at their first meet-
ing, and he trembled as a coward, as she proceeded:

“ More than that, he has lied to the Little Raven, and this
poor white squaw. But the dark-mouthed wolves of death
are upon his trail.”

“ You are wrong,” he stammered.

“Wrong? Does he know her ?" and she dragged the un-
willing Olive forward, and turning to her, said, as she held
out her knife: “ Take this and revenge yourself until your
heart is satisfied. Cut away his skin, little by little, until his
body looks as if spotted with the small-pox. Do any thing
you wish so that you do not take his life. When death comes,
it must be at the hands of the red-man.”

. “ I can not—can not I" shriekcd the white girl,as she turned
away in horror, even at the thought.

“ It is well for him,” continued the savage-minded squaw,
“that our places are not changed. Then, indeed, he might
have reason to tremble, forI would have led him such a dance

 

 

 

 

 

 

v;
.. ‘

men? emu. at,

0! death as would, have made him crawl like a serpent in the
dust, and beg for death. But will you take no revenge upon
him ?" .
“ None—none l" still gasped Olive. !
3 V “ At but a. little distance is a wet spot, where the reeds grow
”  tall and the grass rank. There the musketoes and bufl‘alo-
 , gnats and the great green-headed flies breed and swarm.
) .3 Will she help the Burning Cloud to drag him thither, so that.
 ' they um: sting him like thousands of needles, poison his
“ flesh, and suck his blood, and yet he can not brush them

off ‘9”

 

“ No; no i” *
, . ’ “ The heart of the pale-face is too soft. The child of the
 red-man could sit by his side and laugh to see his struggles,
. and sing when he groaned."
“For the love of heaven,” pleaded the afl‘righted Olive,
“let us leave him and get to a place of safety."
I “ Leave him I" answered the squaw. in a voice that thrilled'
6:}. ' with emotion. “ Leave him? You know not whac you ask. i
A life worth as many thousands of his as there are sands on 
the sea-shore may be hanging upon it. But We will not .'
stay here. There is yet a long trail to he traveled. Get up, i
dog 2” , '
She kicked the prostrate form and made him struggle to 
his feet—a dilflcult task for one so cunningly fettered. But 5
at last it was accomplished, and she loosened the bandages ‘
so as to enable him to walk. Then she took a stout thong '
of buck-skin from her girdle, looped it around his neck so 
 5; that it would cut into the flesh and strangle him in case of l
a"  resistance, and dragged him forward, as miserable, guilty, ter- 1
r ‘_ rifled a wretch as could have been found upon the entire face _
' u ' of the earth.
\ . “ For God’s sake," he gasped, “have a little mercy.”
V » s “ Did you have any on this poor girl P” she asked.
“ If I must die, at least leave me in peace until then.”
“If I could have my way," was the fierce response, “I
would 'tio you to the tail of an unbroken colt, turn. him loose,
and let him drag you until every particle of flesh wastorn
qfl’frem your body inch by inch. But let him he dumb, or - -
813 l‘,‘ andshe. pressed the sharp Point-0f her knife 385101“ 1"

 

  


it

.~

.‘rw‘v‘ _.<.. 5%.. ..,

m»; m.-

   
 

 

93‘ mm mum); on,
side until it penetrated through the clothing and pierced the
flesh. ’

Avoiding the beaten trail, the squawmfollowed by the
white girl——led her wretched captive—often sneering at him
for being the prisoner of a woman—toward the village of the
SIOUX. ' Whatever was her purpose she kept it hidden with-
in her own brain—would answer no questions~—paused only
.‘ilien Olive was compelled to rest, and even denied the_rcne-
gade a single drop of water, and drove him forward with her
knife when his pace became too slow to suit her. I

But, as the day drew on and they were nearing the village
of her people—were passing through a deep, dark valley so
narrow that the branches of the trees on either side bent over

and interlocked, she suddenly paused—motioned Olive, and.

forcibly dragged her captive to the ground, drew the cord
still inore tightly around his throat, and holding the point of
her knife in one hand, directly above his heart, lifted a great
stone in the other, and whispered in his shrinking ear:

“ Make the slightest noise—dare but to speak—breathe
louder than common, and I swear by the Manitou that! will
drive the knife through you before any one can come to your
assistance.”

Her face, terrible in its vindictiveness, told that she would
not scruple to carry out her threat, and he shivered for fear
accident might accomplish it even if design did not.

Heknew batter than she did that they were near the spot
where his new friends had encamped—that a scouting party

. were upon the hill directly above them—that a single call

would bring them to his side—would bring - him freedom: ‘
Yet he dare make no sound—was forced to motionless silence.

.The line that sustained his life was as brittle as a spider's

web. The fierce eyes of the Indian girl were upon him——
the hand that held the knife as firm as a rock. In fact a
single loud breath would have ended in a parting groan, and
desperate as was his situation in other respects. a sigh of re-
lief escaped him as the little party of white men passed along
and Burning Cloud laid aside the heavy stone and withdrew
her terrible weapon. -~
“Get up,” she whispered, “and go on silently. By the

Manitou of the pale-man as well as the red, I will strangle .

 

 I ..  .

7" mi?" 1

 

 

*m GAY! 

you and bury my weapon in your breast if you utter a sin-
gle sound or make an effort to let any know you are here."

He could do nothing but obey, and journeyed wearily on
until she bade him pause. Then she gave the low, plaintive
cry of the whippowil, thrice repeated, and in an instant after
her brother was by her side—her brother and the Little Ra-
vnn.

“ You will guard him more carefully than your life or
honor," commanded Burning Cloud. "Keep him here until
you hear from me again. Come," she continued to Olive,
who was wonderingr what the end of this strange journey
would be, and taking her by the hand she avoided the wig-
warns.

“ Oh! tell me," asked Olive, who, from what she had seen,
was afraid of her companion, “0h! tell me where you are
going to take me.” -

‘1 To safety and to— Hist 1"

She drew her to the ground, and covered her with her
blanket—bade her lie still as death, and left her side—left her
alone for what seemed months. Then she returned, and her
voice was sad and step heavy.

“ Him I love,” she said, no longer attempting to conceal
her passion, “is a prisoner, and tied to the post of torture."

“ Great heaven ! The scout ‘3”

“Even him. But don’t talk. Come quickly.”

“ You have not yet told me where ?" .

Burning Cloud made no answer. She hurried the girl
- along regardless of all obstacles, and soon stopped in front of.
the walled-up cavern and removed one of the stones.

“ What is your lover’s name 1’" she asked, and then, as [no
hesitated, continued, “ Call him.” _

Olive did so—was answered, and a moment after they were
fast locked in each other’s arms, and lip was responding to
lip.

“ Back with the stone into its place," hoarser commanded
the squaw. “ Don’t stir from here on peril of your lives-
Now to save him or die in the attempt I”

 

    

    

C H A P T E R X V I .
TERRIBLE TORTURE.

AFTER 2; time the scout was removed from the post to
which he had been bound, led into a Wigwam, and having
been fettered securely, was left to himself until the dawning
of another day should afford the opportunity for torture.

So noted a hunter and scout as Beaver Tail could not be
hurried out of the world. Great éclat must be given to the
event—every one of the warriors must be notified—the tor-
ture must be of the superlative degree. I

But, great was their astonishment when the sun rose again
and the wigwam was found to be empty!

‘Numbers would have sworn that they had been constantly
on the watch, and he had not gone forth—that, save the
braves and the squaws, no one had been seen—that he must
have vanished, even as the mist of morning before the hot

sun.
‘ Yet, even while they were discussing what could possibly
have become of him, the scout was laughing in the forest,
with the Indian_girl, at the tumult his flight had caused.

“ _It was most mighty cute of you, Cloud," he said, “ter
think of such a thing, and none but a smart woman like you
could have poeserbly carried it out, without bein’ found out"

“ I feared," she replied, looking up lovintrly into his face,
“that even after I had thrown the blankets and dresses into
the Wigwam, as Little Raven and I were walking along, that
you would not be able to get your hands loose, and then all
Would have been useless.”

“ It was hard. that am er fact. But I l'arned somethin’ of

ther doctor, and as yer war smart enufi‘ ter throw in er knife ‘

too, I managed ter git ther blade between my teeth and use
it like at saw until ther confounded thengs parted. But sich
or time as I had gittin‘ ther things on ! And though I didn’t
see my way clear by a long shot, I couldn’t help lafin’ ter
think how lire ther 01d Scratch I would look in yer woman‘s

r “1 gut-z an

 

   
 

 

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; loggery. But I had ter wait er long timB berfore I dared
venture out."

“The heart of Burning Cloud heat more swiftly than it
had ever done before, and she trembled like the leaves of the
poplar in the winds of winter."

“ Yet somebody helped me, or I would have stuck fast, and
menu; likely bin a—roastiu‘ by this time. Did yer have er
hand in that ar’ fracas ?”

“ I told Little Raven and my brother,” she answered, with
a smile, “ to go to the other side of the village and manage
some way to draw the warriors there while I gathered a
crowd of young squaws for you to mingle with and pass out

V of sigh t."

“ And they did it most efl‘ectunlly l I never heard sich a
screamin’ and yellin’ and dorg-fightin’ in all my born days,
so I jest peeped out ter see what ther row was, and findin’
ther coast cl'ar, venteret .”

“ And soon was in a. place of safety ‘2"
" Yes, and more'n that, did or leetle matter of business ar

' ter you had gone.”

“ What was that i” she questioned, curiously.

“ Ther old Medercine will find out when he goes wanderin’
Inter his devil’s den ergin." ~

“ Have you been to the secret cave of the Medicine?" she
asked. trembling with fear as she heard his answer, and look
ing upon him with intense admiration as the bravest 6f the
brave.

“ I was thar.
casion ter go ergin.”

“ What did you see ?”

“ I'll tell yer some time when we ain’t got quite so much
on hand—some time when every thin’ is peace and plenty
around us and we‘ve got nothing to do but to talk and make
love," and he gave her a sample in advance.

“ And now ‘3” she questioned, 3 she released herself with
some difliculty from his over-warm embrace, even though
pleased with it.

“ Wal, ther plan we have talked about seems ter he the:
best, and I reckon we had better cling ter it.”

“ Then the Burning Cloud will go.”

But I don‘t think I shall ever have any oc-.

 

n . maximum; on,

“ It am about time.” I

Released, after another shower of kisses, the Indian girl .
stole back again into the village and mingled with the crowd l 
that surrounded the Medicine. He was very much engaged
In attempting to explain what he knew nothing about, and
was boldly asserting that the Evil Spirit had carried off the
scout bodily—that he had vanished like smoke and would
never be seen again, when a muflled form forced its way to
where he was standing, and, throwing aside the blanket that:
ent‘olded him, the missing prisoner stood revealed, and said
with a half-smile: I

“I don’t think ther Old Scratch has got hold on me yet,
whatever he may do some of these days.”

The appearance of the Evil One, with hoofs, horns, claws
and brimstone-breath, could scarcely have produced a more
decided impression. The warriors started back in terror,
the squaws fled shrieking—the Medicine stood aghast, and
had the scout been so minded he could have gone whichever
way he willed without any one daring to molest him. But
such was not his purpose. The part he was to play had been
well thought of, and, after giving them time to become some-
what convinced that he was not a ghost escaped from the
graveyard, he continued :

“Warriors of ther Sioux, thnr’s er good many of yer who
have known me. fer years and yer have always found my trail
er honest and er open one. We have bin friends and I mean
that we shall be so ergin. Ef I had been or mind I could
have got whar yer never could have found me and it would
have been mighty dangerous fer yer ter come."

“ Beaver Tail is cunning upon the trail and brave on the
war-path,” replied the chief, obliged to say something.

“ Wal, I don’t make no boast of fightin’—it hain’t my trade.
But I won my name fairly in trappiu’ beaver, and yer know
they are a cunnin’ varmint.”

“ The skins he has taken are countless as the stars.”

“ Not quite so many as that. But. I didn‘t come back to
brag. Yer see, I trusted ye, and knew we would be friends
ergin, when yer got ther black scales from before yer eyes, an’
stood in ther sunshine, an’ could see things as they am. So
I came back with naked hands. S'nrch me, of yer have ex

 

 
 

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aged
and
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that
said

vet, '

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I ’ mind ter, an' yer won’t find a weepon of any kind, not even

so much as ther leetlest knife, erbout me.”

“ Whatever trail his moccasins may have traveled, his tongue
is journeying that of truth."

“Yer kin bet every bnffler-robe yer ’vc got on that, and
win."

“ Beaver Tnil is wise. But he did not come lznck into the
wigwnms of the Sioux to tell them this ‘3”

"' Not at bit on it. But I lmd [or go through with what the
law-makers of my people cull ther prermnble fust. What. I
come back fer war ter whisper in yer ears that yer have bin
nussin’ a pesky, p‘ison snrpint in yer bosom, an’ it am n-gittin’
ready ter sting yer ter the heart—all on yer.”

. There. was a. great commotion, and every one pressed still
nearer to catch his words, entirely forgetting their recent
fears, while the confused old Medicine muttered mysteriously:

“I knew there was some great danger coming, from the
'black circles around the moon, and the rattling of the bones
of the dead in their coffins.” '

“ Wnl, ei yer did, yer took good keer ter keep it ter yer-
self, ol‘d fuss and snakeskins and feathers.” '

“ Let Beaver Tail go on,” commanded the chief.

“ And I’ll make short work on it, too. The pale-face whom
yer trusted an’ treated as a brother, are the blackest kind of a
traitor.” .

“ Ugh i"

“ He has bin stenlin’ away. un‘ has got a great lot of war-
riors hidden within a few miles, and they intend ter come an’
butcher ye all—men an' wimin au’ children—jist on crcount
of his lies.”

“ How do you know this ?" I

“Wal, I found it out; an’ ter show I war yer friend, I
scouted around and found wlmr they um encumped, and got
ther best of ther white-skinned devil, and have him jist nssafe
as yer ever did a wolf in a. trap loaded with stones.”

“ Where is he ?"

“ That hnin‘t the question now. In the fast place, yer must
know that I speak the truth, Thor‘s the brave Young Bear,

In' Burning Cloud, an’ the Leetle Raven, as yer call them. '

300' it 311 on them don’t say the same thing.”

a V

  
  
  
    
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
   
   
    

 

 
   
     
   
   
   
   
   
      

M mannmxn;m,

h
“ Beaver Tail speaks well.” ' ", .7 ’ or
“ And that truth.”  m

The three whom he had designated came forward and gave , ' s<

thei: testimony, and then Young Bear told of having trailed j , p

the party, who were hidden in the forest awaiting the signal ‘ ii

of the renegade, Parsons, and that there was quite aforce and  _’

Well armed. -£ i
“ Thar I" exclaimed the scout, triumphantly ; “ hain’t it jist if

as I said ?”  ‘

“ Beaver Tail is our brother l” answered a hundred voices.

“ An’ likely to be more so than yer knows on,” with a sly
wink at Burning Cloud. 7

“ Where is the traitor? Let our brother tell, that we may
put him to the torture, and then go and drive our enemies be-
fore us, as the wolves do the deer.” ,

“ Now, yer jist hain’t a-goin’ ter do any thin’ of the kind! ;
Yer kin have the traitor fer torture, an’ welcome, fer I never 1* .
saw any one that more deserved it. But, yer hain’t a-goin’
ter fight the rest. I‘ll go an’ explain it all, an’ send them
about thar business. Will yer agree ter that?"

“ There would be many scalps,” mused the chief.

“An’ yer’d be likely ter 10se yer own, an‘ have the hull
tribe \viped clean out of the ’arth.” .

A brief discussion followed, and a faithful promise having "

. been given that. no one of white skin should be molested but I 3.-
Parsons, the scout gave a signal to the brother of the Burning ‘ '
Cloud, who, with another brave, instantly disappeared. They

, soon returned, dragging along the renegade, and the shout
that then rent the heavens could have been heard for miles.

“Now,” said the scout, “yer can’t expect me ter take er
[hand in yer punishment. It wouldn’t be nateral fer me ter
do so. But at I had my way I’d whip him like er dorg.”

It was an entirely new idea to the Indians, and immedi-
ately seized upon. Despite his struggles and his pleadings,
the renegade Was dragged to the post of torture—his gar-
ments cut away to his waist and his naked back exposed.
Then a dozen hands brought tough sprouts of the hickory,
and applied them with all the strength of their muscular
arms. ,

The scout took advantage of the excitement attending the

 

/

 

 

“Av.  ' ,1 «; z

' heah er talkin’.

 

'rmt cave cmms. 05

torture to make a visit to the physician, whom he found
among the happiest of mortals. Fearing that something
might still happen to him and his beautiful Olive, the old
scout secured the Young Bear and Little Raven as guides and
protectors, and saw them fairly started to join the party wait-
ing for the renegade.

“ Yer kin tell them better nor I could,” said the honest-
kearted fellow, “ all crbout it.”

“ And you ?” asked the physician.

“ Wal, I’ve got ter stay and see the ther thing out.”

“ And then ?”

“ Why,” blushing like a school-boy detected in stealing his
first kiss, “ I‘ll have ter talk with ther Burning Cloud er
leetle erbout that. She hain’t got so fair er skin as yer wife
that am ter be, doctor, but her heart am jest as white."

“ I don’t doubt it in the least."

“ Ther fact am we perpose tcr travel in double harness ther
rest on our lives and stick up er Wigwam soinewhar, though
I can’t tell jest yet whar it will be."

“ She is a good and brave girl.” ,

“Yes, all of that, and ther Little Raven am ernuther. It
hain't often yer kin find etch squaws. But, yer mustn’t stand
Git ter ther camp of ther white folks as soon
as ever yer kin.”

“ But, we shall certainly see you again ?"

“ More’n likely. Yes, \vc—thnt am ther Cloud and me—
will strike yer trail herfore long, and prehaps keep on with
yer till ther end. I’ve quite er notion ter gi’n up this ’er'jer-
rymandcrin’ life and settle down, and I reckon diggin’ gold
will suit me as well as any thiu’ else, ’specially as it am .in or
country what I kin hunt when I have er mind ter.”

He wrung both their hands, went with them as far as pos- ‘
aible upon the trail, and then returned to talk to his dusky
love about their future. But as the shadowa lengthened he
Was again attracted to the prisoner, and saw that the torture
had hem renewed. I

He was standing tied to the fire-blackened post, evrdently
more dead man alive, Almost entirely stripped of his cloth-
Sm, there was not a spot to be found that did not bear the
a u of arrow, hatchet, knife or whip, and the blood that

 

Maw—A

 

WM. he, .14—

\fi A... M“ H.

 

’8 THE mm wmnn; on,

had oozed forth had congealed and gave him the most ghast-
ly appearance that could be imagined. His hair‘and whis‘
kers were clotth and his face streaked with gore, and be.
tween'the crimson lines was white as chalk, while the work-
ing of the muscles—twitching constantly with pain—made
the strong-hearted scout shudder and grow faint even to gaze
upon.

Night passed, and with every mark of the horrid torture
removed, the village rung with notes of joy. It had become
known that the white man wished to he adopted into the
tribe—t hat be was to take the Burning Cloud for a wife and
that he had already notified the chief to that effect.

Great, consequently, were the preparations, especially as the
Young Bear and Little Raven would he married at the same
time, and the simple ceremony having been performed, the
entire tribe feasted—and made gluttons of themselves.

Then the newly married couples stole away to pass their

honeymoon alone. Such a thing was common, and nothing ’

was thought of it. But though one returned after the lapse
of a few days, of the other nothing was ever seen, and the scout
and his bride became only a remembrance among the Sioux:

CHAPTER XVII.
amen 'rrm CLOUDS—THE SUNl

THE party to which the renegade Parsons had applied
for assistance waited a long time for his coming and were
about to give him up, when they were surprised by the ap-
pearance of the doctor and the beautiful Olive; and when
all had been explained they waxed most exceedingly wrot‘h
and determined toleave the traitor to his fate. ‘

In that they were wise.

Notwithstanding all the promises given to the scout, they
had numerous spies out, and upon the first symptom of re-

_ Niation they would have ambushed, and cut to pieces the

 

 

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entire party—so little 'faith is there to be put in the word of
the generality of Indians

That the renegade would be punished far more efi'ectually
than they would have had the heart to carry out they did
not doubt, and leaving him to his fate they returned to the
waiting wagons, resumed the journey that had been inteia

rupted, and pressed forward to made up for the precious '

time that had been lost.

It was almost as heaven for the doctor and Olive to be
together again and in safety, and each had so much to tell
that the long summer days were far too short. The suffer-
ings through which they had passed made their love doubly
dear, and they longed for the time when they could be
joined in marriage.

That, however, was denied them until some settlement
could be reached. But while thinking thus of their Own
happiness they never failed to remember the scout and Burn-
ing Cloud with tears of gratitude, and as the days length-
ened out into a week, they wondered very much what had be-
come of them. '

One night their suspense was unexpectedly relieved. The
couple were found waiting for the train on the banks of a.
river, and. thencet‘orward the scout resumed his old position
of guide, and as they were gathered around the little camp-
fire be filled in the outlines of the story that the doctor had
merely sketched.

When the first frontier fort was reached there was a double
wedding, and though Olive shone in all her wondrous beauty
yet the dus‘ty child of the forest almost rivaled her in her

‘ semi-savage charms. This proceeding the scout, though more

from bashfulncss than for any other reason, had somewhat

opposed.
. “ We have been married once," he said, “ and ther Cloud

am satisfied and so am I."
“ It was a heathen ceremony,” suggested Olive, who, wo-

, manlike, had her peculiar notions of what constituted the fit‘

ness of such things.
“ Wal, it mought be, but thar hain‘t no priest nor prayer-
book that kin bind us any tighter than we now am, not make

0' any more true.”

r‘ — WW‘ WI

l
"‘08 m no mean; on,

“ That may be. But remember you come of a Christin r.
people, and must educate your wife."

“ When I huiu’t got no edercation myself 1” he laughed.

Nevertheless he consented after having a talk with the In-
dian girl, and finding it was her wish to be married by the
“Medicine of the Manitou of the pale-faces,” and so it was
done.

7 “ And speakin’ of the Medicine,” the scout said, a few days
afterward, when they were talking over the subject, “ reminds
me of ther old one of ther Sioux.”

“ What has become of him?” questioned the doctor. “ I
owe him a deep debt of vengeance, but I fear it will never
be paid.”

“Ef it hain’t by this time I am very much mistaken.”

“ You did not kill him ?”

“Not exactly, but I reckon it resulted in ther same thing.”

" I do not understand how that can be.” -

“ Wal, I’ll tell yer, and that puts me in mind that I prom-
ised you, Cloud, ter do so some day. Don’t yer remember
what I said erbout er leetle business?”

' “She never forgets what her brave tells,” was the truthful
and characteristic answer of the Indian woman, who looked
up to her husband as no one of purely white skin would ever
have done. v

“ Fust I must give yer er description of what kind of er
den the, old Satan kept.

He proceeded at length to do so, and then described how
he had removed the ash and untied the animals so that
both they and the terrible serpents could have full play.

“ He must have met a fearful death,” replied the physician,
with a shudder. ,

“Thar liain‘t no doubt on that. Ef he chanced to miss
ther sarpints—whieh I don’t think he could—thar b’ar and
ther Wildcat must have gone for him savagely and chewed
him up in erbout no time.”

“But his death was as nothing compared to that of thl

, wretched white man."

“ No, heaven keep us all from sich er one I"

The journey was finished without accident, and a few you!

 

by the
it was

’V day.
“finds

“I

lever

 

 

/

mun cum. 90'-

” later both the doctor and the scout had made themselves
'1 comfortable—one by practice and the other by patient. indus-

v

try and hunting. But never have they—never will they for-

‘ get the terrible scenes through which they passed, and their

children hear the story told with shudders. What then must
have been the reality?

Ell“

 

 

 

 

 

._ Aguehi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

aDIME

 

STAN

DARD

DIALOGUE

For School Exhibitions and Home Entertainments.

KM. 1 to El lutluniu. 15 tn 95 Popular Dinlogno

I and Dram" in uch bnolr. Eu}: volume 1“

Hum pug“, sum. pust-pmd, on h’wlyl or price, u-n cents.

Beadle & Adams, Publishers. 98 William St... N. Y.

 

____._.._
Theze nlumes have bum brupnrml with \‘ydlluf'llll rul'erunrelm their Ig'nilallillly for Exlllbitllm”
.Ilng mlnnlcd .o M‘lnmli and nurlou with or \Vllhnul |lm lumum'e ox n Hum-,nnd auuad Lo SOHO],

.ns Ax‘b wuxn

 

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. bugl.‘ in glue "mrku, "a nu v pricu, contuin on man useful mu! .wnilnlale dialogue: uuddmmu

tin pnllwu,‘ humur and unlinan

mm: nano

$111“ ol le Muses. For nine ynlllh; hmiuu.
l g n a Engllnhmnn. l‘or Lr-nm 1m}
,. a Curvrlmllnn. For male and famine.
' nluon. Fm lwo l‘ldlps.

L" a Rehearsnl. For six buys.

Whlch wlll y'ru Chow", F.4- [wnbnyh :
The Quun of For |Wo little girls. i
The Tea-Flirty. '
l‘hrea Scenuu in We
Mn. Snilllcu’ (3: Mb: _ V I
Th. Minion or um :pmn.

 

  

 

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Fur mnlumnl I’mnnlu.
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Clmlcrullu: orV 'l'hu Littlu U , '
Doing Glmd uml SA) in: nm. b v- -
Th. Gnhlen l:ul~-. Tm) mull-s nlul two wuml
’l‘lleGifl. of the l‘oiry Qnoun.
Tnkm l-. and D ‘n-J Fur. Far mo Clmrm ll
Thv Co -mry AunL'u \‘ls t to the City. For IBV-
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The Two Romuns. For two mules.
frying ch. Churnrten. Fu‘ Ihrou mnlM.
' The fin py Family. For mvarnl ‘unl null.’
Tl“ Ra bow. For luvaml chm’nch‘n.

DIME DIALO
I'he an Qnoon. TM All enllru arlmnl.
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Kenning; Bad Company. A Furl». 1-“. r 1|” “my”
Courtng Under Difficulties. 1‘ mnlou, '. 'unmlu.
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Encnplng the Drum. For Dunnerqu inn .1.

DIME DIALO

The Front King. Fnr ten or nm'u H-rxmu,
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he linolwnleli yum)». 91illlll‘s,fiv4\'i'rull:')lllllv!
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GUES, N0. 1.

llohnobhing. Forllve I milieu.

The Secret of Sum-«:24. "or lhme wankers.

Young Anmricn. 'l'hrce Inn-hm and two femnlu.

er' vhinc’fl l) , ry. Four lemnlea, nnemnlo.

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The Ignorant. ('onlnumiod. For two b lys-

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DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 2.

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l‘he Same. sl'c'lndafall"; For two mnlnn.
Showing Ilze \Vhitu- Feather. d nmlnl, l Mum.-
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 Swim l'rum “ l‘nul Pry” Fnr lour mules.

l‘ne Cllnrmx. For llll‘NB mull-n mnl one ianmle.
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' ha ('I'inwi of Din-n Collnquy. l-‘wr In‘ My!

     
    
 

 

 

 
   

 

 

 

Gentle Ullwxl. Fursevnml union
Aology. A Diums‘uu. lmr! ly Ix-nlu.

n m mmo

 

 

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GU35. NO. 5.

 

 

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DIME 11mm
flu WnyThny Km! nSerret. Mulls mul lrmnlnn.
rho Poet undur Dillicultiax. Fnr five mules.
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i
m :upm 5y pnuymn mnlua. .’l'h-- Six Virluon.

wrlwr. ‘l‘Nlrnw: from Murlnn Fuller...

MnAer-Mn An Ac-lug ("linrmlo.
Fur : ix \’I'||lll',: huliu.
’l‘lw lrlnhnmn m llonm. Fur lu'n llllll')‘.

l’n-hlomlbln Ru-qnlnmvntl. For llzreu r'rls.

 

lA Hwy of I”: (Eyu). For eight urlnn limuprh

GU S. N0. 6.

’1‘lm Two Fnunnolnn. For lbru mnlrn.

'l‘hu Valarie» of Fullv For n nnmbvr «Hunle
\unl, lluuy‘n llumndI-‘our {alludes and two male:

wumflnv. Rwy,“ 59"" rwmhund hm mnlm. Thu! Lllwl Suit. For lwn felunln-I and on: flill‘
All I. not and um. Cline“. Mm and tux-um. Santa Chm:- For I Immher of how.

I'll. Guam-n Jew. For nlx mnlal. .
1m '0' um. an)» no on. 61ml:-

\

Chrintwmo l‘nlriu. For neural llulo gun.
The Tum Rings. Fol two males.

DIME SCHOOL SEBIES.—fpeakers and Dialogues.

 

DIME mum! SPEAKER, No;-23. ,

Dat’a wlt’l de mutter, All nbont a bee, Lanai Gl‘lnuu ourr1gu,{?\ly neighbor’s dogs,
Tm: Minn ssippi miracle, Scundnl, Tins manila" destiny olyCundeused Mythology,
Vuu ks tide moms in, A dark side view, the lrislimnn, Purim,
Dune lama vol Mary bu! 'l‘a cssnr vn)‘, Peggy )lrcnnn, The Nareidu,
an! 011 cumin: German, Syruya from Josh Bil Legends of Anita,
Put 6‘Fluher‘y on wo- Mary’n slunnil Vile lamb lingn, The sluve-pipu tragedy
Mun’l rights A healthy discourse, lDe cih'umstnncel ob Ilr A l10kfl.or"dr"lbl[l¢h, -
Thu humo ruin”, how Tobius It to uprak, ‘ Iih'wnziun. The canning umu.
film" “spukvu,” Old Mn. Griulrl, .Dnr‘s nmfin new undequhe illigunt Iflair It
chuklnh anson on « pnrndy, 1 ii!) sun, Muhinuu‘n,
Main-r: in-lnw, MM: and can, A Negro religious poem, Tlmv. hula buby round
Ha didn’t sell the furm, llill Uuduri Iud, pilot, ['l'luu violin, (ha Cornrr.
The true story of Funk» 0H Grnuley, Picnic drilgllt‘, A gunewme inhrenn,
liu‘s kite, The pill peddlur’l om~‘0ur cmdinimc’n viewn, An. inn-inniqu to the
1 would I were A boy tiun, Dunnlrcnry‘ wisdnm, bird of libgrty, t
agnin, Widder Green's lust Plain lunguugu by LruLh- The crow,
A pathetic ltory, words, 1 {ul Jnnu, IUuL welt.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 26.

Poor oaulinl. Thrae indie: and mo gentleman. "The lesson of mercy. Two very mall girls.
Mounmimund liluhhhllli. Six India and several ‘l’rufllicr wh-I yun prom-h. l-‘nur India.
sg-ert'llorn. ‘Poliliriau. Nulleroul char-crew.
A ten. thnl'diJ-not fail. Six born. lThe. cmwnuing Agent. Two mule: md two
Two wnyl oi fleeing things. Two mus girls. ’ femnlrs.
Don’t mum your chickens before my urn Gruh. ’i'wo mulel. .
hatched. Four ladies and u buy. FA might «are. Thch femnln Inrl one mule.
All isl'airin love and war. 3 indies, ‘2 zvntlemanEx-ihodbd sunshine. Three young ladies.
How Incl: Josh got rid r! the legacy. Twu Junlu, ‘ How Jim Pawn died. Two unlu-
wilh neural transfurumnouu. ‘

Q- 'l'he nhnv. bank; .1. mlJ by New-dual." areryware, or will be non, pott-pnld, to my
“div-i, on rel-'UIFV- u- prim. 10 ouuu cuuh.

EMBLE J: ADAMS, Pubmhorl. 98 William 88., N. Y.

 

 

v w ¢
DIME 130(31me NOVELS.
I’UBLIRHED' FEMIVMONTHLY, AT TEN CENTS EACH.
I ~Hnwkcyc llnrry. By Oil Commas. A .ittlc Iliilc. By ('npi. “ ilrnin " Adams.
2 "end Shot. By Albert. \\'. Aiken. " l'he \\'ood \\'iich. lly E«i\\il’| Emerw n.
Bw’l'ho Boy Mlllern. By Edward S. Ellis. 701d Rnil'. the ’l'rnp er. “ Bruin “ Aduna.
4-rllIne Dick. By (‘2ch no, lr-id. ?— The Eonl'lot fihoul: crn. llnrrv llnzmd.
5 VIII. Wolfe. By Mrs. l. V. Vivior. 73'1‘h0 Border Hiiicmnn. L. W. Cnrson.
6~The \Vhlte Trucker. Edward S. Ellis. 79—0utlnn Jnclt. liy Hurry llnz.ml.
7~The 0nt,lnu"n \\'ii'e. Mrs. Ann KSLupiwns. NO—Tiger-Tnll. the hominole. R. Rirvzwood.
fii'l‘he Tull Trapper lly All-mt W. Aiken. Xi Alicnth-lk-nler. lwy Arthur 1.. Mann 1‘.
9'L'Eilirlllllfl J"- “.V CRl'l- Admin: 82AKenion, the Hanger. B) (has. HH“ Md.
lib—The Inlnntl l’lrnte. liy Capt. Mm'ne Reid. #18711": S rector Horn-man. Frmvk DEWE)?
ll —’|‘hc Boy Hunger llyOll Cumin-s. x4—Thn '1 Iree 'l‘rnpporu. Seelin Robbins.
1737—30-5, the 'l‘rnpper. By E. S. Ellis. Ssr—Knleolnh. lh '1. l'inruu Sliiel4.s.l‘.S. N.
13 ~The French 5113'. By “C J. Hamilton. Sh—The Hunter Hercules. Horn 8!. GEOYKE
l4~Lun¢ Shot. By Capt. Cnnmnck. 3771’hll Hunter. I}; tart. ('lms. Howard.
lfia’l‘hc Gui nnkcr. Bydmnes L. Bowen. Sill—The Indian For nt. lh Hurry Humrri.
lfiflllcd Hand. lly A. G. l’ipvr. FRO—The (-‘irl Avenger. B} ('ilal. Hrward.
l?'B(-n, the Trapper. Br Lewis W. Carson. 907The Rod llornlituu. B} Paul Bibbs.
lfl—Wlld Raven. NV 011 Canine.“ 91 --thr-Fnuc, the Slnyer.
iii—The Specter Chief. BvSeelin Rnbins. 92—The Antelope B0). 1) Gen 1.. Ailwn.
20~The B’ur-Killer. By Capt. Comstuck. 93—The I’hnntonn Hunter. By E. Enirrson.
2lelld Nut. Bv Wm. R. Eyster. 94vTom l’lntlc, the Pilot. l‘y )I. Klnpv
22*Indlnn Jo. l3v Lewis W. Carson. 95~The Red \\ iznrd. By Ned Huntrr.
23 Jild Kent, the Hunger. Edward S. Ellis. iifii'l‘he Rivnl Trnppcrn. Br L. “201mm.
24-The One-E ed Trapper. Cum. Cuumdck 924m- Fquuw va. I¥_r('u ~1.(‘hu. Hound.
25 —Godbold, i r, Spy. 15y N. C. Iron. 9.‘ illllflky Dick. l _\ .105. E. miner. Jr.
26~’l‘he Blnvk Shlp. Br Jolm S. Warner. 99~-Colonol ('rut-lu-tt. B} (‘ium E. Lnsnllv.
27v§lnzle Eve. 1%. Wurren St. Jnhu. 100» Old Bear I’nw. lsr .\ln_inr Max Martin".
25%. rlmiinn im. R»- Edwards. Ellis. Iiilrllecilnw. By Jul. E. mummy.
29 v'l‘hc Scout. llx \\'nmen St. John. 102~ “'ild Rube. F) W. J. Hanxiitvn.
80 Jingle Eye. ll} W. J. Hmnlliou. 108 Jl'he lndinn Hunters. By J. L, Burr-9n.
817Thc Myutlo Flume. By EdwmdS. Ell 5. 10-17 Four-red Eagle. 8} Aildnw heurbnru.
3‘2 rThe Golden llnrpoon. By R. Slm'lrui k. 10f") ick Doyle. By P.1{nmi1mn Siren.
33 Jl‘hc SI’lllp King. ll. Lieut. Ned Hunter. 106~Thc Indlnn Spy. By’Jor. E. Badger,.lr.
ii llflld I Ilt. ' \\'. Arrhvr. 107» Job Dean. By Ingoldaln‘ North,
iv an Conlnwz. wrung wood King. In Jun. E. Beds". Ju
ioy Plum-or. llr Edward 5. Ellis. 1097 The Sonlpwi Hunter. R} Hun) Hm...‘
ACnrnon. the G . Bv J. ll. Ruininlpii. 107 Nick. the Smult. ll; \\'.J.}lunii11m .
‘hc. ll ‘ - . liy ilurr)‘ annrrl. Ii 7 The 'l‘vxm- Tiger. By l-lenrd Will U
3977\Vetzel. the. B; llmntnn llvlkllflp. I "The (‘ronu-ti Knh'cn. By Hamil .,
407The Huge Ilnntur. 'Ed. F.1-Z'lir.. i Tiger-"curt. ll .- Tnu ln'r. B) H W lYll.
l
l

a ’3

.—

417‘Vlld Nut. the 'l'rnpper. Pnul l’l'csl'nli. ~ The Mnrkml AV't-nger. By lngmiinm.
427-L nx-vup. lh- l’wil 17mm, .11“. your; plrmcm 3. mm. H. -
48——T Ic \Vhltc 0ntlnw. Bvllnrry Hazard. 7 Banlt" I’nnther. By va.E. BMdL’eu Jr.
~14—The Dog- 'I‘rnller. By Frederick llpuov. Aiuiicl, tht- Ann-Ker. I") Ed. \\'i Mi.
45-Thc Elk King. RV Capt. Clms. linunni. . r ('ntu. the (‘rer er. B} Frrd. Dem-3.
46—Atirlnn, the Pilot. lvanl. l". Inm-nlmm. r Two-Handed .\ nt. B} Joli; may”,
47—The Mun-hunter. B\.\lnro 0. Row. 7 )1 ud Truil Hunter. 83' Harry Hamnl.
4“~-The l’hnntoln Trucker. By 1". Dewry. Black ‘iuk. iii. lruirrirk \\'hinukrr.
49*}locculhl “Ill. Ih' l‘uul llibbs. Kit Bird. llx \\ , .l. Hmniltnn.
lSv (‘lmrlea Hownrd. . The Spoon-r Riders. In a... 61......
Giant I’m-t2. l\ \\‘. .l. Hnmihun
r The (-‘lrl Captain. lly Joe. E. Badger.
YnnLcc th. in .l R. \\urrestrr.
rbilverppn . lh- Eduurii \\'illeu.
liquuttor Dick. In Jr 5. E. BRfiL'rr.
"97 The ('hlld Epy. By George Glenn).
7 Mink (out. ‘w Jus. E. Badger.
—R«d Plume. Br J. Ftanlm anrlrrsnr

u-“—
1.37.?

mac—:2:

' 1G I". '5

Mo-

 

~ 9 By (has. Huwnrd.
Jl‘he Black Wolf. By Hum" E. Ewing.
4:\ rkanunu Jack. By Hurry Hiiznrd.
fib-fllnckbcnrd. 15y qul Bibbs.
56 The River Rifle-I. Hy Billl-x Muller.
5?-—Hunter llBlll. Ilv 1 Edgar Hill.
5" ~ Clomlwood. llv J. . Merrill. . r . .
59 iThe Texan Hawks Jua. E. Bug", Jr. :52 r (‘lydxu the Trailer. B) Man (I 1" '9.
607Mercllenn Mnt. By K “pt. Clm H I'm'4l. INK—Tho Inn-t Cache. J.S!2\lliv}' lle
“I 4.1m! Audion)”: Scouts. _' Rndmnn. lil-i—fl‘he (‘nnnibnl Chirf. Plnl .l I .
62—The Lurklons Trnvpcr. \VIII.R.E)nlr:L . 185 Knruibo. H)‘.l.$l:m]r} lleiulvrm.
63-—The Florida h‘cnnt. .lns. E. Badly-r, Jr. lgiiifiourlrt )lm lin. By Paul “WM.
64—Thc Inlnnd 'l'rnnpcr. (Than. Howmd 7 v Kidnapped. By J. Smiley Hundfiririn.
“Fr—\VoliirCnp. Br (“lpL Chas. Howard.

‘HrrMnid oi‘the Mountain. By Imilrwn.
66~-Rnttlim: Dick. B Hurry Hiiznrd. m'l‘he Fr-ioto Fem-tr. By Ed. “'iileu.
62> Sharp-Eye. My :‘l’fljt'l’ Max Martina. A 0——'l'he Border Rent-fade. By Badger.
HR-ilrnn-Ilonll. liv Frv'dvrir‘li FormL. l»—'l‘he Mute. Chief. ly (K D. Flnrlr.
69—The Yellow Hunter. By Chris. Hi-ward. 2 ~—Bonne, the Hunter. B \\'hilmlur.
70~-'I‘he l’hnntom Rider. By Mn!" 0. Rolfe. 43 7M0untain Kntc. Bx" Jr» . Bndzer Jr.
7l—llclnwnre Tom. Hy Hurry Huzurd. iThe Rod Fl'nlper. B} W .l. Han iltmi.
72 ifillvcr Rifle. In (Him. ('lms. Howard. 145*TIIC Lone (‘hlcil By J‘ FAME". Jr.
78 Jl‘he Skeleton St-ont. filij L. “X (‘nrsurr.° ‘Ll’fl Jl‘he SilVer Br gle. Lim Col. Hazleluxl.
l 47— China“, the Cheyenne. By Edward S. Ellis. Ready
148—1119 Tangled 'I‘rail. By Major Max Marrine. Ready
149—11104 Un~een Hand. By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready
LEO—The Lone Indian. By Capt. Chas. Howard. Ready March 2311.
Isl—The Branded Brave. By Paul Bibbs. Ready Apnl 6th.

1 52—Billy Bowlegs, the Seminole (Thief. Read April 20th.

] 53—The Valley Scout. By Seelin Robins. Ready 1‘ ay 4.

l 5»l—-Rcd Jacket, the Huron. By Paul Bibbs. Ready May 18th.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, l’ubllsherl, 98 William Street, hew York.

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