Pockct Series
No. 218-

 

 

' “i THE PRAIRIE PIRATES

/

'tiTHE HUNTER’S REVENGE;

BY GUSTAVE AIMARD.

NEW YORK:
'BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
‘ ‘ maswmmms'rmr.

 

WngAaoIConmmmtheymmby
FRANK STARR & 00..

In th- cmm Office or the District Court of the Uniw m lo: «I.
Ionthorn District 0! Nu rot.

 

I THE PRAIRIE PIRATES;

OR,

THE HUNTER’S REVENGE} p

CHAPTER I.
ran suarnisn

On the banks of the Canadian River, in a charming site at
the foot of a verdant hill, a strange scene was occurring in a
village which had been settled but two years at most.

This village was composed of about twenty log-cabins,
grouped capriciously near each other, under shelter of a fort on
which four small cannons were mounted.

This village, though young yet, had already acquired all the
importance of a town. Two taverns supplied the drinkers,
three temples of difl'erens sects served to unite the faithful.

Here and there the inhabitants were going and coming, with
an unwanted seriousness, on their affairs. Numerous canoes
dotted the river, and loaded carts and oxen were being driven
along the deep-rutted roads.

Notwithstanding all t is movement, or perhaps on account\of
it, an attentive looker- would easily have recognized that the
village was greatly troubled.

Let us state what the cause was.

A week before the period at which we view the scene, several
white men and one Indian had been cau ht stealing horses from
the corral of a certain old farmer name Clarkson, who dwelt
in a hut with his family, composed of a mother, daughter, and
ions. The thieves had been tried and tiedto the whipping—post
.where they had reached two dozen lashes on the bare back.
When released they had gone of; the Mexicans, of whom
there were two, venting all the oaths known to the large col

 

 

  

mqumormmmmwn,

loction in the Spanish language; the Americans, three, a father
md two sons, with an expressive silence; the last, an Indian
who swore that he would wash out in blood the stain put upon
the Apaches, to which tribe he belonged. Those threats had
been the cause of an addition to their penalty: to wit, that
they would be shot, if again found near the settlement.

Three days had passed, and the inhabitants had well-nigh for-
otten the event, when at that time the incoming trappers and
unters had brought. news that the Apaches were preparing fiil'

an expedition, no doubt against the settlement. 0n the next,
three days, tidings kept pouring in, and the hunters in the vil—
lage had left the place, going up or down the river, evidently
‘desirous of trying some new hunting-grounds where they would
-be unmolested by the Indians.

The woodsmen who dwelt in the village made shorter and
quicker hunts, and had, at the time on which we take up our
tale, staid in the town; one party alone, comprising the uncle
and sons of whom we have spoken, with a faithful Indian, were
still out on an expedition.

After the above necessary explanations, we take again the

thread of our story.
' The inhabitants were questioning each other, and assembling
around the captain of the fort, who, with them,was hearkening
to the reports of the scouts, who, whether from ill-understand-
ing their duty, or from being unaccustomed to Indian strata-
gems, had, by their reports, led a deceitful confidence to lull
the settlers’ fears.

'About a mile from the village, concealed amid the interwoven
trees of a forest, whose foremost ones had fallen before the pio-
neers’ axcs, two hundred Indian warriors of the tribe of the
Apaches, headed by many renowned chiefs, among whom were
the whites who had been whipped, we waiting, with that saw.
age patience which nothing can arouse, he propitiOus moment
to deal a blow of vengeance for the insult which had been
shown them, for the Indian horse-stealer was the brother of
Stanapat, (the Hand full of Blood), the head chief of the
Apache tribe, who was leading'this expedition.

Many hours passed on, while the Indians like bronze statues
waited, without evincing the least impatience.

At eleven o’clock, when the moon rose, the barking of a dog .

come to the ears of the savages.
Stanapat then rose from the blanket which he had been sent.
ad upon, and stood erect, presenting one of the most perm

 

__ _.___-%.."‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 
 
 

    

 

 

two of the small cannons were loaded and made ready.

    

nu: nuxrnas’ unset.

Indian forms to be met with on the prairies. Throwing the
blanket on his shoulders, he commenced to move away to-
wards the village. On the border of the clearing, he stopped.

After flinging an inquisitive glance around him, he imitated
the neighing of a horse with such exactness that two horses in '
the village gave answer.

A few seconds more passed, when a man, (a half-breed when
we might have seen mingling among the settlers,) joined him
An ominous smile raised the corners of his lips.

‘The whites are where?’ asked the chief.

‘ They sleep,’ returned the half—breed.

‘ Does my brother give them up ’3’

‘ All the settlers shall be put between the hands of my
hmther.’

‘Good ! are all there?’

‘No. ‘Some have gone up the river, others down. One hunt-
.‘ng party has not returned.’

‘It will come too late.’

‘ Probably.’

‘ What more has my brother to say ?’

‘Where is what I asked of the chief ’2 said the half-breed.

‘The skins, guns, and powder are with my young men.’

‘I trust in you, chief, but if you deceive me

‘An Indian has but one word.’

‘ Good l’

Ten minutes afterwards, the Indians were masters of this vil-
lage, of whose inhabitants not one was spared.

The fort was surrounded by the Apaches, and the weak
points of the building were pointed out by the renegade whites,
who had shown more thirst for blood than the most cruel sav-

 

e.

Boards and furniture from the houses were heaped at the
walls, up which the Indians sprang at their chicfs’ signal, utter-
ing together their horrid war-whoop. ,

In a moment more, the peeple in the fort, awoke so suddenly
by the war-cry, leaped from their beds, and joined the captain,
who was already posting his men with that reckless bravery
which characterizes the Yankees.

Though sure that all hope of saving themselves was lost, the
ca tain and his men determined to die honorably.

ith one combined rush, the Americans drove the Indians
hack to the very edge of the roof of the block-house, while

 

 

'I/ . neonatal-rams“.

The first persons whom the captain perceived were the lid!-
. breed who had sold the village, and by him the Indian whohnd
been whipped.
’ ‘Ah, ah,’ muttered the officer to himself, ‘ I am at no loss to
account for this surprise.’

Drawing a. pistol from his belt, he clutched the half—breed by
the throat, crying:

‘ So you have sold us to your brothers, the redskins !’

The half—breed only smiled.

' ‘ But your treason will do you no good, miscreant,’ said th
ca. tain, ‘for you fall the first victim.’
ith these words, he pressed the pistol—muzzle against the
Elm half-breed’s breast, pulled the trigger and laid him dead at
is feet.

Scarce had this shot been fired, than the captain turned to
fall back to his men, but his further passage was stopped by an
Indian, Stanapat’s brother, who dealt him a. blow with his dis-
charged musket.

The captain parried the blow with his left arm, disabling it,
and fell u n him with an irresistible shock. The Indian stag
gered an fell, with his enemy’s knee on his breast.

‘ Well,’ said the ofioer, ‘you have come to have an addition
to your punishment. You will have pains in your heart for the
lashes on your back.’

‘They are smoothed with the blood of the whites. Five

seal have dried up the blood.’
‘ on have felt whites punish,’ said the captain, ‘now you
will have an Indian sentence.’
‘My life is yours, slay me,’ returned the red man, firmly.
‘ Be easy, I reserve a particular death for you.’
. ‘ Hasten, for soon it may be too late,’ retorted the Indian,
ironically. I

‘Well, since you will have it,’ said the captain, tig tening his
hold, ‘after taking a. slight memento, I will send an to join
your brothers.’ .

Then, unsheathing his knife, the captain, passed it around his
foeman’s hand, grasped the scalplock with its feathers, and tore
it off.

‘ 7 Indian though he was, the sufferer could not hold in a fearful
cry as the blooda‘lowed down his face.

‘ '11 me, kill me.’

The captain rose, lifted the savage and bore him on his
shoulders to the parapet, from which he flung him to the

ground, which was covered with yelling Indians.

  

  

a" . .7 .fiwvvsur: = ..2 v» v, ,.-...

n: nunrns’ nurses. I t

The Apaches, maddened at this sight, burst through the bar
ricades, massacring and scalping all in their way. |

Suddenly, without apparent motive, the Indians, who had
thus far been successful, fell back and left the fortress.

‘What is it’now ’1’ muttered the captain, who had joined his
friends, ‘what new deviltry are they up to 2’

The attack was suspended by orders of Stanapat, to whom
news of his brother’s death had been brought.

Soon all was made clear to the Americans in the fort.

The Indians tore down the nearest huts, and brought their fir
niture and inflammable contents to the blockhouse in spite of
the firing of the occupants of the fort. ,

At a given signal the piles were ignited at once, and soon
the fort was the centre of a. circle of flames, from whence came

‘ cries of pain, mingled with reports of fire-arms.

The Apaches looked on smilingly.

Suddenly a horrible crash was heard; the figures which had
be an frantically running on the flat roof of the fort, disap-
pleu'ed, and the, fort fell in, sending up myriads‘ of fiery parti-
o Is.

All was over.

I‘he Apaches planted a. large pole in the spot where had been
tin village square; and, after having thrown torches into the
«kins, assembled around their chiefs, with whom they all set

A moumful silence reigned upon the smouldering ruins, which
had witnessed such heart-rending sights.

 

CHAPTER II.
TH]: MAN ARISEN mom Tin: nun

. IT was nearly eight o’clock of the morning, a laughing an
‘ mn sun cast its gladsome beams upon the prairie.

Numerous birds darted hither and thither with merry notes
hilst others hid amid the leafy coverts, were warbling melo
ious concerts. At times, a deer would show his startled head

above the high grass, and disappear with a bound. ' ‘

Four horsemen clad in complete woodsman’s attire, with

. guns slung at their backs, knives and pistols at their waist

were trotting along the bank of the Canadian River.

I',

 

 
  

HIQUMO’TEIPBAIRII;OI, 1

Three of these men were beyond doubt, Americans, although
their dress was like that of the savage-3, being composedof fringed
hunting-shirts and leggins, skin pouches and shot-belts adorned
with colored quills, feathers and beadwork. ,

The one that rode first. half a horse’s length ahead of his
companions, was a stern featured, strong—limbed, powerful man,
who went silently along with his eye and ear on the watch for
every sound or sight of the prairie.

The two who came next were two young men, about twenty~
four or twenty—five years of age, who were laughing and chat-‘
ting gaily as if no cloud could ever dim the bright prospect be-
fore them.

A few paces behind them came the last man of the troop,
an Indian, a sort of servant, who carried slung on his saddle-

bow two bunches of birds, while he led a horse on which were ‘

twu deer and several rabbits.

They were in a word the hunting—party of which we spoke
in the preceding chapter as having gone from the settlement
and not returned at the time when the Apaches fell upon and
devastated the village.

While the persons whom we have just introduced, are riding
quietly along, let us give some woxds of explanation on their
antecedents. '

A Mr. Clarkson of the State of Kentucky had married a sis-
ter of a man who had early left his home to seek a fortune in
the \Vestem wilds, and there had become one of the most skil-
ful and intrepid hunters of the Far West. From time to time
at varied intervals had came letters from this man giving glow-
ing accounts of the beauties of the forest, the abundance of game,
the fruitfulness of the soil, and the many gifts of nature the
country rejoiced in. At length, leaving his family, Clarkson
had set off, found his brother and guided by his experience, had
chosen a plot of land in the settlement on the bank of the C
nadian River.

He had returned to his family, made all necessary prepara~
tions and in the Spring, started and established himself on the
selected site.

For four years, he had been blessed beyond his expectations;
a son had been born to him, the others, who had been boys
when first there, had grown into hardy and unequalled hunters

r

under the teachings of Clarkson’s brother-in-law ; his daughter ,

was a fine charming girl, as pure in heart as fair without, who
who already took her mother‘s place in household affairs ; his

 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   

nu: HUN'i-nns’ REVENGE. 1 ‘

V lands had yielded abundance, and thanks to the furs and

beaverskins sent yearly to be sold, the product of his son’s and
brother-in-law’s rifies, the interior of the log-hostse was much
more tasty and refined than his neighbor’s.

A word of their follower, the Indian who leads the horse.
Curumilla, for such was his name, had been found in an Indian
village, nearly dead with disease the last man of his tribe (a

nce powerful one which had been cut off by enemies and wasted

y small-pox, that scourge of the red race). He had been
found, say we, by Harry and Edward Clarkson on a return from
hunting, who placed him on a spare horse and brought him to
their home, where he had been nursed by Mrs. Clarkson and
her daughter. then cured, the Indian swore a lasting friend-
ship for them, and had finally became a companion of their ex—
peditions, saving their lives more than once by his straegetic
skill.

Having now brought the past events of the Clarkson family
up to the period at which we commences our recital, we will

roceed.

The riders had now reached a place where the stream took a
turn, thus preventing the village to be seen, although it was
but a gunshot from the ford of the river which they were
about to cross.

At the moment when their horses put their feet in the
water, they made an abrupt backward movement.

‘What is that?’ said the foremost rider, starting from his
revery, and looking around him.

‘ Look I’ cried the two brothers together, as they spurred on
their steeds till they were all three abreast. They pointed to

\ many dead bodies which were floating slowly down the stream.

One look was exchanged between the three, as digging the
spurs into their horses’ flanks, the animals neighed with pain,
and clambered up the opposite bank.

Then all was clear to them.

They saw before them the scene of desolation.

From the heaps of ruin, a thick, black, and nauseating smoke
ascended in long spirals to the sky.

In the village square rose the painted pole. Here and there
lay corpses half devoured by wild beasts and vultures. ~

The hunters sprang from their horses and leaving them to
wander where they would, they with difficulty discovered the
spot on which their hut had bee: raised.

And what a sight!

 

   

10 - memormnmmmn,

An old man crushed by a blackened log, near him several dead
Indians who proved his hard struggle to save the lives of those
so dear to him. A girl fourteen years of age, near a woman,
both pierced through and through with arrows and both scalp-
ed, completed that heart—rending spectacle for sons and a broth-

er. ,

The Clarksons and their uncle commenced a search among
the timbels and beams, a search which resulted only in their
finding the body of the little boy who had been mutilated like

> the others.

<' , .

Seating themselves on rocks near by, Harry and Edward burst
in sobs, each one of which seemed as if it would break their
breasts, and wept like children. /

Brandard, their uncle, and Curumilla, men who had learned
to stifle all outward expressions of feeling, began examining the
arrows which were easily to be recognized as shot from Apache
bows {ram their peculiar shape and mountings.

Leaving his nephews to their lamentations, the old trapper
and the Indian turned over the ruins of the fort from under
which they thought they heard a feeble cry.

In about twenty minutes, the sound became clearer and more
distinct.

‘Some one is here !’ said Brandard, ‘ God grant that we have
come in time to save, if but one.’

It was only after a long time and infinite trouble that they
at last raised the species of trap from under which came the
cries.

Then a horrid spectacle was presented to his eyes.

in a hole exhalng a faztid odor, twenty persons were literally
piled one upon another.

The hunters instantly laid hands on the top layer, so to speak,
and to their great joy, found one still breathing.

They pulled him out, laid him on some dry leaves and gave

' some liquor from their flasks.

The wounded man breathed quicker, opened and shut hi I
eyes several times, groaned and at length muttered in a broken
voxce:

‘I shall die, oh, God, I shall die !’
tn‘Never cease hoping while you have life,’ answered the old

pper. - \
A fleeting flush reddened the man’s cheek,.a.sad smile curled

his psle lips.
‘ hy should I live 7’ said he, ‘my fi'lends are dead, Brand.

  
 
   
   
   
 
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
    

o

 

 
  

   
  

   

m nunrns’ unit“. 11

fidthe Indians have given me my death, my last shot has but

‘Not so, you can live, if it is but for vengeance.’ .

The wounded man’s eyes flashed fire, be half rose and cried:

‘ You’re right! I will live! my brother’s scalp decks an Ap-
fihers belt, for every hair of his head will I have a redskin’l

l e .

‘You speak well, keep up a brave heart,’ said Brandard en-

ouragingly, ‘tell me why did the Apaches attack the village?

‘ That horsestealer was the brother of Stanapat, he swore re.
rengo and has got it, though he lived not long to enjoy it: Cap-
tfiin Rogers killed the redskin. He was not the worst one
though. More cruel than the Indians, more deaf to mercy,
were those whites who were fiogged.’

A few drops of liquor enabled the narrator to proceed.

‘I saw your cabin attacked, while defending |mine. Your
brother-in-law was slain by that Spaniard who stabbed him
from behind. Your mother and sister were killed because they
would not follow the Indians. Your horses were stolen again
by the same men who were caught and whipped last week. I
knew them all, although their faces were painted. W hen my
brother was killed, I had time to get into the fort, where I saw
Stsnapat’s brother and a half-breed who betrayed us, killed by
Captain Rogers. I thought of that hollow under the block-
house and took refuge in it with others. When the fort fell in
were covered with the ruins and were unable to breathe. How
long I was there, in that den of suffering and despair, I know
not. Swear, if I die, you will avenge me.’ I

‘I need not your fate to spur me on; yonder lies my sister,

.. and her children brained by the savage’s tomahawk. If I swore
not,aloud, I did within, to follow to the death, their murder-
ers.

‘Thanks, thank,’ muttered the wounded man, ‘ thanks. I
tell you again that the American stabbed your sister’s husband,

,that the tall Spaniard killed your sister because she resisted
him, and that the Indians did the rest.’

Falling abruptly back, as if he had only then received the
gménd, the sole survivor of the settlers seemed as if he were

ea . .

Laying him carefully aside, the old hunter and the Indian re
turned to the cabin, dug shallow graves and buried the corpses
of the mother, father, sister and brother of the two young men

who still sat motionlu on their seats gazing at them completr

  

 
 

mmmmmgn

, the burial ceremony with snow teat-lea eye. They bl
ex iausted the fount of tears. ’

When the last clod of earth had been thrown over them,
leaving Harry and Edward Clarkson still by the graves, Guru—
milla and the old hunter proceeded to inter the bodies of their

\old friends and acquaintances.

The afternoon passed, and it was not until the last rays of
the sun faded away behind the mountains that they returner].

The old hunter touched the brothers on the shoulder, awaken
ing them from their revery.

‘ "His time,’ said he. - ‘

‘For what ?’ asked the two together. '

‘ To follow the assassins)

Rising slowly lrom his seat, Harry approached the graves,
took a handful of the upturned soil and raising it slowly to
heaven, said :

.‘ I swear that I will know no rest, no obstacles, no dangers,
till this earth has drank in the blood of the assassins who have
done this foul deed !’

His brother did the same, while Brandard looking upon them
with a father’s pride, smiled an approval of this oath.

Picking up their equipments and slinging their rifles behind
them, the three men turned towards Curumilla who had watch-
ed them with that stoic passiveness in which Indians take so
much pride.

‘ Curiunilla,’ said Brandard, ‘have you heard ’I’

‘ Curumilla has heard,’ returned the red man.

‘ We go, far perhaps, to satisfy our vengeance; Cummilla is
free, the prairie is open before him.’

‘Curumilla does not'forget. There is his sister (pointing to
the graves) ; there his mother and his father. He goes with
his brothers: where they eat, he eats; where they sleep, he
sleeps ; Where they go, he goes. Curmnilla has spoken.’

Brandard smiled.

‘ I expected no less from you, Curumilla. A nobler heart
beats not in the breasts of white man or red. You shall go
with us, sharing our blanket, dividing our pemmican, partaking
of our fire.’ '

The Indian heard this without remark, though perhaps he
kintly smiled at the compliment.

I The moon rose slowly in an ocean of vapor and spread its
melancholy rays upon the four men, as bearing the wounded
Inn on Hitter, they turned their huh *0 the ' vil-

 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     

 

 
 
 

m: nuns “use; a u \ 1‘
hgolin which all was silence and death, and went in the dimo-
tion taken by the retreating Apaches.

CHAPTER III.
Inn: SUNBEAM. ,1

ON a fine afternoon of tho ruwfh of J uly, at the foot of some
lofty cedar trees which "lhv"".‘ the ground beneath them from
the incandescent rays of a, " 1m ug sun straight over their
summits, extended candess‘.) -‘ v 1;: mossy ground, lie two men,
who to keep nothing scant from the reader, we will state are
Curumilla and Brandard.

Before them, on a low fire roasts I. quarter of an elk.

‘ Well, Curumilla, the roast looks so tempting that I am
'nfraid we will fall to before the boys come in; here’s the sun
within an hour of setting and I think we should be ofi‘. Did
the boys say where they were going ?’

‘ Yes, to Cedar Bottom,’ returned the red man, as he cut off
and tasted a. bit of the elkmeat. ‘

The screech of the brown owl, twice repeated, came faintly
to the hunters’ ears.

‘Our friends,’ said the old trapper, whistling in a peculiar
way, without rising. ‘

These words were scarcely spoken before a man, who was
\ n'one other than Harry Clarkson, appeared, thrusting aside the
branches which opposed his passage. '
I‘fWhere is Ned and old William “ll inquired he seating him-
se .i .

‘They have not come 'yct,’ was the answer.

‘Something has delayed them, no doubt, for they would not
intentionally keep us waiting with that before us, said Bran-
dnrd, pointing to the elkmeat.

A couple of birds which Harry Clarkson had brought were
spitted and laid across the fire.

Some minutes passed, no more words were spoken, and all
Iround was silent when suddenly Curumilla stopped abruptl
in the position in which he was, as if some sound had s
his ear. \

‘What is it, Curumills T demanded Brandard.

‘Hudi !' aid the red man without moving.

  

    

A long tiniewas spent in listening and the two whites were

' about beginning a conversation, thinking Curumilla had
on deceived, when they distinctly heard a noise like a faint

mean, but so weak and dull, that it required a hunter’s exer.

cised ear to have heard it.

The Indian and Brandard snatched up their rifles, an action

' imitated by Harry, and the three ran together to the bank of

the river. _

When they were all on the bank, a frightful sight lay before
their eyes. .

A long log was rolling down With the current, which ran
quite strong in this place.

On this log was tied a woman who held an infant in her
tightly clasped arms. _

At every roll of the log, the poor woman was plunged With
her child under water; at ten yards or less from the log, an
enormous caiman was swimming after the two victims.

Brandard raised his rifle instantly to his shoulder.

Curumilla at the same time cast ofl‘ his superfluous clothing,
slipped into the water with his knife between his teeth and
swam towards the log. _

Brandard stood for some seconds motionless, as if he had
been changed to a block of marble. Then pressing the trigger,
the shot was fired, repeated from afar by the echoes. The cai-
man bounded upward, plunged, making the. water boil about
him, but re-appeared almost immedistely With his belly in the
air: he was dead. _

The old trapper’s bullet had entered his eye, and from that
his brain. -

By this time Cummilla was but a few lengths from the

lo .

llWithout losing time, he grasped the log and cutting across
the river, keeping it steady, ran it soon on share.

In two outs he had severed the bonds which held the poor
woman, took her in his arms and ran with her to the fire a!
the camp.

She gave no token of life.

The two white hunters pressed around her.

It was an Indian woman. She appeared to be about seven
teen or eighteen years of age: she was very handsome.

Brandard had great trouble to open her rims and relieve her
of the child. ‘

' The little creature, scarcely a year old, by some moanva

 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
    
  
 

A

  

Ia,

beefible miracle thanks doubtless toits mother’s devotion, had
been completely preserved; it smiled at Harry as he ' took it
from his uncle and laid it on a bed of dry leaves.

Curumilla half opened with his knife the woman’s mouth, in-
troduced the mouth of his gourd and made her swallow some
drops of mezcal. '

A long while passed before the drowned woman made the
least movement which indicated a return to life.

The hunters were not rebuffed by the ill success of their
cares, but on the contrary redoubled their efforts.

Finally a deep sigh came from the Indian woman’s breast,‘
and she opened her eyes murmuring in a voice as weak as a
breath, the one word of the Comanche language, well know“
to the hunters:

‘Xocoyotl (my son)!’

Harry carefully took up the child, which had quietly fallen
asleep on the bed of leaves, and presented it to the mother.
saying:

’ ‘ Nanth', joltmmi (mother, he lives)?

With these words returned hope, the mother rose as if
moved by aspring, took her little son and covered it with
kisses intermingled with tears.

The hunters respected this outburst of maternal love ; they
retired, after having left her a blanket, some food and water.

At sunset, Edward Clarkson and William Delarue returned.
Delarue was the wounded man whom the Clarksous had found
under the fort and whom they had borne away on a litter.
He was a trapper, a French Canadian, who had dwelt with a

In: nonrans’ annual.

' married brother at the settlement, and had seen his relations

and friends butchered before his eyes. He had consented to
accompany Brandard and his nephews in their self-imposed f
task of vengeance which he swore to aid.

When he and Edward Clarkson were asked why they had
staid so late, Delarue held up a rifle whose barrel was bursted
flom the touch-hole half up the barrel. ‘

‘ What is that ’l’ inquired Brandard.

‘Look !’ replied Delarue, pointing to the stock.

The old trapper took it and read, carved rudely on the wood,
‘This gun belongs to Nathan Sutter.’ _

‘ Where did you find this?’ cried the trapper, quickly.

‘About two miles from Cedar Bottom, this side of it. We‘
followed the trail of two men, one probably the man‘tliis be-
longed to, and saw them‘enter a hut, some six or eight miles
Gem this. That is why W) are late.’

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
   

 
 

 

16. w , moumormrnuunmu‘,
‘ ‘ Did you recognize them ?’ ,
. ‘ Yes, Nathan Sutter was one, the other was the tall Spur
iard who killed your brother.’ ’
I ‘ Enough. We will start at the break of day. Were those
two the only ones in the cabin ?’
‘No, we heard loud talking and laughing, in the cabin before
they entered; there may be fire or six there.’
‘ Very well. We will see to—morrow. They will not leave
heir retreat, think you ’9’
‘No,’ said Delarue. "l‘hey have no suspinion of our being -~ * '2‘
in the neighborhood?
‘ Well, let us have supper now. I was afraid you would
leave us but the bones, on accwnt of our delay.1
‘Wé were near doing so, Curumilla and l.’
The fire was replenished, the Indian woman invited to take
.I. sent by the fire when she sat down lulling her babe to rest
with some monotonous Indian ballad.
The meal was soon ovor, and after smoking a pipe or two,

. all laid down to rest, except the two Clarhsons who watched

turn by turn over their comrades and the Woman they had
issued.

At sunrise she awoke and, with the skill and quickness pe-
culiar to women ol her race, she kindled the fire and prepared
the breakfast.

After eating their repast, the hunters lit their Indian pipes,
and Brendard, seating himself at the foot of a tne, addressed
the woman : '

‘ What do they call my daughter ?’

‘ Tonameyotl (the Sunbeam); replied she with a smile which
discovered the two rows of pearls wliiclradorned her mouth.

' ‘My daughter has a fine nanie,’ returned Brandard ; ‘ she no .
doubt belongs to the great nation of the Apaches ?’

‘ The Apaches are dogs,’ responded she in a. hollow voice

- 1nd flashing a glance of hate from her eyes, ‘the Comanche -_ ~,.

women weave the petticoats. The Apaches are'cowm-dly like
coyotes, they dare not fight but a hundred against one; the
Comanche Warriors are like the tempest.’ ‘ _ .l
‘ IS my daughter the wife of a thatoa'u’i (a chieftain)?’ » I
‘Who is the warrior who knows not the Unicorn '3’ said she
oudly. '
The hunters bowed. They had many times already heard 7
the name 0f the Chief; Brandard had even seen him; Mexi- /
cans and lndians, hunters and trappers, bore to him a reap.“
mixed with terror

 

 

     

THE HUNTERS RIVENGI.

1

‘Sunbeam is the Unicorn’s wife,’ said the Indian womm.,

‘Jectli (good) 1’ responded Brandard; ‘let my daughter tell
me where he can find the altepetl (village) of her tribe, and
we will take her thither.’

The yonng woman smiled.

‘I have In my heart a little bird which sings every instant of
the day,’ said she in her sweet melodious voice; ‘ the cuicuitzcatl
(swallow) cannot live without its mate, the chief is on the Sun
beam’s track.’

‘We will await the chief here,’ rctumed the old hunter.
‘ How came my daughter tied to the trunk of a tree and launched
on the Gila, to perish with her infant ? it is an atrocious ven-
geance l’ ~

‘Yes,’ said she, ‘an Apache’s vengeance. Aztatl (the IIeron,)
Stanapat’s daughter, the chief of the Apaches, loves the Unicorn
her heart leaps at the very name of the great Comanche war-
rior, but the chief of my nation has but one heart, and that is
the Sunbeam’s. Two days ago, the warriors of my tribe set
‘ off for a great bufi‘alo hunt, the women alone remained in the

village. While I was sleeping in my hut, four Apache thieves,

profiting by my slumber, laid hands on me and my child and
placed us in the hands of Stanapat’s daughter.

“‘ You love your husband,” said shasneering, ‘you doubtless
suffer at being absent from him, be happy ; I will send you to
him by the shortest road. He hunts in the prairies down the
river, in two hours you will be with him, unless,” added she
laughing, “unless the caimaus stop you on the way.” “The
Comanche women scorn death,” replied I, “ for one hair you tear
from me, the Unicorn will have the scalps of all your tribe——
act as you please,” and I turned aside it y head, resolved to have
no further word with her.

‘She bound 1ne herself to the log with my lace up to the
sky, as she said, “that I might see my way,” and then pushed
me into the stream crying 5 “The Unicorn is a wolf whom the
Apache women laugh at; this is how I avenge myself!” I
have told my father and my brothers, the white hunters, things
as they happened.’

‘ My daughter is a ciuatl (courageous woman) ;’ replied
Brandard; ‘she is worthy to be the tecihumwh (spouse) of a re-
nowned chief.’

The young woman nniled and presented her little son with
a playful movement to the hunters who kissed its forehead.

At this moment the notes of a mawkawis (quail) came from
5 little distance.

A...

 

  

  

 

 

The hunters sprang to their feet and looked around them
‘The quail is not startled easily,’ muttered old Brandard
suspiciously.

The Indian woman smiled without answering. ,

All at once a light noise of snapping branches troubled the
silence.

The hunters cocked their rifles.

‘My brothers need not stir,’ said the young woman quick-
ly, ‘it is a friend.’

The hunters laid their rifles down beside them.

The young woman then initated with rare perfection the .
call of the yellow-bird.

Then the bushes were parted and an Indian warrior armed
and painted for war, leaped like a panther over the obstructing
plants and stopped facing the white men.

This warrior was the Unicorn.

He saluted the men with that gracefulnee innate in Indians;
then crossed his arms over his breast and stood erect and mo-
tionless, without glancing at the Indian woman, whom he did
not appear to have seen.

On her side, the Sunbeam made no gesture.

For several seconds, a painful silence weighed u n the per-
sons whom chance had so strangely brought togetge) .

At last Brandard, who had recognized the chief and who
saw that the latter obstinater maintained his muteness, de-
cided to speak himself.

‘ The Unicorn is welcome to our camp,’ began he ; let him
take a place at the fire of his brothers and partake with them
of the food they possess.’

‘I will take a place by my pale-face brothers,’ said the red
' man ‘but they must answer a question I would address them.’

‘ (Sur brother may speak ; our ears are open.’

‘ Well,’ rejoined the chief; ‘why have the white hunters
the U nicorn’s wife with them ’I’ \
‘Let Sunbeam herself answer the question,’ said the old

trapper.

The chief turned towards his wife.

‘I am waiting,’ said he.

The Indian woman repeated word for word to her husb’md
what she had said a short time previously.

The Unicorn heard her without evmcing surprise or anger,
his Visage remained passionlees except that perhaps he no.
mentu'ily frowned. ‘

 

  

 

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

1n In“!!! BWGI.

When his wife had done speaking, the Comanche chief .3
lowered his head on his breast and dWelt for an instant plunged .2 5
in serious reflections. Then he raised his head. . f v
‘Who saved Sunbeam from the stream where she would-«-
have perished ’2’ asked he. . .
The young woman’s face bri htened with a smile. 
‘These hunters,’ said she, painting to Curumilla and Brand- " v
ard.
1 ‘Good,’ exclaimed the chief casting on the two men a look
 impressed with an expression of unspeakable gratitude.
‘ ‘ Could we have let her perish 7’ said the old trapper.
‘My brothers have acted well. The Unicorn is one of the ‘ I,
foremost sachems of his nation, his tongue is not double, he i 5
gives his heart but once and that to the hunters.’ ,
These simple words were pronounced with that majesty and
" ' grandeur which the Indians know so well, when they please,
' to ut in their speeches.
he hunters bowed in token of thanks.

The chief continued:

‘ The Unicorn returns to his village with. his wife, his young
men are waiting a few rods from here; he would be happy if
the hunters would accompany him.’

‘ Chief,’ replied Brandard, ‘we are here to hunt.’

.‘Well, what of that 2 my brothers can hunt with me and
my young men; they can then slay more bufl‘alees.’

‘Chief, it is not buffaloes we hunt, but men.’

‘ All the better. My young men are more skilled for the
warpath than for the prairie. Are my brothers’ enemies nu— .
merous ’2’

‘ About ten or twelve men.’ v

‘ Pooh! But if my brothers would prove that they accept ‘
my friendship, let them follow me to my village.’

, ‘Very well,’ said Brandard who whispered some words in the
.' ears of Harry and his brother who turned and went to sit down
by the fire.

‘ Why is that ?’ said the chief; ‘the hi ends of my brothers
are my friends. They will be welcome at the village.’

‘I know it, chief,’ began the old trapper, ‘but our enemies ,
must be ‘watched.’

‘The Unicorn has spies; my brother can command, they will
obey. Who are his enemies?’

. Delarue stepped forward and explained to the chief the
’ ‘ whereabouts of the hut into which e had seen the twt men ,
’ » enter. '

  

 
  

‘ My young men shall go,’ said the chief. ‘Do my brother!
now come to my village ’2’ t ,

‘But the chief has a horse and we are on foot.’

‘ I have horses.’

To resist longer might have been construed into an insult to
the chief; the hunters accepted the invitation. 01d andnrd
It heart was not sorry to make friends and have at need allies
from whom he could claim help.

The squnw had got up; she timidly approached her husband
and held out the child, saying feuringly:

‘ 0 mi paysk 1k Ilwmogonisk (embrace this warrior?)

The chief took the child, kissed it and retume it to the

7 mother.
The latter wrapped it up in a blanket, tied it to a board lined ’
with dry moss, placed a. cover over its head to shield it from
' the sun and suspended the whole on her back by means of a
band of linen which she fixed to her forehead.
‘ I am ready,’ said she.
. ' The chief started ofl‘, followed by all the hunters, Curumille 5'
being the last man... '
They were soon lost to the view.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

 

CHAPTER IV.
THE Her I): rm: woons.

As had been said by Delarne and Edward Clarkson, they had
followed two men, one of whom had burst his rifle firing at
some game and had then carelessly flung it aside, and had seen
them enter a hut from which noise of talking and revelry had
been heard.
This hut was situated in a spot. too charming to be profaned
the heavy feet of the horsestealers, pirates of the prairies ‘ s
and robbers who had made there their dwelling. '
The building was a little one story cabin formed of 10gs and
interlaced branches, divided into several compartments, with a \
corral behind for the horses. It was built on the left bank 01
5‘ ' a little brook which flowed into the Gila.
" Within the largest room three or four men were saved /
drinking and playing cards.
Let us describe them.

 

l \
1's:- numss’ amen. 1]

The one who first calls our attention is: tall (powerful colos-
sus, nearly six feet high, who at one glance woul be recognized
as the master-spirit of the party. He was named John Sutter,
was an American, and with his two sons (of whom we will
speak hereafter), had been for many years captain of a gang of
men th caused more terror on the frontiers than even the In
dians. His troop had been, some weeks before the attack of
the settlement described in our first chapter, reduced from
twenty men to five, himself, his two sons, and two Mexicans,
by an attack from Indians. They had escaped with great exer-
tions, had endeavored, shortly after, to steal horses for them~
selves from the stables of Mr. Clarkson, in company with an
Indian, Stanapat’s brother, had been caught, flogged and ex-
pelled from the settlement. Smarting with their wounds, they
had joined the Apaches and fell upon the settlement as before
described. After the attack, glutted with blood and plunder,
the five men, still commanded by Sutter, had sought a retreat,
from whence they could renew their assaults on travelling par-
ties of emigrants or gold seekers; they had chosen the site on
which we find them and had built there a cabin.

The second man, (a Spanish gambusino), was at this moment
of our entering, deep in study of the game of monte, played
by himself and a Mexican outcast. .

This Spaniard’s name is Simon Munez, of whose early life
nothing was known, and nothing good could be divined, judging
from his sullen, vindictive countenance.

His opponent at the game was a man most singularly formed ‘
in features, for be so much resembled a dog that the Indians
and his comrades had given him the nickname of Dog’s-face.
This name had so well suited the Mexican that, whether be
pleased or not, he had been obliged to accept it. He had, at
the age of sixteen, been imprisoned for stabbing a muleteer in
Santa Fe, had easily escaped from the dungeon by means of a
friendly gaoler, and had joined a low set of picaros. Their di-
vision of the spoils had disgusted him, so, one day making
with as much as he could carry of the combined plunder of the
band, he had fled to some interior town of Mexico. Where,
soon fleeced of his money by more expert gamblers than him- .
self, he had been forced to rob alone, until he had by some
chance, become one of Sutter’s gang. He was a small, wn-y
pun, «endowed with extraordinary strength. -

One man, beyond da'ibt an American, who so much resem-

 

 
 

,
i

te. 
i”
H

i

u bled old Sutter that,without knowing the fact, one would pro-

- nounce him his son, near the fire superintending some gain/c

cooking. He was very nearly as tall as his father, and lacked
but little of his wonderful strength. A long slash, from a
sword or a knife, from his left eye down to his chin, gave a
fearful expression to his already no way pleasing visage. »

For more than an hour, no sound breaks the silence, but a
low ‘ two of spades" (do: de espadas) ‘curses on the cards,’ or

‘ similar expressions from the two gamesters.

Old Sutter stands leaning by the door, in evident ill—humor.

His son is still by the fire, giving a last turn to the roasting
venison.

At last old Sutter turns quickly from the door, and says tc
the players:

‘Come, be quick with that game; here comes Wat and
Fe ito.’

he gamblers picked up their cards sullenly, put the packs
in their boots and drew their chairs from the table.

‘.Come, Dick, look alive !’ cried Sutter to the man who was
cooking. ‘Put on a cloth and dish the venison.’

A sound of feet outside the door announced some new arri-
val, and soon there entered the two men whom Delarue had
designated as the tall Spaniard and Nathan Sutter.

Pepito Rosario, or Don Pepito as he was called by those who‘
desired to please him, was a man of high stature, somewhat
thin, who was what is vulgarly called infernally handsome

He is dressed with a. care to appearance which makes him
look the gentleman beside his less careful companions. He
had at one time been proprietor of a macho and lands in New
Mexico, but had gambled them away in his pasaion for monte.
He had taken to the road, had become as low as the lowest
and was, truth to say, no unsuitable comrade for Simon Mu-
nez, Dogsfaee and the Sutters. ‘

Nathan Sutter advanced and threw himself into a seat by /
the table. '

It was only then that his father perceived that he carried

0 n.
‘glilow now, Nat! where’s your rifle '1’ inquired he.
The American held up his right hand, encircled with a
blood-stained bandage.
‘The cursed rifle urst, blew off two or three of my fingers,

lot a blessing not taking the whole hand,’ replied he angrily
‘What news have ya], Nut ’1’ said his father examining the

     

 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
    
 
  

Li

 

  

THE HUNTERS REV ENGI.

hand which as his sen had said, had lost two fingers, the little

one wholly, the third one from the second joint.

‘None at all, or worse. I tell you, father, the wood is too
quiet; we, Pepito and I, found no Indian tracks, but we fear
they are around.’

‘ But,’ said Sutter, ‘ no war party is likely to approach this

pot, and as for single warriors, we need not fear them.’

‘ But, father, I say we must be cautious ; I feel I was wron.
in leaving my gun in the woods; if found it will point me out
directly—my name is on the stock.’

‘ Well, let us get over our meal, at any rate, for Pepito
eyes the meat savagely ; we can send scouts out after dinner.’

The whole company sat down at table and the only sound in.»
the room was the rattling of knives and plates.

The meal lasted about half an hour, when, the table being
cleared away, cards were again brought out while others lit
their pipes.

Four or five days passed without the bandits undertaking any
new enterprises. At that period, they were greatly puzzled
at the non-appearance of Simon Muuez who had been many
hours from the hut. At about three o’clock of the afternoon,
Sutter was about dispatching his two sons in his search, when
nfaint crack of a rifle followed by several others was heard.

The men ran to the cabin door, and saw hastening towards
them Simon Munoz, who held in his hand an Indian’s dripping
Ical .
When he entered, he was a few minutes recovering his breath.
Then he cried:

‘A'band of Comanches, with some whites are on horses, com-
ing this way. I cut off a scout, learned who they were, and
ran to warn you—we had better take to our horses ! for they
are surely in our search.’

There was a moment of terrible confusion.

‘ Go saddle the horses,’ cried old Sutter to Nathan and Pepi-

0. ‘We will be with you in a moment.’

The preparations for starting took no great while ; in five min.
utes, the men who had staid in the cabin, had rummaged all
their concealments of booty, the most valuable articles were
poeketed, and soon the five men were together in the corral.

‘Which way are we going?’ demanded they of Sutter.

‘ We must gain the mountains,’ replied the old bandit. ,

Let us leave them riding off at full speed, while we return

.46 Brandard, his nephews, Delarue and Gurumilla, whom we
left with the Comanche chief.

 

 

 

 

A. ., _.-.. ..._.q,...__ A-..»

 

  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

mmormmmmmn,
CHAPTER V.
[THE Aborrrox.

. SIXTY Comanche warriors were extended on the grass awuta
ing their sachem, while their horsns, fastened with lessees,
were cropping the high herbage of the plain and the young
sprouts of trees.

At the first glance these men would have been recognized
as warriors chosen with care for a dangerous expedition; every
one dragged behind his heel five or six wolf-tails, marks of
honor which renowned braves have alone the right to wear.
0n seeing their chief, they rose and leaped into their saddles.

There was not one but knew that their sachem’s wife had ,
been stolen away and that the aim of their expedition was tw
deliver her; yet, am seeing her, they manifested no surprise
and saluted her as if she had only quitted them a few minutes
before.

This war-party had many spare horses with it; the chief had
his wife and new friends mounted ; then, on a sign from him,
the cavalcade started and set off at full gallop, the. only pace
Indians know.

After nearly two hours ride, they arrived within a short dis-
tance of the 'village which they knew was hear, on account of
the habit the Comanches have of placing their dead outside
the village on scaffolds; these scaffolds were composed of four
stakes, at the top of which is a platform, holding the body and
hung about with skins and other offerings made by the Indians

, to the good spirits.

At the first wigwams of the village, a throng of horsemen
were assembled awaiting their sachems return; when they per-
ceived him, they shouted a loud hurrah and came up amid a
whirlwind of dust, shooting their guns and brandishing their
weapons. I

The Unicorn’s troop did the same,and all became a noisy con-
fusion ; the sachem entered the village amid the barkings of
dogs, shouts and gunshots; he was accompanied to the square
by an undescribable throng. ' >

There, the warriors stopped. The Unicorn made the hun—
ters dismount and guided them to his call'i (hut), intt which
he made them precede him. . ‘

‘Now,’ said he, ‘ brothers, you are in your own house; rest .
in peace, eat, drink. This evening, I Wlll come to you and
make a proposition which I sincerely trust you will not reject.

I'll: Hanna‘s? annual.

The hunters, fatigued with their long ride, extendco teem-
lelves with extreme pleasure, on the beds of dried and fragrant
leaves. -

‘ Well,’ demanded Brandard, ‘what think you, lads ’2’

‘Why,’ said Dclaruc, ‘in my opinion, we can fear no harm;
the chief can be trusted.’

‘ There will not only come no harm to us,’ said Harry Clark-
son, ‘ but on the contrary, a great deal of good.

‘ How so, nephew T inquired the old hunter. .

‘ W by, we have won the friendship, or at least you have, of
the chief, and can at need call upon him for aid ’

‘ \Vhat aid do we want, llarry’!’ asked his brother; ‘Bill
tells us he thinks there are no more than half a dozen at most
in that hut which shelters our father’s murderers; and here are
four, and I make five, to meet them.’

‘Aye, ch,’ returned his brother, ‘ but then, if they had the
Apaches once to help them, they may again. Curumilla, uncle
and Bill are good shots but they cannot hold out against old
Sutter with the Apaches to back them.’

‘ Harry is right,’ said the elder Clarkson. ‘We should at
need have the Unicorn on our side.’

‘Well, nephews, you had better sleep; Bill, Curumilla and I
will soon join your example,’ said the trapper; ‘we have some-
thing to talk about.’

The two brothers were soon slumbering deeply, while the
Indian and the two whites had a long conversation on what
could be the proposition which the Unicorn had promised to
make them. ,

As he had promised to do, towards evening the Unicorn en-
tered the calli.

' ‘ Are my brothers rested 2’ asked he.

‘Yes,’ replied they.

‘Are they Ieady to hear me '2’

‘Speak, chief, we are lstening.’

The Comanche sachcm extended his arm as it were to give
more force to his words and commenced thus, addressing
Brandard whom he seemed to recognize as the head of the

rty:

" Brother, you and your friends are brave warriors, the
prairies rejoice at your coming among us; the deer and the
buffalo flee at your approach, for your arm is strong and your
aim sure. The Unicorn is but one Indian, but he is a great
warrior of the Comanches and a chief renowned in his tribe;

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
 
   
   
 
   

 

  

 
   
   
   
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

you‘have cared his wife, the Sunbeam, whom the Apache dog!
sent floating down the Rio Gila a prey to the hideous alliga-

. tors. Since his wife, the joy of his calli, and his son, the hope

of his old days, have been returned him, the Unicorn has
sought in his heart the means of proving his gratitude ; he has
asked the Master of Life what could he do to attach you to
him. The Unicorn is terrible in combat, he has the heart of A
the grizzly bear for his enemies, he has the heart of the gazelle
for those he loves.’

‘ Chicf,’ returned the old hunter, ‘ the words you have uttered
pay us amply for what we have done; we are happy to have
saved the son and wife of a celebrated warrior; our recom-
pense is in our hearts, we wish no other.’

The chief shook his head. i

‘ No,’ said he, ‘the white hunters are no longer strangers to
Elfin! Comanches; they are brothers for our tribe. While

ey slept, the Unicorn assembled round the council-fire the
chiefs of his nation, he told them what has passed: the chiefs
think like the Unicorn , they have charged him to make known
to the hmters the resolution they have taken.’

‘ Speak, chief,’ responded Brandard, ‘and believe that the de-
sires of the council are orders for us.’ -

A smile of joy parted the chief‘s lips.

‘Good l’ said he. ‘Here is what the great chiefs have agreed;
my brothers, the hunters, will be adopted by the tribe; they
Wlll henceforth be sons of the Comanche nation. What say
my brothers ’P

A lively sentiment of pleasure made the old hunter start at
this unexpected proposal; to be adopted by the Comanches was
to obtain the right of traversing all the territory which that
powerful nation governed by its untameable courage and its
numerous warriors, and to be able to ask assistance in the ro-
iect of vengeance which had united the five men. Bran ard
exchanged a look with his companions and rose.

‘I accept for myself and friends,’ said he, holding out his

r hand to the chief, ‘ the honor which the Comanches do us to

admit us among the number of the sons of that warlike nation.
We shall try to be worthy of the great favor.

The Unicorn smiled. _

‘ To-morrow,’ said he, rising, ‘my brothers Will be adopted
by the nation.’ .
After having gracefully saluted the hunters, he retired
The next morning, the chief; entered the 09111.

nu: nunnas’ nnvuol. ' ~ 9

The old trapper and his friends were ready; the had been
talking the night before of the proofs they would ve to sufi
fer.

a copious repast was prepared.

This repast was composed of dog’s flesh boiled in bear’l
grease, tortillas and cakes of maize.

The chiefs sat down, and were served by the squaws.

When the meal was terminated, every one rose; the Unicorn

‘Tho neophytes were conducted to the medicine lodge, where V

laid his hands on the hunters’ heads, and chanted the great‘

war-song.

This song was repeated in chorus by those around, to the
sound of warwhistles, drums, and chiehikoues, (a musical instru-
ment similar to a large rattle).

Here is the translation of the chant:

‘Master of Life, view us with a favorable eye.

We receive brothers in arms, who show their vigorous arms,

their far-seeing eyes, their agile limbs.

‘They fear not to expose themselves to the enemies’ blows.’

It is impossible, if one has not witnessed such a scene, to
form an idea, even a distant one, of the fearful din which was
made by these hoarse voices, mingled with shrill discordant in»
struments: it was enough to make one deaf.

When the chant was terminated, each one took seats around
the council-fire.

The hunters were seated on beaver-skins, and were presented
with the great calumet at war, of which they took a few pufl's,

and finally passed it around the circle.

The Unicorn rose then, and attached to each one a wampum
collar, and a necklace of grizzly bears’ claws.

Then all rose.

Near the medicine lodge the Indians had constructed in less
than an hour a me away-cabin.

When this cabin was finished, the hunters threw off their

A clothing and entered it.

The chiefs brought two red hot stones, which they placed
near vessels of bark full of water, then going out, they closed
the door, and left the neophytes to themselves.

The latter threw the water on tlis stones; steam instant.y
rose and made them sweat profusely. ’ .

When the perspiration had reached its height, the hunter.
ran out of the hut, passed through the midst of two files of Co
lmchc warriors, and, as customary, plunged into the river.

I

 

   

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
   
   

 

‘Ii ’ mammmmmrnzon.

They immediately left the‘water, were enveloped in blanket!
and conducted, still to the sound of infcmal music, to the Uni-

. eom’s calli, to undergo the last test, which is also the most

painful. I

. The hunters were extended on their backs; then, with a
pointed stick dipped in water wherein powuer had beendig.
solved, the Unicorn traced on their breasts the figure of th.
animal which served as talc/n (protector) to the tribe.

Then, with ten needles mounted in a handle of wood, and
dipped in vermilion, he proceeded to prick in the design; the
places which were not marked with \‘cnnillion were rubbed.
with gunpowder, so that there resulted a blue and red tattooing.

During:r the operation, the warsongs and rattling of chichi-
koues never ceased to drown the cries which the atrocious pain

- might draw from the patients.

But the latter supported all without more than a slight frown
or a twitch of the muscles bearing witness to their sufferings.

When the tattooing was completed, the wounds were cauter-
izcd to prevent suppuration, and lavcd in cold water in which
had been infused the herb called poo/cqueesegou, a plant which
the Indians mix with their tobacco to make it mild.

The hunters, having bravely supported the tests for the six
hours they endured, without uttering a groan or showing asign

of weakness, were considered by the Indians, from that mo-

ment, with a species of respect; for with them courage is the
first qualification.

‘-My brothers are sons of the tribe,’ said the chief, offering
each one a horse; ‘the prairie is theirs.’

They followed the chiefs to the medicine lodge, where, after
each man had taken his place around the fire, a new calumet
was smoked, and the Unicorn rose.

‘The Master of life (God) loves his Comanche sons, since he
has given them for brothers warriors like Uurumilla and the
white hunters. Who can equal their courage ? who can with-
stand them ’2 The grizzly bear hides at their approach at the
bottom of his den ; the jaguar hounds far from them; the eagle
Itself, who can gaze at the sun, flies their infallible ball.
Brothers, we are happy to hail ye among our number; hence.
forth we shall be ilivincihle.’

The hunters thanked their new brothers warmly, and wet
led back to the Unicorn’s calli, where all the chiefs withdrct.
are t their host.

‘ ell,’ said Brandard, who was, from his age and experiona

 

  
  

 

 

  
  

THE iwnuas’ airmen.

constit ited leader and spokesman of the pa.~ty,‘the Unicorn
can speak, the ears of his brothers are open.’

‘Can the Unicorn do aught for his brothers ’2’ demanded the
Comanche. ".l‘he scouts sent out have returned, and say that
five or six men xrive in the but on Deer Creek; are they the
men my brothers seek ?’

‘They are, chief; and we will start to—morrow morning t
‘apture them.’

‘ N o, the Unicorn has warriors who have the eyes of tho
tigenscat; the bandits cannot evade them.’

‘ What does my brother advise?’ inquired Brandard, who saw‘
that the chief was desirous of doing something‘for them.

‘ The Unicorn knows those men, they are scorned by, the
Whites and despised by the red men; they have treacherously
murdered more than one of my men, in company with the
Apaches, and the Unicorn would help his brothers to slay them,
is not that my brother’s intention?’

‘Chief, not one of those you see around you has not some
terrible account to settle with that miscreants. Whom has he
most outraged? theseL—said the old trapper, pointing to his
naphews, and warming with his subject, which led him to throw
0 his usual impassiveness,——‘ these lost a mother when I lost a
Sister; Sutter, for I’ve found out. the villain’s name, cowardly
stabbed their father; others of the gang killed the relations of
my friend, Delarue, and we have sworn an oath, that is to apply
to the murderers Lynch Law; but Lynch Law in all its rigor
eye for eye, tooth for tooth 1’

‘Good 1’ said the Unicorn, ‘my brother speaks like the war-
rior he is. Let him rest and two days from this he can go on
the warpath against his foes.’ ‘

Saluting them gracefully, the Indian chief left the hut.

Two days afterward, the whites and Curumilla were com plete-
3' over the effects of the tests they had undergone at their a- .

option. They were forced to accept an escort of twenty pick-
ed warriors with whom came the Unicorn, to accompany them
to the attack of the bandit’s cabin.

Simon Nunez,  we know, had been out on a search for game.
when his attention had been attracted to a thicket by the
strange movements of his horse. Tying the animal to‘ a tree
he had crept slowly and silently on when, peering through an
opening in a bush, he had seen an Indian, 0. Comanche armed
and painted for war, half bent over the ground, examining a
(nil which the bandits had taken no pains to conceal from its

 

  

    

 

single warrior who, if let escape, might return to his tribe with
a. tale which might endanger the security of his friends and him-
self, Simon had instantly took aim and mortally wounded the
savage, who fell with a. cry of alarm.

Searcer the sound died away and Simon secured the In-
dian’s scalp, re he heard the noise of galloping horses, and
whoops, and drwried several Indians and white men some dis-
tance at the foot of the hill on which he was standing. They
had not seen him, but fired several shots at the spot [rem
which they had heard the gunshot vxd seen the white smoke
mount above the trees. Simon waited for no more, but hurri-
ed to his horse, untied him and hastened ofi‘ to bear the alarm
to his comrades.

Its effect we have seen.

The fugitives had barely disappeared behind the trees ere the
rapid tramp of a troup of horsemen came to the ear and many

" men, white and red, came gallopin up to the hut. Among them

we recogniZe the Unicorn, Bran ard, Delarue, Curumilla and
the Clarksons.

‘Hum I’ said the old trappers, when they came to within I
dozen yards of the hut, ‘it is very silent here.’

‘The bandits are perhaps out on a. hunt,’ interposed Dela-
rue.

Brandard laughed.

‘You think so?’ said he, ‘no, William, remember that shot
and the dead Indian. They have taken the alarm.’

Harry Clarkson and his brother had already dismounted and
kicked open the door.

‘No one !' cried they rushing out. ‘ To horse, again! they
can’t be far ofi‘.’

The troop started again.

Curumilla remained an instant behind and flung a flaming
brand into the cabin, which soon wok fire and bars! "mu 11am

‘ Their retreat will serve them no more P acid the Midis. M1
ioining his companions.

woxiraity toltheir hut. In the belief that the Indian was some

 

    

 

  

    

   

m nomas’ “yuan, ‘1

CHAPTER v1. _  »

    
 

\

 
 
 
 
 

CURUHILLL

   

0x: month after the events which we have related in our , 
hit chapter, in the first days of the month of December which ‘ 4.
the Comanche Indians call ah—escia k'iouska-oni, that is to say, . r
I the moon of the buck which sheds its horns, some few moments
gafter sunset, four or five men, who from their costume were ea-
r" 5in to be recognized as hunters of the prairies of the Far West,

     
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

ciambered up on to one of the highest peaks of the Sierra de los
Comanches, an eastern branch of the Rocky Mountains which
extends to Texas where it terminates in the Guadaloupe Moun-
‘tain.

The air was cold, a thick layer of snow covered the sides of

' the mountain. The ascent which these bold adventurers fol-
lowed was so rugged that, although they seemed accustomed to
4 such travelling, the were often forced‘to sling their rifles be-
hind them and clim by the aid of both hands and knees.
\ But no difiiculty repulsed them, no obstacle was strong enough
I ' to make them seek another road.

‘ At times, exhausted with fatigue and wet with sweat, they
would stop to repose extended on snow, of which they swallow-
. ed handfulls to quench the burning thirst which devoured them,

i then, when rested a little, they would start once more and re-
commence to climb that eternal ice whose gigantic masses were
at each step more forbidding.

Were these men in search of a practicable path in that fear-
ful labyrinth of mountains whose peaks upreared to an immense
height, in the glacial regions of the rarified atmosphere ’3

Or rather, might they not, for reasons known to themselves,
be wishing to attain a spot from whence they could discover a
nut view ’1

If the latter was their hope, they had gained it.

When after numberless fatigues they had finally reached tin
summit of the peak they were ascending, they saw before their
gees country the grandeur of which astonished and made
‘ em marvel at its sublime immensity.

On whatever side they directed their looks, they were con-
founded by the majesty of the panorama unfolded at their feet.

The Rocky Mountains are strange mountains, unique in the
world, which have no one point of resemblance with the Pyro-
mes. the Alps, the Appenines and all those magnificent chains

 

-3”; _ r V
a

.. v... «pt-‘5
\

       
   
   

ofmountains’ which, from space to space, rise above the old
.world and seem, with their hoary heads, to protest, in their
Creator’s name, against the pride of men. ‘

The hunters soared, so to say. over a world.

Below them was the Sierra de los Comanches, which is but
one immense mountain divided into snowy peaks of which the
gloomy cavities were to be seen with their deep imposing val»-
leys, their brilliant lakes, their shadowy (143(1le and their foam-
ing torrents which go leaping from rock to rock ; then, far, far
away from these savage limits, the sight of the hunters was
' lost in a boundless country veiled in the horizon with a blueish
vapor, like the surface of the ocean in calm weather.

Thanks to the purity and transparency of the atmosphere,
the adventurers could distinguish small objects at an astonish-
ing distance.

However, in all probability, these men had not undertaken
this perillous ascension for simple curiosity. The manner
wherein they examined the country and analyzed the different
portions of the vast panorama spread out before them proved
on the contrary, that grave reasons had urng them to brave
the almost unsurmountable difficulties which they had over-
come to attain the point on which we find them.

I The group, formed bythcse men with sunburned faces, en-
ergetic countenanccs and picturesque costumes, leaning on
their rifles, their eyes fixed on the space, had something grand
in its aspect; to see men at that incomprehensible elevation,
on the summit of that peak covered with never-melting snow
whose base formed, so to say, a. pedestal, in the midst of the
tempest-tossed and upturned nature which on all sxdes encom
passed them. .

Fora long time while they stood thus without speakm ,
endeavoring to distinguish the least formations of the e‘art
deaf to the lugubrious rolling of the torrents which foamed
beneath them, and to the ominous slides of the avalanche-
whieh glided down the steeps and were precipitated bel0w in
the valleys, bearing rocks and trees along with them.

At length the man who appeared to be leader of the party, g
passed the hack of his right hand over his brow wet With ’
sweat despite the chilly air, and, turning towards his compan-
ions, said: .

‘ Friends, we are twenty feet above the level of the. plum;
we are at the height at which the Indian warrior perceives for
the first time, after death, the land of spirits, and contem-

 

1m: Hunuxs‘ KEVIN!“- 88

plot!!! the territories and hunting-grounds, the resting place of
the just, free and generous warriors! The eagle alone on ,
Ioar above us 1’

‘ Yes,’ returned one of his companions shaking his head ,
‘yes, uncle, but i‘ve been looking on every side, and I see no
possibility of escaping? ‘ r

‘ Hum '.’ resumed the first speaker, ‘ why do you say that
Harry ? One would suppose, God pardon me if wrong I that
you, a Christian and my nephew, despairs.’ ‘

‘ That supposition lacks not much how being right, nncle,‘
replied the young man who was no other than Harry Clark-
son; ‘see, uncle; for ten days we have been lost in these
mountains, surrounded by snow and ice, withcut anything
scarcely to eat, and Iinust confess that l commence, not to de-
despair, but to believe that unless by a miracle we will never
get out of this inextricahle chaos in which we are enclosed.’

Brandard shook his head.

The four men on the mountain peak were indeed the old
hunter, his nephews and Curumilla. .

In a few words we will explain how we meet them here.
When they had taken up the trail of their enemies they had
followed them for two days and We nights; then, they had
fitllen in with the bandits who had made their escape,
killing five or six warriors of the Unicorn’s men, Wounding
Delarue severely and receiving no serious harm themselves
beyond a few scratches. Brandard had then partell with the
Unicorn, Who took Delarue hack to his village when he prom-
ised'he should receive every care, takiiq,r with him Curnmilla
and his nephews.

-Sutter with his men had managed to throw the l; enters old’

the trail and had ballled their, attempts for he had Ht w learned,
though he knew not the reason, that his pursucrs were seek-
ing his life. Brandard and his friends had been lost in the
mountains and had wandered for more than a Week before
they attained the peak on which we see them.
. ‘ I see, uncle,’ resumed Harry, ‘ that you agree with me that
our position, instead of becoming better is, on the other hand.
much worse ; since two days, provisions have conipsletel y failed
us, and I do not see how, in these regions of ice, we can pro«
cure, others. Setter has deceived you and Curumille, experi-
enced hunters, and has drawn us into a trap from which we
unnot got out and in which we will find death.’

,A mmrnful silenee follmved.

 

 

Unable to stand erect, resembling corpses more than human
beings, with hollow cheeks, and feverish eyes, were a preyto I
devouring hunger, yet were calm and resigned, seeing at their
feet a gladdening country in which bounded millions of ani-
mals and on which grew numerous trees overburdened with
fruit.

But between that land and themselves rose a barrier not to
be crossed, one that neither strength nor cunning could move ,
all that it was possible for human beings to do to save their life
those men for ten days, had done. All their projects had been
thwarted by a strange fatality, which had made them contin-
ually turn in the same circle among those mountains which
resembled each other to such a degree, that all their attempts

had been Without success. : ’

‘ Pardon me, poor boys,’ said the old trapper, ‘I was wrong
in bringing you with me; ’twas I alone, an old man whose
less would have been nothing, who should have undertaken
the task.’

‘ Do not speak so, uncle,’ cried Edward quickly, ‘ all is not
yet lost, since we live !’

The old man smiled sadly.

‘ Come, come,‘ resumed Edward, ‘ what’s done cannot be nnv '

done. Instead of wasting precious time in useless recriminn
tions, let us lather see]; the means of releasing ourselves.’

‘ Alas, it is impossible 3’ said his hrot her in discouragement;
and, drooping his head on his breast, he sat down on the snow,
buried in reflections.

‘ Come, cheer up, Harry; impossible is a word we Ameri-
cans have scratched from the dictionary. While the heart
beats in one’s breast, there is hope. Cunning as are the bandits,
take my word on it, we will not only get clear of this’but
also find the villains again.’ '

‘Would I could believe you,’ said his brother despondently,
‘how will we do so ?’

‘l do not know; but I am certain we will, uncle will find
some plan.’

‘ Ah, if we were only where those two horsemen are,’ “id
llarry Clarkson with a sigh, ‘we would be safe.’ ,

‘ What horsemen are you speaking of? Where do you see

"them ’I’ inquired old Brandard eagerly.

The young man held out his arm in a northwesterhy direc-
non.

‘There they are, near that clump of oaks!’ said ha,‘don’t
vou see them‘!’ ‘

 

  

 

 

 

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
     

 

1 «ham—.1): ~15“

 

 

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

    

 

n

  

'rnr. nunrnfis’ nnvrnon. 85

‘Yu,’ replied Brandard, ‘ they are riding along tranquilly,
like men who know the road before them and have nothing to
fear.’

‘They are fortunate l’ murmured the young man.

, ‘Bah, who knows what awaits them at the first tum of the
road they are so peacefully following?’ said Edward laughing;
‘no one can answer for the next minute; they are on the road
from Independance to Santa Fe.’ ,

‘ Well, I would I were there also,’ grumbled the young man
through his teeth.

Brand-1rd, who had at first cast on the travellers a passing
glance, followed them now with interest, almost with anxiety,
but soon they disappeared at an angle of the road.

Nevertheless, for a long while the hunter remained with
eyes riveted on the point from whence they had first appeared,
little by little his eye brows frowned, a deep crease wrinkled
his forehead, and he stood mute and motionless, leaning on his
rifle, seeming a prey to deep emotion.

Despite themselves, his companions followed with a growing
interest the progress of his mind, which mightas it were be read
on his brow.

He remained for some time absorbed in himself. At last he
raised his head suddenly, and flinging about him a clear and
intrepid glance, said with a joyful voice and striking the butt
of his gun emphatically on the ice :

‘My friends, take courage ; I believe, this time I have found
the means of leaving safe and sound this place which imprisons
In.)

His hearers uttered a sigh of relief, almost of joy.

They knew the old hunter, they knew how fertile was that
intrepid mind in expedients and inaccessible to discouragement;
they had, in short, entire faith in him.

Brandard announced that he would save them, they believed
him. They did not suspect what means he would employ
that was his lookout, not theirs. Now, they were tranquil,
for he had given his word, that word which the old: hunter had
never broken ; they had nothing further to do but patiently
await the hour for their deliverance. '

‘ What did I tell you, Harry ’I’ said the young man’s brothrr;
‘I knew well enough we would not stay here.’

‘ When do we start ’I’ asked Harry.

When it comes night,’ replied his uncle ; ‘but where in

Camilla? -

 

     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

mom OFTKIMIIIIIO‘I,

‘Sooth to say, I don’t know. Hnlf an hour age I saw him

‘ slip along the mountain side, as if he had suddenly become mad ’

I have not seen him since.’

' Curumilla does nothing without reason,’ said the old hunter
‘you will see him return soon.’ ' ,

Indeed, scarcely had the old man ceased speaking, than the
Indian’s head showed itself above the level of the platform,
then his body and, with a bound, he was by his friends.

|His zarape, tied by the four corners, hung behind his back.

‘What are you carrying there, Curumilla ’2’ inquired Bran
dard smiling ; ‘ can it be food ’1’

‘ It is most welcome, then !’ exclaimed Harry Clarkson,
‘ for I am as hungry as a wolf.’

‘Where did you get provisions in these fearful regions ’2’
asked Edward.

‘ Let my brothers look !’ was the Indian’s simple rejoinder,’
And he threw his burden on the ground.

The Clarksons untied the knots.

The hunters littered an exclamation of joyful surprise.

b, '31: zarape contained a hare, a young peccary and many
it .

These provisions caused an emotion in these men which can
only be understood by those who like them, have been for
forty-eight hours without eating and lime passed through all
the pangs of hunger without power to appease them.

When their" first delirium was Wer, Brandzu'd turned to-
wards the lndinn, and, shaking his hand tenderly while a tear
rolled down his weather—beaten cheek, said :

‘Is my brother a sorcerer ?’

The Indian smiled gently and extending his arm towards an
eagle which was hovering over a rock a little distance from the
spot where the hunters were standing, said:

‘ We have shared)

The huntch could not restrain a. my of admiration ; all was _

explained.

The Indian, whom nothing seemed to escape, had seen the
eagle, had divined where was the nest and had introduced him-
self into the zerie to take a portion of the englets’ food, while
the white men had nearly fallen into despair.

‘Oh!’ snid Brundard joyfully, ‘it is now we are really saved,
inee we will gain the strength of which we have somuch need

in succeed in the project I have conceived; follow me, let us‘

return to our camp, eat gayly the dinnu‘ which, thanks to Cu-

  

 

 

    

rax Hournns' anvnuon. l ' 81

milla’s devotion, the eagles have furnished, and this evening
We will set ofi‘.’

comforted by these words, the hunters followed him, and the
little troop quickly descended the mountain which they had
gone up with so many difficulties and such despair at heart.

 

CHAPTER VII.
EL MAL PASO.

Ir took the hunters barely an hour to descend that moun
tain, which had required eight hours to ascend.

Their encampment was placed on the top of a raged rock,
in an impregnable position.

Their bold attempt of scaling the peak we have spoken of,
instead of one result, had two, inasmuch as not only had Bran
dard discovered what he sought for, but Curumilla had besides
found provisions.

So the hunters gleefully returned to the camp which they had
left with gloomy thoughts in their hearts.

No one, unless he has found himself in an analagous situation, ‘

can imagine the happy sensation which fills the soul when, from
the most complete despair, without other transition, it passes
suddenly to the fullest confidence.

When they reached the camp, Brandard relit the fire which
they had permitted to go out and stay extinguished for two
days, for it had been useless to them.

As the smoke from the fire might excite the suspicions of
those they pursued if, as was probable, they were concealed in
the neighborhood, and reveal the exact position of their pur
suers, the hunters roasted their provisions in a cavity of the
rock which opened in the side of the hill by which they had
established their encampment.

When all was ready, they began to eat.

It was only when their first hunger was appeased, that the)
thought to thank again the Indian chief for the copious repast
he had procured them by his address, a repast for which they
had such pressing need.

And then, (what they had not perceived before, so much in
haste had they been to appease their appetite) they remarked
flat .the Indian had not obtained the food which they had eat-

 

 
   

  

m m Ol‘ rm PIAIRIH ; 0‘,

i a without running serious dangers; in fact, Curumilla bore an

his face, shoulders and chest grave wounds, made bythe talons

’ and beaks of the eagles which had bravely defended their pro—

Visions.

With that Indian stoicism which nothing can equal, Guru-
milla calmly and silently staunched the blood which ran from
his wounds, disdaining to complain and appearing annoyed at
the uneasiness his companions gave witness of.

When the repast was over, Brandard uttered a sonorous hem
and began smoking his pipe ; the others did likewise, soon the
hunters disappeared amid a thick cloud of tobacco smoke.

‘ Friends,’ said the old hunter, ‘ God has come to our aid as

, He ever does when one has fimn faith in His omnipotence: He

has deigned to furnish us with the means of recuperating the
forces which already nearly abandoned us; do not let us, there-
fore, be disheartened ; to-morrow we will leave behind us this
prison of rocks which we are now in; when you have finished
your pipes, lie down and sleep: Iwill arouse you when the time
comes: when the hour of departure arrives you must be ready
to undertake a long journey. We have still four hours of da
yet let us profit by them, for I warn you, we will have muc
to do to-night.’

V And, joining example to precept, Brandard shook the ashes
from his oduinet, stuck it in his belt, stretched himself on the
ground and fell almost immediately asleep.

The others no doubt found his advice good, for they followed
it without hesitation.

Ten minutes afterwards, except Curumilla, every one slum
bered in the camp.

How long the two brothers had slept, they did not know
when their uncle aroused them, all was darkness around.

The sky, be-gemmed with an infinite number of stars, was
above their heads a. dark blue vault; the pale moon, motionless
in ether, seemed to swim in an ocean of vapor and illuminated
the country with its melancholy beams which impressed object.
with a fantastic appearance.

‘Up on your feet !’ whispered Brandard touching his 'ne-
phews on the shoulder one after the other.

‘ Are we going ’2‘ asked Edward Clarkson rising as if moved
by a spring.

' ‘ Yes,’ was the old hunter’s sole reply.
- Soon they were all ready to Start.

    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 

 

  

 

   

    

nu: Hunrtxs’ “use: r N

‘ Forward !’ said Brandard, ‘let us profit by the gloom; our
enemies are no doubt watching around us.’

With a gesture, the hunter assembled his companions around
him.

‘Hark ye,’ said he, ‘ before attempting the bold enter-prize I
have conceived, I wish to have your whole assent. Our position
[8 hopeless: to remain longer here is to die ; to die of cold,
hunger, thirst, and misery, after enduring, I know not how
many days of intolerable sutl'eiing; you are convinced of that,
are you not 'I’

‘ Yes,’ replied they in one voice.

‘iVell,’ resumed he, ‘ to try longer to find again the road we
have lost would be a mad undertaking, and one which would
have no chance of success.’

‘Yes,’ said they again.

The old hunter continued:

‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ it is a thing as mad that I essay this time 5
but, if this attempt fails, we will be killed outright, without
sufl‘ering ; if we succeed by a miracle, for it is almost a miracle
which I expect from God’s inexhaustible bounty, we will be
saved. Reflect well before replying. My friends, are you firm—
ly resolved to follow me and obey me in all I order, without
hesitation or murmur ? to make, in short, entire abnega-tion of
your will to be only directed by mine ? Answer’

The hunters exchanged a look. ' ,

‘Command, unclc,’ said Edward Clarkson, ‘we have sworn to
follow and obey you, whatever arrived, and we swear so once
more.’

‘ I have your promise, and will accomplish mine.’ With a ges-
ture full of majesty, the old backwoodsman uncovered, and
said, raising his eyes to heaven: “ Lord, our life is in Thy hands 5
we confide in Thy justice and bounty.’ Then, turning to his
com anions, he added in a firm voice:

‘ ome, let us go; mind, the utmost silence.’

The hunters advanced in Indian file; the 01d trapper led tb
march ;. Curumilla closed it.

On that obscure night, it was not certainly an easy thing t.
guide themselves among that chaos of crags, whose jutting
points showed here and there fathomless abysses, at the bottom
of which they could vaguely hear the murmuring of invisible
water. ,

A false step was mortal.

=‘ Nevertheless, Brandard advanced with almost as much

  

   

   

monmwmnmmxugon,

“cm”—

   
   
    
    
    
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 

usungnce as if he had been travelling by the light of a dazzling
sun in the broadest path of the prairies, turning to the right,
then again to the left, clambering over a rock, or slipping down
an alIuOst perpendicular steep, without ever hesitating or turn—
ing to his companions, to whom he said only at times in a. low
voice the one word:

. \ ‘ Courage !" I .

“ . They marched thus for full two hours, without other word 3
than the above being exchanged between them.  1

After along descent, during which they had twenty times run as I
the risk of rolling to the bottom of precipices, Brandard made‘
a sign for those following to stop.

They cast an anxious look about them. They found them- I! .
selves, so to say, balanced on a point of rock. Around them 1
was darkness. It overlooked an abyss of measureless depth.

1 'The mountain, cut as if by a giant’s sword, was separated
5 into two part, in the midst of which extended a yawning gulf
,’ of some fifteen or twenty feet across. .r
g ‘ ‘ ‘Over here we are to go,’ said Brandard, ‘ I give you ten min-
, , utes to recover wind and prepare.’

1

I

Vac:
.- V;.;:r

, -~_‘..V.__

‘ Here,’ cried Edward in astonishment, ‘why, I see nothing
‘, but precipices on either side.’ ‘

‘Well,’ replied Brandard, ‘we will cross here.’

The young man shook his head in discouragement. ,

Brandard smiled. ‘Do you know where we are '1’ said he.

‘No,’ rejoined his companions.

‘I will tell you; this spot is celebrated among the redsleins ,
and the prairie rovers ; perhaps you yourselves have heard it . r
many times spoken of before you ever thought you would find 
yourselves so near it; they call it el mal Paso, (the evil Pass,)
on account of the precipice which cuts the mountain in two
and interrupts communications with the opposite side.’

‘ Well ’2’ said the brothers in a breath.

‘ Well, a few hours ago, from the top of the peak, while I was
watching those two travellers whom we perceived on the Santa.
Fe road, my eyes chanced upon the mal Paso; then I saw that
a chance of safety was ours,and that before giving up hopelessly
we ought to try to cross the mal Paso.’ '

‘ So,’ demanded Edward, shuddering, ‘you hate determined
on such an insane undertaking ’l’ I ,A

‘I have.’
‘ But it is tempting heaven !’ ;
‘ No, it is only asking a mi sole. Believe me, my dear nephew i

  

 

 

 

THE HUNTIRB’ REVENGE. 41 "

Providence never abandons those who put their whole trust in
Him; He will come to our aid.’

‘ But—J

‘Enough,’ said the old hunter firmly, ‘ you have sworn to
obey me; keep your oath as well as I do mine.’

The hunter advanced to the edge of the rocky platform, and
hung over the brink, his eyes fixed before him with strange ten-
acit .

The lockers-on followed his movements without understand-
ing them. After having remained some moments motionless,
the hunter came back, saying:

‘All is well.’ I

Then he unwound his lasso from about his waist and com-
menced coiling it up in his right hand.

Curumilla smiled; the Indian had comprehended what Bran-
dard wished to do , without speaking, as was his custom, he de-
tached his lasso and imitated his friend’s movements.

‘ Good !’ said Brandard with an approving smile.

The two men put their right leg forward, bent their bodies
and swung their lassoes above their heads.

At a given signal, the lassoes Went whistling from their hands.

Brandard and Curumilla had kept one end in their hands;
they pulled towards them but the lassoes held; notwithstand-
ing all their efforts. they could not disengage them.

The old hunter uttered an exclamation of joy, he had suc-
ceeded. He tied the two lassoes together after twisting them,
rolled them around a rock and knotted them firmly.

Turning towards his nephew’s, he said:

‘ There’s a. bridge.’

Brandard and Cnrumilla had thrown their lassoes overa rock
which the running nooses had encircled, so that communica-
tion with the opposite side of the precipice was established
but this communication, this ‘ bridge’ as Brandard had said
consisted only of two leather cords no thicker than your index
finger, stretching over a precipice of unknown proi‘undity, which
must be traversed by strength of wrist.

Decidedly, before risking oneself on that strange road, there
was matter of reflection, for even the bravest man To go, sus .
pended by the hands only, a distance of twenty feet, was no
way tempting on that dark night, on a cord which might break
or untie. The hunters hesitated.

‘Well,’ said their uncle, ‘ shall we not 507‘

No are answered.

 

   

2 fix

   
    
   
   
  
    
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

. I ‘You wish to know if my bridge is secure, I suppose,’ aid
Blandard. ‘ Well, see !’

Then, with his ordinary calmness, the hunter strode to the
edge of the gulf. On reaching the lessees, he grasped them
with both hands and gently without jerking them, he cressod
the precipice and, when touching the other side, turned and
came back to his nephews.

The latter had followed him with an uneasy look, and oppremed
breast, shuddering despite themselves at their second father’s
cool risking of danger.

‘I hope,’ said he leaping on the platform, ‘ I hope that now
you are certain the lassoes will hold, and will hesitate no
more.’

Without a word, Curumilla crossed the abyss.

‘ One,’ laughineg said the hunter, ‘it’s no difficult matter.
Who next 2’

‘I,’ said Harry Clarkson crossing.
hB‘iSnme, Edward,’ said the hunter, ‘I should pass over the

The young man shook his head gloomily.

‘ I connot do it,’ muttered he.

CHAPTER VIII.
SELF-DEVOTION.

BRANDARD believed he had not heard aright.

‘ What '1’ said he bending towards his nephew.

‘ I can never cross that,’ returned the latter.

The hunter regarded him in astonishment. He had seen his
nephew fight under his eye, had known of too many circum-
stances in which he had shown his courage to doubt it now.

‘Why ’2’ inquired he.

The young man rose from his sitting posture, took his uncle’s
hand and, nailing his mouth to his ear as be cast a frightened
glance around him, said in a low and concentrated tone:

‘Because I am afraid !’

At this avowal which he was far from expecting, Brandard
made a start of surprise, and, examining his nephew with
greatest care, replied : '
‘What do you mean 7'

  

      

    

 

‘ I am afraid,’ repeated the young man ; ‘ yes, I understand,
added he an instant after with a sigh, ‘that seems strange to
you, you who have seen me brave the greatest perils, I in whom
nothing seemed to cause fear’.l But it is so, I am afraid; I
know not why, but the simple idea of crossing that space up
held only by a. thin cord which may break with my weight, 1
causes me an invincible terror, ridiculous be it, which despite
myself makes me shiver with dread; that death seems so hide-
ous, that I will not expose myself to it.’

While the young man was speaking, the old hunter had
been watching him with extreme attention. His nephew was
no longer the same man as heretofore; his brow was pale, his
face ran sweat, a convulsive tremor agitated his limbs, his voice
was hollow and his words broken.

‘ Bah! said Brandard forcing a smile; ‘it is nothing, a little
will and you will become master of this terror which is nothing
more than vertigo. What would the Unicorn say if he saw an
adopted brother of the. tribe afflicted like you are now with
dizziness.’ ,

‘ I do not know what it is, I cannot say; only 1 assert that
it is morally impossible for me to overcome this sentiment

; nu nunrm’ manual.

which governs me.’

‘ Come.’

‘All effort is useless; the more I try, meseems my terror
increases in proportion to my attempts.’

‘ What! you so brave !’ ~

‘Uncle,’ replied Edward, smiling sadly, ‘courage depends on

, the nerves; it is no more possible for a man to be constantly

brave than for another to be constantly Cowardly; there are
days when the most fearless man experiences dread; I have
now one of those periods ; that is all.’

‘ Come, Edward, reflect; you cannot stay here; to go back
is impossible; so make a virtue of necessity.’

‘ All that you have told me, unele,’ interposed the young man,

'3‘ I said to myself; and, I repeat to you, rather than venture on

that cord, I Will kill myself.’

‘ But that would be folly !’ cried the oldlhunter; ‘you lack
common sense.’

‘It is as you say I see well enough how ridiculous I am, but
the feeling is stronger than myself.’
- Brande stamped his foot in anger, and glanced to the side

’where the two others were looking on, without knowing

what to attribute this incomprehensible delay. -

   
  
  
       
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
   

L", e Al" “I

. a

 

 
 

{nonwormmwg

‘ ‘But, nephew,’ said the old man, ‘I could not abandon any
man, much less one of my own‘flood, with whom I have shared
dangers, cold, heat, hunger, and thirst; there are too many
reasons which bind us together for us to part thus. If it is
really impossible for you to cross that place the same way as
our comrades have done, well, I and Curumilla will find out
some way.’ ‘

‘ I thank you, uncle,’ sadly replied Edward, Ihaking the old
hunter’s hand, ‘ but leave me here ; whatever God pleases shall
be my fate; our companions are growing impatient, time
presses, go you must.’

‘But remember your oath, Edward,’ cried Brandard; ‘you

1 must come with us.’

‘No, I cannot; you or Harry can accomplish my vow; I tell
you I cannot cross.

‘Try.’

‘It is useless, I feel my heart fail me. Farewell, uncle.’

Brandard did not reply, he was reflecting. The next instant
he raised his head, his eyes sparkling with joy.

‘I knew well enough I could find a means !’ exclaimed be,
gaily. ‘You will be enabled to cross as easilyas if you were in
a. coach. Stay still here: in a few minutes I will be back; a
little time is all I ask to prepare what I want.’

He grasped the cord and reached the other side.

When Edward Clarkson saw him there, he undid the lasso
from the rock, and flung it to the other bank.

‘ What are you doing ’I Stop !’ cried the lockers-on, in a stupor
mingled with fright.

The young man hung over the precipice, holding by his left
hand on a jutting point.

‘ Our trail must be broken, so I have untied the lasso,’ ne-
plied he, ‘farewell, Harry ; farewell, uncle; do my part of the
oath, and heaven aid ye !’

An explosion was heard repeated by innumerable echoes, and

\

the devoted man’s corpse rolled down the abyss, leaping with a
hollow sound from the protruding points of rocks.

Edward Clarkson had blown out his brains.*

The spectators remained horrorstruck at this unexpected se.
quel to the strange scene.

They could not understand why, from the fear of being killed

‘ crossing a precipice, the young man preferred committing

 

“This episodo.leamely credible n it may appear, I. Mot-Ly New ‘
Ile Author.) ,

  

1 Form you speak of?’

' rm: numnns’ unison. ‘ i ,0

suicide. Nevertheless, Edward Clarkson’s action was logical in
itself; it was not death but the manner of dying: which made
him fear, and as he was sure that it was impossibic for him to
follow the road taken by his companions, he had preferred to
put an end to the delay. '
And besides, the brave young man had, in dying, rendered ’

' them an immense service; thanks to him, their traces had dis-

appeared so completely that it was impossible for those whom
they pursued to discover their whereabouts, if by chance tm-‘u
iconts should come near them.

The three hunters, albeit they were now clear of the fatal
:ircle into which Sutter’s cunning had drawn them, found them-
selves still in an excessively critical position; they must descend
if possible into the plain to discover some road; therefore, as
often happens in the wilds of the West, all sentiment was
promptly overcome by necessity which still held them in its

iron hand; the common danger aroused in them that instinct

of preservation which in man, whatever comes, newnnore than
5 eeps. .

Brandard was the first, and Harry Clarkson the last, to mas-
ter his grief and resume over his feelings that empire which he
had seldom released.

‘Come, come,’ said the old hunter, shaking his head, as if to
drive away the sad ideas which would come to his mind, ‘ as
the Spaniards say : “ Cum que no tienc rcmcdz'o olnidarla e la
mejor, (That which has no remedy, it is best to forget)” Ed-
ward has quitted us for a better world; God does all for the
best; our regrets cannot give back life to his corpse; let u:
think of ourselves, we are not yet on a bed of roses, and if we do
not hasten, may risk soon joining,r him. Come, be a man, Ilarry.’

The latter dried his eyes which he could not prevent becom-
ing humid, for he was yet a young man, and had not his uncle’s
self-command, which the most tragical events alone seemed to
touch. ‘Well, I am ready,’ said he.

‘ That’s right. It is time courage returns to us, for the‘hard-

‘ lest~part of our work is not done yet. Some yards below us,

you perceive a level platform from which commences an inextri~
cable forest which descends to the foot cf the precipice, the
base of the mountain.’

‘Yes, I see it.’

‘There is our read)

‘What, our road !’ cried Harry; how can we reach the w

I

 

  

 

  
 
    
   
 
    
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
    
 

‘ ~ In a simple way; by means of my lasso you an go down.’
‘That is true ;;for Curumilla and me that is easy; but Law
wllmyou join us 7’

‘ but need not disquiet you.’

‘ Very well, but permit me to observe--———7

‘ What ?’

‘That here before us,’ said Harry pointing, ‘here is a road, it
seems to me easy of access.’

‘ Indeed,’ replied the old hunter coolly, ‘ what you say is true ;
but two reasons prevent my taking that road, as you call it.’

‘ And these two reasons 11’

‘ I will tell you: firstly, that road is so easy to be followed
that I am certain that, if those men we are after are near here
and-watching, old Sutter’s suspicions are directed towards that, I
if the devil has permitted him to reach the spot.’

i And the second ’2’
‘ The second is this,’ resumed Brandard: ‘apart from the in-

" contestibla advantages which we procure by the descent I pro-

pose to you, and I am certain you think like me, I do not wish,
Harry, to leave your poor brother’s body at the bottom of that
precipice without burial, to become the prey of wild beasts;
that is my second reason, how do you find it ’Z’

‘ As I might have expected from your noble heart, uncle; I
go when you will.’

‘ Good; but as the night is dark and the road is rather dau-
gcrous, Curumilla will go the first and show the lead.’

The Indian made an affirmative sign; Brandard clung with
his hands and feet to a rock, made two turns of his lasso about
his body and let the end drop over the edge of the rock 3 then
he made the Indian a sign to descend.

The latter required no repetition of the sign, he grasped the
cord and steadying himself by the anfractuosities of the rocks,
he lowered himself by degrees and in a few minutes arrived
without accident on the inferior platform.

The old hunter and his nephew had followed with an atten-
tive eye the Indian’s movements. When they .saw him safe
and sound on the rock, they emitted a sigh of relief and Harry
descended in his turn.

‘ Brandard remained alone; consequently no one could hold
the lasso and render him the service he had filled for his com-
anions; but the old hunter was a man of resources, he was
gut seldom embarrassbd. He ‘pulled up the cord, passed it
mound the rock so that each end was equal and the lasso was

  

/

    

 
   

Tm: HUN’i‘ERB' “vanes.

I double; then, seizing the doubled lasso with his hands, he slip- .

ped slowly down it and reached his companions. Then he un-
twisted the lasso, pulled one end towards him. rolled ~it u» and
attached it to his belt.

‘ We must now,’ said he, turning to his nephew, ‘look around
and see where we are.‘

He immediately made the circuit of the flat rock they were
standing on. It was much larger than the upper rock they hall
quitted. At the end of it began the virgin forest which do
scended in a gentle slope to the bottom of the valley. \thn
Brandard had scrutinized the surrounding country he rejoined ,
his companions, shaking his head.

‘What is it, uncle ’2’ asked Harry Clarkson ; ‘have you seen
anything suspicious 2’ '

‘ Hum !’ said the old hunter; ‘1 am much in the wrong, if in
the neighborhood we do not find the den of some wild benst.’

‘A wild beast ‘.’ cried the young man; ‘ at this height!’

Yes, and that is what makes me the more uneasy. The
tracks are large and deep. Curumilla, see youiself,’ added he
turning towards the Indian and indicating with a gesture the
place he wished examined.

Without replying, the chief bent over the ground and exam—
ined tho imprints attentively.

‘ What animal do you believe it is, uncle '2’ inquired Harry.

‘A grizzly bear,’ returned Brandard.

The grizzly bear is the most feared and uncouquerable animal
of America; Harry could not repress a start of terror on hear-
ing the name. -

‘ But,’ added Brandard, ‘ here’s the chief coming back, all

i'our’ doubts will be cleared up. Well, chief, what has made

those tracks ’2’ i
‘ A grizzly bear,’ laconicall replied Curumilla.
‘I was sure,’ said Brandar , ‘and what is more, the uniinai

is la e.’

‘Vr‘iry large: the tracks are eight inches broad.’ -

‘ Oh, oh,’ said the young man, ‘ it is a rough neighbor we -
have here. But in what state are the prints, chief.

‘Fresh: the animal passed about an hour ago.’

‘Yes, and there’s his den !’ cried Brandard suddenly, pointing
to a large cavern in the mountain.
- ‘ Harry,’ resumed Brandard, ‘do you care mzre than I to
meet the bear ?’_ i
Certainly not P

 
  

maumormmmumn,

‘ Well we most not stay longer here ; the animal has (10un
less gone forth for his breakfast and will not be slow to return:
let us not wait, but profit by his abSence.’

‘ Let us go !’ exclaimed Harry, who though of proved bravery,
did not desire to find himself in face of such an animal. \
Suddenly a sound of breaking twigs was heard in the forest,

and a formidable growl disturbed the silence of the night.

‘It is too late l’ said Brandard, ‘here’s the enemy; now we
cannot escape.’

The three men fell back until they were stopped by the

‘ rock.

‘A few minutes passed when the hideous head of a grizzly '
bear appeared between the trees at the edge of the platform.
‘ We are lost 1’ muttered Harry Glarkson, cocking his rifle,
‘for on this rock all flight is impossible.’ '
‘ \Vho knows ’2’ returned Brandard. ‘ God has done so much
for us, that we should be ungrateful to suppose that He would \
‘eave us on this new peril,’ ‘

CHAPTER IX.
A CAMP IN THE MOUNTAINS. ‘

AFTER the skirmish with the white hunters and the Uni-
corn’s warriors, from whom they had escaped, Suttcr and his
gang had started for the mountains.

Sutter was one of those old overrunners of the prairie to
whom all the stratagems of wooderaft were known. After the .
conflict with his foes, he had learned enough from their actions
to know that he was assailed by them for some guilty deed of
his, which one he knew not for certain, but the sight of Dela-
rue, Brandard and the Clarksons, whom he had seen when he
and his sons had been flogged for horsestealing, led him to be
almost sure that it was on account of his attack on the litth
settlement on the Canadian River. He had had the, good for-
tune to reach the Sierra de los Comanches in time to dissemble
his traces.

Then, for more thana month, had taken place between him
and Brandard an assault of expedients and cunning wherein
each one had displayed all the skill their minds could furnish t9
deceive his adversary and throw him off the scent

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
    

 

  

run nux'rsns’ REVENGE.-

For more than a month, we repeat, the two men had been
turning incessantly around each other ina circle of less than
ten leagues, and often were separated by nothing more than a
screen of foliage or a. ravine. But such a contest must sooner
or later have an end, and discouragement began to weigh on,
Sutter who would have risked an encounter had he kn .wn that
his antagonists were only four in number.

This is the position in which we find Sutter at the moment

'when the requirements of this tale oblige us to return to

him.

It was eight o’clock of the evening; several men, clustered
around a low fire, cast at times around them a hopeless and
desolate look at the sombre gorges of the mountain. These
persons were Sutter’s two sons, Dog’s-face, Pepito and Simon
Munez. ' '

The place in which we find them was one of those narrow
ravines, the bed of dried-up torrents, so often to be met with
in the Sierra. de 103 Comanches. Along the sides of the ravine
extend to the right and left, thick woods, overtopped by the
trees of a gloomy virgin forest, from the mysterious profundi-
ties of which come at intervals the yells and prolonged howls
of Wild beasts. -

The situation of the bandits was most critical.

Lost for more than a month in those arid mountains, tracked
on every side, they had hitherto escaped their ,pursuers by
great sacrifices and the prodigies of skill shown by old Sut-
ter. '

The pursuit had been so pressing that, continually on the
point of being surprised by their enemies, they had not even
ventured to hunt the rare game which, as it were to mock them,
bounded betimes a few yards from them.

A gunshot, by revealing the direction wherein they were,
would have suificed to discover them. . I l

The small quantity of provisions which they had snatched
up on leaving their retreat, had not been slow, notwithstanding
their economy, to disappear. \

Then hunger, more than that, thirst had shown itself. Of
all the scourges which afflict unfortunate travellers, thirst is
without contradiction, the most terrible.

Their provisions having given out, others must be had; in
those mountains, that was nearly impossible, especially when
the fugitives were deprived of liberty of action.

They had managed however, for some days, to live an roota,
berries and some game knee-kc] over by sticks. -

1

 

  

    
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

mmormmmmmn,

Unfortunately, cold became every day more piercing, the birds
had retired to less chilly regions : that resource failed them;
The little water left them had been confided to the youngest
of the Sutters who was charged to keep it until the last.

His companions had found no other method of withstanding
thirst than to cut the ears of their horses and drink the
blood.

Then they killed a horse, which could obtain no more nour-
ishment than its masters. The animals roasted flesh had en-
abled them to pass two or three more days. The other horses
were then devoured, one after another. Now, there remain-
ed nothing to the bandits; for two long days they had not
eaten. '

So they kept a mournful silence and flung around ferocious
looks, sinking deeper and deeper in sinister reflections.

They felt their minds moving in their brains, throbbing as if

/they would escape and make room for madness; they knew

the moment approached when they would no longer be masters
of their reason and become the prey of the fearful fantasy
which alread pressed their temples as with a. steel band and
made dance efore their fever-burned eyes the most dazzling
mirages.

A heart-rending spectacle was that presented, in that solita-
'ry and mournful desert, of men lying bereft of strength ‘around
a'dull, expiring fire.

Time passed, the wind came soughing lugubriously in the
quebradas; the watery moon half drowned in a mass of vapor,
gleamed in long beams, at rarc' intervals illuminating this scene
of desolation with a fantasti and uncertain light of which the

ominous silence was broken by naught save astiflcd blasphemy

or a groan forced out by pain.

‘ Courage,’ murmured Nathan,Sutter, ‘father has given his
word that he would save us from this place.’

‘ Where is be? Since this morning, at break of day, he left
us to go, the devil knows where !’ said Pepito whose face was
sunken and sallow; ‘night has fallen on us since long ago, and
you see yourself, he has not returned.’

‘What do you mean by that ’1’

‘Canario! that proves he has gone for good.’

‘ Silence, wretch !’ abruptly cried Nathan rising; ‘don’t in-
sult my father. You know him but badly if you judge him
capable of such cowardice.’

‘y Hum ! in the position we afie in, it is almost excusable to do
Io.

I ’ , I '
rim nusrm airman. r, ‘ . I] '

‘Perhaps he would indeed have done so, resumed Suttc

quickly, ‘ if he had no other companions than you, caballno ; a

but he has two sons here,‘ and my father is not the man to
abandon his flesh and blood in peril.’

‘ Well spoken, Nat!’ exclaimed his brother.

‘ But peace, Pepito ! If we must die here like dogs, let us at
least die quietly; that is not much to ask for, I should say.’

I ‘Oh, how I suffer !’ groaned Simon Munez writhing in agony
m the ground.

The bearer of the water approached the sufferer and touched
his lips with the gourd, saying:

‘ Drink!’ ‘

Simon made a movement to swallow some water ; but at the
same instant, he repulsed it shaking his head.

‘No,’ said he, ‘ keep that, It is our own lives you are about
giving ,away.’

‘Drink, I say.’

‘ No,’ replied he firmly, ‘we may all need by and by, and ’ti
better to suffer a little now, until we hear of your father.’

The young man returned to his place, took some buffalo horns,
stood them before him, and filled them with water; finally he
unsheathed his hunting—knife, pressed the point to the gourd
and said to the bandits who had watched him without under-
standing his actions:

‘ There’s the water, every one of you must drink! I swear
that if you do not instantly obey me, I will cut this gourd, and
then all will be lost.’

311:5 companions looked on, consulting each other with a
lo .

‘For the last time, will you drink, yes or no ’3’ said Sutter .

pressing the point of his knife resolutely against the vessel.

‘ Stop I’ cried Simon Munez Springing to the place. ‘Demo—
m'os.’ we will do as you say.’ And snatching up the buffalo
born he emptied it at a draught.

His companions did likewise, uttering an ‘ah !’ of satisfaction
as they threw down the bufl'alo horns.

An hour passed without a revival of their tortures, but, al- ‘

though free of the pangs of thirst, hunger still gnawed them.
‘It is very extraordinary,’ began Pepito, whose quarrelsome
disposition was more than ever aroused; ‘it is very extraordi-
n that your father does not return.’ ,
‘ hat, senor? do you again accuse rt friend who has so of-
ten and for so long a while given you proofs of his truenon

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

How do you know that he is not absent to ensure our Info—
71

ty

‘Well spoken, my boy!’ cried a harsh voice; ‘thank ycu, my,
son!’

The bandits turned shuddering despite themselves.

At this moment, the bushes were parted by a. firm hand, a
heavy footfall resounded on the stony bottom of the ravine
and a man appeared.

'It was John Sutter.

He carried a d eer on his back. When within the circle of light
cast from the fire, he stopped, threw down his burden,and lean-
ing on his rifle whose butt he struck roughly on the ground,
flung a. sardonic glance around.

‘Oh !’ laughed he, ‘I’ve come just in time it appears, Dom
Pepito. Viva, Dias! you are arranging things finely, meseems
in my absence ; is this the way you understand Christian charity,
compadre .’ Crista ! I must compliment you.’

Rosario, stupefled with the sudden appearance and rude apos-
trophe, said not a word.

Sutter continued: ,

‘ I am a better comrade than you, for I bring you something
to eat, and it was not without trouble I killed the cursed ani-
mal', let me tell you. Come, come, hurry and roast a quar-
ter .

Richard and Nathan Sutter had forestalled their worthy
parent’s order; some minutes before they had begun to skin

= and prepare the deersmeat.

‘But,’ observed Nathan, ‘ to roast this venison we must
make the fire larger—and what of those watching us ?’ -

‘That is one danger,’ responded his father. /

‘ What do you think ’2’ inquired Dog’sface.

‘ I, it is the same to me either way 3 I wish you all to know
one thing: these who pursue us are so earnest and intereste
that I am convinced that we will fall into their hands, no I
care but very little whether it is now or ten days from this.’

‘ The deuce ! you are not very encouraging, compadre !’
cried Simon Munez. ‘Hus courage failed you completely, or
have you come across some suspicious trails ?’

‘Courage never fails me, Senor Munez—I know too well the ‘
fate reserved to me. As for suspicious trails one must be blind
not to see them.’

, "Sothere is no hope!’ exclaimed the men in undisguilod
m.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
    
    

  

 

ru' nunrm’ RIVIIGI. ' 58
‘ i

A "Booth to say, no, I believe not; but,’ added the o d bandit,
why do you not mast that quarter of deer ’1 You id you
were dying of hunger.’

‘ That is true. But what you have announced kills appetite
and entirely destroys the pleasure of eating,’ said Simon Mu-
nez sadly.

‘ Well, to try to return you the pleasure of eating, as Simon
says,’ began Sutter afteran instant’s reflection, ‘I tell you there
is perhaps a way of escaping.’

‘ What is it 7’ cried they all grouping round him. \.

‘ It is very precarious, dangerous, and may not after all,
succeed.’ ~

,‘ ‘ Tell it at all events,’ persisted Pepito.

‘ch, yes, speak,’ said the others.

‘You want to hear it '2’

‘Yes, yes.’ \

‘Well, then, listen to me with attention, for the means I
propose, odd as it may at first appear t.) you, offers chances of
success which in our hopeless situation, are not to be disdain—
ed}

‘Speak, will you 2’ said Pepito angrily.

Sutter laughed. I,

‘You are very eager,’ said he, ‘ perhaps soon you will not be

lopressmg.’ _ i I

CHAPTER X.
A GAME or CHANCE.

‘ BEFORE showing you my project,’ resumed John Suttcr,‘ I
will first of all explain to you what is really our position, so
that when I explain to you the means I would employ, you

. may decide with full acquaintance with the state of our nil'airi;

The bandits nodded assent, but said nothing.

‘We are surrounded on all sides,’ continued their leader:
‘first: by the Comanches, commanded by the Unicorn, who
have two causes of grief against us, one ourhaving been loagued
with the Apaches and participated in their ataeks on their en-
emies, the other because we killed their warriors at our last
Ikirmish when we escaped them and the white hunters. En-

beblpdvas we are by horrible privations which we have an!»

 

  

  

 

 

mqumormmgon,

lend since we entered these mountains, we cannot make s
way through the sierra, which is our second obstacle, or the ‘
white hunters which bar us on the third side. We must re-
nounce all hope of freeing ourselves by main strength.’

‘What is to be done then 7’ said Pepito Rosario; ‘it is evi-
dent that at any price we must escape; every second we
spend here cuts off a chance of evading our pursuers.’

‘ I am as well convinced of that asyou are, and even better
My long day’s absence had a double aim: first that of procur
ing food and you see I have done so.’

‘ True enough.”

‘ Next,’ resumed the bandit, ‘ to learn positively the points
occupied by the enemy.

‘ I have succeeded: I went without discovery near the Gov
manche camps: they keep a good guard and it would be folly
to try to pass unperceived through the midst of them; they
form around us a vast half-circle of which we are the centre;
this circle continually grows smaller, insomuch that in two or
three days, perhaps before then, we will find the Comanches
so close that it will be impossible to elude them and we will
infallibly fall into their hands.

‘Dcmom'os !’ ejaculated Don Pepito Rosario, ‘this perspectr
ive is not pleasant, those red devils, who will take pleasure in
~.orturing us in every possible manner, known and unknown.
Hum ! the sole thought of falling into their hands is enough
to make one’s skin creep ; I know what Indians are capable of
in the way of tortures, I have often seen them at work and re-
quire no further information in that respect.’

‘ Very well; I do not, therefore, insist on that point.’

‘That would be utterly useless. You would do better to
let us know the plan which you have conceived and which
you say, may save us.’

‘I said no such thing; Ionly told you that it offered some
chance of success.’

‘ We are in no situation to cavil on words,’ said Nathan Sut
ter, ‘ some, father, let us have your project.’

‘Tbis is it.’

The bandits lent the ear with the fullest attention. ,

‘It is evident,’ continued John Sutter, ‘that if we stay to-
gether, and endeavor to flee all the same way, we will without

il be lost, supposing, which is likely, that our tracks are dis-
oovered by those who pursue us.’

‘ Well, well,’ grumbled Dog’sfaee, ‘go on: I cannot under-
stand yet what you are driving at.’

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   

 
 

\

 

’ 18 well this way as another, I do not oppose it.’

 TH! 'rwn'rsas’ annual. '

‘ I ha“ reflected on that inconvenience, and the is the com-
bimtion 1 have found.’ a v r '
‘ Let us hear the combination.’ -

‘ It is very simple ; we must make a double trail.’

‘Hum, a double trail! that is, a false and a true one.
plan seems a poor one to me.’

‘ Why so 11’ said Sutter, with his sneering smile I

‘Why, because there must be a point where the false tr
confounds with the real one, and—’

‘ You are wrong, compadre,’ interrupted the leader of the
bandits, ‘ the two trails must both be real, otherwise the plan'
would be absurd.’

‘I am more out of the way than ever, then ; explain.’

‘I ask nothing better, if you will let me speak. One of us
must devote himself tor the others; while we fly one side, he
will try to escape by the other, doing his best, while dissem-
bling his tracks, to lead the enemy his way. In that fashion, he
will open a passage for us through which we may pass without
being discovered. Doryou understand now ’I

‘ Caspita ! do I understand I should think so! the idea
is magnificent !’ cried Pepito Rosario, enthusiastically.

‘There is nothing more but to put it into execution.’

‘ Yes, and without delay.’

‘ Very well. Who offers himself to save his comrades ’I’

I Not a word.

‘Well,’ resumed old Sutter, ‘you keep silence.
Pepito, you so eager awhile ago, not a movement ’1’

‘Thank you, compadre! I never thought myself a martyr.
0h, Lam not ambitious.’

‘ We must get out of this.’

‘ Caramba, I ask nothing better ! still I do not wish it to be
at the expense of my skin or my scalp.’

Sutter reflected a moment. The adventurers watched him
in anxiety, waiting in silence till he had found the solution of
this problem so dillicult to unravel.

The old rover of the prairies raised his head.

‘Humph !’ said he, ‘nll discussion is useless ; you are not men

0 be affected with sentiments.’ '

They made an affirmative gesture.

‘Here is what we must do; we will leave to fate the task of
choosing the man ; he. whom fate designates will obey without
murmuring. Do you agree 1’

‘ As it must be finished,’ said Nathan, ‘the sooner, the better

That

 

Come, Don

 

  

  

 

 

Inqumormmnm;m,

, ‘ New I,’ said his brother Richard.
‘ Nor I,’ repeated Dog’sfaee. .
‘ Bah 1’ cried Pepito Rosario, ‘I always had good luck with
games of chance.’
‘ And I always lost when the stakes were money,’ said Si-
mon Munoz, ‘ but now they being this trumpery life, I am NO
to get clear.’

‘80, all are agreed. you swear that the one on whom the ‘

choice falls will obey without hesitation, and do his duty con-
scientiously ’2’

‘W'e swear l’ exclaimed they all in one voice. ‘ Go on, and
terminate.’

‘ Yes,’ said Sutter, ‘but in What Way will we consult fate 7’

‘ That need not trouble you, compadre,’ said Pepito, laughing,
‘I am a man of precaution.’

Thus saying, Rosario fumbled in his va-quero boots, and drew
out a pack of greasy and creased cards.

‘There’s what we wmt,’ continued he, with a triumphant air.
‘Dick, here, will shuffle the cards, one of us will cut, and he
will deal them out one by one, and whoever gets the dos dc
upadas, Stwo of spades) will make the second trail. Does that
suit you ’

‘Admirably,’ replied they all.

Richard Sutter took the cards from the Spaniard’s hand, and
shuffled them' for several minutes. A I

A zarape (blanket) had been spread out on the ground besid
the fire, that they might distinguish the color and spots on the
cards.

‘ ut,’ said he, laying the pack on the zarape.

Rosario extended his hand.

Sutter thrust his before it with a smile.

‘One moment,’ said he, ‘these are your own cards, and I
know your talent as a player; let me cut.’ ‘

‘ As you please !’ replied the Spaniard with a grimace of dis-
appointment. \

The old bandit cut, and his son commenced to give each on
a card.

There was really something strange in the aspect of that
cene. , ,

On a dark night at the bottom of that desolate gorge, to the
lound of the wind which moaned in fitful gusts, these four men
bent forward watching anxiously that youn man who, by the
changing and capricious flickering of the relight, seemed ao-

   
 
 
 
 
 
     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
   
  
    

I

  

 

 

 

 

m mnrrlns’ annex. $7

obnplishing some nameless cabalistic work, the frowning ex-

pression of the features of these men who staked at this mo-

ment their life on the turning of a card—veertainly, the
stranger who had witnessed this extraordinary spectacle would
have believed himself a prey to an hallucination.

With frowning brows, pale face and heaving breasts, they
followed with feverish eyes each card as it fell, wiping away at
intervals the icy sweat which beaded their foreheads.

The cards kept falling, the two of spades had not yet turned
up ; Richard Sutter had no more than a dozen cards in his
hand. ' - i
‘ Ah !’ said Rosario drawing a long breath, ‘ it’s a long while
coming.’

‘Pho !’ laughed Sutter, ‘perhaps some one will find it too
short.’

' ‘It is I,’ said Nathan in a choking voice.

In fact, the dos de cspadas fell before him. ' .

Every one breathed freely.

‘ So 1’ said Pepito clapping him on the shoulder, ‘I felicitate
you,’ Nathan, my friend; you are charged with a fine mib
sion !’

‘Will you do it in my place ’P retorted the other.

‘ I am not sorry to have missed the honor of saving you,’ said
Don Pepito coolly.

Nathan glanced fiercely at him, snapped his fingers and tum~
ed his back on him.

Rosario picked up the cards and replaced them in his vaquero
boots with evident satisfaction.

‘Hum l’ muttered he, ‘they may yet be of use: one never

. knows in what circumstance chance may place us.’

After this philosophical reflection, the Spaniard, laughing in-
wardly at the certainty of not being obliged to sacrifice him-
self for his friends, resented himself tranquilly by the fire.

Sutter, who had not lost sight of the execution of his pro-
ject, had laid some venison steaks on the coals that his com—
panions might gain the strength requisite for them to support
the fatigue in store for them.

As usually happens in such cases, the repast was a silent one;
each man, absorbed in his thoughts ate rapidly without think-
ing to begin or sustain a conversation.

It was bordering on five o’clock of the morning, the sky
commenced to take that opal tint which announces the (it!!!
of day.

  

  

Gutter rose, all imitated him.
‘Come, lad,’ said he toNathan, ‘are you ready ? This In "I70
hour.

‘I will stait when you say, father ’2’ rejoined the young man
resolutely. ‘ I am only awaiting your last instructions, that i"
may know what direction I ougnt to take and in what place 7
will find you again if, which is not likely, I have the luck to gt
soot free.’

‘My instructions are not long, lad. You will go towards
the Northwest, which is the shortest road to Independence,
which if you reach it, you will be safe. From thence you can
go to our old cave in Three Oak Hollow, which you can clean
out and hide in while awaiting us. I advise you above every-
thing, to conceal your trail as well as possible ; too broad a track
would give our pursuers suspicion and completely thwart our
design. You understand, don’t you, Nat 7’

‘ Perfectly.’

‘ I depend on you; you too well know life in the wilderness
to be wiped out easily; you have agood rifle, powder and balls
so luck to you, my boy 1 Don’t forget to draw our enemies af-
ter you.’

‘ Be easy,’ returned Nathan sullenly ; ‘I’m not an idiot.’

‘Well, take a quarter of deeismeat, and go. Vamose !’

Nathan shouldered his rifle, took the venison which he hung
tohis belt, and strode away without once turning around. Five
minutes afterwards, he disappeared among the shrubs.

‘Poor Nat,’ muttered Richard, ‘he is going to a. certain
death.’

‘We are all going to death,’ said his father who had heard
his words; ‘why should we pity the fate which menaces him?
do we know what awaits us? Let us think of ourselves; we
require all- our skill and sagacity to get clear, for I dare not
reckon on a miracle.’

7 ‘That is much more prudent,’ returned Munoz; ‘besides,
I heard some one in the settlements say: “ help yourself, heav-
en will aid you.”’ '

‘Yes,’ said the old bandit laughing, ‘and never had anybody ' »

more occasion to put that precept into practice.’

‘I believe you, and am waitii g, like the rest, for you to ex-
plain what you are going to do.’
‘XVell then, do you feel yourselves strong enough t1 follow
me ’ I
‘Yes, Where you go, we Will.’

 
   
   
  
 
    
   
  
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

; Tm. uun'ncas’ “vanes. 69 _

‘ But this time it is probably the tin-it you ever travelled in
the way we must to-day.’

‘What do you mean? we have all gone on feet, on horse-
back, or in canoes.’

‘You are right, but we have no horses, our foes have posser
sion of the ground and there is no river.’

‘Then,’ cried Pepito laughing, ‘ we will be like the birds,
we will fly in the air.’

Sutter eyed him seriously. ‘

‘ You have nearly guessed it,’ said he. i

‘What 11’ said the Spaniard. ‘You are mocking me 3 do you'
call this a. moment well suith for jesting’.’

‘I am very little inclined to jokes at any time,’ coldly re— i
turned the American, ‘at present less than ever. We will not
fly in the air like birds, for we have no Wings, but, in spite of
that, it is in the air lies our road. Look about you : to the
right and left, on the mountain slopes are immense forests; our
‘enemies are hidden there. They are coming quietly, bent over
the ground, following carefully up the slightes’ indications of
our passage they may discover.’

‘ Well 2’ inquired Dog’s-face.

“ Well, while they seek our trail on the earth, we will slip
through their hands like serpents, passing from branch to branch, ‘
from tree to tree, yards above their heads, without their think-
ing to uplift their eyes, which, moreover if they did so, would
be completely useless : the foliage of the trees is too thick, the
lianas too closely entwined, for them to be able to discover us.
And then this chance of safety is the only one left us. Let us
see if you have the courage to attempt it.’

There was an instant’s silence.

At length Don Pepito seized Sutter’s hand and shaking it
‘ ~i forcibly, said:

‘ Canam‘o, compadre ! you are a great man! Pardon me for
v ~ having doubted you.’
‘ ‘So you accept ?’

‘ Caapita, accept? With ea emess, and I swear to you that

never squirrel has leaped like shall do.’ , '

——-—-—

 

-_<~;.'-.‘;.-- -.Ai..-,.-,..,. ,,

 

    
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

   

\

 

'mqumornummuio’q .
CHAPTER XI.

NATHAN BUTTER.

As soon as he had disappeared from his companions’sight,
Nathan stopped.

He was neither 5; reckless nor so light of heart. as he had
wished to appear.

When he was alone, far from the view of those who migh
laugh and sneer at him, he gave vent to his ill humor and cur-
sed the chance which had placed him in so precarious and dan-
gerous a position.

Nathan (WI) believe we have said so already) was a. giant
endowed with uncommon strength and unheard-offerocity—he
Was, in fact, a repetition of his father. Accustomed from in.
fancy to forest life and bloody tragedies; he was not the man
to be easily disheartened ; Without pity for himself like for oth-
ers, he. accepted the consequences of the situation he was in;
and, the case occurring, was resolved to fight till his last breath
to keep his hair from the savages.

But at this moment, it was not his position in itself which
disgusted him. A hundred times, in the prairies and forests of
the West, he had seen dangers surround him 5 but hithert:
when he risked his life, it had always been for some desagn
whose end he saw clearly, with the perspective, near or distant,
of booty or plunder; and this time, he considered himself obeyi-
ing a. will of which he was ignorant, and for interests which

‘ were not his own.

So he cursed against his father, Pepito Rosario, and himself
for having so tamcly entered into a project which he doubted
he could accomplish.

His father’s last recommendations were useless; Nathan had
no desire of leaving his traces exposed; he made use of every

" method his intelligence suggested to veil them from the most
clearsighted eyes, not making a step until he was convinced
that the preceding one had disappeared.

After deep reflections, he had resumed his thoughts, uttered
in a loud voice, like a man accustomed to live alon’:

‘ Well, all the worse for them, every one for himself, and the
devil for us all 1 If I lose my scalp, they will not take it easily.
I will defend myself with my best efl'orts, father and the rest
may do what they may. as for me, I will try to get out of thiI‘
mpe as soon as I can.’ ‘

 

wag», —: ,:

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\ ‘run HUNTERS’ REVENGE. I 6!

Alter minutely examining his rifle and seeing that his knife
and pistols could be disengaged in a moment, Nathan resumed
his way. '

Dwellers in towns and cities, accustomed to paved streets
and macadamized I‘OitLS bordered with houses, cannot, approxi-
mately even, form a just idea of the position of a single mm
in that ocean of verdure, the Far West, feeling himself watch
ed by invisible eyes and sure that he is being tracked like
wild beast.

A man, brave though he be,, no matter how long habituated
to the adVenturous life of the desert, shudders and turns pale
when he casts about him an interrogative look and sees himself
such an atom in the immensity by which he is encompassed.

In the wilderness, if one Wishes to go to the north, he must
move towards the south, taking care not to crush the leaveshe
walks on, nor break the branches which obstruct his passage,
nor especially, move aside the pebbles or grass of the path he
follows. ‘

All the noises of the forest are known, explained, commented
on by the redskins ; by lending the car a few seconds, they will
tell you if the animal whose tread you hear coining "faintly
from afar is a horse, a bear, a bufl'alo, an elk or an antelope.

A stone rolling down the slope of a ravine suifices to de-
nounce some roamer.

Some drops of water spilled on the banks of a. ford clearly
reveals the crossing of some travellers.

An isolated movement in the high grass denounces an incan-
tious spy.

In short from\the broken reed and trodden herbage to the
bison who suddenly raises his ears while browsing and to the
asshalte which bounds aillrighted without apparent cause: all in

y the desert servos as a book to the Indian for him to read the

passing; of a friend or an enemy and put himself in his pursuit,
when the first would even be a hundred leagues from the se
cond.

The men who live in those regions, where material life is
everything, acquire a perfection of certain organs which seems
beyond belief: sight and hearing especially are in them develop-
ed to enormous propm-tions; which, joined to an extreme
agility, courage beyond proof, sustained by muscles and nerves

of a vigor out of all proportions, make them redoubtable ad- ’

versaries. _ 4
«To sum up what we have said. we must add that cunning

  
   

   
     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
     
   

 
  
    
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

mmmmm;m

  

and treachery are the We great means which Indians employ
to defeat their foes, whom they never attack face to face, but
always by surprise. ,

Necessity is the red man’s great law: he sacrifices all to it;
and, like all incomplete or ill-developed natures, he only ad-
mits physical qualifications, excluding those virtues of which
he has no need and which would but unfit him for the life
which he leads. ‘

Nathan was himself almost a savage; at long intervals only 1
he had, for some few days solely, entered the cities of the ~' 9
i‘ ' Union to dispose of articles of plunder or horses which could
not be sold at the settlements. He knew no life but what he
had lived on the prairie ; this education would have been worth
any other, when the instincts of him who acquireu it were
good, because he could make a choice, taking what was noble
and generous and setting aside what was evil. \

Unfortunately Nathan had had no other professor of morals x
than his-father, he was accustomed from an early hour to look
upon things in the same point of view as his parent, to wit,
the worst of all ; insomuch that, with age, the precepts which
he had received had so well fructified that he had become the
true type of a civilized man turned into a savage. Nathan
loved nothing, believed in nothing and respected nothing.

The young man walked on for a long time without perceiving
anything which could make him suspect the approach of any
danger whatever. .

However, this factitious security did not make him relax his
pgecautions. While advancing, his rifle thr forward, his

dy bent and his ear ready to catch the lens sound, his eyes
scrutinizing the bushes and undergrowth, he was reflecting, ,

, and the further he went, the more gloomy were his reflections. / ‘
w The reason was simple: he knew himself to be surrounded ‘ 
by implaceable enemies, watched by numerous spies, and yet i«
7' nothing came to trouble the calm of the prairie. Everything  "
l
V

 

appeared to be in its ordinary state ; it was impossible to per-
ceive the slightest suspicious movement in the herbage or thick0
. 8t.

{ This calmness was too profound to be natural. '

E ‘Humph 1’ said Nathan to himself, ‘will these red devils ever, I
I give a sign of life ’2 I am going blindfold without know'

i where to; I am convinced that I will fall into some mb

1 laid by the wretches and will have my hair raised without a
glance of preventing it.’

, _, -y.._+u

 

 

V t s ‘ ‘ rm: nouns “wives; 08

{.hthan continued his way until ten o’clock of the morning.
' At that period, he felt his appetite call on him and his legs he-
gan to weary, so he resolved, eat what it might, to make a
short halt, that he might eat a mouthful and take allittle re-
Ose.
p He mechanically looked about him in order to select a suit
able place for the stoppage he proposed to make.

Suddenly he made a start of surprise, cocked his\ rifle and
ilquickly sprang behind an enormous tree. He had perceived,
" at fifty paces from the place he was standing, an Indian crouch-

ed on‘tho ground and peaceably munching a little pennekaun.

His first emotion passed, Nathan attentively examined the
Indian. He was a man of some thirty years of age; he was

not clad in the costume of warriors; the screech-owl’s feather,
stuck in his thick scalplock, led him to be recognized for a
Pierced-nose Indian.

The adventurer considered him for a long space of time With-
out knowing what part to take; at length, he shouldered his
rifle, quitted his ambuscade, and strode towards the Indian.

The latter had probably perceived him, albeit he appeared in
no way troubled by his presence, and continued to eat tranquilly.

( When within a dozen paces of the Pierced-nose, the American
l stopped. ,
x ‘I salute my brother,’ said he, waving his zarape in token of
peace, ‘may the Wacondah grant him a good hunt.’ '
\‘ I thank my pale-face brether,’ rejoined the Indian raising his
- _ head, ‘ he is welcome; I have remaining two handfuls of penile
p ‘ ' - kaun, and there is room for him by my side.’
’ ‘ Nathan approached, and, without further ceremony, sat
down near his new friend, who fraternally shared his provisions
with him, but without addressing him a question. ‘
i The red men consider it a great impoliteness to address their
I ‘ guests any questions whatever, when the latter do not encour-.
w age them to do so.
I “ After having eaten, the Pierced-nose lit his Indian pipe, an
' A action which was immediately followed by the American.
The two men remained thus, as silent as mice, reciprocally
pufiingsmoke in each other’s faces. When the Pierced-nose
ndian had finished his ealumet, he shook out the ashes, and
thrust it into his girdle; then leaned his elbows on his knees,
his head on the palm of his hands, and half closing his eyes,
plunged into that state of ecstatic beatitude, which the Italian!
cell 721 dolce far oriente, the Turks the kief, and which has no
equivalent in other languages.

 

 

 

W‘ v._.—~..-_l -._..,_ ,A _l._. ...

.1 m QUE!!! 01 mammals; OB,

Nathan replenished his pipe, lit it, and turning towards his
com ion, asked: ’

‘ 5 my brother a chief ’P

The Indian raised his head.

‘ No,’ returned he, with a smile of pride, ‘ I am one of the
masters of the great medicine.’

Nathan bowed with respect.

‘ I understand] said he, ‘my brotheris one of those wise man
whom the redskins name the «helm (physicians).’

. ‘I am also oalam (sorcerer),’ responded the savage.

‘Uh, oh 1’ said Nathan; ‘what! is my brother one of the
ministers of the aim-cue (great turtle) ’3’

‘Yes,’ returned the other, ‘ we command the arbop (cazi nee)
and (Lizlabal (warriors), they only act according to our or ers.’

‘I know it; my father has much science, his power extends
over the whole earth.’ ‘

The Pierced-nose Indian smiled condescendingly at these
eulogies, and said, showing a light stick, adorned with vivid
‘colored feathers and small bells, which he held in his right

hand:

‘This mulbache is a. greater weapon than the white man’s
thunder; it makes me everywhere formed and respected.’

A strange smile for a second contracted the lips of the white,
who resumed:

‘Is my brother going to join his nation ?’

‘No,’ said the Indian, shaking his head ; ‘ I am expected at
the tiiiamit (village) of the Bison Apaches, who have need of
my counsel and medicines, in order that they may undertake
under good auspices a great expedition which they meditate at
this moment. My brother must, therefore, pardon my leaving
him, for I am forced this evening to complete my journey.’

‘I will not quit my red brothcr,’ responded Nathan, ‘if he

. w111 permit me, I Will tread in his moccasins, my way lies in the
same direction as my brother’s.’
‘I accept my brothers proposal with joy; we Will go.”
‘Let us start, then,’ said the American.
After having risen and adjusted his clothes, the Indian stooped

To take up a small package, probably enclosing his light traveling
. litwut.

Nathan profited by this moment : with a gesture as swift II
lightning, he unsheathed his hunting--knife, and buried it tho
buck-horn haft between the Indian’s two shoulders.

his arms and fell stifl' dead.

The unfortunate victim emitted a smothered cry, threw up ‘

.1!

 

   
 

1 ~

:1

' ‘

TH: HUNTERS anvnuemf ‘ 65

Nathan phlegmntically plucked the knife from the horrible
wound, wiped it on the grass and sheathed it.

‘ Humle !’ said he, laughing, ‘liere’s a pretty sorcerer who
did not know much of the future; we will see if I will be more
knowing than he.’

\Vhile conversing with the savage, whom he had not at first
intended to kill, and of whom he wished only tn make a safe—
guard, a sudden idea had flashed to his mind. This idea, which
seemed at first sight extraordinary, suited the bandit on account
of the audacity and (emerity which was required to put it into
execution, and to make it succeed.

it was simply to take the smeerer’s costume, and pass him-
self off for him among the redskius. ‘

Having: for a long while studied lndian habits and costumes,
Nathan did not doubt that he could manage to play the diffi-
cult part with all the necessary perfection to deceive more
dear—seeing eyes than the e of the lnd‘ians.

After being assured that his victim gave no signs of life,
Nathan commenced to dcspoil him of his vesture, which he
substituted for his own.

When this first exchange was done, he examined the sor-
cerer’s bundle. took out a looking-glass, and dried-up bladders,

‘some of vermiliion, others of a, sort of black pigment, and,
with little slips of woed,made upon his face, which he had
first stained with a color closely imitating the ludian tint, the
fantastic designs which he found on the dead man’s fare; this
likeness was perfect; from the face he passed to his body, then
arranged his hair in which he stuck the owl’s feathers.

For this metamorphose to he completed, it had required but
a. few minutes.

‘ Now,’ said Nathan, ‘they must not find this body.’

Throwing the body on his ln-awny shoulders, he bore it to
the brink of the pren'pice, and hurling it to the inaccessible
depths helew, said laughing;

‘ Now, that is done. if the Apaches will not be. satisfied,
with the great medicine who comes, they will be hard to _

lease.’ ‘

As he did not wish to lose his clothes, he hid them in the
Indian’s bundle which he stung on his rille barrel; he picked
up the poor soreerer’s stick and went his way muttering gnin
with a smile.

‘We ma soon see if this mulhache has the magical pawn!
that wiza attributed to it.’

 

 

  

snowman-manages,

 ii I CHAPTER XII.

 
    
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

A TRAIL IN THE AIR.

THOSE travelers and tourists who have only seen trees in §
parks cannot imagine the grand, sublime and majestic aspect 
' ‘, which is presented by a virgin forest of the New World. r
There all is abrupt and wild. There is no perspective, it is
uith difficulty that the sight can view an extent of thirty or ,
flirty paces on either side. The primitive soil disappears un— "
(lcr the new ground of rotted fragments of trees dead of old
age which time, sun and rain have reduced to powder.
The trees grow here and there at liberty, enveloped by thick
lihnas which wind around the trunks and boughs, forming , ,
strange parabolas, springing off in all directions, entering the ’ \
ground to shoot up again a foot farther on, and so firmly 1
binding the trees one to another, that for entire leagues they
are their sole supporters. The wood is so little varied in cer-
t tain portions that one tree seems a repetition of all the others. I
l . Then, to a height of five and often six feet, rises a. thick and I
 senied grass. .
', ‘ Unexpectedly, beneath the tread of the imprudent travel-
!1 er, immense pitfalls open, or there are marshes, and morasses

 

 

covered with a crust an inch thick, which engulph the bold , ‘
person who sets foot upon them in their foetid mud ; farther ‘
5 I — on, a river mns unknown and silently, forming rapids and mak- ‘ “
l V ing its way with difficulty through the heaps of mould and
‘ ‘ dead wood which it deposits on its banks. ’

i Our reader will see, after the abridged description we have
‘ made, that it is not so hard as they may have believed, to pass .
from tree to tree for long distances. ‘ ,
Moreover, to completely edify the reader, we will tell him , V
what he was probably ignorant of: that is that in certain re- - 4/
, ~ gions of the prairies, this manner of journeying is put into , r
practice not as may be supposed, to escape an enemy’s pursuit, ~
I but simply to proceed more speedily, not to be obliged to cut
' a path with the hatchet and risk rolling down some precipice, I.
so much the more as the most part of the trees are gigantic g
,r and their enormous branches are interwoven with vines which »
" , form, so to say, a platform or floor, some twenty-five feet above
the ground.
Sutter’s proposition, therefore, had in it nothing extraordina- ' e -
ry, made to men who had in all probability already employed, ; \

,

  

 

THE HUNTERS, REVENGE. \ 

z'his system of locomotion. Sutter made his last preparations:
they were not long, being simply to as much as possible de-
stroy all traces of their encampment.

To mislead those who perchance might be led to the place,
Sutter and his band followed for nearly an hour the road taken
by Nathan, then he returned walking backwards as well as
his followers, efl'acing their traces as they proceeded but doing
it in such a manner that an attentive eye would discover it
without probably suspecting that they had left them so ex
pressly.

After two hours of this fatiguing march duringwhich the Lan-
dits had not exchanged one word, they came upon a flat granite
rock which was the best place for them to repose without fear
of leaving traces of their passage, for the rock was too hard to
preserve prints of their footsteps.

‘ Ouf !’ muttered Pepito Rosario, ‘I am not sorry to breathe ‘

a ain !’

g‘ You are already fatigued, then, Senor Pepito,’ said Sutter.
‘well, you are wearied too soon; wait, what we have hitherto
done is nothing to what we shall see.’

‘ I doubt if the road we are about to pursue or any other,
can present so many difliculties as the one we ave got over—
diab os ! if it does, it ill make one renounce it !’

‘Nay, if you prefer to make a present of your sailp to the
Comanches, it is the most easy thing in the world, you
have only to stay where you are, you may be certain that they
will not be tardy in finding you:you know the redskins are like
wolves, fresh flesh attracts them, they scent it from afar.’

‘ Canaries! I would rather be roasted at a slow fire than fall
into the hands of those accursed pagans.’

‘ Come, come !’ s'aid Sutter interrupting him, ‘all such speak-
ing is saying nothing: what is written, is written; no-one can
escape his destiny. To occupy ourselves about what may come
to pass is a foil .’ ’

‘ Well said, utter! you have spoken, caspita! like a most
senSible man, and I am completely of your way of thinking;
come, what have you to say ’P

‘I believe that, thanks to the trick we have executed, We
have so well covered our traces that the devil in person could
not divine the direction we have taken. The first portion of
our task is over: now, we must not betray ourselves by impin-
dence or too much precipitation. I have brought you here bo-
nuse, as you see, at the end of this stone, the virgin forest com-

 

 

68 my. QUEEN or m mumps ; on,

menus. The greatest diiliculty is to get up the first trw
without leaving marks. Leave me to act in my own fashion
and I engage you will have nothing to repent.’

‘ Very well, what shall we do ?’

‘ You see that large branch which, nearly thirty feet above
our heads, overhangs the platform we are standing on.’

‘I (10—well ?’

‘With my lassoI will catch the end of it; we will pull it
then down to us, and keep it thus until you and the rest shall
have reached the top branches: in that way, we will leave no
tale-telling traces of our ascension.

‘ Your idea is very ingenious, father,’ said Richard Sutter,‘ but
I do not see how you are going to get over one thing.’

‘\Vhat is that ’2’

‘ As long as some one stays here to keep down the branch, it
is evident that it will be bent; but when I’epito, .‘iiuion.1)(>g’s—

, face and I are above, and you are here below, how will you
nmnage to follow us '2’

His lather burst into laughter.

‘That need not torment you, Son Dick; I thought you had
been often enough along with me to know that I never do a
thing without mlculating its results.

‘ So I have, father, but ifl had not asked the question I knew
Pepito would.’

Sutter took his lasso, her it around his right hand and threw
it, after having; twice or thrice whirled it around his head. The
throw was so well aimed that the runninghnot encircled the
end of the branch.

‘ Now,’ cried the bandit, ‘a pull or two 3’

The others ran to him; under their ell'orts the lasso tightcm
ed, the bough yielded little by little and, at the end of a few
minutes, was bent so far dmvnward that it could he grasped by
the hand, as ohfitter had foreseen.

‘Up with you, Dink, now l, quick 1’ cried he to his son

The latter required no repetition of the order; he clambered
up on the launch, ran resolutely along it, steadying; hiinself to
the right and left by the twigs; in the twinkling," of an eye he
was by the trunk : then, and, on his father’s command, he
grasped the upper bonglis amng which he disappeared.

‘ Now you, Simon and l’epito,’ said the bandit leader .

The Spaniard sprang up, rapidly crossed the hough find, like
Richard Sutter, disappeared in the foliage, actions which were

imitated by Simon Muncz and Dog’sface. '

   
 

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  

   

 

    

 

v THE rmN'rnas’ REVENGE.

Remainin alone, thanks to his merculean strength, Setter
maintained e limb from springing upward by holding it with
his arms, hanging all his weight upon it and clinging with his
feet to a rock. All at once the tree trembled to its roots—the
limb rose with a shrill whistle and a swiftness enough to make
one giddy.

The bandits involul'xarily closed their eyes ; when they open
ed them again, they perceived their leader astride of the still.
trembling bough, quietly unloosening the slipnoose of his las-
so. 'l‘hen with perfect tranquility, the old bandit rose and
winding his lasso around his waist, joined his men.

‘Well,’ said he, ‘you see, it is done; now, we must continue
our w: y—arc you ready ’2’

‘ Let us be oil'fin'thwith,’ responded the bandits.

We repeat—aside from its strangeness, this manner of trav-
elling has nothing dangerous, dillicult or eve-n inconnnodious.
Thanks to the immense screens of creepers which were twist-
ed capriciously about them and to the branches woven intri-
cater to each other, they could pass without being perceived
from limb to limb, over the ground some seventy or eighty
feet. Above and around them, they would betimes perceive
wild beasts whom they aroused in their mysterious retreats
and who, with extended necks and glowing eyes, looked at them
passing with an astonished air, unable to understand what they
saw.

They went on in this way all the day, stopping from time to
time to take breath and immediately resuming their way.

They had crossed, continually over their swaying bridge, a
rather large river and were before long in the low country.

It was nearly five o’clock of the afternoon; the sun’s lla'ing
rays gleamed faintly on the moss-covered trunks of trees : the

' brown and grey owls, attracted by the myriads of flying inser

which constitute their food, wheeled already in the air; athiek
mist, exhaled from the ground and formed a shroud in which
the five bandits disappeared; everything, in short, announced
that night would not be slow to appear.

Sutter had taken the lead of his little band, so that in the
almost inextricabie maze of the forest, his companions, less ac-
complished than himself in woodcraft, made no missteps ; for,
in the place where they were, all roadmarks disappeared to
permit only a view of an immense interwoven mass of leafy
twigs and creeping lianas.

v 3Well, compadre,’ demanded Pepito Resurio, who, little so

 
 
 
 

w mennormmmmn, ,

untamed to long pedestrian courses, weakened by the privm
Hons he had endured, and moreover as lazy as a Mexican, had
for some time preceding progressed with extreme difiiculty
‘ well, compadre, shall we not stop soon’.2 I warn you that 1
cannot go much farther.’

The American turned quickly, and placing his large hand on
the Spaniard’s mouth, said in a low concentrated tone:

‘ Silence, silence ! if you care for your scalp.’

‘Cristo! if I care for my scalp '9’ muttered tho-other with a
start of fright, ‘ why, what’s the matter now ?’

Sutter cautiously pulled aside a leafy branch, and making his '

companion a sign to imitate him, said :
‘ Look 1’

After a moment’s glimpse, the Spaniard started backward,

his forehead pale and his face expressive of terror in every
feature.

‘ 0h !’ cried he, ‘ we are this time lost!’

He staggered and would have fallen if the American had not

ped him firmly by the arm.

‘What can we do ’2’

‘ Wait l’ said old Sutter, coolly, ‘our position is not yet hope-
less. Though we can see them, they cannot see us.’

Pépito Rosario shook his head.

‘ You have led us to our doom,’ said he, reproachfully.

‘You are a dolt,’ replied Sutter, disdainfully. ‘ Have I not
risked myself with you? Would I not have sought to escape
if there were danger? Leave me to myself, I tell you.’

 

CHAPTER XIII.
THE GRIZZLY BEAR.

THE NEW WORLD stands before the Old with respect! to
'erocious animals of all sorts and species. ‘

The tribe of plantigrades has taken, especially in America, an
enormous development, and possesses a ferocity before which
pales all the beasts of the European Continent.

We speak here of that animal of prodigious strength-blind ,

courage, and boundless cruelty, which the learned style mm
Wm, the Agericans the grizzly bear, and the French the
otmferoce, or more commonly the aim gris.

  

   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
    
 
 
  
 

 

 

  

 

 

    

    

ml nm‘rrns’ nmnen.

The majority of travellers draw of this animal a really high-tn
ful portrait ; saying among other things that in it is joined to
the stupidity of the white bear, the ferocity and courage of
the great carnivorous animals. Having been somewhat of a
traveller myself, I am here forced humbly to state that readers
should believe with a certain restriction and much caution what
is said in the tales of those gentlemen who, often placed in per-
ilous positions, which disturb their natural dispositions of mind
and body, have seen unclearly, and, in spite of themselves,
ceding to the influence of the moment, have given way to ex—
aggerations which have by degrees become articles of faith, and
are now accepted as laws. I have not the intention of praising
up the grizzly bear to the minds of my readers; I only desire
them to be no more unjust to it than towards the other ani
mals formed by the hands of thc'Creator.

Therefore, setting aside all exaggeration and limiting ourselves
to the strict truth, we will say a few words on the grizzly bear
and its manners.

During our long sojourn in America, we have been near and
seen enough of these animals to deem ourselves competent to
speak of them.

Any one can see from the likeness—if not flattered, take an
exact one—of this animal,that he is already ueg enough by‘
nature, morally as well as physically, without one having need
to make him still more so and transform into horror.

The grizzly bear, when he has reached his full growth, is ten
feet long. IIis skin is woolly, very thick, of a grayish color,
save near the cars, where he is brown. This animal’s physiog-
nomy is terrible; it is the most ferocious of all the carnivore.
of America. N otwitahstandin his heavy, unwieldy-looking
form, his agility is extreme. -Ie is so much the more to be
feared as his indomitable courage owes its source to a conscious-
ness of his prodigious force, and is near allied to fury.

The grizzly bear will attack all animals, but principallggth
large ruminants, such as bisons, etc. That which probably ha
given grounds to the exaggerated stories, is that the grizzl'
bear is not affected by. cold, and in winter, famished in the im
mense forests covered by several feet of snow, descends toward!

1 the plains where he knows he will find game.

The Indians Wage against him an endless war, in order to
gain his long talons, of which they fabricate collars of great
price.

 

mmormmnmg on,

Whatever he is, it was one of these formidable anide ‘

which Brandard and his two friends came suddenly upon.
The hunters soon made up their minds as to the course tobo
' taken.

‘ We must kill him, or be killed,’ said the old hunter laconio
cally, ‘ the grizzly bear never recedes.’ '

‘ What shall we do ’2’ asked IIarry Clarkson.

‘ This is the first thing,’ resumed his uncle. ‘It is clear that
this fellow has eaten enough, or he would not be regaining his
den. You know, Harry, that bears seldom leave their retreats;
if we have that luck to meet with a bear W110 has well dined '
we will have an immense advantage.’

‘ How so ?’

‘ It is very simple,’ said Brandard laughing, ‘ like men whose
mealtimes are not regular, when bears set at table they stay
there until they have filled themselves in their gluttony, Which
renders them dull, sleepy and, in a word, deprives them of half
their faculties.’

‘ Humph !’ observed the young American, ‘what remains of
them seems to me satisfying.’

‘ And to me also; but, hist- ! we must do something.’

‘You see,’ said Harry, ‘that he is making ready to attack
us.’ '
‘ That’s just it,’ responded Brandard. -

Curumilla, as usual passionless, had cut a torch of candle-
wood, and had concealed himself in some bushes a few paces
from the bear.

The latter, after a moment of hesitation, during which he had
cast around him a flashing look, as if he wished to count up the
number of enemies he had to fight, had uttered a growl and
licked his lips with a tongue as red as blood.

‘You‘ll not make a feast on us, my lad,’ said Brandard.

The bear appeared sensible of this bravado, he made an ef

fort, and seen his monstrous head appeared completely uncov
ered a little above the level of the platfonn.

Did I not tell you he had (lined too heavily 2’ said Brandard ,
‘That’s the reason he feels such a dislike to put himself in mo 
t‘ion. Come, lazybbnes,’ added he to the terrible animal, ‘ move ‘
a little 2’ .

‘Take care l’ cried Clarkson. ‘ He is about to leap.’
I In fact, the bear, by an abrupt movement like lightning, had,
‘ with one gigantic bound, scaled the barrier and stopped within
barely twenty paces of the intrepid hunter. Brandard made

    

  

 

 

 

1

“(pvt «on w». .f'wr

 

 

   

 

 

 
 

THE HUNTEM’ unmet. 7'

not a gesture, not a muscle of him moved; his teeth however
clenched as though they would break and a. white foam appear-
ed at either corner of his lips.

The bear (who, as we have said, was scarce twenty paces
from the old hunter who seemed to brave h'im) surprised by
the old American’s boldness, subdued by the electric fluid
which incessantly escaped from the hunter’s eye, made a step
backward. -

For an instant he stood motionless with lowered head; but
soon he began to throw up the earth with his long claws, growl-
ing low as if he wished to be encouraged to commence the
attack.

Suddenly he gathered himself; Curumilla took advantage of
the instant, he lit the piece of torchwood he had hchl ready
and, on a sign from Brandard, waved the flame before the
bear.

The latter, dazzled by the brilliant light of the torch which
had so unnexpectedly dissipated the surrounding obscurity, rose
suddenly on his hind paws and, turning towards the lndian,
tried with his forepaws to reach the torch, which he probably
thought to extinguish. '

Brandard cocked his rifle, fixed himself firmly on his feet,
took aim and whistch gently.

When the sound of whistling reached his ears, the bear stop-
ped; he staid thus listening for several seconds as if seeking to
understand this unusual sound. ‘

The old hunter still kept whistling“, while Harry with his
cocked rifle, looked on, ready to come to the aid of his uncle
or the Indian in case they should be in danger.

The bear turned slowly towards Brundard.

Curumilla, torch‘in hand, followed attentively the animal’s
every movement.

The bear at last faced the hunter; Brandard felt his warm
and fcntid breath which came from his oppressed breast with
hollow growls. The man and the beast eyed each other; the
bloodshot eye of the hear was as if riveted on the Americnn’s
clear one, who watched him steadily, still continuing to whistle.

There was a. minute, a century of mighty anxiety.

The bear, as if to escape the strange fascination \which had '
seized upon him, shook h's head twice and rushed forward with
a terrible yell.

At the same instant a. shot was fired.
~ Harry Clarkson ran up to his uncle, Who was reloading his

 

 

  

m0!!!" 0! ml nuns : on,

gun, while but two yards from him the dying animal was at-
tering cries of rage and tearing up the rocky ground in the
last throes of his agony.

Curumilla, bent forward, was curiously viewing the writhing:
of the monster at his feet.

‘ Thanks to God !’ cried Harry, ‘ you are safe, uncle !’

‘ This is not the first time you have seen me in danger, my
boy,’ said the old hunter, ‘you are much affected, nephew,
though you have seen Curumilla and I tumble over many of
these fellows—ask the Indian how many.’

‘ Yes, but I can never shake off the feeling, less than ever at
this moment, when the thought of my brother’s death hangs
still upon me,’ said the young man; ‘you, uncle, are my only
friend in the world, save Curumilla, and I dread that I am to
end my life alone.’

‘ Come, come, Harry,’ said his uncle dashing away a tear,
‘we are all in God’s hands; don’t give up to gloomy feelings;
‘ we are in the world and must make the best of it.’

The/young man smiled sadly and went u to the bear’s body,
which urumilla was skinning of its magnigcent fur which cov-
ered a square full ten feet.

Brandard’s bullet had entered its right eye.

‘A fine shot, uncle; in the eye.’

‘ Here, Harry, while Curumilla prepares our breakfast, I will
go to make an examination down the ravine. Help the Indi-

an to roast my friend yonder, and I am sure that, after a taste '

of his steaks, you will give way to none but happy thoughts.’

And carefully shouldering his rifle, Brandard disappeared
among the bushes.

The bear weighed at least four hundred pounds. After hav-
ing skinned him with that dexterity possessed by the Indians,
Ourumilla, with Harry’s aid, had hung the body to a tree
whose branch bent under the weight; he had cut steaks and
drawn out the pluck which hunters think the most delicate
part of the beast; then, while Clarkson lit the fire and laid
th steaks on the coals, the Indian entered the bear’s den.

arry Clarkson, long accustomed to the savage’s mode of
acting, made no observation and continued his preparations for
breakfast, so much the more as the fatigue of the night and
the long hardship he had undergone gave him an appetite

which the fumes of the broiling steaks could not but increasen , '

However, the breakfast was ready long before Brandard
made his appearance. Harrv Clarkson commenced to grow

 

    

 

 

 

 

9\

1n: nun-raw “vase; £38
uneasy on his as well as on Cummilla’s, ‘0 had not
came of the cave into which he had been for more than ,an
hour.

The young man rose and was about to make some signal, .

whenézt the same moment both Brandard and the Indian up
are . ,
peCurumilla held in his hald two cubskins.
‘ What’s that?’ Harry could not help inquiring.
he Indian smiled.
The bear was a. female,’ said he.
Shall we breakfast now '1’ said Brandard.
‘ Immediately! said his nephew, ‘1 was watching for you
and the chief.’
‘Have I been long gone 7’
‘ More than an hour.’
‘It was not my fault. It was as black down there in the
gully as an oven. I had great pains to find Edward’s body;
but, heaven be thanked, he is underground now, and out of

. the reach of coyotes and other vermin of the prairies.’

Harry Clarkson took his hand and wrung it tenderly, while
two tears of thankfulness rolled down his cheeks.

‘Uncle,’ said he in a moved voice, ‘you are better than us
all ; you think of everything. Thanks, uncle, thanks for hav-
ing buried my dear brother’s body 3 you make me nearly hap-

at this moment.’

‘Well, well,’ said the hunter, taming aside his head, so as
not to show the emotion, which, despite himself he felt; ‘eat,
will you! I am very hungry, the sun is up, and we are not
yet out of this cursed labyrinth where we have nearly left
our bones.’

The three men sat around the fire and commenced an attack

. on the repast awaiting them.

When they had finished eating, which was not long, thanks

. to Brandard who excited them every moment to eat double

mouthfuls, they rose and prepared to go. 1
, ‘ Pay attention to your steps,’ said the old woodsman, ‘watch
carefully around you, Harry, for I am much in the wrong it
before an hour, we do not come upon the trail of bandits.’

‘ What makes you suppose so ’2’

‘Nothing, I have no grounds,’ said the American smiling;
‘but there is a forerunner which tells me that those whom 1"
look will not evade us long.’

‘ God hear you, uncle!’ exclaimed the young man.

\

 

 
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   

' , r: e

I 776 m can! or m: mums ; on,

‘ Take the march, then !’ said Brandard setting ofl'.

The yo g man and Curumilla followed him.

At this moment the sun appeared above the horizon, the
forest awoke as by enchantment, and the birds warbled forth
from their swelling throats a gush of melody, the matinal hymn
with which each morn they salute the God of Day.

 

CHAPTER XIV. 

NATHAN AGAIN.»

As WE have before mentioned, William Delarue, the Cana-
dian voyageur and trapper, had been severely wounded during
the fray between Sutter’s escaping band and the men who had
taken upon themselves the duty of avenging the attack on the
little settlement of the Canadian River. He had been brought
by the Unicorn’s warriors with them on their return, for he,
would only have delayed Brandard’s projects of vengeance
and had been installed in the Comanche’s winter village in. the
most commodious ealli, where the utmost care had been taken
of him.

Weeks passed and it was long before Delarue could stand,
ride, or move with his former ease. -’

One morning a laughing sun was brightening up the village,
the sky was blue and the air cheering, Delarue, who had re-
turned from a hunting expedition with some warriors, was by
the door of his dwelling carelessly watching the little Indian
children who were playing not far off, by the river side. Near
him was Sunbeam who had rendered him many little atten-
tentions during his convalescence, for she had not forgot that

Delarue was a friend of her frémds, as she called those who ‘

had saved her from death.

‘Does my brother feel well 2’ inquired she in her voice gen—
tle and musical as the Mexican nightingale.

‘I am entirely well and am eager to once more go on the
Warpath,’ replied the trapper.

‘ I am glad to hear it,’ said Sunbeam, with a charming smile; '

‘because I have good news for my brother.’ _
‘Gocd news!’ ejaculated the Canadian; ‘have my friend:

’Ient for me ’2’

‘No, but one of the great warriors of the tribe has just .-

.._+_.____;s~ .4", A.

rm: uunrcns’ REVENGE. ' 77

“red the village,’ continued the young Indian Woman ‘the
Spider left the chief but two days ago.’ ‘

‘ Where is the chief ’2 are my friends with him ’2’

“The Spider says the chief is still in the mountains with 1
his warriors; your friends are yet in the pursuit of their en-
emies, whom theyr are sure of overtaking?

‘ I must join them, then; I will start on the moment.’

‘My brother is like powder, he is too quick !’ said Sunbeam
‘ He cango with the Spider whom the Unicorn charged to se /
lect twenty warriors and take them to him.’ i i

‘ How long before then 1’ .

‘ Three (lays, at least: the Spider must have a council of the
chiefs; many of our young men are dispersed in the forest
hunting and tending their traps; he cannot go until the third I
(lay?

’With these words, Sunbeam darted away like an antelope,
leaVing the Canadian smoking his pipe.

Things happened as Sunbeam had foreseen.

An hour afterwards, the haehesto convoked the head chiefs
in the medicine lodge. The council was a long one: it was
prolonged all day. The Spider’s demand was granted and
twenty famed warriors were chosen to go under his orders to
)oin the grand chief of the tribe. Two days were then taken
up to bring together the absent warriors.

On the third day, the warriors, at the head of whom rode

the Spider and William Delarue, started off at a trot, at which

pace they continued all day. 'At sunset, the Spider gave the
order to cue-mp.
Eires were kindled, supper prepared and after the meal all

save the sentinels, gave themselves up to sleep. At sunrise,

they started again; as they approached the mountains, the
wind became cold, and a thick fog lay on the prairie. Every
one carefully wrapped themselves up in_ their furs until ten
o’ clock in the morning, by which time, the solar rays, having
acquired some power, rendered this precaution LlSOlOSS. In
certain countries of North America, the climate offers this
scarcely agreeable peculiarity: the morning is freezing cold,
at midday the heat is stifling, and at evening the thermom-
eter descends again below zero.

The day passed without incident worthy of being recorded.
Towards evening, an hour before the night halt, the .Spidcr, ‘
who gallopcd as scout some yards in advance of his troop, dis- '

covered footsteps. These marks were clear, steady, deep, in"?

 

  

   
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

" 18 ' ’, ,mqumormnamsswn,

I
‘ appeared to be those of a young vigorous man, habituated to
,walking.

The Spider joined his men without communicating to any one
the discovery he had made or the result of his observations.

William Delarue, near whom he came, touched his shoulder
to attract his attention.

‘Look, warrior,’ said be pointing to the left of them; ‘is not
that a man walking before us ’2’

The Indian stopped, placed his hand over his eyes 'like a vi-
zor to concentrate the visual organs and took a long examina-
tion of the point the Canadian had designated. Finally he
started his horse, without a word.

‘What thinks my brother ’1’ asked Delarue.

‘ It is a man,’ replied the Indian: ‘fi'om here he appears to
be an Indian, and yet, either I have seen badly or I am deceiv-
ing myself.’

‘How’s that?

‘I will tell you: there is something odd about him; a few
instants sinee,I discovered footsteps. From their direction.
they are those of that man yonder, and are as fresh as if made
this moment.’ ‘

‘Well C”

‘Well, those footprints were not a red man’s, but are a white
man’s.’

‘Are you sure of what you say ?’ inquired the voyageur be-

, coming serious; ‘it is indeed strange.’

The Indian smiled.

The Spider is awarrior,’ said he; ‘a child of eight years ‘
would have seen like me : the feet were turned out; the Indi-
ans turn theirs in ; the toes are near each other, while ours are
parted ; after such indications, is it possible to be wrong, I ask
my brother ’2’

‘It is true,’ said the Canadian, ‘1 was hasty.’ , ‘

‘ And, hold,’ resumed the other, ‘ now that we are nearer
that man, mark his gait: it is clear that he tries to hide him '
self, he thinks we have not seen him ard act consequently
There he goes out of sight behind that mastic-tree—now he
appears again. See. he stops to reflect, dreads that we have per-
ceived him and that this walk seems suspicious to us. Stay,
he sits down to await us.’

‘ Be on our guard,’ said Delarue. ,

‘ I will watch,’ responded the Spider with a sinister smile.
All that the Spider had seen was really done. The stranger ‘

  

  

 
 

1'3: nvxrns’ Rmxen. ' ‘ ‘ , 7| ,

alter having made many attempts to hide behind shrubs and
bushes, had calculated that if he took to flight, those who saw
him would soon run him down, thanks to their bases. Mak
ing up his mind, therefore, to take things as they were, he had
turned and, seated on the ground, his back against a tamarind,
he was quietly smoking while waiting for the horsemen who
rapidly neared him. ‘

The closer the Comanches approached this man, the more it
seemed to them that he was an Indian. ‘

They found themselves soon within a. few steps of him, \\ 1J0"
all their doubts ceased. This man was, or appeared to he at' I
least, one of those innumerable sorcerers who run from tribe to '
tribe in the Far West to heal the wounded, cure the si‘ck mid
practise their enchantments.

In fact, the wizard was no one else than Nathan Sutter, whom
the reader has no doubt recognzed long since.

After having murdered the poor sorcerer whom his science
should have put on his guard gainst such abominable treach-
ery, Nathan had went resolutely forward. resolved to cross
through the enemy’s lines, almost certain to succeed, thanks as
disguise which, we repeat, was worn with great perfection.

When he had perceived the Comanches, putting to the test

" the old proverb which says: ‘when one has anything to ms.
pect, he should make his legs save his neck,’ he had sorght to
flee ; unfortunately for him, he was afoot and in an open coun-
try denuded of trees, which he saw soon would be his loss, as
his flight would give suspicions to men who, not knowing him,
might pass him by without troubling him. He also depended
on the superstitious character of Indians and on the remarkable
quantity of audacity and efi‘rontery wherewith he was endowed,
to deceive them.

These reflections were made by Nathan with that quickncsl‘
which distinguishes men of action; his part was taken in an in-
stant, and seating himself at the foot of a. tree, he awaited the
strangers impassively.

Besides, Nathan was a man of adventurous temcrity and in-
domitable character: the sudden position into which chance
threw him, for from making him fear, pleased him on the con
trary and caused in him a certain emotion which is not bereft
of charms for a man of his stamp.

Foilowing that system which consists of taking every advan~
tage which shows itself, he established himself‘in his assumed

rank and when the Indians stopped before him addressed them
the first thus : ,

 

 

 

  

ml QUEEN 0! TH! PRAIRIE ; 03,

my son are welcome to my camp,’ said he in that guttuml ,

accent of the red race which the whites have such pains to
succeed in imitating ; ‘the Wacondah has led them here, and
I am forced to fulfil his intentions by receiving them as well as
I can.’ i

‘ Thanks,’ said the Spider flinging on him an investigating

glance, ‘ we accept our brother’s offer as franth as he made it ;

ny young men will camp here.’

He gave orders which were forthwith executed.

After supper, the Spider lit his lndian pipe and seated him-
self by the sorcerer; he wished to converse “ith him to clear
up, not the suspicions, but the doubts he had of him.

Delarue had scrutinized the sorcerer, and had retired, show-
ing no outward symptoms of suspicions, though inwardly he
was asking himself where he could have before met the
man.

Nathan had caught several glimpses of the white man whom
\he instantly recognized as the man whom his father had wound-
ed and had nst breathed freely until Delarue had retired
ovincing no tokens of having penetrated his disguise. While
smoking with all the gravity which red men display in this op-
eration, enshrouding himself in a thick cloud of smoke which
he emitted from his mouth and ’nosc, he had followed with a
side glancethe Spider’s movements, without appearing to notice
him.

‘My father travels ’2’ asked the Spider.

‘ Yes,’ replied the counterfeit wizard laconically

‘ For how long ?’

‘ Since eight moons.’

‘ Ooah !’ said the Indian in astonishment ; ‘ from whence
comes my father ?’

Nathan took his pipe from his mouth, took on his features 8 ~

mysterious air and replied in a grave and reserved tone :

‘The 'Wacondah is all-powerful, those to whom He speaku 7

keep His words in their mrs.’

‘ liight,’ returned the Spider bowing, though he could not an-
deistaud.

‘ Is my son a warrior of the Queen of the Prairies, that in I
Comanche ’3' resumed the pretended Wizard.

‘1 am, indeed, a Comanche warrior.’

‘Is my son on the huntingr path 'I’

‘No, I am at this moment on the war-path.’

‘Ooah ! my son hopes to deceive a. great medea'le, whm h"
poummces such words before me.’

 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

\!
‘

  

/

TH/E xiununs‘ravenon. 81

‘My words » are true, my blood runs clear as water in my
wins, a lie never sullied my lips, my heart never Whispered to

‘ my mouth other than the truth,’ returned the Spider haughtily
for he was \voxmded by the sorcerer’s suspicious.

‘Good, I believe,’ resumed the latter 3 ‘but since when do
the Comanches take white men on the war-path ’2’

‘Comanches are masters of their actions, no one has the right
to control them.’

Nathan saw that he was on the wrong road and that if the
conversation continued on that ground, he would alienate this
man whom he so much wished to make a friend. He changed
tactics.

‘ Less than all others,’ began he, ‘do I recognize the right of
controlling the actions of warriors—am I not a man of peace ?’

The Spider smiled scornfully.

‘ In truth,’ said he, in a more good-humo'red tone, ‘great
medicines like my father are like women, they have long lives ;
the Wacondah protects them.’ a

The pretended sorcerer took care not to show the bitteme
'm the sarcasm he levelled at the savage.

‘Does my son return to his village?’ demanded he.

No,’ rejoined the other, ‘ I go to join the great chief of my
tribe, who, with his most celebrated warriors, is on an expedi-
tion.

‘To whose tribe does my son belong 7’

‘ The Unicorn’s.’

ll‘lathan shuddered internally, although his visage was impw
‘ii le.

‘Ooah 1’ said he, ‘ the Unicorn is a great chief ; his renown
extends over the earth. What brave dare struggle with him
on the prairie ’3’ .r

' My father knows him ’I’

‘I have not that honor, though I have often desired it 5 never
to this day did I meet with that celebrated chief.’

‘ That may be; if my father desires it, I will make them no-
qnainted.’

, ‘That would be fortunate for me, but the mission which the
,, Wacondah has confined in me claims my presence far from here.
Time presses; I must, in spite of my wish, go on my way.’

‘Good! the Unicorn is but three hours’ march from this
spot; early to-morrow we can reach his camp.’

‘IIow is it, then, that my brother, being so near the chial
has stopped here '2’

 

 

/ All suspicion was efl‘aced from the Indian’s mind,so he frank-

ly‘re 'ed this time without seeking to disguise all the truth:

«‘ y father ir-bright: I was not told to hasten, and meeting
any ,father on the roadside, accepted his invitation to please

1m.

‘iidy son is young,’ responded Nathan, with an insinuating
am e.

‘ I am, but there are few older braves who have gained more
of the esteem of their tribe than the Spider,’ said the red man
proudly.

‘ I do not doubt it,’ said Nathan, in a conciliatory tone, ‘may
the Wacondah protect him, and grant him a long life to de-
strfiyfhe enemies of the Comanches, and be exalted by his
tri .

‘ Thanks, but will not my father accompany me to the Uni-
oorn’s camp where he will be most kindly treated 12’

Nathan saw that he would excite suspicion, if he held out
any longer against the warrior’s pressings, so he determined to
accept. The American hesitated no longer, but trusted to his
good star to draw him from the predicament in which he was
placed. Chance is especially the bandit’s god; it is on him
they depend, and we are forced to confess that he rarely
deceives them.

‘I will accompany my son to the Unicorn’s camp,’ said he.

The conversation continued some time between the two men.

At last, when the night was fully come, the Spider took ‘

leave of the sorcerer, and retired for the night. Remaining
alone before the fire,Nathan flung an investigating glance. The
sentinels, motionless as bronze statues, were watching, leaning
on their long lances.

All flight was impossible.

The American sighed regretfully, drew his bufihlo robe
around him, and extended himself on the ground, mutteringin
a low voice: '

‘Bah, to-morrow comes day. Since I have succeeded in
deceiving this Indian, and puzzling the white man, why may I
not be as lucky with others ’1’

And he fell asleep.

  
    
   
  
   
 
   
 
    
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   

,

m nuxrm’ annual.
CHAPTER XV.
TH]: DISCOVERY.

Tun RIC-Hr passed tranquilly. When the sun appeared in the
horizon, all was commotion in the encampment. The horses
were saddled, ranks formed, and the Indians were only await-
ing the order to march. I

Nathan then oonfomied with his part of wizard, took a cala-
bash, filled it with water, and dipping in it a branch, sprinkled
water to the four cardinal points, muttering mystical words to
drive away the spirit of evil; he at last threw the contents of
the calabash towards the sun, c ing thrice in a loud voice:

‘ Sun, receive this offering: 00k upon us with a favorable
eye, we are thy children.’

When this ceremony was terminated, the Indian band took
up the‘ march. ' .

The sorcerer’s incantation had pleased them, the more so as
at the moment of their departure, four bald-headed eagles, un~
folding their large wings, had risen slowly on their right, mount—
ing in a straight line to the sky, where soon they Were lost to
sight at a prodigious altitude.

These presages were very favorable, and they regarded the
sorcerer admiringly, for he had suddenly acquired great impor-

‘ tance in the eyes of the superstitious Comanches.

Two persons, however, preserved against him a. feeling of dis-
like which they could not overcome.

These two persons were the Spider, to whom William Dela-
rue had confided his suspicions, and the Canadian. ,

In spite of himself, the latter kept puzzling his brain and ev-
ery instant glancing at the sorcerer who, from a species of intu-
ition, was warned of the examination he was subjected to, and
who, therefore, kept him at a respectful distance, riding by the
side of the Spider Whom he kept in conversation, that he might *
not seek the white trapper and by linking their doubts, form
we trap against him.

The troop advanced at a trot through a country of grand and
stirring scenery; here and there, dispersed without orderin the
plain, they perceived blocks of rock of a spherical form whose
sidesh varied from two to four or even five hundred feet in
hei t.

o the eastward rose the last peaks of the Sierra de los Cm
ancbes, in the midst of which the travellers became entangled.

 

  

 

‘ ing,r with them; nevertheless, he seemed not to see

' vcd a short

arm: cum-or m mums ; on,

13110 bare peaks showed against the sky their white snowy I a
mite, which extended to the north until they faded away into
I. blueish mist which the Indians well recognized fora continue-
tion of the Rocky Mountains.
To the left of the troop and almost at their feet spread forth

n immense extent of desert bordered afar off by another line of
almost imperceptible vapor which marked the place of the
Rocky Mountains. '

The Indians ascended by almost unknown pathways, but
which their horses advanced up with resolution and as easily,
as if they had had the surest of foothold.

As they entered among the mountains, the cold became more
piercing: at length, at about nine o’clock of the morning, after

aving traversed a narrow gorge deeply sunken between two
high mountains whose masses intercepted the sun’s rays, they
came into a pretty vale of a league in extent, in the centre of
which rose the tents of the Unicorn’s camp. ‘

When the videttes had signalizcd the arrival of the Spider’s
detachment, some sixty warriors Sprang to their horse’s backs
and came, shooting ofi' guns and yelling welcome, before the
new—comers who made their horses leap and replied by cries
and the shrill, prolonged notes of their warwhistles. They thus
made their entry into the Unicorn’s camp and went towards
the chief’s hut.

The latter, notified of the arrival of the reinforcement he had
expected, was standing with folded arms before his calli, be-
tween the totem and grand Calumet.

The Unicorn had with one rapid look inspected the warriors
and perceived Delaruc and the strange 'lndian they were bring-

them; his
face displayed no symptom of emotion ; he waited, impassibly,
till the Spider would render an account of his mission.

The Comanche warrior dismounted, threw his horse’s bridle
to one of his companions, crossed his arms over his chest, bow-
ed profoundl making each time a step forward and, when arri-

Llistance from the sachem, saluted him a last time
saying:

‘ The Spider has accomplished his mission, he has taken the
gazelle’s feet to return the sooner.’ ,

‘The Spider is an experienced warrior in whom I have en-
tire confidence. Has he blought me the numberef young men

I naked of the nation?’ inquired the Unicorn.
‘Tbc sages we“: assembled round the council fire. they loll

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

m; Hourlns’ REVENGE. ,N

the ear to the Spider’s words; the twenty young warrior‘s are
full of courage and proud to fellow along the war-path so re-
nowned a. chief as my father.’

The Unicorn smiled with pride at this compliment. A few
words explained to the sachem why Delarue had came with the
Spider and the Canadian was heartily welcomed.

One person only was still before the Unicorn: that was the
pretended sorcerer. ’

The two men attentively examined each other.

‘ What lucky chance has brought my father into my camp'?’

‘The “"3c0ndah’s messengers go Where IIe bids them go with.
out discussing His will,’ replied Nathan dryly.

‘ Right,’ said the sachexu, ‘what asks my father?’

‘ A night’s hospitality.’

‘ Hospitality is granted even to an enemy in the desert; my
father is then ignorant of the customs of the prairie, that he‘
asks me ’I’ said the sachem darting on him a suspicious glance.

Nathan hit his lips.

‘My father has ill understood the sense of my words,’ said
he.
‘It little matters,’ interrupted the Unicorn with authority,
‘the great medicine may pass the night at the camp; a guest
is sacred for the Comanches, traitors alone, when they are my
masked, are punished as they deserve. My father can xv
tire.’

Nathan shuddered inwardly at these words which seemed to
indicate that the chief had also suspicions and that his in-
cognito was .hot as well kept as he believed. However, he clos-
ed his fears in his heart. and continued to put his best face on
the matter.

‘ ‘I‘hanks,’ said he bowing.

The Unicorn returned his salute and turned his back on
him

‘ lIumph !’ said Nathan aside, ‘I think I was wrong to risk
myself among these red devils ; that chief‘s basilick eyes seem-
ed to read through my forehead. We must keep on our guard.’ ~

\Vhile making these reflections, Nathan went away with
slow steps and high head, enchanted apparently at the results
of his interview with the Unicorn.

At the same moment a man came running at full speed down
the valley ; he passed wzthina step of Nathan and exchanged-
glance with him.

Nathan ’shuddered.

‘If he rmxugnizcs me, I am lust,‘ said he.

 

THEOUEIHO!MW;OI,

This man was Harry Clarkson Whose coming here we will

are long explain. He went on towards the Unicorn’s Wigwam.

, , " ‘I am in the wolves’ den,’ said Nathan, ‘my presumption has

’ ‘t 7 ruined me. I read in that man’s look that I am recognized.
Let us try to escape while we may.’

Nathan was too reSelute a man to despair uselesst ; he lost
not an instant in vain lamentations; with that lucidity of in-
spiration which danger git-es to courageous men, he calculated

\ in a second the chances of success remaining to him and pre
pared to sustain a struggle. He knew too well the horrible
torture which menaced him not to defend himself to the last. ‘

Without stopping, without changing his pace, he continued' to
walk in the direction he followed, returning as he passed the
salutes the Indian warriors addressed him.

He arrived without being troubled to the extremity of the

, camp. He dared not turn his head to see what occurred be-

’ - hind him but his practised ear caught no suspicious sounds; no-
thing apparently came to corroborate his apprehensions, the

camp was still plunged into the same repose. ‘

‘ I was too hasty,’ muttered he, ‘the young man did not re—

‘ cognize me, and now I think, how could he "I he saw me but *
, ,i once or twice, and then but for a moment; my disguise is good.
i i — No, wrong again, curse my luck ! I am not in safety here.’ He
‘j made a step to enter the forest. At this moment a heavy hand
' fell on his shoulder.
1 He stopped short and wheeled around.
, The Spider was at his side.
, g ‘ Where goes my father ’2’ inquired the warrior'in a mocking
' tone which doubled the bandit’s fears: ‘ he has no doubt lost
‘ his way.’
‘ ‘How so ’I‘ demanded Nathan who strove to regain his cool ,
ness. ’
o; ‘On the side my father goes they leave the camp
' 7, ' ‘ Well '1’ ‘ \
i, , ' ‘ My father has asked hospitality of the ‘sachem ’3’
3' ~ ' ‘ Yes.
 ‘Then, why does he go ’1’
I ‘ Who has told you I am going?
‘But it seems to me that the direction you take leads intc‘
‘ _ the forest.’
I 3 ‘I know that well enough, for I was going, into the wood to
' a pick some magical plants to compose a great medicine I wish to
. ‘1’ , ofl'er to the chief to make him invulnerable.’ .

  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
  
    
   
 
 
     

  

‘-

 

4 my nation will drive them before them with whips. Boasting

' 'rur. HUNTERS’ anvnmn. 8'.“

00th !’ said the Indian winking his eyes, ‘ when you tell hin
that, I do not doubt that he will let you go where you like.’

‘What ’I am I a prisoner ’l’

‘ Not at all, but the order was given that no one she-.xldlcaw.
the camp without authorisation, and as you have forgotten to
obtain that permission, I am constrained, to my great regret, to
execute it.’

‘Very well ! I remain, but I shall not forget the manner v
which the Comanches exercise hospitality.’

‘My father does wrong to speak thus, the honor of the na ,‘
tiou requires this affair to be terminated without delay. My
father will follow me to the chief; I am certain that after a /
short explanation all misunderstanding will cease between us.’

Nathan scented some plot; the Spider while speaking to him,
had playful catlike manners which were but little encouraging.
The proposition which he made him was no wise to his taste ;
but as he was not the stronger, he resigned, though quite
against his heart, to tollow the Spider and return to the Uni-
corn’s hut.

‘ Go on before 1’ said he to the Indian.

Nathan silently followed the Spider.

The Unicorn was seated before his hut, surrounded by the
principal chiefs: on either side stood Delarue and Harry Clark-
son, leaning on their rifles.

When the pretended sorcerer arrived, the Indians showed
neither by gestures nor by the play of their features that they
knew what he was.

The American cast an earnest look on the assembled persons.

I am lost !’ muttered he, ‘ they are too calm.’

Neverthelew he placed himself before them, folded his arms,
and stood waiting. .-

Then Harry Clarkson raised his head, and fixing on him an
an implaable gaze, said in a tone which sent a quiver of terror
thrilling thcough his veins:

‘Nathan Sutter, the chiefs require you to accomplish one of
those miracles which the sorcerers of their tribes alone have

he secret of.’

All eyes were turned on the bandit with curiosity; his reply
was awaited that they might judge whether he was a coward
or a brave man. He understood it, and responded with a scorn-
tul smile:

‘The Comanches are dogs and old women; the hunters of

r

 

  

quumormmmn,

to be so cunning, I a. white, have deceived them, and had it
not been. for my countrymen yonder, the devil fly away with
me if I would have been discovered !’

>‘ So you confess you are not an Indian sorcerer?’

‘ I do, most certainly. This Indian skin weighs heavy on a
white man’s shoulder; I tear it off to resume my own, which
I never should have quittcd.’

Harry Clarkson and Delarue turned towards the Unicorn.

‘ ‘Tho Chief secs,’ said they.

‘I see,’ rejoined the sachem; ‘is my brother a warrior in his
nation ’I’ added he of the bandit. ‘

The latter laughed.

‘I am,’ responded he, boldly, ‘I am the son of Jolanutter,
a man who has slain more of your accursed race than there are
suns to a year; my name is Nathan. Do with me as you will,
dogs, but you’ll not tear from my lips a single groan, from my
breast one sigh.’

At these haughty words, a murmur of satisfaction ran
through the rows of chiefs.

‘Ah !’ said the Unicorn, in whose ear the white hunters had
been speaking. ‘ “'hat has brought Suttcr’s son in the C0—
manche camp ’2’

‘I say nothing, chief,’ frankly retumed the young man. ‘I
slid not seek it, 1 only wished to get through your lines to w-
cape.’

‘Nathau takes us for children that he would try to deceive
us,’ said Clarkson, as a smile of incredulity curled his lips.

‘ Believe or not, it is the same to me; I have answered the
truth.’

‘You cannot persuade us that you wear that disguise for
that purpose only.’ I

‘You are my enemy, and I care not whether you believe or

not; it will not alter my fate.’

‘Are your father and friends in the neighborhood, brought
by the same chance that led you hither?’

‘As for them, may the devil wring my neck if I know where
they are at this moment.’

‘1 expected that answer from you ; luckily, the Unicorn has
warriors scattered in all directions, and they will soon be
bund.’

' ‘ I don’t believe it.’
‘ I have no need to tell you the fate that awaits you, haveI 7'
‘ Not at all; I know that quite well ; the redskins will prob

    
   
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

nu: HUN rans’ REVENGE. U"
ably amuse themselves by flaying me alive, roasting me at a
slow fire, or some other little playfulness—much good will it
do them 1’

‘And if you were set at liberty, would you consent to reveal
where your father and his band are ’2’

‘ No! I am a bandit, knowing no law or faith, I grant it;
but I will never be. a traitor or an infimner. llear that in mind,
and if you are curious to view my death, which I know you
desire, you will see no iliuehing from me.’

‘Well T asked the Unicorn of Clarkson.

‘lle will not speak,’ replied the latter. ‘Although he now
says no, and evinees great firmness, perhaps tortures will make
him yield and consent to speak.’

‘ So,’ began the chief,’ my brother’s advice is———’

"1‘0 be without pity for him as he has been For others.’

‘ Good!’

The sachem pointed to the captiv

‘Lead him away,’suid he, ‘and make all ready for the tor-
ture.’

‘Thanks!’ returned Nathan, ‘at least I will not linger long,
which is one Consolation.a

‘Think while you wait of the little settlement on the Can-
adian River, of the mothers, sisters, and fathers whose blood
have inspired the avengers,’ said Clarkson.

Nathan made no answer, but was led away, whistling be-
tween his teeth. He was tied to a mastic-tree, and two war-
riors were posted as sentinels over him. He watched them
quietly and muttered :

d ‘ Th,e disguise was good; it took the eyes of hate to see un-
er it.

 

UIIAl‘TER XVI.
NA'rnax’s ESCA 91-1.

SUTTER, from the treetop in which he was hidden, had per-
ceived his son tied to a tree. '

This sight had' suddenly stopped him ; he  directly
Ibove the Comanche camp, a most perilous posmon, inasmuch
as the least nus-step, by revealing his presence, would suffice to
destroy him.

 

 

    

. U m cam or m mum'- ; on,
One sitcr another, the bandits put aside the branches, and
mohed at Nathan, who was far from suspecting that so near
him were those whom he had quitted the previous evening.
The shades of night little by little descended around and
soon objects were confounded in the obscurity which was ren-
dered still more thick by the lights of the camp fires lit at dis-
tances, which threw around an uncertain light.
The old bandit had never loved his son ; Nathan had always
' been quarrelsome and overbearing, never very obedient and at
times they even come to blows. Nathan’s life and death, in
point of paternal love, mattered but little to him ; but in the
situation wherein his evil star had placed him, he regretted
, his son asone regrets a good comrade, a. resolute man, .1 excel
lent marksman, an individual, in short, on whom, in an action
he could depend.

We have no need here toinslst on Sutter’s character, the
reader knows it. A strange idea came to his brain; and as
usual, when once his mind was made up, nothing could check it

“ and he would confront every peril to put that idea in execu
tion.

Sutter resolved to deliver his son, not, we repeat from afl‘ec-
tion, but to have one good rifle the more, in the likely event
of a combat taking place.

But it was not an easy thing to deliver Nathan. The young
man was far from thinking that, at the moment he was expect-
ing death, a few yards from him his father was preparing all
for his flight. This ignorance might injure the success of the
bold attempt the bandit leader was meditating. The latter,

‘ before understanding anything, called his companions to him
and communicated his prospect to them.

Richard Sutter, bold and adventurous like his father, ap-

lauded the resolution ; he saw in the trial a good chance to
Baffle the redskins and rejoiced, not so much at the freeing his
brother, as at the figure they would present when, the hour
for the torture having arrived, they would come to bind their
victim to the stake and would not find him.

Pepito Rosario and Munez had an opinion diametrically op-
posed to the two Sutters ’1? their position, they said, was criticai
enough without going farther still to rcnderit yet more peril]-
ous to try to save a man whom they might not rescue, and,
failing in the attempt, they could not escape %ving the led-

, skins an alarm and thus share Nathan’s fate ; ’s—faoe took
no part in the discussion, evidently caring for neit or one no:
the other

 
 

-.¢..; ~2.2;; -

 

 
  
 

r..: u 5.; -

 

  

' rm: HUNTERS’ savanna. \ II

\

The discussion was long and animated betwotp the four ad-
venturers, each one holding firmly to his own opinion : it seem- /
ed if the disputants would never agree, but Sntter cut short all ‘ 1 '
observation, by saying that he would save his son, if he was to . '
do it alone; and had all the Indians of the West against
him.

Before such a resolve, the Spaniard and the Mexican were
forced to give way. I . '

Their leader thereupon prepared to execute his plan.

We have said night had come on ; with it thick shades had,
like a black shroud, enveloped the prairie, the moon, in its wane, '
would not appear till two o’clock in the morning ; it was now
but eight in the evening, and Sutter had six hours of darkness
before him which he resolved not to Waste.

The night grew more and more dark, large black clouds
charged with electricity surged heavily along and intercepted
the starlight; the night breeze had arisen at sunset and whistled.
lugubriously through the branches of the old monarchs of the
virgin forest.

Excepting the sentinels around the camp, all the Indians
were extended around the fires and, wrapped up in their buf-
falo robes, were slumbering.

Nathan was sleeping or seemed to sleep, bound to a tree ;
two warriors, charged to watch him, seeing him so apparently
resigned to his fate, had fallen asleep not far from him. ,

All at oncea low hiss like that of the ribbon-snake came from
the top of the tree at the foot of which lay the prisoner. The
latter suddenly opened his eyes and flung about him aquestion—
ing 130k, without moving in the least from fear of alarming his
guar .

A second hiss, longer than the first was heard, followed al-
most immediately by a third.

Nathan cautiously raised his head and looked upward, but
the darkness was so opaque that he could distinguish nothing. -
At this moment some object, whose form he could not make
out, touched his cheek and, shaken by an up—and-down move-
ment, struck his face several times. This object by degrees de-
cended and at last fell at the young man’s feet. He lowered ,
his head and examined it.

' It was a knife!

Nathan could scarce restrain an exclamation of joy. He wal
flat entirely beyond assistance! Unkhown friends were inter
cited in his fate and were seeking means to save him.

 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

  

 
 
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

   

mmormmm-mn,

Hope once again entered his heart and, Iike a boxer who in
a moment had been stunned by a blow he had received, he cal-
led up all his forces to again Commence the contest.

Bold though a man may be, no matter how resolved he is to
bravely make the sacrifice of his life without thoughts of the
past, yet when at the moment ofhis doom a ray of hope illumi-
nates his astonished eyes, he immediately starts up, repulse

r the image of death from his mind, and fights fearfully to recon

quer that existence he but a short time before throw away.
This was so in Nathan: he gazed for a moment on his gnarl
dians.

There is one little detail, perhaps a trivial one, but too true I

to be passed over in silence: at the moment when he had
heard the first hiss, the young man had Continued his regular

' breathing, although perfectly awake; now, he was more care-

ful than ever not to check it. for it was a monotomms sound
whose stopping might arouse the warriors on guard.

There was a great study for a painter in the aspect of that
man who, with widely-opened eyes, frown’mg brows, features
contracted by hope and dread, was painfully working at the
thongs which encircled his arms and body. ‘With unheard-of
pains and mighty efforts Nathan managed first of all to release
his left hand, then his right; with these free he cleared his
body from the tree, stooped noiselessly for the knife, snatched
it up, untied the cord by which it had been let down, and
severed the bonds on his lower limbs.

The lasso by which the knife had descended was drawn up.

Nathan had stuck the knife in his waist and retook his for-
mer position.

Suddenly one of his two guards tumed towards him,
stamped his feet to make his chilled blood circulate, and came
to him, doubtless to examine the captive’s bonds.

Nathan, with half-closed eyes, carefully spied the Indian’s
movements. When he saw the ()omancho’s face within his
reach, as quick as thought be grasped him around the neck,
and that so unexpectedly that the redskin, held by the throat,
had not time to draw a breath.

Nathan, as we have mentioned, was endowed with Hercu-
lean strength; at this moment, hope of deliverance doubled
it. He lifted the Indian from off the ground, while the lattc
strove vainly to shake off the deadly clutch : the handit’s iron
fingers tightened mire and more by a slow, calculated md
irresistible pressure. .

 

 

 

-—«-—. %‘ We»

THE HUNTLRS’ RI“ ENGE.

The warrio., with bloodshot eyes, purple features and gap-
ing mouth through which lolled his tongue, beat the air mechaxk ,

. ically with his hands, writhed in one last convulsxmi and re<

mained rigid in the American’s hands. He was dead.

Nathan held him two or three minutes more to be certain ‘
that all was over, and then laid the dead body close by him '
a position which perl‘eetly simulated sleep. Then he passe
his hand over his fin-ehead to wipe off the cold sweat whic
streamed from it, and cast his eyes upward to the tree—tops
nothing appeared.

A frightful thought seized the young man: what if his
friends, despaii ing of saving him, should have abandoned him?

, A horrihle anguish pressed on his breast.

Still he had recognized his father’s signal; the hiss of the
ribbon-snake had long been agreed on between them to corre-
spond in similar circumstances. His father was not a man to
ieave unachieved a Work commenced by him, whatever would
06 the consequences. And still minutes passed on, one after
another, and nothing came to relieve the-young man’s mind:
all kept quiet and dark as ever.

Near half an hour passed thus.

Nathan was a prey to an impatient fewer and a terror im-

ssihle to describe. 'fl‘ill this moment no one in the camp
. ad, it is true, lit-H't‘iW‘d the isolated movement he had made,
out some unfortunate chant-e. might at any moment reveal his
projects of flight; it required but one lndian to be aroused by
the cold and pass by him while on a walk to circulate his

‘ blood.

Since his friends forgot, the young man must help himself.

The first thing was to rid himself of the second sentinel ; to
achieve this, he extended himself flat on the ground, and still
continuing to feign a deep sleep, he crept gently in the direc
.tion of the warrior. IIe approached him, inch by int-h, so in-
sensible was his progress. Finally he came within two paces
of the sleeping Indian.

Nathan rose, drew hack a step, gathered himself up, and
bounded like a jaguar on the red man, on whose breast he
placed his knee, wlnl e with his left hand he forcibly compressed

is throat. _

The Comanche, suddenly awoke, made an abrupt movement
to shake of the fatal grasp and opened his bewildered eye!

'without being able to utter a cry.

Nathan, without a word, drew out the knife he had thrufl

 

 
 

 

 

 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

into his waistband and buried its whole blade in the Indian?!
heart, still keeping him down. The, warrior fell back as it
struck by lightning, and expired without a sound.

‘ Two !’ muttered the bandit, wiping the knife. ‘ This is a

,~fine weapon. Now, come what may, I shall not die without
vengeance.’

Nathan, when he had seen his disguise useless, had asked to
resume his own clothing, which he had been allowed to do.
By a singular chance the Indian whom he had just stabbed had
kept his gumebag and rifle, which the young man retook ; he

“uttered a sigh of satisfaction on again being in possession oi
these objects so precious to him, and was now fully equipped
as a woodsman. Time pressed, he must at any price evade the
sentinels and quit the encampment. ,2

What had he to fear? the being killed ?

If he remained, he knew well the fate which awaited him;
it was a thousand times better to be slain outright in making
an attempt at escape than to wait for the torture. He flung a
ferocious look around him, bent himself forward, prickéd his
ears and cooked his title silently.

The most profound calm reigned in the camp.

‘Come,’ muttered the young man, ‘this is no moment to
hesitate; we must be gone.’

' At this same moment the hiss of the ribbon-snake sounded
am.

Nathan started.

‘Oh, ho!’ said he, ‘it appears they have not gone off without
me, as I believed.’

Then he bent down to the ground and crawled back to the
tree to which he had been tied. A lasso was swinging to and
fro: this lasso ended in one of those double knots which see-
men style chairs, half of which passes under the thighs while
the other holds up the chest.

‘By heaven!’ muttered Nathan joyously, ‘ it takes the old
man to have such ideas. What a game we are playing the red-

skins! They will surely think me a sorcerer—I defy them to I

find my traces.’

While making this monologue to himself, the bandit had fix-
ed himself in the chair.

The lasso, pulled by vigorous hands, rapidly ascended, and
Nathan ere long disappeared in the midst of the thick foli
of the mastic-tree. When he reached the first bought, t
young man shook off the lasso and, clambering up with hands
and feet, in a few instants joined his old companions.

m
‘ A

 

‘a;J~ w

 

“
‘Oh,’ mattered he drawing two or three long breaths and
wiping away the sweat of which flowed from his face, ’ I can
now say I have escaped finely. Thanks to you, for Iwould have
been lost without you, may the devil burn mo, else !’
‘Enough!’ said his father curtly; ‘we have no time to lose
‘Well, then, which way are you going 7’
‘ This way,’ said Sutter extending his hand in the direction
of the camp.

nu: Humans’ amass.

! ‘The deuce !’ cried Nathan quickly, ‘are you mad, or have
.you only saved my life that we may altogether fall into the

a

enemy’s hands ’2’

‘ What do you mean ’1’

‘ One thing that you would see as well as me if it was day-
light: the forest terminates abruptly a few yards from here, at
the edge of an immense quebrada.’

‘ So !’ exclaimed Sutter; ‘ what must we do, then ?’

‘Retrace your way for about half a league and then turn to
the left. I have seen enough of the country since I left you to
dimly remember the lay of the land, but, as I tell you, we
must get away from here instantly.’

‘And the more so as the moon will soon be up,’ observed

' Richard Sutter ; ‘and if unluckily the redskins perceive Nat’s

flight, they will be speedily on our trail.’

‘Well said, Dick,’ returned Nathan; ‘ofi' we go.’ -

Sutter put himself at the head of the little party, which
commenced their retrogade march. This was extremely diffi-
cult on so obscure a night: every step took time, for they first
pressed lightly to see that the foothold was solid, or OtherWlSO
they would risk falling from limb to limb and break their necks
on the ground some seventy or eight feet below. They had ,
hardly proceeded three hundred paces efore a deafening clamor
arose behind them: a great light illumined the forest and
through the leaves the fugitives perceived the black forms of
the savages who were running in every direction, with torches
which they brandished in fury.

‘,So,’ said Sutter. ‘it seems that the Comanches lave found
out you have left them.’

‘No doubt,’ returned Nathan laughing. ‘ Poor fellows, they
will never be consoled for my loss.’

‘ So much the more as you did not leave them without leavc

I log traces of your passage.’

‘Just as you say, liathcr,’ said the other lifting the flap of hi!
Inmting frock and showing two bloody scalps which were ml I
pended at his belt: ‘I could not help raising their hair.’

 

 
  

      
   
   
   
   
   
  
 
   

’98/ mmormmunm;on, .
" Before escaping, Nathan had scalped his two guard!»

‘ No wonder, then, that they are furious,’ said Rosario ; ‘you
know the Comanches never pardon. How could you have com-
mitted such imprudence ?’

‘Look you, Senor Pepito,’ said Nathan Sutterbrntally, ‘don’t
meddle with what don’t concern you, but leave me to my own
fashion, if you do not want the lnittend of my riile to come
‘ . in contact with your head, and send you to take my place)
if The Spaniard hit his lips and drew u dagger.

‘Caspiin ! curst American 1’ muttered he. ..

‘Uonic on, then, greaser, if you will have it,’ returned Na-
than unshezithiug the knife which had already done him so
much service.

‘Come, let us have peace, in the devil’s name I’ said Sutter;
‘you will bring the Indians down upon us with your useless»
brawls.’

‘ Yes,’ added Richard; ‘ when we are in safety, you can set-
tle your dispute with your knives like caballcros (gentlemen).
But, now, we have something else to do than quarrel like two
old women.’

The two men exchanged a look charged with hate, but kept
silent.

i The troop, guided by Sutter, continued their way, pursued
IL I by the shouts and yells of the infuriated savages who seemedto
i come nearer.
' ‘ Can they have discovered our trail ’2’ muttered Sutter shak
i'Ig his head.

  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
     
   
 
  
     
    
   
   
   
   
   

m1!“ A-wea'g—A ,ur—J;

CHAPTER XVII.

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

  

WP. Will now return to Brandurd and his companions, when
we left resuming their pursuit of the bandits. n

The old hunter had by this time became, body and soul, ab
501‘de in this prolonged man-hunt; it was the first time, since ‘
he had dwelt 131 the prairie, that he had been matched against
10 skilled a woodsmnn as Suttcr.

Like the old American, the bandit possessed & deep—rooted
lequaintance with western life, all the prairie noises were
known. to him as well as the paths were familiar: like him

 
  

 

flag—AS.»

- youwill soon see as well..’

1 i ‘ )

111": univrnns’ Runnels. .7

.ngdn, he had made a particular study-of Indian life and mm

ners: in short, Brandard had encountered, if not his master,

st least his equal. His self-love was excited and urged him ta‘

press on to the conclusion of this affair: so he resolved to com
duct things so vgorouslythat, notwithstanding his cunning, Sutr
ter would soon fall into his hands.

After having, as we have seen, quitted the hiin regions of
the Sierra, the three men spread apart to seek some indication
which would set them right to find the trail they had lost, for,
accordingr to that axiom of backwoodsnien, anyrustrcador (trad-
Im/wm’) who holds one end oi'a trail must iiifiillibly reach the
other end. U nlortunately not a mark or a print, was to be
seen; Sutter’s band had disappeared without it seeming possi-
ble to discover a trace of his passage.

Nevertheless llrandard was not disheartened; he studied the
earth, inspected every blade of grass, beat all the bushes with
a patience nothing could tire. Ulurkson, less habituated than
,iis uncle, seconded him to his best. Curuniilla was as usual
indefatigable, but all his attempts resulted the same way as
those of Brandard’s, that is stopping at a rock entirely bare.
At this spot, it was folly to seek foot-marks, the granite Would

I not keep them.

Here, Curuniilla began to gather the dry leaves and broken
branches to make a fire.

Brandard and his nephew leaned on their rifles, looking _at
tentively around.

In the place where the hunters had established their camp-
ing-ground was a naked rock on which grew no vegetation: an
immense mastic-tree almost entirely shaded this place which
its branches overtopped.

Brandard incessantly looked above and around, as if he had
a presentiment that in this spot he would find the trail which
he had lost. All at once he uttered a sonorous ‘hem !’ At
this cry, a signal agreed upon between the Indian and himself,
Uurumilla stopped picking up the leaves, raised his head and
looked up.

 Braudard walked straight to him, followed by Clarkson.

‘ Have you discovered anything ’2’ asked the latter.

‘ No,’ returned Brandard, ‘but it, will not be long befor. I

V will.’

- ‘Here ’1’
‘ Yes, this very spot, I see the tracks' believe one, nephew

 
    
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
       
        
 
        
 
   
   

 

 

. , /
98 ‘ mqumormmmlsmn. "

So saying the hunter stooped, gathered a handful of loam

‘ ind began examining them attentively.

‘What can you learn from those leaves?’ muttered Harry
curiously.

‘Everything I’ responded Brandard continuing his examina-
timi.

Unrumilla, bent over the ground, was looking at the rock to
which Sutter had clung to keep down the limb of the tree into
which his companions had climbed.

‘ anh !’ said he.

'1 be two others came to him.

The chief pointed to the rock, at the sides of which some
earth was turned up and the stone itself was somewhat moved
from its former position.

"l‘hey have been here,’ said Brandai'd, ‘ it is as clear as that
two and two make four; the steps we have discovered, going
from the place we are now on, are evident proofs.’

‘lIow’s that, uncle ?’ asked the yoqu man.

‘ Nothing more simple ; I will explain, as you seem to need
a lesson in Woodcraft. These iootmarks which have deceived
you cannot throw off an old backwoodsman like me: they are
too irregular and hesitate, now to the left, now to the right': I
proof they are false.’

‘ False ’2’

‘ Yes. This is what Sutter has done to conceal the direction
he really pursued: he and his men marched fully two leagues
backwards.’

‘You believe so ’Z’

‘I am sure.’

‘But, supposing they did not come here. which I believe as
well as you, now,’ observed the young man, ‘ how is it that he
has left no traces on the other side of this rock? Whatever
care he may have used to hide them, you would find them.’

‘Perhaps ; but there are none there, and it is only losing time
to seek them. Sutter has been here, you acknowledge; but
why has he come ? you ask me that. For a good reason: on
this granite marks will not stay; the bandit wisl.ed a fresh
starting—point, and has led us to this place where he thinks to
mmpletely elude our searches. He has, to a. certain point, suc-
cei-(led: but he has been over-cunning and shot beyond the
mark : before ten minutes, I will show you the trail as clear II
it he had left guideposts along his way. Now, nephew, it is on
d-‘ut that Suttei was here ’1’

 

 

4

 

 

,
was. aunrsas’ REVENGE. 99

‘Yu.

‘Vory well; since he was here, he must have gone farther,’
said the hunter laughing, ‘because if he staid here, we would
have him already.’

‘ That is positive.’

‘Good: now let us see how he went.’

‘ That is just what I don’t see.’

‘ Because you are blind, or rather because you will not giv
yourself the trouble to look.’ ’

‘ Oh, uncle, I swear.’

‘ 1 am wrong: it is because you do not understand what you
see.’

‘ What? cried Harry 3. little nettled by what he heard.

‘ You will agree with me in a moment, nephew,’ said Bran~

‘ I ask nothing better.’

‘You shall see,’ resumed he with that sort of condescension
which is taken by persons who know a thing they are about to
explain to another. ‘ ’l‘he bandits were here and have disap—

eared. I come and I look, he has left no traces. He must,
therefore, have used some path which a man may have taken ;
here, first of all, is a heap of leaves scattered on this rock,
first indication.’

‘ How so ’2’

‘ That is quite clear; we are not in the season when leaves '
fall: they therefore did not fall of themselves.’

‘ Why not ?’

‘Because, if they had, they would be yellow and shrivellcd
up, while they are green, fresh and some, even, are torn, it is
positive that they have been violently detached from the tree.’

‘ That is true,’ murmured Clarkson almost convinced.

‘Now, let us seek what was the unknown power which tore
them from the tree.’

While saying this, Brandard had started off, his body bunt
towards the ground, in the direction of the trunk of the tree.

His nephew followed him closely.

Suddenly Brandm‘d picked up a piece of bark half as large as
one’s hand and showed it to Clarksom _

‘All is DOW explumed,’ said he. ‘See this piece of bark, it
is smoothed and rubbed as if it had been pressed by a rope,
is it not '1'

‘ Yes.) .

‘Well, don’t you understand ’1'

 

  

 

m gum. 01‘ THE manna ; 03-,

‘ Not a. whit more than I did a short time ago.’ V
\ ‘ Listen,’ said he, ‘ Sutter came here ; with his lasso he
caught that limb you see above our heads; aided by his compan-
ions, the branch was bent. Then they mounted one after an—
other; Sutter, the last, no doubt, held the bough down by
that rock; he then let go and was lifted up by it, and they
Were all sixty or seventy feet from the ground ; that was very
ingenious, you will agree; but unloi-tuimtclyleaVes were broken
011' and, while untieing his lasso, a bit of bark tell; he was
pressed and could not destroy those accusing proofs, which we
have seen and which I now read plainly.’

‘ You are every way right, uncle. So you believe this is the »
tree they climbed into?’ ‘

‘Iwiallwager so. Moreover, you may soon be certain, for
we will take the same road.’

‘ But can we do so '2’

‘Easily. In these sort of woods, the road I speak of is the
most practicable.
this trail to no more lose it, let us quickly breakfast and be off
in the pursuit of those assassins.’ '

The hunters were not long at their meal, which was finished
in a turn of the hand, and they were soon ready to start. ,

Brandard, to prove that his ideas were correct, employed to.

mount into the tree, the same means used by Sutter. The
moment the three reached the branch , the truth of what
Brandard had said was easily recognized ; traces of people
having gone by were visible. They proceeded for a long ways
guided by the broken twigs left by the bandits; still, the far-
ther they advanced, the more rare were such indications and
soon they disappeared totally.

The trail was a second time lost.

Brandard stopped and niotioning his nephew to him, said :

‘Lct us hold council.’ K

‘ I think,’ rejoined Harry, “that Suttcr has supposed his trail
long enough in the trees and has descended.’

‘ Wrong again,’ said the old hunter shaking his head ; ‘ what
you say is utterly impossiblc.’ v

‘Why ’2’

‘ Because the trail, as you see, stops over a lake.

‘ That is true.’

‘Then it is evident that they would not drop into the wa-
ter ? If we go forward, I wager we will once more find traces.
that direction is the solo one Sutter can have followed. Hi;

  

 

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THE HUNTERS REVENG E.

'design must be to get through the Comanche lines which, we

know, are thereaway ; if he has turned back to the mountains,
we know by experience, he will perish ; he must be trying to
escape by the only path Left him, and that lies before us.’

‘ Must we still go from tree to tree,’ inquired Harry. ’

‘Yes. That is our road, it is there only we will find on.
focs.’

‘ Then let us start.’

Curumilla, following his custom, had said nothing; he had‘
not even stopped to take part in the discussion; he continued
to go on in advance.

‘Ooah 1’ said he, suddenly.

The two white men ran eagerly to him.

The chief held in his hand a shred of fringe evidently from
a hunting-frock, as large as a shilling.

‘You see,’ said Brandard, ‘wc are going right, we must no
turn aside.’ '

This discovery made any discussion cease.

They had proceeded some way farther, when Brandard, who
feared that th'iiy might be outnumbered by the bandits, deemed
it but prudent to send Harry Ularkson to the Unicorn to give
him information as to their whereabouts, but not to acquaint
the sachem of their travelling in the trees, or the bandits, be-
ing repulsed by the numerous Comanches, might meet with
Brandard and Curumilla in their flight and defeat the old
hunter’s design.

Harry descended from the tree, and went swiftly away to
the Indian camp. He had entered it, met Delarue who con--
fided in him his suspicions as to Nathan whom Clarkson, also
doubted by the one look they had, exchanged at the border of
the camp. Their united voice had made the Unicorn send the
Spider to arrest Nathan, whose capture and escape we have
previously recounted.

Brandard and the Indian proceeded onward for two hours,
when night fell and all around became dark. At this moment
Cummilla laid his hand on Brandard’s am.

'Well, Chief, what is it '2’ asked the latter.

‘Listen,’ returned the Indian.

Soon there came to the hunter’s ear from a great distance
confused cries, which, every instant, became more and more
distinct, and soon changed into a frightful din.

" What can that be ’2’ demanded Brandard, thoughtfully.

The yells augmented to fearful proportions, strange light: ‘

     

,m cum 01' um “All!!! ; OI,

illumined the forest, whose tenants, aroused of a sudden, tuned
with gleaming eyes on the two hunters.

‘ Well,’ said Brandard, ‘ I will try to find what this means.

Quitting then his shelter, he uttered a long shrill cry, to
which horrid whoops replied.

‘ It is the Unicorn,’ muttered he.

' CHAPTER XVIII.
NATHAN Ii WIPED OUT.

_ NATHAN’S flight had been discovered by a singular mishap.
The Comanches, no more than other Indians, have the habit

of making patrols and rounds during the night, all these being '

the inventions of civilized people, whol 1y unknown on the
prairie. In all probability the Indians would not have per-
ceived till daybreak their prisoner’s disappearance.

Nathan depended on this. He was too well acquainted with
Indian customs not to know it. But he had not calculated on
hate, that vigilant sentinel, whose watchfulness is only to be
equalled by love.

An hour after Nathan’s ascension into the trees, Clarkson,
awakened by the cold, or more probably by the workings of
lis heart, which told him that one of those whom he had
sworn to see die, having been seized, the others could not long
escape their doom. He determined, for some unknown reason,
one he could not define, to assure himself that the captive was
securely bound and beyond the possibility of escape, and, alone,
traversed the camp, leaping over the sleeping warriors; most
of the fires had gone out, and those which still burned threw
around but a dim light. Urged by that instinct of hate which
rarely deceives those impelled by its compass, he had at ength
reachgd the tree to which the prisoner should have been at.
tache . .

The tree stood alone; the cords which had bound Nathan
lay in scattered pieces at its foot.

Clarkson started back stupefied at the sight of what he was
so far from expecting.

‘Oh,’ muttered he, in his rage, ‘they are a family of demons.
How could he have escaped ’2’

He looked about him.

 

 

 

THE HUNTERS, REVENGE.

‘These knaves still sleeping,’ said he, seeing the prostrate.
guards, ‘while the man they were charged to watch is far
away laughing at us. They shall smart for this or there’s no
virtue in bowstrings.’

He spurned them with his foot.

‘ Dogs ! sleepy rogues ! up with you i the prisoner has
escaped !’ -

The sleepers, or those who seemed such, made no movement.

I ‘(lzl’if said the young American, ‘ what’s the meaning or
this .

ll-e bent over and examined them, touching their faces
. which were clotted with coagulated gore; then all was re
vealed to him.

‘ Dead!’ muttered he; ‘he has assassinated them! What
diabolical power can shield them from our avenging hands 7’

He rose hastil y and rushed through the camp shouting !

‘To arms, warriors, to arms! The prisoner has flown.’

All was immediately in tumult._ The Unicorn, one of the
first, came with Delarue to ask the cause of Harry’s cries.

A very few words served to tell them all, and the \Unicorn, '
more furious than the white men, sent off warriors in every di-
rection in pursuit of Nathan. We know that provisionally at
least, the bandit had nothing to fear from the hopeless search.

This miraculous flight ofa bound man from the midst of a
camp full of warriors, without being seen by the sentinels, had
in it something so extraordinary that the Uomanches, supersti—
tious like all Indians, were not far from believing in the inter-
vention of the Spirit of Evil.

The Whole camp was turned upside down ; evu‘y one ran in
different directions brandishing torches. The circle enlarged
every moment, the warriors, borne by their euthusxasm, had
quitted the clearing to enter the forest.

Suddenly a shrill cry came through the space.

Every one stopped as if by enehantment.

The Unicorn then yelled forth an answer, the last notes of
which the Coniauches repeated.

-‘ Brandard! my brother !’ said the Unicorn.

‘.Uncle !’ said Clarksou. ‘ Let us run to meet him.’

' 'l‘ he Canadian and Harry ran with a dozen warriors and soon
arrived beneath the tree in which we left Brandard and Cum-
milla. The hunter saw them come; when they were neu- 
ho called. .

‘Where are you '2’ asked the Unicorn.

 

    

‘ er mean ’2’

‘,In this mosquito tree,’ returned Br-I 'lard; ‘stop and look
.1 .

The Indians raised their heads.
‘Ooah !’ said the Uni 30m in surprise; ‘ what does my broth-
‘ ‘I will tell you, but help me first to descend; it is not 1
suitable place for a council.’

‘Good ; I await my brother.’

Brandard fastened his lass-o to a branch and lowered the end
preparatory to going down.

Curumilla laid his hand on his shoulder. ,

‘What do you want, chief,’ asked the old hunter. /

‘ Is my brother going down T returned the Indian.

‘ You see,’ replied Brandard shaking the lasso.

Curumilla shook his head.

‘ Our men are there,’ said he pointing.

_ ‘Tr'ue '?’ exclaimed the hunter striking his forehead, ‘I forgot
all about them—am I losing my senses ‘2 Chief, you are a pre-
cious friend, nothing escapes you—stay !’

IIe bent down and making a kind of speaking—trumpet with
his hands, cried.

‘ Chief !’

‘ What would my brother?’ responded the Unicorn.

‘Come up. You, Harry and your friend.’

The snchem grasped the lasso, and was followed by Delarue
and Clarkson. They all three were soon on the branch where
stood andard and Curumilla.

‘ What, you here, Bill ?’ said the old hunter shaking Delarue’i
hand.

‘ Here I am !’ said the Unicorn.

‘ Why are you running about the forest at this time of night ’3’

I asked the hunter.

The sachem explained in a few words what had- happened.
Brandard frowned. In his turn he informed the chief of

what he had done.

‘ It is evident,’ said he, ‘that those whom we seek are not
far from here ; perhaps they hear us.’

‘ It’s likely,’ said the Unicorn ;"Whnt will we do on so dark
A night ?’ '

‘Let us be as cunning as they. How many warriors have you
below ’2’

‘ Ten, I believe.

"Tis well. Among them, have you n01 some one you an
depend on.

   
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

u.

  

.
,
r
i

'5

   

 

    

nu: HUNTsns’ REVENGE.

‘ All !’ replied the sachem proudly.

‘ I do not speak of courage, but of experience 7’

‘Ooah ! I have the Spider.’

‘ That’s our man. He will replace us with your warrion,
whose command ypu can give him ; he will cut oti' communica-
tions here, while 1 and my companions follow you. I will not
be sorry to visit the place your prisoner escaped from.’

All things were executed as Brandard desired.

The Spider established himself in the trees with the order
.0 watch attentively ; Brandard, sure henceforward to have
raised a barrier against Suttcr and his band which they could
not overcome, prepared to return to the camp in company with '
the Unicorn. .

Curumilla again inteersed.

‘ Why descend ?’ said he.

The old hunter so well knew the Indian, that he understood
his single word.

‘ Right once more,’ said he turning to the Unicorn, ‘lct us go-
to your camp, by passing from branch to branch. Uurumilla is
right; in this way, if our foes are concealed in the neighbor-

, hood, we may discover them.’

The Sachem of the Comanches bowed his plumed head in
token of assent, and they set out.

They had been half-an—hour or thereabouts, when Curumilla,
who led the party, stopped with a low cry. x

The hunters raised their heads and saw above them, an en-
ormous black mass which was swinging lazily on a limb.

‘ Ah 1’ said Delarue starting, ‘what is that '3’

‘ A bear,’ replied Curumilla.

‘Indeed,’ said Clarkson, ‘ it is a magnificent black bear. Let
us shoot him.’ .

‘ Take heed,’ cried the Unicorn, ‘a gunshot may give an
alarm to those we are seeking.’

‘ I Wish I could shoot him,’ said Brandard, ‘were it but for
his fur.’ ~

No,’ said the Unicorn peremptorily: ‘the bears are the good
cousins of my family.’

‘Then, that is difi‘erent,’ said the hunter, scarcely concealing
an ironical smile.

The Indians, we think we have stated so before, are excessive-
] superstitious. Among other beliefs, they have that of be-
hevi 3 they are descended from certain animals whom they
tree as parents and for whom th‘y profess a deep respect;

 

 

 

ml cum (l' mu manna ; on,

which does not prevent them slaying them on the occasion
when, as often happens, they are impelled by hunger; but this
justice should be rendered the lndians that they do not arrive
to that extremity towards their so‘callcd parents without crav-
ing a. thousand pardons of them and having,r first explained that
hunger alone obliged them to have recourse to this extreme
means to sustain their existence.

The Unicorn had no need of food at this moment, his camp
was overflowing with provisions; so he showed to his cousin the
bear, a politeness and gallantry worthy of eulogy. lIc saluted
him, spoke some minutes in the most afi'cctionat'c manner, while
the bear continued to swing himself indolently without appear-
ing to attach any great importance to the chief’s discourse, and
seemed more annoyed than flattered by the compliments his
cousin addressed him.

The sachem, internally nettled by this bad taste and indifl'er-
enee, made the bear a last sign of farewell and passed on.

The little troop advanced some time in Silence.

‘I do not know why,’ said Brandard suddenly, ‘ but I wish I
had the skill of your cousin, chief.’

‘ Ooah !’ responded the Unicorn, ‘ there is much bullitlo at the

' camp.’

‘ I know that,’ said the hunter: ‘ it is not for that.’

‘ What then ’I’

‘I do not know, but that bear had a. suspicious air to me, he
appears to me a. counterfeit.’

‘Does my brother believe that the Unicorn is a child who
cannot recognize animals 'Z’ said the sachcm warmly.

‘Heaven preserve me from having such a thought, chief!
I know you are an experienced warrior : but the most cunning
may be deceived.’

‘ Oh, oh, what does my father suppose '.l’

‘ W'ould you boldly hear my mind ’2’

‘ Yes, let my brother speak; he is a great hunter, his knowl
edge is immense.’

‘No, I am but ignorant, but still I have studied the habits or
beasts.‘

‘ Well,’ said Dclarue, ‘your opinion is that that bear

‘Is Sutter or one of his men,’ interposed Braudard.

‘ What makes you suppose that ?’

‘ This first: at this hour animals go to the nearest lake lo!
pond to drink, but supposing that this one has returned, do you
not know that all animals fly before man : this one, dazzled’by

 

    

 

 

 

 

0'

THE uuxrmns' REVENGE. M

the torches, frightened by cries which he never has heard in
the usually silent forest, should have, if he followed his instinct,
tried to save himself, which was extremely easy, instead of
carelessly dancing before us, a hundred feet in the air; so muc
the more as the bear is an animal too prudent and selfish to
entrust his dear and precious body in that way to branches too,
Weak to support him : the more I reflect, the more I am per-
suaded that it was a man in disguise.’

The hunters and the Unicorn himself“, who had listened with

he greatest attention to the Americau’s words, were struck by

the truthfulness of his observations; a thousand details which
had escaped them, now were presented to their memory and
came to corroborate the American’s suspicions.

‘For my part,’ said Delarue, ‘I am far from disbelieving‘
it.’

‘You can understand,’ said Brandard, ‘ how on so dark 3
night, the chief, notwithstanding all his experience, was de-
ceived, especially at a distance like that we were from the pre-
tended animal: still we have committed a grave fault, and I
the first of all, to leave him without acquiring a certainty.’

‘ Ah 1’ said the sachem, ‘my brother is right, wisdom dwells
in him.’

‘ Now it is too late to retrace our paces, the deceiver has de-
camped by this time,’ said Brandard : ‘ but; added he looking \
around him, ‘where is Curumilla C”

Like a reply to his question, came to the spot where they
Were, a. loud noise of breaking branches followed by a stifled
cr .

)‘rHalloa !’ said andard, ‘ we will have news of our friend.’
Suddenly the cawing of a crow was heard.
‘ That is Cummilla’s signal,’ said Brandard, ‘what has he been
u to ’l’
I" We must learn, and to do that go back,’ observed Demrue.
‘Do you believe I would leave my old friend ’2’ exclaimed

,Brandard replying to the Indian’s signal by a caw like the one
they had heard.

‘ Let us go back,’ said Clarkson. ~

The hunt rs retraced their steps as quickly as the nature of
the narrow and dangerous path would permit.

Cnrumilla, seated commodionsly in a leafy covert in the
midst of which he was perfectly invisible to whomsoever might
have been looking from above him, was silently laughing all
alone. So extraordinary a thing was it to see Curumilla laugh,

 

 

 

    

  

momormmnmzon,

/

the hour was apparently so unusual a one, that Brandard was
. alarm'ed and was not far from believing that his old companion
had suddenly become mad.

‘ Well, chief,’ said he looking on all sides, ‘ will you tell me
why you are laughing this way ? I shall not be sorry to learn
the cause of your great glee, that we may all laugh in com-

.Y- '

Curumilla fixed on his friend his intelligent eye and replied
with a goodhumored smile :

‘ The chief laughs because he is contented.’

‘ I see that,’ returned Brandard ; ‘only I am ignorant why,
and wish to know.’

‘ Curumilla has killed the bear,’ said the Indian sententi

ouslg.
‘ ah !’ said the 01d hunter in astonishment.
‘ Look, brother, there is the sachem’s cousin.’
The Unicorn frowned.
Brandard and his friends looked in the direction designated.
Curumilla’s lasso, firmly fastened to the bough of the tree
they were standing on, hung in the space ; at its end dangled
a. strangely shaped black mass.
It was the bear’s body.
Curumilla, during the Unicorn’s conversation with his rela-
tion, had attentively spied the animal’s motions ; the same as
'Brandard, those movements had not appeared sufficiently na-
tural to him and he had wished to know all ; consequently ho
had‘let his friends depart, had attached his lasso to a strong
branch, and while the bear, believing all his visiters gone, bad
unsuspectineg descended from his perch, the Indian had lassoed
him. On this unforeseen attack the animal had missed his
footing, had fallen and remained swinging in the air, thanks to
the running noose which encircled his neck, which had pre-
served the animal’s bones from being broken, albeit, by way of
compensation, it had strangled him.
The hunters began pulling the lasso to them; they bumed
= to know if they were wrong. After some efi‘orts, the bear was
xtended on the branch.
Brandard bent quickly over it, but as quickly rose, saying
scornfully:
‘ I was sure.’
He gave a kick at the animal’s head which flew off, leavingin ‘
its place Nathan’s visage, whose vioht features were horrible
contracted.

 

 

\, ~ 7 l
__ _

I ' rm. HUNTERS, “venom. 100

‘ 0h? cried they all; Nathan !’

‘ ch,’ added Brandard, ‘Sutter’s elder son.’

‘ ‘One I’ said Harry Clarkson, pulling a small bag from his
breast, and dipping it in the bloody foam on the dead man’s
lips. " ‘

Poor Nathan was not fortunate in disguises; with the first,
he had barely escaped being burned alive; with the second, he
had been hanged.

The hunters remained for an instant silent, their eyes fixed

, on their enemy’s corpse. r

The Unicorn, who no doubt was angry at having been de-
ceived by his passing himself for his cousin, broke the species
of charm which enehained the lookers on by unsheathing his
seull‘iing-knife, and relieving the poor American of his thick
hair.

‘ It is the scalp of one of those long knife dogs,’ said he, at-
taching his bleeding trophy to his waist. ‘ llis sorpent"s tongue
will deceive no longer.’

andard was profoundly reflecting.

‘ What have we now to do?’ inquired Delarne.

‘Do l’ cried Harry Clarlmon, ‘ that is not dillicult to guess.
we must immediately retake our pursuit of Sutter.’

‘ What says my brother?’ asked the Unicorn turning with
deference to Brundard.

The latter raised his head.

‘All is linished for to—night,’ replied he, ‘yon carrion was
Charged to amuse us while his friends took to flight. To pur-
sue them at. this moment would be signal folly; they have too
mlich advance to be overtaken: the night is so black that we
would have to station a warrior in every tree. Let us content
ourselves for the piesent with keeping the scntinel’s the way
they are. At daybreak, the council of the tribe will unite and
decide on the means to be employed.’

Every one was of the hunter’s way of thinking. They took

* the march to the camp, Which they reached in an hour.

——

CHAPTER XIX.
Tm: BANDIT’S LAST REFUGI.

WI: must at present return to Sutter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

. NW“ . 4,..._~....-,...- ,

 

 

110, ms gum or mi: mamas ; on,

When the oandit had heard the cries of the Indians and had
seen the reddish glare of the torches flash through the trees,
he had at first believed he was lost and had sat down on a
branch hiding his face in his hands in despair. But the bandit’s
discouragement had no longer duration than the lightning’s
flash, almost instantly he rose, as intrepid :vnd defiant as before,
crying in a firm voice:

‘ Forward?

‘ I, for one, will not obey a madman,’ said Simon Muncz.

‘ Am I not your leader ?’ thundered Sutter, enforcing his
words with a blow from his fist which sent the luckiess Mexi-
mm. staggering towards an opening, through which he would
have fallen to the ground, had not Dog’sface and Richard Sut-
u-r caught him in their arms. Foaming at the mouth with rage,
the Mexican drew his knife and made a spring at Sutter who
mlme awaited him. The weapon however, was taken from
M unez, who when released followed the party, muttering threats
to which no great importance was attached.

The bandit leader now marched resolutely to the camp.
Soon they reached the spot where they had let down the lasso
to Nathan.

Sutter parted the branches and looked through.

The whole camp was in commotion : the savages were to be
seen running hither and thither in every direction.

‘ Oh,’ muttered Sutter, ‘I hope those red devils will all be
oli‘ in our pursuit ; we cannot pass here without.’

‘ We must not think of such athing,’ said Nathan, ‘ we would
be wholly lost.’

‘ Time passes ; we must take some part,’ said Pepito Rosario.

‘Silence,’ said Sutter,‘ where is Nathan; has he left us to
ourselves ?

‘Not so, father,’ said the young man’s voice, ‘he has only chans
god his dress.’

He put asxde the leaves which hid him; his companions ut-
trred a cry of astonishment. 4

Nathan was covered with a bearskin, all but the head, which
2.5; held in his hand.

‘Oh, oh,’ said Sutter,‘ that’s a lucky windfall; where did
51111 steal that, Nathan ’2’

‘I only had the trouble to lift it off the branch where they
put it to dry.’

‘Keep it carefully, for it may come of use.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

 

,4

 

\ THE Hunrnns’ annml. Ill

‘Oome, let us start.’

\They haxl gone but a few steps when Sutter stopped, held
out his hand to caution his companions and listened. After
two or three minutes’ time, he turned and, bending close to
them, said in a whisper: t
\ ‘Ou': retreat is cut off, some one is moving in the trees, (
hear rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs.’ ‘

They'looked about in ail'right.

"Do not despair,’ resumed he quickly, ‘ all is not yet lost : go
up, higher in the tree and let us wait till they pass, while Na-
than amuses them; the Comanches usually do no harm to hours,
Whom they call relations.’

No one made any objection.

Richard went on first, followed by Dog’sface and lell‘lo,
after whom came Munez, whose attention was divided between
stanching the blood which streamed from a cut on his lbrehead
made by Sutter’s blow, and pieking his way cautiously.

Then the 01d bandit grasped with one hand the branches :1-
bove his head and disappeared in the foliage, saying:

‘ Take care of yourself, Nat, my boy: play your part WL‘ll,
our safety depends on you.’

‘Be easy, futhor,’ responded the young man, putting on the
bear’s head, ‘I am not so stupid as an Indian: they cannot but
help take me for their parent.’

Our readers know what occurred, how this stratagem, at
first so successful, was foiled by Curumilla.

On seeing the hanging of his son, the bandit was blinded
with rage and lifting his rifle to his shoulder, took aim at the
Indian.

‘What are you doing,’ said the Spaniard knocking up the
gunbarrel : ‘ you will only lose us all without saving him.’

‘ True,’ muttered the bandit.

The fugitives remained for an hour in the trees without da-
ring to stir hand or foot, from fear of being discovered. They
were so near their pursuers that they heard every Word they
uttered. By degrees the voices sounded less and less distinct,
\‘ihe torchlight was not so vivid, and all fell back again into si-

ence.

‘ They are gone,’ said the Spaniard breathing.

‘ Not all,’ said the bandit ; ‘ did you not hear that confound-
ed American telling the chief to post sentinels ’I’

‘ That is true, our retreat is cut ofi‘.’

‘Do not give up, yet, wholly; we can stay here and rest

 

    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

TRIQUW ormlnmm; on.

without fear of discovery ; let you do so while I go eaten the
discovery.’

The American left the party. During his absence not a
Word was spoken : the Spaniard was thinking, Richard Sut-
ter was standing as sentinel over Munez and Dog’sAface who
slept.

In about an hour, Sutter returned, with a smiling face.

. ‘ Well ?’ queried the Spaniard anxiously.

‘Good news !’ replied the other; ‘1 have discovered a refuge
where l defy a bloodhound to fellow.’

‘Far from here T

‘ Barely two yards.’

I‘ So near ?’

‘Therein lies our security; our enemies will never suppose
that we have the audacity to hide ourselves so near them.’

’ Right ; let us go.’

‘ When you please.’

‘ Right away then.’

Sutter had not lied, he had indeed discovered arefuge which
offered every desirable security ; if we ourselves had not seen
a similar one in the \Vestern prairies, we would scarcely at-
tach faith to a statement of such a retreat.

‘ After having gone some few yards, the leader stopped above
an enormous oaktree, dead of old age and completely hollow;

‘ This is it,’ said he cautiously parting the leafy screen of li-
anas and branches which completely concealed the cavity.

‘Oh l’ cried the bandits in joy.

‘ How did you find out '2’ asked Resario.

‘1 knew it long ago,’ returned Sutter.

‘ Ah, but,’ continued the Spaniard, ‘if you know it, may not
others know it also C”

‘ No,’ replied the other shaking his head; one man only be- '
side myself knew it, and the discovery cost him his, life.’

‘ That reassuses me.’

‘ Neither hunter nor trapper comes ever by here, it is
n precipice; if we should go a few steps more in this direction
we should find ourselves suspended over an abyss of imfathoma-
hle depth, one of whose walls this mountain forms. _

‘ We will he better there than here,’ returned Rosario, who '
without hesitation, slipped into the hollow where he disappear-
ed from sight. The others, except Sutter, did the same.

The old bandit, remaining alone, with minute care made all
the traces disappear which lnizht have revealed to his clear

THE HUNTERS’ REVENGE. i. ‘ ll. '

wilted enemies the road he had taken; then, when he VII .’
certain that not-hing was left to point out their retreat, he also 
slipped dowulthe hole. ‘ [i
The bandits, first care was to explore their domicile. It was
immense. The cavern went toa considerable depth beneath
the mountain. It was divided into many branches and levels,
some 01' which went upward almost to the summit of the moun- ,4
tain, while others were under ground ; asubterranean lake, the
reservoir ofa nameless river, extended in alow vault whose g =2
humid walls and roof were black with bats. This cavern had r;
many entrances in diametrically opposite directions ; these . ‘
openings were so well hidden by nature’s artful hand that it I
was impossible for them to be perceived from without. \ \
One thing only troubled tbe adventurers, that was the possi-
bility of finding food; but to that Sutter replied that it would ‘ it.
be each man’s duty, day and day around, to set traps and , “1
hunt. 3'»
After supper, save Munoz and Richard Sutter, who were cho- '5
’ sen sentinels, all sought that repose for which their exertions ;
called so earnestly.
Days passed, and nothing worthy of record occurred till the
day when Simon Munoz was selected to go from the cave and
hunt. The worthy Mexican had not forgotten the blow Sutter
had struck him and took advantage of this opportunity to take
his revenge. Instead of going to the traps, he kept close to the
mountain, going around it and then striking ofi‘ in the direction
of the Comanche camp. llis reason for such a proceeding we
shall see.

an s s a s a: *

as :55 L355 

Three or four days were occupied by the hunters in seeking
the bandits’ trail which they now seemed to have lost beyond ‘ V
recovery. Leaving lirandard and Curumilla in ‘the camp, ‘
Clarkson with Delarue, started on the fourth morning to make ii
an independent search, in the belief that the noise of the large ‘
band of Indians they had had before was the cause of their not ‘
discovering the puisued.

Mounted on two magnificent mustangs, lostowed on them
by the Unicorn, the two men were riding slowly and silently
along. For many hours they had gone thus, when of a sudden.
both reined in their horses at the same time. They nae seen
I man half bent, seated at the foot of a tree, apparently nbsorb-_
Ed in some occupation which the new-comers could not make out.

\

.m__,.. h N.._..-t-_ V, ‘A

 

:3
'L
l
'i
sl-
(-
l

 

114 mw-umrumuwl.

Spurring their horses together they rode up to him, when
they stopped uttering a cry of astonishment. The man was
Simon Munez, who was playing all alone at monte, with agrees

ck of cards. The sight appeared so ludicrous that, though

e was an enemy, they burst out into laughter.

At this sound, Simon lifted up his head.

‘ See now,’ said he appearing no way disconcerted: ‘I was
sure some one would come : that was something that never fail-
ed on this blessed earth !’

‘ What do you mean, sirrah !’ said Clarkson, ‘ explain your
self—no jesting with us.’

‘Well, will you let me tell my story as I please.’

Delarue drcw Clarkson aside and, still keeping an eye on Mu-
nez who, however, did not seem desirous of flying, said:

‘ Harry, this man perhaps has quarrelled with his friends and
may by threats or pay be made to give the very intelligence
we are in search of. Listen to him, I pray you.’

Harry Clarkson turned to the Mexicali, saying:

‘Go on, then, but if you waste our time, look you, my mas-
ter, there are Indians within call who will treat you as they
were near treating your friend, Nathan.’

‘Oh, I know, burnt alive or some like pleasantly, which I
will,wi11ingly undergo, if what I state does not come of use to
'ou. .
3 ‘ Enough, we’ll hear you, but if you make an attempt at es-
cape—J the young man touched his pistol butt significantly.

‘ That is my last intention. Well, you must first learn, I

- have been in Jalapa, a city you may have heard of. You must

know that we have there a saying, to wit 5 “ would you have
eompany’.Z play cards.” ’

‘Well, you have the company Proceed.’

‘It is more than I asked for; I only thought some one would
come, who would lead me to the persons I sought, and, lo 1 the
very ones I needed are here.’

‘ How is it,’ asked Delarue, ‘that you have left Sutter?’

‘ Caramba !’ cried the gambusino, ‘say that he left me, or was
the cause of my leaving.’

‘How so 7’

Without answering, the Mexican lifted up his sombrero and
showed a bloodstained bandage which covered his eye an

cheek. ,

‘Who did that ’.1 Sutter ?’
‘ Yes, an d I wish to revenge myself. Alone I am too weak

 

 

nu: Humans" nm Imam. nu
-—well too eowmdlyaif you like—let us not mince the word.
80 I seek you.’

‘ You have done right, then.
yourself ’2’

‘ That is all.’

‘ Come, follow us ; in an hour you will see my uncle.’

As Harry had said, they encountered Brandard, near the
Comanche camp.

‘ Where are your companions ’2’ asked the old hunter.

‘ Sutter and the rest are concealed in the mountains, in a
cavern, winch 1 defy you to find without my assistance.’

‘ That assistance you have promised us. Will you dd as We
order 7’

‘ Yes.’

‘ \Vell, you must return, and take with you Delarue and
Clarkson, one of whom will come to warn us of the right mo-
ment for attack.’

‘ Very well. I will do so.
please.’ ‘

‘Instantly, then,’ cried the two men, ‘our horses are still
fresh.’

A mustang was given to Munez who, with the two hunters,
rapidly left the camp and rode off in the direction of the moun-
tains.

They galloppcd silently, Simon riding a little in advance.

In the stace of mind of our three characters, too deep in
their thoughts, the other nursing his revengeful designs, our
readers will have seen that any conversation was impossible.

They reached the first elevation of the mountains without
having exchanged a word. There, they stopped.

“ Caballeros,’ said the traitor, - before going farther, it
will do no harm, it seems to me, to make some indispensable
changes’ .

‘Oi' what changes do you speak, my friend,’ asked Harry.

‘ We are about to enter,’ resumed Simon. ‘ regions where
horses cannot but be more hurtful than useful ; in these moun-
tains, a man on feet can go where a mounted man cannot.’

‘ Right, let us leave our horses here ; they will not wander

Do you only ask immunity for

We will start as soon as you

farther than the necessary space to find their nourishment. I

When we have need of them we are sure to lind,them here.’

‘Then let us dismount ; take saddles and bossals off the hor- '

see and let us abandon them to their instinct.’ ' _
The three men dismounted, took the harness from their horse!

   
  
    
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
     

 

 

 
   

‘ ml cum 0! rurnnm ; on,

end drove them away. 'The noble beasts, accustomed to thin

mode of acting, went off a few paces and commenced to quietly

crop the prairie grass.

The trappings of the three steeds were deposited in the hol-
low ofa tree designated by the Mexican, and so well covered
with dead leaves that it was impossible to suspect their conceal-
cent.

Our three m en had quitted Brandard somewhat late in the
day; by the time they had hidden their horses’ harness, and
reached the narrow platform of rock, the night had complete-
ly came on.

‘Now,’ said Munoz, ‘I am ready to play my part. Look yon-
der.’

‘Oh, oh, what is that,’ said Clankson turning his eyes in the
designated direction.

A thin thread of white smoke seemed to ascend from the
rock a short distance from them.

‘ There is no smoke without fire,’ returned Simon Munez
laughing. ‘Are you convinced that I have led you to the t'K
ger’s den 2’ ,

‘ Yes,’ said they both together.

‘ N ow one of you must go to your camp, and surround this
mountain. It has many entrances, which I will point out to

. I . . . ,
. Whichevei of you IS going for your friends.

‘ Well,’ said Delarue and Clarkson, ‘we will both go.’
‘ So be it. But let one of you leave me his hat.’

', ‘Willingly; but you have one.’

‘ I have need of a semnd.’

‘ Here’s mine, thon.’

‘ That will do. By the bye, if you hear any sound towards
morning, a shot or two, do not mind it.’

‘ I will not.’ After throwing his fur—cap which was adorned
with a fox’s tail in lieu of feather, Clarlxson shouldered his rifle,
and soon he and Delarue were beyond the sight of the gam-
butsino, who, wrapping himself up in his blanket, lell quietly
as ee . ,

Th: first beams of the morning sun had barely dissipated the
damp mist which hung upon the gray rocks, then Munez sprang
to his feet,

After a glance around to be assured that he was alone, he
took up “any Clarkson’s cap and threw it down the precipice
near by. ‘ After having whirled in the air several times, it final-
iy settl:d on a jutting rock some distant-c below

 

(
...,,_---W:- . l . 

 

 

 

 

Tn: Hummus" Runner.

‘Good‘!’ muttered the gambusmo, ‘there’s something that
will verify my tale.’

He then seated himself; took his rifle and discharged it in
the air; immediately seizing one of the pistols in his guard, he
held out his left arm and the ball went through the fleshy part
0 it.

‘ ‘Caramba !’ said he, falling flat on the ground, ‘I am afraid I
have gone a little too far.”

Some minutes pass-ed without any thing troubling the si-
lence. Then two men appeared on the scene, looking carefully
abo it.

Simon Munez opened his eyes. The two men were old Sut-
ter and his son Richard.

‘ It. is Munez,’ said the latter.

‘ Yes, I will explain my hurt, but now take me to the cave,
which I believe is not known to them.’

‘\Vho? what mean you ’2’

‘ The Oomanches—t'ne white lumters—-one of their scouts

fired at me, but he is not now in a condition to do harm to any
one.’
‘Have you killed him ’2’ queried the old bandit.
‘ I don’t know. Look down there, you will see his bodv.’
The two men bent over the rock.
‘ I see a hat, the body cannot be far ofi'.’
‘ Unless it has rolled down to the bottom of the rock,’ said

<Simon.

‘ That is likely enough,’ returned Richard Suttcr, ‘the rock
is almost straight up and down.’ .
‘ 0h, maestro swam! how I suffer,’ moaned the gambusmo,
rising and staggering a few paces, when he fell.
‘ We must get back to the cave,’ said old Sutter, ‘and I will
carry you on my back, you’re not very heavy.’
Ten minutbs afterward, Simon Munez was in the grotto be-
fore a fire, overwhelmed with questions on his delay, which he
lausibl y answered to the effect that, seeing the country was
ll of Indians, he had spent all the preceding day in making
false trails, and in returning to warn his comrades, he had en-
countered an enemy near the cave who had wounded him, as
they might see, and whom he had shot and thrown down the
precipice.
The sight of Clarkson’s hat had made the only suspicions of
old Sutter disappear. The others, who knew Munoz to have
been always one of them, distrusted him not in the least.

117 V

      
   
 
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 
 

 

 

 

QOOlmm;Ul,

Afizer bmaxmst, all paSsed as usual when all of a suddn
Dog’s-face came running in, rifle in hand.

‘ To arms ! to arms !’ cried he, ‘the enemy are in sight!’

At the same time Richard Sutter made his appearance, shout-

mg:
i "l‘o arms!’

This strange coincidence of two attacks made at the same
time, gave much reflection {or old Sutter.

‘ We are betrayed 1’ said he.

‘ By whom '2’ demanded the gambusino boldly.

‘ By you perhaps !’ responded the bandit in anger.

Sim-on laughed.

‘ You are mad,’ returned he, ‘you are out of your head with
the approach of danger.’

‘ I’ll swear some one has betrayed us!’ cried the old bandit,
raging like a caged bear who sees his prey near him but
cannot reach it on account of the intervening bars.

‘ Instead of railling at me,’ said Simon with a well-assumed
accent of wounded dignity, ‘you had better fly. You shall see
if I am a traitor, for here I shall stay and sustain the retreat.’

‘ You will do that ’1’

‘ I will!’

‘ You are a. man, then, whom I am sorry to have wronged.’

At this moment, the ear-piercing war-whoop of the Comanches
rang through the rocky vaults, seeming to find many an echo
in difl'erent quarters.

Leaving Munez seated on a block of stone, the four bandits
disappeared in the depths of the subterranean.

Simon sprang up and bounded in their pursuit, followed by
some twenty Comanche warriors, at the head of whom was
the Unicorn and the Spider. The bandits had not gone twenty '
yards than they were received by a discharge of rifles from
Clarkson, Brandard and Delarue who, with some Indians were
guardiigg an issue which Sutter had thought known only to

imsel .

’l‘he bandits placed themselves back to back, shielding them
selves with the blocks of rock, thus avoiding the bullets, whil
their shots, aimed at the compact body of their enemies, 81
most always struck the mark.

‘ Will you surrender ?’ shouted the old hunter to the ban—
dits.

‘ Let this be our answer—fire, men!’ returned Sutter in a
clear voice.

   
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

 

 

(z

  

nu: HUNTERS manner. 11! ‘

Then the combat recommenced. A few Comanches were
posted to fire over the heads of their friends, who rushed for-
ward with lassoes. There was an outburst of flame, an over-
powering odor of powder, and the yells, shouts, shrieks of pain
and groans blended in one last chaos of confusion.

Torches were brought, and three men were then seen bound
hand and foot with lassoes: they were Sutter, his son and Ro-
sario. Dog’s—face was writhing on the floor in the last agon
caused by a. mortal wound and the pain of being scalped alive,
as he had been by the Spider. Sutter was shot in two places
by Simon Munez who had in turn received a blow from the.
old bandit’s rifle which left him in no state to rejoice at his
triumph. Rostrio and Richard Sutter had received no serious
wounds.

But their assailants had not won their victory unscathed.
Brandard was in one corner, with eyes half closed, propped up
against a rock, cared for by his nephew and Curumilla, who
brought all his knowledge in leechcrai‘t, which flaw hulltc!‘S are
deficient in, to bear against the wound, Which a tyre would
have pronounced mortal. Clarkson’s left hand was delicient
in two fingers, and a cut was on his cheek. Deiarue had been
killed in this attack, though his had been the hand which struck
down Dog’sface.

A solemn scene was that presented by the group in that cave
whose stalaetites reflected the lurid glare of the torches held by
the Indians. Brandard died blessing his nephew, giving his rifle
to] Clarkson, his other equipments to the Comanche Chieftains
who took them with a reverence which showed how much they
esteemed the uld hunter adopted by their tribe. With one
pressure of the still warm hand of Delarue, a. look around on
the bandits whom he no doubt forgave at this moment, the old
hunter breathed a sigh and expired so quietly that his peaceful
death seemed to have been given him as amends for his trou-

blous existence.
1|: 1‘ * It It at

FOUR days after the events recorded in the foregoing chap-
er, the Unicorn’s camp presented a strange aspect. N ot only
lid it inclose all the ludian warriors belonging to the nations
allied to the Comanches, but also many white hunters and trap-
pers who came to see the punishment inflicted on men who had
been the scourge of the prairies, the terror of the wilderness.

The trial lasted a whole day. Many were the accusers, and
from stealing of traps to killing of defenceless men, white and

    
   
  
 
 
 
 
    
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
    

W...-..___ -4“ .v_-...u......__._'..._....

ruinomormnmnlion.

guilty of.

Clarkson, appointed judge against his will, was forced to give
the sentences. After consulting the chiefs and white hunters
said : ‘ John Sutter, you are condemned to be scalped and then
hung. What say the people ’2’

‘ Right !’ cried they all in one voice.

Richard Sutter was condemned to be hung only.

Rosario’s turn came.

‘You are condemned,’ hontinued Clarkson, ‘to be hanged
/ 7

‘ Hanged only,’ said the Spaniard, sneering. ' Oh, merciful
Judge Lynch ! merciful, for you kill me but once, l who have
been a scalp hunter, have burned wigwams as well as white
men’s houses. I have robbed, murdered, done the most horrid
crimes you can invent. I scorn you all, you are cowards, you
feared to let us fight it out in the cave, where you overpowered
us with numbers.’

‘ You are condemned,’ said Clarkson after consultation, ‘to
be scalped, banged by the armpits, besmeared with honey and
remain so hanging until the bees and the birds of heaven do
vour you !’

t at s it at a: s

Sutter and his son did not suffer long. He who underwent:
torture beyond comparison was Rosario; he writherl for twenty-
four hours in unspeakable agony before death put an end to his
suffering.

As soon as he had seen the execution of Sutter, Simon Mu-
nez departed, where no one knows. '

Brandard and Delarue were buried in the same grave, all
the Indian warriors assisting in the ceremony. When every
one had gone away Clarkson kneeled by the grave, where he
was found in the morning by the faithful Curumilla, with his
hair, black the previous evening, turned to gray.

‘Alas !’ murmured the young man, ‘ what remains to me ’2’

‘ The Great Spirit and the desert!’ said Curumilla extending
his arm towards the rising orb of day

The hunter’s eye was lit up; he shook his head, cast a. last
look at the grave, saying, ‘Farewell, friends,’ and turgug to
(he'Indian, added: ‘ Let us go.’

Clarkson entered upon a new exxstenee.

THE END.

 

red, not a crime seemed known but that these men had been

.\L,....,..-.,,...._.A,.4...

;,....».w_..t..¢‘..

 

 

’jS’I‘ANDjAR/DA, 7

“>- » .   v
I M E D I A L O GU13
For School Exhibitions and Home Entertainments.

Mlbil Ind-ll". llto'ls Popul-r Dinlmn and Drum-I in nah book. Eul'olumo Iol
‘ 121110 pagan, out pout-pom, on roceipt o! priu, ten cents.

‘ \
'Eeadlo & Adam. Publishers, 98 William St... N. Y.
, 1 g

 

Thou Voluuol h." bundpnpnesl with upeolnl "(arena to their nvnllnbillvy for Exhibition,
" 1: Ida ted to M'hooln no nrlon with or without the furniture of I name, And suited to SLTHUJ‘
‘ AN YOUNG I’IDOP ‘ of every unboth mole and fumnlo. It i) {Air to ruluma 11an :I

hooks in the mlrht, at Any yrice, contain so tiny will out avdloblo d‘uloguu Ind drum:

.11., pathoghnuor And untiment.

 

 

a
‘ . DIME DIALOGUES, IO. 1. '
. an lug of tho Maul. For nine you: indict. Hob-ebbing. For live “here.
LIII‘ n lea Illn‘liohm-a. For thru bop. The Secret of Succola. ‘or thrn I'pukm.

,1 "In" Cornnntlon. For uni. Ind {um-lo. You Amorica. Three mnln Ind two tam-lav
Ilhlnn- For “'0 int-lira. Jon! luo'l Doltlny. Four l'amllu, coon-ulu.
hi Rehtll’lltl- F0? IL! . The ‘ully nftha Duel. For three main 1120an

INC“ "in You Choose! or twnhnyn. Dogmnlium. For throo mnla ope-ken.
The Queen of May. For two little girln. The ignomnt Conrmmdod. For two boyl.
The Tun-Party. Fnrionrlndiel- Tho Fnflt Ymm Nun. Fortwo main.
- Three Soon“ in Wedded Lilo. Mule-m! fomnlr~ Tho Year's Ih-c oning. 19 fomnlel luul 1 main.
Mrl. Snifliu’ Confer-inn. For nelo und female. ‘ho Villngu with Om: Gondaunuz. For night {a
/ Thu Minion of tho Splriu. Five young iodine. l malu and on. male. ‘
‘ DIME DIALOGUES N0. 2. -
Tim Geniu- nlebL-rtv. 9 mole: And 1 fernlle. How to 'rite ‘ Populnr’ Storlq. TWO Mb 1
(’iutlurallo or. The Liltlo Glues Slipper. The Nownml the (lid. For two main.
Iman {ton and Soyan Bud. Severn] alternator-I. A Sen-ntinn at Lut. For two mslol.
Thu GONG“ Ruh- Two main and two fomnlen. The Greenhom. For two mien.
I TheGifl. oftluo Fairy Quun. Sever-Al lam-lot. Ths Three Man ofSciunce. For four rnnlll.
Tnk u in and I) me For. For two ahlrartore. The Old Lady’s Will. For {our main.
Th: Co mtry Aunt‘l Vimt to the City. For uv- Tho Littlo Phil. an hen. For two littlo ‘h’h.
"3| Chhmckfl- How to Find on air. Fnr Eva Hillel.
Tho_’l‘wo annnl. For two union. The Virtuel. For six young ludiu.
Tryan the Characters. For thruo malelt A Connublul Ealogue. ‘
, The Happy Family. For :svornl ‘nniamll.’ The Public meatln . Flvomllu Ind ouch-*0
. no Mnbow. For Iovurnl damn. Tho Englith Tn." or. For two lulu. ,"
h n DIME DIALOgIUEE, 3.? t I
0 7|! nun. Foru- nth. altos]. 0 it“ 0" - 0" '0 1M “-
ltrnl Baffin] Conroutlon. For ten fomniel. “Hurl’k‘m F0“ “'0 ml“ ""1 "w (“1‘3
Koo in: Bad Company. A For“. Forflvemniel. TM Two RorMnI. For two runch
. Courting Under Dlmoultiu. I rnllu, l fun-la. Thu Game. Second Igno. For two mulel. ,
Nation“ Ropnuntatiul. A Burlesque. 4 union. Snowing the Whltu Father. 4 nmlnl, \ fern-In
. Looping/tho Draft. For numuour mulel. Tbs Bottle Call. A Radiative. For an. ml...
DIME DIALOQUES, N0. 4. ,
flu Frout Kin . For tan arm pmoul. five Stubbletown Volunteer. 9 rnolu, l lamb.

‘srtl in Li a. 'l hnn mnlu And two (3me A Srrne from “ l‘uul Pry." For four molar.
pith, {we nod Charity. Fnr thruliltlo girlh- ‘l‘iio Churn". For thr-Ie riled Ind ono lomulo.
u on Jan. For two muloe and one t-xnnlo. lien, Cinch nuri Bmom. For thruo little girls.

‘ _ ‘ ll . ny. A Flonl Fan". For six little glrlu. Tho Fight Wan". AColloquy. For two boys.

v “Each-uteri Prince“. 2 mule:ng (exhale: What the La Snyl. For two m-lm.

"Jvrto Whnm Homr ll Duo. 7 mules, l lemule Tho (‘rimu of i’tremn. A Colbquy. For twoboy‘

‘lutlo Client. Fur-evenl.Mlel,onofen-nle 'l'h. Ruvnrd at Bun-valence. For {our
ogy. A. Diuuuion. For twenty molar. The Latter. For two Initial.

DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 5.

   

   

. Miami“; PM uhool or rlor. Putting on Alrn. A Colloquy. For two “H
' Mt. A “Thus. Parlom’ ” E: to. The Straight Mark. Foreword huyl. ‘
r the Cumin. For mnlu nml Iomuleu. Two idols of Life. A Colloquy. For to: 3m.
’ In Pi Sodoty. Fivoboy- and I touch". Fxtrsct (mm Mnrlno Fallen).
1 luniuution Du . Fuunr-l Iamnle shunt": Mary-Money. An Acting Claude: r
Kuhn: in “ Taft.” For-anvil males. The Six Vina-I. For nix mung lumen.
I 1 Boy: 'I‘rlhunll. For ten boy]. The lrllhmln At Homo. For tvro mnlne.
\ 'x has Ton a. Sunni mulel Ind hunt... Inhlonblo Reqnlmolu. For thn-IIM...
>. ' ’5' Nov” t on Ann". For two fomlee. A Bovy of“ (Eyes). Fflmw’mh‘hlm‘

DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 8.
‘ “Whalmnfimot. Moi. 1nd {unison Tho ’l‘wo Conn-clan. I" “in. filial:

‘ ' .1 110 Post “(or Dfmuuluu. For fin nil“. Tho Vourlu 0! Fully. For n numb-w otmks
V v "7% Tali. For at who]. ulwoi. Aunt Bug’- Batu. Four {omulau And two main. , \

’ “’Wtu’l “A Inn {onion-ad two-don. The leel'SuL her two tom-In uni on' Indo-
." ' '_v )1.“me In). All hulls-NM Chin. Yq Annmlerolbor
' 4 . ' . mumm- MI» For nut-:1 Bu our».
‘l “1‘73, nM-«mnm Lin-1mm human». I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dime School sexton-mung;

 

DIME DIALOGUES No. 7.

no two WI. For fonrtoon (om-loo.

The oIrth-ohild .‘ Alolry-laud. For girlo.
Twnnty you: hon 0 Two fexnolol, one unlo-
Tho way to Winihom. For two rmlol.
Womm. A poetic nougo It wordn. Two boys.
The ’Ologln. A bulluqny. For two molol.
How to got rid of n Doro. For mverni lxoyl.
Bonrdlng-oclnool. Two males and two foninlu.
Plan for the pledge. For two main.

This ill: of dram-drinking. For threo be I.
Truo pride. A oullm uy. For two fer-m co.
{in two locturon. or uumeruu maloo.

Two views oflifo. Colloqny. For two hold
The right: of munic. For two iomoloo.

A hopelou one. A quor in var-o. 'l‘woxirlo-
Thu would‘be Ichool-tooc or. For two main.
Come to lilo too noon. l-‘or thru uioln.

Eight o’clock. For two little iril.

Truu dignity. A colloquy. or two boyl.
Grief two oxpomive. For two main.

Hamlet ond tho Klimt. For two permnl.

Littlu rod riding hood. For two iomoloo.

Now applicltlun ofui old rule. Boy- onil gier
Colored cumin]. A colloquy. For two nulls

DIME DIALOGUES No. 8.

fairy School. For n number or girls.

as enrolling otflcor. Three girl: nmi two hoyl.

no hue brill enthmlut. For three boyl.
The girl of the period. For thru girlx.
The wl rebellion. Two mnlol Mid onolomnlo.
Slow but sure. Suvarnl main and two folnoloo.
Condle’a veloeipoiio. One mole and out l'omlo.
Tho figurol. For IPVBI’nl ninnll children.
Tho triol of Potor Slupor. For novoo boyl.

Gottin It hoLogrnph. Mnloo nod {amulet

Thu noggin; for genoroi im )rovomont. ll‘ur girl;
A noblonmn in disguise. ‘hroo Klrlo, Alx hoyl.
Grunt expostotionr. For two hoyo.

i’loying ocllool. Flvo {omfloo And {our min.
Cluihn for tho hontlion. Uno molo, olo hulk.
A hard one. For three 50)..

Ghana. For ten [emolu- no on mob.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 9.

Advortlolng {or hel . For It number of l'emolon.
Americn to Englnm , gran-ting. F ‘r two boyi.
The old and tho now. Four fen-lulu on: male.
Cholco 0f trodes. Fur twolve littlo boyo.

Thu lop-dug. For two (amnion.

Tho victlln. For four females Ind on mole.
Tho duelint. For two huyl.

The truo hiloonphy. For femaln and males.
A goal o nation. For two fermion.

The law of human klndmu. For two fold".
Spnllod children. For I mod uhool.

Brutul onii Cllllnl.

Coriolonul And Anfldlnl.

Tho new Icholnr. For n nmbor o! girll.

The ulhnnde mnn. For three moleo.

Tho May Lfiuogn (No. 9.) For a school.

Mrn. Lock nnd’n economy. 4 boy: Ind 8 girls.
should woman in [iron tho hollotl For boys.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 10.

Mn. Marl: Twoin‘n shoe. One mile. on. fomolo.
The old flag. School l‘oILival. For throo boyi-
Tbo court of fully, For many girls.
Grout livu. For six buys and legirll.

dnL For numerous moles Ind {omnloL
The light of love. For two how.
The flower children. For tw-lve glrll.
Tho dual unclo. For three boys.
A diocuuion. For two boyn.

Tho rohanruii. For In school.

Tho true wn . Forthroo boy- ond on girl.

A promo-l if: loooon. For threo girlo.

The monk and tho noidior. For two boys.
“76-1876. School footlvnl. For two girl}.
lord Dundronry'l Vinit. S ouloo Iod {analog
Witchoo in tho cronm. For 3 girl: on I boyl.
Fronclunln. Chanda. Nmnu climax-o.

. DIME DIALOGUES No. 11.

Agnpoomcu or. vor deceitful. For le ha I.
‘1‘ o conundrum {run y. For mnlo uni (omo o.
Curing: Bat-y. Three Innleo lflll [our fomnloo.
look And tho boon-talk. For flu ohoruterl.
The wov to do it and not to do afomnleo.
How to hocnmo llIIltl’lJ. etc. M Ind lomllo.
The only true l her two zirll.
Clmio colloqoi For two boys.

l. Gustavus Van Ind Cristiern.
fii. ’i'ntnorlono Ind Bojmt.

 

 

 

Fuhlonoble diulpntion. For two llltlo Ilfll.
A school chorndo. For two boyl And two (it'll.
Jun lngolow'l “ Soup of Swan." Son- ‘ulo
A dubnto. For {our boyl.

lhggod Dick'o loo-on. For thro- bop.

School ohorulo, with tohloou.

A ury quutlonlhlo Itory. For two to”.

A all. For thrro molu.

The roll goutlonnn. For two boyl.

’ DIME DIALOGUES N0. 12-

.fiikoo mnnnco. For navorni chm-euro.
louder-o wootoil. For lav-rail chunk“.
When l mu young. For two girln.
'l‘ho molt prociouo ham-pro. For two hoyo.
Tho douhlo cnro. ’lhvo mnloo Ind {our {will I.
Tho Iowor-gonlon foirleo. For five llttlo gir
Jomimo‘n nnvol. ’i‘hroo union And two fonnlu.
Down-o of tho whth For three girls.

 

 

A family not to otiorn M. T. W.

llnw to on An oeringénndo.

'l‘ho "notion cup-tin. Four to I no told-s

Tlmt naughty boy. Thruf old on“

l'lldm' l3 limiifhmd‘k u ' p...
in not go nit tun. e at

Sic tron-it glorin n my ohm-do.

 

DIME DIALOGUES R0. 13. -

Two o’clock in tho morning. For throo molu.

A: iodtpotion routing. For uqu lomioo.
Dolor. nod bohlod thou-u. Sour-l ehmzt’n.
'l'h boy. A IL‘bor ofhywud tour or.
A duo-phi. For {bio mm”.
or now-d W.

 

Worthmotwoolth. fork-boy...”
No Inch word ui‘u. Faun-d It“.
Tho duping bounty.
AI inn-out hug-o.
014 KM, h M.
w ' «’5. I “It-h“. ‘
"to on ‘
A no“ m In hum-IA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

' Die School Harlan-Dillon“.-
um: DIALOGUES No. 14.

Mn. Jenn Jonas. Three [out- And two lndiu.
The barn gonlun. For {our ants.
Morn than one llutoner. For our gent! malady.
who on unrth ll he! For threa girls.
Tho right not to he n pnuper. For twa boyn.
Worn-n nntnre will out. For n girln’ Ichool.

, Benodict And bncholor. For two hoyn.
The cost an drou. For fin erronl.
The lurpriu party. For nix little glrll.
A pruned domomtrntion. Put thru boys.

Rnflnutnent. Actin mrnde. Sever-laund-
Coueiunoe tho nrb tor. Fol ltd nudgent.
How to mplle mothnrn ha py. lmr two bop
A coucluuvu nrgumont. Eur two girll.

A woman’n blinduen. For three girls.

Rum’n work il‘alrlpernnco) For {our “antl-
The lntnl miltnka. For two young ludien
E)'el.lulil note. For one gum and on. My.
Retribution. For A number 0! boys.

DIHE DIALOGU’ES No. 15.

“in {nirlu’ ole-patio. Numerou- character».
pwt’l porplnxltiun. For nix guntlmnan.
lounu cure. For two lutllou und one gent.

in: good than) in In each. A number oi hoyl.

Contioman or monkey. For two ho ‘I.

The little philosopher. For two litt e girln.

Aunt l'oll ’nlouon. For four lntller.

A wind—In 1. Acting chlrndu. For: number.

Will it pnyl For two boys.

DIME DIALO

Polly Ann. For {our lndlel and one nonilemnu.
The meeting of the windn. For n school.

Tho good they did. For nix indie;

Thu boy who wlnl. For nix gentlemen.
Good-hv day. A colloquy. lI'or thrwgirln.
Tho Iic well mnn. For throat buys.

The inve-tlfntlngcommittee. Fur nlnu Indian.
A “cornu- 'in roguu. For {our boys.

'l‘hu llulr'tllrlflw. For mum-rout min. ‘
Don't believe whnt you hear. For thrn lad '-
Alnloty min. For thruulndlul.

'l'lm chiel’l resolve. Extrnct. For two inning
'l‘untlng her iriuniln. Fur uvernl clinrnctent.
Tho Ioruignnr'n t onhleu. For two indict.

The cut without an owner. Sevrrnlchnrncun
Nuturul solution. For three gentlemen.

GUES No. 16.

Thu iinpn of this trunk room. For five girls.
The hon-tern. A Cnlloquy. For two ilitlu girls
Kitty’s Iuneml. For wvernl little girl».
Strutngem. Chnrnde. For levornl rhurnctarn,
Testing hur nuholnrs. For nnninrun- Icholnn.
The world ll whnt we make it. ’l‘wu girls.
'l‘hc old null tbu new. For gnutlunnu and hid".

DIME DIALOGUES No. 17.

Lrn'LI FULKB’ twlltcuus AND DIALUGL‘ES.

9o hhnpgy yon mutt he goatL For two little
girl: In one boy.

Evilolcent glory. For n bevy of boys.

The little poncemnker. For two little glrln.
What part: friendt. For two llttln girls.
hrthn Wuhington tan party. For five little

it]! in old-time co-tuuio.

_ o Ivil than in in it. For two young box-u.

“150 Ind foollnh little girl. For two lrlu.

A child'l lnqniriu. For Inullchild In toucher.

The cooliln club. For two girl- nnd othorl.

How to daft. For two boyl.

A hut-dud yum to oomn. For hoy Ind girl.

Don’t truu (no... For lover-l Imnll hon.

Ahou thu Ikiu. For two Imnll girl-

. Thu true heroism. For three little boyl.

Gin In llttln boy: A chance; The Itorv of the
ylurn pudding; I’ll he (i nun; A little girl’-
rlghu Ipuch; Johnny’n opinion of grand-
mothan; The bonntlu hen; He knows ri..-r

4“ ‘mt; Almll huy’l vfuw of norm; Robb)"-

DIME DIALO

Inlry with“. For levornl churncterl.
hNo rote without I thorn. 9 mnlel tmi 1 female.
,Ioo greedy by hall. For thrne union.
One good turn duarvot nnother. her 6 ludlu.
Courting Malindu. For 3 boy: And 1 lady.
The ncw Icholur. For levernl boyl.
The little lntorul
hunch-to. For 3 pntlemen Ind

 

:‘
In
a
..
.‘
o
s
..
E‘
2

   

ludiu.

 

sermon ; Nohod ’A child; Nuttln nt mad
any‘u; Little oy’l \‘l'w of have Columbfi
(incuraer Amuricn ' little girl’s view: th—
tie boy’s I each on thin; A littln boy’l pock-
et; The n: tllll ht murder' Robby ltoh’l noc-
ond sermon; l ow the buhy ulna; A boy’-
observations; The new slum; A mother’-
lova; The creownin’ glory; Baby Lulu‘; JoIh
Billings on the bmnhirhec, Wren, ulllgntor:
Died yentordny; The chlcken’l Inlltake' Th.
hair nppnrent; Dallvnr nu from evil; bon’t
wnnt to be Food; 0nan drunken follow;
The two lltt e rohim; Ilow to condumn;
A nonunu talc“ Little boy’l duclainntlon; A
chlld’l delire; I; The goblin cut: Ruh-
nrduh; Cnlumny; Little chzttorbox; What.
are tiny; A be '- vluw; The twont {rog-
Golngto Ichao } A mornln Inth - ho lrl
of Dundee; A Army; in no Innll ht; h.
now laid egg; The little mudclnn luau;
Pottery-mun; Then an now. '

GUES No. 18.

(Ht n (log I had nnmc. l‘or ion: continua.

spr g-tlme withea. or II: little glrlt.

Lost Charlie ; or, the gipuy’r rev-up. For In
llll‘l'OllI characters.

A litiln tramp. For Hire. little hoyl.

llnni times. For :7 gentlemen and 4 lndlu.

The louon well worth turning. For two unh-
nnd two leinulul.

 

 

DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 19.

An leul mylter . Two fomlu nnd two main.

,Contontmnt. Pym» flv- llttlc hoyl.

Who In tlu nintnl For thrno yon-g glrll.

Cdllornh uncle. Thm mnlu md thm

Bo kind tobtha ptlnr. '3 littAle‘!t:llhI; any.

3" poop m nunr . uo .

#1:". Ac.“- .hngdo. For {our durum
nah

A dint o. M: Chm-u Fan-

The refined timpletonl. For {on “in.

Runembcr Bunnun. For three min.

Madam ndnentton. Thru InAlII \nd on has“.

Mud with too much ion. For throe “1.1.,

’l'ha {niry’l warning. Dru: plan. For two 3mg.

Aunt Eunim’l apartment. For noun].

 Itch:qu G. G. Tao hunt. undo-“1‘
a u 310% L... 3*
nd two Ion-i“. . I. a.

An old-MM tint.

 

i

TM button. For unlu- shunt-s

 

 

 

 

’ Dino School Berton-Wu.

 

‘ ' DIIE DILLOG'OII, No. 20.
Ian. 11am unlo- nnd that m An llr agile. For five null-And the“ has];

Chm

AMrnoon «in. For two littlo (all.

Nod’n prams. For {our hoyn.

Jud e not. For teach-r um uvenl echelon.
Tel nxdreuna. For {our little loin.

Sued by love. For two boyu.

Clty manna" Ind nutty hum. Patina m
Ind one boy.

The Iilly dilpute. For two girl: And W.

Not one then! For {uur lnnlu ullwhfl.

Footprint. For numeroul chunk“.

Min-ken ldlnllty. Two malel :an three femnlnl. Keeping bonds". Tm) {lmllel nnd tin—Indu-

Couldn’t rud Engli-li. For 3 males and 1 Jamie. A cur. lor good

A little Valuviul. Fur lixlluin gull.
“Szid-n For than boys.

Ono indy Ind two mud“
The crodulou wiuuru. For two uni-L

 

DIME DIALOGUES No. 21.

nee-uh] donation party. For never-i.
three fomnlen.
ittln Rod Riding Hood. For two chlldffll.
ow Ilu mule him ropnse. A duut.

The lion-o on tho llll . For {our felualll.

Ivldanu enough. For two males.

Worth Ind wealth. For {our land“.
MM. For ICVCI’IL

[Mark ilutinp’retum. For (an: nul‘.
ut ofsebt out oi danger. For three mslu ud Cinderella.

For uverul clllldun.

Too much for Aunt Mnlildu. For three {caulk

Wit Lauimt wi'e. Three trmniu undou- Budd

A nudden recovery. For three vnnlel.

The double linwgem. For {our fonmleu.

Counting chickens baton they won hm
For (our mnlu.

nun: mucous, No. 22.

Th Dork Cupid; or, the mistaken of a aiming.
For thru gentlemen and two lud‘lu.

Tint Na’ar—dn-well; or, n broth-rm 1035011. For
two mnlu and two foxnalen.

High m; or the now nmuin. For Lwo gins.

Btrnnge Adventures. For two bnyl.

1h. king'n supper. For four girls.

A practical exemplificnxinn. For two boys.

Nomieur 'l'hieJ in Americn; or, Yankee VI.
Frunchmnn. For {our Day;

Doxy‘n dlplomncy. 3 lamalu and ‘ incident nlu.‘

A Franchrnnn; or, the onmitted uunt. For twu

' And one goutleluu.

Tilnnin's lmnquct. For A number ofxirll.

Boys will be boys. Fur two boy. nnd on. girl.

A rainy day; or, the Irlmol-glrl philmplun.
For tllnru young: lndlm.

God in love. Fur n number of sclmlll’l.

The way he managed. For ‘1 nmlu. ? {anal-u.

Fandango. \‘uioun ell-mote", whit. “doth!

Wlfie.
The little dortor. Fortwn tiny girln.
A thu revcngm Fur four buy
A Mn)‘ .lny. For tlvme lillle ui -.
Fm“. tlm nubllme Intho rlvllculoul. For Mum
Hun not face. Forfive be“.

 

 

DIME DIALOGUES, No. 28.

Rhodn Hunt's rrmmly. For .‘i fa iifll95,1 male.
Hans Schiniut'u recommend. Fur two maln-
Cheer and Grnmhle. For two little bop-I.
'l'ln p untorn doughnutl. For nix (amnion.
Don it pay! For n‘u mnlu.
mpny mnnnerl md homo impoliteneu For
two mnlll, two ‘eunleutnd two children.
fin [lid dnyl. For "'0 little boys.
Unlortuuto Mr. Brown. For 1 unle,6 hallu-
l'hrul colt. For two girls.

A bear garden. For three main, two MARI.
The llusy heel. For {our littleuirl».

lhockmnh. For numeroun clurneton.

School» time. For two little glrle.

Danni name. 2 prinl'lpll ell-notar- Ind Adjunct:
Bros: and gold. Suv-rnl uhnruun, mm to.

male.
Confound Miller. Fortlme mniu, "V0 m
lgnornnce vn. 'ultien. For Alana unlu-

 

Pedauto all. 'or {our

DIME DIALOGUES, No. 24.

The goddes- ot liberty. For nine young ladiu.
The thru gran-e. For three little girln.

The null: director. For leven mil“.

A Itrnngo secret. For three girln.

An Injuxt man. For {our main.

The Illop girl’n victory. 1 male, 3 femllel.
The pnyehomotiur. 9 zentlnmen, 9 indie!-
Inn ll no word for It. For fourludieu.
bWlu'm-iunl. A number‘nf chnwt’n, both new.

(yon-ml In tho Wm. Seven young thin.

The nix brnve men. For nix boy-I.

Have you heard tlm nuwll

The true queen. Two young glrll.

Allizh‘ minute. emu“, l lea-lend”
Irnl nuxlliulel.

1413' and buy. Ton little follow".

The old and young. I mntl-mun, l lltth girl.

That poltul cud. 3 Indie: nnd l thin».

Mother Gome and bar hnuuaho d. A when
A.an {Incy dreu dining“ and I!" ' ‘

7 BIKE DIALOGU'ES, No. 25.

 

Wlnt nch would inn. 6 little boy: b to: .
Sun-nine through tho drink. For {our indies
The friend in need. Far {cur mam.

honn. For tweln liixlu lirll.
In dam Ind out. For flu little bop.
or on. uni. Incl four (omelet.
The pound of fish. For threo bnyl.
Dunn of tho $41»; 7 mind clumkrl.
Good worth. or n numb» a! ban.
Ahmad. Mn number of littie girls.

Una-hon hook-mum»??an mmnrwm I. “M.”

 

moms-gum..-

Thn tme u" A! wnlth. For n wholl find.

Gnmuster. Fur numeron» Chm“?!-

Pntrmrulf in hll pllce. For two bayl.

Litt o «in bulk. For {our Ilttlo (ll-ll.

The regenerm For I" be I.

Crnbtru'n 'Mlll. s"

Intuzrity n. hm “All-noun. Two lulu;

A crooked wly mm Itrd‘llt- 0n “n.-
nnd an. lad .

Hm w“brltiil" you; hm. TIN-db
and on youth-u.

 

»

nmuamueu. PINS-bu. O. wmn-Iumr. ,1

/

.........__._. _ y”..-

F:

 

 

     
  
  
  
   
    
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
  
    
   
  
   
 
 
   
  
   
  
    
 
  
    

    

 

    

 

 

rm
/ Thu {rupnn‘Sd the bee, The United Staten,

 

 

 

 
 

airman]: nnm uranium-to talc m in ma Volume.-

DIME AMERICAN SPEAKER, No. 1.

Earl retiring und rie’g
A. Ward's orntion, ,
’l‘rua nutionulity,

Our natal dly,

Yen Andes,
:Binhlduy o! Wuhln n
Plan {or the Muino nw,
Not on the buttlrfluld,
‘I‘ha ltulinu Alrugglo, [Solicriuo,

 

 

 

..ndopanduuce, lutelliguuce the basin ofi
0n: cauutry,  ‘ a war, iiburty,i
Tho equality ofmnn, chug-a of light riguilc,
Chunctur of tho lluvo’u  After the buttlu,
The (ruin of the wnr, The giant; ruilrond,
'l'he newlng-umchmo, Uxmu of Mr. Mucbuth,
‘Truumnhuod, Prof. on phrouulogy,
: ha myutar‘y oflife, Aunuhel has,

he up: on down, Wnehingion’ll mum,

in truly great. The sailor boy's oymu,

 

 

DIME NATIONAL

Union and its Mnnltl, Teaumeoh‘s speech,
Our country’s future, l‘erriturinl unpunuion,
The Itumxnnn’u luooru, Marthu limiting,
’I‘rua immnrtulity, 'l‘hu bushiul iu-m’o story
But the chililluun weep, ’l‘hu uuttturwi-iuct luau,
urcountry’l rlvry, Rich And poor,
Union a house mid, Seeing the ecliplo,
Indcpnndence hell, Bounties of tin: luw,
The Icholur’u dignity, Gaining! git up.
The cycle: of rngreu, The ruin of lile,
A Christina u nut, Creowuing glory of U. S.
Btnbility ofChriutiunity, Three fools,
Thltrue higher luv, Wushiugton,
he one grunt need, Our grout inheritance,
I‘he 1al and the bird, Eulogy on Henry Clay,

DIME PATRIOTIC
jrnerlcu to the world, The lrish elamenh l
Lave of country, Truiu’s upcuch,
Right uf ecli-preaerva— Christy’s speuch,
Our cuuse [liulL Lct me uluuo,
fl Kentucirinu‘s uppeul, BrlgunJ-lor Genlrnl,
entucky etudi'ast, The draft,
Tiiuidlty in Ireuon, Union Squuro epeecllol,
The uluum, The Unlun, ‘
A ril 15th, 186], Our counky’n cull.
g e npirit of ’II. The Ilory oi‘ 1m aukjne.
he preciou haiku, L-o-g ou my leg,

Kl. rumor: Ibo m7 Peg,
Jr. b untly mould-rad, A an Eulogium,
In] ‘ How to be u firsmnu,

Comic Grunuur, No. L Puf- nec‘t ofhhmelf,
I’m not I Ilnzla mun, Prncticnl phonology,

 

A. Wnrd’u udvice, Beautiful,

Butlus on Pickwick, Cabbage,

Romeo and Juliet, Din-groule Eanplo,

'iuppinul, Whut is n hue elor like!
My, Funny l'olkn,

 

"i'hu lndlnu chiol',

Old 150 Jack,
The li- ul’ tuilat,

Gunilm bio
Thu 1 \plmry or the y"!
Uu nim-  problems,
Huqu to tnu dun-I,
immortality of {nutrloh
Wubstxr’n poll" “M
Pmuy wisu, pound {001— A vision in the l'urutu,
L'rue clouuliuus, fish, The prus,
Sut‘d'y night'u enjoy’tu, Wnumu’s ritdnis,
" in u just cnuw,” itignt or the tic-"PM.
No peacu with oppxue— .\iy lurider,

a nu, \Vomu,

I. Jeboom’u onflon,

A Dutch cure,

The weather,

‘ll‘iiulhuutunl Lentil,“
’i:i 030 :.y n A

An old i: .u; if, '

 

 

A tzilu of a mouse, Alone,
thanksgiving sermon, 'i‘lu rubellloo o! lulu
Inn cult ol’ nchu, Uuuuiun.

SPEAKER, No. 2. \
mint, Murder will ont,‘ “
Uin-ur Emmi Perry, Strlvo fur thu hang]
Uur iluniuin, Burl fining,
Systcinsnf belief, Deu Iul luudnun,
Gain of Alum,

'l‘hu independent former Thu bugle,

Mrs. Grumman‘s bull, A liondiuh gum,

How the runne camel, ‘i’urity oi the strugng
Future a! the shionu, hi ngs.

Loyalty to liberty,

Our country tlm. lust,
and ulwnyl,

British iuiluuncu.
nan-um ur .Iucksun. wnmiugmn,
Nutiun'nl hutrudJ, 'l'hu Dclugu-

SPEAKER, No. 3.

History of our il‘ltt, Fri-nrlom the wnlchwu‘
Ti F. Ivieugliur's milieu, (:rmis uf uur nnti..n,
“'auw. m m Union. {Duty of Chriutiun pu-
Laut Ipuch of Elwyn-In Iriotn,

A. Dnuglue, Turka Dnn'a oration,
Lincoln '1: "measles, A four on plan,

Grout Bell Roland, Tho onlu of llnvefy.
The New Your uml the A [oral uh tribune,
Kin Cotton, Hinton, Thu lit! 0 Zounvo,
llutfio nuthom, Cnthnlle cathedral,

The sud: 0! pan“. The "Spunuluton."

 

 

Bountiful and true,
The worm o! the Mill.
Mun And the lullultu
Language of the Emir, ,

 

 

 

 

DIME COMIC SPEAKER, No. 4.

A long of woe, Political Itnmp mach.
Wurd’r tr‘p to Rinlvn’d, Comic Gruununur, No. 9.
Parody, Furewell to the bottle,
The monutebnnlr, The cork 19f,
Compound internt, The Imuck n school,

A Mrmon on tlw (out, Slick’u daflnitlou 9! MA
’l‘nlo of n lint.

The dubuting club,
ilrinn O’Linn, A Dutch urinun,
crochet: tn office-lock.” Luetnru on luromotion
\V be u my oppoueut! Alanudlo on Dull-ml.

DIME ELOOUTIONIST, No. 5.

£0. X. Purim": or Tnvx EWNCH‘HOl
f -Fnulll in eunncintion; how to amid ihuu.
8 did rulu Ind oblofvntiunl.
8E . Ii. Tn: AM on Duncan-Sheridan’-
Lin of the Paulo». Tranquillity, Cneari‘ul-
! nulJ‘iirth Ruillcrleufl‘onnery Juy,DnIight,
Gruvity, I’nqniry, Attention, hioduty, Pur-
iexity Pity, Grief, Maluncholy, Dupnlr,
"ur. gimme. ROIIBFIB, Cour t, Baa-ting,
‘ do, Obltinucy, Authority, onumndlng,
u'orblddlnz Amrmiu, Denying, DlEaroure,
«Erwin, hurting,Judt:lnz.Appravln¢,Ae-

 

til Cold-Inning Touching Purdoulng
u: Dluniulu'. fiefuohir, G‘l‘ltlnl, Do:
Venentlou, Ho Devin, Love, Rt-
Givtu.Wudlr,A mirulonigzutltude,

     

SEC. Iii. Tim COMPHNINT Etmm or All
(Murrow—Rules ur Cwnpoaiilnn as applied to
\‘y’nnis and l’hriuen. via: Purity, l’roprlaty'
Precision. As applied to Suntan". viz.:
Length ofSentonculllonruau,Uulty.Strenalhr
Figures of Speech; the Exordlu‘u, the Numb
tinnv thu Proposition, the Confirmeliou, tho
Roiutnlion, tho Pemrntinn.

SEC. IV. RIPIIIINTA'HVI Exunmsm Pun
nth Vast—Tumult)»: A He. fur the Ox -
Fnlstufl Sclllo ny on Honor; tlu Burial of
Lincoln; tho Ca 1 and Renpunno; the layout
Clarke; Hintory o! u Lite: the Burl
Belle: Byron ' Mubtth Ind the I
Ewing‘th on Till-gal; 1.4: Up-
war; ii um- all ‘I.
r..- ka; Dhuyerlu o! «inn?

H

 

3
Ir...

 

  

Pom-Ii T nil ,
 919:1.»3‘5' Ytamv-u- Oman-.0

  

.=- .. “a...” V.

 

 

 

’ The iimite to heppineu.

Male School knee—spoken.

 

DIME HUMOROUS SPEAKER, No. 6.

A III“ I
A "momma-l,
A trngie etory,
Emmi

our
Debt. p'
3"“? ' x c

ow, r. I on um,
Ego end echo,
Fabian-hie women,
Fern thlntlel,
Good-nature
vGottileb Kie’bcyergoee.
Sehluken llchter’l ennke
Hoe-n Biglow’e opinion».

DI

The world we live in,
Women’e chime.
Author: of our liberty,
The reel eon ueror,
The citlreu’e erltnge,
tuly,
The mechanic,
Nature & Notnro’e God,
The modern good, [turn
Ouim’l nddran to the
Independence bell—l'l‘l'l
John Burne, Getty-burg,
No act in henven,
Min Prude’l toe-puty,

Hou.J.hI.Stuhhe’ view-
on the eituutionI
Hem Schweckhelmer on
women’e entfrege,
All for I nominetion,
Oldocun, see,
The len,the lee, the open
The etorhnugled epnnner
Stay where you belonfi,
Lli‘e’e whet you nuke t,
Where’e my mone !
8 ch from conscience,
J35 relation toeociety

How the monei‘goel,

Hun-Ll-do-ri'e ourth of
July oration,

If on menu no, my no,

Jo Tim" on ion]; you, I

Loy of the henpecked,

Lot Skinner’e elegy, I

Motrirnony,

Nothing to do,

Old Cnudle’e umhrelle,

Old Grimee’l Ion,

“ Puddle your own en-

0

 

n e
Perod’y on “Arahy’e
nughter,"

 

ME STANDARD

The war of an lden,
Elli} enelleouco ol‘[ the
u f B I
Dron‘r‘r‘i” of the revole rs?”
HowCyrus laill the cable

The prettieet bond,
Penuloxleul,

Little Jerry, the miller,
The neck,

Foggy thoughts,

The lediee’ mun,

Life,

The idler

The uuheliever,

Good-nature n blessing,
Sermon from llerd‘ehell
’l‘eil-endere, [Beptierq
The value of money,

Meteoric diequieition,

lie I re you Are right,

Be 0 good cheer
Crehbed t'ollte, tlhrew,
Taming emeeeulln e
Fermerl, [country,
The true greetneu of our

The unseen battle-field,
Plea for the Republic,

DIME JUVENILE

A boy’e phllolophy,
Hoe out your row,
Six-year-old‘e protest,
The euloidel cut,
% valedlctlou,

o my corn,
Thgpeditor,
The none, in rhyme,
The fniry Ihoemeker,
Whet we: loomed,

%‘ “5'1 th

e In 0 n I group
Tale 0! the troplu,
Bromley’e upeuh,

The name, mod extrut
The filher’e child,
Sheke erien echoler

Playing bell,

Ah, why,

Live {or nomething

Loy of the hen-peeked,
The outetde do ,

Wolf end iem ,

Lion in love,

Frog: akin; for I king,
Sick lion,

Country and town mice,
Men end women,

Home,

The Lotus-pilot",
Little thiugl,

A Behy’e eoiiloquy,
Ropentnnce,

A ion {or ,
ngrrhug pgfitiem,

 

A H den’l palm of
A mixtum ’

MM.

H
Night utter Chriltmu,
Short loge,

N.Englnnd & the Union, Th

Poetry run med,

Right names,
Scientific ieoturel,

The agar,

The cockncy,

The cmifieh,

Fate of.Sergennt Thin,
The feeturen’ qunrrei
Hemerleun Voodchuck,
Tho hnrp of e thouemd.

etrlnge,
The [net of the Inrpinte,
he rnureh to Moscow,
The mysterloue guest,
The pump,

SPEAKER, No.

The two lives,

The true echolur

Judgu not infullihlo,
h'nnnticitm, [=rime,
Instability of successful
Agriculture,

The eemerpeot,

The neret,

The Ihoemnker,

The uleful doctor,

The wnterlnii.

To the bucholan’ mien

lengue, ‘
United Stetee Pmldenh
Veg-riot of Popping the

«inuuon, ‘l
\V mt l wouldn'? be,
Ynnlcen Jamil.

Ze Moekuiu‘,

l933.

7.

The Bible, .
The puree end the Award
My country,

'l'rue luorul coungo,
What is worl .
Butter

 

lrelund, [quer,

The pen le nlweye con—

Muelc otplnhor,

Prulele and Amtrln,
lshiug,

The Blnrney stone.

The student oi’ Bonn,

Thu broken houmhold,

DIME STUMP SPEAKER, No. 8.

Amcrire, [full-cy,

“ lti -ht of Ieceeeiou” I

Life a eunuet,

Human nature,

anyure,

Wronge of the Indium,

firan in beheit‘ol Am.
uorielof war. [liberty

A Lny Sermon,

A dreern,

Aetronomical,

a moon, [une,

Dutiee of American citi-

The non,

SPEAKER, No.
How the raven become

an .

A mother’n work,

The nine,

Who rules,

A eheep Itory,

A little cone-pendent,

One good turn deeervel
I): dream, [anotherI

Rain,

1’“ never one tobueo,

A manic,

The old buhelor,

Pro or to light,

Litt 0 Jim,

Angelina’s lement,

Johnnyshrlmpe on boot-

Mercy,

Choioe of hours,

Poor Rich-id’s “fill”,

 

y
M y Iieboreh Lee,

The row,

The pin end needle,

The modern Puritan, ‘
Immortality or“ the Ian),
Uzculmtion,

Hermann and daring,

 

 

Temptation: “clue-,1)
Broken reeolutiene,
'l‘here ll no deeth,
Recon,

A fruittul dincoune,

A Frenchmnn’e dinner
Unjust netionnl Icqui’l
l’l‘he nmnteur wechnreu.
The coldweter mun,
Permanency ot Stet“,
Libert ' of epeech,

John hem n'e den"
Home-claim ng, ‘
It is not your bailed.

 

 

 

9.

Nothing to do,
Honesty but policy,
Henven, ’~
:10 ll'r'w the fiilde, i

uronant ehnll,
0n Shelagh-l1,
A Imile,
Cmbinncu.
Homeopathic loop.
None and eyl,

elt, (were.
hundred your to
The medium and hie
Little lemon, [mor,
Snutllel on electricity.
The two credlee,
The can mm -
Do thy little, eot'cwdl.

e pen, I

Bale-boll,

 

 

 

my. on W

Whohliied'l‘on r .

 

 

Littl
[Mm
hr W

A shot oi the decanter. ;’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\

1 ,

, Dime School Hornet-Speakers.'\
DIME SPREAD-EAGLE enema, No. 10.

a
l\

\ Den Dnlur’e oration.
Hana Veu Spiegel‘e 4th,
Jelh Blillnge’l Idvlce,
A herd-Ihell nrmon,
The been,

The eqneezer,

Noah and the devil,

A luver’e luck

Hifulutin Amiga“,

Dilution and armliee,

Diatinetien’e diandvuut-
, Imitil ea,

in:
hellna Bendlbul,
Itock at notione,

Speaking for the Iberiif,
baking a Ihweet,

Then and now

Joell Billlnge’ lecturing,
Dectnr iJeiiiinter’e nun’t
Comizumeute,

Ilurll lives,

Dan Brynnt’e Ipeeeh,

A colored view

Original Maud itIuller,
Nobody,

lTraln u! circumateneee,
iGoud advice.

The itching palm,

Drum-head oer-moan,
Sehniteerl’ephiloloyede,
“ Women’a rightn,’
Luke Lather,

Tu- hog,

Jack S yratt,

New uglund tragedy,
The nnciout bachelor,
Jenni) Whittle'e speech,
Jerlte prognosticuten,

A word with Suouiu,
Sut Levenguod,

A mule ride, [xers.
Joeh Billiugl on buz-

Il Trowtere,

Kinslng in the street.

Sonudnleua,

Sllghtl ‘ mixed,

The n ee-weker,

Old buchelon,

Woman,

The Niam Niame,

People will talk,

Swucilhnmer’e bull,

I\lit'lu: “(riouidnl’t horas:
)4m 0. e em on I

Mulie atPiubnr,

The American ensign.

DIME DEBATER AND CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE, No. 11.

L—bna‘nuo eocrl'rv.
he otflce and uleiuinun,
Formation of,
Conetltution of,
By-ann of,
Rulea at gnvernment,
Local ruler of nflit‘t’,
Local rule: of ilehuto,
Subject: for disrunlon.
IL—uow To DKIIATI.
Why there are few good
debate",
Prerequisites to orator-
icai Iunceee.
The logic of debate,
The rhetoric ul‘ Iiuimto,
Maximo to observe,
The preliminary pre-

mile,
Order of argument,

DIME EXHIBITION

The orator ol the day,
The heathen Chinee,
The land we love,

Jim Bludlo,

De true to yaurIeIM
'Ah Sin'l reply

A plea {er Iml u.

The Stanlllaul Ieiea-

tifle Ioclety,

Free ltely,

ltaiy’n alien ruler,

The cure: a! one man

power,
the treaty of peace
(1814),

Elrmun ounce.
QI‘ny Butterfly’e bail,
:oplcl uneongeuial to
greatnen,

Live for Iomethinz,

Civil and religleue lib-

Ort .
Secenyd review oi the
grand army,
n-bone-ty o! polite,
The great commoner,
Character and achieve-

men
II I m U
" It might have been ”
Don’t mike a than V on
down,

Summary.

[IL—c“ Altman’s uman

Ordiuar meeting! and
neeem lieu,

The organization,

Order of buoluen and
proceedings,

The "Question." How
it can be treulcd,
The “ Question.” H
tn be cunelder. d,

Rightl to tile floor,
Rights of a n maker nl
nzeinet the cimir.
Pulling yen: nud unye,
interrupting n vale,
Urguuizutiun ni ilrilh—
erutive llmiiee, Cnu-
ventiene, Annual or
General Anuubiiuo,

c
1

The critical moment,
The east and the want,
In there any mono in it!
Are we a nation

Social Icieuce,

influenee of liberty,
The petriet’l choice,
The right of the people,
The crowning glory,
The pumpkin,

When eu're down,
What ngland he: done
The right a! neutrality,
The national ling,

Our true future,

On keeping at it,
The treaeurel of the
deep,
eup cool,
The precioul freight,
A eketeh,
The word the true er.
ter,
Arlltocrncy.
iterauGrlmalkin’l death
Obell Snipkiue,
A catnlirophe,
Chenrfuineu,
Mountaiuu,
The luat lay of the Min-

. rel,
The unlucky lovers,

 

Preliminary organizi-

y

Permanent organlu-
on,

The order of busineu,

Con-idering repertl, pa-

pe a, e .,

0i Iubsidluty motionl,

The due onilr of con-
sidering queetiom,

Cmmnitteee,

Uhjuctl uf u committee,

'l'heir powers,

iinw mum-d,

“'hen not tn sit,

Rule: of orderund pro-
cwlure,

liluw to report,

 

'l'luu culmuittuo of the
whole,

SPEAKER, N0.

Gruvalotte,

All imill

ElunuciFatlnn of ulenee,

Spirit 0 forgivenen,

Amuelty and love,

Beauty,

Sn ng of lubrv,

Mnnii'elt destiny,

Let it alone i

Dieconcerted candidate.

Maud Muller after
Han- Breitlunn,

What il true hep neu,

The Irlnh of it. par-
0d?)

' DIME SCHOOL SPEAKER, No. 18.

The dread eecret,

Civil Iervice reform,

The true gentlemen,

The tragic pu.

unnru ecuool. ‘HIOII

A cry for lile,

The enbbntb,

Guarled liven,

A good life

To whom «hell we give
thankll .

Resolution,

Never mind,

The Bible,

Chrletlenity our hei-

war ,
The want of the hour,

 

Mlacailuneoue.

’l'rentment of petitionl,

The decorum of debate.

“late to a chairman.

Iv.—nunnue.

Debate in full :

Which in the greeted
benefit to hie country
-—the warrinr, Atatu-
men. or poet!

Debate: in brief:

l. in the reading of
worka of tictlou tab.
cuudemned i

ii. Are lawyer: I hen-
eiit or e curee to an!
ciety I

V.—qUO'|'ATlQNE Ann
Pusan“.
Latin.

12.

What we lee in the thy.
A lecture,

What I wloh,

Goad manuero,

A hnlind 01 Luke Erie.

Sufl‘rnge,

The Cauenaien race,

A review ol‘ Iituution,

Little Breecbea,

Hun: Dunderbuck’ewe‘

ding,
A victim at toothache.
Story olthe twine,
A cold in the nose,
My uncle Adolphue.

The midnight train,
The better View,
De thy little—do it well,
Jeluo forever,
The heart,
The world,
Beautiful theuzhte,
A picture a! life,
true to younelg
young man.
ime ll panting,
The gospel of autumn,
Spelt not harshly,
Courage,
The eternal hymn,
Live for good.
The afloat city.

 

 

m'moL-nnm—spum uni Dialog-ml. 5 _.

‘.

BIKE DIALECT SPEAKER, No. 23.

M "'1 do Inst-r,
Th6 Mludppi miracle, Sand-J,

VI- to tidy com in, A duh this View,
Dan has vut Mary in! Ta “er vny,

got ()n earning GIYIIIAI,
Put d’l'liihart] on w- Mary’a Ihmnll vitolnub
mn‘l rights.

A linilliy iiiuouru,

The homo vuloru. how l‘ubiu w tu spark,

thuy “npiiliw,” Ulni Mn. Grim-l,
Hal-kink Dmvnun on \ pnrudy,

Molhortln-liiw, \imr! nmi cup,
In didn’t lull ii», rum. um Underwood, pilot,
The true Itory of Frmk- i)lil Umnluy,

iln’l “its.

the pill peddler’n on-
! would I won a in;

Linn,
up: in,

Mm...
A We Itory, a.

war ,

All abut - boo,

Greeii’u hint

nee-whim. outr- , M n w. ‘
Tb. innit-oi dutinyfii Coildgtd Myth}.
14.. Iri-hmn, Plum,
Peggy MICIIH’L The Neroidn.
Spnyl from Juli Bil
linxl,
a rlhhiu,
The tuning min.
Dnr’a nulfiu new under The illigruit m at
rig nun, Muldum‘l,
A Intro ruii‘iuin poem, Thu. litllu hnhy round
That violin thu corner,

‘Picnic iii-“gins, A gene-vino inr '
Our cundiiinia' inwl, Au limitation to 05
llihuulrouy‘» wudam, loin-d oi‘ lib-fly,
Pinin inngungu by truth- The crew,

{ui June, on went.

sitlwulinn,

DIME DIALOGUEB No. 26.

Poor cousin. Thus India and two gentleman.

Maui-mint and IDDIG-lillll. Six indict! uni uvcrui
livoctnton.

A an tint did not lull. Six burl.

Two vuyl iii-using things. Two little xii-ll.

Don’t count your chickens bur-ire they are
hutcliud. Four indies iuid a boy.

All is iuiri I low and war. 3 indies, ‘2 zrntlemon.

Iiuw niiela Jolh got Till ( i the legacy. Two uni“,
with uurni tin-dominion.

The lemon of mercy. Two very mun girh.

Practice wlint you pres-ii. Four lndlu.

Poiiticiln. Nuinewiin chnrutan.

The cnnvnuinz 3pm. Two limit! and MW
“mules.

Gruh. 'rwn mnlen.

A slight scare. 'i‘hrw tumult: and on .1510.

Eiiihodi. (l siiimhine. Three yoiinzl

iiuw Jim Pawn diad. Cl'wu msiu-

DIME DIALOGUES No. 27.

Pamy O’Dowd’l “pilll. For three main
uni oiu tannin.

Hui-Ly infer-neon not niwlyl jut. Numerou-

ho a.
Diagntented Annie. For several (iril.
A daiihle surprise. Four mils: and on. {em Ill).
Whiit was it! For five indies.
\tht will cure them! For n lldy nnd two but.
ludopandenl. For nuinuonn char-uteri.
Etch unon “I?! beat. For {our boys.
Tried and found wanting. For aeverll lull--
A boy’- plot. For uni-iii chuactorl.

DIME DIALO

A taut th-t taid. For six young iadiu and two
gentlemen.

Omnixing n deb-ling Inciety. For four boys.

The lwnhuing. For four l‘iitlo girll.

The rebuke proper. For (i eiitlamen. 9 indlel.

Exnrching In evil spirit. or Six lmlles.

Both tide; of tlm fence. For four mnlu.

The whim of the wood. For two troupu of girll.

DIME DIALOGUE! No. 29.

m nbull in. tho dlnlonnryl For nix typicnl
ml. character: and two fem-leg. ,

The tent at bnvery. For {cur boy; Ind tench".

Fortnne’l whual. For fnlir mule chnrletcrl.

The iitti. anthem. For le little girll.

Tho yen and no of Imolm. For thrae little hqyl.

No ro Six gentlemen and tli ndiea.

The strut girl’l good “gel. For two W .l
two little girlI.

“That ungrateful little nigger." For two Isl“.

iii lifld the money. For three Hui. girl;

Appelninteu Ira detaitful. For “Vent in“
and one zaiitiemw.

Love‘s pi-otut. For two littll girls.

An eniurced cure. For lever-l chmcterl.

'i'hoaa who preuzli and than who pqrforn. ,0.
three imilvii.

A gentle conquest. For two you; Kirk.

GUEB No. 28.

No room for the drone. For three ilttla hays
Arm—chair. For nuinarour chnnctorl.

Meiuurc [or Inc-sure. For (our girll.

Saved by ii dream. For two mnlu all n

fern: on.
An infallible Ilgn. For {our Mu.

For nix little

“ Ell. ~

. 7

A good use for "ion".
An iigruubin Iteration. For nut

Simple Simon. For In! ilttk boyu.

The rad light. For four Ida, two fun-In.
$20 "Lock-t thoughL izolr [our littia guizis.

’ e in “mm man-tar. adiu i I II.-
Three Ilt fooin. For four mini] is".

Beware the dog! i-‘or thm lndiu nd n

“ ll I.

 

AI mu good boy. One male, on. mic.
What I vhttulondid. For uverni kiln.

Joe Hunt's hunt. For two My: ud two .Us'
For lit at...

I!" The new book: a. aid by Now-Mill mrywhn, u will to an, pan-palm to If

“anagram lama-out.

manmmuwun—mmr.

 

 

l)I)IE POCKET NOVEIJS.

PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY, AT TEN CENTS EACH.

1 Hawkeve Harry.
2 Dead Shot.
3 The Boy Miners.
4 Blue Dick.
5 Nut iVolfe.
6 The \Viiite Tracker.
'1 The Outlaw’s \Viie.
8 The Tali Trapper.
9 Lightning Jo.
10 The Island Pirate.
11 The Boy Ranger.
1? Bess, the Trapper.
13 The French Spy.
14 Long Shot.
15 The Gunmaker.
16 Red Hand.
[1 Ben, the Trapper.
18 Wild Raven.
19 The Specter Chief.
90 The B’ar-Kiiler.
91 Wild Nat.
92 Indian .10.
93 Old Kent the Ranger.
94 One-E sd Tra per.
15 Godbo d, the Spy.
96 The Black Ship.
91 Single Eye.
98 Indian Jim.
39 The Scout.
30 Eagle Eye.

Arkansas Jack-
Blackbeard.

' The River itiilea.
Hunter 11am.
Cluudwnmi.

Thu Texas Hawks.
Merciless Mat.

Mad Ant’ony's Scouts
Luckiees Trapper.

‘ The Florida Scout.
The Island Trapper.
“Wolf-Cap.

' Rattlinz Dick.
Sharp»Eyo.
Iron»Hand.

The Yellow Hunter.
Thu Phantom rider.
Delaware Toni.
Silver Rifle.

i The Skeleton Scout.

1-1 Little Ride.

75 The Wood “'ltch.

'16 Old Rufl‘, Trs per.

‘17 Scarlet Shoul en.

'18 Border Rifleman.

79 Outlaw Jark.

$0 Tiger-Tail, Seminole.

51 Deafli-Deaier.

5? Kenton, the Ranger.
83 S ecterllorulnan.

107 Jul) Dean.

1M The Wood King.

1W '1'] Svaipr-d Hunter.
llu . ah, the Scout.

111 The Texas Tiger.

11' The Crossed Knives.
113 Tiger-Heart.

1N Masked Avenger.
115 The Pearl Pirates.
116 illavk Panther.

117 Ah.liei.tl|e Avenger.
115 Cato. thr- Creeper.
119 Two liauded Mat.
1‘20 Mad Trail Hunter.
121 Iilnck Nick.

12'! Kit Ilrird.

123 The S eater Riders.
124(1iant ete.

1-15 The Girl Captain.
1‘16 Yankee Eph.

117 Silverspur.

S uatter Dick.

T 0 Child Spy.
Mink Coat.

Red I’lnnle.

Clyde, the Trailer.
The Lost Cache.

134 The Cannibal Chief.
135 Karaibo.

' Scarlet Moccasin.

130
131
132
133

159
160
161

The Vi'ood Ranrors
The Red For.
Beautiful I‘nknnwn.

' (Yanelu ake Muse.

' liank, the Guide.

1'4
105
168
1117

1'11

The Border Scout.
“'in Nat.

Maid oi “'ymninz.
The Three Captives.
The Lost Hunter.
Border Law.

The Lilted Trail.
The Trader Spy.

‘ The Forest Specter.
‘ The llorder Foes.

Border Vengeance.
Border Bessie.

The Sons of Liberty.
The boat Bride.
Keatsea.

The 'l‘onkawa Spy.
The Prairie Scourge.
Red Ll htning.
Brave glean.

'. N iuht-Hawk Kit.

Marian: Sam.
Hurricane Bill.

The Red Outlaw.
The Swamp Scout.
The Shawner‘s Foe.

81 The Mystic Canoe.

39 The Golden Harpoon.
153 The Scalp King.

84 Old Late.

35 Rainbuit, Ranker.

38 The Boy Pioneer.

31 Carson, the Guide.

38 The Heart Enter.

39 “'etzel, the Scout.

‘0 The Huge Hunter.

41 Wild Nat, Trapper.
d? Lynx«ca .

03 The White Outlaw.
4d The Dog Trailer.

45 The Elk King.

46 Adrian, the Pilot.

4'! The Man-hunter.

‘8 The Phantom Tracker
(9 Moccasin Bill.

50 The Wolf Queen.

151 Tom Hawk Trailer.
la The Mad char. 1 r
53 The Black Wolf.

:14 T 10 Three 'i'rappers. .
Kaleoiah. 1153
The Hunter Hercules.
Phil Hunter.

The llnlian Stunt-

. The Girl Axenger.
The Red llermitess.
Star-Face. the Slayer.

‘ The ‘nlelnpe Boy.

‘ The Phantom Hunter. 145 The Lone Chief.

Toni l’inlle. Pii‘ t. 1.1:; The Silver Bugle.
The Red Wizard. " (minim, Chev 111W.

‘ The Rival 'i‘rappers. .' The Tangled Trail.

97 The Squaw Spy. 1 . 'i‘hI- Unseen Hand.

93 Dusky Dick. 150 The Lone Indian.

99 Colonel Crockett. The Branded Chief.

Old Bear Paw. Billy Bowlezr.

Rediuw. 15:1 The Valley Scout. .

“'iid Ruin“. 154 Red Jacket. ‘

The Indian Hunters. 155 The Jungle Scout.

Scarred Eagle. 15 Cherokee Chit-f.

Nirk Doyle. ' The Bandit Hermit.

106 The Indian Spy. The Patriot Scouts.

. Mohawk Nut.

um June.
The Prairie Rifles.

- iiiilK}'l?,Tl’lilr1’.
19:: in. your. a... (nude.
11% Red Brollierh »od.
195 The Man in lr'r
196 Gillan~E_\'e,lhe hr :11
Shot.

The Prairie Trapyars
Black John, u...
RoarI-Ailrlit.
Keen-Knife.

Mad Miwtr. .
The Young s”,

The iudian A auger...
Rival L' -utrna: is.
The Swamp am ~.

‘ . T e Balloon Sc nu.
i Ducntah Scourge.

i The Twin Fronts.

Kidnapped.

Maid of the .‘ioun-

tuin.

'i‘he Srioto Srouts,

livrder Renegade.

141 The .\lnle Chief.

112 Boone, the Hunter.
' Mountain Kate.

m The Red Scalper.

139
Mi)

197
1218
1519
‘.'lm
‘.’(|1
".‘U'l
15‘) ?l
102

‘xUS Buckskin Bill.

 

 

155

THE FOLLOWING WILL BE lSSUET) IN T1115 ORDER AND ON THE DATES INDICATED: ‘

209 The Border Avengers.

By Edward “'iilatt. Ready June 97th.
210 Tim Bumble’a Charge.

11,- Mrs. Mary A Denim-n. Reudyduiv 11th.

211 The Shawnee Scout. Br .1. Stanley Henderson. Ready July 95th.

212 The Silent Slayer. Ev V. .Hamiiton. Readi- Alluustiflh.

218 The Prairie Queen. By Vi . .1. Hamilton. Rwuly August 92d.

214 The Ihwkwoodamen. 11v Asa Beall. Ready S.-pt.-mher 5th.

215 The Prlauner of Lu Vintrouae. By Mrs. Mary A. Denimn. eriy September 19th.
218 Pele Smith. Br Buvnton H Ileiknap.i\i.11. a dv October 3.1

211 The Itch of the “'nllewlah. By Edwin E. Ewinz. Ready Hctuber 17th.

218 The Prairie Pirates. liyliustave Aimard. Rundyombermo.

219 The [lunar 0n tnln. 11y Culunel Prentiss lagraham. ReadyNurember 14th.
220 The Red pr. y P. Hamiltnn Myers. Ready Nuvember 28th.

221 Dick Dal-ling. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. Ready December mm.

222 The Muatang Hunter-a. 11v Captain Frederick Vi’hlttsker. Ready December 26th.
228 Guilty or Not Guilty. By hirl. Ann E. Porter. Read January 9th.

324 The Outlaw Ranger. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. R yJquary 23d.

onf?:rlzggykzl:;igzzgpaiers; or sent postvpaid: slngie numbers, tan eentc; alx months (13 Noa) $1.95

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street. N01 York.