THE MOUNTAINEER:

om

LOST IN THE DEPTHS.

A TALE OF AN UNEXPLORED REGION.

 

BY EDWARD WILLETT,
Amon or I“!!! FOLLOWING POCKET NOVELS:
111 Tax: TEXAS TIGER. 170 Tm: Lurran Tum.

117 Annmn, ma Amman 172 THE Fomcs'r Srncmn.
127 SILVERSPUR. 173 Tm: BORDER FOE.

139 Tm: Scmro Scour-rs. 179 Tum TONKAWA SPY.

167 THE Tm: Cunvms. 20’.) THE Bonnx-zr. AVENonns.

' NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

93 WILLIAM ITRIET.

 

hut-ad according to Act of Comm, In the you I”. h,
BIADLE AND COKPANY.
8 in MI once of the District Court of the United State. for to!

Southern Diltrict. 01 NW York.

 

 

      
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
       
   

THE MOUNTAINEER.

C II A P T E R I .

m ~ 'A HALF-MILE FALL.
“ t; a “ HI-YO-O-O l”

A faint cry came upward from the tremendous abyss, on the

' edge of which three men were standing, holding the end of a

lariat, or rawhide rope. A faint cry, reaching up out of the

t depths—a cry in which atone of anxiety could be detected. but
so "j in which there was no tremulousness, no sign of fear.
" ‘ “ What do you want, Fred .9” shouted Ben March, throwing his
’ M ' strong voice down the precipice as well 'as he could.

“ Ha-u-l up l"

The three men commenced to pull up the slender but stout
rope, tagging and straining as if there was something weighty
‘ot the end of it ; but they soon stopped suddenly, and their conn-
5 ' ‘ ‘tenances were full of consternation and dread as they looked
‘ at-each other.
' ~ ' “ What is the matter 2" asked Professor Belzoni, whose posi-
V itton had not caused him to feel the full strain of the line.
- ~_ 4 “Don’t you know ?” replied Ben March, whose broad fore
1 < head was thickly covered with a perspiration that was notzin-
' ' L duced by the heat or by his labor.
fi‘q‘ “I am nfmid—J’

  I ' - “ That the rope is breaking? You are right. I heard one’of
,~ I, the strands snap, with a noise like the cracking of a whip-lash.
:7 You must have heard it.”
 “ I did hear it, but I hoped it might be something else."

“ It was nothing else. I am afraid it was the crack of
doom to poor Fred.”
E No voice of cntreaty, no cry of fear, came up fromthe abyss,
but the great gulf was as silent as death, except when the wind
5 fitfully stirred the trees, or the scream of a bird arose from the
' t Ldepths. The man at the lower end of the rope probath m!
' it: animation as well, and realized ins fully.» momentarth

 

 
   

to m nommm

holding the line above. He knew that nothing he could say
would stimulate them to greater exertions, and that no etl’ort
of his own could better his condition. He knew that his life
hung upon a hair, almost, and he awaited the result in si-
lence, if not with resignation.

“What is to he done now ?” inquired the Professor, the
moisture of whose eyes was visible through the glasses of his
gold-rimmed spectacles.

“ I wish you could tell us," replied Ben March. “ Suppose
We throw down another rope to him.”

“ You kain't do that boss," said Jim Warmaek. “ Four
riatas are tied together in this hyar rope, and thar’s only three
more.” ‘

“No more? Are there none around the mules’ necks?
Perhaps we might use the pack-ropes.”

“Nany nuther, as I told you. The pack-ropes are nearly
Worn outJand wouldn‘t hold nuthin'.”

“This lariat is half up,” suggested the Profesor. “Sup- 1

pose we haul it in, and then we will have enough for another
rope. Perhaps the broken strand is in this one, Ben.”

“ No; it is further down. I could tell, from the sound, that
it is not far above Fred. He knows it as well as we do, poor
fellow, and that is the cause of his silence. If we could ,do
any thing to help him. he would tell us of it.” ‘

“ But we may be able to haul up this end. I believe it is our
only hope. Can you think of any thing else that we might do,
Warmsck l”

The mountaineer monrnfully shook his head.

“ You are right, Professor,” said Ben March, and his face
grew dark, and his lips were firmly con'ipressed. “ We have

. no other chance, and this is a very slight one. Take hold with
us, and let us haul slowly and as easily as we can. Unless God
helps us. our efl‘orts will be of no avail."

The three men again tugged at the rawhide rope, hauling
it in. as gently as they could. They worked in silence, their
tountenances expressive of their intense anxiety, not permit.
ting even the sound of their breathing to be heard. ,

They had hauled in nearly ten feet of the rope, and their
eyes had begun to brighten with hope. and the muscled)! their

 

bees had relaxed a little—when again it snapped, Vitus

3‘..ng a .

 

  

 
    
 

 

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 either the city or the wilderness could produce? 4 In

in: m  11

- sharp sound like the cracking of a whip, and the three men

fell back upon the stony ground. ,
The rope had broken, and the living weight at the end 0

it was gone—gone flying down the side" of that terrible preci-

pice, which reached sheer three thousand feet to the bed of

' the Colorado !

Ben March was'the first who rose to his feet, and he stood,
for a flaw moments, bent over the edge of the fearful chasm.
his eyes almost starting from their sockets, and his fine fea-
tures convulsed by uuutterable anguish.

Then his tail form swayed to one side and the other, and

'he would have fallen forward over the precipice,'if he had

not been seized by the strong arms of the mountaineer, who
drew him back, and laid him on'the ground in u fainting-tit.
Professor Belzoni opened the young man’s vest, and com
meneed to apply such restoratives as were at hand.
While he is thus engaged, we will inform the reader who

and what these men were. .

Benjamin and Frederick March—known among their
friends as Ben and Fred—were natiVes of New York, who,

rat the death of their father, had fallen heirs to a. fine prop-

erty. Relieved of the necessity of depending upon their own
exertions for support, and tired of the pleasures of the metro-

’ polls, which had become to them “ stale, flat and unprofitable."

they had resolved to make an extensive tour through the wil-

‘ derness of the Great West, where they hoped to he more 11111]

compensated, by the Wonders of nature, and the exeittment
and perils of the hunter's life, for the gay scenes which they
leit. .

In the course of their wanderings, they stopped at Guay
mas, a Mexican port on the Pacific, where they fell in “iii!
Professor llelznni, a friend of their family, who was about to
start on a. scientific tour through Sonora, Arizona and Califor-
nia, accompanied by Jim Warmack, an experienCed mountain
hunter and guide.

‘ The brothers had gladly joined the Professor, and they had

'thus far found the journey a comparatively safe and very
'pleasant one.

Ben March was an splendid and noble a specimen of mi:-

 

1

:19 m Housman. .
form he was tall and strong, and his tine and open count»
nance well expressed the nobility of his‘ soul. IIis masses of
curling chestnut hair, his heavy, tawny beard, and his brown
eyes, which shone with an. amber glow when he was excited,
gave him the appearance of a young lion. “s
Nearly thirty years of age, he considered himselt' the spec
eial guardian and protector of his brother Fred, who was not
yet twenty-two, and who was considerably below Ben in size
and bodily strength. What Fred lacked in these qualities,
however, he made up in suppleaess and agility, and he was
by no means deficient in courage and enterprise. Ilis slight

figure. and his handsome and almost b -ardless face, gave him '

nn etl'eminate appearance; but Jim Warmack always declared
that. Fred hat “a powerful heap of hold-out in him." A!
Fred had been the darling of the family at home, so he was
the particular pet of Ben when they were in the wilderness,
and the latter cared for him as if he had been a child. I

Professor Belzoui was “a middle-aged French-Italian, with
dark hair and eyes, and of good size and form. His life was
devoted to science, but he was a good companion and a faith-
ful friend. He always wore spectacles, which seemed to im-
prove his appearance, and he would have been quite a good-
lookiug man, if it had not been for a strong tendency to
baldness on the top of his head.

Jim Warmack was a big, strong. rawboned, leather-skinned
wilderness man, who had passed his life in the mountains and
on the plains, and who was perfectly at home in every place
that, any white man had visited. llis inditl'ereuee to danger
was only equaled by his love of strong drink, and his shrewd-
ness and skill in his peculiar line could only be excelled by
the eagerness with which he plunged into the firseiuating game
of moaté, whenever he could reach a settlement or a trapper’s
rendezvous. When removed from such temptations, he was
(reliable tuna and a first-class mountaineer.

During sereral days they had been traveling slowly along
the edge of the great canon of the Colorado, that tremendous
gorge by which the great river forces its way through the
mountains, between precipitous escarpments upward of five
thousand feet high. Indeed, it has been statedthattthaa m

:goinu at. which the walls mvtwo or threemilesinbight. 

 
 

 
     
  

 

   
 
    
  
 
 
 
   

m‘  ' remote 15'

 

, * "in stupendons'physicai' prodigy, rewiring 'for near two
hundred miles from near the junction of Grand and Green
rivers. had‘wonderfult attractions for the travelers, and their
interest was increased by the fact, as declared to them, that'
no white man had ever explored it or penetrated its depths.
Wit-h feelings of intense curiosity, mingled with awe, they
\ had pursued their way along the brink of the immense chasm,
vainly cndeavoring to find a place at which they might at-
tempt t1 passage down to the l‘lV't‘l', which looked, in the vast
distance below, as if a man might jump across it, although it
was supposed to be, in reality, more than a mile in breadth.
They knew that, if they could search the bottom of the
greattcafion, its wonders would be found to far surpass any

 

 

 ‘ thing that they had previously seen, and their excited imagin-
 ations hightened their expectations, until they felt tlmt..they
 would be willing to give up every other pleasure and hope, if
a”, they might be the first explorers of the wonderful defile.
 But. all their attempts had failed, and all their search for a
I" practicable passage had met; with disappointment.

33*- At last they had reached a point at. which, as Professor
t ‘ Belzoni estimated, the wall of the canon was not much more
j V than halt’ a mile high, and there they had halted and en-

 : camped, for the purpose of a closer examination.

0n looking over the edge of the eliti‘, the Professor had
seen what he believed to be a rare' plant, gmwing out from
V , the rock at. the side, and Ben March had noticed a ledge, at a
considerable distance below, from which, it' it could he rem-hell,
an excellent. view might be had, and a way of furtherdeseent-
might be opened. '

‘ Instantly all were excited by a. desire to visitsthe ledge, and
Fred March, even more than the others, was clamor-nus to he
kt down by a rope, as he was a light weight, promising to
bring up» the Professor's plant, and to give a full description
of all the beauties and wonders that he should see.

His brother endeavored to dissuade him from the under-1
taking, and even flatly ibr’bade it at first; but, as it had been
Igreed that‘some one should make the attempt, and as he was
Ivy-far the liglttest‘of'the party, he insisted upon it, and so
stronglyan the point, that news: at lastpermitted- to gay“

e  his consent with much‘wrelnctanwtend‘flm'

 

 

 

      

1-1 I m Houseman

      

misgivings. The result of the perilous voyage has already
been related. ‘

When Ben March recovered his senses, he opened his eyes

. and looked around a moment, and then, realizing the terrible
event that had just happened, he covered his face with his
hands, and his grief found vent in a flood of tears.

“ Did you hear any thing, I’rol‘cssm,” he asked, again rais-
ing his head, “ \\'ben-—wben—lbc rope broke ‘2" ‘

“I heard the cracking of the strand, and I thought there
was a noise like the rushing of some large bird; but Iwas so
stunned by what had happened that I can not be sure."

“A vulture, perhaps? Don't say that, Professor! It is
too horrible to think that those creatures should be making a
feast on my poor Freddy. I suppose they must have been
hovering over him wlnle he hung there, expecting every moo
ment to fall from that fearful liight.” ‘

The strong man shuddered convulsiveiy, and _again buried
his face in his hands. ,

" Take a sup of this brandy, Ben,” said the Professor. 
“You need something to strengthen you, just now." t

“ What a tale I shall have to carry home i" said Ben, when
he was so far recovered as to be able to sit up. “What a
tale to send there, rather, for I shall never be able to tell it to
Fanny. What a horrible death for my poor Freddy—to be .;.
dashed to pieces on the rocks. after such a terrible fall 1" 43:2 ‘

“ You may make yourself easy on that point, although it I:
is poor conSolalion that l have to otl‘er you. The breath was
out of his body long before he reached the bottoln, and it. is '
probable that he had little sensation, if any, utter the rope m

‘ broke.” _ '1

“ Do you believe that? I hope it is true. But to think 2,4’.
of his feelings, as he was suspended over that. awful abyss, 
knowing that the rope by which he was hanging was ’
stranded, and that at any moment, it might part and let him
down into the depth. Every moment must have been ,a
living death to him, and that was the horror of it, Professor."

“It used to seem horrible to us to read of Prometheus
chained to the rock, with the vulture gnawing at his Vitals,
and I think I can form some idea of/his sufferings; but—"
“But that‘s (entirely too much jaw h’yar, .now that. 

 
     
   
   
     
 

 
 
    
   
   
   
     
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
     
   
     
     

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A um BOPE.‘ 

thing is over and done with," interrupted Warmack, who had
a true mountaineer's indifference to scenes of death, and
thought the subject had been sufficiently discussed. “The
poor hoy is gone, and we are all sorry enough fur it; but he
kain’t he brought back, and all this talk ain‘t doin‘ nothin’.
~'I‘har ain‘t, no use in rakin’ up old sores, and lalkiu’ about
vultur‘s and meat-houses.”

“ He was not your brother, and you did not love him as I
'did,” said Ben. ,

“ P'raps not, though I had tuk a powerful likin’ to the boy,
and Would hev fit fur him as long as my bones would hev
helt together; but I ain’t a man to cry over what kain‘t be
helped. I am mighty glad that no bloody red-skins hev
raised his ha‘r, and I reckon it ain't entirely onpossible that
- he may he livin’ yet.”

“What do you say? Do you think there is any hope,
even the slightest, that Fred may not have been killed by
that fall ?"

“'l‘har’s allers some sort of hope, ’cordin’ to my way of
thiakin', when you don‘t see the man dead afore you. I’ve
,knowed mountain men to come safe out of sech hard old
scrapes, and I hev come safe out of so many myself, that
thar’s sca'eely no sort. of a thing that seems onpossible to
me. Thar’s allers chances, in the wust kind of a scrape.”

“ There is a chance," exclaimed Ben. starting to his feet.
“ It is the faintest glimmer of a chance, a chance slighter
than the thread of a spider’s web; but it is not impossible that
Freddy may yet be alive, and that is enough for me." ‘

lie walked to the edge of the blull‘, gazed long and in-
tently down into the chasm, and then drew up the remnant
_~ of the-rope, and examined the broken end carefully.

A “ I have resolved upon what I shall do,Professor," he said,
ashe returned to his C(tllll):tlll()lls. “It may be true that no
White men have ever traversed that canon, but I have. no
doubt that men have been in it, and what. men have done,
men can do.” .

.“ What do you mean by that ?T' asked Belzonl.

‘ ~“ I mean that I intend to penetrate that gorge; that I shall
'not leave this country until I have reached the bottom of it;
that I will sear-eh for Freddy while my life lasts; that I will

o

 

 

‘16 random

‘-flnd him, alive or dcad.~or will lay my bones in them
abyss.” - '

" Good for you, old hoss !" exclaimed the mountaineer,
grasping the young man’s hand, and giving it a hearty
squeeze. “ You may jest count Jim Wannack in fur that
work,ns long as you want to stick to it."

“ And I must tell the sad story to Funny,” said the Profes-
mr, looking up mournl‘ully at Ben.

“ I suppose so. 1 would not expect or wish you to assist
in such a search as that which I mean to make. You will
soon leave this region, I presume, and when you return to
New York you must he our news-bearer.”

“ Let us mark this place, and git. back to camp," said J'
\Vnrnmck. '

“ It is needless to mark it. I will never forget it.” ~

Ben March carefully coiled up the broken lariat, and led ‘

the way back to camp, where they found his Mexican ser-
vant, who had been left to watch the animals, sleeping
soundly by the packs.

 

CHAPTER II.
.umm Tun rum.

IN a splendld mansion in New York, in the depth of win-
ter. a numerous and brilliant company was assembled.

The occasion was a soirée, given by Mrs. March, the step-
mother of Ben and Fred March, and the 'widow of their
father.

She had married her husband while she was yet young,
and he had soon been taken from her; consequently, she was
not, disposed to forego the pleasures and gratifications of so-
ciety. She was the owner, also, of a handsome property, and
had been left in possession of the fine house which had beat
her husband’s. Such advantages, she thought, should not be
buried, or hid under a bushel, especially when she was so
well calculated to display-and adorn them. ’ =
 She had tum open her‘honse'. therefore, nd-  m

 

 

  

  

  

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/

A 1mm 'nn'rr. 1'7

thb- magnificent party, contrary to the wishes of Fanny
March, the sister of Ben and Fred, who was not willing to
put on the appearance of gayety, as it was not long since she
had heard of the horrible death of her brother Fred, far
away in the wilderness of the south-west.

'I‘he parlors of Mrs. March were crowded with the repre-
sentatives of wealth and intelligence and fashion and beauty;
but the most admired object in the throng, and that which
attracted the greatest attention and homage, was beautiful
Fanny- March, who shone like a star wherever she went, and
who was at the same time the pride and the envy of her
stepmother.

Although not. yet twenty years of age, Fanny March was
a woman in thought and action, as well as in growth. She
had dark hair, large, thoughtful eyes, and a complexion as
pure as alabaster. She was a little above the average hight
of women, but her figure was perfect, and was set off to great
advantage by her mourning dress, which Mrs. March had not
been able to induce her to lay aside for the occasion. All
her movements, as well as the expression of her countenance,
showed that she possessed a strong will, a daring spirit, an *

unusual energy, and an invincible reSolution, as well as an

intelligent mind and a true and loving heart.

The observed of all observers, and the center of attraction,
she moved like a queen among the glittering throng, receiv-
ing the incense of her numerous worshipers as if she was en-
titled to it, but it was of no value to her; as if she was
among them but not of them ; as if her body was there. but
her thoughts ,were far away from those splendid parlors;
She had a stereotyped smile and a word of welcome for all,
but her e we never shone with their own light, except when
they happened to fall upon a dark-featured, foreign-looking
man of middle age, whose gold-rimmed spectacles and absent-
sir appeared strangely out of place in that gay assemblage.
Whenever Fanny‘s glance met his, her smile was more than
usually gracious, and his cold features instantly warmed into
lift» _

' Although the dark little gentleman with spectacles'and ab-
sent air seemed out of his place among the guests of Mrs.

 he was hypo 1 means_ nnnotteedtjbut was onset the

 

  

18.» .m uoxmum, U

lions of the party; forhc had made himself an enviable mp-
utation in' the scientific world, and it 'as not a great while
. since he had returned from a tour through the north-western
States of Mexico, which were then comparatively an unknown
region. Not only had he made many valuable scientific ex-
plorations and discoveries, but. he had seen many wonderful

works of nature, and had encountered many strange and start- '

ling adventures, which he well knew how to describe and
relate. I
lie was much .sought after, therefore, even among the fash-
ionables of New York, and on this occasion was honored. and
' listened to by the best and the worthiest. Before long he
was hemmed in at a (miner, where he took a seat, and was
surrounded by a crowd of attentive auditors.

Fanny March loften looked wistfully toward. the corner
where the knot of listeners had collected around him, as if
she would fail) leave the tiatterers and vapid bores by whom
she was surrounded, to hear his stories of life in the western
wilds; but it is probable that she would have been less eager
to listen, if she had known that he was relating, in subdued.

‘ but. thrilling tones, to those who .stood around with bated
, breath, the fearful story or the perilous enterprise which end-
ed in the terrible death of Fred March.

She had an opportunity of speaking to him as she passed
by him in going down to supper. ‘ V
“ I want to see you and talk with you when this is over,”

she whispered. ,

,.All things must have an end in time, and so there was an
end of Mrs. March’s soirée. The end came at a late hour,
or, rather, at an early hour in the morning; but better late
than never, thought Fanny, as a sigh expressed her weariness
and disgust. _ A, 

The last guest had been bowed out by her stately step-

motlter,.the,, last farewell words had been spoken, the tired '

lips had been forced into their last smile, and the gas-lights:
were turned down in the brilliant parlors; but Fanny still
lingered there, although her mother had sought. her own
apartments. , V , ,
,_ She had not lingered alone, {or another had waited the",
we be soon"spproscheg,g.nd .gtteefeil her, 

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Lu.  “innan 1535

’Bo'you‘ have remained, Belzoni,” she said, in I glad tone,
as she advanced and gave him her hand.

“ Undoubtedly. Did you not command me Y" ‘

“I asked you to stay, and 13:11 glad that you complied
with my request.”

“ Your wishes are my commands, and it gives me pleasure
to execute them. What further commands has the fair queen
of night to lay upon her devoted slave? In plain words,
what do you want with me, Miss Funny?"

' “I said that I wished to see you and talk with you.”

" Shall I turn up the gas, that you may see me better i—
or shall I lend you my glasses ?" ‘

“ I am not in the humor for rnillery, Professor. Those peo- ‘
ple have spoiled me, and made me fretful. I can see you
Well enough without more light, and without the aid of your
glasses."

“ You wish to talk, then 9"

“ I do."

“But how? I must be careful what I talk about with ‘
you.”

“ I will tell you what to talk about. Sit down by me,nnd
tell me more about Mexico.”

“ About Mexico i" ‘

“ Yes ; and about California, and those countries in which
you have traveled.”

“ But“ is late, Miss Funny, and you must be tired."

“I um not too tired to listen to what I wish to know.
Is it a long journey to go there 2 What route do you
take 1’” '

“ To go where P" .

“To that country—to the fifties where you lea Ben—to
that horrible gorge in which  was lost." '

u'Why do you ask? Do you" wish to go there r"

:“ Perhaps so; but it is not my place to answer questions.
I am here tornsk them, and it is for you to answer me. What
is the route ?” ‘ ' ‘

“ It is necessary to go a. long,r distance by sea, Miss Fanny, ,
and then the land-journey is not a. long one, but it is through“
n‘ihgged-nnd uninhabited country, infested by Indians, in;

I. ' V. ,. its

*1 "I, '41

    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  

“,Why did Ben stay there? Why did he not comedians
with you 1’"

‘f Because he liked the wild life; because he wanted to
hunt some more, and to range through that wonderful conn-

t'y." .

“ Was there no other reason i”

‘f He remained, if you must know the chief reason, because,
he wished to search for poor Fred.”

“To search for Fred? Could he expect to find any thing
of him but his bones? Could he even hope to find those
poor remains ?"

“ lle thought it possible that Fred might still be living."

3‘ Fred living 1" exclaimed Fanny, starting up in great ex-
citement. “ Can this be so? Why did you not tell me this
before, Professor? Is it possible that Fred is still. alive 1’"

“ I do not believe it to be possible, Miss. Fanny.”

‘fiWhy, then, do you say that Ben thought he might still
be living?"

“ He thought there was a bare chance, the merest possibil-
lty, that his brother had escaped with his life, alter his fall
into, that terrible chasm, and he resolved to search for him.“
long as that possibility remained."

Do you think that there was any such possibility l"

“ All things are, possible with God, Miss Funny; but I do
not. hesitate to assure you that there is no human possibility
that your brother could have survived that fall. The wall of
thegreatcaiion, at the place where he was lost, could not
have been less than half a mile high, and it was nearly par-.3
pendicnlar, as far as we could see.”

“ How, then, could Ben entcrtain such a hope i"

_“ Tlievmountaineer who waywith us, wishing to say some-
thing to cheer your brother, I suppose, suggested that it way;
not entirely impossible that Fred might still be alive. 0n
hearing that, Ben immediately declared that there was a
Olunce, and resolved to pursue it."

“Why did you not tell me this when you first returned, h

.fmor ‘1’" ,

9 Because, I thought that you, had trouble enoughat that» ,
fimesfilflld not Wish,” increase itby telling you 01"....

 ._ 7. Hashim Maw“,

 

 

  

 

  

3332;; 25:32: 35,; A.  .,
nnfis smash. ‘1

’ *‘quit did Ben say”? How did 'he ex'prfis'liir east 1'”
tion 1‘" ' . ‘
 “I remember it well. He said that he intended to pene-
trate thut. gorge, to search for Fred while his life lusts, and to
find him, alive or dead, or to lay his bones in the sift“a ‘
abyss." 7 ‘

"‘ And he will do it," said Funny. in a tone of deep mourn
fulness. “ lie is not a main to make such a declgtratiou light
1y. Nothing can nppull hint—nothing can deter him-4‘01 .
his remlution is unconquernble. I see it all now,'antl I wish '

on had told me of this sooner. Ben will persist in'thnt in-
sane and hopeless attempt, until that horrible, ravenous gorge
shall have swallowed up both my brothers, and I will be left
alone in the world. Nothing but. persuasion can change him, ‘
and I slene can persuade him. When Lget there, I must
conx hint to come home with me."

“ When you get there 1" exclaimed the astonished Profes-
sor. “ When you get where. Miss Fanny? What do you"
mean i"

'“ When I get to CalifomlnL—to the place where Ben ts—m'
‘to that river and the great gorge," calmly answered the younj '
ht'dy. '

I “_ Are you making fun of me 1’"
““‘~l3y no means. Why should I l" ‘

“For no reason that I know of; but yon'speak 
strangely." '

“ I not sure that I speak plain English. It is easy to un-
derstand me."

' “ Too easy, I am afraid. Do you really mean to say that
you think of going there yourself?"

‘ “ I have already thought of it, and I have determined to
go." . .

"f You! I can not tell you how you astoniin me, Miss "
Flinny.‘ You Would only throw your life away.” '

‘ V“I llm sure that I can live wherever you can, Professor
Bclzoni." r _

“ You must permit me to doubt it, although I know that ~
yen have a wonderful will. Have you considered them
M1110 dangers, the hardships that you must, encounter?"

.1,

“I hsw'considered" every' thinginyden'r 'fiieua.’ " 

 

 

 
 

 

Q) m noun-am

perils and difllculties were ten times as great, they would not
change my determination, for I have resolved to go." I _
“ But yourfiother—whnt will Mrs. March say ? Will Ihl
permit you to undertake such a journey '!"
“ I am tny own mistress, Professor Belzoni, and my accom-
plished stepmother does not take much interest in me, further
than as she considers me something of an ornament to her
parlors, and something of an allt'uctiun at her p u'ties. Any
opposition that I may meet with from her will be purely per- 3
tonal and selfish, and it will not interfere with my purpose.”
“ Such a rough lil'e, Miss Funny, and so full of hardship!
Surely you do not know what lies before you. There are no
ladies’-1naids and no cooks in the wilderness; neither are
there any houses or carriages." ’.
“I should despise myself if such trifles could deter me.
It is useless to argue the question any more."
“ Have you, then, absolutely determined to go 1’"
“ Absolutely." .
“ When do you expect to start i"
“ As soon as I can complete my preparations and can leu'n
the route."
“ I will show you the route. If you really mean to go, you
must take me with you." ‘
“ Are you in earnest, my dear friend? Will you reallyw ‘
company me i” _ - ,
“ With your permission." ’ I ‘
“ It is most gladly given. You fill me with joy, Professor.
I knew that I must have a traveling companion. and that had “
troubled me more than any thing else, for I could not make
up my mind to apply to any one."
“ Not even to me t”
"‘ llow could I uslt you to leave your scientific duties and
pleasures '1’" ‘
“There is no pleasure so great to me as to do you a service.
and no duty so imperative as to obey your commands. Bo-
sides, did any one, except yourself, love your brothers more ' ‘
than I did ?" I ' ‘ \
I “ I may'eonsider you engaged, then, for the expedition f1
‘ “Y” mr- But tell W’MV‘. .50“, any slew“. 

4919!  @149 '3,"

, , .:, " - My: .5,

t:.-, .- - . . . I 'I

 

3

 

 
 

“I must find Ben. If there is really any hope that Fred
my be living, I wish to search for him. If not, I must try
‘to persmde my remaining brother to return with me."

“ Very well ; and you will wish to start seen 1’”

' “ As soon as possible.” '

“I will make my own preparations, and will advise you
.with regard to your outfit. I will also engage passage to the
Isthmus, and run our chances for avcssel up the coast on the
Pacific side. I must now leave you, for it is near morning,
and I know that you need sleep. I will soon see you
again." ,

“ Au retm'r, Professor. What you do, let it be done quickly "

C H A P T E R I I I .
A nouxrmmn Ln'r Loosn.

LA Comm on Los ANoELEs-the City of the Angels—
was not a city of much beauty or importance before that
country passed into the possession of the Americans, although it
was the capital of the Californias and the residence of the
Governor of the province. Notwithstanding its heavenly name.
it was any thing but a heavenly abode, and none but fallen
angels would have been likely to choose it for a dwelling-

place.
Like all Mexican towns, it was badly bttilt and badly kept,

, filthy in the extreme, and unpleasant to the sight and smell.
I It contained a feu' good dwellings of the rich, and a number

of miserable ltabitations, infested with vermin, in which none
but Mexicans could live. In its ill-ctmtlitioned streets, among
* It few gayly-dressetl Caballeros, were scattered throngs of'
lcperos and peludos, with the usual amount of beggars and
‘ pordioseros.

In one of the dirty streets was a puiqueria, or liquor-shop,
which was a famous resort for the lower classes of the inhabit.
lob.- It was-crowded, on' thec‘vening succeeding an early tot-in;

«y, by s miscellaneous collection of Mexicans, t’tmofl' 

 

  

 

 

s mam-  m

in addition to the ieperos and other rough characterioz‘futho
town, were vaqneros, or cattle-herdsmen, from the plains,'nr'-
rieros, or muletccrs, from the interior, whose animals occupied
the adjoining corral, and California Indians, the most expert
horsemen in the World, who seemed lost without their steeds
and their lassos.

Mingled with these were a few women, dark-skinned and
fiery-eyed poblauas, wearing the usual enagna, or red or yel-
low petticoat, under a loose ehetnisette, who were quite as
uproarious and nearly as dirty as the men. All were talkirg
in a vulgar slang, almost unintelligible to an outsider, antl‘ail
were drinking their favorite pnlqne, or more fiery mc'zcal, or
still more potent aguardiente, which was served out to them
in large tumblers by the landlord. a. villainous-looking fel-
low. with whom a. sleeveless sack served both as coat and shirt.

Among the crowd that was thus collected and occupied,
burst in an American mountaineer. who was evidently in one
of the advanced stages of inebriation. He was a tail and
sinewy fellow, whose age could not even be guessed at, his
face was so browned by exposure, seamed by the scars of
many a desperate encounter, and farrowcd by a life of severe
toil and frequent debauchery. ’

On his shaggy head Was a. crimson turban, in the Indian
style, which was set awry upon it, and only partly covered his
long and matted locks, which struggled into his eyes and over
his face. I‘Iis hunting-shirt and leggings, of dressed deer-skin,
were tricked out with all the savage finery of fringes and por-

cupine-quills. nn'i his moccasins were richly ornamented; bu}
all were (letih-d by mud and dirt, and streaked with the stains

-of his delmuch. A scarlet sash. in which 'were stuck his pipe
and his hunting-knife, completed his attire, and his right hand
grasped his faithful ride, from which the true mountain-man
is never parted.

If he had been SO‘)C‘i‘,,fllll] in his proper place in the moun-
tains or on the plains, he would have been a splendid speci-
men of uncultivated manhood ; but, with his staring and
hioodshot eyes. and his wild and unkempt appearance, as he
entered the pulquerin half drunk, he was only a specimen 0'!
the “ mountaineer l‘ethose," and was an object. "to‘beifcitel‘ ‘
 t".  ‘. ', ' -H ' ,‘f' it I. “ff;

  

it;

» your payout of this stuff}?

A-.mm  ‘ 257‘:

. The-guests of the pulqueria evidently thought so, for the
polilanas shricked and huddled together in a corner, and the
men seawled at him and felt for their weapons, with runny a
muttered curse upon the “ maldito barbaro."

But the rough mountaineer was in a good humor, or wished
to he so, in spite of his fierce looks. Alter staring around the
room with a. semi-idiotic smile, he staggered up to the coun-
ter, and dashed his broad hand down upon it with a force that
made the house tremble and brought another series of shrieks
from the frightened girls.

“ Wagh I" he exclaimed, with a voice like the fall of an
avalanche. “ Who‘s arcard of me? This child is as mild as
a suckin’ fawn, and he wouldn’t hurt an Injnn baby this night,

I though I‘ve got the devil in me, bigger‘n a he grizzly, when
I'm filed. Landlord, mesorero, or whatever you call yourself,

set out fur these gamecocks an arroba of pulqne, and I will pay
fur it—I, Jim Warmack, the big medicine wolf ot' the moun-
tains, by thunder! Do you hear me? Who’s at‘eard of me?
Somos amigos y hermanos—that’s the talk. Ven a beber con-
migo. (We are friends and brothers. Come and drink with
me.) Don't you understand your own lingo, you yaller-bel-
lied sneaks 1’”

The mountaineer accompanied this invitation by dashing
down on the counter a number of pieces of gold and silver,
the jingle of which made the eyes of the host sparkle, and
caused several of the Mexicans to start up and come for-
ward. '

The man in the sack poured out the pnlqne, and the thirsty
crowd drank it grecdily, amid cries of “ Viva el estranjerol
Viva e1 pulquel" (Hurrah for the stranger! Hurrah for
pulqnc l) The women forgot their fright, and gradually ap-
proached the mountaineer, who was soon the recipient of
caresses from them, which caused many dark looks among
lhe arrieros and leperos.

“ None of your soda-spring stntf fur me 1" exclaimed Wur-
mack, with a contemptuous glance at the pulque drinkers

’ /“ But hyar‘s a hoes ken jest knock the hind sights off a halt

gallon of agnardiente. Dreen it out here, landlord, and take

a minimum-man panned down tumbler after Wm

=,,~.~

 

   

    

an“ m abmmm
of the fiery brandy, apparently endeavoring to “ make drunk
come " as quickly as possible, his intoxication deepened and
became more manifest. He burst out. into wilder exclamations,
mingled with boasts of hisown prowess and exploits, and ex-
pressinns ot‘ contempt toward the Mexicans.

“ Wagh!” he shouted. “ Is thar any money in this crowd?

‘ Hev you got- any of the white or yaller stuff in your greasy.
,pockets, you pour coyotes? Ilyar‘s loads of it. Who wants
to setup a monté bank i‘ Old Jim Warnmck will furnish the
diuero. and will bet ag‘iust it, ten, by thunder i”

As no one responded to this liberal offer, but all sconled at
him in silence, he began to grow angry, and to abuse them
more heartily.

“ What makes you hang back, you cowardly bnfller calves !'
Don’t you know a man when you see him? Ven a vet los
torost Bring on your bull-fights! Hyar’s a boss ken take
your biggest black bull hythe tail, and fling him in his tracks,
Quien quiet-e pélear? Who wants to fight? Wag/t! You
couldn’t tight the little finger of this chilu, you cowardly curs!
You ain’t no more ’count than Digger Injuns. You ain’t tit
fur nnthin’ but to sit in the sun and pick the lice off of each
other’s heads." V \

“Que loco es este harbarol” said a dusky arriero. “ Es
boracho y mediotonto.” (Whatamadman is this barbarian!
He is drunk and half-crazy.)

“Who says I am half-crazy ?" shouted the mountaineer.
“ Let, him show himself, and I will put his dried-up carcass in
my pipe and smoke it. Come here, muchacha, and see what
a man is t” ‘

Seizing one of the poblanas by the arm, he dragged her to
him, while she screamed in his rough grasp.

At. this momenta tall and Well-dressed young American

entered the pulqueria, and took his stand near the door, re-

garding the proceedings with a frown.

The Mexicans had submitted to the taunts and insults of
the mountaineer, with no symptoms of displeasure but dark
looks and angry mutterings; for they were cautious about
provoking a collision with a. man who, notwithstanding his

inebriated condition, was evidently a hard subject. to “ handle.” ‘ ‘

But; when they sawihim' taking liberties with one of M

     

 

  

 

 

ALA: ‘.  .

 

 

   
 

 

t WI BMW!» 8'3;

women, the indignity was too much for them to endure, and.
they bristled up toward him, with threatening looks and ready
Weapons. 7 .

“ Sacré enfant de Garee l” exclaimed Warmttck, as he saw
them approach. “ Do you think you can scare me, you lizard-
eating dogs? I‘ll take the sculp of the first cuss that comcs
nigh me, quicker’n a streak of lightnin’ ken slide down a
greased pole 1"

' ‘He grasped his rifle by the barrel. but the tall American
stepped up to him at that time, and touched him on the
shoulder.

As Warmack turned around, with a nod of recognition, 5
wily Mexican slipped up to him, and made a pass at him with
his knife.

The mountaineer stepped aside, receiving but a slight wound,
and, as he turned, gave his assailant. a tremendous kick in the
stomach, which doubled him up and caused him to roll on the
floor in agony. At the same time, he lost his own balance,
and fell backward.

The Mexicans, seeing him fall, and thinking him to be at
their mercy, rushed forward, to take revenge for his insults
and for the hurt of their companion; but the stalwart strait-
ger, with one stride, stood over the body of the fallen man,
and, seizing the rifle of the latter by the barrel, made it whirl
swiftly around his head, while the astonished Mexicans fell
back on all sides.

“ Stand back 1" he shouted, in a voice of thunder.
man is not yet meat for buzzards i"

“ Que quieren ustedes t" he then said,in a milder tone, and
lowering his weapon. “ No viden ustedes que este hombre
es boracho 1'” (What do you want? Don't you see thatr this
man is drunk?)

This appeal did not produce as much effect as his former
Iciiou, for the Mexicans, with weapons drawn and with ,

“ This

‘ threatening demonstrations, gathered around the door, as if

they intended to prevent the egress of the two strangers. T he
landlord of the pulqueria made his appearance with a bell-
mouthed escopeta, and the frightened women huddled together
in a corner. . _ ,
, JEEytmtch, in the. mean time, had staggered to his 

l

   

  

v

stood by the side of his defender, glaring viciously and defi-
antly at his antagonists, with a heavy stool in his band.

, “ Wait a moment, Jim," whispered the stranger. “ Stand
steady while I clear the doorway, and then you must rush
out with me." ,

“ Give me one chance at ’em, Ben. Let me sweep the dirty
thieves out of the house, Mr. March."

“No. You must do as I tell you. This is no place for
us, and here is the patrol."

“ The putrullal the pntrulla l" shouted the Mexicans, as
Ben March advanced upon them with the clubbed ritle up-

lifted. They scattered in all directions. and the two Atneri-,

cans stepped out of the open door, into the midst of a dozen-
ragged soldiers, who immediately pounced upon Jim War-
mack.

Bellowing like a mad bull in his rage, the mountaineer
shook them oti‘, and laid two of them low with his, heavy
stool. BB! March, whirling the long ride about his head,
compelled the rest to beat a retreat, and then, seizing his
friend by the arm, dragged him up the dark and dirty
street.

They were pursued by many yells, and a few ill-directed
shots; but the soldudos, un willing to come to close quaners
with the Americans, contented themselves with making a
noise and with arresting n stray pelado, or street loafer, whom
they triumphantly marched oil to the calaboza.

Ben March hurried the mountaineer along so rapidly, that
he was unable to ask any questions, until they reached ts
house of decent appearance, which the former entered, and
unlocked the door of a room on the ground floor, in which
a light was still burning, pushing his friend in before him.

“ Whar did you come from, Mr. March? When did you
git here 1'” asked Wan-mack, when he had taken a seat, and
had recovered his breath.

“ From Monterey. I reached Los Angeles this evening."

“ Did you fix up things thnr '2" t

“ Every thing is arranged, and I wish to start in the [norm
lng. It will be necessary to leave this place, utter our scrim-
mage ot' tonight. The patrulla} will not. molest us he“

nominybut‘ then they. will look for us."

    

 

  

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

  - “as

" ""‘Furjne,’ you mean, sir. I Jort to hev -kep'-011t "of that
«serene, but I was full of brandy, and I had nurry‘ sense.”

7“ Let us say no more about it. Lie down .on 'the lounge,
'und sleep'otf the effects of the bramly."

“ On that ?" said the mountaineer, looking contemptuously
at the narrow bed. “ Do you reckon I could‘sleep on such a
thing as that? The flooris good enough for this child.”

'80 saying, he stretched himself out on the floor, and was
soon snoring most prodigiously. ‘ t

Ben March, as he might not enjoy such a luxury'agtu‘n in
a long time, it' ever, undressed himself and laid down on the
bed, which—an unusual thing in that country—was furnished
with clean sheets. ‘- '

Early in the morning, Wurmnck was up and stirring. He

' stumbled through the house, abusing the dark passages, until

he reached the back yard, where there was a. well. Lle drew
up several buckets of water, which he emptied on his shaggy
head, then gave'it a severe rubbing, and returned to the room
in which he hnd passed the night, where he found his friend
:upiand dressed, and packing his nparigos, or saddle-bugs.

‘ “ When do you allow to start, Mr. Man-ch 1""asked the
mountaineer. “ Hyar's u hoss as wants to light out of ‘here
as quick as he ken. This child has had enough of the set-
flentouts to last him awhile.”

“ I am glad to hear it, for it may be a long time before we
ace them again. Every thing is ready, Jim. "I‘ he mules and
horses are in a corral it little way outside of the town, and
_We have nothing to do but to pack thent and mount. 1 have
prepared provisions enough'to last us a long while.”

fi‘ But how are we goin‘ to git out to the eomtl? That
.dog-goned putt‘ulltt will be sneakiu’ around to hatch me, and
I mought git. r’iled ut ’eut." ‘

“ l have two good horses here, that. will carry us out there
in quick time. They Can eusily run uwuy from the raw.
boned hugs of the soldados.”

“ Let's be utoviu‘, then. I imiu't breathe right in this hole,
nOhow, and I hev to keep filled up with nguurdicnte to stand
the smell. I hope we will hev better luck than we had last
year, but I' am doubtin‘ whether we ever git to the bottom
of that carton.” '  ‘

  

 

    

I) ' "m noumnmn.

“ Do you doubt that we are men? I think we would have
succeeded last year, it' the rainy season had not come on and
driven us away. I will do it, Jim Wnrmnck, or 1 will die in

making,r the effort. I hope you will not forget that you pro~ ’

mised to stand by me."

" Me ./ You don't keteh this hoss l'urgettin' a promise that
he has made to a friend. You ken jest bet your bottom dol-
lar, Mr. March, that old Jim Warmack will stick to you as
long as thar’s a button on Gabe’s eoztt. 'Pettrs like I’d be
williu’ to give my life, over and over ng‘in, to find that boy."

“ I believe you, old friend. We will set out as soon as we
get our coti'ee, and here it comes.” ‘

A peon brought in some hot coffee. of which the friends
drank t'reely. They then mounted their horses, and left the
city, keeping out of sight as much as possible until they were
beyond the limits of Los Angeles.

 

About two weeks after Ben March and Warmaek had set
out for the interior, an American vessel touched at the port
of San Pedro, and landed two passengers—u dark-featured
gentleman with spectacles, and an American lady.

After making some inquiries at the port, with an unsatis-

factory result, they went on to Los Angeles, where they were '

so fortunate as to meet the American consul from Monterey,
who furnished them with the information that they desired.
He told them that the person for whom they were inquiring
had‘ gone to the Colorado, accompanied by an American
mountaineer. He also described the object of their journey,
and the route which they intended to take.

Alter remaining 21 few days at Los Angeles, the travelers
went into the interior, with a sutlieient mulada. or puck-train,
under the charge of an experienced hunter and guide, a French
Cunadlnu, named Pierre Xarhois.

 
  

l
l
l
,

 

 

 
 

  
 

 

a

\ has the edge of the clifl‘, except such as was natural 'to s

 

smwmoncmoxm

CHAPTER IV.
nowx 12: ms mamas.

Wm Fred March reached the end of his fall, he first ex-
amined himself, to make sure that none of his limbs were
broken or missing, and then felt for his rifle, “hich had been
strapped behind his back when he was let down the preci-
pice.

The rifle was safe, and be perceived that he had sustained
no personal injury, beyond a few pretty severe bruises.

As he was so careful in his examination, and as he found
himself in such good condition, it is reasonable to conclude
that he was not killed by his fall.

It is not probable, therefore, that he had fallen the full dis-
tance of half a mile and upward, or from the hight at which
he had been suspended to the bottom of the cafion.

In fact. he had fallen but a short distance, Comparatively,
and the force of his fall had been broken by several circum-

- stances, which it is necessary to describe.

. Wren the young gentleman proposed to allow himself to
be let (lown- over the edge of the precipice, for the purpose
of exploring the side of the immense chasm, he .had no ap~
prehension of the danger that he would incur in making the
attempt. Ile was, in truth, incapable of fear, and never
troubled himself to give a thought to the perilous side of any
enterprise in which he wished to emlmrk. lle had, therefore,
been a source of continual anxiety to his brother, who (302‘.-
sidcred himself bound to look after Fred as if he were a
child, and who found plenty of busitnss for his hands and
eyes in watching him. Fred compare] his grave and careful
brother to a hen with one chicken, and had become so accus-
tomed to his guidance and control, that he felt as it‘ Ben was
responsible for all his reckless escapades and clashing adven-
tures.

He had no reason to feel any feet when he was let down

 
 

  

    

person about to be suspended from such a giddy hight; for
his friends above were as strong as they were faithful, and he
knew that the hide rope was capable of supporting more
than five times his weight. It was with an almost childlike
confidence that he allowed himself to be let down into that
awful gulf.

But Ben was troubled. He was restless and uneasy while
the preparations were being made, and, when the descent was
actually commenced, his trepidation was such that he could
hardly hold the rope. '

Poor Ben March I Strong and brave as ho was he never
felt any fear for himself, but he was appalled by the slightest
danger when it affected Fred. He would gladly have been
lowered into the cafion in the place of his brother; but he
was so big and so heavy, and Fred was such a light weight,
that he was ashamed to make the proposition.

A loop was made in the end of the rope, and, the young
man, as it dangled over the edge of the precipice, seated him-
self ia the loop, holding the rope with his hands. Ilisshort-
barreled rifle was strapped upon his back, and his powder.
horn and bullet-pouch were slung at his side. His brother
had tried to dissuade him from taking his weapons, as they
might be in his way ; but Fred thought it likely that he
might see some wonderful game in that wonderful place, and

,it was the hight of his ambition, at that time, to shoot a card
nero cimmarou, or mountain sheep.

As has been said, a ledge had been noticed, at a consider:
able distance down the clitl‘, from which an excellent view
could be had, and from which, it was thought, a way of further
descent might be opened. This ledge was the point that
Fred desired to reach.

» Alter seating himself in the loop, and grasping the rope
firmly in both hands. he shut his eyes for a few m‘menll,
and committed himself to the care of God, while his friends-
lowered him slowly down into the abyss. ,

When he opened his eyes he shuddered, and his head

swam, as he found himself suspended from that giddy eleva- .

tion. But in a short time he became accustomed to the sitn-r
“ion, and regained his confidence and the full controlofihil

law He then could look calmly at the immense distant ‘

 
  

   

 

 

 

   
  

 

  

 

 

' the river could be seen, shining
- silver ribbon.

'W- of the great. cation, to examine-vit- rngged tight

. on an tune: as

-below him, at the jagged and cavernous precipice which he
"was descending, and at the beelling cliffs of the other wall

of the ravine. His position, perilous as it was, had great
charms for him. He had never witnessed, or expected to
witness, a scene of such sublitnity, and he felt that the sight
was worth all the danger that he encountered and was then
encountering. t
At last he reached the ledge which he had seen front above,

and the slackening of the rope informed his companions that

he had found footing.

“ Be careful, Fred 1” shouted Ben March, from above, at the
top of his voice.

“ Ay, a-ayl Make the rope fa-a-st l" replied Fred.

The ledge which he had reached was nearly flat, and ex-
tended more than twenty feet from a sort of cavern, formed
by the overhanging wall of the ravine. Walking to the inner
part, or root of the ledge, the young man was completely con-
cealed from his companions above. Standing as near the
edge as he dared to, his enraptnred vision took in the im-
mense abyss before him, the seemingly illimltahle expanse of
rugged and precipitous rocks, stretching out to the right and
left, and the lofty cliffs on the 0 er side, at the foot of which
down in the depths, likes

?

The scene was one of unparalleled grandeur, and Fred
March was so penetrated by its sublimity, that he thought he
could never tire of gazing upon it. lle wished that Ben
could be there, to admire the \t'onder-ful prospect; and he
wished, above all things, that his sister Fanny could enjoy it;
with him, or that he might make a sketch that would convey
to her some faint idea of its glory.

The view front the ledge was all that could be expected,
and the flower which Professor Belzoni coveted would be
within his reach as he ascended to the top of the cliff; but
this was not all that the young man had been sent to accom-
plish. llis companions wished to know whether there was
any way of reaching the bottom of the gorge from that. point,
and this was a subject in which Fred was himself deeply in-
terested. He felt an uncontrollable desire to penetrate the

    

  

    

 
 

u t m momma.

and explore its cavernous recesses. If a distant view was»
glorious, what wonders would be disclosed by e nearer in- -
apection ? ‘

As a boy feels at the entrance of a cave that he finds in
the forest—that its interior must contain unknown mysteries,
and must be the receptacle of untold treasures—so felt Fred
March, as he looked upon the great canon of the Colorado
whose awful abyss, as he believed, no white man had ever
been adventurous enough to penetrate. '

IIe crawled on his hands and knees to the very limit of the

ledge, with his right arm through the loop of the lnriat, and
laid down with his face to the rock as he looked over. for he
knew that the View from the edge would make him so giddy ,
that he would be unable to stand for a moment. -
‘ He saw that the ledge curved inward-from its outer extrem-
ity, to a greater degree than the clitf which he had descended,
and that he was then far out from the side of the main wall
of rock, hanging over the tremendous chasm. (If the ledge
should by any means become detached from the side of the
ravine, it would go thundering down, clear to the bottom of
the cation, and he would be ground to nothingncss.

Directly below him was a sharp ridge of rock, at a distance
of fifty or sixty feet, rnnfiig parallel with the wall of the
cation. It' a plumb-line hag’. been let down from one of ‘his
eyes, it would have struck the apex of the ridge. On the
outside, the ridge fell off sharply toward the east, until it ~~ter—
minath in a perpendicular clifl', which extended, as Fred
March supposed, sheer down to the bed of the river. On the
inside, it sloped away more gradually toward the cavernous
side of the ravine, but without allot-ding any foothold for man
until the View was closed by darkness. Fred itnagincd,how-
ever, that he could sec, for down in the depth, a sort of ter-
raced t‘ortnntion, which might serve as a pathway, if it could
once he reached.

If it could once be reached 1 The yt ung man stretched his
head over the ledge, striving to penetrate the obscurity below
until he became giddy with longing, as well as with the gid-
diness natural to his situation.

He drew himself beck'upon the rock and reflected. ,
The rope by which he had been lowered was long enough

 

 

 

  

 

 

   
 

 

 

 

maxim) oven m ares. if”

(to-permit him to pass over the ledge, but was not long enough
to reach the ledge below. He might, however, as he thought,
safely go further down, and attain a position which would en-
able him to determine whether there was any posaihility of
finding a passage below, along the inside face of the ridge.
If there was, he might cause himself to be hauled up, and
might again make the descent, provided with rope enough to
reach the apex of the ridge, and a line- by which he could
lower himself down its inside slope.

Having come to this conclusion, his resolve was immediate-
ly made. »

He shouted to his companions at the top of the clitf, and

contrived to make them understand that he wished them to

let out. all the rope they had, and to make the end fast.

This was done, as Ben could not well remonstrate or argue
the question at I.hat hight, and the young man threw the loop
over the ledge,

HI then, after pulling the rope taut, let himself down

,_over the ledge, until he reached the loop, in which he seated

himself, as his wrists were tired, and he was not a little
giddy.

He was still within about ten feet of the apex of the ridge,
but he had a good view of the inside face of it, as he looked
down to see it‘ the observations which he had made from

. above could be confirmed by a nearer view.

He perceived that the terraced formation which he had no-
ticed, extended downward and backward, until it was lost in
the darkness, or terminated by the main clitl‘: but there ap-
peared to he almieI or passage through the. rocks. toward the
north, in which, as he thought. he could see a light, as if it
reached to the air and sunshine below.

If he had rope enough to lower him to the ridge, he might ~
let himself down its inside face by means of a line, after which
he might Work his vay along the terraces, and explore the
passage through winch the light came. If he Could do so, he
thought it probable that a way to reach the bottom of the
ravine. might open to him.

When he had made these observations, he concluded that
it was time for him to return and report to his companions
that he hsdseon.

  

 

‘ IO 1.3K «manna

When he let himself down toWard the ridge snd'while‘he
was seated in the loop, he hsd not thought or the possible
danger of the rope chafing or wearing against the ledge. {n
such a manner as to injure the tension. There was such a
danger, however, as vas soon to become fearfully apparent to
him.

To pass over the ledge, which jutted out from the side of
the cliff, it was necessary for the rope tr.- diverge several feet
lrom a perpendicular line. \thn he was attached to theend
of it, below the ledge, his weight caused it to bear with a
pretty severe strain against the rock, and the twisting-and
swaying about to which it was naturally subjected, produced
a friction between rope and rock, in which tLe former, as the
weaker body, was bound to be subdued. .

As Fred March cast his glance upward. in calling to his
friends to haul up the rope, he perceived the dangerous posi-
tion in which he was placed, and knew that at any moment
his only means oi escape from the abyss might be cut oil".

This knowledge, so suddenly obtained, communicated to him
such a shock as few men experience more than once in n. life-
time. Ilis head whirled, and his hands nearly let go their
hold of the rope, as he thought of the terrible fate that might
be his if that rope should break. He deplored his heedless-
ness in thus letting himself down into such apparent danger;
but it was too late for such reflections, andhe could only think
of his approaching death, and of the anguish that poor’ Ben
would feel, when he knew that his darling brother was teeth:
that abyss. ‘

In the mean time, his friends at. the top of the cliti‘ had be-
gun to haul up the rope, and Fred watched it as it chafed and
grated against the sharp edges of the rock above him.

A few moments of agonizing suspense ensued, and then,
with a report like the crack of a rifle, one of the strands
snapped, and the rope trembled like a whiplash that is
shaken. _ "

The young man closed his eyes, and gave himself up for
lost. He did not fall, however, and he soon recovered his self-
control, and began to reflect upon his situation. '

7 He noticed that his friends had stopped pulling np‘th’erop‘e,
and he could 'not doubt that they had heard the snappinng

  

  

 

  

'Limn

 

 

‘ ma.‘ "‘a. .3

 

my, moms. ‘ fl:

mg\,atrand,jwhich had caused them, to cease. theta efl'ortt.
What must, be their feelings, at knowing, that such a slight tie
held him to life!

,  Fredyhnd now made up his mind that the rope must break,

and he must fall. Whether his friends should again endeavor
to. haul him up, or should leave him suspended there until
they could try some other expedient, it would not be long be-
fore the rawhide must wear ofl‘ against the ledge, and his
weight must snap it. This heng manifest, he had only to
consider what must ensue on the breaking of the rope.

His position was not in reality near as perilous as those at
thetop of the cliff must necessarily suppose it to be; he was
not actually suspended over the abyss, as there was a ridge
directly beneath him.

III, was true that the outside face of the ridge sloped away
so rapidly as to be almost precipitous, and that, if he should.
{all on that side, he must quickly slide into eternity; but, if
he should happen to fall on the inside face, it was possible
that he might escape with his life. ,

JpActing on this belief, and confident, that the rope would
break, he did not look upward when he again slowly com.
nienced to ascend; but kept his gaze fastened on the ridge
heiowhim, and endeavored to throw the Weight of his body
haw/ardvthe inside of the ledge, so that he might fall in that
direction. .

The awful moment soon came. With another loud report,
the rope broke, and the young man felt himself rushing through
the air as he was precipitated upon the rocks below.

Singularly enough, there happened to be passing along the
apex of the ridge, at that moment, a specimen of the game
which Fred had been so anxious to shoot—a bighorn, or
mountain sheep. These animals, which combine some of the
characteristics of the deer and the goat, are about, five feet in
length, and nearly four feet hi 'h. with horns that are more
than three feetlong and very large and heavy.

. 'With one of these creatures the young gentleman made ac-
:qnaintance in a. very unceremonious and unexpected manner.
Attire end of his fall of twenty feet and upward, his side
Oil'qu against the bighorn, crushing it down on the rock,,and
Waning?! quite as badly asit washurt. The instinctp! .

\

 

 

\

‘ fi run uouxumm

 

the animal caused it to quickly regain its footing on the inside”

of the ledge, and Fred grasped its horns with the'tenacity of
despair: Thus locked together, they rolled down the rough
surface of the slope, until their progress was stopped by a
wall of rock. ’

When Fred had examined himself, and had seen that. none
of his limbs were broken, he looked around for the bighorn.
and saw the animal lying near him, overcome by terror, as
much as by the injuries it had reCeived.

He could not find it in his heart, to kill the creature that
had probably saved his life, but allowed it to rise and slowly
limp away. It went toward the passage which Fred had
supposed would lead down through the rocks, and he, as soon
as he regained the use of his legs, followed it as rapidly as
possible, hoping that it might show him a way to descend to
the bottom of the ravine. '

He worked his way along the roughly-terraced slope, until
he reached the side of the cliii', and went into the passage.
He descended this, without much diificulty, for a considerable
distance, and at last came out into the air and light, at a

point where he could see the ridge hanging nearly over him, ,

like a bridge.

He had descended so far, that he could distinguish the
color of the grass along the bank of the river; but, he was
not yet near the foot of the eliii‘, which fell a my precipi-
tously‘before him, seeming to afford him no means of further
progress. 1

Casting his glance to the left, he saw his friend the bighorn
leisurely promenading down a narrow path against the face
of the rock, and be resolved to follow it. He did so, keeping

his face toward the clili‘, and holding on by all the projecting

points that he could find.

Ilis progress was slow and painful; but, in the course of 1

an hour, he reached a place where he could sit down and
rest. After resting, he scrambled down a slope covered with
loose stones, until he attained another perpendicular elifl,
where he saw the biglioru carefully picking its way'aiong an-

other narrow path, us if to show him how to descend '

mountain. . ‘
J  he followed his leader. until, he reached a narrow

  

.HmA_A-tt

  

    

    

m MOHAV'E INDIAN.

lasting-place. As he was sitting down here, he saw a moun-
tain sheep, standing on a rock a. short distance above him.
After satisfying himself that it was not his friend wlfich had
been leading him down the cliff, he leveled his rifle and fired
at it.

The animal fell, and lodged against a stone in the path that
the young man was pursuing. Slinging his rifle at his back,
he hastened forward to seize it; but he had hardly reached
it, when he miSSed his footing, and he and the bighoru fell
down the cliff together.

CHAPTER V.
YSABEL.

’8? the bank of the Colorado riVer, down at the bottom
of the great cation, an Indian of the Mohave tribe was slowly
Walking along a narrow and rocky pathway, which led up
the course of the river.

Like most of his tribe, he was tall and finely formed, being
over six feet in hight, and of splendid proportions. He was
dressed differently from the roving Indians of the plains,
being clad in a. simple brown tunic, which extended to his
knees, and’was confined by a belt around the waist. His sym-
metrical legs showed beneath the tunic, and its short sleeVes
exposed to view his bare arms, heavy with bracelets of gold.
On his head was a handsome circlet of dyed feathers, and
across his breast was a richly embroidered scarf, Covered with
ornaments of gold, several of which, in the form of plates, rings
and cresceuts, were suspended from his neck. In his right

‘ ’ hand he carried a long spear, and his only other weapon was a

   
 

sharp knife, which he were at his girdle.

His features were regular and fine, and the expression of his
countenance was meditative and intelligent. In short, he real-
ized’the popular ideaot a young caeique of the time of Mono
tannin. ' y _

‘ It was near sunset. In fact, it had long ago been sunset
down in the great cation, {or the luminary of day was visible

 

    

  

/
fl) , m nounmmnnn.

1' . l
at the bottom of that'immense ravine only a few hours in the
course of the day, rising much later, and setting much earlier,
than on theplains.

In the upper world, also, it was near sunset, as was shown
by the crimson and gold-colored clouds that streaked the sky
far to the southward. Down in the canon the shades of even-
insr had begun to cover the earth, and the stupendous clifl‘s
upon either side appeared to draw nearer together as darkness
'approached. The river, at the. point where the Indian then
was, spread out to the width of more than a mile, with a
swift but comparatively smooth current. At that point, also,
its bed was nearly shut in by the opposite walls of the ravine,
between which it flowed, dark and sullen, as if anxious to
find its way out of such a confined passage into the light and '
breadth of the plains below.

The Indian walked slowly and thoughtfully along the rough
pathway, until he came to a place where the canon widened
toward the west, and the bank of the river spread out into a
broad and beautiful meadow, covered with rich grass and

. dotted with tall trees.

Here he quickened his pace, until he crossed the meadow.
turned a large rock that stood at the edge of the river, and
came to a point where the stream dashed and foamed over
its rocky bed, for a distance of several hundred yards.

As he halted here for a moment, he was startled by the nu.
usual sound of the report of a rifle, which came from the
western cliffs, and resounded through the cation with innu-
merable echoes. '

.“ Dios de mi almal Que es eso? God of my soul!
What is that ?” he exclaimed, in good Spanish, as he looked
in the direction from which the sound proceeded.

He saw the light smoke of the rifle, a. short distance up
the elifi‘, and saw an animal fall from one point of rock to
another. Then a figure, which he took to be that of a white,
man, ran along the face of the clitl‘ toward the animal, and
directly both fell headlong together.

With an exclamation of wonder, the Indian hastened his
steps up the acclivity, until his progress seemed to be barred
by an enormous mass of rocks, which towered up from the

bed of the stream toward the wall of‘ the cation. Here was '

 

Harv-v-

“P
to
Iii/0‘
and

his

‘ girl, poutingand looking displeased.

 

m sum or can ones. 41

I considerable fall in the river, forming the head of the lipids.
Here,‘also, the path which the Indian was following was Worn
as if it had been used for a long time, and it led directly to
the mass of rock which blocked up the way.

Turning a corner of the pile, he found himself in a met

1 little yard, shut in on three sides by high walls of rock; and 1

before him was a rude house, constructed of stones, abutting
ion the. main mass of rock. ‘

As he entered this yard, a beautiful girl of sixteen ran out
and greeted him.

The features and complexion of this maid of the cohort
were of, the true Spanish type, and her large and dark eyes
seemed capable of expressing any shade of feeling, or any
intensity of passion. They beamed with much joy and ’a
little wonder as she met the tall and handsome Indian, and a.
most bewitching smile played about her red lips.

She was attired in a richly embroidered chemisette, formed
of carefully-dressed deerskin, and a short pettieoat ot‘ the
same material, ruyly painted and ornamented in the Indian
fashion. Her little feet were shot] with neat moccasin, reach-
ing well up above the instep, but no stockings covered her
dainty ankles. Her dark hair was bound other forehead by
an embroidered fillet, but thence it fell in thick and curling-
masses upon her shoulders, contrasting finely with the crimson
and olive tints of her cheeks.

“ Is it really you, Mito Y" she said, in tones that were most
musical. “What brings you here this evening? What is
the matter with you? You look as if you had seen a.
spirit.”

“ It is really Mito, mi querida.
I have something to tell him.”

“It-must be something very wonderful,” complained the
“ You have not a word
for me, but you immediately ask for my father, as if I was
not worth speaking to. What is the matter, Mito?”

_ “ It is, indeed, something wonder-ml," earnestly replied the
Indian. “ It is something that has not been known for many,
,m’any years. I was coming to see you, Yen-be], when it hap.
pened. _ I must speak with your father. Is he in the house 3"
h “ No; for he has just come out of it. There he stands. I

Where is Father Francisco ?

 

 

m MOUNTAHEKR

will go away, and you. mayspeak to him as much as you
please."

.‘v‘tWill you not stay and hear what I have to say, Ysabel? '

You are always glad to listen when I tell of something won-
derful.”

A venerable white man, with hair and beard nearly as
white as his face, came forth from the rude stone house as
they were speaking. He was clad in a brown tunic, like that
worn by the Indian, except that it was not confined at the
waist, and under the tunic were breeches of dressed deerskin.
His head, like that of the girl, was uncotrered. and showed}:
broad and noble forehead, under which his eyes gleamed
with a mild and henignant radiance.

“ What is the matter, Mito ?” he asked, noticing the troubled \

look of the Indian. “ What has happened, to bring the young
chief here at this hour ?”

“ Something wonderful has happened, Father Francisco, and
I hastened to tell you ”

“ What is it ‘P”

“ There is a white man in the cnfion.”

’ “ A white man i” exclaimed Ysabel, joyfully clapping her
hands. “ Where is he? Why did you not bring him here?
Is he young, or does he look like father ?" i

“I do not know," replied Mito, with a frown. “It was
only for a moment that I saw him, and at a distance.”

“This is truly something strange and unexpected," said
the old man. “Such an event has not happened in many
years.” .

“Not since you came among us, Father Francisco.”

“Did you speak to him?
he has come here, or how he descended the mountain?”

“I know little about him, except that he is dead."

“ Dead 2"

“Dead ‘t” repeated Ysabel, in a monrnful tone.

“It was only for a moment that I saw him, Father Fran-
cisco, as I told Ysabel, and he was at such a distance that I
could only see that he was a white man.
the pathway by the side of the river, when I heard the sound
of a ride.
it it had been shot. Then I saw the white man run along

3

I was coming up ,

Do you know for what purpose I

I looked toward the clifi', and saw a sheep fall, as '1

 

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to
far

it]:
me

uh

  

 
 

tn-
t1
“Pf,
ind ‘
D“-
W

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A manner-om O
the side of the rock to the sheep, and in a moment both fell
from the cuff together. The fall must have killed the man,
for I heard no cry.” '

“ Why did you not go to him, Mito? Perhaps he was not
killed outright.”

“ We want. no more white men in the valley,” replied the
Indian, with a dark frown. t
- " But you should not. refuse to help even an enemy, when‘
he is wounded and suffering. You should have gone to him,
Mito.” ‘

“I thought it would be best to come to you first, Father
Francisco. It might not he a white man, I thought, but a
spirit: for how could a. man descend the cliff, which is as
straight as the trunk of a tree; and reaches to the sky? You
know all things, Father Francisco, and I came to you to ask
you what should he done.”

“.I will go to him immediately, and you must guide me,

, Milo.”

“ I will go, too,” said Ysabel.
dent.” ‘
“No, my child. He must be horribly mangled, it‘ he is
not dead, and the sight of blood and suffering would trouble

your gentle spirit too much.”

“ But I will go, father, for I am not afraid, and I wish to
see him. May I tuke the flask of aguurdiente that you have
saved so long?" '

“ Yes. It' you must go, you must, I suppose.
my stnti', Ysubel."

In a few moments they set out, the young chief lending
the way, and the old man slowly following him, leaning on
his stafi‘, with his daughter wulltiug by his side.

They went past the falls, and down by the rapids, and then

“Perhaps he is not quite

Bring me

turned to the right, skirting along the edge of the meadow,

toward the western clitf, that towered, so dark and frowning,
far above them. ‘

At the foot of the great precipice they saw the body of
the white mun, lying where he had fallen, among the frug-
znents of rock that strewod the ground.

‘ ,Ysabei shuddered, and remained behind, while her father
ind Mite went forward to examine the, fallen mm. - '.

  

 

 
 

44 m nomamnsn.

They found him lying on his side, doubled up, with his
arms clasped over his head. Blood was scattered about him
on the stones, and close to him lay the body of a mountain
sheep. When they turned him over, he was motionless and
to all appearance dead. In addition to other wounds, which
they could not perceive, there was a had cut on his head,
from which the blood had flowed freely.

“ Dios de mi almal What a handsome fellow !” was the
natural exclamation of Ysabel, who had stolen up to her
father's side, and stood regarding the young man with looks
of interest and pity. “ I hope the pobrecito is not really
dent ."

Father Francisco kneeled down by the side. of the stranger,
and gently breathed into his mouth, through his pale and thin‘
lips, as if to produce an artificial respiration.
period of this treatment, he called for the brandy, and poured
a lL-w drops down the throat of his patient. Another and a.
larger dose followed, and after a while the young man moved
a little, moaned feehly, and opened his blue eyes.

“ Santa Marial” exclaimed Ysabel, opening her own eyes,
very wide. “ What a fair skin he has l and what eyes of the
hue of heavenl Thank God that he is not (lead I”

The restoration to life of the young man was a very pain-
ful process to him, as was evidenced by his spasmodic move-
ments and his pitiful groans; but he was soon so far recov.
ered as to be able to sit up. He stared around wildly, as if

- bewildered by the strange scene, and the strange company in
which he found himself. In trying to lift his left hand, he
perceived that the arm hung uselessly at his side, and when
he endeavored to rise, he was unable to use his left leg.

“ Poor fellow l he has been sorely wounded,” said Father
Francisco.

“ Who are you, and where am I ‘3" asked the stranger.

“You are in the valley of the great canon. and we.nre 

your friends.
from ‘3"
“Freddy,” was the only reply. .
Other questions were asked, but they elicited no answer
“from the young man, but “Freddy—Freddy—Freddy,” no? ‘
companied by a vacant smile. ' ‘ I : I

What is your name, and where have you come I

  

 

After a short ‘ "

  

.,_.,.‘~/4e-—'.A-=

“ mm."

“His fall has Injured his brain, I am afraid,” said the old
man. “He is badly hurt, and we must carry him to the
house as carefully as we can.”

Under the direction of Father Francisco, the Indian manu-
factured a litter of poles and branches, on which the wounded
stranger was placed, and it was carried to the little stone
house, Mito bearing one end, and the old' man and Ysabcl
supporting another.

When they reached the house, the stranger was laid upon
a. couch, and Father Francisco proceeded to examine his
wounds, discovering that his left arm was badly l'ractured, and
his left leg broken below the knee. His head, also, had been
severely injured, and his body had received many bruises.
In fact, the old man perceived that his patient would require
all his medical skill, and the best of care and nursing.

To all questions that were asked him, the young stranger
could only reply by the single word—“ Freddy "—with the

. same vacant stars and the same meaningless smile. Father
Francisco had discovered, however, in the course of his ex-
amination, that his patient’s name was Frederick March, and
that he was “American.

0 H A P T E R V I .
m'rrmn mmcrsco’s s'ronv.

Tim recovery of Fred March was very slow. His broken
limbs were skillfully set and carefully bound up in splinters
by Father Francisco, who proved himself to bc a good sur-
geon and a sensible physi inn; but his wounds had hardly
begun to heal, when fever set in, and for n time his life was
.despuired of. It was only by means of his youth and his
strong constitution, aided by great care and excellent nursing,
that he was brought back from the verge of the grave, und
restored to health, if not to his former strength.

During the delirium that accompanied his flever, Father

’- Francisco hoped that the young man might make some

‘I disclosures concerning his past life, sndtthe cause and manner

l."

 

  

  

 

'16, rm: uouxruum

of his descent into the canon; as the see, when it is convulsod
by storms, sometimes casts up portions of wrecltgthat have

1

been fora long time buried in its depths. But all such hopes 4 . h
were in vain. In the rolling and tossing of his mind, there
came to the surface a few names, and a few allusions to mat-
ters and pl:lCL‘S of which the old man knew nothing; but
there was nothing which could give a clue to the place from _
which he had come, or the motive which had brought him 

into that region. ‘

When his fever had pa‘ssed away, and his health was so
far recovered that he could be permitted to converse as much .
as he pleased, Father Francisco frequently recurred to the
subject of the former life of his patient, and endeavored to
learn how he had happened to attempt to descend the im-
mense and precipitous wall of the cafion, and how he had
accomplished the descent with so little injury, compared to
the peril of the enterprise—410whehad accomplished it, in
fact, without being dashed into fragments long before his
reached the bottom.

Anxious as Fred was to gratify the curiosity of his venera-
ble friend, he was unable to do so. He could only rub his I
forehead, in a vain efl'ort to recall the past, and‘shake his 5
head inournfully, as he confessed his utter want of recollec- (
tion of every thing that had occurred prior to the time that:
he was found at the foot of the cliti‘. 3

“ I wish I could remember,” he would say, “for I am as h
anxious to know about those matters as you are, if not more b
so; but I have no remembrance of any thing that has ever

happened to me, except during the time that I have been u

with you. I suppose that I used to live somewhere, that I I w

_ had relatives and friends, and perhaps an occupation; but all t u]
those things have passed from my memor ', apd I do‘not evcn' l~

know my name." _'  so

“. Your name, I have no doubt, is Frederick March, for one ' he

of your garments is so marked."

“ That must be my name, I suppose, for you tell me that . ah
I called myself Freddy, and that I could say .nothing but i
Freddy when you found me. I am thankful that I am not 1', {ha
left nameless. What is the matter with_me,sefior? What , N
vhu caused this loss of memory?” .'  ~ «

 

s

 

  

is
re
er
‘ I
ll
en’

A __ ._..._____ a, ......4l, __..A

' shine, and the long twilight ot‘ the deep valley.

, ‘ rm: mm A BLANK. a

' “ The shock which your brain received when you felt from
the clifi‘ has produced it.” ,

“ But I can easily remember every thing that has nappencd
since that time.”

“That is natural. It was the remembrance of the past
that was obliterated by the shock, and not the power to re-
member that was destroyed. I have read of many such cases,
but never before had personal experience of one.” .

“ I remember my native language, as you See, and I have
some knowledge of Spanish. I remember, also, many things
that I must have learned at school or college. How is it
that the memory of some things remains to me, while that
of others is entirely swept. away?”

“ I can not answer you, my son. The brain is a very del-
icate and wonderful organ, and it has many mysteries which
science has never been able to penetrate.” '

“ Do you suppose that I will ever recover my memory ‘3”

“It is possible that ,you may, although it is very doubtful.
There have been instances of the restoration of memory to
persons who have lost it; but the recovery has generally
been produced, I think, by the action of disease, or by some
sudden shock, which has thrown the brain back to its natural
condition. While you were suffering with fever, I hoped that
your brain might be so convulsed that it would throw otf the
weight that pressed upon it, and that you would recover your
health and your memory together; but it was not fated to
be so, and now I am afraid that your memory will never rc-
turn‘to you.”

“ It is a sad loss, but God’s will be done! 1am happy
with you and Ysabei, and I must not trouble thyself about
the unknown past."

When the soft spring days came, and the young man was
so far recovered that he could walk out by the aid of a crutch,
he was wont to sit in the yard in front of the stone house,
with Ysabel and her futht-l‘, enjoying the brief hours of sun-
’l‘hen be
pressed Father Francisco to explain how it happened that he

'had severed himself from civilization, and had buried him-

t-if, with his beautiful daughter, at the bottom of the great
aflon, and the old Mexican at last consented to tell his story

 

 

48 m uormnmnnn.
“ My name," said he, “ is Francisco Orteza and I we. the
descendant of a wealthy and influential family in California.

Although I was rich, I chose to study medicine, and in time

I became a well-known and esteemed physician. I thul

gained a large income, which I added to my estate, and, as

my habits were economical, and I look good care of my pro-

perty, I became very wealthy.

“ My nearest relative was a nephew, who lived with me,
as he was an orphan, and assisted me in the management of
my estate. He naturally expected to become my heir, and I _
encouraged him in that expectation, as I had firmly resolved
that I would never marry.

“I was getting well advanced in years, when I changed
my mind on the subject of marriage. In the course of my
business travels I met a young lady of Chihuahua, for whom
I conceived the most intense admiration, which quickly rip-
ened into love. She loved me, I suppose, as well as so young
9. person could love an old man. At all eVents, we were
married, with the joyful consent of her parents, who thought
they were securing a splendid settlement for their portionless
daughter.

“ My nephew was greatly displeased when I brought home
my young and beautiful wife, and he could not help mani-
festing his chagrin. I told him, however, that my marriage
ought not to trouble him, as I intended to provide amply for
him in any event, and he apparently became reconciled, treat-
ing my bride with the greatest consideration. -

“ I lived happily with my Ysabel but for a few years, and
this daughter, to whom I gave her mother’s name, was the
only issue of our marriage. The child was about three years
old, when her mother suddenly sickened and died. The loss
Was a heavy blow to me, but I thanked God that he had letl:
me my little girl, who bid fair to equal her mother in all
qualities of mind and person. 'l‘hencel'orth I was entirely
devoted to my child, and I have no doubt that my nephew,

whose expectations I had encouraged, had reason to complain '

4

of my tin-gett'uluess of his interests.
“About ten years ago, and when little Ysabel was hardly

six. years old, I had occasion to take a long‘ journey into the

interior. I went with a train and a. good (mart, and wit

    

 
 

.‘_.Trv

A Wren nun. 40 '

cecmnpanied by my nephew and my child. In returning, I

went aside from my route for the purpose of visiting the

great canon of the Colorado, of which I had often heard, and
which I had for a long time desired to inspect personally.
“ I alighted from my wagon with Ysabel, and walked for

a considerable distance along the brink of the canon, accom-

panied by my nephew. The grandeur of the scenery far

surpassed my expectations, and I longed to explore the depths
of the vast ravine. I am sure that I would have attempted
' to do so if I had been a younger man.
“I was destined to explore it, with or without the inclina-
‘ tion. We had reached a point on the precipice not far from
3. this place. and I had stopped to point out to Ysabel the lofty
5 cliffs on the other side, and the river shining far below.

“ As we were standing there, ’my nephew came up behind
us,instigatcd, I suppose, by the desire of gaining possession
of all my property, and of gaming it at once. With one
strong push, he hurled us both over the edge of the cllfl‘.”

, ' Fred March remained silent for a while, from sheer aston-
ishment, while he gazed in wonder at the old man.

“ It does not seem possible,“ he said, “that you should
1 have been thrown down that terrible precipice, with a little
child, and that you should both be living now to tell the
tale}?

" All things are possible with God, my son. It was to his
good providence alone that we owed our escape, and I can
not tell you in what manner our lives were saved. The side
of the cation is not as steep at that place as it is here, and a
strong and active man, provided with proper implements,
might accomplish the descent; but it was nothing short of a
ll miracle that enabled such an old man and such a delicate
1 child to reach the bottom with their lives."

i “ The escape of Ysabel was even more wonderful than

i your own.”

I “ She Was saved at first, I know, by falling upon me, and

i After the first fall I used all my care and expended all my

‘ strength for her. But it is impossible to explain our BSCllpe,
1,6:- to account for it. We were [bond at the foot of the cliif

‘ by ,Mobaiyve, the chief of the tribe that inhabits the ravine,

r ml the father.“ Mite, whom you have often seen there» Hen-

l
g.
‘.

 

   
 

50

TEE nonunn'mnn.

regardedus as some superior beings, who had fallen from the
skies. and he took us to his lodge, where my wounds were
cured, as'yours have been, and we have since remained among
them. unable to get away."

“ “Do you not wish to get away?
return- to the upper world ‘3” _

“ For my own part, I have no desire to leave the cation-
though I could wish, for the sake of Ysabel, to reach a civil-
ized country. But it would be in vain for me to attempt to
escape from this ravine, even it‘ I should be permitted to
do so."

“ What hinders you from making the attempt?”

“ The Indians. As I have told you, they regarded me as
a superior being when I first appeared anioug them, and they
have not yet abandoned that belief. They consider me as
their ‘great medicine,’ and they would npt part with me on
any terms. My medical skill and my knowledge of chemis-
try have been very useful to them. Among other things, I
have made gunpowder for them.”

“ Where did you get the materials?" I

“ The caves in the sides of the canon furnish plenty of
niter, and the Indians supply me with sulphur, which they
procure from the north. The charcoal is an ingredient of
which they know nothing, as I have wished to preservé my
secret.”

, “ The Indians, then, have means of access to the outer
World ?” ‘

“ ch. They have never told me how they leave the caflon
or return, but‘ I have no doubt that they go down the river
to the mouth of the gorge, where they meet other Mohaves,
and where they also encounter white hunters and traders,
with whom they barter t'or blankets, cotton goods, and other
articles. I have frequently known them to exchange bullets
of gold for bullets of lead."

“ Bullets of gold! Where do they get the gold ?”

“ Here in this valley. I have no doubt that the cafion is
rich in the precious metal. Come with me, and 1 will show
you alittle.” '

Have you ever tried to

Fred March followed his conductor into the house, When '
thq  man‘reinoved a. stoneuwhich' was so neatly fitted  ,

/

 

l

 

  

moon-rs. 81.
the rock as to seem to be a part of it, disclosing a large
cavity, nearly filled with gold-dust and nuggets of virgin gold.

“ Did you collect all this i" asked Fred, looking in astonv
lshment at the mass of yellow metal.

“Not all of it; not much, in fact. The greater part of
it has been brought to me by the Indians, who are ignorant
of its real value, and whom I have not enlightened on the
subject. It is useless for me to hoard it as I do, for I can
neVer hope to carry it hence; but the love of gold clings ml
the heart of a white man wherever he goes. The Indians
sometimes bring me large quantities of the metal, of which
I make them a few ornaments, and the rest I keep."

“ The Indians will not allow you to leave them, I suppose.

’ if they are able to keep you here. but I think it is possible,
with my help, for you to escape from the canon. I can live
happily in this place as long as Ysabel remains here,but this
is not a proper home for her."

“Perhaps you may not be allowed to remain, my son.
Perhaps it. may not be long before we will be deprived of the -
society of the only white man whom we have seen for years." ‘

“ Why do you say so i”

“ Mito does not look upon you with a favorable eye. It is
evident that your presence here is not agreeable to him. The
Indians will agree to whatever he says, and I am afraid that
we shall have trouble on your account.”

Fred looked at Ysabel, and she drew closer to his side.
Whatever the Indians might say or do, those young people
were determined that they would not be separated without A
struggle.

CHAPTER VII.
THE vovaonuas.

“ So this, Professor Belzoni, is your great canon.”
"As you have made the same remark about, fifty fining-'5'
mes March‘, without having been corrected, it (is to be Inp- "
 you are right. You are mistaken,howwu',h

   

  

 

52 m :10me

asserting that it is my great cation, for I can claim no propri-
etary interest in this wonderful work of nature. I wish I
could, for I would then take some enterprising Yankee as a
partner, who would show me. how to make my property
available, and I would become a rich man, if my Yankee
partner should not swindle me out of my canon before I was
done with him.” \

“You need give yourself no uneasiness on that subject,
Professor, as it is not likely that you will ever own the cation,
or any part of it. It seems, indeed, almost like sacrilege to
speak of such a stupendous freak of nature as belonging to
any man. I would as soon claim to be proprietor of the
Atlantic ocean, or assert my ownership of a whirlwind.”

“ Your expressions are very strong, Miss Fanny, but they
are perfectly justifiable. This is the work of the Almighty,
and he alone is great enough to own it. It is to be counted
among the wonders of the world, and I confess that I have
never seen any thing that surpassed it in sublimity."

“ I have been lost in wonder since we entered the cation,
and I have no words to express my admiration."

" The magnificence of the scenery has been sufficient to
repay us for our labors and hardships thus far. How amply
we would be rewarded if we could find poor Fred alive at
the end of our journey.”

".Ah, Professor, if we only couldl But this is beyond
hope, although I confess that I do hope. How far have we
come since we entered the gorge 1’”

“ About twenty miles, if I am not mistaken in my compu-
tation." '

“Then we have thirty miles further to go, as you calcu»
- lated that the place where Fred was lost was fifty miles from

the mouth. Do you suppose that the navigation of the river
will grow more difficult as we ascend it t”

“I do. The rapids will probably be more plentiful and
more dangerous.”

“ Is it not possible that the gorge may be impassable in
some places 1’"

“ It is not likely to be so at this season. When the river
is at; high stage it may be impossible to ascend the gorge,

“the  may cover the ravine from olifl‘ to’ cliff."

i

Lt.

..,..V,-_~....‘_<n_ . A .  Wm...

\

muslin mom 5!
' “Let us rest, Professor, for I perceive that it will take our
men along time to force the boats up those rapids.”

Fanny March, as she was seated on a rock by the side of
the swift river that rushed through the great cation, was very
difl‘erent in appearance from the elegant Miss March who met
I’rol'essor Belzoni in the back parlor atler her mother’s splen-
did party, and announced her intention of proceeding to the
Wilderness of the “fest on a wild and dangerous errand.

Her costly robes had given place to a short and stout gar-
ment of woolen stufl‘, nondescript in style, but well adapted
to service in the rough and barbarous country through which
she had been traveling. Her feet, instead of delicate slippers,
were covered with strong shoes, and on her head was a little
round hat, from which the last trace of a feather had disap-
peared. But her cheeks, though somewhat browned by
months of exposure to the sun and wind, were glowing with
the hue of health, and her eyes were as bright and radiant as
those of the young eagle in the early morning.

Professor Belzoni, although not so greatly transformed, was
very different from the neat, trim, and precise little man of
science who had mien delighted intelligent audiences in New
York. The attire of the quiet gentleman had been changed
for the rough garb of the hunter, and moccasins had taken
the place of patent-leather boots. But. he still \vore his
spectacles, without which he could hardly have been recog-
nized as Professor Belzoni.

The expedition had been planned by the Professor, who
believed that the, only practicable way to penetrate the great
cation was to ascend the river in boats of such light construc-
tion that they might easily be carried around the rapids and
other places where the navigation might be impossible. He
had wisely chosen a time of the year when the river was at

- a low stage, as then the current would be less violent, and

the perils of navigation would not be so great.
On the Pacific Coast he had engaged the services of Pierre

_ Xarbois, a veteran French-Cumulqu trapper and. voyageur.

0n the lower Colorado Pierre had employed as a guide 'a'
Mohave Indian, to whom tliewhiteshad 'appropriately‘fivén
thoname of Big John,‘a‘nd Big John had induced. two-or fin
tribetogowithhitnasassistantfl. , x ‘ " " ‘~ "

\

 

  

 

54 ‘ run MOUNTAINEEB.

They had halted at the month of the gorge, and had 51m
their horses and mules in charge of two Californians who had
accompanied them thus for, to be pastuted and taken cane of
until their return. .

They then constructed two boats, such as are caller “ bull-
boats” by the traders and hunters of the Fur West. They
were made of willow rods, bent and fastened to a keel, so as
to form the shape of a boat. Other rods were wattled into
these longitudinally, and all were tightly bound together ntthc
intersections. Soaked hides were stretched over this frame
and left to dry, the seams being sewed with buckskin thongs
and covered with pitch.

These boats, while they were capable of carrying heavy
burdens, were very light and portable, and Professor Belzoni
had no doubt that the party would be able to explore the gorge
with them, if the enterprise was in any way practicable.

The mode of procedure was, to work their way us far as
possible on the water during the day, and at night to campou
the rocky shore, where the boats were unloaded, hauled up,

‘nnd turned over to dry. When rapids were encountered, the
party was landed, and the boats were taken up by means of
ropes. If the rapids were dangerous or very difficult, the
bouts were unloaded and carried around them.

As Fanny seated herself near the edge of the water, and as
the evening breeze that swept down the canon played with
her hair and brightened her cheeks, Professor Belzoni looked -
at her admiringly.

. “ Miss Fanny,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “you are

a heroine l" ‘

“ That is only an indirect way of calling yourself a hero,”
rejoined Funny.

/ “ How so 1‘”

“ If I an) a heroine, you must be a hero."

“Nothing would please me better than to play the part of
the hero in a drama of which you were the heroine. , You
are not only a heroine in fact and on this occasion, but you
are always the heroine of my life-romance. Ah! Miss Funny,
if you could know how much I love you t" 7' ,. ’.

, .- “.Perlmpsl do know.” . . , .
' . 1.“.Yan‘ my huveguesscd that [love you, but you out not

 
 

 

m ruonzsson suns neoqum. ‘ 55

how what my love is, and I have never tried to tell you.
Let me tell you now.” ‘
Fanny made no objection, and the Professor, seated by her
side. poured out his passion in words so eloquent and thrilling
that she could not help being moved by them.
She had heard Professor Belzoni when he addressed intelli

-gent and appreciative audiences from the lecture-stand, she

had listened to the same man of science when he converscd

at ease in the parlors of the rich or in his own quiet study.

She had always been charmed by his discourses and his con-
versation, by his calmness and self-possession, by his liquid
tones and felicity of language, and by the graceful manner in
which he threw a halo of beauty and interest around every
subject that he touched; but she had never supposed him
capable of such eloquence and feeling,r as he now disclosed.
Professor Belzoni, the man of science, was lost in Paul Bel-
loni, the lover, and the transformation wusa great one. It is
no wonder that Fanny forgot that he was a little man, wear-
ing gold-rimmed spectacles, and inclined to baldness.

She listened with bowed head and averted eyes to his im-
passioned appeal, and when it ceased she turned to him and
took him by the hand, looking him calmly in the face.

“ Paul Belzoni,” she said, “ Ido not doubt your love for me,
and I thank you for it. It is worth more to me than I wish
«mail you now. If I was looking for a husband, there is no
one whom I have ever seen that I would prefer to you, for I
know your true and- good heart, as well as your noble mind,
and I believe that your utfection is such as you have declared
it to be. But I am not looking for a husband; I am looking
for my lost brother, Freddy. Until our task is (lone—until
this expedition is ended—I trust that you will be silent on the
subject which you have just mentionet ."

“- Have you nothng more to say? Have you no word of
hope for me 't" implored Bclzoni.

“ I will say this: if we succeed in our search—if we find
Freddy, or any relic by which we may know that he is lost—-
Lam willing, if you then wish it to be so, to return to New
York as your wife. I can make no further promise now.” .

“ It is sufllciunt l” exclaimed the Professor, as he touched
“is his lips the hand-that rested (in his own. “ I, 

o
v

 

 

  

56 m nomamnnn.

more devoted to your service than I was before, but I can labor
with a stronger heart and a brighter hope." \

“ Let us go i See! Pierre has brought the boat to the
shore, above the rapids, and is beckoning to us.”

CHAPTER VIII.
a mmnrnunn MEXICAN.

In a gorge on the easterly side of the Wasatch mountains,
at the head of a small stream that flowed toward the south-
east, Ben March and his friend Warmack had made their camp
for the night. '

Ben March, tail and strong and handsome as ever, was oc-
cupied in setting up the tent that he had brought with him;
Jim Warmack, who was himself again when free from the.
pulquerias and monté-banks of the settlements, was skinning
and cutting up an animal that he had killed ; one of the Mexi-
can servants was making a fire for cooking supper; and the
other was attending to the horses and mules, assisted by Juan
Maria Goza, a Californian Whom Ben had engaged at Mont
terey. on,

When the mountaineer had finished his task, he gave the‘
meat in charge of the Mexican at the fire, and walked around
to look at the animals, returning to his friend, who had com-'
pleted the arrangements of the tent.

“ What is the matter with you,Jim ?” asked the young gen-
tleman, as the mountaineer took a seat by his side. “You
shake your head very wisely, and you look as if something
had displeased you."

“ It‘s that Juan Maria," replied the mountaineer. “ I can‘t
make him out."

“ I doubt whether it would be worth while to do so if you
could. What is there about him that puzzles you ?”

“ Helms been in a mighty strange fit ever since he found
out that wegmeant to try to go down into the big cafion'. HO'
’ goes about as if he had lost rnore’n half his sense, and hi

 

 

rm.

4....-wvli4vH—M, aw“

3'

l

I.
is

l r
i:
l

F4,

 

 

A rate m u wsrcm. 57'

can’t be got to step out of sight of the camp-fire arter dark
When no one is near him, he is allers mutterin’ and jabberin’
to himself in his own lingo, and I’ve a notion that he’s put-
tin’ ideas into the heads of the other Mexicans that hain’t no
business to be that.”

“ If he is tampering with the men, he must be looked to,
for we can allow nothing of that kind. What sort of ideas
do you think he is putting into their heads ?"

“ I heard him say to Manuel, that if we stuck to our notion
of goin‘ down into the canon, he meant to quit us.”

“ Let him do so ; we can get along without him.”

“ If he goes, he will carry off the others with him, for these
Mexicans hang together like a pack of thieves.”

“ Quite natural, as they are thieves. I suppose we could
easily get along without any of them, and they would cut a
sorry figure making their way back to the coast, without any
thing to carry them, and with no provisions for the way. But
I do not think that I shall allow any such mutiny or attempt

' nt mm iny."

“ Then we will have a row, and we must watch our
throats."

“ What are you afraid of, Jim ? You and I could tie those
three Mexicans neck and heels, it‘ we wished to.”

“True enough, if it was in a Mr fight; but the ways of
those ._critturs are powerful sneakin’. It’s tlmr style to shoot
men behind that backs, or stick knives into ’em when they’re
asleep.”

1‘ We must watch them, and we must find out what that
fellow, Juan Marin, means. I will cull him to me after sup-
per, Jim. and will give him a talking-to."

“ That’s jest what I wish you would do, Mr. March. It’s
plain to me that the Mexican has got somethin’ ag’inst that
nation, and we had better find out what the matter is, store we
git than"

When supper was over, and the young gentleman had sent-
ed himself to smoke his pipe, in company with his friend the
mountaineer, he called to him the Mexican concerning whom
the discussion had been had, and that worthy made his ap-
pearance, looking decidedly like a criminal, who is summoned
We: judge. ' ,

w

 

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
    

U m momrmm

Ben March opened the subject by stating what Wat'me
had heard Goza say to one of his fellow-servants, with regard
to leaving the party if? they persisted in going to the cation,
and asked him for what reason he had made such a remark.

Juan Maria wasa middle-aged man, who had doubtless once ' a 4
been good-looking, but his good-looks had been destroyed by - - l

‘intemperauce and other evil habits. He was, also, one of those
seedy individuals who have “ seen better days,” for there was ‘ '
an attempt at style in his velveteen calzoneras, his black glazed R,

sombrero and his faded crimson sash, and his language Was
' much better than that of most persons in his position. I
“I think that Senor Warmack must have misunderstood
me,” he said, bowing low to his judge and his accuser. “It
is true that I am afraid of the great canon—as who should ’
not be ?—-for it isa frightful place, and it is inhabited by many
bad spirits, if the devil himself does not dwell there. I have
great fears of the cation, and I would not go near it for the
world; but I have not said that I would leave the company
of your exeellency, or that I would break my agreement."
“ Have you not spoken to Manuel and Bernardo about the ,
canon? Have you not tried to give them a horrible idea of
it, so as to make them as afraid to venture near it as you
are '2”
“ Madre de Diost senor; of what do you accuse me? Did
' they not hear about the terrible place long before they saw’ , i
me? Does not all the world know what a frightful thing it 
is? We have talked about it together, as was natural, but I ' ,
have not tried to make them afraid of it.” ' 
“ Why is it, J uau Maria, that you have such 'a horrible idea ' 
of the canon? Were you ever there ?” '
“ Yes, senor—that is, I was near it once, but I ran away
fast as I could.” r
“ What did you see to make you afraid of it ‘3"
“ I saw nothing, for my fright was too great." V
“ What have you heard about it to frighten you? It is a
harmless place, I think—nothing but a very deep gorge, through
which the river runs.” _ A
“ Ah 1 caballero; your excellency must pardon me it I do not
attempt to tell all I have heard. Do you not know that it is
o my inferno of a. place, reaching down, without end. into

 
 

 

THE MINA-FADE)”.

the bowels of the earth? What you take to be a river is‘
nothing but a great vein of silver, which the devil, has placed
there to tempt us poor mortals l” ‘

“ I know that a river issues out of the mouth of the canon.
If there is such a vein of silver there, why does no one try
to get out the metal 1’”

“ Who can say how many have perished in that attempt?
'Your excellency must know that every vein of precious metal
has its minu-padre—its guardian spirit—and this great vein
has a thousand of them. The mine-padres can summon
hosts of goblins, and some of these have been seen by living
eyes, even near the mouth of the canon. They are terrible

dark creatures, of enormous hight, and circles of tire surround

them wherever they go.”

“ I do believe the durned crittur would skeer me a little.”
said Jim Warmack, “ it'I didn’t think that I ken give a guess
at the trail he is on. The Mohave Injuns, Mr. March, down
near the mouth of the canon, have got some of the tallest
men among them that this child ever laid eyes on. In tho
winter-time, too, they carry about long sticks of burning wood,
which they whirl in the air to warm themselves.- I reckon
they do look sorter like devils in the dark.”

“ Very likely,” replied March. “ I remember hearing Pro-
fessor Belzoni say that Castenada, in his account of the expe-
dition of Coronado, who was the first white discoverer of the
canon, gives an account of a similar race of men and a sim-
ilar custom. I have no doubt that all the illusions of our
friend Juan Maria might be as easily dispelled.”

- “ But there are spirits in the canon, sefior, and no one can
explain away a spirit. The mind-padres are there, of course,
to guard the silver veins.”

“ I make no doubt," suggested the mountaineer, “ that sil-
vcr or gold, and like enough both, mought be found in the
canon.”

‘“ Of course there is silver and gold there, but no man can
ever get the metals. Besides the mine-padres and their gob-
lins. it is full of spirits and ghosts."

' “What ghosts Y" suddenly asked Ben March.
ever see a ghost there 'r”
“ Heaven forbid l" ejaculated the Mexican,- as he shudderod

“ Did you

 

  

    

60 _‘ ' m momma.

and turned pale. “But there are ghosts there—the ghosts
of those who have fallen down into the canon, tempted by
the devil. Did not your eXCelleucy once lose a brother
there ?”

“ Yes; but I have no reason to suspect the devil of having
had any thing to do with it.”

“ It was the devil who cut the rope, and he is now tempt-
ing you with the belief that your brother is still living, so
that you may go there and lose your own life."

.. “ He will not get me so easily. I wish you, Juan Maria,
if you mean to remain with us, to keep silent on the subject
of the cation, and to tell no more horrible tales to Manuel
and Bernardo. Unless you are willing to do so, you must
leave me now.”

“ I will endeavor to obey your excellency, but I am afraid
that the devil has had possession of me since you first spoke
of going to that inferno of a cation, and he persecutes me
by day and by night. I have fearful thoughts and horrid
dreams. Even with my eyes open I see ghosts, and some-
times there comes up before me a terrible picture—a picture
of an old man, with his gray hairs dabbled in blood, and a
beautiful child—-"

“ There is some reality in this," exclaimed March, as the
Mexican turned deadly pale, covered his face with his hands,
and tottered back until he seemed about to fall to the ground.
A cup of brandy restored him, and he went away declaring
that no manner of ghosts or goblins could frighten him.

Ben March and Warmack had a conversation on the sub-
ject after Juan Maria left them, and they came to the con-
clusion that the man had something on his conscience that
troubled him, and that caused him to “ dream dreams and see
visions.” March was inclined to think that this cause of his
terror must be connected with the great cation or some similar
place.

Juan Maria. continued with them, however, keeping his
fears mostly to himself, and he gave them no further trouble,
except such as arose from the discovery" that aguardiente was

a cure for his mental disease

    

   
 
 
 
 
  

 

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 
 

 

 

C H A P T E R I X .
THE JEALOUSY or MITO.

Al the summer days rolled on, Fred March rapidly gained
nealth and strength, until he had entirely recovered from hisl
wounds and the etfeets of them—except his lapse of memory
with regard to his previous life and the circumstances that
had led to his descent into the cohort. He tried to remem-
ber—as if memory could possibly be a. work of the will—
bnt his vain efi‘orts gave him pain, and he only knew that
he was there, at the bottom of that tremendous abyss, with
but two persons of his own race and color. and with no visi-
ble means of reaching the upper world. He knew one thing
more—that he could be very happy with those two persons——
or with one of them—if he could escape the torture of won-
dering who he was and where he came from.

He had discarded his crutch, and could walk forth as freely
and boldly as any one in the ruvinc. He had also repaired
his rifle. which had been but slightly injured by his rough
descent, and he easily kept the little stone house supplied with
game, which had previously been the self-imposed task of
Mito.

The longer the summer days grew, the more devoted he
became to Ysabel, whose rare beauty increased with every
rising and setting of the sun. It. seemed that she had only
needed this—only the stimulus of a. nature which she could
love with the first love of her warm heart and pussioiiate
soul—to cause her to blossom forth into the fullness of per~
fect womanly beauty. The blushes on her cheeks burned
more brightly; hct' lithe form rounded and strengthened ; her
dark eyes shone with a warmer light and a deeper tenderness
than they had yet known. ,

Her father, as well as her lover, looked upon her with.
growing admiration, for she was the realization of what he
had hoped she would one day be,when_ he lived in the world
and was the possessor of wealth and station. But he sighed

v

/

as mm uomameu.

when he reflected that he no longer had wealth and station
to bestow upon a child who was so abundantly worthy of
them—that he could not even place her in that world in
which she was fitted to shine as one of its brightest stars.
He sighed, too, as he noticed the love—great and still
growing—with which she regarded the young man who had
been brought to them so wonderfully, and had been so provi-
dentially rescued from a terrible death. He sighed for both

of them, for he remembered what he had told them concern- .

ing the young chief, Mite, to whom he knew the presence of
Fred March could not be agreeable.

The forebodings which then filled his mind had not. yet ‘

been proved true; but he felt assured that they were well
founded, for he believed that the time must come when the
young ehlef would assert what he considered his rights—-
when he Would expel Ysabel’s white lover from the cufion, or
put him out of the way by some harsher means.

The old man felt this to be true, because he had long
known that Mite regarded Ysabel as his property, and that
it was his settled design that she should belong to him. The
thought had been by no means a pleasant one to him; but
he had not considered it possible that his child would ever
again see one of her own people, and he knew that, in the
event of his death, she could have no better or more power-
ful protector in that valley than Mito. He had, therefore,
become somewhat resigned to the future that appeared to
await her; but this young man had come, who had changed
' the current of his thoughts, and had inspired him'with new
hopes and new fears. ‘

He was convinced that Milo was only waiting until the
young man should be fully recovered, hoping that he would,
of his own accord, seek to leave the canon; or that he was
inspired by pity for his Weakness, and delayed the use of
harsh measures until he should gain sufllcicnt strength to be
driven fin-th. He (lid not doubt, however, that when the
young chiel' should see that Fred had become well and strong,
and should also see in him a rival, who had secured the atfec-
tions which he considered his own, he would then .employ
his power and make an end of rivalry by the use of the
mag arm. ' ‘ ‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

 
 


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\ m aroma BURSTB. as
The two young people did not: appear to share the fears
and troubles of the old- man. They were so absorbed in
their love, so Wrapped up in each other, that their thoughts
scarcely ranged beyond the present time and its joys. They
were so young, hopeful and buoyant, that they gave little
heed to the future, but acted as if their present pleasures
were always to endure.
Milo. the young chief, who was greatly interested in the
love atl‘airs of Fred and Ysabcl, apparently paid little atten-
tion to them; but it was evident to one who observed him

’ as closely as Senior Orteza did, that he was much troubled,
,and the gathering clouds showed that it could not be long

before the storm would break. ‘

His visits to the little stone house were much less f‘rcqttent
than they had formerly been, and he no longer had pieasant
words and smiles for Ysabel when he met her. On the con-
trary, whenever he saw her in the company of Fred March,
there was a frown on his brow, and his mutterings certainly
boded no good to the young Americans.

The storm burst at last. One pleasant evening, Fred
March and Ysabel had strayed up the cation, and the young
chief saw them, seated together upon a stone, gazing up at
some wonderful figures that had been carved by nature on
the side of the eastern cliff. They were sitting hand in hand,
looking at each other fully as often as they looked at the elitf,
and there was a love-light in their eyes, which could not
have been caught from the rays of the declining sun.

Mite glanced at them sternly, and then, turning toward
the south, strode rapidly down the cafinn until he reached
the little stone house. '

Senor Orteza was seated in front of the door, reading a
small Spanish Bible which had been in the pocket of Fred
March when he was lost in the eafion. IIe trembled when
he perceived the dark looks of his visitor, but rose and offered
him his hand, inviting him to take a seat.

“ My son is welcome,” said he, “ but why is his face 130
dark? Why is it that the young chief so seldom comes to
my lodge?”

7 Mito made no response to this greeting, but seated himself
on Katrina, and gazed moodily up at the western sky.

 

    

 
 

,14' ' um monument. ‘

“My daughter has gone to walk. Has the young chief
seen her in the course of his rambles ?” inquired the old
men. '

“I have seen her,” sharply replied ’Mito, and his frown
grew darker as he turned and faced the speaker. “ I have
seen her," he said, “ and she was with the young stranger. He
has been here u. long time.”

“ A long time,” assented Sefior Ortezn.

“ Are his wounds cured, and is he entirely well ?”

“ His wounds are cured, and I believe that he is now en-
tirely well.”

“ Why does he not go away? Why does he not return to
his own people?” .

“ He does not know where his own people are. He knows
nothing about them. When he received his wounds, the Great
Spirit afflicted him by touching his memory, so that he re-
members no pnrt of his life up to that day.”

“ It is strange," muttered the Indian. “ Herremembers very
well now.”

“ Besides,” continued the old man, “ how could he get out
of this deep canon ? It is impossible to climb the clifi‘s, and
he' has no means of descending the river, even if he could go
away by water."

“ A way will be opened for him, as soon as he is ready to
go."

“ I am glad to hear it, and I have no doubt that he will
gladly go. Myself and my child, also, will gladly accompany
him. Open the way, Milo, I pray you, and let us go forth to:
gether. This stranger will prove it godsend to me, for he can
lead me to my own people, and take care of me until I reach
them.”

The countenance of the Indian grew almost black with
anger, and he rose to his feet and confronted the old man with
a. menacing gesture.

“ The stronger must go, but you must not go with him,” he
said. “ The heart of Mito has been very soil toward him. It
has been too soft, but it is hardened now. I had pity upon
him because he was wounded and weak, and I wished to wait

until he became well and strong. His wounds are now cured.
and he must go.”

 

w—“v

. y, n: ‘wem Lovnn. "06

“Why are you so anxious to drive him forth, while you
will not let me and my child go to seek our own people ?”

“ Father Francisco, you know what I mean," angrily replied
the young chief. “ Your feet used to he in the straight putlt,
and your tongue was not crooked; but you have changed
since this stranger came among us. You know that I have
long worn Ysubel next to my heart, and that I have deter-
mined that she shall share my lodge. All would have gone
Well, and there would have been no trouble, if this young
stranger hnd not come into the cufion. He is of her own race,
and his skin is fair, and his eyes are blue, and he loves her.
Do you not know this? Answer me with astruight umgue."

“ I have perceived that his love has been drawn towurd
sthel,” timidly replied the old man.

“ You know that this is true, and you know that stbel
loves him. You know that her heurt is set upon this fair-
skinned stronger, and that Mito is oust out of her thoughts.
You might have prevented this, iF‘vou had tried to do so.
You might have told her that. those who hud saved the lives
of herself and her father meant to keep her umong them, and
that she vus destined to share the lodge of s chief. You
might have told the stranger that she was not for him, and
that he must not look upon her with love. You would have
done this, if your heart had not been turned from Mito and
joined to the white man.” ‘

“ It was natural and proper that my daughter should choose
one of her own race and color."

“But she must not do so. The evil has already gone too
1hr, and there is only one way to stop it now. You must tell
the stronger that he is wanted here no longer, that he must
lent: the cation and go forth among his own people."

“ This will break my child’s heurt. She can never bear
such a separation," thought Sei‘lor Orteza, but he did not give
utterance to his thought.

“ Why do you not tell him this ?" he asked. “You are
more interested in the mutter than I am, and you know that. I
have no power to drive him forth from the eufiou.” I
' . The Indian dropped hls eyes, for he felt the shame of jeal-
ouSy, which he was unwilling to betray to the man who u:-
the object. of it. ‘ ' '

 

    

06 um monument;

“ You are the father of Ysabel,” he said, “ and you must do
as I have told you to do. You must say to the young man
what I have said to you. A way will be found for him to
leave the canon, if he is willing to go immediately. If he is
not willing to go, he must be made to go, or something else
will be done. I have said all that I have to say."

With these words, the young chief turned and walked away

as swiftly as he had come. 1

While Seiior Orteza was pondering this sad but not unex-
pected intelligence, and considering how he should break it to
the young people whom it immediately concerned, he was sur-
prised by the arrival of another visitor—no less a personage
than Mohaiwe, the father of Mitt).

The old chief had grown ugly in his old age, and his per-
sonal cleanliness was by no means attended to as it ought to
have been ; but he wa a great chief, or at least so considered
himself, and the old Mexican received him with marked
civility. .v

It was a long time since Mohaiwe had shown himself at
the stone house, and his appearance on this occasion, especially
when the object of his visit was disclosed, satisfied Senor
Ortcza that. Milo was desirous of sending Fred March away
peacefully, if he could, and that he was thoroughly in earnest
in his intention of getting rid of him at all events.

“ I will speak to the young man, if it must be so,” said the
old man ; “ but this will be terrible news to my daughter.
Both their hearts will be broken, if he is compelled to leave
her."

“ I do not know what you mean by broken hearts," grimly
replied Mohaiwe. “ 1 know that Mlto wants her, and he
must have her. The white man must go away or he must
die.”

Senor Orteza, with tears in his eyes, pleaded for the young
lovers, and implored Mohaiwe to alter his determination; but
the old chief was not to be moved.
thing about broken hearts, and who had been accustomed to
purchase his wives, or to take possession of them, without
consulting their inclinations, could not be expected to appreo

ciste the sorrows that would ensue to Fred and Yssbel if they

should .be separated. .

A savage who knew nor

    

a

 

 

\

tom’s sxy omens-.1). 0? »

He reiterated his command that Fred should be sent out of
‘the cation, and waddlcd away in greasy state, leaving the old .
,  Mexican a prey to such agony as he had not experienced for
' years.

i C H A P T E R X.
A FEW AGAINST MANY.

FRED MARCH and Yeahel returned from their walk, while
Sailor Orteza was still sitting in front of‘the stone house, weep-
ing, and lamenting the evil fate that had seemed to follow
him.

’They came hand-in-hand, their faces radiant with love and
happiness; but their joy was quickly turned to sadness when
they perceived the sorrowful condition of the old man, and,
they hastened to ask the cause of his trouble. .

With tearful eyes and trembling voice he gave an account
of the visits of Mito and Mohaiwe, and made known the de-
termination of the Indians, that Fred must leave the cafion
and be separated from Ysabel.

When he had finished, Ysabel threw herself into his arms
nothing as if her heart would break. . ’

“ Can this be so ‘3" she exclaimed. “ It must not be! It,
is impossible! Oh. father, you do not know how I love
Freddy, and he loves your Ysahel, for he has told me so.”

“I know it, my child. I saw it long ago, and it troubled
me, for I knew that the young chiet‘ had set his eyes upon
you. I told you that the presence of Freddy was disagree-
able to Mito, who (lid not look upon him with a favorable
eye, and that I feared we would have trouble on his account.
The time has now come, and he must be driven forth from the
canon, while we are to be kept here by the savages. You
must be separated from your lover, Ysabel, when you have
just begun to love him, and you are destined never to see the
bright world that is beyond this dreary cation.”

“ I could never learn to love him more, and I will not be
acptlrated from him i” exclaimed the weeping girl. “ Father,

  

    

TEE )(OUNTAINEER.

you might as well tear my heart out, as to separate me
from Freddy. It will kill me if they take him from me. It

you sufler this to be done, father, you will strike me dead at 1

your feet, for I can not live away from him.”

“ Alas! my child ; what can I do? The Indians will act
as they please, and you know that I am unable to prevent
them."

“ So they want to drive me away," said Fred, who stood up
boldly, with flashing eyes and determined look. “ I had ex-
pected this, and was partly prepared for it. You may tell the
red-skin, Senor Orteza, that [will not leave Ysabel of my own
accord, nor will I be forced away from her.” , .

“ You will not leave me !” exclaimed Ysabel, forsaking her
father’s arms for those of her lover.

“ I will not, mi almai I am yours, and you are mine, un-
til death shall claim us. Father Francisco, I love Ysabel far
.more than I love my life. I had rather die than be separated
from her. These Indians can do no more than kill me.”

“ They will kill me, it‘ they kill you,” said Ysabel. “I
would sooner die than be joined to Milo or any of his race.
Freddy is my life, and I can not live without him."

.“ Let us, then, die together, my children," solemnly said
Senor Orteza, rising and folding his arms about the young
people. _

A period of silence followed, broken only by the sobs of
Ysabcl and her father.

' composure and his determined air.

“ Come, now," he said, when the emotion of the other two
had somewhat subsided ; “ let us talk of this matter calmly.
Something must be done, and done quickly. Is it not pos-
sible to escape, Father Francisco? You and Ysabel could not
climb the clifi‘, even if it might be possible for me to do .so;
but there must be some way of exit. How do the Indians
get down to the mouth of the canon “B”

“ They go in skin canoes, I think—such as they can easily ‘
carry around the rapids and other dangerous places." ,

“ We have skins in the house, and I think I could make I
such a boat," said Fred, who felt the quick invention that is
born of desperate emergencies. ’

“ But we could never descend the river. We know nothing

The young American maintained his '

   

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m‘s amount. 69
of the currents and the mpids,-and the Indians could over-
-to‘ke us before we had gone a day’s journey. Besides, it
would take time to make a. canoe, and we have no time, for
our decision must he made immediately.”

“ Let us, then, decide immediately. For my part, I have
already decided. This stone house is strong, and it can
\Ve have two rifles, and two pistols,
including my broken one, which I have nearly repaired. We
are within reach of water, and we have a good supply of
dried meat on hand. To-night I will procure the nmterinls
for making a boat, and I think we can stand a siege here un-
til I finish it. Then we must trust to Providence to enable
us to slip out some dark night, and to guurd us from sunken
rocks and rapids while we float down the river.”

“ Seflor March, you are a hero 1" exclaimed the old man.
“ You must. surely be an American.”

Ysabel again threw herself into the arms of her lover, and
praised him raptut‘ously. It. seemed to her childlike mind
that all difficulties were at an end, that their escape was already
accomplished.

To Senior Orteza the prospect appeared by no means so

' brilliant, and he shook his head gloomily.

“We could at least take some revenge upon our enemies
before we died," he said. “They would soon overcome us,
for you are not a sufficient garrison for our little fort, though
I still can fire a gun or a. pistol. The great trouble is, that
we have no ammunition."

“ You have plenty of powder, I am sure.”

“That is true, but there are not a dozen bullets in the

house."

“Do you suppose that the Indians have any i”

“ It is very likely that they have.”

“ Then the difficulty will soon disappear. I will visit Mito
in the morning." »

“ For what purpose ?"

“I will tell him that I have concluded to obey his command
find leave the canon, and will ask him to give me bullets,
With which to kill game for food on the way. It will not
boitelling him the truth, but the case is a desperate one."

“It is indeed, but you seem to make nothing of the

 

'50 rm: nouwrsmszan.

obstacles. The Indians will be so angry, when they learn how
they have been deceived, that they will kill us all." ,

“ Let them do so, if we can not prevent them. Ysabel and
I will die if we are separated, and is it not better to die
together 1""

“ You speak truly, and you make my old heart ashamed of
its weakness. The will of God be done, and may the saints
protect us! Show us what we can do, and we will go to work.”

Fred showed the old man how to build up and strengthen
the wall that inelosed the yard in front of the stone house, and
Worked with him until night closed down upon the cation.

Leaving Senor Orteza and Ysabel laboring with all their
might atthe wall, he then went out to gather materials for
making the frame of his boat, and returned in the course of
two hours, with a number of stout and flexible rods, which he
declared would answer his purpose admirably. '

He found the delicate hands of Ysabel badly bruised and
torn by handling the rough stones, although they had been
covered by deerskin gloves, and he directed her to stop and
rest, a command which she received with a rebellious pout.

"If you will not let me work, I can cook something for ,
you to eat,” she said, as she hastened to prepare supper.

Fred March, as cheerful and stout-hearted as if he was
making a home for his bride, assisted Senor Orteza to build
the wall higher, and to make the openings through which
they could tire their guns and pistols.

By the time Ysubel had their supper ready—near the mid-
dle ot‘ the night—they had quite a tall and substantial barri-
cade, instead of the low stone wall by which the little yard
had previously been inelosed.

After supper, Fred made the old man lie down to take some
rest, while he proceeded to prepare the frame of his boat.
He also wished Ysabel to go to her rest, but she would not '
obey him, and remained with him at his work, holding the
light and helping him as he bent his rods into proper shapes
and bound them firmly together with leather thongs. The
work went on briskly, for they cheered and enlivened each
other, in spite of the very unfavorable circumstances by which
they were surrounded, and when daylight stole down into the
cation, Fred had the frameof his boat nearly completed.

 

«a
t

mum's anrmcn. ' 71

‘Wlten all had partaken of a substantial breakfast, Fred:
persuaded Ysabel to try to get some sleep during his absence,
as he was going to visit Mito for the purpose of getting a
Itipply of bullets. When he went. he left Senor Orteza at
Work on the opening in the reel; that led to the river, enlarg-
ing it so that there might be no danger of falling shott of
‘ water.

The young gentleman soon returned, more ligrhtrheartml
and happy than ever, for his visit had been an entire sueees‘s.

lie reported that his apparently readyeouipiianr'e with ‘. 2e
demandsof the youugxrhh-t', had put Mitzi in sueh an exenileut
humor, that he had tilled the ;o(:l-.ets of his hunting-shirt
with hullets, giving him, in tact, all he had in his lodge. Ile
told Fred that he would prepare a canoe for his voyage down
the titer, and would be at the stone house at about noon, in ‘
order to see him Set ofl‘ on his journey, although he did not:
intend to accompany him, but, to send him to the mouth of
the cafiou in charge of two Indians.

Having taken care of the ammunition, and having loaded
the rifles and pistols, Fred set to work to finish the frame of
his boat, to fasten on the gunwales, and to put in soak the
hides with which he intended to cover it. In this work
he was assisted by Ysahel, who had become wakeful as soon
as he returned to the house. I

Sefior Orteza. occupied himself in strenglhening the barri-
cade. until nearly noon, when he mounted it, for the purpose
of acting as Sentinel, and giving warning if the young chief
should make his amiearanee. ‘

He had not been there long, when Milo came in Fight, ac-
companied by two tall Indians. The old man descended and
notified Fred, according to a previous arrangement, when the
latter climbed up and took his place on the stones.

Ile suflered the Indians to approach until they came within
easy hailing distance, when he ordered them to halt, and asked

About what they wanted.

T“ We want you," replied Milo, as he stopped, with an air
of great surprise. “We have eome to take you down the
river, as we promised to do.”

‘ “ You may return, for I am not going." I

“ WM do you mean? You said that you were ready to

 

 

 

V’i.‘ ' my MOUNTAINEE‘B.

J, and} gave you my bullets, and I have brought scant”
or you. Is your tongue straight, or have you lied like It
white man 3’" .
“ My tongue is as straight as an arrow now, when I say
thatl do not mean to go. I tell yon, red-skin, that you and
all your trihe are not enough to drive me away from Ysahel.
II' I must (lie, I will die by her side; I am willing to leave
the cafion with Ysabel and her father, if you will let us go in
peace, but you can not separate me from her.”

“The Great Spirit has taken away your mind. You do
not know what. you are saying. Where is Father Francisco ‘2"
“He is here, and he tells me to speak for him. He tells

me to say that he had rather see his child dead at his feet,
than see her taken away to share the lodge of a red-skin.”

“ Your scalp shall dry in my lodge for this, you lying white
‘d’ogl” exclaimed Mito, who was now thoroughly enraged.
“You will all be slain.
will crush you in a moment.”

“ If you want us, you must come and take us. I have

“nothing more to say, except that you must not come a step
nearer, or I will send a bullet through you.” '

The young man emphasized this threat by pointing his rifle
over the barricade. '

Mito counseled for a few moments with his companions,
who pointed to the newly-raised fortification, and then all
three turned and walked away, utter a few threatening ges-
tures toward the white man. ’

“ We are in for it now," muttered Fred, as he descended
into the yard. “ Come,Ysabel, let us have some dinner as soon
as possible, mi querida, for they will come back before long,
and it may be a long while before we are able to eat again.”

Ysahel. who was always cheerful when her lover was in
good spirits, blithely prepared the midday meal, which was
quickly eaten by the little garrison, who then. after a prayer
'by the old man, prepared for the expected conflict.

In the course of an hour the arrival of Mito was againme;

ported, and this time he came accompanied by about twenty
warriors, a few of whom carried rifles or fusees, but the
greater part were armed with bows and arrows. ‘

I will bring my warriors, and we ,

 
 

 

 

HG summoned the garrison to surrender; but, Fred, who

  

 
  

    

 

  
 
 

Ustrong it was, turned and fled back to their comrades.

 escape, and thus starve us out ?" ‘

A' "suecnssm nus-miss. ’8

 taken upon himself the office of commander-inertia, re-
turned such a defiant answer, that it immediately provoked A
volley ot‘ bullets and arrows.

It was Well for the little garrison that the Mohaves of the
cation, although so tall and strong, were not a warlike people,
or they would have been crushed in a moment, as Mito had
threatened, notwithstanding the confident bravado of Fred
March. But these Italians lived in peace together, with no
fierce neighbors to make aggressions upon them; consequently 1
they were unused to the combats and stratagems of war, and
were shy of encountering deadly missiles. ‘

With savage yells they rushed toward the stone house in
formidable army; but Fred and the old Mexican sent two
well-aimed bullets among them, and about half of thetn
turned back. The pistols laid two others low, when they
came near the barricade, and the rest, seeing how high and
Hav-
ing gained a safe distance, they concealed themselves behind

.rocks and in holes, from which they kept up a. constant but

harmless fire upon the barricade. Their numbers, in the
mean time, were gradually augmented by new arrivals, until

' nearly fifty could be counted, and among them could be seen

the fat and dirty form of old Mohaiwe, who seemed to be
wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement and indignu.
tion.

As the shades of evening began to gather over the cation,
Fred descended from the barricade, leaving Ysabel to watch
the enemy at an embrusure.

“ We have come off, so far, better than I had expected,"
said he. “I notice that they have ceased firing their guns.
Do you suppose, Father Francisco, that they can be out of

’nmmunition ‘2”

“I think it very likely. Mito told me, several days ago,

- that his people had but little powder letl, and that which I
~ hut-'0 in the house Was made for them."

“ 'l'hat adds to the odds in our favor. I suppose they will
make a great attack to-night. It‘ we can beat them 011' then,
I shall feel quite hopeful.”

“ Do you not think that they can surround us no III to pro-

 

 

  

5‘

I “Sumcieut unto the day is the evil thereof. We are doing
very well now. Have you not heard tiring down the river?”

“ Yes. What can it mean 2'"

“ I do not know. Ilnrk ! Did you hear that yell over by
the western elifl‘? It sounded like the cry of some 'poor
wreteh‘ in his lust agony."

“ It is very strange. What is Ysa‘oel pointing at l‘"

“ Some of the red-skins are coming nearer. I will give
them a shot to teach them to keep their distance.”

Leveling his rifle through an emhmsure, the young man
took a. careful him and tired.
as old Molmiwe staggered and fell to the ground.

Fred sprung up on the barricade, waved his hat, and gave
vent, at the top of his voice, to a real American hurrah!

 noummm

CHAPTER XI.
'nm WILL AND THE WAY. \

' As the early rays of the rising sun lighted up the sky
above the great canon, Funny March and Professor Belzonl,
with their party, who had pnssed the night at the head of a.

chain of dangerous rapids, proposed to renew their atdveutur- ’

ous journey.

'l‘hcir skin heats, which were hauled up on the shore every
night, and sometimes during the day, for the purpose of pre-
Ventiug them from hecoming \\'lllt.'l‘-5n:lkml nnd rotten, were
latuuehed on the bruud river, which was smooth but swift
above the rapids. 'l‘he bouts were loaded with the provisions
and tugguge, nnd the voyngers ngh‘tn set. forth with hopeful
hearts, and with strong reliance on the Providence that. had
sustuined and brought them thus fur. ,

When the sun showed his broad face over the canon, and
poured a flood of light down into its dark recesses, he found
them skirting along the base of the precipice, whither they
M gone in order to keep out of the strong current. .

As they turned :3 point of rock, and shot out that}.

Loud yells followed the shot;

 
 

  

 

 

 

  

 

Jaw Vs“ t, .i

 

 

[in bubited."

ram in run my W
91mm again, a view of such surprising grandeur and magni-
flcence burst upon them that the rowers dropped their mus,
and all gave utterance to simultaneous exclzunations of wot:-

, dcr and delight.

The western wall of the canon. at this place, had been

fashioned into strange and fantastic forms, the melts having

probably been worn by the action of the water when tlze
river burst its way through the immense mountain range.
Just. before the gaze of the voyagers, the cliti's assume-l the
shape of a city in the air, with huge battlemems, tall towers,
many-angled roofs, lolly spires and graceful crosses and min-
arets. Over all and into all was poured the full etl'ulgeuce
Of the morningr sun, shining,r through a thin \‘ail of mist,
flooding the whole with glory, and almost ull‘ordiug a realiza-
tion of the apestolie dream of the heavenly city, tor it glowed
like the sunset. pictures we sometimes see ot‘ cities in the
clouds:
' “ With dome and spire and pinnacle,
Their lofty summits gilded well
With gold from heaven‘s crucible."

“It is wonderful." said Professor Belzoni, when the boat-
men at last resumed their oars.
“Its beauty is beyond the power of words,” responded

r ‘Funny.

“I hope this scene is it good omen—that its brightness
foretells the success of our enterprise."

“ I. almost believe it does. ()ur voyage has been wonder-
fully prosperous thus far. Is it not straugetltat we have seen
no Indians ?—tltat we have been molested by no enemies?
If there are any in the eafiott, we ought to have met some
of them before this time. I lllll inclined to believe that you
,were mistaken, Professor, in saying that this gorge is inhab-
itetl.”

“Either it. is inhabited, nr wandering Mohavcs ascend it
and pass much of their time in it. Big John says that it is

“ He is right. Do you see that Indian standing near the
pointed rock on the shore yonder? With his long spear in

. Ht hand, with his fanciful head-dress, and with the sunshine
flitting up his form, he iooks as if he might be a messengel

 

‘ TEE lemma.

Who had just descended from that golden city on the
clitf."

“ He is a Mohave, without doubt, and he is making Sign!
of friendship. Pierre, turn the boat in toward the shore and
let us speak to him."

The boats were headed for the western shore, the Indian
remaining stationary while they approached him. W'hen
they were near enough he was hailed. and a conversation was
opened with him, Big Joint acting as interpreter.

He asked who the strangers were and where they were

going, and was told that they were Americans who were ex-
ploring the cafion for their own pleasure, and looking for a
white man who had been lost there the previous year.

“ There are no white men in the cation, and none are wanted
here,” replied the Indian. “You must turn back, and go
down the river to the place you came from.”

Professor Belzoni thought that this was rather a peremp-
tory Command to be issued by one Indian, and he directed
Big John to ask the Mohave the reason of it.

“ Because. this cation is our home. and we own it,” was the
reply. “ We allow no white men or other strangers to in-
trude upon it.
of your coming, and he sent me down here to meet you and
tell you this. He does not wish to harm you, but has told
me to give you this varning, so that you may return in
peace, for he will not let you go up the river any further.”

“ it seems to me," said Fanny March, “that if this chief was
confident of his power to stop us, he would have commenced
with blows instead of words, for that is generally the Indian
fitshion. Tell the Indian to say to his chief that we thank
him for his warning, but are not to be hindered by it; that
we are determined to go up the canon as far as we wish to,
and that we expect soon to pay him a visit.”

Big John translated the message of the young lady to the

Indian, who, alter a little more expostulation, turned and dim , 3

appeared among the rocks.

The boats were again headed out into the stream, and
pointed up the canon.

At noon the voyagers stopped at a little sandy beach under
I hollow in' the cliff, wherean attack was: impossibly“,

Mohaiwe, the chief of our tribe, has heard.

A

'

 

 

 

 

 

    

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“3'”

 

 

3 "7;.

A wmm TO 3mm. '1?
km the river. Here they hauled up their boats, and pre-
pared their noontide meal in entire security.

After dinner they continued their course up the stream,
without encountering any obstruction or molestation, until
about the middle of the afternoon, when they drew near some
difficult rapids, at the foot of which they would be obliged
to land and unload the heats for a. portage.

Fanny was congmtulaiing her friends on the fact that no
enemies were in sight to oppose them at. the portage, and
priding herself on her sagauity in diseovering that the Mo-
ltnves were too weal; to resist them, when the )anmlian shook
his head, and pointed to the shore, “here a} tall lndian had
just risen up from behind a. melt.

Another and another made his appearance, until the voy-

agers perceived that they were confronted by quite a formid-
able force, who seemed determined to attack them or prevent
them from landing.
1 Pierre Xarhois now assumed command of the party. and
directed the boats to he rowed in to the shore, at a point a
little distance below the place where the Indians were wait-
ing. He landed them near some rocks, which might serve
\tts a cover. in case the Indians should attack.

They reached the rocks before their opponents could get
pear, and the Canadian, Professor Belzoni and Bit:r John in-
ltitntly sprung ashore with their rides in their hands. llav

, ing placed Fanny March in a sail: position, they awaited the
onset.

The Indians came forward with evident apprehension, malt.
ing Signs of amity. Soon two of their number, one ot‘ w
was the emissary who had met our party in the morning——
Separated from the rest and approaehed the white men. Big
John hailed them, and asked them what they wanted.

The messenger answered by repeating the language which
he had previously used, warning the party against attenuating
to proceed further, and commanding them to return immedi-
ater to their boats and make the best of their way down the
river.

‘ Big John replied, as the Professor directed him to, that
they were determined to go on, and that nothing should hin-

der-them. He also assured the Mohaves, that unless. they

 

  

THE MOUNTAINEEIL

dispersed and left the passage clear, they would be fired upon
and Compelled to do so.

At this the Indians raised a shout, and commenced an
irregular fire of bullets and arrows; but. they soon scattered
and sought cover when their tire “'llS etl‘i-etively returned by
the white men and Big John, who showed no disposition to
abandon his allies.

Alter hnlt' an hour of this sort of warthre, the firing grad
unity Siiltiixk‘llt‘ti on the port of the Indians,:tnd their niusltetryi
Censed entirely, and it was evident that. they hud sull'ered
severely. The white men ceased their Work, and allowed
their weapons to cool. .

“ Cnnsitlel'ing thnt this is the first battle 1 was ever engaged
in. I have been remarkably cotnliirluhle,” said Fanny. “ If
all Indian fighting is as easy as this, the frontier men must. be
great hraggarts.”

“ These follows are not. used to war," replied the Professor,
“ or they have exhausted their ammunition, and do not like
to face our rifles when they have nothing but bows and 111'-
rows.”

“ Sacré enfant de Garcc I" exclaimed the Canadian. “ Dese
Molntves are all rasenille cowards. We can wheep ’em wiz-
out guns. Let us go out and tight ’em in ze open." A

“We will do that: in a very short time, unless theng
away.” r

Big John reported that his two countrymen had deserted
during the light, and joined the Molinres; hut they had for-
tunately been supplied with no weapons, and in a little while
any» came sneaking hack, declaring that their “cousins” were
a cowardly set of t‘ellows, with whom they would have notlt
ing to do. Big John gave them it severe lecture, after which
he left them in ehargeof the honts, assuring Belzoni that they
would not again attempt. to desert. r .

“There. must be some sort of a battle beyond us. further
up the cation," said Fanny, who had been listening attentive-
ly. “ I have distinctly heard tiring and shuttling in that. di-
rection for some time. Have you noticed it'?" .

“ I have,” answered Belzoni. “ Something of the kind is
going on there, no doubt. Perhaps the Indians have an on-
any in the' rear, audit is for that. reason they doubt stuck

 

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’39

A SALLY.

us more vigorously. Suppose we sally out now, Pierre, and
try to drive them away.”

As the Canadian and Big,r John were both ready for this
move. they rushed out from behind the rocks. with their ritles
in their hands and their pistols in their belts, yelling and
firint:r as they went.

The Indians, startled by this unexpected attack, broke out
from their Covers and ran up the canon, after firing a few
harmless arrows.

The white men pursued them until they were nearly out
of breath. when they stopped to look at'ter Fanny, who was
not far behind them.

“ I till) the only sutl‘erer, Belzoni," she s:1itl,as she came up.
“ An arrow has gone through my dress and wounded it se-
Vet‘ely. What has become of our enemies? Hark l What
can that he 1’" \

A terrific yell, wild, shrill. piercing and prolonged, echoed
through the Cttfinll. While Funny and her companion waited
in awe and amazement, wondering what would happen next,
a single rifle-shot was heard, followed by an exultant hurrah.

“As sure as the eagle ot' the republic lives," exclaimed
Belzoni, “ that shout came from an American throat. l Some-
.thing tells me that we have 11 hid the voice of Freddy March I
Fanny, trout this hour you are mine i"

CHAPTER XII.
FATE or THE GlIOST‘SEER.

“ HERE we will rest and pass the night," said Ben March,
throwing himselt‘ down on the tint rock. “ I must confess
that I ant tired, and those Mexicans are perfectly used up,”

The. spot which he and his party had reached was a broad
ledge 01‘ rock. reachim,r out, like a shelf, from the western side
at the cafiou, and fully two-thirds of the way from the top

‘ Their descent of the‘almost- precipitous clifl‘s was truly wow
~ M1. and had only been accomplished by infinite label'

I

  

    

THE MOUNTAINEEIL

so

attended by continual perils. A’portion of the means empioy- I

ed was visible in the shape of a long ladder of ropes, that
hung down the side of the elifl‘, from a. projecting point far
above their heads.

“ We ’wiil have to leave that article hanging there, for the
huzzntds to wonder at," Continued March, looking wistfully
up at the ladder. “ I don’t know how we are going to get
along without it, but it is impossible to bring it. down."

“I ain‘t so sure about that, Mr. March," replied Jim War-
mack, as he squinted up the cliti‘. “ I reckon I ken do the
job."

“ Do you know what you are saying? Perhaps you mean
to send a Mexican up there, to cut it and fall down with it.”

“ Not adzackly. It hangs by the upper cross-piece of rope,
jist as we lett it, and—I don‘t know, but I think I hev made
a. closer shot than that in my time."

“ Do you mean to try to shoot it down ‘3"

“ That’s my notion. Jest you stand up here, Mr. March, if
you please. and stand steady, so that I ken git a. good rest on
your shoulder. It's growin' kinder dark, but a bit of light
shines on that cross-piece, and I allow that I ought to fetch
it.”

The mountaineer aimed carefully, and fired, but the ladder
remained motionless.

“ You have not touched it I” exclaimed Ben March.

“ It wouldn’t do to bet too high on that, sir. Take a. pull
at the rope, and see how it feels. Stand from under !"

As Ben touched the ladder, it fell off from the point of
rock on which it had hung, and came rattling down upon the
ledge, so that the inountainecr’s warning was timely. for he
jumped back just in time to est-ape the descending mass. The
bullet had nearly cut in two the rope by which it had been
held. '

When the young gentleman had sufficiently commended the
line shooting of his friend, and fully examined its effects, he
pronounced himself hungry.

" We will have to put up with a cold supper and a dry
one,” said he ; “ for there is neither wood nor water to be had
inthis place. But we have succeeded in well in flintng
dorm into this terrible cafion, that we ought not w. ' ‘ I

 
  
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 
   

Fenn-

 

 

 

 

\ «Hours; tum  t 81-;

at a little hard fare. What is the matter with you, Juan
Haria ?"

“Por el amor de Dios, sailor, un pedazo do nglmrdientc.
—For the love of God, it bit of brandy ”——whined the un-

‘ fortunate Mexican, whose fiery nose showed that his terror of

ghosts and goblins had become a chronic disense, requiring fre.
queut npplicntions of brnndy to keep his courage up.

“ What can be the matter with you now ?” angrily demand-
ed Ben March. “ We have come more than hull-way down
into the cation. and have seen no ghosts or spirits, and we

‘ know that there are none to be seen. They are all in your

',a.bnut‘ it, or he will have the Vertigo again.
'Icience must trouble him fenrfully."

‘ them.

eye, Seiior Gozn.“

“ But I have seen them, your excellency, and I see them all
the time. They follow me wherever I go. The further down
we get into this horrible eniion, the more they crowd about
_me and frighten me. En el nombre de Dios, un peduzo do
aguardiente l"

“ If you would drink less nguardiente, and would say your
prayers more frequently, it would , be better for you. I nm
tired of your ghost-seeing, and of your continual drain upon
my brandy-flask." .

“ I often call upon the most holy mother of God, senor, but
slie gives me no relief. By night and by d:iy.I see spirits and
slnipes of the dead. They look into me “ith their cold eyes
until my heart freOZes, and I would die if I did not have a
little brandy to warm me. To-night I know that I shall see
They will come to me in crowds, and among them
will come the old man with his gray hair streaked with blood,
and the beautiful child, nntl—nnd——”

V “ Hnnd him the brandy-flask, J int,” snid March. “ Be quick
Thu man‘s con--

J nan Marin swallowed a lnrge dose of brandy and forgot to
'return the flask. He soon fell asleep, without waiting for his
supper. and snored loud enough to score it legion of goblins.

The next ntlernoon Ben March, usnnlly so enlm und impos-

'sive. was in an extreme state of excitement and exnlttnion,

I

for he had almost attained the hight—or the depth—of his
embittoné—he had nearly reached, the bottom of the great

 

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

“.4 Tmuomm »  ,

It. was true that he was still at no easy distance from the
mass of stones and rubbish, the débrt's of centuries, that had,
(Ollected at the base of the cliff; but he and Warmaek had
Concluded that if they should join all their ladders together,
tltey might be able to reach the bottom from where they stood.
If this plan should not prove feasible, tltere was another route
which might be ‘asier, the only dilficulty being that there was
a broad and deep chasm between them and the point from
which it, would be necessary to start. / ’1 -

They were, therefore, quite joyful and exhilarated. In fact, ‘ '
the lower their bodies descended, the higher their spirits rose,
and it was to be supposed that, by the time they reached the

bottom of the cation, their hearts would be in the clouds. 3;,
They were on a ledge similar to that on which they had I r

rested the night before, except that it was less extensive. Be— «
low them was the bed of the canon, a rugged mass of broken ‘
rocks, with here and there a. green spot, with the river in the
middle. dashing over rapids, and at one place thundering over
a. considerable fall with a continuous roar. Before them the
lofty clifl's ot' the opposite wall towered up into the clouds, as f
it Seemed, and. behind them the dark masses of rock which

they had descended arose unentlingly, looking as if they might

topple down at any moment and crush them.

Ben March and \Varmaelt commenced the preparations for .
their further descent with light hearts and cheerful anticipa— 1'
tions, for they were now sanguine of getting to the bottotn of ”
the canon, although they knew that they would not be able to
return by the way they had come. That, however, was a sub-
ject for future consitle'ation. Thei' attention was so occtb
pied by the obstacles innnediately in their path, that they but
no time to think of such as lay beyond. , r 1

They had brought a good stock of ropes and rope ladders
from the coast, Ben March having fitted out the expedition
regardless of expense ; .but they had only two ladders remain-
ing. the others having been lelt hanging at inaccessible points

from which they had descended. A

These two they directed Juan Maria to fasten together se-
curely. while they prepared the ropes for letting down their .
provisions and other baggage. . v . 4

5,315 ladders were then lowered over the ledge. the, .-

 

\

 

< mega...»-

 

 

 

 

 

3355'in my I. 'Gmn' '. 

end being secured to a rock, and Jim Warmaek went: down
to try them and see whether they were near enough to the
bottom to permita descent. \

He had hardly tonclaed the lower ladder, when it slipped
loose from the other, and fell down to the base of the clifi‘.
He returned to the ledge, and reported this untoward eircum
stance, abusing Juan Marin for his carelessness in tying the
ropes. I

The Iliexican,however, with tears in his eyes, protestedi _
that he had never tied better knots, and that they had un-,
‘doubtedly been lensed by the evil spirits that abounded in the
canon. '

“ I do believe the durned greaser is goin‘ crazy,” said the
mountaineer. “ He looks as wild as a wolf in winter time.
It won't do to trust him with any thing."

“There is no use in crying over spilled milk,” said Ben.
“ All we have to do now is to try the other route, and I be-
lieve it is the best one, after all. Let us go and examine it.”

lie then walked with his friend to the chasm, which was
on the south side of the ledge, and extended back to a per-‘
pendicular wall of rock. On the other side, a little distance
below, the wall of the cation sloped away toward the bottom,
so that they might be able to scramble down over the rocks t
end loose stones. This gulf, however, was more than fifty
feet wide, though it narrowed it little at the upper end.

5‘ ‘ After a careful examination, the mountaineer discovered ll
' pointed rock on the other side, which stood up like a horn,
the point inclined toward the south. If a rope could be
made fast to that horn, the chasm might easily be bridged.
Manuel was called, and required to show his dexterity in
the use of the lasso, on which, as a native of California, he
greatly prided himself. On thesecoud trial he threw his noose
over the horn, and drew it tight. ‘
'The three men then pulled on the rope with all their strength,
until they were satisfied that it and the reek were firm, when '
‘ , they secured the loose end on their side of the chasm, and

Bi!" March went over on the rope, carrying the remaining

ladder. Thus a passable bridge was formed, and Manuel was"
, let at work to carry over the ba gage. '-

/ 'Wy-wum bridge gunned. when they were 

 

 

    

- u; ' m 30mm "
byzthe sound of distant tiring and shouting, which seemed to,
come from some point lower down the cafion. Ben March
took his spy-glass, and with it swept the canon toward the
south, until he suddenly steadied it, with an exclamation of
wonder.

“ There are Indians .iown there,” said he, “ and they are
fighting among themselves, forI can see them running to cover
and tiring from behind the rocks with guns and bows. This
is a strange place that we have come into, but I would not
have supposed that it was inhabited. What can they be firing
at? . Ah ! I see! There is something like a hut, Jim, built
against a large rock near the river-side.
stones, .at least, with a high wall around it, and the answering
shots come from there. As I live, I believe I saw a white
man on the wall, but he is out of sight now. Take the glass,
Jim, and tell me what you can see.”

The mountaineer looked, and reported that he could see.
what his friend had seen, and nothing more, except that there
was no white man in sight, and that there were indications
of fighting further down the river.

~Juan Maria came up, trembling with excitement, and asked
to be allowed to look through the glass. It was, handed to
him, and the two Americans retired to consult concerning thia
new development. v

“ I‘ve a notion that I would like to take a hand in that.
scrimmage, somehow,” said Warmack. “ Don't you reckon,‘
Mr. March, that we had better hurry down thar and see what
is goin’ on 1’"

“ Just what I was about to propose."

The Mexican stood on the extremeverge of the ledge, with
the spy-glass at his eye. Suddenly he dropped it, and uttered-
a shriek, of terror.

“ I see them 1’? he shouted. “ They are crowding about
me now, and the air is full of them! I see the old, man with
his gray hairs, but where is the beautiful child?”

'4 With a wild and piercing scream, like the last cry of a
lost soul, he sprung up into the air and fell back upon the.
flat rock, his limbs quivering and his whole body shaking.

The, two Americans rushed forward to pick him. up, M,

There is a pile of r

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the precipice, and they shudder-ed as they heard him dashing
down to the bottom.

“That’s an end of his ghost-seein‘ now," muttered Wat-
muck.

“ He is gone, and we can do nothing for him. His evil
conscience, no doubt, aided by my hmndy, has driven him
to destruction. What‘s that? Did you hear that shout. ‘
Jim ?"

“ Yes, sir. If that warn‘t a white man‘s yell, may I never

- see old Missouri ng’in."

“ It sounded like a real Yankee hurrah, as sure as I live!
Perhaps some white men have struggled into the valley, and
the Indians have set upon them. Suppose Freddy should be :
one of them i” .

“ What an idea, Mr. March! Wal, thar’s a chance, [as I
said nfore. Let's hurry down thnr, and take a hand in the
scrimmage.”

'“ Lead on; I am ready.”

'The two Americans picked their way over the bridge of
ropes, and hustin scrambled down the side of the cation,
leaving Manual to take cure of their packs and to look utter

' the body of his countryman.

 

CHAPTER XIII
UNCLE AND NEPHEW.

BEN'MAncn and the mountaineer were in such a hurry to
get to the bottom of the canon, that they found themselves
considerably hruisui nnd worsted by their scramble. when.
they reueht-d the base of the elitl'. Paying no attention to
Wounds and bruises, however. they hustened on toward the
river, in the direction in which they supposed the fighting
to he.

The shouting seemed to increase, and the firing also in-

gréued. ether :1 while. It seemed to the two friends that‘th.

ooh‘bfii-ha‘d taken a ne‘w‘tum.‘ and thfll‘mmwm W7

 

  

9,9

THE z NOUKTW

in it, or those already engaged had become more animated in
'-.lie contest. '

Spurred on by curiosity and by eagerness to mingle in the
fray, they went at their hest pace, runningr over rocks, aeros'i
gullies. and down precipitous dc'seI-nts, until they were cout-
pelled to pause to take lil'ettth.

Finding themselves, as near as they could judge by the
sounds they heard, but a short distance from the scene of the
Conflict, they picked their way more carefully, keeping under
cover as much as possible, and making a circuit. for the pur-
pose of avoiding the savages, and of getting in the vicinity
of the stone wall, behind which they supposed the white men
to he, if there were really any in the cafion.

The shades of evening Were settling down into the great
ravine, but a pleasant twilight pre 'ailed, which usually lasted
there a long time.

As March and Warmack 'ame out from behind a large
rock near the river, the mountaineer seized the arm of his
friend, and pointed to some tigures that. were crouched behind
a. pile of stones.

The figures were those of three men and a woman, asit
seemed, and the then were leisurely firingr at the Indians when-
ever they showed themselves. A closer examination satisfied

Ben March that they were white men, and he advanced and.

spoke to them.

The next moment he found himself shaking hands with
Professor Bclzoni, and staring, in silent surprise, at his sister
Fanny; for his astonishment at her appearance was so great,
that it rendered him, for a few moments, entirely speechless.

“ I am heartily glad to meet you, Professor,” he said, as soon
as he was able to speak.
fui circumstance that l have yet trimmed in this region of
wonders, and I can hardly l":lll7.tl it."

“ It is, indeed, a must fortunate meeting.
not greet your sister Y” ‘

“Is this really you, Fanny? You are strangely trans.
formed, from a New York belle into a ranger of the wilder-
non. Where did you come from, and how did you‘ get
"1“! might better ask, how did you get here l—but We hit.

But why do you

    

V . - n 4
“ '1 hts meetingr is the most wonder-

 
   

 

x..-_..4. .Vfi

 

 

 

 

4

a l

.mu.‘

ifT’

 

 

I
o

 

- rmr’ngwouxo. a!
mo time for questions or answers. Ben,_1 believe: that brothel

Fred is behind that stone wall which the Indians are attack-

ing. He must have friends with him, and we have come

just in titne to help them."
“ Freddy here, and alive! I know you would not say so;
Fanny, unless you had reason to believe it. Let us make a
.dush, Professor, and drive away the red-skins. 1 know we
‘_can scatter them, for I have the strength of ten men in me at

this moment." ,

v Pierre Xarbois—who had found an old friend in Jim War

‘mnck, and had directed him to watch the left, where the Mo-
huves appeared to be endeavoring to flank the party of whites
~—seconded the suggestion, and Big John was also in favor
of it. It was agreed that .hey should sally out on the left,
and attack the thinking party, driving them in upon the main
body, among whom a panic might tints be produced. '

“What will we do with Fanny '3” inquired Ben.
“ Don‘t trouble yourself about me,“ replied the young lady.

'“ I am a warrior too, and have already been wounded in one
engagement."

' “ Wounded, Fanny 'r"
_ “ Yes, sir—severely wounded in the skirt. of my dress; but
I hope to survive it. Lead on ; I will be safe enough behind

your big body.”

Ben March and the mountaineer took the lead. They fell
like a. thunderbolt on the party of Indians who were st *aling

Intouml under cover of the rocks for the purpose of striking
them on the flank. These they quickly routed, and sent
them flying back to their friends, in the greatest terror and
Confusion. Aided by the panic which was thus occasioned,
the white men advanced against the main hody of the Mo-
itaves, and attacked them rigorously. The Indians, who had
nothing but hows and arrows left to light with, and who
were tiallilllsilt‘ki and terrified at finding foes in their front and
on their flank, soon gave way before their formidable assail-
ants, and were driven front every position they oceupied,until
none were left in the vicinity.

.2 The victors then turned their attention to, Iltefitone home,
and hastened to make the acquaintance of those whomth

  ‘- ~ ' \ '

  

     

  

 
 

rm: uomamnm

Ben March was the first. over the wall, and he hud’the
satisfaction of clasping in his arms his brother Fred, whom
be greeted as one risen from the dead, and upon whom he

"lavished the most endearing caresses. He soon noticed, how-
ever, that his brother did not return his caresses, but. received
his greetings coldly. though joyfully.

, .
“ We are right glad to see you, strangers,” said Fred. “ We
were in what. might be called a tight place. here, and had

nearly made up our minds to die; but you came just in time
to save us. Where on earth did you drop from ?”

“ Strangers!" exclaimed Ben. in a tone of sorrowful sur-
prise. “ What. do you mean, Freddy March? Don‘t. you
know your brother Ben ?"

“ Do you call your own sister a stranger ?" asked Fanny.

“Have you forgotten Professor Belzoni ‘t" inquired the man

' of 1 science.

“I hope you remember me, boy,” said rough Jim War. ,

mack.

“If you are really my relatives and friends." replied Fred,_

“ I am glad of it, for I have been very anxious to know who
I am and where I came from; but you will pardon me, I

hope, when I say that I have no recollection of ever having ,

seen one of you before this hour.”

“ Freddy—my own brother Freddy l—yon will break my
heart,” exclaimed Ben. “Is it possible that you have forgot-
ten us all so soon ?”

“ Senor Orteza will tell you that my brain must. have been
injured by the hurts that I had received when he found me
at the foot of the clitf yonder; forI have no remembrance
of any portion of my life previous to that time."

“It is true. sefiort-s," said the old Mexican. “ The loss of
his memory has atlllmed him greatlyI and I am afraid that:
he will never recover it. When I found him,I asked him
many questions, but he Could only answer one \\’o1'd—Ft'et't.'!y1”

,“ It is \'(‘l" sorrowful " said Ftnn - “but. we are lad »'
5 i y ) g

enough to find him alive, and I hope that he will learn to
love as, although he has forgotten us.
“ Who is this ‘3” she. continued, glancing at Ysabel.

‘1 This is my Ysabel," replied Fred, drawing the blush?“ m,

can close to him.

   

 

 

 

gun—v-‘v

 

  

‘ said Fred.

 

 

 

 
  

WM???“ V - a .

I!“ Item is your Ysobel, she is my Ysabel, too, and I shall

’ love her very dearly."

As the Indians did} not make another attack, but appeared
to have abandoned the vicinity, there was time for explana-
tions, which were made briefly and satisfactorily. Sei’ior
Ortcza related all that had happened to Fred, as far as he

i . knew, and Ben and the Professor recounted the journeyiugs

of their respective parties, detailing how they had made their
way into the cation.

"I heard a terrible yell at little while before you came,”
“ It seemedto proceed from the west side of the
cation, and it was Very startling. Do you know anything
about. it ‘2”

“ I heard it, too,” said Fanny. “ It sounded like the shriek
of some person in extreme agony. Does anybody know what
it was ?”

“ That yell came from one of my Mexicans." replied Ben.
“ He had been seeing too many ghosts and drinking too much
brandyI and the consequence was that he fell over the cliff in
a. fit, at our last stopping-place. By the way, Warmack, we
ought to send out a party to pick him up and to look after
Manuel. I have no doubt that the fellow was a great rascal,
but we must give him a Christian burial."

All the men, with the exception of Sefior Ortcza and Fred,
fat-med'me party that went out. for this purpose, and all went
armed, in‘ order to guard against the attacks of any Indians
that might be lurking in the vicinity.

‘ To the great surprise of Ben March, Juan Maria was found
toobe still breathing, although life was nearly extinct. Mun
set had discovered him in the thick branches of a cedar tree,
where he had lodged, and had detached him and lowered him
to the ground with considerable dimculty. As he was able
to ‘do nothing more, he sat by the side of his insensible coun-
trynian, saying all the prayers he could think of, and calling

. upon all the saints whose names he could remember.

A litter was soon formed, upon which the body of Juan
was'lald and covered with branches. and the party returned
with it to the stone house, also carrying with them the packs
which Msnuelhad succeeded in bringing down to the base a!

e  M , . . ‘

  

 

 
   

m MOUNTABTEEB.

The latter was carried into the yard, and laid on the ground. '
Professor Belzmti then took the same party, with the excep?
tion of Ben March. and went down to the foot of the rapidl.
below the tabs. to bring up the baggage that belonged to his
expedition, and to take care ot‘ the boats.

Wl.‘ en the branches were removed from the body of .1021!)
Maria, SeiiorOt-teza approached it, and examined it with an
appearance of intense interest.

“ Surely those features are familiar to me,” he said.
it he the same man?
after so many years?
Where did he come from 1’"

‘ “I picked him up in Monterey,” replied Ben, “ and his
name is Juan Maria Goza." \

“Ave Maria purisshnal It is my guilty but unfortunate
nephew—the same who thought he had doomed my child
and myself to a terrible death. by throwing us from the top
of yonder awful precipice. But, he is not entirely dead,
gentlemen. Ills pulse throhs a little. Let us try to recover
him. It may be for the good of his soul to speak one word
before he dies.”

Acting on this humane suggestion, the old man endeavored,
by the use of water and stimulants, to call back the nearly
parted spirit of the poor wretch, and soon had the satisfac~
tion of hearing him gasp for breath, and of seeing him open
his eyes.

The first object upon which the gaze of Juan Marin. rested»,
Was the venerable countenance of Sefior Ortcza, With his
snow-white hair and heard. He shudder-ed with terror, and
immediately closed his eyes to shut out the sight. 'I

“Be not afraid, Juan Maria," said the compassionate old\ 4’:
man. “ It is really I. your uncle Francisco."

“ It can not be. Where am I? Is this hell? Have you
been sent. here to torture me? I murdered my kind old uncle.
I threw him down into that terrible canon—him and the
sweet little Ysabel—and ever since that hour the devil has

“ Can
Is it. possible that we have thus met,

Who is this man, Seiior March? i'

..
flamm_._...

.OG'.‘

 

 

been driving me toward it, and now I am lost in it forever.” ‘
“You did not. kill me, my nephew. I was saved by a
miracle, and I atn here, alive and well." i 

, 1‘ On this be true? Was the child saved ? Where ll Ibo!"

 

 

 

 

mom *' ~ 91:

" Come hither, Ysabel, and look at your cousin.”
Ysabel tremblineg approached, and shuddered with fear
as site beheld the mangled form and distorted features of the

,miserahle wretch; but he was moved in a ditl'erent manner,

and almost smiled as he saw this beautiful vision.

“It is one of the angels ot‘ heaven l" he exclaimed. “It:
is the face that I have seen in my waking hours, as well as
when I slept. You are alive, uncle Francisco, and you are
hlest; but I am lost eternally, for the sin of murder rests
upon me.”

“ Say not 50. Juan Maria. There is always mercy for the-
rcpentant. Call upon the hlessed Virgin to pray for you.”

“ I am a wretch, beyond the reach of prayers. I tried to
kill you, uncle—you and Ysabel—nhat all your possessions
might be mine; but, the deed was a cursed one, and the curse
has followed me. Nothing has prospered with me, but my
life has been full of horror and wretchcduess. I could not
get’ your lands, for they would not give them to me until I
should prove your death and the manner of it, and thst 1 did
not. dare to do. The money and goods wore wasted long
ago, but. the lands remain for you and Ysahel."

At. last he became more calm. clasped his hands upon his
breast. fastened his gaze upon the crucifix held ‘nlott by the
old man, and thus his sinful spirit passed away.

CHAPTER XIV.
A mum AND A mm.

TEE first subiect that received the consideration of Ben
“arch and his friends, when they arose in the morning, was
that of making their way out of the canon

“ Down the river is the way to git out, Mr. March." sug-
gested Warmack. “ Pierre Xarhois has told me all about it.”

“ I suppose so. Sister Fanny has showed us the best way.

IIWmmust go out as she came iu—if we are to get. out at all;

Monty dime-int)? is, as far as I can now mine" ha/Etw‘o"

 

a, m MWAINEER.

boots will nct carry us all, for I presume that Senor Orton
and‘his daughter wish to accompany us. By the way, Freddy,
I see that you have commenced to build a boat, by which I
infer that you, too, had resolved to try the river. How did
you expect to get over the falls? You could not have gone
over them without losing your lives, and you could not
have carried the boat below them, without falling into the
hands of the Indians."

" That is one of the matters which I left in the hands of
Providence."

“ I suppose Providence has solved the difficulty in the only
way it admitted of being solved, and your boat will be just
the thing we need at present." \

Ben and Fred March, accordingly, proceeded to complete.
the craft, assisted by Wnrtnack.

Seflor Orteza proved that he had forgiven the misdeeds of
his nephew, by saying at his grave the Catholic burial-service,
and by the raising of a mound of stones at the head of the
grave, in which was inserted a rude wooden cross.

Ben and Fred worked busin at their boat during the day,
while Warmaek and the Canadian scouted about the cation.

The New York belle and the Mexican beauty Soon became
the best of friends, and Ysabel opened her heart to Fanny,
telling her the long and sweet story of her love for Fred, and
the doleful tale of her horror of Mito. I-lor American friend
sympathized with and comforted her, until Ysabel was filled V
with such hopeful joy and joyful hope as she had never yet
known.

Thus the day passed pleasantly and peacefully at the little
stone house. In the evening the hunters came in, bringing
an abundance of game, and reported that all was quiet about
the Mohave villages, and that no Indians were stirring in the
Ineighborhood.

The next morning the men gayly carried the boats down
below the falls, to the foot of the rapids, where they were
launched and loaded with the baggage of the several parties
and provisions for the voyage. '

They then set forth in high spirits. In the first boat were
Big John, his two Mohaves and Manuel. with the greater
portion ‘of the baggage; to the second came Pierre ‘W ,

 

rams-rm.on '3!

land Jim Wamiack, with Professor Belzoni and Fanny;_the
third contained Sefior Orteza, Ysabel, Fred and Ben. In the
- same boat was 0. large (leerskin bag, filled with nuggets and
dust of gold, which had created quite an excitement when

' _ the. old tnan uncovered his hoard and told where and how it

had been obtained.

7 It was not until the middle of the afternoon, when they
were approaching a series of rapids, at the head of which it
would be necessary to land, that the Canadian. whose boat;
was then in the lead, pointed at some armed Indians who
stood on the shore at. the head of the portage, and the boats
were brought together for the purpose of consultation.

The Canadian said that he could take his boat down the
rapids, and Big Joint could do the same with another; but.
he doubted whether Ben or Warmaclt, neither of whom was

t_ accustomed to such navigation, would be as successful.

“ I can do it,” stoutly exclaimed Ben. “ While Freddy is
in the boat, there is no danger that I will fail. Lead on, and
you will see that I can go wherever you can.”

The boats were quickly pulled across the stream, where,
under the lofty and frowning cliff, they new headed down
the rapids, and the descent began.

The only damage that. the voyagers sustained in running
the chute was a slight wetting. The Indians witnessed their
escape with furious yells and shouts of anger, but seemedde-
termined not to be foiled so easily. for they could be seen
running down the cation, with the intention of gaining an-
other point of vantage.

The boats again moved along easily and swiftly, and the
beattueu were in good spirits, (hr they had a considerablt
distance to go before reaching the next portage.

Ben March would have been happy it' his brother had
been such as he was before his descent into the canon; but
Fred had changed greatly. llis l'all evidently had so impaired
his memory as to obliterate all former affections and ties of
kindred. ’l‘o Ben, who loved hitu so intensely, who had
mourned him so bitterly, and had sought for hitn so eagerly
:this‘chauge was very afflicting, and it preyedxupon his spirit:
= it he becamehuried in a sadness that was unusual with

, m. -;- , t - . '

 

 t m uomtrmm

At nightfall. as the little flotilla approached the second
landing, a number of Italians rose up from among the rocks;
and commenced firing with bows and arrows.

The canoes were headed tip-stream. after one of Big John'l
men had been severely wounded, and were landed above
where the Italians were stationed. From this point. the men
of the party advanced upon the Mohaws, who had received
reintbrcements and fresh supplies of ammunition, and soon
drove them back, until they took up a position in a narrow
pass, from which it was impossible to dislodge them before
night put a. stop to the fighting.

In the morning they found their antagonists waiting for

them in the pass, from which it was determined that they
must. be dislodged at. all hazards, as the necessary portage
could not be made without carrying the canoes through the
pass.
7 Fred March thought that he hall discovered a way by
which the pass could be turned, and its defenders attacked in
the rear, and he was permitted to try the experiment. A0-
companied by Pierre Xarbois and Big John, he scaled the
cliffs, while the remainder of the white party attacked the
pass in front.

The Indians defended the pass very well against those on
the shore, who were unable to drive them from their strong-
hold; bnt when they found themselves attacked from an an-
expected quarter, and when stones began to rain down on
their heads and bullets to strike them in the rear, they were
naturally seized with a panic, of which their assailants took
advantage, and pressed them so vigorously that they soon
Commencml to fly.

Ben March, with his victoriousparty, had reached the mid- ‘
(lleof.the pass, when he heard a savage yell of triumph
above his head. Looking up, he saw his brother Fred strug-
gling in the powerful grasp of Milo, who was getting the
better of him. and was gradually pressing him toward the
edge of the clitf.

With a cry like that of a tigress that has been robbed of
her young, Ben rushed up the steep ascent, springing from
rock to rock with wonderful speed and agility; but he wan
too late. He reached the spot Just as Fred was filmed

 

mo‘s Lite-r TRIUMPH. a

backward over the clifi‘, and fell on the rocks below, and
the Indian raised himself to his full hight, with a yell of
exullation.

It was his inst triumph, for, the next instant. he was seized

by Fred‘s.lmllll'rantie brother, who lifted him bodily from the
rock, and dashed him violently over the precipice.
I With trembling steps lien descended into the pass, where
helfiound the mangled and i:isen“ible body of his brother,
with Ysahel aitearly kneeling by his side, and mingling her
tears with the blood of her lover.

Maddental by the Sigltt‘ he clubbed his rifle and rushed
into the midst oi ilte Indians. felling them on ('ver; side;
Disheartenetl hy the death of Mito. the terror-stricken savages
fled from this fivullguig demon, and in a l‘ew minutes the pass
Was cleared, and not one of them was left in sight.

Having thus dupllrsbd of their enemies, the. white men car-
ried their boats to tne {not of the rapids, and reloaded them.
The body of Fred, in which Senor Orteza and Professor Bel-
!onl declared that lite was not yet. extinct, was carefully laid
In his own boat, teat-duty guarded by Ben and Ysabel, and
thus the party sadly set sail again.

CHAPTER XV.
coxewsxox.

' ALL day poor Fred lay unconscious in the bottom of the
boat, To his first stupor a deep slumber sttpervem-d, which
Sefior Orleza interpreted as a good Sign. One of Big John's
Mohaves had been tmnsterred to that heat as an oarsman. so
that Ben was able to give agreat deal of his attention to his
brt'nher. llis wounds had been earelhlly dressed by the old
Mexican, who pronounced them to be dangerous hut not
' necessarily mortal, and he was tenderly nursed by the embodi-
ments of manly strength and womanly beauty, in the persons
ochn and Ymbe}, It 'as retnarkable,-Senor Ortezu said,
In: he had a severe wound in his head, similar tot-thnt-whim

 

n m nonhuman

he had received when. he was found in the 025011, and in the
same locality. ,

During the day Professor Belzoni frequently brought his
boat alongside, that Fanny might inquire concerning the con-
dition of the sufferer, and she always received the same at]-
swer—that he was breathing, but still unconscious.

As one of the Mohaves had been badly wounded, and the
other was assisting Ben March, Jim Warumck had taken his
place in Big John‘s boat, which carried the heaviest load.
Thus there were seven able-lmdied men left, but. they could
not help feeling uneasy on aecomnot‘the Indians; for, it" they
should then be attacked, with two wounded men on their

hands, and two women to look after, they felt that they would.

not. be able to offer an effective resistance.

The Indians, however, were satisfied with the severe casti-
gation that they had received, or were too much disorganized,
after the loss of their chief, to make any further hostile efforts.
The voyagers were not molested by them, but pursued their
way quietly and without difficulty, until an hour or so before
night, when they landed at the head of another series of
rapids, where they would be obliged to make a portage.

The boats were unloaded and hauled up, with the excep-
tion of that in which Fred March was lying, and a fortifica-
tion of stones and packs was made, as had been done the
night before. Then supper was prepared and eaten, and some
of the party sought their rest. ,

Ben and Ysabel were not among those who slept. All
through the night they watched by the side of the unconscious
man. Not until near daybreak did Ben fall into a doze, with
the head of Ysabel pillowed on his arm—for he cherished
the beautiful Mexican girl, for the sake of the brother wuom
he loved so dearly.

He was mvakcned from his titful slumber by the light touch
of Senor Ortcza, who reported a change in the condition of
the patient. Ben was instantly kneeling by the snil‘erer’s side.
Fred, with open eyes, gazed around with a wondering start),
and then followed a glad smile of recognition, which drew
from Ben tears of joy.

“ Is this really you, brother Ben '2" asked the youth. in_ a
hint and feeble voice. “ When I was falling I thought that

 

 

 

 

 

~9mm‘s uncanny. N

' ~ ybu‘ would be- at the bottom ulmust us soon as I would.
' though it seemed impossible. How did you manage to get
down here? You are the dearest, best and bravest fellow in
the world. It was not your fault that the rope broke, Ben—
it was nobody's fault but mine. I was getting on very well
ailer- thnt full, until I shot a mountain-sheep. Where is that
8Leep? It must be somewhere about here. Why don‘t you
' speak to me, Ben? Am I very bndly hurt? Do you think
I will (lie? Why, it is morningl Have I been lying here

all night ‘:’”

“ It is a long time, my dear boy, since you fell down into
the canon," replied Ben, as soon as his emotion would permit
‘him to speak. “ We have been looking for you ever since,
'and it. was only lately that we found you. You have had
another full, and you are badly wounded, but we hope you will
recover.”

" I don’t understand you. Who is this?" continued the
youth, as his gaze rested wonderingly on Ysuhe].

“, It. is Ysubel, Freddy—your owu Ysabel,” replied the

.Weeping girl.

“Ysubell Who is stbcl? Ah! I think I remember.
You must pardon me, fair lady, and you, too, brother Ben, for
I can't get things straightened out in my head. I hope it will
all come right after a while."

“God grant that it may i” broke from the lips of his bro-
the ' and stbel.

Funny nnd Professor Belzoni were brought to the boat to

see Fred and to express their greetings and congratulations;
after which he new mode to take some nourishment. and

~ ' was left in quiet, according to the advice of Senor Ortezn,
who recommended that he should not be excited in any
way.

:The boats and the packs were then carried down to the foot
of the rapids, where the party ngniu embarked, with more
cheerful nnd hopeful feelings. The wounded Mohave was
able to walk, and Fred was carried in his boat. which was a
wery‘ensy though cumbrous sort of a litter.

' During the day the young man appeared to improve rapid;
1y, =but at night fever set in, and his condition became more
Wool; but nature was so assisted by the watchful kill a

 

fl r ' m ummmn

Senor Orteza, and by the excellent care and nursingthat he
reeeivetl. that, by the time they reached the edge of the canon,
he was nearly recovered, except from his wounds. .

To the great joy of his friends, he recovered in the full pos-
session of all his faculties ot‘ mind, his remembrance of what
had happened previous to his descent into the cation. and of
at the circumstances attending his descent, being remarkably
clear and distinct. ,

lie also awoke to a lively remembrance of Ysabel, who,
when she perceived that he knew her well, and that his love
for her was as strong as ever, “rejoiced with exceeding great.
joy,” and was the brightest and happiest spirit in the party.

The remainder of the journey down the river was accom-
plished without any serious accident. At the mouth of the
cafion they found, in tine condition, the horses belonging to
Fanny‘s expedition, in charge of the men who had been left
to pasture them. There they went into a camp, to get. a sup-
ply of meat, and to await the return of Jim Wat-mack and
Manuel, who were sent north to bring down the animals and
baggage that Ben March had left in the care of Bernardo.
When they arrived, every thing was in readiness for the jour-
ney to the coast, and they set forth in good spirits. .

A horse-litter was prepared for Fred. This was made by
taking two poles about twenty ten. in iength, uniting them by
two sticks three feet long and lashed across them at the disc
tanee of six feet apart, and stretching it hide between them to
form the bed. Thtts two shafts Were left at. each end of the
litter, between which two steady horses were placed and, bar-
nesscd to them. The bed was covered with blankets, on
which Fred rode eomlbrtably and safely, the horses being
managed by the Canadian ntnl‘Mantit-l.

Thus, in due course of time, they reached Los Angeles,
where they Were obliged to wait a long time, keeping a lites-
senger at the port of fian Diego, to report the arrival of a ves-
sel bound for the lower coast.

Senor Orteza found there many old-time friends, who did
their best to entertain him and his companions. The days,
therefore, passed pleasantly in the “City of the Angels.”

Ysabel was greatly sought utter by the young Californian;
who were averse to her being carried away from. them by)

 

,. non mm. - ,0

North American ; but she saw no channs in any of them that
could attract her from Fred, whose side she never quitted no.
less she was obliged to.

The sefinr did not fail to look alter the remnant of his
property, which he found to be a pretty large one. his landed
estates having been saved by the law from the eluiehes of his
nephew. Leaving his atlairs in charge of n trusty tnan, l.)
changed his gold into a letter of credit. :tnd declared his in-
tention of aceompauying his new friends to New York.

Ft'ol'essor Belzoni elaitned of Fanny the perl'ortmtnee ofher
promise. and they were married, according to the Catholic
ceremony, before they left Los Augeles.

Fred Marc-h. although his Wounds were not yet entirely
healed, insisted upon being united to Ysabel at the same time,
and tltey two were also nntde one.

The long-expected vessel at last arrived, and proved to be

' 1‘ good and comfortable ship, bound arotnnl the cape for Bos-
ton. The newly-nmrried couples and their friends gladly em-
barked, and in due course of time arrived safely in New
York.

When Jim Warmack and Pierre Xarbois were paid off,
Hwy took leave of their employers and friends, with many
protestations of regard and good-will, and went direct to Mott-
terey, where they soon spent their gold and silver in a wild
debaneh, and invested it in Innate-banks and horse-races.

. When it \'.'as all gone. they returned to the mountains, to re-
stttne their life of hardship and adventure.

Mrs. March was both pleased and sttt'pt'l-ed when Ben and
Funny Nam-Hm], [winging nitlt them their recovered brothel". ‘

VShe took a great t'aney to Fred s heantit'nl little Mexican nit’e,
\rhoereated quite a sensation in her eireleot’ lashionaldt-s; httt
she found it hard to lorgive Fanny t‘or marrying Professor
Beltoni.

She listened to the story of the adventures of her step-
children in the great canon, with a sort of frowning interest,
as it' ehe considered it all very wild and improper, and as if
the listened under protest. She pronounced it “True, of
course, but very improbable, and the less said about it. the
batten"

‘ Ben March, sa‘isfled with life in the Wilderness, settled‘dov-

 

100 r m monument

its a merchant in New York, and became, what. he could an
help being, a u'seful and respected citizen.

“ Why is it, Paul, that you never any anything about the
great cation, in your lectures ?" asked Funny, one evening,
when she was sitting with her husband in his study. “ I should
think you would write a book about it; it would be so wen-
(lerful :llltl interesting.”

“Entirely too wonderful, my dear child," replied the Pro-
fessor. “ People would not. believe me, although they might
pretend to. I have already got myself into disrepute by some
Very mild statements that I have made about it to a few,
um hereafter I mean to keep silent on the subject of the greet
cation."

 

"z (.55 AN

STAN

 DIME

DIALOGUE

DARD..4l

For School Exhibitions and Home Entertainments.

Nos. 1 la 91 lulnlire. 15 £055 T'npuinr Dining“.

5 and Drama- in much hank. Each voluml 10.

12mg pagan, wu'. pan-pu.d, on hi-rllfi nil-rim, nu can“.

' Beadle £2 Adams, Publishers, 98 W” 3

xi referenro ('7 (hair nvniinhility far flxhlbléian,
lhuultlmtux-111mm(I n W
llel Innis :nul l'urnain.
contain so many useful and .wniiubiv diuloguu and drum;

The“ volume: ha" been y-reprlrel with 2:
him: min “ed \0 srhwis mud .uriun wnh o
YOUNG 1120? E of every Ice.
: nilmr hunk: in 11m umrhex, 21% um’ Vrinu,

at \m, yutlwu, humur “uni Aunlixncui-

' v
DIME BIALO
1mm; of the Mum. Fnr nipe ynum: 1w:-

Iinlling I Liv. Englishman. tor I red by :.
Taun’n Corvumliun. For unld and Icmniu.

tibia}. ‘or‘ IV; ladlmS
u henna . «r nix nvl.

Which will you Chum»! Fur "mm

The Quunn uf Mny. For two imle girls.

, The Tun-Party. Fnr iuur Indiu-
Thne Seen" in \thie-l Lira.
Mu. Suifllen’ Cnnivuiou. Fur male and fulqniu.
Tho Minion of an Spiriu. Five young lmllet

Mnionnd farm“...

l

I."
Hug,

H. Y.

.1 ,muuu-mlluSCllo
IL ii 1::lr m nunmo that IIO

GU23. K0. 1.

iiulmobhing. Fnrfivo 9 Mile

'ilha Sacral o! Succuu. 'ur l-hma Iranian.

Vuun Amerim. hree mnla: un-l Imp InlllllOI. ‘

Jnnp inu‘n Daniny. Four lemnies, unemnln.

The Fully ol‘tho Duel. For time nuiupcuhfl.

Dngmmliln. For lhru mniuzpvnkerl.

The lgnonmt Conlhundid. For two lunyl.

Tho Fast Young M n. Fufbvo "uh-n.

Tho Yunr‘n Rackoning. 1‘) inhale; and I male.

Tlu Villnzo with OM chuomuu. Fox OMAN.-
mniu and one male. ' l

DIME DIALOGUES N0. 2. .

‘ Th. Genius of Lihenv. 9 mile: and 1 finale.
Cinduolla or, Tho Little Gim- Slipper.
Doing (300 Ind Saying Bud. Sm'emi rllnmehn.
Tho GDlllIn Rule. Two mile! and two ion-mien.
The Gifl- o! the Fairy Queen. Sunni (cumin.
V Ahen h and D m: Fur. For two hull-torn.
Tin Co :nhy Aum’n Vin to the Ci y. For uv-
cnl char-cu".
'l'lu Tun Rmumu. For two mules.
Trying the Churnrmrs. Fu ~ ‘lmva mule».
Ha [W Family. Fnr mwerul ‘nni ..n
how. For ururni cinnruclcn.

kl

Tho
Tho

Haw to Vrin ‘ I‘o ninr’StoI-iu. Tvu add.
The Naw mu! the: (lid. Fur \wu mam.

A Sen-mien M Lat. For two nulsl.

Tho (:runhnrn. Fnr 1wo main.

The Throa Men 0! Scleura. For {our mail-
Tho Ohl Lndy’l “'1”. Fur four main.

Tl" Limo I'hll 3n llli'l. For two llllll filth.
"NV! In Find an i- elr. For flu n lulu. '
l‘he Vinuu. Fz-r Iix young hdlu.

A Cmmul-iul Eclucue. ,
The Public hunting. Fivamnlal and nobody
The Engmh Tuvalu. [at two min.

DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 3.

I M" Qnaan. TM an entire uhool.

m Re! rrm ( onnmiun. Fur Mn luv-nan.
Karin“ B-Ianmmny. A Farr a F1 rlive malol.
Cantu": Under Difllcilltiu. hunk-n, I {final-u
Nnclompl Rayon-«mm». A Rummy". 4 main.
nil-plug tho Dnfl- )‘vr nuummn mnlrl.

Tho fmt King. Tn! ten or man ymom.
Mnrlinuiu Lifu. 'l hm: muleuuul twu iumnlu.
filth, Hm we and Chnrily. For um»: little girls.
Duh In Jmm. Fur lwo mnlns nu I anvil-mule.
ll. . n . A Finmi ancv. Fwsix liu u girln,
Tho En: muted Prim-cu. 2 Manama-Hui h-nmiw
lit-norm Whom Hon-'7 in Duo. 7 nmlua. I ic-uuiu
Thu Gentle Client. Fu vent! m4|lu,nna i’mvmi.
manhole”. A Discussion. For twaniy Inuiul

DIME DIALO
Gum". FM «hon! M‘ arior.
'Iltlunnlv. A “Tllm l‘unnn.’ " n w.
nhlvd the Curlnln. For "mics mvi (cumin.

'l'hc Guinea] Conh. For iwo 1min.
hiuvarpim-s. For two mule- and two fomnl‘
Th. Twn Romnul. For two mum. ‘
The Svurul. Sl-m-mllclnc. Fur um mull-I.
Qhowlnz the Wh‘m l-‘nuthn. 41ml». 1 fm!
le Bull-l. Clll.

\

u:
A Rama". Put on. Ila-l0.

DIME DIALOGUES, N0. 4.

9 1min, 1 (undo.
b nu iruln " i‘uul l ry.” For ivuf mnlua.
Va... Ci-nrmI. Fur lhru mnlu am! one Inli‘nll.
ih‘ , Cl: cl: nnd Brmnu. Fm Ilm e little girls
l‘lm] irht “'ny. A Cullnqny. For Iwo Lays.
\l'hnt Iha L-‘fim-r Sup. Fur two mulu.
The Crimn t flies». A colloquy. Fur hvn hay“
'v‘m Rn-wnnl or llalIL-vnlmlre. Mr M: lulu. ‘
The Lullcl’. For M» main.

— v
ems, 1.0. s.
Pan: on All“. A Culinqvw. Fnr Owo main.
The Straing M ix. Fnr fivwrnl In-yi.
Two hing of Li A Colinquy. Fu- m. girli- l

The F tubh‘otown \‘nlmflvf.

 

l'Im Ft: Pl Society. Five in 'n mud u («when
Jiltlflllln‘lo" Bar. For uv {am-lie chum-awn.
ndi in “ Tm .1 ” Fur uvnml Inning.
yo Tribunal. FM ten boy].
Swami mn'rn m-d i-vvm‘iu.
Iv, N0! to Got a: Anny". For two i'uu'uulel.

 

ll Tin} Rb}! Abml. Main nml m1...
wacfnauanm ' . '51" lflu min.
. aw. no .
mum'- filrhu ‘39 n forum and NM union
in lot comm; Gllnarw Mill and kinda.

Gnm J . F It! mud».
'.i¢Wudmtu-ub

Fxlrm-l Mun Murlnn Fnliem.
him-tr Manny. All Ac '1. u (’hnrnfln.

Thu Six “mun. Far - ix man lmlin.

T‘m Yrilhmnn Iv. Hnmn. Fur twnmnlu. ‘
Fuhinunhln Requinnwnu. For Hm. rivk. I
A Buy a! PI (Ryan). For night“ ion link girl. '

DIME DIALOGUE, N0. 6.

Th. 'I'wo Founnlnrl. F‘r than male--
The Yul-rial of Fully. For n munhur ollmll‘
um flour! Bani. Flint lam-In and two mallet.
Thu Lihol Suit. Fo'r two formula and on
an“ Chm I“ For némmm gray-n.

I man u. A! In}: «in u.

flu 111m Wyn. For "and... w

 

x .

Dlme School Series—Dialogues;

DIME DIALOGUES No. 26.

Poor anoint. Thu. ludlu and two gentlemcn.

Ilmmbunuuld Illulu-llllll. Six lulla- nuul chrul
‘ «mum.

A um lleIlllnol. full. Slx ha I.

Tun \vu).u| “rink ll.‘ Two mus zlrll.

D -n'l lM-Inl nmr uln um huh-m they “re
llnlcllc- Mmr 1 mild .m.l n

All h nuri luvs :Ul-l wur. :l lull . ‘lxl-mlrmvn.

nuw lull-Irma”... rul r m llama
hth nvuml Lruugl'JulJLlul-a.

The lesion of mercy. Two very nmall [Ill-I.

Pumllcu what yan punch. Four lmllus.

anlclun. Nunmroun clmnmnn.

Tim on vn ng ngvnl. 'l'wo Innloo and Mn
I

l'uum .
Guulr. l‘wu llIXllPl.
A A ' u! nrv. 'm-e femnlu um! r-ne mulA

Hm ll mun-hing, ’l'lm-v yumg luuwi. ..

‘l‘wwll.llua,1llu\v Jim l'clurl mud. ‘A wu mun—:-

DIME DIALOGUES No. 27.

Pal-av O‘Dm-nl'n cnmpnlgn.
nu: l--m \la.
inlurrncu um. nlwuyl just. Numoruun
Distant-«ulna Annie. For guru-r .1 Iz’rls.
A \l ulhlu ulrurlm Fuur Inxtlws nml «All. femnle.
“'nm «u- ‘H l-‘nr tiny lrlleu-l. . . _ .
\l'luu. will cun- Ilmnl For a lmlynml lwu buys.
lllvlng-ellllnul. Fur HILIlenMI rh ‘m-lurn.
E‘tl‘ll I mum Illx- but. Fur (uur In
I'll -n| null fun: I wnmlng. Fur ~¢veml mulcl.
A buy‘u plot. Fur Ivvornl chnrucluri.

For three nmlml'rlm
1

an. M rhl': gum] angel. Fm hwy lmlies and

m
Inlad-l linl.» Ill-gym." l-‘o two males.
Fur llllvui :llllr L'er

l'or .uvem: Lune:

" -.: m
ll I lullll lllr llluln'}.
Am rmnnl‘rn :er :l- willul.
null one L’I‘Ifllx‘llulll.
uvu‘ lunlml. l'ur hm lillle zlrlx.
Au rlllul't'l'll run. for uwrnl daunting
'l'lmw wlm prcnch Inn-l than who pull'urm. I'M
lllrm man
A “walla wuquul. Far two you“; glrll.

DIME DlALOGUES No. 28.

A tall lhu tnld. For all young hull» and lwo’Nn room for the rl-nuo. For um. lltllo boyl.

g, ll-mmn.
Ornnillng n :lnhnllug Inl‘lrly. For four boyl.
I'm: nwuknulnx. For fuur llrlle llrll.
Thu "hall. proper. Fur :5 Kunllmnvn. i lndlol.
It urclnlnu an nvll uplrlt. For I x hull".
8}th nlAlM nl‘ Nu lance. For fuur umlu.
flu nplriu «1‘ an woo-l. Fur 1w» Ironpuol’glrh.

Anna-huh.
banal by n drum.

An lnfnlli lo Iign.

For Innuemm I-hnrurun.

Melllura I'ur "lemme. For fun! girll.

‘ For No nullu all t"
fi-lunlu-I.

For [our bag-l.

A good use fur monn'. Fur xix llllln glrll.

An ngruahhln profuulun. For unml ell-mun.

DIME DIALOGUES No. 29.

who lllnll hnn flu Ill 1lonnryl For ll: lyplrnl Yilmple Slmnn.

nulln cllul‘llclvrl um! lwn fillllflll‘l
Tln- In! flu-"cry. - '
Forlmw’u Wllrvl. Far
Thu “XII: nu lulu-I. 1‘
Thu um am! no ul lflltlki
Nu him-“cm.

~ur Inqu ullnru 1m.
lx |illlr girls.
For thine llulv h w

Three llulr F ul-.
. llcnnrv u! ll‘u Llqu
Sm n llv-nlvn nu.l throne lxullrn.‘

FM four lltlle ban.

ll ~ n-d llulll. Fur l‘nur "lulu. 1w" tun-la.

-~ and lumber. Illa awn-tun llwuglu. Fur mur mun glrla.

lllz‘ mhuumu month-r. Slmliu. I unullmmn.
For {our Iumll Imu, '
Fur um» ludlu and 0.: c
" :I "lulu,"

An mum-lg ["041 lmr. 01w Illflll', nun L-umh. lJne l‘lnlll’fl luml. For two boys uml two girll.

Wlm n vl-luuluu did. Fur uvuml 1min.

Ilium. l-‘or Iix Illfllil-

DIME DIALCGUES No. 30.

Sualellnle hero-l. For “M young lndlel.

" “ c vlnml “ I-elurv. Fur [our IIIIlluI.
" ' l“ r rlvo- lluh- lun-s.

. < u: lll‘lll'. FI-r lllruu liuln glrll.

Fin mrm-m'a lurk.
‘u unlu-m

Why lm Ilidu't her lllm.
"vb-n."

J-HI ‘ ulrl A‘ II -I buy.

(‘nl ""11 dry.
The Ivsllw'u cured. For '1 lrdlrl “ml 3 mntlunml
Jim llrml- 'I 'k‘s Ivhnn.
Thu I-lln-I‘ Ill-ll- nl tlw thl‘l'.
For two "1qu and llmg‘Tlu- nu Hm! mlvl.

\\ will I Ly proxy.

F»: uveml ” char-r

lmnrnil 1 I'm r. evll.
A l'urlnn'lln ml hks. For le young ludch one '11": lumhur'l nm.

For cwn lllllr M".

E r Iww hay".
l-‘ur “\‘u femalu.
Fur fiwl Ilmln

For I rhea gumlnmnu and

F‘ r flvu bun.
For hm 'hn_\l and than

lww lmll-m

g r a.
A‘Hlllllhllhfi‘lr‘ll Inunnuarln. For n win-lo whuul. (‘nllnruv nl’untlvnl. For nlc-vun pnmonnlnn. l

I‘ll: null-w wlurnllon. For elxln ht

l'ue.viciulludu at I mllllner. For I "lulu.

Allllltl- llll 'vpnnnnllnn- fnr ‘ Gudtluu a! Lllurly?

A Moulc plan In Dlnlnguu No.1“.

fl' Thuubovb book. Ln Ioldv by Now-duh" ovnywhn. or will b. uni, peat-pm.“ w

“Inn. on mlpt of prlu, 10 mm oath —

mm mm swim. man os'wunn— It... at. t. .

 

 

DIR/IE P()C1{1<3'l‘

PUBLISHED SEMI-MofiTIlLY, AT TEN CENTS EACH.

1 Hawkeye Harry.

‘2 Dead S ot.

3 The Boy Miners.

4 Blue Dick.

5 Nat Wolfe.

6 The White Tracker.

’1 The Outlnw'e Wife.

8 The Tali Trnpper.
Lightning Jo.

The Island l’irate.
The Boy Ranger.
Bose, the Trapper.
The French Spy.
Long Shot.

The Gumnaker.
Red Hand.

Ben, the Trapper.
Wild Raven.

The Specter Chief.
The B ar-Killer.
W'ild Net.

Indian Jo.

Old Kent the Ranger.
One-E ed Tn per.

. Gedbo d, the Spy.

' The Black Ship.
Single Eye.

Indian Jim.
The Scout.
Eagle Eye.
The Mystic Canoe.
The Golden Harpoon.
‘ The Scalp King.
. 0H Lute.

. Reinhoit. Ranger.
The Boy Pivvneer.
Curran, the Guide.
The Heart Enter.
Weuel, the Scout.
The lingo Hunter.
Wild Vat, Trapper.
Lynx-ca .

13 The White Outlaw.
4-1 The Dog Trailer.

46 The Elk King.

46 Adrien, the Pilot.
(.7 The Man-hunter.
All The Phantom Tracker
49 Moccalin Bill.

50 The Wolf Queen.

111 Tom Huwk. Trailer.
[2 The Mad Chief.

53 The Black “'olf.

54 Arkansas Jack.

55 Blackbeard.

56 The River Riflel.
51 Hunter Ham.

 

53 Cloudwwd.

511 The Texas Huwkl.

60 Mercilels Mat.

61 Mad Ant‘ouy’s Scout!

69 Luckiesa Trapper.

63 The Florida Scuut.

M The Island Trapper.

65 Wolf-Cup.

68 Rattiiu Dick.

67 Sharp- ,1.

68 IromHand.

69 The Yellow Hunter.
'10 The Phantom rider.
11 Delaware Tom.

7‘) silver Rifle.

13 The Skeleton Scout.
H Little Rifle.

'15 The Wood “Witch.

76 Old Rufl‘, Tra per.
77 Scarlet Shoal era.

'18 Border Rifleman.

19 Outlaw Jack.

80 TiKOr-Tlil, Seminole.
Sl Death-Dealer.

S? Kentull. the Ranger.
83  enter Horseman.
84 Tie Three Trapperl.
r15 Kaleoiah.

‘ The Hunter lIerculea.
Phil Hunter.

The ludian Seoul.

. The Girl Avenger.
The R:d Hermite“.
Star-Face. the Slayer.
The Antelope Boy.
The Phantom limiter.
Torn Piutle. Pill t.
The Red Wizard.
The Rival Trnppers.
The Squaw Spy.
Dusky Dick.

‘39 Colonel Crockett.

100 Old Bear Paw.

101 Rediaw.

102 VViid Rube.

103 The Indian Hunters.
104 Scarred Eagle.

105 Nick Doyle.

106 The Indiun Spy.

101 Job Dean.

1015 The Wood King.

109 The Scalped Hunter.

110 Nick. the Scout.

ill The Tax“ Tiger.

11? The Crossed Knives.

113 Tiger-Henri.

11.1 Masked Avenger.

 

115 The Pearl Firm“.

116 Black Panther.

117 Abdiel the Ax eager.

118 Cato. the Creeper.

119 Two-Handed Mat.

1‘20 Mad Trail Hunter.

121 Black Nick.

1‘)? Kit Bird.

1211 The Specter Riden.

1?4 Giant Pei/e.

125 The Girl Captain.

126 Yankee Eph.

197 Silverepur.

125 S uatter Dick.

199 '1' 1 Child Spy.

130 Mink Cont.

131 Red Plume.

132 Clyde, the Trailer.

133 The Lost Cache.

13‘ The Cannibal Chief.

135 Knraiho.

136 Scarlet Moewin.

137 Kidnapped.

138 Maid of the Menu-
tain.

130 The Sclotn Scouie.

14.) Border Renegade.

Hi The Mule Chief.

141 Boone, the Hunter

1.13 Mountain Kate.

1“ The Red Scalper.

145 The Lone Chief.

146 The Silver Bugle.

14'! Chinua, Cheyvune.

148 The Tangled Trail.

M9 The Uneeen Hand.

150 The Lone Indian.

151 The Branded Chief.

, 159 Billy Bowlege.
. cont.

iii! The Valley

' 154 Red Jacket.
‘ 155 The Jungle Scout.

156 Cherokee Chief.

The Bandit Hermit.
The Patriot Scout:
The Wood Ranger:
The Red Foe.
Beautiful Unknown.
Canehrake Itloee.
Hank, the Guide.
The Border Scout.
Wild Nat.
Mnid of Wyoming.
The Three Captivel.
The Lent Hunter.

169 Border Law,

170 The Lifted Trnil.

 

iii The Traders y.

11‘) The Fore-t pecier.

173 The BorderF

11‘ iiorder Venge

116 Border Beanie.

1'16 The Seal of Liberty.

117 The Lent Bride.

17S Keetaea.

1'19 ’i‘he 'l‘onkawa Spy.

180 The Prairie Scourge.

131 Red Li htning.

1137 Brave Heart.

183 Night-Hawk Kit.

164 Muttang Sum. \

185 Hurricane Bill.

186 The Red Outlaw.

18'! The Swamp Scout.

188 The Shewnee’e Fee.

189 Mohawk Nat.

190 Old ane.

191 The Prairie Rifiea.

192 Old Kyle, Trailer.

19: Big Foot. the Guide.

194 Red Brotherhood.

195 The Mun in Greel-

196 Ginsu-Eye, the Great
Shut.

191 The I’rnirieTr per-

198 131an John. W

199 Keen-Knife.

‘200 Med Shipper.

‘101 The Young Spy.

'Jil‘l The Indian Avenger.

'203 Rival Lieutenanu.

204 The Swamp Riflrl.

‘205 The Balloon Scruti-

E06 Dncotnh Scourge.

907 The Twin Scoutl.

908 Buck-kin Bill.

909 Border Avengers.

210 Tim Bumble’e Charge

211 The Shawnee Scout.

11‘) The Sileni Slnyer.

213 The Prairie Queen.

214 The Backwoodameu

215 The Prisoner oi La
Vintreaee

1’16 Pele: Smith.

‘217 The Witch of the
“'aiiuwieh.

‘118 The Prairie I‘irntee,

219 The Husear Captain.

2:0 The Red Spy.

‘12] Dick Darling.

222 Muntang "uni-ere.

‘2‘23 Guiitv or Not Guilty

724 The Outluw Ranger.

THE FOLLOWING WILL BE lSSUED IN THE ORDER AND ON THE DATES INDICATED:

' 225 The Schuylkill Ranger-e. By the author of“Quindaro."
2 Deep. By Roger Starbuck. Ready February 90th.
By Edwards. Ellil.

226 (In t}:
227 lronn.

2281 The Mountaineer.
The llunter‘e Eecnpe.
230 The Golden Belt.
23] The Swamp Riders. By George D. Gilbert.

229

282 Jubez Ilnwk.

288 Mneeaeoit’a Daughter.
Ilunter.
235 The Reefer of ’76.
286 Antelope Abe, the Boy GI!
23? The Hunter’s \ow.
23" The Ilunler‘a Pledge.
Bv .imtl R. Sherwood.

23! The Mad

239 Ninth-pun».

By Edwnr
By Colin Barker.

de-

Read‘y March 6th.
Wiiielt.
By Edward S. Ellia.

By Wili Dexter.
13y Loui- Le Grnnd, M. D.

Ready March Roth.
Ready April 3d.

Remly April 17m.

Ready May lei.

By C. Dunning Clnrk. Rendy May 15th.
By A. J. H Dugnune.
By Mn. Mary A. Deuienn.

By Harry Cavendiah.

Ready May 29th.
Rendy June Nth.
Ready June 26th.

Ready Juli '24t

By Edward VVillett. Rendv August 7th.
Rendy Augalt ‘Jist.

Ready February 6th.

Bondy July' 10th.
1.

240 The Prairie Bride. liy Mrs. Henry .7. Thomas. Ready Septemher 4th.

For sale by all Nun-snieulers; or sent poet—paid: eingle numbere,

one year (36 Noe.) $9.50.

ten centa; le months (13 Noe.) $1.?!)

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 “illllnm Street. New 701"»