BORDER BESSIE. ~ A ROMANCE OF THE KANAWHA, BY MRS. HENRY J.. THOMAS. NHW YORK: BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, (98 WILLIAM STREET. i Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1°68, by . BEADLE AND COMPANY, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Conrt of the United States for the @onthern Miatrict of New York. - —Shgpenconcernrt oe EE a =e PY RDER BESSIE. CHAPTER I, "BESS. “ Hark f” “J didn’t hear any thing!” «J did—tlisten! It was a human scream 1” “ Your ears are sharper’n mine, then, 'Twas some bird, I reckon.” ; m “Nol there! Do you believe me now?” exclaimed the first speaker, ag through the woods, from a distance, came a voice, evidently that of a woman, whether in terror or. dis- tress, or in mere frolic, it was hard te determine. “ What on airth kin it mean, ['d like to know ?” returned — the other, in a low tone. “ The infernal red-skins round ag’in like as not. Look well to yer primin’, Bently, an’ keep two sharp eyes out!” “Never mind me, John,” replied the younger hunter, with ‘a dry smile; “take care of yourself. I was never yet caught napping when danger was around !” The surroundings of the speakers were that of a dense, wild forest—such as covered the hills and vales of that portion of the “Old Dominion,” later knoWn as Western Virginia. The time was nearly a century ago. The solemn silence of those lonely recesses was seldom broken, save by the stealthy tread or discordant cry of some beast .of prey, the ringing notes of birds, or perhaps the sharp crack of the hunter’s rifle, as he brought low the tempting game; and, alas! there sometimes were hesrd the yells of hate, the shout of triumph and despair, the cries of pain and terror, when the merciless and blood-loving savage, bursting in from his lair like a wild animal, strove to exterminate the “ pale-face” settler, wh@¥e ax and plow threatened to turn those hunting-grounds into tilled felda. ; \ 10 / BORDER BESSIE, The two men whose quick on had caught the unusual pounds, were of the hardy race of pioneers, to whose strong arms and matchless heroism this country owes much of its - greatness—men who seemed born to pilot civilization in: its struggle with barbarism and nature in its primeval estate. They stood now ina glade made by the passage of a small stream, where it crossed the narrow and imperfectly cleared road leading from Fort Kyle to the plantations beyond, up the noble Kanawha valley. They were dressed in bunting- frocks, coonskin caps, buckskin breeches, leggings and moe- casins, with the indispensable powder-horn at their side, and the trusty blades in their belts, ready at all times for an en- counter with their foes, either human or animal. With anxious countenances, and eyes fixed in the direction from which the sounds seemed to come, the men were alert and eager to fathom the truth. John Ryan, the elder of the twain, was a middle-aged man, of well-knit frame, resolute bearing, and a keen, dark eye, that betokened a courage and will equal to any danger, and yet the kindly expression which really characterized his rough, bearded face, indicated the man of admirable social qualities —the agreeable companion. ° The younger was quite a contrast in personal appearance. Although equally resolute in’ spirit and hardy in frame, there was, about. him, an air of refinement, a charm of face, and a mellowness of voice, that revealed the gentleman born, inde- pendent of the polish of refined society. In character, neither cold nor calculating, nor yet enthusiastic to excess, Will Bently: was ever ready, with heart and hand; to serve a friend or neighbor, After listening and. watching for a few moments in silence, ihe younger man ‘again spoke: *% It didn’t seem to be a scream of server. Ishould almost think it was langhtereif this wasn’t such an unlikely place for it.” John Ryan smiled as though a new thought had struck - him: i “ PA bet my cap I’ know now what skeered us so! Hold ona minnit. I-hear the clatter of horses’ feet; and I reckon _ I know who it is a-comin’. Jest step aside to this tree, kinder ‘ : he ab eaieempieinieee scp 4 THE FAIR. EQUESTRIAN. iL out of sight till they come up; you kin see them afore they'll see you. Here they come!” By this time the sharp beat of horses’ hoofs was heard elose at hand, and in another moment there appeared around the abrupt bend in the road just before them, two women upon horseback, one of whom was mounted ina manner that drew an exclamation of surprise and admiration from Bently, as he involuntarily stepped from his hiding-place in order to ~ get a better view of the equestrians. The foremost rider, a shouting, laughing girl, stood uprigit upon the back, of her un- , saddled horse, holding a rein lightly in one hand, looking back upon. her rival in the race, who followed close behind, mount- ed, as was very common in those days among the women of the frontier, astride, like a man, No wonder Bently gazed almost like one spell-bound, for the dark eyes of the flying damsel gave one swift, electrical glance directly into his own, as she sped past, and drew his gaze after her, until the queenly form, so firmly and grace- fully poised upon the back of the fleet animal, disappeared in a hollow. in the wood. Scarcely had the last rider passed from yiew when a thrill of fearstartled the blood in the young man’s yeins. The leading horse, riderless, was rushing up the opposite slope. In a moment Bently was at the scene of accident, to discover the girl-upon.the ground where she, had fallen from her steed. Fearing that she was seriously injured, he hastened to. her side, but, before he quite reached the spot where she lay, she rose to her feet, and looking around in a, half-bewildered man- ner, as though scarcely realizing her situation, encountered the anxious gaze of Bently. “Miss Ryan, are you much hurt?’ he exclaimed, hur- riedly. ; “Oh, no! Only a little stunned. Lightfoot stumbled ata moment when I was looking back for Mrs, Ryan, who, it seems, eens to. desert. me !” ori, think it was you who deserted her!” said Bently, smil- jo i Well, at all events, she has had time to come up. I won- der what detains. her ?” s Fou need not be elarmed about hens her hugband wag BORDER BESSIE. with me by the brook. Did you not see him as you pass ed ?” “Why no, I didn’t. TI suppose I shall receive a scolding if brother John saw me riding in that style.” “Well, here they come,” replied Bently. “If you need a - protector, call upon me !” “Tcan defend myself, thank you!” replied Bessie Ryxn. with a saucy smile in her bright eyes. “Well, Bess !’ said John Ryan, as he and his wife came up, “ you and Will seem to be having a pleasant chat. Where’s yer horse ?” , “Gone home, I reckon; he had his head _that way the last I saw of him !” replied the girl. “ Ha-ha, my girl! He throwed ye, did he? Well, I’ve told ye more’n once that you'd break yer neck, yet, with yer reck- less capers !” “My neck’s as sound as ever, brother John. Why don’t you lay your authority on Kate? She rode as hard eine ** You may ride as hard as yer please, ef ye’ll ride the same way she does,” answered Ryan, half-laughing, and pinching the red cheek of his sister till it glowed with a still deeper hue. “But, come! get up behind Kate, and let’s make fur home; it’s gittin’ late !” The Ryan plantation lay about three miles below.Fort Kyle and the little village of log-cabins which clustered around it, John Ryan, tempted by the beauty of the spot, had settled upon it several years before, and, although many times obliged to abandon it, and fly with his family to the fort for safety, yet, with a perseverance and bravery that at times were reck- less, he returned again to the place, and erected a new cabin upon the ruins of the old, which had been destroyed by the disappointed and revengeful enemy. There had been quite a long time of comparative peace and safety. The Indians seemed disposed to be frien and the settlers, feeling more secure, ventured further from the fort and village, and made rapid progress in the clearing and improy- ing of their farms, well back from and down the river. A brief glance at the history of Bessie Ryan will explain the unusual circumstance of a young woman of her beauty and A SETTLER’S CABIN. 18 refinement living amid such wild scenes and so rude a 80- * ciety. Born in one of the oldest cities of the Atlantic coast, Bes- £ sie had enjoyed superior advantages of education. Many gs years before, and while Bessie was yet a child, her brother | John had passed the Blue Ridge, and penetrated beyond the Rete then frontier; and when, about two years before the time of this narrative, her parents died, leaving her without a perma- uent home, or any near relations, she resolyed to seek her brother, and gratify a long-cherished desire to share the for- tunes of those courageous people, for whose daring and forti- tude. she entertained the highest admiration. A mingling of romance, enthusiasm, and thorough good sense in her character, formed a rather unusual combination of active qualities, and made her a leading spirit in the set- tlement, where she soon became known as “ Queen Bess.” A fearless and most skillful rider, a good rifle-shot, she was ad- mirably “at home” in the forest, and among the rough, wild men whom she met almost daily, she moved a veritable forest queen—a kind of pride and pet of all. She was, indeed, born \ for a heroine and—became one! ie Te CHAPTER: Dls y i THE SHADOW. : Tux rude but comfortable log-cabin in which John Ryan’s \ family resided, stood upon the Summit of a long and gentle slope, at the foot of which ran a deep river, while a sparkling little brook, which issued from a spring nea# at hand, bubbled and danced by the door. Beyond the house was a young apple-orchard, whose thrifty growth gave promise of an am- ple reward for the labor bestowed upon it; upon the south . side of the slope was a nursery of peach-trees; stretching away to the west were the cleared fields, where the broad, dark-green leaves of the thriving corn waved in the summer ‘breeze ; all—the settler’s whole estate—was encircled by the wall of mighty: forest, which stretched to the south, forth and west in immeasurable distances. A narrow, zig-zag path led from the door of ‘the cabin, ‘down to the Kanawha and up to the spring head, overgwhich was a platform, consisting of one large, white slab of stone, through which an ‘aperture had been cut sufficiently large to admit of a bucket in dipping up the water. By its side stood a large spring-house, built also of stone, and not yet quite finished—still lacking a roof. ‘ In the cheerful light of the early smidiunmaitut morning, every thing wore an aspect of peace ‘and quiet loveliness, which—should the destroying hand of the ruthless savage but be withheld—-would soon ‘spréad over the surrounding wilderness. Bessie Ryan, as she tripped thiotgh the dewy grass on her way to the spring:house, with her rich black hair twined round her stately head in long, ‘encircling braids, and her queen-like form clad in the simple muslin dress of the times, formed a picture charmingly appropriate to the scene. In her happiest mood, she was singing a favorite melody, in'a voice of exquisite sweetness, that e¢ame back to her from for- est and hill in mocking echoes, She sung: ‘* On the shore’the’shell is lying, Sadly for the blue depthe sighing, . And the low-voiced waves replying, ‘ Thine no more, the pearl-strewn sea !” ‘Bear me to the sea-isles, glowing In the emerald light down-flowing, Where my soul is ever going To its home beneath the sea.’ 80 alk day my héart is singing Low and plaintive pleadings—bringing Mem'ries sweet, that, round it clinging, Draw me still, beloved, to thee.” As she finished her song, she was startled by an apparition which caused her to pour a, por tion of the foaming milk in” her pail, upon. he flags of the spring-house floor, instead of into the bright pans’ prepared to receive it. The rich color in her cheeks deepened to a bright crimson. ' “Draw me, still, beloved, to thee?” echoed from the lips THE. TARGET, 15, ef Bently, as he appeared in the spring-house door, and a.rogu- ish. smile betrayed his. enjoyment of her confusion. : “You nearly surprised me!’ she exclaimed, recovering, herself, “ and you see the mischief you haye done !” “Yes, I see; but I thought you too much of a backwoods heroine to de taken by surprise; though you were caught off your guard the other day when you fell off your horse and didn’t wait for me to pick you up.” “]] ptofit by the lesson, and be more on my guard in the future,” she answered, archly. “ Even the real Queen Bess, you know, could be surprised into nervousness by too much gallantry on the part of her courtiers.” “ Well, Bessie, seriously, we haye all of us occasion to be upon our guard. Reports are coming in daily of the depre- dations of the Indians; they are said to be again upon the war-path, and I am about setting out with a small party of ‘sconts to ascertain their whereabouts and nunibers.” “When are you coming back ?” asked the maiden, with a face at once sobered into seriousness. _ “Tt is not, likely that we will be gone many days; but, ie I shouldn’t come back at all, what then ?” he asked, in a man- ner half earnest, half jesting. “We must not think of such an ‘if? ” said the young wo- man, quietly; “and yet,” she added, with compressed lips, and flashing eye, “if harm should Defall you, you shall be. avenged !” “ What a heroine you are, Bessie !” said Bently, laughing. “Do you really suppose that you could hit an Indian if you should fire at one ?” “ You seem to doubt my skill,” she replied, as if annoyed . by his want of faith in her forest accomplishments; and tak- ing the rifle from his hand, she proceeded down the path to- ward the house, until they came opposite a tall elm stump that. stood across the brook. “Do you see the target yonder ?” she said. “I placed it there yesterday, for an hour’s, practice. If I bit the center, you must do thesame!” And taking aim, the young girl fired. The performance was greeted by a shout of mingled voices just behind her, and, turning, Bessie discoyered that a num- ber of men, the companions of Bently upon the scouting BORDER BESSIB. expedition, were looking on. T'wo of them started for the target, and, returning, reported but a slight variation from the center. “ Well done!” exclaimed Bently, with evident admiration. “T confess to no doubt, now, as to your skill.” i “ Mighty well done, fur a gal! By Jinks! I don’t think many of us fel_ers could beat that ar’ !” cried a rough-looking fellow named Joe Sykes. “ You must ’a taken a heap of pains a-trainin’ of ’er sence - she come out here in the woods,” reéchoed another of the group, to John Ryan, who now came up. “No, she took it of her own accord,” quietly replied Ryan, “just as she takes every thing else.” “ She onghter be called King Bess, then,” added one of the settlers, laughing. - “She’s the right grit, by Jinks!” again exclaimed Joe Sykes, quite carried away in his admiration. “ We'll have to make her Capting Bess—ho! ho! Tt go in for high pri- vate in her company, by Jinks!” “ Well, boys, let’s be a-movin’,” exclaimed another of the company. “ We ar’ out on service. If the reds ar’ around us, we mustn’t let our shoes freeze to the ground.” The men, shouldering their rifles, bezan to wind down the narrow path leading from the house to the broader road which ran along the river—Joe Sykes, whose special peculiarity it was that he could never entertain more than one idea at a time, muttering to himself all the way down, “ Nice gal, by Jinks!” Will Bently lingered behind for a few moments, to exchange a few last words with Bessie Ryan, and his parting injunction to John Ryan was: “ Don’t fail to take your family into the fort in case of an alarm!” And then he, too, hastened away into the forest. ¥ A few days after this John Ryan rode over to the fort to learn the report of such scouts as had come in, and to ascer- tain the probabilities of an attack by the Indians. f The news brought in was gloomy enough. Unprotecte settlers in every direction had been murdered, and their cab- ins and crops destroyed. As he rode slowly back toward his farm, he thought of the years of hard labor bestowed upon vy ‘ eS sateen srg ae a eh. nth ms ry 7 ere 4 A 2 wtb , Perey ie 4 y see ; | : 2 i , : SIGNS AND WARNINGS. 7 4} | {nat spot in the wilderness; of the hardships endured, of the i dangers but barely escaped; of the brave little wife, the in \ nocent children, the lovely and dependent sister—all, al: | of might be swept away in one brief moment, as it were, by the } hand of the red fiends, ; ; As he reached the door, be flung himself from the saddle, j and giving the bridle into the hands of the black boy who ij stool waiting to ieceive it, he sat down upon’ the door-step . and removed his hat, to wipe the perspiration from his brow i His wife hastened to the door: + “What is the news, John ?” she exclaimed. | “Bad!” he replied. “The very mischief is to pay. The reds have broken loose, and blood is running. ‘We are in for ” | another run to the fort, I fear.” poe “Has any thing been heard from the men who went from here the other morning ?” asked Bessie. | “Yes; they have gone on down the river to get such in- formation as they can. Two scouts, in from the Cheat river, report the Shawnees and Delawares to be on the war-path, and that’s not far off, you know.” “We must go to the fort!’ exclaimed, Mrs. Ryan, in her quick, emphatic way. “I’ve had a feelin’ fur some time that something was goin’ to happen; an’ last night I dreampt of secin’ yer heart’s blood, John, an’ that’s a swre sign !” i “TJ know thur’s trouble ahead, Kate; it?s mighty queer, but: ‘| T’ve had my signs too.” The strong, brave man spoke de- GF spondingly. l. Ee “What hev you seen, John? I thought you didn’t b’lieve in signs an’ warnin’s,” said his wife, now thoroughly aroused. “No more I don’t,” replied the pioneer; “still, it’s kind <’ curious. As I was a-comin’ along home I saw somethin’ layin’ in the road that looked like a big clot 0’ blood. Wal, At I got down an’ tuk a stick an’ turned it over, an’ found ’twas : a piece of fresh liver. Ther wa’n’t no signs of any thing: else anywhar else around, fur I looked all round keerfully. Now, how it come thar, right in my path, is what puzzles me.” “ Some animal may have been killed near there, and a part of it dropped in the road; or, perhaps it wis carried there by some wild beast,” suggested his sister. “Wal, I haven't told’ you about the blood at the spring yit. When I went down there yesterday mornin’, fur water, I saw three drops of blood on the stone. I put my hand yp to my nose to see if 7 was bleedin’, but-’twasn’t bloody ; then I ‘stooped* over to dip up the water, and jest exactly three®ltops of blood fell from my nose. Now, wa’n’t that kind o’ queer ?” “TJ tell you we’re warned, and must go to the fort to save us all from bein’ murdered !” repeated Mrs. Ryan, looking around apprehensively at her two children, and her dark eyes glowing with a superstitious fear. . “Wal, Pll take you over to-morrow. I'll have to come - back, though, to see to things. The corn must be hoed, and them boys wouldn’t begin to.stay ef I warn’t here too,” “T think that the corn had_ better suffer than for you to expose your life,” said Bessie, “] kin take keer of myself if you women an’ children ar’ in a safe place. Ef the fort is really attacked before I git back there, they must contrive to let me know, fur they'll need _all the help they ken scare up to defend it.” Mrs. Ryan remained silent and serious, though busying her- self in making preparations for going to the fort in the morn- ing. The superstition so prevalent in those days had a strong hold upon her mind, and in the perilous times at hand, the incidents of the liver and the ne of blood had great sig- nificance to her. They retired to their. beds, prepared for an attack and al- most expecting it, but day-break found them unmolested; and the cheerful influence of a bright summer morning dispelled much of their fear. Still, they hastened their preparations for departure, and ‘early in the forenoon they took leave of the “Silver Spring Plantation.” Ruthermal, in his picture of the pioneer family going to their place of worship in the forest, has beautifully illustrated one phase of border life, and the morning scene here described ' might form a companion-piece of equal interest. Bessie led the way, mounted upon her spirited horse, completely armed, and with her keen eyes upon the watch for a hidden foe, e Ss “No, to!” exclaimed: her sister-in-law, excitedly, “it’s a, warnin’—I know it is.” . = “THE FORT. Wext came the mother, with her young child in her arms, and then the stalwart father, with his little son mounted behind him, and his rifle over his shoulder, with every sense on the alert for danger. Thus they threaded the narrow, winding forest road, CHAPTER’ Til: THE FIRST BLOW. Rracutwe the fort, they found that the condition of things fully justified them in leaving the farm. The settlers were rapidly gathering from all quarters, in great alarm, seeking the protection afforded by the fort. As the danger did not seem to. be immediately at hand, John Ryan determined, the next morning, to go over to his farm for the day, promising his wife, however, that he would return — Lefore night. Receiving over and over again her emphatic charge to “ be watchful, and take keer of himself,” pe:went forth—alas! to return no more. A busy scene was now presented at the fort, thongh but five men were left within it—most all of the band having sallied out to obtain something like a definite knowledge of the foe supposed to be lurking near. Some of the women were mak- ing d great ado; others were calmly and industriously help- ing to get things into a state of order and preparation; bul- _ Jets were molded, patches were cut, water was brought, while all anxiously watched for the return of the scouts. Women, straining their eyes at the loop-holes of the block-house, strove | to discover some token of the return of husband, father, or brother. - Children were there—some with terrified counten- ances listening to the excited talk of their elders; others bravely declaring their ability to take a part in defending themselves and the fort; but all dreading what each hour might bring forth. Whether the result should be a return, to their homes, or the opening of actua. hostilities, a few hcure must. determine. BOKDER DESSIE. “ What do you see, Kate ?” asked Bessie, coming tp behind Mrs. Ryan, as she stood at one of the loop-holes, anxiously gazing down the river-road over which John Ryan must come on his return. “Don’t see nothin’. Wish I did!” was the reply, in the sharp, short manner peculiar to herse}f, as Mrs. Ryan turned away from her.long scrutiny. “ You can’t expect John back so early in the day as this,” replied the younger woman, quietly, though her own face was indicative of extreme anxiety, and her nervousness could scarcely be suppressed. “ He'd better ’a left every thing on the place go to ruin than to give his scalp to the red-skins, I’m afeard we'll never see him ag’in. Them warnin’s went fur nothin’ [” re- plied Mrs. Ryan, gloomily. “ We must hope for the best,” said Bessie, as she took the station her sister-in-law had just left. After watching for more than hour, she was about to retire from her post, when she caught sight of an object that riveted her attention. “Kate! come here. Isn’t. this Pete coming ?” she ex- claimed. : Ryan hastened to the spot. “Lord a-mercy !” she cried, in great agitation, “ it’s Pete, runnin’ fur dear life! I Anowed somethin’ would happen !” and she wrung her hands in a perfect frenzy of excitement, then rushed out toward the gate, followed by Bessie, who was the first to question the negro “ boy,” after he was admitted with- in the gate. “ Oh, Missee Kate! it’s clean done—da’s bofe killed dead !” exclaimed the terrified creature, as quickly as he could re- cover breath enough to speak. The horrified listeners besought himi to explain, but he feemed scarcely to realize that he was out of danger, and could not, for several moments, collect his thoughts sufficiently to give any thing like a clear account of the occurrence. When the announcement of her husband’s death first greet- ed her ears, Mrs. Ryan seemed utterly overwhelmed with de- ‘spair—wringing her hands, and looking from one to another in speechless agony ; but, after a few moments, she became suddenly calm and quiet—turning away from all attempts at A TORRID: RITE. ‘ See « i eonsvlation, with lips compressed painfully close, and a pecu- riur gleam in her black eyes, which seemed to grow more ins, tense, as she listened to the details of the murder. We will not undertake to relate the story in the words of Black Pete, broken as it was by frequent interruptions from the eager listeners gathered around, but will give the substance of the black’s account : Ryan was plowing, while his two men, not far away, were hoeing corn. Suddenly, without a note of warning, they heard the sharp crack of a dozen rifles, and Ryan’s horse fell dead in the furrow. One of the slaves, also, dropped where he stood, mortally wounded; the other, Pete, managed to gain the woods under cover of the tall corn, while the Indians were intent upon the death of his master. Ryan started to run for the house, making his course as zig-zag as possible, to confuse the aim of his pursuers, but be- fore he had-gained half the distance he was struck by a rifle- ball. He continued running, however, until he reached the nursery of peach-trees, whiere he fell lifeless. He was a long-desired victim, for his indomitable energy, bravery and skill had made him an object of special hatred to the Indians. The savages, overjoyed at his death, rushed for- ward with yells of triumph, and gathering around: the still warm body, they tore off the scalp.. Then, kindling a fire, they began their deliberate preparations for a horrid rite. First they cut open the breast, and took out the so lately beat. ing heart. This they solemnly proceeded to roast before the fire. It was then gravely divided and eaten. This rite was performed in accordance with a belief prevalent among tie- savages, that to partake of the heart of a brave wurrior wii) tmpart the like quality to those who ate of it. The sorrow that might have crushed Kate Ryan at anoincr time, seemed to be turned into a fierce and burning hatre? vi the Indians, and every thought was at once directed toward revenge. From the loving wife, she became the implacable widow, whose sorrow for her great loss was reserved for the night, when she could weep and no eye behold her. As evening came on, all was excitement and confusion with- in the fort. With but five men, and an attack during the night almost certain, no wonder there were forebodings y BORDER BESSIE. among those who had sought refuge within the strong log walls. Bessie Ryan, too much shocked and grieved at the awfal fate which bad befallen her brave and trusty brother to mingle with those who gathered in groups to discuss the one topic of interest, stoad silent and sad at one of the loop-holes of the block-house, gazing out toward the wilderness. The sun was; sinking below the horizon, tangling the golden trail of his mantle among the interlacing boughs, and leaving its byjght fragments on tree-top and distant hill. At length her quick eye caught sight of a form emerging from the forest-path ; her heart beat more rapidly, and a slight flush rose to her pale cheek; it was Will. Bently-who approached. Soon another and another appeared. The good tidings quickly spread, and in a few moments the gate was opened to admit the scouts within the fort. > Now the final preparations were made, for it was considered certain that there. would be an aback, upon the fot before morning. “Tt is a great satisfaction to find you here,” said Will, to the sorrowing girl, the first time he had an opportunity of speaking to her. ‘I was fearful that John might delay, and your escape be cut off.” “ As, indeed, it very nearly was; we narrowly missed shar- - ing the fate of poor John. Ifthe had butstaid here with us!” replied Bessie, with a trembling voice. Just then a tall, fine-looking man entered the block-house, and, looking around, exclaimed, m quick, anxious tones : “ Where’s Hannah ?” It was Jonathan Zane who spoke—a man famous in pio- neer history, whose tlirilling adventures, as.a captive on the Sandusky plains, have found a permanent record in the an- nals of the West. He had been out with the scouts, and just returning, look- ed around for the sick wife whom he supposed her neigabors would have brought in, _ “ Where’s Hannah ?” he. repeated. No one knew. “My God. have you left her outside ?” he exclaimed in con- sternation ; and rushing out; he seized his rifle and left) the * THE COMBAT OPENED. 8B fort, to seek the cabin where his wife lay, helpless, with a young infant by her side. Catching her up. in a quilt, he carried her with all possible speed within the stockade, and dropping her upon a’ bed of buffalo-skins, which had been prepared during his absence, be cried, to the women around: “ There! take care of her!” and hastened away. ‘The intrepid scout could not remain, even by a sick wife, when the red-sking were on the war-path. Night fell, and passed quietly. Morning came, and found the little garrison still awaiting the attack—a morning destined to add a new grief to that which had already wrung the heart of Kate Ryan. A woman in the fort, who had a painful gathering upon her hand, had sent her own “boy and. little Johnny Ryan, without his mother’s knowledge or consent, out of the post inclosure toa large walnut-tree, which stood close to the bank of the river, to procure a green walnut for use upon her hand. Mrs, Ryan, attracted by the screams of some women, rushed to the spot from which they were gazing, to discover the two boys struggling in the grasp of two stal- wart Indians. The mother became almost frantic at the. sight. “Let me go! I kin save him !” she screamed ; but strong arms held her back from certain destruction. The Indians probably had intended to. capture the boys, but the one en- gaged with Johnny Ryan became exasperated at his sturdy re- sistance, and afraid to expose himself longer as a mark for the-shcts from the fort, he sunk his tomahawk in the skull of the devoted boy—tore off the scalp, and left him dying on the banks of the Kanawha. The other child was taken away, and his fate never was known. The combat then was opened. Every man was at his post, while the willing hands of the women molded bullets, and kept up the supply of ammunition, that the men might not be obliged to leave their stations. The clearing around the fort, and the little cluster of log-cabins near it, — swarmed with a host of yelling, screeching human wolves, whose hid- eously-painted bodies, fierce gestures, and wild cries made them seem more like demons than human beings, An old; hunter rather incautiously exposed his person at one of the loop-holes, and a musket-ball from the ever-watchful enemy shattered his right arm, and rendered him unable: to do further service. “Here! I-want that ar’ rifle! Tve been waiting fur one!” exclaimed Mrs, Ryan to the wounded man, as he turned away from his post. . “ Wal, take it! an’ I hope yell have more sense ’n I had, an’ not stick yerself up fur a mark fur them red devils,” ex- claimed the man, as he handed her his weapon. “Tf Idon’t make some of ’em dance ter ther own music, I’m uncommonly mistaken !’ was the sharp reply, and the _ little woman, after procuring a large block of wood to stand upon, took the post vacated by the disabled man. “ How weary you look,” remarked Bently, observing the pale cheeks and anxious countenance of Bessie, as she furn- ished him with a fresh supply of ammunition. “ Not more so than you. I’m afraid the men will give out if there is not some relief before night,” she replied. “Oh, no! We can hold outa long while yet; and the recruits which have been sent for will surely be here before long,” replied Bently. “Tf I but had a rifle!” exclaimed the resolute girl, “I could be of some use; any one can mold bullets and serve out ammunition.” ¢ “There! Your last new ball has settled one of the var- mints,” said Bently, turning to her again, after discharging his piece. Just then a shrill laugh from Kate Ryan caused Bessie to hasten to her. “What is it, Kate?’ she asked, somewhat startled and shocked at such a sound from her. “That Injun that, I hit jest now, bounded up and shook h's legs in the air, like he war dancin’va jig!” returned Mrs. Ryan, again laughing. ‘ Now I’m goin’ to make another of *em jump,” and she began rapidly to reload her piece. “ Kate, let me take your place for awhile; you are get~ ting too much excited, and will be down sick next,’ plead- ed Bessie, but her sister-in-law would not listen to the request. “Nol T'll stand here as long as thur’s an Injun in sight or a breath of life in my body!” she answered, sharply ; and THE SIEGE RAISED, realizing that it was useless to remonstrate, the young woman turned away. As day after day passed, and no reinforcements arrived, the little garrison was compelled to endure gréat privations. The supply of water and provisions was so nearly exhausted as to oblige all to be put upon short allowance. Some of the Jess heroié womeh thus imprisoned and required to suffer, would complain bitterly of their hardships, when, with great sharpness, and in her own abrupt, sarcastic manner, Mrs. wae would exclaim : “Tiook at me! Haven’t I endured as much as any of ye? Do J complain? Jest quit it and go to work. Yekin stand suffering jest as well as the hard-worked men. Don’t be babies,” “The Indians are drawing off at last. We are victorious, are we’ not?” exclaimed Bessie, as, one morning, the savages seemed to be making preparations to raise the siege. “We are not yet sure; but, it seems like it,’ replied _ Bently. “ Well, at least we can breathe freely once more.” “Yes. The poor wretches will have enough to do for a while to take care of their wounded and bury their dead.” At length the garrison became assured that the enemy had retired, for a time, at least. The first thing to be done was to renew the stock of provisions from the surrounding farms. A party was detailed for this purpose. “There’s-a heap of provender at our house. Nothin’ to do but go an’ git ’em,” said Kate Ryan toa group of men, who were discussing the arrangements for the expedition. “That’s uncommon lucky, by Jinks! Jist tell us whar to find ’em, an’ ef the red rips haven’t got’em, you better be- lieve they won't stay thar long!” said Joe Sykes, with a broad grin on his rough face, as he glanced from Mrs. Ryan to Bessie. “I kin eat shoe-leather myself, I kin; but I kinder want you wimmen-folks an’ children to fill up ag’in on bread an’ meat.” i “Tell ye whar to git em! cried the indignant little wo- man, twitching her head round in a manner peculiar to her- self; “I intend tc go after ’em eee | Ef you want t go ‘tong, you kin !” ¥ ‘ “Now look here, Mrs. Ryan,” protested the honest Joe, “tain’t safe fur you to go; ye’d a heap better keep inside of this fort fur a while yit, an’ let us men do the outside work.” “ Don’t ye trouble yerself ’bout me,” answered the indom- itable Mrs. Ryan, turning her flashing eyes upon the speaker. “Dm a-goin, an’ ye needn’t borrow trouble on my account, nocither. Jest git yerselves ready, an’ ye won’t be kept waitin’ fur me !” “Kate, J shall go too,” said Bessie, quietly. “You!” exclaimed Bently, in astonishment. : The: young girl laughed, and making no other reply, fol- sowed Mrs. Ryan, who had already left. the spot to begin her preparations for the expedition. “ The very lightnin’s in the Ryan women!’ muttered one of the group of men,-as he turned away. ‘Lightnin’ ?” exclaimed Joe. “Not a bitof it! It’s clar grit, as sure as yer born. ‘Ef the wimmen says go, go it is.” At length a party, consisting of ten men and the two self- willed females, were ready for a start. A unique picture did they present, as they filed out of the fort upon the river-path : the little but lithe figure of the widow, habited in the short, wide skirt of homespun stuff, which did not ‘interfere with convenience in riding, working, or walking, :mounted in. her peculiar style upon her own favorite horse, a noble gray'steed of unusual sagacity ; near her rode Bessie, whose gentle but fearless bearing presented a charming picture of grace and ready skill. Then the armed pioneers {n their border suits, a part of them taking the lead as they entered the forest, and struck into the trail-like road which wound around River Hill, and then on, through the woods, down to the Ryan plantation. — y But little conversation transpired as they rode along. The knowledge that they were still in peril induced the exercise of the greatest caution and vigilance. Suddenly Mrs. Ryan’s horse stopped.’ _ “Get up, Selim! Get on, sir!” With a smart stroke of the whip ; but the reso.ute Selim only tossed his head the higher, without advancing a step. “ He smells an Injun!” was Mrs. Ryan’s brief comment, “Did he ever act so before ?” asked one of the men. } J THE FLAG. — : “He dai acts queer when thur’s Injuns around. ge * plied Mrs. Ryan. “J b’lieve thurs something wrong, by Jinks !” remarked Sykes, ‘“T'll bet an old gun that the red varmints are around. Took to yer primin’, boys !” “Some of us had better go ahead and reconnoiter, like; thur mought be an ambush t/other side of yon hill,” said one of the men. “ Bently and Zane are searchin’ in the woods now,” observed another. “It’s ruther risky business to go ahead without findin’ out fust whether thar’s a trap set fur us over the hill,” remarked an old hunter. “Three or four of us had better slip quietly round through the woods, and see if thar’s any thing hid thar.” No one offered to start, and Mrs. Ryan exclaimed, in a sarcastic voice : “TH go; 2m not afeard.” 81 Since the arrival of the new force at the garrison, a feeling _ of comparative security prevailed in its immediate vicinity, and the more courageous of the women and children of the little town would sometimes venture out beyond its limits. One beautiful day in autumn it was proposed that a party of the young people should go nutting, a short distance into the woods, scarcely out of sight of the fort. Bessie Ryan and Jessie Grey, attended by the assiduous Harry Wilmot, were of the number, Each one of the girls provided herself with a small basket. of luncheon, that they might enjoy a long day’s ramble, without the necessity of returning for dinner. The four or five young men of the party were well armed, and declared their intention te furnish a supply of squirrels, or some other game, for dinner. A fire was to be kindled upon the banks of the little stream, which murmured along near by, over a bed of glistening pebbles. Bessie, naturally of a. poetical temperament, was in her element. The beautiful day—the swaying of the tall trees ~ with their many-colored foliage—the bright leaves fluttering to the ground, the singing of the birds, the splashing of the dimpled water—all combined to animate ‘her spirits to the highest degree. 5 3 She laughed, and sung, and chattered—mocking the sur- prised squirrel that peeped down at her from his seat upon a lofty limb ; or balanced herself upon some fallen tree, that spanned the stream, giving herself up utterly to the joyousness that the surroundings inspired. Poor Captain Wilmot at length began to isa despondent, for Bessie seemed entirely oblivious to his Scanian, attentions ; so self-satisfied and happy, as to be quite pro voking. It could not be, he thought, that she really was as blind as she appeared. Jessie Grey’s kindly though artless attempts to be entertaining, and to make up, by her inereased sociability, for Bessie’s indifference, were of little avail; his eyes followed the blithe Queen Bess as she rambled about, or, if she disappeared from his view, he grew so restless and dissatisfied, that Jessie’s powers of entertainment were alto-— “gether unequal to the task of amusing him. Bessie wandered about, sometimes searching for nuts, quite “as often watching the wild inhabitants of the woods, or losing Oe BORDER BESSIE. herself in contemplation of the scenes around her—once in a while pausing to answer the echoing calls of her companions, Thus she had almost unconsciously strayed on, until she found herself within a natural glade by the side of a stream, where the sunshine swept down in broad gleams. She sat down upon the grass, flinging off her sun-bonnet, while she gazed up at the flakes of white cloud, stretching themselves like thin vails between earth and sky. Suddenly she felt, with an instinctive sense of danger, that some one was near her, though she had neither seen ner heard any thing to warn her of anothers presence. Glancing hastily over her shoulder, she beheld, just behind her, the painted face of a stalwart In- dian. ° Her first impulse, of course, was to scream ; but she did - not utter a cry; her second thought was to flee ; but, before she could rise from the ground, the savage caught her by her arms, and quickly pinioned them behind her. “ Injun want squaw ; come ’long!” he said, in broken Eng-_ ‘lish. Knowing that she could not run with much swiftness with her arms bound, Bessie stood, for a moment, perfectly still, un- determined what course to pursue. Then, reflecting that her companions could not be very far away, she gathered her full strength for a scream, and gave it with a will and force that startled the tall savage by her side. “ Big yell! Come ’long now—mus’ run,” he said, taking her by the shoulder and pushing her rapidly before him into the depths of the forest. Determined upon as much delay as possible, the captive *purposely stumbled and fell to the ground. The savage, evidently suspecting the ruse, scowled at her, and, drawing his tomahawk, exclaimed ; “Come fast; no fall again, or me kul!” and taking hold of one of the long braids of hair which had become loosened in her fall, he led her swiftly on. Bessie saw the horse belonging to her captor tethered to a sapling at a little distence in the woods. She noticed, tov, that he had left his rife there. If once placed upon the-ani? mal before her captor, she realized that she would be past present rescue. a -~ WILMOT’S FIRST SCALP, 88 80, while he was untethering the animal, with a despera- tion that was past feeling the pain which she inflicted upon herself, she wrenched her wrists apart, lacerating the flesh,. stripping much of the skin off in doing so; and whirling sud- denly round, ran toward the little stream. The Indian was in pursuit in an instant. Finding that she could run as well as yell, he threw his tomahawk after ler, but it whizzed harm- lessly past. ; On she flew) her pursuer close behind. She could hear his-hard, quick breathing, and when she felt that he was about to seize hold of her again, she suddenly stooped, and the warrior pitched headlong over her, quite knocking her overalso. Clutching both hands full of the soft, dry, yellow sand of the soil, she arose just as the Indian sprung forward to seize her, and, scarcely know- ing what she did, hurled the sand full into his open mouth and eyes. He made a grasp at her, stopped—sputtered— danced wildly about in frantic rage for a moment, and then dashed toward the water—Bessie, meanwhile, continuing her flight. Soon she saw Captain Wilmot and another one of the young men of the party coming toward her with all pos- sible speed. She pointed toward the stream, unable for a moment to speak, and Wilmot, seeing an Indian dodging along the banks trying to escape, rushed forward, determined to take at least one scalp, that he might no longer be reproached by the old frontiermen, who loved to taunt him with his “ fresh- ness” and inexperience. For a time the banks of the water-course protected the sav- age, who ran stooping, until he should reach the bend in the creek, where the trees and underbrush grew nearly to the water’s edge, under whose protection he expected. to escape. But, Wilmot was a good marksman, if he had“ not practiced upon red-skins, and as the fugitive rose from his bent position to dart into the woods, the captain fired, and the savage feil to rise no more. To obtain the scalp of his fallen foe was the next thing to be done ; but, though Wilmot ardently desired to possess it, yet he could not repress a cold shudder at the thought of tak- ing such a trophy. But, have it he must; ‘so, after another - moment’s hesitation, he proceeded to the task, and, had it not been for pride’s sake, he would have thrownit from him even « e after securing it. Noticing, a little further onfthe tethered horse, he took possession of it, then hastily retraced his steps, and soon oyvertvok the whole party, which now had all gath- ered—every one ina state of alarm and excitement. Bessie, whose pale face showed how much she was suffering from her lacerated wrists, and overcome by the excitement she had un- dergone, was seated upon the captured horse, and the whole party hastened homeward. Captain Wilmot placed himself at the bridle-rein, and, as they emerged from the woods and turned toward the village, he exclaimed, in-a low, agitated tone: “Oh, Bessie | I cansearcely realize that you are safe, though I do realize how dear—how very dear you are to me, Your . pale face almost breaks my heart !” '“No, no! you must not say that!” said Bessie, quick- ly. “ P08: : . “JT will say it! You aredear tome; you have long known it—you must have known it !” “No, Captain Wilmot; I never imagined that your heart was in the matter at all. We have been friends—we can stil be friends, but nothing more,” replied Bessie, in calm, decided tones. fi “ More than friends, Bessie Ryan—more than friends—or less. It is either love or hate, with me!” he answered, in sup- pressed tones, through his set teeth. | Bessie did not reply, but, shaking the bridle loose from his hand, she joined some others of the party, and Captain Wil- mot, with a cold bow, strode off in ‘the direction of the fort. ; Quite an excitement reigned in the little village when the adventure became known. A small band of men went out to scour the woods, and ascertain whether there were Indians lurking near, but the only thing discovered was the fact that a party of red-skins, on a hunting expedition, had passed near the vicinity of the settlement. The supposition was, that one of the number, while roving through the forest, by chance espied Bessie alone and unprotected, and conceiving that it it would be an Gasy matter to secure her as a captive, had made the attempt. He lost his prize and his life; and Bessie —she won.a suitor. all SE a A TRIP TO-THE FARM-HOUSEB, = Be » OTR va A MAIDEN’sS CHOICE AND A MAIDEN’S LOSS, Apour two weeks after the nutting-excursion, Mrs. Ryan announced ber determination to visit her late home, with a view to obtaining some useful articles which had never» yet been removed. What she proposed was usually acquiesced in, for those well acquainted with her knew that opposition but added to her determination to carry her point, whatever it might be; so Bessie made no objection ; and. seeing her sis- ter-in-law’s preparations for the expedition, a desire. to revisit the old homestead also seized her. “Kate! I believe I will go with you; what do you say 2” “You kin do as you like, I reckon !” was the reply, which signified the widow’s entire willingness that Bessie should ac- company her. E “And do let me go, too !” exclaimed Jessie Grey, who had, according to custom, run over to spend’a part of the afternoon with her friend Bessie. “What d’ye s’pose I keer?” replied Mrs. Ryan. “ But, ye'd better ask yer own folks about it, ’fore ye calkelate too much on’t.” Mr. Grey was willing that Jessie should go, but stipulated that the trip should be postponed until the next morning, and a larger party made up, which should include one or two men “ asa protection against danger. Thus the matter was finally arranged, and Captain Wilmot, hearing of the proposed excursion, called at Mr. Grey’s and offered himself ‘as Jessie’s escort, which added exceedingly to the anticipated pleasure of the young girl. Bessie received Jessie’s announcement of Wilmot’s attend- ance with a quiet manner that indicated neither pleasure nor dissatisfaction. > , The following morning, the Jittle party, consisting of Mrs. _ Ryan, Bessie, Jessie Grey, Captain Wilmot and Mrs. Ryan's. ° 86 2 =——i=—Cs«C we) BORDER BESTE, man, Pete, set out for the”plantation—the three first mounted each upon her own favorite horse, and in high spirits with the prospect which the fine day afforded. Bessie led the way—a thing so common with her as to be expected. Captain Wilmot’s manner was just the same ag usual; he did not seem to remember that any thing unplea- sant had passed between himself and Bessie, but laughed and chatted with Mrs, Ryan and Jessie Grey, with an occasional remark to Bessie, when she chanced to linger within conver- sational distance. If her calm indifference of manner signified any thing to him he would not allow it to appear; and so, when they had nearly reached the farm, he left Jessie Grey to the society of her friend, Mrs. Ryan, and urged his horse on until he came alongside of Bessie, who then seemed absorbed in a fit of — musing. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said, gayly, looking into her face, as though he expected what he desired—a revela- tion. “T am not in the retail business!” and Bessie softened the abruptness of her reply with a faint smile. “Perhaps you would wholesale them, then, which would suit me much better,” was the return jest. “No. Ihave no thoughts for you, in any way,” was the rejoinder. Captain Wilmot’s face flushed and paled several times be- fore he found voice to réply : ' “ You have trifled with me, Bessie, and you shall repent of it. A man’s heart is not a mere plaything, to be cast aside as worthless, after affording a moment’s amusement !’’ “T have never given you the faintest reason to suppose that I cared for you, other than as a friendly acquaintance, and I tell you now, and once for all, that I do not love you, and if you knew me as others know me, you would never give me occasion to repeat what I now haye said.” Wilmot was silent for a moment; then, as they eame in sight of the deserted farm-house, thinking it his best oppor- tunity, he remarked: “Neither do you know me, Bessie, or you would-not think of this being the end!” and drawing in his rein a little, he * — I { I 1 CHOOSING AN Escort. pees allowed Bessie to precede him up the path to the house, while he rejoined Jessie Grey. | After spending an hour or two about the place, and secur- ing such things as she had come to obtain, Mrs. Ryan signi- fied her readiness to return to the village. i As they were winding slowly down the slope which led from the house to the river-path, an exclamation from Mrs. Ryan directed the attention of the party to a band of hunters advancing through the woods directly toward them. The tall form of Will Bently was all that Bessie cared to see, and ~ the bright flush of pleasure mantled her cheek and glowed in her eye as they met, but there was an. indescribable something in his manner toward her for which she could not account, and, after the warmth and surprise of the first greeting were over, he seemed to grow strangely reserved: . “J wonder what it means?” she thought, and, glancing to- ward him with an inquiring look upon her face, she found him regarding her intently. ‘She smiled involuntarily, and Bently, smiling in revurn, came up to her as the party was about to move on. Bessie waited for Mrs. Ryan and Jessie to pass on before; Captain Wilmot waited for Bessie; but, she showed no sign of moving from the spot At length, as the position was be- coming awkward, Bessie turned her horse’s head, determined to thwart Wilmot’s purpose of riding back with her; and, addressing Bently, who stood with his rifle on his shoulder waiting to see them off, she directed his attention to the deso- late appearance of the homestead, and seemed utterly oblivious to the presence of the waiting cavalier. At length she asked : '* You are going on to the fort now, are you not ?” “ So I intended,” he replied, moving forward with her, anc ~ not attempting to conceal his amusement at the discomfiture of Captain Wilmot, who, accepting the situation, rode on to join the others of the party. “What has kept you away so long 2” inguired Bessie. “ Well,” began Bently, hesitatingly, “I have not—truth told—been gone as long as you suppose !” “Indeed! You have been home, then, and gone out again, without so much as letting us know of it, have yuu?” “Wot exactly. I came within a few miles of home and “stopped over night with an old friend settled further up. the river, and finally I resolved on a change of plan, and went out again without seeing home.” “Of course you had a reason, for it, which I am not going to ask,” said Bessie, half-laughing and blushing a little; “but — I want to tel! you one thing: when you hear stories about me, don’t believe them until you know them to be true.’ “T shall not, certainly. I may understand, then, that there * ig no truth in certain rumors I have heard?” and he spoke With eager earnestness, scanning her face, as she replied: “J can, of course, only surmise what you may have heard ; but, I can truly say there is no ground for. any rumors con- cerning me.” “oBessie f°. “Will!” There was a clasping of hands; each understood the other ; there was no need of words. Z Contrary to expectations, Bessie’s inveterate suitor continued as bland and attentive as ever. True, he gave her no further occasion to repeat her decision, but persistently displayed his unvarying devotion, by attaching himself to her whenever and whereyer he could do so with- out danger, or receiving a direct rebuff, being particularly eareful not to place himself inva position which would afford Miss Ryan an opportunity of administering one. Toward his rival, Will Bently, his manner was, at first, overbearing and supercilious, but gradually became eoneil- jating, and finally ended in direct overtures of friendship. He volunteered his own confidence, thinking perhaps to secure Bently’s ; but, Will’s only revelations were concerning his stirring and adventurous life in the woods, and among the savages and frontiermen—never alluding, in the remotest manner, to the one person so dear to him. Not so, however, with Captain Wilmot; he seemed to have a special. delight in dwelling upon every trifling circumstance of his association with Bessie, enlarging always upon any word or action of hers which might be construed into an indication of’ interest ‘a himself. “T never told you, did - Bently ?” he said, one day, as the * ' et, THE REDOUBTABLE CAPTAIN. 8 _ two sat before a fire in one of the block-houses, cleaning their rifles, “ of that adventure of mine and Miss Ryan’s, that hap- pened last fall? Came near being a serious affair for her, 1 \ ean tell you!” “Why, no, I don’t remember that I’ ever heard of it from you; what is it?” “ Well, of course it is something that I don’t speak of to every one; it seems rather egotistical to mention it at all, and I wouldn’t do it if we were not friends, and I know you take almost as much interest in the young ladyasIdo. Well, ene day early in the fall, two or three of us went out into the woods to spend the day, and gather some nuts. Bessie wandered off by herself. I cautioned her not to go too far, but she isn’t much afraid of any thing, and so kept on until she came to a sunny spot on the banks of the creek, and there she sat down to rest, never dreaming of the danger near.” “Tt was very careless of you, I think, to let a young girl stray off into the woods alone, in such times as we have had!” interrupted Bently, E “ Well, it was; but, Ll kept my eyes and ears open, and when I heard her scream, it didn’t take me long to reach the spot where she was. There I saw an Indian, painted and looking like the devil himself, trying to make off with her; but, this rifle of mine soon ended his maneuvers, and Bessie had the pleasure of a ride home on the red-skin’s horse.” __ “J suppose you felt quite like a hero, as you escorted her home, afrer such a thrilling adventure!” remarked Bently, with a touch of quiet sarcasm in his voice. “TJ felt as any man would feel, who had saved the girl he loved from captivity or death!’ replied the captain, loftily. Bently remained silent, busily engaged upon his rifle. After a few moments of silence, Captain Wilmot resumed : “You can not think it strange, then, that a warm-hearted girl like Miss Ryan, should have some liking for the man who saved her life !” “No; and I heard some time ago, that you were really engaged, but the report was afterward contradicted, by what ¥ considered good authority. How is it?” said Bently, wish- ing to hear what answer Wilmot would give to so direct «# question. “0 ei BORDER ‘iia “J don’t actually say that we are engaged,” said Wilmot, with emphasis; “bit I do say that if any one has a chance in that quarter, I have:!” “That’s a very different thing from the impression you haye tried to convey,” replied Bently, coolly, and shouldering his rifle, he left the fort, and struck into the road that led into the forest. The young hunters feelings were not as unruffled as they | J 8 § y appeared to be. He loved the forest beauty passionately, and when he saw the handsome young soldier—eyen more refined and accomplished than himself—constantly besieging her with his attentions, and practicing the many little arts of pleasing of which he himself was quite incapable, he could but allow the fear to enter his heart, that, perhans after all he should lose the love he was once so sure of winning. He decided, however, that he would, without further delay, ask Bessie, plainly, how the matter stood—whether she loved him and would be his wife, or not. Accordingly, early in the evening of the same day, he turned his steps toward Mrs. Ryan’s house. It was after dark, but a bright light from the great blazing fire in the rude fire-place shone through the little uncurtained window. He paused a moment on the steps before knocking, his heart beating more rapidly than usual with the thought of bis errand. A voice within—Bessie’s voice—came to his ears. hs “ Captain Wilmot, you’ll crush my hand !” A light laugh from the one addressed followed this excla- mation. } “ Do as I say, then, and I will release it.” A silence sueceeded, suggesting compliance on the part of the lady. ; ; : Bently let fall his uplifted hand, and turned to retrace hi steps. “ This is scarcely just,” thought he, pausing. “I will not — be hasty in judging her; I will go in.” In returning toward the house, he glanced at the little win- dow, through which the scene within was plainly apparent. Almost unconsciously he allowed himself to gaze in upon the occupants of the room. Mrs. Ryan, with her child upon her \ap, sat with her back toward the two principal figures, Bessie _ i ~ & LOVER LOST. and Wilmot. Wilmot was standing before thé fire, with his — back to the window, holding both of Bessie’s hands in’ his own. She stood passive, and apparently well content, with the light of the cheerful fire playing upon her beautiful fea- tures. “Tf she dislikes him, really, as she has given me reason to” suppose, it is impossible that she, with her lofty pride and womanly reserve, would permit such freedom. Oh, Bessie, can it be that I have been deceived in you, or you deceived in yourself?” Saying which, in a tone that was almost a groan, Bently turned and strode away through the darkness. In the morning he was gone. In company with some hunters and trappers who had been tarrying in the settlement for a day or two, he had started on another expedition, telling his friends at the fort to look for him when they saw him coming—not before. “That’s what you git fur your doin’s!” exclaimed Mrs. Ryan, in her angriest manner, to the young woman, on learn- ing the circumstances of Bently’s departure. “I told ye I heerd a step at the door last night, when that fool was cuttin’ round here so, an’ Joe Sykes says he seen Will leave here. So his goin’ away is your fault, an’ ye might as well be told of it!” _ “ Kate, you ought not to blame me, for you know just how it is. You know how presuming and persistent Oaptain Wil- mot is; and that, last night, I was obliged to tell ae to go, or I would never recognize him again in any way.” “He didn’t believe ye, though,” replied Mrs. ape in 3 sharp tone. “Jt is not impossible that he has purpesely deceived win” said Bessie, musingly. “ Wal, it’s too late now to be thinkin’ of that. I dou’t expect Will Bently ’ll ever set his foot in ¢2és house ag’in.” Bessie turned silently away. She had a dull sense of pain at her heart that never before was hers. Winter passed, and still no news of Will Bently reached the little settlement around Fort Kyle. Spring advanced, ‘with its life-renewing power, bringing fresh beauty. to wild-wowd » Mee “BORDER BESTE. 49 i } > and glade, but the season did not bring its accustomed: x giadness to Bessie Ryan. The impress of the consuming anxiety in her heart began to appear in her face, from which the snows of winter appeared to have ehilled out the old rose bloom. Her eye lost much of its sparkling brightness, her laughter its silver ring, and her proud bearing its animation and independence. More and more reserved did she become toward all; and a nervous watchfulness, whenever she heard — - a heavy step, betrayed that she was constantly listening and waiting for a footstep that did not come. Toward Captain Wilmot her manner was that of decided dislike, so apparent as to be an effectual preventive against any further attentions from him. Believing him to have been _ guilty of some underhanded measure to cause estrangement between herself and Bently, she did not care to dissemble her real feelings of dislike for him. CHAPTER VI. GONE INDEED. “ Bap news, Bess !” “ What is it, Kate ?”’ was asked, anxiously. “ Lightfoot is missing.” “ Missing ?” “Yes; not hair or hide of him to be found, nowhar.” “ Stolen, of course!” suid Bessie, excitedly. “Reckon not; leastways, ’tain’t likely they’d ’a took one and left Vother. Pete fonnd the stable-door open when he went out thar this mornin’. I told Pete to go ‘long to the — field an’ Yd look him up; s’posed he was round the village | somewhar ; but heain’t. I’ve been lookin’ fur him fur more’n an hour.” re “ He’s gone to the farm, of course,” added the girl. “ Wal, I thought of that, but don’t know, neither,” said Mrs. Ryan. : " “Tl walk out in that direction and see if I can find any trace of him,” said Bessie, taking up her sun-bonnet. . oe RAR AO ae iene BESSIE’S DISAPPEARANCE. SS “ Better take the gray, an’ then you won’t be gone so long. ime some of them garden-seeds was in the ground. Never will be, I reckon, at this rate. Not a chick nora child to do a hand’s turn, an’ us women-folks runnin’ round after stray* - critters !” scolded the little widow, as she turned back into the house. Noon came, and no appearance of Bessie, or the ungallant Lightfoot who had so unceremoniously walked off the night before. Sunset, and the men returned from the fields; still, no Bessie Ryan. Twilight, and Mrs. Ryan, now seriously alarmed, left her house and ran over to Mr. Grey’s, begging him to gather up a number of the neighbors and go in search of the absent girl. In a short time the news of Bessie’s ab- sence was spread over the little village. All were thrown into a state of anxiety and alarm. It appeared that, instead of taking Mrs. Ryan’s horse, she had started out on foot, having been told by one of the néighs bors’ children that her horse had been seen not far from the village. A A party of men struck out fmunedlateby for the Ryan farm, expecting to meet her on the way unless something serious had befallen her. At the village, all waited in the most try- ing suspense, almost counting the moments until the return of the searching party. Not until some hours after dark did the men come in, and then they brought no tidings of the wissing girl. Reaching the plantation, a careful search fol- lowed, but not a trace of her having been there was discoy- ered. Calling loudly at frequent intervals, the party turned — homeward, lighting torches and separating to look for her in the woods, but without the least success; and the villagers, gathering in little groups, discoursed sadly over the fate which it was feared had befallen her. In the morning, a number of the soldiers and several of the settlers sallied forth to renew the search. The friends of the family were vainly endeavoring to conjecture the pro- babilities of her whereabouts, As no one had recently seen Indians in the vicinity, the general impression was that she had become lost in the woods, where she had, or might, be- come the prey of some wild animal. Qn the afternoon of the day after the girl’s disappearance, aa | BORDER BESSIE. x Captain Wilmot came slowly riding into town, leading the — missing horse of which she had gone in search, Until then, no one had thought of his absence. He looked haggard, and very much fatigued. He was immediately besieged by inqui- rics as to where he had been, and whether he knew aught of Miss Bessie. His answer was that he had seen her out in an old pasture lot, where he accidentally encountered her; that he then first learned of her loss, and urged ‘her to return _. home while he himself continued the search; that she had refused his offers and started off alone; that after she had disappeared, he started for the Ryan plantation, but, striking the horse’s trail, late in the day, found the missing horse ; and that, in returnimg, he had undertaken a cross-cut through the woods, and got bewildered and delayed, and had only now succeeded in finding his way home. Several days passed. The men who had gone out in search returned, but brought no tidings of the lost one. They aad found but one clue to her disappearance. The cabin of 4 settler, situated far out in the forest, several miles away wom any other habitation, was found in ashes, among which tney discovered the bones of several human beings. It was — aighly probable that Indians had been the cause of their de- ttruction, but, as the depredators had had ample time to escape before the discovery was made, it was deemed adyis- able that the party should return home, excepting two or tree of the most experienced and hardy hunters, who would seep on the trail of the Indians and discover, if possible, whether they had Bessie Ryan in their possession. Within a week the scouts returned, and reported having followed the trail of the band of Indians supposed to have murdered the settler’s family, and, upon coming up with fhem, had carefully reconnoitered the camp, and satisfied themselves that they had no captive with them. And so poor Bessie was mourned as among the dead. After an absence of many months, Will Bently returned te the settlement which he had left so abruptly. He seemed fo have changed greatly. The handsome, genial, careless Will of old had become the most reserved and unapproacha- vle of men. ss ss ails Captain Wilmot?” he asked of an soquaintagee | i z 4 ete ug apne en eenebales San BENTLY HEARS 60ME NEWS. =| 45 soon after his arrival. ‘He seems rather down in the mouth, and quite unlike the man he used to be.” “Te knows what's thought of him in these parts, I reckon,” was the reply. “Well, what is that? You forget that I have been away from here for many months.” “Folks thinks as how he knows what went wrong with Bessie Ryan, if he’d only tell it.” “ What do you mean ?” demanded Bently, in astonishment, starting up, and advancing toward the speaker. “Don’t know what I mean! Now, Bently, you're runnin’ on me. There ain’t a child in this settlement as don’t know the whole story.” “ How should J know, a hundred miles away ?” said Bent- ly, with increasing agitation. “Wal then, the long an’ short of the matter is,” said the old man, considerably surprised at Bently’s manner, “she ‘disappeared one day a spring, and nothin’s ever been seen or heerd of her sence.” Bently glared at the speaker for a moment in silent con- sternation, then exclaimed : ; “Were there no men in this settlement? Whyhasshenot been found, dead or alive !” : “No use, Bently. Every thing was done as could be done. Not a glimmerin’ of her could ever be found or heard of, an’ lately folks have been hintin’ round that Captain Wilmot knows more about it than he lets on to.” “Tl find out what he knows of the matter if I have to tear his coward’s heart out!” muttered Bently to himself, as he turned toward the village and made his way directly to Mrs, Ryan’s house. e The little widow was aciginted to see him. “Thank the Lord, ye’re here at last!’ she exclaimed, “ Now there'll be some chance of findin’ out somethin’ about Bess !” “ve come to you to hear the whole story,” replied Bently. With many gestures and expressions of indignation, she velated the circumstances connected with the maiden’s disap- * _ ‘pearance, and of the attempts made for her recovery, not 6 ~ porpER BUSSTE. sparing her censure when speaking of the want of persever- ance in those engaged in looking for her, and ended her re- cital with an allusion to Captain Wilmot. “ Haye you any reasons for supposing Wilmot could have désired to injure her ? I thought they were the best of friends !” said Bently. “ Wal, they wasn’t. She almost hated him, an’ he swore hel be revenged on her. They hadn’t spoke together fur some time afore she was lost !” replied Mrs. Ryan. _ “TJ don’t understand it. They seemed—” “Yes, I know,” interrupted Mrs. Ryan, impatiently ; and with a degree of loquacity very unusual with her, she pro- ceeded to give the full details of the state of affairs between Bessie and Wilmot, not omitting an explanation of the scene which had caused Bently’s sudden departure from the vil- lage. Wilmot had come there that evening and renewed his suit in the most impetuous and ardent manner, seemingly deter- mined upon obtaining an encouraging reply to his proposal. Drawing his chair near to Bessie, he had seized her hand with _. @ force that drew an exclamation of pain from her—refusing to release it, until she should say ““ Yes” to his suit. When she rose from her chair, the better to extricate herself, the captain possessed himself of both hands, declaring he would never let them go until one was promised to him. Bessie ceased to struggle, finding it useless to do so, and, after stand- ing thus, passive and silent, for a moment, she had given him one of the most decided, scornful and indignant dismissals that ever sent a suitor on his way. The suspicion which had fallen on him, grew out of a threat of revenge he had been heard to utter against her; and the circumstance of his absence about the time of her disappear ance, as well as his reappearance with her horse, served ta confirm the general impression of his guilt. ; The feelings of Bently, regarding Bessie, were completely reyolutionized. In the place of distrust, there sprung up a stronger Confidence, a warmer admiration than he ever had entertained, and he could but blame himself severely for his hasty conduct. Had he remained at home, it might never have happened, or, happening, he would haye been there vowsintagt i SR RAS ay same SS PT renhgacrsitede 64 ae ee i % # fs ei g| eh JOR IN SEARCH OF KNOWLEDGE. | to trace her up and rescue her, if in the world of the liv- ® ing. known to be dead, and there still was a chance of recovering her. In any case, life could have no other object or interest for him, until the mystery was solved, and he had expiated his - wrong to her by devotion to her memory. Returning to the fort, he heard, as he approached the in- closure, the loud and angry tones of some one within. Passing through the gate, he found Joe Sykes standing, pistol in hand, indignantly addressing Captain Wilmot, who stood facing him with a cool composure that would hardly have been expected of him. “ Nobody but a coward and a sneak would take that, by Jinks! Now, tell the truth, or fight—quicker !” “ What is this, Joe ?” interrupted Bently. “T yow, by Jinks! ef he does know any thing about that gal, I’m bound to make him tell it,” said Joe, with consider- able bluster. Bently’s face clouded, and turning toward Wilmot, with a glance that seemed to search him through and through, he said : ‘ “ Wilmot, this is no child's play. Jf you know any thing whatever concerning the fate of Bessie Ryan, have the man-_ liness to reveal it. You either know, or you do not know. Tell the truth, whatever it is !” Wilmot stood facing his accusers, armed as they were, but showing no disposition to accept Joe’s invitation to fight. There are times in which all the nobility in a man’s nature _ will start up, as if from slumber, and assert itself’ Whatever of soldierly qualities Wilmot possessed, he had not made much display of them. Now he turned to his interlocutor, with a calm countenance, not devoid of a tinge of melancholy, say- ? ng: Once for all, then: I know as little concerning the loss of Bessie Ryan as yourseiyes. If you want to fight, suy the word ; T am ready !” Joe looked at Bently as if waiting for orders, But, something might be done even yet. She was not \ “You assail me as if I were a villain of the blackest sort. rie _“ What I want in this matter,’ said the latter, after a mo- ment’s silence, “is to learn all that. is possible of the circum- stances of her disappearance.” “J was absent at the time, unfortunately for myself ‘as well as for Bessie; and only know what I have heard from others.” Upon this, Bently turned away, closely followed by Joe Sykes, who remarked, in an undertone : “ Shows grit—don’t he? I kinder thought I could skeer ‘it out of him, ef he knowed any thing, ’bout it. By Jinks! it mout be he’d do fur a sojer, arter all !” “ Sykes !” \ “Wal, Bently, what is it?” / “Are you ready for a tramp?” “ Ready, by. Jinks! I’m on the way this minnit, if ye say so ie “Well, I’ve a plan in my head,” said Bently, in a thought- ful, abstracted manner. -“Hev ye? Ireckon I know what ’tis, without yer tellin’ me. Ye kin count on me, sartin /” “ Say, then, we start this afternoon ?” “The sooner the better, fur as 'm consarned. Got grub enough jerked fur two months’ rations, and feed enough for old smooth-bore, here, for a siege, and my legs jist achein for 8 two-hundred-mile stretch.” CHAPTER VI‘. THE SECOND BLOW. Brssmz Ryan, on leaving the house of ber sister-in-law, hurried out to the road leading to the Ryan farm, hoping to find her horse Lightfoot, grazing along upon the new grass at the roadside. Thinking that he might haye been seen by some of the inmates of the cabins in that direction, and stopping at several places to make inquiries, she was finally told that he _ had been seen, not long before, leisurely making his way out to the old place. Gea foot. She followed on for nearly a mile, when they left the “as though some one had recently entered, intending to return “ Very likely, then, I can overtake him, and if I can get within calling distance I shall have no trouble to catch him, " she said. ; “Ye mout, if yer spry, Miss Bess,” saplied the woman of whom she received the information; “but, I’m thinkin’, twould a’ been a heap better ef ye’d a-took a critter yerself.” “ Very true,” replied Bessie, laughing; “but I am a good walker, and hope to have my own horse to ride back on; an- | other would be just one too many.” : “] know yer right-down smart; but then a loose critter fillin’ his mouth with fresh grass, ain’t so dretful aay to come up to, ye know!” Patting the fat cheek of the little child that had caught hold of the skirt of her dress with its chubby hands, and with a cheerful “ good-morning ” to the pleased mother, Bessie placed her foot on a bar which served as a gate, sprung over it with a light bound, and hurried away. The ground still was wet with the heavy dew which had fal- len the previous night, and the tracks of a horse here and there | were easily distinguished for some distance, and the young woman was sure that they were those of her favorite, Light- path and were lost in the beaten and trampled spot before the — bars of the village pasture-field, which were partially down, soon. aM Heie was a dilemma. Could it be that she had all this time been following a wrong trail? Itseemed almost certain that she had. Somewhat discouraged, she sat down for a moment upon a log, deliberating what to do, and wishing that - she had taken the widow’s gray, as Mrs. Ryan had advised, when a noise behind startled her. She turned round to see Captain Wilmot just inside ofthe gap. Heevident'y had been | back in the pasture after his horse, which he was leading, being _ mounted upon another. Hl The situation was rather embarrassing to both, as each had avoided the other for some time; but Wilmot, with an easy nonchalance of manner that overcame all appearance of con- I straint, gave her a smiling “ good-morning,” and inquired if i Miss: Ryan was “ lobking for the cows.” sii i “Ym in search of Lightfoot, and followed what I supposed to be his trail as far as this,” she replied, quietly. “Those are the foot-marks of the horse I rode out here,” said Wilmot. “I’m sorry they misled you. ll make what amends I can, and go in search of Lightfoot myself, if you esire it.” “Oh, no,” was the answer. “I do not wish to trouble you. J will return home now, and send ae after him in the morn- ing.” _“ Will you accept of my horse to take you home?” asked Wilmot. “T am not tired, and prefer to walk,” was the reply. “Well, then, I shall ride on to the farm and see if your borse is there ;” and so saying, he turned his horse’s head in the direction of the plantation, and after waiting a moment to see Bessie begin her homeward walk, rode away. The road which Bessie had followed was so winding and Citcuitous as to make it convenient sometimes to take a short cut through the woods. the general render, being, In that reapecs, soe thing like Mrs. Crowe’s “Night ids Na tnre,” and Robert Dale Owen's ** Footh ‘la o the Boundary of Another World.” Young People’s Hand-Books. No, 5,—DIME FORTUNE-TELLER. cour nian THR ART OF VORTUNE-TELLING, HOW 7O READ CHARACTER, BTG, CONTENTS, vORTUN TELLING BY CARDS.—Dealing the Carda by Threes, Dealing the Cards by Sevens, Dualing the Cards by Fifteens, The Vsvnaty-one Curds, The Ialian Method, Pre- seut, Past and Future, Another Method of Consulting the Cards, To Know if you will Get your Wish, The English Method of Con- al ing the Carda TOTELLA “PERSON’S CHARACTER No. 6.—DIME LADIES’ ees REARS OF CABALISTIC CALCULA PALMS ee ou TELLING FORTUNES B¥ LIN * THE HAND, E. bh LING BY TT HE GROUNDSIN EA OR COFFEE CUP. HOW TO READ YOUR FORTUNE BY THE WHITE OF AN EGG DREAMS AND THE! IR INTERPRETA LETYTER-WRITER. @lrlug the various forms of Letters of School Days, Love and Friendship, of Society, ote, | CONTENTS. nee TO WRITE AND HOW NOT TO 1 03 PU NCTUATE, CAPITALIZE, Era, S$ OF CHILDUOUD, L RS OF $C. Boy eee LELTERS OF FRI LETTERS OF COUR SHIP A ND LOVE, LETTERS OF SO: oe a INVITATIONS Ik- TRODUCTIONS. LEI S OF SYMP ATHY. LETTERS OF BUSINESS. WRITING FOR THE PRESS, RULES FOR SPELLING PROVERBS FROM SHAKSPEARE. POETIC QUOTATIONS. WORDS ALIKE IN SOUND, oe : one IN Tae ote AND SPELLING, XPLANATIO: F THE Most Cc F UINCH tVIATIONS or WO! te TLEALIAN Ww 'ORDS AND PHRASES, No. 7.-DIWA LOVERS’ CASKET, A Treatise and Guide to Friendship, Lov», Courtship and Marringe. ¥£ Embracing alse a complete pal Dietions ary, ete. CONTENTS, FRIENDSHIP.—Its Personality, Between Man _ and Woman, Close Communior ‘raper, Let- ters, A Warning, Excellent Auvice, A Prime Point, Allow no Improper Intimacy, Special to Young Men, Something to Avoid, Gallan- tries, Gilts, Beware of Love, Correspondence. Hy The Dawn of Love, Love’s Secretive- ess, Confidenees, The First Conse ousnesa of! ove A Man’s Way, A Woman’s Way, Un- worthy Objects of Caee by Woman, Unwor-} thy Objects of Man’s Luve, How to Avoid’ Mlatnkes. (OURTSHIP.—The Door Ajar, Disengared, E gaged: at what age is it proper, Ene seater not to be protracted, The Wooing Time, The Proposal, Asking Papa, The Rights of Pa- rent, Engaged, Hraposit elected Breaking off an Engagement. | MARRIAGE.— Lhe Proper Time, Various forms No, 8,—DIME BALL-ROOM COMPANION. of Marriage, The ‘Troussenu, Presents, Bow. ucts, The Bridesmaids, The Bridegroomsmen, the Bride, The Bridegroom, the Certificate, Alter the Ceremouy, The Wedding Breakfact, = ee ” or “No Cards,” Notes Congratula ory. AET cR MARRIAGE. —Something to Twice, Twelve Golden Life- Macing k Tat with the Unmarried. WISCELLANEOUS.—Language of the Hand- kerchief, Language of the Fan, Langunge of the Cano, Languaye of Finger Rings, Yedding Anniversaries, viz,: The Paper Weddin; Wooden Wedding, Tin Wedding, Crys Weddinr, J ne Vedding, Silver Wedding, Golder Addi TH LANGUAG fe OF FLOWERS.—How to Use the Vocabulary, The Vocabulary. I- Flowers, Tho Vocabulary, I1—Sentimenits 4 Mt @aido to Dancing. Giving Rules of Etiquette, Tints on Private Parties; Toliets toi 4 Ball-room, etc. CONTENTS.” @TIQURTTY.—Arrangements, Private Parties, The Parlor or Dancing Apa.tment, Music, Re freshmenta, Ladies’ Toilets, Gentlemen’s Devens, The G an MASQUEKAD PRO pan CONCERTS. BOCTA ORDER OF DANCIN GPECIAL RULES OF CONDUCTS. . SQUARE DANCES.—Plain Qradrille, Dowbn Quadrille, The Nine Pin, The Lanciers, The Caledonis The Prince “Iperial, The’ Vir- ginia Reel, The Spanish Dance, La Tempete. ROUND DANCES.-~The Waltz a Trois Tempa, Waltz in Double Time, Uellarius or Mazourks Waltz, The Schottisehe, The Polka, the Galo Redowa, Polka Redowa, Esmerelda, Danis Polka, The Varsovinna. (2H These books are for sale by all nowsdonlors; or will be sent, postpaid, to any address, om of price, TaN Ours BACH, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, Now Yorn, DIME POCKET NOVELS. PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY, AT TEN CENTS EAOH, olfe. fe White Tracker, he Outlaw’s Wife. he Tall Trapper. Lightning Jo. 10 The Isinnd Pirate. 11 The Boy Ranger. 12 Bess, the Trapper. * 18 The Sapa Spy. 4 a Tone hot. The, Seicaker, ie Red Mand. 1% Ben, the Trapper. 18 Wild Raven. Specter Ohtef. ’ar-Killer, Nat. Jo. 28 Old ante the Ranger, 24 The One-E 2 hay Trapper. 25 Godbold, the Spy. 26 ae Peed Ship. OMAR cca yatle ANOE. folden Harpoon. 88 The Sealp King. 8&4 Old Lute. 4 Rainbolt, Ranger. # The Boy Pioneer, $e Carson, the G 88 The Heart Eater. 30 Wetzel, the Scout. 10 The Huge Hunter. 41 Wild Nat, the Trapper. 42 Lynx-cap. The White Outlaw. 44 The Dog Trailer. 15 The Elk King. 46 Adriann, the Pilot. 47 The M 48 The Ph 19 Moceasin BIL. 50 The Wolf Queen. 51 Tom Hawk, Trailer. 52 The Mad Chief, 58 The Black Wolf. 54 Arkansas Jack. 55 Blackbeard. 56 The River Rifles. 57 Hunter Ham, 58 Cloudwood. 173 174 175 176 177 178 Percy B. St. John. 179 Khe Tonkawa r. Tracker. ilton. Read Border Thomas. essie. Read Ready March 22d. Ready April 5th. ‘The. Lost Bride. K ueen of the Plains; or, oer he Ready April 19th. 569 The Texas Hawke 60 Merciless Mat. Ra Mad Anthony’s Scouts. The Luckless Trapper. | 68 The Florida Scout. 64 oe penne Trapper. 65 Wo! 66 Rettling Dick. 6% Sharp-Eye, 68 Iron-Hand 69 The Yellow Hunter. 70 The Phantom Rider. @1 Delaware Tom. @2 Silver Rifle. %8 The Skeleton Scout, 74 Little Rifle. %% The Wood Witch. %6 Old Ruff, the LEaPREE: 7? The Scarlet Shoulders, %8 The Border Rifleman. 29 Outlaw Jack. 80 Tiger-T all, Seminole, 81 Death-Dealer. 82 Kenton, the Ranger. 88 The Specter Horseman, 84 The Three Trappers, 85 Kaleolah. 86 The Hunter Hercules. 8? Phil Hunter. 88 The Indian Scout, 89 The Girl Avenger. 90 The Red Hermiteas, 91 Star -Face, the Slayer. 92 The Antelope Boy. 98 The Phantom Hunter, 94 Tc Pintle, the Pilot, 95 The Red Wizard. 96 The Rival Trappers. 9? The Squaw Spy. 98 Dusky Dick 99 Colonel Crocke tt. 100 Old Bear Paw. 101 Redlaw. 102 Wild Rube. 108 The Indian Hunters, 104 Scarred Eagle. 105 Nick Doyle. 106 The at Spy. 107 Job Dean. 108 The Wood King. 109 The Scalped Hunter. 0 Nick, the Scout. 1 The Texas Tiger. 2 The Crossed Knives. 8 Tiger-Heart. 4 The Masked Avenger. & The Pearl Pirates. 6 Black Panther, M1 i it il aut 11 il ad, order Vengeance: or, The Nighthawk’s Daughter. 1/126 ¥ | 127 Silverspur, | 148 portals K Syccter Riders, Qe 25 Th Ee Se tceanen ankee 128 hn Dick. 129 fld Spy. 180 Mink Donte 181 Red Plum 182 Clyde, the “Trailer. 188 The Lost Cache. 184 The Cannibal Chief. 185 Karaibo. soe Scarlet Moccasin. 87 Kidnap 188 Maid ofthe Mountain, 189 The Scioto Scout«. 140 ae Ren 141 The Mute Ch 142 Gosek the Hunter. ate. 44 The Red Scalper. 1 | 145 The Lone Chief. 146 The Silver Bugle. 147% Chinga, the Cheyenne. 148 The Tangled Trail. 149 The Unseen Hand, 150 The Lone Indian, 151 The Branded Bea e& 152 Billy Bowle; 158 The V ae 154 Red Jack ete 155 The Jungle Scout, 156 Cherokee Chief. aby. The Bandit Hermit. 158 The Patriot Scouts. 159 The Wood Rangers. 160 The Red Foe. 161 Beautiful U: nknown. The Parser Scout, Wild < Mald e wy yoming. he Three Cuptives, he Lost eee order La he L ao Trail. he Trader Spy. he Forest Spotter ereoie T a B T T T The Rorder Foes; or, The Perils of a Night, By Edward Willett. By W. J. Ham- A Romance of the Kanawha. By Mrs. Henry J. The Sons of Liberty; or, The Maid of Tryon. A Story of Life in the West. The Enchanted Rock. By Spy; or, The Comanche Foray. By Edward Willett. By W. J. Hamilton. By James L. Bowen. Ready May 3d. 180 The. Praizic Scourge3 or, The Jaguar Pet. By W. J. Hamilton. Ready May 17th. BEADLE AND ADAMB, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.