Iii-(Illm l. _ ., ., V »~ ‘
Copyrlghtexl, 1884, by Bin)“: .um Anna. misred at the Post Ofiice :t New York, N. Y., an Second Clan Mail Matter, er.‘5. 1884.

 

2.50 Published Week! b Beadle and Adam: . '
V01. In nchnr. Na ggwiLzlAMyS-r" NEW YORK. ' ’ thrggntg NOI 8|

 

ANTELOPE M BOY GUIDE.

BY OLL COOMES.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ANTELOPE ABE‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

V,‘  ,A

2 l ' ‘ Antelope Abe. the Boy, Guide.

 

 Antelope Abe,
use Bo_Y__GUIDE.

, BY OLL coouss,

“11110301 “ m DUMB SPY,” “'VAGABOND JOE,"
~ no, mo.

 

" ' csAPTER I.
' ‘A' FEARFUL LEAP.

V Tauclear report of a rifle rung out on the
still summer air, and rolled, in sharp reverbera-
tioos. back through the forest hills, followed by
3. wt] wail, whose intonations announced the
nnmi kable presence of death. ‘

And hark! A yell that seemed to issue. in
chants, from the throats of a hundred demons,

smtngnin and sin awakening the slum-

'\ , echoes of w and plain, for miles and
miles around. ' .

‘- , Afew minutes later, a youthful horseman,
who” face was aglow with inward triumph,
Whom the green aisles of the woods, and
dashed away over the great prairie at break

' neck speed. Still a few seconds later, a score
ofpainted and plumed Indian warriors galloperi

‘from the woods on the trail of the youth, and

, thundered away in pursuit.

“Come on, ye k 0’ maw-mouthed impel”

’ shouted the yout , shaking his clinched list at
theapursning savages: “come on, and I’ll givs
ye , lafree check to brimstone-pit, bearin’ the
glnuwine stamp of Antelo Abe—jist so I"

The young hunter choc ed the speed of his
animal, turned partly in his saddle, raised his
"rifle, and fired. . .

The next instant a riderless pony was running

I wildly over the plain.

. Scamer Had his rifle cracked, when the youth,

- with alhout of defiance, shot away lixe an ar
row, while, with wild yells of derision and van-
geanceythe pursuers pressed hard on the trail.

To the youth it was plainly evident that the
diminutive ponies of the red~skins were no
thatch in speed for his clean-linide animal.
And so he felt no fear of being overtaken, but
determined to draw the savages on until he had
slain the last one, if they dared to follow, mak-
all: up in extra speed the time lost in shooting

em. '

.It was an excitin chm—«that score of infuri-

‘ atoll Indians, thuu swing on in pursuit of that
fearless, defiant boy,'whose name to them was
a synonym of terror, and whose scalp in hand
would be the warrant of a chief’s honors, and
the promise of future peace to them.

. Scarcely eighteen years had passed over the
head of Ante ope Abe, and though li ht of form
and lithe of limb,-there were few, i any. that
exceeded him in point of physical strength.

In his dark-brown ‘eyes, soft and tender as a
‘maiden's in expressmn, yet keen and quick as a
hawk’s when danger lurde around, ever re-

_. posed the light of a wild and joyous spirit. His
v nose 'was slightly aquillnouiust enough to add
that foetal-9.50 characteristic. of—a brave and
fearless man. His mouth was expresswe of

r minutes two more ponies were riderless.

 

firmness and decision, and like his eyes, ever
wore a smile of boyish merriment and mischief;

He was dressed in the buck-skin garb of a bun-
ter: everything, from the beaded mocc us to
the fringed cape about his shoulders, betraying
neatness and taste. The collar of his tunic an
shirt lay open, showing a strong neck and full,
massive chest. His head was hare, having lost
his cap during his flight through the woods, and
tresses of dark-brown hair were floating on the
wind about his head and face. Altogether,
Antelope Abe was a youth to be admired, as
well as feared, for he was possessed of all the
nobler attributes and developments of a “ model
man,” as well as the elements requisite to the
successful scout, hunter and guide.

No better marksman, nor horseman on the
border than he; and his swiftness on foot, grace
and agility of movement, were only to be com.
pared to those of the antelope—hence the sob-
ri net, Antelope Abe.

he rairie over which he was riding was the
extens ve lain that stretched its length be-
tween the s Moines and the Checaque rivers.
It was slightly undulating, and dotted here and
there with small mottes of timber or shruhbery,
and diversified with small streams meandering
like tiny vines across its green, grass bosom.

As the youth dashed on, he hasti y reloaded
his rifle, and then when he had gained the sum-
mit of a little knoll, he checked his animal again
—turned in his saddle and fired at his pursuers.

Without waiting to learn the effect of his
shot, be pressed on. aiming to keep just beyond
the range of the inferior rifles with which the
savages .were armed. _

Stung to rage by his repeated death-shots, the
redekins vigorously spurred their ponies for-
ward in hopes of soon ending the chase. But
the fugitive only laughed at their efforts as he
continued to reload and fire upon them.

In this manner the rare continued, and in
less than an hour, six riderless ponies were
scattered over the plain. while for back upon
the trail scores of buzzards were settling down
to feast upon the slain. and yet others with their
naked coral neck outstretched. hung over the
fugitive and watched and waited, alas! for——
what!

0n went the pursuers and. pursued—on be;
neath the hot noontide sun of a midSeptember
day. The ponies of the former were white with
foam and beginning to leg. while the beast of
the youth showed no signs of exhaustion.

“,Wal. wal.” Antelope Abe finally ejaculated,
“ this thing is gittin‘ to be tiresum—a leetle
ole. I’ll have to pass in their checks aleetle
faster."

This he proceeded to carry out, and in a few
As he
now proceeded to reload again he suddenly dis-
covered that he was approaching a small clump
of timber which hitherto had been concealed
from his view by a swell in the plain. This he
would have to pass directly through. or turn
either to the right or left. To change his course
would give the pursuers some advantage, so he
resolved to dash on strai ht through the matte.
And by the time he 1: reached its outskirts,

he had his rifle reloaded, and'betore'enterlng
the Woods he decided to fire upon the Indians

 

‘ use

 

 

3 - situation in an instant.

LY“, . > .z I. I,  ‘ zip],  .

/

Antelope Abe, theBoy Guide.

-I
,v,

,._..,—.

 

 

a sin. 80 he checked his animal and turned in
higs saddle, but before he could raise his rifle and
fire, there was a crashing in the undergrowth
before him; at the same instant his animal was
jerked back upon his haunches, while he was
thrown headlong to the earth, and before he
could regain his feet he felt the coils of a. lasso
fall over his head and shoulders, and pinion his
arms helplessly at his side! while. at every at-
tem t to regain his feet, he was jerked violently
to t e earth again.

He struggled desperately for freedom, but all
in vain. His efforts only served to increase the
tightness of the noose around him. He saw his
He was a helpless pris-

oner in the midst of two score of Indians, into
' whose very clutches he had riddenl

‘His situation was critical, but he permitted
no word nor look to betray the least sign of
fear or surprise; and raising himself to a sit-
ting posture, he exclaimed:

“What the thunder are you red hounds doin‘
here? If ye want anything 0’ me, say it; if not,
don’t make a pack 0 fools o’ yerselfs.”

At this juncture the mounted Indians came
u , and it was all the others could do to prevent
t em from tomahawking the captive on the
spot. A ring was formed around him, and,
after the fury of his late pursuers had subsided,
he was permitted to rise to his feet. He then
singled out one of the pnrsuers, and in a tone of
indifference, asked:

“ Say, you dandy thar, with the flat nose and
dirty face, whar’s the rest 0’ the folks that come
out o’ the timber wiih e?”

Hes he in the Indian dialect. and the sav—
tinge a dressed fairly writhed with rage and

ury. '

At this juncture the voice of a new-comer
was heard approaching; It was a voice speak-
ing En lish, and whic Sent a shudder to the
young unter’s heart, for he recognized it as

hat of a desperate white outlaw whom he had

every reason to fear. '

“Who’ve ye got hure?” the renegade asked,
as he pushed his way through the crewd of sav-
ages; then, as his eyes fell upon our hero, bound
and helpless, a fearful oath burst from his lips,
as he said: .

“This are a. lucky haul for me, Ingms; that
very smooth-faced Antelope Abe is just what
I want ter git my claws onto.”

“ You must fancy yerself a bear, Bodsford,"
said the captive, with a sarcastic smile‘.

“ Cuss ye, boy! Not one word 0’ yer sass, ye
impedint gal-thiefl But, I want ya to tell me

, - one thing, and that is whar that gal is ye stole
g, from our cabin?"
7 “ Don’t know ennything about her,” replied

be.

“ Ye lie, ye young whelp! and ’lem ye tell me,
I‘ll tear ye to pieces!”

The great. burly outlaw looked as though he
were fully able to carry out this threat, so far
as size, muscular power, and savage character
were requisite. But Antelope Abe never moved
more than to close one eye, and regard the out-
law with a smile of scorn. .

Boy!" continued Bodsford, “I’ll give ya jist

 

if ye don’t tell, I’ll eat ye up!"

 

two minutes to tell whar ye took that gal to, and l

 

“Ho! ho!” lau had Abe "ye’il have I:
job 0’ that, for lzm cid p'iseo. But than his
Jist gassin’, Bodsford, for you’re noted for lym’.
stealin’, and other little tricks too numerous to
mention.”

“Ingins!” exclaimed the outlaw, turni to
the savages, over whom be exercised no ttle
authority, “ form a ring here, an’ I’ll show ya a
new way 0’ tearin’ up a. enemy. That boy ’11
never ’scape here alivel ' He’s done pokin’ his
nose into everybody’s bisnus, an’ stealiu’ gal:
and |shootin’ ingins. Form a ring here! form 1.
ring.’ -

The savages, now numbering some fifty, fornr
ed a. ring about the prisoner and outlaw. about
fifteen leet in diameter. They stood just on the ~
edge of the prairie, where the ground was
smooth and level, and carpeted with a ’
of short grass.

The savage ferocity of the outlaw wasaroused
by the yout ’s coolness and smiles of oontem
and he thirsted for his.destruction. That be
other reasons, however, for disliking the youth,
our story will show. ' ‘

Throwing aside his girdle, and rolling up his
sleeves, the outlaw drew a long, mur
looking knife, and then stood prepared to carry
out his work of vengeance. .

Antelope Abe mentally acknowledged the
outlaw’s superior strength, and had not a doubt
but that he would execute his terrible threat.
Still, he rmitted no look to betray hissian
fears. ad his arms been free, he might have
made some resistance, but, as it was. how
wholly at .the mercy of hisenemy. Hobaver,
he was not a little surprised when the outlaw
suddenly commanded: '

“Release the young thief Ingin, so that I
may show you how interior the strength of the
White Antelope is to Tim Bodsford.” -

‘- You’ve a good opinion 0’ erself, Timothy!”
said Abe, as the Indian, who old theemi of the
lasso proceeded to free him of the noose.

Again he stood free, but disarmed.

“ Now look sharp, red—skins, and I’ll show you
how to carve up a white thief," said the outlaw,
brandishing his knife above his head.

About twelve feet of ground separated the
otigzlgw land youth. hFor;1 a filament tthm
so aringateac oter—egrea,
outlawg and the slender, beerdless oath—am
eyes of the one glari like apant rprepar—
ing to spring, the eyes 0 the other burningwith V
defiance and scorn. .

“Now for the White Ante] !” exbhimed
Bodsford, drawing himself up an startingslow-
ly toward the outh. r A - »

" Oh, don’t!’ exclaimed AbeLat the same,
time raising his hands—in apparent terrordl~
above his head. as if to protect t, with theopen
palms toward Bodsford. -

“ Coward!” hissed the outlaw, but at the
some instant, Antelope Abe’s head shotquickl'y
downward toward the earth, and scams!
touching his hands u n the ground. he turned
a complete hand-spri g with the quicknetsof a
flash, and, as his heels whirled through-the air.
be planted them, with all the force he could
summon, directly in the face of the advancing
outlaw, who was sent halt-unconscious to the /
eart . ’ ‘

\

 

5",

 

 

 

 

 

. ., 'i

l p r  ,AnteIOpe Abe.

e

A savage yell followed his first defeat of the

bra rt outlaw, who, with the blood stream-
ing in his nose, arose to his feet, cursing and
rev ‘

ins.
“ Where is the, young cuss? where is he?" he
fairl yolledtalmost blind with his ferocious

‘ on. ,

“Here I am, Timothy,” responded Abe, with
o mocking laugh. v

The renegade turned and saw the youth at
the further side of the ring, half»crouching, as it
with fear. ‘

With afurious oath, the enraged human beast
shot toward the youth. When he was within
two paces of him, the lithe figure _of the boy
that upward into the air fully the hight of the
desperado, and again the feet of the young
gymnast were lanted full in the face of the
outlaw with a area that sent him to the earth

I) with fearful violence.

Another yell, deafening to the ear, burst from
the lips of the savages, for it was a perform.
once of no little pleasure to them; but in the
midst of their rejoicing, Antelope Abe made
another of his fearful eaps into the air, and
kicked a savage fully 'ten feet from the ring.
.Thron h this opening in the circle, the youth
shot ll 6 an arrow, and the next instant he was
sweeping like the wind over the prairie. .

« ‘ It was fully a minute before the astonished
savages could realize the turn of affairs, but
. when they did,‘they uttered a yell and bounded
away in pursuit of the youth, who by this time
had got some distance away. ’

Bodsford regained his feet, not a little con-
fused, and when he saw that his Victim had
escaped, his fury knew no bounds. .

At every stride the fleet-footed fugitive
gained upon his pursuers, for in their haste and
excitement not one of them had taken the time

’to'mount a any. But when they saw that the
youth was saving them far behind, they saw
their mistake also; and those pessessing ani—
mals, turned and hurried back to the motte af-
ter them. . _

By the time he had run a mile the fugitive
discovered the outlaw, mounted upon his own

i. animal, followed by half a snore of mounted In-

dians, coming on in the pursuit.
There was little chance for the youth now.

 nevertheless be determined to put forth every

He knew that if he

toescape, if possible.
whalrctaken, the fury of the outlaw would not

r he stayed.

All that gave him hope was the appearance
oft belt of timber before him, about half a mile
away. If he could only reach this, he might

 dodge them in the undergrowth, but as there
‘was a- gredusl rise in the prairie all the way to

‘ the timber, it would require extra efforts to
overcome this obstruction, and so there were
little hopes after all. -

However, the youth summoned every effort
and nerve to the work. and for a few moments
he almost held his ground with the mounted

partners. ' .
But these wonderful exertion: of the body
mu not last long, despite the encouraging fact
' that the timber was growing nearer and nearer
attach hound. ;
1 However, he ran on, and finally glanced backi

 

the Boy Guide.

at the ursuers and then forward at the timber.
As he id so, a ray of hope gleamed in his eyes,
for his present situation convinced him that he
could reach the timber, but, while looking for-
ward to select the point where he should enter
the sought-for retreat, a cry of despair burst
from his lips.

“My God! I am running into the Wolf’s
Mouth! I had not noticed it before—there is
no hope for me now! But, better hurl myself
into the abyss, than fall into the savages’ power
again! '

He ran on, but all hopes of escape had van-
ished from his breast. The Wolf's Mouth, the
object which had so suddenly destroyed these
hopes, was a fearful chasm over a mile in length
and lying in the shape of a horse-shoe.
one of those mighty freaks of nature so seldom
met with on the great prairies of the North—
west, and always contiguous to some river. It
was from thirty to fifty feet in width, and in
some places a hundred feet deep. A little
stream, that had been bus for ages in cutting
this channel throuin the hi 1 to find a level with
the river a. mile away, poured its waters through
the gorge. , _

The strip of timber which had given the fu-
gitive such bright hopes, lay on the opposite
side of the Wolf’s Mouth. And as he was now
within the curve of the chasm, he could not
turn to either side without encountering the
same obstacle. So he ran on. and in a few min-
utes halted on the brink of the abyss.

He looked back. ‘ The pursuers were not over
three hundred feet away. He glanced across
the chasm and measured its Width with his
eyes. A cry of despair burst from his lips. It
was fully thirty feet from brink to brink.

He glanced down into the black depths he-
]ow. His head grew dizzy and his heart faint.
The bottom of the gorge was lost in de th and
darkness, while the sullen murmur 0 water
came faintly up to his ears, and a current of
cold air fanned his burning cheeks and throb-
bing: brow.

He suddenly discovered that the opposite side
of the chasm was covered with a dense curtain
of wild grape vines and parasites that were
climbing up from the depths below to meet the
glorious sunshine. How they had found root
far down in that black rift was a mystery, for
they seemed to grow from the face of the solid
rocks! But the sight of these vines gave our
hero hope; and he exclaimed:

“Oh. if this side is only so, I will try and
swing myself down the face of the cliff into the
darkness below.”

He leaned over the cage of the precipice, and
zaz’d down, but started back with a cry. The
face of the wall, unlike the other, was barren,
smooth and shelving.

_“ The jig’s up with you. Antelope Abe,”he
said to himself. as the yells of hisqmrsuers grew
nearer and nearer; “but why not try it? you
were never beat at jumping—why not try it?"

Again be measured the width of the chasm
with his eyes, then. stepping backward a few
paces. he shot forward again to the edge of the
precipice and made a desperate leap for the op-
posits brink.

But, heavens! he missed it by nearly ten feet,

It was ~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ahieiape'uefithg Boy Guide. ._ . "is"!

 

and with a wild cry, Antelope Abe went whirl-
in'z down, down into the depths of the Wolf’s
Mouth.

A few moments later the outlaw and his sav-
ages approached the brink where the youth had
stood, and gazed down into the chasm. But all
was darkness and silence!

 

CHAPTER II.
run EMIGRANTS.

' “OE, papal isn’t that benutifull beautiful!”
and the dark eyes of the maiden sparkled with
admiration as they swept the great, boundless
prairie before her.

Enoch Clarkson’s breast swell with inward
emotion, toeee her so happy, and then he sighed
when he thought of the dangers to which she
was now exposed.

“ Oh! isn’t it beautiful, papa!” lhe maiden re-
peated, turning her bright, laughing eyes upon
the parent regarding her so tenderly. '

“Yes, Ida, child: it is beautiful, verylbenuti-
ful i” the father replied. *’

The father and daughter were mounted upon
fine-looking animals, and had just drawn rein
upon the summit of a little swell on the prai—
rie from whence a grand ocean of verdure
burst upon the view, rolling away for league
upon league into the hazy distance. Before
them, but a single object broke the monotonous
sameness of that boundless plain. It was a lit—
tle clump of trees-a mere island in that great
sea of verdure, while at its side slumbered a
tiny lakelet resembling a silver star in a. field of
green cloth.

“And there," continued Enoch Clarkson,
pointing toward the little grove and lake. “is
where our friend Dorian promised that a guide
should meet us.”

“Then it is really necessary that we should
have a guide, i it, papa?"

“It is, Ida, for we are now in a country
where the roads are very difficult to follow, and
where ,dangers from the Indians are eminently

reat.’

g “Oh, dear! how I should like to see awild In-
dian pa a!" exclaimed lda; “ but. if thev are
hostile, don’t care anything about it. But I
wonder what for a looking fellow our guide will
bel~a great big mouth,savage—look1ng man, I
sun se.”

e father smiled as he replied:

“ It’simmaterial, Ida, so that he understands
his business; but I believe I will motion the
wagons to hurry up,” and as he concluded.
Enoch Clarkson turned his anima '5 head east‘
ward and motioned, with uplifted hand. to three
white. canvascovered wagons that were slowly
moving toward them.

This told that the father and daughter were
two of a party of emigrants that were pushing
their way westward over the almost tracklese
exnanse, without guide or compass.

But at the little lake. which was visible from
where the father and daughter stood. a friend,
.who had preceded them to the West. had
promised he would send an efllcient guide to
meet them, and conduct them to the land or
premise. ,

A}? the wagons approached, the father and

 

daughter galloped on over the plain toward the
loge, which they reached alter half an hour‘s
r1 mg.

They found no guide awaiting their arrival at
the lake, and when the train came up it was
unanimously decided that they go into cam
there, and remain until the romised gu 9
came, for already they had fe t the want!!! a
guide across those great prairies.

The train was composed of some ten persona
belonging to two families, those of Enoch Ola-k- 1
son and Abram Hammond. -

There were four of the Clarksons, father, son
and two daughters. And of the Hammonds
there were father and mother, and {our sons,
onlv one of whom had arrived at man’s estate.

The wagons were drawn into the grove, and
while some were busy unharnessing the wooded
animals and tethering them to grass others
were engaged in pitching tents and otherwise
preparing the encampment.

As it was just noon when the camp was ar—-
ranged the women at once set to work preporin
dinner. And while thev were thus enga
the elder Clarkson and Hammond Seated them-
selves to talk over the future while the boys
strolled leisurely through the little grave and
around the lake in search of game. '

Finally dinner was announced and the little »
buud gathered in. They all sat at one board; '
Mr. Clarkson returned thanks to the Great
Giver, and then all took hold with a keen appe—
tite. i

And here let us glance hastily over the little
party, Enoch Clarkson and Abram Hammond
had been friends from early boyhood. They
had grown up together and become men of
good standing, morally and financially. ’To»
gether they had embarked in a speculation the;
invulved their ruin, and now together they were
going West to retrieve their fortunes. Theirs
was but the old, old story of lost fortunes and ‘
flight to the “new country.” ’

Hammond’s eldest son was about five-and.
twenty, rather prepossessing in appearance-and
a little conventional in manner. He had re-
ceived a literal education in the days of his *
father’s prosperity, had traveled a great deaf
and so laid claim to a well—stocked mind. But 7
for all this, there was something unfathomable ' f
in Fred Hammond. ' ’  ’

Roderic Clarkson, Enoch Clarkson’s eldest
child, was about twenty years of age. with-a
frank, 0 en countenance, a. kind di - an,
and a wi d. jovous spirit. . 

Jennie Clarkson was some two years older
than Ida, but unlike Ida and Roderic. she won.

of a more timid and delicate organizafionw . v, -

nevertheless very handsome in form and tea.
Lure. ' ' ‘ ,' ‘ ’
After dinner had been dispatched, the you!»

ger Hammond boys again lunged out into the: r L

woods in quest of sport. ndians had not been
mentioned since they had gone intocam
this most important point was being 0v ‘ I
at the very time that they should foaliyhavo
had guards posted. But this negligence was

owing to the want of a knowledge of the crafty 7'

£09 in whose midst they now were. , ,
Suddenly, however, quite an excitement was
raised. One of the boys came running in m

 

 

"Men, 'ned no tearo

 

 

the information that a drove of wild horses was 

gullnning ovsr the plain, not far away.

“ You are surely mistaken, John.’ said Fred
Hammond, “ for the wild horse is not found so
far north as this.”

“Yes, it’s wild horses,"insisted John; “come
and sen, if you don‘t believe me."

The men hastily mounted an elevation and
glanced out upon the prairie, where, true
enough; they beheld about twenty hridleless
agdpxi-‘iuerlees horses galloping scuthward over
' ‘t e ‘n. .

There was something strange about this, for
it was well known that this northern country
was not the range of the wild’horse, and so our
friends could scarcely bring themselves to be-
lieve that the herd before them was wild, for
they ap ared somewhat jaded, and sped for-
ward th too much regularity.

Roderic was in favor of going in pursuit of

them for the sake of adventure, but the idea was .

overruled by his friends.
' Mr. Clarkson determined to give the horses :1
closenecrutluy, so be procured his spy—glass and
V brought it to bear upon them. A cry of sur-
lee burst from his lips as he did so.
“ What isit? whatis it, Enoch?“ asked Abram
> Hammond.
“I teléwyeou whatI, buys, we’ve got to }onk
sharpl re s an ngin on cum-y one oft ins-v
horses 1”

“Oh! impossible. Enoch.” .

“Take the glass and look, Abram,” said Enoch;
“you’ve heard that lndians are great horsemen.
and you'll now see it’s the truth. An Indian is
lying on the further side of each pony. You
cankjugt see his toes hooked over the animal’s
bee --

.7 “True! true!” burst from Hammond’s lips as
he took the glass and looked through it at the
" ‘ animals which, by this time, had gamed a point
v directly west of the camp, and about two hun-

' dred rods away. “ But there I"——the old emi-
grant suddenly exclaimed—“ ovary toe has dis-
' appeared, and see how the horses are beginning

to run! I tell you, boys, them Ingins have drop-

“ themselves in the grass there, and let their

~ 1 We’re in danger—din minent danger,

. :ud 3530 got to look sharp, as friend Clarkson
It"

Quite an excitement prevailed. Rifles and
Myers brought out, and everything made
,. ready.to receive the savages, in case they
v madam assault upon the camp. Guards were
,statioued in the edge of the grove, but the
how were permitted to remain at. grass
 on, or beyond the nards, as the emigrants
their being stolen or

   

' stun .
In theme of the rifle Ida Clarkson was ex-
celled by none in that little party, and from the
' of the excitement she stood like a
oang heroine, with her rifle in hand ready for
supposed coming attack of the Indians. But
when an hour had passed, and nothing further
of their danger was soon, she exclaimed, appar-
entlv with regret:
“Oh I’m so disappointedl” ‘
“ Why, Ida?" asked her sister Jennie. _
“ " returned Ida, with s ro uish

‘ “I thought We were going to ave

i'e' ‘ _ « Antelope Abe. the. Boy "Guide:

 

some fun. How jolly it would be to shoot an
Indian 1”

“0h, Ida! how foolish and thoughtless you
are!” exclaimed Jenny, reprovingly; “ you
should not tall: so Danger will come soon
enough.”

“ Why, Jennie, we’re pioneer girls now, and
we must not be cowardly and timid. We must
be brave, and hunt, and fight Indians, and scalp
them, too—just like the pioneer girls did in
grandma’s days.”

“ Ida—Ida, you reckless little roguel" said the
father gently, for he could not bear to speak
harshly to his Ida, his living Ida, who 'grew
(livery day to look more like his wife—his dead

da

Every one in the party loved Ida. They could
not help it. She was so wild and full of sunshine
and merrimeut that her smiles and rippling
laughter kept sorrow and sadness from every
heart.

As nothing more of the Indians was seen, the
emigrants came to the conclusion that there
were no Indians, at all, about. However, they
did not ormit their vi ilance to relax.

The toy were slow y away; still it wanted
about two hours of sunset when Jennie and Ida
strolled leisurely through the little grove down
by the edge of the lake. lda’s tongue ran in—
cessantly, and she seemed ever on the eve of
boxintiim,r away, like a young colt, over the prai-
rie. Jennie tried hard to convince her that she
must mend her ways, subdue her wild and romp-
ing spirit, or she would never be considered a
woman; but the more Jennie talked, the more
she became convinced that her task was a hope-
less one. It was Ida’s nature to be light-hearted
and wild, and, in this case, it was simply impos«
sible for nature to be thwarted.

" Oh, what a pretty little lake l” she exclaimed,
as they paused upon the shore and gazed over
the still, glimmering waters.

“ Yes, it is very beautiful,” responded Jennie.
' “ How I would like to take a boat-ride upon
it! I wonder what the name of it is?”

“ I have never heard it mentioned, if it has a
name at all," replied Jennie.

“ Well, then, I’ll name it Silver Basin,” said
Ida, and in speaking of it afterward, called it
the Silver Basin. It assed from lip to lip. and
for years afterward t t lakelet was known by
the name of Silver Basin.

This small body of water did not exceed half
a mile in diameter, and not over twenty rods of
its shore was skirted by the little grove. Its
surface lay but a few feet below the general
level of the prairie, and its low banks, absorb
ing moisture continually, had produced a dense
growth of rank grass which, skirting the water,
suggested the rim of a basin, and from which
Ida probably took the idea of the Silver Basin.

The sisters wandered slowly alone the shore,
stopping now and then to pluck a wild rose or a
water—lily that grew at the water’s brink, and
watch the lightning-like flashes of the fish, as
they turned their silvery sides to the sun and
gamboled through the clear waters.

Finally, the maidens came to where an n

rooted tree projected from the bank out oVer t e,

water, and with acry of girlish joy, Ida sprung
upon the log and walked out over the lake’s b0.

 

;:_:. V .._.._....;.J..—__,, ,.
, .

.u,

*‘1’\..

 

m n. . .4 90»: ‘ «xz-a- amt

 

 await.) ‘-

  

 

 

 

 

Antelope Abe.

the Boy Guide. ‘ 7‘

 

soul as far as possible. Jennie could see no den-

er nor im ropriet in this, so she followed
Ida’s examp e, and, n a moment more, the sis—
ters were seated oh the log, gazing down into
the limpid water, whose surface was almost
within reach.

They could see the bottom of the lake, cov-
ered with aquatic plants, and beautiful moss,
whose variegated hues contrasted with a harmo-
nious blending of colors. Troops of fish sported
through the water, going and coming like patch—
es of sunlight before their eyes.

The sisters sat and watched these tinny sport-
ers until they grew tired; then Ida turned to
Jennie and asked: .

“ I wonder how long we’ll have to remain
here. Jennie?"

“Until the guide comes that Mr. Dorian pro-
mised to send to meet us here.” replied Jennie.

“Oh, I reckon the guide will be a big, bushy-
faced fellow, with dirty buckskin clothes, 8.
hooked nose and gray eyes, just like they say all
guides are.”

“ Why, how do you want him to look?” asked
Jennie. .

“ Young, handsome, jolly, and full of llfe;
with black eyes and—"

“ Then you will fall in love with him,”
laughed Jennie, as she mechanically leaned for-
ward and gazed out upon the water a few feet
before her; but, at the same instant, she uttered
a. low cry of surprise, and started back.

“ What is it, Jennie?” asked Ida. _

“Look there, upon the water!” cried Jennie,
pointing out before her.

Ida looked 'iu the direction indicated, and
there, upon the surface of the water, they be—

held a dusky human are floating toward the ,
low she could see the?

share] In the water . ’
half-naked form of an Indian propelling hiur
self forward by motion of his lost.
At first, Ida. supposed it was a dead savage
floating there, but when she saw those motions
down in the limpid water, and saw his black,
gleaming eyes fixed upon hers, she knew that it
was a living Indian. _ ' . ,.
“Oh, Jennie,” whispered Ida, “it’s a. living
Indian! Scream, quic , Jennie—quick!”
Jennie screamed; but scarcely had she done
so when the Indian arose from the water, and
leaping upon the shore, turned and confronted
the girls!

 

CHAPTER III.
our or run wom’s mourn.

LATE in the night, when the sky was still
moonless, and drifting clouds concealed the stare,
voices-—hollow and ghost-like voices—might have
been heard issuing mm the black depths of the
Wolf’s Mouth. And had one been standing on
the edge of the precipice, whence Antelope Abe
made that fearful leap, and gazing downward,
he would have seen a score of torches moving
about, seeming like the mere glow of a fire—fly.
away down at the bottom of that damp and
dismal abyss. And, looking. closer, he would
new no difficulty in recognizing the bearers of
the torches to be Indians. \

But what were they doing there? Were they
searching among the blackened logs and jagged

 

rocks for the lifeless, ma nglnd body'of Antelope
Abel If so, their search will be in Vain; tor,
lifly feet abohe their heads, on a cliff jutting
out from the face of the great wall, and com,
cealed by creeping vines. set our hero, Antr‘
lope ‘Abe. watching, with inward triumph,
every move that they made.

That this youth had escaped the awful dealh ,
which the savages had reason to believe he never .
could escape, was a miracle, in the broadest
sense of the word. He could scarcely convince
himself that he had escaped being crushed in
the bottom of the pit. Nevertheless, it was
true; our hero still lived, and to his wonderful
activity and great presence of mind. his life was
owing. 4 / /

When he made the leap, and saw the he eculd
not reach the opposite brink. and found himself
whirling downward into the ab as, he thrust
his legs suddenly outward, an fortunately
caught his feet in a trailing vine. The vine
broke, but jerked him in toward the cliff no
close that he was ableto grasp the vines that
clambered so thickly up the 18090! the rock;
and, although they gradually gave way under
his weight, his downward flight was checked
so that he was enabled to grasp other vines, and
by repeating this a number of times, he finally
checked himself entirely, and clung to a large
vine, half-way down the face of the wall, and
within reach of a wide juttingbecrag, upon which
be instantly swung himself. bind- the vine:
and was saved ! But his hands were lscerated
and bleeding from the eflects of the rough vines
tearing through his grasp. ' ‘ ‘ '

He had scarceoly made this miraculous escape .
when he saw B afford and the lndians appear
on the cliff above; and for a moment his heart
ceased to beat, lest the keen eyes of the my
should penetrate his flimsy screen, or see e
torn vines and detect his manner of escape. But:
while all was plainly visible to him above the
darkness that thickened as the abyss row deep-
er. concealed the torn vines from enemiea'
view. .

Here he would be com lied to remain, he
knew not how long—anti nightot least: and
even then he had little hopes of eflecting nixes- '
cape. For he could not ascend, and to swing
himself down the vines into the gulf below, le
knew not what fate might atvait there. This,
however, he resolved to do when darlian
closed the mouth of the rift above him. I

But no sooner had his hour for action come,
than he discovered a number of savages gag-m
ing torches, coming up the gorge, far ow.
He knew at once they were coming to searchfor
his supposed mangled body, and fromhis court
he watched them in silent trium h. or fully
an hour they smrched among the 03:! d debris
that had gathered in the gorge. They spoke _
with great’ wonder and surprise atnot'flnfilng 
the body. The search. however, pruwd 
fortunate to Antelope Abe, for by the allure!
their torches he was enabled to see that  ’ ,

  

grew nearer than tbirt feet of the  of .  p

the abyss. All possibil ty of «capo, thereto".
downward, was cut off.

After the savages had given the search,
and had gone away, the young mater nth)
work to devise some plan to. escape, bun-while

A\

 

wthe' am.

 

 

 

 

& ' Antelope'dbet the Boy Guide.

thus pondering, he heard voices on the clifl.’
above him. ‘
What next were the savages going todo'! He
waited and was suddenly startled by seem that
itwas growin lighter in the chasm over cad.
Theeauae of s was soon made manifest, when
aglowing torch, attached to a rope, was sud-
den! :wung down the cliif within a few inches
of ace. ,
He drew uickly back as far as ossible, and
listened, an was not a little start ed when he
heard an exclamation burst from the lips of a
save who was standing on the opposite side of
, He had discovered, the torn vines
and communicated the fact to his friends on the
other side. Abe heard his words, and under-
stood them without difficulty.
The torch was lowered, andraised, and swung
along the i a number of times, then was
drawn up.  is convinced Abe that he had not

Another silence ensued, which lasted several
,minutes. Then followed a general wrangling
and excitement overhead; ‘then Antelope Abe
put his head through the green screen and look—
ed up. To his horror he discovered that a sav-
gfifi'w‘as being lowered down the face of the
,, dirrctly in line with the point where he
was concealed. He could hear his body scrap—
hg‘nlnst the vines, and he could see the sav-
age‘holdin to the rope by which he was being
lowered, w lie with his feet he was feeling the
face of the cliff under the vines for any recess,
projection, or niche, in which a perSOn might
conceal himself. He carried no torch, which
fact aflorded the be great relief.
' The arin red-s nwaslowered quite slowly,
but at last in feet touched upon the projecting
erag wheredn Abe was concealed. He then
shouted for those above to hold the rope till,
and, balancing himself upon the crag, he let go
the mm and and turned to explore the place
wiles-eon he stood. While Abe’s eyes had become
Waxed to the gloom of the place, it was
blinding darkness to the sav e, and while he
stood waiting for it to grow ighter, Antelo e
Abe, with t e quickness of a flash, and t e
clutch of a giant, seized him b the throat and
, hurled his head against the rec with such ter.
rifle force that the savage sunk unconscious
' at ilk feet—not a sound having escaped bis

11 ,

§oung Abe now resolved 11 on making a des-
perate and dangerous stroke or his escape. To
" his end he removed the Indian’s leggan and
moccasins, and put them on himself, over his

i 1 own. ‘He then removed the feathered bead-

‘dress and adjusted it upon his own head. Next,

he tore a; number of small vines from the face

of the cliff, and having tangled them carefully

' ther, he threw, them over his head in such a

‘m as to conceal his lace entirely, and to

trail down over his shoulders and breast so as to

1; v‘ V all of his body except that portion clad

'- .in the Indisn's leggins and moccasins. These

. vines wore so arranged as to have the appear-

' , r slice of having caught over his head while emg
r holed up the cliff.

" , else. com later], he reached out and

f , knot end of the rope, and then

in the Indian dialect, trusting to the dis-

 

tance to hide all imperfections in the voice,
which translated was:

“ Haul ugh-White Antelope is not here; arms
glvin out. ’ ,

He nstant] felt the rope drawn taut, and the
next instant e was dangling between Heaven
and the Wolf’s Mouth, but rlsing up, up along
the face of the cliff—up into the glow of a fire
that burned on the edge of the precipice and re-
vealed to him two—score of savages.

As his head appeared tangled and matted ov'er
with vines, the savages burst into a roar of
laughter, but a. moment later his knees touched
upon the top of the cliff, and then, with a quick
bound, he gained his footing and let go the rope.

Once more he stood in the free air of Heaven.
but no time was to be lost, for his covering of
vines attracted much attention, as well as cre-
ated much amusement.

In his feigned attempt to tear the vines away,
he gazed about him, and just on the opposite
side of the campfire, leaning against a tree. was
his own trusty rifle, with pouch and horn hung
over the muzzle, that these same Indians had
taken from him that day.

He walked boldly around the fire—took up
the rifle and accouterments then tossed aside
his clever vail of vines, and with a triumphant
laugh, bounded away into the darkness of the
woods.

For a moment the savages stood and gazed at;
each other in mute wonder~com letelv dum-fl
founded, horror-stricken and terri ed. But the»
truth once fully comprehended, like so many'
enraged demons, they shot away in the pursuit,
But as well might they have pu ed t e ante-A
lope, for Abe now had a clear flel before hint
and the advantage of the darkness around him.

“Hal ha! ha!” he laughed, when clear of the
enemy; “that was a clever trick I played on:
the Ingin in the Wolf’s Mouth. Well, well; and:
there 15 my friend. Timothy Bodsford—I ho e.
he won‘t eat his own head oif. Let's see, e:
warn't among the In ins when I war escorted
up from below, and ’11 bet he’s at some devil—
try. If he and his tribe hears 0' them ime—
grants, they’ll pounce onto ’em, but if nothin?
goes wrong, I’ll git to the lake by mornin’. Keen--
knife is thar by this time. I hope.”

The youth pressed rapidly forward, and soon
emerged from the timber into the open prah'ie.
He now stopped to note his position from a gee»
graphical standpoint, and shaped his course ac-
cordingly; which was southeast across the great
prairie.

He moved rapidly on ard, with renewed
strength and buoyant sp rirs. And, although
the night was exceedingly dark, he was so well
acquainted with the topography of the country,
that he experienced no trouble in keeping his
course.

His mission over that prairie was one of great

importance, and the loss of his horse and deten-
tion by the Indians had proven a sore mishap to‘
him; nevertheless
fillet-time already lost by renewed exertions on.
00

He had traveled some distance over the prai--
rie, along an old Indian trail, and was just con--
gratulatin himself on bei free from Indianl
troubles, w an the sound of oofs fell upon hiss

 

be determined to make up

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

: ., ,

 

 

' Antelope Abe,

the Boy Guide. _ a

 

ears. He had barely’time to throw himself into
the tall grass, at the side of the trail when a
score of mounted save es, one behind the other,
filed past him at a bris gallop.
They did not see him, and [after they were
some distance away. he raised his head above
the grass and listened.
At this juncture a solitary Indian, who was
logging behim“ the others, gallo ed est him.
Abe dropped his head uickly, utt eanimal
must have heard him, or it shied to one side,
and game a loud snort.
This aroused the Indisn‘s suspicions. He
shouted to his companions, but they either did
not hear him or heed him, and rode on. The
Indian, however, being like all Indians—of an
inquisitive nature—resolved to know the cause
of his animal’s affright. and turning, he rode
back near where the fugitive lay in the tall
rass.
g The animal was a spirited and mettlesome
one, and its keen instinct soon detected the
gresence of the form in the grass, and again he

ecame frightened and sheered away; still his
rider could not tell the cause; and so. at last. he
dismounted, and taking the animal by the bits,
with one hand, and his tomahawk in the other,
he again advanced toward the spot.

Antelope Abe could just see the outlines of the
Indian and his horse, while his own prostrate
position blended his form with the grass. He
could easil have shot the savage, at the risk,
however, 0 the report of the rifle bringing other
danger down upon him. But a happier idea
than that of slaying the Indian suddenly en—
tered the mind of the during Boy Guide.

Having removed the leg ings, moccasins and
head-dress. that he had ta en from the Indian
in the Wolf’s Mouth, from his person, the youth
laid them in the grass and then dragged himself
away. About a rod from the discarded articles
he paused and watched the Indiau’s movements.

The red-skin moved sus iciously forward, in-
specting every little mcun and tussock of grass
with the edge of his tomahawk, hisahorse, in the
mean time, keeping up an uneasy treading and
fretful sniffing, which increased as they ap<

‘ preached the deserted leggings and moccasins.

At last the savage’s eyes fell upon the dark
objects lying in the grass, and, w1th a low cry,
he reached forward to pick up the clothes.

At this juncture, Antelope Abe glided up to
the side of the animal-which was now between
himself and the Indian—and with the quickness
of thought vaulted into the saddle. I

This frightened the beast, which, plun mg
forward. Jerked the savage over, and brea ing
loose from him, it shot away over the prairie at
a furious speed, with Antelope Abe seated flrm~
ly and trium hantly astride of its back. r

“Ha! hill 0! ho!” lau bed the fearless boy.
as he turned the animals head in a southeast
course' “ ‘e e for eye, tooth fur tooth,’ says
the Ho y Boo , is a fair shake, and it means boss
for boss, jist as well. And Abraham Smollet,
my boy, you’ll soon make the lake, now. Git

up T«gerl” '

lFor two hours the animal fairly flew over the
plains with unfailing speed; but, at last, a cry
of surprise burst from the rider’s_lips, and he
drew-rem upon the summit of a Tame swell and

>

 

gazed away before him, where at a distance of
about a mile,.he saw a dull fight glimmering
vague-like throu h the trees. .

I “By the roya tigers!” he exclaimed, “that
light is at the lake! The imogrents are there,
aminl’ll be there, too, purty soon. On, Tiger-
on

Again he dashed away, and, as he proceeded
onward, he kept his eyes fixed u on that dull
light, which strange to say id not grow
brighter as he advanced, but seemed as be.
changing into a grotesque shape. And there
was something strange about it for it seemed

to be elevated in the air-4:00 hig , entirely, .' '

a camp-fire.

He rode on, and shortly a swell before  ’ '

hid the light from his view, but, he soon gained

the summit of the knoll, and he drew up so and» _ '
denly 0n the reins that the animal was thrown" ‘

back, almost on its haunches.
And wb
That lig
tion had assumed the shape of a human 
all the fingers of which were, a patently.
upon the palm excepting t e index
which was pointing southward. ‘

was of the size of a giant’s hand. and it must,
have been a giant, indeed, to haveheldnthnt
hand so high. ,

But what did it mean? What was it man

than a hand of fire? Was it the agent of lama 
Able ‘ ‘
nmled hisbrain over  7

hands, or an atmospheric phenomenon}
These were the questions that/Antietam
asked himself, and E ,
sewers! minutes. A last, he glanced: in thefli»
rection indicated by the glow: ‘ _‘
saw nothing. When he again ocked shade!
him, the hand of fire was gone! , r ,, .
There was a deep and unfathomablemyltery
in all this—a mystery that im Antelope

Abe strangely. He was not superstitious” .‘
most bordermen are, and so he decided to, ride ’, V
on and make some investigations, but, at this V {

uncture, he caught a glimpsed a number

orsernen riding slowly along a high flaggm » V

his right.

They were not over two hundred yarduwafy,’ ,. ‘
and from their outlines, dimly seen, beset they"

were Indians. ,
To elude detection, he knew it would

horse from making a noise be
was in the act of plading his hand over them?-
mal’s nostrils, when it reared it: head and
ed a shrill nei h. ,

0W

guide at a breakneck s
‘ CHAPTER 1v.

IDA and Jennie Clarkecn areas to their feet,

and runnin along the l nprungto 
They won] instantly hgga fled tattle

breast, and stood rectly In their th.‘

Jamie’s screams had not been V
camp, so they were entirely at the mercy otthe
Indian, who seeing
blandly, and said, in broken English;

,, _
Evil; which had so attracted his atten- \

c I g‘,
{hm - .
It was about three hundred yards away, and ‘

exigent» he V ,'

extreme caution and silence, and to, preren,  . ~

_ um»- I
The mounte savages heard it, anti the next  »

instant they were sweeping down upon 616W- _

_ mm 
the Indian calmly folded his   ,
l _ '
at the r
the girls’afiright, smiled 

 

a.,

 

 

 

10 Antelope Abe,

“ 0 need fear Ingin? Me Keen-knifwfriend
to whites.” _

The maidens’ hearts beat easier. yet they
doubted his words, for they had heard that the
Indians were treacherous, and so Ida said:

"And why don’t you let us pass, if you’re a

friend!"

“Didn’t know you wanted to pass,” said the
Indian, steppinfiquickly to one side.

The girls we] ed briskly forward until they
had passed him, then they started away as fast
as they could run, while the Indian turned and
followed them.

" Oh, papa !” exclaimed Ida, as she rushed in-
to camp, “ here comes a wild Indian!”

“ Heavens!” exclaimed Enoch Clarkson, seiz-
ing his rifle and turning toward the advancing
gar ; “halttherel Indian, what do you want

ere

“ Come to meet young hunter. Me Keen-
knife—me friendly Ingin," replied the Indian,
maintaining a calm and unflinching composure.

The attention of the emigrants was now drawn
toward this lndinn. He was quite young—pos-
siblynot over eighteen years of age—was of a
lithe but handsomer developed in mus-
cular and physical proportions. He was naked
to the waist, and his~dn ping leggins and loin-
cloth at once suggested to the elder Clarkson
the uestion:

“ hat have you been doing in the lake?”

Before the Indian could answer, Ida quickly
spoke for hintihnd told her father where they
had first discovered him.

“‘ And ” said Mr. Clarkeon to the Indian,
” why did you take to the lake to get into our

1"
all{‘Bonld git in no udder way. Bad Ingins all
’ronnd on prairie waitin’ for night to come to
“kill wishes.”
, ' in“ hat!” exclaimed Clarkeon, “ do you mean
\ V 

that we’re surrounded by hostile In-
as
“ Yes.” replied the red-skin outb.
“Indian, what assurance ave we got that
ou're nota traitor, and are lying to us?” asked

kson.

“ None but own word. If don't believe that,
tie me up till Boy Guide comes. He come
soon. But mus’ be careful, or bad lnglns kill
and scalp all.”

' There was something so impressive, so honest
and truth-sounding in the young red-skin’s
words, that every one was induced to believe
him. And so he was at once taken in to the con-

’ adenoe of our friends, and put through a rigor-

olfl cross-examination, which left no doubt but
that!» was a friendly Indian, and that his mo-
‘ tires in coming there as he did were good. But
his report of their being surrounded b hostile
Indians was fearful news, and threw t em into
, adeep quanda as to the course they should
-' rane to gun against a su rise. At .last,
- ’. Hammond turned tothe In inn and said:

, """I‘hen, if you are a friend to us. can’t you

tell us how to guard against the bad Indians?”

' “ Yes,” responded the youth promptly: “ cut
um treeeand build brig Wigwam, quick! Bad
light do nothin’ till night—mebbe not then, it
fl ‘ on well flared.”

Th 5 was good advice, and the emigrants de-

 

the Boy Guide.

cided to act upon it at once. So the men and
boys not on guard got out their axes and went
vigorously to work, felling such trees in the lit-
tle grove as could be easily handled' and it was
not long until the foundation of the proposed
defense was laid.

The friendly Indian assisted them now and
then in laying up a heavy leg, but most of the
time he busied himself in strolling, cat—like,
through the grove and camp, and more than
once Enoch Clarkson caught his black eyes fixed
with admiring glances upon Ida and Jennie.

These actions aroused a spark of mistrust in
Clarkson’s breast, and, although he said noth-
ing to his friends, he kept a close watch upon .
the Indian’s movements, and so there was
scarcely a moment but what some of the emi-
grant/3' eyes were upon him. But in spite of all
this vi ilance, it was suddenly discovered that
the In ian was gone I

This incident created general excitement.
No one had seen him leave, yet every one had
seen him standin “ right there a second ago.”
They tried to true him and failed: they search-
ed the grove, the wagons, tents, and, in fact,
everything and place within a hundred yards,
but found no trace of him.

“Betrayed, friend Clarksonl betrayed!” ex-
claimed the elder Hammond: “I was afraid of
it, all the time.”

“ And so was I,” replied Clarkson; “ and I
thou ht I was watching him so cluse that he
coul not ibly get away unseen."

“Well, reckon your looks eva orated him,”
laughed Roderic Ciarkson. “ hat do you
think, little sister Ida?”

“ I don’t believe Keen-knife, as he called him-
self, is a traitor. He looked too honest,” re-
turned Ida.

“ 0h, child, child,” said the father, “you do
not know what treachery an Indian is capable
of, and I am afraid his remembrance of your
young face will lead him to slay us all to cap-
ture you.”

“Oh, dear! he needn’t go tothat trouble,”
said Ida, laughing, “for, rather than see you
all killed, I’d give myself up to him, for I’m sure
he’s goodvlooking.”

Id“ gall: of an Indian being good-looking! Ida!

8.!

“Papa, you do Keen—knife injustice. I am
sure he was not sneaking, and then he gave you
good advice.”

“That’s you. Ida, out and out. Believing in
everything that’s new to your eyes. But. we’ll
see about Keen-knife. John, go tell the guards
to keeps sharp lookout for the young traitor.
There’s no telling now, what minute he‘ll be
down upon us with a whole pack of his
friends.”

The men resumed their work on the defense
already begun. and soon had it completed. It
was not a block-house by any means, but simp—
ly an inclosure about fourteen feet square by
six in hight. It was open at the top, and on
the outside green brush and bou he were cut and
piled against it, so that it wou d be quite dim—
culs for an enemy toapproach the walls. It
was hastily constructed and lacked a great deal
of being complete, but would servo. a good pur~
pose in case of an attack.

'

..: 

.. »-~.«..- .r w~

 

 

 

 

Antelope Abe. the Boy Guide. y 1,!

 

The horses Were now brought in and tied up.
Supper was prepared and eaten and arrange-
ments made for the night. Roderic Clarkson,
Fred and John Hammond were selected,
or rather volunteered to stand guard the first
half of the night.

A general change was made in the location of
the we ons, tents, and so forth, so that if Keen-
knife would come back in the night to steal
and massacre, he would not find things as he
had last seen them, and thereby be defeated,
perhaps.

The ear] twilight began to gather in the
grove, whi 9 it still was light on the prairie,
where objects could be seen for miles. A deep
silence reigned in the encampment. and the
spirits of the emigrants grew gloomier as dark-
ness approached, and their uneasiness and fore-
bodings were all traceable in the appearance
and disappearance of the Indian youth, Keen-
knife.

Suddenly, however, this silent fear was
aroused to aclive excitement. A horseman
had been discovered anproaching, at a rapid
pace, pursued by a number of mounted Indians,

' who were yelling like fiends. The fugitive was

coming from the west, and with one accord
thedemigrants decided that it was the locked-for

111 e.

8 Every man seized his rifle ready, to receive

the Indians, but to tha ir happy disappointment,

the savages turned hack—gave up the pursuit,

before they had got within rifle-range of the
eve.

The fugitive came on, entered the grove, and
rode into the encampment.

To the emigrants surprise, he proved to be
another Indian; and, as he drew rein, be ex-
claimed:

‘t  2”

He was a large, fierce-looking fellow, with
long scalp-lock, small black eyes, and large, re-
pulsive mouth. He was armed to the teeth, and
nestrode a spirited, strong-limbed animal.

“ Well, who are you?” asked Enoch Clark-

son.

“ Me fn'endly Ingin-me Wild Deer,” replied
the savage.

” Oh, the devil! there it is again!" exclaimed
Roderic Clarkson; “ more friends; it seems
that the indians are all friends to us, and yet
traitors.”

“ Waugh!" ejaculated the Indian. “ Me no
traitor, me good Ingin friend to guide that come
to meet you here soon.”

“ Suffering Moses! the same old story. All
friends to that guide,” returned Roderic, nudg—
ing Fred Hammond. " He’s an unfortunate
fellow to have so man friends.”

“Bad Ingins chase ild Deer,” continued the
savage. “ Have big race.”

“ So we saw; but where is that guide you say
is coming to meet us?"

“ Don’t know. He come soon. Told Wild
Deer meet him here at lake."

“Well,” said Enoch Clarkson, “ we’vebeen de-
cein by one Indian to-day. and we don’t know
whether to believe you are friendly, and telling
the truth, or not.”

“Ugh! me am friend. Me know your name
mobby'”

 

“ Well, what is it?”

“ Hammond-Clarkson,” replied the Indian,
with a grim smile: “ white settler, Dorian, loud
guide to meet you—me friendto guide.”

“That sounds something like it, Enoch.” laid
Abram Hammond. “That proves thisjndian
is all right.” ’ -

“Yes, his being chased by the ‘bad’ Indians
yérove: that he is not their friend," replied

DOC .

“ May be they just chased him into our camp
to tell a. pack of lies,” said Roderic. inan under ’

0

t ne.

“ Well, Wild Deer, dismount, wm’t you!”
asked Abram.

The Indian did not hear him, or else hedid
not understand the request, and said: '

“ Yes, pale-faces in much danger. ’

“ Is that true i" ejaculated Clarkson; “are the
Indians around and about us!”

‘ers. Look! see them now—there!” and he
pomted westward. .

Every eye was turned in the direction indi— ,
cared, and, at this juncture, the savage spurred
his horse toward Ida—who had mounted a
camp-stool and was lookin westward. -
and, leaning over on his an m]. be threwhis 1
arm around her waist-lifted her to his animal’s ,
back before him, and then, with a. yell of cun-
ning triumph, dashed away.

Ida screamed wildly for help. The emigrants
turned quickly to see what was thematter, and
were stricken speechless by what they new.
But, even as their eyes fell upon the treacher-
ous red-skin flying away with the idol of their
hearts—plucked from their very midfl—the
clear report of a rifle rung sharply out in the
grove behind them, and, at the same install A
cry of mortal agony peeled from tbe‘lips of
traitorous savage abductor; he wasseen to reel
upon his horse, then, with his fair burden, rolled
lifeless to the earth, while the now “dema-
pony galloped wildly away over the plum. .1

Enoch Clarkson rushed excitedly to the auto-
tance of his darling, while the‘others tuned to .
see who in. was that had fired the lucky that

To their surprise they saw the lithe
an Indian glide from behind a clump of . when
and advance toward them, with the whitelmnke
still curling from the muzzle of ,
he bore. A beautiful spotted jaguar-skin was
thrown around his shoulders and a white plume
ornamented his head. And, judge of ourftiends" .
still greater surprise. when they discoverad,fias ,
the red-skin approached. that it was the wrong- 5
fully mistrusted young Indian, Keen-knife.

CHAPTER V. - . ,»
THE GUIDE AT LAST. . .
f 13" the time tiigt Enoch margarine.th the
a len save. e, a was upon 
around herln great excitement and con mien.
And when she saw her father approaching aha
uttered a cry of guy, and, running to meet him.
she threw hersel Into his arms and wept with
mingled aflright and joy. n - , ~
The fall had not injured her, but tho we:
greatly terrified. and it was Iome time before I
she recovered her usual composure. » _ ,
Mr. Clarkson conducted her back to the camp.
and when he had learned who it was that fired

mot-~

theriflowhlfln "

 

the shot which saved her from captivity, he
seized thegoung Indian by the hand and poured
thanks an blessings upon him. He felt angry
at himself for having mistrusted the youth, who
informed him that he had left the camp simply
toohtain his rifle and jaguar-skin that he had
left around the lake, when he had taken to the
' "water to reach the camp unobserved.
The body of the fallen savage was interred
where it lay, and it now became a great wonder
/ th’the how the red—skin had learned their
names, an knew that Dorian had promised to
send a guide to meet them. In fact there was a
‘mi‘stery about it which they could not unravel.
z I he guards were now osted for the first
_= . » Watch, which was to last til midnight. Roderic
Clarkson took what was considered the most ex-
. gassed oint. Keen-knife was to act as scout,
 lie! of duty being confined to no particular
. mimetic} since he had so cleverly defeated Wild
1', and had displayed, without ostentation,
his own knowledge of Indian trickery and wood-
craft, the emigrants felt greatly relieved of the
' , burden of fearthat had been imposed uDon them.
,1 ‘ The night fell, dark and gloomy. The moon
, mid not be u before midnight, and the
starlight was hid so by dark clouds that were
" drifting across the sky.
, r I The beat of the three guards was divided in-
- to three sections, which, together, constituted
the circuit of the encampment. They kept just
._ _ within the edge of the grove, and had it so ar-
' “ rangedthnt two of them would meet at inter-
r Wells on the end of their beats.
 , . The night were slowly on without the sign of
. an Indian to be seen. But presently the atten-
o! Roderic Clarkson was attracted by a dull
redth on the plain, a few hundred yards west
, .othim, He at pad and gazed steadily at it,
and was not a little surprised when he saw that
‘ light gradually assume the shape of a human
 head, with the index finger pointing to the
' -, apathy Itwaselevated several feet above the
plain, and seemed to be floating upon the air.
,  What did it mean? What was it! Roderic
‘ Wmtly puzzled as to the nature of it,
v under :1 have called counsel in the matter,
, had the stranger mysterious hand not disap-
peared an sudden y as it came.
'He‘moved on until he met Fred Himmond,
and then asked: '
~ : “Fred, did you see that hand of fire out you-
._der. . at new?!
 0,0! coursel didn’t. You’re joking now
he the sake of excitement,” was Fred’s re-

 

 

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  

sponta-
‘»‘ True as gospel, Fred. I saw a large hand
0! fit with one finger pointing southward. It

 seem to be floating; on the air. I tell you it’s
_ " “Some atmospheric phenomenon,” replied
' I fired, “ or also some signal of the Indians ore—
* paring to attack us. Let us not tarry, Rod-
‘ o‘l‘he twoturned about and moved away on

 

        
 

.hour‘passed. The sky cleared off,

 

2,? Another
 moon finally arose, flooding with its
soft, mellow light. the great ocean of vertlure
.  into the distance like the vision of
. a cam

 

 

 

1-3, Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide.

4

Objects of the size of a person could be seen
for half a mile away. Our friends felt jubilant
over this, for while they were protecte by the
shadows of the grove, they could command a
fair view of the plain around them.

Roderic was movingfiback toward the point
where he usually met red Hammond, when he
was suddenly startled by seeing an object mov-
ing, or rather floating over the rose directly
toward the grove A careful g ance showed
him that it was the figure of a woman, clad in
dark garments, exce ting the crimson shawl
that was thrown hoo like over her shoulders.

There was something very singular in this.
Surely it could not be Ida nor Jennie, and what
woman would dare be abroad on the great prai-
rie at that hour of the night?

He watched her closely as she approached the

grove.

“ Halt l”

“ It was Fred whom Roderic heard utter this
quick command, and, as the woman stopped, he
saw the form of Fred emerge from the shadows
of the grove into the moonlight, and confront
her.

“ Who are you?" he heard Fred ask.

The woman threw back her shawl upon her
shoulders, and as she lifted her eyes to those of
young Hammond, Roderic heard him exclaim:
“ Great God!”

And as the words fell from his lips, he stag-
gered backward, turned and fled into the grove
as if from a phantom. .

“ What in the name of heaven does that
mean?” Roderic asked himself, as, moving for-
ward, he stepped from the grove and confronted
the woman, who still stood as motionless as
though she were an inanimate ob'ect.

As his eyes fell upon her face oderic fairly
staggered. She was a young woman barely
twenty years of age, with a small, lithe figure,
and features that were decidedly lovely, yet
childlike in their simplicity. Her eyes were
large, black and lustrous—~mild and innocent in
expression. Ripples of luxuriant, dark~hrown
hair flowed over her beautifullyqounded shoul-
ders, almost to her waist. Her features were
delicate yet bronzed by exposure to the winds,
and, as he gazed upon them, he saw that she
was pale as a. corpse and terribly agitated. but
she recovered her composure by the time Rod-
eric had gained his. and gave expression to his
thoughts in the exclamation:

“ A prairie nymph l"

The maiden smiled sadly, but in a voice that
sounded musical to the ears of Roderic Clarkson,
she said:

“ You are mistaken, sir; I am but a woman.”

“ But who are you? and why are you here,,

alone and unprotected, on this great prairie,
that is alive'with Indians?”

“ I am a pioneer girl ” she replied, “ and am
used to its dangers. know the Indians are
about, and that is why 1 am here—4m warn
Enoch Clurkson and Abram Hammond that
their families are in imminent danger!"

“ A guardian angel!” exclaimed Roderic, “ or
how would you know who was encamde here?”

“I learned it through those who would de—
stroy them, and carry the daughters of Clarkson

1 into captivity.”

 

 

“wast—A...

.3 ,

 

 

Antelope Abe.

 

“Thank God for this warning! Ccma with
me to camp; you must not go back alone from
here to-night.” '

“ No; I cannot go to your (cam ,” she replied;
“' I must away, or my life wil pay for this
night‘s adventure. Be warned, and guard well
your camp, is my farewell advice."

“Stay! stay: fair maidenl Tell me to whom
I am indebted for this warning, and if we shall
~zhall ever meet again?”

“ Call me Myrtlr. if we should ever meet
again,” she replied, t'wn turning, glided away.

“ Gone!" exclaimed Roderic, like one starting
up from n. dream, “gone, and taken my heart
with her! 0h, Myrrh-l Myrtle! I must—I will
meet you again if I have to ll‘avel the world
over. Low .' Heavens and earth! Roderic
Clarkson, ung twenty, in love with a mild girl
of the pruiriv-l Yer, even——"

“ Hullo, Roderic, what are you growling
abnnl 9"

It was his father who hailed him. He had
come to relieve him from duty as guard.

“ W'hy, father, is it midnight!" Roderic asked.

“ Yes, one o’clock. Fred camein an hour ago
without waiting for his relief.”

" Did he see anything?”

“ He said not, though we all supposed he had,
for he was pale as a ghost. Have you seen any
thing?"

“ A person was here a. minute ago. “ho said
that Enoch Clarkson and Abram Hammond’s
families were in imminent danger. lt seems
that everyhod , lngins and all, know that the
Clarksons and ammonds are in the country.”

“ Did he tell you his namel” asked the father

“ it was a young girl.”

It A girl?!)

“Yes, some old hunter or settler’s daughter,
more daring and romantic than wise,” suid Ro—
deric, evasive] , as he started to the camp.
When he reac ed it, he found that none of the
R‘Brty had gone to bed, but Mrs. Hammond.

boy were all seated around a filowing fire in-
side of the little fort—as we wi call it~pass-
ing the hours as pleasantly as possible in con»
versation.

Fred Hammond looked a, little excited, and
started slightly when Roderic entered the fort,
but hinted in no way at what he had seen. This
fact impressed young Clarkson strangely. There
was an air of mystery about it to him, also why
did Fred cry out with alarm, and then flee
from the resence of that innocent, harmless
girl? Sure y he was notacoward, as the maiden
slid he was! ’

it was uite evident from his talk, that Fred
mpposed oric had not seen the girl, and
Roderic resolved to keep what he had seen and
heard a secret.

He could not, or at least. did not like to think
wrong of Fred. He had always been his most
intimate friend; they alwa 5, except when Fred
was away at school, had on together. And
of late. he had noticed that Fred’s attentions to
Ida were constant, and attended with more than
a common interest, although Ida received them
with a friendly indifference. In tact, there
was notadoubt in his mind but lhat Fred loved
Ida, to which Roderic had no objection. for he
had always considered him worthy of any wo.

the Boy Guide.

 

 

 

-..-._.

man’s love. But, since his strange conduct
on the prairie, he had set Fred down as a cow—
ard, or else he was in some manner involVed in
a mystery, with which Myrtle was connected.
The minutes stoic slowly by. Jokes were
passed and stories told to pass the time as pie"-
sulllly as possible under the restraining circula-
. stances.
l Kemrhnife kept constantly on the move,
though now and then he dropped into the little
font to see that all was going well there. His
running was greeted with words of kindness, and

lion—the answering of which seemed to afield
him great satisfaction.

It was during one of those momentary calls
that the ears of the little party were greeted by

Clash of firearms. ,
Keenknif‘e sprung to his feet, and with con—

lisloning. V

For iuily ten minutes no one scarcely breath-
ed, but, suddenly, the distant bark of a wolf
broke dismally out n n the silence. 

The eyes of Keen- nife lit up with a lawn!
recognition, and bounding from the tort e har-
ried away.

“I wonder what‘s u now?" asked Fred. _ i

" No telling,”replie Roderic; “ but I’ll gnar-
antee that youth will let no danger come to us,

,this night.” 7

“ Oh, dear, I hope not i" replied Ida. “Icon
see no romance in wild Indians any more; But
Keen-knife is a fine fellow!" ‘

“ Yes, he is doing as a great favm,”  tin
elder Mr. Hammon . ’ '

Thus the conversation was interrupted by
the reappearance of Keen-knife, and, to the
surprise of the party, they saw that be wanto—
companied -by a young stranger, clad in the
garb of a. hunter.

“ Hello, Keen-knife!” exclaimed Abram Ha -‘
mond, “ who have you got here?” “

kni'e.

vancing and gras in
tended hand. " la to meet you, young maul
By what name are We to know yea?”

it was. 0 n -

“Antelope Abe!” exclaimed Roderic: "is is
possible that We are to hava that «renovated
young hunter for a guide !"

guide Clarkson and Hammond to the settle-
ment,” the youth replied, without ostentation.
as his black, flashing eyes wandered trunk“
to face of the little party. “ I had apaper that
sad I war the chap, but, as I walked 0’
the, way here on my head, I accide led
it. - ' ‘

“Never mind Ihe paper; the name isa Glfle
cient guarantee, and your face is still a ham:
one. How long since you left “19592!th

“ Two days ago, but the pesky red 
vented me from making the lake sooner.
red imps are swarmin’ all ova:- the . l
h'lieve they grow up outen the ground m
, Very nasty weeds”, -

 

13'

n i‘:ir~oll" savage yell, followed by the prolonged .

“ Young hunter—the guide," respondedKeem ‘ i
“The guide at last!” exclaimed Roderic, min I. .
the young stranger’s ex:- -

“ Antelope Abe l” responded the youth.  A

“ Wal. I’m tlhe'boy Ihat Ezra. Dorian neat 

 

many questions asked him in regard totho xitna— :

tint-ted brows, bent his head in the attitude of , ‘

 

 

 

«wiler -i

14' I l ‘ Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide;

1
.,.l..s_l_._....__-w.

 

‘«‘ I h ," said Roderic, “ that none will grow
up withm gunshot of us.”

The young ide stood leaning on his rifle
while he talks , and gazing around, be regarded
the faces about him and the walls of the little
fort with the air of a charitable critic, or in-
spector; but no dlflerence which way he turned
his sparkling eyes, they would mechanically
mm or back to the sweet, pretty face of Ida

“N ‘r gnaw,

.1».

from the depths.
No one noticed this more particularly than
' did Fred Hammond, and when he saw Ida‘s
s, .1 dark eyes droop and her face flush almost crim-
~ . son under the youth‘s gaze, he saw that he had
- a iormidable rival in the handsome young
guide, Antelope Abe.

 

 

CHAPTER VI.
mvn‘s YOUNG DREAM.

WITH the addition of Antelope Abe to the lit-
tle party or emigrants, the moments now passed
pleasantl , despite the dangers that lurked
" around t e camp. The young guide mingled
with them as free as though he were one of the
familymnd oonversed in his pleasant, impulsive
manner of talking as though he had alwavs
known them. It was his nature, developed
through force of habit, to make himself at ease
and at home wherever he hep ned to be; and

 

Z defining freedom of manner, and the expression
. ; of his handsome young face and brilliant eyes,
' that made a. lasting im ression upon every
, heart. It was true, he acked the polish of
.. society and intellectual culture, but he was not
wanting in any of those elements of genuine
 manhood, that made him the admired and dar-
. i .yonu knight of the border that he was.
’ _ heniggtplssed withouthostiledemonstration
, on the pert'of,the savages. Day dawned, bright
' . _ and pleasant. It was the Sabbath day, and the
jmoehine and atmosphere seemed pervaded
.‘Vfih B holy serenity. A balmy coolness per-
vaded the shadowy aisles of the little crave,
1' _ meinvlting that the emigrants decided
_ to remain there until the marrow, for it was
5 ' against their Christian principles to travel on
. the Sabbath day. ~
Elm decision was hailed with joy bv the
, young folks, for long da 3 of travel and nights
-v o! vigilance and fear he become irksome. Be-
. aides, their hearts we're so infused with the spir-
' itof Iweetnees. th't hung like a dream around
,, Silver Basin, that they all longed to tarry there,
V M glorious Sabbath day.
when breaktast was over, and the horses
j . hid watered and tethered out to grass, the
" . young-loin strolled out into the groire and
alongthellako to enjoy the beauty spread out

one r
- a Toward daybreak, the Indians had withdrawn

' from the immediate vicinity of the lake: but
could be seen, boverin like vultures, at differ-
ent points on the prair 9. But Keen-knife kept
 watch upon their movements. per-
‘ ‘ I mining“: young companion, Antelope Abe, to

H 'V  with the emigrants.
'  -_e , day wore slowly-away, and was one of
extreme
I

 

pleasure to the young people, FreJ

Ciarksonirwith a light of admiration beaming ,

there was an irresistible fascination about his.

 

 

Hammond excepted. He alone was moody and
unsociable.

Toward the close of the day, when Jennie and
Ida found themselves seated alone in the grove,
Jennie asked:

“Ida, do you know what makes Fred Ham-
mond so sullen, to-dnyl”

" I have dared to guess at the cause,” Ida re.
plied. “He is jealous of the young hunter. I
don‘t like Fred. He isn’t a bit like your John."

Jennie blushed at Ida’s last remark, and asked:

“ Ida, hasn’t Fred reason to be jealous of Ante-
lope Abe?”

“ If I choose to like the young guide it’s none
of Mr. Fred’s affairs," replied Ida, with a little
angrv toss of the head.

“Then you admit, Ida, that you do like Ante-
lo e Abe?"

da raised her face, that was a little flushed,
and looking straight into J ennie’s eyes. asked:

“Would there be anything improper about it
ifI did [use him. Jennie?"

“No, dear sister; though Antelope Abe is a
guide, he is a man, or will make a man, that
any woman might be proud of. That is plain
to be seen.”

“ Oh, Jennie, I—but there comes John!"

It was John Hammond whom Ida saw ap-
firoaching them from the direction of the camp.

e was the accepted lover of Jennie, and in
every respect worthy of her love. He was a
youth of some twenty years, tell and manly to
a fault, with dark-blue eyes and firm, pleasant
features; a round full voice, and gentle and kind
disposition.

Knowing that John was Jennie‘s lover, as he

' noproacbed Ida arose and tripped away, while

John seated himself by his sweetheart for a lov-
ers’ chat.

Ida moved on until she came to the trunk ofa.
fallen tree, upon which she seated herself. and

, at once became absorbed in deep thought, to

which she gave emphasis occasionally by ner-
vously luckimz to pieces one of the wild roses
which 5 9 held in her hand.

Suddenly a shadow fell across her path, and
looking up, she saw Fred Hammond standing
before her.

“ Why, how you scared mel" she exclaimed.

“ From a pleasant day dream, Ida?” he asked,
seating himself by her side.

“No: I never dream,” she replied. “ I was
thinking.” .

“ Of what?”

“ Where I‘d be today if that Indian had car-
ried me oil.’ last night," added Ida.

Fred attempted to smile, and after a momen-
tary silence he said, alfectiug a tone of deep se-
riousness:

“ Ida, l have longed for this moment focome
——wben I could be alone with you, and tell you
how; I have long regarded you—to tell you that

“ Why, Fred.” exclaimed Ida, evasively, for
she saw what was coming. “ I always knew that
you were one of mv best friends.”

“But, Ida, my regard for you is far more en.
dnrimz than friendship: it is—-—”

“ There- comes the young guide!” exclaimed
Ida, as she caught sight of the voutb appmh.
lag. “Isn‘t he a handsome fellow, Fredi”~ '

 

 

g

 

  

 

l
4‘-

 

Antelope Abe. the Boy Guide; 18:

Ascowl swept over Fred Hammond’s face,

and rising to his feet he moved away, mutter-
ing something which Ida could not hear.
Antelope Abe advanced, and stopping before

‘ Ida, said:

“ I hope, Miss Ida, that my presence wer’n’t
the cause 0’ yer friend leavin’ ye.”

“0h, not at all, Mr. Smollett. I suppose he
went to seek better company,” replied Ida.

“ He must be hard to please,” responded Abe;
“ but call me Antelope Abe, or jist Abe. Mr.
Smollett sounds too stiff to my ears, Miss Ida.”

Ida smiled, begged his pardon, and invited
him to a seat on the 1 beside her, which he ac-
cepted with manifest p ensure. ~

Antelope Abe now felt a thrill of keen jog.
It was the happiest moment of his life to e
seated by that sweet, pretty girl—within the
sunshine of her eyes, and the music of her rip-

ling voice—and feel that he loved her with all

is soul. And he would have given the world,
had he possessed it, to know that his love was
returned. But already he had convinced him—
self that so fair a maiden as Ida could never
love a rude borderman like him, with his rough,
inelegant h, bronzed face, and large, clum-
sy hands. at were forever in the way when in
her presence.

They talked about the prairies, the lake, the
Indians and their danger, and a little nonsense,
and finally Ida asked:

“Do you live at the settlement to which we
are going, Abe?”

“No. I live nowhere and everywhere. I
have no home in particular, Miss Ida.”

“No home?” exclaimed Ida.

“No home, Ida, nor relations, in the world,
that I know of. My parents have been dead
this ten years.”

“You must be very lonely and sad, Abe. I
am sure I would die without parents or friends
to love me, or to love. ”

“I’ve many friends, Ida, but I don’t know es
thar’s a livin’ soul that ra’aly loves me.. l’m
alone in the world. Every boy has his sweet-
heart, but me. I’m a lost sheep, Ida.n

“ Perhaps you do not want a sWeetheart, Abe.
Your heart may be love—proof."

“Not a bit of it, Ida. There was a time
when I thought so, but it’s not now. Thar’s one
in the world that I love with all my heart and
soul.’

“And rhaps, then, your love is reciprocat-
ed, Abe’i’ said the girl.

“It mought be, but I’ve little hopes. How-

‘ ever, you can answer; Ida, for it’s you that I

love.”

“Abe! oh, Abel you are jesting,” Ida ex~
claimed. her dark eyes glowing With a sweet,
tender light and her face flushing almost scarlet.

“I’m not, Ida,” he replied: “although it has
been but a few hours since I first met you, I
loved you from that very moment, and that love
has grown on me ever since. Don’t git mad at
me, Ida, for tellin’ ye of it, for I can’t help it.
I can hardly e ct one so fair and bright as
you, would fall in love with a green, awkward

unter-boy. But, if I only knowed my love
was returned, l’d be the happiest boy in the
territory 0’ Iowa. and mebbe could yet unlearn

' some of my rough ways.”

“ Abe,” said Ida, her pretty lips quivering
with emotion, and a mist of tears gathering in
her eyes, “ would you believe me if I should tell
you that your love is returned 3”

“B’lieve it, sweet Ida! Those lips couldn’t
utter a falsehood. Then you do love me?” he
asked, drawing near her, and permitting his
arm to steal about her young form.

“ Yes, Abe, I love you,” she breathed softly,
and her little hand crept softly into the hard
palm of her boy lover, and for fully five min-
utes there was a blissful silence, broken only by
the wildly-throbbing hearts of the two lovers;
then Abe bent down and imprinted upon Ida‘s
pretty red lips, the first seal of a pure and holy

ove. v
The next hour was one of the sweetest blissto
these younf people. B the most sacred prom-
ises they p e ged their ands and hearts topth
other, and spoke of the future—the day when
mature man and womanhood would qualify
them for wedded life. Their cup of joy seemed
full, and with brighter hopes tolook forward to,
they parted. '

Ida went back to the camp, feelin that a
new life had dawned for her, while
went out on the prairie, where Keen-knife was
infiiting for him to join in a scout around the
a e. '

Scarcely were the lovers out of sight when
Fred Hammond stepped from behind a e um of

with jealous-rs

betrothal.

When Antelope Abe, and Kaen~knife returned
to camp, they rought the discouraging news
that not less than a hundred Indians were out
lying on the prairie; and their opinion was that
t e night would not pass without trouble.

Upon receipt of this news,rthe emi nts began
strengthenin every point of this? defenses.
They work diligently for some time.

Jennie and Ida watched their friends with
admiration, and their presence made Antelope
Abe and kind-hearted John Hammond feel as
though they had sonnet far more dear to
work-for and protect than 1; air ow .livee.

Fred Hammond seemed
though at times he was tho tful and silent.
Roderic noticed it, and w redAwhat. had
brought such a sudden spell of sunshine—with
its occasional cloud—over his young friend’s

eart. . '

When night again fell, the horses were
brought in and tied up in the grove, about fifty
yards south of the cam Just beyond them, in
the edge of the rave, Hammond was as.
tioned on guar , while his 0 er brother,
Tom Hammond, Roderic, an An lope ,A'he,
were stationed at other points about theme—.-
Keen—knife acting as scout. '

The old folks and Jennie and Ida and John

Hammond and his youngest brother,‘Howlrd,“

went early to bed, and it was not long ham
the place was wra t in profound silence. ,

As the hours 3 e on. the other 
raceigaec‘i’dtha startlin news throng , '-
t at r

 

and that no trace of him

or lover '

bushes near where they had sat, his face ack,
He had heard6 their confession of love and .

unusna y cheerful; I

 
    

A  '.

  
  

1
Hammon was missing   'A
could he found. Fears -
, that the Indians had slain him  , V,

  

  
   
   

._._ ........,u .

i,
.i.
y .

 

  
  
 

 

“Malta's, we , 1. :.~ -

18 Antelope Abe.

the Boy Guide.

 

his body for a while were entertained, although
no signs of violence were visible where he had

’ stood.

A search was mace throng the grove, but not
a trace of him could be found. It Seemed very
strange that he should leave the grovo, if not
slain or captured, knowing that it was surround—
ed with savages.
' An hour or more of anxious searching passed,
when, to the surprise and joy of the searchers,
Fred made his a pearance. He came from the
grain-la south 0 the‘grove, and carried in his

andsan Indian bow and a quiver filled with
arrows. ,

,Ee accounted for his disappearance in this

‘manneré He had seen some suspicious object

moving over the reirie some few rods away,

' and in order to nVestigate its nature, he crept

 however, thong t it was sin
‘ would follow an unknown 0 ject amid 1m-

7' ' Butharkl

set of would be ted
.. more. N
I 0 would come back again.

toward it. and as he continued to mivance, the
ob receded, and finally he found that he was

» qu to a distance from camp. 0n turning about

to retrace his footsteps, he discovered a party
of Indians near him. To elude discovery he

-was compelled to lie in the grass for over an

hour. After they went away, he resumed his
return to the grove, finding the bow and quiver
on the way.

So uietude was once more restored, and
Fred his t as guard again. Roderic,
lar that Fred

known dangers so fearlessly, when the night
before hehad fled from the presence of a. herm-

' 'less 1. Sure] there was something sin ular
\ in th‘elraflalr. y g

The hours wore. slowly away. It was just
approaching midnight. The moon was Just

thrusting its long beams of “fit above the west-

ern-horizon. It would soon up, then a new

entertained {strong hope that
He could not

veher sweet, fair image from his heart.

, Infant, he did not want to, but fostered it in
. his breast, with the hope that they would meet

again.

Antelope Abe was extremely happy in his
th _ his 0!  little Ida, who then lay
clowns and n of him.

The on thud of horses’ hoofs is
heard in the very heart of the little gravel
The next moment eight savages burst from its
shadows with a triumphant yell and gallop
away Iovet the plain, upon the emigrant!

gations made by Antelope Abe,

' .. > Carefuliuvesti
revealed thetactthat the Indians had entered

the within ten feet of where Fred Ham-
m stood guard. From this it was naturally
m that the had effected that entrance
w e he walahsen ; so Fred manfully took the

‘ blame upon his own shoulders, expressing the

I

that rat for his negligence.
.  L ye! of the savages aroused the sleepers,
and for several minutes confusion reigned.

W -* When it was known that the horses were stolen,

the; elder Clarkson and Bamrnond groaned in
t, undo settled over every face. There

v was no telling when. or whether this misfor-

'would ever berepaired, and they be en-
I ' tormmetheir journey.

An ominous cloud seemed gathering over
them.

New guards were now posted. They were
John and Howard Hammond, their father and
Enoch Clarkson, assisted by Antelope Abe and

not be dispensed with, for they expected an at-
tack every minute from the Indians.

The women again retired to their tents, while
Roderic and Tom Hammond. just relieved from
duty, sought theirs. But Fred seated himself
before the little watch-fire that burned just
outside of the little fort, and became silent and
thoughtful. Bv his side lay the bow and quiver
of arrows that he had found on the prairie.

For an hour he sat and gazed into the firr;
some deep emotion was struggling within his
breast.

Finally he picked up the quiver that lay at
his side, and, drawing therefrom three arrows,
thrust their barbed points into the fire. He
then laid aside the quiver and took up the how.
As he did so, he glanced mechanically around
him and then at the tent in which Jennie and
Ida lay asleep.

In a moment the shafts of three arrows were
ablaze, and plucking one of them from the fire,
Fred arose to his fe‘et, and applying it to the
bow, shot it far up into the air. he blazing mis-
sile when high above the treeto , described a.
beautiful curve, and then shot ownward, and
with a spiteful his, fall into the lake a few rods
away.

A grim smile of satisfaction overspread the
face of Fred Hammond at the success of his
amusement, and he turned and was about to
pluck another arrow from the fire, when a dark
object came whirling through the air and struck
him a blow upon the head that felled him, half
unconscious, to the earth.

Fred did not or out, but, regaining his feet,
he gazed around im. V

No one was visible. He stood alone in the
dim glow of the watch-fire.

Was it reality? Had something struck him?

“No, b heavens, it is not!” Fred suddenly
exclaim ; “ the bow and quiver are both gone,
but I will not be defeated! Antelope 'Abe has
crossed my athl he shall never have the girll
he shall die ”

Drawing a. pistol from his pocket. he strode
away into the darkness, the demon of evil now
ruling his heart.

Several minutes passed. A deep silence reign-
ed. But, suddenly, the report of afire-arm rung
out on the still night-air, followed By a cry of
mortal agony.

Had Fred Hammond, executed his throat?
Had he slain Antelope Abel

Alas! the crack of that weapon and that cry of
agony told a. fearful tale.

CHAPTER VII.
TEE FLOATING ISLAND.

THE report of the was on, and the cry of hu-
man agon that follow it, awoke Tom Harm
moud and oderic from their sleep. Rising from
their Ballet, they rushed from the tent to seem--
tain t e cause of the alarm. . ’

But all was silent now. In a moment, how-

 

 

ever, footstops were heard approaching, and

the Indian, who concluded their services could 1»

 

x
l

x
l

Ti\r '

 

   

 

 

Antelope Abe, theLBoy Guide. I? '

 

than Antelope Aim and Fred Hammond emerged -

frnm the grove, bearing something between
them. .

Advancing to the fire, they laid their burden
down upon the ground.

’l‘l.e light streaming over it, showed Tom and
Roderic that it was the lifeless body of John
Hammond.

“ Oh, heavens! what  the meaning of this?”
cried Tom.

F “58 lurking foo has slain poor John,” returned

re .

A cry burst from Tom’s lips, and in a minute
the whole camp was aroused, and a general ex-
citement prevailed. When the father and moth-
er learned that their boy was shot their sorrow
became heart-reading. But none of them suf-
feredmore at heart than Jennie Clarkson, when
the news came to her that John was dead.

Abram Hammond knelt over the prostrate
form of his son and burst into a wail of sorrow
but, suddenly, it became changed into a cry oil
hope and joy, for he discovered that John was
not dead.

‘ ‘ Heaven be thanked! my boy still lives! John
is not dead—he breathes! Tom, bring me that
brandy from the wagon—quick, for God’s sake l"

The brandy was brought and a portion of it
administered, and it was soon discovered that
J ?.u was far from being dead.

Hrief was now changed to ladness. On ex-
amination, it was found that ohn had sustain—
ed a severe and sinful wound. He had been shot
in the back of t e shoulder, and the bullet strikA
ii g the shoulder blade, glanced downward and
passed out a few inches below. So far as could
be ascertained, no bones were broken, but the
shock had been so sudden and severe that it had
completely paralyzed his body, and rendered
him unconscwus. In this state he was, at first,
mistaken for dead.

The youth soon recovered sufllciently to be
able to sit up and have his wound dressed and
bandaged as Well as the surgical skill of his
father and Enoch Clarkson would admit.

When John gazed around him, and saw the
tearful eyes of Jennie fixed so sympathetically
upon him, his heart gave a. bound of joy. Her
presence and silent appeals of love and sympa-
thy did more to allevxate his suffering, than all
the rest could possibly do for him.

Presently the father inquired how it was that
he happened to get shot!

“I was standing,” John replied. “ in alittle
clump of bushes gamingu out upon the prairie,
when suddenly a rifle c cked behind me in the
giove—” -

“Behind you in the grove?” exclaimed the
father. ,

“Yes.”

“ Then, by heavens?” exclaimed Fred, “ the
foe must be lurking in the ovo yeti Come,
boys!" and followsd by eric and Tom, be
rushed awa in rearch of the hidden foe.

Keen—kn it stood by with a m smile upon
his face, and to the su rise 0 ‘the emigrants,
took no psi-t in the searc .

For the rest of that night, sleep was banished
from every eye, and, after what seemed an age,
dav dawned bri hi: and pleasant. _

But it found be little party of emigrants ln

 

a precarious and helpless situation. Their ani»
malswere all stolen, and one of their number
lav seriously wounded. \ ~ '

0 first thing to be done, however, was to
endeavor to recover their homes. To Ante-lo; e
Abe and Keen-knife this dutv fell, or rather they
took it upon themselves; But departure from
camp at once was prevented by the presence of
a number of Indians at different points upon
the plain, and fears were entertained that they
would not get away before night set in.

The day was attended with many, cares, I
anxieties, and some moments of joy, while the
young guide and his red companion were wait-
ing an opportunity to leave camp unseen by
the vigilant foe. -

J ennie Clarkson never left her Wounded lover,
and so Ida was alone in her rambles through
the grove, snve when Antelope Abe founda few
minutes’ relief from duty now and then, to
walk with her, and breathe words of love and
JOV into her ear.

Duiing one of these occasional meetings, Ida
asked: “

“ Abe, do you think the Indians are likely to
attack us?" -

“ I hardly know. They’re actin’ so carious.
If they had only known it, thar’s been several .
times that the could have k tered the hall ca-
boodle 0’ us. ’m afraid they’ [break loosesoon,
and then may God pertect my little Ida.” *

“Oh, dear Abe, you are so good and kind,”
returned Ida, joyfully; “ but I do hope the In-
dians will leave soon.” » ‘ ’

“ They’re arter sumthin’, which they’re detar- ~ 'y

mined to have without pokin’ their own noses
into danger. Ye and Jennie must keep clus to -
camp, little ’un, t'ur I feel almost sartain that
it’s you and her they’re artu‘. An Ingin has
great patience, and to accomplish their object
they ’d lay out-thar in the grass tillthe hazards
packed ’em oil'. They’re cunnin’ and coward! .” -
“They must be very cunning and sly, t ‘
they could get into our camp ast night and
steal the horses and shoot John Hammond lathe
cowardly manner they did.” ' ,
“Ida,” and her lover’s voice fell almost to a »
whisper, “John wasn’t shot by an Ingin'.
Thar’s suthin' wrong in crmp. Fred Hammond
is actin’ strange. He’ll bear waichin’. Kean‘"

knife says it war him that shot John. through a I ' ‘

mistake. He thought John war me!”

“ Ypu, Abe? Fred shot John thinking it was
you? Oh, impossible, dear Abel Why should
he wish to slay you?” A 
' “ Hulloi there goes Keen-knife’s call. '1 must A ‘
see what he wants. 1’“ answer our question '
when we meet again. Good-by, ittle’un.”

Be kissed her, and turning hurried away.
lda watched him with a light of love undid-
miration beaming in her dark eyes, until hewas
out of sight, then she turned and walked slowly
down the lake-shore, repeating in her mind the
words that her lovar had spoken about Fred. V »
' Was be jealous of the young gnidei The
thought pained Ida, although she could not be-
lieve that Fred was such a man as to permit
himself to do violence for so trivial an 
She thou ht there was some mistake in when
Keen-an e had seen and said. . v _ ,

Thus meditating she walked leisurely along ‘

 

 

 

 

the lake-shore a few rods beyond the fallen tree
' where she and Jennie first discovered Keen’
knife. She might have ' gone on further, but
her footste were suddenly arrested by sight of
i / a bunch o water-lilies, which she at once re-

? solved to procure.
The flowers grew at the further extremity of
a narrow strip, or int of land that was thrust
out into the lake H e a tiny peninsula, and was
about six feet wide by ten Ion . It rose but a
few inches above the surface 0 the water, and
was completely covered with a dense mat of
moss that trailed in the water all round its
edges, while here and there, around its sides,
rew bunches of long-bladed flags, Whose spear-
'ke'tips drooped until they touched the surface

of the lake.

At the clot where the peninsula touched the

, mainlain , the banks of the latter were fully a

I foot higher than the surface of the former, But
without hesitation or fear, Ida sprung down the
little bank onto the peninsula, and as she did so,
she felt it quiver under her weight, and saw
little wavelets circle out from its edges, and the

, flags di their points into the water.

’ But 9 e paid no attention to these, and, trip-
pllag» along to where the lilies were, she stooped
an plucked them. They were very beautiful

- with their velvet throats and gold-dusted petals,

' and she stood and admired them with a maiden—

. 1y enthusiasm.

While thus occupied. she heard a light plush
in the water, such as would be made by a small
fish flutterin to the surface of the water for a

 
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
    
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  

 fly or bug. his she supposed it to be, and re-
memberin the beautiful sights that she and
. Jennie h

seen from the fallen log she seated
: herself upon the little moss-festooned peninsula
‘and gazed down into the water. -
‘ But she saw no troops of fish with their silvery
sides nor beautiful moss of variegated colors.
~ However. she could see the bottom of the lake
’ not over five feet below the surface or the water,
and on that bottom, which was either stone or
ole. -—ehe could not tell which, she was not a
, lltl' esurprised to see the imprint of a human foot.
It was of a gigantic size, or the water was pas
sensed of a magnifying power and made it ap-
‘ er than it reall was. But, in either
I - » case,how had it come t ere? was its. freak of
' nature, or the imprint of an actual human foot?
» Ida set and gazed for several moments at this
, - mysterious track, then she suddenly coVered her
 eyes with her hand and exclaimed:
“ Oh, how it makes my head swim, gazing
. downinto the water!”
' She started up, and turning around was in the
act, of springing to the mainland, when a low
escaped er ins. and her face turned deadly
:33, WhileiWith wildly staring eyes, she gazed
about her.‘ ,
‘ She discovered that she was upon an island,
_ instead of a peninsula, and was; fully twenty
yards from shore, and still drifting away.
, v The maiden’s first impulse was to scream, but
. the novelty of her situation enlisted her curiosi-
' ' tron-deeply, that she succeeded in overcoming
the sudden emotions of fear, and proceeded to
nabs an examination of her floafi island.
.' ‘ She saw at once that it was simp y a wooden
'» raft dexterously covered wi'h flakes of water-

,_ , r ‘13 Antelope Abe, an; to, Guide.

mess that hung over the ed es and trailed in the ‘

water' while the flags an aquatic plants that
were ed about it, aided the delusion to a won~
derful extent; yet one more observing and cau-
tious them Ida would have discovered the de-
ce tion, the moment the eye tell u on it.

ut from whence did the ra t reoeivs its
motive power?

As Ida asked herself this question, a terrible
suspicion rushed across her 1young mind, and she
was about to cry out for he , when she saw the
moss that trailed over the ed 6 of the raft sud-
denly parted, and the tufted s ull, the low, re-
treating forehead. the black gleaming eyes and
the evi , cunning face of an Indian warrior rise
quickly to view, followed by another, and still
another, until six pairs of gleaming eyes were
fixed upon her from around the edge of the raft.

Terror seized hpou the maiden’s mind, and
scream after scream peeled from her lips.

At this juncture the savages threw their half~
nude forms upon the raft, and while one seized
the terrified girl and stifled her crie the others
drew out from under the moss an plants an
oar and four rifles, and while one drove the raft
rapidly toward the middle of the lake, the other
four stood ready to shoot down the'first one who
attempted to approach them.

Alas! poor little Ida was a captive at last!

CHAPTER VIII.
A. CHANGE or LOCATION.

“OH, save me! help! helpl help!"

“ Great Heaven 1” exclaimed Enoch Clarkson,
as these imploring words fell upon his ears,
“ what dose that mean?”

“ 0h, father?" cried Jennie, “it was Ida’s
voice! She is in trouble i”

The half—distracted father seized his rifle and
ran down to the lake shore, and to his horror he
saw his idolized girl standing on a raft far out
in the lake.

“ Oh, my child! my child 1" he groaned,
“ where is Antelope Abe, and—"

“ I’m here."

It was the young hunter who spoke. He had
heard Ida’s crie also. and had rushed to the
lake close behindsMr. Clarkson.

“ Young man,cau you not save my child?” the
father asked.

“ Not now. Look!" ded Antelope Abe.

He pointed toward Ida. and at this juncture
they saw six half-naked Indians rise from
around the edge of the raft and leap upon it.
But they were_ now beyond rifle-range and
still fleeing rapidly toward the opposite shore
where a score of mounted warriors were waiting
for them. ,

A green burst from the father’s lips, and was
echoed from the young lover’s heart.

“ What shall we do—what can we do, Abe?”
asked Clarkson. .

“ Defend yer camp I" exclaimed the youth, as
the crack of a rifle, followed by a savage oil,
was heard to peel out upon the west side 0 the
grove. “ Come, Clarkson, the red devils are
chargin’ on the camp from t’other side."

They turned and ran th , h the grove to the
west side, where they found 0 rest of the men
had already taken their posts with cocked rifles,

 

ready to receives band of mounted Indians

I
l .

 

a»

x

 

 

 

 

Antelope Abe.

the some I "19

 

 

that were coming like a whirlwind down toward
the camp.

For a moment a fearful scene was threatened,
and was only averted b the savage-s seeing that
the emigrants were rea y to receiva them; so,
whirling their horses abruptly to the left, they
galloped away.

Just as the savages wheeled their animals, a
rifle shot peeled out, and a red-skin was seen to
throw up his arms and roll to the earth. The
aim of Antelope Abe was unerring.

The cowardly red-skins did not attempt to
recover their tallen comrade’s body but swept
away toward the north, and were soon out of
si ht. ,

aving Keen-knife to watch that side of the
grove, Antelope Abe, followed by several oth-
ers, hurried back to the lake only to see the
captive hurried ashore, mounted upon a pony,
and carried away toward the north.

" Lost! lost 2” groaned the father, and his
words smote like a (la er.

“ Take it easy, Mr. ‘larkson," said Antelope
Abe. “They’re not likely to harm yer gal, and
es long es me and Keen-knife wear our hair oVer
a warm skull, we’ll not give up till she is res-
cued. But there is one thing wuss than that.
You’re all in imminent danger, and thar’s but
one way that I can see fur ye to escape.” ,

" And how is that?" asked Abram Hammond.

“Build a raft and take to the lake,” replied
our hero. “ There you can guard ag’in’ sur~
prise. It'll take butaleetle while_ to build a
raft out/an the logs in the fort; and if ye say it’s
a whack, I’ll show, and' he’p ye to build one
that’d make Noah open his eyes.”

There was not a dimenting voice to the young
hunter’s suggestion, and in less than ten min-
utes the little fort was torn down. Then its
logs were conveyed to the lake, where, under
the supervision of Antelope Abe, the raft quick-
ly took shape.

All worked diligently. in silence and sad-
ness, though Antelope Abe noticed that Fred
Hammond seemed inwardly pleased about
something, and occasionally caught his eye fixed
upon him.

By sunset the raft was completed and afloat.
It was about twenty feet long and twelve wide,
and was capable of bearing nearly two tons’
burden. The tents were removed from the,
grove and pitched upon the four corners of the
substantial floating structure. All their goods
were taken from the wagons and placed on‘the
craft. The wagons were then run by hand as
far into the lake as possible, to prevent the sav-
ages from burning them.

‘Sand was thrown into the center of the raft.
on which to build a fire when necessary for
cooking purposes. .

The women and the wounded youth were now
assisted aboard the float, when it was announc—
edthat all was ready to embark.

By means of long poles, the cumbersome
platform was pushed out into the center of the

ake, where it was anchored by means of th
same poles. '

Before the departure of the raft from shore,
Antelope Abe had suggested that Keen—knife
should remain with the emigrants, on account
of hissuperior knowledge of water-craft, and

that Roderic should accompany him in his pro-
posed pursuit of Ida’s captors. .

The suggestion that with approval, and when
the raft floated off, Roderic and Antelope Abe
watched the float until it safely anchored; then
they shouldered their rifles and pushed north-
ward over the plain.

Keen-knife went around the lake to where
Ida’s captors had left their cunningly—covered
raft, and boarding it, ran it over to the large
raft, thus destroying all means of any evil—dis—
posed savages reaching them.

In their new situation the emigrants felt less
exposed, yet they were far from feeling safe,
while the absence of Ida threw a veil of dark-
ness and sadness over each heart.

They did not forego the precaution of guards,
notwithstanding their situation. Soafter night
had fairly set in, Keen-knife and Fred Ham-
mond were put upon guard.

guard alone, for he was not only obliged to
watch out for the Indians, but to watch Fred,

so.
- By midnight the emigrants were in bed, try-
ing to get the sleep and rest that their worn
bodies and troubled minds so much needed.

crept to the opposite end of. the raft where Fred
was on guard, and to his surprise found him
sound asleep.

He did not waken him, for he felt onl too
glad that he was asleep. and took the who e re—
sponsibility of watch upon himself.

But, Fred was not asleep, and scarcely had

mg.

Keen-knife walked back to his end of the raft,
and while there his attention was attracted by
that mysterious hand of fire, which had so
elicited the wonder and surprise of Antelope
Abe and Roderic before.

pointing, and at the same time floating north:
the plain.
when it finally faded away, the Indian, w
surprise, found that Fred was gone!
water. But, why had he done so? What had
induced him to leave the raft in such asilent
manner? Was it a good or evil motiva?
continued his watch.

He was silent fora moment; then he suddepl
started up, and with his eyes glowing like bal

of fire, his emotions found expression in tin
muttered words:

not dead yit!"

 

CHAPTER IX.
A. arenas. ‘ '

 

Keen-knife would much rather have stood .

Just before the moon came up, Keen-knife '

the Indian turned his back upon him, than he g
arose and began to divest himself of his cloth-

The hand was on the west shore ‘of the lake. l I
ward, apparently ten feet above the surface of.
It remained several minutes withi’n sight-,bat‘ V
bac‘: to the further end of the raft, and.  

clothes and rifle were lying on the deck. which ' .,
convinced the Indian that he had taken to the.

The Indian shook his head ominously, 

“Me know now who he is! Me soon him be- T
fore! Ugh! White Fox, the great Sioux chief, p

Tm: night‘was beautiful. The air westwam.
and filled thh the delicious fragrance of bade, ‘
ding flowers. The moon was up, and its mellow ~

 

 

 

so'

radiance fell like a curtain of ethereal lacework
over the forest and river-the Chucaque River,
Which seemed a mere tin-cud of silver, coursing
it .z'way eastward through the great belt of Lim-
ber bordering its shores. .

Not a. sound could be heard so vs the light rip—
ple of the water chafing the shore, as izeircled
outward in little WaVes from the prow of a tiny
canoe that was drifting down the river at. the
will of the current.

There was an occupant in the little craft, and ,

she sat in the attitude of one watching and lis-
tuning intently. It was Myrtle-«the vision that
had appeared to Roderic Ciurkson on the prui-
rie, the night he stood guard over the camp——

' the same beforewhom Fred Hammond fled with

‘\

 

. evident that she

terror.

As she continued to drift slowly down the
river, she arose to her feet and steadied horse-if
by means of the ride of which she was possessel.
The moonbeams streamier full upon her made
her ap r a queen of wil beauty.

Her air was gathered back and rmitted to
{low in golden ripples down her bac . Her head
was surmounted with a little red cap ornament-
ed with a single white plume which was fastened
over the crown, and its and falling down be~
hind, lav like a snow-flake upon her luxuriant
hair. Her frock, which reached just to her
knees, was of some dark-green material, and fit-

’ ted her form neatly, being confined to the waist

by means of a beautiful belt of wam um.
g If to Roderic she a poured a gir of gentle,
child—like loveliness, s e now appeared more

“ like the vision of a. dream than of stem re

ality. ,
For several minutes she maintained her up-

‘right position in the» little craft, gazing around

her like the shy gazelle, with every faculty on
the alert. Suddenly her sensitive ears can ht
the runoff dip of an oar, butit was so very fa nt

i i that she could not determine the direction from

whence it came. So she seated herself, and lay-
ing. aside her rifle, grasped the paddle and 115—
, e _

A‘cry escaped her lips, for now the quick
111th of paddles fell plainly upon her ears, and
glancing ack, she saw a canoe containing three

ndians and a white man, coming rapidly to-
ward her.

The white man was the outlaw. Tim Bodsford!

“Hal hai” laughed Myrtle, “ they are after

, -me‘againl”
 She plied the paddle with all her strength,

undaent the tiny craft fairly skimming over
the water, all the time keeping within the rib-
bon of moonlight in the center of the stream.
The current was in her favor, but this advun~

‘tage was also possessed by the enemy, who no

sooner discovered her alarm then they bent to
their paddles with renewed exertions.
M rtle being about forty rods in advance,

 mig t have eluded them by taking to the shore.

The banks Were steep, rugged and wooded,
and aflorded many places of concealment among
their shadowy nooks, but she passed on. From
the manner in which she labored at the paddle,
and the hopeful lances she cast ahead, it was
oped to escape by distancing
her pnrsuers on the water.

It was on exciting chase—those four savages

. turn and move direclly toward her.

 

been” Abe, in. Boy one...

pursuing that wild-eyed, beautiful and mysteri '

ous girl! But, after the race had continued for
several minutes it became evident that the
strength of the fair fugitive was failing. This
she saw herself, but uttering no word of fear,
she pressed on word. ‘

Suddenly, however, she was startled by see-
ing a canoe shoot out from the shadows of the
right bank into the middle of the stream, then
Its occu~
pant was an Indian, and it was quite evident
that he was there to head her of! from her hoped-
fnr point of safety.

A firm light of determination flashed in the
maiden’s eyes, and dropping the paddle, she
seizud her rifle, and taking aim at the savage,
tired.

A; the report of the rifle rung out, the savage
wns Seen to leap wildly upward, and, with a
wail of agony, full back into the canoe, which
at once began drifting away.

Myrtle again seated herself and seized the
paddle, though the dela just occasioned gave
the four pursuers severa rods the advantage.

But she pressed out, and soon came up with»

the drifting canoe o the savage. She cast a
hasty glance into it, and saw the motionless
form lying there, And with a shudder, turned
her eyes away. But scarcely had the stern of
the canoe passed the prow of the red-skin’s
craft, when the supposed dead savage arose to
his feet, and leaping uickly forward, landed
in Myrtle’s canoe. e bent forward, and
was in the act of seizing her, when a report
like a sharp clap of thunder burst over their
heads, and, with a. wild scream, the Indian
staggered, and, with the hot blood spurting
from a wound in his naked breast, fell over-
board, dead.

This second delay brought the pursuers with-
in a few rods of the fugitive, but she pressed
onward a few paces further, then, quicker than
thought almost, she turned her canoe and shot
it shoreward under the shadow of a high, pro-
jecting rock, and was lost to view.

The savages followed on, certain of her cap-
ture, but now, to their disappointment, she was
nowhere to be found. She had vanished, as if
beneath the very waves.

The outlaw was provided, as if for that very
purpose, with a. dark lantern, whose strong

ight he now permitted to stream out throng
the shadows.

They saw that there was no possible chance
for the girl to have escaped, either up or down
the river, after running under the rock, with-
out their seeing her. But, where was she? She
was, mt under the tick, nor had she left its
shadows.

“ Cuss the luck; she’s vanished again l” growl-
ed the outlaw, Bodsford. “ She’s a bein’ not 0’
earth.”

“ The pale-face speaks truly,” replied one of
the savages. “ for when our friend sprung into
her canoe, did not a lizhtning’s bolt shoot out

from the solid face of the spirit-rock and strike

him dead .7"

“ Ugh!" exclaimed the other savages, with
superstitious terror. “ The great Medicine
spanks truly ’

The vivi glare of the on tlaw’s lantern showed

‘5

 

 

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Antelope-Abe, the Boy Guide. _, I 21

 

that the rock ross about four feet straight up
from the water’s edge, then shot out over the
river about ten feet, leaving plenty room for
the defeated pursuers to sit erect in their canoe
under the gigantic rock.

They examined the rock at the side and even
overhead for the mouth of a cavern wherein
the‘girl might have escaped, but its faces were
sell and worn smooth by the friction of high
waters, and the relentless hand of time.

They beat upon the walls with their toma-
hawks, but only the clear, solid ring of the metal
was given back.

They listened, but all was silent as the grave,
save the beating of their own cowardly hearts.

They lingered under the rock for nearly an
hour, and at last becoming convinced that they
were treading upon an enchanted spot, they
headed their canoe down the river and sped rap«
idly away.

But scarcely were they out of sight before
that tiny canoe, with its fair fyoung occupant,
shot out from the shadows 0 that very rock
into the moonlit current, turned and followed
down the river in the wake of the outlaw and
his Indians.

 

CHAPTER X.
A Derurnn mm.

011 a small island in the center of the lake, a glow-
ing camp-fire was burning, and although it was new
past midnight. a score of savages were grouped
around it. In the background stood a little bower
made of vines and bushes twined around poles set
in the shape of a pyramid, all of which must have
been brought there for that purpose, for the island
was simply a low. barren sand-bar.

Within the little bower, seated upon a couch of
furs and blankets, sat Ida Ciarkson. a hel less cap
tive, though she was not bound. She h wept till
her eyes were red and swollen, but, finding that her
tears had no etfect upon the cruel hearts of her cap~
tors—that they onl smiled at her weakness and
humble petitions to restored to her friends—she
became silent and resigned; yet a spirit of indigna-
tion and courage grew continually in her young
heart. and more than once she was tempted to try
to escape.

she was now some twelve miles from her friends.
The long ride from the lake had been very tiresome
to her in hersad spirits, and she felt greati relieved
when her captors drew rein upon the ban s of the
Checaque river. But when she was taken to the
island and placed in the little bower erected for her
she felt that there was little hope of escape. But,
cheering herself with the happy thought that her
lover would come to her rescue, she me some-
,what reconciled to her new situation.

After she had been in the bower some time, she
parted the bushes and peered out upon the group
of savages, but their repulsive forms and faces
caused er to turn away with disgust. She looked
out on the other side and saw the moonlit waters
sweeping midi ' around the island, and the dark-
green woodlan beyond. She then glanced up the
stream and discovered a canoe coming down toward
the island. Her heart gave a bound of joy, for she
thought it might contain Antelope Abe and some of
her friends comi to her rescue. never dreaming of
the fearful odds w ch there awaited them. ,

But her hopes were soon blasted, for as the canoe
approached, a yell from its occupants told that the
were Indians. Her captors answered their shou .
and in a few moments they had reached the island
and landed.

Ida heard a voice speaking English among them,
a): partléig the foliage, she again peered out upon

. .   . 0

 

She saw a white man among the new-comers but
his bearded face was more savage and brutal-look-
in than the Indians, and she sunk with a shudder
w en she saw him fix his leering eyes upon the
bower, and exclaim: .

“’lzhat bower tells me, Ingins, that ye’ve got the

“One of ’em, only got,” Ida heard an Indian re-

p] .
xOnly 01w!" exclaimed the outlaw. Tim Bods-
ford, for he it was; “ wal, mus‘ have a sight 0‘ her.“
Turning, be advanced to the bower, and parting
the foliage peered in. To conceal his hateful face
from her eyes, Ida feigned sleep. The desperado
gazed admirineg on her for a moment, then turned
awa .
“ gy crash!“ he exclaimed, "she’s a angel. But.
War"? the other‘u? The scout said thar war two 0‘ I
‘em.

“ Couldn’t git her." responded the Indian. “ White
Fox meet us, and—"

“White Box!" exclaimed the outlaw; “do ye
mean to say that White Fox hes turned up ag‘inrf‘

“Yes; he come back. He fix to it other white
squaw; we romise tomeet to—nig t on prairie—
meet White ox." ~

“ Wa] this beats me blindl White Fox back and
alive. al, we come dumed nigh cotchin‘ his gal,
Iliurtle, ter-nite!"

" How near?" asked the Indian, with a quizzicai

grin. . ,
“So neigh" that we seen her, an’ got one 0‘ 01min. 7 

gins kill
A boisterous lau h followed this

repl '. "
£50m the chic want one o‘ the gals?" Bodsford ,-
“ Yes; he want this one," refilled a savage, point 3

ing‘ to the bower. “ He make er his wife.
his news sent a chill to Ida's heart—she, to be
made the wife of a savage!

The red-skins and the outlaw conversed for some
time, then followed a general movement. Ida savv’
them ushing their canoes into the water and knew
from is that they were about to leave 0 island»

Where the would take herto next, she had not

the sl htest dea, but she was note little surprised .. ‘

when a e saw the sav es all depart from the ISM;
and leave her alone wig the renegade. '

She felt more uneas now than ever for she fear ' _

ed the white despera o more than the sav ered~ .
men. However all her natural courage he come ’

back to her and she began to think about outwittdng .1

the villain in some way or other, and of escapmg. 
The savages had left but one canoe, a large, cum-

bersome craft, lhat was drawn entirely out of the .
water onto the island, and whether the outlaw ink,

tended to take her away in it at once orawaitthe, ‘ -‘ r

return of the Indians, she could not to . I

When the Indians were out of sight, the mnlaw}
turned and going to the bower, looked in. Ashe- .

fore, Ida saw him a roachi and t ed .
when he went awe .pghe watc ed him clgselym

But out the fire by ossin the brands into the river. 4 .
till, the moonli ht ma e it almost light as days - ..

He now took a. b anket from the canoe and wrapped
it around him. and then seated himself close up;

against the bower. at the same time drawin bia‘re- 

volver from his belt and laying it at his rig t side 3 1
ready for instant use. Ida observed this, and smiled _

at the idea it suggested to her.

The outlaw retained his osition by the howervfoi'f’

some time, when be final y began nodding and
saw that he was growing drowsy with slumber.

Our heroine’s courage gained stren 1:. She bs~ ' .Vs

ran to think of escape more rtrongy than ever.
But how? There was a. canoe, but i was so large,
that it would take the strength of the outlaw him,-
self to launch it. She couk not swim, soshe was /
defeated thus far in her (plans. But she k t her
mind actively at work, an finally she asked creel!
if the outlaw wasn’t a coward. and what she could

accomplish by working upon his team. I »

 

 

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22 Antelope. Abe; the Boy Guide.

 

 

' ' Had she been a woman of n more mature mind,
she would not have entertains-<1, for '9. moment, the
rash design that she meditated. But the impulsive-
nm of outh seldom ponders over and weichs thr-
probab ities of success in such matters, and so Ida.
carefully pushed her hand through the bower and
possessed herself of the ontlnw’s revolver.

She now held the life of the villain in her power,
for she was no novice in handling a. weapon of that
kind. But she did not want to commit murder; she
would rather remain a. captive. Even if she had
slain himI she could not have esca ed from the isl-
and, for she knew she could never nunch the canoe.
me would compel him to launch itj‘or hvr /

Mth revolver in hand, she glided from the bower.
The outlaw heard her and started up. gazing around
him confusedlv: and when his eyes fell upon Ida
Clarkson standin a. few gaces away, with the re-

 

 

ij volverlevcled ful at his roost, the diluted with
in» Ifibject terror. and his face blanche with deadly
 ; ear.

27f ‘ "Advance ans step and ytm‘re a dead man!" ex-
claimed Ida, in it slow, firm. and fearless tone, that
f»; sounded like the voice of doom to the shrinking mis-

creunt.

It was fully a minute—during which time he. kept
' backing away—before the villain could com rehend
his situation and fiain breath to speak. 'hen he
did. he clutched at is belt. exclniunng:

"See here. my little lassie two can ploy—“

He did not finish the sen ence. for 1e found that
his revolver was gone. The discovery shocked him
with terror.

“ I have your revolver pointed at yourheart," said
. Ida. “Advance one ste arl'd I fire!"

“ Be careful. little 1.. r1.” the fellow gasped, nt—
tempting to appear indifferent., “that‘sa danger-
' one weapon to tool with."

“ I knowit." replied ldn, with unflinching courage.
“and I will give you five minutes to do one thing."

“Baggy to do‘ ," the villain said, hoping that by
homo g her. he might catch her off her guard
and disarm her; “what will ye have me do, sissy 1'"
“ Launch that canoe I" returned Idn.

The villain hesitated. He saw through her whole
intention, and cursed himself for his stupiditv in
letting her get possession of. the weapon. He ud
never thought of such a thing—such courage in a

dung girl. He was a coward at heart. and although
. e hated to lose the little beauty. he would rather
that than lose his own life.

“ Will Jon, or will ou not, launch that canoe?“
Ida ask . seeing the. he hesitatexl.

“Oh. certainly," he replied, backing toward the
' teams, but all the time keeping his eyes fixed upon
 the dark tube in the mniden’s hund.

. With a. powerful effort the outlaw pushed the
canoe into the water, and scarcely had its stern left
' the beach. when he made a (Flick leap, and threw
himself into it. face downwar: ; and the impetus of
_ the loop. and the force of the water. which here
_ swoptswiftl around the island, carried the canon
{end the out aw for down the stream in 9. seconds

time. . v

' Ida fired twice at the cunning villain, but his body
' wusvprotected by the thick side of the canoe. and in
a few minutes he had drifted beyond (longer of the

wet .

_ “ 63:51; Heaven!“ cried Idn. “ he has defeated me

‘ .after nil. How can I get away from this island? He
» is gone with the canoe, and will bring the Indians
- all back upon me i"

“Bil he: hal“ laughed the villain, raising himself
‘tn the canoe. "I war a leetle too shar fur ye,
misse .. and now git erway frum thnr, i ye can,
, ; slow send a. pack 0‘ red—skins to fetch ye away."

‘ , i Ida. felt like sinking down with despair. but at
this guncture she heard the dip of an our behind her,
and timing she saw a little canoe. with a female oc-

1

  
 

t, approaching the island.
‘ t was t at strange, wild beauty. Myrtle.
[In A minute the sharp prowot the little craft

 

 

touched upon the island and then itsvyounggfoir,

occupant said, in a. hurric tone:

“Rear miss, you are in danger! Como; flee with
me!

With a cry of joy. she ran to the edge of the island,
and leaped imo the little canoe.

“ on, who are you,“ she cried, “that has come to
help me?“

“ I am Mvrtlc. and are you not one of Enoch
Clarksou‘s daughters?"

“ch; I am Ida Clarkson; but you are a stranger,
and how do you know that I am Enoch Clarkson's
daughter?"

“I merely judged so,“ replied Myrtle. “ But Lwlll
tell you more if we escape. Hear. the outlaw is call.
ing. or his Indians! We must lice!“

Myrtle grasped the paddle. and sent the little craft
flying out into the stream, then turned and moved up
its course.

They had journeyed but u little way, however. br-
fore (liscovcrlngl‘ that they were )ursued by the out-
law, and severa. Indians, whom e had succeeded in
bringing to his assistance by his yells. And almost
simultaneously with this discovery, they saw an-
other canoe coming down the stream. It was not
over a hundred yards away, and the fugitives saw
ahnt it contained three occupants—n man and two

0 .
§§)h, Heaven, Ida. Clarksonl” cried Myrtle, “ there
is no other course for us but to tnko to the woods.
But I fear even then, escape will be inmossible!
That man coming yonder is known as Death-Trail,
and the dogs b his side are bloorlllomuls.”’

As she cone uded. Myrtle headed the canoe to.
ward the north shore,'and ina. minute more they
were landed.

“Give me your hand, Ida, and let us run,“ said
M rtle.

hey grasped each other's hand, and with wildly-
beoting hearts, darted away through the dark,
wooded aisles.

They had not gone for when a sound fell upon
their ears that sent a chill of terror to their young
hearts.

It was the buying of Denth-Trail‘s bloodhounds
taut were upon their track, and now, may God help
t em

 

CHAPTER XI.
run FOE in run DARK.

WE will now follow the adventurous footsteps of
Antelope Abe and Roderic (‘larksom After leaving
the lake. they pressed rapidly forward on the trail
of Ida’s captors; but darkness found them some dis-
tance from the timber bordering the Checaque river.

The trail was broad and plain. The grass, troddon
down by so many booted feet, would require some
time to straighten up again and to the practiced
eyes of the young hunter, this track was as plain as
a road. /

When the timber was reached. it was for in the
night. They were now about five miles from the
river, and as there was no moon yet, they found
more difficulty in following the trail through the for-
est-shadows. No time, however. was to be lost so
they pressed on in silence. as fast as possible; hut
they soon found that unexpected obstacles were
likely to beset their ath.

Antelope ‘Abe lm caught the outlines of a shed-
ow form flitting from tree to tree before them; and
be new at once the savages had anticipated pur-
suit. and were. nmbushing their trail.

After they had journeyed a short distance into the
woods. Antelope Abe suddenly halted and said:-

“ We‘re goin‘ to have trouhle, Roderic. Thor‘s
Ingins luyin’ along this trail, and we've got to wait

for dayliu‘ht. or leave the trail and foller the rod- .

skins at random.”
‘* Do that which you think the safest and most ex-
ient," said Roderic; ” anything so we rescue poor
ittle Ida."
“ Well, let‘s make a wide (Islaur from this point.

\

 

 

 

 

 

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Antelope Abe,

and strike the trail half a. mile further north. Then
h repeatin’ the detour, we can keep the course 0’
tile trail without follerin‘ it."

“Lead the way, and I’m with you," replied Rod-

cric.

Antelope Abe struck to the right and moved quick-
ly away, followed by his com nion.

Half an hour's journeying rought them back to
the trail again, and here they stopped to listen.

To the north of them a few paces “Jewean savage
voices quite distinctly. and dropping ~k into the
shadows, they awaited the upgroadi of the party.
But they soon discovered thatt e savages had either
encamped or made a temporary halt, and, thinking
it might. be the party they were ursuing, our two
trinnds concluded to reconnoiter t leir situation; so,
crcei lug silently forward, they soon found them-
selves on the edge of a moonlit glade. in which they
discovered a score of mounted savages sitting and
reclining lazily upon their beasts, talking and laugh-
ing in a boisterous manner. But Ida was not among
them, and our friends thought it more than probable
that they had been following the wrong party.

Antelope Abe soon learned from their convenin-
tion that they were waiting for their chief, and
turning to Roderic. he whispered:

“ They‘re waitin’ fur their clifef, White Fox. I hear
'em say, Roderic; and that’s durncd curious, too, for
White Fox was reported killed ‘bout six months
agone. At least, he disappeared, and I hain‘t heard
0 him till this minute."

“Been away on o mischief-making spree, I sup-
pose,“ said Roderic; “ but have they said anything
of a on tive?" ,

“ Not in’ yit; p‘r'aps they will—listen! Hark!
Thar comes their chiel.“

The clatter of boots was heard approaching from
the south, and in a few moments more three Indians
rode into the opening on panting mustangs One of
them was the chief. _

A yell greeted their arrival. and the name, White
Fox, was shouted from every mouth, as the war-
riors s urred their ponies around him.

He the chief) was a tall Indian, gaudin bedeckcd
in fins y ornaments and jeweled garments of fan-
tastic pattern. A rich head-dress of red, and white
feathers and small silver stars, glittering in the
crimson band, gave him a princely appearance and
an air of dignity. His form was erect and com-
manding, and his face, although bedaubed with
paint, was decidedly handsome for an Indian’s.

“By Jove!" exclaimed Rodenc, in an undertone,
“ he is a fine-looking fellow.“

“Yas he’s a remarkable chief—cruel as hand-
some. or some time we‘ve been rejomin‘ over his
supposed death. I‘d like to know whar the deuce
he s been.“

“ Hark l“ exclaimcd Roderic. “ he is speaking!"

The Indians having become quiet around him, the
chief exclaimed:

“ Braves of the Sioux, and follmvers of White Fox,
your chief is very glad to meet you again. You

ave wondered at his long absence; you Sllg'pmt'. (1
he had gone to the happy hunting-grounds; ut he
went away secretl on a sacred mission, because the

great Manltou w lspered to him in the winds and'

told him to go, and go secretly.“

Although Roderic did not understand a word he.
said. only as Antelope Abe interpreted it, he started
as though he had been shot, and grasping his com-
panion by the arm. exclaimed:

“ M God, that voice!“

“ Vi int ’bout it?“ asked Abe.

“ if it wasn‘t for his being an IndianI would swear
it was Fret] Hammond’s mm!” ‘

Abe made no reply, but enjoined silence, in ho s
of catching the rest of the chief‘s remarks. In, t is
he was disa pointed: for the conversation was now
carried on in an undertone, and in a moment the
whole party lumed and proceeded north ward.

Our friends followed, but soon discovered that
Mwere being followed also, and were compelled

 

 

the Boy Guide. 23

to drop from the trail of the chief and his party.
But the shadows that were dogging their footsteps
now vanished. This vexed Abe. for, in his anxiety
to rescue his little sweetheart. he had grown sorely
impatient. But caution and prudence were re—
dominant traits in the character of the young goo
dermnn, and so he resolved to know what it WE: that
was following them. '

“ Roderic. he mid. “just wait right here a
minit, and I‘ll rcccnuoitcr our situation in the rear.
Thurs lngins about, and they‘re bound to give us
trubble." I

Antelo Abe moved away with such secrecy that
to Roder c he seemed to float off on the air.

A (Ice and painful silence now ensued. The min-
utes sto e by on leaden feet. Anhour had passed.
Roderic began to chafe in spirit at Abe‘s protract—
ed absence. He could not think any danger had be-
falleii him, for he had not heard a sound of any kind
since he had left. But with the impatience of an un-
skilled borderman, he finally moved from his covert
and uttered alow whistle which he hoped would be
the means of recalliii his friend. But several min»
utes more assed. an Abe did not come, so he ven-
tured to w istle a little louder.

.Siniultaneous with the sound, somethi
clipping through the foliage and striking
the arm, almost paralyzed his whole body. lnw
cry escaped his lips when he discovered that he had
been severely wounded by a barbed arrow. I

Hearing ootsteps approaching, he turned and
glided away, but he at once became aware that he
was being pursued. ,

With the blood trickling from his wound, and a
sharp pain thrilling every nerve, he exerted himself
to his utmost, and ran on and on. But at last. 0“ r—
come with exhaustion and weal! from the loss of
blood, he sunk fainting to the earth!

The moon had just risen when Antelope Abe—

came.
ei'lc on

 

after an hour’s absence—came back to where he had '

left Roderic, but was not a little surprised to find
that he was one.
“Humphl ejaculated the young hunter. “got

tired waitin’ for me, and followed on after White "

Fox, I reckon.“
However, he waited and then searched. but all in

vain. He was too prudent to call him, but the sup .

position that he had grown im tient and moved ( 11
after White Fox gained favor in his mind, and so he
at once set of! in the same direction.

An hour‘s walk brou lit him to the river-bank, but
he saw nothing of eric. White Fox and 
on reacliin the river, he found, had turned down-
stream wit 1 the intention, probably, of crossing at
a ford some distance be10w. *

Antelope Abe paused on the river-bank to ponder
over his misfortune in getting ,
Roderic. Just before him lay the ttle island on-
which Ida had been confined, and from which she
had escaped but a f-w minutes before. As it lay
within the full light of the moon, our hero caught

sight of the little bower‘upon it, and his curiosity at ‘

once became deeply involved in speculation over it.
He saw that the island was deserted. and at once dew‘
cided to cross over and inquire into the natureof the
little conical structure.

Without spending time in searching for a canoe. ." i

be constructed a raft of
and then proceeded to the island.
He first examined the bower. He saw that it had

driftwood in a few minutes.

been recently erected, and within it he found, 1‘

conch of blankets and skins. Why they had
left he could not tell. I
On the island he saw innumerable moccasin-

. tracks,‘
and among them he discovered the imprint of“:

small shoe which left not a single doubt in
mind butl ahad been a prisoner there, and had
not long been gone. , ‘

While pondering over the situation, the yells of
Indians, mingled with the haying of bounds, fell
upon his ears,

 

 

rated from" "

 

 

Antelope ‘Abe.

CHAPTER xn.

AN ANGEL OB‘ MERCY. ‘

Tan terror of Ida. Ciarkson and the wild beauty,
Myrtle, when the found that they were being pur-
sued by two kin s of bioodhounds, can better be
imagined than described. Their hearts almost
ceased to beat. and although they were running
' swiftly, it seemed as though a. terrible wei'vht clung
to their feet, and an unseen obstacle o structed

  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

their way;

Death- all was a brother of the outlaw, Tim
Dodsford, and he rendered himself as terrible as his
name implied, b means of his bloodhounds, from
which no fuglt ve had ever escaped, either being
tom toPieces or trni'ed to his or her covert. For
inme t me these outlaw brothers had followed the
n )farlous work of stealing women and children from
the em ants and settlers, and selling them to tho
chiefs o the did'eren :1 indlnn tribes, or holding them
for ransom; and yet never hall been caught.

. The fugitives ran on and soon entered a beaten
deer- nth leading from the riv -r back into the for-
est. his they were enlbled to follow with greater
:Reed and 61.8%. but it gave an equal advantage to

e pursuers.

Ida still retained the outlaw‘s revolver and Myrtle
her rifle, but these would avail them little if over-

en.

After entering the deer-p 2th, Myrtle took the lead,

and while they were flitting from shadow to shadow,

and through thicket and glade, she Suddenly stopped
with a low cry of sudden alarm. '

‘ “0h mercy, look there ids!"

, 'lda ooked as directed, and saw a large black
beast seated on his hnunchcs in a little moonlit

v gins}; before them directl in their nth.

“ h dear! what is it, n yrtle?"l ansked.

“A has
shoot it.
I lives."

. ' ‘ As she concluded, the wild beauty raised her rifle
and fired. But, her arms were nervous and trem-
' bling withexcltement and exhaustion, and her aim
was untrue. The bullet only wounded the bear, who
with a roar of sin. arose to his feet and went lum-
r‘berin toward 1; e fugitives.
Wit acry of terror, the iris turned and fled into
'thSWOods. and the bear it) lowing along the path a
' short distance was about to turn out after them,
when the bounds of the outlaws were heard on the
trail, and in a few moments bear and dogs were on
gazed in a fierce comhit. .
, "0h, ldai isn‘t that fortunate for us?" exclaimed
' M rtle, when some distance to the right of thepat 1,
’ are was no. response, and Myrtle repeated the
guestion, but not until this moment did she notice
do was notpresenf, .’
v She listened, and to her horror she heard a
scream; which she knew to be Ida‘s, peel out above
the noise of the stmgglin bear and hounds. Then
she knew that, in fleeing mm the bear, they must
. have become so rated when they turned from the

« path, and poor da had been on tin'ed again.

' No time was to be lost, so yrtle hurried back
toward the river, and when she reached its banks,
she was almont exhausted. She found her canoe
: where they had deserted it, and, hastily embark-
ing. she soon put the river between her and the

. savages.

Onthe south side of the river, about a mile above
the little island where Ida was confined, she ran her
,oanoe into a little cove where the drooping willows
,and foliage of the trees on the bank would almost
‘ defy detection even in daylight. There she decided
 medium concealed until she had rested her almost

nus .
‘ ‘ht this junc ire she was sure she heard agroan
' .mof human agony coming from out in the woods,
. t as it was not reflected, she concluded it was an
' coho from her own cart, and relapsed into thought

r’ is led Myrtle, “and I'm going to
it in ght be the means of saving our

 

 

_ burning me up?

 

the Boy Guide.

The minutes stole by-even lengthened into r

hours. and ere Myrtle was scarcely aware of it, it
was daylight—the sun was shining over the forest
and river, and the woods were vocal with the songs
of birds.

Amusing from her mental stupor. Myrtle gazed
around her With an air of precaution that is born of
backwoods life and danger. Having thus interro-
gated her Situation, she glanced upward through
the foliage and sew anumber of buzzards sailing
above the tree-tops a short distance south of her.
She knew at once that they were attracted there by
something dead or wounded. And somehow or
other, that groan which she thought ,she heard in
the night. instantly became associated with the res-
ence of the birds. Probably a human being e ther
dead or wounded, lay in the woods not far away,
and she resolved to investigate the matter at once.

With her riiie restin in the hollow of her left
arm, she stepped from er canoe, and with every
faculty on the alert, moved away through the
woods. She had traveled some forty rods when
she stopped in a little opening to watch the buz-
zards some of them were sailing in the air almost
directly over her, while others were perched in the
top of a tree afew rods south of her, their kee
eyes fixed on a little thicket of undergrowth direc ~
ly beneath them.

For a moment she stood undecided whether to ad‘
vance or not; then she stole noiselessly forward.
As she approached the thicket, the blizzards arose
from their perch and sailed away,

At the edge of the thicket the maiden stopped and
listened, but all was silence. Parting the bushes
she moved forward a few paces and again sto )pod.
Her form became motionless and her eyes flxeh like
one entranced as they fell upon the prostrate form
of a white man lying in the thicket before her. He
was not dead, but asleep; this she saw at a glance.
His left arm was bare and bloody, showing a deep
wound upon it.

The face seemed familiar to Myrtle, although it
was sic and wore an expression of great pain.

A ow cry of surprise and sorrow escaped her lips
when she recognized the face as that of Roderic
Clarksonl She saw that he had been wounded; and
was sufiering great pain, and that a delirious fever
had set in.

She stole softly forward, and bending over the
sleeper, was in the act of awakening him, when she
saw his lips open, and heard him mutter:

1' I‘Oh! Heavenl am i to die beret—with this fever
Oh. if she would come: come tome
of water, water. water!"

and give me a on
ericl“ exclaimed Myrtle, "rouse

" Roderic!
up; I am—“ ,
Roderic started from his delirious sleep, and risln
to a sitting Posture, nzod wildly up into the face 0

the vision 0 his trou led dream. '

“Is it reality P" the wounded youth exclaimed, “is;
it possible that it is daylight? I dreamed that I called
for you, and here you arel Where am I? Where is.
Antelope Abe?“ ,

“ I know not," replied Myrtle, “ but you are wound
ed and suffering.“ ,

“I am burning up with fever and pain. 0h, Myr-
tle! is there no water near?“

“The river is not far away. I will bring you some
water in your hat."

“I can walk, Myrtle; I will go to the river."

With the assistance of Myrtle, Roderic arose to his
feet, and, after several minutes‘ slow walking, they
came to the river.

Myrtle formed a cup of a broadoleafed lent, and
gave the wounded youth water to drink. t uench-
ed the internal fever at once, and then, w th the
assistance of the gentle girl. be washed and dressed
his wound, which had become greatly swollen and
inflamed. _

While thus engaged. Roderic related the disaster
that had brought him there, how he had become-
sepsrated from Antelope Abe, how he. had. been

 

 

 

 

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wounded and then fled from his unknown enemy
until he fell from exhaustion.

Myrtle did not tell him of her meeting and subse-
quent separation with Ida, for fear the news would
bring on undue excitement and aigravate his wound.
But after he had become somew at rested and his
pain alleviated, she said:

" We are in danger here, Mr. Clarkson. My home
is but a few minutes’ travel by water from here, and

on must go with me there, for you are unable to go
hack to the lake alone.”

Roderic expressed the warmest thanks for _her
kindness, and most joyfully acce ted her invitation.

In a few minutes they were th seated in the
little canoe, and moviii slowly and silently up the
river, chatting as thong no danger was near.

But in the midst of their love-dream the keen
eyes of Myrtle discovered a canoe containing four
Indians in pursuit of them!

"‘We are being pursued, Roderic,” said Myrtle

‘ calmly, lying the paddle With all her stren th;

“ but a ew minutes will place us beyond all an-
ger.”

The savages were yet a considerable distance
awa . but approaching rapidly. Roderic’s wound
rem cred his arm stiff and useless, and when. he
found he was unable to assist the maiden, he fairly
groaned with regret.

The savages gained upon them at every stroke.
and were within cas range of the fugitives when
the little craft of the utter turned and shot into the
shadows of a projecting rock on the north shore.
It was the some rock whereunder Myrtle had disap—
peared from the renegade and Indians the night he-

ore.

In a few minutes the savages' craft glided under
the rock after the fugitives, but to their surprise
and superstitious wonder, the whites were nowhere
to be soon. They had vanished, as if| swaIIOWed up
in the stream.

They searched for the mouth of a cavern in which
the ‘might have escaped, but all was rock~solid
roc

CHAPTER XIII.
ma Hum BRUTE.

Wnim Ida Clarkeon turned to flee from the wound-
ed bear, she became separated from Myrtle in the
darkness. She had turned to the left instead of the
right. as Myrtle had done, and before she had no-
ticed the mistake, it was too late to rectify it. Myr-
tle was gone, and the hounds, with the outlaws and
savages at their heels, had come up and attacked
the wounded bear.

With a low or of terror Ida fled she knew not
whither, to find ierself the next moment seized by
alliair of strong arms.

t was then that she uttered the scream which
reached the ears of Myrtle,

“ Ye needn't waste yer breath screainin’. missey,"
avoice hissed in her ear, which Ida rec ized as
that of Tim Bodsford, the outlaw; “I‘ll ta 6 m re-
volver now, and then take ye back to the isand
whar ye’ll occupy that little bower till mornin'. Ye
gee, I‘m mawster o’ ther situation now, Miss Wild~

re.‘

She was taken back to where the hounds and bear
Were fighting. The conflict lasted but a few min-
utes. The bear killed one of the hounds and wound-
ed the other seriously, when the savages came to
the rescue and slew the forest beast.

The )art now began retraci their footsteps to
ward t e ver, the outlaw, Deal: ~Trail. cursing with
impotent rage over the loss of his hound, while his
brother Tim was fairly dancing with joy over the
recapture of the maiden.

The whole party at onceemharked in their canoes,
and in a few minutes were back upon the island from
whence Ida had escaped. The little bowor still re-
mained ust as she had left it, With its couch of blan-
ketsan buifalo~robes_within.

Having tied her hands together, Bodsford led Ida

Antelope‘Abe. the Boy Guido. ’ 35

 

   

 

tohlahe bower, and pulling the foliage over the door,
sai :

“Go in thar, missey, and when ye steal another
revolver or come out o’ tliar, let me know it, won't
yo? I perpose to clear a. cool thousand dollars out
0‘ ye, to Mister White Fox, Esq., chief o‘ the
Sioux.”

Sad at. heart, Ida seated herself upon the couch
and burst into tears. It was several minutes be—
fore she regained her composure and then, in
changing her osition, she suddenly became con-
scious of ii. slig t movement under the couch be-
neath her.

Her first impulse was to cry, but the cry was sup-
pressed.

'- tdai" was called in a low tone beneath the blan-
ket‘s folds.

It was dark as midnight within the bower, but
the next moment a. human hand touched her own.

" Silence, Ida; it is Antelope Abe.”

Ida‘s heart seemed to rise into her throat: and.

for a moment, she feared its fluttering would be-

tray her emotions. Leaning forward, she “'hiS‘.

*red to her lover, who had now uncovered his

ea _ .,

” Oh, Abel your life is in imminent ril. A.
dozen Indians are here, besides two w its out-
laws." '

“'Bepareful and cautious, Ida. I will rescue you
or die in the attempt. " replied Abe, uncovering his
shoulders and rising upon his elbows.

The savages and outlaws without were busil
enga ed in striking a fire and bandafging the woun
of a ound which had escaped the ury of the bear
and whose dolcful howls drowned even the voices o
the savages.

The circumstances under which Antelope Abe
conic to be concealed in the bower are these: after
VlHll/lllg the island as reviousl ‘ recorded. and

the bay of the bloodhoun 5 had fa en upon his‘ears. ..

lie hastened ashore and set off to follow the hounds,
and when Bodsford recaptured Ida. he heard the
villain remark that she should spend the remainder
of the night in the bower on the island from which

she had just escaped. He would have attem ted ‘1

the maiden’s rescue then and the-re, but the ark-
ness prevented him from gaining any knowledge of
the situation and number of the savages. [so he
hastened back to the river, and divesting himself of

his outer clothing. an concealing them with his-

riiie and accouternieu s, with no weapon but his
knife and a small indian wmahawk, he swam to the
island and concealed himself in the bower.
Creeping from beneath the couch. Abe roceeded
to examine the situation. He saw that l e canoes
were beached on one side of the island, while the
savages were encaniped on the other side. The

bower stood between, and its shadow covered one'

of the canoes, .

After Death-Trail had bandaged his do ’5' wounds
the party seated themselves around i 6 fire of
driftwood. It was now the hour before dawn. The
air was growmg damp and chilly; so the sav ,

who were naked to the waists, took their b ts' I

and threw them, hoodlike, over their heads.
Antelope Abe listened and heard them talking

about the captive and White Fox; and presently in '

heard Tim Bodsfmd sav: _ »

“I b‘iieve I‘ll take. the captive down to the but
and keep her ther till White Fox comes erround.
One 0‘ ye Ingins can go With mound tie others.
can look out fur persuers. If that cussed Anteiofi
Abe war at the lake I’ll guar‘ntee he‘ll be pokin' -
nose erbout arter t e gal, and one to two he‘ll.
her, if we liain't keerful. Durn him, Idon‘t bffleve
118.63!) be killed." _ * V

Abe could not repress a smile at the viiiain’s re-l
marks, but the outlaw’s intention of takmg Ida away
would frustrate his plans, and without a doubt en-
danger his own life. '

Indian whom he wanted to accompany him, said:

Presently Bodsford arose. and having selected the \

 

 

 

   
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
   
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
 
  
    
   
  
 
 
 
  
     
     
    

" Swift-foot, you bring the gal out and I’ll launch
the canoe."

The Indian, a small, lithe fellow, with a long, red
blanket thrown over his head and shoulders, and
dmwu cIOSely’ around hi: face, advanced to the
bower for the young maiden, while Bodsford pro-
ceeded to launch the canoe.

There was a gteneral stir among the save es now,
and during the any and confusxon, one o the sav-

es stepped on Death~Trail’s wounded dog, which

a once set up a fearful howl of pain, that was fol-

lowed b an outburst of laughter from the savages.

, At th s juncture, and during the confusion, Swift-
foot entered the bower.

Bodsford half-launched the canoe, and, having
seated himself therein. took up the paddle an
awaited the comlug of Swift-foot with the captive.

“Burn the Ingln, what’s keepin’ him?‘ the out-
law exclaimed as his red servant did not appear on
the instant. “'I‘hunder! the girl could cut his throat
and nobody ’d know it for that cussed hound’s bel-
lerin'. Come, Swift-foot drag her erlong—that's it!"

’ ' The last words were directed to the Indian, who,
; with his long blanket still over his head and con-
” coal his face and his form to his heels, emerqu
from t e bower, half-dragging the captive at his side.

“ Eight in here, ye little mu essl" exclaimed Bods-
ford. as, in the darkness, he seized Ida and pulled
her into the canoe, and forced her to a seat II] the
bottom of the craft.

The renegade, seating himself in the further end
of the canoe, said: ’

“Now push her 03, Swift-foot, un’ we‘ll be off
anre day ight comés."

Giving the canoe a shove out in the stream, the
lndian leaped in and took his station in the end that
now became the row, while Ida lay on the canoe
bottom between t ie two men.

Bodsford plied the paddle vigorously.

_ “Iguess yer goin’ now, m little lady," said the

outlaw, when some distance mm the is and, “ wlutr

{9’11 not git erway soon, unless a thousand dollars
rom Wh 8 Fox takes ye," ~

Ida rose to a sitting posture, and in the darkness
passed something to the Indian.

“ Ugh!" ejaculated the Indian. Then, reaching
forward over the captive, he unceremoniously thrust
a revolver into the rufilan‘s very face, as, in plain

English, he exclaimed:

’ ‘ 0m [Lord above a whisper and you‘re a dead man,

Tim Bo'quoy-d I"

The blanket was thrown back from the head and
- face of the supposed ISwift—foot, and the youn
- guide, Antelope Abe, stood before the defeate ,
V ' ‘dumfounded outlaw.

,, y’l‘h‘e outlaw sat like one transfixed. He possessed
' no weapon now, for the deft hand of Ida had, under
5 cover 0 the gloom, taken from the rufflan's belt his
only weapon a revolver, that b? the motion of pad-

dling. was most ready to fal from its fastening.

' .It ,was this which she had passed to the supposed

Indian. Abs had not antici ated this brave act, and
' . eased his surprise by a earty “ Ugh!”

- sford was now wholly in the power of the

, your; guide. ‘ .

“I now ou‘re surprised to see me here," said

_ Abe; ,“ butt a fact is, your friend, Swift-foot, is quiet
enough in the little bower on the island where I was
obnceeled. I induced the Indian to change laces
withmeb a blow on the head with atom awk.

You‘d ’a‘ card the blow if it hadn’t been fur yer
brother outlaw’s hound, who set up a very Ieasant

yellin’. I then took yer friend‘s blanket an dressed

if up into it, and here I am. Now if you want
to save your miserable self from bein‘ shot, {list take

.hold o.‘ the paddle and turn this canoe to ard the

: north shore. And work lively, or I plug ye as sure
‘33 my name is Abe.”

» “rho great. burly outlaw saw that there was no
alternative but toobey, He knew the youth in whose

_ portage was, and like a whipped cur he did ascom-

man . ' \

 

  

     
 

no ‘ ' l I Antelope Abe. the soy Guide.

 

, When the shore was reached Abe, with Ida‘s help,
agged the outlaw; and then. removing the paddles
mm the canoe, sent the villain adrift.

“ There I hope we‘re rid 0’ that villain fur a while,"
said Ante ope Abe, as he watched the canoe with its
burden drifting away down the river.

The youth and his fair charge now moved up the
river. Soon they came to where he had left his rifle
and outer clothing when he swam to the island.
Dunning the clothes, he took the Indian‘s blanket,
which he had worn up to this time, and wrapped it
around Ida. for the air was growing chilly.

They continued on a short distance further, when,
from sounds heard in the distance they had every
reason to believe the outlaw esca d from
the bonds and gag, or else the body of t 9 Indian
had beenrdiscovercd.

They moved on up the river a mile or more, then,
as a steep and rug ed bluff ap ared before them,
they kept to the rig t with the mention of passing
around the hills.

They had not gone far when Antelope Abe dis—
covered that they were being followed by a number
of Indians.

He said nothing to Ida of this startling discover ,
for fear of undue excitement, but turnin abruptly
to the left; he led her up a narrow defl 6 between
two towering bluffs. The Indians, he knew, had not
seen them yet but were trailing them by the tracks
upon dew-wet leaves and grass. B taking to the
stony defile where no dew tell, he oped to elude
them.

As they continued up the gorge it grew so narrow
that they could not walk side y Side. Presently,
however, this narrow passage ended. in a litt e
opening, walled in on all sides by high pe n-
dlCulul' rocks. There was no escape from this p see
but by the we. the had entered it.

in lookinza nt or some other outlet, or place
of concealment, Antelope Abe discovered the
mouth of a cavern leading straight down into the
ground. It was sha ed lkea funnel, wide at the
top and narrowing o as it went down until it was
so small that a person larger than Antelope Abe
could not pass through it Beyond this narrow
throat all was darkness, yet Abe believed from it»:
appearance that it widened out again, and for a last
resort, in case the Indians tracked them into the
gorge, he resolved to descend into the hole, explore

ts advantages. if any, as a place of safety.

He had no difficulty in passing down the sloping.
rag ed sides of the opening, and by the sound of
sma l stones that became displaced, and rolled down
the l’uunelthroat, he knew t ere was a bottom to
the pit within reach, and by putting the muzzle of
his rifle down, he verified the fact, .

Carefully letting himself down he soon found
that he was standing on a firm rock, while a cav-
ern of unknown dimensions spread out around
him. But all was total darkness within, except-
ing a small circle of light around the entrance,
and while our hero is contemplating the
strange place, even this bit of ligh was and-
denly shut off by somethin ap ring in the nar—
row funnel-throat above. ut it lasted for only a
moment, and to the surprise of the outh, he found
it was occasioned by Ida following im into the cav-
ern, and who now stood at his side.

Before he could speak she grasped him by the arm

and sax :

“ Oh, dear Abel therearea number of Indians
coming up the defile!"

Abe was in the act of looking up when a shower
of small stoned came rattling down the funnel—
throat. This was followed by a dull. crumbling
noise, and a crush like a dull clap of thunder, Every
ray of light was excluded from the passage. a
cloud of dirt and dust sent drifting throng the
cavern, almost suffocating the two yOun overs.
Stone after stone was rolled into the mou of the
pit till it was quite filled.

When all had become quiet‘above, our hero at‘ '

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Antelope Abe. the Boy Guide.

 
 

 

 

rem ited to remove the stone from the ins-sage.
but he could not move it. He tried to pus . it up,
but the weight of the stones on the top held it there
like a wedge—as firm as the walls around it.

Antelo Abe turned to his fair companion, and in
a tone in which there was a tinge of despair, ex-

claimed:
“ Ida, my darlin’ girl, we‘re bmied alive,m

CHAPTER XIV.
_ m nouan BLOW.

er us now return to the lake and the beleaguer-
ed emigrants. ' v

The night with them wore slowly away after Abe. s
and Roderic's de arture, and Fred Hammond did
not return; but sen-knife continued his watch un-
til morning, saying nothing to the emigrants of
Fred's disa rance' However, when daylight
dawned andpggd was found missing, inquiry was at
onca made about him. -

“He gone.
where," replied the Indian, and t
could get out of him.

But finally Mr. Hammond, taking the Indian to
one side. questioned him closely, and learned that
which caused him no little surprise.

When he returned to his tent, Mr. Hammond
found his wife there alone, and seating himself,

 

Go oi! in the hi ht—don't know
hat was all they

said:

“ Mary, I‘m afraid we have been terribly deceived
in Fred. or else Keen-knife is not just right."

“Why so, Abram P“ asked the wife.

“The Indian says he has seen Fred among the
Sioux Indians in this country many times prior to
the last six months.“

“Great mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. Hammond; “can
it be possible that, when we sent him away to
travel, he came West and leagued himself with the,
Indians?" _

“ I have suspected as much, Mary. But perhaps
that little brass-bound trunk of his may give us
some light on the matter. You know we‘ve wonder-
ed what he kept guarded and locked so closer in
it, and would neveriet a living soul look inside of it."

5

' had stuck, and when the Hanunonds adopt/ed him,

, Hammond ca led to the Friendly. ,
See if bad Ingins are *bout." replied
lied the pole quite vigorously. / . ,

 

I seeing him coming back. He was standing ontho
raft uith his jaguar-skin drawn around his throat, ,

“Abram. l have often thought Fied acted rather l

curious since he returned home from his two years’
traveling. He always evaded talking about the
country in which he says he traveled.“

“It must be Mary, t int he has been deceiving us
all along, and instead of traveling in the South, as
we sup ed, he has been out here among the ln-
dians. Egon-knife says he is a. chief, and goes by the
name of White Fox. About six months ago, he
says, White Fox disappeared, and all supposed him
dead "

“Six months ago!" exclaimed Mm. Hammond.

“That was just about the time Fred came home ‘

from his travels."

“ Well, there is this about it, Mary we havedone
our duty by Fred. as a father and mother, but if he
ignores our advice and training. we will have some
consolation in knowing that he is not our child by
birth.“ In W .

“True, Abram he is only a son by adoption, but
when weadopted him and promised his dying mother
that we would give him the name of Hammond, and
know him only as a son. I knew the blood of the
Geo was in his veins. and that no Christian in-
fluence could purify it. Still. let us hope, Abram.
that Fred is not deceiving us,» and will return and
Eye aproper explanation of his disappearance. I

ow he loves Ida Clarkson. and erhaps his regard
for her has something to do with its absence."

Mrs. Hammond was sorely grieved by what seem-
ed a base desertion of their paternal love. They
had educated him—given him every attention with
in their power, sent him abroad, and lavished un-
sparingly u in him in the days of theiragros-
perit . Anmiow, in the moment of their ver-
sity. he had deserted them. He was no relation to
them; only a son by adoption. his mother had been
a. goodand pious woman, but his father came of a

 

they had a fear that Fred would inherit the wicked-
ness and had disposition of his parent.

still,’Mr. Hammond entertained a hope that all
would come right yet. He thought Keen-knife had
acted rather strange since Ida Clarkson's ca. tare;
and a suspicion arose in his mind that the FrFendg
was not Just right, and may have dealt foully wi
Fred during the night.

Mr. Clarkson was taken into Abram’s confidence,
and told all that Keenknife had said about Fred.
Mn. Hammond also spoke of his suspicions of the
Indian, and so they resolved to keepan eye upon
his movements.

The day wore slowly away. The emigrants watch-
ed in high hopes of seeing Antelope Abe and Rod-
eric returning with lda. But the were doomed to
disappomtment. Night fell, and t e looked-for ones
came not. - '

Keen-knife could not be induced to quit guard and
seek rest and sleep, but took his post on. the raftas
night-watch, assisted b Tom Hammond. »

Shortly after dark 9 wrap his jaguar-skin
around iiin. and, taking his ri e, he Stede H n
the little raft—which had been instrumental in I 839
capture—and in a moment more he was movingto-
ward the eastern shore of the lake. '

“ What are on going ashore for. Keen-knife?" Mr.

" ’l‘o scout.
Keen-knife. as he

“ 1 tell on, fr ends. that youth will ear watch-
ing," said ainmond, turning to his friends.

And so ihry all thought: Anew danger seemed -
gathering around them. Ida, Roderic and Antelope
Abe were gone, and there was no tellin whether
they would ever return. Fred was miss ng. either
through ion! or treacherous means. John Eam-

  
 

l.‘

mond was wounded. and now Keen-knife, upon' 3 '

whom they had placed great reliance, was acting
very strange. ,

hit the Indian had been gone but a dew minutes,
when the emigrants become somewhat relievpdfiy

and plying the pole leisurely.

He came alongside of the emigrants“ raft, but he
d'd not move fiom his own position. It was now
quite dark, and Seeing he did not move. Mr. Clark- ‘
son asked: ,

:‘ girl you see any Indians about, Keen-knife?‘

. 0'.
his voice sounded a little harsh and strange.

The Indian still remained upon the small raft.
keeping his eyes fixed 11 n the emigrants, or 007
caSionally glancing uneas ly toward the shore. , "

The emigrants kept moving about u on the 
and thmll . wondering why the Indgn re

mien the little craft, Jennie Clarkson advanced nau- j“ ,
l

n, and asked: - u _ ,1
RKeen-knil’e. why don‘t you come aboard this '
to i“ . » z
The Indian made no reply. but, drawing a mall
lasso from under his jaguar-skin. threw it torwuxi
with such occur that its noose fellpVer the head
and shoulders of t e maiden, and pinioned her arms »
to her side. With a quick pull the Indian jerked 
u n his own raft and then, seizmg the
his craft rapidly shareward with the mai en a cape
tive. '
Jennie‘s screams aroused her friends, but
dared not fire upon the savage, for he screeth
form with tliatot the maiden. ‘
There were no means b which they could pm V_
the traitorous villain, an the half-distracted mm- '
was forced to stand and see his second
carried away into captivity. '

CHAPTER XV.
mm moons summit _ .
Tm: moment that Myrtle drove their canoe under
the projecting rock, where they so’mysteriously ,

l

i I _ ’

returned the ludian: and to Mr. Clarkson ~ 

18, Grade ‘ '
u ‘

daughter”

   
   
  
  

 

 

 AbOv

.'\‘v

 

I

tha Boy Guide.

 

dimppearezl from view of the pursuing savafes,
Roderic saw a section of the ledge directly over t leir
heads more upward, revealing a round opening,
leading up into the projecting rock, which he saw
was hollow.

B command of Myrtle, he sprung from the canoe,
up nto the cavern, and was closely followed by the
maiden. The little canoe was then drawn up into
the cavern by a third person—the some who had
opened the secret door—and the passage closed be-
fore the savages came up.

As he stood within this secret cavern, and gazed
around him, Roderic saw that he and Myrtle were
not alone. An aged negro and negrcss stood before

him.

“ This," said Myrtle, turning to the negro, a man
of, some fifty years, and whose head was white as
snow, “ is my friend protector, and the master of
this hidden cavern, jugiter Keito and this "-turn—
lug w the negress—“ is is wife, Chloe."

‘ILor’ bress ye, Myrtle, child, who’s ye been find-
.in‘ dis time?" exclaimed the ne ress.

" Why, Aunt. Chloe, I foun this young man,
wounded and almost dead.”

“ Brass ye‘s little heart. you is an angel, shuah."

Myrtle smiled, and turning to Roderic, said:

“ I hope you will make yourself at ease here, Mr.
Clarkson, if it is possible for you to do so."

“ is this your home, Myrtle?" asked Roderic.

“ Yes," replied the maiden, in a tone of sadness.

“Then Iwiil be content to remain here forever,
if you are with me,i’ returned Roderic, with n
sm 9.

The maiden blushed and hung her head.

“Come into de parlor, children," said old (lhlm-
“and sot down. I jis‘ knows you's mus‘ awful

n

They followed the negress to another apartment,
that was comfortably furnished, in the backwoods
View of comfort. There were some rude stools, a
table, and a few pots and kettles.

Through No or tlnee small rifts in the side of the
rock overhanging the river, the sunshine pourcd
into the apartment, flooding it with light. And
ri ht here i will say that from one of these small
w ndows old Jupiter had fired the shot which saved
M rtle from the power of the Indian that had leaped
lnzo the canoe the night before.

Roderic seated himself and entered into conver-

, action with Jupiter, while Myrtle. assisted by old
Uhloe set to work to prepare herself and proteye
some reokfast.

The youth found the old dark was possessed of
much intelligence, and soon 32: ned. an authentic
history of his past life. ,

It seemed that Jupiter and his wife had been

' gives in Kentucky, and had sulfcred greatly at the

of a. heartless master. An enemy of this
master put it into old Jupiter's head to run on, and
am him three hundred dollais to procure an out-

t. .To evade cu ture and punishment, he shaped
his course for the est, where he became a success-
ful hunter and trapper. .

‘, He had lived some five years in the cavern where
we now find him, and though the mechanical preci-
sion with which the stone barred the mouth of the
retreat, it had never been discovered by an enemy.
This entrance over the water, however, the negro
had hewn out himself, throu h the floor of the cav-
am, when he first ' overs the cave by a passage
far back among t 16 bluffs. This passage be
blocked up, and used only when high waters pre-
vented an exit through the floor of the cavern over
the river.

- ' Alter a sumptuous breakfast of such meats and
fruits as the country aflordcd, Roderic and Myrtle
found themselves alone, the old black folks having
retired toanother apartment.

“ How do you like m home, Roderic?” asked

y
Myrtle, with child-like familiarity.
“ It has its charms, Imust admit; but I know you
were not born and bred here, Myrtle. And I can not

 

believe one so young, fair and intelligent as you, can

be entirely happy here "

" But, Roderic, it is all the home i have, and these
two old colored people are all that I have that care
for me."

“ Nay, nay. Myrtle!” exclaimed Roderic. “ I cam
for youl I love on, Myrtle, with all my heart—I
loved you from t a moment I first met on on the
prairie. near the lake, and it would be a oy forever
to know that my love was returned by you.”

“ Roderic, it is. I love you,” replied Myrtle, with
tearful eyes and quivering lips.

“Heaven be thanked! Then you will go with me
to the settlement, and become my wife, will you not,
dear Myrtle?"

“ Oh, Roderic! perhaps if you knew something of
my past life, you would not ask me to '13 your
wife. ’

“ And if I do not object to your past life, which
I know has been one of persecutions, innocence and
purity, then will you promisc to be my wife, some

da 1'

{lyrtle hung her head and replied in the affirma-
tive, and, after a few minutes of silent love com-
munion, she narrated the story of her past life. it
was long and sad, and, as incident is crowding us,
we will narrate it to the reader in substance.

Her parents both died when she was quite younL',
and then she was adopted into the family of her
mother's sister, Martha Bodsf0rd, a widow with two
children of her own, both bo 8, grown to manhood.
Short] after her adoption in othc Bodsford family,
they a i moved to the great West. Here the two sons
of the widow became leagued with the indians and
notorious outlaws.

To the render they are known as Tim Bodsford
and Death-Trail.

' The widow was a kind Christian mother. and triod
every means within her power to induce lxcr boys to
lead u. Christian life but all in vain.

When Myrtle reached the age of eighteen, few boys
of her years on the border. Antelope Abe except-d,
could equal her in wood or watercraft, or in trailing
a deer, or in the use of the rifle.

One day, while hunting in the woods near the
widow's hut, she met a younLr man who introduced
himself as Guy l’arkcrson. and whom she conducted
to the cabin, where he was treated with much hospi-
table kindness.

Guy Parkerson came often after this to the
cabin of the Bodsfords, and final] y he made known
the object of his visits by proposing’ for the hand
of Mylrtle. His love not being returned, he was re-
jectc .

Through the widow Bodsford, Myrtle subsequent-
ly learned that Guy Parkerson was none other than
t e renegade chief, White Fox. And after his rejec-
tion by M rtle, he offered the outlaw brother! a small
fortune, f they would compel Myrtle to marry

him.

This ofler the villains accede but Myrtle learned
of their nefarious bargain, and lied into the woods,
where she renmiued concealed for a long time.
Her aunt Martha carried her provisions and cloth~
in: when her sons were away. But at last, the out-
laws zot upon hrr track, by watching their mother,
and the maiden was com lied to flee. In her flight
she came across Jupiter eito, who took her to his
hidden home, where she had remained in rfcct
security ever since. But every few days s e left
the cavern. and managed to leave for or receive a
note from her aunt Martha, by placing a note at an
nppomted place, which was changed every few

days.

By this means. Myrtle was kept posted as to the
movements of White Fox and the outlaw brothers.
The latter believed that Antelo Abe had spirited
fiyrtle away, and swore a tern ls Vengeance upon

m. .

Time passed on, and finall the report came that
While Fox had mysterious y dlsa ared. and it
was believed he was killed; and so yrtle had that

 

 

 

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g

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i;
x“
o
i
*5

~ fires/Mm: "  w

 

 

 

 

Antelope Abe. the Boy Guide. 89 I

/w

 

 

much less to fear. Still, she would never venture
backto the cabin of the Bodsfords, who were now
making a business of kidnapping women from the
emigrant trains and selling t em to the Indians. She
remained with the black hunter and his wife, and
assisted him about his traps, and was company
for old Chloe when Jupiter went to the settlement
for supplies.

when Roderic had listened to this tale of trials
and wrongs. in: asked:

“ How did you learn, Myrtle, that the families en-
camped at the lake were those of Enoch Clarkson
and Abraham Hammond? You know you men-
tioned their names the night you warned me of their
being in danger." _

“ I learned the names through Aunt Martha. Tim
Bodsford had found a paper near a. place called the
Wolf‘s Mouth, and supposed Antelope Abe had lost
it. It was written by a Mr. Dorian to Enoch Clark-
son and Abraham Hammond and directed to the
care of Antelope Abe whom Mr. Dm'lan was send-
ing to guide them to the settlement."

When Myrtle had concluded. Roderic took her lit—
tle brown band in his, and said:

“ Myrtle, if you have been unfortunate and perse-
cuted, it is 11 Just reason that Ishnuld love you all
the more and ask that you place your future life in
in care. ‘

‘Roderic ” replied Myrtle. ” we have known
each other but a short time. and perhaps when you
hart; had time for reflection, you will change your
to n ."

“ Never, Myrtle! never!"

“ I hope it will prove so, Roderic."

“ Myrtle, my love will never change. Besides,
you will be in great danger again here, for White

ox has turned up alive, and no doubt as bad as
ever."

“ Yes, I knew he was about, for I met Guy Parker-
son the night I first met you."

“Met Guy Parkerson—White Fox!” exclaimed
Roderic, as a dark sus icion flashed into his mind:
“ where did vou meet 11 in, Myrtle?"

“ On gua at ouncamp, and when he saw me he
turned and fled ike a coward 2"

“Then. by Heavens!" cried Roderic, “Guy Park-
orson, White Fox and Fred Hammond are one and the
samaperson J"

 

CHAPTER XVI.
A JOYOUB MEETING.

“ Yes, I have suspected as much already." repeat—

ed Roderic. “ Fred Hammond 18 White Fox. I
ity his poor old father and mother, who su

Be was away gaining knowledge by tmvel in the

Southern Stales when he was out here leagued

with Satan and theludiansi" I

“ Is he still at the lake?" inquired M is.

“ He was there when we left but have reason
to believe he has left since. Antelope Abe and I
saw White Fox, and when he spoke to his savages I
would have sworn it was Fred's voice."

“Then I will kee close to the cabin, for he is to
be feared. The on aws knbw I am about. and only
last night pursued me on the river."

“ You must go away from here with me, Myrtle—
I will not leave Without you."

“ It will be with much that I leave old Jupi-
ter and Chloe. They have so kind to me. Per-
haps I can induce them to go to the settlement, too.
They have lived here over ve years. and have be-
come greatly attached to the place."

“This is a wonderful cavern, Myrtle. Does it ex-
tend back into the blufls?"

“ Yes: the hills are honeycombed with caverns.
Wouldn’t you like a walk throu h them. Roderic!”

“ es, with you. M rtle." erlc returned.

Taming, she call Jupiter to show them through
the cavern.

I The old negro procured a lamp and lit it. He first
conducted Roderlc tothe entrance and showed him
the manner of opening it. A hugeblock of stone.

 

fitting the opening closely, was raised and lowered -

by a lever dpower, and braced so that no human
power con] force it upward from below.

From the opening they turned away and started
off through the cavern. MyHle walked by Roderic's
slide, her sweet young face aglow with inward hap-
p ness.

They wandered from chamber to chamber. as
perhaps did ancient feet in countless ages gone by:
and presently they came to where the pa 6
come low and narrow, and was finally terminated
by the appearance of a large rock before them that
was braced there with a bar of wood. ’ .

Jupiter handed the light to Myrtle and removing
the brace, he applied his massive shoulder to the
rock, which he succeeded in rolling into a niche in
the wall.

The passage was now opened. and with some difc
flculty they crept through it and found themselves
in a spacious chamber with a stalactited dom
fluted walls and grim stalagmites rising upwa
from the ground ike massive pillars on every side.

Just then a low cry, as if from human lips echoed
through the grim old vault.

j“ Golly Caesars!" exclaimed Jupiter, “dar’s sum-
thin’ in dis cave!“

They listened. The quick tread of feet was heard.
approaching, and the next moment two figures
emerfied from the darkness into the glare o the
lamp ght. ‘

Ac of surprise and icy burst from Roderlc’s

ll ; t e two persons be ore them were Antelope~ ‘

A and his sister Ida! . ,

“ Saved, Idal savedl" cried Abe, as he recognized
the group. ,
“ h, brother Roderic!“ cried Ida, as she sprung
forward and clasped her brother about the neck,
“ it ta ou—you and Myrtle! Oh, I am so lad! W6
thougit that we were buried alive, an that you

were cicada”
“How long have ou been in he sister?" ‘
“ Forty years, eric.” returned I a. “ Am I not
gray-headed?" and she laughed and wept with joy.
“ It seems so very, very long."

“ We have been here since shortly after sunrise,"

said Antelope Abe, and then he narrate’d the story‘

of their escape from the island, and their subsev
quently bei entra ped into the cavern which the
supposed ha no at er outlet than the one throng
which they had entered.

The exploration of the cavern at once ended. and
the negro led the little party of adventurers back to
“ de parlor,” where an hour was passed in explan-
ations and recounting adventures.

Love and hapiness reigned supreme. Ida and
Myrtle were brimmin all of mirth and oy, and
their lovers were equa y as exuberant in s rit. .

The joy of this meeting lasted for some tune, then
followed the arrangements for returning to the lake.

This would have to be accomplished under cover of .

nizht. '
The subject of the emigrants’ stolen horses finally
came up, whereupon Myrtle gave the joyful informa-
tion of the whereabouts of the horses. Her aunt
Martha had told her that the outlaw brothers had

horses in their possessio , and that theywereoom.

n
cealed in a dense thicket back of their but.

' The recovery of the animals was a most essential
object. not on I
but to hasten orward the journey of the emigrants.
So, as soon as ni ht fell, Antelope Abe. accompanied
bytfioderic and o d Jupiter, set off for the but of the
on we. . ’

The girls remained with old Chloe at the secret
cavern. and after many weary, weary hours of
waiting and watching, the men returned the

cheering news that the horses had all been recover- -

ed—even Antelope Abe’s favorite horse,whidihe

glad {fst the day of his adventure at the Wolf:
out . '
Preparations were at .once made for do More.

Myrtle was going with them, and now came sport-

to facilitate the return to the labs; ' ‘

\g.
1'
i

'1.

 

 

 

 

Antelope Abe, the no: Guido.

 

i‘ ing with old Jupiter and Chloe. who could not be in-
duced to leave their home in the rocky overhan 'ng
l the river. The wept bitterly when she bid t em
i mod-by and t anked them kindly for the home
y had given her in we darkest hour of her life.
it “ If eveifon should meet aunt Martha Bodsford,
1. JD iter.” rtle said, “tell her where I am gone,
i ' an that I all never forget to pray for her."
i Jupiter romised to comply With her request. then
xthe mout of the cavern was opened. and two
canoes dro pod into the river beneath. in which
the partly a once embarked for the south shore.
They ended near where they had left the horses-
and in a. few minutes they were all mounted ant
movin away southward toward Silver Basin, under
the gu dance of Antelope Abe.

CHAPTER XVII.

_ "mum rs unsounn.

Tans was great excitement on the raft at Silver
Basin over the capture of Jennie Clarkson. The
- . hall-distracted father uttered fearful maledictious
‘V‘ " ' against the Indian, and it was all his friends could do
to restrain him from swimming ashore in pursuit of
the savage abductor.

This not convinced the emigrants that Keen-knife
had been instrumental in the capture of Ida and in
splritlng Fred Hammond away.

While they stood upon the raft pouring censure
upon their own heads for permittin‘: themselves to
be deceived. they were startled by the crack of a rifle
and a savage death-wall on the eastshore of the lake.
This was followed by a scream which they knew to
be Jennle's. ‘

I 'flic darkness revented them from seeing what

“going on. ‘noch Clarkson groaned in spirit.

A lance nowensued, but it was soon broken by

the rippling waters chafing the sides of the raft.

, - - livery eye was fixed on the surrounding waters. and

At t rough the gloom a small raft sudden) came to
view. It was agproaching from thepast s lore.

" Hglti“ crl Enoch Clarkson;

,8 .

“ It is l, father—Keen-knife and I."
_ It was the voice of Jennie, and her words filled

‘ every one on the raft with surprise and astonish-
/ ment, and before they had recovered their compos-

ure the little raft came alongside of the large one,
and Jennie sprung into the arms of her father.

” What is the meaning of all this?" cried tho
father, as he saw Keenkmfe follow Jennie from the

raft.

“ Father." cried Jennie “ you have wronged Keen-
lmife min. " It was a bad Indian who captured me.
Keen- erescued "

"How is that?" the father cried: “ the Indian was
no in Koen-knife’s mar-skin.”
.- “ es father when n—knife went ashore. he
. j says he took off his jaguar-skin and laid it in the
v .The bad Indian must have' seen him. and
when Keen—knife went away he took it. and putting
' .lt on, came mothers to pass himself off as the
Friendly. Keen-knife told me this. and I know it is
, true. father. for it was he who slow the Indian and
‘ saved me." .
“ B heavens l“ exclaimed (,‘Iarkson. “ I see through
' .- it all ' I thought the Indlon‘s voice sounded a. little

.harshand strange. But it was an Indian. and the
~. Friendly’s spotted robe. and to me all Indians look
*' Alike, smist I was sure it was Keen-knife. liut if I
mistrust you again. Keen-knife. I hope somebody
-» "will shoot me.“

' Keen-knife laughed, in a low. pleasant manner,
andturnod away. ‘ ,

This explanat on made matters somewhat quieter
on board he raft. And the Indian was permitted
to continue on duty. without being suspected or

 
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
      
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

s..,r+..sn~, I... .'.4_§;-_¢-cv.c......'.. A...'...n;...-L.-_.L, ' ,

 

 

 

“ he night passed quietly away, and just as the
. sun came up. Keenwknife descrl a party of horse—

;nisn approacth from the north. With the as
islstance of his spy-glass, Mr. Clarkson was enabled

“ who comes

 

to see that it was Antelo e Abe and Roderic. return-
ing, with not only his aring little Ida. but their
horses and a. strange young female. But Fred Ham-
mond was not among them.

Shout upon shout went up from the raft and was
answered back from the approaching party that
soon drew rein on the bank of the lake.

The raft was at once poled over to the shore.
when a. joyous meeting took place between Ida and
her friends. _

Myrtle was introduced to the company. and when
the part she had taken in the interest of the emi-
grants became known, blessings were poured upon

ier head. And all were pleased when it was an-
nounced that she was going to accompany them to
the settlement.

Myrtle’s story in r ard to Fred Hammond’s
treachery continued tho of Keen-knife.

Abram Hammond then made ito only known that
Fred was not his son. and spoke o the secret of the
brass-bound trunk. The secret of the hand of fire
which had so mystified some of our friends. was
explained by Myrtle. It wasa signal-board covered
with phosphorus, and used by the outlaw brothers
in directing the movements of their allies in the
darkness.

Antelope Abe reported that the Indians had with-
drawn from the vicinity of the lake. and urged u _ n
the emigrants to make all haste in continuing t eir ,
journey. He feared the next demonstration of the
savages would be made in force, without regard to
consequences, or cost of life.

So preparations were at once made for leaving
Silver Basin. >

 

CHAPTER xvm.
AT LAST.

Tnn sun was dro ping slowly westward on its
diurnal course. yet t found our little band of emi—
grants. under the idance of Antelope Abe, several
miles from Silver asin.

Their course lay due westward over an unbroken
waste of prairie, and along a high and level divide
from which the plain swept aWay toward the Che<
fique river on the right, and the Des Moines on the
e t.

The keen eyes of the young hunter-guide roamed
incessantly over the. plain on all sides as he rode for-
ward at the head of the train.

Keen-knife was constantly on the alert in the rear
of the train. and so no fears of a surprise were enter-
tained by the emigrants.

Suddenly, however. in the midst of their uiet
journeying. Antelope Abe wheeled his horse a iii:
and shouted:

“Inginsl A score of mounted devils are comin‘
down upon us? Let us Prepare to meet ‘em. Git
every rifle ready and we‘l give ‘em particular thun-

er

The greatest excitement prevailed. but the young
guide managed to get the teams secured against a
stampede, and every man and woman able to handle
a rifle was placed in gmition behind the wagons.
ready to receive the In inns.

As the savages approached. Antelope Abe saw
that they were led by the chief. White Fox. but he
said nothing of his discovery to the emigrantS.

Waiting until the yelling demons had come within
close range, the young guide gave the order to fire"

Nearly a dozen rifles cracked as one. and half a
dozen Indian ponies were made riderless. White
Fox was among the fallen.

~With a yell of dismay. the ramainlng savages
wheeled their animals and fled.

A shout of triumph burst from the ll of the
emigrants that increased the fears and errors of
the flying red-skins, who. in a few minutes. were
miles away. ' '

Antelope Abe and Keemknifs went to see about
the fallen. and in a. few minutes returned. bearing
between them the form of White Fox. eylsi

 

 

 

 

 

 

\

'

 

the Boy Guide. at

 

him upon a blanket near the wagons, and then
Antelope Abe said:
Fox. the Sioux chief, and he is

“That is White
dyln'." .

“Yes,” responded the chief, “I am White Fox—
better known to you all as Fred Hammond.“

“Great heavenl Fred. is this true?" cried Abram
:Iammond, dropping on his knees by the prostrate

orm.

“Yes, father, it is. I have deceived you. I am an
outlaw and a renegade chief, but I am about—nay.
[have received the peth of my crime. I am dy-
in . It was not the inten ion to harm anyof you.

e merely intended to carry off the girls. We
ho to rise you and thus avoid bloodshed on
eit er side. ut in case I fell. the Indians were to
make no further attempt to capture the girls. The
two yearsI was away from home I spent mostly
among the Indians, and became a noted chief. I
won] never have rejoined them but for one thing.
I loved Ida Clarkson, and my love was rejected. I
had a rival, and attempting to slay him. I shot John
Hammond through mistake."

A cry of surprise burst from every lip.

“In a moment of jealous rage,” continued the dy-
ing man. “I resolved to rejoin the Indians—carry
Ida away and compel her to be my wife. 1 assayed
to place the camp in the power of the Indians who
were already besi ing it. The night I left the
camp, I went to mee the sav s. It was then that
lax-ranged for the ca ture o the camp, though I
Eve orders, as their c ief, that none of you should

slain, or retained in captivity. excepting Jennie
and Ida. Three blazin arrows shot u into the air
were to be the signs. for the attac , but I was
watched by some one and defeated in giving the sig-
nal. I am certain it was Antelope Abe. And I
know that the little brass-hound trunk of mine has
caused on to wonder many times what its contents
were. tcontained the disguise which I now have

on.

“This is all my story. lam glad thatl am not
your son, Abram and Mary Hammond, for I am
unworthy of the name. Ask all whom I have
wronged to forgive me, if the can. I see many
persons standing around me, ut they are so far
away and it is growing so dark, that I cannot dis-
tin ish their faces and—"

ere his voice fell into an incoherent muttering,
which lasted several minutes; then he fell into a
deep slumber. from which he never awoke.

For several minutes the little party stoodwith
bowed heads around the motionless form, wra t in
that awful silence which the presence of deat in-

ires.

Finally, Mr. Hammond said, in a solemn, half-
choked voice:

" He is dead I"

The next half-hour was one of great solemnity.
No one thought of the dead man’s crimes. In their
hearts. they forgave him for the wrongs he had
32:; them. and they thought of him only as the

A grave was hollowed out on the plain. and the
body. wrapped in a blanket, was laced in it, and
eavered from the view of the worl forever.

The from now moved on, but went into camp for
the night. The following morning the resumed
their journey. and after two days‘ trave ing, reach-

their destination without further trouble from
the Indians. And here a new life began to the char-
acters of our story, and I have but little more to

add.
Mr. Clarkson offered to y Antelope Abe for his
invaluable services, as gu do, but he refused it, say-

“Thar‘s but one thing I ask in lieu of my services,
Mnlginukson. and that is the hind of your‘daugb
tier ."

Enoch Clarkson was startled with surprise. Fora

moment he seemed dnmfounded; then, as a smile i -
1 nu) Aunts, Publishers. i3 William st, N. Y.

Wept over his face, he said:

“Well well, young man, you surprise me. You
have ed me for the bnghtest treasureI possess.
But you are worthy of an woman‘s love, and i!

on and Ida can make its. 1 right, why—why, take
or, and may God bless ivou both.“

Some three years Is er, the marriage of Abram
Smollet. orAntelope Abe, and Ida Clarkson was con-
summated at the house of the bride's father.

At that time John Hammond and Jenny Clark-
son, and Rodericand Myrtle had been married. ov’er
a year. »

AnteloggeAbe finally became a ponular man—as
he had n a boy— n the great West, and his
brigfit little Ida made him a dutiful wife and gentle
mo er.

Keen-knife remained with his boyhood'friend, and
grew old in the service of the whites.

Myrtle made Roderic a noble wife. and she never
gave him cause to re ret the hour she came to him
on the prairie near t e lake, “ like the vision of a
dream.” ,

She never heard more of the outlaw brothers and
their oor old mother. A military oat had been esp
tahlis ed at the uncture of the ccoon and Des
moines rivers, an all the outlaws and robbers were
driven to some other quarter.

Old Jupiter and Chloe. finally tiring of their eavtrn
home. came to the settlement and took up their
residence.

And now what more need I say? With reluctance,
i must bid adieu to the characters whom I have
learned to love during the short time we have been
together. I sincerely hope my readers and charita-
ble critics have found an in erestin the story auf~
flcient to induce them to follow it to

THE END.

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