\. ‘\ §x * ‘ \mm \w No. 439l ".50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams, Frizz“. I Yen’- No. 95 Wu.qu ST. NEW YORK. “'0 0 %<_*~;\A\ A e, a x A A 55 ON LIE PRESSED, THROUGH THE LONG HOURS OF THE MIDSUMMER AFTERNOON, WITH HIS BED ENEMIES STRAINING AFTER HIM. Silverspur. . Silverspur ; THE MOUNTAIN HEROINE. A '1‘an of the Arapaho Country. BY EDWARS—WILLETT, AUTHOR or “ mm nor cameras,” “ ALONE on THE PLAINS,” “ VVIDE—AWAKE GEORGE,” 21's., ETC., me. CHAPTER I. MOUNTAIN MEN. IN a saloon adjoining the St. Louis theater (the city at that time could boast of but one theater) were collected half a dozen men, mid- dle-aged and young. It was evident, even to a casual observer, that they were bound together by ties of friendship, or of interest, or of com- mon pursuit; for they formed a. knot by them— selves, associating with no others, and their ap- mnee was uite different from that of other reqnenters o the saloon. Their dress was flue—not nudy, but costly—41nd they were their brow cloth with the air of men who had been born to it. Their manners were gentle— manly, it not refined, characterized by the frankness and high-toned independence that ought to distinguish the American citizen. Their tastes, also, were of a. costly and luxuri- ous nature. Disdninin’; the low—prised whisky and the fiery brandy that was chiefly dealt out at the saloon, they lavished their gold-pieci-s upon the choicest wines, as freely as if they had owned mines of the precious metals. They were talking, when they entered the saloon. of the theater which they had just left; but their, tone changed after a while, and the converse- tion was of mountains and plains, of Indian; and buffalo, of wild scenes and during exploits. They spoke of these subjects, so strange and wonderful to the uninitiated, as it they were matters of ev ry-dny occurrence, laughing and joking the most over the worst psrils and the greatest hardships. These men were objwts of interest to a rson who made his appearance in the solo in s iortl y after they entered it-—a man past the middle 8 e, grotesque, uncouth, and'strangely out of p in those surrounding Although his features were peculiar enough, his dress was chiefl calculated to nttrnct ut- teution inn. civilize community. His min i- 8.1 nrmeut was a. hunting—shirt of dross ~l ears in, embroidered in the Indian fashion, and ornamented m‘th a. fringe of green worsted. A heavy capo was attached to this garment, and itwas tied to the waist with a red worsted sash. The breast was 0 en sufficiently to give a. view of a red flannel I irt. Under the principal gar- ments were leggings of doerskin, heavily fringed below the knee, until they were joined by a ir of meccasins. A cup made of the skin of he gray fox, with a tail prominent behind. and a silver medal set in the front, completed the attire of this strange personage. His face and form were also culiar. From under his cap tell straggling 100 s of black hair, thickly touched with gray. Beneath bushy eyebrows were set a pair of keen, sparkling and restless eyes. His nose, large, prominent, and shaped like the beak of the eagle, had been by some means turned awry, and its end pointed unmistakably toward the left side of his face. His mouth was large, but pleasant in expression, and his right cheek was remarkable for a purplish spot that covered the region about the cheek- bone. None of his other features were visible, being hidden by a heavy black board, of bl:le mixed with gray, that flowed in a tszried mass to his breast. As to shape, he was u lité le above the mediqu hight, with very broad shoulders and breast and thence tapering down to his feet, which were big and broad enough tosupport the structure above them. His left hand carried 0. long‘ and heavy rifle, ancient and battered, worn by time and hard servico. A knife with a. buck—horn hand'o was stuck in a leather sheath in his sash, um! his powder—horn and bullet-pouch hung at his side. After watching the group of well~dressed men for a while, he stepped up to them. “ I hoern tell that ye are mountingr men, strangers,” he said, “though I’m durncd of ye look a bit like it.” ” You are not for wrong, my friend,” replied n. heavyfot man, with n jovial countenance, who seemed to be the chief personage in the group. “ “’0 are generally called mountain men, though most of us belong to the plains, rather than the mountains.” “ Ye’re all fixed up so mighty fine, that I had my doubts, and I felt kinder slurry of ye: but I allowed I mought make hold to ax about suthin’ I’m on the hunt of down hyar. Hope thar’s no harm done.” ' “ None to us, my friend. We are always glad to meet a mountain man in the settle- ments. Won’t you take smoothing to loosen your tongue?” “ Don’t mind of I do, Cap, bein‘ it‘s you. “ 'I‘hunderutieul” exclaimed the mountaineer, as the effervescent champagne bubbled out into n, goblet before him. “ Hev ye got a b’ilin‘ sprint: down hynr in St. Louis?" “ Drink it quick, my friend, before it dies.” “ Wu], of I must eat it alive, in ‘al"s to ye!” “ Don’t you like it?” was as ed, as he sat down the glass, with 8. wry face. “ Can’t say that I really love the taste of it. It’s most too sweetish to suit this child, and I’m iifenrd the crittur is never gwino to quit kick< in .’ , “Peter, give the old mrm some brandy, or any thing he may cheese to call for. You said, my friend, that you Wished to ask us about some‘ thing that you are on the hunt of. We will be glad to help you." “ I allowed, bein’s ye’re‘ mounting men. ye mought n‘raps know snthin’ of a young chap named Fred Wilder.” ‘ A young man in the group gave nslight start, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the gentle« man who was about to reply. , “ There are sovoml men of that n'une in the city,” he snid. “Did the person you speak of ever puss by any other name?” “ The Injuns called him Silverspur, and he was ginerally called by that name in the mount- Silverspur. lugs; but I allow he wouldn't wear it down hyar in the settlements. Thar’s me, now; I’ve been called Old Blaze so long, and nothin’ else, that I ain’t really sure whether I’ve got any other name.” “ What sort of a man was he l” “Wal as fur looks, he was what is called a good-lookin’ man, though I never took on much about his good looks, or, thought they war any thin‘ to brag on. He was about your hight, and with jist such eyes, and nose and mouth the same to a dot. Durned et you don’t look a. heap like him.” “ Thank on for the compliment.” “But loo '5 don’t count in a scrimmage, and they ain’t worth talkin’ about. Thar’s whar Silverspur did count, and he was as good a man inn. tight place. fur his inches, as I ever sot eyes onto. Ye mought bet yer pile that he’d never run away from a fight, or go back on a friend. He was the right kind of a man, and old Jule knows it.” . The hunter. slapped his rifle with his hand, to give emphasis to this assertion. “Perhaps,” suggested one of the gentlemen, “ this _Wilder is the same man who was hung last week ,for horse-stealing.” “ e’re wrong tbar stranger,” said the hun— ter, as his eyes flashed wickedly. “I won't say but ye may hev sech a notion; but I hope ye won tspeak it out ag’in atore me. Silverspur warn’t the kind of 9. man to git picked up as a hess-thief.” “ He is mistaken, my friend,” said the oung man. “I knew Silverspur; but he is d .” “ Dead! That chap! Dead l" The hunter’s rifle fell on the floor, with a crash that startled all in the room, and his coun- tenance was expressive of the deepest sorrow, as he stared blankly at his informant. ' " Ef Silverspnr is dead,what’s other folks liv— in’ for? Seems that a man like him hain‘t no right to be took away. Thor’s few enough like him, and, old Jule knows it. Did he jest die, stranger, or mought sut‘nin’ hev happened to him?" “ He was killed—shot in an encounter—here in St. Louis.” “ Some sort ot a scrimmage ye mean, I _ reckon. Is the man who did it a—livin’?” I “.There were seVeral men. It was not known which of them fired the shot.” “Will ye be so kind, stronger, as to put me on the trail of these men?” “ What would you do?’ f‘Foller it up, ontil the last one of ’em is Wiped out. They’ll never shoot another man. Such a cha as Silverspurl“ “Come, “ don‘t carry the joke too far.” “You take it too hard, my friend," said the young man, as the hunter’s eyes filled with tears. “I may have been mistaken. In fact, Silverspur is alive and well. Why, Old Blaze! don’t you know me?" The hunter looked amazed. He seemed hard~ ly to know whether to be angry 0r pleased: but gladuess got the better of indignation, and his face fairly blazed with joy as be grasped the outstretched hand of the young many kl“ The hvm’-thunderl” he exclaimed. “Who a red," remarked one of the party, would ever hev thought that ye could fool'thls child so ea ! It’s plain enough now, though shavin’ and a‘r—trimmin’ and settlement fixin’s do make a owerful differ.” “You Will forgive me for my joke, I know, if you are really glad to see me.” v “ Glad! That ain’t no word for it, boy. I’ve come all those many miles to see ye, and I reckon I ort to be glad to find ye, at the ecnd of such a lon trail.” “ hat is the news in the mountain?" “ Wal, things go on purty much in the old way; but thar’s suthin’ turned up that I ’lowed ye’d want to know about.” “ What is it?” “ That .Injun gal. a’ready?” “ Doveeye? No, indeed! You may laugh if you lease, gentlemen; but this is a, matter in whic I am deeply interested.” “ An affair of the heart,” remarked one of the party. “I was spoony about a red—skin girl myself, when I was younger than I am now. We will leave you with Old Blaze, Fred. As he has come so for to see you, he must have, something of importance to communicate.” The traders lei‘ t the saloon, and Fred Wilder, leading the hunter to a seat, asked him concern. ing the news that he had brought. “ It’s all about that Injun gal, I tell yo,” ro— plied Old Blaze. “ It was White Shield wLo Sent inc—that Blackfoot friend of yours.” “Where is White Shield, and how is he? I would be right glad to see him.” “ Ye’ll never see him ag’in, in this World. That Injun’s dead.” “ You are not following my example, I hope, and trying to fool me.” “ Not a. bit of it. The Blackfeet got.him. They were powerful mad because he quit the tribe and ran off with you and old Robiuettc’s gal, and they were bcund to kill him when they caught him. I happened to be on good terms with the riptyles jest then, and I saw White Shield afore he died. He told me about the In- jun gal, and made me givehim my solemn promise that I would hunt you cut and let you now." “ How (lid they kill him!” “Jest knocked him in the head, and left him: to the buzzards.” “ Poor follow! It would have been better for him if he had never seen me. ' His friendship. was ’gatal to him. What did he say about Dove- e e? “ Yes, that is the gal’s name, of it ain’t wrong to call a warrior a gal. Thor’s precious little of the dove about her now, ’cordin to what White Shield said. He whs among the Crows, when they had a skrimmage with the ’Rapahoes, and : he said that Doveeye was: uhrut the wildest warrior the Crows had ag’inst them. Since she took to the warvpaint, he said, the ’Rapahoes seemed to hev abundance of bad feelin’ toward the Crows, and fou’t ’em as ef they wanted to rub out the tribe.” ‘ , ‘ “I thought she was dead. I sought her so long, without findin even a trace of her, that_I could only suppose er to be dead. As sheis living, I must seek her again, I must go to the West. White Shield nova:- hed.” , Hev ye forgot her 4 / “I reckon you will soon see her, Cup, of you will stay with the Crows awhile. It won’t be longl store you will hev a. chance to knock her in t e head or take her prisoner, of she don’t git ahead of you in the fightin’ business.” “ Come to my lodge. Blaze, and stay with mo while you are in towu. In two days I can get ready, and then we will start for the mountains if you are willing.” ‘ Willin’ and glad enough. I’m tired of this hyar settlement a’rewl y.” CHAPTER II. A FOOT-RACE. NEAR the head of tho Platte, more than a. hundred miles beyond Fort Laramie, had on— camped one midsummer night, a part of hun— ters an trappers, among Whom were ‘red Wil- der and Old Blaze. The party numbered only a dozen men, and as their force was so small, they had taken special care to guard against attack or accident. Notwithstanding their precautions, they discov~ ered, in the morning, that four of their host horses were missing, and _a. council was held to consider the matter. As there were no signs of Indians to be seen, the came to the conclusion that the uniirnls got loose, and had taken the hack truck on the trail by which the party had come. As most of the men were in a hurry to reach their destination. they proposed to push forward with- out regardinv the loss; but Wilder. to whom three of the orsos belonged, was loth to lose them, and he declared that he would no in search of them. if he had to go alone. Old Blaze dc- clared that he should not go alone, and volun- teered to accompany him. It was settled, there- fore, that the two men should go in scorch of . the animals, and should join the others at the Devil’s Gap, at which point they proposed to stop for a while._ Silverspur uni Old Blaze set out in one direc- tion, while their companions went in another. . They followed tho trail, book to their last en— campment, where they saw signs of the missingr animals, but discovered that they had gone on Without stopping. As it was useless to pursue them any further on foot, the two men encamp- ed for the night among the trees that lined the ‘ banks of a. creek. . ' In the morning they started to rejoin their comrades, and an accident befall them at the outset of the journey. Silverspur shot a. door before they had proceeded for, and the animal, fell to the ground mortally wounded. Old Blaze. drawing his knife, mm to finish the deer, but stumbled and fell as ho was running. As bad luck would have it, he fell updn his knife, which entered his thigh, making a. deep and painful wound. The gosh was bound no immediately. and the hunter, after resting a little while, was able talwalk, though his progress was slow and diffi- c . i , Soon after this second start, Silverspur, hap— pening to look around, discovered a large boriv of Indians, less than a. quarter of a mile in their rear. “What shall we do now?” he asked, as he .’ pom them out to his companion. Silverspur. ‘ the pursuit from his friend. ' _-| “What on kin do is plain enough,” replied Blaze. “ er legs are good. and you kin git away. As fur me, I can‘t run, and will hev to take my chances.” “ Do you think I would have you? You know me better than that. oLl man. I think we can both save ourselves. The Indians have seen us, no doubt, but have not found us out. They probably mistake us for some of their own people, as they are in no hurry to get to us. If you w111 pull up a little, until we got to the creek yonder, you can hide under the bank. The Indians will follow mo, and you can get clear when they have gone by.” ' “ Are you right sure, boy, that your legs are good?” asked the hunter, looking hard at his companion. ‘ “ I can trust them, and you need have no fear form-e. The Indians are afoot, as you see, and I am sure that no runncramong them can catch me before I reach the Dcm’l’s Gap.” “All right, then. Ycr legs will hov to save yer own skclp and mine.” ”° “Como on. I believe they are getting suspi- cious of 11:3.” . Old Blaze quickened his price, and they soon reached the crock, whore he concoaled himself in the dense foliage under the ban k. Silverspur crossed the creek, and gained an elevation beyond it, from which he looked back at the Indians. They had become suspicious of: the strangers, and runners from the main body were hastening toward the creek. As he started to run, the advanced Indians gave a. yell, and I pushed forward in pursuit: I The young man had not reckoned without lus host when he said that he could trust his legs It was not their length that he confided 111, but their activity and endurance. More than once they had served him well in grievous peril, and he had no doubt that they would carry him safely to his friends. . He haltcd but once—to see that the Indians did not stop at the creek to search for old Blaze —hofore ho had run a good two-mile stretch, and had put 9. considerable distance between himself and his pursuers. After that, he stop- ped whenever ho found himself on a. hill to see whether they were gaining on him,‘half hoping that they might abandon the race. was a vain one, usho well knew that Indian run- ners, when once started on a chase, will fall deutd in their tracks rather than give up the pur- Sul . It was a longr distance to the Devil’s Gap, and Fred Wilder had not got his prairie legs on. He did not think of this when he nropomd to draw If he had thought of it it would not have prevented him from mak- in;r the proposition. For alongttimc he had been leadin'z the onervating life of a, city, and Inns bodily powers Were by no means such as they were when he left the mountains ufnd the Plains. He was forced to confess to himself. when he stopped to look back. that he paused to gain breath. as much as to observe the progress of his pursuers. He was forced, also, to the unwel— com" admission that they were gaining on him, slowly but surely. He was growing weary—of that there could be no doubt. The summer dflry' was hot; the m . w The hope ' Silverspur. shone scorchingly; there was no water on the route, and his threat was parched with thirst, Still his persevering' and indefatigable Bursuers rained on him, and their yells sounded orribly In his cars. , But it was past noon. He had run more than five hours, and he consoled himself with the thought that he must be near the rendezvous. He was willing that the Indians should gain on him a little, as they would soon be seen by his friends, and the tables would be turned on them so nicely. It was with a. sigh of relief, with a feeling of great joyythat he came within the shadow of the hills that marked the Gap. A few more ste s and he would be safe. be few steps were taken, and he reached the encampment only to find it deserted. Silverspur was astounded I) this appalling discovery. His head swam, am his body reeled. At that moment he felt so weak that exertion seemed impossible. His friends had gone on up the river, and he could not guess how far. They might be a full day’s journoyin advance of him. How could he hope to overtake them, and to es— ea orhis fleet—footed pursuers. n his dos nir,’he thought; only of satisfying his thirst. ' .e was determined to drink, it he should die the next moment. He staggered down to the river, knelt at the brink, and drunk as if he expec ed never to have another draught. VVhon he arose the Indians were fearl'ully near him; but his strength and courage hurl re- turned. They had come upon the trail of the White men, and, fearing on mnhuscade, had halted to reeonnoiter. But for this circum— stance, Silver-spur would have been killed where be drunk. ‘As it was, he was in great danger, and their bullets and arrows whistled unpleas- antly close to him as be mounted the bank. But he was rested and refreshed, his nerves Were braced for a grand effort, and the consciousness of his peril gave him new energy and endurance. He ran for his scalp, knowing that his posses- sion of that recious art of his person depended on his spear . The ndions raised a yell as he shot ahead of them; but it was a feeble cry, compared to their previous shouts, and showed that their throats were dry and thirsty. They must stop to drink, and this thought gave him ' new hope. He resolved to make a long burst, hoping-to get so far ahead of them that they would abandon the pursuit. He was armin mistaken. The savages stopped to quench their thirst; but they were resolved to overtake the fugitive or die on tho trail. lVlnen he looked back, they were far in his rear, but were pressing determinediv on. The youn mun know that he had along and hard race efore him; but he believed that Providence would he propitious to a man that sacrificed himself for his friend. His hope was even brighter than it had been before he reach~ ed the rendezvous, and he felt that his will would supply him with strength. On be pressed, through the long hours of the ‘ midsummer afternoon, with his red enemies strainin after him. As he occasionally looked ' , bind, a had the satisfaction of seeing that their line was gradually lengthened, and that one by one they dropped off, until but five con— 5 tinned the ursuit. But those five were gairing on him, an he felt that his strength was failing again. Should he stop and give battle to those five? Ho seriously considered the question asthat des- pzerato chance seemed to be his only resource. 0; the odds against him were too great, and he was so weak that he could hardly ‘ hand-to—hand struggle. “ Let them screech,” he said, as their ox- nltant yells told him how confident they were of overtaking 'him. “ They had better save their breath for running, or boy may not catch me yet.’ , He toiled on, and until the sinking sun showed him that the day was near its close and until the number of his pursncrs were diminished to three. His strength was nearly exhausted, his feet were so sore that every step was painful, and. his legs hud swollen until he seemed to drag them as a load. Thirst had overpowered him ngain;his throat was dry and hot: his breath came in difficult gasps; his head was dizzy, unda. mist floated before his eyes. He could run no more. The end of the race had come, and the only question was, how it should be ended. There were but three Indians now, and his rifle, which he had carried through the weary chase until its weight was no longer supportable, would do good work it his eye re- mained true. He might bring down one of his adversaries, and might load in time to shoot an— count ” in a other, before they could close in upon him, and I then he would have but oneto dealwith. It was his last chance, and he could do nothing but adopt it. As he looked ahead, to find a suitable place to make a stand, he saw smoke rising from an ' elevation before him. The next moment he saw men on horseback. He pressed his hand before his eyes, as if to drive away the mist that _ ' blinded him, and he saw that they were white men. ' They had perceived him, and they came gal~ loping toward him. They were seen by the In- diuns, who turned and fled. The pursuers be- came the pursued, and small chance would they have in another race. ' , Silverspur saw nothing more. The mist closed in upon him thickly. 'His rifle fell upon the ground, and he dropped heavily beside it. CHAPTER III. THE GIRL WARRIOR. FRED WILDER came to his senses as his friends were carrying him to their camp. They had one on for the- purpOse of meeting a hand of riendly Crows, supposing; that Cl Blaze and Silverspur would recover their horses, and would have no difficulty in overtaking them. When Silverspur told them of his adventure and described his terrible race, he received plenty of sympathy and praise from the openvhearted mountain men, who. could well appreciate the motive that prompted him to incur such danger to save his friend. “ That was a purty smart run for a chap from the settlements,” said one of the party: “ but it ' -_ warn't a very big thing. I’ve knowed Indian runners to make more than a. hundred miles in g day.” ‘ , 6 Silverspur., It was a big enough thing to suit Silverspur, and his swelled legs were somewhat too big to lease him. He was in such pain that he was ardly able to stir for several days. Fortunate— ly for him he was not ohligul to move. lIis companions had encamped with a band of Crows, and expected to remain a week or longer in that locality. The men Whohud gone in pursuit of Silver- iir’s pursuers brought in three scalps, and de- c arcd that the runners were Arapahocs. Bad Eye, the chief of the Crows, said that they might expect an attack, as the Arapahoes were probably awaiting an opportunity to pounce upon his people, toward whom they had lately manifested the most inveterate hostility. The third day after deerspur’s arrival, Old Blaze came limping into the camp, and was - overjoyed at finding his friend alive. The In— dians had )assed within a few feet of him with- out observmg him. When they had gone by he crawled out of his hiding place, and i'ollmved the trail as rapidly as he could, being compelled to seek concealment every now and then, to avoid straggling parties of Indians. He brought the intelligence that the Arapa- hoes were a war—party, that they were in strong force, an 1 that they were undoubt— edly intending to conrnit doprwlations upon the Crows. As this coincided with the opinion of ‘Bad Eye, the cmnp was removed to a bend in the river, ani the ln'lians, with their white al- lies, began to fortify the position. A slight breastwork was thrown up across the bond, and the horses were driven back into the semicircle, as the rear of the camp was rendered impreg- nable by the river. The next morning the Arapahocs came in sight, and the camp was fairly invested. The Crows and the white in an, perceiving that they were lar rely outnumlmred, made every prepara- tion for efense. The Arapahon seemed inspired byadesperate resolution to exterminate the band of Crows. The made charge after charge upon the breast- wor , with the greatest fury, and on two ocea- sions nearly gained wissessiou of it. The white men persuaded their Indian allies to act alto- gether upon the defensive, to content themselves with repulsng the attacks of their assailanti, and to labor as much as possible to strengthen their position. By this means, they argued, the Arapahoes would tire themselves out, and, when they should become wearie'l, they might be ’eharged and put to flight. Ni ht put a stop to the struggle. and the Crows ho that their inveterate enemies would retire from the contest; but in this they were mistak- en. In the morning the a~snult was vigorously renewed, and it was only by the mmtdetcrmined fighting that the Crows could hold their ground. If it had not been for the assistance of the white men, they must have been driven into the river, and nearly all of them would have perished. By noon the attack had slackean consider— ably. It became evident that the ranks of the Arapahoes had been thinned by the close fire of their antagonists, and that they had become fa- tigued by the incessant labor of battle. The time had come for the besieged to assume the or— tensive, and they prepared to attack in their turn. Old Blaze gave directions for horsesto be made ready for fifty men, with whom he proposed to make a dclour through the timber, and fall upon the rear of the enemy, while the others should charge in front. Foremost among the Arapahoes, urging them on in every attack, and fearlessly leading the charge up to the very muzzles of their guns at the breestwork, was a person who attracth at- tention from the beginning of the engagement, and who was soon recognized as a. woman. The Crow chief said that she was the same woman who had been conspicuous in several attacks up— on the Crows, and Old Blaze. believing her to be the person of whom thitc Shield had spoken told Silverspur that Dove-eye was among the combatants. Fred \Vilder was so Weak and sore after his hard race, that he was unable to take part in the battle; but, when he learned that Dove-eye was in the ranks of the Arnpnhoes, he could not restrain his impatience to see her. Without speaking of his intention to Old Blaze, who would not have allowed him to move he crawled out of the lodge in which he had been lying, saddled a horse, mounted, \and rode for- ward to the breastwork, where the crews were pre yaring to charge upon their adversaries. he charge we; made before he reached the forest. The Arapahoes discovered, as they be- gan to f :11 from their horses, that they were at- tacked in the rear, and were thrown into confu- sion. The Crows and their white allies took ad- vantage of this moment to sall y out and full up— on their fees. As they were coxmmrntiwly fresh, both men and horses, while the Arapahovs were wearied by their repeated assaults, the movement was a complete success. Silverspnr, hardly able to sit his horse, soon perceived that it would be useless for him to at— tempt to overtake the charging party, and he took lns station upon an eminence, from which he could have a good view of the surrounding country. He saw that the Arapahoos were already bro- ken, and were flying in all directions, hotl pur- sued by their vindictive antagonists. He ooked in every quarter for Dove-eye; but his head was so dizzy, and his eyes were so dim that he was unable to see far, and he was about to move away when a warrior came galloping up the slope toward him. As the warrior apprgrched, be perceived that it was a woman. A moment more, and he recognized Dove—eye. She was beautiful indeed. Silverspur thought that he had never smn any wild thingr that was half so lovely, and it did not detract from her beauty and grace that she was riding man-fash- ion. as a warrior must. She was richly attired in the Indian style; her head was crowned with a plume of painted feathers. and her saddle was a pauther‘s skin. She rode a splendid coal- blaek horse, and carried a battle ax in her right hand. Her hair. unlike the coarse and straight locks of the rest of her tribe, was wavy and in- clined to curl; her complexion was a rich olive, instead of a copper-color; and she had not the high cheek-bones peculiar to the Indian race. lVith her cheeks guiltless of paint, glowing with excitement, and her eyes flashing fire, she was beautiful indeed. | -l ? Silverspur. 7 Silverspur urged his horse toward her as she rode up the slope, and called her by name; but she whirled her battle-ax in the air and launch— ed it full at his head. As he dodged to avoid to avoid the missile his small remnant of strength deserted him, and he fell from his horse to the ground. “'hen he recovered himself, the warrior was out of hearing. Picking up the battle-ax, he slowly walked flack to camp, whither his horse had preceded 1m. The Crows came in loaded with scalps and full of joy. Although they had lost anumber of warriors, they had a grand sculp»dancc, in which the Women )articipntcd most- heartily. Silvcrspm' and Old lam did not join the dance, but conversed of Dove-eye and of her part in the battle. *' “ She fit like a tiger,” (-aid the trapper. “ It‘s my opeenyun that she’s ot a partic'lar spito ag’inst the Crows, judgin’ by the way she pitched into ’em.” “ It is sad to think that she should have tak- en.up the battle—ax and become so blood- thirsty.” “Raythcr sad fur the Crows. shore enough. Her lcttin’ go the battle—ax would hev been sad- der fur you, of ye hadn’t dodged the weapon. Are on snrt‘in it is the some gal?” “ have note doubt of it. I saw her plain- ly, and I could not be mistaken. Those flush— ing eyes, that rich olive (‘mnplcxion, that qucenly carringc could not be forgotten. There was no change in her, except that she seemed more beautiful than over.” r “ Yeas, I reckon. Handsome is as handsome does, ’cordin’ to my notion, and it don’t look over and above handsome to see a gal trottin" out on the war-path and flingin’ bloody battle- axes about. ’l’cars like she didn’t know yo.” “I suppose she did not,” replied Wilder, as his countenance fell. “A knock—down blow with that battle—ax of ham wouldn’t be what yc mought call a love— tap, and it wurn’t no common we. of lettin’ yo know that she hadn’t forgot ye. int ye ought- n’t to be down-hearted, boy. Remember how ye fooled Old Blaze down to St. Loucy. Trll c, thar’s a powerful differ ntwecn a chap with ong ha’r ant beard, and his face brown and his loggin’s on, and the same chap when he is short- shearcd and cluss-shaved, and has got the leak of the settlements onto him. The gal was just from the fight, too, whar every white man was an inimy. Ye may count it sart’in that she didn’t know yo." “I believe you are right. I must find her, old friend.” “I allowed ye’d found her to-day. Least- ways, ye found her battleax." “ I must see her and speak to her. If it is necessary to go among the Arapahoes to find her, I must seek her there. Will you help me, or is it too muchto ask?” “ Ye kin bet yer life that Old Blaze will stand M W” CHAPTER IV. THE PROPHET’S CHILD. A WILD place among the hills, on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. At the base of ! a. cliff is a rude hut, forming the entrance to a. cave in the rock. A plateau before the clifl commands a view of broken hills and ravines, becoming less rugged as they descend, and final- ly melting into the wild expanse of prairie that ‘ stretches endlessly toward the east. Among these hills and ravines a. fearful scene is being acted. A party of Are aho Indians have been surprised b abando Crows, who have attacked them wit such vigor that they are H 'ing in all directions, pursued by their bloodtiirsty and vindictive adversaries. The air resouuds with shouts and yells, “ith screams and shrieks; blood is scattered plentifully upon the hills, and the ravmes are filled with horror. From the plateau in front of the hut two persons are gazing at the terrible sight below them. One is an old Indian with bent form and white hair. A blanket is wrapped around him, and his countenance expresses the deepest dis- tress. The other is a. girl of the same tribe, tall graceful, much lighter in color than the Arapa- hoes, with long and wavy hair, and with beauti— ful features. She stands as if spell-bound. and watches the carnage with eyes full of fear and anxiety. “ Come, my child,”sa.id the old man. “Our enemies nre victorious, and we must fl .” “ Is it really you, my father?” she as ed, turn- ing upon him With a look of wonder. “ I thought you had gone to the spirit-land.” “ I had; but my people were in danger, and I returned.” ' “ Can you do nothing to help them? Many of them have been killed, and the rest are flying in all directions. W hat Indians are those who are pursuing them ?” “They are Crows. See, Dove-e 6; they are coming up the hill toward us. a shall be killed it we remain here. Come; we must seek a hiding-place.” - Seizing the girl by the hand, he hurried her along the plateau, to a rift that led up into the mountain. This they ascended with difiiculty, until they reached another level space, covered with clumps of pine and cedar. “Remain here my child," said the old man as he led her into the cover of the trees. “i must go and see what becomes of our people, and what the Crows are doing. Do not stir until I return.” He was absent fully half an hour, during which time Dove-eye was filled with anxiety. Her friends the Arapahoes were being slau htered by their merciless foes and she could sti hear, from her elevated position, the yells and shrieks of the victors and the vanquished. But this was not all. There was a white man below, whom she had saved from the hands of the Arapahoes, and toward whom her feelings were such as had 110Vcr before been excited in her .‘ breast. She had concealed him in a hole in the ‘ cliff, and he was lying there, wounded and 11:]; less, an easy prey to any foe who should cover his hiding-place. When the old man returned, he was greatly excited, and was trembling with fear and ex- haustio . i “Come, W child,” he said. “We are not safe here. e must seek another hiding-place. We must go up further into the mountains.” SilverSpnr. Sit down and rest yourself,” replied Dove-eye. “ We can not beseen here. You are so tired that on can hardly stand.” “’Bhere is no time for rest. The Crows are everywhere in the hills, searching for our friends who have escaped them. If they see our trail, we will soon be discovered." “Where is the white man? Where is Silver- lpur’l I am afraid that they may find him and kill him.” “They have already found him and he is dead.” “Dead! Are you sure, my father?” “I saw him dragged out and struck down with a tomahawk.” . h “Were they Crows who killed him, or Arapa- oes “ They were Crows.” The girl was a picture of despair. She sat still, as if she had been turned into stone. gaz— ing into vacancy. Then her cheeks flushed, and a wild and fierce 1i: ht blazed in her dark eyes. The fires of hatre and vengeance had been kindled in her breast. ‘ “ I must see him, my father,” she said, quiet- ly. “Perhaps he is only wounded.” “ Do Iyou think the Crows would leave him alive? tell you he is dead.” “ I must see him.” i “ The Crows would kill you, also.” “ I am not afraid of the Crows. If he is dead, they will let me bury him.” “ Has the mind of Dove—eye been taken from her? If the Crows should not kill you, they would carry on away, and I would never see you again. on promised me, Dove—eye, if I would save the life of the white man, that you would never leave me while I lived.” “ It is true, my father' but he is dead.” “I saved his life, as l promised to do. He was not killed by the Arapahoes, but by the Crows." “The word of Dove-eye is sacred. I will go with you.” The old man and the girl sought and found n. refuge further up the mountain from the search of the pursuing Crows. They came down, in a nearly furnished condition, when the scattered Arepahoes returned; but they did not remain longain that locality, as the remnant of the band to which they were attached removed toward the south. After the expiration of several months they came back to the scene of their disastrous defeat, and Dove-eye and the old Inf; again occupied the lodge at the foot of the c . The girl assed her time in mourning the loss of the wh to men who had become 0 dear to 'her. This occupation caused her to grow thin and lo, and might have caused her death, if she not been diverted from it by another trouble. The old manitwho had never recovered 1mm the effects of his right and exhaustion at the time o! the attack of the Crows, sickened and died. , , Doveeye who had known him as a cat medi- cinevman, whose influence in his t be was al- most unbounded, was puzzled as well as grieved, When she saw him lying there, pale and cold, with glassy 9 es, hollow cheeks and dropped un« MW, to appearance a corpse. He had been subject to trances—had been in the habit of falling into a sleep which, whether real or counterfeit, closely resembled death. He knew when these spells were coming on, and it had been his custom to notify the tribe that on such an occasion, at a certain hour in the morning, he would go to the spirit-land, and that he would return at noon. The warriors would solemnly come to visit him, and look upon him as he lay in this trance, satist' ing them- selves that he was really dead. fter noon they would come again, when they would find him alive, and would listen to the messa es which he had brought from the other world. y this mysterious power the old man maintained his ascendancy over the tribe. His word was law, and his advice was always heeded. It was possible, Dove—e e thought, that he might then be on one 0 his journeys tothe spirit-world. He had sent no announcement of his intentions to the tribe; but he might have forgotten to do so. She said nothing, but wait- ed to see whether he would rise at his usual hour. Noon came, and he remained motionless and cold. The evening passed, and night came on, without bringing any change. The next morning there was no alteration in him, except for the worse, and Dove—eye was convinced that he was dead. She then felt that she had sustained a great loss, and thought seriously about her future. If the old man had not ado ted her, and retain- ed her as his companion, s e would have been compelled to share the lodge of some warrior, with one or two other sqnaws. Now that her protector was gone she would be sought by many, and would be unable to resist their im- portunities. In her desperation she hit upon an expedient, which, if it should prove successful, would en- able her to retain her inde ndenco, and would gratify the vengeance that ad so long slumber- .ed in her heart. A negro slave of the tribe, named Jose, who had been captured in Texas and Mexico, had long been the servant of the medicine—man, and was devoted to Dove-eye. With his assistance she buried the body of the old man, swearing him to secrecy concerning the burial. _ She then went to the village, and, called to gether the old man, whom she informed that their Big Medicine had gone to the spirit-land and that he would return when six moons had passed. This announcement filled them with surprise and sorrow; but their credulity was not shaken. Dove-eye had often brought them messages from the old man, and they were prepared to believe whatever she might say. She went on to tell them that the Great Spirit was angry with them because the had not pun- ished the Crows for their unprovo ed attack, by which so many Ara shoes had been slain. The old man had advi them to go on the war-path against the Crows, and tocontinue fighting them until ample vengeance should be taken for that massacre. He had also commanded her to as- sume the garb and wen us of a warrior, and to accom any all expedit one that should be sent sgains the Crows. , Dove-eye waited with great anxiety to learn . i 'i i i g t i .7. : hygwmws A' " Silverspur. ( 9 what would be the eflfect of her communication. It was received in silence, and she was ordered to retire until the old men should have delibera- ted over it. After the lapse of an hour she was admitted to the council-10d e, and Black Horse, the head chief, acquainted er With the result of the deliberation. “ It is well,” he said. “The Big Medicine has left us, to be gone along time, and our hearts are sad. Never before, when he has gone to the spirit-land. has he remained so long away from his 19. But we are not lost without him; for e as sent us a message, and has left us ad- vice. His words have always been good words, and Dove-eye has never lied to us. we will go upon the war-path against the Crows and Dove- eye shall be among the warriors. The young men must not look upon her.” The season of mourning followed, for the old medicine-man, who was believed to be dead for the space of six moons, and then the whole strength of the tribe was employed in expedi— tions against the Crows. Dove-eye, arrayed and armed as a brave. was an honored member of every war-party, and acted hcr rt with such skill and bravery as to comman the approval of the whole tribe. When the braves re earsed their exploits, she was always allowed to tell her own, and her achievements did not fall for be— hind those of the most renowned Warriors. With every blow she struck she believed that she was avenging the death of Silverspur. CHAPTER V. THE SNAKE. 11‘ had been the hope and expectation of Dove— eye that she would be killed in battle. or that something would occur to release her from her obligations, before the time appointed for the re- turn of the old medicine-man. But the six months passed away, and found her still living and the ndians joyfully expectant of a visit from their beloved prophet. Thus far her plan had succeeded admirably; but if her imposition should he discovered, she knew that a fearful death awaited hcr. Provi- dence had not interfered in her behalf, and she , saw no way to avert the calamity. Not knowing whatto do, Dove-eye did nothing. She did not fully realize the necessity of com- ing to some decision in the matter. until she wristsmnmoned to the presence of the head 0 e . “Has the tongue of Dove-eye become crooked?” inquired Black Horse. “ Did ihepnlcv face girl who was in her lodge last summer teach her to'tell lies? Has the Big Medicine gone to the spirit-land, never to return, or shall we see him again i" “ How shall I know more than the chief knows?” “ Dove-eye told us that he would return after six moons; but six moons have pamed, and we have not seen him." “ Have six moons passed?” asked the girl, with a look of surprise. ‘Is the chief sure of this?" "I am sure. My (people are tired of waiting for him. We have one as he told us to do. We have fought the Crows, and have gained many victories. We have taken a great revenge for the cruel attack they made upon 115. But we \ are was of war, and we-have lost many young men. 6 wish to rest, to rebuild our 1 , and to gather skins to sell to the traders. y does ’not the Big Medicine return tons?” “Perhaps,” suggested Dove-eye, at a loss {or an excuse, “ they do not count time in the spirit-land as we count it here. Perha the Big Medicine has returned. It is severe suns since I have visited the lodge at the cliff. If the chief will permit me, I will 0 there now, and will watch for the Big Medicme, if he is not al- ready there. As he promised to return, he will surely do so.” The consent of the chief was given, and Dove- eye, dressing herself in woman s attire, took up her residence in the lodge at the foot of the cliff. This was for the purpose of gaining time, in order that she might reflect upon the matter, and determine what course she had best pursue. At the end of four da s she came to the vil- lage, and informed Blac Horse that she had a message for him. The old men were convened in the council-lodge, where she was brou ht be- fore them, and was ordered to declare er er- rand. She said that she had seen the Big Medicine, who had been well received in the spirit-land, and who had met there many of the warriors who had been slain in recent encounters. She mentioned the names of those whom he had met, and described their pursuits in the hap y hunt- ing-grounds, and the honors that were towed upon them. Thisipartof her subject she treat‘ ed with consummate tact, knowing how to adopt the style of the old man, and how to flat- ter tl.e vanity of her auditors. She succeeded so well, that the Arapahoes were highly pleased and considered themselves favored above other men, in receiving such consoling messages ' from the other world. She went on to say that the Great Spirit was highly leased with thecpunishment which they had in icted upon the rows: but the warriors who had been killed in battle still demanded vengeance. The Big Medicine advised them to persist in their enmity to the Crows, and to strike them whenever an opportunity oflered, although they need not entirely abandon the pursuits of peace for the purpose of engaging in war. At this there were visible signs of disa proval among the old men; but Doveeye, not ing daunted, went on to declare the last and worst of her errand. * The Big Medicine, she said, had been suf- fcred to leave the spirit-land but for a short time and had not been permitted to visit his peop 0: but he would return to them after the lapse of six more moons, and would never again leave them,‘ until he should be finally taken away. He exhorted them to give themselves no uneasiness Concerning him, as his absence was for their good. and he was continually watchin over them and guiding them. It was his request that Doveeye should again be allowed to assume the garb and woe ns of a warrior. The old men received t is portion of the message in the most profound silence; but Dove-eye could not fail to, see that their dis- pleasure was t. For this she cared little as she had to. en the risk, and was not '10 ‘ Silverspur. of their frowns, If her secret should be discov— ered, she knew that death was certain, and her onl chance was to continue the imposture. Nye direct action was taken upon Dove-eye’s second communication; but the messugo was tacitly heeded. The warfare against the Crows was kept u in a desultory manner, and the pre- sence of t e girl, when she ‘oined the war- parties, was not ob ected to. x till, she saw that there were those w o looked upon her with sus- lcion, and she hoped that an honorable death in battle might put an end to her troubles, and absolve her from al .iability. There was a white trader residng among the Arapahoes at this time, named Silas Worm- ley, a cunning, foxy man, shrcwd enough at driving a smell bargain, but incapable of any enterprise that demanded enlarged ideas. He had gained the favor of the tribe by procuring supp ies for them when they were short of p01- tries to give in cxchange. This accommoda- tion had greatly pleased them, as they had not troubled themselves to think of tho exorbi- tant prices which they were to pay in the fu- ture. Silas Wormley had come among the Arapa- hoes shortly after Dove—eye had joined the warriors. The warfare in which they were engaged was very distasteful to him, as it inter- fered seriously with his anticipated profits. While the Indians were fighting, (lentil was de- priving him of the opgortunity of collectiuv some of his debts, and t 050 who lived were no engaged in such pursuits as would enable them to ay what‘they owed. hen he heard the story of the visit of the Big Medicine to the spirit—land. he laughed inwardly at the credulity of the Indians, although he knew better than to offend them by ridiculing their pet belief. The second communication of Dove-eye made him highly indignant. He knew that she was an impostor but could not guess whether she was aided in her, imposture by the old medicine—man, who might still be living and deceiving the Indian for some purpose of his own. However that might be, Dovevc~cye, who, having:r picked up a battle-ax, rushed in and served the chief as ho had expected to Sonic the officer. With the as- sistance of one of The Crow s, she dragged the colonel out of the melee, while the Arapahoes made a rush for the body of their chief, picked it up and carried it over the breastwork. At the same timelthe Crows and white men charg— cd .90 vigorously that the camp was soon cleared of enemies. ' The yells and wailing cries that followed told ihe Arapahoes that their chief had fallen, and they soon drew off, to the great relief of the de— fenders of the camp. As they went, they car— ried with them their dead and wounded, a pro,— cceding which their [005 were unable To prevent, although some of them would have been willing to prevent it. The Crows and the few rcmaining white men were so exhausted by the deadly and protracted struggle that they were glad to throw them- , selves on the ground and rest, even before they could attend to their wounded and count 11 their losses. When these came to be consideret , all was sadness and gloom in the camp; for many had fallen, and scarcely any had escaped wounds and scratches. No one believed that it would be possible to withstand another assault; but it was hoped that the death of Black Horse would prevent their encmics from attempting another. , This hope proved to be well founded; but the Arapahoes were not willing to abandon Hm scalps and the plunder for which they had fought so dos erately, and which they yet bond to gain. Re ying on their superior numbers, they surroundcd the camp, guarding all the ap-» proaches, and keeping up such a fire that the defenders could not show their heads above the breastwork. The latter, as long as they were not called upon to resist another assault, were contented to keep quiet. to bind up their wounds, land 'to prepare some food to strengthen their u~-.ies. , - l" ed Wilder said nothing concerning Dove- oyo’s achievement to his father; but it was not long before the latter brought up the subject.“ / so Silverspur. “I had never believed,” said the old officer, “ that I would be compelled to raise a woman for the possession of a quality w lab is supposed to belong specially to men; but it is certain that thika—young woman has shown remarkable courage and presence of mind. She has fsavcd my life twice this day, and I believe that she saved the lives of all of us who are still living. Those bloodthirsty Arapahocs were pressing 11:5 very hard, and I fear that they would have cap— tured the camp, if it had not been for the death of their chief.” ‘ “I hope,”repliod Fred, “that she will not again be called upon’ to use those qualities dur- ing this campaign, as it is too dangerous em~ ployment for my intended wife. But there are two other qualities which I am afraid she will be obliged to display, together with the rest of us~patience and endurance.” Those qualities were, indeed, greatly needed in the camp, for the night wore away, and the next day and the next night, without any ro- laxation on the part of the Arapahocs in their strict watch and ward about the beleaguered garrison, who were obliged to keep cautiously 'on the alert. It was evidently their design to accomplish by siege and starvation the object which they had not effected by open assault. To add to the troubles of the besieged, their sup- ply of water began to give out, although it was used as sparingly as possible. On the morning of the third day it was en- tircly exhausted, and the pains of thirst began to be seriously felt in the little band. They were thinking of attemptingr at all hazards, to cut their way through their foes, when the keen eyes of Old Blaze caught sight of someyobjecls at a distance, moving over the plain. Colonel Wilder examined them with his telescope, and pronounced thmn to be a body of white men. The‘Atnerican l’laz,r was hoisted, with the unio 1 down, as a signal of distress, and the moving objects soon began to verge toward the camp. The Arapahoes saw them coming, and, after sending scouts to ascer ain who they were, .speedily and prudently decamped. \ The arrivals proved to be a large force of trappers, led by Captain Bennin , who rode up to the camp in great glee, joy ully welcomed by the rescued band. :- CHAPI‘ER XVI. CONCLUSION. BENNING offered to pursue the retreating ArapahOes; but Colonel Wilder, who had tried their mettle, thought it would be the better course to leave them alone for the present, and his opinion prevailed. As the trappors were on their way to Benning’s rendezvous, in Green River Valley,ColonolWi1d- ‘ ‘er and tho Crows determined to accompany them. Those of the wounded who were unable to walk were placed in tho wagons, and the entire cavalcade took up the line of march toward the north. Coptain Banning was overjoyed at meeting Silverspur, who had aided him in ~ rescuin his wile, then Flora Robinette, from the Blac feet Kai” A W‘ and the Arapahoes, and he was greatly pleased at discovering: her sister Kate, who had been so long lost that her existence was nearly forgotten The two friends beguiled the way by rclntinp their adventures, none of which were more strange and exciting than Silvcrspur’s pursuit of Doveoye. Colonel Wilder rode and converscd with Dove- eyo during part of the journey , and Fred, when he saw him thus engaged, considerately kept a~ way from him, believing, as was consistent with his own experience, that the girl of his choice needed only to be known to be appreciated. The Old gentleman could not help being ro- spoctful and friendly to her who had twice saved his life, and it was evident to Fred that he watched her with a growing interest. The more he saw her and talked with her, the more appa- rent became her good qualities. In fact, he was rapidly becoming convinced that Tshe was not entirely savage and that it would be possible to reclaim and cw11izc hcr, Before the journey was ended he came to the conclusion that this would not be at all difficult. Fred only once rallied him upon his attentions to Dovocyo, merely for the purpose of getting an inkling of his real fooling with regard to her. “ She saved my life,” replied the colonel. “She saved it twice, and I have no doubt that the saved the lives of us all. It is only just thatI should be kind to her. Bctwcen you and me, she would be the right kind of a wife for a men who expected to live in the wilderness. She could take care of herself, and of her husband too, if necessary.” The young gentleman made no reply to this Speech; but his thought was, “the governor is coming around.” Old Blaze was restraiud by no motives of delicacy from expressing his opinion. “ Tell ye what, colonel,” he said, “ that gal is the right grit. Shetotes a true heart and a stout one. She was born to be a queen—that’s whar it is.” The journey was accomplished safely and pleasantly, the party lwing too large to fear in— terruption by the Indians. \Vhen they reached the rendezvous, Kate Robinettc was made known to her sister Flora, who had previously, during her captivity among the Arapahoes, considered and treated her as a sister. \thn she learned that her Indian sister was really her own elder sister, hor joy was unbounded, and her affec- y tion displayed itself in all manner of extravagant demonstrations. , When Colonel Wilder saw Kate Robinette laughed over and cried over by her sister, who was undoubtedly white, and who called Bad Eye “ uncle ” as naturally as if hehad not been 23. Crow chief, 'he began to doubt whether Dove-eye did not have white blood in her veins, and soon came to the conclusion that she was all white. There- after he addressed her as “Kate” and “Miss Robinctte," and was as courteous to her as if she had been a fashionable damsel fresh from the “ settlements. " “ Now that sister Kate is found,” said Flora, when everybody had got over the novelty of the discovery, “it is time that we should de- vise a plan by which I can divide father’s prop‘ l « Silver-spur. u. _ ‘7“ arty with her. I have no doubt that he would have divided it, if he had known that shewas alive, and Iam sure that there is enough for ’ both of us. Besides, she is the eldest child, and has the best right to it.” “ There is no necessity for any division,” re- marked Bad Eye. “ You need not suppose that I, a white man, and atrader by education, have lived so many years among the Crows without makin some use of the advantages of my posi- tion. n the contrary, I have hada splendid opportunity to amass a. fortune, and have not entirely neglected it. Ihave trapped and trad— ed until I have laid by a considerable sum, part of which is in the hands of Captain Banning, and the rest is mostly in St. Louis. Iintcnd that Kate shall have it all, and she will find, when it is gathered together, that she is not much behind her sister.” It could not be that Colonel Wilder was in- fluenced by the discovery that Kate Robinette was an heiress. He had a great respect for wealth and position, but was no worshiper of pro— perty. It is certain, however, not only that his demeanor toward her entirely changed, but that lli‘eerdeadily gave his consent to her marriage with r . “ That is, my son,” he proceeded to qualify, “ after you have taken her to the East and kept her at school a few years. Education will soon polish her.” “ Do you think I could allow the ducks and turkeys of the settlements to laugh at my Wild bird?” asked Silverspur. “ Do you thinkI could be separated from her a few years, or a few months? V She is sufficiently polished, and no one can educate her better than her husband.” Fred had his way, and was married to Kate Robinette, without objection by any person. He entered into partnership with Captain 'Ben— ning as a. fur trader, in which business both were remarkably successful. Kate’s brains and will soon made amends for the deficiencies of her ed- ucation, and when she accompanied her hus— band to St. Louis, no one who was not acquaint- ed with her story would have supposed that the greater part of her life had been spent among savages. Bad Eye returned to his tribe, being resolved as he had often declared, to live and die a Crow. A short time after the foregoing events, Col— onel Wilder led a detachment of troops and a band of Crow 'warriors against the Arapahoes, who were badly defeated and compelled to sue for peace. Old Blaze continued in the employ of his friend Silverspur, when his vagrant propensities did not compel him toseek other occupation, and never ceased to regret that he had not shot “ that trad. in‘ chap." m END. BEADLE AND ADAMS? ' STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIUNS Speakers. Each volume contains 100 large pages, uprinted from clear, open type. comprising the best collec- tion of Dialogues. Dramas and Recitations. The Dime Speakers embrace twenty-four volumes. viz.: . American Speaker. 15. . National Speaker. 1“. . Patriotic Speaker. 17. . Comic Speaker. 18. Elocutionist. Humorous Speaker. 19. Standard Speaker. 90. . Stump Speaker. 21. . Juvenile Speaker. 22. Spread-Eagle Speaker 23. Dime Debaters 24. Exhibition Speaker. 1 . School Speaker. I 25 Ludicrous Speaker. These books are replete with choice pieces for the School-room, the Exhibition. for Homes. etc. 75 to 100 Declamations and Recruit-ions in each book. Komikal Speaker. Yout-li’s Speaker. Eloquent S eaker. Hail Colum in Speak. or. 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Patten. 840 Billy Bubble’s Bi Score. By Charles Morris. 841 Colorado Steve’s lash. By Philip S. Warns. 342 Snap-“mot Sam; or, Ned Norris’s Nettle. By Bucksin Sam. 343 Mike. the Bowery Detective; or, Peleg Pranccr of Vermont. By Edward L. Wheeler. 344 The Drummer Sport. By Edward Willett. 345 Jaques, the Hardpan Detective‘ or. Captain Frisco the Road-Atom. ByJ. C. owdrick. 346 Joe. the Chicago Arab. By Charles Morris. 34? Middy Herbert’s Prize; or The Girl Captain‘s Revenge. By Col. Prentiss urn-sham. 348 Sharp-Shooter Frank. By Buckskin Sam. 849 Buck the Minor or, Alf, the Colorado Guide. By Maj. E. L. St. rain. 850 Ned the Slab City Sport. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 351 Rocky'limuntoin Joe. B Col. T. H. Monstery. 852 New ork Tim; or, The oss of the Boulevard. By Charles Morris. . 853 The Girl Pilot. By Ro‘ r Starbuck. 354 Joe. the Boy Stage-Dr ver. By Maj. St. Vrain. 355 Texas Frank‘s Cron ; or, The Girl Mustang Rider. By. Bucky. in am. ' 856 Idaho Ned, Detective. By Edward L. 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