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No'  3%5'?“ u No. 98 :ILE’IAMS ST. Nuw YlfiLK. ’ “gigs”.   

DASHER DIGK’S DEAD LOCK.

BY J. MILTON HOFFMAN.

 

 

KARK WAITED NOT A MOMENT LONGER IXY' ' Sl'lll'NU FROM HIS NURSE TO THE RAIL 0" m DWI
AND LEAFED BEA-2 FIRST INTO THE WATER, BELOW.

 

  
 

 

a

 

 

Pluck: Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

flasher Dick’s Dead Luck;

P L U C K Y J O E .
The Boy Avenger’l Last Ride.

An Exciting Adventure in the life oi
n Hated Outlaw.

 

BY J. M. HOFFMAN,

Lanes on “ nononv’s BOYS,” “m BORDER
« novnns,” mm, are.

 

CHAPTER I.
THE CHANGE mama.

“ WHICH way did he go?”

“ Yonder. Don’t ye see him?”

“Yes, yes; mount yer bosses, boys, and come
on! Are ye ready?”

“All read 1”

“Then fol ow me. Lord! Just look at the
kid ridei”

Three men from the cattle-ranch of Print
Olive in Western Nebraska, mounted their
horses and started in pursuit of a horseman
whom they supposed to be acattle-thief. The
stranger was well mounted and had the start of
his pursuers a full quarter of a mile. When
first seen he was not going at full speed, and,
not until he discovered that he was being fol-

lowed by three mounted men, did he urge his]

horse into a swift run.

“ I wouldn’t run from ’em, only that I don’t
know who they are, or what they mean by chas-
ing me as though I wasa prairie wolf. Some
white men are no better than lnjuns in the mat-
ter of molesting innocent travelers.”

Thus soliloquizing, he gave his horse the rein,
and fairly skimmed over the prairie.

“Be rides like Satan himself,” said one of
the men in pursuit. “I wonder whar he stole
such 8 might good boss?”

“Perhaps cruised it,” suggested another of
the. men.

“Raised nothing!” grunted the third man
savagely. “Sich tellers don’t take the trouble
to buy a boss, or raise one from a colt; when
they want a nag they jist steal it, and there’s
the end of it, unless the ’re caught, and then
there’s the end of ’em. so?”

There was no reply to this, and the pursuing
party dashed on.

I It was an exciting race. The prairie was like
a sea of glass—broad, sweeping, blllowy, and,

, seemingly, limitless in expanse.

"‘ We are gaining on the rascal jist a’ trifle,”
remarked one of the pursuing party, as he
measured the distance between themselves and
the fugitive with his e e; “it’s only a trifle,
though. Mighty good thar’l no timber
hereabouts.” ‘

“Yes: wouldn’t like to have the cuss get in-
totho timber.” observed another of the men.
“ It’s a clean prairie race this time for sure, with
the odds in favor of the kid.”

 

“ How do ye know it‘s a kid?" questioned the
first speaker.

“Why, by the looks of him. Thar is some
little difference between a kid and a man. This
chap ain’t more than hali'grow‘n. But ye said
something about as gaining on him, which, the
same, isn’t a fact, for, by the eternall he is gain-
ing on us.”

Such, indeed, was the case. The gap between

the pursuers and the pursued was gradually wid-
ening—a fact which caused the former to spur
their horses forward to their full speed, while
they, themselves, uttered low curses and fierce
throats at every bound.
_ On, on they went—the hot, noonduy sun shin-
mg down upon them, the wind whistling in
their ears, horse and rider straining every nerve;
each man with his body bent forward. his eyes
gleaming; and each horse with his neck extend-
ed, nostrils dilated and mouth covered with
foam. It was a race in which desperation, de-
fiance, brutal desire, and stubborn determina-
tion held high carnival, and in which there was
no thought of submission by either party.

For more than an hour this wild, mad race
continued, tnen, all of a'sudden, there occurred
an accident that brought it abruptly to nn end.

At the very moment when the race was at its
swiftest, the horse of the fugitive, and the lat-
ter himself, were seen to suddenly fall to the
ground and roll over in one common heap, and,
strange to say, neither rose to his feet; the
horse struggled as if dying, and the man, or
boy, lay motionless on the ground, apparently
unconscious.

“Both of ’em dead,” remarked one of the
men as the three rode up. “Prov1deuce helped
us out this time, sure.”

“ How?”

“Why, don’t ye see? The boss step d inter
a hole of some kind and, falling, roke his
neck. As fer the teller—well, suppose we see
whether he is dead or alive?” /

He sprung from his horse and approached the
motionless figure on the ground.

“Not badly bu’sted," he said; “only jarred
up considerably. Thunder! but he’s a desper-
ate-looking chap! (Come, boys, get oi! er
1105595. and let’s decide what to do With him. ’-

“Decide‘l” repeated one of the men, disdain-
fully; “it ain’t at all necessary to argue that
point. When a teller steals cattle there 18 only
one punishment to give him, and that is to put
him out of the way..

“ Kill him, you mean?”

“Yes, kill him; that’s the way to talk it. If
this chap is guilty—and I know darned well
he‘ is-—he’ll have to sufler for it. I don’t. have
any mercy for cattle-thieves, bet yer life on
that. ’ What sort 0’ looking chap is this, any-
how?‘

“ Prett rough-looking, as I said before,” an-
swered t 9 man who had dismounted, “and,
jest as I told ye, he’s only a kid.”

“A kid?”

“Yes, a kid—a boy—a young chap. Bet yer
life he’s a hard one. hy, he is jest covered
with knives and pistols—a perfect arsenal.” .

The motionless figure on the ground was that
of a lad of perhaps sizteen summers, a well-
built. shapely-looking youth. dressed in the full

xi

 

  
   
    

Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

garb or the cowboy, even to his boots. The
ace and hands were very brown, the latter
rather small and delicate. The head was of
good shape, and was covered with a wealth of
light-brown hair, Worn long, almost to the
shoulders.

In his belt were a brace of pistols, also a long-
bladed knife with an ed e like a razor.

The three men examined the body closely,
not forgetting to remove the weapOns from the
belt and place them upon their own person.

“Rather a youthful cattlethief," one of them
remarked, carelessly. “It’s a great pity the
fall hadn’t killed him.”

“ Cattle—thieves don’t die that way,” declared
another of the men. “ This teller is only a lit-
tle stunned; he’ll come to in a minute, see it he
don’t.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later the ros-
trate form began to move, the heaving 0 the
chest became more life-like, and presently the
eyes opened and restoration of consciousness
was complete.

Following this almost instantly the startled
boy sprung to his feet.

CHAPTER II.
A TERRIBLE DANGER.

“ DON’T look so desperately defiant, young
man,” observed one of the men, as the boy
looked sharply from one to the other of his three
captors; “ you seem to be kind 0' mixed up in
your head. What is the matter with you?”

“What dose all this mean?” demanded the
lad, quickly. “ What have I done that you
should follow me like a prairie wolf? I don’t
know any of you fellows. Who are ye?”

” It don’t matter who we are,” replied one of
the men; “ tell us who you are; we know what

ou are. Where do you live when you are at
ome?”

“ On the prairie,” was the short reply.

“ And have you no other home?”

“I have not.

“ Or never had!”

“Not for some years. I used to live in Ken-
tucky; that was our years ago. I left there
and came here.”

“ Why did you leave Kentucky?"

There was no answer.

The question was asked again.

Still no answer.

The same question was for the third time
thundered into the ear of the boy. Then came
a reply short and sharp:

“ It is none of your business why I left Ken-
Bucky”, nor is it any of your business why I am

ere.

“Then you refuse to tell us why ye left yer
old home and come out here?”

“1 do.”

“ And do ye "efuse to give us your name?”

“ Why should I? I am not ashamed of it!
gallth Mark Ludlngton and you'll hit it about

g‘l:Iow old are yel”

“ Seventeen”,

“ What have ye he been doing lately?”

“ Drlvmg cattle. I have just left the trail
from Texas. and am on my way back."

 

“ Are you sure of that!"

“Yes, sure. Why?”

“ Because us fellel's have concluded you are a
cattledhief,” was the reply; “we’ve had ye
spotted for more’n a week; you’ve been hang—
ing around the ram-h buck here—sneaking
around as though ye wanted to steal something.
0h, we’ve got the proof ug’iu’ ye, and mighty
strong proof it is. too. What war ye prowlin
around the ranch fer, if it wasn’t to stea
cattle?”

“It wasn’t to steal cattle, anyhow,” replied
the boy. '

“What fer then.”

“None of your business.”

" The boy had scarcely said this when one of
the man made a move as if to seize him by the
throat, and instantly the small brown lmnd
reached for a pistol with which to protect him-
self. The youth discovered for the first time
then that he had been relieved of his weapons.

“ We didn’tiutcnd you should use low on us,”
sneered one of the mm, “so we jist look ‘em
from your belt quietly, you know—quietly.”

“Stole them from me like a pack of cow-
ards!” exclaimed the young man. “Gch me
back one of those pistols and I’ll fight the
crowd.”

The challenge was not accepted, but instead
the three men at once seized the defense-less lad
and bore him to the ground. Then they tied
his hands behind, pushed his hat on his head,
and, despite his protestations, mounted him on
one of the horses, following which the entire
outfit started oil’ in the direction of a strip of
timber, two or three miles awa . ’

“You have told your last he, you thieving
rascal,” declared the leader of the cattle—men,
“ and I for one don’t want any more nonsense.
The long and short of it is you are nothing but
a miserable thiof, and the worst of it all, a
cattle-thief. It’s not you alone that is in this
business but a dozen other fellows of whom
Dick Beih‘xont is the lender.”

“Dick Belmont!” exclaimed the lad, with a-
look of mingled surprise and terror, “did you
say Dick Belmont?"

‘Didn’t “say anything else.” was the reply.
“ 0h, ou needn’t pretend innocence; ou know
who ick Belmont is 'iist as wall as do: you
know that he is the lea er of a gang of despera-
does and cattle-thieves. Tell me you don’t
know Dick Belmontl” ,

“I never saw him in my life not to my
knowledge,” declared tie boy. “1’ hove heard
the 'name, though, k ts of times-dots of times.
Heavens! is it possible that Dick Belmont is in
this part of, the country 1”

Little further reference was made to Dick
Belmont during the short journry to the strip
of timber toward which the men and their

risoner had started. The timber was reached
in due time, and then dismou nting. the half-
savage bordermen took the captive and
securely tied him to a tree, using long, twisted
cords of rreen grass soaked in water with which
to bind h In.

All this while the lad protested stoutly not
only with his tongue, but by the use of his
hands and fed: but he was no match alone for

 

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

 

v

the three werfnl men, who soon had him so
securely tied that he could scarcely move a
muscle.

Then they began to collect a quantity of dry
grass and sticks, which they piled around him,
covering .his feet and legs completely, and ren-
dering him still more unable to help imself.

Finally, having accomplished that part of
. their work, the heartless wretches turned to the
"l  ' . boy, and one of them asked him if he had any-

thing to say why death should not be meted

’ out to him as punishment for the crime of
cattle-stealing.

“ I am not guilty,” was the emphatic reply,
though the lips that spoke it were almost dumb
with terror, and the heart seemed ready to
burst from the heaving breast.

“ You needn’t tell us any more lies, you
young devil,” said the leader of the men; ‘ we

now you are one of Dick Belmont’s gang, and

that is enough. We never let a cattle~thief get
away from ns—never. The idea is right here,
when you catch him, kill him: and now that
we’ve got you, we intend to kill you. Shooting
has been pronounced too good for a cattle thief,
so now we burn ’em at the stake. You see. we
are determined to break up the business. Boys,
have any of ye got a match?"

A match was produced at once, but before it
could be lighted and touched to the dry leaves,

, the sharp crack of a rifle rung out 11 the air
and the men nearest the boy fell gig]; on his
face, shotto the heart. Then, almost at the
same time, there sprung out of a clump of
bushes a few yards away a rough-looking man,
who, at a single bound, placed himSelf in the
midst of the astonished ranchers.

Hesitating scarcely a second, he brought his
revolver to bear upon the other two, and with
two qluick shots put a bullet into the breast of
each, illing them instantly!

“ Three of ’em, and all dead,” exclaimed the
stranger, laconically; and then he added. “I
didn’t get here any too soon, fer a fact. Why,
they had the kid all ready to burn. A pious
lot of cusses they are, to burn fellers at the
stake, only because they belong to Dick Bel-
mont’s gang. But these tellers—Well, they’ve
gone whar they’ll get a double dose of fire,
dead surel”

      
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
    
   
   
 

 

 

CHAPTER III.
A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

THE youn prisoxyr was so badly frightened
that he cou’d scarcely comprehend the situa-
tion. His mind was in a whirl of doubt and
fear. Scanning the face'of the stranger to whom
' , he owed his life, he said: ,

“Great heavens! but this is awfull you have
saved me from a horrible death. The wretches
would have burned me alive.”

I “ But they’re dead now, all of ’em ” observed
,. the stranger, carelessly. “Didn’t I give it to
’em in a hurry?”

“ Bet you did,” replied the boy; “not one of

'1 ’em gave a second kick; served ’em right. But,

who are you that you should help me out of
. such a scrape

“Better ask me first to cut ye loose from

that tree " answered the man; ‘ for perhaps I

mthkoenoflontoflsht than" myselx.

  

 

comd have a little picnic here all alone, couldn‘t
I, young teller?"

‘ Yes, if you were bloodthirst enough,” ro-
plied the boy. “ But I don’t thin you are that
sort of a fellow. It’sa fearful state of nifuirs
when white men have to ado t the ways of tho
red~skins in the punishmento prisoners. You’ll
cut me loose, I reckon?”

“ Yas, oh, as; I’m not much givan to mercy
myself. but wouldn’t let you die there like a
dog. I’ve killed a heap of men in my day, but
never one by such torture as these cha s wanted
to give you. I tell you, kid, when see’d ’cm
getting ready to burn ye, I jist got awful mad,
so here they are, sprawled out on the sand
like so many dead dogs, and yonder are their
basses.”

The latter was grazing a short distance away
as uncoucernedly as if nothing had happened.

“ I want one of them nags,’ added the stran-
ger, suggestively. “I’ve run down a boss a
day for the past week, and now I’m going
it afoot. But you said something about get-
Einggrourself loose. Do ye really want to get

ree?

“Yes, yes—cut me loose and I’ll be the best
friend you have on earth; I’ll do anything for

on.

y “You won’t take the first chance you get,
and shoot me, will ye?” »

“ No, heavens, nol”

“And you won’t tell anybody you have seen
me, will ye—won’t post my enemies on my
whgeahouts, and all else that ye know about
me I

“No—you may rely upon me. I shall tell
nothing; in fact, I know nothing to tell. For
Heaven’s 'sake. cut me loose.”

The stranger scattered the dry leaves and
brush aside and cut the cords with which the
young man was bound.

“You’re a pretty fair sort 0’ a chap,” he‘

said; “consequently I’ll help ye out for once,
anyhow. Don’t get into another such a scrape,
for next time I might not be able to help ye
out. I believe I’ve never see’d you before.
Who are you?"

It came over the boy all at once not to divulge
his real name, in fact, not to impart any in-
formation concerning himself to this man.
There was a strong feeling within him that the
friendliness of the stranger was not spontane
ens, but rather of a forced nature, and that it
might change at any moment to intense hate.
So he replied evasively:

“I’m nothing more or less than a cowboy.‘

Don’t I look like one! There isn’t a chap on the
trail that can handle a horse, or a whip, bet-
ter than Ican. I’ve scouted these prairies about
four years.” _

“ But yer name—you haven‘t told me yer
name."

“They'call me Plucky Joe, those who know
me, which is about as good a name as anyl
know 0!. You’ve heard of Plucky Joe, I
reckon!”

“But I have!” replied the men quickly.
“And so you are Plucky Joel”

“ That’s what people call me.”

“Well I’m glad to meet you,” declared the
man: “for I’ve heard of Jone!“ The! IA!

   
 

«m-

 

    
 
 
   
   

 

 

 

 

 

  

Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

you are very handy with the pistol. How many
men have you killed lately?"

“None.”

“ None? Why, I thought you averaged a
man a day. I do that much myself, and I’m no-
body—only plniu Dick B-‘illlOlli’a."

At the sound 0t this name the boy started
and gave his companion a searching glance.
Then he said:

“I have heard of you oftener than you have
heard of me, Dick Belmont: and it was because
I was supposed to be u member of your gang
thatl was condemned to death by these cow-
ardly wretches here on the ground before us.
They swore to treat all of Dick Belmont's men
alike—burn them at the stake as they would
have burned me had on not nrrived just in
time to save me. You 0 not deny that you are
the notorious Dick Belmont?”

“ I do not," was the short reply. “ I am Dick
Belmont. the outlaw, upon whose head the Gov-
ernors of four difl'erent States have fixed a price.
But I do not intend to pass in my checks yet
awhile; I am good for’ten more years of solid
life, and then I’ll die with my boots on.”

He looked the picture of perfect fearlessness
and determination as he stood thereleaning on
his long rifle, his sharp black eyes scanning the
face of his young companion.

He was a men above the average hight, well-
huilt, muscular, a. hard, determined-looking
fnce, restless, roving eyes, and a com lexion
{lilflOhi‘i as brown as that of an Indians is age
w as about twenty-six. ‘ _

He was known far and wide as a cattle—thlef,
desperado and murderer and his name had long.
been a terror to peaceful citizens on the western
frontier. Knowing the country Well, he had
no difficulty in escaping from the officers of the
law, who were constantly looking out for him.
The Indian Territory was his principal abiding—
place, where he would flee when hotly ursue .
and where he had friends to protect an conceal
him at all times.

Such was the character of Dick Belmont,
when. more for excitement than anything else,
he saved the life of the young lad known as
Plucky Joe. '

The latter had also acquired considerable of a
reputation, not as a desperate character like
Dick Belmont, but as a fearless rider, an excel-
lent shot and a gallant Indian-fighter.

There was one thing about him that seemed
peculiar; he never remained long in}. Iplace,
but was generally on the move, now in exas,
now in the Indian Territory, now in Nebraska,
now in Colorado—always going somewhere,
thus gaining tor himself the reputation of a
rover. Athough known as Plucky Joe, the real
name of the lad was Mark Ludington.

“And this is the wretch Dick Belmont,”
muttered the boy. as the outlaw turned aside
for a moment. “Heavens! I almost wish he
had not saved my life! The very man whom I
have sworn to kill has, placed me under ever-
lasting obligations to him! Good for me that I
did not tell him my real name; that would have
been a fatal mistake; I must be Plucky Joe to
him, for he knows that Mark Ludin ton has
been searching for him for years. sevens!
Dick Belmont, tho murde

 

1

CHAPTER IV.
A FRIENDLY ENEMY.

DICK BELMONT was not the kind of it man to
linger long in a place, or moralize to any real:
extent over his own or others’ deeds of b God;
so, no sooner had he learned all that he cared to
goncfeérning the younglcowhoy, than he wantedto

e o . i

“ Let’s get out of here at once.” he said, " for,
first we know, there will be u lot of fellows
down upon us; these men will be missed, and
everybody will say, of course, that Dick Bel-
mont has murdered them. Come, let’s be ofl,
Mister J no.” ‘

Mark Ludington hesitated.

“What are ye waiting for?” demanded the
outlaw. “ Didn’t I save yer life?”

“ Yes—yes." .

“ And didn’t yo soy ye’d stick to me until the
end of time, Mister Pluckyl” .

“ I did,” was the reply. '

“Then come on; don’t fool away your time
here. If you were not a thief and a 'robber be«
fore you met me you are now, and thar is no
way to help it. Why. these very fellows tom
you for one of my gang and war going to bu n!
ye alive. Think of that. The next time you
fall inter such bands, you’ll bee gone geese, and
no mistake. Oh, you’re in for it, so come with
me, and i’ll give you a chance to make a man .
of yerself.”

“ And these deed fellows—what are we to do
with them?” asked Mark. ‘7

“ Why, let ’em' rot where they are,” replied
the outlaw savagely. “Didn’t suppose it would
pay to bury ’em, dld yei” ‘

“There won’t be anything left of 'em by
morning,” observed Mark thoughtfully; “(the
coyotes will polish their bones in no time.
can’t say that I am sorry for ’em, seeing as how
 wanted to roast me alive. That was aw;

u

Dick Belmont laughed. ,

“You looked sort 0’ scared when 1 first so
ye, even of yer name was Plucky Joe.” ‘

“Enough to make anybody look scared," re-
turned Mark; “I thought my time had come,
sure. Come to think 0 it, my pistols and knife
were stolen by these wretches. Perhaps I had 1
better get them at ones.”

He was not long .in finding what he wanted,
and in addition to his own weapons he took a.
short rifle belonging to one of the dead cattle-

men, remarking as he did so that it was no . "

more than right that he should receive some .
payment for the injuries he had sustained at the
ends of these men.

The horses of the dead ranchmen were still
grazing near by, mi two of them were at once
appropriated by ick Belmont and his youn
companion, who. having mounth them, sturte
ofi at full gallop, riding in the direction of the
Indian Territory.

"‘ Where are we going?” asked Mark presently a i

“we are leaving the regular Te
seem to be making one of our own.
in Kansas, I believe.” ,

“ Yes, we have just crossed the line. This in
a dangerous country for you and me, Mister

1,13%th

s trail, an
We are now '

i

\ .

 

   
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
     
    
 
 
     
         
     
     
       
   

um _ 

  

lPiucky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

" Because here is where the big ranches are,
and Dick Belmont hasn’t many friends among
the cattle—men. As a matter of fact. I reckon
any}?! him would delight to shoot him on sight,
eh inc ?

1‘ Then {we are in considerable danger now,”
observed Mark thoughtfully.

“I should say so,” was the reply; “and this
last affair hasnt helped us any. expect any
moment to discover that we are being followed.
What would you do in that case, Pluckyi”

“ Run, of course,” replied Mark.

“dAmliI whaTt ifiyou were overtaken, what would

e o t en, oe
y “Fight; what else could I do? I don’t pro-
pose to take any chances with these wild cattle-
men; some of ’91!) are worse eVen than Injuns.
II the hadn't tried to burn me at the stake—”

“ at was a villainous trick,” interrupted
the outlaw. “I don’t blame ye for entertain-
ing a sort of hatred for cusses of that kind,
Plucky. liar) of ’em should meet you again,
I re’ckon t ey’ scalp ye first, and then burn

\“'But they’ll not meet me Very soon again,”
remarked the boy. “ I can protect myself, de-
pend upon it.” _

,They moved along rapidly over the rolling
prairie, Dick Belmont leading the way. His
acquaintance with the country seeemd perfect,
as also was his knowledge of the locations of the
diflerent cattle-ranches, which it was his object
to avoid. ' ,

Riding hard the rest of that day, at night
they came to an abandoned sod-house, where
they determined to remain until morning.

“You have been ,here before?” questioned
Mark. carelessl .

“ Ob, certain y,” was the re ly. “ The feller

that lived here had a good ot of cattle once, A

but we broke him all u , and then he left—
took the istol route for g ory. One of the boys

at tire of his clatter and killed him. 1‘11
8 ow you his grave in the morning.”

It was growing dark rapidly, and there-was
therefore no chance for investigation that night.
Without delay they put their horses out to feed
on the tender grass that grew richly around,

' and, returning to the house, prepared to make

themselves comfortable for the night.

There was nothing to eat, and no blankets,
consequently the conditions were not favorable
to a quiet night’s rest; nevertheless the two
friends—for they were friends for the time be-
ing—lay down upon the hard floor and tried to
sleep. Each slept with his rifle by his side. and
other weapons in easy reach, for it was one of
Dick Belmont’s traits always to be ready for
an emergency.

othing happened that night worthy of men-

tion, and the next morning the travelers con-_

tinued their journey southward.

' ' “We’ll get something to eat aftera while,”
remarked the outlaw, as they galloped along.
“About a dozen miles from here there are a
few homesteaders, ,who are trying to raise a
little grain and a few cattle; generally they’ll

, Five a feller something to eat when he asks for
t

;leastwise Idon’t reckon any of ’em will re-
fuse mo.” .

 

‘ ‘Not if they know you, they won’t,” put in

“ Wal, they know me,” returned the outlaw
shortly. "Bet yer life on that, Joel”

They rode on in silence.

After a while they came to a stream of water,
which they crossed, and followed its bank for
several miles; then, striking out over the prairie,
in a short time they reached a cultivated stri
of ground in the center of which was a sum 1
home built partly of boards and sod.

“We’ll stop here.” announced Belmont, dis-
mounting. "Git ofl? yer hoss, Plucky 1”

Two rough-looking men came to the door of
the house and looked out.

"Hallool Dick; glad to see youl” welcomed
one of the men. “ Come in 1”

They turned their horses loose on the prairie,
and entered the house.

’ CHAPTER V.
A SERIOUS SHOOTING scnarn.

MARK did not know what to think of the
owners of the house whom Dick Belmont had
designated as homesteaders.

They were certainly very rough men, and to
all appearances were little better than robbers
themselves.

There were three of them, all hard-looking
characters, and whether they were homestead-
ers or not, Mark could not determine. Ho ho-
lieved, however, that their real business was
that of stealing stock, or rather that of picking
up stray and abandoned cattle from the Texas
trail, which amounted to about the same thing
as stealing. -

“I’ll keep an eye on ’em, anyhow,” said the
boy, “for all the information I pick up concern-
in g such wretches, Dick Belmont included, may
be of benefit to me hereafter.”

The three homesteaders seemed to be very
well acquainted with Dick Belmont—a fact
which certainly did not look well for them;
and, at the same time, corroborated to a certain
extent Mark’s belief that the men wore them-
selves little better than robbers.

At any rate,they were well supplied with food,
of which their visitors partook heartily, for. both
were very hungry. ,

Then, after talking awhile on various subjects,
a game of cards Was proposed, and the four
men seated themselves at a, low table, and com-
menced playing.

.Mark watched the progress of the game for
some minutes. but there was little interest in it
for him, so, finally, he opened the door of the
house, and went out, remarking to Dick Bel-
mont as he did so, that he would look after the
horses. ‘

Once on the outside, the young avenger gave
himself up to earnest thought. ,

He thought or his present situation, how he
was in company with one of the worst despera-
does of the border; how be had escaped a hor-
rible death by the help of this man' how the
two were now on their way to the Indian Ter-‘

 

ritory, where he would be certain to encounter '

others of the robber gang. Then he wondered
what would be the end of it all. He was cer-
tain or one thing. he was not going to turn rob-

  

 

 

 

   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  

 
     

 

 

 

   
   
    
  

ber himself' but then if he did not do that,
what should he do? It had reached a oint on
the Western border when it was not sap to be
found alone away from any cattle ranch, for
the very fact of moving about without appar-
ent purpose Was enough to stamp such a person
as a cattlelthief.

“ I might go on the trail again,” were the
boy’s thoughts; “but how do I know that I
would not be taken for one of Belmont’s thieves,
and shot down like a dog? The cowboys them-
selves are fighting like so many prairie-wolves,
so I can expect nothing from them. Andthen,
here is another trouble; how am I to get away
from Dick Belmont? He watches me like a
hawk, and the moment I attempt to leave I’ll
have a bigger fight on my hands than I ever
had before. To tell the truth, I don‘t want to
leave him; there is a ood reason why I should

0 with him. It has con four long years since

started on the search for this wretch, and
now that I have found my man I must not let
him escape me. I owe him my life, the villaini‘
otherwise I would call him from the house this
moment, and blow out his brains.”

He spoke savagely and excitedly. and would
have said more had not Dick Belmont’s voice
reaclu‘d him at that moment.

“You lie, you scoundrell” said the voice, in
fierce, loud voice.

Then followed other angry exclamations, and
presently there was a. loud yell, mingled with
fierce oaths, quickly followed by a number of
pistol-shots, and then the door was burst down
and out came Dick Belmont, pistol in hand,
and immediately at his back were two of the
men of the house, each having in his hand a. pis-
tol, with which he was trying to shoot the out-

aw.

But the latter escaped unharmed, and, run-

ning to where his hor e was grazing, mounted
him (ft 1:. single bound and dashed away like the
win .
As for Mark, not knowing or fully realizing
the circumstances of the case, he made no at-
tempt to follow the outlaw, but remained near
the door of the house astonished and bewil-
dered.

Then the men turned on him, and one of
them said, savagely:

“You youn devil, why did 9 not follow

our friend? have a notion to low out your

rains? Curso you? how much better are you
than Dick Belmont? Come in here and see what
the wretuh has done. It is as foul a murder as
ever was committed.”

A man was lying on the floor of the house
weltering in his own blood.

He had been shot in three different places,
one hell having pierced his heart.

“Poor Jack 18 dead, and your murderous
patrtfier is the one to blame,” said the man, ex-
ci e< y.

“He is not in partner,” declared the ho ,
emphaticallv' “ met him yesterday for t 6
first time. ‘Yhu have no right to implicate me
in this murder.”

‘“ But you are one of the gang ” insisted the
man stil white with rage, “andl have a great
mind to brain you on the spot.”
“Utaud back! stand back!” cried  in a

 

Plueky Joe, the Boy Avenger. 9

threatenin voice, at the same time takin a
‘istol in eit er hand from his belt and level 3
them at the men who were confronting him.
“The first one of you who dares to move will
die in his tracks. am not a murderer, neither
am I a coward, and, mind you, I never missed
2 target in my life. I am Plucky Joe, the cow-
on.

The two men were astonished. Of the pluck
and bravery of the young cowboy they had
often heard, and it now occurred to them that
he might take it into his head to shoot at any _
moment, in which case the outside of the house
would be much safer than the inside, so one of
them said: ' 1

“Let’s quit this foolishness-and go outside
and talk it over. I don’t like to do any shoot?“
ing over poor Jack’s body. Come, put up yer
shooters.”

Mark did not com ly with this request, but,
instead, with a pisto still covering each of the
man, himself hacked toward the door and out
into the open air.

The men did not follow him: they had been
close enough to'the pistols of the redoubtable
Plucky Joe; so, unniolested, the boy walked
away from the house to where his horse was
grazing, mounted the faithful animal and rode
rapidly out of sight.

“And that’s what a friendly game of cards
will do sometimes,” he said, as the horse sub-
sided into a walk. “The usual ending is a
little matter of this kind, from one to a dozen
men killed and everybody all broke up. It
beats the dickens what tools some people are.”

CHAPTER VI.
ALONE ON THE PRAIRIE.

Now that Mark was again completely his '
own master he felt that it he ran his neck Into
any new danger it was his own fault. As
Plucky Joe he was ever ready for tight, but as
Mark Ludington his game now was to avoid all
chances of injury or arrest, for he had toomuch
work before him to be put out of the field now.

He resolver], however, not to abandon that
Burt of the country, but. instead, trace Dick

elmout to his lair, and learn as much about
that noted desperado as he could, and, finally,
wreck the' vengeance which he had sworn to
have years before.

“ I run the risk of being taken for one of the
gang in self,” he said, “ but for all that I must
learn al about them; I must see the others of
the gang, and See if the wretches I have been
looking for so long are there. There are six of
them in all, including Dick Belmont. who owe
me their lives—six that 1 have sworn to kill.
Not until all of them are dead will the terrible -
tragedy of four years ago be avenged."

By this time Dick Belmont was several miles
in advance of him, a fact which threw Mark
into doubt as to any direct route to the home
of the outlaw guy but, at any rate, the course
must be nearly ue south, which direction
1thethoy resolved not to swerve from in the
eas .

“ If I can only find the lace. it is agood deal
better that I pass throug this county alone,
or, at least, not in the company of ick Bel- .
mont.” obpervod Mark. ‘as he hurried on.

 

, \ I-

 

 

6

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

  

 

“ Dick don’t appear to have a very good repu—
tation along t is border: he’s done too much
stealing, and killed too many people, I reckon.”

The ndian Territory was distant at least
one hundred miles from where Mark was now
riding, and it was altogether probable that the
rendezvous of the outlaws was somewhere in
the interior of that territory fifty to a hundred
miles from its border.

“It’s not what I call a. long trip,” said the
boy, “and there ’u’d be no trouble about my
gettin’ there it I only knew the way. One
thing, I’ve got to look out for stopping-places
along the route where I can get something to
eat, for I don’t want to die of starvation, any-
how.”

There were scattering houses along the way,
fifteen to twenty miles apart, some of them
very miserable affairs, constructed wholly of
sod, while others were excavations into the side
of a hill, having more the appearance of a. cave
than anything else. Residing in these rude and
lonesome places, far from civilization, were a
rough class of men, some of them honest, in-
dustrous homesteaders,others of a careless,indif-
ferent nature, while a large majority were
reckless, unprincipled men, ready for any
sort of adventure from small thieving to cold-
blooded murder.

It was through this border countr that Mark
resolved to pass on his way to the ndian Ter-
ritory.

He was well armed, had plenty of ammuni-
tion, his horse was fleet of foot, and being him-
self of a daring, fearless nature, he was not in-
clined to borrow trouble as to the dangers of
the way.

So he headed his horse straight south and
dashed along.

He went very rapidly, and by nightfall had
put himself many miles distant trom the scene
of the mid-day tragedy.

And he did not halt with the night; he con-
tinued to move along over the prairie, his
young mind filled with a strong desire to ac-
eomp ish as greata distance as he could that
day. and reach the Indian Territory at the
earliest moment possible.

It was near midnight when he finally came to
a halt. He had seen a limmering light an hour
previous, which seeme to denote the presence
ofshouse on the prairie several miles away,
and such it proved to be—a house not unlike the
one from which he had escaped early in the

da .

The light shone through a small window near
the door the latter being constructed of rough,
unplaned hoards, through which, in different
cracked places, the light also shone.

Quietly and cautiously Mark approached the

ones.

He did not know that it would be safe to an-
nounce his presence at once, for it might be that
the inmates of the house would receive him in
an unfriendly manner—perhaps murder him
without hesitation or delay.

Dismounting from his horse the boy slowly
ore is up to the window and looked in.

e was astonished at what he saw.

There, seated around the room, were half a

docking use. than“: azure

 

I"'"

 

of the group. and the one seeming to attract the
most attention, being no less a personage than
Dick Belmont!

“ I never see’d the kid until yesterday,” Mark
heard the outlaw say' which was enough to sat-
isfy the boy that he imsell! was the topic 01
conversation.

Mark bent his head and listened.

The outlaw continued:

“ Yes, some tellers had caught him,” the brig-
aud went on; “and havin tied him tea tree
were about to roast him alive when I told ’em
to stop proceedings.”

“ Did they do it?" questioned one of the men.

“Did theyT’sne-ered the outlaw; “I rather
think they did. I killed the three tellers in less
than no time, and then cut the kid loose. It was
a slick job, and done up in a hurry.”

The outlaw then went on to narrate the cir-
cumstances and particulars of the tragedy in
which he had participated that day, closing with
the remark that the homesteaders had in all
probability murdered the boy in retaliation for
the killing of one of their number by himself.

“But then it don’t matter much,” he added;
“the kid was a little too smart for this country,
anyhow; like as not I would have killed him
myself in a day or two. I took him with me
more for company than anything else. Take
him all around, he was a pretty lively chap,
and I’m just a trifle sorry he’s dead.”

The conversation then turned on other things
and listening close at the door Mark overhear
a villainous plot to rob and murder an old man
named Simington, who lived some twelve miles
away, and who was supposed to have concealed
in the house a considerable sum of money.

The plot was suggested by Dick Belmont, who
had a few weeks previous stopped a day and a
night at the old man’s house, and learning from
him that he would the next day sell for cash a
hundred head of cattle, had concluded that he
now had the money thus obtained concealed in
the house.

“ The time to kill a goose is when it’s fat,” de-
clared the outlaw, laughing; “and the old man
is about as ripe now as he ever will be. I pro-
pose that we go for him at once.”

The decision was made by common consent,
that early the next morning the party should
visit the old man at his lonely cabin and delib-
erately rob and murder him.

Mark stood at the door and heard all that was
said, and then and there he determined to de-
feat the villainous plot of the murderous gang,
even if it cost him his life in so doing.

“ 1’11 0 at once and warn the old man of his
danger, ’ he said, as he moved (iuietly awe y
from the door. “ But how am to find the
place’l I only know that it is south of here
about a dozen miles, but there is absolute]
nothing else to guide me. At any rate, I‘
make an eifort to find the place at once.”

With this purpose in mind, he hurriedly
mounted his horse and rode away.

' CHAPTER VII.
A nonmm TRAGEDY.
MARK rode rapidly over the prairie, oing in
adirection which seemed to him exac south.

     

l
l
l
4
i

 

     

1:».
I

.,,...I ..M......__ . . . .

 

.“\

.

Plueky Joe, the Boy Avenger. ' 9

 

although in the darkness it was difficult for him
to positive] y know one direction from another.

Still he went on, hopeful of the result of his
mission, and yet fearful that he might not be
able to find the place and notify the intended
Victim of his danger.

There was no moon that night, and by the
light of the stars alone the lad was enabled to
see the way.

After ri ing thus for more than an hour he
began to look for lights in the distance, be ore
him and on either side of him, hoping to find a
beacon of this kind which would prove to be the
one he most desired to See.

But there was not a light to be seen anywhere;
the prairie was a sea of darkness, with only the
stars shining down upon it, and perfectly still
save the distant barking of mine wolves, or
Ellie cry of some lonely night-bird sailing through

e um

During the remaining hours of the night Mark
kept close watch of the prairie, moving very
slowly at times, then dashing along rapidly, and
all the while thinking that his destination could
not be far away.

So the night passed, mornin came at last,
and still no signs of a human he. itation. Mark
began to grow discouraged. '

“There is no findin anything on these prai-
ries," he growled. “ may not be within twen-
ty miles of the place I am searching for. As it
looks now, the old man will be murdered long
before I can get there to warn him of his dan-
ger;

The sun came up, and the day were on. Mark
still wandered over the prairie. After awhile
he came to a stream of water, the banks of
which were covered with scrub timber and scat-
tering clumps of bushes. Here the lad halted,
and, dismounting from his horse, began to
search for game among the trees and bushes.
He found what he, was looking for shortly—a
rabbit of the cotton-tail species, which he
brought down with a single shot from his pistol.

To dress the rabbit, build a fire and roast it,
was the work of a very few minutes, and Mark
twas hungry enough to enjoy the simple repast

u e y.
ollowing this, be watered his horse in the
stream. and. nfm- deliberating a short time as
to which way he should go next, started of!
over the prairie.

A clump of cottohwoods four or five miles
away had attracted hi attention-for some while
prevwhus, and it was toward these that he now

is way.

“Very likely there is a house behind those
trees,” he said, “ and it so, perhaps it’s the very
house I want to find. I’ll get over there in a
hurry.”

His horse g’alloped along freel and soon
brought him to where he could see t e clump of
trees distinctly. .

There was a small house behind the trees, as
be supposed, a fact which warranted Ihe belief
that he was at last nearing his destination.

He rode up to the house boldly.

There was no sign of life about the premises,
nothing to indicate that the place was inhabited.

Dismountmg from his horse, Mark walked
boldly up to t a door.

The latter was closed, but bore evidence 0!
having been opened recently.

Before venturing to open the door Mark took
a nod look at the exterior of the house.

hen he surveyed the door again, and this
time was startled at what he saw. There were
spots of blood upon the door, also the imprint
of bloody fingers.

“ Human blood,” said Mark, quietlv.

He opened the door, and a flood of light swept
through the room.

He went in.

There was no one to bid him welcome or de-
manéi his reasons for entering the house unin-
vite .

He looked about the room.

There were chairs and tables, a small cookinF
stove, pans, pails and dishes, and a low bed n
the room.

The latter bore the a .earance of having re-
cently been occupied, e quilts were thrown
back to the foot of the bed, all but one, which
was spread out carelessly from foot to head-
board.

Looking closer, Mark noticed that the quilt
was stained with blood.

The discovery was accidental, but none the
less surprising, for that reason.

the quilt, for something told him that it covered
a. horrible sight.

He did so, however, in a moment, and was
prepared for the sight which followed. ‘

There on the bed, lying on his back, with his
hands on his breast, his head sunk deep into the
pillow and his race upturned was a man with
his throat cut from ear to ear. ,

The lower part of his face and his neckland
breast were covered with blood, which gave the
bod a ghastly appearance.

ark surveyed the bloody scene a moment
in silent horror.

The dead man was l‘perhu fifty years old,
gra ,-haired, thin of be y an small ofstatnre.

“ came too late” said Mark, turning aside.
“ This is another of bick Belmont’s victims—old
man Simington I believs the villains called him.
Well, an how, he is dead, and there is no doubt
that Dic Belmont murdered him. The r
, old man; I did not get here in time to warn im
1 of his danger. I wonder what I had better do.

now that he is dead.’.’
, The boy was half inclined to notify the author-

ities of he nearest settlement of the murder.
, This seemed to him the proper course to pursue;
l but his experience with the rough and uncertain
[ ways of frontier justice had not been at all

pleasant on net occasions, hence be was 10th to
make himse t a party to any sort of transaction
in which the law was concerned.

“ I‘ll go on in way and let somebody else

 

7 do the notifying, ’ he said, at length, startiug'

‘. for the door.
2 He went out hurriedly and mounted his horse
I which had been grazin near. ‘

“ Which way now?” e said, speaking aloud&

and thinking of what his next move shoul

, be. “ I must leave this neck of the prairie as
{ goon a: possible, but I scarcely know which way
. ogo. ‘
1 He walked his horse a few yards nix-thew

Mark hesitated a moment before pulling aside"

 

 

 

a  . , , _
‘ .. 3. ~.' ','a\‘é‘ in, My» 

Pluoky Joe. the Boy Am”.

A.  -, ..,,

 

from the house and again halted and began
talking to himself:

“I may as well follow Dick Belmont, for two
reasons; one is that I have some unsettled
business with both himself and his gang, and
the other is that I am about as safe with him
as with anybody else, at present. At any
rate, I shall not rest easy until i have accom-
plish the mission I set out to perform four years

ago.”
And putting spurs to his horse he rode swiftly
away.

 

‘ CHAPTER VIII.
AGAIN A oarnvn.

MARK had not gone a great distance when
he was halted by three men who suddenly
sprung from a thicket ,near the roadside and
confronted him.

Quickasaflash" the boy ulled his revolver,
but one of the men alrea y had him covered
with an old blunderbuss of a gun, which, had it
gone 03, would have been fatal to the person at
whom it was aimed.

“ Put up your pop in fine fellow,” de-
manded the owner of the lunderbuss, “ or I’ll

. blow the to&of yer head oil? in an instant. You
hear me? ell, then, do as I tell you.”

' “ y what authority do you be t me in this
way?‘ asked Mark; “isn't this prairie open to
the public?”

“0 n to the public?” repeated the man;
“wel , I should say so but it’s no sort of a
hi hway for thieves and cut-throats. You got
a, ittie too far East this time, young fellow,
- and now, I reckon, you’re in fora taste of first-

, class justice, sich as ye don’t find outside of a

civilized community. This is the State of Koh-

sas, and don’t you forget it, and this is the
first organized county on the western border
of the State, and don’t you forget that also;
and there’s something more that I don’t want
you to forget, and that is that 1 am sheriff of
> the county.”
" “ButI don’t understand what all this has
' todo with me,” remarked the boy ranger, quiet-

ly.

“ Don’t ye, thought” returned the man. “ It’s
too awful y bad about you; I wouldn’t be so
irreen as you are for anything. I suppose you

. never heard of old man Simmgton.”

Markjnew what was coming next.

“ eglhave heard of the old man, he' re-

lied.
p “ I thought so; a nice old man, wasn’t he?”
, ’ “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Strange that ye don’t
know. ' Didn’t you see him pretty often?”
- “Never saw him but once in my life,” and
swered Mark.

“ Never but once! When was thati”

“ A few moments a o.” ‘

“ Ah! ‘he was well, suppose.”

“ Not very; he looked pretty well used 1:
whenJ saw him; had a good deal of color in 1:3
(see though."

“Perhaps he had been drinking.”

" No, it was blood."

“Bloodl”

 Theoldmanwudsad.*

 

"Deadl Somebody had killed him then, i
reckon.”

“No doubt about it," returned the boy- “ his
throat was cut from ear to ear; he cou d not
have done it lllmSPlf, of course.”

“ No, [ supp: se not," said the talkative sheriff,

“ Do you have an idea who did do it 1”

Mark did not reply. There were a number of
things came into his mind at that moment. He
might tell the olficer all that he knew concert»
ing the plot to murder the old man, and also
give him to understand that Dick Belmont was
the responsible party to the affair, but what
good would this do him? Whatever he might
say would not be believed, and he therefore de
termined to keep his knowledge of the affair to
himself.

“ You don’t know who murdered the old man
then i” said the sheriff.

“ How should I know anything about. it?” do
mnmled Mark; “I wasn‘t present at the time.
How does it happen that you are so well posted
on the affair?”

“ It’s my business to be posted," returned the
man. “ l’Ve been out for a day or two lookin
after hossrthievcs, and, happening alon herefi
went in to see the old man, when, by eve! he
was jist breathing his last. So these two tellers
and myself have been watching around here for
an hour or two to see what we could see, and

you are the first chap to put in an appearance. ,

You may be as innocent as a lamb, young man,
Idon’t know, but, anyhow, the circumstances
are suspicious, and I’ll have to gather ou in.”

“ Then you arrest me for the mur er?” said
the boy, again involuntarily reaching for his re
volver.

“Keep down er gun,” cried the sheriff,
quickly, again bringing his blunderhuss to bear
on the young man’s head; “ this thin-5 might go
03, and if it should, your remains would be
scattered somewhat, and don’t you torget it.
Yes, I arrest you for the murder of old Bill
Simington. I don’t say that ye’r’ guilty, but it
looks that way very much. At any rate, I’ll
take ye in, and ye’ll have a chance to prove yer
innocence, when the time comes. Now, don’t
try to get away, for it won’t do go any good;
there are three of us, and all arms to the teeth,
and the first suspicious move e make [’11 have
the artillery open fire, an there won’t be
enough left of ye to feed a grasshopper. So move
along quietly. ’

The men had horses tied-near by, which they
mounted and all started off at once over the
prairie.

They traveled rapidl for more than an hour
without halting, then he party came in sight
of a law cabin at the foot of a long divide in the

rairie, and at the door of this cabin the first
all: was made.

It was several minutes before Mark recognimd
the cabin as t e one in which he had the night
previous seen ick Belmont and two others, and
overheard their villainous plot to murder old
Bill Simington.

Springinf from his horse, the sheriff opened
the door w thout ceremony.

“ Anybody here!” he said, roughly.

“You’re mighty right there a. replied s

  

  
 
   
   

1;_< <

v . wv. __.._-_.

  

 

»

.¢ v's *-i-. ,

 Joe. the Boy Avenger.

u

 

voice from some point inside the house. “ i'm
here. Hullool old mnnl you get around once in
a while don’t ye? Who are you after now?”

The s eriif armoured to be on friendly terms
with the man of the house.

The latter Went on:

“ I wasn’t expecting visitors around yer,” he
said, “ or [’11 ’u’ fixed up somewhnt so as to en-
terrain ’em properly. But you haven’t told me
who yer after.”

“ After nobody in particular, jist now," an
swert‘d the shernf; “ I’ve got the chop already,
I reckon.”

"Have you? You don’t say! Who is he?
Where is he'l What has he been doing?”

“Old man Siniingtou‘ was murdered last
night,” said the slieriii‘, quit-lily.

“Old man Siiningtonl" re‘waterl the mam of
the house; “ and you found in) dead?"

“ Yes, and here is the chap we think did the
job for him. Look!"

Mark was pointed out to him, and, starting
back. he exclaimed quickly:

“ The Very fellow that axed me yesterday
the way to old man Simiugton’s; said he was a
relative of the old man; I told him which way
to go, and he went on. Yes, you are mighty
right; he is the murdererl”

 

CHAPTER IX.
smuous TROUBLE roe. THE YOUNG RANGER.

“THEN you have seen this young man he-
gets?” questioned the sheriff of the man of the

ouse. ,

“Saw him yesterday,” was the reply; “he
rode up to the door and axed me the way to
Simington’s, and I told him, then he went on.
Oh, he’ll probably deny it; see if he don’t; they
always do so, sich fellows.”

When face to face with Mark the man still
stuck to his story, and. fairly astonished and
confounded the boy with his harefaced lying.

“Yes, I understand you,” finally said Mark;
“ you are the murderer yourself and wish to
put it off on me; you are a miserable coward,
not fit to live, and certainly not fit to die. Tell
me, who was here last night besides yourself?”

“ Nobody,” replied the man boldly.

“You did not See Dick Belmont?”

0‘ No.”

“Do not know him, I sup i"

“ I have seen him; that is all. 1 do not keep
company with such characters. Dick Belmont
knows better than to come into my house. But,
say, kid, tell us the truth now, ain’t you a
partner of Dick in the murdering business?
Come to think of it, you must have bad help in
doing this job.”

“ ick Belmont is a better man than you are,
anyhow,” observed the boy disdainfully; “ you
are the meanest wretoh I ever remember to
have met. I’d like mighty well to get a crack
at you with this.” "

And be tapped his revolver suggestively.

“Better take them air weapons uwuv from
him,” remarked the man alarmed] .; "first ye

'know he'll try to shoot some of ye.

“ {list what I want him to do ” observad the
sherifl, with a n; “then I’ll ave some ex-
cuse tor killlnl in. I haven’t killed a. men for

 

a month, and‘l’m jist dying for some fun of
that kind. But, since you’ve given him the
hint, I’ll take the weapons nwuy from him, and
I reckon I'll not get a chance to shoot him
now."

Mark turned over his knife and pistols with-
out a murmur.

“Uh, we’re a poiswn crowd.” remarked one of
the men, with a. tantalizing look at the young
prisoner.

“ Not neces<ury for you to tell me that," re-
turned the boy; “my ears are good, and so are
my eyes; it‘s plain to see what sort of a crowd
you are. Come, you are not going to stay here
forever, I hope." , ‘

Tho shorifl’ remounted his horse.‘

“ You’ll nppeur ugninst this feller, I reckon?”
he said, speaking to the homesteuder.

“ Yes, l’ll tell all I know about him,” was the

reply;

“ Thich is enough to hang him, durned if it
ain’t,” Obst‘l‘vud the slieriil‘; “but, ion to one,
the Vigiluntws will save ye the trouble of testi~
fyiiig; nobody gets it in the regular way nowa-
days; if thorn is fair roof of n prisoner’s guilt,
the Vigilantes Luke 0 urge of the case at once.
But [’1] let ye line." when ye'r’ wanted, depend
upon it.” '

They rode away. Mark still a. close prisoner.

“I threw it on to the boy in good shape,” re-
marked the proprietor of the cubin, the moment
his visitors were gone. “You are a cunning
fellow, Juck Allen, and no mistake; you played
your cards well. Now, the end of it .will be
this: the Vigilantes will hang the young rascal
at once, and very soon the murder of old Bill
Simington will he for otten. As for Dick Bel-
mont—well, Dick is a le to take care of himself
every day in the year.”

It was late that night when the sherifl, with
his prisoner, reached the settlement which was
the seat of government of the frontier county
of Ford. '

He placed his prisoner in jail, and told him he ,

might starve until morning, as he had nothing
to iv. him to eat that night.

he jail was a large stone structure, long and
rambling, with a row of cells on one tide, and,
the remaining portion fitted up as a. pluoe of re-
sidence for the sheriff and his family.

The letter consisted of a wife and dnughteh,
the daughter a rollicking, dare—devil ch‘ature,
passessing much the same spirit as her tether.

Her age was about sixteen. ' -

She met her father at the door when u re-
turned that night, and her first remark ww’in
regard to the prisoner, whom she at one.
scanned critically and with" some , little curi-
osity.
“For a hoss~thief, I call him ‘a very good.-
looking chap,” she said. “ Where id you
catch him, dad?

“ Oh, I caught him,” replied her (other, eva-
sively. “Ain't he an elegant specimen of the
boss thief, Sal?” . ‘ . ' ' '

“ He’s all of that,” declared the girl quickly»,
“he’s a. daisy." ’ -

“But he isn’t a hose-thief, Sol; that is, I
didn‘t arrest him for that I gathered himin
on another char e.”

“You! whotf \

   

 

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18

Plueky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

 

"Murder"
The girl opened her mouth and eyes at the
same time, and looked wild.

“ Murderl” she repeated; “ not this little
cuss l”

“Yes, this little cuss; he killed a man over
here dead as a nail—cut his throat from ear to
ear. It was one of your friends, too.”

“ No! Will, now who was it?”

“ Old Bill Simingtonl”

The girl appeared very much astonished; she
was silent for a moment, evident] revolvin in
her mind the possible details 0 'the mur er.
Presently she spoke, and her language was
energetic in the extreme.

“ I’m glad of it,” she said; “ the old rat ought
rter have kicked the bucket long ago. The

_ miserable old sinner, be aired me to marry him,
and I wouldn’t do it. The old fool! What did
he want to marry me for? I have hated him
$1522. And you tell me he was laid out by this

“ It looks that way. Sally,” replied the
sheriff, with a glance at the prisoner.

“ And he cut the old man’s throat?”

“ Ripped it open from ear to ear.”

“And you are sure it was no one else than
old Bill Simington?”

“ Sure—mighty sure.” i

“ Goodl Served him right! and you me
bet your life that I am a friend of the ki ;
and ,I,’m going to shake hands with him, right

~ now.

She Seized Mark by the hand and shook it
vigoroiisly.

, “ Don’t be sich a. ’tarnal fool, gal,” at length
protested her father, his temper rising; “ye’r’
wuss nor acolt turned loose in a clover patch.
It would have been a .good thing for ye if ye
had ’a’ married old Bill Simington, fer he ’u'd
have tamed ye down a bit, I reckon.”

With this he bolted the cell door, and Mark
was left alone. I

 

CHAPTER X.
' , um IN A FRONTIER JAIL.
- Tim young tprisoner, being very tired, soon
. fell asleep, an when the sherifl came to his
celI door in the morning he was still slee ing.
“If you are as hungr as you are 5 eepy,”

a " remarked the man of the aw, as Mark came to

the door rubbin his eyes, “ you must be about

half-starved. here is a. small lay-out that

Sally flxad up fer ye. Queer gel, that Sally.”
There were several articles of food on a wide

board used as a. server, in all a very fair break-

fast.

“ It looks good enough for a prince,” observed
Mark, as he seized the board with both hands.
“Give Sally my compliments; she’s the boss
girl to fix me/ up such a good breakfast. I
reckon it’s because she thinks I killed PM Bill
. Simingtonl' ,

- 1- “That’s it exactly,” laughed the sheriff;
“she hadn’t- an use fer old Bill-not any. The
1 old man wan to marry her, and it made her-so
mad that I thought once or twice she’d kill him
herself. A queer gel is Ball ; and you ought
to see her when she gets me -. oh. then shes a

‘he had found him. What Jae

 

perfleict’terror; just like her father for all the
WOI‘ .

“Does she help you here much?” asked Mark,
wishing to continue the conversation.

“ Yes, a good deal,” replied the sheriff;
“ she’s mighty handy with a pistol, and can
stand guard like a man. I keep her down yer
watching the prisoners a part 0’ the time, and
she seems to like it. She shot one fuller the
other day as he was trying to escape.”

“Killed him?”

“No, not quite; only winged him; he was
making oil? on a dead run.”

The young ranger asked a few more questions
concerning Sally, and then spoke of himself,
and inquired if 8 could not have a hearing be-
fore some magistrate of the law.

“ I reckon you kin.” rrplied the sheriff. “ I’ll
take ye over to ’Squire Blazior’s at once; he‘s a
good ’un; he’ll fix ye up in no time.”

The news of the murder of old Bill Simington
had been generally circulated throughout the
town, and small knots of men were gathered on
the street corners discussing the affair.

The sheriff hurried the prisoner into the office
of ’Squire Blazier, the chief magistrate of the
town, and informed that worthy that the sup-

sed slayer of old Bill Simington was before

im.
The examination lasted only a few moments.
’Squire Blazier was a man of decisive action.
He was positively ignorant of law. but that did
not matter; he understood perfectly what was
required of him as a frontier justice of the
peace.

Mark was first asked his name.

He gave it as William Penn, a cowboy, from
Nebraska.

He had good reasons for not giving his right

name,

“ William Penn,” repeated the old ’squire, el<
evating his spectacles; “ seems to me I’ve heard
that name before somewhere. And you plead
not guilty to the charge of murdering William
Simmington, of Deer Creek Hollow?”

“ I do,” replied Mark.

The sheriff then gave his testimony, all that
he knew concerning the b0 , how and where
Allen, the home-
steader, had said about him, and the result was
that Mark was returned to jail to await the ac-
tion of the district court, which would convene
in about four weeks from that time.

“ Isn’t there such a thing as getting out on
bail?” asked Mnrk, who had a very imperfect
idea of the machinerygf the law. '

The sheriff laughed.

“Nobody gets bail in this country,” he said;
“ and anyway, I reckon you are not Very well
find for money, unless, perhaps, you got a big
raise off old Bill Simin ton ;_ did ye, kid i”

Mark did not reply. e did not feel in a very,
good humor over the prospect of remaining in
jail a month, and then being tried for murder
in a court which bore _with it the certaint of
conviction in cases like the one charge up
against the boy. . I

There was another fear which _continually
troubled the re se of our young friend.

The people 9 the frontier were wont to take

  

 

 

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‘1”

 

«

Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

13

 

the law into their own hands on occasions like
this, and there was no telling when they might
take it into their heads to hang every prisoner
in the {$1, Mark included.

The y did not rest easy under the fearful
suspicion.

Every unusual noise outside the jail seemed
to denote something terrible for the prisoners.

The first few days of his incarceration. the
iyoung ranger suflered mental ain greater than

6 ever had before in all his li e.

Finally, it becoming evident that mob law was
not contemplated in his case, his mind resumed
its usual repose, and he began to look forward
to the day of trial.

He thought it all over, and the more be con-
sidered the circumstances of the case, the blood-
thirst dis sitiOn of the people, the rude man-
ner 0 con ucting suits on the frontier, the gen-
erul desire to hang somebody, guilty or not
guilty, as an example to others, the more he be-
lievedthat his time had nearly come.

“ It will simply amount to this,” he said.
“The case will be pushed against me for all it is
worth. The sheriff will give his testimony,
which alone is open h to hang a man in this
country, and then ack Allen, who is the real
murderer, will come in and tell a pack of lies.
The end will be that I will be convicted and
swung into the air before I am three months
older. No, it won’t do for me to stand trial.
I must make a break for liberty the first oppor-
tunity; I must get out of this hole some way or
another, even if I have to kill somebod in do-
ing it. Ihaven’t had a chance to 100 about
the place much; reckon it’s almost air-tight} but
‘I can’t tell as to that only by observation.’

There were several persons in the jail, charged
with different crimes. --

Mark had not seen any of them yet. but he
.had heard some loud talking and swearing, and
was of the opinion that two or three of them, at
least, were exceedingly hard cases.

“Half of ’em are in for murder,” observed
Sally, the sheriff’s daughter, one day to Mark
as he accosted her at the door of his cell and
entered into conversation with her. “There
will be a general hanging in a. few weeks, I
reckon, an Sally Jones is the gal what’s going
ter pull the rope fer every one of them.” ‘

“Sally Jones?” repeated Mark, inquiringly.

“Yes, that’s what I said; that’s my name
every day in the year; I am Sally Jones, and
don’t you forget it."

“And do you help do the hanging?" asked
Mark, searchingly. '

“ Dad and I hang ’em,” was the reply. “It’s
a heap of fun to hang a real murderer. ’

“Then on won’t have any fun in hangin
me,” said k quietly, ‘,‘ for I am not a rea
murderer.”

Bally did not reply. ‘

CHAPTER XI.
m1: mass A. BREAK son mum-r.

hissrfix Jonas came to see Mark frequently in
is (:9 . »
The boy had evidently impressed her favor-

l

. ably; Or perhaps it was because he was sub-

posed to have murdered old Bill Simington, her
Would-be lover, that she took a likng to him.

She had thoroughly detested Simington, and
now there were indications that she thoroughly
liked Mark, a fact which the latter encouraged
to the extent of his abillt .

Her father had given or orders not to talk
with the prisoners, but as he was absent from
the jail a good part of the time she ran no risk
in disobeying him.

“I shall do as I lease about that,” she had
said to herself, and orthwith made herself free
with the prisoners, articularly with Mark,
whom she talked with%y the hour.

Once she asked the young ranger to give her
the details of the murder of old Bill Siiuington.

“I know ye killed him," she said; “but how
did ye do it? what did ye do it with? what did
he say? and did he ma 6 much fuss about it!
Give me the full particulars of the way ye laid
out the miserly old coon.” -

Mark did not like to say much about the v
murder of. Simington to the girl. There were
several reasons for this. In the first place it
was because he was supposed to have committed
the murder that she had taken so much interest
in him, and he therefore did not like to deny it';
and, as for declaring himself the murderer
when he was not, he could not think of such a
thing for a moment. So be neither denied or
affirmed the charge when talking to Sally, and
so retained her friendship and confidence.

“Do you really think they'll hang me?" he
said to the girl one day, when the subject of the
mur or was mentioned.

“I reckon the will," replied the girl, em-
phatically. “I eel kind 0 sorry for you, but
there is nothing that I kin do to help it.”

“Just put yourself in my place Sally,”said
the boy, “and don’t you suppose I’d do some-
thing for‘you?”

“I don’t knOW.”

“Well, I do; I wouldn’t see you hang for all

the gold in the world. I’d help you escape from
jail, that’s what I’d do.” , /

“Would you though?” -

“Betl would. I wouldn’t see you hang,_not
for killing such a tamal old fool as Bill Sinnng-
ton. Now, if I had stolen a horse—” .

“ Then you’d have to go certain,” put in the
lrl: “ but for killing such a man as Bill Sim-
ngton—well, I don t think you desarvo any
unish’ment. I have half a notion to turn you

so.’

“Do it, Sally,” cried Mark, his young heart

'beating wildly; “give me my liberty, and I’ll
bless you forever.” »

“ But what would dad sayi’?

“ Oh, I don’t know.”

“ He d be mad enough'to flail me alive. He’s
a terror, dad is, when he gets mad. Oh, I don’t
dare do it.”

“ But your father need not know that you
have helped me escape,” persisted Mark. ,

“How could he help knowing itl”

"Bring me some tools and I’ll cut my way
out ” said Mark, “ then I’ll climb to the window,
an lea to the ground.”

 

“An break our tool neck,” put in Sally.
“I won’t do it: don’t dare do it. There isn’t

 

 

 

  

~_.« ~__

any way that I can help you. I reckon you’ll
have to hang.”

“ And you declare then that you will not help
me get away i" said the boy.

The girl hesitated.

f‘10nly on one condition will I help you,” the
saw.

“ Name it," returned Mark, quickly.

“ That you take me with you,” replied Bully,
with a laugh. “ I think it Would be ‘Ust splendid
to lign away with a. murderer! but do ye
say

Mark was silent a. moment, his mind engaged
in rapid thought.

What would he the consequences should he
alone with this girl?

Evidently she had either fallen in love with
him, or was bent on creating a sensation in
order to gratify a love for romance.

Mark did not know what answer to make, the
proposition had come so very unexpected and
sudden.

“Speak quick, young man,” cried the girl;
“shall we call it a bargain? Now, or never.
It’s either you, or the horse-thief in the next
cell, I don’t much care which; I’m bound to make
a break with somebody. Will you elope with me
to-night, or will you stay and get yer neck
stretched like a cowardly dog? Come, what do
ye say?”

Mark hesitated no lon er.

It was a matter of Ta or death with him
now.

He would have cloped with the blac-kest of
negro wcnches under such circumstances.

So would any other person of good sound
sense.

“Never mind the horse-thief, Sally,” he re.
marked, eagerly; “ I’ll go with you, and don't
you ever forget it. I am just dyin to be oft.
What a sensation it will create! an you get
a couple of good horses, Sally?”

“ Yes, two good ones.”

“ Whose are they, Sully?”

“ My father’s—the old man’s.”

“ Are they fleet of foot?"

“ Cnn they run? I should say so.”

“Well, get them ready, and to-night we’ll
get out of this in a hurry. Is there a moon
these nights, Sally?”

“ Yrs, :1 good round one.”

“ So much the better. We can get a long dis-
tance before morning, and then if the catch
us they’ll do a mighty sight better than think
grey w,ill. How will you manage to let me out,

(11 yl

“ Oh, I don’t know; jist steal the koy out of
dad’s pocket, I reckon, and let you out in the
regular way.”

“Well. all right; on way to suit yerself;
only don’t fail to be on hand at the proper time.
Come at midnight, Snlly, at midnight."

Some one was heard coming at that moment,
and Sally dodged away.

The sherifl.’ passed along the row of cells, and
then, after looking around awhile, returned to
another part of the building.

Time passed. Mark was restless during the
remaining hours of the day, and the midnight
hour found him nervous, anxious and expectant.

he heard the rustle of a woman’s dress.

Pluoky Joe. Oh. Boy Aver-got.

 

and the next moment Bally tapped at the door
of his cell.

“ All ready,” whispered Mark.

The girl opened the cell door with a key
which she ‘had stolen from her father’s pocket.

“Quick, kid, quick!" she said.

Mark quickly vacated the cell, and a. few sec-
;mds later he and Sell y were safely outside t
ail.

 

CHAPTER XII.
A DOUBLE FLIGHT.

MARK felt like shouting for joy the moment he
found himself outside the jail.

“ I really believe I shall have to yell,” he said,
seizing his companion by the hand.

“ Don’t ye do it, boy,” whispered Sally, hur-
riedly, “ dad ’ll wake up in a moment, and then
what would become of us? Come with me.”

They glided along the high stone wall that en-
circled the jail, and there, in the shadow of a
clump of trees and bushes, were two horses,
saddled and bridled, and ready to start the mo-
ment they were given the orders.

“ These are the old man‘s swiftest ” remarked
the girl, looking at the two waiting horses; “ I’d
like to see anybody catch us now. Come on.
Are ye ready?’

She sprung into the saddle with only the
slightest effort, and again told Mark to mount
his horse.

The boy did so at once, and then the two
started ofl’, going slowly at first, so as not to
make any considerable noise, and then, reach-
ing a safe distance from the jail, they gave their
horses the reins, and dashed away at full speed.

It was a beautiful moonlight night, romantic
in its loveliness.

The oung ranger was not much of asenti—
menta ist, but he could see that Sally was given
to sentiment and romantic notions a good deal.

He believed that her only )ur ose in running
away with him was to grati y t is romantic iu‘
stinct.

At any rate it was a good thing for him that
she was so inclined, and now that she had done
so much for him, he resolved to repay her to the
best of his ability and to the extent of his op-
portunities.

Very little was said by either of the runaways
for the first two hours of their flight: they
dashed along so rapidly that it was impossible
to carry on a conversation with any degree of
comfort.

At length, their horses becoming badly wind-
ed, they brought them down to a walk, which
was kept up for a full half-hour, during which
tirlrie the runaways discussed the situation in
fu .

“ This is a jolly break,” said the girl, indulg-
ing in a hearty laugh. “I promised myself,
long ago, that I would run away with the first
goodlooking murderer that dad brought in.
VVon’t the people stare, though, when they find
it out”! and jist think of how they’ll open their
eyes!

“And our father, Sally—what will he say?”

“ 0h, e’ll be mad, I reckon,” replied the
girl; “he’ll follow us, of course.”

Mark very much rezretted the fact that Sally

     
   
   
   
    
    
   
  
 
 
 
     
 
  
   
    
   
  
  
   
 
   
   
    
    
  
   
   
  
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   

 

   

 

Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger. Ii

 

had not provided him with a weapon of some

kind, but, as it was, he would have to rely up-

gn his ability to run more than on his ability to
ht.

g“ I haven’t even so much as a toothpick,” he
remarked to the girl, in explanation of what he
would do in case her father should overtake
them. “Now, if I had a-brace of pistols—”

“I didn’t intend ye should haVe any pistols,"
interrupted the girl.

“No? Wliv not?”

“ Bi cause didn’t want ye to shoot any-
bod . Why, you might kill the old manl”

“£nt a pistol would be a handy thing to
have in the crowd, anyhow,” observed Mark,
wondering what else the girl could mean by her
obgections to a weapon.

ally made no reply, and the two rode on
some minutes in silence.

There was another thing that puzzled Mark a
good deal about this girl. I

She watched him very closely, and still
seemed to regard him as a risoner. i

And this was not all. nstead of providin
them with two fleet-footed horses, as she be
agreed to do, Mark discovered at once that both
the horses were very slow of gait and almost
as clumsy us oxen as compared with other
horses.

“ These are not your father’s best horses, are
they, Sally?" at length asked the boy, for, not-
withstanding she had told him they were, he
had good reason to believe other-Wise. ‘f Tell
me truly, you didn’t get the best horses, dld ye,
Sallv?”

“No. of course not, you silly fool,” coarsely
answered the girl.

“Kind 0’ strange that you didn’t,” said Mark,
sharply. “ How do you expect we are to get
away on such plugs as these? Why ‘your
father will overtake us before morning. ’;

“ That’s what I want him to do,” replied the
girl, with a quiet laugh.

“Sell 1” ‘

Mark egan to think the girl was crazy.

“ Didn’t suppose I was running away with ye
for good. did 9?” she asked, contemptuousl y.

"Why, I’m on y out for a short lnrk. If dad
don’t overtake us by morning of course we’ll go
back-of course we will.”

“Of course we will not,” returned the boy,
stoutly. “What do you mean, girl?”

“ Jist what I say.” . '

“And you dont call this running away for
limp

“ Then what do you call it?”

“ A lark. I want to astonish dad and all the
rest of the people —make them open their eyes.
I planned it for them to capture us about morn-
ing; but it they don’t—why, we’ll go back our-
selves."

“You will perhaps, but I won’t, by a long
shot,” remar ed the young tan or, resolutely.

“ Won’t you, though?” said t 6 girl.

“ Bet yer life I won’t," returned Mark.

Nothing more was said for several minutes,
during which time Mark thought over the situ-
ation hurriedly.

He was now beginning to see the real purpose
A! the air]. her motivein running away with

l

 

hima and her idea of what the result would be.
Evi ently all she intruded to do was to take
him out for a short airing, with the idea that
she could return with him whenever she saw
fit. Just why she should have concluded that
Mark would obey her command in this respect
the boy was ata lOss to know, butcertain it was
that she looked upon him as still a prisoner.

“ It will soon be morning,” at length said the
boy; “ and your father does not come. I think
he will not overtake us." ,

“No; then let’s go back.”

“Go back? Return to jail! What do you
mean!"

Both halted at the same time, and in the li ht
of the early morning, surveyed each ot er
critically.

“ Talk to me about going back,” continued
the bvgy, angrily; “ I’ll nevar go back—never!"

“ on’t you, though?”

Quick as a flash the girl pulled 9. hu 9 lstol
goals her dress pocket and leveled it at t 0 y.

as

“You’ll a)! back now, I reckon,” she laid
quietly. “ 'ght-abont-face, mar-chi” -

. CHAPTER XIII.
TOO MUCH FOR SALLY.

“TELL me you won’t go back with me!” cried
the girl; “why, l’ll blow the top of your head
off in less than no time. Come, move along!”

The pistol was still at Mark’s head, and Sally’s
finger u as on the trigger. ‘

“Don’t shootl don’t shoot i” cried the boy, in
evident fear of his life. “ Why, I am surprised
at ye, Sally. You are not really going to take
me back!”

“Bet I aml” averred the young woman.
“ Do you see this gun class to your nose?"

“ Yes, I see it.” '

“Well, it barks seven times, so you wantto
look out how you tool with it- and don’t on
ever forget that Sally Jones s a dead s ot.
Come, we’ve gone fur enough. Dad don’t seem
to catch on to the racket very well, so we’ll go
back without any of his help.’

They started to retum, Mark is little in ad-
vance of his companion. the latter with one
hand grasping the bridle-reins, and the other
still holding the revolver.

“ I’m just about as much a. prisoner as ever, so ‘
it seems,” remarked the boy, as they rode slang.
“I’d like mighty well to know how all thisis
goin to end.

“ reckon we’ll meet dad after awhile.” an-
swered Sally, “and then I’ll turn you over to

him. He won’t kill you, I reckon—not right , - "

away, anyhow. The end will be that you’ll go
back to jail. I ought to have had more 881189
than ter have started on sich a fool trip; there
’3n’t much fun in running away with a murder-
er anyhow. What do you think about it?"

ark did not reply; he was‘ ust then debut-
in with himself how he shoul manage toe:-
tricate himself from this new dimoulty. , .

One thing—he was resolved never to be re- . ,

turned to the jail alive, either by Sally or her
father, but just how he would be able to avoid
this possible alternative he could not. for the
life of him. say. .

1 'v 

   

 

   

w. 39:. ..-.- r~ '.-:': ,

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

 

It was a wild, almost uninhabited stretch or
country through which they were passing now,
and Mark thought that, watching his oppor-
tunity, he might be able to wrest the revolver
from Sally’s hand, and, thus robbing herof her
power to do harm, manage to escape into the
wilderness.

But Sally was not to be caught napping; her
eyes were upon him continually, and her hand
neVer loosened its grasp from the revolver.

The girl did not ave much to say now, neither
did Mark.

They rode slowly and in silence.

By this time it was broad dayli ht. The sun
was just appearing in the east. irds sung in
the trees by the road-side.

' ‘ Every moment Mark expected to see the girl’s
‘ tether comin down the road.

“He’ll be ere store a great while,” she re-

marked, seeming to divine his thoughts by the
v expression of his face.
I ‘ I’m not anxious to see him,” observed Mark,

d iy. ’
Emily had he said this when there was borne
upon the air the distant clattering of horses’

   
  
 
   
    
    
   
    
  
  
   
 
  
    
  
 
  
    
  
   
 
 
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
     
 
    

cots. "
v J‘ Dad’s a-comiag," cried Sally excitedly, rein-
in up her horse.

ark pulled up his horse also.

They had halted on a low bridge that spanned
a deep, sluggish stream, on either side of which
was a heavy growth of trees and underbrush.
, Mark glanced at the water quickly, and a
plan of esca came into his mind in an instant.
_He ave lly a quick glance, then turned his
eyes In the direction of the clattering hoof-
' strokes. I '
, ‘ A. moment later, round a bend in the road
came a troop of mounted men. I

They saw their glame, and instantly gave a
loud, victorious ye ; , - «'

Mark waited not a momentlonger, but sprun
from his horse to the rail of the bridge, an
leaped head-first into the water below, just as
the astonished Sally whipped out her revolver,
but Mark. was out of sight before she could use

it.
, Presently his head appeared
. some distance from the ridge.
« ‘ She drew a head at it and fired.
J11: bullet struck the water an inch from the
e .
e latter again disappeared.
. Ten seconds later Mark was pullingh himself
~ 'from' the water a hundred yards from t 9 bridge
and out of sight (at all his enemies.
‘ Then{ once on the ground, he sprung into a
' jungle-like thicketnear by, and concealed him-
self among the foliage.
Here he remained for some while, his heart in
his throat half the time, for he could hear his
- EH31”?! all around him, and cursing and swear-
becanse they could not find him.
nd loudest of all was the voice oi! Sally.
She declared that she, had shot him dead, and
that his body was even than floating in 'the

creek.

Her father finally thought so too, and gave
ordersthat the stream be watched close] .
. This was Mark’s opportunity to get 0 unob-
«Nod. and he took advantaze of it at once. and

.

above the water

 

 

.‘ . 3....

was soon out of sight and hearing of his pur-
suers.

The boy traveled ra idly.

Hedid not halt unti he had reached an open
pl‘nlrie.

Then he concluded to understand better the
nature of his surroundings, and so halted to take
observations.

There was a log cabin not agreat distance
away, near which was a small patch of growing
corn and a garden of Vegetables.

Mark was in doubt whether he had better ap-
proach the place or not.

What it: the inmates should suspect that all
was not right with him, would they not deprive
him of his liberty?

He thought the matter over hurriedly, then
he looked at his still dripping garments, consid-
ered how utterly miserable he was in every way,
and he resolved to do something for himself at
once if possmle, and trust to luck to help him
through.-

So he walked boldly forward, passed along
the edge of the cornfield, entered the ve eta-
hle garden and approached the cabin by a oot-
path which led directly to the door.

There was no one in sight outside the house,
and no signs of life came from within; at the
appearance of the cabin was not that o deser-
tion, but rather that of temporary absence of
whoever resided there.

[Mark rapped at the door.

No one answered; no one spoke.

He rapped again, louder.

Still no reply.

Then he opened the door and went in. But
the moment he had stepped inside, he started
back, his face filled With surprise: for there,
stretched out on apallet in one corner of the v
room,.was a man apparently lifeless.

It was an aged negro. »

CHAPTER XIV. .
a NEW CHARACTER.

THE first impulse of the boy was to retreat,
when he saw the outstretched body of a man
on the floor before him.

A second thought, however, convinced him
that this would be foolish, and he boldl en-
tered, and approached the apparently lifeless
man.

The man was not dead, however, but only
slee ing.

ark surveyed the black face hurriedly, and
was surprised to discover spots of blood upon
it; then he looked closer and saw other spots
of blood, on the bed-clothing, on the hands of
the sleeper, and on ‘the floor of the room.

“There has been foul work here,” muttered
the boy, “and‘this old negro is concerned in it;
he must-have got the worst of the trouble, by
the looks of things. I wonder who he is?” ’

The sleeper began to show signs of waking
and presently he 0 ened his eyes and fastened
them onthe intru er with a savage glare; then,
quick as a flash, he reached his hand under the
clothing and ulled forth a rusty revolver.

‘ Mark saw is danger at once, and with the
spring of a cat was upon the man in an instant.

.Seizing the revolver, he wrested it from the
uplifted hand withoutudifilculty. for. after the

 

   

 

 

 

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

1"

 

first show of strength the man sunk back weak
and helpless.

“ What do you mean by trying to shoot me!”
demanded the boy, sharply.

The man did not reply; he only groanod, and
turned his face aside.

“You seem badly injured,” remarked Mark,
presently. “ What has been the trouble?”

“ What are you doing here?” asked the negro,
turning suddenly.

“ I only happened in," replied Mark, quietly;
“ I am doing nothing."

During the short silence which followed, the
no to surveyed the boy from head to foot.

‘ I reckon I’se mistaken,” he muttered; “dis
ain’t der feller. I say, yo’ boy, who are yer?”

‘fNobody in particular,” was the answer;
“call me a cowboy, if you wish.”

“ De’n yo’ don’t belong to Dick Belmont’s
gan 3

“ 0; who said I did? I don’t look like a cut-
throat, do I?”

“ Don’t know ’bout dat,” returned the negro;
“ yo’ look powerful hard. Whar yo’ him
from?” - i

. .0

‘ ar 0 go ng

“ Texas)”

“ Through the nation!”

“ Yes. Don’t ask me any more questions
until I have asked you a few.
covered with blood 3”

'I‘he negro groaned and closed his eyes as if in
pam.

“You have had a fight with somebody,” con<
tinued the boy, “and seem to bebadly hurt.
Where are your injuries?”

“ All over me," assured the negro, feebly.

“Kind 0’ ounded allu 1"

“ Jes’ so. hey didn’t give me half a chance or
Pd ’9) killed some ob ’em.”

“Some of them?”

“Yes—Dick Belmont 311’ two odder fellows.
Oh, I knows ’em.”

‘ Has Dick Belmont been here, lately!” ques-
tioned Mark, hurriedly. -

“I don’t know how lately he’s been yer, for
p’raps I’ve been jes’ as good as dead these two
days or more. Dey kim yer, do rascals, an’
kase I wouldn’t gib ’em all I hed, dey knocked
me down an’ pounded me with a club untilI
didn’t know anything; den do rascals take what
day, want an' skip out. When I him to I find
myself on de floor covered with blood; den I
crawl inter bed an’ lie yer more dead dan alive
fo’ I don’t know how long. Lordy gosh! but it
was awful l” a

“ Are you able to help yourself?” asked Mark,
symgathizingldy.

“ an’t har ly move; I'so jes’ as sore as a bile
all ober me.” ‘

“ Maybe I can do something to he] on.”

“ I don’t know; maybe yd kin; so awful,
hungr .” .
Mar lsneed around the room. The ugges-

tion of unger_ made by the negro brought, to
mind the pressmg fact that the boy/ was very
hungry himself. :

“ What can 1 get you to eat?” he asked. “ All
I want is plenty or raw material, and the rest

fi_.'.

1 4‘. ~.A '
r , v A

«I ."  ' ‘1’“!

Why are you all ‘

 

Evil] come easy enough. have ye any bacon or
0111‘?

“I reckon so,” groaned the negrb. “Jes’
scru tch aroun’ an’ find what vo’ kin;don’ ax me
’hout anything, fer I’se awful sick.”

Mark did not wait for an _v further invitation.
He resolved at once to do all he could for the
negro, which at the same time would be doing
something for himself.

So he hustled about the house; administered
to the comfort of the wounded man as best he
could; prepared something to eat for to half-
fnmishcd fellow, of which he also partook;
brought fresh water from the spring and re-
moved the blood-spots from the floor, and, in
short, put the house in perfect order.

From this moment the woundednegroleemed

’ to improve.

He was not badly injured; no bones were
broken; he was only severely bruised about his
head and face.

By the following morning he was able to sit
up, and Mark helped him into a chair, where he
seemed to rest comfortably.

Then he told again the story of his fight with
Dick Belmont, and how that worthy had, with
the help of others, pounded him until he was
unconscmus.

“Then he left you for dead, I suppose?" said
Mark, inquiringl y.

 Ygs, he didn’t reckon I’d ebber come ter life

11:.

“ When he left you, where did he go?" asked _
Mark.

“ I don’t know; reckon he went home. Dore
was a. hul gang- ob ’em, an’ do boss was Dick
Belmont.” ‘

Mark changed the subject by asking the old
negro for a history of himself, personally.

“ Who are you? Where do you come from?
What are you doingherei” ‘

“ I kim yer to get out Oh de wav ob ebbry»
body else,” was the reply; “ I don’t do much ob
anything but hunt an fish; I, raise a‘ little corn
and a few ’taters; my name is George Washing-
ton Horn.”

Mark started.

“ Where did on come from here!” he asked.

“ Ole Kentuc ’.” —

“ What art of Kentucky!”

“ Near ompkinsville.” , / .

“ Did you know the Ludingtonsf'y \ ‘ ’

, “ I should reckon I did.” _

“ Mark Ludington?” . -'

“ I see’d him las’ when he war a toddler—long
while ago. What fo’ yo’ ax me ’bout de Luding-
tons? What do 710’ know ’bout de Ludingtons?”

“A good deal; I am one of ’em; Iam Mark
Ludingtonl”

 

CHAPTER XV.
A BLACK MAN’S rmmsm.

Tm! old negro stared in amazement when
Mark announced his identity.

“ You Mark Ludingt‘oni” e cried. ' “ Why,1
can’t make myself believe it. Whar did yo’
him from boy! I habbent see’d 0’ since yo’
w‘aratoddler. I knoW’d yer fad er well, an’

. know’d‘yer mudder. I use ter work 10’ de ole

 

 

 

 

‘ said the negro.

18 Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

lman Jeers ago. I hearn dat somebody killed

im. -

.“ Yes,” replied Mark quietly.

“ Au‘ killed yer mudder, too.”

H Yes.”

“ And den burn de boned"

“ Yes—only too true.”

“ You must hab been a large boy den, [0’ it
war seberal years after I see’d yo’ las’?’

“ I was' twelve years old then. I wa away
from home at the ‘time, else I would have been
killed too. It was horrible. The house was
surrounded in the night by a lot of desperate
men; my father was called to the door and shot
down in cold blood; than the wretches. murdered
my mother and set fire to the house. Their only
excuse for the butchery was that my father,
who was a judge in that district, had sentenCed
to prison for life a notorious scoundrel who was
a friend of the gang who afterward murdered
both my parents. An eflort was made to cap-
ture the murderers, but they escaped to parts
unknown; and soon the effort was abandoned.”

“ An’ dere wasn’t anybody lcf’ but you,” said
the negro, solemnly; “ dere wasn’t anybody to
take care ob el” .

. “ I was al alone,” replied the boy; “ but I
was old enough to take care of myself. I had
only one thing to live for after that! I would
track the scoundrels down and wreak a bloody
vengeance on them all. So Ilearned theirnames
—learned all about them; made the character of
each a study; and from that time on I have been
searching for them. Do you think the search

"has been a failure?” .

“ Lordyl lordyl I can’t tell nuflin’ ’bout it,”

“ I don’t know.”

' “ Well, it has not; I have found them; I know

. where they are; I am on their track. Would

> you like to know the name of the leader of the

,/ gang?”

r f the house, among whom was the sheri‘
"county, rather of that remarkable girl, Sally.

“ ’Deed I would. Hab I ebber see’d him?”
“ Yes. often; you know him much better than
I do. His name—” '
He stop ed speaking suddenly, for, glancmg
through t e span door. his quick eye caught
sight of sever mounted men comm tgvfiarg
e or

Mark thought it was all up with him then.
He could not escape through the door, lor ’that

- .would be to, show himself to his enemies, who
' more now within a dozen yards of the house.

In a few words the boy explained the situa-
tion to his companion, and urged him to show
,him some way of escape.
“ For heaven’s sake] don’t let them take ,me l"
fie cried; “ I’d rather die than to fall into the
ands of that bloodthirsty crowd. Conceal me

_ 'DomewherE."

The old negro pointed to an empty barrel
standing in one corner of the room, and hurried-
ly told the boy to jump into it.

.“Quickl quick! or dey’ll cotch ye,” he said;
“ um inter de bar‘l ter oust.”

ar did as directed, without a moment’s
delay, and the African covered him over With
astrip of old carpet, and admonished him to
keep very quiet and he would get rid of the
visitors as quickly as he could. *

 

 

Presently there was a loud thumping at the
door, followed by a burst of sunlight, and the
next moment Sherifl’ Jones and several me
pushed their way into the room. ‘

The negro greeted them kindly, and asked
them What he could do for them that morning.

“ Can’t do much of anything, I reckon,” ro-
plied the sheriff. “ Ye haven’t see’d any
strangers about these diggin’s latelyl—a young
felllear’ pretty well banged up, hungry and tired
i e

“ No sich feller’s been along yere dat I knows
ob,” answered the ,African; " I habben’t see’d
any ho .”

“ What’s the matter with ye, old man?” said
the sheriff, suddenly; “ what makes ye look so
’tarnal ghostlyl I’ve see’d lots of dead niggci-s
in my day, and you look jist like one of the-m!
What ails ycl” ‘ .

“ I got a bad thumpiu’ t’other day,” replied
the negro.

“ Got a bad thumping? Who thumped ye?”

“ Dick Belmont?”

“ So Dick’s been round yer lately, has he?”

“ Yes, an’ I tole you, he mighty nigh killed
me dis time fo’ sho’.”

“Was there anybody with him?”

“ Yes, several fellers.”

“ Was there a. young chap among ’em. a kind
0’ ert-lookin’ boy?” '

t came into the Atrican's head that a. first-
class falsehood would be a good thing at that
moment, so he replied:

“ Let me ’flect a leetle; ’pears ter me dei‘e
was a boy in dnt gang; yes, dat’s a mighty fcc’,
dere was jist sich a boy as you ’scribe. I re-
member now, do little cuss looked as dough he
had ist kim up from de bottom oh (la creek.”

“ ripping with water, wasn’t he?” asked the
sheriff, excitedly.

“ Yes, dat’s what’s do matter; an’ be was de
berry hardest-lookin‘ cub I ebber see’d store in
all my life.”

“Did he go oil with the rest of the gang?”

“ I reckon he did; he seemed to be on mighty,
good terms with Dick Belmont.”

“ I told you so,” declared the sherifl. turning
to his men; “ these rascals all run together.
Dick Belmont is the leader of the gan , and this
boy is one of ’em; I knew by the loo 5 of the
young rascal that he was a mighty hard case
and I am not surprised to know that he is one 0
Dick Belmont’s crowd. Lord! but I wish I could
lay hands on him; I wouldn’t fool with him
long, I tell ye. I say, old man, you are sure he
went away with Dick Bilmontl’

“ I am dat; mighty sure.”

“ Well, then, we may as well return home,"
observed the sheriflto his companions; “it won’t
do to follow them now; we are not strong enough
to fight Dick in his own home. But I’ll tell you
what we will do; in a few days a lot of us will
get together and go down tlizir and clean him
out root and branch. We kin do it; we kin kill
every one of ’em, and that’s jist what we’ll do.”
' They left the house at once, mounted their
horses and rode away.

Then Mark came out of his hiding-place and

breathed a sigh of reliet. ' _
., “That was a close call.” he said.“and no

 

 

 

 

mistake. What a bloodthirsty crowd they were!
Had they caught me, I really behevo they
would hava murdered me on the spotl"

CHAPTER XVI.
A DANGEROUS JOURNEY.

“DEY might have cotched 0’ easy ’nufl, ef
dey had on’y looked in de bar ,” remarked the
African, well leased with the success of his un-
dertakin . “ Vasn’t dat a mighty big lie dat l
tole ’emi

“ Yes, that was a good one,” answered Mark;
“ you made them think that l was a natural-
born robber. Well, it don’t matter; I’d as soon
have them think that as anything else. It was
a close shave I had, though, sure enough. Seems
to me I’d better get out of here right away."

“ It don’t ’pear to be worry safe fo’ ye in dis
locality,” observed the negro. “But whar kin
yo’ 0 to be any safer?”

“f don’t know,” replied Mark, slowly; “ prob~
ably nowhere. But there is no reason why I
should remain here. I have about made up my
mind to try and find Dick Belmont.”

The African looked surprised.

“ Golly mighty I” exclaimed be; “ what 130'
you want to see Dick Belmont? Don’t o’know
dat he’ll murder ye on (is spot! Now tole ye,
boy, better keep away from dc rascal Belmont,
fo’ he’s de baddest man in dis part 0b (is coun-
try. I knows him, I do, an‘ I tole ye fo’ yer
own good; Dick is a werr bad man.’

 

“But suppose everybo y else is against me‘

but Dick what ihen'!’
“ Dere s whar ye make a mistake, boy,” an-
swered the old man: “everybody ain‘t ag’in’
e. The trouble all kim from your getting inter

‘ ad com an . Jes’ as long as yo”sociate with
P y

sich tellers as Dick Belmont. jes’ dat ’ere long
will ye be ’cused ob doin’ jes’ as he does—rob—
hin’ an’ stealin’. - Take do adwise ob an ole man,
an’ keep ’way from Dick BelmOnt.”

Mark knew that the old negro was right in
what he had said, but for all that the boy was
determined to renew the acquaintance of the
outlaw Belmont, and to that end was preparing
to start at once in search of him.

“ I’ll return in a few days or weeks,” he said,
“ and you will then know why it is I so much
desire to meet the rascal in his own home.”

The negro fitted Mark out with a blanket, a
leathern pouch well filled with food, a rusty
pistol—the on] one in the house—plenty of am-
munition, an an ancientdooking mule, the
only four-legged quadruped on the premises.

“ Yo’ mo ht jis’ as well hah de hul outfit as
not,” he said “ fo' I’ll nehber hab ’casion to use
’em ain. fac' I’so powerful glad ter git
shedo dat mule, l is fo’ sartin‘ sho’. You’ll

it better ' uainted wid dat mule arter yo’ bah
ad him a ay or two.”

“ Think sol” said Mark. “ What sort of a
critter is he.”

“ He’s do best mule on dis prairie, I tole 0’,”
re lied'the African; “he’s jes‘ like a cra e to
ri e, an’ asswitt as lightning. I tole yo’, boy,
he’s de daisy mule, an’ no mistake."

“ Then what’s the matter with himi” asked

Mark.
" Dere ain’t anyt’ing do matter wid de mule,"
replied the African.

Plucky J co. the Boy Avenger.

 

   

19

" But you insinuated something of the kind,"
insisted Mark.

“ Not about de mule, but de mule's hind legs—
dey will fly up.”

V ‘ Ohl he‘s a kicker.”

“He’s do wuss kicker I eher see’d in all my
life. Dere don’t anybody dare git in his rear,
fo’ he‘ll back right up on ’em an’ kick dere day-
lights out. Bear dat in mind, young feller, an’
of you’ve got an enemy dat ye want ter get rid
ob, bring dis mule to bear on him and he'sa
gone sucker, and no mistake.”

“ Maybe I shall be able to make use of him in
that way.” said Mark, refini-tively; “ depend
u n it, I’ll not get in range of his heels myself,
I’Yloleave that for some other feller to do. You
say he is a lightning runneri"

“ Bet yer life he is, boss.”

“ Then he suits me first-class,” observed Markf -
“ and I’m much obliged to you for the loan 0
him. Good-by.”

The young man was not long in puttin him-
self out of sight of the cabin of his negro riend.

He traveled rapidly, for he was anxious to
reach the home of the outlaws, where he
thou ht he would at least be safe from capture
by t e authorities of Ford county, who, no
doubt, were still in search of him.

Mark had a slight knowledge of the country
through which he was passing, for he had been
there before, but he did not know the exact
locality of the rohhers’ retreat, which was some-
where in the Indian Territory.

He was confident, however, that heicould find
it, and he believed moreover that it would be
safe for him to boldly face the band, inasmuch
in he was on terms of friendship with its

eader.

So he hurried along, feeling very hopeful of

the result of his mission. . i
‘ He found the mule a very docile animal,
all appearances, very swift of foot and kind of
di osition; he also found that his negro friend
be supplied him with food enough to last him
several days.

The first, second and third nights of his jour-

ney Mark slept on the ground; the fourth night

he came upon an empty cabin. which he ap ro-
priated for both himself and mule, and the th
night found him an inmate of an Indian tent,
for he had now reached the heart of the Indian
Territory, where’ friendly Indian. were quite
numerous.

The owner of the tent was an Indian hunter,
who lived alone some distance from the lndian
settlement. ' ~

He was a middle-aged man, a pure-blood
Indian; cunning, crafty, deceitful and danger-
ous. '

He seemed very well acquainted with all
parts of the Nation, and for that reason Mark
concluded to remain with him over night and
cultivate his acquaintance. '

No doubt the fellow knew something about .
Dick Belmont and his gang, and coul direct
the boy to the den of the out aws. At any rate,
Mark concluded to interview the man on the
subject, and to that end would remain with him
over night. '

So he tied his male to a stake driven deep in
the ground. save him a little hay to eat. and

 4.:«5'

 

" died.

 

 

20

Piucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

 

then, with the Indian, sought the tent, for by
that time it was long after dark.

Then he began to uiz the red-skin in regnrd
to his knowledge 0 Dick Belmont, and soon
had all the information he desired. He learmd
that the rubber band was composed of about a
dozen men; that they occupied a. ranch in the
center of an unbroken wilderness a. short dis-
tance only east of the Texas cattle-trail; that
Dick Belmont was even then at home, for he
i had passed the abode of the Indian only a few
days revious.

“I’ 1 get there in time for Slipper to—morrow
night,” said Mark, to himself, reflectively; “ but,
as for the supper, that will depend upon, how
glad they are to see me.”

, Without a thou ht of danger, he wrapped
himself in his blan ct, lay down upon the floor
and went to sleep.

——

CHAPTER XVII.

THE MULE PLAYS AN IMPORTANT PART.

WHEN Mark awoke the next morning he found
himself alone in the tent. The Indian hunter
was gone.

The boy had not seen or heard him leave the
tent, and it was a. mystery to him how he could
have gotten out unobserved.

' But, anyhow, he‘was gone.

“ Like as not the rascal will get me into some
sortof trouble et,” thought the young avon-
fier; “I didn’t ike the looks of him from the

rst. One thing, these so-called friendly In-
dians are all great thieves, and it may he that
this chap’s idea has been to rob me. Well, he
can’t get much, that’s certain—nothing of value
but the mule.”

I It occurred to Mark at that moment that he

would very much dislike to lose the mule, and
tearing that it had really been stolen, he hur-
, ried out to see what had become of it. "

Standing by the door of the tent, he saw
that/the mule was still there where he had
tied it, looking as docile as ever, munching the
ha and fighting the flies with its short, bristly

\v “He didn’t steal my mule, anyhow,” ob-
served the boy, as he a proached the appar-
ently docile animal. “ eavensl what have we
here?”

He was startled at seeing stretched out upon
the ground near where the mule was feeding
the gure of a man. _ A

Mark recognized the figure at once.

It was that of the Indian hunter!

He lay with his face to the ground, and his
bogynurled up as if in pain.

e was stone dead.
Mark knew at once how and why he b

‘He had been kicked to death by the mule!
The latter had evidently been approached
from behind, in the night, and had let out his

. hind feet with the result as abovo.

“He wanted to.steal the critter, I reckon,
inferred the boy; “served him right; no decent
,man would steals. mule. M old black friend

' said he was some on the kic , but I didn’t .np-

Doso hofwu quite so much of a battering-ram.

‘- ,

   

He’syz} good-enough sort of a mule for me dead
sure _

Mark had no reason for remaining longer in
that vicinity, so he mounted his mule and rode
away.

“ I might have buried the Indian,”he thought,
“but it don’t matter much, anyway, about the
next thlng I hear will be that I killed him, and
like as not all the red—skins in the nation will
be looking for me inside of a week. Well, let
them look.”

He had not gone for when he came suddenly
insight of a camp, which proved on closer in-
vestigation to be that of the sherifl of Ford
county, who, with a dozen mounted men, was
on his way to the lonely retreat of Dick Bel-
mont.

From behind along strip of bushes, Mark sur-
veyed the camp with mingled feelings of fear
and curiosity. -

His belief was that the sheriff meant business
this time, and would certainly give the outlaws
dire trouble. He had returned quickly with his
men, and Was now ready to give the robbers a
des erate fight.

ark was in more fear of the sheriff than he
was of Dick Belmont; in fact, the latter had
saved his life once, while the former was only
too anxious to take it, and would certainly
shoot him down at the first opportunity.

The first impulse of the boy was to avoid both
the robbers and the sheriff’s crowd; but think-
ing deeper, and still chafing over the ill-treat-
ment he had received while a prisoner in the
Ford county ail, he concluded to have a little
revenge, and 0 that end, determined to hasten
to the abode of the outlaws, and inform. the
leader of the band of the approaching danger.

Before going, however, he took a. good look at
the men who composed the sheriif‘s posse, and
noted with some little surprise, that one of the
number, a short, thick-set man, with a dark,
frowning face, he had seen in company with
Dick Belmont some weeks before in a home-
steader’s cabin on the prairie.

“I surely am not mistaken in the man,” he
said; “but why, being a friend of Dick Bel-
mont, is he here in the company and on
friendly terms with these men? There is
treachery in the air, I fear.”

Watching the man closely for some minutes,
Mark came to the conclusion that he was acting
the part of guide for the “minions of the law,
and was, in truth, the Benedict Arnold of the
robber band. ,

The boy had tied his mule to a shrub some
distance from the camp of the sheriff‘s posse,
and protected by a longstrip of bushes that
bordered the ravine at the head of which the
camp was located, had crawled up to within

formed a good idea of its strength, purpose,
and the nature of its movements against the
outlaws. Having gained this knowledge, Mark
returned to his mule, mounted the taithful
animal at oncorand rode away. ‘

He was no longer in doubt what to do. He
would hasten to the camp of the outlaws, and
inform Dick Belmont of his dangerl

He was not long in reaching the camp of the
[energetic sheriff of Ford county.“

 

easy sight and hearing of the band, and so had,

 

 



  

r

 

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger. .1

 

" l’m mighty glad any of ’em didn’t see 'me,”
obsorvcd Mur I; “ it would have been' all up
with me if they had. As it looks now, it is not
particularly safe for me anywhere."

Mark was in the saddle nearly the entire day;
he rode rapidly, and although il(“ did not know
the exact loc:ition of the outluws’ nhoilo, he 5110‘
ceeded in renchirg it about nightfall, having
gone only a few miles out of his wny.

A log cabin in the center of n fle'd of corn,
with heavy timbers on n11 Siilvs, only a short
distance away, stables and other outbuildings,’
a well-beaten path running down to 1'. spring, a
deep ravine on one side of the house—these are
somu of the things which attraclvd the boy's
utti-nliou just as the sun was going, down that
day.

“ This must be the placa,” he concluded;
“although I am not certain of it by any means.
I’ll find out, however, by rapping at the door.”

Dismounting, he rapped boldly at the door,
which was opened at once by n gray—haired old
man, the very opposite in appearance from a
robber or other outlaw.

The old man was the only person in the
house.

He invited Mark in, and, closing the door,
asked him what he would have.

“ Nothing in particular,” replied the boy
quickly; “ I am in search of a friend.”

“ A friend!"

“Yes; perlvtps you know him and will show
me the way to his ranch; I’d like to get there
to-night. The name of my friend is Dick Bel-
went."

The old man burst into a hearty laugh.

“Don’t you know me?” he said; “can‘t ya
tell who I am?”

Mark rewgnized the voice at once.

The gray-haired old man was Dick Belmont
in disguise!

 

CHAPTER XVIII. ’
AMONG THE OUTLAWS.
“DIDN’T recognize me in this rig, did you.
Plucky?” remarked the robber chief, still laugh-

mg.

“ I didn’t. for a fad," replied Mark, .who, al-
though somewhat astonis ed at the sudden
transformation of the man, was wise enough
not to show it.

e “I haven’t see’d ye for several weeks,” went
on the outlaw; “where have you been all Shh
tin e. Mister Joe?” .

“Just roaming around," replied the boy, in-

diflerentl . “I don’t stay in one place very
long. I to 1 ye. Did you ever expect to see me
again?”

“ Wal, no—and then ag'in, yes. I kind 0'
reckoned you’d show up after a while—that in,
if ye wasn‘t dead. I thought perhaps the til-
lers had killed ye, after I skipped out that day.
You remember!” '

“Bet I do!” said Mark; “wasn’t I there at
the time? You killed one of the chaps dead,
and the others thought to have revenge on me,
but I was too spry for them; I got away.”

" Had to do a little shooting, Plucky?”

“ No; came very near shooting one of them,
thou h; just jumped on my horse and seem-
pere away at fullspeed."

v

 

“ Did they foller ye?"

“ No—not any great distance.”

“And you’ve been ever since that time com-
ing here?"

“Not much, I haven’tl” returned the boy
emphatically; “ I’ve had a mighty hard time of
it, tho past six weeks.”

“ Yes? What’s been the troublel"

“I was arrested for murder,” replied Mark,
“ and have only just esca ed from jail. An old
teller by the name of ‘imington was found
dcml in his bed, his throat cut—"

I Difik Belmont interrupted the boy with a
an .

“gl‘hat’s the best thing I’ve heard of for a
long time," he declared. “ why, I killed old
Simington, myself. And it was a bad job, too;
there wasn’t any money to s oak of. So you
got picked up fer it, did ye, P uckyl"

“Yes; I was in the Ford county jail, several,
weeks.” ,

“ How did ye get out?”

Mark told the story of his escape; how he had ,

worked on the romantic nature of the sherifl’s
daughter; how she had planned to elope with
him: how they had crept noiselessly from the
jail in the dead of night; how they had dashed
away, going at full speed until morning, and
then how he had escaped from the girl who,
tiring: of the romantic flight, wished to return
and take Mark with hcr; he told the story in
detail, but said nothing of his meeting with the
aged negro or what else ocuurrod subsequent to
his escape from the girl by jumping into the
water as recorded in another chapter.

“You've been through the mill, for a fact,”
averred the outlaw; “ and I don’t wonder that
you feel kind 0’ sore toward everybody. What
are you goin’ to do now?”

“ I don’t know,” replied the boy.

“'Isn’t it about time that you got back at
these tellers in some way i” observed Dick Bel-
mont. quietly. ,
, 6t Ho‘v?”

“Why. they don't appear to love you, very
much, so what‘s the use of you lovin themi
My motto is to slap back: give people t e same
sort of treatment they givo you. If it hadn't
been for me. they’d burned you at the stake;
and if it hadn’t been for Sally, just about now
they’d be gifting ready to hang you. Now, in
my opinion, the best you can do Is to retaliate.
You are about as bad off as I am now; you
don’t dare live an honest life, for, first you
know, you’ll be picked up for some murder, and
then what will become of ye? Plucky, you
are in hard luck, for a fact.”

Mark acknowledged as much and asked who!
he should do about it.

“ Turn robber, murderer, outlaw—do as you
please; get a few friends around _ou nd make
It hot for everybody else," rep led Ick Bel-
mont; “that islthe way I do, and don’t I euc-
ceed retty we ?

“Yliiu are a good one, Dick,” said the boy,
familiarly; “ I wish I was half as smart as you
are. But it seems tome you are a. little care-
less about the way you livel”

“ How careless?” -

“ Your enemies might surprise you; but then
you certainly do not live here all alone?”

 

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
    
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
 
   
  

  
 
    
 
    
    
   
 
  
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
  
 

' and know you, Plucky’, that I am willing to

V band?”

Husky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

“ Oh, no; this is only an outlook t; there
are other cabins. When I am here a one, I die-
ise myself as an old hermit; but I don’t stay4
ere much of the time. Do you see those hills
Over thari”
Mark glanced out of the window.
" Yes, I see them," he said.
“ Well, our main stronghold is thar. Most of
the tellers are over thar now, I reckon. You
see, I ain’t ’teard to tell you this because on
are in the same boat with us, and I won] n’t
wonderit you’d join the gang, it I would ask
you Plucky, eh?’
“ ’Why don’t you ask me, then?”
“ Would you really like to join usi” inquired
the outlaw.
“ For a while, I would,” returned Mark.
“And you’ll do your part of the work?"
“ Certainly.”
"Then it‘s a bargain; and you are a mighty
sensible b0 , and 1 tell you whyz—In the first
place, it’s t e best thing you could do, and in
thernext place ii'you hadn’t ’a’ joined us it would
be mv duty to put you out ot the way!”
“ Not kill me?”
“Yes, kill e. No stranger ever leaves this
lace alive. t wouldn’t do for tellers to come
ere and then go ’wny and tell all about what
they had seen. How do I know that you
wouldn’t come back inside ot a week with a

ang ot-men, and what w0uld be the result?
gi’hy, like as not the hull at us would get
killed. NO' we don’t take chances on anybody,
and it’s on y because I have see’d you store,

have you go in with us.
“ Are you sure there are no traitors in your

Dick Belmont gave Mark as startled look, and
the latter returned it with interest.

“ What do you mean?" demanded the outlaw,
sharply. ' I

Before Mark could reply the door opened and
in stepped a man, none other than the one
whom the boy had seen and noted particularly
that morning with the sheriff‘s osse.

The new-comer greeted Dick elmont with a
shake of the hand, and gave Mark a scrutiniz-
ing look, then he tell to talking about himselt
in a way that satisfied the boy that there was
at least one traitor in the band of Dick Bel-
montfilnd that one the man who had just en-
tered e room.

CHAPTER XIX.
rm smmr, ran rumor.

"So you have been back to old Kentuck,

have ye,” remarked Dick Belmont to the new-
comer, as the latter paused a moment in his
rapid talk. “ Don’t reckon you see‘d any old
landmarks!”
” “Not man ,” was the reply: “I didn’t stay
long; it wasn t healthy fer me there. I find that
I’m enter here than anywhere else. Where are
the rest at the boys, Dick?’

“Part ot ’em are away somewhere, I don’t
know where; the rest are over yonder among

 

the hills. I’ve been mostly alone yer to-day un-

til jist now, when this oung teller brought up.
You don’t know him, reckon!”

“ No3—uevcr see’d him store.”

“Well, he’s a distant relative of Bill Jones,
the sheriff of Ford county,” observed Belmont,
with a laugh. “He never told me so, but I
thought it must be so, seeing as how he’s been

diving with the sherifl! for several weeks. In
fact, when he left the ranch Bill liked him so
well that he tollered him half-way here. He’s a
good one, is this kid.”

There was more talk of the same kind, and
then Mark boldly asked the new-comer his

ame.

“Tim Shirley,” was the reply.

Mark struggled hard to conceal a look of sur-
prise. Again he s oke.

“ You are from lientucky, you say?"

(L Yes.”

“Where in Kentucky!"

The man looked annoyed. He said:

“ What do you want to know tor, young
mani What business is it of yours? Durned it
it don’t strike me as how you are turned impu-
dent.”

“Take it as you please,” returned Mark,
coolly; “I don’t ask anything of you.”

“Nor I of you young chap, so keep a civil
tongue in your head; that is my advice. Do
you hear?”

“I bear but I don’t intend to heed,” assured
Mark. “”I’ll say what I please, and don’t you

torglez itl
. ‘ eep yer tongue still 1” roared the man.

“ Oh, don’t,” said Mark, mockingiy.

“I have a notion to shoot you full of holes,
you impudent little skunk! What business have
you here, anyhow?"

“I live here,” replied Mark; “ this is my
home, and it you think I am a coward, just try
me on, open hostilities with your little gun, or
pitch into me with a knife, and see how the
thingewill pan out. Let me give you Warning
right here Tim Shirley. I don't fancy your
style, and first you know I’ll put you so full at
holes you won’t know erselt’. Mind whatI say,
and be mighty caret how ou talk.”

There would have been a ght tht n and there
had not Dick Belmont interfered at that mo-
ment, and the only reason he ’did so was to
question Mark more fully as to what he knew
of treason in connection with the robber band.

“ No fighting here,” he said in a commanding
voice; “ ut up your guns, and behave your-
selves. 0 you hear?”

“ I’ll have your heart yet ” growled Tim Shir-
ley, reluctantly returning his pistol to his belt.

‘ All I ask is a tair fight,” assured Mark, cool-
ly. “ I’m not in the least afraid of you.”

“Come, Tim," put in Dick Belmont, “ go and
find the rest at the boys. and I’ll look after this
kid. Some other time it you two want to fight,
why jl’l’Bli pitch right in. At present, let’s have

ace.
“I’llflx him, I’ll fix him,” growled the en-

raged man, as he started for the door; “let me

alone for that. Oh, the miserable little skunk l"
He went away swearing sayagely to himself,

2pc! soon again Mark and Dick Belmont were
011.9 ”

 

 
 
      
      

 “v,-

        
     
    

 

 

..,. $1093".

1
7r

 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger. I3

 

“ You said something about a traitor in the
ranks," remarked the robber chief, hurriedly;
“ What did ya mean, bofl” |

“Just what I said; there is a traitor in the
band.”

“ Where is he? Who is he?” hissed the out-
law. “ It will be well for you to make your
words good. Tell me the name of the traitor!"

“ Tim Shirley!” answered Mark, stoutly.

“ Can you prove it, Pluckyi”

“I can. Even now there is a crowd of fel-
lows on the way to capture you, and Tim Shir-
ley is guiding them here. Early this, morning
I saw him with them—they were heading this
way, and all were well armed. I lay in the
bushes and watched them closely, and Shirley
has there with the rest, as big a gun as any of
them. For that reason I am here; I came to
warn you. What do you think now of Tim
Shirley?"

The robber chief was silent. He was thinking
deeply. Presently he s oke:

,“ I believe you are to ling me the truth. Who
is the leader of this crowd of robberkillers?”

“Bill Jones, the sherifl of Ford county, Kan-
sas. I know the rascal well.”

“How many are there of ’em?”

“Something like a dozen; it’sa bad crowd.
How many men have you?"

“ The boys are not all here. I reckon about
ten men ar’ all I could scare up at present.
Plucky, if I was dead sure Tim Shirley was a.
traitor I’d go this minute and murder him in
cold blood. You hear me? Tim Shirley could

not live another hour if I knatued fer sure he:

was a traitor.” /

“ Watch him—that’s all I’ve got to say,” re-
turned Mark. , “But, one thing: look out for
yourself 1”

“ And ou—”

f‘l’ll do the scouting for the crowd; I’ll be
pressnt in the fight, sure as a gun! I have given
you warning; now do as on please. For my
part, 1’]! never be taken a ive by such a scoun—
drel as the sherifl of Ford county 1”

Mark was about to go when his eye caught
sight of what seemed to be a photograph among
acollection of articles on a rude tab e in one
corner of the room. He picked it up carelessly
and glanced it over. It was the photograph of
six rough-looking man, sitting in a group, with
Dick Belmontas the center figure. it was an
old picture apparently, somewhat crumpled and
torn, and very badlysoiled. Besides Dick Bel-
mont there was another man whom Mark recog-
nized—none other than Tim Shirley.

“ I do not know the others.” said the boy,
speaking to the outlaw.

“Ned Wilber, Jack Leighton, Hank Wilson,
and Sam Collins," replied the outlaw, slowly.

Mark’s eyes glittered, but the robber chief
was looking in another direction, and did not
See the change in the oung avonger’s face.

“ Are they all here ” asked Mark, quietly.

“ Yes. all of ’em."

a sudden suspicion entered Dick’s mind at
this moment, and he turned quickly.

“Why do on ask, Plucky'i What are these
men to you he demanded. .

“ I knew them,” answered Mark sternly,
mpfinfl toward the door; “they are the ones

to get us all murdered.

 

wuo murdered Judge Ladington, oi' Kentuck
—-butchered his poor wife and burned his
sons; Glad to know they are all here. Good

837

For the first time in his life Dick Belmont
was at a loss to know what tosu or do, and
when he had recovered his wonte composure
the lad was gone!

—.

CHAPTER XX.
rsnanmo 0N DANGEROUS GROUNDS.

Tim sheriff’s posse, guided by Tim Shirley,
reached the vicmity o the outlaws’ home late
in the afternoon.

It had been arranged that a halt should he
made about a mile from the outlook cabin of
the robbers. in order to give the traitor Shirley
a chance to investigate the fighting condition of
the enemy. ’ «

“It would be a mi hty good thing to steal
their ammunition,” ‘ erifl? Jones had said to
him; “or if you can’t steal it, water it. It
don’t matter, only so you spoil their ability to
give us much of a fight.”

It was a clear case of treachery with Tim
Shirley. The large rewards offered for tie
capture of Dick Belmont. dead or alive, was
what induced him to turn traitor.

And now he had conducted 0. well-armed and
bloodthirsty enemy almost to the very door of
his former home, and had himself sneaked in to
see what greater damage he could do. .He did
not know that his treachery had been dis-'
covered by the young man whom he had just
met, and that Dick Belmont had been informed
of the situation. ‘

The latter, as soon as Mark was gone, hast-
ened out of the house. and mounting a horse
rode rapidly to where the restot the ban
were congregated. ‘

Shirley was already there.

“What dii you do with the kidi”he asked,
with a sneering laugh.

“ The kid is all right,” replied Belmont quick-
ly; “ I only Wish I could say as much fer you.
:jlnll ,Stirley, you are a black-hearted scoun-

re 1

The traitorous villain started.

For a moment he could not speak. ,

The men begun to gather around the‘two
principals in what promised to develop into a
bi row. '

“ on are a blade-hearted traitor. if ever
there lived one,” thundered Dick Belmont. “ l 
have a great mind to cut out your false heart
and feed it to the dogs. Say, what do you
mean by such treacheryi” '

“ Treachery i”

“Yes, treachery.” .

“I do not understand an. I have done
nothing out of the way. but do you mean?"

“Just what I say; you are a traitor. I have
discovered your black purpose. and none We
soon. Boys! see this man~ he has laid a Ian.
What do you thin of
that?” \

There was a chorus of angry exclamations,
and the robber chief was asked to explain him-

self at once. .
He did so. He repeated all that Mark had

 

r

5 .
.__
't.
A
$1

--

’a

L

   
 

\

Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

told him and in conclusion ordered the men to
prepare to defend themselves.

“It’s all a miserable lie,” declared the sus—
pected man, badly frightened. “ Bill Jones isn’t
within a hundred miles of here. The whole
thing is a trumped~up story by that beast of a

7’

Tim Shirley had been under suspicion for a
long while in the robber band, and it was now
decided not to allow him to escape without an
investigation of his alleged treachery.

80, 1) order of the outlaw chief, he was so.
curely ound and placed in a rude prison-house
among the rocks.

Then the band began to make preparations to
meet the enemy.

Meanwhile the latter were concealed in a
clnnip of bushes a mile or so away, and all wen
eager for the fray.

Bill Jones, the sherifl of Ford county, Kan-
sas, was particularly high-spirited.

“We’ve ot ’ein where the can‘t squirm
now,” he said, “ and if Dick Bo mont isn’t dead

,by to-morrow night, why, you may just call
me a sinner. We’ll make mince—meat of the
whole gang, and don’t you forget it.”

“It’s about time Tim Shirley was getting
back," remarked one of the men, speaking to
the sherill.’ of Ford county.

“ Should have been back an hour ago,” ob-
servad the man of law; “ can’t understand why
he don’t come.”

I “Perhaps he’s playing of! on us,” said the

other speaker.

“I reckon not,” returned the sherifl. “ But I
wish he’d get back, fer I want to open the ball
about midnight, and it’s mighty nigh midnight
now. I’d give a good deal to know if that
gaung sprig which run away with my darter

ally is among the crowd' for, if he is, I want
the special privilege of killing him.”

The sheriff’s posse numbered twelve men.
They were hardy, rough fellows, nearly as bed
as the outlaws themselves in the matter of
character, and equally as bloodthirsty.

Having been informed of the situation and
exact location of the robbers’ stronghold, they
were now awaiting the return of the spy, Shir-
loy, when they would move forward and give
the sham battle.

“ If Shirley can only manage to steal the bulk
of their ammunition, or water the powder, our
job will be an easy one,” Bill Jones had said,
and it was his belief that every one of the out-

: laws could be killed without the attacking party

losing a man. _
,8!) they waited for the return of their traitor
ide, not knowing that his treachery had been
iscovered, and that he was even then ahelpless
prisoner, with the very fair certainty that he
would be coolly murdered before the rising of
. another sun. '
, The night were on.
, The sheriff’s posse still watched and waited.
The men were becoming very uneasy. They
were fearful now that Tim Shir ey had betrayed

them. .
The latter did not ut in an a pearance, and
,.he was still absent w on the lig t of morning

broke. V V .
Then  seized the men. and they downd-

. ',. r a.
" wt; ma’li’k’k‘fv-f 49" w

 

ed an immediate order to attack the stronghold
of the outlaws, or else that they be withdrawn
from the field at once.

At this moment, while Sheriff Jones was de-
bating with himself what to do, a loud yell burst
on the air, and immediately thereafter half a
score of wild riders, each with a pistol in either
hand, dashed into view, and, scattering out like
Indians formed a circle around the sheriif’s as-
tonished party, and whoo ing, howling and yell-
ing, made straight towar them.

But Bill Jones was e ual to the emergency.
Instantly he commando his men to fall flat on
their faces and give the enemy the full benefit
of a close—range fire, hoping to dismount them
at least.

“If you can’t kill a man, kill a boss,” he cried
excitedly.

The wild riders came on.

Yelling, shouting, swearing—they were like
so many flying demons or the impersonation of
incarnate fiends.

But their fury was only a pretense. When
within speaking distance of the sheriff’s posse a
halt was made suddenly, and the leader of the
rangers rode forward a few paces and hoarser
shouted:

“I command all of ye to surrender. If ye
refuse, I’ll have the Life’s blood of every moth-
er’s son of ye inside the next ten minutes.”

There was no reply.

The men on the ground held their breath and
awaited the onset.

CHAPTER XXI.
A DESPERATE BATTLE.

"AIN’T ye going to surrender?” yelled Dick
Belmont fiercely. \

“Not as anybody knows of,” returned the
sheriff of Ford county savagely.

“We’ve got ye surrounded, ye cusses,” called
the outlaw chief, “and if ya don’t surrender
thar won’t be much left of ye arter a few
minutes. You hear me now? Well, it’s might
straight talk I’m a-gittin’ of! at this momen .
The best thing ye can do is to surrender.”

“Not jist at present,” observed Sheriif Bill
JLl'leS. “ If you want us, come and take us.”

“ What are ye doing here anyhow i” demand-
ed Dick Belmont.

“ J ist happened here,” replied the sheriif.

“You lie. you dog: you are here to capture
me; but you don’t come it. Tim Shirley played

on a nice trick, he did. I'wouldu’t give much

or his hide after we get through’With you.
Curse the miserable traitor I"

There was a suspicious movement on the art
of certain members of the sheriff’sparty w ich
caused the outlaw leader to hasti y retreat a
few paces, when he again opened the war of
words.

“I’ll ask on once more; are you going to
surrender!” e cried. ,
“Not by a darned sight,” was the energetic

ie ly of the burly sherifl'.

urning to his men Dick Belmont gave a
quiet word of command, and the next moment
a shout went up from those nearest him, and,
riding quickly forward, they discharged their
revolvers at the sherifl’s party, and Just as
quickly, turned and rode away.

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Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger. 85
Thus was the fight opened. . The onnd Was thickl strewn u lth dead.
The outlaw ban preferred todo_their fighting The rob ers had suffered t 0 loss of all but four

in regular Indian style and being mounted
while the others were on 001;, they had a decide
advantage in such a fight.

For more than an hour this singular and for
the time, bloodless combat continued: then,
having accomplished nothing. Dick Belmont
determined on more energetic measures to
defeat the enemy. '

The latter had now concealed themselves
behind rocks and trees and in the bushes, and
were watching every opportunity to at in a
shot at the robbers, who, in turn, emptied their
revolvers at the sheriff’s posse, though without
doing any damage.

Finally, Dick Belmont decided to charge the
enemy from two sides, and dislodge him if pos-
sible, even at the cost of two or three of his
own men.

So the order was given to dash forward,
which was done with a sudden rush, the troop-
ers yelling like fiends.

Then some bloody work was done.

The fighting was at close range now.

finch party was doing its best to subdue the
ot er.

Curses, yells, screams and groans were gen-
eral.

Shot followed shot in quick succession, bullets
flew thick and fast, men and horses fell to the
ground killed or wounded and above the din of
battle the savage voice of Dick Belmont could
be heard urging his men forward.

It was an exciting scene.

The sheriff‘s posse outnumbered the robbers,
but the latter were more desperate in their dar-
ing, and were more used to that sort of ii hting.

In the depth of a vast wilderness this loody
battle took place, far away from the haunts of
men, and seemingly out of sight of all save the
participants themselves.

But such was not the case. There was a liv-
ing witness to the scene of blood none other
than the Boy Avenger, Mark. He had watched
the battle from the first from an adjacent hill-
top, and not a move had been made that he had
not seen.

“The fellows from Ford county are getting
the worst of it,”he muttered, as he watched the
Ego ass of the fight. “ There has been a num-

r illed on both sides. I feel like taking a
hand in it, too. but as I don’t care a cent which
side comes out ahead, I’ll not bother myself to
interfere.” .1 ‘

The lad could see that the two leaders, Bill
Jones and Dick Belmont, Were yet among the
living, and he also failed to observe, and this
with some surprise, the presence of Tim Shirley,
the traitor, on the fleid. \ '

“ Belmont must have killed him.” he said-
“and now it remains to be seen who will kili
Belmont. Had he not saved my life, I’d settle
the question might quick; I’d kill him myself.
As it is, I’llsee t atyhe gets killed one of these
days. and I’ll never leave these prairies until all
the rest'of the band are dead."

At this moment there was a shout from the
battle-field, and Mark saw that the sheriff's

arty had been overpowered and the sheriff
Bimself and two others taken prisoners.

 

of their men, and of the sheriff’s posse, only
three remained alive, and they were prisoners.

“ Strange thntthey should take any prisoners,”
said Mark to himself, knowing the bloodthirsty
dis osition of Dick Belmont.

e had hardly said this when the robber chief
coolly murdered the two companions of the'
sherifl by shooting them through the head.

It was done qliliickly and deliberately, and
was followed wit a savage threat to murder
the shes-ii! should he offer the least provoca-
ion.

Then the four outlaws, with their prisoner,
started for the robbers’ retreat among the hills.

Mark still watched them closely.

It was evident from Dick Belinont’s manner
that he keenly felt the loss he hail sustained,
and evident from the behavior of Sheriff Jones
that he recognized how perilous was his situ-
ation.

Mark took careful notes of the remaining
robbers. 0f the original five only Dick Belmont l
and Tim Shirle were left; the other four had
been killed in t is terrible battle with the ofli-
cers of the law. And to complicate matters still
more, the treachery of Tim Shirley had placed
him in eternal enmity with Dick Belmont, who
was even then thirsting for his blood.

Returnin to his retreat among the hills, the
robber chie sought the rocky fortress wherein
he had left the traitor Shirley, securely bound. _

But the bloodthirsty wretch was nowhere to _
be found! He had managed in some way to
throw of his cords, and had battered down the
door of the rocky fortrese and escaped.

This discovery set the outlaw chief into a ter-
rible rage.

" The miserable dog cannot escape me long,”
he cried;-“ I’ll have his false heart on the point
of my knife inside of a week. Any ordinar
sort of death would be too good for such a v e
wreteh as Tim Shirley I”

 

CHAPTER XXII.
A snnmrr’s STRATEGY.

“ I RECKON ou don’t intend to give me mueh
show fer Ilife,’ remarked Sheriff Jones, after he
had been a prisoner for some hours. “ What
are e oing to do with me anyhow?”

“ a e a pet of ye, in course,” replied Dick
Belmont sneeringly. “Don’t ye.think ye de-
servs to become the pampered child of.luxu ,
ye bloated old sinner? How would ye like to

opt in a cage like a tame canary?” .

“Wouldn’t like i ” obserVed the prisoner,
jigauietly: “ I’d a goo deal rather be back. in

ord county. I say, old man, is there anything
that would induce you to let me live?”

' “ How ”

‘f Couldn’t I buy my freedom—just purchase
it like?"

“ I reckon you mcught, that is, of you’ve got .
plenty of tin.- It’ll take several thousand dol-'

ars, old man, to close a trade of that kind.
Haven’t got any cash with ye, have yet”

“ Got plenty of it at home. V \

“Plant 7'

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86 Plueky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

“ How much!”

“ One thousand dollars.”

“ Not enough. Make it five thousand and I’ll
let you go; otherwise you are a dead duck be-
fore morning.”

“ But 1 can’t raise that much before morn-
ing,” insisted the sheriff. “ I’ll have to send
Somebody to Ford county after it."

“Nomense; there is nobody ye can send. I
might go after it myself disguised as a priest.
How would that do?”

“ First rate. I have five thousand dollars in
a leather-n pouch stowed away in the treasure-
vault of the jail. It will be easy enough for
you to get it. You know my daughter Sally i”

‘ “I have heard of her,” said Belmont, eagerly.
“ Go on. go on.”

“ Well, Sally knows where the money is, she
does, and she will ive it to ye: only tell her I
sent 6. I’ll write or a note, if ye say so.”

“ hat will be better,” said the robber chief.
“Shall I bring the al back with me?”

"No, jist tell her ow I am fixed, and get the
money. I’d like to have ye hurry right back.
Better start at once.”

The sheriff wrote a card to Sally, telling her
how he was situated, and requesting her to find
the bag of gold which he had secreted in the
treasure-vault of the ail and turn it over to the
bearer of the note, w 0 would return with the
money and purchase for him his liberty.

Dick Belmont seemed much pleased with the
grosgect of receiving so large a sum of money.

a etermined to disguise himself as a priest
and start at once for Ford connty. He believed
that the 01d sherifl was telling him the truth
when he said that he had five thousand dollars
secreted in the ail.

“I’ll be bac inside of a week,” he said the
next morning, when he started om, “ll ean-
while, watch the cuss close, and ef he tries to
escape kill him on the spot. Jist look at me,
ain’t I a daisy priest?”

Some one from a thicket hard by answered
him, but not loud enough for him to hear. The
voice said mockingly:

. “ Yes, you are a daisy priest, and no mistake;
and "I’m the boy that will keep close watch on
you.

The speaker was our young friend Mark.

“ I’ve been listening to your little confab, Mr.
Belmont. and I know the trick you are going to
play. What do you care for the rest 0! these
fellows? Your idea is to get the five thousand
dollars and then skip. But I don’t believe that
yarn oi Bill Jones; he hasn’t as much as five dol-
lars saved up, let alone five thousand. It’s all a
tricl: to get a stay of execution. The old sherifl
hopes to get a chance to esca 6 before Dick Bel-
mont ’ -tf; back. I have h a notion to help
the air. rascal out myself." , '
’ The boy was right when he said that Dick
Belmont would not return should he get the
money, and also right when he conjectured that
there was no money to get, at least none be-
longing to Sheriff Bill Jones.

“I’m not very much in love with the Jones
family.” mused the lad, “ else I’d help the
old man esca ;as it is, I reckon I’d better fol-
low Dick out.”

 

With this purpose in view he started off at
once.

He rode rapidly in the wake of the outlaw,
and several times that day came in sight of

1m.

He did not desire to overtake the robber
chief, but merely to keep within a short distance
of him, so that he could watch him closely
and be on hand should the outlaw undertake
any exploit of an unusual nature.

“ If the rascal had not saved my life I would
not let him live another day,” said the boy.
“ Could I but save his life in like manner, or as
bravely as he did mine, the debt would be paid,
and then I wc uld not hesitate to kill him. But
the only thing I can do now is to watch him
closel .”

Dic Belmont was a tireless rider, and so
swiftly did he go, and so continuous, that Mark
had hard work to keep track of him.

On the way they passed the house where Bill
Simington had been murdered, a. crime for
which, Mark came near suffering death.

The boy thought over the circumstances of
the case, and wondered if it would be safe for
him to venture among those who no doubt still
considered him the guilty party.

“ I ought to disguise myself somehow,” he
said, “ but I don’t exactly know how to do it.
Here is a cabin' I’ll go in and see whntI can
find. Perhaps can rig mySelf up can priest,
too. No, that wouldn’t do; I look too much
like a cowboy to be taken for a priest. But I’ll
see what’s in this cabin first before going any
further.”

The cabin was the one in which the plot to
murder old Bill Simington was concocted by
Dick Belmont and three others. Mark did not
recognize the place until he had dismounted
from his horse and had knocked at the door.
Then it came to him suddenly where he was, but
it was too late to retreat now, so he put on a
bold trout, and awaited an answer to his sum-
mons.

A man came to the door presently and opened
it cautiously, as it afraid that, the intruder
meant him some ill. ‘

“ What are ye ’traid of?” demanded Mark, in

a savage tone of voice.

Instantly the door opened wide, and there
was presented to view an aged and decrepit
ne r0.

t was no less a pvevrsonage than Mark’s old-
time friend, George ashington Horn!

CHAPTER XXIII.
DICK BELMONT ON THE BACK TRAIL.

“ I HADN’T any idea of seeing you here,” said
Mark, after the first show of astonishment had
passed; “ seems to me you’re kind 0’ out of yer
territory. You haven’t changed your resi-
deuce?"

“ Sartin I hab,” returned the negro; “ I broke
up housekeeping sebberal days ago. I’se on my
wa hum now.’

‘ Where—Kentucky?”

 

“Dat's it, sure as you are born; I’se groin"

back to ole Kentuck.”
“How. long have you been here—in this
house!”

; \

 

. «~nr- ,

 

 

 

 

Wang"! cos

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

87

 

“’Bout two days. Dcre was a feller libbed
here what got killed las’ week; maybe you know
him—Jack Allen. I heard all ’bout it yesterday
from a. chap dat jes’kim from Ford county.
Jack Allen got inter trouble with de deputy-
sherifl, an] de deputy killed him; but afore he
died he said something—something dat’ll be ob
interest to you. He said—”

“What? what?” interrupted Mark, looking
eagerly into the negro’s face.

“ He owned up ebberytliing-he told all he

knew; he jes’ gave himself dead away. 1 tole
you boy, Jac Allen was a mighty bad man.”

“ id he tell who it was that murdered old
Bill Simington'f" asked Mark.

“Didn’t he, though? And dat’s 105’ What I
was gwine to tell ye,” returned the African.
“ He said dat it wasn’t you dat killed de ole
man but himself an‘ Dick Belmont; he tole de
whole business, and said dat de law officers
ought ter be ’shamed ob demselws to run you
down like a prairie wolf; dat it Was a put-up
'0b to throw de crime of! on you. Dat’s what

acli Allen said a few minutes afore'he died."

“ Anything more!” asked Mark.

“ I don’t know oh anything,” replied the
negro. “ I reckon it’ll be safe for you to go up
dar an’ talk it oher yerself.”

“ Just what I intend to do ” declared Mark.
“ At present I am on the trail of Dick Belmont.
Perhaps you have seen him to-dayi”

“ No~noz golly, no, an’ I don t want to see
him,” and the African looked comically fright-
ened; “ he ain’t comin’ dis wa , is he?”

Mark was about to reply w en there came a.
sharp rap at the door, which was immediately
opened by a man who thrust himself in Without
ceremony.

Instantly Mark covered him with his revolver.

“Throw up your hands,” cried the boy, in a
ringing voice. “ I’ve got the drop on you, and
if you dare to make a suspicious move, I’ll blow
the whole to of yer head through the door.
D’ e hear me Throw up yer hands!”

he man obeyed quick , uttering several
curses the while.

f‘ I didn’t reckon to find you here,” he finally

said. , ‘

“Nor did I e ct to meet you to-day,”re-
turned Mark. “ t’s good for me 'that I got the
drop on you, Tim Shirley. Oh, I don’t intend
to kill you, not now—not if you behave your-
self. Where are you going?”

“I don‘t know-anywhere; only so that I
don’t meet Dick Belmont. Have you seen him
lately?” _

“Not very lately.”

 you don’t know where he kW

0.

Mark was half-inclined to send a ball through
the feIIOW’s brain, for he had sworn to kill him,
and why not do it now as well as any other
time! The villain seemed to read the .boy’s
thoughts, for he looked frightened, and said:

“Give me a show for my life; there is no
reason why you should murder me in cold
blood; I have never done you any harm—
never."

“You lie on sooundreli” exclaimed Mark,
sava 1y. ‘ on are one of the ang that mur-
d both my Wants. burned air house over

l

» \

 

their heads, and made me an orphan and a
wanderer. You remember all about it——the
fiendish murder of Judge Ludin ton, of Ken-
tucky. What will you say when tell you that
Judge Ludington was my father l”

Tim Shirley fairly gasped for breath' then he
began to beg for mercy, and roved himself as
great a coward as he was a vi ain.

“ Take away his pistol and knife,” commanded
Mark of the negro.

The weapons of the outlaw were taken from
him at once.

“ Have you a horse!” asked Mark.

“ Yes,” shiVered the villain.

“ A good one?"

(6 Yes.”

Turning to his negro friend, Mark asked him
if he did not wish to accompany him to the
county-seat of Ford county, his present destina-
tion.

:‘ Golly, yes; I don’t want to stay yer,” re-
plied the negro; “I’ll go with ye anywhar in
de worl’.”

Now was a good chance for Mark to return

the negro his mule, which he did, with many ,

thanks for its use.

“ I’ll take this fellow’s horse, and you take the
mule,” he said, “ and together we will make the
journey.”

vTim Shirley protested vigorously against this
plan of the boy: but the latter had him so

closely cornered that he could not help himself; -

so the negro mounted the mule, while Mark
kept the villain covered with his revolver, and
a. change-about was then made, and the boy
mounted the outlaw’s horse under cover of the
African’s pistol, and immediately thereafter
the two friends took their departure, leaving
Tim Shirley, horseless and unarmed, swearing
at them from the doorway.

“ I ought to have killed the rascal,” muttered
the young ranger, as he glanced back at the
house; “ but perhaps it’s just as well to let him
live a while longer.
at a time, and Dick Belmont comes first. I
wonder if the outlaw chief has got hold of that
bag of gold yet? I guess not; that bag of gold
business is most awfully thin; only one of Bill
J ones’s little jokes.” .

Nothing happened the rest of the day worth
of note, and by midnight Mark and his bla
companion had reached their destination.
Dick Belmont had not been seen at any time
during the day, so there was no telling where
he was at that moment; he might have reached
the Ford county jail some hours in advance of

the young ranger, or he might not reach there -

before morning, or some other time the next

da ..

XI’ll introduce myself to Sally early in the
morning,” said Mark, as he la down to rest
in a deserted cabin on the outsk rts of the town;
“and I wouldn’t wonder if the gal wouldbe

led to see me. As for Dick Belmont—well, it

e is not a_ risoner before to—morrow night
somebody Wil have blundered like a. booby.

CHAPTER XXIV.
mm: HAS A TALK meant.
SALLY Jonas was much an ised the next
morning to see a young man. w om she at once,

i .

 

 

I’ve got to take them one '

 

 

   

"gr

   

    

28

recognized as the 0ande boy prisoner Mark,
nscnnding the steps of the in“.

She opened the door at once and accosted
him.

“I know you,”she said, “and I’m kind 0’
glad to see von. it has turned out that you
didn’t kill Bill Siminglon, offer all. i gave
you credit for that much, at least. WP“, it
don’t matter. But what are you back here for,
anyhow?"

“I came here to see you, Sully,” declared
Mark—“ to see you about your father; I reckon
he’s in a mighty tight box."

“ Somebody going to kill him i” queried Sally,
meekiy.

“I reckon so; has Dick Belmont been here
this morning?”

“ Lord, no i”

“ Has anybody been here?”

“ Yes—a dirty-looking priest."

“ What did he want?”

“ Wanted to ask me about dad. Oh, he was
nlying old dutfer. I sent him about his busi-
ness in a hurry; I threatened to kick him into
the middle of next week.”

“What d1d he have to say, Sully?”

“Said he came from dad, and that (ind told
him to get a bag of gold which wns concvaled
in the house, and I don‘t know what else he
didn’t say. Anywny, when I told him he was
an old sneak and that there wasn’t Lwo dollnrs
in the house, he began to swear like a pirate,
and finally vacated the ranch.”

“Where is he now?" asked Mark, eagerly;
” tell me where he is?”

“About town somewhere,” nsnired the
sheriff’s plucky daughter. “He has not been
gone long: from here. What do you want to see
him for, kid?”

“ He‘s the char I'm looking for, returned the
boy, energetica ly. “Sally, can you keep a.
secret?”

“For a little while I can. What is it?”

“ The dirty-looking priest you have been fell-
ing me about is none other than Dick Belmont,
the outlaw. I know it; I have followed him
from the Indian Nation. I know what I am
talking about. Your father sent him here on a
fool’s errand, and hopes to escape in his ab-
sence. The bag of gold I knew was a humbug.
Sully. we must take the rascal prisoner."

“ Must we? How?”

“Find out where he is; go and see him; give
him a hint to follow yon—he will doit; lead
him into the jail, if possible; tell him any yarn
so that you get him here, and the rest will be
easy enough: three or four of us will be here t
take him. Will you do it?” .

" You bet!”

“ When—at once!”

“ Yes, at once.”

“But first tell me, have you heard anything
of your father!”

“Nothing, only that there was a big fight.
A company of fellows started from here two
days ago to help dud lick the outlaws."

“ How many were there of them?"

“About a dozen.”

“Good! Then I shall not have to do any‘
thing in that direction. All I need do is to look
after the outlaw chief. I’ll leave you now.

Plucky J 00, the Boy Avenger.

 

Sally. Better go at once and see if you can get
the rascal to follow you back. Where is the
other fellow—4110 deputym‘herifli I Want some
help in this matter."

Sally called one of the jail attendants and till
lalter made search for the deputy.

He was discovered in a gambling-dive not far
away playing cards with a man from Texas.

He gave up the game reluctant] , but
displayed more cheerfulness when to] What
was wanted of him, and became really excited
when Mnrk divulged a few of his own secrets
and recounted the story of his long pursuit of
the border outlaw.

“ I have had plenty of chances to kill him,”
announced the lad in conclusion, “but some-
how I didn’t like to do it.”

“ Thunder! I’d ’u’ killed him nick," declared
the deputy-shorilf savagely. “ Vhy didn’t e
do it? Maybe you’d rather see the cuss hang?’

“ That‘s it," admitted Mark; “ Dick Belmont
has no right todio with his boots on. I want
to sew ihv. fellow stretch hemp. Would you be-
lirv" it, once this some villain saVed my life!"

Sully :xppenred from an inner room at this
moment, attired for the street.

“ 1’“ have the rascal back here in less than
half an hour,” she cried, and walked on.

The miller and Mark secreted themselves in a
room tnnt commended in. good View of the main
“all: ivnding to the door of the jail.

Tin-y did not have long to wait.

in u very short time Sully was seen coming
at a distance closely followed by a person who
lnnl the appearance of a priest.

Presently the man was seen to hesitate, then
he was heard to call on Sally to halt, which she
Ill(l, and the two held a quiet conversation [or
a few moments.

Then they again resumed their walk to-
ward the jail.

When within fifty yards of the building the
man ngnin hesitated.

‘_‘ Why don’t you come on?” cried Sally an-
grlly.

“ I haven’t any business in the jail,” retested
the 1mm. “ Go in and get the bag 0 gold; I
will wait for on here. Come, if on wish to
save your fat er’s life, make haste. ’

“And ou—”

“ I’ll wait for you here.
snry for me to go in.”

S-xlly lost control of her temper at this mo-
ment and denounced the man in loud and angry
tones.

“ You are a bloody rascal,” she cried, “a
mean, cowardly villain. You can‘t palm your-
self 011’ on me as a priest; I know you—bet
‘er life I do! You are Dick Belmont, the out-
aw!

That was enough.

The outlaw chief recognized at once that an
ei‘i'orr. had been made to entrap him, and, quick
as thought, he turned to run.

Instantly Sully lulled a pistol from anion
{.he folds of her dress and blazed away a
11”].

He fell as if shot through the body, but quick-
ly regained his feet and fled rapidly.

Again Sally discharged he: pistoloonce. twice.
three times.

It ain’t at all neces-

     

+

 

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

   

 

The outlaw continued to run, and was soon
lost in the devious windings t the street.

M

CHAPTER XXV.
DEATH or a 'rRAI'ron.

" Tim rascal has escaped us," declared Mark,
disappointedly, as the two men made a rush for
the outluw but too late to rift-ct his capture.
“Why didn’t ye kill him. Sully?" '

“ Didn’t I shoot at him?" demanded the girl.
“ I reckon I did, and I think [ pinked him slight-
ly, too. He fell at the first lire." _

“,But he gr t up again mighty qurck, and now
where is be?”

“Don’t wait a minute, but follow him,” cried
Sally impatiently.

They did so, Mark and the officer, but they
could not see him. they could only make sure of
the direction he took in his flight.

Knowixrr that pursuit other thnn on horse—

I back woul< amount to nothing, Mark and his
companion secured horses at once and started
off at full speed.

After riding a mile or two they met a farmer
who informed them that less than half an hour

* .2, previous 8. man had gone by on horseback,
' riding like the wind, who was no doubt the
man they were searching for.

“The fellow must have had a horse in wait«
ing somewhere ” remarked the deputy-sheriff.
“Anyhow, he is mounted. and ' my opinion
our chances of capturing him are retty thin.”

Mark made no reply. He- was etermined to
overhaul the outlaw if possible, and was willing
to ride‘ night and day to do it.

They went over the ground rapidly, keeping
the straight road which led southward, ‘the
very one travel (1 by Sally and Marl; the night
of their singular and not unromonuc elepe-

. ment.

During the day frequent traces were had of
the fugitive, but he was not caught sight of by
his pursuers. I ,

The latter did not belt for the night, and not

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until morning did they seek rest and food by
the way. . _

And with the rising; of the sun they started ‘
on, and continued their journey the rest of the I.

A._.—.._.._

         
          
        
    
         
      
   
     
    
    

ay.
That night they slept on the prairie and the r
next morning rose early and went on.
Then came a great surprise. ,
, Turning a bend in the read they saw coming
toward them a band of mounted men. ,
“Are they friends or enemies?” questioned 1
the , oung ranger. ,
“ triends, I reckon,” replied his companion.
“ Seems to me they look ‘kind 0’ natural. Thun-
der, yes, I know them.
crowd! But where is Bill?” {
The troop consisted of eight men, all rough- 5
looking fellows and among them was Bill Jones, I
the. sherilf of Ford county, who had managed
to escape in some manner from the outlaws.
l He told his story in a few words.
“I sent Dick Belmont of! on a fool’s errand,"
he said, “and that gave me several days longer
toll". The follows watched me pretty close.,

 

Bill Jones and his I 'h

i mies-Dick Belmont and Tim Shirley.

; while standing only
, Shirle , his face 1:
l min: on.

   
   
 
   
  
   
  
  
    
   
 
   
 
   
   
  
    
    
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
   
     

and it looked for awhile as if I wasn't going to v ,.
get away at all. I got awfully blue, and began ~5
to think of Sally and wish t atI was safe at '
home. Well, just then these boys put in an
appearance and did some handsome work, for

every one of the robber gang was killed in the

fight. Three of our own fellers were killed, and

I kim darned nigh oing‘ myself, but they didn’t

get me this time, or here I am safe and sound

and not Vul‘fy much the worse for wear." ,,

“So n1] 0 the outlaw band are dead?” said ' 4
Mark interrogativeli.

“Yes—all but Dic Belmont and that other ,
feller—what is his name! Tim Shirley. Where ‘
is Dick, I wonder?”

It was now Mark's op rtunity to speak of ,
himself, which he did, tel ing briefly the story , V
of his wanderings since his escape from the in! , > ' ‘
including an account of his recent experience ’
with Dick Belmont.

Sheriff Jones was much surprised to learn
that the robber chief was somewhere in the
immediate neighborhood, but he shook his head
when nke’dby Mark it he would assist in captur-
ing him. I

‘Ih’nve had enough of Dick Belmont," he
said. “ I reckon I’ll feel safer at home jist now
than anywhere else, an’ thar’s whar Pm going.”

“Then 1’11 go on alone,” said the b0 reso-
lutely; and he did, but first so plied imsolt
well with food and replenished h stock of am-
munition. .

The day were on. .

Mark traveled very cautiously, now. He
knew that the robber chief would not hesitate
to shoot him at the first opportunity, and not
only did he have Dick Belmont to fear but Tim
Shirley might be lying in wait for him with
bloodthirsty intent.

While the young ranger was thus contemplat-
ing/to himself he thought he heard voices near
the roadside-an angry colloqluy between two
or more rsons, whom be con d not see for the
rocks an trees that intervened.

He halted his horse and bending low in the
saddle, listened intently.

The exciting colloquy continued.

A savage voice was cursing and threatening,
while another voice was pleadin for mercy.

Mark sprung from his horse an era t through
the urrdprbrush to get a sight of the I utants.

“ You are a cowardly dog to take one an ad-
vantage of me,” said one of the men. “Give
me a chance for my life.” ~

“Not much,” replied the other “I know on
too well. We are very much a lire, Dick el-
mont neither of us know‘ the meaning of the
word mercy. I caught ye asleep; that was In
luck. I relieved you of your weapons; my luc
again—and now all I’vo got to do is to blow out
your brains. Come, get ready to die; if you

ave any prayers, say them. ’11 give ye two
minutes longer t» live. D’ye hear?”

Mark pushed through the underbrush.

He could see the men plainl now.

There were only two of them—deadly one-

The former was reclining on the ground“
a few paces awe. was Tim
0 picture of lien h deter-

   
 
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
 

\

‘ do not intend to let you esca e me.

' the rifle to the groun

Plucky Joe. the Boy Avenger.

 

“ Don’t shootl for Ben ven‘s sake! don't shoot!"
cried the wretched outlaw chief.

“ One, two. luree,” cried the traitor Shirley,
hoarsely. " I’ll give ye not another second.”

His rifle-muzzle covered the heart of the rob
ber chief. I

Instant] asharp report sounded on the air,
and Tim hirley. not Dick Belmont, gave an
agonizing cry and rolled over on the ground
dead, shot through the heart!

-.' The next moment Mark, the Boy Avenger,
with smoking rifle in his hand, ste ped from
the bushes and confronted the man w 080 life he
had saved.

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUsION.

DICK BELMONT was amazed.

“ You have saved my life,” he said; “now
what are you going to do with me?” _

“ I have a mind to kill on, too,” replied
Mark, savagely. “What rig t have you to live
when all the rest of your gang are dead?”

The outlaw was silent.

The young ranger continued:

“ I could have taken your life long ago, but I

remembered that you had saved mine once;

and now'we are even—I have saved yours.”

“ Then you will let me go free?” asked the out-
law, rising to his feet.’ _

A revolver flashed in his face in an instant.

“You are my prisoner,” cried Mark, “and -
Dare to
make a suspicious move, and 1’] blow the tOp of
your head ofl’. Do ye hear? What am I 0mg
to do with you? Turn on OVer to_ the o cers
of the law, of course! ome, we Will go now.

Mark took away the outlaw’s weapons on
commanded him to mount his horse, which we
grazing near by, and than Mark in turn mount
ed his own horse, and the two rode awcy.

‘ It was a desperate job the Kentucky lad had
undertaken—to deliver such a wretchas Dicl;
Belmont into the hands of the law. 1-5 we:
necessary for him to be continually on the alert,
watchful of his own life and suspicious of ever;
movement of his prisoner.

The latter was ready to take des erate chances
now; he would rather be shot an killed by th’
boy ran er than be hanged, as he would proba-
bl be i turned over to the officers of the law.

the first 0 portunity that oflered,'when
Mark was a litt 9 off his guard, the despcrado
suddenly gave a. ell that startled his. horse into
a swift run, and tore the young .a venger coul
comprehend the situation his prisoner was sev-
eral rods distant, and goinnt like the wind.

Then Mark drew head on him with his rifle,
but the weapon missed fire.

VWith a cry of disappointment 'the boy flung

and reached for his to
volver.

Then ensued an exciting scene. .

‘l‘be desperado was yelling like a mamac, and
riding like the wind; his pursucr was also
shouting and swiftly riding and firing his re
volver repeatedly, but without eflfect.

No use The outlaw’s horse was the swift-est

-. and soon had taken its rider out of range of the
young Kentuckian’s are.

 

Mark was terribly exasperated over this sud-
den turn of ntl’airs, but he was powerless to
have it otherwise.

“The rascal has escaped me
done with him yet; I’ll follow
of the world.”

With this determination the Boy Avenger
continued the pursuit, and for several days fol~
lowing he trailed the outlaw closely, ran him
from one county to another, until, finally, he
came upon him in a most unexpected manner.

The rufliun had been joined in his flight by a.
cowboy desperado by the name of Matt Sim-
mm'mml. .

Mark came upon them suddenly in the south-
ern part of Trego county, Kansas, and bravely,
though, porhs s, foolishly, undertook to cap-
ture them, an in th. fight which ensued re-
fieived a bullet in his shoulder which disabled

1m. ~

The young avenger undoubtedly would have
been murdered outright had not a ranchman
known as Charlie Fours, suddenly appeared
upon the scene; seeing him the desperadoes beat
a nick retreat.

adly wounded, Mark was conve ed to the
ranchman’s abode, where he lay or several
weeks, lingering between life and death.

Meanwhile Dick Belmont and Matt Simmer-
man continued their journey northward.

but I am not
him to the ends

The career of the two outlaws for the next
six weeks is a matter of frontier history.

They prowled about the northern line of Kan-
sas for some while, committing numerous de-

rodutions, and then entered Nebraska, Where.
n Hitchcock county, they stole several head of
ponies, which they drOVe northward, disposing
of their stolen stock on the way.

Finally they reached Minden, Kearney
county and late one afternoon, in a hotel' at
that piece, set down to supper in the public
dining-room.

They were hard! seated whenSherifl Jack
Wood, of Hitchcoc county, who had trailed
them for several days, entered the room and
commanded them to “throw up their hands!” '

Instantly the desperadoes drew their revol-
vers and began to shoot. Sherifl Wood re-
ceived a bullet through the heart, and fell dead.
Another officer who happened to be in the room
was fatally shot.

The desperadoes then rushed out-doors and
mounted their horses, which were tied near.

A citizen attempted to halt them; he too,
was shot down. Another citizen inter cred.
and received a bullet through his brain.

Then the murderers, shouting, yelling, swear-
ing and firing their revolvers continuously,
dashed out of town.

Pursuit was instigated at once, and continued
sevaral days. but was then abandoned, and the
impression became general that the outlaws
could not be killed or captured.

About this time all u as (finial: and peaceful on
the Fonts ranch. Mark ad so .ar recovered
from his wound as to help himself considerably,
but he was still unable to handle a gun. ’

One morning he came into the house sud-
denlv after havinz been out a few minutes. and

  

3

i

5'
l
g

 

“i”

 
     
         
       
      
        
    

    

 

 

 

Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger.

31

 

annouan excitedly that Dick Belmont and
Matt; Siminoruiun had just lol’t. the plane, tak-
ing with them two or the DOM; horses on the
ranch.

“ Are you sure or your men!" asired Charlie
Four“. us he propnrvd to follow them.

“Yes, sure,” answered Mark. “ I saw them
as they mile away.”

The ranchmun started in pursuit at once,
Hark remained at home, being still too feeble to
ei-«lure niurh eXHrciw.

For sew-n days Fonts followed the trail of
the murderers; than he discovered them in a
dug-out, where thty hml stoppr for the night.

Elll'ly the next morning Belmont came out; of
the plum to look for his horse, which had wan-
dorml ofll a few rods (luring,r the night.

Fonts, laying in wait for him, ordered him to
surrender.

Instantly the (lvsperndo reached for his revol-
ver, but before he could use it a. hull from the
Remington rifle 01’ the young ranchmnn pierced
his heart and he fell to the ground, a corpse.

Then Simmermun made his appearance. but
the sharp command to “ surrender’ had its
effect, and he gave himself u? without a. word.

A week later Charlie outs. the heroic

THE

 

young plainsman. stood in the presence of the
Governor of Nebraska and received the reward
“’llll'll 11nd heen’lplaced on the lived of the out;-
lnw Belmont. he hody ot’ the (loqpnrmlo had
been brought to the cupitul of the Slum, whore,
nt'tvr havingr been identified in the iegulur way
it wns buried.

Mutt Simmerman, Dirk Bulmont’s compan
ion in crime, wns taken to Minder), where he
was tried for murder, found guilty, and son-
tenced to death.

Charlie Fonts returned home and told Mark
all that had happened.

“Thank Honvenl the tribe is extinct," ex-
claimed the boy fervently. “The death of my
beloved parents is now avenged.” .

Mark continued to improve rzipi‘lly, and was
soon as well as ever. 110 is still on the plains;
und is rapidly acquiring n cunning, Skill and
bravery in hunting down (leslx‘rndoes and crim-
inuls generally that will in time place him in
the front rank of frontier detectives.

As for the other characters introulmed in this
story—Sheriff Jenes and daughter Sully, and
the aged negro. Geor a Washington 110m, .ull
are living—quietly, ang contentedly.

‘END.

 

 

j nan POCKET LIBRARY. .

 

839 Rardo, the Boy Gypsy; or. Reckless Rolf‘s Re-
volt. By Wm. G. Patten.
340 Billy Bubblu’s Big Score; or, Tim, the Tramp.
' By Charles Morris.
‘ 341 Colorado Steve’s Dash; or, Old Buncomb’s Sure
Shot. By Philip S. Warne. r
342 Snapfihot Sam; or, Ned Norris’s Nettle. By
Bucksin Sam.
343 Mike. the Bowery Detective‘ or, Peleg Prancer
, of Vermont. By Edward L. Vheeler.
344 The Drummer Sport. By Edward Willett.
345 Jaques, the Hardpan Detective; or. Captain
Frisco t‘he Roml-Atreut. By J. C. Cowdrick.
346 Joe. the Chicago Arab; or, A Boy of the Times.
13 Charles Morris.
347 The Girl Captain’s
ngruham.

iddy Herbert’s Prize; or
Revenge. By 001. Prentiss l
. 348 Sharp-Shooter Frank. By Buckskin Sam.
.349 Buck the Miner- or, Alf, the Colorado Guide.
By Maj. E. L. St. rain. ‘
350 Ned, the Slab City Sport. By Ed. L. Wheeler. I
851 Rocky Mountain Joe. By Col. '1‘. H“. Monslory.
~ 352 New York Tim; or, The Boss of the Boulevard.
v By Charles Morris.
353 The Girl Pilot; or, Ben. the Reef-Runner. By
Roger Starbuck.
334 Joe. the Boy Stage-Driver. By Maj. St. Vrain.
. 355 Texas Frank’s Crony; or, The Girl Mustang
Rider. By Bucksoin Sam.

35$ Idaho Ned. Detective: or, The Miners of Tarpot

City. By Edward L. Wheeler. ,

357 Guy. the Boy Miner; or. Rocky Mountain Bill.

/ By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

358 Jersey J 06, the Old Tar; or, the Wrecker’s

r Protege. By Mrs. Orin James. .

359 Dandy Dick‘s Dash; or, The Boy Cattle-King.

1 By 011 Comes. ,

860 Jim‘s Big Bonanza: or, Jake Dodd and His
Gang. 4 y W. J. Hamilton.

361 Oregon 1’ lil, the Sport; or, The Marshal of Two
Bits. By Philip S. Wa: no.

362 Kit, the Boolblack Detective; or. From Phila‘

' dolphin. to the Rockies. By Edward L. Wheeler.

363 The Ocean Racer; or, Trusty Tom, the Tar. By
'1‘. C. Harbaugh. ' “

364 Fritz‘s Old Score; or, Sib Cone’s Right Bower.
By Ned Buniline. »

365 rack Shot Harry; or, The Masked Rider. By

olonel Prentiss «Tnzraham.

366 Gold Dust Rock. the Whirlwind of the Mines.
By G. Waldo Browne. ,

36’? Fred's Bold Game; or, The Cave Treasure. By
Paul Bibbs.

368 Jim. the Sport in Wake-up: or, Foghorn Fan to
the Front. By Edward L. Wheeler.

869 Captain Blake’s Jonah; or, Harry, the Cabin
Boy. By Roger Starbuck.

870 Denver Kit’s Double. By Major H. B. Stoddard.

871/ Blue Blazes Dick; or, Danger Doll of Dynamite.
B T. C. Harbangh. '

' 3'72 1‘ e Sea Cat’s Prize- or, The Flag of the Red
Hands. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

873 Larry O’Lynn's Dash; or, Kyle, the Renegade.
By Joseph F. Henderson.

374 Jim. the S ort’s'Bigr Boom: or. The Bonanza.
King’s Riva . By Edward L. Wheeler.

375 Bowery Bob, Detective. ’By Jo Pierce.

876 Buckskin Dick’s Clean Swee : or, Jonathan
Jenks? Still .Hunt. By Col. Art iur F. Holt.

377 The Deadwood Sports. By Licut. S. G. Lansing.

373 Bronco Billy. the Saddle Prince. 13y Colonel

' Prentiss Ingralmm. '

879 Dick. the Stowaway; or. A Yankee Boy‘s Strange

, l ' Cfuise. By Charles Morris.

380 Young chk,.Talhot' or. A\Boy‘s Rough and
Tumble Fight from ew,York to California. By
Albert WJ Aiken.

.881Dondy Bill’s Doom; or, Deerhunter, the Boy
Scout. ByOll  , J

 

882 Wide-Awake Geor *6. th '
WHICL g 6 Boy Pioneer. By Ed.
383 Wild Bill, lhc Pistol Prince. By Col. Ingraham.

381 Brimstoxn 3' ‘ - ‘ ‘ '
Dead ivimfslelgiihlfmnt;hégial%a§1.p§;figlgfllfi at
385'1‘110 "1  - V. » .r .
and? 13‘; Rniil'niiiifii’fi. “"5” “‘ Dem”
386 The Montana Kill; or, Little Dan Rock’s Mis-
$1011. By Morris Redwing.
387 The Boy Detectives. By T. C. IIurl‘qugh.
388 The Pony Express Rider; or. Buffalo Bill‘s
Frontier Feats. 15y Col. Prentiss lngraham.
389 New York Bill, the Dodger By Edward Willett.
390 The Ti- H-o — i 3‘.‘ "  '3 'i r ‘ ~
King ofcéilie lierEllfn’iS; .1123];  152323? Jfirfml’
891 gngzée (Iggy/mild the bport. By MaJol Henry
392 Texas Jack. the Mustang King.
Prentiss lngraham.
393 Peter. the Dandy Grecnhorn. By Noah Nufi’.
394 Tom Temple’s Big Strike. By Barry Ringgold.
395 H r ' ‘ ‘ v '
Claurlyeig {\lligmgsuntry Boy, in New Yorlx. By
396 Detective Paul’s Right Bower. By C. D. Clark.
397 Tip Tressell, the Flatboat Boy. By Ed. W'illett.
398 Captain Jack in Rocky Roost. By Col. Jngraham.
390 Harry Somers, the Magician. By S.  Pierce.
400 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker. By
Roger Starbuck. .
401 Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines. By Chas. Morris.
402 Flatboat Fred on the Mississippi. l’lyE Willett.
403 Jake, the Colorado Circus Boy. By Bryant
Bainbridge.
404 Texas Charlie‘s Wild Ride. By Col. P. lngraham.
403‘E;$;%?3§§01§ea; or, The Boy Wizard. By

By Colonel

V406 Giant Pole and His Paras. By T.’ O. Harbaugh.
’ 407 Old Buffs Protege; or, Little Rifle‘s Secret.

B
Captain Bruin Adams. y

408 Stowawa Dick Abroad' or, The Desert .
By CharlZs Morris. ‘ gover

409 Doctor Carver, the Champion Shot. By Col. P.~
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410 Captain Fl <By-Niwht. the Colorado Kin -P‘ .
By Jos. E fiadgefijr. g m

411 New York Jack’s Me-ttle' or. Old Tra s and Hi
Chums. By Barry Ring’gold. p s

412  tStpence, the Broadhorn Boy. By Edward
‘ l e .

413 Revolver Billy in Texas; or, The Lone Star State
Rangers. By 001. P. Ingraham.

414 Dasher Dick’s Dead Lock; or, Plucky Joe, the
Boy Avenger. By J. M. Hoffman.

415 Pony. the/Cowboy Chief. By H. 13. Stoddard.

416 Panther Dick's Death‘Leap. By A. F. Holt.

417 Flzhting Fred of Frisco. By T. C. Harbaugh. ‘

Ready January 6th.
418 Buckskin Sam‘s Wild Ride. By Col. P Ingraham.
Ready January 13th. ' - .
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