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WANT TO BTIAL DAT 3035 Fun—En!”

 

Il'

Harry Winkle's Long Chase.

 

Hairy V Winkle’s Lung Gha'se ;
TEE HAUNfiD HUNTEIR.

BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER.

CHAPTER l.
A coursn IN Tun STREAM.

THERE'iS a peculiar hiss when n rifle-bull
passes in close proximity to ono's head, a sound
that no doubt chords with some musical note.
yet upon most ears the noxse is apt to fall rather
unpleasant] y. So tho trapper, though thorough—
ly seasoned to danger and the thousund chances
andmischnnccs of tho bushnnd plain, dodged
his head suddenly, with a movement more Gilt?-
getic than graceful, at the same time uttering.
though not abovo a whisper, an ejaculation of
surprise and discontent. In the midst of his
rooonnoitering it seemed to him that he had been
reoonnoitered, and that to some purpose. There
was dancer in the atm0sphere.

Carafe he red around him. Ho caught
nosi hto the and that had fired the shot: he
can] aeenothing and could hear nothing that

ave sign of hostile intentions. Through the
gushes that were spread before him like a cur-
tain he anxiously gaze'd, with one hand pushing
them aside. -

“ Where the dickens c’u‘d that ’a’ come from l“
he muttered. “Someone hez bed a line shot on
this hyer old boss and cum mighty nigh a-scnd-
in’ him under. Elf I could only or. a site at the
varmint ther’d be a. case o’ and int death, sure
—o.h!" ‘

The soliloquy ceased, for on the small level
spot on the op ‘te side of the stream, standing
out bold and all in the clear moonlight, there
up two men. The distance was not great,
their actions evinced no knowledge that any
other human being was near them, and as they
broke into conversation every word they spoke
was'wafted distinctly to the ears of the listener,
who lay concealed in the close hunging bushes.

One of theso two men was tall and shit pol y in
build. His form gave token of strength and
activity, while the moonbeams that fell upon his
face lit .upacountenanco that was more than
ordinaril ban .1)». One hand rested upon
the mu ml n' a heavy rifle, the other was
extended in a shhnning gesture, as if waving
back theman who faced him.

The other was, if anything. shorter in
stature. but made u for an lack of night in
breadth of build. is shouders were nhnost
herculean in shape. his hands were large, his
neck thick and pawertul—nltogother his appear-
anon promlled strength rather than activity.
Hie .hcs- could scarcely be distinguished, but
evenln the-shadow one could fancifully map
out a emotenapce imlicatiye of boldness and
r

' the two stood in the moonlight, scarcely

..three’yards apart and facing each oilier.
51‘ “You’re ' nick on the trigger.” said, the short
' , “and it had been daylight I might have

 

gone under. I’m not one to hear malice, though
it’s a rough old joke to he shotzit. If it was
some men you’d not be standing now."

“ I know It, Yet daylight or dark. if I had
not discovered my mistake in time. Ishoiild have
been standing and you douu. As] nulled the
trigger I raised the, lllll'I‘L‘l, for. I saw it was ti 0
wrong man. The right one H lll'iil' in: 5011!"
where, though, and had you ll('Cll h", tin
scores would have llll lil‘t'll wiped out bylthis

IllilO.”

“Ithonght so. I kindwr mw you liiti-h izp
your iron, so I know you had iiindi- n mistake
when you threw the tube to your shoulder. it
won asnddm thoughtmund not the first; time, a
white niun has drawn sights on 1111‘. PM: l) on
watching you since you came around how: ]‘\'u
been waiting for you to show your hand, and i
want to know to-uight what your gonna is. if
you are on the square, with no infernal (-iirionn‘
kinks in ycr nature, Well au’good. But il‘ )l‘
want to know more than yo see, if yo must talu-
nhnnd in what don‘t concern you nor youi'u,
thou take a. fool’s advice—nn’ move on.”

“ See here, Mui‘tin. if that’s your name,
don‘t borrow trouble about me. You’re not in v
man. 1 don't wnutto know more than onc- thing,
and thzit is where my man is. Then I don‘t
want to do more than one thing. I want to lay
sights on him. After that it‘s ii. nintlici' lictwwn
him and l'lzllcnidiiick, and the chances in Kill
einquiok’s favor. ’

“That’s all right; but s‘posiii’ ‘yonr niau’ in
one of my nien—l want to know mincthing;
about that; fur down here along Buck Loud
irail there‘s a few on as as hair,' together
mighty close. Et‘ you get them double-Sig ts
pulled on HUlIlU as I knows on. inebbe there’ll
the like on you with a quicker finger on tho
trig or,” V .. -

“ cry well, old man, you know all I can tell
you. My name in Winkle, and I’m laying out
for my man. I’ve heard of Back Load Trail,
and I’ve heard of Dick Martin that rules it. I'm
an honest man anda square man, and I tell you
there will be some fancy shootin' done along
here before long. If it’s to be war etween you
and lili‘ let us know it now, and I’ll play my
hand careful. Reincmlwr, I‘m not going to in-
terfere with you except as I have to; but if so
he that there’s danger in the air for one 01 your
friends, moer the pity.” ‘ ' ‘

“ Ye’r’ mighty iudefiniw, stranger. Ef you’ve
ever heard of Back Load Trail, as ye say ye
have, ye must know that outsiders that some-
times try to ring in here, occasionally git tho‘r
lust sickness. We run things down here to suit
ourselves party much, nu’ of you’ve got a
grudge ng’iu’ any one it’s 11” right, so he’s an
outsider, too. Iiut, of it’s nc‘in’ one of us .3106
'l‘rappers, the bullet is alrcmly I'llll that puts, er
light out. [don’t know of any strangers on his
trail but yersclf :in’ one more, an‘ he only come
down from the mountains last night. EE it’s
him, all right. El’ it ain’t—look sharp. E! it'a
me but yo say it ain’t, I’m here no N i" ‘

'l‘he voico of Dick Martin rolled out round

'and full as he uttered the words, “l’nihere
nowz" them was even something heroic in his.

tone, just as there was a world of bitter, warnig
in the first partot his address. But, be seen:

 

Barry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

to make little impression on his vile-alias, who
loolliled at him steadily, and answered him
coo :.

“ neither know nor care if the man I’m seek-
ing isa Free Trapper, or whether he just came
down from the mountains. I know I’m a dead
shot, and I know I’ll shoot him dead. Vthn
you find a corpse lying on the broad of its back,
with its left eye shot out, you may calculate that
mymission is accomplished, and that I’m done
With this region. As for an threats you make,
I care nothing for them, I fear for nothing,
nothing can harm me. I am above all chances,
for I am a minister of Fate, and until Fate has
been served, the lead is not run nor the steel
forged that can harm me.”

“By heavens! yc’r’ either a gritty man or
ye’r’ crazy. Ther’s not many men stood up late~
ly and talked that way to my face. I like pluck
and I like grit, so I’m goin’ to hold on a 160th
longer till 1 see yer game. It’s not often I take
a li in’, but I halt like you. I come down here
to where you were cam ed intendin‘ to do some
plain talkin’, but I’ve a tered my mind a lcetle
on it. Turn in, stranger, Dick Martin bids ye
good-night.”

Something in Martin’s voice gave evidence to
the other of the sincerity of his words. Though,
on their very faces. as much as from their con-
versation, you could plainly see their wide dis~
similarity, yet Winkle’s voice lost something of
its hard, steely ring as he responded:

" Good-night, then. We understand each
other pretty fair] . Watch my hand and on
may see what I p ay. I don’t think it’s against
your game, but if it is I say nothing against
yogr "doing your best. Each man for himself
an —- 4

Whatever else the taller man was about to say
was suddenly interrupted by a wild cry pro-
ceeding from the opposite side of the stream, a
cry that startled both men. Martin dro pod at
full length upon the ground, while inkle
brought his rifle to a ready and gazed in the
direction from whence came the sound.

The bushes which lined the bank seemed to be
violently agitated, there was a. noise as of two
men enga ed in a fierce and well-contested
struggle. his lasted but for a few seconds,
then a. dark body shot out into the moonlight
and fell into the water with a sullen splash.

Both men cast curious glances at the spot
where the body had disappeared. Great waves
circled out and out, but there was no further
struggling, and for a time no sign of what was
the object that had fallen into the stream. But
at length, as the two spectators looked curi-
ously at each other. there rose into the clear
moonshine, that lay broad and silvery upon the
surface of the water, the face of a dead man;
while from his breast, as a center, there irra-
diated a crimson fluid that dyed the water with
its stain.

Henry Winkle took a. few steps forward and

zed anxiously at the body that was slowly

rifting down with the current. Apparently he
was satisfied. for he turned around with what
might have been taken for a sigh of relief.
But when his eye explored the little plateau it
rested not on any living thing—Dick Martin
had quietly glided away.

 

CHAPTER II.
AN APPARITION.

ALTHOUGH there was nothing in the sudden
disappearance of Martin that could particulaily
alarm Winkle, impressed as he really was With
the present good faith of the man with whom
he had lately been conversing, still from some
cause or other he felt by no means at his case.
Who might be upon the other side 01' the stream
yct remained a mystery, and until that was
solved he could not follow the advice late]
tendered him and “ turn in.” He gave a quic
glance up and down the stream, a sharp look at
the bushes that lined the other shore, and then,
with a quick. noiseless stop, turned into the
woods from which but a few moments before he
had emerged.

It was his purpose to move up the stream for
some little distance, and then, crossing over,
bent carcfnlly down the bank, keeping a look—
out for traces of the partios whom he had no
doubt had been engaged in a dead] ,sti‘ugglc at
the time the cry bud interrupted iis conversa-
tion.

It was not long before he found the trail most
suddenly ended, for he came to a spot where
the ground had been beaten and the branches
and shrubs most evidently disarrangcd by a
short but desperate contest. It was too dark
for him to see if there were any traces of blood,
but he had no doubt in his mind but that they
were there. Carefully pushing aside the houghs,
he saw that he was immediately ( n the bank,
and in a position not only to see clearly the spot
where he and Martin had met. l‘ut near enough
to hear every word of what was then and there
said. This much he noted, then turned aside
to seek for further traces of the probable sur-
Vivor.

Following a trail that is made carefully and
with the intent of leaving no trace, is at best
but slow business. At night it is infinitely
worse. More than once in a dozen rods Winkle
paused and Scanned the ground narrowly. At
length he inshed ahead, and on gaining the op-
posite ban ', discovered the trail.

This was a discovery indeed, and, while feel-
ing some little uneasiness, he felt more deter-
mined than ever to follow the trail and gain a
sight of this mysterious stiangcr.

Under the shadow of the trees the traces grew
more indistinct and were once more lost; but
allowing himself to he led by instinct, he hurried
on, with his rifle ready to swing to his shoulder
at a moment’s warning. A nmse fell upon his
ears and be halted. At mine distance, and in
the direction of down-stream, he heard horse’s
hoofs rapidly approaching, the animal, however,
being evidently under the control of a rider.

This appeared to put a new aspect on matters,
for, although it might be Martin, or a friend,
the chances also were that it might be an enemy.
Rapidly thrusting his hand in his bosom, Winkle
drew therefrom a whistle. and placed it to his
lips. A moment more and a, sound peculiarly
shrill and trilling arose on the air. Then the
man bent forward in expectancy, Right ahead,
at the distance of a dozen yards, sounded the
neigh oi a horse, followed by the noise of a
plunge, and something that resembled the sud-
den t'all of a heavy body. Then bursting through

 

Harry Winkle'o Long Chase.

 

the underbrush in answer to the call, came a
noble white steed, that approached his master
at a gallop and placed itself alongside of him.
From the direction in which the animal had
come might have been heard other sounds, but
Winkle’s whole attention was now given to the
approachingr rider. He stood with one hand
outstretche l, and resting on the neck of his
horse, his eyes riveted on the open swurxi which,
between the trees among which he stood, glit-
tered and shone clcnl‘.

Behind him there was an exclamation, the
sound of a struzgle, and the voice of some one:

. “ Dar, now, dis chile has yer, suahl T’ink yer
steal dat hoss, did yer?”

But at the some .ime a horse and rider flashed
into the anxious sight of Winkle.

And that rider was a woman.

For just amoment were they visible, but that
moment seemed sufficient to produce a terrible
effect on the gazer. He threw up his hand and
uttexybd a. sharp, unearthly cry; his eyes eagerly
followed the’ slight and graceful form that so
easily swung in the saddle; bent forward he
caught the last glimpse of her as her riding-
dress fluttered away again and was lost in the
infolding branches. '

Then followed the sound of another horseman.

. Again a steed and rider glided across his plane
of vision like a shadow on a curtain or a moving
figure in some pantomime. For a moment only
it appeared in view, and then disappeared in the
same direction as did the woman.

Emotion was fairly overmastering Winkle.
He shook like an aspen, his hands seemed to
have lost their power; but hardly had the second
figure disap ared when his rifle had found its
way to his a oulder. But if he desired to use it
with deadly effect, it was too late. Armin still-
ness, and moonlight, and the noddingr trees
alone lay before him, while the retreating foot-
steps waxed fainter and fainter in the distance.

Mechanically he turned and pursued his way;
he heard nothing, saw nothing—not even the
dumb brute‘by his side, which faithfully paced
along with a step corresponding in slowness
with that of his master.

At length a huge rock or mass of rocks lay in
his path. Moving a little to one side he soon
skirted them, and as he did so, a light, as from
a suddenly-stirred fire, flamed u before him,
illuminating the side of the bowl er and a small
circle in front of it.

Into this circle of light Winkle staggered, and
with his rifle convulsiver clutched at a ready,
sto'od gazing with a half-dazed look into the fire.

CHAPTER III.
DOUBLY WARNED. ~

11' was no particular feeling of fear that caused
Martin to move away in so quiet a manner,
while the struggle was going on upon the oppo—
site side of the stream. But, as Winkle was to
him a stranger, and there might be some need
of investigation, he thought it best that what-
ever might be done, should be done by his own
unaided exertions. Moving cautiously, keeping
(himself well under shade and waiting dpatiently,
he saw the man, with whom he ha been so
lately conversin , look around with a gaze to!
halt wonder at ding himself alone, and than

 

sot forward upon an exploring tour. Not long ’
afterward, ata point some distance down the
stream, a man crossed; and, entering the Woods,
after a moment’s hesitation, struck off in the
direction in which Martin knew Winkle had
camped, or intended to camp for the night.
After a little, hard upon the trail came Winkle,
himself. He would doubtles; have followed on
for the purpose of seeing the meeting between
these two persons—if meet they should—when
he was startled by the sudden appearance of the
two riders. He, too, in a manner almost invol-
untary, threw his rifle to his shoulder and, in
fact, had the pursucr fairly covered; but, in-
stead of drawing the trigger, he lowered the
weapon, listened a moment, and then, utterly
disregarding the motions of the two men upon
which he had been, but lately, so intent, follow-
ed silently on in the direction in which the
woman and the pursuing man had disappeared.

A walk of a few minutes and the aspect of
surrounding things somewhat changed—'suf-
liciently at least to give token that some man
or men had made a permanent settlement near
by. The‘sound of galloping,r horses had ceased;
as he advanced, he thought he heard voices
engaged in conversation. ‘

Nor was he mistaken. At some little distance
from the edge of the wood stood a cabin. In
front of this the parties had halted. The man
was still mounted, but the woman stood by the
threshold of the cabin, facing her late pursuer,
a steely look of defiance upon her countenance.

"The man was speaking when Martin came
within hearing distance, and his words fell upon
the night-air coldly and distinctl '.

“Listen Edith,” he said. “ ou know me so
well, that I need not tell you that sooner or later
I will be: heard. I have not come all these miles
to have you put me off with u hand-wave, and a
‘ hegone.’ We are, both of us, older than when
we last met and care little for listeners; but
must I say now what I have to say, or will you
accord me a more fitting time and place?”

“As between us, there never can be either a
fitting time or place for communication. All
connection, all intercourse between us has cens-
ed, and forever. I would refuse to willingly
hear you, if you came as a messenger announc-
ing myeternal salvation, and nothing that you
can say or do shall museum to alter my deter-
mination. If you Would be safe, leave me. I
am willing to forgive the past, even if I cannot
forget it, and I would not see you harmed;
therefore I warn you away from these grounds.
I caution you to return from whence you come,
if you dare. And if you dare not, then seek
some other place. Away, begonel for some
thing tells me there is danger in the atmosphere
for you here." ‘

“Edith, again, I say listen. I would speak
somewhat of the past; hut more of the future.
Through me you have suffered. I admit, but
through me I would have you return again-:-
to joy and life and youth and love. I have
much that I would tell-you. I have sought ynn
long and faitlifullv; for three long years I the 3
followed constantly in your footsteps, but you
have as constantly eluded me. Now I find you
here and I must speak." 

“ Yes. you have followed in my footstepstnc

 

Han-y Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

" a three years, and for four, and for five. Through

you I have suffered; but never thorough you
did I or shall I sin. You overshadowed, you
darkened my young life, made for me existence
wretched, pursued me With a thousand unmanly
and mean arts. Charles Endicott I tell you be—
ware. I will not listen to you: I willnor. hear
you. But I see trouble for you beyond, trouble
'lack and deadly. Be advised before itis too
late. I am no prophetess or soothsayer, but I
tell you, sure as fate, if you liiigci‘ here, you
linger to meet your own death. Go your way
then; I am dead to the world; I am dead to
you. i

“I know you, Edith, and I know your reso-
lution; but, for all that, I will not go. I am
ready to meet death when it comes, for I am
one of those that believo the lot of man is fort—
ordered and no whining or flinching can avail
ought; but rest assured I shall not die without a
struggle. Let this fruitless talk. come to an end,
and let me, if you will not appoint a more
favorable time, come to that of which I would
speak.” :

The man called Charles Endicott grew more .

in earnest. With a rapidity and ease almost
miraculous, he threw himself from his horsc.
, 80 quick was he, and so graceful, that before
the woman fairly knew it, he was standing near
and facing: her. She shrunk hack somewhat,
then raised her hand with a proud gesture.
“No nearer, sir, no nearer! Think not I am
an rotected because you see me alone.”

ndicott stood for a moment gazing silently,

_ into the eyes that met his, fair an full, glowing
and sparkling under the moonlight. There was
no quailing in them; no unsettledness of pur-
pose, they did not fall. He sought to read her
soul through them; and all he could see was un-
flinching resolution. Poor encouragement to
proceed was that steady stare; a chill crept
along his 5 his, a shiver went through his brain
as he ga into that face, handsome as a dream,
but thin and colorless as chalk. Her eyes
dilated; her form, lithe and slender, straighten-

; the proud gesture grew one of menace,
and again her lips opened:

“Yes, sir, I am no unprotected female now.
I hold your life in my hands in. a dozen ways.
Times have altered, sir. We stand on anew
stage with new spectators and a new cast of
parts. A men more or less, is of but little im—
portance; your corpse, found with face turned
upward would create little excitement among
who might‘learn, of it. Perhaps they might
bury it: maybe they would leave that duty to
the wolves. Who knows?” '

.Endicott’s face darkened. for the tone of the

. woman’srvoice had a disdainl’ul ring that cut
into his pride like the needle-points of a tattooer.
There was shagpedpain and an ugly picture left

‘ behind. He t to smile at her earnstness,
but it was a very dismal smile, and his courage

dropped away down toward zero. Not that e

reared death—he only found-that he feared the

man!
 “Death’s-heads and thigh-bones! Run out
the black flag it you choose, get there will many
n'day‘pass before I walk t a plank. I see no
vision of sudden, death, feel no premonition of
» approaching dissolution”- '

or“. he

 

“ Laugh if you will at my warning; yet, as
you stand there in the full moonlight, you make
a fair target; and on my honor you stand this
minute covered by more than one weapon oi.‘
death. You doubt me? Well, I see a rifle—bar—
rcl aimed at your head by the hand of a man
who never yet missed his mark. I see it gleam‘ I
ing, and a wave of my hand brings the lcaden
incssnngcr. So go your way; it you remain
here five minutes longer, so hclp mo Heaven, I
Will soc you shot down with as little mercy as I
would a. prowling coyote.”

How or exactly where she disappeared, Endi—
cott scarcely know. A mist appeared to sweep
across his eyes, and when the mist rolled away
she was gone. He stared amoment blankly bo-
i'oro him, with the words of her warning ring-
ing in his ears, and a doubt as to what to do in
his heart.

“Shot asa prowling coyotel’ Faith she is
in one of her tragic moods to—night, and l verily
believe she would do as she says. She may
speak truly too about some one lying in wait;
this is a. queer region here, and if all accounts
be true, a bullet from behind a bush would he
no unprecedented thing. 1 will find my way
back to camp as best I can. But how came she
here?"

While muttering these things to himself he re-
mounted his horse, turned his head in the direc—
tion from which he had come and slowly and
thoughtfully began to retrace his steps.

As he passed from the clear space into the
wood the animal he bestrode gave a start,
which, while it caused no particular emotion
in the heart of the rider, was still sufficient to
make him look warily around. He thought he
saw a gleaming and a glancing some little dis-
tance otl‘; he imagined he could hear the trend
of some one approaching. He was right in his
thought, and in his imagination. The gleamin
and glancing were the moonbeams shivering o
of the long rifle, and the noise of footsteps an-
nounced the approach of Dick Martin.

Endicott at first sight of the man had thrown
his hand warily in search of a weapon. But,
almost instantly recognizing the man, he suf-
fered it to drop by his side. and, reining in his
horse, awaited the issue of the interview which
he foresaw was about to ensue.

When Martin was within a few feet he paused,
and the two gave a look at each other as though
they would read the man confronting to the
very soul.

It was Endicott who first broke the silence.
He urged his steed onward a few paces, bent
down in his saddle and extended his hand, at the
same time exclaiming:

“Then it is you, Martin. , I had ,halt—sns—
pected as much when I first 'caught sight of you
and i; gave me a shock. We meet as friends, I

0 e. V '
artin remained standing unmoved, and as
though hedid not see the profiered hand, and
ansvvered in a cool, careless tone: V

“ Yes, lindicott, it is l—no more, and no less.
I know you’ve 0t nerves that are tolerany
steady, so I wont show any wonder at your
taking this meetings.) cooll ; but it’s kind of
unexpected. ou ve dri a long way out of
your latitude to be floating along Back load

 

Harry Winkle’l Long Chane.

 

Trill. What’s wrong in the East? Are the
tools all dead, are the geese not worth the
plucking, have the sheep come short in the wool
crop, that you come here? Or are you in a
stream that sets to the gold-diggings?"

“ Bah, don’t talk to me about the fools,
geese and sheep that I‘ve left behind me! Tell
*xne how it is here. You and I used to under—
stand each other pretty well, ay, and each
other‘s secrets; so, come now; what’s the best
news in this heaven-forsaken region? Dick Mar-
tin doesn't locate here for nothing.”

“ No, he ain’t located here for nothing; you’re
right. That something happens to be necessity.
My luck in my little speculations ran out first,
and I had to leave. As to what I’m doing here
——that’s not to be talked about. Maybe pros-
pecting for gold; maybe Injun trading; maybe
putting daylight through stray travelers and
vainosiug with their traps; maybe any or all of
these things—but not likely. I ain’t here for
nothing. That‘s all I can say.”

“Martin, we have done business together
many a time; we were allies, if not friends, and
I want to know how the case stands now. I
don’t want to pr and peer into your private
affairs. Maybe 'd be bringing something to
the light that Wouldn’t stand it so well; but, I've
heard somewhat of you as I came in this direc-
tion. Of course I didn't know it was you I
heard the talk about, and of course there isa
chance of what I heard being either true or
false, withalittle extra weight on the truth.
You remember how we separated, and I don’t
think you have anything to complain of, or any
charges of ill faith on my part bring against
me. Now, the question I want 0 ask is: Can
we rely on each other as we conldof old? A
plain yes or no will make the best answer to the
question.”

“ Well, Endicott, I haven‘t heard of you par-
ticularly, either good or bad, though I had an
intimation that flyou were in the neighborhood.
It makes no di erence what re orts have gone
trailing toward the East, and don’t claim to
know them: they’re bad enough, no doubt. You
ask me a question, and it you must have an an-
swer, why all I can say is: In some things,
yes, in other things. no !‘ Will that suit you, or
shall I go ahead and explain?”

“ What do you mean by yes?" , .

“I mean that, in the first place, I Would rely
on you just as much as I ever did, and nota
particle more. In the second, whatever you get
my word to, that you can (legend on my carry-
ing through; but if you thin to find me ready
to promise to any and every mad scheme, you
are very much mistaken."

“ Anything that is honest, eh?”

A grim smile flitted over Martin’s face at the
mention of the word honest. It was gone in a
moment, though, and he roceeded: ,

“Yes, anything that’s onest. Now, what is
it that {ion have to propose? I don’t suppose
you won have madeso much of an introduci-

‘ tory it you had not had something behind it.”
, ‘ You are partly ri ht. My motto is business
first and pleasure a terward, else I would have
I had a thousand things to say with regard to our
mutual lives in the past few years. at I hard-
‘ lyknow what I would spy. I did not seek you;

 

yet, since I have met you, I want to know it I '
can count upon your assistance in a little mat- a
her which, springing up suddenly, has found me
unprepared to meet it. ’

“ Then you didn‘t hunt up Black Load Trail
for any special reason?”

“ No, indeedl It is just my lucky chance.
The party I am with are camped half a mile
over yonder. I left them from no very defin—
able reason, and thereby met with an adventure
that may have a great influence on my actions,
perhaps on my whole future life. hen we
camped over there by the side of the stream, I
thought it was but for the night, now I may
linger in this neighborhood for a day or so. The
question is, if I need a friend will you stand be-
hind me?”

“ What’s this adventure, and how do you
want me to stand behind you? If what I think
is true, you may havu more need of it than you
think for.”

“ Well, Martin, I scarce know in what man-
ner I would have you aid inc; perhaps, after all
only by a neutrality. As to the adventure—I
met with a woman.”

There seemed to be nothing either astonishing
or disconcerting; in this revelation. After waitr
ing in unbroken silence for any remarks that
Martin might feel inclined to make, Endicott
proceeded :

“ It was rather strange for a man to ride out
of camp with no aim or object, and to stumble
upon a woman; stranger, too, when that woman
chanced to be one whom you. had known long
before, and for whom you had been long Search-
ing, and in vain. I do not know what may
come of it; butI know what I want to. How
is it? There is no one of our little party that I
care to trust—if I need assistance within the '
next twenty-four hours, will you give it, and
where can 1 find you?”

Martin looked up slowly and deliberately.

“ It seems to me you’re putting thin on
their old basis, what one of us plans the ot er iii
to help carry through.”
‘ “ VV by not? Neither you nor I have grown
what the world calls better since then, andof
course the understanding Would be now as it al-
ways was—nothing for nothing, all for what-
ever pays.”

“No, I don’t suppose we have grown much
better; but there may have been a few changes. v
As to the woman you speak of, here is all I have
to say. It you have any plans and can carry
them out openly and abovebnard. no force, no
underhanded means, no fraud, I’ll not lay a
straw in your way; maybe I can help you.”

“ If not?" ‘ l I

“ This. Just an attempt the slightest bit of.‘
compulsion, ort 0 first grain of trickery—try
anything that’s not honest, make a move toward g.
abduction, or take a step toward foul play, and‘  '
I’ll lav you dead in your tracks.” ’.
i “What do vou mean?" ' w _ , ~.

“I mean w 17' say. I give you fair leave ~
and fair warning, no. I don’t intend to inter
fare in anything she wishes to do, but I mean

she shall not do what she doesn’t want to do.”

“ Do you mean to say that you will exert any
control over her) actions?” _ -_ -. ,
“Yes, juatso tans tolet her have hex-“om

 

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

will. She’s one of the few persons that I have
cared for, and when time stops and the sea
gives up its dead, you may, perhaps, see me go
back on my dead sister’s daughter.”

CHAPTER IV.
'BILL BLAZE, THE “ SNOLLIGOSTER.”

AT the very edge of the campfire lay two
men, mutully clutching each other, although
hostile operations seemed, for the nonce, to have
been suspended.. So near to the fire were they
that one of them, Without relaxing his hold,
had been able to give a log; thereon a. rousing
kick which hiul caused the light to flare up,
thus enabling,r him to obtain a. fair view of the
other. As Hurry Winkle staggered into the
circle of light the two men loosened their grips,
and with deliberation rose to their feet, one of
them returning to its sheath a knife, the other
dropping to tho ground a hatchet.

‘ “ A’Inighty lVIosvs, but yer kiln ncnh gittin’ a.
crack across ycr skull. What yer want to steal
dnt boss fur—ch?” .

“ Pompey, there wérc a nigger nigh onto goin’
under about two minnits ago, an’ so yer had
better not be axing fool’s questions. How d’ycr
s'pose I knowod whose boss that war? The
durned red niggers cleaned me out, root an’
branch, ’bout a week ago, an’ cum clost to rizm’
my hair. I‘ve bin , trampin’ on the back trace.
an’ when I cum ucrost a animile handy I
wouldn’t ‘a’ bin Bill Blaze of I hadn’t gone fur
him—’special arter what I met (so-night. What
ycr doin’ hero? Last time I scc’d yer yer war
on the Big Red with Cap Le Comptc.”

“Hi! You t’ink so! Somebody mite ‘a’biu
hurt of I hadn’t ’a’ knowed it was you when you
talk; but dunno ’bout it’s bein’ dis chile. 1’s not
bin with dem Hudson Bay fellers sence dat
winter when you got so bad bit up wid dat
grizzly. I’s on my own hook now, an’takin’

. care 0’ Mass’r Winkle. An’ brass my soul,dar

vhe am now 1”

The speaker, who was an African of the un-

mitigated breed, caught si ht of Winkle stand-
ing on the opposite side of t 8 fire.
' “Muss’r dis yer um Mister Bill Blaze. I
knows ’um well, an’ he’s a. fu’st—rato teller, ef he
warTa-goiii’ fiur yer boss. Nussed him up when
be war tore all into leetlo bits.”

' ‘Winkle appeared to be somewhat recalled to
,life by this address of his sable attendant: and

 turning, looked the man thus recommended full
in the face. ‘
' Blaze, once introduced, did not stand upon

ceremony: but advanced across the intervening
space , extending his hand as he walked.

“Y’es, siree, I’m that identikle individool,
'Bill Blaze, jist frum the mountings! I kin trap
vinore beaver, eat more bufller, steal more, hoss-
.fleah' au’ raise mdre top-knots than any; man
i’rum here to the Columby River. I’m a larst—
ed‘ bull—dorg an’ a high-heeled snolligoster. I
kin lick my weight in b’ar’s meat, an’ my name’s

Blaze. Waugh!”

“lfve heard that name before,” said Winkle,
 the oflered hand, “and you’re welcome.

311 at ittle abroad Justinow, anddon’t feel lik

'«omselt—for I’ve seen a ghost.” '
~  Y look kinder ~ ; but
no

. I’ve, seen more glans than

 

any man a-trampin’. Had ’em for pards onc’t.
Fact. Three on ’em an’ myself camped in a.
shanty down on Black—horn Lick fur nigh onto
a month. There war a woman with her throat
cut, nn’ it half-breed with his brains stove in,
1111’ his skulp a—dunglin’ zilnnd, an’ a black b’ar
with his back bruk. The way they tore around
that ’ero shanty war nasty. Why, down thar
on that thar Lick, ghosts war as plenty as ha’rs
in yer hood. An" yell? T he ('ntaniounts got so
’shamod of their own mule music the packed
their trupsucks un’ got. Yer couldnt find a
painter nigher nor fifty milc. No, stran er;
don’t talk to Bill Blaze about ghosts, fur e’s
bin than!”

Winho appeared to be little moved by this
address. His face still bore marks of evident
perturbation, and there was an absence of mind

depicted in his manner and actions that seemed

to striko Blaze as rather unwarranted. To
some remurk made he answered rather shortly;
but he accepted of the hospitalities offered him,
so far at least as to seat himself by the fire, and,
in default of other entertainment, entertained
himself by the sound of his own voice.

“ No, ghosts don’t bother this hyar hoss. Nor
red-skins nor grizzlles neither. I kin trap more
beaver, kill more b’ar, shoot straighter, run
quicker, jump further, lie faster, stampede more
animiles, an carry more pelts than any bloody
bull-dor ever invented. But, I’m the man
without uck. I’ve wrastledw1th the old boy fur
thirty years; he’s got an under bolt on me: but,
I‘m dead game, I an)! Luck or no luck, I’ll hang
like sevuute‘en pair 0’ tongs and a last inch, game-
cock. Waugh!”

The negro listened to these announcements if
Winkle did not. He was accustomed to this
style of thing and had heard Blaze before.

“ Mass’r Blaze. ’pears to me do bad luck ain’t
so mitey bud; I’s t’inkin’ it’s t’oder way cl’ar.
Anyl udder man ’ud bin gone under—dun gone
sun ——cf he’d had de half what you’s had to go
tru. You’s allcrs a-sayin’you’s nary luck, an’
allers a-gittin’ inter de wu stest kind 0’ skrim-
dig‘ers—an’ still you am heah. . What’s de
trouble now?” ‘

“ Wal, Pomp, I allow it’s no luck as pulls me
through, but just pure grit and muskle in this
huyer boss. Iwar camped out in a bully old
spot last week; meat plenty, beaver tobe had
for the taken of ’em, and everything oing
along on a string. Didn’t think thar was njin
within twenty mile, an’ blast me, of they didn’t
cum down an clear us out Qéiicker than the jerk
of a deaddeer’s tail. Bob hort an’ I war thar
together, you see, an’ Bob struck all right, but
they got my old sorrel mare, an’ all our pro-
vender, an’ I‘ just cum down from them are
mountings after a chase 0’ four (lags, poorer ner
Job’s turkey, an’ nothen left me ut Slicer an’
this buyer old shootin’-iron. An’ this buyer
very blessed night, as I were movin’ along pro-
misc’us, thar war a rifle-ball went mzz a-past Y
my head-piece, an’ I squatted an’ see’d two men
a-talkin’, an’ found that thar bit 0’ lead warn’t .
meant fur me, an’ while I or a-listenin’, sock
cum somethin’ right acrost , _an’ hovaayell-
wuss ner forty catamounts ,fltin’ in a small box;
I know‘d it war a. copper-belly an’ clinched.
Wahed it, pull au’hug'a bit, on’ than Igor.

 

8 ' Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

Slicer out. That thar red-skin won’t cum a—
pryin’ an’ a—peerin’ down along Back Load Trace
soon ag’in. Nary; not much; waughl”

The story of the trapper began to interest
Winkle; he thought less and less of the ghost;
he descended from the clouds and listened with
earnestness to what the man was saying. He
thou ht of the corpse that Martin and he had
seen rifting down the stream, and believed that
the Indian would not come prying and peering
in that neighborth soon again. Perha s, too,
this man mi htbe of serviceto him? t any
rate it won (1 do no harm to meet him cor-

diall'xy.

“ hen you are the man who had the tussle
over there with an Indian? I heard the yell,
saw him shoot into the stream, and went across
to see what it was about. I was following your
trail, when I came across a sight. or rather a
sight came across me. that unflnged my nerves.
But, how came the difficulty with the Indian?
What was he doing there? Is there danger
tram others that should be specially guarded
against?"

“ Yes, sires, I’m the man! The difiikilty per-
obalgy arove from his not keepin’ both eyes
peel . He was so bent on hearin’ that he
couldn‘t take time to see, an‘ tumbled onto a
hornet‘s nest. He clinched right in then by
instink, an’ as it war die dorg er eat the hatchet,
I had to let it into him, though I'd as rather not.
What he was a-doin’I dunno. Injin deviltry
arevanous. Thar oughtn’t to been a red~skin
within fifty miles 0’ buyer. Thar may be a
couple more on ’em or thar mayn’t. What
they’d be arter I can’t say. Martin ought to
know’d ef tbar war any, an’ I guess he’s got his
men out b this time a-lookin‘. ’

“It will best then to keeps bright lookout!”

“ ’Twouldn’t be onsensible. Leastwise, though
I don’t think thar’s much danger, it won’t hurt
to keep one eye open. for I’ve found it don’t
altogether gee right to be too conflding in this
section wit anybody—white er red. I’d advise
it. I’d advise it, partick’ler, arter the talk I
heard between you an’ Martin. You see, I
hain’t any doubt but what yer a good man an’ a
game man; but, supposin’ he was to tell it to
some 0’ his cronies around here. an’ one on ’em
should he the man ye’r’ after—I wouldn’t put it
:gst ’em to slip in here an’ slide a few inch 0’

l in somewhar nigh yer 'u ’lar.”

Winkle meditated some itt 9 time before he
mended; then his words dropped out slowly
, distinctly.

“I am safe from anything in that shape. It
is no mere bravado on my part when I say so.
but a belief so settled that it must be true. I
bears charmed life while that one other man
lives. I have passed through all straits during
the three years, and from desperate eu-
coun have come forth unharmed; from beds
of deadl sickness have come up sound and
well. I ve changed in that time wonderfully,
and the change was not for naught. I do most
firmly believe that destin has something in
store for me; till tonight I bought I knew what
it was. New I am uncertain; but thatit is
something more than a stab in the back or a
chance shot in the mlseof a night attack I have
nodoubt." , v

/
\ l

 

n H‘A‘y‘

“ That’s all right. I only give my ’pinion on
the matter, seein’ as may be I’ve trumped around
here ruther more nor you hev. Jest keep Ker
weather eye open—you an’ Pomp here is a I
mean. And of anything should turn up while
I’m in shooting distance. yer kin kalkerlate that
Bill Blaze’ll givo yer a hint on it.”

“Well well,” responded Winkle, “I am not

likely to have much dealin s with any one here-
abouts; but I begin to thin my intentions have
deceived me. I have been lingering in this
neighborhood for several days; but I will do so
no longer. To—niorrow I will move on west-
ward—and perhaps, if you have nothing better,
you could find it to your interest to 0 along.”
“ That’s my identikle name— oovin’-West
Blaze. But 1m steerin’ in toward the settle-
ments to see if thar’s anybody sich a blarsted
fool as to trust me fur an outfit. The season’s
Jist commencing, an’ of I hev anything like
natersl luck I Inn pay ’em back when I cum in
ag‘in and hev a few pelts in my sack.”

“I can arrange that matter. I think,” he-
spondcd Winkle. “ I have an extra horse and,
in fact, nearly everything you need. was
going on to the trapping-grounds. Suppose you
remain with me a couple days, and if nothing
turns up I will leave this region. If I should.
however. accomplish any of my aims, you shall
have what you need anyhow."

“Durn m Trojan! I’m your man. I kin

ut in a wee here, easy. Hev yer seen Martin’s
eadquarters yit? If yer hevn’t yer ought to
call in on him.”

“No; I didn’t know that I was so near to it.
I have been near here for some days—within
ten or twelve miles perhaps—but I only came
into camp here to-nig ’

“Yer must go in then. Some on 'em
nosed ye out long ago, an’ it yer don't they may
come pie in' tricks on yer without sayin’ any-
thing to ick. Maybe ye kin git some hints of
what yer arter down thar.”

“ You are right. It may be as well to look a
little in that direction. I’ve hardllybeen sys-
tematic in my plan of procedure. hat comes,
though, of trusting to chance and drifting in
the direction Fate seems to call me. And, by
the way, are there any females with the any?”

“ We], to-morrer morning early will time
enufl‘ to talk it over. I’m goin’ to turn in now
and git a snooze. I’ve had a blarsted long
tramp today, and them legs 0’ mine ain’t ex-
actly a steam in inc—though,” by way of a
saving clause an to prevent the idea of any
derogatory admission ‘I’m a bloody, blarsted
bull—dog and a high-heeled
wheels.”

To make arrangements for the night occupied
but a short time: and soon, wrapped in a
blanket of Winkle’s, Blaze was wooing

“ Sleep that knit u the reveled sleeve of care.

The death of sac day‘s life. sore lsbor's bath.
Chief nourisher in life's feast,”

while silence and darkness reigned around.

CHAPTER V.
THE soasu A! non. f
Blane had been slumbering he .
y have even gas-ed; butsuddenly. ;_

snolhgoster on

How lon
could scar

 

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

and without any assignable cause, he found
himself wide awake. He saw nothing but dim
shadows, heard 'nothin but the regular breath-
ing of the two sleepers y his side. Yet his first
thought was of danger. He was accustomed to
premonitions. Men who live in an atmosphere
of peril meet with them, understand them, act
on them.

He leisurely and thoughtfully unrolled himself
from his blanket and arose to his feet. “ Most
durn queer,” he solioquized, turning his eyes in
every direction. “ This old boss’s narves must
be gittin' weak, or thar’s sumthin’ wrong a-
brewin’. Don’t often feel this here way; last
time I did, was t’other night, when the copper-
beliies was a—cumin’ in onto us without words or
warnln’. I‘ll jist scout around a. hit, an’ see if
ennything’s broke loose.”

Taking his rifle with him, the trap r noise-
lessly stole away from the Vicinity. 9 moved
around the camp in a. gradually increasing cir-
cle, pausing but once in his pace, and that was
when he was opposite to the point where he be-
lieved Martin’s cabin lay. Full ten minutes
passed, when he heard footsteps and the voices
of men en aged in conversation. Sinking upon
the groun at the foot of the tree by which he
was standing, Blaze Watched and walted.

Both men were strangers to him; but one of
them already has been introduced to the reader,
under the name of Endicott. He had had time
to leave Martin and meet with another man,
who seemed a friend; and to him was imparting
information, both as to what had alread oc-
curred that night in the vicinity of Black oad
Trace, and as to what might occur. His words,
that he of violence and treachery, appeared
to fal u a sympathizing ears. As they drew
nearer, a l the time becoming more deeply inter-
ested in their conversation, Blaze gave astart
of surprise and recognition; he crouched closely
in the shadow and listened with redoubled inter—

est.

Charles Endicott has been already described,
and his companion merits notice. He, too, dif-
fered in something from the class of men one
natural] expects to find on the very outer
ver e o send-civilization. He was a man of

r aps thirty-five years of age, of medium

ight. He walked with a steady, stealthy, cat-
like pace, his head, for the most part, bent
down; but now and then it was lifted, and be
cast a sharp, steady gaze around him. The
features were firmly cut, the eyes were stead ;
yet an undescribable something seemed to
shifting across his face, which would say to a
stranger: Beware of Eben Rothven!

“Yes, Eben, it does make a change in the
programme, I’ll admit, but, it’s a change to the
advantage of both. Don‘t you see that?”

“I see that we waste here a couple of weeks,
and no one knows what the end of it all will be.
You can’t count on a woman, and especially
such a woman as you say this is. You think
Wgcan waken the old dream in her, do you?

y, man, I'm surprised at you! The deadest
thing on the earth is a dead love, and there is no
mending a broken idol. Take my advice and
let her go.”

i “ You’re welcome to your philosophy about
dead idols and the like; welcome to shake your

 

head and prophesy' but what I want is your
help. Of course I will get it in some she. or
other, but I prefer it to be freely and en usi-
astically given."

“ How much does my help enter into your
calculations? I tell you frankly that 1 am none
of your dashing adventurers, ready to ride into
Martin’s camp of Free 'l‘ra pers. So far as a
word of advice and a sacri cc of time goes. you
may count on me; but don’t ex set me to stand
behind you, to assist in any ma experiment you
see roper to try.”

“ y ‘ count’ is upon your services as a rev-
erend—a title and authority that, as far as you
and I know, is still legitimate] borne. I want
to use you; a piece of joineryo your handiwork
will last for all time. The woman is worth her
weight in gold; and, besides, it’s no new dream
with me. It‘s not so many years since she was
an idol of mine.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it—and I think, too, that
you handled it—or would have handled it—not
over tenderly. Do you think she would forgive
that?

“That was no fault of mine. I would have
done better if the Fates had let me; but they
were against me. What could I do, hedged in
as I was? If I could have sunk my past record
and stood out a new man, I’d not have let ‘ e‘en
thejvinds of Heaven visit her face too rough-

“There is a limit, you may find, to human
credulity. You cannot wash out the recollec-
tions of the past. Do you think it was any light
cause that drove her out of the world, out of
society, refinement and all that women of her
stamp hold dear? Evsry day she has spent here,
every rude face and lonely hour that she has
seen or felt, has cried out against lyou. Why,
man, you murdered her name, an that is a.
crime no woman could ever forgive i”

Endicott was silent a moment before the im-
pressiveness of his companion. Then, by an
effort, be said:

“ Of course, what you say may be true as
ho] writ. But what of it? Fair means or
fou —I don’t mince matters. This is no new
plan of mine, and so, when op rtunity comes,

can decide on my course quic y. Delay never
makesaman. The time for action has come.
Are you with me?”

The man called Rothven hesitated a moment,
as if weighing the matter in his mind; then an~
swered, simply:

65 I am.”

“ Come on, then,” and the two left the

Much of this conversation was Greek to laws
but somehow he got it in his head that it related
to his new-made friend, Ha Winkle. He
seated himself leisurely against t e tree to think
it all over. Both these conspirators were stran-
gers to him; they did not belong to Martin's
men; who were they? He might, perhaps, have
learned more as to that by to lowmg them, but
be neglected to do so. Amhpondering over the
thing, he must have fallen esp, for conscious-
ness faded away. For how lon , he could not
at once, rhaps, have told, but e came back
to life With a sudden shock, that brought him
upon his feet like the thrill of. a stron galvanic
battery. He was wakened bya woman :5 Scream,

 

Harry Winkle’s Long Chane.

 

long, shrill, cutting into. and through his cars
like an Indian’s death—wail. -

He listened to catch it again, but it was 'not
repeated. For a moment all was silence; then
he heard the steady beat of horses’ hoofs stretch—
ing away at fullest gallo , and then, the sharp,
quick report of a rifle. {c heard the footsteps
coming nearer and nearer, and he crouched in
the shadow of the tree, with his hand upon the
lock of his weapon, almost nervously waiting
for whatever might follow.

Suddenly he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.
He started, and turned with a quick motion of
offense. It was W'inkle, rifle in hand. The
moonlight fell past the tree full upon his face,
on which was an excited if not a wild look.

“ Am I crazy to—night? or did you hear it,
too? I’ve seen a ghost this night, and now,
again, I heard it scream for help. What was
it, Blaze?”

This he hurriedly asked.

“ If ye’r‘ a lunatic, there’s a pair on ’cm, fur I
heard it, too. Lay low here a minnit, an‘ you’ll
see some more on it."

The hoof-beats sounded nearer; they swept on
and on toward them. Then three horses emerg-
ed from the trees out into the light, and neared
the s t where the two men were concealed.

“ s it he?” whispered \Vinkle, hissing the
words out between his clinched teeth, and with
a sharp click the hammer of his rifle went back.

But Blaze, quickly reaching buck, seized his

arm.

“ Hold hard, there’s more ner he thar.”

The horsemen raced by like a. tornado. It
of Blackfeet! And across the sad-
the savage nearest to Blaze, was

wash.

die-b03217?
flung, or held, the form of a. woman! In a mo-
ment Winkles eye had caught sight of that
which Blaze had perceived—the woman.
a moment he seemed to lose all control of him-

For

self all pewer for action. Just one glim se of
13. white, wild face, and a hand clutching erce-

y.
“ Did you see it—did you see it?” he asked.

“ Yesl I seen it! They’ve just went an’ gone
au’ done it. Thor’s grit in them red-skins, thar
are. But ou’ll be able to see another corpse
along Blac Load Trail afore many hours.
Dick Martin will be behind ’em in the shake of

' a. bank’s tail— Hello! What’s bu‘sted?”

The man by his side had sunk, stiif and mo-
tionless, upon the grass.

“Blast my tail-feather, ef the young cu’ss
hain’t fainted. Thar must be somethin’ wrong
in the upper story, sure 1”

CHAPTER VI.
, A DOUBLE TRAIL.

ON the prairie, alone by moonlight, there is a
lonesome solemmty that startles, appalls. Look
in o c direction. For miles and miles there
stretc es away a tract of rolling land where the

grows, the buffaloes graze, the coyotes
Eowl, but no human form can be seen, no tree
waving—a. loneliness of nature that you think
'must somehow of necessity be interminable.
Turn and look in another. Down from the
table-land there stretches a long, grassy slope,
where the foliage is more than ordinarily lux-

 and at the mot 9! the ‘decliv'ity is. the

l

 

\

longr line of timber which marks the course
some stream. There the broadvelm flourishes,
the lofty cottonwood shootsvupwnrd, and the
white sycamore trees stand gleaming ghostliko
under the mellow moonlight. Perhaps, further
away to the left, where the rich bottom is
broken by rising ridges of rocky blulfs, you see
the gloomy sprendof the cedar tree rcachin,’,r
upward its dismal—looking arms. Wherever
the rolling prairie-fires have been unable to
Sweep, there you see the shade of timber and
bush; everywhere else is the blue and red stem,
the blue and bunch-grass or the short, crisp
hulfaldgrass; and far ollz‘ in the distance, with
a quiet grandeur of its own, you see the trace-
line of the mountain range.

Some such grand nndlonoly scene would the
reader have noted had he been standing in some
favorable position on the high prairie near Back
Load Trace, a few moments before thooccur-
ronce of the incidents just detailed. ,

It can well be imagined that Blaze was not
the only one startled into action by the occur-
rences of the night. The shot, by one of Dick
Martin‘s men on guard. nrousod the Free Trap-
pers, and also caused Charles Endicott and his
companions the keenest alarm. Had their des-
tinod prey been seized by other human wolves?
If so—who were those Wolves?

As for Blaze he 10st but little time. -Ahnost

hcrculean in strength, he gathered on one arm I

the two rifles, while with the other be here
Harry toward the camp. On the way he met
the negro, who relicvm him of the rifles, and,
upon reaching the side of the now_ smoldering
camp-fire, produced a bottle of spirits and a.
canteen of water.

It was but a short time until consciousness
returned to the fainting man. He opened his
eyes, raised himself, sat upright, looked Blaze
full in the face.

“ You saw it all, did you? Now tell me, who
was that woman?”

“ That bit 0’ caliker, mister, tho’ I dunno as I
ever seen it afore, war most likely a woman
that Dick Martin claims a sort 0’ relationship
to, an’ she’s bin livin’ round hyar fur seine con-
siderable time. Frum yer ackshuns I’d think
yer must hev bed a priur morgidge on it, un’, ef
so, ye’d better be up an’ stirrin‘, fur by the
mitey the darned Blackfoot is goin’ to foreclose.”

“Ready, quick, quick,” was Winkle‘s terse
answer, looking: from one man to the other.
Then he turned, and burying his face in his
hands lay stretched for a moment prone. When
he sprung,r to his feet there wasa new light in
his eye. and redouo‘led strength in his arm.
vaulted into his saddle, gathered n his reins,

and taming to Blaze, in a firm-setw sper, mutf

tercd:

“ Lead on—-to life or death—but I must see
her again.”

So, fully armed and fairly equipped, the

three men rode out from under the shadows and I

cast themselves. with clinched teeth and iron
will. upon the trail. _4
moments to accomplish, smce the three men had.
within them, each separately, the highem de-
velopment of trained sagaaity.

As they came out upon the prairie, Blaze took

a. sweeping glance around  thougbvhe ' '

Ha

All this took but stew «

6

 

Han-y Winkle’l Long Chase.

 

would fain impress upon his mind every min«
utiie of the lay of the country.

. “Dog-gone the’r hides, thar‘s just two routes
for ’em, an’ on’y two, to take, air‘ of I know’d
which one it war it’s cussed leetle trailin' I’d do
to-night. In this yere leetle game it takes too
much eye-pullin’ to run nose—down. It ain’t ac—
cordin’ to reason to s’ use we won’t hev to look
out far all the cusse red-skin tricks ever in-
vented. They’ve got one on me already due, so
of I don’t squar’ with ’em afore beaver—pelts is
prime, I he I may never tote a trapsack, er
p’izen a bu er-wolf ag’in."

This was said more in the manner of a solil-
oquy than of a direct address; in fact, it is
doubtful if either of the others could have heard
his low-toned words. Winkle meant work; and
so, for the present, thought little of speaking or

‘ of listening. Blaze meant work, too; but, talk
to him was second nature, and when there were
no ears open to hear he would rather press his
own into service than, no pressing emergency
demanding it, kee silent. Havinga full twenty
minutes’ start, t ey reached the spot where
Martin and men had first been at fault long in
advance of those worthies, and. as they had not
a third trail to confuse them, and perhaps being
more trail-wise. Bill did not have to spend many
minutes in finding the tracks left by the two

' parties of Indians.

“ One on each route, by miteyl
to foller?”

He gave both the benefit of a close scouting,
0n the one leading to the right he found the im-
print of a horse‘s hoof which he recognized as

aving been with the abductors. He noticed,
too, that one was double laden. After a bit he
came upon some shreds of a woman’s dress.
He showed these marks to Winkle, being careful,
for the benefit of Martin, whom he shrewdly
suspech would follow hard after, to leave
them untouched. Harry’s heart bounded more
buoyantl at sight of these indications, and
Blaze too one more look around him before all
three dashed on with redoubled energy. But
as the trail at length lay before them ain and
undisguised. Blaze’s enthusiasm sud enly fell

' away down below zero. From time to time he
glanced at it and at length reined in his horse.

“ Dog-eggone my knock-knead tail-feather," he
exclaim , “I ain‘t fit to lead blind rabbits to
water!” I

Winkle looked at him in astonishment.

“What ,is the matter now. Why do you
halt?”

But Blaze paid but little attention to his

quer .

- “ What a. zeal-blasted fool this hyar did hoss
are. Tuk right in the fu‘st pop by a. bit 0' baby-
play. Can’t yer see? That iral couldn’t ’a’ tore
them bits ofl? 0’ her dress. It stan’s to reason
not. sure. Why, cuss 'em, tliar’s two Injuns
ridin’ double here, dead shot. I thort it was too
aoi‘ta thing. That led boss in t'other party is
the one ez as the gal on. Jist seen it in time.
I’d gamble high thar’s ez party a leetle hornets’
 nest a—hangin’ under the fu’st bit 0’ timber we’d
‘ , gigantic ez you’ll find from hyar to the Big

Now, which

How this suggestion was received may well

N, s. ‘ , .

 

“ What are we to‘ do then?” queried Harry.
“ Must we go all the way back and start fresh
on the other trail?"

“ Wal, not quite that bad; but somewhere
blamed nigh. Change my hind-sights, of they
Iiin't a~strikin’ fur Crooked Canyon, fu l drive—
we‘ro goin’, from the taste I’ve had of the
bosses, to be jist a. little too late to see ’oin git
under kiver.”

“ You think you can find them yet, though?”

“ Think! I know it. Thar ain’t no trouble
about that; thar’s only two trails, im' like a
blarsted green purp, ’vo bin a—barklu’ up the
wrong one.”

“ Then the sooner we look for the right one the
better.”

“ That’s so, only it’s provokin to hev bin losin’
all this time. Come on now, an’ of ever an arrer
went straight—air the copper-skins kin sling ‘ein
nasty, I kin take yer t0 the spot whar they’re
headin’ fur tonight. I’ve bin ham-strung an‘
sot down on, which ain’t very lively for the
boys!”

Without more hesitation or further parley,
Blaze turned to the left and led off at a rate
which he judged best suited to continued eifort.
Not for a long tiinedid he utter a word. But
when the silence had begun to be monotonous he
broke it by bringing his hand down with vio-
lence upon his thigh, exclaiming:

“ Cussed ef sand-paper ain’t slick as reuse
alongside 0’ this streak o‘ roughness. Von't
seine one drawn bend on me More I get my ha’r
cut fur nuthin’?"

“Why, what is the trouble now? I hope we
are not at fault again?" anxiously remarked
lViukle. '

" No, we ain’t; but it’s three to one an’ fifty
cents a dozen but what Dick Martin an’ his boys
are. . I war so bloody, blarsted particular to
leave everything es Mound it, and when they
come up. like es not they’ll just skyugle straight
along on our trail. an’ so they’re losin’ time. an‘

maybe get tuk in, when we mout just as well as

not all be layin’ on that trail together. It’s too
late to fix her now, so here goes.”
Winkle's momentary uneasiness having been

allayed, the three rode rapidly but moodily on.

CHAPTER VII.
LARIA'I‘ DAN'S DISCOVERY.

WE have said that the shot which Blaze and
Winkle heard had also aroused Endicott and his
party. Lariat Dan, a trailer, trapper and guide
of the party, and whose experience had been
immense. and whose word could not be doubted,
said that he had heard, in addition. a woman’s
scream for help. At this, as it were by instinct, .
Endicott and Rothven looked at each other.
Could it be that the woman of whom they had
been conversing but a short time ago had since
been in mortal danger? Endicott wondered,
too, whether the conversation he hail with Mar—w 3
tin had anything to do with it, or if some and-
den peril had come to the girl as she wandered.
as of old, beneath the moonlight! ,Then Grizzly
Dave, a voyageur of some renown, and also of
his part , said that he “ smelt. In 'un,” and
thereat ndicott hastily gave orders oran im-
mediate preparation for a quick move. Accord- \
new there was, a bustle and. buzz, around the

 

18

Harry Winkle’s Long Chane.

 

camp for a few minutes, every man with nerv-

ous rapidity attending to his duty. .

By the time that Martin and half a score or
more of his trusty followers foamed into
Endicott’s camp, everything was in a condition
that spoke well for the training and agility of
the small brigade. So ready, too, were Endicott’s
company for defense, that more than .one saddle
of the Free 'l‘rappers might have been emptied
as they came charging up had not Lariat Dan
been acute enough to distinguish the thunder of
their horses from the sweep of Indian ponies,
and informed Eudicott of the number and qual-
ity of their approachini visitors. In a moment
it seemed to him that 0 had caught by intui-
tion a glimpse of the position of affairs, and be
confronted Martin so earnestly, that that wor-
thy’s suspicions as to foul play emanating from
that camp were at once dispelled.

“Now, then. of ye’r’ man enough to follow
Dick Martin, you’ve a chance to ride behind
him. Ther’s been some carelessness to-night
that‘ll cost more than the sleepy cusses’ brains
are worth. Jump into the saddle if you‘re
ready. What you leave in camp is safe as a
church, and come on, The red-skin rascals
sha’u’t get clear without hard riding and harder
fighting.”

“ What is it? Out with the whole of it! We
heard the shot and scream. and get ourselves
toggther for anything rough that might turn
up.

“Come on. I can tell you everything as we
go. That fool of a girl has been gambled up by
the copper—skins, and that when I had six gent!
men out for them. She’ll be flfty miles away
up in the mountains by morning.” i

The truth, as it was spoken rapidly by
Martin, stirred Endicott into instantaneous
action. ~

“NeVer mind caeheing the dunnnge, I’ll bear
the damage. Is everything ready for a start?”
he exclaimed.

“ You can Just gamble on that yore!” was the
response of Lariat Dan.

“ Then mount and away. Twenty-five dol-
lars apiece extra pay for the extra work, and
everything else goes on the same!"

“That’s the right ring! Count us boys in on
this yere frolic—up and git!” said Dan.

Endicott’s followers fell in with those of
Martin. and the whole body swept rapidly
away, Martin, some yards in advance, heading
toward the trail of the Indians, which passed
the camp not many yards distant. These few
yards were soon traversed, and, with scarce an
effort, the trail was found. There it lay before
them, fresh, full and deep. As they ranged
upon it. Endicott drew up to the leader. At the
pace they were going, a free, steady gallop,
conversation could be held with perfect ease,
and he wished to gather the particulars of
the fatastrophe as well as learn the probable
resu ‘3.

“It seems to me the girl is born to be the cen-
ter of a mix. and just lives to make and be in

trouble. I’ve got the whole thing down to a

mi: now—mi ht have seen it at once if I

. dn’t had my deas turned ofl’ thinking of what
, on had been saying to me tonight. What

{hm . ‘15 in her White face and staring eyesl

 

can’t see; but she’s bewitched a dozen or so, and ’
in the lot there’s a red-skin that’s been into my ‘
camp two or three times in the last year. That
red-skin has made the difficulty now."

“ Then there’s little danger of her coming to

any immediate harm?”

“ Not so much if they don’t tomahawk her as
we caich up."

“But will We catch up? What are the
chances?"

“ Will we? You talk as though you had never
done business before with Dick Martin. 01
course we willl What he puts his hand to goes
through. That's what has made him out here.
We must catch up, The scent is fresh, our cat-
tle good, and if we let them got away from us
into the mountains, we ought to lose our hair
before we got back. Thor‘s a smart sprinkling
of a chance for seine of us to do that, though,
anyhow."

“And suppose they do get into the moun-
tains?” l

“ Well, then, we have a heavy contract to
carry, that’s all. Ah, what’s that?”

The sudden exclamation was caused by the
S],)€ilk01"§('fltchillg sight of the spot where Bill
Blaze and party had come upon the trail of the
Indians. Conversing as he was, and rapidly as
he was riding, Martin’s eye was never for an
instant blinded, but made constant use of the
moonlight, which, before many hours, would
fail them. He glanced backward, caught the
direction and comprehended in a moment.

“That’s the party that were camped down
there," pointing with his fingers in the direction
of Winkle’s latelyrleft camp. “ Only there were
two men and t roe horses then. They must
have found a third rider. Wonder if it could
be the trapper that is just down from the moun-
tains? They are on the trail hard—and the .
more the merrier.”

Again they dashed on at a rapid rate. Now
the silence was unbroken by speech. Well
mounted and well armed, Martin hoped to over-
take the red-skins before the moon should set,
or they have an opportunity to find covert.
The three men who had so unexpectedly come to
his assistance had evidently a start, and they
might be riding in view. Perhaps they might
so embarrass the retreat that he would soon
come up. "Once at close quarters, unless against
overwhelming odds, he could rest confident in
the prowess of his men.

A mile more was soon devoured; then the
whole cavalcade came to a sudden halt at the
exclamation from their lender. '

A new addition had been made to the number V
of the forces on one side or the other,'and, -'
anxious as he was to push on, Martin was here
compelled to pause and make a thorough ex-.
amination: the result of. which proved at once
embarrassng and unexpected. On inflection
it was evident that at this spot a small, y of '
Indians had halted for some hours. T egress '
was beaten down and upon the ground wasthe , I
imprints of moccaslned feet. At first there Was, 
a dimculty in finding any further traces of the 
horsemen oi! whom the were inpursnit. Martin.
and two or three 0 his most experienced,
trailers save their keen eyes to the work. While
Iariat Dan, Gm,sz Dave mi Mike Mold

 

flurry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

‘ went circling round on their own account.
Endicott and Elieu‘Rolhven remained motion-

, less, conversing between themselves. RothVen
had entered upon this ride with manifest reluetr
ance,aud would even now lain have persuaded his
friend that their best policy was to withdraw
fromapursuit which was attended with posi-
tive danger, and the result of which was so
dubious in its nature. But Endicott was
neither to be persuaded nor warned, and listen-
ed with half-closed ears to the words of his
partner.

Almost simultaneously Martin and Grizzly
Dan uttered an ejaculation. Each had found a
trail leading away from the halting-place. Dick
had already found the path made by tho halting
squad. and, by careful scouting, had satisfied
himself that it h'ld been traversed by three
mounted men, and 8. led horse. And looking a few
yards further he found the footprints of the
same four horses leading back in almost the
exact direction from whence they had come.
Havin noted this he turned to examine into
what rizzly Dave had found.

It was evideutlv a trail. thoufirh a faint one.
Just a. shadow of a track left, a bruising: of the
grass as though by the muffled feet of horses.
And by the side of it another track, that
of Harry Winkle and his two followers.
They cautiously moved on a few paces, keeping.
with some difficulty, the marks in view. hen
they came to a spot in the prairie that was soft
an rather bare, the hoof-prints of the three
horses could be quite )lninly discerned. More
than that, one of those orses was doubly laden,
as could be told by the depth of his tracks.
Then Lariat Dun made another discovery which
he showed in silence. It was a little shred of
stuff which Martin at once recognized as a. shred
from Edith Van Payne’s dress.

“ We have it now, boys; come ahead!" shout-
ed the leader, and np‘ain they pressed on, guided
partly by the feebfy discernible Indian trail,
gartly by the holder one of the three white men.

ut, moving with as much. rapidity as they
could, time, and valuable time, was consumed,
and so far it could not be disguised that the red-
slrins had traveled two miles to tho white men’s
one.. ;

Another'mile brought a fresh development.
The pursued had thrown away all disguise and
all attempt to conceal the trail, apparently be-

. ing more desirous of making a rapid flight than
an ht else.

3 they galiopcd on, now Lariat Dan drew

up alongside of Endicott and spoke to him in a.
low tone: “Fall back an’ out a little; I want to
tell yer somethin’ you mout not hev noticed. "

‘ something in the tone of the speaker struck
strangely the one addressed, and without hesita-
tionvhe id as re nested.

“I rather thin thar’s nfom in this than all

., on us can cipher out at ouc’t, an‘ so I thort I’d

tell you, kinder private like, thet this buyer is
,all darned foolishness, an’ we’re osin’ time.
Jist call me a donble-barreled ground-hog ef the.
gal’hesn’t gone t’other way.’ It‘s the [dirtiest
' ace 0’, red-skin devilment I’ve seen fur a coon’s
a%a’n’ I’ll allow it did take in this old boss at
m E; but, I kin seewith half an e e now, that
than are cusses'blindad\that n 1 just can!

 

fur it to be found an’ time fooled away on it on?
the devil’s dance played, 1111’ then the two 1015‘“
git together ag’in an’be up in the cover. Ef
yer want to see the gal‘yer best plan is to corner
rightoff. I kin sec With both eyes shut whar
they’re slidin" fur. nn’ cf the. bosses can go the
pace, I kin purtv/nigli make up lost time enough
to put yer tbar before ’em.”

“ And how many of the. Indians do you think
we will find ‘thar,’ waitin’ for them and ready
to gobble us?”

“Nnry durned one! The other is the misty
trail to foller. ’l‘hcr'll be jist three 0’ them, and
you and yer partner throwod in. Ef yer say
so, I’ll tip our boys the wink, an’ we can take
the route by ourselves: er ef yer wants it, I kin
tell Martin, an’ ‘muybo the hull lot will go
a—b’ilin’ off. Don’t think too cussed long, for
time‘s )resbus.”

In t o gambling game that Eudicott was
readytoplay. no band could have been dealt
him which “'Mlld better suit his purposes. pro—
vided the stuti ments of Dan, so positively mode,
could be relied on. There wasa risk to run;
but the actual rescue of Edith Van Payne by
himself, and the consequent possession of her,
surrounded onlyr by his own men, was a trump
card that he was bold enough ’to make an effort
to )OiSPSS. ,

'c was willing, for such an unexpected
good fortune, to break, at a moment’s notice,
with Martin.

In fact, as the reader may have surmised, he
had already half-decided upon, but a few hours
before, the abduction of Miss Van Payne by
himself and men. Now he. thought he saw the
game played to a successful termination, and
seeing that, he was willing to blind his eyes to

‘the difficulties and dangers between. He looked

at his henchmen with an approving smile, and
slowly said: . .

“ You have done well. Let Dave and Mike
know, and we will follow your lead in search of
the other party. ” - . .

Rothven was close at hand, indeed he was
hardly like] to be found among the first riders,
and when ‘hnrles Endicott, in an undertone,
reguested him to gradually reduce his speed, be
di it without urging. He thought it was a,
sign that they were about to relinquish the
chase: asomething which certain] met with
his full‘approval. So quietly and skillfully was
the thing managed that, before their defection
was discovered, the five men had dropped behind,

ad turned their horses’ heads, and, under the
skillful guidance of Lariat Dan, were stretching
out over the plain at :1. Quit that plainly evince
that they were desirous of making up for lost
ime.

Since the utmost silence was maintained, it
was some time before Eben could form any
estimate of the direction in which he was going,
or lenrn the cause of their withdrawal. When‘
at length an explanation was voucbsafed him,
he drew up lilm one who seems to think he has
fallen from the flying-pan into the fire; but he
did not appear to think it worth “ bile to reason
with the rest. Only he grumbled out that he ,
thought, it they-must go on such a fool’s'chaae, .
leaving their own legitimate interests. bacon-v
ceived thatat'least a, decent regard for.  '

 

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

own safety, not entering into the question of

elfectivencss, might have been exercised, an
instead of plunging 011’ into darkness and danger
alone, they might have followed on with the
main body. ’

Dan, their present guide, took this murmuring
quite pleasantly.

“Yer ha’r’ll be just as safe when daylight
comes, as cf ye’d follcred to 'a stray shot with
Martin nn’ his trappers. Thar‘s no tellin’ how
many 0’ them will go under afore mornin’,
yet.

“Yes, come now, don’t be grumbling; but
save your breath for s imc emergency. We
have a long ride before us, and something of
business at the end of it. Inever woiit more
gayly to a ball than I go to my, work to-uight.”

“ Oh, I’m not grumbling: and when the time
comes, on will find me as ready as the readicst.
Only I’ve a respect for the old Napoleonic
inaxims about the heaviest battalions and the
strength of union."

“Them’s only Weral principles,” interposed
Grizzly Dave. “ hen yer come down to the
flue p‘ints, ye’ll find that when ther time fur a
galvanized bu’ster to go in out of the wet has
nrrove, the identical cuss that shoots plum cen-
ter slides along with it, an’ ye’r‘ bound to drop.
Ef Dick Martin’s band’s out, there‘s the man
pullin' in the stakes this very minnit.”

W hat answer Rothvon might have made can-

not be recorded, for far behind them they, with
sudden startlipgness,.heard the peel of fire-
arms.
“Thar's business now, an' you was just
a-grumblin’ that yer head wasn’t beiu‘ run slap
inter the hornets’ nest,” said Grizzly Dave.
“They’ve run somethiu’ to a hole.”

CHAPTER VIII.
'1‘ ‘E FREE ransrsas TRAPPED.

IT mig it hardly be credited; yet at least
twenty minutes elapsed before the absence of
Endicott and his men was noticed. Martin,
himself, had full occupation in following the
dim trail. while his men, not having yet frater-
nized with the strangers, acce ting them on
trust, from Martin’s orders, as a] ies, were alike
careless of their absence or presence.‘

When the desertion was discovered, Martin
still continued in apparent indifference to it.
After looking from one to another, in temporary
doubt, one of the men rode to the side of their
leader. and imparted to him the fact, that Endi-
cott, Rothven, and three other men had disap-
peared from their number.

Whatever he may have felt inwardly, there
was no outward manifestation that this intelli-
gence was unexpected, or even new. He re-
ceived it with a careless nod and wave of the
hand, and his only remark was: '

“That’s all right. Never mind about them;
they’re all old enough to take care of them-
selves.”

The man drew back. completely deceived by
the manner of Martin, and in consequence,
there was an idea in the minds of most then
present. that he had not only been cognizant of
their departure, but that it was more than
like] that the-absence which‘had seemed so
mytérlous originated from his orders. '

i

 

Inwardly, Martin was more troubled than he
Would have cared to have owned. It reawak-
cned the ugly suspicions which had led him to-
ward the camp of Endicott, upon the first dis—
covery of the abduction of Edith. Could he
have imagined how any understanding With the
Indians could have been effected, he would have
altered his plans immediately. Once or twice
he did think of turning back to find and follow
the trail of Endicott. I

Perhaps it would have been as well to have
done so. It was leading toward his niece,
though there had been no complicity with the
red-skins. The defection might, however, have
been caused by cowardice; so he reasoned, or it
mightlie that Endicott had other schemes on
foot, which on mature deliberation he judged to
be of more importance than knight-errantry, and
dangerous pursuit. The latter view seemed
plausible, since he knew him to be a man of
schemes and speculations; one, too, not apt to
be led away from his course by any motives of
sentimental humanity. ’

By this time the conformation of the ground
over which they were traveling, began some—
what to change, Although, following the high
divide. the road was still good, yet on one side
or the other frequent ravines ran away; in
front wound a stream, its line of timber show-
ing black raider the moonlight. To this the
trail directly led. The ar bank was recipi-
tons, presenting in most places, a arrier
against fording. Yet here and there old buffalo
water trails had worn paths to the stream. one
of which the driving rain, with its fem iorary
torrents, had washed down, until the escent
was not only practicable but easy. Down one
of these paths led the trail, crossing the stream,
and leading up through a. rift in the timber,
which stood thickly on the opposite side.

As it happened, the moonlight streamed di-
rectly through this rift, reaching eyery part of
the path, shedding sufficient light to make every
object therein distinctly visible. As he gave a
glance down the bank. at the moment of begin-
ning the.descent, Martin noticed this, and that
an impenetrable gloom over-spread every other
surrounding object. Although not ex ting
danger, and almost certain that he ha three
times the number of men that he might by any
mssibilitv meet with, yet it seemed better to

im to order a halt for a moment, while he took
a closer View. In obedience to his order, his
men drew rein just before coming to the brink
of the bluff while he glanced carefully around,
listening with suspended breath.

No sound. save the noise of the night-wind ,
and the rippling of the water fell on his cars.
So, with carbine at a ready. he began the de-
scent. Just before he reached the water's ed 9
a beaver on the opposite bank dropped off, ma -
in so little noise that ears less acute than those
offid’artin would have doubtless failed to notice
it. Everv visible sign hetokenhd loneline and
safety. Pushing on across he wound his way
up the opposite ank. The awnt, making a re-
versed curve, was gradual. e on per-
haps three hundred yards, until e could see, at
some little distance ahead, the point where the
crown of the bank turned onto the second bot-
tom, and then began to retracehiuteps. Ar,

 

Harry 'Winkle’s Long Chase.

15:

 

'riving again at the stream, he drew to one side
until almost concealed by the shadow of an elm,
and then, in a tone low, yet sufficiently loud to
be heard by his men, gave the order to advance.

Just as the foremost two, but a few yards
away, came in sight, he heard a slight, hissing,
rustling; noise, and something touched him light-
ly on the shoulder. To him it seemed like a
whisper from Death; for he knew they were
ambusmded in the canyon. The touch was
given by the feather end of an Indian arrow.
The very silence that followed the advent of
this messenger of hostility was appalling. Yet
withal be retained his self—possessmn.

In a moment he had taken in the whole posi-
tion, and decided as to the force of the ag-
gressors,‘ and the Course to be pursued. He
judged that a few men had been stationed in the
shadows to watch, to attack, to harass, to delay.
As they were there it seemed but little difference
whether he had them on front, flank or rear, as
far as danger was concerned; and that it would
be best to dash past them as rapidly as possible.
They were Ll'obably too few in number to make
anything 11 'e. an open attack, and it was only
(\lvhile they Were [in front that there could be

anger.

Acting on this supposition, his voice suddenly
broke the stillness, ringing out clear and full
upon the ears of the startled men:

“Forward at a. gallop, men, and fire at sight
or sound l” .

Then ensued, a. noise of hastily advancing
horsemen, who charged into the line of moon-
light with reckless obedienée to the command of
their leader. ‘

Again close to Martin, evidently hurtled in

the direction of his voice, there fell an arrow.
Then, as with a yell that was scarcely a cheer,
his men came plunging across the stream, half a
dozen shafts fell in their midst. .

Keen eyes and ears were open, and as Martin
fired his carbine in the direction from whence he
judged the arrows had come, the sound of its
report was caught up by the, rattle and crash of
the firearms in the hands of his men. It seemed
to be a blind affair, in which luck would he apt
to go further than judgment. Again came a
flight of arrows, whistling into the ranks of the
white men as they swept by, Martin now at
their head, and the revolvers of the assailed
cracked viciously as reply. In a moment more
the danger for the present was past, and the
whole arty passed out of the dangerous defile,
and ga loped a few hundred yards upon the com-

,perativel safe prairie.
, Then hey drew rein to inquire into the
amount of the damage done.

Not a man was missing; but two or three eat
but loosely in their saddles, while there were two
men virho had lost their horses and come out on

5 foot. By good fortune the wounds of the in-
jured men proved but slight, and with a little
rudesurgery they were both willing and able to
proceed. ‘ -

, What injury, if any, had been inflicted upon
the attacking party t was impossible to deter-,

- mine. ,All the firing on the part of the assailed

I been at'random, even though one or two

.hadgth ht, as they pulled the trigger of their

j that they were marking down
‘ ‘ . r , I i .i

 

black _

shades that might be Indians. Whatever ma.
have “been their loss, the halfdozen, at whic
number Martin had estimated the size of the
party, had done their best, and succeeded in in-
flicting a very fair amount of damage. What-
ever was their loss, all remained noiseless in the
late left ravine.

From his hunting-shirt one of the men drew
an arrow. It had glanced along a leathern
strap that he were, and hang dangling by its
feathered end. Handling it carefully he showed
it to Martin. That worthy took it and looked .
at it with a thoughtful glance. By the relative
position of head and feather he recognized it in
a moment as a war-arrow, and by its make he
could give a shrewd guess at the tribe to which
its owner had belonged, and he turned to his
men with: ‘

“ There’s been some underhand work thatI
don’t know anything about between some of
you boys and these rod-skins, and this is what's
come of it. I didn’t think much of two or thiee
of them being reckless enough to carry oil? the
girl—there’s lots of men that will gamble away
their lives for the woman that takes their fancy
—but there’s too many of "em in this thing not
to have a little something else behind it all‘to
urge them on. I ought to look it out and bring
thematter straight, for we can’t afl'ordto be
eternally massing with the red-skins. However,
it’s too late now to bother, and, if every man
does his duty, we’ll let the matter rest when we
get to camp. But, I tell you it’s got to be the
last time that one of our men goes back on the
co per-skins.” ,

aving said this much, he turned to the ,.
serious work before him. Not for Inn was he
at fault. Again he was on thgtrail. , arcely
had he followed for two hundred yards, when
it took a sudden bend to the right, and began to
run parallel with the creek. For rhaps a
uarter of a mile it continued int at course.
t ien, turning once more to the right, it was lost
in the shade of the timber.

All came to a halt and looked around. From
the taste they had they were all in a fitl‘rameof
niindito act with prudence. Besides, there were ‘
two footnien in the party now. "

Standing there, there suddenly appeared,
away off 1m their left, a little clump of movin
objects wl ich had just emerged from the h
of a ravnie. “ One, two three-—” the white men
counted the number until it ended at seven. ,

“ Seven darned, cussed, p’isen red-bellies, by
mileyl Them’s the cusses that killed my hose,
I’ll bet my brains!” exclaimed one of the lootw
men. .
Martin scanned the party cautiousl ,, but,
could perceive no traces of ' Edith. T ey in
turn, looking back and perceiving that they
were observed by the white men alted a ino-
inent. and, drawn up on the hillside slo , made
gestures<f challenge and menace. W en they
saw no movement was made in response, they
moved off again in single file. Their boldness
seemed strange, yet it must be remembered that
it was at night, and it was only a plunge from ,
hillside to ravine and they would i e invisible. '- '
They were shrewd enough to be able to know at
their comparative safetly.  ‘y.

There seemed to be ittle danger, now, in a?

 

i

L‘,

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

tempting to unravel the thread of the trail
which led into the timber. ,Several men were
dispatched upon thiserrand, while others ushcd
still further on to find their point 0 exit.
When at length it was found and inspected, a
singular sensation was effected. The party of
Whom they were in pursuit had evidently
affiliated with a few others and taken part in
the ambuscade; and after the dash past them of
the white men, all had made good their retreat
to this point, near which their horses had been
tethered; and, as the seven men they had seen
were evidently identical with the men of tho

3ambush the question arose: “Where was
Edith Van Payne?"

That question arose—and almost immediatel y
received its answer. Martin, once more bring—
ing his agudgnient into play, saw in a moment
they'h been tricked. ow, when he once

was aware of it, he could trace out how. as well
asBlaze had done in the early art of the chase.
He reasoned and thought am knit his brows,
and his face grew black. Without doubt he
knew, too
imed

in what direction it tended, what

spot a at. He was almost as Wise as Blaze
h msclf as regarded the lay of the land in a cir-
cle of some hundred miles.

Now, having thrown away the enthusiasm of
the first rush of the pursuit. there was only one
course left, and that a disheartening one—to ac-
knowledge the error, and attempt to repair it as
soon as possible. There was one little gleam of
sunshine for him. It seemed more than likely
that Winkle and the other men had followed the
right trail. The possibility that Endicott and
his men had done the same was a problem to be
thou ht over. Should such a supposition be
veriged, it was hard to tell what would be the
feelin awakened. Upon the whole, it is pos-
sible t t Martin would about as lief have his
niece in the hands of her present captors as in
those of Charles Endicott.

“ No use talking. boys, we've been fooled,
and we must make the best of it. We took'rhe
wro trail. Now, which oi.’ you feels dead
certs n that he knows in what direction Straight
and Crooked Canyons lay, and the straight road
to them, for by the bolies, that’s where we’ve
got to bend for now.”

At this, though the faces of more than one of
the party fell. there was no luck of men to offer

. their . needed kuowled e. Nor was there any
serious disagreement n the statements regard-

» ing the direction of the specified locality. Drawn

up in a little circle, the direction, distance, and
lay of the intervening ground, were discussed,
and a plan of procedure mapped out. As the
wounded men were not seriously hurtI two of
them gave remounts to thoso who had lost their
horses, and, in company with the third, started
toreturn to Martin's ranch. The remainder,

. ' h
5;... “having looked well to their arms, pus ed of! at

gallop in the new direction.

CHAPTER IX.
I'm! BIVOUAO IN GROOKED CANYON.
"va time. old man. There ain’t a cussed
bit 0’ da r hero-rue, not nary a half a primin’.

V' Camp rig t down an’ bunk in peace and uietp

narves is stemly, an’ thar ain no

new. My
aiteliinl in the forefinger o' my right hand. A

 

any".

man in skirty-coats would be safe here of he’d
nothin’ better than a double-barreled s ot—gun
with no bind—sights.” '

It was after dark, in a wild and gloomy spot
all shaded and strewn with trees and rocks, an
the three men with their three horses were al-
most breathless from a difficult ascent which
they had just made. The three men were Bill
Blaze, who was s caking, Barry Winkle. who
had spoken, and ompey, who the picture of
contentment and fidelity, kept his place a little
in the background.

“ You are sure that we can do nothing more
at present, and that we are in no danger of at-
tack, ourselves? We mi vbt have been seen by
some lookout or scout. I‘m always on the side
of prudent carefiilneSs."

‘ Narylii't, I tell verl Didn't I. Bill Blaze,
put yer through? We didn’t make no more
show than a hob-tail rat. Ef thnr war-any
extra dodge I didn’t iut on, 'ist tell me on it,
an’ I knock under. twai'nt no use bein’ so
dog-goned careful, but havin’ bin lit on in one
camp, an’ sarcuinvented a leetle later, makes a
feller draw his head mighty fine. You’ve bed a
lesson from Bill Blaze when that chap war doin‘
his purtiest, an' of you hain’t l’arned anything
you’d better sell yer claim an” go East: yer ain’t
wanted her.”

“I suppose it’s all right then. We can give
our horses 9. chance to rest and graze: then a.
little food and sleep for ourselves; then to work.
Pity that we must eat and sleep whether We will
or no. What valuable time we have lost in pro-
curing a chance to do the two.”

“I ain't so much on the sleep; it’s kinder
nateral now to do without it; but, I never could
see that it was losin’ time to take a good squar‘
meal 0’ bufller. I’ve seen the time, too, when I
didn’t think it war losin’ time to gruge clean
through a hind-quarter of a black-tailed buck.
If ye’ gone across the Cimmcrin River, nn’ got
lost on the Ratone Mountings, ye mout hev
thought yer war puttin’ in the time purty well,
guzzlin’ down froze hackberries. As for roast
coyote, that war a delicacy o’ the season to
smack yer lips over. Four pound or so wouldn’t
a-took yer appetite down to regulation pitch.
VVau h!” .

" ackberries and prairie-wolf—rather a
miserable diet, I should say. Have you tried

it?"
“ Hey I tried it? Yer right, I hev. That is,
the haekberry part. Ther’ war only one wolf to

about sevouty 0v us, an' by the time I got in

knife out, it war all gone, so I stayed my innar s I ~

a while ‘smsllin’ on his bones. I found the
darned cusses hed forgot to open his skull—an’
them brains! line he it yerself; Inever kin
do ’em justice. Ef could fluda uawascould
dress up vittles to taste like ’em di , consarn my
high-heeled top-knot, of I wouldn’t hook on! «
Team to me I’d be almost willin’ to go back to '
the settlements." ‘ '.
Blaze’s enthusiasm, over that remembered ’
meal of brains, amused Winkle vastly. It'
was not the words but the manner of the man,
that made him at times forget his anxiety,
bringing to the surface feelings that had ,
been buried. There was over all the m ‘
quaintness and bluflnea, moderation and  I

 

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

gadocio of the hunter, an irresistible ap aranco
of honesty and trustworthiness that d won
upon him in the moments following immediate-
ly their first meeting. As the man seemed to
have but little to say of others, and all that he
had said of himself might well be uttered by
one who, swinging loose, years ago, from the
restraints of civilization, had ever since, through
hardshi s and dangers, through thick and thin,
fire an water, relied for the most part upon
himself—at the worst, we do not doubt without
some cause, or shadow of cause. As Winkle
had none, he felt inclined to trust. After a
time arose a desire to confide.

The three men had been in camp some time.
They had talked some little, using, as in a coun-
try shadowed by danger becomes almost
habitual, a guarded tone. There had been in—
tervals of silence, too, when Winkle's mind
- thronged with exciting and troublous thoughts.
During the hours of pursuit there had been but
little time to ask questions, and indeed his mind,
a 'tated by surrounding circumstances, suggest—

but few.

Perhaps Blaze could answer some of those
guestions, and so, having, as we before stated,

tiring their brie! acquaintance acquired a large
stock of confidence in him, to Blaze he a licd.

“I ain’t much acqaaintcd with Dick artin,
an’ I don’t know more ner the law allows cun—
cernin' his private affairs. He come in hcrc
several years a o with a couple of men, an’ put
up a ranch. e war slightly green on the
perairie, but hed the balance 0’ his teeth cut
some year store, an’ be l’arned fast. Who he
is, or what he is, I can’t fur sart’m say; hut,
he’s at the head of as lively a gang of hunters
an’ Free Trappers as I want to meet. They
make a purty wide range when the season’s
o ned an’ pe ts is prime. The rest 0’ the time
t ar’s allers more or less on ’em loafln’ around
Back Load Trace. Mebbe they’re squar’ an’
mebbe they ain’t. They never troubled me,
but there’s men in the gun that’s not the kind
to stick at trifles. I never card 0’ Martin him-
self doin’ any partikiler deviltry: but, some-
how the place hain’t the sweetest 0’ names.
An honest trapper don’t ginerally camp long
about thar, an when he meets any 0’ the men
~ fizppin’ on the same stream he am t anxious to

‘ And the woman we saw\and to save whom
wevstartedupon this tri ? Who is she, where
did she .come from? W at is her connection
with this Martin?”

“ Now ye’r’ askin' questions ag’in that I ain’t
{gate the handle on. El! ye’d talk about trace-

, ins an’ beaver-bait ou’d find me thar. I’vo
trumped over hundr s 0’ rules an’ never see’d
V a red deer or a. white squaw; but the next time
' . I went over the ground thar war plenty 0’ both.
The tramp o’ ivalization allers bring both
. along in the same trapsack. Allers a-murderin’
' m’l-lnurderin’ the deer as it brings ’em. Meb-
Ybeit ain’tso all over the country: but I often
wondered whether they’d ai go under when
the: weren’t no more outski fur ’em to live
Iona . x

A shade of vexation mm over Winkle’s face

2.. meted somewhat hotly: “As I’m not
I little to speculate. on their

l

 

future destiny. My questions had referenceto
something entirely different. "

“ Yes,’ said Blaze, rclicctiveiy. “ So P11 allow.
Mebbe it all amounts to the same—mebbe it
don’t. I’ve seen door-hunts that bagged no
game, an’ I’ve sccn thcm which did. As fur the
gal, I’ve beam of her oft’ncr than I’ve seen her.
L be turned up one mornin’ at Back Load Trace
as though she war shook outrun hag. A kinder
adopted dnrter o’ Martin’s; some one said onc’t
she war his niece.”

“ But what is she doing in such a. lace?”

“ What does gals' gincrnlly do? ides in the
country, shoots a good string, they say, an’
raises the devil now an’ thcn. Bin the makiu’
on her, too. So thin she couldn’t git on more
nor one side of a hoss, nn’ so weak she couldn’t
throw a shudder when she first arove. Bin a-
pickiu’ up sence then.”

“And the man I saw riding just behind her——
what does he do here? Is be connected with
Martin’s establishment?"

“Which man was those?
tur.”

To the best of his ability “'inkle drew a Word-
picture of Endicott. Blaze listened with inter-
est, this face showing that he recognized the por-
trai .

“Now yer comin’ to suthiu’ I can talk cn.
No. he ain’t none 0’ Martin’s men, an' don’t b’long
in these regions. Hc. wnr jist passin’ through,
in company with three or four more, an’ see’d
Martin’s niece. Knowcd her of old. he did.
He’s a dead idol, he scs. which I suppose are
about same’s a dead heat, an’ from the looks o’
the man, I should specify war a very true hit.
Killed the gal onc’t nforc, but she’s come to life
ug’iu, un’ns the other chap scs, ain’t likely tofor-
git it. Ef—

“ Man. man!” exclaimed Winkle, excitedly. 3
“How came you to know this? The same story,
the same story! To travel fifteen hundred
miles, and the first man I pick up can tell me
the some " story! I tell you,” continued he,
fiercely, leaping up and shaking his clinched
fist in the direction of Back Load Trace, “ I tell
you he’s my man i”

“ Ef you’d go a lectle slewcr it mo’ut facillate
peddlin’ operations. Sit down ycre like a rea-
sonable white man that ain’t anxious to hev his
ha‘r cut fur nothin’. nn’ I’ll tell yer, nigh as I
kin. the facts in the case.”

This commonsense address rccnllcd Winkle to

Describe the crit—

‘ himself, and he resumed his sitting position, but

his eye still blazed and his frame shook with
supprcssed emotion.

‘Teil me where you heard this then. or hovf
you came to ‘know so much of a story i certain-
ly should not have expected to hear in this re-

on.

“Simple as coon-trappin’. "When I 'fu‘st
struck ver camp I honest allow I mou’t hev
been indooced to hev run off yer hossflesh.”

After this rather queer exordium Blaze '
paused, as if expecting an outburst; but ’Winkle ‘
was beginning to understand his man, andJ‘e- '
mained silent.

“Yes, that’s an onmiti ated fact. , Soon es I
slun inter the rights o’t ings I felts speshal
call see they warn‘t run off. So, while you
an’ the dark war snoozin’, I hed one leye’open. I, ; '

‘ f

 

Harry Wink-Ie’s Long Chase.

 

felt somethin’ war abroad, an’ went out a—scout-
in”. Niin whar you come so nigh puttin‘ my
light out, under the shudder o’ the trees, in fact
whar you found me, I heerd two men a—talkm’;
one on’ ’em was ‘ your man,‘ t’othcr a gospil
chap, that talked es though he’d bucked cl’ar
fruin under the Big Book an’ tuk to travelin’ on
his shape.”

“ What were they talking of, and how came
they to speak of that which you have just men-
tioned?” ‘

Thus questioned, Blaze gave a synopsis of
their conversation as understood by him, wind-
in? up with:

‘ And now s’posin‘ you give us an idea of what
yer man has really bin a—doui’.”

CHAPTER X.
A STORY or A DOUBLE MURDER.

AS we have already stated, Winkle, while
fighting the crowd of phantoms and fancies that
overshadowed him, had felt inclination to con—
iidc in his newly found comrade. Being thus
addressed decided him. ‘

“I don’t know that I am making mountains
out of mole hills. I think, though, that per;
haps I have given way where I should have
fought it out, and allowed myself to be over-
powered by that which would only make a
ripple in some men’s lives. Sometimes I can
think of that man Eiidicott coolly enou h; there
are times, too, when I want and inten to kill
him. Yet I suppose that others have been in-
jured as much—«and forgiven. Men are not al-
ways responsible for their mad fancies—do you
think they are!”

Blaze avc a curious look at the speaker. He
appeal-o to ask the question in perfect good
faith. so the trapper answered:

“ Not fur the’r mad fancies allers. No.” ‘

“1 don’t want to make along story, and I
don’t want to go into too many details. I want
my head cool now, if ever. It seenis-to me it’s
cleared off wonderfully of late; perhaps it might
so happen that I could forgive. All the forgive-
ness in the world,,though, won‘t bring poor Ned
back to life, or mend a mother’s broken heart.

“ I’ve never had much to do with him person—
" ally, I‘mglad of it. Perhaps there would have
been enough of the cursed, fascinating power
about him to have ruined me to). Ruin! No,
that‘s not the word, either. He did that any-
hpw. Made me his slave, or his tool, or his
Victim.

“You see Ned went from college into busi-
ness, and might have done wellif he had never
met Endicott. And I went from business into
love. and might have prospered if Endicott had
not lived. There are some crimes that law don’t
avenge and some that it does. Endicott has
tried his hand at both sorts, and the law, being
weak, only punished him, or attempted to, for
the latter. Ve lightly it laid it on him, too.”/

“ Mebbe it hit im harder than you think fur,"1
inter lated Blaze. “It’s no fun g‘ittin’ inter
the clutches. But go on.”

“Per 5 itdid. [don’t believeIevert ught
r of that . store. Ned and mother and were
wra pad up in each other._ It's not often. I
' thiniLtlmt you find a family like ours was.

There had never been a difference of opinion or

a single jar; but everything went on smoothly.
Ned was the pet. He was the youngest and the
frailest, and when I was away at college he was
left alone with mother. It never made me jeal-
ous a bit because, somehow, it seemed natural.
When I came home I potted him too We
weren’t rich exactly; but we had some money,
and by a little cure had managed to live ulmo=t
as though we were. Perhaps if we had felt
poverty we might have been happier. But, we .
had a taste of the luxurious, and I‘m afraid it
gave and fed a desire for means more ample.
Ned, at least, got possessed with a yearning to
be wealthy: and I was in haste myself to realize
some of my dreams. I’m not going,r to trouble
Vou with a. complete family history, or tell how
9 and I, in our different spheres, toiled ahead,
with fair pros ects, for several vears. . 1

“One day saw Edith Van I’ayne; and the
picture she marked in my brain just then has
never faded since.

“She was entirely different from any other
woman I had ever met, for there were over-
lastiii contradictions connected with her. She
lookei dashing and almost masculine, yet she ,
really was intensely feminine. Perhaps I was
slow with in wooing, yet I knowI was wrapped
up in it. cannot tell how much encourage—
ment I at first received. As much, I guess, as I
deserved. You see, she was almost alone in the
world, and was making her own way as best she
might. She had a younger brother, though I
saw very little of him. After a bit Ned became
acquainted with her. I introduced him myself.
They soon became great friends, though their
friendship never ripened into. anything like sen-
timentality.

“ How or when Ned first became mixed up
with Endicott I do not know. In haste to be-
come rich, he was open for speculation. I’m not
certain that it was not through Miss Van Payne.
She knew him, met him often, yet by some
chance I never was introduced to him, never
saw the‘three together; What do you suppose
the result was? He murdered both! It all
seemed to be done in an instant as it were. L.
was away from home for a. fortnight. and when
I came back it wasover. Ned he killed: that I A
might have borne, but, until a few days ago, I
thought he had killed the women too.

“Mother had noticed a change in the boy.
For two or three days she would not See him;
then he would come home taciturn andu set.
At that time she could only guess that his usi-
ness affairs were going wrong. Afterward I
found how far out he had been led by this Endi-
cott, who, all the time feathering his own nest
well, was dragging him to the quicksands of
financial rottenness. 'I

“The crisis came during my absence. Care-
fully as he covered the traces of his agency,
Ned detected his share in the work: , At first,
to be sure, there was only a faint suspicion; but,
that soon ripened intoa certainty. Knowing
my ho s an wishes, brotherly love urged him
to emp oy every means to learn the truth. Once
engaged in this, he was led to suspect Endicott a
business integrity, and- the revelations brought;

, about by an investigation in that direction were ‘
of themselves ov wering. ‘ ' '~ " *-

 

“Then he did theratooliah-oran’ '

 

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

u.

bate thin . Just in the white heat he met En-
dicott. member, that he not only knew that
this man had compromised, almost beyond re-
demption, the woman his brother loved. but
that he himself was involved in anetwork of
toils from which he could not hope to esca
short of the loss of his means, and, worse sti ,
with a damaged reputation. They met—and
Endicott killed him.

“Of course the iiury found extenuating cir-
cumstances. Lega chicanery, set in motion by
money, saved his worthless neck-a neck that
could I have vonce gras I would have wrung
with as little compunction as that of a chicken.
I think I could have borne that honor but,
on sed as I was by it, it was some weeks be-
fore I knew that Edith had disappeared.

“ At this time I believed she ad made away
with herself. I never doubted it until the other
night. Of all those who knew her, there are
few that did not believe the same. Heaven
knows that I was loth to believe it. I hunted
high and low for her, since I never doubted her
honor, though I had never received any assur-
ance of heréove for me. Her own brother was
left in the ark as to what had become of her.
He found an envelope addressed to him, con-
taining a sum of money she had saved fora
rainy da , and the simple words, written in

‘ ood-by.’
wn business, suffering for a time from
utter n Iect, was disposed of; my heart was

chilled toward my broken-hearted mother—God
help me, she may be dead to-ni ht—and I spent
my time seeking for traces of adith, and wait-
ing to meet Endicott.

“While I was off on what I thought a sliggt
trace, for I had not full allowed myself to
lieve that she was de , he emerged from a

risen, and escaped me. I followed him East;
9 eluded me. I heard of him South; but he
was gone when I reached New Orleans. Then
I gave way and was sick for a long season.
W en 1 came to myself something prompted
meto turn Westward. Strange how fate, or
some occult law of attraction, draw me here.
Yet man months of wandering, through hard-
ships an perils. brought me no surcease, and
the tension on my nerves has been gradually
.gightening ever since I found myself west of the
x ississippi. The rest you know. What may
happen, neither you, nor I, nor any other living
mortal may say.”

Winkle told is story in a slow, quiet, yet in-
tense way. Blaze listened to it with evident
interest. - ,

“ A condemned hard case he‘was. I’ve known
men shot fur less than them. That’s the cuss 0’
civilization. If e’r’ goin’ to draw a head upon
this man, ye’d tter do it here than furder
, East. Bein’ that you’ve found the girl alive,

‘mebbe you’ll weaken on that. A human crit-

ter’sa curi’s‘consarn that only goes under onc’t.

In course, redskins I don’t take much account
_ . on; but, when it comes to drawin’ it fine on a

, white, an’ henot lookin’ for it—’pears to me it
’u’d glimmer the fire-8i ht.”

“ think at twohun red yards he would'he a
deadiman!" . ‘

Winkle said this slowly and half inquiring};i
as thoilzh a doubt hadafiaeninhiamind;

 

\
own- «a

then he continued, in a tone in curious contrast
to the one be generally used in speaking of Endi-
cot :

“You know I‘uye followed after him so long,
and was so certain of it. It would be hard to
let him go after all.”

“Two hundred yard is some distance, an’ a
man’s a mark 0’ moderate bigness. I’ve seen a
deer missed at fifty. Buck ag’er an’ fancy
shootin’ don’t agree good. If you’ll just keep
cool an‘ not rush the funeral, mebbe ye’ll event~
ooally git straight enough to not care a cuss if
school keeps er not. I’ve done ye more nor a ,
hundred dollars’ worth of good a'rendy.”

“True, I know that—yet if that man were
here now, if he could appear suddenly—7’

A remarkable change came over the man as
he broke off the sentence and sprung to his feet.
blaze, who trusted com letely his own senses,
and was confident that V inkle could have dis-
covered no signs of any danger, looked at him in
doubt and amazement as he stood bending now
to one side, again to another, eagerly listening,
his rifle clutched with a nervous grip.

“ D’ye hear him i” he whispered. “ He’s com—
ing, he’s coming! curse him, I tell you he’s here
now.

Then Blaze listened. It seemed, almost like a
fancy, too, that he heard, away miles off, a
voice. He knew not whether it was the voice
of man or of nature. There are times when in
Western solitudes the two sound so wondrously
alike that one is startled and perplexed. The
voices that one hears in the cottonwoods by the
river-side, or the cedars in the canyons] A
brooder‘or a dreamer alone with them might
well be driven mad.

While the tra'FEer listened, Winkle stole noise-
lessly aw . e negro, who had, during the
recital of inkle’s story, been lying wrap d in .
a blanket, unconsciously sleeping, su denl
awoke to consciousness, and answered Blazes
astonished exclamation of, “Where the thun-
der’s the bog gone to?” with:

“Jist he] on b er a bit. Dat’s nuflin new.
He done one do at ebery leetle while; I fotch
him bac . Dat’s de on’y t’ing ’bout Mass’r
Winkle dat’s cur‘us. He say he t’inks he hear
hees man.”

Pompey, without more ado, slid off in the
direction in which Winkle had gone, leaving
Blaze alone, to ruminate on the stor he had
just heard. The negro was hrimful of este 8.
experience, and Blaze thought it needless to to]- /
low. This summary exit of the two from camp
gave him fresh food for reflection, and his
thoughts were somewhat mixed, as would appear
from his soliloquy: l

“Some, now, would call himcrazy. I dunno-
guess both sides is ground down to one p’int, an;
that, ‘my man.’ Everyways else I reckon he’s
more brains ner I hev—which’s a fair allowance
fur this individooal to make. E! he could git
‘my man ’ of! his intellek he’d be purty uare.
Cuss me, though, of I wouldn’t like to now
whether ‘ my man’ is in the canyon, or herea-
bouts. That’s the queer of the thing—-
followin’ him by guess er in ink. I’ve see’d a ,
herd o’ deer scattered this way an’ that an‘ the 1 ~
t‘other an’ often wondered how it came they
we: all together ag’m by mornin‘. Not so sins

 

Harry Winklo’s Long Chase.

 

E’Iar as the way he’s follered ‘my man.’ I won—
er of he‘ll ever find him? I b’lieve ’bont two
month waltln‘ to see, alongside 0’ this Winkle,
would tame me down amazin’. I’m gittin’
steady es an otter-slide now. Waugh!”

CHAPTER XI

, WHITHER EDITH wniy'r.

THE average American Indian is not a charm-
ing object. Treacherous, bloodthirsty, cunning,
he seems to need but the opportunity to show
hiinselfamonster. Much niav be said in ex-

. tenuation; but, there will still remain behind
the hard array of facts. Was the author writ—
ing for Cheyenne, Crow, Blackfoot, Comanche
or Apache readers, perhaps he might say the
same of the white man, and the statement, on
their limited personal knowledge, be readily ac-
cepted. In the one case it is to be hoped that
the exceptions are in reality the rule, while in
the other we fear they prove it.

Edith Van Payne was well acquainted with
the general character of the dusky people into
whose hands she had fallen. W hen W'ar Hawk
and his daring followers had swooped down
upon her, she had, at the first shock, uttered a
scream for he] . In imagined security it was
most sternly s rtling to feel herself caught up
and borne off like the rush of the Wind. The
crack of a rifle, fired. she doubted not, by one
of Martin’s men, recalled her, in some measure.
to herself. Yet, as she hung across the neck of
the warrior‘s steed, and felt the firm grip of his
powerful hand, she might well lapse into a state
of semi-unconsciousness. When, at length, she
again became full awake to her position, a
long distance had eon placed betWeen her and
her late home.

When Edith found herself able to catch a con-
fused glimpse of her abductor, she thought she
recognized his face. That thought gave her
some comfort at least, since it brought her a
sense of relief from any present positive dan-

er.
s The relations between Martin and the red-
skins who surrounded him had been heretofore
those of peace. By a. rare piece of good luck at
the outset, and afterward by judicious manage-
ment, he had so secured their ap rent good—
will, that he had been led to 100 upon them
rather as allies. With some of them he had
carried on considerable traffic in pelts and
robes, and they came often to his ranch. Edith,
with a woman’s curiosity, had scanned them
narrowly. and the most of them had accepted
the gaze of her flashing eye in an unconcerned
manner. In one or two she detected answer-
ing glances of admiration that rather amused

er.

In the Indian who was new hearing her away
she believed she recognized War Hawk, one of
those she had classed as her admirers.

By the time that War Hawk had
sum 1 party that was awaiting him. .
settled in her mind the course which she intended

'oined the
dith had

topursue. Holding herself in constant readi-
ness to accept any 0!) rtunity to escape, she
would keep up a. front. She would not
waste her strength in vain endeavors, but in the
hour of action be brave and resolute. ‘I

 War Hawk marked the phases of returning

 

consciousness, bewilderment, doubt and flnn
determination. Though he could not fully un-
derstand, he could up reciate much of the mea-
tal tome which, face , in calmness, such a situ-
ation. A thrill of pride ran through him at the
thought, that he had not beep mistaken in the
stuff of which his captive was made.

“ The W’hito Bird need not fear. War Hawk
would not harm. He hopes she will some day
neither fear nor wish to fly. She must not flut-
ter now. There is danger to both, and he will
not die alone.”

“For myself I fear not. I am in no present '
haste to flutter nor fly. I remember you, sir: I
know you. The years that you have passed
among the whites—for 1 know your story—
sliould have taught yom better. And you will
have to account for this. to not only the white
people, but your own tribe. Be sure that both
will be ready to bring on to a reckoning."

“ War Hawk has a cart to feel. and also is
brave to dare. N ow be still. Shall be trust you
to ride?”

It was during the momentary halt that this
conversation took place. She, seeing nothing
to be gained by refusing, answered by an affirm-
ative motion of the head. In a moment
she was transferred to the hack of a mustang.
and all the pre arations for blinding the trail
having already een made before she was fair‘lfy
settlcdto a seat, both parties had moved 0 .
Unlearned as she was in wood and prairie-craft,
she had no difllculty in perceiving that an effort
was being made to deceive those who might
follow after. From the smallness of the number
of men engaged in the affair, she did not doubt
but that more than ever the red-skins intended
to employ stratagom in preference to force in
their retreat. They knew, as well as did
Edith, that, as the trapping season was just
about to open, there was an unusually large
number of hunters at Back Load Ranch. Doubt-
less, also, they believed that pursuit would be .
immediately made.

For a time the lace was moderate. So slow
did they seem to e progressing. that Edith had
hopes for a. time of hearing the footsteps of-
Martin and his men thundering on in their wake.
She did not believe War Hawk would execute
his dark threat, even though she was aware that
prisoners had been killed to prevent their rescue
or escape. ,

This slow rate of progress did not long con- _
tinnc. Again they were hastenRg: on, all at-
tempts at concealment of their Vinita being
thrown aside. They swept across the prairie for ‘
hours. The moon sunk in the west, the night
grew darker around them, but with untlring a'
energy they dashed on. 7

There is no need to chronicle in detail the his- '_‘
tory of the flight. The night passed: the day
broke, and still they (pressed ahead. No living
human being crosse their path. There were V
no certain signs of from the,

ursuit. Once

actions of the Indian: Edith had her attention 3. _, 

specially turned backward. She thought‘lhe‘ ’
caught. through the marvelously clear prairie
atmosphere, a glimpse of thnee dark objects
miles away. It might be a. little clump of hor‘aq-i
men—more likely a herd of antelgg or 811:. a 
They rode in silence. Neither captive

 

Harry Winkle’u Long Chase.

 

‘ the captor felt much disposition to converse.
A feeling of suspense and uncertainly was brood-
ing in the mindsuof both. Edith, even, began to
look forward with a dim yearning for the time
to halt to arrive. Weariness began to oppress
her, sleep to try at her eyelids.

At length they left the prairie; crossing a
shallow stream, they went up its bank for some
distance; then, turning away from it, and pick-

, ing their way for perhaps half a mile over
uneven and stony ground, they entered a defile
which, under the name of Straight Canyon, led
through the rocky range before them. In its
gloomy recesses the spirits of Edith sunk again.
She would have prayed for a halt, had she not
been so unwilling to show weakness. Perhaps
it was purely ride—perhaps it was from good
judgment. P ysically so frail-looking, she had
the will to brave fatigue. Had she allowed her-
self to falter at all, the result would have been
utter prostration.

'War Hawk seemed at length to havo an idea.
that he was, perhaps, tasking his captive be-

ond her powers of endurance. More than once
is scanned her features narrowly. Her natur-
ally pale cheek seemed to be no paler; there was
no tremor in her hands; her eyes blazed as
brightl as ever.

. “ If t e White Bird is worn out, let her ask
and she shall stop. There is no danger. She
can rest. But a little further on we come to a
10% halt.”

ithout hesitation she responded:

“I am tired, but can go further.”

Straight Canyon was threaded, and a. narrow
valley lay before them. Beyond, another range
loomed up darkly.

Crossing. the valley they began to ascend a

' gentle slope. They had not gone far when, at
some little distance, she heard a signal which
was immediately answered by one of the Indians
beside her. A few moments more, and the halt-
infiplace was reached.

ads as were the accommodations, it was
with a feeling of unutterahle relief that Edith

Van Payne rested her wearied limbs in her little

prison-hut. She had scarce noticed the two or
three lodges that were scattered around. ‘

How long a halt would be made there she
scarce thought it worth while to ask. The by
no means unsavory viands that were brought
her, she put aside for the time almost untested,
only too glad to be at rest and alone.

CHAPTER XII.
“ warm A WOMAN WILLS THERE‘S NOTHING
MORE TO SAY.”
r DAYLIGHT waned, and the shadows dee ened.
In the west the crimson flames that flare over
the mountains died away. and the night-star
begun to shimmer in their field of blue. A moist,
sweet wind came wandering up from the woods.
Edith sat within her little prison-house alone.
From time to time" she heard voices without;
but they came to her as if in a dream. The cold

‘. look of the woman had deepened till her face

see ad like crystallized water itself.

at in the (rigidity of her eyes was i a some-
thing that was suggestive of unfrozen depths
beyond;_ There was no trace of_despair—no
sign 0! , intense misery directly arming from her

present condition like that which would have

fallen upon some women. Only the traces of a.

former congealment were deepened; that was

all. And so, she sat there in silence, thinking.

So absorbed in her reverie was she that, appa—

rently, she did not hear a footstep an roac nng

the matting that did dutyas a door to er cabin,

did not notice the tall and ruceful form of War

Hawk, as he entered: an only awoke with a

start to consciousness at hearlng a voice, re-

markably sweet and mild for one belon ring to a

son of the forest and plain, addressin er.

“The White Bird is sad, and the ar Hawk
would comfort her—yet he is afraid to come
before her. She need not fear him, He is a
great warrior, but would not harm her for
many lodges and much of all that is dear to the
heart of a. warrior. Can the White Bird look
upon the War Hawk with a smile? She will See
him as gentle as a fawn, for she is dear to him,.
and what she says will be music in his ear."

Edith suffered her eyes to rest steadily upon
her Indian admirer, whose assumed gentleness
could not disguise his stern, unyielding nature.
So the woman thought, though her eye met his
unflinching and undaunted.

“The White Bird may be sad, but it is the
sadness of years. She asks neither favor nor
kindness from the War Hawk. As she has pro-
tected herself in the past so she can in the pres—
ent and the future. She has been hurt to the
heart so long ago that she has no soul for the
gregt chief. Let him go his way and she will
go ers. ‘

.The ghost of a smile flitted over the face of
the brave at this re uest. This conquest of his
had not be?!) altoget er bloodless, as the waters
of Back Load stream could bear witness.

“The White Bird will' grace the wi am of
the War Hawk, and those who have urt her
heart shall be forgotten. If they come near her
again, let her speak the word and they shall
die. This arm will protect her, and no woman
will be more honored among my nation.”

Edith looked curiously at t e speaker. She
measured him with her eye and gun ed his soul
as he spoke. Perhaps she could see u this dash-
ing red-skin somethingto admire, even though
there was nothing: for one of her race to love.

“ The White Bird returns her thanks,” she
said, with a graceful but sweeping courtesly.

“ The chief’s wooing is rough and his rip is ii 6 ‘

steel, but she knows the warriors 0 his tribe

and their ways, and the War Hawk may well
be the greatest among them. He is pleasant to ‘
look upon, and the squaw of his lodge will have
the eyes of many maidens turned upon her in
envy: yet the White Bird, as he has chosen to ‘
call her, has no heart for him. Her soul rests
with one of her own kindred. Though she has

'not seen him for years, and will never meet him
again, yet her heart will‘ever beat time to him
-even though he knows it not, and little dreams
that she still lives. Let the War Hawk seek
another; I am not for him.”

V “ The warriors of our ,trihe are not used to
wooing as are the pale faces. and if War Hawk
had sought the fair one he loves‘as our warriors
seek their uaws, she might have then ht ‘ his

ip Was s nger yet. He has hand ed her
gliders aria} was ever 49, so? vet sire ma

 

 

Harry Winkle’l Long Chane.

 

know that she must be his. She is in his hands
now, he will have her taken into his tribe; he
will guard her and care for her; no other shall
beso cherished. He has been in danger from
her people and his own for her, and life has been
lost to win her. Do you think. then, when he
loves her so strongly, that he will open his hand
when she is in it and let her fly away? No.
The \Vhite Bird must forget her pale-faced
friends—mul—” his voice grew harder and
colder, and there was a ring of savage fierce-
ness in it as he spoke—“let her, dream of her
pale—faced lover no longer. If she should see
him again it would be to destroy him, for he
may not look on your face again and go away
living. ThoTVar Hawk will let no eyes rest
upon his paleJuced squaw in love.”

Evlith Van Payne realized more than over the
depth to which she had stirred the heart of her
dusky-visaqed admirer.

"' War Hawk, you have Wasted time in your
pursuit, and you seek what will never, never be
yours. There are fair maidens of your own
race; won them and win them—n10 you never
can, by either kind words or threats. I am r0-
tcctcd by the Great Spirit, and neither hope nor
fear. Your pursu‘t may bring you much of
evil-—to me it can only bring,r a new experience
of life. Do not be deceived. I am, and of
reason, a mystery to you, the solution of which
it is dangerous for you to attempt."

Perhaps Edith drew herself up rather proudly
as she uttered these words, perhaps there was
something, t00, of scorn ming d with her pride,
and unintentionally outero ping in her words
and gestures, for War Haw appeared touched
tothe quick. He strode a pace forward and
raised his hand with a gesture that might indi—
cate either impressivoncss or menace. The wo-
man only turned sideways and unflinchingly
gazed into his face as he spoke.

“The War Hawk has run many risks for his
pale White ‘Bird. He has faced not only the
rifles of her friends, but even now he stands
against the wishes of his tribe. It is not alight
thing for a. great chief to choose to bring a.
pale-face woman into his cabin: but he has Seen
something of the world, something of the pale-
faces, too, and he will accomplish his desires.
The White Bird has flown away from her peo-
ple; they will never see her again. Had they
even the manage to follow her they would not
know in which way to turn their steps. The
War Hawk will say no more this time; but let
her think of what he has said, and perhaps she
will yet smile at the coming of the footsteps of
the great chief.”

“ Let not the Blackfoot brave deceive himself.
He is not dealing with a helpless new of his
tribe. I can help myself if forsaken y friends.
But I have no fears of that. Their eyes are
keen, their limbs are untiring. and they are
already on the trail. You may not see them. or
hear them; but they will be near you. and when
the time comes you will find your White Bird
has flitted—if before that the fatal bullet has
not stricken you—” ,

Without then was the sound of a ra idly-ap-
proaching horsemn. Edith pen in her

speech as she heard it, apd. her savage wooer
looked uneasily wound bun in though he halt-

 

feared this hot—haste messenger might be the '
bearer of unpleasant tidings.
ing, heard a distant greeting. the sound of beat-
ing hoofs ceased, and then the new-comer, an
Indian, inquired for War Hawk. The chief, on
hearing this. made an obeisance and left the
cabin as (giddy as he had entered it.

Edith an Payne remained alone. With
feminine curiosity she listened to see if she
could not learn what this messenger had to
communicate. She only heard voices speaking
in a low and smothered tone, but soon the con~
versation became more earnest. Then she
sought to gain a view of the s akers. Circum-
stances favored her. When 5 8 cast her glance
upon them, she saw that preparations for a
move of some kind were being made. In front
of the second cabin War Hawk was in close
conference with several of the braves. Nearer
to her, in fact within a. few paces of her own
Wigwam, stood a. single savage, holding by the
bridles two horses—one of which she recognized
at a glance as Whirlwind, the favorite steed of
War Hawk.

This man stood with his back toward her, his
eyes bent in the direction of the others, evident-
ly more intent upon the conference of his
brethren than upon the movements of the cap-
tive girl. The great black steed, that stood
almost unwatched and within, as it were, arm‘s
length of her, was the fleetest among the fleet
horses of the tribe.

Great acts are often the effect of intuition. \
She tried the fasteniugs, and found nothing to
hinder her egress. ‘A moment and she had
noisaleSsly glided m the side of Whirlwind. A mo-
ment more and she had swung herself upon him,
had snatched up the bridle. struck him a sharp
blow across the shoulder—and then, like an
arrow, had bounded away and was sweepinz
back toward the mountains through which they '
had just passed!

The noble steed, to which Edith, practiced
horseman that she was, clung so closely and
firmly, had not hesitated a moment. lIe swung
at once into a ace that was tremendous. His
rider retained er seat with ease. and while
urging him to his highest speed," did not for a
moment lose her perfect mastery of him. The
other horse had wrcncbed himself loose at the
time that Whirlwind started. and, bearing no
burden, kept neck and neck with her.

Soon the wild shouts of War Hawk and his
allies died away in the distance. She saw an
openin in the hills, the defile of a canyon loom-
ing dar liefire her; and into its recessm she
plunged without a moment’s hesitation. What
might be in store for her beyond, in the lone-
some darkness, she neither knew, nor thou ht
of, nor cared for. For the time at least, Edith
Van Payne was free. ’

The horses seemed to know the road well. ‘
At least they stretched out. plunging on with ‘
unfaltering steps into the darkness. Before long
the thrill and thrall of her fear were 03, and,
as no savage yells or echoing hoof-beats resound-
ed behind her, she coolly settled herself to the
work before her. The long twilight had died
away, and the moon, nearly fall. was up and
shining directly through the narrow road
doubling the gloom that lay upon the WW

 

The two, listen- . ’

Harry Winkle's Long Chase.

 

nd rocky slopes on each side—so that she

seemed riding alone-a path of li ht laid upon

and through a. bed 0% darkness. er quick eye

‘i ranged along this path, now and then-diving
into the darkness upon either side of her; yet
swing nothing but rocks and trees.

Yet, there was some one near. Not a hun-
dred yards ahead of her, just in the shade of
the trees, his wuriness all excited by the noise
of ringing hoof—strokes, Bill Blaze was sitting
in his saddlo with eyes strained to catch sight of
the person so recklessly approaching. And
when he saw the woman bearing down upon
him, the riderless horse galloping at her side, he
could scarce refrain from a shout of triumph as
he recognized in her the object of his search.

“ Minks and niushratsl” thought he. “ lilam’d
of she (ain’t Dick Martin’s gal. A trump, by
mite'yi She’s cleaned out the hull h’iling:
stanipeded ther corral, an’ ’s hriiigin’ the )ick o‘
the lot into camp! Bill Blazo an’ her ’1 move
inter Back Load camp rejoicin’. W augh!”

\Vhen the fast rider was galloping by, she
heard at her left a voice, calling to her in what
seemed a guarded tone:

“Hullo, tliar! Bark Load Trace! Dick
Martini Van Payne! Friends. Hullol hold on,
friends!”

She looked hastily toward the spot from
which the voice proceeded. A man, evidently a
white man and a trapper from his garb, pushed
out from the shadows, and rode toward her.

For amoment she hesitated, undecided whe her
to augment her speed, or to wait for him. '1 he
sight of a white man Seemed a sign of aid and
comfort. Again he hailed her. In the moon-
light she could see that he held his right hand
up with the palm open and toward her; a sign
of amity. Confidence came to her by inspira-
tion. and without a strug le she allowed him to
ran e up to her Side. V'heii he came nearer,
she new that she had never Seen him among
the Free Trappers who followed the heck of

- Martin. '

“There is little time for talk now. I know
not how closely pursuers may be behind us.
What we have to say we must say as we gallop
on. I see that you know‘me, andIneed not
stop to explain.” ‘

‘ That’s all right. We’ve bin on the scout
arter ye, an’ I war jest rcllin’ slow into what I
thort war blam’d dangerous diggin's. Wouldn’t
wonder ef you've saved my skulp; an’ ver
chances won’t be any the wuss fur hevin’ ill
Blaze to steer yer through this yero diifikilty.”

“Do you know this country? I took this
route by chance, without knowing whither I
was going: and only determined on riding on
till I found in self—somewhere.”

“Know it ike a book. Yer tuk the ri ht;

"couldn’t ’a’ showed ye a better myself. er
driftin’ right through Crooked Can on. You
might ’a.’ taken a shorter cut to reac the other
side of the mount’i'ns; but then, you’d ’a’ missed
me, sure. How the what you call ’em did yer
git on it? Don’t s’pose the top-knots is so over-
flowin’ with the milk 0’ human kindness. thet
they’ve sit ye up in the boss bissness their-
selves!” '

, Edith, in a few brief words, explained the

rapidly-slanting scenes 9!! the evening, passmg

 

lightly over her interview with War Hawk,
and winding up with:

“ And now, as you are fittest to act the part
of guide, what do you propose doing?”

Blaze was silent a moment as he revolved in
his mind the intelligence that he had received,
then answered: -,

“ Yer sec, miss, thet ain’t so easy to answer
right at onc’t. All that excitement weren‘t fur
nothin’. Depend upon it, that scout tumbled
acrost sometliin’ that weren’t kalkerlatcd to {it
the’r arrangements. It‘s more nor likely Martin
and his men are comin’ up Straight Canyon.
Yer sec tlu-r’s two passes—one on ’cm culled
Straight and t’other Crooked. \Ve’l‘o in tho
crooked. I tried this yero one acausc my
luckls the (log-"onedest ('oiitrairiest thing you
oversee‘d, and? anus liov to he just whar I
oughtu’t, of I don’t 'want everything to liu’st
up to eternal sma‘sh. We can’t git out 0’ here
tonight, an’ I guess the best thing is to sail
along a few hours, an’ then stop off till morn-
ing. Martin’s sure to he somewhar in the
neighborhood. Ef he’s in this Canyon, we’ll
find him; cf he’s in the t’other, he’ll keep yer
Indian friends up an’ busy. an’ find us, since
I’ve got a few ideas about Chem copper-skins,
an’ when 1 think ’em over 1-ight,1’l let you
know what they are. Just now let us make
our prettiest time.”

In accordance with this, the speed, which had
slackcned as they conversed, was accelerated,
and for a long time the two rode on in silence.

CHAPTER XIII.

A WILD RIDE.

IT was morning now in the canyon. Heroes
and heroines require sleep—in that they resem-
ble other more commonplace individuals. Per-
haps Blaze had slept some: but, Wearied as he
had been for some days with a. constant round
of dangerous adventures and hairbreadth es— ’
capes, at daylight he was wide awake, ready to
face whatever dangers and difficulties the morn-
ing might bring. The woman was still as a.
statue. Her breath came uietly: her slumber
was sweet. Blaze sat at a ittle distance from
her. just by the horses, with his rifle close at
hand,‘ and ooked at his fair charge. There was
something in the face of Edith that seemed to
be worth studying. As he thought how frail
and nerveless she looked in the first pale light of

he morning, he was afraid that he had his
ands full. '

“ Blamed ef the little woman looks es though
she’d stand carryin‘. Kinder sorter ’pears of
glass, like. Shouldn’t wonder at she’d break all
upiuto small bits afore I git her a rod. She
ain’t put u as solid as a Blackfoot unw, Es
fur as the akilty of trau rtin’ goes, ’d kinder
sooner she war. Cur‘ous ow tastes does differ!
Howsomever, Bill Blaze will do his level best,
an’ of luck don‘t run too all-fired rough it may
be on the keerds to—hlast it, yes! To what?
Ef I ain’t keerful the copper-skms’ll take my
ha'r, 1111’ Dick Martin shoot me on sight. As
fur that crazy Winkle, I dunno .how soon he’ll
come crawlin' up an’ lettin’ drive on s’picion

a

that I’m his man. There’s a. three-cornered . :

state of affairs here, an’ no mistake. It’s .
kinder blessn’ maybe, after all, that the 55 ,

 

Harry Winkle’o Long Chane.

 

herself ain't likely to give much trouble.” Then
he gave a start. “ She must ’a’ linmvcd I .war
thinkin’ on her, fur she’s got her eyes wide
0 en.

Edith had Opened her eyes. She looked
around fora. moment with an air of quiet be-
wilderment. Then, apparently comprehondin
the status of things, she slowly raised her hea
from the rude pillow; something like the
shadow of a blush flitted across her cheek, and.
she turned to the trapper.

“ Well, sir, the morning is here; what do you
propose doing?”

“ I’d sooner ‘hev Chop Carter draw a bead on
me with his finger already on the trigger and
him dead set on shootin‘, than answer that
question. Blamed of I know what to do.”

“ One of us must decide what is to be done,
and that right quickly. 'If you think you can
find a way to get beyond our enemies to a lace
of safety, at Back Load Clearing, or elsew ere,
say so. If you think you cannot, say so; and
I’ll try what my wits are worth in this emer-
gency."

Blaze scratched his nose dubiously. It was
not that he had not full confidence in himself,
but rather it was an unexpectedly amusing
thing for this woman, on whose frailty he had
but lately been passing mental criticisms, to
speak in such short, decisive and self-reliant

ones.

“ Mebbo the best thing would be to do nothin’.
I’ve knowed persons who war in a. box to git out
by just sittin' still—an‘ I’ve kuow’d others, that
war bound to keep movin’, to run right slap onto
the biggest kind of a hornets’ nest. In course,
I kin find a way out. That’s my name—jest
what I war made fur. Only don’t pusha willin’
hoss. Let me roommate a bit.”

“ Last night you Said wait till morning. It’s
morning now, and having waited patiently, I
am anxiousto be up and off. Think quickly,
then—I‘m not a friend to slow going.”

“ We]. yer see, ther’s several bearin’s on this
ere. We know whar we’ve bin, whar we are,
at don’t know whnr we're goin’ an’ more par-

ticularly who’s wantin’ to go wit 1 us. The end
to this trail‘s a ticklish spot to travel over, that
wants daylight or full moonlight to git safely
through. Then, I‘ve a couple ov chums some-
where in'this region, that I can’t leave without
seein’. I don’t feel afeard of the red-skins. My
narves is es steady as a shootin’-match, and
they’s a sure sign. Ye wouldn't like to stay
here a day longer, would ye?”

“ I am on the side of safe boldness, whatever
that may be; I wish to make my way from
this lregion as quickly as may be convenient and
sa 9

“Jest one minnit. This yere’s how the land
la s: Es I told yer, I’ve .a couple of chums some-
w ores high. We wits a-lookiu’ fur you, ye see.
an‘ there’s two other lots on the same biz, 2111’
one on ’em is comin’ up Strai ht Canyon, of
there’s any faith in signs. The 0 her lot may be
goin’ on the same road, or we ma stumble
ncrost ’em on our way down. Blesser at I don’t
wish I knowed which are on this trail an’ which
on t’other. Now we’ll take a bite o‘ somethin’
to stay our in'ards, an‘ then be moviu’, I hope
I’ve out it slim,“ '

 

The bite was soon taken, and taken ahuostin‘
silence. From time to time Edith asked B. ques-
tion, and at length understood that Blaze was of
thao’ inion that Martin and his men had fol—
lowe in pursuit, and it was their a roach that
had alarmed the Indians. He to Edith we
briefly as it was in his nature tos k, that
War Hawk had not Ventured to ring his
wished-for bride into the village of his tribe;
that, in all probability, save the chance of a.
stray hunter, there was not an Indian outside of
War Hawk’s small part within thirty miles of
them. Their journey or the day, he thou ht.
would be one of comparative safety. Tfieir
greatest danger lay away out upon the plain,
beyond the openin of the canyon; and for that
reason he was aux ous to au%mont the strength
of their party, even though 8 felt able. if his
“luck held,” to carry her through in safety by
himself.

Having said this much in his sfran e and
rather uncouth way, the two sought sad 9, and
Blaze led his charge down the canyon.

They rode along at first rapidly and in silence.

Before long Edith became satisfied that Blaze
had been wise in thinking that they needed day-
light to make their way over that part of their
journey. The road, before so smooth, became
rougher and rougher, until, finally, it seemed to
her that it would grow absolutely im assable.
Here and there, to the side, she saw alias and
ravines that invited them by their evenness. but
her uide resolutely withstood their wooin s,
and e t straight on around and over roe 5,
across has and gullies, up and down they
went, ti at lat, meeting with obstacles more
serious than any they had as yet encountered,
they dismounted and toiled upward on foot. '

" Ef we’re spry now,” encouraged Blaze,
“ half an hour more will take us over the rough-
est, an’ then we‘ll hev level rogd clean down to
the mouth of the canyon.”

Accustomed as Edith was to exertion and ex-
ercise, she was heartily glad when the most toil-
some part of the road was passed and, seated
once more on Whirwind, she could pursue her
journey with more case, though Blaze, still on
foot was pilotingdier carefull . r

" ere we come.” said he, as, turning a. sharp
corner, they found themselves at the befinnin
of a better path. Then in a. different no 0
voice, in a vowe that partook of mingled excite-
ment and uneasiness, he shouted: ‘ The devil!
Here he comes!” and, quick aslight, flrin his
rifle, he sprung forward, while the f
Edith, which had been giving hitherto unno-
ticed tokens of dissatisfaction, with a scream of

fright, gave a mighty plan 9. and than, in an .' ‘

uncontrollable frenzy, rushe likes thunderbolt l
away! As she was borne on in this mod career
she heard the voice of Elsie, mingled with the
snarl and roar of a wild beast. and, over her
shoulder fora moment, saw him closing in mortal
conflict with a deadly monarch of the moun-
tains—an immense grizzly bear. / i
Only for a moment the scene
her vision—just long enoug to bring ‘a cold‘

chill of terror to her heart, an she was out of I

si ht. , ,
gCrooked Canyon did not than belie its name.
It-swept away to the right with 9 10113 

flashed across V

\

‘l

 

 Winkle’s Long Chase.

 

and. as she was whirled, breathless and horror-
strlcken along it, she could catch no glimpse of
what might happen to Blaze behind. or any new
danger in the way ahead. She saw only the
rocks and trees that, circling in, seemed as she
advanced, an ever-lifting barrier that changed
with the shifting sameness and speed of a
kaleidosco . The ring of Whirlwmd’s hoofs
was flung ar aheat§band behind; it echoed lone-
somer in the can n. And it fell upon listen-

ears!

5; man had halted just in the shade of the
scrubby trees that lined the edge of the canyon.
He started 11 _at the noise of flying feet, and
still shading imself, gazed in the direction of
the sound. What he saw was a woman one
maddened horse, keepingeher seat with the skill
of a practiced rider, yet ing borne with dread-
ful speed toward the jagged rocks and almost
impassable precipices which he knew lay at the
entrance, not so very far beyond. As she came
nmrer he looked again, and then sprung madly
forward. Had he been a moment sooner he
might have rasped the bridle of the animal.
As it was, hirlwind flitted past him like a
dream; in front of him was only the opposite
wall of the chasm.

He heard the sound of an exclamation; then
the crack of a rifle, and felt a something on his
cheek as though a hot iron had been laid there.
His arms were dropped by his side; they raised
again convulsively. He cast a look around.
and as by instinct he saw on the crown of the
haul: before him Charles Endicott, with a smok-
ing rifle and a sneer on his face.

When Blaze came rushing down Crooked Can-
‘ylon, hard on the trail of Edith. his blood trick-
'ng from numberless sharp scratches, though
yet strong and nervous. he came suddenly upon
a man lying stretched out at full length upon
the ground, his face resting upon one of the
ve tracks of Edith's flying steed. When he
turned him over he found that this man
was Harry Winkle. It did not take long to ex-
amine his hurts. He was still alive, though
partially stunned, and he saw at a glance there
was a wound on the side of his face from which
the blood was slowly oozing.

When he had noted this much, Winkle gather-
ed himself up, rose to a sitting posture and
looked around with a wild stare.

“Right there,” he muttered, intin up the
slope, ‘I saw him—Endicotti nd E ith, she
went down the canyon. Let me go, I must find
her first.”

He got to his feet, looked around caught up
lflii-srifle, moved 0t! with a step rapidly growing

mar.

CHAPTER XIV.
nmnn we ran vanes.

Oil the morningI of the day after Edith Van
Payne had made or escape from War Hawk,
the purlieus of Crooked Canyon were enlivened
with a rather more than ordina number of
denizens. Not on] Edith and B coming
through it and inkle and Pompey on the
west side, but on the east bank .wue camped
Endicott and his followers. As may be sup-
posed,,Eudioott himself, though a. fair shot and

o

» t

 

pOssessed of considerable experience, was not as
yeta finished ranger. Any deficiencies in this
respect were fully supplied by the attainments
of Lariat Dan, the pilot of the party, and his
able assistants, Mike Motler and Grizzly Dave.
As these men were honest, as times 0, they
were hardly who considered ti'ustwort y and
therefore were not admitted into Captain Endi-
cott’s confidence. This troubled him very little.
He intended to make blind tools of them so long
as it was ,ossiblc. W hen he could do that no
longer—W] , the had roughed it on the border
long enough to ave the gilding pretty well
knocked off of the corners of their honcsty; and
he had but little doubt of being able, if need
come, to bend them to his wishes.

In place of Endicott and his followers, per-
haps we should say Endlcott and his follower.
Ho and Eben Rothven were, at the present
time, by themselves, though the other three
were almost if not quite Within supporting dis-
tance. The two, this morning, were holding a.
council of war. They were ready enough to
cast themselves into a des erate adventure,
provided they could see wit reasonable clear-
ness, the probable result. Just now, as the
future uDJL'llI‘Ptl somewhat beclouded, they
thought it est to consider a bit. While Dave
and his two lieutenants were risking their scalps
iii Straight Canyon, Endicott and Rothven were
discussing whether it was likely to prove a
profitable business to venture their own in the
same direction.

Rothveu of course was opposed to the venture.
Perhaps in the beginning, seeing Edith Van
Payne carried off before his very face. some
little enthusiasm had been kindled in his heart.
He was not all bad, and there were some traces
of chivalry in his composition. However, this
enthusiasm had time to die out: and, having
other plans of his own, there is but ver .llttle
doubt that he would have been very W11 mg to
leave the captive to her fate.

In the way of this a difficulty had arisen.
Even had Endicott been in a frame of mind to
listen toreason. something seemed totell him
that there mi ht be some trouble in calling the
other men 0 the pursuit. They were very
good specimens of border ruffians: but, having
once been laid on the trail. their blood got up.
Not being of the calculating, scheming class, it
even amused Endicott tosee from day today
how earnest they grew. - . _

The two men walked away from their camp
in the heat of their discussion. They .forgot
their prudence. If there had been a. hostile red-
skin near, he might have stalked up and shot
them both. _

A little time having elapsed, as mightbeex-
peered. the ot to be cooler, and both haying
yielded a llttle, they talked in a more guarded
manner. Perhaps it was well for them they
did so. Perhaps, on the contrary, it would .
have been better if the had given some clear
and unmistakable ma estation of their pres-
ence. " _

Havin become more reasonable, and haying
expresse their opinions to each other, the
separated. At least Endicott remained stan -
in while Rothven went back a few paces. '

tanding by himself, with his rifle by his ,

i

 

Harry Winkle's Long Chase.

 

side, and looking into the canyon before him,
Endicott was revolving many thoughts in his
mind; yet was not so abstracted as to fail to
note the conformation of the ground in front of
him. The banks of Crooked Canyon, generally
almost perpendicular, were here practicable.
He did not think it would be much trouble for
one to descen into the ravine, or for one to
come up. There was a ledge running down in
a regular inrlincd plane of wh-zt seemed to be a
rather gradual slope. In reality, this slope was
more pra‘cticable than it looked. Havingr no-
ticed this natural roadway, he caught himself
wondering why it was there; whether it was
ever used; and, if so, by whom and for what
purpose. As he wondered he endeavored to
cast his glauco‘up the canyon. Then he heard
a noise in that direction. that a strange co-
incidence it was that he should be there!

He saw as in a picture part of that which we
have detailed in the last chapter.

Then came before him the woman whose ab-
duction had drawn him into this mountain fast-
ness. He saw, as she went streaming by, Harry
Winkle start out from among the shrubbery

. and trees beneath and opposite to him to‘make
a. frantic grasp at her rein; he saw, too, the un—
successfulness of the/I attempt, with Miss Van
Payne’s horse sweeping on, leaving Winkle
standing right before him.

A tin-oh of hate and mad passion quivered
through him from crown to heel. Hate, pas-

‘ sion, fear! In the twinkling of an eye his rifle
was at his shoulder; one glance along its brown
tube and the finger on the trigger did its work.
When Charles Endicott and Harry Winkle at
listt stood face to face, Endicott fired the first
5 o .

Something within seemed to tell him that
shot was oing home just as he meant it to go;
so that, w an Winkle ,threw up his hands and
pitched forward upon his face, he was not at
all surprised. A stumbling-block and a cause
of fear were out of his path. Martin had warn-
ed him of this man, and, acting on that warn—
ing he thought he had put him beyond mischief
and the war of working it.

Ha ha no time for reflection. though. Winkle
might lie there a rey for'tbe vultures and
coyotes, since Edith an Payne had passed.

Like 1i htning his thoughts drove through his
brain. ould she gain the master over her
frantic steed in‘time to prevent his plungin"r
into certain death? That was the query! Could
he aid her! That come next. He knew if she
kept straight on it would be certain death. One
last long and sharp curve and she came to the
end where her choice of ways was a. broken,
rugged. rocky descent that lay upon one side,
the entrance to it almost undiscoverable, and a
sheer preci ice. . ‘

This be t ought as he ran.
' As the reader has soon, he was a. man of both
thought and deed, and very often the deed came
first; so he was rushing on his errand before

.. ' some men would have gotten over the first flush

. of riseat the woman’s appearance. What
r ha ho to do was to stop her; than it would be

time enough to uery how she escaped.

nRothven hear the report of therrifle; when

 

looked around he sow his comrade dashing

,9".

past him at full speed. He did, not know
whethe or no there was danger, and Endicott
vouchs fed him no explanation. When he had
waited in terrible suspense for a few moments,
he crept cautiously to the spot where he had
left his coconspirator standing, and eering
anxiously around him, at length saw Bi 1 Blaze
coming down the canyon.

The spirit of darkness who, they say, loves
his own, must have loaned Endicott wings, and
guided his footsteps, too, perhaps. Through
brake and brush he dashed, and over rocks and
down declivities; and when Edith at last was
able, just at the very line of deadly danger to
draw rein, and, quivering and breathless, slip
from her saddle, there appeared at her side, as
if by magic. with a hand on her bridle-rein and
a. mocking sneer on his lips, the'face and form
of tthe last man she desired to see—Charles Endi-
cot .

Breathless as he was, it took some little time
for him to be in speaking condition, and while
he was recovering his breath she was recovering
her consciousness and courage. The very mo-
ment she saw him she argued illy from his pres— ‘
ence. To be sure, Bill Blaze was in the vicmity;
but she could scarcely give a guess at how near,

land when she last cauiht sight of him, he had

such a work before im, that it might well
finish him. The cor )se of more than one hunter
has lain side by si o with the body of a dead
grizzly.
“ Well, friend Edith, we have met again, as I
prophesied we would, and I think that now you
are fated to hear my story to the end. I have
ridden fast and far for a chance to tell my tale,
and I doubt if you will be so cruel as not to hear
what I would say to you." .
She looked at him with a glance of superb
scorn.

‘ “ N 01: as fast or as far as I have ridden,” she
said. “ But if you were not in the same field as
the fox during the race, I suppose you think you
are at least in at the death. Perhaps you are.
You might, perchance, claim my dead body—it
is certain you shall never have lot or parcel of
my living soul.” \ _ ‘

“Oh, how brave we are! It reminds me of
the grand old times when we were both heroes. ‘
You think you hate me, do you? Perhapsiyou
do. I know I have done you deadly wrong; -
but that wrong I am most anxious to right.
Your {udgment is clear beyond that‘of aver e .
morta s, and I but ask you to exercise it in this ?
case. I am sure that you will, if outreat me" ‘
fairly, acknowledge that, in all but put, on ,
which you now rofess to scorn to look, I noted I
in a manly. nob e we . and as best I could for
your best interests. on’t you give me that
credit?” ' '

“ You! on! Give credit to you! Why, you
abomiuob e, loathsome s wn of the slum and
the prison—it was not he_way that I was in
jured, but the thing that in ured real What:
think of that, I quiver an grow whitertrom_
crown to toe. Is it a. wonder that I went wild
when I realized itt Leave me, leavemeb ' ..
I die of rage I" ' ?

Sheflomedu liken  _ J.
flashed on hingrwith a be] ~thtg'andm
white, rogulhrtpoth shut with on um, '7 v

.7 4 r " _ ii, . . u "1.

 

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.

'

 

Only a weapon at hand and she would have
shot him dead; on] strength, and she would
have torn him limb rom limb.

And he? He stood and looked her in the eyes
without flinching. On] his face was deathly
white for a moment, an then there rose asome-
thing in his throat that seemed to bechoking
him as he smothered his anger.

“You want it to be without the gloves, do
you? So be it. Here! See hcrcl These hands
of mine are tender enough for a buckwoodsman,
are the not? Yet see where they are half-
eaten 0 at the wrists! Ha! ha! you don‘t see
it—why, they are dropping off from the burn-
ing touch of the cursed gyves. Right round
there is where they clung. No mark there?
Well, there ought tobe for I’ve worn the fet-
ters. Yes, there’s the hand of a 'ail-hird with
the prison smutch on it; and he 0 ers it to you.
You don’t accept, do you i”

She shrunk away from him with a gesture of
horror, yet her eyes were fixed upon his face
as though by fascmation, while he continued:

“Did ou never hear of a martyr to justice?
Do you now nothing- of the cry. ‘ Hang some
one to quiet the public nerves?’ Do you know
how a name can be murdered, and that, for
such a murder, there can be no retributive jus-
tice? I loved you once, and I love you now;
you loved me once, and you shall love me again.

he ex-convict is at your feet; but he woos Iyou
in the teeth of danger; he does not forget t at.

There is little time to be lost in idle play. We

have had all the romance years ago; we come

now to the stern reality."

She burst out: “ I did not love you then, I
will not love you now. 1 have passed beyond
the regions of romance, and learned what I
would that I had known then. You cannot
drive me and you dare not kill me.” ~

,“ re I not? Kill! kill! Do you think no
killin has ever been done? Didn’t you hear the
ring of my rifle but a moment ago? Force
rules the world—and here I am power! Along
Back Load Trace there were weapons ready to
come at our call, but here theta‘oles are turned.
Within eck are three sturd rufilans and—a
preacher. Not a namby-pam y, white-necker-
chiefed nothing, but a man of nerve that can be
relied on: yet is handiwork will last in spite of
Bride or prejudice. Strange to finda blacksmith

ere—but reserve to the windsl——you shall have

a chance to test his workmanship, and see how

you like his welding.”

As he step forward she shrunk back with
a hunted loo in her eyes. At be at last! His
words fell like the stroke of a nife. And to
her there was a terrible suggestiveness in them.
At whom had his rifle been aimed a moment
ago? She did not doubt him—she feared him.
And the fear of her fear was overpowering.
Still, she sought to keep a solid front. She
would fl ht genier to the last.

. “Ben s 01! me, sir; ou have shown your
handtoo soon. I am to ‘ wooed, perhaps. but
cold as you find me I like not your love-mak~

, ‘ . Satan himself would look like an angel

0 $11; by your side." ’

‘ e are growing nioe,’l he said, with a mock-
sneer. ‘A woman who lives by herself

trapper of Back Load Trace

f‘i
ththsangelie

 

may well know in what guise the angel of dark-
ness is likely to come. Mine you are, and as
mine I claim you.”

The moral strength of Edith Van Payne gave
way, and left behind a horrible terror. She
saw no way of escape but one, and, with a sud-
den spring, she sought to fling herself upon the
animal that had borne her so gallant y from
her captors the night before. She sought to do
this, but was unsuccessful. A bound, and En—
dicott was by her side, and had caught her round
the waist with a grasp of iron.

“ Ho, there, Eben l" he shouted, and she heard
footsteps beyond, in the direction in which he
had pomtcd. With a mad fury she caught En-
dicott by the throat; she writbed from his grasp;
she struck him with her clinched hand. Then
as, despising her blows as though they were
but strokes of a feather, he dashed at her, she
gave one wild, piercing and despairing shriek,
and, with the rapidity of light, leaped from the
brink of the precipice. '

And as she leaped the report of three rifles
echoed her scream.

CHAPTER XV.
THREE sno'rs —AT LAST!

WHEN Bill Blaze found Harry Winkle lying
prone upon the ground, though he looked in
every direction with a rapid glance, yet he gave
no sign that the sight Was unexpected, and
when Winkle raised to his feet and staggered off
after muttering a couple of broken sentences,
instead of attempting to stop him, or wasting
time in questions, be rapidly extracted from
those sentences the veig pith of their meaning,
and as rapidly decided ow he should act.

That Edith Van Payne had gone forward and
further on her headlong Journey he readily
understood: and that no ai of his could avert
the danger of a catastrophe at the mouth of the
canyon. Unless she succeeded in checking the
speed of Whirlwind, before he could succeed in
reaching her, her troubles would doubtless be
over. That she had done this he hoped, and al-
most believed. The words of Winkle, however,
suggested a new complication.

harles‘Endicott was doubtless in the pi hhor-
hood, and had fired the shot which he had eard.
Having once made out this much he could easily
trace the course of events.

When Endicott fired he watched long enough
to see Winkle go down, and then dashed across
toward the plateau upon which Crooked Canyon
deboucned. It Edith was safe, she was probably
in his hands. Judging from the past he could
easfl guess what sort of a recepti n Winkle
wou d meet with if, in his present wildered
state, he came wanderingjnear.

All this Blaze took in y almost one sweep of

thought and his resolution was taken, as it were

by instinct. He gave but a single glance up-
ward to confirm his opinion of the practicability
of the ascent, and- then threw himself into the ,
work he fancied he saw before him. Up the 1
steep and jagged side of the can on he rushed,
and then forward directly over t e jutting pro:
montory around which Crooked Can on we tto ‘ '-
its point of debouchure. With as 
ncss he crashed through the bu and: under-
intent only wrenching the‘pointifor.

 

88

Harry Winkle’s Long Chase.’

 

which he was aiming. When he had trav-
ersed half the distance he came upon a man
standing, leaning against a tree. The man was
Rothven. The instinct of the trapper befriended
him, since it removed the finger, so hastily
thrown there, from a trigger that was seldom
pchd in vain. Eben’s appearance was not ag-
gressive. On the contrary there was a listlessncss
about him that told rather of careless waiting
than anxious expectancy. Only he was looking
in the direction in which the trapper was going.
’When Endicott had passed him no had somehow
comprehended not only What had happened but
also what might occur; and preferred not to
come on the carpet prematurelv. In fact, he
cared little to appear at, all. The glim se of
Blaze, whom he reall did not notice unti that
worthy had passed “m, rather startled him.
From his appearance be judged it was one of
Martin’s men. Then a feeling of curiosity ob-
tained the mastery over him, and he followed on
to see what was in that strange race. He had
not taken many Ipaces when he heard the voice
of Endicott: ‘ 0, there, Eben!” and he came
an sight of Blaze Just as a. wild and piercing
scream, uttered by a woman’s voice, rung in his
ears.

He saw Blaze stop suddenly and peer through
a rift in the foliage. What the trapper saw
must have been exciting, since his eyes dilated,
his whole form quivered. That was just for a
second; in a second more he stood like a statue,
his left foot forward, his left arm extended. his
right arm up, his fin er on the trigger of the
rifle that covered Cha es Endicctt’s heart.

Edith Van Payne had obtained such a place
in her uncle’s heart that Martin sometimes fan-
cied he must have a. dual nature. He forgot
that having lapsed from civilization to bar-
harism, from the circles of refinement to the
uncouthness of ultra-frontier life, and having
so fully settled to that position as tovfeel as
though ‘to the manor born,’ that nevertheless,
chameleon-like, change of diet mi ht bring
him back‘ to some semblance of is color.
He had been going his way while Edith
went hers and the amnitv between the two
seemed to be but slight. Once or twice he had
looked at her queerly and thought that, per-

' - chance, there was a spice of poetical nonsense,

of unadulterated and unselfish feeling, yet lin-
rin around him. As often he had cast the
t oug t aside after a moment’s reflection. Now,
for a day or two, he had had an opportunity to
gauge himself, and found that this Willfu1,wild-
eyed niece of his had become, during the grad-
ually developing months of their acquaintance,
more dear to him than he could have ever im-
agined—even away back in younger days that
floated by over quieter waters. And, mixedl
with all this, was the wild, hard pride that
close behind him he brought strength and skill
and sagacity in no mean force; called out in a
moment’s warnin to follow, to aid, to rescue.
He wondered if dith believed that he was on
the trail; his qiig'id‘eg if she knew how stout
arms grasp ng weapons were y to
strike in for her at theqfirs: opportunity. me-
V. how, he never den 0 her present safetv
1 tram any serious harm, or despaired of her ulti-
, .

 

mate rescue. Strongly self-reliant, he had seen
success too often f0 low his undertakings, to
feel faint at heart now. -

Two things troubled him immensely. That he
should have been deceived at the outset of the

ursuit by Indian strategy and the defection of

‘ndicott and his men. He accounted at first
thought for the latter, by the supposition that
Eudicott's men had seen through the stratagcm,
and keeping the knowledge to themselves, the

arty had flown off at a tangent, leaving him,

Iartin, to follow the false trail. When they
met again, if meet thcv should, he would have
a small account to settle with Mr. Charles En-
dicott.

That meeting was destined to take place
rather sooncr than be anticipated. By chance
he struck the trail made by five men, and, on
consultation, was satisfied that it was made by
the dcserters. He questioned, then, within him-
self, Whether Endivott was not in league with
the Indians. Such alliances had been formed
before then; and he know that, if it should be
practicable, Endicott would stop at nothing to
carry cut his end. However that might be, he
believed that if he followed that trail, he would
most likely come 11 on traces of Edith. And so
believing this, he esisted from his intention of
pushing on to the further end of Straight Can-
yon, and turned oil? to one side. After a. time,

e came to where they had halted the previous
night. Here the party had divided, three men
going to the north, while the remaining two had
turned aside, westward.

Again he followed Eudicott, though he sent
out a detachment of trusty men in the wake of
Lariat Dan. He rode on quietly; be halted
suddenly. He saw a sight that brought him
from his horse in an instant—Edith Van Payne
was struggling in the arms of Charles Endicott.
He saw her throw the man off and rus for-
ward; as she leaped over the brink of the pre-
cipice, his rifle lay ready for the base of Endi-
cott’s brain, and, as her shrill scream echoed
and re—echoed through gulch and canyon, his
finger tightened on the trigger. i

Pompey came slowly back from an unsuccess-
ful search for traces of Edith. Without bein
soon he had reconnoitered Encicott‘s camp, an

satisfied himself that she was not there. Asfar
as the simple question of Edith Van Payne’s
rescue, unattached to any other idea, went, it is
likely that, he felt very little interest. But he
had an interest in whatever concerned his em-
loyer and friend, Harry Winkle, and socould
firing a Second—handed enthusiasm to the pur-
suit. While he was watching Endicott’s camp,
he saw Lariat Dan leave it in company with
Grizzly Dan and Mike Motler. He recognized
all three of those worthies, and at one time had
a half-formed notion of revealing himself to
them, and attemiting to sound them in search
of information. ban he saw that they turned
their faces northward, and started as if on a
nest. he altered his mind. Understanding that .
t ey were in the employ of the deadly easing of '
Harry Winkle, he. did not think it advisab to A
let his presence be knewn, unless to secure some '
positive advantage; and he could see none

 

Berry Winkle’s Long Gin-e. a

£9

 

 this present. So he remained concealed among
* the cedars on the butte and let the three go their
way. Perhaps an hour later, he was listless]
returning to find Winkle, the bushes on his 1e t
parted, and it man stepped out, and ranged up
y his side. A glance told him it was Mike
Motlor, whom he supposed miles away.

Motler was a quiet, almost :surly sort of man,
who went his own way and carried his own
pelts. His employer, when he had one, sel—
dom heard him speak: but he generally did as
he was ordered without useless questions. ThereL
fore he was‘a valuable man. Sometimes, though,
he had an opinion of his own, and acted on it.

,Wherein he was slightly unreliable. As he
pulled trigger quick, and always shot plum-
center, he was an unpleasant man to have a dif-
ficulty with. *

This Motler nodded to Fompey, as though
they were going into camp together after 3. Sep-
aration of onlya couple of hours instead of as
many years. Pompey understanding him pretty
Well. did the same, and casually remarked:

“ Whnr’s Dan?” _

“ Lookin’ for tame rabbits in a coyote’s hole.
A-bu’stin’ himself to find What ain’t thar.”

“ Whar then?” ,

“Dunno. Mebhe in Heaven. She’d better
stay thur. Somethin’ rotten on the board, an’
I’ve bunched my hand. I kin pass the brick an’
lose my ante: durned of I want to see his blind.”

Motler made this speech in detachments, am
with a preoccupich air. Pompey listened and
walked on. Motler suddenly startled him by
the Wery : ‘

“ har yer goin’?”

“ Nowhur much—camp I guess.”

“Ef lyer want to gamble, put yer money on a
funera . I feel it in my bones.”

“Whose funeral am (lat, den? I hain’t heerd
o’ no corpse.” :

“ Never you mind. Thercorpus ’ll be laid out
by the time mourners hes arrow.”

The African was not cowardly, but he cer-
tainly was a. little superstitious. The moody
tone of Motler sounded almost prophetic, and he
wondered whether it could possibly be his own
funeral that was meant. He had seen men
rubbed out in unexpected ways and at short
notice. He revolved this in his mind a few mo-

‘ ments, and even questioned whether it would
notbe best to turn aside and let his unsought
companion attend. the obsequies b himself.
Perhaps he might have done so he the meet-
‘ing occurred a. little sooner; but the catastrophe
came quicker than he expected.

First he heard sounds beyond the intervening
veil of folio e, and obtained a confused impres-
sion that t ere was that transpiring which
needed his attention. Personal fears were flung
to the winds, as Mike Motler, quickening his
gait. whispered:

“Didn'tI tell yer? Wait an' ye’ll hear the
hell a-ringin’. I'm u—holdin’ the rope now.”

An ominous peel that bell would give when its
rope was pulled! Motler was holding in his

‘. hands a. twelve-pound rifle!

.’ What occurred after the wall of branches that

finally intervened was parted Pompey could

‘ never fully comprehend. t he remem-
bered memento”. man, a confused

 

the screams of a woman; then the death-bell at
his side tolled once.

Love and fear combined with hate to lend

wings to Harry Winkle. His brain cleared and
clouded again; but with the clearing came
strength; that remained. Ho flcw down the
canyon with a speed that was prodigious. Yet
Edith had had a. start that would have renderul
his efforts unavailng il’ she had gone straight
and unchecked forward. The thought that such
would be the case, combining with the burning
hate which Enriicott‘s latc attempt on his life
had aroused, brought back the confusion, and be
passed over a. few hundred yards of ground
without sight or hearing. A regiment of sol-
diers, a tribe of Indians, might have passed him
unhceded. Vthn he came around the last crook
in Crooked Canyon, and the straight vista which
led to the sheer precipice opened up before him,
he came back to life, real and earnest, again.
He took in the picture before him—the ,woman
he loved struggling in the arms of the man he
hated. He would have shot Endicott on the
s ot could he have done so without danger to
idith; he brought his rifle to a. ready. While
he looked, running as he looked, she broke away
from the man, gave a. great bound, and he heard
her despairing cry echoed by the ring of fire-
arms. Hc did not stop, though, to see who had
fired. at Whom, or with what effect. When two
great ma‘slx‘r-pnssions clash, one of them is, for
the time at least, ground to the wall. When
love and hate became antagonistic in his breast,
hate was swept aside like a feather in the wind.

To the right ran the narrow, windinggath by
which Blaze had led him up into Crooke ‘anyon.
.Down this he darted with his teeth clinched, and
his hands, now unincurnbered by the useless rifle
he had cast aside, extended. He did not even give
a cry or utters. moan, but there was a fear of a
horror in his eye that seemed wilder than any
halforazed light that had ever shone there in the
time of his previous agonies. To the right and
left of him the jagged rocks heaved up in great
billows, horribly suggestive. Be wished him-
self back in the rnaring surf of the previous
years. When, half-way down, he came to a.
edge that led away and around toward the preci-
pice, visible and accessible by a crevice in the side
of the gulch he was descending, he could bear the
sus use no more, No need to pause and think
if its path was dangerous when once there had
taken possession of him the thought that by fol-
lowing it he could sooner catch sight of Edith
Van Payne or her mortal remains. Throughout,
along, all quiveringly expectant. and ears 0pm
for a cry or a. groan, sped Winkle.

And so, after the weary. maddening ears of
separation. alone, suspended. as it were. twren
earth and heaven, on a narrow footing that seem-
ed all too precarious fol' life and living mortals,
rlgiet atl the last Harry Winkle and Edith Van

ayne I -

When from Charles Endicott’s arms Edith had
rushed to a. leap she feared as fatal, there came
to her the stupor of falling scarce broken by the
crash through the top of the kindly intervening
cedar. Bruised and hard shaken, she lay coiled
up at the foot of the tree, ready, at a half con-
scious movement, to fell still further, even to

 

1 Harry Winkle'e Long Chane.

 

eternal nothingness, when there crawled toward
her a men. through what perils he was passin ,
or how he was avmding them he knew not. e
only knew that his soul’s other half was hanging
over certain death, with no other eye than his to
see her danger, and no other arm than his to
rescue her.

At lust! From oil.’ the knee of the cedar he
drew her, up onto the .wider footing of_ the yet.
narrow ledge. Kneeling with his back against
the wall of solid rock, he held in his arms his
own long-lost darling! Away above him Martin,
Blaze and the others stood. at the brink. peering
downward. He heard their shouts like remem-
brance of a noise in a. dream. The sound of a
gmtle sigh escaping from her lips drowned all
other voices. He clutched her closer, looked at
her wan, white cheeks, and. as her wild eyes open-
ed covered her mouth with kisses. He thought.
tuo, that her lips moved to meet his. For a
moment or two longer she lay in his a‘rms cold,
nerveless. colorless, almost lifeless. Yet she was
the woman he loved!

Consciousness began slowly to return. She hid
her face on his breast at its first dawning and
s! wwly gathered strength. When at last she
heard the loud beating of his heart she looked up,
for the first time forgetting the danger from
which she had fled, and the den or from
w rich she had been saved. She sawa ace, firm-
s'zf, ye: beaming. resolution yet happiness'pen-
oiled thereon. With a scream she made an al-
{nost fatal attempt to throw herself from his em-
ire-2e.

’l‘he steel-set arm wound itself tighter around
her waist, with steady strength drawing her
again closely to its owner’s breast.

‘ "Harry! You here! Let me go!
to death; but let me 2:0!”

“Not so. my darling. Here, on my breast
you rest. Fate‘s last bolt has been shot, and I
laugh now at the empty quiver. Mine you are,
now and forever.”

“Never, never! Let me go! I say again—I
have said and sworn i”

“ And so have I—listen while I swear again.”

His face rew darker, his brow wrinkled
ominously, w do a hard red light shone in his
eyes. I

“ I have sworn that nothing should come be-
tween us—nothing, be it mortal or immortal—
honor or dishonor—death or perdition.
now I swear—here on the brink of death. where
a false step or unguarded movement is utter
ruin—that if follies an'l fancies are to sander us
axaiii, if there is no hope for us together here,
then the only thing iettisasudden death for
both. You know me well, you ought to believe
me completely; new I swear that you stain my
soul With a double murder. Mine in life rather,
else before another hunt red beats of the heart
that loves you—you kn w how wildly—these
arms unclnsp; but beyond the shadow. To-
gether we henceforth live, or here we two to-
gether die! ,Choose!"

Let me go

There was a yearning look of a hungry soul in-

his eyes. He quiver »d and crew white with sup-
pressed love andfhorror; but his voice did not
falter, and the red heat of a desperate resolve
was roundhim. As he spoke he raised himself
, to a standing position, and holding the women

And.

 

more closely than ever, braced himself for a
deadly spring.

She then for a moment was silent: her white
face grew whiter; her teeth were set hard and
words of violence came surging up to her tongue’s '
end. She strove to utter them; but the whiter,
firmer set, more desperate face and the grout
struggling soul before her drove them back.
There was war in the woman, and the mun
watching that wild face thought she would die be-
fore him.

Then the stronger will conquered; the haggard
and strong look broke up: a lenm of submission
and nnutterable love roll across her face.
She dropped her cheek back upon his shoulder,
till her lips almost touched his ear, her arms ‘
twined about his neck, and she whis red:

“ Harry, my poor darling, we Will 've for each
other!”

THE END.

 

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841 Colorado Steve's ash. By Philip S. Warne.

342 Snap-Shot Sam. By Bucksin Sam.

343 Mike. the Bowery Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.

344 The Drummer Sport. By Edward Willett.

345 'Jaques, the Hardpan Detective; or. Captain
Frisco the Road-Acout. By J. \C. Cowdrlck.

346 Joe. the Chicago Arab. By Charles Morris.

347 Middy Herbert's Prize. 3y Col. P. lngruham.

318 Sharp-Shooter Frank. B Buckskin Sam.

349 Buck. the Miner. By Maj. . L. St. Vrain.

350 Ned. the. Slab City Sport. By Ed. L. Wheeler.

351 Roc Mountain Joe. By Col. T. H. Monstery.

352 New ork Tim. By Charles Morris. '

353 The Girl Pilot. By Roger Stai'buck. I

354 Joe. the Boy Stage-Driver. B M_aj. St. Vrain.

355 Texas Frank‘s Crony. By Buc slim Sam.

356 Idaho Ned. Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler.

357 Guy, the Bo Miner. By Col. P. In aham.

358 Jer-xey Joe. t e Old Tar. By Mrs. O nJames.

$59 Dandy Dick's Dash. By 011 Coome.

860 Jim‘s Big Bonanza. by W. J. Hamilton-

361 Oregon Phil, the Sport. By Philip S. Warns.

862 Kit. the Boorblack Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.

363 The Ocean Racer. By T. C. Harbaugh. ‘

861 Fritz's Old Score. By Ned Buiitline. ,

365 Crack Shot Hurry. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. . '

366 Gold Dust Rock. By G. Waldo Browne.

367' Fred’s Bold Game. By Paul Bihhs. I v

368 J im. the Sport in Wake-upx By Ed. ‘L. Wheeler.
369 Captain Blake‘s Jonah. vBoger Stu-buck.
370 Denver Kit‘s Double. By Ms or H. B. Stoddard.
871 Blue Blaze Dick. By T. C. orbs/ugh.  ‘ . I
372 The Sea Cat's Prize. By Col. Prentiss Ingram. ..
873 Larry O’Lynn‘s Dash. By Joseph 1". Henderson. '
871 Jim. the s ort‘s Big‘Boom: or. The
au_King's Riv By Ward L. Wheeler.

 

I;
m

@etective Stories.

470 The Ranger Detective. By Harry Hazard.

454 The Darky Detective. B Mrs. Orin James.

437 Detective Jake's Clcw. y H. B. Stoddard.

3‘l6 Detective Paul's Right Bower. By C. D. Clark.

887 The Boy Detectives. By T. C. Harbaugh.

875 Bowery Bob. Detective. By Jo Pierce.

862 Ki the Bootblmck Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.

856 Ida 0 Ned, Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler.

345 Jaques. the Hardpan Detective; or, Captain
Frisco the Road Agent. By J. C. Cowdrick.

348 Mike the Bowery Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.

338 The ld Bar Detective; or, Iron lke, the Solid
Man. By Major E. L. St. Vrain.

383 Bootblack Ben. the Detective; or, Pooler Jim
and His Pard. By Anthea P. Morris.

831 The Coast Detective; or, he Smuggler Shad-
ower. BY Roger Starbuck.

825 Dusky Darrell, the Camp Detective: or, The
Dand ‘s Daring Dash. By Edwin Emerson.

322 Fred lyer. Detective: or, Abe Blizzard on Deck.
By Charles Morris.

819 Frisky Frank in Idaho: or. Old Skinflint the
Shadower. By Roger Starbuck. I

318 Colorado Charlie's Detective Dash; or, The
Cattle Kings. By Edward L. Wheeler.

316 The Street Arab Detective; or, Dick Dorgan’s
Double Dealing. By Charles Morris.

812 The Detective Road-Agent' or, The Miners 0!
Sassafras City. By Edward L. Whv eler.

306 Spotter Fritz; or. The Store-Detective‘s Decoy.
By E. L. Wheeler.

303 The Hotel Boy Detective; or. The Grand Central
Robbery. By Charles Morris.

299 The Balloon Detectives: or. Jack Slasher’s
Yong Pard. By Harry Enton.

as: White Wing, the Ferret Flyer. By Ghee. Harris.

293 Dwarf Jake the Detective: or. Kit Kenyon‘s
Man-Hunt. By Edward Willett.

282 Buck Hawk, Detective: or. the Messenger Boy's
Fortune. By Edward L. Wheeler.

272 Kit. the Girl Detective. By T. C. Harbau h.

265 INSIilly. the Baggage Boy Detective. By haries

0

ms.

258 Denver Doll as Detective. By . L. Wheeler.

255 Jolly J im. Detective. By Char es Morris.

252 Denver Doll's Device; or. the Detective Queen.
B Edward L. Wheeler.

251 The Deaf Detective: or. Weasel, the Boy Tramp.
By Edward Willett.

246 Detective Keen’s Apprentice' or. J amesfiJumper,
the New York Gamin. By Charles Morris.

242 The Denver Detective; or, Dainty Dot at Gold
Gulch. By T. C. Harbaugh.

237 Newsboy Ned. Detective: or, Two Philadelphia
Gamins. By Charles Morris.

236 Sierra Sam's Double; or. The Three Female De-
tectives. By E. L. Wheeler.

2‘28 The Preacher Detective. B 011 Coomes.

219 Buck the Detective. By Al ert W. Aiken.

215 The saver Detective. By 011 Coomes.

209 The Messenger Boy Detective. By 0. Morris.

205 The Frontier Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.

199 Dictionar Nat, Detective. By. T. C. Harbangh.

196 The Dan y Detective. By Charles Morris.

193 Detective Josh Grim. By E. L. Wheeler.

188 The Ventrlloquist Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.

188 Jabs: Dart Detective. BE Oll Coomes.

175 The Arab Detective By . L. Wheeler.

12! Tony Fox, the Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.

195 Handsome Harry, the Bootblack Detective. By

v Charles Morris.
gamed“ Dick. B Chsrles Mo
ill Son: rm y rive. 0. Morris.
is Death-hoe. Detective. By I. L Wheeler.

 

.» BEADLE’S POCKET LIBRARY. °

Wild West Sports.

465 The Texan S ort: or, The Mustang Hunter.
Fredenck W ittaker.

442 Dirk. the Sea Sport. B Roger Starbuck.

435 An Irish S ort Abroa ; or. Pat Mailoney‘s Ad
ventures. y C. L. Edwards.

434 Joe, the Rover Sport. By A. .

391 Charleiy
B Sto

B!

E Post.

d S‘lirylark, the Sport. By Major Henry

. ar .

880 Dick Talbot, the Sport. By Albert W. Aiken.

877 The Deadwood Sports; or Diamond Dick's De-
liversnce, B; Lieut. S. G. La .

H4 Short Jim’s lg Boom- or. The onanu King's
RivaL By Edward L. eeler.

868 Short Jim in MakerUp' or. Foghorn Fan to the
Front. BE Edward Wheeler.

361 Oregon P ll. the Sport; or, The Marshal of Two
Bite. By Philip S. Warns.

850 Ned, the Slab City 8‘30 - or, The Detective!
Big Scoop. By E. L. healer.

844 The Drummer Sport' or, Dasher Dick's
Dilemma. By Edward Willett.

336 Fred. the Sport; or, In Brimstone Bar Camp.
B E. L. Wheeler.

330 e Denver Sport's Racket; or, Xit‘s Big Boom.
E? Edward L. Wheeler.

3524 t, the Denver Sport. By E. L. Wheeler.

315 Tom. the Arizona Sport. By Major E. L. St.

ra n.
807 Nick. the B0 Sport; or, Three Pincky Penis.
By MajorE. . St. rain.
291 Peacock Pete, the Leadville Sport. By Albert

W. Aiken.
288 Wild Walt. the Sport. By Edward L. Wheeler.
286 Vick. the Dakota. Sport. By Charles Morris.
283 Roving Sport Kit. ByEdward Willett.
261 Blade. the Sport. B '1‘. C. Barbaugh.
247 The Girl Sport. By ward L. Wheeler.
230 Three Sports. By Gait. Frederick hhittalrer.
218 The Minor Sport. By . L. Wheeler.
212 The Jimtown Sport By Edward L. Wheeler.
19? The Trxan Sport Unmasked. By Col. Prentiss

Ingraham.
rt. By '1‘. C. Huhnugh.

130 Gold Trigger, the S
103 Chip, the Girl Spo By Edward L. Wheeler.

LATEST AND NEW ISSUES.

477 S uire Baker's Ranch. By Mrs. H. J. Thomas.
478 T e Yankee Peddler. By C. D. Clark.
479 Nick. the Detective. By Edwin Emerson.
480 The Village Sport. By James L. Bowen.
481 Mustang Rider R0 . By Albert W. Aiken.
482 New York Ned in fornla. By W. J. Hamilton.
483 The Wild Huntress. By Capt. “ Bruin " Adams.
484 Silver City Tom. By James L. Bowen.
485 Old Nancy‘s Ward. By Lieut. Col. Hmltine.
486 The Dwarf Deco . By Marc 0. Rollo.
487 Jack’s Snare. Mrs. Ann E. Porter.
48! HarrysWinkle’s Long Chase. By Wm. R. Byster
489 Old Lrossflre'e Crisis. By Ca t. Chas. Howard.
490 Goosehend‘s Best Shot. By 0s. E. Badger. Jr.
Ready May 81st.

A New 1mm Every Wednesday.

Bunu’s Pom-r Inna! is for sale by all News-
dealers, five cents per copy. or sent by mail on re-
ceipt of six cents each.

Bum.- m Anus, Publishers, .
as William Street, New York l