"310.465.

Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams,
No. 98 VVILLXAM ST. NEW YORK.

Price,

$2.50
Five Cents.

a Year.

V01. XXXVI.

 

 

 

THE‘TEXAN SPORT.

 

 

 

  
     
  
   
     
   
  
  
   
    
  
    
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
     
 
   
  
   
 
    
  
   
   
   

 

* head in the sultry glare.

2 I The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 
    

 

The Texan Sport;

on,

THE BOY MUSTANG-HUNTER.

A TALE OF THE TEXAN PLAINS.

BY FREDERICK WHITTAKER;

AUTHOR or “ woons AND WATERS,” “ THE
[WORD PRINCE,” “ RIFLE AND REVOLVER,"
“rm! DASHING DRAGOON,” “BOONE,
Tm: nuxrnn,” ETC., ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER 1.
PET]! WILKINS.

A YOUNG man lay at the foot of a. tree, look-
ing inoodily out over the hot, sunlit prairie,
which la quivering before him in the intense
beams o the noonday sun, till every little star-
flower seemed to wink slec fly, as it bowed its
he prairie itself was
vivid with the emerald green of early summer
in Texas, for it is to the western borders of this
enormous State, as large in its area. as the
whole kingdom of France, that we 110w invite
the reader.

The tree under which the young man lay was
one of a clump of live oaks, denominated a
motto; and draped, like all of its com anions,
with long, drooping treeses of “Spanis moss,”
that hung nearly to the ground; and concealed
any one in the tree completely from the gaze of
a person on the prairie.

The scenery around was monotonous, but
grand. Grand from its very monotony, like
the ocean. The motto, at the edge of which the
young man lay, was the only object to diversify
the rolling reen expanse. Except that, on the
horizon to t e east, you could see the faint out—
line of another grove of trees, and it was on
this distant object that the eyes of the youth
were fixed. He seemed to be sad and despond-
cut, as he lay there, his chin resting on his hands,
gazing at the fur-off grove. :

He was dressed as a. dcndifled sportsmen. He
wore a very broad-brimmed hat of gray felt,
such as is onl y met with in the Southwest.,, His
short coat was of black velveteen, and he wore
high boots of varnished leather cumin" to mid
thigh with white buckskin brooches. 6 seem-
ed to be well armed, for a Colt’s rifle lay beside
him. , The occasional stamp of a horse, at a lit-
tle distance behind, told that he was not de—
serted, and at the bow of the rich Mexican sad-
dle, heavily mounted with silver, you might
have seen a. air of handsome holsters, which
contained pi is of the same make us the rifle‘.

The young man’s face was melancholy and
handsome, with large dark 0 es. It was orna-
mented with a downy-bloc mustache and
fire med in dark hair.

“ How shall I do it?” he munnuredtohimsolf.
“ If 1 were onl. a. rich man, she wouli have me;
but. how am. to get rich in a hurry, and how
shall I catch the black mustang?" '

His soliloquy was interrupted by th , fame
of horses’ feet, and presently there hove sight
on Oddhnt picturesque figure, common enough

 

 

 
   
  
  
      
           
   
       
    

 

on the prairie. It was that of a regain, 7 via ii.
fashioned hunter of the type of Daniel Boone
and his brethren. .

The coonskin cap on his head, with the tel.
falling down the wearer’s back; the hunting;
shirt and leggin rs fringed with strips of deer-
skin: the uil ~embroidered moccasins, are
they not familiar to the border? The only para
ticular in which this modern hunter_dil£ered
from the hunter of an earlier day was in his rc— o ’ 7
panting carbine, and the block holstered revo m
ver at iis belt.

He rode a fat little dapple—gray mustan mare.

The stronger came straight tmvnrd (3‘10 tree
where the young man lay. A spring, Within, a
few feet of the young Wayfarer, had been spied
by the shar yed hunter.

He rode s owly up, his keen black eyes glauc—
ing restlessly from side to side as he scanned the
motto. He was evidently a man accustomed to
look out for himself in the midst of dangers, and; I r
lived under the guardianship of keen senses. ‘

The young man gazed with interest upon his
shaggy dark-gray hair and heard that flowed
over breast and shoulders like the mane of an
old lion. He recognized the other at once. All
the frontiersmon of Texas, indeed, knew him
well; as Gil also Frank Weston, who arose as
his visitor approached, and stepped forward to {N
meet him. _ z r

“ Why, 17:12; Yv'ilkinsl” he exclaimed. “ Have
you dropped fl )ill heaven in the nick of time to
assist me?"

The old hunter looked at the young man
doubtfully for some minutes before he replied.
Then he swung himself off his saddle, and com-
ing up to the other, placed two brawny hands ' 
on the shoulders and inspected his features, f
closely. The young fellow bore the examina- '
tion with a smile, and the hunter seemed to be
tryin': to recollect him.

‘VVal, younker,” he said, at last, “I seen ye
sumwhar, I’ll swow; but whar in creation ’twar, _ V .
durn my karkidge if I kin tell. How-de-du, " “A r '*
anyway?" -»

And he transferred his dcxter paw to the hand
of the other, which he shook heartily, with a
gripe that made the other wince. ‘ ' v

“ And who are yer, anyway?” he continued, .. ~ ~
still surveying the youth. “ Ihain’t seen yer for
a. many year, that I’m $11er on. And time
changesyou young fellers e’enn’most as much as
he does me.”

Andthe old hunter gave a. half—humorous, half-
melancholy smile, as he surVeyed his own griz~
zlml'lwnrd, which flowed over iis breast.

The young man laughed at the other’s perplexo,

 

 

 

it .

’2‘ You ought to know me, Pete,” he said. it It,
was you who first taught me how to drawebea‘d *
on a. deer or turkcy' and all I know, of wood-
craft. I owe to you. ’ 

“You must ’a’ bo’n a migh small younker
then,” returned old Pete, sti regarding him,
donbt‘l’ully. Then aflash of remembrance seemed.‘ V. ,
to come over him, and he cried: ‘ V ' 

“ Now I know er. It ar’ Frank Weston,‘a5 . '
used for play hoo ey from school down to West-
onville, ter go o—huntin’ with old Pete! Why,
how are vcr, Frank? I’m pesky glad tor 599 yen
Why, ye’r’ grown e’ena’most astellas I ergan’ I“

 

   
 
  

  

 

  
  
 

 
   

' mind or no more nor knee-high to a ’skeeterl
Why, w are yer?”

' And the rough hunter worked away at the
« youth’s hand as if he had been working at a

um .
p “ lym very well, thank you, Pete,” said young
I. ‘Weston, laughing. “But don’t mush my hand
all to pieces. How have you been?”

“ Alwa s the same old two-and-sixpence,”
answered the other. “ As I was riz, so I grow’d.
As I’ve grow’d, so I’ll die. Some day ye’ll hear
the coyotes a—howlin’ over a burnt—out camp-fire,
and old Pete ’ll die on the broad poi-a ry as he’s
lived on, man and boy nigh on sixty year now.
And how hev you been, Frank? How‘s yer
father, an’ the old plantation, down to “'cston-
ville?”

The young man’s face clouded. *

“ My father and mother are both dead, Pete,”
he said, “ and the old plantation was sold by the
sheriil‘ for the benefit of the creditors, not a year
a o.”

“ Yer don’t say I” returned Pete, much con-
cerned. “ Do telll Why, Frank, my boy, tell’s
all ’bdut it. I’ll bobble the boss and turn him
out to graze while yer tell me all yer troubles.”
And suiting the action to the word, Pete un-
girthed and removed the rough wooden saddle-
tree from the back of his gray pony, and allowed
the latter to crop the herbage at leisure. Then
the old hunter produced a store of dried venison
from his wallet, and inviting the young man to
sit down, he listened, while young W'cston, over
the “ dinner,” told his story. ,
“You know, Pete,” the young fellow ’bcgan,
“that my father, the colonel, owned nearly the

* 7 whole of Westonville at one time, and had hun-

dreds and thousands of acres covered with cut—
tle and horses, besides field—hands to cultivate
the cotton plantation. He might have kept it
all, but for one thing. He would gamble.
Even during the war our estate did not suffer
much. We depended more on our cattle than

' cotton, and did not feel the emancipation of the
slaves much. But when my father came back,
after Kirby Smith’s surrender, he bro‘hght back
from the service two bad habits, drinking and
gambling.

- “ My mother died, as you know, when I was a
little boy, and it was but llttle I learned at the
old school at Westonville.”

“Durned little,” assented Pete, suspending
his munching a moment; “but I l’urned yer
some things, of the schoolinarm didn’t.”

“My father sent me away when I was eleven
years old, and I was put to a. boarding-school

: .‘ up North. There there was no hunting to
 take me away, and (I had nothing to do but
learn. I did learn to some purpose. During
the war, my father sent me to a German

‘ university to finish my education, and strictly
forbade my coming home, till the war was over.

I Then I returned, and found things going to rack
and ruin. My father bitter and desperate about

' the fall Of the Confederacy, sat brooding all day.

At night he would go to the village tavern. and

drink all his senses away vn’th ‘ rotvgut’ whisky.

w hiln he played goker with all the professional

gamblers of the tats. Many and manya unr-

‘ rel arose there, and several duels occurr , in

«which the colonel came ofl: victorious; tillat

i , ,

 

    

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

last, about a. year ago now he fell in with a. no-
torious dcsperado, named Austin, who shot him
before he could draw his own pistol.”

“ I know that ‘ere Austin,” said Pete, scratch-
ing his head, “ and he ar’ one of the cantanker-
ousest varniims as ever I did know. There ar’
monly one man in all Texas as he ar’ afeard of,
and that’s little Gilmore.”

“ I know another,” said Frank “Weston, gloom-
ily, “and that is myself. When the news was
brought to me, I was at home, and I galloped to
the Village before doing anything else, deter-
mined to shoot the murderer on sight. But he
fled the lace and has avoided me ever since.”

“ an , mobbe he is afeard,” said old Pete,
doubtfully, “ but I would never trust to that ef
ever yer see him. Grit out yer six-shooter f u’st,‘
that’s the way to plum him. But how did yer
cum here, lad? That’s what’s the matter.”

“ It’s a sad story. Pete,” suid tho oLhcr, gloom-
ily. “ I found, when I came to settle up my .
father’s estate, that it was mortgaged to its full
value, and us there. was nothing wherewith to
meet the creditors, the sheriff of the countv sold
it at auction, in 11. month after my father’s death.
The furniture and live stock, carriages, wagons
and working tools, etc., paid off all the debts,
and left me at last as you see me. I only retain-
cd, of all my father’s stud, one horse, and he
stands by the free there.”

“But he :11" a ripper,” observed Pete, paren-
thetieally.

“ You say true, Pete. He is one of the sons of
old Lexington, and he can come near to his fath-
er’s time, too, in a four-mile race.“ ,

“Yer don’t say !” exclaimed Pete, admiringly."
“And whar hev yer b’en since, Frank?”

“ l’ve wandered all over Texas, trying to find
Austin, to avenge my father’s death. 1 saved
about a thousand dollars out of the wreck, along
with the colonel’s pistols and rifle. I’ve not
found his murderer yet, but when I do, one of
us must fall.”

“ And how cum yo out here, lad?” queried the
hunter. “ \Ve’re outside the settlements here,
and there ain’t a. ranch around fur miles, ’cept
old Mox’rau’s, the French planter—— Why, what’s
the muss?” ‘

He concluded with this question, noticing that
the other blushed deeply. Frank Weston hesi-
Bated a moment, and then turned to the grizzly

unter.

“ Pete W’ilkins,"he said, “ you’re an old friend
of mine. Would you stand by me in trouble?”

“ I would that. lad,” said the kind-hearted
mountain-man. “ VVliat’s the matter? I’ll help
ye, of I kin.”

“ That same Moreau that 011 mentioned just
nfiwy.’ Pete—he has—a—daug ter—named Gabri‘
e e. ‘

Old Pete regarded the other with a queer
glance fora moment. At last he burst into a
laugh, siniting his thigh with his hand.

“ I knowed’ it!" he cried; “ I knowed itl I
knowed as how thar was a woman in it, some-
whar! What is it. led? I’m the feller as helps
all the unfortnit lovers to {zit the knot tied.
Didn’t I help Sir John. the Britisher, to git that ,
ar’ pooty little wife 07 his’n, Donna Pepita? Ah,

 

she war a picter, she war. VVhat’s your gal
like, Frank? I’ll help. yer, my boy.” , ,

 

  

y.

  

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

“Will you?” said Frank, enthusiastically.
" Oh, Petel she’s as beautiful as an angel. She
has longr curls just like gold in the sun. She has
eyes like that Sky overhead. Her voice is like
the cooiug of doves. But, oh, Pete! she is proud
and rich, and doesn’t lovomewmurh. I met her
once when we we were rich, and then her father
bowed down to me. But now that I am poor
she will not look at me with favor, and repels
my suit, unless I can do smnethin: impossible.”

“ Why don’t ye leave her, lad?” asked old
Pete, with simple directness. “ If she don’t kecr
u cuss fur yer, yer needn’t kocr a cuss fur her—
nead yer?”

“ But I think she does, Pete, I think she
does care for me 9. little. She told me yester-
day that I might win her if I could, but that she
had resolved never to marry any man whoeould
not bring her the Black Mustang of the Prairies
to ride to church on; and, as she said this, she
smiled upon me as only she -au smile, and said:
‘ Frank, get him for me, and I’ll love you for-
ever.’ And I came away from the ranch, and
ever since that I’ve been beating my brains out
to think of how I shall find the Black Mus—
tang-,7 .

Old Pete Wilkins ruminated in silence for
some time. At lust he looked up.

“ Are yer sure the gal ain’t foolin’ yer, Frank?”

“ I think not,” said the youth; “ I’m sure she
likes me a. little," (he was gradually growing
confident in his talk), “and her father was un-
der great obligations to mine once. If I can
only lead home the Black Mustang, she is
pledged to me: and has given me a year to ac-
eornplish my task. See, here is her pledge.”
And be displayed to the hunter 3. gold locket in
which reposed a coil of bright hair.

“ Wal, lad,” said Pete, after a pause, “ it’ll he
a. long huntuud a hard hunt, and 1 can’t promise

or the boss. Many and mauy’s the crowd as

ov started urter that hoss, hopin’ to get him.
Greasors anl Injins, hunters un’ sogers, the ’ve
all hurl a crack at him; but I never seen the 1055
as c’u’d keep him in sight for half an hour. It‘s
the b‘lieE 0’ sum, as how he‘s the devil hissclf,
and he lain, run like the devil, I tell you. I”

“ Then is there no hope of ever catching;r
him?" asked young Weston, in a despondent
tone.

“ I don’t say there ain’t,” said Pete. “ Yeive

ot a hoss of yer own thar as ’11 give even the
lack Mustang 9. hard push, of he’s what you
saw. u four-mile racer.”

“And he is,” replied Weston, eagerly. “ He
can give any common horse a mile in a four-mile
race and boat him on the third mile."

“ Well, of he loin do all that, yer may ketch
the black: but I tell yer, Frank, yer’ve got a
hard road to travel.”

And the old hunter forthwith entered into a
long,r account of that sin ular animal, the Black
Mustang, Which we wi i give, stripped ol’ the
uncouth dialect of the narrator, and convey to

the reader‘all the information that we can as to
the habits and ways of th.» will horse of the

Texan and Mexican pampas.

. CHAPTER II.
THE BLACK MUSTANG.

 

. I _ ‘

  

UNI? the headwaters of the Colorado and

Brazos Rivers, to the west of that curious 
separates the great upland prairies of Texas

full perfection. Here he roams in herds, several
h hundred strong, subdivided intobands of twenty
’or thirty mares, each band led by a stallion.

A sort of military organization prevails in
those herds—all the minor bands owning the"
leadership of the patriarch stallion of the herd.
He foods a little apart from the rest and keeps a
keen lookout to leeward of the herd. He trusts
to his nostrils to inform him of enemies to wind-
ward. The scent of the mustang is singularly
acute, and he keeps at a respectful distance from
human beings. ,

The bz-auty of a herd ol‘ Texan mustangs is
inconceivable by one who has not seen them in
their native haunts. Shining jet—black, snow-

tense blood hay are common in the stalln‘nis, but
the mares are striped, speckled and spotted in
the most extraordinary manner.

The black rosettes of the jaguar on a’yellow
ground, the stripes of the zebra, the brilliant
patches of black, rod and while that mark the
tortoise-shell eat, all are reproduced in a herd of
mustangs. Every variety in color and marking
is common. The sight of a herd “at liberty can
rarely be fully enjoyed save through a tele~
scope, for, as we have said, the mustangs are
jealous of the presence of human beings and
wary to a. remarkable degree.

Sometimes stallions are found who have left
the herd and live apart in solitude. The cause
of their celibacy is unknown, but it is a curious
fact that theso solitaries are always of far
superior size and beauty to those in the herds,
and soon l)(‘( ome celebrated among truppers and
hunters.

Prairies, described by Kendall in 18-14. This re-
markable stallion was often seen in the vicinity
of the Cross Timbers, near the headwaters of
the Trinity and Brazos. He was a natural pacer
or racker and was never known to “break up”
from his gait, however hardly pressed. On one

sively, by American hunters. But in all that
time he never broke his pace, and the pursuit
could not be pressed close enough to prevent him
from sto )ping to drink.

Several other solitary stallions have lived and
died at different periods on the southern prai-
ries, but the most celebrated of all was the one
about which Pete Wilkins and Frank VVestou
were now conversing.

The animal had made his appearance at the
edge of the Staked Prairie, near the source of
the Colorado, about two years before. He then

form. But his speed was prodigious even at
that period, when he could not have been more
than three years old, Ever since then he had
Only improved in appearance. His haunts la

atory Comanches and Kiowaé, which rendered
his capture still more difficult and dangerous. ' .
Three different parties had succeeded in“ gets]

 

Without exciting his 9. arm, when hediad

\ _ , r

of wood known as the “ Cross Timbers,” which '

from its eastern slope, the mustang attains his ‘

white, delicate cream yellow, and the most in-.

Of such was the celebrated White Horse oi the

oc ~asion he was chased for three days succes~ '

seemed to be only a colt, so slender was his V

in a part of the country much exposed to pr -,

ting within a hundred ords of the famous steed I l

   
  

 

 

  

 

   
 

 

gm. «.maNQMfih‘

_ (“Q—c
/

 

4/

 

' have experienced from her father.

 

.y. .V i 4..., .,~.. .. U».

l The Boy ‘Mustan‘g-Hunter.

 

7  and defied pursuit. His swiftness was such

7 at no one hadever been able to gain a single
foot upon him after he startedz“ Inside of an
hour he could put miles of space between him-
selfand his pursuers, and he always disappeared
with nightfall. ,
' He was described as uhorse of unusual size
'for a mustang, and of remarkably beautiful
proportions. His mane and tail Wi-rc par-
ticularly long, the former sweeping below his
knees and the latten trailing" on the ground.
His color, as his name implied, was coal black,
without a single White hair about him that could
be rceived.
a must have been a wonderful lcupcr, too,
, for on one occasion, when a party of hunters had
' formed a cordon, and made sure of him, haying
driven him to the edge of a precipitous canyon,
hundreds of feet in depth, the Black Mustang;-
turned and charged the hunters. and made a
01831) Ice 3 over one man, htn so and all, who in-
tercepte him. The leap inustbuvc lnccn ow-r
nine feet in hight, and the black stood ( sciip'cd
in safety from the gl't'ntl‘st peril 11c hu‘. yet cu—
countercd. But he left that part of ilzc country
after that, 'and hetook hinisvlf to the broad
savannns that lie between the Rio Pecos and the
Colorado. Here he had remained, iructicully
undisturbed for the lust your.

And so, as Frank felt constrained to confess

'iho himself, to tell him to fetch the Black Mus—
tang was to tell him to undertake wcllqiigh an
impossibillty, and the fan-Gabrielle of tin-sunny
curls must have thought so too, after'shc hnd
dispatched him on his hopeless quest. Whether
she cared for him or not, the willful little beauty
knew best; but it is certain that her father,
cautious and rich. did not much favor the ad-
dresses of the ruined young gentleman, from
Whose father he had received so many benefits
in the days when Colonel W'estou was a cotton

raudee and Pierre Moreuua poor lawyer at
ew Orleans.

' . And Gabrielle had acted kindly, toward Frank,
in softening the rebuff. which he would certainly

She had
induced the old gentleman to accede to her
own conditions. and although it seemed as if
it were an utterly hopeless task for poor Frank
to acmmplish, alone and unaided, it was cer~
tain that the Morenus would keep their part
of the contract, should he, by any stroke of

' 1m oked-vfor goodiortune, succeed againstprob-
abi ity.

Old Pete W ilkins. whose soft heart was al-
ways ready to he engade in a love-affair, was,
only too willing'to lend his help to the unfortu-
nate pair of lovers.

“ Et’ that a!" black ain’t the devil hisself,”
he said, when he had finished his description
of the mysterious steed, “ we’ll manage to git

‘ him, by book or by crook. He’s pesky light

on the foot, I know, and he ar‘ got sharp eyes
and good nose; but he ain’t got the gnmption
as a human critter hev, arter all’s said. Ef
vwe kurn’t run him down, we kin give him

, a durned ood chase with that ar’ four—milei‘

o’ yourn, rank: and of he beats him, tn, why
I’m bound to hev him. Thor’s one. way as.
We never hev tried urter the black, and
that is ‘walkin‘ him down}, Ef every thing

 

     

{ailswwe kin do that, and we’ll fix him sure,
. en.

“ How do you mean ‘ walk him down ’ Pete?”
asked the young hunter in surprise. “ 8 can’t
surely catch a swift horse by following him on
f oot—cun we?”

“ Et’ iluir’s enough on us, we kin do that even;
but I don’t exactly koer to do my ‘ walkin’
down‘ ali'oot myself. I’ll show yer how it’sdone
when we cum to kctcli the black, of so be your
four-miler ain’t able to run him down.”

“ If i onlv can get within a hundred yards of
the block, I’ll trust old General against him, old
as ho is,” said Frank proudly. “But you must
remember that the General can’t do his best
without outs and corn, while the other horse is
used in grass—feeding all his life.”

“\Vcll, well, lad. We kin but try,” said old
l’ to kindly; “ and the soonenwe git away from
here now, the sooner we’ll be on our journey.”

Half an hour afterward the two friends were
riding; westward, the sturdy little gray mare
steplping out alongside of the powerful thorough-
Jl'Oi .

CHAPTER III.
LITTLE GILMORE.

THE two companions rode out from the shelter
of the motto, and headed their horses to the
westward. The sun had passed the meridian by
two or three hours, and a fresh breeze had just
started up, cooling the atmosphere, and waving
the tops of the grass and the leaves of the mes~
quite trees.

“Old Moreau knowed darned well what he
was arter," observed the hunter, “ when he took
his claim down hynr. ’Tain’t as safe. mebhe, as
it inou’t he further in, but the grass are tama—
tion good, and his ranch is strong enough to
keep out any roving Ccmanches as mou’t want
ter git in.”

. Frank Weston sighed as he looked back at the
distant grove, that marked the hacienda. where
dwelt his beloved. It was one of the old forti-
fied stations established by the former owners of
Texas, the cowardly Mexicans, the better to
enable them to kee ) out the Indians. Well did
he remember the long loop-holed wall and the
great gate, out of which he had so lately passed
in silence and dejection.

“ I wonder shall I ever see the hacienda again?”
he said uiusingly.

“ See it? In course yer will 2” said Pete stout-
ly. “ W hnt’s to prevent it?" ”

“ “"0 are going on a difficult and dangerous
questfl7 said Frank sadly; “and we may never
come back alive.”

The poor fellow was desperately in love, and
Baiting, for the first time, from the object of

is‘nfl‘eetion. He felt very gloomy and despond-
cut thereut. Old Pete perceived it, and laughed
at his blue fit. ‘

“We‘ll come back safe enough inside 0' six
weeks, younker,” he said. “Don’t or be gittin'
low-spirited already. We ain‘t hal started yet.
One thing, we’re out 0’ them pesky settlements

‘now, whar I never git without losin’ every
'I’ve it "

u Ah! indeed?” said Frank, anxious to divert

 

  
 

 

 

  

  

. his monghts from their gloomy turn.

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

  

 

“ Did
you lose much this time, Pete?”

“ Much?” echoed the hunter with a grimace.
“I was cleaned out reg’lar only last night, to
Hamilton. I’m allers jist sich a darned fool
whcu I git money, that I strike for the settle-
ments to hev a. spree. Only a month ago I got
a. thousand dollars good hard money, paid down
tei‘ me at Galveston by that ’ere Britisher as I
was telliu' yer on. He war a real gentleman. he
war. So I starts for Austin City on a hu’st,
and I tell you a bii’st I’ve hell, At last I’d lost
a'most all m money at that ’erc durned monte,
and I starte for the prairies. I got ter Hamil—
ton yesterday, and thaw I rot drunk as usual,
(him my kurkidge! When hain’t got likker,
I’m the cutest feller goin‘. but that fixes me.
must needs go ter playin’ poker with a lot of
gamblers from Houston, and the Gill 0‘ the night
found me dead broke. Nary red. That ’ere
little cuss of a Gilmore won the most of it, and
he always plays fair, so I couldn’t complain.
And so this mornin‘ I starts out on a hunt, and
who should I meet but you’ll,

“ Pete, tell me,"suid Frank, “ who is this Lit-
tle Gilmore that you’ve mentioned before? You
said that he was the only person that seoundre]
Austin feared."

“ Little Gilmore! Not know Little Gilmore?”
echoed Pete. “ Why, boy he’s the most noted
desperado in all Texas. 0 ar’ killed more men,
White, red, and ynller, than any teller in these
’ere diggin’s. He ain’t over five feet and an inch
in his boots, and he ar’ got a hand like a little

al’s and long curls like a gal. But I tell you

o‘s some on u pistol-shotl I ain’t much of a
greenhorn myself, and I can shoot pretty well,
but Little Gilmore, he kin put Six shots into the
same hole as fast as he can pull the triggers."

“ And what is he doing out in Hamilton?”
asked Weston, curiously. " There’s not much
out here to tempt a gambler.”

“That‘s what I kurn’t make out,” said Did
Pete. “ I 21er him, but he answered, ‘ Private
business, sir,’ kinl 0’ cold like. I guess he's a-
lookiii' for Tom Austin. He’s follered him fur
ever so long now."

' “ Austin? And why?" ejaculhtod Frank.
“ Has he, too, get any thing against this man?"

“ He hev that,” said the hunter, emphatically.
“ Little Gilmore used tor he as peaceaole a little
chap as ever stepped, (on account of his size. I
guess.) till that ere Austin commenced puttiu’
on him. Austin met him one da at Houston,
years ago now, where little Gilmore was a
musicianer, they say. See him a-wulkiu’ the
streets with his 3.1, as he war a goin’ to marry.
’Austin, jist outo pure deviltry and meanness, he
goes u tor the gal, as he jist knowed by sight,
and o ers his arm to her. Little Gilmore seen
as he meant to insult him, and he itcnes right
into Austin, tooth and nail, small as he Was.
Big Tom Austin ’est chewed him up in two
minutes. The little feller was unarmed, and
Tom, he banged him awful, and left him on the

sidewalk while he walks off with Gilmore’s “it

I,”

“But, good heavens!" cried Frank. “You
don‘t mean to say that she went with him?”

“Yes she did,” said Pete, positiVely. “It

_ tin-nod out as it war a madeup job twigst him

'/ ,.

 

 

and her. Little Gilmore never knowad 01;] '~
it till arter the two had sloped for New Orleaneé.’ v;

“ He didn’t git over the wallopin’ as Austin ¢

uv him, for nigh on three months. And then

e gathered up all his money and left Houston. ‘
Nobody knowed what he‘d gone till he come
back at the head of a lot of amblers, the
(lesperado he’s h’en ever since. e’s managed,
to skeer that Tom Austin somehow, though
they’ve never met since the day Tom licked
him so bad. Little Gilmore folleis him all over
Texas, and Tom gits up and gits, as soon as
ever he hears Gilinore‘s a-eeinin’. He knows
the little cuss kin shoot the ears of him in no
time, now, though he’d never fired a pistol the
day he got walloped.”

“ Then Austin must be somewhere near,” said
Frank, excitedly. “ And perhaps I am turning
my back on him? I must go back, and see this
Gilmore, and find if he knows any thing of his
whereabouts.” ‘

And the impetiious youth had actually turned
his horse to execute his purpose, when Pete
checked him.

They Were out on the broad, green prairie
now, and the inotte and hacienda of Monsieur
Moreau were alike invisible. Pete pointed to the
West. toward which the sun was sinking to meet
a distant line of purple peaks just lifting above
the horizon.

“ Look thar, younker,” he said.
know what they call them ar’ hills?”

“ No,” answered Frank, surprised at the ques-
tion.

“Them are the Phantom Hills, and t’othei'
side 0’ them be the peruries what the Black
Mustano' ranges. Ef yer want me tu help yer ‘
thar, I’ll do it; but I’m durued of I'm a-goin’ on.
any Wildugoose—ehase arter Tom Austin or any
of his kidney. That‘s sol”

Frank hesitated a moment The good~natured
mountain—man settled the dilemma for him.

“ Ef yer wants ter find Tom Austin any time,

u D’ye'r

younker yer kin do it, arter yer’ve got the
black. Stick to that, and yer’ll git the pooty
Gabrielle.” ‘ ‘

The last words decided the young Texan, and
he rode on after his companion in silence. '

Pete urged the little inare from a walk into a
slow, easy cantor, the natural journey pace
of the mustang, and. the owerful thoroughbred
of Weston was compelle to strike into a smart '1
trot to overtake her. The oung man beg n to
feel considerable respect or his com’pan en’s
horse, and ex ressed himself to that effect.

Pete patte the pony’s neck affectionately,
saying:

‘ This ’ere little mar’ are worth her weight in
dollars, she are. I bought her at El Peso, ’bout‘
two month ago, and got a hundred dollars boot
with her for my old States boss, and I’m darned
of she kain’t run away from him, and kill a.
dozen common hosses. She are clear it, she
are. She‘ll get fat on corn-shueks, an as for
mesquite grass, she’ll go eighty mile aday on >

Indeed. the little creature seemed as if she
oeuld realize her rider‘s opinion of her. 1
though very small, there was an appearance of
indomitable spirit in her eye, large and wild in
expression, thatvproclaixned her to be an “AB-

i'_ \

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Al— 1 ‘

   

 

 

  
   
    

 

 

 

 
  

   

 

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter; i 7

 

day horse.” The two companions rode gayly
on for the rest of the afternoon, striking out
into the boundless prairies, and leaving behind
them the last si s of civilization in the village
of Hamilton. he rolling green swells of the
prairies, waving with grass and flowers, the
dark, isolated mottes, With their droopin
fringes of Spanish moss, that made the gnarl
live oaks resemble weeping willows—one succeed-
ed the other with the grand monoton of prairie
scenery, all through the journey. he distant

aks of the Phantom Hills began to lift their

code plainer and plainer into the clear atmos-

here. At last the sun shone right into their
aces, bathing the tops of the little swells in a
golden glow, and then it was that the old hunter
_. paused and pointed to a. dark line of timber
' about a mile ahead.

“Thar,” he said; “thar’s our camp-ground
fur tonight. That ar" creek runs into the Colo-
raydo, and thar’s deer and h’ar in plenty in the
bottom. Hurry up, and we’ll git thar aforo
dark."

' The two broke into a brisk gallop, which
speedily brought them to the edge of a deep val—

, ley, cutout, in the course of centuries, by the
stream that they could now see below, bordered
with trees of every variety.

The old hunter rode down to the water’s edge,
and dismounted.

‘ “ Now then, younkerflhe said, “ ef you’ll take
car' of the bosses I’ll git summat for our sup r.
This ’ere dried venison ain’t what it‘s crac ed
up to be. Ye’ll find the hobbles behint the sad-
die.”

\And without waiting for an answer, old Pete
stole ofl‘ through the trees, leaving the young
man to attend to the two horses. To say truth,
he was not sorry to do so. Frank Weston was
devotedlylrfond of hunting, but since his boyhood

, had had ut little opportunity for so doing. He

felt by no means confident of his ability to kill a
deer for su per, and was quite willing to
trust to old ete’s skill. ,

So he unsaddled the two animals, and arrang-
ed a comfortable sleeping-place for himself and
,. partner. Then he produced the hopples, with
' which he confined the forelegs of the horse and
the mare," and turned the pair loose on a little
plot of long, sweet grass that grew by the river-
side. The animals sot to work with the utmost
avidity, while Frank commenced the operation
ofxbuilding a fire.

fie had got it well started, when his ears were
reJoiced with the sound of Pete . Wilkins’s rifle,
and be hanged on all the dry sticks he could find,
till a chee ul, ruddy blaze ighted up the trunks
of the trees around, now standin out, dark and
gloomy, in the fast-deepening s des of even-

mg.
About ten minutes afterward the old hunter
made his appearance, bearin on his shoulders
, the hind'quarter of a deer, w ch proved to be
both fat and savory. , * .
It was soon cut into steaks and broiling ovér
the fire on that  of spits, a sharp stick.
The scene was picturesque and romantic in
' the highest degree, as the beams of the little
_ ~ camp-fire lighted up the lonely valley, the figures
riot the old hunter and the young Tenn and the

 

;

grazing close by,

  

 

 

“How beautiful all this is, Pete "observed
Weston, his impressible fancy touched by the
beauty of the scene.

“ It ar' that,” said Pete, em hatically. “ Give
me a hunter’s life afore a the sprees and
drinks of the settlements. Ef it wam’t for my
trips to the settlements, I’d neverbo onhappy.
But a man must git powder and lead nowadays,
and so I go that. And this ’ere old sixteen-
shooter, thof he ar’ a bully good gun he wants
more lookin’ utter than a gal in her teens.
Kurn’t git a cartridge short of Austin City as
will fit him.”

“How did on get that piece, Pete?” in ui'red
Weston. “ ou’ro the first mountain-man ever
saw with one.” '

“ Afient over at Fort Lancaster give it to me,"
said t e hunter; “ I’m a scout for the fort than
He told me—”

Here the hunter suddenly stopped short and
listened intently. Frank could hear nothing,
but his companion, accustomed to the prairie,
had detected above the chirp and snoring of
cricket and tree-toad, a different sound.

In a moment more he nodded his head.

“I think as much," he muttered, and as he
spoke, he rose to his feet and stole ofl’ among the
trees, noiseless as a ghost. .

Frank Weston caught up his rifle and 101-
IOWed.

A dead silence fell on the little valley, only
interrupted by the Song of the innumerable in-
sects that serenade the traveler in Texas. Pres»
ently, however, the ear of the younger man,
strained to the utmost, heard what his compan-
ion had, long before. A horse was approaching
at a rapid 'amble. As it came nearer, they
could hear the clear tenor voice of a. man sing-
ing. Frank, who had visited Europe, recognized
the well-known air, “You’ll Remember Me,",
from the opera of the Bohemian girl. Old Pete
gave a smothered chuckle as he listened.

“Guess I will remember yer,” he muttered.
“ Yer must he a domed fool ter go along at this
time of night singin’ like that. Come, Frank,
we mou’t as well go back to our fire this time.
’Taig’t either an Injun or any thin’ else danger-
ous. 

And the old hunter stalked leisurely back
to the fire, where he threw on» an armful of
brush. ,

As the bright blaze flashed up, the could
hear the approaching horseman cease '3 song
for a moment, and the hoof-beats of the horse
also stopped. A moment afterward the song
was resumed, and the horse struck into a gallop,
that rapidly approached them. Presently they
heard the snapping of dry sticks, that told that
the stranger was coming through the belt of
woods, and in a. short time a man, mounted on
a bay horse, rode boldly out from the shadow of

,the trees, and advanced to the fire, after dis-

mountir‘i’g. ’
Pete llkins uttered an exclamation of won.
der as his eves fell on the stranger.

“ Little Gilmore, b Jerusalem l” he cried...
_ ” That same indivi ual," returned the stran r
in a low voice, with the accent and tone 0 a

man of remiement: “and very ha py tomeet' '

you, Wilkins, for the fact is, Iwas coking for
yes"  ' w .r

/

 

   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
  

 

 

 
 
 

 

  

 

 

8

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 
  

 

As he spoke, Frank Weston examined the
other with great interest. It was the first time
he had met the celebrated desperadc.

He saw a small man, of slight, delicate frame,
with a fair, pale face, ornamented by a hand-
some mustache of pale flaxen tint. Curling
ringlete of hair fell down on each side of the
womanish features, from under the shelter of
a brosdbrimmed hat of black glaze, heavil
ornamented with gold lace and tassels of gel .

His costume was in the Mexican style, of black
velvet, slashed with scarlet silk, and covered
with gold embroidery. He were around 7. his
waist asash of scarlet silk fringed with gold,
if) which Frank counted the hutts of no less than
four revolvers; and in his hand he bore a short
éhrbine whose two barrels, one under—the other,

reclaimed the deadly sixteen-shot repeater.

he dress, weapons and horse—furniture of the
strain or were alike rich and beautiful, being
loadeg with gold. Bis fingers sparkled with
jewels, and in. his ears glitterod large diamond
earrin s, that would have been the envy 011 a
New 501']: belle. But both the man andfliis
equipments looked strangely out of place on
the wild prairie. ,

“Pray introduce me to your friend, Pete,”
ursned the other, with his low, sweet voice.
‘ Among gentlemen I am sure that there ought
to be ac unintence and friendship.”

“ Car nly,” said Pete, hastily. Weston
noticed that the frontiersman was wonderfully
polite to the delicate little stranger, whom he
could have probably choked to death with one
hand. But every one was civil to Little Gil—
more. He had a. knack of shooting so wonder-
fully quick, that it was hardly worth while to
be rude to him.

80 Frank Weston was duly introduced tp
him by name. v

“Mr. Weston,” said this singular person, “ I
have heard of you before, sir. You and I are
on the same errand, in part, I believe.”

“ It you mean the death of that man, Austin,
you are right, Mr. Gilmore,” returned our hero.

‘But at present I am bound mi another quest
still that of the Black Mustang."
~ “I had heard of that too," answered the other
quickly; “Mr. Moreauand I have met before
and I/saw him only to-day, when he mentioned

our purpose;- I am going the same way myself

ut for a different purpose. One of Morenu’s
vaqueros told me that he had seen Pete Wilkins
ridm west, along with you, and I followai you
up tifi I.found you here.’ ‘

“ Sit down and hev some supper Gil,” said the
old hunter at this moment. “’Yer must be
huu y."

“ any thanks, Peter I will,” said the other,
politely. He proceeded to unsaddie his horse
and dispose his effects on the ground; after
which he did justico to a venison steak.

‘ “ And no . Peter,” he said, as he was regaling

, himself th with, while the bay horse was
munching the grass in the river-bottom, “I sup-
pose you want to know what I want you for.
’1! tell you. That infernal scoundrel, Tom Aus-
tin, has joined the Comanches, and he’s out on
this very trail yourfriend’s on—the trail of the
Black Mustang. It seems that the scoundrel
found some way of worming himself into favor

o m

 

with Big Thunder, the Comanche chief, by giv-
ing him a chance to capture a. lot of old Spring-

 

field mu‘skets sent back from Fort Chadbourneto " ’

be converted to breech-loaders. Tom was found

out after the wagons were lundered, and he I

escaped to the Comanches.’ ow, Pete, if on
can guide me through these prairies :to ig
Thunder’s village, it’s all I ask of on.
shoot straight and quick, but it’s al
except play poker and you know the plains. I
will give you all  have about me, gold, notes,

jewelry and all, the day I catch Torn Austin, I V

face to face.”

“ Wul,” returned Pete, slowly, “ I’m gittin’ sot '/

up in biz, I am. I kurn’t help yer till I’ve got
throu rh with the’*younker hereffur I’ve rqm-
ised
thar.”
“ Mr. Weston,” said the little stranger, turn-
ing to Frank, “Iain in a rlilemma“hs tomy
future course. I fear to let Tom Austin escape,
and I do not wish to deprive you of your
promise. I am a gambler, as you know, and
you must excuse my proposition: Will you

throw the dice with me to see on which quest we .

go first? If you win, I will assistyou with heart

and soul till your purpose is accomplished. If I

win, you will help me to accomplish our common
vengeance. Do you agree?” ’ . .

Frank hesitated a. moment. 'At last he said:
“I don’t know what to do. Let .us leave it'to
chance, as you suggest.” A

Gilmore produced a set
in a moment. He oifered them
examine, who pronounced them fectl .fiair.
They made three throws each, in which Frank
threw the highest.

The gambler bowed low. _

“Mr. Weston," he said, “I will help you as I
promised. Goal-night.” /

And without another word, he stretched him-
self out to rest by the fire, with his head on the
saddle.

Five minutes after the camp was still.

of dice from his pocket

 

CHAPTER IV.
THE PASS OF DEATH.
AROU'I‘ noon of the day following, three horse—

, men drew rein at the foot of a. long line of steep

Ican ,
I can do ,

im. Arter that I‘m ready to take ye ’

Weston to ‘r

cliffs that rose frownineg from the midst of the )

prairie, as if to bar further progress. They were
all well mounted and armed.

The middle one was dressed as a. trapper, in
huntingshirt 'and Eleggins of deerskln, and
mounted on a little ray mare, that tossed her
head as proudly as a orse sixteen hands high.

The second, in more civilized hunting garb,
rode a chestnut horse of great size and power, a
thoroughbred weight-cam'ier of the finest kind.

The third, acaoute‘red in the picturesque cos4
tume of a Mexican ranchero, reined in a slender
bay horse, also a thoroughbred, but of the more,
slender kind, such as excel in mile heats.

.1

The three appeared to be Somewhat at a loss ,

how to overcome the barrier interposed by w
ture to further advance. *

‘f How are we going to get up here, Peter’inm
quired the splendidly dressed cavalier. “I
no path for a horse up these cliffs.” .

“ We hain’t struck the right spot,” was the

l ,

   

SEQ“

 
       
   

 

 

The Boy Mu stanza-Hunter
h ' A .

answer. “We’ll hev toride alon the base of
the rocks till we. find an openin’. trike to the
left, lads. The Colomydo comes through hyar
snmwhar, and whar a river comes, surely three
feliers kin go.” ‘

Suiting the action to the word, the little‘ gray
mare was turned round to the left, and the party
rode south.

The tall, frowning clilfs,,rugged and pictor.
csque in outline, towered on their right hand as
they rode alon . Bushes clung here and tlfi‘re
in crevices of .t e rocks. It seemed as if a glint
wall had been built by giants of old to bar fur~
'tfiér progress westward. At the top of the
rocks, in places, a crest of trees appeared to nod
over the precipice like the giants themselves
prepared to defend their fortress. But before
they had ridden very long, the keen eye of old
Pete Wilkins descried a landmark that he was
looking for.

‘u'l‘har it are!” he cried’; “ thar’s the old cot—
tonwood as I knowed we’d find, and thar’s the
way up this ’ere butte.”

About a mile ahead of them the wall of rock
seemed to be i terruptéd for a little 5 ace, and
at the top of ’9 cliff on the hither si e stood a
tall cottonwood, alone, like a sentry on post.

The three companions rode briskly toward the
spot, and soon discovered an indentation in the
line of rock leading upward in‘a steep slope to
the table—land above. It was a rough, steep way
enough, and only barely practicable; but hun-
dreds of convergin paths from the prairie be
hind proved that t 's was the place where, for
hundreds of years7 in all probability, the bufl'a-
loes, mustangs, deer and other wild animals had
made their passages on their annual’migrations
from pasture to pasture. Old Pete put his little
mare at the ascent without hesitation, and the
game little creature scrambled up bravely. As
sure-footed as a goat, she seemed to have no (lif-
ficulty in making her way, where the two thor—
oughbreds timidly followed. They were not
used to this kind of work. a

The path wound here and there, in some

laces broad and easy, at others so narrow that

he riders were forced to dismount and lead their
animals. When at last they were about half~
way, a jutting rock suddenly interrupted their
course, and seemed to forbid further progress.

“ What are we to do now, Pete?" asked
Little Gilmore, who was the second in the pro—
cession.

“ Look hyar,” answered the mountain—man.
“ Ef a great clumsy buffler has managed to git
past here. we kin. The path must be here some-
Whar. Yes and by Jerusalem! here it ar’, right
up overhead.”

AIId as he Spoke be pointed to a faintly-worn
track in the side of the rock, that climbed up
over the great rock in front at an inclination as
steep as the roof of a house. The ascent was
frightfully dangerous. A misstep would cause
a fall over a sheer precipice on the ri ht of over
a hundred feet, and they were going igher and
higher.

Old Pete tied the reins of the little mare in a
knot, which he hitched into the crown-piece of
’her bridle.

“ You better do the same, boys,” he said.
“ The hosses will toilet better, an’ thar’ll be

u Jaw,  rm .. ., w .451», ,. a ./ ~ ’

 

T 9

t.

nothina to trip ’em up. Now then, tellers, come
ahead." ’
, And slinging his rifle on his back, the old
hunter began the ascent. It was steep enough
to require the aid of hands as well as feet, and
ms the rock grew steeper it also grew narrower,
till, as the summit was reached at last, a path
about two feet in breadth a peered, leading for-
ward on a level. At one si e of this pass rose a
wall of rock, standing away but very slightlfi
from the perpendicular. At the other side fe
away the sheer recipice. Old ete walked for-
ward after a co back for is mare. The
plucky little eigature had followed him, step by
step, and stood beside him. Little Gilmu‘e was
almost at the top, his hay thoroughbred close on
his heels.

The old hunter walked for‘fiard briskly. The
path was amply broad open for a man, but a
close fit for a horse. The th ‘ee_companions fol-
lowed it, however, for about a hundred yards in
safety, when ‘it began to rise a ain and made a
turn around the immense we of rock to the
left. The rock itself intercepted the view of the
pass. from the have men in the rear, and they saw
the old hunter advance to the corner of the rock
and look around it before roceeding.

Instantly he shrunk baa As if by common
consent the rest halted. Gilmore and Weston
instinctively unslung thir rifles, and their Suspi—
ciOns were confirmed by seeing Pete doing the
so me. The veteran mountain-man turned round.
There was such a perfect stillness on the means
tnin—side that every word could be heard.

“ Now then, fallens,” he said, “ thar’s a art
of Comanches a—comin’ down the pass and the ’ll
be hyar in about five minutes. We ain’t nr
from the top of the pass, and the varmints ain’t
quite all in. Now then you must come up to
the front the best way you kin, and we must kill
every durned Comanche of the crowd. Ef we
don’t—good—by mustang.”

“ How many are there, Peter?” inquired Little
Gilmore, coolly.

As he spoke he examined his rifle with the
same coolness as if he were going to shoot at a
target. Frank Weston, whose first initiation it
was into Indian-fighting, felt that strange beat-
ing of the heart which sudden danger always

reduces on men unaccustomed to it, however
rave naturally.

He felt his hands tremble as he handled his
rifle, but the tremor of nature did not prevent
his feeling anxious to go to the front.

Old Pete Wilkins answered Gilmore‘s ques—
tion.

“ Thar’s about twenty on ’em, as near as I kin
tell, but whether they seen me or not I ain’t
sart’in. Come, hurry up and git to the front.
Scramble over the mar’, Gil. Come, Frank.”

Little Gilmore made no reply save to place his
hands on the mare’s croup and vault into the
saddle, where he stood up for a moment, and
then leaped clear over her head, lighting on his
feet by Wilkins.

Frank Weston came forward more cautiously.
It was a very nervous business ' g the two
horses on that narrow led e. e crept along on
the outside, however, be] ing on by the horses’
legs as he passed. It was a far more dangerous

way in fact, but it looked less hazardous, and

 

    
 

{
i t

 

  
  
  
  
 
   
    
   
  
  
 

.

   

I to the others.

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

    
 

NJ. .1»

.L‘]_

’\ .

 

the youn Texan was not used to this kind of
work. 3% succeeded in passing safely, and the
three companions stood to rether, sheltered from

" view of the apfiroaching ndians by the jutting

buttress of mo

“ Now, then, tellers,” said Pete, “the path’s
wide enough to hold two abreast round the cor-
ner. We must git round, and commence shootin’
at once. Mind, we mustn‘t leave a single lnjun
alive, or we’ll hev the hull tribe on us. "

And without another word the three passed
boldly round the edge of the rock and found
thenuelvoa in full view of a most remarkable
some.

A! Pete had said, the path grew broader at
once, after turning the rock. I t was broad
enough for a horseman to ride with ease and
comfort, tho’ not enough for two, and at about a
quarter of a mile further it appeared to climb
the summit to the prairies that they knew to be
above. On this path, hard and smooth as ama—
cadamized road. a long file of Indians was ad‘
vancing at a walk, quite unsuspicious of danger.

The Sight of the three white men appeared to
paralyze them i’or adnoment. Then the halted
and began handling their weapons, in a.
hurry. _

There were about twenty~flve, all told. Their
weapons were mostly bows and arrows, but
several rifles were to be seen.

So much Weston could tell in the hurried.
glance ho snatched before the fl ht commenced.

A shrill yell burst from the ndians, and the
foremost began to gallop forward to attack the
three strangers. Old Pete stood out the first on
the road as still as an iron image. Slowly and
deliberately he raised the short, heav carbine
to a level' paused for one instant; am. the next
a I itetul red flash was seen. The first of the
Indian horses reared up in the air and fell over
the precipice on the outside, bearin with him
the rider. The second Indian check his horse,
appalled at the sight, and there was a huddled
group of mounted savages on the narrow pass,
undetermined to charge or retreat. 1

Little Gilmore it was who now exhibited his
wonderful skill in rapid shooting. He stepped
up alongside of the old hunter, who had lowered
hls rifle to reverse the lever. Weston saw him
mile the short rifle quickly, and, flash it went.
Crack! came the report, and the last Indian on
the file fell from his horse. Without lowering
the rifle the gambler reversed the lever once
more, and the second shot stretched the horse
beside its master, blocking up the path for escape

The Comanches were in a tight place. Their
favorite tactics of hidiu behind their horses was
useless. The path was narrow to turn. ‘

Now come the flashing of rifles from the
midst of the Indians, and several bullets whizzed
among our little party. But the fire of two
men, armed with repeaters. is far more rapid
and deadly than that of a dozen with old flint-
lock rifles, such as the Indians possessed: No
one was woundedegy the first volley, hastily and
nervously deliver . , ,

m The first sixt seconds decided the question.

Crack! crac 1 crack! crack! followed the
rifles of Pete Wilkins and Little Gilmore, one
utter the other. A each shot a man tailor

 

yelled with pain. They could hear the dull
thud! thud! of bullets tearing into human
flesh. The horses huddled together, and wound-g «
ed, became frantic. The riders also, maddened " ,
with terror, trying to turn in the narrow path,
and unable to do so, seemed beside themselves.
They threw down their arms and held up their
hands for mercy, which they obtained not. . ‘

The pitiless fire was kept up without intermis-
sion b the old hunter and Little Gilmore, till
their rifles were empty and a heap of dead bodies
alone remained in the path. Then it was that,
as they advanced, a man sprung up from the
dead and dying men and horses, where he had
crouched, and fled up the path with the swift- ‘ I
ness of adeer. , .

Ont leaped Little Gilmore’s pistol, and crack!
crackl crackl Went the reports, as fast as he
could pull the trigger. But in vain. It was be- 
yond the range of the weapon. a

“A hundred curses!" cried the gambler, .
stamping his foot with rage “ Why haven’t I "
another shot in my rifle? Hb’ll got off as sure as "
fate.” L ' ‘

Frank Weston had not fired a shot ct. The '
other two had done the work so quick y that’he 3,
had not had time to collect his thoughts before »'\'
it was all over. v

Now he raised his rifle, sighted as steadily as ,
excitement would let him, and sent a conical
bullet whizzin after the unhappy fugitive. But : . , ,,
his aim was eranged by his eagerness. The ‘
man started, and ran harder than ever. He
was within a. few yards of the top of the pass, .
already. .

“Give me the rifle,” cried Gilmore at this mo- '
ment; “1 can fetch him.” A - a

Frank yielded the weapon instantly, and the 3
other raised it to his shoulder, just as thepfugi-
tive gained the summit of the pass. The flying
Indian was just lea )inf,r over the crest Of the
cliff, when Gilmore red again. They saw.him
clap his hand to his left arm, but whether he
was hurt or not,‘no one could tell, for the next
instant he had disappeared. .

“Burn the luck,” exclaimed Old Pete‘ “the ‘
varmiut’s got off. W'e must ketch him, gellersl
Ef we don’t, he’ll give us trouble yet. Come
ahead 1" ,

The three advanced to the scene of the slaugh-
ter. It was all blocked up with corpses of men
and horses. Several of the latter remained
alive, but eightwere killed, and two had fallen '
over the precipice. How to pass the living ob— .
st'wclc was the question.

Pam, suttled it uickly. Coming to the first ,
deal] 'nrso. which y with his head over the  .
)u'c 'iglivo. he called to his companions tohelp '7   a
him, and the three together soon canted him ’
over. They proceeded in the same way with all
the corpses. human and equine. till they hadleft'
nothing but the living horses. ,

What to do with theSe was the question. . " '

It was easy enough to shove them over the
precipice, an to get rid of them. The oer
beasts, palsied with terror, would have con.
easily disposed of. I ~

But even Old Pete, hardened by custom to
deeds of blood, believed such a thing unnecessa-
rilv cruel. _ ’ ' g

,“I guess we km tum ’61:; round, of wow -

  
  

 

   

 

   
 
        

     
     

       

  
 

.w-w l—IHl—l

I‘r-w- wi—el

\uw F...
‘ ’:_ V

.. wwu...w

Luv

wwwwv‘xw
‘

.—p—.—. vw

s..——v—.r

 

  
  
  

4 The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

  

11',

 

. hard,”he said; “and they mou’t be useful at a
pinch. Let’s try ’em, anyway.” r

And after a little coaxmg, one by one, the In-
dian horses were backed against the walls, and
turned short round on their hind feet till they
faced in the opposite direction.
. “ And now, fellers,” said the old hunter,
briskly, “ git on yer hosscs as quick as ye kin,

‘ . and arter that runuwu y cuss.”

As he spoke, be leaped on the foremost horse

. of the file, and galloped up the pass II‘S hard as
, he could tear. The other horses followed like a
flock of sheep, and all three of the Americans
reached the top of the pass in another two min—
utes, when they saw before them, instead of a
descent, a. dead level of prairie.

The cliffs up Which they had come, stretched
away on either side as far as could be seen. Be-
hind and below, they commanded a View of the
vast prairie they had just (uitted, undulating
into little swells, dotted witli dark niottcs oi’
tin‘iber, and varie ated with meandering threads
of silver, in the different tributaries of the dis-
tant Colorado.

Before them again stretched another level
plain of waving grass and flowers. They had

' ascended one of the immense talilelind ste mes,

by which Texas descends from the Rocky 1V oun—
tains to the sea, beginning with the Staked
Plains. But the thoughts of the hunters were
not much taken up with topography. At the
moment they Were only anxious to discover the
In itive Indinn, whose escape might alarm the
tn )6, and bring down the whole force of some
band of Conianches upon them.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

“Kee buck the hosses, boys,” said Old Pete,
hurried y' and he leaped to the ground as he
spoke, and began to, examine the. grass for a
trail.

That he soon found it, and that it puzzled him,
. was evident. He followed it in Silence for some
distance, when it curved in a semicircle, and
finally came to the edge of the cliff, where it dis-

apBeai-ed. .,
1d Pete looked over the edge. There was a
path, barely practicable for a man, down which
the fugitive had evidently clamhered. His track
was plainly perceptible. The hunter struck the
breech of his rifle on the ground with an oath.
“We’ll hev to leave him, boys. Ho’s safe by
this time, and we hain’t got no time to ketch
him. We’ve got to vamcso the ranch, and put
. as many miles atween him and us, as we know

how. He hain’t got no lioss, anyway; and a
-, man ain’t much on the peraries Without a boss.
7 Come, fellers, let’s git.”

' “ Do you think it‘s safe?“ inquired Frank ‘We’s—
ton; “ he may get off and give information, you
know.”

“And of he does, who keer's?” said Pete, dis—
dainfully. “ Thar ain’t a. rifle in the hull tribe,
V hardly, and we kin lick every darned Comanche

V Wejmeet, of they don’t come more nor twenty at
' .8. t me.
‘ Little Gilmore said nothing. He had the com-

'mendahle virtue of silence about things he did

not understand. ,
So the three hunters left the cliff top, and rode
westward. They rode on the horses ca 'tured
from the Indians, leading the others;

 

 

» harm to us.

‘his seat by t 6 fire in silence for a moment.

 

their .

own animals were atthched to the led horses, bee

ling burdened with nothing beyond the saddles.

They were thus kept fresh for the chase ahead of
them, when all their energies would be re-
quired. ,

They rode all the afternov'n, and halted "just
before sunset at a spring of water. to whiz-h Old
l’ete directed their march as to an old acquaint-
once.

After they had staked out the horses and gone
into camp, the hunters discussed their supper
with appetite, and talked over the events of the

day: '

Uld Pete Wilkins, generally one of the most lo—
(piacious nround the camp—fire, was unusually
silent to-night. He sat sucking at his black pipe
iiia meditative manner. At last Gilmore tul‘ll‘
(-d to him with a. question.

“ Pete,” he said, “ what sort’of an Indian was
that, who got away so cleverly from us, do you
suppose? It seemed to me that he looked and
moved like. someone I’ve seen."

Pete Wilkins took a long draw at his pipe be-
fore he answered. Then he said, in the midst of
a thick cloud of smoke:

“ ’Twarn’t an liijuii, at all.”

Gilmore sprung to his feet as if he had been
stung.

“ How, do you know?”

“ Had boots,” said the grizzled hunter, lacon—
ically; and he smoked harder than ever. ,

“ Then it was Toni Austin,” cried the gambler
excitedly. “It was he, and I have allowed him
to escape. Pete Wilkins, you’re no friend of
mine, 01‘ you’d have told me before.”

And he looked so savsge. that Weston, know—
ing the desperate character of their associate,
anticipated bloodshed. .

, But the old hunter remained perfectly com-
posvd, and waited till Gilmore had calmed a. lit-
tle, before he spoke. ' .

“ Ef yer want tcr know why I didn‘t tell, yo
afore, Mr. Gilmore, I’ll tell yer. I knowed as
how ’twar a white man as soon as I sot eye on
his track. Boots he had as plain as need he, fur
the heels cut in deep. But yer had eyes yerself.
And I’d promised this lei-e oung feller as I
wouldn’t turn right or left til we sot eyes on
the Black Mustang. I knowed that of I told
yer both, yer’d be startin'oif nrter him, down
them rocks and mchhe hreukin’ yer necks with-
out ketcliin’ of hiiri. He‘s only one white
man, all alone, and the chances are big
as he’ll starve to death. He had no rifle
I seen him drop it in his fu’st skeer. He
ain’t used to the pcrarics, and he kurn’t'do any
Are yer satisfied? 1 know yer kin
shoot both on us, Bill Gilmore, afore we could
draw a )istol on yer. Et' yer do it, how’ll yer
git back to the settlements? Yer don’t know_
how tor hunt, and yer inou’t starve afpre ye got
thnr. Set down, and don’t be inukin’ a show of
yerself. When we’ve rotchcd the black, I’m
ready for a turn at Tom Austin.”

Little Gilmore stood irresolute during this
speech. His handsome features, mild and of-
feininute at ordinary times. were dmwn into a
heavy frow . When Pete had finished, he 
last he turned. . I L

“ You were right, Wilkins, and I was wrong,” '

   

 

 

 

  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
  

   

1 Black Mustan

12

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

he said,
Weston.’

The three shook hands and resumed their
smoking in peace and harmony.

CHAPTER V.
THE GAME SPRUNG.

WITH the pro Tress of our party for the next
two days we shalT not trouble the reader. They
fared better than might have been expected,
and discovered no Indian sign. They were now
on the southern side of the Staked Prairie, where
the Comanches but rarely penetrate. As the
buffalo at this time of the year had gone to the
more northern prairies for the summer, old Pete
announced his opinion to be that their party
would be practically undisturbed.

On the evening of the second day they halted
at'a. spring at the footof a second range. of cliilt's.
These formed another of those vast steps that
mark the eastern border of the Rocky Moun—
tains and the Sierrc Madro. A delicious little
brook, whose waters had worn a. deep ravine in
the side of the cliff, made a little pond for itsolf
at the foot of the step. A motto of live oak tim—
ber, with its usual drapery of Spanish moss,
formed a. pleasant shelter for their camp.

But Pete Wilkins, cvor cautious, would not al-
low a 1211‘ re fire to be kept up at night.

“ Ono llrc kin be seen as fur as a hull wagon-
train," said the sagacious hunter. “ Thar’s only
three on us, artcr all said and done; and thof
‘ sixieou’ are a bully piece to shoot with, he
won’t keep our boss‘s from bein‘ stole, of so be
as them durued Comanches ketches sight on
em.”

So the fire, which was lighted before the sun

went down with dry sticks that made no smoke,
was booked for the night, and thus gave no
light. The horses, which had been hoppled and
fed before dark, were brought into a natural
corral in the center of the little motto, where a
barricade of poles, stretched from tree to tree,
rendered them secure against being stampeded.
, ‘ But the precaution of standing guard was
never neglected by our three travelers. Every
night was divided into three arts. and they
took their regular turns of guar duty.

'But on this night in Camp Repose, as roman-
tic Frank named it, they were undisturbed by
any alarms; and our hero, who had the last
watch, saw the east growing red in the first
flush of coming day, before anything happened.

It was then, in the faint light of early dawn,
that Frank looked up the ravine, at the foot of
which lay the motto. The clatter of a stone,
loosened and rolling down the bank. announced
the up )mach of somethiiigxliving.

‘ Ha i—hiddcn by the bushes that fringed the
course of the little brook, the young Texan pol“-
ceived the head and neck of a horse. The light
was too uncertain as yet to identify the animal.
As Frank gazed, the eastern horizon blushed
redder, and the light increased.

The horse came down at a bold trot, quite on—
suspicious'ot the presence of strangers. As it
came nearer and nearer, young Weston’s heart
beat violently with emotion. What if it should
be the verv object of their search, the far-fumed

yquietly. “I apologize to you and Mr.

 

?
He did not dare to stir from his post, for fear

iriver.

 

of alarming the animal.

whence he could command a view of the stream
and the pool.

While he gazed, a bright red glow suddenly
illumined the fringe of bushes at the crest of the
line of precipice.
face of the gray rocks, lighting up every little
tuft of bushes, and revealing every crevice.
Frank Weston strained his eyes to watch the ap-
proaching mustang.

A mustang it undoubtedly was, for it bore no
So much Frank could See in spite of the
intervening bushes. It had disappeared now
behind a thick clump of taller shrubs, which
completely concealed it. But the Texan could
still hear the clatter of its hoofs on the rocks.
He glanced around at his companions.

Little Gilmore was just unrolling himself from
his scrape or poncho, and Frank feared that he
might disturb the approaching horse. He raised
his hand with a warning gesture.
nodded his comprehension and sat still.

Frank turned again to his watch, and involun—
tarily started with admiration at the sight that
met his view. ‘

The glow of sunlight had swept down all the
face of the cliff, and the level rays cast his own
shadow on the pool and the bank beyond.

Standing out on a smooth green knoll, which
glistened like a. bank of diamonds with sunlit
dewdrops, and within twenty feet of the pool,
was the renowned Black Mustang!

There was no doubting it. His likeness was

He stood under one
of the trees at the edge of the motte, from'

  
 

It came stealing down the -

Gilmore I

too thoroughly impressed on Weston’s, mind to i

be mistaken. ,

There he stood, in full view, a perfect picture ‘

of equine beauty. He had come to drink at his
accustomed pool, and something had startled
him. He stood with his head slightly turned,
his cars pricde up, his large darkcycs gleaming
like stars. His mane, just lifted by the early
breeze, flowed down below his knees in front,
and his tail swept the grOLmd behind. The head
of the black was very small, and tapered away
to the muzzle. The forehead was broad, and the
ems very Short and sharp. His neck, as he stood

half~front, appeared to be remarkably arched,

and his chest was broad and deep. But his legs,
both before and behind, were models of symme.
try, and tapered away to hoofs hardly larger
than those of a mule. His color was the most
intense jetty black, shining in blue reflections.
Frank Weston stood dumb with admiration,

gazing at the graceful creature as it stood sus- '

pended on the knoll. One forefoot was raised
and bent, like a dog at a point, as the mustang
gazed wistfully from side to side. Finally it ap-
peared to be satisfied that all was right, as it
came forward to the pool, stooped its graceful
head and drank copiously, thrusting in its head
up to the eves. ~

Frank felt a touch on his arm as he gazed,g1nd
Little Gilmore and Pete 'Wilkins stood beside
him. They had crept up unobserved, while
Weston was absor in his watch; and the
three tn'rether enjoyed the si ht.

The Black Mustang, after rinking his fill, be-
gan to paw and splash in the water. after the wont~
of horses. The noise echoed

/

up the DallTOW. ‘
gorge as he splashed, and arousal the attention ,‘ ',

 

‘ a.

 

 

  
  

  

Of the other horses in the motto. One of them
neighcd loudly. It was the little gray mare of
Pete Wilkins. , .

Instantly the black stopped his splashing, and
stood still and erect in the watcr. Ho listened
for an instant, and then cast up his head and
uttered a deep, poweriul neigh in answer.

The horses in the motte replied in chorus, and
the black leaped out of the water.

. He came trotting around the edge of the pool,
with high, roud step, calling to the horses with-
in, andIWit out seeing the thch hunters.

“ What shall we do, Pete?" whispered Frank,
anxious] .
“ Kuru’t do nothcn,” replied the hunter.

Mcbbe “ e’ll

“Keep still and don’t skeer him.
git a. chance.”

“ If we could only get to the horses Without
frightening him,” said Gilmore, “we‘d have a
good start, and might run him down.”

He had hard] said the words when the Black
Mustang passe close in front, not twenty feet
from them, and started to one side with a loud
snort. ¢

“All up, boys,” said Old Pete. And to verify
his prediction, the black swevcd ofl“, whirled
around on his hind foot and the next minute
was off like a shot. The leaps that he took were
Berfectly amazing, and suc 1 as Frank Weston

ad never seen equaled on a racecourse. In ten
seconds the alarmed stallion was at the foot of
the ravine, and at the other side of the pool.
'fl'lfilre ho halted, and stood looking back doubt—
u y. .

“ If we ever get as near that ’cre boss ag’in,”
observed Pete, “ it’ll be a durucd wonderful
thing. Ef We’d only knowcd when be war a.—
coinin’ we might ’a‘ b’cn ready.”

“ I’m going to make a trail, anyhow,” said
Frank, quietly. “ We shall never git such a
Chance again, He won‘t come here to drink in
a hurry. Follow me with the rest of the traps,
boys. I’m groin? to try to run him down, if he’ll
on v stay there ong enough.”

“ Look out yer don’t let him see yer," observed
Pete. “ He’ll be 011' cf yer do.”

Frank‘s only answer was to slip away to his
saddle behind the trees and make for the corral.

The watchers b the edge of the motto could
see the Black. ustang plainly, as he stood at
the opposite Slde of the pool, undeCided whether
to advance or retreat.

, The mare kept whinnying from the corral,
and the wild stallion answered her. Now he
would make a few steps forward, and anon
bound away up the hill in alarm. He had
caught sight of the hunters when he passed
them: but, as nothing more suspicions appeared
he seemed undecided what to do. His curiosity
was excited, and it seemed likely to cost him
dear. .He was not over three hundred feet from
,the motte, and every moment increased his

danger
Affairs stood thus for about ten minutes, dur—
ing which the wild stallion maintained his posi-
tion b the pool. Then came the sudden clatter of
iron-s 0d hoofs, and the next moment they saw
the figure of Frank Weston. stripped to his shirt
.sleeves, without his boots. and bending over the
neck of the migh chestnut race—horse. which
' attull ' , and barebacked.. He was

 

 
 

 

The Boy: Mustang-Huntex“.

 

 

  

13

freed from every superfluous thing, and bare-
headed, accoutered for a race in earnest. Ho
held in his hand the coils of his trusty lasso, and
emerged from the side of the motte at about a
hundred feet nearer to the black.

“ Well done, Frank,” muttered Pete, as he
saw the rush of the old horse.

The General was worthy his reputation. He
started with a bound like a skyrocket, and, be-
fore the wild horse had recovered from his sur-
prise he had closed the go p liethen them about
a hundred feet. ’l‘licn away went the Black
Mustang, as hard as he could tcar up the steep
ravine, and Frank, on the General, after him.

Up the narrow path they went, the stones
cluttering down as they spurned them aside, the
black leaping like an antelope, the tall chestnut
following with immense strides.

The watchers in the motto saw them strain up
the ravine, climb the crest, and disappear, the
wild horse first, the chestnut in a few seconds

"after. Then all was still on the side the cliffs.
The few frightened birds that had fle in dismay
from the path of the hurrying chargers had set-
tled down again once more to their search for
food. and the prairie was still behind them.

“ Gucss we’d better saddle up and be off,” said
the old hunter. “ That boy ain’t lit to take keer
of hisself on the peraries, he ain’t. He’ll git lost
as sure as a gun/ of we don’t look out.”

Gilmore offered no objection, and the two sad—
t‘led their horses at once, and Set off up the path.
They found the saddle and other horse-equip-
ments of young Weston, along with his wea ons
and outer garments, all lying in a. heap, w ere v
the impatient youth had d Upped them, to li ht-
eu himself as much as possible, All he had ta en
with him was a snaffle bridle, a surcingle, and
his lasso. He had abandoned all his weapons
but his knife. Old Pete grumbled as he saddled
one of the captured horses and piled the arms of
the young.)r man upon it. .

Then they started, each man loading two
horses, and in about ten minutes more had
reached the top of the cliffs. They took a hasty
breakfast, as they rule along, of jerked beef, of
which they had found an abundance packed on ,
the Indians’ horses, proving that the riders must
have been on the war—path at the time.

When the?r arrived at the to , another appar-
ently bound ess prairie stretc ed before them,
level asa chess-board, and without a tree to‘ho
seen. The waving ocean of green grass on!
terminated in the horizon. Far away in the a —
Vance they muld see the black horse. and his ur-
sner, still at full speed, and several miles 0 .

The rclatlve distance seemed to be less than
when they started, and sometimes they thought
the c pstnut was coming: up with the wild horsel
But him again the black would “ put on a ,
spurt,” inracing parlance, and draw away from
the r: -e-horse.

Pete Wilkins set spurs to the horse he rode,
one of the captured ones, and set off at a gallop

«’after the retreating pair, followed by his own
little mare and another horse. Gilmore rode
beside him, leading two horses likewise, and the
two galloped on, at the usual stretchin canter V
of thehniustang, endeavoring to keep t 6 game .
in sig 1:. ' , .
But they found this no easy matter. Fast

  
   

  
 

  
    
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
   
  
 
   
 
 
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 

 

(

  
   
 
    
   
  
 
   
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  

  

g last, pulling up his horse to a. walk.

, a
-’-c 1(!, when he gained some

The  Mustang~Hunter.'

 

and untirinLr as wore their horses, they were
heavily loaded. The Mexican saddle, ordinarily
used on the prairies, is n hoary, cumbrous piece
0F,horse—furniture. Add to this the weight of
blankets, arms and ammunition, and the store
of dried bcci’, and it will be seen that the weight
mounts up.

The two horses in front, far superior to the
others at any time. were nnincnmborcd, Frank
‘Veston being it light weight himself, and cupu-
ble of enough jockeysllip to neutralize that.

So that the tWo hunters, with the main body
of the little )urty, were gradually left further
and further ehind, while, the chase slowly dis-
appeared from their eyes. ,

The sun rose slowly up in the heavens; the
pursuit never slackencd for an instant. Gil—
more and Pete rode steadily on, still losing
ground hoWever, till hot noon lay on all the
pruiriesnnd the breeze hud sunk away to an in-
tense still hunt.

“ ’Tain’t no use, Gil,” said the old hunter ' t

H 

kurn‘t keep up, mrl ’tain't‘no use a—killin’ the

bosses. We’ll travel on steady, and kntch them
More night. Nd boss as ever stepped kin run
all day.”

And they dismounted to change horses, after
which they rode on, but not at such a rapid
pace.

The Black Mustang and his pursuer had dis—
appeared, swallowing up in the immensity of
the green prairie.

They were all alone.

 

CHAPTER VI.
THE DESERT QUEEN.

LET us return to the chase of the wild horse.

When Frank Weston started on his pursuit,
ho had no thought of any thing but the Black
Mustang. An all absorbinrr desire that the
creature should not slip out 0? his hands with-
out e fair chase possessed him. He felt, also, a
well-founded confidence in the powers of his
own horse. Many a stake had “The General”
won for Westou's father, on the racecourse at
New Orleans, in tho exhausting four-mile race.
The old horse had won renown even in his strug-
gles with the king: of the turf. He had pushed
the celebrated horse Tennessee to the finest burst
he ha 1 ever made in point of time. and was by
no means novv too all to run. He had passed
his prime by one or two years, but he was still

1 in good trim. Frank knew that the black had

just filled his stomach with water, which woiild
tell upon him severely in a hard chase. He
stripped himself for the race, tied a handker—
chief tightly man 1 his waist, knotted the end of
his trusty lasso into the surcingle which he
strained around the General’s body, and then
rode cautiously out to a point of the motto
from whence he made his dash. ,

He timed it Well, and Scrambled up the steep
ravine at full speed, hanging on the mane of the
General, and at some places almost wi thin lasso—

Ving length of the chase. But the latter man-

ed to keen’ahead of him to the top of the
‘ distance to the level
hetero the chestnut could follow. ' '

l

 

Once on the level prairie, it ’was a fair race. ’
Frank hallooed to the General, and the gallant
horse stretched himself out in that magnificent
stride, of yore the admiration of the Metuirie‘ ‘
course.

The General was over sixteen hands high, and
his stride covered over twenty—feet of ground. ,
The Black Mustang was between foureen and
fifteen hands, his stride quick and short.

At the commencement of the race, at the top
of the hill, the wild horse had a start of full two
hundred feet. Frank depended on the General'
to close the gap. He determined to mess the
mustang to the utmost while he could.  knew

'that the “ staying powers” of the latter were

equal to, if not superior to his own horse‘s en—
durance.

The General laid down to his work like the
thoroughbred he was. As he warmed into his
stride, after the first half-mile, he seemed fairly
to fly. Frank almost lost his breath, and could
hardly see, so rapidly did they rush through the
air. But, atlast, he grew more accustomed to
the pace: and there was the Black Mustang only
a. trifle nearer. The General hardly seemed to
have gained a. foot. h

Tho black, was still speeding as rapidly as
ever, and Frank, for the first time, began to feel'
a doubt of his success. The first mile passed,
had not gained him over a. couple of lengths,
certainly.

He pressed the General with his legs, and
shouted to him encouragingly. The faster the
Black Mustang went, the greater grew the
young Texnn’s anxiety to possess him. A horse
that could keep. on even tcrm‘ with his own
race-horse without the stimulus inspired b a
rider, must be a horse worth having. The en~
eral, in his second mile, seemed to go faster than
ever. In his best days at the Metairie course,
he had never made better speed. Slowly he bo-
gun to draw up to the black.

The hitter, as the chase pressed him, lost much
ground by a. habit common to pursued animals.
He turned round his head every now and then
to see how near his pursuer was. At such mo-
ments Frank Weston, pricking the General with
the point of his bowie—knife, incited him to tre—
mendous efforts. And at every turn of the
head, the Black Mustang lost ground. He
stumbled once, and before he could recover him- ‘
Self, the chestnut had gained several len tbs.

But Frank perceived with growin espera-
tion, that when the black put forth 8.1 his speed ‘
he could keen the General at a stand, and even
creep away fromrhim.

Still, the mustang lost so much ground by his
frequent turns of the head, that Frank arrived >
within about two lasso lengths after a. chase of
several hours. ‘ ‘ ~

We say a chase of several hours. ’ ,

Does the reader realize what a clhse of sev-
eral hours is? A chase beginning at full speed,
kept up for hour after hour, at a laboring
gallop till the staggering animals can, hardly '~
renl along? '

So kept on the wild race between the race-
horse of the Metm‘rie and the Black Mustang. .

The sun rose higher and higher in the heavens , «
and hotter and hotter grew the day. The f“, .
breeze died away and the tall green grass stood-4 - i

u

  

 

 

 

 

       

      
 

 

 

 

 

,, changed its aspec .i.

 

 

 

  
 
  
  
 
   
  

 

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

1s

 

 

 

enact in, stiff rows. The vast green plain around,

level and boundless as the ocean, was as still as
"death. Not a bird twittered, not a cricket

cliirpcd. The only sound that Frank Weston

,: - could hear was the ainful breathing of the two
' ' gallant chargers, . .
‘hardly able to keep up their slow, staggering
,canter.

0th white with foam and

At the tremendous pace at which they had
come, miles seemed nothing. They had gone
over twen miles in the first hour, and since
that time ad kept it up at nearly the same

pace.

But the. third hour settled the matter for both
horses. Frank felt that the General could not
stand the pace much longer. Game old horse as
he was, sixty miles in three hours had been too
much for him. He kept along in a labored can—
ter. But his ears were hanging; his head was
low. It took all of Frank’s attention to keep
him from falling. ,

The Black Mustang was no longer black. The
white foam made him gray. He labored fright-
fuily, and was almost exhausted. But he no
lon rer looked back.

rank himself was tired, but not to the extent
of the two horses. He was frantically eager to
win the race, even if it killed both horses. He

r was only conscious of the one desire, to come up
- with the Black Mustang. The sun beat on his

bare head. He was choked with thirst. He
longed inexpressibly for a drau ht of water.
But he felt determined to win t e race or die

v with the General.

At last cameo. crisis. The country suddenly
About a. mile almond Weston
perceived a growth of timber. He knew that it
must be tho head—waters of the Colorado that
was indicated by the trees.

“ Go along, General! Go, good horse! gallant
horse! noble genernll One more effort, and the
black is ours!” he cried; and at the sound of
his voice and the sight of the timber ahead, the
gallant old horse seemed to pluck up some spirit.

6 closed rapidly on the mustang. The latter,
hearing the approach of the great chestnut
horse, turned his head despairingly. That turn
was his ruin. Not seeing where he went, he
tri ped over a. hard tuft of grass, the remnant
of est year’s fires. He stumbled and fell on his
knees. Before he could quite recover himself,
the chestnut was Within three lengths of him.

I;And now Frank Weston trembles with nerv-
mh excitement, He hardly dares believe in his
luck. H3 has arrived within la’sso length of the
famous Black Mustang! That full drink of
water proved the'ruin of the wild stallion. It
distressed him in his running. And the General
was the fastest horse in all Texas. But he never
would have run doWn the black without the
sli ht advantage he had.

ow Frank gathers up the coils of his lasso
with care.
. He must not miss this time. He will never get
such another chance. He whirls the noose
around his head, shouts to the General encour-
agingly, and the next moment the long spiral

l . rings of the black horse-hair are whirling through
V the air.

 

 

 

     

Hurrah! He sees the noose falling, falling.
It ms an age before it settles. But at last it

is down and on the neck of the black charger,
and Weston pulls up.

The chase 18 over!

The General falls back on his haunehes, as he
feels the hit. The black cord. ,ti htens and
strains. Then it relaxes, as the W1 d charger
caught and strangled, paws the air for on. wild
moment. He rears up, and falls over backward
on the ground, and the Black Mustang is cap:
turedl

Then Frank Weston leaps from his own horse
in haste, and runs to the fallen steed. He knows
how quickly he would strangle, if left alone. He
quickly takes the handkerchief from hil waist,
and binds the eyes of the black; and then
loosens the lasso from his neck. He fasten:
a knot around the lower jaw of the wild stallion,
and permits him to rise. Then he looks at the
General. The noble old horse stands with droop-
ing head and trembling limbs, completely used
up. The Black Mustang is equally exhausted.
The hot weather and the chase have been to.
much for both of them. ’

The young Texan for the first time, looked
around him. Not a undred yards of! was the
grove of trees that he had noticed toward the
and of his chase. The black charger had been
heading toward his secret haunt, when he fell
exhausted.

The Texan felt puzzled what to do. He feared
to take the horses to the water at once, lest the
draught might prove fatal, exhausted and over-
heated as both animals were. . ~

It was almost equally dangerous to leave
them out in the sun, when both were ready to

drggv).

hile ho was thus doubtful, the sound of

hoofs struck on his ear, advancing at a. gallop.
Frank Weston started in dismay. or the

first time he realized the imprudence of his

. solitary ride, unarmed save with a bowie-knife.

Flight was his only resource, if attacked by
Indians. And how could he flee, when his horse
was used up?

All these thoughts rushed through his mind,
as he listened to the beat of hoofs, and before he
turned to see who was coming. In another
minute the stranger was beside him. /

Frank Weston stared with amazement. The
new-comer was a woman.

Yes, a woman, and a gloriously beautiful
woman at that.

Her figure was tall and slender; her face
possessed that proud and peculiar beauty never
found out of the aquili'ne t pe', very rare, but
inexpressibly wonderful an exquisite when it is
met with. t was ver dark, and lighted witha.
pair of black eyes, as een as those of an eagle
While long Iaits of black hair were coiled around
her head, ecorated with feathers. ’

This maiden, slender and agile as a deer,
clean—eyed and as vigilant as a hawk, was dress-
ed as an Indian princess, and rode a splendid
mustang, of the exact color and markin of a '

'aguar. The same golden tawny hide ex ‘bited
the some elegantly arranged rosettes of velvety
black, as in the king of American felines. Sh.
bore in her hand a long cane—lance, and Wes- ' v
ton stared, for the point seemed tube of solid _
silver. I - ‘

 

    

The bridle~bit and stimips of the 

f

 

 

 

16'

were of the same precious metal, and gold and
sil‘ver ornaments covered the fair figure of the
ri er.

And yet the material of her arments was
only buckskin, and aside from t e ornaments
she might have been an ordinary Indian war-
rior from her dress.

The beautiful Amazon gallopod up to the
Texan, and halted her horse before him. She

azed upon him fixedly for a moment, and

eaten returned the gaze with interest. He
{sad never seen such a beautiful creature in his
1 e.

The fair Moreen, “ Charmante Gabriella ” as
he had often termed her, seemed to fade rom
'hhsi ht in a moment and be forgotten in the
new ty.

She, on her part, was not so much fascinated.
Poor Frank, with his unkempt hair falling over
his forehead, his face striped in irregular pat-
terns with dust and sweat, in a dirty shirt and
short leather brooches, with bare logs, was by
no means the pattern of a gay Lothario. He
was simply a dirty-looking ragamufiin, with a
three days’ beard on his chin.

At last Frank’s astonishment found vent in
words:

“ Who are you, in heaven’s name?” he said.

The beautiful Amazon smiled. Her 1i 3 were
of the most brilliant red, and she showe a row
of small white teeth like pearls. But she shook
her head at the same time to show that she did
not understand.

She pointed to the black horse, who stood with

, his eyes covered, trembling and pantinz, and to
Frank’s surprise, addressed him in such:

“ Vous deuiez avoir un cher rveilleum,
monsieur,- pour poursuiore notre cheval noir
avec ounces.” ‘

(You must have a marvelous horse, 311‘, to pur-
sue our black horse with success.) ‘

Weston was a good French scholar, and an-‘

swered without hesitation:

“ It has been a hard chase, mademoiselle; and
I fear that it will be the death of one or both
of them.”

“ Nay,” she answered, leaping to the ground,
as she spoke; “ they are too good, both of them,
to die without help. I will help them.”

From a small pouch which hung at her girdle,
she quicklryfroduced a little flask of gold, and
a piece 0 ry spongy moss. She poured out
from the flask a clear yellow fluid, with the un-
mistakable odor of brandy, and. saturated the
mosstherewith. Then she went to the side of
the chestnut horse forced open his mouth. and
washed it with the sponge. She re eated the
operation, watching him carefully.

, haunted animal felt the stimulus of the brandy,
ma ical change came over him He prickei

ears, elevated his head once more, and .
,,

a
u
w’hinnied in low tones of gratitude, .

“ Take him down to drink," said the Amazon,
briefly; and she turned her attention to the
black horse. ' 1,

Going to the side of her own horse, which was
saddled only with the skin of a grizzly bear, she
took from where they were attached to the sur-
olngle' a pair of hogplea.
adjusted these on t e role of the Black Mus—
tang so as to secure ' rem escaping; when

The fioy Mustang-finntero

s the ex- y

In an instant she had’

 

she proceeded to doctor him as she had done the' . t 

other horse. -
Meanwhile Frank Weston led the gallant old

‘ General down to the belt of timber that he had

seen before. He found it to be a grove of trees
of every variety, hiding the banks of a beauti-
ful little stream, that rushed brawling along
over a bed of white pebbles, abo t six feet in
breadth. The General plunged own the bank
to the water, and dashing in, he made amends,
for his thirst with a deep draught. But Weston
would not allow him to drink much before he
pulled him away by main force, and roden
the bank to find his prize. He met the beauti-
ful Amazon leading the black stallion down to
the stream, and riding her 03m jaguar-like
charger. ‘

Weston was wonderfully puzzled over this
enigmaticai being, alone in the heart of the
Llano Estacado (Staked Plain.) Who was she,
and how did she come there? Speaking excel—
lent French, dressed like an Indian warrior,
and wearing gold and silver ornaments that a
princess might envy. Tomahawk and spear, the
very points of the arrows in her quiver, all gold
and Silver.

She seemed to notice his surprise, forfshe
smiled as if amused. She spoke to him kindly,
saying:

“You wish to know Who I am, and how I
live. Come and see. My father will welcome
you, and so will Eulalie. That is myself.
Eulalie St. Pierre. Come.”

Wondering and amazed, the young Texan fol-
lowed her down the stream. As they pro%‘essed,

i le.

the deep roar of a waterfall became and

 

CHAPTER VII.
THE PRAIRIE nnam'r.

EULAle went forward along the banks of
the stream, leading the wild horse. Thorough!
exhausted as the latter was, and fettered' wit
hopples, he could oflér but little resistance, tied
to the fresh and vigorous stallion of the young
Amazon.

As they went, the roar of the waterfall in»
creased every moment, and Weston perceived,
right ahead of them, an opening i the other
men level prairie, on the steep si s of which
black rocks were visible. under the thick ls. er
of loam that formed the prairie surface. he

carer they came, the plainer was the existence
0 a deep chasm, cut out of the prairie by the
stream. Precipitous and abrupt, it sunk away
out of the smooth plain with startling sudden-
ness.

A miniature Nia are. had been formed by the
same agencies as 056 which make. their-giant
cascade. Only, instead of one fall'wlof great
hight, our here, looking over theiedge, could

ewe a successmn of white cataracts throw,- .
ing up showers of spray in the air, andending
in black still pools or flowing on over broad,
white platforms 0 atfinartz rock, till another
ledge made another f . .

The sides of this natural phenomenon were 0
quartz and other rimitive rocks. perpendicular,
and hollowed out y the wear of the water into .

x

recesses and bold buttresses, that reminded you, '

of the aisles of 8. ca

7

   

I>§~x~

  
 

.‘fi

 

 

  
   

 

'v‘yw—u— w

x

\

a
'/

 

’4

 

 

 

A narrow path—evidently an artificial help
‘to nature—wound down by one side of the fall.

The young Amazon dismounted from her own
horse, and on her giving hima light blow, the
noble creature trotted of! down the path as
docile as a dog. Eutalie followed, with the end

‘ of the lasso in her hand, the other end of which
was hitched around the lower jaw of the Black
Mustang.

The stallion, being hoppled, was secure against
escape, and followed his fair leader down the

th without much difficulty. Weston came
ast, leadin the General.

The old orse. like the black, was pretty well
stiffened up after his tremendous exertions.
He stepped along with much more liveliness
than might have been ex cted, however, and
the sweat had dried on his fleet Limbs, already.
He tried to pick at the grass as he went. and
looked as if he could recover from his exhaust-
ing race. The good brandy had done wonders
for him.

They went down the narrow path, which
grew more wild and picturesque every moment.

ometimes it wound under over—arching rocks,
from which curtains of diamond drops fell like
a. veil outside the path, as some baby stream
trickled over the precipice above. N ow it
emerged on a broad, flat platform of rock, where
the stream spread itself out, broad and shallow,
kissin their feet as it passed: while the cathe-
dral-1i e cliffs made a solemn amphitheater
around them, that echoed to the clatter of horse-
hoofs. Anon the gorge narrowed to a space

.not ten feet wide, where a rushing waterfall
tumbled down into a deep, black gulf, a bun—
dred feet below. Here a strong bridge of
trunks of trees had been constructed, over
which the little train marched with perfect
facility, to descend into a second broad, solemn
amphitheater, by a winding road, in some places
0 two feet wide.
ut all the narrowest places had been widen-
ed, for the marks 'of tools on the rocks were per-
ceptible, and the path was easily practicable for
a mounted man.

Weston judged that they must have descend-
ed at least three hundred feet into the bowels of
the earth having passed through two glens,

{when a t 'rd narrow gor re appeared before
them, beyond which he coul see the light of the

sk .

Eh companion advanced boldly into the nar—
row_ go. The great walls of rock approach-
ed 1 they almost touched above, while below
the passage widened enough to let the stream
pass. The path they trod was a ledge of rock
at whose level the stream had formerly rested
awhile, scooping out a softer bed of rock be-
neath, black and re id as an arrow. A plat—
form of tree-trunks (1 been thrown over the
narrowest part of the chasm, where the ledge

‘ on each side was only just broad enough to sus-,

tain the timbers.

They passed through, and Frank Weston ut-
tered a cry of delight, as he gazed upon the
scene before him.

A fourth natural amphitheater, but of much
arger dimensions than the other three, was be-

re, m. . > r '
it measured about a quarter of a mile acrr '

3..

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

 

17

by about a mile in length. The little stream
that had led such a wild life among the rocks,
spread itself out into a diminutive lake or 0nd
of several acres in extent, and thull ripple and
meandered tranquilly through banks of grass of
emerald green, till it disappeared in a narrow
gorge beyond, whose perpendicular walls cut the
sky abruptly.

he sides of the valley were heavily clothed
with timber. Oak, maple, hickory, chestnut,
walnut, and the white—blossomed dog-wood,
formed a shady border; a setting for the tran—
quil picture in the valley.

From among the thick foliage by the edge of
the valley curled up a thin blue smoke, that told
of human habitation. The gable end of a. white
stone cottage, neat as a Massachusetts school—
house, shone out from the trees. In front
stretched a field of ten or twelve acres in extent,
planted with Indian corn aizd similar fields of
Wheat and oats stretched beside it. ’ ,

A neat fence, rustic and picturesque, inclosed
the whole. On the green grass outside fed a
flock of sheep, and several beautifully spotted
mustangs grazed loose near them.

“This is our little paradise, monsieur,” said
the beautiful Eulalie. “ How do you like it?"

“ It is beautiful, charming,” said Weston, en—
thusiastically.

“And what is best, itis unknown to all the
world,” she said; “only this black horse has ever
entered our valley before, and the Indians never
stay near here. The stream falls over a sheer
precipice in yonder gorge, and no one can enter
but by this path alone, and we can destro this
in ten minutes. But see, I must call my other
to welcome you.” "

Eulalie Saint Pierre lifted from her side,
where it hung by a gold chain, a small bugle of
silver. She placed it to her lips, and blew a
long, shrill call of several notes, repeated three'
times. ’

“ Wait a moment,” she said, smiling. '

Another bugle answered from the valley, the
long, Sweet notes echoing from rock to rock.

The figure of a man appeaer on the green be
fore the cottage, and W'eston saw several mus-
tangs immediately run up to him. They
seemed tobe on excellent terms with each other,
horses and man, for when be mounted one of
them, without saddle or bridle, the rest followed
him, as tame as so many dogs.

Weston watched the arrival of thc’stran er
with much interest. Ashe approached, he - ‘
held a very tall, slight-built mun, long and lean,
but hard and muscular, who sat on his horse
with the grace of a Grecian has-relief. J‘. His face
was of the same high and haughty character as
his daughter, and a long, pointed, iron—gray
beard, flowing to his waist. gave wonderful dig—
nity to his appearance. He was dressed in the
ordinary buckskin shirt and leggings, common
to Indians and hunters alike, and totally un-
armed. .

As be ap reached be exhibited traces of sur-
prise and p easure. . ,l . :

,“ What hava you there, Eulalie?” he cried, In ,
French. “Is it not that beautiful black horse
that  sometimes visited our valley? How did
Vou— . I

"“ien for the first time he noticed Weston, ..

1
a

 

 

 

 

  
   
    
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
    
   
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
  

' I monsieur

 
 
 
   
  
  
   
 

  
 
  

1. mane.

  

    

hidden before by an angle of the rock. He

started violently, with an angry frown. He

clapped his hand to his left side in an instant.
with an instinctive readiness thut toldol‘ the old

3 )lilifil' and his well—remembered sword.

“ Who is that, Eulalioi” he asked, sl‘ernlv.
“ How came a stranger here? Is ourretrenlt dis—
covered at last, and shall we have Whites and
Indians alike profaning the home ol‘ Saint
I’ierre?”

Eulnlie threw up her head with a haughty
gr estnre. She was a spoiled child and know her
p )wer. ‘

" I found the poor young man on the prairie,

alone and unarmed," she said, proudly. “His
horse was nearly dead, but he had just lassoin
I: H Black Mustang. Both horses would have
liel, and the young man would have starved:
fir he had nothiin,r but a knife, as you see. So
i brought him here to Save his life, and I prom—
uel him a welcome. Will you not give him one,
father?” she suddenly broke off, leaning both
hands on the old man’s knee, and lookingr up into
his face coaxingly. The cunning wretch know
nor power well.

The solitary of the valley aflowod his features
to relax. But he shook his head doubtiully.

‘ “ Imprudent as ever, Eulalie,” he said, with a
grave smile. “ How do we know who this
stranger is? He may belong to some party, who

will bring half the world down to our oasis, mid

destroy the little haven of peace where I had

herd to end my days.”

14 rank Weston had stood silent during all this
conversation. He stepped forward now and ad—
dressed the old man.

“ Have no fears upon that score, mmisienr,”
he said. “ I may seem to you a pretty ragged—
looking object, but I am it gentleman as you are,
and I have seen the world. I have visited your
own proud capital, beautiful Paris. On the
honor of n gentlem'm, when 1 leave this valley,
I will never reveal to a. soul its ox1stenL‘e. I have
two friends following me, whom I left this
morning in pursuit of this horse. I will lead

' them away from here if they arrive, and if they
chance to discover the path, I will swear them
to secrecy.”

The old man sat like a statue till Weston had
finished.

“ You speak likea gallant and honorable man,

’ he answered. " I must trust on per—
r force,- and I hold you to your honor. ut you
must deport when your companions arrive.”

4‘ On my honor as a. gentleman,” said Frank,
bowing. ‘

The old gentleman’s manner became polite in
an instant.

“Mount my horse, monsieur,” he said, cour-
teonsly; “ you could not catch any of the others.
They are only used to me and mv daughter.
Your own animal shall be lodged. It is a. noble

horse. The black horse. there. has often entered
our valley. but we never could get him down far
enough to cut him 011‘, as we did these.”

As he spoke he dismounted from the magnifi-
cent animal he rode, a. bay dnppled with black.
retainini'i‘ it only by a grass on the long flowing:

he horse appeare a little alarmed at
thestranger, but permitted Frank to mount him.
'Saint Pierre called monomer of the-mustangs,

 

i

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

  

 
   

who hovered timidly near, and the docile crea-
ture came readily up, and allowed himself to be, ‘
mounted. The three rode down to the cottage,
Frank loading the General, while the Black
Mustang, still hoppled, followed Eululie.

Frank did not think it polite to ask any ques-
tions, but the stranger saved him the trouble.

" [ have been buried from the world here for
fifteen long years,” he began; “I left my native
Franco eighteen years ago, when first her throne
was polluted by the unprincipled tyrant and
robber who styles himself Emperor of the
French. Thut monkey, who apcd the miliiury
airs of the uncle, whose name he has disgraced, .
never had my homage. I left Paris the week
after the coup d’otat was accomplished. Tell
me, monsienr, are the French people still in—
flituated about that charlatan? You are fresh
from the world.”

Frank told him of the events of the last fifteen
years as briefly as he could, up to the last plebi—
sci/e, which had proved the dissatisfaction of
French people. It was only a. few months before '
the Prussian war, which so suddenly (leiriolished
that fabric of delusions. the Second French Ein—
piro.

Sainte Pierre laughed bitterly as he heard of
the dissatisfaction of the French.

“ It serves them right,” he said. “ They had
a republic. Every one was free and equal before
the law. “'hat could they want more? But
they allowed this impostor to cheat them, and
they shouted ‘ Viva l’cmperem‘.’ They wanted a ‘
second Austerlitz. They may get a. second
Waterloo. Come, monsienr. Enter my humble
dwelling.”

And, {L3 he spoke, he leaped off his horse before
a. long, low white cottage, carefully built of
rough stone, and that white, shining quartz, in
which the amazed Weston could see plentiful .
specks of virgin gold. The house was thatched
with wheat straw, and lighted by what appear-
ed to be glass windows. A closer inspection
proved the panes to be flat plates of mica, an
excellent substitute. .

An air of neatness and taste pervaded every-
thing, and rW’eston was more surprised than ever
to see commodious outbuildings, and stables
with neat rustic fences around everything.

Saint Pierre smiled at his astonishment. »

“Bring your horse into the stable,” he said:
“ You will find everything comfortable for him.
Your prize shall be put into my breaking—box,
and we will tame. him like my own horses in
three days. I will tell you how I came here and
accumulated what you see, after dinner. You ‘
must be hungr , and Jean Baptiste shall uttend
to your horse.” ,

He called out “Jean Beptistel”in a low voice,
and a little squat negro came out of the stable,
who showed all his white teeth in a grin of de-
lighted surprise at the sight of the stranger.

Saint Pierre gave the negro his directions in”:

‘French, and the latter took the halter of the

captured black and led him toward the stable.‘
But the frightened creature. who had recovered
his strength somewhat. backed away to the end , 7
of the lasso, and refused to budge. ”
Saint Pierre threw open a large door and cell?
ed to one ’of his own mustangs, a white-mare .
spotted with black. I, The docile creature trotted

w

    

 

 

 

  
   

     

HID-‘V‘r‘ WGr-‘IGO‘!

Ir—\4—I=|H

  

 

‘1‘,

 

: rm

  

v, calle
\shook off the noose of the lame, and shut the
“ door on the Black Mustang, unfettered, but a

‘ Republican.

 

  

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

‘19

 

 and e'ntered'a large loose box, heavily litter-
]Kith straw, and padded for six feet up the

'Phen‘ the black stallion went forward readily
enou 'h, and as soon as he was in, the mare was
out. The negro removed the hopples,

isoner.
"And now to dinner, monsieur,” said the
courteous Frenchman. “ If you will come to
my room you shall have some of my clothes; the
best I have, but such as you see.”
Weston had almost beased'marvelin . Every-
thing was 'so‘ wonderful in this valfiey of en-
chantment. -His host took him to a clean, cheer-
ful room,lthe walls of which were plastered and
painted pink. He assumed a hunting-shirt and
cap of Saint Pierre’s, but the leggins were far
too large and loose for him.

The difficulty was settled by Mademoiselle
Eulalie, who provided him with a set of herowll,

'which fitted better, although pretty tight. Buck—

skin stretches, however, and the young man
soon presented a respectable backwoods appear-

. ance.

Then, with his hair combed, and his face and
hands presentable Frank Weston sat down to a
plentiful dinner 0 game and trout, which was
finished, to his further surprise, with a cup of
excellent French coffee and cognac!

‘Dinner over. his host produced a bundle of

I I, very neatly made cigars.

“ Home manufacture, like all here, monsieur.”
he, said. “ You will find the tobacco good, and

, We will talk over affairs. You shall tell me how

you came here, and I will tell you all my con—
trivances to obtain comfort in the wilderness.”
He blew a cloud of smoke in the air. Beauti—
ful Eulalie composcdly lighted a cigurrito of
corn-husk which she rolled around the tobacco
with the deft facility acquired by long practice.

V Weston gave a pqu and told his story, when St.

Pierre followed with his own in due course. «

CHAPTER VIII.
THE GOLDEN VALLEY.
“ You must know, monsieur, that I am a Red
I was the friend of Louis Blane,

 

 
  

Mazzini, and Kossuth and I did my part in ’48,
toward lighting the flame of revolution. Dur-
ing the Republic I sat in Parliament for my de-
partment. I unceasingly exposed the wiles of
the conspirator Louis Bonaparte, and my party
had their plans all arranged for impeaching him
for Violation of his oath, when he took us by

 

 

 

 

, Surprise With his coup d’etat. A price was set

0‘1 my head and I fled from France, taking with
me In newly-wedded wife, in December, 1852.

“ here could I flee to, but to the sheltering
arms of the free, the lorious republic, the old-
tune ally of France.  took passage by way of
Liverpool. England, and arrived in New ork

 
 

     
  
       

 

safely. Eulalie was born there, seventeen years

 

a 0 now; and her mother, my poor Eulalie,
w ose image she is, died there too. I was left
alone with a little infant; and inconsolable. I
glaced'Eulalie in cha e of the Sisters of the

ed Heart,near New ork, and wandered all

     

  

 

 

 
   

 

- via the United States tofindre of ,
V  n ali- Pa

 

fornia, became enamored of prairie life, and for
two more years I roamed abroad, depending on
my rifle alone for subsistence, till I could con—
quer my grief for my lost wife.

“Alas! It only ~fed on solitude. One day,
alone on the Wild prairie, to the westward of
here, a sudden and irresistible desire came
over me to find and see my little (laughter
once more. I cannot tell how the desire
came, but it seized me suddenly and capricious-
ly, and became uncontrollable. It was at tho
foot of the Sierra Blanca, on the western bor—
ders of the Llano Estacado. I had camped out
alone, according to my custom; and woke up
in the morning, with this sudden longing in full
possession of me. Before me lay a flat sandy
desert, unexplored by white men, and reported
to be an arid plain desitute of vegetation, and
where no man could live to cross it.

“ But something told me to push to the cast-
ward, and I started, My horse was a noble
creature and I carried a supply of water for
both of us. And I toll you we needed it. We
were three long days on the march over that
sandy plain, without the first symptom of life,
animal or vegetable, around us. The third day
our scant y stock of water gave out completely.
I pushed on till night, and just at sunset my
eyes were greeted by the sight of a distant belt
timber, faintly visible on the horizon. I deter—
mined to ride all night if my horse dropped. The
faithful creature carried rue safely through,
however, and before morning we trod on green
grass once more.

“How I thanked the Giver of All Good, as
the dark foliage stood out before me, obscuring
the dim starlight! My horse scented water, too,
and rushed forward, coming at last to the stream
you saw this morning above here.

“We were both of us glad to lie down and
rest after that first delicious draught, and slept
till morning, side to side.

“ In the morning I explored the neighborhood
and discovered the waterfall and chasm. When
at last I saw this valley we inhabit I was
charmed with its beauty.

“ ‘ Here,’ I thought, ‘I can rear me a hermi-
tage, far from the dangers of the world, and
bring 11 my little Eulalie, mm and innocent, '
till she IS old ‘enough to batt o with the world.’

“ I determined to do it. The idea pleased mo
mightily. I will not trouble you with any fur-
ther adventures in the accomplishment of my
pur se. Suffice it to say that I made my way
to ustin City, thence to Houston and Galves—
ton. and thence by way of New Orleans and the
Mississippi to New York. ,,

“ I found my little Eulalie a grattling black-
eyed child of three years old. he» soon took to
me, although she pined for the good sisters for
several days after we left. I engaged a nurse,
and took passage for New Orleans. ' All the re~
mains of my worldly wealth I turned into
money, and Iii-chased at New Orleans, the
necessary out t for the little colony I/contem-
plated founding. I bought also Jean Ba tiste,

my 11 ro boy, at New Orleans, and his 0 (1 mo—
ther arie, who supplied the place of a mother A
to my Eulalie. Then, with a little train of‘

ck-mule’s, for I knew parts of this route to be ,
impracticable for wagons, I started trom Anus ‘

 

 

 

20

The Boy Mustang-Eunter.

 
 

 

 

tin in the month of August, 1855. We arrived
here safely after a three weeks’ journey. Bap-
tiste and l at once set to work to make a prac-
ticable path through the glen, bridging the nar-
row gorges as you bavre seen, We have had but
little trouble since to keep it in repair.

“Once comfortable, we began to turn our
attentionto luxury. I planted coll‘ce and to—
‘ bacco, and they throvc well, especially the lat—
ter. A few slips off grapevine soon provided
us with abundance of grapes, and we made
wine in our third year. The art of distilling,
as you are aware, is very simple; and, from
wine, brandy followed very naturally. So
that, before we. had been five years here, we had
our coffee and cognac without any difficulty.

“At last, in our twelfth year here, when
Eulnlio was fifteen, she came to me one day in
great glee. A herd of mustangs was in our 11 )~
per glen, and advancing into our Valley. f
course our young Amazon was wild to catch
them. I thought it impossible, but consented
to try.

“ We had less difficulty than I anticipated.
The curious herd kept on down the path, timid-
ly and hesitatingly; but finally emerged into
the valley, and seemed delighted with the pas—
ture. We kept ourselves concealed till they
were too far in to escape, and then started for
the entrance of the valley. We reached there
without alarming them, and at once blocked up
the entrance to the outer glen that communi—
cates with this valley. It was very easilysc—
cured with a barricade of tree—trunks which
were raised from the bridge. Then we returned
to the valley and found the little herd, eighteen
all told, fouling close to our house.

“As soon as We made our appearance from
among the trees at the back of the house, the
whole herd took fright an! scampered away
with amazing; speed to the mouth of the valley.

“ This was exact] y what we wanted. In five
minutes they had entered the first glen and
were in the trap. We ran up as hard as we
could go, and put up a barricade to keep them
in, and they were safe. -

“ While traveling in Ohio once, I had made

,. the acquaint-Luce of a man of the name of Rarey,
a natural genius in horse-taming. This man
had given me instructions how to tame the most
ferocious (SI-most timid horse alike, by very
sim le methods.

“ am rather anknthusiast, monsieur, as you
may notice, and 1 determined to try my friend
Rarcy’s system fully and conscientiously.

“ I can say that it proved a erl’ect success.

“Little bribes of corn am oats. constantly
olfere l by my daughter and myself, have accus—
tomed our herses to follow uslike dogs. In the
stable in the winter, in pasture in the summer,
they are perfectly kind an] gentle. And yet,
three years ago they were all wild mustangs.”

As day after day passed, the hermit forgot
his resolution about turning out the stranger.
Heliked him too well as a member of his own
class and a true-hearted gentleman. He de—
lighted in conversing; with Frank, and hearing
the history of the world since his seclusion. He
took great interest in assisting himto tame the
Black Mustang, after Rarey’s system, and Eula-
he was allowed to try her hand on the animal.

 

 

With that marvelous mixture of feminine» '
gentleness and masculine firmness that marked - ..
her character, she effected a complete conquest v i
The two men ,
did nothing but look on, to see that no harm : '

of the wild stallion in two days.

came to her. But she was too old a horse—tamer
for that. The black had never had a chance,
from the moment the first knee-strap was put
upon him. When the contest was over, and
lay on his side conquered, Eulalie turned roun
with saucy triumph. /
“ Eh bien, messieurs, je l’ai fait. touts seule.”
(\‘Vell, gentlemen, I have done it all alone.)
Weston was fain to adinit that she had. Be—
fore the third day was over, any one could
mount the Black Mustang, and ride him with-
out saddle or bridle, with a little switch. His
conquest was the more easily effected, he being

so thoroughly tired and conquered with his long ‘v

chase.

The three days of his taming were days of
sweet influences to both Frank and Eulalie.
They rode out of the glens and on the prairies,
talked together about every thing, and of course
fell in love~unconsciously, half—consciously,
and at last consciously.

The hermit looked on complacently. He was
an original and a reader of c aracter. He saw
this young man to be an honest gentleman, and
he felt uite willing to take him for a guide and
husban for Eululie.

“ I have money enough for us all, men ami,”

he said, when Frank opened his heart tohim '
and told him all his past history. -“ You are a. ,,
gentleman, reduced to poverty. So was I'flfteen, ,

years ago. If Eulalie loves you, you may marry,
and we will all live in happiness together.

“ ,ome with me now,” he proceeded.
lie has shown you her treasures. I will show
you mine.” ,

Frank had noticed the presence of gold in the
quartz rocks, all round the Valley, but he had
not hunted for nugrets. He had been too much
engaged with Eulahe’s eyes to think of gold,

He followed his host to the stable, and thence L

to a large room in the rear, used as aharness
room. Here the Frenchman‘pointed outto him
a row of old pack—saddles, of the clumsy Mexi-
can pattern, covered with dirty leather, and
ornamen with brass nails, apparently.

On trying. to lift one. he was surprised at its

weight. His host put an end to his wonder, or.

rather re—excited it. by informing him that all
in the row of saddles were made of solid old,
and the hollows necessary to make them i ht
enough filled with emeralds, which abound in
the valley.

“ Imade them in this form to hide them,” he
said. “ The old leather covers of my pack-sad—
dles, with. those dirty nails,. will effectually

ward off suspicion of their value. Each of thee: ‘ I

saddles weighs two hundred pounds. which will
allow for a light load to complete the disguise.
There are eighteen of them, which I shall load

on my mustangs. Besides them I have twice as y .

much more in the form of ingots, which I must
return for some day. The silver I have not
turned to any account, except to use for house-
hold purposes.

“I calculate to ca-

   

“ Eula-i

awa , in gold and j
emeraldshabout two  nso dbuathtI ‘

   

 

FF neon

’w‘p‘u

-—¢

 

 
        

n-‘r

v m..-*.'

Ids-11$

I—l-iul’w

u-w- ,_-.w

    

H WW“!

’é

‘ 3 .little string

   
  
   
 

 

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

'21-

 

' never come back to get [the rest,  shall never
starve, eh?" .
He would have uttered more, when the calm

, : stillness of the landscape was suddenly broken
" by the sound of rifle-shots from the prairie out-

side of the rocks that (protected the valley.
Saint Pierre starte .
“Oh, man Dieu!” he said, with an accent
', of indescribable bitterness; “I have kept you
away, rude world, for fifteen years, and new
you come, as you always do, in wounds and
death.”
The firing above the cliff grew quite rapid for
a few moments. and Frank Weston recogn'
the peculiar tones of the repeating rifles of his

' late companions.

“ It is my two fn'cnds,” he cried; “ and they

' have been attacked by Indians!”

All doubt was removed by a shrill chorus of
yells, from a hundred throats, showing that
the two friends must be ovematched by num—
bers. Then the shots of rifle and pistol came
thick and fast, till finally a lull took place.

Frank Weston rushed for the stables, followed
by Saint Pierre.

“ We must help them somehow,” panted
Frank, as he ran on.

“ We will,” answered Saint Pierre. “ In one
hour I will show you these Indians a. row of
wrpses. You shall see.”

And Eulalie came running to meet them as
they entered the stable yard.

 

CHAPTER IX.
THE TRAILERS TRAILED.

WHEN Pete Wilkins and Gilmore resumed
their journey after changing heises, it was hot,
dry noon on the lain. Not a sign was to be
seen of Frank or is chase.

Little Gilmore noticed this with some appre—
hension.

, “How shall we ever find that young fellow
'again, Pete?” he asked. “ I thought I had
. noted the exact 8 0t where he had disappeared;
but, What with c anging the“ saddles, I’m quite
turned round. There’s not so much as a tree in
sight to guide us.” ‘

Old Pete turned round, and scanned the
horizon for some time. Then he shrugged his
shoulders with a rueful face.

“ Sarves me right,” he said, sulkily; “ I orter

.' to know that we couldn’t ketch up with two sich
flyers, without loads. We’ll hev to foller tha’r
trail of we kin find it.”

p“ urely'that willbe easy enough,” re lied
Gilmore; “ we have come in a direct line mm
the ravme, at least I should think so.”

Pete Wilkins. looked at the gambler with a
curious expression.

“ Yer may be a durned good shot, Gilmore.”
he finally observed: “ but I’m durned ef yer am’t
as innocent as a babby in arms about the plains.
Look ahint yer.”

Gilmore looked. wondering what the other

‘ meant. He could See nothing but the path,
beaten down on the grass by the feet of their

of horses.

“ Well. what of it?” he in ui'red; ‘,‘ I see our

 plain enough, and theus can not be far

 

“Which way does yer shadder fell on the
trail?” asked Pete.

“ Why, away from it, to he sure,” answered
Gilmore.

“And Whar was the sun when we started?"
pursued the hunter.

“ Behind us, I think.”

“ We], then; ain’t yer got enough l’arnin’ ter
see that we’ve b’en u—goin’ in a circumbendibus?
We‘ve both on us b’en a—lookin’so hard, that
We’d forgotten all about that. Whether the
track be ter the right or tor the left, I dunno.
Dui'n my karki ge of I hain’t clear fnrgotten all
about it. 'We crost it more nor wunst, and
that's all I remembers."

“ And for my part,” said Gilmore frankly.
“ I don’t so much as remember seeing it at all. ”

“ Tain’t wunderful," answered the hunter,
rather bitterly; “ couldn’t expect a greenhorn
to do any better.” «

“ Well, Pete,” said the gambler, with some
impatience, “ What’s to be done?”

‘ We’ll hev to divide, and hunt the trail,”
answered Pete, promptly. “ ’Tain’t no use
a—cryin’ over spilt milk. Tha’r trail orter be
found easy enough, but Lord alone knows how
fur ’tis.”

“ Then let us set about it at once,” cried Gil-
more. “ It cannot but be fresh.“

“Waal, then, listen while'l talk,” said Pete.
“ You and I we’ll hev ter go off from our own
trail right crostwise.”

“ At right-angles, you mean,“ interrupted
Gilmore. '

“Don‘t know nauthcn ’b‘out right-angles, as
you call ’cin. I mean ci‘ostWise, criss-cross,
that—away ” (pointing). “ Take kecr to keep a
straight line, and ride straight ahead till one on
us sees the trail. The man that cums on it fu’st
is mgr halt and fire a shot, and the other ’11 come
11 .

“ I understand,” said Gilmore, promptly.
“ Which side shall I take?”

“ The left,” answered the hunter. “ Keep
them two swells in a line, and keep yer eyes
skinned.”

And the pair separated without more words,
and rode off in opposite directions to find the

rail.

To a man of Gilmoi‘e’s im atient spirit, the
transition from a chase in full) view to the tedi-
ous process of tracking was very annoying. He
rode on. with a string of awkward ledvhorses to
guard, looking right and left for the track, and
iii a tolerany bad temper.

It cost him a full hour’s riding to get .OVer
this and settle down to his work. When he did

\ so, he looked back for Pete. and could only just

catch sight of the hunter’s figure, a speck in the
distance. ‘

There were no signs ,of the wished—for trail
in his own vicinity, and Gilmore, unused to the
patience and watchfuliiess of a prairie hunter,
was beginning to be disgusted with his task,
when his e es were rejoiced with the sight of 8.
puff of Wiite smoke from old Pete’s rifle, th ,.
si nal of success '

he gambler turned his horse’s head' and
galloped back, followed by his string of pack~
animals. _ . _ _ _ ‘ o ’

Be round Pete Wilkins Sitting on his horse.

 

 

 

722 L L i The Boy Mustang-Hunter;

 

regarding a long line beaten down in the waving
grass, which stretched away to the left as far as
they could see.

‘ Hyar’s the trail, Gil," observed the hun-
r ‘ and now let’s go along as quick as we
' kin.”

Suiting the action to the word, the two struck
off on the trail at a center, which they kept up
for several miles. Not a word was spoken by
either, till Gilmore suddenly pulled up.

“ Hold hard, Pete,” he said; “ these horses
can’t go on like this long. They Weren’t watered
this morning.”

Pete reduced his pace to a walk, andreyed the
horses in silen '9. All of them, ridden and led,
were covered with foam and much exhausted.
The hunter gave a resigned grunt.

“ Serves me right," he said. “ Comin’ out
with a couple of burs—seems to me I’m a—gittin’
a boy myself. Most haste Wuss speed, as my

runny used ter tell me. ’Wal, we’ve got ter

gollor the trail and find water at night, I s’pose.
Must be water in sum 0’ these hollcrs.”

Gilmore looked up at the sky. The sun was
within less than an hour of setting.

“ Hadn’t we better loak for water before
dark?" he asked. “It’ll be pretty hard finding
it, il.‘ we follow this trailtill sunset.”

“ And of we leave the trail, it’ll be pesky
hard to find in the mornin’, I tell yer," answered
Pete. '

“ Better lose the trail than kill the horses,”
replied Gilmore, “for we couldn’t follow it at
all then.”

“ Thur’s sen-1e in what yer say, lac ," observed
the hunter. “ Look around. Your eyes is sharp.
See of yer kin see any wood. Whar thur’s wood
tbur’s water.”

But although both strainel their eyes, it was
all to no purpose. The blank rolling grass prai-
rie lay like a sun. all around them, and not a tree
disturbed the gran l‘monotonv.

“ We mou’t as well up on,” said Pete. “ The
trail‘s pret‘y sure to lead to water at last. That
’ere Black lmowed what he wur about when he
hoarlei this-away.”

Gilmore felt the force of the observation, and
they rorle along: on the trail till sunset at a slow
pace. The horsei suffered greatly from thirst,
and the pace and weight combined. At last night
put an end 13-) their tracking, and old Pete halted
Just as the sun set.

“Thar,” he sai'l, dismounting from his little
gray mare, the only one in the company that
seemed to have anv spirit left; “we won’t as
Well camp here, fur’tain’t no use— Hello!” He
broke off suddenly at this juncture.

The little mare wh’un he had left loose for a
moment suddenly put down her head to the
earth, snnmad for a moment. aud then, bursting
into a glad whinnv. gallooed oil’ to the right of the
path, over a. little swell of ground, and disap-
peared.

Gilmore instinctively started to catch her.

“ Never mind,” cried Pete; “ let her went, I
‘telltyjer. She's found water, you bet. See the
res

It was true. The othe s strained at their hal—
1ters to follow the mare. Pete mounted one of
them. and they rode oyer the little. swell of
v ground, The mere wasrgust disappearing In tho

i \

 

tgilight, over a second small, a quarter of a mile'

0 . , 7
They followed at their best pace and, after _a_
little" pool of » ‘

hard chase, at last arrived at a.
water, ina hollow of the prairie, about six feet
across, and formed by an old buffalo wallow.

'Here they were glad to go into camp for the‘
night, and let their horses rest, after the fatignes "

of the day.

The next morninEthey started early on their
own back trail, to d the place where they had
left that of Wes on and the Black Mustang.

But when they arrived there, it was a. very

hard matter to find it. The grass had risen again '

durin the night, and it was no longer plain sail-
ing; hey were compelled to
with extreme caution. Gilmore ta ing charge of

all the horses, and old Pete oing ahead on foot, . i
This was ’
Mustang and deer tracks, new ,

trar‘king the shoes of the “ neral.”
their only guide.
and old, creased them frequently, but Pete held
on, spying from time to time the marks of the
nails in the horseshoes, and followingthem faith—
fully. It was very slow work, however.

but an old hunter. Pete advanced slow and sure,
till night again overtook them.

There was no Sign of timber or water near, and , v
they were compelled to encamp, thirsty and fire- »

less.

“ Thar’s no tellin' who may be around now,
lad,” said Pete. “That ar’ devilish black and
the race—boss. they must ’a’ put on the pace to

git over so much ground in one day. Howsum- *
’ tell, I guess. Ef we don’t run ‘
into sumthin’ by that time, I’ll give up, and '1

dever, to—morrer

sw’ar they’re both devils.”

So the night wore away without adventure, ' -

and in the morning they resumed their task. .

Old Pete followed the trail for about a mile,
when it was suddenly crossed by a broad trail of
horses' hoofs, all unshod." The hunter examined

it sharply.
“ Injuns,” he said, simply.

“How do you know?” asked the gambler.  .

“ May it not be mustangs?”

“Mustangs never went as straight as that,” ,.
“Mustangs goes here, there, and 1
everywhere, trots around and plays with each ,y

said Pete.

other. These ’ern goes straight along. Thur In-

juns on the war—oath and they was only hyar yes-_ ,.

terdav mornin’ i”
“.Wclll
more. looking to his rifle, as he spoke.
“Keep yer eyes skinned fur the Varmints
while I follcr the trail,” replied the hunter.

“ Thur’s a'hull grist on ’em. and thur goin’ hack '

tor the cliffs we left: but if they come acrost our

trail, ’tar’ my idea as they’ll come fur us. So I

heave ahead.”

The old hunter bent all his energies again to
the trail he was pursuing, and followed it till ;
noon; when they came in sight of the distant

belt of timber, for which the Black Mustang
hactll'been making, when Weston-finally came up
0 1m. ' ‘
Here old Pete mounted his little mare‘onoe
more. '
“ ’Tain’t no use doin’ any more trackin? now,
he observed. ,f‘ The must ’a’ gone for that‘tim-
merinabeelme .let’sgit” ', . ‘

 

o slowly,” and '

The v
confusion of tracks would have perplexed any ,

What's to be done now?” asked Gil- _

' v

OH b‘fl- (3'1

and» angry man-:2: mid Eb' organ

 
 

' The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

23

 

    

 

 

Just as he spoke, Gilmore uttered a sharp cry
r of recognition.
.’ “ I thought so, Pete,” he cried. “ Look back.

There come the Indians.”

 Pete’s glance followed his own. There they

I could see, at a distance. of not more than a couple
of miles, a large war—party of Indians, their
lance-heads glittering in the sun, coming at full
speed for their little convoy, '

“Pete Wilkins seized the end of the halter,
Ithrown him by Gilmore; and without another
word, the two started for the timber at full
Speed. the pack horses galloping alongside.

Their animals were all jaded and weary, from
Want of water, but the sight of timber ahead
~_seemed to inspire them with strength, for they
, .W nt at aliver pace, without much urging.
« l‘he distance to cover could not be more than
Ve miles, and both the companions felt in good
hO’FBS of getting there before the Indians.
' hey pressed on at a fair speed, now and then
~ ' looking back at the pursuers. The latter were
gaming rapidly.

< _ y the time three miles were passod, the In-

dians had reduced their distance to one-half ;

and it became evident, that before the cover
could be 'reachcd, the enemy would be within

. gun-shot. ,

“ Git yer shootin’-irons ready Gil,” said the
0 old hunter, handling his own ashe sweptalong.
. “ We'll hev to stop the varmints afore we git
V "that. I’m afeard.” r
‘ Gilmore drew his pistols from his belt, one
M - after the other. and quietly revolver] them, to
‘3 see if they Were in order. His demeanor was as
calm, as if cut; on a. pleasure ridc.
Both rode steadily on, the Indians drawing
closer and closer, till they had arrived within a

  
    
 
 
  
  
 

JVG‘IWl-“flm‘f NMIHV p03

I a-u

 

.F‘HIVH‘

’ ‘ hundred yards of the lil'Cl‘S, when the pursuers,
,‘ ' for the first time, uttered a wild yell.
i I uHalt!” shouted the old hunter. “W’c’ve
1 . run fur enough. Let‘s stop and give it to the
cusses.”

As he spoke, he pulled up the little mare, and
{jurued to face the enemy. Gilmore followed

- * \ " hls example, and the two stood at bay.

,, , The savages Were not two hundred yards
: from them, and dustered into a dense mass,
coming on at full speed.

Both the white men raised their rifles at the

I same Instant, and opened fire on the crowd at

,1 short range. Then it was that the powers of
the terrible repeating rifles proved equal to the

~ occaswn.

The Indians presented a perfect mark, all
huddled together as they were. The first two

‘ shots dropped two of their number, and the

, .TeStvyelled- the louder. and came on faster.
But when shot after shot, in almost as many

. seconds, followed, they wavered in doubt.
That hesitation gave opportunity for the cool,
desperate white men to fire two more shots
apiece.

It settled the question. The whole mass

, broke and ed, throwing themselves ovar the
Sides of their horses to shield their persons, and

'followed by the spiteful bullets, till they were

* out of range. ,

I There they clustered ,
33m. and not daring to come within gun-shot
again. - r . ~

I

W

0337"

 
   

RED

  
  
  
   
  
  

   

    

in groups, riding to and

But the position of the two was sufliciently
embarrassing. It was evident that the Indians
had no firearms, or they would have used them;
but it was equally plain that they were in
numbers sufficient to annihilate the whites, if
they got near enough.

01d l’cte looked worried, as-he sat on his
horse. Every now and then he would try a
long shot at some savage, holder than the
rest, who would ride out alone. But the dis-
tance was too great for the accuracy. Every
unsuccessful shot was a loss, in their position,
and caused the Indians to become bolder.

Pete noticed with anxiety that they were try-
ing to get to his rear, and already be had com-
menced a speech of warning to Gilmore, when
both men were electrified by the sound of a.
bu le. directly in their rear, sounding the
“ orward” of the U. S. Cavalry.

The next moment out burst three horsemen
from the woods, glittering from head to foot
in armor.

 

CHAPTER X.
THE HUMAN CORRAL.

THE General, the Black Mustang, and Jaguar,
as Eulalie named her spotted stallion, were all
standing in the stable. Corn and oats were

lentiful in the valley, and the three horses had

een fed up well.
, The General and the black had recovered
from their fatigue, and noighed out a welcome
to their masters as thoyycame rushing in.

“ Come to the harness—room!” cried the
Frenchman; “we have weapons there, but no
firearms. ‘Still we win do something, and get
these savages into the glen. I have a. trap for
them there. Come along."

They rushed into the harness-room, Eulalio
foremost. She ran to the side of the room and
threw open a case.

“ Here. quick!” she cried, and. threw to Frank
Weston, to his utter astonishment, a hauberk,
or shirt of mail, made of chainwork of solid
silver.

“ It is arrow—proof,” she said, hastily, and in
a few moments more had donned a similar one
herself.

The case contained several suits of armor in
silver, made by the ingenious Saint Pierre, dur-
ing his sojourn in the valley,” a substitute, de—
fensively, for his loss in offensive power by the
failure of his gunpowder. ‘, ,

In ten minutes from that time, three mailed
figures, splendid and glittering, and resemblin
medieval knights, rode out from the stable-yer .
'and dashed at full speed up the Valley. Eulalie
Saint Pierre seemed to take her place as nat-
urally as a man, and rode foremost on the far—
famed Black Mustang.

All three carried swords, made of steel by the
hermit, but their lance-heads and arrows were ,
of silver, like their, armor. .,

Saint Pierre rode Jaguar, who proved to be
almost as fast as the General himself.

As they galloped up the valley, Baptiste made
his appearance, and his master shouted some
directions to him, Which Frank lost in the hurry ;

of the moment. The he re nodded, and ran V

after them with an ax on is shoulder.

 

,It required but a few: moments $91" the cave- , '

  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
  

The Boy mustang-Hunter. -‘

 

liers, so ma nificently mounted and armed, to
reach the g en, and gallop at full speed up the
. narrow pass.

The hermit led the way on J agnar, and was
soon at the tog), and on level ground. ..They could
see nothingr o the combatants as yet. The belt
of timber that hid the stream also hid the In-
dians and their antagonists.

They had heard two or three shots only since
the first rapid burst, un‘l Weston concluded that
his friends had repilsed the savages, who were
at bay.

Saint Pierre turnel his horse to the right, and
dashed through the timber that completely
masked the opening into the glen. They allop
8‘! along the glee ny path, overshadowe with
thick trees for about a hundred yards, when
they e'nerged suddenly on the open prairie.

There they came in full View of the fight.

As Weston had antici aterl, it was his two
_ friends, Pete Wilkins anc Little Gilmore, with
astrin; of led horses behind them. They sat
still on their own animals, outside of their little
train, ride in ham 1. Beyond, out on the level
pl Lin, an 1 just out of un~slhot, was a line of Iii-
di ins, sevent or eig ity at least, ridingr con-
fuse lly to an fro, and hesitating to attack the
two men.

“ Eh, parbleu, growlei Saint Pierre, under his
rizzled bard, “ but they are cowards, those In-
ians. They must be Co nanches. Come along,

then! Let us charge them."

But before he starte'l he raised his bugle to
his lips and blew a loud call.

It was the “ Forwari” of the U. S. cavalry.

“They will think there are troops here,” he
said, laughing.

The next m'ynent the three dashed out, at the
full s eel of their fresh uni vigorous horses, and
tore own on the Indians. I

The latter broke instantly, and fell back sev-
eral hun lrei yards, dis niyed at the apparition
of three shining figures, such as they had never
seen before.

“ Tell your friin 1a to mt int i the glen quick,
or they are lost," Sll’l the hernit hastily, as he
pullei no his horse. “ T21; In li‘ins will be back
again in two ininutas, when they are over their
surprise.”

Frank gallope 1 no to Pet) Wilkins, who sat on
his horse, transfixel with wonder at the three
White horsemen.

" Fall bzc'c to the timber, Peta,” he shouted.
“ We must take to the glen to defend ourselves.
Drive in the lel h new.”

01d Pete uttare l a cry of a ve—stricken surprise.

“ Gee-hos-h'iphmtl gee-re stth n! gee-jimmy
crikoyl, Wil, not, whit in all creation hev ye
b’en doin’ anl wzn AM: Yes. NOW?”

“ [’ll tellyozi when we’re safe.” answered Frank,
hastily. “l’ve caught the mustang and found
friends. Come back, I tell you. Don‘t you see
the In liens are rallying?" '

And in 1631 the SW tges, seeing the white men
halt, hai begun to cluster together, as if for a
fresh advance.

“ Good advice Peter,” observad Little Gil-
more, quietly. ‘ We’d better take it if we want
to keep our scalps." . ,

And he turned his horses and started for the
. timber. The Frenchman and Eulahe, 1!! the

 

mean time, rode abbut outside, surveying the
astonished Indians, and overawing them for the
present. ' .
r But when the Comanches saw the three, white .
men retreating to the timber, they realized that
they had been duped, and a few of the boldest
dashed out. By the time, however, the whole .
bod had gathered courage enough to advance,
the ittle train of led horses was in the timber.

Then the hermit and his daughter galloped
back, and, the instant they turned, the Indians
followed at full speed.

But the start of the fugitives was too great to
be overcome before they could get to the mouth
of the glen. Here they found Frank and his \
companions, undecided what to do. They had
heard the yells of the Indians, and halted to de- .
fend the other two. Weston had already seized
his rifle and pistols, which hung on his old saddle,
and was ready to do his duty without any more ‘
nervousness. 

St. Pierre leaped from his horse. , ,

“Dismount, gentlemen,” he cried, in French.

The old hunter understood the gesture better -
than the words, and obeyed.

Saint Pierre gave his horse a blow with his
long lance, and the stallion galloped elf down ,

the ath to the valley.
“’ he others! the others! Make them follow 1” ’

“a.

 

..i.

he shouted to Weston, as the yells of the ap  ‘

proachin ' Indians warned them to hurry.

One a ter another the horses were driven
down, in single file, and followed their leader at
a hard gallop. As the last disappeared, the
crackling of dry sticks, and the rapid gallop of -
horses, announced that their pursners were after ,
them into the timber, and w0uld soon be up.

“ Saivez moi I” roared Saint Pierre, dropping
his lance and drawing his sword.

He ran down the path at full speed followed
by the rest, till the narrow way turn an an 19
in the rock, and the first of the natural amp i- 3
theaters or glens opened before them. v

He suddenly paused at the corner of the path.
The gorge in this place was not over ten feet
wide, and very dark. The hermit put his hand
to the rock at the side of the path. A tall slab _~
of quartz revolved on a. pivot, and displayed to
their View a narrow passage and awinding stair- .
case out in the solid rock.

“ Eulalie first," said the Frenchman. : '

The girl sprung into the pamgeway, like one ,
well used to it, and the rest followed. Saint
Pierre remained last, to close the door, which he
did, just as the clatter of hoofs on the rocks
above announced a close pursuit. Saint Pierre
laughed, as he pulled to the ponderons slab, and '
ascendon the staircase. It was faintly lighted
by several loopholes, that from without seemed ‘3
nothing but natural chinks in the rocks. He '
wpnt up about fifty feet. and found \himself in a ‘
lonz gallery. a natural ledge in the rock ori in- ‘ ,
ally, but holléwed out with much patient 1a 1‘ _
by the hermit Baptiste, in past times. /
The four companions were already there, peep- :
ing oval" a parapet of rocks into the valley
below. They commanded a full View of the
whole of the glen, down to the next gorge.

The Indians Were nlrnudy galloping down the
path like madman, ellingafter their anticipated
prey. The Franc man.  grimly, as m,

. l ‘ " -.

 

       
 
 

 
  

 

   
 
  

  
 
 

         

dOHCQ- Hflnflmd

  

Han-king‘s "Hmumummn‘

 
    
  

nth—c my—t Hm»

"mama-«gab!» “JD-Gm a.

.14

“69‘

  

 

his '
wn '
v11) 5"

ren

 
   

 

' does his du

ore ,
ch. 

 

 

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter. ‘ . £5

 

noticed that most of the party was already be-

yond the second gorge.
" “Now, messieiirs,” he said, “if Baptiste only
, we have them in a trap."

lie looks over as he spoke, and started back
With a savage oath.

“Ah! marble/LL I” he said; “the polisson has
seen me, and is off."

The rest looked over, and could just discern
the figure of an Indian, as he disappeared round

‘the corner of the first or e. up the pass. Gil-
more struck his knee With is fist in passion.
‘ “ It was Tom Austin,” he ejaculated. “He

has escaped me a second time. Oh, if I had but
,a horse here.”

But the esca
helped. The
time. a.

‘ “ Now, inessieurs,” cried the Frenchman,
‘help me to push this rock down, and we have
them all.”

He pointed to a huge bowlder, as he spoke. It
Stood at the beginning of the lgallery just at the
mouth of the first gor e. ive or six huge

«I Wooden levers lay behint it, apparently on pur-
‘ pose to upset it at some time.
The five companions united their strength, and

of the. false Indian could not be
orses were all far away by this

“ . toppled the huge mass over into the gorge

beneath. The sound of crashing timbers an-
nounced that the narrow bridge was destroyed.
T ey looked over. Where before a safe sloping
Platform had occupied the face of the little
gor e, a black chasm ap red, into which fella

o §Pet ing waterfall. No umun being could pass
it till a fresh bridge was built.

“Now follow, messieurs,” said Saint Pierre,
when the feet was accomplished. “Let us see
what Ba tiste has been doing.”

, They iirried along the gallery, which took
them into the second glen, where the upper path
still continued. They ran on, the Indian yells
becoming plainer every moment, and soonfound

. themselves in the third or last glen, the exit
,from which was into the Golden Valle .

The portal into the valley was be ween two
tall walls of rock, not six feet apart, and run-
ning uE for fifty feet perpendicularly. Then
came t e ledge on which their upper gallery
was made. marking a stratum of softer rocks.

. But this tall narrow gorge now presented the
appearance of an immense cage door, the place
0 the bars being taken by thick logs of

Ben wood, which were arranged to fit across
be opening.

: Weston remembered noticing two dee grooveS,
cut into the rock on each side, and ad never
guessod their use till now. Thick, solid beams,
11 foot in diameter and carefully cut to the
requISite length, had been accumulated above,

uring a period of yéars. The channel had been
made with infinite labor by the hermit and
Baguette, assisted by natural fissures in the
roe .

.A sort of open-work dam, twenty-five feet in
bi ht, was, by simply throwing these logs one
a another down the grooves, formed across

‘th'ie' stream, behind which the water was rapidiy

~ wrismg in the «lower and narrower part of the

glen. _Above it, the valleiv swelled out three or
.tour times the same brea th. , ’

{The whole mob at Indiana was collected before

 

the barrier, trying to climb it. Weston looked,
expecting to see the horses of his party captured
by the Comanches, and sure enough, there they
were, along with the Indians!

“And now, monsieur,” said Saint Pierre to;

Frank, “ you and your friends can shoot down
the Indians at your. leisure. I have doiiewliat
I can. They are in the trap.” »

Old Pete Wilkins understood the gesture of
the Frenchman, if not the words. He coolly
raised his rifle.

“I'll tench yer to come artcr my scalpzye
painted varmints,” he said, Vindictively. “ hf
it had’n’t ’a’ hen for this ‘ore feller in silver—
and who the Old Scratch he is, I dunno—guess
ye‘d ’a’ had us an’ our horses too.”

Grumbliiig away to himself in this fashion, he
took a long and careful aim at an Indian, who
had but just clanibcred almost to the top of the
barricade. There was a flash and a crack, and
the Comanche fell back into the stream, (lead.

The scene that followed was one of the 'dircst
confusion. The Indians, for the first time aware
that their enemies were above them, uttered
shrill yells, and turned about to fight.

But they were in a worse trap than had ever
caught them before. Three good shots were
above them, at about two hundred feet distance.
Each man of them had a repeating rifle, and
was in a osition perfectly inaccessible to the
savages.
and arrows and spears. What could they (10?
Before they had concluded to do anything, five
or six had fallen under the deliberate, rapid fire
from above. Then they turned and fled up the

ss in dismay. only to find themselves hemmed
111 there by another impassable obstacle. Mad
with terror, they climbed on each other’s shoul-
ders to scale the waterfall. The pitiless bullets
of Little Gilmore picked them off from their
work, with merciless accuracy. ~

The spirit of a fiend seemed to be amused
in the breast of the little rlesperado When
stout old Pete Wilkins grounded his rifle with a
shudder, swearing that he “couldn’t kill the
poor critters any more,” Gilmore it was who

continued his deadly shots, without pause or ~'

intermission.

“Sir, I must kill these men, or" how shall 1
ever get out of this glen after Tom Austm ?
Leave me alone.”

Every one gazed with astonishment upon this
singular being, so slender and fragile iii appear-
ance, so cifeminatc in manner, who now display-
cd such hideous accuracy in the work of death,
such entire romorselessness. . __

At last the dreadful work was done.” The help-
less savages, runniiig here and there in vain ter-
ror, making frantic efforts to scale the rocks,
like 1- ts in a cage, without so much as a place
to bid their heads in, were all dead or dying.

Then Saint Pierre, pale as death after the
slaughter which fell necessity had ordered, de-
’socuded the stairs that led to the lower path,
followed by the others. Little Gilmore first.

The sight was horrible, as dead and wounded i

men lay all around, clicking up the usually
clear stream into a foul, polluted flood. The
hermit shuddered, but Little Gilmore addressed
him in fair French.

 

 

“ Monsieur,” he said, “ I have a. favor to ask.

1

he latter were armed only with bows .

 

   

 

L'nil me a fresh horse, and help me to get out
of iiere. My own horse is tired out. A deadly
enemy of mine has escaped, and I must follow
him.”

The Frenchman bowed coldly. He could not
help a shudder before this merciless man.

“ Take any of my horses, inonsieur,” he said.
“ I will show you a way to leave the valley."

From its hiding—place on the ledge above, a
temporary bridge was extracted, and lowered
across the chasm at the top of the gorge. Gil-
more was so savagely eager to be away on the
trail after Tom Austin, whose horse he knew
must be tired, that he did not even stop to say
adieu.

He transferred his saddle and equipments to
J a :uar, loaned him by Saint Pierre. The horse
stood trembling in the midst of nearly a bun-
dred. others, huddled together in the lower glen,
driven higher and higher by the rising water,
which already had reached the top of the dam,
and was flowing over it. '1‘ a back-water half-
fllled the lower gorge and glen.

But Gilmore never stayed to notice anything.
He looked to his rifle, loaded all his pistols
afresh, and rode off up the narrow ledge till he
found himself on the path leadingintothe woods.
He gave the spurs to Jaguar. The noble beast
bounded forward at the top of his speed, and soon
carried the desperado out on the broad prairie.

Gilmore’s eager glance scanned the plain in
Vain. No one was to be seen to the east. He
dashed across the belt of timber to the west,
and his hopes Were verified. Away in advance,
ani about three miles elf, n )w, was a single
horseman. heading west. -

Gilmore gave a savage oath, and galloped
after the distant stranger at full Speed.

He felt who it was.

CHAPTER XI.
HUNTED DOWN.

THE gambler’s heart heat more forcibly than
its Wont. The man whom he had chased all over
Texas was at last before him, and could not es—
cape. At every bound of Jaguar, Little Gil-
more’s pulse seemed to throb with madder joy,
as he saw himself drawing nearer.

He had caught a glimpse of the fugitive’s face
in the path in the glen. He could not be mis-
taken in the man. He knew well the burly
form, the fierce, bold face, with its heavy black
beard, bristling and stiff.

“Ah! Tom Austin,” he muttered, as he flew
along on the track of the other, “ we’ve changed
all that now. Who’s the coward now?”

On they Went, pursuer and pursued. At first,
Gilmore gained very rapidly, the other not hav-
ing seen him, but now he turned his head to look
back, and as sown as ha saw his enemy, Tom
Austin buried his spurs in his horse’s flanks, and
excited him to his utmost speed.

It was indeed Tom. The nearer Gilmore drew
the clearer was his recognition. There was no
mistaking that form. -

“ Weight will tell," muttered the gambler to
himself.

He shook his bridle, and Jaguar increased his
speed. Already he had lessened his distance to
a mile and a. half, and his horse was still fresh.

_ The horse of the renegade was laboring,

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

  

Even at the distance he was, Gilmore could see
that. He seemed to be in heavy ground, and
his rider was whipping and spurring him frau—
tically.

Gilmore shook his rein once more, and Jaguar
again increased his speed, tearing along over
grass and sand, till he, too, had passed the last
remains of the prairie, and entered on the re-
gion of deep sand.

The hot sun blazed into Gilmorc’s eyes, and a. .
blinding glare shot up from the hot sand.

He had gained considerably in distance, hav-
ing lirin ground to go upon, while his adversary ,
was laboring in the soft sand. He was not now .
over half a mile 01f.

As far as he could see ahead, and to the right

and left, a flat, sandy plain, strewed with rocks,
extended. J aguar began to labor, himself, as
he felt the deep, soft sund under his feet, and
the little gambler allowed him to take his own
iace.
1 While he was doing so, he observed the other
suddenly increase his pace, and perceived that
he had got on to L1 stratum of harder ground at
last.

Gilmore gave a muttered curse as he saw the
other very slowly gaining on him, and realized
that Jaguar was bathed in sweat. But, he re-
frained from punishing,r the horse with the spur
knowing that it was useless till they reache
firm ground. At last they did so, and after a.
few bounds. Gilmore for the first time touched
Jaguar with the spurs, and gave a cry of en-
couragement. The noble horse bounded forward .
at a pace that promised to bring him up with
the other in a very short time. The ground
turned out to be a platform of rock, that
stretched for several miles ahead, and the gam—
bler found that he was gaining so rapidly as to
be within long gun-shot.

He could see his enemy clearly now, as he
looked over his shoulder every now and then.
He was accoutered as an Indian chief, and.
armed with bow and arrows and a lance.

Every time he turned his head, Gilmore gave
a shout and spurred Jaguar, and every time he
gained a rod. At last he was close enough to
see that his enemy‘s horse was completely blown.
Jaguar was not much better, thanks to the im-
mense start the renegade had.

But the chase ended, with the rocky platform.
On the other side came a second deep bed of
sand, and here at last Austin’s horse fell down,
half stumbling, quite exhausted, throwing his
master several feet forward, and lying there,

- A

A

I.

   

 

unable to rise.

When the renegade scrambled to his feet,
half stunned, there was Little Gilmore, pulling
up Jaguar, within twenty feet of him, and cov-
ering him with a. revolver. But Tom Austin
had run far enough.

He was by no means deficient in courage, al—
though his flight before Gilmore would seem to
impr it.

Although unprovided with firearms, the rufiian
showed the one virtue of his nature, physical
courage, horn of brute strength. He snatched
at his quiver to draw an arrow. The next in-
stant :1 pi stol-bullet smashed into the quiver it-
self breaking up and rendering, useless most of
the arrows, and sending the splinters flying.

 
 
 
  

  

“.41.. d.4

L4...“

(QM-Jmmfll—ldrv'dd L—‘ karma-«mun 1.1.9.4....»

dflmfl‘adh' HI

 

 

' 5 You to insult and beat me.

and...

l- I With a curse of rage and pain, Austin (1ch

 ’, away his hand from among the splintered ar-
~ ‘ ,rows, and whipped out his long knife.

‘Ah! curse ye, ye little whel l” he howled,
“if I had ye on the ground, I’
heart out!”

He looked up in Gilmore’s face, and, ruflian
33 he was, he trembled before its concentrated
ferocity.

The countenance of the lesser man, usually
90 mild, gentle, and handsome, was transformed
Into that of a fiend. _

He spoke not a word for some minutes, during

, which he sat on his panting horse like a statue,
nota. musele moving, as he held his revolver
pointed at Austin’s heart.

At last he opened his white lips and spoke.
The stillness of the desert aroun was intense.
He hardly spoke above a whisper, and yet every
word was distinctly audible:

“ Austin," he began, “ five years ago on met
me. a. poor inoffensive music-teacher, w o loved
aboautifu woman, and thought her an angel.
You took advantage of the strength God gave

You knew I was
Weak, and yet, when you struck me I did
my best to fight you. You, coward that you
were; ran no danger in attacking an unarmed
man whom you could strangle with one hand.

out yer little

“graded me in the eyes of the woman I loved. and
took her from me. You called me a ‘little
Whelp,’ then. You dared to repeat it now.

0k at your horse 1”

He spoke the last words so quick and sharp,
that Austin involuntarily turned his head to see.
In the‘instant that his profile was presented to
view, Little Gilmore, With his peculiarly rapid
aim, sent a second bullet crashing through his
law, cutting his tongue to pieces. ’

howl of ony, inarticulate and dreadful,
burst’from the uge ruflian. He turned to rush

I at Little Gilmore. Quick as thought the‘ latter
pointed his pistol, and brought Austin to the

(mud with a shattered knee-pan. There he

V. writhing in impotent rage, terror and pain.
- The clear, pitiless voice of Little Gilmore, re-

; ,You hold me down, beat and kicked me, and de-

‘ . lentless as fate, fell on the poor wretch’s ear:

“You’ll never call another man a little whelp,
Tom Austin. The little whelp has grown a dog
tho can bite, and the big bully is nothin but a
big coward, after all his brags. Did howl

"9811 you had me down, coward and ruflian?
Did I quail when the horsewhip was cutting me
Pieces? You know how I fought till I was
senseless, coward, bully, great wretcb that you
a1’8. ‘ You great fellows are all cowards, Tom.
YQP’I‘B brave enough where your strength helps
you; but here’s equality, Tom Austin, here’s
equalitfil, curse your cowardly heart!”
And Je shook: his pistol vindictively at the
. allen man.
. .jl‘om Austin slowly rose to his feet, leaning on

hm lance, and standin on one leg. His looks
were ghastly and horri le. The blood streamed
0,76? the strong waves of his black beard, and
his face was contorted with pain. His eyes

 

   
 
  

‘2' 'Wth d
 milked

glared with rage, and yet, withal. there was a
Certain digity in his look as he faced the man

 in his power.
, speak.

  

 

 

An inarticnlate babble

A  r _ ‘ The Boy Mustang-finder. 

was all he could utter. The relentless Gilmore
laughed savagely:

“ Hal Tom Austin. Foul—mouthed bully!
you’ll never call another man a w elp. I’ve
spoilt iyour tongue forever, scoundrel. And I‘ve
broug t down your pride, too, coward, coward,
coward!”

He seemed to take peculiar pleasure in taunt—
ing the other with cowardice. The taunt stung.
Austin drew himself up proudly enough, now
that his fate was inevitable. He signed to Gil-
more that he should shoot quick, and kill him.
But the implacable ambler was determined to
torture him with a ‘endish ingenuity an Indian
might have admired“

“No, no, Tom Austin,” he said, with a cold,
pitiless laugh of malignity, “ you made me suffer
once; you must suffer now. You struck me
with your fist once. Take that for it.”

And as he spoke, he shot the other through
the right hand, shattering the fingeis.

“You kicked me," he went on; and another
bullet struck the poor wretch in the foot.

Tom Austin never stirred. He stood like a
statue.

Gilmore stop ed. He had fired five shots at
the other, who ad not flinchcd from the last.

“ Bah! Tom Austin!” he cried, suddenly,
“you’re not quite a coward after all. Here,
take a chance.

And as he spoke, he deliberately threw his re—
volver, with one charge left in it, to the feet of
the other.

“Blaze away, Tom, and fight for your life,”

he said, with a sardonic laugh, drawing a see- ‘

ond pistol, as the other stooped to pick up the
weapon.

Poor Austin rose with diificulty, pistol in
hand, as Gilmore leaped from his horse and
stepped up to him. The large man let the pistol
ban from his left hand, the uninjured one,
whii he tried to steady himself on one foot. It
lwas useless, and he sunk to the ground on one

nee.

Gilmore stood before him, calm, terrible, re-
morseless, a human tiger.

“ Why don’t you fire, Tom?” he asked, coldly:
“ I’m waiting for you.”

For all answer, the other raised his bloody
hand, and pointed to his mouth and knee. Even
Gilmore, worked up as he was to a frenz of
cruelty, felt the force of the mute appeal. or
the first time he began to feel ashamed of his
cruelty. .

Then Austin suddenly raised the pistol in his
left hand gave a horrible smile of triumph at
his thought, and blew his own brains out before
the feet of the man he had wronged, and who
now had his revenge.

The gambler stood still, gazing at the fallen
body in marble stillness. >

“ one at last," he muttered to himself, after
a while. " Gone beyond me at last. And not
quite a coward, after all." . ' .

He stood looking at the body in Silence for
some time. It was a horrible sight, and yet he
did not shudder. Hgfawd quietly on the oozing
blood. the disfigur face, and not a muscle
stirred. At last he was roused by a tug at his

arm. and the- horse Jaguar ulling at-his bridle“ .
recalled him' to himself. '

9 turned round, and

I .

 

   
  
   
    
  
   
  
   
     
   

patted the beautiful creature’s neck, as gently
as a woman might.

“Poor fellow!” h said, softly, and then re-
sumed his ordinary emeanor.

He advanced to the body, and searched
among the clothes. Apparently he was looking,r
for something". if so, he found it, for he pres-
ently drew out a small portrait, which he
opened.

He looked on the face of a dark, Spanish-
looking womm. of singular beauty. Gilmore
looked at it, long and steadily. At last his lip
curled in a strange, writhing smile of intense
pain and self-contempt. He looked down at the
corpso, brutal and repulsive, even in death, and
broke out:

“Ahal Dolores, mi querida. So on wanted
the thews and sinews of a man, din you?~—und
took him—"

And as he spoke he dashed down the picture;
stamped on it Violently; clutched the pistol from
the dead man’s hand: and turned away, leaving
the ghastly Corpse alone in the desert.

He threw himself on Jaguar. and allowed the
horse to take his own path. The animal went
straight for home, at a steady walk, Gilmore
sitting, listless and thourhtful, in his saddle.

About nightfall he halted, in sight of the trees
that incircled the valley. He lifted his head
suddenly. Then he turned his horse, and rode
back at a brisk pace into the desert.

He arrived at the scene of the murder. duel,
suicide, or whatever else it may be called, in
about an hour. He t’onnl the poor horse of the
dead man rison up, and staggering toward the
trees. The poor creature neighed with joy at
seeing Jaguar.

Gilmore dismounted and picketed the latter.
Then advanciqu to the body, he took the dead
man’s knife, and scooped a hasty grave by its
sir 9. He arranqol poor Austin’s limbs/decently,
and covered hi-n with sand. Then, mountng
Jaguar once In )ro, in rode oil? on the back track,
followed by the ln'lian horse.

Arrive'l at the belt of trees, he tethered both
of theme goal mile from the entrance of the
valley, whom grass and water were fresh, and
passed the night in perfect solitude.

CHAPTER XII.
THE END. -

AS soon as Gilmore had departed, St. Pierre
blew his hurle. It was answered by the ap—
pearance of Jean B‘lpbldta. on the little ledwe,
that appeared to be cut in the face of the rec s,
high up the side of the narrow gateway that
opened into the valley.

The negro seemel to be perfectly at home in
his airy position. He speedily produced a long
beam, which he ran out across the top of the
gateway, till it rested on the ledge oppositevto
him. A tackle and blocks were next brought
from some place of concealment. round the cor~
nor of the rock, and fastened to the beam.

Then Baptiste boldly lowered himself. by
means of the tackle. down to the dam. The
water was running off it, andspouting from all
the interstices in streams. The negro rapidly
and dextrously affixed a pair of mapping-irons
to one end of the top log. He swung himself rto
the cliff on one‘side, where a series of steps bad

The Boy Mustang-Hunter;

 

been cut for his reception. Straining on the-j 

ro  one end of the upper log rose in the air, - '
til it was nearly perpendicular. Then the grap‘ V
pling-hooks slipped, and. the log fell over the _
dam, into the valley below, assisted by the es-‘
caping flood. ,

The tackle was again lowered, and log after
log lifted up, and canted over the fall in the
same Way. Inside of half an hour the dam was I,
gone, and the drawbridge lowered above the ‘
little stream that fell into the val ey. Then the
party descended the path, crossed the draw-"
bridge, and found that the sloping platform
which led into the valley across the face of the
little waterfall, was still standing. As each log
was removed, the stream had descended so grad-
nail y that no damage had been done.

It was an easy matter to secure the horses of
the slain Indians. Huddled up on the narrow
path, they were one after the other taken into
the valley, and heppled to prevent their escape.

Pete ilkins was wonder—struck at every-
thing; the beauty of the scenery. the commo-
dious house, the elegant stables, everythin
astonished him; but above all, the wonderf
riches of the bed of the stream.

Saint Pierre perceived that it would be im—
DORillllG to ooncml these riches from hitnlong;
nnd since Frank could vouch for the honesty of
the old limiter, he was told everything. He
readily promised secrecy when required. ,

“ I’d be a durned feel if I wur to tell any one,”
he remarked. “ Ef what you so ’sfirue, there
are enough gold to keep me in all want fur the
rest of my days. But, what’s plenty fur one
ain’t enough for ten thousand; and cf the fellers
in Houston was toketch windo’ this here placer,
thnr wouldn‘t be a nulrgct left in a year from
now. No, no, Frunkfi‘ll whack up with yer,
but I’ll kezp mum.” .

So‘the matter was settled. It was determined, '
however, to leave the valley as soon as possible,
for four of the escaped Indian or Tom Austin— V
whichever it was—bringing; back a heavier force
on them than they could manage.

The ammunition of the party was reduced to
about fifty rounds, all told, and they could not ‘_
have sustained a. sci-ions attack. So they set
about their preparations at once.

The eighteen pack-saddles. so rough in cover,
so precious in frame, were ready for use. Loads
of wool and dried beef, hg'ht in reality, but
huge in outside show, were made up for them. ‘
The horses of the Indian warriors were found to
be already saddled with bear and buffalo hides.
In these hides ingots of gold were Concealed till
each beast bore a load of about a hundred
pounds. _

Provisions and grain sufliuent to enable them
to reach the settlements were made ready, and.
by nightfall the stables were full of horses, and
everything was prepared. . ,

And then at last, when every one was hungry
and tired, they sat down to supper; and sold
Pete related his adventures since he arted from ’ I
Frank: or rather, since the latter eft him, so "
surlrlenlv. in pursuit of the Black Mustang. ’

Our little party passed their last night in the V
valley in peace and quietness. ' V . ,

At an earlyhonr next day, every one was

estir. The horses were loaded withtheirprecidlia

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

2‘9

 

. might, and fastened‘to each other in a. long
, str‘ .
Tulig beautiful mustangs of the valley were left
- Junloaded, to serve as riding horses. The captured
» ponies, of the Indians bore the packs. ‘

Eululie made her appearanco,utt1rcd us an
ordinary hunter, and the fun of the thing was

that old Pete never suspected her sex. Hl‘ took
her for a handsome boy only. l he was (i1‘i)<sl‘(l
as a man, and rode like one, managing the Black
I Mustan himself With all the foarlcssness and
"grace o a erfect horseman.

,Old Marie was apparently the only female of
thfi party, and she displa ed great trepidation
w en put on a. horse for t 10 first time in fifteen
years. But Jean Baptiste rode like a vaquero,
and took good care of his mother.

Old Pete stuck to his little gray mare, although
offered the pick of St. I’icrre’s stud.

The Frenchman brought out his old rifle and
revolver, which had lain useless for so long.
They were in excellent preservation, and of good
old serviceable attcrns.

He obtained oads for his revolvvr, but there
was no ammunition for the rifle. till Frank
Weston broke up some cartridges to furnish

wder, while St. Picrre himself cast a dozen
v ullets of pure old before leaving.

If they had ad occasion to fire, they would
have astonished some one.

’ But, luckily, there was no occasion. They
passed rapidly across the high table—land to the
east, marching all daylong. , At evening they
had arrived at the clist from whence Frank had
chased the Black Mustang. and went into camp
at the same motto.

'The next morning the horses were watered,
and fed with grain, of which they carried about
five days’ allowance. Then the loads were ad-
'ustcd, and the long string of horses started.

here were nearly a hundred animals, all told,
some loaded with grain, others with wool; but all
having more or less gold concealed in t- eir loads.

The horses ridden were only the very finest,

and each person had two spare animals, unload-

ed. to “ change off” on.

It was an anxious business at night to guard
this herd, but by means of hopples it was effect-
ed, and they suffered no losses.

On the evening of the third day they had
passed the last great cliff—step, thatdiwded them
from the 10wlands. They had lost no animals on
themed, although they went into Camp on a
little tributary of the Colorado, with thankful
hearts.

_ While they were all sitting round the fire,
talking over the adventures of the day, a horse-
man rode up to the camp, on a horse spotted
over like a leopard. The animal neigliod loudly
as he approached, and the Frenchman recog—
nized J aguar. '

It was Little Gilmore, qmet and cool, as usual.
» His horse was jaded, as from hard riding and

’ short feed, which was exactly what ailed him.

Gilmore dismounted and advanced to Saint

ierre. ‘ '

P “ Monsieur,” he said, courteously, “ I return
‘you many thanks for the use of your horse. I
regret that he is tired, as You see. but you had

‘a aany star]; of me, and 1 hadto ride fast on
’ arm” . ‘ . '

 

of the bin

The old man bowed. He did not conceal his
(*Oldm'ss. Little Gilmore looked at him a mo-
ment, as if about to speak, but be altered his
mind and turned away.

The Frenchnnm was one of those cliivali'ous,
tcmlcr~hcartcd mun, olf whom, thank God, there
are some few loft, whose souls revolt at cruelty
and 1‘0\’£'llf_’;(‘. And he did not know (lilmorc’s
history. He had been shocked and disgusted at
the latter’s burbnrity, whom he himself had
wished to spnro the Indians.

Gilmore turncd to old l’ctc.

“Have you got anything to cut, Peter?” he
asked. “ I have not tasted food since yester-
day morning.”

etc Wilkins jumped up in a moment.

“ Set right down 7’ he exclaimed; “ yer must
be niin starved. llcre‘s some beef. Hev a cup
of coffee. Now don’t ye speak a word till ye’ve
eaten ycr fill.”

And Little Gilmore did as he was bid, and ate
and drank. Frank Weston, in the mean time.
acquaintcd Suian Pierre and Eulalio with the
history of the (lesperudo, which somewhat
cliangtxl thoir opinion of him. But Saint Pierre
could not become cordial, try as he would.
During the rest of the journey he avoided Gil-
more; and the hitter, strange’to say, did not re-
seut the coldness, us he would have done a little
while before.

Little Gilmore was a. changed man, silent and
reserved, and keeping to himself. \leen old
Pete questioned him as to his success in the,
chase of the renegade, he ansch cd:

“Wilkins, It found him at lust.
But way do not question Inc. The subject is a.
painlul one. I thought that revenge Would be
sweet. And so it was ~ for five minutes.”

And he relapsed into a. gloomy silcucc, for
some time. Pete watched him furtively. Pre-
scntl he turned to the hunter.

“V’ilkins,” he resumed, “I promist you all
of my gold and jewelry, if you brought me face
to face with that man. Take them all.” ‘

“ I won’t touch a durned rad,” said Pete, stout-
ly. “I didn’t help yer, and I wouldd’t take
gold fur blood, anyhow. Keep it, led. I’ve got
more than l’ll ever need.”

“I know it,” returned Gilmore, gloomily.
“ Time was when the riches of that valley might
have made me happy; but now— Wilkins, take
the warnlng of u hardly-used man, who gave
back blood for blood. Sir, it's the bitteicst
thing when it’s over, that some revenge.”

And the desperudo checked his horse, and fcll
to the rear of the train, wbcrc he rode gloomin
on by himself ['or the restof the journey. ,

By this time they had passed the frontier Fol}
tlements, and were approaol'nngi,r Austin. Gil-
more bade them adieu at the latter place, and
they never heard of him again, except that he
was still in Texas, pursuing his old trade 
gambler and desperado.

It may not surprise our readers to hear that
Frank Veston, although the caballada ynsxed
Within two miles of old Morean’s ranch, did not
visit the bountiful Gabrielle.

He had caught the Black Mustang, l’ ut lm did
not claim his bride. according to her promise.

He pref rred to let Eulalie continue mistress
k. As they passed the walls of the

,_ ,5,

He is dead.

t n v

 

so,

The Boy Mu stung-Hunter.

 

, r
hacienda, 01d Pete rode up to Weston, and made

one or two remarks about it: but Frank’s face
became a mask of marble, and the old hunter
was completely baffled in his curiosit .

How glad Weston was that Eul ie did not
understand English. The quantity of flbs he
told in French, that day, was surprising. But
they passed the hacienda in safety, and stopped
in Hamilton.

Their e uipment and their drove of horses ex-
cited Inuc 1 comment, on the road through Tex-
as. Often they were on the brink of discovery,
which they dreaded, among the host of desperate
characters which infest some parts of that State.

,But, by representing themselves to be horse-
dealers, with a drove of horses that they had re—
‘ solved to take through to New York, by sea, by
wriéy of Galveston, they avortnd suspicion.
ut at last they arrive'l safely at Galveston,
after a rapid march. Frank Weston had left
them, the «lay before, and had ridden ra idly
thither to engage a vessel. He found a urge
brig that had just come in. in ballast from Bos-
ton, waiting for a cargo of cotton.

The price which he offered for a charter-party
soon settled the question of freight in his favor,
and before the rest of the party arrived, the car-
penters were hard at work, knockin up tem-
porary stalls to acconnnodate [he orses for
the voyage.

Frank ordered hay and grain, ad libitum, to
be sent to the brig, and th n started to find his
friends. i

They were in cam ) on the mainland, and were
safely ferried over,‘ orses, packs and all, to the
island of Galveston. The most nervous part of
the business was getting the gold and jewels into
a safe place. But even here, Frank got them out
of the difficulty. In the presence of civilization
he was full of expedienfs, where Pete Wilkins,
the saga of the plains, was helpless.

He treated al the crew of the ship to a day
ashore, and told them to “ get good and drunk
before they came back.”

Sailor-like, they were only too glad to do it.

, The captain and mates were given their holiday
likewise, and thought that they had never known
such liberal owners.

The money was supplied by selling two or
three ingots at an exchanger’s. The broker
cheated them of one-third the value; but they
did not wish to attract attention, so they sub—
mitted to tho shave. Gold being worth about
two hundred and forty dollars to the pound, a
very few pounds paid all their expenses.

Whilet e crew was absent, the pack-saddles
were unrippcd, and the gold concealed in the
state—rooms of the passengers. When the sailors
came back, three days after, all tired of their
spree, they were forgiven so quickly, that they
were only too glad to work for such liberal own—

ers.

When the brig Venus sailed out of Galveston
Bay, at least ten thousand pounds of solid gold,
in ingots, was concealed under the berths in four
state—rooms. These were occupied respectively
by Saint Pierre, his daughter still dressed in
male attire) Frank Weston and etc Wilkins.

' Frank was the only one of the party except
the Frenchman who had been to sea before, and
the only one not sea- sick.

 

But the very circumstance of sea-sickness kept
them in their berths, as a guard over their treas-
ures, till they were nearing New Orleans.

Then they felt more at ease, and Pete Wilkins,
who had suffered most of all from sea-sickness,
observed:

“ VVal, durn my karkidge, ef I wouldn’t ’o’
taken a three—cent stamp fur all the gold under
my hunk, of they’d on’y put me ashore a week
ago. But now I’m free 0 the sea, and durn my
karkidge of them sailors git my spondoolicks,”

It had been settled that the old hunter should
come with them to New Orleans, and try how he '
liked the life of civilization. He hnd found outat
last the sex of Eulalie, and the relation she bore
to Frank; and his wonder at seeing the latter
pass by Morenu’s Ranch was dispelled.

“ Yo done a durncd sensible thing, l'oy, when
ycr cut loose from that ur’ flyaway, Gabrielle,”
said the old hunter. when Frank told ,him the
story; “and I’m durncd ef she ain’t a beauty,
even in fellor’s duds. Gee—Wisherly! Won’t
she look a ripper when she git’s her fixin’s on, as

a. gel?

ete had the pleasure of seeing her in them,
before long. T ey arrived safely in Now Or—
leans, where they landed their gold, and lodged
it safely in bank.

There was a great sensation, when the news
s read over the Crescent City of the arrival of
t e'Texans, wil h such treasures. As usual they
were enormously exaggerated. But enough had
been brought to realize two millions and a half
in min. and another million in emeralds.

The lovely Eulalie Was married to Frank al- ,
most immediately after their arrival, and with-
out uny arodo. They had no desire to leave
their kin old father. - V

The Indian horses were sold at auction for '
low prices, but the t horses of the valley, the

*General, and the co ebrated block were housed

in splendid stables, at the rear of Saint Pierre’s
new house. , ‘

They attracted the attention of hundreds of
visitors, on account of their singular beauty of
form and color, and the distinguished grace
which they exhibited when ridden by the hand-
some group that daily made its appearance on
the levee. .»

The stately old Frenchman, with his long
beard flowing over his breast, his spare, elegant
figure in a tight black frock, looked every inch
the retired soldier.

His brilliant (laughter, the “incomparable
madame” of society, was well known, as the
most beautiful lady, and the best rider in New
Orleans, as she rode between her father and her.
dashing and (lundified young husband. ,

Frequently there'was a fourth member of the
party, a tall, powerful old man, with a mass of
grizzled hair and board, that looked like the .
mane of a lion. He was seldom seen. in the
house, but appeared to be an intimate friend of
the family; and as years go on and children
come, old Pete Wilkins, become a staid and re-
spectable member of societ now, takes Frank’s
little boy on his knee, an tells him over and
over again how his father went a—hunting. and ‘
found a. beautiful wife and a pfiucely‘fortune,
at the end or the chase of the BLACK Ensure. ‘

THE END. I ’  

I .

 

” ~ 890 White Wigg; the Ferret Flyer.
vi d , on er-Tamer' or The American
 moi-mem. l

Emma’s pocmrr LIBRARY.-

I! Denver Doll’s Device; or, The Detective Queen,
I B Edward L. Wheeler.
258 The Bo Tenderfoot: or, Roaring Ben Bundy 0t
Colo 0. By Capt. Mark Wilton.
$4 Black Hills Ben; or, Dutch Jan on the War-
Path. By Maj. Lewis W. Carson.
255 Jolly Ji Detective; or, The Young Protege’s
Viowry.mBy Charles Morris.
256 Merle Monte's Last Cruise; or. The Sea Robber
at Ba . B Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
257 The oy diner or Rocky Pass; or, The Young
California Pards. By ’Maj. E. L. St. Vrain.
258 Denver Doll as Detective. By E. L. Wheeler.
259 Little Foxeye, the Colorado Spy. By 011 Coomes.
260 Skit; the Cabin Boy. By Edward Willett.
26] Blade, the S ort- or. the Giant of Clear Grit
Camp. 13 . C. arbaugh.
262 Billy, the oy Rover. By Col. P. In raham.
283 Buster Bob‘s Buoy' or. Lige, the ht-House
Keeper. Bv Ca t. . F. 0. Adams.
264 Denver Doll‘s ar’ner; or, Big Buckskin the
Sport. By E. L. Wheeler. ’
565 Billy, the Baggage Boy: or, The Young Railroad
Detective. By Charles Morris.
3368 Guy‘s Boy Chum- or, The Forest Waif’s Mask.
By Ca t. Comstoc .
267 Giant eo:ge‘s Revenge; or. The Boys or “ Slip-
Ifilhiine.” By Buckskin Sam.
268 ' e Deadshot Dandy; or. The Rio Grande
Marauders. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.
' I m The guartzville Boss; or1 Daring David Darke
By E ward Willett.
270 Denver Doll’s Mine; or, Little Bill’s Big Loss.
By) E. L. Wheeler.
271 E ony Jim's Terror; or. Ranger Rainbows Ruse.
Ey Oll Coomes.
272 i t. the Girl Detective. By T. C. Harbaugb.
273 The Girl Rider; or, Nimble Ned's Surprise. By
Jos. E. Bud er. Jr.
274 Dead Shot undy‘s Double: or, Benito. the Boy
Purd. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.
275 Fred, the Ocean Wait; or, The Old Sailor‘s
Protege. By Charles Morris.
276 Deadwood Dick Trapped. By Ed L. Wheeler.
27? The I 1% Boy Avenger; or, Captain Wild-Cat's
Big Game. By Albert W. Aiken.
.278 Arizona Alf, the Minor; or, Little Snap Shot's
Luck. By T. C. Harbaugb.
. 2V9 Colorado Jack. the Tiger; or, The Ghost of the
, Trailer. By Frederick Dewey.
280 Dead Shot Dandy’s Last Deal, or. Keno Kit‘s
New Role. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
281 Ned. the Boy Pilot; or, The Pirate Lieutemant’s
Doom. By Jack Farragut.
28.? Buck Hawk, Detective' or. the Messenger B)y's
Fortune. By Edward . Wheeler.
283 Roving Sport KB; or, The Ghost of Cbuckaluck
’ Cam ). By Edward Willett. .
284 The showman’s Best Card; or, The Mad Animal
' Tamer. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
285 Olil Rocky‘s Pard; or, Little Ben’s Chase. By
. Buckskin Sam. .
2‘36 Dick, the Dakota Sport. By Charles Morris.
287 Ned, the Bo Ski per; or. The Sea Sorceress’
Cruise. y lick urragut.
298 Deadwood Dick‘s Disguise; or. Wild Walt. the
‘ Sport. By Edward L. Wheeler.
289 Cal Irado Nick. the Lnssoist; or. Old Si‘s Protege.
By Major H. B. Stoddard.
990 Rube. the Tondrrfont: cr, the Boys of Torpedo
Gulch. By Major E. L. St. Vrain.
291 Peacock Pete. Ibe Lemlville Sport; or, Hawk, the
I _ BuSS Miner. By Albert W. Aiken.
292.106 Morey, m» Night-Hawk; or, the Black Rider,
‘ By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. .
893 Dwarf Jake. thr‘ Detective; or, Kit Kenyon's
ManJlunt. By Edward Willem. I
294 Dumb Dick‘s Ford; or. Eliza Jane, the Gold
Miner. B Ed. L Wheeler.
By Chas. Morris.

 

297 Arizona Giant George; or The Boyees of Sardino
Box City. B Buckskin éam.

m8 Daisy Doll's ash; or, The Ten Colorado Paras.
B T. C. Barbangh.

. 299 T 1e Balloon Detectives; or, Jack Slasher’s Young

Pard. By Harr Button.

800 Deadwood Dick 3 Mission. B E. L. Wheeler.

301 gaudy Duke. the Cowboy. y Major E. L. St.

min.

302 Big Benson‘s Bet. B T. C. Harbaugh.

303 The Hotel Boy Detec ive; or. The Grand Central
Robbery. By Charles Morris. I

804 Bald Head's Ford; or, Creeping Cat‘s Cunning.
By Buckskin Sam.

805 Dusky Dick‘s Duel; or, The Demon’s Trail. By
Harry Hazard.

806 Spotter sz; or, The Siore-Detective’s Decoy.
By E. L. Wheeler.

30'? Nick the B0 Sport; or, Three Piucky Pards.
By Major E. . St. Yrs 11. _

308 Double-Fiszed Mat; or, The Mystic California
Giant. By JOE. E. Badger, Jr.

309 O.d Graybeard’s Boy: or. The Girl‘s Ruse. By
C. Dunnm Clark.

310 Kit, tho ‘irl Ca. tain: or, The Mad Sailor’!
Legacy. By Col. rentiss Infiraham.

311 Frio Free in Texas. By Buc skin Sam.

312 The Detective Road-Agent; or The Miners 0!
Sassafras City. By Edward L. Wheeler.

31;; Hone-st J ack’s Protege; or. The Dwarfs Scheme.
By Philip S. Waruc.

614. Clip the Boy Sheriff; or. The Two Crooks of
Montana. By Edward Willett.

015 Tom the Arizona Sport' or. Howling Bank from
Hard Luck. By Major . L. St. Vrain.

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

31'? Buckskin Ben of Texas; or. Single Eye‘s Plucky
Pards. By Buckskin Sam. -

316 Colorado Chur‘ie‘s Detective Dash; or, The
Cattle Kings. By Edward L. Wheeler. '

319 Frisky Fi'an'r in‘ Idaho: or, Old Skinflint the
Shadowor. By Roger Starbuck.

320 Cool Sam‘s Girl Part1; or, Captain Dick and His
'l‘txans. By T. C. Harbaugh.

321 Billy, the Kid from Frisco; or, Silver Mask's
Clew. By«J. C. Cowdrick.

322 Fred 'Flyor, Detective; or, Abe Blimrd on Deck.
By Chnrles Morris.

323 Dead Shot, Ike in Montana' or. Hez Helper. the
Yankee Pard. By Roger Starbuck.

321 Kit, the Denver Sport; or, The Bonanza Miner
King. By Edward L. Wheeler. '

325 Dusky Darrell the Camp Detective; or, The
Damiy’s Daring;r Dash. By Edwin Emerson.

326 Roy. the Boy Cruiser; or, The Water Wolf
VVrPckPrS. By Colonel Prentiss Ingrabam.

327 Ned, the Roving Miner: or. Arkansaw Jack's
Match. By Harry Hazard.

328 Rocky Ben‘s Band; or. Big Pete's Big Haul. By
w. J. Hamilton.

329 save. the Colorado Wrestler. By Maj. E. L. St.

ram.

830 The Denver Sport’s Racket; or, Kit's Big Boom.
By Edward L. Wheeler. --

331 T e Coast Detective; or, The Smuggler Shadow-
er. By Rognr Starbuck.

332 Dakota Dan in Canyon City; or. Colorado Kate’s
Check. By Phil3p S. Warns. ‘

338 Bootblack Ben. the Detective' or, Pooler Jim
and His Pard. By Anthon 1?. Morris.

334 Frisco Tom on Deck; or. T 1e Golden Gate Smug-

_ firs. By George Henry Morse.

3335 n Bandy, the Boss Ford; or, The Plucky
Parson. B J. Stanley Henderson.

336 Fred. the rt, in Brimstone Bar Cam : or.
The Baston restler’s Confederate. By L,
Wheeler.

83? Daisy Dave the Colorado Gainot; or. The Boss
of Dead Line Cit; . By T. C. Harbaugh. '

3‘68 The Gold Bar De the; or, iron Ike. the Solid
Man. Ba Mot E L at Vain. »

 

BEADLE’S POCKET LIBRARY.

mm Rat-do. the Boy Gypsy. By Wm. G. Patten.
MO Billy Bubble‘s Bi Score; By Charles Morl'ln.
311 Colorado Steve‘s lash. By ’hiiip 5. Warns.
342 Snap-Shot t’lriiii. By Biicksin Sam.
3t?! Mike. the Bowery l)Cti:CilV¢. By E. L. Wheeler.
314 The Drummer Sport.
315 anues, the llzirdpnn lletcctzlwi or.
Frisco the [had Ari-m. By J. C. Cowdr .
346 Joe. the Chicago Ariib. By Charles Morris.
731'? Middy Herbert’s Prize. By Col. 1’. lnqraham.
3:3 Slurp-Shown Frank. By Buckskin Sam.
31f) Buck. the Jiincr. By Maj. E. L. St.Vmin.
350 Ned, the Slab City Sport. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
351 Rocky Mountain Joc. By Col. T. H. Monstery.
35;). New York 'l‘im. By Charles Morris.
3353 The (liri Pilot. By Roger Btui‘bllck.
354 Joe. tho Boy Stage-Driver. By Iliiij. St. Vmiii.
35.1 Texas Frank’s Cmny. By Bucks in Sam.
35% Idaho Ned, Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler.
3:37 Guy. the Boy )iini-r. By Col. 1’. ingrnham.
35's Jermy Joe, the Old Tar. By Mrs. Orin James.
855) Dandy Dick‘s Dish. By Oll Coomus.
i560 .‘liin‘s Biz Bonanza. Ly W. J. Hamilton.
361 Oregon Phil, tun Sport By Philip 8. Warm).
8132 Kit, tnc Boorllizick Deti‘ctivc. By E. L. Wheeler.
34%.? 'l‘ in Ocean Racer, By T. C. Hariiziiizh.
36x, li'i‘itz's Olil Sciire. By Ned lliintliiie
365 Crick Shot Hurry. By Col. Prentiss Ingraliam.
365 (Evil Dust Rock. the Whirlwind of the Mines.
By G. Waldo Browne.
387 F‘rezlis Bold Game. By Paul Blhhs.
i363 Ji n. the Sport in Wake-up By Ed. L. Wheeler.
359 C.ipt:i.in Blake‘s Jonah. By Roger Starbuck.
370 I) -nvcr Kit's D lilbl". ily Major H. ll. Stoddard.
371 Blue Blazes ind 3y T. C. l-[iirhciigin
37% Pin S ’1‘. Cat‘s Pi ll i, By Cnl. Prentiss Ingrnjmm.
873 Larry O’Lyiin‘s D' 5‘ By Joseph F‘. Henderson.
371Ji.n, the. Sport‘s 1.1x l‘moin; or. The. Bonanza
King's Rival, By Edwnrd L. Wheeler.
375 Bower Bob. Detcc'ive. Ber) Pierce.
376 Bucln in Dick’s Clean Swee : or, Jonathan
Jcnkq’ Still Hunt. By 001. Art iiir F. Holt. -
377 The Deadwood Sports. By Linuf. S. G. Lansing.
37*) Bronco Billy. tho Saddle Prince. By Colonel
Prentiss lngrnhnm.
879 Dick. tha Stowaway. By Charles Morris.
Bill Young Dick Talbot. By Albert W. Aiken.
3&1 linolv Bill‘s Doom: or. Di-crhiinter, the Boy
Scout. By OllCooms. .
892 Wide-Awake l eorgo By Edward “fillet”
3% Wild Bill. the Pistol Prince. By (fol. lngrnham.
35M Brimstono Bill’s Booty. By J , E. Bridger. Jr.
385 The Boy Tram  By J. M. Hoffman. .
335 The Mmtann id; or. Little Dun Rock‘s Mis-
sian. By Morris Redwing. ‘
3‘37 The B W Detectives. By T.  Hnrhnimh. .
38% Tim Pony Express Rider; or, Buffalo Bill’s
Fro iticr Feats. By Cal. Prentisz: lngrzihnni.
Bill) New York Bill. the Dodger By Edward Willett.
,390 The 'l‘irkcbof—Leuvc‘s Trick; or. Spring Hts-cl,
Kim: of the Bush. By J Sf‘pll E. Badger. Jr.
391 Charley Skylark, the SpOl’x. By Mii.;);r Henry
. B. Stoddard. '
3931“Xl§ Jack. the Mustang King. By Colonel
Premise; liigrahum. '
89’} l’-t-.-i-, the handy Gl’eulihol‘ll.‘ By Noah'Nuff.
391 'i‘o‘n Temple’s Big Strike. By Barry Ringgold.
335 Harry, the Country Boy, 111 New York. By
Charles Morris.
3915 Detective Paul‘s Right Bower. By C. D. Clark:
397 'l‘io Tree. (-11. the Flatboat Boy. By‘Ed. William.
398 Captain non in Rocky Roost. By 00.. in raham.
390 Harry Somers. tho, Magician. _ By S. . Pierce.
' 400 Black Horse Bill. the Bandit VVl‘l‘Ckel‘. By
Roger Starbuckx _
401 Tim the Mole Boy of the Mines. By Chris. Morris:
402,.F'iat oat Fred on the“ Mississippi. lyE. Wiileit.
403» Jake the Colorado Circus Boy.
Bin ndsw ' -‘
A " -, ‘

By Edward Willetr;
‘ ‘iiptnln

 

By Bryant

my _. .. J».-

x
.04 Texas Charlie‘s Wild Ride. lileol. P. Iligraham. '
.05 Wide-Awake Ned. By Barry Ringgold. "
4013 Giant Pen: and His Paras. By T. C. Hill‘ballg‘ll.
407 Old Rul‘f‘s Frolcgc. By Captain Bruin Adams.
408 Stowaway Dick Abroad. By Charles Morris.
409 Doctor Carver. the Champion Sho . B5 Col. P.
lligriiliulii. , ,
410 capiain Fl -B‘y—Night. By dos. E Barlrzeqdr.
411 N‘cw York aek‘s Mattie. By Barry hiiiggold.
412 brim Spence. the Brwadhorn Buy. By E. WiLett.
413 Revolver Billy in Texas. b'y Col. P. in roliiini.
41g Dusher Dick‘s Dead Lock. By J. M. otfman.
41:3 Pony, the Cowboy Chief. By ii. 13. Stoddard.
4m Polisher Dick's Death Leafi. By A. F. Holt
417 Fighting Fred of Frisco, y T. C. Harbau h.
418 Buckskin Sam’s Wild Ride. B. 001. P Ingrzfiiam.
sill) Frisco Guy‘s Big Bonanza; y Roger Starbuck.
420 Pat Mulroony‘s Pard. B Emerson Badman.
4% Tim. the Buy Acrobat. y Charles Mon-is.
422 Red Spur Ralph. the Texan. By C D. Clark.‘
423 Dashing Bub. the Pony Express Rider. By Col.
Prentiss Ingmhmn.
4'24 Tom Stone, the 01d Sen Dog. B C. D. Clark.
4‘25 llurky Jnmble‘s Wild Ride. By gun-y Ringizold.
426 Wolf-Ca ; or. The Night—Hawks of the Fire-
Lands. y Capt. Chas. Howard. r
tessie. the Border Girl. By Henry J. Thomas.
Nebi aska (Thai-lie. By Gi‘l. P. Ingraham.
429 Bill Bl‘elCl"S Bonanza. By Edward Willett.
430 Long Shot; or, The Dwarf Guide. By Captain
Comstock.
431 Lillie, the Reckless Rider. By Maj. Stoddard.
43: Cool Clark's Rash Race. By Charles Morris. ,
433 Old Grizzly in tlie‘Rockies. By COLP. lngraham.
Joe. the Rover Sport. By A. H. Post.
An ll’lSh Sport Abroad. By C. L. Edwards.
Oregon Josh, the Wizard Riile. By R. Slurbuck.
. " Detrciive Jake‘s Clcw. By H. B. Stoddard
' Fancy Frank‘s Drop. By Col. P. lngmlimn.
Silverspur; or, The Mountain Heroine. By Ed.

VVillett.
By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.

’l‘heJMath Shot.
Wictnh, th'c Child Spy.- By George Gleason.
By Roger Stm‘biick.

lill‘k, the Sea. Dandy.
. The Masked Avenger. By C d. P. Trim-chain.
(:rmi Clark‘s Dead-Set. By Charles M rris.
Old Pegs, the Mountaineer. léy L. W. Carson.
Black Panther, the Bait-Blood. By Joseph E.
imdger, Jr.
447 The lntelope Boy. By Gem 0 L. Aiken.
44. Wild Raven, the Scout. By 11 Coorms.
419 The B .y Pilot... By Colonel P. in rnham.
450 lflllllfllgy-‘(l Dick. 13 J. titanic endersnn,
451 SUV. r ifle. the Girl ruckcr. thns. Howard.
452 The Giant‘Hiinfer. By Harry Hazard.
4 3 The l-Ialf-Brecd Rival. By Joe. E. Badger. Jr.
454 The Dnrky Detective. By MIS. Orin James.
455 Clark's Binr Bonnnzn. By'Cliarlcs Morris.
456 Nick Doyle. the Grid Humor. By P. H. Myers.
457 Frank Bell. the Boy Spy. by 01] C omen.
45‘} The Champion Texan Rider. By H. St. George.
459 husky DKH’S Doom. By Jon. E. Baum r. Jr. ‘
460 Figh ing Fr‘nk in Texas. By E'lwurd \Villett.
4'“ The Buckskin Rider. By Guy Greenwood.
462 Darky Scip‘sDilemma. By Paul J. Prescott.
463 Gold-Dust Pete. By Edward w. Arclwr.
464 Frank Bell, the Boy Chief. B Oil.Coomes.
465 The Texan Sport. By Capt. red. Whittaker.
Ready December 7th. '
466 The Twin Buck kins. By W. J. Hamilton.
Ready December 14th.
A New Issac Furry Wednexn’ay.

BmAnLn‘s Pocxn'r LmBARY is for sale by all Nyeme
dealers five cents per copy, or senthy mail on re‘ \ "
ceipt of six cents each. . \ . .

427
428

Bum: AND ADAMS, Publishers. . ._ .V
98 William Street, New York. ~ ‘