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Copyrighted, 1887, by BIADLI AND ADAMS. Entered m. the Past Office at Naw York, N. Y.. mi Second Class Mail Matlar.

 

 

0 no-vlnoo-I-uoon-acnu

52:, y \

Feb‘ 1‘6, 1887.

 

$2.50
a Year.

Vol. XII.

Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams,
No. 98 WxLuw Sn. NEW YORK.

Pr Ice.
Ive Cents.

No. 150.

 

 

 

 

FRANK WESTON STARED WITH AMAZEMENT. THE NEW-COMER WAS A WOMAN.

 

   

   
  

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

' The Buy Mustang-Hunter;

Eulalie, the Beautiful Amazon.

A TALE OF THE TEXAN PLAINS.

BY FREDERICK WHITTAKER,

AUTHOR or “woons AND WATERS,” “THE
swonn PRINCE,” “ RIFLE AND REVOLVER,"
“TEE DASHING nuaoon,” “BOONE,
Tun HUNTER,” are, ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER I.
PETE WILKINS.

A YOUNG man lay at the foot of a tree, look-
ing moodin out over the hot, sunlit prairie,
which lay quivering before him in the intense
beams of the noonday sun, till every little star—

(flower seemed to wink sleepily, as it bowed its
head in the sultry glare. The prairie itself was
' - rvivid 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 now invite

the reader.

The tree under which the oung man lay was
one of a clump of live oa s, denominated a
motto; and draped, like all of its companions,
with long, drooping tresses of “Spanish moss,”
that hung nearly to the mud; and concealed
any one in the tree comp etely 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 n expanse. Except that, on the
horizon to t 6, east, you could see the faint out-
line of another grove of trees, and it was on
this distant ob,’ect that the eyes of the youth
were fixed. 6 seemed to be sad and dcspond-

' cut. as he lay there, his chin resting on his hands,
gazing at the far-off grove.

He was dressed as a dandifled sportsman. He
wore a very broad-brimmed hat of gray felt,

/ such as is only met with in the Southwest. His

short coat was of black velveteen, and he wore

high boots of varnished leather coming to mid

thigh with white buckskin breeches. He seem-

ed 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 do-

serted, and at the bow of the rich Mexican sad-

dle, heavily mounted with silver, you might

have seen a pair of handsome holsters, which
contained pistols of the same make as the rifle.

The young man’s face was melancholy and

- x handsome, with large dark e as» It was orna-

g merited with a downy-blue  mustache and

framed in dark hair.

“How shall I do it?” he murmured to himself.
“’1! I were onl a rich man, she would have me;
but. how am i to get rich in a hurry, and how
shall I'catch' the black mustang?"

His soliloquy was interrupted by the tramp
of horses’ feet, and presently there hove in sight
on Odd but picturesque figure, common enough

' v

         
      
  
  
  
   
      
  
  
  
    
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
  
    
  
  
   
 
   
  
   
    
  
   
     
       
       
     
     
    
  
   

 

\

 

 

on the prairie. It was that of a regular old-
fashioned hunter of the type of Daniel Boone
and his brethren.

The coonskin cap on his head, with the tail
falling down the wearer’s back; the hunting-
shirt and leggings fringed with strips of deer—
skin; the quill-embroidered moccasins, are
they not familiar to the border? The only par—
ticular in which this modern hunter differed
from the hunter of an earlier day was in his re-
peating carbine, and the black bolstered revol
ver at his belt.

He rode a fat little dapple-gray mustan mare.

The stranger came straight toward t 6 tree
where the young man lay. A spring, within a
few feet of the young wayfurer, had been spied
by the shar —eyed hunter.

He rode s owa up, his keen black eyes glanc-
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
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 frontiersmen of Texas, indeed, knew him
well; as did also Frank Weston, who arose as
his visitor approached, and stepped forward to
meet him.

“ Why, Pete Wilkins!” he exclaimed. “ Have
you dropped from 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
closely. The young fellow bore the examina-
tion with a smile, and the hunter seemed to be
trying to recollect him.

‘Wal, younker,” he said, at last, “ I seen ye
sumwhar, I’ll swow; but whar in creation ’twar,
durn my karkidge if I kin tell. How-de—du,
an way?”

nd he transferred his dexter paw to the hand
of the other, which he shook heartily, with a
gripe that made the other wince.

‘ And who are yer, anywa ?” he continued,
still surveying the youth. “I ain’t seen yer for
a many year, that I’m sart’in on. And time
changes you young tellers e’ena'most as much as
he does me.”

And the old hunter gave a. half-humorous,'half-
melancholy smile, as he survoyed his own griz-
zled beard, which flowed over is breast.

The young man laughed at the other’s perplex-

1t .

X‘ You ought to know me, Pete,” he said. “ It
was you who first taught me how to draw a head
on a deer or turkey; and all I know of wood-
craft, I owe to you.”

“You must ’a’ be’n a mighty small younker
then,” returned old Pete, still regarding him,
doubtfully. Then a. flash of remembrance seemed
to come over him, and he cried: I _

“ Now I know yer. It ar’ Frank Weston, as
used for play hockey from school down to West-
onville, ter go a-hnntin’ with old Pete! Why,
how are yer, Frank? I’m pesky glad ter see yer.
Why, ye’r’ grown. e’ena’most as tall as I ar’, an’ I

 

 

i
I
a

 

 

 

:

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

8'

 

mind yer no more nor knee-high toa’skeeterl
Why, ow are yer?”

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

pum .

“ IPm very well, thank you, Pete,” said youn
Weston, laughing. “ But don’t mash my han
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’il, so I’ll die. Some day ye’ll hear
the coyotes a-howlin’ over a burnt-out camp-fire,
and old Pete ’11 die on the ln'oad perary as he’s
lived on, man and bog nigh on sixty ear now.
And how hev you een, Frank? ow’s yer
father, an’ the old plantation, down to Weston-
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
sheriff for the benefit of the creditors, not a year
ago.”

“‘Yer don’t say!” returned Pete, much con-
cerned. “ Do telll, Why, Frank, my boy, tell’s
all ’bout it. I‘ll hobble 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 Weston, over
the “ dinner,” told his story.

“You know, Pete,” the young fellow ’began,
“ that my father, the colonel, owned nearly the
whole of Westonville at one time, and had hun-
dreds and thousands of acres covered with cat-
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 brought 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 little I learned at the
old school at \Vestonville.”

“ Durncd little,” assented Pete, suspending
his munching a moment; “ but I l’arned yer
some things, of the schoolmarm 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 purifies. During
the war, my father sent me a German
university to finish my education, and strictly
forbade my coming home, till the war was over.
Then I returned, and found things going to rack
and ruin. My father, bitter and desperate about
the full of the Confederac , sat brooding all day.
At night he would go to t e village tavern._ and
drink all his senses away with ‘rot—gut’ whisky.
while he played ker with all the professional
gamblers of the tate Many and manyaquar—
rel .arose there, and several duels occurred, in
which the colonel came 01? victorious; till at

I

 

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

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

“ I know another,” said Frank Wgton, 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. Put he
fled the lace and has avoided me ever since.” »

“ VVa , mebbe he is afeard,” said old Pete
doubtfully, “ but I would never trust to that ei
ever yer see him. Git out yer six-shooter fu’st ,'
that’s the we to lum him. But how did yer
cum here, la ? at’s what’s the matter.”

. “ It’s a sad story. Pete,” said the other, gloom- ‘
ily. “ I found, when I came to settle up In
father’s estate, that it was mortgaged to its in
value, and as there was nothin wherewith to
meet the creditors, the sherifl? o the countv sold
it at auction, in a month after my father’s death. \
The furniture and live stock, carriages, wagons ‘
and working tools, etc., paid ofl al the debts,
and left me at last as you see me. I only retain-
ed, of all my father’s stud, one horse, and he
stands by the tree there.”

“ But he in" a ripper,” observed Pete, paren-
thetically.

“ 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 i” exclaimed Pete, admiringly.
“ And whar hev er Well since, Frank?”

“ I’ve wandere all over Texas 1; 'ng to find
Austin, to avenge In father‘s deat . I saved ’
about a thousand dol ars 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 ye out here, lad?” queried the
hunter. “ We’re outside the settlements here,
and there ain’t a ranch around fur miles, ’cept
old Moreau’s, the French planter— Why, what’s
the muss?” .

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

“ Pete Wilkins,” he said, “ you’re an old friend
of mine. Would you stand b me in trouble?”

“ I would that, lad,” sai the kind-hearted
mountain-man. " What’s the matter? I’ll help
ye, ef I kin.”

é‘ That same Moreau that on mentioned E1813
nfiw,,Pete-—he has—a—daug tier—named Ga ri-
e e. - r
Old Pete regarded the other with a. queer
glance fora moment. At last he burst into a

auglh, smitin his thigh with his hand. I

‘ know it!" he cried; “ I knowed it! I
knowed as how thar was a woman in it, some-
wharl What is it, lad? I’m the teller as helps
all the unfortnit lovers to git the knot tied.
Didn’t I help Sir John, the Britisher, to git that
ar’ pooty little wife 0’ his‘n, Donna Pepita? Ab,
she war a picter, she war. What’s your gal
like, Frank? I‘ll help yer, my boy.”

 

4 The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

“Will you?” said Frank, enthusiasticall .
“Oh, Pete! she’s as beautiful as an angel. S e
has long curls just like gold in the sun. She has
,eyes like that sky overhead. Her voice is like
the cooing of doves. But, oh, Pete! she is proud
andrich, and doesn’t love me —much. I mother
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 something impossible.”

‘ Why don’t ye leave her, lad?” asked old
Pete, With simple directness. “ If she don’t kecr
a cuss fur yer, yer needn’t keer a cuss fur her—
need yer?”

“ But I think she does, Pete, I think she
does care for me a little. She told me yester-
day that I might win her if I could, but that she
had resolved never to marry any man who could
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 can 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

[0 think of how I shall find the Black Mus-

tang."

OId Pete Wilkins ruminated in silence for
some time. At last he looked up.

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

"' I think not,” sai 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-
complish my task. See, here 15 her pledge,”
And he displayed to the hunter a gold locket in
which reposed a coil of bright hair. ‘

- “ Wal, lad,” said Pete, after a pause, “ it’ll be
a long hunt and a hard hunt, and I can’t promise
yer the boss. Many and mauy’s the crowd as

ev started arter that boss, hopin" to get him.
Greasers an’ Injins, hunters an’ sogers, they’ve
all had a crack at him; but I never seen the boss
as c’u’d keep him in sight for half an hour. It’s
the Mist 0’ sum, as how he’s the devil hisself,
and he kin run like the devil, I tell you !”

“Then is there no hope of ever catching
him?“_asked young Weston, in a despondent

no.
“I don’t say there ain’t,” said Pete. “ Ye’ve
ot a. boss of yer own thar as ’11 give even the
filack Mustan a hard push, ef he’s what you
say, a four-mi e racer.”

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

“ Well et he kin do all that, yer may ketch
the black; but I tell yer, Frank, yer’ve got a
hard road to trave .”

And the old hunter forthwith entered into a
long account of that singular animal, the Black
Mustang, which we will give, stripped of the
uncouth dialect of the narrator, and convey to
t 6 reader all the information that we can as to

5 habits and ways of the wild horse of the

exan and Mexican pampas.

CHAPTER II.
mm BLACK unsure.
AROUND the, head-waters of the Colorado and

 

 

Brazos Rivers, to the west of that curious belt
of wood known as the “Cross Timbers,” which
separates the great upland prairies of Texas
from its eastern slope, the mustang attains his
full rfection. Here he roams in herds, several
hun red strong, subdivided into hands of twenty
or thirty mares, each band led by a stallion.

A sort of military organization prevails in
these herds—all the minor bands ownin the
leadership of the patriarch stallion of the erd.
He feeds 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 beauty of a herd of Texan mustangs is
inconceivable by one who has not seen them in
their native haunts. Shining jet—black, snow-
white, delicate cream yellow, and the most in—
tense blood bay are common in the stallions, 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, red and white that mark the
tortoise-shell cat, 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 these solitarics are always of far
superior size and beauty to those in the herds
and soon become celebrated among trappers and
hunters.

or such was the celebrated White Horse of the
Prairies, described by Kendall in 1844. This re-
markable stallion was often seen in the vicinity
of the Cross Timbers, near the head—waters of
the Trinity and Brazos. He was a natural pacer
or racker and was never known to “ break up”
from his ait, however hardly pressed. On one
occasion e was chased for three days succes-
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 stopping 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 Weston
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
seemed to be only a cult, .so slender was his
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
in a part of the country much exposed to preci:
atory Comanches and_Kiowas, which rendered
his capture still more difficult and dangerous.

Three different rties had succeeded in get-
ting within ahun red ards of the famous steed
without exuding his arm, when he had risen

 

      

l
l

    
 

 

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter. 5

 

 

up and defied pursuit. His swiftness was such
that no one had ever been able to gain a single
foot upon him after he started. Inside of an
hour he could put miles of space between him—
self and his pursuers, and he always disappeared
with nightfall.

He was described as a horse of unusual size
for a mustang, and of remarkably beautiful
proportions. His mane and tail were par-
ticularly long, the former sweeping below his
knees and the latter trailing on the ground.
His color, as his name implied, was coal black,
without a single white hair about him that could
be rceived.

e must have been a wonderful leaper, too,
for on one occasion, when a. party of hunters had
formed a cordon, and made sure of him, havnig
driven him to the edge of a precipitous canyon,
hundreds of feet in depth, the Black Mustang
turned and charged the hunters, and inmlo a
clean leap over one man, horse and all, Min 111-
tercepted him. The leap must have been over
nine feet in hight, and the black >ll'0ll escaped
in safety from the greatest peril he hull yet en-
countered. But he left that part of the country
after that and betook hixnsclf to the broad
savannas that lie between the Rio Pecos and the
Colorado. Here he had remained, practically
undisturbed for the last year.

And so, as Frank felt constrained to confess
to himself, to tell him to fetch the Black Mus-
tang was to tell him to undertake well-nigh an
impossibility, and the fair Gabrielle of the sunny
curls must have thought so too, after she had
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 receive so many benefits
in the days when Colonel Weston was a cotton

andee and Pierre Moreaua poor lawyer at

ew Orleans.

And Gabrielle had acted kindly toward Frank,
in softening the rebuff which he would certainly
have experienced from her father. 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 accomplish, alone and unaided, it was cer<
tain that the Moreaus would keep their part
of the contract, should he, by any stroke of
uglingked—for good fortune, succeed against prob-
a ll .

Oldy Pete Wilkins, whose soft heart was al—
ways ready to be enga ed in a love-affair was
only too willing to lend is help to the unfortu—
nate pair of lovers.

“Ef that ar’ 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 hook 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 gumption
as a human critter hev, arter all’s said. Ef
we kum’t run him down, we kin give him
a durned 00d chase with that ar’. four-miler
0’ yourn, Frank; and of he beats him, tu, why
I’m bound to hev him. Thar’s one way as

we never hev tried arter the black, and

that is ‘wallcin’ him down.’ Ef every thing

       

‘ low-spirited a’ready

 

fails, we kin do that
then.”

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

“ Ef ihur’s enough on us, we kin do that even i
but I don’t exactly kecr to do my ‘ walkiu;
down ‘ afoot myself. I‘ll show yer how it’s done
when we cum to ketch the black, ef so be your
four-milcr ain’t able to run him down.”

“ If I only can get within a hundred ards of
the black, I’ll trust old General against im, old
as he is,” said Frank roudl . “But you must
rciizemhcr that the (Eeneraly can’t do his best
without oats and corn, while the other horse is
used to grass-feeding all his life.”

“Well, well, lad. We kin but try,” said old
Pete kindly; “ and the sooner we 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 ray mare
itrplping out alongside of the power! thorough-

re . '

, and we’ll fix him sure,

 

CHAPTERIII.
LITTLE GILMORE.

THE two companions rode out from the shelter
of the motte and headed their horses to the
westward. ’Izhe 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.

“ 01d Moreau knowed darned well what he
was arter,” observed the. hunter, “when he took
his claim down hyar. ’Tain’t as safe, mebbe, as,
it won’t be 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- '

fled stations established by the former owners of
Texas, the cowardly Mexicans. the better to
enable them to keep out the Indians. Well did
he remember the ong loop-holedxwall and the
great gate, out of which he had so lately passed
in silence and dejection. . I . .

“ I wonder shall I ever see the hacienda again?" ‘
he said musingly.

“ See it? In course yer will!” said Pete stout-
ly. “ What’s to prevent it?”

“We are going on a diflicult and dangerous
quest,” said Frank sadly; “ and we may never
come back alive.”

The poor fellow was desperately in love, and
parting, for the first time, from the object of
his affection. He felt very gloomy and despond—
ent thereat. Old Pete perceived it, and laughed
at his blue fit.

“ We’ll come back safe enough inside of six
weeks, younker,” he said. “Don’t er be gittln’
We ain't be] started yet.

One thing, we’re out 0‘ them pesky settlements
irow, whar I never git without losin’ every red
ve got.’
“Ah! indeed?” saidFrank, anxious to divert ’

 
 

 '43:; .2.» <. <

, was fellin‘

' durn my kar id e!

\ Pete.
. business, sir,’ kinl 0’ cold like.

6 The Boy Must mug-Hunter.

 

his thoughts from their gloomy turn. “ 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
when 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 mono , paid down
ter me at Galveston by that ’ere ritisher as I
er on. He war a real gentleman. he
war. starts for Austin City on a bu’st,
and I tell you a bu’st I’ve hed. At last I’d lost
a‘most all m money at that ’ere durned monte,
and I start for the prairies. I got ter Hamil-
ton yesterda , and thar I ot drunk as usual,
When hain’t got likker,
I’m the cutest fe ler goin‘. but that fixes me. I
must needs go ter playin’ poker with a lot of
gamblers from Houston, and the end 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?”

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

“ Little Gilmore! Not know Little Gilmore?”
echoed Pete. “Why, be , he’s the most noted
desperado in all Texas. e ar’ killed more men,
white, red, and yaller, 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

e‘s some on a pistol-shot! I ain’t much of a
greenhorn myself, and I can shoot pretty well,
but Little Gilmore, he kin put 51x shots into the
5am.1 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 tern ta ambler.”

“That‘s who. I nrn’t make out,” said Old
“ I aer him, but he answered, ‘ Private
I guess he’s a-
lookin‘ for Tom Austin. He’s follered him fur
ever so long now.”

“ Austin? And wh C!” ejaculhted Frank.
“ Has he, too. got any t ing against this man?"

“ He hev that,” said the hunter, emphatically.
“ Little Gilmore used ter be as peaceaole a little
chap as ever stepped. (on account of 1115 size, I
guess.) till that ere Austin commenced puttm’
on him.‘ Austin met him one day at Houston,
years ago now, where little Gilmore was a
musicianer, they say. See him a-walkin’ the
streets with his gal, as he war a goin’ to marry.
Austin, jist outo pure deviltry and meanness, he
goes u tor the gal, as he jist knoweil by sight,
and o are his arm to her. Little Gilmore Seen
as he meant to insult him, and he Ipitches right
into Austin, tooth and nail, sum as he was.
Big Tom Austin iiest chawed him up in two
minutes. The litt e teller was unarmed, and
Tom, he hanged him awful, and left him on the
sidewalk while he walks of! with Gilmore’s

)

“But, good heavens!" cried Frank. “You
don’t mean to say that she went with him?”

“Yes she did,7’ said Pete, positively. “ It
turned out as it war a made-up job twigst him

” f

/ l

 

and her. Little Gilmore never knowed of
it till arter the two had sloped for New Orleans.

“ He didn’t git over the wallopin’ as Austin
guv him, for nigh on three months. And then
he gathered up all his money and left Houston.
Nobody knowed whar he‘d gone till he come
back at the head of a lot of aniblers, the
desperado he’s b’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 follers him all over
Texas, and Tom gits up and gits, as soon as
ever he hears Gi more‘s a-comin’. 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 impetuous 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 motte and hacienda of Monswur
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?”
t. “ No,” answered Frank, surprised at the ques‘

ion.

“Them are the Phantom Hills, and t‘other
side 0’ them be the peraries whar the Black
Mustan ranges. Ef yer want me tu help yer
thar, I’l do it; but I’m durned ef I'm a—goin’ on
any wild—goose-chase arter Tom Austin or any
of his kidney. That's so!”

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

“ Ef yer wants ter find Tom Austin any time,
gounker, yer kin do it, arter yer’ve got the

lack. 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 mare from a walk into a,
slow, easy center, the natural journey pace
of the mustang, and the powerful thoroughbred
of Weston was compelled to strike into a smart
trot to overtake her. The oung man began to
feel considerable respect or his companion’s
horse, and ex ressed himself to that effect.

Pete patte the pony’s neck affectionately,

“ D’yer

sa mg:

x This ’ere little mar’ are worth her weight in
dollars, she are. I bought her at El Paso, ’bout
’two month ago, and got a hundred dollars boot
with her for my old States boss, and I’m durned
ef she kain’t run away from him, and kill a
dozen common hosses. She are clear rit, she
are. She’ll get fat on com-shucks, an as for
mesquite grass, she'll go eighty mile a day on
it

Indeed. the little creature Seemed as if she
could realize her rider's opinion of her. Al-
though very smallhthere was an appearance of
indomitable spirit in her eye, large and wild in
expression, that proclaimed her to be an “all-

49-)".

,3'

Was.

The Boy Mustang-Hunter. ‘ 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 signs of civilization in the village
of Hamilton. The 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 gnarle
live oaks resemble weeping willows—one succeed-
ed the other with the grand monotony of prairie
scenery, all through the journey. The distant
peaks of the Phantom Hills began to lift their

ends 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 to—night. That ar’ creek runs into the Colo-
raydo, and thar’s deer and b’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, cut out, 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, younker,” he said, “ ef you’ll take
car’ of the bosses I'll git sunnnat for our sup .r.
This ’ere dried venison ain’t what it’s crac ed
3}) to be. Ye’ll find the hobbies behint the sad-

e- .

And without waiting for an answer, old Pete
stole of! through the trees, leavin the young
man to attend to the two horses. 0 say truth,
be was not sorry to do so. Frank Weston was
devoted] fond of hunting, but since his boyhood
had had at little opgortnnity for‘ so doing. He
felt by no means con dent of his ability to kill a
deer for su iper, and was quite willing to
trust to old ete’s skill.

90 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 set to work with the utmost
avidity, while Frank commenced the operation
of building a fire.

He had got it well started, when his ears were

rejoiced with the sound of Pete Wilkins’s rifle,
and he heaped on all the dr sticks he could find,
till a cheerful, ruddy blaze ighted up the trunks
of the trees around, now standin out, dark and
gloomy, in the fast-deepening s ades of even-
ing.
About ten minutes afterward the old hunter
made his appearance, bearin on his shoulders
the hind-quarter of a deer, w 'ch‘ provad to be
both fat and savory. .

It was soon cut into steaks and broiling over
the fire on that simplest 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
of the old hunter and the young Texan and the
horses 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 all) the sprees and
drinks of the settlements. Ef it warn’t for my
trips to the settlements, I’d neverbe onha py.
But a man must git powder and lead now ays,
and so I go thar. And this ’ere old sixteen-
shooter, thof he ar’ a bully good gun he wants
more lookin’ arter 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 uired
Weston. “ ou’re the first mountain-man ever
saw with one.” -

“ Agent over at Fort Lancaster give it to me,”
said t e hunter; “ I’m a scout for the fort thar.
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 oflf among the
trees, noiseless as a ghost.

Frank Weston caught up his rifle and fol-
lowed.

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 com -
ion had, long before. A horse was approac ing
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. 01d Pete
gave a smothered chuckle as he listened.

“ Guess I will remember er,” he muttered.
“Yer must be a durned fool r go along at this
time of night singin’ like that. Come, Frank,
we mou’t as well 0 back to our fire this time. ‘
’Taig’t either an InJun or any thin’ else danger- ‘
ous.

And the old hunter stalked leisurely back
{,0 figs fire, where he threw on an armtul of

ms .

As the bright blaze flashed up, the could
hear the approachin horseman cease ‘ '3 song
for a moment, and t e hoot-beats of the horse
also stopped. A moment afterward the song
was resumed, and the horse struck into a gallop,
that ra )idly approached them. Present] they
heard t e snapping of dry sticks, that to d 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 (he-
mountin . \ .

Pete Vigilkins uttered an exclamation of won-
der as his eyes fell on the stranger. .

“ Little ilmore, by Jerusalem l” hevcned.

“ That same individual," returned the swagger
in a low voice, with the accent and tone a .
man of refinement: “ and _very happy to meet
you, Wilkins, for the tactis, I was coking for.

v 17 '
3, on. /

 

.A: «a

i. I... 3.4.7:.

. W».:.'$.=>ae.a 

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 desperado.

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
ringlets of hair fell down on each side of the
womanish features, from under the shelter of
a. broad—brimmed hat of black glaze, heaviliy
ornamented with gold lace and tassels of gol .

His costume was in the Mexican style, of black
velvst, slashed with scarlet silk, and covered
with gold embroidery. He were around his
waist a sash of scarlet silk fringed with gold,
in which Frank counted the butts of no less than
four revolvers; and in his hand he bore a short
carbine whose two barrels, one under the other,

reclaimed the deadly sixteen-shot repeater.
The dress, weapons and horse—furniture of the
stranger were alike rich and beautiful, being
loaded with gold. His fingers sparkled with
jewels, and in his ears glittered large diamond
earrin s, that would have been the envy of a
New ork belle. But both the man and his
equipments looked strangely out of place on
the wild prairie.

“Pray introduce me to your friend, Pete,”
ursued the other, with his low, sweet voice.
‘Among gentlemen I am sure that there ought

to be acquaintance and friendship.”

“ Cert nly,” said Pete, hastily. Weston
noticed that the frontiersman was wonderfully
polite to the delicate little stran er, whom he
could have probably choked to eath 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.

So Frank Weston was duly introduced to
him by name.

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

“ If you mean the death of that man, Austin,

on are right, Mr. Gilmore,” returned our hero.
‘But at present I am bound on another quest
still that of the Black Mustang.”

“I had heard of that too," answered the other
quickly; “Mr. Moreau and I have met before
and I saw him only to-day, when he mentione

our purpose. I am going the same way myself
gut for a diflerent purpose. One of oreau’s
1:1 ueros told me that he had seen Pete Wilkins
rid ng west, along with you, and I followed you
up til I found you here.” i

“ Sit down and hev some supper Gil,” said the
old hunter at this moment. “'Yer must be
bani?!”

“ any thanks, Peter I will,” said the other,
‘politely. He roceeded to uusaddle his horse

and dispose his effects on the’ ground; after
which he did justice to a venison steak.

“ And now, Peter,” he said, as he was regaling
himself therewith, while the bay horse was
munching the grass in the river-bottom, “ I sup-
pose you want to know what I want you for.

’11 tell you. That infernal scoundrel, Tom Aus-
tin, has joined the Comanches, and he’s out on
this very trail your friend’s on—the trail of the
Black Mustang. It seems that the scoundrel
found some way of worming himself into favor
, fi,‘

4

with Big Thunder, the Comanche chief, by giv-
ing him a chance to capture a lot of old Spring-
field muskets sent back from Fort Chadbourne to
be converted to breech-loaders. Tom was found
out after the wagons were lundered, and he
escaped to the Coulanches. ow, Pete, if on
can guide me through these prairies to ig
Thunder’s village, it‘s all I ask of ou. I can
shoot straight and quick, but it’s a I can do
except play poker and you know the lains. I
will give you all I have about me, go d, notes,
jewelry and all, the day I catch Tom Austin,
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
through with the younker here, fur I’ve rom-
ised him. Arter that I’m ready to ta 6 ye
thar." .

“ Mr. Weston,” said the little stranger, turn-
ing to Frank, “ I am in a dilemma as 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 assist you 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.”

Gilmore produced a set of dice from his pocket
in a moment. He offered them to Weston to
examine, who pronounced them perfectl fair.
They made three throws each, in which rank
threw the highest.

The gambler bowed low.

“Mr. Weston,” he said. “I will help you as I
promised. Good-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.

 

CHAPTER IV.
run PASS or DEATH.

Anou'r noon of the day following, three horse-
men drew rein at the foot of a long line of steep
clifi's 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 leggius of deerskm, and
mounted on a little gray 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-carrier of the finest kind.

The third accoutered in the picturesque cos-
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.

The three appeared to be somewhat at a loss
how to overcome the barrier interposed by na-
ture to further advance.

“ How are weigoing to get up here, Pete?” in-
quired the splen idly dressed cavalier. “ I see
no path for a horse up these cliffs.” ‘

 

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

a

 
  

 

The Boy Mustang-Hunter. 9

 

cum'ur. “We’ll hev toride along the base of
the rocks till we find an openin’. Strike to the
loft, lads. The Coloraydo comes throu h hyar
sumwba’r, and whar a river comes, surgy three
follers kin go.”

Suitingr the action to the word, the little gray
ma re was turned round to the left, and the party
rode south.

The tall, frowning cliffs, rugged and pictur-
esque in outline, towered on their right hand as
they rode alon . Bushes clung here and there
in crevices of t e rocks. It seemed as if a great
Wall had been built by giants of old to bar fur-
ther 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.

“ Thar it are l” he cried: “ thar’s the old cot»
tonwood as I knowed we’d find, and thar’s the
way up this ’ere biitte.”

About a mile ahead of them the wall of rock
seemed to be interrupted for a little 5 ace, and
at the top of the 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 converging paths from the prairie he-
hind proved that this was the place where, for
hundreds of years, in all probability, the buffa-
loes, mustangs, deer and other wild animals had
made their passages on their annual migrations
from pasture to pasture. Old Pete put his httle
mare at the ascent without hesitation, and the
game little creature scrambled up bravely. {is
sure-footed as a goat, she seemed to have no dif-
ficulty in making her way, where the two thor-
oughbreds timi ly followed. They were not
used to this kind of work.

The path wound here and there, in some
places broad and easy, at others so narrow that
the riders were forced todismount 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 mountai anon.
‘_‘ Ef a great clumsy bufller has manag to git
past here, we kin. The path must be ere some-
whar. Yes and by J erusaleml here it ar’, right
up ovorhead."

And as he spoke he pointed to a faintly-worn
track in the side of the rook, that climbed up
over the great rock in front at an inclination as
stee as the roof of a house. The ascent was
frig tfully dangerous. A misstep would cause
a fall over a sheer precipice on the ri ht of over
a hundred feet, and they were gomg igher and

hi r.
his 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 horses will toner better, an’ thin-’11 be

 

nothin’ 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
us the rock grew steeper it also grew narrower,
till, as the summit was reached at last, a. path
about two feet in breadth appeared, leading for-
ward on a level. At one side of this pass rose a
wall of rock, standing away but very slight]
from the perpendicular. At the other side fc l
awa the sheer recipice. Old Pete walkedfor-
war alter a gance back for his mare. The
plucky little creature had followed him, step by
step, and stood beside him. Little Gilmore was
almost at the top, his bay thoroughbred close on
his heels. _

The old hunter walked forward briskly. The
path was amply broad enough for a man, but a.
close fit for a horse. The three companions fol-
lowed it, however, for about a hundred yards in
safety, when it began to rise a sin and made a
turn around the immense we of rock tothe
left. The rock itself intercepted the view of the
pass from the two men in the rear, and they saw
the old hunter advance to the corner of the rock v
and look around it before 1]: oceeding.

Instantly he shrunk bac . 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
same. The veteran mountain~man turned round.
There was such a perfect stillness on the menu‘-
tain—side that every word could be heard. V

“Now then, tellers,” he said, “thar’sa rtv
of Comanches a-comin’ down the pass and t 9 ’ll
be hyar in about five minutes. We ain’t 111-
from the top of the pass, and the varmints ain’t

uite all in. Now then you must come 11 to
t e front the best way you kin, and we must ' 1‘
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-x
ing of the heart which sudden danger always

roduces 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.

“ That’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 lewd clear over her head, fighting on his
feet by ilkins.

Frank Weston came forward more cautiously.
It was a very nervous business gassing 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 hazardous1 and

 

1

  

.m‘.

i.
4
,.

 

10 The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

the youn Texan was not used to this kind of
work. e succeeded in passing safely, and the
three companions stood to ether, sheltered from
view of the approaching ndians by the jutting
buttress of roc .

“Now, then, fellers," said Pete, “the path's
wide enough to hold two abreast round the cor-
ner. We must git round, and commence shootiu’
at once. Mind, we mustn‘t leave a single Injuu
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
themselves in full view of a most remarkable
scene.

As Pete had said, the path grew broader at
once, after turning the rock. It was broad
enough fora horseman to ride with ease and
comfort, tho’ not enough for two, and at about a

uarter of a mile further it appeared to climb
t e summit to the prairies that they knew to be
above. On this path, hard and smooth as a ma-
cadamized road, a long file of Indians was ad.
vaucing at a walk, uite uususpicious of danger.

The sight of the t ree white men appeared to
paral ze them for a moment. Then the halted
ahnd gan handling their weapons, al in a

ur .
Tgre were about twenty-five, 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 he snatched before the fl ht commenced.

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

Little Gilmore it was who now exhibited his
wonderful skill in rapid shooting. He stepped
up alongside of the old hunter, who had lowered
his rifle to reverse the lever. Weston saw him
raise 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 ride the gambler reversed the lever once
ere, and the second shot stretched the horse
beside its master, blocking up the path for escape
to the others.

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

Now came 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 down with old flint-
lock rifles, such as the Indians possessed. No
one was wounded by the first volley, hastily and
nervously delivered.

The first sixt seconds decided the uestion.

Crack! crac l crack! crack! fol owed the
rifles of Pete Wilkins and Little Gilmore. one
after the other. At each shot a. than tell or

 

yelled with pain. They could hear: the dull
(hud! thud! of bullets tearing into human
flesh. The horses huddled together, and wound-
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 by 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-
ness of adeer.

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

“A hundred curses!” cried the gambler,
stamping his foot with rage. “ Why haven’t I
itinotlier shot in my rifle? He‘ll get at! as sureas

ate.

Frank Weston had not fired a shot et. The
other two had done the work so quick y that he
had not had time to collect his thoughts before
it was all over.

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 erauged 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; “ I can fetch him.”

Frank yielded the weapon instantly, and the
other raised it to his shoulder, just as the fugi-
tive gained the summit of the pass. The flying
Indian was just lea )ing 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
varuiiut’s got off. We must ketch him, tellers.
Ef we don’t, he‘ll give us trouble yet. Come
ahead!”

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 eight were killed, and two had fallen
over the precipice. How to pass the living ob-
st ml!» was the question. I

‘P n s+ttled it quickly. Coming to the first
(1":1‘ " mo. which ay with his head over the
M'- wi -n he called to his companions tohelp
ill-ll, and the three together soon canted him
over. They proceeded in the same way with all
the corpses, human and equine, till they had left
nothing but the living horses.

What to do with these was the uestion.

It was easy enough to shove hem over the
precipice, and to get rid of them. The r
beasts, palsied with .terror, would have n
easily disposed of. .

But even 01d Pete, hardened by custom to
deeds of blood, believed such a thing unnecessa-
rilv cruel. .

“ I guess we km turn ’61:: round, at we try

A -1;-,_.’

The Boy Mustang-Hunter. I!

 

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

And after a little coaxing, one b one, the In-
dian horses were backed against t e 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 hosses as quick as ye kin,
and alter that i-unaw- y cuss.”

As he spoke, lie leaped on the foremost horse
of the file, and gulloped up the pass as 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 )rairie.

The Cliffs up which t ey had come, stretched
away on either side as far as could be seen. Bo-
hind and below, they commanded a View of the
vast prairie they had just quitted, undulating
into little swells, dotted with (lurk moth of
timber, and variegated 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 table-land ste pes,
by which Texas descends from the Rocky 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
fugitive Indian, whose escape might alarm the
tribe, and bring down the whole force of some
band of Coinanchcs upon them. ‘

But he was nowhere to be seen.

“Kee back the bosses, boys,” said Old Pete,
hurried y' and he leaped to the ground as he
sriolie, an began to examine the grass for a
trai .

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-
apgeared.

ld 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. He’s safe b
this time, and we haiii’t got no time to ketc
him. We’ve got to vamose the ranch, and put
as many miles atween him and us, as we know
how. He hain’t got no boss, anyway; and a
man ain’t much on the peraries without a boss.
Come, fellers, let’s git.”

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

“And at he does, who keers?” said Pete. dis-
dainfully. “ Thar ain’t a rifle in the hull tribe,
hardly. and we kin lick every darned Comanche
we ment, of they don’t come more nor twenty at
a time.”

Little Gilmore said nothing. He had the com-
mendable 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 on tured
from the Indians, leading the others; an their .

own animals were attached to the led horses, be-
ing burdened with nothing beyond the saddles.
They were thus ke is fresh for the chase ahead of
them, when all t eir energies \would be re-
quired.

They rode all the after-non, and halted just
before sunset at a spring of water, to which Old
Pete directed their march as to an old acquaint-
ance.

After they had staked out the horses and gone
into camp, the hunters discussed their su per
with appetite, and talked over the events 0 the

day.

Old Pete Wilkins, generally one of the most lo-
quacious around the cam -fire, was unusually
silent tonight. He sat suc ing at his black pipe
in a. meditative manner. At last Gilmore turn-
ed to him with a question.

“ Pete,” he said, “ what sort of an Indian was
that, who got away so cleverl from us do you
suppose? It seemed to me t at he loo ed and
moved like some one 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 lnjun, 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 Tom Austin,” cried the gambler
excitedly. “It was he, and I have allowed him
to escape. Pete Wilkins, you’re no friend of
mine, or 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-
posed, and waited till Gilmore had calmed a. lit-
tle, before he spoke. I

“ Ef yer want ter know why I didn’t tell yo
afore, Mr. Gilmore, I’ll tell yer. I knowed is
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 ’ei-e {mung teller as I
wouldn’t turn right or left til we sot eyes on
the Black Mustang. I knowed that ef I told
yer both. yer’d be startin’off artei- him, down
them rocks and niebbe breakin’ yer necks With-
out ketchin’ of him. 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 peraries, and he kurn’t do hny
harm to us. Are yer satisfied? 1 know yer kin
shoot both on us, Bill Gilmore, afore we could
draw a 1pistol on yer. Ef yer do it, how’ll yer
git bac to the settlements? Yer don’t know
how tor hunt, and yer mou’t starve afore ye got
thar. Set down, and don’t be makin’ a show of
yerself. When we’ve cott-hed the black, I’m
ready for a turn at Tom Austin.” .

Little Gilmore stood irresolute during this
speech. His handsome features, mild and et-
feminate at ordinary times, were drawn into a.
heavy frown. When Pete had finished, he took
his seat by the fire in silence for a moment. .At
last he turned. _

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

 

.3 1mg“

:L—TAC‘ ‘ .«

. age:—

 

Y,

‘s ..
< gs:

12

The Boy blunting-Hunter.

 

he said, quietly. “I apologize to you and Mr.
Weston.”

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

CHAPTER V.
THE GAME SPRUNG.

WITH the progress of our party for the next
two days we shall not trouble the reader. The
fared better than might have been expecte ,
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 cliffs.
These formed another of those vast steps that
mark the eastern border of the Rocky Moun<
trim and the Sierre Madre. Adelieious little
brook, whose waters had worn a deep ravine in
the side of the cliff, made a little pond for itself
at the foot of the step. A motto of live oak tini-
ber, with its usual drapery of Spanish moss,
formed a pleasant shelter for their camp.

But Pete Wilkins, ever cautious, would not al-
low a lar e tire to be kept up at night.

“ One re kin be seen as fur as a hull wagon-
train,” said the sagacious hunter. “ 'l‘har’s only
three on us, arter all said and done; and thof
‘sixteen’ are a bully piece to shoot with, he
won’t kee our hossas from bein’ stole, ef so be
as them urned Comanches ketches sight on
19m.”

80 the fire, which was lighted before the sun
went down with dry sticks that made no smoke,
was banked 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 inotte, 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 divide into three parts, 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 motte. The clutter of a stone.
loosened and rolling down the bank, announced
the a lproach of something living.

-hidden‘ b the bushes that fringed the'
course of the litt e brook, the young Texan per-
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 horsa came down at a bold trot, quite un-
suspicious of the presence of strangers. As it
came nearer and nearer, youn Weston’s heart
beat violently with emotion. hat if it should
be the verv object of their search, the far-famed
Blank Mustang?

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

 

\

 

of alarming the animal. He stood under one
of the trees at the edge of the motto, from
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. It came stealing down the
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
river. 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 lioofs on the rocks.
He glanced around at his companions.

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

Frank turned again to his watch, and involun-
tarin 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
too thoroughly impressed on Weston’s mind to
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 ears pricked up, his large dark eyes gleaming
like stars. His mane, 'ust lifted by the early
breeze, flowed down be ow his knees in front,
and his tail swept the ground behind. The head
of the black was very small. and tapered away
to the muzzle. The forehead was broad, and the
ears very short and shar . His neck, as he stood
half-front, appeared to e 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 boots 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 aceful
head and drank copiously, thrusting in its head
up to the eyes.

Frank felt a touch on his arm as he gazed, and
Little Gilmore and Pete Wilkins stood beside
him. They had crept up unobserved, while
Weston Was absorbed in his watch; and the
three together enjoyed the si ht.

The Black Mustang, after rinkimr his fill, be-
gan to paw and splash in the water, after the wont
of horses. The noise echoed up the narrow
gorge as he splashed, and aroused the attention

. xi ,wL» . g

x

  

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

18

 

  

r fl 0 other horses in the motte. One of them
,1 iglivd loudly. It was the little gray mare of
rum \Vilkins.

instantly the black stopped his splashing, and
stood still and erect in the water. He listened
l'ul‘ an instant, and then cast up his head and
uttered a deep, powerful neigh in answer.

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

He came trotting around the edge of the pool,
with high, proud step, calling to the horses with-
in, and Without seeing the three hunters.

“ What shall we do, Pete?” whispered Frank,
anxiously.

“ Kurn’t do nothen,” replied the hunter.
“Keep still and don’t skeer him. Mebbe we’ll
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 hardly said the words when the Black
Mustang passed 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 sweived off, whirled
around on his hind feet and the next minute
was off like a shot. The lea s that he took were
perfectly amazing, and Sue as Frank Weston
had never seen equaled on a race-course. In ten
seconds the alarmed stallion was at the foot of
the ravine, and at the other side of the pool.
Tlifire he halted, and stood looking back doubt-
i'u y.

“ If we ever get as near that ’ere boss ag’in,”
observed Pete, “ it’ll be a. durned wonderful
thing. Ef we’d onl knowed when he war a-
comin’ we might ’81 ’en ready.”

“ I’m going to make a trail, anyhow,” said
Frank, quietly. “ We shall never get such a.
chance again. He won’t come here to drink in
a hurry. Follow me with the rest of the traps,
b0 5. I’m going to try to run him down, if he’ll
on y stay there ong enough.”

‘ Look out yer don’t let him see yer,” observed
Pete. “ He’ll be off of 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 st00d at
the opposite Side 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 ste s forward, and anon
hound away up the h' l in alarm. He had
caught sight of the hunters when he passed
them; but, as nothing more suspicious appeared
he seemed undecided what to do. His curiosity
was excited, and it seemed like] to cost him
dear. He was not over three him red feet from
the motto, and every moment increased his
danger _

Affairs stood thus for about ten minutes, dur-
ing which the wild stallion maintained his pos1—
tion b the pool. Then came the sudden clatter of
iron-s 0d boots, 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 migelétg' chestnut race-horse, which
he rode at full 81) , and harebacked. He was

 

freed from every superfluous thing, and liri'o-
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 motto 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 gap between them about
a hundred feet. Then away went the Black
Mustang, as hard as he could tear up the steep
ravine, and Frank, on the General, after him.

1) 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 crust, and disappear, the
wild horse first, the chestnut in a few seconds
after. Then all was still on the side of the cliffs.
The few frightened birds that had fled in dismay
from the path of the hurrying chargers had set-
tled down again once more to their search for
food, and the rairie was still behind them.

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

Gilmore offered no objection, and the two sad—
(‘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 wen ons
and outer garments, all lying in a heap, w ere
the impatient youth had d~ o ped them, to li ht-
on himself as much as ossib c. .All he had ta on
with him was a sna e bridle, a surcingle, and
his lasso. He had abandoned all his wea one
but his knife. Old Pete grumbled as he an dled
one of the captured horses and piled the- arms of
the young man upon it. ‘

Then they started, each man leading two
horses, and in about ten minutes more had
reached the top of the cliffs. They took a hasty
breakfast, as they rode 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 they arrived at the top, another appar-
ently boundless prairie stretc ed before them,
level as a chess-board, and without a tree to be
seen. The waving ocean of green grass on]
terminated in the horizon. Far away in the a -
vance they could see the black horse and his ur-
suer, still at full speed, and several miles 0 .

The relative distance seemed to be le than
when they started, and sometimes they thought
the chestnut was coming up with the wild horsel
But then again the black would “put on a
spurt,” in racing parlanCe, and draw away from,

t e race-horse. '

Pete Wilkins set spurs to the horse he rode,
one of the captured ones, and set off ata gallop
after the retreating pair, followed by his own
little mare and another horse. Gilmore rode
beside him, leading two horses likewisa, and the
two galloped on, at the usual stretchin cantor
of thehmustang, endeavoring to keep t 9 game
in Fig t. ' \

But they found this no easy matter. Fast

 

i
,5
g

921 we»: find“? —-—

 

14. y' The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

nnd untirina‘ as were their horses, they were
heavily loaded. The Mexican saddle, ordinarily
used on the prairies, is a heavy, cumbrous piece
of horse-furniture. Add to this the weight of

lankets, arms and ammunition, and the store
of dried beef, and it will be seen that the weight
mounts up. ,

The two horses in front. far superior to the
others at any time, were uniucumbered, Frank
Weston being a light weight himself, and capa-
ble of enough jockeyship to neutralize that.

So that the two hunters, with the main body
of the little arty, 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 slackened for an instant. Gil-
more and Pete rode steadily on, still losing
ground however, till hot noon lay on all the
prairies and the breeze had sunk away to an in-
tense still heat.

“ ’Tain’t no use, Gil ” said the old hunter at
last, pulling up his horse to a walk. “We
kurn’t kee u , and ’tain’t no use a-killin’ the
bosses. 9’ travel on steady, and ketch them
afore night. No hoss 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.
was DESERT QUEEN.

LET us return to the chase of the wild horse.

When Frank Weston started on his pursuit,
he had no thought of any thing but the Black
Mustang. An all absorbin desire that the
creature should not slip out 0 his hands with-
out a fair chase possessel him. He felt also, a
well-founded confidence in the powers of his
own horse. Many a stake had “The General”
won for Weston’s father, on the race—course at
New Orleans, in the exhausting four-mile race.
The old horse had won renown even in his strug-
gle: with the kings of the turl’. He had pushed
the celebrated horse Tennessee to the finest burst
he had ever made in point of time, and was by
no means now too old to run. He had passed
his prime by one or two years, but he was still
in good trim. Frank knew that the black had
just filled his stomach with water, which would
tell upon him severely in a hard chase. He
stripped himself for the race, tied a handker-
chief tightly round his waist, knotted the end of
his trusty lasso into the surcingle which he
strained around the General’s body, and then
ro ie cautiously out to a point of the motto
from whence he made his dash.

He tim ad it Well, and Scrambled up the steep
ravme at full speed, hanging on the mane of the
General, and at some places almost within lasso-
ing length of the chase. But the latter man-
agmi to keen ahead of him to the top of the
cli'l', when he gained some distance to the level
before the chestnut could follow.

 

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 Metairie
course.

The General was over sixteen hands high, and
his stride covered over twenty-feet of ground.
The Black Mustang was between fourteen 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 rose the
mustang to the utmost while he could. e 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 halfmiile, he seemed fairly
to {1 . 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.

The black was still speeding as rapidly as
ever, and Frank, for the first time, began to feel
adoubt 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 Texan’s anxiety to possess him. A horse
that could keep on even terms 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 be-
gan to draw up to the black.

The latter, 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 ths.

But Frank perceived with growing espera-
tion, that when the black put forth a] his speed
he could keep the General at a stand, and even
creep away from him.

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 chase 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
reel along?

So kept on the wild race between the race-
horse of the Metairie and the Black Mustang.

The sun rose higher and higher in the heavens
and hotter and hotter grew the day. The
breeze died away and the tall green grass stood

The Boy Mustang-Hunter. 15

 

 

erect 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
chirped. The only sound that Frank Weston
could hear was the painful breathing of the two
gallant chargers, both white with foam and
hardly able to keep up their slow, staggering
center.

At the tremendous pace at which they had
come, miles seemed nothing. They had gone
over twenty miles in the first hour, and since
that time had 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 lon er black. The
white foam made him gray. He aborcd fright—
fully, and was almost exhausted. But he no
lon or 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
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 inex ressibly for a. draught of water.
But he felt etermined to win the race or die
with the General.

At last came a crisis. The country suddenly
changed its aspect. About a mile ahead Weston
perceived a growth of timber. He knew that it
must be the head-waters of the Colorado that
was indicated by the trees.

“ Go along, General! Go, good horse! gallant
horse! noble general! 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

allant old horse seemed to pluck up some spirit.
file closed rapidly on the mustang. The latter,
bearing 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 st year’s fires. He stumbled and fell on his
knees. Before he could quite recover himself,
the chestnut was within three lengths of him.

And now Frank Weston trembles with nerv-
ous excitement. He hardly dares behave in his
luck. He has arrived within lasso 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 cons of his lasso
with care. I

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
rings of the black horse-hair are whirling through
t 9 air. .

Hurrah! He sees the noose falling, falling.

I It seems 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 is over!

The General falls back on his haunches, as he
feels the bit. The black cord ti htens and
strains. Then it relaxes, as the wi d charger
caught and strangled, paws the air for pne wild
moment. H e rears u , and falls over backward
on the ground, and t e Black Mustang is cap-
tured!

Then Frank Weston leaps from his own horse
in haste, and runs to the fallen steed. He knows
how uickly he would strangle, if left alone. He
quick y takes the handkerchief from his waist,
and binds the eyes of the black' and then
loosens the lasso from his neck. lie fastens
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 too ‘
much for both of them.

The young Texan for the first time, looked
around him. Not a hundred yards off was the
grove of trees that he had noticed toward the
end 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

drop.

While he was thus doubtful, the sound of
hoofs struck on his ear, advancing at 3 Op.

Frank Wcstou 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. ' v

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

ound out of the aqm‘line t peg very rare, but
inexpressibl wonderful an exquisitewhen itis
met with. t was ver dark, and lighted with a.
pair of black eyes, as een as those of an eagle
while long laits of black hair were coiledaraun
her head, .ecorated with feathers.

This maiden, slender and agile as a deer,
clear—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
jaguar. The same golden tawny hide e ibited
the same ele tly arran ed rosettes of‘velve
black, asin he king of merican felines. 8 o
bore in her hand 9. Ion canolance and es-
ton stared, for the poin seemed to he of solid

Silver.

The bridle-bit and stirrups of the horse.
.\,"- r .
\ . , i X \ ~ I

 

w

ill
",1;
iii

 

 

 

16 r The soy Mustang-Hunter.

 

were of the same precious metal, and gold and
siljver ornaments covered the fair figure of the
r1 er.

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

The beautiful Amazon galloped up to the
Texan, and halted her horse before him. She
gazed upon him fixedly for a moment, at d
Weston returned the gaze with interest. e
{1%(1 never seen such a beautiful creature in his
I e.

The fair Moreau, “ Charmante Gabrielle,” as
he had often termed her. seemed to fade from
his sight in a moment and be forgotten in the
new eauty.

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 breeches, with bare; legs, was Ibiy
no means the attern of a gay Lothario. e

,was simply adirty-looking ragamufiin, with a

three days’ heard 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 5 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 panting, and to
Frank’s surprise, addressed him in French:

“ Vous deviez avoir un cheval merveilleux,
monsieur, pour poursuivre notre cheval noir
avec succes.”

(You must have a marvelous horse, sir, 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 irdle,
she quickly reduced a little flask of gel ,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
moss therewith. 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. s the ex-
hausted animal felt the stimulus of the brandy,
amagical change came over him He pricked
up] his ears, elevated his head once more, and
w 'nnied in low tones of gratitude. .

“ Take him down to drink,” said the Amazon,
briefly; and she turned her attention to the

lack horse.

Goln to the side of her own horse, which was'
saddl only With the skin of a grizzly bear, she
took from where they were attached to the sur-.
cingle a pair of hogples. In an instant she had
adJusted these on t e forele s of the Black Mus-

.tengso as to secure him rom escaping; w‘w

 

she proceeded to doctor him as she had done the
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 ever variety, hiding the banks of a beauti-
ful litte stream, that rushed brawling along
over a bed of white pebbles, about six feet in
breadth. The General plunged down 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 rode up
the bank to find his prize. He met the beauti-
ful Amazon leading the black stallion down to
the stream, and riding her own jaguar-like
charger.

Weston was wonderfully puzzled over this
enigmatical 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, for she
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. Asthey pro ssed,
the deep roar of a waterfall became audi le.

 

CHAPTER VII.
THE PRAIRIE HERMIT.

EULALIE went forward along the banks of
the stream, leading the wild horse. Thoroughly
exhausted as the latter was, and fettered with
hopples, he could offer but little reelstance, 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 in the other-
w1se level prairie, on the steep sides of which
black rocks were visible, under the thick 1a er
of loam that formed the prairie surface. The
nearer they came, the plainer was the existence
of 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 Niagara had been formed by the
same agencies as t ose which make that giant
cascade. Only, instead of one fall of great
hight, our hero, looking over the edge, could

rcexve a succession of white cataracts throw-
ing up showers of spray in the .air, and endin
in black still pools, or flowing on over broads,
White platforms of afinartz rock, ill another
led made another 1 .

T e sides of this natural phenomenon were of
quartz and other rimitive rocks, tBerpendicular,
and hollowed out y the wear of 6 water into
recesses and bold buttresses, that reminded you
 the aisles of ,a cathedral.

Jen-1;, v -

we ,
.u‘

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

1.7

 

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 him alight blow, the
noble creature trotted off down the path as
docile as a (log. Entalie followed, with the end
of thelasso in her hand, the other end of which
was hitched around the lower jaw of the Black
Mustang.

The stallion, being hopplcd, was secure against
escape, and followed his fair leader down the
path without much difficulty. Weston came
last, 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.
Sometimes it wound under over-arching rocks,
from which curtains of diamond drops fell like
a vail outside the path, as some baby stream
trickled over the precipice above. Now 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-
u (lral-li e cliffs made a solemn amphitheater
around them, that echoed to the clutter 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
onIIBy 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 third narrow gorge ap ared before
them, beyond which he could see t 9 light of the

\

sk .

his companion advanced boldly into the nar-
row passage. The great walls of rock a. preach-
' ed til they almost touched above, whi 6 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 rest
awhile, scooping out a softer bed of rock be-
neath, black and ra id‘ as an arrow. A plat-
form of tree-trunks ad 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
larger dimensions than the other three, was be-
fore him.

It measured about a quarter of a mile acr: ', 2'

 

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 pond
of several acres in extent, and then rippled and
meandered traiiquilly through banks of grass of
emerald green, till it disappeared in a narrow
gorge beyond, whose perpendicular walls cut the
sky abruptly.

The sides of the valley were heavily clothed
with timber. Oak, maple. hickor , chestnut,
walnut, and the white-blossome 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 and similar fields of
wheat and oats stretched beside it.

A neat fence, rustic and picturesque, in'closed
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 Eulalic. “ How do you like it?” ,

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

“ And what is best, it is unknown to all the
world,” she said; “ only this black horse hasever
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 ath alone, and we can destro this
in ten minuxées. But see, I must call my ather
to welcome on.” ,

Eulalie aint Pierre lifted from her side .
where it hung by a gold chain, a small bugle of ,
silver.
long, shrill (-
times.

“ Wait a moment,” she said, smiling. ,
Another bugle answered from the valley, th
long, sweet notes echoing from rock to rock. '

The figure of a man appeared on the green be-
fore the cottage, and W eston saw several mus-
tangs immediately run up to him. They
seemed to be 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 the stran er ,
with much interest. As he approached, be 6-
held a very tall, slight-built man, long and lean,
but hard and muscular, who sat on his horse
with the grace of a Grecian has-relief. 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—
nitly to his a pearanco. He was dressed in the
o inary buc skin shirt and leggings, common ‘
to Indians and hunters alike, and totally un-
armed. ,

As be ap roached be exhibited traces of sur-
prise and p ensure. , I

“What have you there, Eulalie?” he cried, in
French. “Is it not that beautiful black he
that has sometimes visited our vhneyi, How
v“, __ .

‘ en for the first time he noticed Weston,

.

lof several notes, repeated three

,' .
.,,

She placed it to her lips. and- blew-ad ‘
a i .

 

v; . 45m" 2

see

 . ‘~'.« ‘ 3.-

eggs?

"5&2?  vow .

 

{saws

\

13

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

hid len before by an angle of the rock. He

3 s.)u.l'b8d violently, with an angr frown. Ho
clapped his hand to M left side in an instant,
with an instinctive readiness that told of the old
soldier and his well-remembered sword.

“Who is that, Eulaliei” he asked, sternly.
“How came a stranger here? Is our retreat dis-
covered at last, and shall we have whites and
Indians alike profaning the home of Saint
Pierre?"

Eulalie threw up her head with a haughty
gisture. She was a spoiled child and knew her
1) mar.

“ I found the poor young man on the prairie,
a‘oae and,unarmed,” she said, proudly. “ His
horse was nearly dead but he had just lassoed
tie Black Mustang. hoth horses would have
died, and the young man would have starved:
for he had nothing but a knife, as you see. So
berought him here to save his life, and I prom-
ised him a welcome. Will you not give him one,
fisher?” she suddenly bro e off, leaning both
hands on the old man s knee, and looking 11 into
his face coaxingly. The cunning wretch new
her power well.

The solitary of the valley allowed his features
to relax. But he shook his head rloubtfully.

“lmprudent as ever, Eulalie,” he said, with a
grave smile. “ How do we know who this
stranger is? He may belong to some party, who
gill bring half the world down to our oasis, and

estroy the little haven of peace where I had
to end my days.”

he

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, monsieur,”
he said. “I may seem to you a. pretty ragged-
looking object, but I am a gentleman as you are,
and I have seen the world. I have visited your
own proud ca ital, beautiful Paris. On the
honor of a gen leman, when I leave this valley,
I will never reveal to a soul its existence. I have
two friends followin me, whom I left this
morning in pursuit 0 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 5 ak likea gallant and honorable man,
monsieur ’ he answered. " I must trust on per-
force, and I hold you to your honor. ut you
must depart when your companions arrive. ”

“ 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-
teously: ‘f you could not catch any of the others.
They are only used to me and my 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
enou h to cut him off, as we did these.”

As e spoke he dismounted from the ma ifl-
cent animal he rode, a bay dappled with b ack,
retaining. it only by a grasp on the long flowing
mane. he horse appeared a little alarmed at
the stranger, but permitted Frank to mount him.

a ’ Saint Pierre called ‘to another of the mustangs,

pl...

- I

 

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

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

“ I have been buried from the world here for
fifteen long years,” he began; “I left my native
France eighteen years ago, when first her throne
was polluted by the unprinci led tyrant and
robber who styles himself mpcror of the
French. That monkey, who aped the military
airs 0f the uncle, whose name he has disgraced,
never had my homage. I left Paris the week
after the coup d’etat was accomplished. Tell
me, monsieur, are the French eople still in-
fatuated about that charlatan? on 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-
scite, which had proved the dissatisfaction of
French people. It was only a few months before
the Prussian war, which so suddenly demolished
that fabric of delusions. the Second French Em-

ll‘e.

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

“ It serves them right,” he said. “ They had
a re ublic. Every one was free and equal before
the aw. What could they want more? But
they allowed this impostor to cheat them, and
they shouted ‘ Vice l’empereur.’ , They wanted a
second Austerlitz. They may get a second
Waterloo. Come, monsieur. Enter my humble
dwelling.”

And, as 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 Weston was more .surprised than ever
to see commodious outbuildings, and stables
with neat rustic fences around everything.

Saint Pierre smiled at his astonishment.

“ Bring our horse into the stable,” he said.
“ You w11 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 hungry, and Jean Baptiste shall attend
to your horse.”

He called out “ Jean Baptiste l” 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
of the lasso, and refused to budge.

Saint Pierre threw open a large door and call-
ed to one of his own mustangs, awhite mare
spotted with black. The docile creature trotted

The Boy Mustang-Hunter,

19

 

up, and entered a large loose box, heavily litter-
ed with straw, and padded for six feet up the

walls.

Then the black stallion went forward readily
enou rh, and as soon as he was in, the mare was
colle out. The ~negro removed the hopples,
shook off the noose of the lasso, and shut the
door on the Black Mustang, unfettered, but a
prisoner.

“ 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 ceased marveling. Every-
thing Was so wonderful in this valley of en-
chantment. His host took him to a clean, cheer-
ful room, the 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 her own,
which fitted better, although gretty tight. Buck-
skin stretches, however, an 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 ame and trout, which was
finished, to his furt er surprise, with a cup of
excellent French cofiee and cognac!

Dinner over, his host produced a bundle of
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 cen-
trivances to obtain comfort in the wilderness.” _

He blew a cloud of smoke in the air. Beauti-
ful Eulalie composedly lighted a crgumto of
corn-husk which she rolled around the tobacco
with the deft facility acquired by long practice.
Weston ave a puff and told his story, when St.
Pierre to owed with his own in due course.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE GOLDEN VALLEY.

“ You 'must know, monsieur. that I am a Red
Republican. I was the friend of Louis Blanc,
Mazzini, and Kossuth. and I did in part in ’48,
toward lighting the flame of revo ution. Dur-
ing the Republic I sat in Parliament for my de-
partment. I unceasin ly exposed the Wiles of
the conspirator Louis onaparte, and in 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
on 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 glorious republic, the old-
time ally of France. took.passa_ge by we of
Liverpool, England, and arrived in New on;
safely. Eulalie was born there, seventeen years

’ ago now; and her mother, my poor Eulalie.
whose image she is, died there too. I was left;
alone with a little infant, and inconsolable. I

laced Eulalie in charge of the Sisters of the
cred Heart, near New York, and wandered all
over the United States bl’Ym ‘50 fin? "Pose Qt
mind. I crossed the Rocky ountains in Cali-

 

 

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.

“Alasl It onl fed on solitude. One day
alone on the wil prairie, to the westward 0
here, a sudden and irresistible desire came
over me to find and see my little dau hter
once more. I cannot tell how the esire
came, but it seized me suddenly and capricious-
ly, and became uncontrollable. It was at the
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 u
in the morning. with this sudden longing in
possession of me. Before me laya 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 east- ‘
ward, and I started. My horse was a noble
creature and I carried a supply of water for
both of us. And I tell 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 scanty stock of water gave out completely.
I pushed on till night, and just at sunset my
eyes were greeted by the sight of a distanthe t '
timber, faintly visible on the horizon. I deter-
mined to ride all night if my horse dropped. The
faithful creature carried me 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! Myhorse 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 neighborth
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 den ers of the world, and
bring up my little Eula ie,1pure and innocent,
till she is old enough to butt 6 with the world.‘

“ I determined to do it. The idea leased me
mightily. I will not trouble you wit any fur-
ther adventures in the accomplishment of my

u e. Suffice it to say that Imade in way
to ustin City, thence to Houston and ves-
ton, and thence by way of New Orleans and the
Mississippi to New York.

“ I found mylittle Eulalie a prattling black-,
eyed child of three years old. She soon took to
me, although she pinod 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 purchased at New 0rleans, the
necessary out 1: for the little colony I contem-
p ated founding. I height also Jean Ba tints,
my ne ro boy. at New rleans, and his 0 mo-
ther arie who su plied the place of a mother
to ‘my Eulalie. en, with a little train of 
pack-mules, for I knew parts of this route to be
impracticable for wagons, I started from Aus-

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‘ were raised from the bridge.

20

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

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

“Once comfortable, we began to turn our
attentionto luxury. I planted coffee and to—
bacco, and they throve well, especially the lat-
ter. A few slips ot' grape—vine soon provided
us with abundance of grapes, and we mane
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 difliculty.

“At last, in our twelfth year here, when
Eulalie was fifteen, she came to me one day in
great glee. A herd of mustangs was in our u —
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-
li and hesitatingly; but finally emerged into
t e valley, and seemed delighted with the pas-
ture. We kept ourselves concealed till they
werdtoo far in to escape, and then started for
the entrance of the valley. We reached there
without alarmin them, and at once blocked up
the entrance to he outer glen that communi-
cates with this valley. It was very easil 
cured with a barricade of tree-trunks w ich
Then we returner]

I i to the valley and found the little herd, eighteen

all told, feeding close to our house.

“Assoon as we made our a pearance from
among the trees at the back 0 the house, the
whole herd took fright anl scam red away
with amazing speed to the mouth 0 the valley.

“ This was exactly 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
inI and they were safe.

‘ While traveling in Ohio once, I had made
the acquaintance 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 or most timid horse alike, by very
aim is methods.

“ am rather an:enthusiast, monsieur, as you
may notice, and I determined to try my friend
Rarey’s system fully and conscientiously.

“ I can say that it preved a erl'ect success.

“ Little bribes of com um oats. constantly
offered by my daughter and myself. have accus-
tomed our horsesto follow us ike dogs. In the
stable in the winter, in pasture in the summer,
they are perfectly kind and 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-
hghted in conversing with Frank, and hearin

the histor of the world since his seclusion. e
took gran. interest in assisting him to tame the
Black Mustang, after Rarey’s system. and Eula-

With that marvelous mixture of feminine
gentleness and masculine firmness that marked
her character, she effected a complete conquest
of the wild stallion in two days. The two men
did nothing but look on, to see that no harm
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 he
lay on his side conquered, Eulalie turned round
With saucy triumph.

“ Eh bien, messieurs, je l’ai fait. touts seule."
(Well, gentlemen, I have done it all alone.)

Weston was fain to admit 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
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 character. He saw
this young man to be an honest gentleman, and
he felt finite willing to take him for a guide and
husban for Eulalie.

“ I have money enough for us all, men ami,”
he said, when Frank opened his heart to him
and told him all his past history. “ You are a
gentleman, reduced to poverty. So was I fifteen
years ago. If Eulalie loves you, you may marry,
and we will all live in happiness together.

“ Come with me now,” he proceeded. “ Eula-
lie has shown you her treasures. Iwill show
you mine." 4

Frank had noticed the presence of gold in the
quartz rocks, all round the valley, but he had
not hunted for nuggets. He had been too much
on aged with Eulalie’s eyes to think of gold.

e followed his host to the stable, and thence
to a laifie room in the rear, usod as aharness
room. ere the Frenchman pointed out to him
a row of old pack-saddles of the clumsy Mexi-
can pattern, covered with dirty leather, and
ornamented 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 gold,
and the hollows necessary to make them li 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 eflecfiially
ward off suspicion of their value. Each of those
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
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 carry away. in gold and

 

slie was allowed to try her hand on the animal.

emeralds, about two millions of dollars, and if I

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

ai

 

never come back to get the rest, I 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 started.

“_Oh, man Dieu!” he said, with an accent
of indescrlbable bitterness; “I have ko t you
away, rude world, for fifteen years, and now
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 recognized
the peculiar tones of the repeatiug rifles of his
late companions.

“ It is my two friends,” 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 overmatched 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
corpses. You shall see.”

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

 

CHAPTER IX.
run TRAILERS TEAILED.

WHEN Pete Wilkins and Gilmore resumed
their journey after changing horses, 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 spot where he had disappeared;
but, what with changing 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.

“ Serves 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.”

“éurely that will be easy enough ” re lied
Gilmore; “ we have come in a direct line mm
the ravxne, 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 darned ef yer arn’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
little string of horses. _ ' u

“ Well, what of it?” he inquired; I see our
tang. plain enough, and theirs can not be far
0 i ,

 

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

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

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

“ Behind us, I think.”

“ Wal, then; ain’t yer got enough l’arniu’ ter
see that we’ve b’en a—goin’ in a circumbendibus?
Vv'e‘ve both on us b’en a-lookin’ so hard, that
we’d forgotten all about that. Whether the
track be tor the right or ter the left, I dunno.
Durn my karkidge ef I hain’t clear furgotten all
about it. We crost it more nor wunst, and
that‘s all I remembers.”

I

“And for my part,” said Gilmore frankly;

“ I don’t so muc as remember seein it at all.”

:hTaiigt wiinde‘rfulii’d answered t e hurtlll‘m‘,
ra er ittery' ‘ co nt ex ta green om
to do an better.” pee

“ We] , Pete,” said the gambler, with some '

imbatience, “ what’s to be one?"

‘ We’ll hev to divide, and hunt the trail,"
answered Pete, promgtly.
a—cryin’ over spilt mil . 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-V

more. “ It cannot but be fresh.”

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

“’Tain’t no use.

“At right-angles, you mean,” interrupted '

Gilmore. \

“ Don’t know nauthen ’bout right-angles, as
you call ‘em. I mean crostwise, crisscross,
that-away ” (pointing). “ Take keer to keep a
straight line, and ri a straight ahead till one on
us sees the trail. The man that cums on it fu'st
is tar halt and fire a shot, and the other ’11 come

“ 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 gair separated without more words,
gidlrode o in opposite directions to flnd‘the

ai .

To a man of Gilmore’s im tient spirit, the
transition from a chase in ful view to the tedi—
ous process of tracking was very anno ing. He
rode on, with a string of awkward le horses to
guard, looking right and left for the track, and
in a tolerably bad tem r.

It cost him a full our’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 -- I

catch sight of the hunter’s figure, a speck in the
distance. ~
. There were _no signs of the wished-tor trail
in his own Vicinity, and Gilmore, unused to the
patience and watchfulness of a prairie hunter,

\
1

was beginning to be disgusted with his task, I

when his eyes were rejoiced with the sight of a

put! of white smoke from old Pete’s rifle, the ’

si ha] of success. r
he gambler turned his horse’s head and

galloped back, followed by his string of pack- j‘

anim

als.
He found Pete Wilkins sitting on hishorse,

-

 

 

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. V

‘ H ar’s the trail, Gil,” observed the hun-
f‘eir ;‘ and now let’s go along as quick as we

n.

Suiting the action to the word, the two struck
elf on the trail at a canter, 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, and eyed the
horses in silence. ll of them, ridden and led,
were covered with foam and much exhausted.
The hunter gave a resigned grunt.

“ Sarves me right. he said. “ Comin’ out
with a couple of boys—seems to me I’m a—gittin’
a boy mysclf. Most haste wuss speed, as my

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

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

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

“ Hatin’t we better look for water before
dark?" he asked. “It’ll be pretty hard finding
it, it we follow this trail till sunset.”

“ And ef we leave the trail, it’ll be pesky

1 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 sense in what yer say, lad,” observed
the hunter. “ Look around. Your eyes is sharp.
See at yer kin see any wood. Whar thur’s wood
thur's water.” V

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

“ We mou’t as well go on,” said Pete. “The
trail’s pretty sure to lead to water at last. That
’ere Black knowed what he wur about when he

_ headed this-away.”

v

Gilmore felt the force of the observation, and
they rode along on the trail till sunset at a slow
pace. The horses suffered reatly from thirst,
and the pace and weight com ined. At last night

ut an end to their tracking. and old Pete haltel
net as the sun set.

“ Thar," he said dismounting from his little
gray mare, the only one in the company that

.-seemed to have anv spirit left; “ we mou’t as

well camp here, fur ’tain’t no use— Hello!” He
broke off suddenly at this juncture.

The little mare whom he had left loose for a
moment suddenly put down her head to the
earth, snuifed for a moment, and then, bursting
into a glad whinnv. galloned off to the right of the

path. over a little swell of ground, and disap-

r .
Gilmore instinctively started to catch her.
“Never mind.” cried Pete; “let her went. I

tell yer. She’s found water, you bet. See the

rest.”
It was true. The othe s strained at their hal—
ters to follow the mare. Pete mounted one of

them, and they rode over the little swell ol’

mare was just disappearing in the .

 

.
twilight, over a second swell, a quarter of amile
off

They followed at their best pace, and, after a
hard chase, at last arrived at a little pool of
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 fatigues
of the day.

The next morning they started early on their
own back trail, to find 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
during the night, and it was no longerplain sail~
ing. I‘hey were compelled to go slowly, and
with extreme caution. Gilmore taking charge of
all the horses, and old Pete going ahead on foot,
trackinrr the shoes of the “ General.” This was
their only guide. Mustang and deer tracks, new
and old, crossed them frequently, but Peto held
on, spying from time to tune the marks of the
nails in the horse-shoes, and following them faith-
fully. It was very slow work, however. The
con usion of tracks would have perplexed any
but an old hunter. Pete advanced slow and sure,
till night again overtook them.

There was no sign of timber or water near, and.
they were compelled to encamp, thirsty and fire-
ess.

“ 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-
dever, to-morrer’ll tell, I guess. Ef we don’t run
into sumthin’ by that time, I’ll give up, and
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.
“ Mav it not be mustangs?”

“Mustangs never went as straight as that,”
said Pete. “ Mustangs goes here, there, and
everywhere. trots around and plays with each
other. These ’ere goes straight along. Thur In-
'uns on the war-oath and they was only hyar yes-

rdav mornin’ !”

“Well! What’s to be done now?” asked Gril-
more. looking to his rifle, as he spoke.

“Keep yer eyes skinned fur the varmints
while I foller the trail," replied the hunter.
“ Thur’s a hull grist on ’em. and thur goin’ back
ter the clifl's we left: but if they come acrost our
trail, ’tar’ my idee as they'll come fur us. So
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
harli1 been making, when Weston finally came up
to im.

Here old Pete mounted his little mare once
more.

“ ’Tain’t no use doin’ any more trackin’ now,”
he observed. “ They must ’a’ gene for that tim~
mer in a bee-line. Let’s git.”

.The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

23

 

Just as he spbke, Gilmore uttered a sharp cry
of recognition.

“ I thought so Pete,” he cried. “Look back.
There come the lndians.”
Pete’s glance followed his own. There they

could see, at a distance of not more than acouple
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,
thrown 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 stren th, for they
went at a lively pace, without muc urging.

The distance to cover could not be more than
five miles, and both the companions felt in good
he s of getting there before the Indians.

hey ressed on at a fair speed, now and then
looking ack at the pursuers. The latter were
gaining rapidly.

By the time three miles were passed, the In-
dians had reduced their distance to one-half;
and it became evident, that before the cover
could be reached, the enemy would be within
gun-shot.

“ Git yer shootin’-irons ready Gil,” said the
old hunter, handling his own as he swept along.
“ We’ll hev to stop the varmints afore we git
thar, I’m afeard.”

Gilmore drew his pistols from his belt, one
after the other, and quietly revolved them, to
see if they were in order. His demeanor was as
calm, as if out on a. pleasure ride.

Both rode steadily on, the Indians drawing
closer and closer, till they had arrived within a
hundred yards of the trees, when the pursuers,
for the first time. uttered a wild yell.

“ Halt!” shouted the old hunter. I“ We’ve
run fur enough. Let’s stop and give it to the
cusses.” _

As he spoke, he pulled up the little mare, and
turned to face the enemy. Gilmore followed
his example, and the two stood at bay.

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

Both the white men raised their rifles at the
same instant, and opened fire on the crowd at
short ran e. Then it was that the powers of
the terrib o repeating rifles proved equal to the
occasion.

The Indians presented a perfect mark, all
huddled together as they were. The first two
shots dropped two of their number, and the
rest yelled the louder, and came on taster.
But when shot after shot, in almost as man
seconds, followed, they wavered in doub .
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 fled, throwing themselves over the
sides of their horses to shield their persons, and
followed by the spiteful bullets, till they were
out of range. . , ,

There they clustered in groups.. rldmg *0 and
fro, and not daring to come Within gun-shot

 

But the'position of the two was sufficiently
embarrassmg. It was evident that the Indians
had no firearms, or the would have used them;
but it was equally pain that they were in
numbers sufficient to annihilate the whites, if
they get near enough.

01d Pete looked worried, as he sat on his
horse. Every now and then he would try a
long shot at some savage, bolder 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 1e. directly in their rear sounding the
“ award” of the U. S. Cami .

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

 

CHAPTER X.
THE HUMAN comm

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

lentint in the valley, and the three horses had

een fed up well.

The General and the black had recovered
from their fatigue, and neighed out a welcome .
to their masters as they came rushing in.

“ Come to the harness-room!” cried the
Frenchman; “ we have weapons there, but no ‘
firearms. Still we can do something, and at
these savages into the glen. I have a. trap or
them ther . Come along.” ‘ ‘ ‘

They rushed into the harness-room, Eulalie'
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 astonihment, a hauberk
orl shirt of mail, made of chainwork of solid
st ver. ~

“ 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 as a substitute, de-
fenslvely, for his loss in ofl’ensive power by the ,
failure of his gunpowder. r '

In ten minutes from that time, three mailed
figures, splendid and glittering, and reseman
medieval knights. rode out from the stable-yang,
and dashed at full speed 11 the valle . Eulalie.
Saint Pierre seemed to he her p see as nat-,‘
urally as a man, and rode foremost on the tab]
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 no r0 nodded, and ran .
after them with an ax on is shoulder.

It required but a tew moments for the cave- '

K

 

 

 

24 The Boy Mustang-Hunter".
llers so magnificently mounted and armed, to mean time, rode about outside, surveying the
reach the g en, and gallop at full speed up the astonished Indians, and ovorawing them for the

narrow pass. I

The hermit led the way on Jaguar, and was
soon at the to , and on level ground. They could
see nothing 0 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 rapi l burst, and Weston concluded that
hésbt’riends ha-l repulsed the savages, who were
8. 1y.
Saint Pierre turnel his horse to the right, and
dashel through the timber that completely
masked the opening into the glen. They gallop
61 along the gloo my path, overshadowe: with
thick trees for about a hundred yards, when
they energei suddenly on the open prairie.

There the,r came in full view of the fight.

As Weston had anticipated, it was his two
friends, Pete Wilkins and Little Gilmore, with
a string of led horses behind them. They sat
still on their own animals, outside of their little
train, ride in hm l. Beyond, out on the leVel

ltio, anl just out of un-shot, was a line of In-

ims, seventy or eig ty at least, riding- con-
fuss 11y to and fro, and hesitating to attack the
two men.

“ Eu, parblea, growled Saint Pierre, under his

rizzled bard, “but they are cowards, those In-
,. ians. They must be Comanches. Come along,

then! Let us chirg them.”

But before he st‘ rtel he raised his bugle to
his lips and blew a loud calL

It was the “ For ward ” of the U. S. cavalry.

“ They will think there are troops here,” he

‘ , said. laughing.

The next minent the three dashed out, at the
full s eel 0! their fresh and vigorous horses, and
tore own on the Indians.

The latter broke instantly, and fell back sev-
eral huu lrel yar ls, dis myed at the apparition
of three shinin,r figures, such as they had never
seen before.

“ Tellyour frieni; to get int) the glen quick,
or they are lost,” Sli’l the hermit hastily, as he
pulled up his horse. " T4) In liens will be back
again in two minutes, Wien hey are over their

surprise.”

‘ Frank gallopel up to Pete Wilkins, who sat on
his horse, traoaflrej with wonder at the three
white horsemen.

“ Fall but to the timber, Pete,” he shouted.
“ We must take to the glen to defend ourselves.
Drive in the lei horses.”

Old Peteuttarel a cry of ave-stricken surprise.

.. “ Gee-hoihephat! gee-re wsale n! gee-'iminy
crikeyl Wal, no'v, Wh it in all creation ev ye
b’en oin’ ani wao ans Yna now?”
“ I’ll teli you when we’re safe.” answered Frank,
hastily. “ I’ve caught the mustang and found
friends. Cane back, I tell you. Don’t you see
the Indians are rallying?”

And indeed the savages, seeing the white men
halt, had begun to cluster together, as if for a
fresh advance.

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

. And he turned his horses and started go:- the
timber. The Frenchman and Eulalle, in the

 

present.

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 'ttle train of led horses was in the timber.

Then the hermit and his daughter gnlloped
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 bolted 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 off down
the ath to the valley.

"’ he others! the others! Make them follow 1”
he shouted to Weston, as the yells of the ap-
proaching Indians warned them to hurry.

One after 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 pursuers were after
them into the timber, and would soon be up.

“ Smitez 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 turnei an angle

in the rock, and the first of the natural amphi-
theaters or glens opened before them.

He suddenly paused at the corner of the path.
The gorge in this lace was not over ten feet
wide, and very dar . The hermit put his hand
to the rock at the side of the path. A tall slab
of quartz revolved on apivot, and displayed to
their view a narrow passage and awinding stair-
case cut in the solid rock.

“ Eulalie first," said the Frenchman.

The girl sprung into the passageway, like one
well used to it, and the rest followed. Saint
Pierre remained last, to close the door, which he
did, just as the clutter of hoofs on the rocks
above announced a close pursuit. Saint Pierre
laughed. as he pulled to the ponderous slab, and
ascended the staircase. It was faintly lighted
by several loop—holes, that from without seemed
nothing but natural chinks in the rocks. He
went up about fifty feet. and found himself in a
long gallery. a natural ledge in the rock origin-
ally, but hollowed out with much patient labor
by the hermit Baptiste, in past times.

The four companions were already there, peep-
ing over 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 already galloping down the
path like madman, yelling after their anticipated
prey. The Frenchman smiled grimly, as he

/ l

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

noticed that most of the party was already be-
yond the second gorge.

“ Now, messicnrs," he said, “if Baptiste only
does his dut , we have them in a trap."

He looke over as he spoke, and started back
with a savage oath.

“Ah! marbleul” he said; “the polisson has
seen me, and is oil.”

The rest looked over, and could just discern
the figure of an Indian, as he disappeared round
the corner of the first gorge, up the pass. Gil-
more struck his knee with his 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 of the false Indian could not be
gelped. The orses were all far away by this

1me.

“ Now, messieurs,” 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 gallery just at the
mouth of the first gor 6. Five or six huge
wooden levers lay behin it, apparently on pur-
pose to upset it at some time.

The five companions united their strength, and
toppled the huge mass over into the gorge
beneath. The sound of crashing timbers an-
nounced that the narrow bridge was destroyed.
They looked over. ‘Where before a safe slo ing‘
platform had occupied the face of the ittle
gorge, a black chasm ap ared, into which fella
Seething waterfall. No uman being could pass
it till a fresh bridge was built.

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

They urried along the allery, which took
them into the second glen, w ere the 11 per path
still continued. They ran on, the In ian yells
becoming plainer every moment, and soon'found
themselves in the third or last glen, the exit
from which was into the Golden Valley.

‘The rtal into the valley was between two
tall wa ls of rock, not six feet apart, and run-
ning up 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
of the bars being taken by thick logs of
green wood, which were arranged to fit across
the opening.

Weston remembered noticing two dee grooves,
cut into the rock on each side, and ad never
guessed their use till now. Thick, solid beams,
a foot in diameter and carefully cut to the
requisite length, had been accumulated above,
during a period of years. The channel had been
made with infinite labor by the hermit and
Baptiste, assisted by natural fissures in the
roc .

A sort of open-work dam, twenty-five feet in
hight, was, by simply throwmg these logs one
after another down the grooves, formed across
the stream, behind which the water was rapidly
rising in the lower and narrower part of the
glen. Above it, the valle swelled out three or
four times the same hrea th.

The whole mob of Indians was collected before; a

.4.‘ ‘1 A

 

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 done what
I can. They are in the trap."

Old Pete Wilkins understood the
the Frenchman, if not the words.
raised his rifle.

“I'll teach yer to come arter my scaly}?
painted varmints,” he said, vindictively, “ f
It had’n’t ’a’ b’en for this ’ere feller in Silver—
and who the 01d Scratch he is, I dunno—guess
ye‘d ’a’ had us an’ our horses too.” ,

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

The scene that follow‘ed was one of the 'direst
confusion. The Indians, for the first time aware
that their enemies were above them, uttered
shrill yells, and turned about to fl ht.

But they were in a worse trap t an 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. he latter were armcd only with bows
and arrows and spears. What could they do?
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
pass in dismay, only to find themselves hemmed
in 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 of! from their
work, with merciless accuracy.

The s irit of a fiend seemed to be aroused
in the reast of the little desperado. When
stout old Pete Wilkins rounded his rifle with a.
shudder, swearing the he “ couldn’t kill the

esture of
e coolly

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 Tam Austm 1‘
Leave me alone.”

Every one gazed with astonishment upon this
singular being, so slender and fragile in appear-

ance, so efl’eminate in manner, who new display- ‘
1

ed such hideous accuracy in the work of deat
such entire remorselessness. v

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

Then Saint Pierre, pale as death after the
slaughter which fell necessity had ordered, de-

scended the stairs that led to the lower path, , I

followed by the others, Little Gilmore first.

The sight was horrible, as dead and wounded
men lay all around, choking up the usually
clear stream into a foul, polluted flood. The
hermit shudderedfibut Little Gilmore addressed
him in fair French. '

25’

“Monsieur,” he said, “ Ihave a favor to ask.

 

 

,

The Boy Must rang-Hunter.

 

L'and me a fresh horse, and help me to get out
of here. 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, monsieur,” 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

en.

He transferred his saddle and equipments to
Jaguar, 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 flowmg over it. The back-water half-
filled the lower gorge and glen. ‘

But Gilmore never stayed to notice anythinoz
He looked to his rifle, loaded all his pistols
afresh. and rode 011' up the narrow ledge till he
found himself on the path leadin into the woods.
He gave the spurs to Jaguar. he 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 wasto be seen to the east. He
dashed across the belt of timber to the west,
and his hopes were verified. Away in advance,
aui about three miles 01!, DJW, was a single
horseman. heading west.

Gilmore gave a savage oath, and gallopel
after the distant stranger at full speed.

He felt who it was.

CHAPTER XI.
1: U N '1' n n n o w N .

THE gambler’s heart heat more forcibl than
its wont. The man whom he had chased a 1 over
Texas was at last before him, and could not es-
cape. At every bound of Jaguar, Little Gil-
mrire’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 g en. He could not be mis-
taken in the man. He knew well the burl
form. the fierce, bold face, with its heavy blach

 

' beard bristling and still

’ “ Ah! Tom Austin,” he muttered, as he flew
along on the track of the other, “ we’ve changed
all that new. 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 soon as h 3 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.

b “ Weight will tell," muttered the gambler to

imself.
‘ 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.

 

Even at the distance be 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 san .

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

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

As far as he could see ahead, and to the right
and left, a flat, sandy plain, strewed with rocks,
extended. Jaguar egan to labor, himself, as
he felt the deep, soft sand under his feet, and
the little gambler allowed him to take his own

ace.
p While he was doing so, he observed the other
suddenly increase his pace, and perceived that
he had got on to a 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 the horse with the spur
knowing that it was useless till they reach
firm ground. At last the did so, and after a
few bounds, Gilmore for t 6 first time touched
Jaguar with the spurs, and ave a or of en-
couragement. The noble horse unded orwarcL.
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 gunshot. ,

He could see his enemy clearly now. as he
loo ed over his shoulder every now and then.
H 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 com letely blown.
Jaguar was not much better, than s to the im-
mense start the renegade had.

But the chase ended, with the rocky platform.
On the other side came asecond dee bed of
sand, and here at last Austin‘s horse fe 1 down,
half stumbling. quite exhausted throwin his
master several feet forward, and lying t ere,
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.

Hewas bv no means deficient in courage, al-
though his flight before Gilmore would seem to
imply it. , _

lthough unprovided with firearms. the ruflian
showed the one virtue of his nature, physical
courage, born of brute strength. He snatched
at his quiver to draw an arrow. The next in-
stant a pistol-bullet smashed into the quiver it-
self, breaking up and renderingr useless most of
the arrows, and sending the splinters flying. '

it:

The Boy mustang-Hunter.

B?

 

With a curse of rage and pain, Austin drew
away his hand from among the splintered ar-
rows, and whipped out his long knife.

“Ah! curse yo, yo little wlielp!” he howled,
“if I had ye on the ground, I’d cut yer little
heart out!”

He looked up in Gilmorc’s face, and, rufiian
as he was, he trembled before its concentrated
ferocity.

The countenance 0f the lesser man, usually
so 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,
not a muscle 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 around was intense.
He hardly spoke above a whisper, and yet every
word was distinctly audible:

“ Austin,” he began, “five years ago you met
me, a poor, inoifensive music-teacher, who loved
a beautiful woman, and thought her an angel.
You took advantage of the strengih God gave
you to insult and beat me. You knew I was
weak, and get, when you struck me, I did
my best to ght you. You, coward that you
were, ran no danger in attacking an unarmed
man whom you could strangle with one hand.
You hold me‘ down, beat and kicked me, and de-
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.
Look at your horse I"

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
jaw, cutting his tongue to pieces. 7

A howl of a ony, iuarticulate and dreadful,
burst from the iuge rufiian. He turned to rush
at Little Gilmore. Quick as thought the latter
pointed his pistol, and brought Austin to the

ound with a shattered knee-pan. There he
av, writhing in impotent rage, terror and pain.

The clear. pitiless voice of Little Gilmore, re-
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
who can bite, and the big bully is nothing but a
big coward, after all his brags. Did how)
when you had me down, coward and rufl‘lan’!
Did I quail when the horsewhip was cutting me
to pieces? You know how I fought till I was
senseless, coward, bully, great wretch that you
are. You great fellows are all cowards, Tom.
You‘re brave enough where your strength helps
you; but here’s equality, Tom Austin, here’s
equality, curse your cowardly heart!”

And he shook his pistol vindictively at the
fallen man. _ .

Tom Austin slowly rose to his feet, leaning on
his lance, and standing on one leg. His looks
were ghastly and horrible. fl‘he blood Streamed
over the strong waves of his black beard. and
his face was contorted Wltl} Pflm- H15 eyes
glared with rage, and yet, Withal. there was a
certain di ity llllfihls look as he faced the man
who held ‘m in 5 WM.

He tried to  An inarticulate 'bablll'}

 

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

“ Hal Tom Austin. Foul—mouthed bully!
you’ll never call another man a whelp. rl’ve
spoiltqyour tongue forever, scoundrel. And I’ve
brought down your pride, too, coward, coward,
coward l” .

He seemed to take peculiar pleasure in taunt-
ing the other with cowardice. The taunt stung.
Austin drew himself up proudly enou h, now
that his fate was inevitable. He sign 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 malitrnity, “ you made me sufler
once; you must so or 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 fingers.

“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 stopped. He had fired five shots at
the other, who had not flinched from the last.

“ Bahl ’l‘om Austiul" 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 lnug , drawmgI a sec-
ond pistol, as the other stooped to pic up the
weapon.

Poor Austin rose with difficulty, pistol in
hand, as Gilmore leaped from his horse and
stepped up to him. The large man let the pistol
hang from his left hand, the uninjured one,
whi e he tried to steady himself on one foot. It
Eras 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. Tomi” 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 ire 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 raven e.

The gambler st still, gazing at the fallen
body in marble stillness. ' >
“ done 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- He zed quietly on the oozing--
blood, the disflgm‘ face, and not a 'muscle
stirred. At last he was roused by a tug at his
arm. and the horse Jaguarhpulling at his bridle
recalled him to himself. ‘ 0 turned round, 

 

 

‘ 26 l The Boy Mustang-Hunter"

patted the beautiful creature’s neck, as gently
as a woman might.

“Poor fellow!” he said, softly, and then re-
sumed his ordinary demeanor.

He advanced to the body, and arched
among the clothes. Apparently he was coking
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, S anish-
looking woman, of singular beauty. ilmore
looked at it, long and steadily. At last his lip
curled in a strange, writhin smile of intense
'pain'and self-contempt. He ooked down at the
cor e, brutal and repulsive, even in death, and
bro e out:

“Ahal Dolores, mi querida. So you wanted
the thews and sinews of a man, did you?~—'and
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 thoughtful, 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 murderI duel,
suicide, or whatevnr else it may be called, in
about an hour. He found the poor horse of the
dead man risen up, and staggering toward the
trees. The poor creature neighed with joy at
seeing Jaguar.

Gilmore dismounted and picketed the latter.
Then advancing to the body. he took the dead
man’s knife, and scooped a hasty grave by its
side. He arranged poor Austin’s limbs decently,
and covered him With sand. Then, mounting
Ja uar once more, he rode off on the back track,
fol owed by the Indian horse.

Arrived at the belt of trees, he tethered both
of them a geid mile from the entrance of the
valley, where 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 bugle. It was answered by the ap-
pearance of Jean Baptiste. on the little led e,
that appeared to be cut in the face of the me 5,
high up the side of the narrow gateway that
opened into the valley.

The negro seemed 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 opposite to
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 ofl it, and spouting from all
the interstices in streams. The negro rapidly

. and dextronsly amxed a pair of grappling-irons
to one end of the top log. He swung himself to
the cliff on one side, where a series of steps had

1
/

 

been cut for his reception. Strainng on the
ro e, one end of the upper log rose in the air,
til it was nearly perpendicular. Then the grap—
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 leg after
log lifted u , and canted over the fall in the
same way. 1inside of half an hour the dam was
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 valle across the ace of the
little waterfall. was stil standing. As each leg
was removed, the stream had descended so grad-
ually 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 valle and hoppled to prevent the'r escape.

Pete ilkins was wonder-struck t every-
thing: the beauty of the scenery, the commo-
dious house, the elegant stables, everything
astonished him; but above all, the wonderful
riches of the bed of the stream.

Saint Pierre percnived that it would be im-
possible to conceal these riches from him long;
and since Frank could vouch for the honesty of
the old hunter, he was told everything. He
readily promised secrecy when required.

“ I’d be a durned fool if I wur to tell any one,"
he remarked. “ Ef What you sa ’s true. 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 ef the fellers
in Houston was to ketch wind 0’ this here placer,
thar wouldn’t be a hug-[get left in a year from
now. No, no, Frank, ’11 whack up with yer,
but I‘ll keep mum.”

So the matter was settled. It was determined,
however, to leave the valley as soon as possible,
for fear of the esca ed Indian or Tom Austin—
whichever it was—— rin ing back a heavier force
on them than they coul manage.

The ammunition of the tparty was reduced to
about fifty rounds, all tol ,and the could not
have sustained a serious attack. they set
about their preparations at once.

The eighteen pack-saddles, so rough in cover,

so precious in frame, were ready for use. Leeds v

of wool and dried beef, light 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 beer and buffalo hides.
In these hides ingots of gold were concealed till
each beast bore a, load of about a hundred
ounds.

p Provisions and grain sufficient 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 old
Pete related his adventures since he parted from
Frank: or rather, since the latter left him, so
suddenly. in pursuit of the Black Mustang.

Our little party passed their last night in the
valley in peace and quietness.

At an early hour next day, every one was
astir. The horses were loaded with their precious

/

.. on.

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

freight, and fastened in each other in a long
string.

The beautiful mustangs of the valley were left
unloaded, to serve as riding horses. The captured
ponies of the Indians bore the packs.

Eulalie made her appearance, attired as an
ordinary hunter, and the fun of the thing was
that old Pete never suspected her sex. He took
her for a handsome boy only. She was dressed
as a man, and rode like one, managing the Black
Mustang himself with all the fearlessness and
grace of a perfect horseman.

Old Marie was apparently the only female of
the party, and she displayed great trepidation
when put on a. horse. for the first time in fifteen
years. But Jean Ba tiste rode like a uaquero,
and took good care 0 his mother.

Old Pete stuck to his little gray mare, although
offered the pick of St. Pierre’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 patterns.

He obtained loads for his revolver, but there
was no ammunition for the rifle. till Frank
Weston broke up some cartridges to furnish

owder, while St. Pierre himself cast a dozen
Bullets of pure gold before leaving.

If they had had 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 day long. At evening they
had arrived at the clifl‘s from whence Frank had
chased the Black Mustang, and went into camp
at the same motte.

The next morning the horses were watered,
and fed with grain, of which they carried about
five days’ allowance. Then the loads were ad-
‘usted, 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 their loads.

The horses ridden were only the very finest,
and each person had two spare animals, unload-
ed. to “ change ofl‘ ” on.

It was an anxious business at night to guard
this herd, but by means of hopples it was efiect-
ed, and they suffered no losses.

0n the evening of the third day the had
passed the last great cliff-step, that (livid them
from the lowlands. They had lost no animals on
the road, 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 5 tted
over like a leopard. The animal neighed oudly
as he approached, and the Frenchman recog-
nized Ja liar. _

It was ittle 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
Plgri‘fénsieur,” he said, courteously, “I return
you many thanks for the uso of your horse. I
regret that he is tired, as Y0“ 59% but Y9“ had
a day’s start of me, and lhedto ride fast on

your trail.”

I

 

The old man bowed. He did not conceal his
coldness. Little Gilmore looked at him a mo-
ment, as if about to speak, but he altered his
mind and turned away.

The Frenchman was one of those chivalrous,
tender-hearted men, of whom, thank God, there
are some few left, whose souls revolt at cruelty
and reven e. And he did not know Gilmores
history. e had been shocked and disgusted at
the latter’s barbarity, when he himself had
wished to spare the Indians.

Gilmore turned to old Pele.

“Have on get anything to eat,.Peter'l” he
asked. “T have not tasted food Since yester-
dag morning.”

ete Wilkins jumped up in a moment. ,

“ Set right down ” he exclaimed; “ er must
be nigh starved. ere's some beef. av 21. cup
of cofi‘ee. Now don‘t ye speak a word till ye’ve
eaten yer fill.”

And Little Gilmore did as he was bid, and ate
and drank. Frank Weston, in the mean time,
acquainted Saint Pierre and Eulalie with the
history of the desperado, which somewhat
changed their opinion of him. But Saint Pierre
could not become cordial, try as he would.
During the rest of the journey be avoided Gil~
more; and the latter, strange to say did not re-
sent the coldness, as he would have done a little
while before.

Little Gilmore was a changed man, silent and
reserved, and kee mg to himself. When old
Pete questioned him as to his success in the
chase of the renegade, he answered:

“ Wilkins, I found him at last.
But ray do not question me. The subject is a
pain 111 one. I thought that revenge wouldgbe
sweet. And so it was -- for five minutes.” 3 ‘

And he relapsed into a gloomy silence, for
some time. Pete watched him furtively. Pre-
sentl he turned to the hunter.

“ ilkins,” he resumed “I promised you all
of my gold and jewelry, i you brought me face
to face with that man. Take them all.”

“I won‘t touch adurned red,” said Pete, stout-
ly. “I didn’t hel yer, and I wouldd’t take
gold fur blood, any ow. Keep it, led. I’ve got
more than i’ll ever need.”

“ I know it,” returned Gilmore, loomil .
“ Time was when the riches of that val ey might
have made me happy; but now—Wilkins, take
the warning of a hardly-used man, who gave
back blood for blood. Sir, it’s the bitterest
thing when it’s over, that same revenge.”

And the desperado checked his horse, and fell
to the rear of the train, where he rode gloomin
on by himself for the rest of the 'oumey.

By this time they had pansed the frontier set-
tlements. and were approaching Austin. \Gil-
more bade them adieu at the latter place, and
they never heard of
was still in Texas, pursuing his old trade as
gambler and desperado. '

It me not sur rise our readers to hear that
Frank eston, thou h the caballada
within two miles of old oreau's ranch, did not
ViSit the beautiful Gabrielle. ' ‘

He had caught the Black Mustang, but he did
not claim his bride. according to her promise.

He preferred to let Eulalie continue mistress
ot the black. As they passed the walls of the

r 1

He is dead:

passed-

\

him again, except that he '

 

    
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
 
    
   
   
    
  
 
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
      
       
          
    
     
    

\

three ingots at an exchanger’s.

The Boy Mustang-Hunter.

 

hacienda, old 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 completel baflfled in his curiosit .

How glad eston was that E ie did not
understand English. The quantity of fibs he
told in French, that day, was surprising. But
the passed the hacienda in safety, and stopped
in 'lton.

Their «wipment and their drove of horses ex-
cited muc comment, on the road through Tex-
as. Often they were on the brink of discovery".
which they dreaded, among the host of des rate
characters which infest some parts of that tate.
But by re resenting themselves to be horse-

eal’ers, wit a drove of horses that they had re-
solved to take through to New York, by sea, by
wag of Galveston, they averted suspicion.

[at at last they arrived safely at Galveston,
after a rapid march. Frank Weston had left
them, the day before, and had ridden ra idly
thither to engage a vessel. He found a arge
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-

rary stalls to accommodate the orses for

e voyage.

Frank ordered hay and grain, ad libitum, to
be sent to the brig, and then started to find his
friends.

They were in camp on the mainland, and were
safely ferried over, horses, packs and all, to the
island of Galveston. The most nervous part of
the business was getting the old and jewels into
a safe place. But eyen here, rank got them out
of the difficulty. In the presence of civilization
he was full of expedients, where Pete Wilkins,
the sage of the plains, was helpless.

He treatedal the crew of the ship to a da

_ ashore, and told them to “get good and drun

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
The broker
cheated them of one-third the value; but they
did not wish to attract attention, so they sub-
mitted to the shave. Gold being worth about
two hundred and forty dollars to the pound, a
very few unds paid all their expenses.

’Whilet 9 crew was absent, the pack-saddles
were unripped, 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 dresscd in

. male attire,) Frank Weston and Pete Wilkins.

Frank was the only one, of the party except
the Frenchman who had been to sea before, and
the only one not searsxck.

,\.

 

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:

“Wal, durn my karkidge, ef I wouldn’t ’a’
taken a three-cent stamp fur all the gold under
my bunk, ef they'd on’y put me ashore a week
ago. But now l’m free < ’ 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 had found out at
last the sex of Enlalie, and the relation she bore
to Frank: and his wonder at seeing the latter
pass by Moreau’s Ranch was dispelled.

“ Ye done a durned sensible thing, be , when
yer cut loose from that ar’ flyavray, Gailrielle,"
said the 01d hunter, when Frank told him the
story; “and I’m dnrned of she ain’t a beauty,
even in feller’s duds. Gee—wisherlyl Won’t
she Ipo’k a ripper when she git’s her fixin’s on, as
a a ?

etc had the pleasure of seeing her in them,
before long. They arrived safely in New Or-
leans, where they landcd their gold, and lodged
it safely in bank.

There was a great sensation, when the news
spread over the Crescent City of the arrival of
the Texans, with such treasures. As usual they
were enormously exaggerated. But enough had
been brought to realize two millions and a half
in coin, and another million in emeralds.

The lovely Eulalie was married to Frank al-
most immediately after their arrival, and with-
out any parade. They had no desire to leave
their kind old father.

The Indian horses were sold at auction for
low prices, but the pet horses of the valley, the
General, and the celebrated black 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 daughter, the “incomparable
madame” of society, was well known, as the
most beautiful lady, and the best rider in New
Orleans, as she ratio between her father and her
dashing and dam ified young husband.

Frequently there was a fourth member of the
party, a tall, powerful old man with a mass of
grizzled hair and heard, that looked like the
mane of a lion. He was seldom seen in the
house, but appeared to he 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-hnnting. and
found a beautiful wife and a princely fortune,
at the end of the chase of the BLACK MUSTANG.

THE END. ‘

 

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1 "eel-hunter. the Boy Scout of the Great North Woods.
By 011 Common.

2 Buffalo lllll, from Boyhood mMnnhoad. By Col. Pren-
tiss luL’l‘uInun.

8 Kit Cur-on, King oquldu. By Albert W. Aiken.
4 Gordon Lillie, tho Boy-Interpreter oi‘tha Pawnael. By

Minor. ii. B. Sinddnrd.

5 Bruin Adumu,0ld Grizzly’l Boy Pnrd. By Colonel
Prentilu lngrnhnm.

8 Deadwood Dink an alloy. By Edward L. Wheeler.

7 Wild lllll, the Pistol Prince. By Colonel Prentiss
lnurnhnm.

8 The Prairie Ranch. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

9 Ravi)“: Joe: The History ofn “ Bordwr Buy.” By A.
r . oat.

10 Toxu-A Juck. Um Mustmg King. By Colonel Prentin
lngrnhnm.

11 Charley Skylark. A Stury of Srlmol-dny Scrape: nnd
conga Cnpvrl. Hy hlnjnr u. n. Studdnrd.

12 Marlpona Min-nil. By Joseph E. Bndgur, Jr.

18 Roving: Ben. By John J. Mnrshnll.

14 Spring fiteol, King: of tln- liuah. By J. E. Bndzer, Jr.

15 “Wile-Qwuko George, the Boy Pioneer. By Edwnrd
I 6

16 The Boy “'lzard. Bv Burry Ringgold.

17 Peter l'eppergrnns, the Grconhorn frumGothnm. By
Nunh Null'.

18 Adrift on the Prairie. and Amateur Hunter!
on the llnfl'nlo “unite. By 011 (200nm.

19 The Fortune Hunter; 01', Roving Joe an Miner,
Cowboy. 'i‘rnpper and Hunter. By A. H. Port.

90 Trapper Tom, thr Wood Imp. By '1'. C. Harbnngh.

21 Yellow "air. this Buy Chiei'oi' the inneel. By Col.
Prentiss lngrnlmm.

22 The Snow Truil. By '1'. C. Hnrbnugh.
£3 01,11 Gflizzly Adams, the Bear Tamar. By Dr. Frank
owe .

24 Wood! and “'ntern. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.

25 A Rolling Stone 1 incident: in the Cnreer on Sen and
[mud nt Cul. l’rclilins lngrnlmln. By Wm. ll. Eylter.

26 Red River Rove". By C. Dunning Clark.

27 Plaza und'l‘laln; or. Wild Advsntnren of“Bnchkin
Stun.” (qu. Hum. S. Hull.) By Col. P. ingrnlmm.

28 The Hword Prim-e. 'ine Rmnnntic Life of Col. Mon-
Ii-Ul'_\‘. ily Cnpt. Frudarivk Whittdmr.

29 Snow-Shoe Tom. By ’1'. C. ilnrhnngh.

80 Find do Lucy, tins Frunch Bunst Charmer. By C.
Dunning Clnrk.

81 Round the Comp Fire. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

82 “'hlte Beaver, the lndinn Medicine Chief. By Col.
Prenliu lngrnhmn. "

83 The lloy Crusader. By Capt. Fred. Whittnker.

84: Th Chane of the Great \Vhlte Stag, Ind, Camp
and Canoe. By C. i‘ninning Cinrk.

35 01a Tur Knuckle nnd llll lloy Cllnlnr. By R. Starlinek.

88 The liar-han Dragoon: or. The Story of Gen. Guam
A. Curler. By Cnpl. Fred. Whiunhnr.

8? Night-llowk George. By Col. Prantln lngrahnm.

3% The Boy Exile: of Siberia. By T. C. Hnrbnngh.

39 The Young llenr lluntern. By Marrh Redwinz.

40 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level ilend. By Edward
“'iliult.

4| The Settler’l Son. By Edwnrd 8. Ellis.

45’. “'alt. Ferguuon’n Crulnc. By C. Dunning cm},

48 lllilo and Revolver. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

 

    

44 The Lost Boy Whalers. By T. C. Hubnngh.

45 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Flinn. By “Linn-hum.

46 Dick, the Stowaway. By Chris: Morrln.

47 The Colorado Boyu; or, Lifaon In Indigo lemlon.
By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

48 The l’nmpnn Hunter»; or, Now York Boy. in
iluonnl Ayn-I. By T. C. lehIIIKh.

4" The Adventurous Life of Nebrnnkl Charlie.
By Col. Prontin Ingrnhnm.

60 Judi: llnrry and Tom, the Thru Chnmpion Brothers.
lSy (,npt. Fred. Whittnke . I

51 The Young Land~Lubhen By C. Dunning Cllrk.
52 The Boy Deter-then. By T. C. Huhngh.

53 llonent llurr 3 or, Tho Country Boy Add“ in tho
City. lly Chnr a Morris.

54 California Joe, tho Mylteriolu Pl-inlrnnn. By Col.
Pmntias Ingrnhnln.

55 Tip Treuel. lhc Floater. By Edwlrd Willut.

56 The flnow Hunters: or, Winur in the Wanda. By
Barry de Format.

5? Iliurry Some", the Sailor Boy Magizim. By S. W.
’enrce.

58 The Adventurous Life of Go tniu Jock, tho
Border Boy. By Col. l‘rmitiu ingrn mm.

59 Ll‘llllle. Tim, the Mule Boy of tho Minn. By Charles
l 0!“!-

60 The Young Troll ll’nnteng or, New York Boy- in
Grizzly Lnnd. By '1‘. C. Harbangh.

61 The Tiger llunten or, Tho Colondo Boy: in El.-
phnni. Land. By Julep E. Badger, Jr.

62 Dot-tor Carver, the “ Evil Spirit ” of tho Pininl. By
Col. Prentin lng Ahnm.

88 Black “one Bill, the Bandit Wrochr. By Rogu-
Surhuck.

64 Young Dick Tnlhot; or A Boy- Rongll null Turnle
Fight. from New York to Cniilornin. By A. W. Aiken.

65 The Boy Pilot; or, This Inland Wrockor. By Col.
Prentiu inumhmn.

66 The Desert Rover or, Siowlwny Dick Among tho ‘
Arnbl. By Clllli’lel Link.

6? Texan Charlie, the Boy Ranger. By Col. Prontiu
lnu-nham.

68 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fnr Human. By Capt-in
“ liruin ” Adunll.

69 The Youn Nihilint or A Yul)... no A “I
Ruuinnl. IBy Chariol h urn-l1. y “011' c

70 P n the Cowho nr,’i‘ha Yonn M hull’ .
fly hlnjur H. is. Swrld’ud, Ex-Scout. I "I . Md

71 But? Robnurt and “II Beur. By Cnpuin “ Bruin "

Adunl. ,
72 The Ice Elephant. By Clpt- Fnderlclr Whmdur.

73 The Young Moose-Hunters. By Williun H.
Manning.

74 The Boy Coral-Filmer». By Roger Stu-‘bnd.

75 Revolver Bllly, Iha Boy Ranger of Tun. By Col.
l‘rantils lnzrnhuu.

76 The Condor Killer-II. By T. C. Huh-ugh.

7’? Lnd Llouheehl, the Young Tlgu Fighur. ByBogor
Stnrbuck.

78 Flutbont Fred. By Edward Will.»
79 Boone, tho Humor. By Cnptnin F. WNW.
Bendie’l Boy’n Librury I: for male by lu'NO'IdIdCII.
flvo cent! per copy, or lent. by mail on rocuipt. of nix «rm Inch.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Fulfil-hen, )-
98 William street, New York
/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

80 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle ol the Cnsundul.
Roger Snu-lnn-k.

81 The Kit Cur-son Club. By T. C. llnrimugh.

82 Little Buck. the Boy Gnida. By Ilnrrv Rlnggnld.

83 Pony “oh the Reckless Ridnr oi the Rtrclill‘ll. By Col.
Prentiss lnzrulmnl.

84 Captain Fiy-by-leht. By Joneph E. Badger, Jr.

85 Cartrln Ralph, the Young Explnrcr. By C. Dnnnlng
‘ nr .

86 Little Dun Rat-ks. Ry Morris Redwing.

8’? The Menagerie "nun-rs. By Mn). H. Grenville.

88 The Bo Tramps; or, Llfa Among the.Glpsies. By
.1. M. l oil'umn.

89 ’Lnngnhore Lije. By C. D. Clnrk.

90 Roving iiiflmCIIuter‘s Little Scout. By T. C. I'lnrbnugh.

91 Oregon Josh, the Wizard Rifle. By Roger Stnrbnck.

98 Hurricane Kit. By A. F. Holt.

118 Jumping- Jnkc, the Colorndn Clrcns Boy. Ry Brynnt
annridge.

94 Sum Spence, thn Broudhorn Buy. By Ed. \Vlllett.

95 Mum-ow tn Siberia; or, A Ynnkne Day to tha Rescue.
By (Ihnrlna Morris.

96 Fighting Fred; or, The Castaways of Griz_zly Cnmp.
By T. C. l-lnrbunuh.

97,0ruine ol‘ the Fiynwny: nr, Yankee Boyl ln Ceylon.
By C. Dunning Clnrk.

98 The Buy Vigilante” or, King Cole Ind Ills Band.
liy Mn]. H. B. siifllil‘tld.

99 The \Vhite Tigers; or, Silver mm, the Girl Trucker
«flaring Superior. lly ('nlvt. (‘hnrln-s liuwnrd.

100 The Know-Shoo ’l‘rnil; or,’l‘ht- Forest Despenuhwn.
By St. UMH‘KG Rnlhhunn.

101- Mar-1mm, the Ottuwu Girl, or, The Mysterimn Cunov.
By Edward  Ellis.

102 The F1 nwn Ailuui} or, Ynnkec Boys ’Runnd Ilm
World. 1:,- U. lnuning: (llnrk.

1'13 Put Muiloney’n Adventures: or, Silvar Tongue
the Dncntnh Qm-cn. By (I. 1.. Edwurdu. '

104 The Bov l'ronpoetor;
Ravine. By Roger Sturhnvk.

105 Minonoe. the \Vnod Witch; or, Tlm Squntlur’ém-rct.
By Edwin Emersnn.

106 The linv (Bruin-rm; or, .109 und an‘n Big Find. By

iwnrd Wi .- t.

107 The “order “oven; or, [mat on the Overland
'l‘mll. By .1. Miltuu Hnfilnnn.

108 Alanlm. the “'ulflQumm; ul‘, The Girty lirotllrrs’
Double (Trillw. liv ('npt. [Inward Lincoln.

109 (Sling-lulu" .nm, the White Man's Friend. ByEdwurd
. n;

ur, ’l'hu Secret of the. Slurm

110 Plucky Joe, the Buy Avenger; ur, Dick liulnmnt's j

Lmifiidc. lly .1. Milton llnii'nmu.

111 Tiltl Border Gumnukcr; or, The llnntnd Maiden. .

liy Jlunnu L. Bowen.
112 Left-“untied Pete, the Double-Knife.

it. ilmlgrr, Jr. ,
1'18 Thet 1x11?” “Him; or, The Fun: of the Flathont. liy

Cup. . .(3. Admns.
114 Alone on the l’lainn. Ry Erlwnrd Willett.
13y RURI}?

115 Silver Horn, and Ilia Rifle Firudeath.
Sturhuck. .

118 Ex loitll oi’llezckiuh Smith, the Buchwoodunnn.
By 'mernun lenum.

11? The Yonn Muntungern; or. chk Merry’l Rllng.
em. By C. unninx Ulurh.

118 old Traps; or, the Bny Rivnls. By Barry Rinugold.

119 Center Shot. the White Crow; or, Roving may.
Flnt Cmnpnlgn. By '1‘. (J. llnrhnugh.

I

 

ny .lv‘uph ‘

120 A "of Truil; or, Clnrk Cleverly Among the anturh.
By chum. Mmris.

121 Hunter I’m-cl Run; Dr. Tim \‘t'nlnnli'n
By Rout-r Sznrhuck.

122 The Enuuimnux‘ Queen; vlr. Tlm Mys‘ary or the
Lune llut. iiy (u‘. \Vuldu llruwnr.

128 Tim, th» I} Atrnbnt; ur,Li1'ein the l‘irrun Ring
('lmrlus Morris.
Queen Bennie, tlm llnrderGii-I. lis'l'lunry J.Thmnns.

{Hind Lrud.

By

Tom Tnbnr, the. liny anilirc; nr,’l'he Young Lynch.
Gang “ Wnlvcu.” By llnrry Rlnggold.

Mink Cont, the Dmith-Shnt; or, Tnu Spring of the
Tiger. By Jns. E. ilndger, Jr.

The Deer llunlcrn. By Jnhn J. Mnrslmll.
wolfLCtIm or, The Nightvllnwks ol the Fire-1.2mm.
By Cnpt. (.‘hua. Huwnrd.

Sliverupur; or, The Munntnln Handing. ByEdwnrd
Vi'illatt.

180 Keetnen, Qnren o the l’lnlns. 11y Pu ' ' B. St. Jnhn.

181 wmnh, lhe(‘hlld spy. By(nudgeuloanm,

182 The Inland Trnppe 0Y.T|1v: Ynung \Vhixu-Bnfinla
Ilnntnrs. By Charles I-imvnrd.

188 The Fore-t Specter; or, The Ytluug: llnnter‘s Foe.

By Ellwnrd Willell.

Wild Nut, ihn 'I‘rouper. By Wm. R. Eystl—r.

The Silver Bugle: hr, The Indian Mnidnn of St.

Croix. By Limit. (50‘. Hazeltnn.

The Prairie Trapper. 15;; C. Dunning C'lnrh.

187 The Antelope Boy. By Gm. L. Ailwn.

138 Long Shot; nr, The Dwnrfliuinlv . (‘nptl‘mth

139 Colonel (ll-0011c“, the llenr King. 11y (‘hnrlns E.

Lnaulle.

01d Pegs, the Mountnineer; or, The Trapper Rival"

11y Lewl‘ \\’. l‘nrsnn.

141 The Glunt Hunter: 013le Mud Srnnrge oi the

Klt'knlmus. lly Hurry llnzm‘d.

Blnck Panther, the linlf—lilm.d.

lindgL-r, Jr.

148 Curr-0n, the Guide, or, l’crils «(illul-‘n'mtlcr. 15y Idem.

J. H. Ilnudnlph.

Kelli. the hunger; or. The Fugitive: vi the Burdrr. By

Ednnul h". Elll‘.

Bill Robbin-t, llnntvr; n:,'l'hu Mun in Green.

Etlhfllll ‘.\ illull.

The Half-Breed illvnl; hr, The 'rnnglod ‘Trnil.

13;. .1“... r1. Iin-lgey, .h.

14’? The Mnnkcd Avenger. My ('--1. l‘rv-ntix-slnurnhmn.
145

134
135

13“

140

1-12 liy Jbseph E.
144
1 45 By

146

Nut. [he 'l'rnpyvr and ludlnn Fighlur. liy Paul J.
Fri-s ll.

149 The Elk Der-Inn; nr,'i'he Himut lLr them. By T.
u. llnrlmuuh. u.- ,- my. 19.

The, lioy M
lit-nulh'nl Alllll. .
Ready Feb. 26.

151 Frank Ynton,
Kntr‘s Warning.
Rcmlr lilnrch 5.

152 “'lld Rnu
Maiden. My (Ill ‘ humus.
licntllc'l Buy’n “hurry Is for .nh-
firu cents pvt copy, or rent hv mnil nu xul't‘lllt Irfnix Cullil em 11.
BEADLE AND AllAMfi, l’ulrlinhern,
98 William Street, New York.

ninnu-Ilnnivr; or. l'htululic, the
il_\' 1"rrdern-I. “him. let'.

thu Vunng ’l‘v-nhpur; nr, .‘luunluin
153' 3.1.1.1. E, nmlu. ., Jr.

. Um Smut: nr, lllnlu'l n, the chrlnnd
llrndy March H.

M nll vasdrnlrrn,