T 

 \
.

Copyrlzhted,1887, by Bum: nus Alums. Entered M the Post Oflice at New York, N. Y., In Second Clus Mull Matter. Jan. ‘29, [587.

 

2.50 Published Weekl b Beadle and Adams 1’ l ,
V01:  n‘Yeur. Na 93 WILLfAMyST” NEW YORK. ’ Fiveré‘eentn. NOn 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“ GENTLEMEN, I MUST am YOUR INDULGENCE FOR INTERRUPTING your: common. so AgRUPTLY.”

 

 

 

2 The Half-Breed Rival.

 

The Half-Breed Rival:

THE ' TANGLED TRAIL.
A Tale of the Settlements.

BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR.,
AUTHOR or “ MARIPOSA MARSH,” “ rm: PRAIRIE
RANCH,” “ THE COLORADO BOYS,” “ THE
norm HUNTERS,” are, ETC.

 

 

CHAPTER I.
THE HIDDEN VOICE.

“ WELL, gentlemen, I propose we get to busi-
ness. I for one have no time to waste, and there
are plenty of us present for a beginning,” and the
speaker glanced approvingly around the room.
a He was a tall, powerfully-built man. aged
probably forty-five years, of a rugged, yet in-
telligent and almost handsome cast of features;
while the rough “ home-made ” arments that he
wore disguin without hiding t e splendid con-
tour of his form. There was the slightest pos—
sible tinge of he “ brogue” to his s leech, that
’ /would»have to d a close observer the and of his
‘nativity.

“l second the motion,” piped out a shrill,

uavering voice, as a tall, skeleton—like body
abruptly shot up to its full hight, and then sunk
- down with a jar upon his stool, as all eyes' were
turned upon the speaker, while he vehemently
scrubbed at his face with an enormous yellow
; cotton handkerchief, to hide the confusion he
" felt at thus “ speakin out in meeting.”

“ Thank you, frienr Hannibal Hooker,” bowed
the first speaker. “ But first we will have some-
thing to— Landlord! Jim Henderson. 1 say!”
‘ roared out he who appeared to take the lead in
‘ ~ the meeting bringing down his hu e, sun-brown—

ed. toil-hardened fist upon the tab 6 before him,

_ with such force, that it seemed as if the deal
would split, while Hannibal Hooker leaped con-
vulsiver from his stool with a faint squeak.
“ Thunder ’n’ lightnin’, Cap’n Neil," uttered a
deep, rumbling voice, as the door opened and a
man thrust his 1head through the aperture, “am
I deaf. thet you need to t’ar the house down?
What d’ye want?” and he entered the room.
It was like a mouse with a lion’s voice.
Scarcely five feet, and built in proportion, the
new-comer spoke with a voice such as we imag-
ine the giant Magog to have used, it was so full.
x deep and eonorous. But, if not consistent with
his body, it was with his heart, for “Honest Jim
, Henderson ” was a by—word, for use to typify
truth and fidelity, among his neighbors.
“ Brin us somethingr hot and hearty, attic,
for our t mats will need wetting before we get
through," responded he whom the landlord call-
ed Captain Neil.
“ I protest, gentlemen! I protest most emphat-
ically against this proceedingl” exclaimed a
short. rotund personage, bouncing upon his chair
A the better to be Observed. “ Must we depend

upon intoxicating liquors to enable us to form
' our plans? I say'no a thousand times no! With
7 such supports, our downfall—”

 

What the conclusion of this worthy person-

age’s speech was, is lost to posterity, for by some
mischance—it was said, by the adroit trip of a.
neighbor‘s foot—the stool upon which he stood
was overturned, and the little fat fellow plunged
headlong beneath the table, giving utterance to
a series of grunts and snorts that in no wise
tended to quell the shouts of merrimeut at his
mishap.
“ ' here, Brother Bacon,” laughed the leader,
“is a flat contradiction to your argument.
 fall by opposing it; we will stand with its
a1 .

The worthy brother made no further objec-
tion, and when the punch was brought in, by
more legerdemain, a cup filled with the steaming
beverage found itself tightly clasped in his chub-
by hand, and ten minutes later was empty.
Then Captain Neil stood up and spoke:

" My friends and neighbors: Most of you
know what is our purpose in gatherin here to-
night, but as a few may not, I will briefly state
the facts. You all know that for nearly a year
past we have been troubled with floods of coun-
terfeit money, and with losing our stock. How
this is done so secretly, and who by, is yet for us
to learn. But one thing is certain: unless we do
find out, and that soon, we may as well sell out
for what we can get, and leave the country.

“ Not one, so far as I can tell. among us all.
but have sulfered in both ways; for my part, I
am five thousand dollars poorer to—night than I
was five months since. Now, must this state of
affairs continue? I, for one, say no 1—9. thou-
sand times no: and if need be, will spend every
moment of my time for the purpose of ferreting
out those scoundrels. ’ '

“ But to come to the point: what I have to
propose is this: We must organize a hand—a

igilance Committee. Do on know what that
means? They had one in entucky—they had
one in Arkansas; we must have one in Kansas!
Judge Lynch has jurisdiction here as well as
elsewhere, and it is to him we must turn, since
the law of the land is powerless to protect us!

“ All who are now resent we can trust, I be-
lieve, and there are 0 ers who can be admitted.
But you must act cautiously, and know every
man well before he becomes a member. Ono
traitor among us would counteract all the good
that others might do. But all this-you know as
well as I; and those who wish to speak, or who
have any plan to (propose, will now be heard.”
concluded Neil Mc uire, as he resumed his seat,
and filled the well-blackened corn-cob pipe that
lay before him.

Several of the members delivered their opinions
upon the sul'iject, all agreeing with their leader
that something must be done; the only thin in
doubt, appeared to be in decidin what t at
thing shohld be. It was while the ebate was at
its hight, that loud, excited voices were heard in
the bar-room without, followed by the sounds of
:scluflle, with a rattle of overturned chairs and

a 3 es.

Then the connecting door was violently thrust
open, Without the trouble being taken of lifting
the latch, and a man stood upon the threshold,
keenly scrutinizing the scene before him. A man,
we said, but it might well have been, a remark-
able man.

 a .; (up ;

 

 

 

.wu.-.'._

The Half-Breed Rival. 3

 

80 tall that the hair of his uncovered head
touched the top of the doorway, and yet so per-
fectly proportioned that had it not been for the
standard to compare by, he would not have
seemed over six feet, if so much. The hands
that grasped the sides of the doorway were large
and muscular, but as fine and white as a lady's;
and from the 'tion, eat masses of swelling
muscle could seen 'stending the light ma-
terial of his sack coat, upon the arms.

His face was of a massive style of beauty, and
yet not without delicate lines and touches. The

can blue eyes were large and frank-looking.
usually having a genial, good-humored tone
about them that instinctively attracted the be-
holder; but which had now given place toa cold,
steel-like glitter that warned how dangerous it
might be to cross his mood.

In age he appeared about thirty, and but for
the long, flowmg mustache and beard of a soft
flaxen color, one would have taken him for half a
decade less. After a few moments’ silence the
intruder spoke, in a full, clear tone that would
have been musical had it not been for the metal-
lic ring, occasioned by his anger or excitement.

“ Gentlemen, I must beg your indulgence for
interrupting your council so abruptly, but
‘ Honest Jim’ Blockhend yonder denied me ad-
mittance, and as I was in no mood for ar 'ng
the case, I fear I gave the fellow a broken cod,
and took the liber of introducing myself.”

“ You say right,’ responded Neil cGuire‘, in
a stern tone, as he confronted the stranger, ‘ it
is a liberty. We were engaged upon private
busiiness, that does not concern you in the least,
an —-

“ Pardon, my dear sir,” interrupted the stran-r

ger, “ and allow me to correct you. The busi-
ness you were upon does concern me, and I doubt
if one man present is more dee ly‘interested in

' its success than myself,” he a ded, in a concil-

iatory tone, that was flatly contradicted by the
glitter of his eyes at the manner of McGuire.

“ Perhaps you will tell me where you got your
knowledge of what we. were consultm upon,
and your reasons for this intrusion,” co dly re-
turned the latter.

“ It is easily done,” quoth the stranger, as be
advanced to the table and coolly filling a pint
clip with the punch, drained it at a draught not
heeding the scowls of those around: him, ‘ and

be as you say. In the first place, you are
organizing a league to put down the horse-
thieves and'counterfeiters that infest us.”

“ Go on,” was the cold reply.

“You are prudent, and I don‘t blame you.
Who knows but what I am asmrperson in
the interest of those same scoun laughed
the intruder. _

“Just so; who does know?” chimed in a voice
from among the crowd.

The man sprung to his feet and glared is: the
direction of the voice. but every face wore
an expresion of astonishment, while each
man glanced around him as if to discover the

speaker. _

“If the fellow who spoke thus Will be hon-
est enough to show his face, perhaps he will
learn ’who and what Clay Poynter is. I would

we—

“How much — in counterfeit money i‘”

 

squeeked a shrill treble from another part of
the room, toward which Poynter turned in a
frenzy of rage and fury.

“ Peace, gentlemen i” ordered ‘McGuire,
thumping u n the table to ive em asis to his
words. ‘ e are not here or us bling, but
upon serious business. Mr. Poyn r, is a gentle-
man. Let him proceed.”

“Gentlemen, it is true I am a com. tive

stranger among you; but, for all t, you
have no occasion to insult me. I will 've a
hundred dollars to the man that w int

me out the scoundrel who spoke those wor 5!

“Which will only cost on sixteen dollarsl.”
added another voice—allu ing to the general
price paid for counterfeit money since the days
of Sturdevant—sounding from close behind him,
who had called himself Clay Poynter.

The latter swiftly turned, hissing out a bitter
oath, with right arm drawn back to deal a fear-
ful blow upon his insulter, but no person was
there! The space behind him had been unoccu-
pied since his entrance. Povntor staggered back
against the table with a half-startled, half-puz-
zled look upon his features; but this he soon
banished, and with a somewhat constrained
voice, said: -

“Really, the devil seems to be at work here
to-ni ht, and has selected me for his mark I”

“ ever fear; he will not claim you yet. The
luggage has several weeks yet to run,” again
ad the strange voice.

“ Come—come!” impatiently cried McGuire,

“this is all nonsense. Please go on withjour ‘_ 

explanation Mr. Pea-liter.”

“Well, I learned t you were about to or-
ganize a Vigilance Committee, and thought I
would present my name for a. membership.

I rode over from my house, and as I passed the
ford at the creek, I was knocked from the sad-
dle, and when I recovsred, I was robbed of my

horse as well as watch and a large sum of ,

mone .”

\

“ 0. ho! the robber robbed!” crooked 
mysterious voice, and the cry appeared to float _

around the room above the compan ’5 heads.

most of whom were deathly pale, whi e anxious,
a rehensive glances ran from one to another.
“ 0, ho! the robber robbed!” '
“ Our worthy friend is quite a ventriloquist,"
slowly uttered Poynter as his her eyes raved
around the room, dw 'ng isl‘igh y upon each
face; but upon one in particular he cast a
glance of min led hatred and triumph, than
to anot r.

I am worth, ust to take one

 

 

“I would wil ’ ve " ”
$13 £33m

him,” dwelling Wit bitter emphasis upon each": .533

“ Well, friends, we may as well break ofl now .1 

before harm is done,” said Neil Me a
vexed tone. “There’s something wronghegz,
and the less we say, perhaps the better it Will ,
for who can have any object in New this
meeting, unless he or they are co with
this accused gang of scoundrels?"
“But what! must we give :3)
after all this to do?” exclaim Danie

Bacon,  leaping upon his stool in o  

gain the tory, forgetful of
wnfall.

“Givegup the devil!” retorted McGuire,  

the Ian 

5

' .

 

 

 

- . -......V\.....

' nded a
7;: Eggdwhiiewi

 

 toward t is man.
4*", ‘ two men elbowed their way from t 8 room.

....-i_._,__._,
I“

 

r: 57 in one

 
 

4

wasnot always precise in his language. “ When
I put my hand to a thing in dead up-and—down
earnest, it’s bound to go through. And now lis—

' ten, all of you. Until you hear from me, attend
to your business as usual, and do not make what

' has happened to-night the subject of conver-
sation. We must use a little more circumspec-
tion, for if a spy can enter among us here we
.will need all our wits.”

“I show you the s y—why don’t you take
him?” again squeak the strange voice, and
then as each man glanced at his neighbor, it ad-
ded. “ His name, now, is Clay Poynter!’

“My dear sir. whoever you may chance to
he,” cried the man thus strangely denounced,
in an assumed tone of nonchalant polite-

_ ness, as he glanced around the room, “ I made
an error a few moments since. I said that
I would 've half I am worth; so I will
add the ot er moiety, if you grant me an in-

‘ - - terview.”

r I There was no reply to this speech, and the
. y filed through the doorway into the bar—
~ room of the “ Twin Sycamores,” the majority of
_-them pausing to take a partin drink before
" 7 leaving for home. Beside Neil cG-uire stood a
medium-sized man, of a sandy complexion. and
gr who appeared to belong to a different class from
the rough‘ homespun-clad farmers that sur-
’ rounded him, if one might judge from his ap-
parel and general demeanor.
. ' VA heav gold watch-guard, from which de-
hunch of seals, crossed his waistcoat,
b one hand holding a riding-whip,
' he daintin flecked a speck of dust from the tip
of his well-polished boot, the other raised a glass
r ' of liquor from the bar. As he did so, a solitaire
diamond 'ring flashed back the candlelight with
'. [v a thousand scintillations. Among the frills of
l". '{,_ his linen shirt«front a mamificent cluster pin of
‘ ' the same 'ewels gleame forth, exciting the
u I wonder an admiration of a number of the men
2:9: ‘ , present.
‘At present his features were calm and ex-
‘onless, while his small gray eyes shone
with a half-vacant air; but beneath all this a
; close observe “ would have seen something more.
is? , He would have ronounced the stolidity a mere
. k, and won (1. have seen that not a man
present but was keenly scrutinized.
-. . “Come Dement,” said Neil McGuire, turning
“Come, let’s o,” and the

V The remainder, such as had not departed con-
. tinned to converse in low tones upon the suloject
of the strange voice. Poynter was carelessly
leaning back against the counter, holdinga glass
hand, while he listened intently to the
remarks, althth not appearin to do so.
“ It may be right, Touter, ut it is mighty
user, anyhow. Andthen who is this fellow?
‘ _ you know does anybody know, except that
" / heap rs to have plenty of money, and calls
himss f Clay Poynter?” distinctly uttered a
bold, free tone, and the speaker turned his head
toward the person alluded to.
. Ee‘Was a somewhat remarkable-looking man,
,_ ' .apparentl five or stand-twenty years of age.
In form was tall, and straight as an arrow,
I ‘ with a lithe suppleness in eve movement, that,
' 4 joined to his swarthy comp exion, and long,

 
 

The Half-Breed Rival.

 

strai ht black hair, in part confirmed the rumor
that e had Indian blood in his veins.

“ Ah, my dear Indian Polk,” blandly inter-
rupted Poynter, as he drew himself erect upon
hearing these words. “ You do not drink. Al—
low me to offer {Eu a glass of brandy?” and
with a lightning— ' e movement he hurled the
heavy glass full at the head of the young man.

“ But quick as was the action, the missile was
eluded y an adroit duck of the head, and Polk
sprun forward with a fierce curse, lunging out
with is clinched list a fearful blow as he did
so. The blow fell upon Poynter’s half—averted
cheek, tearing the skin as if cut with a knife;
but not a quiver or a motion was the result of
the blow.

Before the assailant could recover his balance
Poynter's left hand clutched his throat, anr
then the massive fist shot out, taking Polk full
between the eyes, with such crushing force that
he was hurled clear across the room, where he
fell:I head-first in a senseless heap beneath the
ta e.

Coolly wiping the blood-spots from his shirt-
front with a handkerchief, Poynter turned to
the bar without another glance at the fallen
man, and called for a glass of brandy. Hen-
derson promptly served it, at the same time
whis ring:

“ ou’d better look out, Mr. Poynter, fer
‘ Injun’ hain’t no baby au’ ’11 hey y’ur blood fer
this of so be he kin. as a devil, shore!”

“ ah!” laughed Poynter, snappin his flu-
gers. “ I don’t care that for him. If Ire crosses
my path again, or lets me hear any more of his
dirty hints, I’ll hit him a square blow next, one
that he’ll not get over so easily as this one. But
when he ate up, just give him my compliments,
and tell im that if he relishes the specimen.
there’s plenty more of the same brand at his
service,’ and so saying Clay Poyuter left the
room and vanished in the darkness, leaving
ages behind him still more puzzled at him than
ore.

 

CHAPTER II.
ran DOUBLE sno'r.

“WHAT can be keeping1 Nora. I wonder?"
half-muttered a. man, as e anxiously peered
through the leafy screen before him, with a ges-
ture of impatience.

A man, we said, and as he turns his head so
that the sun’s rays fall beneath the broad-
brimmed slouched hat, we can see that it is Clay
Poynter who is there awaiting the arrival of
some person. Even had not his muttered excla-
mation revealed this fact, there was an eager,
ardent tinge to his restlessness that would have
betrayed his secret—would have told of an ap-
pointment with some one a little more than a ,
mere friend. i

A woman would have guessed that he was ex-
pecting a sweetheart, whom, for some reason,
he could not visit Openly, and, she would have
been right. He was awaiting a sweetheart, and

her name was Nora McGuire.

Again Poynter peered through the bushes.
He saw a small but neat vine-covered log house
Behind this and upon either
of young gram, now a

of only one story.
hand spread the fields

 

 

.94“

 

The Half-Breed Rival. ‘ '6

 

level, waving sea of verdure, with strange forms
and figures chasing each other, as the blades
were bent by the fitful gusts of wind.

Behind thisz a ain, rose the rugged mounds
formin the ‘ ildcat Range ” among whose
more iflicult recesses the “ ig game” still
could be found, and it was rumored that yet
more dangerous customers might there be met
with—that manya wild Scene of blood and crime
those rock-crowned hills had witnessed.

But of this our friend took no heed, for he saw
the object of his thoughts step from the cabin-
door and after a hasty glance around, trip
lightly toward the 5 0t where he was standing.
Poynter pushed asi e the screen of bushes, and
half-emerged, but as if by a second thought he
drew back with a muttered curse.

He had caught a glimpse of Neil McGuire’s
stalwart form passing from the field to the cabin,
and for some reason best known to himself, did
not wish those keen gray eyes to note his pres-
ence. The young girl now reached the screen of
bushes, and, with one lance behind her, passed
them, and then was tig tly clasped in the strong
arms of Poynter.

“For shame, Mr. Poynter, to surprise me in
that way!” pouted the dainty lips, as Nora glided
from the embrace.

“ But, Nora, ’tis all your own fault, if I am
obliged to surprise you, as you say,” laughed the
young man.

“ And why sof’innocently queried the maiden,
witlé the slightest possible toss of her pretty
hea .

“ Well, pet, the fact is, I have a serious mono—
mania that troubles er”

“A what? Is it anything very dangerous?”
asked Nora, with a startled air.

“ That depends,” he laughed again. “But, as
I was saying, the disease is beyond my wer
to cure. It is, that whenever I see a ainty
little rosebud mouth, like one that shall be name-
less, I feel an irresistible desire to just stoop my
head and see if it is as sweet as it looks!”

“ Oh, you horrid creature! I thought you
were sick, or something,” poutrcd Nora, half-
turning awa .

“ Now you re mad, and I’ve got something of
importance to tell you.”

‘ N o, I am not mad; but you talk so queer at
times that I can’t understand you. You seem to
deli ht in making sport of me.”

“ make sport of you? No, no, little one! I
love you far too well for that. It is only my
way. But come, take my arm and let’s walk.
I have something to say that cannot be post-
poned, and some one might interrupt us here,”
added Poynter.

“ But can‘t you come to the house, Clay? It
don’t seem right for me to meet you in this man-
ner,” hesitated Nora.

“Your father is at home, and on know what
he said the last time I called. I any one else
had spoken to me in that way, Nora, he

v would—”

dang then paus’ng abruptly for a moment, he
a e :

“ But what has he told you about me, get?”

“ About you!I why—” faltered the mai en.

“ Come, Nora, it is better that I should hear
it from you than him. No matter how harsh or

 

unjust it may be, I shall not forget that he is
your father.’ '

“ OhIClay, it was dreadfull”

“ So bad as that? Well, my shoulders are
broad and I can bear it. And it was—i"

“ Must I tell?” she pleaded.

“Nora!” ' ~ .

“ Well, then,” with a sigh, “ he said that he
had heard you were connected with a g of
horse~thieves and .counterfeiters; and a thou h
he had no positive proof against you, as yet, a
forbade my speaking to you until he gave me a ‘

eave. ’ - ’

“ So-so!” bitterly exclaimed Poynter, halt to
himself. “My kind friend has not abandoned
me yet.” Then turning abrupth to Nora, he ,
added: “ And you believed this?” 7,

“ Clay!"  '

“Pardon, darling; I did not mean it,” re- 
pentantly said Poynter. “ No, I can trust you, 
if no one else.”  3

And he clasped the little brown band that had ”
been laid upon his arm at her exclamation. .

“ I wish you would trust me; then, perha , I, ‘ 5
could tell better how to act,” she said, loolzsing 
up into his face, wistfully’.V , » v.

“ And have I not? ell—did he tell you 
from where these hints came?” . ,

"No, but I think—and yet again, I am
puzzled,” hesitated Nora. ‘ '

“ You think—'3”

“ That our strange visitor—this John Dementia
he calls himself—is in some way mixed up with
it. More than once I have accidentally over—
heard him and father speakin about you but  ‘
whenever they saw me, it won] be dragged.” ‘

“The yellow-haired man that was W1 your
father on Tuesday night?” « - ’

“Yes. But I may be wrong. At any rate, '
he has left us now.” '

“ Loft you, you say; and when?”

“Late yesterday afternoon. But it is only
for a short time. I heard him tell father that; - ‘
he would return next week.” , '

“ Do you know where he went?” "

“ To Fort Leavenworth.” _ 

“ Goodl I will manage to have an intervle
with the gentleman; I must stop there In Belt.”

“You stop there? Why Clay—l” exciimed
the maiden, in a startled tone.

“Yes; that is what I came to tell you. .‘I , :
must go to St. Louis 11 n business for aweek "1 ’
or so. Indeed, I shou d have been upon the
road before now, butI wished tosee you first» ‘ .
that you would not be alarmed at my disappear- 
ance,” retained Poynter, kindly. ‘ ' ',

The reply she was aboutto make was abruptly
checked y the sound of approaching footsteps, ‘ ‘
and then the loud, clear' ca of : 1'

“ Nora, Nora child, where are out”.  ,. 2

“Oh. Clay, it is my father! ewillkill me
if he finds 1 am with you i" »- 

“Never fear, darling, he will not hurt on,"
murmured Po ter, as he drew the tram ‘
form closer to is side. ' ‘-

“No, no, Clay; but you—oh, leave me!”

“What, 1 run, and from one man?”

“Nora—I say, Nora~ why don’t you answer .
me?” impatiently called the voice, and the rm =
steps ceased, as if her father was listening, ; .

‘ For my sake!" pleaded the maidelu’; , .‘ “

  
 
   
   
   
      
   
 
  
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

  

'l‘ho Half-Brood Rival.

 

    

 “ For your sake—well,” and with one fervent
" kiss, Clay Poynter vanished among the under-

: growth.
;; “ Nora—NORA l”
3. “ Yes, father,” she tremblin I answered.

1 “ Oh, so here you are?” said eil McGuire, as
'. r she entered the little glade. “ Why didn’t you
. speak before? Hal who has been here with
is ' you?” he added, at the same time bending over
.: v the moist ground.
3: Nora could not reply. andthen her father rose
'- with an angry flush upon his face, and exclaim-
edz in a voice hoarse with passion:
 7 ‘So, this is the way you obey mel Sto 1” as
1; he saw Nora about to speak, “ do not ad false
'li. hood to disobedience -—"
:5 “ Father, did I ever tell you a lie?” reproach-
“fully asked Nora. H
_ “Pardon, Nora. 1 did not mean that. But I
:1 was so angry at finding that you had been with
f, that villain, Poynter, I forgot myself. See,
.: those are his tracks. No other man wears such
boots around here.”
\ " Well, I was with him, but he only came to
,, bid me good-b ."
: “ Good-by! hen he thinks it best to leave the
n  before Judge Lynch interview; him,
4,], I e__ , ,
’5 “ Hold, Mr. McGuire,” slowly said Poynter, as
he stepped forward and confronted the father.
, “ Why should I fear Judge Lynch more than
any other man?”
“ Ah, why, indeed?” sneeredchG-uire. “ Why
was it that you left Kentucky so suddenly, and
\ ‘ ' mad: such a short stop in Arkansas, if I may
,; ask?
",1 ’ ~ “ So that is your game, is it? Well, of this be
,, assured, that after my return from St. Louis, I
3;, a will show you such roofs of my innocence that

5

you will beg par on for your unjust suspi-
.;  cions." ‘
 /“After your returnl” echoed Neil, deri-
' ' ’sivelv

‘ : . “ Father—father!” pleaded Norah, in terror,
 ’ “ come, let us 0 home; I’m afraid ”

“ Your daug ter is right, Mr. McGuiie.” ad-
ded Po ter. a little more coolly. “ It will do
. no goo for us to talk further. My explanations

. can wait.”

“ So I presume,” curtly responded the other,
, then adding, “ Come, child. let us go.” and lead-

1 Nora by the hand, he left the glade.

I or a few moments Poynter stood gazing ab-
stractedly in the direction they had taken, and
then arousing himself, with a little laugh. turned
upon his heel and walked briskly dlonga faintly-
deflned trail. x

ii, After crossin a slight rise and down the val-
v.‘ , ley once more, ynter came in view of his own
' ': ,. house—for that time and section, a perfect
i; palace. a. two-story frame, weather-boarded, and
‘3 - painted a_neat creamcolor. Why he had built

1:33:12“; vu‘fc‘fr v.7. .

 

   
 
    
 
    
   
  
   
 
   
 

r44. :As

 " this‘ when he was not at home one-tenth of his

fr tim/e. wasa great puzzle to his neighbors, and

.1 .

L. \ many a siege of cross-questioning bad old aunty

,, Eunice undergo.

jg Quest one as to who her young master reallv

‘. ,i was, if wealthy, and his reason for making such
frequent journe s; why he had not got married.

in her head, or to talk a great deal without an. "
ing anything; so that when her visitors is t,
they were forced to acknowledge that they knew
as much as they did before—and not much
more.

018. Poynter strode rapidlye along but his
thou ts were not upon what was doing; he
was thinking of Nora McGuire. His head was
bent forward, but he did not heed where be
shipped, and with a sharp cry of surprise he fell
h long, his foot having caught against a root
or stub.

It is wonderful upon what slight ints a
man’s life hinges; and Poynter had an nstance
of this fact furnished him at the same moment.
Simultaneous with his cry, a double report
echoed upon the air, and his hat fluttered from
his head, and a sharp, tingling sensation in his
shoulder told him that he was shot.

“Hurray Bart, he’s a goneri" shouted a voice
that the fal on man had no difficulty in recog-
nizing. ‘

“ et yel But it’s halfers, mind ye now,
Polk I" and at the same time two men broke out
from the bushes, and hastened toward their in-
tended victim.

Poynter could see them plainly, and immedi-
atel recognized them to be Barton Clowry and
Pol Redlaw, the former a drunken, worthless
scoundrel, that would lie, steal, fight and drink,
day in and day out. He had a fit-lwkinglfierson
for a partner, owingto the blow dealt P Red-
law by Povnter, at the “Twin Sycamores,”
that had inflamed his entlre face dreadfully.

All this he saw at a glance, and when the two
would-be murderers had crossed half the inter-
vening space, Poynter leaped to his feet with a
hoarse cry, and as his right arm straightened
out, the sun’s rays flashed upon the polished tube
ofa revolver. At the. report, Clowry gave a
ccionvulsive spring, andrthen fell upon his face,

ead

“Now ou dirty, mongrel cur, it is your
turn 1” yefied Poynter as he again cocked his
weapon.

It was discharged, but Polk had caught the
motion, and throwing himself flat upon the

round. the missile hissed harmlesst above his

ead. But are he could arise, Poynter leaped
forward and dealt him a fearful kick upon the
side of his head, that hurled him forward twice
his length, sprawling among the bushes, where
he lay perfectly lim and motionless.

His enemy stoope over him and felt of his
bod , then arising, he muttered: -

“ d as the other! Well, it’s so much am-
munition saved, at any rate. It is a bad job,
though but it was either I or them, and they
would have it!" he muttered, as he returned to
where his hat lay, brushing the dust from his
garments.

“New hat spoiledL-item first: bullet-hole in
shoulder, another. Well,’ I don’t know but what
they are both aid for, now, as it turned out.
Confound the t ingi how it does smart. Aunt
Eunice must bind it up. and than I suppose I
must go and tell the neighbors," he mused, as he
proceeded toward the house.

“Curse the luck! More delay jut when I
should beat work; and if I was not verv po ular

 

and countlem ot ers, of equal importance. But
1' the old negress knew how to keep a close tongue

 

before, will this mend matters any? It’s ucky
' ./

 

    
     
   
   
 
    
     
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
    
     
   
  
    
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
  
   

        
 

  

 

The Half-Breed Rival. / '51

 

they were such dirty hounds or it might go hard
with me. And then these Vigilantes—”

“ Lord ’a’ messy! Marse Clay,” cried a husky,
wheezing voice, as a negro woman came wad-
dling from around the house. “ Is you done kilt,
hone 11”

ot uite, aunty,” laughed Poynter. “ But
I might ave been. Come,” he added, entering
the building, “ get some rags and bind up my
shoulder."

“ ’Clar’ to goodness, honey, chile, I was c’en-
a’most skeered to deaf, I jest was, now,” chat-
tered Aunt Eunice, as she hustled around her
patient. “ l jest done went to do do’ to look of
you was a-comin’, w’en I see‘d dem ’ar funnelly
tellers a—shoetin’, an’ den you falled down, an’ I
t’ou ht ou’s done dead fo’ suah !"

“ e1 why didn’t you come and be] me?”

“Doe I was jest a-gwine, honey, so was. I
runned to de kitchen, an’ get dis yore," holding
up a huge basting-fork, "nd wlen I got out
ag‘in, dar you was, hig‘s life. “ Pearls like, I 7d
a—drapped, 1’s so ’mazin’ glad. Bress ye, honey,
dear, ef dem ’ar Pharoasters ‘d ’a’ killed you, 1’d
a—jest would, so dar l” spluttered the old we-
man, throwing her arms around Clay, and jump-
ing up and down as she hugged him.

“ Easy—easy, aunty: you hurt my arm,”
laughed Poynter, as he released himself, and
then sunk into a chair, feeling faint from excite-
ment and loss of blood.

“Jest looky! w’at a funnelly ole goose I is!
But I’s so glad, Marse Clay, dat it ’pears like I’ll
go clean crazy.”

“ I think that if you’d get me some brandy or
a cup of coffee, it would be a more sensible idea,
Aunt Eunice.”

“ Dar ’tis ag’in! Might ’a’ knowed dat. But
you jest sot still, honey, ’nd I’ll git you it,” and
she trotted out of the room with an alacrity that
made the entire house jar beneath her weight,
while Poynter bowed his head upon the table.

CHAPTER III.
“JUDGE LYNCH.”

AFTER drinking the coffee prepared by Aunt
Eunice, Poynter started toward the door with
the intention of mounting his horse and giving
information to his neighbors concerning the
tragedy but his limbs trembled and his head
reeled, forcing him to catch at the door-post in
order to keep from falling. A strange spell of
weakness seized him, and but for the strong arm
of his servant, who supported him to a chair, he
would have sunk to the floor.

“Fix my bed, aunty; I ass I’ll lie down for
amoment. I must have led far more than I
thought. And just at the time when I should be
most active, too!” he muttered. halt uneasily, as
the old woman departed upon her errand.

In a. few moments he was lying down upon the
bed, and dismissed Aunt Eunice about her work.
He sunk into a heavy slumber, that lasted until
four in the afternoon, when he was hastily
amused by his servant. who appeared to be ter-
ribl alarmed at something.

“ ell, what is u , Eunice? You look as
though you’d seen 1: e ghost of your grand-
mother.”

“ Lord. of ’twas on’y jest a ghos’, ’pears like

'I’d be glad!” cried the old woman, anxiously. .

 

 

“ Bress you, honey, dnr’s a right smart chance
o’dem ar’critter-baok fellers out under, all
a-holdin’ guns an’ sich like, w'at toe me was
you hyar? Den I tole dem I dunno; ’spect you
done gwine awa ; ’cause I didn’t know W’at‘
dey wanted, an’ idn’t know mebbe you’d want
to hide. Den a gro‘t bi feller, no ‘count w’ite
trash, he said, ‘ ‘long, gar, you ’sense 0’ mid-
night you, an’ tell him to show hisse’f, or I brow
de whull top 0’ y’nr head often you!’ Den I
say, ‘Git out, you dirty w’ite ni ger’-——” splut-
tered the woman, when Poyn r, who had
pullled on his boots and coat, interrupted her by
as mg:

“ Armed horsemen, you say; did you know
any of them?”

“’Deed I (lid so, honey. Dar’s el’ Marse
Reeves, ’n’ Brooks ’nd (lat ar’flnjun feller—‘l
began Eunice.

“ What! not Polk Rcdlaw?"

“’Deed, fo’ sunh, Marse Clay, honey,”per— '
sisted Eunice. “ I knewed de dirty nigger, .
dough his face is all bloody, an’ red like a b’iled
beet.

Poyntcr did not reply, but proceeded hastily \
through the house and out upon the front stoo , v
where his appearance was hailed with an em t-
ant shout from the crowd of armed men that
filled the dooryard.

“ There he isuarrest him! I charge him
with murder!” cried out a loud voice, alittle
upon one side.

“Ah! you there, mongrel curl” scornfully -

cried the accused, with a look of contempt. “ I u 

thought I had finished you for good.” u

“ See he acknowledges it!” foamed Polk Red-‘
law; “ call you all to witness—”

“ Dry up y’ur an ,” muttered one of his
neighbors, giving ed aw a shove that nearly '
sent him to the round head-foremost.

“ Curse you, ack Fyffe!” snarled Polk, leap-

ing at the man with a gleaming knife inhis , 

hand, “ I’ll cut your heart out i” , . .
"‘ So?” coolly exclaimed the burly fellow
dodging aside and ealing the battered head 0
his assailant a deft yoplanted blow that brought
him to grass. “’Pears like ’sil y’ur ockyputt
wasa football, sorter.” I n .-

“ Stop your squabbling there,” called out Neil '
McGuire, sternly. “ The first one that creates
a disturbance while I lead them. will be put un-
der arrest. Young men,” he added, turning to
Poynter, who stood calmly scrutinizing the
assembly before him, “I regret it for your
sake, but I must arrest you,” at the same time
ascending the steps and placing his hand upon,
Poynter’s shoulder.

“Arrest me!” said the young manz shaking ‘
off the grasp and retreating a. step. ‘ And for
what?”

A yell went up from the crowd; among the "

cries were fearful words—those of robbery and » 

murder 1 —
“You hear?” significantly returned McGuire.
“Ide: but even supposing those terms ap-
plied to me, what rig t have you to take 6
ofl'lce of justice upon yourself?” a -
“ What right? That of the people of honest 
men! The right that justifies a ma. in killing
in snake, or ridding the communitny a scourge.
We are Vigilantes—did you ever hear ot'them

I I

 

, \

 

 

 

 

       

 ._ .. in.-. r

The fink-Breed Rival.

 

' "w.
before—in Kentucky, for instance?” sternly re-
plied Neil, with a biting sneer upon the last
question.

6‘ Ah!" >

It was only one word, but it comprised a
world of bitterness—one might almost say of
anguish and despair. It seemed as if a dread-
ful blow had been stricken him, and for a mo-
ment he bowed his head beneath it; but only
for a moment. Then he was as cool and as
proud as before. .

“ Very well. I suppose I am your prisoner?"

“ You are."

“Aunt Eunice. don’t be alarmed, I will re-
turn soon. Then taming to McGuire, he added,
“ I resume I will have a fair trial 3”

“ care not murderers—only the ministers
of justice,” was the stern reply.

‘ Then, aunty, when I send for you, come. I
ma need our evidence.”

\ ‘ ’Deed, arse Clay, honey,” sobbed the old
woman, pressing forward, “ I’s gwine along too.”

“ No, you cannot; at least just now. Remain
here until I send. Then to the leader of the
Vi ‘ antes. “ Wei]. sir, I am ready!”

Your horse?”

“ Is in the stable—my bay, I mean. The other
was stolen.”

“Stolen?”

“ I told you as much at the meeting. ”

“ Well, Crane, bringvhim out,” and then Mc-
Guire drew aside with two men, to whom he ap
peared giving some instructions, in a low, guard-
ed voice. ’

The horse of the prisoner was brought forth,
and when he had mounted, they filed from the

 7" v

3%
g:
s


 

éi dooryard, and closing up around their captive
{If , rode away, with the exception of the two men
 ' s ken to by ,McGuire, who soon after entered
‘3 I e building.

  

The little cavalcade proceeded at a rapid trot
toward the "Twin Sycamores,” while the cu-
rious, half-aflrighted gazes that followed them
from‘each house as the passed. told that wru-
mor of their mission ha spread like Wiblflre.

Po ter’s mind was not idle, and he realized
that ’ liberty, if not life, was in jeopardy; and
v that, too, when freedom was most inestimable.

‘ He did not know what charges would b 3 brought
gain“ him, but it was evident that the hint

o
#35.

:4, I:

3:

van by Neil McGuire regardin the Kentucky
'1antes troubled his mind no ,a little.

:1 a few minutes the party drew rein in front
of the “Twin Sycamores ”—so named from the
two gigantic trees of that species growin upon
'either side of the door—w ere stood “ onest
Jim.” The captain whispered a few words in
his ear.

“ Wal, of you wish it; thar’s nobody than”
' » Then, as he drew nearer to Poynter, he added in
a. kind tone: “Lord love you, squar’, I’m sor
—-dog-goned sorry to see you hyar. It’s roug
lines tern fine young feller like you to be ’rested
on sech a charge 1” .

“Thank you, Henderson,” cordially re lied
Poynter, as he clasped the little man’s and
warmly. “ It is rough, especially when you are
innocent.%

“Be-n w don’t git mad, Mr. Poynter,’cause
~ ' » I mean well—be you innercent?” annoust asked
Henderson.

p.43.
~ :

..... pt.

‘7: org—w; I

a

  

  

w». .7.

 

 

   

 

raiser???

g

“0f anything unlawful or mean, I am. But
as Idon’t now what charges are laid against
meZ I can say no more.”

‘ They sa you be one of these horse-thieves
an’ counter eitersl” whispered the landlord.

“Then they lie!” angrily replied Poynter.

“ An’ wuss, a heap wusser’n that. They say
you murdered—”

‘5 N o conversing with the prisoner there, Jim
Henderson,” interrupted the leader, as he
emerged from the house.

“ I was jest a—”

“ No matter. Come. The long-room is ready,
and to spare time we will try the prisoner at
once,” added McGuire, as he motioned his men
to enter.

The “ long—room” was that in which We saw
the first meeting of the Vi ilantes, and as all en-
tered, the door was close and secure]. bolted,
thus guarding against any intrusion. he long
table was pushed along until it touched the fur-
ther end of the wall, and upon this a single chair
was placed. Then a similar one was stood near
the other extremity for the risoner‘s use.

“ Now, gentlemen,” said e11 McGuire, “we
will vote for a judge to try the case.”

‘ By universal acclamation he was elected, and
at once took his seat, when Poynter was directed
to assume his position. After some few objec-
tions by the prisoner, a jury was chosen and
ranged alongside the judge, who then spoke:

“ You know the task that is before you. and
the sooner it is over the better. 6 will—”

“ One moment, Mr. McGuire—or I presume I
should say your Honor,” interrupted Poynter,
with an ironical bow. “You call this a trial,
but is it not altogether one-sided? Here I am
arrested. for what I know not; already treated
like a felon. Is this your idea of justice?”

“ You speak warmly, Mr. Poynter—”

“ And why not? You are all leagued against
me, and so far as I can see, do not intend giving
me a chance to clear myself from an charge
you may brin a ainst me. If I am to e tried,

demand it s a be according to law and that
I have counsel; that I am informed what crime
I am accused of, and allowed time to procure
witnessesl” hotly exclaimed the prisoner.

“ You shall have full justice, but we have no
need for lawyers here. The truth alone shall
ac uit or condemn you. You can defend your-
' sel and if any witnesses are necessary they
shafl be sent for. If you are shown to be inno-
cent, then any reparation you demand shall be
given, but if guilty, by the God that made me,
you shall swing for it, if I have to draw the
rope myself!”

‘ One would think I was already condemned,
by the way you speak; but go on. ’What are
your charges?”

“ Polk Redlawl”

it Here I” '

“Your turn first. Tell us your story. But
briefl and to the int,” ordered the “jud e.”

“ ell, I heard t eprisoner was en t —”

“Never mind that now, but cenie to your
charge first.”

“ Then I charge him with murdering Barton
Clowry, and nearly killing me!” snarled the
Witness. .

" You hear, prisoner; guilty or notguilty?” -

 

4a.. ._.,.1.~ .

 

The Half-Breed Rival. ~ ‘ 9

 

“ That I killed Clow , and tried to serve that
mongrel the same, I a mit; but it was in self-
(tiefense, not murder,” promptly replied Poyn—

er.

“ He lies—”

“ Silence! Mr. Redlaw, no abuse if you please.
State our case,” ordered McGuire.

“ ell, as I was saying. I, together with
Barton Clowry was ordered to scout around
the house of the ]I'isoner, and as soon as he
returned to inforrr the band so that they could
arrest him without his having a chance to es-
cape, as he would had they hunted him with
the whole league. We concealed ourselves by
the side of the road, and were talkin together
to pass away the time, when I heard a pistol-
shot and Bart fell dead over into my lap.

“Before I could get up I saw the prisoner
come running toward us, and aiming at me he
fired again, but missed. Then he struck me
with his revolver knocking me back as I tried
to get up; then kicked and pounded me upon
the head until he thought I was dead.

“I was only stunned, however, and when I
came to, I managed to crawl away, and find-
ing the Vigilantes I told them my story. You
were notified, and oing with us, you know
the rest,” concluded 01k; his speech bein fol-
lowed by a deep, fierce murmur that to] how
fully his apparently frank and truthful story
had been believed. '

“Mr. McGuire, and you, gentlemen ’7 ex-

claimed Poynter, springing to his feet, but as
the position in which he was placed would not
allow him to stand erect, he sunk back into the
chair. “ Gentlemen! Every word that mon-
grel has said is a base, foul lie! and if you W111
send for my housekeeper, you will see that it is
so.
“I was walking peaceably along the lane
toward my house, when two shots were fired
at me from an ambush. See; here is the mark
of one in my hat, and if you examine my left
shgulder you can see the trace left by the
ot er.

“Did he say an thing about shooting at
me? You, Mr. Me uire, know that I was not
wounded this forenoon when I saw you.
admit shooting Clowry, but it was in self-de-
fense. Does it look reasonable, or even possi-
ble, that had I done as this scoundrel states, I
would have returned to the house to lie down
and slee for hours? Would I not have mount-
ed and ed?”

“There is reason in what you say,” uttered
the judge. “ But you said you had proof; did
she witness the affair?”

“ Yes; my negro housekeeper saw it all."

“ Fox, you and Bowers go and brin her
here immediately,” ordered he leader. hen
turning toward Polk Redlaw, he added, slowly:
“ Well, you hear what he says? Mind how
you reply, for it is no light t. mg to wrong-
fully accuse a man of such a crime.” _

“ I have told you the truth and nothin else,"
sullenly replied the accuser. “He has . plenty
of time to trumX up a yarn and teach his wench
what to say. white man’s word ought to be

good against a ni er’s any day.”
~ 't wilIIie.”’

“ If true, 1
At this point the proceedings were interrupted

I ‘~ I ‘- \

b the entrance of the two messengers andaunt .‘

unlce, whom they had met almost at the door ‘
—she having followed her master with the best
speed her unwield body was capable of. s

We need not to ow her evidence as it is already
known, and confirmed Poynter's story. But as
the prisoner glanced around the room, he was
surprised to note the still dark and vindictive
faces of the Vigilantes, who a peered anything
but convinced. Then he spo e, addressing the 
judgfirz

“ ell, sir, what is your decision?” ‘ .,

“ On this score you are fully acquitted; but—” " ,s.

“ ‘ On this charge !‘ Are there any more, 
then?”

“Two others.
and murder.”

“ Murder 1”

“ Yes; the murder of John Dmnent I"

~ '1

Passing counterfeit money, ' ‘ . 

 

CHAPTER IV.
THE CRY FOR BLOOD! ‘

CLAY POYNTER sat as it perfectly astounded
at these words; then, as he recovered from the
shock and glanced around him, he could read in
the faces of all that he was deemed guilty of this V
black deed. Only one face but Wore this look;  ' 3
one face, and that belonged to Aunt Eunice. , 1

She stood with her hands thrown up. her eyes ,
rolling wildly, while her capacious mouth opened
and shut by jerks, as if she was trying to speak.
Then with an explosive snort, she splattered: ~ -

“ Well, elf you hain't jest de biggest liar on 3
top 0’ dis yere airth, den I don’t know nufinl 0
Mars’r Clay—my Chllkdo dat ar’? He—w’y,  -' ;

ou cussed funnelly fools—Lord ’a’ massy, ’pears ‘ I ‘
ike I’s gwme to bu’st, ’deed it doesl"
th“ Taike her out, some of you,” angrily ordered

6 u ge. ~

“ es, aunty, you’d better go now ” interposed
Poynter. “ It’s all a mistake like t e other one, i, ,
and will be over soon.” ' .

He had not time to say more, for the old ne- ,
gress was unceremoniously hustled out of the

‘ court—room,” and the door again barred. Then '
the proceedings were resumed. Upon the charge . ‘ .x
of passin counterfeit money, J 1m  »
testified t t the prisoner had given him a base
five—dollar coin in payment of his score upon t 2‘
night of the first meeting, receiving change  ’
good silver. I ‘ g, _,

Was positive of the fact, because it wasthe .,
only coin of that denomination he had received
that day. U n this Po nter admitted that he
might have one so, un nowing that the coin 5
was spurious, and instanoed several cases of his
being served the same way, owing tothe vast
{amount of counterfeit money then in circular

ion. , ~ ~

“Jonathan Green 1” called out the judge, act:
ing as crier. ‘ , a

‘ Hyar 1 be!” ted a coarse voice, as a. man.
elbowed his way through the crowd toward the
open space reserved for witnesses. . .

He was a short, squat-built, villainouslooklng,
fellow of rhaps forty years, although stron ~’
drink an excesses may have contributed sev ‘ '_ .
of them, He cast a si elong, sneaking $110011; 2 «
Povnter,_and then sudden] averted his end - .

 

 

 
  
   
  
    
 
  
   
   
   
    

 

   

Thepnsoner made a and nmoti‘on as it aim

. , w 
,r “y . \.

- .i‘. "' t

.Vw’...‘ :fl"

£~;.,—v«~..a.;

:i’

we.
MV.

 

‘mv’q; a.“ -; <_~—-__~= W u. A.

 

 

:.

rir‘ 5'!-1s

“#2...-

 

i’ returned the witness, significantly.

. handsome features. while“

- in 01’ Kaintuck
the Vigilantes—’

to

The Half-Breed Rival.

 

to speak, but then sunk back once more, his eyes
steadily fixed upon Green’s face.

This action was not unnoted by the jurors,
and more than one thought they could discern a
shudder pass over his form, as he darted a pecu-
liar look at the Witness. Green was sworn, and
proceeded to five in his testimony.

“ Yas, ’ir, '1] tell ye the hull truth, jist cs
straight es a dogwood, ef on’y you’ll promus lat
no harm ’11 come arter it. He’s mighty rambunc—
tious, he is, when his mad’s up.”

“ Never you mind about that, sir,” impatiently
said McGuire, “ but give in your testimony.”

“ We], of I must, why, so be it I’ve knowed
the Pris’ner thar a consid’able spell, of not longer.
Me [1' him usen to be gre’t fri’nds an’ pardncrs
like, back to 01’ Kaintuck—”

“ Gentlemen, is this scoundrelly liar brought
here to swear away my life? As I live, 1 have
never seen the fellow half a dozen times; I didn’t
even know his name, beyond that of ‘ Lying
Jack,’ and never spoke a word to him in my life!”
exclaimed the prisoner, hotly.

“ Silence!” ordered the judge.

“ Hyar’s my hat,” put in Green, extending the
rag that answered that purpose, with a comical
fixer.” “I never told a bigger lie ’n’ that in my

tel ,

“ Witness, you will go on with your evidence,
or, by all that’s good, I’ll ive you a taste of
hickory oill” thundered the judge.

“ Jes’ sol But, es I war sayin’, I knowed ’im
jist afore be war driv’ away by

“ For what reason?” asked one of the jurors.

“ I don’t know. Mebbe ’twas ’cause he scat-
tered too much 0’ the queer, mebbe ’twasn’t,”
“ Anyhow,

he left, an’ then I nixt see’d him hyar. One day

s _ —mebbe two weeks gone by—he come to me 2111’

says, says he, ‘ Green, my fri’nd, what you doin’,
anyhow’i’ ‘Oh, jist sorter sloshin’ round, like,’

says .

" Then artera w’ile he said he could put me in
a leetle way to make money, of Pd no bjection.
He said he’s in the 01’ business, an’ wanted me to
take bolt and tr to sell the ‘ queer,’ oiferin’ to
let me hev it fer fteen dollars a hundred, till I
sorter got started, an’ found rig’lar customers.
I pertended to be all-fired glad, an’ he guv me
one hundred dollars on tick.” .

“ But why didn’t you tell of this before?" de-
manded the judge.

“ An’ git sarved like Bart Clowryl Who was

.I togoto, cute] I hearn thet you-‘uns was on

the trail? Es soon’s I knowed that, I come an’
told you, didn‘t I l”
“Have you any of the money with you?”
“Yas,” replied the witness, drawing a small
kage from his bootleg. “ Hyar it is. I kep’

t hid till to-day, ’cause of it ’d ’a’ bin found on

me afore, the tellers mought ’a’ thunk I’s one 0’
them ’ar tellers.”

The money, all in flve~dollar coins, was power]
to the jurors who, after a careful examination,
pronounced it to be counterfeit. Surely, the
case began to look black for the prisoner, but he
still maintained a haughty look upon his pale,
his eye flashed back

the angry glances thal «.9 cast at him from
allsides. ‘ ' ‘ ‘

 

’ “ That is all the evidence upon the first charge,
I believe,” spoke McGuire, but he was interrupt-
ed bfi a, voice from the crowd:

“ eggmg pardon, judge, but there’s more
yet,” and the s )eaker, one of the two men who
had remained ehind at tho prisoner’s house,
came forward, and held up a pair of dies made
for coining half-eagles. “ These toys were found
at the house concealed in the chimney—jamb.”

Amidst the greatest excitement, Frank Dalton
was sworn, and deposed to this effect. He and
Sam Gibson had made a search of the premises
after Poynter’s capture. After a time they had
found the dies, concealed as stated; and a small
package of newly-coined money, tied up in an
old rag at the bottom of the prisoner’s trui k,
and thinking they would be needed as evidence,
had brought them away.

Samuel Gibson, who was a well~known and rc-
spccted farmer, fully corroborated Dalton’s
statement as to the discovery, and when be con-
cluded, any slight doubt that might have been
entertained as to the prisoner’s guilt, was entire-
ly dispelled.

The hoarse murmur that filled the room began
to increase in volume, and dark, deadly hints
could be distinguished. Hints that soon grew
into open threats, calling for a conviction—a
conviction that would be equivalent to death.

Still the prisoner did not quail or tremble.
He even drew himself up with a holder defiance,
and not one man of them all but turned their
eyes away from his when their gaze met.

“ Peace gentlemen,” spoke McGuire, half
arising—the ceiling would allow no more—and
waving his hand to command silence. “All in
good time. There is yet another charge upon
which he must be tried. If justice pauses, it
will none the less be carried out.

“Wesley Sprowll” he called out, once order
was restored.

A little weasel—faced man approached the
stand for witnesses. His form was bowed and
emaciated, as if from some recent severe illness,
and a hectic cough appeared to trouble him ex-
ceedingly, as he gave in his evidence, frequently,
causin him to pause and lean heavily against
the tab 9 for sugport.

As soon as be ad partially regained his breath,
the judge ordered him to proceed with his testi—
mon , after being duly sworn. But his first
wor s were lost to the majority of the assembly,
owing to his low tone; but he soon athered
strength, and every word was utters with a
clear distinctness, that from its deliberation,
every sentence appeared to be carefully weighed
before being spoken.

“ I know the prisoner well, partly because he
is not a common-looking man, but more so from
feeling a friendly interest in him. He has often
been at my house, and when I was nearly dead
with the chills, and had no money, he brought
me some quinine that cured me. I tell you this
so that you may see how impossible it would be
for me to mistake another for him.

“I was feeling quite unwell all day yesterday,
and could not sleep any last night from that
cause. Many of you know that I have lines con-
stantly set in the river, by night as well as by
day. Somehow my mind got to dwelling, upon
them, and I could not banish a fancy that oc-

\
.uw

4.1“;

M

l r‘

The Half-Breed Rival. ' ' ' u

 

curred to me of there being a great big catfish
upon one of the lines.

“ At length I became so convinced that it was
so, I dressed. and went out toward the river.
Somehow Ididn’t think of taking any weapon
with me, my mind was so full of the big fish.

“Well, I struck into the road at the cornfield,
and then, as the easiest way, I followed the road
intending to strike the branch where a plain trai
leads to the river. But, just as I got tothe old
‘ Ivy Elm,’ I heard loud voices coming directly
toward me.

“ So I slipped behind the tree to let them pass,
for in these rough times you don’t know who you
might meet, and although I hadn’t anything
worth stealin , it wouldn’t be the first man
who’d been ru died out just for fun. But they
were long in coming up, and a peared to stop
twice, talking in loud and, as thought, angry
tones, before they paused exactly in front,of me.

“ By reaching out my arm I could have
touched the largest man, they were that close;
and by the voice I thou rht I could recognize the
prisoner. I was so trig tened that I could only
distinguish one sentence spoken by the latter:
‘And you won’t let that Kentucky scrape drop K”

“ Those were his exact words, and the other
man answered no, that he would tell all.

“ Then I saw the larger one draw back his
right hand and could distinguish the gleam of
a knife. The same moment, the other man
stumbled and fell, muttering with a groan that
he was killed. Twice more he was stabbed, and
3;?) the murderer appeared to be searching his

Y. .r
“ I could see him take something white from
an inner pocket and ut it into his breast, but
the shadow was so ense that I could not tell
what it was. nor yet see their features plain
enough to be sure of their identity. But then
with a curse, the murderer struck a match, and
fiddling it close to the body, bent down his own
ea .

“ He was unfastening something from his vic-
tim’s shirt-bosom that learned and sparkled in
the light like lightning— age. The match lasted
only a moment, but that was long enough for
me to distinguish plainly the features of both
men.

“The murdered one was the sandy-complex-
ioned man that has been staying with Mr. Mc-
Guire, and the other was——”

Here the witness faltered for a moment.

“ And the other?” demanded the jud .

t “lyre murderer was the prisoner, C ay Payn-
or

A dee , hoarse cry of rage and fury ran
around t e crowd of spectators, but far above
it rpiared the clear, metallic tones of the ac-
cuse :

“ It is false, every word—false as h—ll”

In vain the jud e shouted for order; his call
was unheeded. T e crowd swa ed to and fro
for a. moment, and then rushed orward, as one
man, to seize upon the prisoner.

But Neil McGuire ran along the table and
stood beside Poynter. with a cocked revolver in
his hand. The next instant, obedient tohis call,
the jurors gathered around, similarly armed.
Then McGuire spoke. in atone that overpowered
the WW? '

 

“Stand back—back with you! B the God
thatinade me, it one of you dare to. ay 3. hand
on t e prisoner, I Will spatter the wall with
your brains!”

“ Hang the murderer—burn him!” roared the
crowd.

“Once more, I say, stand back!” yelled the
judge, threatening the foremost with his pistol.

‘Is he not in our power?”

In a few moments order was restored, the
'udge and jurors resuming their seats, while

esley Sprowl continued his story:

“ I nearly fell, from horror and astonishment,
when I saw who the murderer was, but man-
aged to keep still.
front him, or attempt to avenge John Denicnt, I
say, look at us both. Be With ten times my
strength, and fully arme , while I was barely
able to walk, and without a single weapon.

“ After a bit, the murderer took up the bod
in his arms and carried it to the river, where
hearda s lash as if it had been cast into the
water. dared not stay longer, and step ing
into the road, where I knew he could not hear
my footsteps in the soft dirt, was about to run
when something bright caught my eye. 'I
snatched it up and then ran as fast as I could to
the house, where I hid the article in the bed.

“ In the morning I was down wilh a. hard
shake, and it was nearly noon before I could
get u .
ing t e head men of the league, I told what I
knew about the affair. What happened since,
you all know.” '
,1: But the thing that you found—what was
it

“ I have it here—seel” and after unwrapping '

a small parcel, he elevated his hand. 4

If you ask why I didn‘t con- ~

But then I came over here, and know— ,

In it was a piece of 'ewelry. It was the ‘

diamond cluster—pin late y worn by John De»

ment 1

There was no uproar now. A deadly calm

had settled upon the assembly. Acalm that "

spoke plainer than words or oaths.
It spoke of death.

“ Gentlemen,” slowly said the judge u I need > . 

not ask if this in is reco uized; we al know it.
And it shows t at a bl
been committed. The verbal evidence is all

rst search the river for the body, so that there

may be no doubt. It is too late now to con- - »
cludo to—night. Besides, the daylight is better. _(
It will show that we are not ashamed of our 9.0- .

tions.”
“ And what shall we do with the murderer?”
interrupted one of the jurors.

"We can guard him until to—morrowi This

room is safe, especially as he will be bound
“ Well, he is guilty of counterfeiting, any-
how. and for that we condemn him to receive

one hundred lashes upon the bare back. It,

would be more but for the other charge.”

‘9 Yes, and tonight! We won’t go home
githout some fun,” interrupted one of the spec-

tors.

“ I protest l” cried McGuire. “Let him suffer
but one punishment. Don’t let’s act like sav-
ages

else we’ll finish up the job elf-band."

/

(Kw

y, dastardly deed . has L V
given in; but still we must not be rash. Let us r

“ No. no.” yelled the crowd; “do it now,  

 

 

 

,~V.,.v

33?:-’=>:-::—*:-=5M- xvi—w- r—‘v‘m *W‘?

a... .l,..~,x.mm.—.i .. c- A. v... an 34:: .~ .,. .n a); “a '. ~ I.-

L“
a \m.;=¢)

- fiM'rAwm

VP. .—

....~r: money-s;

 

 

- l

_\

\‘.

 

’ who had pronounced the sentence.

'12 '

The Half-Breed Rival.

 

ql‘he excitement now grew intense; weapons
were freely drawn and brandished, and although
the fudge stood over the prisoner with‘l‘eedy
revo ver, he was unsupported. The jurors had
gone with the majority.

“Better give in, judge,” called out the juror
“ You see
{on can do no good, and will only get hurt. You

ave done all one man can do, but the boys are
,determined, even if costs a dozen lives.”

“ Don’t get yourself into trouble upon my ac-
count, Mr. McGuire,” exclaimed the prisoner.
“ These devils want blood, and it may as well
come now as to—morrow. Besides,” and here be
lowered his tone, “ remember your—family.”

 

CHAPTER V.

BORDER. LAW.
‘ “GENTLEMEN!” said the judge, after a mo-
ment’s pause, “if you persist in this outrage, I
wash my hands of both it and you, from this
moment. You can choose another judge, and

' another leader, for I shall act no longer as
either. I thought you were men, not savages.”

“ What matter?” called out several voices,
“ he is not the only man that lives. Let him

' slide, and out with the prisoner.”

The crowd surged forward and surrounded
the table, yelling and growling like wild beasts.
For a moment it seemed as if Poynter meditateu
resistance, as he drew himself up and grasped
the back of his chair, but if such was his inten—

7‘ ftion, it was changed.

A dozen hands lifted him to the floor, where
he was securely bound. hand and foot—«as he
had been until now entirely free so far as bonds
were concerned. .Then he was lifted bodily

~ 1, upon their shoulders, each man appearing: eager

to be one of his beirers. In this manner he was
conveyed from the room, followed by the hoot-
in , yellinw crowd; leaving but one man behind
—— eil Mc uire.

To say that the prisoner was not alarmed,

. would perhaps be wrong, but he showed no out
ward sign of being so.

Suddenly Poynter gave a convulsive start. It

,seemed to him he had heard, above the'din.
some words-spoken in a. friendly tone—words of

hope.
“ Keep a stiff upper lip, square. We’ll git you.

‘cl’ar afar-e day .”

These were the words he had, or thought he
had heard, close to his ear, and turned his eyes
wonderingly to that point. He could distinguish
the rough features of Jack Fyffe, the man who
had knocked Polk Redlaw down at the time of

arrest.
But he had no time for a questiou,or any-

, thing beyond seeing that Fyife supported his

right shoulder; for the next moment he was

- rudely cast down at the foot of one of the gigan-

tic sycamores, beside the outer door. The tn-
rnnlt was horrible, and for a time nothing was
done. each man issuing orders, but no one up-
pearing to care about executing them.

‘-‘ Jim Henderson!’ yelled Polk Redlaw, who

" p , now took a decided lead with the-brutalized

crowd, “fetch out some cords, rope or some-
thing, quick!”

4 “Quick y’urself, Injun Polk,” growled the

 

little host. “ I hain’t y’ur nigger. Y’u‘re black
enough to wait on y’urself !”

“ urses on you, ou little hop-toad!” foamed
Polk. “Call me t at again, and I’ll blow a
hole through you big enough to kick a dog
through!”

“ Ef so be you know when y’ur well off, Mr.
White Man, es-quire,” coolly returned Jim,
drawing his revolver; “ you‘ll not buck ag’in‘
me. Others may be as quick on the trigger as
you be, if not more so.”

“ Don’t et to lighting among yourselves ” in-
terrupted eeves, with a series of oaths. “Vlfe’ve
enough to do now. Here’s a couple of halters
that’ll answer bully.”

But during this byplay, Clay Poynter had re-
ceived considerable encouragement from Jack
Fylfe, who still crouched over him, apparently
to prevent his arising.

" Don’t gi’n up, strannger,” he had whispered.
“ We’ll hev you free afore long.”

“ Who are you, and what do you mean?" asked
Poynter.

“You’ll see. I’ve sent arter the boys, an‘ ef
nothin’ happins, they’ll be hyar in three hours.
But you’ll hev to take the hidin’ though. We
hain t strong enough to prevent thzt.”

Nothing more was said, for Redlaw and

eeves pressed forward, and with several brutal
kicks from the mongrel, Poynter was lifted up
and his arms unbound, two men clinging to
each as though they anticipated an attempt at
escape. But if so, they were disap ointed.

The prisoner knew that it woul be followed
by certain death.

He was drawn up to the tree, his arms out-
stretched to their utmost extent, and then his
wrists were connected by the halters, another
securing his body. By this time the men who
had been dispatched after the instruments of
torture returned bearing their hands full of
long, lithe hickory rods.

And then the torture began. The supple rods
whistlel through the air, and paused with a
hissing crack; the gore started out as the tender
skin was torn and lacerated. But although the
pain and agony must have been fearful, as the
punishment proceeded, not a groan or an un-
eVen breath proclaimed the fact.

Polk Redlaw, Jonathan Green and Alfred
Wigan plied the rods, and as may be supposed,
they did not spare their strength. But severe
as were their blows, they failed in drawing a
single manifestation of in from the prisoner,
however slight. And t on the one hundred
lashes were counted, fairly.

The prisoner was let down from his position,
and Jack Fyife helped him to adjust his gar-
ments, managing to whisper a cheering word
without being overheard by the mob. Then
Poynter spoke, not a tremor or never betray-
ing what he had suffered from e fearful or-
deal. in his voice: . '

“You \three devils. mark my words. If you
are alive one week from to-dav, I give you leave
to plav this game over again.”

“We will live to see you dance on nothing,
anyhow.” sneercd the mongrel.

“ That’s enough for to—night,” interrupted
Henry Reeves, the juror who had so suddenly
taken a leading part in the proceedings, press-

/I v /'t.

. prisoner.

The Half-Breed Rival. 13

v

 

ing forward and laying his hand upon Poynter’s
shoulder. “Come, you will stay in the ‘long—
room’ to-night, and to prevent you from sleep-
ing uneasily, I will add that you will be hung
to-morrow, for murder."

“Thank you for nothing!” curtly replied the
“I have you to thank for this favor,
and look you. it’s a debt that will be paid; yes,
paid, and with compound interest added,” said

oynte

r.

“Oh, I’ll credit you,” laughed Reeves. “1
always was accommodating. But in with you,”
he added, giving him a rude shove as they en—
tered the room.

Poynter would have fallen had not he been
caugghét by Jack Fyife, who whispered:

“ you hyar a rumpus outSide, don"t be
’larmed, ’cause it’ll on’y be fri’nds. Mind an’
keep awake. ”

A pressure of the hand told that Poynter un—
derstood his meaning, and then, after being
bound, the prisoner was left alone in the room.
Some half a dozen guards were posted around
the building with instructions to shoot him if
he attem ted an escape; and then the Vigilantes
separa , each man wending his way home-
ward.

The guards were in high glee. and having
each one managed to procure a flask of liquor
from the obliging host, determined to enjoy
their watch to the best of their ability.

They were gathered in couples upon either
side of the building, thus surrounding the place
and preventing either egress or ingress without
their knowledge, They little dreamed of the
fate that awaited them.

Perhaps an hour after the dispersal, a band of
horsemen drew rein at a half-mile from the lit-
tle hamlet, on the outer edge of Which stood the
“Twin Sycamores,” and dismounting, threw
themselves upon the ground, while one of their
number stole away on foot. He soon drew near
the tavern, and Sinking flat upon his stomach,
be an cautiously circling the building.

fie could approach near enough, thanks to
the darkness, to distinguish the mutterings of
the guards—thus learning their exact number
and position. He counted six, and thought it
was all but he overlooked Polk Redlaw, who
had fallen into a doze, lying close to the wall,
so that he seemed to form a portion of it.

Had he been awake he could not have helped
observing the spy, who, thinking that end of the
house unguarded, passed close by him. Mutter—
ing his surprise, the man crept away from the
tavorn, and once beyond ear-shot, rose to his
feet and sped rapidly away to where he had left
his companions.

When near them he muttered the howl of the

ellow wolf and upon the signal being answered,
)oldly advanced and stood before the band.
One, a tall, herculean man, stepped forward and
whigprered:

“ ell. Fyffe, what luck?” _

“It’s all hunky," replied Jack, for it was
indeed he, “an’ a easy job. On’y s1x tellers,
an’ they half drunk, of not more so,” and then
he cigarly described the position each man oc-
cu i .

‘Now, comrades," added he who appeared to
be the leader, “ you know what we are after. A

 

friend, and one of us, is in danger. Our law
says that we must assist each other, and now is
the time. You have heard what Fylfe sa 5.
These men must be secured without bong

harmed if possible, but if they cut up rou

h
why a knife is the best remedy. The less blgod
shed, the better, for this section is getting un—
comfortably hot already. You understand
me!

A murmur of general assent; then he added:

“ We will ride to the edge of the timber, and
then leave the horses. We must take them by
surprise; and mind you, when once we have got
our friend, quick’s the word, for We will have
the Vigilantes after us, hot-footed.”

In a few moments the designated point of
woods was reached, and dismounting, the bores
were secured; after which the band stealthily
proceeded toward the tavern, using every pre-
caution to avoid discovery. Then four men
crept toward each of the sides where the double
guard were posted.

The remainder held themselves in readiness to I

rush forward, in case their comrades should
need any help. Four of the men were secured
without any noise, other than a slight scufie,
but the other party were not so fortunate. ‘ .

One of the guards caught a glimpse of the-
rescuers, and hailed them. The answer was an ,\

instant rush, at which the hard fired a shot

that brought one of his assi ants to the ground. ‘

But he never fired another, for a long knife
was plunged downward, the steel gritting as it
severed his breast-bone, and with one faint
gurgle, Alfred Wigan was a dead man.

 

CHAPTER VI.
THE HUMAN BLOODHOUND.

AT the first report, Polk Redlaw sprung tohis-

feet, with all the indian instincts of his nature
fully aroused. He caught a glimpse of the main.
body rushing forward, and not knowing who
they were, he dropped to the round and lided
to a safe distance. but from w once he co dstill
see those out in the open ground.

At first he thought it was the Vigilance Com- -

mittee returned to finish up their work, but he.

was not certain, and deeming discretion the
better course, determined to keep shady until. he
knew what card to play. If a rescue, he re-
solved to dog them wherever they might go, for
his hatred 0! Poynter could only be assuaged by
the latter’s death.

When the double tragedy was over, and the
other guards secured, the band rushed forward
and forcibly burst in the door of the tavern-
and were
when Hen erson called out from the 10 t:\

“Who the devil air you, an’ what ye want?"

“ Better shet y’ur eyes an’ ears, ‘ Honest
J im,’ so‘t you won‘t hev to lie w an you tell the
Vigilantes that you don’t ,know who tuck the
pris’ner,” returned Jack Fyfl'e, significantly.

“ Ef you don’t do nothin’ else, why_I won’t
know any on ye at all. An’ of ye like, Jesttake
a good swig a iece, an’ I’ll charge it to rotut
an’ loss," laug ed the host. who apparent y was
not averse to having Poynter escape the dump
that threatened him.

u Bully for yon, or boss; you won’t lose.   7

roceeding toward the “ion -room,’ V

' Mr-

J
.

 

 

 

.-..i.._V _

s44£fi¢3¢sms : 1“: 54;.

i
I

l
l
;
'l
l

 

14 The Half-Breed Rival.

r

 

thin‘ by it I” was the cry. and his invitation was
complied with two or three times over.

Only pausing for one huge gulp of the liquor
Jack Fyfl'e unbarred the donr, and soon severed
the cords that ham r91 Poynter, who, after
chafln his benum limbs, thanks to the skill
Polk edlaw had shown in drawing the knots,
emerged from the long-room, a free man once
mwre.

He glanced around him with not a little
curiosity, scanning the forms and features of
his rescuers as thoroughly as was practicable by
t'ie dim, flickering light ca<t by the one rude
limp. But if he recognized any of them, ex-
cepting Fyflle, he did not show it by word or
3: n.

g“ Come, boys," spoke up the tall man we have
noted before, “ we must make tracks, or those
Vigilantes Willbe down upon us. They must
have heard the rumpus, I reckon.”

“ But what shall we do with the prisoners —
let them go?”

“No; take them along. We’ll keep ’em as
hostages, so that if any 0 our fellows are strung
up, we can retaliate. Five of them, isxk’t
there?”

“ Yes; but about Sant?”

“ Maltbyl”

“ Yes. He’s dead.”

“Take him along. If we leave him here,
they’ll toss him into the first hollow, and he
was too good a man for that.”

“ You seem to be leader here, sir,” said Po —
fer, lacinga hand upon the man’s shoul er.
“, W at do on intend doing with me?”

“Well, t at depends mainly u n yourself.
If you have had enough of these igilnnce fel-
lows, why, come With us. We never go back
upon a fellow-craftsman,” returned the man
cordiall . ‘

“A you are—”

“The same as yourself; free livers is our
name for it. Those whom we favor with our
custom call us horse-thieves and counterfeiters,”
laughed the leader. ,

“Ah!” muttered Poynter, and bending his
head as if in deep thought.

“ All ready, Tamelt?

“All ready. sir,” was the prompt reply, and
the little hand left the house.

Jack Fyffe directed Poyuter to a horse, which,
with great delight and surprise, he found was
his own noble bay that had been taken when
he ‘was arrested. The five prisoners were also
mounted, their horses having been found in the
tavern stable; but they rode not by their own
aid. Strong cords bound them to the saddle so
securely that even had they tried to cast,them-
selves to the ground, the effort would have
been unsuccessful.

Poynter and F e rode together, as they
struck intoa rapi lope along the soft, loamy
road, but not until quite clear of the neighbor-
hood. did either of them speak. -

“ Wal, we’ve s ’ilt the fun 0’ them hounds ter-
morrer, ’tany ra ,” chuckled F‘yfle.

“ Yes, but how did it all come about?” queried

'Poynter, who did not appear very much at

ease. when we consider what he had escaped.
“ Wal in co’se we wasn’t oin’ to see a

- I ‘ j

 mm jei‘ked up thet-a-way, ’thout helpin‘ ‘im.

 

So's soon as I see’d how it war gwine to work, I
sent Sant Maltby to let the cap’n know, an’
whar I’d meet ’em to 'xpluin, like. Then we
crawled up, an’ tuck the guard, but poor Sant
got throwed clean in his tracks. The rest you
know.”

“ Who were the men you took prisoners?”

“ Thar’s one on ’em you’ll be glad ter see-—
Jon’than Green.”

“ Ha!” exclaimed Poynter: “ the lying scoun-
drel! But, Jack, my friend, do you know
you’ve made a mistake?”

“ How so?” ~

“ I am no counterfeiter-never was."

“ Thunder, you say!” ejaculated Fyife.

“ It’s the truth,” soberly afllrmcd Poy ter.
“ I have never committed a deed agains the
law, to my knowledge, in my life.”

“But the evidence?”

“Was one tissue of falsehood from first to
last! Why it was started, or who was the one
who planned it, I know no more than you do;
but I will find out if it takes a lifetime,” hotly
exclaimed Poynter.

“Hello, my friends, what’s up here?” asked
the leader, falling back beside the two men, at
the sound of Poynter's excited tones. “ Not
quarreling, I hope?”

“ No, sir, I owe him too much for that,” warm-
ly responded Poynter. “ But, are you the cap-
tain?”

“For the time being. I am. Why?” said the
man. somewhat surprised at the other’s tone.

“ Then I must speak'with you, fora moment.”

“Go on; I have no secrets from J ark.”

“Well,” slowly uttered Poymer, “from what
I have heard, I believe you labor under a serious
mistake, regarding who and what I am.”

“How so?” interrupted the leader. “ Are not
you the man that the Vigilance Committee or-
rested and condemned i”

“ I am; as my back can testify!” bitterly grit-
ted the oung man. '

“We l. then, where’s the mistake?”

“ In this: I was wrongfully accused. I have
never, knowingly, passed a counterfeit coin, and
as for murder. there is no blood upon my hands,
save that shed in self-defense.”

“ Whe-ew!” whistled the outlaw. “ But Jack
told me the evidence was complete 1”

“ It was not his fault for thinking so. I would
have believed the same in his place. But I am
speaking the truth, and thought it best to tell
you how the case stands, lest you should think
me a traitor or a spy, in case the truth ever
comes out.”

“You were right. But what do you intend
doing? The hunt will be hot for you, as, if a
man would take all that trouble and ex use to
put you out of the way, legally, he wi not let
you of]? so easily.” .

“I know that; and in perfect freedom is the
only chance of my ever clearing myself. I frank-
ly own that I am puzzled,” slowly replied Poyn-

ter.

“ Well, sir, I am not often mistakenina man,
if I do say it myself,” added the outlaw leader.
after a rinse. “And nowImake oua rop-
osition. ill you accept my hospi 11 or a
(flew dgys, or weeks, until this exciteme t cools

own

, on by his bitter hatred of Clay

V overshadow the young man.

The Half-Breed Rival. 15

 

“Are you in earnest, and would you trust a
stranger so far?" ejaculated Poynter, in aston-
ishment.

“ Not every one, I admit,” laughed the other.
“ But you I can, and will; and if necessary, will
answer to the band, for your honor, with my
own life. But understand me: upon no account
are you to divulge what you hear or see; nor the
places we will take you to, even if your life dc—
pended upon it, unless we give you permission.
And in return, you will be left free to come and
go, as you will. You will not be asked, or ex—
pect d, to do anything against your conscience;
and if you should need any assistance that we
can ive, you have but to say as much.”

“ hat is far more than I could expect, and I
sincerely thank you for it,” rejoined Poynter,
warmly clasping the outlaw’s hand. “ But lam

at a loss to imagine the cause of such generosity.” '

“ It is easy told. You are an innocent man,
unjustly accused and condemned; and I was
once the same. False friends and misfortunes
have made me what I now am, and I still have
some of the better feeling in my heart, if I am
an outcast, a branded felon.

“ Besides, I feel a strange liking for you; why,
or from what cause I know not, unless from the
resemblance upon this one point.”

“ Well, sir,’ exclaimed the escaped prisoner,
“ I will gladly accept your offer, and if there is
any return that I can make, without—”

“ I understand you,” interrupted the outlaw,
with a tinge of melancholy in his tones, “and
would be the last man in the world to ask you to
forfeit your feeling of self-respect. But come,”
he added, again assuming his old air of reckless
gayety. “ We have fallen behind, and they’ll
think we are deserters. Spur up!”

“ But one moment. Have we far to go?”

“ Less than two miles, now,” was the reply.
H  why?”

“Nothing much: only I would rather be in
the neighborhood, for—”

“ For certain reasons, I presume,” laughed
the outlaw leader. “ But never mind I was

oung once myself, although I don’t look much
ike it now,” and he ended with a half sigh.

Poynter’s curiosity was keenly aroused by the
language and manner of his stran ely-acquired
friend, so different from what mig t have been
expected; and found himself wishin for a bet-
ter chance to observe his features t an was af-
forded by the dim, uncertain light.

As he cared toward him, Claycould see that it
was 8. r0 ust, werful form, nearly if not quite
as much so as is own. Of the features he could
distinguish naught save the glitter of a air of
sparkling eyes, and the long, flowing air of
almost snowy whiteness, as was also the luxuri—
ant beard and mustache. ’ ‘

As we said, Polk Redlaw resolved to dog the,

rescuingparty wherever they mi ht go, spurred
o nter. And
he was just the person to accomp ish this if it
lawn human power to do so.

hen he saw Po ter emerge from the tavern
under the bright g are of the torch Carried by
Jack F‘yfl’e, unbound and in freedom, the heavy
rifle rose as if by instinct to his cheek, and, for
a moment. the wings of death again appeared to

e

 

But the gun wa lowered. The mongrel was
not satisfied with such a revenge. His hatred
was too intense; he re uired a death of she e~
of degradation: a. dent that would destroy 0th
the life and honor of his foe, and leave a record
at which the finger of scorn and contemptwould
be ointcd.

hen the cavalcade plunged into the dark-
ness of the tree—shadowed road, the human
bloodhound followed hard upon the scent. His
rifle trailed in one hand, his head and neck
craned forward, Polk Redlaw sped along with
noiseless strides that appeared to be made with:
out an effort. -

So steady, silent and uniform was his progress
that it seemed like a magnificent iece of ma-
chinery, rather than a man. His ndian blood
shone forth now in his free and untrammeled
motion, as he kept at a. certain distance in the.
rear of the rescuers, the same whether they rode
fast or slow. ' '

From his crouching position he could not be’
seen upon the shadowed read, while those whom
he was trailing, being mounted, could quite
plainly be distinguished. But for a. time we
must turn elsewhere. ‘ ,

 

CHAPTER VII.
ASAD HISTORY. _
WHEN Neil McGuire returned home from the 5'

 

 

‘ ,

 

x

"‘ 'l‘win Sycamores,” disgusted at the brutality : ~' '

displayed by his nei rhbors and comrades, he
found his daughter ora sitting up awaitingu
him, late as it was, the fearful suspense and tore

ror she had endured plainly imprinted upon her ,. g

pale and worn countenance.

Shocked at the change, and strongly excited
by the events of the last few'hours, McGuire
told her all, winding
feared the prisoner would not live to see another
day dawn. Nora gave one low cry and swooned, 1

and when she recovered from it a strong fever j

set in.

There was no doctor nearer than the fort,
even if he could be induced to journey so far,
and as old Aunt Eunice had gained quite a repu- .
tation as a nurse, she was called in, while the v ,
almost distracted father set out for medical aid.

The doctor came, but his aid was not needed; H

the fever had been broken, and, strange to say’ ‘
Nora wasup and about the house in as apparent
good health as ever. » ‘

But if the worthy farmer was surprised, we,“ '

who are in the secret, need not be. It was,
perhaps owing to a certain message brought by
Aunt Eunice, who kindly turned her bac
while it was being perused, and when she did
look it had disappeared; but from the frequent
journeys made y the invalid’s hand, to the
region of the heart, it is not difficult to guess ,
where. ‘
The note was from Clay Poynter, briefly de- \
tailing the facts of his escape, tatlng that he ,

up by saying that~he- 

     

 

was in a place of safety, and imploring an infers ‘ , ,

View, leaving the time and place to hen/of
which he could be informed by Aunt Eunice.

Nora did not hesitate about granting the re- "'_\

quest, but the return of her father necessitated
a postponement, greatly to the disappointment
of the lover, who was disgusted at only 

1 ' ‘ ‘.' I" 
,\ (it /“ v \‘ L ‘ ‘5‘

a, ’f w I. ,;,-

  
 

w... M-_... ... ..-._...._..~. __‘_.-W_._.c_- W-__.~...-....- ~_-.~:—'~ h

r.

The Half-Breed Rival.

 

 -M..=~.=n~g==a. -n-“;=W

use .3. —

 

Aw:=:‘--L.wd;.:r;;.-:;;

J 239*? ‘f i

«(0.5.

v

v “.3-

 

mi ,—

 

 

steer:

as;

' 4.4...
«5;:
V. x

 

 

ing his old housekeeper when he expected a
sweetheart.

Neil McGuire was sorely puzzled and disturbed
about something and soon opened his mind to

’ Nora the day 0 his return. It was after supper,

and she had brought him his filled pipe, when he
lbade her sit down—that he had something to tell
or.

“Do you know, (pet, that I half-way fear we
haw?” been doing lay Poynter a great injus-

' tics

“ 0h father, I knew it all along!”

“ Did you, indeed? Well, as I said, I am afraid
we ave been mistaken, although I am not quite

certain. And the reason I think so is this:

“It was late in the evenin when I got to the
fort, and as the doctor woul not start out that
same night, I went over to the city; as I could
not bear to sit still while thinking of the danger
you mi ht be in. It was raining, and feeling
cold an chilly, I stepped into a saloon to get a
dritnk, when I met a man who was just a-coming
on .

‘.‘ I was so astonished that you could have
knocked me down with a wheat-straw, for I
would have sworn he was none other than John

. Demmt! But while I stood there, he slipped
out, andwhen I started after him, he was gone.
' I hunted for an hour, but without success; I
,could not find him again.”
N “ And there was no mistake?” anxiously asked
ora.
" There may have been. I might have been
deceived, and took some other person for him.

. If it was Dement, he had his whiskers colored
,black, and his ha1r trimmed, and of the same
color. But I caught his full eye, and You know
it is not a common one.”

' “Yes, it makes me think of a rattlesnake‘s,”
, shuddered the maiden.

' “Well, even if he is innocent about the mur~

der,‘ there is the other charge,” added McGuire.
“ But that may be false. too.”
“I don‘t think so. And yet,” he added, after
la slight pause, “he didn’t act like a guilty
man.

Nora did not answer, although strongly
tempted to do so, for fear she would reveal
V more than was prudent, and in a short time both

tired.

A little after noon, on the next da , had Neil
McGuire lanced up from his work ack of the
house and ooked almost due west, he would have
seen the trim, daint form of his daughter, as
she disappeared in t e woods, accompanied by
Aunt Eunice. And perhaps his mind would have
been still more perturbed had he witnessed the
fervor with which a certain stalwart. handsome
man embraced Nora, while her antiquated du-

‘ -' '; enna placidly stared at the bushy top of a neigh-

boring tree. 7

Whatever it was Aunt Eunice saw, it must
have been very interesting, for there she stared,
and never once looked around until her name

 was called. Then she seated herself at a little

distance from the lovers. pulling out from her
meta huge stocking, that could only be in-

ed for one person in the settlement. unless
worn upon both feet at once, industriously knit-

 

“ - time as deaf now as she had been blind before.

We need record but one passage in the (-0

 

versation, as the remainder was foreign to our
pur ose.

“ 01], pet, I will explain what your father
meant when alluding to my leaving Kentucky.
It is true, I did leave there to save my life, much
as I fled from here, although matters had not
gone uite so for then.

“ en I was but a child, my father was ac-
cused-falsely, as I ever will maintain, although
I have no proof~of belonging to Sturdcvant’s
gang of counterfeiters and horse-thieves. He
was arrested and thrown into prison, but he
never had a trial. A band of disguised men
forced the jail, and taking him from his cell,
proceeded to a grove some four miles distant,
and hung him like a dogl

“It was nearly a month before the remains
were found, by a man hunting cattle, and then,
after his burial, my mother sickened, dying
within the same year. I was but eleven years
old then, and “although so young, these fearful
events made me des rate.

“ The nei hbors al looked upon me as a sort of
outcast, an taught their children to shun me
as thongl I were a moral pest. This did not help
me muc ,and as I grew older, I was taunted
and hooted at, for my father’s crime!

“But, as my muscles grew they found this fast
becoming a dangerous sport, for I bitterly re-
sented every insult, even from those twice and
thrice my own age. I had no relations, not even
a friend to lean upon, or towhom‘ I could turn
for aid or counsel. And thus I rew up)!

“ I admit bein wild and rec less; ut I can
honestly sa that never once committed a mean
or crimina deed. And yet I was often accused
in whispers, of being both a counterfeiter and a
horse—thief! Almost any one would have left the
place in disgust; but I did not. The on] beings
that I had ever loved were lying in t 6 little
yard back of our house.

“ I often, when my trials had been unusually
bitter, have spent the livelong night beside the
graves of my parents, sobbing as if my heart
would break; and it is to those sacred influences
alone that I attribute my remaining clear of a
life of crime.

“ \Vell, I was at length openly arrested, but as
l managed to escape before trial, I never learned
who was my accuser. It would have been almost
certain death to remain there then, as I had no
friends who could assist me to clear myself, and
so I fled.

“ I went to Arkansas, near Merton, and for a
time all went well. I entered a homestead, and
for several years I worked diligently on it; and
then sold it for a fair price. intending to open a
store. But my enemies followed me even there.
and the same suspicions were noised about. I
was avoided by all respectable persons as though
I had the plague.

“In disgust I left the place, and froin that
time until I came here, I wandered far and near,
living an aimless life until I thought I had once
more eluded my pursuers. But you have seen
how sadly I was mistaken; and here, Just as life
was brightest, the same rumors were whispered
abroad, the old charges were brought up against
me. I was seized and flogged like a dog!"

“Poor Clay l” murmured Nora through the

 called forth by the sad history of her.

W a:

The Half-Breed Rival. 1"

 

lover’s life, as she clasped his hand in hers, as if
to still further testify her boundless faith in his
truth and honesty. .

“ Yes, but I go no further. I have found you,
and now I have an additional incentive to clear

' myself, and bach my secret enemy, whoever he

may be. But howl—that is the question.”

After some further conversation, and an up
poiutment being made for another meeting, the
1‘ wers separated, Nora and Eunice returning to
the, house, while Poyntcl‘ walked rapidly away
toward his own building.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
A DELECTABLE comma.

AFTER leaving Nora, Poynter walked swiftly
in the direction of his own house, that had been
closed ever since Aunt Eunice had been called in
to attend Nora. (luring hersickness. But he kept
:1 good lookout as he proceeded, lest he should
be discovered by some of those kind friends whose
hospitality he had abandoned so hastily, a few
da 5 before.

e had found a secure refuge with the outlaw
band who had rescued him from the power of
the Vigilance Committee, where he resolved to
remain until his plans for the future were fully
nmtured, at the urgent request of the leader.
This man had evinced a strong interest in Poyn—
tor, and pledged his own as Well as the assistance
of the band, if it should prove necessary, in any
way.

Just as Poyiiterwas about to cross the crest of
a bill, be heard the nick thud of a horse’s hoofs
coming at full spee upon the opposite side of
the rise, and darted at once into the thicket of
bushes upon the left side of the road. Cautious-
ly parting the leafy screengso that he could ob
serve the extreme summit of the rise, Poynter
awaited the horseman’s approach.

Scarcely had he done so when the rider rose
the crest, and drawing rein, paused and glanced
around him. With a half-surprised curse,
Poynter raised his heavy rifle, while the sharp
click sounded clear and distinct as the hammer
was sprung back: but then he lowered it.

“ The lying do“! For a cent I’d plug him, if
only to save ‘ J in go Lynch ’ a job.”

he horse and rider were standing out in bold
relief against the clear sky, but still the am-
bushed fugitive could tell that Polk Redlaw, the
half-breed, stood before him.

Redlaw appeared to be expecting some one as
Clay judge from his manner, and aftera ow
minutes‘ waiting, he placed his fingers to his
mouth, and blew a shrill, piercing blast, that
echoed from int to point before dying down
to nothing. carcely ad the sounds ceased,
when a second pea] came whistling along the
ridge, as if in answer; to which Polk replied,
and then dismounted.

In a few moments a second man appeared u
on foot, with his long rifle carried at a trail,
and the two men greeted each otheras if greatly
pleased at the meeting. Again the steely glitter
shone in Poynter’s eyes, while he hit 1118 11 s
fiercely as if to repress his emotions, when 9
recognized the new-comer.

“ Ah i” he gritted as he crouched forward.
“ Wesley Sprowl! There’s deviltry on foot wiv -

 

such men meet together, and by all that’s good,
I’ll scent it out 1”

The two men now plunged into a little side-
trail, Redlaw leading his horse, and no sooner
had they disappeared than Poynter retreated
until around the bend, where he glided across
the road, and in a few moments struck their
trail; keeping just without the path, where, if
b any chance the men he was dogging should
glhnce back, he would be out of sight.

'l‘hey proceeded leisurely enough, and he had
no diiliculty in keeping within ear-shot of the
horse’s tread, while his own footsteps were
deadened upon the moist soil. After proceedin
thus for nearly half a mile, the two men paused,
and slipping the bit from his horse‘s mouth,
Polk Rcdlaw allowed it to feed at will While he
and S )rowl seated themselves upon the green—
sward eneath a huge oak tree.

Poynter, by dint of cautious creeping, man-
aged to gain a dense clump of bushes at only
a few yards in the rear of their position, where
he crouched down with his weapons ready for
instant use, in case he should be discovered.
But they gave no sign of suspecting an intru-
der, and conversed in an easy, careless st le,
very much to Poynter’s edification. The rst
of this he missed, owing to the task he had to
perform, but he listened intently.

“Well,” Polk Bedlaw was saying, “ they did I I

not suSJect any person was followin them,-
althoug I keptthom in sightthe entire istance,

And that was no slouch of a job either, for they» ‘ "

were in a lope most of the way, and I began to
be pretty well blown before they gave any signs
of halting. .

“ But then they paused and e. si
sounded; and from the reply I knew t at I had
dogged them home. And
other ten minutes the whole crowd was gathered

in a huddle, unsaddling their horsesi while a '

dozen or so more were building fires as f the en-
tire country belonged to them.
“ I lay low, taking notes, and I saw enough in

the next hour tosatisfy mo thatI had really

tracked them to the den of the horse-thievcsr,

for there were several tents and regular fire-
Elaces fixed up, while the ground was tramped
ard and dry.” ,'
“And where was that?” inquired ‘Sprowl,
curiously.

“ Well, you’ll let it go no further, of course,” 

added Redlaw, after a. slight pause“ “ You
know where Han Hooker killed the big bear,
last fall; near the ‘Turkey branch?” Just due
West along the creek about a. quarter, is’tho

spot. I V
“But as I was spying around, a cursed dog -

somehow got scent of me, and as I saw him

circling around, I lit out, for if they had .found r

me there, nothing would have saved my hi .
cut sticks in a hurry, as I got out of t eir hear-
ing, but the brute took my trail, and in a few
moments I could hear him coming, hot foot,
growling like a painter.

“I was afraid to burn powder, so I just hunk-

ered down behind a big rock, and drew my. '-

butcher. As the imp turned the corner, I grab-
bed his nose and twisted him down; then a cut
or two and he was quieted. "

was. 

was right, forinan- .

 

 

“But I’d seen enough, 1501 started for home.»  ‘- ' i

y ‘ . . :5 . 

 

 

 

’52:"

‘1':

.5.-

 

mi"

 

 

 

18

The Half-Breed Rival.

 

with the dog on my shoulder~—for I was afraid to
leave him where the knife-cuts might ’a’ told
tales—and carried him until at a safe distance,
when I dropped him over the bank into the
creek. And there my infernal luck still folIOWed
me, for his claw caught in my shirt and over I
went, head-first, plump onto the rocks.

“ Luckily my head took the dog for a pillow,
and only ot a little bruised and stunned—like;
but when came to I found that my right ankle
was either broken or badly s rained. I managed
to climb up to the level, alt ough every motion
nearly made me yell out, but there I was stuck!

"‘I knew that if my life depended upon it, I
could not have got to the town, as I was, and so
I lay there thinking what to do next. At last I
slid down the bank, cut ofl.’ a hind quarter of the
dog. and then managed to drag myself to the
‘Hole—in—the—Wall’—you rememberl—whcre I lay
until this morning two hours after sunrise, I saw
ahorse—that one yonder, it was—straying along

v the branch, and as he was tame I managed to

catch him' rigged a halter from a piece of lime—
bark and lit out for town, where I got, safe and

.' soun” after giving you the hint to meet me

re.
“ Well, what’d you want, anyhow?” asked

8 rowl.
x:‘Ina moment. You see I told old Reeves

‘ about the hole I’d found, and offered to guide

himto it, after dark, to-night. So he sent out

' messengers, and by this time the Vigilantes are

all u to snuff,

“SPou may be called on to help, but if so, I
want you to play sick; have a thundering shake,
or something of the sort.”

“Just what I’d ’a’ done anyhow," dryly re-
sponded Sprawl. “ I have no notion of running
my head into the hands of that cursed Poyntcr.

reson didn’t pay me for that.”

" ell then, you’djust as lieve makes. ‘double
sawbuck’ as not, if by doing so you spite Poyn-

’ -  ter andrun no risks?”

“ Twent dollars?”
“ Yes. ad for half an hour‘s work.”
“Wouldn’t 1? Why the old man only gave me

i a hundred for swearing against Poynter—Hellol

what’s that?” he added, starting to his feet, and
lookin toward the bushes where Poynter was

‘concea ed.

The latter had given a sudden start, as he
caught the hint dropped by Sprowl, that could
only refer to the charge of murder that had been
brought against him. But who was this Meagre-

- son,‘ or the “ old man?”

 

" “ don’t get scart at your own shadow.

“Bah!” grunted Polk, lazily turning his 1head
ear

it too, but it’s only my horse. Come. I‘m in a

hurry. Will you earn the money?” ,

“ That de nds,” replied the other: as he re-
seath himse , “ upon what it is.“

“ Well, I know you’ll never peach—"

“ Of course not!”

“ I know it,” dryly added Redlaw; “it would-
n’t be healthy. But I want you to be sick when
the crowd starts to-night, and then after about
two hours—say about midnight—you must get

‘ ', up“and "the house yonder on fire.”

“ Set the house of Clay Poynter on fire-Jisn’t

‘ that plain «Might Ilever you mind what for—
.l/ V. ‘  , 5..

 

that’s my own afi'nir. lL’s onough that I’m good
reasons, and when I come bill'li, J‘ll tell you.
\Vill you do it.”7

“ It’s a risky jol)—” li(‘~'it:ll,cd Sprowl.

“No it isn’t, either. But, yes or no, because
if you won’t, iin-ro‘s othcrs—”

“ Enough! I’ll do it. But cash down, you
know,” ll cred Sprowl.

“ \Vell, there’s hqu of it.
you in the morning.”

“ But supposing you should get rubbed out to-
night?" suggested Sprowl.

“ Curse your creaking?” hotly exclaimed Rul—
law, thrustlng out another bill. “There; will
that do?"

“Yes; but say, isn’t it a good joke upon old
Meugroson that he has been payingr us all to
prove this I’le'lltUI‘ a conutcrfoitcr and mur-
derer, while all the time he really belonged to
the gang?" chuckled Sprowl.

“ Bet yo! But come now, old fellow,” added
Redlaw, insiuuatiugly, “ who is tlll‘ old coon,
anyhow? lknow you can tell a follow, it" you
will.”

“Maybe I will, whon you tell mo what for
you want the house fired,” significant 1y answered
Sprowl.

“ Well, give me an idee, anyhow,” urged Polk.
“ I’ll tell you tomorrow, sure.”

“ Honest?"

“ I said so, didn’t I?” sharply.

“ Well, don’t get your back up about it and I
will give you a hint, anyhow. You see, I know
him in Kentucky, and again in Illinois, where
he helped run the business, after Sturdevant—”

“ What!”

“ Fact. I done a little in that line myself. on
the sly. and we were thrown together consid’ra-
ble, us be furnished the ‘ queer.’ But I got the
pull on him in a little scrape in which a certain
named Dua‘oor was concerned.

“There was a love-affair mixed up with it,
I believe, and while Meagreson got the sack,
Duabcr got the girl. So a lot of charges were
trumped up, much as we’ve served this Poyn-
ter, you know, only it ended in the p )or devil’s
being lynched in earnest.

“ He was taken from jail and hung by a gang
spurred on by the old man, although he was
not present at the deed. I gained a cool thou-
sand in square money for it, and all went off
smoothly. But I thought he was dead until he
came here, found me out, gave me some money,
and got me to play the same trick over again."

“ I wonder what his reasons were anyhow,”
mused Polk. “ I’d give a iivospot to know,” he
added, covertly glancing at Sprowl.

“ You will?”

“ If it‘s honest, I wouldn’t mind.” I

“I know what you’re up to,” nodded the
other, “ but if you’ll promise me not to breathe
a word or hint of who told you, to anybody, I’ll
tell you?” .

“You know—or should know by this time,
that I never split on a friend.” ,

“ That’s so, Polk and ‘if you’ll shell out, I’ll
tell on in a. cat’s whisper.”

are you are: but no shenanigan, now,”
replies] Polk, handing the bill to his comrade.

“Honor brightl Well, then, this Clay Poyn-

The rest I‘ll hand

ter, as he calls himself, is in reality none other

‘ ' l

m;

.ac.

n-w.

The Half-Breed Rival. 19

 

v...

than Henry Duuber the son of .lznnes Dunher,
who was hung on a. false charge by the Vigilance
(.‘ommitteoll’

“\Vhew!” echoed Polk Itcdluw, with a long-
drawn breath of astonishment. “ I begin to see
into it now. And the old mun hates the son for
the father‘s sake!”

“ Yes, that‘s just it. And as you’ve ncled on
the square, so far, I don’t mind telling thut he
is the same one who has hunted this young fel-
low from pillar to post, ever since hr- was a lit—
tle shaver,” said Sprowl. centidcntinlly.

“ I-’d rather have his friendship than his
hatred, then,” laughed Polk. “ “'hen’s he com-
ing back, do you know?”

‘ Not yet awhile. It’d spoil the whole thing,
you see, if ‘ John Dement’ should come to life
again before Poynter wns nailed.”

“ But it seems to me that you‘ll be in a bad
box, my friend, if it is found out that you swore
to a. lie.”

“ Oh, that’s easy patched up. Besides. the
men will be so cut up and ashamed at being
greened so, that they’ll be glad enough to let
the matter drop, and us for the law, I’d die of
old age before that could or would do anything
here.” snecrcd Sprowl.

“Well, that’s your lookout, not mine. But
we’d better be moving. Catch my horse for me,
won’t you'l—this cursed ankle is sore yet.”

In a few moments the mongrel was mounted,
and paused to add:

“ Now mind you play your part. And not
before eleven, anyhow, as it' the glow should be
seen too soon, the men will turn back, thinking
it some of theirs.”

“ All right. But you send around for me; it’ll
look better. I’ll go home now and begin shak-
ing,” and with a loud laugh the two precious
scoundrels separated.

Scarcely had they disappeared when Clay
Poynter emerged from his ambush, and stood
for a moment trembling with anger.

Truly, he had good cause for being wrathy,
and for feeling thoughtful, too, in the revela-
tions so coniplaccntly made by \Vesley Sprowl.

But he did not pause long; then throwing his
rifle across his shoulder, he struck through the
woods at a. rapid pace, heading his course to-
ward the rendezvous of “ White Crees,” the
leader of the band who had rescued him from
the “ Twin Sycamores.”

CHAPTER IX.
THE INCENDIARY.

IT was some time after dark before Clay
Poynter neared the rendezvous of the border
outlaws, despite the speed at which he traveled.
But he was in time, and after satisfying the
sentinel of his identity, he hastened at once to
the presence of “White Crees,” as his aged
friend was universally termed by his men and
coun'ades.

He was lying at full length upon the ground,
one elbow propping his hen as he gazed thought-
fully into the fire, crackling merrily before him.
There was a kind of half-fir.an upon his face
and a fiery gleam in his full black eyes, that told
qumter he was ,unusually excited about some-
thing.

\

\

 

“chll. sir, what is it?” quickly asked Crees,
us he raised his head at the young man’s ap—
pronch.

“ Bad neWS, I fear. This retreat is known—”

“ Tho (leiiccll’

“Yes; and you will he attacked to-night by
the Vigilance Committee, in full force,” coolly
rejoined Poynter.

"Bad enough,, I must say. But are you
certain ?”

“ If bearing the entire plan, detailed by the
man that found you out, is enough, I am."

“ So—so!” muttered the outlaw chief.

“Well, your decision,” impatiently said Clay,
“ what is it?” '

“ We must run for it. Not but that we are
strong enough to stand our ground, if such a
course would be prudent, but we must tread
lightly. The country is hot enough now, and a.
collision, where blood would be shed, must be
avoided.”

“Very well, then; I want one man for du 7
concerning myself, as a sort of witness. Can
have him 9”

“A dozen, if you say so,” was the cordial rev,

ply. “Who is he?”

“ Jack F lie.”

“ Hyar be, square, nn’ mighty glad of I kin
help yo any.” '

“ Then saddle our horses as quick as possible,
please. If I had time,” again turning to the
outlaw lender, “I would explain, as I have

much to tell; but some other time must do. ‘ 

Things are working around a little, and ,1 may
come out right side up after all.”

“Good! and I, too, have done a good job
t . ’

“ So? VVhere’ll we find you?”

“ Tell Jack to lead you to the north side of
‘Bald Hill,’ where the branch cuts through the
‘ Wildcat Rangc.’ He knows it well.”

“ Well, I must be off, and the sooner you are
the better. It’s nearly ten o’clock now, an
they’ll be along by one at the latest.”

“So they may,” laughed the outlaw. “but '

thanks to your warning, they’ll find little’to
satisfy their appetite. Remember, ‘Bald Hill.’
“ All right!’

the two men dashed rapiler along the road.
“Now Jack old fellow,

our horses’ tails, or we’ll be too late.” r
“ Whar to?”

“My house. Do you know apath that-[we can "

go, so as to avoid meeting our friends, who’ll
take the main road?”

“ Bet ye! It’s rough ridin’, though but bein’s '
hat’s the I

Thereugon Poynter succinctly stated what he \
while eavesdropping the two precious V

it’s shorter, ’twon’t take no longer.
biz?” '

had hear
scoundrels, adding: »
“It isn’t that I care so much for the house,

but we must take that Sprowl a risoner. He ,

knows enough to clear me, and if 8 can prove
what he'sai , to bring this Dement or Mongre-
son to justice; and that’s just my band now.”

“ We’ll‘do it. IE! not in the act, we’ll nabhin; ' - ' 

at his own shanty. Memeson 8 said?”
“Yes; do you know him?” ’ y

\ v

,

and then the young man vaulted ‘
into the saddle as Fyfle led up the horses, and '

. . cried Poynter, “ we ‘
must ride as 1 the ‘gentleman in black’ was at -

 

 

a
I \

 

 

)

20 The Half-Breed Rival.

’

 

“ 0 no I guess not!
man like glad I”

“Crees, do you mean?” 7

“ Look out! H ar’s the 'cutolf.’ Foller me
cluss an’ look out or your head."
I ' Th3 now diverged from the road into a path
a / just lowing, one horse to pass at a time, and the

i
l Lord, won’t the ol’
1 ‘ riders were forced to stoop low along their
3
l

"‘3. -_.. .-- ..\,.___ ,._

‘ , horses’ necks to keep from being struck by the
low-hanging limbs.

Presently the ground grew more onen, al-
though they still continued in single file, and

u as they rose the crest of a hill, Fyfl‘e exclaimed,

7!, line. ladtone:

' '  “ t’s all hunky so fur anyhow, square. Ef it

g - gt: svso fur ten minutes longer, We’ll save ’em
 v t .

' “ Are we so near, then i”

“ Leetle better’n a mile.
branc ” '

’ “ Good! I know where we are now.
. along- we’ve no time to lose.”

In ess than the time named the horsemen

, drew rein at the western fence of the yard, and

. ‘ speedil hitching the animals, they stealthin ad-

: van until 1the rear of the house was gained.

. , After pausing for a moment to listen. and hear-
 -’ ing nothing suspicious, they made the circuit of

3 J “j the building; thus satisf ing themselves that the

1 -,  I Would-be incendiary he not yet arrived.

'  ,‘ ,‘ I “ We’re in good time, Jack,” whis .ered Poyn-
':.; 7 ‘ _ ter, joyfully, ‘and ’11 get him yet. 0 you hide
.9. here in front, and I’ll do the same behind. If

.r you need help, whistle and I’ll come.”

“Help, ag’in’ that little or’nary cuss? Bah!
I’d take him ’ith one finger. Shall I nah ’im
- as soon as I see him?”

“ NO' I guess we’d better let him start a blaze
first. 'l'hen he can’t deny but what that was his
intention. Yes, that’s the best way.”

' “All right, then. Better lumber down,

though. fer of be shed cotch a glimpse 0’ either

on us, it’s all played," cautioned Fyfl’e.

This advice was too good not to be followed.
andin a moment more, all was still and silent
about the premises. Poynter’s mind was greatly
' v 4 excited, as well it might be, at the facts he had
learned on that day; and as the gloomy prospect
that had spread over his future began to lighten
a thousand air-castles were built, over all of
which the pleasing form of Nora McGuire, his
little rosy Irish lass, reigned as queen.

, But he was suddenly aroused from his reverie

by the light tramp of a man’s feet. and glancing

,' ' up, he saw a dim, shadow figure cautiousl ap-

* reaching the house, at a ittle to his left. rom

his 1position close beside the slightly elevated
that stood in the rear of the kitchen, the
door of which led out upon it, Poynter was per-
fectly hidden, while yet he could quite plainly
note the intruder’s every movement.

— This person lightly stepped upon the porch
and cautiously tried the door, but it was fasten-

 . Then he Went to one of the rear windows,

A v and after a. slight effort, raised it: then propping

‘ V it' up with a stick, drew himself through the

aperture. .

»'_ Listenin intently. Poynter heard him grop-

. ing mung the room, and then, after a few mo-
iments’ silence, he saw a faint, flickering light

spring up. Gliding to the window, he peered

See, thar’s the
Spur

 

 

y

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 

i

 

through, and saw Wesley Sprawl igniting a
short piece of tallow—dip by the aid of a match.

Poynter knew now that he had his game se-
cure, and crept around the building, where he
was met by Jack Fyife, who had been alarmed
by the slight noise, and was just coming around
to investigate it.

“ Is it him?"

“ Yes,” whispered Po ter, “but we must let
him start the fire first, fore we interrupt him.
Then as I jump through the window, do you
burst in the back door and put out the blaze.
I’ll ’tend to him.” .

“ Jest as you say, square; on’y I’d like to gi’n
the Varmint a squoze, like, Jest fer beans,”
grunted Fyfl’e, as he followed Poynter around
the building.

They con d still see the light, and hear an in-
creased rattling in the room, and cautiously
peering in at one corner of the window, the two
men saw the incendiary splitting fine kindlin s
with the knife he had drawn from his be t.
Poynter could scarce] restrain his passion, at
noting how coolly and eliberately the dastardly
scoundrel set about his work.

When a little pile of the shavings were made
Sprowl piled over them some splinters of wood
that lay beside the kitchen stove, and then ap-
plied the lighted candle to the heap. It in‘
stantly ignited, the tiny blaze creeping along,
thrusting out its forked tongue like a serpent;
at which the incendiary gave a chuckle of de-
light, and rising, dropped a chair over the fire.

He next grasped the table, with the same in-
tention, but Poynter had seen enough, and draw-
ing himself up by the arms, he drop (1 lightly
through the window—the noise made gay Sprowl
in dragging the table effectually drowning his
footsteps. One stride, and the large, muscular
right hand of Clay Poynter tightly clasped the
villain by the neck, compresaing it as if in a vise.

Jack Fyfi‘e was in nowise behindhand, but
speedily followed his leader through the open
window, thinking that better than to demolish
the door, especially as there was no particularly
urgent call for haste; and with a few shoves of
his huge foot, kicked the brands into the capa-
cious fireplace, it having done no damage, save
slightly scorching the chairs and floor. '

“ It may be fun to you, square, da’say ’tis,
but of you ’xpects to git any ’fessions outen thet
critter you’d do well to let up a little,” admon-
ished Jxack, as he bent forward to peer into the
face of the prisoner.

And there was ample foundation for his warn-
ing, for in his rage at the cowardly miscreant’s
action, Poynter threw the whole power of his
arm into the grasp, and Sprowl was already
senseless.

“ You’re right, Jack,” said Poynter as he re-
laxed his grip and suffered Sprowl to drop upon
the floor, then bending over him, he poured it
little brandy down his throat.

In a few moments Sprowl had recovered suffi-
ciently to sit up, thoroughly bewildered at the
sudden reverse he had experienced. But his
captors did not give him time to ponder over it,
or ask questions, as it was growing late, and for
obvious reasons they did not care to remain
longer than was absolutely necessary in the

 

neighborhood.

1 («.6 I

5......»

The Half-Breed Rival. 21

 

So, after securely binding the incendiary’s
hands behind his back, the two men, highly
elated at their complete success, led the way to
where the horses were hitched.

“You’re the lightest, Jack,” said Poynter'
“ better take him up behind you on the horse.”

“Durn the thief!” growled Fyfl’c, “let ’im
tramp it; ’t’ll do him ood.”

“So he might; but t ere’s no telling whom we
may meet, and I won’t lose him now. But if
you object, he can ride with me.”

“I didn’t think 0’ that, square.
hyste him up arter I mount.”

This was speedily done, and Sprowl secured
to the body of his captor, thus effectually pre-
venting al hopes of an escape. Then leaving
the premises they entered the road, proceeding
at a moderate pace, as they were not desirous
of arousing any of the neighbors who might
chance to be at home.

For a couple of hours they rode on Without
haltin ,when they both drew rein simultane-
ously, ending forward in the saddles, and listen-
ing eagerly. It was a sharp, clear report, fol—
lowed by what appeared an irregular volley of
small-arms, resounding all about them as if an
entire army was engaged in battle.

But the two men were far too well versed in
the peculiarities of that portion of the country
not to know that it was but the multiplied rever-
berations of the one first shot.

“ Listen!” exclaimed Poynter, guardedly,
“don’t you hear the click of shoes upon the
stones?”

“Y’ur right, by the ’tarnal! It’s the Vigil—
antys, I reckon. Better kiver.”

“ To the left,” muttered Po nter, leading the
way. “Hold thereins while keen the horses
from nei hing. And mark you, Sprowl, those
are your riends, but if you utter so much as a
whisper, by the God above me, I will shoot yell
like a dog! You know I keep my word. They
may hunt us, but it would be too late to do you
any good i” hissed the young man as he passed
by the prisoner.

They were scarcely a dozen feet from the
road, upon a little lower ground. from whence
they could have a. clear view of anybody passin
by. There was no moon, and the dense growt
of underbrush close behind them, added to the
dark color of their horses, rendered discovery
very improbable, if not impossible. ,

Poynter stood by the animals’ heads, one hand
upon the muzzle of each, to check any inclina-
tion they might feel for whickerin during the
passage of the horsemen. They ha not long to
wait.

Scarcely had these precautions been taken,
when the foremost man came in sight, and then
the main body. Their oaths and curses, if noth-
ing else, would have identified them as the band
of Vigilantes, returning from an unsuccessful
search for the outlaws, thanks to Poynter’s
timely warning. ' ,

After waiting a few minutes, until satisfied
that the entire band had passed, the ambushed
men again entered the road, proceedin g for some
little distance in silence. Then Clay spoke:

“ Those fellows weren’t in the best of humor,
eh. Jacki”

“Not overly much. Wal, it shows ’at the

Jest you

 

boys figot cl’ar, anyhow. But see, hyar’s the
cut—o .”
“ Leading to Bald Hill?” L.
“ Yes,” and Fytfe led the wayaloug a narrow,
irregular path.

CHAPTER X.
SPROWL TOES ran MARK.

IN less than half an hour the tall, rocky crest
of “ Bald Hill” reared its gray head before the
men, and Poynter gave vent to a sigh of relief
as he saw that the tiresome ride was nearly at
an end. ,

The outlaws were upon the alert as the quick,
sharp challenge testified when the outer lines, ‘ i
were reached. Dismounting with a half-groan, , , 
Poynter relieved Fyil‘e of his “back—load,” and , I.
after securely binding the man, drop him
upon the ground, asking the sentry to cop an -"-'
eye upon him. Then Poynter threw himself be— ' v
neuth a tree, and almost ere his limbs were
still, a fast-increasing rumbling, as of var dis-
tant thunder, told how sound was his slum er.

The sun was an hour above the horizon when
Poynter an aim opened his eyes, althou h he de-.
clared he adn’t five winks of sleep. ut after ‘
a cool bath at the creek, close at hand, he felt ‘ "
greatly refreshed, and joined White Crees, who _
was sitting near one of the fires, smoking a pipe. ~ . ‘-

“ U for all day, Poynter?”

“ ell, I hardly know. to tell the truth,”
laughed Clay. “ I can tell you better after I'
have some grub.” .

“ There’s part of a cold turkey, or here's ven-
ison' take your choice.”

“ Hot meat for me, even if I do have. to turn
cook to get it,” said Poynfer, cuttin several
generous slices from the prime saddle t at hung
sus nded from a tree near at hand. “ But,
hel o, I forgot! What has been done with my
prisoner that I brought in last night, or, rather;
this morning?" ,

“ I put him in a safe place,” returned the out-
law. “The poor devil was nearly dead this
morning. You ut him with his head down-
hill, and I real y believe that another hour
would have finished him.” ‘ '

“ ’Twouldn’t be a very great pity,” muttered
Poynter, his mouth full of meat, “ after I have
got out of him what I want to know. And that
makes me think—where’s J ack?”

i“ Off on a. hunt, I believe; a gang of turkeys
passed down the creek this morning, and he’s
after them. But why?” 

“ Nothin : only from a hint that he dropped 1 ‘
last ni ht a ut one Meavreson—l’

“ . at! Meagreson, did you say?” excitedly
exclaimed the outlaw, bending forward, clutch-
ing Poynter with his long, bony fingers by the
arm. until the young man winced With pain.

“ Thunder! es, but I ain’t made of wood, nor . -
steel either. 0 you want to take of! my arm?" ‘

“Pardon, Poynter; but that name made me
for et myself. Where did you hear of him r” ‘

“ om Sprawl; he told Polk Reth a long
yarn yesterday that I overheard, and enough in~
it to show me that my secret foe was this.
Illlfieagreson, or John Dement, as he called himself,

ere. . \ '

“Tenmeaijustasnesaid it._ I hm 390d.

  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

 

4’22 The Half-Breed mun.

 

reasons for wanting to hear it,” added the out-
law, impressively.

Poynter gave a hasty outline, and to his great
surprise Crees bowed his head to the earth, his
strong form working and writhing as if in mortal
agony. But when he would have stopped, a
hoarsely-whispered “ Go on” from the old man
was his only answer. .

“ And now you know as much as I do,” added
Clay arising. “ But come, show me where you
Eu éprowl, and I will see if he can tell me any-

hing more.”

Crees arose without a word, and passed a
short distance 11 the hillside, pressing through
some bushes unt he stood at the foot of a good-
sized tree, in a tiny glade. To the trunk of this,
and in an u right position, was bound the form
of the wretc ed S row].

Povnter start back in half-alarm at the
fearful change a few hours had made in the
man’s appearance. Dreadfully haggard and
sickly-looking, with his e as rotruding, his
tongue lolling from his parc- ed Jaws, the drops
of cold sweat rolling over his face, Sprowl looked
as if about to give up the ghost in earnest.

“My God! he’s dying,’ cried Poynter, as he
sprung forward and severed the cords that
bound the poor devil, laying him down upon the

nod.

“Give me your flask; mine’s empt ,” as he
turned to Crees, who silent] handed i to him,
while his eyes were fixe intently upon the
wretch’s face.

A few swallows were poured down Sprowl’s

' throat, and thus bathing his face and neck with

the pungent liquor, Poynter soon uttered a glad
cry. In truth, the patient appeared to be recov-
ering, and in a few minutes the light of reason
once more shone in his eyes.

“ I know that man ” slowly ejaculated Crees,
not once removing his gaze, that a peared to

- attract the other’s attention much t e same as
, the fascination exercised by the rattlesnake.

God! who are you?” almost yelled the

‘M
’ as he suddenly sat up, staring at Crees,
- “ Who should know better than you, Wesley

Sprowl?” steme said the outlaw.

“ I know you now. You are-—”

“Hold!” commanded Crees, “that name is
dead now. If Iyou as much as whisper it before
Itell on, b a that’s holy I’ll treat you as I
woul asn el Do you understand?”

“bYaecsl.{sir,” falter-ed Sprowl,‘once more sink-

Here,” interrupted Poynter, checking this
by- lay, that not a little excited his curiosity.
“ ere, Sprowl, take another sup of brandy. I
want you to answer me some questions, and
you’ll need your strength before we’re through.”

“Yes—yes—the brandy!” eagerly muttered
the prisoner, clutching at the ottle, and not
drawing breath until it was emptied. “ There!

’now I can talk; only} am hungry,” he added,

wistfully.
“ We] , I will get you something, for I am go-
ing to treat you a deuced sight better than you
deserve, after your lies about me.”

“They were lies, all of them; but I will con-
tess—yes, I will confess!”

“Just stick to that, old fellow, and my word

 

for it, you’ll never have cause to re nt doing

so,” cheerin replied Poynter. “ ow, Mr.

Crees, if you’ll just stay here to keep our friend

company, like, I‘ll go get something for him to
t ’7

“Gladly; for I, too, have something to ask
Ml‘. Sprawl,” returned the outlaw. “And, if
you will, please given. whistle when you come
back; won’t you?”

“ Certainly, if you wish it."

“ I do. But don’t be oflended,” he added ap-
pealingly. “I will explain it all to you soon.
And anything else that may appear strange,
that 'ou wish to know. lVill that do?"

“ inely,” cordially replied Poynter, press“
ing his strange friend’s hand, and then dashing
down the hillside to the encampment fires.

He cut some venison steaks, and soon had
them broiling merrily, after which he pre-
pared hot water for coffee, and stirred up a
“ hoe-cake,” standing it upon a strip of elm-hark
to bake before the glowing embers.

When his cookery was completed, Poynter gave
the desired signal, and when he reached the tree
found that the outlaw was sitting in the same
spot, while Sprowl had bowed his head between
his hands, evidently deeply moved b some
emotion, either of fear or remorse. ut the
young mun ( uellr'd the curiosity he felt, for he
knew that ress’s word might be trusted, and
that ere long all would be explained.

“Well, old fellow, here you are ” cheerin
cried Poynter, as he placed the food and drin <
before Sprowl. with not a trace cf rancor in his

tones. “ And do you see how fast you can de- *

mollsh them, while I do a little talking. But
mind you, don’t answer before you’ve weighed
well what you say, as you may have to swear to
it. Do you hear?”

“ Yes, sir, I do hear, and so help me God, I’ll
tell the honest truth if it hangs mel” solemnly
exclaimed the prisoner. “ You treat me and
talk to me like a gentleman, While I have treated
you and yours worse than a dog. I shall say
nothing but the truth, and if it must be, will
swear it before any court.”

“ Now I begin to know you again,” cried Clay,
gladly; “ and I tell you that, guilty as you have
been, unless you have helped commit one
deed—”

“Your father, you mean?” interrupted
Sprowl.

(5 Yes.”

“As God hears me, I never raised a. fingler
against his life. I falsely swore against is
honor, I do not deny, but of anything further, I
am innocent.”

“Well, go on and eat. I’ll tell you my terms,
although 1 frankly tell you that were it not for
your Wife and helpless family, I would demand
not request. Now, however, we will let that

pass.

“First, I wish you to tell me the lot against
my father; who concocted it, and who were the
prominent actors in it. Also their reasons torso
doing, so far as you are aware of them.

“ Then what you know of myself; who it was
that has hunted me from ‘pillar to post,’ to use
your own language. Also what you know about
one Meagreson, alias John Dement, his charac-
ter. crimes, and, in short, everything. ‘

 

The Half-Breed Rival. ' . as

 

 

“ I warn you, however, that I am not to be
deceived; that I know far more than you have
any idea of, so that any attempt of that kind
will only injure yourself. Do you fully compre-
hend me?” queried Poynter.

Sprowl answored by a double nod; his mouth
being crammed so full of the juicy deer-steak,
that speech was impossible.

“Very well. Now, I will tell you further. If
you make a clean breast of it, however guilty
you may have been, with that one exception, I
will let you go free, and in addition give you
such a start that, if you endeuVor to do so, you
can live an honest, comfortable Lfe.

“ I will pay for your farm, 1 will build you a
house and stock them both, so that you can have
no further excuse for going to die bad. But
mark me—this is not on your account; it is for
your patient, long-suffering wife, and the deeds
will be given in her name. Now, what do you
say to the bargain!”

“ Well, sir, what can I suy,”1nutteredS rowl,
brokenly, “ but that while I have acted ike a
dog, you treat me like a. white man? Perhaps
’twould be a better job if you put me beyond the
way of doing any more harm; I do think so. I
have always been a cursed. cowardly fool. and
if at times I would try—and God knows that I
have tried for Mary’s sake and the children’s—
to break off, here would come a temptation, and
down I’d go, worse than ever,” gloomin replied
the risoner.

“ (-ll,” heartily responded I’oynter, “better
times are coming now, and if you will only help
yourself, others will lend a hand. Cheer up,
old fellow, and hold your head up like an honest
man; there's a heap of good left in you yet, or
you’d never talk as you do now.” ’

“If I ever do get on my feet again, it isto
you and him that I must give thanks after
God,” solemnly uttered Sprawl. “ But where
shall I begin?”

“ Tell me first about my father: Why and
how it was that you acted against him as you

‘ I,

And then Wesley Sprowl repeated the tale he
had briefly outlined to Polk Redlaw, giving
every detail in full; but enough has been said to
enlighten the reader. It was a terrible tale of
revenge and injustice in winch an innocent man
was made the victim of a villain’s plottings
aided by such unscrupulous coadjutors as Sprowl
and Jonathan Green.

As the sad incidents of his parent’s sorrow
and ruin were detailed, Clay Poynter (as we
must still call him) bowed his head and wept
bitter tears of grief and anguish. Had he
glanced toward his companion. he would have
seen that “ White Crees,” the outlaw leader, had
bowed his stalwart form, and it shook as if with
mortal agony.

“About your being driven from Arkansas,”
said Sprowl. “I know nothing save that this
same man followed you in his hatred for your
father; that he had sworn you, too, should die'a
felon’s death. But on fled from h1m,and1t
was years before he ound you here.

“He saw me also. and mowing that I was

r, tern ted me to aid him, as I had done once
fore. or weeks before he made 1115 appear-
ance openly, he was undermining your reputa-

tion by covert hints and innuendoas, that only

too easily found holding-ground in the troubled .
state of the country; and this was increased by ’ 1
your reticence regarding your affairs and pre-
vious life.

“I helped him in this, as did Green, Wigan,
Redlaw, Dalton and Gibson. Then on were ,
arrested. Sam Gibson and Frank Da ton were ,
bribed to conceal the dies and counterfeit coin , .-
in your house, then to swear to the findin it.

"Jonathan Green was bought over, as W
to swear as he did. For fear one charge sh l ' 3
fail, he arranged that of the murder of John
Dement, by which name he had made the ac-
quaintance of Neil McGuire. as they both Were
fellow Masons.

“ He made himself popular in the neighbor— 
hood by his friendly manner and the freedom f;
. with which he spent his money. > .‘J

“He gave me the diamond cluster-pin the
was so well known, and told me what to swear;  y,
I was poor; he threatened to denounce me as
one of the gang unless I performed his biddin ,-
and I consented. It was hard, though, althouggi
you may not believe me. , '

“ You had acted the generous friend to me
and mine; had furnished food, clothing and ,
medicine, when I was sick and unable to work;
all this you did, and yet I would have sworn >
away your life!” and for a few moments he rev ’.

, maimed silent. .

“ Had it not been for the firmner of NeilMc-f
Guire, our plans would have been fully carried}
out, and t at next morning's sun would have
shone upon your co so, as we fully expected.
But then you escap ; how, I never earned.

“Meagreson was in Leavenworth awaiting V
the message that I had promised to send or v ,‘v
bring him of your death, but instead it was that ‘ 
you were once morea. free man. Still he thought ’ ~ '
and hoped that you would be taken, and had set
the police of the city on the alert for you in case r
you should go there; but it was useless. . ' ’ I ¥

“ He was fully disguised, as he had been while 1 "
here, for as he is now over fifty years of a e, ‘
his hair is naturally almost snow-white. gut ‘
he wore his years well, and he was not suspected; ,
for other than he seemed. ~ »

“You know how I attempted to fire our
house—41: was that mongrel cur, .Polk Red aw, '
that tempted me; and that I was captured in
the endeavor, I now sincerely thank God! It is
one crime the less upon my soul; and He knows
that there are enough there already,” concluded
Sp]le in a broken tone, as he bowed his head,
w ile the hot, scalding tears trickled freely
adown his wrinkled cheeks.

There was no affectation about this, as his .
hearers were fully convinced. He was really
moyed at the kind and honorable manner in
which he had been treated by those whom he
had wron ed so deeply and terribly.

“And t 's Meagreson—do you nownothing
of his future plans?” at length asked Paynterpd
looking up. ' x ,

“Uness he should hear from the, he was
to meet me at the ‘ Twin Points,’ Friday night.” . >

“ Then you think he will come?” _ _

“ I have no doubt of it,” was the assured re- ‘
ly. “He will be too anxious to learn the .

' etest news not tocome,” '  ‘, ~

 

 

 
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
 
 

 

 

/,

84 The Half-Breed Rival.

 

“ Good! he will probably meet visitors he
does not expect ” cried Cross.
1 “ That he will! Unless he fails, we will have
4‘ ‘ him at our own terms, and then—”
'l , “ And then I" echoed the outlaw.

 

CHAPTER XI.
errn SOUNDS HIS NOTE.

It BARK!”
. It was Poynter who made the exclamation,
'.‘ I abruptly checking the outlaw’s words. The

three men slightly bowsd their heads, as if
listenin intentl , while their eyes sought each
other‘s aces. ' be sound came again.

It was the loud exclamation of a man—such
as one would make in driving a refractory yoke
of oxen. And yet it could scarcely be that, for
the ound surrounding, whence the alarm pro-
ceedgld, was rough and broken, diffith even for
a man to traverse upon foot.

"‘ What is it?” whispered Crees.

“’S-sh! Listen.”

,, “Dad-rot y’ur ongainly copperossyty, kain’t
you walk ‘chalk? Gee, thar~gce. you ’tarnvl
critter! Dod burn ef I don’t rouse you up with

, a saplin’. G’long, now, you creepin’ snake!”

: l" V A tirade of such adjurations, followed by
'~ ‘, what sounded like the crack of a whip, and then

. ’ astrange sort of muffled howl. Such were the

noises that aroused the curiosity of the trio, in

the little glade.
“Scratch dirt, now, you’d better. ’Tain’t

‘ vmuch' furder, or durned of I b’lieve we’d git

' thar to-day. Git up an’ git, now, less I’ll go ahead
an’ snip you ’long arter me. How’d thet suit,

. eh, ole stick-in-the—mud? Shoot at an honest

' teller ag’in, w’u’d ye? Guess ye won’t, no more.

Hoop—Ia!” and then came several more cracks,

accompanied by groans and half-choked howls.
“It’s Jack,” whispered Crees. “Wonder

what he’s up to?"

, H 100k!” I

. As Poynter uttered this exclamation, the
‘ bushes parted, and a miserable-looking object

broke out into full view. It was a man, but so

tattered and begrimed that little else could be

. guessed. Whether white, black or red, a.

‘ ~ stranger or an acquaintance, could only belsur-

 

 

 

, v. ,

 

   
  
   
     
   
  
  

_  arms were tightly drawn back and secured
- at the elbows. while a slack withe ran from ankle
toankle. His draggled and matted hair over-
 _ r ,hung his face, but was not long enough to entirely
_ conceal the existence of a strange freak upon

7 his captor’s part. He was bittedl
A . A good-sized stick was secured betWeen his

jaws, about two feet in length. To either end
. of this a. supple vine of ape was attached,
, , v 80 that a jerk, right or left, y the driver, would
- eflectually turn the prisoner, if not quite throw
-‘ U him down.

Holding fast to the opposite ends was the
» ‘nning Jack Fytfe, who bore a long, supple
fl ickory rod, with which he occasionall
“ touched nan” the captive. Upon his bac

 were two ri .

“ Good Lord, Jack I” cried Poynter, in amaze-
ment, at this truly unique “turnout,” what
under the sun dowgou mean treating the poor‘
devil that way? 0 is he, anyhow?”

I

 

l

 

“Hollow, square, you thar?” returned the
rough borderer, appearing not a whit abashed,
Eivmg his captive the twitch necessary to turn

is head up the hill, and then udroitly applying
the whi , that made him spring nimbly for-
ward. ‘How air you, anyhow, this mornin’l
Kinder fotched along a fri’nd to call on you, sor-
ter permiscuous, like. Git up, thar, you critter:
step lively, now, an’ show the gcn’lemen y’ur
paces. Hy—ahl’fl

“For niercy’s .sake, Jack, let the poor devil
loose!”

“Not efI knows it ” retorth Fyffe, coolly;
“I bed too much trou le a~gearin’ him up, fer
that. An’ mercy—the skunk don’t know what
that means. He didn’t hey no mercy onto you
nor the ole man, nor likewise on me, when he
tried to shoot me, a little back yon.”

“ Who is it?” queried Crees.

“ Why, don’t you know? It’s Jim Meagreson,
John Dement, or Snakey, as I call him,"de—
clared Fyfl‘e, exultantly.

Poynter stared in amazement, but not so the '

outlaw leader. With a half—stifled howl of rage
and vindictive joy, he drew his knife and leaped
forward. Jack Fylfe thought he meant murder,
and caught him by the arm.

“Dang it, boss, he’s had enough; but don‘t
butcher him in thet wayl”

“ Stand off l” yelled Crees, throwing the other
violently from him. “ Stand off, I say. i am
not mad. He is of more use to me living than
dead, you fool!”

“ All right, then,” returned Fyfl’e, rubbing his
shoulder dolefully. “ I know thot, but was kin—
der afeard thet you’d fergit when y’ur mad was
up. Thar he is; I turn him over to you fellers
an’ glad to git shot on him, I am.”

“ ’Tis him, Poynter: look!” and Crees held
back the captive’s head so as to more fully ex-
pose the Wretch’s features.

“It is indeed,” gladly exclaimed Clay, as he
beheld t e man whom he had been {alser ac-
cused of murdering. “ And an hour since I
would have given ten years of my life if this
could have been assured me.”

“ Wal. square, thar he is, ’thout any 0’ thet.
You’re welcome to my shar’.”

“ But how’d you chance upon him, Jack?”

“ That’s a long yarn—too long fer a feller
11;]? s in what hain’t had no breakfast,” added

y e.

“True; I forgot. Go get something and then
come up. We may need you,” and then, as the
borderer hastened down the hill, the young man
turned to the captive.

He was in a truly pitiable condition; but those
who beheld him had been far too deeply in'ured
by him to indulge in any such feeling. ‘rue.
they gave him brandy and bathed his head, but
it was only to restore him so that they could
gain his confession.

He soon revived and stared around at the two
men, Sprowl having taken a position out of
sight behind the tree, where he had not yet been
seen by Meagreson. The men eyed him in si-
lence. but he only vouchsafed them a look of
angry defiance. _

“ Well, James Meagreson,” at length said the
outlaw leader, “ we meet once again!”

“My, name is not Meagreson,‘ and I don’t.

7

sat...”
a

 

c

fifth-(a2.

. if“...

~4‘,

-..“~A

yaw—a. ‘ I. '. .

'I‘he fialf-Breed Rival. ‘ 86

 

know you—never set eyes on you before,” sullen-
ly responded the captive.

“ Do you know me, then?” put in Poynier.

“ Know you? Yes; for a vile horse-thief and
counterfeitei' !"

“ Do you mean to say—” began Crees, when
he was interrupted by the other.

“ I mean to say that I am plain John Dement,
an honest trader, and that you shall dearly rue
this outra e.

“ Bah! t at’s played out. You ma as well
own up now, for your accom lice and, tool has
betrayed on, and exposed a your lots and
crimes. 1% you are obstinate, we will Just hand
you over to the Vigilance Committee, whose aid
you are so fond of invoking, and let them deal
with you.”

“ Am 1 a. fool?” sneered Meagreson. “ Don’t
I know that you dare no more showyour faceto
one of them than to kiss a rattlesnake? The
only answer you‘d get would be a hempen cord
and swinging bong/hi"

“ Now that's nonsense. old man,” put in
Sprowl. “ You’re the fool. They’ve got you in
a corner, and you may as Well come down.
Green and the rest of the boys have owned up
and unless you make terms as we did, it’ll be all
night with on.”

“Who’st at?” faltered the prisoner, a gray
shade settling upon his florid features.

“Sprowl,” replied that Worthy. “ I’ve told
all I know and am going to swear to it, if
you are obstinate: and as you 'very well
know it’s enough to hang you a. dozen times
over.‘

“ The others—"

“I tell you they’ve ’ eached, and you’rea s ot-
ted man, if these gent emen are only a min to
press the matter,” glibly said Sprowl.‘

A deep groan was his only answer, as Mongre-
son fell forward, his form trembling like a leaf.

“ Let him be, Poynter,” said Cress, “ and
when he thinks it all over, he’ll seethat it’s of no
use holding out further. Here comes Fyfi’e.”

“ Hellow, what you fellows bin a—doin’ to my
boss?” cried that worthy, as he leisurely strolled
up the hill, wiping his greasy mouth upon his
shirt-sleeve, and smackm his lips.

“Never mind now, Jac ,” interrupted Poyn-
ter. “ He’s thinking.”

“Yas; needs it, I reckon. While y’ur band’s
in, jest think a. leetle how all-fired ni hyou come
to killin’ a. feller-critter—man. Sp’i t my ha’r,
anyhow,” at the same time tugging at a shagg
lock that grew beside his ear trying to bring it
before his eyes. “ See than“

It did indeed look as though a bullet had cut a
jagged passage through it, as he had hinted.
Then Poynter seated himself beneath the tree,
motioning Jack to do the same, sayin :

“ There’s nothing else just now, I‘yfle} sit
down and tell us how you chanced upon this fel-
low, and all about it."

“ Don’t care ’f I do. square,” quoth Jack
gnawing oil? a huge mouthful of “ nufg rhead.’
and then passing the plug to Sprow . ‘Don’t
ch‘aw, b:lievei” ,

“ I do. Wal, I allus war fond 0’ tellin’ stories.
Mam, she used to dress in trowsers With her 01’

 

slipper purty nigh the h 1 time, ’cause of this:

I

habit o’ mine: but, Lord, thet didn’t do no good.
Only driv’ it back ag’in, like. But dad, he was
a yarner, now I tell you! I kedn’t hold a kendle
to him when he’d got a. good streak on, but that’s
nyther hyar nor thar.

“When I ’g'un winkin’ this daylight, airly, I
0t 11 an" be u sorter swoopin’ ’round fer grub.
ut b amed t e bit could I find, ’cept some wen-

zun, an’ I swore I’d hev none 0’ thet. Fact is.
my a pertite is sorter delacut, like, an’ won’t
b’ar ain rub, like you bigger fellers.

“ o, as I went down to the crick fer a. drink“
I see’d lots 0’ gre’t big turkey-tracks in the mud,
toes a—p’intin’ downarts; an’ so I jest shoulders
shooter an’ shakes moccasin sorter lively,
’cause I’d made up my mind to hev agobbler for
breakfust, an’ nothin’ shorter. ‘ I

“ But I trailed them dratted birds so ,fur that
I’d e’enu’most gi’n up all hups 0’ drappin’ one,
an’ hed ’bout made up my mind that wenzun
was a heap better, anyhow, when I sot blinkers
on as fine a strutter as ever gobbled to a hen.
U goes my gun, slip oes my fut, an’ down I
re ls inter the crick, w ile the dratted bird flops
of! through the bushes. ‘

“Didn’t I cuss some, sorter, as Igot out? Meb-_
be not; ’tany rate, off I put ag’in arter that tur- 7
key, fer I swore I’d hev it ef 1t tuck all day. No
’tarnal two-legged bird sh’u’d fool me like thet,
not b no manner 0‘ means, ef I knowed myself,
an’ rayther thunk I did. So on I splurges,
lickety-s lit.

“But sto ped ag’in, mighty sudden, thou h
’twa’n’t a tur ey I See’d. It was a. man kin er ' ~
strollin’ along, fer his health, I reckon, an’ he
pulled up, too. Thar we stud, a- a in’ at each,
other like looneys, when he splut r out sunk-
thin’ that kinder smelled o’ brimstone, and then
took to his heels like the devil was arter him.

“ An’ or he wasn’t, I was, ’cause I 'never yet
seed a feller thet run, ’thout takin’ arter him
jest like blazes. It’s a kinder ’farmity like, I
reckon; anyhow it’s a fact. Wal, he put an‘ I
put, jest a-scratchin’ dirt an’ a—kickin’ up the
eaves the beatinest kind you ever did hyar tell

on.
“ I’m purty hefty on the run, as ye know, but
blamed of he wasn’t mighty high in, master.
But I’d never say die till the bellers c ean bu’st—
ed, an’ at last he jumped for kiver, a-swingin’ .
his shooter mighty keerless like. Idid ditto,
an' thar we war.
’minded me of 01’ times when ha’r went wild. , '
“But then I peeked out, mighty keerful like.

’cause I didn’t want another hole in my brush-  f

patch over] much, when I hope I may never ~
see the bar: 0’ my neck, ef thar he wasn’t a-«
streakin’ it through the woods, his coat-tails a-.
streamin’ out wuss’n the taileend to a comet.
Lord, wasn’t I gritty then? ebbe not!

“I jest set my grinders like a. clamp, pulled
the slouch furder on my head an’ then‘set ol’
toad-smashers to work. The ground jest fa’rly
smoked about me, I run so fast, and I over-
hauled ol’ smarty like fun. He peeked ’round
an’ se'e’d it, then whirled ’round to’rds me, yell-—
in’ out he’d shoot for shore. ‘

“But my Ebenezer was up like 5 mice, an’ I\
keeft on, wild fer bitin’an‘ gen 'n’. The drat-
t imp did shoot shore enough, at. it jest 
ped my ha’r a leetle, an’ then I downed .,

I sorter grinned, ’cause it ’ 1 ‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

r "raw-"w'v—V-vv—rr-rx— “PW. —.—-—-;-~——T~r:-——.——,~.—r:- w—- .  "'V;"

86 The Half-Breed Rival.

 

I was mad at the feller's impedance in burnin’
ggzmer when I was jest in fun, all the time, an’
wed my knife to finish up the job.

“ I had her raised all ready, when I caught
his eye, an’ helt my han’. I knowed him in a
minute, though he’d changed a heap sence we
met last. I knowed how tickled the 01’ man
’uld be, of he see’d him, ’cause he kinder ’lowed
he kicked the bucket long a 0.

“But thar he was, an’ ’tarmined to fotch
him inter camp. So I started, but the bugger
tried to run onc't or twic’t, an’ so I thought I’d
See how he’d work in a single gear. He cut up
rusty a leetle, an’ n’arly nipped off my thumb,
the onmannerly brute; but when I once got
him fa’rly bitted he done purty well, barrin’ the
kickin’ an’ stumblin’,” concluded Fylfe, with a
long-drawn yawn.

‘ It’ll turn out the best day's work you ever

6,” said Cress, extending his hand.
I will not forget it very soon, either,
old fellow,” warmly added Poynter.

“ Wal, ef so be you fellers is satisfied. I’m
shore I be,” grunted Jack, lying back upon the

done F
6 l

grass.
' “ But what do you think I’d best do next, Mr.

Crees’t” asked Poynter, after a slight pause, a
little anxiously. “I think, with Sprowl’s evi-

\ deuce, here. I need not hesitate about showing

myself openly once more.”

- ‘ You have a good deal to work against down
there yet, and I think you’d best wait a little,
and see what we can get out of our friend, you-
der," responded Crees, thoughtfully.’

“Well, I suppose I must, though it’s hard to
be lying idle when such charges are hanging
over me," sighed Poynter.

 

CHAPTER XII.
roman ms SOMETHING.

IT was in the afternoon of the same day which
Fyl'fe had so signalized by 1115 turkey-hunt. The
prisoner, James Meagreson, was occupying the
same position in which S rowl had one n-
ance some hours before. e had been left ere
by his captors to ponder upon his situation and
reflect as to which should be his future course,
whether to persist in his denials or acknowledge
defeat and submit to his triumphant enemies
with such grace as he could muster.

In the mean time the three friends were gath-
ered to ther, smoking or conversing idl , or
buried in thought. Presently Jack 6
lay back. rapped his pipe, and then his sterto-
rous breathing announced that he was in a deep,
sound slumber.

The remainder of the band had either long
since done the same, or went ofl.’ upon business
of their own; the scouts sent out having report-
ed that all was quiet among the Vigilantes, those
worthies having disbanded and returned to their
daily. occu ations. no doubt highly edifled by
their mi ght wild-goose chase.

Save the regular sentinels, none appeared to
be u n the alert excepting Poynter and Cress.
The tter was covertly but intently regarding
his younger compamon with a strange, far-
away look in his deep-black eyes, while an un-
conscious sigh would now and then heave up

1

 

from his massive chest, as if engendered by
some painful memory of b gone days.

Poynter suddenly arouse himself,qu glancing
hastily around, uttered:

“ Why where’s Sprowl?”

“Yon er,” returned Crees, pointing to the
ragged form of the man inquired after, lying
under a bush, sleeping. E‘Poor devil, his last
night was a hard one."

“ True, but he had no one to thank for it save
himself. Howevor, 1 have some hopes of him
yet. He is not all bad, and for the sake of his
family I am willing to lend him a helping hand.
His wife, poor thing, has seen hard times of
late years. The entire support of the family,
and of this shiftless, lazy brute into the bargain,
has fallen upon her. And she is a. perfect lady
too, for all she’s uneducated. It’s strange wha
choices women will make sometimes i” exclaimed
Poynter.

The outlaw leader only grunted, “ Just so."

“ But that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you
about just now. You have several times prom-
ised to tell me your story, and why not fulfill
it now? ’Tis as well as to wait longer.”

“ You are right, and I will do so; although I
had intended to wait until after Meagreson had
acknowledged his guilt. But what Sprowl has
said is enough,” slowly replied Crees, passing a
hand across his brow, as if to chase away some
painful reflection.

“But I have not heard him mention you
name?” cried Poynter, in surprise. '

“Yes, you have heard him tell my Whole
story, or nearly so. Henry Duaber, my son,
have you no greeting for your father ?”

“ Son—father!” faltered the young man, gaz-
ing in bewilderment upon the outlaw leader, at
this strange appeal.

“Your father, Henry,” continued the elder
man, in a choked tone; “ can you not believe
me?”

“ But my father was—is dead!”

“No, not dead—only in name: he escaped
with life. I am your father. BE your dead
mother—by m sainted wife, boy, swear it!”
solemnly said rees.

“ Is it—can it be true? I will believe it—fa-
therl” brokenly exclaimed the young man,
bending forward to meet the proffered embrace.

It was a holy scene, this strange meeting of
Ion -parted kindred; and their tears were min-
gled together, tears such as strong men need not
be ashamed to shed. They were deeply affected,
as well they might be, and when the first gush
of emotion had passed. they sat beside each
other, hand clasped in hand, gazing kindly and
affectionately at each other.

“It is strangr—passing strangel” at length
uttered Henry (as we must now call him, Clay
Poynter no longer). “More like a romance
than any thing in real everyday life. I have
mourned you as dead since my childhood. and
now find you my kindest friend, while I still
thought you a stranger. How long smee you
first recognized me?”

“Not until to—day, although, your story
awoke strange fancies, it was so like mlne; but
I, too, thought you were dead, I had heard so,
and saw what purported, to be your grave.”

“ My gravel”

 

t

*I'

I

t

2' :n

\

The Half-Breed Rival.

8?

 

“ Yes. They told me you had died at nearly
the same time with lyour mother. Why, I know
not. It could not ave been from malice, for
they knew me not. I was a stranger in my na-
tive home.”

"‘But you—how were we deceived, and why
did you not tell us of your escape, and our dear
one might still have been alive?”

“Listen, and I Will tell you all,” replied
James Duaber, in broken tones. “ It is a sad,
sad story of cruel wrong and sorrow; but I
was the victim—I and mine! You know the
first, or sufliciently well as to render a resume
unnecessary. But it was James Meagreson—
the wretch yonder—who caused it all" for re
venge, because your mother chose me in prefer-
ence to him. '

“A man named Frank Soutar was confined
in the same apartment with me, upon a charge
identical with the one for which I was to suffer;
but as he acknowledged to me, deeming mo of
the same ang, he was guilty. The mob know
nothing 0? his having been changed to my
cell, as it had only been done that sumo day,
and when they broke open the doors in the,
dead of night, he was seized for me in the
confiésion and darkness, while I hid beneath the

e .

“ And the error was never discovered by the
mob; they hung him, thinking they were doing
as the had been bribed by Meagreson, who
took 1: at way to insure my death, fearing lost
I should eventually escape his revenge if he
left the law to decide. He was hung, but I
took advantage of the open door to flee, and
during the excitement; managed to effect my
esoa unmolested.

“ stench friend of mine, Jack Fyfl’e yonder
—who was also under the ban, and in hiding—
managed to secure his two horses, and upon
them we rapid] fled the country. He had join-
ed the mob wit the hope of assisting me to e-
Cape, and he alone discovered the error, in time
to return and assist me.

“ We rode hard all that night, and lay bid at
day, for we feared that the error would be dis-
covered in the morning, at least, and then the
bounds would be hot upon our trail. We truv-
_eled in this way until out of the State, and far
Into the wilds of Arkansas. But even then we
did not feel secure. and thought it best to lie
concealed until the storm had blown over.

“ Still, I wrote, and managed to post two let-
ters to my wife, telling of my safety and that I
would soon return to remove her an you to our
new refuge. Besides this, I counted upon her
knowing of my escape, else I would have dared
all to have Seen her.

“So I waited for six months ,and then was
upon my way back when I meta man who had
just come through there. He did not know us,
and I questioned him closely. Then it was that
I learned of her death, and that you, too, had
died. I did not doubt its entire truth, and in
my wretchedness I plunged into crimes and dis-
sipation to drown reflection. _

“For years this went on. until a time came
when I felt driven to return to the graves Of
my dead. No one knew me: I was a stranger
in my native home, I had changed so, and saw
where my wife lay, and what they soul was

I

 

your last resting-place. Then I went back
again to the old life, and lived it until I met
with you.

“Although I knew you not—you had changed
your name, and I did not recognize the little oy
in the stalwart, handsome man——I felt drawn
toward you. And now that you know how sin-
ful I have been, will you still take me by the
hand and say, father? It is blackened, but there
is no blood upon it."

“ Father!” cried Henry, once more embracing
the outlaw leader. “ What matters it now? You
leave this life, and we will be all in all to each
other from now henceforth l”

“ Thunder ’n’ lightnin’l jest look at Snakcyl”
yelled out Jack Fyl'fc, as he sprung to his feet
before them and wildly pointed up the hill.

And there was good cause for his excite-
ment.

During the respite afforded by his captors,
Mcngreson had not been idle after the first few
minutes. His was not a. mind to despair for
any length of time, and although greatly
astounded at the unexpected meet ng with a
man whom he had thought long since num-
bered with the (lead, his mind speedily resumed
its wonted activity, and he thought but of es-
cape.

Minute after minute he toiled and twisted at ‘

the thongs that secured him tothe tree, until
they rolled up into hours. The skin and flesh
were terribly abraded, yet he did not heed
the pain. Every instant he expected the re-
turn of his enemies, to receive the decision he
might have arrived at, when in all probability
the progress he had already made would be dis-
covered.

Little by little he worked the cords loose until '

one of his hands slipped from the noose. It was
with the greatest difficulty that be restrained
the shout of exultatiou that a rose to his lips; but
he did so, and then his other hand was free.

With his hands once free, it was but the work
of a minute for the captive to release the rest of
his body, and he stepped from the tree, a free
man once more. His keen eyes glanced hurried-
] around, and in the one look, took in every
(2 ance, both for and against his escape. ,

If he started to flee upon foot, he would, to an
almost dead certainty, be discovered and over-
taken, as his frame was stifl and weary. Be-
sides under cover of the one little clum in
which he now stood, the entire hillside was ully

' exposed to the view of the three men below.

But his eye glittered, and the old cold gray
look settled 11 ion hlS face, as his gaze fell upon

the form of a orse, all ready cauipped for the,
9

road. standing carelessly bitch to a pendent
bough. If he could once reach that, he elt that
escape was assured.

Gathering all his faculties and straining eve
nerve, Meagreson made a wild bound from h s
covert and dashed swiftly down the hillside
toward the horse. And had it not been for the
watchful eyes of Jack Fyflfe, no doubt he would

have succeeded,perfectly. But the borderer's-

shout brought both father and son to their feet;
pistol in hand.

“ After him, Jack—Henglyelled the outlaw
loader, -“ don’t shoot—take '

\lm.

\ :

alive,” but as he i 1‘ :,

 

 

 

 

The Half-Breed Rival.

 

s oke, the revolvers of his companions were dis—
c rg .

Discharged, but the only perceptible result
was a quicker and longer bound upon the fugi-
tive’s part.

“ Take him, boys; for God’s sake don’t let him
get free! You men on guard—stop that horse!”
screamed the chief, as the trio bounded forward
with headlong speed.

The fugitive gained the rearing horse in safety,
tearing the bridle-reins loose, lea ed into the
saddle, and with a wild yell, darte away, wav-
ing his hand in defiance. And to the great cha-
grin of his enemies, he disappeared in triumph
among the trees.

But their speed was suddenly checked. and for
a moment they paused, glancing at each other.
Their ears had caught a clear challenge to halt,
closely followed by a single whiIrlike crack;
then a wild shriek as of a human being in mor-
tal agony, the quick trampling of hoofs, and
then all was still.

As they once more pressed forward in painful
suspense, a hollow, unearthly groan sounded
from the spot whence the shot had come. Burst-
ing through the bushes, the quartette—for
Spll‘IOWl had also joined them—beheld a terrible
sig t.

A man—one of the outlaw guards—was coolly
recharging his rifle, with his gaze bent upon a
bleeding form before him. There, pale and
ghastly, lay the form of James Meagreson; not

sad, but a patently dying. The lower portion
of his bodyliay still and motionless, but his head
and sho ders writhed to and fro, while his arms
were tossed wildly about, in the intensity of his
agony.
The fatal missile had entered his stomach, and
passing through, had broken his back.

The men did not attempt to removehim or to
bandage his wound; they saw that such a course
would onli be inflicting useless torment upon
him, that is time had come; his life slowly
ebbing away with the fast-fleeting moments.
Two of them knelt beside his head, and kept him
from, hastening his end by the useless struggles.

James Duaber spoke to him kindly, imploring
him to confess before he died, but his only an-
swer was bitter revilin and curses, the fearful
words coming asthey id from lips fast chilling
in the embrace of death, caused even those
stron men to turn aside with a shudder.

An thus he died, still reckless and defiant—a
fitting and for his long and sinful life. There
were grave faces that surrounde lhim as breath
went out, but no tears. no grief at his tragic
en’l. Their injuries had been far too deep.

By this time the majority of the troop had
collected, alarmed by the disturbance, and a
number of them were detailed by their chief to
prepare a grave for the dead man. 1: was soon
completed, and the corpse was qui tly lowered
into the bark-lined pit; then the damp mold
covered him forever from mortal ken. There
was no whispered prayer, no murmured blessin g
over the unhallowed grave, and nothing but the
long, narrow mound remained to show where
the unfortunate being had been laid for his last
lon sleeping-place.

nloved he had lived, and unloved he had
died. Poor James Meagreson.

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.

DEATH AMID JOY.

WHEN we raise the curtain once more upon
our characters, it is after the lapse of three
months. A quarter of a year, that has not been
uneventful to those in whom we are interested;
but we cannot linger upon them. A brief glance
at the. leading episodes is all.

The unfortunate death of James Meagreson
Chan ed the entire Inns of the outlawed couple
—fat er and son. ut first of all James Duaber
announced to his followers his intention of
leaviéig’them, and for the future leading an hon-
est i .

Some of them murmured, but their chief was
too highly estemcd and rcSpected for them to
raise any serious opposition. Some few of their
number joined him in his resolve, but the ma-
jority determined to continue on; the wild free
life having charms the could not resist. but it
was agreed to leave t e neighborhood, and ply
their calling elsewhere.

So their attention was only turned to the vin-
dication of Henry Duaber’s honor, as the father
was totally unknown to the settlers, and the
charges brought against him had long since
passed into oblivion. Their first move was to
secretly abduct Frank Dalton, and when he was
confronted with Wesley Sprowl, and found that
his perjury had been discowred, he promised to
make restitution, as far as lay in his power at
any time he was called u n. . '

Thus prepared, Henry uaber boldly returned
to the settlement where he was once more arrest-
ed by the excited ’Vigilance Committee. His trial
came off in good time, and thanks to the candor
of his witnesses, he was triumphantly acquitted.

None were more cordial and sincere in their
congratulations than Neil McGuire and “ Honest
Jim” Henderson, who declared his bar was free
to everybody upon the joyous occasion.

There was some talk about giving the r-
jured witnesses a taste of “birch law," ut,
thanks to the firm op osition of Henry and
others, it was not carri into effect. There was
one familiar face missing amon the crowd, but
none regretted this fact. Polk aw was not
in the best of odor among his quondam asso-
ciates, and did not make his appearance. -

The “ big house” was reopened, and old Aunt
Eunice in her glory once more, never tiring of
dwelling upon the prominent part she had pla ed
in the late events. Henry met with no ful't er
opposition from the father of Nora, and matters
progressed finely between the young couple, and

t the same time no less rapidly.

Henry was an ardent suitor, and pleaded his
case so well that the “fatal day ” was set; and
when we reopen our chronicle it had arrived.
Great preparations had been made, and although
the weather was somewhat cool, it was decided
to have a grand barbecue and dance by moon-
light in the open air.

Upon the summit of a little knoll was a sort
of pavilion. erected for the dancing. The floor
was composed of puncheons, t e flat sideu per-
most, rudely dressed with an Seats 0 the
same were ranged around the sides, each end
resting upon a block of wood. At one extremity
“mjectmg‘ beyond the platform, a. stand was

.1
//

 

 

rerun a“ ‘

“t,

I The Half-Breed Rival.

 

erected for the musicians, of whom there were
three already present. ‘

Busy preparations were going on a little dis-
tance from the pavilion, for the “ barbecue ;” in
full view, but far enough away to avoid incon~
venience from the smoke, deer and hogs were
being prepared for the spit—cattle were by far
too valuable for that purpose—While turkey,
ducks, prairie-chickens and smaller game were
being roasted at the house. These minor items
were to be furnished by the guests, who were
each expected to “ bring something.”

It was early yet, but “out West ” that is the
fashion, and several parties had already arrived,
although too few to begin dancing. Then the
guests began to drop in more frequently; singly,
in couples, or small parties of several; the ladies
hastening to the cabin to make any little ar—
rangement of their finery, while their cavaliers
unsaddled the horses, securing them to the sur~
rounding trees, placing fodder before them, and
then joining the company~ already gathered at
the pavilion. _ . _

Presently the scraping and tuning of Violins
broke the spell, and seemed to dissipate the re-
straint that surrounded all parties. The groups
began to mingle and converse more freely; the
tap of some dainty foot to be heard as it kept
unconscious time to the music; the confused re‘
quest and murmured consent to dance; then the
order, “ Choose your pardners boys!” the sets
Were formed, and Henry, with iNora, led off.

The fun waxed fast and furious, the din in3

creased, and the sets appeared mixed in inextri—
cable confusion, the clatter of heavy-soled,
horse-hide boots, the lighter fall of a more
dainty foot, the rustle of dresses and shuffle of
moccasins, with now and then a gay burst of
laughter at some unlucky Wight who makes a lu-
dicrous blunder; or a stentorian shout from some
half—wild borderer as he grows excxted: mixed
and intermingled with the mUSlC, more loud than
melodious, while above all soars the clear vowe
Of the “ caller—off.”
. The picture is homely, we grant you, but
It is pleasant, nevertheless, and it would be hard
indeed to find a fashionable gathering that con-
tains so little alloy of envy, 1 ain and hypocrisy
as this little congregation of rude, unpolished.
but kind and open-hearted people. Rough and
unlettered the may be, but their hospitality
' Shames that 0 many a more pretentious class;
While it would indeed be hard to find a. truer or
a more generous heart than those that beat un-
der 8. deer-skin hunting-shirt, or homespun dress
0f linsey-woolsey.

Occasionally durin the figure “ promenade
all,” the toe of some 0 umsy swain, or perchance
, that of his rosy lassie, would catch fast in some
crevice or protuberance between the rudely-
joined uncheons, that cast them With Violence
’ to the oor. The next couple being too close and
.under great headway, would follow suit, and a
mass of writhing, struggling humanity form a
prostrate heap upon the floor.

Oh! what a burst of laughter would then as-
cend from hearty lungs, echoing through the
woods from grove to grove, arousm the feath-
ered songsters from their nests, causmg them to
: chirp and twitter, no doubt wondering what
possessed the people at that unsoasonable hour-

 

Then Jack Fyfl‘e—who did not dance—caused
a renewed burst of merriment by seating him-
self upon one end of an unusually refractor
slab, to hold it in its proper place, as be sai .
And there he sat, as solemn as a judge, smoking
his pipe coniplaoeiitly, as though a crowd of gay
dancers were not whirling all about him, until,
the gathering broke up for supper.

And such a Slipper! More fit to be lik-,
ened to a bounteous dinner, served up for a
regiment of half-furnished, war-worn soldiers
The long tables, manufactured from slabs of
rudely-hewn wood, and supported by stakes
probably furnished from the limbs of the same
tree, were piled almost to overflowing with
game and pastry. ,

Such saddles and haunches of venison; deli—
cious buffalo-humps and pickled tongues—the
proceeds of an extended hunt. for this especial
occasion—the Wild turkey, lusciously brown and
tempting, almost bursting with the rich dress-
ing; the prairie—chicken and pheasant, nail and .
snips; even down to the huge “ black— ird pot-
pie.

Then the appetiziug pastry and preserves, the
results of that same season’s “berry-huntingz”
the honey, from that as clear and limpid as am-
ber, to the dark and strong-flavored “bec-
btreafil"—tlie varicolored comb piled in great
5 ac 5.

And the strong, fragrant coffee, sweetened
with honey and tempered with the thick, golden
cream; the highly-prized tiny cups of “real
boughten tea,” ming ed with stronger draughts
for those so inclined, of “corn-whisky” and
crab-apple cider.

All this, to say nothing of the barbecued game,
which is in great demand from the very novelty
of its cooking—I could not “tell you one tithe of
the good things that were there; the very sight
of such abundance seeming enough to banish
one’s appetite for a fortnight to come.

Henry and Nora were the gayest of the ay,
even among that hap y crowd, and keptt ose
surrounding them in t e highest glee with their
witticism and repartee.
among the first, and strolled back toward the
paVilion.

Jack Fyffe fidgeted around fora few moments
and then hastily followed after, announcing his
approach with a sonorous cough, that startled
t 6 young couple into taming around.

“Beg pardin, square,” apologetically began
the horderer “but p’r’aps you’d better be on
y’ur ard, like.” i
“ by so, Joshf—what do you mean?" asked
Henry. ‘

“Jest take a
you’ll see.”

Duaber glanced in the direction indicated
and a hot flush passed over his face as he noticed .
the _tall, dark , form of Polk Redlaw leaning
against a tree, apparently deeply absorbed in
thought._ But had the been a little closer, a
a snakelike look would ave been seen from be-
neath the. slouched hat, flxed vindictive] upon
Elicia; whilei onglof tliiephfindfis disagree: afross

is som ere grp to to tree.
lfieenm knife, hidyeu Within his shirt. “g0
'ere, ’

squint over yander, an’ mebbe

 

 

 

But they left the table / '

 

 

 

 

 

 

30

The Half-Breed Rival.

 

“ Never mind, Henry, let him go,” nervously
wh‘ ered Nora, “ he can’t hurt you now.”

“ t he keeps his distance I will not molest
him,” answered Henry. “ Besides, I do not be-
lieve he is armed. Do you see an , Jack?”

“No, but that don’t signify,’ grunted that
worthy. “A snake don’t show its teeth tell it
goes to strike, an’ he’s a copperhead, he is."

“ Well, I'll watch him," and the young cou le
turned away, while Jack, his mind relieVed y
delivering the warning, repaired to the table to
indulge in another meal.

But in five minutes more Henry had totally
for otten the warning, and had thoughts only
for ora. Fortunately she was not so oblivious,
and hearing a slight noise behind them turned
sudden] , 'ust in time to behold the crouching
lf‘orién o t e mongrel, as he uplifted his heavy

in e.

Her shriek startled Duaber, and his quickly

turned, in the nick of time, to nimbly avoid

’ his enemy’s rush, adroitly tripping him with

one foot, while he delivered a lightning-like
blow with his right fist, full upon the dastard's
neck, that hurled him headlong to the ground
as if he had been shot. Before the afi'ray
could go any further, the combatants were
surrounded and Redlaw disarmed, being rather
roughly handled by Jack Fyffe, who finally
ended by kicking him from the grounds.

In‘ a short time the incident was forgotten
by the ma'oritv, and the dancing once more
resumed. at Jack did not occupy his old posi-
tion, and when he again appeared he was fully
armed, a rifle in hand and revolver at his waist.

Neither did he enter the pavilion, but station-

' ed himself at a little distance, beside a tree,
,. where his form was so blended with the shadows

that at a score yards distant it was not vismle.
So another hour passed away, and he obstinate—
1y retained his post, hecdless of fatigue.

Suddenl he uttered a low grunt, and crouch-
ed forwar , half-raising his rifle, while the faint
click told of its being cocked. A dim, shadow-
like form had caught his roving glance, and up-
on it his ever attention was now centered.
Twice the long arrel rose to his cheek, and as
often was it lowered, while his head craned for-
ward as if in doubt. . ’

Just then the music ceased, at the words,
“ Promenade all—to your seats I” and the dan-
cers se ated. Jack Fyfi‘e gave vent to a start-
ling ye l, and quickly raising his rifle, discharg-
ed it with an instantaneous aim.

The wild cry that followed told how true had
been his aim; but it was duplicated. Quick as
had been his motion, another flash had streamed
out upon the darkness, from one spot at which he
had aimed. and two cries were mingled with the
re'verberating echoes, and then came a dull, heavy
fall a on the floor of the pavilion.

J ac did not glance toward the latter, but
with an angry how], more like that of a famish-
ed wild beast than a man, leaped forward to-
ward the spot from whence had come the secret
shot. A dark form'lay there, motionless and si—
lent, but he heeded not that. One by one the
chambers of his revolver were emptied, and then
he spurned from him with his foot the dead and
mangled form of the mongrel assassm, Polk Red-
law. '

 

In the pavilion a pale and horrified group were
gathered, some bending over the bleeding, sense.¥
less form_of Henry Duaber, while others attended
to the fainting girl who was so soon to have he-
come his bride. Heads were gravely shaken in
answerto inquiring looks; their decision was
that the young man would never s k again.

He breathed faintly, but eac respiration
seemed as if it would be his last. The blood
slowly oozed from a ghastly wound upon his
head, and they said that his brain had been
pierce . ,

But we are happy to be enabled to state that
they were greatly mistaken; had it, been true, it
would have made too sorrowful an ending to our
story——one that the reader might well grumble
at; for there had been no marriage as yet, and
what is  novel without that?

In fact, he recovered his senses long before
Nora did, and when his wound was washed, it
was found that the bullet had only cut a deep
gash upon his head, merely stunning him for the
time being. When he had once convinced N ora
that he was really unharmed, he declared he
only had a slight headache, and made the as-
sertion good b carrying out the original pro-
gramme, and eroically passing the tryin or-
deal of changing the young lady .into Mrs. ora
Duaber, that same night.

The dance was broken up by this catastro he
and while no one expressed pit for the cad
man, he was reverently buried, before another
sun shone. Nora knew nothin of this at the
time. and her joy was uncloude , for more rea—
sons than one.

And now we must leave them, with only a
few parting words.

The young couple duly entered the “big
house,” where, with Aunt Eunice for a house-
keeper, they led a peaceful, happy life. A few
years since, James Duabcr died, loved and re-
spected by all who knew him; the fact of his
old reckless life having never transpired, the
secret being safe between the three.

Wesley bprowl still lives, and is in moderate-
ly comfortable circumstances, thanks to the
generosity with which Henry Duaber fulfilled
his promise. He is not ,rich, and never will be;
his disposition prevents that. But his cl and
long-suffering wife has greatly changed or the
better we are glad to state.

And worthy Jack Fyflz‘e, although now well
along in years, is still hale and hearty; can

handle his heavy rifle with sufficient precision ,
to keep the larder well supplied with small
game, and takes great delight in teaching the
little Duabers how to shoot, swim and ride.
He and “ Honest Jim ” Henderson are great
cronies, often sitting for hours over their glasses
and pipes, vying with each other in their stories
of “when I was young.” To listen for a while,
one would be strongly tempted to believe that
“ .Sindbad the Sailor,” Robinson Crusoe” or the
worthy “ Baron Munchausen” had returned to
life, apd inhabited the shapes of “the venerable

storytellers.”
THE END.

 

 

 

 

 

32 Octavo Pages. /S
,E

 

1 Decrhunter. the Boy Scout of the Great North \Vtmds.
By 011 (Joann-s.

S Bui‘fulo lilll. l'ronl Boyhood to Manhood. By Col. Pron-
tl~s inizrahani.

8 Kit Carson, King ot’Gnides. By Albert W. Aiken.

4 Gordon Lillie, tho Buy—Interpreter ol' the innuea. By
Major. ii. is. Stoddard.

5 Bruin Atlnlna. Old Grizzly’a Buy Pnrd. By Colonel
Prentiss lngrnhani.

6 Der-dwoml Dick ua any. By Edward L. wheular.

7 Wild Bill, tins Pistol Prince. By Colonel bunnn
Ingrnhani.

S The l’rnirie Ranch. By Juwph E. Bridger, Jr.

9 Roving Joe: The History nia “Bordr Bay.” By A.
ll. Post.

10 Tcxna Jill'k. the Mustang King. liy Colonel Prentiss
lngrnhaln.

11 Chm-ivy Rkylnrk. A Story of School—day Scrnpua and
(iuilvize Cilpt'l'l. lly llinjor ll. ii. Slniltlurli.

12 Murinonu )iurah. By Jnsi-ph E. Badger, Jr.

18 Roving lien. liy John J. Marshall.

14 Spring Steel, King at' tho liu-uh. By J. E. Badger, Jr.

1‘5 “utfievswuke George, the Boy Pioneer. By Edward
l e

16 The Boy “’izurd. By Barry Ringgoid.

1’? Peter l’onpem‘ruaa, the Greenhurn from Gotham. By
Noah Nnti‘.

18 Adrii't on the Prairie. and Amateur Hunter-a
on the Buii’nlo linnze. liy 011 Cumiies.

19 The Fortune Hunter; ur, Roving Joe no Miner,
Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Post.

20 Trapper Tom, the Woad imp. By T. C. Harbnugh.

21 Yellow lluir, the Boy Clrlcfof the Pawneua. By Col.
Prentiss lngrahnln.

22 The Snow Trail. By T. C. iiaroaugh.
28 0ltl Grizzly Aduma, the Bear Tamer. By Dr. Frank

'ou'ei .
24 Woods nlul “’utera. By Capt. Frrdorlck Whittaker.

25 A Rolling Stone : incinenia in the Career on Seannd
Land at Col. Prentiss lngrainnn. By Win. R. Eyster.

26 Red River lim‘cra. By C. Dunnng Clark.

2‘? l'iuzu uut|_i’lulu; nr. Wild Adventures ni‘“ilnokskin
Stun.” (Maj. Sam. . Hall.) My (10]. l’. inarnhanr.

28 The Sword i’rii iim Rmnuntlc Life of Col. Mon-
story. By Capt. l‘l‘utlci‘ii‘k Whitt her.

29 Snow-Shoe Toni. By '1'. C. iinrhankh.

80 Puul (le Laoy, the French Beast Charmer. By C.
Dinining Clark. a

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

32 \Vhlte lieuver, thu indian Mediciau Chiuf. By Col.
Prentiss ingrahmn.

83 The Boy Cruantier. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

34 The Chule oi’ the Grent “'hite Stun, and,Curup
and Canoe. By C. i'lnanlng Clark.

85 0M Tor Knuckle and iila Boy Clnnna. By R. Star-hack.

88 The Dnahlnu liruzoon; or, Tim Story ofGen. George
A. Castor. iiy Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

87 Night-Iiuwk George. By Col. Prentlal Inzrnhnm.

83 The Boy Exilen ui' Hiberlu. By T. C. Harbaugh.

89 The Young lieur iluntern. By him-rip itedwing.

40 Snulrt Sim, tho Lad with a Level iloini. iiy Edward
“'illett.

41 The Settler’n Son. By Edward S. Ellis.

42 “Hull: Ferguson‘a Orulac. iiy c. Dunnlnu Clark.

48 Rifle and Revolver. By Capt. Frod. Whittnhar.

 

 

 

ED EVERY SBTU?"

 

4-1 The Lost Boy “'hulerl. By '1'. C. Harbangh.
45 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Col. ingraham.
-l(i Dick, the Stowun'uy. 15y ChMleI M0"!!-

47 The Colorado lioya; or, Life on an Indigo Plantation.
Iiy Josuph E. limiL’til‘, Jr.

‘48 The Pomona liuntera; or, Now York Boya in

iinunos Ayrrs. By ‘. C. Harlmnuh.

4') 'l‘lliw Adventurnua Life of Nebraska Charlie.

y Col. Prentiss Irmrnhmn.

50 Jot-k: linrry uml Torn. the Three Champion Broihora.
By (,npt. Fro-l. \‘l'hittuker.

51 The Young Lund-Luhber. By C. Dunning Clark.
52 The Boy Detectives. By T. C. Harbaugh.

53 Honest 'ilurr ; or, The Country Boy Adrift in tho
(it By Char on Morris.

54 California Joe. tho Mynterioua Plainaman. By Col.
Prentiss lngrahnin. ‘

55 Tip Tresael. the Floater. By Edward Will-it.

{)6 The finow Hunters; or, Winter in the Woods. By
iinrry do Fern-st.

5T linrry Solnera, the Sailor Boy Magician. By S. W.
l‘enri'o. r

 

58 The Adventurous Lii'e oi'CuPtaln Jock, the
Border lioy. lly Col. Prentiss lngrn nun.

59 Lorne Tim, the Male Boy of tho Mines. By Charla-
Morris.

60 ThL Young Trail Hunters; or, New York Boys in
Grizzly Land. By '1‘. C. llarbaaxh.
61 The Tiger Hunter-a? or, The Colorado Boya in Ele-
phant Land. iiy Julep i E. Badger, Jr.
62 Doctor Carver, the “ Evil Spirit" of the Plaina. By
Col. Prentiss ingmhnm.
68 Blnek ]
‘ Starbuck
64 Young Dick Talbot; orLA Boy. Rough and Tumble
Fight {ram New York to (.niilnrnin. By A. w. Aiken.
65 The Roy Pilot; or,~’i'ho inland Wrocker. By Col.
l’runtias inurnhnnt.

66 The lleaert Rover- nr, Stowaway Dick Among tho
"Ilifil By Charles A urris.

6‘? Toqu Charlie, the Boy Ranger.
ingrnlnnn.

68 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Huntcra. By Captain
“ lirain " Adams.

69 The Young: Nihiiiats or, A Ynnkao Boy Among tho
Rasaiana. i y Charles Morris.

’?0 Pony the Cowlm ‘ or The Youn Marahail’ Raid.
iiy Major n. o. Stoddard; Ex-Scout. 4' I

71 Rnfl’ Robaurtnnd ills Bear. By Captain " Bruin ”
Admnl.

By Col. Prentiu

72 The Ice Elephant. .By Capt. Fradarlck Whittaker.

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

74 Th Boy Coral-Fishers. By Roger Starbnek.

7’5 Revolver liilly, tha Boy Ranger of Tana. By Col.
Prontlaa incl-«ham.

76 The Condor Kiliora. By T. C. Hurbaugh.

'2'? Lud Lionheela, the Young Tiger Fighter. By Razor
Siarhnck.

78 Flatbout Fred. By Edward Willett

79 Boone, the Humor. By Captain 1". Whittlhr.

Beadle’a Boy’a Library la for Inle by all Nawadaalera,
live centa per copy, or rent by rnnilan receipt oi'aix canto «All.

BE LE AN 1! ADAMS, l’ubliahera.
98 William Street, New York

[one Bill, the Bandit Wrecker. By Roger

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

32 Octavo Pages.

80 Kentucky Ben, the Long Bills of the (Tu-nudes. By
Roger Stnrhuck.

81 The Kit Carson Club. By T. C. Hnrbnugh.

82 Little Buck. the Boy Guide. By liurry Ringguld.

88 Pony Bob the Reckless Rider ol the Ruchiuu. By Col.
Prentiss inm‘nlnun.

84 Captain Flyby-Night. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

85 Cgflfrln Ralph, the Young Explorer. By C. Dunning

86 Little Dan Roi-kn. By Morris lewing.
8'? The Menagerie "untern. By Mnj. ii. Grenville.
88 The Boy Trump’s; or, Lila Among the Glpuies. By
J. M. l ofl'nmn.
8|) ’Longshore Llje. By C. D. Clark.
90 Rgviflu‘ Rifle, Custer’a Little Scout. By T. C. Hur—
uug .
~91 Oregon Joni], the Wizard Rid/e. By Roger Stnrbuck.
92 Hurricane Kit. By A. F. Holt.
98 Jumping Jake, the Colorado Circus Boy. By Bryant
' Bsin'nridgs.
94 Sum Spence, the Bromlhorn Buy. By Ed. Willett.

95 Moscow to Slherlu; or, A Ynnkee Boy to the Rescue.
By Charles Morris.

L. Hui-bung i. .

97 Cruise 01’ the Flynway; or, Yankee Boys in Ceylon.
By C. Dunning Clnrk.

98 The Boy Vigilanten; or, King Cole and His Bnnd.
By Maj. n. n. Stoddmd.

99 The “’hlte Tigers; or, Silver Rifle. the Girl Tracker
ofLake Superiur. By Cunt. Charles Huwnrd.

100 The Snow-Shoo Trail; or, The Forest Dcsperndoes.
By St. George Rnthhune.

101. Mariano, the Ottawa Girl; or, The Mysteriuus Canon.
By Edward S. Ellis.

10% The Flyuu'u Afloat; or, Yankee Boy- ‘Ronnd the

_ World. By C. unning Clark.

108 Pat Mullolley’u Adventures; or, Silver Tongue
tbs Dzwotnh Queen. By C. L. Edwards.

104 The Bo Pronpeetor; or, The Secret of tho Sierra

4 , Ravine. y Rogsr Stnrbuck.

1'05 Mlnonee, the Wood “'itch; or.‘Tho Squnttur’l Secret.
By Edwin Enmrson.

106 The Bo Cruisers: or, Jon and an’n Biz Find. By
Edward illntt.

107 The Border Rover-n; or, Lust on the Overland
Trail. By J. Milton linflhisn.

1.08 Alaska, the Wolf-Queen: or, The Glrty Brothers’
Double Crime. By Capt. Howard Lincoln.

109 ghfillstinn Jim, the White Mnn‘a Friend. By Edwnrd

. is.

96 Fll’gl'ilgliix Fred;|or, The Castaways of Grizzly Camp.
Y - I

11.0 Plueky Jae, the Buy1 Avenger: or, Dich Belniunt‘s
Lust Ride. By J. Milton Holi'inun.

I 111 The Barrier Gunmukcr; or, The iinnted Maiden.
' By James L. Bawen.
11$ Left-"under! Pete, the Double-Knife. By Jouph
E. Bridger, Jr.

113 The River Rifle“ or, Th. Fate of the Flutbont. By

Capt. J. F. (7. Ar runs.
114 Alone on the Plnlun. By Edwnrd Wlllstt.

115 Silver Horn, and His Rifle Firodeutb. By Roger
Stnrbuck.

. 118 Exg‘lolts oflleze ' uh Smith, the Buckwoodmmn.
By ‘nlersun Rodmun. .

r \
‘11? The Young Mun-tun era; or, Dick Morry’n Rang-
ers. By C. Dunning Clur .

118 Old Traps: or, the Boy Rivals. By Barry Ringgold.

 

s B \
LE’

 ' 36190 L_ .,
A WY sAT

119 Center Shot. the Whitt- Crow; or, Raving ilillu'u
li‘irut Cumpuign. By '1‘. (2. llnrlmnglu.

120 A "at Truil; or, Clnrh CloverlyAmonz the Tarzan.
liy (Jhurles Morris.

121 Hunter 'I’nrd Ben; or, The “Hamlin. Blind Land.
By Rout-r Sturhuck.

122 The linuulnmnx' Queen: or, The, Mystery of the
Lunu hut. By G. \Vflltll) limu'nc.

123 Tim. the liny Acrnhut; hr, Life in the Circus Ring. By
Chnrluu Morris.

124 Queen Bennie, the BorderGirl. By Henry J.Thomns.

125 Tom ’I‘nhnr, the Boy Fugitive; ,nr, Thu Young Lynch-
Gnng “ VVuh't-s.” By Burry Riiiggulll.

126 Mink Cunt, thu Death—Shot;
'l‘ignr. 1y .lnu. E. Badger, Jr.

12'? The Door lluulorn. By John J. Mumllull.

“'nll‘-(‘up; nr. 'l‘hn Night-iinu'ksnl‘ tho Fire-minds.
By Cnpt. L‘hun. llnwnrd.

or, 'i‘ne'Spring of the

129 Filverupur; or, The Mulmluin Heroine. By Edward
“'illett.

180 Keener], Qua-m 01 the I‘lnins. By l’nrcy B. St. John.
131 “'lstuh, the Child Spy.

1332 The Inland Trapper; nr,’1‘hs Young White<Bnfihlo
iiunwrn. By Charles linwnrd.

188 The Foth Specter; UT, The Young Hunter's Fae.
15y mum-u Willett.

134 “'lld Nut, the Trooper. By \Vm. R. Eyster.

135 The Hilror Bugle; nr. The lndinn Maiden of St.
(,‘rnix. 15y l.ir||l. (Dal. aneltun.

By C. Dunning Clnrlc.

By Georg-s (Hanson.

1136 The i’rulrlc Trapper.
187 The Antelope Buy.
188 Long: Shot; or, The Dwnrl‘Guide. By Capt. Clill’lfillti‘k.

139 Coloxnel Crockett, the Benr King. By Clinrirs E.
‘ nsn in.

5y Gnu. L. Ailmr.

140 01:] Pearl, the ‘.\im|nt:iineer; nr, The Trapper Rivnls.
ny mm. W. t'nrmu.

141 The, (Hunt Hunter: or. The Mud Scourge of the
Kluliupuns. My Hurry iinznrd.

112 Blur-k Panther, the llnlr-liloml.
llnligux', Jr.

143 Cur-nun, lhu Guide; or, i’erils vi the Frnnticr. By Lleut.
J. ll. Rundnlph.

By Joseph E.

144 Kent, the linngar: or, The Fugitive: ul‘ the Border. By
Elinll'll S. Elli . R udy Jun [5.

145 lilll Robbins, lliiltll‘i'; m,'i‘lm Mun in Green. liy
Edwuul “‘illelt. Run-1y Jun. ‘."1.

1-16 The linii'- heed llh'ul; or. The Tangled Trail.
Jig Jon. E. Bridger, Jr. Reml)‘ .inn. ":9.

14? The Munked Avenger. By (‘nL Prentiss Inurnhmn.
Krauiy Fan. 5.
148 NM. the 'l‘rnpppr and Indian Fighter.
Prescutt. Ready Feb. 1‘1.
Bendie‘n Boy’s Library ll for sale hy nil Newsdrulrra,
five cents per copy, or sent hy mail on recuipt nl‘six cents env h.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers,
98 William Street, New York.

By Paul J.