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Vol. XVIII. .‘xgfiifi. Publls‘g’g Xfiéufmfifefiiif 32; am" n:£’l€£1.u. No. 227.

 

 

 

 

 

GREAT WAS HIS SURPRISE. WHEN. ON PUSKING HIS HEAD THROUGH THE APERTURE BE HAD MADE,
HE OBSERVED AN INDIAN JUST BELOW HIM, WITH MUSKET PRESENTED.

 

Barney’s Bold Brush.

 

Barney’s Bold Brush;
THREE rungs mi IDAHO.

BY JAMES L. BOWEN,

AUTHOR or “THE BOY BRAVE," “ rue VILLAGE
groan," “ sILvna cm TOM,” ETC., me,

 

CHAPTER I.
WESTWARD, HO!

“How far now to Wharbuton, driver?"

“ Only about four miles.”

“ Only four; and here it is almost dark al-
ready! No mortal can tell how black it will be
before we reach the place. If ever I go back to
the States a aiu, I’ll enter a petition toCongress
that stage rivers be required to keep up with
their time i”

The driver gave his long whip a crack, cast
his eyes around into the gather-i}: gloom, and
then turned. to the impatient trave er.

“ Wharbuton is your destination, sir, I
reckon," he said. , V

The young man bowed assent.

“ Well, sir, seein' you’ve rode so far with me.
I’ll take the liberty of askin’ ye if ye’ve friends,
or anything, at the village ahead. Seems ye’re
myhty anxious to git thar."

‘ So I am, driver, and I’ve a couple of. good
reasons for it. The first is, my only sister, the
only near relative I have in the world, lives in
Wimrbuton. I haven’t seen her in several years.
and it is a natural consoquence that when I get
so near I should be rather impatient. Another
good reason with me is, that I do not relish.
traveling after dark. These Indians have made
so many murderous attacks during the summer,
and done it with such comparative impunity,
that I feel. danger whenever the sun goes
down.‘  r , A

“Oh, there is no danger of Indians." replied
the driver, confidently. “I’ve drove this yere
ex ress for 'more’n ten years, and never a red-
sk ndid I see, savin‘ such as I've carried ,on the
route, and that ain’t sayin’ much, for they ain’t
a kind of people that patronize transportation
companies much. But, let me. see: you say
you‘ve a sister up herein Wharhumn. Seein’
that I know ’most everybody in the place; like
enough I’ve seen or heard tell on her; What
did you say her name was?”

“ Her name is Fanny Bryant.”

“ Oh, esi‘ Wonder to know if she’s your
sisterl. hy, I’ve seen her for the last five or
six years asfoften as once a week. Plaguey flne
gal, sir! Wish I had such a sister to go and see.
myself; ’twould be a fine change, from swin ’n’
this long whip and sittin’cooped up on this ox
all day, like a monkey on a tree-top in a gels of
wind.” .

The fellow laughed at his own similitude, and
delivered a jet 0 tobacco-juice to leeward, with
a triumphant air.

“ You see, a stage-driver has got to know
,most everybody," he continued. “ But I always

 

noticed Fanny Bryant, because she lived next
door to the post-office, and every time I came in
with the mail she would be there. ‘Now,’ she
says, ‘if you hain’t brought mealetter from
'my brother of! in the States, I’ll have you
arrested for treason,’ or suthin’ of that kind.
Why, sir, it used to do my heart good to have
her scold at me, for then it didn’t seem so much
as if I was a homeless kind of a chap. Yes, I’ve
knew'd Fanny Bryant a good while. I suppose,
if you are her brother, your name must be
Bryant, too.” v 1

‘ Yes, sir. my name is Maurice Bryant, I
came out with father and Fanny when t ey
settled here, and staid nearly a year. soyo’u, see
I am not an entire stranger. But, some matters
at the East required my attention, and I went

back to look after them. While I was there my .

father died; but, as I did not get the news for a
month, and could he of no real assistance, I did
not come back then. Fanny wrote me that she
should live With Samuel Marsh till I came back,
and I did not have any fears, for I knew what a
good man Mr. Marsh was, aui Faun always
loved his daughter. Ada, as though she ad been
her own sister. I made every preparation to
come back, and supposed I had arranged all our
affairs in the States so that there could be no
misunderstanding. But, just as I was ready to
set out upon my return, I was taken sick. Be-
fore I recovered, I found some of the matters,
which I had apparently disposed of, in litiga-
tion. Attending lawsuits, feeing lawyers, and
making a sure thing of all these affairs, occupied
my time for almost three years. But I got
through them at last, and now I am on my Way
to seek Faun ' once more.l’_

“ Well, I on't wonder any that on are in
somethin of a hurry.” said the go —bumored
driver, w 0 had listened to the brief narration
with interest. “ I feel lost When I don’t see the
girl myself, though it’s only because she has
such a. pleasant way of speaking to an old chap
like me.” .

“ 1 like to hear you speak well of my Sister,”
said Maurice. “I know that she gave romise
of being a true-hearted, noble woman, w en last
I saw her. And I am so leased, to learn that
she still continues thus. are physical beauty
is nothing to goodness of heart."

‘.‘ That’s true for you. young man. But this
same Fanny isn’t in wantof either one. You
can take my word for that, in advance.”

“ I never considered, Fanny especially beauti-
ful,” said Maurice, who remembered the care-
]eSs, darkaskinned girl of three years before only
as she had then appeared. r

“ But I tell you three years have made a great
change in the girl’s appearance, Mr. Bryant—a
very great change. I consider there‘s no hand-
somer gal along the whole route of my drive
than Fanny; and if you don‘t say she is a beauty
when we get there, then I‘ll give you the fare——
that’s all. And [conclude it wouldn’t be for
your interest to‘say anything to Walter Marsh
albut her bein’ plain-lookin’, even if you are her
brotherl” ,

“ alter Marsh—Samuel Marsh’s son?”

‘.‘ Yes.” : ‘ ,

“ And is he—J"

“You want to ask if he is keepin’ company

    

 
 
 
  
   

 
 

  

  

—~m:;-.+ I

 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

Barney’s Bold Brush. 8

 

with your sister, eh? Well, he is; and a smart
couple they make, too.”

“I used to know Walter, passingly. I con-
sidered him an honorable young man three
years ago.”

“ He is that same to-day, sir. If the gal was
my sister—and it seems as though she were, al-
most—I’d as soon she married Walter as any
young man in Wharbuton, or any other place!”

“ Do they intend to marry, think you?’

“I reckon not at present, though you can’t
hardly form an idee in sech matters. Bein’ a
bachelor myself. I don't {eel competent to make
a guess in the matter."

‘If Walter is the right kind ofna man for
Fanny, I have no choice,” said the brother.
“She is nineteen now, and old enough to ar-
range for herself. I have strong aspirations for
this sister of mine, and I want to see her well
mated for life. Of course you do not blame
me.’ '

“ Not a bit, sir; I honor you for it. But we‘ll
soon be on the ground. You see that clump of
oaks yonder—that is the three-mile point; al-
ways takes just half an hour from therein,
though we don’t often come along at this time
of the day.”

It was so dark now that they could hardly
discern the broad track of oak openings which
rose at the distance of four hundred yards. The
young man, who sat upon the box with the
driver, relapsed into silence, though he yet cast
anxious glances about.

After the conversation we have recorded, it
will need but a word of presentation to fully
explain the appearance and personality of
Maurice Bryant.

He was a tall, powerfullvbuilt young man,
well dressed, and of gentlenianly appearance.
His hair, which was midnight black, hung in
clustering masses about his shoulders. while a
nicely-trimmed beard, and mustache of the
same jetty hue, set off to advantage a strikingly
handsome physiognomy. He had probably seen
twenty-five or twenty—six years of life, and his
general appearance bespoke a man of cultivated
tastes.

The stage in which he rode was an open car—
riage,'well adapted to the rough and muddy
roads it was required to traverse. Upon this
occasion the carriage was well filled, and by
chance occupied solely by men. There were six
of them in the body of the carriage, while Mau-
rice Byrant sat upon the seat with the driver—
eight in all. ,

It was the early autumn of 1865. The events
of the past few months upon the plains of the
far West had made every one caniious, and
of those who composed the traveling party,
all save the tall, portly man, with n corporosity
like an alderman, and a decidedly “ Hinglish
haccent,” were armed .for any emergency
which might arise.

The scene was such as only our West can pre-
sent. Broad plains, reaching further than the
sphericity of the earth’s surface allowed the hu—
man eye to reach, broken only by “rolls” of
moderate size, and variegated with clusters of
oak and walnut here, a thicket there and per-l
bags a more extended portion of forest yonder.

he of the first-mentioned, an oak opening or

 

 

 

some extent they were now approaching quite
rapidly. The road was divided just tefore
reaching the wood, one branch passing through
the edge of the timber, the other leaving it some
little distance to the right. The former “as in-
variably used during the warm summer days,
that man and beast might have the advantage
of the cooling shade affmded by the heavy
foliage, but as the latter was most direct, the
driver turnrd not from his course.

“It seems to me that I see forms moving in
the woods, yonder,” Maurice remarked, point-
ing‘ to the forest beside them.

he driver looked in the same direction, but
it was so dark that nothing could be made out.

“ I guess you don’t see anything,” he remark-
ed, a little carelessly, for he fancied his com-
panion was getting nervous. “It may be that
some teamster has put in there for the night,
rather than take the risk of goin' further.”

But Maurice Br 'ant was not (perfectly satis—
fied. He knew t int hostile In ians swarmed
upon those plains, and he saw at a lance that
they could ask no better cover than t at afliord-
ed by the timber in question. He kept his eye
upon the belt of forcst, and his hand upon the
stack of a heavy revolver which he carried.

He was still gazing when the flash of a single
gun from the cover broke upon the darkness,
and a bullet whistled just over the heads of
those in the stage!

“ B Heaven!” the driver exclaimed, “ that
says njin, and it advises us to pull up, too i”

“ Drive on, we may escape them i” said
Maurice, hardly reflecting upon the feasibility
of such an undertaking.

A tumult of voices was heard behind, each
urging a difl’erent course- of action; but the
driver heeded only his nearest companion. He
applied the long whip," and the four horses
sprung forward at the top of their speed.

In an instant a jet of flame burst from the
timber, just abreast of them, and a half-dozen
halls whistled around and among them. The
driver uttered a cry and dropped his lines,
while his right arm fell shattered to his side!

Maurice would have grasped the reins, and
node an attempt to continue the flight», but he
saw several horsemen riding down toward them,
and he knew that flight was quite out of the
question. The horses had bccn taught to 51:0
whenever the lines were dropped, an they ha
done so now, though somewhat ‘frightened by
the firing.

Mnurice at once sprung out, and took a posi—
tion behind the vehicle, cocking his revolver as
he did so. '

“ Come on, men,” he said, in low, firm tones.
“ Form a line behind this stage, and defend
yourself : we cannot flee!”

They followed his directions. with the excep-
tion of the Englishman, who threw himself upon
the bottom of the vehicle, and began to lament.

“ Oh, my blessed l" he gasped, “ what induced
me to leave the pale of civilization, hand some
hoff ’are hinto the wilderness, to he massacred
by the Hinjings? My George! Hi wish Hi was
hat ’ome, down cellar, heating iurnips, that’s
what Hi do l” v

The others had no time to heed his lamenta-
tions. They ranged themselves according to

    

  

 

4 1 Barney’s Bold Brush.

Maurice’s direction. feeling that he was the man
to lead them. With weapons resting over the
togof the carriage, they awaited the onset.

at it did not come at once. Finding that
they were likel to meet a warm reception, the
savages stoppe at a distance, beyond pistol—
shot. firing their weapons without effect, and
striking off on a. circle.

“ Ha, they think to take us in the rear," said
Maurice. " Let them try it; we can work
around as soon as they.”

But he was speedily undeceived. The savages
had a purpose, as he soon saw. There were less
than a‘dozen of the horsemen, but behind them

came a yelling rabble of red skins, numbering

two score at least. These were coming down
directly upon them, while those who were
mounted worked around upon the opposite side,
to prevent any escape.

Maurice com rehended the situation of affairs
in a moment. 6 saw that there was but one
way in which any of them could hope to escape
the savages.

“ Down, ever one,” he said, in a low but in-
tense voice. “ here is no wa that we can
fight them. Let us scatter, an it is possible
some of us may crawl away and escape. Ttiat
is our only possible chance, and we may as well
try it.‘

The men heeded his injunction, some of them
groveling upon the ground in abject fear. while
others struck off with purposes in view, and
courage to act upon them.

The Englishman pressed closer than ever to
the bottom of the vehicle. and faintly exclaimed:

" My seven Senses! You won‘t leave me ’ere
hllono ti the tender mercies of the Hin'ings, Hi
’ope. Hi shall has surely be killed has ay!”

“ Than do as the others are doing," was all
that Maurice found time to say. ‘

He espiexl the driver at that moment, who was
sitting compose'lly upon the box, 5 ;pportiug his
broken arm with the other hand.

“Never miual me,” the fellow said, seeing
Maurice hesitate. “ Th3 Injins will rob the
stage, of course, but I don’t think they will hurt
me. Get out of the way if you can, for they are
close at hand.”

The young mim cast a last look at his trunk,
which contained the bulk of his e1rthly posses—
sions, including many choice gifts which he ha'l
bought for Fanny. Ha did not relish the idea of
leaving them all to the tender mercies of the red—
men; but he Could not avoid it, and with a quick
motion he threw hi nvlf into the tall grass
which bordered the real.

The Indians were very near to them upon
either hand. and the prospect of Escape was
quite dubious, to sa the vervl-aast. Even as he
moved from the a Jan'loned coach, the young'
man saw on; of his lute companions stricken
down and murdered by a savage, who had lea ed
from his horse for that purpose.

At first he thought of shunning the scene, for
he hld no dulre to see human blood flow; But
a. sudden idea possessed his mind. It had now
baco no so dark that, at a little distance, it re-

uired a keen lance to tell a frieni from a foe.
no Indian ha' left his horse standing beside

him while the diabolical deed was being done.
Possibly he could secure the animal, and with

 

 

its aid fly from the presence of the red robbers.
He crept up as near as he could to the animal
and its scarcely more human rider, then rushed“
upon the savage and felled him to the ground
with the breech of his pistol. There were suv-
age riders all about him. and the risk was most
imminent. Graspin the bridle, Maurice sprung
upon the bare back 0 the animal, and made a
dash for an opening in the scattered group of
red—skins.

Only one of them seemed to notice the daring:
act, and he placed himself as nearly in the way
as possible, swinging his hatchet as he mw the
other coming. Maurice would not” willfnzly
have shed blood, but he saw no way in which it
could be helped now, and placinglhis pistol near
the red-skin s head, he pulled t e trigger. Of
course he rolled from his saddle like a block of
wood, for the traveler was not one to miss his

aim. .

The result of the shot was two-fold. While it
opened the wag for him to flee, it drew the at-
tention of all t esavages who were not busily
engaged with their own affairs. The young
man threw himself low upon the horse’s neck,
and urged him forward with all possible speed.
He was obliged to take a course at right angles
to that he wished to pursue, but that was of lit—
tle matter, for he could easdy change his course
when he had thrown off the pursuit.

A shoot was raised, and several of the Indians
turned their horses to follow him. Yet scarce] 1
had they begun the pursuit, when dark forms,
clme to the ground, began ,to fire away at the
retreating horseman.

“ Perhaps they will blaze away a while, and
let me go.” Maurice thou ht, as he observed
thatdthe horsemen did not ollow at any great
sp’ae .

But his success and hopes were of ‘short dura-
tion. Even as he gave shape to his ideas men-
tally, a ball from one of the muskets struck his
horse with a dull “ thud l" The animal, ren-
dered furious by the Wound, became uninnnage~
able in a moment, and Maurice had barel
thrown himself upon the ground before the ani—
mal follmved suit.

A shout of joy arose from his enemies as they
saw the fall. and two or three rode forward to
secure the prize. As they came up, the youn
adventurer presented his revolver,'and shot de
the foremost who was looking for the scalp-
lock of the white.

A yell of fury followed this greeting, in which
the sharp report of the pistol sent notice t) tum-
ble to another of the c iwardly red-skins. The
third. seeing the unseemly fate of his compan-
ions, set up a wild howl. and fell back from the
fatal spot till others should come to the rescue.
They were not slow, of course. for they could
not let smha fow escape. Five or six, indeed
all who were mounted. rode to the spot and
looked for the fated foemdn. who had already
made such havoc in their ranks. 3

To their infinite surprise. there was neither
white man nor signs of him— only a fallen horse
and two dead lndiaus. ‘

Another wild howl called many more. W110
were on foot, to the spot, and a vigorous search
was cominnnrei.

Maurice Bryant had felt like giving up alllfor

  
   
  

   

   
 
 

‘ of the

    

Barney’s Bold Brush. 5‘

 

lost when the horsemen made their attack; but
when he saw that his determination not to sub-
mit had been crowned with so much success,
and beheld the last horseman turn back, a new
desire for escape prompted him to make another
effort in that direction.

The grass, as already remarked, was quite
rank, and, save that it had been occasionally
run over by horses and cattle, it had suffered
only from the dryness of the season. Into this
Maurice plunged, and found that, by crawling
upon his hands and knees, he was almost en—
tirely concealed from sight. At least it would
hardlybepossible to see him in the darkness,
unless at very close quarters.

He crawled away, using his few moments of
vantage to the best ssible account. By the
time his pursuers he reached the place where
they supposed him to be, he had gained such a
distance that he could barely see their dusky‘
forms through the gloom. He would have
broken intoa keen run, at that moment, had
the nature of the ground been favorable; but it
was far from that, as the long grass might well
trip a skillful runner, even at midday. He
could only move by stealth, and hope to place
asufiicient distance between himself and the
Indians to allow him more freedom of move-
ment.

Still he saw that the pursuit would not he
readil given up, as the Indians spread in every
direction, scourin the ground as they went.
The horsemen ra iated to assist the others on
foot, and riding out a. considerable distance,
wheeled their horses and made their way back,
moving in sharp angles, so as to scan every foot
ground.

As they had passed Maurice by a considerable
distance, and were now moving back toward
him thus cautiously, while the savages on foot
were fast approaching him behind, the young
man’s position was anything but pleasant. In-
deed, about his only hope lay in passing the

horsemen. If he could not do this Without at-

tractin attention, his fate would in all prob-
ability 9 sealed.

He had u etched their movements till satisfied
that the thing was possible. He moved cau-
tiously nearer to his vigilant enemies, crawling
upon his face without the least noise or effort.
He, noticed the moment when the attempt must
be made to insure success, and as the horseman
whose beat he must pass turned his horse, Maur-
ice crept rapidly forward. '

Ten feet more and he would be safe! Was he
to 53 it?

radually he. drew nearer and nearer. Five
feet remained, and if he could pass that dis—
tance he would be safe from the return of the
Indian. Surely he could accomplish that, very
easily!

But at that very moment. when one minute
more would have seen him over the line of
demarcation, a sharp hiss, followed by a loud
rattle, told that he had invaded the dominions
of a deadly Serpent! He paused and drew back
at that most disgusting of all sounds, and looked
for the source whence it had roceeded.

Before he could make any isooveries upon the
subject under consideration, he found that he
was likely to have assistance—more, in fact,

  

 

than would be ngreeablel The Indians had
heard the warning, and they were hastening to
the ot, quite certain that they should there
flnd t e object of their search. ’

CHAPTER II.
A BIRTHDAY PARTY. '

UPON the borders of a pleasant, windin
stream, which ran through the rich alluvial soi
of one of our Territories, a village had sprung
up, named from the first settler, Wharbuton.
It was very pleasantly Situated. having more
natural advantages than often fell to the lot of
settlements of its class. There was an abun-
dance of good water, plenty of fuel, and a steam
saw-mill, store and blacksmith shop already had
appeared. A project was on foot to found a
church. which promised realization in the course
of another season.

Near the center of the village, in a new-
framed house of considerable retensions, dwelt
Samuel Marsh and his fami y, consisting of a
wife, a son, Walter, aged twenty-two, a daugh-
ter, Ada, whose twentieth year would be com-
pleted on that day, and several smaller chil-
dren, with whom we have nothing to do at
present. Fanny Bryant, the orphan sister of
Mahrice, also found a home under their pleasant
roo .

As the honest stage—driver had said, Fanny
was really a beauty, now that the honest rough-
ness of girlhood had passed away, and the
softer grace of womanhood set in. And the
fact that she had plentiful possessions in the
East, yielding a sure and sufficient income,
was far from detracting from that beauty, in
the e es of that needy class of adventurers
who ollow ewry movement, looking for some
chance to fl turn up" which will make them rich
without the necessny of working for it.

But, as the driver had stated, Walter Marsh
had been deeply impressed by the beauty of
Fanny, coupled with her goodness of heart;
and as he was a worthy young man, and she a
sensible young woman, he had gradually won
the field, first excluding all outside admirers,
and then seeking the promise of her hand in
marriage, as soon as he should be able to pro‘
vide a home for her.

And so Fanny had become his promised wife
after a long consultation with herself. She ha
no one else to consult, for she was alone in the
world, save her brother, and he had written to
her that he should be traveling for some time,
and that she need not write until she heard
from him again. She felt that her own heart
was the best monitor. in any case, and soshe
decided, trusting to Maurice‘s ood sense to ap-
prove her choice when be shed d know the par
ticulars.

But this night. of all others. was to be notable
in the new dwelling of the Marshes. Ada, the
sparkling blonde daughter, was to celebrate her
birthday by-givin a party—a real, genuine

 

partyl Not one of t e cestly, fashionable entrees
of the elite of the old States’ society, but a ma],
honest, heartfelt gathering of all the younar peo-
ple of the settlement, and the invitations would
have extended further had it not been for the
fact that there was not another inhabitant
within several miles of Wharbuton.

 

8 Barney’s Bold Brush. i

 

The programme was not fully decided upon

up to the time when the guests began to arrive,
for matters will always be more or less affected
by the circumstances. Dancing and cards were
to be allowed; refreshments would be served by
the “ old people,” who would also invite many
of the other “ old people " to join them at table.
Beyond this, the party were to suggest their own
amusements. ,.
. Ada had donned her best dress and its be—
longi s for the occasion. and we would state
all ab utJhe material and style, onl the author
is so unfortunate as, not to know. 2 assured,
then, that everything had been arranged in
the best possible manner for the occasion, and
as darkness began to settle over the varth, both
Ada and her sister—expectant her dear friend
Fanny, were all aglow with pleasure and fond
anticipation.

One by one and two by two the guests began
to arrive. Tall, broad—shouldered beaux, who,
if they did some things not laid down in Chester—
field. possessed sincere hearts and strong arms,
and could repel any insult or avert any ordi-
nary danger from their beloved ones. And the
maidens, if many of them were dresses which
might not pass the test of fashionable society,
were beautiful and blooming—sufficiently so to
put to shame any painted and powdered belle
of the great cities.

The evening opened with a social romenade
through the great house—Jar the dwe ling was a
marvel in Wharbuton. Then followed games
and hearty greetings over those who happened
to be a little late, and inordinate fun with the
“ old folks” who ventured within their reach.

Mirth and joy reigned in the mansion. Every
face was filled with pleasure. Ada Marsh was
in her glory. Fanny was quite as much delight-
ed. and the three, Walter included, were every-
where, and at all times. Walter was not less
delighted than the girls, and he had one cause of
congratulation which they had not. The two
loveliest in the rooms were those be accompanied,
and was not one of them his afflanced wife, and
the other his sister’ll

Present] the company appeared totire of that
which be interested them at the commence
ment. and Ale whispered to Walter:

“ Hadn‘t we better begin dancing?”

“Isuppose so," returned Walter, who, being

the only fiddler in the place, was expected to fur—
nish the music. ” Purty early,” he I added;
“ make a feller’s arm ache store they git through,
but than Jeff and I can go it.”
» “ What’s that?” demanded a, tall, awkward-
looking youth, of eighteen, known as J elf Flagg.
“ Reckon we can make these ’ere new timbers
crack, if there‘s any sich thing in the book. I’ve
been to work on'that old flrldie all da y, and I’ve
jest Wt its tone up splendid.”

“ ell, bring it over, J elf, and we’ll tune up.”

,Jeflrdeparted. but soon returned bearing an
antiquated violincello, which must have been
anoientwhen he who carried it was born. This
instrument was his especial pride, and for Weeks
the twain had been practicing the music which
was to give zest to the present occasion.

A litt 9 platform, afoot above the floor, was
formed for the musicians, who immediately set
about “tuning up,” an incipience that took some

time, during which the dancers paired ofl? and
arranged for a contra-dance.

“ NOW then, ive "em smoke,” said Jeff, as he
rolled up his shirt’sleeves and braced himself to
the old instrument.

“All ready 1” and away they went, fiddlers,
dancers, and lookers—on. ‘

Heated and dizzy with their unusual exercise,
the dancers finally whirled away to their seats,
and, after a short respite reformed for a cotill-
ion. Walter and Jeff gave their right arms a
vigorous rubbing, and then the music struck up
again. v

But just as the dancers began to move, a ter-
rible tumult without, cries and shouts, and the
reports of firearms, broke upon the still evening
air, For a moment those joyous ones paused,
uncertain what had hop nod, and the voice of
a Stentor, as he fled sw1ftly through the street,
announced the terrible visitation.

“ INJINsl INJINS!" he shouted.
for your hair, if you want it saved 1”

“ Injinsl Injinsl” was repeated on every hand,
and looks of horror quickly took the place of

leusure.
is violincello; the former sprung for his rifle,

“ Look out

all and fled by the back way. Some of the wo—
men fainted; all cried and flew wildly from side
to side, neither knowing what to do themselves,
nor allowing others time to think.

Walter rushed to the door with the intention
of giving battle to the first savage he met, but a
rifle—ball passing close to his head as he appeared
caused him to chan e his tactics. He quickly
shut and barred the cor, for in moments of trial
he was a young man of nerve and self-possession.
He saw that the savages were in too reat num-
bers to be fought by any force whic Wharbu-
ton could raise, even if warned and prepared in
advance of their coming. Of course there would
be no other way than to escape their resence,
if possible. So long as no overt act ca led their
attention to that particularhouse. it was possible
that the Indians would not disturb them till such
time as the females could be gotten away.

Hastening back to the room where he had left
the dancers, Walter found confusion worse con-

founded. Howling, sobbing aud prayin were
strangely blended, with more than one b phe-
mous oath from the rougher portion 5f the

swains. Stamping with his foot to command
attention, the youth exclaimed, in decided tones:

“ This way, every one! We can‘t fight ’em;
we must run if possible. Come, let the Wimmin
folks git out fu’st, and we tellers will bring up
the re iri”

He pushed one and another before him toward
the rear entrance, repeating his instructions to
each in turn. He had succeeded in removing
about one half of the inmates, and had just
joined Ads. and Fanny, who stood a little apart,
more composed than any others of their sex in
the room, when he saw Barney Brooks, a
rblustel‘ing fellow, proceeding toward the front
entrance. ,

“ Where are you going, Barney?” he demand-
ed. having a suspicion of the truth.

The follow had procured a rifle by some
means. and the reckless expression of his fea-

 

tures showed that he intended to use it.

‘Valter’dropped his violin, and ‘Jefl ,

and rushed to the front door, and the latter left .

. 4..” wt mm s Ahxt~;}JII-€rrn\n l.-

 

 

  

A
l

..........H .q.

 

 

 

Barney’s Bold Brush. 7

 

“To have a brush with them red‘skinsl“he
replied, rather curtly, and to show them that
we ain’t all cowards here!” Y

He glanced at Fanny a little defiantly‘as he
uttered the words, for he had once been a suitor
for the inaidcn’s favor.

“ Do not shoot until the savages commence an
attack here!" said Walter, hurrying after the
reckless youth.

“ llain't nfenrd of ’eml” he responded, with a

ow .

" Neither am I,” returned Walter. “ But, we
must consider that these women can't take care
of themselves as we can. Wait till we git them
awa ,and by that time I fancy we’ll have all
the I ghtin’ we shall want.”

“Oh, pshaw! you’re afraid, Walt; you never
was made for a fighter! Go in and see tothe
women, while I give the reds a shot 1”

“ I’m not afeard, Barney. and you know very
well I am not. But I tell you not to draw down
the savages upon this house. You shall not
fire—JP

“ Sha‘n’t, eh?” The follow spoke a little
threateningly, and moved a pace nearer to
Walter, but set-,ing the young man did not quail,
he proceeded to unbar and open the door.

:‘ I won’t shoot if ye feel so bad about it,” he
said, sneeringliy; “ I jest want to 100; out and
see how the lid lies. any way. on can’t
blame a feller for that."

He opened the door and peered out. The
street was swarming with Indians, who were
lliuusy in their fell work of devastation and plun-

er.

Quick as thought, Barney raised his rifle and
fired. An Indian fell to the ground With a
shriek. The fellow endeavored to close the
door, but in this he failed. With a rush the

[savages burst upon it, and bore back the two

men who struggled resolutely against them.
Walter 88318th his faithless companion till
the savages were within the building, and then,
seeing further effort to be vain. he turned and
sought Ads. and Fanny, whom he had left with
the intention of staying Brooks’s suicidal pur-

use.

He found the two maidens standing quite
alone, and in anxious waiting for him, all the
others havmg finally found their senses, or hav-
ing been taken away by more clear. headed
friends. >

“ Quick!” he . exclaimed, pointing out the
way‘," “The InJins are in the house—we must
run.

They were not slow to obey, and had just left
the room they were in when a brawny warrior
entered. He looked about, concluded that the
house was deserted, and began to pillage.

0n reaching the open air, Walter f( und that
thelprospect for flight was not very inviting,
even by this route. Several buildings had been
fired, and the light from them rendered distinct
the whole of the gentle slope leading down to
the brook. Upon t e opposite side of the stream
was a small strip of Wood, which had been pai-
tially cut down, and toward this Walter had in-
tended to direct the flight of himself and com—
panions. This slope was already covered with
fugitives and Indians, the former begging for
mercy and endeavoring to flee—the latter rob-

 

 

hing and murdering them at will, without re-
sistance.

Clearly this was no place for our little party
of fugitives. While they paused for a moment
in doubt. Walter heard the movement of feet
coming around the house. He had barely time
to draw his companions back into the doorwa ,
when three savages made their a pearance. t
first he had hoped that they would pass, but the
dress of one of the maidens attracted their
notice.

“ Ugh!" exclaimed one, stopping short and
pushing his head in at the door; “ what we got
here?”

Hc was not left in doubt, for the sturdy
youth’s rifle descended upon the exposed head
with terrible force. The ravage dropped to the
floor, and one of his companions stumbled over
his body. By the movement be avoided the
sweeping blow which Walter had aimed at him.
and in turn he gra'sjped the young man. The
struggle which ensue was terrific. Neither of
the combatants had a weapon in hand, and
neither of them found time to produce one.

Back and forth they swayed, hither and
thither, now one, and then the other seeming to
have a momentary advantage. The Indian was
strong, heavy, and well used to athletic encoun-
ters. Walter was young, sinewy, ver active
and enduring. His wind proved the ether of
the two in the result, and he finally gained the
victory over his red adversary.

The savage was effectually disposed of, and
Walter'felt no neak scruplcs; he turned to look
for the remaining Indian. He had isappeared.
And not alone. Ada and Fanny vi Jre gone tool

Filled with a terrible anxiety, it e young man
darted into the house, first taking possession of
his rifle. From room to room he sped, giving no
thought to his own safety, heedless of the num-

1 er of foes he might encounter.

He had passed almost through, when be en-
countered the form of a white man. The lamp,
which still burned upon a mantle, revealed the
features of Bart ey Brooks. Both started at the
meeting, for each lad supposed the other in the
hands of the savages or killed.

“ I s that you, Barney?” demanded Walter.
“ Have you seen the girls?”

“ No. Where are they?” «

“ Heaven only knows; I don’t.” -

He related in as few words as possible the un-
fortunate chance which bad befallen him in the
attempt to flee. and the unlooked~for disappear—
ance of the Inside ns. Ready for any adventure,
however rash, Barney at once joined him in'ihe
search, and all that men could do toward lrarn-
ing the fate of the missing r-nes was done. But
it was all to no purpose. They could not find
them, neither could they find any one who had
seen them.

The moon had now risen. and began to shed
its soft light over the scene. The Indians, as it
satisfied with their deprcdations, the amcunt of
plunder and number of lives they had taken, be-
gan to leave the burning sen]: ment, as if by
concerted action. In a short time not one of the
lawless robbers was to be seen. '

Walter and his strange companion had con-
tinued the search for'the missing ones mean-

while. They had visited all possible places 0!

     

 

  

 

8 Barney’- Bold Brush.

 

refuge, and invariably met the same response
from those there congregated. Not one had seen
or heard of them since parting in the house
where they had been holdin festivities. Every
man at once joined cheerful y in the search, and
the ground was carefully one over—every
corpse and every conceivable iding-place being
examined.

Mornin light came at length, and the search
was aban oned in despair. Every other missing
person had been found; the bodies of the mur-
dered were arranged in decent order for burial,
and the smoldering flres extinguished. One
half of the village lay in ruin V—uearly a third
of the inhabitants lay prepared for that narrow
house which awaits great and small, high and
low, alike!

It was gloomy morning for the people of
Wharbuton, for to every family came misfor-
tune and bereavement. But to none had the
visitation come with more blighting power than
to the household of Samuel Marsh. Those two
joyous, light-hearted, laughin maidens of the
evening before—not the pri e of their family
alone, but of the whole village—where were
they? Though they found upon reassemblin
that their loss had been trifling, yet the fearfu
incubus which hung over them shut in like
a black pail aught of joy or hope which re-
mained.

Walter sat with his head bowed upon his
hands, like one in blank despair; but such were
not his feelings He was forming a deep and
holy resolve within his own heart, and silently
beseechin that Power which he revered, for
strength carry out the plan he was form—

ing.

At length he rose, and approached his mother.

“Mother,” he said, “ I am goin". It’s no use,
I can’t stay here any longer, and I’m goin’ to
make an effort. "

“Where are you going my boy?” she asked,
raisin tear-filled eyes to his face. “Is it not
enoug that Ada is gone, and Fanny, too; and
and now you will leave us, perhaps never to re-
turn!”

” It is too much that they are gone, mother,
and I am going to find them. They must have
been taken away by the Injins, and I am sure
they can be brought back. I am goin’ to try it,
an way I” ‘

‘Walter, Walter!” the good mother ex-

claimed, filled with horror at the thought.
" You foolish boyi Why will you think of such
a thing? You will surely be killed, Walter, and
then we shall be desolate indeed i”
- But Walter used his persuasions to such a de»
area that he soon silenced his mother’s opposi-
tion, and then prepared for the enterprise. He
took his trusty rifle, with sufficient ammunition
for any ordinar occasion, and a long, keen
bowievknife for a 1 work that might require si-
lence a‘nd a sharp edge in its execution. Add-
in a moderate supply of food, he started out.

a! the street he met Barney Brooks, rifle in

“ Whar ye bound?” he demanded, stopping be-
fore the youth. r

At first Walter felt like prevaricating, for he
had an especial dislike for the reckless youth,
but he concluded to tell the truth, little suspect

 

    

ing the effect which the announcement would
have upon his interlocutor.

“ Good on yer head!” he exclaimed. “I begin
to think you’re a bully boy, arter all, I'll go
with ye~blained if I won't! I know it is a
hopeless kind 0’ undertakin’, but I like a feller
with grit, and I’m bound to help you through
with this affair.”

Walter would much have preferred to travel
alone, but he could not dissuade the other, who
insisted upon bearing him company. Finally
Walter recollected the many tales he had heard
of Barney’s scouting prowess, and he decided to
let the fellow accompany him.

“ Hev’ ye got a pistol?" Barney demanded, as
they reached the confines of the village.

“Nothing but this rifle and knife," was the

op y.

“ I’ve got a couple of as fine revolvers as ever
snapped,’ returned Brooks, producing one of
them and a. box of cartridges. “ Here, you take
one, ’cause I don’t want to stan’ any better
chance than you.”

Walter took the wea n and placed it in his
belt, merely assuring himself that it was in or-
der for uSe.

CHAPTER III.
AMONG THE INDIANS.

MAURICE BRYANT was no coward, and yet it
caused him a chill of horror, which penetrated
even to his bones, when he heard the loathsome
warning of the serpent, and realized how near
he had been, or might still be, to his deadly bite.
He started to his feet, in utter disregard of the
presence of his enemies, and seeing how impossi-
ble escape would be, awaited whatever fate
might have in store for him.

The Indians set up a loud shout as they saw
his form rise from the earth, and every moment
he expected to hear the report of some weapon
which should bespeak his death. But the sav-
ages were not so thirsty for his blood as Maurice
had supposed. They seemed to have a prefer-
ence for taking him bodily.

They found little difficulty in making the cap-
ture. Bryant waited till he was assured that
they did not intend to harm him at once, then
slipped his revolver into his boot, where it might
be handy for use at some future time, if not
discovered, and awaited the capture with folded
arms.

The savages approached him with great cau-
tion, for the oss they had already suffered
from his Single arm had been severe. Three
warriors had been shot and mortally wounded
if not killed outright, while a fourth lay beside
the stage with a broken head. Their own
treacherous natures feared deceit in others, but
the temptation to take him alive overcame even
their fears.

Finally a tall brave sprung forward, and
grasped Maurice about the body, exclaiming as
he did so:

" You big white man; me got you now!”

“ I see you have,” was the nonchalant re-
joinder. “ Now what do you suppose you will
do with me?”

“ Waugh! Me take you home—give you to
Eagle Nose, big chief; him keep you, maybe;
maybe burn you up i"

 

. ’dwawvv‘m“ A

..:1m.W-la%"“i a. .

Barney’s Bold Brush. 9

 

“Maybe, too, that I shall not go with you,”
said Maurice, who had made u his mind as to
the course he would pursue. “ erhaps I shall
hurt you 1“ _ '

He noticed that the Indian was not holdin
him as closely as he might have done, and wit
a quick wrench of his body be freed himself
from the grasp, and wheeling at the moment he
found himself free. knocked down the savage
with a )werful blow of his fist.

A ve l arose from those around, and weapons
were brandished in plenty. But finding the
white made no effort to escape, they became
peaceable, and several of the strongest in the
party advanced with thongs of dried skin to

ind him. Bryant did not resist any more, or
rather the little resistance he made was in such
a singular manner that it availed him nothing,
save as it confused his enemies.

Now he whistled, than he danced, anon he
sung, and finally vihistled and danced simulta-
neously. Then he would wheel and attempt to
strike or kick those who stood in his reach.
Then more of the music and dancing, followed
by an attempt to butt down any red-skin who
presented himself. Beneath all this there was a
deep purpose. The more strangely he acted,
the more curiosity it would excite from the In—
dians, and the more chance would there be for
savin his life.

At rst the savages seemed to doubt the char—
acter of the strange being they had captured.
and even seemed to wonder if he belonged to the
ordinary race of man; but presently one of
them seemed to entertain an idea, and proceeded
to convey it in gutturals to his fellows.

Maurice said not a Word, but stood there,
keenly alive to all that passed about him, carry-
ing out any freak which entered his head, so far
as was possible in his confined state. Whatever
the communication which was circulated soin-
dustrioualy might be, or what effect it was like—
ly to have upon his fortunes, Maurice could not
determine

Presently his captors took up a line of march,
and half a dozen of them conducth him away
into the oaks, while the balance of the Earty re—
turned to the captured stage-coach. e would
have much preferred to accompany the latter,
and learn if possible the fate which had befallen
his traveling companions; but it could not be,
and he would not mar the scheme he had in
view by any apparent anxiety to do so.

He was taken into the timber some distance,
and here he found that the Indians had estab-
lished their head uarters. He was conducted
to a staid, swart y red-skin, who sat in grim
silence, surrounded by half a score of ready and
respectful menials.

One of the party who accompanied the young
prisoner proceeded to report to this personage,
whom Maurice now understood to be the mili—
tary leader of the gang, perhaps the chief of the
tribe. In either case Maurice noticed how much
of military leadership they had learned from the
whites. But he waswsoon to learn another inno-
vation the red-man had made upon the customs
of his forefathers.

Under a strong guard the risoner was led up
to the feet of this surly—look ng individual, and
a lighted pine-knot was brought, that the chief,

 

of whatever rank he might he, could scan his
features by its light.

“Now,” began his Indiansbip, “me goin’to
ask you some questions. White men must say
truth, for Hawk's Wing can read it all.”

He Waited a suitable time for a reply, but re—
ceived none, save that Maurice commenced to
whistle and keep step with his music u n the

assy sward. This proceeding uzzlcd t e staid

awk’s Wing not a little, an he called upon
one of the guards for an ex lanation. But this
did not seem to clear awfigbe mystery in the
least. When the prisoner tune a little more
calm, the Indian proceeded with his uestionin .

" You know we are going to tafie back a
land our fathers gave your fathers?" he said,
with an earnestness which led Maurice to be—
lieve him sincere in the thought that it could be
done very easily.

But the young man did not choose toexchange
ideas with with his captors. He threw back his
head and gave vent to a flow of song. such as
had probably never entertained an Indian au-
dience before. Naturally ' ssingafinevoice,
Maurice made the old woogggblfo With the strains
of a popular New England song. The Indians
looked on in surprise, and finally some of them
ventured a little approval.

Hawk’s Wing did not share in the latter. He
evidently had a suspicion that all was not as it
should be. He called one of his attendantsto
him, and the prisoner saw that a demonstration
was about to be made for the pu of testing
his saneneSs. He nerved himsel to calmness,
and continued his singing, shifting from tune to
tune every few moments.

Presently a burly sava e rung from the
circle, grasped the white Eyt 0 hair, and ran
his knife quickly around the scalp, giving it I
smart pull. The 0 ration was quite painful,
but Maurice scarce y winced.

Then, walking away to a little distance, which
operation was not interfered with by the Indians,
in; struck up, in the most agonizing tones poni-

e:

“ ’Hark, from the tomb, a doleful cry) "

It was, indeed, a doleful which be sent
up: even the savages stop t eir ears at the
sound. Thinking he ha sung quite enough,
Maurice sunk upon the ground, and commenced
muttering to himself in a low tone. One of the
Indiuns sprung forward, whirling a tomahawk}
about his head, but Bryant paid no attention,
muttering to himself the while, and nodding his
head mysteriously.

The Indians seemed satisfied, now, that their
prisoner was really a lunatic, and a consulta-
tion was held as to what should be done with”
him. 01? course Maurice slid not understand the
gutturals in which they communicated with
each other, and his suspense during the council
was far from agreea le. But knowin very
well that he could not help himself out t , he
put on a look of indifference an unconcern,
tlirowing himself upon the ground as though to
s 99 .

Hg had not lain there, lon when he was
roused up. and politely inform by the Indian
who stood over im that he must now go and
see Eagle Nose.

 

  

 

10 Barney's Bold Brush.

 

He soon found that there would be but limited
opportunities for escape. The horses had been
cut loose from the sta e—coach, such articles of
plunderasthe Indians ancied taken from the
trunks and persons of the travelers, and made
into bundles. Thesehad been loaded upon the
horses as none but an Indian could load them,
and there was still one bundle for which no
. means of transportation appeared. Probably
to this fact Maurice owed his life. He was se-
lected to bear the extra pack, which was fas-
tened to his back despite the many protestations
he made to the contrary.

The march was almost immediately taken up,
and continued without any halt till daybreak.
The pack which had been placed upon the pris-
onersshoulders was not heavy, and he found
little inconvenience from it.

As he trud ed along, a thousand hopes and
purposes fille his min , only to be thwarted by
the vi ilance of his captors. When morning
came t ey stopped in the edge of a forest, built
a fire, and roasted some pieces of horse—flesh
which they had with them. Maurice had been
suffered to lie down and rest a short time,
while these preparations were going on; but one
guard, and at times two, stood over him, re-

ared to kill him at the slightest move w ich

be conceived to indicate escape.

till he managed to reach his revolver with
the fingers of one hand, without notice, and
slightly change his position. It was not a com-
fortable filling for his bootleg; but he preferred
to suffer considerable pain before parting with
it. He had hopes that the weapon might assis:
him some time. He would have made the at-
tem t even now, when his arms were untied to
eat he roasted meit his guards condescended
to give him; but it was several minutes before
he could use them, and the time thus employed
gave him an opportunity to see how rash the
attempt would prove, and what would be the
consequence of failure.

So he ate his meat in silence, suffered his arms
to be bound, and jo ged on peacefully. At
noon the party step e , and after eating a few
mouthfuls. prepare for a eneral sleep. They
were in a dark, secluded do 1, near the mountain
range. and the prisoner persuaded himself to the
belief that here he could affect the desired
escape. Here, at least, he would have an ad-
vantage over the horses, if he could but gain
the mountains. He would not regard several
days' wandering, if he had but the shadow of a

ho e.

But the Indians had foreseen all these possibil-
ities, and Maurice’s heart leaped into his throat
as he saw them approaching him with ropes.
He felt sure that they intended to bind his lezs.
and if they did this he might say “farewell”
to the weapon he had carried so long. But
his revolver was safe. Fastening a. rope
around his neck, they tied it to a tree and
then proceeded to secure his hands in like man-

her.
All his hopes were pretty thoroughly nipped
now, and thus they left him, to lament and con-
sider, while they slept. For two hours an entire
silence reigned.
But the savages could not afl'ord to waste

 

much time in sleep. They had still a long dis- ,

tance to traVerse, and their plunder was far
too valuable to be recaptured by the whites.
They got under way as soon as pos-ible, and
traveled till nightfall, when they stopped again
for a short time. Supper was eaten and pipes
smoked: then they set out once more.

Maurice was well tired by this time, but he
refrained from any expression of the feeling,
and shouldered his pack with a sinking heart.
Every long, weary mile was so much to be
traversed on his return, if return was to come.
After all, he could not help the thought that he
was being taken away to his doom; that he had
beheld kindred and friends for the last time,
and much more of the same sort, which was far
from giving buoyancy to his spirits.

It was near morning when he reached the In-
dian town which had been their destination. it
was a rough, dirty place, as Maurice could see,
by the light of the waning moon, and be judged
from the manner in which it was built up that
it had been intended only as a temporary stop-
ping-place. The‘huts were thrown together care-
lessly, betokening want, poverty and laziness.

The barking of dogs excited the attention of a
single sleepy guard, and at once the news of the
arrival went through the town like fire. Squaws
and Sappooses flocked forth, but to Maurice’s
grati cation, he observed next to no war-
riors. He fancied, and quite correctly, that
theh majority of them were upon the war—
pat .

Here, however, the redoubtable Eagle Nose
ruled the people of his tribe, and here Bryant
would be incarcerated for the present. How
soon he might be led forth to a fearful doom, he
dared not think. - He was at once shut up in a
rude, but very strong log hut, which was barred
heavily on the outside.

It was dark within the cabin, perfectly so, for
it had been constructed for some pur ose re-
quiring very little light, and, judging mm the
smell, no ventilation. At best, these require-
ments had been overlooked, and as Maurice
could do nothing to his own satisfaction till he
should have an inkling of what was before and
about him, he threw himself upon the earth
near the entrance, and, before he was aware of
it, slept soundly.

When he awoke, which must have been
very soon, for it was not light yet, it was by
some one shaking at his arm, and when he
had raised himself, a savage grunted in his
ear:

“ Come ’long; Eagle Nose want to see you!"

Wondering what the chief could want of him,
Maurice rose to his feet with some difficulty, for
he was sore and lame from the adventure of the
past few days. He was conducted to a cabin
equally miserable with the others. and only dis-
tinguished from them by a thick mat spread
over the floor, which, of course was in a more
horrible condition of filth than the floor could
have been without it. As the latter consisted
of the bare earth, trampled hard, the expedi-
ency of matting, save as a mark of rank, was
not so apparent to the young man’s mind.

But he was left little time for meditating
u n such matters of secondary im ortance.

agle Nose had sent for him, and be ad busi-
ness with him. He had heard that the man who

  

....._‘.........w, .

i
i
7
l
i
.

 
     

      

 

Barney’s Bold Brush. 11

 

brought the pack wasa singular being. prob-
ably a demented person, and he was curious to
see him.

The chief was sitting upon abearskin when
the prisoner was brought in, but at once arose
and approached him. Feeling carefully of his
arms and legs, the chief walked all about the
white man, looking in his eyes, and regarding
him so minutely that Maurice began to tire of
it, for be feared his boots would be subjected to
a test, and to this he had an especial dislike.

But the chief did not fancy the travel-worn
f‘ patents,” and stepped back a few paces, shak-
ing his head and muttering something which
Maurice did not understand, but which he
fancied might be to the import that he did not
:eem essentially different from ordinary human

cm s.

“ gale-face, what bring you here?” he sudden-
ly demanded, in sharp tones.

' Maurice had prepared for this beforehand,
and no sooner had the words passed the chief’s
mouth than he struck into a dance, spinning
round and round till he verily felt giddy. From
this he changed into a loose, shuffling move—
ment, in which he contrived to kick the shins
ofa guard quite forcibly.

“Sto 1 stop!" commanded the chief, raising
a hate at with a threatening movement, while
“ stopl stop!” was echoed in fainter tones from
the roof of the cabin.

The chief was the one to pause, and he looked
to see who had daredto mock his royal coni-
mands. But there was no one to be seen, either
within or upon the outside.

Maurice stopped and threw himself upon the
floor, where he had stood. disgusting as its
condition had been. Here he lay muttering to
himself, as he had done upon a previous occa-
sion, and with considerable effect, for he had
noticed that the chief and guards looked per—
plexed.

The former made some observation in Indian

gutturals to his attendants, and as he ceased
speaking, the last words were repeated slowly
from the door! Eagle Nose rushed forward,
hatchet in hand, ready to brain the audacious
intruder, but no person ap aredl More and
more perplexed, the swart c iief fell back to his
bearskin, and held a whispered consultation
with those present. ,
_ Of course he was indebted to Maurice for the
inexplicable sounds he had heard. In early
years he had been quite skilled in ventriloquism,
and had been able to astonisb more than one
practiced performer by his wonderful command
of voice. Possibly he might yet preserve his
life by its possession.

The Indians all seemed in doubt whether this
strange echo had been the result of some dark
power possessed by the prisoner, but they agreed
that he’ was an extraordinary person. It was
finally decided to send for the medicine-women
of the tribe. and it was done at once.

They came, two old and wrinkled bags, whom
Maurice pronounced the worst specimens of
humanity he had ever gazed upon. The chief
informed them of his wishes at once, and with
mumbled sentences they came toward him.
Very fortunately for the youth, he had not one
particle of superstition about his nature.

 

The bags were very near him when the fierce

’sqiieaking of a pig beneath the feet of one

caused her to cry out, and spring to one side,
only to disclose the bare mat, of course. With
every movement the affrighted ones made,
came a fresh buist of pork music, now under
one, then beneath the other, till both of them
fled around the room in dismay, and finally
sought safety without. At the same moment
the squeals began in the vicinity of Maurice.
He sprung to his feet, whistled loudly, and com-
menced to dance. All became still in a mo-
ment.

The chief uttered a hurried command tohis
followers, and the young man was at once led
away to his prison. It Was evident he had
made an impression, but not so evident how it
would result.

 

CHAPTER IV.
HOW IT WORKED.

THE Indians who had charge of Maurice
Bryant. 1m iking within to see that all was right,
Llln‘ust him in, barring the door as soon as possi-

e.
died away, and then began to look around.

The light of day penetrated just sufficiently to
disclose the bare outlines of the place; in fact,
that was about all there was to disclose. The
four walls had been thrown up very strongly
and bcdaubed with mud to stop the crevices.
The purpose for which it had been built and
used. if used it had been, remained a mystery.

The roof had been formed of bark, which had
warped and cracked very much, but had been
too firmly fastened to fall off until it should be-
come deca ed, The door was built of heavy,
rough pla s, evidently riven from the log with
axes.

It was firm, and when the young man threw
himself against it with all his strength, there
was not the slightest effect produced. He
walked all about the four walls, carefully run-
ning his eyes over the surface, and when he
reached the point whence he had started, one
thing was very plainly demonstrated to him:

His only hope of escape was through the roof.

Rather a slender hope it seemed to a. man with
his arms bound behind him, in an Indian town,
with fifty miles of country—strange to him,
though familiar to his enemies—between him—
self and any white man.

The first thing to be considered—for Maurice
had determined upon escape—was to ascertain
if it would be practicable for him to leave the
place by daylight. He walked about it again,
peering through the crevices, and noting care-
sully the surroundings u 11 each side.

He found that it fee the village upon three
sides, which of course shut off all hopes in those
directions. But upon the fourth ran a brook,
dashing madly along, while beyond rose a dark
forest. The young man felt his strength renew—
ed by the pr0snect. If he could but place him-
self beyond that stream of water, he felt that he
would in reality defy any attempt of thesavages
to bring him back,

While he was engaged in these reflections. and
peering anxiously through the chinks. the
sounds of unharring the door reached his ears.
Quick as thought he turned to meet the intruder

The young man listened till their footsteps

 

1

  

12

 

Barney‘s Bold Brush.

  

 

for he had no wish to give them an inkling of
his lens.

6 was atified at finding that it was only a
guard of ndians bringing in his breakfast.
They bore it upon a broad slab of wood, which
they deposited upon the earthen floor and then
one of their number stepped forward to unbind
his arms. The prisoner could hardly contain
himself as he realized this piece of good-fortune,
The most important barricr to his success was
thus removed. He knew that a trusty weapon
reposed in his boot, and be determined to take a
desperate chance before submitting to be re-
bound.

But he was not necessitated to take any such
measure. The savages Set his arms free, and
then left him with the injunction to eat.

“ I wonder what scheme they’ve got in their
heads now,” he mused, as ti o red-men barred
the door from without. “But whatever their
scheme may be. I fancy one of the principal
actors will be missing. Let me see what they
have provided for food, and then I can try my
little plan.”

He found the provisions intolerable enough,
but he managed to pick out some morsels which
he could eat, and after this was done, he remov—
ed the pistol from his boot, and slipped it into a
pocket. convenient for use.

His next movement was to survey carefully
the surface of the ground over which it would
be necassary for him to pass, It was important
that he should know every move which he should
be obliged to make, and he also wished to be sure
that none of the red-skins were upon the look
out in that direction.

To reach the roof and remove sufficient of the
bark to allow him egress was no small task. In-
deed very few men, comparatively speakingr
could have done it, had their lives depended up-
on it. But Maurice was no ordinary man, and
had no ordinary reason for exertion. Placing
his toes in one of the chinks between the logs,
and his fingers in another. he slewlv worked his
way upward until he had reached the roof.

But here it required some time to enable him
to effect a footing. This he finally did by pa-
tient and careful efforts, Now for the roof. He
found this more of a task than he had antici-
pated. ' The bark had been fastened down firmly.
and, though warped and crackei by sun an 1
storm, it still retained its strength and adhere I
firmly. Maurice glanced along the entire ex-
tent of the overhead covering upon that side,
but it appeared weakest at the very point where
he stood.

He braced himself as much as possible, applied
his hand to one of the pieces. and lifted cautious—
ly. It bent, but did not break. Again and
again he repeated the effort, and was gratified
by partial success. The bark parted with a dull
crack, and he felt the pure air of heaven fanning
his brow once more!

Still the opening was not sufficiently large for
his egress, and he busied himself by breaking
away ieces, till it was of the proper size.
Meanw ile he had been scanning the route he
proposed to take, from his elevated position,
gpd hardly noticed anything transpirmg near

on.
Great was his surprise, therefore, when, on

 

pushing his head throu h the aperture he had
made, he observed an fndian just below him,
with musket presented. The young man hesi-
tated but a moment. Escape he must, quietly
if possible, by force if need be.

“Go back!” the Indian exclaimed, making a
threatening movement with his gun.

Maurice went back, far enough to shield him-
self while he pulled out his revolver and cocked it.
Then he looked forth and watched the savage’s
movements. Thus far the Indian had made no
effort to arouse his fellows, but he suddenly ro—
collected himself, and gave vent to a fearful
whoop of warning!

The yell was answered, and the prisoner could
hear the movement of feet in the village. What
he did must be done quickly.

The Indian was so occupied by giving the
alarm that be rather disregarded the movements
of the escaping prisoner. anrice saw it. and
acted upon it. Raising himself quickly above
the topmost log, he brought his pistol down
within six feet of the Indian’s head, and pulled
the trigger. There was the sound of a falling
body almost simultaneous with the report of the
wee. on, but the other did not stop to notice the
wor he had done.

Raising himself as quickly as possible through
the opening. Maurice sprung to the ground,
alighting without in‘ury, though the walls of
the but were high. , aving previously marked
out the course he would pursue. and assuring
himself that none of his enemies were in sight
before him, he sprun bold] across the stream,
scrambled up the rec y ban upon the opposite
side. and entered the forest.

A confused rabble of squaws and pappooses and
two warriors burst into sight as he was ascend—
ing the bank, but so great was the tumult among
them, that before the latter could raise their
pieces Maurice was dodging throuzb the trees.
They fired, however, one of the balls striking a
tree, the other whistling away harmlessly
through the forest.

Looking back, he saw that both of them were
in hot pursuit. While the multitude were follow—
in: behind, He feared that he should not be
able to keep pace with them in flight. but he
knew their guns were empty, and had no fears
of the result in a close encounter.

in a few moments he came to a ravine. and
this he entered, trusting to good fortune and his
charged revolver to bring him out safely. The
Indians separated, one running upon either
bank, and Maurice saw in a short time that they
were gaining rapidly upon him. Even now they
were almost abreast of him.

For the youth to bait and fire at the one upon
his left, who was almost directly above him, was
but the work of a moment. and the savage re-
ceived the ball in his leg. putting him hora du
combat pretty effectually. -

The other. hearing the report and very prob-
ably supposing the fugitive’s means of resistance
exhausted, came plunging: down the bank,
brandishing his hatchet and yelling with all the
fury of a demoni. But that which had arrested
the career of his companion put a stop to his
own.

He traveled for some time, until he fancied
that at least five miles must be placed between

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

   

A: :-x..-,_ f .._.

   

_. “a. ..._\.._._...... .n-...,....- m. :- “fin

:3.._~,_, f ._

Barney’s Bold Brush. 18

 

himself and the Indian village. It had taxed
him severely, and he began to feel more and
more the streets of his long march in coming
thither.

He was moving along at a tolerable pace,
keepiu a sharp lookout on all sides, when he
saw a. usky figure glide behind a tree at con-
siderable distance. While he stood watching
the spot, an idea occurred to him that he had
better seek shelter himself. He accordingly
step behind a tree, still keeping his gaze
flx upon that occupied by the stranger. A
moment later the barrel of a gun appeared, fol-
lowed by the scalp—lock of an Indian.

Maurice did not wait to see more, but marked
another tree standing in the same line some dis-
tance behind him, and throwing himself 11 on
the ground, began to crawl rapidly towar it.
A shot from behind plowed up the dirt close be-
side him. Evidently he had exposed aportion
of his bod , and thus drawn the fire of the sav-
age. He ooked quickly'behind, and saw, not
one, but five or six Indians coming rapidly down
upon him.

As he started to flee, the savages commenced
firing, one at a time, and very deliberately. It
cost the fugitive a shudder to hear the messen~
gers rush past him, every one Very close, and
one or two tearing his clothing' but, by a. sin-
gular good chance, not one struck his person.

Bryant soon found that he was not lon to
maintain that which he had gained. He lost
ground at every pace, and already could hear
the hard breathing; of the Indians behind. They
had em tied the r guns, and, without stopping
toreloa them, bent all their energies to run-
ning down the white.

The latter, indeed, felt certain that his last
moment had come. His strength was tailing
rapidly‘ in a feW° moments he would be hel
less, and at the mercy of his enemies. Won d
it not 'be better-to make all the resistance pos-
sible while he had strength? .

With a quick movement he stopped, and
turned to meet the exultant Indians. -

CHAPTER V.
0 N '1' n E 'r R A I L .

WALTER. MARSH and Barney Brooks traveled
along together in silence for some time.

They followed the traces of the Indians till
the reached the place where the stage had been
rob the night before. Here a fearful sight
met their eyes. The dismantled vehicle was the
first to attract their attention. Both of them
com rehended the situation in a moment. A
dea body lying close beside it came next. An.
other was in it, that of the unfortunate English
man, who had fallen an easy victim to the mer—
ciless wretches.

“ This ’ere is the driver,” said Barney, lifting

. up the form upon the round so asto view his
features; “ A good to ler he was. It is too
bad that they should knock over so decent a.
maul‘

Scattered around through the grass he found
three other forms, stifl an cold! Of those who
had been in the stage at the time of the capture,
only two could have escaped, and it was more

 

“Cruel, cruel,” murmured Walter, shocked
beyond measure at what he saw. “ The coach
robbed—passengers all n:assacr< d—horses stolen.
It is dreadful, Barney, dreadful!”

“Well, well,” growled Barney, “don’t git
womanish over it. You’ll see many a wuss sight
afore you git up to the Injun town and back!
Come, let’s go up into these oaks, and see what
the villains cut up there.”

,They found traces of their stay and general
rendezvous, too plain to admit of any doubt. It
only remained to seek the route they had taken
in departing. This was very soon found, and
after examining carefully in the vicinity, the
adventurers came to the conclusion that they
could have been gone no more than two hours,
if so long.

This we don’t see any traces of the sis," 113-.
marked Barney, running his eyes a ong the
route, as be had done since leaving Wharbufon.
“ But that is all nateral enufli Course they was ‘
took on ahead, maybe (.hcsses, far’s what we
know. Then them what comes along ahind ’11
cover up their trail, anyhow. Now what say.
Walter, shell we go on or not? Likely we shell
have to f0 ler ’em seventy-five or a hundred
miles, maybe more. If yer’ a-goin‘ tew back
out, now is the best time to do it, store ye git
intew trouble 1”

The dark—visaged speaker had regarded his
companion very closely as he proceeded, but if he
looked for any weakness or signs of indecision,
he was mistaken. The youth raised an honest
gaze to that of his interlocutor, and calmly
replied:

“ I thought all over afore I sot out, Barney.
I ain’t afeard o’ travelin’, for you know I am

cod at it: nor I ain’t afeard o’ red-skins neither.

don’t want to be killed by ’em of course, nor I
don’t intend they shall do it. am oin’ on; if
you are at all doubtful you are at h rty to go
when you’re a mind to."

“ Bosh, Walt; talk about my backin' eout.
Don't know any such word. I said Pat: goin’
with ye, and so I be; but I ain’t goin’ to bind
myself to nothin’. If I think it best to cut stick,
why I shall do it, and if you think I ain’t goin
on in jest the right way, and can‘t talk me out
of it, why, you are to hev the same chancel”

Walter’s countenance fell at this broad declar-
ation. If he understood the matter his com-
panion reserved to himself the fight of abscond-
mg whenever there should be danger, and leav~
ing the youth alone to face it. He did not fully
fancy such an arrangement, since it would
very' likely to bring unpleasant results: but
Walter was not dispoxed to ar e the point, and
so the matter was dropped. hey pursued the
trail till near noon, when they made a short
pause for the double purpose of rest and refresh-
ment, and when they set out again they felt
stronger and better for it. They traveled until
night. and still no signs of Indians’ presence. ‘

“We’d better stop here, I take it," said Bar-
ney. “ It will be hard followin’ the trail in the
night ’less a feller has owls’ eyes. ,It’s puttfi
sart’in we can’t overhaul the heathins now ti
they git home, and we may as well take things
can and keerful.”

 

than gohable that they were lying out in the
gran yond.

v

‘ That in jest my mind,” said Walter. “ We

 

 

   

l4

 

can’t be too careful, and it won’t be any advan-
ta eto go blunderin’ along in the dark.”

hey sought such rest as was possible under
the circumstances. Although this was the
second night since Walter had slept at all, he
could hardly close his eyes. The strange events
of the past twenty-four hours, the sudden tran-
sition from the hight of happiness to such misery
and uncertainty as was now his portion, almost
unmanned him when he came to lie and think
calmly about them.

But he slept finally, and his sleep was so sound
that he was only awakened by the harsh voice
of Barney, who was shaking him by the
shoulder.

" Come,” he said, “you’d better pile out and
eat some breakfast. 0 want to start as soon’s
it’s light enough to see a track in the mud.
’Cordm’ to my kalkilushin you'll see the. Injun
town afore sundown!”

Walter hastened to comply, and by the time
they had eaten theQning day lighted up the
east. They lost no tiinein starting, and followed
the trail with vigor till near noon. Then Barn

, ney stopped, and threw himself upon the ground
with a Sigh.

“ Whew-w-wl” he sighed. “ It’s hot and I’m
tired. Let’s rest awhile, Walt, and talk over
things a little.”

The young man was not positive as to what
Barney might want to talk over, but he felt that
a little rest would be very acceptable to himself
just at that time. So he dropped his rifle upon
the ground and stretched his tired limbs out at
full length upon the turf.

“Rec-kin you don’t know .jostly whar these
unallocated Arabs live up this way, do ye?"
Brooks asked, after a short pause.

“ I know n'ithiu’ about it,” returned Walter,
“ only from the trail we‘ve followed, and what
I’ve hearn people say.”

“ Tnar, ye see. 13 whar I’ve got a little advan-
tage,” pursued Barney. “I’ve been up here
afore, and know the lay of the land purty well.

e see, I came up lost your as a. sort of gin’ril
scout, to report what I could find. I run ucrost
the village they’ve got up here in the woods.
and staid around a day or two. S ) ye see I
ma:, know something that’ll be an advantage to

“ That’s so, Barney; why didn‘t you tell me
of this before?”

“ You see, Walt Marsh, I hadn’t got quite
ready to talk with ya about it. Ol’ course I
know ou’ll be perfectly wilhn’ to do what’s
right! a feller takes hold and helps ya in this
hereyjob.”

“ on maybe sure of that, Barney.”

“So I am. But you wouldn’t think I'd done
all whatIhave jest/for the fun oi.‘ the thing;
course you’d know better than that.”

The youth nodded his head in acknowledg-
ment, but he did not speak. He felt that he
understood with too much certainty what the
other was drivin at.

“ You know I’m like all other mortals-course
I be. Don’t the Bible say ’tain’t good for man
to be all alone? You know”—his voice sunk to
a. confidential tone—N you know I used to be
round arbor Fanny a little. I liked Fanny, but
I didn't care nothin’ about marryin‘ on her.

Barney’s Bold Brush.

 

  

’Tain’t so with your sister. Now come, what do
you say? S’posin‘ we git ’em away all slick and
sound, what would you think of me fer a
brother—in-law, hey 2”

“Of course I should not object to you fora
brother, if Ada felt so disposed.”

He regretted the words as they passed from
his lips but it was too late now to recall them.
He won d object most decidedly to any such
arrangement!

“ Of course you wouldn’t; you’re a. sensible
fellow, Walt. Now, what do you think the gal
herself would say to me?”

The youth was a little perplexed in what man-
ner to reply. He preferred not to oflend his
friend just now, for he felt how valuable his
services might be. On the other hand, he would
not give him encouragement which could have
no foundation.

“ I guess you don’t think I’ll stan’ much of a
chance with her,” said Barney, noticing his
hesitation. “ Now tell me honestly, wasn‘t that
about what you’se thinkin‘?”

“ I can’t deny but I was thinkin’ suthin’ of
that kind.” '

“Course you can’t, for anybody could see it
with half an eye. But I’ll tell you jest what it
all amounts to. You make sure to me that I
kin marry your sister when this thing is all over
with, and ‘11 help you along. What do you
say?

“ I have nothing to say in the matter,” re-
turned Walter. “ Ada must choose her hus-
band, and I ken tell you she will do it; my
promise wouldn‘t have no effect on her.”

“ But I tell you it will! Just make me that
promise, and I will stake my life the girl will
fall into it; I run the risk of that; you jest say
I shall hev her." ,

“ We don’t know she is here; we may not find
her. Well wait till we are certain of that.”

“ No we won’t. I say, peruidin’ she is here!
That’s what I mean. “ ’Tain’t more nor five or
six miles to the place. but I don’t _go a foot
nearer till you ma e me that thing sure. If on
can’t do that, I’ll go back, and you can wor it
out yourself; you know that was the under-
standing.” '

Walter did not reply at once. What could he
say but to tell Barney to go his own way! And
yet he disliked to do that nowl

He knew that if Barney should leave him he
would be utterly alone, and the thought was not
a pleasant one.

Before either had time to speak the low re rt
of a musket broke upon the air. It sound al-
most directly in advance of them.

“ That’s an Injin gun,” remarked Brooks, lis-
tening intently. '

“ What d’ye s’pose it means?” asked Walter.

“0h, probably nothing more than some one

shootin’ game. There goes another one, and
there is another. I tell you it’s. suthin’ we ain’t
pasted on.” -

Two or three more reports followed, seeming
to draw nearer and nearer and nearer. Tho'lis-
toners almost held their breaths with one use.

“ Look a-therel” suddenly exclaimed amey.
“ See that tellerl By the {umpin’ Moses, it’s a
white man, sure as you ive! See! and there

come the red hounds after him!”

  

 

 

 

\~—-w~t,l.. , . 

 

 

, ad shattered his shoulder.

Barney's Bold Brush. 15

 

Walter had seen the fa itive, and grasped his
rifle with eager hands. t was evident that an
adventure awaited them, thou? of what nature
it was difllcult to determine. e saw that there
were six of the Indians in pursuit, and that they
gained rapidly upon the fleeing white. The lat-
ter was shapin his course almost directly to-
ward them, an if his pressnt rate of speed be
maintained, it seemed evident that he would
reach them some yards in advance of his pur~
suers.

“ Of course we’ll help the teller—course we
will,” said Barney, in answer to the questioning
look of his more youthful companion. “Pity if
we two, with what tools we’ve got, ain’t a match
for a brush with half a dozen red-skins. Here’s
an old log: let’s git behind this.”

They did so, and by this time the fugitive was
within a little distance of them.

I: Are ye purty sure of ’em from here?” Barney
as .
“ I can pick out any one of the six, and take
him on the wing," was the confident reply.

“ Then do you take the hindmost. l’ll shoot fur
the fu’st one. for you know I ain’t quite that sure
with the rifle'you are. There now, git a good
sight on him, and when I blaze away do you fol-
low suit.”

They rested their rifles over the log, and were
in the act of taking deliberate aim, when a. sud-
den commotion among the Indians caused 3. cu-
riosity to see what afl‘ected them thus.

To their surprise, they saw that the fugitive
had faced about, and, with pistol in hand, stood
awaiting their coming. . '

“ He‘s a spunky one,” said Walter. “ Who~~
ever he is, I fancy he would give them a hard
brush alone You take the same man you had
before, and I will take mine. ' We’ll jes’ let ’em
know of our presence.” .

CHAPTER VI.
THE THREE.

THE two fired almost simultaneously. Wal-
ter’s man dropped in his tracks, while the other
gelled wildly from the effects of a ball which

The Indians re—
coiled in unbounded surprise. and remained mo—
tionless, hardly knowing whether to flee or to

11 ht.

g.l‘hey were soon decided by the ap arance of
two yelling whites, who rushed own upon
them with pistols in their hands. They would
not, of courss, flee from such numbers, and they
resolved to fight. But when another and am
other tell before the fast-repeated shots, they
broke from the place, and went howling through
tlhe forest, pursued by a trio of farewell pistol-
s ots.

As the reader well knows. the fugitive was
none other than Maurice Bryant. He had been

scarcely less astonished than the Indians at the ’

turn affairs had taken. But his emotions were
of a different natureyhe felt that deliverance
was at hand, and heat once pressed forward to
join in the conflict. '
The Indians had no sooner fled than he turned
to his deliverers, to thank them for the signal
service they had rendered bun. A mutual

5:;

 

reco nition between the younger two was the
resu t. .

“ Am I mistaken in calling you Walter
Marsh?” Maurice asked, as be grasped the out-
stretched hand of the burly youth.

' “ No, sir—e—e, you ain’t!” was the hearty re-
joinder; “ and I kalkilate I’m about right in
callin’ you Maurice Br ant?”

“ You are right, alter; and I need not tell
you I am glad to meet you, in more senses than
one. This, too, is a. brave fellow from What»
Luton,” he continued, turning to Barney, “ un-
less I mistake, though I cannot call to mind his
name.” ‘

“Then on don’t remember that old rough of
a Barney rocks?” that individual asked.

“ Oh, yes! 50 it is you. Barney? Give me
your hand. I am glad to meet both of you, and
especially glad of the aid you rendered me. I
'had just concluded to give up running, and try
the virtue of my revolver. But I am safely
clear of the Indians now.”

“ How in the world came you in this rt 0!
the country, and in such a. fix as this?" around-
ed Whiter. '

Bryant briefly related how he had been a pas-
senger on the stage-coach; how it had been as-
saulted by Indians, and himself carried ,a pris-
glne: to the Indian1 tgwnt; how he hind (map?

a morning, party s rategy an pa y y
force; and then he re ated the incidents of his
morning flight.

Walter listened attentively, and when Maurice
paused he said:

“ If you have just come from the Injin vil-
lage. I think it’s likely you can tell us som
thin’ of what we want to know.” ‘

“I will tell you anIythingIknow,” was the
auxilvg’er; “ but first to 1 me of Fanny—is she
we . -

Maurice noticed the ghastly look which passed
over the face of him whom he addressed, and be
cut short his question with a fearful foreboding '
at his heart. _

“ That’s what we want to find out about,”
Walter stammered. “ The Injins hev got her!”

“ Got her—not got Fanny?"

“ Yes, they hev," interrupted Brooks. “ I’ll
tell ye all about it, ’cause ye see Walt is a» leetle
womany on sech things, and he might not tell r
it 'est as fluent as a feller like me.” _,

hereupon he proceeded, in his own way; to
relate the occurrences of the birthday feet 111,
especmlly making prominent his own part in the
affair after the arrival of the savages. ’

“ Anybody knows I wouldn’t brag over my
own doin’s,’ he said; “ but 1 must say, honestly,
that I do believe if I hadn’t took a brush with
’em. and showed ’em that there was some men
in the lace, they’d ’a’ burnt down every house
and hi led every one of us—that’s a factl’? ‘ _ _

A sly glance exchanged between the listed
ers showed that both comprehended the speaker.

“ 80 Walt and I set out,” he concluded: by
saying, “ determined to fetch ’em back, 01'. also
leave our ashes out here in the woods. - He. had
a motive, and so bad I!” . - j

“ The body of the warriors had not returned
when I thok leaVe," shit} Maurice; .“Butiit is
probable they have come sincasxif you. have
traded them. Of coarse yourbest way will he

 

 

  

Barney’s Bold Brush.

 

tolpush right forward, and if you are willing, I
wi go back with you. My experience there
Imight be of some service to you, in the end.”

“ Coursc—sart’in; we’ll start right off—course
we will!” exclaimed Barney, uncertain whether
to feel displeased or otherwise at the appearance
of Maurice.

“AndI would suggest,” pursued the latter.
“ that we make a circuit, so as to come around
upon the other side of the village. Of course
they understand, by this time, that there are
enemies in this direction, and We shall be very
apt to encounter other parties of them; so that
my plan would be to go around bya detour,
and come in upon the north side.

This was good reasoning, and they proceeded

to act upon the suggestion. After reloading
such of their weapons as had been discharged,
and fproviding Maurice with a. gun from one of
the alien savages, they set out.
They traveled till near night, and by that
time ad reached a position of ' comparative
safety upon the north side of the Indian town.
They had been so fortunate as not to encounter
a single sava 8, though at the time when they
came in sig t of the town several were seen
00min in, whom they surmised to have been on
the out for themselves.

It was evident that there had been a large
influx of warriors during the day. and this fact
gave the scouts strong hopes that the maidens
had been brought in with them. They accord-
ingly fell back to a safe distance, where they
ate a hearty supper, and matured plans for
asceriltaining the whereabouts of those they
sou t.

Finally it was decided that MauriCe alone
should undertake the difficult tusk. The knowl—
ed he had gained during his own captivity

been such as to assist him materially, and
he had still some hopes of playing upon their
fancies and su erstitions in case of capture. As
it would be arkest in the early part of the
night, he resolved to set oi! as soon as darkness
should fairly clothe the earth.

There might be nearly two hours till that
time, and this he improved in sleep. Bein
awakened at the proper moment, he proceed
to the margin of the stream within view of
the town, and took a long survey of it through
the gathering gloom of twilight. All appeared
gluiet, and very few Indians seemed to be stir—

n .

gs went back to his companions. and reported
the state of alfairs. They saw by his very man-
ner that ho had more hopes now than at any
previous time.

“ I fancy that it will be perfectly easy for me
to ascertain whether the girls are there," he
said. “ I know All about the hut where they
will be most likely to be placed, and it may be
that I can get hem out without any trouble.
It I can do this I shall, and if not I will come
back, and we will consult over the matter. I
want to station you two down here just over
the crgek, so that we shall be convenient to each

1‘.
He led the way, and'when they reached the
brook he had crossed under different circum—
stances in the morning. he posted his two com-

 

panions behind a rock, and, after a few final
F...

instructions, placed his rifle beside them, as it
would be dangerous for him and could serve no
good purpose in the work bef re him.

Then he glided away wit a cautious move-
ment, and very soon his form was lost to view
in the dense darkness. For some time the twain
listened, but all was so perfectly silent that it
did not seem possible any person could be mov—
ing‘ amid the dark stillness.

hey had already begun to watch for the re«
turn of Maurice, when Walter fancied he heard
some movement in the Indian street. He placed
his finger warningl upon his compunion’s arm,
and together they listened intently to detect any
sounds which might give them a clew to the
cause of the commotion.

“I’m afeard Maurice has got into trouble,"
whispered Walter, very cautiously.

“ I know everything ain’t right,” returned
Barney, positively. “ See; them lights ain’t all
for uothiu'."

As he spoke, the light of three or four
pine knots was reflected from the water, above
and below them, and the watchers could see
dusky forms moving about the street in every
direction. r

“ They hain’t got him, yitl” whispered Walter.
“ Must be they hev found out he’s there. I Won-
der he'does not come back."

Meanwhile, the commotion increased, the
lights flow around faster, and soon they ap-
peared upon the opposite bank of the stream.

his was getting to be too much of a joke for
the twain in watching. At times the Indians
passed within a few yards of them, throwing
the light of their torches upon any object within
ran e.

et, there was one consolation. While the
search was kept up, they could feel sure that
Maurice was not captured. The only wonder
was that he had not come back to them, as
had been the agreement. There might be many
reasons, they well knew, for his having been un-
a'ule to come, but they would have felt more
easy if they had been made acquainted there-
with.

But the search was finally given over in that
vicinity, the fights withdrawn. and List again

revailed. For some time afterwar . the wait-
in}; ones listened and looked in vain for the ap.
pearance of Maurice. He did not come; and
the assurance they had felt that he was still
safe began to grow weaker.

“ I ain’t so sart’in,” whispered Barney, “ ’bout
his cittin’ away! I shouldn’t wonder a bit if
they’d put him out 0’ the way. Likely they’d
do it peaceful. ’cause he had fooled "em so once."

“ Oh.” exclaimed Walter, “ I hope not! Mau-
rice is too good and brave to fall by their hands.
It may be that he has been taken. perhaps; but
it can hardly be that he has been killed. Pos-
sibly he has been put into the same prison again.
Let one of us go over and see.”

“ I’m a little better ac uainted with the lay o’
the land'than you. Walt,‘ he said, “and if one
of us is to have a brush with the Injins. it had
better me. Now stay here till I come back,
’less the [ujins drive ye off, and don’t let'em
hev the guns then, if ye kin help it.”

With mutual professions of good faith, they
parted, Barney taking his way across the tur-

  

 

 

 

Barney’s Bold Brush. . 1'?

 

bulent run, and Walter waiting patiently the
development

Barney worked his way along very cautiously,
and finally he reached the walls of the hut.
There he lay for some time in perfect silence. to
make sure that he had given no alarm. Feeling
reassured utter a short pause, he applied his e e
to the lowest crevice in the wall. All was in y
blackness, but he fancied there was a slight
sound, either of a person breathing or of some
stealthy movement Within. Be lowered his
head, and remained for some minutes in a state
of suspense, then again raised his ear quietly to
the dark crevice.

The sounds had not ceased; on the contrary,
they were plainer than before. He was sure,
now that it was the breathing of some person.
Couldn’t it be that he had made the important
discovery that Ada and Fanny were close to
him-separated only by a barrier of logs?

The very possibility imbued him with an

earnestness he had not felt before. Perchance
himself alone would become the favored means
of their liberation! He dared to make no noise
which might indicate his presence till he had
satisfied himself in relation to the guards In:
dead, he almost expected each moment to hear
the re ort of a weapon from within, and to feel
himse 15 shot.
. Again he applied his eye to the aperture, but
it was utterly in vain that he sought to none
trate the gloom within. He moved carefully to
one side until he reached the end of the but.
He could see nothing, for inky darkness pre-
vailed. There were indications of a storm,
which he hoped would come, since it might as
sist him in his plans.

Believing the necessity of learning more of the
position of affairs, he began slowly makin his
way through between the prison-hut an the
one next to it. There was but little room;
indeed, he was almost forced to ueeze himself
along. But he worked his way noxselessly, keep-
ingashar lookout for any movement before
him. Pro ably he did not pay sufl‘icient atten-
tion to danger in other directions: at the least,
he soon found himself in a tight place, in more
senses than one.

The first premonition of danger was the sharp
barking of a dog. a few paces before him. Nor
was the animal alone. Through the aloom
Barney could distinguish several moving forms.
Gradually retreating and grasping his revolver,
he was not aWare of any danger in the rear till
he felt himself seized firmly hy the shoulders,
and thrown upon his back! The move was so
utter] unexpected, that he hardly realized the
fact ll he was past all resistance. Still, he
went through a Certain form. struggling with
all his might, which was far beyond the average
of strong men. .

Before he had really comprehended the dan—
ger, his hands were bound behind him in a man—
ner quite inful. His pockets and belt were
instantly rifled of all they held, and he was
marched swag.

Foratime ealmost fancied that he should
gain by his captivity, since he would be enabled
to learn who really occupied the prison-hut.
But he was doomed to disappointment in that

‘ respect, for he was taken away to another but,

 

where a light was burning, and where a swarthy
Indian at once mounted guard over him nith
his rifle at full cock.

Barney cowered into a corner and sat down,
fearing that every motion of the Indian would
explode his weapon. As it was pointed toward
him most of the time, it was no pleasant con-
templation.

 

CHAPTER VII.
EVENTS or A NIGHT.

LET us return to Maurice Bryant.

After leaving his fellows in readinesstoco—
operate with him, he stole across the brook, and
was soon ensconced in the very place which
afterward rovcd fatal to the safety of Barney
Brooks. is proceedings were very much like
to those of the last named individual, save. that
he was actuated by the best and noblest of
motives.

The first effort he made was to ascertain, so
far as 1possible, if the prison from which he. had
escape had been put in use again. He could
not tell from where he stood; but he was pretty
sure, when he viewed the place that afternoon,
that the roof had been repaired. If this were a
fact, it argued pretty strongly that inmates
were there, for he knew that the Indian was
not sufficiently zealous In the matter to have
repaired it without some strong reason for so
doing.

Maurice applied his ear to one of. the chinks.
and alter a pause he felt certain that he heard
the movement of parties within. Whether it
might be whites or lndians, he had no means
of determining, but he continued to list( 11.
Eoping something would transpire to enlighten

in).

All remained still save the same movement
now and then repeated. . He became impatient.
How should he ascertain what vexed him so
much? He had discretion enough not to whis—
per, and what other means to take he lmew not.
Probably an old scout, used to the business of
fighting and outwitting Indians, would have
been at no great loss for some expedient to solve
the mystery. But it was new business to
Maurice, and he hesitated to apply those tests
which presented themselves to his mind.

He felt. the danger of delay, and realized how
expectant his friends across the creek would i e
should he delay for any great length of time.
In placing his hand upon the ground it encoun
tered a small fiehhle, not larger than the end of
his thumb. ere was a suggestion. Perhaps
he could ascertain something y means of this.
He raised it in his hand. and pitched it upon the
roof. There was a gentle clatter upon'tbe bark,
and sounds of an uneasy movement within.
That was all.

He raised another, with the same result. Bow
provoking the silence of those within! Why did
they not speak, or make some exclamation to
assure him of their identity?

He had selected a third pebble, which he in-
tended to send inside, when he was conscious of
some movement not far distant He looked
quickly upon either Side, but could see no mov-
ing form. He was a little in doubt whether his
ears, rendered unusually acute by the excite-
ment under which he labored, had not deceived

 

 

18 Barney’s Bold Brush.

 

him, when he was suddenly convinced that he
was perfectly correct.

A ray of light was flashed through the chinks
of the cabin behind him, and u gnttural grunt
announced that he was discovered! This would
have been unpleasant enough at any time, but
just now. when he fancied himself upon the eve
of an important discovery, it was more than
unpleasant.

But the youth had no time to philosophize.
He must first seek his own safety. Creeping
along toward the street, choosing the bolder
way as less likely to be suspected. he passed into
the open space, and turned quickly down, past
the prison. He noticed that the door was
barred, and that was all, for he heard the
alarm sounding in a low tone from but to but.

He paused almost before the cabin occupied
by Eigle Nose, and stepped behind a corner of
it to consider. The occupant seemed to have
been awake, and just then he opened the door
and stepped out, taking his way rapidly toward
the scene of the tumult, to discover the cause.

M inrice felt determined not to leave the vil-
luze until he had accomplished his errand, un-
less the search became too strict. He fancied
tint by putting more distance between himself
and the place where he had been discovered, he
should be the better able to rejoin his compan-
ions, inform them of the fact, and then take
such oppportunity to prosecute his purpose as
should present.

He had started on ward with that intention
uppermost, when a savage appeared from the
door of a cabin almost .ppposite, bearing a.
lighted pine—knot in his hand. Scarcely real-
izing what he was going to do, Maurice stepped
within the open door of the chief’s residence.
He had done this to shieli himself from the rays
of the torch; but a second consideration pre-
sented itself soon. There was a dim fire which
shed its feeblelight War the apartment, and re-
vealed a large stock of plunder which had been
placed here for safekeeping—probably for dis-
tribution.

As Maurice stood looking' over the pile, which
filled at least a third of the but, a heavyr step
sounded at the door. In a moment more agle
Nose entered the apartment. He did not seen
as keen of vision as the bird from which he had
been named, inasmuch as he did not notice the
presence of the white, who had drawn back be
side the plunder, knife in hand.

Here was Maurice in something of a dilemma.
The chief turned and remained standing in the
door, waiting. fer the sic-rial of capture from his
subjects That was the only dour, and the
young man would much rather have been else-
where than in the abode of power.

He thought of his two companions, and the
danger the were in; but, knowing he could
not assist t em, he wisely began to look about
for some [place less exposed than that where he
now stoo . A few cautious glances revealed
the very place he sought. Underneath the pile,
or rather between two distinct piles. there was
an a erture into which he felt sure he could
easily rawl. This he at once proceeded to do,
sliding in feet foremost, Very cautiously; and so
occupied was Eagle Nose in watching t e search
without, that he had no suspicion how impor-

 

tant was the game that was burrowing in his
pile of plunder.

Maurice bestowed himself so that he could
watch the movements of his host, and yet with—
draw hia head at the first sign of discovery.

The chief stood in the door for some time, and
then he entered the cabin, followed by half a
dozen braves. Maurice kept a jealous eye upon
their motions. The door was shut, and the
braves sat down to counsel!

For a very long time the conference continued.
It seemed to Maurice that it would never break
up. Allwas still without, and he longed to be
about the old prison again. It held a. secret he
felt bound to solve. But his prospects could
scarce be called encouraging. The seven Indians
finally se arated, and made toward the door.
But no—t ey are invited to remain! Such a re-
quest can not beevaded. The Indians advanced
to the pile of plunder, and selected such articles
as they wished, then threw themselves upon the
flgor,land rolled the blankets and quilts about
t em

Maurice felt that his situation was growing
critical. He could not remain where he was
until morning, and how to leave the place?——
that was the uestion.

Perhaps hal an hour had assed, and most of
the Indians were sleeping. here was still a lit—
tle fire in the opening which could scarcely be
called a chimney, and the youth he an to turn
his attention toward that. One 0 two plans
alone seemed likely to work. If he could get out
throuvh the chimney, he might burn his way
outi . is would be very hazardous, but quite
preferable to remaining there all night.

While bu =y with these reflections, he heard a
tumult without. His heart told him the reason.
One or both of his comrades had gotten into
trouble! The Indians heard the same/ sounds,
and several of them arose and went out. To the
infinite annoyance of the man beneath the bun-
dles, two of them persisted in sticking to their
blankets.

But when one of their number returned, and
muttered a joyful sentence in gutturals, they
sprung up and hastened into the open air. This
was an opportunity Maurice must not lose. He
drew himself forth, glided along the wall, and
looked out. One or two Indians were just pass-
ing, and, as they hastened into the shadow,
Maurice glided from the cabin, where he had
been so long an unsuspected guest.

Instead of seeking his own safety at once. he

preferred to see what he could discover in that
regard. Keeping in the shadow, which did not
require much eflort. he followed in the direction
‘he had seen others take, and soon beheld the
cause of all the tumult.
' Barney Brooks was in the midst of the motley
crowd, bound and disarmed! The 1i ht of the
pine-knots revealed, these facts. '21!) Maurice
waited until he saw him disposed of. The In~
dians then scattered to their homes, and the
whife drew back till quiet should be restored
aga n. -

He had not very long to wait, for most of the
Indians, as he had conjectured, were well worn,
and anxious for rest. Within ten minutes after
Barney‘s imprisonment Maurice was crouched
beneath the walls of the-hut. The flaming torch,

Lg...un my...“ J_

wHNAs_QM_a—M ' A

 

fir?“

<merfiuécficfimx _

 

 

Barney's Bold Brush.

19

 

which had been ut there as an additional secur-
ity, gave him a ull view of all within the apart—
ment. He satisfied himself that but a single
red—man was within. He seemed unusually fe-
rocious, and there was no need of a prophet to
predict that his ferocity would soon ooze out.

ill such time it would be better to delay all
operations. Quite possible it was that the guard
might become drowsy within an hour or so.
Meanwhile, Maurice was ver anxious to see
Walter, and communicate wit him upon the
matter of further action.

Taking a wide circuit, so as to avoid all fur-
ther encounters with the red citizens, the young
man made his way as rapidly as consistent with
the utmost caution toward the trysting rock,
where he hoped, et hardl expected, to meet
the honest young arsh. ut, upon nearing the

lace, he was conscious of a movement, and
new that either friend or too must be
there.

“ Walter!” he muttered. in a low tone, keep-
ing sheltered trom a treacherous shot.

“ It is Maurice!” joyfully but not boisterousl
exclaimed the watcher. “ Or is it you, Barney?’
as a doubt seemed to cross his mind.

“ It is Maurice,"1 was the careful reply.

The two met and grasped each other warmly
by the hand.

“ I am so glad ye’ve come.” said Walter, “ for
I began to git blue. Seemed as though we’d all
been doomed!”

“ Barney has had a little bad luck,” said the
other, htopefully; “ but I think our prospect is

e . ,

“ e is a prisoner?”

“ Yes, at present. But I know how he is situ-
ated, and if I am not mistaken, can get him
away from them without any trouble.”

“That is good. What did you find out be-
sides that?”

“ Nothing 'tive,” replied Maurice; and
then he relut the events of his sojourn in the
Indian village.

Walter listened with an interest as intense as
though he was really taking in the scenes. When
the recital was ended he clapped his hand heart-
ilyu on his companion’s shoulder.

“ and for you, my down-east friendl" be ex-
claimed; “ you ought to fight Injinsl You are
asi ht smarter than that Luther-stockin’ you
r to me about once, years ago; and they
thought he was so smart they had to print his
doin s l”

“ There is every prospect that we shall have
all the fighting we wish for before our mission
is accomplished," said Maurice. *‘ I hardly
think, from the experience we have had thus

'far, that either of us would prefer making a life-

business of it.”

“I’m certain I should not. I am half~froze
now. Maurice. What are we goin' to do next?
I want some shake in, 30‘s to thaw me out a lit-

e. -

“ Our first move will be to get Barney away
from them. That I can best 0 alone. When
that is done we must attend to the other matter
without any delay. {or a great deal of the night
has been wasted already.”

"It seems likely for a storm, too,” remarked
Walter, glancing at the black canopy overhead.

 

“ How the wind whistles—and I felt a drop of
rain then. We shall have it right away!”

“ Let it come. Nothing could be better for us
than a moderate storm. Its noise will drown
any movements we make, and the Indians will
hardly care to turn out on mere suspicion.”

“ Only it will be so disagreeable for the girls,"
sug ested Walter.

“ 9 will not make any calculations over
them till we are a little more sure that they are
here. But in any case, I think they will prefer
storm with us to shelter with the Indians."

The evidences of a storm became stron er
each moment. The wind swept along wil y,
and big drops of rain began to patter through
the trees and upon the ground. The strifept
Ego elements was the very thing Maurice wished

see.

He gave a few parting directions toWalter,
and then set ofl? to attempt the dheration of
Barney. He took a circuitous direction, for he
felt that everything depended upon the utmost
care. A single disaster might mar all their
plans—it would be pretty sure to end their opera-
tions for the night, at least—and the idea of an-
other day’s suspense was unbearable.

Carefully approaching the but where the
prisoner was—and here Maurice owed the In—
dians for guidance, since the torch-light shin-
ing through the chinks guided him directly to

the place—~he crept up cautiously, and applied
his eye to the chinks.

As be suspected, the relative positions had
changed considerably during his absence. The
guard was sleepy and stupid, and sat upon a
block of wood, nodding dreamily. Barney had
scarcely moved, and from his present osition
Mafiurice could not tell whether he was as eep or
no .

 

CHAPTER VIII.
SOMETHING on NOTHING.

KNOWING that the night was passing rapidly,
and determined not to delay one moment longer
than should be really necessary, Maurice moved
down to the corner next to Barney, and applied
his mouth to a crevice just behind the captive’s
ear.

“ Barney," he whispered, cautiously.

There was no response. Eviden y be was
asleep, or so near it to be regardless of what
was passing. _

A little search revealed to Maurice along
splinter, which he pushed throu h the opening,
and gave Brooks a sharp punch 11 the shoulder.

Barney sprung to his feet with a jump, though
he realized in a moment the cause. The Indian
also started up, rubbed his eyes, and brought
his gun to bear upon the captive.

“ Keep still,” whispered a voice just without,
which the white heard but the savage did not.

“ Blast it all, whzlit  aB feller basil: he
tries to s eep any w arne , sin ing
back, and laying the sifireo of his head" up to one
of the broadest openings. ,

“ Wait till he gets quiet,” uwhispered the
voice; “then put up your arms so that I can
cut them loose. or course you can dispose of
him without an noise then?”

They did not ave very long to wait, for the
Indian was sleepy. and 1001: nodded upon his

 

   

20

 

block again. Barney at once raised his hands
to the crevice, and in a moment he felt his
hands loosen. Then something was placed in
his hand, and upon closing it be grasped the
handle of a heavy knife.

“ Be careful,” was whispered.
around and let you out."

Barney waited a moment, until he saw the
sentinel’s head begin to bend; the he sprung
upon him with the fury of a tiger. Clutching
his throat with his left hand, he plunged the
knife into his bosom, and the brave lay dead in
a pool of his own blood.

At the same moment he heard the bane
moved from the door with a jar, and the door
itself was thrown open with a. bang.

“He ain’t very knerful hisself," thought
Barney, as he saw the form darken the opening.

It gave him a slight start when he looked up
and beheld a. tall Indian stalking in, instead of
the white man he had expected to behold!

As Maurice moved cautiously around to un-
bar the door. he was a little startled at finding
three Indians standin near it. The light which
shone through the c inks enabled him to dis—
cern them before he had betrayed himself. He
paused for a. moment, to note the prospect, he
tore deciding upon any course of action. This
enabled him to see that they were conversing
earnestly upon some subject and seemed much
excited. *

Before he could form any plan of action, they
separated; two of them passing by where he
stooii, while the third unbarred the door and
entered the cabin. With quick bounds Maurice
spruugupm the intruder, clubbing his pistol,
which was the only weapon he now possessed.

Fortunately he entered close behind the In—
dian, before he had time to make any comments
or raise an outcry. While he stood gazing in
wonder and alarm at the spectacle before him,
acrushing blow from Maurice’s heavy pistol
knocked him senseless upon the floor.

“He is safe," said Maurice. “Let him lie
there, while we attend to making our escape.”

Then Barney stepped out after his liberator,
the door was barred as it bad been, and they
took their way rapidly around toward the rock
where Walter awaited them.

' They reached the rock in a short time.
Walter was faithful to his post, busily engaged
in keeping the guns dry, and watching for his
com anions and danger.

“ o soon i” he said, with pleas‘mt surprise.
“ I didn’t look for ye for an hour yitl”

“We are here,” said Maurice, “ and all ready
for action. We must make haste, for morning
cannot be a great way off. Wait here a min-
ute,and I’ll make known my plan,” said he,
springing away.

He returned in ashort time withnstrip of
resinous pine, which he proceeded to split with
a knife into long, thin rods.

" My plan is this.” he said; “I know it’sa
trifle risky, but we must take more or less risk.
In the first place. we must see the inside of that
but, yonder. ‘Vhen we’ve done that we can
plan further. Now, let one of us light a strip
of this pine, and put it through the cracks upon
the rear side. The others lie ready to see every-
thing assoon as the light strikes it. Then we

“ I will come

Barney’s Bold Brush.

 

  

will strike for this place and compare notes.
Cannot that be done?"

Both of them declared that it was the very
thing. Walter at once offered tofurnish the
light, while his companions should scrutinize
the interior. Although admitting that there
was danger in the lan, none less dangerous or
more certain could devised.

With the silence of specters they glided to
their appointed places. The storm was now
snificiently furious to drown all noise of chance
footfalls, and yet the rain did not come in such
volumes as to preclude the igniting of the
splinters. This was the most difficult task of
all, requiring a nicety of operation, and the
utmost care to prevent the manipulator from
being revealed by his own light.

His very first efiort was successful. He
brought the splinter to a light blaze, and thrust
it carefully between the logs, far enough for its
rays to light up the interior of the hut. Being
satisfied that his portion of the task was per—
formed, and Well, he turned and glided quickly
back to the trysting-place.

In a few moments he was joined by the others,
who came in highly elated at the success of
their Ian.

“ hat did you discover?” he asked, in a pain-
ful whisper.

“They are there!" was the joyful return.
“ Ads and Fanny, with two Indian rds.”

“Oh, heaven be praisedl And 0 you sup-
pose wc can get them away?”

“I think so. Now for my plan. We must
scheme some, and use some force, no doubt.
But, let one of us go up to the further end of
the village, and make some commotion there.
If he could set a cabin on fire, it would be one
of the very best things possible. Then hurry
back to us, and while the Indians were busy
with the burning cabin, we would undertake to
get out the prisoners. I think the plan might
be made to work.”

“Tint is a blamed good plan," said Barney.
“I Want tobe the one to 20 up to set ’em a-
smokin’ By the Snappin’ Dragonsl but won’t
I do it in fine style?"

By this time it was evident that the Indians
were making another search. They passed
around the hut containing their prisoners, and
cum} to the creek, but by some fatality failed
to cross it, as before. They were certainly puz-
zled beyond measure by the strange proceed-
ings, though the exact light in which they
viewed them could not be known to the adven—
turers.

Of course while they were busy in this por-
tion of the village would be an excellent time
to createadiversion nonve. Barney took the
materials for igniting, and Set off, glorying
over the desolation he would spread. In case
neither of them made any protracted stay, a
place of rendezvous was appointed near by, and
the entrance to the gulch where Maurice had
shot the two Indians would be their place of
meeting, should they fail to come together at
the first-mentioned locality.

Maurice and Walter now drew back to await
the operations of their ally. As his enterprise
would r uire some time for development, they
convers in low tones for a few moments.

 

 

 

i
i
,

   
  
  
  

   

 
   

 

 

 

 

  

“ Gracious, how the wind comes!” Walter re-
marked, as a gust more powerful than any they
had yet experienced swept over the wood and
soughed away upon the o posite side of the vil-
lage. “ I’m almost afrai it will bother Barney
to 11 ht his fire.”

“ o danger of that," said Maurice, who re-
collected the vengeful malice with which Bar-
ney had murdered the Indian. “ He feels too
sore over his imprisonment to slop short of
death. I fancy it must be almost time for him
to be making a stir.”

But the moments rolled away; half an hour
passed, and still no signs of Barney. The
watchers began to grow uneasy. Possibly some
danger had befallen him which had not been
calculated upon.

“ Hadn’t one of us better go and see what the
matter is l" Walter finally suggested.

He had been inactive so long, that be real]
began to feel concern lest their plan should fai ,
after 8.11..

“It would be useless,” said Maurice. “ I do
not think he has been discovered, or we should
have heard some commotion. As for finding
him. it would be about like looking for a nerdle
in the same place. No. we must wait for him.
and if nothing transpires for a little time to
come, I will go up and see what it means, if it
be possible to ascertain.”

‘ Must be daylight soon,” continued Walter;
“’tis time he was here, or time he was doin’
somethin'. We shall he catched in the act, and
hev to lay over till another night. By that
time it will be too late!”

“’Sh I” cautioned the other. ” I thought I
heard something. There—don’t you hear it
now?"

Walter bent his head, but he had no need of
close listening. He could hear the movements
of several men, and gathered at once that they
were crossing the creek, and scrambling up the
ascent just before them.

The truth of the matter, which they did not
knOW, was that a curious Indian, more inquisi-
tive than his fellows, had penetrated sufliciently
near to hear the whispered Conversation of the
scouts. Fearing to risk his single arm in an en-
counter, he hastened back, and after alarming
several of his brethren, led them toward the
white men with more precipitation than pru-
deuce.

Maurice was first to really comprehend the
peril of their situation, and without a word he
grasped his companion by the arm, and they
moved away as rapidly as consistent with per-
fect silence.

Searcer were they a rod away when the In-
dians rushed u n the place where they had
been sitting. he fugitivrs heard the move—
ment, and then a rofound silence, as the In-
dians lealized that t eir prey had fled. Follow-
ing this cameo. quick buzz of wonder and in-
quiry, which they did not stop to hear.

Then the savages separated, and began a rapid
search in the vicinity, extending their move-
ments right and left, but scarcely penetrating
the forest at all. Of course such a plan would
never find those who had the advantage of an
impenetrany dark background. _
Evidently the savages had begun to give over

 

 

 
   

Barney's Bold Brush. 21

the search, when a fresh commotion, which the
whites heard with joy, arose from the upper
portion of the village. Believing that those of
whom they were in quest had fled to that place,
and were engaged with their fellows there, the
Indians scattered in that direction without de—

ay.

The whites, crouching and chilled by the
storm, hailed their relief with quiet expressions
of satisfactionl

Adnsky light, barely sufficient to reveal a
heavy column of thick smoke, showed that Bar-
ney had not failed in his task. The tramp of
Indian feet from every direction could beheard,
all hastening to the source of tumult.

The time for the last important attempt had
come. _ .

CHAPTER IX.
THE RESCUE. ‘

WE left the maidens, Ada and Fanny, at the
moment when Walter Marsh encountered the
Indians in the back entry, on the night of
Wharbuton’s sorrow.

With apprehensions of immediate massacrp,
they fled into the room from which they had
just come, and where two savages were busy
with the work of pillage. The some at the mo-
ment of their entrance would have been Worthy
an artist, and must have provoked a smile from
the maldens themselves, had they not realized
too fully their danger to think of anything else.
One of them had found the violin which Vl’alter
had discarded. and the other held Jcfl.’ Flagg’s
Violoncello. The relative sizes of the “ fiddlcs ”
made all the difference in the world as to thcir
treatment. While the former was infolded in
the Indian’s brawny arms with the utmost care
and solicitude, the other red-skin was hacking
away with his hatchet at the scrolled and paint—
ed head of the larger instrument.

They relinquished the strange wooden images
when the maidens entered the apartment, and
both sprung toward them. The girls attempted
flight, but they were confussd, and before a
move had been made a savage grasped each by
the shoulder.

“This squaw minel" exclaimed the one who
had hold of Ada.

“ What for?" demanded his companion.

“Take her home to live in my Wigwam.
Make her Ini‘in sqiiawl"

The other ooked at Fanny for a moment, fln—
gering his hatchet meanwhile; then a sudden
resolve seemed to possess him.

“80 me, too 1” he exclaimed, with energy.
“ Me no take scalp—me take squaw I"

And he laughed with a low chuckle at his
witticism. ,

The maidens could only tremble with a terri-
ble dread, and watch the movements of their
captors. They hoped to hear Walter coming,
and yet how impro able the prospect of his van.
quishing those whom he had metl

They were not allowed to await his coming,
however, for they were instantly hurried from
the room, out into the street, where death's car-
nival reigned midst flame and smoke, down to
the end 0 the settlement, where sevg'al horses
had been collected. ’
Selecting two of them, their captors placed

 

 

  

22 I ‘ Barney’s Bold Brush.

 

 

the half insensible forms upon them, leaped up
themselves, and rode rapidly away in the direc-
tion of the oak opening whence the gang had
marched upon the mission of destruction.

Here they paused in an obscure part of the

rove, and waited the arrival of their arty.

he by one they came, and finally in arger

oups, laden with plunder, leading horses and
giving a few cattle. When the party had col-
lected, the word was given and they set off, a
little before dayli ht broke over the scene.

It was a long, ard ride for the maidens, but
they bore up under it as bravely as poss1ble.
Yet when night came, and they had not reached
their destination—when in the morning it was
renewed and continued for hours, they began
to feel that hope had fled.

It was noon, or about that, when they reached
the filthy Indian town. They were taken in
charge by those who had brought them hither,
and placed in the prison-cabin. Here they were
informed in broken English, they would be kept
till their spouses should build a cabin, and then
they would be taken to preside over it! Com-
forting assurancel

And night came on, finding them broken—
hearted and desponding. They made a bed of
such materials as they were allowed, and lay
down, clas din each other’s arms. Of course
they hear the tumults with which the night
was rife, but knew not that they were an unu<
sual feature in Indian existence.

They were startled when the blazing fagot
was thrust in close beside them, and sprung to
their feet, fearing some attempt at conflagra-
tion. But they heard no more, and had begun
to think that it mi ht be the pastime of some

Indian lad, when the apparent concern of their
guardians gave another train of thought to their
minds. _

“Fanny, do you suppose it possible we can
have friends a out this forsaken place—white
men. I mean?” Ada asked, after a time.

“ I don’t know,” Fanny returned, somewhat
surprised at the uestion. “ What has occurred
to cause you to t ink so?"

“ I guess it‘s all a foolish fancy," was the an-
swer; “but I imagined it might have been a
white man that pushed that light through the
logs. Of course it couldn't have been; but who
else would do any such thing?”

“ I‘m sure I don’t know. But it couldn’t be a
white man; just hear how the wind blows —and
it rains, too! They would hardly be out such a
stormy night, even if they were near.”

Perhaps she thought so~perhaps she did not.
The fact was, both of them reflected that they
had entertained rather an unreasonable idea,
and were thinkingby all possible arguments to
dispel the thou h to which their hopes would
cling, despite t em.

The storm continued, with increasing fury,
and the anxious girls listened to every passing
footstep. There were manv of them. for, as we
said, it had been a night of commotion in the
Indian town. But their friends, if they were in
the vicinity, as their hopes told them, had not
come yet.

Let us return to them.

“ Come,” said Maurice; “ the critical moment
has arrived, We must trust to our own daring

to carry us through. We will 0 en the door,
and it is very probable one of t e guards will
make his appearance. If he does, knock him
down with the breech of your gun, anal mind
that the blow is heavy enough to leave him
there. Then we must be guided by chance!”

They hastened down the declivity, and were
soon across the creek. Here they proceeded
with more caution, and it was some time before
they were ready for action. They found the
door unbai'red upon the outside, and they
thought it possible that it might be secured
within. But when Maurice placed his hand
upon it, he found that it yielded to his pressure.

“ Now i" he whispered, and with a dismal
creuk the heavy door was thrown open.

One of the Indians grunted something in an
angry tone; but, receiving no answer, he arose
and stuck his head out at the opening.

This was the very thing they had calculated
upon, and, in accordance with his instructions,
Walter’s gun fell with crushing weight upon the
exposed cranium. His companion had not been
far behind, but the first intimation of danger
which he received was the sound of the blow
which knocked down the foremost.

With true Indian instinct, he gave a yell, and
discharged his gun; but the ball passed harm-
less] y, and the next moment another went hurt-
ling through his own brain. It hnd'not been
their intention to use firearms, but the savage
had taken the initiative, and they had no choice
but to leave the place as soon as might be.

“ Fanny—Ada—where are you ’9‘"

“Here we are,” was the reply, in tones so
tremulous as scarcely to be distinguishable.

“ Then hasten, if you would be savedl”

They needed no incentive, beyond the mere
assurance that friends were with them, and in a
moment one of the deliverers held a hand of
each, and the party was rapidly making its way
toward freedom.

a. single Indian, who had been attracted by the
firing. He could not see with any degree of
distinctness what it was that he would encoun-
ter, and it is very doubtful if he ever knew. for
Manrice’s rifle descended upon his head with
crushing power. He, too, tell senseless, and
they pursued their way, making for the first
place of rendezvous.

On reaching it, they found that Barney was
not there; but they could not wait for him, and
taking his gun, which had been secured against
dampness, they set out toward the ravine.
They could hear savages hastening, or fancied
they could hear them, toward the last scene of
disturbance: but in the profound darkness
which prevailed, they knew it would take some
little time for them to learn the true state of
affairs. Every moment which they might gain
now would be an advantage. and their greatest
hope lay in putting a good distance between
them and the Indian village before morning
light dawned, when the Indians would have all
the advantage if they should undertake the pur-
suit, which was hardly to be doubted.

Their progress was necessarily slow, and
quite providential was it for them that the
storm covered the noise they were constantly
creating. But, excited and fearful as they were,

 

 

Soon after quitting the but, they encountered '

    
  
     

 

  
   
  
  

    

  

E

 

 

 

   

 

, Barney’s Bold Brush. 83

 

both the tardiness of their pace and the tumult
consequent upon their stumbling and slipping
continually, seemed increased ten-fold.

Maurice led the way, and directed their
course toward the dark ravme. Having passod
over the ground under the circumstances in the
morning, every foot of the surface seemed im-
pressed upon his memory, and he felt sure they
were taking the right direction, though he
could not discern even an outline of the forest.

At length he_found that they were on the side
of a steep decliv1ty. and he cautioned his com-
panions to remain where they were for a mo-
ment, until he had made an exploration. Then he
moved carefully down the abrupt bank, and
was gone some moments.

“ Come,” he said, on returning, “ we must
let ourselves down this grade with care, for it is
quite steep. We struck a trifle high—the ravine
is some rods away. Follow me.”

They moved with care. and in a short time
had the satisfaction of finding the bottom of
the gully. They could now move onward with-
out much difficulty, and as the course before

them was direct, they would avoid the danger ‘”

of wandering at random.

“ Shall we proceed at once, or shall we wait
for Barney?" asked Walter.

“ No, we’ll not wait,” said Maurice. “ If he
finds the ravine he will have no impediment,
and can follow as fast as may be. If he should
go Wide it would be time lost to us, and of no
advantage to him.”

For some time the toiled up the ravine,

stifled that no soon 3 of ursmt were heard,

ut alarmed that Barney id not come. The
thought that he had periled his life, and per-
chance lost it, for their sakes, was especially
distressing to the maidens.

“ I hope no harm has befallen Barney,” laid
Fanny. “ He is so kind and brave. If he is
wild and reckless, there are enough men who
are worse.” I. 7

“ Yes, that is true, Fanny.” Ada re lied.
“ And i! he were ever so had, I shoul not
wish harm to come to him, after the part he has
taken in securing our deliverance from the In-
dians.”

But no Barney appeared. They listened as
closely as possible with their own progression,
but no sounds, either of pursuing red-men
or their absent comrade, were wafted to their
ears. '

At length Maurice noticed that the tree-tops
were becoming more distinct, and he knew that
day was at han . He called the attention of his
companions to t a fact. I

“ We have no time to lose,” he said. “ We
must hasten along with all speed. But I do not
feel righttoleave without knowing what has
befallen Barney. It you, Walter, Wlll see to
the women. I will wait or go back, as occasion
may seem to require, and endeavor to ascertain
what has become of him."

“ No, no, dear brother!” interposed Fanny.
“ You must not go back again into such
perils! Oh! I cannot lose you now~indeed I
cannot!” _

“ But it would not be generous in me to desert
a friend in the hour of dan e13". replied Maurice,
firmly. " He has put his its in penl for our

 

safety, and we ought at least to reciprocate the
action.”

“Let me go back,” said Walter. “ Maybe I
kin help him if there should be any trouble.”

But the venture was not to be required.
The light had increascd rapidly, and objects
at considerable distance were plainly discerned.
Maurice was looking anxious y around for any
traces of Barney or of Indians, when he saw a
form suddenly move at a considerable distance
above them. He was uncertain as to its identi-
ty, and, with rifle raised, awaited a demonstra—
tion.

In a short time the form of Barney appeared
in plain sight. He cast a quick glance around,
and then commenced descending rapidly.

“ All right here. How is it with on?”

“Jest the same, though it’s a arned hard
time I’ve had a—findin’ ye. But ye did the thing
up rand, I'll be burnt alive if ye didn’t."

“ e were very fortunate,” said Maurice.

“Ye war more than fortinate: ye ‘did the
thing up handsome. How d’ye do, Ada and
Fanny?" he said, with his politest bow.

They returned the greeting, and profl‘ered
their hands, which he shook with respectful
fervor.

“I’m darned glad to see ye so fur safe,”he
said. “ But I won’t be out of the way in tellin’
ye that it's best to hurry, for the red-skins won’t
be lookin‘ for ye long, now it’s light, afore they
find ye.”

The party had lost no time during the brief
conversation recorded, but had been picking
their way over the rough stones and along the
slippery path.

“ I’ll give ye my advice on another thing,”
said Barney, as he glanced around. “That is
that ye’d better get out 0’ this heathin place
now, for it’s becomin’ clayey, and every step ye
make will be as plain to the Injins as a rinied
book. Out on the leaves they can’t trac ye so
well.”

As this advice was sound, they climbed from
the ravme, which ran nearly in a southern
direction, and bore away more to the westward.
While this was not so direct a route to What—
buton, it was deemed safer, for various reasons.
They found the travel much easier, and actuated
by the hope of safety, the party was enabled to
get over the ground at a good rate. They [)9-
gen to flatter themselves that they should give
the Indians 3 strong pull. even if finally over-
taken. In that ease, they felt how desperately
they would fight before again surrendering to
their ferocious enemies. ndeed, it would e a
matter of life or death in any case, smce they
felt sure that t eir enemies must he so doubly
aggravated by t is time that they would not
spare the lives of the whites for a Single mo-
ment. should they, by any mischance, fall into
their hands, after the trouble they had already
given them.

 

CHAPTER X.
STRATEGY.

“I s’rOsn you'd like to know how I made out
up there," said Barney, after they had reached
more tolerable walkin , nodding in the direction
of the Indian town, ‘ and how it come to take
me so long?”

  

  

24

They assured him that the recital would be
agreeable, and he continued:

“ You jest keep a lookout for the red—skins.
and I’ll tell ye about the operation. Ye see I
went oil on a purty good circle, ’causc I knew
that would take me thnr the quickest; in the end.
I come down along, an‘ crep’ in behind one of
the huts. There was no chance thar for me,
’cause I couldn’t think 0’ settiu’ big wet logs,
which were gittin’ wetter an’ wettcr all the
time, afire, with the tools I had on hand. So I
seen all that war to be seen thar, and then I
come down to the next one. Thar I found is
confounded do , and he kinder snuffed as if all
wa’n‘t right toiis eye. I s'pected he’d raise the
mischief with my plans; but he didn’t. He
kinder looked me over, an' I him, till I says to
myself, ‘Come, Barney; it’s no place around
here fur sech as you, with that cur‘s eye on

e!

“I tuck ofl‘, and the dog bed wisdom enough
to stay whar he was. I went along by two more
of the esky holes. and I’ll tell ye, he s, I began
to thin I shouldn’t raise a light. ’sea leetle
al‘card about tryin’ it out’n doors, ’cause every
thin was so wet. But jist then I cum to a
shanty half-full of plunder what the lnjins had
robbed our folks of, and here I began to wonder
if I couldn’t make a raise. ’Twas jist the place,
but how to dew it—that was a poser!

“When I’d looked ’round a bit, Iseen that

th 1r war not less’u five or six red~skins bunkin’
‘round, ani I wanted to smoke ’em out wuss nor
ever. By ’n’ by I looked along, and found a
place where I could tuck in a splinter to good
advmtage. Ironly had it lit! Thet was all
the trouble. It was back so‘t none of the Injins
inside could see it, nor they couldn‘t see what I
was about, neither. I pulled out a match,
'tucke-i it through. so’t the rain wouldn’t hit it,
and tried to light her. Off she went. arter a
while, with sech a racket that I reckoned the In-
jins would hear it; but they kept still, anal I
dropped it down right through the chink.

“But that went out, and tow more surved me
the same trick. But the third one—0r fourth
one, ruther—l lighted. and give it a heave. so’t
landed clear intew the pile. whar it couldn’t
help burnin'. Christopher! how she flamed! I
began to think I was b mud to see the Whole
thin' out, for the light blazed up through the
crac s so ye could ’a’ seen to pick up a pin, easy
as not.

“ ’ hat was su‘thin’ I hadn’t kalkilated on, and
was deuced afeard bbBV’ll spy me More I could
git out o’ the way. But I had one consolation—-
twas a candle that they couldn’t blow out first
puff, and I didn’t keer so much fur Barney, if
the red-faced cusses took it good smokin‘. I
crawled along on the ground till I got intew a
shadder, and there I kinder waited till I seen
what was done. Oneof the Injins that was
kinder lurkiu’ round came runnin‘ up an’ peeked
intew the cracks tew see what made it so light.
Thinkin' I might jest as well die for a hog as a
Di r. l jist slipt up and poked the p’int o’ my
knife through the cracks in his ribs. That
di ln't seem tew ’gree with him. for he fell down
as if he had a fit! Now, thinks I I’d better
he leavin’. But, gracious! whenI came tow
look ‘round, I found myself right in the ligh,t

 

 

Barney’s Bold Brush.

and Injins comin’ down by the handful to see
what was the matter. .

“ I began to think I’d got myself intew ruther
a tight place, mebby; but I started off whar it
looked darkest, at a venture. I found by some
kind of luck that I was goin’ tew meet a handful
of ’em from that way. though whar they could
be a—coniin’ from I hadn’t r’ally any idea. I
started off another way so as to avoid ’em, seein’
I didn‘t keer particularly for their acquaintance.
But no; they seemed dreadfully anxious to find
out who and what I was, and took arter me.
I could ’ave come back this way, and they
wouldn't have stood a chance with me, but to
run t’other way went right across the grain.
One ov ’em got in the way, and seemed to hev
an idea of stoppiu’ me; but [ gi’n him a cut
acrost the face with my knife, and he stood that
a—howlin’ lust accounts I had from him.

“ If it hadn’t been so dark I should have lost
in the long run, for they got purty mad, and I
hearu one or two arrers go whistlin’ round not a
long ways 011’. By the time I at well away
from ’em I went to look around, ut I seen I’d

get to cut stick livelier ’n that, for it was grow-

in’ light awful fast. The flames hnd bu’sted

through the rulT, and was makin’ good headway, .

I tell ye. Much good may that batch of dry
goods do the esky red robbers!

“ J ist then hearn guns down by the prison.
and I know’d you was up to snufli. Course I
couldn’t tell how ye made out-mum I couldn‘t
——but I was a leetle afeard ye hadn‘t at of! so
slick as might be. So, thinks 1, ’11 work
around and find what I can. While I was think-
in’ the matter over, and tryin’ to make out how
i should git thar best. I was jist a little startled,
blame my eyesight if. I, wa’n’t. Some big gun
of an Injun had none up behind me, and, fu’st I
knew, clapt both of his hands right ontew my
shoulders. I sprung, I tell ye, but ’twaru’t no
kind 0’ use. He had me fast, and sech an awful
great chap as he was—stronger, oh, my! ten
common Injilns don't begin to have the strength
he had. I tried, once or twice, to it awa from
him. but seen it was no go. hen tried
suthin’ else. jumped back and made at him
with my knife the best Iknew how. That was
foolisher yit. It was out of my hand in a
jifl‘in, and I only expected to feel it in my back
ever minit.

“ hat red-skin seemed to be considerin’, and
while he was doin’, that, I managed to give him
a good kick on the shin. An Injin is jist as ten-
der thar as a nigger, if not a leetle more so.
This kelp what I took that teller made his hand
a leetle onstiddy, and I broke away from him?”
If ever I used my legs iifwas 'ist then.”

‘5 I thought the Injun ha your knife,” re-
marked Walter. seeing the weapon in his
belt.

“So he had, at that time. But let me go on
with my story.” said Barney, with the utmost
coo‘ness. “I started nil' on a keen run, and the
red follered me. There warn’t much diflerence
atween our runnin’, now’t I’d barked his shin,
but he gained a leetle, dew my best. I began
tew see that it would not dew, for I’d started
right for the fire, and in jist no time I should be
whar it was light as day. 1 kinder stopt, for I
didn’t know jistly what to dew, My good for-

 

t...;.,_,. 

 

 

  
   

5" kl napa-

fisznw

 

 

    

Barney's Bold Brush. 25

 

tin’ allers favors me, for I ste t in a kinder hole
and fell down. Afore I con d more, the old
Injin he comes along, stnbbed his too over me,
and down he fell. Suthin’ hit me on the hand,
and kinder hurt, as he went over me. What
should it be but my knife l‘

“Didn’t I grab it nick and scrabble to my
feet, hey? I’ll bet did! I warn’t up a bit
sooner than the lnjin was, but I had tw0 ad:
vantages. He hadn’t the knife and I had, and
he stood atween me and the fire, so I could see
how to work to good advantage. I gi’n him a
taste of the cold steel through one hand fu’st,
but one ain’t two, and never was. While I was
fixin’ out that one, he brought t’other round and
gi’n me a whelt over one ear that laid me on the
ground about the quickest. For a second I
didn’t know anything to boast of, but I come to
my senses as I found myself on the ground, and
throwed the (point of my knife up. I couldn’t
see, but I ha a suspicion that the great ungain—
ly critter was comin’ down ontew me. So he
was, and he come with sech tremendous force
that the knife went slick in up to the handle in
his jacket.

“ Then he see’d that he was done for, and the
Injin began to are out round. He got his
hands ontew me, an bore me down like a ton
of cold iron, for he was heav , and yelled like
mad. I knew it wouldn’t do or me to be found
in sech company, for an Injin runs at every yell
there is, and so I began to git loose. That
warn’t no small job, but I rolled the old teller
0!! finally, as he's about breathin’ his last, and
then I be an to pull on my knife. How to git
that out didn’t know, but I wouldn’t think of
leavin’ it. ’cause there might be more occasion
for me to use it. Finally, I rolled the old feller
over, and stepped both feet ontew him, and that
way I managed to fetch her out.

‘ I reckined by this time the Injina had biz-
ness enough on hand for the rest of the night,
and I left ’em. I came down by the prison, and
I seen you’d cleared it out, so I took on arter ye.
But by some means I missed the ravine, and got
out the u per side of it. Bcin’ a. little confused
with the Knock I’d had on my head made some
difference, I suppos '.”

During this time, the party had kept up their
quick pace, which they could do while listening
to Barney’s relation.

They made good regress, and the maidens
were beginning to eel quite exhausted. when
the came to a mountain-torrent, whose pure,
coo waters dashed along with a most inviting
murmur.

“ Hadn’t we better stop here and rest a few
minutes?” suggested Walter. who saw that the
girls Were quite exhausted by their long and
toilsome tramp.

“ I think so,” returned Maurice. “ What say
you Ada and Faun ? We must rest soon.”

" l‘ it be not too ngerous,” said the former,
hesitatingly.

“ I don’t think ’twill,” said Walter, ashe took
a disjointed drinking-cup from his pocket. and
proceeded to fill it. " Leastways, we must rest
sooner or later, and if we’re goin’ to be over-
whelmed by the Injins we’d better be in some
condition to meet ’em; that’s in idea.”

“ It’s a very good one, my ,” said Barney.

 

 

 

“Seein’ these femayles air along, we've got to
be tender of ’em, that’s sari’in.”

He cast an impressive glance at Ada as he
spoke, but she was busy With the cup of water
which Walter had handed to her, and did not
notice the look.

The little party seated themselves along the
bank of the stream, and thelimited allowance of
food which Walter and Barney retained was
divided among the five. True, it was scarce]
more than an aggravation, but it was their al .
Scant as it was in quantity, and negative at
least, in quality, it was received with thanks
and eaten with heartfelt gratitude. '

No sooner was tho repast swallowed than
Barney torik his way to the rear, that he might
apprise them of any danger which should
threaten from that direction.

“I sha’n’t stay more’n a minit or two,” he
said; “but jist take a scout around, and see if
any red-skins are in the way. Then I’ll come
back. and by that time you’ll be rested enough
to start up again.”

He left them, and taking a circuitous route,
soon disappeared from the narrow scope of their
Vision. Confident in his disoernment. they re-
lapsed into a cheerful conversation, which had
lasted but a few minutes when the sound of
hasty footsteps was heard.

Maurice and Walter both sprung to their
feet. They beheld Barney returning at the top
of his 5 ed. 0n beholding them, he waved
his ban and made demonstrations not mhe
mistaken. ,

“ There are Indians about,” exclaimed
Maurice. “ I know it by Barney’s actions. He
has seen them, and they are nigh, or he would
not hesitate to speak I”

A scene of confusion at once followed. The
maidens were overwhelmed with consternation
at the idea of falling into their hands again.

“We shall certainly be killed 1” exclaimed
Ada. “They must have been so aggravated
by the loss they havo suffered in their own
town—"

“ Never fear,” said Maurice, taking her hand
within his own for a niomcntz‘fibu shall not
fall into their hands again if it be possible for
us to defend you, and I think it is. We will
show the Indians a specimen of such fighting as
never astonished them before!”

Did she believe it because he said it? At all
events her face lighted up at the assurance, and
she seemed to firmly count upon success in case
of conflict.

Just at that moment Barney bounded in
among them. His flushed and exc1ted appear-
ance showed that he had been thoroughly
alarmed by what he had seen:

" Quick!" was his exclamation, as he met the
anxious faces turned toward him. “ The Injins
are on hand. hosts of ’elnl We’ve got to Show
’em our heels till we git to abetter place for
flghtin’ than this, at least. Come on, right up
this way; ’tis the safest I“

Be darted up the stream. taking care to select
the hardest ground. that their footsteps might
not reveal them. The others followed close be-
hind him. and in a very few moments the party
had passed from sight. They found the mud
rough and stony, with rocks of consi erahle

   

 

86

magnitude appearing some distance above
them. There were many places of seeming se-
curity, but Barney passed them all, still holding
to his course with a speed which taxed the pew—
ers of his companions to the utmost.

But they struggled bravely, and not one
thought of iving up the race till they reached
such a. stan ~point as would enable them to
combat the red-men to advantage should they
follow.

“ Don’t git tired!” said Barney, cheeringly.
“ I know it’s a tough pull, but I hap en to hev a
place in my minds eye—one that diskivered
when I was up here last ear. I didn’t know
we’s so near it till I starts to look for the red
imps, and then I soon found that we could
use it to good advantage, if we can only git
there.”

“How far may it be?" asked Maurice. who
was almost dragging Ada along, while lValter
was performing a similar office for Fanny.

“Oh, not fur' I can’t say; likely quarter of a
mile more; maybe suthin‘ over.”

“ How many of the In lians should you think
there might be?”

“ I didn‘t count ’em; hadn't time. Should say

I seen ten or a dozen, and of course there’s more
back in the woods. We can’t kalkilate nothin’
on numbers, ‘cause the fu’st shot might bring
up 3 dozen or two more that would be in hear-
in .
“ Of course the whole village will be on our
trail, and it would almost seem miraculous if
we should escape without fighting them, sooner
or later. "

“ You’ll hev flghtin’ enough if they track us
up here,” returned Barney, with a shake of
the head. “ They won’t forgit the lessons they-
’ve had in the last twenty-four hours; not if my
name is Barne Brooks, and I reckin ’tisl”

Before any urther words passed, a quick ex-
clamation from one of the maidens and an
ejaculation from Walter, caused the others to
turn their faces behind. '

The darting of dusky forms over the rocks
and among the trees below revealed the fact
that the savages were upon their trail, and al-
most within rifle-shot at the present moment.

 

CHAPTER XI.
BARNEY’S LAST BRUSH.

“THAR they come, the red-faced, painted
impsl” Barney exclaimed, with a variety of
other adjectives. “Luckily, we've got a’most
there. ome on—show yer best speed now. for
ye‘ll lose yer hair if ya don’t; course ye will!”

To say that every one did his best would be
utterly superfluous. People have a way of do—
ing more and making greater exertions when
their lives are in deadly peril than at any other
time, and our party was no exce tion to the
common rule. Though greatly ex austed they
scrambled along, climbing the steep hillside
with an expedition which certainly surprised
their pursuers, who had no idea that they were
seeking a natural fortress from which to give
them battle.

“ Ye see that long rock jist above ye!” shouted
Barney, as he pointed to a long, high ledge,

 

Barney's Bold Brush.

rising grandly above them. “ That‘s the place;
jist git thar and ye’re all right—safe as a frog
in a mud-puddlel”

Another moment and they had reached the
promised shelter, exhausted and almost faint
ing. But it was not a moment too soon, for
inst then a bullet from one of the foremost
ndinns struck the broad rock with its quick
thud!

The maidens at once threw themselves upon
the earth, while the men grasped their weapons
and prepared to give their mortal foes a bloody
welcome. The place had been especially fitted
by nature for the defense of a few against the
many.

The broad ledge was of peculiar form, rising
perpendicularly to the hight of some ten feet
upon all four of the sides. Opening from the
southern side was a. rift, or chasm, in the
ledge, extending from top to bottom, and de-
scribing the quarter part of a circle in its form.
At the mouth it was so narrow that only one
persnn could enter at a time, and even then
could not see what might be beyond him in the
chasm.

“ What do ye think of this?" Barney asked,
as they were fairly Within the rockwhound re-
treat. “ Don’t you think we can stan’ ’em suthin’
of a all in here?”

"' should think so,” returned Maurice. “All
thaltr ,I’ should fear is their comingyp over the
rec .

“ They may try that in the end,” was the con-
fident reply; “ but it won’t be their fu’st move.
Till we git tired of the fun, seems to me we’d
better keep ’em at a distance. It will save
our ammunyshun, and make 'em a. leetle more
bashful.”

“ As you see fit.”

“Then I’m goin‘ tew ick off that teller
on ahead. Now jist watc him, for I ain’t the
best shot in the Territory with a rifle—4’11 own
that!”

The savages were scrambling along up the
bill, which was quite steep, and their long
tramp predisposed them to take things easy.
There must have been fifteen of them, at the
least, though no one thought of counting
them. One, with more zeal than the others,
and he to whom Barney had reference, was
striding along in disregard of his fellows, and
climbing the bill several yards in front of
them. He was a youthful savage, and bore a.
gun, while most of his party only boasted a.
bow and arrows. .

Not more than fifty yards intervened when
Barney leveled his gun, and fired with deliber-
ate aim. They had all looked to see him fall in
his tracks, but it was not so. His left arm
dropped quickly to his side, and with a. wild
howl he turned back, fleeing rapidly to the shel~
tering presence of his brethren. To one of them
he gave his gun, and then a bolt and putting
together of heads ensued.

Th9 Indians were puzzled. It was evident
that they were not to accomplish their designs
without resistance, and that of the most peril,-
ous nature.

At length they separated into two bands, one
striking around to the left, and the other mak-
ing a circuit to the right. It seems they

 

 

 

 

 

  

Barney's Bold Brush.

 

8‘?

 

supposed the fugitives to be behind the rock,
and had no suspicion of the snug retreat whence
the first shot of the conflict had been fired.

Barney hud reloaded his rifle with all speed,
and when he saw the movement just recorded,
exclaimed:

“ I’ll crawl up onto the rock and Watch the
motion of them tellers around here, while you
keep an eye on the other body. I’d advise ye
not to let ’em come any nearer than ye kin pick
’em ofl.’ with. yer rifles, and on’y use the guns:
keep {er pistols till time 0’ need. That’s the
way ’d dew, and if We don’t whip ’em ofi‘ in the
long run, call me a fool!”

He gained the top of the rock with some effort,
and his appearance elicited a bullet from the
Indians, which passed without harm. But
Barney did not retreat. He threw himself
upon his face and Worked his way along till he
could obtain a. view of the Indians upon their
march. The had taken the precaution to make
a. wide circuit, and were looking anxiously for
the whites, whom they expected to discern
cowering behind some comer of the great but-
tress.

Barney, seeing that they intended no imme—
diateflemonstration, slid back to his compan-
ions. The body of savages going to the left,
and comprising the rincipal part of the gang,
had move around ti 1 they came abreast of the
Singular opening, where they had halted. A
suspicmn, perhaps very near the truth, seemed
to have crossed their minds; and they were evi—
dently debating with themselves in what man—
ner they should proceed.

“Do ye s’pose ye could wing one on ’emi”
Barney demanded, as he noticed their move-
ments. “ S’pose you gi’n him a specimen of your
skill, Walt. ’

“ it seems a’most like murder,” Walter re-
plied, looking at his weapon and then at the

uddled savages.

“it does, eh? Well, I know it does: it is
murder, one way 0’ speakin’. But I’d like to
hev’ ye tell me what they’d do with us if they
had the chancel”

“ I suppose they would kill us if they could l”

" Yes, that‘s what they’d do. Now you can
take yer choice—kill or be killed; by—and—by
you can’t, may be.”

Walter realized that his companion was right
in what he said, and he slowly brought his rifle
to bear upon the dusky group. He fired, almost
at random, and one of the Indians fell to the
ground. His leg seemed broken, for he gave
fearful yells as his comrades dragged him away
hastily, and endeavored to screen themselves
from the aim of the fearful enemies whom they
could not see.

,"There‘s another imp out o’ the wayl”ex-
claimed Barney, whose rough nature reveled
in the scene. “It I onl had that eye fora.
rifle that you have, Wa t, I wouldn’t mind a
year or two's free work.” ' _

Finding that there was no immediate danger
from the savages in their front, the heSIeged

arty now turned their attention to those who
had gone of? in the opposite direction. Barney,
who seemed the head of the party, immediate y
climbed upon the rock. and proceeded to recon—
noiter.

.i‘

 

In a few moments he crept back, and peered
over the edge.

“ We are gittin’ in fur it,” he said. “ There’s
ten of the painted imps out here now, and
there was but five when they sot out! Must
be the sound of the guns, that brought ’em up.”

"And the same cause is quite as likely to
brin fifty more,” said Maurice.

“ hen let ’em come,” said Barney, rubbing
his hands with delight. “ While there’s a chance
we’ll be makin’ their numbers beautifully less;
that’s my idee. These fellei's hev’ got up near
enou h, so I think a. little piece of my mind
woul n’t be entirely lost on ’eni.”

Be crept back, and in a few moments the re-
port of his rifle was heard. A yell from the
savages followed, and one or two arrows went
gliding over the rock, one falling into the
chasm.

“ Give me er gun, Walt,” he said, reappear-
ing at the go of the rock. “l’ve laid over
one o’ em, and they’ve plugged me in the leg
with one of their cussed arrers. But that don’t
seem to satisfy 7em; so I’ll give ’em one more
compliment.”

He took the gun which Walter handed up to
him, and again disappeared from the sight of
those beneath. In a moment another sharp
rifle-crack broke from his wea on, and was an-
swered by a shot from the ndians,ihe ball
humming over the rock at a safe elevation. '

“Give me another gun l” exclaimed Barney’s
voice, as he again fmade his appearance.
“ The ’re comin’ up, but 1’“ match ’em yitl” v

Water had just succeeded in reloading the
rifle, and at once returned it to him.

“ You’d better look out t’other way, Bryant,
while he’s loadin’ up l” Barney suggested, as he
moved away with the fresh weapon.

In a moment his third shot was fired, and as
he saw the effect a low cry of satisfaction broke
from his lips. \ I

“Good!” he exclaimed, as he once more ap-
peared. “I’ve laid out three of ’em runnin’,
and the rest hev concluded, like Wise men, to
rest a bit on it. So they’re makin’ all haste to
git away from here I"

Just as he spoke came the sharp notes of
Maurice’s gun, answered by the never-failing
yell from the other body of Indians. Immedi—
ately afterward Maurice appeared, somewhat
agitated, yet firm and determined. '

“ They are all comin with a rush,” he said,
pointing over his shou der. “ We shall have to
give them a rece tion with our revolvers.”

He directed A a and Faun where to retire,
so that they mi ht be as muc out of the way
as possible, anr then hastened back, pistol in
hand. Barney saw the coming Indians from
his elevated ition, and he quickly slid down,
first upon alter’s shoulder, and than upon the
ground.

They were somewhat sur rised upon seeing
an arrow sticking in the fies iypart of his leg,
but Barney paid no heed to 1;, save to pluck it
out and cast it upon the ground.

“Now, give me your gun, Walt,” he said
“ for I’ve no pistol, and jist let me git one good
crack at"em afore they git in I”

He took the weapon and made his way, limp-
ing somewhat to the center of the crevice,

  

  

  

28

 

Barney’s Bold Brush.

    

 

whence the savages were in full sight. He
raised the weapon and fired; then stepped quick—
.ly back, in time to avoid the hail of arrows
which hurtled through the retreat, but without
injuring any one.

“I lost the shot!" he exclaimed, sullenly.
Then, in a more encouraged tone, he continued:
“Givg me your bullets and I’ll be loadin’ the
guns! .

They had scarcely complied with the request
when the Indians, with a yell and rush, began
to enter the opening. It was a trying moment,
but the two brave young men were equal to the
crisis. They had found a tolerable shelter be-
hind two large stones which seemed providen-
tlally placed there, and with unfaltering nerve
the met the savage onset.

. aurice was first, and his pistol rung out a
sharp death-knell to the foremost. A second
had entered gust behind him, and no sooner was
he uncovere by the fall of his file-leader, than
Walter met him in like prompt manner with a
bullet through the body.

So warm 3. reception as this was quite suffi—
cient to dampen the ardor of those who stood
next in order, and they turned back in time to
avoid a third shot.

Several minutes passed, and another Indian
came cautiously stealing along, with a gun be-
fore him, ready to fire as soon as he should dis—
cern any mark. But eyes as keen as his, with
the advantage of osition, watched for his com—
ing, and a sharp etonation laid him beside his
brethren.

The fury of the savages increased in propor-
tion as they found that they were unable to
reach the fugitives whom they had supposed al-
most within their murderous grasp. They gave
vent to their dissatisfaction of yells and howls,
but for some time made no further attempt
upon the stronghold. Whether they were con-
certing some plan, or only hoping to awe the
whims by their persistence and Ihideous cries,
the latter had no means of knowing. They had
taken the opportunity to see all their weapons
carefully reloaded. and remained upon the watch
for any secret plan of the savages.

They labored under one disadvantage. It
was possible, though not easy, for the Indians
to scale the rock in other places, which opera-
tion the whites could not witness from their
present situation. Once upon the rock, the
savages would have a comparative advantage
over those below them. Barney had turned his
especial attentiontothis particular branch of
the operation, and he now fancied he heard a
scramblin sound, as though the attempt was
being to e. He immediately mounted upon a

' stone, and, with musket in hand, raised his head
above the rock.
At the same moment a yell and dash from the
grout announced that some plan had been per-
3 .
As before they were instantly met by the
sharp fire of revolvers, and with a like result.
Two_of their number fell, and the balance fled
greelpitately. But this was not all. An, no!

he ndians had been planning and scheming
during their temporary inactivity, and a dread-
ful blow befall the gallant whites in conse-
quence.

.not, for he saw something else.

 

 

Barney Brooks had mounted the stone, as be-
fore stated, for. the purpose of making an ex—
amination of the rock above. He heard the
whoop of those at the entrance, but heeded it
Three Indians,
two of whom had guns, had already reached the
summit of the rock, and were hastening for—
ward, with their guns leveled at the mysterious
abyss before them.

Upon getting a glance at Barney's head, as it

appeared above the rock, both of them fired. it

One ball struck the gallant youth—who had
proxied so brave and trusty in the moment of

1-1 .

Without a word or gasp, he fell back upon
the rocky earth, while his murderers, with fiend-
ish cries of exultation, pressed forward to com~
ple‘te their work. But they found stern men
still in the rocky chasm!

Maurice and Walter heard the report of the
guns, but just at that moment they were quite
busy with affairs of their own. When they saw
that their fees had really given ug the assault
for the time—and all these events ad occupied
but a. moment—they turned to learn the state
of affairs behind them. Imagine their an uish
and dismay at beholdinii,r their trusty ally ying
upon his back, with the ife—blood trickling slow-
ly from his shattered forehead!

CHAPTER XII.
“ our on ma JAWS or DEATH.”

THE maidens had been watching the move-
ments of Barney Brooks with the utmost inter-
est, and had witnessed his untimely fall with
the most terrible consternation! Despite the
danger which might threaten, they rushed to
his side, on] to see that the fatal bullet had
done its war all too surely.

“ Oh!" groaned Ada, “ he is killed—dead! We
are lost—all of us! What shall we do?” -

“ You must 0 back," said Maurice, firmly.
“ We cannot be p Barney now, but we can take
care of those lives which are left. Come!”

He led the maidens quickly back to the end of
the recess, and here his quick eye caught sight
of something which be felt might be made ser-
viceable to them. The end of the rift was closed
by an overhanging rock, which formed a dark,
g oomy recess, almost shut out from the world
by solid walls of rock.

As he hastened back to the place where he
had left his companion beside the dead body of
Barney, he could hear the scrambling of In-
dians as they continued_to gain the top of the
ledge. From these indications he felt sure they
could not retain their former position, especially
since they had lost the ardent services of Rama .

Taking Walter by the arm, he pointed in t 9
direction he wished to o. The other under~
stood the sign, and, pick ng up the guns they
retreated quite leisurely.

“ What do you think of this?” Maurice asked
in a whisper, as they gained the place.

“ I think it‘s better!” said Walter, decidedly,
as he glanced around. ‘

“ Then stay here, and if an Indian shows his
head do your best to perforate it. I am going
to bring in the body!”

He took his revolver, ready for instant use
and went forth. He reached the place, rai

 

v

 

 

A -_:-¢.—, A :4”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘ r

Barney’s Bold Brush.

29

 

the bod , and carefully removed it to the retreat
where ghey Were to make the last desperate
stand. Very strangely, as it seemed to him, the
Indians had forborne to follow up their murder-
ous success and now the whites were fully pre-
pared for them again.

“ Now we wait your pleasure, Mr. Indian,”
said Maurice, standing with rifle to his shoulder,
ready for the first foeman who should appear.
“ We don’t intend to speak to you without effect
——-not at all. You have killed one of our num-
ber, but wedou't intend that you shall repeat
the operation.”

His soliloquy was cut short by the appearance
of a savage. who was looking over the edge of
the cliff in evident amazement at the absence of
the whites. Probably the mystery was solved
to his satisfaction, for a ringing report ushered
the Indian from the present to that which is to
come. He fell like a. lump of lead into the chasm
beneath, but his place was at once supplied by
another, who promptly disrharged his gun in
the direction whence the previous report had

come.

But the bullet flattened harmlessly upon the
rock above the party. Walter was prepared
and almost before the lndian’s gun ha
ceased. to recoil, the owner lay gasping 1n the
chasm. *

The savages now seemed satisfied of the where-
abouts of the whites, but not so certain how
they were to reach them. Something of a si~
lence followed, and it was evident the Indians
were planning further. How they would make
their next attempt remained to be seen.

In the course of a few minutes Maurice fancied
he heard a stealthy movement. and whispered
as much to his companion. Walter already
having heard it, was fully prepargd for the new
development. I I

“ They are a-comin’ up the ditch,” he said. in
a whisper, “ and oin’ to take us with a rush l"

“ So they are—- ear them l”

The maidens were cautioned to lie very low,
out of the way of an chance shot, and the two
brave defenders conc uded to meet the onset.

It came. With a rush like the whirlwind,
several Indians came rapidly around the curve
in the chasm, but paused when they saw the
darkness and gloom ahead of them. The pause
was fatal.

Two rifle reports rung out through the gloom,
and one of the foremost fell in a death asp.
The other bullet, by some chance, misse its
mark. The Indians gave a yell, and rushed
forward, with upraised weapons. The maidens
uttered cries of terror, but they were swallowed
up in the fierce cracking of revolvers.

The conflict was short and determined, but it
was all upon one side. The whites Were scarcely
to be seen. but their repeating pistols kept up a
blaze of light which confounded the savages,
and stretched one after another of their number

‘ on the ground

Still the braves were determined, and the
sullen energy with which they rushed upon even
certain death convinced Maurice that this was
their final effort. If they should gain any ad-
vantage. woe to the whites! If, on the other
hand, they should be defeated, they would With—
draw from the spot, at least for the present.

 

Maurice saw this persistence of effort with
well—founded anxiety. In such a close conflict
they could not hope to reload their istols, and
when they should once be emptied 5e felt that
their advantage was at an end. I-Ie fired one
more shot, but in the smoke and confusion missed
the object of his aim, a. tall, muscular brave.
The Indian sprung forward, with knife in hand.
Maurice felt that the decisive moment had
come. He stepped back a pace and pressed the
muzzle of his pistol close to the I ndian’s face. It
only snapped, and the peculiarly sharp click
of the hammer told that the weapon was
empty!"

Now was the moment for the savage. He
rushed in and closed with the white, knocking
aside the blow which the latter aimed at him
with the empty pistol, and losing the opportu-
nity, at the same time to use his own knife. The
next instant the two were whirling about in a
death~grip. The Indian was heavier, and he
was powerful. Maurice had grasped the sav-
age’s right hand, containing his knife, and with
the other ruined a series of blows upon the bony
face which was conveniently exposed.

But this was not to the Indian’s liking. He
pulled himself loose with a powerful effort, and
rushed upon the white anew, seeking an opp-or"
tunity to use his knife. By a strange coinci—
dence, both of themntagonists stumbled at the
same moment, Maurice going in one direction
and his adversary in another. They recovered
themselves simultaneously, and were upon the
point of springing forward to a renewal of the
conflict, for each felt that upon himself the fate
of the contest depended.

J not at that moment, as Maurice braced him-
self against the wall and watched the every
movement of the Indian for an advantageous
opportunity}, his hand rested upon something be
side him w ich at once put a new phase ii on
affairs. It was Barney s ’gun, carefully 10a ed,
of which neither of the whites had thought
since the commencement of the struggle.

The young man grasped it in a moment, and
raised the hammer With the same movement.
He had an eye upon the savage, and at such
clOSe quarters it was not necessar to raise it to
his shoulder. He merel. leve ed it at the
hrawny Indian’s head, a pulled the trigger!
His aim did not fail him this time, and, like a
felled ox. the red-skin driflped upon the rock.

Clubbing the weapon, urice rushed to the
assistance of Walter, who was valiantly strug-
glin against two of the enemy. The youth was
gra ually falling back. for he was not armed to
meet his red antagonists. But the arrival of
Maurice changed the aspect of affairs. One of
the Indians turned to flee, but fell With a crushed
skull as he,made the movement. The second
was more fortunate, and reached the open forest
in safety. ‘ ,

And he alone, of all the arty which had made
the assault, was uninjur ! As he realized his
safety, he gave a Whoop, but it was unanswered.
Three or four of his brethren, who hadbeen
wounded from time to time, crept from such,
shelter as they had found and made up a small
but sad procession toward their village; home!

Maurice remained upon the watch till he saw
the nature or the force which was assembling,

 

  

80

 

Barney’s Bold Brush.

  

 

and then he knew that no more offensive move—
ments need be anticipated from them. Hasten-
ing back, he sought those whom he had left be-
hind when starting in pursuit of the two Indians.
It was almost impossible to proceed along the
narrow passage, so choked was it with the bodies
of the fallen bravest

While picking his way along with care, for he
disliked to step upon the bloody carcasses, he met
1lj’lralter, who was coming forth to meet or seek

1m.

“ So you‘re here, hey i” that individual said, as
they met. “ Whar he the Injins? and what’s
the res ct for another fight?”

“ he ndian that I chased from the place is
the only one in the ang that goes off with a
whole skin, as you estern chaps would say.”

“No, guess not; that'can’t be. They’re only
hidin‘ round here some’rs to make another on-
slau ht, I’ll bet!”

“ hen come, and I’ll show you.”

Maurice led the doubter back to the open air,
and there was yet to be seen the doleful band—
flve in all—who were on their way to report the
disaster to Eagle Nose.

“ That’s the beat of all—all I ever beam on!”
said Walter, as his eyes took in the scene. '

“ You’re satisfied now as to what I told you?”
Maurice asked.

“ I cannot doubt my own eyes!” was the won-
dering reply.

They hastened back to the presence of the
maidens, who were almost frantic with the ex-
citement under which they labored. The pres-
ence of their two preservers, safe among them,
soon restored them to calmness, which was still
more increased When they learned the statz of
aflairs without.

“ if they are gone, let us, too, leave this dread-
ful lace at once!” said Ada. most agitated of all.

“ ut here is poor Barney I” said Fanny, as she
turned her eyes upon the disfigured corpse.
“ What shall we do with the body?"

“ We cannot take it with us,” said Maurice;
“ but we may bury it here. First we will help
you out of this chamel~house, and then we will
see what can be done."

They conducted the girls from the sickening
spectacle, and seated them beneath a large oak.
Then they turned to bring forth the body, when
Walter remarked, hesitatingly:

“ I feel alittle lame in the shoulder, Maurice;I
wish flyou’d take this handkerchief and tie it up
a tri e!"

“ Are you wounded?” three voices asked in
amazement ’

“ Only jist a bit; One of them copper-colored ‘

critters gi’n me a punch in the shoulder; but it
ain’t of any account."

It proved quite a serious wound upon getting
It based, but the stout-hearted youth laughed at
it, and declared that he could fight again as well
as he had done.

They brought the body of Barney Brooks
forth, and With such tools as they could ex-
temporize, dug him a shallow grave beneath the
old oak, even the maidens assisting in the re-
paration of his last resting-place, who had all-
en in defending them!

Thislist sad oflflce performed the party was
now ready to set out toward Wharhuton again.

 

It was getting to be late in the afternoon, and
the morse! of food they had eaten during the
day seemed only a pleasant memory. But they
had no more, and until some game should cross
their path they must make up their minds to
fast. Nor would this be a task if, after their
late experiences, they could pursue their way in

peace

They traveled until dark, and finding the way
open, continued on for some distance by the
feeble star-light. They felt an equal interest in
placing the greatest possible distance between
themselves and their foes.

As they rounded a small hill, which led down
to the broad plain below, a score of fires burst
upon the startled gaze of the fugitives. They
drew back in astonishment, uncertain whether
they were to encounter friend or toes, but any
pecting the latter.

“ What shall we dew?” asked Walter; “ we’re
right intew another big nest of ’em !‘»’

“ HALT! Who goes there?” sun out the
sturdy voice of some one in the dar ness, and
the click of a musket-lock sounded fearfnlly dis-
tinct to their ears.

“ Whites, who need your assistance and pro-
tection,” replied Maurice, whose heart hounde
with the thought that they were to be fugitives
no more.

“ Well, yeou jist stan’,” returned the guard,
“ till I git word to the corporil.”

A dapper little fellow, of the minimum size,
soon appeared, and took a quick survey of the
party. He then led them 10 the guard fire, with
many apologies for keeping them in waiting.

Here every comfort that the men possessed
was applied to their relief, and after two hours
passe pleasantly among the interested soldiery,
the ladies wereshown to a tent which had been
fitted up especially for their use,

In the mornin they were aroused at an early
hour, as the so diery, who were en route to
o erate against the Indians, were to march.

e commanding officer had taken an interest
in them, for a dozen cavalry. with horses for
the fugitives, were detailed to escort them to
Wharbuton, where they arrived without fur-
ther adventure.

They reached the place about noon, and to
at least one home came an unbounded measure
of glarluess and relief. Everybody thronged to
hear the wonderful relation of their adventures
among the Indians, and everybody bad a bun-
dred questions to ask.

An expedition was fitted out two or three days
later to go for the body of Barney Brooks:who
was more praised now than any previous time.
The very fact that he had died bravely, fighting
the common enemy, was justly allowed to cover
the many faults of his past life. He was buried
with tearful thanks that his life had ended thus
nobly, and his grave made one of the many
green mounds which sprung up in the little
burial-ground of Whnrhuton.

A late letter before us from the plains speaks
of a. double marriage in the easant little vil-
lage of Wharbuton, which h already been re-
built where the lndiau conflagration ' destroyed
it. The reader need not be told who the par—
ties to that double marriage were.

rm: END.

 

   
  
       

 

 

 

 

 

 

1 nurhlnter, Oh. Boy Scout of tho Great North Woodn.
Hy Oll Coumol.

2 Buffalo Bill, from Boyhood to Mnnhood. By Col. Pren-
Lm inzrnhnm.

8 Kit Citroen Kin: offlulda. B - Albert W. Aiken.

4 Gordon Lil la, the Boy-Interpreter ol'tho P-wneel. By
Ml'nr. H. B. S‘mddnrd.

5 Bruin Adam», Old Grluly'l Buy Yard. By Colonel

Prentlu Ingrnhnm.
Dlek an aBoy. By Edward L. Wheeler.
By Colonel Pruntiu

fl Deadwood ,
7 Wild Bill, tho Plutol Prince.
ingrnhnm.
*‘8 The Prairie Ranch. Bv Jone h B. Badger, Jr.
9 Roving Joel Tho Ill-wry of: ‘ 30rd,: Buy.” 3, A.

H. Pout.
10 fonnl Jock. the Multan; King. By Colonel Prentiu

ngrn run.

11 Charley‘skylnrk. A _Slor 0f School-day Scropon Ind
Cullen CI is . By Mnyov l. B. Stoddnrd.

12 Marlow-a arm. By Jownh E. Badgur, Jr.

18 Roving Ben. By John J. Mnrsholl.

l4 5 ring Steel, King of the Bush. lly J. E. Bndzer, Jr.

15 hie-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer. By Edward
Willow

18 The Boy “'izard. Bv Bnrrv Rinxgold.

1? Peter- Pe pergrnu, the Greenhorn {rum Gntham. By

Nonh Nu .

18 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur Hunter!
on the Buflnlo lhmze. By 011 Cooman.

19 The Fortune Hunter; or, Rovin Jne u Miner,
C:.wb¢y.’i'rnpper and Hunter. By A. . Port.

20 Tm”... Tom, tin Woud imp. By '1‘. v. linrhnnzh.

21 Yellow llnir, tha Bay Chlul'ol‘tne Puma“. By Col.
Prentiss in rnhnm.

22 The Snow rail. By T. C. linrnnuzh.

28 0:9 GTllzfly Adams, the Bear T-nmr. By Dr. Frank

Ou‘e .

24 Wooll- and “'atern. By Curd. Fraderick “'hltmkor.

25 A Rollin Stone: lnrinonlu in the Cnnur an Sea and
Land hi 0]. Pronlil! [nun-hum. By Wm. R. Eyster.

26 Red River Rover-s. 1‘? C. Dunning Clark.

27 1‘13sz nnd_l‘lnln5 nr, ild Adventure! or“Buchkin
Smn,” (Mn . 51m. 5. Hnll.) By Col. P. Inmhnm.

98 The Swor Prince. ’1 he Romantic Life of Col. Man-
Itery. By Cn i. Frodorick Whittaker.

99 Snow-Shoo om. ' By '1'. C. Hub-ugh.

80 Paul de Lacy, inc French Bent Charmer. Bv C.
Dunning Clark. '

81 Round the Camp Fire. Bv Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

82 White Bem’er, the lndian Medicine Chief. By Col.

Pranliu lngrnhnm.
33 The oy Crnnnder. By Ca it. Fred. Whiitnker.
84 The hat-e of the Great W lite Stag. Ind, C‘mp
and Canoe. By C. Dunnier Clnrk.
85 Olternr Knuckle and "in Buy Clnnna. By R. Starbuck.
86 The linohln Dragoon; or,Tba Story oiGen.GoorRe
VA. Cul'or. y Cug-l. Fred. Whitlnker.
87 hLzht-Iluwk Gear 9. RV Col. Prentln inmhmn.
83 T e Boy Exile; of .iberin. By T. C. Hnrlmugh.
89 The Young Bear Hunters. Bv Marvin Ruining.
40 Sr‘r‘rfirttsnn, the Lad with 3 Laval Head. By Edward
E

41 The Svttler’n Son. By Edward S. Ellis.

42 Walt Ferfiimn‘n Offline. By C. lhumin: Cllrk.

43 Blue and evolver. By Cunt. Furl. \Vlnlttnlccr.

44 'l he Loot Boy Whaler... Ilv T. C. Hnrhnugh.

45 Bronoo Billy, the Saddle Prlnu. By Col. lngruhnm.

46 Dick. the Stow-way. Bv Charle- Morris.

4? The Colorado oyl; or,LIia on an Indigo Pllnution.
lly Jmph E. B Ker, Jr.

48 The Pump» lhunten; or, New York Boyl in

unnou Ayn-I By T. C. Huh-uh.

4 i The Adventurous Lit. of Nebruko Charlie.
By Col. Prentiss Ingr-hnrn.

60 JM‘é Harry and Tom, tha Three Champion Broiharl.
By npi. Fred. Whitaker.

51 The Youn Imnd-thher. By C. Dunning Clnrk.

5‘2 The Boy lfeteetiven. li ' T» C- Hflfhfllilh-

53 [lone-t “arr ; m, The ountry Boy Adrift In tho
City. By Chnr u M. rril.

54 Calli‘ornln Joe, tho Myst-rim Plnlnanun, By Col.
Prantiu lucruluun. '

55 Tip Treuei. the Flunm. By Edwlrd Vi mm.

D EVERY SPIN?“

 

     
 
 

Price, Five Cents

56 The Snow Hunters: or, Winter in tho woods. By
Barry (la Forrest.
57 Harry Somern, the Sailor Boy Magician. By s. w,

enrca.

58 The Adventurous Life of Cu tnin Jack, the
Border “by. By Col. Prenlibs lngru mm.

59 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of [he Miner. By Ciuirlu
lnl'l’ll.

60 The Young Troll Hunter-x; or, New York Boys in
Grizzl Land. By ’1'. C, linrhnngh.

61 The liner llunlur or, The Colnrnda Boy: in Ele-
phnntLhnul. By Joauph E. imam-rJr.

63 Doctor Carver, the “ Evil Spirit" ortha I’lnlnl. By
Cul. Prentlu lnfinhnm.

63 Black lkiorao ill, the Bundit ‘Nrecker. By Roger
. inr mc .

64 Young Dick Talbot; or, A Boy: Rauin and Tumble
Fight from New York to California. By A. W. Aiken.

65 The Boy Pilot; or, “1:: Island Wrecker. By Col.
Prentiss inurnlmm.

86 The llcnert Rover or,Stownway Dick Among thy
Arnbn. iiy ('hn-lu ll urria.

67 Texan Chm-lie, tin: Boy Ranger. By Col. Prenliu

[nu :Ihmn.

68 Little Rifle: M, This Young Fur Hunivrn. By Captain
“ Iiruin " Adm s.

69 The Your“: Sihillni: or A Ynnkeo Br-y Among the
Runsium. liy ('hnrlus Morris.

70 Pony the Co“ in " or, The Young Mnrahnll’n Raid.
By .lnjror ll. ll. Sin lflTd, Ex-Scout.

71 Bull? Rubnurt and "in Rear. llndanln “ Bruin"

A Iln'.

72 The Ice Elephant. Bv Capt. Frederlrk Whittaker.

78 The Young Moose-"union. By William H.
Manning.

74 The Boy Coral-Fishers. By Bauer Starbuck.

75 Revolver Billy, the Boy {inngrr of Tam. By Col.
Prontlos lnurnhmn.

76 Tho Condor Killcrn. By T. C. Hurhmlgh.

7? Llld Lionhecln, the Young Tiger Fighter. By Razor
Shuhurlr.

7S Flntbout Fred. By Edward \Vlllntt

'29 Boone, the Hunter. By Cuptnin F. Whittaker.

80 lit-mucky Ben, the Lonx Rifle of tho Cmndu. By
Rnger Stnrhuck.

ill The Kit Onrnon Oluh. xlBy T. C. Hm'bnugh.

“2 Little Huck. the Boy Guide. By Barry Rin gnld.

83 Pony Bohr the Rel‘kll'ns Rich-r. By Cnl. P. ngrnhnm.

84 (‘nptnin Fly-by-NI ht. Bv Jolrph E. Badger, Jr.

H5 Omani" Rni II. the cum: Explorer, By C. D. Clark,

“ii Little Dun «clan. By Marri- Redwlng.

ill? The Menu erie Hunter-n. By Mn}. H. Grenville.

88 The Holy rnlnps; or,Llfe Among no Glpolea. By
J. M. l nfl‘mnn.

89 'Lonm‘horo LlJc. By  D. Clark.

90 Roving iiilleA/knier’n Little Scout. By T. C. Hurhangh.

91 Oregon .ionh, the Wiznrd Rifle. By Roger Sturhnck.

92 llnrril-nnc Kit. By A. F. Holt.

93 Jumping Jnke, the Colorado Circul Boy. By Brylnt
limnnriulge.

94 firun Spam-o. ihr Brondlmm Day. By Ed. Wlllott.

95 Moscow to l-‘lhlwin: or, A Yankee Boy to the Roma.

iiv (‘erlen Morrip.
96 Fighting Fred. By’i‘. C. Hnrhuu h. x
9'! Crnlnu oi’ilw Flyawuy. 13' C. unnlng Clark.
9s The "nv \'I I’llnnten. By R). H. B. Stoddard.
9|. The White ' ‘in‘cI-s. BV REL Clinics Howard.
100 The snow-Rhoe Trail. 3' St. Geor a Rnthbonl.
101 Mnrinnu, tha ()ttnwn Girl. By Edward . E1111.
102 The Flynwny Aflont. By C. Dunning Clark.
108 I'm. Mnllouey’nAdventurer; answer Tongu-
the Dnminh Qmeu. By C. L. Edn’nrdl.
104 The Boy Pro-nectar. By Roger Starbnc'k.
105 Minonee. “Io Wand Witch. By Edwin Emotion.
106 The Boy Crulnern. liy Edwnrd Willen.
107 The Border Rove". B J. Milton Hoffman
103 Alngkn. mu Wolf-Queen. y Capt. Howard Lincoln.

Beadlo’o Boy’s Library l! for uni: by all New-dulm,
flvo cant- per copy. or uni. by mull on receipt of nix unis «ch.
BEADLE AN 1) ADAMS, Puhllohorl,
98 Willinrn Street. New York.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

109 EhIr-Illntilnn Jim, the White Man's Friend. By Edward
.‘. '. is.
10 1 why Joe. the Bn- 'J. M. Hofl‘nmn.
II The Bard ‘ . nms L. Bowen.
[2 Left-"untied 1 ,- y E. Badger. Jr.
18 The Iilver Illiiu‘. 5- unit. J. i“. (T. Admns.
l4 .\ m: on ilre i’lninu. lii- Edward “'ilivll.
15 M ver Ilul'll, nlnl un Ride Fil-r-zlvath. ny Roger
thrhuck.
16 Ex¥loltu 01’ Hezekiah Smith, the lhwkwoodsnmn.
My Imersull lemnn.
The Young; Muninngera. By K“. hunnlnz ('lnrk.
1_ ma T". .; “nu... iiny lawn, In- Barry Rinuguld.
Center . not. tlm Whin- (‘nmu Iiv ’l'. (‘. Hm'lmunh.
120 A "at Trnll; or, Clark Cloverly Among the anlnrl.
ny (,‘linrlu MAI-rim.
llnnter l’nrd "en. By Roger Starbuck.
2 The Inuuinlnux' Queen. By G. Wnldo Browne.
’l‘lm, the [lay Avrnlmt. By Uhnrlcs )llrr'ris.
I net-n lie-ale, llw Burdar Girl. iiv “an
'I run 'l‘nimr, lib! Bay Fllultivrz. E Iinr
Mink Cont, tlm [lentil-Shut. l5) . Badger, Jr.
‘ The Deer Hunter-n. 15y erm J. .Inrxlulli.
Wolf-Cum 0?. The Nigili-linwks ol' the Fire-Lands.
liv Cunt. (Time. Hnwul’ti.
129 .‘li’lverupur; or, The Mountan iluroine. ByEdwnrd
i nil.
130 Keetuen. Qll‘ en 0‘ the Plains. By Perry B. St. John.
“’iltnh, the f‘ldld Spy. Mr George (ilc- r.
The inland Trnpm-r. 13y Churn-s Mmmnl.
8 The Forest Hut-rater. lly Edward Willalt.
“’llli Nut. tln- 'l‘rw pr-I‘. lly Wm. R. Ei-slvr.
The fiilvor Ilngie. By Liuut. ' '. Huznltnn.
30% The Prairie Trapper. By (T. Dunning Clnrk.
3? The Antelope “or. B; t‘ 1.. Aiken.
M Long Mum “uni. r‘nmrrn ny (mumminawk.
39 Colonel (‘rm-kvti‘ tlw ln‘ lly 1‘. lmanlle.
4" old Peg-I, an: mum-an v. ' '.(‘1\rsnu.
14I The G uni. Ilunm-r. , V
l 12 Black ’nnlhcr. tln- Hulfililuud, By J. . Bridger.
143 (lnrnon. llm Hulda. By Lima. .1. ll. Randolph
I44 Kent, Iln', ltungur. ny Eiiwxlni 1 El .
14R liill Rubbing, iiumvr. By
116 The Half-Breed Kind.
‘4‘? The Mnnketi Avenger. ii i tinalnuralmm.
1455 Nut. the Trapper Mid lndinn Fighter. By Paul J.

Prelcnll.

149 The Elk Demon; nr,The Giant Brvihnrn. By T.
C. Harhnuuli.

150 The Buy )irui-nng-llnnler; or. Earrlnlie, the
iirnuiil'ui Amnzun. Ii)! Frl'ih‘i'h'k \‘Vhlltnkcr.

151 Frank Yntun, tho- Ynung Trumiar; or, Mount-in
Knte‘s “'nrnluz. My Jnlv'rlil E. linrizul', Jr.

152 “'lld Run-n. the Swan. Iu- 0” mm“,

158 Lynx-(luv; or. lt‘unr ’i'ramn-m' Annmg the Sioux. By
Paul iiiirib. .

15-1 The (‘hnmnlon Toxnn Hider; or. Red Banal",
Mill ih-I lirrr'uii-u “unit-r. Hy Hun" . UNITqu

155 I) Inky llieldn lionm. By J: ll}. Hudgvr, Jr.

156 Frank Ih'll, Lin' Is.w Spy. In on (‘m-nws.

Iii? Nit‘k Dayle. the old Hnntrr. lty l‘. Ii. Myrna.

15?! ‘Killlule-d "it! ; w, The Full: ui the Firu Fly. By
‘. Sundry liwnhvm-u.

150 Snm‘n Lang ’l‘rull; or, The Twin Scoull. By W. J. I

lllll (Am.

160 llnnh Triplet): \‘ow. By Harryllnznrd.

161 The Mad Skipper. lly R. \larI-nrk.

62 The Trump-r Klng. My 5 :j. Mn M nine.

18 Simon Kenton iiantw. lly Elm-rum! fluid-am.

1 TI 1: Boy Ollie ; or, Frnnk Hell’s Cumpucl. By 0“

J. Thomas.
Ringgnlrl.

 

1
fl
Coo man.

05 The Trndor Trailinr. Iii- J. Stanley Hmnlersan.
66 old Jllpe’n (Wow. lly Mn. Orrin nun-.-

ii? The You I: Trailer. hr W. iiumiiinn.

In The Specter fipy. By Mnj. 'is '. Cnrann.

t Lnlnk Lute, the 01d Cnlnmdn “mm. By  w.
11mm.

The \Vhltc “’olt’. ny Edwnrd Willett.

The qump Guide. l!) W V. Aichil.
The Yankee I’edriiur. Hy .. )anning (Thu-k.
This IScout. and Ill! Young Chum. By Warren
.‘t. om.

Blm-knmiih Tom‘u Mark. ny Gm. D. Gllberl.‘

 

 

1
I
1
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I
I
l
1
i
I
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l

6
70
1"]

’H‘.
78
71
75

Tim linekakin Rid er. By Guy Greenwood.

3‘

. R Irntter’n finrprine. Bv Mrs. II. J. Th
Fun . elluw Scouts. By J. Stanlev Hrndemziims.
(lid kll null "is (‘mnrndem lly Jul. 11:. Badger 'Jr
[.nrle (Erlil’n iiiuguim. Hy Hnrryflnzard. ' '
’l‘he M'nrked Miner. Hy Lieut. Col. Hueltlne
The “ lid Ilnnireu. By Capt. Bruin Adams. .
The e 'm'. By Mum 0. Rollo.

u ion. iiy lngnldshy North.

5 Dilemma. By J. R. Worcester.
((-Ir’a “ urd. By Edwin E. Ewing.
m ,H .F .‘aafir. By J. Stanley madman.

mm, m a r . OilililtillL‘rr. l; ' (.‘a t. F. \ '
Jnt'ls‘n Emu-e. My Mm. Ann'iL. l'raI-yrer. Hummer.
lr'lulm, flu». Txnnqij‘qmut. lly W. J. limniltnn.

' re mu m: rooper. By Fredr-riek . - v
The Hay Brn By unm'l! L. llwwn. H D” a"
amid-V Jul}, 1:11 mi By Edward “" Ian,

nrry ' 11‘ en on Ch ‘. '

E) "a. I; use By Vi m. R.

194 Creeper Onto, the Shadow Swan p Trailer.
y 1‘ rrdr'rirk Dewei .

195'! The Run er Detective. By Han-v Harvard.

19in tarry 1 ng, the Mountain “'itrh. "By C. Dunn‘jnz

)lnr .

By lY. J. Hmnnlon.
TH- (‘an (‘linrm Howard.
By w. .1. minimum.

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197 ’l‘ho Branded (‘nptnim
. 0M (‘ronnflrc’n (This.
199 Zeln-n Znok. lhr Trxnn.
200 The Nnnreieun Hunter. fly lie-me W. Rnilinsml.
20! The Yankee (,‘nntlvcn. liy Edward \Viilrll.
202 Tr-ddy'n Lung Trull. By Edward S. Ellis.
203 (Nd llnnh. he llernrii. By Edward W- Arch".
20' “(HDH( ontl‘s Bent Shot. Br Jon. E. Bmlzvr. In
205 The lilxtohmnn’n III-end. By Capt. Chm. Howard.
90" KM Thu-1'; flint-k, Hy “'. .i. Hun‘iltmi.
907 Farah-J“) ml Tim. By C. “millng ('lnrk.
2i?u The \‘illnzt- Spur-i. it} Junwa l. [tum-n.
209 llm-k liuri'n l’im-k. By'Erlwm-d Willet.
210 The Tell-Tulc Bulch ii} J. Sinnlev Henderson.
211 The Boy Surveyor. By W. J. Hamilton.
2|?! Ynnkee Drover Swipe». By Scelin Robim.
218 Silver (‘ity Tom. By James L. Bowen.
21-1 Nick. the Dated-tire. By Edwin Ether-on.
215 Mustang Rich- Roy. By Albert W. Aiken.
216 The Dakota Dntehmnn. By Maj. Max Martin.
217 Ynnkee Jmh, the Rover. Bv ll. ii. Bellman, :u. D.
218 New York Ned in California. By W. J.
llxllvrlltoli. ‘
219 Kentucky Kate's Shot. By Edward Willett.
220 'FriM-o Frnnk’n Illvnl. By Paul J. J‘mcntt.
22‘] Doctor Bug, Deiuciivl‘. By Lewis Jay Swift.
222 Sly Snm'n Snnre. fly Loni". Lozrnnd, M. I).
228 Old Nnm‘y’l “'nl'd. By Lieut. Cnl. ilazalllnn.
2"! l Rattlcpnte. ihv Nalmn. By Sean. B. Slwrwood.
22F: Night-"lurk Hill; Dr, The Now ank Spartunen'Q
('law. By “K J. llmnillmi.
226 The Mania-d Mnnlmu lty Marc 0. Ram.
22'? Burney’n Bold Brush. RyJamas L. Bonn,
228 The Deadwood Sports. By Lieut. S. G. Lsnsing.
229 "an! flehmidt, Jun; nr. Tho Dluuirad Yankae. By
W. J. llnmlinm. Rr‘udy September I.
280 Lone Sim-h! Flu-e Shot. By “my “wry-.1,
Rundy Scptenmar s.
281 Mnrk Morgnn‘n Muk. By Capt. (:lmrlcx Howard.
Ready September )5. I _
23% Billy Broorn’n Firm. Cruise.
K app, Enq. Randy Septtinher 2‘1.
238 The Girl Rifle-fillet. By W. J. Hamilton.
Rmdy Sentern er '29.
Beadle’l Boy’u Library is for salt! lry nil Newldaniofl,
five cunts pvr copy, or sent hv mull nn receipt of six (sent- ouch.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Panilch
98 “‘illinln Street, New ank.

By II. Minor