Copyrighted, 1887, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. Ennex‘cd at me Post Omce at. New York, N. Y., as Second Clnsa Mail Matter. Nuv.‘26 , 1887.

 

$2.50 Published Week! 1: Beadle and Adams P ,
VOL XVI “ Yum No. 98 WILL¥AMySTu NEW YORK. ’ flverg‘g‘ts' No' 

 

 

 

 

 

 

m NEGRO HAD DARTED AWAY AT FULL SPEED, FOR THE HOUNDS HAD FOUND THE TRAIL AGAIN
ON THAT SIDE, AND BAD OPENED IN FULL CRY.

 

B I i . Sam. the Swamp Scout.

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

A ROMANCE OF 1779.

r ’ BY W. J. HAMILTON,
AUTHOR or “san’s LONG TRAIL,” are, ETC.

CHAPTER I.
THE STRANGE PAIR.

. A STRANGE couple had crossed 'a river and
stood together on the other shore—a river which
has made for itself a name in story, the Santee.
The times were those in which we made our-

, selves a history, the Revolution. And the most

- trying times too, in our history—days when the
tumor of Whig and Tory against each other

 was something fearful—when brothers sprung .
' ,at the throats of brothers, and never ceased the

: truggle until one or the other dropped dead at
the feet of the fratricide.

In such times as these, we introduce our
actors. The men who stood by the river—side
were types of different classes. ‘ One, a quick,
keen-eyed, wiry fellow, of small stature, a real
“swamp sucker ;” the other a huge negro, whose
broad race was the very index of good—nature.
"The white man was armed as most men of his
,gnss aspired to be, with the never-failing rifle.
‘ is clothing was of rough material, and had
been made by the light of a flarng pine-knot, in
“the lonely night, by some noble daughter of
. batty: Standing by the negro, his diminutive
figure appeared to grow less. for the black stood

1211' six feet four in his moccasins. He was
dressed like the white man, in ,rough homespun,
with a leathern belt about his waist, supporting

he trusty knife. A long fowling-piece was

thrown across his arm, and a large horn of

powder slung over his.’ shoulder. From the cord
of the horn hung a large shot-pouch. ~

, They stood there in silence, until the negro

,‘htooped to drag the dug—out, in which they had

crossed the stream, higher up on the bank, as it

light be useful to them another time.

" 'Which ,way now, Mass’ Carey?” he said.
looking at the white man. «

“The Swamp Fox told rho to look after Gainer,

ndI’m oin’ to find him. That Tory has about
’run the ength of his halter.”

‘ i“ ’TWOn’tdo for ye to let Mass’ Gaiuor get ye,

. e fa’r,” said the negro. " Good
Laud! He erk you up on tree like ’possum.
Dat’Mess’ Gainor very bad man.”

"(He’d better look out for one Sam Carey.”

«said the swamp sucker, a look of sullen hate
crossing his dark face. “ Thar‘s a bullet run
him by my hand, and it never touches the
V I .it goes down for him. I hev sworn to
1:111 him, and I’ll do it.”
“ Mass’ Gainer done ye some h'u’ut some time,
Bht’,’ said the negro.
. “Thor’s is ruined cabin by the river yonder,”
said the swamp sucker, stretching out his hand
to the east, “ and nigh it a grave. The timbers
0! the cabin are black, but the single grave is
green. _ Per p5 yer don’t know who lies in that
a.  yer should know. It’s my

this

\,._'

 

“ Sick, was she?” said the negro, with a look
of commiseration. I

“No; she was killed, and Gainor’s Tories did
it. I’ll tell ye how it was. We’d 'been up the
Santee for a. few days, with Tarleton after us,
and while we were gone, that black-hearted
sconndrel Gainer rode into this country. Curse
him, body and bones! My wife wasn’t well,
and among them they killed her. I’ve got all
their names. and Gainor’s first of all.”

“ Gwine to take me Wid ye?” asked the negro.

“ No, Jake, I don’t think it safe. Thar ain’t
another such a nigger in the Car’linas as ye ar'.
That long body of yourn ain’t got it’s ekal. I’ve
got other work for yer. I want ye to go West,
to Davy Biglow’s farm. and tell them that Davy
can’t come home just now; not till after we’ve
licked Gainor’s Tories. That won’t be very
long, for Horry and the rest are mad after him.”

“ ’Es, Mass’ Carey. What I do after dat?"

“ When you have done that, get into the
swamp as soon as you can, and meet me at the
Cypress Island. You know the place we .”

“ CourSe I do. Anyt’ing more?"

H NO.”

“ Whur ye gwine to stay tonight?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in the camp, I
reckon. It don’t matter much whar a man
makes his bed nowadays. He‘s safest in the
Cypress of any place I know. Moccasin-snakes
are better neighbors than Tories, any day.”

“ Dat's so too. I was raiSPd on de sile ob
Sout’ Car‘lina, and I can’t see how de dabble
any man dot breaved de air ob dis” land so long,
c’u’d go ag’in‘ it now. But dey do. .De jes’s
mean enough for dat. I’d like to take ’em y (19
head and knock ’em togedder till dey jess
sq Lwaked !” v

“ Thar’s nothin’ so mean as a South Car’lina
Tory,” said Carey. “ Mimi I tell yer, thar ain’t '
anything so sneakin’ that they won’t do it. ‘
They crawl round the ’arth, and when their
time comes they crawl into their graves. The
sooner the better.” '

“ Dat’s so, too ” said J ake. “.Well, good-by,
Mass’ Carey. Take car’ you’se’f.. Don’t let
Mass’ Gainer ketch ye; ’cause if you do, he kill
you. sure.”

“ I’ll never fall into his hands alive,” said
Carey. “ I know his tender mereles. He’d
hang me to the first tree. He knows that I am
Pete Horry’s net scout, and if he can get me out .
of the way, it’s safer to patrol the swamp, which V
it ain’t now.” ,

“Dat‘s so: dut’s so. Deyifraid oh you, ole:

man. But do you keep you’se’f ’way from him.

Take car’ you do dot. ’Tain’t no use to git into ' '

trouble when you can keep out of it jest as well.
Gollyl Mass” Gainer chase me once. I 0t into
swamp, or I guess I been sent to de islanr 5, sure.

Dcy sent good many brack man out dere, dey ' i

did.” ,
“ You are right. See that you keep clear of
them, too, or the next thing you know you will
be in the hold of a ship, on your way to Bar-
badocs, or the Bermudas. ’Tisn’t safe for such
a likely nigger as you to be trampin’ roun’ the
country ‘ust now.” u
f‘Dey l hev to fight for me it do git me,” .

saldJake, drawing himself up proud y. “Pm
oneob massa’s men now, and 1’s boun’toflia
, .

 

 

 

hard. I’s down on dem Tories rle wu’st way.
But I guess we’d better go. Some ob (loin might
come. De country full ob dein now. An” den
'dar’s Tarleton, an’ mad Archy Campbell, an’ all
do rest ob rlem. dey nebber ’top ’till a minuit,
roast_’em. Good-by, Mass” Carey. Take cal"
you’se’f.”

The negro moved oil! from the river, and left
~ Carey standing on the spot where they had
landed, leaning on his rifle. This man was one
of. those strange characters which such a. war as
the Revolution is sure to bring out. An inde-
‘ pendent spirit, fearless of danger, acquainted
with every turn and path in the Cypress; subtle
as a, fox, keen-eyed, nick—footed, he was the
 beau ideal of a scout. eter Horry, his Colonel,
valued him highly, and intrustcrl‘him with the
most diificult and therefore the most dangerous
missions, such as the one upon which he was
now engaged.

This man Gainor, against whom he was sent,
was one of that ferocious family who did such
, deeds of terror in South Carolina as to make the

very name a byword and reproach in the
mouths of all good men. Tarleton was feared ,'
Gainer was both feared and dctcsled. Not a
Whig in the whole Santee country would have
hesitated an instant to kill him, and would have
thought they had done a noble deed. A hun-
dred dosolated homes in South Carolina. many
' bloody graves, were ghastly witnesses against
,him. There were many who, like the scout
Carey, had the murder of some dear friend to
avenge. The Tory had been useful to the Eng-
lish in many ways, and they had given him a
.command, and now sent him out, with the
avowed purpose of ridding the Santee country
of a.‘ perfect scourge, Francis Marion. The ac—
tive partisan Was, at this time, at the zenith of
his fame. All men know him. The English
execrated him, even while they respected his
sturdy selfA reliance, and the bold stand he had
taken iii-the cause of his country. The other
party, on the contrary, had nothing but com-
mendation for the hold patriot. who had done
so much for the country of their love. They
swore by him, and exulmd loudly when any of
his skillful marches and sudden disappcurnnces
baffled the foe. They laughed at the idem that a
thick—Wittod fellow like Gainer should dare to
it himself against Marion. They predicted the

ory’s overthrow, and in good time it came.
Carey remained by the river-side in a reverie.
There was no use in is attempting to approach
the camp of Gainor, which'was pitched in the
country between Great and Little Pedee~a
country which furnished many recruits to the
Tory ranks. The scout was standng in this

store, when a hoof—fall startled him, though

edid not even look up at the comer. But he
was observing him out of the corner of his eye,
and saw that he was a dark-faced, sullen—look~
,ing man, dressed in civiliun’s attire. But there
was something in his mannerrwhich hetokened
the skillful and practiced soldier. The scout
saw this atra glance.

“ Ha, my man,” said the rider, “ how far is it

to Post’s Ferry l”
“ A matter of twenty miles,” said the scout.

i ' I; With». stolid look on his face, which he well

heth

to assume.” ,

 

,/'/

Sam, the Swamp Scout. ‘ ' ' 8

“ Is the road dangerous?”

“That depends on yer party,” said the scout.
“ 1f yer favor one side, ye are all right; it not,
look out for yerself.” "

“Which side do you favor, my man?” said
the rider.

“No need to tell me which side ye favor,”
muttered Carey. “Yer cursed airs of su ri- .
ority betrays ye.” Then, in a louder ne:
“Ye are too hard on a man in these trouble—
some times. I’m a plain fellow, and I don’t
mind telling you What I think. But it isn’t safe
to hazard an opinion nowadays on these little ,
matters. Suppose I tell ye what I favor, and .

ye happen to he on the other side. ,I’d rather ' , ;‘

hev yo take the lead.”

“ I don’t mind giving you an idea of my way I  "'
"-I am a - 1
King George man, and I’ll tell you why, if you. ,1

of thinking,” said the new-comer.

like."
“ Do: I’d like to hear.” . .
“I thought you would.’ I’m a King George,
man because I’ve been bred to believe in' kee‘p-*

ing my allegiance to my lawful king. I was ’ A

taught that when a boy, and I have never been .
able to break the habit. What have the colon-
ists to complain of, after all? A tax of what?
\Ve my taxes in England.”

“ We’re plain fellows about here,” said the
scout, “ and we say what we think. I’ve talked
with the boys in this section, and they all sing
the same song. It isn’t the tan: that they com-
plain of: they are williu‘ ter pa something to'
support the Government. But t ey look at the,
principle of the thing. And it stands to reason
that if we give King,r George the right to put‘

his hand into our pockets and take out a perm ,, 
he has as much right to take out a guinea; ‘T e_ r I.
fact is, we are always to giro. but we ain’t quite ’ "

so ready to hev anybody take things from
That’s the way we think round here.”
“ Then you are a Whig?” _ ‘
“I didn’t say so. I’m a sort of neutral I
reckon. I ain’t made up my mind. I’d ii a
right well to know which was gwine tor Whip in
this tuSSle.” ‘ ‘ =
“Nonsense. That is easy enough to be seen...
King George has no organized force against-
him. Gates is beaten, his force scattered to the, -
four winds, and no hope left. How can you,
then, think it at all doubtful which way the,
sea 1e will turn?” ,. ' r
“ I hearn some of the boys talking about that,
too. They said that Sai'atoga Gates had 11.
blazes ’at Rugcly Mills, and what’s more, t ey ‘ ~
said that the Game Cock had iven Tarleton a.
right smart lickin’ at Blackstoc cs.” »’. .. ,
“Nonsense, I say. Tarleton is more than a
match for Sumter.” ‘ _
“ Mebbe he is. I don’t pretend to know, my,-
self. All i can Say about it is that one oftho
boys came straight from Blackstocksmndghe.
said he saw Tarleton on the run before became]
awa ; and they do say he lost nigh on to three
hunr red men." ' .
“ Malerlictionsl You scoundre}, do you know
what you are saying?” . j. 
“I don’t believe ya do,  Man. » Pm a’pm'
man, as I said before, and I won’t stand 
more such talk as that. I’m tellm’ yelphiu
truth, aster Iknow.” ' .   2»:

us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

4 ,

“ I our pardon, my good fellow, for be—
i soblggt.y 'But the idea of Bannister Tarleton
he ng beaten by Sumter’s ragamuiflns is simply
ridiculous.”

““ I don't pretend to know for certain,” said,
Carey, in the same indolent tone which he had
used through the entire conversation. “ I tell
what I hear from others. I don’t mix in with
this fighting overmuch. I don’t think it pays
just now. I can’t see but what the colonists do
prett well. Thor’s Marion, now; what do you
an 21 out Marion?”

‘Do you know where he is?” demanded the

royalist, eagerly.

‘ Who?”

“ Marion.” .
‘ “ How should I know? The devil couldn’t
./ track him, when he chooses to hide. Thar never
" was such a feller. You can’t say he don’t trou<
ble you.”

“That is true. He troubles us a great deal.
I! I could find a man who would guide a. force
’of royalists against him, the man should earn a
hundred guineas.”

N Eh?"

/ “ A hundred guineas.”

“Ye don’t say. That’s a mighty deal of
money. Ye say if ye find a man who can guide

9 to the place where he is, ye are ready with a

undred goold pieces?”

t‘ I do.”

“Ye don’t care whar it is, so that you can
come at him, somehow?"

“Not a whit.”

“ Ye stick to yer offer?”

M Yes.” y
 r “ Well, I'm sorry, but I don’t know anything

 about him now.”

“ Doltl Be careful how you trifle with me.
You are dealing with one who would not hesi~
tube to string you up to a cypress bough, and
leave you swinging there for the crows to feed
'- ,v on,” said the royalist.

. ‘ “ I'm not fooling,” said Carey. “' I said I was
‘ sorry I didn’t know whar he was. Yesterday I

did. ‘ He was in the Cypress, not five miles from

this, but he went away last night."

' “ You are sure of that?”

“ One of the he, s said so.”
“You seem to epend very much u on ‘ the
' ,boys’ for your information. How oes that

 

 hep n?”

‘ ‘ gator-ally enough. I’m a home body. I
don’t 0 about much, and all I knows I gets
' ’ from t em that does. And the boys are all over

’ (the country nowadays."
' , “ Do you know me?”

“ No, ’ said Carey.

3 ’ “ Did you ever hear of Major Gainer?”

i The scout turned his head away as he answer-

' ed, “Yes.” A world of fierce passion was tug-
, ing at his heart. He had never seen the man

More, and here he was at last, within reach of

’ his arm. But he dared not strike. His orde

from Marion were paramount to any private

1 feelings.

- , ““I am Major Gainor," said the royalist. “ I
, am out after the Swamp Fox and am ready to
m anignan well who will aid me in terreting

Oil ' »

 

  

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

“I don’t think ya can find him,” said the
scout. “ He knows the swamp too well."

“The men of my command are born swam
suckers, and know it as well as he. They wi 1
find him out, somehow. What do you say to
making one of us?"

The partisan looked at him in a. searching
manner from under his heavy brows before he-
replied. When he did so, he spoke like one who
had no very deep designs, but was simply a.
plain, unlettered man, desirous of keeping as
much out- of quarrels as he could. ’

“ I ain’t turned my mind to sojerin’, major;
that’s the plain truth of it. I’ve been bred here
on the edge of the Cypress2 and I never thought
much about it. I like to hve by myself, and I
don’t care to fight.”

“ But these are days when a man must be for
or against his- king. Why should you, a
young-”

“Not young, major.” intermpted the parti-
sau.

“ Young enough. In your very prime," the
major persisted. “What I think is this: you
could be of great service to your lawful king, and
don’tlook to me like a man who oughttoidle
away his time. 1 suppose you are a sure shot
with a rifle?”

“ Tol’able, major: jest tol’able. No more.”

“ We want such men as you all we can get.
Say you will join us,” persmted Gainer.

“ This being so sharp after new recruits don’t
look much as if you thought the work done,
ma‘jor.”

‘ Tush, man,” said Gainor, “ I never said it
was done. We want- men to finish it. that is
all. You would like to be in at the death, I
know.”

“ Yes, major, I would. But the end seems
to me so fur off. The Whi 5 get licked in
the big fight, to be sure; but t ey are awful
at this bush-fightin’. I’ve hearn tell that a
convoy don’t dare to show its nose out of
Charleston or Dorchester, or any of those big
places, unless Mad Archie Campbell or Tarle-
ton are somewheres on hand with theig dra-
goons. And if the teller from Blackstocks told
the truth, Tarleton won’t be able to take the
field for many a day. ”

“ Pshawl Don’t repeat that table again.
The idea that Tarletou could be beaten b a set
of low-lived swamp suckers, like those 0 Sam-
ter’s command 1”

"Perhaps you know all about Sumter’s men,
and perha s you don’t,” said Carey, dogmati-
call . “ ny way, I’ve got my opinion, and
I‘ll back it any time.”

“ What is your opinion?”

"That swamp suckers, as you call them, are
the right kind of men for the swamp. Ef they
ain’t, what was you braggin‘ about a little
while ago, when you said your tellers knew the
swamp by heart?" -

“ I don’t undervalue the men,” said Gainer,
who was heat on conciliating. “ Of course. as
you say, they ought to understand bush-fight-
ing. But, if I know any thing about Black-
stocks, it’s in a food, open country.”

“ So ’tis,” sai Carey. “ You are right there.
But Sumter has got some 0! the hem dragoons
an the kentry, at I do say it. They have the

 

  

 

 

 

 

Sam. the Swamp Scout.

 

darnedest lot of men you ever see’d, and as full
of impudence as Satan. They do say that they
ain’t afraid even of Tarleton. Thar’s Singleton,
and two or three more, and they‘ve had their
trainin’ in the same place your officers got
yours; and Sumter is hard to beat.”

“Never mind that now. Will you join my
command?”

“ I don’t like to promise sure, major. I’ll tell
you what I will do, though. If ye like to give
me a pass to come into yer camp, I’ll go home
and see the old woman, and if she thinks l’d
better, I’ll have a shy at that hundred guineas,
anyhow.”

“ Do you mean that you can find Marion?”

“ I didn’t promise to, did I? But ef I do, I’ll
keep my word. I know the swamp as well as
any man.”

“ I’ll give you the pass,” said Gainor. “i
would not do it for any other man, but I like
your looks, and you shall have it. But mind
you come to—ni ht.”

“ I’ll come. promise that much. I’ll be in
yer camp this very night.”

“That’s right. I like tosec a man like you
take the right course. It speaks well for your
loyalty.”

“ So it does, major.
me the pass.”

The major took out pen and ink, which he
carried in his saddlehag, and wrote a pass,
using the pummel of his saddle as a tablet.
When it was finished, he passed it over to the
partisan.

“ I can’t read,” said he. “ What does it say?”

“ It is an order to tho sentinels and sergeants
of the guard to pass on. Be sure to come.”

“ I’ll do it,” said arey. “ I always keep a
promise.”

“ I am glad to hear it.
here?”

“ Yes. Keep the head of your beast up
the stream and face that willow on the other
bank.”

The Tory plunged into the river, and Carey,
with an amused smile on his face, watched him
from the bank.

CHAPTER II.

THE TORY CAMP.

No man in that section, at the date of this
star was more hated than Major Gainer by
the hi... Indeed, he was in bad odor even
with the * nglish, for his atrocities shocked even
them. The more chivalrous among the British
officers were united in sending him to Coventry
as a bloodthirsty and cruel man. The very
name of Whig was hateful to him, and he con-
SIdered nothing too had for them. Woe to the
unfortunate whom chant-e had thrown in his
way, who claimed allegiance to the colonies!
The halter and swinging bough were the least
he had to expect. Carey, while talking with
him. had to exercise all his self-control to keep
his hands from the villain’s throat. But
he knew that the safety of the enterprise
which Marion had intrusted to him re-
quired him to hold his hand. He saw the Tory
crossthe river in safety, and stand upon the
other shore. Twice he raised his rifle, and

Wal, then ye ken give

Is the river fordable

 

 

as often lowered it, with a hesitating fin er
lingering on the trigger. He was sure of is
aim. He knew that at this distance the doom
of the wretch was scaled. but policy withheld

him from taking venaeance then. A grim-

smile curled his thin lips as he thought theta
day would come when they could meet and set-
tle the account which Gainor had run up with
the Whigs of that section. “Go your ways,”
he muttered. “ For this time you are safe.
But a day will come when there will be nothing
to restrain me, and then—”

He did not finish the sentence, and throwing
his rifle over his arm, he turned away from the

‘3

river, and suffered the Tory to pursue his.

couise. He rode at a quick pace for more than

an hour, and then came in sight of his camp. It ’ ‘

was well chosen, and here his men were scattered

in groups, discussing the latest news, and talking v

over the robable events of the present cam-
aign. host of them were South Carolina
cries—the worst of their breed.’ Men were
ununiformed, as they had come in from t e sur-
rounding country: for their leader’s design was

more to gain men than to defeat Marion, though ,

that was in his programme.

The Tory settlers- <

along the river had gathered at his rallying-cry. ‘

They knew the signal, and loved the scent of
blood. The plain homespun blouses of the men
Were crossed by the brass-mounted belts which

the English service provided. No man amongg.’
the lawless Tories of the Edisto had greater in-" ,

fluence than Gainor, as this quickly-gathered
force testified. All ages and conditions came
in singly and in groups at his call. Some,

richly dressed, were of that class of wealthy. I
proprietors who sided with the oppressorr- “

Others were more boys, upon whose chins the .'

down of early manhood just began togrow,

but whose young faces had that hardened look "z"

which close connection with the worst phases of '

Many were rough,»

a cruel war is apt to give.
from, the

dark—brewed, bewhiskered men,

swamp regions of the Peace, who delighted in "

the bloody deeds to which it was the pleasure of
Gainor to incite them, and who would not will-
ingly have f0110Wed any other lender. There

were others still of a polished exterior, whose, '

sympathies were with
sure, but whose chief reason for joining the ex-

pedition was their desire to enjgy the excite- , r
O _

ment of a chase after the. Swamp 2:.

he royal cause. to be» .»

Gainor’s band were scattered about as they. -

had come in, some of the men playinficards,
some cleaning guns and swords. and ot ers in-
dolently kicking their heels for the want of beta
ter employment. Abuzz of welcome greeted

the advent of their chief, who rode into camp, ' ‘ I

bowing to his friends on the right and left. .A
little negro darted up to take his horse, and was
repaid for his ofiicious zeal by a smart rap on
the head.

“See to that horse, you black rascal.",said 

the Tory. "Rub him dewn well. If I finda

spot on his hide, you may look out for a good ‘ ’

mnnv more on yours.”
“ ’Es, massa,’
H

“Ah, Blakeley, glad to see'you Have you Q "

just come in?” _ I
“ Yes, major,” and the person addressed,a

said the boy, “ me berry earl:

’ Sam, the Swamp Scout.

 

.huudsome , youn man in a. showy uniform.
-, “ I’ve just come tom the upper country.”
,1 “ Any news?”

“Yes; I don’t like to tell it, though.”

,“ Out with it."

“ You know Tarleton was out after Sumter?
You saw him leave Dorchester. Sumter was
away use matter of course. But, he turned on
the colonel at Blackstocks, and, as sure as my
name is E bert Blakeley, he whipped him.”

“ Ridicu ous!”

“ Undoubtedly; but it is true, for all that.
Hewhipped him thoroughly. ’l‘arleton fairly
turned tail and ran, leaving three or four hun-
dred of his men killed and Wounded.”

“ I heard that story before, but did not credit

r, it. How many men had Sumter?”
' u “ If you take the story of our men, about ten

 ' , thousand,” said Blakeley.”

“ Nonsense. What is your estimate?”

, “ I' don’t believe he had more than ‘anleton.

"It was a fair, stand-up fight. and the Whigs
were the better men. I can’t make any thing
. more or less out or the matter to save my life.
The deuce! It is no, good to undervalue these
partisans. They are in their own country, and

*‘ are as full of game as so many fighting cocks.
If they have whipped Bannister Tarleton, and I
think they have, give‘ them the credit of it;
that’s what I say.” ’

' “ Have you any more news?”

“Yes. Weymiss is taken.”

it Eh?”

'_“ Taken with his whole party the day before
the fight with Sumter. I think Singleton (lid

. it. ' Anyhow, it was one of Sumtor’s bands.”

‘ I“ Have you told this to the men?"
~ ," They know it fust'enough. 111 news is never
islow in traveling. The Whigs are having their

‘ turn. ‘I knew they would.”

' “You speak as if on rather enjoyed it.”

“ Of course not. ut one can’t help admiring
pluck, you know, and it is as good as a ploy to
see how the knaves stand out after losing all the

. great battles. ”
 “ It pleases you, I see.
Whig?”
-" Ma'or Gainer!" said the young loyalist, lay-
; lug his and upon his sword, “ I am not accus-
H tomed to such language.”

" “I beg your pardon,” said Guinor, who, like

{all traitors, was far from being a brave man.

«""I aim terribly annoyed by this news.”

« 5‘ I must ask you not to allow your anger to
betmy on into the indiscretion of insulting me,
 Hy you know anything of the Blakeley

'v’blmd, you are aware that the are not the sort
ofvpeople to bear anything of t at kind tamely.”

v' I meant uoibing of the kind, my dear cap-
. min," said Gainer, in haste to apologize. “ No th-
of the kind, I assure you.”
I am pleased to hear you say so,” said

Blakeley, by no means mollifled. “ But I must
ask you to be more guarded in your expres-

jsions.” .

“.‘You are too hot, my dear boy,” said the

. other. ’“ Don’t take any little thing I may say

«to, much to heart, I beg of you."

- ‘fI, have but one answer to an insult,” said

Blaknle . f‘ Remember that.” ‘ .

e ‘ V nowopoe more,” said Gainer, passing

Are you turning

 

over the olijez‘tionahle subject with undignified
haste, “wlirl'o did you get this newe of Tarle-
ton’s re} "1an l”

“ Di-i’vut,” said Blakeley, who was in a mood
to eavil at terms.

“ Defeat be it, then. if you will have it so.
How did you hear of it?”

“ From a messenger who killed two horses in
carrying the news to Rawdon. Oh, there is no
doubt upon the point. Our gallant colonel is ,
most beautifully Whipped. I told him, as I have
told you, that it would not do to undervalue
Sumter. But he has got his lesson, and will
profit by it. It remains for you to get yours.”

“ There is no danger hero. Marion is the only
man in this region,and we are too many for him.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“You don’t suppose he would have the im-
pudence to attack us i?”

“ Im udencel He has the im udence of a
bat. tell you, no man is safe w o penetrates
his peculiar domain, unless he is constantly on I
the alert. Look at your men now. They are
playing“ cards or throwing dice, or are asleep.
Suppose Marion or Sumter were to attack us
now  What chance would we have?”

“ You have too much faith in their prowess.
I tell you, Marion will not fight. It is not his
forte. He is more of u strategist. He lies in
the swamp, cuts off convoys, and flits at the
approth of an organized force.” I

“ Very well. If you feel secure I have noth~
in: to say. But, as far as my command is con- '
corned, I mean to take some means to insure
their safety.”

“Very proper on your part, captain.
you gained many recruits?”

“ Twelve ihen and twenty-seven horses.”

“ Good. You have done well.”

“ Oh, they know me,” said Blakeley, proudly.
“I have not been in this section so long for
nothing. They know I will keep them stirring.”

“Rumor says that Captain Egbert Blakeley
has n. fair reason for staying in this section.”

“ How 90, sir?”

“ Don’t get angry at me for such a trifle, my
boy. The officers at Dorohoster suv that the
black eyes of Maud Eston have h.id something
to do with it.”

“ Be so good as to remember one thing, Major
Gainer. The name of that young lady shall not
be bundled from mouth to mouth by every one
who chooses to speak of her.” ‘

“ You are the most hot~headed youngster I
ever saw,” said Gainor. “ If 'you try to prevent
all Miss Mom ’5 admirers from speaking her . ’
name, you will close many months. But you
have as good as admitted my point, and I know
to whet I am indebted for so able an ally as Cap<
tuin Blakeley.” '

“ Ase-ribe it to what you will,” said Blakeley,

“ so that you do not handy her name about.”

“ By the way, though,” said Gainer, who had
found the Weak spot in the young man’s armor, .
“now I think of it, that family is of Whip: ro- "
clivities. I have often said to the general hat
the women of the Curolinus did us more harm
than the men, and deserved punishment as
much.” . .

“A brave nation does not make war'on wo-' \ ',
men,” replied Egbert. I

I,

 

Have ’ «

  
  
 

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

I stray cattle in their march, and joints of meat

:~,i.v 

1 .

 

’Sam,‘ the Swamp Scout.

 

“That is nothing to the point.

This family is
giving aid and comfort to the enemy. I
I

know

“ In what way?”

“Not more than a. week ago Major James
Conrad was seen at that house, and spent a day
there.”

“ Who?”

“ Major Conrad. Do you know him 3”

All the bad lines in the face of the young man
came out at the mention of the name, ina sort of
bus-relief.

“ I know him so ,well that, if we meet on any
spot of ground, he or I must die.”

“ You hate him, then?"

“ Hate? It is a tame word to express my
feelings on the point. Why do you bring it u
now? You know, none so well as you, that?
have said that one day I would be the death of
James Conrad.”

“ And yet you are cousins,” said Gainor.

, “ True. But these are times when the ties of
blood are forgotten. He is a toad-spotted traitor,
and he tends in my way. For this reason, if
none ot er, he is my enemy to the death.”

“ You cannot hate Mu 'or Conrad more than I
do," said Gainor, grin ing his teeth hard to«

ether. “I have a reason which you have not
or wishing him any ill which may fall upon a
man and may God do so to me, and more also,

, if I do not see that evil fall on him before I die."

“ What has he done to you?”

“The greatest injury which one man can do
another. He has doubted my honor.”

The young man broke into a sarcastic laugh.

“ Well, major, a great many persons do that.
And have you not laid yourself open to the im-
putation?” ‘

“ It seems that you now take your turn at in-

sulting words.” said the major, turning very
o

pale, r he was a coward.
mean by it?” -

“Nothing,” said Egbert, in an indolent tone.
“ I merely asked the question. But don’t let us
have words about it. For my part, I must leave
you. I wish to see after the safety and comfort
of my men.” _

The young man strode away, leaving his su-
perior gnawing his thin lip, but not daring to
give expression to his rage, for he knew that the
hot-blooded young man would have liked noth-
ing better than a quarrel with him, in his pres-
ent state of mind. He relieved his feelings by
culling the little negro, who had come to him for
orders, and who received_the punishment with
the patience of his race. He was used to thrash-
in without reason, and asked no questions.

‘Have you seen to my horse?” growled
Gainer.

v “ ’Es. massa,” said the boy, drawing his sleeve
over his eyes. “ I have dat, and he looking boo-
tiful. so he be. What I do now?”

“Clear outi" said Gainer.

I The boy needed no second bidding, but disap—
peared instantly.

The Tories now had set about preparing sup-
per, and fires were lit in various places about
the slope on which the camp was pitched. There
was rough fare, but better than the Whigs
dreamed of. They had “ sequestrated ” some

“What do you

 

were broiling over the fires’, suspended upon
poles laid upon crotched sticks, while the men
ooked on and turned them as they needed, that
attention. Besides the meat, they had 'a plenti- ' u;
ful supply of sweet potatoes, which they had i .
taken from the plantations passed on the way; ‘
and last, but not least, in their estimation, a
supply of Jamaica rum, a beverage very much, -
in vogue at that day among the poorer classes.
Painful marches through deep swamps, and
over sandy tracts, make a drink of this fright-
ful beverage taste like nectar. So, at least
thought the swamp suckers of Gainor. And
when they lay doWn to rest at night, there were
few of them, not even the sentries, who had not
got a drop more than was good for them. '
At last they slept, and silence fell upon the,
camp. '

 

 

CHAPTER III. I
. CAREY’S VISIT. "
THE active partisan waited for night, erehe 
made his appearance at the camp. It is not to|
be supposed that he was fool enough to walk
into it in daylight, although he had a pass. He ‘
knew as well as any other man that his services ,;
were known to the Tories, and that it was r i; r
hardly probable that there was not some one in «r ’
the Tor camp acquainted With his person; for - g
be had een bred in that region, and before the ‘ 
war, had joined them in hunting expeditions ‘ " ‘
through the swamp fastnesses. '
Lyin in the swamp until the proper time ar-
rived, e then rose and walked boldly toward _ ,,
the camp. The sergeant of the and wasra’g, ‘
character. He had been, in early ife, a sort of r 2
itinerant preacher, much liked by the poor. 
whites, and known to Carey by reputation.
This man claimed to have a mission to evangel-
ize the Carolinas. A rough, unlettered person,
he had picked up a species of rant from various _
ogosing sects. and had gained from his 00ml, 
r esthe sobriquet of preacher. Be happened : ‘
to be roaming vaguely from one “post to another ?
at the time the partisan appears and was chal-i v
lenged by the guard. ’ . ' v,
“ Who goes there?”
“ A friend, I reckon,” said Carey. '
“ Advance, friend, and give the mimtersign,“
was the stern order of the guard. " ' , "
“ I calculate I can’t do that, friend,” said
Carey. “But I can do what’s better; I can

I

 

 

  
 
 

give you a pass.” ‘
“From whom?”
“ Gainor.” v
“ Pass the word for the corporal of the guard,” _
said the sentry to the next post. ' V > ,
The man complied, calling aloud for “1°reach- . ""
er.” The next post took up the cry, and?
“Preacher I” echoed down the ine, and reached * ,'
the ears of the corporal, who started at once for: g ,,
post number eight, the sentry who had halted?

Carey.
“ hat have we here?” said the cor ' 1,
who always used good language. “ peak" ‘V
man !”
“I reckon I ken do that," said Carey. 
want to come into camp. l’ve gotapass." ’1 , ' 
“Come with me.” saidrrft‘eacher- “fend-v ‘v’,
venture, we shall find that ii do not smite 
with the sword of the Lord; ) Gideon. r ~=

 

 

 

 

 

    
 

 

 

;_, .‘r‘ar; - .

 

doth not the Good Book so that whose offend-
eth against his little ones, 9 same shall suffer
damnation?”

Carey looked closely at the men. He was a
stout-built, muscular fellow, with a massive
head, square jaws, and a determined eye. Not
the sort of person one would like to meet in a

, charge, by any means. Carey saw at a glance
'  that, under the garb of cent, which he chose to
assume, there was a dee vein of cunning, and
i’that he would find it her to deceive him. The
picket-guard had built fires, a thing which
would not be allowed in our da , and were lying
about them in various attitu es. They looked
’ ' up as the corpora] came into the circle and
. gazed curiously at his com nion.
 ' “Let me look upon this pass of which you
speak,” said Preacher. “Peradventure, it may
be as thou sayest.” .
Carey took oflf his hat, and from the lining
,, reduced a piece of pa r, the same which
3‘ ‘ iuor had given him, an handed it to the cor-
“ porn]. He took it to the fire, and looked closely
at the signature.

“ Of a truth this is the handwriting of the
man of war, Gainor,” said he, “W‘e may not
gainsa it. What wouldst thou have?”

“ I on’t mind tellin’ ye,” said Carey. “ I
* hain’t fought on any side through the war.
this morning I met Gainor and he told me he
was goin after the Swamp fox, and I thought
perhaps d take a hand in. Anyway, I had the
' pass, and I' guessed I’d come and see the boys,
and find out whether they had a good time and
> if they do, mebbe I’ll take a hand in. bon’t
.; : you see?” -

. * “ Thou speakest well,” said the corporal.
"‘ /“But I bethink me that it is passing strange
that a youn man could keep away so long from
the sound 0 the battle. The nature of man is
. bloody. Of a truth, he loves the ueighing of the
. steed and the sound of the drum. Peradventure
. thy heart is weak.”
‘ No,” said the partisan; “ I don’t know that

I am any more of a coward than another man.

But I thought I wouldn’t take a hand in. I

don't know why, unless I didn’t know which

way the thing was going.”
‘ It seemeth to me thou art dull, friend. How
. - should rebellion flourish in the face of the king?
— Truly, the rebels seek the dens and caves of the
earth, and the deep places in the swamp, that
they may hide from our view. But, we will
search them out wherever they may go.”
, “Now, I’m a plain man and open to convic-
: tiouf’ said Carey. “ I want to get at the right
‘, , of this thing, and if you can show me that the
. colonies ain’t got a chance, why then I uess
I I’ll take a ride after old Marion. I’d like t at.”
“Let me show thee,” said Preacher, who do-
lighted in argument. “ I can make it as plain
. tothy perceptions as the sun at noonday, and
then Wilt thou delight to take the sword in hand
_ , and go up to the help of the Lord, against those
 . who raise the hand a ainst the Anointed. Dost
r j _ thou read the Good 00k?”
Q j ‘ v Garey was rather taken aback.
‘ ‘ “ If the truth must be told,” said he, “ I ain‘t
turned my mind to it a great deal. I ain’t had
much time.”

 

 

 

 

 

\

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

But,

 

“ It would seem that much of thy time hath

 

    
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
   
  
 
    
    
  
   

run to waste, young sir. Let me be thy in-
structor. It is in the Good Book that we must
be subservient to the powers that he. It saith,
too, ‘ Fear God and honor the king.’ How can
we honor him when we fight against him?”

“There is much reason in what e say ” said
Carey. “ But I’ve hearn these Whi s talk, too.
They say that they hain’t got any ca 1 to obey a
man that don’t look after their comfort, and
lays grievous burdens on them. Now, they say
they don’t care so much for the money, but it’s
the principle of the thing, paying money when
there is no law for it.”

“ They are the children of the devil,” said
Preacher hotly. “It seemeth to me thou hast
already heard too much of their pernicious

teachings.”

“Like enough ” said Carey, dryly. “ One
can’t always tell when he’s got enough of a
thing, ye know. Well, go on. You’ve showed
me that it’s in the Good Book that we should
obey the king. We don’t think so much of that.
But who is getting the best of the fighting?"

“ We are.”

“ I’ve hearn so. But the most impudent
thing on the ’arth is a Whig. Now, they’d tell,
you that their chances never looked better than
they do today.”

“Hath not Lord Rawdon beaten the arch-
rebel Greene, in battle?”

“ rllhey own up to that. But, the other day,
I heard that Rawdon didn’t feel quite sure he
licked Greene, and thought seriously of running
away. If he does, mind you, he’ll li ht his 
way” to Charlestown with the houses 0 Cam-

“ So let it he. Thou hast the stories of these
rebels by heart. What else?” _

“They say that the North is about clear of
our troops, anyhow, and that the Congress in
Philadelphia is going to send more troops down
here and drive Cornwallis out. Of course I
don’t believe all this, but some of it must be
true. Then Sumter has licked Tarleton ri ht
out of his boots, I know. And Tom Taylor as
it his own way about Granby. and Washington
and Lee are out with their horse about Wax-
hew, and as for the Swamp Fox—Lord, he is
evei Where! Where not?”

ruly, you are a strange convert. I never

heard a good loyalist talk as you do. Be care-
ful of thy tongue.”

‘Carey saw that the fellow beganto suspect
him and changed his tone somewhat.
“ I don't want to have you think I sin true.
Gainer knows me, or he Wouldn’t give me a. pass
to come here. Ye know that.” t

“ We want men who believe in the power of
the king to conquer his enemies.”

“ That ain’t reasonable,” said he. “ Didn’t
you say that the British had the best of it? I’m
inclined to think so, myself, but it’s just‘as well
to look at both sides of the thing.”

“Thou speakest well. Behave me, before
man days these swamp robbers and hard riders
of umter and Taylor, Lee and Washington,
will be gone forever.”

“ I don’t know but what iyou are right. It
does stand to reason that t ey can’t hold out
longeageinst such good soldiersas the British.
To sure Tarleton did git lickedat Blackstecks, ,

p
'. A 1..

 

 

 

 

Sam. the Swamp Scout. ', ‘ 9

 

but, that was luck. maybe. You can’t tell an -
thin about it. But, the major said that 0
won d ive a hundred guineas to any one that
*would s ow him where the Swamp Fox was. I
think I can do it.”

The eyes of the corpora] lighted up in a mo—
ment. He was hot for the destruction of
Marion. Like all royalists, he hated the name
of rebel, and would have stopped at no means to
rid the earth of such a scourage as the Swamp
Fox. In an instant he became what he really
was—a keen, unscrupulous soldier.

“ Do you mean to say that you know where to
find him?”

“ No,” said the partisan; “I don’t say that.
But, I know the swamp as well as any man, and
I know the places where he’d be likely to
hide."-

“ Then you will show us the place?”

“ If I make up my mind to jine you, of course
I will. That’s what I said. I ken find the
islands.”

This was true. There were very few, if any,
in the country who knew more of the swamps
than Carey.

“ Then thou canst not tell anything of a sure—
ty,” said Preacher, relapsing into his pious
jar on.

M 0-7)

V “ Do you promise to join us?”

“ I’d like to find out first whether the boys
take to the service. I don‘t like to be with a lot
of men that ain’t well used. I’m too darned
tender-hearted. l’d run away the first thing I
did. You may be sure of that.”

“ Are you a. good shot?”

“ Putty good—putty good. Nothin’ to brag
of, ye know.”

At this moment another man came 11 and
took his place at the fire. The moment arey
saw him, 'he became uneasy, and instinctively
felt in his bosom for the istols which were
hidden there. He had goax reason to fear the
new-comer. Of all men in that section there
was not a. man who knew him better! He did
not notice Carey at first, and the partisan did
not take any pains to make himself cons icuous.
The man was a noted scout, attached to ‘ninor‘s
Tories, and the two had dogged one another
often in the swamps below the great Pedee,
neither finding it ossible to outwit the other.

“ Is that on, ack Adams?” said one of the
men. “ Gla to see you. Can you give me a
pipe of tobacco?"

Adams passed his tobacco—pouch over to the
speaker, who filled his pipe and began to smoke.

“ Where hast thou been, friend J ohn?” asked
the corporal.

“Ah—hal Are you there, old true—oak?” said
the Scout. “ Well, if you must know, I’m just
from Camden.”

“ Any news!"

“ Heaps of news. The rebels are on the alert.
I don’t reckon that on will be able to make a
good fight ef Marion is half as strong as they say
he IS. And now, while we are talkin’ I want a
to look out for one man‘ of his, a fellow by the
name of Carey, Ef ye don’t look mighty sharp,
ten to one he beats ye.”

“ What kind ofa man is he?”

" He looks like a sandlapper, a little, weazen,

  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

dried-up cha , that don’t look as if he was worth
a cent. But e is. I’ll give a man all the credit
he deserves, and I say he is too many for me.”

“Oh, no, Jack.”

“Yes, he is. Ef he ain’t, wouldn’t I have
had him long ago? It stands to reason. Thar
ain’t another scout I’m afraid of in the whole
section, unless it’s Sumter’s pets, the Indian and
white man that run in couple, and this chap.
Oh, he’s a t’arer. I tell you. Hain’t seen or
heard nothin’ of him recently have you?”

“ Not a sign. W e have a new recruit here. I
reckon as how he mought tell us something, if
he would, about the rogues.”

“ Where is he?"

“ Here,” said the corporal, indicating the par-
tisan. At these words the scout leaped to his
feet, for he knew that nothing could hide his
identity from the man before him.

“That’s the very man i” yelled Jack Adams.

The words had hardly passed his lips when

the form of the South Carolinian rose into the-

air, and be planted both feet on the chest of the
Tory, who dropped as if struck by a. cannon
ball, and lay wilhout sense or motion. At the
same moment Carey, with wonderful skill,
threw a somerset over the heads of the men
nearest at hand, and was gone.

A frightful tumult arose on every hand and
the picket-guard started in pursuit. They found

the outside guard lying dead in on the sod, with .

a bullet in his brain. Jack dams soon 8, ‘
gored to his feet, but slowly recovered from
eflects of the terrible blow he had received. .

“ Who was he?” demanded Gainer, rushing
forward. ,

“ Did you give a fellow a pass this morning to
come into camp?” asked Adams.

H

" A small chap, with a thin face, and restless,
black eygs?”

es. ‘

“That was Sam Carey, Pete Horry’s best
scout.” r

The Tory leader was speechless with surprise
and ragle, and his tongue was only loosened
when t e body of the dead picket-guard was
brought in. Then he gave way to the torrent of
his passion.

“The mischief is done and he has flitted '

leaving me a token of his regard in the shape of
a dead friend. “ I’m jubous no good will come
to us from this. I thought a great deal of
Barney.”

“ He was a good soldier and died at his post,”
said Captain E bert. “I am sorry you have
lost our comra e, Jae.”

“ e won’t be a great while unavenged, on}:
tain,” said the scout; “ye may bet on tha
But, what do ye sayi—shall I take three or (our

of the men and follow this impi I think I can,

run him down.”
“Have it your own wa , Jack.”

A quarter of an hour a ter, five men left the '

camp, following the trail of the flying scout. ‘

CHAPTER IV.
was onasm. .
SAM CAREY knew that he had no time to
loiter, especially if Jack Adamswas still in

 

m _
though he chuckled over the thought that u; x

(1,:

 

:amrmmsumm"

km.  xahxm

.. .. sunbeapmna-

 

.10

had given him a ain in his stomach. Hurrying
forward, he fina 1y reached the place where he
had appointed the meeting with his negro friend.
The night was dark, and be stumbled on through
the bushes and over miry places, and reached a.
spot where the logs and brush w‘ero piled in con—
fusion on every side. As he was stealing along
in a cautious way, he was suddenly seized by a
pair of stalwart arms and thrown to the
ground.

“ Who is it?" he cried.

“ Dat you eh, Mass‘ Care i” said the voice of
the negro, .Iake. “ Gosh, t’ought I might as
well make it safe. I did, too.”

a , He released his friend, and they sat down on
a 10 in the bushes.

“ har ye been?” asked Jake.

“I‘ve been into Gainor’s camp, blast him. I
didn’t stay long. Ye see I met that J ark Adams,
and he knew me in a minnit. I gave him the
Weight of both feet in tho chist, and he keeled
over and I run for it.”

“ 'fiey after ye?" ‘

“I reckon so. Jack is hot to take me, but I
guess we will beat him somehow. He’s a ood

' scout, though. Thar’s no mistake about hot.
. Thar ain’t a better man at his trade in the Car’-
linas. Did ye go to Davy’s house?”

“’Es, Mass’ Care . Dar wa’n’t nobody home
’cept misse'e, an’ tol’ her. She jest looked

~ kinder sad-like, and said as how dey all wanted
‘ ‘to see Davy rig-ht bad, but of he was goin’ to
fight Gainer, she woaldn‘t say nuflin’ ag’in’ it.
Dan I cum awa .”
. “ All right. {To wanted them to know. But
’ we neecln-t stay here. Jack Adams will be on
'our backs‘if we do. Hark tothatl They’ve got
dogs on the trackl I didn’t think of that. Let’s
boom"
Even as he spoke the prolonged bay of two
hounds was heard, and they knew that they
7 were on a hot scent.
“ 011‘ with you." cried the scout. “Keep with
me, if on can, but if We sep’rate, ye meet me
‘ at the island in the Cypress, by the three trees.”
a They hurried away together through the dark
fiWamp, hearing each moment the bay of the
" dogs, and knowing they were coming nearer.
Over tussocks on which the moccasin-snakes
were lying, by stagnant pools, under low-hang-
ing boughs, at last they reached a bayou, whose
r dark Waters, with almost imperceptiale current,
flowed through the swamp. The bayou was not
dee , and they plunged into the water and
v' w ed down-stream, holding their guns high
above their heads and keeping their powder dry
11% hanging their pouches about their necks.
' . ey had not waded a hundred yards when the
dogs reached the bank and set up the cry which
announced that they had lost the trail.
- “ Close to us ye see,” said Carey. “It was
~ touch and go. i don’t think Adams will be far
behind. Let’s wait a little while. I tell ye, if
he comes with only one other man there is goin7
to be a fight}? \
They sat down on the bank and waited, while
~ the hounds tried back and forth in the vain en—
. flavor to find the lost traih Ten minutes

~ ,r‘pasaod; then they heard the harsh voice of

I Adams encouraging the hounds to new ener-
tions. Other voices were heard, and the fugi-

 

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

tives made out that no less than five men were
opposed to them. Though brave as need be, the
two had no desire to fight against such odds, if
they could help it. At a touch from Carey, the
no ro rose, and they moved cautiously away.

‘ They have taken to the water. ’ We must
get the dogs to the other side.”

“ One of us will be enough to puzzle these
men, Jake,” said Carey. “ Now I’ll tell ye What
to do. Run down the bank of the stream for
half a mile to the nob. and thur you will find a
dug—out hid behind the old cypress. Ye can
soon leave them with that. I’m going to stay
behind. I’ve got business up to Eston’s planta—
tion for Major Conrad, and I ain’t goin’ to be
driven out of my course for anybody.”

“ How’s ye giwino to break the trail, massal”
asked the blac .

“ Here, stand close to this tree. Don’t touch
the body. Now let me get on your shoulders. ”

The negro bowed his broad shoulders and the
active partisan sprung upon them and was
casil raised from the ground. In a moment he
sto erect, without touching the tree, and
stooping slightly, he sprung into the air, an
graspthr the lowest branch, was soon safely hid—
den in the foliage.

“ All ri ht! Away with you, old boy. Tell
the major ‘11 be in some time to—morrow.”

The negro darted away at full speed, for the
bounds had found the trail again on that side,
and had opened in full cry. Immediame after,
they swept by the tree on which the scout was
perched, and he heard their voices die away in
the distance. Soon after, the pursuing party,
with newlydightcd torches, darted by. Carey
chuckled as he thought that long before they
could- overtake the negro, the brave black would
take to the water and cross to the opposite side,
and continue his course down the other bank.

As the noises died away in the distance, the
partisan descended the tree and crossed the
stream, after wading a short distance up it, and
started in a new direction by a path we 1 known
to him, and which brought im out on the bank
of the river about three miles from the place
where Gainer wasencamped.

At that point was a. plantation, which had
been the residence of a man named Eston, who
had died some years before, leaving his widow
to take charge of a large property, and a daughc
ter, also, at the time of this story the belle of
that district. Maud Eston’s name was often
toasted by the officers of the British garrison
near at hand: with whom she was popular,
though apt to express her feelings warme on
the subject of her country’s wrong". Rawdon
and Cornwallis knew her well, and had dined at
the house several times, mildly reprobatmg her
rebel proclivities, which she was at no pains to
concea .

A woman, and that woman young and beauti-
ful. can say and do things, even in times of re-
bellion, which others dare not, and Maud was,
well known for plain speaking on these points.

The morning had somewhat advanced when.
the scout emerged from the swamp. But, early
as it was, Maud had visitors—no other than the

.rredoubtable Major Gainer and Captain Edward

Blakeley, who had ridden iglfmm camp without
escort. Careycaughta gl pse or a,  coat

 

 

Sam; the Swamp Scout.

 

on the veranda; Hurrying back into the woods,
he disappeared from view, just as Maud, he
sieged by the attentions of the two royalists,
came round the corner of the house and Look a
seat on one of the veranda chairs.

“ Do you know that Rawzloii has a great re-
spect for such as you as combatants, and is re-
v: .lving seriously the chances whether or no he
ought not to treat you as such? You certainly
furnish aid and comfort to the enemy," Suid
Gaiuor.

“ Lord Rawdon is a, gentleman, and will never
punish frinalos for their political belief. Un—
fortunately, there is no mule heir to the Eston
estates.”

“ H 0w do you say—nufortunately?“

“Even so. If there was a man of our blood
he would be in the field.”

“ Let me hope so; and striking in the right
cause.”

“ Perhaps we should differ as to which is the
right cause]?

“ It is the cause of the king,” ejaculated both

men.
b “litis the cause of the colonies,” answered the
cl 6.

“ Report says that Miss Maud Eston has per—
sonal reasons for espousing the cause of the
rebels." ‘

“ Report seldom speaks the truth; but in this
case there is no doubt on the subject. I have
tll‘ best of reasons for loving the cause of the
colonii-s. I love it because it is the cause of
justice and right, Ilove it because it is the cause

_ of my dear i'ricnds, and I hope the time will
come when that cause will triumph over all its
enemies.“

“ Treason! treason!” cried Egbert Blakeley,
laughing.

“ So cried the loyalists in the Virginia, parlia—
ment, and Patrick Henry answered them as I
do you".

KL How?”

“ If that be treason, make the most of it.”

“ But, seriously, Maud,” said Egbert, draw-
ing nearer, “ are you not a little too hot in your
professions of sympathy for the cause of the
ragged rascals who infest the swamps of the
Carolinas,‘and rob all who are. not strong enough
to stand against them, and run from those who
have arms in their hands?”

It Sir?”

“ Why do you exclaim in that manner?”

“ If Captain Blakeley will think a moment, he
will remember that the gentlemen he designates
as ‘ragged rascals’ are my friends. far dearer
to me than any royalists ever can he.”

' “ I or you mercy,” said Egbert. “ I did not

.think 0 that.”

‘ 1“ And when you speak of them with disre-
spect, you force me to retaliate. They may lie
rascals and cowards, us you say; but it seems to
me that the pet of the British cavalry, Colonel
’J'nrleton, has had hard usage at their hands.
Does it not seem so to you?“

“How did you hear of that?” said Guinor,
considerably astonished. “I thought the news
was confined to my camp.”

“ I heard of it in a sure way, Major G-ainor.
lII donnot consider myself at liberty to state

' 0W. ' ‘

 

“ I should be glad if
ever,” said Gainor.

“ It is impossible, major. Such news cannot be
kept. Do not let it astonish you that such things
come out.
ter’s ‘ ragged rascals,7 who was carrying the
news to a certain point.”

“ You show no mercy. Captain, if you will
take my advice, you will not talk politics with

you would do so, how-

Miss Maud. She is one of ihosetprivileged per- ‘

sons who carry a two—edged swor

“I speak for her good.
justly incensed just now, and such opinions as
hch are injurious. Miss Maud knows that the

excesses of the rough soldiery of Marion and.’
Suinterhave been a source of great annoyance to! . =

our generals, who have not been accustomed to

u"

Iliad it from one of General Sun'i- '

The authorities are .

this irregular and uncivilized style of fightin .” .

“It/L's unfair,” said Maud, derisively. “ e
stupid fellows actually have made out to get a

supply of swords—I believe they took them ‘

from some wagons which Balfour was Sendin
to Dorchpsterwand they are impudent enoug
to think that they know how to use them. How
ridiculous!”

“ Maud, this is too much,” said Egbert, chaf- ,

ing under her sarcasm.

“ I can't help it, Egbert. To be sure, before ,
ragged rascals’ used to be among 3v ‘

the war. I hose

Mm... .mifi-Aw 4.... . Gunman“ «ma «sea mflm‘ntwfifh‘h cum

our first gentry, and were supposed to know
something of the sword exercise. But, circumm ' '

stances alter cases in a wonderful manner, and
they are gentlemen no more.” '

“You will not forgive that unlucky slip of  '

mine, Maud.
officers. Most of them are gentlemen, as you

say; the more to their shame that they take up .

arms against their lawful sovereign, But, don’t
let us speak of that.
about your dropping this rebel talk of yours.”

“ Very well.” said Gamer.
deavor to make a convert of Miss Maud, I will

Of course I did not refer to the ,1-

I am really in earnest- -.

“While yen ena. «.1

do my best to make Mrs. Eston loyal. I do 0?

not think she is asmuch of arebelasour fair 2

foe here.”

“ She may not express herself in as plain ‘ ,
but her opinions are as ~

terms,” said Maud, ‘
fixed as mine.”

Gainor bowed and went into the parlor where
the old lady was sitting, and they were soon e114
gaged in conversation, forgetful of the young
people on the veranda.

Egbert Blakeley was by birth related to the, .' _

Eston family. a cousin several times removed,
and he and Maud had been playmates from
childhood.
and there had been many speculations when
they were quite young, as to the time when they
would marry, and make the riches of the two
families one great whole.
up, Egbert developed some traits which not
please Maud as when they were child—lovers;
and when she met a gentleman who was more to
her liking, the chances of the young planter
grew daily more hopeless. He was a handsome,

But, as thegidgrew

Indeed, their plantations joined, ~

.7

bold young f ilow, not apt to give up such a. 

prize lightly, mu] on" who had wonderful ower
over the human heart.

 

Maud herself no new“?
ledng his power, and while she detested his 
' principles, she could but admire his soldierly i,

 

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

‘ bearing, and the steadfast faith with which he

f‘clun to even a bad cause.

5 “ on are cold to me,” he said, as Gainer left

; them. “I do not think I have deserved it at

; your hands.”

j_ “Why have you deserved better, Egbert? I

' am sure you speak and act against my friends.”

_, “ if the devotion of a life«—-” ‘

,9 “. Don’t, Egbert. You know I am not in the

- mood for any thing of that kind. Your de-

3 votioul Have I not heard how you broke the

' hearts of all the ladies in Charleston? You are

'1 a flirt, my cousin.”

“ I assure you that you have been misinform—

ed. ' You know my feelings on this point. I

V have told you many times that I love you.”

i ' “But, Egbert, how preposterous it would be
for us to think of love, who are at variance on
nearly every point.”

' “ I hope to Show you that you are wrong,” said

xx Egbert, eagerly. ‘ I hope that you will in time

’3 deaths utter folly of this rebellion, and then we
shall not be at variance.”

“ That time will never come! You can not
now how it grieves me to see you, a man who
ugbt to be the first to raise the sword in the
ause of Carolina, striking against her. Your
ride of commonwealth ought to keep you from

at sin.”

, “ I have greater pride in the name and fame
“England than any other land under the sun.
The colonies are but accessory to her.”

' “ You are flxsd on that point. Let it pass

\ then, and say no more about it. But, you

jmust not speak to me of love. My heart is shut
to any Carolinian who fights on the side of our
oppressors.”

' A gray pallor crept into his 09. He had
counted so much on her love—had )rided himself
upon itr—and it hurt him cruelly to have her
thus dash his hopes to the ground.

. “ I think sometimes you have no heart,
'Maud,” he said, gloomily. “At least, you have

one for me.”

- ” You wron me, Egbert. I always have

loved cu; bu? it is only as an old friend and
playfel w. You are the one who has done the

ost to make us poorer friends.”

“ I‘say no more, ” he said. “ Even you can
not tempt me to join with these accursed rebels.
But do not think that I am so blind that I do

.r not know why you do not care for me. What

was James Conrad doing here the other day?”

r “Sir!”

» “I will know. Do you love him? Have you
promised to marry him?”

I,  wish you would not ask mo, Egbert,” sho

8&1

'“I am answered}; he said. “Henceforth I

now my enemy. co to him if he ever comes
luder my hand. There is no man living who
could be so unpityiug as I arm—t0 him at least.”
She was about to answer, when a servant
came out upon the Veranda. She evidently had
offl$hid to corrlxmunicate.
on you ease step dis we a minnit
Misses Maud?”s a said. y i ’

CHAPTER v. ,
COMPULSORY TOASTE. _

iMAIlD followed the girl into the kitchen, for I

 

. the servant ha

 

the “chattel” evidently did not wish to speak
before the young royalist captain.

“ What do you want, Mattie?” said Maud.

“ ’Deod, I had to call you, Missee Maud. Pete
jus’ come in from de woods an’ 1501’ me dat Mass‘
Carey war out dar, an’ dat he wants to see you.
’Poars like he’s got somet’ing to tell you.”

“But, I dare not go away from the house,”
said Maud. “ If I do, these men will see me,
and the brave follow will be in danger. ' I don’t
think it would be safe.”

“ ’Pears like you ought to know best, missoe.
But, ho’ve got a. powerful deal to tell yer, dot I
know.”

“ Wait a moment and I will send him a mes-
sage. Where is fete?"

"‘1 He jus’ outside do doah, missee,” said the
gll' .

Maud, passing out, shut the do or behind her.
A stout negro was chogpiniwood near at hand,
but dropped the ax w on 6 saw his mistress,
and came forward.

“ Where is he?” she asked anxiously.

“ He out dar in do woods, misses. He do want
to see you powerful bad, to be sure.”

“ You may go back to him as soon as you can,
and tell him that we have got Tories in the
house, and that he must lie close. Perhaps they
will go away in an hour or two, and then he can
come. If they don’t go soon, 1 will send you
word, and you can bring him to your cabin, if
you think he can get there safely, and I will
come and see him there. I think that will have
to be done, for our friend Major Gainor thinks ,
a great deal of the good fare of Elmwood.”

“ He ood. honest grubber at he’s meals, dat
Major (minor, but be werful bad man any
odder way,” grumbled ete.

“lie’careful, boy. Remember that he is my
gues .

“ Don’ I know dat ?” said Pete, who was a
favorite servant. “ Don’ I know dat you‘s
iwine to use him well, of he’s de debble’s son?

Ie’s a Tory, entyl Well, den, wwye hab him
here, anyway, when you’s a good big?”

“ It is necessary for usto conciliate both sides,
Pete. We can not tell what excesses they might
be guiity of ; I mean his vile associates.”

“ Mass’ Egbert nebber gfivine to let dam To
hn’ut you, issee Maud. e t‘inks too much 0
you for (lat. He too good for a Tory, is Mass’
Egbert. Wish do Laud he turn he’s coat one ob
dese days. But he won’t. He too sot in he own
waryr to do dat.”

‘ Don’t stop to talk, Pete; Go and do as I
have told you. When you come back, go to
work on the wood here, and I will know where

, to find you.”

The negro moved off slowly, but Maud called
him back.

“ You had better take your ax, Pete. If any
one sees you, they will think you are going to do
some work in the needs. You ma aswell cut
some poles for the vines yonder, an bring them
in. It will be a good excuse."

The negro shouldered his ax and went away
while Maud returned to the house. She toun
Egbert chafing at her absence, and ready to
renew the word; battle which the entrance of

interru ted. But, Maud did
not intend to give  a once. ‘ *

N. ,

\ .

 

 

 

 

  

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

   

I

,18

 

 

“ Let us join the others,” she said, passiughim
on the veranda. “ I have got some new music.
“'ould you‘like to hear it?’

He followed her without a word, for he saw
that it was a ruse to deprive him of the chance
of continuin the conversation. They found
Gainor in discourse with Mrs. Eston, a noble
type of the Southern matron.

' I find Mrs. Eston, in her quiet way, uite as
obstinate as her daughter,” said he. “ e can-
not see our successes, and sees those of rebellion
in a very vivid light. It seems to me that is
hardly fair.”

“ Oh, you must give us the woman’s privilege
of being obstinate, ’ said Mrs. Eston. “ Maud,
can you not favor the major with a httle
music?”

“ They will not care to hear it, dear mother.
My fingers have lost their ancient cunning. I
find it hard to sing now. However, I will do
what I can, if Egbert will assist me in moving
my harp to the light.” .

hey pushed out the ponderous harp Where
the sunll ht fell upon it, and she sat down.

After str‘ ing a few chords, she broke out into
a melody which was then much in vogue, a
translation from the Spanish, which she sung
with much spirit. The gentlemen applauded, as
in duty bound, and she gave them a few more
airs, and in this manner whiled away an hour.
But she was uneasy. She wanted to see the last
of them, for that day at least, and did not see
any way to get rid of them Without violating
the rules of politeness and hospitality. At last
she pushed away the harp, declaring she would
sing no more, as she had played all the morn-

ing.

“ When do you march, major?” asked Mrs.

ton.

“ Not within three days, madam. Most of
the recruits we expect are from this section, and
are coming in fast. I have sent the fiery cross
among them.”

“ As the clansmen of Scotland receive the
fler cross when they go out to plunder, major,"
sai Maud. “ A delightful simile.”

“ You are too hard with us, Miss Maud ” said
Gainer. “ on my honor, you are. used
thesimile wit out thinking that you would com<
pare us to the raiders of the Scotch border.”

 “ I did not mean to be so disrespectful to the
borderers,” said Maud. “ I beg their pardon.”
‘ Gainer flushed a little. These hits were begin.-
ning to tell u n his hitherto impervious armor.
Mrs. Eston g anced reprovingly at her daugh—
ter, who looked penitent, though she did not
feel it.

“ I think we had better
“ We have much work to do.

“ By no means,” said Mrs. Eston, hospitably.
“ Stay to luncheon.”

This was an invitation Major Gainor was
never known to refuse, so he settled himself
comfortabl in his seat again. Maud was in
despair. er mother’s hospitality was doing
her great damage. ‘

But the evil was done, past all reparation, and
there was nothing for it but patience. She sat
for an hour, listening to the harmless twaddle
of Gainor and the inuueudoes of Egbert,directed

‘ at the Wings in general, and Major Conrad in

go,” said Gaiuor.
9

 
 

 

particular, and then excused herself on the
ground of looking after luncheon. GiVing a
hasty direction to Mattie in reference to this,
she hastened from the house, and keeping out of
sight of the windows, reached the negroquar~
tors and rapped at a door. It was opened It)
Pete, who hurried her in, and went out himse f ,-
to watch. The scout was seated on a stool, _
whistling in a high key, and curving strange de- 'l
vices on a piece of horn, which he had picked ,
up. He did not suspend his Whistling but look- ‘3’
ed at Maud with a comical twist 0 features, 4
which made her laugh in spite of the danger -
they were in. r , 
“ You must be very careful,” said she. “ You
are in danger.” -
“ Who have ye got up to the house?” be de-
manded. v‘
I “ ,Major Gainor is there, and Egbert Blake-
ey. . .
“ A lovely pair. But of course you can’t help l
yourself. These fellows quarter themselves a
wherever they please. But ye won’t have G-
nor’s fellows to trouble ye long, I tell ye. " Pl ,
spring a mine on them in a few days.” i
“ What have you been doing?” demanded,
Maud. “ Your clothing is rugged and muddy." ?
“ I’ve been in the swamp,” said the scout,
“ and Gainor’s men have been after me. But”
they didn’t catch me, much. They hunted us,
with hounds.” ;
“ Horriblel” _ ‘ ‘
“Not so bad as that,” said Carey, quietly
“I’m all right, and so is Jake, I guess. Any
how, if the dogs can ht him they wouldn’t tear
him. Idon’t know ow it is, but that ni fger
can charm a dog, it seems to me, no matter ow
blomiy-mindcd he 15. They always seem coWed
and afraid of him.” ;
“What did you want to say to me?” asked
Maud. ‘ r . '
“Ithought I'd jest call round and see 110W,r
you was gettin’ along. It wasn’t much out of
my Wa ." ‘ ';
“ Is that all?” said Maud. “ That would hardly
pay you for the trouble of coming here. Lwish‘
you would tell me the truth at once. Have y ' 4
got a message?” , , n :
“ A message! Who did you expect a massag
from? A rebel, I’ll bet,” said Carey. \, '
“Don’t bother me now, please. ' If you hav
an letter or message, give it to me now. If, not,
I t ink you had better go away, for you are ‘
dan er.’ ~ _ , f
“ ain’t afraid of any two Tories in this or
district,” said Sam. “I’ve a good mind to 1 -
them a scare, anyhow. ‘ I ken do ’it. If air-.3
was on’y here we’d take them two beauties a t :
carry them into camp. I’m goin’ to have the'
bosses, anyhow.”
“No, no, Mr. Carey, you must not atteni
anything of the kind. You will surely be taken.’
“I guess,ye don’t know me. Have those cha’ u:
got their arms?” . " r r '
“They did not bring any except their sword
and those stand in the hull. But, my mes’sag
or letter——one or the other.”
“ it’s a letter,” said Sam. “ Ye see the major
knew I was comingh here, and he thought yo

  
   
  
  
 

x" New", +. «www.mmn.

     
  
  
  
   
  
   
 




  
    
  
  
   
    
   
    
  
  
   
   
   
  
   
 
  
     
    
  
  
  

 

   
    
  
    
  
   
  
   
    
   
   
     
  
 

 

would like to know ow he 'was gettin’ along. t -‘
he gave me this.” , .

  

 
 

   

 

» _ i;

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

 

The scout took off his cap and produced from
the lining a folded note, which he handed to
Maud.’ bhe put it at once into that woman’s
post-Office, her bosom.
, “ I’ll read it by and by. Does he want an an-
‘ _ swer ’
“ Of course he does.”
“I can’t write it here. But if you will stay in
the whods for an hour or two Pete shall bring
' g you the answer. _If he cannot find you, look for

the letter in the hollow tree by the side of the
, gprmg. I can’t stay a moment longer. Only, is
1 ~ ames well?”
. " “ Never better, Miss Maud. A letter from

'you is all he Wants, and then he will be equal to
. any six Tories along the Pcdee. He is good for
a three now.”
“ Good—by, then. Thank you for coming.
, ’ Escape as soon as you can, and don’t come near

' =',the house.” ,

i “ Thank you for nothing,” said the scout, un-
\ der his breath. “ Perha s I won’t come near

" the house, and perhaps will] But if I don’t
4 have those bosses I’m no rebel.” '

Maud hurried back to the mansion, where she
found luncheon waiting.

“ You do not give us much of your time,” said
' , Egbert.

. ‘I beg your pardon,” she answered. ” But I
have so much to look after.”

“ No doubt,” said Egbert, “ on would not
leave your rebel friends so readi y.”

“That is because they are congenial spirits,
my dear cousin. But I am kccpmg you from
luncheon. Will it please you to be seated ?”

' 4 They took seats around a little table, which a
servant had wheeled in, and which was spread
in a royal manner. The two officers soon were
.eq'oyin a. fragrant cup of coffee, while the
ladies oined them in the same. Maud was
trouble a little about the scout. She knew that
he Was a. daring man, and feared that he would
do some rash thing or other, to show the Tories
that he did not fear them. Besides, she wished
. to get away from her guests long enough to
' .write'a note to Major Conrad, in answer to the
One Carey had brought. Yet she dared not do
it, for 'Eibert was chafing at her frequent dis—
appear‘ances already. So she sipped her come,
and hoped that they would depart after luncheon,
or at least, sit long enough over their wine to
give her a chance.

, The servants took away the dishes, and

bron ht in the wine. ,

I “ can give you a good bottle of Madeira or
Port, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Eston. “ Oh, would
you prefer spirits?"

“I will drink flour health in a glass of good
Madeira,” said ainor. “And, by the way,
these colonial cellars are the best in the world.
Their wine seems to have been bottled in the
golden éra We read of. I know that up to Har—
veys. when Balfour sequestratcd that worthy
rebel’s estate, they had some bottles that had not
seen the light for half a hundred years.”

' “ Sequestration?” said/ Maud. “ Is not that
another name for stealing ?"

‘.‘ Another of your hard hits, my dear Miss
Maud. You really ought to have some pity.
But. Tom has got that 'bottle operlat last. _ Let
menu yourglass. Now,Egberti To uneiacnes."

 

 

   
  
    
  
    
 
   
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

l

 

The gentlemcu raised their glasses to their
lips and set them down empty. The ladies just
touched their lips to the mac and shoved their
glasses back. The fornmlity of the first toasts
over, they rose, and having excused themsrlvcs
in courtly style, left the two unde ' the fostering
Caro of Tom the butler, to test the quality of the
Eston wine bins, a thing they were fully capa-
blo of doing. ‘

“ Now, you sable son of Bacchus,” cried
Gaiuor, “ see that you do your spiriting gently.
Some of that Madeira.”

Tom filled his glass to the brim, and they
toasted everybody and everything in the circle
of their knowledge, and yet were not drunk.
Our readers must remember that they did not
drink such fearful fire-water, in the Shape of
wine, in our grandfathers’ days as they do
now. But, though they could not be justly ac-
cused of drunkenness, they were in a state of
pleasant excitement, and hardly masters of
themselves. At this stage of the festival, the
window loading out into the veranda was
darkened, and a man leaped in, holding a loaded
pistol in each hand, uttering this fierce saluta-
tion:

“ Offer to rise, and ye die!”

It was Carey, the scout! The negro turned
almost white with terror, but recovered him-
self when he recognized the intruder. Ho sat
down in the scat so lately vacated by Maud,
laid his pistols on the table, and leaning his
elbows on it. dropped his chin into his open
palms, and regarded the merry pair with a cool
impudence that was refreshing in the extreme.
Neithm‘ of the revelers was fully awake to the
position in which they were placed. Gainor
was dimly conscious that some one threatened
him with deadly weapons, but was not quite
clear whether his designs were really against
him or the Madeira.

“See here, young man,” he said, “who are
you?”

“Mister Satan, himself,” said Carey, prompt—
ly, “as ye will find if ye oifcrtoleave this table.
Hero, Tom, you black rascal, pour me out a
glass of this Wino they are drinking.”

“ Lcnve the table, follow,” said Egbert.
“ that do you mean by such impudence?”

“Tom,” said Carey, ‘winc!"

Tom came forward, trembling, and filled the
glass, while Carey kept a vigilant eye on the
two men, who were fast getting sober. Egbert
glanced from the pistols on the table to the per-
son of the scout who took matters so coolly.

“ Confound your impudence,” said he. ' ?‘ Do
you mean to threaten us?”

“I threaten no man,” was the cool reply.
“What I say, I do! And I say that if you
dare move hand or foot, I will shoot you Where
you sit.”

“What do you want?” said Egbert, who was
now completely sobercd.

“Nothing much,” said Carey. “I thought I’d
stop in and take a glass of wine with ye. Per-

“ By Jove, then, I do,” cried Gainor. “It is
that infernal liar who got me to give him a pass
into my camp—Carey!”

"Ah-ha!" saidEgbert. .“ Now. in man, you
are in our power. You dare not fire. ’

. \

- hzms v0 don’t know me?”

I

 

 

 

 
   
 
  
 

 

Sam', the Swamp Scout. 15

“You’ve a good way to find out whether I
dare or not,” said the scout, coolly. “ I won’t
take it on myself to advise you to try it.”

“Don’t do it, Mass’ Egbert,” said Tom.
“ Massa’ Carey is a dreiful man when be mad.
Don’t you dar’ to move. He nebber miss his
aim.”

Galnor turned very pale. The blazing eyes of
the scout looked at him with such steadfast
earnestness that he shrunk before them.

“ Fill your glasses,” said the scout, laying one
hand upon his pistol and the other on his glass.
“I intend to propose a toast. Are you ready?”

Egbert looked as if he would like to rebel, but
a second thou ht showed him the uselessness of
resistance. heir swords were in the hell, out
of reach. He tried to motion to Tom to leave
the room and bring help, but either intention-
ally or otherwise, Tom was blind, and saw none
of the nods and winks designed for him, greatly
to the rage of the young royalist.

“ I give you first,” said Carey, “ and I ask you
to drink it without heeltaps, the Eston family
at large.”

Egbert endeavored, while the scout was emp-
tying his glass, to get hold of one of the pistols,
but was met by one of the deadly weapons,
with the hand of Carey on the trigger.

“ 1 don’t think you had better try that on,”
he said. “ You might get hurt.”

E bert returned to his wine and drank the
toas , cursing the watchfulness of the scout, and
waiting for an opgortunity to catch him nap~

ing. Gainor, Wit the greatest good-nature,
grained his glass to the bottom.

“ Fill them up again, Tom,” cried the scout.
“ I have another toast to propose to these gen-
tlemen.

Tom filled the glasses. Grainor had by this
time for otten that Care was an enemy, and
was fille to the brim wit the milk of human
kindness, ready to drink every toast, no matter
What it was.

“I give you, now,” said Carey, “the health
of Miss Maud Eston. You Will not object to
that, I think?”

They drank her health under the delicate per-
suasion of the pistol—Egbert, as before, merely
touching his lips to the glass. He was in a rage
at his superior oflicer, who was now as drunk as
a fiddler.

“ Gainor,” he whispered, “ keep your wits
about you, if you can, and don’t make a fool of
yourself. This scoundrel will ruin us."

“ Ta'ke another glass of Madeira,” said Grainor.
“ What’s the low? I drink to woman lovely
Woman, hewitchin woman. Fill my g ass, old
Blackness—fill it all. Drinkl I’ll drink any-
thing. Why shou dn’t I?”

Egbert ave him up in des air, and turned
his attention to the scout. e saw that the
wine, to which the latter had been unaccus-
tomed,was having an enlivening effect 11 on him.

“ Now, men." the intruder said, “ ’11 give
you a toast, and if Iyou don’t drink it, I’ll kill
you, I will b mig ty. Here is to the great,
Continental ongress, and its best ginepalw
Washington,” n, ,w j ‘

Egbert set down his goblet withya flash,
The trail glass was shivered go 31“, ,pundred
tragments' u mo'll harps-m imn' ; z;
.1 5mm aiH .‘rdlo'ri 1

. firiafiiixiifl'ifiemmammgégsf  i ’ 1

“ When I drink that toast,” he said, “ may
my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.”

Carey sprung up, with a pistol in each hand:

“ I don t want to kill ye, my lad,” he said.‘
“ But, as sure as there is death in powder and
ball, if ye do not drink that toast, ye’r’ a dead
man.’

“Drink it, drink it, Egbert,” said Gainor.
I’m going to. Here’s to the Continental Con-
gress and Washington, whoever they are.”

“ What ?" ‘

“Continental Congress and the other chap.
Here’s to them, anyhow.”

“ Will ye drink?” demanded Carey, hoarsely,
with a finger on the trigger. “I give ye fair
warning.”

“ Drink, Mass’ Egbert,”
“ He kill you if you don’t, sure.”

Egbert took up the glass and touched it .to his
lips and set it down a ain. .

“There, curse you,’ he said. “ May my right
hand forget its cunning if I do not make you
repent this outrage l” ,

“ All ri ht,” said Cami. “ That’s er privv
lege, ye now. If ye in git me own any
time, that’s fair. Jest now, I ve got ye. 'Izoml’

“ 'Es Mass’ Carey.” 5

“Take 011‘ his sword-belt, and tie his arms be-
hind his back."

“ Me, Mass’ Carey?”

“ Yes, you. If ya don‘t, I’ll shoot ye, and do
it myself.”

“I beg yer pardon, massa.
Please to excuse me.”

“ Do as you are bidden, you rascal.
time to dall . Hurry up, there.”

“’Pears
nigger,” said Tom. “1’s got to do it, Mass’
E bert.”

1 has to do it.

It is no

‘ Do it, then, you fool,” said Egbert.
Having this permission, Tom did his work
well. He took oflt‘ the sword—belt, and hue e3

 
  
    
  

a belt, but it was not thought uec
him to the chair. of l '

“ Good-by, captain,” said Ca éyflfflam ve
responded to my toasts, and 83%"
claim upon you. Good-day é? ' ’

“ We shall meet again,” sai 

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whispered Tom.

Tom approached Egbert with great caution. ‘

ike you’re too hard on a poor ole I

“So I think ”Sald Citi’e ,- "it ,
not wish that ’meeting,&§a ,Zgiit‘éd a .
calf. Good-day, Majq' .Bx‘I‘qfl —in-

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' shaking his hand in the air.

' enemy.

' horse is gone,

I .. I on horseback, and on the way to camp.

 

16 Sam. the Swamp Scout.

 

“ Oh, Carey! You have not killed them?"

' “ Not a bit of it, Miss Maud. I have only tied
them to their chairs that they may get a little
rest after lunch. fiave you got t eletter for
the major?”

“I had just finished it. Here it is,” said
Maud.

“Have ye no message for him?”

“ I have written all I have to say in the note
I now give you. Let me conjure you to go;
these men may free themselves.”

“I’ve got their arms,” said Carey, “and
Major Gainor is so drunk that he drank the
health of the Continental Congress and of Wash-
in n, but said that he did not know the men.”

and laughed aloud.

‘FBut ou must 0,” she said. “I think you
have me. e implaca lo enemies to—day.”

“I know it. When Gainer gets over the
wine, he will hate me worse than ever. But,
by that time I shall be in the swamps, away
from his reach. Good-by.”

' “ Thank you for bringing me the letter," she
said, “ and good-by.”

The scout passed out. At the steps stood
Pete, holding the horses of the officers. Carey
mounted one, and taking the bridle of the
other, started off at full speed, leaving Maud
standing on the steps. She then ran to release
the victims. Egbert was silent while she was
unbuckling the straps.

“ He is gone?” he asked.

H Yes.”

.“I heard horses’ hoofs. Did he take our
horses?”

“ He did. I could not help it, beinga women.”

“And would not, being a rebel at heart,”
said Egbert, who was thoroughl incensed at
the manner of Maud. “I say litt e now, Maud;
huta time will come when you and that spy,
James Conrad, and the rest of that traitor
crew, shall have cause to tremble when they
hear the name of Egbert Blakeley.“

“Am I to blame for this?” said Maud, with
some feeliiig.

“ Yes. you had given these fellows no en-
coura ement they would never have dared to
come ere. I know that James Conrad has
been here, and that you have received him as a
dear friend.”

' “He is,” said Maud. flushing violently, “ the
dearest friend I have.”

“' The more then is he my enemy," said Egbert,

‘I am one who
was never known to forget either friend or
I was lenient even to rebels until now.
But from this hour let them beware.”

“ Have you any more threats to make, Egbert

‘ Blakele'yl—«and to a woman?"

“I do not threaten you, Maud. And yet
you have most cause to fear me, for I find that
my feelin are changing toward you. I have
always p need you in my heart as a saint, to
whom I could bow down as I never bowed to
my Maker. But I find you are like the rest—of
the earth, earthy. So look to yourself. My
I want another.”

“ Th: stables are open. Take what horse you

ease.
In half an hour Gainor and the captain were

, .

 

CHAPTER VI.
THE MARAUDERS.

EGBERT BLAKELEY was well known to the
Whigs of Carolina as one of the most lenient of
those who fought under the flag of King George.
A daring horseman. a good swordsman, the idol
of his men, it was thought strange that one of
his blood should fight against the colony. But,
he had been trained to love England, had re-
ceived his education there, and it was not so
wonderful, after all, that he should think so
muclhi of the nation than first in power of all the
wor .

But, the men who had ‘oined his company
were not such as himself. rom crown to foot
they were robbers and murderers—the Worst
men who could be culled from the wild region
about the Pedee and Santee Riverswboatmeu,
swamp suckers, hunters, horse-traders, men
whose Whole lives had been passed in excite-
ment, and who were not unused to scenes of
blood. Many of them were of the class known
as Georgia refugees—desperadoes who had been
driven from their own colony, not to return un-
der pain of death, for some act against the
State. No deed was too bloody, no enterprise
too clan crous for these fellows. They were
not at al particular whom they lundered. A
good horse on the plantation of a oyalist was in
as much danger as the same animal on the
plantation of a rebel. In one case he was
sequestrated by the crown; in the other he was
stolen by the refugees, In any case, he became
a help to the service of England. These vil-
lains were well posted as to the politics of the
owners of the land along the rivers. Upon
some, who were known to be halting between
two opinions, they levied blackmail many times
over, going back to them when nothing better
offered.

For some time Jack Adams had had his eye
on the Eston plantation. His mouth watered
for its good Wines and food, and he coveted the
fine horses with which the plantation was stock-
ed. But, he had not presumed to go there' he
knew that Egbert favored Maud, and that dep-
redation on the estate would not be allowed.
But, somehow, on theday after the two officers
returned from Eston’s, it leaked out that they
had been rou hly handled, and had lost their
horses there. his was Jack’s golden o pertu-
nity, and be improved it. The news ad not

been abroad for an hour, when the same men.

who had chased the scout and negro through
the swamp, left camp by difl’erent routes, but
came to other under the oak trees about a mile
away. f you had sacked the country from
North to South, you could not have found four
ruflians worse than they. Three of them were
Segr- ia refugees, brothers, named Hall, who
a
whole family were victims. They were named
in the order of their ages/Gilbert, Gabriel an
Owen. called in camp, Gill. Gabe, and Oney.

 

en expatriated for a murder, in which a ‘

 
 

 

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,w:.‘

The fourth was a beardless youth of twenty, ‘

with a saber-cut across his chin, which had sev-
ered the lower lip, and gave it a hideous ap-
Eearance. In spite of his youth, this young man
bad 1escaped from Georgia after the murder of a

rot er.

 

win", .‘

His name was Lewis Eurtm.‘ 

 

 

 

 

- of a little bit of lead. I’

i in,‘old lad,” said Gilbert all.

 

' Sam, the Swamp Scout.

1"

 

fifth was Jack Adams, and, as one of their com-
rades remarked when he saw them together,
“ it only needed Satan to make up the lot.”

These men threw themselves down on the
greensward and waited for what Jack had to
say, for, as yet, they knew nothing of his pur-
In so. When he needed any of them, he gave a
signal, and they followed him out of‘ the camp,
as in this case.

“ Well, Jack,” said Lew Horton, “what
work’s on hand now? Is it a ride after horses, a
pretty girl, or to hang some rebel? Let it out.”

“ I knew you wanted work, boys, and it seemed
to me we’d got too good a chance to be wasted.
You know the Eston plantation.” r

“ Don’t we though?” said Gill Hall. “I be-
lieve you, my boy. Oh, the horses they have
there! If Captain Blakeley was not so complete—
ly struck with that pretty girl, what handsome
pickings a chap might have there.”

“ The girl for my money,” said the youngest
ruflian. “ I’d rather have one kiss from her
pretty lips than a piece of the Eston plate, and
they say it beats the world. I tell you, boys, if
we can get that plate, and spout it somehow, it
would be the making of us.”

“That’s what I think myself. Now, the we-
men are rank Whigs, and what I say is this:
why should they escape because they are women,
v. hen they help the rebels in every way they
can? I know they do. Major Conrad has been
t-mre half a dozen times lately. I know it for
I’ve been dogging him for a long time, and one
of those days I’m goin to make him a resent
’a’ done it twice fore,
but his men were with him, or else the women.”

“ But, what do you mean to do?” asked Gabe

Hall. “ If you 0 near the Esmns, the captain
will saddle a hig horse for you to ride—mind
than

“No he won’t,” said Jack. “He was up
there yesterday, and that cursed Sam Carey ht
on them somehow and got their swords, and
made them drink the health of Congress, or
some such thing tied them neck and heels, and
made ofl with t eir horses. That’s the way it
happened that the major and captain came back
on two of the Eston na 5." '

“That Carey is a aring chap," said Oney
Hall. " Smart enough to be one of us isn’t he?
Blast me if I wouldn’t hate to tumble him, even
if I 0t achance.”

“ wouldn’t,” said Jack Adams. “ I’ve a
bullet run for him, but I doubt he’ll get the
better of me yet. But, that ain’t business. The
captain is raving mad at the Estons now, and
he won’t mind if we give them a touch for the

’ good of the kentry. So my word is, let’s make

a dash for the plantation.”

“ You can’t do anythin we won’t back you
“ Just you lead
the way, and we will follow, and never give
back a foot.

“ You are the lad for me.
G???" t h I tatl ”

say, on t epan 'on.
“What do you say, Oney?”
“ I say what Gill and Gabe do,” growled

nay. 4
“ And you, Lew?” ’
“ Did you ever know me to back down on any

What do you say,

0

"i

 

thing?” said Hurton. “I ain’t that kind of a.
fellow, you know. And I bargain for a kiss
from that handsome gal, anyhow.”

“You’d better leave that out,” said Jack.
“If any of the women are teched, it ain‘t me
that’s goin’ to answer for it to the captain. If
you’ll take my advice you’ll let her alone, and
confine your attention to the wine, the silver,
and the horses, and you will et along better.
The cap’n is mad now, I know, at he can’t stay

mad at her long, and though he’ll forgive‘our ‘

stealing a. few horses, or some sech matter, he’d
kill the man who dared to tech her.”

“Then I guess I’ll let her be,” said Burton.
“ He’s a he rd man to r’ile up, is the captain, and
a hard colt to ride. But they do say she is the
prettiest gal in this section.”

“ You bet she is,” said Gill. “ I’ve seen her
myself. Her hair is like sunshine. I never saw
anything like it, and her e es seemed to look
right into the place where a ellow’s heart ought
to be, and where I had one, years ago, when I
was in love with little Nettie Hayne. I’ve
thought many a time, boys, that if she hadn’t
died, I would have been a better man than I am.
I don’t know. ” ,

“ Oh, stow preaching, won’t you?” cried Oney.
“And so you all agree to go through the house.

Let’s be off, then, before we change our minds.” .

They mounted at once. It was only a short
two miles to Eston’s and about three in the
afternoon the five rode up the avenue leading to
the manor, and fastened their horses to the
fences and posts around. Maud was on the
veranda as they rode up. A glance convinced
her that they were Egbert’s men. She never
dreamed of harm comin
spite of his threats, she be ieved that be had too
much real love for her to allow him or his men
to injure her in any way. Still, she did not like
their looks, nor the free way in which they ap-
proached the veranda after dismounting.

“ Perha you don’t know u ho we are,” said
Jack. “ t don’t make any diflerence. We
thought we woulchgive you a call.”

“ So it seems. ay I ask to what we are in-
debted for the honor of this visit?”

“Now look here,” said Jack, “ thatsort of ear-
castic politeness won’t do.
good, and I say it won’t do. So don’t you try it
on. Be polite in earnest. We are gentlemen,
though we look rough.” '

Maud had it on her tongue to thank him for
the information, and to tell him that she should
fiever have suspected it, but prudence restrained

er.

“ May I ask what you wish?”

“ We are coming in, that’s all,” said Jack,
who was spokesman for the party. “ I 5
you won’t say nothiu’ ag’in’ it. It won’t do you
an good if you do——that I tell you." ‘

- lYIe ushed rudely by her and entered the par-
lor. or eyes flashed, but she managed to keep
her temper, and followed them into the room,
where the Halls gazed about them in stupid
amazement at the splendid furniture, to which
they had not been accustomed, and at the car-

pets in which their feet sunk at every step. But ,

young Horton was of (foodyfamily, though an
exile from his home, an
with an impudent assumption of ease.

i

from them, for, in ,

I’m talkin’for your I

hesatdown onasota ,, I

 

  

' 1 deal.

 

'18

’ “ This is something like, boys," he said.
“’Tisn’t often that we get in such snug quar-
ters. A harp, I see. You play, then, 1 pre-
sume? Perhaps you will favor as with some
music?”

“ I am not in tho habitof entertaining persons
who thrust themselvcs upon us in this manner.
Be assured vour officers shall hear of this con-
duct," said Maud.

“ Why, us to that,” said Hurton, “ if you com—
‘plain of our conduct already, perhaps you will

"think even worse of us by the time we get ready
it ) leave.”

She understood the menace in his tone, but.
'showed no alarm.

“ You .take the matter coolly,” said Jack
Adams, with a laugh. “ Now, miss, let’s come
to an understanding on the subject. We may
as well now as at any other time. We want
first something to eat and drink. We don’t
think that asking much, when we call to mind
:that you often entertain Whigs here.”

“ Who told you that?"

“ Don’t you ask too many questions. Jest you
go to the kitchen, or ring the bell and order
Something to eat and drink. Or, hold on. Here’s
a dorky. Come in here, you sooty rascal. Your
mistress has an order to give.”

“ I shall give no orders, Whatever,” said
Maud.

“Jest as “1011,” said Jack. “Iain’t at all
bashful. I’ll do it. Come in, I say, you black
fool." .

Tom who was standing trembling in the door,
entere . He knew these lawless men would be
guilty of any excess, if once their bad passions
were roused. He had heard 'fcarful tales of
their atrocities from the slaves of Whigs who
had suffered at their hands.

“ I want you to go down to the kitchen," said
Jack, “and order the cook to get up a meal for

She needn’t trouble herself to cook a great
We ain't particular, are we, boys?”

“Oh, no,”said the Halls, in chorus, glad of
an opportunity to say something, and not know-
ing very well how to begin.

“Anything cold in the silage of meat you
have in the pantry will do. on‘t be, stingy.
We are rather hungry. Ain’t wo, boys?”

“ You bet'we are," was the reply.

“And, above all things, don’t you fail to
bring us plenty to drink. You needn’t bring
any tea or coifee. We don't care for such truck.
But bring upa few bottles of good wine, and
some ram and brandy. We like them! It’s a
failing of ours. Ain’t it, boys?"

“ Thar you’re right, old man,” said Gill Hall.

“ Anything more, massa?" asked Tom, with a
furtive glance at Maud, who sat, pale and sad,
near the door.

“ I guess that will do, now. If we think of
anything else we will send for it. We are
much friends, we know. Now 0. Or, hold
on. . on go with him. Gill. He might forget
Something, or send off a boy on horseback to
brin ,Pete Horry or‘Major Conrad down on us.

. I’ve card of such things.”

“I will go and order what you want,” said
Maud, suddenly. r ‘

. ' “Don’t trouble ourself,” said Jack. with a
y.""grin. ,“I reckon ill cansee to it. He knows

Sam, the Swamp Scout. ’

 

how. And besides, you have friends not far
away, and there’s no tellin’ what they mought
do of you sent for them. Come: you can’t fool
this party. you see. Go along, Grill.”

The ruffian accompanin the negro out of the
room, while the others lounged in easy attitudes
upon the chairs and sofas.

Lew Hurton wont to -the harp, and after
striking a few chords, commenced playing in a
siyle which astonished Maud, who had not
thought him capable of it.

.“ ‘ We have seen better days,’ as the saying
is,” said he, noticing her looks. “We don’t
mean to be mde, but camp—life is rough on all
of us. Perhaps you will like us better by and
by. I wish you would play.” .

Maud, thinking that it might be well to con-
ciliate them, sat down to the instrument and
played several lively tunes, which pleased the
fellows immensely. Half an hour passed, and
food was brought in by the servants, while Grill
followed them like a. shadow. He had given
them to understand that they must not talk to
one another, and the obeyed him. A table
was drawn out in the iningroom and profuse.
ly spread, as Maud hoped by doing this to get
rid of them in as pleasant a manner as possible.
They sat down with many noisy comments and
commenced eating. But Hurton insisted upon
her taking a. place at the table. Not one of the
servants had been allowed to leave the room;

 

but Maud noticed that Pete, who had been work— ‘

ing about the kitchen when the Indians came,
was nowhere in sight. This gave her hope that
ho had gone for help and she determined to
keep them as long as possible from the plunder
which she could plainly see they counted on.

So she sat there and ordered up new dishes un—
til they had gorgcd themselves to overflowing.
Then came something which she feared—tho
liquor. During the meal they had been driuké
ing freely of wine, but when the cloth was re-
moved, they literally poured the stronger liquor
down their throats. They would not let her
leave for a moment. The wild band shouted
and laughed in glee; their stories and jests be-
came coarser every moment, and they were fast
losing all control of their passions.

“ I must go now,” she pleaded.
wants me.”

“Wants you, does she?” bawled Gill Hall.
“Then lreckon she‘ll have ter make it up in
wantiu’ you. that’s all. You don’t git out of
this yer room. No, sir-reel Sit downl”

“But I must go,” said Maud. “You dare
not keep me.”

"‘Must go; must 3’ Now, you sit down. or
mayhap something will happen to you. Don’t
we know what we are doing? Sit down!”

Maud sat down, very much terrified at the
attitude assumed by the man. He had grasped
a dessert-knife, and was flourishing it over her
head. 'Lew Hurton, who, for reasons of his
own, was the most sober man in the party,
made him put the knife away. He did so growl-
ing, and pouring out a full glass of brandy,
gulped it down.

“ My mother

“ Smnebody‘s goin’ ,ter, git hurt,” he muttered,

“ Who Will it be?” ,
“ Confound it!” said J ack Adams, “ don’t
let’s sit here drinking any longer. Let’s get the

 

\

 

 

 

 

 

.T phase and hide it, and then we can get drunk as
or S.

v “ Come to think of it," said Gill, looking at
f the table in a sidelong manner, “where is the
‘ , plate? Ther ain’t none of it here. Blow me of
v they ain’t put us to eat off’n common chinyl
What do they mean by it?”

For the first time the others noticed the ab-
sence of the Elam, and a. perfect howl of rage
broke from t em. Jack sprung to his feet.

“See here, gal; do yer mean ter insult us?
Whar’s the plate? Why ain’t it on the table?"

“For a very good reason. It isn’t in the
house. It is gone,”

“ Gone where?”

“ To Marion’s camp 1”

Jack rushed at her like a wild beast and
grasped her by the shoulder, shaking her vio-
entiy. I
. “ oyou tell us that you have given it to

him?”

“ They came here and took it,” said Maud.
“ That’s a horse of another color,” said Jack.

“ Ef they took it, all right; but at yer give it to

’em, I’d 21’ killed yer.” .

He released her, and she dropped into her

- chair. Though sadly frightened, the brave girl

- did not foramoment lose her self-possession.

The color on her cheeks came and went like

flashes of heat lightning. Hurton watched her

with admiring eyes, muttering to himself,
“ Game, by Jovel”

“ Let’s have the horses, anyhow, boys,” said
v ' Gill. “ It’s too bad the plate’s gone, and to the
' ‘ camp of Marion; but, as we mean to have him,
camp and all, in a few days, it will come out
. (a all right. How many horses hev you got in the

' stable?”

“ Not one now,” said Maud. “ Marion’s men
took them all.”
- She had reason now tobe frightened. The
burly ruflian leaped forward, bore her down
across his knees, and drew his knife. ,There is
not the slightest doubt that he would have kill—
ed her then and there, but Lew Burton and his
youngest brother dragged her away from him.
All this time the resolute girl had not uttered a

  

 

 

 
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  

cry.
“ What 3011 holding me fur, say?” bawled
Gill. “ Di n’t you hear her say that the bosses
, was gone? Ain’t that enough? Let me git at
- her once. It only needs one lick of this, jest
one, and she’s done for. I’ll do it, too.”
“ Keep off, I so ," said Lew Burton, angri .
“ No man lays a nger on her to hurt her, wit —
out a. fight with me. So look out. Gill Hall.”
“ I don’t want to quarrel, but them bosses is
e. What are you goin’ to do about it?”
“ Let’s gut the old house,” said Jack Adams.
’ “ I reckon we ken find something wu’th takin’.”
“ Who’ll stay with the gal?” said Gabe.
“ I will,” said Hui-ton. “ She won’t get

away."

. I, The drunken hand started through the house.
- But, on the stairway, they were met by the

‘ stanch figure of Mrs. Est'on. She had been

1 sleeping brough the afternoon, but, roused by

 

"ruflians, hot with liquor. emerged from ’the
lor and were battering at a portrait of her
%d which hung in the hall. I ,

 

‘ the din, had come out upon the stairs just as they

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout. I g L 19"

r

“ Wretches 1” she cried, “ what are you doing
here?”

“Shut up. old gal," cried Adams, “if you
know what‘s good for you. We’ll have less of
your mouth, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

“ Leave the house this instant!"

“Go back to your room,” replied Adams,
“ and if you as much us put your head out of

the door ng’in, I’ll give yer something to re--‘

member me by.”

Instead of complying, she came. further down
the stairway, and ushed the ruflian away from
the picture, whic 1 he was striking With his
clinched fist. He turned upon her, and raised:
his hand to strike, but the good old blood which
flowed in her. veins was stronger than fear, and
she never shrunk. .

“ Let the picture alone. He never injured
you or yours,” she said.

“I ain’t goin’ to talk with you any longer,”
said the man, “mind I tell you. Don’t force
me to hurt you. I’ll hev ter do it.”

” I will not leave you, villains. You will find‘

that I am not friendless.‘ Lord Rawdon shall
punish you for this.”

“ If you don’t go back to yer room, it’ll be
yer last day on earth. Go back.”

“ I will not."

“Pick her up and chuck her inter that room,
Oney,” said J ack. “ I’ll stand something from
a fietty girl, but nothin from her.”

rs. Eston shricked. and broke away from
young Hurton, who tried to detain her, and ran
out into the hall. Oney Hall had seized the old
lady, and was forcing her away, but the true-
hearted girl snatche a pistol which lay upon
the hall table, and fired it with so sure an aim
that the ball knocked the cap from his head.
It needed only some such thin as this to make
the smoldering passions of t 1e brutal band
break out, and Hurton seized her in his arms.

“ A kiss for a blow,” said the young des—
perado. “ Yield gracefully, my beauty.”

Ashe spoke, something flashed at the other I

end of the hall, near the door, and a report fol-
lowed. Hurton staggered. and released the girl
at once. Three other reports followed in rapid
succeSSion. Gill Hall dropped. and Gabe was
wounded in the right arm. With howls of pain
and rage, they turned to look for their enemies,

and saw the negro Pete, Carey, and a young

man in the uniform of a colonial major, enter~

ing the hall. The latter had just flung down a ,

pair of discharged pistols, and then drew his
sword. Carey, who had fired the first shot, al—

ready had loaded his rifle, and was striking it, ’

on the breech-to make it prime. Pete was arm~
ed with a lon bludgeon. The moment Burton:
released her, and sprung away and met the.
young major.

“0h, James," she cried, “I am so glad you
have come I” .

“Into the parlor with you, out of harm's
way,” said the major. “ We have work to

l

5‘ Major Conrad!” cried Jack Adams, who
had not been touched. “ At them, boys!”

“ Out of the way, Maud,” shouted the major '

poising his sword with a practiced hand. Ma
ste ped aside, followed by her mother. ‘ _
w Burton, Whose sword-arm was uninJured,

 

 

i’
i
1.
i

*
i
z
2
‘
3'

 

 

80

Sam. the Swamp Scout.

 

dashed at the major. That movement sealed his
doom. A sudden dash of Conrad’s dextrons
hand, a swift parry, a sure thrust, and the silver
hilt of the sword struck against the breast—bone
of the unfortunate young man. Carey had

rimed his rifle and aimed at Jack Adams, but
he dropped just as the fin er of the scout was
on the trigger, and the ba struck Oney Hall,
who fell to the floor.

J nck Adams saw that their only chance was
flight, and springing up, he cried, “Heel it,
Gabe! There’s a bad time coming,” and darted
out of the hall into a side—room, followed by
Gabe, who closed and bolted the door behind
him. A moment after the crash of glass was
heard, and when the patriots reached the open
air, the rufiians had gained the shelter of the
woods behind the house, and were, for the
present, safe.

Carey did not then care to pursue, and re-
turned. He found Maud in the arms of her
lover, and Mrs. Eston clasping his hand and
covering it with kisses. The major was a sun-
burned, active young fellow wi‘h a determined
face and a quick eye, whic redeemed his fea-
tures from the charge of homeliness. Other-
wise, he was not a handsome man, but such a
one as a woman would love, for all that.

“ Don’t thank me,” said he. “Pete is the man
who did the work. He slipped off the moment
the scoundrels came, and brought me word. He
happened to know that I should not be far
away at this time, and, as ood luck would have
it, met us on the road in t e very nick of time.
You have been badly frightened.”

“ He uttered such fearful threats, James; and
they were using mother roughly. Pete, if I
ever forget what you have done, I shall be the
most ungrateful wretch on the face of the
earth.” ‘

“‘Tain’t nothin’” said Pete. “ Psho, now,
you stop talkin’. ain’t goin’ to hev you talk’s
ef I’d done some great t’ings.”

“I think you had better retire, dear Maud,
and let us see to these fellows. Such sights are
not for on. Go with her, dear madam; we
shall not 8 long.”

The left the hall and went up—stairs. Conrad
turne totake alook at the faces of the (lead
around. There lay Gill Hall, as he had fallen
when he received the ball from Conrad’s pistol,
one powerful arm under his head, and the other
thrown across his breast. His youngest brother
had fallen across his feet. Nearer the door was
the prostrate form of Lew Burton. The sword
had not drawn much blood, for it was a long
French rapier, with a thin blade, the wounds
from which close up almost immediately. His
right hand still clutched his own heavy saber,
and upon his young face there was a look of
such dreadful ferocity that the beholders were
shocked.

“A bad face, Carey,” said Conrad, “and
doubtless a bad heart.”

“I never knew a worse at his age,” said
Carey. “ Let’s get them under the sod.”

CHAPTER VII.
Boom VERSUS scour.
Tim sole survivors of that fray ran with all
' their speed for half a mile, after they entered

 

 

the woods, when the unnatural strength which
had sustained Gabe Hall gave way. The ball
which had struck him, after passmg through
his arm, entered his side, and the Iood had
been oozing from the wound at every Ste .
All at once he dropped, with a groan. n
spite of the grievous sms of which Jack Adams >
had been guilty, he had one good quality; he '
was faithful to a friend, even to the death. "
Raising the head of the wounded man to-his
knee, he Saw that a gray pallor was stealing in-
to Gabe’s face, such as is only seen on the face
of a men in extreme agony, or near death.
Adams knew the Sign.

“How now, old lad?” he said, cheerily.
“What! goin’ to give it up here? Never think
of it.”

“I’ve fought my last battle, Jack,” replied I
the wounded man. “ Where are they all?——G-i11
and Oney and Lew?”

“Dead, poor fellows. That was a cursed
chance. I never thought it could happen.”

“ Are you sure they are dead?”

“ I didn’t have much time to look. You saw
what poor Lew got. The sword came out
eighteen incth behind his shoulder, and Gill
was shot rough the brain. As for Oney, I.
only know e dropped like a log, and I yelled to- :
you to come.”

“ I think you must be right,” said Gabe, in a
hesitating way. “Dead, dead—all deadl The
only men 1 ever cared for, barring you“ The
fellowshi of five is broken. You willbethe
only one eft.”

“ Don’t talk that way lad,” said Jack. “I . ‘
can’t bear to hear you. ’Why, What’s to hinder ~ - ,
you gittin’ well? A ball in yer arm; pshawi”

“ It isn’t that, old man. The ball went through
my arm and lodged in my side. I ken feel it
thar, and a minnit ago it was the pain of death
to bear it. I reckon I’m booked for a. passe. o '
clear over. Never mind. A man must lei
some time, and I never expected to die in my
bed like a sick girl. But, thar’s some one got
to answer fer the death of four sech tellers as  ’
will be dead when I’m gone. ’Tend to that, x
Jack." ,

“ What do you want me to do?" asked Jack,
honrsely.

“I reckon as how you know. It’s onlyto .
keepa bean in yer pouch always for Conrad ~ '
and Carey. Don’t forget.” ~ - 

“I had something agin’ them before," said ' 

  
    

the scout, “ and now I’ve ten times more. Are» . I:
you in great pain?”

“ Yes," replied Gabe, grinding his teeth-to—'
gether. “ There, it’s over. I reckon that’s the. >3
last one. Swear to me thct you will foller these « :
men till death, and pay them oil? for this.” ‘

“ I swear,” said Jack, solemnly. '

Gabe then seemed easier; a pleasant light
came into his face, and for the space of ten min-
utes be neither moved nor 8 kc, and Jack
patiently held him. At the on of that time be
stretched out a rough hand. i

“ Shake hands, Jack.” ,1

The scout did so, dee ly affected. 3,

“ Pon’t forget," sai Gabe. “ You promised, ‘ f“

’ , in" -

 

“meme” ,n .

 

“. I won’t forgit.”
“Good-by, then.

  

I’m off.”

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout. 81

 

" Good-by. - But you ain’t goii ’.”
, degalibe smiled, gasped, dropped back, and was
Jack mournfully scanped a grave in the soft
earth of the forest, wrap ed his garments close-
1y about him, and laid im down to rest. It
was a strange funeral, there, in the silent woods
, one man physician, grave—digger and mourner
r.  —a sincere one, too.

“’5 “ Gabe’ll have a better grave than Conrad’ll
‘ give the rest of ’em,” muttered the man, as he
- fscraped the earth carefully‘back onthe body,
__ ' ’iand scattered the dry leaves above It 1n every

 direction, so that no one would suspect that a,

body lay there. “ It’ll be years, I reckon, be-
, fore anybody will disturb him. There, it’s

done.”
He rose and looked at the sky through the
branches. It was getting dark. They had been
' some hours at the plantation, and he wished
from his heart he had never gone there at all.

Nothing had been gained and much lost. He
, knew the ground well, and bidding a silent
f  good-by to the friend upon whose grave no

, owers would grow, and which he was destined
 . never to look upon again, he turned off in the
direction of the camp, which he reached about
nine o’clock in the evening. and was sent imme-
diate] to Gainor‘s tent.
. “ Willem have you been?" demanded that
K ‘ oflicer.
' Jack did not see any use in lying, and answer-
ed the uestion truly:

    
  
        
  

 

“At ston’s.”
f‘ At Eston’s eh? Who did you take with
. 7 you!“

He named his com anions.

“ Where are they? ’

“.Dead,” was the gloomy reply.

“ Explain that,” said Gainor, angrily. “ Tell
me how you managed to lose four 0 my best
men.”

Jack gave him a detailed account of the ex-
Bedition and its sad results. Galnor could find
. ut little fault, and Jack was too valuable a.
 man to quarrel with. Besides, he was bitterly
‘ ‘ incensed against the Estons, and would not have
 ~ been very angry if he had heard that they were
' ’ even more rou hly used than they had been.

“ Let it o,” 9 said. “ I have work for you
_ in) do. 6 must know where Harry is, and
,  youhage the man to find out. You will go to-

 

  

»

I  Alone!”

“ Just as you choo'se.”

“ Alone, then, it is. I ain’t got no good of
takin’com any lately. I can’t snake along as I
' ‘ ken when ’m alone. Where do you think he is

like] to' be found?”

“ n the big swamp below the Pedee, is where

I believe he is lurking."

“ I’ve a notion that it would be as well to
, wait till mornin’ and track Conrad. He has
. been running wlth Marion and Horry lately,
that I know.”

“ Perhaps they Will leave Eston’s to—night.”

“ Course they Will. You don’t think Sam
Carey is goin‘ to stay there long when he knows
that I’m on the trail? Not be} But, they kain’t
' 0 on hossback without leavm’ some kind ov a
grail. Tlmt’s what 1. trunk. Pu take a squad

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

_ halted.

 

of men and ride out to Eston’s now, and of they
ain’t gone yit, perhaps we mou ht nab them
there. Ef the’r’ gone, why, then ’11 stay at the
manor till mornin’ an’ then send the boys away
and go on alone. lint, of we go quick, mayhap
they’ll daily long enough to give us a chance.”

“ Off with you, then. Take what men you
want.”

Jack was not long in choosing his men, and.
started off at a roun pace along the road to Es-
ton’s manor. About a quarter of a mile away
they heard the swift beat of a horse’s boots, and
But the sounds proved to recede instead
of advance, and they hurried on. The rider
was no other than Pete, who had been sent out
on Carey’s horse—the one he had taken from
Egbert—as a sort of vedette, with orders to re-
treat immediately if he heard the tramp of
horses. He had caught the sound of their com-
ing feet long before they were in sight, and
spurring hard, he reached the house some ten
minutes in advance of the others.

Sam Carey had been hurrying his superior for
some time, with very poor effect. It was not
often that the major had a chance to enjoy the
society of Maud, and he did not care to leave
that society now.
feet of the horse, and rushed out.

“ Pete would never come back unless he had
seen something,” said Sam.

Two other horses were already saddled, and
Pete throw himself from the back of the one he
had ridden, and Sam vaulted into his place.

“ Mount, Pete I" he cried. “ How far are they
off?”

“ Day is on top ob do hill by dis time.”

“Then don’t hurry. Trot ofi' lightly, and
we’ll ketch yer. Good-by, Miss Maud. Now
major, are yer coming, or do yer want ter git
nabbed?”

“ Go, James, go. You are in danger here.

God be with on.”

He stooped, in the-saddle, imprinted a kiss
upon the i s which Lew Hurton preferred to
the Eaton ate, and was off like an arrow from
a. bow, t e trained horse stepping lightly,
though going at a good pace. hey were out
of sight 1n the darkness as the Tories swept up.
Maud crept back to the house and locked the
doors. All the lights were out. Jack. Adams
leaped his horse over the barred gate, and rode
up to the kitchen door, on which he thundered
witltilhis istoll bi(1)tt. ‘th d

‘ o, t are pen e oor, curse you. W
you black villain, or I will kindle a. fire 3 out
your ears.” ,

“ Who dar?” said Moll , the cook.

“I’ll let you know, e yer don’t open pretty.

soon. Serve you right of you got the crib
pulled down about your ears. I ain’t quite clear
that I won’t do it anyhow. Open 1”

“Is dat you, Mass’ Adams? Didn't know ye
’fore—sabe me, my bressed Mass'r, of I did. Let
ye in? Course I will.” I

The door was opened, and the negress ap-
peared in the doorway, holding a lamp over her

ea . -
“ Where is Conrad?”
“ Mass’ J ames’!”

h “ lies. Who do you suppose Imeani “Ishe
are? , "

But the heard the coming 

 if... “me n

4
,
‘2

 

Sam. the Swamp Scout.

 

“ ’Deed he ain’t. Mass’r sabe me ef he is. He
gone away long time ago.”

“ Is Carey here?” V

“ No, Muss” Adams. Ho gone, too.”

“Then I wont that scoundrel, Pete. He was
with them, curse him. I’ll make him sweat
blood for it. He was to blame for my losing my
men,”

“ l’s right sorry, mass‘r, but Pete he done

gone, too. He was’fruid to stay, and so he
«lone gone, too. True as I lih and breavo he
be 7’

“ Ye’r’ a-lyin’, ain’t you? Them fellers is hid
som’ers, ain’t they?”

“ No, mass’r. ' Ef ye was to kill me, I c‘u’dn’t
tell yor no diff’i'unt, ’decd l c’u’du’t. Pete hes
gone, and doy’s all gone. Rode off on dey
bosses.”

“Go to the stable, Tom," said Adams, ad-
dressing,r one of his comrades. who had come up.
“ See if thnr ar’ any bosses thar. Ef you find
the mojor’s big black, and‘u. ronn boss with
white feet holler to me, and I’ll shoot this
dorky, and sp’ilo six hundred dollars worth of
stock.”

“"l‘won’t do yer any good of ye go thar, I
tells ye fa‘r,” snid Molly. “ Dar ain‘t no bosses
in (lur. Min’, I 1201’ ye."

The man went to the stables, but soon return-
ed, saying the stalls were empty. ‘

“Then, the dorky told the truth. They are
off. Picket yer horses right here, and let’s go
inter the house. We may as well sleep in a
good bed for once. I’ve got an order.”

The men obeyed his command, and he sent
Molly to advise Maud of their coming. Gainer
had scrawled a. formal request to Mrs. Eston to
give his men shelter for the night, and she com-
plied. They passed the night in such a bed as
they had never dreamed of. Next day they re-
turned to camp, while JuL-k set out on the trail
left by Conrad. ,

CHAPTER VIII.
THE SWAMP RETREAT.

JACK ADAMS followed the trail like asleuth-
hound. He had disnovered n. peculiar mark in
the shoe of the horse which Conrad rode, and as
the day advanced, he did not find it necessur
to dismount, but kept on at u quick pace, wit
his eyes on the ground. As he expected, the

 

read they took turned aside at last into the deep

swamp, which lay on either side of the river.
He had been there before, and a. half~inile’s ride
brought him to the place where Carey had
eluded his )nrsult a. few days previous. The
ground was envy in places, and wherever the
' horses’ boots had fallen, it showed plainly the
trail. ’

The road Was gloomy. Heavy boughs hung
close to his head, and the Southern moss brush—
ed hil/Il in the face as he passed. At times, the
sull‘n sound of the terrepin, dropping from a
log at his approach, or the sudden rush of a
snake us it crossed his path, came to his ears.
These were no new sights and sounds to him.
He had studied nature, as it is written in the
swamps, from his youth. He had no eye for the
beauties or the rouvh aspects of the scene. All
he'saw was that Fhoof~print—ull his thoughts
were of the bloody revenge he would have for

4

 

the death of his friends, Gabriel, Gilbert and
Lewis. But his deepest hate was reserved for
Conrad. Carey was a. scout, and, as such,
Adams had for his rival a fellow-feeling, al—
though the bullet which struck down Oney was
meant for him. But Conrad was a gentleman—
one of the South Carolina. aristocrats, whom the
low-born Jack despised. He did not follow
Blakeley because of an love for him, butbe—
cause he was on the Eng ish side.

The scent waded his horse across the bayou, L

and there found the hoof-prints growing many
in number, and branching off in various direc-
tions. But, he could pick out the track he was
following, even now, by dismounting, for it was
the freshest track there. He leaped down and
arranged his halter so that he could lead his
horse, and advanced briskly. For half an hour
nothing was heard but his stealthy tread, as he
stole on like a. shadow, his eyes bent steadfastly

on the earth. At the end of that time be tied ' <

his horse in a well—sheltered thicket. and ad~

vaneed on foot for he felt sure that the camp v

be sought could not be far away. ‘
The caution he now used was wonderful. Not
u. leaf stirred, not a. twig’ broke. He went for-
ward stooping, carefully pickin up and throw-
ing aside every little twig and stick which might
break under his foot. His patience received its

reward, for a. sound broke on his ear which told V

him that he was approaching a camp. It was
the neighing of a. horse. He stood erect, a smile
of satisfaction illuminatin his bronzed face.
He knew where they must
just ariu‘ved on the brink of the deeper swamp,
where he was forced to step from tussock to
tussock, to avoid the water lying between. The
little hillocks were all indented by the tread of
other feet, and he knew that he was approach-
ing a small swamp island, used as a retreat at
times by Marion and his men. ~

Turning abruptly to the right, so as to get
away from the main trail, he approached the
island from behind. He did not expect to find
Marion there.
Swamp Fox was in another part of the swamp,
but he was confident he should find either Pete
Horry or his brother.’ ‘

Nor was be disappointed. I
the camp from behind, he found himself safe
from the view of the partisans by a fringe of
low bushes. Lyinieprostrate behind these, be
advanced on his ly, like a. snake, until the
sound of voices near at hand warned him to
desist.

A spy not used to his business would have
pushed aside the branches to get a view of the
camp. Jack Adams knew better, and with un-
tiring atien‘ce picked away leaf after leaf until
be con see the interior.

In all, there might have been thirty men in
view, in every style of dress possible, though
the greater portion of them wore common home-
spun hunting-shirts.
ducking—guns. common fowling—pleces, deer
guns and rifles, and the old—fashioned
tion musket, were among the varieties Some of
the men had hunting-knives and some the com-
mon butcher-knife suspended at the sword-belt in

a leather!) sheath, 0:  mixed into the belt ,h

camped. He had Y

He knew very well that the'

As he approached .

 
     
   
  

Their arms were as re— v .,
markahle in variety as their clothing. Long . 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\

   
   
     
 
    
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

 

28'

 

or boot-leg. Some had pistols. Those who wore
swords either were ofiicers, whose weapons were
unexceptionable, or the hard riders of Marion,
bearing the famous saw-mill swords, “ not pretty
to look at," Carey used to say, “ but reckoned
to cut a man down to the brisket every lime.”
This band was that of Peter Horry, the stutter—
ing friend of Francis Marion.

Peeping through the leaves, J ack saw two
men seated on a log, not a rod away. His hand
dropped to the hilt of his pistol; one of them
wasConrad. The other was a hearty, florid—
lookin fellow, in the uniform cap of a colonial
colone , though his uniform was not the best in
.the world. But, that world is always deceived

_by ornament, and this rough and ready genius
"was that tried and true friend of liberty, “ stut—
tering Peter.” The two were conversing cager~
ly. The spy felt his fingers itch for revenge, in
the person of James Conrad, the death of the
four friends at the Eston Manor, and then take
his chances of escape, which he knew would be
slim. But, he was on duty, and duty must al-
ways take the place of any other feeling, in the
heart of a good soldier. He meant to return to
Gainer, tell him where the partisans were
camped, and then think of revenge. He wormed
himself closer, desirous of hearing what they
were saying, hoping to pick up some scraps of

‘ information useful to his superiors.

“ I~l—I s—s-s y!” said “stuttering Peter,” who
was in a. state of great excitement, at which
times to speak without stuttering was a physical
impossibility, “ c-c-curse such rascals I"

“ Don’t get excited, colonel,” said Conrad.
“We punished them severely. Three out of five
were left dead on the floor, and one of the others
carried a. mark with him which he will bear to
the grave. And I am inclined to the opinion
that he will die of it.”

“ W-w-w-which one was it?”

“ One of the Halls. . That rascal Adams man-
aged to escape. I would given. hundred guineas
to be sure he was dead. 0 Gainer, and men of
that class, Adams is indispensable. He pries
into the politics of the families along the
border, and if they turn out to be Whigs, woe
to them.”

"‘I-I-I’ll hang him yet, see if I don’t.” said
Horry. “D-d.-d-don’t make me talk any m-m-
more than you can help, f—f~for when I’m mad I

. have to stutter.”

“Let us think of something else-something
more cheerful. Do you know, my dear colonel,
that I have greater hope than ever that the
colonies will not fail in their efforts for freedom?
These little successes we are having give our
vinen'heart. Greene’s strong good sense is show—
ing itself. His artful strategy is more tent
than battles won. He retreats, and never eaves
astalk or a. bullock to sustain the enemy, It
looks Well. Rawdon grumbles, and talks of
making Oamden blaze if he is forced to leave
it. His Il‘lSll‘ troops are disaffected. They have
a fellow-feeling with us, for they have been
under the iron heel of England longer than we.”

“ I don’t despair of the country as long as I
see as man fellows under arms as I have here
Vmay,” gala Harry, who could talk as well as
any one when not excited. “We shall whip

» them in the end. And it the men go under, the

 

 

women will fight. Iwant to see Gainor and
Huck, and a few more of that stripe, kick the
air, and the rest leave the country, and I’ll be
satisfied. 01" course you made a personal ene-
Iny of Jack Adams?” '

“ I don’t know,” said the young man. "The
fellow hated me badly enough before, and if he
hates me more now, it won’t make much dif-
ference, I think.”

“ But the implacable brute may injure those

you love. I don‘t think the Estons at all safe.
They are not the people to disguise their scnti-
nivnts in the least and their open talk makes
many enemies. ou have seen to what it has
led. Adams will not be likely to show them
mercy, except under compulsion from his supe-
riors.” '

“ Gainor has winked at the conduct of his
men. but I am astonished that Egbert Blakeley
suffered it. Though a Tory, he has not-a bad
hcait.” '

“ But, he also hates you.”

“ I know it. i am sorry for it, because we
are cousins, and I would not be at enmity With
those of my own blood.” 3

“ Tories are my enemies, blood or no blood,”
said Horry. “ But, now for our work. Marion
lies at Big Island, and only waits for us. YOur
information will determine him to attack Gainer
this very night. I think he has Deena blight
and a terror to this section too long already.
Hal What is that?”

The exclamation was elici ted by the report of
a pistol near them. The rcport was the result
of an accident. J uck Adams. in drawing him-

self backward to retreat, had caught the lock'

of a pistol in his belt on o projecting root, and
it had gone off. Seeing that he would bedis—
covered, he jerked out the other pistol and fired
at Conrad. The hall cut a furrow along the
side of his neck, raising the flesh as the lush of
a whip would have done. Both of the officers
leaped toward the
so quickly that he could not escape. He sprung
up, snarling like a wolf at bay. and drewa mur-
dermis—looking,r knife, backing against a large
sycamore at the same time.

“ Kcep back," he said.

“ Nonsense,” said Conrad, advancing as h
spoke.

surd.” 

The vicious look which the Tory gave him
made him uuse and draw his sword. '

“ You ki led them,” said the Tory: “ You I”

“ Who do you mean, my boy i"

“Gill and (Joey and Gabe Hall, and young
Lew Hurton.”

“ Did our friend Gabriel deport also?” said
Conrad. “I am happy to say I did aid in the
demise of those cut-throats. ll’hat of it?”

“ i am going to kill you for it.”

“ Thank you,” replied the major. “ I don’t
think I’ll trouble you.” ' ,

As he spoke, the villain sprung at him sud-
denly, while the point of his sword was lowered.

He threw it up as quickly as he could, justin“
time to avert a vicious blow of the long knife. >.

As the scout stumbled from the force of the
stroke, 'Horry dealt himva blow with his fist,

which stretched him senseless on them: When 

 

place where the Tory lay, ~

“You should not order away your‘
friends in that manner, Jack. It is very ab—

 

l
l
4
l

 

 

 

 

 

, candor.

84

he re ained’hissenses he was securely bound,
and gain Carey sat near him on a lag, with
a pistol in his hand, regarding him in a quiz-
zical manner.

“Caught e napping that time, old boy,” said

he. “ I rec on this is the end of yer rope.”
“You run bet it ain‘t, boss,” replied Jack.
“ I’ve a go while to run yit.”

“ I’m glad ye think so. Do ye know what
Gainor would hev done with me, ef he had
can ht me that ni ht in his camp?”

“ ow ken I tel i”

“ Ye know that’s a lie, old man,” said Carey;
“ and it don’t look well in a man of yer eddica-
tion. Ye know he’d ’a’ strung me up to ther
tu’st tree at ’arly mornin’. Don’t ye, now?”

“ He mought, ’ said Jack. “ I don’t portend
to be Famed.”

“ Don’t be a fool, Jack. Ye know, jist as well
as I kin tell ye, that yer in a bad scrape, and

, thet if Horry is minded to hang ye, he kin do it

by the law of war.”

, “But, I ain’t done nothin’, Sam. Don’t be

too hard on a chap.”

7 “Ye ain’t done nothin’i” cried Sam, with
reat heat. “What ar’ e talkin’ about, say?
id ye fire a pistol at t 8 major, and raise a

welt on the side of his neck as big as a mule-
whi , or didn’t ye? Thet’s what I want to know?”

“ mou ht,” said Jack, “ You see, I‘m hot-
blooded. didn’t rightly know thet I bed the

istol in my hand and I reckon she went off of
Ker own accord, Now I ask you fair, ain’t Ma-

'or Conrad done enough to ’arn a shot from me?
all the truth, now, and nothin’ but it. Don’t
you think so?"

“ Didn’t ye git yer shot? Thet’s all right, thet
is. Ye got floored after it. That was yer luck,
and cant be helped. Take it coolly, old man,‘
and of ye know‘ any prayers—which I don’t
think—I d advise ye ter sa them.”

“But, see here, Sam. in’t it ruther hard?
I only ask you fair ; ain’t it kinder hard for me
ter be cut ofl.’ that way, before you and I bed a

' chance for a good, square fight, to see which of

us isthe better man? It kinder throws things
out of gear, soto speak. Don’t you think of yer

was to out these cords so that could make a

run of it, 'twoull be a good thin ?”

“Can’t an that I do,” said am, with great

‘.‘ allers meant ter hev a fight with

ye some time. But, ef Providence hcz got it

_ fixed for ye to hang, why, hang ye must, and it

ain’t for me ter fight ag’ln’ it.”

Jack began to be seriously alarmed for the
first time, for he had more than half believed
that it was the intention of the scout to frighten
him. But, Carey was too earnest in his answers

‘ for the prisoner to doubt the fate in store for

him. /

“ But, Carey,” said he, in a pleading tone,
“ what did Conrad say about it? Have they
agreed to hang me, anyhow? They’d better not.
Gainer willhang every man of ours he takes
after'it, et ye do. Pshawl or only foolin’.
You want tar scare an old hand, that’s all,”

Carey said nothing, but sat with an immov-
able tace, whistling.

“ Come, old fellow, this yer is past a joke, you
see, ’Tain’t fair not to answer. What does the
0111er say about it?”

\
!

Sam. the Swamp Scout.

 

"'~..._ _ U

“ I ain’t an oflicer," was the short reply. '
“ They ain’t a-goin’ ter tell me. Don’t trouble
yerself. Soon enough ye will hear of it, I’m
thinkin’. They’re a-talkin" over thar, about it
now. But don’t ye git the idea they’re goin’ to
let ye off. The men wouldn’t stand it, even ef
 wanted it, which he don’t, by a horn-

u .

“ That's it,” said Jack. “ Why couldn’t some
one else except stuttering Pete have kefched me?
Ye'r’ laughing at me. Come. Her yer joke out,
do, and tell me what you think.” ‘

“I’ve told ye,” said Carey. “Don’t talk to
me no more about it. I’ve heard enough, I hev.
The officers will come back in a minnit, and
then it’ll be known.”

Jack remained silent for a moment, but the
idea of waiting for his death sentence in that
manner was too much. The man had been near
death many times, but that was in the heat of
battle, and the danger was not felt as now. To
lie there, knowing that, a few paces away, four
men were calmly deciding his fate, was too
hard. He broke out again:

"See here, Sam Carey, I’ll make you sweat
fer this, some day. It’s all your fault. You’d
better let me go.”

“ I ain’t quite a fool yit,” replied Sam. “ Shot
up,lwill ye?" He toyed with his pistol omin—
ous .

“ fierha 3 ye don’t think I kin git away from
these hitc es. Well, I kin. I’ve ot a secret
that’ll buy my life every time. 0 take car'
Elba}; ye do, er ye don’t want to get into trou-

e.

Carey thrust the pistol into his belt. took out ‘
his knife and began to Whittle and whistle. This
maddened the prisoner, and he burst intoa flood
of Vehement abuse, to which Carey listened,
pleasant as a summer mornin , and never ceas-
ing the tune he was \vhis ing. It was the
Rogue’s March! Jack by turns insulted and
flattered, threatened and prayed, receiving no
answer. At last the patience of Carey was ex-
hausted.

“ See here, Jack. Shet yer mouth this minnit
or I’ll gag ye.”

This threat had the desired effect. Fora little
time Jack desisted, but, before many minutes,
the fit to talk came upon him, and Sam was ris-
ing to carry his threat into execution, when he
saw the council of officers break up, and walk
toward him.

“ Here they come,” he said.

“ The officers!” cried Jack.
I kin sit with my back against the log.
to be whar I kin talk.”

“ Don’t use yer tongue too much while Pete

Berry is round, or ye may chance to lose it,”
said Carey. “ Thar; I'll make ye as comfu’table
as I kin.”
He lifted the recumbent figure of the spy, and
prop 1 him up with his back against the 0g on
whic he had been sitting. The ofldcerscame up
quickly, the major a little in advance. An ex’
pression of the deepest determination rested
upon his firm face.

CHAPTER IX.
ADAMS as A MAN. - '
Ensure the spy read his danger in that look, , ,

“ Lift me up so’t
I want

 

 

 

 

Sam, the swamp Scout.

He knew only too well the fate he had incurred
by coming to the camp. Fully understanding
the implacable nature of the hatred of Whig
and Tory, he knew that one of the former, in his
situation, would have received little mercy at
his hands. But man loves life, and he waited
f or his sentence with a, frightened expression.

“ Jack Adams,” said Conrad, “ you are a man
born upon Carolina soil, and you have been a
persistent foe to liberty, Caught in the act of
spying about our camp, you are liable to death
as a s y. Can you give us any reason why we
shoul not hang you as such?”

“ ,spy, major! Not quite so bad as that, I
he .’

Axéilence on that point. The proof is too clear
to admit of a cavil or a doubt. \Ve have not
considered that at all, but simply whether there
are any reasons why you should not die at once.
We can fini none ”

“ But, look here, major. I allow I’ve been a
bad man. ’Tain‘t no use to donythat. I’ve
fought for the red-coats ’cause I thought I ortey.
But it‘s hard to die for it.”

“ In taking upon yourself the office of a spy,
you also incurred its penalties, sir. Listen to
your sentence. You Will haVe fifteen minutes’
grace. At the end of that time you will be
harmed by the neck till you are dead. And may

the turd in his infinite mercy pardon your sin!

ful Soul.”

Tins solemn address nearly maddened the nor
wretch. He wri':hed about in his bonds an tell

rostrate at the feet of the stern advocate.

hough deeply moved, there was nothing in the
face of the young man which showed it. He
knew the unscrupulous nature of the man who
begged for mercy. He had heard how the wo-
men of the Whigs, falling at his feet, had pray-
ed as he was praying, for the lives of fathers
and brothers, and been sternly denied.

The passion of the condemned was fearful.
For ten minutes he made the air vocal with cries,
threats, ruyers, so strangely intermingled that
one couldJ hardly be distinguished from the other.
But Conrad stood with a watch in his hand,
noting the time.

“ Five minutes more.”he said. “ You will do
well to get ready the rope, Sergeant Carey.”

. > The scout walked away to execute the mission,
and the Tory was convinced that his time had
come. He immediately became quiet.

' “ Have your own way,” he said, coolly. “Get
the murder done as soon as you can. But if
i-piri‘s hev power to come back from the place

- l‘m goin’ to, I’ll haunt you all.”

The officers smiled at this puerile threat, but

’ the men trembled. They were superstitious toa
f mlt. It was in their education to believe that
the man would fulfill his threat.

“ Time is up.” said Conrad. “ Now, hovs, cut
11):: rope on his feet. Lift him up. Hold him
for a minute. He can’t stand. Carey, put a
close bitch on him."

' The men obeyed the order. Thu momentJack
felt the blood flowing back into his limbs, he
made an agile spring,r and cleared himself from
the circle of his enemies. and lied his powers in

.an attempt to escape. But nrad was on his
shoulders before he had made a dozen leaps, and

‘ bore him to the ground. He was dragged buck

 

 

85

into the circle. and a rope adjusted about his
neck. 'He stood there, panting from his fierce
effort to get clear, and making the air ring with
useless threats. He asked mercy no longer, and
they dragged him under the cypressvboughs.
One of the men climbed the tree. passed the rope
over a strong limb, and threw it down or those
below. Half a dozen strong hands seized it.
Even those who feared that his ghost would
come back to haunt them were seemingly eager
to see the wretch swing.

“ Cease
faulty, man,” said the young major.
upon your doom, and it’ you have no way in
which to appeal to your God, at least die with
pure lips.”

He answered with another burst of oaths.

“ Be silent,” said Horry, “or you shall be
gagged.”

“ Give me five minutes more,” said Jack, sud—
denly lifting his head.

“ You have it,” said Horry, “if you make a
good use of it.”

For the five minutes which succeed< d be re-
mained with bent head.
rrcord of his ill-spent life rose before him. Be

your idle threats and hideous pm '
“ Think .

All the dreadful,

 

saw it in all its hideous deformity, and a shud- , 

der passed through his powerful frame. He
recognized the justice of his doom, and raised
his head quickly.

“ Up with me, boys,” he said. “ I’ll never be
in a better state than now. I’m sorry for what

I’ve done, and if I had another life to live, my- l'

hap I’d live it better. Good-by to you all.”
The sudden change in the man took them by
surprise. A moment before he was shocking

them by his .rulfianly manner, and now he was ,

as quiet as’a child, and ready to meet his doom
like a man.
pull at the rope dropped it, and looked at their
superior officers for orders.

It must be done,” said Horny. fins-Wm '
ac .

f~f~for it, too. Are you ready,

“All ready,” replied Jack. ,

“ Say you don’t die with hard feelings toward
any man,” said Conrad. "

“ I say it, and mean it,” replied Jack.
wish I’d felt as I do now all my life.
better man, I guess.”

“ Do you want to be blindfolded?” asked the
major. ‘

“ I reckon not,” replied Jack.
a coward.
awhile ago.

“ I never was

But,I Was thinkin’ to myself of

what the major said, how’t I wasa man born 
nn’ bred on Carolina s’ile. an’ how hard it was , ‘ , 

that a man who monght hev done so much for

his own kentry sh’u’d be found fightin’ ag’in’ it. .

I ought (er die.” I V
“All ready!" said Conrad, turning away his
face, “ NOW!”

The men tugged away at the rope, and the.
dams was swin ing in the

body of Jack Y
above their heads. A shrill w ' 1e sudden]?
rung through the swamp, the peculiar whiste
whiéh the Swamp Fox had taught hismexu
Horry put his fingers to his mouth and answered:
it. At the same. time he was felled by

weight of a heavy body. The rope had broken;
under the great Weight of Adams, and he had’
fallen to the earth heavfly. The whistlewas w.

r l

 

«I  ,
I’dbeena' ' ‘

I can’t think what got into me . ‘

the"

 

The men who had been eager for a. ‘ ‘

 

‘ .l ' dyin’. ’cause I ain’t.

,26

y

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

 

ated, and answered by the men of Horry.
‘hey knew that their great leader was at hand.
Some of them lifted up the insensihle spy, and
were about to replace the rope around his neck,
when this} were stopped by a gesture from
Harry. arion’s men began to pour into the
openspace upon the island, guiding their steeds
in the easy manner peculiar to Southern horse—
men.

Horry and Conrad hurried to meet a slight

man, who rode into 0me among the first.
‘ He was no son of Anak, as the British legends
at this time are apt to make him, but “ a
swarthy, smoke—dried little man, with scarcely
enough of homespun to cover his nakedness,”
And yet, thls insignificant-looking personage
' was General Francis Marion, whose name was
synonymous with courage and patriotism.

“ Ha, my brave Peter,” he said, in a cheerful

‘ tone, grasping the hand of the colonel, “how
goes it? MaJor Conrad, your servant. Ihad
expected to see you before this. W'liat business
have we on hand?” I

“ We had taken a spy,” reply Berry, “and
were hanging him when you came in. An ac-
cident happened him, or he would be in another
world. The rope broke just as you came up.”

“ Who is he?”

“ Jack Adams.”

“ Of Gainor’s command?”

“Yes, general."

Marion was thoughtful for a moment.

“I wish the dog was a good Whig,” he at

r 191) h said. “ Let him go out with Sam Carey,

_ a there are not British enough in the Caro—
linas to catch our hands unawares, and we
should know every British track before it is
made.” v - '

“ I believe We may have him if we choose,”
said Conrad, brightening.

“I must see him,” said Marion.

The officers led the way to the place where
Jack was sitting. supported by two men.

“This is hardly fair, major,” he said. “It’s
like makin’ a man die twice.”

“Perhaps this accident may result for your
good,” replied Conrad. “ Do you know this
‘lgentlemanw

“Yes,” replied Jack.
knowed he was comin’.
jest as you sent me up?”

“There’s a scout for you," said Marion. “A
man who is being run up to' a swinging limb,

. .with a rope about his neck, takes note of such
"a thing as that. He deserves to live. Take the
rope from his neck a moment. Now listen to
me, my lad. These officers are kinder than you
deserve. If we were to let you go now, would
you be a true Whig and join this band?”

“I’ll tell you. gineral. I wouldn‘t like to hev
you think I’d j’ino you because I was ’l‘raid of
But it come to me on a
suddent like, that no man as is a man would
fight ag’ln’ his own true kentl‘y, as I hev done,
nohow. Idou’t know how it is, but I’m Whig
v ,cleer through. I don’t ask you to trust me.
But I do think. if so be I had the chance. I’d do
hem-tier service for Congress than eVer I’ve done
for King George.”

,“Cut his cords,” said Marion.

“ That’s Marion. ‘ “ I
Didn’t I hear his whistle

“ Stand up,

n

 

my lad. You are a member of Marion’s Brigade.
Have you got a horse?”

“He’s tied in the cypress, a little way from
here. If one of the men will go with me, I’ll
get him.”

“ No,” said Marion, “ I can’t spare the man. Y
Go alone.” ‘

“ What?”

“ Go alone,” repeated Marion. _

“ Ain’t 13th a good ways to trust a Tory? I’ve
been a hard one, mind.” .

“ I know it. Go and get your horse.” ,

J ack started away like a man dumfounded. -
He could not understand. He had been saved »
from death, was a member of Marion‘s band,
and was trusted already! If any man had told
him when he entered the swamp, that he would
come out a Whig, he would have struck him in
the face. Marion watched him with an eagle
eye as he walked slowly away. Carey took up
his rifle and prepared to follow. Jack was not
so far away but he saw the motion, and heard
Marion say:

“ W'here are you going, Sergeant Carey?”

S “ I’m goin’ter watch thet yer Adams,” said
am. i
“ Stay here,” said Marion.
“ Eh?”
‘ “ Stay here. I will not have him watched.”

“ All right. gineral.” And thefl he walked
away, muttering: “ And if he ever comes back
I’ll eat my moccasins.” '

Every one awaited the return of the new re—
cruit anxiously enough except Marion. His, .
judgment was rarely at fault, and he thought
he could read a thorough convert in the face of
Adams. If there was any lingering doubt in
the mind of the latter, the last evidence of faith;
in him completed the conversion. He walked ‘,

resolutely to the place where his horse was tied, : T 1 :

unfastened him, mounted, and rode back to the
island, and reported himself as ready for duty.
“ You will be in Captain Mcllroy's compagy,” _
said Marion. “ Report to him for duty. on
will often be needed as a scout. I ho 9 you will 
wi )3 out your former bad record. . end-day.”
uck Adams turned to go away, but came
back and dropped at the feet of the great parti-
san, and grasped his hand. '
“ You’ve trusted me,” he said’. “ See whether
or not I am true.”
Marion was much moved. He stooped and ‘
raised the man to his feet. ,
“Trust you!” he said. “Of course I do. And. ' ’
I am mistaken in human nature if you give me V
any reason to repent what I have done.”
“ You never shall repent it,” said Jack. fer-
vently. “ I thank you for What you have
done.” i '
“ That is not necessary. I get a good recruit
by the operation. Go to your duty. ' ,_
Jack went away, followed by th eyes of the
men, who wondered greatly at w t had trans~
pired. He picketed his horse, and, coming back,
sat down on a log, apart from the rest, thinking ‘ -
over the events of the day. After sitting some
time, wrapped in thought, he was roused by a . _
slight cough. and. looking up. saw Carey sitting _’
a little way off, composedly Whittling at a or ,
press twig; _ w
“ Hulloi” said Carey. '

 

' , Gainer or Bla eley git their claws on ye. ”

'2!

Sam. the Sw

Scout.

amp

 

“ How are you, Sam?” said Jack.

“ ’Pears kind 0’ strange to ye, don’t it, now?”
said Carey. “How do ye like it, fur as ye’vo

ot?”

“First chop,” said Jack.
shove fur me, though.”

“ Close! I sh’u’d think so. Ef that durned
rm 9 hadn’t broke, ye’d never hev been one of
Marion’s men. Durned queer, anyhow. Say,
how (‘lld ye feel when we were hangin’ ye?”

“S rt 0’ queer,” replied Jack. “ Did ye ever
whirl round on yer heel till you got dizzy? Wal,
that’s about the way I felt after a. gulp or two.
I don’t want it to do over ug’in, anyhow. It’s
no joke, mind.” ’

.“ I sh’u’d sa not. It’s what they’ll give ye if

“It was a close

“ That’s so. I reckon I’ll hev to take my
chances ’long ov the rest. Mebbe they’ll ketch
me. I don’t think it, though."

“ Ye’r’ adowny one, Jack,” said Carey. “ What
a pleasure it’ll be when we two go out on ascout

' together. Now tell me. as man to man, do you
mean to stick by us through thick and thin, no
bat'kin’ down?”

“ You may bet I do,” said Jack.

“ Shake!” said Carey, putting out his hand.
“ We’ll go on a scout to-morrer, and I guess
we’ll shake the rags ofl? G-ainor to—night."

“ Good! I may as well git my hand in on him
as anybody. Never liked Gainor much, any-
how. We’ll make the land in the territory of
Williamsburg toohot for him. On] , we must

_ not let him git hold of us. To—nig t, did you
say?” I

“ I reckon. Anyhow, we’re goin’ to iide
~som’crs, ’cause the gineral never comes here un-
less he means business. It’s no use tellin’ you

i whar our main camp is. I doubt you know all
about it. Anyhow, it’s Snow Island, down
between Lynch’s Creek and the Pedee. He’s
come all the way from thar for a bu’st at
Gainer.” .

' “ Then he‘ll hev it. I’ll be In, too. Durhed

' of I don’t feel more like a man then I hev fur a.
year or more. I told Gabe Hall I’d never rest

, . till I’d been revenged on ye and the major for his

,' death. But that’s all taken out of my hands.

That’s the assmnbly. Let‘s go and see what’s up.”

v CHAPTER X.
THE NIGHT STROKE AND THE CLOSING SCENE.
THE assembly which they heard, called the
" men to be ready to march in an hour, foraflght
with the Tories. Marion did not tell them
5 where he intended to go. but most of them
i guessed that it was a drive at the camp of
ainor. That it would be a desperate battle
they thought probable; but that it would result
r in a victory to their arms, Marion’s men were
assured. Their confidence in their general was
as eat as it deserved.
T 0y marched at the appointed time, just as
the sun was going down; broke through the
V last morass just at dark. and struck the level.
hard ground beyond, holding their course by
the side of the shining river. They knew the
’ ound well. Most of them had fought over it
' grough three years or more of bloody border
War. There was no blast of bugle or beat of
' . Marion’s forte was notto meet the well-

 

appointed forces of the enemy in open fight, but
to surprise them, fall upon them suddenly, and
cut them to pieces before they had recovered
from their first alarm. The Tories knew how
he fought: and their dread was that Marion
would spring up from some secret place and at-
tack them wherever they pitched their camp.
He studied his plans of battle well, and knew
how to fight as well as to hide. ,

That swamp fastuess at Snow Island is im—
mortal. ' It has a name and place in history. It
is not our design to visit it in thbse pages.
Southerners know the spot and love it, as the
haunt of one of our heroes. In most wars, the
peculiar style of warfare of Marion would not
have been regarded as fair. Gilmore Simms,
in speaking of his habits, says: “His (:31: our as a
partisan in the thickets and swamps of Carolina
is abundantly distinguished by the picturesque.
But it was while he held his camp at Snow 15—
land that it received its highest colors of ro—
mance. In this snug and impenetrable fortress,
he reminds us very much of the feudal Baron
of France and Germany, who, perched on castle
eminence, looked down with the complacency of
an eagle from his eyrie, and marked all below
him for his own. The resemblance is good in
all respects save one. The plea and justification
of Mgrion is complete; his warfare was legiti-
mate. '

In making these midnight forays, Marion was i ‘

guided by the opinions and information of his
scouts, men who never deceived him; and in the
present case, all he knew of the position of
Gaiuorwas taken from the experience of the
alert Corey.

The band moved on at a brisk pace. until they
saw the lights of the enemy gleaming by the
side of the river. The fee slept in fancied
security. Marion was reporter] far away, and
Gainer confidently looked for the return of his ,
scout, Jack Adams, bringing him full informa— ,
tion of his foe‘s wlicreal outs. whom he Was
now, more than ever, determined to destroy,
since he had been so insulted by Sam Carey.

Never for a moment did Gainer believe that
Adams could be untrue to him, for there had
been no man of his force more vigilant in»
hunting down and destroying the Whigs; But, V
Captain Blakeley “as not so sure of his man.
They had never been the best friends, for Jack
thought the captain too lenient to the enemies
of the king, and upon one occasion had been so «
verely punished for making a raid upon a home
stead, the peOple of which had taken out a pm ,
tection.  7

Blakeley came into the tent‘of Gainer, some-
what excitel, and demanded to know how long
they were to remain on Fritton’s Neck. ‘fBe-
cause, if we. are to stay here much longer," be
said, “it would be as well to make at least a
show of protecting the camp from assault.” :

Gainer had been drinking, and was not in
good humor.

“ Am I to understand, Captain Blakely, that
you question my ability to look after my own
command?” , .

“ In other words, that is a polite way of tell-
ing me to mind my own business. Very well,
major; have your way. But you may take my
word for it that not many hours will pass before ‘

w

 

98

the Whi will make you rue sta in so long at
Britton’sgls‘leck.” y g

“ There are not enough ragged Whigs in this
district to scare me out of my position,” said
Gainer. “And I certainly do not mean to al-
low one of my officers to frighten me out of it by
bluster." -

“ Many a man before your time, Major
Gainor, as lost all by too much faith in himself
and refusing to take good advice. But I say no
more." u

“ Perhaps it is quite as well for you that you
do not," said Gamer, angrily. ‘ For, by the

Eternal, if you do not be careful, I will put you

under arrest.”

“Major Gainer, these words demand satisfac-

‘tion. I will thank you to name your time, place,

and woe. ons.””

“ I wi not be forced into a quarrel by one of
my subordinates,” vocifcrated the superior oili-
cor, who had no wish to fight the strong-limbed
youn Southerner. “ And your course ‘ in
three ning me While under my orders, will like—

! wise require explanation. I have half a mind‘
to call in a squad of men anglcxput you under
guard. But you have done gr service in the
cause of the king, and l consent to overlook this
transgression, so that it does not occur again.”

The eyes of the young man flashed fire, and he
came closer to the major.

“ Would on not like a good excuse to lay me
by the bee 5, major? You know you outrank
me?”

.“ No;

Gainer.

“Perhaps you are averse to fighting without
good reason. I think I can furnish that. Would
'you like to have me do it?”

“ Take care, Captain Blakeley,” muttered the
ma‘ior, warningly. “ You may go too far.”

‘ Oh no, major. I am sure you want an ex—

,r cuso. ake that, then!”

He struck him in the face with his open hand
so sharply that the officer fell to the sod, from
which he sprung again, fairly foaming with

r rage, and rushed at his enemy. But, seeing that
he had drawn his sword, he shouted for the

rd, who entered at the word.

“Secure that man,” he cried. “Upon peril

of your lives see that he does not escape.”
‘ The men advanced to seize him, when a sud-
den report of arms from without made them
pause in dismay. The report was followed by a
rush of horses, shouts, groans, and the clashing
of swords, mingled with cries of “Down with
them!” “ Marion’s men! Marion‘s men I"
“ Death to all Tories!”

The royalists knew that ringing war-cry only
too well. Marion was at hand. The surprise
was complete. The Tories had hm‘dly gone
through the formula of placing a guard, and
these ad quietly gone to sleep on their several

its, being sure that no danger was at hand.

ost of these had started up only to feel the

, edge of the broadsword and sink down with
eleven skulls. No mercy was asked or given.
Cruel wron on one side, the knowledge that
they deserv no mercy on the other, all com-
hi’ned to make mercy something unthought of.
The band had divided into two portions iii fall-

' ing on the camp, and rushed in together. At

I want no such excuse,” replied

J \.

 

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

the first alarm Major Gainor signaled his men
to leave the captain alone.

“forget what has passed,” he said. “ Follow
me. . .
They rushed out together. All was hope-
less confusion. In the darkness, Tory grape
pied Tory by the throat, and they fell, locked in
a deadly embrace, while through and throu h
the broken ranks rode the horsemen of e

swamp, striking right and left. A single glance . .

convinced Blakeley that all was lost. Hls men
were banded together and fighting hard, for he
had been careful with his guards. If the attack
had come upon that side, the English would have
been found on the alert. Jack Adams knew
this, and gave Conrad a hint to deploy to the
left, and thus avoid them. This had left Blake-
ley’s men unbroken, and when he got to them he
found about twenty men in the saddle, his own
orderly holding his horse. He sprung to his
place and looked back at the men, givin the
stern command: “ Draw sabers; charge l" ey

fell upon the scattered force of Marion like a. V ‘
thunderbolt, broke through them, and were
away as fast as the spurs could urge their horses

on.
“ F-f—f-f’firel” shouted Horry, as he saw them
0. “ Shoot! They’ll be in Georgetown before
can say it! After them, Major Conrad! The
best men of all are getting clear, Blakeley’sl"‘ V
Major Conrad needed no second bidding, and "
was oif like a meteor, followed by his men, who ,
had been kept well together in the charge. Jack
Adams and Carey were among the number. A
“ specially prepared Whig,” Horry called Adams
He had fought like a tiger, conscious that the
quiet little man in homespun had his eye I: n
him, approving his deeds. Sam Carey reac ed
out his hand as they started in the chase after
Blakeley, saying:

“ Shake on that, old man. Ye’r’ doin’ well.”
Without slackening their speed in the least,
they shook hands. They were close on the heels ~
of the flying Tories. The walls of the Eston
Manor gleamed white in the moon-rays. The
Tories turned up the avenue, seein that they
could not escape, and broke into the ouse. By

the tune Conrad reached the gate they had con- . V. ‘7

vcrtcd the house into a fortress.

“ Bad luck I” said Carey. 1‘ It will be a. fight,
I reckon. The captain is mighty mad.” '

The noise of the combat had aroused Maud
from her slumbers. The hints she had received
from her lover led her to anticipate the attack,
and by the so me token she knew that he was in
the fight. Britton’s Neck, the scene of the strug— ‘
gle, was hard] v two miles away, and eve sound
came plainly to the ear in the clear nig t. At
the rapid beat of hoofs, she sprung to the win-
dow, Just as the Tories came pouring into the 
yard. "

There was no time to save their horses, so the . r '

flying squadron turned them loose and rushed '
into the house b doors and windows, barrin
everything hehin them when all had cute .'
It was a strange spectacle. Maud had lighted
the hall lamps, and they shone on the rough1

bearded band, with powder and blood upon their " ‘ "

Ug  (

faces, and swords gleaming in their hands.
on Egobert Blakeley, pale, determined, ready
fight the last; upon Maud, frightened at the

, ;

 

 

 

 

  

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

inroad, with disheveled hair, and negligent at-
tire, but looking beautiful through all.

“ What does this mean, Egbert?" she demand-
ed. “Why are you here?”

“ Through no fault of ours, my dear girl,"
said Egbert. “ Your Whig friends drove us
here.”

“ Is it possible the ragged rascals, whom Gai-
nor despises so much, have made you run?”

“ Be careful, Maud. The temper of my men
is not too even. As a friend, I would adVise
you not to say that too loud. The enemy are
close at our heels.”

' “ Why did you come here?”

* , “It seemed the mOst convenient asylum,” re—
. plied Egbert. “ These walls are strong, and
with determined men behind them, will with—
stand anythin except artillery, and that I know
your friends ack. Curse them! They shall
pay for us before they take us. ”

, “Where are the rest of your men 3”

“ Dead, wounded and missing. That is the
way it will read in the reports. I warned Gai-
nor, five minutes before the affray, that his
guards were too loosely placed, and he objected
to my interference. l hone he is satisfied now.
There they arel Fire at them, Bates, as a warn-
ing not to come too near the house 7’

A rifle cracked, and the men of Conrad, who
were advancing cautiously, stopped for orders.
Five minutes after, the voice of Conrad was

'heard, asking for a truce.

“ For what purpose?"

“ For a parley with you, Captain Blakeley.”

“ It is granted,” said Blakeley. “ Keep your
men back, and I will meet you on the veranda.

- Do you give your word that no hostilities shall
be commenced without warning?“

“ Yes,” said Conrad. “Do you also?"

“ I do.”

“ Fell bank I” cried Conrad to his men.

They dropped out of sight, and the step of
Conrad was heard on the veranda. Blakeley
stepped out of the low window and joined him,
bringing a small lamp, which he placed upon

'the rail of the porch. Conrad could but admire
‘ his bold bearing, though they were deadly ene-
mies.

“ It is useless for me to say that you have not
the advantage of us,” said the young Tory.
“You are two to our one; but there are some
' thin to be said in our favor as well. We have
the ouse for a fortress, and are desperate men.”

“ What good end can longer resistance effect,
Captain‘Blal-ieley?” said Conrad. “There has
been blood enough shed tonight without addin
 ,a single drop more. To be sure, you' might kill
a. few of our men; but, we should beat you in the
when not one of you would be left to tell the

e.
“ True, my clear major. Our men are very
injudiciouS'When their blood is up. If we give
-. Effnagw, quietly, I suppose our lives would be

' e

“ Undoubtedly.” -
" No terms?" '
“ The officers shall have their side-arms-
nothing more.”
\ "And it we refuse?”
“ We will have you out at any rate. I have
‘ men enough for that, and Marlon will be here in

 

half an hour. It is on his road to his lair. The
Swamp Fox, you know, always seeks his den
after a rush into a Tory camp.”

“ My men are angry, major, and on the whole
I believe we will fight this out, unless you are
willing to parole us now.”

“ Nothing of the kind,” said Conrad, sharply.
“I am somewhat astonished that you have the
assurance to ask it. Speak quickly. Morning
is coming, and we have no time to waste. Do
you surrender?”

SK  ll,

“Then we must fight. But, one thing more:
it is needless cruelty to keep the ladies in the
house during the fight. Allow them to pass out;
we will take charge of them.”

“Thanks, major.” said Egbert; “ I have
thought of that. On the whole, I belieVe I will "
keep them myself. A sort of safeguard, you
know. You will be a little careful how you
fire, when you know that /the ladies, Maud espe-
cially, are in danger.”

“ You will not dare to expose them to death!”
said Conrad. -

“ Darel We will see about that! I am a.
very 00d sort of fellow, in my way: but Miss
Maud us not used me or her tongue well, and, I
am not very particular as to her safety.” '

“ I thought you a gentleman until this hour,
Egbert Blakeley. But, I know on now for a
black-hearted villain,” cried the big.

“That’s right, major. The light is not very
good, but good enough to settle a little affair of

'this kind. Won’t you draw your sword and

fight it out?”

“1 cannot fight you until I have done my
duty to Marion’s brigade. That over, I am for
you, you base-hearted Scoundrel!”

“ Duty! Bah! A good lea for a coward!
Go back to your men, and ght the battle out
behind their swords. It is worthyof your pluck
and honor.”

At the foul word coward, the blade of Conrad ' l I

seemed to leap from the scahhard of itself.
Blakeley was equallyI ready, but Carey cried out
to the major that arion was sounding the re
call.

“No time is left for a duel,” said he. “Get
into the house and prepare to defend it. Three
minutes only I will allow you.” '

“I thought your courage would fail at the
sight of a steel blade,” sneered E bert.

“‘Be as ready with your swor as with your '
tongue, when we cross yonder threshold, and
you will fight a good battle,” said Conrad.- ‘
‘We will fight there. You are a good fighter
with the first weapon; beware how you use the
second.” ' . ‘

He sprung from the veranda. The 5mg light
of morning began to show itself in t e istaut
east. The partisans Scattered in every direc—
tion and surrounded the mansion. Notashot was
fired; but their‘pistols were ready for the close
encounter. At a given signal they charged up
to the house and obtained a lodgement under-the
walls and upon the veranda in several places.
Axes sounded at the doors and windows; they‘
trembled, rattled, and at last the heavyhalldoor
fell with a crash. and not a shot had been fired
at the house: Conrad had ordered his men to 
withhold their fire, teanng for the tennis in~ ., '

 

 

 

30

Sam, the Swamp Scout.

 

mates of the place. Blakeley was in a. rage.
The safeguard ho had chosen was of no avail.
The strong arms of the uxmen had nullified his
~defenses. He shouted aloud to the attacking
party to fire, only to elicit derisive laughter.
But, the time was at hand. The door was down,
and over it poured the Whigs, eager for the hand-
to hand fray. One dreadful volley swept
through their ranks with dii'eful effect, and
then came the clash of steel and the shock of
desperate incn. Once before, Maud Eston had
seen that hall I'eddcned with blood; once before
she had seen James Conrad in battle; but
never had he seemed so heroic as now, when he
'led his men over that shattered doorway, shak-
ing his blade 111 the air.

“.There he is," cried Blakeley. “You shall
see him die before your eyes. Maud, you have
despised mo. healmd insult upon my head. Be-

’ hold the piu‘lishi'nontl”

He leaped forward to meet his enemy. James
was nothing loth, and they met in the middle of
the hall. All wus confusion on every hand.
Whig and Tory joined in a death-grapple; men
groomed and died, while the young,r rivals fought

on, headless of all else. They were conscious
that the one they loved best on earth watched
, the varying fortunes of the battle, praying for
the suL-cess of one, and yet fearing to see the
0 her fall. Even she could see that Blakeley

as more than a. match for Conrad in skill, ,

while the superior strength of James bade fair
to-win if he could prolong the contest. ‘Both
,Were fighting hard, when James felt his foot
' slide from under him, as he step )ed in the blood

of a. fullen man. The blade of lakeloy was at

his throat, a. cry of horror welled up from the
flips of Maud, a fiendish light gleamod in the
' eyes of the young,r Tory. His revenge was with—
: in, his grasp, and' as he drew back his arm to
give impetus to the stroke, he felt a blade push
’ aside his own, so that the point, instead of outer—
ing the breast of Conrad, passed over his shoul—
3ders. - He turned in a rage, and saw Jack
Adams.

“ You!” be half shrieked. “ Do you dare to

l , Strike at me, traitor?”

“Striking in the right cause now, captain.
I’m a 'Whig, now, body and bones.“ \
“" Take Lint!” cried the Tory.
The thrust which followed the words was so
sudden that Jul; could not avoid it. It pierced
‘ his blown breast, and he sunk to the floor.
,Cou‘rad felled Egbert with a, blow on the head
- ‘ before he could recover from the force of his
w thrust at Adams’s breast. ,
r The battle was over. All the Tories were

1  either dead or prisoners. Jack Adams was dy-

'r

 

ing; the wound was past all cure. They raised
him up, and carried him into the little arlor on
the right of the hall. James supported is head,
while “the doctor,” a man with some skill in
surgery, attached to the troop, examined the

wound. ,
“ Give him some spirits,” said he. " He can’t
“ But don’t.

be saved.”

“I knew it,” said Jack. feebllvy.
think I am afraid to die. esterday, when
they were strin%3ing me up to the tree. death
looked horrible: at now I’m dyin’ from wounds
I took fightin’ fer the old State, dear old Car’- -
line! I‘m ready to go.”

“ It’s hard,” said Carey. “ We never had a.
single scout in company. It’s the meanest thing
I ever heard of.”

“ Ar’ ye thar, old boy?” said Jack. “ We've
been enemies, and fou’t hard. I reckon we’d ’a’
been jest as good friends. I’m glad I had a.
chance ter git in one blow, anyhow. Thar, I’m
goin’. I was mighty bad to you, Miss Maud. I
hope you’ll forgive it. I’m sorry now.”

“ Oh, poor fellow, or fellow ” subbed Maud.
“ Of course I per on you. bou’t think of
’ 7) ‘

“ I’m obleeged, I‘m sure. Good-by, boys. It’s .
gettin’ dark, ain’t it?”
“ No,” said Carey.

bright.” .

“I sha’n’t see it, then. Lay me down; I’m
mighty tired.” ‘ '

For a moment he lay silent, a smile upon his
hard face. Then, with an effort, he sprung up,
waved his hand above his head, cried, “ Hurrah
for Marion’s men i” fell back and was dead. \

They buried all who fell, in a corner of the
plantation, where the grass rew green in sum—
mer weather. Rebel and cry, they were at“
rest.

James Conrad rejoined the brigade, and did
good work in the cause of freedom. Always at
his side in danger, rode Sam Carey, the prince
of scouts; and when the war—drum was silent,

“ The mornin’ is a-comin?

and the flags were furled in peace, they came I, ‘

to reap the reward of Vichy.

Sam was at Conrad’s w ding, looking very
sad for a little time, as he thought of the wife he V
had lost. ,

The British were gone, and so was Egbert ,
Blakeley. He had sold his plantation, and '
bought property at Bermuda, to which he re-
moved. Maud never hnard or cared to hear of
him again. Happy in Conrad’s love, she lived
long, beloved of all. The small folks were never
more pleased than when, sitting on Sam Carey’s ‘
knee, he told them tales of the days when he rode a
with the men of the swamp. r r

 

 

 

 

 

1'71)

1 Deerhunter, the buy Boon: oi the Great North Woods.
By Oll Coomea.

9 Buil'alo Bill, from Boyhood to Manhood. By Col. Pren~
list lngrnhnm.

3 Kit Carlton, King of Guides. By Albert W. Aiken.

4 Gordon Lillie, the Boy-Interpreter ortbe inneei. By
hinjur. H. B. Stoddard.

5 Bruin Allan, 01d Grizzly’l Boy Pnrd. By Colonel
Prentiss lngrnhum.

6 Deadwood Dick an alloy. By Edward L. Wheeler.

7 “'llil Bill, the Pistol Prince. By Colonel Prentiu
Ingmhnm.

8 The Prairie meh.

9 Roving Joel
. Port.

10 Texan Jack. tho Mustang King. By Colonel Prantlal
i-‘zrshmn.

ll Charley Skyinrk. A Star of School-day Scrupel nnd
College Capon. liy Major . B. Stoddard.

12 Mar-incur: Mar-n. By Joseph E. Badger“!

18 Roving Ben. lly John J. Muralinll. &

14 swing Steel, King of the Bush. By J. E. weir, Jr.
1 15 W¢imaéawnke George, the Boy Pioneer. liy Eward

By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
The History oia “ Border Buy.” By A.

.16 The Boy “'iznrd. By Barry Ringzold.

17 Peter [’9 per-gram, the Greenhum from Gotham. By
Noah Nu .

18 Adrift on the Prairie. 3nd Amateur Hunters
. on the Buil'nln Rouge. By Oil Comma.

19 The Fortune limiter; or, Roving Joe nu Miner,
Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Post.

’0 TMPDBI‘ Torn, iha Wood Imp. By T. C. Harbnugh.

21 Yellow llnir, the Boy Cliiei‘oi the inneol. By Col.
Pruntiu ingmhnm.

‘ 02 The Snow Trail. By '1‘. C. Harbnugh.
38 0:9 Gfilzzly Adams, tho/Bear Tn‘mar. By Dr. Frank
owa .

24 VVoodIl and “Vacuum. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.

25 A llolli Stone: Incinontl in the Career on Sen and
Lund of o]. Prcnlill ingmhum. By Wm. R. Eyster.

26 Red River Rovers». By C. Dunning Clark.

27 Plaza nmi_l’lnin: or. Wild Adventures uf”Buckalrln
‘ Sam." (Mn). Sam. 5. Hull.) ii" Col. 1’. ingrnhum.

93 The Sword Prince. fine Romantic Life of Col. Mon-
.wry. lly Cnpt. hrcderich Whittaker. - .

39 Snow-Shoe Tom. By '1'. C. Harhn‘ngh:

80 Paul de Line the French B ch‘
Dunning Clark.” a“! 3mm" By C'

81 Round the Camp Fire. By Joflph E; Badger, Jr,

‘2 “'lilte Beaver, the indinn Magda. éhief. By Col.
Prentiss lng‘ruhnm. 

38 The Boy Crunuder. By Cant.  Wilma",

84 The Chase 01' the Grant Whittfi'tng, and, camp
and Canoe. liy C. Dunning Clark.

85 Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums. By R. Stnrbuck.

I 86 The “Mining Dragoon: or, The Story oi ch. George
. A. Cunur. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

8? Night-llnwk George. By Col. Prontiu inn-hum.
38 The Boy Exiles of Siberia. By T. C. Harbnngh.

‘ 89 The Young Beul- Hunters. By Morris Redwing.
40 Smart Sin, tho Ltd with n Loyal Head. By Edwud

Wilictt.

44.1 The Butler’s Son. By I:de 8. Ellis.
4.9 Walt Fern-om.) Cruise. By c. Dunning Cluk.
48 Rifle and anoiver. By Ccpt. End. Whittdm.

 

“my

44 The Lost Boy Whalers. By T. C. Hurt-ugh.
45 Bronco Billy, the Snddle Prince. By Col.Ing-rnhun.
46 Dick, the Stowaway. By Charla: Morrlu.

47 The Coloriulo Boyd; or, Life on an Indigo Plnntntion.
By .loiwph E. limigor, Jr.

48 The l’umpus Hunter-M 0r, New York Boy: in
lsuonnn Ayrrn. By T. C. iiarhnngh.

49 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie. ‘
By C01. Prentiss lngrnhnm.

50 Junk linrry nnd Tom, the Three Chumpion Brotherl.
ny Chm. Fred. Whittaker.

51 The Young Lnnd-Lubber. By C. Dunning Oink.
52 The Boy Detectives. By T. C. Harbnugh.

58 "orient llnrr '; orY The Country Boy Adrift in tho
City. By Char en Morris.

54 California Joe, the Mysterionl Plainlmn. By Col.
Prentiss lngrnhani.

55 Tip Trotting], the Floater. By Edvuni Willnti.

56 The Snow limiters; or, Winur in tin Woods. By
Ilnrry de Forrest.

57 Harry Somers, the Sailor Boy Mngiriui. By S. W.
Pearce.

58 The Adventurous Life of 0:: twin Jack, tin
Border Buy. By Col. Prentiss lngrn mm.

59 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of the Miner. By Chulu
Morris.

60 The Young: Trnil Hunters; or, New York Boyn in
Griuly Lsmd. By T. C. ilnrhnugli.

61 The Tiger lluuiverfl' or, Thu Color-Ado Boyl in E19.
phuut anl. By Joseph E. Bridger, Jr.

62 Doctor Carver, the “ Evil Spirit ” of tho Pinion. By
Cu]. l’rcntisl Iugxuhmu.

68 Blur-k liorsc Bill, the Bandit Vt’uckor. By Razor
Starbuck. r

64 Young Dick Tnllmt; or, A Boy: Rough and Tumble
Fight from New Yurli in California. By A. W. Aikfln.

65 The Buy Pilot; or, The lulxnd Wrochr. By Col.
i’reniias ingrnlmin. * -

66 The Desert R "e S» Didi tin
Aruba. By Chains ll ororl’n "My mo“

67 Texun Charlie,tlze Boy Ranger.
lnumhnln.

68 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hanan. By Cnphin
“' iruiu ” Adams.

69 The Young: Nihiliut’ or A Ynnku Boy Amara" tho
Runliiiul. iiy Clinrlen Mar 5.

70 Pony the Cowho ; or, The Young Manhnil’l Md.
lly illiiJOl’ ii. 15. Stat durd, Ex»Stout.

T1 R nil’ Robiui't and llinBenr. By Cnptuin “ Bruin ’7

Adnurn.
'32 The Ice Elephant. By Capt. Fred-rick Mitt-3hr.

78 The Young Moone-llunters. By Wiliim H.
Mnuning.

74 The Boy Coral-Finite”. By Rog-r Shrunk.

75 Revolver Billy, th- Boy Ranger of Tom. By Col.
Premium lnzrnhnm.

'26 The Condor Killers. By '1‘. C. Hubuugh.

77 Lud Lionheela, the Young Tlgcr Fighter. Bylaw
Sinrbnck.

78 Flnflront Fred. By Edward Will.“

79 Boone, tho Huutnr. By Cnptnin F. Whimht. V

Beudle’l Boy'l Library in for All. by til Nam
ii" coma por copy, or mini. by mail on rmipt oilix can“ Cali.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers;
98 William Street, New York

By Col. mo-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

80 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rlile of tin: Cusmulcl.
Roger Shu'huuk.

81 The Klt Uni—non Club. By T. (3. Hnrhnuuh.

:3 thtln Huck. the Boy Gum... fly is. w mum“.

3 Pony "oh, the new... nutter. :y (m. l'.lngx'n|unn.
84 Cnpnlln Fly-lly-Nl ht. i, “WWI 1‘3 “mil-'0',“-
85 (lnptuln lhtlph. the mun; Explm-l»r. . 1). Clark.
8 thtlc llnn 1 00km liy .\Inrris Kt Hit.

The Menu er 0 Hun-torn. My Mn . H, Grenville.
38 The no ’ rnmpn; or, Life Among tltu Gipsles. 15v
J. M. l (All'num. '

89 ’lmngnhorc Llje. lly C. D. (Tlnrk.
90 llovlng “Modulators LittleScout. llyT.C. llnrhnugh.
llrezo‘n Jnnhg the Wizurd Rilla. By Roger Sturbnck.

9S "nrrlenne Hit. By A. l". Holt.

’ Juke, the Colorado Circus Boy. lly Bryant

By

'6.

94 Emu Hpénco, tho llromlhnrn Buy. By Ed. Willtstt.
«95 Moscow to NIberln; or, A Yankee Buy to the Rescue.
My Chnrlen Morri».

96 Fluhtlnx Fred.

By ’1'. C. llm-lntugh.
97 Urnlnc oi'tho Fl '

_\ \vn . By (I. Dunning Clnrk.
98 ’l‘htl "0y lellnnteu. l5y Mn). ll. li. thddmd.
99 The Whltc 'l‘lgcm. By ('upt. ('hnrlux Howard.
100 The flnow-Shuc 'l‘rnll. “.V “- tat-“We “lithium?-
101 Mnrlnno, the Ottawa mu. m- Edwnrd s. Elli».
103 The Flynwny Afloat lh’ . nmmi": Clurk-
108 PM. Mnlloney’n A(l\ nt res; nr,Sllvur Tongue
the ncotnh Quuen. lsy( .llWHrtl-l
104 The Boy Pro):
105 Mlmmce, the _ . n Emerson.
10“ The lioy (lrlllnern. B} Etiwnrd \Villr-tt.
107 The “order “over”. lly J Miltnn llnll'nmn.
10H AlnIkn. the WolLQHeen. Bv f‘npt. llmvnnl Idnmdn.
109 0hI thlnn Jlm, lllu Vt'hite .\lnn‘s Friend. By liliwurd
B

- S. .
1? P ky J00; “'0 "0y Avenger. 13v J. M. llnfl'nmn.
1 "I'he “order Gllnlmlker- By Jnnn-s L. Ilnwun.
1:3 I. ~l‘t-llnnded Pete. By Juicy]: E. imam-r. Jr.
1 T a River lllllcn. By Cnpt. J. 1“, (‘. [\IlnIIIS.
1 Alone on the l’lnllm. IK' Edwnrd Wlllutt.
11.5 :ltlvljsrkllnrn, und llis Rillu Firedunth. liy Roger
L A? "C n
113 Exploits: oi‘llczekluh Smith, thn linchwoodsmnn.
lly Emerson Rndnmn.
17 The Young Mnntimgcrn. By (3 Dunning ('lnrh.
IS 01d Tm my tr, tln- Buy |:' 'nla. l 'Burry Ringunld.
It) Center S mt. thu Whit.- (.mw. By T. c. llnrhnugh.
20 A "at Trull; 0r, Clurk CleverlyAnanr the 'l‘urtnrs.
RV Clml’les Mm‘rin.
21 ll’nntcr l’ard lit-n. By Roger Stnrhuck.
BS The Enqnlmnnx’ Queen. 133‘ G. Waldo Browne.
28 Tlm, the Boy At‘rnhnt. lly ('lmrles .Vlnrrin.
$4 neon licnnle. lln- HrmlurGirl. ltvHunryJ.Tlmume.
25 ' om Tabor, the May anltive. llv Hurry Rinzgold.
26 Mink Coat the Death—Shut. By Jug. E. llmlger,Jr.
27 he ser flunk-rm. lly Jnhn J. Mnndnnll.
35 ‘Volf P; or, The Nightrl'lnwksul' the Fire-Lands.
Bv (In . Lhnn. Howard.
1’19 Sllvcrupur; or, The Mountuln Heroine.
Willa”.
30 Koch-en, Quren o! the l’lnina. By Percy B. St. John.
31 Wllhlh. the (‘hlld Spy. My (worms lilo on.
82 The Inland Trapper. By ('lmrlvs llnwurd.
The F0 t eater. By Edward Willctt.
, 'rlnrpur. My Van. R. Eyatur.
filo. By Licut. Cnl. Ilnzelton.
3“ The Prairie ’l‘rnpper. By ft. Dunning Clnrk.
8‘? The Antelope, Buy. By Geo. 1., Aiken.
88 Long Shot; nr,'rl.el 'nviiw'uide. By(inpt.C(Imnlork.
39 Colonel Crockett, Hm Hunr King. lily C. E. Ltmtlle.
'40 0111 PM“, tlm Mnnntuinelel'. By Lewit w. Cnrsnn.
41 The Glunt Hunter. By Hurry llnzurd.
412 “Inch l’nnther. the llulflllloml. By J. E. Badger.
43 Canton the Hulda. By Lleut J. ll. Rnndolph.
.44 Kent. l e Runner. By Edwurd S. Eilin.
45 “Ill ubhlml, llnntur. By Edward Wlllett.
146 The llnll'Jh-cml lllvul. By Jim. .. Budgur, Jr.
147 The Mnnked Ave" er. 8y Cnl. l‘rentiaa lnurnhnm.
148 Nut, tho Trapper an Indian Fighter. By Pnnl J.

Present .
149 The Elk Demo-u or, The Glam. Broth". By T.
C. Harbaugh

By Edwnrd

 

 

150 The Boy Mllntflqu-llllllter; or. Efllllfllll, the
lh'mltil'ul Amazon. My l"rrderi('h VVhittnker.

151 Frnnk Yum-M, l-hr y‘mntl Trul'lmr; "r, Mountain
Mus. “'nl‘ning. 15y Junwph E. Kudzu. Jr.

152 “'IM Raven, the Smut. 155-01] k‘nnmeu. ,

153 Lynx-Cup; 0r, Four Trnppcru’ Among the Sioux. By
l’uul llihhs.

15-1 The ('hmnplnn Tcxnn Elder; or, Red Buflnlo,
nnd the Hercules Hunter. 15y llnrry St. George.

155' Dr ky Blek’n Doom. Berm. E. Buliger,Jr.
156 Frank Roll, the Buy Spy. By 01] Comma.
15’? Nlt-k Doyle. the Gold Hunlcr. By P. H. Myers.

158 KItlnnppt-d lllok; or. The Fate of the Fire Flv. By
A. Stanlry llundumm. ‘

159 Rmn’n Long ’l‘rull; or, The Twin Scouts. By W. J.
llumiltun.

160'1hmk Trlplet‘s "ow. By Hurry Hazard.
161 The Mad Sklppcr. By R. bturhnck.

111'? The Trapper King. By Maj. Max M: rtine.
168 Simon Kcntun, Hunter. By Enn-rsnn Rndnmn.

16-1 Tha'lloy Chlel‘] or, Frank Bell’s Cumpucl. By Oll
Comma.

165 TM Trndl-r Trnllnr. By J. Flnnlry anderwn.

166-0141'Jupo‘n (flew. By Mrs. OTI'KH 'ulnes

16f‘The'X'muu: ’l‘rnllcr. By W. J. llmniltnn.

168 The Specter Spy. By Mnj. vais W. Carson.

169 Lnnk Lulu, the Old Culomdo lluntvr. By E. W.
Archer.

170 The “’llltc Wolf.

171 The Swamp Gnldc. By W. N. MuNt-il.

172 The Ynnkcu I'cdlllor. By C. Dunning Clark.

1'33 The firout and llln Young Chum. By \Vnrren
St. Jnlm.

174 Bllwhumlth Tom’n Musk. By Gm. D. Gilbert.

1’25 The BIu-knkin Rider. 13yt’luva-wnwmd.

176 The Equalitch Flurprlne. By Mrs. II. J. Thnnms.

177 Four Fellow Scout-t. liy‘ .1. Stanley llunlcnon.

178 (Did Kit and Illa Comrade». Hy Jn ‘. lindgur,Jr_

1 79 Cmcle Grlll'n "Immune. lly Hurry lluutrd.

180 The Murltod Bllncr. By Lleut. Cul. anultlne.

181 The “'11:! llnntrnus. By Capt. Bruin Adams.

182 The Dwurl'Dut-oy. By Mnro O. Rnll‘e.

183 Jab Dchnfl Tuotlw‘. By lngnld-hy North.

184 Ynnkes'Eph’n Dilemma. By J. R. Worcestl'h

185 The “'11? ‘Vlh'h’a VVurd. By Edwin E. Ewing.

1 86 Frankfflw Furrier. By J. Stanley Hendornon.

137 "immune Fin Mmmtnineer. By Cnpt. F. Whittaker.

188 Jnrk’n Snare.- By Mrs. Ann E. Porter.

189 Hum, tilt-swamp Smut. By w. J. Hmnuto'n.

190 The Intflfl‘llig‘rooper. By Frederick H. Dewey.
anly Dcamber‘ .
191 The Boy “Hive. By James L. Bowen.
Rendy Ducam‘wr It).
19" Sandy RH], 01' Tuxna.

“randy Dun-tuber H.

198 llnrry “'lnkle’n Long Chase.
Eyslifl. Randy Dvcumht-r 2’1. .

194 Creeper Cato, the Slunlow Swamp Trnllur. By
Frederick ka‘try. Reudy December 81.

Bendle’n Boy’n Llhrnry in for sale hy nll Newadaalen,

five cums per copy, at sent by mall on reculpt ofulx cents each.
BEADLE AN” ADAMS, Puhlllhera,

as William Street, New York;

By Ed u-nrd wnn-tt.

By Edward Willett.

By Wm. H.