Copyrighted, 1887, by BIADLI AND Amms. Enlurud :n lhn Punt omc. M New Y.»

 

V01. XV. 32,50 Pubhshel Weekly by Beadle and Adams, Fl l’rlce. N0. 

a ‘ 0“" N0. 98 WILLIAM ST.. NEW YORK. "‘3 cent"

 

 

 

 

A HORSE “'XTHOUT A RIDER, BUT SADDLED AND BRIDLED, WAS BEING LED TO THE DOOR. OF THE
HUT BY A HUGE BLACK BEAR.

 

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.of

Diana. the Fair Mount aineer.‘

 

DIANA,

THE FAIR MOUNTAINEER.
I BY CAPT. FRED-E—RI—éK WHITTAKER.

CHAPTER I.
THE WOOD FIEND.

IN the midst of the lonely forest, that stretched
in an almost unbroken line of solitude from the
head-waters of the Hudson to the Mississi pi,
during the last centurV. a smell party of In ian
warriors, in full war-paint, treading one in the
other's footsteps, to the number of five, stole into
a little clearing formed by the hand of Nature,
and halted by a spring.

The sun was about to set, in an angry glow of
crimson, that )rtended bad weather. The fiery
beams shot as nt through the open arches of the
forest, and the trunks of the trees stood out, as
black as jet, against the red glow of evening.

“ He has not been here,” remarked the war-
rior who seemed to be the leader, as he scanned
the earth around the little spring with a practi-
cal ey’e. ' '

“ The pale—faces are all liars,” said a young
brave, disdainfully. as he leant upon his bow.
“ When was a Mohawk known to break his
word?” e-

“The Panther Cub is wrong,” he said, quietly.
“ There are cod and bad pale-faces. I have
never known be white chief to fail before. He
has been stopped on the way. He will soon come,
and show us how to strike the children who have
rebelled against the great father who dwells be-
yond the sea.”

“ The Mohawk needs no white teacher.” re-
turned Panther Cub, in the same tone. “I can
find a house to strike, and scalps to take, long
before the morning dawns, if need be.”

“Has the Black Fox lost his eyes, that Pan-
ther Cub thinks he is the only Mohawk that can
see in the night?” asked the 01:1 chief, sternly.
“Let the young warriors be silent, while they
have chiefs on the same war-path. We have
eaten of the white father‘s bread, and he has
ordered us here to await his messenger. Black
Fox will stay.”

As he spoke, he leaned his rifle against the tree

bya which he stood, drew up his blanket around
hfl shoulders, and took his seat in dignified
5 once.

The other warriors, as if determined by his
example. proceeded to make their dispositions
for the nig t. A flint and steel were produced,
tinder was found in a dead tree, and a small
glowing fire was soon started, around which the
ndians clustered, eating their frugal meal of
dried venison and parched corn in silence.

These Indians were a small scouting party
from the flunkers of Burgoyne’s army, who had
been dispatched through the woods to the west
Albany, to meet an emissary of the British
Government, who was to give them certain in-
structions.’

Slowl the sun disappeared as they clustered

round t fire, and the crimson glow died away
in “noisy, to be replaced by a murky mass of
cloud at dark slaty gray, rapidly becoming

black. Overhead the stars shone out,‘ but the
clouds began to gather and hide them from view,
and a low moaning in the tops of the trees
warned the hearers of a. storm brewing.
Suddenly, as if _by common consent, every
Indian sprung to his feet, and grasped his weap-
ons, as the sound of snapping sticks, and of horse
hoofs in rapid motion approached the spot.
There was no underbrush in those primeval for-

” ests, as yet innocent of the ax of the woodman,

and a horseman could be seen in full career,
rapidly approaching the little lade.

Ataword from the chief, t 9 four warriors
resumed their seats by the fire, while the old
leader himself stalked forth from the group, and
drawing himself up, awaited the coming of the
stranger. ,

The new-comer proved to be a man of large
size, with a stern. determined face, gloomy and
lowering in expression. He was dressed likea
farmer, and well mounted on a stout horse,
carrying holsters on the saddle, from which
peeped the butts of large pistols. Otherwise the
rider was unarmed, only carryinga horse-whip.
He checked his horse, and dismounted before
Black Fox, who addressed him with the grave
reminder:

“ The Night Hawk is late.”

“I couldn’t be earlier, Fox,” returned the
other, in the Mohawk tongue. “ I was fired at
by Schuylnr’s ickets, and chased out of my
path by a patroiDOf the cursed mounted rifles of
that fellow. Morgan. Here I am at last. Go
back to the General, and let him know that the
rebels are musing everywhere. Schuyler has
sent orders to rescue the fort be ond Oriskairy
at any cost, and they will mare in two days
from now, a thousand stronz. under Genera
Herkimer, to raise the siege. Have you a swift
runner here?”

“The Panther Cub has long legs. He shall
carry the Night Walker’s words,” said the chief,
sentcutiousli.e v

“Good. t him run to General St. Leger,
and warn him that his rear will be attacked,”
said the spy. “ For the rest, back to Burgoyne.
Tell the general his foes are fifthering. He,
must spring like the wild-cat, or 6 will be trap-
ped like the beaver. Tell him I will bring him
more news by way of the lakes. and that-"

“HA! HA! HA! HA! I GATHER ram IN! I
GATHER THEM IN I”

The interruption was sudden and startling.
A loul, harsh voice, With an accent of indescri-
bably triumphant mockery, shouted these words
fro the midst of the intense darlmess, which
ha crept over the scene during the short con‘
ference, since sunset. At the same moment, out
of the opening of a h0110w tree that stood near
the fire, a bright, crimson lare of flame pro~
ceeded, in the midst of which ap ared an un-
earthly figure of gigantic hight, ut lean and
attenuated as a skeleton.

The appearance of this figure was singularly
fearful, for it was clothed in some tight black
dress with steely gleams, that covered it from
head to foot, a pair of short, upright horns pro
jectinz from the close skull-cap. and only leav—
ing exposed a face of deathly pallor. with {Iran 9:,
burning black eyes, and a mustache that pointed

 

upward in true diabolical fashion.

 

 

 

 

 

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

8‘:

 

There was but a moment to examine this
figure, as it stood in the canty, (utiined against
the red glow. In one hand it brandished a
Single javelin, in the other a bundle of simila
darts. A second later the red plow disappeared,
and the figure with it. icn ring the usually stolid
Indians and their companion struck aghast with
astonishment and awe.

'l hen, ere a word could be spoken, the same
demoniac laugh rung out, and the. gigantic ap-

ariticn, with a bound, was in the midst of their

ittle fire, which it scattered in all directions
with a. single kick.

Through the thick darkness that ensued, the
white man heard the noise of a confused strug-
gle, that seemed to endure for about half a min-
ute. Firm and determined as was the spy, he
recoiled in ungovernablo terror to the side of his
horse, and snatched from the holsters his pistols,
one of which he fired in the direction of the
sounds of battle.

By the flash of the pistol he distinguished the
terrible figure, in an attitude of mad glee,
brhndishing its darts over the prostrate bodies
of three Indians, the fourth striving to rise, and
transfixed with a dart, while the fifth was flee-
in'! for his life toward the spy. Instinctively
thé‘iwhite man climbed on his horse 1n the dark-
ness, as a wild yes] of laughter greeted his shot.

He had seen t e demon leaping toward him!

“ HA! HA! HA!!! BLACK NICK nus THEM
FAST!” yelled the harsh voice, and again, as if
by magic. 8. red glow flashed over the place.

In the midst of this glare, the spy beheld the
black demon clutch the fleeing Indian with his
long arms, and go leaping back toward the ho]—
low tree, with the writhing form of the savage
close clasped. Then there was a blinding white
glare, a cloud of smoke, and a loud report, in
the midst of which the demon leaped into the
hollow, and vanished from sight.

With a muttered groan of terror, the now
complete] unnerved spy wheeled round his
frightener horse and fled. as fast as the animal
could carry him, while the forest resumed the
gloom and silence of night.

 

CHAPTER II.
THE AID-DE-CAMP’S DISCOVERY.
THERE are few sights in Ihe world as beauti-
ful as an American mountain-side, clothed with
forest to the summit. when early frosts have be-
gun to touch the leaves and wake them into
won

in the midst of the wild mountains of Ver-'

mont, in those days almost deserted by human
beings, a young man on horseka was pursuing
his way at asmart trot along a narrow road
that wound around the lower ridges, in a wa
that showed the ingenuity of the rustic engi-
neers in economizing labor.

To all appearance there was not a creature in
Slfifllt, save the wild animals and lonely traveler,
Wio pursued the path asif he knew it well.
Once, when he stopped to water his horse at a.
stream, he startled a herd of deer who were
coming to drink, and caused them to skurry
away through the bushes in alarm.

‘The traveler was a young man, and handsome
mthal. His dress 75s.”, perhaps, the most pics

 

turesquc in the annals of military history. for
the youth was evidently a soldier, and an ofilcer
at that. The towering fur car), narrowing as it
row, and ornamented with god cord and white
plumes, the furred and braided jacket, hangin

rem his shoulder, the still more gorgeous do -
man that fitted his sli :ht form to a nicet , blaz-
ing with gold embroidery, all over the sky-blue

round of the breast, the light buckskin

reeches, with braided racket-covers, and the
scarlet morocco boots, rising mid—leg and tas-
seled with gold, were unfailing indications to
the eye practiced in a military costume, that the
wearer was an cfiicer of some Gemmn corps of
hussurs, then at the zenith of their renown un-
der the great Frederick of Prussia. The young
hussnr was magnificently mounted on a dapple—
gray horse of wonderful bone and sinew, though
quite low in flesh from campaigning, and his
housings were as splendid as his dress and arms.
The latter. saber, pistols. and light carbine, were
all silver inlaid, and of exquisite finish.

To a hidden observer, the sight of this guy
cavalier, alone in the wilds of Vermont, would
have suggested great wonder. How came be
there, and what was he doing? In those early
days of the Revolutionary struggle, rags and
bare feet were the rule, brilliant uniforms the
few exceptions. There was no corps of hussars
in the Continental service, and the Hessians, on
the English side were green, not pale blue. Be«
sides, the uniform of the hussar ofiicer was dis-
tinctively Prussian, the black eagle being work-
ed on his horse’s housings.

Whatever he was, he seemed to be quite at
home in the woods. for his blue eye was calm
and fearless. and the long, fair mustache that
drooped over his chin covered as resolute a
mouth as ever closed firmly over shut teeth.

Having allowed his beast to drink, the young
cavalier urged him through the water to the
other side, and trotted briskly up the lonely road
between the arches of the wood, till he had
stopped opposite the ridge, and beheld before
him another valley and more hills.‘ .; I

The ridge on which he stood happened to com-
mand an extensiveview; raining up, he scanned
it with a practiced eye.

“ By heavens!” he exclaimed to himself, in a'
low tone. after a long and searching look,
“there is some one living on the haunted hill
where even the Indians would not dareto go. i
must investigate that.” _ V

So. saying. he shook his rein, and~ galloped
down the hillside, in the direction of a mountain
the largest of any in sight, from the side of
which a thin column of smoke curled up in the
air.

Nothing very strange in that it may be said.
but the young efiicer knew better.

He was passing through it country in which
there Ware no settlements in the path he was rid-
ing, till he came to Derryfleld. The mountain
before him was well known by the name of
“ Haunted Hill” to the whites, and had the rep-
utation of being haunted by a demon, who
frightened away all the Indians who ventured
near it. This was well known to the young
cavalier. who, being free from an tion, ha
chosen that way to escape any danger from the
outlying Indians of Burgoyne‘s army, than ly-

{

  

   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
   
 

Diana, the Pair Mountaineer.

 

ins between Ticonderoga and Albany, slowly
advancing. The young officer himself was on
the staff of General Schuyler, who was then re—
treating before his formidable foe, and who had
sent the aid-de-camp on a secret mission on which
he was now proceeding.

The sight of smoke on the side of the Haunted
Hill excited the curiosity of the young oflicei‘.
Smoke meant settled habitation. No Indian
could be there, he felt certain, on account of

, their superstitious fears of the mountain-demon.

If any one else were there, might he not prove
to be in some way connected with the mystery
of the demon? Full of curiosity, and for the
moment for etting his mission the young aid—ile-
camp crosse the valley, and commenced to toil
up the sides of Haunted Hill.

He was not aware, keen as was his glance,
that one still keener was watching him. Hard—
ly had he gained the font of the mountain, than
an r Indian warrior looked out of the cover be
had quitted, and givingr a rapid signal to some
one behind, plunged down the hillside, skirting
the road and keeping the cover, followed at a
loping trot by at least a dozen more, in full war—
paint.

The course of the savages was after the cava-
lier, and so rapidly did they run, that they
reached the foot of the hill before he had git

. half-way up the side of Haunted Hill. 
is

It is true that the hussar had slackenel
pace, ani was now toiling up the steep ascent,
holding by the mane of his steed. The Indians,
on the other hand, pressed along at the Si no
rapid, tireless lope, and quickly came in sight of
the aid-de-camp, whose steps they seemed to be
do ging with true savage pertinacit .

gnce having him safe in sight, t e warriors
Blackened theirpacs, and contented themselves
with following, step by step, gliding from tree to
tree and keeping themselves carefully hi lrlen.

Mhanwhile, the young officer pursued his way
up the hill in the direction that promiszvl t )
bring him close to the mysterious smoke \vhi -li
had excited his curiosity.

In half an'hour’s climbing he had reached the

- summit of the lower ridge of Haunted Hill, and

behold before him a little basin. SL‘OOP‘KI by the
hand of nature in the side of the hill, about a
hundred yards across, bare of wood, in the cen-
ter of which stood a low stone hut, thatx‘h d
with fir branches, from the summit of Wlllf'h
curled the blue smoke that he had first noticed.
The little basin was bounded on one side by a
precipice of rock about fifty feet in hight, crown-
ed with trees, and surmounted by the steep as-
cent of the upper mountain. At the right it
ended abruptly in a second precipice, which fell
away into the valley. whi e the tops of lofty
trees below just showed themselves over the
ed e. The forest bounded the other side, and a

‘ lit 6 spring trickled over the edge of the lower
1 preci ice with a tinkling sound.

Bu what riveted the attention of the youth
was a oup that he discovered in the midst of
mint 6 valley, standing in front of the cabin

Sayer-a1 tame deer were crowding eagerly
around a young girl, in a quaint, picturesque
dress, in strange proximity to a huge black bear
and three tall 'lo )dhounds of the largest breed.

 

The officer reined in his horse in amazement
as he looked, and ejaculated aloud:

“ Heavens! It is Diana herself.”

CHAPTER III.
THE ROCK NYMPH.

TEE sight of the horseman in that lonely

lace excited a strange commotion. Hardly
had the young oflicer uttered his involuntary
exclamation, when the three hounds set up a
loud haying, and came leaping toward him the
black bear waddled after them, while the timid
fawns bounded away into the forest in great
a arm.

The girl herself, who seemed to be the mistress
of this menagerie, turned toward the stranger
with the rt of the goddess to whom he had
compar her. In truth, she resembled nothing
so much as a living statue of Diana, for she
wore the same short tunic and buskins, and car-
ried the bow and quiver of the patroness of
hunting. Her figure and face, with the simple
antique knot in which her hair was arranged,
confirmed the likeness; and when she hastily
fitted an arrow to the bow she carried, it seemed
to the young soldier as if he had indeed insulted
the privacy of some supernatural being.

Most men in his peeition would have either
turned to flee or made some motion of defense.
Not so the hussar. ‘ ,

He remained sitting on his horse. in spite of
the menacing appearance of the bloodhounds,
without moving a muscle; and the dogs, as soon
as they closed in, justified his course, by ceasinv
to bay, while they ran inquisitively roun ,
snufiing at the horse’s legs, now and then utter-
ing a low growl, but oflering no actual violence.
Tue black bear likewise became peaceable, halt-
ing at a little distance and sittin up on its
haunches, surveying the intruder wi h a comical
air of wisdom.

The girl who had been disturbed, observing
the passive attitude of the hussar, hesitated a
moment, and finally advanced toward him,
with the same haughty and insulted aspect hom-
ever. ,

As she came closer, and her eyes ran over the
face and equipments of the intruder, the severity
of her glance insensibly relaxed. It was not in
female nature to look cross at such a dashing
young cavalier. He on his part, surveyed her
with increasing admiration, as he beheld her

urely Grecian face with its frame of golden
air, lighted by great solemn blue eyes.

The girl was the first to speak, in a tone of
displeasure.

“ Do you know where you are, sir?” she asked.
“What made you venture where all men shun
to o?”

‘gli‘airest Diana,” began the hussar, half won-
dering if he were not dreamin .

The girl interrupted him With an expression
of surprise.

" How? You know my name?”

“ How could I mistake it?” said the hussar,
with great adroitness. “The been of Diana
is famous the world over, and I am humblest
of her worshipers.”

The girl looked at him in amazement. She
could not see that the accomplished man of the
world was but taking advantage of a lucky ac-

  
 

    
   
 
   
 
  
  
  
 

 

 
 

 

 

      
 

 

      
     
 

 

Diana, the Pair Mountaineer. [>5

 

cident, to feel his way into her confidence, by a
mingling of truth and falsehood in his manner.

“ Then who are you that knows me so well!"
she asked, artlessly. “ I never thought human
creature would come nigh our cottage, and you
say it is famous. ”

"For my name,” said the hussar, smiling,
“you may call me Captain Schuyler, it" you
will. If you would like a. shorter name ‘alnd a
pleasanter one, call me Adrian.”

“Adrian is a prettyniame,” said the girl,
smiling with the frank, fearless innocence that
distinguished her every action. “Adrian and
Diana are both beautiful. ”

“ Diana is beautiful " said the hussar, mean-
in 1y; “ how beautifu no one knows but me.”

iana looked up at him inquiringly. Then
something seemed to inform her of his meaning,
for she flushed hotly and drew herself up with
sudden haughtiness, asking:

“ What brought you here? Do you not know
that it is death to intrude on this mountain?
Even the wild Indian shuns it.”

“ I have heard that a demon haunts it,” said
the hussar, boldly; “ but I never dreamed that it
wore such a shape as yours.”

At the bold words of,the intruder Diana
turned pale, and looked apprehensively around
her, saying in low tones:

“ Do not mention him, foolish Adrian. He
will seize you and plunge you into a fiery pit if
he hears you. Away, while you have time, or

ou may repent it. Any moment he may be

ere.

“ In that case I should like to see him,” said
Schuyler. cooll . “I don‘t believe in demons,
Diana. Your emon is a man, and I am curious
tg see him. I rode over here expresslyto do
t at.

“ You rode over here to dare the mountain
demon?" asked the girl, in a faint tone, as if
wonder-stricken. “ an, are you mad? I tell
you he has killed every creature that has passed
this way for years, and he will kill you, if he
finds you.”

The captain of hussars laughed carelessly. and
threw u the flap of one of his holsters. from
whence e produced a long pistol of elegant
finish, and double-barreled.

“That, for his demoniac majesty,” he said,
holding up the weapon, “and let him beware
how he crosses my path. I have—"

He was interrupted by a suspicious growl
from one of the hounds, who had been couched
on the grass in seeming contentment since the
conference had become peaceful.

The animal rose to its feet and stalker! to the
edge of the glade, followed by its three com--
panions, snuflng and growling.

A moment later an arrow came from the
cover of the mountain-side. grazed the neck of
the foremost bound, and whizzed past the hussar,
sticking harmlessly in a tree.

The three hounds set up a simultaneous savage
bay and dashed headlong into the cover, from
whence, a moment later. rose the appalling war—
whoop of the Mohawk, as a dozen warriors
Brung out, and rushed toward Schuyler and

one.

In a moment a. tiercb contest had commenced,
the gallant hounds each pinning an Indian by

i

 

the throat, while the bear rushed into the fi ht
with a. savage growl. Adrian Schuyler s t
down a savage with his pistol, and wounded 11.
second, then drew his saber, and instinctively
looked around for the mysterist girl, Diana.

She had vanished, as if the earth had swal-
lowed her up!

He was too much confused by the sudden
attack tothink of where she had one. Already
two of the hounds were rippeg up by Indian
swiping-knives, and the third was transfixed
with an arrow. ‘

As he turned toward the Indians, his horse
plunging and rearing, the flashes of several
rifles were followed by a sharp stinging sensation
in his side, and two warriors seized his bridle,
Lvhilje a third rushed at him, tomahawk in

an . »

But the hussar was not the man to yield to a
surprise. His keen saber played round his head »
like a flash of light, and in a trice‘be had cut
down one assailant, while the other let go the ‘
bridle to escape a second blow.

With a shout of triumph he dashed in his spurs,
and the gray charger took him clear of his ene- '
mics with a bound. Then, lying down on his
saddle to escape the bullets away went Captain
Adrian Schuyler, late of the Zieten Hussars of ,
Prussia, at full speed, through the clearing,
passing the stone hut, which seemed to be uite
deserted, and darting into the forest be on .

He heard the lndians whooping beh nd him, I
and doubted not that they were pursuin , but he
felt secure on his swift steed, and his only
anxiety seemed to be as to the safety of the
strange girl who called herself Diana.

Where she had gone, and whether the lndians
had seen her, was an enigma to him as he fled
away, but he had no time to lose. The young
aid-decamp was even then on an important
mission, and his detourtothe Haunted Mouny
tain had cost him valuable time.

Fully resolved to return with sufficient force
to investigate the mystery at some future time, .
the officer galloped on through the woods till he
regained once more the road to Derryfleld, and
pursued his journey at a gallop.

CHAPTER IV.
THE YOUNG CAPTAIN’S CAPTURE.

THE sun was within about an hour of setting
behind the western rid es of the Green Moun-
tains, as a tall, heavil - )uilt man, with stron ,
sullen face, sat at the cor of alog cabin, with n
a few miles of the settlement of Derryfleld,
looking across a lonely valley. .

The attire of this individual was that 'of a
farmer, and n little pinch, of about half an acre,»
behind his cabin, s owed by its ripenin corn,
that his occupation was not wholly u on.
Still, a certain air of neglectabout cabiu’and
owner, and the presence of a long rifle that lay
across his knees, announced that his farming

was at least eked out by hunting. if not saber» . = '

dinated thereto. V
Although only a few miles from a. settle-
ment, the scene around the seated men was
completely wild and lonely, so much sothat the -
people had christened the owner the “ Mountain ,
Hermit.” His solitary habits and sulleu’manner ,
repelled strangers from taming his acquaint-3

r .\, .. :7‘

 

_ that passes by the road; but no firing.

8 Diana, the Pain- Mountaineer.

 

moo, and even his name was unknown to any
one in the country-side.

He had first made his ap earance there about
three years before, had bui t his own cabin i l

' that solitary place, and resided there ever since.

The only occasions he was ever seen away, were
when some hunter caught sight of him in the

' Woods on the same errand as himself, and it re-

rocureii powder

mained a mystery where he
erryfleld to buy

and lead, for he never entered

an .
gince the advance of Bur oyne’s armv, peo—
ple ceased to watch him. 1: was well known
that hordes of Indians were prowling about in
the vicinity of every settlement, and no one
dared to venture away aloue. Still, the Moun-
tain Hermit remained in his cabin, as if insensi-
ble to danger, although “ Indian Sign ” had been
seen more than once near his little clearing.

0n the evening in question he sat gazing at
the sunset and soliloquizing, according to the
habit of most lonely men.

“ Let them come," he muttered. “ They can-
not do as much harm to the Puritauical hounds
as I wish them. Let them scalp the women if
they please. There will be so many reb 31 brats
the less, to grow up into boors. Let them abuse
me. I can stand the name of renegade, if ‘I get
reven e. Let us see their Washington, that
they cast so much of, help them out of this
scrape.”

As he spoke, his frown
and he rose to his feet.
and impatient.

“ Why don’t the fools come?” he muttered.
“ When ihere is no danger, who so bold as an
Indian? Let them once get a good score, and
you cannot drive them into battle. it is beyond
the chief’s time—uo—there he comes. After all,
the brutes keep faith.”

At the moment he uttered the last words, the
stately form of an Indian chief stepped into the
clearing, asif he had iSsued from the ground,
and calmly advanced toward the recluse.

The new-comer was a Mohawk on the war-
EIath, from .his paint and other peculiarities.

e carried a short rifle over his arm, and salutei
the hermit with grave courtesy.

The white man opened the conversation with
an air of authority to which the Indian sub-
mitted quietly. ‘

‘g‘iBearskin is ready? Where are his warri-
ors.

The chief waved his hand toward the exit of
the valley.

“My brothers are in wait by the white road
that leads to the town. They await the Night
Hawk’s orders. ”

“Good. It is new moon. When the moon
sinks, I will be there. Let them stop every one
Let the
arrow do its work silently. Is the town well
watched all round?"

“Not a creature will escape. My warriors
are like the web of the spider, the white men are

ew dark and gloomy,
is manner was fretnt

' [like the flies.”

"It is'g'ood,” said the Mountain Hermit, with
a grim smile. “ Let Bearskin watch well. Has
anyone come along the road to-dayi”

The Indian answered not for a moment. His

. quick‘earihad caught a sound to which the

,,

,2 (3', ’
x
, ,

 

other was insensible, and he stdocl with his head
bent on one side listenin intently.

“ One comes now," said the white man quick-
ly. “ Do not kill him on the road, or thesight
may deter others. Drag him into the forest and
keep him till I come."

The Indian nodded silently, and plun ed into
the forest in a direction that promi to take
hi in’ tow; rd the road that crossed the foot of the
valley almost within sight of the clearing.

The recluse remained a moment listening, and
presently caught the sounds which the quicker
sensrs of the chief had first announced. A
horseman was evidently galloping along the
road toward him, and the clatter of spur and
scabbard told the nature of the traveler without
words.

The recluse cast his rifle into the hollow of his
arm, and struck across the valley to a point
where he could intersect the road in its many
curves at a much nearer point. He was a little
girl-.0113 to see who the advancing dragoon might

There was still plenty of light, although the
sun was fast nearing the mountain—tops, and the
long strides of the Mountain Hermit took him
across the stretch of woods that barred him
from the road in a very short time.

As he neared it, the sound of horse-boots and
the clatter of a saber-scahbard were plainly
audible, skirting the mountain-side beyond.

At the point which the recluse had reached.
the road came round a spur, over the dividing
ridge, and dived into the valley beyond. Wait-
ing a few moments, till the sound of boots was
close by, the Mountain Hermit stalked boldly
into the road, just as the young hussar captain
dashed around the corner.

At the sight of the stranger’s figure, Adrian
Schuyler abruptly halted, throwing, his horse on
its hauiiches close to the other, while the sharp
click of his pistol-lock enforced the stern com-
mand, “ Haiti”

The stranger quietly turned and faced the
hussar with a sullen frown, asking:

“Who are you to halt a peaceable farmer?
11% as, much right as you, and more, in this
p ace.

“ Perhaps so,” said the hussar. coolly; “but
in War-time, we, of the light cavalry take liber-
ties that we support With our Weapons. Who
are you?”

“ A penceable farmer, as 1 said before,” an-
swered the other with a sullen scowl. " Who
are you?”

“An officer on duty my man, who doesn’t
care to be trifled with. ll‘here are too many In—

dians and spies loose in these mountains for me '

to trust strangers. If you’re a peacaahle
farmer, you’re as sulky 9. looking one as I have
ever seen. How far is it to Derrvfinldi"

“ Four miles.” said the sullen stranger grufflv.
Then he turned away as if the colloquv was
terminated. but the hussar was not going to let
him off so easy.

“ Halt!” he again cried, in his sha tones,
covering the other with his pistol. “ ova an-
other step, and it‘s your last.”

The stranger obeyed the order with his usual
sullen air, but the hussar’l voice showed that he
was in earnest. , .

 

 

 

 

  

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“ Look here, Mr. Oflw,” began the stranger,
in a tone of injury, “ I don’t see what you have
a ainst me to treat me in this way. Let me
a one, or by the Lord, we’ll see if my rifle ain’t
as ood as your pistol.”

he hussar was close to him, as he spoke, and
he was already beginning to handle his long
rifle, when Adrian’s horse, obedient to his mas-
ter’s will, made a sudden leap, which brought
the soldier’s left hand to the shoulder of the
recluse.

In a moment the muzzle of the pistol was at
the sullen stranger’s ear, as Adrian sternly
ordered him:

“ Fire in the air, quick, or I fire here. Not a
word. Fire!”

The sullen man cast one savage look up at
the hussar's face, but the menace he met there
was so unyielding that he obeyed the order.

The harmless rifle~bullet whistled skyward,
and the sharp report waked the echoes for miles
around, as the now disarmed man stood glaring
defiantly up at the hussar.

“ Now drop your gun!” said Adrian sternly.

The stranger obeyed, still with the same
scowl.

“It’s my impression,” pursued the officer,
grimly, “that you’re a spy of some sort, or
you’d have treated a patriot oflicer with more
courtesy. Unbuckle your belt, and drop it. I
see on have a knife still. No fooling, sir. I
she be fully justified in shooting you if you
hesitate.

The stran er, without a word, did as he was
told, still 100 ing up at the hussar with the same
defiant scowl as ever. The soldier, still keeping
his strange captive under his 6 e. dived into
the gay saber-tasche that dang ed beside his
sword, and produced therefrom a pair of deli-
cate steel handcufls.

“ Hold up our hands,” he said, quietly, “ I’m
going” to ta e you into Derryfleld, dead or
alive.

Still the stranger spoke not a word. His face
wore the same expression of bitter rage, without
a trace of fear thou h he stood there disarmed
and helpless. he he d up his hands, and allowed
Schuyler to handcuff him, without a struggle.
Then, as the officer assed a cord between his
manacled wrists. an fastened it to his saddle-
bow, he uttered a short laugh of bitter mockery.

The captain did not deign to notice.

“ Go on ” he said, spurring up his horse, “and
run your est, or you’ll find yourself dragged.”

He set of! at a slow trot, the prisoner run-
ning alongside, with surprising power, and
took the road to Derryfield.

CHAPTER V.
TURNING ran TABLES.

CAPTAIN ADRIAN SCHUYLER pursued his way
toward Derryfield, pistol in hand. keeping a
vigilant watch over the prisoner. The alterca-
tion on the road had detained him so long that
the sun had kissed the mountain-tops ere he had
crossed the valley, and a dark shadow had crept
over the landscape.

The hussar felt uneasy,he hardly knew why,bnt
the defiant manner of his prisoner had roused
strange misgivings in his breast. ,Still. nothing
occurred to disturb him on his passing through

 

 

    

Diana, the Fair Mcuntaineer. . '7

the valley, and as he crossed the ridge on the
other side, he came in sight of the village of
Derryfleld, nestling in the wide valley, through
which ran a large tributary of the Connecticut,
while the glimmer of lights stole through the
gatherin darkness.

“ Than HeaVen, in sight at lastl” ejaculated
the officer, as he involuntarily pulled up to am
at the scene. The outlines of houses coul be
distinguished in the twilight, but as some three
miles still intervened, everything was misty
and uncertain. The hussar chin-u to his
horse, and was about to ride on, when the hither-
to silent prisoner suddenly woke into terrible!
life and activity.

Seizing the soldier by the belt with his mana-
cled hands with the strength of a giant, he on-
deavored to drag him down from the saddle, ut-
tering a shout as he did so.

The hussai‘, though slight of frame, seemed to
possess considerable nerve and activity, for he re—
Sisted the effort with greutadroitness. by throw-
ing himself to the further side of the saddle,
while he instinctively leveled his pistol and fired.

The grim recluse uttered a savage cry of pain
as the bullet plowed his shou der, and grap led
the slender soldier with such power that be out
a stirrup, let go his bridle and tried to put away
his assailant with his left hand. while be cooked
the other barrel of his pistol with his right.

How the struggle might have terminated is un-
certain but just as the soldier was almost out of
the saddle, and bringing his pistol to bear a.
score of dark forms sprung from the roadside,
and Adrian Schuyler was seized by strong hands,
the pistol going off in the strug le.

A moment later he was a prisoner. while the
charger. freed from his burden, and snorting
with terror, gave a series of flying kicks at the
crowd of Indians, broke loose from all restraint,
snapping the cord which bound him to the un-
known spv. and galloped away toward Derry- ,
field neighing as e went.

“ hell’s furies, ive him an arrow l” cried the
spy, savagely. ‘ Stop the brute, or he’ll alarm
the town! ools, have ye no bows?”

The answer was given in a shower of arrow:
after the flying steed, which only seemed to in-
crease its speed, for it soon vanished in the
gathering darkness, leaving its master a cap-
tive.

The reflections of Adrian Schuyler were by no
means pleasant at finding himself in the power
of his quondam prisoner. Too late he recog-
nized the trap into which he had fallen.

The spy, for such he evidently was, seemed to
be the leader of the Indians;_ he issued his or-
ders as gremptorily as a chief, and was im-
plicitly o yed.

He did not deign to take any notice of the
hussar himself, but in a few moments the latter
found himself stripped of all his weapons, while
the handcuffs were transferred from the wrkts
of the recluse to his own, and he was hurried 0!
into the darkening woods.

The white leader remained on the t where
the fracas had occurred. gazing angri toward
Derryfleld, scowli and muttering to imself.

“Curse the p njay hussarl why did I let.
him sto me, w en a bullet would have kept his-
brute rom giving the alarm? It is too late

 
 

i sin: 2m. ,.

V t e Indians, who had already vanished.
Adrian Schuyler, manacled and arded,
stumbled on through the darkness, not nowing

‘ the butt and of his rifle. and ordered him in a

,‘ itseeins. It takesano

8 Diana. the Fair Mountaineer.

now. Another goodly scheme thwarted by one
of those petty accidents that none can foresee!
We must retire. One comfort, I have him, and
I’ll take satisfaction out of his pretty face,
when I see the flames distortin it. Ay, ay,
there you go, in the toll-gate. thought the
brute would rouse ye.”

As he spoke, several moving lights appeared
in the distance, on the way to Derr eld, and
the sound of distant shouts, mingle with the
hoof-beats of the flying charger. The new moon
shed a. faint light over the landscape, and the
spy turned away into the woods on the track of

whither he was going, He judged that his
escort was numerous, from the constant rustle
'of leaves. and the sound of low signals that
echoed through the woods.

He dii not know that those signals were the
recall of a numerous band of Indians, who, but
for his accidental presence and the escape of his
horse would, ere this, have been closing around
Derryfield, for a midnight massacre, as well
planned as it was atrocious.

For several hours the weary march through
the woods was continued, the Indians in sullen
silence urging on their weary captive, till the
latter was ready to drop.

At last, when the moon had been down for
several hours, and the poor hussar was nearly
exhausted, the whistle of a wlzigpowil, echoing
through the arches of the w , brought the
party guarding Schuyler to a halt, and the
sound of horseshoofs announced that some one
ap reached.

resently up rode the quondain farmer and
Mountain Hermit, now revealed in his true
character as a partisan leader, and folio wed by
several men in green uniforms, wearing the
brass and bearskin helmets of a well-known
Tory corps, called after their leader the “ J ohn-
sen Greens ” or “ Rangers.”

The spy was dressed as before in homespun
clothes, but he rode a stout horse, and wore a
sword, while he Seemed to be in authority over
white and red alike.

He issued a few brief orders, after which he
dismounted from his horse, and the rangers and
Indians proceeded to encamp.

It was not long before a fierce fire was glow-
ing under the arches of the woods, the heat
being very grateful to the frame of the captive
hussar. for the night was chilly, and he was wet
and shivering, from wading so many brooks.

He had sunk down at the foot of a tree. quite
tired out, when a ranger stirred him up with

surly tone, to “ get up, the captain wanted to
see him.”

Schuyler obeyed' the un acious order with

tience, for he knew the ands he had fallen

to, and did not wish to provoke further indig-
nities. He followed the soldier to where his late
enemy lay under a tree, with his feet to the fire.
gloomin meditating; .

The fidsan loo ed up, and a grim smile
lighted ' face.

“ So, my young hussar the tables are turned,

1d warrior to keep Tony

 

Butler in irons. Now, hand out your dispatches
unltfgyou prefertobe searched. Which sha
it .

The young officer smiled disdainfully.

“ M dispatches are in, my brain,” he said.
“ All carry in writing is this.”
And he drewa paper from his bosom and

handed it to the captain of rangers.

CHAPTER VI.
A DEMONIACAL VISIT.

CAPTAIN BUTLER, for such was the name b
which the partisan seemed to be known, too
the parchment extended by the prisoner, and
examined it closely.

“ Wh , this is only a commission,” he growl-
ed. “ hat doI care for that? I want your
dispatches. Captain Schuyler, smce that seems
to be your name."

“ I have none on my word as an officer,”
said Schuyler, calmly.

“Then, what were you doing on the road to
Derryfleldl” asked Butler, bending his shaggy
brows on the other.

“On duty,” was the laconic reply.

“ What kind of duty?”

“ That is my own affair and my general’s.”

“ Who is your general?”

“ General Philip Schu ler.”

“ So,” said the ranger eader, musingly. “ Are
you a. relation of his?”

“ His second cousin.”

“ On his stair!”

“ As an aide—yes.”

“ What uniform is that you wear? I know
none such among the rebel ragamufl‘lns.”

“It is the uniform of the Zieteu regiment of
hussars, in the Prussian service.”

Butler looked at the other with more respect.
At that time, the name of Frederic of Prussia
was as famous as that of Napoleon, twenty-five
years later, and the Tories, while despising the
“ rebels,” held a great reverence for the few
foreign officers who had found their way into
the American service.

“ Have you, indeed, served in the Zieteu Hus-
sar‘sgghe asked. ” _d s h 1 d1

ven ears sax oung c uy er, pron y.

“You nlust have bseeu a. boy when you en-
tered.”

“ I was—a cadet. ”

“ And what brought you back here to link
your fortunes with these rebels, sir?”

“ My country. She was in danger and I owed

her r‘nfi‘life.”

“ at orders did you carry to Derryfield?”

l The hussar smiled slightly, and remained si-
en .

Butler looked at him with a gloomy but hesi-
tating manner.

“Ika here, captain,” he said, suddenly,
altering his manner to one of complete cordial-
lty, “there can be no use in hiding the truth
from me. I have no ill-feeling against you for
treating me so roughl . It was war-time, and a
hussar should always on the alert. But' why
should an oflicer of your experience take a side
which must be the losing one in this struggle,
when a commission in the king’s service awaits

on, if you wish? Alread General Burgo
as your cousin envelope in the toils, at Al-

 

  

. . cute; r.

mm- {but

u “is, . 

 

 

   

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer. 

 

bany, and another week will see the rebels cut
in half, from the lakes to New York. I know
why you went to Derryfleld. It was to try and
rouse the Vermont militia. But it is of no use,
i assure on. Who is in command there, by
the way ?’

Schuyler again smiled, but made no answer.

The partisan leader frowned in a vexed man-
ner at that.

“ Captain Schuyler,” he said, in a low, grating
voice, “ remember there are Indians round you.
For the last time, what was your errand i"

“For the last time, Captain Butler, I will not
tell you.”

Butler changed his manner to its old repulsive
sullenness.

“ Very well. Your blood on our own head.”

He spoke a few words in the ohawk tongue,
and Schuyler was seized and bound hand and
foot in an incredibly short space of time, then
cost down at the foot of a tree, and left between
two guards, to sleep if he could.

The last words of the partisan had led him to
anticipate immediate torture, at least, but such
did not seem to be the intention of his captors.
He was left to himself, in a position far from
uncomfortable as regarded warmth, with a tree
overhead and a fire near him, while his bonds,
though secure, were by no means painful.

Meanwhile, the few simple preparations of
the Indians for camping out ad been com-
pleted, and the whole band lay stretched around
the fire, with their feet in close proximity. The
leader had wrapped himself in a cloak and lain
down a little apart, and everything was quiet,
as Adrian Schuyler softly raised his head to
look for his chances of csca . He counted his
enemies, and found that t ere were only thir-
teen Indians and six soldiers present, including
Butler. Where the other bands had gone, he
could not tell, but none were there.

Young Schuyler had not served under the
best light cavalry generals 'of Europe without
acquiring much fertility of resource and bold-
ness of character. To be left alone was, with
him, to plan some means of escape, and as he

_ lay there, he considered that in the morning his

chances would probably be desperate.

He lay quite still for some time, till he heard
the deep breathing of sleepers on all sides. Then
he rolled oVer to one side, nearer one of his
guards, the knife at whose belt excited his

0 s

’Ffie instant he moved. a deep voice accosted
him from behind a neighboring tree, saying in
English:

‘ Roll back!” _

The hussar obeyed, and his heart sunk as he
did so. He was evidently watched by a hidden

sen .

Ahgoment later the man moved out from the
trec against which he had been leaning, a stal-
wart ranger of the “ Johnson Greens.”

Without another word, be grounded his rifle-
butt, and stood leaning on the muzzle, looking
at Schuyler with grave attention. From that
moment the young oflicer saw it was useless to
move till that gaze was off him.

Resigning himself to his fate he pretended to
go to sleep, and insensibl the warmth and
silence lulled him into a .9“, from which he

 

r_,,.

awoke with a sudden start, after a lapse of time
that he could not compute exactly.

When he looked round, the fire was burnilgg

low, and all was in gloom. The sentry had

his post, but Schuyler could distinguish the
dark outline of his form leaning a inst a tree.
Silently as he could, the hussar rolgd over once
more toward his nearest guard, and this time
there was no warning from the sentry. With
his head bowed on his bands, which were 0138].»
ed on the muzzle of his rifle, the latter was
sleeping and snoring audihly.

T e prisoner raised his manacled hands to
withdraw the knife from the sleeping Indian’s
belt, and was already in the act (if touching
him, when a sudden interru tion occurred tothe
quiet—an interruption of t 9 most awful char-

ac r.

A bright glare of red light shot over the scene
from above, and the astonished hussar beheld. in
the midst of the branches of the tree over his
head, a blazing ball of crimson fire.

On a lower branch stood a gigantic black .
figure, which Schuyler recognized with an in-
describable sensation of awe and superstition
which he could not conquer as the vegan-
boriiment of the traditional idea. of the aim
ofTIfivil himstelf. . t. fl with

e gaun , igau ic gut-e short, 11
right horns on igts head, black from head to fool;
with steely gleams; the deathly-white face,
with great burning eyes and pointed mustache,
curved upward in a malicious grin of triumph,
all were the usual and traditional aspects of the
fiend in art.

For one moment the horrible demon stood
erect on a branch, holding another above his
head, while he brandished a bundle of darts in
his left hand.

Not a soul in camp was awake but Schuyler, , '

who fancied himself for a moment the victim of
nightmare, so inexplicable was the vision to his ,
senses.

Then there echoed a triumphant la hfrom
the tree, and a deep, hoarse voice r out:

“HA! HAl HA! HA”! I cum rims n!
I GATHEE Trims IN 1"

Even at the second word, every man in camp
started up, and stood gazing spellbound at the,
fearful figure.

Then, with a final yell of fiendish laughter, the
demon leaped down on the head of an Indian.
and cast a shower of his darts in all directions.
Every one went with fearful force and uncaring
aim straight to the heart of a victim, and four
men fell writhing to the earth in as many see-

onds.
Then, with a low wail of inexpressible terror,‘l I

white and red without venturing ablow or shot
for defense, dew in wild dismay in alldirec- n

tions.
As for Schuyler. he was too much astounded to
move. His bonds also prevented him, had he

been so inclined. He lay mutely  at . N 

the extraordinary apparition as stood over
the fire dealing death around it, expecting his
own death to ollow. ‘-

Suddenly, almost in the instant that his esp- 

tors fled, there was aloud explosion in the top
of the tree, and the red glare vanished to n-

, I” : »
laced by a profound darkness, in the midst  3;"

    
    
  
    
     
   
 
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
    
    
   
     
    
    
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
 
   

.c.

1‘

          

ex:  I: <3? 4'.

10 I Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

which the wild laugh of the specter sounded
fearftu distinct, while the rapid rush of feet
gough the leaves told of the flight of every one

Adrian Schuyler lay perfectly still where he
had fallen, listening to the receding feet, after
which all was silent.

How long he lay there he could not tell. The
stillness of death hung over the forest for hours,
but he feared to move lest he might attract the
notice of the strange creature. Where it had

he to he did not know, but he fancied it must

near, from having heard nothing of its de-

parture.

Thus the hussar lay on his back by the glim-
mering embers, till the doubtful light of dawn
stole over the scene, and revealed the empty
forest to his view, with a heap of corpses lying
by an extinguished fire.

The demon had vanished.

 

CHAPTER VII.
A STRANGE SERVICE.

ADRIAN SCHUYLER sat up with some difficul-
tv, owing to his bonds, and looked around him.
There lay the dead bodies, five in number, and
every one was that of an Indian. Strange to
so. . not a white man had fallen. ,

he javelins with which death had been in-

. flictcd had vanished, and the footsteps of some

creature with a clown foot were plainly visible
by the side of the corpses.

The light of day instead of dispelling the
mystery, only served to render it deeper. The
hussar could not tell where he was, for the thick
wools, but he noticed that the ground rose to
the right of the camp, with a steepness that told
he was at the foot of a mountain.

Now, nnwatched by human eye, he rolled him-
self near the body of an Indian, and using the
latter’s knife with his own fettered hands, soon
cut the cords that bound his feet together.
His own handcuffs remained, but they were not
an incumbrance to his further escape. More-
over it was not hard to find weapons. They
lay by the bodies, or scattered in terror over

the ground, and a heap of abandoned horse

equipments, at the foot of a tree, showed where
the emoralized rangers had fled on barobacked
horses. Lying among these e uipments he
found his own weapons as they ha been thrown
there, and it was with great joy that he resumed
them, one by one.

Putting on a sword-belt, when the person is
handcufled, is by no means an easy operation.
but Adrian managed it sonehow, and then took
his departure for the mountain, presenting the
strange spectacle of a full y armed hussar roam-
i the woOds, handcuffed like a prisoner.

ashort time the youn officer had reached

the ascent which he 'udg‘e to in the side of a
mountain, and behel. his expectations verified.
A lofty mountain indeed was before him. and a
in the woods, higher up, promised him a

pros ct of the surroundings.

r some minutes of hard climbing he
reached a flat rock that jutted out many feet
from the mountain-side and around which the
trees had gradually thinned away, leaving a
View of the’usualsea of mountains and valleys.

 

Something in the scene seemed familiar to the
hussar, who yet could not exactly ascertain
where he was. Casting his eyes to the right,
over a sea of foliage, he caught sight of a thin
wreath of blue smoke curling in the air, and at
the same time. beheld a peculiar shaped clifl’,
with :1 stream falling over its side, which he in-
stantly recognized, ejaculating:

By heavens, it is the Haunted Hill!"

It was indeed, but the other side from that
which he had been the day before.

“The mystery is solved,” mused the hussar.

“No wonder the Indians fled. It must have
been the Mountain Demon that saved me last
night. But, surely, it can not be possible that
demon’s really in it. There was none here
yesterday, and the savages must have grown
bold from its absence. Who can it be, then?"
. As he thus mused. the clear silvery notes of a
horn echoed from the rocks overhead on the
mountain-side, and soon after came the flying
feet of some creature rapidly approaching.

Instinctively, Adrian Schuyler drew one of
his pistols and cocked it, ready to defend him-
self against any attack.

The next moment one of the large blood-
hounds he had seen the day before, dashed over
the rock at some distance, without noticing him,
and then came the graceful figure of the girl
Diana, who bounded past him within ten feet,
and suddenly stopped, dumb with amazement,
staring at the handsome stranger.

Ad‘ian was the first to break the silence.

“ Fairest Diana,” he said, in his most winning
tones, “well met once more on the mountain.

“ How came you here, rash man?” asked the

irl, hastily, and turning pale as she spoke.

0 you not know that this is fatal ground?
Are you tired of your life? If he finds you
here. he will kill Cyou.”

Schuyler smile .

“As to why I came here, it is easily an-
swered. I was broaght here a prisoner. bya
party of Indians and Tories. who cam With
me in the woods at the foot of the hi 1. Last
night a strange apparition entered our camp.
killed or frightened away all the Indians, and
released me. I am trying nowto find my way
back to Derryfield.”

Diana listened to his words with apparent
wonder.

“A strange apparition! What! is be here
again?” .

“ I know not to whom you refer. lady, but a

creature in the likeness of a man, but with

eleven feet and horns, created such a panic -

among my captors as I never saw paralleled.”

“ And still you dare stay here,” said the girl,
in a tone of wonder. “ 0h, sir. if you value
your life, let me entreat you to fly. The road
to Der field is straight and easy.”

“ An yet you stay here.” said the hussar,
mefi'ningly. “ Why should I fear what you do
no

“ Oh, sir, that is different. I am——I can not
tell you what. But I entrant you to fly.

“Madam,” said Schuyler, gravel . “I should
be glad to do so, for my duty on Is me away.
But I have no horse, and the woods are full 0
enemies. If I go on foot, the chances are that
never get there.” 2 ‘

-454,

 

 

 

   
 
 

 

.ww:

 

 

, thicker and thicker, and a few dropsbegan to

' rain came driving down over every thing, slint~

Diana. the Fair Mountaineer.

1,1"

 

“ What then? You can not stay here—von
say you saw him—what is to be done? You
must go bark whencc you came.”

“ I can do it," said Schuyler. “ The scouts of
Burgoyne’s army are between Ire and home. I
must got to Dcrryfield, if I have to steal a.
horse."

Diana wrung her hands in agony.

“ Man, man, I tell you he will kill you if you
stay here. You must go away.”

“ I have a Chou-e of deaths, then.” said the
bus or, coolly. " I am safe from the Indians, on
this mountain, and as for the demon, if he kills
me. he Will serve his enemies. On my iniSsim
to Dergyfleld depends the whole future of a. cum-
ping-n.

As he spoke, the sound of another horn, deep,
hoarse and bellowing, echoed from the top of the
hill, and the girl turned deadly pale, ejaculating:

“ it is too lute! He is herel Y n are lost!"

In spite of his general courage and coolness, an
involuntary thrill of terror gathered over tho
heart of Adrian Schuyler, as Ire listened to the
mysterious sounds of the phantom horn. It
echoed from hill to hill in deep reverbermions,
and when it died uway, left him with an inde-
scribable sense of awe.

At the same moment, as if the mysterious de-
mon had waited to sound .his horn till the as ects
of nature were in harmony with diabolica iii-
flueuces, a sudden shiidow swept over the sun,
and Adrian, looking up, beheld a deep thunder-'
cloud, hitherto hidden behind the mountains,
swallow no the snii, and rush across the sky with
wonderful swiftness, while a powerful gust of
wind shook and bowed the trees on the mountain
side in a groaning chorus.

He turned to Diane, and behold, she was gone!
He just caught a. glimpse of her white deerskiu
tunic vanishing in the upper woods on the moun-
tain-side, whence the sound of the horn had come,
and he realized that it had been a summons.

“ Man or demon—girl or spirit,” muttered
Schuyler, as he entered the wmvlsin pursuit, “ I’ll
follow you. and find tho mystery of this man“.
tain, if it costs me my life. I‘ll know the secret,
at least.”

He ran through the forest in swift pursuit cf
the vanishing girl, but quickly realized that sbo
was far swifter than he, for he soon lost sight of
her entirely, and came to ii standstill.

Not for long, however.

The storm than was already brewing became
more threatening every moment, the clouds

patter on the leaves overhead. Remembering
the direction of the mountain clearing, the hiissnr
directed his course thereto, and pushed steadily
through the woods toward it.

He had not far to go to reach it, and ten min-
utes brought him there, but the storm had already
satin, with rattle and crash of thunder, and iii-
tense gloom, only broken by the vivid flashes of
lightning.

As he looked into the clearing, a gray sheet of

ting out mountain and valley from sight, and
threatening to drench him to the skin.
Schuyler was a bold. decided young fellow, as

 

we have seen, and he hesitated not to run across

, the clearing, and dash headlong into the hut, .

z

where he found the door as open as on his former
visit, and every thing silent. »

Looking round, as soon as he had shaken him-
self clear of water, he found himself in a. circular
room of rough stones, without plastering of any
sort, with n x-unienl roof, supported by a central
post of hemlock with the bark on. At one side
of the apartment was a huge fireplace, in which
blazed a. big fire. of logs, but the cabin was per-
fectly bare of furniture, save for the two‘ square
hiouks of stone. roughly trimmed, one on each
side of the fireplace.

The hiissur took his sent on one of these, and
dried himsqu at the fire, not without some trepig
dation, it must be On ncd. He was in the sup-
posed stronghold of the very demon that he had
seen with his own eyes the night before, and he
knew not at what moment he might behold that»
terrible form darken the doorway, and he en~
gaged in a contest for life with the terrible
enigma.

But as time wore on, and nothing appeared,
while the rain descended in torrents overhead.
and the fire hissed and sputtered as it struggled
against the tempest. the hussar’s spirits insensi-
bly rose, and with them his curiosity. He began
to long to  the fairy form of Diana, and even
can ht himself wishing that the demon himself
mi t appear.

ut still the solemn ruin poured down amid _ , :

poals of thunder Without cessation and nothing
came. The fire hissed and sputtered, and finally
roared up the wide chimney in triumph, the
soldier d1 ied his steaming garments, and at last
the storm slowly nbzited, and passed off, settling
into a gentle, drizzling rain. with a colil.:gi‘uy
(silly, that locked as if it had set in for a gloomy
av.

Then Adrian Schuyler began to co iiate
within himself what was best to do. He new
that if he could not get to Derryfleld, his labor
was in vain, and he was equally aware that
without a horse he could never expect to get
there alive. Puzzling over his future course, he
was startled by the footsteps of a horse outside,
and clutching his carbine with his manacled
hands, he started up and turned to the door.
The chain that connected his irons just gave
him sufficient play for his hands to fire a gun,
and he expected on enemy.

What was his surprise at the group that met
his View?

A horse without a rider, but saddled and
bridled. was being led to the door of the but by
a. huge black bear, the very creature that he be-
held gamboling with the girl the day before.
The hcar walked sedater forward, holdin the
bridle in his mouth. and the horse follow as if .
he was perfectly content with his clumsy can:
ductor.

Full of amazement. Schuyler stepped out o!
the but and looked around. Not a human crea-
ture was to be seen, either in the clearing or at
the edge of the Woods, but even as be
there an arrow rose in the air from the forest in l
a diagonal line. describing a curve in the air,
and fell at his feet. '

A little white note was attached to the arrow.‘

Instinctiver Schuyler picked it up, just, ask
the tame bear stopped in front of him and lite-0d

rubbing his head against him, ui a friendly and ' "

\

 

 

p

 ‘

-As‘f _.

V‘ a-all’s well!"

1'2 Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

 

confldin manner. The hussar opened the note
and rea as follows:

“Ride the horse in sight of Derryfield. Then strip
off his bridle, and urn him loose. I have ventured
much for your sake. Keep our secret for mine.

DIANA.”

“ Ay, by heavens, I will, sweet Diana,” cried
the hnssar, in loud tones, intended to catch the
ear of a person concealed 11] the woods. “ A
thousand .blessings on your head. You have
saved our country one disaster.”

Without a moment‘s delay he took the bridle
of the horse, cast it over the animal’s head, and
mounted.

The horse was a 110ny formed creature, but
Schuyler could not help noticing its strange ap-
pearance and trappings. The animal was coal-

lack, without a white hair, and its housings
were of the same somber color, with a slubrac-
quo of black velvet, worked, with a skull and
cross-bones on the covers. The same ghastly
emblem was repeated on the frontlet of the
bridle in white, and the curb was shaped like a
human finger-bone.

The hussar was too much rejoiced, however,
to find any fault with his equivocal mount. It
was evidently a fine horse; and a moment later,
lflaelgvas galloping through the woods to Derry-

e .

 

CHAPTER VIII.
BURGOYNE’S IMP.
THE night brooded over the white tents, and
glimmering fires of a great army, which lay on
he open ground near Suratoga. Street after
street of tents and marquees, in martial arra ,

stretched its long l’nes, now silent and dar ,

perpendicular to the color line. Outside the
camp glimmerel embers of the few fires that
were left burning, and some distance off, on the
plain, and amid the little patches of wood, were
the brighter fires that told of the outlying
pickets.

Occasional] , the distant challenge of a sen-
try would be card, to be followed by the same
routine of “ Who goes there?" “ Rounds.”
'2‘ Halt, rounds, advance one with the counter-

Countersign correct. Pass, Rountls, and
The last words drawn out into a
long, musical call, caught up and repeated
along the line of outposts.

Inside the camp there were no lights, save in
one spot, around the headquarter tents, which
were clustered, in apparent confusion, in the
vicinity of a large, half-ruined house, in which
the commander kept his private quarters.

In these tents lights were hurnmg, fires were
kindled in front, and a number of officers were
writing at different desks, while orderlies, at-
short intervals, entered and emerged from the
quartermester-general’s tent.

In the large, old-fashioned oarlor of the farm~
house, which was still comfortably furnished,
and lighted with two waxcandles .in silver
candlesticks, a stout officer, in the scarlet uni-
form of a lieutenant—gener-il, was walking up
and down, with his hands behind his back, oc-
casionally stopping to speak to a second oflicer
in the dark. ,en uniform of the Hessians, who
stood in an- titude of attention, to listen and

' answer  q 1 ions or his commander.

-,’-.....-_....,.,.. Whale ',_i‘

 

General Sir John Burgoyne was a handsome
and intellectual man, a little past the rime of
life, and by no means the ,t rannical b ockhead
he has been represented. n the contrary, his
literary abilities Were quite considerable. his
powers of mind great; and, u to this tie, his
campai 11 had been conducte on sound military
princip es.

The expression on his face that night, how-
ever, was one of decided anxiety, as he convers~
ed with the officer before mentioned.

” How long has this been going on, baron?”
he asked at length.

“ For a whole week, general, as near as I can
find,” was the reply. in vur pure English, for
Baron Reidesel prided himse f on his accent.

“ And you say that the Indians are beginning
to leave us?”

“ They have already left us, in large num-
bers. If something be not done to stop the
panic, to—morrow they will leave in a body.”

ISirdJohn Burgoyne looked anxious and per-
1) any .

“ Would to heaven the Government would not
employ them at all,” he said. They do us more
harm with their atrocities, than their serv1ces
balance. That unfortunate affair of Jenny
McCrea has raiscd public feeling against us to a
fearful extent, and now, when they might be
most useful, they are frightened to death, and
deserting, because of some masquerading rebel,
who plays tricks on them with raw-head-and-
bloody— bones apparitions. Have the soldiers
heard of the panic, baron?”

"I regret to say general, that our own out-
posts are catching the infection, since the Indian
chief, Cree ing Wolf, was killed in sight of our
pickets. he man or demon, whichever it he,
seemed to laugh at their bullets and disappear-
ed, so they say, in a. blaze of red flame.”

“_Bahl” said Burgoyne, contemptuously,
‘j’tis some conjuring trick. It can not be pos-
Slble that our men are so foolish as to fear it. I
must see that the rounds keep them awake. The
fellows grow lazy. and dream. I shall visit the
pickets myself to-night.”

Baron Reidesel brightened.

“The very thing, general. If we keep up
their spirits, they will recover. I only hope we
can gain the Indians back."

“ There is only one way that I see, baron.
We must catch this fellow who disturbs uS, and
hang him. Doubtless it is some rebel spy. One
good thing. St. Leger sends me word that Fort
Schuyler must soon surrender, a that will en-
courage the \vaverers. Then, Ba m's dmgoons
must be at Bennington by this time. Let them
bring us provisions, and I’ll make short work of
SChuylor’s militia. Go and ask General Fraser,
and Philips, and the rest, to come with us.
barcn. I’ll be readyin five minutes, and will
make a grand round of all the outposts.”

“Very good, general," was the reply. as the
baron saluted and left the apartment. while
Burgoyne, mechanically putting on his sword,
stood by the fire, moodily cogitoting. . I

He was roused from his reverie by_ a slight
noise: in the room, and looking, mamas-
men .

skeleton, stood within nix feet of hull, 100310; at

‘3 " a‘x‘  a

A man of wonderful hight, but gaunt as. a» 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Iraq. I

 
   

  

 

 

    

Diana. the Fair Mountaineer. 18

 

him out of great cavernous eyes, that glared
from the midst of a deadly ale face. The man
was muflled in alon blac cloak, and his face
was shadowed bya road slouchcd hat. He
stood regarding Burgoyne in silence.

“ Who the deuce are you, sir?” asked the gen-
eral, angrily, as soon as he had recovered his
first shock.

“Your fate,” answered the stranger, in a
hollow voice.

“My fate?” echoed Burgoyne, contemptuous-

‘ly. “ Perhaps then, you are the masauerading

rebel who has frightened my Indians.

“ I am the demon of the forest,” answered the
other, in the same hollow tones.

Burgoyne laughed scornfully.

“ Ind 9 Then you are just the man I want
to see. Here, sentr 1”

He strode to the cor and threw it open, ex-
téplilscting to see the sentry usually stationed

ere. .

There, across the threshold, lay the dead body
of the soldier, in a pool of blood!

Horror-stricken, Sir John rccoiled a moment.
Then, whipping out his sword, he stalked up to
the stranger, saying stern] :

“ You have done this, hut, by Heaven, you
shall not escape.”

The unknown remained impassive, with his
arms folded, and only smiled sardonically.

“I told you I was your fate, he said. “Be
warned in time. Go back while you may. A
week hence will be too late.”

“ Fool I” said the English general, contemptu-
ously, “you may frighten superstitious savages
With your hocus-pocus, not me. Surrender, or
you are a dead man.”

For all answer the stranger advanced on the

eneml With folded arms, while fire and smoke
began to issue from his mouth!

Incensed at the exhibition, Burgoyne made a
violent thrust at the other with his sword.

The weapon snapped on the stranger’s body as
if it had been made of glass, and the next instant
Burgoyne felt the pressure of long, skinny fln-
gens on his throat which he in vain tried to
throw 03, while t a stranger, with gigant'c
strength, pressed him backward and backward,
gill he lay bent over his knee, slowly choking to

eat .

What would have been the result of this scene
is not doubtful, but. just at that moment, the
sound of footsteps was heard in the passage,
with the cloak of spare and swords.

The terrible stranger cast down the nearly
senseless body of the general with a crash to the
ground, and stood up. ‘

A moment later, several general officers came
up the ge, and paused with horror at the
sight w ich met them.

The murdered sentry lay across the threshold;
Burgoyne, apparently dead, lay on the floor by
the table, whi 9 over him rowercd a gigantic
figure, extending black, shadowy wings, his
pale face and burning eyes glaring from between
upright black horns, while fire and smoke came
from his mouth!

A moment later there was an unearthly laugh.
The demon flapped his wings over the table, and
ontwent the lights in intense darkness. Through
the gloom came the hoarse shout:

 

“Ha! HA1 HA! HA!!! I GATHER raisin ml
I GATHER THEM IN!”

Then came a thundering report, as of the
closing of a door, and all was still. The appari-
tion had vanished.

CHAPTER IX.
7 THE FIEND or TIIE OUTPOSTS.

THE scene of confusion in the room was, for
some minutes. quite animated. Burgoyne’seub—
ordinates rushed in, with drawn swords, calling
for lights, and feclingraround in the darkness
with their weapons. hen came the tramp of
feet and clash of arms in the passage, as a num-
ber of the headquarter dragoons came running
in, some carrying torches, and all with drawn
pistols.

The room was thoroughly explored and the
mystery deepened, for not a trace of the in-
truder was found. There lay the murdered
soldier, and there was the commander, in the
arms of Baron Reidesel, slowly recovering from
the rough handling be had undergone, but noth-
ing rcmaiiied of the demoniac visitor, save the
overturned candlesticks. General Fraser—the.
gym'tei'master - general — General Philips, Sir

rancis Clark, and most of Burgoynes stair,
searched the room, trying to discover some
means of exit, but found none. Every nel
was sounded, but none seemed hollow an the
general himself put an end to the search by say-
ing:

“Let it pass, gentlemen. Some ingenious
sconndrel has been here, but he is doubtless
away bythis time. We will visit the pickets.
It shall never be said that his majesty’s oflcers
were frightened by a jug'gler. Order upthe
horses.” '

“ But you are not fit to ride out, general,” ob- , 'V

jected Phillii s.

“I am always fit to do my duty, sir,"an-’ 

swered Burgoyne, coldly. ‘ »
The courage of the commander was evidently

far from being shaken by his appalling visita- ’ 

til n. He had not said a word of its nature get,
and his staff were still puzzled, but Sir Jo n’s
decided manner overhore all op ition, and
they silently followed him to the orscs, which
were already in waiting. Then, as calm] as it
nothing had occurred, the general procee ed on
his trip to the outposts. ( '

Burgoyne’s manner was absent and thought-
ful as he rode along, mechanically taking the
direction of the outposts. Two dragoonsrode
in advance of the ‘
lenges, and they soon arrived at the picket re-
serve, toward the American army. .

The officer in command was called up, and
taken aside by the general, who questioned him
closely.

“ Has any disturbance occurred in your front
tonight, sir?”

“ Not yet, general, hut—"

“ But what, sir? Speak out.”

“We are led to expect one, general. Last
night, it seems, that one of the Indian Raoul:
was murdered in sight of our advanced gosh.
My predecessor warned me. A man on a. lack
horse alloped by, and flames of fire seemed to

come rom his month. they say. The moon was 1' >

up, and this Indian fired at the horsemén, 



party to answer the chal-’ 

 

14 Diana, the Fair Mountaineer. ‘

 

then turned and ran in. The horseman fol-
lowed him, changing into the likeness of—l only
tell it as I was told, general—of the devil him—
self. Within fifty feet of this reserve be over-
took the Indian, and pierced him with a jnvoli‘ii.
- Then came a red flash of fire, and the appari-
tion threw the dead Indian over his saddle, and
fled like the wind, laughing in tremendous
tones.” “

“ Did the sentries fire at him?”

“Yes, sir. They sent a regular volley after
lli'll, but be only laughed louder and diseppearcd
into the woods.”

Sir John Burgoyne remained, silently musing

‘ over this story, but he made no comment. He
was, in fact, quite puzzled.

Just as he was about to speak, an exclamation
fl‘Olnd one of the soldiers caused him to look
i-nun .

Then he struck his hand on his thigh with a
muttered curse.

“ By heavensl there he comes again. Now
let us see if he fools me a second time.”

It was indeed true. The same weird figure
that has already been described, was gallopingr
up, on a black horse, fluriies and smoke proceed-

’ ing from his mouth, while a stream of sparks
came from the muzzle of his horse. He was
coming from the extreme right of the picket
line, galloping recklessly past the vedettes, while
shouts, cries, and shots, followed his course as he
came.

Burgoyne turned to Sir Francis Clark, his
favorite aid-de-ca mp. *

“Sir Francis,” he said, in the sharp, quick
tones of a. superior iving orders, “ take the
escort with you, and ollow that fellow, till you
catch or kill him. He is a. rebel spy, and doubt-
less wants to draw some of us into an ambush.
If he leads you to the rebel lines, come back and
report. I shall know how to deal with him. If
not, follow him. till your horses drop, and shoot
down his animal, if you can. Away, sir!”

The aid-dmmp bowed low, and drew aside.
The demoniac stranger was still coming fear-
lessly on, in a direction that would bring him
near to their front, and Clark, gathering the
t wenty dragoons that composed the escort, rode
out to intercept him.

On came the demon in silence, the red sparks
streaming from horse and rider, as if about to
charge the whole party.

Then, as he came within sixty feet, he uttered
a. loud, taunting peel of laughter, and wheeled
08 toward the line of vedettes.

“Gallop, march!” shouted the aide-de-camp.
firing his pistol, and dashing after. A volley of
carbine bullets whistled round the wild rider,
but away he went, fast leaving his ursuers, the
same loud, taunting laugh coming ack on the
wind.

Away on his track went the whole party of

. dragoons. headed by Sir Francis Clark, and in a
- few minutes the line of vedettes was reached.

The alarm had already become general, and

at least a dozen shots were fired at the flying
horseman, while a single vedette rode at him
with drawn saber.
Sir Francis, better mounted than the rest,
fines close behind, as the demon met the dragoon.
heard a clash of weapons, and the wild rider

,/

 

darted out unharmed, while the soldier threw
up his arms and fell back off his saddle, dead!

There was no time to lose, however. Shouting
to his men to follow, the English oflicer galloped
on, keeping within thirty feet of the other, till
they reached the woods. Then, with a. shrill
laugh, the demon rider darted under the arches
of the forest, and Clark followed.

The moon was not yet up, and the darkness in
the woods was intense, but still the foremost
horseman galloped on as if horse and rider well

know the way. Sir Francis followed, almost_

alone. for the (lragoons were already strung out
behind, owing to the severity of the pace.

Presently a crimson glow flashed up ahead,
and the ofiieer perceived a long, flaring flame,
that streamed from the head of the demoninc
figure in front. revealing the short black horns
and the long cloak streaming out behind, exact-
ly like huge wings in appearance.

Amazed, but still resolute, the aid-decamp
following on, still riding at the same rapid pace
through the arches of the wood.

The hoofbeats of the following dragoons grew
fainter and fainter, and still the twu horsemen
gslloped on in a direction due west, away from
both armies. How long they rode. Clark could
not tell, but hour after hour passed by without
enK change in their relative positions.

t the pace at which they were going, four
hours of this work took them many a mile from
settlements of any kind, till they entered a
broken, limestone region. Then, of a, sudden,
the red flame, Went out on the demon‘s head,
and, with a loud, mockin laugh, horse and
rider plunged into a. narrow lack gully, almost
hidden in bushes. -

A moment later, Clark pulled up, thoroughly
bewildered in thick darkness. The light that
had guided him had disappeared, and he was
alone in the woods.

Too wary to venture himself in an unknown
region, the ofiicer sat in his saddle, musing on
the best course to pursue. Then, with a mut-
tered, “ That’s it,” he turned his horse’s head on
the way homeward.

The animal, with the well-known instinct of
his 3 ecies took up his march without hesitation,
as lark had foreseen. The officer drew his
sword, and Igave a slash at every tree he passed,
leaving a. w ite streak in the bark.

" You may hide, master juggler,” he said to
himself; “ but if I don’t track you to your haunt
by da light, it will be because there is no virtue
in a b aze.”

 

CHAPTER X.
MOLLY STARK’S HUSBAND.

THE little mountain town of Derryflald, (now
Manchester) was full of the sounds of the drum
and fife, while companies of tall, raw-boned
countrymen, some with uniforms, more with-
out, but all bearing arms and belts, were
marching to and fro in the streets, and on
the green, to the lively notes of “Yankee
Doodle."

In the best parlor of the “ Patriot Arms.” the
principal tavern of the village, a. remarkably
tall and scraggy-looking officer, in the uniform
of a Continental general. was standing before
the fire, with one foot on the huge andiron, look-

.i - .qm m:"-‘h":")mw;~

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer; 15

 

ing shrewdly at our friend, Adrian Schuyler,
who stood before him, still shackled.

The scraggy oflicer had very broad shoulders,
and huge hands and foot, but the flesh seemed to
have been forgotten in the formation of his
powerful frame. Ho hld a tall, narrow forehead,
and a. very stern. shrewd-looking face, Scotch
cast of feature, with high cheek-bones, and very
sharp black eyes. His nose and chin were both
long, the latter very firm withal. H15 manner
was remarkably sharp and abrupt. Such was
Brigadier-Geueral—afterward MajorGexieral—
J olm Stark, the first leader of militia during the
Revolutionar lVar.

“Well, sirz ’ he said, as Schuyler concluded
his relation, ‘ 1’m VerK sorry that the rascals

u

stole your commission, t your face is sufficient.
I believe your story. What does Schuyler want
me to do? ’

“ To join him at Bemis’s Eights, general," said
the hussar, with equal business-like prompt-

ness.

“Well, sir, I’ll see him hanged first,” said
Stark, with a. snap of his teeth.

Adrian hardly knew what to say to the eccen-
tric brigadier, as he stood there, nodding his
head as if to confirm his words.

“ General,” he began, “if an unfortunate ae-
cident deprives me of credit—if you don‘tbe~
have 1 am properly authorized—” ,

“I told you I did, young man ” sai'd Stark,
with all his old abruptness. “ ou’re enough
like Phil Schuyler to let me see you’re his
cousin.”

“ Then, general, what am I to understand?"

“ That I’ll see them all hanged first.”

And the iron brigadier compressed his teeth
like a vise.

Adrian Schuyler began to wax indignant.
Without even waiting or a smith to file ofl his
irons he had ridden to Derryfleld, turning loose
the h ack horse, as he had been hidden. Seek-
ing General Stark in the town, in his equivocal
gmse, he had been arrested by the patrol. and
brought in as a prisoner, when he had told his
whole story without reserve.

The presence of his gray charger—~whlch had
been captured the night before around the gen—
eral’s quarters—confirmed the truth of part of
his statement, while Stark’s clear penetration
told him that the handsome, open face of
Schuyler was not that of a traitor. Being so
fully believed, the general’s bru no answer to

message vexed and surpri him beyond
measure.

“ General Stark,” he began indignantly, “do
you call that a. proper answer to the lawful
orders of a man like General Schuyler? Are
you aware—”

Stark interrupted him in his grufl', abrupt
manner:

“Keep cool, young man. I know Phil better
than you. He’s a ood man—a sighttoogood to
be hustled from r to post by those asses of
congressmen. T ey sha’n’t hustle me. I hold
my commission from New Hampshire, and in-
tend to stay here.”

“And do you mean to say. General Stark,”
asked the hussar, fierce] , "that I am to go back
and report to General huyler that you refuse
to come to his aid, when the enemy are pressing

 

him hard, and you have tnrse thousand men
under our orders?”

Star turned his head to the young man.

“ You can tell him and any one else,” he said,
emphatically, “that John Stark’s a man, not Q
post. They can sand all the orders they like,
and I’ll see them hanged before I obey them.”

Adrian Schuyler was now completely indig- _.

nant, but he remained calm. With quiet dig-
nity he said:

“ General Stark, I have only one requestito
make of you, in that case.” .
“ Umph—«umphl What is it?” gruan Stark,

g .
“Allow your men to restore me my home,

which I see at your quarters, and let me ride . ..

ba‘clfito l’fiy chielii’; V 0d ood
‘m ——ump ery o ,veryg .
Have ygur irons oi! first, ehlg

“ No, sir,” cried Adrian, fiercely; “ not a favor
from you but my own charger. I would sooner
die than accept aught else from a man who do-
serted his country in the hour of trial.”

“ Umph—umphl Gritty lad—gritty lode—like

your pluck, by jingo—keep cool—better have a.
smith and a dinner, eh? Look faint—must have ’

dinner.” ,
This was indeed true, for Adrian had not
touched food for twenty-four hours. He wastoo
angry, however, to accept the offer, and turned
away to the door, when Stark’s sharp, metallic
vo‘i‘c aslllted: t h
e , youngs er, w at are you going to tell
Phil, it you get there alive?”

‘i‘l That you refuse to fight,” said Adrian, an-
gr y.

_“0h, no, no—not a bit of it.” said Stark, in
his quick manner; “not by a hifi sight, young-
ster. You stay with me, and 1’ show you as
much fighting as any man wants, in two days.”

Adrian paused, irresolute. There was some-
thing in the voice of Stark that sounded as if he
was mockin him. ‘

“ What 0 you mean, general’l” he asked,
sullenly. “If you are playing with me allow
me to say that it is in bad taste to an officer in

my position, who has incurred danger to reach  ’-

you.”

The eccentric general changed his manner im-
mediately. He came up to Schuyler and forced
him with rough kindness into a chair b the table.

“ on sit there,” he said, gruflly. ‘ I want to
talk turkey to you.”

Then he rung a bell, and as the orderly en-

tered, he grufily ordered up the “nearest smith-

and a good dinner.” The orderly did not seem
to be amazed at the singular order. He saluted,
and cyvheeled swiftly about, departing without a
wor .

“Now, see here, captain,” began the eccen-
tric general, as the door closed, “don’t misun-
derstand me. I’m going to keep you here, be-
cause I know you can’t get back to our general
now. Burgoyne has a body of
dragoons on the road here, and to-night I much
to meet them. I’ll not at myself under the or.
ders of Congress—theta flat. They’ve cheated
Arnold and me out of our fairly -won commis-
sions, and my State has granted what the re-
tuse. I’m going to whiphthese British and
also dmgoons out of air boots, on my own

is internal ‘

,r

 

 

16

Diana, the Pair Mountaineer.

 

hook, and if Congress don’t like it, they can

lump it. That’s flat, too. When I’ve whip d

the enemy, you can carry the news to Phi , if

Wu please, and I shall be glad of your help.
but do you say now?”

Adrian had been silent during this singular
address, which was spoken in short jerks, the
' general stumping round the room all the time.

When he had finished, the hussar answered:

“I say you’re a. strange man, general; but
, I’ll sta with you, if you like. At all events, I

can be p you till the road’s clear.”

Stark laughed in his abrupt manner, and clap-
the other on the shoulder, saying:

v “ You’re the right grit. lad, and if I don’t
show you a few English flags, the day after to-

morrow, it’s because Molly Stark will be a

widow.” '

The door opened, and in clamped a big coun-
try blacksmith. with his basket of tools.

‘Hang it, Zeke, we don’t want to shoe a
horse here,” said Stark, grinning. “ This en-
tleman has been unfortunate enough to fall into
British hands, and they’ve ornamented 'him
with bracelets. File them off, so he can dine
with me.”

“That’s me, gineral,” said the smith, affably.
“ Ef I don't hev them irons off in five minutes,
you kin take my hat.”

He wasas good as his word, filing away at
the irons with great vigor, and when the tavern
waiter entered with a large tray, some flve min.
utes later, Adrian Schuyler was rubbing his
released wrists with a sense of gratitude, while
the smith, who had been cheerfully whistling
over his task, and replyin afl'abl to his gen-
eral’s dry jokes, had just pic ed up is basket to

ve.

Adrian Schu ler, who was used to the formal
disci line of t 6 great Frederick’s army, was
won erfully amused at the free and easy ways
of the wars] of militia, who behaved ike an
easy-go ng old father among his uncouth ol-
'diers. He had yet to learn that in that singular
man. John Stark, were concentrated the only
qualities that enable a man to drive up raw
militia to the cannon’s mouth, with the steadi-
ness of veterans.

CHAPTER XI.
THE MOUNTAIN QUEEN’S WARNING.

TEE rain poured steadily down in torrents,
and the heavens were all one unvarying mass of
leaden clouds. The outlines of the Green Moun-
tainswere wrap ed in driving fleeces of gray
mist, and the c illy northeast wind drove the
rain aslant splashing up the pools that collected
in every hollow.

Adrian Schuyler at the head of a small party
of horsemen, was s owly ridin along on his re—
covered charger through the elds near the lit-
tle town of Bennington. He was wrapped in
his long cloak, and the rain dripped from his
tslihussar—cap in a continued spout. His fol-
lowers were awkward, countryfled Green Moun-
hln‘ Boys but, their alpeculiar leathern costume

I told that they were hunters, and not agricuL
m, by grofession. Hunters they were, and

. ’ lass ots, keen at detecting trails, and
model'scouts.‘ ' ' ‘ ~ ' ' ‘

They rode on behind their leader in single file,

I

 

watching every little patch of wood that might
hide an enemy. Two men rode on each flank at
easy rifle-shot distance, beating up the brush-
wood, and leaving nothing unsearched

Their numbers and actions sufl‘icicutly told
that they com osed a reconnoitering party,
under common of the ex-hussar.

Adrian Schuyler was a model light cavalry
officer, and conducted his party with due can-
tion. A rifle-shot ahead, was the best scout of
the party, and every now and then, silent sig-
nals were exchanged between the advance and
the main body that communicated some intelli-
gence. Presently the scout in front halted, and
crouched on his horse‘s neck. Instantly, at a
low word from Adrian, his party stopfmu, and
the ofl‘lcer rode slowly u to the side 0 his ad-
vanced vedette to see w at was the matter.

“ Thar they be, Cap,” said the scout in a low
tone, pointingto his left front; “they’re gone
into cagp as slick as molasses, and their Dutch
sentry in't got no eyes, I guess, far he’s a-
blinkin’ this way, jest like an owl on a fine day,
and hain’t seen me.”

Schuyler, sheltering himself behind the other,
and bowin his head so as to hide his tall cap,
slipped off is horse and leveled a telescope over
the croup of the scout’s steadyanimal. A bluish
line of smoke, clearly visible against the cold
gray background of mist and rain, pointed out
the position of the camp of Baum and his Hes-
sians, detached from the army of Burgoyne to
seize the stores at Bennington.

They la in a square, compact mass in a bend
of the litt e rivulet called the Wollonsac, which
covered their position. A sen grove, at the
borders of the stream, furnis ed them with some
shelter from the rain for otherwise they were
com lled to trust to huts of straw.

A rown line of fresh earth, covering the whole
front of their position. showed that their com-
mander Was a cautious man, who knew the
value of intrenchments.

“ There they are, sure enough. Kerr.” said
Schuyler, as he shut up his glass; “but I don’t
see any Indians.”

“ I‘d admire to see the rept les,” said Kerr,
spitefully, “sneaking round w en our boys are

here, Cap: No. no thur ain’t one of ‘em left
yearns, since the Mountain Devil’s up and arter
em

“ The Mountain Devil! Who’s that?" asked
Adrian, surprised. It was the first time he had
heard allusions from others to that singular
being that had effected his own release from his
lat? captors.

‘ Wal. Cap, that’s hard to say,” responded the
scout. “ Some say he’s a real devil, some say he’s
only a teller that’s got a spite against the Injins.
All I know is, that he’s been round lately, and
skeerod every one on ’em out of the country.
Folks say he‘s b’en dodgin’ round Burgoyne’s
men, playin’ the same games, and that thur
leavin’ for hum.”

“ Has he been seen near our quarters?" asked
the hussar.

“ Nary time, Cap. He may be a devil, but if
so, he’ a m hty friendl one for our side.”

Schuyler id not tell 1: e scout of his own ex-
perience. He was too much puzzled at the ne‘-
ture of the apparition.

c

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

1?

 

He remained watching the camp of the
English dragoons in silence, feeling certain that
his presence was unseen by the army, then turn-
ingi, he led his horse away out of sight.

e was about to lead his party round to recon-
noiter from another quarter, when one of the
flanking scouts was scan to go 011' at a gallop to
the right into the woods, as if in chase of some-
thing. A moment later, a black horse, which
the hussar recognized as the one he had turned
loose to go back to the Haunted Mountain, dash-
ed out o the woods, bearing a. lady on his back,
and came galloping up, pursued by the scout.

Schuyler waved his hand to the latter to bait,
for he recognized the figure of the lady. Then,
up galloped the unknown fair one who called
herself Diana, and checked her horse with fear-
less grace in front of the party.

Diana was more beautiful, if possible, in the
habiliments of civilization, than she had been in
her woodland guise. She was dressed in a. black
riding-habit of velvet, laced across the breast in
strange imitation of a skeleton, in silver, and
wore a little black hussar cap, with a skull and
cross-bones in white on the front, the very
costume afterward used by the “ Black Bruns-
wickers” of Waterloo renown. She was drip-
pigg with rain.

ithout the slightest hesitation she addressed
Schuyler, earnestly.

“ Sir,” she said, “ you are in danger, and you
know it not. A party of savages, led by the
Troy spy, Colonel Butler, are already between
you and your own forces, to cut you off. Retire
while there is time. I am sent to warn you.
They are now in yonder wood.”

As she spoke, she pointed to a piece of woods
in their rear, and wheeled her horse as if to flee.
tfdrflan Schuyler impulsively caught at the

nr 9.

“Tell me. at least,” he entreated, “that on
will not run into danger on our account. a
are soldiers, you a woman.”

“ No time for talking,” she answered, sharply.
“ Look yonder.”

He looked, and the edge of the wood was full
of Indians.

 

CHAPTER XII.
war. PARTISAN.

AT the sight of the Indians, the American
Ran ers instinctively clustered together, and
the ankers came galloping in.

That the enemy were in force was evident
from the boldness with which they showed
themselves, coming running out, and spreading
into a long skirmish line, that threatened to cut
off the Rangers from any return to their army.

It was evxdent that they were in a trap from
which there was no escape, except byputting
their way out, twenty white men against nearly
a hundred Indians.

Adrian Schuyler had not served as a volunteer
and officer in the famous corps of Zieten Hussars
without profiting by the best counsels of the best
leaders of light cavalry in Europe. He scanned
the advancing line of the enemy With great cool-
ness,  out in front of his men, and using
his telescope.

in

 

His example was inspiring to his men, and in-
sensiny the most nervous forgot his tremors
when he saw the coolness of his captain.

The Indians were as yet out of gunshot; they
were advancing on foot, and some five or six
horsemen were visible in their line. Adrian
watched them close, and saw that if he could
break through the line he could laugh at pur-
suit, all his men being mounted and most of the
enemy on foot. He turned his glass to the Hes-
sian camp, and saw no symptoms of disturbance
t ere.

Then he turned to speak to his men, and met
the blue eyes of Diana. She was watching him
apprehensively, as if she sympathized with his
danger, and longed to avert it, while powerless.
Schu ler ointed to the distant woods, saying:

“ or od’s sake, ounp lmiy, ride away out
of danger. The bul ets mil soon be flying, and
they will not respect even 5 our beauty.”

‘ Wh not come with me?” she asked. “I
can lea you away by a path where there are no
Indians.”

“ Thanks for your offer,” said the hussar,
gratefully. “ It is one that I would accept,
were it not that I have promised General Star]:
to be back by a certain hour at his headquar-
ters. My way lies through the enemy.” ,

“ And do you really mean to charge those
fierce creatures?" she asked, in a tone of won-

er.

“ I really do,” he said, quietly. “There’s not
half as much danger as you would think. Rapid
motion will take us safe through.” I

“ Then 1 go with you,” said the girl, firmly. \

Adrian laughdi.

“ Nonsense. Diana. Your presence here shows
that you’re on our side, but you can do no good
with us. Depart while you may. They are
almost within gunshot.” .

“I am goingrwith you,” said Diana, firmly.
glt’it is a. mere matter of fast riding, I can ride

0. I .
“But you may escape by going the, other
way,” objected Schuyler. ‘

‘ Which I shall not do,” she said. “I’ve
takena fancy to see what you soldiers call a
battle, and you cannot stop me, so you may
well attend to Iyour men.” -

The hussar s rugged his shoulders. and turn-
ed away to his followers, just assseveral white
puffs of smoke came from the enemy’s skirmish-
ers, followed by the thump, thump, of two or
three bullets, tearing up the earth around them.
The horses began to fidget, and the faces of the
men were somewhat uneasy. Adrian saw that
they must be encouraged at once, or possibly
desert in confusion. ‘ ‘

He drew his sword and threw back the drl

ping cloak from his arm, while he spoke to t
rangers.
“ Men,” he said, “it’s time we were doing
something. Never flinch from a few bullets at
long-range. Those fellows are firing to no pur-
pose. Fall in, and deploy as skirmishers.”

The rangers prompt y obeyed the order. AM ,
an knew that in times of danger, men should
be occu ied, and he insisted on his line being
formed uperfect order, eveu'when the bullets
began to whistle unpleasantly near. The long:
the men were exposed to a harmless fire, 0

 

 

 

 

18 Diana, the Fair Hountldneer. .

 

greater grew their confidence, and contempt for
the enemy. As soon as the line was formed,
the hussur gave the si a1 tofall back, which,
as he anticipated, rovo ed a loud yell, and rat-
tling volley from t e enemy, who took the run
in their eagerness. The rangers retired at a
slow trot, the hussar keeping in the rear and
watching his foe keenly, till he saw that the
ra id motion was producing the desired elfect.
he excited enemy were firin wild. .

“ Haltl” he suddenly shoute . “ Face about,
lads! We’ve gone far enough. Now, follow me,
and charge I”

A moment later, with the fair Diana at his

' side, the ex-hussar was hearing down on the
Indians at full speed, followed by his rangers.
Schuyler’s men all carried broadswords, in the
use of which they were somewhat clumsy, it is
true, but strong arms made up the deficiency.

The sudden change of demeanor on the part
of the horsemen produced a result highly favor-
able to them. The Indians, who always have a
dread of dragocns fired a harmless, scattering
volley, and were then left with empty pieces

. while the patriots charged home.

“ Nowwe have them, ’ cried Adrian, exulting-
ly. “ Ride over them, lads, and then on to our
own camp. If a man gets wounded, I’m mis-
taken.”

The example of their leader stimulated the
men to greater courage, and they uttered a
hearty cheer as they drove on. The rain beatin
their faces, and the wind whistled past as they
Went, but the enemy were just as much in the
rain. and’ the Americans knew that the fire
would dam the powder of their fees.

It took ut a minute to decide the question.
At full gallop the whole party of the rangers
neared the enemy, and far in front rode Adrian
Schuyler, closely followed by Diana.

The few horsemen who were with the Indians
seemed to be officers, for they were seen dashing
up and down the line, encouraging the wavering
savages to stand. Adrian noticed one tall,
powerful figure among them, which he recog-
nized as the Tory, Butler, and be bent his course
toward that part of the line, knowing that if he
could overthrow the bold lender, the followers
would probably be demoralized.

A moment later, he charged against the parti-
san, who met him, wielding a long broadsword.

Adrian wasa splendid swordsman, and ecl'ually
good horseman, and his steed was per ectly
trained, no slight advantage in a single combat,
mounted. His antagonist however, proved to
be ually matched. In hight and weight he
was ar superior to Adrian, and his blows came
like those of sledge-hammers, while his big
horse obeyed the rem easily.

But the hussar didn’t wait long to fight. There
were too many enemies near him. His men had
already dashed through the line, and were past
him on their way to Stark's forces, when his

v antagonist suddenly, without any visible cause,
turned ale, dropped his sword-hand, and
wrench his horse back several paces, while he
glared over his enemy‘s shoulder, as if at some
' htful vision.
nvoluntarily Schuyler glanced back himself,
and beheld the beautiful face of the mysterious
Diana close by, deadly pale with excitement,

 

while her long hairvstrcamed over the cheeks,
wet and clinging with the rain, like that of a
drowned person.

He turned once more to his foe, and beheld
the hitherto fierce face drawn down with object
fear, as the dreaded partisan ground out the
slingle Wor “ Diana 1” and then turned to

es.

Adrian’s horse bounded after him, and the
hussar discharged a blow that cut open the
()thcr’s shoulder, which, to his amazement, But-
ler never even tried to parry.

The spiteful hiss of a bullet past his ear, cut-
ting away a curl in its passage, told him that he
was not wise to tarry longer. Turning away
he found himself and Diana almost alone amid
the enemy, who were rallying from their dis-
comfiture, and hastening to cut them 06?. The
hussar uttered a shout of defiance, seized the
bridle of his fair companion, and galloped away
after his rangers.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
BENNINGTON.

THE stars were shinmg bright and clear in the
heavens, where the gray light of early dawn was
beginning to pale a few on the eastern horizon,
an the remains of the rain-clouds were driving
toward the sea under the chilly northwest win
that ended the ram-storm.

A numerous force of men lay clustered in
bivouac round the smoking cam fires, and at
one fire, separated from the rest, eneral Stark
was walking to and fro, talking to Adrian
Schuyler.

“ And you say the girl galloped away from
you, and would not even give you her name?”
he said, inquiringly.

“ True, general.”

. ;,Why didn’t you chase her and bring her
in.

. “For two reasons, general. First, she had
inst rendered us an important service, Second-
y, her horse was too quick for any except
mine.”

“Umphl sorry for it. Never mind, she’s a
friend of ours, any way, and we’ll pay her for
it, Schuy er, if she comes around. But you
have brought me good news. I’ll have those
fellows before the sunset to—night, and Burgoyne
may whistle for his rations.”

_ At that moment tue clear note of a bugle, a
little distance oflf, rose sweetly over the silent
landscape, blowing the reveille, and Stark
paused and consulted his watch, with a low
chuckle. saying:

“ I tell you what, Cap, our boys may not be
as smart-looking as your Prussians, but you’ll
find them pretty prompt for all that. Idon’t
believe your great Frederick could pat his men
under arms any quicker than Jack Stark puts
his Green-Mountain Boys into the ranks. Look

ere.

t. Adrian looked round, and smiled in approba-
ion.

At the close of the long-call the whole bivouac
had changed its a pearance as if b magic, and
where there h been rows 0 slumbering
figures, now stood long ranks of armed men,

 

. l

 2'54"" .,

/

Diana. the Fair Mountaineer.

m

I

 

rapidly assuming the order of perfectly straight
lines. The Voices of the sergeants calling the
rolls rose on the morning air before all the
bugles had ceased blowing, and the camp as-
sumed an appearance of order and bustle, not
often seen outside of regular troops.

Schuyler expressed his surprise at the dis—
cipline exhibited after so short a training, and
Stark abruptly broke him off.

“ No wonder, lad, no uonder. These are not
German louts picked up anywhere, with beads
like oxen. These are free men, come down
from the times of Cromwell, with hardly a
change. It needs only that they should see the
necessity of order, and they’ll come to it, fast

“enough. Ha! what’s that?”

His last words were elicited by the sound of a
shot coming from the icketline, closely fol-
lowed by two more. 11 a moment Adrian
Schuyler was on his feet, and standing close to
his horse, which was tied to a tree near by.
The little squad of rangers under his orders, the
only cavalry 1n Stark's command, was already
ranged near by, answering roll-call; and the
captain sprung on his horse, With the intention
of calling them out, when the voice of Stark
prevented him.

“ Let it go, Cap.
ing this way i”

Adrian followed the general's pointing finger,
and distinguished the outline of a galloping
horsegian, rapidly approaching the fire in the

awn.

Prescntly up dashed a man on a black horse,
and halted sudden] in front of the fire. Of his
figure all that con (1 be seen was a shadow in a.
loose cloak, and a shadowy hat was slouched
over a face of marble paleness.

The strange horseman addressed himself to
General Stark, as directly as it he knew him
well, saying in a deep, hollow voice:

“ John Stark, if you wish to save your mum
try, march on the enemy at once. Reinforce-
ments are coming up, and will be here by sun—
set. Exterminate what are here, before the
others come up, and God speed you. Farewell.”

Then, before even the quick-witted general
could guess his intention, he was off, and gal-
loping through the camp at full speed. Stark
shook his head as he looked after him.

“Yonder goes a strange man,” he said to
Adrian, “ and if I did not know him, I should
sa aspy.”

‘What, do you really know him?” asked
Adrian, eagerly. “I, too, recognized his face,
but only as that of an apparition that—”

“What apparition?” queried the general,
sharply. What do you mean by talking of
such stuff, sir?”

“ Only this, general,” said the hussar stoutly,
“that the face I just now saw under that
shadowy hat is none other than that of the
creature your men call the Mountain Demon. I
saw it only once, but I shall not forget it in a
hurr .”

Stark uttered his customary grunt, but made
no further observation on the occurrence, and
vs soon the duties of the camp took them
bot away. -

By the time the sun was 11 , the whole force
was scattered round the fires, usily engaged in

"Na but a single man, com-

 

cooking breakfast, and a short time after
columns of march were formed, and the little
army of patriots took up their march to the gay
tune of the drum and fife.

 

The British bulldog and the German boar-
hound stood stubbornly at bay behind the brown
trenches in the little curve of the Wollonsac.
At the summit of a hillock stood a battery of
four brass pieces, behind which, rank up n rank
of riderless horses stood patiently at their»posts,
awaiting the result of the battle. The whole of
Baum’s force was made up of dragoons, who
gought desperately on foot, to defend their led

orscs.

All around the camp the grim circle of patriots
was pressing closer and closer on the Briti in
aring of white smoke, through which th ed
flashes of rifles shot incessantly. The rattle of
musketry was and had been for three mortal
hours “one long clap of thunder,”as Stark
himself afterward wrote. ‘

And still the battle hung in suspense. The
general’s horse was shot under him, and be
rushed about on foot, his drawn sword gleaming
in his hand, encouraging his troops to stand up
against the fearful fire. The Americans had no
artillery, and no bayonets on their rifles, but
they rushed on to the charge with just as
much vigor as veterans, and still the battle
wavered.

It was just at this doubtful moment, whm
the least influence, one way or the other was
important, that a loud, ringin cheer was heard
over the roar of the mus etry-flrin and
through the white smoke rushed seve horse-
men at full speed riding up the hillocks on
whose summit the English battery was lanted.

First on a charger as black as jet, in e a tall,
thin ofllcer in the broad-plumed hat and black
curling wig of many a long year before. Hi
black velvet coat and bright steel breast-plate
were those one sees in the portraits of Louis the
Fourteenth of France, and he waved a long,
rn ier in his hand of the same antique fashion.

van in the momentary glimpse can ht of

him amid the battle-smoke, men marveed at ' A :L 'V

the paleness of his face, and at the weird fire in
his cavernous black eyes. '

Following him closely was Adrian Schuyler,
with his score of mounted rangers, but 'all
sremed to be under the sway and control of the '
pale man on the black horse. A moment later
the black charger was among the guns, and the
long blade flashrd in the air, as the pale rider
smote ri ht and left with fearful strength.

Then. ike a wave the handful of horse dashed
on the dismounted dragoons and cut their we
through. It was but .a. trifling aid, but -
sufficient.

The sight encouraged one party and discour-
aged the other proportionately. ,
With a roar and a volley, the Americans 1'01-
lowed, and the German dragoons broke and

fled.

Past the swaying, helpless herd of led horses
they were driven, too much harassed to be al-
lowed time to meant. Poll-mall after them fol-
lowed the Green Mountain Boys, and Reining-
ton waswon. * ' ‘

 

 

20 Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

 

 

CHAPTER XIV.
THE PANIC.

BEHIND the ramparts of Fort Schuyler, near
the present site of the town of Rome, an officer
in the uniform of a Continental colonel, was
standing in the twilight looking out over the be-
leaguermg camp of St. Leger, with his Tories
and Indians at the siege batteries. The increas-
in gloom alone made the situation tenable, for
alfday long the Indian riflemen had been lying
down outside the fort, behind stumps and logs,
picking off every one who ventured to show his
head above the rampart.

The position of the fort had been growing
more desperate daily, for its defenses were but
slight at the best of times, and St. Leger’s artil-
le had been battering at them steadily ever
sin e the Siege first began, three weeks before.
Provisions were growing scarce, and the Indian
scouts. constantly creeping c103er to the fort,
rendered a sortie for forage impossible.

Colonel Gansevoort, the American leader,
looked anxious and gloomy. Before his men
and the chem he kept up appearances nobly,
but now that e was alone, the desolate nature

’of his position rushed on his mind with over—

powering force, and compelled a feeling of al—
most despair.
Two weeks before the column sent to his re-

' lief under General Iierkimer, had been repulsed

and aimed; annihilated, at the desperate battle
of Oriskany, and since that time not a word had
reached him from the outer world, save through
the threatening dispatches of his foes.

All round the fort stretched the silent, prime-
val forest, for Fort Schuyler was then at the
extreme bounds of civilization. Out of those
woods came nothing but the whoop of the be
leaguering savage, the spiteful crack of the
rifle-shot, and the booming report of the brass
howitzers.

There was not a ray of hope apparent to tell
the Americans whether they were not vainly
persisting in a struggle which could have but
one termination, torture and death at the stake
from the merciless allies of the English general.

As Gansevoort was thus looking from the
low log parapet, at the twinkling circle of Eng—
lish fires, he was surprised to hear a low voice
from the ditch of the bastion on which he stood,
calling him by name. Starting, he hastily
asked:

“ Who’s there?”

“A friend,” replied the low voice. “with news
from Schuyler. Come down to the sallyport,
for I must away when I have given my news.”

Without a moment‘s hesitation the colonel
left the ram art, and hastened down to the
sallyport 3 en of by the other. This wasa
low heavy oor on the inner side of the ditch,

"approached by an underground passage, and
e

protected by t fire of two faces of the fort,
and the colonel emerged from this. finding him—

self confronted by a figure of great hight, but

thin and attenuated as a specter. This figure
was wrapped in a long. flowing cloak, and its
time was hidden by a broad, shadowy hat.
Under any circumstances, it is probable that
voort would have felt some distrust of the
other, but as it was, he was too eager to hear the

news to be particular about how it came. '

r0

 

“ The news, quick, man, what is it?" he whis-
pered. “ Good or bad '9”

“Good,” answered the stranger, in the same
low tone. " Read this letter."

As he spoke, he extended both arms, the
shadowy cloak hanging from them, so as to
conceal what passed from the view of any lurk-
ing besieger. Gansevoort then noticed, for the
first tinw, that the other bore, at his belt, a
small dark lantern. He eagerly grasped the let-
ter which the stranger extended to him, and be-
held the well known bold clerkly hand of Gen-
eral Schuyler. Quickly he ran it over.

* “ STILLWATER, August 15. 1777.

“ DEAR Cowman—A body of troops left this place -

yesterday. and others are followmg to raise the
siege of Fort Schuyler. Everybody here believes
you will defend it to the last, and I strictl enjoin
you so to do. General Burgoyne is at Fort ‘dward
~our army at Srillwater— eat reinforcements com-
ing from the eastward. an we trust all will be well

and the enemy repulsed.
" Yours fathfully, PH. Seaman.

“ COLONEL GANSEVOORT,

“ Com‘d’g Post at Fort Sohuyler,
“ By Capt. Erastus Benedict, A. D. C."

For a moment Gansevoort’s feelings overcame
him. The revulsion from anxiety tohope was
so great that he nearly choked, in his efforts to
suppress emotion. Then he turned to the tall
stranger, seized his hand and shook it earnestly.

“God in heaven bless on, captain,” he said,
with trembling voice. “ on have saved a sol-
dier from disgrace, and America from destruc—
tion. We were nearly spent. Defend it to the
last? Ay, Captain Benedict, I will do it now
with tenfold the vigor I did. God bless“ the
general for his confidence in me, and all his
brave follows with him.”

The stranger’s hand. long, cold and bony, lay
passive in the gms of the colonel. till the lat-
ter had finished. hen he said, quietly:

“ You mistake. I am not Captain Benedict.
He is dead.”

“ Who are you, then?” asked the American,
starting.

“A friend to the cause. let that sumce,"
said the stranger, in his deep, hollow voice, drop-
ping his cloak so as to conceal his lantern. I
found Benedict in the hands of the Mohawks,
dead and scal ed. I killed them and brought
his letter. ow farewell. Whatever you see
to—night do not wonder. It bodes no ill, save to
the enemy."

He turned and vanished in the thick darkness
that had now fallen over fort and forest, and
Gansevoort slowl and thoughtfully left the
spot and re-entere the fort.

A few minutes later, he was reading aloud to
his officers the welcome letter of Schuyler, and
gladness diffused itself in every heart.

 

The star that rose in the east at sunset was
high in the zenith over the besiegers’ camp, and
the Indians were slumbei'iim.r around their cam
fires, while the nodding picket sent y
kept awake on his post, when the loud last of a
horn echoed through the silent arches of the
forest, followed by a chorus of yells and cries
that roused every one in an instant.

*Historlcally correct.  ' ' -/

 

  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

-..W.__~_.-...

‘

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer. 31‘

i.

 

 

 

 

 

Bewildered and half-awake, Tory and Indian
scrambled up to their feet, and the English
general rushed out of his tent, half—dressed, to
know the meaning of the outcry.

Two Indians, yelling as they ran, were comA
ing In from the outposts (it headlong,r spccd. and
their cries seemed to spread a panic among all the
neighboring savages, for WllLI‘eVEI‘ tl,ey n ere
heard, Mohawk and Oneida, Seneca and Tusca-
rora, alike joined the swelling mob that came
rushing through the camp. _

“ The rebels! the rebels are coming! Run!
Run!” was the cry that was speedily taken up,
by white and red alike, when they heard the
alarm more plainly.

Although not a focman was to be seen, there
were sounds of the trampling in the woods, the
snapping of sticks and an occasional shout in
the distance, vi hich gave color to the panic.

In vain St. Leger and Sir John Johnson
rushed to and fro, trying to arrest the causcless
rout. The Indians, from the very first, com-
menced a retrcat en masse, as if by previous
concert; then one regiment of rangers gave way
and scattered through the woods, despite the
cries of their officers, going to the rear at a run,
shouting, “ The rebels are coming!”

In less than ten minutes from the first blast of
the born, the two English leaders were left al-
most alone, and when the glare of torches in the
distance, With the sight of armed men on horse-
back, showed them that an enemy was indeed
approaching, they found that they had not suf-
flcent following to resist asquadron of dragoons.
Utterly amazed and demoralized, the two En-
glishmen were lain to follow the example- of
their followers, and hastily mounting their
horses, galloped away to 'oin the rout.

Meanwhile the tramp ing came nearer and
nearer, and soon, out of the Woods rode Adrian
Schuyler. at the center of a long. scattered
skirmish line of American Rangers, in the white
frecklet of Morgan’s Rifles, every man hearing a
torch of pitch pine. _

They advanced warily, but boldly. only to
find the enemy’s camp escrted, the idle artil-
lery silent in the batteries, the ground strewed
with forsaken weapons and stores.

Adrian rode up to the bastion on whose sum-
mit stood the amazed garrison, and waved his
torch in salute, crying:

“Gentlemen, on are saved. We are the ad-
vance of the re ief column under General Ar-
nold. Burgoyne has lost all his cavalry at Ben—
nington, and lies at Stillwater, surrounded by
our men. Hurrah for Independence l”

The cheer was given with a will.

CHAPTER XV.
THE nxranIrION.

Two months have assed away, and the scar-
let and goldpf the ta 1 is on all the vast forest
that borders the Mohawk river.

In the English camp near Bemis Eights,
General Burgoyne is holding a council of War
with his officers, and the tall, burly form of
Colonel Butler. in the dark green frock of the
Johnson Greens, is co icious union the scar.
let of the generals. Bu ler has his le t arm in a
thing, still, from the effect of Adrian Schuyler’s
cut, and his face is heavy and lowering as ever,

 

 

 

as he urch some measure on the council with,
great energy.

"I hardly think, colonel, that the and war-
rants the risk attendin the expedition," said
Burgoyne at last.‘ “ This unfortunate aflair- at ‘
Bcnnington has crippled us buuly, and we must v
not risk the little cavalry we have left on an un-
certainty. ‘

“General Burgoyne,” said the partisan, grima
1y, “ I stake nzy head on the result. I have not
lived in this country for twenty years, without
knowing every Secret path. will take your
men by a way that no rebel shall hear of, and if
I do not clcar up this mystery of the Mountain
Demon I will consent to he shot.”

“ Your dcatli would be a oor satisfaction for
failure,” cried Sir John. “ hat do. you expect
if you succeed?”

“ To save the army,” said Butler, boldly. “A
month ago we were in good position, our allies
swarming all round our flanks, bringin us news
of the enemy. This jugglr—r or demon as done
more to drive away the faithless hounds of sav-
ages than anything else.

“ W hilc he remains a mystery not an Indian .
will stay in your camp. Let me once expose, ,
and unmask im, and they will flock to your-
standnrds anew. General, I speak as I feel,
strongly. Twice has this fellow caused me to
fail in my plans byvhis diabolical appearance, ,
frightening away all my followers, and once
even myself. At last I hit upon a. cléw to his
identity, and Sir Francis Clark’s story confirms
my sus icions. The place where he disappeared
is well nown to me, and if you will give meone
squadron of dragoons, l engage to bring the ims
postor back, and with him our reassured Indian
allics; I say that the gain is well worth the
us .

When the partisan had finished there was a
deep silence in the room. Even llurgoyne felt ‘
the force cf his words. It was true that bill In- .
dinn allies had deserted him wholesale, till he
was left alone in an enemy’s country, vnthmt ,
the means of obtaining intelligence, while his
situation dail grew more desperate.

Exc‘ pting or the short intervals at the battle  ‘

of Bemiingtnn and the flight of St. Leger, the
ubiquitous visitor who had haunted his out»
posts so long made its appearance nightly,
sometimes in one shape, scmetimes another.
Though chased and fired at, horse aid rider
were never harmed. Sometimes in t 9 same

likeness in which it had loomed through the bat~ .. .

tie-smoke of Bennington‘i sometimes in the
shape of the men of man ind, sometimes as a.
living skeleton geaming in fire through the
darkness, every night when the moon was
absent the specter ap eared. '

The Indians were t oroughly cowed from the ~ . i

first when a white female figure was seen on the
croup of the black horse misty and ghost-like,
as happened at the first vimt. The wanton .
murder of poor Jenny McCrea recurred to their
minds and they guiltin believed that her 
was haunting them.

When the last Indian had fled, theremsa
short respite from the persecution of. the outr-
posts, only to return in a new form.

Since the flight of St: Leger, the

diery, bar as they Were by short commons

 

 

 

 

English-sol?! ;

  

 

  

 

29 .Diana, the Fair Mountaineer

 

in the day, were deprived of sleep during the
night by constant alarms. When the camp was
at its quietest. and all were hoping for a quiet
night,.suddenlv would come the blast of a horn,
followed by shouts and shots, and they would
see a squad of fiery figures on fiery horses gul-
loping through the pickets cutting down the
surprised soldien.

Before a. res1stance could be organized, the
unearthly visitors would disappear: leaving
their marks in the shape of two or three vedettes

»or sentries shot down. The attacks were never
serious, never pushed far, but they occurred
every night, sometimes in one quarter, some-
times in another, always coming suddenly and
without a. moment‘s warning. till the pickets
began to become demoralizcd, and the men
could hardly be induced to stand guard at any
distance from the camp.

' “ It was under these circumstances that 001—
one] Butler, the partisan, offered his services at
the council of war, to solve the mystery of the

' demon and his crew.

General Burgoyne was the first to break the
silence that entered on Butler’s speech.

“ Gentlemen, you heard Colonel Butler. You
know the risk. We. have but one squadron of
cavalry left. Shall we venture it? General
Fraser, are you in favor of the risk?"

“ I am,” replied. the officer addressed.

“ And you, Phillips?”

" Decidedly."

’ “ And you, baron?”

“ Certainly. If we lose them, we are no
Worse off, behind our works. If we stop the
egemyfirom annoying us, we have gained some-
t ing.

“ Enough. gentlemen. Sir Francis Clark will
accompany Colonel Butler, and guide the party
to the lace to which be tracked the strange
being w en he followed him, a few weeks ago.
The council is dismissed.”

 

0n the afternoon of the 5th October, a strong
party of dragoons left the English camp headed
by the bold and wary partisan who has figured
in our pages under so many different names, in
reality the most trusty spy and host leader of
Indians in the pay of Burgoyne. Of his former
history even his commander knew nothing, save
that he had joined to volunteer his services at
the taking of Ticonderoga.

Some baleful spirit seemed now to uni-note
the partisan, urging him on to feverish eager-
ness, as he hurried the departure of the dra-
gon; and rode off, accompaniel by Sir Francis

at .

They rode on into the woods, till they struck
the blaze that Sir Francis had made with his
swlrérd, which they followed without much difli-
cu y. I

Once on the, track. the partisan took ‘the lead
at a. rapid pace. His keen and practiced eye
read the signs of the forest with far more ease
than the aid-de—camp, even though the latter
was following his own trail. The length of time
since the blaze was ‘ made. and the faint nature
of the marks would have puzzled the officer not
a little, but to the partisan the task was but
- . child’s play. ,

I On they went at a, pace of seven or eight miles

I

 

  

an hour, through the rapidly darkling woods,

till they found themselves, at sunset, in a, coun-
try broken by rayines, where the blaze abruptly
ended before a thicket of wild raspberries,
which hid the entrance to a narron gorge 1n the
side of a hill.

Here Butler dismounted, and examined the
vicinity carefully, when he announced to the
aid-de-camp that a party of Indians were in the
vicinity, and that he was going to seek them out
and call them to his assistance.

The marks of moccasins had not deceived him.
When he sounded a peculiar call on his turkey-
bone whistle, it was answered almostimmediate—
iv, and, soon after, a war-party of Mohawks
made its appearance.

CHAPTER XVI.
rnE DEMON’S HAUNT.

THE Mohawks proved to be a small party who
had fled from Burgoyne, and when they were
informed of the errand on which the white men
had visited that lonely spot, one and all ex-
pressed unbounded terror. In coming into the
wilderness they had hoped to escape the com-
ing of the demon whose presence they associ—
ated with Vermont and Stillwater.

'When they were told by Butler of the scene
which he himself had witnessed on that very
spot—the one described in the commencement
of our tale—and learned that the Mountain
Demon had frequently made his appearance in
those very woods, bad in fact been tracked

 

thither, the bravest warriors trembled, and be- ,

gan to look apprehensively around them, to flee.

Butler checked them from flight with con-
summate craft.

“ Whither would my brothers fly?” he asked.
“ If this be a demon, he will catch you in the
woods; and when was he known to spare a Mo-
hawk? With us lies your only safety. I am
the Night Hawk, that sees in the thick shades,
and my spirit is more powerful than his. Re—
main with us, and I will show you that all the
demons of wood and mountain can not fricrhten
the Night Hawk. This is a cunning medicine-
man of the rebels. but I also am a cunning med-
icine—man, ani I will show you that I am
stronger than be.”

This address reassured the warriors some-
what. They had a profound respect for the
partisan, and the mere fact of his coming there
expressly to solve the mystery of the. demon
argued that he had no fear of him, When the
Night Hawk called on them to follow him. they
made no more objections, and the party ad-
vanced. '

The drngoons dismounted—part of them—and

gave up their horses to the third of their com- ,
nnnions, who remained in the saddle, under Sir ‘

Francis, to guard the horses. The men on foot,
looking to their muskets, and fastening their
sabers to the saddle. under Butler's orders.
formed in rear of the Indians, both to support
them and to guard against their flight.

Then. with the partisan at their head. they
advanced to the hollow tree in which the demon
had once disappeared. which, as Butler bad sur-
mised. proved to be the entranca to a cavern.

Looking into the hollow, a gulf of unknown

depth appeared below them, and the  r

 

 

 

 

   
  
   
    
    
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
 
  
 

 

 

 

 
   
   
  
  
   
   
  
 
 

_ ready!
. at last. He is here.

Diana. the Fair Mountaineer.

hesitated a moment. Then he drew back and
called for a lantern. Several had been brought,
and they were quickly lighted, when Butler,
boldly taking the initiative, leaped down the
cavity, and found himself on firm ground, not
six feet from the surface.

With a cheery cull, he, held up the lantern to
his followers, and disclosed the entrance to a
rude flight of steps, out downward into the
earth, in a bed of Solid rock. In a few moments
an Indian chief followed, trembling visibly, but
resolved not to give way before the white men.

Fastening the lantern to his belt, and holding
his rifle ready for Use, the resolute artisan
slowly descended the steps, emerging at 21st into
a lofty hall, crusted with stulacrites, on which
the light of the lantern flashed as if on a wall of
diamonds.

He heard the soft, moccasinvd footsteps of the
Indians, then the heavy clutter of spurs, as the
dragoons descended, and at last the whole party
entered the chamber, and stood gazing in wony
der around them.

All were much more at their ease now. There
were no signs of the demon as yet, and of caves
all had heard.

Butler now made a fresh disposition of his
forces. Of lanterns there were seven, of that
kind called bull’s-eyes, and he ordered thesol-
diers bearing them to form aline behind him
and advance abreast, casting a broad glare
ahead... He knew that tho Indians would not
dare to leave him in the thick darkness of that
cave.

They advancml through the long chamber, the
only sounds audible being their own footsteps,
and the hurried breathing of the excited men.
Presently a narrow passage compelled them to
8100 low and go in single file over a broken,
croo ed path, till they emerged into a second
chamber, larger than the first, and the light of
the lanterns came back to them from the mir-
ror-like surface of a black pool, into which But-
ler had nearly fallen.

As he recovered himself with an involuntary
exclamation, a loud. mocking peal of laughter
sounded from the roof above them, and the
sound, repeated by the echoes, came with a ter-
rible effect to the earsof the explorers. As if
to test their nerves to the utmost, there was a
rushing in the air. close by, and a swarm of bats
swished past them, brushing them with their
wings and tangling in the long hair of several
dragoons.

The confusion in the narrow passage was in“
describable. The German dragoous cursed in
guttural accents, the Indians uttered their
startled “ Hugh!” and all struggled together to
flee, jammed up against the rocks.

The thundering voice of Butler recalled them
totheir senses.

“Halt. fools!” shouted the enraged partisan.
“ Do ye fear the empty laugh of a single man.
and a few bats? Forward, and keep your rifles
We are hunting this jugglcr to his hole
Follow me, and we’ll soon
find out.” ,

No sooner had he finished than/ the same de-
moniac pen] of laughter echoed through the
cave, seeming to come from overhead. The bold

F ' partisan  defiantly back, and his men,

/

 

 

reassured. followed him onward into the cave,
skirting the black lake as the want. It was a
large c amber in which they ound themselves,
but its border was very narrow round the lake.
Alfie: the second pea] of laughter, all was
s1 en .

Butler paused at a place where the white rock
shelved out into the water making a broader

platform. He cast the light of his lantern all“

round the cave, but could see no iurther path on
the shore.

Then he turned his gaze on thmall of rock
and perceived a rude pathway leading up in a
zigzag and reaching a platform above that on
which he stood. Beyond it was a eat black
opening in the midst of which stoo a sheeted
ghost, gleaming snow white against the black
baclktground with all the startling effect of
rea l y.

For a moment the blood rushed to the heart of
the bold artisan, so weird was ti 9 vision. The
men behind him had also caught sight of the
fearful fi ,ure and uttered low exclamations of
terror. utler was the first to recover.

“Follow me, fools,” he said. “’Tis only a
stalactite after all. See it glitter.”

“th HA! KAI HA!!!”

Again the fearful hollow laugh sounded above
them, with its peculiarly ghastly mockery, and
the echoes in the cave repeated the sound again
and again, till it seemed as if a legion of demons
was loose.

But Butler was not tobe longer daunted by
sounds, however fearful. Up the steep path
he rushed, rifle in hand, toward the white figure
in the gloomy portal. and his men after a little
hesitation followed him.

Hardly had they reached the top than a bri ht

glare of crimson fire illuminated the we
cavern, making every thing bright as day, and
turnilng the whole vast chamber into a palace of
Jewe s.

The glare came from a column of red flame
that shot up in the midst of the dark archway,

where the great white stalactite shone out with .

startling vividness.

Not a firing creature was visible before them,
but the column of flame made it certain that
some one mUSt be near by to have lighted it.
Butler rushed forward. callin to his men to
follow, and then suddenly recoi ed, as three fiery
figures sprung out from the wall and rushed
forward waving burning swords that shone with
blue flames.

The effect was instantaneous on all but Butler.»
The Indians yelled with
down the path, running headlong for the open-
ing by the merciful light of the flame. The
dragoons fired a hasty random volley with their
rifles and fled after them, and the next moment
out went the light and the three fiery figures
want sailing through the, air over the black lure
like birds of hell, uttering the same fearful
screeches that had driven the savages to flight.

In a momant mops l[futilier was aloneon the

latform, an one o t a cry gums, waving
1pts wings, swooped down on him. and strikin
him with unmistakably solid feet. sent him 1:
Ion into the black lake with a splash.

T on with a final peril of demoniac laughter
all three of the apparition: circled back to the

- 1
r

terror and plunged.

 

\

 

   

  

 

84: Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

 

rock and disappeared, leaving Indians and dra-
gcons to find their way out as they could.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE LAST BATTLE.

A SILENT and dejected cavulcude was slowly
emerging from the woods behind Burgoynes

Hunters, on the morning of the 7th of October.

t was the returning arty under Butler, disap-
pointed of their aim, )eaten and dispirited.

The partisan, after his ducking in the lake
and the flig of his men. had certainly evinced
rare courag , for he had actually returned to
the assault on the following morning, provided
with a quantity of torches of flaring pitch pine.

Under the stimulus of plenty of light, the dra—
goons had behaved better, although nothing
could induce the Indians to venture back. They
had thoroughly explored the first and second
cave without any further annoyance, but neither
did they make any more discoveries. By what
means the three strange apparitions bad man-
aged, to execute their flight over the lake, re-
mained a mystery. but they had evidently van-
ished, for not a trace of living creature, save
bats, was found.

Full of rage and disappointment, Butler re-
turned to the outer air, to find that his Indians,

,useless and superstitious as they were under
ound, had made an important discovery by

9 light of day outside the limits of the cavern.

The tracks of? three horses were found, quite
fresh, at a, little distance from the cave mouth,

. and they led toward the camp of Burgoyne,
from another ravine.
V The back trail, when followed, led to another
opening in the hillside, and it became evident
that the tenants of the cave, human or super-
natural. had escaped.

The brow of the partisan grew dark and
gloomy when he heard the news, but he made no
remar . Ever since the plunge into the subter-
ranean lake, he had been much depressed in
spirits, and now it was with sullen apath ' that

.' he agreed to the proposal of Sir Francis Clark,
and led the return to Burgoync’s camp.

The distance was so great—nearly forty miles
—and their pace so slow, that it was not till the
dawn of the following day that they came in
sight of the English army, and started to hear
the first guns of the decisive battle of Bemis’s
Hi hts, better known as Sarato a.

ir Francis Clark started w en he heard the
sound, and when a second report came booming
through the woods, he gathered up his reins,
turned to Butler hastily, and said:

“Excuse me, colonel. Bring on the party as
slowly as you like. My duty takes metothe
general.”

Then waving his hand, he strucks urs into
,his thoroughbred, and galloped of! own the
road, at in speed, toward the sound of the dis-
tant firing. -

Butler hardly seemed to notice his departure
or the firing. The whole air of the man was
that of gloomy depression, with a certain ex-

tant up rehensive look, as if fearing com-
ng evil. e rode slowly on, while the sound
of the cannon became more frequent, sounding

' dull and hollow behind the encircling woods.
The men behind hun convened together in

.1

 

,e

 

. presence. .,,

whispers. They did not seem to have the eager-
ness of Sir Francis Clark to go into the battle.
Old soldiers seldom do. They know too well
what is coming. The German dragoons that
followed Butler were all veterans, and though
they would go into any danger unmurmuringly,
there was a kind of stolid caution about them
that prevented any eagerness. ’

Besides, the gradual approach, at a slow pace,
to a. battle, that one hears, but cannot see, es—
pecially if the prospect is limited by woods in all
directions, is fpeculiarly depressing to the bold-
est spirits, an causes unwonted silence to most
men, who would march gayly on, in an open
country.

Thus the dragoons following Butler ceased to
converse at all, and pressed silently on behind
their dogged leader, who took his way forward
on the narrow, dusty road, the boom of guns
growing more and more frequent, and answered
by the more distant re )orts of the cannon from
the intrenchrnents of ates.

At last an o ening appeared in the trees
ahead, and a whi cloud of smoke was visible,
hanging in the air over a stubble-field, beyond
which a little brown house nestled in the corner
of a wood.

The sight seemed to have an effect on Butler
which hearing had failed to produce. In-
stinctively he gathered up his reins and quick-
ened his ace, while his eye roamed over the
battle—fie] with a practiced glance. ,It was evi-
dent. to a soldier, that no serious fighting had
yet be un. for the guns were firing at regular
interva s, and the scarlet lines of the grenadiers
stood behind them, while the dark green masses
of the Hessians were scattered over the ground
to the left, near the glarin stacks of arms.

0n the American side al was quiet. No mo-
tion could be perceived behind the dark curtain
of the woods, flecked with gold and crimson as
it was, in the tints of Indian summer.

Occasionally, however, the distant report of a
heavy gun was followed by the whirr and hum
of a round-shot, which came high over the trees,
and plunged into the ground in front of the
Britis lines.

“ Artillery duel—much noise and no damage,"
muttered Butler, in a tune of scorn. as he watch-
ed the scene. ‘If I had my will, they would
try a night attack. The cursed Yankees can
beat them at shooting.”

His course led him toward the rear of the
British, and he was nearing the line when some-
thing caught his quick 9 e, and be halted.

Three figures on horse ack were riding slowly
toward the American lines. in a. hollow that hid
them from British view, and he recognized them
in an instant.

One wore the broad-plumed hat and strange
antique dress of the mysterious being that had
haunted him so long: the second was Adrian
Schuyler. in his gay husser trappings. and the
third was the some girl who had a month or two
before caused such a shock to the generally 1m-
movable courage of the partisan.

Butler uttered a low, inexpressibly savage
blasphemy, as he looked at the three fl 5,
riding so tranquilly gzst. with their bac s to-
ward him, and evi ntly unconscious at his

 

 

 



 

  

     
 

,...:_

l
i
l
i

 

 

 

 

 

‘ Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

 

“Now,” he muttered, in a tone of intense
eagerness, “now I have them at last, in day-
light. and they shall fool me no longer. What
it' the girl does wear her face? He at least. I
know, and hate. I have shamed him once,
itind' now I’ll have sweet revenge, it I lose life
01‘ 1i.

Hu tui'nod in his saddle, and drew his sword.

“ Men," he said, in a low voice. “ yonder are
three rebel spies. Follow me and take them, if
it costs us all our heads. Will you come?”

In a moment twenty swords were out, and the
soldiers answered him with eager assent.

“ Charge!” shouted Butler driving in his
spurs, and away he went at full speed after the
three quiet equestrians.

The tall cavalier in the Louis XIV. dress turn-
ed quiety in his saddle when he heard the thun-
der of hoofs on the road behind him, and spoke
a few words to his companions, with a gesture
of contempt.

Then, as Butler came within a hundred yards,
the two black horses and the dapple-gray started
ata tremendous rate of .5 .ed, which speedily
distanced the lumbering ragoons, and taxed
the utmost exertions of the steed of the partisan
himself, to maintain his place.

In vain he plied his s urs. His horse was
doing its best, and nothing could be gained.
Presently the road gave a turn round the wood,
and they came in si ht of the American lines,
as also within guns lot of along rank of horse-
men, in the white tracks of Morgan’s riflemen.
The tall cavalier pulled up, and turned to meet
Burler, at that sight, while Adrian and Diana
rode on.

The dogged courage of the partisan never
failed him, though his men were not within
supporting distance. He thundered on to meet
the stranger, and broadsword. and long-rapier
met with a savage clang.

“ Alphonse de Cavannesl I have you at
last!”

“ Pierce Harley, your time is come I”

Hissing the fierce greetings between their
teeth, the contestants closed in a mortal strug-
gle.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
run SKIRMISH.

IT was evident that both men recognized each
other as old enemies, for they met with a fero-
city that told of undying hate. The long rapier
and the broadsword clashed together and layed
in circles of angry light, and the horses w eeled
and bounded, obedient to hand and heel, as it
they shared every wish of their masters.

The combatants were by no means unequally
matched. The dark stranger With the llid
face was much the taller, but his long, lean rame
lacked the compactness and solid force of the
Herculean partisan. The inferiority in strength
was fully made up by an actiVity and fierce en-
ergy that bordered on the supernatural, and the
stran er fought with all the vigor of the demon
be b so successfully personated. .

The partisan without the lightning velocity
and energy 01’ the other, had yet a towering
strength, oined to consummate skill With his
'weapon, t at made him a terrible antagonist.
His horse was much heavier than that of his foe,

r

 

and seemed to be equally well trained. When-

ever they clashed together, the heavy steed of '

Butler sent the slight black charger reeling from
the shock, and the fierce blows or the partisan
bent down the guard of the unknown at every
encounter.
‘ The pale cavalier, however, found his revenge
in the more insidious and deadly thrusts, which
he found occasion to deliver at intervals, with
his longer and lighter weapon; and twice did he
draw blood with his point, while he received in
return a single slash only, which fell short of its
full intention, and plowed a long gash in his
thigh, with the point of the broadsword. ‘

All these cuts and points passed in the space
of half a minute, during which the two men
fought with a fury that must have completely
exhausted them in a short time.

Then the combat was interrupted as suddenly
as it had begun, by the thunder of boots close
by, as the German dra cons swept down on the

contending parties, wit loud hurrahs, in a cloud,

of dust!

He who had been called De Cavannes broke
away from his enemy as the dragoons rushed In,
and was soon surrounded with foes, whom he
handled with a coolness and vigor that showed

the great difl'erence between them and theirI

leader. Then came a counter rush of boots, with
the clicking of rifles and the whistle of bullets,

and down galloped a troop of Morgan’s redoubtr '

ed Mountain Rifles, yelling their war-cry. In
the midst of the new-comers rode the dashing
hussar, Adrian Schuyler, his pelisse flying be-
hind him, his s-nber waving, while the dapple-
gray charger swept on like a storm-gust.

In the first assault his sword clashed a ‘ t
that of a German dragoon and then arted
through a man’s body up to the hilt like a flash.
The hussar’s horse, rushing on, actually bore
the poor wretch out of his saddle by the lever-
age of the sword, and Adrian was not able to

extricate it in time to guard a blow from one of 3

the German’s comrades. The long, straight
broadsword. whistling as it came, descended on
the summit of the tall fur cap, and clove it down

on the hussar’s skull with crushing force, stun- _ '

hing him so that he fell over on his saddle-bow,
confused and almost senseless. How he might

have fared is doubtful, had not De Cavanuea, at ‘

the same moment, caught the dragoodacross
the face witha backhanded slash of his long
keen sword. that divided his nose, and sent him
reeling back in his saddle, giving Adrian time
to recover himself.

Then the conflict waxed furious. I

Morgan’s men were superior in numbers to the
dragoons, but their arms were b no means
equal to those of the others in a c ose fight on
horseback. Few had anytbig but rifles and pis-
tols, and those few who carried short hangers

knew but little of their use, compared 'to the ,

well-instructed German swordsmen. ,
On the other hand, their numbers and courage
told in their favor. Many clubbed their rifles
and laid about them with a vigor that laughed
at the broadswords. Where a man was cut
down or run through, some comrade would tell
his slayer with the butt of a. rifle. Only the ter-
rible partisan, Butler, made his heavy sword of
more weight than the clubbed rifle. He raged

. l

~25;

I. t.

r ,r“.

Diana. the Fair Mountaineer.

 

through the fight, driving back the stoutest
riflemen like children, with his enormous
strength. Meeting Adrian Schuyler, when the
press prevented maneuvering, he beat down his
guard, and felled him to the earth with a single
stroke, then turned to face Dc Cavannes, who
'was making toward him through the swaying
crowd.

But such savage lightingr could not last long.

Strong and brave as were the dragoons. the
increasing numbers of Morgan's men bore down
their opposition by sheer weight of horse-flesh,
and the whole mass drove down toward Bur-
goyne’s lines, struggling and shouting, but too
closely packed to allow the use of weapons of

- n, at last, the hunting-knives of the rifle-
men came into play, and they made it too hot
for the dragoons, who, one by one. broke out of
the fight, and fled toward tie English army,
pursued by the shouting riflemen.

Even the generally indomitable Butler was
fain to turn his horse, his vengeance un-atisfled,
and quit a fight in which he had only over-
thrown one of his enemies. '

Adrian Schuyler. stunned and bleeding from.

a head wound, scrambled to his feet in the dusty
~ road, and beheld De Cavannes, dismounted, and
ap reaching him as if to assist him.

It Seemed as if some mutual understanding
existed between the two, however originating,
for Adrian evinced no surprise at the other’s
coming. He staggered slightly and put his hand
to his head, saying faintly:

“ I fear count. that I have not done you
credit to-day. The villain has escaped, and ’tis
my fault.” '

he mysterious stranger smiled gravely, as he
answers

“ Bo , you did your best, but fate must be
fulfills . He will not esca e forever. No! If
he did, I should almost he love there is no God
of Justice. ‘

“Are on badly hurt, man ami 5’” he asked,
with a slight French accent.

“ I don’t know,” said Adrian, faintly. “ I
feel stupid and weak, but there is little pain. I
think I have a cut on the head."

De Cavannes advanced and examined the
wound of the other with great care, and nodded
his head as if reassured.

“There is no great harm done,” he said. “ The
sword must have turned in his hand, and your
cap helped you. But you cannot go into battle
today. Your general has been superseded by
the vain fool, Gates. Let us depart. When the
'battle is over it will be time to see to our pur-

pose.”

Slowly he led the hussar away to his horse
gust as the first scatterin rifle shots told that
he contest was opening n earnest, and when
the volleys of musketr pealed out from the
wheat-fields, Adrian Sc uyler was restin by a
spring in the forest while the beautiful iana
was bathing his head and binding up his wounds.

It is not our 'purpose to describe the battle of
Saratogn. in t ese pages. That has been well
done in the glowing pages of Irving, Headley
and , Leasing; and to attempt the task were but
wrepetition of their words.

‘.

 

Let the field of Saratoga go by with its well-
known result, while we turn to the few char-
acters of our story around whom our plot has
rilavolved, and draw the shifting drama to a
0 use.

CHAPTER XIX.
THE CAPITULATION.

IN the room of a farm-house in the American
lines near Saratogn, a large gatherinor of oflicers
was assembled. The scarlet of the firitish, the
dark green of the Hessian, and the homely blue
and bluff of the American officers, mingled in
friendly union for the first time.

.The British officers looked gloomy and de-
pressed, whilo the Americans treated them with
marked courtesy and consideration. A car-
riage rolled up to the door of the farm-house,
attended b a single drauoon, and a lady with
two little c ildren was helped out b one of the
American officers, whose plain uni orm bore no
distinctive marks of rank.

This same officer had a. peculiar] kind and
benevolent expression on his face. e took up
the frightened little ones in his arms as readily
as if he had been their proper parent, kissed
them affectionately, and turned to welcome the
mother with all the kindly courtesy of a gentle-
man of the old school. -

The lady was the Baroness Reidesel, wife of
the Hessian commander, and her heart was at
once won to the kind stranger.

“ 0h, sir.” she said, impulsively, “ you are
very, very kind to us who have injured you so
much.” I

“ Dear madam,” said the stranger, “ that was
but the fortune of war. You are trembling.
Do not be alarmed, I pray you. Probably it
maybe somewhat embarrassing to you to be
the only lady in such a large company of en-
tlenicn. Pray, let me take you and the chi] ran
to my tent, where I will try to entertain you as
best can.”

The tears rushed to the eyes of the lady, as
she Said:

“ 0h, sir, you must be a husband and a father
to show me so much kindness. Tell me only to
whom I am indebted.”

“The debt is mine, madam,” said the oflicer
politely. “ I am General Schuyler.”

And indeed it was that noblest of all heroes of
the Revolution, after Washington, the general,
to whose genius the capture of Burgoyne was
owing, and who was ye superseded in the hour
of his triumph by the intrigues of the unscru-
pulous Gates, around whose brows the laurels
were placed that really belonged to Schuyler.
The baroness in her memories has left us this
little incident, illustrative of the real nobility of
the man.

In Schuyler’s tent, in which the baroness soon .
found herself, she was greeted with respectful
cordiality by a young lady, one of the most
beautiful creatures she had ever seen, who was
introduced to her by the general as “Madem-
oiselle Diane de Cavannes, the betrothed wife of
mg cousin. Captain Schuyler.”

itting down to dinner. the baroness was soon
after introduced to a remarkably handsome
young officer of hussars, as the cousin in ques.
tion, who entered while they were at table.

(I

 

 

 

1*
:’

 

 

 

  
 

Diana, the Pair Mountaineer.

 

The conversation was carried on indiifcrently
in En lieh, German and French. for every one
at tabfe seemed to be a. good lin uist, and before
half an hour had passed the aronoss felt as
happy as if she had been amongintimate friends
instead of being. as she really was, in an ene-
my’s camp, hcr husband and all his army
prisoners.

While they were still at table, however, an
incident occurred which showed that war was
not at rest entirely.

A disturbance was heard outside, some shout--
ing. the reports of two muskets, followed by the
gallop of a horse near the tent.

Adrian Schuyler jumped up, at a signal from
the general, and went out to see what was the
matter. The baroness full of vague fears, as
was natural to a lady in her lonely position, re—
mained silent and absent-minded, in s ite of the
aSSIduous attentions of her host and ademoi—
1sselle dc Cavannes to continue the conversa-

ion.

It was not long, however, before she was re-
assured by the entrance of Adrian, who was ac—
companied by Baron Reidesol himself.

“ Ah, mon ami,” exclaimed the anxious wife,
“ I feared some terrible thing had happened to

ee.

The baron, after blowing to General Schuyler,
whom he seemed to know, explained the distur-
bance in a few words.

It seemed that Burgoyne and his princi a1
officers had been dining with Gates and is
staff, and that all were somewhat the worse for
wine, as was common in these days of hard
drinking.

That one of Burgoync‘s officers, who, it ap—
peared, had held an independent command
among the rangers and Indians attached to the
expedition, had distinguished himself by the
depths or his notations which yet had no appar-
ent effect on him save to make him more sullen
and reserved.

“ He was alwa s a surly fellow, that Butler,”
said the baron; ‘ and none of us had liked him
much, but he was a valuable OfllCPI‘ at collecting
intelligence and planning surpriscs, and brought
.us in more ncws than all our scouts, so Sir John
tolerated him. Once or twice, I l'clicvo he
went out as a spy among your people, general.
Pretty soon, a. dispute arose at table about that
unfortunate affair of Miss McCreo, and although
both generals tried to stop it, words waxed
high. Then on a sudden this Butler chimed in
with the disputan ts in the most insulting man-
ner, and the end of it was that he gave the lie
direct to Cr l'mcl Morgan of the Rifles. One of
Morgan’s officers who sat next to Butler, mad-
dened by his notations, so far forgot himself as
to strike Butler. I shall never forgot the scene
that followed. Butler caught up the carving-
knife. and before any one could, interfere be
literally backed the other to pieces. Then with
a savage curse. he flung the knife at Gates,
rushed from the house, knocking, down two
omcers that tried to stop him, as if they were
children, s rung on the horse of Gates himself
that stood y the door. and actually escaped.
tel you, general, that sobercd us all. Such an

has cured me of deep drinking for a long while.”

afl ir I never saw before, nor hopeto again. It .

 

Even as he was finishing, a tall gentleman
entered the tent, with a hasty apology, went up
to Schuyler and whispered in his ear. , The gen-
eral llooked grave and troubled but he answered,
hasti y:

“ Certainly, count, certainly. I have no
command here, and Adrian’s duties are merely
honorar . He can go.”

The ount de Cavannes, for it was none
other, turned to Adrian Schuyler and the
young lady, who was known as Diane de Ca-
vannes, and spoke rapidly in French:

“ My children, we must be in the saddle in an
hour. The enemy of my house is at large, and
I have sworn never to rest till he is past doin /
further mischief. Make your excuses and to
low.”

Then, with a hurried bow to the rest of the
company that told of the high— ed courtesy
that, even haste could not extingu sh, the mys-
terious count left the tent.

Baron Reldésel remained staring at the tent V

door in blank surprise after his de arture for
some minutes. Then he turned to Sc ~uyler and.
asked, in a low voice: V

“Excuse the question. Monsieur 1e General,
butgyho is that tall gentleman that has gone
out

“The Count do Cavannes. father to this
young lady,” said the gem ral, with a, wave of

is hand toward mademoiselle.

“ And. excuse me, does be hold a. commission
in your forces!”

" That is a question, baron, I can not in honor
answer,” said the other, gravely. “ He is a
true friend to our cause, I Will say.”

“ Eh, man Dim, it is explained, then," mut-
tered the baron. “ He is an agent of the Secret
Service.”

Schuyler smiled but 'made no answer, and
after fidgeting for some minutes, the baron re-
sumed: .

“ Will you excuse one more question?”

“Certainly, baron. If I can answer, I will."

“The count, is he a—wcll, a conjuror.”

“I can answer that," interposed Diana, who ,

had listened to the colloquy with an amused
smile. “My'father was a member of tho‘
French Academy of Sciences, boron. and a
pupil of the great Cagliostro himsclf. Have
you seen him before, that you ask 7"

“Mon Dieu, mademoisello, I should think I
had. Did he not enter the uarters of Bur-
goyne himself in spite of is sentries and
trighten us all out of our senses, in the likeness
of the King of Evil himself?”

To his surprise, both Adrian and Diana burst
into a. hearty laugh, and the former said:

“ I do not wonder, baron. The count fright-
ened me, once, his way I shall never forget.
But now 1 know him, let me say that a more

honorable and braver gentleman never made -

use of the articles of war to deceive and entra
an enemy. Farewell, baron. The da wi
come when on will know and respect
vannes, as do.”

And he left the tent with Diana.

CHAPTER XX. i '
THE MOUNTAIN noun.

ONCE more we are in Vermont,in the little

27'

 

valley scooped in the side of the haunted hill.

The rough stone cottage still stands in the mid«

dle of the clearing, but it is no longer lonely.

Several horses are tied to the trees around, two

of them jet-black, the rest caparisoned chargers,

in the midst of which the dapple—gray steed of

Adrian Schuyler is noticed. Several rangers

were loun lug about and in the hut, and the

, smoke cur s up from the wide chimney, showing

r blue amid the silvery haze of Indian summer.

Buta feature has been added to the scene
since we were last there. It is not the vivid
d as of autumn alone. The mountain-Sides
g ow with crimson and gold, but that is not all.

The change consists in the fact that a lofty
portal has been revealed, cut into the prempice
that borders one side of the glade, while the
cavern to which it gives entrance, instead of be-
ing dark, is illuminated from within, and shows
as bright as day.

No rough, damp cavern is it either, but a
lofty apartment, the rocks hidden with hung-
ings of white and crimson cloth, while within,
gathered around a table, are General Schuyler,
the Count de Cavannes, Adrian, and Diana, at
the close of a dinner, waited on by black servants.

The general holds up his glass to the light and
addresses De Cavannes, saying, “Count, to
your future life. May it be happier than the
past. It is time to redeem your promise, and
tell your children all.”

{Elie count’s face was grave and sad as he re-

p i :

“Philip, you say true, but you can not tell
what it is to me to barrow up those recollections.
Still, it must be done, for I have promised.”

Then turning to the young people. who were
respectfully listening, he addressed them:

‘ Adrian Schuyler, I have trusted thee as I
never have trusted living man since—since—
something happened in my past life. What
that was, thou shalt learn. I trusted thee, not

‘alone for thine honest face, but for the name
thou bearest. Thy cousin Philip and I were
once fellow-students and travelers, and I never
knew one of his blood that was atraitor. Diana,
my daughter, thou hast for many a year, held
more fear than love to thy father. Now thou
shalt learn the cause that drove me to the wilder—
ness, and made of me, once as frank us the day,
the gloomy hater of my kind that I was before
Adrian came to us, to bring light from the
outer world.”

Then, while his audience gathered round him,
hanging with intense interest on his words, the
count told them the story of his life, which we
shall epitomize as briefly as possible.

Alphonse do Cavannes, count in France, baron
in Germany, and even duke of a small Italian
govince. was, at thirty, an object of envy to

If of Europe, for his riches and social posi~
tion. Descended from a family which united
the best bloods of three kingdoms, he inherited
vast estates in all, greatest of all in France.
Such was the frank generosity of his nature,
that his parasites were numerous, but to none
of them had be shown so much kindness as
to a young English officer, a scion of the
noble house oLOxford, Pierce Harley by name.
This youth had been taken prisoner by the

count in the famous battle of Fontenoy,

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

thirty-two years before the date of our tale,

.,.

and his captor, instead of leaving him, as he
well might have done, to the fate of an
officer on parole, on scanty pay, had taken him
into his own house in Paris, and treated him
with the kindness of a brother. He had been
induced to this course chiefly from the finding
that Harley was a distant relation of the young
Countess de Cavannes, who was, by birth, En -
lish, and whom her husband positively ador .
Young Harley, then a handsome, athletic
young fellow, had professed himself extremely
grateful for this kindness. Being a younger
son, without fortune, the friendship of the

rent French lord was of much value to him.
Vhen peace was concluded, moreover, instead
of allowing Harley to go back to England, the
generous count insisted on his resigning his
commission, and remaining in France as steward
of all De Cavannes’s estates, everywhere treat-
ed as the trusted friend of their owner. Harley
accepted it, and- for twelve years occupied the
post, doing exactly as be leased. It was dur-
ing this period that Schuy er, then on a visit to
Europe, met his old fellow-student, and wit-
nessed, With amazement, the splendor of his
establishment. The count was then deep in
those expensive scientific experiments to which
he owed all his subsequent resources as a con-
'uror and magician, in compan with the cele~

rated or notorious Count Cag iostro. It was
Schuyler who induced the count to pay a visit
to America, and Harley managed all the details
of the expedition, which was made in princely
style. On arrival in America De Cavannes
was so much charmed with the beauty and
grandeur of the scenery, that h decided that he
would buy an estate near Alb ny, and spend at
least a portion of his time there.

It was only then, after twelve years in appar- I 

ently faithful service on the part of Harley
that De Cavannes discovered that all was no
right in his affairs. Expecting to be able to
raise money to purchase in America by a mort-
gage on his French estates, he found to his sur-
prise and dismay, that every acre of land which
he held in Europe was already heavily incum—
bered. Schuyler, whose keen, solid intellect
had from the first led him to suspent maladinin—
istration on account of the reckless extrava-
gance he had witnessed, persuaded his friend

to go to Europe and make a secret investiga.‘

tion of his affairs in company with himself,
leaving Harley in America to put the Albany
estate in condition. To do this, the generous
American himself secretly advanced the pur-
chase-money for the estate, and undertook the
task of lulling Harley’s suspicions, which the
open-hearted count was hardly capable of do-
ing, in the first revulsion of feelingi‘h To be
brief, the scheme was carried out. 9 coun-‘
toss was left in America under charge of the
suspected agent, along with the baby Diana,
who had been born a few days previous to-the
discovery of Harley’s monetary faithlessness.
or anything worse than reckless incapacity the
count never suspected him. ‘

The friends went to Europe and found that
the trusted friean and tied steward, Pierce
Harley, had not Only rob ed his benefactor for)

 

his own benefit, but had actually forged his -’

    

 

is. .
.s
. a

 

 

  

 

   
    
  
   
    
    
  
  
  

 

   
  

    
 

. my. .: 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer. 89

 

name to mortgages, so that two-thirds of the
count’s income was swallowed up in paying in-
terest on loans of which he had never reaped
any benefit.

e Cavannes, once undeceived. was a changed
man. With noble magnanimity he would not
take advantage of the people who had been vic-
timized by the forgerics. Neither would he
continue to pay the interest. He took a middle
course, conveying all his estates to a board of
his creditors to apply the proceeds to the ex-
tinction of the principal of these sums that he
had never received, and reserving to himself
onl enough to repay the generous Schuyler
an to supply a year’s expenses for a small
household in America. Then he took passage
back, and arrived at Albany with Schuyler to
find the‘countr in a state of war, and Howe’s
ex dition to iconderoga on foot.

iii] of fury at the recent discoveries, he sum-
moned Ilarley to his presence, informed him in
afew stinging words of his estimate of his char-
acter, then bid him draw and defend himself.
To his surprise, Harley, usually a man of obsti-
nate coura e, turned pale, and without a word
fled from is presence while the count, tor)

i‘oucl to pu ue a wretch so sordid as be deemed
.lm, conten ,d himself with throwingadi‘ink-
ing‘cu after him with a, force that cut the
villains head as he went. Then the disdainful
noble went to seek his wife, whom he had not
yet seen.

Then, and then only did he sound the last
depth _of Harley’s per'dy. The false steward
was discovered in the countess's chamber, and
she'was hanging on his neck, weeping bitterly,
While Harley rained kisses on her lips!

Here the count stopped. and his paleness be-
came livid, while his voice sunk to agrating
whis r.

“ 1 killed Diana. Do you blame me? I would
have killed him, but he left again. I could not
let both escape.’

There was a dead silence in the room as he
paused. A moment later, he said, in a quiet,
almost indifferent tone:

“ That night the ludiaus burned. my house to

I the ground and scalped me, leaving me for dead,

and recognized Pierce Harley for their leader.
He had the better of me at eVery point.”

‘Again there was a dead silence, again the
count spoke:

. “ You found me, Philip, and nursed me to
life. You do not wonder that when I recovered
I vowed vengeance on Pierce Harley and all his
Crew of red devils. I have kept the vow well.
Twenty long years have I hung on the trail of
the Mohawks, now in one place, now in another.

found this cave first, anc afterwards the one
near Oriskany. The idea struck me that by

eeping the secret of the caves and _ working on
the superstition of the Indians. I might acquire
a double power over them. I hid the entrance
to this, and no one knew where the other was.
It was your help, Philip, that supplied me_ with
the means to personate the demon, and frighten
the savages with red fire. This and in own ac-
tivity, sharpened tenfold by woodcra t. tau ht
me how to make myself dreaded and shunned y

fl eve warrior of this nation.

“ at in all that time I never could find Pierce

\

 

Harley, though I sought him everywhere. Di-
ana shared my solitude after her fourteenth
year, and no one in the convent-school at Mon-
treal dreamed, when Mademoiselle De Cavannes
left them a finished pupil, that she went to the
a oods to share trials of amood y, misanthropical
outcast, whose bidding she obeyed with fear and
trembling, but whose secrets she kept with the
true fidelity of a daughter. You little tboug‘l ’6.
Adrian Schuyler, when you met the simplc-
seeming girl in rustic tunic, that her innncvnt
air was really a piece of consummate art, and
that your cousin Philip knew the whole secret.
The bear and the to me deer, the Spanish hounds,
the voices in the air, the supernatural figures,
they were all very awful to you at first, were
they not? But, now that you know all, you do
not wonder that I would not trust you before
Bennington. I sent you my horse on purpose to
test your truth, and you proved a true Schuyler.
May you be happy with Diana.” '

The count had hardly finished his story when
there was a noise without. He started up.

“ I thought so,” he exclaimed, “the scouts
have tracked him to earth, and are driving him
hither." ,

The next moment a. horseman dashed up to
the cave, leaped off his beast, and strode in,
bearing a, long rifle. ‘ t

It was the dreaded Butler. ’

Behind him, at a distance, rode up a dozen,
rangers. '

 

CHAPTER XXI.
THE PARTISAN’S REVELATION.

THE gloomy-looking partisan crossed the thres-
hold, groundcd the butt of his rifle, and faced
the count without a word.

De Cavanncs rose to his feet, and his eye

gleamed, as he said:

“ I knew you would come. After all you are
no coward. if you are a villain, Pierce.”

The partisan laughed sardonically.

“ Do you render that much justice to me, AI‘

phonse? You are growing, rational. I remem-
her when you would not hear a word, and inur-
dered an innocent woman in your frenzy.”

The count shook his head, and all the fire died
out of his eyes. .

“ Pierce Harley,” he said, “ if you could rove
that, no living; man would be more glad t an I
to went! the rest of my life in the torments of
h=!l ‘ u w mix, that I might see her oncqmore, to
ask lu-r h :rgiveness one moment. But it is use-
less. Traitor and false friend, who hit the hand
that led you, it is vain to defend her from what
I know. " . A ‘

“ L: t it pass then,” said Butler—or Harley as
he must now be called—gloomily. “ Your words
are true as regards me.
what I say about her, of course. Let it use.”

“Tell me then," said the count, dou tfully,
“ why you came here.”

“ To die," was the laconic reply.

De Cavannes laughed scornfully. _

“ Have you realized that? Why did you not
come before? You knew I was not dead. though
you once thou ht I was. The day of Saratoga.
told on that

 

\

You can not believe V

was no ghost, if you half sus- '
pecte before. Did you fear tomeet me, that ~.

 

 

 

 

 

  

30

   

Diana, the Fair Mountaineer.

     

 

   
 

 

Z011 waited till my rangers drove you from your
ut, and chased you here?" I

“ I did,” said Harley, with the same sullen
manner. I,

“ I wish you had come alone,” said the count
in his grand manner. “ It would have save
me the trouble of pitying you, for I do not care
to kill a man that fears death. "

Again Harley laughed sardonicully.

“ You are wrong, Alphonse, as wrong as you
once were about your wife. I don’t fear you.
I waited to see if you hated me enough to take
trouble for my death.”

V “ And you are satisfied that you deserve it?"
said the count, gravely.

“ I suppose so, according toone law,” returned
Harley, coldly. “ By the law of vengeance you
hsfive, your rights. Take them. I’m weary of

e

  

“ Pierce Harley," said the count, solemnly, “ my
men are round you, and you are doomed to die.
In the presence of God, tell the truth. What had
I done to you that you should turn traitor to me
as you did, tryng your best to ruin one who
never has done you aught but benefits.”

Harley turned his eyes gloomin round the
apartment till they rested on the Iovoly face of
Diana. Then he said:

“ You see that girl. As she looks now, thirty-
five years ago looked her mother, and I loved
> her efore she ever saw you. You have your
r 4? ail-war.”

“ This is no answer,” said the count, fiercely.
" What had I done to you to provoke such
treason?”

“ I loved Diana Harley, fool. She was my
cousin by blood, and I loved her before you saw

:er. I was poor, you were rich. She went to
France, secretly betrothed to me, and she broke
her troth, forced to it by Oxford her father.
You knew she did not love you. What do you
Frenchmen care for love in a younor wife? She
loved me first and I loved her. If had not, do
you think I could have forgiven her the wrong
she did me? I did forgive her, when I saw her
' in Paris, but I swore revenge on you and I have
kept my oath.”

The count had listened to the other with iron
composure, but with perfect courtesy, not Seek-
ing to interrupt him in any manner. When
Harley had finished there was a short silence,
broken by the count.

“ Then I am to understand, monsieur, that
you do me the honor to avow that you sought
my house for the deliberate purpose of destroy-
ing my happiness and ruining my wife.”

'The man that says that Diana Harley was
ruined by me. lies,” said the partisan, in harsh
tones. “I loved her, but you—curse you—had

her—she was your wife. From that moment I
swore to kill you, but nothing would have tempt-
ed me to stain her by so much as one word a
maiden or chaste wife might not hear.”

De Cavannes, for the first time looked incredu-
lous, and Harley. noticing the look, laughed a
stran e, hollow. despairing laugh.

“ on Frenchmen could not understand that
of a cold, brutal Englishman, could you? Fool;
in the apathetic seeming hearts of the North,
love burns with a fervor you mincing dancing-
masters never dreamed of, as white as the fur

 

 

nace flame that melts steel and as pure of dross.
I tell you I loved Diana.”

Here, for the first time the count interposed.

" “ Stop, monsieur. You boast of 1your purit
in love, what meant that scene witness:I ,
Diana in your arms before my very face? Ha,
monsieur, does that make you wince?” .

The iron firmness which had so far distinguish-
ed Harley was indeed iving way to all seeming.
The strong man tremh ed violently, and turned
a gaze, halt-piteous, half—fierce on the second
Diana, whose marvelous likeness to the first had
been declared. Then he suddenly ground his
teeth and turned on the count with a ferocity
that bordered on insanity, while he burst out:

“ Ay, glory in it, Alphonse. I ruined you,
and you detected me. My defeat and disgrace
were complete, and in that disgrace she pitied
me and a1 owes. her long-smothered love to burst
forth. And I, weak fool that Iwas, lost con-
trol of myself when I saw her tears. In one
mad moment I told her all m long love. and
that moment was her last. on saw us, and
stabbed her. Do you kn0w why I dld not kill
you then, Alphonse de Cavannes? Because you
would have gone to meet her. You were a
noble man, then. Now, you have stained your
hands with blood, and are doomed. I hate you
now, as I always did. Now take my curse and
speed to hottest hell, to meet me when I come!”

As he spoke he flung his rifle into the palm of
his hand with a. clash, and the flash and report
instantly followed.

That moment would have been the last of the
Count de Cavannes, but for the promptitude of
Adrian Schuyler. The active hussur had been
watching the artisan keenly, and in the nick
of time hissa r left its sheath striking up the
barrel of the piece, to he plunged the next in-
stant into the very heart of Pierce Harley

Without a groan the grim partisan ropped
dead, as Diana threw her arms round her
father’s deliverer with a shriek.

 

There is but little more to add to our tale
now.

The reader will comprehend how Adrian,
meeting Dc Cavannes and Diana at Bennington,
and taken into the confidence of the former,
had assisted him in the ghostly manifestations in
the cavern by the aid of De Cavannes's thor-
ough knowledge of the locality and ropes fixed
to some of the stnlactites for the purpose of
executing their aerial flight over the lake, shin-
in in suits covered with phosphorus.

t only remains to add 1. at Adrian and
Diana, the fair mountaineer, were married the
vear after, and departed with the count to

urope. By this time the count‘s estates had
paid off their incumbrances b the rents in the
course of twenty years, and e Cavannes was
once more a rich man.

He was one of the few nobles of France who
took the popular side along with Lafayette dur—
in the French Revolution, and lchd to see
A riana general under theEmpire. But all
his subsequent fortunes never v-‘ipL-d out the
memories of the past, and he often recounted to
his grandchildren the pranks he played [bevsav-
ages in America under the name of BLACK L rcx.

THE END.

      
   
   
 
  
    
    
  
    
  
     
 

 

        
       
       
   
         
       
   
       
         
     
         
     
         
     
     
         
       
       
       
         
   
     
 

   

 

 

 

32 Octave l’ngee.

<5»
«90
ED EVERY 816‘s?"

1 lleorhunter, the uuy Scout oi the Great North Woods.
By 011 Coomen.

2 Bulfan Blll, from Boyhood to Manhood. By Col. Pren-
tlee lnzrahnm.

8 K“. Car-on, Klng of Guldel. By Albert W. Aiken.

4 Gordon Lillie, the Boy-Interpreter ofthe Pawnoee. By
Major. H. B. Stoddard.

5 Bruin Arlmna, Old Grluly‘l Boy Perd. By Colonel
Prentiss lngrahum.

6 Deadwood Dick nu nBoy.

7 Wild Bill, the Pletol Prince.
Ingrahmn.

8 The Prulrie Ranch. By Jonoph E. Badger, Jr.
9 Rfivg’ngt Joe: The History ofe “ Bordur Buy." By A.
. on .

By Edward L. Wheeler.
By Colonel Punth

10 Texas Jack. the Mustang King. By Colonel Prentlu
lngrnham.

11 Charley Skylark. A Stor of School-do Scrapee and
allege Cnporn. By Major  B. Stoddard’.

12 MIII'IIIMII. Mnrnh. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.
18 Rovlna Ben. By John J. Murehnll.
14 Sprlnu Steel, King of the Bush. By .1. E. Badger, Jr.

15 Wide-Awake George, the Boy Ploneer. By Edward
Willem

16 The Boy Wizard. By Barry Ringxold.

11 Peter Pe pergruue, the Greenhurn mm Gotham. By
Noah Nu .

18 Adrift on the l’rnlrlo. and Amateur Hunters
on the Bull'qu Range. By Oll Coomee.

19 The Fortune Hunter; or. Rovlnz Jae an Miner,
Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Post.

no Trapper Tom, the Wood Imp. By T. C. Herhaugh.

31 Yellow llnir, the Boy Chlufof the inneu. By Col.
Prentlee luxrnham.

02 The Snow Troll. By T. C. liurhnuzh.
S8 0%! Gfilzzly Adams, the near Tamer. By Dr. Frank
0W8 -

24 Wood! and “'ute". By Capt. Frederick Whltuker.

35 A Rolling Stone: lnclnontl ln thevgareor on Sen and
Land 0! Cu]. Prentiss lngrnham. By m. R. Eynwr.

56 Red River Rovere. By C. Dunning Clark.

97 Plaza und'l’luln; or, Wild Adventure: ol'“Buchkln
Sum," (May. Sun). S. Hall.) By Col. P. lngrnhnm.

$8 The Sword Prim-e. The Romantic Life of Col. Mon-
etory. By Capt. Frederle Wlxlttmer.

39 Snow-Shoe Tom. By T. C. Harhnugh.

80 Paul de Lac th 1" h B
Dunning murky, a rem. ennt Charmer.

81 Round the Camp Fire. By Joeeph E. Bldger, .l r.

89 White Beaver, the Indian Medlolne Chlef. By Col.
Premise lngrahem.

88 The Boy Drummer. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

84 The Chase oi’ the Great White Sta :1
and Cnnoo. By C. Dunning Clark. g, In ’ on",

85 Old Tar Knuckle and file Boy Chuml. By R. Sterhnck.

86 The Dashing: Dragoon: 0'. Th0 5W3 0‘ G'n- GOO!!!
A. Curler. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

8-7 Night-Hawk George. By Col. Prentlu Ingrehem.

88 The Boy Exiloe of Siberia. By T. C. Herb-ugh.

89 The Young Bear Hunters. By Morrle Ranking.

40 Smart film, the had wlth a level Held. By Edward
Wlllatt.

4&1 The ettler’e Son. By Edward 5. Ellle.

4.9 Walt Fergueon’o Cruiee. By C. Dunning Clerk.

‘8 Rule and Revolver. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

By C.

 

44 The Loot Boy Whalers. By 1‘. C. lichen“.

45 Bronoo Billy, the Saddle Prlnoe. By Col. lngrahnn.

48 Dick, the Stowaway. By Clurlu Merrie. v

4’? The Colorado Boye; 07.14110“ en Ind-Ito Pleat-Hon. M
By Jowph E. Badger, Jr.

48 The Pampas llunterlu or, New York Boyl 1.
Bnenoe Ayrrl. By T. C. Herbeugh.

49 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie.
By Col. Preutlu lngrnhnm.

50 Jack Harry and Tom, the Three Champion Brothen.
By Capt. Fred. Whlttaker.

51 The Young Lnnd-Lubher. By C. Dunning Clerk.

58 The Boy Detectiven By '1'. C. Herbeugh.

58 Honest Barr 3 or, The Country Boy Adrift in the
Clty. By Char en Morrle.

54 California Joe, the Myeterlmu Plelnmen. By Col.
Prentlnl Ingraham.

55 TI) Trench the Floater. By Edward Wlllett.

66 The Snow llunteru or, Wlnter In the Woods. By
Barry d. Forrelt.

57 “Fri-y Donors, the Sailor Boy Mngielen. By B. W.

CITES.

58 The Adventuroue Life of Cafitaln Jack, the
Border Bay. By Col. Preutlu lngra am.

59 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mluel. By Chulee
Murrll.

60 The Young Trail lluntere; or, New York Boy: In
Grizzly Lnnd. By ‘1‘. C. Harhnu h.

61 The Tger ilnntere or, The Colorado Boye in Ile-
phant ml. By Jonep E. Badger, Jr.

62 Doctor Carver, the “Evil Splrlt” of the Plelne.
Col. Prentlee lug.nham.

88 Black Horse Blll, the Bandlt Wrecker. By Roger
Stnrhnek.

13!

64 Young Dick Talbot; or A Boy: Rough and Tumble
Fight hon: New York to California. By A. W. Aiken.

65 The Boy Pilot; or, The Inland Wrecker. By Col.
Prentin lugrnham.

66 The Donut Rover or, Stow-way Dlek Among a.
Arahn. By Charlee orrll.

61 Texas Charlie, the Boy Ranger. 3y Col. Prentlee
lngrahnm. /

68 Little Rifle: or, The Young Fur Hunter: By Captain
“ Bruin ” Adaml.

69 The Young Nihillet or A Yankee Boy Amuthe
Rnuinne. yCharlee orre.

th 0 b or The Youn Marlhall' Md.

M P13? hiajorcfl.%fvst:t¥ e :Ex-Seont. ‘ I

71 Rugl'nobenrtand Elena-r. Bndptain“lrnin"
A arm.

72 The Ice Elephant. By Cept. Frederick Whittaker.

18 The Young Moore-Hunters. By William H.
Manning.

74 The Boy Coral-Fiahere. by Roger Storm

75 Revolver Billy, the Boy Ranger of Texan. n’ca.
Puntlu lamb-m.

76 The Condor Killers. By '1‘. G. 1-11er

7‘? Lud Lionheela, the Young Tiler Fighter. Bylaw
Sterbnck.

1'8 Flathoat Fred. By Edward will.“

19 you“, the Hunter. By Captaln I. Whittaker.

Beadle’e Boy’s Library In for role by all Km
five cent. yer copy. or lent by mall on reoelpt o! nix union-j.

13an AND "AMI. Poul-hare,
98 William Street. New Yuri

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

313 Octaan Pages.

 

 

80 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle of the Canada. By
' Rnger Stnrhuek. .
1 The Klt Carson Club. By T. C. Harbunuh.
9 .ltille Buck. the Buy Guide. By liurry ltinuuulll.
’ony Bob, the Rel'klt'sfl Rider. lly Col. 1’. lnzraham.
4 Captain Fly-by-nght. By Joeupli E. Badger, Jr.
5 Captain Ralph, the 1mm: Explnl'cr. By C. 1). Clark,
6 thtle "an Rockn. My Morris lewing.
g The %ens‘ crle Hun-time. Aliy Mai. lg Grenville.
e 0 rum 3 or a man tie l ales. B
J. M. refinhin. p ‘ ’ g p y
9 ’Longshore Lilo. By C. D. Clark.
0 Itoylng Rifle, Luster’a Little Scout. By T. C. Hnrhnugh.
Oregon Junh, the Wizard Rillu. By Roger Stnrbuck.
'9 Hurricane Kit. By A. F. Holt.
3 Jumping Jake, the Colorado Circne Boy. Dy Bryant
Balnhridue.
94 Ram Spence, the Broadlmrn Boy. By Ed. VVlllett.
95 Moscuw to Hlberh; 0", A Yankee Boy to the Rescue.

By Charles llorrie.
fl Fl¢htinu Fred. By T. C. Hnrhmnzh.
7 OruI-e oi’the Flyaway. liy (1. Dunning Clark.
8 The Boy Vigilantee. _ H. B. Stmld rd.
9 The White Threw. By an ('lmrlrs Howard.
00 The Snow-Shae ’l‘rnll. By St. Gi-orzo Rnthhone.
01 Mnrinno, the Ottawa (lirl. By Edward 5.1mm.
02 The Flynwny Afloat. By (.1. Dunning Clnrk.
03 Put Mnllnncy’e Adventurer: or, Silver Tongue
the Dacntnh Queen. By C. L. Edwnrdl.
104 The Boy Prat-nectar. By llozur Sturbunk.
105 Minonee. the Wnnd Witrh. Br Edwin Emerson.
106 The Boy Crulncrn. By Edwml \Villrtt.
107 The Barrier Rovorn. By J Milton Huffman.
108 Alnikn. the Wolf-Queen. Banpt. Howard Llncoln.
109 Christian Jim, the White Mnn'l Friend. By E1lWlIr-l

S. Ellie.
110 I’llu-ky Joe, the Boy Avenzer; nl', Dick Belmnnt'e
Last lllE. By .T. Mlltnn Huffman.
111 The Border Gunmaker. By Jnmea L. ant‘n.
113 Left-“untied Pete, the Double-Knife. lly Joseph
E. Badger. r.
118 The River Riflene By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
114 Alone an the l’luina. l’n’ Edward Vi'llletl.
115 flilver Horn, and His Rifle Fircduath. lty Roger
Sturbunk.
1.16 Exploits ni’ Hezekiah Smith, the Buckwaodsman.
By Eluerenn Rodvnan.
17 The Young Mun-tangent. By C. Duunlnz (‘lnrlL
18 Old Tram; r, thn Roy liivhla. By Barry ltinuzold.
19 Center fihnt. the \Vllitr ('rmv. Br 1‘. C. Hurhuugli.
30 A Hot Trail: or, Clark CloverlyAnmng the 'l'urtnre.
R Uhnrlel Mmril.
121 I unter l’nrd Ben. By Roger Starbuck.
lflfl The Euqnimnux’ Out-en. My G. Wuldo Browne.
1” Tim, the liny Arrnhnt; or, Life In the (Jiruue lilug. By
Charle- M‘vrria.
B4 gueen Bel-filo, the BorderGirl. llvHanry J.Thnmne.
95 ’ om Tahor, the Boy Fugitive. liv Unrry Ringgold.
26 Mink Cont the Death-Shut. By an. E. Badger, Jr.
27 The Door- 1’lunto, . Fly Jnlm J. Marshall.
28 Wolf-Cup! or The NightJInwka ol‘ the Fire‘unde.
Bv ('ant. (.hna. award.
29 §§Ilmerspurg or, The Mountain Heroine. By Edward
ett.

30 Kitchen, quen 0‘ the Plalnn. lly Percy B. St. John.

31 “'lltnh, the Child Spy. 13y Guru-gm (lleael'n.

89 The lnlmul Trapper. By l‘harle: Hnward.

83 The. Fore-t Specter; or, The Yuung Hunter’s Foe.
lly llulwnrrl Wlllelt.

184 Wild Nat. the 'l'rnnper. By “'m. R. Evater.

185 The Silver Bu let or, The ludinn Maiden of St.
Croix. By Lleut. .n'. llazelton.

8“ The Prairie Trapper. liy C. Dunning Clurk.

B? The Antelope Bo . By Geo. L. Aiken. .

85 Long flhot: hr.le warffinide. By Cnpt.(‘.nmnmck.

Bil Colonel Crnokctt, the Bear Klng. By Charla: E.

Lulnlle.
140 old Pegs, the Mountnlneer. By Lewi- W. Canon.
141 The Giant Ilunter. ByHnrry llnzzml.
1 1‘3 Black Panther. the Hult‘.BIond. By J. E. Badger.
148 Cnrmn, the Guide; or, l'urile ullhe Fruutlcr. By Lieut-
J. H. Randolph.
144 Kent, the Ranger. By Edward S. Ellis.

 

 

 

145 “ill Robhiml, Hunter. By Edward “'lllptt.

146 The Half-Breed llirnl. By Jug. E. Mullgur, Jr.

147 The Masked Avenger. By (W l'rrntisa lnuralmm.

14B lant, lhe 'l'rnpper and Imliuu Fighlur. lly Paul J.
’ri‘sl'nll.

149 The Elk Demon; or, The Giant l‘rntliI-re. By T.
C. Hnrhaugh.

150 The Boy Multan Jllmter; or. Enulalie, the
Beautiful Autumn. By ‘rmlerick “'llittukL-r.

151 Frank Yntea, the Young Trapper; or, Mountain
Kate’s Warning. By Jtrerph E. linduer, Jr.

1§2 11nd Raven. the. Scout. liy fill I names.

198 Lynx-Cap; or, Four Trappeu’Amonl: the Sioux.
Pnul Blhba.

154 The Chamfiion Texan Rider: or,Rcd anralu,
and the Hercu u Hullti-r. By llm'ry St. George.

155 I): Inky Dick’s Poom. By Jos- 15- Badger. Jr-
156 Frank Bell, the Boy Spy. By Oll Coomee.
15’? Nick Doyle, the Gold Hunter. By P. H. Myerl.

158 Kidnapped Dick; or, The Fnte o! the Fire Fly. By
. . Slanluy chdcmxn.

159 finm’n Lona Trnil; or, The Twin Scoule.
Hnniilton.

160 llank Triplet‘e Vow. By Hurry Hazard.

161 The Mad Skipper. By R. Starbuck.

162 The Trappl-r King. By M::j. Max M- rtine.

168 Simon Kenton, Hunter. By Emerson Rodmnn.
164 The Iioy Chief: or, Frank Bell‘s Cnmpnct. By 0"

Coon es.
165 The Trader Traitor. By J. Stanley Hundenon.
166 Old June’s Clew. By Mrs. Orrin 'nlnel
16’? The Young Trailer. By W. J. lllunlltou.
168 The Specter Spy. By Maj. Lcwln W. Cumin.
169 Lnnk Lute, the Old Colorado Hunter. By E. W.

Archer. '
170 The White Wolf. By Edward wan t.
1‘21 The flwnmp Guide. By W . . McNeil.
172 The Yankee l’cddlcr. By llunuinq Clark.
173 The Scout and “in Young Chum. By “'nrren
St. Julia.
1?"! Blneknmlth Tom‘s Mank. By Gm. l'l. Gillmn.
1??» The Buckskin Rider. liy Guy Gnu-nwmd.
1?? The Squattcr's Surprise. By .‘lrt. ll. .1. Thomas.
177 Four Fellow fiuoutn. By J. Stnulvy Huntlvramu
1 7H (Ild Kit and ill! Comrmloa. liy Jun. E. Badger, Jr,
179 [nrlc Grill‘u Div-mike. liy “any lluuml.
180 The Marked Miner. By Lieul. (‘uL llnu'ltine.
181 The “'ild lluntrcnn. By Capt. Bruin Adams.
18?. The Dn’nrf‘lim-uy. By Mum O. R-vll'a.
183 Job lican’u Turtles. By lngoldnby North.
1914 Ynnkov Enll’l Dilemma. ByJ. R. Worcester.
erly Hulda-1’22.
1535 The \Vlly 'v'lto'h'u W'urd. By Edwin E. Ewing.
Randy Octo‘wr W.
186 Frank. the Farrier.
Rume Nuvuullmr 5.

13? Diana. thr Fnlr Tllnuutnlnmel'.
Randy anulhvr 1'2.

188 Jnok‘n final-o. By Mn. Ann E. Porter.
Ready Suwanber 19.

189 Sam, the Swnn.p Smut.
Ready November mi.

By

By w. J.

By J. Stanley Header-on.

By Capt. F. Wlnttnlirr.

By W. .7. llulnllton.

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five cenu per copy, or sent by mail on yerelpt nfeix cent: each.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publlnhere,
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