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Copyrighted, 1887, by Blunt AND ADAMS. Entered at the Paul Office A! New York, N. Y.. 2! Second C138: Mull Matter. March 12, [887.

 

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v01. XII.  “ 1850,98 sanggggeggisggggdm’  No. 152.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 “b M,
WILD RAVEN DETECTED A SLIGHT NOTEE BEHIND HIM. AND TURNING. HE BEHELD THE HEAD AND
SHOULD-BBS OF A SAVI“ E PHOTRUDING FROM A HOLE IN THE GROUND! V

 

 

 

2 Wild Raven. the Scout.

 

' Wild Raven, the Scout;

B"
Blanche, the Overland Maiden.

BY OLL COOMES,
AUTHOR OF “DEERHUNTER, rum BOY scour,”
“ADRIFT ON THE PRAIRIE,” are, ETC.

CHAPTER I.
THE MISSING GUIDE.

ON a bend in the South Platte River, the
cheerful light of a camp-fire gleamed through
the gathering twilight of an early summer even-
ing. Within its circle the form of an elderly
female was passing to and fro, engaged in the
romantic duty of preparing an emigrant supper
in the open air. Near the busy dame sat four
men—two enfiaged in conversation, the third in
smoking and is own reflections, while the fourth
was busy in polishing a handsome double-bar-
reied rifle of superior workmanship.

Arthur St. Ledger, the eldest of the group,
was a man upon whom the flight of five-aud-
forty years had left many perceptible traces.
His countenance was free and open, and from
the depths of his dark eyes there shone a light as
warm and genial as that of a tropical sun.

The man with whom he was engaged in con-
versation was ap arently ten cars his 'unior.
He was large an well propor ioned, wit long,
grizzled hair, and whiskers of many months’

rowth. His eyes were black, but rather small
or the li ht of an honest and magnanimous soul
to shine t rough, in case Jake Darle. the guide,
possessed such. He was dressed in the style of
garb usually worn by the Overland uides, and
in the capacity of such he was servm Arthur
St. Led er, who had employed him at {indepen-
dance, issouri, to accompany them beyond the
dangers of the Rock Mountains; for, at the
time of which I write 1849), great dangers from
the Indians beset the route of the emigrant. and

. to attempt to travel the Overland trail without
an efficient guide was a folly border-inrr on crim—
inality, which many had learned at the cost of
their ives. .

The third man was a e of a diiferent
nationality, as the broad ace, the humorous
express n and loquacious eyes indicated. He
was a. n of the Emerald Isle~about thirty

; {ears of age, pessessed of an inordinate love for
is inner man, and a pipe and tobacco.

The fourth man was Arthur St. Ledger‘s son,
who was just entering a glorious manhood—
possessed of rest physical strength and courage,
a handsome ace and brilliant eyes.

The point where the little party was encamped
was well chosen to guard against surprise-—
being a narrow point of land in an abrupt bend
of the Platte River. Thus, encompassed on
three sides by the water, it would be an easy
matter to guard the fourth side against any
lurking f ‘8.

When Mrs. St. Ledger had pronounced supper
ready. the men gathered around the table,
which was made by spreading a cloth upon the

ground.
“Where is Blanche, mother?" asked Harry

 

 

.F
St. Ledger, gazing anxiously about him, when
seated at supper. A
“ Here I am, brother!" came a. sweet, musical
voice from the canvas-covered wagon that
stood a few yards in the background, and in a
moment Blanche St. Ledger appeared at the
sugper-table.
he was not more than eighteen years of age,

 

with a rich profusion of ringlets of dark-brown .

hair clustered about a brew of alabaster whitv
ness, and with lar e, lustrous eyes that would
have rivaled the b aekness of a summer mid—
night. Of a somewhat petite but well~developed
form—with rosy cheeks, a dimpled chin, and
full, ripe lips, Blanche St. Ledger was a model
of grace and beauty, upon whom the sharp eyes
of J akc Darle would rest at times with uncom-
mon interest.

“Why, Blanche, are you having a fit of
melancholy that you are away by yourself?"
asked Harry. as she seated herself by his side at
the table.

“I won’t answer you, Mr. Harry,” she rc—

plied, with a roguish smile and a petulant toss ‘

of her head.
“ Very well, out your supper then," said Her-

ry.

“Faith, and if yees war as nigh stharved as
Teddy Muldoon, ye’d not be wasting of yer time
a—poking of yer fun at one anithcr," said the
Irishman, without moving his eyes from the
plate of soup before him.

“ I’d like to know when ye ever did git snuff L

to eat, Ted, since I’ve known ye,” remarked
Jake Darle, the guide.

“Faith,” responded Teddy, “ me’s always gits
enough, when me gits to the table afore yer riv—
erence does.”

Darle made no reply to the Irishman’s joke.
Their supper was concluded in silence.

By this time it had grown dark. and the neces-
sary arrangements for passing the night were
speedily made. The horses were tethered out
where they could crop the rich, succulent prairie-
grass; a small tent was pitched for the women’s
accommmlation, and a guard stationed on the
exposed side of the camp.

According to revious arrangements, the first
watch fell upon eddy Muldoon, but Jake Darle
insisted very urgently on taking his lace. Ted-
dy yielded very readily to the guides wish, for
the latter had informed‘theemigrants that they
were in the most perilous portion of the country,
and as the fore part of the night was generally
attended with the most danger from the Indians,
it was thought that his experience better quali—
iied him for the first watch.

So Dnrle took his station. and the emigrants
retired to rest, Mrs. St. Ledger and her daughter
occupying the tent, and the three men in the
spacwus covered wagin.

In a few moments all had sunk into a sound
sleep, save Teddy, who for some eccentric curi-
osity had remained awake, all the while keeping
his eyes fixed upon the dark form of the guide,
who stood in the shadow of a clump of cotton-
wood trees. ' .

Now and then Darle would glance toward the
wagon. but as Teddy was watching him through
a small rent in the canvas. he was unobserved in
his movements by the guide. ,

/

 

i
i 'i
J


 

 

Wild Raven, the Scout. 3

 

Presently the In'shman’s attention was drawn
to another object. Far out on the prairie be-
yond the river, he discovered adullligbt moving
to and fro like a pendulum: and occasionally he
could diml see the outlines of a dark, motion-
less figure etween.

Teddy Muldoon was naturally a shrewd man
— more so than he was ever given credit for—
and no sooner did he discover that the myste—
rious li ht had arrested the close attention of
Dorie, t 9 guide, than he became filled with con-
siderable curiosity.

For fully five minutes the light continued its
oscillations, then it disappeared entirely. The
next moment the guide turned, and walking to
the wagon peered in at the men. Foreseeing his
intention, Teddy quickly dropped himself on his
bed, and like one in a deep slumber, began a
sonorous breathing.

Finding all were asleep, the guide passed on to
the little tent and found its inmates, likewise, in
slumber. ,

Unconscious that the pryin eyes of Teddy
were upon him, Darle advance to the smolder-
ing campfire, and picking aburnin brand from
the embers, walked out to the river— ank. Here
he stopped. and holding the blazing fagot above
his head, looked off in the direction that the
mysterious light had been seen. In a few ino—
monts, Darle, as well as the watchful Teddy, saw
the light appear again, and at that instant the
guide began swinging his torch around and
around so swift that his head seemed inclosed in
a circle of fire. As soon as he had ceased the
performance. the light over the plain be an its
oscillation again, and then Teddy was ful y con-
vinced that the guide was communicating with
some one on the prairies.

A vague suspicion that all was not right at
once arose in t e Irishman’s mind, and he was
about awakening his two friends to witness the
strange proceedin , when the light on the prairle
faded away. Dar e then cast his torch into the
river, and turning, he hastened away down the
stream. Teddy watched him until his form bad
faded in the gloom, thenhetook his rifle, climbed
easily out of the wagon, and stafioned himself
as watch during the guides absence.

Darle’s singular movements had completely
perplexed the lrishmau’s brain. Whether his
actions were actuated from good or evil mo-
tives, he was at a loss to understand. But, when
an hour had dragged wearin by, and the guide
did not return, he came to the settled conclusion
that he had deserted them. Thus believing,
Teddy was on the eve of going to arouse Mr. St.
Ledger and his son, when his ear caught the
sound of footsteps.

Supgiosing it was the guide returning, Teddy

turne his eye in the direction the sound had

emanated, when to his horror he discovered a

gideous-looking Pawnee Indian coming toward
im.

There was just light enough reflected from
the camp-fire to reveal the savage’s features,

.that were aglow with all the evil ferocity of a

demon. The villain’s eyes wandered first from

. the wagon to the tent, then back to the wagon

a ain, with a. serpent-like expression, and as
eddy was standing in the shadow of a tree,
he saw at once that the savage was ignorant

i

 

of their close roximity, and bringing his rifle .
to a level wit... the Indian’s breast, he called,

out:

“ Halt, thar. ye red spalpeen, and 've an ac«
flount (I); yersillf, or be the howly Vaglgin I’ll let

er go

Scarcer had he uttered the last word when
the savage gave a startled yell, and drawing his
knife, bounded like a tiger toward him. Teddy
discharged his rifle, but the ball went wide of its
mark, and seeing the danger that menaced him,
while possessed of no weapons but his empty
rifle, be determined to make good use of it by
using it as a shillalah, with which weapon he
consldered himself a. skillful hand; so slip ing
his hand along the middle of the barrel), he
raised it above is head, gave it a Whirl or two,
and then brought the muzzle down upon the
tufted head of the advancing red—skin with
such a force that he was killed instantly.

“ Oh, be orra! bad ’cess to yees that tamper
with ,the li 'es of Teddy Muldoon, ye red blaw-

ard. ’
g “Good Heavens, Teddy, what’s the matter?” ’

It was Arthur St. Ledger who asked the ues-
tion, and who, with rifle in hand, stood at ed—
dy’s side. However, before the Irishman could
reply, a shrill war-whoop pealed out on the
night-air, and the next instant a half-dozen
savages came yelling from the gloom of the cot-
tonwood grove toward them.

“ Och, be the howly Vargin I” exclaimed Ted-
dy, bracing himself, and whirling his rifle over
his head, “come on to yer doom, ye red,
murthering vagabones ye; oh, ye screeching
hellyons, but yees will git a glorious chastis-
in l”

we of the advancing savages fell dead un-
der the unerring aim of Arthur St. Ledger
and his son; but before they could reload, the
living demons were upon them, and a hand-to-
hand conflict commenced.

Our friends soon found that they had been
taken at a great disadvantage, for their empty
rifles at close quarters proved of but little service
save in wardin off the blows of the savages: and
how the strugg e would have ended was a mat-
ter of conjecture until a new character, whose
deep-toned voice rung high above the yell of
the combatants, appeared upon the scene of
action in behalf of our friends. Right into the
midst of the conflict he sprung. deali death-
blows right and left upon the tufted sku of the
red—skins, uttering awild and fearful yell at
each blow.

In a moment the last savage had fallen, and
then our three friends stood "face to face with
their unknown deliverer, feeling as much sur-
prise as thou h the were confronted by a visi-
tor from the p anet upiter. .

The man might have been thirty, or he might
have been fifty years of age, tall and lank;
standing fully six feet in his moocasms; swellingl »
out in muscular pro rtion at the hips an
shoulders; with a ma 1 head, covered With long
disheveled hair; a sharp chin, large yet expres—
sive mouth, a hooked nose. and long, shag
brows, beneath which gleamed a pair of t a
most brilliant and wonderful eyes—eyes that
were indicative of the warmest friendship and
the deadliest hatred on the part of their owner.

 

}, T ..  a.

, m V  a. 

4 Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

He carried a long rifle, and a belt filled with
knives and pistols.

“ Faith, and who have we the honor of thank-
ing fur this bit of help?” asked Teddy, advanc-
in toward the stranger and offering his hand.

3. clear, metallic laugh escaped the man's lips,
as he seized the proffered hand in a grip that
caused Teddy to wince.

“Perhaps,” said the stranger, “you’ve hearn
tell of me, and perhaps ye hain’t; but I’m the
Raven of the North, the Eagle of the South the
Devil of the East and the Giant of the West.
I’ve hunted bears through polar snows, and sav-
ages in the everglades of Florida; I’ve cut the
throats of 'irates on the hi 1) seas of the East,
and scalped’ Ingius and bu crs on the plains of
the West. Today I’m a hunter; to-morrer a
scout. One day a gentleman, and the next a
guide. I’ve no home in partik’ler; no relations
in the world. Every white man with a pure
heart is my friend~—every red-man is my enemy,
the devil included When first I knew myself I
went by the name of Wildmere Ravennaug ;
but since then, time and convenience has short-
ened it, until I’m known to—day only as Wild
Raven: and now, with this bit of personal his-
t’ry, I’ll take the liberty of axin’ if thar‘s only
three 0’ you here?”

“Thrue, Misther Raven, and there’s only
three of us,” quickly responded Teddy. “I

, mean three of us men.”

Wild RaVen drew himself up to his full hight,
and with his flashing eyes fixed upon Teddy,
fair] hissed, through his set teeth:

“ hen I’ll be cursed if there isn’t a traitor in
this camp!”

“ But there were four of us, Teddy,” remarked
Mr. St. Ledger, as he, forthe first time since the
excitement of the fight, noticed the absence of
of Jake Darle. “ Uur' guide “where is he,
Teddy?”

“ There, now yo‘s comin’ at the p’int,” said the
Irishman, and freeing his mouth of a huge quid
of tobacco, he related all he had witnessed no to

' the moment of the guidc’s disappearance. After

he had finished his startling story, Wild Raven

asks :
“ Who is this Jake Darla?”
“ Our guide,” replied Mr. St. Ledger.
“ The vilest renegade cut—throat that ever

‘ plundered an emigrant-wagon!” resonded Ra-

ven, fiercely. “And now, friends, advise you
to look sharp, for you’re in ’sidcrahle danger. I
knowed there war a band 0‘ Ingins over the

"fierfroers there, and I knowed there war a
a

tor in this ’ere camp, for I saw their signals
over a mile off, and then I come straight over
here to spy ’round a little; and the rest you
know, for here I am.”
For a moment the emigrants were completely
aralyzed with- the startling information of
ild Raven. Arthur St. Ledger could scarcely
credit the report of J ako Darle’s treachery. at
his absence from camp, and the attack of he
savages upon them, fully confirmed the accusa-

‘i‘iP-w/ -
" ell, Raven,” said Mr. St. Ledger, “holler
’ing you to be a. friend, skilled in the Indians‘ m,—

ture, I appeal to you for advice and assistance in
' ous situation.”

our gm
’ “ ou kin have it, friend, free as the air 0’

 

heaven; for ’it’s part 0’ my hater to help the
needy, relieve the sufferin and skulp Ingins.
And now, the first thing that I’ll advise, is to
move back in this ’ere bend to the water’s edge;
draw your wagon along, and we kin use it for a
kind 0’ breast work, for I’m sure we’ll need sich
protection afore mornin’.”

“Then you,” said Mr. St. Ledger, turning to
Teddy Muldoon, “ will harness the horses to the
wagon and draw it in, while Harry and I arouse
the women and move their tent.”

Teddy laid aside his rifle and started off to
where the animals had been tethered out to
grass, while Mr. St. Ledger and his son turned
and proceeded toward the tent.

“It’s curious that mother and Blanche have
not been aroused by the noise of our late strug-
gle. Surel nothing has happened them,” said
Hurry, as e pushed aside the canvas door and
entered the tent; but as he did so, he uttered a
firy of horror, staggered forward and fell to his

'nees.

Signs of a desperate struggle were in the tent.
Blanche St. Ledger was missing, while her
mother, with the blood streaming from her
mouth and nostrils, lay unconscious upon the
ground.

CHAPTER II.
PADDY VERSUS BED SKIN:

LIFTING- the inanimate form of hiswife in his
strong arms, Arthur St. Ledger carried her out
and placed her tenderly u on a blanket near the
camp—fire. Water was astin brought from
the river, and the blood washed from her face,
which was greatly bruised and swollen. St.
Ledger placed his hand upon her breast. Life
was not extinct—there was a perceptible beat-
ing of the heart. Brandy was brought from the
Wagon and poured in her mouth, while her tem-
ples and limbs were being chafed, and her brow
cooled with cloths saturated with cold water.
Presently there were signs of returning con-
sciousness, though it was some time before she
had sufficiently recovered to enable her to speak;
and to add to the deplorable state of affairs, in
the mean time, Teddy returned, and with a look
of abject disappointment upon his face, reported
that the horses were stolen—that he could find
them nowhere.

Thus deprived of their beasts. the emigrants
succeeded. by an effort of their combined
strength. in moving the wagon to the desired
spot. The tent was moved, the bed in it rear-
ranged, and Mrs. St. Ledger placed upon it.
By this time she had so far recovered as to be
enabled to give the following account of
Blanche’s absence:

“ We were awakened by the first noise, and
spiringing up, we hastily dreswd. Blanche now
looked out and saw, by the light of the camp-
fire, that you were being sorely pressed by the
Indians, and {expressed her determination of
going to assist you: but at that moment, the
dark form
throwing a blanket over her head and shoulders.
lifted her in his arms and turned to flee: but be-
fore hdcould take a stop. [ sprung forward, and
seizing Blanche around the waist, was about to

of a savage entered the tent, and-

 

 

l

 

Wild Raven, the Scout. 5

 

cry out, when the wretch struck me, a blow with
his fist that felled me unconscious to the ground.
And flow, Arthur, tell me if our poor Blanche is
gone

“ She is, Sarah; but cheer up,” said the hus-
band consolingly, “she shall be returned to you
free and unharmed.”

Wild Raven, who had been a silent witness to
Mrs. St. Led er's grief, now broke forth in a
vehement an passionate tone:

“As true as thar’s a God in heaven, frien’s,
I’ll rescue that gal afore another week passes
over our heads! I’ll do it, sink or swim, if I’ve
got to go right into the heart of the Pawnee
village. The devil that struck you, ma’am, in
the tent, was not an Ingin, for an Ingin never
strikes unless it’s with a tomahawk or knife. It
was a white man with a black heart, which I’ll
have or die. But I kin do nothing to—night
to’rds follerin’ a trail with certainty, besides
you’ll need my ’sistance here afore anuther sun-
rise, or my name’s not Raven."

“ Now, Misther Raven, if ye’s done wid that
bit 0’ a speech, jist tell me’s, if ye pl’ase, what
dark o’ject that is moving up the body 0’ that
three in this direction?” said Teddy, pointing
toward a tall cottonwood tree some distance
west f their present camp.

W 6 Raven looked in the direction indicated,
and as his eyes fell upon the object, an exclama-
tion burst from his lips:

“I swear, Irisher, you’ve a keen eye to biz-
ness,” he said, slapping Teddy kindly upon the
shoulder, “ fur, as live, that object is a Paw—
nee lngin, and if he don’t drap from there
quicker than he went up, Wild Raven’s no skunk-
killer."

True enough; all eyes saw the dark form of a
sava e climbin up the body of a tall tree,
whic was plain y outlined against the western
sky, and which stood about two hundred yards
from the camp. .

The Object of the savage’s lofty movement was
readily manifested.

The point where our friends had pitched their
camp was in a low, dry sink or basin, some
twenty feet in diameter, and about six feet be
low the general surface around it. Thus, they
were securely screened upon all sides from ene—
mies upon the ground, and it was very evident
now, that the savage was ascending the tree, so
asto command a View of the interior of the
camp and pick off the emigrants at leisure.

' Raven inserted into his long rifle a
charge suitable to the distance, then resting the
muzzle upon the bank, he took a steady aim
upon the savage. There was a w‘vid flash—a
clear whip—like report followed by a piercing
shrie , and the body oi the savage went crash-
ing down among t e branches, and struck the
ground, a piece of mangled pulp.

“ Ha! ha!” burst triumphantly from the
scout’s lips; “ sich is the vengeance of the Raven
of the North, the Eagle of the South, the Devil
of the East, and the Giant of the West. Sich is
life on the plains. my friends; and may the
Lord spare me to enjoy it until I can see, from
yon mountain-tops, the long caravan of future
adventurers pouring west toward the silent sun.
unmolestedllg the red marauders of plain.”

“ Faith, 'sther Raven, and it’s ye what

 

s ’akes wid the eloquence of an crater, and
t e sparlt of a Christian gintluman. Teddy
Muldoon he’s no ift of gab, yit he always
thinks thanks to is holy Riverence, for his
daily portion of bread and bit of tobaccy,” said
Teddy, as he produced his pipe, and began load-
ing it with very obnoxious tobacco.

“ I say, Irisher,” said Raven, drawing a large
brier—root pipe from his pocket, “ jist give us a
load 0’ yer weed, as I’m rather short 0’ the kind
jist now.”

As he drew his tobaccobag from his pocket,
Teddy caught sight of the scout’s pipe, and
fairly winced at the enormity of its size, but
placing the bag in Raven’s hand, he turned to look
for something on which to strike a match. At
the top of the basin he discovered a flat stone
and crawling up the bank, seated himself by it
and struck the match. For a moment be
screened the tiny blaze in his hand, then apply—
ing it to his pipe, looking straight down his nose
as he did so, he began to puff out great whiifsof
blue smoke; but ere he had removed the blazing,
match, a bullet, from the rifle of an unseen foe,
went whizzing through the air, and striking the
bowl of the Irishman‘s pipe, shivered it to pieces
—-even snatching, as it were, the stem from
between his teeth.

“ Och, and be the howly Var-gin!” exclaimed
the startled and bereaved Irishman, as he went
tumbling headlong into the basin, “me pipe-—
me pipe is gone, and may me life be spared the
loss, and thra shillings to you, dear Misther
Raven, fur yer tub of a pipel”

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, Mr. and
Mrs. St. Ledger could not restrain a smile,
while Wild Raven burst into a fit of laughter at
Teddy's expense. However, the moment the
Irishman had gained his feet, he seized his rifle,
and regardless of the consequences, would have
rushed headlong in pursuit of the despoiler
of his pipe, had he not been detained by the
scout.

“ Hold on here, Irisher,” he said, seizing him
by the shoulder, “ don’t let the loss 0’ your pipe
cost you your skulp. It would be rashness to 0
out 0‘ this basin for l’ll bet a land title in t e
vicinity o’ the North Pole, thet you’d be riddled
by a dozen bullets. Be easy, and you can share
my pipe while we’re here."

“ Jist as ye say, Misther R en,” said Teddy,
laying aside his rifle, “ but the howly Vargin,
it’s going ag’inst the grain to let thet murtherin’,
disthructive h’athing go without a schastising
from the hands 0’ Teddy Muldoon.”

“ Oh, that’s nothin’, Irisher," said Raven.
“ When you’ve had the experience that I’ve had
’ang the red cosses, you’ll think nothin’ ’bout
such triflin’ mishaps; but here’s my ipe; use it
until I go into the tent, and inform our friends
as how I’ll proceed in rescuing their daughter
to-morrow.’

Teddy took the proffered pipe, and with gun
in hand, seated himself to guard the lace until
the scout should rejoin him. He had 11 seated
about ten minutes. amusing himself by blowing
from his mouth miniature clouds of smoke
when he detected a slight noise in .the tal
buffalo-grass west of the basin, It was such a
noise as a serpent would make in crawling
through the grass; and feeling a little suspicious,

i ,

 
  

Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

Teddy mechanically raisod his rifle, and pointed
it at a little star that hung low in the western
sky. As he did so, he was conscious of a dark
object coming between the star and the muzzle
of his piece; and without moving his eyes, he
recognized the object to be the tufted head of an
Indian.

As Teddy was dressed in dark clothes, and sat
within the shadow of the tent, his form was
blended in the darkness of the bank beyond;
consequently, ho was unobserved by the savage,
who with gleaming eyes continued to rise slowly

up.
Motionless as a statue, Teddy sat with his

' rifle leveled, and the instant the savage’s breast

came in range of the muzzle, he fired. A yell of
mortal agony followed the report of the rifle,
and with a spasmodic upthrowing of the arms,
the savage sprung forward and fell dead at
Teddy’s feet.

Startled by the noise, the inmates of the tent
rushed out to learn the cause of it.

“ Hangnation, Irisher, what is the matter out
he-arl” asked Wild Raven, somewhat nettled by
the disturbance.

In reply, Teddy coolly pointed to the body of
the savage, at the same time removing his pipe
from his mouth, and blowing out a perfect cloud

, of smoke.

At sight of the dead savage, all the wildness
of Wild Raven’s nature became aroused to its
highest pitch.

“ Painters and polars!” he exclaimed. “ I’ll
swan to nature, a ginuine dead Inginl Irisher,
you’re a trump, you’re a jewel, you‘re a cuss,
born with eyes ekel to an owl’s in the dark. and
a coolness of nature ekel to a polar iceberg.
You’re jist sich a man as l’d like to tramp the
Ian ath‘and breadth o’ the Ingiu nation with, send—
in’ death into every red marauder’s heart, from
the Sunless region 0' the North to the brink 0’ Rio
Gila. Tell us how you winged the bird,
Irisher?”

“ Faith, and it was easy enough, whin the red
Varmint came a—’avesdropping’rouud and sthuck
his dirty nose into the muzzle of me gun.”

“ Hist!” suddenly commanded the scout.

“ What—what now, Misther Raven?" asked
the Irishman, in a whisper.

“Didn’t you hear that splashin’ in the river,

jist then?"

“ I have heard‘it several times," said Harry
St. Ledger.

“ Bless yer now], and I’ve been a-hearing av it
for the list half an hour, Misther Raven.”

“ Wal, now if I’m not mistaken—and I don’t
think I am—thet sound is made by Ingins thet's
tryin" to ketch us asleep: howsumever, I’m goin’
to see into it, and in order to do so, I’ve got to
leave this basin.”

“ But, dare you leave here?” asked Mr. St.

gar.
"I’ll try it,” said the scout, “and you tellers
must keep your eyes open till I return. J ist let
thet dead In 'n lay in the basin, for I may need
him yit—no llin’.”

Upon his hands and knees the scout crawled
from the basin and was soon lost to the view of
those who, in a great measure, were dependent
upon his superior knowledge of the red-man.

, Arthur St. Ledger remained in the tent‘with his

 

bereaved wife, while his son and Teddy stood
guard Without.

Anxiously the return of the Wild Raven was
awaited.

CHAPTER III.

CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP.
JUST as the sun looked over the eastern hills,

Wild Raven made his appearance in camp with

a fine antelope swung over his shoulder.

He found the emigrants stirring busily around.
Mrs. St. Ledger had recovered, somewhat, from
the shock she had sustained, and was busily en-
gaged 1n Ereparing breakfast. But there was a
blank loo , that portrayed inner sorrow, upon
each face. One loved form, a familiar face and
voice, were missing from'tho little group.

Depositing his game upon the ground, the
scout removed his cap from his head, and run-
ning his long fingers through his hair, said:

“ All are safe and lookin well ” '

“ Thanks to a merciful rovidence, and your
help, we are,” said Mrs. St. Ledger.

“ And the same to yoursilf, Misther Raven,”
said Teddy.

“ Why shouldn’t I be, when I’m always up
with mornin’ dawn, breathin‘ the fresh air 0’
heaven.” ‘*

“But what discovery did you make in regard
to that sound we heard in the river during the
night?” asked St. Ledger.

“ Wal, friend, I made quite a diskivery. One
that’ll surprise you a leetle when you hear’t,
and that‘ll convmce you that I kin distinguish a
sound made by Ingins from a sound made by a
animal. Now then, you see that this basin is
not over five steps from the bank 0’ the river—7’

“ ’Asin to be seen,” interrule Teddy.

“ W 3.1, now,” continued the scout, “ if you war
standin’ over on the other bank, you’d see that
this bank is shelvin’—that is. the water has
washed the bank out at the bottom, leavin’ it
projectin’ ovar the water at the top several feet,
so at this moment we’re not more’n five feet
from the edge 0’ the water, and—”

“ Faith, and what av that?” again interrupted

Teddy.
“ Ho, ho!” laughed the scout, leaning forward
and speaking in a low tone. “ Why, friends, at
this very moment a canoe, containing six sav-
ages, is moored under this very bank! Think of
it; at this time you are within six feet, at least,
of six as mean-lookin’ Ingins as ever lifted a hu«
man skulp!”

For a moment the emigrants seemed paralyzed .

with the scouts startling information. Mrs. St-
Ledger let fall the knife with which she was en-
gaged in slicing dried venison, and uttered a.
little cry of horror. A shadow of fear clouded
the brow of her husband, as his mind reverted
to his poor child, who was then being carried
further and further from them, while the very
shadow of death lingered across their own path-

way.

“ Now, be the howly Vargin! thim rhed, mur-
therinr,r vagabones are what made the noise in
the river last night, eh. Mistber Raven?” asked
Teddy, evincine; some uneasiness. '

“The same,” answered Raven, “ and they’ll
stay there till they’ve a chance to steal in 0.1} 11!

.19

‘\

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
    
 
   
 
   
  
   
    
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
 
     
   
   
  
 
 
    
      

      

 

 

 

Wild Raven, the Scout. 9

 

md rub us out, if possible; but I don’t calkerlate
they’ll git the chance." ‘

“What do you propose doing?” asked Mr. St.

Ledger.
_ “Wal, I calkerlated to go in search 0’ your
gal this mornin’, but I swan to nater, I can’t go
off, and leave your folks till you’re safe, and
that'll not be till we kin git them Ingins from
under the bank and git their canoe. Then you
kin take it and boat all your things but your
wagon over onto an island in the river, half a
mile below here. Then you’ll be safe, fur awhile
at least, fur the island has quite a growth 0’
young trees, and is liter’ly kivered with brush~
wood and undergrowth. It’s a good place to
catch fish without exposin’ yourselves to savage
rifles, and if you’ll jist keep on a sharp lookout,
you’ll have no trouble. Once onto the island,
you kin remain there until I return with your
gal and hosses, and then you kin resume your
Journey.”

“ Your plan is a good one.” said Mr. St. Led—
ger, “ and I pray Heaven will assist us in carry-
in it out; but I cannot see how you can, with
safety to yourself, dislodge those Indians from
under that bank and obtain their canoe.”

“Wal, I’ll explain, friends, arter breakfast,
how I’ll draw the reds out 0" there. I want to
make a little ’rangements fu’st.”

In a few moments breakfast was announced,
and the little party seated themselves at the
table, which, as at supper, was a cloth spread
upon the ground. and partook heartily of the
viands prepared by the skillful hands of Mrs.
St. Ledger.

While they were thus engaged, Wild Raven
detected a sho‘ht noise behind him. and turning
his head, he l)eheld, to his utmost surprise, the
head and shoulders of a savage protruding
from a hole in the round within an arm’s
reach of him ! How 0 had come there—con—
jured up from the bowels of the earth, as it
were, like a spirit of-evil—was readily perceived
by the scout and his friends.

As we have before said, about five feet of
earth se urated the six savages from our friends
in the ry basin, and with their knives, it had
been a matter of time and patience for the
former to dig a hole upward, through the bank
under which they were concealed: and, as it
happened, whether intended or not, they had
succeeded in opening the passage at the north

side of the basin, While our friends were at the-

south side.

It was evident that the red-skin, who had
taken upon himself the perilous duty of recon-
noiterlng the situation, was unconscious of his
close proximity to his foes, for he evinced as
much surprise as did the scout, and attempted
to withdraw, but was not quick enough, for
Wild Raven swung his long arm around, and
clutched his bony fingers Into the Pawnee’s
glossy scalp—lock, and held him firm and fast.

Thus caught in his own trap, the savage made
known his capture to his own companions by a
series of discordant yells: and at once a deter-
mined struggle began for the possession of him-—
the Pawnees under the bank trying to pull him
back through the opening, while Raven pre-

, vented them very easily by pulling the other
/ ray.

 

Despite their surroundings, the emigrants
could not refrain from laughing at the ludicrous
situation of the elling red-skin. and the comical
expression of ild Raven’s face as he clung to
the long hair with both hands. ‘

“ Painters and polars!” yelled the scout, “ this
is What I call bisness on a new scale. Ha! ha!
ha! yell, ye red hellyon, I'll let your friends
stretch ye cl’ar ’cross the river, or ull ye out o’
vour hide afore I’ll let go. The even 0’ the
North never lets the chance for a skulp slip——
’spcciall when it’s in his fingers! Oh, no, red-
skin, sic comes 0’ pokin’ your head into white
folks’ affairs.”

“Oh, he the howly Mother!” cried Teddy in
an ecstasy of joy, “this is the most fun Teddy
Muldroon ever sawl Pl’ase, dear Misther Raven,
lct mc’s take a lift at the red vagabone’s hair,
fur jis’ like as not he‘s the murthering devil what
brakes me pi h, swate vengeance!”

Wild Raven allowed Teddy to relieve him in
his hold upon the savage’s head, and then mo-
tioning Mr. St. Ledger aside the two convened
a few moments in an undertone; then St. Ledger
turned and entered the tent, and the scth
turned to Teddy and his charge.

By this time the savage had ceased his noise,
having been exhausted with fear and sin, and
seemed reconciled to his fate, although) the sav—
ages under the bank still clung onto his heels
and Teddy to his hair.

“Lookey here,red-skin,” said Wild Raven,
speaking to the savage in the Indian dialect,
“ bein’s you haven’t done us any direct harm, as
I know on, I’m goin’ to give you a chance for
your life on one condition; do ye hear?”

The face of the savage brightened up, and a.
treacherous light, which the Scout did not fail to
see, gleamed in his small, black, serpent-like
eyes, as he replied:

“ Monuagah hears the great Raven crook, and
will hearken still for his life, though he is not
afraid to die. Let the Raven speak, Monnagah’s
ears are wide.”

“ Wal, now, if you’ll promise to leave here
with your companions as soon as you are re—
leased, and bother us no more, 1’11 give you 3.

int" of “ fire-water " and the chance 0’ your
ife. -

“ Monnagah has heard the Raven speak,” said
the Indian, “and will do his bid ing. Give
fire-water, then leave. I have spoken the truth.
Raven can trust In Monnagah’s word.”

At this moment Arthur St. Ledger appeared
with a bottle filled with brandy, which he had
brought along from the States for medical pur4
poses, and which was destined to serve in an im-
portant crisis. ‘

Taking the bottle in his hand, the scout gave
it to the savage, saying, as he did so:

“ Here, now, is the fire—water; begone!” Then,
to Teddy: “ Release him, Irisher.” But Tedd
did not let go his hold on the red-skin’s hair out
he hnd delivered himself of the following threat:

“Now, remimber, you rid naygur, if yees
don’t make erself sca’ce around herehaccordin
to agramen ,, I’ll pounce onto yees till 'there’
not be a smithereen o’ yees left. Now go,” and
releasing the savage, the scalp-lock glided out of
sight guick as a. serpent, and the hole was
blocke with a log of driftwood.

 
 

Wild Raven, the Scout. I

 

Scaroely a minute had elapsed after the re-
lease of the savage, when the ears of our friends
were greeted by a mocking and revengeful yell

, from the throats of their foes under the bank,

showin to what extent the promise of the sav-
age ha been carried.

But, Wild Raven was too well experienced in
the Indian’s true character to be caught nap-
ping with his eyes open. He knew the Pawnoes
were a notoriously treacherous set; and in the

resent case, he knew the savage would stick to
iis promise only until he was out of sight. But
he Wished to obtain possession of their canoe,
and was compelled to resort to stratagem to
effect his purpose. And in allowing the savage
to go scot free with the gift of a pint of brandy
which he knew they loved, was only to carry
destruction to his comrades, for the brandy was
drugged with a powerful narcotic!

CHAPTER IV.
W n n r. E 1 s H E ?

THE savages continued their jeers and yells of
vengeance upon our friends for some time, then,
with a mocking laugh, in which the words “ fire-
water ” and “ cheat pale-face ” were distin<
finished, the noise subsided; and then our friends

new the bottle was being passed. In a few mo-
ments more they heard the words—evidently in-
tended for their ears——“ Waugh! heap good fire-
water,” and all became silent again.

“ Bad ’cess to ees rhed murthering blaw-
gards,” said Ted y. “ And it‘s meself that’s

 

, thinking as what ye’ll soon be laughing out o’

the ither side 0’ yer mouths. ”

Our friends now seated themselves around the
breakfast-table again, for their meal was but
half finished when the savage made his appear-
ance in the quietude of their little fort.

After breakfast had been dis atched, Wild
Raven concluded to look after is savage ene
miss, who had grown perfectly quiet under their
shelter, and no doubt under the influence of the

tent drug, although it had been scarcely time

or it to operate; and besides, it was expected
that the savages would make some noise or si
of pain. But as Raven could hear nothing, it;
crawled from the basin and approached the
river-bank, and as he did so, a shout of triumph
esca ed his lips.

“ ere, friends, all of you,” he called, “ come
and see our triumph over our enemies.”

The emigrants hastened to the scout’s side,
and to their great joy, beheld a large canoe,
containing the bodies of six savages, floating at
the will of the current about fifty yards below
where they stood.

“» Sich, my friends, is life on the plains,” said
Wild Raven, explanatorily. “ In them red var-
mints ye behold the future fate o’ the Ingin na-
tion. and I hope my life will be spared to bring
the last one to grief."

“You seem to have a deadly hatred toward
the Indian,” said Mr. St. Ledger.

“ I know’t. I am an exception to all God’s
creators. I love no one in pertikler, at every-
body with a true heart is my friend. 0 me the
world is nothin’ but a great playground—the
people its players in the game of life, of which
there are but two sides, one Right, the other
Wrong—but I’m digressin’, as the preacher

(

 

says. That canoe must be secured before it gets 1

beyond reach 0’ the shore!"

o saying, he hastened to a point 0p osite the
canoe where the bank sloped gradua ly to the
water’s edge, and by means of his long rifle.
succeeded in drawing the canoe to the shore.
Then stepping into it. he paddled the canoe hack
to the camp. Then, by the scout’s orders, a craft
was constructed of floating logs and brush, and
on it the six soundly-sleeping sava es were laid,
wellsecured from any overflow of t e flood. The
raft was then towed out into the swift middle cur—
rent and set loose. In a few moments it was one,
with its burden of profound sleepers. hen
they would come out from that lethargic repose
many miles indeed would have been put between
them and their foes! .

Immediate preparations were now made for
embarkin to the island spoken of by the scout.
Such artic es as the emigrants had in their wag-
on were stowed in the canoe, and as Wild haven
was an expert with the oar, the duty of running
aha boat down to the island fell upon his shoul-

ers.

In a few moments all had been arranged, and
the canoe put out from shore, and turned down
the stream. 1n the mean time, in order to facil-
itate the embarkation, the emigrants followed
along the shore, but owing to the vast amount of
driftwood that was lodged in among the sickly
cottonwoods that lined the banks, their progress
was slow: so that when Wild Raven had reached
the island, they were a quarter of a mile behind.

The Platte River is a stream remarkable for
its width and shallowuess, yet there are points
where it is both wide and deep, and one of these
points was where the little island in question
nestled down in its bosom. The island was small
——not more than eight rods long and five wide.
It was covered with a dense growth of willow
and small cottonwood trees, while a great
amount of driftwood was lodged upon it. Al-
though it was within rifle—shot of either shore, it
was an admirable place to guard against the sud—
den attack of the savages.

Landing on the upper side of the island, the
scout hastil removed the articles from the
canoe. and aced them a few steps inland; and
then, in or or to facilitate his movements, he re-
moved his belt and small-arms, and placing them
and his rifle along,r with the emigrants’ articles
he sprung into the canoe, seized the oars, and
started on his return for the emigrants, who
were still about three hundred yards distant
above the island, and hidden from view in the
undergrowth.

Scarcer had Wild Raven got clear of the is]-
and, when a small canoe, containing twglndians,
glided noiselessly, around from the opposite side,
and stood in, directly between the scout and the
island. Raven was not slow in discovering their
presence, and a pang of the deepest regret smote
his breast as he saw that the savages were be.
tween him and every weapon he possessed—hav-
ing left them on the island—while they were well
armed. The scout was in a dilemma. T0 at-
tempt to recover his weapons would be‘foll .and
to try to escape in his canoe would bentter y im-
possible, for the savages in their feather like
craft could easil have outstripped him in arace.
He gazed towar the shore, hopeful that the emi-

\ ' _

a

    
    
  
   
    
  
 
    
  
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
   
   
  
   
  
 
 
   
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
     
   
 

    
      
  

 

 

Wild Raven. the Scout. ' ' 9

 

grants had discovered his danger, and would
contrive some way t.) aid him, but nowhere could
they be seen, and there was but one alternative,
for already a rifle was leveled at his breast, and
in another minute the Raven of the North would
be a dead man.

Quickly measuring with his eye the distance
that was between him and his enemies, the scout
sprung to his feet, but, as he did so, his canoe
rocked violently: the savagc’s rifle cracked; the
scout reeled, uttered a cry of mortal agony.
staggered forward and fell from the canoe and
was swallowed up in the silent waters of the
river!

 

CHAPTER V.
RED WOLF.

BLANCHE ST. LEDGEB was a girl possessed of
rent presence of mind and strength and courage
or one of her sensitive nature, and the moment

she felt herself lifted in a pair of savage arms
and ca rricd from the tent, she endeavored, re-
peatedly, to draw from her dress-pocket a small
silver-mounted revolver, in the use ( f which she
was no novice. But ever;r attem t was in vain;
her arms were pinioned ast, an her struggles
were like those of an infant in the arms of its

nurse.

After her abductor had carried her something
like a mile from her friends, he placed her upon
her feet and removed the blanket from her
head, taking good care, however, to tie her
hands before doing so. She looked around her.
A look of bewilderment rested upon her fair
young face, as her eyes wandered dreamin over
the great unbroken plain that was rendered

desolate by the soft light of the great full moon.

Not a living creature, save her captor, nota
tree nor shrub was visiblknot a sound broke
the melancholy silence of the place until the
save 0 spoke:

“ oes White Dove know where she is?” he
asked

Blanche started at the sound of his voice. She
glanced first at his form, then at his painted
ace, and lastly at his head, that bristled with
feathers of a gaudy plumage; but in the out-
lines of his person she discovered nothing that
corresponded with the familiar tone of his voice
—a voice which, had she been fully acquainted
with the proceedings of the last two hours, she
would not have hesitated to confound with the
savage form before her, strange though it ap-
peared.
“ The White Dove seems frightened," said the
savage. seeing the effect his words, first spoken,
reduced upon Blanche. “She need have no
ear so long as she is the willing captive of Red

Wolf. the great Cheyenne chief. He will carry

you to the 10d es of his people in safety; and
there he will ma e you his wife and then you
will he queen of all his tribe. Siour gentle coo-
ing will sooth his heart when oppressed with
the duties of his tumultuous life, and—”
“Silence your serpent-tongue, wretch!" inter-
rupted Blanche, with an indignant flash of her
eyes. Through the sava ge’s voice she had made
a startling discovery, which set at defiance all
her previous fears; vet, through the bitter indig-
nation and scorn that rankled in her heart, she

s

, \

 

allowed not the least sign to betray her sus-
p1cion to the savage chief. Red Wolf.

“ Waugh!” said the Indian, “ the White Dove
must not croak like the raven. The raven is not
a bird to mate with Red Wolf." '

“Nor is Red Wolf fit to mate with any but
the carrion crow,” defiantly returned Blanche,
all the gentle tenderness of her features relaxing
into stern rigidity.

“ Oh, my pretty dove must not flutter so
fiercely, or I will have to clip her wings.” ~
“You threaten a helpless woman, do you,

wretch?” ,

“Waugh! a be] less woman must not trifle
with the anger an wishes of an Indian.”

“ fin—Indian !” hissed Blanche, scornfnlly.
“ “’hat is an Indian more than a human beast?
and What is a—" "

She did not finish the sentence upon her
tongue’s end. By a mighty effort of self-con-
trol, she forced back the words that would have
betrayed the discovery that she had made to her
savage captor.

“ Why does the White Dove not speak on?
Are her feathers beginning to droop?” asked the
chief, with a taunting leer upon his face.

Blanche made no reply, but had she ssessed
the use of her hands at that moment, 8 6 would
have drawn her concealed revolver and shot the
wretch dead. As it was, however, she defer-
mincd she would not re ly to or heed his vile
threats again, as it on y induced him tomock
her helplessness.

“M pretty dove must not go confiryéto
the Will of her king,” said the chief. “ e 'er
%eralfi8”than yours ornament the lodge of Red

0 . .

Blanche shuddered, and turned her back u n
the monster to hide the emotion of horror t at
surged across her brain. As she did so, she
caught sight of two horsemen upon the crest of
a gentle swell in the prairie, riding swiftly
toward them. A mental prayer of thanks to
Heaven escaped her lips, for she supposed they
were her friends comm to her rescue. The,
horses she readily recognized as those belonging
to her father, yet they were too far off to recog— A
nize the riders; but she had no doubt that they
were her father and Jake Darle, the guide. .

Plainer, each moment, grew the sound of the
animals’ feet, nearer and. nearer they approach- ,
ed, and Blanche St. Ledger turned toward her
savage captor to watch, lest he bury a hatchet
in her brain, and flee the vengeance of the a
proachin horsemen. But instead of fear. a co d
sardonic eer of triumph rested upon His fiendish
face, for he had divined the hopes and thoughts
of his captive b he;~ emotions.

“ Ha—hal he- el Not yet!” he mockingli
laughed. so close to her face that his hot breat
fanned her cheeks. ‘ _

Blanche was startled with wonder at his
strange manner. And that Ian hi how it echo-
ed through her m’emoryl Wha could he mean
by his defiant coldness in the face of approach-
ing danger?" The mystery was soon solved.
The horsemen drew min before them. True
enough thehorses were Arthur St. Ledger’s, but
the riders—they were hideous-looking savages.

After a hurried consultation in the Indian
tongue, of which Blanche knew nothing, the twa

  

 

$32!: «‘55—: 

' tiful grove that surrounded St.

Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

savages dismounted from the stolen animals and
gave the reins to the chief, who turned to the
captive and said: v

‘ The White Dove must now ride on one of the
dead pale-faces’ horses. My braves will free
her hands and assist her to mount.”

“Dead pale-faces’ horses!" repeated Blanche
to herself, as a ang of sorrow pierced her heart.
“My friends a 1 dead? Surely not! I believe
the savages are lying, or they would not evince
so much uneasiness. The have stolen father’s
animals, it is true; but feel confident they
drove the savages away. Then mother has made
known my absence from the tent, and there is
no doubt that at this moment the guide, J akc
Darle, and some or all of my friends are in
search of me. At least I can hope so.”

One of the savages unbound the captive’s

hands and assisted her to the back of one of

the horses. Blanche was a skillful equestrienne
and found no difficulty in keeping her seat upon
the animal’s bare bac . The moment her hands
were free, Blanche thought of the tiny revolver
in her pocket, but the odds were against her, and
‘besides, her hands and arms were weak and
nervous from the painful position in which they
had been bound. She concluded, therefore, to
wait and watch for a more favorable opportu-
nity to attempt her own escape.
fter giving his red allies some instructions,

Red Wolf mounted the other animal, and takin
the reins of Blanche’s, the two set off at a bris

allop toward the southeast, leaving the two In-
dians to follow on foot.

After they had ridden some distance, Blanche
gazed around them on all sides, and seeing they
were quite alone, she mentally said:

“ Now is my chance to send a bullet through
the villain’s head, and may Heaven give me
strength for the ordeal!”

CHAPTER VI.

A RETEOSPECT—WHO \VAS rm: MURDERER?

IN one of the loveliest rural districts in the
vicinity of St. Louis Missouri, stood a beautiful
residence surrounded by all the luxury that taste
and wealth could acquire, and its owner, Arthur
St. Ledger, was c0n51dered as possessing both.

One pleasant summer day we persons were
seated in conversation within the summer-house
that tood in the furthest extremity of the beans

edger’s resi-

dence. One of these persons the reader is

already acquainted with: it was Blanche St.

Ledger. The other was a young man a few

ears her senior, and ssessing all the attri«
utes of a'bandsome an noble man.

“Then you will marry me, Blanche, when
, our father’s anger subsides and when he has

ad time to learn the true character of George
Barker?”

“ Yes dear Gilbert,” replied Blanche, “ then I
will be your wife; but should that time never
come, rest assured, Gilbert, you, and only you
have my heart. But sooner than obey my
father’s wish in marrying George Barker, I W111
take my own life. It will be far better than a
life of misery.” ,

“ No, no, Blanche,” reglied Gilbert Brainard,
“you must not do so. on will wreck In life,
as well as destroy your own. If your ether

 

 

still insists on your marrying Barker, come to
me. We can be wedded despite his opposition;
and if I am a poor young mechanic, we can live
hop ily together without his aid.”

“ hat’s true, Gilbert; 1 would rather live
happy and toil all my days, than live in sorrow
and be surrounded by luxury. But I hope time
will change my father’s stern will toward you,

Gilbert—that he W111 prefer you as my husband ‘

to George Barker.”

“ I hope so, too, dear Blanche, and with this
understanding I will be compelled to leave you,”
said Gilbert, as he arose to depart.

“ Oh, Gilbert!” sighed Blanche, with tears in
her eyes, “ it seems as though we were about to
part forever.”

“Nothing but death will do it, Blanche,” said
he, as he bent over and kissed her warm lips,
then turned and hurried away.

Scarcely was Gilbert Brainard out of sight
when the foliage behind Blanche was parted,
and a man step ed out and stood by her side.
It was George arker, a tall, dark-eyed, dark~
haired, evil-expressioned looking individual, of
some thirty years.

Blanche started with an expression of scorn
on her face, when she saw who the intruder was.

“ You here, George Barker?” she exclaimed,
indi nantly.

“ nd why not, my dear Miss St. Ledger?"
he returned, with a sneer. “ Aren‘t you glad to
see me?”

“Yes—out of my si ht. I hate
bid you leave me!” sheiaughtily rep i

“Not so cruel, my little Blanche. I have
just come from an interview with your good
papa, who has given his consent to our union;
and now I want you to set the day, my dear,
for the happy ceremony that will make us one
flesh.”

“ Never~never will I marry on George
Barkerl I love but one, and him will marry,
despite you and all the powers of earth!”

“Then in your own emphatic language, Miss
Blanche I will say: Never—never shall you
marry ilbert Brainardl” and, with a fearful
oath, Barker turned on his heel and walked

away. , V

With a troubled heart, Blanche went into the
house and sought her father in the library for
consolation. she made known her grief to her
parent with all the confidence of childish sim—
plicity. But he was a stern and hard—hearted
man. He bade her dismiss Gilbert Brainard
from her mind forever, for he declared that she
should marry Barker. He cared nothing for
his child’s happiness on] the reputed gold of
George Barker was the o ject of his mind’s eye
now.

Finding no sympathy in her father’s heart,
poor Blanche sought the solitude of her own
room. Her mother and brother were absent
from home on a visitto friends in the East, so
there were no others to whom she could confide
the troubles of her soul.

Slowly the day were away, and night came
on. Blanche retired early to bed, but not to
sleep. Hour after hour passed on with leaden
feet to the poor girl. She could not sleep, nor
did she wee , but a feeling of vague horror
rested ‘upon or heart. Suddenly, as the clock

on, and 1
ed

   

  
   
    
  
  
   
  
  
    
   
   
   
   
  
  
   
    
    
  
   
  
  
  
     
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
     
  
 
   
   
 

   

Wild Raven, the Scout.

  

 

in the room beIOW chimed out the hour of
twelve, she was startled by calls for help and
the cry of murder, issuing from her father’s
bedchamber.

Springing from her bed in a paroxysm of ter-
ror, she rushed from her room, in her night-
robevdown-stairs—along the hall—into her fa-
ther‘s lJE‘dCllfllllbL'I', where a sight of horror met
her view.

Upon his bed, pale and motionless as a corpse,
lay Arthur St. Ledger, with his life-blood flow-
ing from a terrible gash on the head and one on
his right side.

With her face as white as the spotless robe
she wore, Blanche rushed into the hall and ave
a piercing shriek to arouse the servants. n a
few moments several of them stood by the bed
side of their master. A surgeon was sum-
moned, and upon examination, it was found
that life was not entirely extinct. The wounds
were speedily dressed and stimulants applied to
rekindle the vital spark that remained in the
body of Arthur St. Ledger. He did recover,
however, but it was many long.weary weeks of
suffering ere he could be nursed back to con-
sciousness. During hisillness,thogreat uestion
that agitated the public mind was: “ he at-
tempted tlio murder?” *

Suspicion hinted plainly at Geor eBarker;
but there was no evidence to convict iim, so he
was released from arrest; and so the matter was
allowed to rest until Mr. St. Ledger recovered.
Then to the surprise of all, he stated that he re-
cognizer] his would-be assassin, when he at-
tacked him, as Gilbert Brainard.

The officers of the law were at once set upon
Brainard’s track,but by some means he got wind
of the accusation made against him by St.
Ledger, and fled the country, and after several
weeks’ fruitless efforts, the search for him was
relinquished.

During the illness of Mr. St. Ledger the true

character of George Barker naturally betra ed ;
itself. It was found that he was a peuni ess ‘

adventurer instead of a wealthy gentleman in
search of a home in the West, as rumored.

Of course. this news to St. Ledger, naturally
placed a barrier between Barker and his daugh—
ter, and he obstinater refused havin any fur-
ther intercourse with the ponniless Seorge; so
after a while, the latter gentleman pulled up
stakes and left for parts unknown, not, how-
ever, before seeking revenge on St. Ledger by
attempting to fire his barn, after having ap-
propriated one of the fastest horses for his own
purpose in facilitating his flight.

During the latter part of the same year, a
Eromising speculation was offered to Arthur

t. Ledger; and eager to invest therein, he
mortgaged all his personal property and real
estate to raise the necessary mono . But, alas!
‘ the dazzling speculation prova a com lete
failure and the total bankruptcy of St. ger.
The mortgage was closed on land and property
and left him almost penniless.

This great loss of his home, proved a great
change in the life of St. Ledger. His proud,
iron will was completely broken. His hard,

selfish heart was softened down to the same
warm and congenial temperature of his duty-
loving wife’s, He sought enjoyment in the

 

bosom of his little family instead of the outer
world; and was a. h pier man in his poverty
than in his wealth. afiut his spirit was restless.
His mind became attracted by the hidden
wealth of the PaCific’s shores, and the summer
following his great loss, we find him pushing
westward with his family toward the land rt
gold. His journey had been one of unmolestcd
and romantic enjoyment, despite the dangers
that beset the way, until the night that we tree-t
them on the banks of the Platte River. What
befell them there, the reader already knows:
and with this brief retrospection, we will take
up the main thread of our story again.

CHAPTER VII.
A HAPPY MEETING.

ON, on, deeper and deeper into the solitude of
the great plain, Blanche St. or and her
grim captor continued to ride. at a word
passed between either—not a sound, save the
clamping of their animals’ feet, broke the silence
of that midnight ride. Holding to the r: in
with one hand, with the other Blanche held her
revolver beneath the folds of her dress, really
for instant use whenever she could catch ‘the
wily chief off hisnguard.

ile after mile was passed over, but fati no
was beginning to tell upon the animals, t at
were unaccustomed to such speed. Blan ho.
too, began to feel tired with long riding and
wan-hing the chief, whose eyes seemed to rest
constantly upon her.

Presently a dark line, like a belt of timber,
rose u before them against the western sky.
Red olf pointed to it and said:

“Look, my White Dove! Do you see that
black line resting along the horizon there?”

Blanche made no reply but clutched her re-
volver tighter in her hand.

“ If you do,” continued the chief, “let me in—
form you that it is a range of the Black Hills,
in one of the deepest recesses of which is situ-
ated the village of the Cheyenne Indians. Once
there, my pretty Dove, and you are forever
safe in my power. ”

“It seems to me, Mr. Red Wolf,” said
Blanche, no longer enabled I70 keep silent, “ that
you s eh English very fluently for an Indian.”

“ es; it all comes of my having a pale—face
wife my little Dove.”

“i don’t know," replied Blanche. “I have
good reason to believe you a white man in dis-

uise."
g “Why does my White Dove think so?" he
asked. ,

“ Because you talk like a white man; and be-
sides, you are the meanest-looking specimen of
the Indian I ever saw.”

“Waughl Red Wolf is a great chief, White
Dove."

“ I presume so, in carrying ofl? helpless women
and children and stealing horses.”

“ The White Dove will change her voice when
she is in my lodge.”

“ But you will never see me there, fiend !" she
fairly hissed as she drew her revolver from the
folds of her dress, and leveled it at the head of
the savage chief, whose face at that moment
was turned away. ,

“My White Dove—” he began, but he never

 

  

/
»

 

ll
. l!

 

 

 

12 Wild Raven. the Scout.

 

finished the sentence. The revolver that Blanche
St. Ledger held cracked, and with a cry of mor-
tal pain, Red Wolf tottered and reeled for a mo-
ment upon his animal’s back then clutching
wildly at the open air, he rolled like a log to the
ground.

Blanche quickly replaced the revolver in her
ocket, and seizuig the reins of the ridei‘less
orse, she whirled their heads and dashed away

in an opposite direction from what they had
been traveling. As she did so, she glanced back
over her' shoulder. and to her horror she saw the
supposed dead Indian chief stagger to his feet,
and start in pursuit of her.

The tiny bullet had only grazed his head, stun—
ning him for a moment, and having rccororrd
from the blow he began raving, cursing and
threatening a terrible vengeance on the author
of his misfortune.

' But Blanche heard none of his savage threats
——she was far beyond his reach—each moment
doubting the distance between them. \Vhithcr
she was going she knew not, but. her success in
escapiugfrom Red Wolf, had encouraged her to
hows for a. speedy deliverance from all dangers.

hen the fugitive maiden had placed a mile
or more between her and her enemy, she halt-
ed to listen and give the horses a few minutes’
rest. Far away behind her she discovered a
faint rumbling sound, resembling distant thun-
der. It seemed to grow nearcr and plaiiier
each moment, and while Blanche was medita-
tively considering what it meant, a distant sav—
age yell fell upon her ears. Then, all was fear-
fully distinct. Red Wolf had been joined by a
bani of mounted warriors, and they had been
sent in pursuit of her.

However great had been the maideu’s hope,
it now seemed utterly crushed. Her horse was
almost exhausted, while in all probability those
of the Indians were fresh. But determined to
make an effort for life, she gallopod on as fast
as her jaded animal could travel. Each mo—
ment the noise of the pursuers grew lender and
louder, and it was evident, from this fart, that
they; were fast gaining, although still a mile be—

iiur .

As the fugitive sped on over the boundless
expanse she noticed that the country began to
grow hilly, with now and then a clump of

\ artemisia bushes, or wild sage, and occasion-

ally a patch of sickly cottonwoods, which in-
duced her to believe she was in close proximity

‘ to some stream of water. This belief was soon

verifle i. From the summit of a high bluff she
saw, and more than a quarter of a mile distant
a‘small stream, Winding like a silver threw
through a narrow valley, bordered on either
side by a chain of rugged hills.

Das ing down the face of the almost perpen-
dicular bluff, Blanché soon found herself in the
valley. A yell from behind startled her with
renewed fear. Looking back, she saw on the
summit of the bluff, outlined against the sky,
8. dozen or more mounted Indians. And oh,
blessed sight! At this moment, as she swept
around the base of the bluff, the light of
a came-fire in the center of a small grove
flashed before her. Within the circle of light,
she saw the solitary figure of a white man, dress-

- edina hunter’s garb, leaning on a long rifle .

 

To him she would flee for help. As she a.
roached, the sound of the anima s’hoofs caug t
is ear. ‘Bending forward, he shaded his eyes

with his hand, and peered out into the gloom be-

yond the radius of light.

“Help! help! in the name of Heaven! help!”
shouted Blanche, in a tone of the most imploring
sweetness, mingled with despair.

The hunter gras ed his rifle, and started back
as though he had een confronted by a. ghost.
The light shonebright in his face. A cry of joy .
escaped the fugitive maiden’s lips, as she urged
her animals forward. She recognized the hun—

ter.

It was Gilbert Braina‘rd !

In a voice of the wildest emotion she cried:

“Gilbert! Gilbert! Oh, my wronged love, it
is you !”

Blanche had urged her animal withing the cir-
cle of light, and it required but a sin le glance
for Gilbert to recognize her features. ne bound
and he was at her side, and lifting her from
the animal’s back, he clasped her in his
strong arms and kissed her time and again, to
assure himself that all was reality.

“ Blanche, my darling, what fate has sent you
to me, here in this wilderness of danger!" he
asked. .

“ Danger itself, dear Gilbert,” she replied, for-
getful of the danger that was momentaril y ap-
proaching them. “ We were on our way to Cal-
ifornia, and at dusk to—m'ght we camped on the
Platte River. Along in the night we were at-
tacked by the Indians, and I was carried oil?

. captive by their chief, calling himself Red Wolf.

An hour ago I managed to escape with both the
horses stolen by them from our camp; but at
this moment, Gilbert, the chief and several
mounted warriors are in pursuit of me.” _

“ Yes, I hear them now—they have discovered
this fire—your horses will aid us, too.”

“ No, Gilbert, they are tired out. I’Ve can go
faster on foot.”

“ Then we will leave them and cross the river.
I have acanoe close at hand. Come, they are
almost upon us!” and drawing her arm in his,
the two hurried awn toward the river.

The country, at t is point, presented a Wild
and rugged appearance. The valley narrowed
oif almost to the water’s edge, and frowning
rocks and rugged bluffs. thickly wooded with
stunted pine and hemlock trees, reared their
heads a hundred feet above the stream.

“A short way up the stream, Blanche, isa
cavern, wherein I have made my home for a

ear,” said Gilbert. “ Once there and we will

6 safe, for a while at least; and, then we can
talk over the last year as connected with our
lives.”

After a few minutes of brisk walking, the lov—
ers halted at the base of an immense rock, whose
craggy summit hu‘i‘ifg far out over the silent wa-
ters of the river. ild vines and bushes mingled
together and concealed the face of the rock from
view, as well as the yawning mouth of a cavern
half -way up the side.

“ Yes, fifty feet above us in this rock, my dear,
is my home.” said Gilbert. -

“ But how do you get up there?" asked
Blanche.

“ Two ways—that is, you can get up to it

 

 

."_ SUJQX~
[I ‘_._-H. W“.

Wild Raven. the Scout.

v

18

 

from here, and down to it from the top, and
both ways by only a rope-ladder.”

"‘Reall , 1 should think it was a safe place,”
replied lanche, smiling. “But what puzzles
me is, how you ever found the cavern in the first
place.”

“I didn’t find it. An old hunter named Ra-
ven, a companion of mine, found it.”

“ Then you have a companion?”

“ Yes; but he‘s absent now over on the Platte
River.” . ’

“ Oh, I am so glad to hear that you have not
been entirely alone.”

“ In one sense of the word, dear Blanche, I
have been alone and miserable ever since the
minute you informed me that your father had
stated that I was his would-be murderer, and
begged me to flee. I was alone, because I could
not be in your society, and miserable because
I was looked upon as a murderer. I was afraid
public opinion would influence your mind against
me, and that you would discard my love for an—
other‘s. Had it not been your wish for me to con-
ceal myself, in hopes that the real criminal
would be brought to justice, I would have given
myself up to the law and taken my chances for
life, knoWing that I was innocent of the crime.
But altering the subject, What induced your
father to start to California? And what has
become of my friend, George Barker?”

“To your first question, I will say total
bankruptcy: and to your other, George Barker
was soon found out to be a penniless adventurer,
and having stolen a horse from father, he fled
the country, and I never heard of him again
until to-night.”

“ To—night’l”

“Yes, dear Gilbert, the Indian chief, Red
Wolf, in whose power I was to-night—he who
carried me from my mother’s side, was none
other than George Barker in disguise

“Heavens! then you will be hunted down by
the villain and his savages. We must lose no
time in ascending to the cave. He can not
reach you there. Come."

Turning aside, Gilbert parted some bushes,
and revealed the foot of the rope-ladder, which
be instructed her how to climb with ease and
safety.

“At the top of the ladder,” he said, “is a.
wide table rock; when you reach it you will
drop a pebble in the river, and then I Will
follow.” A

Withdrawing her arm from Gilbert’s. Blanche
caught hold of the ladder and began the ascent
swifth and fearlessly. Gilbert could not see
her, or she was hidrlen by the bushes and
trailing vines, but he could hear the sound each
step produced vibrating along theladder. Pres-
ently all became silent and then he knew she
had reached the table-rock. A moment later
and he heard a pebble drop into the river, and
then he began his ascent, With an ease and
swiftness that could have been acquired only
through much practice.

In a moment’s time he was safelv landed 11 on

the table-rock; but where was Blanche? he
was nowhere to be seen or heard. I
“She must have gone in here to give me

a little scare—just like the little rogue used
to,” he mused, smilingly, as he moved toward

,

 

the mouth of the cavern, but ere he could reach
it, two dark figures sprung from the shadow of
the rock, and seizing him roughly, bore him to
the round and pinioned his arms before he
coul offer the least resistance.

CHAPTER VIII.
A SUDDEN REAPPEARANCE. «

TEDDY MULDOON was the first to discover the
danger that menai-ed Wild Raven from the two
savages that had so suddenly glided from around
the island, and having called his friend’s notice
to the fact, he raised his rifle and would have
fired at the red-skins, had Barry St. Ledger not
checked him with the information that they
were far beyond range of his gun—being over
three hundred yards away.

For a moment the emigrants were analyzed
with fear for the scout’s life. From w ere they
were they could render him no assistance, what-
ever; and to attempt to get within range of
them, the savages would discover them, and in
all irobability hasten the death of their friend, I
an escape to the opposite shore. But ere they
had much time for thought, they saw Wild
Raven spring to his feet, and simultaneous with
the crack of the savage’s rifle, saw him drop
from his canoe into the river and disappear
beneath the waves.

“ Och. be the holy Vargin!” exclaimed Tedd
in a tone of great emotion, “there goes hot
man and pipe. May the devil git the rhed
inurthering spalpeensl”

“Great heavens, yes!" replied St. Ledger,
“our friend is killed. Keep silent, or the
savages will bring death upon us next 1”

“ But can’t we defend ourselves against them
two father?” asked Harry.

“ has; but if they see us, they will hurry and
brin others down upon us,” the father very
sensi 1y replied. »

“ But what are we to do, Arthur? Our things
are all on the island; the scout is dead, and
our poor child, God knows where she is!”
said Mrs. St. Ledger, in a. voice of the deepest
sorrow.

“Let us hope for the best, Sarah,” replied
the husband, consolingly. “When the Indians
leave here, we Will manage some way to get to
the island, and then some of us go in Search of
Blanche.”

The emigrants, from their concealment, watch<
ed the savages, who, the moment Wild Raven
fell into the river, drew their knives—drove the
canoe forward, eager in their wild excitement
to tear the scalp from the scout’s head the mo-
ment he arose to the surface. But, to their disk '
appointment. the body of their great enemy
arose not. They looked behind. on each side,
but not a trace of him, dead or alive, could they
discover. '

Wild in their disappointment. as they were
a few moments previous in their trium h, the
two savages gave' up their search for aven’s
indy and headed their canoe toward the point
Where Arthur St. Ledger and his friends were
concealed.

“Easy. my friends!” cautioned the elder St.
Ledger; “they are coming. Make ready, and
the moment they are within reach, fire upo 1
them. I will take the one at the ours.” . r ’

 

 

l4

“Och, and be the howly saints!” exclaimed
Teddy, ‘and their death-cry will be music on
the air, the bloody spalpeensl"

Closer and closer approached the canoe with
its doomed occupants. The dip and swash of
the ears grow plainer and plainer, and the waves
(-hafe the shore with a sullen rebound of their
inurmurings. Suddenly, while the canoe is yet
a few feet from the shore. the report of our
i’riends‘ rifl3s ring out, and louder rings the
death-cry of the two Indians as they spring to
their feet and reel and totter and fall into the
river.

No shout of triumph escaped the emigrants’
lips; their hearts were mute with the loss of
their friend, the scout; only that painful death-
cry of the savages spoke their triumph.

For a moment the smoke from their rifles
hung between them and the victims of their
aim like a blue mist. When it cleared away,
each face became blanched to an ashy white—
ness, each form seemed changed to a. statue of
marble.

Within the very canoe from which the savages
had fallen, sat Wild Raven with two reeking
sculps in his hand!

“ 0h, howly Mother, preserve us!" exclaimed
Teddy, startled with sudden terror. “ The divil
himself—«old Satan is afther us in the skin of
poor, dead Misther Raven!"

“Hal hal hal Sich is life on the plains,
frien’s!” laughed the scout.

At the sound of the scout’s voice, the emi-

- grants recOVered from their sudden stupor and

fright.

“ Och, bedad, and it’s Misther Raven himself !”
exclaimed the Irishman, ever on time for the
first word; ‘{ bad ’cess to the rhed, murthering
h’athens, yer most riverend honor!”

“Ho, good friend, you are safe, thank God!”
said the elder St. Ledger, advancing closer to
the shore.

“ Yes, with the exception of that,” replied the
scout, lacing the tip of his finger upon a blood-
red we t u on the side of his face, where the sav—
age’s bulle had grazed it when he plunged into
the river. "I sa , friends. it war a clever
trick I played on t em reds.”

“ It seems to have been, though we are entire-
ly ignorant of the way in which it was accom-
plished,“ replied St. Ledger. .

“ Oh, wal, I'll explain,” said the scout, driv-
ing the canoe to the shore with a single stroke
of the cars. “You see, as the reds didn't kill
me, I plunged into the river, and havin‘ pre-
viously measured the distance between me and
the savages with my eyes, I swam under the
water toward them and managed to poke my
head out directly under the row of their
canoe, which, you see, 15 roun ed at the ex-
tremities and kind 0’ flarin’ at the top like a.
hell, so the rim rejected out over my head
and hid it from v1ew; and while the reds were
lookin' around, I war under their canoe, hold-
in’ on to the bottom 0’ it. Seen as the two
gents died with a sudden rush 0’ blood to the
brain, I slip into their canoe, and securin’
one 0’ their nives, lifted their hair in a sys-
ttimmatical style, and here I am, good for an-
other century’s work.” .

The emigrants complimented the scout highly

 

Wild Raven. the Scout.

on his success in outwitting the red-skins, and
expressed their regret of their inability to com-
pensate him for the risks he was running in their
behalf.

In a few minutes Wild Ravun recovered the
large canoe and conveyed his friends safely over
to the island. A spot of a few feet square was
cleared of the underbrush in the center of
the island for a camp, and all their articles
placed there. The place was anladmirable one
to guard against surprise by a lurking enemy,
for while they were completely screened from
view of any person upon either shore, that per-
son could be easily seen by them.

The scout instructed Harry St. Ledger how he
could obtain fish from an eddy at the lower side
of the island by a peculiar n'ocess, which would
enable them to procure fo without leaving the
island. He also instructed the elder St. Ledger
in the manner he should adopt in uarding
against a surprise in the night, and in t e many
cunning devices the Indians would probabl y em—
pie 7 to entrap them unawares; and having seen
to their comfort in general, Wild Raven took his
departure in search of Blanche, obstinater re-
fusing the company of any of the emigrants.

The scent instinctively supposed that Blanche
had been carried off on one of her father’s
horses, and that her abductor had appropriated
the other. Actuated by this supposition, he
struck the animals’ trail, and set ofl’ to follow it.

As he had expected. the trail lay in the direc— '
tion of the Black Hills, and as it was easily fol-
lowed, the scout moved on with long and rapid
strides.

It was toward the middle of the afternoon that
Raven came to a point where the trail presented
a different as ct. With another party of
horsemen that ad come from the west, the two
that he had been following, turned abruptly to
the left and proceeded eastward. 1n the Vicinity
of the angle, blood was discovered upon the
grass, and for once, the scout was totally at a
loss to understand the cause, not only of the ap-
pearance of the blood there, but the abrupt
change in the course.

“Painters and polars! this gits me!" he mut-
tered, as he rested his chin upon his hands that
were clasped over the muzzle of his rifle. “Who
it war that came from the west, and why it is
that they all go east together, is the question. It
might be that those that come from the west
war a party 0’ mounted trappers or hunters, and
have rescued the gal; but that’s hardly probable,
or they’d have taken her back to her frien’s.
Howsomever, I’ll follow on and look into the
matter more carefully.”

So saying, he drew his can down in front—
which act denoted his rplexity—shouldered his
ziflel. and moved brisk y‘forward upon the new

rai .

 

CHAPTER IX.
A TERRIBLE MOMENT. ,

IT r uired but a single glance for Gilbert
Brainar to see that he was in the power of two
savages, while his ears were greeted by the
voices of several others that were in the cavern.
He had been caught in his own retreat. The
savages had watched himv and learned by what
means he had reached the cavern; and than,

.\.

 

 

 

Wild Raven, the Scout. 15

when he was absent, they ascended the rope lad—
der and hid themselves away in the cavern until
his return. .

To offer resistance, Gilbert knew was folly,
for a single effort might provoke the savages to
hurl him from the table-rock into the chasm be-
low, or bury a tomahawk in his brain; so he
allowed them to bind him without a struggle,
though in his submissive demeanor, he showed
no humiliation of s )irit.

Having securely ound him hand and foot, the
savages carried him into the cavern and placed
him upon the grounrl. ‘

A fire was burning in the center of the cavern,
its light piercing the gloom of the remotest cor-
nerof the s acious chamber.

Almost t e first object that met Gilbert’s eyes
was Blanche St. Ledger, sitting on the opposite
side of the fire, with her hands tied behind her
back, while at her side and around the fire stood
half a dozen grim and stalwart Indians. No
look of pain nor fear rested upon her pretty
face, but her eyes moistened with tears when
they met those of her lover.

‘ Your safe retreat proved tobe one of danger,
Gilbert,” she said, in a moumful voice.

“ Yes, dear Blanche; but don"t give way to
sorrow," he replied consolingly. “ There is hope
as long as there is life.”

“ That is true—”

“ Ugh! pale-face must quit talk. Cut tongue
out if don’t,” threatened a brawny savage, as he
unsheathed a long scalping-knife, as if to give
force to his words.

Thus being refused the privilege to converse
with one another by their captors, there was no
alternative but to obey. .

After a few moments of perfect silence, the
red-skins gathered around the fire, and lighting
their pipes, began to converse, now and then

casting a glance toward the prisoners, who were
well convinced, thereby, that they were the sub-
ject of their conversation.

All of a sudden, a Wild yell from the savage
that was standing on guard at the mouth of the
cavern rung through the rocky vault, echoing
and re—echolng from chamber to chamber with
a hollow sound. The savages around the fire
sprung to their feet, and, leaving the prisoners,
hurried to the entrance. A ell from the chasm
below greeted their exit on t e table-rock. An-
other party of savages had arrived.

The captives, who had taken advantage of the
savages’ absence to converse in a low tone, were
thrilled with horror as the recognized a voice
among the new-comers. t was that of the
chief, Red Wolf; or, as the reader already
knows, George Barker, in disguise.

A look of opelessness and despair new man-
tled the face of Blanche, though she did her ut-
mostto keep uB her courage. She know that
the demon of arker’s soul was roused within
him against her—that the chains of her captivity
were momentarily tightening about her.

“ Oh, Gilbert! Gilbert!” she sobbed, there is
no hope for us now I”

'I he sound of approaching footstefps prevented
Gilbert from replying. Red Wol , or George
Barker, as we will hereafter call him, and his
party of savages had climbed the ladder, and
were entering the cave. Ina moment they were

 

before the captives, and Barker with a demoniac
leer upon his face, confronted Blanche.

“Ho, ho, my pretty dear l" he tauntingly ex-
claimed, “so I have you again. That was a
nice, clever trick you played the out on the
prairie; aren’t you sorry about it, now?”

“Sorry!” exclaimed Blanche, with an indig-
nant flashing of her eyes and a scornful curl of
her lips; “sorry? es, George Barker, I am
sorry—sorry that the shot did not kill you i"

“ Heigh—eighl then you do know your old
sweetheart, despite my disguise?” the villain
asked. “ Why, when we went iii—masquerading
over the prairies to-nitrht, I supposed you con-
sidered me a genuine fhdian.”

“ I knew you from the first, wretch,” replied
the maiden, with all the fire of her soul aroused.
“A villain, thief, liar and murderer like you
cannot disguise himself. Your meanness and
heathen principles are stamped upon every fea—
ture of your face that paint will not hide!”

“ Whew! You possess all your old-time fire
my pretty Dove,’ he said, advancing toward
her, ‘and for fear you should make another
ugly scratch like that,” pointingJ to a fresh and
bloody wound upon the side of is head, “ I will
relieve you of your weapon.”

He stooped and took the revolver from the
maiden’s pocket and, as he turned toexamine
it by the fire, his eyes met those of Gilbert
Brainard. For a moment the villain’s soul
seemed to shrink with terror from the earnest
gaze of the ca tive’s flashin eyes; then, when
he saw that ilbert was he pless, his cowardly
bravado returned.

“Fates and furies! if here isn’t Mr. Gilbert
Brainard, my old rival; a fugitive from justice,
a would'be murderer. Ho—ho, my Dove ” turn-
ing to Blanche, “ vengeance is sweet! o—mor-
row Ishall have your sentimental lever executed
for the attempted murder of your father. You
know it is justice to whom justice is due. Crime
must not go unpunished.”

“ It does," hissed Gilbert, “or else you would
have been hung lon ago, fiend incarnate I"

“ Tongue~thrusts, 1r. Brainard, do not hurt—”

“A coward i" interrupted Gilbert.

“Have it your own way, Mr. Brainard, for
I will give you only until tomorrow evening
to say what you have to say, and settle your
earthly matters,” said Barkernis he bent his
head to examine the revolver.

Neither of the captives made any further re-
ply to the cowardly taunts and threats of the
renegade chief; and, after a while, Blanche laid
down upon a bed of furs to rest.

After some parle , all the savages, except two
that were station at the entrance as guards,
including Barker, stretched themselves in vari-
ous attitudes about the fire, and sunk into a
sound sleep.

With the first streaks of the morning light,
all were astir. A supply of fresh venison was
brought in and roasted for breakfast, the cap-
tors sharing with their captives in the meal. x

It was toward the middle of the afternoon
that the savages began making preparations to
leave the cavern. As the captives could not be
trusted to climb up the top ladder, from the
mouth of the cave to the main rock alone. ropes
were constructed by which to draw them up, by

x

v

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’ attengited to take the li
‘ said

 

16 Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

fastening one end around their waists. As the
removal from the cavern occupied an hour or
more it was well on toward evenin ere they
seto on the journe up the river. he coun-
try, as they advanc , grew more rugged and
mountainous. Deep gorges and yawning chasms
intercepted their way at every few steps.
Everywhere the silvery voice of cascades could
be heard, mingled with the rush and roar of the
river, as it swept wildly through’some dark
canyon hundreds of feet elow.

Presently the party came to a halt at a point
where two gigantic, scarpcd and fluted rocks, a
hundred feet high lacked but a few feet of
forming a natural bridge over the deep—blue
waters of the river. A gloomy and desolate si—
lence Seemed to pervade the atmosphere of the
place—«the dense foliage of the stunted pines
shuttin out every ray of the sun. Barker
took B anche by the hand, and leading her to

the edge of the precipice, bade her look on the

depths below.

0 satisfy her own curiosity she did so. A

yawning chasm, black as a wolf‘s mouth, was

presented to her View; and, (lizz with the sight,

she sprung back with an exc amation of sur-
rise.

“ How would on like to hang, head down-
ward, over the c asm, my dear?” asked Barker,
with a fiendish leer.

I “ I wouldn’t like it very well, though I’m
certain I would not turn my hand to aid you,
wisre you suspended there,” she replied, haugh-
ti y.

“I presume not, my dear; nevertheless, it is
the fate I have fixed upon for Gilbert Brainard,”
he said, slowly; and turning to Gilbert he con—
tinued: “ And now, young man. my time for re-
venge on both you and Arthur St. Ledger has
come. You shall die, while I live to enjoy the
blessin s of life. Revenge is sweet, and, in fact,
'I have con enjoying it for over a car, for it
was I who attempted to kill St. Le ger and fix
the crime upon you! In the first, I failed, in the
latter I was successful, thereby forcing you to
flee from the law of your country.” .

“ Ah, villain! I always knew it was you who

act Arthur St. Ledger,”
ilbert, reproachfully; “ but mind, murder
will out.”

“ Really I have just confessed my uilt of the
little aflair, but then, you see, I am eyond the
reach of justice now. But we are losing time.”
And turning to his savages, he ordered them to
bind Gilberts hands at his side in such a manner
that he could not move them. This done, along
rope was fastened to his feet, and then he was

‘ dragged tothe edge of the precipice. No fear

of death blanched the youn man’s face; not a
muscle relaxed in its stren He asked not for
mercy from .his enemies, or he knew there was
no mercy in their hearts.

Not so with Blanche. She, poor thing, in the
wildest despair, fell upon her knees and implored
Barker to save Gilbert.
laughed a Satanic laugh, and turned away.
Overcome with sorrow and despair, she sunk un-

conscious to the ground.

Gilbert was now lowered, head downward,

twenty feet below the edge of the. precipice by
\  of the rope attached to his feet. Aw!

But the human devil‘

 

there, in that awful, dizzy hight, he swung to
and fro like a pendulum. He could not struggle
nor move a muscle. The blood began to Our
from his mouth and nostrils, and trickle own
among the green leaves of the trees, that inter-
laced their bonghs over the dark waters of the
river. To his downward gaze the chasm rew
darker and darker as his eyeballs started rom
their soakets. Life with Gilbert Brainard was
but a momentary object any longer. He had
ceased to swing to and fro, and now whirled
round and round like a top. All the horror and
suffering of an adventurous lifetime seemed com-
pressed into that short space in which he was
suspended over the dizzy hights of the precipice
by a single thread, as it were.

Supposing him dead, Barker fastened the end
of the rope which he held in hand to a tree, and
walking to the edge of the rook, he looked down
at his victim.

But hark! At that moment the dull report of
a rifle came up from the depths of the" dark
chasm; the rope is cut in twain by a whizzing
bullet, and Gilbert Brainard goes whirling down,
down, into the silent water of the deep river,
eighty feet below!

CHAPTER X.

\VHITE PLUME, THE SIOUX.

WHEN Arthur St. Ledger and his friend he-
came safely and comfortably located on the
island, and felt that their most imminent danger
was over, they realized, with a most poignant
sting, their idolized Blanche: and many and fer-
vent were the prayers of the bereaved to the
Great'ProtectorJor her safe restoration to them.
Since the had received from Teddy a full ac-
count of ake Darle’s suspicious actions and con-
sidered them in connection with his desertion,
they could come to no other conclusion than that
he was in league with the indians. And yet,
they might possibly be mistaken. The guide
may have been perfectly innocent of the accusa-
tion. The signaling with fire might have been
to direct some person that was lost on the plain,
and in leaving the camp it might have been to
look after their—the emigrants ——safety, and he
unluckin have been captured or murdered by
thé Indians. But circumstances were very strong
against him, and it would require trustworthy
evidence to exonerate him from the emigrants’
suspicions.

Atnoon Hurry caught several fine trout in the
eddy at the lower side of the island, as instruct-
ed by Wild Raven. A fire was then struck. the
fish dressed and fried to a crisp brown by Mrs.
St. Ledger, whose skill in the culinary art was
surpassed by few. A sumptuous dinner of the
luscious and savory trout was served, and eaten
with great relish. After the table had been
cleared away, the fire was put out, so that the
smoke might not attract attention from shore.

To the emigrants, in their great anxiety for
the safe and speedy return of Blanche, the day
wore wickly away and night came on apace.
At dar , Teddy Muldoon and Harry took their
respective statlons as guards at opposite points
on the island, each one pacing half the circuit of
the island and back, starting so that when one
was at the upper side, the other Was at the

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: _ Wild Raven, the Scout. I 1"

 

lower side, thus bringing all points under their
Vigilance.

The moon was shininty brightly, flooding the
landscape with light. The shores, with every
ol ject that appeared upon them, were plainly
outlined, and the river, above nnrl on each side
of the island, appeared like a bed of molten sil—
yer.

In two hours Teddy was relieved from his
watch by Mr. St. Lwlgsr, and permitted to take
two hours’ sleep, when he in turn would relieve
Hurry. The. moment almost that the Irishman
touched his head to the ground he fell asleep,
and slept soundly until he was aroused by
Harry. Very reluctantly he arose and began
pacing sluggisth to and fro upon his watch,

rubbing his half-open eyes with both hands, and

ixiumbling:

“ Bothcration! If this getting up in the mid—
dle of a nap isn’t 1i he tearing one’s heart-strings
out, jist tell me av it! dcgorru, I’ve a notion to
shlap/i a loetle on me post, come to think av it.
I’m sure there’s no Ingins within a mile av~”

“ Ugh!”

It was a low, guttural sound that greeted his
(Ear, and. a heavy hand that fell upon his shoul-
( or.

“ Termini: yees, Hurry—” But it was not
Hurry; it was a large, nuiseulur—looking savage
that confronted the Irishman.

" Me friend; me W'hite Plume,” said the In—
dian, as Teddy stepped back and raised his rifle.

There was such a strange fascination in the
snvnge’s voice, that it caused Teddy to lower his
rifle and look closdy into his face, which, like no
others he had ever seen, was devoid of paint.
lie was tall and powerfully built, with a broad,
honest oval face, and clear black eyes, that were
free. from that cunning and serpent-like light so
peculiar to his race. His head, large, Well do-
lined and intellectual, was covered with long
glossy hair, and surmounted with a snow-white
eagle-plume. He carried a knife at his waist,
and a. bow and quiver at his back. His clothes,
which sat close to his muscular limbs and chest,
were dripping wet, showing that he had been in
the river.

“Faith, Misther White Plume,” said Teddy,
scratching his head, with a quizzicul expression
on his face, “ have yees anything to show that
yees are a friend ’5"

“ Nothing but word,” replied White Plume.

“ Yes; but how do Inc’s know whether yees
tell the truth?”

“ Trust me,” said the Indian.

“ W hat’s the matter, Teddy?” called Mr. St.
Ledger, hearing the Irishman s voice in‘ conver—
5111101).

“Eillfll, and I’ve a big rhed Inging around
here.

“ A—whatl”.

“ Come rhound, yerl Honor, and see.”

In a moment St. Ledger was in the presence
of Teddy and the Indian. A conversation im-
mediately sprung up. in which Mr. St. Ledger
became full convinced that “Ihite Plume was a
friendly In ian, and invited him to their camp.

“ What brought you here at this time of
night, White Plume?” asked St. Ledger. after
having a. fire struck, that he might get a better
view of the pretended friendly Indian.

 

“ Come," said White Plume, “ to bring White
squaw," i

“Where is she?”

“ There,” and he pointed toward the shore.

“ Is she a. captive?” asked Mrs. St. Ledger, as
she thought of Blanche.

“She was, for five long summers, but free
now. Me take her here and wait till father git
her,” replied the Indian. thoughtfully.

“ \Vhere in her father?”

“He comin’," said the Indian, evasively, as
he took an arrow from his quiver and thrust the
point in the fire.

“ “Wat’s that for I” asked St. Ledger, sudden—
ly growing suspicious.

The Indian made no reply, but stooping, he
plucked the blazing arrow from the fire, and
applying it to his bow-string, he sent it Whir—
ringr up into the air, for above the tree-t0 .

“Treachery!” cried St. Ledger. “ e has
signaled to his friends!” and the click of three
rifles was heard.

“No,” said the Indian, laughing, “me tell
Rena to come. See!” and he pointed out to
the west shore.

The emigrants, half—ashamed of their hasty
not, lowered their rifles and looked in the direc-
tion indicated. Out from the shadow of the
bunk they saw a tiny canoe, with a tin occu-
pant, dart like a. bird—the paddles flus ing in
the moonlight like snow-white wings. But
hark! Clear as the warbling lay of the kirk——
sweet and mouruful as the wild strains of an
than harp—the voice of that cancels tin ocu
cupant floats over the water to the ears 0 our
friends, as she trills:

“ Wild roved an Indian girl,
Sweet Alfaretta,
Where swce Is the waters of,
The blue uniata,"

in plaintive cadence. The voice waspurely

Saxon, and there was no doubt, now, as to
‘White Plume’s truthfulness.

In a few moments the canoe had reached the
island, and springing ashore. the maiden parted
the bushes and advanced, shy as a plover, to the
side of White Plume.

She could not have been more than sixteen
summers of age; was small, yet fully developed
in form and features, and as quick and grateful
as the timid fawn. Her features, though
bronzed by exposure to the sun and wind, Were
as fine and regular as those of a sculptured
Madonna; her eyes were large. black and mourn—
ful, and looked at you with a holy light shining
from their depths with sweet and tender fasci-
nation.

She was dressed in a short frock of some .

green material, bound round the skirts with

‘yellow fringe, while her feet and limbs were in-

cased in beaded moccasins and buckskin leg»
gings. Around her neck and waist were 'in-
numerable strands of white beads and tin pink
shells that flashed like Opals in the fire—11g t.

The maiden’s eyes wanderedsofrly from one
of the emigrants to the other, until finally they
rested upon Mrs. St. Ledger, With a gentle,
childlike adoration.

“What is your name, my little lady?” asked
1" rs. Ledger, advancing and patting her under

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.Wild RaVen, the Scout.

 

“ Rena,” replied the maiden, in a. clear, musi-
cal voice.

"Rena," repeated the good woman; “that is
a pretty name, but haven’t you another name?
Rena. who?"

The maiden was about to s k when White
Plume placed his finger to is lips, enjoining
silence. Mrs. St. Ledger saw him; and read the
meaning of his gesture, and at once changed the
subject which the Indian wanted to remain
secret.

“ You are tired, Rena," she said, turning
toward the tent; “so come with me into my
tent and rest.”

Rena followed her into the tent, and having
seated themselves on a pile of blankets, Mrs.
St. Ledger asked:

“ Have you traveled far to—day, Rena?”

“ Yes, ma’am,” she politely replied, “ we
have come a long ways.”

“ And where are you going, Rena?”

“ Here to this island."

“ You have been a captive, have you, among

the Indians?"
,, “ Yes. ma‘am' five years ago, papa and mo-
ther and White i’lume were on thls very island,
when the Indians came and killed mother and
took me and White Plume prisoners and car—
ried us 01! to their village. White lumc es-
caped from them, but I was kept until a few
days ago, when he rescued me from their power.
H) tells me that ‘papa is alive, and is to meet
us here in a few ays. Oh, I am so anxious to
see poor apal" and the tears arose in her great,
mournfu eyes.

“What is your papas name, Rena?” asked
Mrs. St. Ledger, as she smoothed the maiden’s
disheveled ringlets tenderly.

Rena raised her tearful eyes and saw White
Plume sitting near the door of the tent, a par~
ently taking no notice of her, but with his nger
presssd significantly upon his lips, and turning
to Mrs. St. Ledrrer, she said, sweetly:

“ Oh, good la y, please don’t ask me that, for
I cannot tell you papa’s name yet.”

“Pardon me, Rena,” said the good woman,
‘\ for troubling you with so many uestions that
are gainful to you. I have a dang ter who is in
the ands of the Indians now, and I am in con—

stant trouble about her, and scarcely know
what I say half the time. But on are
sleepy, and must lie down with me ere and
rest. ’

’ The guards resumed their watch, Harry laid
down to sleep, while White Plume, in true In—
dian fashion, sat down near the tent and began
smoking.

Thus an hour passed, in silence, when the In-
dian arose, and looking into he tent to see that
his tender charge was safe and asleep as he
passed, he walked out to where Mr. St. had or

,was, and signified his willingness to take is
place.‘ Of course St. Ledger readily yielded his
pest to one whose skill and vi 'lance far exceeded
his, and retired to rest. owever, he had
scarcely fallen into a doze before he was aroused
by the friendly red-man, with startling intelli-

gence.
. “U h! Ingins come, pale—face!”
St. Iger sprung to his feet and followed
White P ume to to upper side of the island,

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‘ 21., 1......Wfi,  , . .

 

whe'e, parting the undergrowth before them,
they scanned the river before anrl on each side
of them. They saw nothing, yet the dip of oars
was plainly heard descending the river at no
great distance. An abrupt bend in the river hid
the unknown voyagers from view.

“How do you know, White Plume, that In-
dians are coming? It might be friends," said
St. Ledger.

“ No—not friends,” replied the Indian, with a
shake of the head; “it enemies—17mins /”

“ But how can you tell? You can’t see
them.”

“ No; me hear ’em. Tell by dip of cars. Ugh
—there come!"

True enough, as White Plume spoke, a large
canoe, with a. dozen savages in it, appeared from
around the bend, in full view of the two
watchers.

The canoe was not more than one hundred
yards distant, and whatever was to be done to
repel the attack must be done speedily. But the
surprise of our friends was somewhat appeased
when all of a sudden they saw the canoe turn at
right an lcs, and move briskly toward the cast
shore, w ich, as the reader doubtless remem-
bers, was covered with a light growth of cotton—
wood aml undergrowth, thereby affording good
protection to enemies who might feel disposed
to la siege to the island.

“ but do they mean by that?” asked St.
Ledger, as the canoe disappeared under the
shadow of the bank.

White Plume shook his head, gave utterance
to two or three guttural exclamations, and then
replied:

“Bad Ingins! Mean mischief. Me go steal
their canoe,clse they make us trubble. Waugh 1"

St. Ledger could not suppress a smile at the
Indian’s anger, as he turned and glided back to
the tent, peered in, passed on to the loWer side
of the island and halted at the water’s edge. St.
Ledger followed him, and in a moment he was
at his side. '

“ What are you going to do, White Plume?”

“ Swim to shore—steal bad Ingin’s canoe—be
back soon—mebby not,” and as he concluded, ho
plllunged into the water, and struck out for the
s ore.

CHAPTER XI.

THE Sioux’ STRATAGEM.

WHEN White Plume reached the shore, it was
a point three hundred yards below where the
Indian canoe had touched. Crawling up the
bank, he moved back into the shadow of the
trees, then turned and moved, with catlike
stealth and caution, up the stream.

In a few moments he came within the sound of
voices, which he recognized as those of his
natural enemies, the Cheyennes he being a
Sioux. Seating himself to watc their move-
ments, and learn from their conversation, if pos-
sible, their future intentions, he was suddenly
induced to quit his point of observation very un-
ceremoniously. The Cheyennes had struck a
light within a few feet of him; so, selecting an-
other lookout, he was now enabled to make out
their number. There were ten grouped around
the fire. Their conversation was carried on in

   

I

 

wad haven. the Scout. 19

 

:; low tone. yet the practiced cars of White
ir'lnmc drank in every word.

As he had expected, the Cheyennes had laid a
plan by which to surprise and capture those on
the island, and had he not learned how it wasto
be accomplished, they Would, in all probability,
have succeeded. As the attack was not to be
made until the latter part of the night, White
Plume had ample time in which to prepare to
meet them, besides to carry out the object which
he had left the island for, that of stealing their
canoe; and in doing so, it would probably defeat
all their well-cohcocted schemes.

So, having learned all he wished to from his
ten enemies, the brave Sioux moved back into
the timber a ways, and then, by a circuitous
route, reached the river some distance above the
camp. Climbing down the bank into the water,
he submerged himself to the chin, and with his
hunting-knife between his teeth, he began mov-
ing down the stream, keeping well under the
shadow of the bank, now and then stopping to
listen. So cautiously did he more and breathe,
that he seemed an inanimate being, moved only
by the sluggish current of the river.

It was several minutes ere White Plume
came in sight of the coveted canoe; but what
Wm his disappointment when he did, to find
two savages seated in itl

,The Sioux was in a dilemma. He could not
spring upon the two enemies and put them out
of the way without bringing the others upon
him; and to try to steal the canoe with two
Indians in it was imposxible. So he had either to
go back without it, or else wait until the savages
left it. He decided upon the latter course,
although it might require hours of patience;
but that quality the American Indian invaria-
bl possesses.

g‘or one long hour White Plume stood in the
water without moving a muscle, watching two
Indians with a clogged determination. It
seemed curious to him that they never moved
nor spoke a word; surely they were not asleep,
and yet it might be possible, he thought, for
all they were sitting bolt upright; but that
would make no differenw; if an Indian wants
to, he can sleep just as well sitting or standing
as lying down.

\Vhite Plume made a slight noise; still the
Cheyennes moved not. He advanced to the
side of the canoe, and raising himself slightly,
he looked in their very faces. Sure enough,
they were both sound asleep, with their guns
lving at their feet. A smile passed over the
Sioux’s face as a. novel idea entered his mind.
He would steal the canoe, Indians, scalps and
all! The victory would be complete.

The ten Cheyennes on the shore were not more
than ten steps away, and it would require some
caution. even to escape them; but not to be de-
layed. Wild Plume crept to the front end of the
canoe, and cut, the rope that fastened it to the
shore. This done, he pushed it gently out into
the river, and then, taking it in tow, set off for
the island, swimming with the most extreme
caution.

Arthur St. Ledger saw the canoe apgroaching
and luckily discovered the trick the ioux was
playing on his enemies, in time to prevent Ted-
dy from firing upon them.

 

The Sioux succeeded in reaching the island with
his two sleeping sava es, without arousing them
from their slumber, ut in stepping from the
water, he made a light splash which reached
their practiced ears. The awoke. But before
the could collect their s uggish thoughts. and
reaize their critical situation, White Plume
sprung into the canoe, and seizing a tomahawk
that lay at their feet, buried it in their bemud—
dled brains. His double victory was achieved.
How soon the ten Cheyennes discovered the loss
of their canoe and friends was not known. Even
had they made the discovery at all, they were
silent in their rage at being thus outwitted by
an unknown enemy.

When tVVhite Plume rejoined his white friends
at the fire, be related the conversation that he
had overheard at the Cheyenne camp. of the in-
tended attack upon the island, and cautioned
them to be upon their guard; although he
thought that the loss of their canoe might frus-
trate their plans.

The Sioux again resumed his post as guard,
not feeling safe in trusting theirsafety entire]
in the hands of the inexperienced whites; yet his
own knowledge of savage life was soon brought
to a severe test.

Some distance below the island, on the east
bank of the river, he discovered a dull light
moving to and fro, with a slow and regular mo-
tion; sometimes it would remain stationary, then
entirely disappear for a moment, and appear in
a different p ace again. '

W'hite Plume knew that the moving light was

a system of telegraphy among the Indians, but I

as a general thing, the signals of one tribe were
unknown by the others, consequently the Sioux
was unable to read the message that was bein
communicated to some other point. He look
warily about him in all directions, hoping to
learn by a. return signal, the location of the
party or individual that the message was intend—
ed for, but he could see nothing. But hark! His
practiced ears caught a faint ripple in the water
on the west side of the island, and with the si-
lence of a phantom, he glided toward the point.
Parting the bu has that skirt the island, he peer-
cd out on the 1' er and to his utmost indigna-
tion lie beheld, 9. out half-way between the
island and the mainland, a. Cheyenne in the
identical canoe that he had stolen an hour be-
fore, rowing swiftly toward the shore.

So far as stealing the canoe was concerned, the
SiOux felt that he had gained nothing, only in
diminishin the number of his enemies. But

what was eddy about, that he had not discov- ‘

ered the Cheyenne before he got beyond their
reach? His path in passing to and fro on his

ard ran Within three steps of the canoe. The

ioux drew back and waited for his approach,
and an explanation. But Teddy did not come.
A minute—two minutes passed, and‘still he was
absent. The Indian listened for his footste ,
but he heard them not. But. from over e
river, in the direction of the canoe, came the
startling cry: ‘

“Murtherl hilp! hilp! murtherl Howly Var-

in !”

It was the voice of Teddy Muldoon.

In a moment Arthur St. Ledger and Harry,-

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Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

aroused from their sleep by the lrishman’s cries,
were at White Plume’s side.

“ What is the trouble, White Plume?” asked
St. Ledger.

“ Ugh! Heap trouble! Look l” commanded
the Indian, pointing out toward the canoe, with
a cloud of indignation upon his face.

All eyes were upon the canoe in an instant,
and in it they beheld Tedd and the Cheyenne
engagiad in a deadly strugg c. How the former

at t ere wasa mystery to our friends. They

are not attempt to shoot the Cheyenne, for fear
Teddy would prove the Victim of their aim' and
to attempt to approach them would prove fatal,
for several Cheyenne savages were standing
upon the bank, within thirty yards of the com-
batants, watching the struggle.

Loud and shaxp rose the cries of the struggling
men, as they swayed to and fro with the rocking
canoe. Their strength and dexterity were equal,
and only the advantage would determine the
contest. This, by superior endurance, the Chey-
enne at last was gaining, when all of a sudden,
the canoe rocked violently, and the two com-
batants rolled out into the river!

For a moment they were lost to view beneath
the waves, then they arose firmly clinched in
each other’s grasp, still beating and striking,
and yelling as wildly as ever; Again they sink
beneath the waves and are seen no more. Our
friends watch in breathless anxiety to see them
rise again, but their watching was in vain. The
empty canoe floated away at the will of the cur-
rent—the savages on the shore withdrew into the
timber, and all became silent again.

Witha feeling of sorrow for their lost com-
panion, our friends retired to their camp—fire.

White Plume now took the entire watch upon
himself. He would trust his white friends’ inex-
perience no longer, for he knew that the cun-
ning Cheyennes would make eve effort within
their power to capture the islan , and murder
its occupants. He now fully understood the
si he] that he had seen down the river. and re—
80 ved not to be caught again in the same way,
so he crawled up into the highest tree on the
island, and secreted himself in such a position
that he could cpmmand a view of the river on
all sides. '»

The night were slowly away without any
further demonstration on the part of Chey-
ennes. As the last weary star paled away before
the glare of the open day, the friendly Sioux
descended from his lookout, and aroused his
friends from their slumber.

Rena, looking; greatly refreshed with her rest,
chatted with the emigrants quite merrily. She
bestowed more than equal attention on Harr ,
even assisting him in catching fish for brea -

fast.

While Mrs. St. Ledger was engaged in pre
flaring the meal, she turned suddenly to her hus-

and and said: '

“,Arthur, do you know that we left our iron
kittle, one of our best cooking vessels, at the
wagon yesterday?”

“.That is true, Sarah, though really, I had not
thought of it until you mentioned the fact,” re-

lied the husband. “ ButI presume the savages
ave it by this time, for the wagon and all with

. it were left at their mercy."

..
,

 

“ Well, we can get along without it, though I
would, on account of the old ‘ fireside’ associa—
tions connected with it, have liked to keep it,”
isaéd the matron, with a smile, resuming her
a or.

 

CHAPTER XII.
THE LIFE SHOT.

ARRIVING at the top of the bluff overlookin
the narrow valley, and the grove in whic
Blanche St. Ledger met her lover, Wild Raven
halted, and with his eagleeyes, swept the coun-
try; before him.

or away to his left, the valley gradually
widened into a great plain, while at his right it
narrowed oil? to the river’s edge, with mountain-
ous bluffs, pierced by caverns, and cut and diver-
sified by deep gorges, yawning chasms, and
roaring canyons.

Here and there a small grove dotted the val-
ley, and as the scout’s eyes rested upon one of
these. he saw animals emerge leisurely from its
shadow. At flint he took them to be buffaloes,
but upon examining them with a. small spy-
glass, which he always carried. he discovered
they were horses, which, from the description
given him previous] , he recognized as those he-
onging to Arthur t. Ledger. Descending the
bluff into the valley, he carefully approached
the animals, which at sight of him, pricked up
their ears and whinnied pifeously.

“ Wherr, wherr, wherr," whistled the scout,
coaxingly.

The animals, with their limbs stiff and swol<
len from hard riding, hobbled up to the scout
and licked his hand and rubbed their noses
against him in mute appeal.

“Ahl if you could only speak, ye dumb crit-
ters,” said the scout, caressing them kindly,
“ perhaps you could tell me 0’ them I seek. But
go on, crop the grass, and maybe I’ll come for

on again, when your limbs are not stiff. Go-
ong, go—long, ponies," and he moved on, leaving
the noble animals looking after him.

He bent his footsteps toward the grove from
which he saw the horses emerge. In a moment

0 had reached its outskirts and found himself
ace to face with a tall, powerful savage. A
gleam of recognition flashed in their eyes. The
savage 5 runs. forward with a low cry, and
seizing ild Raven by the arm dragged him
into the shadow of the grove. In a moment a
low cry, a savage yell and a shriek resembling
that of afemale came from the depths of the
co se, then all became silent as the grave.

n half an hour Wild Raven appeared on the
opposite side of the grove, free and unharmed;
but there was no victim’s blood upon his hands
—no reeking scalp dangled at his belt, but upon
his features rested a smile of triumphant joy—
such as seemed to agitate his soul with a new~ '
found happiness.

“Now for the cavern,” he muttered, as he
moved with elastic step up the river. “ Oh! if
I can jist fined Gil and the girl there I".

As he hurried on, a smile would MW and then
pass over his face, or he would check himself
from humming an old-time song, only to com-
mence whistling it. Now and then he would
turn and glance back toward the grove, then
pro s forward again. '

 

 

 

 

Wild Raven; the Scout. , 81

 

Presently he halted on the bank of the river,
Estolpposite the cavern in which he and Gil~

rt rainard made their home. Drawing a
small bark canoe from under some willows, he
was about stepping into it to cross to the oppo-
site side of the river, when the sound of voices
reached his cars, coming from the other shore.
Stepping back a ways he parted the willows and
looked across. To his horror and surprise he
discovered a savage standin on the table—rock
in front of the cave, whic be supposed was
known only to himself and Gilbert Brainard, his
companion.

In a moment his rifle was leveled at the sav-
age, but fortunately before he could fire, several
other Indians that were in the cavern made
their exit on the table-rock, leading Gilbert
Brainard and a young woman whom he knew
must be Blanche St. Ledger.

The scent saw the great propriety of keeping
his proximity to his enemies a secret, yet a
cloud of silent rage overshadowed his features
and a light of impatient revenge flashed in his
eyes, as he lowered his deadly rifle.

“Oh, curse the devils!” be fairly hissed be-

,tween his set teeth, “they’ve found our ‘nest’

at last. but some of them shall repent it, or
I’m no judge of small matters. Ah, they’re
leavin’."

True, the savages began to ascend the re
ladder to the summit of the rock, drawing t e
captives up by means of long ropes fastened
around their bodies. After al the party was
u&, the ladder was destroyed, and then they set
0 up the stream.

“ I’ll foller them to the end 0’ creation,” mut-
tered the scout, as he stepped into the concealed
canoe and headed it up the river.

By usinga little caution he was enabled to
keep within hearing of the boisterous partg',
which he knew would follow the course of t 6
river some distance.

It was the scout’s intention to follow the sav-
ages until they encamped for the night, then
endeavor to rescue his friends by whatever
chance was Oifered. But, alas! this intention
was suddenly nipped in the bud when, from the
top of a gigantic rock that projected midway
over the river, he beheld Gilbert Brainard sus-
pended head downward over the stream.

A speechless horror thrilled the scout’s veins.
He saw, with distended eyes, his fellow-com-
panion swinging Over the awful hight, while he
was powerless to aid, yet within speaking dis-
tance of him. The sight was too much; the
scout could not look upon the'sufl’ering man,
and he turned his eyes away. As he did so, an
idea flashed in his mind. and raising his eyes
again, be measured, b sight, the distance that
intervened between rainard and the river’s
surface. It was as much as eighty feet.

“ I’ll try it,” he mused, as he thrust two addi-
tional bullets into his rifle. “ The fall may kill
him, but if it does, then his suflerin’ will be
over.”

‘ As he concluded, he raised his rifle and took a
steady aim at the rope by which Gilbert was
Sllspended from the top of the prec1pu-e, and
fired. True to the mark, the bullet went home.
The ro was cut in twain, and down, down
came Gilbert Brainard, down through the inter-

 

laced boughs of the overhanging trees; down
into the river, striking the water, feet down»
ward, and sinking from view.

Wild Raven watched until he rose to the sur-
face again; then, driving his canoe forward, be
seized the unconscious form and lifted it from
the water. r

“ Not dead yit, by a long shot,” muttered the
scout, as he placed is hand on Gilbert's l-reast
and felt his heart throbbing, quick and strong.
“Only overcome with terror at his hellish
treatment,” and placing him in the bottom of
the canoe, the scout tore open his shirt and
began chafiin his breast and temples. In a few
moments Gil rt opened his eyes and gazed
vacantly about him, like one in a. delirium.

“Ho. ho boy)” spoke the scout; “you’re
safe, heels own’ards, too.”

The voice of Raven acted liked an electric'

shock nfion the nerves and senses of the young
man. 8 rose to a sitting posture, looked
{iis Cprescrver in the eyes, and faintly articu-
atc :

“ even, you have saved me from an awful
death.” ,

“ So I erceive,” the scout replied, as he
unfasten that part of the rope which was
attached to his feet.

“But how did you reach me at that great
hi ht?”

‘ I shot the rope in two, and you dropped into
the river, my bo .”

“And the fall did not kill me?”

“ Of course it didn’t. Don’t you see you’re
alive? Them branches broke the force 0 your
Eallt,’ ’and besides, your feet struck the water

rs .

“It was a miraculous escape, Wild Raven.
and to you I owe my life,” said Gilbert, gras ing
the scout’s brawny hand, “ but I shall still c aim
your assistance. A friend of mine, a young wo-
man is in that accursed renegade chief‘s power,
and l want you to assist me in rescuing her."

“Certainly, myhoy, certainly; but is her
name St. Ledger?’ ‘

“ Yes; what do on know abOut her?”

“It’s Blanche t. Ledger that I’m scarchin’
fur. I left her parents on the Platte, this
mornin'."

“Thank God!” exclaimed Gilbert, starting
up‘ “ then let us lose no more time here "

‘ Don’t be in a curry, boy; it’ll do no good.
Sit down and tell me what on know about that
rene ade chief, Red Wolf."

Gi bert sunk back into his seat, weak and
nervous from the effects of his late ordeal.

/

“ I know him," he said, “to be a white man'

with adevil’s heart. it was he who fixed the
crime of murder upon me, of which I have
often spoken to you. The villain admitted his,
guilt o the murder before he attempted to mur-
der me, a few minutes ago-” .

“ But his name, when ;you knowad him in the
States?"

“ George Barker.”

“George Barker !” re ated the secutvas a
fierce scowl settled over is swarthy face ;_“ and
may Heaven spare my life until he is in my
power one minute! hen he Will suffer, for
I will have his heart’s blood!”

’ “Has he ever injured you, Haven, in anyv

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88 r V Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

way?” asked Gilbert, somewhat surprised at the
scout’s strange demeanor.

“Never mind that now, lad,” re lied the
Scout evasively' “it's time we were eavin’ in
sears 0’ Miss St. Ledger. We must get her
before Red Wolf reaches his village With her,
else we’ll never set eyes on her alive.”

“Very well,” replied Gilbert; “shall we
leave the river and follow their trail?”

“ Not fur awhile. You are too weak to walk
yet, and as the savages are likely to follow the
river, we can follow them in the canoe. It’s
very liker that they'll camp at nightfall, and

6 our time to act.”

So saying, the scout headed the canoe up-

stream, and the pursuit had commenced again.

CHAPTER XIII.
LIFTED INTO LIFE AGAIN.
WHEN Blanche St. Led er recovered from the
swoon into which she hat fallen at the moment
that Gilbert was swung from the precipice, she

 

r found herself in a canoe on a narrow river.

Dark, frowning and rugged blufl's rose from the
water’s edge, excluding every ray of the moon—-
for night had long since settled over the land
—from the deserted valley.

The maiden‘s first thoughts were of Gilbert
Brainard. There were several dark forms sit-
tingin the canoe ;—was Gilbert one of them?
No, no! the cruel remembrance of his horrible
death at the precipicecame Crowding upon her
half-distracted mind with all the excruciating
pain of the torture-rack. No, no! she could see
him, cold and lifeless, while she—worse, far
worse than death—was being carried away into
endless captivity by his murderer, George
Barker, an outcast from civilized society, the
meanest of all mean and wicked white men—a
white renegade, wearing without shame the in-
signia of chief among a people whose hearts
know nothing of mercy.

“ And, too, thoughts other parents and friends
bein dead weighed heavily upon her heart, that
was leeding her life away through the deep
wounds of poignant sorrow. Where, oh where
could she turn now for help?

The eyes of Barker were constantly upon her,
noting every movement of her body and every
glearn of her eyes.

“ But, the tlme will come 1" she mentally ex-
claimed; “the wretch shall not triumph over
my helplessness and sorrow long,” and her
spirit gathered strength and courage from the

' resolution.

When Barker saw that Blanche had recovered
from her swoon, and had risen to a sitting pas;
ture on her pallet of furs, he lost no time in

- opening a conversation.

“ You are feeling better, are you not, Miss
St. Ledger?” he asked. ,

Blane 8 saw, from the first, that the wretch
was aiming to pre upon her sorrow and bring
her in humble reSignation to his cowardly will;
but she resolved to mask her feelings and show
him no humiliation—meet his uestions with
scorn, and his boasted power wit rebuke and
defiance.

“ ndeed,” she replied, " I feel very well.”
ge’ghen you enjoy our little ride!” he again

 

“ Very much; the air is so cool and bracing,
and then it is not often that one ets a boat-
ride with a crew of the noble ’r -men under
such a gallant chief,” she answered.

“Really, you flatter me, Miss St. Ledger,”
Barker replied, in a voice savoring of real senti-
mentality.

“Flatter you!” she said, sneeringl . “Do,

you suppose that I would waste wor s in real
flattery on such a miserable outcast as you are,
George Barker? Why, one of these savages is
more deserving of flattery than you, for, as far
as a white man is concerned, you represent him
only in form, while the Indians possess a—"

“There, there, that will do!” interrupted
Barker, his cowardly passion beginning to rise.
“1 would rather not hear such lectures, espe-
ciallv from my own captive.” ,

“ Your own captive !” Blanche fairly hissed,
with derision. “ You may have occasion to
whistle another tune before daylight.”

“I’m sure Gilbert Brainnrd will not be the
cause of itl" returned Barker, with a fiendish
leer upon his face.

The heartless and cowardly taunt cut deep
into the captive’s troubled breast. Her heart
was too painfully stung to reply to the villain.
She spoke not, but a sigh of anguish escaped her
lips as she turned her head away. pretending not
to hear his tantalizing allusion to her lover;
but, the quick ear of the renegade caught the
sio'h that came from her heart, and be deter-
mined to follow up the advantage gained over
her rebellious s irit.

“You will, Iiss St. Ledger,” he continued,
“ find out that obedience to my commands will
save you from all those petty srghs of grief,
for I am determined to humiliate your proud
spirit. You need not think of escape, for you
are within the impenetrable fastnesses of the
Black Hills, where no one but my friends dare
venture With their lives. And, to ease you upon
one subject, I will tell you that your parents are
alive and well: and I calculate to inform them
that you are in my power, so that I can torture
them for the way they denounced me when I was
honorably aspiring to your hand.

“ Oh, I tell you, Miss St. Ledger, revenge is
sweet to me! You see, the time was when you
were, in one sense, mistress of me; now, I am
master of you. Gilbert Brainard stood as an ob-
ject between us then: now he hangs between two
bluffs, an object for the buzzards, and so the
world jogs on.”

“ Indeed!” sneercd Blanche, gaining her usual
calmness. “Had you lived during the feudal
ages you would have made quite a mark.”

“Really, I am making quite a mark in this
modern age. The name of Red Wolf is retty
extensively known throughout the Wes , as a
great warrior and terrible avenger, and woe,
woe to the man that crosses my path or runs
counter to my will. You are not the first cap.
tive, Miss Blanche, by a long wavs, nor do I sup-
pose you will be the last one. Five years ago a
great, double-fisted wretch had the impudence
to knock me—Red Wolf, chief of the Cheyenne
nation—down, for ordering him to leave our
hunting-grounds—"

“ He served you just right,” said Blanche, in- ’

dignantly.

 

i

ARM”

 

Wild Raven, the Scout. 23

 

“ You think so, of course, but I didn’t, and to
cut a long stor short, I Wlll just say that the
glossy scalp—10c s of his high-spirited little wife
hang in my lodge, and that his daughter, who is
now budding into womanhood, is a captive in
my village. The man, whom name I never
learned, escaped my fingers, and I presume is liv-
ing yet, if he hasn’t (lied with torture. At least,
if he be living, I hope he knows that I have his
daughter in my power, and intend to make her
my wife some day. She will be your companion
until we are married.”

“ Indeed!” replied Blanche, with an inward
shudder of terror; “ what is your other captive’s
name?”

“ Rena is all the name she would ever tell me,
thou h I have coaxed, threatened, and even pro—
mi her her liberty if she would tell me, but to
no purpose; she is stubborn as a mule. However,
Rena is all the same without any other name."

Blanche made no reply to the renegadc’s re-
marks—in fact she did not hear them, for her
whole soul was absorbed in watching a dark
figure moving along the shore some distance in
rear of the canoe. That it wasa man, there was
no doubt but the form was so deeply blended
with the darkness that she could not tell whether
it was that of a savage or white man, or only
imagination.

The boat moved on as fast as possible against
the resistful current of the stream, and still
Blanche saw the shadow following after; but
presently it came closer, and finally passed on in
advance of the canoe, so that she was compelled
to turn her head in order to watch it. But fear—
ing that she might arouse some sus icion by thus
watching with her head turned, she feigned an
excuse that her position was painful, and was al-
lowed to change it so that she could see ahead.

To her wonder, she saw the figure not once
after she had changed her ition. It had van-
ished and left her as help ess as ever, with an
additional feeling of a vague presentiment of
some new terror resting upon her mind,

In matching the reappearance of the myste—
rious figure, Blanche saw, at the distance of one
hundred yards, a point Where the rivergseemed
to abruptly end, or flow from adurk cavd‘n; but
as they neared the point she found that she was
mistaken in both cases—that two rocks of im—
mense size arose up on either side of and jutting
out over the river, lacking but a few feet of
forming a. natural bridge. As she sat with her
9 es upon the rock, Blanche discovered a dark
0 ject upon it moving athwart the sky, but be-
fore she could take a second glance, their near
approach brought the lower side of the rock be-
tween her and the 0‘: feet. In another moment
the. were beneath the rock moving through the
dar , tunnel—like passage, damp and dismal as
that of a subterranean river.

They were about half-way through when sud—
denly Blanche felt her wast encircled by some-
thing resemblin the coil of a rope, and she was
lifted up throng the space intervr sing between
the rocks, and placed half-fainting, upon the

to .

P‘Easy, quiet, my little dear,” was whispered
in her ear, as she felt the rope loosed from about
her waist.

She looked up. A tall figure was bending over

 

hog. It! was Wild Raven, the scout—a true friend
in .

Beiore she could speak, he turned and touched
a large stone, which rolled with a crunching
sound over the rock into the river. In an in-
stant a crash and a hollow groan came up from
the depths below.

Wild Raven looked over the ed e of the rock.
He saw nothing but the triangle bodies of his
savage enemies floating on the river. As he had
intended, the stone struck the canoe and its in-
mates, and he felt that at last his vengeance on

cor Barker was wrought.

 on need have no 111010 fears of George Bar»
koi‘, Miss St. Ledger,” the scout said, turning to
Blanche; “ the are all smashed into a lump.”

“Athousan thanks to you for rescuing me
from that villain's power,” said Blanche, rising
to her; feet; “ but you have the advantage of
me— ,

“ How so, Miss St. Ledger?” he asked.

“you know me, while you are unknown to
me.

“Wild Raven’s my name, and bymeby ou’ll
know a $189.13 deal more about me an my
friends. lease ask me no more questions now,
Miss St. Ledger, but foller me; I’m your friend,
and in a few minutes 3 ou'll be with—I mean, in
a lace 0’ safety. Come.”

he scout turned, and followed b Blanche,
descended the rock to the river. he maiden
was so impressed with the novel manner in which
she had been rescued, or rather lassoed from the
power of the savages by the scout, that she could
not doubt the sincerity of his friendly intentions
and blunt assertions.

Having reached the river, the two turned and
proceeded down its course. In a few minutes
they came to a halt, when Wild Raven drew
from under some bushes a canoe which he im~
mediately launched, and, with Blanche, embark-
ed therein.

Aided by the force of the current, the scout
drove the canoe down the river at a rapid rate.
Neither of the voyagers spoke a, Word; Raven
was too intent at the oars, and Blanche was too
deeply engaged in studying the strange chame-
ter of her rescuer, for conversation.

When they had reached a point half a mile

past the place where Blanche had first seen the '

flittin shadow that had followed Barker’s canoe,
Wild Baven turned the canoe abruptly to the
left and ran it under some foliage and vines
drooping, over the water’s edge.

Rising to his feet, the scout arted the branch-
es about his head, and reveal
rose sheer up from the water‘s edge, the mouth

of a cavern, through which gleamed a stream of .

light from a rudd fire within.

“Come, Miss t. Ledger,” said Raven, tin-n-
ingflto Blanche; “ here we will remain till worm
in.

Blanche arose and allowed her companion to
assist her into the cavern, and then the two
wended their way to the fire that was burning
at the o posite end. The first obJect that met
the mai en’s notice was the formbf a man
wra d in a blanket and lying near the fire.

“ 0! ho! m frien’!” exclaimed the soout,
“ so you are as eep.” _ V .

The man sprung quickly to his feet, and,

, in the rock that I

 

 

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24 Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

glanced wildly at the intruders. Blanche utter-
ed a cry and sprung toward him with outstretch-
ed arms. It was Gilbert Brainnrd, in flesh and
spirit!

 

CHAPTER XIV.
ANOTHER nosunnncnon.

THE deepest gloom r t d upon the hearts of
our emigrant friends upon the island, for an
inevitable death seemed almost upon them. \Vild
Raven had not returned after a day’s absence;
no tidings had been received of their daughter
and sister. And, too. the humorous face and lo-
quacious voice of Teddy Muldoon Were not only
]missing; from the breakfast table, but from their
.earts.

 

White Plume, reserved and Silent, seemed»

plunged in deep thought, while Rena, uncon-

scious of the St. Lodgr-rs‘ Sllt‘llt sorrow, talked
l

and sung as though no heart was sad.
‘ The honrsdrazged wcnrily by. It was high
noon, and our friends were seated at dinner when
the distant report of a rifle reached their ears,
coming from up the river. White Plume has-
’,tenerl to his lookout, and scanned the country
’ on enemies, but saw nothing. He resumed his
seat at the dinner-table, but had scarcely done
so, when the report was heard again, plainer
and nearer than before. It seemed to come from
around the bend in the river just above the
island. I ‘

“Waughl” muttered thite Plume, with an
ominous sh-ike of the head. “ Mischief comin’,”
and he sprung to his feet again, and mounted
his lookout in the tree.
successful.

He saw, crawling alonrr the east bank of the
river in the grass, two Cheyennes with their
faces turned toward the river, evidentl ' watch-
ing some moving Object with which t ey were

keeping pace. Presently they stopped, and fired '

at the object of ‘their stealthy movements, then
crawled on again.

White Plume now turned his eyes to the river,
on the surface of which he discovered a black
object. larger than a man’s head, floating down
toward the island. It was this at which the
Cheyennes had been flrinz. '

The friendly Sioux was somewhat perplexed
in his mind. He gaze] at the floating object un-
til a mist came over his eyes, yet he was unable
to mike out its real nature. There was not a.
doubt in his mind but that it was some human
artifice—probably a trick of the Cheyennes to
entrain those up in the island.

White Plume was not always to be caught
napping by his enemies, so he descended from
the tree and made his discovery known to his
white friends, hoping that they might be able
to throw some light upon the floating mystery.

Arthur St. Ledger anti the Indian crawled
to a point of obzervation at the upper side of
the island. By this time the floating object was
within fifty yards of them, ml the Cheyennes,

.ysecreterl alone; the banks. kept up a continual
firing at it, without anv perceptible effect.

The moment Arthur Ht. Lezlg'nr‘s eyes rested
upon the object. a smile passe! over his fea-
tures. He knew what if, woe. [is was Mrs. St.
'Ledgsr‘s much treasured iron kettle, s okcn of
by her in the morning, and which had een left

in the wagon; but, for the life of him, he could
not tell what invisible power kept it afloat,
mouth downward, upon the surface of the river.

St. Ledger informed White Plume of the real
noturo of the object, and then asked:

“ What do you think about it, White
Plume?” '

“ Ugh! Think Cheyenne head, under it!” re-
plied the Indian, vying the vessel for f' oment.

At this moment several shots were _, at the
kettle, the bullets glancing harm] 2y aside
with a metallic ring, and striking in't ‘ water
several feet away, while the relic of _, reside
associations” floated on, unharmed as before.

“ I do not question your knowledge of your
own race, White Plurncflsaid St. Ledger. “ But
I think you are mistaken in a Cheyenne being
under that vessel; if so, why would his friends
on shore be firing at him?”

thite Plume made no reply, but fixing an
arrow to his bow-string, drew it to the head,
and sent it whizzing through the air at the ket—
tlc. True to the mark, it struck, but glanced
off with a clear ring, and fell in the river tweu~
ty feet below. ”

“Ari-ah, there now, sthop thet, for it‘s me
thct’s coining, bedadl”

It was a deep, scpulchral voice that spoke—
tho voice like one speaking from the grave, yet
Arthur St. Ledger recognlzed it with a mingled
feeling of joy and mysterious awe. ..

II was the voice of Teddy Muldoon, without
a doubt I

 

This time he was more :

“ \Vhitc friend there!” exclaimed the Sioux,
pointing at the floating,r kettle, then giving utter—
ance to a whoop that thrilled the blood in the
emigrant’s veins.

“ What is the matter, Arthur?” asked Mrs.
St. Ledger, in a whisper, as she crept cautiously
to her husband’s side.

“ Do you see that, Sarah?” asked the husband,
pointing toward the reversed kettle, floating
within a few feet of the island.

“ Yes! Why, Arthur, it’s my kettle!” rc-
turncd the matron, with a smile lighting up her
face.

“And do younsec the agitated motion of the

water around it?

H Yeg.”

“Well, it is caused by Teddy, who is swim-
ming with his body beneath the surface of the
water, while his head is clad in your soup‘pot.”
And Mr. St. Ledger’s face became flushed with
joyful excitement.

“ But how do you [mow itis Teddy?” the wife
‘ questioned.

“ I know—” the husband began, but before he
could finish the sentence, the iron kettle rose up
from the water on the shoulders of the subject
of their conversation, Teddy Muldoon; in au—
othcr instant the suppOsed defunct Irishman,
with a whoop and bound, landcdvon the island
amid a shower of whistlngr bullets from either
shore: and had he. not stumbled androlled head-
long into the thick undergrowth at..the feat of
his. friends, his body would have boon riddled
with the leaden messengers of Cheyenne ven«
trounce.

“ Ho, friends!” exclaimed Teddy, drawing his
head from the vessel, and rubbing/his eyes like
one just aroused from a, slumber.

 

.’I

it Me pipers

 

.umyt .

 

ii

 

l

.- -‘.‘  .;

 

Wild Raven. the Scout. / 25

 

gone, but be the blessed Vargin there’s a dhrap
of blood left in me veins. Arrah, now, didn’t
I give it to the red blawgard, though ?”

‘ Teddy, we had given you up as dead.”

It was Arthur St. Ledger who addressed him,
though he was scarcely able to repress a smile
at the serio-comical expression on the Irishman’s
face.

“ Och, and bedad! and it was meself that
«ive Teddy Muldoon, Esq, up as dead, yer
flonor,” replied Teddy, rismg to his feet.

“ Well, at any rate, you had a narrow escape,

Tedcfiy.”

" aith, and {gsphake the truth mighty loud—
ly, Misther St. tiger.”

“But how came you away from the island?”

“There, now, yees are comin’ to the p’int;
but, afore I tell yees about it, I would like a bit
0’ dinner, please,” said the Irishman, as his eyes
caught sight of the deserted dinner-table near
the tent.

“Certainl , Teddy, certainly,” replied St.
Ledger. “ cine now; dinner is ready and
waiting.”

The party returned, and with Teddy, seated
themselves at their half-finished meal. They
were soon joined by Harry and Rena, who had
been watching at the lower side of the island,
and were totally ignorant of Teddy’s return
until they saw him at the table, eating as vo-
racioust as a half-fainished wolf.

CHAPTER XV.
, FLOATING.

THE first thing that Wild Raven did on awak-
ening from his night‘s rest was to crawl to the
entrance of the cavern, and reconnoiter the situ-
ation before venturing out. Finding the coast
clear, he dropped himself down into the canoe
at the entrance, and by means of a simple con-
trivance, succeeded in catching several fine
trout. With these he re—entered the cavern, and
joined Gilbert and Blanche.

A fire was already burning, and in a few mo-
ments, Wild Raven, with the assistance of
Blanche, had the trout dressed and broiling on
the hot coals. As this took some time—to broil
the fish without burning—the scout opened a.
conversation with his young friends.

“ You seem quite strong this mornin’, Gil,” he
said, “ and-exceedin’ly cheerful.”

“Why shouldn’t I be so, after running such
gearful risks of my life yesterday?” asked Gil-

ert.

“ Sartainly' cheerfulness is the life 0’ many

persons, and 1’ b‘lieve you are one 0’ that sort,

replied the scout. “You shouldn’t be. 'gloomy
and morose at heart because you didn’t git
killed by George Barker—curse him! Excuse
me, Miss St. Led or, for my impoliteness” he
said, turning to lanche, “but that fiend has
cast a cloud over my heart.”

“In what way, or how, Raven?”

“Hist!” commanded the scout, evasively, as
be bent his ear in the attitude of listening.

“What do you hear?” asked Gilbert, in a
whi r.

“, was sure I heard a noise in the river; how-
ever, I’ll go and see,” and rising to his feet, he
glided toward the mouth of the cavern.

True enough, the first object that he saw gm:

 

an Indian, crawling along the edge of the wan-r
under the ledge, evidently intending to steal
their canoe.

Picking up a large stone that lay at his feet,
tlrie scout awaited the near approach of the red-
5 In.

In a. moment he was alongside the canoe, and
the next instant his head was crushed for his
temerity. But scarcely had the stone left the
scout’s hand, when a rifle on the opposite side of
the river cracked, and a bullet whizzed past his
head, and was flattened against the rock behind
him.

Withdrawing himself a pace or two back in»
to the cavern, Raven scanned the opposite
blufl’. Near a clump of wild sage he saw a puff
of white smoke hanging on the air, and through
it he saw the evil face of the savage that had
fired the shot.

In a moment the scout brought his rifle to bear
upon him, but with what effect he could not as-
certain; at any rate, he saw nothing more of
the red assassin, and returning to his friends, he

said:

“ I tell you, friends, we’re in close quarters, or
will be, unless we git out 0’ here soon. The red
devils have diskivered our retreat.”

“ Well, 1 am sure there is nothing to detain us
but breakfast,” said Gilbert.

“ And that is all ready for eating,” said
Blanche, lanaing. with the pride of a royal
cook, at t e crisp-brown fish that lay smoking
on some large green leaves.

The trio seated themselves and ate heartin of
the savory viands, and when their hunger was
appeased, there was some fish left, which was
saved for future use.

It required but a few minutes to prepare for
departure. Wild Raven went in advance to
reconnoiter their situation; but he found the
way clear, and in a short time they were all
seated in the canoe, and journeying rapidly
down the river.

In two hours they reached the cavern where
Gilbert and Blanche had been surprised and
captured by the savages, the day previous.

A halt of a few minutes was made here, to
procure some skins and blankets that hades—
caped the save es; then they continued their
journey down the river until they came to a

oint ‘ust opposite the grove where Gilbert and

lane e met the night before the last one, and
where the scout had seen the two horses, belong-
ing to Blanche’s father, cropping grass in the
valley. Here they left the river and took to
the plain.

They had traveled but a short distance when,
to their great joy, they discovered the two
horses not more than half a mile distant from
the grove wherein Blanche had left them and
fled with Gilbert.

A few minute's’ walk brought them to the ani-*
mals. The bridles were still upon them, as
when Blanche left them. ~

When the maiden put out her hand and
spoke, the dumb brutes pricked up their ears
and advanced toward her with almOSt a human

00 . ,
“Poor Abe and Dolph,” she said. patting

them kindly; “ they are kind and gentle to me,
although I used them hard.” ' ‘ ‘

3‘h. '. ..

'
i

l
.
;
»

 

 

 

“4.5... . 1

26 I Wild Raven, the Scout.

I

Gilbert and Blanche mounted the animals.
Wild Raven preferring to walk, and then turn-
ing their faces due north. set off for the Platte
river, twenty-five miles distant.

CHAPTER XVI.
WHO IS WILD RAVEN?

AETER Teddy had finished his dinner, and
lamented for some time over the loss of his bor-
rowed pipe, he was induced to narrate his ad-
ventures duriug his absence fsom the island.

“Faith, and when l see’d the red devil,” he
began, “come and shteal Misther White
Feather-is canoe. I niver serla word but dhrapped
me gun, shlipped into the wather, and swum af-
ther the spalpeeu, who was so excited that he
niver knew I war ufther him, till I war into the
canoe.

“ Oh! how me’s wished for me ould shillalah
then! But wishing did no good, so I dhrew
the knife and went in rough and tumble, jist
as me’s used to do at Donnybrook; but, be
the howly Vargin, the red imp began to git
the upper hand 0‘ me, so I jlst managed to
fall out into the wather, and I tell yees, we
war hugging each other tighter than bears.
We, sunk and rose in the wather, sunk ug‘in.

 

.This time we become parted, and thinking dis—

crition the betther part of valor. me’s cut a bee-
line under the water for land. Mind, now,
there’s but few that kin ixcel Teddy Muldoon
in shwimming on the whater or nndher it.”

“ When I reached shore I found that I was on

the main land inshteai of the island, so I fell
back into the grove, and shpent the night in a
tree-top, and this morning me’s crept round to
the wagon and shpent half a day there, thrying
to study some way to git back to the island.
At lasht, me eyes fell on Misthrcss St. Ledo'cr’s
blessed soug-kittle and having consithere its
impenethra ility, Iconcluded to hide me body
under the wather, then turn the kittle over me
head. and shwim to the island.
’ “ The resht of me shtory vees know, though I
will jist say that when the bullets came rattling
ag’inst the kittle, I felt the wather freezing along
me back like polar icebergs."

“ Indeed, you had quite an adventure, Tedd ,”
said St. Ledger, as the Irishman rounded off is
story with a lamentation for his ipe.

“Indade I had, yer Honor: ut me life war
saved by that dear ould kittle.”

The day wore slowly away. The Cheyennes
were seen no more; still a hoavV weight hung
upon the St. Le'lgers’ hearts. No tidings had
yet been received of Blanche, and hopes of her
recovery were fast fadin, from their breasts,

The sun was sinking be ind the distant moun-
tain-tops. throwing long bars of amber light
over the plain and wood and, when, all of a sud—
den, a canoe containing three persons, came in
View, around an abrupt bend in the river, just
beldw the island.

A cry of joy escaped the emigrants’ lips as
thevrecognizsd Blanche and Wild Raven as two
of the occupants.

’ “.Oh, there comes my papal there comes my

, papal” shouted Rena. pointing toward the canoe,

almost frantic with joy.
“Who is your papa, child?” asked Mr. St.
Ledger. ‘ I ~ '

 

“Why, don’t you see him? The scout, Wild-
nicrc Ravennangh, is my papa. "

“Sarah!” exclaimed Mr. St. Ledger, with
sudden emotion, “do you recognize that third
person? It is that villain, Gilbert Bruinard!”
and all the old-time anger flashed in his eyes.

At this juncture the canoe touched the island.
Blanche sprung ashore into her mother’s arms.
Rena clasped her arms about Wild Raven's neck
in a fond embrace, While Arthur St. Ledger
confronted Gilbert Brainard, saying:

“ Assassin, how dare you come near me?”

“ I come with a clear conscience, and hands
stained with nobod y’s blood, Arthur St. Ledger,”
responded Gilbert, unflinchingly.

" Then why did you flee the vengeance of the
law when I accuser you of attempted murder?"

“ I went at the humble protestations of your
daughter, not through fear or guilt.”

“Father, I bear witness to Gilbert’s truthful
assertion,” said Blanche, comin to Brainard’s
assistance. “ It was I who begge him to flee the
law. It was George Barker who attempted to
kill you.”

“How know you this, daughter?” asked St.
Ledger.

“ George Barker told me so yesterday, in a fit
of revenge. He isa chief among the Indians,
and it was he who carried me from the tent and
struck mother to the ground; but he is dead

ow.” ‘

Arthur St. Ledger did not doubt his daughter’s
Word. A pang of remorse pierced his heart as
he realized the wrong he had done Gilbert Bruin—
ard, and taking the young man by the hand, he
said:

“ Forgive me, Gilbert, for the wrong I haye
done you, as you would wish to be forgiven.
My heart tells me you are innocent.” ,

“ I forgive you, freely,” replied Gilbert, wring~
ing St. Ledger’s hand warmly.

“ I must admit, Gilbert, that I have been blind
in reason, and that, in the case of George Barker,
I have been the victim of misplaced confidence;
but, thank God, I have lived to correct the
greatest error of my life,” said St. Ledger peni-
tentially.

“And I thank God that I no longer bear the
name of murderer,” replied Gilbert.

“Here, Miss St. Ledger,” called Wild Raven;
“ here is my darter Rena, of Whom I was telling
you a bit ago. ”

Blanche advanced to Rena and embraced her,
as though she had been a sister, while the scout
looked on with admiration.

“,How does it come. friend, that you did not
tell us that you had a daughter, when you
were telling us of your past life?” asked St.
Ledger.

“ For the reason that I did not know she was
livin’. Five years ago, friends, I camped on
this very island. with my wife and child, and
this friendly Sioux White Plume. I was a
hunter then. on my way to Fort Laramie. Dur-
ing the night we were attacked by‘a band of
Cheyenne Ingins under Red Wolf, better known
as George Barker. My wife, was killed, and
Reno and White Plume were captured. I alone
esca ed. The next morning. after the Ingins
had eft, I come back to the island and buried

my poor murdered wife. She sleeps beneath

 

» .1»...- {got our

 

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.t :.  :

a.-. «an cardamom .

 

 

 

, begun.

Wild Raven, the Scent.

2'?

 

that tree on which you see the letters 4 M.’ and
‘ E.’ rudely carved. So this island, my friends,
is a sacred spot to me. Five long and torturous
years passed by, in which I have boon searching
for my child, and never, until yesterday, did I
see her. I met her and her faithful friend,
\Vhite Plume, in a. grove twenty miles south of

ere.

“ White Plume had rescued her—after gainin’
his own liberty—While that devil, Red Wolf,
was absent from the village. I sent them here—
told them that you were here, and I also, told
Rena not to tell you whose child she was until I
come. I merely wished to make the explanation
that 1 have, so that you would have no grounds
to consider me the singular being that I appear-
ed to be, when I first met you.”

“ Then that accounts for Reno’s refusal to tell
her full name,” Slzld Mrs. St. Ledger.

“Exactly,” replied the scout. “ Her name is
Rena Ruvcnnaugh. Mine is \Vildmrrc Raven-
naugh, though I prefer W‘ild Raven.”

The whole tone and texture of the scout’s
voice had changed, from the rude language, so
common to backwoodsmen, to that of a man of
educated mind, which fact our friends were not
slow in observing.

“ What about Jake Darle, the missin guide,
Raven?” asked St. Ledger. “ Did yougiear or
see anything of him during your absence?“

“ No," replied the scout, “but we recovered
your horses; they are over in the grove yon-
der.”

“ A tliomand thanks, Wild Raven,” exclaim-
ed St. Ledger; “ you have more than befriended
us in our moment of peril. Come to the cam ;
I know you are all tired and hungry. G
will have you a. sumptuous supper in a few mo—
ments.” _

So saying, the party retired to camp. leaving
'White Plume and Teddy on guard, for the night
was fast settling over the land.

CHAPTER XVII.
A WINDFALL.

AFTER sup r had been served and each
of the friends ad related his adventures of the
last two days, arrangements were made for
passing the night.

Gilbert Brainard and White Plume were sent
over to the main-land toguard the horses, while
Teddy and Harry were stationed as guards upon
the island, for Wild Raven predicted some
trOuble from the red-skins before morning.

Gilbert and White Plume led the horses in an
opening in the forest where grass could he
obtained for them, and then withdrew to the
shadow of the trees, and havin separated, took
their positions at opposite ponits at the ed 9
of the clearing where the animals were tet -
ered.

Somewhat fatigued in mind and body, Gilbert
seated himself at the foot of a low. scrubby, pine
tree, and leaning,r his head against the trunk,

ave way to his own reflections. He renewed
fiis past life. which had been thickly strewn With
the sharpest thorns, and overcast bythe darkest
clouds ‘of ~misfortuno: yet, there had been
enough of sunshine to infuse into his sou‘ a de-
sire for further continuance of the life so bitterly

 

An hour—two hours passed by, and not a
Sound had disturbed the young man’s reverie,
save that deep and solemn sound of nature that
is always heard in the forest alter nightfall.
Gilbert had begun to congratulate himself upon
the prospect of bcin entirely rid of the savages,
when the snap ingo a twi near by caused him
to start up an grasp his ri e.

Through the gloom he discovered two dark
figures moving toward the opening Where the
animals were grazing. They were evidently ig‘
norant of his presence, for they moved so close
to him that he had no trouble la recognizing
them to be two white men.

Filled with some curiosity to ascertain their
mission and whether they were friends or enc—
niies, dilbei‘t remained quiet, and watched
them.

They moved on until they reached the edge of
the opening. then, with an exclamation of sur—
prise, they stopped and sprung quickly back into
the shadow of the trees.

“Lord, Harryl What’s that, Belzy?” asked
one of the worthy pair.

Gilbert started. He felt his heart rising in his
throat. He clutched nervously at his gun. That
voice had startled him with a feeling of revenge
and horror; it was the voice of George Barker.
However, by a mighty elfort, he succeeded in
keeping hack the storm that was rising within

him—bent his ear and listened to their conversu- ' 'V

tion, which was quite audible.

“Ghosts, as I live l” responded the individual .

addressed as Belly.

“Ghosts, the devil! Take a second look, my
brave friend, and you’ll see that it’s a pair of
horses tethered there at grass—thesame ones

that I toted off that gal on,” said Barker, for be

it was. .

“ So it is—-so it is,” replied Belzy, coming out
of his sudden fear; “but I’ll bet all of old Wil—
son’s buried treasure that more than one pair of
eyes are watching them animals.” ,

" So will I,” thought Gilbert.

“ Well, what of it!" grutfiy asked Barker.

_ “ Humphl well, what of it? Suppose we go
into that opening to look for the gold, and ’t a

bullet apiece into our carcasses—what of it t en,

worthy friend?”

“That bullet hasn’t been cast that kills me,
Belzy; but for fear of trouble, we had better not
venture out into the opening to—night.”

“ Are iyou sure this is the place where the gold
is buriei , Barker?”

“ Well, let me see. The description found
upon the dead man‘s body, taken in connection
With the story of the fellow we hung, fixes the
opening about this point upon the river.”

“ But what’s it say ‘bout the trees?"

“It says a tall cottonwood stands out a. few
feet in the opening alone, on the east side, While
another stands out all alone on the south side.”

“ Good! Thme is a tree just ahead of us that
will answer for the one on the south side, and
over yonder stands one on the east side. Ha-hal
So much for the buried gold l”

“ ’Sh, Belzyl Your eyes are extraordinary
good: but confound your tongue, it’s like a clap-
per in a bell. Don't talk so loud.”

“ Thank you. Quite a. com liment.” said

. Relzy, lowering his voice, but not low Gilbert’s

s...

 

, » w,:~‘.w

 

28 , Wild Rama, the Scout.

 

bearing. “Let me see,” the worthy continued,
“ what does the description say to do, after the
oEening and the trees are found, in order to find
t e exact point where the gold is cached?"

Gilbert had become greatly interested in the
two villains‘ colloquy, and bent his ear attentive—
ly to catch each word.

“ Well, it says, when the sun rises in the
morning, draw a line along the south side of the
shadow cast by the east tree, and at exactly
noon, draw a line along the east side of the
shadow cast by the south tree: then, at the very
point where the two lines cross each other, the
gold was, or is buried. Now, do you under-
stand, or will I have to repeat again, so that if
there is may one about they will know as much
of the go] and its cow 6 as we do?”

“ Oh, certainly—certainly,” replied Belzy, “I
understand to a goat’s eye.”

“And so do I, my worthy villains,” thought
Gilbert.

“ Well, if you understand, then, and have no
more questions to ask, suppose we make tracks
from here —”

“ Until when?" interrupted Belzy.

“That depends on circnmstances. If the emi-
grants continue their journey to-morrow, I must
attend to that other little affair; I can‘t give up
that gal without another effort. In that case, I
might be absent only a day or two, and may be
a week or a month."

“ Oh! oh!” groaned Belzy, “ so long.”

“Yes, so :lon ; and while I am gone, I Want
you to hoof it ck to the Cheyennes and stay
there with them till I come back.”

“ Ho—hol So you’re afraid that I’ll dig up the

r treasure and cut dirt, eh, while you’re gonel

There might be such a thin happen.”

“ Do it if you dare, and ’11 foller you to pur—
gatory but what I’ll catch you and cut your
throat.”

' “Well, I guess we’ll have no trouble about
that, Barker; and now, if we’re goin’ to pros-
pect any, let's be at it; if not, let‘s lean out for
cam .”
“l? think we had better let the gold be to-
ni ht. and go back to camp.”

‘All right. Suppose we take the horses and
ride?”

“Suppose we don’t. Come, still your bell-
cla per. ’

ay saying. the worthy pair of villains turned
about and moved briskly away toward the
southwest, leaving Gilbert in the deepest mental
speculation over the subject of their conversa-
tion.

Could it really be possible that any gold was
buried in the opening? If so, hadn’t he as good
right to it as the renegarles? Such were the
thou hts that went surging across Gilbert’s
minr , and he resolved to take advantage of the
villains’ description of the burial-spot of the
treasure, and if there was anything there, he
would appropriate it for his own use, in case the
rightful owner did not come up and prove his
pro rty.

‘3 owly the night wore away, and dawn ap-
proached. Just as the sun looked over the caste
em hills, Gilbert and White Plume met in the
opening.

Gilbert related his adventure to the friendly

 

Sioux, and then proceeded to mark the shadow
of the east tree according to Barker’s descrip~
tion. -'

The shadow reached quite across the opening,
and was marked by the young man by means of
small poles laid along the edge of the shadow,
and fastened there by driving forked sticks over
them at each end.

This done, the pair took up their rifles and set
out to join their frlenrls at the island. Arriving
there, they found them all up, stirring about.
Nothing had occurred during the nightto molest
the quietude of their slumbers, consequently
they were all looking fresh and vigorous but
Mrs. St. Ledger, who was confined to her bed
with a violent headache.

Gil xert took Wild Raven aside and made
known to him the fact that George Barker was
still alive, and the conversation he had heard
between the renegades during his watch in the
night.

“ Curse him!” exclaimed the scout, “ it seems
as though that devil wasn’t made to be killed,
for I made sure of him the other night I thought.
But, the buried old—we will go over at noon
and complete t 6 search you have already be-
gun. If there is any gold there, I would like to
know how it come there.”

“ From what I could gather from this conver-
sation,” replied Gilbert, “I supposed that two
returning miners were encamped hereabouts,
and being closely pressed by a part of savages
under Barker, they were compelle to consign
their gold to the safe-keeping of the earth, and
flee for their lives,,but eventually fell into the
savages” power and were killed, the renegades
having forced from them such information as
would lead to the recovery of their gold,

“ In that case,” said Wild Raven, “ you would
be as much entitled to the gold as the renegades,
in case you find it.”

Their conversation was here brou hi; to a close
by Blanche St. Ledger announcing reakfast.

On account of Mr. St. Ledger’s illness, the
continuance of the emigrants” journey was de-
ferred until the next day. This would give Gil-
bert and the scout time to search for the buried
treasure, for they intended to accompany them
on their journey. ‘

Toward noon the two men crossed over to the
opening in the timber, but they had said nothing
of their mission to the emigrants.

At the exact hour and minute, Gilbert drew
the line along the shadow of the south tree, by
means of a rope brought from the is and.

“ There,” said he, pointing to the angle where
the rope crossed the poles, “according to Bar—
ker's statement, the gold is buried.”

erlé‘l Raven examined the ground closely, and
re re :

P‘ I can’t see any signs of the ground having
been disturbed here, though that is no evidence
it has not, for if the miners were shrewd men,
they would have re laced every spear of grass
in order to concea the cache from the eyes of
the Indians.”

Down upon their knees sunk the two men, and
with a hunting-knife and’ tomahawk, began
loosening the earth, which they removed with
their hands. Their progress was slow
to lions, yet they faltered not an instant. Down,

 

../, my 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wild Raven, the Scout;

29

 

slowly down they went into the earth. Sud-
denly the int of Wild Raven’s knife grated
. pon somet 'ng hard: a shout of joy escapes his
ips as he digs awa and finds it is an iron
buckle upon some eathern article, which, as
they continue to dig, they find is a pair of sad—
tile-bags.

“Eureka!” shouted W'ild Raven, as, with a
Herculean effort he seized the bags and dragged
them from the hole; and as he did so, Gilbert
discovered another pair beneath, and seizing
hold of them, he drew them to the top also.
Their search had doubly rewarded their efforts.

Hastin tearing open the saddle-be s—which
were in a good state of preservation—t ey found
them to be filled with gold bullion of the ,value
of twenty thousand dollars each. There was
not a word nor a letter by which they could tell
aught of the original owners; so, according to
all customary rules of the past, the right of
ownership fell to them.

Refastenin the saddle-bags, the men slung
them across t eir shoulders and returned to the
island. I

Quite a scene took place when they related
their discovery to the emigrants. Des ite his
refusal, Gilbert and the scout forced Art ur St.
Ledger to accept half the gold bullion, while
they divided the remaining half between them-
selves.

Thus everything speedily assumed a new
phase in consequence of finding the treasure.
Arthur St. Ledger had sufficient wealth now to
keep him 'above want, in case he used it judi~
ciously; and what need had he of leading his
family to further dangers now, far from the en-
joyment and social and moral influence of civil—
ized society. He could see none, and seconded
in his resolution by his family, Gilbert and the
scout, he resolved to turn about and return to
the States; and with this intention, they began
making preparations for departure on the mor-
row.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
run nissmo GUIDE.

THE morning came with its sunshine and glory
and song of birds. Now all was joy and laugh-
ter, hurry and bustle, for our friends on the
island were eager to be off on their return east-
ward. ‘

Breakfast was speedily dispatched, and then

’ the party bid farewell to the island, and crossed

over to the mainland.

Fortunately they found their wagon unin—
jured, save that it was stripped of its canvas
covering. This, however, was easily replaced
by Indian blankets. . I

Teddy hastily harnessed the faithful animals
to the wagon-the women were seated comforta—
bly therein—the men, with their rifles on their
shoulders, took their position behind the team on
foot—the driver cracked his whip, and the vehi-
cle rolled away. .

White Plume was to accompany-them until
they reached the overland road, which the emi-
grants had left on the night of their first
troubles, two miles to the south in order to pro-
cure grass and water for their animals. Raven

( I tried to induce him to go with them; but no, he V

 

couldnot, he would not leave his native haunts,
with its vast plains, murmuring rivers, roaring
rapids, Singing cascades and rippling brooks;
beyond these the world had no charms for him:
besides, he had a terrible vengeanceto wreak
upon his enemies, the Cheyennes, for the injury
received at their hands, and all because he wasa
friend to the whites.

The emigrants had hardly left the timber two *
hundred yards behind, when all of a sudden a

rolonged shout for help, min led with the
hlood-curdling yells of Indians, ell upon their
ears.

Turning about, they saw, issue from the tim-
ber directly on their trail, a white man, whom
they at once recognized as Jake Darle, the miss—
ing guide, running toward them at the top of
his speed, closely pursued by half a dozen sav—
ages.

“ Help! help! friends,” im lored the ap r-
engy exhausted fugitive. "‘ elp! for the {give
0’ eaven! I am about goin’ under—help! help 1"

Our friends were sotaken by surprise. that
they had no time to question their late suspicions
in regard to the guiue's treachery, butall rushed
to his assistance. «

The savages saw them comin , and heat a
hasty retreat to the timber, whi e Darle stag-

ered on, and fell exhausted at the feet of his de~

iverei‘s.

“ In the name of Heaven, Darle! what does
this all mean?” St. Ledger asked, bending over
the prostrate man.

It was some time before the guide could reu
cover his breath, to reply, in gasps: .

“ It means—that I—have es—caped—from the
red devils” power—; thank—God you are——
safe!"

“Yes, we are safe,” returned St. Ledger, ey-
ing the guide closely, “and are just leaving
the place. We had come to the conclusion that
you had deserted us, and sent the Indians down
upon us.”

“ Faith, bedad, and it’s me’s thet thinks so yit,”
said Teddy, who had left the team with the wo- ,
men and joined the men at this 'uncture.

“ Who dares to accuse me of 'eachery?" ex:
claimed Darle,fiercely.spring1'ng to his feet with’
all his usual 9. ‘lity and strength, and boldly
confronting the rishmnn.

“ Me’s, yer Honor,” coolly replied the little
Irish J ehu.

“Teddy Muldoon, if it weren’t for the Iittl
ness and meanness o’ the act, I’d larrup yr 11
within an inch 0’ your life for sich a bold, false
and uncalled-for accusation,” said the guide,
considerable exasperated. “ Had I come to

on in an other way than I did—pursued by a

and o’ b oodthirsty savages, and sufferin’ with.
alhthe ain o’ cruel treatment durin’ my cap-
tiVity— wouldn’t have blamed you for accusin’
me o’ bein’ a traitor then, but as ’t is it goes
’g’inst the grain; however—”

“The only grounds upon which we were led ‘
to doubt your fidelity, taken in connection with
your prolonged absence,” said St. Led r, com—
ing as an umpire between Teddy and t e guide.
“arose from certain signals that Teddy saw you
make with fire, in answer to other and similar
signals made by some one across the river. "-

‘ l deny the charge 0’ making a single signal -

 

80 ‘ Wild Raven, the Scout.

 

0’ any kind,” the guide emphatically declared,
with a slight tremor in his voice.

Wild Raven, ,W ho had hitherto remained silent,
now ste ped forward, and laying his hand upon
the ui es shoulder, said:

“ our denial or the charge, Mr. Darle. has
fully established your guilt, for I saw you make
the signals myself!”

“And 1 will prove further, that this person
calling himself Jake Darle, is an unmitigated
coward, traitor, liar and murderer l" exclaimed
Gilbert Brainard, and springing forward like
an enraged tiger, be seized the uide by the
beard, and tore the cunning mask rom his face,
leaving the ole, abject features of George
Barker revea ed to the astonished gaze of his
friends.

“Curse you, devil l” hissed the unmasked vil—
lain, drawln a. long knife. “ You have foiled
my Ian—r0 bed mo of the gold, but you shall

' not ive to enjoy itl"

The wretch would have driven the weapon to
Gilbert‘s heart, had not Wild Raven been on
the alert, and hurled the villain to the ground,
and with the assxstance of White Plume. wrench-
ed the knife from his grasp, and bound him hand
and foot.

“ Oh, murderer!” hissed the scout. “You‘ll
not escape me this time. I thought the stone
had crushed your vile life out the other night,
but fate has kept you for a worse punishment.
Ha! ha! my time has comel Do you expect
mercy after murdering my wife and carrying
of! my child? Surely not. The mills of the
gods grind slow, but exceedingly fine. My heart
cries out for your blood 1”

“Kill me if you wish, I am in your power,”

, said the villain, Barker. “But let me tell you

that your child lives, and in case you murder
me, you will never see her again. I’ve some
consolation in knowing that, even it I am to

“ Hal ha! ha i” laughed the scent, triumphant—
ly. “Know you not, devil, that my daughter
is already rescued from the power of your
minions, and safe in that we on coder?”

. “ Who rescued her?” gaspe Ba er, a spasm of
hopelessness convulsing his abject features.
‘ White Plume,” returned the scout.

“ White Plume," sneered Baker. ” A dog of

the le—faces." I

hite Plume heard the renegade’s insult. A
low cry of ven eance escaped his lips, and draw-
ing a scalpin - nile, be bounded toward the vil-
lain, and wit a single flourish of the weapon,
tore the scalp from his head: then bending low,
fie tltirust the rocking blade into the wretch’s

ear . /

With a groan of agony, George Baker sunk to '

the earth and expired. His days of evil were
ended as his crimes deserved.

Leaving the body to the mercy of the wolves
and vultures, our friends continued their jour—

ney.

At the Overland road they parted with White
Plume, having repaid him for his services, with
téhe present of a handsome double-harrcled ri-

e. a
They never saw him again, tho 7h they often
heard of him through deeds of kin ness rendered
the emigrants. «'

 

Our friends shaped their eastward coureeton
ward the young and promising State of Iowa,
where they eventually arrived without further
troubles from the lndians.

Here Arthur Ledger, Wildmerc Ravennaugh
and Gilbert Brainard began life anew, engaging
in agricultural pursuits, with results that al-
ways attend the honest and industrious tiller of
the $011 and tender of flocks and herds.

And now our story is ended. We have. only to
add that Gilbert and Blanche, Harry and Rena
were married, and settled down into a promising
and happglliie.

Wild ven, as he still insists on being called,
lives with his children, and finds life else than a.
burden of sorrow and turmoil. He is getting old,
but in the midst of his grandchildren he finds
great hap iness and comfort.

Teddy s ill lives, and is in the service of his old
employer enjoying the sweets of single blessed-
ness and his pipe. though rumor says he is soon
to be married to a buxom maid, late from his
own “ counthry," and will settle down on a
quarter-section of his own.

THE END.

DIME DIALOGUES AND SPEAKERS

FOR 50110 0L EXHIBITIONS
AND II 0.41 E ENTERTAINMEN TS.

 

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, AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William st.. N. Y.

 

 

 

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1 Deerhuuter, the Wy Scout 0! the Grent North Woods.
By an chum... ‘

2 Buffalo Bill, from Boyhood to Manhood. By Col. Pren-

tlas inzmllmn.
3 Kit Cur-Ion. King: of Guides. By Albert W. Aiken.

4 Gordon Lillie, the Boy'lnterpmter ofthe Pawneel. By
Mnjur. n. n. Stoddard.

5 Bruin Atlulnn. Old Grizzly‘l Bny Pard. By Comm]
Prentiss inurullmn.

8 Deadwood Dick mt nBoy. lly Edward L. Wheeler.

T “'iiti Hill, the Pistol Prince. By Colonel Prentiu
illfll‘nliillll.

8 The Prnlrlc Ranch. Bv Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
9 Roving Joe: The History era “ Bord r Boy.” By A.
H. Paul.

10 Text“ Juck. the Mustxngliing. By Colonel Prentis-
lngrnhnni.

11 Cilurloy Skyiurk. A Stury of Snlmolvtlny Scraper And
(Mirna Cnpurx. 15y )iiijor n. n. Stmltlurd. '

12 Muripoln Murah. iiy Joseph F, Badger, Jr.

18 Roving Ben. By John J. Mnrshnll.

14 finrinz Stet-i, King of the llusli. By J. E. Badger, Jr.

15 \‘idfi-An‘uke George, the Boy Piuneer. By Edward
'i an

16 The Boy “'lznrd. Bv Burrr Ringzold. '

1’? Peter i’cpncrgrnss, the Greenhorn from Gotham. By
Ninth Nuil'.

18 Adi-iii. on tho Prairie. and Amnteur Hunter-
on the linifnlo linuizc. ’-y 0|] Coomel-

19 The Fortune Hunter; nr. Roving Joe in Miner,
cur/tiny, 'I‘x-upw nnd Hunter. is; A. H. Poet.

20 Trapper Turn. the Wood imp. By T. C. Hnrbnuzh.

21 Yellow iluir. the Boy Chiufoi the Pawnee; By Col.
Prentisu ingrnhnln.

22 The Snow 'i‘ruli. By T. C. iinrnnngh.
28 ("Pd Grizzly Adams, the Beer Turner. By Dr. Frnnk

our. .
24 “'oodn mui \Vntcrn. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.

25 A iiulllui: Stone: inciucnt- in thKCnreer on Spnnnd
Land ht Col. Prentiss lnzrnhnni. By Wm. R. Eynwr.

26 Red River Raver-n. By C. Dunning Clark.

27 Pinzn nmi i’lnln; or. \i‘ihl Adventures of“Buckukin
Sam.” (3m, stun. S. Hull.) n,- (10]. l’. ingmhmn.

28 The fin n-d Prince. 1 he Romantic Life of Col. Mon-
etary. By Cunt. Frederick Whitt her.

29 Snow-Flim- Toni. liy 'i'. C. ilnrhaugh.

30 Pnul tic inoy, the Frunch lienat Charmer. By C.
Dunnng 7.1'k.

81 Rouml the Camp Fire. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
82 “’hltc Benvcr, the Indian Medicine Chief. By Col.
Prcnxisn lnurnlmm. '

33 The Boy Crunuder. By Capt. Fwd. Whittaker.

8-1 The Chm «(the Great “'hlto Stag. Ind, Camp
nnd Gunoc. By C. Dunni'ix Clnrk.

85 on) an Knuckle and Hi: Bny Chums. By R. Sturhuch.

86 Thr- Dnnhing Ilrnzmmz or. The Story ofGen. George
A. Custer. By (In; t. Fred. Wliitlnker.

8‘? ‘XlghtJlnwk George. iiy Cu]. Preniias Ingrahnm.

BS The Boy Exile! oi'Slbcrin. iiy T. C. Harhangh.

89 The Young Beur Hunteru. Iiy Morrii Redwinz.

40 Smnrt Sim, the Lad with in Level ilcml. By Edvurd
“'illett.

41 The Svtticr‘l Son. By Edward S. Eliil.

42 W'ult Ferguson’n Crulne. By C. Dunning Clnrk.

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

 

l

 

 

44 The Lost Boy Whaler... uv T. C. Hub-ugh.

45 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Col. ingraham.

46 Dick, the Stowaway. By Chariot Morm-

47 The Colorado Boys; or, Life on an Indigo let‘tlon.
By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

48 The Pmnpnn Hunters; or, New York Boy: in
Busnos Ayrvn. By T. C. Herb-ugh.

49 The Adventuroun Life of Nebraska Charlie.
By Col. Prentiss Inmnhnm.

50 Jack Harry and Tom, the Three Champion Brotherl.
By dam. Fred. Whittaker.

51. The Young Lund-Lubber. By C. Dunning Clark.

52 The Buy Detectives By '1‘. C. Hnrbeugh.

53 Honest Hurry: or. The Country Boy Adrift in the
lily. By Charles Morris.

54 Cuiii'ornln Joe, the Mysterioul Plnlnnmnn. By Col.
Prentiss ingrnhiun.

55 Tip Treat-cl. the Floater. By Edwnrd Willett.

{)6 The Snow Hunters; or, Winter in the Wood]. By
Barry de Forrest.

57 llgrry Burners, the Sailor Boy Magician. By S. W.

emca.

58 The Adventurous Life ni’Cuptuin Jack, the
Border Buy. My Col. Prentiss Ingra mm.

69 Lnlniq'rim, the Mule Boy of the Mines. By Charla:
. “THE.

60 The Young Trnli Hunter-n; or, New York Boy: in
Grizzly lntnd. My '1‘. C. limbmtgh.

61 The Tiger Hunt.er or, The Color-do Boy: in Ela-
plntut Land. liy Jump) E. Badger, Jr.

62 Doctor Carver, the “ Evil Spirit ” of the Plainl. By
001. Pnutlsl lug nhmn.

68 Black Horne Bill, the Bandit Wrecker. By Rogar
Smrhuck.

64 Young Dick Tuihot; or A Boy: Rough uni Tumble
Fight from New York to énnomir. By A. w. Aiken.

65 The Boy Pilot; or, The Island Wrecker. By Col.

i’rentiuh ln-{rnlmnn

66 The Ileagrt Rovvr- or, Stowaway Dick Among the
Arabs. isy Clnlrlea orria.

6? Texan Charlie, the Boy Ranger. By Col. Prentiu
ing-nlnnn.

68 Li‘lltierliiiie; or. The Young Fur Hunt-n. By Captain

irnin " Aliiillll.

69 The Young Vlhiiist or AYuk Bo A th
ltnssimu. lly‘Charlos hlori'in. ‘8. y mung .

70 Ponv tile Cowho‘y‘ or, The Young Mar-hell's Rald.
ny 'Mnjur n. 1:. Sin Jnrd, Ex-Scout.

71 lrmr Robnnrt and ni- Beur. By Clphlu " Bruin "

flilll.
72 The Ice Elephant. By Capt. Frederick Whittier.

78 The Young Moose-Hunters. By Willi-m H.
Mnnninx.

T4 The Boy Coral-Fishers. By Roger Shrbnek.

75 Revolver Billy, th- Boy Ranger of Texan. By col.
Prantils Ingrahnm.

76 The Condor Killers. By '1‘. C. Hurhnngh.

7’? Lnd Lionhucin, the Young Tiger Fighter. ByEogar
Starbuck. '

78 Fintbout Fred. By Edward Willatt

79 Boone, the iluntnr. By Captain F. Whitaker.

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BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pubilnhers,
98 William Street, New York

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

80 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle ol the (‘nscudlm lly
Rnger Smrhuck.

81 The Klt Carson Club. By T. (2 l-lnrhnngh.

82 thtle Buck the Boy Guide. By Him-y lilnggnld.

83 Pony Bob the Kovhlcus Rider at the Knclrieu. liy L‘nl.
Prentiss lnlemm.

84 Cuptnln l'ly-hfif- ‘ lain. By Jiman E. Hlllluur, Jr.

85 Cuf’tlkllll Rulp ,lhu ounp’ Explorer. lin. Dunning

L m .

86 Little Dnn Roda. Hy Marrie- Roulu‘inu.

8? The Menagerie Hunters. lly .\lni. ll. Grenvilh‘.

88 The lloiy 'lrunum; or, Life Among the Glpsieu. By
J. M. l oil‘nmu.

89 ’Lonmflmre LIJe. lly C. D Clark.

90 Ilovlng Iklfleflrueter’u Lim . nut. lly T. C. Ilnrhnuuh.

91 Oregon Josh, the “Winn-‘1 RI 4. By Roger Sun-buck.

92 "nrrlonnc Klt. By A. F. Ho“.

93 Juurplne‘ Jake, the Colorado Circus Boy. By Brynnt
llmnhritlgo.

94 Sum Spence, (he Ilromlhnm Buy. lly Ed. mum.

95 Moscow to Sillerlu; or, A Yankee Boy to the Rescue.
lly Chm‘lul Morris.

96 Fighting Fred- or The (lustmvnysof Griul - (‘nm .
By 1'. c. inn-unnfin. ' ) P

9? Crnlno ni‘the Flyuwny; or, Ynnkne Buy; in (‘eylmL
By (2. Dunning um.

98 The Boy Vhrllnnten; or, King Cnlu and His Imnil.
By Mnj. . n. Stmldmd.

99 The White 'l‘lgeru; or, Silw-r Rllln. the Girl Trnnher

of Luke Superior. lly Cnpt. Clmrles Hnwnrd.

100 The Snow-Shut- 'l‘rnll; 07,Tht:1"urust DESPPl’mhh-I. ‘

By St. Grin-go Knlhhunv'.

101 Elm-1mm, the Ottawn Girl; ur, Thu hituerions k'nnnr.
lly Etlh‘nt'd S. lflllla.

102 The Flynwnv Ailout: or, Yulihuu Buys ’Rnunil [he
World. Ily c. Dunning (.‘lnrk.

103 Pat “llllonoy‘n Advontnrun: onsilvcr ’l'nngnu
lhu Durulnli Queen. By C. 1.. liclu‘u

104 The Roy Fromm-Mar; nr. Thu Sm‘n't ut‘tlw Siurrn
aniuu. By Roger Stnrhlwk,

105 Mllurnee, the Wood Witch; 07. Th Squntler’a Sui-rd.

y Edwin Eumrsnn.

106 The “0‘ (inn-om; or, Jnn nn-I .hp‘s 15-; Find. ls)-

Edwunl “Hum.

107 The Border Rovers: or, lmt ml the tiwrlnnul ‘
'l'r: .

lly J. Milton llutl'mln.
108 Alnnkn. the WolflQuean; or, Thu flirty nrmhnr-a’
Double Urlme. llv Cnpt. Howard Linmln.
109 (Slhfilmlnn Jlxn, the White Man’s Friend. By Edwnril
. . s.

110 Pllloky Joe. the Buy Awngnr: or, Dick llelinnnt‘n
Lind Ride. By .1. Miller Hufl'nmn.

111 The. Harder Gunmuker; m', The lluntml Mniih-u.
15y JllllhmrL. liowcn.

11$ LefiJlundml Pete, the Dunhln-Knife.
E. l’nnlger, Jr.

118 The litter Rule-z or, The Fun, ni‘ |lvc Flulimui. Ry
(hlpt. J. I". (‘. Adilllllfi.

114 Alone on the l’lnlm. 5y Edwin-d Willem.

115 Slh'er llorn, mul Ills Rifle Fin-(hunk
Sturhuch.

116 Exploltn’of'llozelilnh Smlih, UH: linnkwumlnnnn.

. Hy Emerson Rodmnn.

117 The Young Mnntnnuern; or, Did. .\lerr_\“t1{ung.
urn. By C. Dunning \‘lnrk.

113 ("(1 Trap“; or, tho Buy lliynlx. By Barry Riiiggnhl,

'11!!! Center Hhot. the W 'te Fruw; 'or, Roving Riila'n
Flm Camping“. By ’1'. C. Hnrhnugh. ‘

120 N "at: Trnll; or, Clark Clovorly Aiming the ’rnrlnm.
lly Charles Morrln. f/

121. Hunter Pin-d Ben; or, Thu VVnkuh‘l Blind Land.
By Roger Sturbuck.

in- Juluph

1:34 nun...

 

122 The Emlilmnux’ Queen; or, Tha Mystery of a].
Lune Hut. By G. Waldo Browne.

1738 Thu, the Boy Acrnbnt; or, Life in the (Tircua Ring.
t'Inu-Ies Mnrris.

124 Queen llufisle, theBnrderGirl. livl‘lunryJ.Th0mus.

125 Tom Tnhor, thn lhry Fin, n; nr.’l'hc Young Lynch.
Hung “ won-cs." By :nrr, lCixigxul 1.

126 Mlnk ('ont, tho Dvnth-Shot; or, The: Spring of the
Tiger. 4. lus. 1-1. linilgur, Jr.

12? The Deer lluntorn. By John J‘ Mnrshnll.

125 “'0111Cnp; or, 'l‘hr Night-Hawks (if “It! Firevliumlu.
By mini. Chins. Hnwnni.

129 fillr'lers-pnr; or, The l\luuutuin llernino. ByEdwurd

'i vtt.

130 Kevin-n, Qmen 01 the Plains. ll)‘ l'ervy B. St. John.

131 “'h-tnll, the (Ihihl Spy. 125 George “mum.

182 The [Aland Trapper: nr,’1‘hu Young \thita-Bufi'nlu
Ilunlm'n. By (,‘hnrli-n limvunl.

133 The Fun-Kt Specter; or, The Young Hunter’s Fur.
My l'hlwnnl \Villeu.

184 Wild Nut. ihP 'l'mqn-r. 13;; Win. 1L 1-:3

135 {rho 5“er Bug“; .rr. The lmliull .\ .Iitlrn 0f Sl.
t‘ruix. By Limit. t‘ni. llnzultuh.

136 The 1’r'nlrle 'l'rnmu-r. lly ('. Dunniu': Clark.

13’? The Antelope Boy. lly Gen. L. Aikun.

1853 Lung Shot: nr,Thu hwnri‘ihxhlu. By(rnpm‘mnsnn-k.

[89 (11411011101 (‘ruivkt-tt, the Bear King. 11y L'hnrlvs 1‘1.
dls‘l C.

140 on! l’og‘p‘, the anmuncer; or, The Trapper Rivnls.
in; lmwixv w. (:nrmn. ,

141 The Clnnt Hunter; ur, TIN Mnd Smurga of (he
Kll'hnlnms. By llnrry anxzrd.

1&2 Blnvk l’nnther, the Hull-Blond.

Hunky-r, Jr. .

('nrnon, Llw Guiilv; or, Perils of ths Fruutizr. ByLleut

.I. ll. ihmdulph.

Kent, the Rnngur; or. The Fugitive! hi the Bordur. By

Ellunl'd S. ‘ '

“Ill Hollhlnn, lluiitvr; u:_'l‘lm Man in Grcon.

l'}\|n:ml\\ii1ull.

The "nlf-Rreell llhnl; hr. The 'l‘nngleil Trail.

15;. m... i). lindgur, Jr.

’l'ln; Mugke Avenger. Ey ('nl, l’rmlliss Ingrnhmu.

Nni. the 'l'mppnr nml lmlinn Fighter. Hy l’uul J.

l’rvw-n.

’l‘he Elk Demon; Ur, The Him-t lirnlhnra. lty 'r.

. lux'lmllgh.

By

By Joseph 1-;
143
144

4 1:.
145 My
1-16

147
148

The Buy lluulnng-Hnnler: or. Ilinulnliu, the

lh-nuiil‘ul Amnzun.
Frnnk Ynten, thn Young: Tmmn-r; or, Muuutuin
unis. warning. n,- '.~s.pn h). llml;rv',. r.
“'ihl Ihn'en. thu null: or, Blnnt'lu', the (h'ex‘lnwl
Mum»... :;_\- 4n] . wivlhr‘n.
.. 1‘1"); ur, l<‘nur THIN ‘lS' \ ivvnturw with 1|."
Sin" ]§_\' Yul” liihhs. lirmtv .\I‘ h 151.
The Chan: 10" Texan Rliler: Ul',1:l‘«1nlilln|n,
thu- llvr: unmr. 13y Hurry fil. Uuurgv.
lli nih' Mnrch '
" 1hka BIL Doom; or, Tube ' -r, Hm ()hi
Swill. By Ju lSJflflL'f, Jr. {v.uly April ‘1.
156 Frank Bell, Nov Nov Spy: or, Thv Misti-nun: llnx nr
Cryulul Luke. liy till Cmvmrn. Rum.)- April 9.

li_\' lv'rviierink “‘hittn ruin

Remllc'fl 1hr)": Llhrnry is for ml" by nll Newsdenlt-m,
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