i  

Copyrighted, 1883, by BIA'DLI um Alums. Entered M me Post Otfice an New York, N. Y., as Second 01353 Mail Matter. April 21, 1888.

 

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Vol.XVII. ma. Publ‘“‘§§§§;u¥m3’s£°§§i§3§§K§““m"  No. 210.

 

 

rm 'rmmvua wmon YOU HAVE pm A BULLET, AND YOU THOUGHT MY HEAD
WAS man»: or m"

 

 

2 The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

‘, The Tell-Tale Bullet;

THE OUTLAW’S FATE.

BY J. STANLEY HENDERSON,
_AUTEOE or “FRANK, Tm: runmnn,” “ FOUR
FELLOW scours,” ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
A BOAS’I‘FUL VILLAIN.

Tun September wind whistle shrin around
a ranch near the base of the southern tier of the
Sierra Nevada. The ranch was an old and low
adobe building, errectod by some native Cali-
fornian, before 103 Yankis, allured by the golden
sands, had brought new customs and new styles
into the Country. Over the door was a weather-
beatan. sign, the rude inscription denoting that
the ranch was some sort of a fonda, or inn.

We will enter this unpromising place of enter-
tainment, in the company of a traveler who has
just arrived.

The traveler with whom we propose to enter
is by no means prepossessing in appearance. In
fact, he is not such a man as you would like to
meet it you were traveling alone, with valuables
about your person. His coarse, wiry hair, and
his heavy board, are streaked with gray; his
face is disfiguredby a scar that reaches from
the left cheek—bone to the corner of the mouth;
and. his small, restless e es have a malicious
twinkle that is quite repu sive at times. He is
dressed inaleatherhuntingshirt and breaches,
with fringed leggings. his head is covered with
a. bearskin cap, a Mexican serape is thrown over
his shoulders, and a heavy blanket is strapped
on his saddle. His other equipments are _his
rifle and his horse; the former 1s a long, heavy
and serviceable weapon, and the latter is evi-
dently not of the Californian breed.

The traveler dismounts, unceremoniously ties
his horse, drops his ride into the hollow of his
arm,loosens a sheath~kuife in his belt, and opens
the door of the house, with the air of a man who
is accustomed to carry his life in his hands, and
who is doubtful about the character of the com-
‘~ pany'he may meet.

As we enter, we erceivo that the small and
=lowéceiled room,‘gv ich constitutes the principal
apartment of the fonda, is occupied by about a
’ dozen persons, not two of whom appear to be-
long to the same nation or country. The land-
lord is a lean and sallow Mexican,while his wife,
who stands behind the dirty bar, is a buxom,
and rosy-checked lrish woman, who might have
/ had her “pick” of husbands at the diggings. A
dark-complexioned youth, who passed as their
son. seemed kin to neither of them. A long and
lank miner was drinking six bits worth of blue
ruin with a short and fat Frenchman, A sharp-
featured Yankee was making abstruse calcu-
latious an a board with a piece of chalk, and a
filmy-hood Englishman, who sat opposite him,
was shivering with " the ague, and undoubtedly
Wishing himself hout of the ’orrid ’ole. In one

 

corner stood a moody Malay, dressed in a woe-
ful imitation of civilized costume, but wearing a
turban on his head and a wicked-looking crease
in his belt. In the other corner, as a Campanion
picture, a bronzed Sonorian glared fiercely at
all intruders in his counti , of whatever clime
or nation. A weltdresse young man, with
dark hair and eyes, was reading a newspaper by
a window, and an oldMexicun, with a broad
sombrero drawn over his face, slumbered on a
blanket by the wall.

“How are ye, strangers all?” said the new-
comer, as he strode into i; 9 room, and cast an
inquisitive and defiant glance around him;

“ I reckon, missus,” he continued, with an ad-
miring gaze at the comely figure behind the bar,
“ that you allow to be the boss of this tarvern,
and I should think, judgin’ from your looks,
that you expect to do the right thing by man
and beast. I tied my boss outside, and I want
him took extry good car1 of, bein’ as he‘s a use
ful crittur’ to me. As fur this child. he allows
that he can take tol’able good car’ of himself.”

This was a long speech for Burt Adams—for
such was the traveler’s name; but he evidently
wished to impress the guests of the inn with a
sense of his dignity and importance.

While the landlady was giving directions to
the lad, who was called Miguel by his father,
and Mike by his mother, Burt Adams stepped
up to the dingy bar, and thumped upon it with
his fist.

“ Come, now, strangers alll” he exclaimed.
“ I reckon it ain’t often you git a mountain man
down among you, with his pocket full of rocks.
Come up, now, and jine me in suthin7 warmin’,
50’s to make us lively and sociable-like.”

Thisdnvitation, which was intended to be de-
livered in a frank and offhand manner, was
generally accepted. .-

[Burt afterward seating himself“ on a box,
where he launched forth into a boastful recital
of the exploits and perils of his adventurous life.
of a sudden, he turned. and fixed his eyes sharp-
lx,ou the dark face of the silent Malay.

“What in thunder are you lonkin’ at me fur,
you durned nigger?’ he rudely exclaimed.

“ Not lookin‘ at you, sah,” answered the
Malay, without raising his eyes from the floor.
9‘ Malay man not so much nigger, neither.”

“ Not a. nigger? Either your skin lies, or you
(10. Wonder what a Malay is, anyhow?”

“ The Malay,” answered the Yankee, anxious
to display his learning, even if he got nothing
for it, “is a race——”

“ 0h, bother your racesl What do those
yaller tellers know about racin’? I’ve got a boss
that I’ll put ag’in’ anythin’ in these parts fur a
solid mile. Don’t you be handlin’ that'crooked
knife of yourn, you bloody Chiueeser, or what-
ever you are.” , r

The young man who was reading. quietly
raised his ri ht hand to the left breast—pocket of
his coat, on suffered his eyes to stray over the
margin of his newspaper.

“ Didn’t touch kn ife.” replied the Malay.

"‘ Better be keerfnl, then,” grOWIed the moun-
taineer. “ and don’t give menone of your black
looks, fur I’m a white man, I am!” _ ‘ I
. The oung man at the window withdrew his
hand rom his pocket, and fixed his eyes again

  

  

on his paper. Burt Adams settled himself on
his box, and recommenved his boastful recitals.

“ I reckon it’s nigh about ten years," said he,
“ sauce I was in these parts, and then I had a
good time of it. sure as I’m a livin’ sinner. What
with bein’ half—starved on the plains and in the
mount’ins, what with gittin’ mixed up with
Apaches and other rantankerous red-skins, and
what with a lieu of other troubles and fusses, I
was mighty nig used up, and wuss than all,
was flat broke, without a. sniner in my pocket.

“ Of course I had to make a raise somehow. A
man without money and without friends is of
mighty small account in a strange country. But
you don’t ketch Burt Adams stayin’ long in a
light place. I tell you, strangers, this beaver
ain't easy trapped. I made my raise, and a
capital one it was, too.”

At these words, which were spoken in a high
tone, the old Mexican, who was asleep on the
floor, opened his eyes, and partially removed his
sombrero from his face. '

» “Naow, id just like to know heow ycou did
that thing,” iusiuuated the Yankee. ” Guess
yeou didn’t take to school-teachin7 or peddliu‘,
(lid eon?"

“ Vhatl” thundered the mountaineer. “ Do
you take this boss for a. white-livered, psalm-
singin’. punkin’—growin’ fool from the settle—
ments ? I was raised among the mount’ins, I
was. and got my l’arnin’ from the b’ars and
lmfllors and the cussed red—skins. I went to
Work like a man. I heard of an old Grosser
who had heaps of shiners hid away, and who
lived on the side of the Sierra yonder, with no-
body but his darter and mestizo lnjun. When
all was still, I attacked the Mexican, icked up
all the gold and silver I could find, and) struck a
bee—line for the North.”

" The story’s effect upon some of the listeners
was marked. The young man at the window
shuddered and hit his lip. The Malay quickly
raised his head with a wild expression on his
swarthy countenance. The old Mexican in the
blanket gasped as if he was being suffocated,
and glared at the speaker with his sunken eyes.
The Yankee seemed bori‘orsstruck, but ven-
tured to ask the mountaineer if he was not afraid
of being arrested. '

“ Look a—here, strangerl” exclaimed Adams,
turning upon him savagely, “ of you are an
alcalde, or anything of that sort, you had better
lie gittin’ out of this ranch; if not, it will be
safest for you to hold your tongue.”

“ Did you leave the gel?” asked the miner.

“ Ketch this boss bem’ sech a fool as that] I
had a bangain in her, fur she was as party as a
pictur’, and I sold her to some Injuns that I
knew on t’other side of the mountains, but I
ain’t goin’ to tell whar."

The old Mexican raised himself on his elbow
and gazed earnestly at the audacious outlaw.

“ Hello, old chap!" said Adams. ,” So you’ve
woke up at lust. NVhat do you mean by grin-
ning at me in that way? Think you‘ll know me
when you see me ug’in?"

,. The Mexican muttered smuething indistinctly,
laid down, and covered his fate with his som—
brero. I . ,

“Your lodge is too crowded for fine beaver

to stay in it long, missus,” said the mountaineer.

look behind him.

 

The TellcTale Bullet. , I . 8

“ I reckon I’ll gay what I owe you and make
tracks for the 'mber.

“ Far’wel]. strangers all!” he said, as, having
settled his bill, be strode out of the house in the
same defiant manner in which he had entered it.

The young man at the window whispered to,
the Malay over the edge of his paper:

“ Did you ever see that man before, Karaibo?”

“ Never see him.” ' ' '

“ Do you like him?”

“ Do I like a snake or a panther?”

“Would you know him if you should see him
again?”

“ Know him mi hty well." \

“ Follow him, uraibo. Be a dog on his
track. Watch where he goes and learn all you
can about him. I must go to the coast and will
meet you there.” ~ ,

The dark—skinned foreigner glided out of the r
room so stealthily, that his departure was 9.1- r I
most unobserved.

In a few moments the old Mexican rose from ,
the floor, threw his blanket on his shoulders -
drew his sombrero down over his eyes, and
stalked gloomin away, carefully closing the , r
door of the fonda behind him.

CHAPTER 11.
KARAIBO ATTENDS ’1'0 BUSINESS.

 

BURT ADAMS spoke the truth, when he said , , 

that the fonda was too crowded for him. He .
was accustomed to the open air, and the life in’
tents and mifwams; and a civilized led, evenif
the inn con
would have been only a. nuisance and a torment ’
to him. Besides, he was sufiiciently- sober to
know that he was not sober, and he felt that
however well he mi bt be able to “take cereal
himself” when awa e, he might find it danger— .
pus to fall asleep in a small and crowded build-2
mg. ' ‘

Accordingly, he untied his horse, and slowly
rode oflf toward a clump of timber that was Sim;
ated about three miles to the northnard. A
dark figure, wrapped in a mantle. watched him
as he went, and then cautiously followed him, at »
a considerable distance. '

It was now about dusk,'and the mountaineer, ‘
thinking of no pursuit or surveillance, did not, '
If he had, he would not have ' '
perceived the dark figure in the brown hat‘and,
tawny blanket, so near the color of the wild oats
through which he moved.

Adams reached and entered the clump of
timber, which was situated on a little knoll, , 
near the base of the mountain. The trees were
scattered, and there was good rass yet grove
ing among them. The outlaw so ected the most
open s t, picketed his horse with a long lariat, .
rolled imself u in his blanket, and laid down
to sleep near 1: e picket. Before closin his V

eyes, he whistled to his horse, which, obe lent, , V

as a dog, came to his call; ,

“ Bill,
to stretch out. and you must keep watch.
that, and don’t let your eyes or cars l‘rzolyoui” '

He evidently considered this a, sufficient pm
caution, for be was Numbering, in a few min-
utes. as soundly as it‘ his conscience was as rl’ear 
as iliat of a child, I,

The trained and sagacious horse walked quiet-

 

 

d have afforded a passable‘one, , 

 

 

 

 

my boy.” said he, “this childis nin‘r ‘y 
me I 

 

 

 

 

4 The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

ly around the outlaw as he slept, seeming to
take care not to entangle him in the long lariat,
and only now and then picking up a mouthful of
grass. About an hour had passed, and the
moon, struggling through broken patches of
clouds, was showing a fitful li ht, when the
animal suddenly stopped, pricker up his ears,
and stood in an attitude of strained attention.
Then he moved to another point in the circle,
and again appeared to listen intently. He had
snufled danger in the air, for he returned to his
master’s side, and pawed the ground.

The outlaw slept like a log.

The horse neighed and whinnied, but the

' noise failed to arouse him.

Then the animal bent his head, seized the
blanket with hisjteeth, and shook it.

Burt Adams sprung to his feet, and gazed
wildly around him. As he did so, a shot came

I from the edge of the timber, and a bullet whis-

. tled by his ears. -

He snatched his rifle, and hastened in the di-
rection from which the shot proceeded, but he
could find no enemy, nor any trace of one. He
thought that he saw a strange motion in the
wild oats on the plain below, and fired at the
spot, but with no visible result. It was too dark
to follow the trail. even if he could find it; so,
with a muttered curse, he returned to his
“ camp,” kindled a fire, and prepared to watch
out the night.

“You kept good guard, Bill,” he said, strok—
ing his horse. “You’re all right, old boy, but I
was a stupid fool, and slept like 8. Her kyled up
in winter. Reckon I won’t rcsk stretchin’ out
az’in, Bill, and fvl'ou can take your turn now.
They won’t ketc this beaver asleep once more."

Leaving his fire, he wandered about in the
edges of he clump of timber, watching, with
the eye of a practiced hunter and mountaineer,

7L  for any sign of his secret asmilant; but be

neither heard nor saw anything more, until
morniu dawned. Then he went to the spot
from W ichhe su posed the shot had come, and

I. ' there he found in ications which clearly showed

' him that a man had crawled up the side of the

knoll from the plain. He followed the marks
‘ tor a short distance among the patches of oats,
" and was satisfied.

“ I’d foller that trail,” he said, “of thar was
any use into it; but I know jest whar it will
come out—at that cussed ranch they call a fondy,

’ down yonder. 1 just wonder, now, of that
denied yallervakinned Chinecser, or whatever he
is, has been layin’ fur me? Anyr of the rest of
’em, though, jest as likely. I’ll let ’em know that
Burt Adams ain’t a man to be skeered, though
he mought be caught nap in’.”

- It was not the dark Ma ay who fired the shot.
He could not have fired it, for he had no weapon
except the crease in his sash. He would not

- have fired it it he had been able to do so, for he
had not been commissioned to slay the man, but
to, watch him, to do; his steps, to learn all he

. could about him.

'He followed the outlaw to the clump of tim—

‘ _‘ her, and watched him picket his horse and lie

down to sleep. He noticed the stealthy approach
of another mm, and saw him creep up the side
of the knoll. He heard the shot, and watched
 the subsequent proceedings or the assailant and

 

the assailed. He concluded that he could learn
nothing more concerning the man whom he had
been set to watch, by remaining where he was,
and thought that this new development might
afford him some information. Consequently, he
went back to the inn, whichwas nearly deserted,
and waited. '

He had not long to wait, for soon another bird
of night made his appearance, wearing a broad
sombrero and a brown blanket.

It was the old Mexican. With a hasty glance
about him he entered, wrapped himself in his
blanket, and laid down on the floor in a corner.
He showed no disposition tosleep, but clasped
his hands over his eyes, and sobbed audibly,
while his withered frame shook.

Soon the Malay, who had been sitting in the
shadow, arose, quietly stepped to the old man,
and touched him on the shoulder. The Men-
can started up, and his surprise, if not his fright,
were increased by seeing the black, piercing

eyes of Karaibo, that were fixed upon him with ,

an earnest gaze.

“ Don’t be scare," said the Malay, in a tone of
singular softnem. “ Come with me. W'ant to
speak you."

“ Who are you? What do you want!"

“ Don’t be scare. All right. Karaibo is an
honest man. Come outside.”

The Mexican seemed to be impressed by the
gentleness and sweetness of the voice, for he
rose, almost involuntarily, and followed his
strange leader out into the air. The Malay led
him a short distance from the house, stopped,
and looked the old man full in the face.

“ Much pain here?” he asked. “You feel muc
trouble herefi” '

“ Trouble!” ejaculated the Mexican, as he
sobbed again. “Yes, yesl May God and the
Virgin help me to bear it!”

“ Tell Karaibo what’s the matter.”

“ Why should I tell you? You cannot help
me. Nothing can help me.”

“ Maybe so. Cap’n Henry says God sees
everything, that He knows even when one very
leetle small bird falls to the ground. S‘pose He
won’t cure trouble some way?”

“ Are you a Christian? I heard you say you
were a Malay. ”

“ lap’n Henry says Karaibo is sorter good
Christian now.”

” Who is Captain Henry?”

“My Captain Henry. He was here yes’day.
Good mun—good, good, GOOD, GOOD!"

(Knraibo was not well enough supplied with
adjectives to do justice to “ Cep’n Henry”)

“Now tell Karaibo what’s the matter.”

“ I do not know wh I should trust you.”

“ Then I tell you. but made you shoot at
that man out in timber last night?

The Mexican started, as if he had himselt
been shot. With an effort be recovered his
composure. »

“ What do you mean? What man? Where?”

“ Timber up yonder. Man who told big
stories. Horse with long rope. Man asleep on
the grass."

The old man’s eyes opened wider than ever,
and he may not conceal his perplexity. I

“ How could I‘ shoot at a man,” he said,
“ when I have no gun? What have ygu seen?”

thq. r

 

 

 

 

was: when gm'»

.51:

 

 

was We;  .

 

um.

 

Lefi‘i ‘

 

 

 

 

The Tell-Tale Bullet. ‘ 5

 

5-: (:0 you crawl up. See you shoot. Ahl you
:z. .1 away like a snake l”

The old man covered his face with his hands.

“ Don’t be scared. All right. Tell Karaibo
what’s matter."

“1 will tell you, and who can say but that'

God has sent you to he a friend to me?”

’l‘heold Mexican, notwithstanding his withered
frame and poor apparel, was a man of dignified
and gentlenianly appearance, and had evidently,
to use the common expression, “seen better
days.” He drew his blanket around him, and
com sed his features to tell of his trouble.

“ ou heard that man boast how he had
stabbed a Mexican, had robbed his house, and
had carried away his daughter?”

“ Heard mighty well,” answered the Malay,
with a mild light in his eyes. “He said he wasa
white man and Christian. Not Karaibo’s kind
of Christian—not like Cap’n Bent . If he sent
bullet through Karaibo’s head, ap’n Henry
shoot him mighty dead.”

“ I am the Mexican whom he attacked, and it
was my daughter that he carried off and sold to
Indians. I shot at him; I tried to kill him; for
I must be revenged. Revenge is sweet.”

“ Karalbo knows that; not good enough
Christian to forget that—quite. But s’pose some
other thing come. S’pose you find the girl, and
then kill that man—ahl kill him very, very
dead then!”

“ What do you mean?" eagerly asked the
Mexican. “ Do not speak to me in that way,
unless you have some meaning. Can on be
out any ho to me? Do on think i ossible
that I mig treoover my 0st one, my aquitu?
But no: it is impossible, and if I could recover
her as she is, as she must be now, the recovery
would be worse than the loss.”

The old man again covered his face with his
hands, and sobbed. '

“Who knows?" solemnly replied the Malay,
turning his large, dark eyes upward, and point-
ing with his long forefinger at a patch of clear
sky amo the scatteer clouds. ,“ Karaibo
does not now. but God knows. Kamibo has
nothing to say, but Cap’n Henry knows much——
oh, so much! and can do so muchl Will you
believe Karaibo, and trust in God and Cap’n
Henry?”

“I will. What shall I do?”

“ Leave gun in haystack,” answered the
Malay, recurring to his quickaz’peaking manner.
“ Go in house——sleep——you used sleep-«and pray
God. Good—night.’

With the docility of a child the Mexican
obeyed the instructions of his dark-visaged
monitor, and entered the inn. The Malay fol-
lowed him, and both laid down on the floor.

CHAPTER III.
BURT FINDS AN ALLY.
WITH the first of the dawn Kamibo was

awake. Leaving his companion aslrep, he glided

out of the door of the inn, and went to the hay-
siack where be illustrated the good effect of the
teachings of “ Cap’n Henry," kneeling down
and repeating a short rayer. The devotional
exercise evidently did him good, for there was a
bright look in his eyes, and a grateful expression
on his swarthy countenance as he rose and

 

glanced toward the East, when- the snamzits of
the sierra were reddened by the rising sun. As
he cast his eyes northward be perceived a horro-
man approaching from that direction, and soon
discovered that it v as the mountaineer, return~
ing to the fondu. Thu Malay, with some curi-
osity and exudation, awaited his arrival.

“ Hello, )aller skin)” was the greeting of the
outlnw, as he dismounted and tied his horse to
the baystark. “ You’re out ’arly this morn;
ing? Is there any one else stirrin’ aBout the

ranch?"

“ See no other man yet,” answered the
Malay.

"' Did you sleep in that tavern last night?”

“ Yes; sleep in there.”

“ Who else slept there?"

“ One cld man—sick.”

Burt Adams was a little puzzled. If this was
the man who made the attack upon him, why

had he not fled? The outlaw tried “a. (new '

tack.”

“You seem to he a purty decent kind ofo
chap, though your skin aint as white as it
mought be, and though you’re a furrener. I’ve
an idee of takin’ a little hunt this mornin’, and
you may go with me if you want to. Thar’s
none in these parts can show you such sport as
lbw-gt” Adams can. Would you like totry the
1111

“ Karaib‘o got no horse—got no gum”

“ No horse or gnu. We’ll have to he it up,
then. Don’t you ever carry a gun, raiboi—
if that’s your name.” ' - I
Ezjsometimes; but gun away from here—far
0 . fl '
Burt was nearly convinced that the Malay;

was not guilty, and he resolved to make a con-‘ ‘

fidnnt of him. .
“ Look a-here, Karaibo; I’ve got snthin’ car'-

ous to tell you. You know I camped up yonder  V x

in the timber last night.” , .
“ Did you?" ‘

“ Yes; ’cause I didn’t like the crowd in this, 3‘}

shanty. While I was sleepin’ thar, some cow-
ardlflcuss sneaked up and shot at me.” ‘
“ any men get shot at.”

“ That’s a fact; but I don’t know who could 

have had. anythin’ ag’inst me, onless it was my
plunder that was wanted. I‘ reckon the idler
would have nailed me, if it hadn’t been for my
boss, who was keepin’ watch. He tuck hold of-
my blanket, and shuck me till I woke up, and
than the shot come.” -

“ Mighty good boss. Did you shoot?" , .

" Hunted for the cuss, but he had sneaked
away like a snake and 1 shot to scare him up.
I follered the trail, and it led, as I had allowed
it would, right to this ranch. Now,

yesterday, and will help me to find out who that .
teller was, it won’t be anythin‘ out of your

pocket. fur it’s wu’th while. in these parts, to 

have Burt Adams fur a friend.” r
“ Mayb» the man has gone away—three 20136.”,
In answer to further questions, the Malay -
stated that the fat Frenchman and the long»
miner had gone away together early in the even-..
ing, and that the Sonorian had left during
the night.

 

 

Kamibo,  L
if you'll forgit the cross Words I spoke to you

Besides the Englishman. who was: 7,
“down” with the ague, himself and the old ,If;

 

 

6 The Tell-Tale Bullet.

_ Mexican were the only remaining guests of the
onda.

“It’s tol’able plain now," said the outlaw.
“It was that durned Sonorian who tried to rub
me out. I do hateamean and sneakin’ cuss,
who will crawl up on a man at night, when he's
sleepip’, and shoot at him in that murderous

wa .
‘yIt was right down rascally of that chap,
arter I'd treated him to the best there was in
the ranch. I didn't like his icoks, nohow, and
' noticed that he looked mighty greedy whcnI
showed my money. Those Sonora thieves hate
an honest American wuss’n p’ison, and would
stick at nothin’ to rub him out. If my eyes
“ » ever light on him ag’in, he‘ll suffer fur last
night’s work, as sure as I’m a livin' sinner!”
As the Malay had nothing to say, Burt con-
tinued:
. “ I’ve kinder tuk a likin’to you, Karaibo, and
Iallow that there’s more into you than shows
itself. S’pose you and I‘ step into the ranch,
andi fling ourselves outside of a few drOps of
spir ts.
“Can’t do it, sah. Much obliged, all same.
C'a'gg Henry say spirits not good, ’cept when
sic ‘

 

“ Who in thunder is Captain Henry?”
, “ Man I knew once—mighty good man."

‘- “ Toolgood fur me, I reckon; but p’rhaps he’s
1‘ right. or my part. I want some a‘gua’rdiente,
5 - and then friend yaller-skin, we’ll see if that’s
antyfihin' in this ranch that a hungry man can
, ea .
 , , Burt Adams satisfied his thirst, and then in-
' ‘ \quired of the buxom landlady concerning more
substantial refreshments. On a. stool in a cor-
ner, with a tray in his lap, and with his broad
sombrero still drawn over his face, sat the old
Mexican, regaling himself with tortillas, fri-
ioles, and a sort of stew that was plentifully
seasoned with red pepper. He did not look up
from his meal, and was not noticed by the oth-
lers, unless the dark eyes of the Mala y occasion-
all strayed in the direction of his corner.

3 there was nothing else to be had, the out-
law ordered the same repast for himsflt and the
Mala , and sat down to discuss it with his new
frlen , having persuaded the landlady to add a
on of miserable coffee.

he breakfast was not at all to the liking of
the mountaineer, and he soon rose and beckoned
to his companion. Karaibo followed him out of
the gorilla, and was led to a secluded spot in a

V lo at the base of the mountains, where

ams halted.

“Tell you what it is, Karaibo.” said he, in a
confidential tone, “ I’ve sorter tuck a likin’ to
you, as I said store, and would like to do suthin’
fur you. an‘ ’raps you mought help me a little,
too. What 0 you think?”

" Karaibo listens.” '

“ J udgiu’ from your looks, I reckon you ain’t
apt to 311: scared very easy.”

‘ “ Karaibo knows nothing of fear.”

“ And I shouldn’t wonder if you could shoot
a ride. thou, b you are only a poor, ignorant
warrior, 3n though you haven’t got your gun

yo .'
7., M“ Kargibo shoots mighty well. Captain
-' Henry taught him.”

 

 

 

  
   
 
  
 
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  

 

“ May the Old Harry fly away with your Cap-
tain Henry,” muttered Adams.

“ I reckon, too, judgin’ from your not carryin’
a gun While travelin’ in these dangerous parts,
that you know how to use that crooked knife of
yourn."

The Malay drew his creese from his belt, and
smiled as be exhibited its sharp edge.

“ That’ll‘ do, old yaller—skin. ut up your
cheese—cutter, fur it’s a wicked-iookin’ weepon
in your hands, though I doubt whether a white
man could do much with it. Now we’ll talk
about business. S’pose I was in a ‘desput kind
of fix, whar fightin’ was to be done, and the
odds was ag’in’ me. Could I depend on you?”

“Depend? What is depend?”

“ Could I reckon on you to stand by me, and
help me fight it through?”

“ Karaibo stand by, and fight, for pay.”

“For pay—that’s jest what I mean, my yal—
ler-boy. If I can put you in the way to help me
git a heap of money and other lunder, and you
to have a big divide of it, I rec on you wouldn‘t
feel bad if it wasn’t got adzackly in the way
folks call honest?”

“Malay man mighty fond of money—much
as American man.” '

“ I reckon we understand each other, Karaibo.
Burt Adams hasn’t been knocked about fur
nothin'; he knows men when he sees ’em. With
white men, Injuns, and furriners, I’ve allerslmd
the same luck. Now, Karaibo, as we’re goin’
to hunt together, I’ll tell you the game, and
show you the trail. Afore long—I don‘t adzark—
ly know wheuwthere’s a mighty rich Mexican,
with a thunderin’ purty daughter, goin’ to start
from the coast to 0 over the mount’ins and
plains to Santa Fe. hey’ve got relations livin'
that, and are goin’ to see ’em, and to put the 31
into a convent so'mewhar. They allow to ta 9
a mule-train, and are bound to carry a plenty
of gold and silver, as the old chap has bought
some land in those parts, and is goin‘ to pay fur
it, I reckon. This child is hired to be that
guidewthat is, it ain’t, quite fixed up yet. but it
will he. The idea is to git the plunder. Do you
onderstand, yaller-skin?”

“Karaibo understands that, brown-skin. v

Speak on.”

“ W'al, if my skin is brown, I’m a white man,
which is mor’n you aré. Respectin’ the plunder,
I don’t allow that we’ll take it ourselves, as they
mought be too many fur us. I mean to lead ’em
up among the mount‘ins, whar thar’s on Apache”
tribe that I know, and they’ll do the work fur
us turn small divide. I’ve had dealin’s With ’em
afore and know how to treat ’em. I don’t reckon
we need be mixed up in any scrimmage, but we
mougbt he, and I want a good man to stand by
me till we git among the Injuns. If you’ll do
that, Kuraibo, you shall jest be loaded down
with gold and silver. What do you say how?”

“, Ifaraibo will go—Karaibo will stand by

on.

“ All right, old yaller-skinl Give me your
hand on that. As for the gal, that's suthin’ to
be thought about at another time."

“ Karaibo is ready to obey.”

“ That’s the talk. J est you stay around here
for awhile, and I’ll see to it that you git a boss,
a rifle, and what other traps you want. Don‘t

 

 

no dummy 

 

A n instant“ ~.

 

 

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The Tell-Tale Bullet. . 1'-

 

go away onlcss the orders come from me. Now
We’ll go back to the tarvern.”

\Vithout more Words, the strangely-assorted
couple walked to the inn. The Malay was oc-
cupied with his own thoughts, which were in—
scrutable. The outlaw was chuckling at having
secured a useful and faithful ally, in a country
where he was unknown, and where he dared not
trust any one with his horse, much less with an
important secret.

“ Jest you stay around here, yaller—skin,” said
Adams, when they reached the inn. “ I am. go-
in’ up into the hills, to try to shoot suthin’ that’s
fit for a white man to eat. Keep a still tongue
in your head, and Burt Adams will show you
how to make your fortin‘."

The mountaineer untied his horse. and rode 0!!
toward the timber. Karaibo watched him until
he was out of sight and then entered the inn,
where the old Mexican was seated, his attitude
and expression indicating extreme melancholy.
Karaiho beckoned to him, and the old, man rose
and followed his swarthy friend out of the door.

"‘ What did he want?” eagerly asked the Mexi-
can. “ What did he say to you?”

“ Much—be told me muc . Ahl he is a bad
man—had, bad, BAD 1.”

“ He, make a bargain with Karaibo. Karaibo
is to help him to steal, to rob, perhaps to mur—
der.”

“What do you mean? Is it possible that you
can league yourself with such a man, for such
unhol purposes?"

“ e must sometimes do wrong, so that we
may do right—so Cap’u Henry says. This man
says that he will be guide for a rich man, a Mexi-
can, and his daughter, who will go from the
coast to Santa Fe. They will have money, and
he will lead them among the Indians, Where they
will be robbed.”

“ But what has this to do with me? How will
it aid my revenge?”

“ Karaibo does not know:- His eyes are open,
and his ears can bear; but he knows little of
himself. You must see Cap’n Henry, and must
tell him all, for Karaibo has romised to stay
with this man, and to do what e says.”

“ Who is Cap’n Henry, and where shall I find
him?”

“ Cap’n Henry is my Cup’n Henry. Do you
know the ranch called Dos Hermanoes, near San
Pedro?” "

“I do.”

“ There you must go. If Cap’n Henry is not
there, wait for him. When he comes, tell him
what I have told you—and show him this."

The Malay handed the old man a small cor—
nolian cross.

The Malay handed the old man a small cor-
nelian cross. '

“ Kuraibo cannot write, but you have a
tongue. Get your gun. and go. Have you any
money—aqua dinero?”

“Very little.”

“Here is money; buy a horse as soon as you
can, and ride fast, until you reach the Dos Her-
menus.”

The old man took the money, settled his bill
at the fonda, got his gun from under the hay-
stack, and walked briskly toward the west.
The Malay watched him until he was out of

 

sight, and then returned to the inn, u here he
busied himself in taking care ofgthe sick English-
man, who was very grateful for this unexpected
display of kindness and sympathy.

CHAPTER IV.
A SQUALLY TIME.

OUR scene changes to a land-locked bay on
the coast of Old California. It is a secure and
beautiful bay, although seldom used by ship—
ping, with the exception of small craft that 1 c-
casionally seek, in the placid waters, a refuge
from ocean storms. 0n the northern shore of
the bay is a small and scattered hamlet, consist.
ing of an inn, and a few adobe houses andvmod-
en huts, mostly inhabited by fishermen. Near
the middle of the bay, and about a mile from
either shore, is a small and beautiful island,
embowered in trees, and through the thick foli-
age glimpses can be caught of the white walls
of a low but spacmus mansion. _ .

The morning was far spent, when a horseman,
well-mounted, rode into the hamlet, and drew
rein in front of the adobe building that did duty
as an inn. He was a fine-looking youn man,
with bright blue eyes and a heavy brownfieard,
and was attired in a sort of semi-military cos-
tume. As he dismounted, he was greeted hi
the landlord as “ Captain Henry,” from whic
it may reasonably be inferred that he was the
same person who was reading a newspaper at
the window in the frmda at the foot of the
sierra, while Burt Adams was boasting of his
explmts. '

“ How can I accommodate you, Captain
Henry?” asked the obsequious landlord. “My
house and all 1 have are at your service."

“ 1 shall not want so much, Pedro,” answered
the young gentlrman. “Something to eat, for
myself and my horse, will be acceptable.”

“M ' humble dinner will soon be ready, Cap-
tain enr , but you can dine now, if it pleases
your Exce lency.’

“_I desire you to understand, Pedro, that I
am m‘t an Excellency. I will wait for your din-
her. What do you think of the weather?”

“Those clouds in the southeast look ugly,
senor, and I fear that a storm is brewing in that
quarter.” .

“ I hope not, for I must sail over to the island
to-da , if I can get a boat.”

“ o Senor Vincente’s'!”

“ Precisely. - Can I hire a boat of you?"

‘ “ I have no row-boats,butI have two sail-boats '
the only boats now on the bay, except those at
the island. J uanito has gone to fish with one of
my boats, but the other IS moored at my little
dock. If you can manage the boat, senor, you
are welcome to it."

“ I can manage it, Pedro; never fearfor that.
I have sailed in rougher weather than you ever
feel in this bay. Let us get our dinner as soon
as we can, for I have no time to waste.” -

When the plain Mexican dinner: was'dispatch-
ed. Pedro pointed out the boat to his nest. and
the young gentleman went down to e wharf.
Having satisfied himself that the boat and her
rigging were to' be depended upon, he proceeded
to hoist the sails.

While he was thus engaged, there was another
arrival at the inn. The neWcomer, a repulsive—

 

o

 

 

 

s The Tell-Tale Bullet.

1a

 

looking man, was dressed in hunter’s garb, was
mounted on a large and strong horse, and car—
ried a long rifle on the pommel of his saddle.
“Hello, stranger!” was his greetin to the
landlord. “Can you tell me whar’a outs in
these parts lives an old chap, called Don Manuel
Vincents?"
n “ Yonder,” answered Pedro, pointing at the
, water.
“ Yonder! What do you mean by yonder? Is
he a flsh ?" ’
“The hacienda of Don Manuel is situated
upon”that beautiful island in the middle of the

bay. ,

“ Thunderationl How am I to git to it?”

“ You must go in a boat. Don Manuel has
boats, but they are now at the island." '

“Can’t you take me over, old boss? You
kfe ligate, for sart'in, and I must git thar afore

n t.

fiMy son has gone to fish with one of my
boats, and the other I have just hired to a

oun gentleman. When the boat returns from

‘ he is and, it will be at your service.”

“Ef thar’s a man goin’ over to the island.
why can't I go with him? I am able and willin'
to pay my way, stranger.”

‘ I he would consent to take you, he would
not accept your money. It is eas to ask him;
he is a gentleman; if he refuses, It will be with
politeness.”

' “ I’ll tryr him on; thar can’t be any harm done.
Now, cap n, I want to step inside, and git suthin’
warmin’ fur my innards, ’cause I ain’t much
used to water, ’specially when it’s salt. You
must take car of my boss and traps, and I’ll
pa you well fur it when I git back."

en the traveler had satisfied his thirst, the
landlord pointed out the boat to him, and he
walked with long strides to the little wharf,
where he found Captain Henry, who had hoisted
his mainsail, engaged in coiling away the ropes.

“Mornin’, stranger,” said the backwoodsman,

, in as pleasant a tone as he could assume.

The young man looked u , and saw at a
glance that the speaker was urt Adams. He

, thou ht he was not recognized by the outlaw,

> who ad not had a fair opportunity of seeing his

\ face while he was reading his newspaper in the

onda.
“ The landlord up at the tarvern tells me you
are goin‘ over to the island yonder. I’m want-

‘ in’ to go over, but thar ain‘t no other boat, and

,I’m in a hurry; so I thought I’d make hold to
ask flit you'd be willin’ to take me as a passen—
ger.

Captain Henry looked up from his work again,
and coolly surveyed the mountaineer. He won-

‘ dared what object the fellow could have in wish—

ing to go to the island. v ~
' . ‘Have you business there? Do (you wish to
see any one in particular?” he aske .

“ Wal, I do. I want to see the old cha
self, Don Manuel Vincents. I’m expec
stranger.

The young man looked grave, and meditated
while he was retending to arrange a rope.

“ It can be r no good purpose,” be thought,
“ that this fellow wishes to visit the island.
However he says that he is expected. and, if I
do not taire him, he will find some other means

him-
thar,

\,

 

of going. If he goes in my company, I will be
able to watch him, and, perhaps, to thwart him,
if he intends any villain)". I may as well take
the risk."

“ If you are expected over there,” said he, “ I
am w111ing to take you. I think it will blow

retty heavy, and I have no objection to some
ive ballast. Do you know anything about a
boat?”

“ I can manage a canoe as well as any man,
red or white, on tho wu’st rapids; but our salt
water is a kind 0’ grass that this bu or never
fed on.”

“ Very well. You must do just as I tell you;
you must obey my orders, and I will engage to
carr you over safely."

“ 11 course I will, cap’n. Jest show me the
trail, and I’ll foller it.”

“ Come aboard, then. and I’ll shove 011'.”

The outlaw had hardly stepped into the boat
when old Pedro, the landlor of the little inn,
came hurryingldown to the wharf, escorting a
young lady, w om he treated with the greatest
deference.

" Hold on, Captain Henry," he shouted.
“ Don’t cast off yet. Here is a oung lady who
wishes to cross to the island, an I am sure that
you have not the heart to refuse her.”

“ Not I, indeed,” cheerily answered the young
man, as he stood up by the mast.

As he spoke, the young lady raised her vail,
exhibiting a countenance of rare beauty. She
was a brunette of the true Spanish ty , with
black eyes and hair, peach-bloom chee a, rosy
lips. long eyelashes, and the form of a- —not of a
fairy, but cf a very beautiful and graceful girl.
A warm blush overspread her face as she raised
her vail, and a corresponding effect was~ pro-
duced upon the young gentleman in the boat.

“ Manuela l”

“ Henry! Is it really you?”

“ It is, and I shall be happy if I can be of any
service to you.”

“ I expected that a boat would be here from
the island."

“ It came over yesterday, senorita,” interrupt-
ed the landlord. '

“ I supposed so. I am a day behind my time,
and am anxious to go home now, as my father
will be uneasy. You know, Pedro, that I can-

not stay here. Are you really going to the
islzgid, fienry? Do you suppose that my‘
a er—

“ Let us suppose nothing, carissima. I am a
gentleman, as I can easily prove, and it cannot
be possible that he is as unreasonable as I have
been led to believe. Come aboard, Manuela, for
we have no time to lose.” ‘

“ I fear, Captain Henry, that the storm will
strike you before you can cross,” said the land-
lord. “ Are you not afraid. senorita‘l”

“ I am not afraid now. Besides. Pedro, I can-
not stay here. Henry, I am ready."

With the assistance of the young gentleman,
Manuela Vinoente was safely deposnted in the
little sloop, and seated in the stern-sheets. where
she regarded, with a look of disgust. the repul-
sive features of Burt Adams, who sat Opposite
to her. Captain Henry, as we have thus far
heard the young man called, hoisted the jib,

m». we; ‘Ahulfiqycm- ;. madman», In»: .x 4,...

 

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The Tell-Tale Bullet. e '

cast 03 the bowline, and sprung to the helm,
where Manuela was seated at his left.

The little craft. obedient to his touch, darted
of! instantly, and with the southeast breeze
nearly abeam, sped smftly over the waves to—
ward the island. Captain Henry was in fine
spirits; the boat was easily managed ,with the
wind free, and he was at liberty to bestow most
of his attention upon his fair companion, which
he did not hesxtate to do, while the outlaw, sul—
fin and moody, appeared to notice neither of

em.

Soon the young man’s attention was attracted
by the shaking of the jib and the shivering of
the mainsail. He looked up and cast his eyes
to windward, with an expression of surprise if
not of dismay.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “ Manuela mia, I
should have kept better watch, but your bri ht
eyes lured me from my duty. The wind as
hauled around to the southward. and I have let
the craft go of]? her course. It will be hard
work, now, to make the island, and I am afraid
we shall have a hard squall pretty soon. Yes,
it is coming now. Look, Manuela; how black
the water is, where the storm- spirit treads."

. “ I know it well. Had you not better take in
a reef?”

“I think not. I want to carry as much sail
as possible, so that I can make the island with;
out tacking. Where is your father's dock,

I _Manuela?” .

“ At the western end of the island.”
“I am glad of that; if we can weather the
oint, we will make a landing in smooth water.
y. you man in the huntingshirt, you must
bear a hand now. Are you ready to do as I tell

you?"

“ Ya—as, but I don’t want to be ordered about
like a nigger.”

“You promised to obey my orders, and you
must do it. Can ou swim?” '-

“ Swim? Not .”

“You had better do as I bid on, then. For
in part I can swim like a fls , and will not
al ow the lad to be drowned.”

“ What sha l I do, cep‘n 1" growled Adams.

“ Take this rope, and hold it firmly. When I
tell you to let fly, you must loose it right away.”

The young man handed him the bight of the
jib-sheet, and looked up to windward. It was

,none too soon, for the squall was on them. It

came like a thunder-clap, “all of a heap,”
knocking down the little vase], so that the
water poured in over her nwalo. The out—
law’a face turned yellow, an Manuela shut her

eyes.
Egret fly,” shouted Henry, as he put down his

9 . .
Burt Adams obeyed, the jib flapped loosely
abroad. and the little sloop rounded up into the
wind, where she stood for a moment, trembling
like a horse that has taken a desperate leap.
“Haul in that rope,” said Henry, as he put
his helm apart.
Adams again obeyed, and again the boat,
closehauled, s swiftly toward the island.
“We are we through with that, Manuela."
said the helmsman; “but here comes another
knock-down, and I must carry as much sail as
possible, to make the island."

 

o

The words were hardly out of his mout
when the squall came. Again the little cm is
bent over to it, again the 'ib was let fly, and
again she was relieved from t 9 pressure of the
wind. But this squall lasted longer than the
other, and it was necessary to bear away, be-
fore the boat should lose her steerage.

“ Haul in that ro e,” shouted the helmsman.

“ I won’t do it,’ answered Adams. who had
seen the benefit of loosing the jib, in setting the
boat on her legs.

“’Haul in that rope, if you don‘t want us up-
set. ’ ’

“ I’ll see you hanged first.”

It was no time for temporizing, and Henry
could not leave his helm. Shoving the tiller
aport, he drew a. pistol, cooked it, an pointed it
at the head of the obstinate mountaineer.

“ Haul in that rope, or I send a bullet through
your brain.”

The determined look of the young man told

Adams that he was in earnest, and he hastily ,

did as he was required. The jib filled, the
squall soon passed ofl‘. and Henry, without fur-
ther trouble, soon brought his boat alongside of .
the little dock at the island. All were rett'y
well wette‘d, and the hull was a third
water but no other damage was done. V

CHAPTER V.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
As soon as Captain Henr had made the boat r
fast to the dock, he aSSiste Manuela to land,

 

and did not forget to kiss her hand while he 1' 

held it.

“Where is that ugly man?" asked the young '

lad .

“y He has slipped away like a cat,” said Henry;
as he looked around, and saw nothing of the
outlaw. “ We are well rid of him, Manuela.
island for any evil purpose."

“I hope so, for I like him no more than you
do. Ah. here is my father.”

I do not like his looks, and hope he’s not on the _r '

ullof,‘ j

Don Manuel Vincents had seen the boat when? _ 4

it left the mainland, and had watched it with
his glass- He soon perceived that his daughter -.
was in it, and his interest increased as he ob;
served the threatening appearance of th wea-
ther. When the little tempest was won ered
and the boat shot ahead into smooth water and _
the shelter of the island, he hastened down to the
dock, followed by two of his servants, arrivgig
there just as Manuela had been assisted to la .
Don Manuel was a withered. parchment-skin-
ned, stiff-backed specimen of a Mexicnn'hidal

g .
who boasted the sun 6 azul of Old 82am, an? . .,
is

was even more prou of that than of great
wealth and his fair daughter. h

“ My daughter l” he exclaimed, in Spanish
as he folded Manuela in his arms.
that you would be lost in that last 5 hell. Why
did you not arrive yesterday? ow does t ,
hap en that you have come with a stranger?”

“[l‘his gentleman.” answered Manuela, “was
coming to the island, and he kindly consented r.
to take me as a passenger. I assure you, father, -
he proved himself an excellenthoatman.”

Don Manuel bowed stiflly to the young gen-
tleman, who replied with a military salute.

“I suppose, sir,” said the Mexican, “ that I

“lieu 

i

 

    

i:

:s

 

  

 

I tars from‘the most

 

10 The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

witligh’ave the pleasure of seeing you at my haci—'
en .

“Permit me to advise you, Senor Vincente,
totake your daughter to the house, as she has
been wet by the spray. I will do myself the
honortotollow you, as soon as I have taken
care of my boat.”

Captain Henry lowered the sails of the little
sloop, made everything fast and snu , and then
wal edup the graveled road that ed to the
mansion, with a serious race, and a strange
commotion about the heart. He was met, on
the veranda, bya negro servant, who invited
himtoenter, and showed him into a library,
micth and tastefully furnished, in which Don
Manuel was seated.

The old Mexican rose to receive his guest,

 and commenced a high—flown speech, expressive

of nothing except his own dignity, which was

~ interrupted by“, the entrance of Manuela, who

came tripping into the room, and blushed at the

sight of the young gentleman.

‘You have done a service to m daughter

and myself, and I am always wil ing to re-
ward—”

“ Pardon me, Senor Vincente: there is no re-
ward due me. Permit me to offer you this lat-
ter, which will tell you who I am.”

Don Manuel took the letter that was handed to
him, and frowned us he examined the super-
soription. When he had opened and read it, his
frown became darker; and he rose from his seat
with such a haughty, inidg'nant, and, at the
same time, contemptuous air, that it provoked

' the'young man to return the almost insolent stare.

‘FI resume,” said he, “ that you are the per-

,» son w o is mentioned in this letter, under the
name ot‘gaptain Henry Taylor.”

“ It is my duty to inform you that you have
brought a very poor recommendation; in fact,
it could hardly be worse. The person whose
nameis signed to this letter, this Antonio Riaz,
is a fellow with whom I would condescend to
hold no communication.”

“ I thought, senor, that he was your avoche,
and the agent for your California property."

“ He was, but I discovered his rascally char-
acter, and have sent him his dismissa .”

“I have never heard a syllable against his

r character. He is hl hly respected in San Fran-
cisco, and moves in t 6 best society.”

“ I have no doubt that he is admitted to such
society aa-ywfi'equent.”

“ Senor, you insult me without cause. If I
.had known that Antonio Riaz had fallen under
your displeasure, 1 could have brought you let‘

rominent merchants and
bankers of San Francisco, who would have cer‘
,glfled’fo my character, my family and my for-
une. ~'
“It would have been of no avail, for ’I would

1 not believe a word that any or £03 malditos

Yankis might so. . What do I care about your

’ family or your ortune? As for your charac—

tEr, I know enough of that. A man who would
attempt to insuare the aflfections of my daugh-
ter—4m heiress—in the absence of her arent
and protector, clandestinely and insidious] y,
as you have done, has no character that a Mexi-

; can gentleman can respect."

 

“ But, senor—”

“Father,” interrupted Manuela,
never—"

“ Silence, child! Go to your room, Manuela,
and remain there until I send for you.”

Manuela. covered her face with her hands, and
left the library.

“I admit, senor,” said Taylor, “that I love
your daughter. It would be impossible for one
to look upon her without loving her.”

“I wish to bar no more. If you have any
hopes in regard to my daughter. you had better
dismiss them from your thoughts. That, is
enou h. Sooner than see her married to a Yan~
kee, would see her in her gravep You know
the way to the dock, where you will find your
boat. You came here u'nasked, and I trust you
will not need a more direct invitation to leave.”

“Allow me one word, senor, and I will go.
There crossed with me, in the boat, a man
named Burt Adams, a mountaineer, who said
that he was expected here. but he disup enred
when helanded. I am afraid he is here or an
evil pur . , and I wish to warn you against
him, as have good reason to believe him to be
a dangerous despe‘ ado,” '

“I have not asked your warning, and shall
not accept it,” answered Don Manuel, smiling
contemptuously. “When Manuel Vincents is
not able to protect himself and his household, he
may ask aid from a Yankee—but not until then.
Lope, show thisuperson—tbe door."

Without another word, Henry Taylor left the
house, and walked quickly down the road to
ward the dock, scattering the revel with his
feet, like a man in a passion. is anger soon
found vent in muttered words:

“The miserable, haughty, insolent, dried—up

“ he has

. old humbugi‘ That he should think of question-

ing the character and respectability of an
American citizen. who is worth a dozen such
mummies of Dons! How I would have liked to
knock him downl I believe I ‘would have
pulled his nasty old mustache, if I had not
thought of Manuela. His insolence was fully as
much as I could hear. I must keep a stiff upper
BF, for faint heart never won fair lad , and

anuela is beautiful’enough to die for. must
learn from Pedro when they intend to start for
Santa Fe, and Eerhaps I may hit upon some/

lan that will elp me. Fortune fuvors the
rave, they tell us, and I will not fail to be bold

enough.”

Thus musing, he reached the dock. He soon
hoisted the sails, and shoved of]? his boat. As he
did so, he saw Burt Adams standing on the
beach and looking at him, with a self-satisfied
sneer on his ueg features.

The sky was again clear, and there was a
leasant breeze from the south, before which the
ittle sloop glided swiftly ovar the smooth water,

and soon reached the northern shore, where he
was greeted by Pedro, who assisted Henry in
taking,r care of the boat, and rallied him upon
his dejected appearance. . i ‘ ,

“ I did not expect you to return so soon, Cap-
tain Henry,” said he, “ and y ou look as if you
were trying to chew a pric 1y pear. I am
afraid you did not meet with a very gracious ,
race tion from crusty old Don Manuel."

“ ontound the sun—dried old wretchl It gives ‘

 

 

 

  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
    
    
   
   
     
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
    
   
   
   
  
    
   
  
   
   
    
      
 
    
 
  
   
  
   
 

The Tell-Tale Bullet, 11

  

   

 

me unchristian feelings to think of him. Never
mind him now, Pedro; I may tell you more
some other time. At present I want my
511 per."

upper was soon ready, and wasduly discussed
by the garrulous landlord and his ilDCOmmulli-
cative guest. When it was finished, Henry
smoked a meditative cigar in front of the inn,
where he was joined by Pedro.

“Don Manuel is a very cross—grained old
man.” suggested the landlord.

“ Rather so.”

“But his daughter, the Senorita Manuela, is
most beautiful.”

“ As bi autiful as an artist’s dream, and with
a warmth and life that the dream could never
know 3" ‘

“Have you not thought so for some time,
Cantain Henry?” ‘

‘ Ever since I first saw her. That reminds
me, Pedro, that I wish as early a breakfast as I
can get, and wish my horse to be ready, for I
must start by sunrise, if possible. if you will
give me. a light now, I Will go to bed.”

“ He don’t want to talk,” mused Pedro, when
left alone. “ If he has been ill-treated by Senor
Vincente, the old Don is to blame: for, if there
ever was a gentleman, Captain Henry is one.
It is very plain that he loves the Senorita
Manuela, and if she does not love him, my old
eyes have deceived me.”

It was but a little after sunrise when Henry
Taylor mounted his horse, bid the landlord good~
by, and started on his journey. After riding
about twenty miles, which brought him within
the jurisdiction of the United States, he stopped
at an old and dilapidated farm-house,
from over the door of which projected a dingy
sign, whereon were painted an undistinguish-
able picture and the words “Les Dos Her-
manns." The ranch, including an extensive
farm, ‘had once been the pro rty of two
brothers, from whom it, had derived its name,
and had been purchased, on their deeease, by
the father of Henry Taylor, who has been men-
tioned in these pages as “ Cagtain Henry.” As

‘w he had no present use for t e roperty, it had
mostly lain .idle, and an old- exman and his
wife had been permitted to occupy the old house,
who eked out a scanty living by keeping an inn,
at which a traveler would sometimes stop.

The young gentleman was warmly and enthu-
siastically greeted by the old couple, as he
alighted from his horse, and entered the weather--
beaten building. ’ *

“ We have been anxiously expecting you,
Senor Capitano,” said the man. “There is a
gentleman here, a Mexican, who has been wait-
ing‘: for you.” ,

‘ A Mexican waiting for me? Where is he?"

“ He is here, senor."

The old Mexican who then rose from a seat,
and advanced toward Henry, was the same who
had listen-Ki to Burt Adams boasting: in the
fonda at the be e of the sierra, but the young
gentleman d’d not recognize him.

“ You do not know me, senor; yet, we have
met before. Perhaps this may serve as an in-

' troduction.”

“The old man produced a corneh'an cross,
which Henry took from his hand.“

 

  

“ It is right. You came from . Karaibo.
Where is he? What news do you bring?”
“  I can speak with you privately, I will tell

The old couple took the hint, and vacated the/
room, when the Mexican related all that he ,
knew concerning Burt Adams, including the ac-
count he had. received from the Malay, of his ‘,
intention to play the traitor toward a rty
that he was to guide from the coast to San . Fe.

“ This is really important,” said Taylor, “and
I am glad that you have brought me the news.
“ What is your name, my friend?”

“ Miguel Martinez, a su servicio.” "

“ You must remain here Senor Martinez,
until I return. I trust thatI will soon see you.»
I have now a real inducement to track that
scoundrel, and you may rely upon it that I will
do my best to right your wrongs, as well as to
defend the interests of others. Here, Jorge!
Come here, amigo!” '-

“ Don’t unsaddle my horse,” said he. as the
old landlord entered; “ but give him Some
water, for I must ride back to the coast im-
mediately.” .

“ You surely will not go, Senor Capitano,,nntil
you have eaten something, and have refreshed
your horse?”

“You must give it to me right away, then,”
for I have no time to lose.” ' ‘ '

A hasty dinner was soon dispatched, and the
young gentleman rode back to the little hamlet
on the land-locked bay as fast is his horse could
carry him. That night he wrote a letter, which
he addressed to Don Manuel Vincente, and sent.
it to the island the next morning, by the land- I
lord’s boy, Juanita.

He waited impatiently for an answer, but
did not receive it until noon. He hastily tore
oFenthe envelope. and found his our: letter int
c osed, with a note from Don Manuel, which . 7
read as follows: V I a"

“ Sim—If I had known that the inclosed letterm i
from you, I should have returned it untpened. I' ‘
write to request lhat you leImeddle no more with
what does not concern you." If you wereagentvle-
man, the request would not have been nccessary.
Adams, the person of whom you speak. comes 10 me
well recommended, and has my confidence; 111m-
fore. it is useless for you to slander him. I may
mention, also, that h has anticipated you, for he
has shown me that our character is suchas l had
suspected it to bc. e tells me that he saw you at ,
o. fandago, in the lowest com any, and that you
were kicked out of the house or impertinencetoa .,
Mexican girl. I have no hesitation in‘btlievinfi‘him, -
and advise you to get a character for young , be- 
fore ou mallzn that of another. -- "

" oping that I may not again be annoyed by you, "

“ I remain, “

“ Mm“. Vmcmn'“

“ The blind and obstinate old fool I” exclaimed
Taylor. “I was never at a fandan in my ',
life; but he would believethe war of that \
double-dyed villain, in preference to mine. I r-
would not lift a finger, if the rascals should ‘
car him off with all his money; but they shall, 1
not rm Manuela while I live.” ‘ , .. V "

CHAPTER VI.
DON MANUEL UNDERTAKES A JounKEY.
ABOUT 3 week after Henry Taylor’s visit to ~
Don Manuel’s hacienda,a train left thetovrn

 

   
 

  

12 V The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

‘l
 of San Pedro, bending its course toward the
‘ mountains.

[n the train were two covered wagons, one of
which conveyed, in as luxurious a manner as
that mode of locomotion would allow, Don
Manuel Vincente, and in the other rode his
daughter Manuela and her maid J ulia, a pretty
Mulatto girl. Another Wagon was filled wit
stores for the journey, and several pack—mules
were similarly loaded. The train was escorted
by half a dozen Mexicans on horseback, armed

and clu'nsy sabers dangling from their hips. All
were guided and led by the outlaw, Burt Adams;
who rodeat the head of the column, with his
' rifle resting, as usual. on the pommcl ol’. his
saddle, and with a self-satisfied, triumphant ex—
pression on his ugly countenance.
The three portions of the train that were of
g ‘the greatest value in the eyes of Don Manuel
  were: firstly, himself; second, his daughter; and
" ,thirdlv. his treasure. The last was composed
of gold and silver, and was kept in a strong box
in his own wagon, that wagon being the special
object of the surveillance of the fierce—looking
Mexican escort. The treasure was considerable,
as the Don owned an unworked silver-mine in
a; New Mexico, which he intended to develop, and

, was carrying money for that purpose. As he
had relatives living near Santa Fe, he expected
to combine pleasure with business by Visiting
‘ them. As for his dau htor, she was simply
. makingavisit, though on Manuel had some

' “underground” thoughts about leaving her in
i the care of a maiden aunt, or placing her at

, \ school in a convent, either of which Plans would

r have made Manuela feel quite rebe lions, if she
’ ,had known of them.

The route. which lay across the Colorado, and
' over several ranges of mountains. was by no
means free from danger at that time, although
the transfer of the territory to the United States,
and the gold excitement, had induced a large
immigration into and through that country.
he Indians were occasionally troublesome, will.
ing enough to attack small parties, and gangs of
lawless brigands sometimes hung about the
wagon-roads,"lying in wait for plunder.

It was concerning the possibility of danger
tint Manuela and her maid, snugly seated in
their wagon, were conversing, as the heavy
congeyance slowly rumbled over the rough
roa . ’

“I hope we will get through safely, Julia.”
said the young lady; “ but I must confess that I
do not like the appearance of our guide.”

  «as—n” .. r' I

«

 

  
 
 
  
  
 
   
    
   
   
  
 
  
  
   
 

. afraid of him. He looks at me sometimes as if
he would eat me up. I would like to tear that
guide’n eyes outl” _
 I “ Then We would have no one to show us the
Away. Let us pray that he will lead us safely to
ganta Fe. Handme my embroidery frame,
nlia. Time passes so slowly in this tedious
» traveling.”

(pl iins. Don M‘muel occupied himself with cat
‘inz. drinking, R‘lllklngy and reading Spanish
,books, when he was not sleeping; Manuela
worked at her embroidery, gossiped with her

/

with escapetas and old muskets, and with large ‘

‘ ” He is a horrid ugly man, senorlta, and I am'

Time continued to pass slowly, during their,
toilsomeand monotonous journey over hills and'

 

maid, or occasionally rode upon her own saddle-
horse, that accompanied the train.

After several such dull da 5, Burt Adams
ordered the noonday halt at t 8 little inn near
the foot of the sierra where we first made his\
acquaintance. As fiou Manuel had his own
cook and his own provisions. he did not conde-
scend to patronize any of the plaees of enter-
tainment that were met with on the route. The
outlaw, however, gladl availed himself of the
opportunity to enter t e 1fender, and draw sev-
eral Glasses” of the fiery
tasted, there on a. previous occasion.

When he had poured down his poison, he
looked around the room and perceived Kamibo
seated in a corner. The Malay was silent and
moody as ever. but was dressed like a civilized
hcin , and was c0vered with a large Mexican
blan et with a hole in the center, through which
his head was thrust. His wicked-looking creese
was concealed, but he still retained his out-
landish turban.

Burt Adams approached him and spoke to
him in a low voice:

“ Is it all right, yaller-skiu? Are you ready?”

“ All is right. Karaibo is ready.’

“ Glad to see that you’ve fixed yourself suthin'
like a white man. Have you had your grub?”

“ Karaibo is not hungry.”

“Come along, then, and I’ll show you to the
old chap. Put on your best looks, yaller—boy,
and be mighty respectful, for has prouder than
an Iugun with a new red blanket and a jug of
rum.

The outlaw led his ally to the wagon in which
sat Don Manuel, smoking, and watching his ser-
vant, with the help of Julia, prepare the noon
meal. Manuela stood by the wagon, gazing
with interest at the snow-topped Sierra.

“This is the cha I spoke to you about,
senor,” said Burt. ‘ He’s a sort of a fnrrener,
but he allows that he‘s a Christian, and I reckon
he’ll be useful to us in case of a scrimmage.”

Karaibo made a low salaam and as he raised
his dark eyes, they rested admiringly on the
beautiful face of Manuela, who was regarding
him with curiosity.

“It you are satisfied. Adams, I have no ob-
jection,” said the Don, “though I hardl think
we need another man. The brigands wil not be
so bold as to venture to attack me."

“ Injuns don’t care much fur grandees.”

" Very well. The matter is settled. Are you
willing to go with us, hombre 3’”

“ Karaibo is willing]. He will defend you with
his life.” answered 9 Malay, still looking at
Manuela.

“It is suflicieut. You may go, Adams. Lope,
is my dinner ready?"

Thus the bargain for the services of Karaibo
was made, the question of pay being left to the
guide—s bargain that was to have more influ.
once upon the destinies of the contracting par-
ties than either of them at that time suspected.

In the course of an hour the train was again
in motion. ,Don Manuel smoked his cigar, pre-
paratory to his usual siesta. and his daughter
conversed with her maid concerning the late
adrlltion'to their company. I

“It seems that we are to have another gal-
lowsbird to lead us to perdition, saucy-its,”

iquor which he had X

 

The Tell-Tale Bullet.

     

13

 

 

“ You would not say so, Julia, if you had no—
Lined hise es. They seemed to me to be soft,

entle an honest e es. If that man is a rogue,

am greatly mista so, for more beautiful eyes
than his were never seen.”

“ Are they finer than those of Captain Henry,
senorita?”

.“ No comparison can he made between them,
for Captain Henry’s eyes are blue while these
are black as coal. But we should not talk 0‘
such vanities, Julia. Hand me my breviary.”

Manuela opened the book, and began to read
a prayer, but she soon fell asleep, with her head
on a. convenient cushion.

It was late in the afternoon when the train
reached the head of the pass through which the
road led across the Sierra, and it was considered
best not to attempt the passe 9 until morning,
butto encamp on a level patean, near which
was a spring of pure water. ,

The mules were hardly unhitched from the
wagons, when the travelers received another ac-
cession in the person of a venerable priest, who
came ambling to the southward on a mouse-
colored mule.

The reverend gentleman was attired in a long,
brown ser e gown, fastened at the waist by a
belt. His ead was covered by a queer-shaped,
hroad-brimmed hat of the “ shovel ” style, un-
derneath which peeped out a few straggling
locks of gray hair. A blanket and a pack,
strapped behind the saddle, showed that he was
prepared for a journey. A cross hung from a
string of beads around his neck, and a rifle,
stran ely in contrast with his peaceful profes-
sion, fay before him on the sadd e—bow.

Apparently perceiving that Don Manuel, who
was walking and smoking near his wagon, was
the most important personage in the party, the
priest approached him, spread out his hands
and muttered some unintelligible words, as i
invokin a blessing, while the Mexican guards
hasten toward him to obtain a share of the
grace that he was supposed to bestow. ‘

Don Manuel, who was a most devout Catholic,
revorently saluted the priest, and assisted him
to dismount.

“ You are welcome, holy father,” said he.
“ Whence do you come, and whither do you
wish to go?”

“ I am the humble Frater Roque, of the
Mission San Gabriel. Have I the honor of
addressing e1 illustrissimo senor, Don Manuel
Vincente?”

“I am Senor Vincents adre.” ‘

“Praiscs, then. to the irgin of San Roque,
my blessed patroness, who has permitted me to
overtake your Excellency! Ihad learned that
you were about to undertake a ‘ourney to Santa
Fe, with a suitable escort, and hoped to join
vou some days ago, but was unable to do so. I
have now the honor to i'eguest that I may be
permitted to place myself an er your protection,
as my route is the same as yours.” .

Burt Adams, who had obscrwd the arrival
(tit the priest, came up and heard his explana-

ion.

“ Whar thought the priest be wantin’ to go to,
senor?” he ask .

“I desire to visit a tribe of Indians, some

Roque, “ in order to negotiate for the release of
a servitor of our Mission, who is held as a pris-
oner by them.”

“ Goin’ among the Apaches?”

“ No, senor.”

“ The Pai Utes?"

“ No, senor; it is a. Mohave tribe.”

“ They’re tol‘able peaceable Injuns, and I
don‘t know what they should be doin’ with your
man. It looks rayther strange fura priestto
he carryin’ a rifle.’

“The rifle is intended as a present to the chief
of the tribe, and I have trinkets for the women
in my pack.”

“ Ain‘t ou anyways afraid to go among the ‘
savage IDJUBS?" ,

“ l have no thought of fear when I am per—‘ .
forming my duty. The Indians generally re- '
spect the priestly garb, but brigands do not. and r
it is for protection against men who call them-
selves civilized that I have sought the safeguard -.
of Senor Vincente.” I

“It is sufficient,” said Don Manuel. “ It is
useless to question the holy father, Adams. He
is a man of peace, on a mission of peace, and
it is my duty, no less than my desire, as a low
ing son of the true church, to aid him as far as
I am able to. I request you to sup with me,
padre, and henceforth to consider yourself as
one of my train."

The priest consented thankfully, and dis-
mounted from his mule, which was taken in
charge by one of the Mexican escort while Butt
Adams, grumbling and muttering, busied him-
self in arranging the camp for the night, assisted .
by Karaibo and the Mexicans. ,

CHAPTER VII.
a caoss, AND SOMETHING MORE. ,

THE next morning the train passed through
the defile, and moved dawn into the armed
valley of the Mojave (Mohave), a pretty little _
stream of fresh water. The roads were nod for
the season, being mostly dry and gran-l y. The
day was pleasant,‘and the cover of Manuela’sr
wagon was drawn up, so that she might mij
the air and sunshine. *

The Malay, who was Well mounted and who “
carried a gun in a cover, now and then rode up'
to the side of the wagon, and was kindly greeted
by the young lady. He answered her questions ,‘
very respectfully, and with a voice of suchgen- ‘
tleness and Sweetness that Manuela declared
that he, could not possibly mean any harm, and ‘
her maid was compelled to admit that shedi
not believe him to he a “ gallows-bird.” ~ ,

“ How much nicer he is than that ugly guide,”
said Julia. “ I think he is good, but why ,is hot"
with that wicked-looking man, senorita if the .
are not camerados ? VWhat beautiful blue
eyes he haul and what a pity it is that his skin, ‘
is so dark!” , - .-

“ Is it darker than yours?"

“ No—o—but—-" , .

“ There he goes, Julia. How well he rides”) ’ “

Karaibo did ride well, and he often dashed
into the table-land or among the hills, and al-
ways kept an eye toward the north, as it look; 1
ing for some one. ~ ’ ‘ "

Manuela had another visitor that mornin 

 

 

distance to the eastward,” answered Padre

/

Padre Roque, mounted on his sleek andw _ fl

1

   

  
  

  
  

   
   
      

14 V The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

 

Conditioned mule, rode up to the wagon, and
was saluted with due reverence by mistress and
‘ maid. His venerable appearance, his kindly
7‘ but melancholy countenance, and his fatherly
t tone caused them to love us well as respect him,
' . and they agreed that the companionship of such
:* a nice old gentleman would make their tedious
journey more endurable.

'l‘he padre did not long remain with them, as
he was called away by Don Manuel, who was
glad to have met some one with whom he could
converse, and some one who evinced a. proper
[appreciation of the dignity of him, Don Manuel
Vim-elite. ' ‘

Shortly after he had left their wagon, Julia
picked u a. small cornelian cross that was lying
on 2: cos ion. She examined it with curiosity,
and handed it to her mistress.

“ Here is a cross, senorita, which you have
» dropped, I sup . I do not remember having

’ seen it before, and did not know that you had
. , such a cross.’
{‘3' “It is not mine,” said Manuela, blushing as
is" she took the cross; “ but I think I have seen it
before.”

 

' ‘f I noticed some letters that were engraved on

fi’,  the stone, senorita. and they were not the ini-

215 tiuls of your name."

 “They are Captain Henry’s initials, Julia.”

‘* “Indeed. Is it he, then, who gave you the
cross?” '

“ It is not mine. He has never given me any-
thing-4’ ,.
“ xcept his heart, senorita.”

“ You should not speak to me in that we ,

Julio. It is Captain Henry’s cross, and t e
_ 'wander is, how it happens to be here.”

“ Perhaps the padre dro pa 1 it."

“ How could the padre lave Captain Henry’s
cross. Bositlas, the padre was not in the wagon,
butvwas ridin'r his mule.” v

.A bright idea struck the maid, and she put

’ her finger on her lip with a very mysterious air.
- “ Suppose, senorita," said she, “that this

, mire should be Captain Henry himself. You
Know that men can disguise themselves so per-



    

 , foctly that they will not be known by their near-
V est friends."
> “ "Do you suppose, Julia, that I would not
’ recognize Captain Henry, whatever disguise he

' misht mums?” I

“ I do not know, senorita, but I wonder how
the cross came here.”

"‘ Ah, Julia, (5 at is a problem that I am un-
‘ able to solve. 9 know that there is a protect-
ing Providence, but we do not always know
what way it works forour good. This cross,
which has appeared so mystefiously, may be a
Sign from above." ‘

Thus the matter dropped, but Manuela at-
tached the cross to a chain, and concealed it
within her bosom.

the trail, and still kept an e e to the northward,
 as it expecting some one, ut nothing new oc-
curred until the noon belt, which was made on
a little prairie, covered with bunch-grass, just
where the trail left the wooded valley of the
river. .

~ The mules were unhitched and 'lettto aze
- with the horses, and preparations were in o for

 

’ The, Malay still kept dashing off to the left of,

 

dinner, when a party was seen approaching
from the north.‘ Burt Adams rode out no rot-mi-
noiter, leaving Karaibo in charge of the camp.

Holding his rifle ready for action, the outlaw
moved wnrily, as if he expcctvd to meet ene—
mies. Vthn the party came within hailing dis-
tance he stopped and leveled his rifle at the
first. The strangers made signs of friendship,
and he permitted them to approach. They
boldly rode up to where he was stationed, and
halted on reaching him for further explana-
ions.

The party consisted of three horsemen, the
leader being a fine-looking young man, in the
rich and showy dress of n. exican caballero.
Under a fine seru 9 he wore a blue jacket, faced
with scarlet, an ornamented with gold—lace,
and his flowing pantaloons, slashed nearly up to
the knee, were tied wi .1 knots of ribbon. His
head was covered by a broad slouch hat, trim-
med with a black feather. His hair, in black
and gloss masses, fell nearly to his shoulders,
and his eard and mustache were also black, n
color with whé'ch the bright blue of his eyes
strangely con rusted. The equipments of his
horse, 9. beautiful alazan, were highly orna—
mented, his stirrups were of wood, after the
Mexican pattern, and the long rowels of his
spurs were heav11y gilded. His arms were a.
rifle, pistols, and a. huntin -knife. In short, he
was a fine specimen of a. exican cavalier, and
he sat his horse as if he and the animal were one

person. ‘

Just behind him rode a. man. apparently
middleaged, with grizzled hair and heard, and
with rigid, almost expressionless features. He
wore a. faded blue jacket, which had evidently
passed through the hands of a United States
quartermaster, and a foraging-cap. There was
nothing else about him that was especially no;
ticeable, except that he rode. like a dragoon,
held his head erect, and generally k t his eyes
fixed on tho cavalier who preceded him.

The third person was a half-breed Indian
youth, with long, struggling, black hnir, wild
eyes, and a queer mixture of apparel, who led a.
pack—mule.

“ Who are you, strangers, and what do you
want?” asked the outlaw, still holding; his rifle
ready for action. -

“I am aMexican gentleman,” answered the
foremost of the party, “ and these are my atten-
dants. I saw your train, as it come up from
the valley, and concluded that you were white
men and friends. I rode on to meet you, as it is
pleasant to meet company when one is traveling
in this uninhabited region."

“You speak tol’able good En lish fur a. Mexi-
caner. Whar mought you travelln’ to,
stranger?”

“ I am on my way to Albuquerque.”

“ Just on our trail,” muttered Burt. “I won-
der how many more'cussed outsiders are goin’
to happen around. Reckon I’d better scare this
’un OR, if I can.” . . v

“ Are you the proprietor of that tram 3" asked
the cavalier. » '

“ We], not adzackly. though I‘m in charge of
it. The fact is, stranger, that the Owner is a.
mightv stlfl‘ and hi h-steppin‘ old chap, who
don't like to be intru ed onto. He give me par~

a...

.‘t 
“3

 

 

The’ Tell-Tale Bullet.

 
 

15

 

tic’lnr orders not to let anybody, white, red, or
black, come nigh his train, under any pretense
ulmixolnevel‘."

“ Is he an American?”

“ He's just one of the biggest kind of Dons,
stranger, and a mighty proud old chap, as I said
afore.”

“ If he is a Mexican he will surely be glad to
meet a countryman. What is his name?”

“ Don Manuel Vincente."

“Of the Ysla Ysleta? I have heard of him,
and I think that I am known to him bym
family name, if not by my own reputation.
am sure that he Will be glad to see me, for he
must find the monotony of this journey insuffer-
ably tiresome. Lead on to the camp, senor, and
we will follow. Come, Juan and Pedrocito; we
are among friends at last.”

“ Not so fast, stranger,” growled the outlaw,
placing his horse across the path of the-other,
and frowning ominously. ‘ ’ve tried to give
you as easya hint asIcould that you’re not
wanted tharabouts, and you ort to be satisfied,
if you are really a gentleman. As you don’t
seem to take that hint, I shall have to give ou
warnin’ in plain terms to turn about our go
your own way.”

“Do you mean to insinuate that I am not a
gentleman?”

“I don’t mean to insineywate nothin’, but I
mean to tell you to take yourself off, with your
party. '

The cavalier’s face flushed, and he grasped his
rifle. The man in the military jacket quietly
and methodically ranged himself alongside of
his leader, in readiness for action.

It seemed probable that the dis ute would ter‘
minute. in the shedding of bl , but such an
issue was averted hy' the appearance of Don
Manuel himself. He had seen the approach of
the party and their reception by the guide.
Judging from the dress and bearing of the cav-
alier, that he was a Mexican. and one of consid—
eration, he thought it would be proper to in-
vite him to share the hospitalitiesof the camp,
a movement that - Burt Adams had supposed to
be entirely beneath the dignity of the “high-
ste ping” Don.

ccordinzly, be mounted a horse, and rode
forth, accompanied by two of his Mexican
guards. As he approached the parties, be per—
ceived that there was a dispute been them,
which was about to assume a belligerent char—
acter, and he quickened his speed, until he ar-
rived at the scene of the possible conflict.

“ What is the matter, Adams?” he asked.
“ You look and act as if you had met with ene-
mics.”

“ Not adzackly enemies, as I knows on,”
grunted the outlaw, “though thar’s no tellin’
who’s who, or what’s what, on such a trail as
this. The fact is, Don Manuel, that these here
sfrangcrs wanted to come into our camp, and
take up tha’rlodgin’ with usilike the ground-
owl with the prairie-dog, and was just tellin’
’em as how I allowed you wanted to be let alone,
and warn’t fond of bein‘ obtruded onto.”

“ Your guide, as I presume 1 may call him,”
said the cavalier, with a polite bow, and with—
out noticing Adams’s disrespectful comparison,
“ has probably committed a slight error, though

 

I doubt not that his intentions were of the best.
I could not believe that Don Manuel Vincente
in whose veins flows the pure sung/re arm! of old
Castile, would refuse the hospitalities of his en—
campment to one who is a. compatriot and a

gent eman.” ,

“ Yo“ were right, sir,” answered Don Manuel,
“and my guide has certainly exceeded his au—
thority. From my camp I observed your ap-
proach, and was convinced that you were not
only a friend, but a gentleman whom I would
have pleasure in meeting. May I ask who it is
that I have the honor to address?” “ ,

“The name of my famil , if not my own, is
Brobably known to Senor incente I am called

on Luis Arroyes y Ruiz.”

“ 0f the ancient family Arroyes y Ruiz?”

“ The same—of Durango.”

”- It is a name that is honored in the annals of
Mexico, and I am both proud and happy to
meet you, Don Luis, and to welcome you to the
poor comforts of my humble encampment.”

The “compatriots” embraced, as well as that
operation could be performed on horseback,
while Burt Adams, silent ahd scowlin , re-
garded them both with looks of hatr and
distrust. .

“ These are your attendants, I resume,” con~
tinned Don Manuel. “ One of t em looks as if
he might be a Yankee soldier.”

“ I must confess, senor, that he has been a
dragoon in the Yankee Army, but he was not
one of those malditos volunteers. He is a very
faithful fe110w, and is entirely devoted to me;
The other is a harmless half-breed boy, whom I

icked up on the plains, in a starving condition. a

e loves me, senor if that is any recommenda—
tion for him, and he is sharp enough and will-
ing enough to serve me well.’

“ I am glad that you are so well attended,
Iion £1,018. In what direction are you nowl‘trav-
e m

“ ropose to go to Albuquerque, and thence,

robagly, to reach Mexico by the line of the Rio
rande.” '

“ Your route is the same as mine, then, for a
long distance, and I trust that I ma have your
company, so long as we travel foget er.”

“ Nothing could be more pleasant to me, so-
nor, and I was wishing to suggest such an ar-
rangement to yourself, as your guide, from a
hint that he let dro , gave me to understan
that our routes were t 0 same.” '

“Perhaps it may not seem so pleasant to you,
Don Luis, when I inform you that I am incum—
bered with m daughter, on this journey."

“And is t iat an incumbrance, Senor Vin-
cente? I have often heard the beautiful Man,—
uela spoken of in the highest terms of adulation,
an I shall be only too happy to make “her. no—
quaintance.”

“ Let us. then} proceed to the camp” You ..
may lead the way, Adams. Don Luis, Will you
have the kindness to ride with me?"

“ It will be my leasure‘, senor. Juan Stun: ,
folllow;7 in due or er. Pedrocito, drive up
mu 0. , v
Thus they rode’ slowly to the encampment.E the
outlaw silent and scowling as before, and >
Manuel and Don Luis conversing in a lively and .,: .
amicable manner. » ' V

  

 

 

CHAPTER VIII.
a LONG HALT.

Tim arrival and reception of Don Luis at the
encampment caused Don Manuel to prolong his
noon halt considerably beyond the time usually
allowed for rest and refreshment, against which
dilatory conduct his guide earnestly but vainly
expostulatsd. Don Manuel was profusely hospi—
table to his own countrymen, and never enjoyed
himself more fully than when acting the part of
host at his elegant hacienda on the Ysly Ysleta.
On this occasion, he felt that the dignity of the
house of Vincente required that he should pay
extraordinar attention to the scion of the
ancient fami y of Arroyes y Ruiz, of the proud
city of Durango. whom he had so unexpectedly
metin the wilderness. He considered it proper,
therefore, that his lack of home luxuries and
appliances should be compensated for, as far as
possible, by his own urbanity and politeness.

The lenghty and grandiloquent interchanges
of courtesnas that ensued, upon the arrival of
the two hidalgos at the camp, were exceedingly

'annoying to Burt Adams, who listened and

waited until his patience was exhausted.
“ Tell you what it is, Don Manuel,” said he,

I interrupting the flow of compliments, “you’re

overstayin’ your time in‘this here camp. The
sun is droppin’ down to the westward, and we
art to be movin’ on.” ,

V “ But I have encountered a friend, Adams—a
Mexican gentleman of birth and renown—«and I
must entertain him in a style befitting his rank
and my own.”

“ Better out it short, then, senor, and do your
entertainin’ as an go along, 'cause these long
halts are apt to dangerous.”

“Cut it short, indeedi Do you know what
you are talkin about? Is that the manner in
which I shoul treat the nephew of his Excel-
ency, Don Jose Maria Augustin Arroyes y
Ruiz, lineal descendant of one who came with
the Conquistador? You speak of danger—-
what is there to fear?” >

-" Thar is jist this to fear-we won’t have
time to reach a good and safe campin'-g'round

' fur tomight, and thar’s no tellin’ what gangs of

Injuns and other robbers and murderers may
be scattered about, waitin’ fur to jump onto us
when they git a. chance.”

“ A flco for 103 Indiosi My brave Mexicanos
would scatter them like chaff before the wind.”

“ Like they scattered the Yankees at Buena
Vista,” rose to the lips of the outlaw,

“ I trust that you will not allow my presence
to hinder or delay your journey, Don Manuel,”
said the handsome ' caballero. “ I wonld not,
for the world, that any injury should happen to
your worthy self or. your lovely da ghter. I
must say, however, that I see no cause for a pre-
hension. There are seldom any hostile In ians,
at this season, west of the Little Colorado,
and we can easily gain a good camp for the
night, as the trail, after crossing the gravelly
fl go before us, again descends to the valley,
where there is plenty of grass, wood and water.
If your guide apprehends danger, I should
think it advisable or us to remain where we

, firewood recommence our journey in the mom-

0
‘-

 

The Tell-Tale Bullet.

“ P'raps you know this here trail, stranger?"
asked the outlaw, glancing suspiciously at Don

Luis.
“ I ought to know it, as I have traveled it

several times."

“ P’raps you know the Injuns that are to be‘

found in these parts, and p’raps you mought be
on good terms with some of ’em.”

“ I must confess that I know little about them
except from hearsay, and have never attempted
toestablish friendly relations With any of them.
In fact, 1 have always been careful to keep out
of their way.

“ Tol'able sharp tellers you must be, and an
old guide and hunter of thirty year standin’ is
nowhar among sech. The train is yourn, Don
Manuel, and your life is your own, and you can
do with ’em as you choose. You hired me for a
guide, and I only want to do my duty. I’ve
done that in givin’ you warnin’, and on must
take ‘the consequences if you won't ta 9 the ad-
vice.

“ Vaya, hombre!” exclaimed Don Manuel.
“Speak no more of your paltry fears to Mex-
ican gentlemen, whose swords are always ready
to protect their lives and honors. We are our
own defenders while you are but a guide, and
it does not please me to see you step beyond
your position.”

“The durned crazy yaller-skinned humbugsl” ’

muttered the outlaw, as he walked away.
“ They can brag like bullies when thar’s‘ no en-
emy near, but a dozen Comanches would stain.
pede them and thar Greasers aforo they knowed
what was up. I don’t like the looks or actions
of that fancy young chap, though. He knows
too much if he speaks the truth, and—well, I
must speak to Karaiho about it.”

“That is a faithful fellow,” said Don Manuel,
when the outlaw had been dismissed. “ He is a
thorough hunter, an excellent and careful guide,
and-I am sure that he means well; but be some—
times goes beyond the line of his duty, as you
have seen and becomes rather impertinent.”

“I think so,” answered the yougg gentleman.

“But it is all done through go will, and is
caused b his excelssive precaution for the safety
of myse f and my child. A singular circum-
stance happened, Don Luis, before I set out on
this journey; I received a letter from a Yankee
officer, telling me that this guide had formed a
plan to betray me into the hands of the Indians,
and imploring me to forego my expedition, or
to procure another guide.” '

' Did you see an reason to believe the letter?”

“ None at all. his man, Adams, came to me
well recommended, and his talk—plain and
blunt as you have heard it—convinced me that
he was an honest and faithful uide. Besides, I

knew well that the writer of t a latter. had an ’

object in striving to prevent me from under-
taking the journey."

“ Indeed. You interest me. What could his
object have been?” , '

“ This fellow, who had been an officer in the
Yankee army by which our nation was humiliv
ated, had the assurance to fall in love with my
dau liter Manuela."

“ on Manuel, you astonish me.” I

“ His motive is plain to you, as it was then to
me. He desired to delay my journey, if not to

The Tell-Tale Bullet.

17

 

put it off entirely, so that he might have an op-
portunity to press his suit."

“ But your daughter—the Senora Manuela—
she would not have listened to his suit?"

“ In that lay the trouble, Don Luis, for I have
reason to believe that she had not only listened,
but had weakly suffered herself to entertain
some aflection for this handsome barbarian: for
he was handsome, Don Luis, almost; as hand—
some as yourself."

Don Luis bowed low, in acknowledgment of
this very unequivocal compliment.

“ It is plain,” said he, “ that this Yankee de—
sired you to remain on the island, in order that
he might carry out his demgns upon your daugh—

“ Undoubtedly. I learned, also, that he was
of bad character, havin been kicked out of a
low dance-house, for insu ting a Mexican gir .”

“He should have died. Who told you of
that?"

“ My guide—this Burt Adams."

“It is another proof of his devotion. The
follow had a scheme, no doubt, for eloping with
your daughter, or carrying her away from your
protection. These Yankees are capable of any
enormities." '

“I believe it, Don Luis. Those Yankees, as
you say, are capable of any enormities, and I
am glad, for the sake of Manuela, that I have
taken this step.”

“ Why so?” _

“Because I shall place her in a convent, or
with her aunt at Santa Fe. In a convent she
would be safe, and he would be a bold man, who
should ventureto invade the sanctuar of the
house of Senora MerCedita Garcias ut here
comes my daughter, Don Luis. We will not
nientio’ri any of these matters before her, if you
p ease.

Manuela, who had been directed by her father
to array herself in her best, and who had, in
consequence of his orders, bestowed much at-
tention upon her toilet, then made her appear-
ance, accompanied by her maid, Julia. The
ceremony—for it was, indeed, a lengthy and
«wordy ceremony—of the introduction of Don
Luis, was duly and grandiloquently performed
by her father, and the eyes of the two young
people met, as they raised their heads from the
reverential attitudes prescribed by etiquette.
Each seemed to be struck by the bmuty and

ace of the other, if their eyes spoke the truth-

ut the appearance was only momentary, an
they were soon conversing with the stateliness
and proplriety that belonged to Mexican ladies
and gen emen of wealth and high birth. ,

The noon-halt meal was made to contain as
many of the elements of a real “ dinner" as the
ambulatory larder of Don Vincente could af-
ford, and its deficiencies were washed away by
an abundant supply of exr‘ellent wine, pressed
from grapes that had fattened and ri sued in
the sunny vineyards of Korea. Senor incente
refoiced in his position as a hospitable enter-
‘ taner, and Don Luis and Manuela (who, al-

though a heroine, had an excellent appetite) did
full justice to the repeat, unmlndful of the dis-
tant scowls of Burt Adams.

"The dinner, under the fastidious direction of

Don Manuel, Occupied a long time, and when it .

 

was finished, it was agreed by all, Burt Adams
included, that it would be best to remain where
they were that night, and take a fresh start in
the morning.

Accordingly, Senor Vincente ceremonionsly
escorted his daughter to her w; gon, and return-
ed to his own camp-fire, where he converscd
with Don Luis and the Padre Roque until a late
hour, when all retired to rest, except the
sentincls who had been placed about the camp
by the guide.

 

CHAPTER IX.
‘MORE PLOTTING.

IT was with not a little reluctance that Man~
uela had obeyed the order of her father, when
he directed her to attire herself in “gorgeous
array ” as she had no especial des1re to see any
young gentleman, however handsome or dislin—
guished he might be, and was sure that she could
not dress herself properly at that time and place,
as she actually had “nothing to wear.”

Her maid, Julia, thought differently. The
mulatto peepcd under the canvas cOver of the
wagon, and saw Don Luis, as he rode in, on his
splendid alazan, by the side of Senor Vince) w,
and did not fail to comment on his fine apuar»
ance, his graceful carriage, and his gay aitiro.

All these encomiums were lost on Maizugla,
whose thoughts were occupied with another-l ami—
some cavalier, and who submitted herself, will:
indolent indifference, to the careful manip—
ulations of her maid.

When she was fully attired and adorned, and
accompanied Julia to the spot where her father
and the stranger were awaiting her, a great
change seemed to come over her. 'As she raised
her eyes, and met those of Don Luis, that were
bent upon her in earnest but respectful admir-
ation, a warm blush overspread her countenance,

' and she trembled as if she had received a suddcn

shock. When the young gentleman raised her
fair hand, and touched it with his lips, she
blushed again, and the tremor of her nerves was
yet more plainly visible. The splendid eyes of
the stranger, whose bright blue contrasted in
such a peculiar manner with his jebbleck hair
and heard. must have had a wonderful fasci-
nation for her, as she could not keep herself
from gazing at him, with an expression in
which admiration and bewilderment were
strangely mingled. Don Luis exerted himself to
gain her regard, and the mutual attraction of

the two younversons was observed with pleas— '

ure by Senor incente, who, when his daughter

had retired, congratulated the young gentleman V

on having made a conquest.
“ I sincerely hope that I have,” answered Don,
Luis, “ but I can not flatter myself that I have

accom listed so much. I have nevar seen a -
eautiful lady than the Senorita Man- .,'. 'V’,

more
uela.” »

“And I doubt whether she eVer saw a more
handsome and distinguished caballero than
yourself. You can easil cause her to forget-
ghat Y’ankee officer, Don inis, if you desire to

0 so.

Manuela’s maid, also, had her ideas upon the
same subject and did not hesitate to communi-
cate them tober young mistress. .,

“Your attractions have found another vic—

l

 

 

.v, ‘ smoking and meditating.

 

is 7 The Tell-Tale Bunet.‘

 

tiln,” said Julio. when they were again seated
in the wagrm. “ The young: caballcro has surely
fallen in love with you at first sight. He gazed
at you as if he would like to eat you up with his
eyes.” ’

“What beautiful eyes he has!” sighed Man—
uela.

“ Beautiful, indeed, senorital I do not wonder

that you were struuk by them, and that you:

looked at them so closely. I begin to believe
that on have fallen in love with them.”

“ hey reminded me of the eyes of Captain
Hour 7."

“You say that because they are blue,senorita,
but the eyes of Captain Henry are not near as
beautifulas these, nor does he have such splendid
black hair and heard. Besides, what a high-
sounding name is that of the caballero, and how
gayly hois dressed! That is the man for your
beaut senoritn, and it is plain that your father
Wouldyhe glad to have you love him and marry
him. Then there would be no ugly convents or
cross 01d maiden-aunts for us, but ,you would
live in the city with your husband—perhaps, in

' beautiful Mexico—and would shine among the
first. It would be very pleasant for me, also,
Senorita.”

“You are quite enthusiastic, Julia, and can
make excellent plans to please yourself, but
you must allow me to use my own judgment,
and it is my belief just now, that I am sleepy.
Don Luis has beautiful eyes, but it remains to be

, seen whether [I will dream of them to-night.”

Another person felt a deep interest in the ad—
vent of the young Mexican, namely, Burt Adams
the guide, who had been much chagrined when
Don Luis and his party were sulfered to join the
train, and who was still more put out by the de—
lay which their recapth m had caused.

It was im ortant to the success of the ontlaw’s
plan, that 0 should push the train through
quite rapidly, and should reach the mountains
within a reasonable time, as the tribe of Indians
to whom he expected to sell Don Manuel and his
treasure might be compelled by the season to
move southward, where they would be fully oc-
c pied‘ with predatory excursions against the

cxicuns. The arrival of the strangers had al-
read caused an unpleasant delay, and their
cont nued presence, together with the stately
and long-winded hospitality of the old Don,
might have the cn’ect of upsetting his felonious
project. He was in a very bad humor, there-

- fore, when he sought Karaibo, for the purpose
" , of holding a consultation with his ally.

He found, the Malay seated by a camp-fire,

Adams atisfied him-

‘ self that no one was within hearing, and then lit

_r his own pipe, seated himself on the ground, and

opened the subject. ~
, “Tell you what, Kuraibo,” he commenced,
'“ things ain’t workln’ as this child would like to
see ’em work." .

The Malay raised his head, but was silent.

“' Things ain’t workin’ right, old yaller-skin,
' and that‘s a fact. We’ll be apt to get ourselves

into a pickle if we don't keep our eyes peeled.
, Did you notice that young chap and his party,

i , who came into camp about noonl”,
. ' “Karaibo saw him—«Mexicane-«mighty fine.”

“ Durn his fine feathers! I‘d like to pluck ’em,

 

and to sp‘ile his beauty, into the burg‘in. That
chap is in our way, yaller skin.”

“ S’pose so.”

“ The stupid old Don has kept us here all day
and night, as you may say, so that he could
palaver his own lingo and guzzle his wine with
this gay bird. If this sort of thing is to. go on,
we won’t git into the mountings in time to meet
our Injun friends, and then our game will be
blocked. Besides, the cursed Mexicaner knows
too much. He says he knows this‘ trail well,
and he’s got a mizzabul little half-breed with
him, who can fuller every foot of the Way in the
dark, and who can smell an Injun a mile off. If
we were rid of this gay stranger, his men could—
n’t do anythin’ without him, and we could easily
manage the Mexican guards, with the help of
our friends. That chap is in our way, Karaibo,
and he must be ot out of it."

“ S’pose so. ow got out?"

“ Thnr’s more’n one way of doin’ aech a. job;
but he must be rubbed out. You must help me,
Karaibo, and we’ll fix his flint for him nfore
man nights.”

' “ arnibo does not want to spill much blood.”

“ Think of the treasure, old yaller—skin; think
of the gold and silver."

“ Is there much?" i

“ Lots of it—stowed away in kegs and boxes
in the old Don's wagon.”

“ But the Indians will take it.”

“ Not they, no boy. Leave me alone to take
care of that, an I will fix it so that we git much
the biggest half. They can have the train and
the old man, but the gold shall be ours. That
chap must be rubbed out afore we can be sar—
taibn,9f anythin’, and you must help me do the
JO .
“ Karaibo is ready, if he can be sure of. the
gold. Tell him what to do.”

“Both of us must watch him whenever he

leaves the camp, and while he stays in it, too,
and we must be allers ‘on the lookout for a
chance to sneak up and shoot him, or to rub him
out in some wa . When he turns up missin', it
will be easy to y it to the Injuns,’cause nobody
would be apt to suspect us.” '

“ Karaibo will watch. If he sees the “chance

he will tell you."

“ We had, better turn in now, as we shall want
to start early in the mornin’.” '

Having thus explained his plan, the outlaw
wrapped himself in his blanket, and was soon
sleeping that sound sleep which is said to visit
the eyes of innocence. '

But a pair of brilliant eyes had watched the
plotters as they sat by the camp-fire, and a ir
of eagerears had listened to eve word of t eir
conversation. When Adams lai down to sleep
a dark form uncoiled itself from the shadow of
a pine, and glided away, as silently as a snake,
through the grass and among the tall trees.

CHAPTER X.
nuns AND LOVES.

 

TEE train did not start as early the next

morning as Burt Adams had wished and ex-
pected it to. The cause of the delay again was
the young Mexican, Don Luis. This caballero
who appeared to be a very devout'Catholic, had
expressed a. desire to confess to Padre RoqueI

f‘u~%f>l\"i A ‘

The Tell-Tale Bullet.

1O

 

and it was not to be supposed that Senor Vin-
<~cnre would allow his wagons to be got under
way before that important cermnony was com-
plated. .

Don Luis, in company with the priest, entered
an impromptu confessional, in the midst of a
shit
hourfvw ile the outlaw chafed and fretted, and
clutched his rifle as if he would gladly shoot the
interloper in broad daylight and near the camp.
But prudence restrained him from such a
course, and be occupied himself with prepus
rations for the journey, vowing that the uni-
niuls should travel fast enough to make up for
lost time.

When the two came out from the grove, it
might have been supposed that the old priest
had been confessing to the young cavalier, for
there were tears in Padre Roque’s (-yes, and
he was claSping the hands of Don Luis beseech—
inrrl .

a {Von do not deceive me!” he exclaimed. “ It

cannot be possible that you would deceive me!”

, “Of course I would not. If I had no other

reason for telling you the truth, my happiness

is concerned in the result fully as much as yours,

I think.”

“I must believe, then, that you will be true to
me, and will serve me as far as you can. But
in e you sure'that you do not deceive yourself?”

“ do not see how it is possible for me to be
mistaken. I have my information from the

‘ most trustworthy sources, from menin whom I
can thoroughly confide, and I think I shall be
able to provevits truth when we fairly reach
the mountain ranges. All the circumstances—~—
iime, place, a pcarance. manners, language,
and the relics t at she still retains—point to the
woman as your daughter. I only hope that on
may not be disappointed when you find her.‘

“ Disappointed! What do you mean?”

“ It is possible that she may have become so

Modded to her resent life, that she may be un-
willing to leave it and accept the trammels of
civilization.”

“ God grant that it ma not he so! I tremble
when I think of it. on will remember and
heed the warning that I gave you, senor?"

“Certainly, and I thank you for it; but it is
nothing more thanI had expected. I shall be
on my guard; and I have no fear.”

“I, also, will watch, and will pray God to
keep you safe.”

It was with many a grumble and wow], and
not a few muttered nurses, that Burt Adams at
last set the train in motion, after the long and
unnecessary delay. His black looks were prin-
cipally directed toward Don Luis, who paid no
attention to them but rode by the wagon of
Don Vincente, or that of his daughter. chatting
guyly, and enlivening the journey that had pre-
vinusly been so tedious.

‘, It was not long before be persuaded Manuela
’ to mount her horse and ride With him. Some—

times they lingered behind the caravan. and

sometimes the gallopcd on before it; but it was

to be observ that they were always together,

and that their intimacy seemed to be a very

close one, considering their short acquaintance;

but it is very natural for such intimacies to

spring up among young people who are travel-
\

rove. and remained there nearly an»

 

ing together in the wilderness. Senor Vin-
cente interposed no objection to this companion—
ship, but was delighted to see that his daughter
had found favor in the eyes of the handsome
and distinguished Don Luis.

The young cavalier soon perceived that Adams
was urging forward the animals at such a re id
rate that they were becoming exhausted, an it
was robable that some of them would fall down
and is of fatigue, unless they were permitted
to proceed more leisurely, or a halt was called.
Escorting Manuela hack to her wagon, he waited ‘
on Senor Viucente, explained to him what was
being done, and received authority from the old
Don to act as he thought proper. He then went
to the outlaw, who was still urging on the train,
in spite of the rcmonstrances of the drivers and
teumsters, and inquired his reason for ushing
forward in such a reckless manner. e was.
told to mind his own business, and he then qui-
etly informed the outlaw that he had been
directed by Don Manuel to call a halt as soon as
the river—bottom was reached, and that the train,
in the mean time, must moderate its speed.

At this Adams was thoroughly enraged, and
his spite and hatred “ cropped out ” in every
wrinkle of his rugged face. ‘ *

“ And who in thunder are you,” he shouted,
“ to come and give orders to me? Ain‘t it
enough that you’ve come interlopin’ here, whar
you had no business, and whar you wasn’t
wanted, but you must he puttin’ on your French
airs over a free white American citizen?
b‘lieve you’re nothin’ but a cussed spy, anyhow,
and I don’t car’ the flap of” a beaver’s tail fur
you or your orders.” “

“The orders are not mine,” pcrsisted Don
Luis; “ the are the orders of Senor Vincents.”

“ I don’t lieve a word of it.”

“You can easily learn that it is true. by in
quiring. But here comes Don Manuel, who can.
ex lain his directions for himself.” ,

n fact, the old Don, perceiving that tl ere. was,
an altercation at the front, had mouan his
horse and rode up to see what was the matter;
He noticed the condition of the animals, repeat-
ed the instructions that he had given to Don
Luis, and rode hack in company with his young
friend. ,

Burt Adams shook his fist at them when their

backs were turned, but his wrath “as, for a few V V

moments, too hot for utterance. r
“ It’s too infemal had,” he muttered, betwee
his clinched teeth “ that a free white, American
citizen should be backed down in this why by’a
cou le of cowardly Greasers! Won’t Ipay ’0!!!
up urit when my time comes! The old Don
will have to shell out all his rocks afore he gits

loose, and t’other will r are wuss.” -
Much against his will. the outlaw halted the
train in the riverhottom, and another long
“nooning ” ensued, which filled the measure of
his wrath against Don Luis, although the uni;
mals were really in no condition to continue the
journey without a. good rest. Thereafter, if
anything went wrong with him on the train—if
alynch— in dropped out, it a pole or an axle

'broke. i a piece of harness gave way, or if any

of those accidents happened that are continually
occurring to travelers in the wilderness—he was'

sure to lay the blame and shower his curses upon

 

 

 

 

' stow it upon me,” said Don Luis.

go . The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

the young cavalier, on whose shoulders they fell,
if he ever heard them, with the weight of feath—
ers.

The fact is that Don Luis been me so absorbed
in the society of the charming Manuela, that he
had no time to play any pranks with Burt
Adams, or to rouse the nnwry passions of that
testy guide, if he had had3 the inclination to do

so.
“ That is a very neat cornelian cross that you
have, senorita.” said Don Luis. after an early
evening halt. “ As I live, there are two initials
engraved upon it. ‘ H. T.’ are the letters, I
think. Can it be that they are the initials of a
lover?"
“I must confess that the cross has belonged
to one who hasdesired to he considered a lover."
“ What!” angrily exclaimed Don Manuel.
“ How do you happen to have an article of his
in your possession! How dare you keep it?” ,
“I received it in such a singular manner,
father, that I have retained itas a curiosity.
We had been but a short time on our journey
when I found, one evening, this trifle in my
wagon, lying on my cushion. As neither Julia
nor myself could explain its presence there, I

he tit, as .I said, out of curiosity. I knew it-

be onged to Captain Taylor, as I had seen him
wear it."

“ Are you sure that it had not been presented
to you, and packed away in your baggage?”

‘ I am sure that I never had it in my hand
before. Besides, J ulia’s sharp eyes would have

_ seen it.”

“You should have thrown it away in dis-
gust.”

" Why throw away the bauble? Perhaps the
mystery connected with it might some day be
explained."

“ It is a very singular circumstance, and I am
hardly satisfied with it. You had better give
me the cross, Manuela.”

“Perhaps the senorita will condescend to be-
“ Render unto
Cmsar the things that are Caesar’s.”

“ So we are tol i in Scripture,” answered
Manuela. with a blush. “ You are welcome to
it, Don” Luis, and I am sure that I leave it in
better hands than my own.”

“ That ives the finishing stroke to the Yan-
kee.” saig Don Manuel, rubbing his hands.
“ Come. my children, it is growing late, and I
feel the need of rest.”

When Manuela resigned herself to the care of
her amid that night, Julia noticed the absence
of the cross, and taxed her mistress with having
given it away.

“ Why should I not?” answered the lady.
“ Can one be constant forever, and at any dis-

tance? We Mexicans must have our flirtatious,

and our changes of hearr, or life would be very
dreary.

 

CHAPTER XI.
TWO sno'rs.

Boar ADAMS'S hatred of Don Luis, and his
desire to et the young cavalier out of the, way,
had not ied, nor were they sleeping. He was
only waiting until he could get a good chance to
accomplish his object. He had opportunities
enough, but they occurred too close to the camp

\

 

or the train, or there was some other difilculty
about them. that made him sure aim: ho Would
be discovered if he attempted to pui' ms pl'm into
execution. Klimin had even worse lung, ior he
declared that he had not been able to get one
fair shot, and he was such a had marksman that
he was sure he Would miss.

But the outlaw found what he considered a
splendid opportunity, one dark afternoon. He
had gone about two miles ahead of the train
to discover a good camping-place for the night.
when he caught sight, through an o .nin in
the wood, of the handsome figures of mu uis
and Manuela, who were also returning toward
the train.

His resolution was instantly taken. He dis-
mounted, carefully concealed his horse, ascended
an clcvatlon, and took a sure aim, resting his
rifle on the stump of a. fallen tree.

“ Just let him get within range,” said the vil— A
lain, “ so that I can drop him without hittin’ V

the gal, and he’s as good as dead.”

He code within range, and the outlaw pulled
the tri ger of his fatal piece.

The )all Whistled by Don Luis’s left ear, out a
feather from Manuela’s hat, and buried itself in
a tree. ,

“ That shot was not meant for you, Man-
nela," mid the cavalier. “Remain where you
are Mr a moment, for you are as safe here as
elsewhere.”

80 saying, he quickly galloped back, with
his keen eyes resting on the ground, until some-
thing attracted his attention, when he dismount-
ed and carefully examined leaves, grass, sticks
and earth.

“ Just as I supposed,” he muttered, as be
mounted, galloped back to Manuela, and dug
the bullet out of the tree with his knife. _

“ What did it mean?" anxiously inquired
Manuela.

“ Some one has shot at me. There may be
Indians in these woods, and we must be more
careful hereafter. But this. Manuela min, is
what the Yankee hunters call a chawed bullet——
a bullet that is intended for some particular foe,
and I have never known such a custom among
the Indians in these parts.” .

“ Do you suspect—” ' . '

“ I suspect nothing. The shot must have been
fired by some roving brigand or outlying Indian.
Let us rejoin our friends.”

Burt Adams cursed his luck when he saw that
his chained bullet had missed. but deemed it

best to “make himself scarce;" accordingly, he ‘

mounted, and rode sm'ftly to meet the train by
a'rather circuitous route. At the evening halt
he electrified the camp' by stating that he “ sus-
picioned ’7 Indians were about, as he had heard
a shot, and had seen some “sign.”

“ I am of the same opinion," said Don Luis,
“ for a bullet whistled close to my ear, and I have
it in my pocket. Look at it, Adams, and tell
me whether it is not what you Yankees call a
chawed bullet.” _ »

“ I sca’cely think it is," answered the outlaw,
“though ii; mought be. [reckon I had better
make a scout tonight." »

“One shot has been fired.” said Don Luis
to Padre‘ Roque, when he met that reverend
ecclesiastic. ‘

 

 

3
s"

  

y
l
4
l
l
\

 

(who bent over him

‘ The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 
 

I

2!

 

“ And you are safe, thank God! May He save
you from the nextl”

“ Amen! I shall be more careful hereafter. I
shall go out to-night."

“ And I.”

A scout was considered a pro er precaution.
as the party were then near the end of a fork
of the Colorado that had its rise in the moun—
tains. and the trail was becoming dangerous.

“ If you're oin’ to scout with me, stranger.”
said Adams, W on the searching arrangements
had been made, “ you’d botth jest slip in under
the trees to the right. down by the river-bank,
and I’ll take the brush on the risin’ ground. If
thar’s any Injuns about, we’re safe to find ’em
that-a-wa .”

” I wil do as on advise.” said Don Luis,

diving into the timher like an experienced wood-‘
man.
“The chap does know a thing or two, most
too much for a Greaser,” muttered the outlaw,
as he poised his rifle and walked off into the
upland.

As Adams moved away, he was silently and
stealthin followed by a dark form, that crouch—

ed low among the rass and bushes, identifying r

itself with the 30m er herbage.

Don Luis swiftly skirted the bank of the
small stream, keeping carefully in the shadow,
until he reached a clump of scragg under.
growth, on which he hung his bat an embroi-

ered jacket. There was a “small sprinkle ” of
moon, and such an object would easily be vis—
ible at a. considerable distance to sharp and
practiced eyes.

Then the young cavalier left the river-bottom,
and swiftly crept up the hillside, sheltering him-
self from observation behind the trunks of the

rent trees. the clumps of bushes, and the irregu-
arities of the ground, until he reached a point
near the summit of the ridge, when he stopped,
and crouched down behind a bush, watching
anxiously with his eyes and ears 0 en, and with
his rifle ready for action. He h d not long to

I Wait. A shot was fired from a short distance be-

ond him, and he rushed forward to where he
ad seen the flame and smoke.

When Burt Adams went into the upland, as
he had said he would do, he did not continue in
a straight course, but diverged somewhat down
the side of the hill, and kept his eyes fixed on the
tall trees near the river-bank, as if he expected
an enemy to appear from that direction, instead

,of from the bushy growth in which he was mov-

in .

At last he caught sight of something that glis-
tened. in the pale light of the moon, over a rag-
ged clump. He crouched to the ground. raised
his rifle, and took a steady aim at the object.

“I won’t miss this time!” he muttered, and

zpnlled the trigger.

As be partly rose, to view the effect of his shot,
he was seized from behind, and thrown back-
ward. The outlaw was anion of great physical
strength, and he our rhirnevl his assailant, but
another pair of lmmls clasped his throat, and
then a stronger graso seized his arms, andrhe was
borne to the ground and held there.

' As he looked up, he mw that it was D071 Luis
with his knee on his breast.
and that those holding his arms were the old

 

priest and the half—breed boy. The outlaw grit-
ted his teeth. but could do nothing to release
himself.

“I have caught you,” said Don Luis, “and
now I want to know why you have shot at me
twice.”

“I did n’t shoot at you,” grumbled Adams. ‘_‘ I
shot at an Injun.”

“ Don’t lie about it, hombre. That is m hat
through which you have put a bullet, an you

thought my head was inside of it. You know,
as well as I do, that there, are no Indians near
us. You shot at* me this afternoon with a.
chuwed bullet, for I saw your track plain
enough. The truth is, I suppose, that you want-
ed to kill me because you Were jealous of me,
and because I interfered with you. I can hard-
ly blame you, but it is very unfair to shoot at a
man behind his back. I would expect such an
act of a cowardly thief or assassin, but not of a
real American hunter. If I let you go, w ill you
promise that you will not try to kill me again,
unless in fair fight?”

“ Yes; I promise,” answered the outlaw, who
was quite bewildered.

“ Let him rise, amigos. Pedrocito‘, brin my
hat and jackct from yonder bush. We wil now
return to cm» p, and will say nothing concerning
this affair, < Xi qt to report that we have seen
no Indians.”

During thenext morning’smarch, Burt Adams
was quite gloom and chopfallen. He “as ho-
miliated by his efeat; he could not understand
how he had been detected and caught; and he
was completely puzzled by the lenity of the man
whom he had sought to assassinate. He hated
the young cavalier more bitterly than ever, and ’
meditated on the vengeance he would take when
his time came. .

They were now fairly in the mountains, and
the way was becoming diflioult as well as dan-
gerous. Don Luis neglected the society of Man-
uela for the purpose of “ prespecting ” from all
available points, and the half-breed boy fre—
quently rode far in advance, and returned. At
last, when he came back, he reported tohismas-
ter in these concise words: .

“ Smoke~—Injun.”

“ Just as I expected. Can you go straight to
Dick Hennessy’s ranch, on the Little Bear?”

“ Straight as the bird flies.”

Don Luis scribbled a few lines on a piece of
paper, and handed it to the‘boy.

“Ride fast,’”said he; “ don’t spare your horse,
and give this to Sergeant Orofut, at the ranch.
You will knoiv where to strike our trail.”
b‘The boy started off like an arrow from the,
ow. ' ' ‘

The unusual actions of the young cavalier '

and: the half-breed had not been~ unnoticed by
Burt Adams. He thought, as he expressed it to
himself. that there was “ somethin nE," and he
soon came to the conclusion that he ad better
seek his Indinn allies. and prepare an ambus-
cadc. louviug Karaihn in the lurch. But he did
not wish to take himself off without showing
some cause. Accordingly. at the noon halt, he
told Senor Vincents that he was unwilling to
accompany the train any further; that. he had
been subjected to continual annoyance and in-
sults since the arrival of Don Imus, that he was

  

i

  

 

82 The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

not willing to bear it any longer, and that either
he or the young cavalier must leave the tram.
“ But you will forfeit your pay," suggested

' , Don Manuel.

‘ region, and need a guide.

“ I don’t car’ a. cuss for that. Either [or that
young chap must quit the caravan, and that‘s
words with the bark on ’em.”

“This must not be, my friend,” interposed
Don Luis. “ You must not allow any personal
dilference between you and me to interfere with
the safety of Senor Vincent/e and his daughter.
For my part, I am ready to make any apology,
and to promise that I will not again interfere
with your management of the train, by word or
net. We are now approaching: a dangerous
It will be necessary
to retain you, if we are obliged to march you
with a pistol at your head; but we had rather
increase your pay. I again say, my friend,
that this must not be, and I beg you to change
your resolution.”

“ We], I reckon I’ll stay. if you'll keep that
promise, stranger. thr is that boy of yourn?”

“ I snippets he has strayed awa . He is a
wild_ outh, and is often absent wit out leave.”

“ her have I heard that voice afore?” mut-
tered the outlaw, as he walked away. “ I’ve
heard it somewhar, fur sart’in, and I’ve seen
jist that flash of the eye from some cha who
meant what he said. Durned if it don’t cinder
git me. Wnl, my time will come mighty soon.

 

CHAPTER XII.
A "DOUBLE DISCOVERY.

THE place which the outlaw selected for a
camp that night was surely not such as would
have commended itself to a judicious man who
was accustomed to frontier lite, and to the
habits of the wild tribes of Indians, who roamed
over that region. There was good water, it is
true, for the location was on a brook that
might have been one of the sources of the Gila
Riverp There was also good grass, for the
brook ran through a little canyon or glen, and
on each bank was quite a meadow. There was
wood in abundance, for the sides of the glen
were covered and crowned with a stout growth
of timber. To the inexperiencede esof Don
Manuel, it appeared to be a very p easant and
eligible spot in which to pass the night, and he
went so far as to compliment Adams upon the

r selection he had made.

Don Luis thought differently. To him the

,place seemed very well chosen for an ambus-

oade or an attack. If there were Indians in the
Vicinity, he considered, and they were disposed
to in Mrs an assault, for purposes of plunder or
murder, the could easily surprise and over-
whelm the ittle party in charge of the train.

' Another rather peculiar circumstance was, that

Adaun had made a very early halt, contrary to
his usual custom of urging on the teams, and
making as much of a day’s march as he could.
All these things the young cavalier noticed,
and they appeared to him, to say the least, quite
smpicious. In fact, it may as well be stated.

. that something of the kind was what he had -

been looking for. But he said nothing concern

, ing his doubts or surmises, for he had promised

the guide that he would interfere with him no

 

more, by word or act. He allowed Don Manuel
to rest secure in the enjoyment of his pleasant
camping-around, and devoted himself to the so-
ciet of Manuela.
hen an early supper had been diin dis.

cussed,'the outlaw stated that he feared there
might be hostile Indians in the vicinity, and
that he thought it best to make a scout, in order
to see if he could find any “ sign.”

“ I will accompany you. senor,” said Padre
Roque, “ if you have no objection.”

“ None at all, old man,” answered Burt,

“ though you don’t seem adz:u:k1y cut out for

sech business. Come along, if you want to, and
if you happen to'git hurt, or to git into trouble,
don’t blame me. P’raps you’d like to go with
us, stranger?’

“I believe I had rather not,” replied Don
Luis. “ I have had enough of scouting for the
present.”

So the outlaw, mounted on his stout horse,
and fully armed, set out with the old priest, who
rode his ambling mule, and carried his pack and
his rifle. They left Senor Vincente plocidly
smoking his cigar, and Don Luis quietly eon.
versing with Manuela, while the ‘ Mexican
guards lay listlessly about their campfires.

Down the gully went Burt Adams, closely
followed by the priest, until he reached a narrow
pass that led toward the north. Into this he
turned, and both traversed it, although with
some difficulty, until they reached a timbered
ascent that led them in an easterly direction.
It was as yet hardly dusk, and they could easily
see their we y by the faint light. The moon, too,
would soon rise, and they would notbe troubled
by lack of light.

" Wal, old man," said the outlaw, as their
animals came together on the rising ground,
“do you think you’re goin’ to have some real
good Catholic fun along with me?”

“I do not know what you mean,” answered
the riest. “ Are you a catholic?” ‘

“ ’m almost anytliin', if it will pay 'me, and
can do almost anythin’ fur pay."

“ But you would not, for instance, murder a
man, and steal his gold, and carry off his
child?”

“What do you mean, old man?“ queried the
outlaw. turning shar ly upon the padre.

“Nothing, my goo sir. I had no thought of
offending you. Do you think we will meet with
any Indians?" \

“ Can’t adzackly say. Thar mou’t be Injuns,»

and thar mou’t not. Did you ever see stars, old
chap?” . .

“I have seen the stan in the heavens.”

“ Reckon you may see some more arter a.
while. If you come to any harm, it willbe your
own'fault. as I told you.”

“ I trust in God and Id my patron saint.”

As they rose to the summit of the ridge, the
smoke of an Indian village was in View. Be.
yolid, on a level plateau, among the trees, could
be soon about twenty lodges.

“Thor’s Injuns afore us," said the outlawr'

“ Ain’t you afeerd, old man?” . V I
“I Emir nothing, when I nm in the perform~
:inv-e of my duty}:

“Viral, it’s possible they may be friendly In-
juns, and I reckon our duty lies, jist now, in the

-)

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The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

direction of ridin’ on and seein’ what sort of
folks they hang out to be.” ,

“I am willing to go with you,” answered the
padre, “ but I must say, that my mule, if we
are forced to retreat, can not run as fast as your
horse.”

“ Never mind that, old cha ; I’ll take car’ of
you. Here comes some of t ie red—skins, and
we‘ll ride up and see what they are.”

Several mounted Indians, half naked, painted,
and plumed, and armed with guns, came gallop-
ing forth from the village. ‘ Burt Adams halted,
and allowed them to approach him. When they
came near, he gave the Indian sign of amity,

. and then waved his hand, in imitation of the

crawling of a snake, which was the usual
Comanche greeting.

The Indians appeared to understand it, for
they rode up to where he was, and exchanged
greetings with him, as it they recognized him
for an old acquaintance.

This ceremony finished. the Indians returned
to the village, accompanied by Adams and the

iriest, the former boisterous and noisy, the
latter calm and collected.

“ We], old Grizzly,” said the outlaw, address-
ing a gayly-plumed Indian who appeared to act
as the leader of the party “ I’ve come back, you
see, like a bad Sixpence; but it is not for nothin’
I’ve come and I’ve got a fine job on hand fur
you red-shins. You know I never furgit my
friends.”

“ Ugh! You show us whar to git money?”

“ Ya-as, and plenty of it. too, old Grizzly, he.-
sides other things that we’ll heva to talk about.
In the fn’st place, though, tie UK this old chap,
and keep him safe. I told him 0 moight git in-
to trouble if he came with me, but he qest would
come, and We must fasten him up, see he can’t
tell 'bout what we’re goin’ to do.”

“ Brown Bear can’t hurt him!” said the sav-
age, glancing at the garb of the old priest,
whose sacred character was held in esteem by
most of his tribe.

“ I don’t ax you to hurt him, old Grizzly. I
don’t car’ whether you hurt him or not, but he
must be fixed so that he won't sp’ile our lans.”

The Indian made a sign and the pa re was
seized, his rifle was taken from him, his arms
were tied and his mule was led by one of his
captors. To all this he submitted unresistingly,
and with no change in the calm and placid ex-
pression of his countenance.

_“ And now, old Grizzly,” said the outlaw,
“ what’s the news with you folks? Whar’s the
chief, Mascepah? Are all the young men in the

village?” ‘
“ hiei’ gone. Young men ’most all gone."

“Thunder! Do you mean to say that, old
Grizzly? Whar have the chief and the young
men gone to?”

“ Gone to the South. We were oor, we
wanted horses and cattle, and blen 91:5 and
monev. Want scalps, too i"

. “ I mought have knouacd it. I was afeard of
It all along. Cuss thnt infernal pup of a Mexi-
can dandy.) It’s all through him that I’ve been
bothered and held back, until the folks I Wanted
are all off on other business. I wish I’d killed
bun; but luck wes somehow eg’in’ I'Le. Won’t
I take it out of him when my time comes? He‘ll

7“.

 

never steal the bait out of my trap ag’in. The
Eoung men ain’t all gone, though, old Grizzly.

ow many are left in the village?” r

“ 'Most forty warriors.”

“ Who’s chief l”

“ Musccpuh’s squaw, Paquitaw She jest so
much chief as him,” ‘

Paqm‘ta! W'hat was there in the name that
made the old priest start and tremble. and sent
the blood gushing up to his face? Whatever the
cause may have been, the effect was not ob-
served by the others, and the next moment he
was again calm and collccted.

“ Forty, or less, are plenty, 01d Grizzfy,” said
Adams, “and I reckon you’re chief when, it
comes to fightin’; I’ve got a train for you that
I’ve brought a long ways, and it’s camped only
a. few miles from here. It belongs to a rich old
Mexican, who has wagons, mules and horses,
and lots of gold and silver. His handsome dare
ter is with him, and a gay young Mexican, who
can afford to pay a big ransom. The guards
are sca’ccly anythiu' 'cxt'cpt a few Grcascrs,
who’d be sure to run at the i'u’rt yell or show of
a scalpml-knife. I’ve stuck ’vni Ll\'»fly down in
a canyon, whur it will he jest :is easy as rollin’
offs. log to pick ’em all up, and yvu red-skins
shall have the biggest share in the divide ” 7

“We go!” said the savage, “ go this night.” ‘

“ That’s the way to talk, old Grizzly. Now I
know you mean business. J est put this chap

whar he can’t git away, and we’ll go to work,

for I reckon we hain’t’ got much time to lose.”
Padre Roque, still unresisting, calm and quiet,

was taken from his mule, was placed within a .
lodge, and two Indians wcre sctto guard him. -

Adams soon had his arrangements made, and
the Brown Bear had no difficulty in recruiting a
party for the capture of Don Manuel and js
train. About twenty-five warriors Were picked
for the purpose, and they set out, before the
night was haltspent, fully arnzed, painted, and
plumed, and eager to signalize ihrn selves by a
deed of pillage and murder. Burt Adams took
the lead, chuckling as he put anolhcr oliawed
bullet in his rifle, and revving that that missile
should not fail to find its ma] k.

They had not been gone a long time, when the

old priest called his guard and demanded that 2

he should be taken before Paquita, the chief‘s
squaw. He was attentively listened to by the
savages, who had not entirely forgotten the
teachings of the Jesuits and they complied with
his request. He was to en to a lodge more pre-
tentious than the others, made, of skins stretched
upon poles andpaintcd 'wii'h grotesque figures.
When he entered. he found himself in the
presence of a. dark-skinned young woman, at—
tired in the hight of the Comanche-fashion, who
was reclining on a couch of furs.
receive him, waved her hand, and the
guards left the lodge, remaining without.
“ What do you want?” she asked.‘ '
The old priest trembled, and his face again
flushed, as his glance took in the handsome face,

the fine figure, the piercing black eyes, and the

commanding air of the forest beauty. But his

hesitation was only momentary. He totkiif'

his broad hat. and removed a wign’nd a false
beard, disclosin the features of Miguel Mer-
tinez, the old encan who had listened to

She 'oseto' '
dian ‘

 

 

 

 

deed, and boast of it.

, 4 The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

Burt Adams’s bloody recital in the fonda near
the foot of the sierra.

“ fuquita, my daughter, do you not know
me?

The woman clasped her hands on her head,
and bent forward. as she stared at the old man.

“ I know you now,” she answered, quite cold-
ly. “ What do you wish?”

“ I want you, my daughter. Do you not
know that I am your father, Paquitakthat
you were stolen from me years ago, by a rufflan
who thought he had murdered me? My life has
been miserable without you, and I have sought
for you by day and night, though I nevrr dared
to hope to see you again. 1 have found you
now, Pa nits, and you must lcnve those saw
a s, an go with your lonely and heart-broken
or father.’

“ I cannot. I am the squaw of the chief,
Mnscepah, and I love my husband and my chil—
dren. I cannot leave them.”

“ Is this a place or a life fit for the daughter
of your mother? Here is a miniature of that
blessed saint. Look at it, Paquita, and tell me
if it does not recall to you your home and your
friends." ’

Paquita burst into tears as she gazed at the
portrait, but she quietly brushed them away,
aui was again composed.

“ My home is here,” she sair , “ and the friends
of my husband are my friends. I will stay. "

“ Did you ever know, Paquita, who it was
that carried, you ofl’, utter leaving; me for dead?"

“ I never heard blS name, and I was too badly

L troubled and frightened to remember his fea-

tures." ,
“ Yet on have seen him, and have seen him
lately. e is even now with your warriors.
guiding them to the murder and pillage of a
Party of peaceful whites. It was he who de-
ivered me into your hands.”
“ Is this true!

Do you mean Burt Adams?”
“He is the man.

I overheard him avow the
I might have slain him;
but I followed him here. hoping to find you,
art)? than to make my vengeance sure and ter-
ri e. l '

“ Mascepah nevar told me of this, or the man :

should have perished. The vengeance shall
come now, for both of us. Wait until the wnr~
rlors return from the attack.”

” But they are attacking my friends, those
Who have aided and comforted me.“ ‘

” It cannot be helped. Would you try to call
a wolf of! from his prey? The young men must
have their booty, and we must wait. I will

ride out to meet them when the time comes,
'and will then have my revenge.”

 

" CHAPTER XIII.
A NIGHT ATTACK.

As soon as the outlaw and the priest had left
the cam , Don Luis took Senor Vincents aside,
and spo etohim, with a. very serious expres~
sion on his fine countenance.

“I must no longer delay communicating to
you,” he said “ some very important intellb
gence thatii have received, that concerns the
safety of yourself and of us all.”

 

“ What do you mean? You seem to he in
earnest.”

“I am in earnest. and I mean to so theta
plot has been laid by your guide, to end you
into an ambush, and to betray you to a band of
Indians whose village is but a short distance
from here. He expects to share with them in
our scalps and our plunder. I have reason to
believe that 'the plan was arranged before you
left the coast.”

“ Can this be true, Don Luis? It agrees with
what was told me by that Yankee captain.”

“ I believe he told you the truth. I have over-
heard the plan spoken of between the guide and
his Malay friend. Adams has now gone to the
Indians, for the purpose of bringing them here
to capture us. ”

“ Why, then, did he take the padre?”

“I have not time to explain why the padre
went, but his mission is not one of harm. If you
wish for proof of this plot, summon the Malay,
and we will question him. If he is not willing
to‘confess, he can be made to con fess.”

Karaibo was called, and was duly ’ interro-
gated by the two gentlemen, but he refused to
answer a word. _

“ Bring a rope,” said Don Luis, “ and we will
soon induce him to tell the truth.” ,

The Malay’s arms were secured behind his
back, a. lariat was produced and tied loosely
around his neck, and Jack Stump, under the di-
rections of the youngf'avalier, throwing the end
of the lariat over a ough, hauled him up from
the ground, until he was nearly choked, and ex-
pressed a willingness to tell all he knew.
he was let down, he confirmed in every articu-
lar the story of the plot as it had been re ated to
Senor’Vincente.

“ Misericordia !” exclaimed the old Don:
“ what will become of us? We shall all be mur—
dered, and my daughter, my Manuela, what
will happen to er? Did you know of this, Don
Luis? Why did you not speak to me before?”

“ I more than suspected it, but the pear was
not ripe. See what an exoellent place your
guide has chosen for an ambush! We could be
surrounded and captured, with hardly a chance
to defend ourselves.” ‘ .

“ And I had thought he had selected such a
pleasant camp.” v

“ Pleasant enough for his purpose. We must
immediately move to higher ground, whe'e we
can form a barricade, and defend ourselves
against an assault. We have no time to lose,
forI firmly believe that we will be attacked be-
fore morning.”

This edvice was followed without delay. The
horses and mules were harnemed and hitched
up, and the train retraced its steps until it
reached a clump of timber on the plateau,
which would not only afford shelter to the party,
but give them a commanding position. The
wagons were so placed as to form a partial de-
fame, and a rude barricade was hastily con-
structed of fallen logs and brush. The fires in
the deserted camp were replenished, while more
were started above, and all waited anxiously for
(tihe struggle that was now believed to be impen-

ln’Zf. ,
Don Luis, having noticed the weapon that the
Malay curried, removed its cover, and perceived

When ,

 

 

 

e; ~h.‘.u.;l..«. :. _

 

 

 first

The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

that it was a fine, five-chambered revolving-
riile. He took it to Karaibo, and asked him
where he not it.

“ I nursed a sick Englishman, and he gave it
to me,” was the answer.

“If he has done such a good action, Senor
Vincents," suggested the Iyoung gentleman, “he
cannot be wholly bad. believe he will fight
for us, it we allow him to."

“Karaibo will fight for you,” replied the

Malay. .

“ ake my rifle, then, and give me this, for I
can use it better than you. Jack Stump, untie
his hands.’

Manuela and her maid were placed in as se-
cure a position as possible, and the party watch-
ed in silence and anxiety until after midnight,
when they were startled by yells of disappoint-
ment and rage. that proceeded, as they well
knew. from Indian throats. Soon they heard
the voice of Burt Adams, from near the edge of
the canyon.

“ It’s that infernal young Mexican chap,” said
he, “ who has made’em give us the slip. I was
afeard he knew too much, but he wont know
anythin’ more arter I lay hands onto him. Come
on, red—skins! Feller the trail, and we’ll dig ’em
out of tha’r holes.”

The whooping and yelling of the savages
showed that they were on the trail, and the fore-
most of them shortly came in sight of the clump
of timber, in which, as they could easily see, the
whites had taken refuge.

A portion of the Indians dismounted and crept
toward the timber, others wildly careered about
on their horses, and all, under the orders of Burt
Adams, surrounded the cam , and prepared for
the attack. The white men ad not been idle in
the mean time. Don Luis had placed the Mexi-
can guards behind ‘the barricades. and had
assigned responsible positions to the old Don, to
Jack Stump, and to the Malay, and thus they
laid down and awaited the onset.

It came fully as scones it was expected, and
came like a t under-storm, “ all in a bunch.”

.The plain suddenly seemed alive with yelling

Indians, and above all their cries could be heard
the harsh voice of Burt Adams, as be bounded
on his savage allies. Simultaneously they rush-

' ed upon the camp, firing their rifles and fusees,

biit were met With a rapid, if not a very well
directed reply. The escopetas and rusty mus—
kets of the guard were not of much use, but
Jack Stump behaved like a veteran, Karaiho
and Senor Vincents proved themselves skillful
in the use of their weapons. and the revolving

” rifle in the hands of Don Luis, was very effec-

tive.

Repulsed at first, the savages charged up to
the barricades before their opponents had time
toreload, and a hand-to—hand fight ensued. in
which the White men fou ht with the fury of
desperation. It was brouz t to an end by the
fall of the outlaw, whom Kamibo Knocked down
with the butt of his rifle. He was carried away
2y the howling pack, and the defenders were

lowed a breathing space. They found they
had suffered quite severely, for three of the
Mexicans had been killed, and Jack Stump was
disabled while there had been great havoc
among 43 animals.

 

“ Will they return? Are we rate 114 v. f"
eagerly asked Senor Vincente.

“ I f that man was killed,” replied Don Luis,
“ they will not return; if ’he was only stunned,
we shall soon have them on our hands again,
and I fear we may not be able to defeat them in
our weakened condition.”

“ If it had not been for your presence, we .
would have already been murdered; if you save
us now, Don Luis, I will owe you an eternal
debt of gratitude. I believe that you love my
daughter; if we escape with our lives she shall
be yours.”

“You could offer me no better boon, senor,
and I hope to claim your promise. If I had
been a Yankee you would not have made it.”

“ You are mistaken, my friend, for my 0 in-
ions have changed. it turns out that the an»
kee oflicer whom. I drove from my hacienda t id
me the truth about that sc0undrel, Adam but
I was so foolishl prejudiced that I won not
believe him. arkl are they not coming
a sin?”

“ I think they are, and we must do our best
We may yet receive succor. for 1 know that
there are Yankee soldiers in the vicinity. To
your posts, men—all who are ablei”

“ Whatever may happen, defend Manuela.”

“ With my life.”

In this assault the savages advanced more
cautiously, and the defenders of the camp were
able to oppose to them but a feeble front. They

did their best, and the rifles of Don Luis and the '

Mala rung out tlze death-knell of two or the
red-s ins; ut the enemy Were well concealed,

and continued to advance carefully, until they .

rose with a yell, and threw themselves upon the
cam . v
“ Enives and clubs 1" shouted Don Luis. “ Let
us make them pay for their victory !” .
It looked like a victory as the savages
swarmed up to the barricades, where they were
still confronted by the few white men. It would
have been a victory if there had not been heard,
the galloping of horses, followed by a volley and

a cheer, which Don Luis answered Vvith a shout ‘:~:' 

of triumph.

The red-Skins turned in dismay, as they saw a
dozen United States dragoons, in their blue uni~
forms, swoopin down the slope of the plain
upon them. hey hastened to secure their
horses—ms many as could—and went ofl. halter-
skelter, toward the village, in spite of theefl'orts'
of Burt Adams to rally them. he outlaw, per-
ceiving that he was no longer supported, turned
and fled with them, trusting to the speed
endurance of his good horse.

The congratulations between the defendersot

the camp and their rescuers were few '
heargzry.
“ on were just in time, Seramnt Crofut."
said Don Luis, “and Pedrocito as done well.
Leave two of your men here, and I will ride With
you in pursui f those scoundrels.”

o f ,
The .younggavalier and the Malay were soon ' 1-, 

mounted, and set out with the dragoons, follow.
ing the retreating marauders. while D n Manuel
fell on his knees and offered fervent thanks for
the preservation of his child’s life and his own.
Manuela emerged from her concealment, and
assisted to bin up the arm of Jack Stump. . "u

'21’

and ’

3.:

   

:-‘s,,‘" 

 

 

MW“ ‘1?“

 

26 The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

I'CHAP‘TER XIV.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

PAQUITA walked out of the wigwam, with
form erect and stately tread, leavin§ the old
man wringing his hands in anguish. or a few
moments he gazed after her retreating figure,
and then sinking down upon the couch of furs,
buried his face in his hands, and bitter, scalding
tears‘poured down his withered cheeks.

Could it be possible, he thought, that this was
really his daughter, the child of his love, the
offspring of his happier yours, the only living

, relic of the wife whom he hall loved so fondly?

COuld this be the bright, beautiful and innocent
child. who had been the joy and delight of his
happy home, until it had been ravaged by the
ruthless destroyer? Was it in the nature of
things that she could have changed so utterly,
as to forget her livingr father and her dead mo-
ther, and all the comforts and blessings of civil—
ized lite, and desire to remain, during the rest
of her days, among these wild and bloodthirsty
savages? ‘

The miserable old man did not pause to think
that e. woman almost always will, as Scripture
hide her, forsake father and mother, and cleave
to her husband and him only. He did not
pause to think that this is more frequently the
case among the simple and untutored children
of nature than among the artificial existences of
civilized fire.

The bereaved parent was unreasonable, and
he mentally approached Paquita with her pre-
ference for her present life, without taking Into
consideration the fact that she had grown up in
it, that her mature years had‘ been spent in it,
and that it had grown to be almost a. second
nature with her.

He believed that the Indians compelled their
9 uth to be beasts of burden, and do all sorts

, o menial labor, while they gave themselves up

to the pursuits of war and the obese. Could his
daughter, he thought, he so degraded as to
chmse such a life, in preference to one of ease
and honor? He did not know that the Co-
manchzs. miicb as they have been stigmatized
an i abused as the most cruel barbarians, have
certain natural principles of honor, and certain
rule notions of chivalry, which elevate them
above many other tribes. Among them the wo-
men are almost invariably well treated, and the
with of a chief, like Mascapah, is a person of
dignity'and consideration. Pa uita ossessed
the true and loyal affection 0 her usband,
barbarous border-plunderer though he was, and
she was waited upon, well—lodged, well-clothed
and well-mounted and always tenderly cared for.

What more could she wis 1, when she had no
real knowledge or remembrance of another con-
ditioniu life? She had been taken from her
home when she was a mere child, and the shock
of the abduction itself had'tended to impair
her recollection of previous events. She had
been kindly treated among the Indians, and had
become one of them, although it ma well be
supposed that the white blood still ad some

V yearnings to mix with its kindred fluids.

Was it for this, thought the wretched old
man, that he had longed and waited and hoped,

, through so many years? Was it for this that he,
' in his old

days, had undertaken a perilous

 

journey into the wilderness, undergoin". hurl-
ships and fatigues that only the be e of love and
revenge enabled him to endure? f this was to
be the end, life was worse than useless to him;
it was a burden too heavy to bear, and he could
only hope that death might come to him therea-
in her presence—the sooner the better; for he
felt neither the desire nor the ability to retrace
his steps.

When his passionate riet had in some degree
subsided, he conclude that he would make
one more appeal to Paquita, and, if she still con-
tinued obdu‘rate, and refused to return with
him, he would endeavor to persuade Cap-
gain Henry to take her back to the settlement by

urea.

It happened to strike him, however, that
Captain Henry might be slain, and his party
might be captured and in the power of the In—
dians, before that night was ended, for he knew
nothing of the possibility of. an armed force be—
ing in the neighborhood. Possessed with this
idea, he again broke down, and gave way to
despair. -

” Padre mio ! ” said a soft voice at his ear.

He removed his hands from his face, looked
up through his tears, and saw Paquita kneeling
by his side. ' ‘i

“ Padre mic! Speak to me, in father I”

“ Am Iyour father, Paquita? thought you
had forgotten me, and that I had no dau hter,
for you refuse to go with me, and have c osen
to remain here among the save es.”

“ Must I give up my husban for my father?
Would my mother have forsaken you at any
man’s bidding?”

“But you are not legally married, and this
man is only an Indian.”

“ Only an Indian! Mascepah is a man»—
strong as a lion in battle, but gentle ass dove
with me. He is, good to his people, and is loved
as well as feared. Has not the red-man a heart?
[a his blood less clear than that of the white
men? We are married, my father—not onlly in
the sight of the Great Spirit, but with the b ess
ing of the priest.”

The old man groaned, and his sobs choked his
utterance. »

“ Through so many years I have longed for
you,” said he. “ Through so many years I have
grayed that you might yet be living, and that

ad would return you to me. To find you,
and to rescue you if ossible, I undertook this
long and dangerous Journey into the wilder.
nose. I have passed through many perils, and
have found you at last; but to find you thus,
Paquita—oto find you only to lose you again—~13
the worst blow of all-and it will kill me. If
you do not consent to return with me, my daugh-
ter, I shall die at your feet."

“Suppose I should go with dyou, and should
live among the whites. I woul not be as the
are; I would know nothing of their ways;
would be despised and laughed at, and ‘then
some of them would die, for my blood is hot.
Their houses would be like prisons to me. and I

should grow wearv with longl‘fl'g for the free air ‘

of the mountains.” _
“That would be changed in time, Pa 111th

and I would shield you from harm or insu t. I

cannot lose you, my daughter. You are my

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tell-Tale Bullet. , 2”

 

only child, my only living relative, and I have
nothing in the world to love or care for but
you. ' ’

“ What is it, then, that binds you to the white
people and their settlements? We would both
be lonely and miserable among them, and, if
you should die, there would be no one to love
and protect me. Seek not to take me from my
husband: but, if you love me, why should you
not rather live among us, where you can always
be with me, and where there will be none to
treat us coolly or scornfully l” ‘

“ Do you mean what you say, Paqmta? 'Do
you ask me to become a savage?”

“ White men say that we are savage, but we
say that we are free. The father of the ruin of
the chief would be loved and respected by all
the tribe, and Masrepah would honor him as he
honors his wife. All his wants would be sup—

lied. and he would breathe the free air, and
me many days, but he would die in the close
lodges of the settlements.”

The old man groaned, and did not reply.

“Let us speak no more of this now,” con—
tinned Paqnita, “but let us think of revenge.
Tell me, my father, of that man who took me
from you. I must have been a child at the time,
for I hardly remember anything about it,”

“We were living on the side of a mountain,
Paquita—you and I and Pedro, a man wh
worked for me, and who loved us both dearly.
We lived to ether very happily, and _were
never molesteg by any, One night, during a
storm, there came a strangerto us on horseback,
who said that he was tired and hungry, and
begged that he might lodge with us that night.
He was a rough-looking man, but we had never
been wanting in hospitality, and could not re-
fuse him. He was made welcome; his horse
was taken care of by Pedro, a good supper/was
set before him. and a warm bed was given him
to sleep in. During the night he quietly arose.
stabbed Pedro to the heart as he slept, and
stabbed me in m bed. Then, as I suppose, be
searched until 9 found my boarded gold,
which he took with him, and carried off you,
my child. the most precious treasure by far.
I knew nothing until the morning dawned, and
then it wasa long time before I could realize
what had happened. Luckil a passing trave~
ler stopped at the house, w o bound up my
wounds, procured assistance and carried me to
ainissmu, where I was well cared for by the
kind priests, and finally cured, but I was only
the wreck of what I had been before.”

‘; The wretchl the villain!” exclaimed Pa-
quita, in her imperfect Spanish. “They say
that the red-men are savages, that they are
cruel and. bloodthirsty; but what do they say of
such a white man as that? Is his sin to be ex-
cused because his skin is white? He shall die!
He shall die the death of a dog, and shall rot

' like carrion! Tell me again, my father,r how

did you learn that this is the man? How did
you track him out? Did your own heart——
Your own desire for revenge—lead you to him?

ow could you know him, after so many years?”

“ I believe I would have known him, my child,
whenever or wherever I had men him, but his
Own lips revealed him to me. I had stopped at
an Inn, near the base of the great sierra, to pass

 

the night. I was lying on the floor, wrapped in
my blanket, and with my head covered. 1 was
sleeping, when I was aroused by the voice of
some one who was talking in loud and harsh
tones. It was this man—this Burt Adams—and
he was relating his desperate and bloody ex- -
ploits to a group of listeners. Amon other
things, he to d them how he had kill , many
years ago, an old Mexican and his servant, who
ived on the side of the mountain, in that very
neighborhood, and how he had robbed him ofr
his gold and had carried off his daughter and
sold her to the Indians. He boasted of it, and
laughed, as if it was an excellent thing, of which
he might well be proud. I looked up, andro-
co nized the man, Burt Adams.”

‘ How could you let him live? Why did you
not kill him then Y”

“I could not; besides, I wished for a more
complete revenge, and I hoped that you might
still be living, and that I'might compel him to
find you. I watched and followed him when he
went out to spend the night in the woods.
When he was asleep, I shot at him, but he had
been awakened by his horse, and I failed to kill
him. Then I sent my two friends, a noble
American and another, to whom I told all, and
they promised to aid me. They knew that the
man was coming into this country, as guide of a
train which he intended to betray into the hands
of the Indians. We planned to accompany the
train, to defeat the object of the wretch, and to
rescue you if possible. We carried out the plan.
and I am here,and have found you, but it is
hard to find you so, Paquita."

“He shall die, my father! He shall die the
death of a dog! If he had ten lives, I would
take them all i” '

“But my friends, Paquita—my noble and
true friends, who have done so much and risked
so much to aid me— rbaps, before this, they
have been slaughter by our warriors, and
that is’the reward for their indness.”

“It may be so, and it may not be so. If the
have been slain, there is no help for it now. 15 I
was too late to call off thgwarriors, even if
they would have returned when the were on
the seent of their prey. Let us ri e outand
uméest’ them, for the question must soonbeset— ,
tl .

Paquita mounted her horse. and Martinez his
mule, and they slowly rode up the risin ground,
toward the timber. It was not yet awn, al-
though there were indications that day was not
far distant.

They had not gone far, when there came an
Indian riding down the slope at full speed. As
be ap roached, they could see he was bloody
and t at his horse was covered with foam an
was almost breathless. ,

He halted when he reached P ulta, and in
answer to her hurried guestions, to d the awry
of their defeat, and o the appearance of the '
dragoons. Another and another followed, and
all confirmed his account, with ex ressions 0t ‘
bitter feeling toward Burt Adams, w 0 had led _
them «into the difficulty. They did not know
what had become of the white man,rbut were
certain he had not been killed, '

f‘ Your friends are still safe, my father, and it
is my warriors who have sutured,” said Pat-

ram—a. .u 2... a; W‘. as”: '

afar} .4“

at. w.

n. v.

is a nevi-{w

 

 

 

as The Tell-Tale Bullet.

 

quita. “ I am much troubled about it, but they
have brought it on themselves, and they have
no one to blame but their whitelt is all leader.
the better for m revenge, and I will take ad-
vantagle of it. will speak tothem and make
them ate him, until they are ready to kill
him. Let us return to the village, and wait for
them.”

Pequita rode back with her father, and soon
:29 discomfited warriors were gathered around

em.

 

CHAPTER XV.
CAUGHT AT LAST.

DON LUIS, as if by natural right, soon took
the lead of the dra eons. and was closely fol-
lowed by Karaibo. ’ he Malay’s eyes sparkled,
his face was flushed, his mouth was open, and
herpantecl like a bloodhound on the track of
its prey. /

Before them, in the faint light of the early
dawn, they could only see the retreating figure
of Burt Adams, and it was deemed best to move
carefully, in order to avoid any ambush that
might be prepared by the Indians. The pre-
caufion, although a proper ‘one, was not re-
quisite, as their flying enemies were in such a
hurry to get away that they hal no thought of
stopping to repe pursuit. On they went, over
the rolling and ravelly plain at headlong speed,
and more, slow y through the belt of timbers
that crowned the highest portion of rising
ground, until they found themselves in plain
view of an Indian encam mont, nestled snugly
below them, when they ha ted to breathe their
horses and hold a consultation.

“Lookl” exclaimed the half breed boy, who
had been riding at the flank of the party.
“Squaw make his talk. What that mean?”

As he pointed with his finger, the white men
could dimly erceive, in front of one of the
lodges, 'an In ian woman, on horseback, har-
anguing a number of warriors who were clus-
tered about her.

“I wonder what it does mean?“ said the ser-
geant. “Do theybintendto make a stand? If
they do, we had etter charge at once, before
they have time to prepare for us.” >
. "Lat us wait a 'moment,” suggested Don
Luis. “Perhaps there is "another affair tobe
settled, before we quarrel any more with the
red-skins. iAhl I thought so. We will soon
know how the land lies."

As he spoke, Padre Rogue, or Miguel Martinez,
mounted on his mouse-colored mule, left the
women and her auditors, and rode toward them
as fast as his animal would carry him. His
countenance wore an expression of joy and
thankfulness, mingled with triumph.

“I have succeeded, senor,” he exclaimed,
“and my success is due, under God, to your
goodness. I have onnd the daughter who was
stolen from me, am the discovery has given me
new life. She is alienated from me, and is not
what she was, but the desire for revenge is as
strong in her breast as in my own. and she
wishes that justice shall be done upon the black-
hearted villain. I. desire to request that you
will make no attack upon the village, but will
treat the Indians with amity, at least until this
purpose is accomplished" r

‘ ' V“

 

“For my part," said Don Luis, ‘51 would
gladly agree to it, as the ringleader is the
one who best deserves punishment; but tins
officer is in command here, and not I. If he
will take my advice, he will comply with your
request.”

Sergeant Crofut readily promised that the
Indians should not then be molested, and the
party was again formed and marched toward
the village, headed by the padre.

When they reached the lodges, the group of
Indians, perceiving that their intentions were
peaceable, did not attempt to interfere with
them. As the question of hostility seemed to be
settled, they halted and watched with interest
the strange scene before them. -

Paguita—Jor she was the speaker—was ad~
dressing the warriors in fierce and impassioned
tones, and in the Indian language. Her face
glowed, her eyes flashed a wild fire, and her
gestures were both graceful and impressive, as
she sat erect and defiant on her splendid horse,
or bowed her head almost to his mane in her
earnestness and excitement. Her words were
unintelligible to the white men, but they were
briefly and roughly iuteru‘eted by the half-
breed, and the substance 0 them was about as
follows:

She related how she had learned, that Burt
Adams, who had just led them on a bootless
expedition, which had cost the lives of some of
the bravest warriors in the band, was the same
man who had stolen her from her home when
she was a child, after murdering a servant and
leaving her fa ther for dead. He sold her to the
Indians. and left the country with his ill-gotten
gains; but she had found favor in the eyes of
the red-skins, and had become the wife of the
chief, Mascepah. She did not grumble at her
fate, she said, for ,she loved her husband, and
his people were her people; but it was natural
that she should wish to he reven ed on the
wretch who had so cruelly wronge her father
and herself.

Leaving this recital, she became still more
eloquent and impressive, as she declared her be-
lief that Burt Adams. the man whom they had
trusted, had led them into a snare, for the pur-
pose of betraying them and causing their slaugh-
tor ‘

“He knows it," she exclaimed, “and he is
hidin like a dog: but we will hunt himand
drag; him out. and the wretch shall receive the
punishment that he deserves.”

The Indians, who ha'l not been much moved

by such a common story as that of the abduc-.

lion and attemoted murder, ware excited almost
to madness by the assertion-that Adams was a
traitor. and that he had tried to lure them On to
their destruction. They knew that he was cruel
and treacherous; they knew that the position of
the white men was very diflerent from that
which he had described; and his flight gave
color to the accusation. They were ready,
therefore, to believe what Paquits. had said, and
to act upon it.

With wild yells and ferocious gestures, they
darted forth over the plain and into the timber,
in all directions, Paquita riding among them,
and ordering them to ca ture the outlaw alive.
The dragoons also join in the search, together

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tell-Tale Bullet. ’

29

 

with Don Luis, Karaibo and the old Mexican.
Thus the late antagonists mingled peaceably in
the pursuit of a man who was the common ene—
my of themselves and of all mankind. -

Burt Adams had quickly perceived that there
was something wrong, and he felt that it con-
cerned himself, although he could not conjecture
what it was. As the whites were behind him,
he found himself between two fires, and thought
it best to hide, until he could get an inkling of
what was going on. Conceah'ng his horse in the
timber, he sought the shelter of a fallen tree,
from which position he had a fair view, and lay
there, waiting, watching and wondering.

He had not long to wait, for the group at the
lodge soon broke up, and set off in their pursuit,
like a pack of bloodhounils. He knew tha he
was the oh‘ect of that pursuit, and that be ad
no time to ose if he would save his life. Hast-
ening to his (use, be mounted, and rode on
through the timber upon the rising plain that
stretched toward the east. Then, With a. yell of
defiance and an insulting gesture, he dug his
spurs into the flanks of his horse, and bent all
his energies to flight. After him poured the
yelling and maddening throng of Indians and
Whites, led by Paquita, with her long black hair
streaming out on the brerze.

The outlaw was justified in relying on his
splendid steed, for his puisuers did not gain
upon him in a race of nearly ,two miles. He
hoped to tire them out and disheartrn them.
At last‘ he turned in ‘his saddle, raised his rifle,
fired, and one of the foremost Indians fell.
Loading as he rode, he again turned and fired,
and another red-skin felt his bullet. Still he
urged forward his powerful horse, and still his
excited enemies poured after him, reckless of

their fallen comrades.

u

A stern chase is provri'bially a long chase, and

this bid fair to prove no exception to the i'ule,
for the distance between the pursuers and pur-
sued did not diminish, and the outlaw rode
straight on, without givinga chance for doub-
ling or turn' g.
V f‘ He is rid rig for the canyon, and he cannot
escapel" shouted Paquita, as she urged on the
pursuit. “ Ah! he Sees it, and he turns! To
the right!———to the right! -and head him off!”

The outlaw had, in fact, stopped his borer, and
turned suddenly to the right: but, as he did so,
a bullet from the rifle of Don Luis struck the
animal, and it fell, mortally wounded. \Vith a
cry'ot' rage, Adams disengaged himself. fired
again, brin ing down another foe, and run
straight on, ending as he went.

But the chase was nearly ended, and he soon
found himself unable to fly any further, for he

, was on the brink of a chasm, and the avengers

of blood were close upon him. Again he fired,
his llllel’l‘lllQ‘ aim singling out another red skin,
and drew his long7 knife, prepared to give death,
as well as to receive it. He raised his arm with
deadly intent, but it fell at his side, almost sev-
ered by the sharp and cruel creesc of the Malay,
and he. was immediately overpowered and bound
by two stalwart. Indian“.

He lav on the Very who of the Canyon that
11%] proved ‘4'l4""‘ no :if iii-UR] barrier to his
flight. At his teal. The chasm reachol down.
Most perpendicularly, more than a hundred

 

feet. Before him were the fierce soldiers, and
the still flercer faces of the Indians, prominent
among whom rode Paquita, her black eyes flash—
ing, and her countenance aflaine with hate and
gratified revenge.

“ Your time has ' come,” said the Wife of the
chief. “ The bloodyman shall now drink his own
blood. Here are the warriors whom you have
betrayed, as well as the white men. This old
man,” pointing to her father, “is the Mexican
whom you boasted of having murdered in the
sierra, when you stole his gold and child, and I
am the girl 'whom on sold into slavery. I
know you now, and on shall die the death of a
dog. Seize him, an throw him into the can-
you!"

 

CHAPTER XVI.
THE OUTLAW'S FATE—CONCLUSION.

Ir seemed certain that the cruel and daring
outlaw was aghast about to meet the punish-
ment due his crimes, and there was an expres-
sion of gratified revenge on the countenance of
Paquita, as she looked down upon his distorted
features. All were so absorbed in. the scene,
that they did not observe the approach of a
party from the south, and the proceedings were
suddenly interrupted by the arrival of twenty
warriors, fully armed and in their war—paint,
who came up at a gallop.

At their head rode a fine-looking savage, of-

dignifieo‘ mien and.con7mnnding presence, whose
insignia denoted that he held a high rank in the
tribe. It was Mascepah, the dhief, the husband
of Prquita. r

“What does this mean?” he shouted, as be
ruined in his coal-black horse, and looked around
fiercely upon the motley throng. “Did you
think that I would never return from the War-
path, and that you might do whatever you
pleased? Mascepah is still a chief, and he is
here. Who is that man on the ground? Let
him stand up that I may see him.” -

The outlaw was lifted toilllR feet, and was in-
stantly recognizcd by the chief.

“I know him well,” said be. “It is Burt
Adams. who has done us service more. than
once. ~Why is he treated like a dog? Will no
one answer me?"

There was no reply, and Mascepah again
glanced around upon the throng. '

“Who are all these?” he demanded in a voice
of thunder. . “ I see white men here. I see two

.(ll'vaii-nns, and I see soldiers of Uncle Sam.

What do they want among us? We have not
injured the people of Uncle Sam and his sole
diers have no rightw molest us. W but does it
mean?” -

The chief who had led the warriors the pre-
vious night stepped forward, at a sign from
Paquita. and delivered himself 01! along speech,
in the Indian tongue, the purport of which was
that the outlaw had induced them, by false
representations, to attack a Mexican train, and
that they had been badly beaten in the encoun.
ter, having lost several of their best warriors,
They had been told, he said, that the train was
carelessly guarded, and was camped in a re vine
where it mind be surrounded and r-rmnrwl

without any diiiicultiaor loss of life. Ill-M- an or

this being true, they had found it in the timber,

/

 

 

  

  
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   

 

if“~‘?*‘§,~‘ ‘ f

 

The Tell-Tale Bullet.

  

 

on a ridge, fortified and prepared to meet them.
They had been bloodin repulsed in making the
attack, and had been finally dispersed by a
party of United States soldiers, who were there
Bresent. As for Burt Adams, he had confessed

is treacher by running away and hiding him—
self. They ad caught him, after a longh chase
and were about to punish him whent echief
arrived.

Mascepah's brow was dark as he listened to
this recital, for it ieved him to think that any
ofhis warriors ha fallen in a. useless conflict,
and he had other causes of sorrow. He ex-
Eressed the o inion that the outlaw could have

ad no object n betraying the red—men to the
whites, and ordered him to be unbound, but
well uarded.

“ here is that train now?" he asked. “ Have
vou let it pass, or can we still reach it? We
, ave returned from the war-path us we went.
We have brought nothing home. We must

Ir have something to make up for our losses.

What do these soldiers of Uncle Sam mean? Is
it sees or war?"

‘ It is peace,” answered Don Luis, riding for-
ward In front of the dragoons. “As for the
train, it is still encamped not far from here. I
am willing to pay you a thousand dollars for its
safe passage. If you will not agree to this, we
are ready toflght. Perhaps you may conquer
us; but i you 0, the soldiers of Uncle Sam will
not leave one of our tribe alive.” ,

Mascepah hes tated. but the firm tone of the
young man had its effect. He had no wish to
measure his warriors against the well-armed
and well-trained dra cons, and provoke the dis-
pleasure of the terrib e Uncle Sam; and a thou-
sand dollars in hand was not an offer to he
lightly refused. He agreed to the terms, and
gave Don Luis his hand on the bargain.

“ We are here,” continued the cavalier, “ at
peace with your people, and in friendship with
them, to see van sauce and justice done upon
that vile scoundre yonder, who is not fit to live
with white men or red-men. This old man”

(pointing to Martinez “is a Mexican, but he is
t E'

father of Paquita and she can tell you more
about that wretsh w 0 was about to meet his
death.”
“ Is this true. Paquital” asked the wondering
chief. ‘f What have you to tell me?”
“ It is true, Mascepah,” she answered: “ and I

' now ask you to listen to the words of Paqnita,

ks with a crooked tongue, and
Will the

who never
who always news What she says.
chief listen to me?”

“Paquita may speak.”

“ That man—that wild beast,” she commenc-

ed, shaking her finger at the outlaw, “ deserves

to die. for he has been guilty of an act that no
redoman of our tribe would ever commit. Many
years ago he came to the house of my father—to
the houSe of this old man —one dark and stormy
night. He was cold and wet and hungry, and
he asked for food and shelter. He was given
what he wanted, and then, after he had eaten
and drank in the lodge, he arose in the night,
stabbed my father until he believed him to be
dead, robbed the house of its gold, and carried
mway upon his horsa and aoldmo to the In—

 

l “ It is all a lie l” fiercely exclaimed the out-.
aw.

lJ‘flfPaquita never lies,” calmly replied the
c is .

“ What could she know about it? She was
only a child at the time. I tell you, chief, it is
all a lie, invented by that cursed young Mexi-
can, who wants to ruin me and to get me killed
because he don’t dare to meet me in fair fight. I
had a splendid train for you, chief—an old
M xican and his gal, with lots of gold and sil-
ver. I brought it all the way from the coast, to
give the plunder up to you. I didn’t cheat your
warriors; I didn’t play false with them in any
way. ' I had everythin’ fixed so that they could
take the train without losin’a man; but that
blasted young chap, who has been folleriu’ me
up all along, moved the camp in the night from
where I had ut it, so that we coulzln’t take it
without fightin’, and then he brought those in-
fernal dragoons on us. I tell you, chief, it is all
a lie of his make, and if you let that train off for
a thousand dollars, when you might get ever so
many thousands, you ain’t the man I thought
you to be!"

“ Paqnita, do you know that that old man is
your father?” asked the chief.

“ I do know that he is my father. The old
man came a long journey, hoping that I might
be alive, and that he might find me and take me,
back to the settlements of the whites. ' He
found me, and I knew him; but I told him that
I could not leave my husband and In people.
It troubled me to see his tears and to now his
sorrow: but I could give him no other answer.
I could orgy promise him that we should both
be reveng .’

“ Do you not wish to return with him—to go
to your own people?”

“ I do not. Since I found favor in the eyes of
Mascepah, I have been happy, and I can not
leave him. I love my husband, and have no
people but his peo is."

“Does your fat er know that Burt Adams is
the man you s ke of?”

“ I know him,” answered Martinez, “ for I
have never forgotten him, and I lately heard the
story from his own lips, when he did not suspect
that I was listening.”

“ I, also, heard him,” said Don Luis. “ He
boasted of it, and laughed over it.”

“ Then he must die. No Comanche would kill
a man in'whose lodge he had eaten and slept.
Bind him well.”

The outlaw, who had hoped that the chief
would befriend him and turn the tables on his
adversaries, now became desperate

“ I will kill oueenemy before I go i” he scream-
ed, as he wrenched himself loose from his guards,
snatched a knife, and darted forward likea tiger
when it springs, with all his force at Don Luis.

The young man only saved his life by a dex«
terous movement of his horse, which received
the blow, and his assailant was seized. disarmed
and bound.

“ He is guilty.” said Masccpnh “ for he has
proved it. Give him to the canyon l” I

Howls of rage issued from the foaming lips of
the outlaw, and his his face was livid with fear
and des ir, as he was lifted by four strong men,
and in over the edge of the cliff. Therewas a

     
 

 

  

 

 

 

The Tell-Tale Bullet. 31

 

moment’s pause. and then the stout form“ of the
outlaw shot out into the air. and fell—fell—more
than a hundred feet, on the rocky bed of the can-
yon. Unprepared, and burdened with crime, his
guilty and hardened soul had gone to meet its
final Judge.

“ Let the buzzards pick his bones!” said
Paquita, as she turned away, followed by the
motley throng of avengers.

Don Luis, accompanied by Karaibo and the
dragoons, rode back to the camp on which the
attack had been made and found that all there
was safe, that Jack étump’s wound was doing
well. and that the dead were being buried.

'Senor Vincents and Manuela were anxious to

learn the events of the morning, and Don Luis
related to them the particulars of the pursuit
and of the capture and terrible death of Burt
Adams, including the discovery of Paquita by
her father.

“And so the Padre Roque was the old man
disguised as a riest?” asked Don Manuel.

“ He was— or the purpose of finding his
daughter and punishing your villainous guide.
I knew it, of course, and my Malay friend was
also in the secret. By the way, I must reward
him well for the choking I gave him."

“What is the matter with your hair, Don
Luis? It looks as if it had been burnt.”

Sure enough, under the broad hat of the young
cavalier, several locks of brown hair could be
seen curling about his temples. He quickly
removed his black wi and beard, and disclosed

‘ the handsome Saxon eatures of Henry Taylor,

the Yankee captain.

“It is useless to wear this anylonger,” said
he, “ as you are now safe, and my great object
is accomplished. 1 warned you of the treacher-
(ms plan of your uide, but you would not be-
lieve me. [was etermined to protect you—to
protect Manuelavand was obliged to resort to a
stratugem to be able to do so. Karaibo was in

Iny employ, and these soldiers are members of

my old regiment, for whom I sent when they
were needed. The deception was intended for
your good, and I do not seek to excuse it. You
promised that Manuela should be mine, even if

were a Yankee. but you can retract that
promise, of course, under the altered circum—
stances.”

“ I do not desire to retract it ” answered Don
Manuel, who had been struck siient by astonish-
ment. “ I knew that your position and charac—
ter were such as to render you a pro r suitor
for Manuela. but I was determine that she
should not marrya Yankee. I have no such
prejudice now, and will be happy to greet you
as my son-in-law. I am anxious to know why
you considered it necessary to take the
name of the proud family of Arroyes y Ruiz?”

“ I did not altogether take it in vain, Senor
Vincente, for my mother was a member of that
houso.”

“ Your mother!”

“ She was called Isabel Arroyes.”

“I am glad to hear it. I have no prejudice
now. but I am glad to hear that there is good
Mexican blood in your veins.”

Thus it happened that there was a gorgeous
weddin at Santa Fe, at which were united
Henry. nylor and Manuela. Vincents.

 

It also came to pass that Julia forgot the
“dark skin” of Karaibo, and made him a com-
plete Christian (or civilized permu) by marry-
in him.

i no] Martinez, being unable to induce his
dang ter to leave her wild life, remained with
her among the Indians during the few years
that elapsed before his oath.

THE.END.

 

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Jim Crow Joke Book. I i 

 

 

 

 

 

109 ghfirlllgtlan Jim, the White Mun’a Friend. hyunwm-d
V I3

10 Pilluky Joe, the llny Avenger. ilv .l. M. Hoffman.
11 The Border flunlnuker. mush llmwn.
12 Lel‘t-llnnded l’ete. My Juana] .. lindgi-r. Jr.
18 The River lilllen. uy Cupi. J. v.11. Mun...
114 Alone on the l’luinn. llv Eilwlil‘ii VVliirll.
115 Silver llorn, nml Hh Hill»: Fircdcnlll. ny Rogur
Sturhnck.
116 Expldltn offluzekluh Smith, the Bncliwuudsinnn.
V Eumrwn Rodi-inn.
17 The Youqu Mnutnngers. By C Dunning: mink.
13 “id Tran r, tiu- iinv liivnls. ii) Bnrry Riuugnlli.
I» Center Shot. the “'h Crow. B\‘ 'l'. C. llnrhnugll.
90 A Hot Trail; or, Clnrl CinvvrlyAmonI; the Turing.
Chnrlen Morris.
131 I nntcr Par-d lion.
122 The Emu
128 Tlm, this 110‘ I
24 neon "Lannie, lhn lximlu ' _\
25 ’ on: 'l‘nhor, in», Buy ‘ iy Hurry {inggoiiL
26 Mini: Cont, the nnnuhu .. y J”... n. 1;“..g,,,l‘1,..
9? The Deer llunters. iii John J. .‘ilil'silllii.
BS Wolf-On : or, '1')... Nightilnwkahl' n...- Fire-Lands.
lly Unht. (rhna. Hmvhni.
1339 Sliverspur; or, 'l'he Mhuntnln Heroine. iiyEllwm'd
“'illutt. V

80 Keetsen, Qu-on o tqu l‘lnins. By P) ~v ll. SLJohn.
31 Wlntnh. :liiatfiuilrlspy. him..." i. n.
83 The luluud Trapper. B; [‘1 nu .
38 The Foregt S1 eter. liy in mml \Villml.
34 \Vild Nut, ill in; pi-r. ll)‘ Wm. it. E}'.~Ilvr.
85 The Silver Bugle. iiy Linnl. i'n . llnznllon.
3" The Prairie Trapper. B} (‘. Dnv ins: Clnrk.
3‘? The Antelope llov. My Gun. L. Ark .
as Long Shot; nr.'i‘he I‘m-m-muidu. :yrmn Cnmmmk.
39 Colonel Crockett, rim llnnr King. By P
40 lllil Peg». u... Muunmix li_\- Lewiu u. (arson.
41 The Glam II. or. ' Hurry wand.
. 1.2 Black Panther. Ill llulifilmnl. 13.3. E Badger.
48 Cfirflon lelluhln. l») .iunr..l.li. iinmlulph
44 Kent. the hunger. h; nun-um s. Eili-.
43 mn Ituhhlm, “mill-r, liy van-um wmm.
iii/The Ilnlf- “reed “ii-u]. lly Jnu. ii. legur. Jr.
14‘? The MIL-Alma Avenger. ily (Jul. l'x'elilis‘a Inurui’mm.
148 Not, (in: Trapper illld lnilinn Fighter. ly Paul J.
Prescott. .
14-9 The Elk Demon; or,Tlxe Giant l‘l‘vliilfll’fl.
C. llurbnuzn.
150 The Boy Murtnmfi-"untcrl or. Enuiniie, tho
Beautiful Amnzoh. liy I'redi-ril'k Whiileer.
r 151 Frank Yuk-H, ill» Young: 'l‘vnmver; "1‘, Mountain
’ ‘ Kntu‘a Warning. Hy .lusvph E. ilnilger‘ll‘.
, 159 Wild Ravon, the Smut. ll)- (lli "nva.
158 L nx-Cnp; mr qu- Tm rpi'ls’ Among th- Sioux. B'
' Pint nun... ' ’ l ’
154 The Champion Texan Rider; or, Red Builaio,
nhd the. llerrulna Hulltul’.’ My “my St. George.
155 Bulky Dick‘s Damn. By Jon. E. Badger, Jr.
156 Frank Ben, hm B»). Spy. lly 0h Comma.
, 157 Nick Doyle, the Chill linnirr. Byl’.H. Myers.
158 Kidnapped Dink; hr, The Fate of the Fire Flv. By
3i. Stnnlry l'lcndersnn. ‘
169 Sam’s Long Troll: (",le Twin Scouil. By W. J.
Hinnilinn.
160 lllmh Triplct’n Vow. By Hurry Hazard.
, 161 The Mod flkipper. Fly R. bmyhuck.
163 The Tram): r King. By Mnj. Mnx szrilne.
168 Simon Kenton, lluntrr. 15y Elnemn Rodman.
104 The Boy Chlel‘x or, Frank Bull’s Compxmt. By 011
(looms.

105 The Trader Trnltor. By J. Stanley Hnnilsmon.
166 old June’s Claw. By Mm. Orrin lumen

16’? The Young Trailer. By W. J. liillnilton.

168 The Specter Spy. By Mnj. Lewia W. Charm.

By linger Flurhnck.
il_\ G. “'nhlo Browne.

 

By T.

 

Price, Five Gent:

4,2

169 {mink Lute, the Old Colorado Hunter. B'.‘ E. W.
i'(’ il‘i’.

m) The White “'olt‘. By Edward “'illi‘tl.

[71 The. Swamp Guide. By W. N. liii-Ni-ii.

172 The Yankee Paddler. By 0- Dunning Clark.

173  figout and Ill» Young Chum. By Warren
. u .

174 lilnekmltil Tom's Musk. By Geo. D. Gilbert.

175 The Buckskin Rider. fly Gnmeenwood.

176 The Fquutter’s Surprise. By Mrs. H. J. Thmnnl.

I77 Fou r Fallow Scouts. By J. Stanley Handel-Ion.

1 78 Old Kit and “in Comrades. By JOE. E. Rodger, Jr.

179 Uncle. Grill’a Ding-nine. ‘ly n...» Hnwd.

180 The Marked Miner. liy Lieul. Colnmueltiue.

181 The \Vilil lluntreau. lly ('npl. Bruin Admm.

182 The Dwarf Deeoy. B; lilm-o 0. Rolfe.

183 Job Denn’u Toeilen. Hy lhghldshy North.

184 Yankee Eph’n Dilemmn. By J. R. Wnrceutor.

185 The VVIly \Vlieh’s \Vurd. liy Edwin E. Ewing.

138 Frnnk, the Farrier. By J. Stnnley Henderson.

15’? Diana, the Fair Monnlnineer. Iiy Capt. F. Whitlnkcr.

188 .lnek’A Snore. By Mrs. Ann E. l’orlnr.

189 Sam, the Swmhp Smut. By W. J. limuillnn.

190 The Dashing: Trooper. By Frederick H. Dewey.

191 The Boy Brave. By .lnnms L. Ilonw. '

192 Rnndy Kill, ni'Tvxnn. llv Edward Willa-u.

193 I1!fl|t'l‘y “'inhlc's Long Chane. lly “'m. R
a): H’-

194 Creeper (into, lhe Shnriuw fiwu 1: Trailer. “V
Frederick Dewey. '

195 The Ranger Detective. By Hurry Hazard.

196 Gypsy May, the Menuhin. Wilda. By C. Dunning
Clnrk. ‘ _

19‘? The Branded Captain. By W. J. Hmniihm. '

198 Old Cronflre’n C rlnla. lli- i'nht. (‘imrler linwnrni.

199 Zt'hl'n Znek, the 'l‘vxnn. By W. J. lininilmn.

200 The Nuyneleu Hunter. By Gmrgu W. Rubinaan.

201 The Yunkcc (‘nptlvcm liv Edward “'illcit.

202 Tcddy‘n Long Troll. By .(iwnrd  Ellis.

208 Old llnnk, {he "ermli. lly Edwzmi W. Arthur.

201- Goonehcnd‘n Best Shot. By Jon. E. Badger, .‘r.

205 The Dutchmnn’a Dread. lly Cnpi. Ohm. Howard.

205 Kl! Burt’l Mmk. By W. J. llmniilnn.

207 Eagle-Eyed Tim. By C. Du'nning Clark.

29% The Village Spin-l. By Junie: L, Brawn.

209 Ruck Hurt”:- i’lnek. By Edward Willa.

210 The Tell-Tale Bullet. 13;; J. Sinnlay Hendenun.

2!! The. Roy Surveyor. “3‘ W. J. llnmiltnn.

212 Ynnkee Drover Stripes. lly Senzlin Robina.
Randy Mny .a.

218 Silver (‘lty Tom.
Randy May 117.

314 Nick, the Detective.
Rumly Mn 1».

By James L. Bowen.

Ry Edwin Einsrwn.

215 .‘iluatung Rider Roy. By Alhrrt W. Aiken.
Randy May 25.

216 The anotn Dutchman.
Randy June ‘2.

fly MA). Mu Murine.

Behdle'a Boy's Library is for sale ivy all Newldsniera,
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98 William Street, New York.