Copyrighted, 1886. by Bhbu AND ADAMS. Entered at. the Pen 0ch at New ank, N. Y.. as Second Class Mail Matter. August 28, 1885.

 

02.50
a Ycur.

V01. X.

Publishel Weekly by Beadle and Adams, Pr
No. 98 WILLIAM Sn. NEW YORK. 1

No. 124.

‘ Inc,
‘lvo Cents.

 

QUEEN BESS

 

 

 

 

u the Border Girl.

BY HENRY J. THOMKS}

:: ' 
\

"

DIRECTING in: Am” OF HER JUDGES TO THE UNCONSCIOUS MARK, QUEEN BESSIE '.l._'OOK~  

m». m Hm INSTANT TEE BIRD B‘me T0 in GROUND 

 

 

 

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

Queen Bessie,
‘THE‘BORDER GIRL.

A Romance of the Kannwha.

M

BY HENRY J . THOMAS.

CHAPTER I.
BESSIE.

"thm”

“ I didn’t hear anything!”

“ I did—listen! It was a human scream 1”

“Your ears are sharper ’n mine, then. ’Twas
some bird, I reckon."

“N01 there! Do you believe me new?” ex-
claimed the first speaker, as through the woods
from a distance came a voice, evidently that of
swoman, whether in terror or distress, or in
mere frolic, it was hard to determine.

“What'on airth kin it mean, I’d like to
know!” returned the other, in a low tone. “ The
infernal red-skins round ag’iu like as not. Look
well to your primin’, Bently, an’ keep two sharp
eyes outl”

“ Never mind me, J ohn,” replied the younger
hunter, with a dry smile; ‘-‘ take care of your-
self. I was never yet caught napping when
danger was aroundl’

r The surroundings of the speakers were that of
a dense, wild forest—+such as covered the hills
and sales of that portion of the “Old Do-
minion,” later know as Western Virginia. The
time was nearly a century ago. The solemn
silence, of those lonely recesses was seldom
broken, save by the stealthy tread or discordant
cry of some beast of rey, the ringing notes of

_ birds, or perhaps the s arp crack of the hunter’s
rifle, as he brought low the temptin game; and,
alas! there sometimes were hear the yells of

‘ hate, thashout of triumph and despair, the cries
of pain and terror, when the merciless and
blood-loving savage, bursting in from his lair
like a wild animal, strove to exterminate the

i “ Ila-face” settler whose ax and plow threat-
3:113 to turn those hunting—grounds into tilled

e s. .

The two men whose quick ears had caught

r the unusual sounds were of the hardy race of

ioneers, to whose strong arms and matchless
ism this country owes much of its great-

, In men who seamed born to pilot civilization
in its struggle with barbarism and nature in its
primeval estate.

They stood new in the zlade made by the
passage of a small stream, where it crossed the
narrow and imperfect] y cleared road leading

- homl‘ort Kyle to the plantation beyond, up

j the noble Kanewha valley. They were dressed
in hunting frocks, coooskin caps, buckskin

V breeches ’leggin and moccasins, win the in-

, dispense ,le pow e -horn at their side, and the
. trusty blades in their belts, ready at all times

for an encounter with their toes, either human
orcnimal. I -

- John Ryan, the elder at the twain, was a
middle used the , of we11~knit frame. resolute

 

bearing, and a keen, dark eye, that betokened
a courage and Will equal to any danger, and
yet the kindly sxpressmn which really charac—
terized his rough, bearded face, indicated the
man of admirable social qualities—the agreeable
companion. '

The younger was quite a contrast in personal
appearance._ Although equally resolute I'h spirit
and hardy in frame, there was about him an
air of refinement, a charm of face, and a mel—
lowness of voice, that revsaled the gentle‘
man born, independent of the polish of refined
society. In character, neither cold nor calcu-
latin , nor yet enthusiastic to excess, Will
Bent y was ever ready, with heart and hand, to
serve a friend or neighbor.

After listening and watching for a. few mo~
month in‘ silence, the younger man again spoke:

“ It didn’t seem to be a scream of terror. I
should almost think it was laughter if this
wasn’t such an unlikely place for it.”

John Ryan smiled as though a. new thought
had struck him:

“ I’ll bet my capI know now what skeered us
sol Hold on a. minnit. ’I hear the clutter of
horses’ feet, and I reckon I know who it is a.
comin’. Jest step aside to this tree, kinder out
of sight till they come up; you kin see them
Ifore they’ll see you. Here they come!”

By this time the sharp beat of horses’ hoofs
was heard close at hand, and in another moment
there appeared around the abrupt bend in the
road just before them two women upon horse-
back,one of whom was mounted in a manner that
drew an exclamation of surprise and admiration
from Bently, as he involuntarily stepped from his
hidingplnce in order to geta better view of the
equestrians. The foremost rider, 3 shouting,
laughing girl, stood upright upon the back of
her unsuddled horse, holding a rein lightly in
one hand, looking back upon her rival in the
race, who followed close behind, mounted, as
was Very common in those days among the wo-
men of the frontier, astride, like a man.

No wonder Bently gazed almost like one spell-
bound, for the dark eyes of the flying damsel
gave one swift, electrical glance directly into
his own as she sped past, and drew his gaze after
her, until the queenly form, so firmly and grace—
fully poised upon the back of the fleet animal,
disappeared in a. hollow in the wood.

Scarcely had the last rider eased from view V

when a thrill of fear start the blood in the

young man’s veins. The leading horse, rider-.

loss, was rushing up the opposite slope. In a.
moment Bently was at the scene of accident, to
discover the M upon the ground where she be i
fallen from fier steed. Fearing that she was
seriously injured, he hastened to her side, but,
betore he quite reached the spot where she lay,
she rose to her feet, and looking around in a
half-bewildered manner, as though scarc ‘y
realizing her situation, encountered the anxious
gaze of Bently. ‘ _

“Miss Ryan, are you much hurt!” be ex.
claimed, hurriedly. V

“Oh, no! Only a. little stunned. Lightfoot
stumbled at a moment when I was looking back
for yrs. Ryan, who, it seems, means to desert
me! '
' "I think it was you who deserted her I” said
Bently. smiling.

 

 

 

Queen Bessie, the  Girl. 8

 

“ Well, at all events, she has had time to come
up. 1 wonder what detains her?”

“You need not be alarmed about her; her
husband was with me by the brook. Did you
not see him as you assed?”

“ Why, no, I di n’t. I suppose I shall re-
ceive a. scolding if brother John saw me riding
in that style.”

“Well, here they come,” replied Bently. “If
you need a protector, call upon me.”

“ I can defend myself, thank you l” replied
Bessie Ryan, with a saucy smile in her bright

eyes.

“ Well, Bess!” said John Run, as he and his
wife came up. “ you and Will seem to be hav-
ing a pleasant chat. Where’s yer horse!”

" Gone home, I reckon; he had his head that
way the last I saw or him !” replied the girl.

“Ha~ha, my girl! He throwed ye, did be!
Well, I've told ye more’n ones that you’d break
yer neck yet, with yer reckless ca rs!”

“My neck‘s as sound as ever, rother John.
Why didn’t you lay your authority on Kate?
She rode as hard as I.

“You may ride as hard as yer please, ef ye’ll
ride the same way she does," answered Ryan,
half-laughing, and pinchingthe red cheek of his
sister till it glowed vs ith a still deeper hue.
“ But come! get up behind Kate, and let’s make
fur home; it’s gittin’ late l”

The Ryan plantation lay about three miles

- below Fort Kvle and the little village of log-

cabins which clustered around it. John Ryan,
tempted by the beauty of the spot, had settled
upon it several years before, and, although
many times obliged to abandon it and fly with
his family to the fort for safety, yet, with a per-
severance and bravery that at times were reck-
less, he returned again to the place, and erect-
ed a new cabin upon the ruins of the old, which
had been destroyed by the disappointed and re-
vengeful enemy.

There had been quite a long time of compara-
tive peace and safety. The Indians seemed dis-
posed to be friendly, and the settlers, feeling
more secure, ventured further from the fort and
villa e, and made rapid progre in the clearing
and mproving of their farms, well back from
and down the river. Abrief glance at the his-
tory of Bessie Ryan will explain the unusual cir-
cumstance of a young woman of her beauty and
refinement living amid such wild scenes and so
rude a society.

Born in one of the oldest cities of the Atlantic
coast Bessie had enjoyed superior advantages
of education. Many years before, and while
Bessie was yet a child, her brother John had
passed the B as Ridge, and penetrated beyond
the then frontier: and when, about two years
before the time of this narrative, her parents
died, leaving her without a permanent home,
or any near relations, she resolved to seek her
brother, and gratify a long—cherished desire to
share the fortunes of those courageous people
for whose darin and fortitude she entertain
the highest admiration. .

A mingling of romance, enthusiasm, and thor-
ough good sense in her character, formed a
rather unusual combination of active qualities,
and made her a leading spirit in the settlement,
where she soon became known as “ Queen Bess.”

_{
/

A fearless and most skillful rider, I good rifle-
shot, she was admirably “at home" in the
forest, and among the rough, wild men whom
she met almost daily, she moved a veritable
forest queen—a kind of pride and pet of all.
She was, indeed, born for a heroine and—hen
came onel

 

CHAPTER II.
T H E s B A D o w .

THE rude but comfortable log-cabin in which
John Ryan’s family resided, stood upon the
summit 0! along and gentle slope, at the foot
of which ran a deep river, while a sparkling
little brook, which issued from a spring near at
hand, bubbled and danced by the door. Be-
yond the house was a young apple-orchard,
whose thrifty growth gave promise of an ample
reward for the labor bestowed upon it; upon
the south side of the slope was a nursery of
peach trees; stretching away to the west Were
the cleared fields, where the broad darkvgreen
leaves of the thriving corn wave (in the sum-
mer breeze; all—the settler’s whole estate—
was encircled by the wall of might forest,
which stretched to the south, north an west in
immeasurable distances.

A narrow, zig-zag path led from the door of
the cabin,‘down to the Kanawha and up to the
spring head, over which was 'a platform, con-
sisting of one large, white slab of stone, through
which an aperture had been cut sufficiently
large to admit of a bucket in 'dipping up the
water. By its side stood a large spring—house,
built also of stone, and not yet quite finished-—
still lacking a roof.

In the cheerful light of the early midsummer u
morning, every thing wore an aspect of peace
and quiet loveliness, which—should the destroy-
ing hand of the ruthless savage but be withheld
—-would soon spread over the surrounding wil-
derness. 

Bessie Ryan, as she tripped through the dewy
grass on her way to the spring-house, with her
1 rich black hair twined round her stately head
in long, encircling braids, and her queen-like
form clad in the simple muslin dress of the
times, formed a picture charmingly appropriate
to the scene. ln her happiest mood, she was
sin ging a favorite melody, in a voice of exquisite
sweetness, that came back to her from forest
and hill in mocking echoes. ‘ '

She sung:

“On the shore the shell is lyln .
Sadly for the blue depths sig inz,
And the low-voiced waves replying,
‘ Thine no more, the pearl-strewn seel‘

‘ Bear me to the sea-isles, glowing
In the emerald light down-flowing,
Where my soul is ever going
To its home beneath the sea.’
“ So all day in heart is singing
Low and pie ntive pleadings—bringing,
Mem‘ries sweet, that, round it clinging,
Draw me still, beloved. to thee.‘

As she finished her song, she was startled by
an apparition which caused her to our a por-
, tion of the foaming lurk in her pai , upon the ‘

flags of the spring-house floor, instead of into
i the brights pans prepared to receive it. 'lte

l

 

 

    

4 . Queen Beanie, the Border Giri.

 

rich color in her cheeks deepened to a bright
crimson.

h Drew me, still, beloved, to thee l” echoed
from the lips of Bently. as he appeared in the
spring-house door, and a roguish smile betrayed
his enjoyment of her confusion. ,

“ You nearly surprised mel" she exclaimed,
recovering herself, “and you see the mischief
you have donel”

“ Yes. I see; but I thought you too much of a
backwoods heroine to be to ken by surprise;
though you were caught off your guard the
other day when you fell off your horse and did-
n’t wait for me to pick you up.”

“ I’ll profit by the lesson, and be more on my
guard in the future,” she answered, archly.

‘Even the real Queen Bess, you know, could be
surprised into ne: vousness by too much gallan—
try on the art of her courtiers.”

“ Well, essie, seriously, we have all of us oc-
casinn to be upon our guard. Reports are com-
ing in daily 0 the depredations of the Indians;
they are saidktobe again upon the war-path,
and I am about setting out with a small party
of scouts to ascertain their whereabouts and
numbers.” '

“ When are you coming back?” asked the
maiden, with a face at once sobered into serious-

nose.

“It is not likely that we will be gone many
days; but, if I shouldn’t come back at all, what
then?” he asked, in a manner half earnest, half
jestiag. _ _ .

“ e must not think of such an ‘ if.’ "said the
young woman, quietly; “ and yet,” slie_added,
with compressed lips and flashing eyes, “ if harm
should befall you, you shall be avenged l"

“ What a heroine you are, Bessiel" said Bent-
ly, laughing. “Do you really suppose that you
could hit an Indian if you should fire at one?"

“ You seem to doubt in skill,” she replied, as
if annoyed by his want 0 faith in her forest at;-
com lishmeuts; and taking the rifle from his
hen .she proceeded down the path toward the
house, until they came opposite a tall elm stump
that stood across the brook. .

“Do you see that target yonder?” she said.
“ I placed it there yesterday, for an hour‘s prac-

tice. If I hit the center. you must do the same I”
'Andtakin aim, the young girl fired.

, The rgorrnance was greeted by a shout of
mingle voices just behind her, and, turning,
BesSie discovered that a number of men, the
companions of Bently upon the scouting expe-
dition, were looking on. Two of them started
for the target, and, returning, reported but a
slight variation from the center. . _

“ Well done!” exclaimed Bently, With eVident
admiration. " I confess to no doubt, now, as to
your skill.” .

“Mighty well done, fur a gall By Jinks! I
don’t think many of us tellers could'beat that
ar’l” cried a rough-looking fellow named Joe
S kes. ‘

’2‘ You must ’a’ taken a heap of pains a-trainln'
0! ’er sence she come out here in the woods," re-
echoed another of the group, to John Ryan, who

' now come up. r .

“No, she took it of her own accord,” quietly
rapelhifd Ryan, “just as she takes every thing
0 - . . . .

 

,fur I. IOOkedall round ke .

“ he oughter be called King Bess, then,” add-
ed (le6 of the settlers, laughing.

“ She’s the right grit, bv Jinks!” again 9x-
<-laiined Joe Sykes. quite carried away in his
~tdmiration. “ We’ll have to make her Capting
Bess—ho! bol I‘ll go in for high private in her
com any, by Jinksl’

“ Veil, boys, let’s be a-movin’,” exclaimed an-
other of the company. “ We ar’ out on service.
If the reds ar’ around us, we mustn’t let our
shoes freeze to the ground.”

The men, shouldering their rifles, began to
wind down the narrow path leading from the
house to the broader road which ran along the
river—Joe Sykes, w hose special peculiarity it was
that he could never entertain, more than one
idea at a time, muttering to himself all the way
down, “ Nice gal. by Jinks!"

A few days after this John Ryan rode over to

the fort to learn the report of such scouts as had

come in, and to ascertain the probabilities of an
aLtnck by the Indians.

The news brought in was gloomy enough.
Unpi otected settlers in every direction had been
murdered, and their cabins and crops destroyed.
As he rode slowly back toward his form, he
thought of the years of hard labor bestowed up-
on that spot in the wilderness; of the hardships
endured, of the dangers but barely escaped; of
the brave little wife, the innocent children, the
lovely and dependent sister—all, all might be
swopt away in one brief moment, as it were, by
the hands of the red fiends. " .

As he reached the door, he flun himself from
the saddle, and giving the bridle into the hands
of the black boy who stood waiting to receiv» it,
he sat down upon the door-stepand removed his
hat, to wipe the perspiration from his brow. His
wife hastened to the door.

“ What is the news, John?” she exclaimed.

“ Ba'dl” he replied. “ The very mischief is to
pay. The reds have broken loose, and blood is
running. We are in for another run to the fort,
1 fear.”

" Has anything been heard from the men
who went from here the other morning?” asked
Bessie.

“ Yes; they have gone on down the river to
get such information as they can. Two scouts,
Ln from the Cheat river, report the Shawnees
and Deluwares to he on the warmth, and that’s
not iur 011’, you know.”

“We must go to the fort!" exclaimed Mrs.

rRyan, in her quick, emphatic wayi ' “I’ve had
n

a feelin’ fur some time that somet g was goin‘
to happen; an‘ lust night 1 dreamt of seein’ yer
heart 3 blood, John, an’ that’s a sure Sign!"

“ I know thur’s trouble ahead, Kate; it's
mighty queer, but I’ve had my signs. too.” The
strong, brave man spoke despondingly.

“ What 1137 you seen, Johu? I thought you
didn’t b’lieve in signs an’ warnin’s,” said his
wife, now_thorougbly aroused.

“ No more 1 don’t,” replied the pioneer:

. “still, it’s kind 0’ curious. As I was a—comin’

along home, i saw somethin’ layin’ in the road
that looked like a big clot 0’ blood. We], I got

down an’ tuk a stick an’ turned it over, an‘,

found ’twas a piece of fresh live . Thor wa’n’t
no‘ signs of anything else on whar else around,
Now. how it

h

i
l

t
i
I
i

 

    

 
    

 

  

come that, right in my path, is what puzzles
me."

there. and a part of it dropped in the road; or,

 

Queen genie, the Border Girl. ' 3

i state of order and preparation; bullets were

perhaps it was carried there by some wild beast,” ‘

su ested his sister.

“ o, no!” exclaimed her sister—in-law, excite
edly "it’s a warninl—I know it is.”

“ al, I haven’t told on about the blood at
the spring yit. When went down there yes-
terday mornin’ fur water, I saw three drops of
blood on the stone. I put my hand up to my
nose to see it it was bleedin’, but ’twasnt
bloody; then I stooped over to dip up the

water, and jest exactly three drops of _blood
fell from my nose. Now, wa’n’t that kind 0’
queer!"

“ I tell you we’re warned, and must go to the
fort to save us all from bein‘ murdered 1" repeat-
ed Mrs. Ryan, looking around apprehensively at

. . l molded,patches were out. water was brought,
“Some animal may have been lulled near 1

while all anxiously watched for the return of
the scouts. Women, straining their eyes at
the loop~holes of the block-hvuse, stroveto dis-

‘ cover some token of the return'of husband.

father or brother. Children were there—some

‘ With terrified countenances listening to the ex-

her two children, and her dark eyes glowing ‘

with a su erstitious fear.

“ Will, ’ll take you over to-morrow. I’ll have
to come back, though, to see to things. Thecorn
must be hood, and them boys wouldn’t begin to
stay of I warn’t here too.”

“ I think that the corn had better sufler than
for you to expose your life,” said Bessie.

“ I kin take keer of myself if you women an‘
children ar’ in a safe place. Et‘ the fort is really
attacked before 1 zit back there, they must con-
trive to let me know, for they’ll need all the
hel the hen scare up to defend it.”

hire. yan remained silent and serious, though
busyiu'r herself in making preparations for going
to the fort in the morning. he superstition so
prevalent in those days had a strong hold upon

cited talk of their elders; others bravely de-
claring their ability to take a part in defend-
ing themselves and the fort; but all dreading
what each hour might bring forth. Whether
the result should he a relurn to their homes,
or the opening of actual hostilities, a. few hours
must determine.

“ What do you see Kate?” asked Bessie com-
ing up behind Mrs. Ryan, as she stood at one of
the loop-holes, anxiously gazing down the
river-road over which John Ryan must come
on his return. .

“Don’t see nothin’. WishI did!” was the
reply, in the sharp, short manner peculiar to
herself, as Mrs. Ryan turned away from her
long scrutiny.

“You can‘t expect John back so early in
the day as this,” replied the younger woman
quietly, though her own face was indicative of
extreme anxiety, and her nervousness could
scarcely be suppressed.

. “ He’d better ’a’ left everything on the place
go to ruin than to give his scalp to the red‘
skins. l’m afeard we'll never see him az’in.
Them warnin’s went fur nothin’l” replied Mrs.

2 Ryan, gloomily.

her mind, and in the perilous times at hand, the ‘

incidents of the liver and the drops of blood had
great significance to her.

They retired to their beds, prepared for an
attack and almost expecting it, but daybreak
found them unmolested; and the cheerful influ-
ence of a bright summer morning dispelled
much of their fear. Still, they hastened their
preparations for departure, and early in the

forenoon they took leave of the “ Silver Spring ‘

Plantation.”

 

CHAPTER III.
THE FIRST BLOW.

REACHING the fort, they found that the con-
dition of things fully justified them in leaving
the farm. The settlers were rapidly gathering
from all quarters, in great alarm, seeking the
protection afforded by the fort.

As the danger did not seem to be immediate-
ly at hand, John Ryan determined, the next
morning, to go over to his farm for the day,
promising his wife, however. that he would re-
turn before night. Receiving over and over
again her emphatic charge to “be watchful,
and take keer of himself,” he went forth—alas]
to return no more.

A. busy scene was new presented at the fort,
though at five men were left within if—mnst
all the hand having salliod nut to obtain some-
thing like a definite knowledge of the foe sup«
posed to be lurking near. Some of the women
were makin a reat ado; others were calmly
andindustrgousiv helping to get things into a

 

“ We must hope for the best,” said Bessie
as she took the station her sister—in-law had .
just left. After watching for more than an
hour, she was about to retire from her post,
when she caught sight of an object that riveted

her attention.‘ .

“ Katel come here. Isn’t this Pete coming?"
she exolaimed. ‘

Mrs. Ryan hastened to the spot.

“ Lord a—mercy 1” she cried, in greatagitation
“ it’s Pele runnin’ fur dear liiel I , knowe
somethiu' would happin!” and she wrung her
hands in aperiect frenzy of excitement, then
rushed out toward the gate, followed by Bessie,
who was the first to question the negro “ boy,”
after he was admitted within the gate.

“ Oh, Missee Kate! it’s clean done-da’s bole
killed dead!" exclaimed the terrified creature.

as quickly as he could recover breath enough 

to speak. - ..
The horrified listeners besought him torn? ‘
plain. but he seemed scar‘cel to realize that be

was out of danger. and con (1 not,» for several I

,moments collect his thoughts sufficiently to

1 give any thing like aclear account of the oc-

CUTTFDCS.

When the announcement of her husband’s
death first greeted her ears, Mrs Ryan seemed
utterly overwhelmed with despairfiwflnging
her hands, and looking from one to another
in speechless agony; but after a few moments,
she became suddenly calm and quiet—turning
away from all attempts at consolation, with. '

]i s compressed painfuIIy close. and a peculiar 

g earn in her black eyes, which seemed to row
more intense, as she listened to the (let 0!
the murder.

  

 

 

;

8 . Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

4

 

We will not undertake to relate the story in
the words of Black Pete, broken as it was by
fre uent interruptian from the eager listeners

at cred around, but will give the substance of
t e block's account:

Ryan was plowing, while his two men, not
far away, were booing corn. Suddenly, with-
out a note of warning, they heard the shar
crack of a dozen rifles, and Ryan’s horse 1e
dead in the furrow. One of the slaves, also.
dropped where he stood, mortally wounded;
the other, Pete managed to sin the woods
under cover of the tall corn w lie the Indians
were intent upon the death oi‘ his master.

Ryan started to run for the house. making
his course as zig zag as possible, to confuse the

‘ aim of his pursuers, but before he had gained
half the distance he was struck by a rifle-ball.
He continued running, however, until he had
reached the nursery of peach-trees, where he
tell lifeless. .

' He was a long-desued victim, for his indomit-
able energy, bravar and skill had made him
an object of special atred to the Indians. The
savages overJoyed at his death, rushed forward
with yells of triumph, and gathering around the
still warm body, they tore oi? the scalp. Then,
kindling a fire, they began their deliberate pre-
parations for a horrid rite. First they cut open
the breast, and took out the so lately beating.
heart. This they solemnly proceeded to roast
before the fire. It was then gravely divided
and eaten. This rite was performed in accord-
ance with a belief prevalent among the savages,
that to partake of the heart of a brave warrior
genial impart the like quality to those who ate

I

The sorrow that might have crushed Kate
Ryan at another time, seemed to be turned into
a fierce and burning hatred of the Indians, and
every thought was at once directed toward

. revenge. From the loving wife, she became the
implacable widow, whose sorrow for her great
loss was reserved for the night, when she could
weep and no eye behold her.

As evenin came on, all was excitement and
confusion Within the fort. With but five men,
and an attack during the night almost certain,
no wonder there were forebodings among those

V whol had sought refuge within the stroug log
wal s.

Bessie Ryan, too much shocked and grieved

r at the awful fate which had befallen her brave
and trusty brother, to mingle with those who

athered in groups to discuss the one topic of

nterest, stood silent and sad at one of the loop-
holes ot the block-house, gazing out toward the
wilderness. The sun was sinking below the

,, horizon, tangllng the golden trail of his mantle
among the interlacing boughs, and leavin its

bright fragments on treetop and distant ill.

As on th her quick eye caught sight/of a form

emerging from the forest-path; her‘ heart heat;

more re idly, and a sli ht flush rose to her pale
cheek; t was Will ently who on roached.

Soon another and another a peered. be good

tidings quickly spread, an in afew moments

the gate was opened to admit the scouts within
the fort.

' “ It is‘ a great satisfaction to find you here,”

said Will. to the sorrowmg girl, the first time

 

he had an opportunity of speaking to her. “ I
was fearful that John might delay, and your
escape be cut off.”

“ As, indeed, it very nearly was; we narrowly
missed sharing the fate of poor John. If he
had but staid here with us 1” replied Bessie, with
atremblin voice.

Night fe l, and passed quietly. Morning
came, and found the little garrison still awaiting
the attack—a moruln destined to adds. new

rief to that which ad already wrung the

sort 0! Kate R an. A woman in the fort,
who hada pain 111 gathering upon her hand,
had sent her own ha and little Johnny Ryan,
without his mothers knowledge or consent,
out of the post inclosure to a large walnut—tree,
which stood close to the bank of the river, to
gnome a green walnut for use upon her hand.

rs. Ryan, attracted by the screams of some

women, rushed to the spot from which they
were gazing, to discover the two boys strug-
gling in the grasp of two stalwart Indians. The
mother became almost frantic at the sight.

“Let me gol I kin save him!" she screamed;
but strong arms held her back from certain
destruction. The Indians probably had intended
to capture the boys, but the one engaged with
Johnny Ryan became exasperated at his sturdy
resistance, and afraid to expose himself longer
as a mark for the shots from the fort, he sunk

his tomahawk in the skull of the devoted boy,
tore OR the scalp, and left him dying on the
banks of the Kanawha. The other child was
taken away, and his fate never was known.

The combat then was opened. Every man
was at his post, while the willing hands of the
women molded bullet, and kept up the supply
of ammunition, that the men might not be
obliged to leave their stations. The clearing
around the fort, and the little cluster of log-
cabins near it, literally swarmed with a host of
yelling, screeching human wolves, whose hide-
ously painted bouies, fierce gestures, and wild
cries made them seem more like demons than
human beings.

An old hunter rather incautiously exposed his

erson at one of the loop-holes, and a musket-

11 from the ever-watchful enemy shattered
his right arm, and rendered him unable to do
further service.

“Herel I want that ar" rifle! I’ve been
waiting fur one!” exclaimed Mrs. Ryan to the
wounded man, as he turned away lrom his

post.

“Wal, take it! an’ I hope ye’ll have more
sense ’11 I had, an” not stick erself up for a
mark for them red devils,” exo aimed the man,
as he handed her his weapon.

“ If I don’t make some of ’em dance ter the’r
own music, I’m uncommonly mistaken!” was
the sharp reply, and the little woman, after
procuring a large block of wood to stand upon,
took the post vacated by the disabled man.

“ How weary you look,” remarked Bently,
observing the pale cheeks and anxious counte-
nance o Bessw, as she furnished him with a
fresh supply of ammunition. ' ,

“ Not more so than you. I’m afraid the men
will give out if there is not some relief before
night,” she refilled.

“ Oh. no! a can hold out a long while yet;

 

  

         
      

  

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« ,manner peculiar to

Queen Bessieyythe gondol- Girl.» “ 9

 

and the recruits which have been sent for will
surely be here before long,” replied Bently.

“ If I had but a rifle l” exclaimed the resolute
girl, “I could be of some use; any one can
mold bullets and serVo out ammunition.”

“There! Your last new ball has settled one
of the varmints," said Bently, turning to her
again, after discharging his piece.

Just then a shrill laugh from Kate Ryan
caused Bessie to hasten to her.

" What is it, Kate!" she asked, somewhat
startled and shocked at such a sound trons her.

“That him that I hit gest now, bounded up
and shook h s legs in the a r, like he war dancin'
a 'igl” returned Mrs. Ryan, again laughing.
“ ow I’m goin’ to make another of ’em jump,”
and she began rapidly to reload her piece.

“ Kate, let me take your place for awhile;
you are getting too much excited, and will be
down sick next,” pleaded Bessie, but her sister-
in-law would not listen to the request.

“ No! I’ll stand here as long as thur’s an Injun
in sight, or a breath of life in my body 1” she
answered, sharply; and realizing that it was
useless to remonstrate, the young woman turned
away.

As day after day assed, and no,reini'orce-
ments arrived, the litt e garrison was compelled
to endure great privations. The supply of
water and provisions was so nearly exhausted
as to oblige all to be put upon short allowance.
Some of the less heroic women thus imprisoned
and required to suffer, Would complain bitterly
of their hardships, when, with great sharpness,
and in her own abrupt, sarcastic manner, Mrs.
Ryan would exclaim:

“Look at me! Haven’t I endured as much
as any of 9? .Do I complain? Jest quit it and
go to wor . Ye kin stand suffering jest as well
as the hard-worked men. Don’t be babies.”

“The Indians are drawing 05 at last. We
are victorious, are We not?" exclahnrd Bessie,
as, one morning, the savages seemed to be mak-
ing reparations to raise the siege. ,

“ e are not yet sure; but, it seems like it,”
replied Benily.

“Well, at east we can breathe freely once
more.” .

“ Yes. The poor wretches will have enough
to do for a. while to take care of their wounded
and bury their dead.”

At length the garrison became assured that
the enemy had retired, for a. time, at least.
The first thing to be done was to renew the
stock of provisions from the surrounding isms.
A party was detailed for this purpose.

“There‘s a heap of provender at our house.
Nothin’ to do but 20 an' git ’em,” said Kate
Ryan to a group of men, who were discussing
the arrangements for the expedition

"‘ That’s uncommon lucky, by Jinks! Jist
tell us whar to find ’em, an’ of the red rips

haven’t got 'em, you better believe they won’t *

stay that-long? said Joe Sykes, with a broad
grin on his rough face; as he glanced from Mrs.

self, I kin; but I kinder want you Wimmen-folks

an’ children to fill up ag’in on bread an’ meat."
“ Tell ye whar to git ’em 1” cried the indignant
little woman twitching her head round in e
' herself. “ I intend to go

 

fitter; ’eni myself! Ef you want to go ’long, you
in .

“Now lookhere, Mrs. Ryan,” protested the
honest Joe, “ ’tein’t safe fur you to go; Ye’d a
heap better keep inside of this fort fur a, while
yit, an’ let us then do the outside work.”

“Don’t ye trouble erself ’bout me,” sir-
swered the indomitable rs. Ryan, turning her
flashing eyes upon the speaker. “ I’m again),
an’ to needn’t arrow trouble on my accou ,
neither. Jest git yerselvss ready, an' yo won t
be ks t waitin' fur mel"

“ ate. I shall go too,” said Bessie, quietly.

“ You I” exclaimed Bently, in astonishment.

The young girl laughed, and making no other
reply, followed Mrs. R 311, who had already
lelt the spot to begin er preparations for the
expedition.

“The very lightnin’s in the Ryan women!”
muttered one o the group 0: men, as he turned

awa . ,

“lightnin’i” exclaimed Joe. “Not a bit of
itl It’s cl’ar grit, as sure as yer bum. Ef‘ the
wimmen says go, go it is.”

At length a party, consisting of ten men. and
the two self-willed females, were ready for a
start. A unique picture did they present, as
they filed out of t a fort upon the river- flat
the little but lithe figure of the widow, ha y'ted
in the short, wide skirt of homespun stuff,
fillich did not interfere with convenience in
1' ing, working, ‘or walking, mounted in her
peculiar style upon her own favorite horse, a
noble gray steed of unusual sagacitlgr: near her,
rode Bessie, whose gentle but fear ess besrin
presented a. charming picture of grace an
ready skill. 'Then the armed pioneers in their
border suits, a part of them taking the lead as
they enteredthe forest, and struck into the
trail-like road which wound around River Hill,
and then on, through the woods, down to the
R an lantation.

ut ittle conversation transpired as they rode
along. The knowledge that they were still in
peril induced the exercise of the greatest caution
and vigilance.

Suddenly Mrs. Ryan's horse stopped. '

“Get up, Selim! 'Get on, sir!" with asmart
stroke of the whip: but the resolute Selim only
tossed his head the higher, without advancing a -

Ste . »

‘PHe smells an Injunl” was Mrs. Ryan’s bidet
comment.

"I b’lieve thur is something wrong, by
Jinks!” remarked S kes. "I’ll bet an 01 gun
that the red varm nts are around. Look to
yer primin’, boys I” « -

“ Some of us had better go ahead and reconr
noiter like; thur mought be an ambusht’othor
side oi yon hill,” said one of the men.

“ It’s ruther risky business to goahead with-

out findin’ out fast whether that’s a trap set fur «fi. ' I 1

us over the hill,” remarked an old hunter.

| “Thfieehor foul;I of usd had (pottertsli cguietly
jroun tron htewwsan seeitarsa’n
Ryan to Bessie. “I kin eat shoe-leather my- g ’ 3

thing hid thar.” \ . .
No one offered to start, and Mrs. Ryan 91- -
claimed, in a sarcastic voice: ‘ l
“ I’ll go; I’m not afeard. '
A curious expression flitted over the counts- 
nances of the men at this flattering implication.

I  , as as never scalped s. red-skin, I can tell yo!”

.8.

"I won’t take that, by Jinksl" muttered Joe
Sykes. “Boys, I say: half of ye stay here and
guard these women, while t’other half goes
ahead.”

' “Guard yerselvesl" sna ped out Mrs. Ryan,
with a suddenness and re that made those
near her instinctively draw back; “ I kin take
hear of myself 1"

“There is no need of any of you staying with
us,” interposed Bessie. ‘We are, both of us,
well armed and well mounted, and can either
fight or fly,” she added, smiling.

Joe Sykes, taking the smile exclusively to
himself, felt ready to rush at once upon any
number of ambushed toes, and accordingly dis.
mounted without further parley. The others of
the party doing the same, they fastened their
horses and started off, rifle in hand, to recon-
noiter.

“Selim seems bewitched to—dav; I don’t
know what ails the critter,” said Kate Ryan
to her sister-in-law.

“Kate, I hear musicl And see! there are
the men rushing up the hill from every direction.
Hurrah] hurrah! the Flag l” and Bessie stood up
in her stirrups to catch sight of the troops which
were just coming in view over the brow of the

The stirring notes of the life, and the re
sounding beat of the drums vibrated through
the forest, and cheer upon cheer rent the nit a!
the,long-expeoted reinforcement made its ap
pearance. _

Ninetlv-five‘ well-armed and disciplined men,
most 0 them accustomed to Indian warfare,
were indeed a welcome addition to the defensive
force of this little settlement.

 

CHAPTER IV.
A. “ REGULAR” soiros.

“ WHO is she?”

The question was asked by a soldierly-looking
follow, one of the late recruits, as Bessie Ryan

ssed from the fort to one of the cabins in the
fizzle village near it.

“A beautiful girll Do you know her?” the
Mme speaker added.

“ Know herl I reckon I do,” growled the
rough] -clad, hearty old frontier-swan ad-
dresse , “and it’s little she’d keer fur the likes
of on! She don‘t take to new-fledged soldiers,

The young soldier regarded the old forester
witha mingled expression of amusement and
ique, but with the air of one Whose self-con-
denco precluded all danger of his being hurt
by insinuations of an uncomplimentary na-
ture.

To sensual observer he was handsome, with
his sparkling blue eye, dark “‘yvsv ” hair,
well-proport oned figure, and of goo address

 

generally. Conscious to the fullest extent of his
r_ possessing appearance, be conceived himself
gobs a favorite with all women of taste, for
whom he could only feel a. gentle sympathy,
where their too-impressible hearts yielded to
his manifold charms. Having several times
had brief glimpses of the forest eauty, he found

himself becoming decidedlylnterested in hen;

Queen Bessie, the Border Girll

wi’hout having made her scannintance, and
without having yet even leerne her name.

“ Who did you say she was!” he asked again,
with easy indilference to the backwoodsmau’s
previous rebuff.

“lDidn’t say, as I knows on,” was the cool
re y.

. P‘Does her father live in the‘village'P’—ofler-
mg a plug of tobacco to the uncommunicative
man.

“Wal—much obleeged—she hain't got none,
as far as I know. She’s 8. Ryan; her brother
was killed by the Injuns just atom the siege.
P’ra s you heard about it?”

“ es; then she‘s a sister-in-law of that
queer little widow that hates the Indians so
much. is she?"

“Yes; an’ she hates ’em too: an’ if you’ve
any notion of s arkin’ around her, ye’ll hev to
show yer grit, kin tell you I"

Saying which, the old man rose from his
seat upon the ground, took his gun from its
place against the well of the block-house, and
strolled ofl toward the village.

As Bessie Rcan pissed alon the stocksde
street‘on her way home—for rs. Ryan and
herself now lived in the village—she stopped
at Simon Grey’s cabin, to have a fhw moments‘
chat with Jessie Grey, who was a fast friend
andnrdent admirer, and two or three years her
Junior.

Concluding her chat upon other matters,
Bessie mzide inquiry of Jessie, concerning the
young soldier who had saluted her so politely,
as she passed out of the fort.

“ Do you know him?” she asked.

“Jessie’s cheeks flushed. v

“Yes: he has been here several times; his
name is Wilmot—Harry Wilmotl” '

" Ohl he has been here, has hel” cried Queen
Bess, teasingly.

“He’ll be sure to fall in love with you,
Bess-you are so beautiful!” i‘etorted Jessie,-
half sadly.

“You little goose, how silly you are! He's
already head-over-ears in love with you I sus-
pect, if he has already been here several times;
and here he comes againl" added Bessie, in
a lower tone. , ‘

In a moment Captain Wilmot was at the
door. Of course an introduction to Miss Ryan
followed. The young officer exerted himself
to make a favorable impression: but Bessie
maintained a dignified and formal'manner,
determined that Jessie Grey’s apprehensions
should not be realized. .

Not many days after this, however, Ca tsin
Wilmot called at Mrs. Ryan’s, and, ..ing
received politely, took it for granted that
his visits would be welcome. So, without
further ceremony, he became a frequent guest.

“I Wish Captain Wilmot would ’tend to his
own business a little better, 'and not come
here quite so muchl” muttered Mrs. Ryan,
as the door closed upon that personage, late
one evening in September. The little woman
evidently was in earnest.

I thought he helped to make it seem le
lonely for ou, Kate.” '

“Wal. don’t keer. I ain’t goin’ to;hev

       

 

 

 

 

  
 

     

 

 

 

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am... y .m

 

Queen Bessie. the Border Girl. _ V 9

 

him comin’ here in this way any more. One lwas near her, though she had neither seen nor
seech a man as Will Bently, is wuth a dozen of ‘ heard any thing to warn her of another’s prel-

him i”

“I wonder what has become of Will. He
hasn’t been heard of for along time i” said the
girl musingly.

“l reckon he wouldn’t hear about comin’
back at all, if he knew of all the doin‘s goin’
on here,” replied her sister-in-law, significantly.

Bessie was silent. She knew that it Would be
useless to contend with her eccentric relative;
and, sitting down by the lar e open fire-place,
in which glowed a pile of ickory coals, she
reflected long and earnestly u on the subject
which filled her heart.
absence, upon a hunting expedition, was
to her a source of anxiety, and the persistent
attentions of Captain Wi mot were beginning
to be a. real annoyance.

Since the arrival of the new force at the gar-
rison, a feeling of comparative security pre-
vailed in its immediate vicinity, and the more
courageous of the women and children of the lit-
tle town would sometimes venture out beyond
its limits. .

One beautiful day in autumn it was (proposed
that a party of the young people shoul go nut-
ting, a short distance into the woods, scarcely
out of sight of the fort. Bessie Evan and Jessie
Grey, attended by the assiduous Harry Wilmot,
were of the number. Each one of the girls pro-
vided herself with a small basket of luncheon,
that they might enjoy a long day’s ramble,
without the necessity of returning for dinner.
The four or five young~men of the party were
well armed, and declared their intention to fur-
nish a supply of squirrels, or some other game
for dinner. A fire was to be kindled upon the
banks of the little stream. which murmured

Will Bently’s long ‘

, once. Glancing hastily over her shpulder, she
, beheld, just behind her, the painted face of a
1 stalwart Indian. .

Her first impulse, of course, was to scream;
but she did not utter a cry; her second thought
was to flee; but, before she could rise from the
ground, the savage caught her by her arms, and
quickly pinioned them behind her. -

A “ Injun want squaw; come ’longl" he said, in
i broken English.

Knowing that she could not run with much
swiftness with her arms bound, Bessie stood, for
i a moment, perfectly still, undetermined ‘what

course to pursue. Then, reflecting that her
companions could not be very far away, she
gathered her full strength for a scream, and ,
i gave it with a will and force that startled the
1 tall savage by her side. .

“Big yelll Come ’long now—mus’ run,” he
said, taking her by the shoulder and pushing
her rapidly before him into the depths of the
forest. .

Determined upon as much delay as possible, ‘
the captive purposely stumbled and fel to the
ground.

The savage, evidently suspecting the me,
scowled at her, and, drawing his tomahawk,
exclaimed:

“Come fast; no fall again, or me killl” and
linking hold of one of the long braids of hair
which had become loosened in her fall, he led
her swiftly on. . ‘

Bessie saw the horse belonging to her captor
. tethered to a sapling at a little distance in the
? woods. She noticed, too, that he had left his

rifle there. If once placed upon the animal be- r
4 fore her captor, she realized that she would be

 

along near by, over a bed of glistening pebbles. /, past. present rescue.

Bessie, naturally of a poetical temperament, l

was in her element. The beautiful day—the

swaying of the tall trees with their many-'

colored foliage—the bright leaves fluttering to
the ground, the singing of the birds, the splash-
ing of the dimpled water—all combined to uni-
mate her spirits to the highest degree.

She laughed, and sung. and chattered—mock-
ing the surprised squirrel that peeped down at
her from h 5 seat upon a lofty limb; or balanced
herself upon some fallen tree, that spanned the
stream, giving herself up utterly to the joyous-
ness that the surroundings inspired.

Poor Captain Wilmot at length began to look
dcspondent, for Bessie seemed entirely oblivious
to his thousand-and-one attentions; so self-satis-
fied and happy, as to be quite rovoking. .

Bessie wandered about, sometimes searching
for nuts, quite as often watchin the W_lld 1n-
habitants of the woods, or losing erself in con-
tem lation of the scenes around her—once in a
whi e pausing to answer the echoing calls of her
companions. Thus she had almost unconscious
ly stra ed on, until she found herself within a
nature glade by the side of a stream, where the
sunshine swept down in broad glea ms. She sat
down upon the grass, flinging off her sun-bon-
net, while she gazsd up at the flakes of white
cloud, stretching themselves like thin vails be-
tween earth and sky. Suddenly she felt, with

,an instinctive sense of denser. that some one

So, while he wa untethering the animal, with
a desperation that was past feeling the '
which she inflicted upon herself, she wrenched
; her wrists apart, lacerating the flesh, stri ng ,
,' much of the skiirofl in doing so; and whi; ing

suddenly round, ran toward the little stream.
The Indian was in pursuit in an instant. Find-
} ing that she could run as well as yell, he threw ,.
, his tornahawk after her, but it whizzed harm— ‘
lessly past. '
0n she flew, her pursuer close behind. She
could hear his hard, quick breathing, and when
l she felt that he was about to seize hold of her
. again, she suddenly stooped, and the warrior .
, pitched headlon over her, quite knocking her'
I over also. Clutc ing both hands full of the soft,
A dry, yellow sand of the soil, she arose just as the
Indian sprung forward to seize her and, scarce-
ly knowmg what she did, buried the sand full
into his open mouth and eyes. He mule a. grarr
at her, stopped—sputtered—danced wildly
about in frantic rage for a moment, and than
dashed toward the water—Bessie, meanwhile,
continuing her flight. Soon she saw Captain
Wilmot and another one of the young men of
the party coming toward her with all possible
speed. She pointed toward the stream, wish].
for a moment to speak, and Wilmot, seeing an
Indian dodging along the banks trying to es-
cape, rushed orward, determined , to take at
least one scalp. that he might no longer be ro-

 

 

 

10 Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

preached by the old frontiermen, who loved to
taunt him with his "freshness" and inexperh
once.

For a time the banks of the water-course pro
tected the savage, who ran stooping, until he
should reach the bend in the creek, where the
trees and underhrush grew nearly to the water’s
edge, under whose protection he hoped to es-
cape. But, Wilmot was a good marksman, it
he had not practiced upon red-skins, and as the
fugitive rose from his bent position to dart into
the woods, the captain fired, and the savage fell
to rise no more.

To obtain the scalp of his fallen fee was the
next thing to be done; but, though Wilmot ar-
dently desired to possess it, yet he could not re
press acold shudder at the thought of taking
such a trophy. But, have it he must; so. after
another moment’s hesitation, he proceeded to
,the task, and, had it not been for pride’s sake,
he would have thrown it from him even after
securing it. Noticing, a little further on, the
tethered horse, he took possession of it, then
hastily retraced his steps and soon overtook the
w is party, which now had all gathered—every
one in a state of alarm and excitement. Bessie,

' ‘ whose pale face shOWed how much she was suf-

fering from her lace-rated wrists, and overcome

7 b the excitement she had undergone, was seat-
ed upon the captured horse, and the whole
party hastened homeward.

Captain Wilmot placed himself at the bridle-
rein, and, as they emerged from the woods and
turned toward the village, he exclaimed in a
low, agitated tone:

“Oh, Bessie! I can scarcely realize that you
are safe, though I do realize how dear—how
.sery dear you are to me. Your pale face al-
most breaks my heart!”

“ No, no! You must not say that!” said Bessie,
quickly. “ ~—”

- “i will say it! You are dear to me; you
have lon known it——-you must have known itl”

“No, éaptain Wilmot; I neverimagined that

our heart was in the matter 'at' all. We have
{eon friends—we can still be friends, but noth-
ing more," replied Bessie, in calm, decided
ton

es.

"‘ More than friends, Bessie Ryan—more than
friends-«or lem. It is either love or hate with
me!” he answered in suppressed tones, through
his set teeth.

Bessie did not reply, but, shaking the bridle
looeefrom his hand, she joined some others of
the party and Captain Wilmot, with a cold

' bow, strode of! in the direction or the fort.

Quite an excitement reigned in the little vil-
lage when the adventure became known. A
small band of men want out to scour the woods,
and ascertain whether there were Indians lurk-
ing near, but the only thing discovered was the
fact that a party of red-skins, on a hunting ex—

ition, had passed near the vicinity of the set-
lament. The supposition was, that one of the
number while r vin through the forest, by
chance espied Bessiea one and unprotected, and

' conceiving that it would be an easy matter to

scare her as a captive, had made the attempt.
he lost his prize and his lite; and Bessie—she
. won a suitor. ,

,.',..,

I

 

 

 

CHAPTER V.
A MAIDEN-S CHOICE AND a MAIDEN‘S Loss.

ABOUT two weeks after the nutting-excur-
sion, Mrs. Ryan announced her determination
to visit her late home, with a view to obtaining
some useful articles which had never yet been
removed. What she proposed was usually ac-
quiesced in, for those well acquainted with her
knew that opposition but added to her determi-
nation to carry her point, whatever it might
be; so Bessie made no objection; and seeing her
sisterin—law’s preparations for the expedition,
a desire to revisit the old homestead also seized

er.

“ Kate! I believe I will go with you; what do
you say?”

“ You kin do as you like, I reckon!” was the
reply, which signified the widow’s entire will-
ingness that Bessie should accompany her.

“ And do let me go. tool” exclaimed Jessie
Grey, who had, according to custom, run over
to spend a part of the afternoon with her friend
Bessie.

“ What d’ye s’pose Ikeer?" replied Mrs. Ryan.
“But, ye’d better ask yer own folks about it,
’fore ye calkelate too much on’t.”

Mrs. Grey was willing that Jessie should go,
but stipulated that the trip should be postponed
until the next morning, and a larger party
made up, which should include one or two men
as a protection against danger.

Thus the matter was finally arranged, and

,Captain Wilmot, hearing of the proposed an

cursion. called at Mr. Grey’s and offered him-
self as Jessie’s escort, which added exceedingly
to the anticipated pleasure of the young girl.

The rollom’ng morning, the little party, con-
sistingvof Mrs. Ry: n, Bessie, Jessie Grey, Cap-
tain ilmot and Mrs. Ryan’s man, Pete, set.
out for tho plantation-the three first mounted
each upon her own favorite horse, and in high
spirits with the prospect which the fine day af-
forded.

Bessie led the way—a thing so common with
her as to be expected. Captain Wilmot’s man-
ner was just the same as usual; he did not seem
to remember that anything unpleasant had
passed between himself and essie, but laughed
and chatted with Mrs. Ryan and Jessie Grey,
with an occasional remark to Bessie, when she
ghanced to linger within conversational dis-

once.

If her calm indifference of manner signified
anything to him he would not allow it to ap
pear; and so, when they had nearly reached the
farm, he left Jessie Grey to the society of her
friend, Mrs. Ryan, and urged hishorse on until
he came alon rside of Bessie, who then seemed
absorbed in a fit of musing. '

“ A penny for your thoughts,” he said, gayly,
looking into her face. as though he expected
what he desired—a revelation.

“ I am not in the retail businessl” and Bessie
softened the abruptness of her reply with a
faint smile.

“Perhaps you would wholesale them, then,
which would suit me much better,” was the re-
turn jest.

“No. I have no thoughts for you in any

way,” was the rejoinder.

   

    

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‘with her, and not attempting to ooncaal his

I f

 

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. ' / u

 

Captain Wilmot’s face flushed and paled
several times before he found voice to reply:

“You have trifled with me, Bessie, and you
shall repent of it. A man’s heart is not a mere
phything, to be cast aside as worthless, after
affording a moment’s amusement!”

“I have never given you the faintest reason
to suppose that I cared for you, other than as a.
friendly acquaintance, and I tell you now, and
once for all, that 1 do not love you, and if you
knew me as others know me, you would neVer
give ,me occasion to repeat what I now have
said.’

Wilmot was silent for a moment; then, as
they came in sight of the deserted farm-house,
thinkingdt his best opportunity, he remarked:

“Neither do you know me, Bessie, or you
would not think of this beina the end!” and
drawing in his rein a little, he allowed Bessie to
precede him up the path to the house, while he
rejoined Jessie Grey.

After spending an hour or two about the place,
and securing such things as she had come to ob-
tain, Mrs. Ryan signified her readiness to return
to the village.

As they were winding slowly down the slope
which led from the house to the river-path, an
exclamation from Mrs. Ryan directed the at-
tention of the party to a band of hunters ad-
vancing through the woods directly toward
them. The tall form of Will Bently was all
that Bessie cared to see, and the bright flush of
pleasure mantled her cheek and glowed in her
eye as they met, but there was an indescribable
something in his manner toward her for which
she could not accOUnt; and after the warmth
and surprise of the first greeting were over, he
seemed to grow strangely reserved.

“ I wonder what it means?" she thought; and
glancing toward him with an inquiring look upon
her face, she found him regarding her intently.
She smiled involuntarilv, and Bently, smiling
in return, came up to her as the party was about
to move on.

Bessie waited for Mrs. Ryan and Jessie to

ass on before: Captain Wilmot waited for
Bessie' but, she showed no sign of moving
from the spot. At length. as the e(position was
becoming awkward, Bessie turn her horse’s
head. determined to thwart Wilmot’s purpose
of riding back with her; and. addressing Bent-
ly, who stood with his rifle on his shoulder,
waiting to see them off, she directed his at«
tention to the desolate appearance of the
homestead. and seemed utterly obliviOus to the
presence of the waiting cavalier. At length she
asked:
“You are going to the fort now, are you
noti.

“ So I intended,” he replied; moving forward

 

amusement at the discomflture of Captain Wil-
mot, who, accepting the situation, rode on to i
join the others of the party. I
“What has kept you away so long?” inquired
Bessie.
“ Well,” began Bently, hesitatingly, “I have I,

not—truth told—been gone as long as you sup- :

posse.”
\“Iudeedi You have been home, then, and _

gone out again, without so much as letting us
know of it, hays you?” ‘

“Not exactly. I came within a few miles of ‘

home and stopped over night with an old friend
settled further up the river, and finally I resolv-
ed on a change of plan, and went out again
without seeing home.”

“ Of course you had a reasmi for it, which I
am not gain to ask,” said Bessie, half~laugh-
ing and blushingaiittle; “but I want to tell
you one thing: when you hear stories about me,
don’t believe them till you know them to be
true.” ‘

“I shall not, certainly. I may understand,
then, that there is no truth in certain rumors I
have heard 3” and he spoke with eager earnest-
ness scanning her face. as she replied:

“ I can, of course only surmise what you may
have heard; but, I can truly say there is no
ground for any rumors concerning me.”

“Bessiel”

“ Willi" .

There was a clasping of hands; each under-
stood the other; there was no need of words.

Contrary to expectations, Bessie’s inveter-
ate suitor continued as bland and attentive as
ever.

True, he gave her no further occasion to re—
peat her decision, but persistently displayed
his unvarying devotion, by attaching himself
to her whenever and wherever he could do
so without danger, or receiving a direct rebuff,
being particularly careful not to lace himself.
,in a. position which would afford iss Ryan an
opportunity of administerin one.

oward his rival, Will ently, his manner
was, at first, overbearing and supercilious, but
gradually became conciliating, and finally end-
ed in direct overtures of friendship.

He volunteered his own confidence, think-
ing perhaps to secure Bently’s; but, Will’s only
revelations Were concerning. his stirring and «
adventurous life in the woods, and among
the savages and frontiersmen—never alluding,
in the remotest manner. to the one person so'
dear to him. Not so, however, with Captain r
Wilmot; he seemed to have a special delight in
dwelling upon every trifling circumstance of
his association with Bessie, enlarging alwa 3
upon any word or action of hers, which might
Be confitrued into an indication of interest in

imse .

“I never told youé did 1, Bently 1” he said, one " H

day, as the tWO so before a fire in one of the ,
block-houses. cleaning their rifles, “of that ad-
venture of mine and Miss Ryan’s. that hap-
ned last fall? Came near being a serious af-
air for her, I can tell you!"
“Why, no, I don't remember that I eyer
heard 0 it from you; what is it?”

“ Well, of course it is something that I don’t ’

speak of to every one; it seems rather otisti- '
cal to mention it at all, and I wouldn’t u it if
we were not friends, and I know you\ take al-
most as much interest in the young lady as I do.
Well, one day earli in the fall, two or three of
us went out into t e woods to spend the day,
and gather, some nuts. Bessie wandered on. by v
herself. I cautioned her not to go 011! toojfsr,

but she ism, muchafraid of anything, and 99 

 

  
    

.

\,

 

18 Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

kept on until she came to a sunny spot on the
banks of the creek. and there she sat down to
rest, never dreamng or the den or wear.”

“It was very careless of you, think. to let a

Dung girl stray off into the woods alone,

_ n such times as we have hadl” interrupted
Bently.

“ ell. it was; but I kept my eyes and my
ears open, and when I heard her scream, it
didn’t take me long to reach the spot where she
was. There I saw an Indian, painted and look-

' ing like the devil himself, trying to make off
with her; but, this rifle of mine soon ended his
maneuvers, and Bessie had the pleasure of a
ride home on the red skin’s horse.”

Bently remained silent, husin engaged upon
his rifle. After a few moments of silence, Cup-
tain Wilmot resumed:

“You cannot think it strange, then. that a

warm hearted girl like Miss Ryan. should have
amne liking for the man who snveti her life!"
' "No; and I heard some time ago, that you
were really engaged, but the report was after-
ward contradicted, by what I (-onsiderr'd good
authority. How is it?" said Benily, wishing to
hear what answer Wilmot would give to 50
direct a question.

“ I don‘t actually say that we are engoqnd,”
Said Wilmot, with emphasis; “but I du >ll
that if any one has a chance in that quarter,

' ave!"

“That‘s a very different thing from the im-

- guession you have tried to convey," replied

' ently. coolly, and shouldering his rifle, he left
the fort. and struck into the road that led into

’ the forest.

The young hunter’s feelings were not as
hnrufiled as they appeared to be. He lowd the
forest beauty passionately, and when he saw

~' - the handsome young soldier—even more refined
vaud accomplished than himself—constantly he—
lieging her with his attentions, and prnoticing

’ "the many little arts ol‘ pleasing of which he

,\ himself was quite incnpahle, he could but allow

‘ . the fear to enter his heart, that, perhaps after

 all he should lose the love he was once so sure
ofirwinning.

He decided, however, that he would, without
further delay, ask Bessie, plainly, how the mar:

rtor stood—whether she loved him and would he

 his wife, or not.

Accordingly, early in the evening of this
some day. he turned his‘ Steps toward Mrs.

,, Ryan’s house. It was after dark, but a bright

'_ light. from the great blazing fire in the rude tire-

‘ , glans shone through the little uncurtainod win-
» ' ow. He nused a moment on the steps before
‘ knocking, is heart beating more rapidly than

“finial with the thought of his errand. A voice

Vithin—Bessie’s voice-came to his ea rs.
‘ “ Captain Wilmot, you’ll crush my hand I”

A. light laugh from the one addressed followed I

this eXclamation.
“Do as I say, then and I will release it."
A silence succeeded, suggesting compliance on
. the port of the lady;
' Bentty let fall h uplifted hand, and turned
to retrace his steps. '
“This is scarcely just,” thought he, pausing.
f‘Ifiwill not be nasty in judging her; I will go

in!

In returning toward the house, he glanced at
the little window, through Which the some within
was plainly nppirent. Almoet unconsciously he
allowed Inmst if to gaze in upon the occupmts of
the room. Mrs. Ryan, with her child upon her
hip, sat with her b :ck toward the two principal
figures. Baguio and Wilmot. Witmot was stnnd~
iug before the fire, with his back to the window
holding both of Bessie’s hands in his own. She
stood passive, and apparently well content,
With the light of the cheerful fire playing upon
her beautiful features.

“if she dislikes him, really, as she has given
me reason to suppose, it is impossible that she,
with her lofty pride and womanly resrrve,
would permit such freedom. on, Bessie, can it
he that I have been deceived in you, or you de-
ceived in yourself?"

Saying which, in a tone that was almost a
groan, Bently turned and strode away through
the darkness.

1n the morning he was gone. In company
with some hunters and truppers, who had been
tnrrying in the settlement for a day or two, he
had started on another expedition, telling his
friends at. the fort to look for him when they saw
him coming—not before.

 

Winter passed, and still no news of Will Bent}
lv rancher the little settlement around Fort;
Kvle. Spring advanced, with its life-renewing
power, bringing fresh beauty to wild~Wood and
glads, but the season did not bring its accus-
Jomed aladness to Bassie Ryan. The impress of
the consuming anxiety in her heart began to
appear in her face, from which the snows of
winter appeared to have chilled out the old rose
bloom. Ber eye lost much of its sparkling
brightness. her laughter its silver ring, and her
pfourt bearing its animation and independence.

ore and more reserved did she become toward
all; and a nervous wntchfulness, whenever she
heard a heavy step, betrayed that she was con-
stnmly listening and waiting for a footstep that
did not Come.

T0ward Captain Wilmot her manner was
that of decided dislike. so apparent as to be an
effectual prewntivo against any further atten-
tions from him. Believing him to have been
guilty of some underhand measure to cause
estrangement between herself and Bently, she
did not care to dissemble her real feelings of
dislike for him.

CHAPTER VI.
GONE INDEED.

“ BAD news, Bess!”

“ What is ii, Kate?” she asked, anxiously.
A “Lightfoot is missing." ‘

“ MISsingl”

“ Y -s; not hair or hide of him to be found no
whar.”

“ Stolen, of course i” said Bessie, excitedly.

' “Reckon not: leastways, ’tain’t likely they’d
’a’ wok one and left t’other. Pete found the
stabledoor open, when he went out that this
morniu’. I told Pete to go ’long to the field an’
I’d look him up; s’posed he was round the vil-
lage somewhar; but he ain’t. I’ve been lookuil
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“ He’s gone to the farm, ot‘course,” added the

girl.

“Wal I thought of that, but don’t know,
neither, szfid Mrs. Ryan.

" l’ll walk out in that direction and see if I
can find any trace of him,” said Bessie, taking
up her sun'bonnet.

“ Better take the gray, an’ then you won’t be
gone so long. Time some of them amen-seeds
was in the ground. Never will be, reckon, at
this rate. Not a chick nor a child to do a band’s
turn, an’ us women folks runnin’ round after
stray crittersl” scolded the little widow, as she
turned back into the house. ‘

Noon came, and no appearance of Bessie, or
the ungallant Lightfoot who had so unceremo—
niously walked oi! the night before. Sunset,
and the men returned from the fields; still no
Bessie Ryan. Twilight, and Mrs. Ryan, now
seriously alarmed, left her house‘and ran over
to Mr. Grey’s, begging him to gather up a

number of the neighbors and go in search of the ‘

absent girl.

In a short time the news of Bessie’s ab-
sence was spread over the. little village. All
“Zero thrown into a state of anxiety and
a arm.

A party of men struck out immediately for ,

the Ryan farm, expecting to meet her on the
way unless something serious had befallen her.
At the village, all waited in the most trying
suspense, almost counting the moments until
the return of the searching party. Not until
some hours after dark did the men come in,
and than they brought no tidings of the missing

irl.

g In the morning a number of the soldiers and
several of the settlers sallied forth to renew the
search. The friends of the family were vainly
endeavoring to conjecture the probabilities of
her whereabouts. As no one had recently seen
Indians in the vicinity, the general impression
was that she had brooms lot in the woods,
where she had, or might, become the prey of
some wild animal.

On the afternoon of the day after the girl’s i

disappearance, Captain Wilmot 0‘ me slowly
riding into town, leading the missing horse of
which she had one in search. Until then, no
one had thought of his absence. He looked
haggard and ver much fatigued.

He was immediately besieged by inquiries as
to where he had been and whether he knew
aught of Miss Bessie.
had seen her out in an old pasture lot, Where he

had accidentally encountered her: that he then :

first learned of her loss, and urged her to return
home while he himself continued the search:
that she had refused his offers and started oil?
alone; that after she had disappeared he started
for the Ryan plantation, hut striking the horse's
trail late in the day found the missing horse;
and that in re‘urnlng he had undertaken a (‘l‘OrS-
-cut through the woods, and got bewildered and
delayed, and had only now succeeded in finding
his way home.

Several days passed. The. men who had gone
~outin Search returned, but brought no tidinss
of the lost one. They had found but one clew
to her appearance. The cabin of a settler, situ-
xoted far out in the forest, several miles away

His answer was that he,

I

from any other habitation, was found in ashes,
among which they discovered the bones of sov- .
eral human hem

the cause of their destruction; but, as the dep-
redalors had had ample time to escape before
the discovery was made, it was deemed advisa-
ble that the party should return home, except-
ing two or three of the most experienced and
hardy hunters, who would keep the trail of the-
Indians and discover, if possible, whether they.
. had B~ssie Ryan in their possession.

VVilhin a week the scouts returned, and re-
ported having follo‘Wed the trail of the hand of
Indians supposed to have murdered the settler’s
family, and upon coming up with them had
carefully reconnoitered the camp, and satis— ,,
fled themselves that they had no captive with
them. .

And so poor Bessie was mourned as among

, the dead. '*
After an absence of many months Will Bent-K

ly returned to the settlement which he had left

‘v so abruptly. He seemed to have changed

greatly. The handsome, genial, careless Will f

, of old had become the most reserved and ,un-

‘ approachable of men.

‘ “ What ails Captain Wilmol?" he asked of'
an acquaintance soon after his an'ival. "He

, seems rather down in the mouth, and quite nu-
like the man he used to be.”

' “He knows what's thought of him in these

1 parts, I reckon,” was the re l

l “ Well, what is that?

: have been away from here for many montls.”

“Folks thinks as how he knows what went

wrong with Bessie Ryan, if he‘d only tell it.”

i “ What do you mean?” demanded Bently, in

astonishment, starting up, and advancing to— ,

ward the speaker.

“Don’t know what I mean! Now, Bently, 

you’re runnin’ on me. Th're ain’ta child in
this whole settlement as don’t knowthe whole
, storv."
“How should I know, a hundred miles
away i” said Bently, with increasing a 'tation.
“ Wal then, the long an’ short of t e mat-t

g3. ,
It was highly probable that Indians had been

y.
glen forget that l H

ter is,” said the old man, considerably surprised ,1 .

at Bently‘s manner, “ she disappeared one day;
last spring and nothln’s ever been seen or heerd
of her sence.”

Bently glared at the speaker for a moment ’_

in silent consternation, then exclaimed:
has she not been found, dead or alive!”

could be done.
ever he found or heard of, an’ lately
been hintiu’ round that Captain Wilmot knows
more about it than he lets on to.” '
“I’ll find out what he knows of thematter'
if I hnve to tear his Coward’s heart outl” mut-

tered Bently to himself, as he turned towardf

the village and made his way directly to Mrs.
Ryan’s house. ’ '
The little widow was delighted to see him.
“Thank the Lord, ye’re here atlastl” the ex-
claimed. “ Now there’ll be some chance of find-
in’ out somethiu’ about Bess!”

“No use, Benllv. Every thing was done as? :-
ot a glimmerin’ of her «would
folks have »

l

“ Were there no men in this settlement! Why” .‘

t i

“ I ve come to you to hear the whole story,” '

replied Bently.

    

14 Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

With many gestures and expressions of indig-
nation, she related the circumstances connected
with the maiden‘s disappearance, and of the at-

tempts made for her recovery, not 5 nring her

Censure when speaking of the want 0 prrseVer-
ance in those engaged in looking for her, and
ended her recital with an allusion to Captain
Wilmot. ‘ _

“ Have you any rescue for supposmg Wil-
mot muld have desired to injure her? I thought
they were the best of friends!” said Bently.

"Wal, they wasn’t. She almost hated him,
un’he swore he’d be revenge-d on her. They
hadn’t spoke together fur some time afore she
was lost! ’ replied Mrs. Ryan.

“I don‘t understand it. They seemed—"

“Yes, I know," interrupted Mrs. Ryan, im-
patiently; and with a degree of loquacity very
unusual with her, she proceeded to give the full
details of the state of affairs between Bessie
and Wilmot, not omittin an ex lanation of the
scene which had cause Bent y’s sudden de-
parture from the village.

Wilmot had come there that evening and
renewed his suit in the most impetuous and ar-
dent manner, seemingly determined upon obtain-
ing an encouraging reply to his proposal. Draw-
ing his chair near to Bessie, he had seized her
hand with a force that drew an exclamation of
'pain from her—refusing to release it, until she
should say “ Yes” to his suit. When she rose
from her chair. the better to extricate herself,
the captain possessed himself of both hands de-
claring he would never let them go until one
was promised to him. Bessie ceased to strug-
gle finding it useless to do so, and, after stand
ing thus passive and silent, for a moment, she

‘ had given him one of the most decided, scorn-
ful and indignant dismissals that ever sent a.
suitor on his way. '

V The suspicion which had fallen on him, grew
out ofa threat of revenge he had been heard to
utter against her; and the circumstance olf his

’ absence about the time of her disappearance, as

' well as his reappearance with her horse, served
to confirm the general impression of his guilt.

. , The feelings of Bently, regarding Bessie, were
completely revolutionized. In the place of dis«
’trust, there sprung up a stronger ‘confidence, 9.

, ’warmer admiration than he ever had enter-

x tainod, and he could but blame himself severe-
ly forhis hasty conduct. Had he remained at
home, it might never have happened, or, hap-

‘ penin , he would have been there to trace her
up an rescue her if in the world ol’. the living.

But, something might be done even yet. Sue

‘ was not known to be dead, and there still was a
chance of recovering her.

In any case, life could have no other object

« or interest for him, until the mystery was

solved, and he had expiated his wrong to or by
devotion to her memory.

Returnin to the fort, he heard, as he ap-

, preached t e inclosure, the loud and angry

tones of some one within. Passing through the

to, he found Joe Sykes standing, pistol in

find, indignantly addressing Captain Wilmot,

, who stood facing him with /8 cool composure
that would hardly have been expected of him.

“Nobody but a coward and a. sneak would

 

take that, by Jinks! Now, tell the truth, or
fight—quickerl”

“What is this, J 0e?” interrupted Bently.

“I vow,vby Jinksl of he does know any thin
about that gal, I’m bound to make him tell it,
said Joe, With considerable bluster.

Bently’s face clouded, and turning toward
Wilmot, with a glance that seemed to search
him through and through, he said:

"Wilmot this is no child’s play. If you
know any thing whatever concerning the fate
of Bessie Ryan, have the manliness to reveal it.

You either know. or you do not know. Tell the.

truth, whatever it isl”

Wilmot stood facing his accusers, armed as
the were, but showing no disposition to accept
Joe 5 invitation to fight.

There are times in which all the nobility in a
man’s nature will start up, as it from slumber,
and assert itself. Whatever of soldierly quali-
ties Wilmot possessed, he had not made much
display of them. Now he turned to his inter-
locutor, with a calm countenance, not devoid of
a tin e of melancholy. sa ing:

“ ou assail me as if were a villain of the '

blackest sort. Once for all, then: I know as
little concerning the loss of Bessie Ryan as
yourselves. If you want to fight, say the word;

am ready l”

Joe looked at Bently as if waiting for orders.

“What I want in this matter,” said the lat-
ter, after a moment’s silence, “is to learn all
that is possible of the circumstances of her dis-
appearance.

“ I was absent at the time. unfortunately for
myself as well as for Bessie; and only know
what I have heard from others.”

Upon this, Bently turned away, closely fol-
lowed by Joe Sykes, who remarked, in an un—
dertone:

“Shows grit—don’t he? I kinder thought I
could skeer it out of him, of he knowed any
thing ’bout it. By J inksl it mout be he’d do fur
a so er, after alll’

“ ykesl”

“ Wal, Bently, what is it?”

“ Are you ready for a tramp?” *

“ Ready, by Jinksl I’m on the way this min-
nit, if ye say so?" '

“Well, I’ve a plan in my head,” said Bently,
in a thoughtful, abstracted manner.

“Hev ye? I reckon I know what’tis, with-
gut iy7er tellin’ me. Ye kin count on me, sar-

m .’

" Siy, then, we start this afternoon?”

“ The sooner the better. fur as I’m consarned.
Got grub enough jerked fur two months’ ra-
tions, and feed enough for old smooth-bore,
here, for a siege, and my legs jist achin’ for a
two hundred mile stretch.”

CHAPTER VII.
THE SECOND BLOW.

BESSIE RYAN, on leaving the house of her
sistvr-in-law, hurried out to the road leading to
the Ryan farm hoping to find her horse Light-
foot, grazing along upon the new grass at the
roadside. Thinking that he might have been
seen by some of the inmates of the cabins in
that direction, and stopping at several places to

 

l

  

 

 
 
 

  

  

   

make inquiries she Was finally told that he had
been seen, not on before, leisurely making his
way, out tOthe 01 place. _

“ Very likely, then, I can OVertake him, and
if 1 get within Calling distance I shall have no
trouble to catch him," she said. .

“Yo mou’t, if ye’r’ spry, Miss Bess,” replied
the woman of whom she received the informa-
tion; “but, I’m thinkin’, ’twould ’a’ been a
heap better ef ye’d a-took a critter yerselfr"

“Very true," replied Bessie, laughing: “ but
I am a good walker, and hope to have my own
horse to ride back on; another would be Just
one too many.”

“I know ye’r’ right—down smart; but then a
loose critter fillin’ his mouth with fresh grass,
ain’t so dretful easy to come up to, ye know 1”

Putting the fat cheek of the little child that
had caught hold of the skirt of her dress with
its chubby hands, and with a. cheerful ‘igood-
morning 7’ to the pleased mother, Bessie placed
her foot on a bar which served as a gate,
Sprung over it with a light bound, and hurried
away.

The ground was still wet with the heavy dew
which had fallen the previous night, and the
tracks of aborse here and there were easily
distinguished for some distance, and the young
woman was sure that they were those of her
favorite, Ligh tfoot. She followed on for nearly
a mile when they left the Path and were lost
in the beaten and trampled spot before the bars
of the village pasture-field, which were partially
down, as though some one had recently entered,
intending to return soon.

Here was a dilemma. Could it be that she
had all this time been following a wrong trail?
It seemed almost certain that she bad. Some-
what discouraged, she sat‘down for a moment
upon a log, deliberating what to do, and wish-
ing that she had taken the widow’s gray, as
Mrs. Ryan had advised, when a noise behind
startled her. She turned round to see Captain
Wilmot just inside of the gap. He evidently
had been back in the pasture after his horse,
wlglch he was leading, being mounted upon an-
ot er.

The situatitfl was rather embarrassing to
both, as each had avoided the other for some
time; but Wilmot, with an easy nonchalance of
manner that overcame all appearance of con-
straint, gave her a smiling “ Good-morning,” and
inquired it Miss Ryan was “looking for the
cows."

“I’m in search of Lightfoot, and followed
what I supposed to be his trail as far as this,”
she replied, quietly.

“ Those are the foot~marks of the horse I rode
out here,” said Wilmot. “ I’m sorry they
misled you. I’ll make what amends I can, and
gto”in search of Lightfoot myself, if you desire
i .

“ Oh. no,” was the answer. “ I do not wish
to trouble you. I will return home now, and send
Pete after him in the morning.”

“ Will ou accept of my horse to take you
home?” as ed Wilmot.

“ I am not tired, and prefer to walk,” was the I

l .
reg hell, then. I shall ride on to the farm and

 

,marks more frequent. Unmin

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. 13

see if dyour horse is there;” and so saying, he
turns his horse’s head in the direction of the
plantation, and after waiting a. moment to
see Bess1e begin her homeward walk, rode
away;

:Ihe road which Bessie had followed was so
Winding and circuitous as to make it conveni-
ent sometimes to take a short cut through the
woods. A scar'caly perceptible path, w ill an
occasmnal “biased” tree, marked this shorter
route to the village, and it occurred to the maid
that Lightfoot might have strayed into it, as it
was one with which he was familiar. _

Bessie was of a romantic disposition. Though
eminently practical in all the concerns of every-
day life; she was ossessed, in a high degree, of
that quality whic the phrenologists designate
as ideality. The grand, whispering solitude of
the mightyforest inspired her with a reverential
worship. Its sublimity, together with its less
imposmg, but scarcely less attractive minor
beauties—of trembling leaf and fragile flower—
of flickering sunbeam and fickle shadow-—
combined to draw her thoughts away and cen-
ter them on the beauties of the glorious spring
day. 'ljhus, somewhat unmindful of her ate
and believing herself to be following theri t
path, she wandered on, until the impress on
iuddenly struck her that she ought tobe near

ome.,

She looked around, expecting [to see through
some opening the clearing in which the village
stood. But, nothing of the kind was to be seen;
not one familiar landmark met her searching
gaze. The more she tried to identify the spot, ‘
the more bewildered she became. A swift eon-
sciousness of her situation flashed upon her:—
she was lost in the boundless woodsl

“How could I have been so careless!” she
exclaimed, aloud. “ I seemed to be in the path.
I know that only a little way back. I saw a

blazed tree. Yes! thank Heavenl there it is!” » v 1

and with renewed confidence, she retraced her
steps to the tree, expecting it to indicate the
trail she had so unconsciously deserted.

“It is not the path I’m looking for, after all,” -
she exclaimed after examining the indications-
around her. ‘ How foolish I have been! At
all events there’s but one thin I can do, and
that is to follow the trail that have struck; it
must lead somewhere I”

Bessie hastened on, not knowing whither she
went. Her situation now was truly alarming.
Faint and weary with her long walk anxious 5
through fear of a night in the woods inhabited
by beasts of prey. she began to grow heart-sick. r

At length, when hope and strength both
seemed about to desert her she then ht she
heard the tinkle of a distant bell. Bhe istened
intently, almost ceasing to breathe lest she/
mightlose the faint and far-away sound. All ’,
was silence, and thinking it must have been‘ 

,altogether in her own imagination, she was
3 about to move on, when the lowing of cattle,

unmistakably distinct, caused her heart to
bound with joy. Hastening on, she soon became.
assured that the path she was following was ,
nearing some habitation—for it was becoming
more distinct and well-beaten and the way-
dful now of her

 

    

  

16

 

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

excessive fatigue she quickened her steps, and,

ere Ion , reached a small clearing, in the midst

of whic stood a rude cabin of unhewn logs.

A delicate wreath of gray smoke curling u
from the broad stick-chimney told her that E
was inhabited.

As she drew near the door, a great, savage-
looking dog commenced growling in such a
ferocious and threatening manner that she
paused, scarcely knowing whether to venture

urther or not; but, in another moment, two or

three white-headed, bare-footed children came
out of the cabin, and stood gazing u on her in
o en-mouthed wonder, when the cg, seeing
t take the matter quietly, subsided upon his
haunches and assumed a much less threatening
attitude. The children soon were followed by
their mother, a midle-aged, affable woman,
who respectfully made way for her to enter.

Bessie took the proffered seat, fairly droppin
into it, so nearly overcome with fatigue, and
the reaction of her feelings, as to be unable for
a few moments to command her voice. At
length she explained to her wondering hostess
the accident which had led her thither, and cons

' eluded by asking the woman how far it wu:
from there to the fort.

“ ’Bout sixteen mile, I reckon,” was the reply.

“Well, it is too late for me to return home
to-day, and my friends will be in great distress.
I am so sorry; if they but knew that I am
safe i”

“ Wal, ye’li jest have to make yer-self as easy
as {2 kin about it. They’ll be in an awful sweet,
to sure, but my man ’ll take ye back to-
morrer or next day, and ye’r’ welcome to a
sheer of all we’ve ot here, which ain’t much to
brag on; but I rec on ye kin stand it that long,
anyway.”-

“ 0h yesl and many thanks for your kind-

ness " replied the thankful girl.
, “i reckon ye’r’ purty well tuckered out," con-
tinued the woman, With a glance of sympathy
at the young person so unexpectedly thrown
upon her hospitality. “ I’ll hang the kittle over
the fire right off and git ye a bite of somethin’
to eat, fur I know e’r’ powerful hungry.”

Bessie smiled an expressed her grateful ap-
preciation of the kindness bestowed upon her
and the good woman hustled about with please
alacrity setting forth the best hlr scanty stores
aflorde ; and, although the guest did ample
ustice to the fare provided. her hostess could

ardly be satisfied that she had eaten heartily

enough to make up for the long walk and the
= lack of a dinner.

At sundown the farmer came in from his
field, and learned from his wife the circum-
stances of Bessie’s arrival before entering the
cabin. V

“She comes the neardest to bein’ a lady of
anybody I’ve seen some I come over the Ridge
~an’ to think of her bein’ lost in the woodsl l

' expect her folks is almost crazy ’bout it by this
time!" ,,

The ma h~looking frontierman greeted his
,visitor wit a hearty “ How d’e do!” as he came
into the house, and added: I

" It’s mighty lucky for ya that e hit on the
trail that leads h or; au’I don’t now but I’ll
be goin’ over to t e settlement to-morrer. an’ ef

 

ye’re a mind ter ride behind me, I reckon the
old critter ken take us that fur. An’ ef he can’t
carry double, I guess as how I kin foot it. It’ll
do me good to accommodate. in an way, any of
John Ryan’s kin. John an’I war rieuds. John
war great on a. scout, and the reds hated him
worse’n p’izen. But they wiped him out at last,
and who knows but the imps may come down
on Jim Macarty’s cabin i”

The hardy, sun-browned settler for a moment
looked grave and thoughtful, casting his eyes
instinctively upon the rifle hanging on the hook
overhead. Then he added, ,cheerily—“ But
ye’re welcome an' to—morrer we’ll tramp to-
ward the fort.

“I shall be very glad to go, and I feel very
thankful for your kindness," replied Bessie.

It was with a feeling of almost childish happi-
ness, at the prospect of the morrow, that the
weary girl rested her overtasked limbs upon
the soft, clean bed, prepared for her in the
cabin loft. The stars, which she could see
glimmering through the chinks between the
logs, seemed to her like guardian angels, to
watch over her in her sleep.

But, after a short slumber she found herself
wide awake, and quite unable to regain her lost
hold upon the mantle of the gentle god of sleep.
Every eflort seemed but to chase it further from
her, while her mind, with capricious willful-
ness it almost seemed, dwelt with uncommon
acuteness upon every sound, however insignifi-
cant, that disturbed the silence.

As midnight drew on, the starlight became
obscured, leaving her room in complete dark-
ness. Below, she could hear the heavy breath-
ing of the father and mother, and occasionally
the nestling of the children in their bed. Lying
thus. her mind was drawn from its wandering
fancies byjhe low, savage growl of the dog out.
side. She started up, just asared light, like
that of a. blazing torch, flushed across the room
through the openings between the logs, then
left all in darkness again.

Too well schooled in the signs of danger to
mistake the meaning of this, she sprung from
the bed, and swiftly and noise ssly hurried on
her clothes, and then. with treme caution,
crept down the ladder to awaken her friends
below. But she was anticipated. Almost as
soon as herself were they up, and preparing for
what evidently awaited them—an attack by the ,
Indians.

“ There, wife, take my knife; on kin use it
if yer druv to it,” said the husban in a whisper.

essie seized the rifle, always in readiness
upon the book. The pioneer’s own weapon,
prepared for such an emergency as this, was in
his hands.

There were two doors, on opposite sides of
the house. It was the work'of a moment to
turn the bed from its corner around before the
door, already strongly barred, and to pile upon
it the immense chest which contained the family
store of spare clothing and bedding. It now
remained for them to guard the remaining
door and the little window beside it.‘ Bessie
stationed herself at the side of this window fur-
thest from the door, just as a heavy blow

. from a tomahawk fell upon it. At once the

j rifle of the pioneer was leveled toward it, and

    

Queen Bessie. the'Border Girl. ' I 1"

 

the sharp crack of his rifle was followed by a

ell of agony, Which assured him that one of
his foes was disposed of. The next moment, a
perfect shower of blows assailed the door near
which they stood, and similar sounds began to
be heard upon the other.

At length, before the repeated and deter-
mined assaults of the savages, the door begun
to give way, but as often as an Indian showed
himself at the aperture made, either Bessie or
the pioneer was ready to send a ball straight to
the mark; and so, for a time, the bloodthirsty

savages were kept at buy, but the resistance ‘

met with, and the loss they sustained, only made
them the more furious. and with yells of rage
and defiance they dashed at the two doors
simultaneously

In a moment the room was filled with hide-
ously-painted fl lures, whose demon-like ap-
pearance well suited the work they were en-
gaged in.

The struggle grew desperate; the settler dis-
charged his rifle and one of the Indians fell to
the floor; then, unable to. reload, he struck
about him with the butt and of his weapon, in
a vain and desperate endeavorto protect his
wife and children. The woman, armed with an
ax, and surrounded by the terrified and
screaming children, dealt rapid and effective
blows upon those who often pted to tench her,
and received. in return, numerous strokes from
the tomahawks aimed at her head.

Such a contest could notlast long; the shriek-
ing children were snatched from the protection
of the agonized mother, and their bleeding and
mutilated bodies thrown t0ward her; then a
hatchet, aimed from a distance, crashed through

_ her own skull, and she sunk to the floor just in

time to escape the sight of her husband‘s cruel
death, for at length he had been overcome, and
fell bleeding from a dozen wounds; and before
his dying agonies had ceased, one of the in-
human brutes had torn his scalp from his head.

Bessie had not been an idle spectator of the
horrid butcher . As the excited savages rushed
in, bent upon estroying the principal defender
of the house, they did not at once perceive her,
and she had time to aim her piece at one stal—
wart fello w, more ferocious-looking than the
others. The rifle cracked, and he fell. Of course
she could no longer escape the glaring eyes
around her,and she was quickly surrounded with
uplifted tomahowks. Sue fought resolutely
beating of! their weapons with her rifle, until
she gained a corner. But the brave girl felt
that her fate was sealed, for she al most preferred
death to captivity, and was determined to fight
to the last.

Suddenly one of their number made a gesture
commanding those assaidng her to desist: upon
which they paused, and he addressed them in
his own language which, of .course, BeSSie did
not understand; but her quick perception at
once com rehended that sue was to be taken
prisoner.
mg faces turned toward her, hoded no good
from the reprieve. A sickening horror ran
through her frame as she thought of the probe-
bilities before her, and she sunk to the floor faint
and exhausted

he ferocious expression of the :cowl-'

I They left her thus awhile, until having borne
out their dead, and assisted the wounded as
much as possible, they repared to leave the
cabin. They then boun her arms firmly with

‘ thongs and motioned her out into the yard.

1 Here she was left in charge of three or four of
their number, while the remainder set to work
to fire the house and outbuildings, and to butch-
er every living thing belonging to the place, ex—
cepting the settler’s horse, which they reserved

. for their own use.

I The captive scarcely dared to move, every

motion she made being followed by threatening

gestures from her guards. She would fain have
turned her back upon the cruel sight as the
eager flames mounted to the roof which had so

‘ kindly sheltered her a f ‘w hours before; but it
seemed a part of their purpose to oompel her to
witness the scene. Hours passed thus. To poor
Bessie the fire seemed to delight in lingering

IoVer its terrible work, and she almost wished

v that her body, too, was lying with those of her

’ murdered friends, consuming Within. Their
sufferings were over; hers, she feared, were

1 searcely yet begun.

‘ Realizing the hopelessness of escap'e from the

; watchful savages, of whom there seemed to be

E a large party, and weak from her previous

; fatigue as we 1 as from the exertions and excite-

! ment of the struggle so unhappin ended, she fell

1 into a state of passiveness which was almost a.

I stupor.

l At length the approaching dawn began to

istreak the eastern sky, and the savages made

, their final arrangements for leaving the spot.

‘ Separating into two arties, the smaller one

, took the prisoner and t eir wounded comrades,
and turned toward their distant villages, while
the others, taking a different course, pursued
their career of plunder and massacre on the out-
skirts of the frontier. A wearisome journey lay
before the poor young captive, alone and help-
less in the keeping of vindic‘ive enemies.

ad it been possible, she would have leftsome
indication of their route, but, as she was kept
constantly bound, and closely guarded. there
was no opportunity of droppin any shred of
garment by which she might be traced; She
was allowed to ride the horse, which they had
taken from the stable of the settler, during the
first few days of the journey; but, as they drew
nearer their own region of the country, she
was compelled to walk and keep pace with the
long‘limbed, stalwart fellows who constituted
her guard.

FlnallV they enter relaxed their severity asto
unbind her a‘rmsand for the first time athought
of attempting to escape entered her mind.

1 Knowing the necessity for extreme caution
she was careful not to appear any more hopefu
or observant than before; yet. hour after hour,
as they traveled the weary nth, she studied the
signs,of the way, and pon ered upon the plan
of escape. Sure that she could not render her
case a worse one, there was a. possibility of bet-
tering it: escapes such as she meditated had
been made; why could she; too, not succeed!

All night she lay awake, watching for an op-
portune moment of stealing unperceived from
among her guards. but their vigilance seede

b
r

 

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

to be sleepless, and morning dawned without
her having had the faintest chance of release
from savage surveillance.

The nexn night they camped upon the banks
of a small stream, in a spot comparatively clear
of brush and Underwood, and covered with a
thick growth of soft, fine grass. This the watch-
ful girl considered was in her favor, and she
determined to make the attempt then and there.
Feigning unusual fatigue and drowsiness, she
laid down to rest as soon as she had partaken
of the frugal supper, for she felt that her tired
limbs needed rest before she began her flight.
TediOus, indeed, were the hours that passed be-
fore her keen-eyed guards showed signs of
slumber. The whole party lay around her in a
close circle, and around the hand of one of them
was strapped a deer-skin thong, which was se-
curely knotted at the other end around one of
the captive’s slender wrists. Bessie knew that
if she tightened the cord in the least in attempt-
ing to move, it would instantly be perceived;
so, after waiting until she was certain that the
whole party was sound asleep, she began slow-
ly and cautiously to turn her body so as to
bring her head upon her arm without moving
that member at a I. It seemed to her as though
one whole hour was consumed in this; and then
the sharp little teeth went to work to sever the
thong. For two long hours did the determined
girl persevere in her efforts before the thong
fave way. Then still holding on to it, so that

li case it should he pulled upon, it might not
betray her, she slowly rose to her feet. It was
But a few steps to the water. Breathlessly, she
crossed the narrow space, and cautiously ad-
vanced into the stream, thinking to make it
more difficult for her pursuers to find her trail
when they should discover her flight. The chan-
nel of the stream was not deep, but was often
obstructed by tangled brush and fallen trees, so
that it was sometimes difficult to find a way in
the darkness.

An. hour passed, and Bessie began'to think
that the savages would not discover her absence
until morning. If they did not. she felt certain
that she coul evade their search and finally es-
cape. But, suddenly, a distant yell smote her
ears, and convinced her that she was missed and
that the Indians were on her track. Looking
anxiously around foraplace of concealment,
she perceivedagreat oak log 1 ing near the

,bank of the stream, surrounded y the rubbish
of broken trees, wild grass, and other drift,
lodged a ainst it by the Swollen current during
times of igh water. At once she dashed for it
as a cover, and, creepingJ in among the shelter-
ing mass, she stretched erself close beside the
0g.
There she waited, with palpitatin heart, the
A result. «Nearer and nearer came t e hurried
iabbering voices—so near at last, that she could
ear lheir footsteps. Were they stoppingl

Would they never pass by? Yes, yes! they go

on; their voices die in the distance, an t e

imprisoned, hunted maid once more dared to

breathe. . _ .

But, hark! There are others more slowly and
cautiously following the trail; she shuts her
eyes; she feels that she cannot escape now. In

Mother moment a cold, rough hand passes over

 

“Urn,

her face; her mental heroism gives-Way, and
she sinks into insensibility.

When Bessie again opened her eyes, it was
daylight; she was lying upon a blanket before
a camp-fire. At first the scene was incompre-
hensible; but, slowly and painfully, soon came
the consciousness that she was again a captive
securely bound and surrounded by a redoubled
watchfulness, which was cognizant of her every
motion.

When the journey was resumed, it was neces-
sary to place her on the stolen horse, her weak-
ness being so great that she was altogether un-
able to walk; but she was not allowed to guide
it fora moment. An Indian strode along on
each side of her, and one before, holding the
bridle in his hand, while the rest of the party
followed close at their heels.

Bessie knew ‘what to expect on their ar-
rival at the Indian towns. The merciless
fiends who spared neither infancy nor
womanhood were not likely to show leniency to
one who had cost them so clear. They knew
that she had killed at least one of their war-
riors, and wounded others. She therefore
strove to fortify her mind beforehand, to en-
dure the insult, annoyance and torture which
undoubtedly lay in store for her; she resolved
to meet her fate with a firmness and calmness
which should deprive the savages of half their
triumph.

At the first Indian town which they reached,
they were joined by a large war—party, which
was on its return. and would accompany them
the remainder of the way., Among them was a
young brave, of commanding appearance,
whose dress and hearing, as well as the defer-
ence with which he was treated by the rest, in-
dicated his rank as chief. He seemed possessed
of superior intelligence, and from his manner
toward her, the captive concluded that he was,
like all truly brave men, magnanimous and
comparatively humane.

It was soon apparent to Bessie, as well as to
those around her, that he was interested in her,
and, in conse uenoe of it. more respect was
shown her, an she was permitted to go less

painfully bound. Though not mingling withv
' those immediately about her, she judged that

he was informed of the full particulars of her
capture, her resistance, and her attempt to es-
cape. Contrary to expectations, and through
the interference of the young chief, she was
spared the painful annoyances which she had
looked for, and was prepared to encounter, at
the hands of the women and children of the vil-
lages through which they passed. -

CHAPTER IX.
“GREAT MEDICINE.”

AT last their destination was reached. The
returning warriors were received with loud and
clamorous demonstrations both of grief and joy
—grief for those who had been slain, and joy at
the sight of the prisoner, upon Whom they antl-
cipated the gratification of revenging the death
of their slain braves. Bessie was taken to the
council-house and left there, alone firmly
bound, and with a large number 0 women
near enough to watch the premises. They
were the most watchful, because the ,most an-

I

 
   

 

  

  

 

 

"ii".

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

'19

 

iorgiving, of her foes. A lovel woman in
their power was, indeed, a feast for their hyeua-
like natures.

Slowly the excitement grew, until a great
commotion existed in the village: almost every
inhabitant, man, woman and child, was eager
that the prisoner should be given up to them,
that they might glut their vengeance upon her.
The young chie ,already introduced, Tonowa
by name, addressed them with many gestures
and persuasive arguments, seeking to induce
them to adopt the prisoner into the tribe; but
his oratory seemed to be wasted, and after
some hours of huboub and excitement, the mul-
tirude carried the day, and the captive was
brought forth to witness the preparations for
her torture, and to receive the taunting looks
and fiendish gestures of the assembled crowd.

Women and children hastened to gather
materials for building a fire. The feelings of
the helpless girl can better be imagined than
described, as she saw the piles of fuel heaped
around a. tree with a method in the arrange-
ment that lainl signified the use for which it
wns inten ed. hen all was ready, she was
roughly driven toward the spot, surrounded by
a perfect Babel of gibes jeers and hootings,
and. with her arms still pinioned, she was
firmly bound to the tree. This, then, was to be
her fate.

With a dignity and fortitude that would have
done honor to any of the martyrs of history,
Bessie Ryan resigned herself to the horrible
execution—looking with acalm and proui in-
difference upon the distorted faces of her de-
moniaca] tormentors.

But. the fire was not lighted. The principal
men of the village were summoned to assemble
at the council-house. There the question was
reargued, and the energetic and influential
Tonowa exerted all his eloquence to carry his

omt.

p Had the captive known this, she might have
dared to hope; as it was, she almost regretted
the delay which prolonged the cruel suspense.
It was sunset before the council broke up. Then
the astonished girl found herself unbound, and
taken to a Wigwam, where she was rovided
with some supper, and a couch of sinus, upon
which she could repose. Astrong guard was
placed around her but, and, not knowing
whether to be thankful or sorry‘ for the respite,
she threw her tired body upon a pile of skins,
and soon fell into a deep slumber which lasted,
undisturbed, through the whole night.

Morning came, and once more Bessie was led
forth: but, instead of going to the stake, as she
expected, she was taken to the council—house,
where the old chief of the tribe. and father to
Tonowa. had ssumhled the chief men to await
her coming. What “their object could be was a
matter of curiosity to her—as her face and per-
soil seemed to be to them—for they scrutinized
her appearance with marked interest.

The old chief, through an interpreter, who
managed to speak a little unintelligible Eng-
113 v, addressed her in a short harangue, eulogiz-
ing the bravery of his warriors, and dilatin
upon the" power and numbers of his tribe, an
ended by/askinx her if she could shoot, painting

 

to a rifle in the‘hands of one of the men. Bessie
replied that she could. He then asked her it
“she liked Injunl”

This question was rather more difficult to an-
swer, but, in view of the interest at stake, she
replied that she liked “friendly Injun.” He
then, with much gesticulation, made her com-
prehend that they intended giving her a chance

or her life, as they had been informed by the

Great Spirit, who had come in a dream to
Tonowa, that she would become, it kept among
them for twelve moons, a “great medicine”;
and the wise men and warriors of the tribe had
agreed to decide the matter by a test which
should be considered as a proof of the truth of
the dream.

The dignified bearing and queenly form of
Bessie made Tonowa’s stratagem—if such it
was—the more easily successful, for the Indian
is very susceptible to the influence of a maacstic
or commanding manner. The captive was to
be allowed to fire at a mark set up for the pur—
pose, ata distance of about one hundred and
twenty yards from the standing—point before
the council house. If she hit the mark twice
out of three times, it would be taken as a favor-
able omen, and she would be adopted as the
daughter of the old chief. If she failed, she
would be consigned to the fate previously de-
termined upon.

Bessie, with perfect calmness, indicated that
she would accept the allernative; but the re-
vulsion of feeling from the certainly of death
to a prospect of ifs, produced a tremor of the
nerves which required a strong and determined
effort of her Will to subdue.

B the time Tonowa entered with the rifle
loa ed for her use, she had tel-y nearly recov-
ered her accustomed animation and confidence
in her powers. \

As they passed out to the open ground where
the trial was to be made, Bessie observed a bird
pluming itself upon a tree out in the center of
the village common. Directing the attention
of her judges to the unconscious mark, Queen
Bess took aim, and fired. The‘next instant the
bird fluttered to the round, lifeless. Still
maintainin an unmove countenance, the maid
motioned or ammunition to reload her rifle,
but the old chief, addressing those around him
in a short speech which seemed to meet with
approval, signified that they were satisfied, and
Bessie was taken to a Wigwam, where she was
soon provided with a breakfast of the most deli-
cate game which was to be procured, and fur-
nished with such other things as were considered
necessary to savage comfort.

It was hard to realize the change—a chance
to rest her oven-weaned body and mind—a hold
on life again—a prospect, even though remote,
of once more joining her friends. It was almost
the acme of bliss. From the lowest depths of
suflfering and despair, she was lifted to a heaven
of hope. No wonder she felt her heart swell
with thankfulness and prayer.

Summer waned. There was no prospect of

1release for the captive, who, though a queen
‘ among them, and much beloved by the family '

into which she had been adopted, and whose
aflections she had studied to win. yet, pain-

 

20

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

fully. ceaseless] yearned for her home and
2911‘ k‘ilndred, an for one, dearer than a sister or

r en .

The young Tonowa, her first friend—and in
fact her actual deliverer—did not fail in his ad~
miration of the beautiful “Eye of—Night,” as
he named her, in compliment to her dark and
sparkling eye: but. on the contrary, as Wus
quite natural. he had formed a devoted attach-
ment for her—one which Bessie reciprocated as
far as gratitude, and appreciation of his many
noble qualities would permit. She accepted his
numerous kindnesses in a manner that, while it
increased the reverence he seemed to have for
her as for assuperior being. yet kept their rela-
tions upon a footing of mere friendship.

Returning from the chase. this young rhiof’s
proudest trophies were brought to her Wigwam.

he wolf-skin robe, the eagle’s wing. the choic-
est game, anything that could min star to her
pleasure, were both secretly and openly laid at

er door for her acceptance. In return, she
wrought beautiful moccasins, under the direc-
tion of her skillful fostermother. who was won-
derfully expert in the arts of Indian handiwork.
She ornamented the robes and leggins for his
wear, and made, as a mark of distinguished
honor, a sash of antelope-skin, beautifully lring-
ed with beads and gay feathers.

Bessie did not fear to ti uit Tonowa, believing
him to be greatly under her irfluence, and rely-
ing upon her own tact and skill to turn his re-

ard for her to her advantage. When he on me

n from his war expeditions and proudly rev
hearsed the scenes of his triumphs, the maiden
often shuddered with ill concealed horror; then
he would add, in a gentler voice and with a
softened look, in the language with which she
had become somewhat familiar:
’ “Tonowa does not harm women and chil-
dren—neither is he cruel to the long-knife
brave.” -

Some pleasant variations came to break the
monotony of the captive’s life. Though there
was no enjoyment in the society of the savage
and uncivillzed people among whom she was
thrown a perpetual feast of soul was found in
the wild and sublime beauties of nalure by
which she was surrounded. Her love of the

icturesque and grand afforded her many on
our of ‘Eonsolation and rest from the melan-
choly and homesickness that would otherwise
have preyed upon her.

Sometimes she rode, accompanied by an In-
dian girl, sometimes by Tcnowa himse f, whose

ride in the art of horsemanshgr delighted in
he rivalry with which Eyeof- ight amused
him. Sometimes she practiced archery, or
schooled herself in the use of arms, or sat for
hoursu on the banks of the lonely river, dsna
glinz a 00k and line, and watching the ripples

her friends. They long to see her, and know'
that she yet lives,” was the sad and earnest an—'
swer. .
“ Eye-ovaight has friends here. Whv should
she mourn for 0iner that are far away i”

“ Does not Tonowa’s soft heart pity a young‘
bird, lost from its nest. and pining for its‘
mother’s sheltering wings?”

“ Tonowa loves to hear it sing in his own free
forest.”

“ But its songs are those of a captive,” plead-
ed the maid, us a tear glistened in her eye.

The young chief looked upon her with a search-
ing, half-suspicious gaze.

“Why does Eye-of Night speak thus?” he
asde.

“Does the deer love its woodland haunts?—-~
the silver—scaled fish its sunny stream! Does
the child of the forest love the hunting—grounds
of his fathers, and the white captive not pine
for her distant home?” returned she, with ani-
mation.

“ Has any one dared ofler harm to the child
of the a ed chief?”

“ No, onowa, not one. She has many friends;
they are very kind to her; but she cannot forget
her home and the loved ones there, who watch
to see her coming."

I. Sadly she uttered this, and with trembling
1ps.

'I‘onowa. was silent for a time. and a deep
shadow rested upon his brow, while a gloomy,
uncertain light flickered in his eye. At length
he asked:

“Does Eye-of Night think she Will ever go
{2011}, the Wigwam of her father, who saved her
i e?

Tears flowed from the eyes of Bessie. In her
longing: for home, she had forgotten the scene
which this allusion recalled. and she realized at
once, as it were, the uninterrupted kindness she
had received from the old chief and her foster-
mother.

“ He is a kind father. The poor captive will
never forget him 1” she exclaimed.

“Then why should she leave. him desolate,
after staying with him many days an
break the heart that is old and weak, like a
woman’s?”

The maid sighed. She had, almost uncon—
sciously to herself, cherished a hope that she ‘
would be allowed to return to her friends when
an opportuniry should offer: but she now real-
ized how little realization was to crown her
longinqs.

Tnnowa resumed, in a tone of tenderness:

“ Let the brave and skillful maiden dwell in
the Wigwam in the wi‘derness. She is a. spirit
of light, sent by the Great Father, to bright-
en the home of a brave Warrior! 15 not the-
fearless brave, who follows the war-path, and

 

go liding and sliding past.

he glorious September afternoon, Bessie sat ,

in a favorite nook on the river’s brink, lnly
watching the shadows of the clouds upon the
water, absorbed as usual when alone in medita- .
tions upon the future and the past.

The voice of Tonowa aroused her.

“ What docuhe Eye-of—Nigbt see in the water
that she gazes into it so many hours!” 1

“She sees the faces and hears the voices of ;

chases the deer and the bear in his own forest,
better than the pale-face, who digs the ground
like asquawi Small not one who is'stroug to‘
smite his foe to the earth, guard the white child
of his chief from danger! Let the pale maiden.
answer."

Bessie felt bewildered; and a thrill of fear'
shot through her heart, as she comprehended the
meaning of his words, but she answered with»
calmness:

    

  

   

  
   

 

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

 

21

 

“Eye-of-Nightls not afraid in the Wigwam
of her father, nor among her pale faced friends;
the Great Spirit watches over her. She walks
in thought whither she pleases; but when she
wa it’s not with those she loves, she is very
sad.

“Eye‘of-Night understands the meaning in
Tonowa’s words,” he replied, looking straight
into her face.

Bessie made no answer, but sat gazing into
the water, and Touowa resumed:

“ The war-cry has startled the wolf from his
den, and to—morrow Tonowa goes out upon
the war-path, to punish the tribes of the
north—the dogs of the Pottawatondas; but be-
fore he goes, he seeks a promise. He will re-
turn with the spoils of his slaughtered foes; he
will come with his plumes dipped in the red
blood of many victims: when he has slain a
hundred of his enemies, then will not Ew‘of-
Night come to his Wigwam and be the light of
his life?” _

“ Tonowa,” said the maiden, with an agitated
countenance, “remember. Eyeof-Night speaks
only the truth: Never can she live in Tonowa‘s
Wigwam. She will remain with her father, and
be Tonowa’s sister, and let not the fire of
anger burn out the love he had for her, for Eve-

of-Night wishes to ~be the friend of her kind '

brother.”

“She will learn to love Tonowa; he will
wairl”

“ Tonowa must seek some other maiden. Eye-
of-Night will not leave the Wigwam of her good
father.”

“Let the proud maiden beware! Tonowa is
strong: his heart is big; he will not be scorned.”
The voung warrior was deeply agitated.

“Your adopted sister loves a. white brave in
her distant home. She may never see him again,
but she will dye the green carpet of earth with
her heart’s blood, rather than give herself to
any other. This is why she cannot live in Tono—
wa’s Wigwam.”

“The maiden speaks proudly; she is worthy
to mate with a great chief. Tonowa will some
day seek the young white brave of her choice;
his scalp shal hang at Tonowa’s belt when he
returns;" and without another look at the agi4
tated irl, he stalked proudly away.

Bessie set just where he had left her,
silently pondering upon her fate, and revolv-
ing over and over again in her mind, the
possibilities of an escape, while the warriors
were absent upon their expedition against a
hostile tribe.

,At length an unpleasant odor, strange and
peculiar, seemed to pervade the air, and caused

er to look searchineg about her, to discover ,
She started with sudden horror; a i

the cause.
huge snake had drawn its repulsive body to a
spot but afew feet distant, and lay with de-
mon-like, fascinating eyes, fixed upon her.
A cold chill ran over her frame: her heart heat
so thickly as almost to smother her; she dared
not move, but mentally calculated the chances
of esca 8.. A close thicket was behind her, but
she cou d not hope to penetrate it with the ra-
pidity of the reptile, which she knew belonged
to a species that chased its victim. The open-
ing on the bank extended, but a short distance.

I and then the thicket closed down on it to the
! water’s edge.
, Oh, for a weapon of some kind! One shot
from her trusty pistol would quench the horrid
' gleam of those glittering eyes, but she had
nothing—not even a stick or stone. She had
heard of frightening the most ferocious wild
animals by a sudden maneuver or terrifying yell,
but it was a questionable plan in this case.

The long neck began to stretch forward, the
coils to unWind. For an instant every nerve
which she possessed Seemed paralyzed and inca«
pable of action; it seemed impossible to stir.
Then—the snake lay writhing in its own blood.
A little spiral of smoke floated away down the
stream, and the reverberation of the unerring
shot died out in the dusky woods.

Bessie had been in greater danger than she
was aware of.

Tonowa, when he left her sitting by the river,

,had turned his steps toward the village, with
ibis heart full of rage and jealousy. In the

intensity of his anger and disappointment, he
determined the pale-facedllover, Whom he scorn-
ed, should never possess that which had been
just denied to him; Md entering the village,
he had dispatched runners to summon his war-

?riors, to prepare instantly for the war-path,

 

anrl to .meet him at a certain point down the
river at sunset.

He then furnished himself with his arms and
accoutcrments, and retraced his steps, fully re-
solved to slay the girl who hadscorned his love.
and then seek his own speedy death in battle
with his foes.

But, as he stole noiselessly toward the soot,
where she still set as he had left her, and beheld
herdanger and her terrified helplessness,” entire
revulsion of feeling came over him. and raising
his rifle which a few moments before had been
devoted to her sacrifice, be aimed at and killed
the huge reptile; and then without a word, or
even a glance at the maiden, he hastened away
in the direction of the appointed rendezvous.

CHAPTER X.
THE TWO FRIENDS.
“ READY, Joel”
“Reckon I am, Will. Two sparks in every
pull of the trigger, and my ribtickler as keen

, as a razor."

“ Then say good-by to all.”
“Not a bit of it. Whose huslne is it when

‘ or whar I go?”

The two men, that evening, bent their steps
down the river-road. and at dark paused upon
the deserted Ryan plantation. '

“ What do you say, Joe, to spending the
night here?” ‘ *

“Good idea, by J inks! I’d jest like to nose
around here whar Misa Bess used to be a-doin’
pretty work. Now, don't bristle up, Bently,
cause, of ya do, I’m 03 on this tramp alone.”

Bently could but laugh, and than he added,
cheerily: ;

f‘No, Joe, I’mynot willing to lose you, and it
Miss Bessie is found, and s e is not as grateful
to you as to me, then I’ll turn 7. .dian.”

“ Here’s my hand, Will Bentlyl I loved that
gal powerful; but, Lordy mel so might a cata-
mount M9 her. 9149 w  oversowerie’l But:

 

‘22

\

Queen Bessie. the Border Girl.

 

she‘s not for the like of me—not by a river-full;
.au’ of you’ll only jest let me help you find her—-
for I know we‘ll fetch her, ef we have to go to
the Lake—I’ll be the happiest feller in the set-
tlemenrs."

Joe Sykes read Bently’s heart in a rough, rudo
way, but read it nevertheless, and it would
have been hard to say how much his admira-
tion for Will was due to the fact that he was
Bessie’s champion and evident choice.

Leavin Will to his thoughts, Joe scouted
and nose around. evidently in search of some-
thingBe He returned, at nightfall, to find
“32:3 ntly had prepared a good repast in the
ea in.

“That’s my contribution!” he said, flinging
down upon the rough bench—a woman’s shoe!
“ That’s hers, Will. for no gal in the settlement
could stand in such a. toy as that but Queen
Bess!”

It was a neatly-fitting but well-worn goiter,
which evidently had been thrown away as
worthless, and so Will remarked.

“ Then you don’t want it, eh?” cried Joe.

“Why, what should I do with it?” asked
Will. 0

‘fDo with it? Well, by Jinks, that’s a pooty
question! Why—why—dang it all—put it in
your weskit, to be sure! You're a nice chapl—
don’t know what to do with that ar’? Jes’ gi’n
it to me, old fellerl” and placing it in his “ wes-
kit,” he evidently thought himself possessed of
a charm.

“ I found something else, Will—John Ryan’s
old dug-out, jest whar he left it, poor feller,
afore he was wiped out. It’s good as new, but
full of water.”

“What do you propose to do with it, Joe?”

“ Why, go down-stream, to be sure. 1 take it
that our trhmp is fur the Ohio country, and
the dug-out’ll take us down to the traders’ posts
below as slick as the oil of a deer’s tail.”

“That’s a very good idea, Joe; but, as good
foresters hadn’t we ought to scout along the
banks. for you know the reds may be on us at
any time?”

“ Oh, I’ll answor fur that. You shall keep
the stream an’ I’ll out of! the bends with a
scout.”

it was finally so arranged: so, early on the
' ,foilowing morning the two friends, lifting the
canoe from its cover. cleaned it out nicely, and
went gliding down the clear, deep river, whose
swift current rendered the paddle unnecessary,
save to steer. All day long they sped on, Joe
Sykes occasionally landing for a scout, over-
land, while Will pursued the tortuous water-
course around through the hills. At night the
madea. landing at.the foot of a bluff whic
rose almost perpendicularly from the stream,
and under its ledges found a safe retreat.

“ Lookout for rattlers, Will; here’s jest [the
placenta the varmints. I hate ’em wuss’n the
re s.

The words were hardly out of his mouth be-
for the sharp, metallic like tremolo of the real
Virginia rattlesnake (Crotalus , Durissus)
caused both men to move hastily to the water’s

e: ,
Thar he is!” cried Joe, as be seized the pad—

:9'

 

I “And a monster he is,” said Bently, who
raised his rifle as if to shoot it. ’

“Hold tharl A rifle-shot mought bring
something on us wuss’n rattlers."

In his excitement, Will had forgotten the
danger from human foes. Joe roceeded to
confront the. huge snake whose s umbers they
had disturbed, but stepped backward quickly,
with a bound which landed him in the stream.
The water being deep and the current strong,
both Joe and the paddle were quickly going
down the river.

Bentl , pushing ofl the canoe, sought to fol-
low to t e rescue, but the impetus given the best
sent it too far out in the stream, and r J 06
was left floundering, ten feet away. ithout a
paddle, or any means of directing the canoes
course, it promised to leave Joe to his fate,
and to place his companion in anything buta
safe predicament.

{Tossing and tumbling, Joe still was kept by
the current close upon the shelvin shore,
where, strikir a rock, be secured a oothold.
His presence 0 mind had not deserted him, ard
no sooner was be safe than he turned his atten-
tion to Bently, who was fast drifting off. The
paddle was seen floating close inshore, a few
feet away. Joe, therefore, began to creep
along the stony bank in pursuit, when full 3
dozen of the vicious rattesnakes sprung up in
coils in his path; With a half suppressed
howl,-the now exasperated fellow flung himsreliI
into the stream, struck out boldly for the
canoe, and reached it after much floundering,
and rpoiselike eflorts in making headway.

“ Bgn t try to pull me in, Wil , or the dug-
out will upset; jest try and keep her head
around, while I kick her inshore.”

This was easier said than done, but, at length,
after pnfling and splurging like a. dredging ma-
chine, Joe had the infinite satisfaction of seeing
his rfi'orts crowned with success. The paddle
was secured, when the two pulled on down-
stream for less infested uarters.

“ What do you say, 06, toa night of it in
the canoe? I’ll watch and steer while you

sleep.”

“ Skeer work, Will. It’ll soon be dark as
a pocket, in these bills. But, on know thar’s
an island somewhere below. don’t jest know
how fur we’ve come, but it’s my guess that it
isn’t many miles away. We‘ll drive ahead, and
perhaps strike it before the moon goes clean out.

know thar’s a hut lhar, and devil a snake on
it: so let’s put ahead.”

Silently as a shadow the little craft sped on.
Standing on his knees in the boat’s head, while
Will held the steering—paddle, Joe ke t his eyes
and ears on the alert for danger. ot a word
was spoken, as the gloom deepened around them.
The hills and giant trees shut in the stream like
huge bastions, and the stars overhead twinkled
as if seen through a telescope—so very far off
they seemed. The minutes became so solemnly
impressive that both men heartily wished for
the island to heave in sight. The were not the
first stout hearts that were awe by the night
intoa feeling of actual physical dread.

Suddenly a fire-flash came from the northern
bank. then a rifle—crack broke the stillness and

     
  

«o

H

l

  
 
 

 

a»

 

Queen Bessie, the Border “Girl.

 

2‘8

\

 

a hall whizzed so closely to Joe’s head as to
“ wind” his coon-skin can. ,

“ Down. Joe!” said Will, in a low tone,
“ There’s Indians on our track. I’ll head for the
other shore.”

“ Take hear of yerself, Will, fur the red devils
will bore yer ears out.”

A second shot followed, but the ball went wide
of the mark. It evidently was so dark that no
aim could be taken, and the canoe soon reached
the opposite shore in safety.

“ Blast my yowder, “’1‘”, but I’d ruther fight
the reds than and here, ef we're to meet more
rattlers. There! I hear one cracking his j’ints,
- my name isn’t J “Sykes.”

“Hist! Are yo trying to make our where-
abouts known?" said Will, slernly. '

“Now, look here, Will Bently; ef yer think
I’m goin7 to put my moccasins into rattlesnakes’
jaws, ye’r’ mistaken. I’ll see ye be durned fust,
by Jinks, so I will,” and Wth that he sat down
in the canoe again. '

“ Who be you?” growled a gruff velce, not
ten feet away, in a clump_cf underbrush.

“ I’m a man as can lick you, any day, by
Jehokey l” instantly answered Joe, as he sprung
from the canoe as if shot out of it, dashing. for
the underbrush, before Bently fairly realized
what was trans irin .

A noise of mega stguggling followed, and be-
fore Will could ground the canoe and effect a

'landing the two combatants came crashing and

rolling down to the very water’s edge. A knife
gleamed, and Bently was just in time to arrest
its stroke. Pulling Joe away, he said, in a low

, voice:

“ Fools, do you want the reds down on usl’l

Joe arose to his feet, still clasping the knife.
The rostrate man did not stir.

“ ave you hurt him, Joel” asked Bently,
bending over the body. .

“ Shouldn’t wonder of I had kind 0' shortened
his wind, an Pa ’83 sp’iled his supper of you
hadn’t mixed in.” _

The man stirred, gasped and struck out With
his hands, as if in pain. Will raised him to a
sittin osture.

“Gig us a drink, ole hoes!” were the first
words uttered. ~

“ Are you much hurt?” asked Bently._

“ Hurt? Wal, let’s see. Mebbe that Is a hole
somewhar in my oarkiss.” .

Joe here presented his coon skin cap filled
with water. , _ ’ ,

“ Stick yer nose in that, you old rip, an yell
feel better.” _

The stranger took a deep drink, and then arose
to his feet.

“ Who be you, anyhow?” he demanded. -
Be“ We are Fort Kyle men on a. scout,” replied

ntly. .

- “ Why in thunder didn’t ye say so then, when
I fust bawled out?"

“And who be on, you old night-hawk?”
rather irately aske Joe. y_

“ Wal. seem’ it’s you; I’ll tell ye when Iglts
ready; but, by Jehosaphat, I’d ruther'try that
tussle over again than be jabberin’. W111. ye
fou’t me to—morrow, when we kin hev-daylight;
fur it?” ' .

‘ 561;; course 1 will; I km lick- ye an’

yer

daddy’s two best brats, to boot, all at onc’t.
newsgive us yer name and business."

“ er a sassy purp, ye ar’, an’ I guess I won’t
tell ya nothin’ to-night. So here goes,” and he
proceeded to move of! u ) the bank.

“Shall I wing him, ill?" said Joe, seizing
his rifle from the canoe.

“No, no; put down your gun. Stranger, I
must insist that you tel me who you are and,
as the Indians are around, we had better talk
and act with caution. Who are you?"

“I’ll answer you, mister. but not that other
chap. I’m named Bill Bigger, an’ we ar’
a—tmmpin’ up to Fort DeKaue (DuQuesne,) me
an’ a dozen other tellers, who’ve been out on a
long pull, an’ hev had good luck, an’ the other
fellers are some on ’em, on t’other side 0’ the
river, an’I s’pects it was they as shot at "er,
thinkig’ ye war Injuns, an’ that’s the w ole
story.

“Blast that powder!” ejaculated Joe: “to
shoot at decent white men a—thinkin’ we was In-
junsl Why, Bill Bigger, yer party is drunk!”

“Not a drop 0’ whisky or rum in the crowd,
an’ that‘s the reason the boys is agoin’in to
the fort,” answered Bill.

“ Now, see here, Mister Bigger; you jest put
yerself in this dug-out an’ we’ll pull over to
t’other shore an’ hold an inquest on yer testi-
mony: an’ of yer wants to fight that scrimmage
out in the mornin’, I’m yer man."

“ All right, boys! Jes’ help me find my shoot—
inl-iron. an’ we’re off.” ‘

.After some searching, by feeling, in the brush.
Bill’s gun was recovered, and the three men
proceeded to cross-.to the opposite bank-Bill
being stuck up in the front, as Joe said, to take
all the lead his friends might happen to spill out
of their rifles. No accident. however, happen-
ed, and. ere long. the camp was entered. They
were found to be a set of traders and trappers,
bound “ up—stresm "—which then meant for Fort
Pitt (now Pittsburg). They were heavily loaded
thh packs, and moved very slowly, by short
stages, camping as pleasure or inclination dic-
tated such a jolly, rollicking, hardy dozen of
men as only that time and locality could pro-
duce. Just faintly perceiving the canoe, they
had fired upon it, recklessly indifferent as to ‘
whether Indians or whites were in it,and re-
garded the whole» affair as a good joke. ‘

But, Will found in them valuable guides.
Having “ heat” the country for game and
trade, over a wide region, they were fully in-
formed of every thing going on in the Indian
towns; and b the closest questioning, Bently
obtained a. faint clew to what he deemed evi-
dence of Bessie R an’s existence. It was but a
faint claw, for Sue men rarely interested them-
selves in other matters than “busmessi” ‘30
know any thing in regard to captive women and
children was not “in their line." . ‘ h

The camp did not subside into stillness until
a late hour; but, with the earliest dawn, Bently
was awake, ready to resume his Journey.

“ Yer ain’t a-goin atore I hev a chance to flu-
ish up Bill Bigger, are ye?" anxiously inquired

Joe Sykes.
1 “Of course Iam,” was the answer. “Into,
’ the dug-out at once, Joe, if you want to go along
we we." ‘ " 

So

 

_m

24 . Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

“Wal,I am a-goin’ with ya as sure as I’m
alive, but I want to lick Bill Bigger powerful
bad!”

When the sun glinted the tree-tops on the
lofty hills. the canoo was heading rapidly down

, the wild Kanawha. and in two days more the
voyageurs reached the Stockade, a kind of hunt-
er’s head- uarters on the Ohio, at the point
known as enton’s crossing. it was a queer

lace, at once a rendezvous, storehouse and tort,
inhabited by two or three old frontiermen who
couldn’t rest easy in the settlements Thither
headed most all bands of traders and trappers
penetrating to the Cumberland country, on the
south, and to the Shawnees’ Muskingum towns
on the west; hence it was a most favorable spot
for Bent] '51 operations. Not doubting that
Bessie ha been caught by the Shawnees, and
borne to the west, he hoped to glean from the
hon. ers and rangers coming, information enough
to direct his steps aright.

Toe clew obtained from the party encountered
on the Kanawha was this:—two rangers, who
had been scouting toward the northwest, had
told of a. mighty pretty girl which they had
there seen. These men were still out on their
scout, and every day Were looked for at the
stockade; but weeks—weary Weeks—passed, and
first they did not come. Accompanied by Joe,

ently pierced the forest in many directions but
dared not go too far, for fear of missing the
ex ected rangers.

any parties cameiin,but from them not a. ray
of hope was won. Captives were reported in
several instances, but they were all from the
Kéntuclr settlements. This delay so irritated
both Wiland Joe, that, one morning in Sep-
tember, they sallied out on a prolonged scout,
to the Shawnee and Wy-undot towns, leaving
word at the stockade that in about a month’s
time they would again come in when, if no in-
formation had been left. for them, they would
trythe Delaware country, taking all of October
for the search in that direction.

CHAPTER Xi.
A GLEAM AND AN ECLIPSE.

AT the settlement aflairs went on very much
as usual. During the summer, a band of hardy,
enterprising men, with their families—some
seven or eight of them—joined that advance-
guard of civilization, and caused the Fort Kyle
settlers to feel that. as their numbers increased,
so also did their safety and their power.

. The excitement which the mysterious disap-
, pearance of Bessie Ryan had occasioned sub.
, sided into a quiet, settled grief in the hearts of

those to whom she was dear. ,

It was hardly possible not to hope and believe
that she still lived; and that the sagacity and
faithful perseverance of Will Bently, prompted,
us they knew him to be, by an interest far
beyond that which had actuated those who first
sought her, would eventuute in obtaining some ,
clew to her'whereahouts, or, at the worst. in
ascertaining her actual fate if she was no lon- i
gar living. l

_ Jessie Grey—like the true—heprted girl she
was—never ceased to mourn for her lost friend,
and never omitted an oigporrunity of inquiring ,
9: those banter» P“! 5 throush the Mile-

, .

\

 

 

 

ment, whose wandering lives afforded them the
means of hearing of the existence of such a
prisoner among the Indians. should there be
one. Toward Captain Wilmot, she had. invaria-
bly, since suspicion fell upon him of having
something to do with her friend’s disap earance,
maintained a. reserve that preclude the ad-
vances he seemed disposed to make.

As time passed. Jessie could not fail to per-
ceive a change in him, which, in spite of preju-
dice, went far toward restoring him to his
former place in her regard. He seemed to have
much less of that exalted esteem for himself
which once had been so prominent an element
in his character, and showe con-es ondin l
greater respect for the merits of at era. a
was, as it were, tempered by sorrow to new
merit.

Had it not been for the unpleasant suspicions
which still clung to him, few of his acquain-
tances in the settlement but would have valued
him highly.

Jessie was one day standing at her father’s
gate, conversing with a neighbor who was just
taking leave, when she saw Captain Wilmot ap-
proaching as if to address 1191‘. Hastily bidding
her friend goodhy, she turned to re-enler the
house, but not soon enough to avoid‘him, for he
was but a few steps from the gate, and spoke to
her before she reached the door.

“ Are you afraid of me, Jessie, that you run
when you see me coming?” he asked, in a tone
half-jesting, half-reproachful.

The pretty girl blushed, and looked very much
confused for a moment, and then replied can-
did y:

' “ No, Captain Wilmot, it is not that I am
afraid of you. I have other reasons, but—”

“ I know your reasons,” interrupted Wilmot;
“but let me ask if you have been altogether
just or generous in not allowing me an oppor-
tunity of vindicating myself from the charges
which inconsiderate persons and spiteful ene—
mies have made against me?”

“ Perhaps not,” said Jessie, thoughtfully.

“I have long wished for a chance to talk the
matter over with you,” he continued, “ but you
have constantly avoided me and behaved as
though you Were convinced I, was the monster
rumor represented me to be.” '

“ I have been perverse, perhaps, and will be
glad to listen now to anything you can say that
will clear up this mystery,” said Jessie, favor-
ably impressed by the ardor and sincerity of his
manner.

“ You have believed with the rest, I suppose,
that I was in some way connected with Bessie
Ryan’s loss. I cannot understand how I could
be thought capable of injuring one whom I
always admire and res cted, and, for a time,
loved. It would be mos unnatural to harm one
we love.”

“ True. Captain Wilmot,” said Jessie, gent-l .
“ but you had been heard to say that she shou d
be made to suffer for trifling w th you."

Wilmot started.

“Can that foolish remark have been the
foundation for all this suspicion and prejudice?
—-an idle threat of a disap inttd and vanity—
wounded maul 'I remain 1' that I did say

something of the kind when: was angry and

 

i
.
l
,
“F
,.
.
.

\

 

 

 

 

 

   

:L.” ,

mortified, but little thinking or meaning that I
should ever do her harm. I have ielt as deeply
as any other person the anlllness of her fate,
and would freely giVe all that'l possess to have
her brought back alivo and unharmed.”

“ It was thought strange that you should
have seen her, found her horse, and yet come
home Without knowing anything of her where-
abouts,” said Jessie, determined, new 1hat the
subject had been broached, it should .be thor-
oughly canvassed. _

“ There was nothing strange about It. I have
explained it before. 1 met her at the pasture,
and learned that she had followed my horse’s
trail, thinking it to be that of her own. I of-
fered her the use of my horse to go on to the
Ryan plantation, but she refused it, and I then
started oil! in search of the animal myself, and,
aftera long ride, got on his track, and traced
him up, but got bewildered and delayed in try-
ing to find my wa out of the Woods. That is
positively the who a truth regarding my share
of the matter.”

“Why have you never joined in any of the
attempts to find her?"

"One reason was, my duty here at the fort‘
another was, my inexperience in woodcraft. i
knew I could never accomplish anything,
wheres practical hunters and Woodmen had
failed " .

“There is something in that: still, it would
help to do away with the suspicious against
you, it you should make an effort—even if you
failed to accomplish anything."

“Well, Jessie, I have been thinking so my-
self, and have been arranging aflairs so as to

at a leave—of—absence (or that purpose, and I

ope to find those to go with me who will not
make it an idle‘ undertaking. So, if Bessie is
found by my instrumentality, I shall expect to
stand very high in your favor!” and Captain
Wilmot looked as though he wero more in can
nest than in jest, in his concluding sentence.

Jessie Grey blushed, and looked. pleased and
happy. Captain Wilmot had convmced her, at
least, that he was an innocent man. .

Not very long after this, Captain Wilmot had
an opportunity to put his plan into execution.
A trapper came into the settlement to procure
some supplies of ammunition and other neces-

saries, and after a few days’ stay was ready to .

start out into the wilderness again in pursuit of

his business. Wilmot resolved to go with him, ‘

accompanied by two other young men who
wished to make a. hunting excurswn, and were
interested enough in his enterprise to assust him
as much as possible.

They took a course different from any that
had been pursued before, passing through the
forests bordering upon the Ohio river, Intend-

ing, it their eflorts failedin that direction, to ;

strike northward toward the Delaware towns,
where Wilmot conceived that she was, if alive,
held prisoner. Their plan was, if she should
be heard from, to endeavor, through some
friendly Indian or privileged trader, to secure
her release by the olfer of a large ransom, and
if that was refused to give her aclew to their
designs, and amist her to escape.

They had been upon the tramp for several

days, when an agreeable episode occurred to 1-0- ._

 

 

Queen fiessie. the fior'der Girl. I 25

Have the monotony of their journey. One
evening, as they were about camping for the

'ght they heard voices not far distant. as of
men n animated conversation. After liswning
carefully, and taking the necessary precautions
against danger, they cautiously approached the
point from which the voices seemed to come,
and soon discovered a. group of white men,
gathered around a. camp-fire, and engaged in
various ways, but all in the most cheerful
spirits—laughing, talking, and smoking. Like
the camp upon which Will Bently and Joe
Sykes had stumbled on the Kauawhat these
were trappers making their way home with the

roducts of a successful trip, and when joined
fly the other party, seemed determined to make
a jolly time of it. So jokes, gossip and story-
telling kept the whole party awake until a. law
hour, while the indispensable bottle went an oc-
casional round. The rough old hunters cast
,many inquisitive glances at the young soldi: 1-,
whose manners and language were so unlike
their own, and at last one otthem, less back—
ward than the rest, said: ‘

“ ’Pears like you don’t b’long in these parts.
Come from over the mountains, I reckon.’

“I belong wherever chance happens toput
me down,“ replied Wilmot, laughinfi.

“Wal, thet’s purty much our x. We’re
hur, an’thar, an ev’rywhar luck favors us; but

Ireckon yo foller somethin’ else besides huntin’ '

er tra ppin’, don’t yer?”

“ My business, just now,” replied Wilmot, not
unwilling to be communicative on the subject,
“ is neither to hunt bear nor to trap beaver;but‘
I am on a hunt, nevertheless. Have any of you
chanced to see or hear of a young white girl
among the tribes in the regions you have been
through? Perhaps you heardpf the occurrence
at Fort Kyle last spring?" \

The trnpper knit his brows and shook the ashes
from his pipe.

“ ’Pears like I hev. Hello, Jim!” calling to
another of the party who sat cross-legged on the
ground, with his back propped against a huge
tree, upon the opposite side of the fire. ‘fDidn‘t
I hear 0 a-sayin’ thut thur was a mighty
purty w its gal up yonder among the Dela.- _
wares?” ,

“ Wal, now, yer mou‘t’a’ beerd me speakin’
on’t. S’posin’ I did now," he continued, getting
up and crossing over to where the first speaker
sat, and addressing himself to Wilmot. “ Is
she any akin to you, cap’nl"

“ If she is the one I am looking for, she is a.
friend of mine, and was one of the finest girls of
the settlement,” replied Wilmot. ’

“ Oh—ho! thar’s whar the wind lays, is it! Wal.«£
I s’poee thur all nice gals at the settlement,”
and here he chuckled at his own wit. “ I‘ve heern -'
of heaps of nice gals, an’ seen some on ’em, too;

but somehow ’nuther they never none on ‘em . ' , 
seemnd to take a shinetomyold hide. Mou’t , 

halfk‘ase I never banker-ed orter ’em much my—
se . ,

“ But where-in what tribe—~did you see this
girl?" asked Wilmot. impatiently. ’ ‘
“ I never said. as I knows on, that I’d seen ary

gal," replied the tantalizing trapper. “ ’Bout
six months ago, I come acrost some comer-odes
as had bin down the river a flood piece on is '

 

 

23 Queen fiessle, the Border Girls

 

trappin' spree—-an’ they was a~talkin’ ’bout some
gal they’d see’d one day, kinder by accerdent,
as they war slippin' round kinder sly~fur t
Injuns down thar’s mighty sharp arter wh a
men’s skalps, an’ they wasn’t quite ready to
part with theyrn yit; an’ so they steered clear
of her, tho’ they was mighty cur’us to know how
she come thar; an’ they said she was a powerful
purt cretur’to look at.”

“ hen you know nothing definite about it?"
said Wilmot, greatly disappointed.

“See hyar, capt’in,” spoke up a tall, raw-
boned fellow, who had been listening with great
interest, and puifing vast clouds of smoke from
his short-stemmed pipe at the same time. "I

\ b’lleve I kin tell yer somethin’ ’bout that ar’ my- ,

self. Thar’s agal not niore‘n two hundred miles
from hyar. and lives ’mong the Delawares—an’
I reckon she’s the ’dentical one yur been talkin’
’bout.” ‘

“What would you take, comrade, to guide a
party of us to the place?’ asked Wilmot, now
quite elated with hope.

“ Couldn’t do it. nohow, stranger. No offense,
but I’ve other fish to fry jist now; hain’t seen
my old Woman un’ the young-’uns fur better’n

a year, an’ I’m on the hometramp now with a

good pile of plunder, an’ the devil himself
couldn t stop me.”

_ The men all laughed, the speaker himself join-
ing in.

“ I’ll tell ya what ’tis,” added another of the
party, after a moment’s silence, seeing the per-
plexed expression on Wilmot‘s face, “I’ve a
notion that that’s another part out on this
same hunt. , I see’da young tel er called Bill
Bently not long ago, an’ he’d jest been out on a
long tramp intew the western Injun country,
lookin’ a’ter a gal, some relation of his’n, I
reckon,” with a sharp look all round, and a
strong emphasis on the pronoun—“an he was
goin’ to start out ug’in ’fore long. ’Spect ef ye’ll
he s ry ,ye would come up to him ’lore he gits
star ad.

“I am well acquainted with Bently,” said
Wilmot, “and nothing would suit me better
than to join company with him; but, as he had
been gone so long without out having heard
anything of him, we concluded to start out our-
selves and see what we could do. I’m glad to
hear that he’s alive and well. Can you tell me
where to find him?”

“ Wal " said the trapper, reflectively, “ when
I see’d im he war makin’iracks fur a ’int
’bout for mile furder down the river, an’ ex‘

_ Egcts ye’l find out all ’bout him at the Stockade

low the Kunawha, on the Ohio.”

It was with the greatest difficulty that Cap.
tain Wilmot could compose his mind sufficiently
to sleep that ni ht. The suspicion which had
(alien upon him ad been felt more keenly than
was allowed to appear, and he had determined

, that Bessie Ryan should be found, or her fate

ascertained, it the thing was within the range
of human possibilities.

He know too that Bently was a thousand
times more likely to succeed in such an under-
taking than himself, and he determined to join
him, and put himself and his party under that
leadership. .

Accordingly, early next morning, the little

' I . I

 

band turned its course southward, and after a
steady two-days’ tramp, they reached the point
mentioned by the trap er.

Here they heard of ently, and his friend and
companion, Joe Sykes. They were then on a
scout to the south, but were expected at the
point in a few days to complete their arrange-
ments for a protracted excursion into the vast
forest stretchingnorthward. 3

Somewhat sooner than was expected, they
made their appearance.

The meeting between the two men, Bently
and Wilmot, was somewhat constrained. Wil-
mot extended his hand, and Bently took it, but
in a. way that showed a great lack of cordiality.
He was, in fact, half-inclined to sympathize
with the inveterate Joe Sykes, who scowled
gruflly, and kept his hands in his pockets; but,
upon second thought, it occurred to him that
Wilmot might be the bearer of good news from
the fort.

So, addressing him in a more friendly man-
ner, he inquired after the friends at the fort,
hardly daring to ask the question uppermost in
his mind. ‘

“Let us walk down by the river,” proposed
Wilmot, to which Bently assented.

“ I presume you already have conjectured my
object in meeting you?" he continued, as they
walked slowly away.

Bently looked into his face with a searching

aze. .
“ It can’t be that—our friend-Bessie Ryan,
has not home?” he asked.

“No—not that; but I have come to join you
in your search for her. I could not remain at
the Sort any longer with such suspicions against
me.

Bently looked perplexed, and uncertain what
to say for a moment, and then replied:

“Let bygones he bygones, then. Since our
object is the same, we will join hands to carry
it out, though I confess that. thus far, I have
met with nothing but failure.”

“ Perhaps I can give you a cIew to follow,”
said Wilmot. “I have heard of a. white girl

I among the Delawares, and I can’t help thinking

it’s Bessie herself;” and he went on to impart
the meager information he had gleaned from
the trappers.

“ That’s the best news yeti" exclaimed Bent-
ly, with more enthusiasm than he had betrayed
for many months. “ If it is indeed she, we will
have her before another month passes away.”

“Thick as mush, by Jinks! I’d ’a’ thought
of a. fight sooner’n thisl” exclaimed the loud
voice of Joe Sykes just behind them,and he
sauntered up to the spot.

" Good news, Joe I” exclaimed Bently, with con-
siderable animation. “ Wilmot has heard of a
girl among the Delawares, and we’re almost
certain that it’s Bessie. Do you think we can
find her?” I

“I reckon we kin, an’ e! thar’s fire in flint
we’ll have her in less’n a month. Ef er sure
yer on the right scent, go ahead; but I m gittin’
so juboua about these trappers’ yarns that I
hain’t much belief in ’em."

“ I have faith in this report, Joe. We’ll
make arrangements for an immediate start.
Wilmot and his men will join us."

 

,5"
a: 

 

 

 

l > !

 

Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. 2'?

 

“ Hooray fur him! Say we j’ine hands, cap-
t’in, an’ forgit old rudges. Reckon you hain t
no’hjections to she in’my paw.” ,

Captain Wilmot responded cordially, perfect-
ly willing to be On terms of friendship with his
rough companion,‘ whose real on Bessie‘s be-
half could but command his respect.

“Man proposes, and God disposes.” Waiting
fora few days for a scout to come in who was
very familiar with the Delaware towns, and
could-speak the Delaware tongue, the party
was astounded by the scout’s arrival, bearing
the news that the Delawares were. even then on
his track, on the war—path in heavy force; and
before twenty-four hours had passed, the woods
around the stockade fairly swarmed with the
fierce foe.

Bently waited several weeks, hoping for a
change in the aspect of afl’airs, and thinking
that a battle, which seemed to be imminent,
might alter the situation so as to enable them
to proceed. But, week after week the danger
to the whites increased—so much so that'it
became necessary to collect all the available
force to be had, to keep (if the plundering,
murderin bottles that swarmed in on evar
side, of ghawnees and Delawares combine .
Never backward Where his strong arm and
brave heart were needed for deeds of courage,
Bently and those who were with him—Wilmot
having been required to return to the fort—
joined the body of defenders.

A bloody battle—long and desperate—finally
occurred, in which many lives were lost on
both sides; but the Indians were completely
defeated and di'heartened, and compelled to
retire, leaving their dead, and those most
severe]; wounded. upon the ground. It was a
battle n which Bantly distinguished limself
among those who were neither weak ror
cowardly. He felt that he owed them a double
retribution, and threwing all the energy of his
soul into the bloody wcrk, he fought with a
reckless daring that enraged while it baffled his
desperate foes, who made him a special mark.

It was hardly to be expected that one so
prominent in the fight should escape unharmed:
nor did he. When the lergthening shadows of
the afternoon, and the failing energies of the
enemy, caused a diminution of the struggle, he
became aware that be was losing strength by
the flow of blood, and when the tide bad fully
turned, be sunk exhausted and faint to the
ground, suffering from a severe wound in his
side.

He was carried back to the bravely-defended
block—house on the banks of the liver, where,
under the rough but loving attentions of the
brave Joe S hes, he was cared for in the best
manner whic the limited resources of the piece
permitted. But. weeks of helplessness—perhaps
months—must elapse before he could resume his
eplterprise—if, indeed, he survived the effects at
a .

 

CHAPTER XII.
RANSOlkD am LOST.

A owniocs autumn sun enriched the beauty of
the wild but placid scene. lts mellow, gllmxnenng
liquid gold shone through a purple haze so etherea
that it just faintly tinted the bright flood under it,
and gave a look of enchantment to the ludionvillage

 

nestled in the glade, around which the many-lined
forget: circled on every side but the one toward the
we r.

A dreamy stillness ervaded the air. All things
seemed sunk into a so t repose, and Bessie Ryan, as
she sat at her wlgwanr door, employing her hands
with some bead-embroidery, and breathing the
balmy alr. gave herself up to visions of the future.

Ever since her adoption into the tribe, Bessie had
been the recipient of every favor and mark of kind-
ness, which t e hearts of her really loving friends
could devise. She had a. lodge of her own, construct—
ed with much more care than was usual to any save
that of a chief.

Her own dress was adorned with the most fanciful
embroidery, and the little deer-skin moccasin bore
the image of wild blue violets and white lilies.
With her (giraoeful head-dress of royal eagle-feathers,
she looke aver Forest Queen as she moved among
the women of t e tribe, and as the chosen daughter
of their oldest and most influential chlef, she was
loved and honored.

Bessie was not unconscions of her power, but
while with patient exertion she strove to reciprocate
the kindness bestowed u on her, her heart over-
flowed with yearnings for ome and friends.

As the time wore away another trouble cast its
shadow across her path. it was well known to the
old Chieftain that Tonowa. had left her in disappoint-
ment and anger. He had said uothi to her upon
the subject asyet, but. that it was on is mind, was
evident from the signs of displeasure which were
but imperfectly concealed. when any allusion was
made before her to the absent warrior.

Bessie wisely avoided, as for as possible, all ap-

roaches to the delicate subject, trusting to time to

elp her out of the difficulty.

But, the day came when it could no longer be put
away. She was sitting in her Wigwam door, on the
beautiful autumn day, when the light step of an
Indian girl broke up her reverie.

“Our father waits in his Wigwam for the comino
of his pale-faced dau hter; he would speak to her.

Bessie turned to t e messenger with a look of
troubled inquiry.

“ Is our father not well?" she asked.

“ He is well," was the brief reply.

Bessie felt asinking of the heart—~a forebodingof
that she had so long feared; but, obedient as usual,
she left her lodge and crossed the space which lay
betweenthe wigwams and in a. moment found her-
self in the old chieftam’s presence. He sat upon a.
wolf-skin, spread out upon the round, smoking his

ipe. On seemg her enter, he ently motioned her

0 a similar seat near him. Bessie as silently obeyed.
He finished his pipe with perfect composure and
laid it aside before speaking—the visitor, meantime,
prerfilfin for what was to come.

“ e c eeks of my white daughtcrare pale to-day.
Wh has the sunshine gone out of her face?"

“ he has been grieving for the summer that is
dying on the hillsides," she replied, with a sad smile.

“I will come again, after the snow-moons have
passed over."

" True, father; but when will the sun so shine that
no shadows will fall to darken the way?”

“ Wh seek the shadows? Is Eye-of;Night no
longer ppy " - .

Bessie was startled bythe sternness of his tone,
and the sharp glance of his keen eye. Foremo-
ment she drooped her head, then she murmured:

“Let not my noble father, whose kindness has
won the heart of the stranger in his household,
ihinkI forget the debt I owe him; but, is it wrong
that, when I am happy in my new home, I shoul
remember those who sorrow for melL-who know
not that I live, and that I have friends, and am be-
loved by the aged and home chief, my father?"

“ Let the pale maiden to at the past. The young
eaglet makesher eyrie .where a noble mate, with
keen e e and strong Wings, shall come and fold
his minibus by her side. Does my daughter listen 1‘"

\

99 Queen fiessie, the Border Girl.

 

"She listens. But the white maiden is no eaglet.“
Then, seeing the darkening :tssion in the old
man’s eye, she continued has ily: “She is but a.
robin—s young robin. that has founda nest with old
ones and she wishes not to leave it; there is no other
like it in all the woods." ’

The old man shook his head, but his countenance
became less stern, and Bessie determined to follow
up the advantage she had gained.

“She will nestle here, safe from the swooping
hawk and fierce birds of prey. singin and cheering
the parent birds that took her under t eir sheltering
wings. Shall it not be so?"

The old chief seemed much pleased at the inferen-
tial a ment used; but his urpose was notto be
so ens set aside, and he rep icd:

“The old birds cannot live forever; when they do

art they will not want their birdling left alone. Let
he proud Eye-of-Night take the noble mate who
seeks her for his own wigwam. He is bravol no
voice rings out the the war-whoop so clearly;
his foes flee before him and dread to hear his name.
Yet is his heart soft and tender for those he loves.”

“ He has gone on the war-path; he may never re-
turn “ said Bessie. not knowing what else to say.

“his e e is quick as that of the circlin hawk;
hisfoot is ike the springwind. He will notbe armed.

“ when will he return?”

"Before the horns of the moon are full. Then
will he build his Wigwam. and come to the old chief
for his pale-faced s uaw."

Bessie bowed her lead it on her hands and shud-
dered. A long silence to lowed. She was almost
afraid to encounter the old man‘s gaze after this
exhibition of feeling. _He waited, with the imper-
turbable calmness of his people. until she appeared
composed, and then, with a tone so firm that it. was
almost stern, he said:

" Not many moons ago. when the red-men came
back to their wives and their little ones, they came
without many braves, whose blood had been poured
out b the long-knives. Their wives wailed and tore
their ir, and cried for vengeance. 'l‘he returning
braves brought with them a. prisoner—one of the
hated race, and all cried for vengeance. Then the
palecaptive was bound to the fiery stake—who could
save her! Who pitied her? W ho, in the angry
council. spoke the word of life?"

He paused. never moving his eyes from the face
of the girl who sat, with pale, firmly-set, impressive
countenance, lis ening to his speech.

“The soft fur was laid for her bed; the sore and
weary feet covered with fur-lined moccasms: the
youn fawn slain for her food. More: an aged
war or, whose head was white with the snows of
man winters—took her to his heart and loved and
watc ed over her. Does the captive live? Is the
light of the sun lovely to her eyes? Speak, maideni
Say it the warm heart lovesto beat?"

essie remained silcnUor a brief period, eve in-
stant of which increased the light in her eye an the
color on her cheek. and then spoke:

“ Why was the white girl torn from her friends?
Had ever her hand injured so much as a hair of the
heads of one of your peo lei She fought in self-
defense' would you have ad her bow her neck to
the stroke? Yet was it most noble. in the aged chief
to stretch his hand and save her. Never has she
for otten-never can she, while her heart beats—
the indness of her father and those who cared for

her when weary and exhausted and lu'truuble. She 
lOVes her indian leentls; her heart chn s to them; ,
and yet she yearns to be with her kmdret . and hear .

her own tongue, and be with the companions of her
youthful sports."

Thexcountenance ol‘ the old chief remained im-
movable. and after a moment of silence be motioned
her away, and said: *

“tIft my daughter return to,,her Wigwam and

Bessie left his presence with a sad heart. The
crisis she had been looking for and dreading so long

 

was close at hand. All the dark forebodlggs of her
first captivit. rose up before her. A mo of des-
peration sett ed upon her: a rice resolve to risk all,
and make an citort which shoul end in success or
death to reach her kindred. But it was necessary
that she should preserve her usual bearin of calm
cheerfulness, and so she forced herself to augh and
chat and Join in the amusements of her companions,
as though nothing of change was in her thoughts.

One day an unusual stir among the inhabitants of
the village caused her to step out and to ascertain
the cause. it proved to be the arrival of some
traders with whom the tribe was on terms of friend-
liness. The spirits of the captive rose with a bound;
had Providence ordered this means of her delivery?

Dispatch and caution were necessary to turn this
chance—if chance it was—to her account. When
she came to face the great difliculty in her way, her
heart almost utisgave her; but now or never. she
thought, and rallied all the resolution of her nature
to accomplish her purpose.

Assuming an a pearance of great interest in the
collection of hen s and other trinkets which Were
displayed to the crowd of eager women and children,
she adroitly succeeded in exchanging’a few words
with one of the traders, whose open indly counteo
Ina}:in! seemed toassure her of his sympathy in her

e a .

"Let us seem to approach the tent of the chief,"
she said, with feigned carelessness, and at the some
time pointing toward it.

“i understand," said he, in the same careless man-
ner; “ be brief and to the pint in what yev‘ got to
say, Sharp eyes and ears are all around us "—hold-
ing up a string of beads for herinspection, as though
that were the subject of their conversation.

Bessie again pointed toward the tent of the old
chief, and the trader, telling his companions to sta
where they were and conclude their bargains, too c
up his own package, and with the white girl close
beside him. moved toward the tent.

“ I am a prisoner here~adopted into the tribe. 1
wish to eschka will escape, if itbe through the
gates of death. Or for a ransom—any thing that
will be accepted. My friends will see that you suffer
no loss. MK name is Bessie Ryan; mdy home was
near Fort yle. if I am not rescue now it will
soon be too late; they are determined to compel me
to marry one of the tribe."

" Leave this to me. young gal. I’ll do all I kin fur
ye. I‘ve gals of my own to home. Go back to yer
companions, and act jistez if thar wa‘n‘t nothin‘ the
matter."

After again making gestures as if communicating
some information in rotation to the village, Bessie
turned and rejoined the groups around the other
traders. and seemed as much interested in their ac-
quisitions as they themselves were.

The day were on; noon came and went, and she
heard nothing of the success of her friend.

At last she received a message, reguiring her pre-
sence at the‘ Wigwam of her adopte father. With
palpitatlng heart she obeyed the summons, appear-

ng before him with an anxious expression of count-
enance. that no effort could conceal. By the un-
usual sternness of the old chief‘s manner, she knew
that a, storm was gathering. The trader who had
interceded for her stood with a pe lexed face, and
when she entered. the old Chieftain ooked from one
to the other in silence. At last he spoke. measurin
his tones with the cold stoicism of the proud pig
warrior he was.

“Let the white maiden s ak her wish."

From an ashy paleness. t 9 face of Bessie flushed
crimsgn; but her voice and eye were steady as she
rep in :

“M father, I would fain look upon the faces of
my w lite kindred!“

" Ungrateful !“

He uttered the one word with a look and tone of
scathing scorn, exnressinz much more than language
could convey.

 

  
 

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i

 

 

 

 

 

up; . >

.9

c; ‘

nigg‘. ,. 

 

 

Queen Bessie. the Border Girl.

..

 

 

 

“Have I fostered a snake in my bosom, that it
turns upon me?" . ‘

Bessie azed unflinchineg at him, but remained
silent, fee ' the uselessness of words toappease

m.
“ Better the red tongues of fire had licked up her 3

blood than that I should have sheltered herl’ con-
tinued the excited old man.

A new expression came into the face of theca -
tive. With aproud, majestic mien and in a tone -
ingly impressive manner but wit out a word. she
stooped to lift a tomahawk that lay upon the ground
near her, and silently offering it to the old chief, bent
her head to receive a blow.

When she lifted her eyes, it was to see the old
man‘s face working. as though he himself had been
struck; the muscles of his strong lips were quiver-
ing with inward emotion. .

l ‘ You love me no longer. Go,“ he said, at
en th.

“gOh. my father!” cried Bessie, in a transport of
joy. “ma I indeed go? Then never, never, will the
white chi d of the aged chief forget his goodness.
She will ask the Great Spirit. every day, to take care
of him. and pour the dews of joy upon his heart as
long as life lasts!“

He gave her one look, as though asking himself
if he could part with her; then silently motioned he!
awa .

Thy; ound appeared a footing of air; so light
seems her feet as she passed to er own tent. So
hap y was she that not atl-ought of disappointment
shelfowed the brightness of the hours that followed.

She knew that the business was not yet settled--
that it must receive the sanction of the council; but
the old chieftain’s consent was a warrant for her do-
liverance.

0n the day following, she was informed by her
friend, the trader, that with great difficult ', and only
by the most extravagant offers, he ha obtained
her ransom; and, as it was not impossible that they

inifiht change their minds, be deemed it advisable . h
o

asten their departure.

Bessie was OverJoyed; it seemed almost too good
to be true. In a very short time she was ready to
leave, and butawaited the movements of the traders.
The old chief refused utterly to see her or bid her
good-by.

But a trying scene awaited her. When it be-
came known throughout the village that the cap-
tive was to be taken from them, the astonishment '
and grief knew no bounds. The women and chil-
dren athercd around her with eve demonstra-
tion 0 grief and love, kissing her ban s, embracing
her. and even clinging to her garments—their tear-
ful faces and earnest voices attesting their aflectxon
for her.

Final] , she tore herself awe. '; and taking a
farewel view of the picturesque scene she was
leaving. turned her horse's head toward the mighty
wildexglness, in which the little cavalcade soon disap-

are .
peBut,“‘who knoweth what the morrow may bring
forth? ’

Scurcely had the red disk of the evening sun
sunk below the forest line, when an Indian runner
entered the village which our little party had so
lately left, be news of a terrible battle and dis-
astrous defeat on the border of the white settle-
men s.

In a short time (:31 was confusion: the women be-
wailed those kill and wounded, and the war-
nOl‘S were loud in their threats of vengeance on the
Slayers of their brethren. The runner informed them
of the approach of the main body of warriors, and
then assed on to convey the intelligence to the vil-
lages eyond.

It chanced that the messenger passed the party
which had just left, giving the brlefest and most
unsatisfactory replies to the inquiries of the traders.
Enough was understood. hawever, to reveal the true
state of the case.

/

' At first, Bessie felt fervently thankful that she had
esca before Tonowa‘s return, but in another mo-
men , she realized, with a thrill of alarm. the short
distance which se rated them. and the likelihood

1 of his attempting er recapture.

‘ A consultation was at once held. the traders com-

. prehendmg the danger to their fair charge. it was
thought best, as they were liable at any time to

| meet the returning band. to vary from their direct

loourse, and by making a circuit. strike the trail
a ain after all danger was Over. But, deepenin
g oom prevented their acting upon the proposed

; plan before morning, and they prepared to camp

1 or the night, fevlin comparatively at ease in the ’

‘ knowledge that the ndian party would do the same.
They selected a spot some distance from the path,
where the would be Screened from observation by

l a stee ri ge running forsomewaysalong the coun-

l‘try. ere they built their fire and prepared the

, primitive supper. after which they disposed them-

selves to sleep.

A thicket of underbrush was growin u n the
almost vertical side of the ridge. in w ic was a
recess so eas and convenient, that it Seemed as if
made for a s coping-place. It served well. also, for
a place of concealment; and the traders, after
5 reading some blankets for the comfort of their
c large. adeed her. if anything should happen dur-
ing the m ht. to lie ectly still and not discover
herself. hen they extinguished the campfire.

A night in the boundless wilderness; the dean ‘
est Interests of life at stake; before her the '
beloved home and friends toward which her heart
was yearni : behind her captivity and a fate
more intolera le thandeatb; or, to avoid that. death
inflicted upon herself.

A break in the tremulous curtain before her
showed her one bright, twinkling star. Never did
i star glisten with such radiance before; and men-
tally communing with it, she could but promise that
, it should shine upon her once again, in her distant
ome. But ..t last the star grew dim the soft
rustlin, of the leafy curtain ceased. and the maiden
sle t t 9 sleep of exhausted strength.

ray dawn was struggling through' the dense foli-
age surrounding her, when she awoke. Then, it was
not suddenly. but it was as if some stran e charm
drew her back to consciousness, she slow y o bed
her eyes-opened them upon a pair of black, g itter~
ing orbs gazing into her own with a fascinating pow
er that thrilled her with a strange, indescribabn
emotion.

It was Tonowa, sitting beside, and watching her

~

e ose.
he would have sprung to her feet, but ho extend-
ed his powerful arm over her, with the purpose, as
it seemed, of making her feel that she was wholl-
m his ower. . '

Bess o sunk back, dismayed and faint. He kept
his steady gaze upon her until she was glad to turn
her head, but not a word was uttered. He laced
his rifle before the passage, like a bar, an then
looked back at her With the faintest glimmer of a
smile in his softened gaze.

She rose, folded her blankets and sat down upon
them, clasped her hands and fixed her eyes absent
ly upon a oint in the distance. Her at tude. to-

_ether wit the resolute contraction of row and
me, showed that she waited for Tonowa to eak.
Amarked change came ovor his features. he
spoke Bessie loo ed at himln the increasing light,
and was struck by the sharp lines of pain and nut»
faring that had been drawn upon his face since she

tsaw 'm. '

Involuntarin pity took the place of her former
» feelings, as be said, in a cutie voxce:

“ Tonowa knows wh e white maiden ishere."
H paused a momen , but Bessie made no answer,
and he continued:
L “ Did the fleet fawn think to escape the red hun-
,‘zterf Look out; a n bmves stand where your
comrades slant." . ’ r -

 

 

80 Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

 

" My friends! Are they gone!" gasped the poor
girl with a low cry of despair.

" ’rhey have left the maiden they foolishly thought
to bear away," replied Tonowa.

“ bastards I" cried Bessie.

“ A handful of ale-faces to a hundred braves!
Tonowa spurns the r ransom. What was that, that
it should purchase the beautiful Eye—of-Night, that
is to shine on him while he lives?”

“ Tonowa knows—he . has been told -—that Eyepi-

Nl ht will never be his," replied Bessie, in a low
V0 CB.
, “ en she finds that she never can return to the
home of her fathers—when she hears that the white
warrior she pines for has one to the land of the
Great Spirit, then she will 6 content to dwell in
Tonowa’s Wigwam."

She remained silent. It was useless toargue—
useless to threaten, and it seemed equally vain to

plead.

An Indian brought the any which she had ridden

the day before, near the out of the ridge. Tonown

, motioned her to mount it and in a few minutes more
she was on her way bac to. the village which she
had left so joyfully the day before.

The traders, flndin themselves completely in the
power of the party 0 warriors, who had discovered
their camp so early in the mornin , thou htit best
for all parties that Bessie sheul be is t in their
hands, fearing for her life, as well as their own, if
they resisted, and had. accordingly, taken their de—
parture at break of day, without awakening her,
grlinformm‘ gher of the misfortune which had be-

a en.

The poor captive was taken to the Wigwam which
she had formerly occupied, where she was left in
charge of an Indian woman and though she was
treated with accustomed kiru ness she was watched
with a vi ilance that recluded every possibility of
escape, she had me itated it.

CHAPTER XIII.
THAT swear AIR mam.

“er aglorious sunset!” exclaimed Will Bentl .
as he lay restlessly upon his rude couch in the bloch-
house upon the banks of the Ohio river, and looked
out through the little window upon the broad
stream, from which the hues of a November sunset
flashed back in a thousand quiVerln lances, while
the gor eous coloring of the froste foliage of the
forest, out an additional splendor to the autumn
scene. -

“I can‘t stand it any longer! Joe, bring me a
blanket“ I’m gomg to walk down to the river—side."

“Ye‘d better be keerful, ylt awhile, Bentlyl” re-
monstrated Joe, at the same time com lying with
his wish. but saying as he handed him t e blanket:
;‘ (lane tech of e chilly air might fix ye everlastin’-

 

“ Never fear; a taste of fresh air is good for a fellow.
I can‘t sta cooped 11 here foreverl" saying which
be wrapped himself I] the bi nket and slowly and
feebly made his way out. Se ting himself upon a
partially decayed stump he contem lated the scene
about him wit that relish that only t e convalescent
can e rience after the confinement ofa long and
painfu illness. As the dews began to fall, and the
air to grow more chill, Bently reluctantly prepared
'to return to the stockade, when a strange] sweet
and heavenly melody was heard, so faint an soft as
to make him uncertain whether or not hewas the
victim of a hallucination. He listened mtently.
Again the music arose, clearer than before. and
w ‘ e he strained his ears to catch the sound, a rush
of recious memories brought back some dim,
ha] -i¢ rgotten happiness of long ago. he could
scarcely tell what; but as the last strain floated
away over the placid waters. and d ed out m the
wood vistas around, the forgotten 3 am burst clear
and s ron upon his mind as identical with the meio-
dy be half just heard: ,

" Draw me still, beloved to thee l"

 

A thrill of nndeflnable emotion—a mingling of 10
and pain—stirred the deepest fountains of his sou .
and a longing toward the past with a painful
thought of the future, swept over im. Ho ste red
to the water's edge and gazed, as far as he coul see
down the river, to discover the source of the mys-
terious music, and continued to watch and listen
{ill the falling of night warned him to return to the

ease.

The next morning his faithful attendant. Joe
Sykes, entered the room. with a peculiar expression
ugon his features, which, over and anon, defied his
e one at control. The willful muscles ofehis mouth
would perversely draw his lips apart in unaccount-
ablc smiles. At length Bontly who had been so
preoccupied with his own thoughts as not to notice
the peculiarit of J oe‘s manner, could no longer fail
to perceive t t something of unusual import was
on his mind.

“ What's the matter, Joe? Has an thing in par—
ticular happened? You look as sm‘ ' as a red-
skin over a scalp-lock."

“ Wal, no—nothin’ in partic’ler. Some Injuns
come down the river this mornin‘ in acanoe, and

ut a s new ashore here. Queer-lookin’ critter,

00' tic es mo to think on‘t."

,, “ Rather strange, I must use . I‘m goin out for
another walk this morning;‘ and Will too — his cap
from its eg. buckled his belt aroundthe waist of
his blue unting-frock, and sought the same spot
where he had rested the evening previous.

Perhaps be imagined that the aerial visitant, who
had entranced him with the magic of a song would
again bewitch his ear? While sitting thus, coking
out upon the river, and absorbed in reflection, he
heard the familiar voice of Joe Sykes behind him,
speaking with unusual softness, and greatly modi-
fied from its wanted rou h tones.

Half—turning around, 9 beheld a ueenly flzure
in Indian costume advancing toward im, her smil-
iu eyes bent ful uplon him and a warm, bright
co or suffusing her c eeks. éhe extended a little
brown han

“ Bessie Ryan I”

“ Will B ntly 1”

He sprung to his feet in speechless astonishment,
and, forget ul of time and ace and circumstances,
he drew her to his bosom n an embrace so fervent
that he half-fainted in her clasp. The sux rise and
nervous shock had been too much for 113 inva~
lid’s strength, and Joe Sykes had to put his arm
around both—4:0 keep them from falhng he after-
ward will b .n k l“h j l ted, 11 dd 1

aug , ns eeacua as esu eny
disaBpeared 1% the woods.

“ par 1398826.,”

“Dear Will!"

The cloud was rifted, and the mull)?l t of ion -
repressed love burst through in a do , and-the
lips met in a kiss that

“ Told the tale that the tongue
Was too timid to speak."

 

“ But, my dear girl, do tell me about yourself—
where / you have been—and what endured—and
how you came to be singing so near me last
nightl—and especially, what good fortune brought
you here?"

“Ihave been a. prisoner smog? the Delawares.
and not long ago was ransom byatrader, and
had started toward home when a party of returning
warriors met. us and carried me back with them;
but the chief who had adopted me was constrained
by a promise to send me ome. So I came with an
escort of warriors and two of m Indian sisters.
Last 11 ht we cam 11 mile or so own the river,
as they ad no des re toencountor the whites. When
I found myself so near home—certain at last of my
freedom— could not resist the inclination to sing
311E rsong" lab I had never sung since we left the

 

 

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1
V]
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 thwnmsztma  smash—Wins  «,T ‘

5',
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl.

31

 

“ I well remember it, Bessie. Isaid that you should
sing,r it for me again."

‘ But I did not dream that you would hear me.”

It was determined that, upon the following day,
Bessie, accompanied by Bent] . Joe Sykes, and two
others, should take a boat am start for the fort up
the Kanawha. As to Will, there was never medicine
so efiective as the happiness which had so sudden]
come upon him—nor was Bessie less aflecte .
though she had long looked forward to the Joy
of her return. Probably never before had so happy
aparty sailed over the placid waters of the lonely
river.

“ Tell me now, dear Bessie, the story you have sev-
eral times promised to relate. Let me hear about
your Indian lover, and your release."

“The two were sitting on a fallen tree near the
river. where they had moored their boat and camped
for the night. Thus appealed to, the maiden related
the circumstanr'es of her loss and her life amo her
captors, as the reader already knows them, bu the
incidents following her recap ure by Tonowa we will
narrate in her own words.

“ I sunk into the deepest despair I had ever known
when I found In selI once more in my old wigwam,
not free as be ore, but closely watched night and
da . Sometimes 'l'ouowa visxted me. When he
di I was always terrified, not by the harshness of
his manner; but bytlie fierceness of his assion, the
light of which burned in his eye. He Oved as he
listed, with all the force of his strong, uncontrolled
nature.

“I learned, at length, what had been concealed
from me, that Touowa had been very seriously
wounded in their battle with the whites-Abe same
battle in which you were wounded i suppose. Will—
and I pitied him dce 1y. 1 had‘ noticed that he grew
weak and wan in iis appearance. I could see a.
change every time he came to my Wigwam. He bore
his sufferings with such heroism that, had be but
been willing to accept the sisterly love I offered him,
l_sliould have been but too lad to have cared for
him in any way that would ave alleviated his mis-
ery. Finally he became aware that he was dying,
and his deSire to win from me a promise to become
his Wife grew more intense. l sufiered almost
as much as he through sympathy and anxiet
combined. I i'ea 1y had a strong afl‘cction for him, ‘
said the noble-lieaitod girl. with tearful eyes, “for
he had been kind and generous to me, and it was to
him, you know, that 1 mainly owed my rescue from
the stake.

“One day his friends sent for me to come
to his lodge, and I found that he was extremely
low—1' thought, dying. He looked at me with such
% pleading, loving gaze, that it touched. my inmost

eai .

“ ‘ Tonowa is going ‘ he said, in a feeble voice;
‘ will not Eye—of-Ni ht remember him when he
iss faggaway in the unting—m'ounds of the Great

piri .

“I promised that llwould never for et him, and
the assurance seemed to please him. moment af-
ter he asked: '

“ “When will she meet him in the happy coun-
try, where the young brave is forever beloved by

his chosen one?’

" ‘ The Great Spirit knows,’ I answered, gently.

“The old chie , with others, was standing near,
watching with grief-stricken faces the countenance
of. the d rig brave who had been the hope and
pride of t 9 whole tribe.

 

"Tonowa reached forth his hand in search of
mine. I laced it within his; it seemed to soothe
him, and e lay quietly, with closed eyes, for nearly
an hour; then he opened them, and spoke with con-
siderable eitort:

“ ‘Would my white sister return to her kindred?
She has dwelt with us long, but Tonowa is leaving
her—he can not stay to dwell with her in the lodge
among his (people; she shall return. My father:
he motione to the old chief ‘will send herdowd
to the beautiful river when onowu has de aided?)

“The old chief bowed his head, in token o assent.
and Tonowa seemed to rest satisfied. He held my
hand in his until his own relaxed in death. 1 honor
his memory. I owed my freedom to him, at last as
at first.

“ After his burial they sent me away,’parting with
me in great sorrow, and many expressions of at-
tachment.”

“It is to Tonowa, then, that I owe my present
happinessl” said liently, gazing upon Bessie With
eyes full of tenderness.

She turned aside her flushing cheek, but the
gathering twilight did not conceal from her lovei‘s
gye the briglt color and sweet confuswn of her

ace.

A rustle on the bank below them was followed by
the exclamation:

“Thar, ye‘ve gone an' done it, Will Bently. The
shoe is yours, for luck ye know;" and there fell in
Bessie‘s lap one of her own old shoes.

“That was Joe‘s voice; but I113m . what does this
mean?” she asked, holding up i e s cc."

Will laughed a good hearty laugh, and the voice
of Joe res )ODde from the stream below. Bessie
bewildere , but pleased, could but laugh too; and
so the old woods were made merry with laughter.

_ Bently then rehearsed the incident of Joe’s fiist
introduction to the shoe. and added:

“ I really had forgotten all about it, but it seems
the faithful fellow has preserved it as his ‘ charm,’
as he expressed it' and here he flings it at us, to con-
summate our good luck. l’ll hug Joe Sykes for this.“

Great was the delight of the settlers, and inex—

reasible the joy of her particular friends, wlwn Joe
gykcs burst into the Village and announced the ap-
proach of the long-lost girl. r '

Jessie Wilinot—for such the littlemaiden had now
become—was quite beside herself with 'oy; and
her husband was but little less so. whilet e eccen-
tric Kate Ryan, crowding back herthankfulness, as-
sumed the stoic calmness she was wont to put on
when her feelings were likely to overcome her, aid
the exclamation. “What's the use of going clrzin
crawl—reckon I know/l Bess was cute ‘nounh to
take keer of herself wherever she wasl" did not
accord very well with the tenacity with which her
arms clung round the returned girl’s neck, and the
streams of unchecked tears flowmg quietly down
her cheeks.

Long after, the hop y Bessie with her noble and
prosperous husband, ill Bentl , enjo ed the peace
and rosperitfi that resulted ram 1“ 9 trials and
sacri cos of t 036 early days. Andes therapidly
extending line of the frontier receded further and
further from their door, the visits of Joe Sykes he-
camo less frequent, until at length they ceased
altogether. He evidently had ” gone unden'las he
desrred, on the trail after the redlinen, whom he
ceased to hate only with his last breath.

THE END.

    

 

 

 

 

lieerlmnter the Boy Scout. By Oll (names.

1
2 Buii’ulo Bill, from Boyhood to Manhood. By Col. Pren-
Vina luzruhnm.
8 Kit Curl-on, King of Guide». Br Albert W. Aikm.
4 Curr uu Lillie, the Buy-interpreter oi the l'uwnees.
_\ ur. ll. ii. Simhllu‘il.
B aiu Allulnn, Uhl Grim. "I ilny l‘urll.
iienliwomi Dick nu ulioy. iiy Edward L. \Vlluclul‘.
Wllil ulli. the l’istnl l‘rlnl'u. liy Cnl. P. llvgi'nlmlll.
The Prairie Rnurh. lh' Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
Roving Joe. B; A.|l. Post.
Tequ Junk. the Mustwnu Kin: By Gui. P. lngmllmn.
Churley Skylark. lty Mnjm' ll. li. Slmlrlnnl.
Mnrlposu Mnruh. By Jusvph E. lindgnr, Jr.
Roving: “on. It) Jnhn J. Mnrslmll.
finriug Rim King of the ltuzh. ll) J. E. Bridger, Jr,
Wide-Ann , George. liy Erlwnrd Willem.
;l"he "it! le Ird. lilv [awry Ringwhl.
eter e perm-nus l m ‘ruenlmrn frrrln Goth i . 3
18 AmulgitNm'r'.‘ I) ’| " " 1y
ill‘l on he rnir e. nrul Amateur lIun Or!
on the Bull’qu Ruulze. By 1)“ Cumulus. t
19 The Fortune Hunter; or, Roving .lvve ns Miner,
Carboy, Trapper .llllll Hunter. n,- A. I um.
20 Trnlpper Tom. th~- wwl Imp. By T. (1. iiurlniugh.
21 Yel aw llnir. the Boy cnlul‘orni. l‘uwxleul. liv Col.
l‘rrntlxn lugrnhnm. "
2'? The Snow Trull.
Bil 0i1lGrlzzl Adnlnu. liy Dr. ["ruuk Powell.
2 Woolh nnl \i'uters. My Cum. Fr (lvril'k Whitinlipr.
25 A Rolling Stone: inohlcntni .Inreer on Sunnml
Lluhl rvl Col. Prentlsi lllL’l‘Mlllliii. By \Vm. R. Eyster.
26 Red River Roi-e n. Iiy Dunning mink
27 Pint“ uud l’lnin: or. W | Adventure: (it"‘Burkskln
Slur." (.\in‘. Sum. ‘1 Hull.) B) Co]. I’. lnmnhmn.
BS
29

By

By Ingrnhnnl.

“SwildiflG—OcG-lafil

Hui-:th-u-Iid

By T. C. liurhnnzh.

The Sworl l’rii . 'I'he Rmnnnlir Life ol'Col. Alon-
nery. By Cu It. l‘reller k Wliitt lmr.

Snow-Shoe '1 nm. Hy l‘. C. llurlmngh.

Pnui lie Lucy, the French Benn Charmer. By C.

i Dunning Clnrk.

Bl linunll‘the (lump Fire. Br Jncenli E. Bridger, Jr.

82 White Beuvcr, this lniilnn Mi-llicinu (thief. By Col.
l’runli-nl lullrullmn.

83 The Boy Cruundcr. By f‘mvt. Frml. “'hiltiiL-er.

B4 The Chane of the Grent‘Vhltc Stag, ullll,Uun|p
um] Canoe. liy C. Dunning (.‘lnrh.

85 mil Tur'Ktnlokleuml llis “my mum. By R. Shannon

36 The Dunlllng Dragoon; nr, The Story ul’Gcn. Gnome
A. hm Air. By Cal t. il‘rvd. \Vllltinhvr.

K? Night-“lurk Geor e. iiv (Jul. l'mnllis lnzrnhmn.

8‘3 The Iloy Exiles ul‘.‘iherln. liy ’l‘. C. llurhuuuh.

89 The Young Bein- llnnteru. By Morris “L'li\\'lil;:.

40 Hlnurt film. the Linl with n‘lmrul ileud. liy Ed. \Villutt.'

4.1 The R- nler'n Hon. is, mml. Ellis.

4Q Wult Fer u-on‘n Cruise. I! Dunning Clnrk.

48 Rifle llllll levolver. By Capt. Frail. Whiltnker.

44 The Lunl, Boy \‘Vlmleru. iiv T. C. Hllrhnllgh.

45 Bronco Billy. the slum]. Priucn. liy (:ul. lngrnhmu.

48 "ll-k. the l-itowmvny. liy (‘lmrh-n Morris.

4’? The Colorado Boys. Hy Jim-pl. It. lhnlxzer, Jr.

48 The .i’ulnpnn lluniern. liv 'l. . llul’lllllluh.

41 The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie.
Hy Col. Planting lnuruhmu.

60 Junie flurry null Tour, the Three (‘hunlnlnn Brothers.

By npt. Fred. “'hitlnher.
51 The Youu Luml-Lnbher. By C. D. Clnrk.
5% The Boy 1 eteeirlven. By T. C lurhnngh.
68 "one" llnrry. ByChnrlos Mm'rm.
54 Cnili‘ornin’Joe. liy Col. l’ronlisr lngrnhmn.
55 Tip Trench the Flninm. By mwtll‘ll Wlllult.
56 The Show llnnteru. By lhurvdu Forrcxt.
57 Ilnrry Sou-ere. lliu Sailor Buy Magician.

By S. W.
Pearce. ,
58 The Adventurqu Life of Cu tuln Jnek, the
Border Roy. B,- Col. l’mullrs mm mm.
5” Lame Tim. tha .Vlnlu iiey urn..- Mini-n. By C. Morris.
60 The Young 'l‘ruil llnntern. By T. C. ilnrimugh.
01 The Tiger llun ern. 15y Joseph E. liiulcn-r .lr.
63 Doctor Carver. .hu “ Evil Spirit ” ofthu Phi us. By
Cul. Prnntln lug alnun.
63 Block "one “ill. By Raster Stnrhnclt.
04 Young; Dick Talbot. B Albort W. Aiken.
(Iii The 0y Pilot. By Co. Prunllm’lnurnllnm.
06 The Delert Rover. By Charla: Morrin.
1/

 

ii? Tcxnn Charlie, the Boy Rnnger. Ry Col. Ingmlnnn.

(SK Lli file It liie. liv (lilpillil) “ Bruin 7’ Allluns.

(39 The "on" ' Nihilist. liy ('hnrles Morris.

70 Pony the .‘owhoy. By Mnjor ll. ii. Stmhlnrd.

'6’]. Huii llohuurt-nud “is Beur. By Cuptuin “ Bruin ”

I lliilll.

The Ice Elo hunt. By Capt. Frederirlr Whittaker.

Tilt.I Young lloune-liuniel'n. lly \\'. ll. Rimming.

The Buy Corul-Finhern. liy R pier Sturbuek.

Rewolver Billy. liy (Jul. l’renlhfi Inurnhlun.

The Condor Killern. liy'l'. C. Hurhllugli.

Lud Liouhceln, the Young Tiger Fighter. By Rnger
Slnrhurk. '

Flullmut Fred.

lioune. the llunlrr.
'e tucky lien. ity Roger Slm'lruck.

The Kit Cnruou (iluh. My '1'. C. Hurbnugh.

Little Buck. the liuy Guide. By linrrv llinggnhl.

l’ony Bob, the Reckless Rider of the Roi-Lieu. By Col.
Prentiss lhflrulllllll.

Cupiulu Fly-by-N light. By Jonph E. Budger. Jr.

(‘nptulu Hui h. the Young lixnlnrrr. iiy (7. D. Clurk.

86 Little Dun ‘l‘loekn. ily lllnrris Roilwing.

S7 The Menu erle llun By Mni. ii. Grenville.

88 The Boy ‘rnnlpn. 15 J. M. llnllnmn.

H1) ’Lonmrhore Llje. liy C. 17 Clark.

30 Rovlllu; Rifle, Liusler’s Little Scout. By’l‘. C. Hur-

hnuz l.

‘1 Oregon Josh, the Wiznrnl Rilla. By Roger Stnrbuck.

. llurrionne Hit. By A. F. Holt.

93 Jumping: Juke. lly Brynnt Ilnlnhrirlga.

l‘mu Evelwo, the liromlIu-rn Buy. lty Ed. Vi'lllett.

Moscow to Siberin. Hy Clmrlvs Morris,

9“ Fighting Fred. ily T. C. ilnrhungh.

W? Cruirc ol‘i‘he Flynwn ' Ily (‘. Dunning Clnrk.

98 The llov ‘ iuilnuten. liy Mnj. ll. it. Stoddvull.

99 The. \Vhite Tiger-I. liy Clint. (‘lmrh-s I‘ll'lVill'll.

100 The Snow-Shoo Truil. By St. (irorgc Riuhbone.

101 .Vinrimln, the Uttnwn Girl. By Ed‘vili‘il S El in.

102 The Flynwny Ailout.

liy Edwin-Ii \Vlilvtt. Randy Oct. 10.
liv (‘uptnin l". Wilittnlwr.

Z’I’I F)’1’l")'l"l

7.1
N"$‘¢E damn-tn:

83

84
3'5

or.

, p Clnrk.

10:! Put Mnlioney's Advellturch lib-(LL. Edwnrdl.

104 The Boy i’roupecior. B) linger Sturburir.

105 Mlnonee, the “Mod \i‘itch. By Edwin Emerson.

106 The Boy Crllineru. 113- Edward \Vlllrli.

107 The Border Rovcrfl. Iiy J Milton Huffman,

105 Alan-kn. thn Vi'u f-Qneen. liv Curt. Howard Lincoln.

“5 Cllrlliillll Jill! the-\Vhllo )lnll‘sl‘ rlenrl. By E. 5. Ellis.

1 l'lueky Joe, in: Buy A 'eugcr. By J. ill. Hufl'nmn.

1 The Border Gunmaker. By Julnrl L. Bow-n.

1 Lei‘i-lluuded Pete. the Double—Knife. By Joseph
E. lindgor, Jr.

11. The River Rifles. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.

“4 Alone on the Plains. i3, ‘ ' Him“.

“5 Silver Horn, and Hi» Rifle Fll'cdl-Ml). By R. Sim-buck.

116 Ex loltr oi'liezekluh Smith, the Backwoodnnnn.
liy inn-Nun Ronlnmn.

11? The Young Mustnngern. By C. D. Clark.

118 Old Trnpu; l r, the iioy Illvuls. By flurry Rinuzohl.

1]!) Center Shut. the whim Crow. fly '1‘. C. Ilarbnugh.

120 A Hot Truii. By Charles lilorrin.

121 Hunter I’nrd Ben. iiy linger Fturbuck.

122 The Enqullnuux’ Queen. B)‘ G.Waldo Browne.

123 Tim, the nor Arrubnt. By Charles .‘IorriI.
icmly August. 91.

124 Queen Rennie. the BorderGirl. By Henry J. Thonnu.
Rulhly Auguu 2:5.

125 .Tmn Tuhor, the Boy Fugitive. By Barry Ringgold.
Ri-ully Sept. -l.

126 Mink flout, tho Death-Shut. By Jon. E. Badger, Jr.
Reully sin». ll.

12‘? The Deer Hunters.
lienin s..p . 18.

By John .I. Mar-hall.

Beudle‘u Boy’s Library in for min hy all Newtdmtlen,
five cents [in copy, or sent by mull on receipt oilix cent: each.
BEADLE AN 1) ADAMS. Publinhern,
98 William Street, New York.