Copyrighud, 1890, by BIADLI Ah" Ann”. F vi 1n lhl- Punt ()rfiru M \‘vw ank. N. Y., we 5‘ nd (“mm Mn” Manet. April ‘Jr‘r, l890. No. 02,50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams, l’rlve, VOL ' ‘°“" No. 9% WILLIAM S11. Maw \’mm. “W "0"“- F HE JEBKED DESPERATELY AT THE BBIDLE, SIIARI’LY COMMANDING THE ANIMAL. BUT IT WAS N0 USE. 2 Nevada. Bob’s Scoop. Nevada 80be Scoop; The San Francisco Clerk’s Chase. BY FREDERICK DEWEY, AUTHOR OF “COLORADO JACK‘s PARDS,” are. CHAPTER I. “I’M SINKING FAST—HURRY!" IT was the close of a delightfui day in June, 185—, and the setting sun flamed out over a. wild scene—a. valley, a. league or more in width, bor- dered on either side by mountains, which over— looked a crystal, rippling river. The mountains were rugged and blue; the valley was yellow, scorched, and dry; only relieved bya snow- white line, bordered with green willow and cottonwood trees—the river. Up to this river on the north side, and gallop- ing smartly from the timher-selvedge of the serpentine stream, rode a middle-aged man on a brown horse. He was apparently fifty years of age, rather inclined to obes1ty, and his merry red face and smiling mouth, denoted, by their apoplectic and jovial appearance, his fondness for good living. ‘ His horse was a. well«fed, chubby, gelding, whose every motion declared his close intimacy with his rider, and an utter luck of ill—usage. His saddle was well covered with fanciful trappings, and was of a superior quality. Be« hind it, and strapped to the “back—leather,” were a halo of blankets and u great—coat, showing the man was on a journey of several days’ duration. Such was the case, as his soliloquy will show, as he rained in on the brink of the bank, and stroked his horse’s mane. “Well, Tom, old boy, you and I are in for a night under a tree, I guess-~at least, it seems so now. Well, it won’t be the first time, and we’ve blankets,” and he glanced back at the bale he- hind him. “But I detest the centipedes and tarantulas, ‘and I’ll bet a demijohn of the best California brandy that was over distilled, that this flat is full of ’em. Yes, Tom. my boy, you’ll miss your _ hay to—night, and will have to sharpen your appetite on the bunch-grass on the flat. Well, so be it, then.” He sat. for a. few moments, calculating the possibility of halting and camping down under a. willow, minus his supper and bed: but decided to cross the river, and again starting, be pro; ceeded down the bank. At the edge of the water he again halted, and gazing at the stream, endeavored to form an idea of the depth. The current was neither swift nor sluggish; and as it steadily rippled by, be judged from its eddies, its depth to be in the vicnityof three feet. It had been much better for his welfare, had be avoided this sparkling river at this place; had he found a ford it would have saved him sorrow and trouble; for he was at the water’s edge of the most treacherous river in California—~the Salinas. On the side of the river where he was standing ’slapping him on his broad quarter. was a white sand, and it is no exaggeration to say it was snow-white, fairly glittering; but, across the water, a wet, brown sand stretched away to the south bank a hundred yards or more distant; the deadly quicksand. He entered the water, and while his stout horse drank greedily, he wistfully eyed the sunken valley in quest of some habitation, but none did he see. Drawing a large pipe from his capacioue coat-pocket, be filled it with loose to— bacco, and firing it, chirruped to his horse to move forward. “ Tom, my boy,” he said. in his pleasant tones, patting the horse as he advanced, “ there may be an adobe in yonder valley, though we don't see it. Perhaps we may stumble on the house of some Mexican—s0 here goes, Tom, my boy.” His horse emerged from the water, and stepped upon the brown, wet sand. As he did so, the rider remarked a strange crackling beneath his boots, as if he were treading on loose gravel. But he gave it only a passing thought, intent on discovering a shelter for the night, The crackling suddenly ceased, and his horse began to labor. He experienced difficulty in withdrawing his hind feet from the wet sand, and it was only by exerting considerable strength he was enabled to do so, He breathed heavily, and bent his head with n grave, steadfast air, common with horses drawing a heavy burden. “ I say, old boy,” cheerily chirruped the rider, “ this is hard traveling. ain’t it? Mighty loose sand, here-Alonso and hard to wade through.” The horse stopped. “Get up, Tom 1" The steed heaved and shook sligh‘tly, then re- lapsed into quiet. “ Why, old boy, what ails you? Confound you, Tom, why don’t you go ’longl Hy—up. get u I The horse did not stir. The rider felt a pres- sure against the soles of his feet, and glancing down. saw they were resting on the sand. “ By jollyJ” With an anxious face he leaned over, and saw the legs of the horse only lialf—Visuble—he was immersed to his knees in the brown sand. “ By thunder!” he ejaculated; “ What in the world is the inattei'?—-the horse is sinking.” It was even so, he could not fail to perceive it; sinking steadily three inches or more a minute. He shouted in alarm, though his every action showed he was a self—posseSsed, courageous man. < “ My God, we are in a quicksand.” Dropping his bridle as his danger flashed upon him. he sprung off, hoping that the horse, rid of of his weight, could extricate himself: but no“, still steadily sink, sink. He jerked desperately“ The horse whinnied, and made a desperate, spasmodic. effort. But it was no use—his belly was now on a level with the sand, and the surface rose still more rapidly. . To,augment his alarm into still more positive terror, he found himself now nearly knee—deep, and a chill ran through his feet as the cold water enveloped his boots. Becoming horrified at his perilous position. he turned to fly; but his gen' erous heart forbade his abandoning his faithful . horse, and with the affection of a true horseman. he prepared for a final desperate attempt. - Nevada. Bob’s Scoop. ’ 3 He tugged at the animal’s head, himself sink- ing deeper at every movement; he shouted words of sharpest command, Strange sounds to his horse, and at which he plunged madly; but all to no purpose. He turned his face towardhis master in wistful pleading, muter beseeching him to extricate him from his strange and uncomfort— able position. The man groaned, “Tom, Tom. faithful old friend, I'Ve done all I could. Good-by, my horse—good-by, old Tom, for l’ve which you for the last time.” Tears came to his eyes as he clasped the sturdy neck, while the horse whinnicd in terror, niutely gazing at his master from his soft brown eyes. He patted his neck and stroked his broad forc- head, caressing him tenderly. The merry look bad l‘zided from his face; his head trembled and his eyes brimnicd with tears as he bade a last farewell to his faithful horse. “Old Tom, dear old Tom, my old boy—bid good—by to your master, for you are going—you are dying, 0m.” He bent his head, and the horse gently rubbed his check against his face, 10le neighing; it was his last farewell to his master. The latter sadly waved his hand and turned his face away, for he could not bear to see the pleading, beseeching look bent upon him from the brown eyes. 4 With a last gesture of sorrow- ful farewell, he turned his face to the bank which he had shortly before left in jovial spirits, and tried to retrace his path. Tried? Ay, and hard, too—desperately, like a strong man battling for life. He tried, and that was all, for he could not move an inch»~he was nearly to the loins in the griping quicksand. His head swam, and a look of horror came in- to his eyes. “And I too,” he groaned. “I too am bound fast—40 die.” “Help!” what a ringing, thrilling cry rung out over the sand and water, echoing back from the distant yellow bills, and dying away down the river. “ Help! help! for God’s sake, help!" The cold, ice-cold sand was creeping up his thighs—be was sinking faster and faster. “ Help! help!” As he tossed his arms wildly about, struggling frantically, he saw. horrified as he was, that every gesture was n step nearer death—it sunk him two inches lower. He instantly ceased, but did not abate his wild cries for assistance. “ Help!" ' Hark! Was not that an answering halloo down the river—was not help at hand? N0; only the echo of the wild, ringing cry—only a note more In the ghastly bar of the dirge he was chanting. » Where he had failed, on the river-bank, which commanded a view of the surrounding country, to discover traces of human beings, was it pos- sible now he could make himself heard? Was sound further penetrating than sight? No; he could not hope for assistance. Turn- ing his head wildly around, he saw the sand was now on a level with his horse’s back, only the horn of the saddle being visible. The animal was still sinking. "‘ Help! my God, what shallI do? Help!” Ringing derisively back from the yellow hills beyond, catching up the cry and sending it down the river to cease, echo rung again and again, mocking him. “ I must die,” he groaned. Smothered to geilth; Buried alive in a coffin of sand. Help! e p I’ Had a bird chirped half a mile away he would have heard it,as his strained ears pitcously waited for an answering halloo; but all was quiet up and down the river. The sun was just sinking behind the crest of a mountain in the Coast Range, miles away. It seemed to him to glow with a red, blazing, un- natural light, as if bursting with ill-suppressed glee at his nearing grave. Long, flickering shadows streamed down from the mountains, athwart the foot-hills, and thence over the valley; and with the aptness of a drowning man he 20mpnred those in the val- ley to the “ valley of the shadow of death.” The saddle of the horse was now under the surface—it had disappeared; and of the animal nothingwns visible except the neck and tossing ‘heud, rendered horrible to the sight by the agonized gaze that streamed from the wild brown eyes. The faithful horse had but a few short minutes in which to live. Looking down, the unfortunate man saw his heavy gold watch-guard invisible, save the bar that secured it to the button-hole of his vest; he was nearly down to the arm-pits, and he could feel the sand beneath his feet slowly displacing, lowering him in his coffin of sand. “Help! help! Oh, Edith l” Hark! surely an answering cry came from the northern valley—~snrely; he could not be mistaken. Elevating his voice to a greator sten— _torian pitch, he opened his lungs, and again the wild appeal rung out: u 611) 1” ' No answer. Again he called,and waited with strained ears for the reply. , None. He grew sick with grievous disap- pointment, he had been so certain. He tried again. “ Help! help! help!” ' “ Yoho~o~o-o!” came a faint answering hail from 011’ in the northern valley. “ Joy! God be praised!” he cried fervently. “ He! !” ’ . “ alloo—d!” The hail could not be far distant and the utter- er was coming. This he knew, as the second hail was far more distinct than the first, and was quite audible. Again he hailed—again came the answer, plainer still. 7 “ Yo—ho! Com—ing, com—dug!” Hurrah! the voice was not far distant, and help was near at hand. “Hurry!” I “ Cour—age—bravo! Coming as quick as I can, Com~—ing,com——ing!” The light that blazed from the piercing eye was awild, gleaming one-—-a light of mingled fear, despair, and hope, gradually merging into the latter. Two minutes assed hy—two hours they seemed to him, and be ad sunkto the arm-Bits, with his armsgresting flat uponthe sand. at his face 4 0 Nevada. Bob's Scoop. grew brighter as a sound was heard in the direc- tion of the voice; the sound of galloping hoofs. “ Hurryl" he cried, to the now adjacent horse— man; “ hurry, or you’ll be too late.” “ Courage, I‘m coming.” It was a joyful voice; a tone as sweet as the richest music to his ears, and he blessed it. The rumble of noofs grew louder, and became a thunder, rapidly increasing to a clutter, as a horseman, With a. steed reeking with foam and sweat, dashed up to the bank and looked down on the seniiunan in the quicksand. “ I knew there was a man quicksanded.” The words were scarcely spoken before he was down the bank and spurring into the water, where he halted, within twenty yards of the other. “ Hurr , for God’s sake!” besought the sinking mun. “ ’m dying—I’m sinking fast—hurry!” The man was a stalwart, jauntin dressed fol- low, armed to the teeth, with a resolute bear- lug. "‘ You are all right,” he coolly said to the sink- ing man. “I’ll bring you out of that in thirty seconds, so don’t you fret. But nothing can save your horse—all 1 can see is the top of his head." thile he had been speakin he had taken a coil of platted hide a half—inc in diameter—a lasso—from his saddle-horn. This he grasped in fiis dright hand, and began to swing over his ea . “ Hold up your arms!” he commanded. “ Up over your head.” The other obeyed. ” Now.” - He whirled the riata swiftly over his head sev- eral times, then cast it over the sand. The aim was correct, and the wide noose settled over the shoulders of the man in the quicksand. The other pulled the noose taut. “ Hold tight nowl” ordered the s‘urdy deliv- erer. ” It will jerk your shoulders like thunder. Nolw, ,here we go—yonder goes your horse out of sig is. The main end of the Mata, was fast to the sad- dle-horn. Wheeling his horse, the stalwart res— cuer spurred his steed up the bank; and, as the saved man was drawn out of the gripiug, cruel sand, through the river, and up the bank, he saw the ears of his faithful horse disappear—Tom was dead. CHAPTER II. NEVADA Ben’s DEMAND. WHEN the first gush of thanks had poured from the glib tongue of the rescued man. to which his deliverer listened attentively, he uskerl his rescuer’s name, drawing, as he did so, a well— fllletl purse from his soaked trousers-pocket. “ John Harkaway,” was the name given by the other—a sort of rollicking coguomcn, hinting at a rattling disposition, a lusty constitution and a roving nature; indeed the bearer fully looked as much. He was tall and sturdy, evidently twenty—five years of age, was heavily armed, as if for par— tisan warfare; and though at that day Ilt‘fll'ly every man in California bore weapons, ofi'enslVO and defensive, his were more warlike and varied. While Spaldingawas pouring forth his thanks and gratitude, rkaway occupied himself in rG-coiling his Nata on the horn of his saddle, which done, he turned to the other, and with a gesture of annoyance, said, in a clear tenor voice, with some impatience of manner: “ Enough, sir; that is sufficient. May I beg leave to inquire your name?” “Solomon Spaiding,” replied the merry man; “ Solomon Spalding, of San Francisco, and right glad i am to be still of that place. Jove, siri I was beginning to feel mighty dismal when you so gallantly pulled me out of that hole,” and he cast a glance over his shoulder at the smooth sand. and shuddered involuntarily. “ A narrow escape,” gravely remarked Hark- away; “and had you been as weighty as your horse, you would now be where he is—several feet under ground.” “ Poor Tom,” murmured Spalding; “ Old Tom, you are dead now. “Sir,” he resumed, after a brief pause, during which he gazed sadly where his horse had sunk, “ I am one of the richest men in ’Frisco, and if you live thereabont, you‘ve perhaps heard of me.” He paused interrogatively. Hathaway nega— tively shook his head. “ Well, it don’t make any difference whether you do or Whether you don’t, as the cat said when the house-dog was trying to drive her away from a piece of meat that was covered with hot mustard. I’m wealthy, and have some money with me—five thousand dollars. I’ve just come from the mines, where I’ve been collecting bills for goods, for I’ve got a hardware and grocery store in San Francisco. New ” (and be emptied from a very large purse a pile of gold coin), “ here are four thousand eight hundred and odd dollars. I value my life at about as much money as there is in the whole world—somewhere up in the billions; but, seeing as I’ve got a bill of two thousand to pay at Monterey to—morrow, I’ll give you two thousand and call it square—eh?” “ You are very generous,” replied John Hark- away, with a strange smile flickering about his white teeth beneath the brown mustache' “ ex— ceedingly liberal, indeed; but what would you say if I demanded it all?” “ It wouldn’t be more than fair,” rejoined Spnldiug, heartily. “ I know five thousand dol- lars couldn’t buy one or my fingers, let alone my life, and I’d cheerfully give you all, but—the payment.” “Exacting creditor—must and will have his money at the expiration of the time?" inquired Hurkaway, with another evanescent smile. “Just so; he’s mightily particular. Old Jones of Monterey~know him?” H No.” “ You are just as well ofll, for he’s an old I griper. He sticks to a debtor like a—a—a quick— sand, by J ovel I can’t say more if I talk a week.” “ Stingy—miscrly?” “ Yes, by Jovel an old skinflint.” “ Just the follows that Nevada Bob likesto get hold of!” and Harkawny’s black eyes sparkled. ‘.‘ Ah, it is sport to hear them beg for their money—genuine sport; there is nothing like it!” Solomon Spnldiug stared, and vaguely sus- pected he was not in the safest of company, a1- beit Harkaway had just now saved him from a .v /.., - a“. h .2 vezrr'*“> 4 Nevada. Bob’s Scoop. V 5 terrible death. He was disagreeany confirmed in his suspicions the next instant by the latter himself. “ It is getting late,” said Hnrkaway, with a gesture at the rapidly—increasing tWIIight. “I must leave you, for I have business to—night on the Los Angeles road. Spalding, I’ll have to trouble you for four thousand five hundred dol- lars, leaving you the balance with which to get another horse, and get home to ’Frisco.” As he said this, he quietly unslung his carbine and placed it across his arm, drawing the ham. mer. Spalding stared in surprise. “ I dislike to brew trouble between you and skinflint Jones of Monterey,” Harkaway re- sumed; “ but I’m after money, just now, and I’ll have to trouble you for the amount just stated.” “ I would willingly give it to you,” rejoined Spalding, wholly taken aback by Harkaway’s sudden warlike attitude; “ but the payment. If it wasn’t for that, I’d do it in a minute, for I think my life is worth four thousand times four thousand dollars; but Jones will surely bring an action against me, and get ten thousand out of me if I don’t come to time to-morrow.” “ Oh, he’ll be easily satisfied if you tell him what I desire you to." And Harkaway’s black eyes twinkled in amusement. “ What is that?” “ That you were stopped by Nevada Bob, who charged you four thousand five hundred dollars for saving your life.” Spalding started back in alarm and amaze- ment, and in uired hastily: “ Are you evada Bob?” “ I am Nevada Bob.” Spalding drew back in alarm. Before him, smiling over his glistening carbine, was a robber who had, within several months, achieved a reputation for daring highway robberies through— out the Sierra Nevadus which gave him the name of Nevada Bob. Before this prince of bandits stood Solomon Spalding, looking into the black muzzle of a. car- bine. at an uncomfortably short distance. “Spalding, I desire that monay. I am Ne- vada Bob.” “ But I tell you I’ve got to pay Jones.” “You don’t recollect I just now saved your life,” said the robber, reproachfully. " I do—aand thank you for it; and bark ye, Harkaway, if you were in the custody of Vigi— lantes now, I would risk my life to save yours. You are a very strange fellow. You ride like the wind to save a man’s life, and then rob him afterward. Not that I begrudge the money—I offer you half, and would give you the rest were I not forced to meet a note, which if not paid, will seriously injure my credit. What did you pull me out for—Why do you now rob me?” “ Because it lSpOf; my nature to see a man die before my eyes. If I can prevent it, and because I want money." . _ “ Do you still perSist 1n robbing me?" “ 1 still persist in charging you forty-five hun— dred dollars for saving your life, which accord— ing to your own story is worth billions.” here was an impatient, terrier-like gleam about his dark eyes which showed he was not jesting. He looked hurriedly about him, and seeing night near at hand, his brow clouded into a settled frown, and his voice sounded sharply as he said: “Spalding, I want the money; and though I even now saved your life, by the Lord! I’ll have it if you refuse or resist. Come, disburse!” Every lineument of his dark face showed his fast—rising wrath. Spalding was well aware of his tiger-like ferocity when angered, and though satisfied he would be forced to comply with the demand, made one more effort. “ Nevada Bob, take two thousand, ‘and when I get to the city I’ll send you the balance. How will that suit you ?” “Not at all. It would suit the authorities, though, to iron me when I go for my money.” “I’ll send it by letter to any false name you say. “Hark ye, Solomon Spalding,” said Nevada Bob, with flashing eyes: “ there’s not a tcun in California that has not as residents men who know me like their own brothers. Do you think I am so foolish that I will run my neck into a Regulators’ halter, with open eyes? Solomon Spalding, I want to scoop in that money I” The latter saw the usolessness of further argu~ ment or expostulution; a single cursory glance at the gleaming face of the young bandit, would so convince the most obtuse of observers; and drawing aside the strings of his purse, Spalding emptied the entire amount of coin upon the ground. “Take out the amount I want!” commanded Harkaway, or Nevada Bob. “ You can have the three hundred and odd—1’11 leave you with some money in your pocket, which is more than most road—men would do.” The money was counted and handed to the highwaymun, who emptied it into a large pouch which clinkcd again, with a large amount of coin, procured in a similar manner without doubt. Then Bob smilineg bowed as be secured the heavy bag to his belt~heavier by four thousand and five hundred dollars. “ Spalding, will you do me the favor of sur— rendering your revolver?” This was requested in a suave tone, but one tinged with command. Spalding did as re- quired, saying reproachfnlly: “ You needn’t be alarmed, Harkaway. For all you’ve robbed me, you’ve saved my life; and were you now at my mercy, I would not harm a hair of your head. Now that you’ve taken away my revolver, what am I going to do with- out it?" “ Spalding, I don’t want your revolver, and when I get to the cottonwood tree, yonder, I’ll drop it. I think it is hardly safe in your hands ~it1might be discharged and hurt me, Spald- ingl ’ “ What more do you want—my watch!” “ No, Spalding!” “ What?” ' “ Adieu!” and springing into the saddle, Nevada Bob wheeled his horse and rode away in the darkness at a swift gallop, dropping the re- volver agreeable to his word, at the designated tree; and when Spalding stood beneath its wav- ing boughs and replaced the revolver in its scab- bard, the last echo of Bob’s retreat died away: Something seemed to trouble him even more v 6 Nevada. Bob‘s Scoop. than the loss of his horse, gold and credit—«his honor had been doubted. “ He need not have taken away my revolver,” he muttered, gloomily. “ He might have trust— ed to my honor-~us if I could harm a man that saved my life, if he did chnrgc me four thousand five hundred dollars for doing it." ‘ ‘ CHAPTER III. OUT OF THE FRYINGJ’AN INTO THE FIRE. A WEEK after the adventures 1n the Nevndns, Solomon Spalding was at his home in San Fran- cisco, und in trouble, compared with which, his previous adventures had been but the acts of a parlor drama. He had lately made himself obnoxious to the lower and rougher portions of the populace, by being foremost in the organization of a special night police, which, patrolling the city noctur- nally, exercised by their vigilance, a complete check upon the crimes which were perpetrated under cover of darkness. San Francisco at that day was almost entirely ruled by desperm‘loes, the major partof the inhabitants being rampant miners. They were regarded with four by the better class, and cognizant of it, held almost un- disputed sway over them. Solomon Spalding by his measures to protect benighted citizens from loss of property, and perhaps life, had placed himself in a precarious position. Being a prominent business man he was rapidly rising into favor with the. quiet citizens, and seemed likely, at no future day, to govern the city. This was distasteful to the ambitious rowdie»: who aspired to the mayoral ty, and taking advantage of a circumstance which came to their cars, they incited their ruilianly adherents to personal violence upon him. A Mexican vaqunro arriving from the Nevadus, brought word that a wealthy freighter had been stopped between Stockton and the mines by Nevada Bob, and relieved of ten thou‘ sand dollars; and that furthermore, a Week sub- sequently he had, while riding along the Salinas, behold the robber in close conversation with Solomon Spalding, the rich merchant. From the scarcity of shelter he had been un— able to get sufficiently near them to hear their conversation; but it was apparentlyamicable, and was continued for an hour or more; after which the robber rode away toward the moun- tains, while the merchant disappeared in a con— trnry direction. This statement to the mob was as fire to tow; it caused instant combustion. What more likely than that Spalding was in league with the bun— dit? was not his rapidly-increasing wealth attributable to this cause? Men, especially rufiians, are prone to grasp at conclusions when by doing so they will be bene- fited. These ruffians, gratified with the oppor— tunity of overthrowing Spnlding, assembled, Several hundred in number, and in two hours after the arrival of the miscliief—n'iaking 'vaqucro, were clamoring before the merchant’s house. The residence was a wooden structure, and one of the most pretentious in the city, though at that day beauty of architecture was little thought of there, where the goal to be gained was wealth; but there was an air of coziness and comfort about it which evidenced the easy cir- cumstances of its owner. The merchant was a widower with an only child—a daughter, the pride and hope of his waning years. She was a lovely, gentle girl of eighteen, modest nud generous in her impulses, uniting the sound sense and wisdom of her father, and- the sweet womanliness of her departed mother; and, as a. consequence, Edith Spalding was» a. creature to, be respected and esteemed, as well as admired and loved. She had her faults, it is true ——who has now—but they were so slight and sel~ dom occurring, as to give additional charm and piquancy to her presence, just as the sudden bray of a trumpet relieves the tedious smooth- ness of a well-trained orchestra, in a tender interlude. Sameness in woman, no matter how elevated, is a crime in the eyes of man. They were sitting at an early supper, she and her father, and the latter was relating his ad- ventures with gusto, when a noise came from the streetj—a muttering sound, which grew louder, increasing to a continuous roar of hoarse voices. They listened intently as the roar swelled in alternate waves, as it was taken up from other quarters; it was the mob. Edith’s face paled. “ 0h, father!" she- mur— mured, as the roar became steadily harsher and louder. “ There is a mob outside—can it be there is a riot?’ ’ “ It sounds like one, surely," Spalding re- plied. “ Listen, what a yelling; just like a puck of maniacs.” “ Do go and see what it isl” she said, in alarm. He rose from the table. As he did so, a servant entered with a gesture of alarm. “ What is the matter, John?" he asked of the servant. “Oh, sir, the street’s full of men—there’s a mob outside.” “ Ah! What seems to be the matter?” The servant glanced at Edith, uneasily, and hesitated irresolutely; then said: “ I beg your pardon, sir, but I think say they want you.” _ “ Why so?” “ They are calling out your name, and they are after you.” - Edith moaned. She well knew her father’s unpopularity with the lower classes, and felt alarmed for his safety. “ I’ll go and see.” he said. > She clung to him. “Oh, father, do be care- ful, and don’t expose yourself—they may harm you. “Nonsense, Edith. I’ll go and talk with them.” ' He took a small revolver from his pocket, and inspected the chambers of its cylinder. At this preparation she clung closer. “ Hear them 1” she cried, as the tumult with- out increased. “ Oh, father, I’m afraid they mean to do you harm—don’t go.” ” Let me go, Edith,” he said, untwining her arms from around his neck. “ If they want me they can have me—I’ve done nothing to be afraid of.” Saying this, he disengaged himself, and enter- ing the cozy parlor, threw open the window an looked out. In the twilight he saw the street was thronged with men, and here and there a torch flamed out redly. At perceiving him, the Am“; .3 r‘ _. q. ,i r r ‘y =Mm.