Copyrighted. [889, by BIADLI nu) Annas. Entered a: the Post Oflice at New York, N. Y.. as Second Class Mail Muller. August 3, 1889.

No  $2.50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams, Price v01 
I I I I

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' Ya"- No. 98 WILLIAM Sn. NEW YORK. “‘0 09"“-

 

 

 

 

~ ~...‘._ .0...

JACK UNCLOSED HIS EYES AND STABED AT THE 30th FACE WfiiCH BENT ABOVE HIM,

 

 

 

 

 

 

'haire

     

 

Jack Jordan’s Pal-d.

 

Jack Jordan’s Pard;

THE SANTAH HUNTERS.

BY MRS. M. V. VICTOR,

AUTHOR or “ MAUM GUINEA,” “ GOLD HUN-
Tmas,” ETC.
CHAPTER I.
THE RED RIVER BIVOUAC.

A PARTY of three was gathered about the fire
waitin for supper, Things looked comfortable.
genera ly, though not according to the usual
order; the fire-p ace, for instance, being a hole
scooped in the sand, the table a'cleared spot of
grOund, and the apartment consisting of a good
sized prairie, with the sky for a ceiling.

The night was dark, though full of stars; a
light win floated by, at intervals, just waver-
ing the flames of the dry cottonwood, and bring-
in them a little too near the fat breast of the
wi d-turkey browning on its stake. With a soft
gurgle and rush, a broad creek, about ten paces
to the east, swept by on its way to the Red
River, two miles to the north. Against the

starr sk were defined the outlines of the
Wac ita ountains rising darklyin the western
horizon.

Of'the three who'awaited supper, the first
was a young man of about twenty-four, with
dark hair and heard, sun-br0wned complexion,
and an eye that flashed back the fire-light like
an as le’s. The second was a tall, bony, light-
person, above thirty, and a native of
Connecticut. The third member of the party
was a dog. It will be saying a good deal for
him to mention, that his eye was as keen as his
master’s, and his nose as inquisitive as the New
En lender’s.

y his side laya little pile of “ traps,“ con-
sisting of the knapsacks and extra accouter-
merits, while the rifles of the hunters lay each
ready to the hand of its owner.

“ Guess what I’m a—calculating," proposed the
older 01 the two, with his twinkling blue eye
fixed upon the roasting turkey.

“ The distance of the nearest Comanches, per-

bar.”

'No—bother the Injuns, I wern‘t thinkin’ of
them this time. I’m calculating how long that
(owl’s been a-cookin‘.” ‘

“ About three—quarters of an hour, I suppose.”

“Wrong, ag’in, my friend. Threequarters
of an hour’s common time. I’m calculating by
sensations, and not by minutes or seconds.
When a man hasn’t eaten anything but a dry
biscuit at five in the mornin’, and has trudged a
matter of twenty or thirty miles, and its late
in the evenin’, and he's tired and hungry, and
the drippin's keep falling on the coals, and
makin’ such a savory smell, I can’t, measure
time by the clock—evenvif I had one; and,
speakin’ ‘of clocks, reminds me that I sold my
last lot out (or ninety—five cents apiece, and
then I 'quit the business. Fact is, people were
supplied, and I never like to be ina business
that’s overdone—and that’s one reason I like

 

huntin’ on the Red River. 'Tain’t crowded
hem jest yet. We], then, according to the
time-piece in my stomach (which is an entirely
sensational bit of machinery like the magnetic
telegraph), that bird’s been thirty-four hours
and sixty seconds comin‘ to the stage of ‘ done
brown ’—-where it has this minute arriv’, or my
name ain’t Amos.”

“ Dick agrees with you,” said the youn man,
with a smile, which passed with the brig these
and vividness of lightning over his face, as the
dog turned his gaze from the turkey to his mas-
ter, with a look which asked why the fowl was
not attended to.

“ He beats a French cook all to pieces, that
dog does. l’d trust him to cook Thanksgivin’
dinner for me, if he only had hands. Hands is
all that's lackiu’ to make a firstvclass human out
of him, though, as for that matter, his paws are
more handy than most people’s. Did you ever
reckon whether or not dogs have souls a?” con-
tinued the speaker, liftin the turkey from the
extemporized spit, and epositing it on a tin-
plafie which the other had taken from the knap-
sac .

“ I lectured on that subject once, all through
Connecticut. Made quite a sensation. I ten
youl Some of the ministers was down on me
like leeches on a dropsy subject. They said—-
have you got the peppei“n salt there, Jacki-I
was going against revelation, but_l Jist invited
the people to pay the quarters, listen to facts,
and judge for themselves. If I'd had Dick there,
to take along, and set off my lectures with some
of his tricks, I’d made my everlastin’ fortune,
sure as my name ain‘t Moses.” .

“ I don’t know about common dogs,” said the
young man, in his quiet way, “but, I knew
Dick’s got a soul, if I have. There, sir, you Shall
have your supper at the same time With your
master.”

The two men were now busy, making use of -.

the ion knives which the drew from their belts
to cut 5 ices from the few , which they ate with-
out ceremony of forks or plates. Dick got all
the bones, and many a savory bit besides.

Alon day’s tramp in the open air was the
sauce w ich, gave keenest relish to the repast,

yet the hackneyed appetite of a city gourmand _ ,

would have been tickled by the flavor of the de—
licious fowl—young, tender, roasted before hot
coals, stulfed with bread, salt, pepper, bits of
salt rk, and pecanmuts, and possessing all the
pecu iar aroma of the wild bird.

The cold water of the creek, which had noth-
ing of the sulphurous taste peculiar to the
streams of the Wachita country, served for
drink, and a couple of large leaves twisted into
cups, were full 0 berries that had been gathered,
from the surrounding grass. '

“How do you like the stalling, Jack?” ‘

“ Very much. Where did you learn to stqu
fowls in this style?”

“ B’longed to the ornithological department of
a museum once. Kept a hotel, too, down to the
sea-shore. I say, Jack, them Comanches was
on the war- ath whose trail we crossed this
afternoon. El‘hey’ve been kicking up a quarrel
with the Kioways, I reckon.”

“ What makes you think they were on the ‘

war—path, Buelli”

 

-~—..th c. _- A
_- .zf‘hkekum‘kgu...‘

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

' pin’ ’em, they’ll be ugly enough.

 

Jack Jordan's ‘ Paul. 8

 

. 5

“ Think? I don’t think—I know. You’re a
right smart hunter, Jack, for atelier that’s only
been out of civilization for a matter of six
months or a year—but you’ve got lots to learn

1?

“ I’m under an excellent teacher,” said the
youn man, good humoredly.

" T at’s :50] There‘s only one chap on these
plains that I’ll knuckle in to, and that’s John
Bushman. and he’s an Injun. Of course he is a
leetlc more of an Injun than I am, but not much
—-and there’s one thing I am that he ain‘t, and
that’s a Yankee. So I’m leetle more’n even
with him; though I’m free tosay he’s a good
guide, and a hunter that I have a respect for.
They was Comanches, I could tell by the holes
which they dug for their fires; they allus make
them fifteen inches across.

“They was a war or a huntin’ party, because
they didn’t have their tent—poles along. Now, I
dug this hole for our fire in exact imitation of
theirs; bekuse, you see, .if they should happen
along here, after we’ve left. they won’t know
white folks are around. Ef you’d only step
straight, Jack. and not turn our toes out so,
like a civilized human, and f0 ler my directions
ginerally as to sleepin’ and walkin’, and so on,
they” wouldn’t know our tracks from their
own.

“ Do you think they’d quarrel with us, if
they met us?”

“ Wal. mebbe they would, and mebbe they
wouldn’t—thould be accordin‘ to the humor.
If any rascally white trader should have been
cheatin' them lately, or silly hunter been trip«
I never cheat

n In‘un, if I can help it-—and that’s the reason
I don t ‘ want to trade with ’em; for, you see,
when I trade, I like to make a good bargain. It

093 ag’in’ my conscience to trade quite even—

nt as I say, 1 don’t like to cheat an Injun, for
fear he’ll come up with me some day. That’s
what put me out of conceit of the fur business.

“ I was two winters up among the Sioux, buy-
ing furs, but, we didn’t hitch very even bekase
they were all-fired sharp, and of course I had to
be a leetle sharper, and they got mad, and I
quit business with ’em. I say, Jack, I reckon
we’ve been a little risky to let our fire blaze up
so. We’d better cover it down, so’s ’twon’t
show but just smolder away enough to keep our
feet warm while we’re asleep. There’s one thing
we’ve got to do, soon; and that’s to get a couple
of horses from somewhere. I don I: like this

' bein’ on foot in case of a race with the Coman-

ches. They owe us two; for I make no doubt
’twas them stole ours the other night. You
think they wandered awa , but I don’t.”

“ I think so,  don’t believe Dick
would have permitted any living creature, no
matter if his feet were shod with velvet. to
creep up and drive them off—would you, Dick ’1”

Dick looked up in his master’s face as if he re-
sented even the question; then turned, with the
countenance of injured innocence to the other
part and gave a short bark of reproach.

“ on may lay me in the lie if you want to,
Dick; but I tell you you overslept yourself for
nofc— the Crmanches stole them horses.”

The (lugsaid no more, whatever he may have
thought, for his powers of speech were not equal

 

 

to an argument with Amos Buell; he returned
to the bone from which his attention had been
diverted, while the two travelers, with the crav-
ings of appetite fully satisfied, leaned on their
elbows and stretched their feet to the fire.

The' eyes of the younger man were fixed on
the stars With a lost and dreamy expression,
which made his companion very uneasy. Si-
lence was hateful to the Yankee, and a secret
was a thing not to be kept in his company.
After a few moments’ deep observation of his
companion, who had apparently forgotten his
existence in some dream of the past or future,
he broke forth:

“ I say, Jack, you’ve got suthin’ on your
niin .”

“ Well?” ueried the other, slowly withdraw—
ing his gaze mm the brilliant heavens, and fix-
ing it on the speaker.

‘ I’d like to know what ’tis, if you’ve no ob-
jections. When those spells of thinking come
over you you’re quite a different person from
what you are when on the hunt, or most other
occaSions. I’ll bet you the two horses we‘re
goin’ to find in a day or two that you’ve been in
some sort of a scrape some time, and have run
away from yer. friends. Oh, you needn't git
mad, Jack; you and me is too good friends to
take offense easy, and I don‘t mean to insinuate
it‘s been anything bad on your part. Mi-hbe it’s
a gal been playin’ the deuce with you, eh?” and
the twinkling eyes shot a rapid glance into the
handsome face, which had suddenly put on a
moody expression, rendered still more striking
by the fltful play of the expiring firelight.

“ You presume too much on our friendship,”
was his cold remark.

“ Shouldn’t wonder ” was the reply, with
characteristic sang raid. “ It’s one o‘ my
failings—askin’ upstions is. But if we didnt
inquire we woul n’t know anything. 1 never
intend to git lost on account of backwardness in
asking the road. Besides, I have told you my
history, without bashfulness, and I’d like you
to return the compliment. You’re a smart chap,
of good family. and have got an eddication uite
different from our outrwest hunters. I on’t
feel a bit sleepy yet, and if you’ve a. mind to
gratify my curiosity by tellin’ me exactly what

i‘ought you out to the Red River country, I’d
listen With as much pleasure as the folks used to
to me when I went about lecturing.”

“ Supposing I’d say I came for my health," ,
and with this brief reJoinder the young man ad-
justed his kit in such a way as to serve for a

illow, gave a word of warning to his dog to

es strict watch, and with his rifle in reach of
his and, closed his eyes, affecting to be asleep.

As there was no more “talk” to be got out of
him that evening, Buell concluded to follow his
example, and bavin covered down the bed of
coals, he, too, stretc ed himself out, and was
soon sunk in such slumber as is only enjoyed in
the open air, and when won by healthy fatigue.

CHAPTER II.
” WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR?” SAID
ran SPIDER, arc.
ALTHOUGH the young hunter was so reticent
when his companion referred to his past history,
it is not incumbent on us to be the same. A few

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

4

Jack Jordan’s Pard.

 

years prior to the opening Scene, Jack Jordan
was a great favorite in certain good circles of
New York society. He was an only son—good-
looking, and had qualities of head and heart
which promised to make more than an ordinary
man of him.

When Louis was about twenty-two, his father
sent him on business, one winter, to SJ. Louis.
The business was not arduous, being simply the
collection of some debts; and there were rela-
tives in that charmingly hospitable city who
welcomed the young man warmly, and would
not permit, him to return before he had spent
the greater part of the gay season with them.

He was not hard to persuade, for he was fas-
cinated by the mingled Southern and Western
'grace and cordiality of the society into which
he was introduced. The girls were proud of
Jack, and found him conveniently disposable
for concerts, theaters and balls; and he did not
fret at the duty of attending upon two such well~
' dressed and spirited young ladies. ‘

So the winter fled; and it was at one of the,
last and largest of the private balls that Jack
Jordan finally met his fate. The ball was given
by a rich widow of St. Louis, in honor of the
arrival at her house of a niece from New 0r-

, leans, who had Come up the river to stay a. few
weeks with her. None of the Jordaiis llall met
her until the evening of the party; for, when
the ladies called, the aunt and her guest had
chanced to be out. All were surprised, and, in
a manner, overpowered by the beauty of Miss
Mariquita Mora.

Ten minutes in her society effected 8. mar-
velous change in the young New Yorker. All
through the crowded and brilliant night he
hovered about the star of the occasion, a most
devoted moth. He was rewarded and sent home
deliriously happy, by a look and smile from
Miss Mora, which told him that she had singled
him out for, at hast, that evening, as deserving
special liking. ",

The opportunity given him, during the com-
plimentary call of the succeeding day, for ini-

roving the ac usintance, was not neglected.

he aunt cordia ly pressed him to visit them
without ceremony, durin the brief visit of her
niece, who she benevo ently desired should
enjoy herself, and not pine for her brilliant
Southern home.

In the mean time, a feeling of uneasiness crept
into the family of his relatives. For‘the first
time, they wanted the deer boy safely at home,
and regretted that they had urged his stay with
them. Curious stories began to float about,
intangibly, in the atmosphere.

It was rumored that Miss More’s mother was
not the “right kind 0 a a woman.” It was as-
serted that Madame era Was a Spanish no
man, who, in her youth, had been extremely
beautiful—as beautiful as her daugher: that
she had come to New Orleans, almost fabulous-

- ly wealthy, after the death of a first husband
in 8 sin, and had married an amiable Creole
gent eman, whom she had soon worried into
the grave. , '

This was the cause of the uneasiness in the J or-
dan family. Mrs. Jordan felt as if she were per—
sonally responsible to her brother and sister in
New York for what should befall their beloved

 

only son during his sojourn with her. Ahxiety
for his welfare prompted her to make every in-
quiry, to sift the dust of scandal, to trace the
eddyi'ng whirls of rumor, and to decide for her—
self as to how much truth there was in the wild,
shuddering gossip so freely afloat. Improbable
as the stories were in their nature, she satisfied
herself that they were founded in fact—perhaps
not even exaggerated. Then she felt that it was
time to lay the matter before her nephew- and
she did so, as gently and discreetly as possible.

“ You are too late, aunt,” he cried, rising and
pacing the floor before her. “ Mariquita and I
are already betrothed. Last night she promised
to be mine," and a glow of exultation broke
through his vexed expression.

“ Yet you have known her but three weeks!
Is not this haste, on her part, proof of at least
considerable eagerness?”

“ It is but a proof that we were made for each
other—my sweetest proof. Why should she hes
itate and affect doubt? She does not doubt me
any more than I do her. My family, my posi-
tion, my reputation and prospects are all known
to her. There is no reason for delay.”

“ I wish hers were as well known to you,”
sighed his aunt.

“ I know them well enough. Her family is'
rich and respectable; she has the blood of the
Spanish nobility in her veins. But even if she
had not, Mari uita would be the same to us,
Aunt Jordan. esl if he mother were all that
you represent her—if he mother and aunt had
conspired to betray me into the match—it would
not make a breath of difference in my estima-
tion of that dear child. She is pure; she is ood
and‘artless. You mean well, aunt, but you on’t
understand Mariquita or me."

Nothing further could be done by the relatives
but to allow matters to take their course. They
hoped for the best, that Mariquita, being so
young, was not yet corrupted by her mother’s
example; and that her removal to an ‘entirely
different sphere, under the root of so judicious a
person as Mrs. Jordan, might have a. savmg in-
fluence.

Still, they could not be reconciled to the haste
of the wedding. They understood that ack de-
sired to take his bride home with him in May,
and that she had consented to his Wish. _ In this
haste, they were certain they saw the influence
of the match-making aunt.

Since the affair had gone so far, they were
willing to use their influence to dispel the un-
pleasant rumors afloat. They called on the '
bride-elect to congratulate her, and to consult
with the aunt about the details of the wedding.
The cousins declared to their mother that they
liked Mariquita, and did not believe there was
anvthing bad about her.

Thereafter there was a constant flutter in the _

house. Jack was like one half lost in a dream,
of delight, caring for none of the details, only
waiting for the day when Mariquita should be-
come his wife. '

However—the wedding never took place.

One soft April twilight, Jack Jordan strolled
along one of the wide. pleasant avenues which
make the suburbs of. St. Louis so delightful.

Happy as one who walks in Paradise, he ram— \

\ u I i

WW.

 

 
 
  

 

 

(r-

 

 

 

 

Jack Jordan's Paul. 8

 

bled on, thinking of Mariquita, and of coming
May, when he became aware that he knew one
of two persons who had emerged into the ave—
nue from a side street, and were walking rapid-
ly in advance of him.

Yes‘, one of them was Mariquita.

Her companion was a young man, slender,
dark. southern—looking, well—dressed, and of
haughty, graceful carriage; a stranger to St.
Louis. Mariquita hung on his arm in the most
(-nui‘uling manner, turnng her face up to his,
laughing and chatting with the utmOst gayety
and freedom.

A new sensation tingled through the lover’s
breast—a fierce pang of jealousy. His he-
trothed had no male relations—no male friends,
in the city, sufficiently intimate to make it
at all proper that she should thus cling to him,
and be so affectionately gay. He followed on,
his thoughts growing every moment more con-
fused, his heart raging within him, and yet
not really comprehending what was before his
eyes.

Unconscious of pursuit, the couple hurried
forward, until they were far out, almost beyond
the range of city dwellings and gardens. Jack
kept pace with them. Finally they entered a
little summer resort, where ice-cream and cake
could he procured for those who were weary
with promenading the pleasant avenue. They
paused (-lrse under the shadow of the tree,
from the other side of which Jack was watching
them

There was a rustic bench which half—encircled
the trunk, and upon this they seated themselves.
For an instant pride struggled with Jack
against listeningto their conversation; but he
felt that he had a right to know why Mariquita
was there, and in that company. And even
had he felt otherwise, it is a question if he could
have controlled the fierce emotions which mas-
tered him, sufficiently to have turned and left
the spot.

“Now, little Mariquita, in five minutes we
must part."

“ Ah, Pedro, how can I endure tolet you go?”

“It's very hard, I know, pretty one. We
love each other well. But I have already in~
curred dangers in seeking this interview. And,
just think, Mariquita, not dangers only, but
What trouble and expense, all for one stolen
meeting with my little girl!” and he laughed
pleasantly. “You think that lover of yours,
whom you are going to marry, a very devoted
adorer; but I’d risk my head that he wouldn’t
come all the way from Santa Fe just for an
hour or two with you. Think of the thousands
of miles, the hundreds of dollars, the uncom-
fortable traveling, and the Comanches!"

“ Ah, Pedro," she answered, laughing a little,
too, in echo of his own half-bantering, hall“
earnest; tone, “ don’t pretend it was all for my
own sake. Hain’t you just been telling me that

on bad important business—that your mining
interests required a visit to the States! I wish
you’d sell out these pr0voklug mines, Pedro,
and come to New York and live. That will be
my home, you know, and mother will not annoy

on there. We could he free from the unhappy

nfluence, Pedro, and enjoy each other‘s society I

as we ought."

 

 

“Idon’t think I could be contented in the
North, Mariquita. It is too cold and methodi—
cal for me. I like warm skies and hearts of
fire. We don’t stand very much upon ceremony
at Santa Fe, my sweet; and, although there is
less rarity, less news of the world than I desire,
yet, if I had but you there, I fancy i should be
satisfied to remain there.”

“ You’ll soon find some one to fill my place,
Pedro. Some one of those handsome Mexican
girls will make you a. fine wife, and then you
will not need me."

“ Quien sabe if” said the other, gayly. “ Now,
darling, I will hurry back with you, until we
meet a carriage, when I will place you in it,
and send you home. It is too late for you to be
out alone, and you know I do not caretobe
seen with you, so 1 shall not venture near your
aunt’s. Besides, I fear you keep that lover
waiting. Give him my compliments, if you
dare. It’ll all he right some day, and then I
shall meet him. Well, we must go ”——they rose,
pausing a moment, while J uck heard Mariquita
sob. ” “ It is hard to part. Give me a kiss, little

irl.

That night Jack Jordan, wandering aimless
about the streets and wharves of St. Louis,
heard the ringing of a steamer—bell, and just as
the plank was being drawn in, sprung aboard,
and found himself on the way to the little capi-
tal of Nebraska Territory. After a tedious 1n-
terval, that seemed to him all dark and bl oxen,
like the delusion of a fever, he arrived at the
little frontier settlement.

A party of hunters, speculators and adven-
turers, were about to start, overland, for an ex-
pedition into the heart of the country. He
bought a rifle, a belt-revolver, a traveling—hag,
and a good horse, and joined the party with
their hearty assent. His reckless courage, his
forced gayety, made him the best man of the
company.

As for him, it was a sweet relief from the
thought of having found the woman he loved
false, to bound away over the prairies, orto

mingle in the excitement of the chase. He'

hunted buffalo, bears, or Comanchea~it mat-
tered little which. He made good friends with
the hardy hunters, and found a dog which loved
and served him with more than human fidelity.

And so it chanced that, after about a year of
adventure, he found himself, with his dog and
Amos Buell, quite far away even from the ordin-
ary track of western adventurers, following new
fields along the course of the Red River, dream—
ing his still sad dreams under the shadow of
the bold Wachita mountains.

 

It is not strange that he shrunk from relating
a history like this to the coarse and curious ear
of the Yankee companion. What influence had
drawn his steps in that direction he did not
care to acknowledge even to himself. It was
on the road to Santa F's—~tbat is on the Red
River trail thither, for nothing like a well—
traveled road was to be found in these wild and
dangerous regions.

But why Santa Fe? The name burned into
his brain, and seemed ever glowing before his
eyes in letters of firel It was the home of
“Pedro’L—that half—seen and half-named per—

 

 

 

 

 

 

.I.
.1.

    

8 Jack Jordan’s Pam-d.

 

son who had arisen on his path, so unexpectedly,
blunting present and future in a few brief mo.
merits. ‘Vhat did he want of Pedro? Nothing!
He had no call to revenge himself upon the
man—this man, who had been her lover, before
he knew of her existence; it was the woman
who was to blame. Why then did he take the
route which led toward his victim?

 

Surely he had enough to dream about, as he
lay on the, wind -svat prairie, looking up at the
large. southern stars. W hat had Muriquita
thought of his sudden, unexplained absence,
and how bad it affected her? What did his
friends believe had been his fate? He knew
they believed him to have been murdered in St.
Louis, and thrown in the river, for he chanced
upon a paragraph to that effect in a newspaper

’ which came in his way.

One thing gave him great trouble—the dis~
tress of his parents. To mitigate this, he had
written to them, explaining everything.

He lay, now, wondering if they ever received
that letter, mailed as it was at a far out-lying
military post—thinkzng of Madame Mora, that
incredible, exceptional woman, or fiend—recall-
ing the wild stories which he had smiled at in
incredulous scorn, until in a moment. all became
Confirmed in his belief—that moment in which
the truth of Mariquita grew a lie to him.

In the midst of all his reveries, never did it
come into his mind to put any other construc-
tion upon the girl’s conduct, than the first,
most natural one, which his jealousy had made.

CHAPTER III,
HUNTING AND HUNTED.

SEVERAL hours of intense silence and repose
followed the disposal of the two hunters to their
night’s rest, when it was broken by the dog
pushing his cold nose softly into Jack's face.
Awaiting instantly, and with every faculty on
the alert, he become aware of distant noises and
a vibratory motion of the earth.

It took him but a moment to decide that both
were caused by the rapid approach of a large
number of horses. That these were not a. wild
brood. but under the guidance of the rein, be
inferred from a certain regularity in their gait,
differing from the thunder of the untamed
drove, and not resembling the confused. con—
tinuous, tremulous roll of the buffalo herd.
Raising his head a little, he looked about him.
It was three o’clock, or earlier. of a J une morn-
ing; already the rosy flush brightened in the
east, and the coming dawn was paling the stars
with its stronger light. Not more than the
eighth of a mileTaway, a band of Indians were
riding rapidly, and apparently directly toward
 hunters’ grassy couch. They might number

rty.

Pressing down the head of his dog, and bid-
ding him be silent, Jack shook his companion
by the shoulder. With the instinct of long
habit, Amos awoke as silently and suddenly as

 

.the young man himself had done.

 

“Kee low—keep shady, Jack; they're
Comanc e and a war~party, at that,” \WhiSDeW‘I‘1
the Yankee, without a movement of his body
exceptasli ht elevatiOn of his head. “What
themisclzie be they eout for, at this time o’

 

mornin’? Cre—ackyl here they be, right on us!
No, they ain’t; the ’ve tuk to that nth t’other
side the rreek. eep quiet, my y: Don’t
show your head over the grass. It’s lucky for
us it’s high enough to kiver us."

“ There are two white persons with them
who seem to be prisoners,” eagerly exclaimei
the ounger man,

“ ushl so they be. And, Jack, there’s our
horses! Didn’t I tell ye? What you got to say
neow, about that dog 0’ your”? I know them
red rascals by heart; they’d steal a horse when
you was a-settin’ on him, and you’d never know
it till they was out o’ sight!”

“ I’ve a mind to try my rifle on one or two of
them."

“ That would be sensible. wouldn’t it, neow?
They’d hav’ our scalps in less’n three minits,
and we wouldn’t hav' our horses. No, my boy,
kee shady—~here they come!”

an and dog crouched in the long grass, as
the fierce party swept by, at a distance of about
fifty yards. The gray light of the dim dawn
favored the hunters, who remained undiscover-
ed, while having a. “ good look ” at the ferocious
thieves who had so cunnineg abstracted their
horses some two or three nights previous.

Suddenly Jack raised himself on his elbow; in
his excitement he would have sprung to his feet,
had not his friend held him down.

“ It‘s a woman!" he gas wed.

“ Yes, yes, I see that. ut don't get excited
if it is. Now that I’ve took a closer look. I
don’t think they‘re risoners. ’Pears tu me like
travelers who have ired the Comanches to es-
cort ’em to the nearest post or settlement. "

“ But, who travels in this region—especially
what woman would be likel to put herself un-
der such protection?” asked t 6 young man, gaz-
ing after the retreating forms with a start ,
restless expression. ,

“ ’I‘ain’t a. common occurrence, that’s cer-
tain; still, the Mexicaners do cross the country
-—tho men quite often—and these people may
have had an errand. It is quite common to hire
the Injuns, when they're tolerably peaceable,
for guides; though that party was rather strong,
for the purpose. Come to think of it, them red-
skins was Wachitas, and they‘ve been hired by
them whites to protect’em from the Comanches.
The Wachitas is friend] -—but they’re powerful
on stealin’. They can at the Comanche-i at
that game, though they ain‘t half as brave war-
riors. The whites were Mexicans, I should say.
Give us your guess."

“They were dressed like Mexicans, and were
of darker complexion than ourselves. Did you
see the woman’s face, Buoll?”

“ She looked to me like a young gal; but I
wouldn’t sw’ar to it, in this light."

“ Her hair was long and black, and she was
small." continued the other, more as if talking
to himself than his companion.

“Like as not; I was taking more particular
notice of her companion. He rode his horse
splendidly: never saw anything nicer."

“Was be young, too. and slender, with a

black mustache?” asked J ack, so earnestly that
his friend laughed.

“ I s’pose he must have been young and tall,
by the grace with which he managed, that crlt‘

- x?

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' Jack Jordan’s‘Pard.

 

 

tor; but I didn’t have time to take an inventory.
What’s the matter with you, J “Ck? You look

n as if you’d been struck, or had the colic power-
75

tn]. 2
“ Do you think we could keep up with them—
overtake them?" was the reply, as Jack stood
up and looked after the retreating party.

“ Do use common prudence,” exclaimed Buell,
jerking him down. “ If you wont to git your
horse back, that ain‘t the way to do it. Loy
low, till they’re clean out o‘ sight, and then we’ll
take the trail. 01’ course I don’t exactly see
how it’s to be done, seein’ they’re mounted and
we’re on foot, but I’m bound to fetch up with
’em sooner or later. If I don‘t git back them
animals, I’ll sell out and take the back track for
the States. I ain’t gozng to be tooled by all the
Wachitas in this territory. And, sence it’s them
has got our horses, I feel quite easy in my mind.
Their principal village ain’t a hundred miles
from here. They know me; I’ve been there.
These fellows are going in the right direction.
They’ll take a rest in that village, and we’ll ever-
take ’em there. If they won‘t give up the
beasts. we’ll lay around till we get a chance to
steal ’em‘back again. I’m powerful on that
game when it’s got to be done.” ,

“'But. sup ose they shouldn’tbegoing there
after all? ucll, I’d giveathousand dollars——
five thousand this moment—if I was mounted,
so that I could follow that party i"

“Pity I hadn’t an animal to sell you,”re-
marked the Yanks“, with his peculiar sharp
look. “I’d like to :take you up on that offer,
right well. It hurts me awful to lose sucha
chance of makin’ a good bargain. But, what’s
up, my friend? ’Pears to me you’re onduly ex—
cited by the sight of that petticoat. I never
knew you had a weakness for the fair sect. It
might do for chaps like me, who hasn’t any-
thing else to do-

“Of,course couldn’t be sure in the dim
light,“ said Jack, “ but I thought I had seen
the couple before. Nd’douht it was a fancy.
It must have been! it must have been,” he re—
peated to himself. “ Yes, Buell,” with a short
laugh, “ I’ve made a fool of myself by imagin—
ing I knew them—as if they could be here! as if
he could i” and again he was relapsing into so-
liloquy, when he shook off by an effort the feel-
ing that disturbed him, adding more naturally:

“ I don’t care for the white people so much.
Buell. but I’d like toget my horse back, now
that I’ve hadaglimpse of him. Let's do our
best at overtaking them. I’m ready for a start
this instant."

“ I ain’t," was the cool response. “ I’m gains:

’ to blow up these coals and warm up this coffee

before I stir a step. A good breakfast is a sav-
in’ of time—and I’m in a powerful hurry."

So saymg, he proceeded to prepare the coffee
in a manner which seemed to his restless com—

anion purposely intendedto provoke him by
its lazy deliberateness. In the mean time, the
mounted party, which had produced such an
excitement in our little group, grew less and
less distinct across the level distance, and finally
disappeared entirely around a spur of the moun-

‘ tains which stood out on the prairie.

When his strained gaze could no longer de~

hotaysign of them, Jack began striding back .

1 but it’s kinder strange in you.” ,

 

and forth along the bank of the creek. throw-
ing impatient glances at the imperturbable Buell,
who kept one eye on the breakfast and one on
the young man, inwardly wondering, with all
the fervor of his Connecticut curiosity, “ what
was up ” with his usually pleasant companion.

“ You're a—wastin’ ammunition awfully," he
called out at last. " You’ll bev enough walkin’
to do before night, without takin’ that furious
exercise in advance. When 1 was Professor of
Hygiene in a Water-Cure establishment down
to hum. I used to recommend just that sort 0‘
walkin’ before an ’arly breakfast: but, ‘circum-
stances alter cases,’ and I’d advise you, young
man, to hold your horses. Howsumever, things
are, b’ilin’, and you’re perlitely invited to set
to.’

Jack came up and took his tin-cup of hot
coffee standing; but his friend remained
stretched at ease upon the grass, diversifying
the rather limited hill of fare with plenty of
grumbling.

“’Tain’t fair to hurry a fellow so’s he can’t
prepare a decent meal. I was lottin’ on killin’
a young deer for breakfast, if them plaguy
Wachitas hadn’t put us in such a hurry. I
don’t fancy dried buffalo, when ihere’slsilenty 0’
fresh meat about—«lo you, Dick?—an what’s
left 0’ that turkey ain’t worth pickin’, even by
a dog. I tell you, my young friend. as I used'
to say at revivals, there's no use 0’ b’ilin’ clean
over, for it puts the fire out intirely. The cool-
er you take it the quicker you’ll get to your
journey’s end. You’ve eat nothin’ but a
cracker, and the consequence will be you'll

ive out before we’ve marched fifteen miles.

’m in for a fiftyvmile stretch without a wink 0’
sleep, but you’re going to peg out afore we git I
to the half-way house.”

Thus he kept uparunning fire’of remarks,
which did not interfere at all with the huge
mouthfuls of 'erked meat and hard biscuit, of
which he re idly disposed, his comrade making
no’ reply an not hearing half he said. ‘

CHAPTER IV.
FIGHT WITH A PANTHER.

IT is not strange that the young hunter was
feverish and excited. In the midst of that wild
cavalcade, sweeping past him in the weird dim
light of early dawn, on that far-ofl southern

ruirie, so far from every vestige of his former _
ife. he had seen a woman, so like Mariquita,
that, at the time of her passing, he could have
sworn it was her.

So swiftly, so unexpectedly came the vision,
sweeping down upon him. as he started from
his dreams—for so brief a time was she near
enough for him to be at all certain of the resem-
blance—so incredible did it seem to his second
thought that it could be her—that, scarcely
was the hand fairly beyond him, than he began
to doubt the impression which at first had been
positive.

When the troop was approaching him, his
attention had become too eagerly fixed upon the
woman for him to ‘ve a glance at her com~
panion, until after t ey had passed. fI‘hen, look-
ing, in a doe dread and fear that it was him,
he recalled t 0 form which he had seen, first as
now, from behind; it was the same l—the grace-

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 
 

 

\
\

. 8 Jack Jordan’s Part1.

 

ful, erect shoulders, the haughty head, the
strai ht black hair.

“ ueeri what’s got into him! If the sight of
a band of Injuns can upset him like that, he
ain’t the man I took him for. Pshawl that
can’t be it. Never see a cooler head in danger

‘ than his is. If ’twan’t too improbable I should
say them petticoats had something to do with it.
Thought they resembled acquaintances of his’n—
huml But them were Mexicans—and he’s never
been further south than this. He‘s mighty
stubborn about keepin’ his own counsel; but I’ll
worm it out of him as certain as my name’s
Buel‘l. Well, Jack, if you’re ready for a start, I
am.

They shouldered their rifles, and, with their
light Kit suspended at their backs, took up their
march in the direction taken by the mounted
party. It was no credit to Dick that, running
in advance, he kept the trail so well. The
merest tyro of a dog or hunter could have done
as much without difficulty, for the grass was
well out up by the hoofs of so many animals.

In addition, Amos Buell had been over the
route once before, in the receding year, when
he made the visit to the vi] age of t e Wachitas,
which he mentioned. They Were but little more
than thirty—five miles from that village which
was situated on Rush Creek; it being his opinion
that the band of Indians they had seen, if hired
to convey the white travelers along the route,
would pause, for at least one night, as well as
the remainder of the day, at these lodges, the
Yankee did not feel so very uneasy about over-
takin them. A tramp of a couple of hours

abroug tthem around the hill which stood out,
like an advance guard, on the prairies.

Between the indentations of this, they passed
into a lovely, fertile valley watered by a clear
stream, along whose banks grew trees of con-
siderable size. Keeping upon the margin of this
the day and the scene were so pleasant that, had
Jack been less reoccupied, he would have been
enthusiastic in is delight. As it was, he seemed
cal to think of making good time.

fancy had passed over many miles of this beau-
tiful region, and the sun had climbed high in
the heavens, when they entered a little grove of
pecan trees, which rose high above their heads,
and threw welcome shadows over them. The
creek, falling over rocks near by, made liquid
notes in harmon with the place. It was evi-
dent that the Indians had had the good taste to
.ause here for breakfast, as the remains of their

re were still smoldering near the bank.

“ We’ll take our dinner in the same spot.” reh
marked Buell, coming to a halt. “You brisk
up the fire a little, Jack, an'd we’ll have some
br’iled venison for the first course. I’ll just go
oi! a short distance, where it’s more quiet, and
use the bleat. I'll soon call up a doe, for deer’s
plenty in this valley.”

‘ “But it will take so much time,” remarked
the other.

“ Look a—here, I’m an older hunter than you,
and you’d better take my advice. ‘ The more
haste, the worse speed.’ You look fagged
already, while I’m as bright as a button. I
calculate to stop here jist two hours; so you

can make yourself com fortablo. All I feel

troubled about is the necessity of killin’ my

 

 

venison by using a bloat. It’s a. mighty mean I
way 0’ doin’, that’s a fact—and I never resort ;
to it unless I’m in too much ofahurry for a I
reg‘lar hunt. Jest you keep up the coals to the x
br’ilin‘ p’int and have some water b’iled for the
coffee, and ‘1] be back in half an hour," and ‘
with long strides the Yankee made off silently
through the woods, and was soon out of sight
of his companion.

Jack obeyed orders, so far as to rekindle the
fire and keep it fed wit dry wood; and when
it finally promised a. fine ed of coals, he set the
cofllee-pot near, and withdrew to the shadow of
a large tree which hung over the water, just
where the ripples, eddyiug over rocks, made
the loudest music. It was a place to dream in;
and in ten minutes his thoughts were busy with
the past, and with the vision of the morning.

If that were a real vision, and not a mockery,
should he be glad or sorry? ,W ere those who
passed him that morning the persons he sup-
posed, he felt that the old bitterness would
revive. To see them together, was more than he 5
could calmly bear. Lost in reflections of this
engrossing character, the moments slipped away;
he forgot his haste, the fire, the absent hunter.
the Red River country—everything but Mari-
quita and her dark—brewed lover.

In the mean time, Dick, hopeless of his mas-
ter‘s attention, had wandered off in search of
game on his own responsibility. ;

Suddenly, through the deep silence, broke the 2'.
sharp crash of arifle; a moment later, there was a
a crash of underbrush. Thoroughly startled 5
from his lonely reverie, J ack looked up to see a 3‘,

author in the o n space before him. Lashiug 1;:

is tail, his eyes shining like green fire, his breast j,
streaming with blood, the maddened creature ‘
paused in his very 1path, prepared in two seconds
more to leap upon im. "

Mechanically the young man reached for his i,
rifle, which he had leaned against the tree at his ‘3
side, trying to make the movement as softly as r
possible, for instinct told him that any attempt -,
to stir would hasten his peril. With the cool-
ness of suddeniimminent danger, his eyes looked <
guietly into the burning orbs of the beautiful, i

erocious beast. ’

A fascination, such as that attributed to the
rattlesnake, began to wrap him, as he gazed, ’
though his hand still moved cautiously in search 3
of his rifle, when his attention was distracted by i,
the appearance of Buell, who came making 3
through the grove, shouting to him to look out. i
The spell was broken for the panther, also: for, 
just as Jack, starting a little~at the cry of Buell, g
and turning his eyes, knocked over the weapon {2
he meant to possess, the creature sprung. u:

He was borne to the earth beneath its Weight; ‘
its hot breath was in his face; he felt its teeth in .;
his shoulder; but at that horrible crisis, he heard i
the fierce yelp of his dog, and was conscious that ,5
Dick had grappled with the enemy.

The panther threw off the dog as if he were a .
feather, but in the instant thus gained, Jack
freed his knife from his belt, and inflicted a se- i
vere wound in the animal’s chest, which caused i
it to draw back; only, however, to return more 
furiously to the charge, when the fierce beast‘;
was again throttled b the faithful dog, who ‘
held to his throat until is master dealt a second »‘

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Jack Jordan’s Pal-d.

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and more effective blow, piercing the panther’s
eye to his brain. .

“ Well done, Dick! You're a soldier! Smart
dog, that,” cried Buell, runnin up, out of
breath, as the creature stretchog itself out in
death. “ Hallo, Jacki how are you? Alive, my
boy? Good for you! I thought your time had
come. Wouldn t have given a jack-knife for
your chance two minutes ago. Here, take a.
drop of whisky, and don’t faint, now it’s all
over.”

“ I don’t feel like fainting,” said J ack, sitting
down, while the color came back to his white
face. “ But it isn’t pleasant to have such a bad
’breath as that so close in your face, and my
:shoulder don’t feel altogether comfortable.”

He leaned back against the tree, looking rath—
or ill despite his, assurance. Buell insisted on
'his swallowing some s irits, and then immedi-
ately, in a business-1i e manner, stripped the
torn and bloody clothing from the mangled
shoulder.

“ ’Tain’t as bad as it might be, young man;
two or three pretty deep gashes. beyd soon
heal, if it wasn’t for the p’ison. I'll wash ’em
out well in cold water. and keep on wet cloths.
Nothin’ like cold water, as I used to say when I
was a hydropathic doctor down our way, unless
I_ can find some plantain leaves. I seen the In-
]ups use ’em here, last year, and they drew the
E’ison of snakes out like acharm. Oh, Jacki

era’s some of 'em, sure as my name ain't Moses.
I‘ll bruise a few and bind em on, and if that
shoulder ain‘t healed up in less’n three days, I’ll
eat a peek of Emom sa ts.

“Poor Dick! you cotched it too, didn’t you?
That’s right! go in the water, and keep there a
spell. If humans knew how to doctor half its
well as dumb brutes, there wouldn’t be so many
bills to  Jist soak yourself well, Dick.
There, you re prett comfortable, my friend.
Blast it, the worst 0 it is, we’ve lost our/'r’dinnei‘.
Here I am without a bit of fresh meat. You
used the blast, expectin’ the mother
deer to run to the rescue, thinkin’ she heard her
young—‘un cry, instid of the doe, out come this
‘ ere ugly customer, expectin’ to gate nice fawn
for his dinner.

“ Wei, I was behind a bush, and he come close
up, lookin’ forthe fawn. I had plenty 0’ time
to take ood aim, and I thought I’d make sure of
his eye, at whether I was onduly excited or not.
I can t say—leastwise, I made an unpardonable
blunder. I hit the beast in the breast, an’ didn’t
kill him. He came at the bush raging mad, but
I'got out of the way, and gave him a di in the
ribs from behind a tree, which m 9 him
in der’n ever; but he couldn’t find me, he was
so blind and furious; so he sot oil! in your direc-
tion. I thought of you, and took after him with
*1 vengeglgce, but he was a little too fast for me.
I could 3. killed him after he’d tackled you; but
{was agraid of murd’el‘in’ my friend at the same

line. . was comm up With 111 knife when
Pugh pitghed in. f But it’s ail-firstly mean, we’ve
03 our inners, or We can t eat that fl ”
he kicked the dead panther. 85b, and

“Dear, brave Dick,” said Jack, as the dog
crept out of the water, and la
master’s side, looking wistfully and

to his face, as if he knew he had m-

joyfully
1m,

served

y down by his‘

“Never mind the dinner, Buell; we'll make out
with what we have. And in the mean time, I’d
advise you toreload your rifle. If this is the
kind of game you hunt about here, it behooves
us to be ready for it. So you think this provok-
ing wound is going to Prevent my traveling?”
“Them plantains ’ keep down the inflam
mation; so, if you don’t overheat ourself ’
there’ll be no danger. We'll jist hol on, 
Othe sun’s a little lower, and then purceed to the
best of our ability. There’ll be a small show of
moon in the first of the evenin’, and it’s in
opinion we’ll reach the lnjun village about mi -

night. Hist, boys, there goes an antelopei
Lend me your gun, J sch—we’ll have some fresh
meat yet. ’

Jack smiled at the pcrtinacity of the Yankee,
who, having made up his mind to “ fresh meat,’
hated to give up the idea. In a minute more,
an antelope lav dying in the grass. Jack occu-

ied himself oading the rifles while Amos, de-
ighted with his success, busied himself getting
up a good dinner.

The vision of the morning, in the midst of,
these stirring realties, grew more and more like
a dream to the younger hunter, until, when
ready again to resume the journey, he was per—
suaded that he had been the victim of a delu-
510D.

Still, there were the horses to recover; and
they started on, animated with the resolution to
outwit the thieving Wachitas.

Jack’s shoulder was ainful, but not so much
so as he had feared—t 6 cool bandages of plan-
tain acting likeacharm. Had he been sulfering
ten times as much he would not have given up.
Something drew him forward with silent power,
albeit, be reflected severely upon the weakness
of his self-delusion. It had been an eventful
day for him—much more eventful even than his
companion could guess or apprehend.

CHAPTER V.
in THE NET AGAIN.

“ Do hear them pesky dogs. The ’11 have the
hull village roused," muttered Buel , as the two
adventurers drew near the confines. of the
Wachita iod es. “ It ain’t best to go any nearer, '
at resent. t must now be nigh onto midnight, L
an we’re purty nigh tuckered eout. We’ll jist
drop down here and take a good nap. About
three o’clock, as soon as it’s light enough to pick
eont our own, we‘ll jist creep inside the corral.
and git our animals. Jerushai won’t it be fun,
after we’re safely mounted, to rouse up every
darned Injun, and let ‘em see how much smarter
white folks are than red-skins?” -

Chuckling with anticipated triumph,he spread ,,
his blanket and lay down; Jack, who felt a lit-
tle chilly with fatigue and pain, took the warm
breast of Dick for a illow, and drew his blanket
closely about him. e, too, was soon asleep, for
he had exerted himself greatly ‘ but, the twmges
of pain in his shoulder distur ed his slumbers,
and they were full of broken dreams.

Now, he would be facing that terrible panther,
so glossy, so graceful, yet so dangerous: and,

non, the wild creature would glide into the
likeness of Mari uita. He would shudder as her
eyes shone upon im with that soft, alluring. yet
tearful fascination out of the panther’s face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
    
 
  

I ..,W;w;e w

10 Jack Jordan’s Part1.

 

Or, seeing Mariquita, all gentle, caressing,
and beautiful, he would approach her, totake
her to his bosom, when suddenly the hot, fetid
breath of the wild animal would mingle with
his own, and that savage embrace would agonize
him. In such slumber there was but little re-
freshment, and he was glad, after starting out
of one of these disagreeable dreams, to. distin-
guish a faint flush along the eastern horizon. "

Touching Buell, the two men, a moment later,

were stealing noiseleSsly into an inclosure, where
a hundred or so of mustangs and horses could
be dimly seen, standing or lying, in their night’s
re 50.
r Co perfectly guarded were their movements
that not a single one of the numerous little dogs
appointed to give warning, awoke. Dick, silent
and wary as his master, had no sooner entered
thecorral, than he trotted quietly to a certain
animal, standing on the further side.

Jack followed, knowing that he should be
led directly to his own horse; and, surely

\ enough, when he reached Dick, there stood the

splendid black stallion he so prized and doved.

"A low whinny of delight was given by the

horse, hut Jack put his hand over his mouth,
and severing the thong which bound him to a
stake, the next instant he was upon his noble
steed’s back.
' Dick, well satisfied, then trotted off after the
other horse, which he soon found~sooner than
Buell would have done, since the light was not
strong enough to distinctly mark objects a
short distance away. This was also a very fine
animal,though not equal to that of Jack who had
purchasrd his with a large sum of money, from
a Mexican noble, several months previously.
The two robably were quite the best horses
of the col action; and no doubt the Wachitas
felicitated themselves highly on their cunning
robbery. Walking them softly out of the in-
closure, and for some distance down the valley,
they there awaited behind the shelter of a copse,
the surprise and discomflture of the robbers,
when they should emerge from their lodges and
discover the absence of their stolen treasures.
Buell was thinking solely or this; but his com-
ion was agitated by far other feelings.
uring the hours of night, both while wakin

‘ and sleeping, the belief again had gained groun

with the young hunter that he was near Mari’
quits. ' The Yankee would have opened his in-
quisitive little eyes to their fullest could he have
‘ guessed ” halt the fire which was raging in the
young man’s bosom, like a repressed volcano.
One thing Jack resolved upon: If it was
Mariquita and her lover, he would remain un~

" identified by them. This, he was aware, might

be impossible, yet that he had changed very
much in his appearance during a year or out-
door exposure, gave him great hope.

His complexion, once rather delicate, and of

' northern fairness, was now tanned almost to as

dark a brown as glowed in the cheek of the
Southern cavalier; his hair and heard were long
and untrinimed, and his dress that of an ordi-
.nary‘hunter. .-
Still, he would like to disguise himself further,
and knowing that Buell had, at the bottom of
his kit, a quantity of coarse black Indian hair,

I strung on a caronet or wire, which he some-

 

times wore when he wished to pass him elf for a
native. the youn man asked for it. ’

“What kink ev you got in your noddle,
now?" asked the Yankee, good-naturedly, turn—
ing out the contents of his sack. to find the de-
sired article. “ Want to set up for aWaco, and
steal the heart of some 0’ them young sqnziws?
Pshawl I ain’t no objections to the fair sect,
myself as agineral thing, but them Wacliitas is
too humbly and too dirty for me. Say, neow,
Jack, what you fixin’ up fur? I’ve never seen
you do it before, and I sha’n’t stir a step till I
know what it‘s all about, danged if I do; so,
jis’ makea clean breast ov your amouricious
desi ns.”

“ Veil,” replied Jack, laughing in the midst
of his secret agitation, at the insatiable curi-
osity of his comrade, “ there is no more use try-
ing to keep a secret from you than a Comanche
from the scent of Dick’s nose. I don’t think
any man acquainted with Amos Buell would
accuse the other sex of undue interest in their
neighbors’ affairs. If you'll promise to drop my
name, for the present, and call me Pitkins,
instead of Jack, ’11 promise to give you a rea-
son for it."

“ Well, Mr. Pitkins, what’s your reason?”
queried the Yankee, sharpening his elbows, and
taking up{ an attitude of such intense solicitude
that so laughed again. “Out with it, afore
I guesses it."

“ You’ve often questioned me about my past
life, Buell, and you’ve guessed rightly that
some unpleasant occurrence caused my sudden
departure from all former pursuits, and this
complete change in my habits; I cannot give
you the particulars now; but, this much I will
confess. In the white man who passed us yes-
terda , I thought I recognized the person who
was t 9 reason of my leaving the States. It is
enough to say that he wronged me, and that I
hate him bitterly—as you hate a rattlesnake.
You can see for yourself that it would be un-
pleasant for us 0 meet. However, I am so
much changed that I do not believe he will
recognize me.” .

“ f there’s any likelihood of his calling you
eout, pickin’ a iiarrel with you, why not let him
alone?" asked his listener, his keen face glowing
all over with satisfaction at being made the re—
cipient of this im ortant confession. “ We’ve
got our horses, an we can just turn tail and

ack out 0‘ these quarters if they’re onpleasant
to you. But, it seems to me, J ack—I beg your
pardon, Pitkins—that you were mi htin taken
up with that gal, yesterday. Meb she’s got
somethin to do with the affair, ton, eh? Petti-
coats is a lers mixed up with every real oncom-
promising muss atween men.”

A blush of mingled anger and confusion broke
through the tawny hue of the young man’s cheek;
but,it would, be useless to quarrel with the good-
hearted and brave Amos Buell, so he replied,
without answering the question: ‘

“ 1 don’t care to leave until I am certain that

is the man. You know I was by no means as?

sured he was the some, and! should also like to
know what relation that woman sustains to him
if this should prove to be the man I think it is."
,“ Jest so,” was the uiet response, for his in-
terrogator, knowing 3

 

ack would tell no more

 



i

 

 i
,lj.’


i

 

  
 

 

 

Jack Jordan’s Pard. 11

 

than he thought proper, had made up his mind
to wait and judge for himself, confident that he
should, ere long, know all. The prospect of a
secret, to be picked out by degrees. was exhila—
rating, and put him in the best of humors.

By this time, the village began to be astir, and
presently there arose a great outcry. The two
whites, watching the scene from their ambus-
cade, could see men, Women and children run-
ning to and fro between the lodges.

It was evident that the log of their lately ac—
quired property awakened much wrath and sor-
row, it, doubtless, being laid to the Comanches.
When the whole five hundred inhabitants were
well stirred up and out-of-doors— .

“ Now,” said Buell, “ let’s ride quietly into
town, and inquire what's up.”

Our friends were not afraid of the conse-
quences. as they knew they had the right on

- their side, and the Wachitas were both cowardly,
and friendly to the whites. As they rode out of

the shadow of the copse, and proceeded up the

street of the Village, with Dick at'their heels, the

outcry suddenly subsided, as the conscience-

stricken inhabitants gazed muter at the unex-
ted apparition. .

“What’s up?" sung out the Yankee, in his
most nasal tone, looking about upon the crowd
with a triumphautalecr. “ Two-bearve-kets-ah
wah-ta-tash f’ —(man dead?) 5

Nobody having recovered sufficiently to an-
swer, he continued;

“Totchesch catwah-sa? Ah, rte-comet!~

cilia !"-—(have your horses goncl—ah, the Coman-
0 es!)

Here he drew rein and looked coolly about him.
Presently two or three lndian men, looking very
foolish, came slowly up to them.

“We're travelers,” he said, “ want breakfast,
want food for horses, want guidesto go on West.
Can you give them! We pay well.” And he
jingled the locus silver and other contents of his

kers. Speaking partly in Wachita, partly

exican, and a little English, he managed to

make himself understood, and we answered in
the same jargon.

" Yes, they could have breakfast, and green~
corn, and idea. There were two white peo-

le with t em now, who wanted to go on to
auto Fe, and who had hired some of them, at a

. good price, to protect them from the Coman-

ches. The Comanches were very mad at the
white people—they had torn up the pers sent
them by the Great Father—they had illed white
folks last week. Mustn’t travel without much
company. Where did they wish to gol—to
Santa Fe, also?"

CHAPTER VI.
. THE YOUNG SPANIARD.
ALL this time the Indians looked so crestfallen
and guilty, that Buell shock with suppressed

laughter. It was a good joke, to him, north-

the threevdays tramping they had been obliged to
make since their horses were stolen. He cun-
sulted Jack as to what answer he should give
about their traveling toward Santa Fe.

Jack bade him, by all means to so they were
going there, and should be glad of a the com-
pany they could get.

» At this moment a white man came out of one

\
l

 

of the lodges near by, looking at the group with
great interest. Yes, it was himJ—Lhat name-
less stran or, seen but once, yet how well known!
~with w om the young hunter’s fate had been
so tangled. Jack gazed at him with hot, blind
9 es, and heart which almost choked him. The
gianiard’s hat was ofl", his loose, embroidered
jacket open at the throat, himself as graceful,
haughty, careless a specimen of Southern
beauty and chivalry as the young Northerner
ever had beheld.

While Buell was busy with the crowd, Jack
could only gaze at the stranger, until the
thought cecurring to him that Mariquita '(if it
indeed were she), might also be reconnoitering
them from some hidden part of the lodge, and
might recognize him despite his strange dress
and changed a pearance, made him ride around
to the other si e of his friend, where he would
be‘virtially screened from observation.

ith his hat drawn low down, keeping in
Buell’s shadow, he gazed covertly toward the
lodge with eager eyes, unmindful of the remarks
and proceedings of his companion, who was en~
joying himself hugely. I

As it would be impossible to translate the
mixed Indian and Mexican of ‘the Yankee, we
will not attempt to do so.

“Lost your horses, heyl—too had! We was
in the same fix—some rascally, thieving dogs of
Wacos or Comanches—it must ha‘ been them
(’cause the perlite, gentlemanly Wachitas never
do such thin 3 -—took ’em, without even askin’,
when me an ick was asleep. Had to foot it
three days—too bad, wasn’t it? Knew you’d
feel bad when you heard it. Such fine horses,
too. Make a tribe rich to own a few sich. We
scarcely ever expected to see ’em ag’in, but
Providence directed our steps to the corral of
the cussed thieves, and Dick brought out our
animals all right. Congratulate us, my friends,
good Wachitasl What do you think we ought
to do to the rascals? Don’t you think they ought
to  punished l”

He ooked innocently into their alarmed faces
as he asked the last two questions; they fell
back a pace or two, and gi-unted a feeble assent,
stealing frightened glances at each other.

“Hadn’t they ought to be made to catch it,
right smart?" »

Two or three faint nods and grants were the
only reply. He well knew how noisy would
have been their condemnation of the thieves,
had they had the slightest chance to lay the sin
upon others’ shoulders.

“ Yeou, brave chief, old fellow, yeou look wise

asa judge. Say, what d’yo think ought to be ; i

done to the thieves?’ he asked an old lndian in a
chief’s dress, whose face was a compound of
meanness, covetousness, and duplicity. The
old fellow’s eyes blinked ruefully, but he made
no response.

“Shouldn’t you say they ought to give us a
good breakfast, a. “couple 0’ bushels 0’ green—
corn, three or four pieces of money, and take us
along a hundred miles, more or less, for noth~
ingl , ,
The chief madea grimaee, while an expression
of deep despondency began to settle on the faces

at first so alert with the promise of white

strangers to pluck.

 

 

 

 

 

  
 
  
 
 
    

 

12 Jack Jordan’s Pard.

 

“Speak out—don’t be afraid! If that ain’t
severe enough, mebbe we’d better insist on their
giving us a couple 0’ horses to carry our luggage
—for we were put to much trouble, let me tell

on.”

“ They ought to do what the senor said first,”
finally replied the chief, with great reluctance,
in tolerable Spanish.

“ Good Wachitasl d’ye hear? Your chief tells

on to get us some breakfast, with plenty o’

h’iled green-corn, and give us a guard on our
journe_ :and he advises you never to meddle
with ankee horses again—’cuuse ’tain’tno usel
We’re too smart. Clear out and cook our break-
fast—scatter, you nasty copperheads!”

“ See ’em, goin’ oif like whipped dogsl"
chuckled Buell. turning to Jack and speaking
his native tongue; “ they’re an awful disap-
pointed set. Keep a good lookeont, or they’ll
steal the buttonson the back of yer coat. Oh,

: but they need a thrashing, every one on ’em. I
know ’eml Lordy, but they feel mean! Do you
know, Pitkins this would be just the )lace for a

. '_ right smart Y’ankee peddler? A on many of

q ' them trinkets they wear are soli silver, and l

' could Wheedle ’em away if I only had a kit full

of gimcracks. J erushul would n’t this be a pretty

spot to sell out that last lot 0’ clocks I sacrificed

 for ninety cents apiece? I wouldn‘t leave this

 , village till every Wigwam had a clock tiekin’ in

‘ it, and all the little pappooses dancin’ to the

music. A load of clocks ne0w, with a lookin’-
glass in the door of ’em, would create a sensa-
tion! I’d have all the silver dollars in the

Wachita territory. But, that’s the plague of

speculating! you can't get your wares to the

 r ght market, or the market’s overdone. Some-

‘ thing’s always wrong. By the way, is that the

1,;  cha Mr. Pitkins?’

T; ." “ es," Was the brief reply. “But let us ride

" on a few steps further, as don’t care to be

reco nized.”

“ e’s comin’ out to speak to us, which is only
nat’ral, considerin" the scarcity of white folks in
" z ' these arts. You can ride on, and let me do the
,j - talkin , if you think best."

 Knowing that the stranger had no idea of his

1; V identity, and being careful to keep his back to-

g ward the lodge, Jack concluded to keep still.

 Little did the young Spaniard imagine, as he
Eda gave a polite greeting to the two hunters, that,

 under the slouched hat of one scowled the brows
of the hitterest enemy he had in the world.

He asked the travelers whither they were going,
saying he should be glad if their routes lay the
same way. as he understood the Comanches were,
at present, more troublesome than usual. As
Buell did not know the wishes of his friend, he
was compelled to allow him to do the principal
part of replying. Jack answered that they
were hunters, who were out merely for adven-
ture; that they had no fixed route to pursue,
, but had thought some of going as far west as
' Santa Fe. .

The Spaniard seemed pleased at this, urging

"them to do so, and saying that he Would be glad

I , to extend them the hospitalities of his house in

Santa Fe, in return for the pleasure of their
company. The more, the merrier, as well as
the safe .

He had had much dealing with the Comano

 

 

 

 
  
 
    
  
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
  

 

 

ches, and ordinarily was not afraid of encoun-
tering them; but, he believed they had lately
become exasperated at some real or fancied in-
jury, and that quite a large war—party was now
out, to waylay white travelers.

“ Have you confidence in the bravery of your
'lJ’Valchita guard, in case of an attack?” asked

ac .

His voice sounded in his own ears like the
voice of a stranger. The effort to be calm, un-
der the circumstances, was perfect. '

“ Not much,” said the stranger, smiling. “ I
rely more upon my own arm than upon them.”

here was a quiet courage. blended with fan-
ciful humor, in that smile of the young Span-
iard, which would immediately have kindled a
glow of sympathetic liking in Jack’s bosom had
the relation between them have been different.
He mused, for a moment, what decision to
make with regard to accepting the offer of join—
ing forces. ‘3

He knew that it would be nearly, or quite im-
possible, to approach Mariquita, as hewould be
compelled to do in the event of accompanying
them, without his betraying to her his identity.
This could be productive of nothing bntpainful,
if not tragic, consequences. Yet, if there was

really any imminent danger of the Indians, '

could he leave her to go on, unaided by such
help as two more courageous men might give
the party? 5

Ah! as that question was put to his own
heart, Jack felt that he still loved the beautiful,
false being who had shone upon him but to
blast his budding hopes. He had persuaded
himself that he loathed, despised her—that she
was nothing tohim but a degrading memory.
Yet. at the idea of peril, of a cruel death per-
haps, to her, he began to feel that, despise her
as he did and must, he loved her still.

Another proof that love still lingered, was in
the intense, the angry jealousy he felt toward
the man before him. A thrill of mingled joy
and hatred passed along his nerves at the
thought, that ,rbapsthe Spaniard might fall a
victim to the mdians, while he should be per-
mitted to rescue Mari uita.

The next moment e u ‘braided'himsulf for
the guilty thought. The lood of a hundred
lovers could not make Mariquita lovable, were
she as treacherous as his own eyes and ears had
proven her to be. .

In the mean time, impatient at pla ing “sec—
ond fiddle” in the colloquy, his Yen es friend
had begun “a swop” with a dirty Wachita,
whom he was trying to persuade that a broken-
bladed jack-knife was still as good as new, and
a fair exchange for a handsome pair of Mexican
stirrups which he coveted for his horse’s ucoou-
terments, and which the other had suspended
across his shoulders, having probably been on
his way to the corral, perhaps to saddle that
very horse, when its loss was discovered.

CHAPTER VII.
THE CANYON CAMP.

“WHAT say you to my pmposition, senor?”
asked the Spaniard. who seemed to have taken a
fancytothe oung hunter, des its his constrain-
ed, unfriend yexpression. “ on are brave, I
know~oue ot the kind to enjoy adventures, so

 

»: sushi-n

 

 

 

 

,L......_ i. “am...

 

 

 

Jack Jordan’s Pard.

 

'13‘ ' 

 

that they be not too hazardous. I have some
fine mines to show you when we arrive in New
Mexico. Perhaps you will conclude to remain
there as I did, quite unexpectedly to myself. I,
too, was a rover, without any particular object,
except, to be sure, in my poor case, I inherited
from my father the right, title and interest of
ball" a dozen poorly»w:)rked gold mines in North-
ern Mexico. I doubt, however, if I should ever
have tried to make the property available, if
unpleasant matters at home had not driven me
abroad.”

Before Jack could frame an answer, a voice
thrilled through him, driving the color from
his check, em causing him to start, despite
thlef guard which he had established over him-
so .

“ Pedro I"

So sweet, so clear, so tender! That same siren
voicel Ah, Heaven! how it ran like fire through
and through him] How it brought back the
past! The last evening he had spent with her,
when she had brought the bridal veil, and with
blushes and laughter had thrown it over her
black hair, to show him how it was to become
her, when-— He hit his lip till the blood
stained. his teeth, forcing himself to compo—
sure. He did not see her, for he had purposely
turned his back to the cabin, but he knew that
she had come to the door, and that, if he should
Ehange his position, he would meet her face to

ace.

“ Yes, Mariquifa, I’ll be with you in a mo-
ment,” answered the Spaniard, speaking in Eng—
lish, as he had done to the hunters.

“ You’ve got a. right purty little wife there,”
remarked Buell who, unable to effect the desir-
ed “ trade,” had turned at the sound of a wo-
man‘s voice, alid given one of his impudent, cu-
rious stares at the girl, and now gave his opin-
ion to the stranger, with characteristic freedom
-—“ a right purty little wife. I don’t wonder
you feel a little shy of the Comanches, with such
corn any aboard.” ,

“ ifs?” queried the Spaniard, with another
flashing, amused smile; and then, as if thinking
better of the explanation about to arise to his
lips, added~—“she is, indeed, a. fine little girl,
and very dear to me. It is more on her account,
than anything else, that I wish for a stronger
escort. I should not like harm to befall my little
Mari uita.” ‘

Th slight accent of surprise and amazement
——was it not also contempti—had not escaped
J ack, nor the afterthought to let the mistake go
uncorrected.

_“ She is not even his wife,” he muttered, under
his breath. “I'll go I”

“What shall I tell her'l She is impatient to
hear the news,” again asked the Spaniard.

“ We Will go with you, at least until you
are satisfied that you have passed or cut-trav-
eled the war-party,” said Jack. “ We came
Upon its trail the day before yesterda , and I
think you, too, must have passed 11:. ft seems
to me it took a different direction from our
route.” ‘ s

" That is nothing. They’ll be sure to come
out sorgewhrre on the road where least ex—

pected. .
“And now,” I 'supposa you care not how

 

early you start, we will beiake our-Selves to
breakfast, feed our horses, and be ready to take

up the line of march. In the mean time, if

you are prepared, I would advise you to begin

your journey. We can easily overtake you in

the course of a few miles, and it is pleasanter
traveling in the morning than in the heat of the

day. 7 :
This proposition was made by Jack, because >:_
be was anxious to keep a little behind the main r 7
party. He dreaded to come near Mariquita, yet

he was resolved to see her through the dangers

of the journey—and-and——he did not care to
confess his further resolves.

The Spaniard, pleased at the prospect of such
available company, promised to do as recom-
mended, and to be on the way in less thanhalf '
an hour. The agreement being completed, ,
and the hunters receiving from the chief an in-
timation that the green-corn was boiled, accom-
Eanied by a very dirty Squaw, proceeded to their

reakl'ast.

Jack had not turned for one glance at the
beautiful face which he, knew looked out from
the lodge so close—so close to him. In something
less than an hour after, he was following in the
rear of the large party of Wachitas .who had

.mounted and armed themselves to continue as

the escort of the whites.

Senor Pedro D’Estanza~for be had so given
his name in return for the information 50’
licitcd b the inquisitive Buell——rode in the ad-
vance. y his side was the Yankee, and a. lit-
tle in the rear, the only woman of. the party *‘
managed her spirited Mexican pony with skill ' l
and ease. ' ~

Jack rode as one in a dream. The full sun-
light of a lovely June day, the fragrance of the
morning air, the beautiful valley, the pictur- "
esque group of half-clad Wachitas, all seemed
to him like parts of some unsubstantial vision,
the “ baseless fabric” of which floated before
his eyes like the hantom of a mirage, or the
ghosts of a spirit which would not be laid.

His gaze was fixed upon the round, light
figure of the horsewoman riding in advance of
him. Her thick braids of hair gave back a. pu'rh

le-black brilliance in the sun; her figure,so
ight, yet so exquisitely gwoeful, seemed to
gather dignity from the ease with which. she not
upon her horse; several times she turned her _
head, and gave a curious, inquiring glance at I '
the white hunter who persisted in being so un-
social.

On those occasions J ack had a fair look into
the face of the beautiful false one, the flash 0!
those bright, steady 6 es struck to his inmost V .
soul. He watched her eenly. There was, upon
that sweet face, an unmistakable sadness—4a
shade of a presentsorrow. Either she was worn ,
and fatigued with her long, perilous journey, or
else some personal experience had wrought a.
change in features and form. The once exquis~
iter rosy countenance had less color; its won-
derful vivacity had almost entirely disappeared;
a. dark line was clearly drawn under the eyes‘
her form was thinner, though it still retain
Mariquita’s matchless grace.

In the mean time the sun rose high toward the
zenith, blazing down fiercely upon the wild cave r
alcade, whose knives and‘rifles flashed beneath

.__

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

14 J ack Jordan’s Para.

 

its rays, as they wound along at a decreasing
pace. They had left the valley, and, after a
few miles of hot and arid plains, were lad to
enter a defile made by the bud of a. cree , n0w
dry. Here the atmosphere was cooler, for
alongside ran a. low spur of the mountains. not
much more than a bluff, but wooded, and throw-
ingra grateful shade across the rough trail.
he Whites were informed by the Indians that
water, fresh and pleasant, was to be found four
or five miles in advance. and at that Spot they
were to take their mid-day ropese and refresh-
ment. It was so near the village of the
Wachitas. and on a ath so well known, that
- our travelers felt asit the real dangers of the
‘ gurney had not yet begun. If they met the
omanches at all, both the Indians and the
whites supposed it would be a hundred miles
further on toward the head—waters of the Red
River—up which their trail led.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE AMBUSH.

A LITTLE before noon they reached the prom-
ised water, and found a clear. 0001 rill, gushing
out of the rocky side of a bluff which Was here
broken crosswise by a gully or ravine, admit-
ting the delicious liquid to a. free path. Inex—
pressibly refreshing did this fountain prove, as
on] those who have traveled in parched and
ari regions can appreciate.

A breeze also blew down from the mountains,
urged along the horizon to the south; the
air was like liquid sapphire, and so exhilara-
ting to breathe, that even Jack could not resist
its inspiring influence. Here the whole troupe
alighted; the animals were watered, and, while
a portion of the men took their noon meal, the
rest were cautioned to keep a good lookout up
and down the canyon to give warning of any ap-
proaching strangers.

The Wachitas ate the parched corn and jerked
meat which they had hrou ht with them; but
the Spaniard brought fort from the panniers
of one of the jack—mules the necessaries fora.
comfortable meal, and 0. bottle of wine, which
« he ut in the brook to cool.

' a then, again, urged J flck to join his party;
but the latter, eating his crackers and dried
buffalo-meat, at a distance, under a tree, brief—
ly, but firmly, rejected his lite attentions.
Buell was not so churlish; he id justice to the
viands with an appetite sufficient torepreseut
his friend as we] as himself. His relish for
food was as keen as his relish of a good bargain.

A pleasant hit of shadowy ground, with a
rocky wall behind it, close to the water, had
been selected for Mariquita. She laid aside her
hat, bathing her forehead in the rill, and then
sip ing héf‘ wine and nibbling at the bread and
fru t which Senor Pedro placed in herlap, while
she listened with a faint smile, to the endless
chatter of the Yankee. Jack sat where he could
watch her every motion. while the broad som—
brero, kept closely down over his own face,

rovented the possibility of her recognizing

im.
“ Thank ’ee, I don’t care if I do,” said Buell,
stretching out his tin cup for another draught

‘ . of the precious wine, while his gentlemanly host

could scarcely repressa shrug of contempt at

_ their bullets?

 

his piggishness; “I hain't had nothin’ of this
sort for some time, and it’s quite refreshiu’.
Tell you what, stranger, I’ve an idem—a whop-
pin’ big one—which is nothin’ less than buyin‘
up a few thousand acres down South here, some-
wuere, plantin’ a vineyard, and goin’ into the
wine business. I've no doubt it would pay bet—
ter’n gold mines. What d‘ye think?”

“Have you had any experience cultivating
the grape, or in manufacturing the wine?"

“Law no] not yet. But that’ll make no dif—
ference whatever, not the least. I can learn the
hull science in less’n a month. But, good
gracious me! what’s the matter with friend
J ack? Ain‘t he a-makin’ signs to us?”

Just then, it seemed as if the breeze had died
away, as if the sun stood still, and a. deadly rest
and lull was upon every thing, Looking up at
Buell’s exclamation, the young Spaniard had
just time tosee him throw up his arm with a.
warning gesture, then catch his gun, and run
toward them.

“ An ambush!” he shouted.

At the some instant the crack of a dozen rifles
resounded from the bluff above them, and the
smoke curled up from every little bush which
grew along the edge. Several of the Wachitas
leaped into the air, with yells of fear or pain,
and then fell to the ground, some of them
wounded. None of the whites were injured.

Owing to their position, close in against the
rocks, their assailants, from. their position over-
head, could not aim at them. Jack ran across
the intervening space and placed himself close
to Mariquita. Senor D‘Estanza’s ride was in-
stantly in his hand; and Buell, also, despite his
whimsicality, cool and courageous in the face of
danger, had his gun and was looking savagely
about him for something to shoot at.

As he lifted his head, he thought he saw
something directly above him, over the edge of
the ravine; he fired. and a Comanche came
tumbling over and fell at his feet.

“ Here, veou pesky cowards! what yer creep-
in" off for?” he yelled. as the Wachitas, who had
escaped the effects of the first volley, began to
spring onto their animals and heat a. hasty re-
treat homeward. “ Come back, here, you ras-
cals, or you’ll all be shot. every one of you.
Don’t you see ou’re ridin' right into range 0'
raw up, here, elect to the
rock!”

Some half-dozen of them heard and obeyed
him; the rest made of! as fast as thq could
urge their horses, followed by another volley
from the ledge above, and exulting yells. as two
or three of t em reeled and finally toppled from
their animals. ‘

“ Press as close to the rock as you can," hur'
riedly said Jack to the frightened girl, who had
sprung to bar feet, and was clinging to his arm,
evidently without knowing what she did.

She obeyed, and in less than half a minute
had so recovered her self-possession, as to cry
out: .

“ Pedro, give me one of your revolvers. I
can useit, and will. if necessary."

Jack took a revolver from his bosom, and
pressed it into her hand. Her eyes flushed with
sudden brightness, and her cheeks glowed as she
looked up into the bushes along the ledge. Sud:

 

 

 

 

 

Jack Jordan's Pan-d. I ' 18

 

denly she raised the weapon and fired The re-
port was answered by a yell of agony from
above.

Such of the party as had escaped the first fire
were in a more advantageous ition than their
enemies. who were obliged to $83k over the edge
of the ledge in order to obtain a. sure aim—whi e
those on guard below were ready, with raised
weapons, to fire at the first protruding head.

As long as they could maintain excessive vigi-
lance, and each party remained in its present
position, the whites felt comparatively safe. But
they had reason to dread a sortie, through the
little ravme; thou h this was so narrow that
not many Comanc es could make their appear—
ance at one time.

A season of quiet soon followed the first as-
sault. A position requiring such a constrained
watch as that of the whites soon grew excessively
Wearisome. Their business it was to keep in-
cessant lookout for the least motion overhead:
while the Comanches could withdraw from the
ledge and rest themselves and consult at leisure.

Jack’s eyes were fixed upon the ravine, for he
anticipated a dash of the enemy out of that,
when they found themselves unsuccessful in
their attack from above. He conversed with
Buell without moving his gaze from the narrow

lly through which the water trickled at his

eet.

“ Rally thosefiowardly Wachitas, if you can,
Buell, and let them creep this way, ready to
resist, if the enemy should break out in this di-
rection.” .

“Darn their copper-skins, they ain't wu’tn a.
bad cold in time 0’ fight. I'd as soon have a
battalion of eesei Here, you red-skinned ras-
cals; crawl along thar and make ready to p’int
ufi‘that gully with them pop-guns o’ yourn. Oh,
p gue take it! I didn’t tell you to stop lookin’
overhead at the same time. Of course you’ve
got to keep guard 0’ them bushes. A teller that
can‘t look two ways to once, isn’t worth a cuss
on an occasion like this. You ought all to be
cross-eyed; then, inebbe, you could toe the mark.
Crawl along, I say, careful now, or—” but the
Yankee stopped talking, long enough to fire his
rifle, for, just then, he saw a gun softly thrust
over the rock behind a clump of bushes.

The two pieces seemed to explode at the same
second of time; and, although there was a yell
from the clump of bushes which told that Buell’s
shot had taken effect, for once he was a little too
late. '
Another cry burst from another month, and
Mariquita, forgetting her own dan er, sprung
forward, and threw herself upon t 3 body of
Pedro, who had fallen forward, wounded, if not
killed, by the Comanche’s ball. Instantly half
a dozen shots were fired atthe girl and the fallen
man, who had come into range of the rifles
above.

“ For God’s sake, come back!” cried Jack;
but as his words were not heeded, be, too. stoop-
ed forward, and, with an unusual effort, dragged
Mariquita and her friend back against the
ledge. The crack of more rifles followed this
movement; but he had been too quick for them.

“ Are you hurt?" he asked the girl.

" I believe not. I do not think I am. Pedro!
Pedro! speak to me!"

 

The Spaniard had fainted, or was dead, it was
impossible to tell which. She pulled his head
up to her knee, covering the white face with
kisses of anguis . f

“ He is dead. Pedro is dead 1”

The accent of despair with which she spoke
these words proved that she had some real feel-
ing: for this friend of hers, whether or not she
had ever had any for that Jack whom once she
had seemed to love so truly. An emotion, half-
trinmph, halfI-ipain, pierced Jack, as he gazed at
them both. is rival was dead. .

But no! he saw a faint quiver of the eyelids:
and, at that sign of life, the native generosit of
his soul asserted itself; be crawled forwarg to
the ravine, and reached a handkerchief into the
water, to moisten the lips and forehead of the
wounded man. As he did so, he saw a shadow
on the opposite wall of the gully, and compre—
hended that the Comanches were dropping them-
selves into it, preparator to a sudden raid upon
the party when they 8 ould be absorbed in
watching for an attack from above.

He flung the handkerchief to Mara uita, and,
with one gesture, told the story to uell who
succeeded in making his allies, the Wachitas,
understand what was expected of them. ,

CHAPTER IX.
THE RECOGNITION.

11' is not likely. by the way, that the red cow-
ards gained much benefit from his former lec-
ture as, in his excitement, he forgot his Mexi—
can- ndian lingo, and spoke the most nasal Cow
necticut. They now, however, seemed better to
comprehend his silent gestures, and four or five
of them, with Jack and himself. stood ready,
with reloaded rifles aimed at the mouth of the
ravme.

Searcer had they completed these brief ‘ ‘ I»;

preparations. when,a wild, sudden, horribleyell

deafened their ears, and about fifteen or ~ 9 

eighteen Comanches burst from the gully,
brandishing their weapons, and threatening to
annihilate the whole party at the first surprise
of this grand sortie.

The nai'rownesa of the gully was such that but
two could emerge at a time; when, allhou b
they followed each other as rapidly as possib ,
they were met b a well-directed fire from
weapons already aimed. 80 effective was that
acception that full half their number were killed’

y l .
The others were so astonished, and their cour-
age so broken by this turn of the battle, that
they took to flight. They could not return the
way they came. for they had dropped them
selves, by their hands, into the ravine, and could
not climb back, so the were forced to fly across
the very path of the efending part .. In this
attempt to reach the mesa above t econ on,
where they had left their horses. two or t ree
31101: fell, one, at least, from the revolver of

ac .

By this time the young hunter had grown too
exc1ted, even for prudence, and, shouting to - ‘
Buell to“ Come on!” he dashed out into the
open space, where, all this time, the frightened ’
animals had mostly remained huddled together.

Leaping on his own horse, which, fortunately
had escaped injury, he dashed up the blufln »

 

 

, ches in one day as you.

 

 

 

 
 

16
the first accessible place, followed by Buell and
three or four Wachitas, whose courage had
Eisihly grown, now that the enemy was in full

1 ht.
E‘he Comanches were uleady on the wingl

“ Hurrah! After them!” shouted Jack.
“ La them low—give no quarter!”
“ oorayi Scat! Git eoutl See them go it!

I’m with you, my friend i” echoed the Yankee,
and they set oil? at top speed after the retreating
band of cut-throats, which still twice or thrice
outnumbered them, but which, according to
modern parlance, had become “ demoralized “—
mere “ copperheads” under ban.

Whenever our party came near enou b they
halted and fired at the flying enemy. cverai
of the Comanches were observed to act as if
wounded, though none fell from their animals.
They were all, as usual, splendidly mounted,
and they made good speed a ong the level table,
or mesa, endeavoring to reach the shelter of the
more rugged path, which led into the mountains
not many miles in advance of them.

The black steed of Jack was a match for the
best otthe Comancbes. His blood was up, and
so was that of his master. On, on they flew,
long after Buell and the Wachitas had given up
the chase. Several times the white hunter ap—

roached near enough to fire his revolver at the
aggards of the party, who, although they flung
themselves behind the shelter of their horses’
sides, and fired at him from underneath, did not
succeed in injuring him or his animal.

He had, however, the satisfaction of disabling
a brace of them: and, finding himself alone, with
the shadows of the mountain lengthening about
him, and the way growing less open, finally de-
sisted from the chase.

He rode back at a more leisurely pace. The
sun was in the west, the air cool. when he drew
rein again in the little spot which had been the
scene of so bloody a. contest.

“Hol I began to reckon you’d concluded to
j’lne the Comanches,” sun out Buell, as he

‘ came within ear-shot. “ ou’ve had a nice
time, all to yoursoil’, I suppose. How many
, more did you pick of” A couple? Good for
you, re accomplished friend! You’ll be fa-
mous i you keep on. Thar can’t be a white
man scared up that has killed as many Coman-
Purty well, for a new
.beginner. Wal, we needn’t give any more con-
cern about that tribe 0‘ Injuns. They’ll fight
shy of us for the rest of our journey."

‘How’s the Spanish gentleman?” asked Jack,
in slow voice, springing from his horse, and
casting a look at the group by the brook.

“ Seems to be dyin’,” answered Buell, for one
instant looking serious, “and that ai of his

: does take on dreadfully. I feel mig ty sorry
for her, I tell you.”

In his wild race Jack had lost both, his hat
and his Indian hair. Thinking nothing of this,
in the present crisis, and, indeed, indifi'erent
what turn the tragedy now took, he approached

 ' . the couple.

Buell-who, with his novel life-experience,
was no mean surgeon, so far as his means went
——bad done the best he could for the wounded
’ man who now lay, silent, and scarcely breath-
ing, his head on Mariquita's lap, his eyes closed,

..
1-,).

 

Jack Jordan’s Para.

while she, tenderly supporting him, gazsd at
him, as it all that was left on earth, for her, she
saw slipping from her there.

She did not even look up when Jack approach-
ed, and, kneeling by her side, anxiously ex«
ainined the countenance cf the dying man, to
find if anything could yet be done.

“At least he suffers no pain,"said Jack, at
last, softly, hoping to convey some consolation
by this assurance, for the pathos of her grief
had affected him with a strange sympathy, in-
stead of triumph. At the sound of those words,
spoken gently, Mariquita looked up wildly;
their eyes met, hers fixed in mingled terror and
rapture—her lips parted; she struggled to speak,
but only a low sigh escaped her; and she sunk
getaward until her head rested on the bosom of

ro.

 

CHAPTER X.
WOMAN INHUMAN.

A FEW months after Jack J ordan’s disappear-
ance from St. Louis, a singular occurrence took
place in the city of New Orleans. We have
said, in a former chapter, that a cloud of dark
rumors enveloped the family of Madame Mora.
This cloud was growing blacker and blacker;
the lady received several intimations from un-
known sources that an investigation of the
house and premises was soon to he insisted on.
Her daughter had but lately returned to her,
having stayed in St. Louis all summer.

The fonder Madame More. became of her
daughter, the more bitterly she hated little
Pedro, her son by her first husband. He grew so
distasteful to her, that her passionate dislike
would break out in blows and cruel, undeserved
punishments. Senor Mora, who tenderly cher-
ished the brave and noble child, could not en-
dure this; finding that his Wife made no attempt
to control her outbreaks of hatred, he caused
the child to be sent toa widowed sister of his
own, until of an age to be trusted to the ten~
der mercies of a boarding-school.

Madame made no objections to this arrange-
ment. All she desired was for Pedro to live as
much out of her sight as possible, until the
change of events should make it prudent for her
to return with him to Spain to claim his father’s
estates. Alwajys hoping for that time to come.
she kept herse t carefully informed of all that
occurred in her native place.

Whether there was something hlighting in
madame’s home atmosphere; whether the fact
of living in daily association with a grasping
and vicious nature like hers, was fatal to a deli-
cate organization ; whether a dreadful conscious-
ness of her true character grew upon him and
bore him down; whether she pu isel perse-
cuted him, or whether the nature ten ency of
his constitution to consumption was hastened
by these influences. was never fully decided by
the gossips. It was known that madame’s sec-
ond husband went rapidly into a decline, dying
when his daughter was two years of age, after a
lingering illness.

After this there was no restraint upon Mad-
ame More's vicious mind. She continued her
secluded life, making up for the want of other
excitement. by exercising her ingenuity in ren-

dering her household unhappy. Little Pedro

 

. t .t when- K

 

 

Q.

.w . -..,«a..‘...._ag..a K

 

§
2;
i
4.

Jack Jordan's Pard. I?

 

was sent twice or thrice, on a brief visit, to his
mother, during the years of his early boyhood.
From these Visits he always returned to his
aunt, le, silent and depressed, shrinking from
any a lusion to his mother, but wild, eager, ra-
diant, when talking of his dear little sister, his
pretty little Mariquita.

It seemed, as he grew older, as if he might
even be willing to endure the unpleasant com-
panionship of his mother, for the sake of being
near his sister: but this she gave him no invi~
tntion to do; and presently Mariquita was sent
away to the North, to a convent, to be educated.

It might seem that madame. loving her daugh—
ter so, would scarcely forage her society; but
she was shrewd enough not to wish her own
habits to pass under the revision of those inno-
cent eyes. She felt a vague yearning for the
child’s respect, feeling herself unwox thy of it.

In the mean time, after Senor Mora’s death,
she kept back even the allowance made to Pedro
for his support, so that he was thrown upon the
charity of his aunt. The ho was proud and
talented. He brooded over al that he remem-
bered of his infancy, over his mother’s harshness
and injustice. and all the vague stories some-
times whispered in his presence by unwise rela-
tives and loquacious slaves.

He, somehow, came to the conclusion, that
his rights were better than hers to the pro—
perty withheld from him, and he once ran
away from school: and made a journey to New
Orleans, to tell her so, and to threaten her
with legal investigation if she did not do him
'ustice. There was a fine scene between them.

at the boy was resolute, and carried his point.

When he came away, he had the the title-
deeds to a handsome sugar»plantation in Louis-
iana, and to what the madame, doubtless, con-
sidered worthless mining interests; away off. as
the property was, in the distant region of New
Mexico. With these was a sum in gold sufficient
to lift him above the necessity of taking means
from others to finish his education.

, From that interview the two had parted more
unreconciled than ever. The boy was old
enough to understand much of what he saw,
and to return his mother’s dislike with detesta—
tion.

Before he returned from this runaway expedi-
tion, he paid a visit to his sister in her northern
retreat. It was a consolation to him toknow
that she was with the dear good sisters, and not
with Madame Mora.

Several years passed. At every vacation
Pedro did not fail to visit his sweet, dear
Mariquita, who loved him so much. that she
declared the only part of her life that she really
lived was these weeks when he was near her and
permitted to see her daily.

Finally, Pedro left college and began the
world for himself. He took possession of his
sugar-plantation. put it in better order, and
then, restless and troubled by the reports which
came to him of his mother's course of life, feel-
ing himself under a ban, he made up his mind
to take a long and diflicult Journey to New
Mexico, more for the purpose of diverting his
mind than to look after his Interests there. .

He was hastened into this resolution by receiv-
ing a private letter from Spain which let a flood

 

of light upon his mother’s past history, and
which advised him, as soon as he was of age,
to cross the ocean and establish his rights to
the properties now held by his late father’s
relatives. It would still be a. year before he was
of age, and be resolved to spend that time on a
trip to Santa. Fe.

During his farewell visit to Mariquita he

spoke more openly than he had hitherto done, of
their mother's strange persecution of him, and
expressed a hope that his sister would remain in
the convent until his return. He could not poi-
son her innocent mind witb the story of madame’s
baseness; yet, he could not forbeara m sterious
warning, which, should the young gir herself
have cause to suspect her mother, would then
recur to her mind and be understood. ,

Before the year of his absence was over, Mari-
quita was taken home. She did not stay there

long; but it was long enough foraconscious—'

ness of something sad and wrong to depress and
chill her. She was too quick-sighted to be kept
in ignorance. The wretched woman was receiv-
ing a part of the reward for her evil deeds, in
the fact that she could not indulge herself in the
innocent society of her own daughter.

There was growing, too, through New Orleans
the muttering of an earth uake of indignation,
which threatened to overt row the foundation
of her terrible home. Madame Mora be an to
consider the wisdom of a second flight. n the
mean time, Mariquita was sent to St. Louis to
another sister of Senor Mora’s to be disposed of
in marriage to the first eligible suitor.

After the disaster which terminated her visit
thetrjfi, she was, for a short time, again with her
mo er.

from ssible harm to the aunt with whom
Pedro ad been reared.

 

CHAPTER XI.
THE san NIGHT-WATCH.

Amos BUELL was in his element—or, more
properl , as the old lady said, in his “ele-
ments,’ for he was equal y at home in all] of
them, and if the world could have been reso vad
into its original gas, perhaps he would have
been still more perfectly at home. To be doo—
tor, nurse, surgeon, housekeeper. cook, pur-

veyor, chambermaid, and director-general of a ‘ 1

small force of assistants, was a combination of
” situations” calculated to call forth his best re-
sources.

In these circumstances he found himself,
about sunset of the do of the battle with the
Comanches. The few achitas who had not

fled, and who still were abletoperform duty, ,.
from the mesa ' ' ’

were set to gathering firewood
above, to attending their wounded brethren,
corraling‘their horses and keeping guard.

Buell had a small camp-kettle, which be-y

longed to the traveling equipments of Senor
D’Estanza, on the fire. over which he was fuss-
ing like a genuine French cook. He had found
some savory herbs in the grass of the mesa, and

with these, and the limited stock to be found in'

the commissary department, he was concocting

a soup of delicious odor, while (showtime-pot '

rm re forth a ravishing aroma. Every two min~

 

But the shadow of cominggvengeance r
rested on the house, and she was sent away‘

 

 

(r
«

 

 

18 _ Jack Jordan's Para.

 

r utes he would leave his station by the fireto
run up to the group by the rock, and take a
new observation, to assure himself that they
were getting on as well as circumstances would
permit.

Mariquita had recovered from her swoon,
and was sitting, pale and almost as quiet as
marble, by the couch which had been im~
provised for the senor, out of a buffalo-skin
and a pair of blankets. The senor’s symptoms
were slightly more favorable. He had roused
from his insensibility, and now breathed with
some ease, while his pulse had rallied from its
feeble, imperceptible motion, to something like
a genuine beat.

With plenty of stimulants and the best of
care, it seemed possible that he might yet re-
cover. A small bottle of the choicest brandy,
which was found in his rtmanteau, now

roved of great service. ack, kneeling by

im, at brief intervals, gave him a small spoon-
ful of this, diluted with water; he constantly

bathed his forehead, chafed his hands, or fanned
him with a sombrero.

Not a word had the young Spaniard spoken to
Mariquita, and this it was that chilled her into
that unnatural silence, despite the joy she ought
to have felt at the faint prospect of her friend‘s
life being saved to her.

Presently Buell a proached, for the twentieth
or thirtieth time. e had a basin of soup in his
bands, which he offered, with a profound bow,
to the young girl. She shook her head, declin-
ing it; but when she attempted to utter a word of
thanks, her lips quivered, and she burst into
tears.

“There, neow, you’ll upset me and the soup
too,_if you go for to do that." exclaimed he, an
he actually drew forth a red bandana and rub-
bed his eyes in sympathy. ‘, “ ’Tain’t no use let-
tin’ trouble sp’ile your appetite. You oughter
be thankful for the chan e which has jist taken
place, and which, under rovidence, I take the
credit of, my dear. I’m a nateral-born doctor,
you see, and kill more’n Icure. That is, I’ve

illecl three Comanches, and now I'm bound to
cure one fine young gentleman. He’ll git well—

ou may bet on that—and now, if you want to

' Koo up your strength to miss and tend on your
has and, you must eat. We eat to live, and we

can’t live without. 1 made this soup on purpose
for our ladyship, and if you don’t recommend
it, shall be disapp’inted. It’s light and nourish-

'ln'-—jest what you need—and with half a pint of

strong coffee, will keep you up all night, if (you
want- to watch with him. Say, neow, head ed,

coaxingly, “ try a little, won‘t you?”

She reached forth her hand for the basin, and
«attempted to swallow a few mouthfuls, to please
him. He watched her, wistfully.

“ Oh. don’t give it up so. If you’ll eat every
dro 0’ that, I’ll romise to feed someto your
bus and before night. It’ll do him good."

“ He is not my husband; he is my own dear
brother,” said Mariquita.

She did not see the start Jack gave when she
made this assertion, nor the wild, sudden, pierc-
ing look be fixed upon her; her eyes were cast
down, and the great tears were rolling over her

cheeks.
“Such. duplicity seems incredible,” was the

 

mental comment of the man who had once loved
her with such entire and sudden faith.

“Hey? you don’t say so; your brother? I
thought he was your t’other half. Wal, neow,
really, and on ain‘t married at all, perhaps?"
burst forth uell, this new view of the case ex.
citing his ready interest.

“ No~oh, uol I have no mother, no father,
no friend, no relative in the world, except him
—my dear brother. He will die, and leave me
here, on this wild plain, friendless and unpro-
tected. Ah, I wish that I could die, too i”

She uttered this complaint as if it was wrench-
ed from her heart by that cold and cruel look of
the man who knelt by her brother’s side.
utter despair of countenance and voice was too
much for the soft-hearted Yankee; the red ban-
dana went up to his eyes again.

“ Don’t talk in that style, my dear young lady,
or you’ll have me a-nlubberiu’ in less’n a minute.
Do you think werare savages and Comanches?
Don't say you have no friends. I ‘m your friend.
I Swear to you, if your brother dies, [’11 never
leave nor forsake you, till you’re safe to the
place for which you set out, or back in the
dates. I’ll be a brother to you and so will
Mr.— Pitkins. , No sister shall ever be treated
more respectfully. Good Lord! don’t you know

the stuff a ginewine American gentleman is

made out of? He couldn’t hurts. woman who
was thrown on his purte'ctionl he couldn‘t let
her travel without ’teudin’ to her wants. He
gives her the best scat in the cars, the shady
side of the deck, holds her baby, lends her his
umberrella. I don‘t doubt, if he was called on,
he'd make a bridge of himself for her to walk
over the gutter. And, my gracious! if he found
a woman, unpurtected—a lady—’way out West,
in a savage country—alone on a prairie, I don’t
know what he wouldn’t do for her! His feelings
would be too much for hirril his heart would
melt down like butter in the sun. There’s one
thing he’d do—he’d tight and die for her,” con-
cluded the quondam lecturer, savagely glaring

around as if to see if there was any occasion for .

doing it just then. His emotions had carried
him away on a stream of unpremeditated elov
quence.

There was no mistaking Amos Bnell’s sincer-
ity through all this bombast, and the poor girl
forced a smile to reward him.

“ There, that looks more like it! And don’t
you go to talkin’ no more about bein’ friendless.

‘ve got an old mother to home would be tickled
to death to let you live with her, if the wu’st
comes to wu’st. But ’tain‘t comin’l I tell you that
man's goin' to git well. The awkward part of
the business is, he won‘t be fit to move for a fort-
night. We’re in for it, no mistake. We’ve jest
got to cam out and take it easy. But don‘t you
fret about hat. I‘ll show you how aYankee can
keep house out-o’-doors. If we only had a few
comforts for the sick man, I shouldn’t mind it a
snap of my finger. Howsomever, there ain’t no
evil without its good. This pure, healthy air
will do more to set him on his feet than the best
doctor in New York City. If everybody's pa-
tients could be nussed out-doors, there’d more
of 'em git well. Come. now, eat up‘ your soup,
and so if I ain‘t a right smart coo . ’ -

quits ate the soup, to gratin him.

 

The '

 

 

.;.LL....:.»,W ,.

 

 

 

WI,

 

Jack Jordan’s Pal-d.

 

19'

 

“ If I were hungry, I know it would be deli-
cious," she said, as she returned the basin.
“You’ll have some coffee?” he asked, anx—
iouslly. '

“ f you please."

He hurried back to his kettles, delighted.

Then, when the lady was served, Jack must
sup: then the wounded Wachita must have
some soup, and, with all his various cares, the
f‘ chief cook and bottle-washer" worked himself
into Just the hurry and excitement which he
liked best. Before the long, rosy, soft twilight
deepened into night, everything was arranged
to the best advanta e, men and animals fed,
two Wachitas plac on guard, with Dick on
the outer picket-line, as surest to give alarm in
case of any stealthy a proach, the weapons all
looked to, loaded, on ready to hand, and the
camp established.

Then the two white hunters and the woman
set themselves to keep the watch, with the large
stars glistening overhead, and the soft gurgle of
the ri l drowninfiithe light sound of the senora‘s
feeble breath. ariquita steadily refused to lie
down, or to sleep. Whenever Jack stole a
glance at her, he saw her bright, dark eyes fixed
on the face of the sufferer.

So brief were the summer nights, and so in-
tense the luster of the heavens abOve those
southern plains, that a pale radiance, like that
of dawn and moonlight blended, shone all
through the hours, giving sufficient light to
read the changes in the patient's countenance.
He slept the greater part of the time; whenever
he awakened, his glance sought the face of the
girl, and finding her close by his side, meetin
her look of love, he would close his lids an
sleep again.

Bitter were the emotions which swelled in
Mariquita’s bosom through those oppressive
hours. She knew that the life of Pedro hung
by the slenderest thread: for, grateful as she
was to the kind hunter for his assurances that
he was out of danger, she placed just enough
confidence in them to keep her hopes from going
out entirely. Ir. seemed so strange to her, to be
sitting there, within three feet of Jack Jordan,
whose presence should have filled her with joy,
and a sense of safety—with happiness unuttera-
hie—only to feel more desolate and wronged
than she had ever felt before.

 

CHAPTER XII.
A BETROSPECTION.

Fnon the history given in the preceding chap-
ter, the reader knows, what Jack does not, of
the relations between her and Pedro. That she
should =have been engaged to Jack, and yet
never have mentioned to him that she had a
half—brother. may appear strange. But all the
incidents of .her life were strange, and this was
of a color With the rest.

When she went to St. Louis on that visit to
her‘ aunt, she hadbegun to realize, with vague
aviB and unhappiness, that something was
wrong in her own home—to distrust her mother.
She recalled, and partially understood, those
intimations which her brother‘ had given her
before he first set out for Santa Fe.

When we remember how brief was the period

v

 

 

of wooing, how really strange to each other in
all the outward relations of their lives, the lovers
were, it is quite natural that Mariquita. should
have shrunk from confiding to her betrothed
the unpleasant portions of her family history.

She could not tell him of her brother, without
letting him know of the strange, unnatural
antipathy between him and her mother. She
could not bring herself to s ak a word of
doubt of her own mother. 1" she had known
her mother’s true history, she would never have
married without telling it to her aflianced.

But, knowing nothing positively, and not
guessing half the reality, she only felt oppressed
by a vague sense of em], which she could not
explain, and had, therefore, no means of con—
fiding. From ever unpleasant foreboding she
flew to the light of nck’s love. nestling there in
sweetest consciousness of safety. ~

However, she had fully purposed to tell him
of Pedro, and that a warfare existed between,
her brother and parent; once or twice within
that last momentous week she had sought an
opportunity for a quiet conversation With her
lover; but none had occurred, when the day
came upon which Pedro, returning from Santa .
Fe h the northern trail, unexpectedly pre— f
sente himself in St. Louis.

He had sent a note to her aunt's house, an—
nouncing his arrival, and begging her to keep it
a secret from their aunt, as he had communica-
tions of the greatest importance to make to her A ,
alone, and did not wish his mother to suspect ,-
but that he was still far at the West. He de- y:
sired her to meet him at his boarding-house on 
B— street, where he could talk with her, un-
interrupted hy others.

She hastened to meet him. After the first
affectionate greetings were over, the brow of
Pedro began to darken; he looked vexed and
unhappy, as he strode back and forth through :
the narrow limits of his apartment, biting his 
lips, and glancing doubtfully at his sister. At ‘ '
lasti he sat down by her, took her hands, and
sai :

“ Mariqnita, our mother is cruel selfish, and
malignant. I could not rest when i thou ht of
you, my little sister, under her uidance oving
and trusting her as a mother. resolved to perh ‘
form the wearisome journey back to the States,
to ask you to fly with me, where we shall never . ‘
hear from her, or see her more.

“ The reason I wish to keep my return a w
cret is this: If I should take you with me, she _
could reclaim you, as you are not. yet of age,‘
and I know that she would leave nothing undone
which her wicked imagination could invent. to .
torment if not destroy me, and to recover 1

cu. My urpose is to start immediately for
gpain. I s all he of age by the time we reach
it, and shall take steps to place inyself in pqs-r
session of estates there, which Will make me a
grandee, little one, and enable me to burden
your pretty brow with as many jewels as it can

 

 

 
  
 
    

r.
“My father, Don D’Estanza, left immense
estates, which are now claimed by his brothers.
But I am the rightful heir. .1 understand now,
for the first time, why my] mother has permit-
ted the to live. She has oped, some time dur-
ing my minority, to take me back to Spain,

t \

 

 

 

  

20 Jack Jordan’s Part1.

 

and, as my guardian, to assume the control of
my property. But years have rolled away, and
the tide of public Sentiment has continued so
strong against her that she has not dared to take
this step.

“ Now, I suppose, since I am my own master,
she will not care what becomes of me or the
estates. Yet, for fear that, out of pure malice,
she may try to obstruct me, I would rather she
should know nothing of my movements until I
am across the water. Hence this secrecy. What
say you, little sister? Will you share my for-
tunes?" '

Stunned by vague fears and consciousness of
some great, unspoken guilt on her mother’s part,
yet loving and clinging to harass a parent. Mari-
quita snt bewildered and unhappy. That line
evidence within us, which cannot be gainsayed,
assured her that her brother spoke the truth——
that he was right and her mother wrong.

She began to weep; but when Pedro pressed
her for an answer, then, with bright blushes,
whose warmth dried her tears, she made to him
confession of her betrothal.

A little disappointed that he could not take
his beautiful sister to grace his Spanish cha-
teau. Pedro yet loved her too selfisth to be
sorry to hear of her great happiness. e ques-
tioned her closely of the character and position
of her lover, and was well satisfied with her
answers.

“I would like well to staito your weddingI
little one, but I hardly thin I will. Madame
Mora would be sure to hear of my presence,
and I think I will carry out my original plan,
minus my sister. Now, however, that I think
twwe of it, since you are not to be my com-
pany, I believe I will return to Santa Fe, and
defer my excursion to Spain until next sum«
mer. I am in no haste. since you are ro—
vided for; and—to tell the whole truth. ari-

uita—the Spanish gentleman I spoke of as at
ganta Fe, brought over‘with him a. certain
sweet young donna, who might be persuaded to
take the tri with me. She would like to see
her native pain again, I dare say. I did not
think so much of her bright eyes till I find I
have lost yours, little sister. Now, I must com-
pensate 'Inyself. It’s the way of the world, I
an so.
ariqnita laughed, kiSsed him, and hoped he
would be very successful in winning the bright
eyes to shine upon him. ,

" But what shall I say to my Jack about all
this?" she asked, growing suddenly serious. “I
would like him to see my brother—you know I
am proud of Pedro.” .

“Are you, little witch? I will see him and
love him some time. but not now. I advise you
to say nothing of family matters to your lover
.until he becomes your husband. They are too
dark, and there is no use in shadowing your sun-
shine at present. Let them rest. All will be
right in the end.” ‘

his was bad advice, and given by Pedro be—
cause he had never loved, and did not under-
stand how love forgave and covered all things.
turning darkness into glory; but Mariqnita had
unbounded confidence in her brother. and at
- once resolved to obey him. She felt as if it
'WOuld be easier, when she was Jack’s wife, to

 

throw herself on his bosom and whisper to him
all that she wished to say. .

The brother and sister spent the afternoon in
such talk as is sweet to those who love and are
about to be parted; then, as the sun set. he sud-
denly realized how close and warm his room
was, and proposed a Walk _, the twilight to-
gether, through a part of tl J city distant from
her aunt’s residence.

The two walked out together; neither had
partaken of (my supper, and they stepped into
the little snrbnrban refreshment saloon at the
end of their promenade for some cream and
cake, and to prolong yet a little while the hour
before parting.

Pedro was not to leave the city until ten the
next morning, and before that time had received
a note from Maril uita, written in great distress,
informing him 0 the disappearance of Jack
Jordan.

When Jack did not come to breakfast the
morning after his disastrous mistake, his aunt
felt troubled, for he was so regular in his habits,
that any departure from them was noticeable.
It chanced that one of his cousins called early
on Mariquita to consult about some of the bridal
finery, and there she learned that Jack had not
made his expected visit the previous evening.
The young lady knew that he had left the house
en route for that of his betrothed, and she im-
mediately grew alarmed. What could have be-
come of him i”

When the bride saw her grow pale, her color,
too, fled; each looked in the other’s face in
doubt and perplexity.

“ I will take a stage and go to papa’s ofi‘ice,”
said Miss Jordan.

Mr. Jordan was alarmed. He lost no time in

inquiring at every possible place after his
nephew. In the mean time, Mariquita wrote
the note to her brother, who resolved to wait
over a day until Jack was heard from.
7 Jack was never heard from. No tidings re‘
Warded the growing, anxious search. Day after
day fled—still silence, fear, distress. Who shall
attempt to paint Mariquita’s agony and despair?
—the long period of suspense, of trembling,
wretched hope and fear, followed by the cold,
quiet certainty that he was lost to her. Re-
wards were oflered. and every effort made both
by the relatives and the police.

Anine days’ excitement reigned through the
city. It was the general oginion that the youn
gentleman had been robbe and murdered an
his body thrown into the river. Jack’s father
and mother came on. At the end of a month
they put on mourning. Ah, if he could have
foreseen the misery his action caused, he would
not have been so selfish, even if his own happi-
ness had been ruined.

Pedro ave up all his lans to remain with
and com ort his sister. a would not leave St.
Louis as long as a ray of hope lingered.

In the fall she went back for a brief visit to
her mother, and from thence to the aunt who
had brought up her brother. Pedro had advised
her to act discreetly toward Madame Mora,
since she was not ready to place herself under
his protection, feeling that a short stay under
her mother’s roof would not be so injurious to
her as to provoke the fierce Woman’s jealousy.

 

«be-m

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jack Jordan’s Pal-d. , L I 21’

 

It was not the proper season of the year to at-
tempt the triprto Santa Fe; in the mean time,
the sitter was to spend the time chiefly with the
aunt, takin‘ care not to offend Madame Mora,
nor to give er a hint of her determination to go
With Pedro either West or to Spain, if nothing
were heard of Jack before the spring. Pedro
returned to his sup ir—plantation, his own plans
having been laid aside, in order that he might
watch over Mariquita, and do what he could to

restore her shattered happiness.

For, to a nature so impassioned as this young
girl’s in whose veins ran the sunny blood of
Spain and the Creole ardor, a bereavement so
sudden and Complete had proved nearly fatal.
It was Pedro’s love and sympathy more than
any strength within herself, which upheld and
saved her. .

Selling out all his property in Louisiana, he
placed his alfairs in condition to leave the coun-
try forever. as soon as it would be practicable
to take Mariquita with him. His plan was to
return to Santa Fe, dispose of his interest in
the mines there, marry the Spanish donna,
andreturn to his native land, never to leave it
again.

The far, wild. and novel journey, he believed,
would act beneficially upon his sister, to restore
mind and body from the shock they had re-
ceived. '

Thus it came about that they‘were where they
were, and that they had crossed the wandering
track of Jack Jordan.

When Mariquita, locking up from the face
of her brother, at the sound of that never-to-be—
forgotten voice, beheld Jack, alive, well, in the
body, before her, she swooned in excess of Joy
and terror.

When she rallied, only to realize that he had
been near her all day without making himself
known, that he must have recognized her from
the first, yet purposely held himself aloof, that
he regarded her now as though he knew her
not. a new numbing pain, worse than the old
grief, palsied her heart.

He was alive—had been living—had given no
token of his existence; hence it was evident that
he had purposely abandoned her. In the midst
of her trouble and loneliness he did not soften
toward her, did not extend the shelter of those
arigis within which was her rightful place of
res . .

Almost his witch—in the scant amount of bag-
gage which their mode of travel permitted, she
he insisted upon room for that unwcm bridal
vail and dress which she had kept sacred to the
memory of the man who now sat beside her
like’a stranger. She was bewildered and be-
numbed, as she sat, through the starlight night,
clasping Pedro’s nerveless hand.

 

CH AFTER XIII.
A TRIAL OF SPEED.

MORNING brought. a renewal of activityto
Amos‘ Buell. He emitted Jack to serve as
nid-de—camp, but 6 . was the ruling spirit.
There were several things to be accomplished
in order to make the prospect of camp life more
endurable. The bodies of the dead wereto be
dragged away and buried. A _mule and three
or four Wachitas performed this duty.

\

 

Then, upon investigation, it was found that
all the wounded Wachitas were able to bear
transportation back to their village, which was
but half a. day’s journey. These were hurried
otf, escorted by the well ones, who were to see
them safely home, and to return the following
day, with such poor supplies as their miserable
settlement afforded—dried meat, green corn and
other vegetables, salt, powder, etc.

They were also instructed to kill if possible,
some ame on his way back, that fresh meat
mightie had to make broth for the wounded
Spaniard.

Four Indians remained to do such service as
was required, principally to act as scouts and
guards. This part of the business being dis—
posed of,and the cavalcade of wounded Wachitas
having moved slowly away, Buell turned to his
friend with a chuckle of satisfaction.

“‘Mighty glad to get rid of them patients.
Don’t love to nuss red-skins, though I s‘pose
they’re humans, like the rest of us. Now we’ll
be nice and quiet—have the snuggest little (RUDE
here, ye ever saw, before noon. First] , we’
fix up some kind of a tent over that sic man;
we’ll make it big enough to keep the sun off him
and that poor gal. I’ll set them lazy Injuns to

cuttin’ three or four poles; and I uess we can -

raise a. couple 0’ blankets extra. ’m willin’ to
do without mine.”

“ How do you think the senor seems, this
morning?” asked Jack.

“ He promises well. I reckon he‘ll hold out.
But it’s like he’ll have a raging fever afore
night. If I only had a little quinine, now, I’d
snap my fingers at the fever, though.”

“ We’ll have to depend on hxdi'opathic treat~

‘ment—we’ve plenty of cold water."

“ Yes, and it’s a blessiu’ of the first quality.
I’ve put lots of patients through that course. I
like to see ’em squirm. But I’d give a good
round sum for a few doses of the reg’lar Peru-
vxan bitter jist now."

" Perhaps the senor has a medicinachest."

‘f There! that’s the ideal Why didn’t I think
of it! Go and ask the gal, Jack.”

His friend did not understand with what re—

luctance Jack performed this commission He
had not addm/Mafitfilllim directly, tiring
the night. Now that fate ad thrown them to
gather under such circumstances, it was evident
that some sort of communication must be es—
tablished.
worst inconstancy and duplicity, regardin

K
himself as the wronged party. he steeled himself 1

against the pity and passion which he felt.

To treat her as a stranger was the only course
to which he could trust h mself. In the attempt
to be simply indifferent, he overdid the thing:
his voice was like ice, when he approached, ask
in : ’ '

i‘z‘ Madame, if she knew whether there were any
medicines among the senor’s stores.”

The dark eyes were lifted to his with a gaze '

as full and cold. . . .
“ Yes, there was quinine. She would find it.”

He took her place, while she went to the lug—,

gage in search of the medicine. The sick man’s
eyes fixed themselves searchineg on the hunter’s
face; he seemed to wish to speak, and Jack beat
his head close to his lips.

Still believing her guilty of the - L

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
   
 
   

 
 

22 Jack Jordan’s Pard‘.”

 

“ If I should die. be good to her. She is rich
and can repay any trouble or expense. But you
look like a man of honor, and it is to your honor
that I trust her."

“ She will be safe with us, and protected as if
she were our sister. Don’t excite youiself over
such thoughts, senor. We are going to make a
well man of you.”

“ Do you know, I liked you, strangely well,
from the first moment I saw you. I love you al—
ready; you are very good,” murmured the
senor. .

Jack placed his hand over the patient’s mouth,
shaking his head:

“ You must not even ‘whisper to-day. Be

' quiet—that is all we ask of you."

Yet the Spaniard’s words affected him curi-
ously, this man whom he had hated—-he could
not hate him now, that he was so helpless—had
returned this feeling with an involuntary love.
Something in the declaration touched him deep-
ly;he resolved to atone for his past hatred by
t enssiduity with which he would watch and
tend this enemy of his. Mariquita he despised—
but Was the senor to blame?

, There was time and opportunity to put this
resolution to test. Many days of doubt fellow—
ed upon the first. The patient hovered betwaen
life and death. Unwenried care was constantly
required. Buell and Jack kept watch alternate
nights; the girl, wearing thinner and paler, al-
ways at her post, except when she snatched an
hour’s repose during some quiet sleep of the sick

man.

During that trying period the attachment of
the senor to Jackwbecame hourly more apparent;
he preferred his presence and assistance to any

~ other, even Mariquita’s. The similarity of the
ages of the ,two young men had something to do
with this; there was the sympathy of youth be-
tween them; then Jack was strong and gentle,
tender and firm, one to rely on, while the sensi-
ble sufferer was constantly worrying lest“ his
sister” should over-exert herself.

Strange it was, that Jack row accustomed to
hearing the two address see other as brother
and sister, yet was still persuaded that it was a
fiction kept up to cover some other relation.
Hardly strange, either, when we consider from
what stand-point his view was taken. If Mari-
quita had a brother, would he not have been

/ aware of it? Thus they dwelt under a cloud of
misapprehension, which one ray of truth might
at any moment have dissolved into nothingness.
Destiny hurried them along to the final crisis,

' from one blunder to another. 

No outside occurrence disturbed the monoton
of their long bivouac. Through the indefati-
gable , energy of Buell, every aid which the
country or t e climate could afford was brought
to their assistance. In that isolated region no
traveler passed. The Comanches, never return-

,’ ing to ascertain what became of the companions
‘ they had abandoned, had betaken themselves to

‘ other exploits in other fields.

' That solitude which Tpresses human soulsto-

gether closed about the little camp. The in-
valid formed the central point of interest: all
else revolved about him. Patient, weak, rate-
ful, gentle, he lay, slowly consuming with ever,
against which youth, an unbroken constitution,

 

 

Laws}. - "s   Emir

pure air, and constant nursing, enabled him to
hold his ground. .
The girl, silent, sad, worn, apparently wholly
absorbed in care of her brother; Jack, atten—
tive, discreet, nntiring; Buell, active, restless,
cheerful, humorous; with the four lazy Indians
whom he scolded and drove into excellent ser-
vants, who provided wood, kept guard, and
went on errands to the distant village, as well

as kept the animals in provender~these formed .

the company.

A great want was felt of fresh meat, as they
were now in a portion of the country where
game was scarce, and the fiery summer season
coming on, making it still more so. The grass
was withering upon the mesa, and the only
palatable water for a great distance in any di-
rection, was the little rivulet which trickled
from the rock, to cool and refresh the camp.

The Wichitas had been out hunting two or
three times, but had returned empty-handed'
as Buell conjectured, they were so afraid of
Comanches as to have lingered near the camp,
making a’feint of having been ofl’ in search of
buffalo and antelope. An antelope and several
birds had been shot on the ground at different
times, as they approached to drink of the
water, but the supply thus obtained was pre-
carious.

“ I wish to goodness I had somethin’ to make
broth of today," exclaimed Buell to Jack at
nearly the close of the second week. “his
fever’s broke at last—clean gone! His skin is
cool and moist. his eyes natural—but he‘s pow-
erful weak. He must be fed up, or kept up,
some way, or he’ll sink, as sure as shootin’.
Thar‘s plenty 0' rice, but that hain’t got the
constituents in it to make blood. If I had four
or five pounds of nice. juicy beef, I’d be fixed.
Buffalo—steaks would do for tea—~or birds on a
pinch. I believe I’ll Send two 0‘ them fujuns
to the village to buy a cow; but they can’t get
back with her before tomorrow night, and time
is valuable. One of us had better start OR and
see if something can't be scared u ”

“ 0h, let me go," cried Jack “ it will rest me
to get away from camp 8. little while. My
horse, too, is suffering from want of exercise.
I‘ll take a swoo across the Plain and be back
before night wit something.’ -

" Better take an In '11:: or two with you. The
Comanches might go ble you up, and nobody
ever be the wiser.” r

“ I'd like to know how much good a Wachita
or two would do me. No, thank you, I prefer to
go alone. My confidence is in my steed. 1
shall avoid the mountains, as there I might fall
into an ambuscade, but on Tempest’s back on
the open plain I defy the whole horde of red-
skins." id like a. race with a. thousand of
them. *

The sun was just rising when Jack mounted;

his horse and rode away. _

“ I can’t bear to let you go, even for such a
little time,” murmured the pale-faced senor,
whose olive skin had lost every tinge of a.
warmer color. and looked sickly and wan
enough. as Jack had bent over him to say good-
by for the next‘ few hours. .

“I sally forth in your servme; so you must
not complain," was the gay reply~nevertheless

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“a... .

 

 

 

, like asmall herd 0

Jack Jordan's Paul. 28

 

the black eyes of the patient filled with tears as
he looked after the strong, manly figure of his
new friend.
' ‘Loch, that I could be well like that again,“ he
5] e .
ith weapons in excellent order, a canteen

of water slung at his belt, and enough pro-
visions for his noon lunch stowed in one of his
pockets, Jack dashed up onto the table—land
above the gully, just as the sunrise had turned
the dew of the plains into a world of diamonds.
Tempest was so full of spirits after his lon
tethering, that in less skillful hands he won]
have been unmanageable. But to his rider it
only added to the charm of the ride, that the
animal he bestrode was so lull of life and power

that his nervesvtingled resentfully at the idea of

control. Jack let him have his way, and he
darted ofl? like a bird over the level stretches.
Solitude everywhere. The first hour not a sign
of life was visible—not a Wing specked the blue
ether, nor a foot tracked the parching plain.
The hunter began to fear that game was not so
Blentiful as he had imagined. Checkin his

orse’s speed, he rode more leisurely to an fro,
looking sharply in every direction.

Presently he thought he descried, far away to
the south, something moving alon the horizon

buffaloes. hey were be-
tween him and the encampment. He knew that
it was rare, but not impossible. for these ani-
mals to be upon the plain§ at this season of the
year, and conjectured that they were in search
of water, in which case they would be liker to
run their necks into danger from the ready bul-
lets of Buell, for they would be brought straight
to the camp by that instinct which enables them
to trace out the springs to their foundation.

He rode a little to the east, so as to be to the
windward side, desiring to, come down upon
them as unexpectedly as possible. This could
hardly be successfully accomplished, as he
would be in full sight long before he came in
rifle-range of them; but he expected, if he fail-
ed to overtake them himself, to drive them into
the vicinity of the camp, where others would
have a chance of a shot at them.

Having got to the windward he urged his
horse into a gentle gallop, sweepi gallantly
down upon the supposed herd. nstead of
breaking and running wildly from him, as he
expec , he was surprised to see it turn and
rush directly toward him.

CHAPTER XIV.
Tanner‘s ENDURANCE.

Bmamssllehardly. He drew rein and
gave a searching. glance at the approaching ob-
{80158,POWIKYOW1ng plainly visibe across the
essening distance. Comanchesl—yesl all men,
all well mounted and armed—a regular war-
party! And they had seen him, and were
swooping down upon him with fierce exultation,‘
certain that one white man’s life should par-
tially repay them for the inortifyiug defeat ex-
perienced a fortnight prevmus. >

As soon as he became assured of this disagree-
able fact. Jack wheeled his horse, and sped
away. Whither he did not have the opportuni-
ty to decide.
plain was before him, and the; Comanches be»

 

 

He only knew that the immense.

 

hind, and that they were between him and the
little valle camp.

“ Now, empest, brave fellow, it is for you to
decide whether I shall be a live or dead man
this day," he said, stooping and putting the
su rb neck of the haughty animal he bestrode.’

is trust was in his horse, for brave, even to
recklessness, as he was, accustomed to all the
dangers of his present mode of life, he had no
faith in a rsonal encounter with twenty or
more red evils, whose weapons, in all prob-
ability, were equal to his own, whose skill and
endurance were proverbial.

He had the advantage of a good start; his one
chance lay in the strength of his horse, which,
should it hold out longer than theirs, would
keep him in the advance, and enable him to out-
run them, or tire them out; but, should Tempest
fail him, in his emergency, he knew well that
his scalp would grace some saddle-bow before an
hour had passed.

Away, then, Tempest—do your prettiest. The
horse’s intelligence was something marvelous.
He had scented danger to his master, in the in—
stant‘s pause before they changed their course.
As if he recognized the enmity of the pack
swooping toward them, he gave a short, shrill,
neigh of defiance, the trumpet-blast of battle
which told that he was ready for the charge;
and, as his rider wheeled, and patting him,
spoke as he did, he shot off, like an arrow from
the bow, straight and swift acxoss the level
stretch.

it was glorious, the ease and speed with which '

he flew away. Jack saw the earth glide beneath
him like a sea, and felt the air almost out his
face; he grew exhilarated with the rapid mo-
tion, his pulse and color rose, his eyes shone—he
beganto feel as if there was nothing under the
sun more delightfully arousing and ex’citing
than a race across the plains with the Co-
manches. \

Onward alloped his horse, steadily and with
such ease t at the immense power he was put-
ting forth was scarcely apparent. Occasionally
Jack would half-turn in the saddle, casting a
keen look behind him. There they always were,
about the same distance in the rear, those red
devils, hovering like a low cloud along the
plain, neither failin or gaining upon him.

The trust of a munche warrior is in his
war-steed; there were a score of animals behind
Tempest worthy rivals for the honors of the
turf. With the exception of an occasional gully
to leap, there ware no obstacles in the way.

On went pursuers and pursued. The hot sun
of June was rising higher in the heavens, though
the morning breeze had not entirely ceased to
blow. Mile after mile fled beneath his horse’s
feet, like waves beneath an ocean-ship; and
Jack could not but think, through all the thrill

of the hour, that he was riding further and'

further from cam , and, when the race was
over, would have a 1 that weary distance to re-

ce. ’

No matter; or, at all events, inevitable. This
wasa flight that admitted of no deviation; it
was a trial for his life; the question was,
whether or not his scalp shOuld give grace to
the girdle of some exultant sava .

se '
Jack had persuaded himself that he was tired ,
. l ‘ i ‘ ' ‘

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

   

24

 

Jack Jor dad’s Pard.

 

 

of life. Especially during the strange, peculiar
ex‘perience of the past few days—when, self-den
lu ed into a causeleSS misery, he had watched the
devotion of the woman he loved, to another, and
had proven his own magnanimity by his gentle,
devoted tenderness to hi~ rival—had he said to
himself many times that life was an intolerable
burden which he would gladly cast aside.

But now, that these racing Indians were he-
hind him, ready and anxious to relieve him of
the load, he became conscious that he was quite
willing to carry it a little longer. There is no-
where so rapid some for such morbid fancies,
as in an experience like this which was now
testing his misanthropy. Still, if he had had
time to philosophize, doubtless the young gentle»
man would have persuaded himself that it was
not a love of life which was at the bottom of his
efforts, but a hatred of the Comanches! It
might hapleasant to die (under some circum-
stances . but pride and delicacy revolted at the
thought of death at the hands of these painted
devilsl So, Jack urged Tempest to do his pret-
tiest as faithfully as if life were not a faded
weed, only fit to be trampled upon. .

On went pursners and pursued. Looking be-
hind him now, Jack could perceive that he was

aining on the main body of warriors, but that
our of them had left the band in the back—
round, and were slowly, though steadily, gain-
in upon him. He had not believed there was
a orse west of the Mississippi that could dis—
tance Tempest in a fair trial, yet those four
more than held their own.

Four! well, four were less than twenty. Jack
felt for the haft of his knife, and to see that his
revolver was in in its place. All right. He
had carefully cleaned and loaded his rifle before
leaving camp; all the barrels of his revolver
were in order. Yet he knew that the creatures
behind him had, at least, good rifles; and that
they had the advantage in point of attack, as
well as in numbers, by coming at him from the
rear—also, that while engaged with them, even
if momentarily successful, the rest of the band
would have time to come up. N oi there was no
use thinking of risking a battle.

“Tempest, you must do better still. Bravo!
you do finely, but not well enough for this oc-
casion,” he muttered. “ You’ll hear their hoofs
behind you in less than ten minutes, if you
don’t exert yourself, old boy.”

He chirruped to the horse, striking him
smartly on the neck with his hand, half lovingly,
half impatiently. It was well that a long season
of rest had put Tempest in his best condition;
he had been so fiery, when first mounted. as to
be almost rebellious against his owner’s will;

I now this large stock of fire and strength was to
be drawn upon to the utniOst: with a low
trumpet he responded to his rider‘s words, who
could feel the thrill of his nerves through all
that powerful frame, as with a longer, more
magnificent bound he galloped forward.

The fierce sun began to beat d0wn, until the
plain seemed to swim in the undulations of the
heated atmosphere. Two hours the terrible.
unflagging race had been kept up. Jack turned
again to look; the four red devils were close

-- upon his track, but the rest of the pack were
entirely lost to sight. ,

 

,'.:\,';‘;‘,,_,g ,  4

It seemed that Tempest could hear the heat-
ing of pursuing hoofs, although they were in-
audible to his rider, for the foam flew from his
month, he rolled his blazing eyes back to take
note of his enemies, bent neck and head straight
forward, and pressed onward with tremendous
bounds.

As Jack turned his head, instant] all four of
the savages disappeared behind t eir horses.
They were already near enough to notice his
motions, and to put themselves on the defensive,
though they seemed not willing to risk a shot
themselves, probably wishing to approach so
close as to make sure of their aim. Knowing
the peculiar method of their warfare, the white
hunter felt how hopeless it would be to attain t
to destroy any of them, riding as they were, n
his rear, and able to make a bulwark of their
steeds at any instant.

Still, to wound or kill their horses would be as
useful as to hit the men themselves. His rifle
was of. the very best, and, as the danger of a
shot from them became more imminent, with a
cry to Tempest, urging him on he turned com-
pletely round in his saddle, his back to the
horse 5 head, drew the weapon from his shoul-
der, and took as quiet, deliberate aim as ever he
took in his life, the smooth, powerful gallop of
the animal not at all hindering him.

As he expected, each dusky form dropped
from the saddle, but his aim was at the breast
of the foremost horse, which was hard] a
length in advance of the others, so splendidly
did the four ride on in the emnlons race. Delib—
eiately he fired, and, through the light wreath
of smoke which jutted from his rifle’s month, he
saw the horse leap up, stagger, and fall.

It did not appear that the three others gave
even a look at their worsted companion—they
onliy drove the goad into their animals’ sides,
an swept forward more threatening! . But
Tempest was now at the very height an crown
of his power—he did not slacken, he seemed
even to increase his speed, and the maddened
Comhnches could not approach so as to return
the fire.

Jack would have fired again, but an instinct
warned him to turn and see what was before
him. He was not any too soon in this move-
ment. Before him, cracking the parched earth
of the plain, like the rift of an earth uake, was
one of those arroyas, or dry beds 0 streams,
something like that in which their camp was
located, except that this was narrower, with
perpendicular sides, while that of the camp was
precipitous on one side only. ~

This was more like a fissure made by the in-
tense heat than like the bed of a. river, although
in reality it was such a bed. Jack scanned it
with alarm us he rapidly approached; it was
too steel) down to think of descending or shel-
tering himself in it, while yet it seemed too wide
to venture a leap. However, there was no time
for mental debate; death certainly was behind,
if not before him. ;

He left it to the instinct of his horse. 1f Tem-
pest declined the risk of a leap, than he would
turn, dash suddenlytoward his enemies, disable
as many as possible, and die gloriously, if alone.
One thou ht of the past and the future. one
memory 0 Mariquita—he drew the reins firme

 

 

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Jack Jordan’s Pard.

    

25

 

in, shouted to his steed a cry like the blast of
a bugle, and they were at the edge of the ar-
roya.

The next instant he felt himself borne through
the air like one upon wings—the next, and with
a light shock, horse and rider had touched

round, safe on the far side of the ravine, and
empest stumbled on, gallantly still, but as if
the effort had shaken and weakened him.

Again Louis turned to see the three Coman-
ches hoverin on the edge of the arroya. In
vain they yel ed and beat their horses; the noble
animals were wise enough to know themselves
too much exhausted for this final desperate ef-
fort, and stood trembling and cowering, refus—
ing to attempt it.

Again the rifle of Jack resounded, and an—
other horse staggered and fell sheer down the
bank, his rider just saving himself 1. springing
from his saddle as he fell. This nished the
chase. The dismounted savage took to his heels,
and the two others, with a yell of rage and dis-
appointment,» wheeled their horses, picked him
up, and rode away, leaving the field to the white
hunter.

While his enemies were receding in the dis-
tance, and he trying to realize the fact that they
had abandoned him to Victory, Jack felt the
sudden trembling and gasping of Tempest, who
yet endeavored to stagger on. He dropped the
reins and sprung from tho'saddle.

“Poor fellow; noble friend! I’m afraid I‘ve
killed you,” he murmured.

With a shiver Tempest sunk on his knees and
threw himself on his side. At first Jack feared
he had broken a blood-vessel in the strain of
that mighty leap, but he soon satisfied himself
that it was only extreme exhaustion. He looked
about him. It was high noon. Cloudless,
brassy burning, the sk arched over them;
around them was the ari plain; not a tree for
shelter, not a drop of water for cooling. The
master sat down beside the apparently dying
friend who had carried him through a terrible
crisis. The gentle love in the half~closed eyes of
Teméivest touched him like a reproach.

“ hat can I do for you? he sadly asked.
“ At least, I will share with you the morsel that
I have.”

From the small—frightfully small—store of
water in his canteen, he moistened the parching
throat of his brute comrade. Presently be
dipped a biscuit in the water and gave it in
morsels-then another, and a third—until
but one biscuit and a meager draught of water
was _left for himself. He drank a few
precious drops for he was very thirsty, and
nibbling at his hard cracker stood u and looked
about to find where he might be. 0 could see
nothing but that stretch of arid desert. He had
relied upon the Wachita Mountains, as a land-
mark, to guide him back to camp,

But either he had ridden an incredible distance
in that mad race. or the hot, undulstory waves
of the air rising and mowing like smoke, acted
as a vai between him and the horizon—no
mountains were visible, no distantjrove of
trees, romising‘ water—he was lost in a. fiery
and esolate region, his faithful. companion
already overdone, and himself feeling severely
the effects of fatigue, excmement and thirst.

 

he’s wound himself ’round my feelin’s like a. bean,

Even had be known precisely what course to
steer, it would be impossible, should Tempest
recover sufficiently to perform the journey, for
the horse again to cross the arroyo, unless some
more accessible point should befound, and to
search for this might take them many weary
miles.

Should Tempest die (and. be resolved not to
abandon him unless he did), then there would be
a march of thirty or forty miles across the
plains, to be taken by himself, with no likelihood
of his coming upon a drop of water in all that
distance. The very thought of these things
parched his throat; while above him, cloudless
and cruel, the persistent sun shot down his piti-
less arrows of molten gold.

“Ay. Tempest, I’m afraid we’re in trouble
still,” muttered the young man, sitting wearin
beside his horse, after completing his anxious
survey.

 

CHAPTER XV.
THREE DARK DAYS. ,

“ THIS is bad, Dick, monstrous bad 1” spoke
Amos Buell, as the sunset of that same day by
gun to deepen into twilight.

Man and dog had climbed the bluff, and were
straining their eyes to search the horizon for
some sign of the return of the friend who had
left them in the morning; the latter with ears
pricked forward, and an attitude of solicitude
every bit as intent and intense as that of his
companion. Scarcely the flying of a bird to its ,
distant nest disturbed the solitude—that solitude
of those vast western plains, so impressive in its
majesty.

“ I don’t know what’s to be done,” continued
Buell, despondingly; “it’s too late‘ to set out on
a search, and.‘ time is money,’ as I used to say

hen I was a-sellin’ clocks to the farmers’ wives.

omethin’ serious has happened or he would '
have been hum hours ago. He’s been obbled~
up by the Comanches, sure as shootin’. hat’s
your opinion, Dick?” '

The dog answered by a. melancholy whine,
which had also something reproachful in it; for ,
he had asked to accompany his master when he ’
set but on his hunt, but had been sent back,
much to his displeasure. Jack had intended to
gallop far and wide, feeling the s irit of unrest
upon him, and he had thought ick mightas
well be in camp, doing duty there, as followmg
his erratic path; so had driven him back.

The dog now reflected on this conduct, evi-
dently fancying that if he had accompanied his
master, no evil could have befallen him. Yet,
if Dick, in his egotism, could have known it, he
saved his skin by staying behind; he was no
match for Tempest in arace, and would have ,
fallen a victim to the Indians, without doubt.

“ Or if he ain’t ” pureed the other, musingly,
“he‘s lost himse f, which is about as had; for
there ain’t a thing toeat nor drink 011’ there, I’m
afraid. It’s been a hot day—a reg’lnr scorcher;
and there won’t a drop 0’ dew fall tonight. The
sky’s as brazen as Kitty Jonos's face, and the
air as dry as Tim’s gullet, when there’s whisky
’round. '1 never felt more oneasy in my born
days, or more unsettled what steps to take. I’ve
took an uncommon likin‘ to that young man:’.

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 
  
 
   

 

 cessary. Them

 

 

26 Jack Jordan's Par-d.

 

round a pole—and, unless I’m mistaken, that
urty young lady down there’s in the same fix.
Elallol here she comes now; didn’t I tell you,
to find how the
used to say when
Wal,

Dick? It don’t take a telesco
land lies in that quarter, as
I sailed a fishin’ smack into Nantucket.
Senorita, it looks dubious.”

Mariquita had climbed the bluff and stood by
his side, her large, bright eyes seeming to con-
tract with the intensity with which she scanned
the plain; her cheek was deeply pale; she en-
deavored to appear calm, but her lips would
tremble as she asked:

“ Do you see nothing of him?”

“ Not the faintest twinkle of him, miss.”

“ What do you think has happened?"

Buell, whistling and looking sideways into
the ale face, did not answer.

“ 0 you think those terrible Comanches have
killed him?" she asked, in a sharp whisper, lay—
ing her hand on his arm.

‘ Laws, 1 hope not,” with affected careless-

ness. “He’s lost his way. it’s likely, or he’s

‘ taken a freak to scare us, for the sake of ivin’

us a new sensation in this dull camp. e’s a
Streaky fellow, full of his whims.”

A Sigh broke from the lips of Mari uita—
“fnll of his whims"—-perhaps his love or her
had been a whim, his sudden desertion, another;
she was the victim of his caprice. Wvl‘iry could
she not scorn him as he deserved? hy did
she not hate him for,his treachery? Why, oh,
God! why did she still love him? She asked
herself these uestions, still clutching the arm
of Amos Buel , and staring off, eagerly, over
the darkening plain.

“ What‘s that?” she presently asked, pointing

. to the dim verge.

“Sorry to say it’s only a. little cloud, miss.
There! on see, it is spreading—only a little
cloud, t at don’t even mean rain. But you
mustn’t feel so troubled, my dear miss, indeed,
you mustn’t. He may come tearing into camp,
any minute, and then we’ll all laugh at our
fright. He’s plucky, Jack is and if he made up
his mind to game, he Wouldn 1; come back with-
out it, if he stayed till midnight. He means
the Senor shall have something nice for his sup-

“'Ah, yes! it is for my brother he has - riled
hiiriself. I cannot forget that,” murmu Mar-
qu to.

“They seem to take to each other, these two
young men, as if they were brothers.” remarked
Buell. “ I like to see it, when they’re both

‘ warmhearted. When men like each other it’s

a good symptom. Yet, I’m a leetle sorry Jack
went out to—day, since it’s turned out so unne«
Wachitas brought that cow in,
just in time. Lordy, but she‘s tough! How-
somever, she’ll make good beef-tea, for which
we’ll be thankful. Team to me the senor’s bet-
ter already. This is decidedly his most hopeful
day. He’s got nothin’ in the world todo now
but to eat. and get strength—easy business com—
pared to what he’s been at, senorita.”

“And he owes it all to you and Mr. Jack,"

cried the young girl, bursting into tears.

“Fiddlestickl s’posin’ he does. I’ll bring in

V a bill as long as a Texas per-rarie when I‘ve

got him cured—401' board, lodgin’, nussin’, med-

 

icine, and all the extras, if you go to bein’ too
grateful about it. If there‘s anything 1 can’t
hear, it’s being thanked, senorita—please re
member that. But I’m right glad to see you
cry. You’ve been too pale the last few hours—-
too much ’tension on the strings, ye see—and

ou’ll feel better after you've had a good cry.
t’s as good as nervine tea.”

Dick rubbed his nose against her hand, at-
testing his sympathy. Now that she had once
given way to her long—controlled emotions—-
emotions which had been gathering for days—
they were beyond her mastery. Sinking down
behind the dog, she clas him about the neck,
laid her head against him, and sobbed as if the
storm of excitement would never subside. Buell
watched her in silence; he was too discreet to
interfere at first; but when he thought she had
cried long enough be sung out in his most good-
natured voice:

“ Dick, you’re a lucky dogl Jemima! I’d be
willin’ to be a dog myself, to have a party era'-
ture bugging me like that."

Mariquita quickly rose, half-laughing and
half—indignant; but the next moment her anx-
iety returned.

“ It is growing so dark.” she said.

“ Yes—no use standin’ here staring at noth-
ing. We’ll go back to our patient, and tell him
the news. And, in the mornin‘, if Jack ain’t
on hand, I‘ll get out a search-warrant and get
Dick, here. to serve it on him.”

They turned to descend the ledge; the dog
seemed very unwilling to accompany them,
looking wistfully over the level stretch, and
whining. The Yankee finally took him by
the collar and led him into camp. Pedro was
excited and restless; so much so as to incur
the risk of bringingl back the fever; be con-
tinually lamented t e absence of the young
hunter, and the fact that it was to provide
nourishment for himpthat he had gone forth.
His sister, who knew him so well—how affec-
tionate, passionate, fervid were his feelings,
and how warmly they had been bestowed upon
Jack—saw the necessity of controlling all evi-
dence of her own anxiety, and using all her
power to tranquilize the patient. She succeeded
so well that after an hour or two he fell asleep.
a glentle slumber which she felt was giving life

1m.

None of the other dwellers in the little camp
of the arroya rested that night, unless it might
be the sleepy Wachitas. It was the darkest
night since that first one which had witnessed
the formation of the camp. Now anxiety
gnawed at the hearts of those who feared for
the fate of , asJack they had then trembled
over the critical state of Pedro.

Buell, stalking here and there, vainly aflectr
ing to be at ease, while starting at every breath
of wind or rustle of leaf, wmted impatiently for
the dawn, that he might begin the search.
Mariquita, sitting inside the tent, listened too;
and when certain that Pedro was too profound—
ly at rest to miss her, stole out, and stood be-
side the door.

“ Why in the name of Sancho Panza don’t
you go to bed, senorital" he inquired. “ Do you
think it’s going to do that young man any ser-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

mam.“

 ’1“. ;..

 

vice, one way or t’other, for you to set up like a
night-owl?”1 .

“ I am not sleepy, Mr. Buell,” pleaded Mari-
quita, stepping toward him. “ What do you
propose to do about Mr. Jordan, if he doesn’t
return by,dayllght?”

“ Mr. Who?" queried the Yankee.

“ I meant Jack, of course,” said the girl,
quickly. “ Sec, there’s the moon. It will soon
be nearly as light as day.”

“ I s‘pose you’d like me to start right off ‘ by
moonlight alone.’ as the song says. So I would,
if I had any clow. But my only hope is to keep
his trail, and the moonlight, though tolerable
powerful, won’t do for that, on that hard—baked
ground. No, miss, I reckon I’m as sot to do
what I can as you could wish, but ‘ the more
haste the wuss speed,’ is a favorite proverb of
mine. I should admire to start this minute,
Providence permittin‘, but Providence don’t
permit.”

“ How do you intend to proceed?”

“I shall goon horseback, with a gond lot 0’
Wittals, and as much water as I can stow with-
out lumberin’ the ship. I shall take one 0’ them
Wachitas along, and plenty o’ gunpowder; and
Dick, by all means, for I depend on thatcre’tur‘
to keep the trail a good deal better than I could
without him. Speakin’ of Dick, I’d like to
know where in thunder—begging your pardon.
senorita—tbat dog is! Come to think of it, I
hain’t seen him the last two hours. I’ll bet ten
to one he’s gone on" on nnindependent search for

himself. Dick!” whistling and calling, but no
dog nippeared.
“li ay the wagon run over his tail, if he’s

served me that trickl” continued the speaker.
very much disturbed. “ I relied on Dick. If
he finds his master, he can’t do him any good;
while if he stayed for orders, like a well-dis-
c1plined dog, he might have showed me the way.
He’s deserted the camp, that’s dead certain; he
shall be tried by court-martial, and shot if I
can catch him. Sol I reckon we’ll have to get
along without him.”

“ Everything goes wrong,” murmured the

irl.
g “ Pshaw—you mustn’t say that, senorita.
Some things are right—and some, left. It the
young man should make his appearance to-mor-
row, safe and sound, and hearing how much in-
terest you had taken in his fate, should reward
'0" with his hand and heart, 1 s’pose ’twouldall
he ri ht. eh, senorita?”

“ ou know not what you jest about. Such
a thing would he more impossible than for the
sun to fell—you must not speak so again, Mr.
Buell.”

She said this so gravely and proudly that the
Yankee thrust‘his hands in his pockets, and
puckered up his mouth, staring down at her
half—angrily.

“Humph! I forgot that she was a haughty

L little minx, heiress to ever so many gold mines,

and the Lord knows what,” he thought. u She
reckons Mr. Jack to he only a hunter. 3 half.
savage, without name or fortune—as if any one
couldn’t see, with half an eye, that he’s high-
bred and high-learned. and gotaromance about
him enough to set fifty girls crazy. Gnsm
it’s nigh upsot me!

 

' ' Jack Jordan’s Part1.

 

I’d give my interest in Red .

 

River Railroad shares to know what sent that
young gentleman away from home, to rough it
out here. I have done my purtiest to find out,
but he’s as close about as the lock is to a. trunk,”
adding aloud: “ Didn’t mean no offense, senorita.
We old chaps like to joke with the young folks.
Howsumer, a lover like him wouldn’t be sneezed
at. He’s as good as the best, I’m certain, if
anybody could only find out who and what In-
is. Soniethin’ mysterious about J ack, senor
ita. I guess he’s been jilted, and is tryin’ wild
life to cure his disapp’iutmet. Don’t you think
there’s some secret history of that kind about
him?”

“ Possibly—but what is that to me?”

“Oh, nothin’. Only mystery usually makes
a person more interestin’. I ain’t ashamed to
own 1’ve tried to find out Jack’s history. In
fact, I’ve asked him, p’int blank, and he re-
fused to tell me. So, of course, there’s somethin’
wrong.”

Mariquita's heart beat wildly. Had the light
been greater her companion would have seen her
agitation.

“ I believe I will try to sleep, Mr. Buell."

“ That’s a. little more sensih 9. I’ll tr also to
catch a nap; then up, kindle a. fire, coo a dish
of coffee, pack my wallet, and off.”

She returned to the tent while he threw him—
self on the ground, with a leather-bag for a pil-
low, and in a few moments was asleep. Earnest
to serve his friend to the best of his ability. be
resolved, as a precaution against future fatigue,
to take some repose, and for him to will a thing
was generally to accomplish it. Thus he suc-
ceeded in taking a couple of hours’ rest, despite
his real anxiety.

At the end of that time he sprung up, roused“
the guard, nodding as usual, and while the
Wnchita whom he selected to accompany him
was feeding and saddling two of the best horses,
he was making his breakfast, packing a bag
with food, filling a leather-jug and two canteens
with water, and loading his rifles. By the time
the light had broadened so as to give them a.
clear path, Buell and his follower were on the
way.

ffMariquita came out of her tent to see them ,_
o .
“ I leave you commandin -general of the
forces until my return,” said t e Yankee to her;
“you’ll be lonesome here, but I hope you’ll be
safe. Keep them laz, rascals on the lookout
against a surprise. ’ve loaded every weapon
on the premises, and you must keep ’em nigh
your hand. I know you’rsa brave gir],and can
shoot a red-skin when it’s necessary. So I’ll
leave you in the care of Providence—trust to ‘
luck, and keepryour powder dry. That’s right
—don’t cry. ake good care of the patient, and
dose him well with beet-tea. Hopin’ and mayin'
to return with good tidings by sunset or tore,
I bid you cod—by.” ' .

With a uurish of his big band, B’uell rode
away. Mariquita ran up the ledge, and watched
him as long as he remained insight. Lonesome!
He said truly that she would be lonesome, but
he little guessed the terrible desolation which

seemed to her to settle over the camp, as be dis- ~ ' . 3’ '

app'ared. So helpless, so solitary, so deserted!
with only three thieving and untrustworthy

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

83 J ack Jordan’s Pas-d.

 

A".

 

Wachitas for her protection—and Jack gone—
foreverl .

“ Forever-l”

She whispered the word, looking about va-
cantly on the rosy sky and brown plain. She
had thought that he was nothing to her but a
reminder of injustice and cruelty; but now that
she feared some frightful fate for him, there was
a curious revulsion in her feelings.

What if Pedro should die? What if Buell
never came back?

All dreary things seemed possible on that
dreadful and desolate morning.

She felt an impulse to rush off over the
wide plains, where, or to what ending, she car-
ed not—only to find refuge from this silent
oppression. But thoughts of Pedro restrained
her. .

Slowly she went back to the little valler
camp. Slowly the slow hours rolled away. t
was a day t at prolonged itself indefinitely.
She cooked little delicacies for the atient, and
tried to find work to do. But all s 9 could in-
vent filled scurcely one of the endless hours.
Many times, even in the heat of noon, she climb-
ed the bluff to scan the plain. All was silence
and desolation.

But if the solitude was dreadful by day it
grew positively awful by night. For the red,
fierce sun did at last sink; the long twilightstole
treacherously over the landscape; the deep night
came—to bring no return of those who had set
forth that morning, neither of him who had rode
away from them the previous day so full of

jenlth and ardor.

Pedro fretted for “his dear friend," “ his be—
loved Jack,” “his brother;" and it was well
for Mariquita that he began to show symptoms
of returning health in that increased irritability
which made many demands upon her at»
tention. However, she did not take this dis-
quietude for so favorable a token as it was; she
was alarmed lest his fever should return in full
force; and thus anxiety for him was blended
with the cold fear and suspense which lay like a
dead weight on her heart.

' There was plenty of room for startling appre-
hensions in the circumstances which surrounded
her. The chances were many that even the
00d, coarse, humorous, but comforting and re-
lahle Yankee, might never return. What
. claim had she upon him? Perhaps when he
'found J ack—if he ever did—the two would pur-
sue their original plans, leaving the camp to its
fate. Pedro so weak—she so helpless. A dizzy
circle of thoughts like these ke t turning in her
brain, as the second day of Buel’s absence arose
-' and rolled into its meridian; she was actually
alarmed. lest her reason should give way with
her fortitude.

CHAPTER XVI.
DICK. .

JACK sat a long time beside his‘ horse, who
awas too much exhausted to rise. The un-
shadowed sun beat down on them until the man
felt himself in danger of sun—stroke. His eager
eye scanning the horizon on all sides. saw noth-
ing to reveal to him the direction he ought to
take. However, there was one thing he could
do—follow back on the trail made by himself

 

 

 

and the Comanches, which be judged to be

about on as straight a line for the camp as any
that could be chosen.

In this he might run some risk of bein way-
laid by them,‘ but there ' 'as a com orting
thought in the fact that no ambush could be
formed by them, as the wh- le route was per.
fectly open and exposed.

“ It’ll never do to waste time this way, Tem—
pest, if we are to get home on our present stock,
which consists of one piece of salt dried beef.
Yet I fear you won’t rally, old fellow, without
something to drink. I’d give a bucket of dol-
lars, if I had them, for a bucket of water. Lie
still, my brave boy, while I descend the gully
and 100 about; there may still be a little water
there.”

When he saw that his master was moving
away, Tempest made an effort to struggle to his
feet, but did not succeed. His pitiful eyes
seemed to speak a request not to be deserted.

“ Oh, I’m coming back with a hat full of
water presentlyl" said the young man, hope-
fully.

Retracing the way back to the arroyo, he
was soon wandering down the sandy bed, where
once had been a deep stream, looking for signs
of moisture, where, by digging in the sand, he
might still find water. He looked in vain. Not
a drop trickled from the dusty bluffs on either
side, nor was there even a little pool, or hint of
underground spring in the bottom.

It was cooler than on the plain; the whole
course was in shadow from the steep walls, and
the winds rushed through with a loud, refresh-
ing murmur. He then searched for a less
abrupt declivity, so that he might’get his horse
over the ravine as soon as he should be able to
move.

“ Perhaps Tempest will discover water where
I cannot; they say the instinct of animals is
wonderful in such matters.” .

Hoping this, but beginning to be depressed by
serious forebodings, Jack found a spot at whic
he thought his horse might cross the arroyo; he
then went back and found Tempest already on
his feet, and coming toward him, with a faint
whinny of delight. Carefully as a person, but
still somewhat feebly, the animal made his way
down the steep bank.

“Sniff around, my friend, nnd tell us where
the water lies," said Jack; but, though he led
his com nion a long distance up and down the
bed of t e vanished stream, he gave no signs of
making the important discovery.

“ If that’s the case, every hour lost here may
be the fatal one."

Urging his horse up the opposite side, he
started by the trail of the four animals who had
come thus far. The dead steed of the Comanche
lay stifl beneath the sun; the owner had not
paused to take possession of its trappings,
neither could Jack avail himself of these
trophies, for Tempest, as yet, could not hear
his master’s weight.

Man and horse walked slowly forward; and,
as the palpitating Vail of heat lifted, and the
sun sunk lower, Jack saw, afar oil, faint. like a
scarcely visible cloud, the peak of the Wachita
mountains, which he had designed to use asa
landmark. This gave him liberty to press for-

 

 

.v

 

 

 

 

 

 

!

in

 

i
1,:
5
i
i
i
.

 

 

 

,. .u. .k “M; W"

Jack Jordan’s Ford. 29

 

ward without the trouble of keeping the trail:
but he was still oldiged to walk, as Tempest was
trembling and u“ .iteady in his gait. They must
have come an amazing distance during that tre-
mendous gallop.» The mountains might be
thirty miles, they might be fifty, or more—
he could not judge.

As long as there was any light to detect that
little cloud against the sky, he hurried on.
Then the question was, whether to attempt to
proceed through the darkness. He must; it
was imperatively necessary. He was tortured
by an increasing thirst; and he knew that his
horse suffered similar pangs by his short, gasp-
in breathing.

nowing that neither could hold out while he
walked those many miles, he finally mounted,
conscious of the cruelty of hurrying the trem—
bling animal, yet conscious, likewise, that the
safety of both demanded it.

It was evident that Tempest, magnauimous
by nature, made a noble eflEort to follow out his
wishes and toappear proud of his burden: he
broke into a gentle trot, and with a brief show
of his old fire, tossed his mane in the glowing
starlight.

“ Bravo—l bravo! we shall see home yet !” mur-
mured the young man, as five or six miles of
ground were passed over in good time. “The
further we go to—night the less we shall have to
suffer from to~morrow’s sun. Aha! what’s this?
trembling and staggefing again.”

With another desperate rally Tempest recov-
ered himself, trotted forward more rapidly than
before, then suddenly stopped, shivering through
all his frame; his rider had just time to dis-
mount, when he snnk on his knees and fell over.

“ It’s no use-you’ve killed yourself for me,”
murmured Jack, the tears starting in his eyes,
as he knelt, too, patting, the dying steed, and
talking affectionately to him as if‘ he was a
chil .

He began to apprehend that Tempest had in-
jured himself internally at the time of that
mighty and magnificent leap which had saved
his master. This was probably the case, as
thirst and fatigue would hardly have exhausted
that powerful form so quickly.

For the next two hours he continued to
breathe with great difficulty, every gasp wring—
ing his owner’s heart; then there was a long
shiver, a sound almost like a human groan, and
Tempest was dead!

The hunter sat some time beside the body of
his brute friend, feeling on acute grief at his
loss. It seemed to him ungrateful to leave him
there, unburied, for the birds to prey upon; but
the Increasing sense of thirst and hunger whiCh
tortured him, overcame all such nice sentiment.

The love of life and the instinct to preserve it
is strong in us all. Quite certain that he was
walking in the right direction, and even that he
could still make out the faint outlines of the
Wachita peak against the starlight, he braced
himself to extraordinary exertions, well aware
that the burning sun of _the morrow would in-
crease his sufferings, while it decreased his abil-
ity to travel. - ‘- .

Morning came. He had walked may? miles,
and the mountains were still before him, prov-
ing that he had not gone astray; and yet they

I

 

looked no nearer than on the previous day.
How far, how unapproachable they grew!

He pressed steadily forward, forcing himself
to think of everything but of the burning crav-
ing which tore his dry threat—of his mother,

his selfishness in goin from her as he had——of 1

his dear home in New ork, with its circle of
comforts and friends—of Mariquita—and ever
through all the images which be called up, his
thirst grew and grew; and the sun, likeabrazen

face to mock him, stood over him; the morning .

breeze died away; the atmosphere grew waver-
ing in the heat, and nowhere was any shade,
an coolness, any promise of water.

fiis eyes were bet, his feet blistered, his knees
weak and trembling; but the courage of man—
hood was still strong within him, and be pressed
forward, toward that discouraging, dissolving
point against the brilliant sky.

It was noon, and past noon, when the physical

powers of the young hunter finally compelled his \

strong will to succumb. Grasping, tottering,
scorched and blasted, he could no longer force
one foot before the other.

He was about to sink upon the parched earth
in a sort of vague bewilderment, nolSn er striv-
ing against fate,‘when his foot stumbl , and he
rolls into a. little gully, only five or six feet

deep, formed, like the others, by the drying-up ~

of the little stream which filled it earlier ‘in the
season. The shock aroused him—he looked
eagerly about him, digging in the sand with his
fingers, hoping for a little moisture, at least,

against which he could lay his fevered lips.,

Nothing! Nothing!
He drew from his pocket It morsel of salt dried
beef. Chewing upon it revived him for a time,

but afterward only added to his pangs. It was.

a little cooler there, in the shadow of the bank;
and, anyhow, he had not strength to crawl up
onto the plain. He felt that he was about to

e. r v
For a. little time his mind remained calm and
clear. He wondered if Amos Buell would search ‘

for him, and find his body; he even thought,

with deep interest, of Pedro suflering for the 
fresh meat which he had not brought him, won- .
daring if he would sink for the want of it. He ‘ -

thought, too, of Mariquita, of her more than of
anyt ing else. She came to him, and reproach-

ed him with the haste with which he had judged V

er. 7
Sad, solemn beautiful, she seemed to stand
before him, with pathetic eyes and gentle lips, -

and to say——-“ Judge not, that ye be not judged.”

Instantly, as by'mflash of the sun into a dark-

room, he saw how he might have been mistaken

in his hasty conclusion; that the girl whom be .

had loved, knowing so little of her mum ,
mi ht have had a 1‘
rue ly be that brother.

All'at once, the case was reversed; she was

the party wronged, he the guilty one. Ab! if
this was so! if he could live to prove it so! if he
could stagger to his feet, if only in time to sat-
isfy himself of this, before he died! Die! was
he really (1 yingi—he, so young, so strong! With

a great efl'ort he raised his head, but it sunk

back again; his clear, excited brain began to
I‘27:?! and swim—he was fast lapsing intode-
um.

other—and Pedro mig t ,

 

 

   
 
 

 

80

 

Jack J ordan’s Pard.

 

At this crisis something cold touched his face;
a short, joyful bark rung in his dimmed ears; he
unclosed his eyes—Dick, his faithful dog, was
licking and caressing him, vainly trying to ex-
press the pleasure of his dumb, brute heart.
Again Jack rallied. If Dick was here, Buell
could not be far away. With a sickly smile, the
young man patted the dog, his eyes eagerly
searching tho space about him.

Poor Dick! he comprehended the emergency.
His-wild delight at finding his master began to
subside. To find him was not enough. He need-
ed help which no dog could give. film. As the
consciousness of this crept into his canine brain,
hel suddenly whirled, leaped up the bank and
disappeared.

In vain Jack waited his return, listened for
the sound of voices, hoped for assistance. His
delirium returned. It grew to him only one of
his many mocking fancies, that Dick had been
therel He saw cold, shining water, too—but
them was no water. Ho tasted golden oranges
and luscious peaches, but there was no fruit in
that desert. Dick had not been there—it was a
fever-dream l

The long afternoon slid away, the sun set, the
twilight began to darken. How long that after—
noon had been Jack knew not—~he was lethargic
and sinking now. The world, and all therein,
was fading away from him, with the sun which
faded in the west.

Again he was disturbed. . ,

He thought Mariquita held a silver cup of do-
licious wine to his lips. He drank and drank--
she laughed and sung to him, Presently his
stupor partially rolled uway, voices were actual-
ly near him—some one was calling his name—
some one was wetting his lips With the draught
of life. He unclosed his eyes and stared at the
homely face which bent above him.

“ Buell'i” he whispered, doubtfully.

“ ’Tain’t nobody else. You guessed right that
time, young man—yes, by Jemima l~and not a
minit too scam—no, thank the Lord, and not too

r late." And with this, rough, lank, cold—blooded,
curious Buell, who never seemed to have any too
much heart, burst out into a laugh which ended

' in a sob.

“Now, by all the horses I ever swapped, if
this don’t beat all—to find myself a-cryin’ when
I set out to laugh! W'ouldn’t the folks to burn
be astonished to see Amos Buell making such a
fool of himself? But the fai-tis, my friend, when
I found you here, I took you for dead—mid it’s
an agreeable surprise to find you alive. Hal hal
take a drop or two more 0’ this, Jack. It’ll set
you up, like windin’ up a clock. We’ll have you
all right, now, in less’n no time.”

In half an hour Jack But up, leaning against
the bank; his stupor and bewilderment were

, gone, though he was very weak.

“ How came you to find me?”

“I never should haVe found you—Ieastwise
until it was quite too late to be of any earthly
use to you—if it hadn’t been for Dick, here.
Dick! bless your soul! (you know I argue that
does hava souls!) where are you?”

The dog was lying at his master’s feet, quiet
and tired, quite satisfied at the present state of
affairs, which did not seem to demand any ac-

, hon on his part.

/ ,

 

 

'horse of my red friend here, who wi l have no

 

“You see that dog left me in the lurch last
night, when you didn’t get back. He stole off
on his own book to hunt you up; and it’s my ,
opinion he’s been over every inch of ground
you’ve touched since you started. Will, I sot
off this mornin’, but you see he had the start 0’
me; me and red—skin, here, had made our way
to that arroya, where you seemed to have drop—
ped in, and where we found a Comanche horse
shot by one 0’ your bullets, and was a—wonderin’
what to do next, when Dick comes tearing up
to us like mad, and takes me by the breeches,
and pulls, and seems so determined to have his
Way, that I wasn’tlong a—guessin’ he’d come with
a message from you. That was about three
hours ago. So I told him to trot, and we would
follow. He did trot, so fast that our horses had
a good time keepin’ him in sight. And he
brought us here without unnecessary delay. I
reckon We’d had a good time getting on the
right track, if it hadn’t been for Dick. Judging
by your symptons when we arriv’ we’d have
found you about a (lay too late to be of any
assistance, onlcss it was to bury you."

Jack’s hand rested lovingly on Dick‘s bead.

“ How far from camp are we now?” “

“ About tiventy mile. You went about forty-
five, if you went to that array/(1.."

” Can we get back to—night?”

“ I reckon not. I guess a little feedin’ and
sleepiu’ won’t hurt you, the next few hours.
About three o’clock, we’ll mount on on the

objections to a little Walk, and we‘ll be back in
camp in time to take u late breakfast with the
pretty senorita.”

“The pretty senorita” did not have much
appetite for breakfast. She was sitting, listless-
ly, outside the tent door. Her cheeks were pale, ,
there were dark shadows under her eyes, her
every attitude and mowment betrayed the
lassitude of hopeless melancholy. For some“
moments she had remained motionless, her eyes
bent on the ground. Suddenlyaloud, cheery
voice rung in her her ears:

“Good mornin’, Senorita. Folks to hum?
How’s your family? We’re travelers. hungry
and tired, and if you don’t keep a hotel, we
trust you won’t refuse your fellow-cretur’s a
little breakfast. ”

Yes, it was Buell. Humorous and careless as
over, here he was, saluting her with a jest, by
way of announcing his return.

Who was on the other horse? Not the
Wachital—«no—it was J ack! Instantly her
heart sprung u , like a flower when sameness.
ing foot is liftei from it. She did not pause to
ask why he had wronged her—~what their pres.
ent relations were. In the triumphant joy of ' i
finding that he was yet alive, every other feel-l
ing perished. She sprung forward, held out
her arms, her face flushed. 7

“Jack!” '

The next moment he held her on his bosom. “K
They looked in each others’ eyes, and the past.
was forgiven on both sides. Not then was the
explanation made, which came a little later.
Sacred to the consciousness that-each still loved ,
the other remained the first few minutes.

“ Whew—w-wl” whistled Amos Bueu, thrust- r.

 

A she-:3 5::‘5i‘ ‘

  

,x
1.
4

 

 

Jack Jordan’s Paid.

31’

 

lng his bends in his Pockets, and making good
use of his eyes. “ his comes of shettlug a
young man and woman up in a camp together
for a couple 0’ weeks!”

But for once Amos Buell was mistaken.
Jaclt condescended to explain “the mystery ”
of his life, information of which had been so
often deemed by his inquisitive friend, during
the few days in camp which followed his own
convnlescence and the marvelously speedy res-
toration of Senor D‘Estanza.

To .the ardent and generous soul of Pedro,
the discovery that the man he so loved was the
lover of his sister, and likely trulyto be soon
“his brother,” was like a draught from some
elixir of life.

Under the pleasant excitement be rapidly
grew strong, so that it was but a brief time

efm'e they could resume their journe , which
was, however, transposed. The whoe party
concluded to return to the States, where the
marriage of Jack and Mni'iquitn could most
properly be consummated, the anxiety of friends
relieved, and the lovely bride placed under the
; shelter of Jack’s own home.

— When he listened to Jack’s. confession of his

 

3 . jealousy,,and of the construction he had put
3 upon the secret meeting of brother and sister in

St. Louis, Pedro was indignant for a brief time;
but his generosity and afl'ection enabled him
soon to wholly and heartin forgive it.

“You heve suffered too much, for us to deal
severely With you,” he said, givmp: his hand to
his. new brother. with one. of his sparklin
smiles. “If Mariquita forgives you, it is al
right." .

“At least, it was from excess of love, not
lack of it, that I erred,” said Jack, humbly. and
Elie dark eyes smiling into his did not reproach

im.

We will not give the particulars of the home-
ward Journev. It was accomplished in safety;
and Amos Buell had the privilege, as a reward
for his many friendly services, of giving away
the beautiful bride.

TEE END.

 

 

Beadle's his library.

1 Deerhnnter, the Boy Scout of the Gun North Woods. By
Oil Coon!"

Q Buffalo Blll, from Do 'liood to Mnnhnod. By Cnl. P. lnmham.
K“ Canon. King Or‘lul’l'l. Br Albert W. Aiken. I
4 (loll-don lilllidc, the Boy-Inmprem ofille Pawnou. By Molar
. tm r .
ll Bruin Adams. Old Grilliy'l nor Purl. By Col. P. lngrnhun.
0 Dendwood Dick n a Boy. y Edward L. \Vheolen
? “’ild lllll. the Plutul Prim-e. By Col. Prrntiu llill’lhnlll.
K The Ifrulrlc Rant-h. Br Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
ii Roving Joe: The "ivory ni‘n ‘ Bord r Buy." By A. ll. Poll.
}{) g‘fi‘xlll! Jigf.llhe£llllrgilr “nuts-1.13v  Prentiss [Ilfla’lglllllh
urc )‘Iir . 'vr‘u noes-Scr- an ace
Cnporn.’ Billlnjm' H.Bl'l.§u?dd':lr£. B“ y w s
ri Mn . nun. y own . d er Jr.
l‘llgi'lxz no... llv John J. Mnnhnll. “ ’
fipring Ftccl, Kim: of the limb. Br LE. BMI’, Jr.
-\'lae-Awuke George, lhr Bo ' Pioneer. By Ed. Willa“.
l‘hc llnv “'izard. Br Bnrrv innzuld.
r peter Pepper'rnm (he Gresnborn from Gotham. By Nonh

i ll .
Adrift on the Prairie, Ilan Amateur llunton on an
Bull'an Rnntc. “y 0' Domel- . A
The Fortune Hunter; or. Roving Joe uMlmr,Cowboy,
Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Poul.
nor Tom, the Wood Imp. By T. C. Harbnn‘h.
81 Yo ow llalr. the Boy Chief of m Pawns... By
Pronliu lazuli-in.

 

Calm!

 

 

22 The Snow 'l'rlull. By T. C. iiarlmugh.
23 Old (lrlzzlv Adams, the Bear ’i‘iune
24 “'ood- un \l'iltcrn. 15y Unpi. Fr
25 A ltolllnx fitoncx lllrioenll in the
“I Col. l’n-uliml lnxrullnm. My “'m. R. .
26 llcll lHVcr Rovers. By C. Dunning lek.
27 l’lnzn I ll l’lnln; or. Wild Adventures nl' ‘iilu-kskin Sum.”
(.Vlnj. Sum. S. Hull.) l5yi701.l’. lIIL'mlqun.
28 The qurd Prince. 'iua Romantic Life of Col. Monetary.
|i_v l'upl. Frederick Whittaker.
29 Snow-Shot Turn. By 'I‘. C. llnrllnnzll.
30 Paul dc Ll ‘ «in Renal Cunnin-
31 Round the l Ir . iiv nseph E.
32 \l'hitc Ih‘iu'cr, llh' lullinu Mcllii-ine Chief.
lngrnllnnl. .
83 The Boy (‘runmlcn My (‘n 4. Fm]. “'hillulu-r. .7
3-1 The (‘llnnc ol'thc (.i rcut \ llite Sting, and, (Jump mm
«mm... My (7. Dunning (‘lnrlL
85 old 'l'ur Knuckle null Hi» my Chums. liy ll. Sturhunk.
36 The Ill-Ailing lirllzoon: or, Tnu story of Gen. George A.

- hr. Frulill Powell.
'i'liiilnl.cr.

on hen and Lnud
r

 
   
   

 

  

 
 
 

 

liy (I. D. Clark.

  

, Jr.
Br Col. l’renliss

     

   

(Juan-r. Isy mu l. l-‘rn-li. “'Ilillnker.

37 Night-"nick George. liy (.‘ul. l‘rl-nllu lllKl‘KliRlll.

83 Thu Boy I‘lelc- of'h'lhcrln. By T. t'. llnrhnngh.

39 e Your“: llcur llnntcrn. By Morris kwlwlllfl.

40 Itlrt NIIII. the Lani \villx n Level llemL Ily Eilwurd Vi'illeit.

41 'l c Sl-ttler‘s Hon. Iiy Edward 8. Ellis. _ l
4% Walt For usuu'n Cruise. By C. Dunning (‘lnrk. ,‘~

levolvcr. Hy Curt. Fred. \\'hlllnkar.

48 Rlfle nud _,

44 The Luv-l lloy \‘l’hulcrn. In T. (I. llnrlmugli. 

45 Bronco llilly, Illa Sullllle Prince. liy l’. ingmhmn. ,

46 Dick, the fituwnwliy. Hy (‘hnrics Mar 1 w.

47 The (.‘olorndo lloyn; ur,Life on an inlllgn Hunmlion. By
Jmpl. E. Bulizer. lr. I

48 The Pump“! llnnlorn;
Ayn-I Bv T. C. llnrlnnuuh.

4:! The Adventurous Life of chrunkn Chili-lie. By
Col. l’mutiss lngrnhnm. ';

50 Jack, llurrv and Tom, the Three Champion llrolberl. By
Cupt. Fred. Whilmlpr.

51 The Young Lnnd-Lubber. B C. Du uinu (‘lnrk.

52 The lloy Detectives. liy 'l‘. iinrlmugh,

58 "one-i, lliirry; or, The (‘nunlry Buy Aririll in the City. By
(lllnrlen Morris.

54 California Joe, the Mysterious Plnilmnnu.
Inurulmm.

55 Tip Trcncl. thu Finnlor. liy Ellwunl “'iilcll.

56 The Know Hunter-s; or, Winter in ll“: “'Uuds.
llle Forrest.

57 Hurry Home", llll! Snilor Buv Milgiclnn. liy S. W. l’earce.

5’4 Tile Alh'cnturons Life ot'Cnptnin Juck, the Border
liuy. liy (Yul. Prmliiss llllzrlllmnl.

59 Layne 'I‘lm, llll‘ .‘llllr. Ho)- (If [he Mines. liy Chnrlcg Morris.

60 The Younlf 'l‘rull Hunters; or, New York Boys in Griuly
l.:lnll. liy ‘. c. Hurlmugll.

61 The Ti er lluntcrn; or. The (‘olorndo Boys in Elephant
I.nml. ‘liv Joseph E. Badman”.

62 Doctor Carver, the “Evil Spirit " of the Plains. By Col.
l’ri-utiun lug nlmlll.

68 lllnck Ilorsc Hill. the Bnndit Wrecker. By Roger Stnrhuck.

64 Young Dick 'l‘ulhotl or, A lluys Rough l|l_lll Tumble Fight
from New ank in (‘Rlilurr-ia. By A. \V. Alhrn.

65 The Boy l’llnu "nilnl-lnnd'KVrel-ker. u,- (m. P. lngmhnm.

86 The Del-er! “over; or, sin-unruly ick Amuug the Aral».
By Chnvler Murriu. "<-

67 Tcxns (lhnrllc, the Boy Rnnévr. By Col. Prcnlils lngrnham.

63 Little Rule; or, The Young Fur llnnlvn. By Captain “ Bruin "

“I'll.

69 The Youn Nihilist; or» A Yankee BoyAmong the Rum"...
iiy Chnrlel i lorrls. ..

70 You the anbo : or, The Young Marshall's Enid. By

Mn or H. ll. Slodda . Ex-‘cnut. ,

71 Ru Rob-nrt and Ill! Benr. By Captain “ Bruin "Admin.

12 The Ice Elc Imnl. Ily Capt. Fred. ck \Vlllllnker. -

I'll The Youn . onnc-Iluntcrn. ii) Villiamli. Mnnninz.

74 The Boy ‘nrnl-Flnlicrn. By R~zer Shirl

75 Revolver Billy, the Boy [hunger of’i‘exiu.
lnurnhnin.

76 The Condor Killers. By T. C. Hurlmugh.

7? Lud lilonheel- the Young'l‘iizer Figlmsr. By Roger Snub-id.

7S Flatbout Fro/«i. By . ward \Villell _

79 none, the Hunter. I» Cu lnin F. Whittaker

80 Kontuck Beluihslnnzl "it: «uh: Cascaid .

8] The Kit nraon Club. liy T. C. llnrbnug .

82 Little Buck. the Boy Guide. By Barry Ringgnid.

88 Poll Bob, the llsrklels Rider. By Cul. l'. lurrahnm.

84 Cur-{am Fly-h -Nl ht. By Joseph E. Bridger, Jr.

55 ‘.mtoln Ruin n [he 'ounz Expivwer. By C. D. Clark.

so I. Mo llun Rm- -. “y Morrin Reflwinz-

87 T he Mcnn crle Hunters. Iiy Maj. ll. Grenville.

88 Tu- Boy ramps; or. Lil's Among the Glplies. By J. M.

‘lomlllll.

89 ’lmnlnhore L110

90 llovln: Rifle, l?“ .

91 Oregon Josh, the \\ izur‘i Rm...

9% llul-r'icnne Kit. By A. F. Holt.

Beadle? Boy’s Librnryl- {nrvls by all Newsdealer-Jvn ‘
cents per copy, or rent by mail on receipt of six cents each,
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers,
98 William Street, New York.

 

 

or, New York Buys in lluenus '

 

By Col. Prentiss

By Barry

 

   

 

 

 

My 2201. Prentiss

 

   

    
 

 

llv C. ll. Clark.
in Little Scout. Hy T. C. llnihnugh.
By Roger Sturlmck. V

 

 

o
..

 

BEADLE’S VBOY"S LIBRARY. 

Published Every Saturday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform flue of Five Gents

 

150 The Boy MunianE-liuntcr; or, Eaulaile, the Beautiful
Amazon. By Frederic Whittaker.

151 Frank Yucca, the Young Trapper; or, Mountain Kate’s
Warninu. By Jon->le E. Badger, Jr.

159 “'I111 ancn, the Scout. lly ()l] Coomer.

153 Lvnx-Cnp; or,Four Tmppt‘l’l’AanilK the Sioux. By Paul

B him.
154 The Champion 'l‘cxun Hitler: or, Red Buflalo and the
Hurrah-n Huutur. llv llarry St. Gnome.

k ‘ Dick’s Doom. By Jns. E. Badger, Jr.
66 Fran Boil, the lluy E .y. ll_ Oll Cmunrn.
57 Nick Doyle, the (inld } anti-r. ily i’. H. M ms.
58 Kidnapped Dick; or, The Fath 01' the Fire- ‘ly. By J. Stan-

ley Hrndomon.

159 Smn‘n Lam: Trnil. By W. J. Hamilton.
1 60 llnnk Triplct’n Vow. By llarry Hazard.
161 The Mad Sklp NT. By ll. Sim—Muck.
62 The Trapper 'Ing. By Maj. Max M' rtino.
(iii Simon Kenton Hunter. By Elnoraon Rodman.
64 The Boy Chief": n1, Frank Bull‘s Cmnpm't. By Oil Comma.
165 The ’l‘rnder ’i‘rllitor. By J. Stanley Hendormu.
66 0h] Jllpe’n (Wow. By Mrs. Orrin Hum-a
6’? The Young Trullor. By W. J. Hamilton.
or; The s a ter spy. By Maj. Luwu w. (‘nranm
6” Lnnk mm, the Old C(llormln Huntm‘. By E. W. Archer.
70 The White “'oli‘. By Edward Wilien.
71 The Swamp Guide. By W. N. Noll.
72 The Ynnkee i’mldlor. ark

By \Vurren St. John.
74 BinokIn-ith Tom’n Monk. (1 . D. Gilbert.
75 The IIIn-kakln Rider. By Guy a wood.
1'?“ The squatter-m Hnrnrllo. M Mr H. J. Thnnmr.
1’? Four 1‘ allow Soontn. By J. Stanley liflillll‘fflon.
1 71% Old KI! and Ill- Comrndea. By Jim.  Badger, Jr.
1 79 l‘nule Grill'n "lam-inc. llv llarry iiuulrd.
80 The Marked Miner. By .il-nt. Col. llazcltlne.
181 The “’lld lluntrcan. By Capt. Brqu Adams.
182 The llwnrt’ lit-wry. By Mam 0. Roli'o.
133 Job Dunn’s Tnotira. By lngaldahy North.
84 Yankee, Eph’u llllclnmll. By .1. R. Worcester.
85 The “'ily “'ilvh‘a “Yard. By Edwln E. Ewing.
86 Frnnk, the Furrlor. By J. Stanley Hondamon.
87 Diana, the Fair Mountainuur. By Capt. F. Whittaker.
188 Jnck‘u Snore. By Mrs. Ann E. Porter.
39 Sum, tlln Swamp Srout. By W. J. Hamilton.
90 The linflhlnu‘ Trooper. By Fredoriek Dewey.
91 The Boy Bravo. By Janws L. Bowrn.
. 92 Sandy Blll, of Trans. liy Edwnrd Vi'iih-it.
98 Harry \Vinkle’n Long Chane. By Wm. R. Eyuter.
94 Cree or Onto tho Shadow Swamp "rallcr. By F‘. Dewey.
95 The longer lk-toctive. By Han-y Hazard. , '
iron-f Mu , tlm Mountain Witch. By C. 1). Clark.
‘ re )rnn ed Contain. By W. J. Hamilton.
id Cronnflre’a Grills. By Capt. Churlus Howard.
ehrn Zack, the Tuxan. By W. .7. Hamilton.
‘he Nurneieu llnnter. By George W. Rnhiumn.
‘ho \nnkee On tlven. Bv Edward Wlilott.
I‘edd ’a Long mil. By Edwards. Ellis.
i id I link, the Hermit. By Edward W. Archer.
noon-head’s Bth Hhot. By Jon. E. Badger, Jr.
“to Dutchman’s Dread. By Capt. Char. lion-rd.
{it Burt‘s Monk. By W. J. Hamilton.
'? Jingle-Eyed Tim. By C. Dunning Clark.
.. ‘hc Villluu- Sport. By JuInL-n L. Bowen.
luck Burt's ] lm-k. By Edward Willvt.
10 ‘he Tell-Tole Bnlle ‘tnnlev Henderson.
11 The Boy Surveyor. Humiltnn.
1% Yankee Drover Swipe . Seelln Robina.
13 Silver City Tom. By Janina L. Bowen.
4 Niok,’tha Detm‘tirn‘. By Edwin Emerson.
5 Multan Rider Roy. By Albert W. Aiken.
6 The Do oin link-limo". By Maj. Max Martino.
T Yankee. Jot-h, tile Rover. 13‘ It. H. Br'lkntlp, M. D.
it? New York Noll In Gulit'ornln. By W. .1. Hamilton.
Kim-'11 Shot. 15y Edward Willett.
0 rnnk’n Rivul. By Paul J. Prescott.
1 Doctor Burt, Drll‘l‘lll'v. By Lewis Jav Swift.
’32 lily fiam'n Rnnre. By Lnul. Louruml, m, n.
628 old. Nancy’s “'urd. ilv Llant. Cu]. Haultine.
7324 me ate. the Nahoh. llv Scott R. Shorwoorl.
“by ight- [nwk Bill; or, The New York Sport-menu Glow.
,‘ .y’wliv W. J. inmilion. r
226 The Mnaked Mnnlno. nv Mam 0.1mm. ‘ '~
22’? Home)": Bold “rm-h. By James L. Bowen.
228 The llondwoml Hportu. lly Lieui. S. G. Lansing.
229 Erma-l Schmidt, Jr.; or, The Disguiued Yankee. By W. J.
“III on.
$30 Lom- Rtnr’n Euro “hot. ‘By Harry Hazard.
981 Mnrk Morgan’- Mnlk. 11v Capt. Charles How-rd.
282 Billy Bromn‘l Flrlt Crnino. 13v H. Minor Klnpp.
883 The Glrl Rifle-Shot. By w. J. Hamilton.
234 Old Kyle’s Lon Tramp. By Henry J. Thomu.
man 0111 nm Syoe‘s'i'lmge. By Edward wmm.
$86 The (in-the-Wlns Detective. By Ed. S. Ellis.

381' The llolphin’h Young Skippor. By Rom Surbuck.

 

 

 

288 Joah’s Boy Par-(ll. By S. G; Lansing.

289 Lee lhlkill’fl Ill! nine. By Maro 0. Rolfe.

240 Darin Dick’s l nee. By Arthur L. hiuserve.

241 Uncle Iphe‘a Buys. By J. Stanley Hendnrsnn.

242 113141“ lloh Snured. By Capt. R. M. Hawthorne.

943 lli‘lnah-nght Joe; or, Brave. the Canine Scout. By Charles

. isle '.
244 lioh linker“ Laat Lean. By T. Benton Shields, U. S. A.
245 North \Vouds Nut. By W'. J. Hamilton.
246 ’l‘he_ Girl Chief; 0r, Dolly‘s Drnll Diagnisn. By J. M.

Merrill.

247 Denvcv Dick, the Rattler; or, The Miners ni' Dcady‘vood
Gulch. llv Harry Hazard.

248 Black Jim’s Doom; or, Billy Bowlegs’s Revenge. By Llout.
Col. Haxeitlue.

249 Morgan. the Sea Rovor; or, The shrewd Scotcllman’s Scheme.
By John S. Warner.

250 Zach‘s Ghoul; Trap; or, The Hmlllted-House Havoc. By
George A plegato.

251 Kyd’n field Game; or. The Death-Trail Myntery. By
Pknl ilibhn.

252 limit-ho finrn’l Shot; or, Fort Blnkley’n Specter Riderl.
By George Glen-on.

Q53 Srni‘tly Crazy Slack; or, The French Fugitiva. By Harry

nznfl .

254 The Flghtin Quaker; or, The Droll Darky’a Dismay.
By Edward 5. His.

255 The Ranger-’1 First. Cruiu; or, The Yankee Tar Abroad.
By John S. Warner. =

256 Bolt Gn e’a Crew; or, The Boys of Logger Camp. By
John Nun .

25’? Tommy’s Fault Pacer; or.Search|ng for “ Uncle Jonah.”
By . J. Hamilton. .

258 Doc Bell‘n Pluck; or, The Fronahman’u Fate.
Chris. Howard.

259 Rocky Mountain Burt; or, Harry, the Farrier‘a Son.
By Edward Willett. .:

260 Rockies! Ralph’s Rink; or,- The Tell-T-le Claw. By
James L. Bowen. '

281 Gold Nugget. Dick; or. Two Boy-3’ Good Luck.
1’. Morgan

9262 1 roll- Big Bonanza; or. Mysterious Crazy Tom.
Hazard.

By Capt.

By Tom
By Harry

268 Josh Mouton. Detective: or, Tin- Cralty Agont’n Crime.
BvMary A. Dennison.

264 Uncle Jerry, the Quaker; or, The Schoollnaswr’n Trial.
Bv Jnhn Neal. .

265 The fikipper’n Mute; or, The Cruise of the Fire-Fly. By
Harry Cavendish

266 he'QGérl Cowboy Captain: or, The Skinnerl or the

W‘ wamp- By Jon. E. Badger, Jr.

261' ‘ the Mimic Spy; or, Tim Frenchman’l Doom. By

.‘ ."JJ‘lmuiitou. ,

26871131 '1'! Lnnt Tramp; or, The Vi’oodman’a Recreant Rival.
. 9}” V ward S. Ellis. a
269 R01 Steele’s Gnldgc; or, The Madman of tha Miami. By
Edward Willett. .

270 Jack, the Count Detective; or, The Diazulnd Captaln‘a
Clerk. By Roger Sinrbnck.

271 Old Gotlleb, tho Jolly Landlord, hr, The Daring Dutch
Damrai. By Herrick Johnstone.

272 The Boy Boomer; or, Pawnee Bill’s Protege. By Howard
M. Boyuton. I

273 Red Mike’s Rune. By W. J. Hamilton.

274 Bonny, the Dutoh Dame: "'1 The Aldefmnn'a Little
Protegue. ily Decatur Pudding, U. S. N.

275 Conrnd. the ficcnn KIIIF; nr,Leon Lorraine’a Disgulsr.
By Harry Moi-fort. Ready Ju y 97. _

216 Put, the Plucky flex-meant: nr. Ralph on the War-path.
By W. J. Hamilton. Ready Angllat 3. _

277 Jack Jordan’s Pnrdr or, The Santa Fe Huntm. By Mn.
M. V. Victor. Ready August 10.

978 Torn. the Old an; or, Jack Wlnthrop’l Long Trail. By
- Roger Slarbnck. Ready August 17.

279 Dolly’s Death-Shot: or, hunky Mark, the Young Wild-cat.
By Capt. Charle- How-rd. Read)" August 11.

280 Detective German Joe; 0 "he Flyinlz Duldflnfln 0“?-
Welt. By Howard M. ilorntou. endy August 81.
Beadle’n Boy’s Library in for sale by all Nevudulln‘l, In
cunt: per copy, or seat by mail on receipt of six cant. each.
1' BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers.
98 William Street, New York.