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$2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE up ADAMS. April 19, 1882.

 

 

V 1 I Single PUBLISHED WEEKLY Bffifiknnn AND ADAMS. Price,
0 - - Number- No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. Five Cents.

WillE—AWAKEGEMGE” Tign 303? PIONEER;

r, LIFE IN A LOG CABIN.

BY ED W ARD W ILLETT-

 

 

 

 

 

A Gun, AN ARM, A SHOULDER AND A HEAD STOLE FROM BEHIND THE TREE WHICH HE WAS WATCHING. THE GUN CRACKED, AND
THE CAP FLEW OUT OF THE CROTCH, AND FELL ON THE BOY’S BACK.

 

‘ \

v

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

rus- BOY

-. price and on easy terms.
, accepted, and the move had been made.

. than I mean to hold

 . ,, mégwakageo

 

minerals...

PIONEER;
on, ‘
urn IN A LOG cums

Incident- and Adventures in the Backwoods.
BY EDWARD WILLET’I‘.

CHAPTER I.
wnLconmo A. new summon. '

“ THIS is my first act of ownership 1"

As George Denston spoke he struck his ax
into a tall young white oak tree.

*Nea'r him stood his mother. with his sister
Lucy, a fine girl of sixteen. A little nearer
was his brother Ben, a bright boy of fourteen.
George himself was a tall and manly. young fel-

 

. low of eighteen.

He had become the head of the family, and.

i felt himself equal to his responsibilities.

After the death of his father the farm in In-
diana had been sold under a mortgage, and

,George, who had taken the direction of affairs,

advised a move to South-western Arkansas,

-wliere he had traveled, and where a friend of

his had ofifered him a section of land at a low
The offer had been

"After a lon and tiresome Journey the Den—
ston family ha ‘reached their destination, and
were camped in a tent. waiting until George
'could put up a log house f or them to live in.

, It was then early spring, and the air was
mild and moist. _

As’G-eorge struck his ax into the white oak,
which he had marked as one of the logs for his
cabin, he saw a. man coming toward him
through the forest. ‘ .

This man was tall and lean, and was dressed
in aragged suit of butternut jeans. His dark
face had never been touched by a razor, and his

' 7 hair looked as if it had never made the ac-

quaintance of a comb. He wore a coonskin cap
on his head, and carried a long squirrel’rifle,

with powder-horn and bullet-pouch.

George greeted him politely, but he took no
notice of the salutation. I
“ Wot are you cuttin’ my timmer fur, young

‘ ' fellerl” he asked.

" “Cutting = your timber?” replied George.
“What do you mean i” ‘

“Wot do you mean by comin’ into my land
and cuttin’ my tlmmer? That’s what I wanter
know.” .

“This is my land, or my mother’s, and I am

I sure that I amvinside of my lines."

"’Tain’t our land at all. It's my land. I’ve

«lived on t is tract goin’ on fifteen year, and
'  naterally it belongs to me.”

“‘ My mother bought the tract of Abe Lassi-
ter ” remarked George.

“ Don’t care ’f she did. I lived here afore
Abe Lassiter kem into the kentry, and I know

' , Wat‘smy own."

"You had better go and speak 0 Lassiter
about it, the If on can show a etter title
than I- can, wil  up the tract. Until

I?

“You had better look out, young fuller. I’ve
gi’n you fa’r warnin’ and all you’ve got to do is
to git (in the land. ’1: you don’t, it 1n be wuss

faves.”
. ithout another word the man turned and
 walked aw y. ‘

“This isa queer style of welcoming a new

‘ settler," Concluded George.

His mother asked him what it meant; but he
could only treat the question as a conundrum,
‘and ve it up. . '-

“ will ride over to Lassiter’s and ask him
about it,” he, declared.

He saddled his horse immediately, and, rode

.' 1'0 his nearest neighbors-unless the claimant
' lithe had just left

lm was nearer. r

. Abe Lassiter was away from home and his-

 1wife, an intrepid woman with a will of her
‘ ‘ cwn,1au
 who had claimed his land.

{had when George told her of the'man

“ It is Joe Semi,” she said, “andhe tells the
truth when L.e says that he lived here before we.
came. sly husband found him squatted on a

corner (if your section when we bought the

hurl, and has never molested him. I suppose
’he thinks that because he has lived there so
1 he owns the tract, though he has not
0 cared an acre, and has never out any timber
except for firewood. Of course his claim don’t

.amOuuttoenythlng." , .1 ._

x r 1

 

-- w ,  , .' . . x.
. . . V. . . r z b
.

rge. the Boy Pionéer.

 

“ But-what shall I doabout it?” asked George.
“Just nothing at all. Go ahead and cut
your logs, and put youn house up as soon-as
011 can. When Abe comes home I will send
tin: over to Joe Scurl’s to give him a talking
0.
George followed Mrs. Lassiter’s advice; but
he thought it best to take his rifle when he went
to work, as he believed that Joe Scurl meant to
insist upon his claim, whether he really believed
in it or not.

The trees fell rapidly under the keen ax
wielded by his strong young arms, and Ben as-
sisted him in cutting them into the lengths he
reguired for his log house.

11 the afternoon of the second day of this.

work, as he was standing on a log and s uaring
ofi’ the butt, he heard the crack of a ri e close
by. and felt a sharp sting in his left side.

At once he guessed the meanil of this at-
tack, and knew that he had been hit, thou h he
did not believe that he was badly wounde .

“Take to a tree, Ben!" he shouted, and ran
to the oak against which he had leaned his rifle.

He had not been so badly startled as to fail to
notice the point from which the shot was fired,
and he prepared for action immediately.

The tree behind which he was concealed
forked at about the hight of his head from the

round. He cocked his rifle. set his cap in the
ork, and watched for the next move of his ad—
versary.

A un, an arm, a shoulder and a head stole
from bind the tree which he was watching.
The gun cracked, and the cap flew out of the
crotch, and fell on the boy’s back.

Almost at the same instant he fired, and with
telling effect.

The gun dropped from the hand of the man
who had fired at him, and George ran to the
tree, followed by Ben.

Behind the tree was Joe Scurl, holding with
his left hand his right arm, from which blood
was flowing freely. As he saw George coming
Eowgrlt: him, he attempted to draws. knife from

is e . ‘

“ You needn’t do that,” said Geor e. a “ I
don’t”want to hurt you, and you can’t urt me
now. ‘

“ I reckon you’ve broke my arm. 'young tel--

ler,” uietly remarked Scan

“I ope not. Lot me look at it."

George cut open the man‘s sleeve, and saw
that his bullet had gone throu h the fleshy part
of his arm, but without touclin a. bone. He
(led u the wound with his han kerchief; but
Scurl ad lost so much blood that he was quite
weak. ,

“ Run to the tent and tell mother, Ben,”
ordered George. “ I am going to take this man
home." v -

“ Ain’t you hurt, yourself?" asked Ben.

“ I‘ve ot a graze, but it don’t bother me. He
didn’t m 55 me much.”

“ I aimed well, but you was a~choppln’,” said
Scurl, in the most 1natte1'-of~fact way, as if he
had been shooting at a mark.

“Well, a miss is as good as a. mile, I suppose;
but I don’t‘want you to practice on me any
more. Come along now.”

George escorted Joe Scurl to his cabin, a
wretched affair that scaroel ke t the rain out,
and there he found Mrs. ur , a big-boned
{show-faced woman, and several bar -legged

{s and girls.

n answer to the woman’s in uiries he briefly
informed her how her husbaan ad gone out to
shear a wolf, and had been shorn.

“ I allers told Joe that he was a durned fool,”
she averted. “ He won’t believe me, and
reckon it’ll take a heap 0’ hard knocks to drive
any sense inter his head. I‘m surprised, though,
mister, that he didn’t lay you out, ’cause he’s
an amazin‘ good shot, and that’s all on airth
he’s good fur. ”

Mrs. Scurl dressed herhusband’s wound, with
the assistance of George, and looked at him
with an ex ression of intense disaust.

“ Dume of I wouldn’t like tolrail him!" he
exclaimed. “I’m keen to bet it’ll be a solid
month afore he’s able to hold a rifle ag’iust that
Shoulder, and I’d like to know wot this yer
fambly is gwine to do fur meat while he’s as
gittin well.” .

“I will see that you don’t starve," said
George. “There need not be any trouble be-
tween your husband and me. All he wants is
roomtohunt and a place to live, and he can
sta here as lon as he wants to. But I mean
to ave it sqn y understood that my mother
has bought this section of land, and owns it,
and means to keep it.” .

Gear went home and hadhis own wound
dressed. As he had said, it was onlya graze;

. i ,

x
1

.A.  l'fl‘ _

but it showed howclooelyhe had seen death,
as Scurl hadaime'd well for his  ,.

Abe Lassiter came by when this operation
was finished, on his way to Joe Soul’s cabin, to
give that squatter the “ talking to ” that his
wife had promised. *

George said that it would not be worth while
_to do that, as he did not believe Joe would
bother him again, and be related the advemure
to his friend.

“ I reckon you can take care of yourself, my
son,”‘ said Lassiter, “ and it is lucky for fiyou
that you can. A new—comer always has to ght
his way in this country, as there are plenty of
bullies and rascals who are ready to ick at
him. But when they find out that be as got
grit into him they leave him alone.” ,

“ Do they leave you alone?" ask d George,

“ Prett ' near always. Those who know n.e
don’t m dle with me any to hurt. " '

As Abe Lassiter was a tall and muscular
man, who had the reputation of a daredevil.
and was known to be a dead shot, this statement
mi ht be easily believed.

eorge Denston con ratulated himself on
havin passed through is first trial sosafel ,
and t is upshot of t e difficulty was that
found a firm friend in Joe Scurl. Not only did
the squatter cease to molest the young settler,
but he seemed to entertain a real a tion
and a genuine aflection for him.

CEAPTER II.
HUNTING A Hoasn-ranr.
GEORGE Duns'ron soon had a new illustra-
tion of the truth of Abe Lassiter’s saying that
in that country anewvcomer had to fight his

wa .

a; had ut up his house, which was only a
rude log ca in with one large room and a left:
but it was a comfortable abode for all that.
All the neighborhood—if that could be called a
neighborhood, where the homes of the settlers
were miles apart—had come to the “ raising,”
and he had made many acquaintances. The
building had been roofed with shin les—or
“boards,” as they were called there—w ich he
had riven froma lar oak; a “ stick and clay”
chimney had been at bed to one end, and the
house had been floored with unseasoned plank
from a distant saw-mill. To reach this re ult
he had worked early and late, and had pro ed
himself worthy to be a pioneer. When his,
mother and sister saw what he had done, they
were greatly encouraged, and began to believe
that he would soon curve a fine farm out of
those acres of virgin forest.

He had also cleared and fenced a small space
near the house, sufficient for a garden, and was
anxious to break up his clearing and plant it, as
the season was rapidly advancing. \

Just as he was ready to begin this task, his
horse, was missinf .

The family he brought two horses from In~
diana; but one of them had died soon after they
reached their destination, and this‘had left only
George’s horse, a beautiful brown mare named
Moll . As the mare was their sole reliance for
all t eir work and traveling, it was probable
that she would soon learn the meaning of hard
work. \

As George had not ct found time to ' d a
stable, he was in the abit of festening olly,
when he did not need her, where she could pick
a little forest as. The night before he missed
her he had pic eted her in a glade at a httle dis-
tance from the house, by tying a long halter
r e to a low bush. '-

cn he went to lock for her in the morning
she was gone. ,

He was badly upset by this_unexpected mis-
fortune, and was eanin against a tree', won—
dering what he would 0 about it, when Joe
Scurl came in sight. J oe’s-wound was not yet‘
healed; but he was able to roam the woods as
be pleased and he always carried his linens,“
ma ter of habit. , .

“Wot’s the matter, on feller?”he asked.
“ You look as of you in ght 3’10le stithin’.”

“So I have," re lied George. “I have lost
my mare, and dont know what I am to'dc
about it.” a _ _

’ “ That’s bad. How did it he. pen?” .

“I left her here last niglht, god to that low
hush. she must ave pulled loose and,
gone away. _ I

’ “Shel. I wunner, now, of she didl Lemme
see. J est you stay ri ht thar, young feller.’
Don’t move a peg ontil look around a hit."

The squatter examined the bush to which the
more had been tied, and then examined the
glade around it.

 

 

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Finally he walked a little distance into the
woods, and then returned to where George was
standing. ' r '

“ This yer’s a bad pieceo’ business," he said.

“What do you mean?" asked Geor .

“ The mar’ never klm untied, and never pulled
loose, and never went oil? of her own notion.
She was stole.”

“Are you sure of that? How 'do you know
it?"

“It’s as plain as printin’ is to them as kin
read. You the mar’s tracks all about the
glade. She was shod, all four feet, shoes mighty
well worn, too. It’s eas enough to tell her
track. But yer’s the true of another boss, and
he warn‘t shod, and thar’s a big chip outen his
nigh forefoot. Right yer by the bush is a
man’s track, too, and it ain’t yours nor mine.
He at d0wn and ontied the halter—see that
tree whar the heel is deep. Thar's whar he

01: onto his critter ag’in—see that track whar
§he ball 0’ the foot is so plain. Come along,
now, and I’ll show yer whar he rode off, leadin’
your mar’.”

George examined the tracks careful] , and it
was clear to him that the squatter had escribed
ihe exact state of aflairs. '

“ It was arter the middle of the night when
he tuck the mar’," remarked Joe.

“ How do you know that?”

“Thar was a ri ht smart shower about the
middle of the nig t, and the tracks that lead
away was made arter the shower. That’s sim~
ple enough."

“Who stole the mare, then? Do you know
that?”

“ I mought give a guess. Anyhow, I reckon I
inth show you whar she was tuck to.”

“ ill ‘ou do that, Joe? If you will, I will
pay on or your trouble.”

_“ don’t want no pay from you, Jawge. I
did you dirt awhile ago and ort to try to be a
leetle helpful to you. 1‘11 foller the trail. but I
don’t bargain fur fightin’, ’cause this shoulder o’
mine ain’t fit to ho d a gun ag’inst. You had
better go to the house and git your rifle.”

“ Why so?"

“ ’Cause it stands to reason that of you find
the teller who stole the mar’, he won’t be keen
to 've her up."

rge went and got his rifle, and told his
mother that Molly had got loose and strayed
away, and he was going to hunt her.

Joe Scurl took up the trail at the glade and
followed it without the least difficulty. Indeed,
he scarcely looked at the ground he was passing
over, and seemed to be so certain of his course
that George suggested that he must know where
the trail would lead them I70.” '

“ I’ve a notion that I do,” replied Joe. “ Any-
how, I know the horse with a chip catch his
nigh fore-foot. Somebody must he. thought he
could impose outer you ’cause you're a new-
comer.” .

George asked_no more questions, but made
sure that his rifle was in good order, and fol-
lowed the_squatter until they came in sight of a
small cabin in‘_the midst of the forest, there
being no clearing around it worthy of the

name. .

"That’s the place, Jawge,” said Joe Scurl.
“ Yer’s the mar’s tracks, and yer's t‘other crit~
ter’s, both plain as rint."

Yes, they were p ain enough, and they led di-y

root to the cabin.

“ Who lives there?” asked George.

“ Tom Mabry kinder lives thar. Leastways,
that's his home; but I reckon he don’t stay thar
much, as he hain’t got no People. Jest ou
wagt yer a bit, Jawge, while go and see if 0’s
in. '

The squatter stealthily approached the cabin
and looked through a chink in the log wall.
Then he returned to George, shaking his head.

“Thar ain’t nobody thar,” he said. “ Tom
Mabry’s gone, and the mar-’s gone.”

“But they will come back some time,” mg.
gated George.

“ That’s likely. Wot air you gwine to do,
young feller l” .

“I am oing to get inSide of that house and
wait anti? the thief comes back with my horse "

“ Dumed of that don't beat me. Mv old w

\ man allers said that I was the biggest fool in the

settlement, knit I reckon you hold the age on
me. r'Why, man alive. Tom Mabry is a desprit
cuss, and thar’s sure to be a skrimmage if you
buck ag‘inst him.” I ,
“ Therewill be a skriminage if he don’lfgive
up In mare," stontly re led Georg:
“ along, then. I ’t fltfin’ mix up in
a fight, and will lay around or in theiwoods.”
hastened to w cuss There was
him. and he wn‘ked

.J.

4

 

in, as the door bad no lock or bolt. He saw be-
fore him a tumbled bed a cold fireplace and a

» general appearance of discomfort. On the left

side as he entered was a small window, closed
with a wooden shutter.

He pushed o n the shutter and stationed him-
self at the lit 6 window, where he could watch

for the horse-thief and the horse.

He had a long time to wait, and found the
task a very tedious one. He had no doubt that
Joe Scurl had got tired and gone home. But he
was kept up by an intense desire to recover his
mare, and y his wrath at the man who had
stolen her. His temper did not improve while
he was impatiently waitin at the window.

At last he was rewarded by the sound of a
horse’s footsteps, and he saw a man riding to-
ward the cabin throu the forest. The man
was dark, roughly essed, with a rascally
cast of countenance, and carried a rifle. The
horse he recognized at once as his own mare,
Molly. .

When the rider, who was of course Tom Ma-
bry, had come within easy range—that is to
say, within a couple of rods of the cabin—
George cocked his rifle, shoved the muzzle out
of the window, and hailed:

“Hello. there!” ,

Tom Mabry halted, and made a motion to
raise his rifle.

“ Don’t try to pull your gun,” warned George.
“ I’ve got you covered, an if you make a move
you’re a dead man. All you’ve got to do is to
get ofl? that mare, leave her where she is, and
go away."

' “Who are you, anyhow?” asked Mabry.

“I’m George Denston, and I own that mare
which you borrowed last ni ht. Get off, now,
and clear out. I am tired o waiting here, and
would rather shoot than talk. Get off on the
ri ht side, and be quick about it 1"

here was nothing else for the horse—thief
to do, and he hesitated no longer, but quietly
slid off the mare, turned his back upon the
cabin, and walked away, with his rifle under
his arm.

George chirruped to Molly, who pricked up
her ears as she recognized the familiar note.

But Tom Mabry, though he walked away
peaceably enough, went no further than the
nearest big tree, behind which he dodged, and
waited for a chance to get a shot at the young
fellow who had so unceremoniously deprived
him of his stolen property.

George perceived that he had made a mis-
take. He should have forced Mabry to lay
down his rifle when he loft the mare. Instead
of hunting a horse-thief, he found himself hunt-
ed by a horse-thief.

However he believed that he knew how to
get out of the scrape. '

He ‘chirruped to Molly again from the win‘
dew, and stepped to the back door and called
her. She knew the tone and the voice, and
came to him at once. They were thenscreened
by the corner of the‘house‘ from the tree behind
which Tom Mabry was stationed.

George umped on the mare’s back at once,
gave her t 6 word to go, and started her of! at
a gallo , keeping the cabin between him and
Mabry 5 tree.

That individual saw the maneuver, changed
his position quickly and sent an ineffective
bullet after the youth who had so neatly out-
witted him. '

When George had got safely away into the
woods, Joe Scurl turned up in his track, with as
much of a smile on his face as his usually rueful
countenance could produce.

“That was acute trick, Jaw e,” said he, “ a
mighty cute trick. I wouldn’t a’ then ht you
could a’ done it, and you couldn’t of t 6 mar’
hadn’t knowed you so well. I’m keen to bet
that Tom Mabrv is the maddest map just now
this side of the Mississippi.”

“All ri ht, Jo ," sai George. “I’ve gdt my
mare, an that‘s what I came for. Get on be‘
bind, and we‘ll 0 home.” .

Geoagge went cine, and told his mother that
be h found Molly, but said nothing of the
theft or of the means by which he had re—
covered her. He had already learned that it
would be better not to worry his anxious mo-
ther with all the dimculties and dangers that
beset him in that new country. _

But he mentioned the matter toAbe Lassiter,
to whom be related his adventure. LaSSltel‘
frowned at first, and ended by laugh‘ 5: .
he‘tDOn’t say anything about it at 1,” said
a drunken agree. I reckon . on have
him so mac that he won’t hi aptwto bother you
 be glad enough to dropi , if

,.i,,.‘

   

“Lot it go‘asa joke of TomMabry's, or.

 

 

George Denstou took his friend‘s advice, and
when he met Tom Mabry. at a log-rolling, not
long. after the theft of his horse, the two were
as respectful to each other as if there had never
been an sort of a collision between them.

. x

But t e exploits of the {oung settler somehow , <

got talked about and be me known in that
region by the title of Wide—awake George.

CHAPTER III.
THE PLAGUE 0F SNAKES.

THE house that George Denslou had erected
for his family was built of rough logs. On the
outside they were left as nature produced them.
and on the inside they were merely "soalped"
to give the walls a little neater appearance. 1

It was of course intended to be “ chinked and
daubed,” the “ chinking” being done by driv-
ingbits of rough wood into the crevices be-
tween the logs, and the “daubing” by cover»
ing the chinks with a coating of mud, thus.
keeping out the wind and rain. But George
had so many more important tasks to do that
he was compelled to neglect this work, and the
weather was so mild that there was no u ‘
for hurry. Consequently he had only done a V
little “chinking”at spare moments when the
summer was well advanced.

Mrs. Denston and Lucy slept downstairs in
the main room, and George and Ben banked in
the loft, which was reached by a ladder.

Against the wall of the main room, near the
door, George had fixed a small shelf, on which
Was placed the pull that held drinking-water.

Mrs. Denston, who ’was usually wakeful, .
twice complained to her son that she had been
annoyed at night by a peculiar sound, as of
something lap ing in the water at the pail.

On the thir occasion sbe' awoke Lucy, who
was fri htened byewbat she heard. The noise I
trouble them, cause they could not guels
what it was that made it. ”

 

1

George determined to investigate the  ‘i .

His mother made a pallet or him on the
floor, and he laid down there to sleep, with a.
pistol and a knife within reach.

About the middle of the night Mrs. Deuston‘s
Eon:i voice awakened him, and he raised his

ea . , ’

He distinctly heard a sound like that ,, of la
plug in the direction of the water»pail; but t
was sucha slight and peculiar nOise that he.»
could not guess what caused it. .

He quickly lighted a candle, and looked at
the water- ail; but nothing was to be seen

4

there, and e a ain laid, down to sleep. ' .

After awhile e was awakened by the numb—
ness of his left arm, which was 111mg outside
of the cover, and which suddenly ame cold
and painful.

At once be guessed that the limb had been on-
circledb a serpent, and, after the first invol-
untarys udder be pre ared to do battle with
the intruder. fie right y jud ed that the rep-
tile, bein a constrictor, cou d not be a ven-l
omous sna e.

“What is the matter, George?” asked Mrs.
Denston, as he lighted a candle while the ser—
pent tightened its folds about his arm. ‘.

“Lie down, mother,” he replied. “There is
no danger. I will tell you about it presently."

He grasped his bowie knife, sat up on his pal-
let. and looked at the unwelcome Visitor.

The sight was enough to shock him, if .not to
f ' hten him. , ~ '

enormous black snake was coiled about
his arm, and the pressure of its folds was every
moment becomifimore inful.

He quickl in rted is knife between his
skin and the of the reptile, drew its sharp edge
upward with a stron and rapid stroke, and ,
cut the suake‘in two. he parts loosened them- ’
selves, and fell, writhing, u n the floor. ' ,.

Mrs. Deuston raised herse f up in her bed,and ‘
shrieked with terror as she saw the severed
monster. Lucy was spared a similar infliction
and George threw his vanquished enemy out 
doors, where be measured it in the morning. ; '

It was over six feet in length, and quite as
large around as his arm. ,

‘ That must hdve been the horrid snake that
lapped in our water-pail," said Mrs. Denston.

‘ It was. that or another one,” replied Georoe. '
“But you shall not be troubled by them any
more—at least, not in that way.” ,_

He dro pod all his other emplo meats until
he ‘hadt 9 house “chink A ” so ghtly that it '
would at least keep out the snakes. ‘

But the death 0 the b black snake, and the
protection‘of the house, id not settle the snake

A‘creek, which was, called shiver, ran? 
h the Demon‘s:an of land, and or I.

the right bank of: '  was a rocky bluff,

\ , ,gv.

 

 

a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
   
  

.\,‘-\.  h v:

. x ‘

WidéAweke George, the 305; Pioneer:

 

 

One day in the latter part of summer, Lucy

. . had us alone to look for berries, and she

’ r on this blufl' to rest and to admire the

F ’ scenery. As she was about to seat herself on a

stone, she was startled by a sharp and loud rat«

, tle near her. Looking quickl around, she saw

/ l a lar e rattlesnake in his coi , ready to spring.

. ’ ' She 8 ed up, and ran home as fast as her feet

" would carry her. She was warned to keep

' ‘ away from the bluff, but did not need the

'. warning, as she vowed that nothing would in-
duce her to go within sight of it again.

A little later Ben was in the region of the
bluff, and came home with a terrible story. He
had looked down a crevice or break in the lime-
stone, the bottom of which, according to his

, account,‘was literally swarming with rattle-
' » snakes.
" ’\ ‘ This was a‘serious matter. The existence of
. such a den of venomous serpents, at no great
3'" v distance from the house, was something that
7 ' must be prevented if possible, and George con-
sulted his unfailin oracle, Abe Lassiter.

“ I don’t doubt it at all,” remarked Lassiter,
when he had heard Ben Denston’s story. “ That
blufl was always a great snake harbor, and it is
as like] as not that they are more plenty than
ever this season. We must do what we can to—

_ ward cleaning them out.”
w , “ What can we dot?” asked George. .
1 s . . “Get Joe Scurl to help, if you can, and I

“v reckon you can, as he is death on snakes. Then
- , we will go up there in the morning, and I will
show _ on.”

Joe url was read enough to aid in the ex—
termination of a l e of snakes. The next
, ~morning he and orge and Abe Lassiter,

f , armed with axes and ash sticks, went to the
:  blufl, taking Ben along toshow them the den he

’ had discovered.

v There they found a cleft in the li': estone,

’ some twenty feet deep, and not over six feet

wide at the top, the bottom of which, as well as
they could see by looking over the edge, was
alive with serpents. George Denston, after

iving one glance at the reptiles, was not aux-

' ' ions to make a closer inspection: but Joe Scurl

‘ peered into the cavity, and eagerly examined
,the writhing reptiles.
_ ‘ “They’s lots 0’ snakes thar,” he announced—
’ ‘. .p’ison, and-them as ain’t p’ison—mighty nigh
all kinds, ’cept the Water-moccasin—but most
0’ fem is apt to be rattlers. It’ll be a good job
_ to clean out that den.”
The job was begun by laying rollers on the
flat rock near the crevme. Logs were placed

‘ \ on the rollers, and on them was built a. rude

crib, long and narrow. The crib was filled with

dry leaves, brush, and fragments of dead bran-
ches and chunks of dr and green wood were

piled over all. Then t 9 mass was set on fire,
:and soon the crib was blazing with the heat of a
° b' furnace.

' hen the fire was at its hottest, and the mass
was thoroughly ignited, it was shoved forward
on the rollers, and ushed over into the rocky
hollow, where it is] to the bottom with a crash,
.dsending up acloudof smoke and sparks and cin—

ers.

Even above the crackling of the burning

' wood could be heard the hissing of the madden-
‘ed reptiles, as the writhed and rattled in their
eflorts to escape t e flery death.

Joe Scurl looked down into the hollow, and
declared that he could see “whole oodles” of

_ them, tangled in hideous masses, biting each
other. ruehin wildly about, or flinging them-
selves into a flames. The crib had broken
into fragments, but the mass was burning
fiercely at the bottom of the hollow.

“ Look out, now I“ exclaimed the squatter, as
hedrew back and seized his ash stick. “ Them
as kin git out will be crawlin’ up yer, and we
Efisftgp for ’em. Whenever you see a snake,

, EIe longed to the other side of the crevice,
1:13:in beLassiter and George Denston on
. 5 a ’ 0- '
' ’ , George turned le, but grasped his stick
firml . He had a orror of snakes, but his first
sbud or at the 3! ht of one was always followed
’ by an in use esire to kill it. He knew that
the ,rattl nukes, at least, were not likely to he
f dangerous unless they could throw themselves
into coil, and he had been taught that ash sticks
were a protection to those who held them.
. The work began in earnest. To Joe Sour], it
seemed to be fun,- though to George it was the
severest task he had yet undertaken. The

 

     

e

 

 

. J

   
 
 
 
 
 
    
  

f“ , the rocks, and incessant activi was required
for. killing them as they apps .
Joe Scurl danced about likes wild] man,

econ snakes be u to crawl 11 over the ed
01 giggoflow andgzut .of holes Idud cracks 

 

striking r' ht and left with the greatest ve-
locity, an accom nying the exercise with
gellsand whoops. assiter and George settled
own to business seriously and earnestl , and
the rocks resounded with the blows 0 their
stout sticks as they struck at all the snakes they
saw. I ,

When there were no more snakes to be seen,
and they rested from their labor, the young
man was covered with perspiration, and was
trembling with excitement.

“ Why, J awge,” said Joe Scurl, “ I do believe
you’re skeerd.’

“ So I am,” admitted George. “ I have been
scared all through this job, and am not ashamed
to say so. I am glad it is over. "

The rock was covered with the bodies of
ser ents, big and little, poisonous and harmless,
an even in death they were'a hideous sight.

The dead reptiles were shoved over into the
hollow, and more brush and logs were thrown
upon the mass, to make a fire that would burn
for several hours.

“ I am as glad as George is that the job is
over,” said Abe Lassiter; “ but it was well
done, and that is a comfort. We will have to
give that hole another dose in the spring, and if
wile lice}; it up the varmints will be apt to take
t e in .

 

CHAPTER IV.
TROUBLE BREWING AND BEGINNING.

A pretty girl in a new settlement is always
sure to become a bone of contention.

Lucy Denston, who was decidedly a,pretty
girl, was no exce tion to the rule. Her good
looks and her brig t and winning ways speedily
became known to the young fellows for many
miles around. and much of the popularity whic
the Denston family acquired in the neighbor-
hood was due to Luc ’s attractions.

Geor e was not on proud of his handsome
sister, at immense y fond of her, and he
guarded her with a jealousy which ave all

eople to understand that there was to e “ no

ooling ” in that uarter.

Lucy received invitations to everything in
the shape of an entertainment or a social
gathering that the neighborhood afl’orded, and
George was also liberally invited, for his own
sake, as well as on her account: but he found
his work so constant and so laborious during his"
first season on the new place, that he needed all
his spare time for rest, and Lucy was not willing
go go anywhere unless George could accompany

er

Late in the fall however, when the small
cro that be had been able to raise were
gat ered and his work was not so pressing, he
began to find'more time to spare. As he was
then the owner of two horses, he felt that he
could give his sister an occasional treat, such as
would help to console her for her seclusion and
privations.

Among the entertainments to which they
were invited was a bran dance at the place of a
neighbor, who lived several miles away, and
this was attended by George and Lucy, she
riding his mare Moll , and be mounted on the
big sorrel horse whic he had lately bought.

The time of the full moon had been chosen for
the festivity, as this was to be a moonlight
bran dance, and of course it was out of doors,
no room that the settlement afforded being
large enough to hold the guests, to say nothing
of “giving them space for the exercise of their
a 1' .

gA g’ircular lace under the trees had been
cleared of bus es and roots, and the earth was
beaten down and covered thickly with bran.
Some rude “puncheon” seats were prefpared,
and these com leted the arrangements or the
bran dance, wi h the exce tion of the refresh-
ments, which were served a the house.

The girls were attired in their brightest calico
dresses, with here and there a bit of lawn as a
mark of superior pretensions. The young men,
mostly tall and brawny fellows; were sumptu-
ously arrayed in their best home un, with
here and therea. white collar or a “ ’1 ed shirt.”
Many of them brought'their rifles, and those
who did not have rifles might be reasonably sus-
pected of carrying pistols or knives upon their

persons. , .

Man of them, also, were armed with wea—
pons 0 another sort, destructive after another
ashion. That is to so , they brought bottles
of fiery whisky which t e took the precaution
of concealing, before the ancing began, at the
roots of trees, under logs, and in wood piles, all
about the place. At every intermisaion of’ the
festivities they could be seen strolling about in
search ofthe hidden bottles, and privately
refreshing themselves in scent places. , -

m", /., I \»

 

The most noticeable of‘ those who strolled
about in search of. concealed whisky was Babe
Welburn. This young man, who had been

christened David, b‘ut retained the name by .

which he was known in his childhood, was the
eldest son of wraparatively wealthy arents,
who had'emigrat from Tennessee. His father

was the owner of half a dozen “ nigger-s,” which .,

secured for the family no little respect in a new
country where that sort of property was scarce.
Babe had been pettcd and humored and allowed
to do as he pleased and the consequence is as
that be pleased to do pretty badly, presuming
upon his size and strength, as well as his father‘s
standing in the settlement. He had become
known as a “hard case ” to such an extent that
the daughters of the settlers were afraid of him,
althoug his property expectations caused him
to be considered as a “good catch."

Babe Welburn had loaded himself pretty
liberally with whisky on his way to the bran
dance, and during its progress e frequently
resorted to a woodpile in which he had cou-
cealed a bottle of no small dimensions. The
consequence was that he swaggered about with

more than his usual bluster, and that his \

manger toward the girls was more familiar than
po 1 .

Lucy Denston took his eye early in the even-i
ing and he asked her to dance with him. She
had heard of him, and saw no reason to admire
him. but did not wish to seem “ oilish,” and
consented.

In the course of that dance his breath and hisL

rudeness were both offensive to her, and his
subsequent ap lications met with a polite but
degéied regusal). f b

an t e compan gave si s o reaking
up, Lucy summoned George to er side.

“ I am afraid,” she said, “that that drunken
fellow, Babe Welburn, will want to go home
with me.”

“But you don’t have to acce t his compan
unless you want to,” replied orge, “and
hope you. don’t want to.”

“ But I am afraid he will make a fuss.”

“ I don’t see how he can help himself, Lucy.

and the best thing he can do is to behave him—,

self. I will see that he shall not trouble you.”

“I hope you will not make him angry,
George. They tell me that he is a dangerous
man. ’ »

"He may be dangerous to himself, but he
had better not try to be dangerous to me, and
he shall not bother a sister of mine. I despise
the brute.”

As Lucy anticipated. Babe Welburn came
and asked her if he might be allowed to see her
home, and he made his offer in such a matter—
of-course style, as if he could not possibly re—
ceive no for an answer, that it was quitedis
agreeable to her. V

She briefly replied that she was going home
with her brother. ‘

“ That’s no way to talk,” said he. “ Brothers
don’t count. You are the only girl here that
I’ve taken‘ any notice of, and my head is set
on seeing you home. I can’t allow you to
say no.” ,

‘ But on will have to, Mr. Welburn,” firmly
replied ucy. “I came with my brother, and
am going with him.”

“ hat won’t do at all, I tell you. My head is
set on this thing.” '

George had been watching his sister, and was
near enough to catch the meaning of this con-
versation. He came to her as soon as he saw
the look of dis leasure on her face.

“My sister is much obliged to you for your
kindness, Mr. Welburn,”sa1d he; “ but she can-
not acce t your offer. She came here with me,
and re ers to go home with me”, ‘

“ this your mix, then?” asked the young’
man with an insolent sneer.

“Well, yes, it is,” mildly replied George.

“ I will see about that.”

Babe Welburn gave Lucy’s champion ablack ~.

look, and walked away.

Luc , who feared is ugly look, suggested
that t ey should try to slip 06 without being
obserVed; but George, who was alwa s in favor
of doing everything openly, said tba he would
go and get their horses, and they would ride
away as they came.

As he went to at the horses, he met a young
friend, who ask
to Babe Welburn.

“ Nothing that he has a right to object to,”
re lied Geo e. I l

. ‘I heard' im cursing you ust now. You
had bptter look out for him. a is a dangerous

-“Iamalittled e myself an...
pushedtoofar,”  ’ = a _

 

him what he ‘had been doing ‘

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its. Gorge. the Boy Pioneer. ~ ' 5'

 

Near the horses he met Babe Welbum, who

approached him with threatening looks.
I say, Denston,” said that young man,

“how about that business of your sister?”

“ What business!” demanded George.

“I want to know wh it is that she don't
want me to go home wit her. "

“ Simply because she prefers to go home as
she, came, and I believe she has a right to do

“I believe it is you who have put her up to
have a spite against me.”

“You are mistaken, Mr. Welburn, and I am
sure that she has no s ite against you."

“I want you to tel her, then, that she must

“ let me see her home to-night.”

“ Ishall do nothing of the kind, and it is a
waste of words to talk about it any more.”

Welburn flew into a passion, and began to
storm and curse.-

“Do you want to pick a quarrel with me?”
asked George.

_ “ If I should young chap, you would know
it mighty quick, and you would get hurt. I
carr a pistol, and am not afraid to shoot.”

“ ndeed !” exclaimed George, in a vmce that
was full of scorn. “ Would you really dare to
shoot at an unarmed man! What a high degree
of courage that must require! 1 tell you, Babe
Welburu, there is no greater coward than the
man who depends upon a pistol for settling his
quarrels, an I warn you that if you want to
shoot at me, you had better watch your chance.
and take aim when my back is turned to _ ou.”

Gear e got his horses, mounted with ucy,
and r 9 home.

They were not molested on the We ; but he
felt that he had gained a foe in Babe elburn.

CHAPTER V.
A B E A R - H U N 'r .

AS Christmas drew near, Gear 6 Denston was
antici ating the slaughterin of is hogs.

He ad flve fine porkers w ich he was fatten-
ing for that purpose, in a small space that he
had fenced in for them, at a little distance from
the house. .Near this inclosure he had built a
pen, in which he kept several pigs.

One night he was awakened by the squealing
of the hogs, and hastened out to see what was
the matter with them. Finding nothing to jus-
tify their complaints, he went back to bed.

Again he was aroused by a similar racket,
and agin he went out to the inclosure. The
fatten g hogs were awake and uneasy, but
were all there. ,

Looking further for the cause of the‘ dis-
turbance, he discovered that two of his pigs
were missin . -

As the rug t was so dark that nothing could
be'done tode the detection or pursuit of the
thief. he guarded the inclosure until morning.

Then he Examined the pen, and discovered the
Scratches and tracks of some lar e animal. As
he was unable to jud e what kin of a beast it

 

v was that had been re hing him, he mounted his

horse, and rode over to Abe Lassiter’s to consult
the oracle. '

Lassiter, who was alwa s obliging to his
young friend, rode over of inspected the pig-
pen and the ground near it, and soon came to a
conclusion concerning the depredator.

“ It was a blur,” said he.

“ A bear?” exclaimed George.

“ Nothing shorter, and it’s strange, too. I
haven’t seen a hear about here—that is, near
about—in two or three years. Here's the crit-
ter’s tracks, plain as print, and there’s no mis—’
taking those scratches on the logs. Here’s bits
or fur WIPE about. too. The cuss has got two
of your nice pigs, and he won’t be satisfied now
until he carries oh! the whole batch.”

“What can I do about it?” asked George who
could not reconcile himself to the thought of
lofilnvflrh‘s Pfib ld ' I ass

emig ui atra “re ‘ -

“ How is that done?” I), phed lter'

“ W_e mlzht dig a deep hole at the side of the
.pen, Sink some sharpfpomted stakes in the bot.-
tom, and cover it ightly, so that the crmur
would tumble in and hurt himself. Or we
might swing a log so that it would fall on him
an break his back. But it would be a sight of
trouble to build a trap, and it might ketch some
human."

“But I must do something,” George insisted.

“Of course you must, and I think. on the
whole, that the best thing we can do is to track
the b’ar and kill him. I would be mlghtyglad
to get hold of some b’ar-meat, anyhow.”

“ How can we find him‘l"

“Mydogswilltrail him fast enou bread I
reckon we two ought to .be able to 1:11 Go

I one set your fine. George” '

it“ 1‘ . \' *" » 3/

 

George went for his rifle telling his mother
that he was goin to hunt, but saying nothing
about a bear. e also took the precaution to
put in his pockets 9. pair of den-inger pistols—
single barrels, and carrying a heavy bullet-—
decidedly a deadly weapon at close range.

Abe Lassiter got his dogs, and put them on
the trail of the bear. They were animals of no
particular breed, or of a large mixture of

reeds, but were, as he said, “ heavy coon—dogs,”
and he had no doubt of their ability and will-
inguess to find the bear, though they could not
be depended on fora fight.

The dogs, Brash an Bose, took up the trail
in fine style, and followed it through the woods
at a rapid rate.

It led them direct to the river and they fol-
lowed it down a gorge until they reached the
foot of the bluff at the top of which the war
had been waged against the snakes. Finally
they stopped at a hole in the rock, and barked
vigorous y.

“This is the place," said Lassiter. “The
critter has his den in there, sure; but it must be
a late thing, or we would have heard of him be—
fore now.”

He tried to induce the dogs to enter the hole,
and Brash finally disappeared inside; but he
soon came out with his tail between his legs,
‘whining, and showing strong symptoms of
ear. ‘ .

“The b’ar is at home, and he don’t want to
be disturbed after his breakfast," said Abe. “I
don’t see, George, but we will have to go in and
see what we can do with our rifles, as those
do 3 would never fetch him out.”

eorge expressed a willingness to go in.

“I wonder if there’s more than one of them
in there,” remarked Abe. “ I am powerful
fond of b’ar—meat, and the critters must be fat
now; but I really wouldn’t care to tackle two
of them in that hole.”

The mouth of the den was a cleft in the rock,
in which two men could easfly walk upright for
a little distance; but at the far end was a low
and dark hole, which could only be entered in a
kneeling or stooping posture.

The two hunters examined their rifles care—
flillly, cocked them, and walked abreast into the
c eft.

When they reached the hole, they halted,
kneeled down, and eered into the darkness.

As their eyes ame accustomed to the
gloom they could see a black object, like a

eavier chunk of darkness, lying down at the

extremity of the hole. They could also catch

the twinkle of a pair of small but bright eyes.

“ Looks to me as if he is lying down, with his
nose on his fore paws, like a dog,” whispered
Lassiter. “Anyhow, he is lying down, with
his face toward us.”

G“ We can hit him easily enough,” remarked
eor e. ‘

“ es, and I wish we could be as sure of kill-
in him. We must run our chances, though.
Tafize a good» aim at one of those eyes, George,
and give him a blizzard. My shot will follow
yours.”

George took a careful aim, though he was a
little nervous. as he had never hunted such
game before, and pulled the trigger of his rifle.

Abe Lassiter pu led the next instant, and the
reports of the two guns sounded like thunder in
that narrow place, and filled the hole with
smoke.

A deep growl told the hunters that the bear
had been aroused, and that they had not yet
killed him. 7

More growls followed, and they could see the
black mass rise and move toward them.

“ Run, George 1" exclaimed Abe, and he
turned and ran out of the mouth of the den.

George started to follow him, but had taken
only two or three steps, when he turned and
faced the dark hole.

The bear rushed out from his hiding-place,
gaming speed as he advanced, and had cleared
the hole and neari reached George when the
young fellow turn and faced him. .

Within a few feet of his foe he raised himself
on his hind feet for a death-hug. ,

George, who was standing before him in
nearly an erect osition, felt the hot breath of
the great beast b own in his face.

He also saw that there was blood in the bear’s
mouth, and that one of his fore paws was hang-
HIE. dovm, limp and useless.

.he boy was pale, but resolute. .He had
quickl drawn and cocked his two derringers.

As t. e bear rose on his hind feet he presen ed
110% pistols, reaching them forward” until they
nearly touched the fur, and fired them With one
regatta“; the hairy breast. ‘ _.

he bear tattered, toppled over on the slop-

. ‘i,  f.

,\,i' ;» ,r,  “as,

 

ing and slip rock, and tell toward the hole
from which ma just emerged.

George sunk upon one lanes, but neither ad—
vanced nor retreated

Abe Lassiter had just turned the rock at the
mouth of the den, and had halted there to low

his rifle, supposing that he was of course fol',

lowed by his young friend. , -

Hearing the double report of the derringers,
he hastily rammed down a bullet and stepped
back into the cleft. .

Before him he saw George Denston, kneeling
on the rock, and just beyond him was the bear,
struggling in the agonies of death.

“ y God!” exclaimed Lassiter, as began to
his young friend. “ What’s this; Are ' you
hurt?” . .

“ Not a bit,” replied George.

“ And you have killed the bear! How did you

do it?"
George showed his two derringers. .
“And you staid here and shot him With those

when I ran away. I never heard the beat of it. a 1

Why, boy, it was almost certain death for you
to stop here.” . ,

“It was death to the bear ” remarked George.

“How could you do it? I thought you were
running out with me. I told you to run. Why
didn’t you do it!” v' _

“Now you are going to expose me,” said
George, very meekly. “ I was willing enough
to run, and started to run, but couldn’t t any
further than this. My right footcaug t in}:
hole in the rock, and it is in there now so solid
that I can’t stir it.”

Abe Lessiter hastened to relieve his young
friend, but was compelled to break the rock be—
fore he could extricate the foot.

“Anyhow,” said be, “it was a big thin to
stand up to your work and send two b ets
into that critlur when he was right on u. It

shows that you’ve got the best kindo nerve,‘

and that those derringers of ours are worth a
pile in a close scrimmage. ou sha’n’t lose any
of the credit of this because you happened to
get [your foot caught.” .

T ey hauled out the beast, and found it to
be a large he—bear, and as fat, so Abe said, as
butter.

Lassiter proceeded to skin this royal me,
while George hastened to the house for a orse.

They divided the meat, and the skin was left
to him who had killed the bear, as a well‘
deserved trophy. George confemed that he had
gained in bear-meat enough to pay him for the
loss of his igs. ,

When A Lassiter told the story of this
bear—hunt, he did not fail to give his young
friend plenty of credit, but omitted to make
any mention of the accident that had prevented
him from retreating. - _

So another big exploit was scored to the
credit of “Wide—awake George.” I A

 

CHAPTER VI.
TROUBLE AT A LOG~ROLLING. .

DURING the winter Lucy Denston accom-
panied her brother to several neighborhood th~
erings, but did not happen to meet Babe el-
burn at any of them.

She heard, however, from various sources,
that the young aristocrat of the backwoods was
“ half-crazy about her.” He was drinking
harder than ever, and had been heard toda-
clare that he meant to have Lucy Denston for
his wife, and that no power on earth should
hinder him.

When Lucy heard this she trembled with
fear, and George frowned as he wondered what
measures the desperate and unprincipled young
man would take to secure his object.

Luc refused to attend any more gather-in '
and id not see her strau suitor again an
near the end of winter, w en he made her a
visit as unwelcome as it was unexpected. ,

On this occasion he rode his finest horse, was
dressed “ to the nines,” and was, for a wonder,
entirely sober. It was evidently his intention
to makes good impression.

The impression
family was that his visit must mean something.
and it did.

A man had lately come into the neighborhood

and started'a singing-school, and Babe Weibin-n, '

wished Lucy to attend it in his company.

She made her excuses as well as she could, al-
leging her household duties and her mother’s
feeble health; but these did not satisfy him,

and finally she said that she did not goany- 

where except with her brother, and could not
make him an exception to the rule. .

“ That is only a pretense," angrily exclaimed
‘y'i « " . I. . It:

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Welburn. “ know that you went withlLon
Brewer to Hugh Graik’s waddin .” ,
Then Lucy’s spirit rose, an she flatly de-

, dared that she would not go anywhere with

Babe Welburn under any circumstances. I

This remark, and the tone of decision that ac-
‘oom nied it, settled the guestion, and he left
the cues downcast and in ignant. »

Geor e Denston went with him to the fence
where Ellis horse was hitched, and came in {or
thewriath which he had refrained from visiting

uc . i -

“ I woiild like to know, Denston,” said he,
“ why it is that your sister has got a spite
against me.”

“ I am sure that my sister has no spite against

you or any other person,” mildly replied George. '

, “ Wh is it, then, that she won’t go with me
to the singing-school or anywhere else?”
“ She has given you her reasons, and that
ought to be suflicient to satisf a gentleman.”
‘ Do you mean to hint that am not a gentle-

} 3 man? You had better take care what you say.
‘I’ve got a grudge against you, anyhow, as I be-
, lieve that you are at the bottom of this busi<

' noes."

“ You may believe what you- please, Mr. Babe

V ,Welhurn, but I can tell you that, until you

drink less whisky and learn better manners, a
girl who respects herself will have a good enough
reason for refusing to go anywhere with you. ’
“ That’s your notion, is it? ,Well, I can get
along without learning anything that an Indiana
.scrub can teach me. Perhaps you do not know
that I am doing your folks an honor in coming

- to this house.”

i . Pr
- _ u:
f  generally in the squad to which George

I 
sticks for the par
1 <£our was George
 ward end, and his‘partner at the stick was Babe
Welburn.,

_" I we will~all have to
. get hurt” '

‘f  steep, and was muddy and slipper .‘ As
1* Y

i
“ I would never have thou ht of looking at it
in that light,” coolly replied eorge. '
“ I’ve a great mind to give you a good thrash-

But

 ing, to teach you better sense."

"Perhaps you mi ht make a miss of it.

if you think that t rushing her brother is the

best way to court a 'rl, just itch in.”
' Babe Wewurn di not itc in, but sullenly
mounted his horse and r0 6 away.

In the spring George Denston had a logsroll-

in .

Ilv'Vith the help of Ben he had cleared and
fenced uite a iece of ground during the win-
ter, an' be ca led upon the neighbors to help
him pile the logs together, so that they could fie

t e

L i burned, thus completing the clearing of

ground. There was not much “ rolling ” about
t, as the logs were mostly carried by squads of
men upon lengths of sapling, called ‘ sticks," to

I the place where they were to be piled.
 I The neighbors turned out in goodly numbers,
- and among them, to the surprise of everybody,

came Bebe Welburn, who was usually too much
opposed to work tolbear a hand at house-raising
and log-rolling. '

On this occasion, though he did not 0 to the

, house to partake of the refreshments t at were

cgrod for the company, he proved himself
' active and efficient, working with 'a will,

Denston was attached.
George ad as little as possible to say to him,

 treating h to merely with politeness, while Wel-
. g burn seemed
noticed

tobe ver friendly; but/the former
that he made requeut visits to the flask
that he had brou ht in his coat ocket. and oc-
casionally notice a dangerous 3- cam in his eye
that tokened ipossible trouble.

. The uble d d not come until the day was

V nearly ended, and then it came in a way that

(3001‘ 9 could not havs anticipated. ,
‘ A 3mm: and heavy leg was to be carried to a
and four young men had rolled it onto their
e of lifting it. One or these
enston, who was at the for-

George saw that the log would have to be

carried for a part of the distance along a side

£111, and proposed that they should get more
I 1 i

‘ Nonsense!” exclaimed Babe. Welburn.

' “We can carry the log easy enough, if you are

any account,”
. “I can carry in end " said George: “but

ift alike, or somebody may

The four bent tothe work and lifted the lo .
It was quite a strain to George; but he fat

I. equal to the task when he got “straightened

u . ' .
pThe side hill along which the log was to he
carried wasa shor and narrow one, but was

e was on the lower side, his wor was

difil t, andhe was obligedxt’o move

' don
slow and ca toll turkee hisfootin . ' .
_‘ » Wkly, when tiny ha reached 1: e worst

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part of the route, Babe Welhurn canted his stick
up, throwing the weight of the log upon his
staggering artner.

George a once guessed that the object of this
trick was to force him to loose his hold and
drop his stick, so that the log might fell upon
him and crush him or seriously lDJUI'e him. ,

At the same moment his foot slipped.

But he set his teeth, riped the stick tighter
than ever, and regaine his footing.

“Jump out, Tomi” he said to the man be-
hind him, who had a much better chance to get
out of the way of the log than he had.

Then he dropped his stick, and sprung for-
ward.

The falling lo grazed his feet, and he fell
over into the mu , but out of the reach of dam

er, while the leg Went crashing down to the
Igoot of the descent.

He picked himself up and walked to the top
of the slope, where his late stick partner stood,
laughing at him.

“ Why, you are no good at all,” said W'el-
burn. ‘You can’t tote a log worth a cent.
You have no more strength than" a kitten.”

But he stopped his laughing as the person he
was laughing at approached him.

George Denston’s face, where it was not cov-
ered with mud, was pale as death, and his eyes
blazed with an unusual fire.

“You infernal scoundrel!” he exclaimed, as
he shook his fist in Welburn’s face.

“ What do you mean '5” asked the other, step-
ping back.

“ You threw that log over on me, so that it
might smash me, and you did it on purpose.”

“ You are a liar!” -. >

“ You put two lives in peril, so that you
mi ht gain a dirty bit of revenge, and you are
nollmtter than a. murderer, you mean, coward-a
ly skunk l”

Babe Welbum doubled up his fist and struck
viciously at his accuser, who easily warded oi!
the blow. Then a struggle began that brought
all the other log-rollers running to the spot.

Their sympathies were with George, especial-
ly when the other two men who had had hold of
the fallen log explained the facts of the case.

Therefore he was sure of fair play.

Thou h tall and strong for is years, he was
still a ittle fellow compared with Welburn,
and on this account the odds seemed to be
lar ely inst him. But he had been trained
to t e sk' lful use of his hands, and the contest
had hardly begun, when he showed the results
of his training, to the astonishment of the by-
standers.

He maneu'Vered so as to keep his antagonist
on the slope below him, thus neutralizing the
latter’s advantage in hight. His clean and tem-
perate lite showed itsef in his hard muscles
and health lungs, and he had a just indigna-
tion to bac him, while the other knew that he
had been guilty of a mean and cowardly trick.

Welburn soon perceived the su rior science
of his opponent, and tried to rush In and clinch;
but every effort was prevented by the lithe and
active young fellow, who never failed to slip
away from his grasp, or to plant a telling blow
on his face or breast.

He speedily showed the effects of his unish—
ment, and fought wildly, striking on with
more vigor than. discretion, and puffing and
panting like a steam-engine. ‘

Then George saw his chance, and ran in,
seizing his antagonist around the waist, tripping
him quickly, and throwing him heavily on his
back in the mud. ,,

“Give it to him, Geor !” shouted the crowd,
most of whom were g] ienou h to see the} big
bully worsted in such a fair flg t and for such
a cod cause.

ut George put in only one telling blow on his
antagonist’s mouth, to stop the stream of curses
that flowed from it, and held him firmly to the
ground until he cried “ enough.”

Babe Welhurn was a sorry sight when he rose
to his feet. One eye was closed, his face was
bleeiding, and his clothes were covered with
mu . i

“ You will pay for this yet,” he said, as he
walked away. ' a

George made no answer to his threat, and he
pgt on his coat, mounted his horse, and rode
o . 7

__

CHAPTER ‘vn.

A Coon-HUNT, AND mo GAME. _
SHORTLY after the unfortunate difliculty at
,the log-rolling, Joe Scurl suggested to George
Dalston—that they should i in a coon-
hunt. and George gs dly con'sen He was as
85. any plantation dorky

oi coon-him
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could be, and Ben, Who had never seen due;.was
ea er to have an experience of the sport.

he first'necessity of a successful coon-hunt is
a. good coon-dog. In fact, it is the dog that
does the hunting,and the human hunters ac-
compan him for the purgose of securing the
game w en he has cornere it. ' '

Joe Scurl boasted the ownership of the best
coon-dog in the country. Abe Lassiter’s Brash
and Bow were well enough in their way; but
his Snap was “a heavy coon-dog from Sugar
Creek,” unequaled at finding and treeing a
coon, and he could “tackle the worst old coon
that ever wore teeth, and chew him liznbless.”

This marvelous dog, which was not remark-
able for beauty or any other accomplishments
than coon—hunting, was of course the most im»
portant member of the party. Joe Scurl and
George carried rifles, mainly as a matter of
habit, and Ben bore an ax for cutting down the
trees in which the coons took refuge. George
also gut his two derringers in his pocket, as he
had een a firm believer in their usefulness
since his fight with the bear: ‘

It was a moonlight night when they went to
the river bottom to look for coons, and the in»,
dications were good for plenty of sport. r

They had been out but a little while when
Snap started a coon, and when the hunters
reached him he was barking vigorously at the
foot of a young hickory tree, near the top of
which the coon could be plainly seen. '

It was the work of but a few minutes to cut
down the hickory, and as it fellthe attention
of all was concentrated upon the coon and the

do .

file coonship had hardly touched the ground,
and had not had a moment’s time to recover
from his surprise, when Snap was upon him,
and the hunters ran up to see the fight.

But it was not a very interesting struggle, as
the coon was a young one, and was taken at a
great disadvantage. -

After a brief rou band-tumble of biting and
snarling, Snap sett ed the case of the coon and
gnap’s master slung the carcass over his shoul—

er. ~

“Talk about coon-dogsl” exclaimed Joe.
“Why, that ain’t a dog in the. hull o’ Racken—
sack, to so nothin’ 0’ this yer settlement, as ’ud
be a. pate in’ to my Snap.‘ Ef he could on’
climb a tree, thar wouldn’t be a live coon ]e t
within ten mile 0’ yer. ”

Nobody objected to the 1praise of Snap, and
he set out in search of anot er coon.

But it did not seeinxto be a first-rate nightlfor
coons, and they trumped about the bottom
fully an hour before he started another
treed in a

“Varmint.” This one he quickl
hree feet in

large and knurly oak, nearly
diameter at the butt,

Joe Sour] walked around the tree, and looked
at it with an air of disgust. v

“It ain’t gwine to pay us to cut down that V
t

tree,” said he. “I don see why the critters
couldn’t ha’ tuck to a saplin’. I hate'to shoot a
coon, as it spiles the fun, and don’t do justice to
the dogs.” . ‘

The coon was soon located on a large limb
that reached out far from the trunk, and Ben
proposed to climb the tree and chop oi! the
imb. He was “boosted” up, and soonvmade
lively play with his ax among the leaves and
branches.

'The attention of the dog was attracted from
the tree to the coon, and the branch soon
cracked and fell, “shedding” the coon, which
had no sooner touched the» ground than it was
seized by Snap. I

A lively tussle ensued, and the coon, which
was an old and vigorous one, fought so fiercely
that the dog had no easy task to conquer it; but
victory finally perched upon the banner of
Snap, and his master slung another dead 000m

over his shoulder. ,

He was Sent on to search for another coon,
and the hunters had another tramp. , ,

They lost sight of Snap for awhile; then they
heard him barking vbciferously, and finally
found him at the foot of a swamp oak that was
heavy with branches and foliage.

“That is jest the OWdaciousest coon-dog I
ever see or heard of,” remarked his master.
“He kin start upwmore coons‘ in a night than
any three d that kin be fetched gogether.
By the way 6 barks, he must ha’ reed the
big est kind of a varmint up that, and the
tussfie will be suthin’ ,wu’th lookin’ at. ’ v

Ben Denston, who was foremost in the hunt
and always eager to be the first to catch sight
of the game, ran forward [toward the tree,
'while the others followed more slowly, looking

up as the went, and peering sharply into, the

dense lea age of the’oa

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“Creation!” exclaimed Ben, as he halted

" near the tree. “ You may well saytthat’s a big
coon. It’s bigger than Snapbimse ."

“ Run away, Ben!” shouted Joe Scurl, who

had caught sight of the obJect at the same

instant. “ Run back, boy! It’s a pant’er!”
“ A panther?" exclaimed George, cocking his
rifle as he spok -

e.

H Yes. a pant’er! Run, boy! Oh, lordyl thar
he comes!”

Ben had started to run as a dark body shot
from the tree through the .air, and the next
moment the boy was sprawling on the ground.

But Ben, in is flurry, had run toward the
tree, instead of from it, and the panther had
'overshot his mark.

He had struck the boy sufficiently to knock
him down and had landed just beyond him.
No sooner had he reached the ground than Snap
seized him, probably laboring under the impres-
- sion that he was some new kind of a coon.
‘ But the struggle between the dog and the
, panther was too unequal to last long, and it was
at once evident that Snap, eager and “owda-
cious ” though he was, could afford his
antagonist no sort of amusement.

Nobody bad a clearer conception of this fact
than Snap’s master, who ran forward with the
intention of takin his dog’s part in the fight.

“Shoot him, aw e!” he shouted. “Shoot
the varmint, or Snap s a goner!”

George had run toward. his brother, and was
within a few yards of the panther when he
struck the ground. He hastened forward with
his cocked rifle when the dog seized the beast,
but was thinking of Ben‘s safety much more
than of Snap’s.

He was willing enough to shoot; but how to
shoot with effect, and without doing more
damage than he wanted to do, was a serious
question.

The panther and the dog were rolling and
tumbling about upon the ground, in an almost
inextricable mass, covering several yards of
space in their struggle, and the barks, yelps,
screeches and snarls were quite confusing.

Ben was trying to extricate-himself from
the tangle, but had not yet got out of reach
of the combatants, and it was hard for the
quickest eye to judge when and where to shoot.

George was not a person to hesitate, or to
take any half-we. measures.

He stepped rig tu to the panther before he
could free himself mm the hold of the dog,
watched hischance, put the muzzle of his rifle
tohis ear, and fired.

The charge blew a hole through the head of
the ugly beast, which rolled over, and, after a.
few convulsive struggles, it was dead.

This entire “skrimmage,” from the panther‘s
spring until his death, though it has taken so
many words to describe it, occupied but a few
seconds of time, and it was all over when J oe,
Scurl reached the spot. '

He at once dropped his rifle, picked u Snap,
and began to examine his wounds, wit many
lamentations over the damage that had been
done to “ the heaviest coon-dog that ever came
from Sugar Creek.” .

Ben Denston had scrambled to his feet, and
his brother hastened to him, as if he Were even
a more important personage than a coon-dog.

He was trembling all over, but with excite-
ment rather than with fear, and his clothes
were torn, and his face and hands were bleeding.

“ Are you badly hurt 1” asked George.

“Not much, I guess," replied the boy. “I
am scratched up,a little, but don’t think it
Engi’ntsto anything. Hark, George! What’s

a

It wasaloud, shrill, and unearthly scream,
something weird and frightful’to hear in the
forest at night, and enough to send a chill
through the warmest blood.

The next instant the creature that uttered the
yell—the mate of the dead panther—appeared
from the depths of the forest, coming toward
the group With great leaps, lashing its tail, and
splitting the air With ye] .

“It is another anther!” exclaimed George,
“Joe, come and s act it, quick!”

But Joe Scurl was so intently occu led in
examining the wounds of his dog, t at; he
seemed neither to see not to hear anything else.
, ' George hastily picked up the squatter’s rifle,
and cocked it. .

“Run, Ben!” he said, as he turned to face
the new foe. , ,

But Ben had no idea of running, when he
saw his brother stand his ground

As the panther came on,
rifle with a quick aim.

The beast was hit,.bat the shot neither stopped
.nordelayed itsprogress, and George drew his

\

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derringers and cocked and fired/themes rapidly
as he could, without giving an inch of ground.

But a panther, like other members of the cat
tribe, is very tenacious of life, and usually
requires a great deal of killing.

As George fired his last shot, the beast made
its final spring, and struck him on the breast,
knocking him over, though blood was pouring
from its wounds.

It mi ht have made an end of the brave lad’s
life be ore its own death-strug le came; but
Ben stood there with his ax rai , and at once
brought the keen edge down upon the back of
the brute’s neck, nearly chop ing of! its head.

George threw off the bi ody, and rose to
his feet, dripping with b cod, and not until
then did Joe Scurl seem to comprehend what
had happened.

“ Why, boys,” said he, “ this yer’s been a
owerful skrimmage, and Snap is mighty bad
urt, though I ‘ reckon he’ll git over it, with

good keer.”

George felt inclined to oonsi Snap to Hali-
fax: but he said nothing, aiigncontented him—
self With ascertaining that only a small portion
of the blood that covered him was his own.

“ I reckon we won’t hunt any more coons to
night,” said Joe. “We’ve struck bigger game,
and Snap is done up. Now, Jawge, git out yer
knife, and I’ll show you how to take the hide
oif’n a pant’er.”

The pelts were soon removed from the two
big beasts, and Joe pro osed, as a division of the
spoils, that he should cop the coons, and the
two brothers should take the panther-skins.

“ You’ve ’arned ’em, like Snap ’arned the
coons,” said he. “Thar ain’t no mistake about
that.”

This arran * ment was satisfactory to George,
up the panther-pelts, and slung
them over his shoulder.

“I say, George,” remarked Ben, when they
were nearly home, “ we are in a. pretty bad fix,
to look at. I suppose we will have to tell mother
all about it.” ’

“Of course we must.”

“I am afraid she won’t let me go coon-hunt—
ing again.”

" CHAPTER VIII.

GEORGE nassma‘s DUEL.

IT was soon made evident to George Denston
that the thrashing which be administered to
Babe Welburn at the log—rolling had not ended
hi< feud with that backwoods aristocrat.

Welburn had brooded over his wrongs, and
had soaked them in whisky, until he came to the
conclusion that he must have satisfaction for the
treatment he had received, and he saw but one
way to get it openly and above-board.

As George was plowing in his new ground one
morning, an ac usintance of his named Steve
Vancil rode up, itched his horse, and came over
to where he was worki .

“ I have come from Ba Welburn ” said Van-
cil, “and I sup you know what I am after.”

“ gut I don’t, thong ," replied George. “_What
is it'

“ Babe wants to fighz‘you.”

“I should think be 11 got enough out of me
in that line.”

 

in .”

“ What kind of a fight does he Want, then?”

“Here is a note that he sent, and I reckon it
will explain what he wants, better than I can
tell you."

George read Babe Welburn’s note, which was

nothin less than a challenge to fightaduel,
cordial]: in the language required by “the
co e.

“ I understand this well enough,” said George;
“ but there is one thing that is wrong about it.
He says that he demands the satisfaction due to
a gentleman, and I don’t believe that I consider
him a gentleman.”

“That won’t do at all,” said Vancil. “ I
would not have brought his messa 9 unless he
was a gentleman, and if you say t at he is not
a entleman, that reflects upon me.”

‘I hope you don’t want to pick a quarrel with
me, too,” remarked Geor . -

“ Not if can help it; hugethis business must be
attended to in the right shape." _ _

“ Well, I suppose must try‘to satisf him;
but I can’t be in a hurry about it.  sh l have
to find a second, and consult with him, and that
will take time.” '

“ I hope you don’t mean to back out, Den-

George fired the stun?”

“I'will- tell you just, what  do mean to do,
‘StBNa’Vanefl. I mean toast on in own g-

ment, and was what I believe to the Eight ~‘

 

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thing. This is a busy time of the year with us
farmers, though I don’t suppose that Mr. Babe
Welburn allowsany work to worry him. I «ain’t
afford to hurry myself "to please him, but will
attend to his aflair as soon as l reasonably can.
If that don’t suit you, I am sorry; but it is the
best I can do.” ‘

Vancil was obliged to be satisfied, and George
kept on plowing until dinner time, thinking
gver the new trouble that had been forced upon

ill].

After dinner he rode ovor to Abe Lassiter’s,
and showed him the challenge. r

“This is a bad piece of business,” said Geo ’s , , '

oracle, “and I am sorry that the trouble 5
come to this point.”

“ So am I,” replied George—“sorry on ac
count of my folks, more than on my own 80—.
count. What had] better do about it?” \

“ As it is a. sure enough challenge, I am afraid
you will have to accept it.
Babe “7elburn would feel himself at liberty to
{ayhawk you, and you would get no sympathy. ‘ 'v

t is the custom of the country, you know.” ‘

“ I had already made up my mind to accept ‘

the challenge, but in my own way.” _

“Yes; as you are the challenged. party, you
have the choice of weapons. and, as you are
such a fine shot with a pistol, you will have at
least as good a chance as he has.” _

“ That is not exactly the point I am 
at,” replied George. “I would hate to stun
up and shoot at a man in that way, knowin
that I might kill him. I propose that you shal
act as my second, and that my two derringers
shall be the pistols to be used. The seconds shall
choose a dismterested man to load the pistoli
who shall load one of them with powder an
ball, and the other with ball only. Babe \Vel—
burn and I shall toss up for the choice of pas-g
tols, and then toss up for the first fire. a
will each take the same risk, and neither will
know whether he holds a pistol that can kill.”

“ That is fair enou h, and he can’t object to
it,” said Lassiter. “ ut‘I would rather, for
your sake that you should fight in the old-fash-“
ioned way."

- George preferred the arrangement that be

pro

while hisvyoung friend returned to his work. 1

Babe elburn objected strongly to the ster ,.
of encounter that his antagonist had setted “
upon, and s eke of it s “a cowardly make
shift, entire y unfit for gentlemen? but his olr

jections were overruled by his second, WhO' 

saw nothing cowardly or unequal in Geosge’s
proposal. ~ ‘
“It is just as fair for one as it is for the :
other,” said Steve Vancil, and the terms were «
soon'agreed upon, and. it was settled thatthe
encounter should take place the next zooming,
in a glade on Abe Lassiter’s land. a 
George Denston, it must he confessed, looked ~ ,
forward to this contest with no little uneasi-
ness. If he should fall, he would leave blame:
ther and sister with no protector or bread-win-

- ner but his brother Ben, and that would has

great calamity for them. He also considered, '
it very unfair that his life should be pitted a; ‘
against that of Babe Welburn, who had nobody ,

., dependent upon him, and who was no
" It is not that sort of a fight that he is hunt ‘

than a drone in a hive. - ‘

But it was true, as Abe Lassiter had told v ,

him, that he could not maintain an decent
standing in the settlement if he shoal refime
the challenge, and be thought that he might as
well be killed as be driven away. .
Besides, he felt that in any event he had
shifted the responsibility from his own about
ders. If he should happen to draw the loaded I
pistol, and should happen to kill his antaqonifi . -
it could not be said that he had done the/d
intentionally, as it must be char to “luck.”
If he should happen to be the Victim, “luck ” .
would be responSible for his fate. / g
His reasoning may not be entirely satisfactory r
to a moralist; but it was the best he had for the ‘
ocoasibn. ' ‘ '
Of course the young fellow could say nothing
of this serious matter to his fwy, Who wool 
learn of the duel only by its r t, and he went ~ '
to the place of meeting with no company but,
Abe LaSSiter. ‘ ', ‘
When he reached the glade he was
todiscover several oung men there, ‘ more
came with Babe elburn and Steve Vm. 7
Tidings of the expected encounter had‘qniefly v
gone about, and it naturally attracted as many , 
asheardofit. ’ , , ', ~
George also perceived that the most of 
on the ground were weiburn’s flames; bathe
relied o the presence of his thin] %
Abe Lassiter, and of Lon Brgwer, whom he '

 

 

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sed, and Abe Lassiter went 01! to confer ' i I
wit Steve Vancil and settle the preliminaries, . .5- ‘

 

 
 

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, Their crops were doin

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Wide-Arvake George, the Boy Pioneer.

 

 

 

 

reason to consider friendly to his family, and
he had no fear of unfair treatment.

Welburn had nerved himself for the occasion
with frequent “horns”—-in fact, his nerves
‘could’ never be relied upon unless they were
'stimtflated—and he showed no little excitement;
but his opponent viewed the arrangements

’, coolly, if not with indifference.

There was naturally a little difficulty in the
choice of a disinterested person to load the is—
tols; but the seggnds finally settled on on
Brewer, though elburn objected to him.

“ VVhat’s the use?" Vancil asked his principal.
“ As you are oin to toss up for the pistols and
for the first sict, don’t see how any trick can
creep in. ”

Lon Brewer took the pistols away, and loaded
them accordin to the agreement. Then he
brought them ack, and laid them on a stump,
covering them with his handkerchief so that
only the butts could be seen.

In the toss-u for the derringers George Dens—
ton won the 'c oice, and he took the one which
was nearest to him, as there was really no
choice.

In the toss up for the first shot Babe Welburn
won, and it was with a triumphant air that he
seized his pistol, though his exultation might

, well have been tempered by a doubt as to
Whether the istol was loaded with a ball.
The roun was paced off and the two oppo~
nents ook their places at the stations marked
for them.

George Denston was pills, but gave no sign of
exmtement or fear. e presented his right
side to his anta onist, and his istol was held
by his right ban against his right leg.

' Babe Welburn, with amalicious look on his
face, was about to take aim over his arm, when
George’s second promptly stopped him.

“ None 0’ that!” shouted Abe Lassiter, “ none
0’ that, or I’ll shoot you where on stand!”

As the bystanders were not isposed to back

, him 11 in this bit of unfair play, VVelburn as-
sume the proper position, and fired at the
word.

George Denston stood there uuhurti

It was evident to ‘him from the report of the
pistol, if not to the others, that fortune had

avored him, and that there had been no ball in

the shot that was fired at him.

A look of vexation and disappointed malice
settled on Babe Welburn’s face, as he turned so
as to present his side to his antagonist.

Geor raised his derringer, and glanced
slang t 5 barrel.

The opposin second had be n to count, One—~—

When, to t easl'onishmen of all, Babe Wel-
bu'rn turned and lied.

“ It’s a trick! It's a swindle!" he shouted, as
he scampered to the nearest tree.

George fired in the air.

“That is what I meant to do, anyhow," he
said, as he stepped forward and picked up the
we a which the other had dropped.

“ t’s a trick!” repeated Welburn, when he

, Was overhauled b is friends. “That fellow
knew which isto had the ball in it. Was I
going to stan there and let, him shoot me down

ike a d ‘1"

But this view of the case found no favor even
with his closest friends, and his second did not
condescend to accompany him when he sneaked

, away from the ground.
. ' “ don‘t think he will trouble
Geor 9,” said Abe Lassiter, as
With is young friend.
’ In fact, the ridicule of his acquaintances was

on any more,
e went home

*  too much for Babe Welburn to endure, and he

soon left the neighborhood. His father said
that he had gone to a college in Virginia.

 

\

CHAPTER IX.
V A BIG HONEY FIND.

. SUMMER work Went on thrivingly at the
-Denston place. B that time Geor e and Ben
had quite a little arm to tend, whic they had
carved out of the forest by their own unaided

bor.

It is true that only a small portion of the land
thaeiy tilled was completely cleared; but they
h “danced in a pretty big field, in which they

had chopped down the small trees, cleaned off .

. the brush, and “ girdled” the large timber by
cutting rm 5 around the base so as to deaden

. the trees. e were thus able to cultivate the
*field, leaving t e dead trees to be cleared off at

. their leisure, or to rot and fall in the course of

finely, their“‘truck
‘ tch” was flourishing. 011 ad produced a
colt which was Ben‘s pa and pride, acalf

had been born; the grenade were alive with
‘ .

 

chickens and ducks and geese, and there was
.good reason to believe that the second year of
their backwoods farming would find the family
self-supporting.

When George’s coon was “laid b ," and he
was led that the job was of! his ands, Joe
Sour came to him, and proposed a hunt.

“ I hope it is not another coon-hunt for pan-
thers,” remarked George.

“No, indeedy. It’s a heap easier and safer
thincr than that, and it’s a daylight job, too.
The ind of a hunt I’m arter now is a bee-hunt."

“That is quite out of my line, Joe. I know
nothing about bees. except that they sting,
thou h they can’t bite or scratch.”

“ ow you’re jokin’; but I ain’t. I tell on,
Jawge, I‘ve got bolt of jest the biggest t ing
out In the bee line, and you are the on’y one I
mean to let into it. Ef I don’t astonish you,
may I never skin another coon in this world i"

‘ What is it, Joe?”

“ I’ve noticed when I’ve been out in the
woods that thar‘s more wild bees flyin’ this sea-
son than I ever see afore. The woods is full of
’em. I’ve noticed, too, that when they git
loaded they allers take one course. It stands
to reason that thar’s a owerful big settlement
of ’em somewhar, and t e man who kin find it
is liable to pack home a ’stronary pile o’ honey.
I’ve had it in my head to go arter them bees;
but I allowed that I wanted a rdner, and I
says to myself, says I, Jawge enston is the
pardner for me, and the only chap I mean to
let into this thing.”

“ I am ever so much obliged to you, Joe, and
will go with you to hunt the bees whenever you
are ready. When shall it be?" ,

“ To-morrow mornin’ airly.” ’

The next mornin the two hunters set out,
Joe armed only wit
a little honey, and a pocket compass. George
wanted to carry his rifle, but was persuaded to
leave it at home, and to take in its place an ax,
to cut down the tree in which they would prob-
ably find the honey.

They went into the woods, to the place where
Joe had last noticed the wild bees, and be
gointed them out to his companion as they were

ying pretty thickl about.

Then he opened is box, placed it on a log,
and set his compass near it, and the two hunters
itationed themselves within easy sight of the

ox.

Pretty soon a bee lighted on the box, loaded
himself with honey, and flew away.

"Jest on notice the course he takes,” said
Joe. “ hat bee will go as straight to his home
as straight kin be. He takes what we call a
bee-line, and that’s the way we know how to
find ’em.”

“ Shall we go on and find them, then?”

“Not yet. Wait till a few more light on the
honey. I want you to watch ’em, so’s you kin
know fur sartin how the thing works.”

Two more bees lighted on the box, secured
their loads of hone , and flew off in exactly
the same direction that was taken by the first.

“Now we’ve ot the line, and no mistake
about it,” said oe, as he examined his com-

ass.
p He closed the box, and put it in his pocket,
took up his compass, and started 03, closely
followed by George.

The s uatter’s eye was true enough to enable
him to ollow the course taken by t e bees very
nearly, and he suffered nothing to cause him to
deviate from it, sighting from one tree to an-
other, and keeping his attention entirely fixed
upon his aim.

When he came to an obstruction, he passed
arouan it, set down his compass, let the needle
come to a rest, and again took up the course
upon which he had started.

In spite of these delays, they traveled at a
pretty rapid pace.

“ Do you really mean to say," asked George,
“that you can follow that bee-line so closely as
to come to the tree where the bees hide their
honey?”

“ Wal, Jawge, I allow that I kin foller the
line ni h as straight as the bee made it.”

“Bu the tree may be miles from here, and
We may miss it as we go."

“ That’s all so; but we kin on’y do our best.
Ef we do miss it, we must tr ag’in, and keep

on tryin’. This is a business t at needs a heap
o’ patience. ” "’
‘ I believe on. It seems to me to be about

the same as coking for a needle in a hay—
stack.” .
th“Byt,1t the needle kip be found, Jawge, of it’s
ar. - ‘
Their course led' them to the river, and they
descended the steep bluff, forded the stream,

W

\

a small tin box containing '

 

apid reached the bottom ‘land on the other
51 e.

“ We must be nigh about the place now,” said
Joe, as he examined his compaSS, and took a
fresh start. “That’s lots 0’ gum treesin this
bottom, and it’s in the boiler gums that the bees
like to lay up thar honey. Keep yer eyes
peeled now, Jawge, and watch all the trees, to
see if bees are flym into any 0’ ’em.”

George used his e cs as well as he could, but
saw no indication o a bee«tree. He said, on the
contrary, that he thought he had seen several
bees gomg in another direction.

Joe came to a. bait, and set down his compass.
After observing the indications carefully, he '
concluded that they must have gone out of
their course, or passed the tree they were seek-

1n .

It was necessary to attract another bee, and
to get a new course, and the honey was opened
and watched.

They did not have to wait long for a bee, and
when he rose and flew. away his flight was
eagerly watched.

“Jessa,” remarked the squatter. “We’ve
come a leetle eaten the way, and hev gone by
the tree. So we must take the back track.
But the um must be nigh hand, or we've got
to cross t e river ag’in, and that ’ud be bad."

He took 11 the compass, and the two hunters
started on t e new course, carefully examining
the trees as they went.

They reached the river without finding any
bee-tree, and Joe Sourl‘s countenance fell.

Not only would they have to cross the river
again, but right before them on the opposite
side rose a bluff. some fifty feet high, of solid
limestone, without a break or a tree or a bush,
which they could not hope to climb.

“This is wot mought be called a stum er,"_
said Joe. “Ef we could fly as the bees y, it
would be an easy job; but thar ain’t the man
livin’ as could climb that bluff and fuller a
strai ht course.”

“ bat can we do about it?” asked George,
who was getting tired of this seemingly endless
search.

“Wal, Jawge, that’s a big pile o’ honey in
these woods, and we must git it. Jest now 1
am gwine to sight onto a tree on top 0’ the bluff,
and then go around and take a fresh start from
that tree. Lemme see, now, wot tree ’11 the
course strike?”

He lanced at his compass, and then looked
up at t e top of the bluff.

Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of sur— ‘
prise and Joy.

b“J-:wge! Ob,Jawgel Look thar! Lookup
t ari’

George looked eagerly, but did not know
what his friend meant until it was pointed out
to him.

Then he saw a number of bees flyin in and
out of a hole in the rock, a little more t an half
we up the bluff. ,

‘ That’s it Jawgel” exclaimed the squatter.
“ That’s the tree we’ve been buntin’, and it
ain’t a tree at all, but a bluff. Thar cain‘t be a
bit 0’ doubt that the bees hev got a big settle—
ment in that hole, and thar’s nothin’ short 0”
whole oodles o’ honey in the rock, outen the way
0’ varmints and everythin’.”

“ How are we going to at at it, then?”

“I told er, Jawge, bet this bee-buntin’
business ta as a bee o’ tience; but we’ve
struck the biggest fln , an struck it the easiest,
of anythin’ I ever see or heard of. How are we

wine to git at it? Why, Jawge, we Will go

ome—thar ain’t no use 0’ markin’ that tree, as
nobody else is gwine to find it afore we git
back—and inthe mornin’ we’ll come over yer
with a wagon, and tubs, and kitties, and a rope.
and we’ll make a ladder, and we’ll kerry home
sech a load 0’ honey as’ll make the folks open
the’r eyes.” ,

The precise spot was carefully located, so that
the hunters might easily find it on their return,
and they went home. ’ 3, I

Early the next mornin they set out, With
George’s wagon loaded m b so many tubs and
buckets and tin pails, that Mrs. Denston sug- -
gested that they must have found a honey-
mine.

“That’s 'est wot we’ve been ,doin’, mum,” re-
plied Joe url. “ 'Tain’t nothin’ short 0' that,
of I know bees.

Ben, who was greatly excited by the honey
find, was allowed to accompany them, and they .
crossed the river at the usual wagon ford. Then
they meandered along through the bottom, out-
tin a way for the team where it was necessary
to 0 so, and finally reached the river at a point

its the blufl. in which the bees had \made

t eir home. _ ‘ ,

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They cut down a tall whiteoak sapling,
trimmed its branches for a part of their ladder,
and made the rest by drivin stout pins into
holes bored in the trunk. his they carried
across the stream, and set it up a ainst the
bluff and Joe pre d to mount to t e hive.

“ The bees in l sting you to death,” said
Geo e.

“ fio, they won’t. I reckon I know bees, and
I’ll soon settle that part 0’ the business.”

The squatter did understand bees, and proved
his ability to rob their hives by smoking them
out in short order.

When he got into the crevice where they had

stoli-ed their swoets, he fairly screamed with de-
lig t. ‘
The size of the find far surpassed his expecta-
tions, and he hastened to tear off the masses of
comb and to let them down in a bucket to Ben,
who passed the bucket to George, who waded
the stream and emptied them into the tubs in
the wagon.

They filled all the vessels they had brought,
and left some honey in the rock, as Joe said,
“fur the bees to start housekeepin’ ag’in.”

It was near night when they t home, and
the astonishment of George’s mot er and sister
was immense. They not only opened their eyes
to the widest extent, but kept them open, and
were so bewildered that they could hardly be
persuaded to help take care of the load.

As for Joe Scurl, he seemed hardly to know
whether he stood on his head or his feet, and he
was continually breaking out in new ruptures.

Such a honey find, he said, had never been
heard of in that region, and it would be talked
about as long as Rackonsack kept her head
above water.

The next day, after reserving a sufficient
quantity for home consumption, he and Geor e
drove twenty miles to sell their honey, and t e
journey was a continual jolliflcation for Joe
Sour]. He received money enough to keep him
in ideness for a long time, and George Denston’s
share was more than acceptable to his family.

 

CHAPTER X.
run TURKEY snoo'r.

AMONG the few sports and pastimes with
which the Christmas season was celebrated in
the backwoods was a “ turkey shoot.”

The person who furnished this amusement
for the settlement was a free black man named
Aaron Wipes, to whom Christmas always
brought quite a harvest.

During the rest of the year. he raised turkeys,
which he set up to be shot at on Christmas Day
at “ two bits,” or twenty-five cents, a shot, the
conditions of the match bein that the shooting

‘ should be with rifles, off—ban , and that the tur-

keys should be shot in the head. If a fowl was
kil ed by being hit in any other ‘part of the
body, it reverted to Aaron. ’

It may be supposed that such prices and terms
would make Aaron’s turkey~shoots quite profit—
able to him; but the truth is that the men of the
settlement, young and old, were such close shots
that turkeys‘ heads were not safe before the
muzzles of their rifles, and the old darky’s gains
were seldom what he would wish them to be.

There were some marksmen of the neighbor—
hood whom be specially dreaded, and among
them was George Denston.

This was a late thing, as George was a new-
comer, and had only recently gained reputation
as a good shot; but he had shown such skillin
the use of the rifle as had already made him
renowned.

Finding himself in a country where ame was
abundant and worth the killing, he he. devoted
all his sfpare time to huntin , and it was not
long be ore he surpassed Joe gourl in the art of
which the squatter considered himself a mas-

er.

He could call. up a wild turkey in the woods
until it came within range of his unerring rifle,
and when he drew a head on such game he al-
ways aimed at 'the head. Indeed, he would
have considered it worse than a miss to hit any
kind of game in the body, unless it should be
some such beast as a punt or or a bear,

A large part of the living of the Denston fam-
ily was procured by George's mile, and in shoot.
ing at a. mark he soon outranked all the young
men of the settlement. . .

Thus it was not surprismg that when George
Denston made his. appearance at the turkey-
shoot, and pro to compete for the prizes,
Aaron protested pretty Vigorously. .

“ Dis yer ain't gwine to do at all,” said he.
“E1 you's t a notion ob shootin’ in dis yer
turkeyvshoo , Mzirse Jawge, I’ll hub to cha’ge
yer fo' bits in shot." ,

\

 

 

“ Why do you double the price on me,
Aaron ?” asked the young man.

“ ’Cai‘ise Ise hearn tell oh you, Marse Jawge,
and I knows all ’bout yer shootin’, an’ you
cain’t shoot no turkeys yer, ’thout you put up
fo7 bits a shot.”

“That is rather hard on me, Aaron; but I
don’t want to rob you, and I will try a couple
of turkeys at that price.”

The first bird set up for George was a stalwart
gobbler, which Aaron tied to the stake grum—
bling as he did so. He tied the turkey loosely,
so as to give him rather more play than was
really fair for the marksman, and against this
trick the bystanders protested.

“ Reckon de ole nigga has got to hab a show
fur his turkey,” mbled Aaron. “’Spect I
know what sawt o shootin’ is gwine on around

er.
_ He took his stand near the turkey, and gave
it some fatherly advice.

“ Now, yer durned ole fool gobbler, keep yer
eyes peeled! Don’t yer see it‘s dat J awge Den-
ston dat’s gwine tei- shoot? Wot yer squattin’
like dat fur? Git up and stir around, or off

oes ei' ole head. We gle about, turkey!
egg 9 about, now, ’cause e’s drawin’ a bead
on yer!”

George Denston smiled as he raised his rifle,
and he took a careful aim, while old Aaron’s
face assumed an a onized ex ression.

The rifle cracke , the gobb er’s head was shat-
tered, and he fluttered about the stake until he
gave up the ghost.

“Jest look at datl" exclaimed Aaron as he
picked up the bird. “ On’y fo’ bits fur de big-
gest kind oh a turkey l”

As if to save himself from utter ruin, be tied
a hen turkey to the stake, but made no attempt
to avert the fate of the bird, seating himself on
Elie ground with an air of sorrowful i'esignae

ion.

Again George Denston’s unerring rifle crack-
ed, and the hen turkey lost her head.

“ Dat settles it,” said Aaron. “You don’t
shoot no mo‘ turkeys away ffom dis chile,
J awge Denston. You’s done broke me all up in
business dis mawnin’.”

“I don’t think you need to worry, Aaron,”
said George, laughing. “ You have not lost
much by me. and some of the others will make
it up to you.”

As the young man was tying up his birds for
the pur se of carrying them home, he was
surroun ed and complimented by a group of
settlers, among whom was Silas Bradley, 8.
well-to—do farmer, who was noted for his size,
and especially for his large hands and feet.

“We don’t mean to let you off so one as
that, Denston,” said Bigfoot Bradley. “ on
are on exhibition to—day, my boy, and you
have done some tall shootin’; ut you’ve got to
sléoyv us the best you can do, bbfore we let you
0 . \

“Anything to please the crowd,” replied

George. “I don’t think my shootingis much

{)0 bring of ; but I am always ready to do my
est.

Bradley took from his left hand a solid gold
ring, wit a heavy bloodstone setting. It was
'a large ring, such as his big finger required.

“ I am going to set up this ring, Denston,”
said he, “and 1 shall want you to send a bullet
through it.” _

George examined his ring and gun ed it by
one of the rifle bullets, which passed t ough it
with lenty of room to spare.

“T at is a little too much, Mr. Bradley," he
said, as he handed it back. “I might hit the
ring' but hitting it would be sure to spoil it. ”

“ don’t want on to hit it, my be , but to
shoot through it. will tell you what will do.
If you spoil the ring, you shall give me five dol-
lars for it, and itis well worth ten. If you send
a bullet clean through it, the ring is yours.
Come, now; I believe you can do it, and we all
want to see some fine shootin’.”

George said that he could not expect to per-
form the feat, but was willing to attempt 1t, if
he could shoot from a rest that would bring his
rifle on a level with the ring when it was placed

in osition.

' sad to, and Bradley drove a
“stub” into t e ground, upon which he placed
the ring, with the bloodstone as a base Be-
hind the “stu ” he fastened a dark iece of
board, to 've a back ound for the ring, and
to mark w ere the bulfigt should strike.

. The young marksman drove a forked stake

into the ground until the crotch was on a level

with the ring. Then be carefully loaded his

rifle andllmel down to his work.

, Bets had been freely made on the shot; but

the odds were largely against Denston’s success.
\ _ \

"\

 

When he prepared to shoot, all the talk ceased,
pad the bystanders watched him in perfect si-
ence. ,
After assumin as solid and comfortable 3
ition as possib e, be carefully sighted along
figrifle and fired.

The board was seen to quiver, but the ring
did not move.

“ A clear miss !" shouted more than one, and
all the partyl ran to the target.

" It can ardly be that, ’ said George, as he
rose and fdllowed them.

He found them standing about the “stub,”
staring at the ring and the board behind it.

“ The rin is yours, Denston,” said Bigfoot
Bradley, as e pointed out the bullet-hole m the
board, just behind the golden circle.

It was clear that the bullet had passed
through the ring without touchin it, and the
feat was hailed as the most remarks. Is that had
been seen in that region. ,

Wide-awake George was thereafter acknowl-
edged as the champion riflershot of the settle
ment.

 

CHAPTER XI.
BURNED OUT.

THE second winter in the new settlement
was a peculiarly hard one for that cli—
mate, and it was noted in the history of the
Denston family because of a calamity that he—
fell them.

To explain this calamity it is necessary to ,

Wideeflmke George, the Boy Pioneer. x I ' 9

give a few particulars concerning the construc- ,

tion of a log cabin.
The log cabin built by George Denston com—
rised, as has been Said, but one room and‘a
l:th, and at one end of the main room Was a

fireplace, to which was attached a “stick and

clay ” chimney. This sort of an erection needs
to be briefly described.

In the middle of one side of the house a space
six feet square is cut out of the logs, reaching
down to the floor. Split logs are driven or dove-
tailed into the cut logs, and these are fastened
to other timbers at the back of the fireplace,
making a stout crib extending to the hight of
the cut space. Of course it is built on the out-
side of the house.

The crib is well “ chinked,” and is gradually
narrowed in with smaller timber, until it is
finished by la ing short and flat sticks upon
each other, 00 house fashion. This structure
is extended a little above the point of the roof,
and mud is thickly plastered on the inside as it
is carried up.

The bottom of the crib is fitted in with earth,
tightly packed and pounded, to the level of the
floor, and the back and sides of the fireplace
are made of moist clay, packed and ounded in'
a temporary frame, which is to be burned off

when the first fire is built, and thus the “ stick- .

andclay ” chimney is completed.

Such a structure is by no means ornamental,
nor can it be considered entire] safe. In fact,
it is liable to be dangerous. as t e Densttms dis-

covered to their cost before the'winter‘ was .

over.
During the cold weather George was accus—

tomed to roll in immense back logs, as bi as be .

and Ben could manage, against which t fire
was built. and such a log usually lasted two or
three days.

These fires kept the 10 -cabin warm and com-
fortable enough; but, w an the blaze roared
the wooden chimney, the Denstons cont
that it looked like a dangerous arrangement.
At ni ht the embers were banked up wit ashes,
and than they felt safe.

But it was at night that the calamity oc- r

curred, and at the darkest hour of‘tbe night,
just before day.

George was aroused at a very early hour by
:hbrligfltt light that came through the chinks of
e o . '

“Get up. Ben!” he exclaimed. “Here it is
broad daylight. We will be terribly behind
with our work.” r

He jumped out of bed, dressed himself speedi-
ly, and hastened down-stairs. His mother and
sister were not up, and there were no signs of
da light in the main room. .

e stepped out of doors and saw that it was
yet night and very_dark. But there was a
strange li lit in the air, comin from .the m
ward, an he heard a air hissing and
crackling noise that at once mggested the
thought ‘of fire. 1

Running ,around to the other end ofthe house,
he at once saw what was the matter. The
wfien chimney was on fire. ' ' ,,

e light upper part was in a bright blue, and
the l of the lower part, were in places nearly
burn off. ‘ The fire had worked its way

 

var. 3'

r M, 1:,

 

.-.

 'I    *  George, the Boyfione?‘ 

‘ ‘Z, 34'.

 

 

 

 a crack in the earthen back of the flre~

 'plaee,‘and hadprobably been smoldering for
several days before it broke out. ' .

When it was discovered it was a bad case of

‘fire. The chimney was long past savin , the

‘ weather-boarding at the gable and of the house

 , ‘ had caught, the root was in flames, and a

strong Wind was blowing the fire into the dry

 

 

/' - ‘fio
. , , rge saw that the case was hopeless, or
r  ' nearly so, and ran around to warn the family.
| : ' He metBen coming out of the door, told him
‘ , what was the matter, and went in to break the
news \to his mother and sister, who were of
course greatly frightened and confused.

,“I Will go and see what I can do,” said he;
“ but I think the house is a goner, and you may
as well lift out such things as you can easily
carry. Take the matter easy, as we will have
[time enough to save everything.”

V The coo ness of his words and manner reas-
sured them, and. they dressed themselves and
p' went to work. .

George returned to the other end of the house,
where he found Ben staring helplessly at the
flames. ’ ‘
~ ‘As there was no fireiengine or book and lud-

,~ Ider truck within some hundreds of miles, tllcro
:" was little to be done with the fire but to let it
' . ‘burn. The chimney might be knocked over,
Y and there was water enough to quench the
.‘ flames in the crib; but the upper part of the
 house was beyond saving, and the logs were
i beginning to burn. At the best, the house
‘would have to be rebuilt, and it might as well
 ,be let alone. I
'1 50 George and Ben applied themselves to the
task of saving the household property.

Mrs. Denston and Lucy were busily at work,

and the boys, beginning at the loft, soon cleared
I the house of its contents which were neither
' )valuable nor numerous. hey even saved from
the burning building the doors and most of the
v -‘ , plan-king. '
‘ It was broad daylight when they had done all
.. they could do, or cared to do, and George
» mounted his mother and sister on his two horses,
 and sent them to Abe Lassiter’s in charge of
‘ ~Ben, while he remained to watch the propert .
' After a time Ben came to replace him, and e
’. rode over to Lassiter’s for breakfast. ,
 That faithful friend had already assured the
., family of a home at his house on il they could
'~ settle themselves again, and was hitching up, his
team to bring over their household goods.
, But Mrs. Denston and Luc were very despon—
‘ (15mg. The destruction of a ome was a terrible
thing to them even if it was nothing better
than a; (log cabin, and George found them in

, “ What on earth are you two crying about?”
boasted. “I think you ought to cheer up, as

, there is nothing to trouble you.” '
V ifNothip totrouble us, when we have been
burned on of house and homel" replied Mrs.

Denston. ,
“Nothing at all. Why, mother, that is a

   
 
 
    
    
      
   
 
 
 
 
      
    
 
  

piece of d luck."
v‘“Goo luck? When our house is burned?
"What can youmean?"

, .V‘fThe truth is, mother, that ,I made a great
3;, mistaken! building that house. It was on] a
tampon concern, you know—a mere ma e-
shift-— I had set it just where I wanted to
builda real house when I could. I don’t know
how we would; have got rid of the shanty, if it
,3 hadn’t burned down. Now you shall have a
1 nice, comfortable, .and respectable house, and

L there shall be no stick and c ay chimney hitched
to it, either. ,I am going right out into the
woods to cut the logs. ’

’ "That’s the way to talk, my bOy !" exclaimed

Abe Lassiter. ',‘ on are just the stuff for the
backwoods, and those who help themselves
always get help. Take Ben with you when you
go' to cut the logs, and 1 will see to bringing
your things ovor. ‘ ,
, , thhank you, sir. The house could not have
,1. x" , gone at a better time of the year. "
A ' George seen hadanew lot of logs cut, and
employed two men to how and uare them, and
thaw ole neighborhood not on y came to the
raisin ,but assisted him in many ways.

., Wit the money he had gained by the honey-
., find he bought lumber and hardware, doors and
‘windbws, and before sprir opened he had a
a 00d, and substantial doub 6 log house, almost
‘, 'gaiidsgmato look at, with a stout stone chimney

- e ., » t
 _ Emafgone ,in debt to a small amount; but

,his creditors bdd not the least fear of losing any-

 Wldeawake Georg, , A ‘
l ‘ Mrs. Denston and ucy were bro ht

] into the new house, they were moref than to l-

' ,3
0

f

 

a and agreed: with Geor e that their calamity
fixn a blessing whichgwns very thinlydis-
gm

 

CHAPTER XII.
A RAID 01" HORSE-ms. '

SCARCELY had George Denston got his family
moved into the new house, and pre ations
made for his spring work, when he missed. an—
other horse.

It was not Molly this time, as she was out in
what Geor 6 called his woods pasture wim the
colt, but the sorrel horse, which was missing
from the stable near the house, and had doubt-
less been stolen.

The youn settler, full of honest wrath, hast—
ened to get olly, and rode over to Abe Lassi»
ter‘s to consult the oracle. \

He found Abe more wrathy than himself. In
fact, he was in a. towcrin passion, and was
scattering the strongest king of language about
promiscuously.

He had lost his two best horses, and was sure
that they had been stolen.

While the two friends were commenting forci—
bly upon the meanness of horse—thieves, and the
necessity of making an example, another neigh—
bor rode up and announced that two of his
lun'ses had been taken.

These three sufferers at once organized them—
selves into a vigilance committee, and proceeded
to arouse and enlist the settlcrs, for the purpose
of pursuing the thieves, recovering the stolen
property, and doing justice, generally.

They found lenty to join them, as horse
stealin was a. low at the entire community,
and a1 felt the necessit of doing something
that would make an on of it, at least for a.
time.

“It is too durned bad,” said Bert Runnells,
“that we should ha’ kep’ our critters on corn all
through the hard winter, jest to hev ’em run off
by sech scamps in the spring.”

Among those who jomed the party was Bill
Anderson, who lived a few miles beyond Run—
nells, and who had also lost a horse.

It was evident that the raid had been made
on a large scale, by an organized band of depre-
dators, and that the capture of the horse-thieves
was not to be an easy task.

The indignant settlers were well-armed, and
mounted on the best horses that were left in the
neighborhood, and Abe Lassiter had added to
his equipment a coil of rope, light, but strong,
which was/ intended for a purpose that every-
body could guess at.

Before starting the held a council of war,
to choose a leader, an to decide the course they
should take. I

Abe Lassiter was at once chosen as captain of
the party; but there were different views of the
best route to be pursued, the majority being in
favor of following the tracks of the horse—
thieves, which were plain enough in the road
by which they had left the settlement.

But a stern chase is a long chase, on the land
as well as on the sea, and it was known that the
scoundrels had a good start. 1

George Denston, who had a lively recollection
of the theft of his mare Molly, proposed that
they should first visit Tom Mabry, and this sug-
gestion was favorably received by Captain Les
siter. ‘

“ I don’t believe that Tom took a hand in this
game,” said \Abe. “ lVe all know that he ain’t
much above that sort of thing; but this is a
touch be and. anything he would be likely to
take hol of. But he has ideas on the subject
of horse-stealing, and I believe that he can help
us out if he will. So I vote that we. look up
Tom Mabry." ,

This opinion finally prevailed, and they set
out to find Tom Mabr r.

'()n the road they fe 1 in with another wrath~
ful farmer, who had also lost a horse, and who
joined the party, which then numbered a dozen
able and resolute men, among whom George
Denston did not count as the least.

To the surprise of all they found Tom Mabry
at home; but their Wonder was lessened when
they saw in his cabin a dark-complexioned wo-
man, evidently a half—breed from the ‘ Indian
Territory. ’

' “ So thar’s been horse-thieves about, and you’re‘

huntin’ bosses?” said be, when Abe Lassiter had
briefly explained the purpose of the expedition.
“El you’ve come arter me, you’re whistlin’ fur
the wrong pup, ’cause I ain t in that line 0’ busi-
ness. See my wife thar’l Wal,.I married her
t’other day, and I’ve settled down, and am‘

fwine tofarmin’. E I wararter stealin’ bosses, ‘
w

ouldxx’i't take ’em rom my neighbors and old

“ I believe you, Tom,’r’lsaid Lassitéi‘. “ None

.,i \‘

 

 

of us supposed that you were in this thing ;V but "

we thought that you might help us if. on
(would,z and we are willing to pay you. we to
0 so. ' .

“All ri ht. Tell me all about it, and I willr

do what kin.”
Tom Mabry’s face darkened as the story was
told to him.

“It’s a big job that you’ve got bolt of,”

said he. “I make no doubt‘ that Sam Bren-
ner’s gen , from over the line, has done the
work, an they‘re a hull team and no this»
take. But it’s eas ' enough to tell whar they
hem from, and w air they went to. They’ve
jest circled through the settlement. Fust they
went up the road nigh yer, and stopped at
“’ills’s, and next at Denston’s. Then they
took the big road to Lassiter’s, and then
crossed down by Runnells’s and Anderson’s,
and so they went out. You’ve saved time by
comin’ yer, ’cause they’ll hcv to circle around
to git into the Stringville road ag’in, and thar’s
a chance to head ’em off by takin’ a short
cut.” ‘

“ Will you guide us and help us catch them?”
asked Lassitcr. ‘

“ Durned of I don’t. I’ve gota grudge ag’inst

Sam Brenner, anyhow, and would be rlght' glad ,

to see that gan cleaned out.”

Guided by om Mabry, the party paSsed
through forest roads and bridle~paths, until
they came out on the Stringville road. at the
point which the guide had wished to strike.

Most of the men jumped off to examine the
road; but it was plain that the party they were
pursuin had passed that point, as fresh tracks
were a undant, and those who were accus—
tomed to reading tracks recognized them as the
same they had seen near the places from which
the horses had been stolen.

“As we missed headin’ ’eml 05,”.st Tom
Mabry, “we kin try to chase ’em down, and
I dgnt reckon they’ve got much the start of
us.

The party pushed forward at a'rapid rate,
gettin as much 3 eed out of their horses as
they nred to, an it was near sunset when
they came in sight of the horse-thieves, who
were four in number, and well mounted, but
were incumbered by the horses they were lead--

in .

E New for it!” exclaimed Abe Lassiter, as be
pressed his horse to a run. ,

At the same time the horse-thieves discov»
ered their pursuers, and hastened to get out of
their way. . ., ~

The locality in which they were sighted was
a wild and entirely unsettled region thickly
covered with a heavy growth of timber, and
abounding in dangerous swamps. They dis
covered the pursuit just as, they were entering
a wide swamp which was crossed by a corduroy
r

When the pursuers came to the swamp, théy
saw that a sharp trick had been played to be 9

them. The horse-thieves had halted, had torn ,

up the logs that composed the road—bed, and had
piled them on their slde of the gap. I ‘

From behind the fortification thus Constructed
they safely 0 ened fire uponLassiter’s party,
who could on y approach them in a mass over
the corduroy.

“This is a bad piece of business ” said the
leader. “What do you think of it, abryi”

“I reckon their bosses is tired,” replied the
guide, “ as they‘ve covered agood deal 0’ ground
since they set out. They’ve got fresh uns, to
be sure, but are afeared you mou ht overhaul
’em. So they allow to hold us 0 anti] night,
and then slip away. ”

“Is there no wayto work through the swamp “

and get around them?",
“ Wnl, thar’s a sort of a way, and I kin lead

any tellers through as is willin’ to foller, ef.

thar’s enough daylight left to make it.”
“Count me in,” said George Denston, and
several others volunteered.
It was arranged that all should dismount.
and that the main body of the party should

attack on the horse-thieves, while Tom
with Abe Lassiter, George Denston and Bill

get such shelter as they could and keegtl‘ig an .
ry.

Anderson, should try to work through the,

swamp and get in their rear.

The party of four had a hard road to travel.
That is to say, though it was soft enough, and a
good deal too soft, it was a ver 7 difficult mad,

1!; was not even a ridge 0 any sort, buts

succession of hammocks, roots and cypress lambs ,

slippery and uncertain, surrounded by the dark
and slimy water in whichmoccasin snakes were
by no’means scarce. r

_ But they‘pushed on bravely, admonishedJyL-V; .
the growing darkness that they had nortime

 

 

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‘ their three ri

 

.‘,~

 

'1 ”   ' I  George, the  

 

lace, and knowing that if they should get
caught in that swamp, they could not attempt
ingot out before morning.

- ext to Tom Mabry, rge Denston, made
the best and easiest time. Young and light and
active, he lea from one foothold to another,
never losing is balance, while Anderson was
twice sensed in the Swamp, and Lassiter’s
weight frequently caused him to sink to his
kn ..

ees.

They pulled through finally, not a minute too
soon, and had good cause to congratulate them-
selves when they struck the corduroy.

It was then too dark to see anything clearly;
but they heard occasional shots up the road,
which told them that the horse-thieves were
still there, and enabled them to judge of their
distance from the gap.

Abe Lassiter then took the lead of the four,
and they passed silently and stealthil up the
road, until they came in sight of t 6 Stolen

, ‘horses, which were hitched and lumped on the

corduroy, in charge of one of the thieves. .

“’Sh-sh—sh!” whispered Mabry. "That is
Sam Bremner himself. I know him by_ the
cconskin tail to his cap. Watch me while I
slip up on him.”

Under cover of the horses, he stole up ,the
road, closely followed by the other three.

Sam Bremner rose to his feet.

“ We are all right now, boys,” said he. ” It
is gettin’ to be as dark as a stack 0’ black cats,
and we mought as well git on our critters and
ride OE."

.“All right, Sam!” replied a voice from the
log-heap. “We will give ’em a shot or two,
and then scatter.”

“ Bo quick about it, then.”

The words were hardly out of Brenner’s
mouth when Tom Mabry leaped upon him,
trifiped him, and threw him on the road.

e yelled as he was seized, and the other
horse—thieves turned and found themselves
confronted by fees from an unexpected quarter.

They knew that they could expect no mercy
if they were captured, and, 0 course, were
ready to fight desperatel for their lives; while
the others knew that t eir friends could not
get to them across the gap, and that they must
put their work in vigorously and surely.

But Lassiter and his comrades had the advan—
tage of being prepared for the conflict, and

es cracked as Sam Brenner fell.

Then they drew their pistols, and ran in to
make an end of the job.

The horse-thieves, surprised and taken off
their guard, were scarcely able to defend them-
selves, and in a few seconds three dead bodies
lay on the corduroy.

George Denston was not certain whether he
had actually lulled a man or not, but gave him-
self the benefit of the doubt, though he knew
his aim tobe deadly. ’

Abe Lassiter hastened to the assistance of
Mabry, who was stru gling with Sam Brenner,
and the leader of t e horse-thieves was soon
securely bound.

The only casualty on the part of the settlers
was that of Bill Anderson, always unlucky,
who had been shot in the ar . r

The others proceeded to restore the logs to
the road-bed, so that their friends could join
them. Then the bodies and the prisoner were
taken to the land.

But they were not taken far.

Captain Lassiter’s rope was brought into
use, and Sam Brenner was soon swmging by
the neck from the limb of a tree. Then the
Inmbodies of his comrades Were strung up near

When George Denston got home he was- glad
that he had recovered his home, but thought
that he would. rather-lose several horses than
Witness another such scene;

 

CHAPTER XIII.
A WILD MAN 03' m woons

ABOUT the middle 9! the summer reports be.
gun to be current in the neighborhood of a
stran e, nondescript creature that was We”
siona ly seen in the woods. .

It had appeared to some chlldreq on their way
to the log school—house,and had frightened them
soterribly that their parents kept them at home_

At least one man was.also reported to have
35011 it; but accounts of its sizea and a pen-Mm
“mad so greatly that no opinion of w tit real.
2 ,was could be forgaed,_lt)lliough :11 agreed in

'Wfin it as a 0m 6 crea ure. covered
W55“ hair. agnd with eyes that blazed m“, an,
i As it could not be doubted that than W”,
with: ,of the kind in the neighborhood, m
W361? heads lettled down to the belief mi; it

 

lasso Quickly, but withvgood 

   
 

   

was a wild beast that had escaped" from some
menagerie up the country. . A

One day Ben Denston went into the woods to
look for a stray “yearling,” and he came home
with a strange story of an encounter with the
nondescript monster. '

George, who did not believe the tales he had
heard, was inclined to laugh at him; but, Ben

earnestly declared that he had not only seen the

thing, but had been quite close to it.

He had come upon it unawares, asit was feed-
ing on some berries that grew on the bushes,
and he could not have been more than two rods
from it when he saw it.

The creature seemed to catch sight of him at
the same moment. It growled, chattered, ut-
gerzd astrange cry and moved off on its four

ee .

Idea was strongly inclined to run; but, as the
thing made no attempt to pursue him, he
plucked u courage and advanced toward it.

Sudden y it rose up on its hind feet and bound-
ed away into the woods, going, as Ben said,
“like greased lightning.”

“ It must be some big ape that has got loose,”
said George. “ Was it very hairy, Ben? Did
ou gees its eyes? What did it look like, any—
ow ‘

“The sober truth is, George. that it looked
more like a man than anything else. Its face
was like a man’s—what I could see of it—and it
had very long hair and beard, and what seemed
to be hair on its body may have been more dirt
than hair, and I am almost sure that it had
something in the shape oi“ clothes.”

“ That’s itl" exclaimed George. “ It is a wild
man~some-poor lunatic that is no better than a
beast. l have read of such things.”

Mrs. Denston and Lucy were greatly shocked

and terrified by Ben’s story. They declared .

that they would not dare to venture out of the
house w ile such a creature Was roaming the
woods, and even insisted upon keeping the doors
locked and the windows barricaded.

George rode over to Abe’ Lassiter’s, to whom
he told Ben’s story, and Abe proposed that
there should be a hunt for the wi d man, or
beast, or whatever it was.

It was an easy thing to get up aparty for that
purpose, and a number of the settlers, mounted
and armed, met at the Denston place the next
morning.

Ben Denston, who was then nearly seventeen
years of age, carried George’s rifle, while the lat‘
ter contented himself with his two derringer pis-
tols. He also carried a lasso, which had been
given to him by a Texas traveler, and with
which he had practiced until he was quite ex-
pert in its use.

Ben led the party to the place where he had
seen the creature, and they separated and be-
gan to search for it.

The search continued for hours, covering a
large extent of forest, but nothing was seen of
the nondescript. .

At last George sighted it, sounded the alarm

and gave chase, all who were near him joining,

in the pursuit.

But the creature bounded away on two legs
with such tremendous strides, taking to the
most, diflicult and inaccessible parts of the
woods, that it kept far ahead of the mounted
men, and a. shot that was sent after it only in-
creased its ed.

Some of t em got near enough to form the
opinion that it was a man, as it ran like a man
and bad hair like a man’s, and they thought
that they could distinguish some rags of cloth-

1n .

g‘inally it disap eared in a glade, a partly
open space in the crest, and the disappearance
was so sudden and complete that some of the
party began to believe that there must be some—
thing supernatural about it.

But a large hollow oak, with an opening at
the base, soon attracted their attention, and it
was the eneral opinion that the creature had
taken re go in the trunk of the tree.

How to get it out, or get at it, was the next
question. ,

George Denston, who was then strongly ini-
pressed with the,belief that the non escript
was a man, beg ed that nobody would shoot at
it, as he wishe to tryto capture it Wlth his
lasso, if it could be induced to come out, and he
was told that he should have a chance to try

his skill.

. Abe Lsssiter went behind the tree and beat

on the hollow trunk with a heav sti . .
Suddenly the creature boun ed opt, in the

Eight of the entire party, and a horrible thing

lit as to look at. I

Denstomstood firm, and swung his.

 

 

. k .. l

A .

,’ .  .V‘lv"

 

y ‘,..

The noose settled down over'tbcwildman’. r.
head, and tightened around his waist; but i H
failedtoseciuehismmaastheywerewflh 
drawn from its clutch with wonderful '
ness. , I
Then the monster, crazy with rage or fear, »
layed the game that is sometimes practiced by ‘
rs when they are lassoed, but played it far
more briskly than any bear would have done.
Seizing the rope with both hands, and haul-
ing it in as he went, be advanced upon his cap-‘
tor with lightning leaps and before George E . i
knew what he was about e was thrown to the
ground, and the creature fastened his teeth in _,  '
his shoulder. ‘ _
He bit like a dog, snarling horribly. and
lcjlaa‘s‘ped the throat of his Victim With one of his
and sinewy hands.- ' _
George Denston strove in vain to free him» , _ .
self from that hateful ripe. The grasp upon 
his throat ti htened, an he felt that his breath , v",
was leavin im, when he was nearly deafened
by a shot t at was fired close to his ear. , ' ' ,
The limbs of the monster trembled convulj j
sively, his grasp loosened, and he rolled over,  '
dead. . -
When George looked up, he saw Abe Lassiter
standing by him, with a pistol in his hand. ‘ ‘ -v
“ I had to shoot him, George,” said he. “ It '
was the only way of saving your life. Ireckon‘
you had better not tackle such a critter Wltll a
re again. He was worse than a wild beast.” ,
l): was seen that the creature was a-man, '1' "
though there was scarcely anything that was; ; :1,"
human in his features, and Ben Denston’s do: ’
scri tion of him had been a good one. Th
could be no doubt that he was a lunatic of t e . _
worst kind, and that the neighborhood was well ‘ .‘ ,.»
rid of the terror. ‘ ' ,
George Denston, who was badly scratched ”
and bitten, went home with Lassiter, and had I. w -
his lacerated shoulder roughly cauterized before ' . f» i
he returned to his mother and sister. ' ' ,

CHAPTER XIV.
ran FOREST FIRE.
hTEE third sumac: of tlég lgensgln fargily in ‘
t eir new home open rig yan Eros—
perously, and the had good reason to be 'eve 
that the year wou d give them a handsome re-t «.
turn for their hard labor. ‘
But the latter part of the summer told quite ,
a different story. It was distinguished by such ‘ .
a " dry spell” as had neVer before been 139' ‘ ‘
perienced, and which passed into the history of "
the region as the big drouth. _, ;
It extended into the early of the autumn- , .
Crops were withered in the elds, allvegetaflon '
was parched, cisterns were emptied without any ,
prospect of filling them, the few wells in the
settlement went dr . and the river wasso low ,
thatinplaeesitcoudbecressedd shod. ,,
Several families moved out of e mi
hood, and the winter prospect for those w no i
mained was a dr ‘ one. i ,
The Denstons cred with the rest, 1: '-
thanks tocGeorge’s forethought, apiece of bore“ 9, L
tom land which had formerly been too wet to . :‘f
use was planted with corn, and promised them  i: r
at least a ‘ 1 crop. _ » i ' ’
When t e cistern threatened exhaustion he '
set at work to dig a well in a spot indicated W

i

 

 

   
   
   
  
 
   
   
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
   
    
   
   
    
  
  
   
  
  

Joe Scurl, who claimed to be a “ water witch. .
George had never dug a well, but his ' ‘
once in di ging a cistern had ta ht him how to
go to wor , and with Ben’s help e made rapid , ,
low At the depth of thirty feet from the
s ace he struck a vein of water, which hoiledj
up so rapidly and plentifully that \he had 
make haste to get out of its way. So thewai’or‘ ‘
problem was solved, to the great joy ofthe
am) y. * ,. 
But the chief trouble and danger arose from .
forest fires. Nobody knew how theyroriginaa
ted; but the ground was so parched, the to
so withered, and the timber so dry, that,
least spark was sure to start such a condom
tion as could not be easily extinguished . .
While these fires were _ra , the settlers»
joined their forces to assist see other at’the‘,
ints which were the worst threatened, and
E§ constant vigilance and hard work the snow ‘
ceeded in preventing any serious dcstmctim'n!’ .,
property outside of the nearly worthles .
But it was impossible to put a stop to
fires. If they were cut oil' at one loathe;
took a start in another direction, ‘ everynow
and then they would break out afresh in max- ,
pécted snow, or a breeze would send a danger-
ous con gration sweeping through the forest”,
Thus the settlers were continually on 
watch, and continuall. ' at work, until , j
were newly worn out y their  "

,«y

  

 

.1,

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

.12
one morning there was an alarm from the
Bigoe of unluck Bill Anderson, and George
nston moun Molly, and rode over there to
hel flghtthe fire.
he neighbors worked hard all day, and had
the satisfaction of knowing that they had saved
the farm buildings and nearly everything of
value.

It was after sunset when George left Ander—
son’s and he was within about half a mile of his
home when a bright light suddenly broke out
before him.

He looked along the lonely forest road, and

saw that the woods were on fire on both sides 3

of it. As he approached the spot the conflagru- r
tion increase , and became terrible in its
grandeur.

v A fire had started in the woods toward the
west,and a brisk wind had risen, which was
c ing the devouring element in a swift and
stea y march across the little road and in the

‘ direction of the home of the Denstons.

.The brush and leaves were everywhere burn-
ing and roaring, the flames were ickin up the
foliage and crackling among the tw1gs and
limbs of the trees, and the fire was gaining
strength and speed with every moment.

The young man halted an instant, but only ,

an instant.

His home was threatened, and he must reach
it as soon as possible. It was useless to think
of passing around the conflagration or trying to
head it all. There was but one course to take,
and that was to keep to the road and run the
gantlet of the flames.

He tied his handkerchief over his mouth,

, ; pulled down his hat and urged Molly forward.

The mere objected and resisted; but he struck
her flank fiercely with his hickory switch, and
startled her so that she dashed into the flames.
.,.When she was once in she could do nothing
but go on, and she flew down the forest road,

I I madilened by fear, at the top of her speed.

George felt the flames scorching his hands and
face, and the smoke nearly blinded and choked
him; but he held his head down, and trusted to
the mare to pull him throu h. A blazing sup—
ling droipped across the roa before her, and she
bounde over it. A large tree fell with a crash
behind her, and startled her into yet more fran—
tic efforts.

» Fortunately the lane of fire was not a broad
one. Though the headlong course of horse and
rider was hot and dangerous, it was brief and
soon over.

. The belt of fire was passed, and Molly dashed

i' through the lowered bars into the inclosure

-, around the house, where Mrs. Denston and Lucy
>' V andBen were huddled together, watching~the

progress of. the conflagration.
George sprung to the ground, and went to

‘ work at once to ward of! the threatened disaster.

" standing still and watching the fire.
' 'brought into the house inclosure all the stock

L, least was safe, if the house could be saved.
’ -‘ The house stood in a small clearing surround
' ed by the tall trees of a heavy and Virgin forest,

But Ben had not contented himself with

He had
that could be got together, and that much a

and was connected with the forest by fencing
and other obstructions that would carry fire.
The first thing necessary was to remove all

f those obstructions, and put them out of the way
’ of the flames.

George set the others at that work, while he

it got together all the blankets and quilts in the

case, soaked them in water from the well, and,

.' with the aid of a ladder, spread them on the
‘ .roof.i Then a con is of trees that stood too

gear the house quic y fell before the strokes of

is ex.

‘ By this time most of the fencing and other

light stufl in the inclosure had been removed to

the leeward side of Ithe house. By this time,
the fire had taken complete possession of

i mforest, was burning fiercely at the edge of

the clearing, and was rapidly surrounding the
inclosure.
There was nothing more that could be done,

I except toflght off the rivulets of fire that crept

.9

along the ground, and to keep the covering of

. the roof soaked with water.

The heat was then so great that George sent his
mother andpister inside, while he and Ben shel-

,terod themselves with the horses and cattle on

the leeward side of the house, venturing out
every new and then to wet the roof and to
watch for flying Cinders.

V It was soon apparent that some of the build-
ingein the horse-lot, if not all of them, would

, the to go, and that it would be useless labor

‘Wtotrytosavethem. ,

’ The horse—lot waaa smaller clearin than/that
around the house. it was surround by a high

I fence, and contained a stable with a large loft,
a cattle—shed attached, a corn-crib, and a rude
hen-house. .

Ben proposed to go and save what he could in
that guarter, before the fire cut him 01!, and
dashe away, while George remained to guard
the bones. .

The boy did his work quickly and well, taking
from the stable ever thing he could get out,
piling it in the mid e of the lot, and hastily
throwing earth upon the pile. But he had to
break through a rin of fire to get back.

When he reach the house the forest all
around the inclosure was in flames, and the scene
was grand and awful.

The roaring of the conflagration was terrific;
the tall trees seemed to sway and surge as they
buist into masses of fire; volumes of smoke and
flame rolled up to the sky and obscured the
heavens; clouds of burning leaves and cinders
swept over the house and dropped upon it; the
air was so hot and close that breathing was
painful; the horses trembled as they huddled
against the house; the cattle crouched near
them and moaned; the solitary clearing was
girt with an ocean of fire.

George and Ben were enabled to breathe the
stifling air bly'keeping wet cloths at their
| mouths, and t rough the long and weary night
' they did not relax their efforts, but kept the
roof soaked and extinguished every spark that
touched the house.

In the morning they were sure that their
l lives and home were safe, and the prospect was
I that the fire would soon cease for want of fuel.

But they were pitiable objects in the midst of
a scene of gloom and desolation, George in par
ticulnr being burned and scorched, nearly
blinded, and completely overcome by fatigue.

At last they went into the house for needed
food and rest, and the praise they received was
unstinted.

“It is a great blessing that you had a well
dug, George,” said his mother.

“Yes, indeed. If it hadn’t been for that, we
might now be settled in another world, But
the house and the stock are safe, and we have
)ulled through very well. The stable is gone,

ut the corn—crib stands with the corn in it, and
that is a great comfort. lVe will have lots of
rails to make, but the tire has made a big clear-
ing for us, and that is ii great saving of labor.
I shall build a better stable, and Ben and I will
set at work right away to re. air damages.”

“Not just yet, I think,’ remarked Lucy.
“Your hands and face are blistered, and your
eyes seem to be nearly out. We will have to
keep you in the house for awhile, whether or
no

 

 

CHAPTER XV.
THE YOUNG DEPUTY SHERIFF.

IN the fall of the year of “ the big drought ”
there was an election, at which Abe Lassiter
was elected sheriff of the county. It was an
office which he had not coveted, and, as he was
not well fitted for it by education, he made
George Denston his deputy, engaging him to at-
tend to the clerical duties of the osition.

George found that the work a lotted to him
did not seriously interfere with his labors on the
farm, and it brought in a little revenue that
was sorely needed; so he was well pleased with
his office.

Outside of his clerical duties the young depu-
ty sheriff had little official work to do, until
near the opening of spring, when he became in-
volved in a matter that called for no little
pluck and self—sacrifice.

An old man was found dead in his house,
where he had been brutally and secretly mur-
dered. ,. '

It was the first crime of the kind that had
been known in the neighborhood. Men had
been killed in rows, in fairfights, or shot down
openly on the high road; but such a secret,
midnight. shocking murder as this was some-
thing entirely new, and it caused a great sensa~
tion.

Reuben Draine, the murdered man, had lived
alone with his two children, Thomas and Mary.
a young man of twenty-four and a girl of
nineteen.

He was full sixty years of age, and was not
well liked in t e neighborhood, being of a harsh
and morose di. osition, unobliging, unsocial,
and almost repu sive in his manners. Although
he was the owner of a large and productive
farm, he lived in a mean and stingy wayhand
it was probably his peuuriousness that gained
him. the reputation of beigfi a miser and of
having plenty of gold and ' ver concealed in
his log cabin. _ ,

It was generally believed, and with good rea-

 

\
’I- .‘L'.

.13

I / V / I '

 

/

Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer. ' A ‘ ' r

son for the belief, that he lived on very bad
terms with his children; but there could hardly
be a doubt that he was responsible for this state
of affairs, as it was known that for years he
had treated them both very severely.

It was pretty certain that the were not the
kind of young people who were ikely to keep a
house in an uproar. Tom Drains was by no
means strong-minded, and was regarded by some
as little better than an idiot; while Mary was a
sweet and gentle girl, whose amiable disposiv
tion made her enerally liked. ‘

But when uben Draine was murdered,
there were lenty who believed that his children.
having an ured his hard and miserly rule as
long as they could, had at last revolted and
made an end of him.

The old man occupied one of the lower rooms
of a double 10 house as his sleeping apartment,
Mary using t e other, and Tom sleeping up-
stairs in the room above his father.

Reuben Draine was murdered at night, and
Tom’s story was that when he came down-stairs
early in the morning he found his father dead
in his bed his head having been split open with
an ax. e at once called Mary, who ran to the
nearest neighbor’s and gave the alarm.

The door of the room faced an open hall or
passageway between the two parts of the house,
and the old man always locked it when he went
to bed; but Tom said that he found it open that
Eorning. He had heard no noise during the
night. and Mary, who was on the other side of
the passageway, had llcmd none.

In a corner of the old men’s room a piece of
Tom’s clothing’ was found, and it was stained
with blood, looking as if bloody hands had been
wiped on it. The ax with which the murder
was committed, and which was found on the
floor, was Tom‘s ax. He said that‘he had left
it at the woodpile the previous evening.

On the strength of these suspicious circum-
stances Tom Draine was arrested, charged with
the murder of his father. Mary was allowed ,
to go free, as it was proposed to use her as a
witness against her brother.

The firisoner had a hearing before Col. Wel-
burn, abe Welburn‘s father, who was a justice
of the peace. All the neighbors were called in
as witnesses, and the testimony was mainly
directed to the un leasant relations that had
existed between euben Draine and his
children.

Mary had a long and severe examination,
under which she more than once brokeuiown
and burst into tears. She was compelled to
make some admissions that were quite unfavor-
able to her brother, as it a peered that he had
made threats against his ather. But she had
never paid any attention to them, as they were
made under great provocation, and Tom was
not strong in is head.

She could give no explanation of’ his bloody
clothes, nor could she account for the presence
of his ax in the house. But she was sure that
Tom would never have harmed his father, and
she could only sup 058 that the house had been
entered at night y some stranger, who had
murdered the old man for revenge, or for
money.

To this theory was opposed the general belief
that no stranger had been seen in the neighbor-
hood about that time, that Reuben Draine bad
no enemies outside of his family, and that there
was nothing to show that a theft had been
committed or attempted. .

Public opinion was strong1 against Tom
Draine. It Was believed that e was the only
person who was likely to have killed his father,
as well as the only one who had cause for wish-
ing him out of the way, and he was committed
to the log jail at the county town to await his
trial.

This tragical case made Geor e Denston, in
the discharge of his duties as e uty sheriflf,
acquainted with Mary Drains. 6 then saw
her for the first time, and sympathized with
her and admired her. ,

fie admired her so much that be determined
to do what he could for herna'nd he waited on
her, after Tom was sent to Jail, with offers of
advice and assistance.

To these offers she responded very gratefully,
and was deeply touched by the kindness of the
one friend who had been so unexpectedly sent.
to her.

“Yours are the onl really kind words I have
card.” said she. “ me people seem to speak
‘udly, but I can see that they suspect me as

well as my brother. I am sure. that poor Tom
is innocent, and I believe that With your help he
can be proved so. But the people have already
made u their minds, and they Will not listen to .
a word say.” : ,

 

 

 

 

     

/

.,...,.

,AWide-Awakef Gem-gs, the Boy Pioneer.

\

'13

 

 

“What is it that you want to say?” asked
Geor e. _ . _

“ ome here I” she eagerly replied, seizing her
new friend by the‘ arm, and leading him across
the room. “ Look at those marks on the bed-

>ost.” ~

I On the post at the head of Reuben Draine’s
lied were the bloody marks of a left hand, with
the exception of the third finger.

“ The murderer’s hand made that mark,"
.«(lld Mary, “ and you see that the third fin er
Jams gone. There could have been no third n-
ger, because no man ever seizes anything with
his hand and leaves that finger up. If you will
look at the ax, which somebody carried to 001.
Welburn, you' will see the same mark on the
handle.” ‘

George said that he had already noticed it.

“Could Tom have been the murderer, then?
He has all the fingers on both his hands. Now I
have something more to show you.”

She took him to the wood—pile, and showed
him some tracks. .

“ It was just here that Tom left his ax,” she
said, “ and here I found those tracks. No rain
has fallen since that light, and they are quite
clear and plain. Do they look like the tracks of
my brother Tom?” _

George admitted that they did not. One had
been made by an ordinary boot; but the other
was evidently the track of a foot so deformed
that it might be called a club—foot.

The young deputy sheriff, who had become
an adept in what may be called trackolo y,
looked around and found other similar trac s.

“ It is clear enough now,” said he.

“ I must .

 

l

anion them, and the would make no bones at,
all of illing a man w 0 came to capture one of
their comrades. Even if Carter could be taken
out from among them, the return journey
would be full of danger.

But the deputy-sheriff had fully determined
to make the effort, and nothing could induce
him to change his mind.

“You ma, get me a warrant for Carter,”
said he. “ f course I would not think of using
it in Texas or Louisiana; but when I get. the
man across the line it may be well to have it. ’j

Lassiter procured the warrant, and bid his
young friend a sad farewell, convinced that he
would never see him again.

George set out alone on his sorrel horse, car-
rying some food in his saddlebags, and armed
with his rifle and two derringers.

0n the road he carefully repared a story to
tell when he should reach t e rendezvous of the
desperadoes. He had come from the northern
part of Arkansas, where he had killed a man
who was pursuing him to recover a stolen
horse, and had been compelled to “light out
for Texas.”

.He oasil made his Way toYthe Texas border,
where be ad no little difliculty in getting the
location of Thieves’ Hollow, as he did not think
it advisable to ask for it under that name, and
the country was so scantily settled that there,
were few persons of whom inquiries could be
made.

. But a little judicious hinting led him on, un-
til he got the right direction. and at last he rode
boldly into the place of his destination.

It was a very small settlement, composed of

look for aman with a Clubfoot, who has lost 1 only a few shanties, the most important of

the third finger of his left hand."

“ There must be such a man,” said Mary.
" If you should find him, you may find some
gold coins in his pockets. 1 don’t know that he
got any: but, if
father often told' me that ‘ .
coins, so as to send Tom or me to prison if we
took them. He showed me the mark, and this
is it.”

Mary Draine made a minute mark on a bit of
paper, which George Denston folded and put in
his pocket. ' .

“ Keepu your spirits, and hope for the best,”
said he. “ fem going to find a man with a club-
foot and a. missing finger, and we will get Tom
out of this scrape. ’ 1

CHAPTER XVI.
CUTTING OUT A PRIZE.

GEORGE DENSTON immediately began to
search for the man with a club—foot and a miss—
ing finger, and at first his search seemed much
like the proverbial task of looking for a needle
in a haystack.

No such man was living in the settlement,

' nor could any one remember having seen a man

of that description in the neighborhood. The
people gener 1y had settled it in their minds
that Tom Draine was
posed to give any aid
innocence. ,

But George was a persevering fellow, and his
admiration for Mary Draine prompted him to
leave no stone unturned in his attempt to clear
her brother.

He learned that a man with a club-foot and
a missing flu or had been noted in the vicinity
as a despera o and hard case in general. This
was Jack Carter, who had been a member of
Sam Brenner’s band of horse-thieves before the
raid that broke it up, and who had escaped the
pursuit that was ended by the battle in the
swam . '

Jack Carter had not been seen in the neigh-
borhood since that event, but George was con-
vinced that he had come back at least once, and
had stayed long enough to murder Reuben
Drains.

Having “a
wastolocate im, and this was no easy task.
But he finally learned that Jack Carter had
gone south, robably to join the remnant of
Sam Brenners band, who had emigrated to a
place on the Texas border, a sort of redatory
settlement or rendezvous, which was nown as
Thieves’ Hollow.

George determined to pay a visit to‘ Thieves’
Hollow. and notified Mary Drains of his inten-
tion. She thanked him with tears in her eyes,
and laid that she would pray for his safe re.
tum.

Abe Iassiter. the only other person to whom
he spoke of his purpose, tried to dissuade him
from going on such a dangerous errand.

Notonly wanack Carter a desperate magii
said the sheriff,“ but his companions were ‘
desperate men. No stranger’s life could be safe

ggilty, and were not dis-
an elfort to prove his

l
l

tted” his man, the next thing i

which was devoted to the sale of “ forty-rod ”

- whisky.

 

At this place the young man alightai, and
was received by a number of men who were

e did, the are marked. My filled with bad liquor, curiosity and suspicion.
e marked his gold ‘ Their character was apparent at a glance, and

he could not have the least doubt that he had
ac ually reached Thieves’ Hollow.

He, too, was suspicious and reticent, until, by
the hints he dropped about being a fugitive
from justice, he had gained the confidence of
the crowd.

Then he introduced himself as Bud Wilson,
and told the story that he had prepared for that
purpose. As he told it in a straightforward
way, and was well acQuainted with the region
in which he had located his adventure, he was
believed, and, as he put on the appearance of a
reckless young chap, he was received into the
fellowship of the desperadoes.

At the same time he gave them to understand
that he was young in crime, and was not above
bein troubled by the remembrance of what he
had one.

“ The fact is, fellers," said he, “ that I never
killed a man afore. I reckon it’s nothin’ when
you git used to it; but it tetched me on the raw,
and jest had to li ht out.” ,

He was assured t at he {would soon recover
from his unpleasant sensations, and that he
miglht find a refu e at Thieves’ Hollow, as long
as 9 could pay is way. If his money gave
out, he would have to find some means of get-
tin more.

aving established himself with these wild
companions, he looked for a man with a club-
foot and a missing finger, and soon found him.
He learned, too, that this man's name was Jack
Carter, and then he believed that his danger—
ous mission was fully half performed.

He cultivated the acquaintance of Jack Carter,
and soon becameso intimate with him that they
two justified the old saying, “ As thick as two
thieves.”

He noticed that Carter had plenty of money,
and that it was in gold. As the scamp spent his
money pretty freely, George easily got a chance
to examine one of the pieces, and discovered on
it Reuben Draine’s private mark.

The one thin then left to do was to capture
his man and ta e him home.‘

He sought a private conversation with Jack
Carter, and gave him an interesting bit of in-
formation.

“ The story that I told when I came here,
Jack,” said he, “was as straight as a shingle;
but there’s a tail to it. I ain’t quite so green as
I made out to be, and I came down here to
make a strike, as well as to git out of the way
of the law. I knew of a rich cattle-trader who
was comin’ this we , with his poekets full of
money. I‘ve heard ¥rom him sin , and he will

apt to cross the border to-morrer night. I’ve
been lookin’ about for the right kind of a pard-
ner, and you suit me to a notch. If you will
go with me to strip the cattletrader, we will
make a big haul and‘keep it to ourselves.”

9

This  was “ nuts” to Jack Carter
who wapsmgetting. short of money, and he an:
ce ted it joyfully. I

The next afternoon they set on taking the

‘ trail which George Denston had to owed when

he came to Thieves’ Hollow.

At sunset, when they were several miles away
from their comrades, and near . the border,
George propoeed that they should conceal them-
selves in a thicket at the side of the trail. and
await the arrival of their victim, who would be
pretty sure to come along before midnight. _

They had hitched their horses, and Jack
Carter had seated himself on the ground to en-
joy the contents of a flask of whisky, when his
comrade suddenly confronted him With a leveled

istol. ,
p “ Throw up your hands!” ordered George.

Carter’s rifle was too far away, and he reached
for a pistol.

“ Dro it,” said George, “ or you are a dead
man. row up your hands; I tell you!”

Carter raised his hands; but, when George

agility, and grappled his antagonist. '
There was a severe but short struggle, which
ended in favor of the strong and active young
deputy sheriff, who tied the hands of the dos-V
perado firmly behind his back. .
“What Sort of a joke is this, Bud WIISODI”
asked Carter. “If you have brought me out

the 'ob.”

“ y name is not Bud Wilson,” replied George.
“ I am George Denston, a deputy sheriff from
Arkansas, and I arrest you for the murder of
Reuben Draine.”

“ Wide-awake George,
claimed Carter.
cha . But you can’t serve any warrant on me
in 'IPexas.”

by thunder I” ex-

quick,” replied George, “and I warn
you had better not try to get away.” ' -

Of course Carter, notwithstanding this warm—
ing, lost no chance of attempting to make his
esca . and George Denston’s existence until he
reac ed home was one of constant wakefulness
and watchfulness. ,

He disarmed his prisoner, mounted him on his“
own horse, and drove him on, riding all that
night and all the next day, with scarcely a
stoppage for a bite of food. The second night
they spent in the woods, and the third night at
the house of a farmer to whom Geo a had
confided his purpose on his way down. at at.

you that

the rest he needed.

oner into the sure hands of/ Abe Lassiter, bewas
completely exhausted. He slept, and it was
lonlglbefore the waking hour came. q '
en he hastened to Mary Drains, who had
already been informed of the result of his mis»
sion, and who was more than grateful to him
for what he had done. '

brought against Jack Carter caused him to con—
fess his crilne, and Tom Drains was released. ’

riage between George Denston and
Draine, who was as pretty as she‘was amiable
and true, and who came in for a nice bit of
property that her miserly father had saved-

CHAPTER XVII. ’

RUNNING FOR OFFICE. ‘

Barons the time came for Gear
and Mar Draine to be married, t era was a
neral e ection, at which membersof the State

9 ‘slature were to be chosen. V 
ids-awake George was so popular in his
own neighborhood, and had made such a broad
reputation through the district for skill and

 

become a candidate for the Legislature. .
As the farm was then well under way, and
Ben was old enough and smart anon h to take

thou ht that he would lose nothing by making
a be d stroke for a higher position, and an—
nounced himself as a candidate.

As it was a sortof a “scrub race,” them were:

self, the most important one being Ben Gerrish.
a youn lawyer who had been un
the neig borhood by Colonel Welburn, and who
was championed by that influential tieman, ‘
who had a swamp land scheme 1:13:12??me
to. push through the
benefit.

 

I: had madeabignamefor

; I. ’ i"

 

approached him, he jumped up with amazing~

here to rob me, just go through me and finish ‘

no time did he feel suificientlysecure to take

« Another upshot was an engagement of mar—-

almost the entire management of t, Georgia

George Donate
himself by his permit and captain of Reuben

“I’ve heard of you, young?

“I will have you over the border pretty ‘

When he reached home, and had put his pris-l V

The upshot of this exploit was that the proof .

Denstoni'“

bravery and good sense, that many of his '
friends, including Abe Lassiter, advised him to

then three candidates in the field besides him- .
porl‘ed‘in‘bo ' I

Legislature for hisoan“

 

    
 

  

 

\ l

 

‘Wide-Awake George, the Boy

 

Draine‘s murderer, he was reco iiized as ’a for

’midable candidate, and who of t e others soon
dropped out. leaving it to lawyer Gerrish and
the young deputy sheriff.

George at once began an active canvass, go-
ing from house to house, and “log-rolling" in
the usual way to solicit the votes and influence
of his neighbors. \

In the course of his canvass it was necessary

’ to visit the “ doggeries," as the liquor shops at

thecouuty town and the cross-roads were called,
and in one of them he witnessed an exhibition
of practical politics that was decidedly uii<
pleasant.
A young man had expressed in George’s pres-
‘ once an intention of voting for him. when one
of Gerrish‘s supporters stepped up to the voter
and threatened to “ bu’st his head" if he did
not abandon that intention.
“I think you had better not try it,” said
George, coming promptly to the rescue. “ liis
"vote is his own, and he has a right to cast it as
‘ he pleases, and I will see that he iii-protected iii

. that right.”

“ Haw will you help yourself, you miserable
whiffet, you sneakin polecat. you interloper
from Indiana?”

, Of course such an insult must be resented at
once, and George knocked the man down with-
out a word.

This was the signal for an onslaught by the
supporters of Gerrish and Welhurn, who were
largely in the majority in the “ doggery,” and
George and his few riends were getting the
worst of it,rwhen a tall and powerful man sud-
denly stepped in and changed the scene.

This was Lon Brewer, who has been men-

, tioned in these sketches, and who was not only

friendly to George Denston, but entertained a

yet warmer feeling for that young man’s sister.
He pushed his way through the ” muss," strik—

ing right and left with his heavy flsts, cleared a

passage for George, and dragged him out of the
oor to where his horse was hitched.

“ I don’t want to run 011' and leave my
friends," protested George.

“But you must. Your friends will be safe
enough when you are gone. The truth is,
George, that you have been making such a hole

.in Gerrish’s vote that 001. Welburn has put

Ci some men on yourtrack to jayhawk you. He

. is afraid that you will win the race unless he
} ‘ can get you killed off or laid up. So you must

take care of yourself, and I am going to see

' . you safe home right now. ”

h‘.

. The candidate mounted his horse, and suffered

,1 himself to be led away.

But he and Brewer did not go directly home,
and his stoppages on the route gave his enemies

. another chance, of which they availed them-

_, \ selves.

'As the two friends were traversing a forest
road a dash upon them was made from a side
path by several mounted men.

, t was so unexpected and so sudden that
George, for once, was entirely unprepared for

’ it, and he was taken quite at a disadvantage.

V But it happened that this was the very thing
that Lon Brewer had been looking for.
As he saw the rush he brought own his whip

 ‘with all his force upon the flank of the more
, , George was riding, startling that animal into

~ ' , more, he looked back, and saw
' toward him alone.

such an exhibition of speed as must have as-
tonished herself as well as her rider.

She dashed down the road at a headlong al—
836 and- was so thoroughly frightened t at

rge was unable to regain control of her un—
til she had gone about a quai'ter‘of a. mile.

In the mean time he heard rapid firm behind
him, and was nearly crazy to go to t e assis-
tance of his friend.

then he finally succeeded in ulling up the
rewer riding
But he was pale, and he
leaned forward in his saddle.

’ “What was the matter?” eagerly asked
Golgi-73a “Why did you give my horses that
an

“It was those same jayhawkers," replied
Brewer. “I sent your horse out of the muss

-, because I didn’t want old Welburn to win his

game by drivin you off the track. But you

A may bet your l to, George, that I made them
‘ pay for their fun.”

I heard the shots. Are yourhurt, Lon ’l"
- “Well theyhit menace or twice, and I be—

 ’ lieve they have kinder sickened me.”

As Brewer swayed in his saddle, George

 helpedjhim to alight, and found that he had
' I been struck in two, aces. . He bound up the
' wounds» as well as

, , 9 could, so as tostopthe
loss of blood helped his friend to mount, and
tookhinitot eustonhomaetead, which for-
mulyhapponedwbomrathMp ,

,. , ‘ , ,

 _.(

 

The story of this encounter moved Mrs. Dans
ton . to deplore her son’s entrance into politics,
and to beg him to Withdraw from the race be—
fore he got killed; but Lucy’s sympathies at
once went out to the wounded man, whom her
brother could not praise too highly.

She sted Ben off for a doctor, and com-
pelled‘ rewei' to remain where he was and
submit to be nursed by her mother and herself
until his wounds were entirely healed.

The upshot of this adventure was a marriage
engagement between Lon Brewer and Lucy
Denston, with which George was higly pleased.

“ You have got a prize, Lucy, ’ said he.
“Lon is a man all through, and abetter and
truer man never trod the earth.”

CHAPTER XVIII.
WINNING THE GAME.

Tim Gerrish party, which was in reality the
Welburn party, circulated their, own account
ol‘ the attack in the forest road, and tried to
make capital against George Deuston by accus-
ing him of being a coward, who had run away
and left his friend to bear the brunt of the
“ skriminatge.”

But this alschocd was pretty well refuted by
George's reputation for courage, and by the
statements which Lon Brewer sent out from his
sick room. ,

Still, though it was clear to those who had
intelligence to look into the matter that 001.
Welburn’s swamp—laud scheme was intended for
the benefit of his private pocket, and did not
lack much of being a swindle, he had succeeded
in persuading many that it was an important
public measure which would be of great value
to the people of the district.

It was also quite certain that Col. Welhurn,
who was a Wealthy man for that region, was
spending money freely in the canvass, and that
he would omit no effort to elect his candidate.
There could be no doubt that these methods were
telling against George Denston.

His youth was also alleged against the youn
man, and the fact that he was “only afariner,
while his opponent was a lawyer, who could
speak for his constituents and exert an influence
in their behalf.

These unfavorable indications were increased
by the effort of the Gerrish men to bring about
a joint discussion between their candidate and
his young opponent. They made a proposition
to this effect, but George’s friends refused to ac-
cept it. They knew that their candidate was a
young follow, one of themselves, who had never
attempted to speak in public, and believed that
it would be the hight of unfairness to it him
against a trained speaker and practiced ( ebater.

The other side were not slow to say that
Denston was afraid to meet Geri‘ish, and that
cause always asses for a weak one which does
not find a bol defender.

Thus it was that George Denston was running
behind the expectations of his friends and his
own wishes, and was losing votes daily, until he
began to grow despondent. .

At last, shortly before the canvass closed, he
went to Abe Lassiter, the chairman of the com-
mittee on his side, and asked him to make an
immediate arrangement with Gerrish for a joint
discussion. \

Lassiter, who saw nothin but disaster in
such a course, tried to argue im out of it; but
George, with a smiling face, insisted on the
point.

“ But you can’t make a speech, George.” said
his friend. “That fellow will chaw you up
and talk you out of your boots.

“Maybe he won‘t. Give me a. chance, Abe,
and I think I will win this fight,"

“ What has got into you, my boy? Have you
found out anything about Gerrish, or Welburn,
or any of them i"

“ Well, I have heard a story." i

 

“A story! That is just the thing, if it is a
good story, and if you can tell it well. What
is it, George?”

“I don’t care to tell it just yet. Fix the

thing up and give me a chance.”
he arrangement was made, and the an‘
nounceinent of the joint discussion was cir~
culated broadcast, the Gerrish faction boasting
that they had the Iyoung fellow at last just
where they wanted im.
On the appointed day there was alarge crowd,
for a thinl settled country at the place of
meeting. he entire section had taken a holi—
day, and the people had come from far and
near to see the young farmer ‘ chewed up” by
the lawyer from Kentucky.
Lawyer Gerrish, who had th- opening, made
a fine flowery and argumentative speech. As
his friends said, he was "cooked and primed"

r
\
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’7‘, ,‘-. '\-, .

 

Pioneer.) ' l . '

 

 

for the occasion, and he did not propose to
“leave a grease-spot ” of his young opponent.
The audience listened to him attentive y, and
applauded him frequently. At the close of his
speech he confidently predicted his election,
and alluded compassionater to his “young
friend,” who had been led to make a losing
race by bad advisers and the vanity of youth.

George Denston rose to reply greeted only
by the forced applause of his friends. But be
had a confident air and a smilin face.

“Mg neighbors and friends,’ he said, “it is
true 1; at I am young; but you have the con-
solation of knowing that I am not old‘ in
iniquity. It is also true that I have not been
long in the county; but I came here earlier
than my opponent, and you will hear me out in
saying that I have done more for the district,
so far, than he has done.

“ It has lately been hinted that I have played
the part of a coward; but I need only appeal
to those who know me to nail that lie. As for
the swamp-land scheme, I can only say, with—
out imputin any bad motives to Colonel Wel-
burn, that believe it to be a swindle on the
State, intended to benefit a few persons at the
expense of the people generally, and I am sure
that all who look into the matter and think for
themselves will agree with me.

“The gentleman who has just addressed you
is a lawyer, and I am not: but I am sure you
know that I believe in doin justice, and I
have proved to you that I am in favor of pun—
ishing the guilty, rather than allowing the in»
nocent to suffer.” (This sentence brought a big
round of applause.)

“11 have never made a speech, and shall not
attempt to do so now, as I am sure that I would

make a failure. \ Instead of that I will tell you

a little stor . - .

“A few ys ago, when I was canvassing for
votes in a quiet way, I called on a. neighbor of
mine, who is known all over the district as :1

00d, sensible, friendly and honest man—Uncle
imm ’ Truesdell.

“ I new that Uncle Jimmy was opposed to
me for several. reasons; because he is a Whig.
while I am a. Democrat; because he had let him—

self be half—persuaded to favor the swampland ,

scheme; and because he thought me a little too
young to go to the Legislature. I had no:.idca
of gettin his vote, and did not ask him for it.

“ But had not been in the house ten minutes

when he told me that he was going to voiefor ‘

me.

“ I was greatly surprised, and was curious to
know the reason for his change of mind.

“ ‘ I will tell you just how it was, George,’
said Uncle Jimmy.’ ‘ Last night the other man
came here, and I was might-y glad to see him, as
I had made up my mind to vote for him. It
was late, and I asked him to stay all night.
You know I’ve got only one sleeping-room with
two beds in it, and the old woman and I sleep
in one of them. So I gave La er rri‘sh a
hint to step out while we went to d, and when
we were fixed I called to him to come in.

“ ‘ He seemed to be a long time about going
to bed, and I pee out, and. there he was on
his knees. There s a good and Christian men,
thinks I, and I’ll be powerful glad to vote for

, him. I whispered to the old woman, and she

peeped out, and was poWerful pleased too. But
she looked out again, and she made 1nd look, and
what do you think I saw?

“ ‘Why, Geor e, that chap 'wasn’t praying a
bit. He had pu led 03 his b’iled shirt, and. he
had pulled out of his saddle—bagsa long thing
like a woman’s ni htgown, With ruffles on
it, too; and he put 1: at thing on his back, and
popped into bed. _

“ Now, George,Y said Uncle Jimmy, ‘you
don’t ever ketch me giving my vote to a man
who wears a woman’s nightgown, with ruffles
on it, at that!’ ”

Geor e Denston sat down as soon as he had
finishe his story, and the applause and laughter
that followed were something terrific.

,Lawyer Gerrish rose to reply; but he was at
a loss for the right thing to say, and it would
have been hard to say anything in the face. of
the storm of hisses and laughter that greeted him.

The election was held the next day, and
George ,Denston was returned by a good
mu'oritv. _

he district had cause to regard him as an
able and faithful re resentative, and when the
session was ended a came home and nearly
cleared his mother’s farm of debt. ,

Then he married Mary Draine, and settled on
gm .Draine farm, while Lon Brewer married
11

the e ,on place. ‘
_ . rm: END.

»

ston. and helped Ben to take care 015

 

 

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l Peadwood Dick, m PmNcn or THE ROAD
Edward I... Wheeler.
oliowstono Jack. By JOS- 13- Badger. J1'-
Kangas Ki ; or Trm Rnn RIGHT HAND.
g Buffalo Bill gen. Wm. F. Cody).
4 he Wild—Horse Hunters. By Captain
Mayne Reid and Captain Frederick Whittaker.
I Va bond Joe,m YOUNG WANmIIuNO Jaw.
B gRCoomes. Double Number locts.
0 117m Biddon Trapper. By E. 5. Ellis.
7 The Flyin Bankee; or, Tim OcsAN OUT-
cAsT. By 001. ntiss Ingraham;
0 Seth Jones . By Edward S. Ellis.
Adventures oi Baron Munehaneen.
Nat Todd. By E. S. EilIs.
The Two Detectives. By A.W. Aiken.
Gulliver’s Traveln. B 7 Dean Swift.
The Dumb S y. By 01 Gnomes.
Aladdin; or. EWONDERB‘UL LANP.
The Sea-Cat. By Captain Fred. Whittaker.
6 Robinson Crusoe. ('27 Iiiustmtiona)
17 Ralph Boy, THE BOY BUOCANms; or.
FUGITIVE YACHT. B ' Col. Pmntiasi IX?
18 .Sindbad the Sal or. His Seven oyflges-
19 The Phantom Spy. By Bufl'aloBill. ‘
20 The Double Daggers. By E. L. Wheeler-
21 The Frontier A Iigel. By Edward 8. E1115.

Tm: BOY ROBINSON
Cnvsoz. By Juan Le .
23 Nick 0’ the Night. ByT. C. Harbaugh.
24 Diamond Dirk. By Colonel P. Ingraham.
25 The Do Ca Itain. ByRO r Starbuck.
26 Cloveu Boo , THE BmALo won; or, Tm:
Box.an vaszs. By Edward L. Wheeler.
27 Antelope Abe, THE BOY GUIDE. 011 Coomes
28 1111111110 Ben, Tim PRINCE OF THE PIsTOL;
or DEADWOOD DICK IN DlfiGUISE. E. L. eeler.
29 The Dumb Page. B'Capt. F. Whittaker.
30 Roaring Bulph Roe wood, THE RECR-
LESS RANGER. By Barry St. George.
31 Keen-Knife, PRINCE or TEE Piumms. By

9

i-HI-IHIIIOIIH
chieflqu

Bill

22 The Sea Serpent; or,

011 Coomes.

32 Bob Woolf, Tm: BORDER RUFFIAN' or. Tim
GIRL DEAD-SHOT. By Edward L Wh . er.

33 The Ocean Bloodhound. S.W. Pierce.

34 Oregon Sol' orl NICK Wnrmm' BOY SPY
By Ca t. J. F.  Adams. I

35 W1! Ivan, THE BOY CLAUDE DUvAL'Or.THn
BROTHERHOOD or DEATH. B Ed. L. eeler.

36 The Bo Clown . By rank 8. Finn.

37 The Hi den Lodge. By T. C. Harbaugh.
38 Ned W ide, Tm: BOY SCOUT. By Texas Jack.
39 Death- ace, m Dmcrxvn. By Wheeler.
40 Roving Ben. By J. J. ,
41 Lasso Jack. BV011 00011188-
42 The Phantom iner. BE E. L. Wheeler.
43 Dick Darlin , THE PONY xmmse Rmsn.
B Cast. Freda cl: Whittaker.
44 lint ing Rube. By Barry St. George.
45 Old Avalanche Tan GREAT AmmLATon.’
or, WILD EDNA,'rIm IRLBEIGAND. E.L.Wheeler.
46 Glass Eye, THE GREAT SHOT or Tan WEST.
qu Capt. J. F. C. Adams. .
47 . lghtingule Nat. By T. C. Hal-ban h.
48 Black John, '1'le ROAD-AGENT. By dger.
49 Omaha 0]]. By Edward L. Wheeler.
50 Burt Bunker, THE TILAPPEB. C. E. Lasalle.
51 The Bo Rifles. By Archie C. Irons.
52 The Wh te Buil‘alo. By C. E. Lasalle.
53 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., rm: BOY ; or,
V Tmnan To DEATH. By Edward L. Wheeler.
)4 Ned Hazel. By 0a t. J. F. C. Adams.
55 Deadly-Eye, THE NKNOWN SCOUT: or. Tm:
' 3191mm Biw'rnmsoon. B Bufl‘ulo Bill.
09 Nick Whiiiiem Pet. &pt. J. F‘. C. Adams.
57 Deadwood Diek’u Eagles. By. Wheeler.
58 The Border King. By 011 Coomes.
59 Old Hickory. By Ha St. Geo 
60 The White ndiun. rapt. J. TAKE? Adams.
61 Buckhorn Bill. By Edward L. Wheeler.
62 The Shadow Ship. B Col. P. Ingraham.
63 The Red Brotherhood. W. J. Hamilton.
64 Band Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh.
65 Hurr cane Bill. 1 Joe. E. Badger. Jr
 glutglet flung. .  Higgiilkgi.
a eu - eat er oe. y in . Warne.
68 Border Robin Hood. fifimm
69 Gold Riiie. B Edward L. eeler.
'20 Old le’s Cab II. By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams.
71 Delaware Dick. By Oil Coomee.
72 Mad Tom Western. By W. J. Hamilton.
73 Deadwood Dick on Deck; 01',
’ JAn, Tm: Hanoi-NI; or Waoor-Up. By Wheeler.
14 Hawk-eye Harry. By 011 Coomes.
75 The Boy Dueliut. By Col. P. Ingraham.
76 Abe Colt, m Csow-KILmR. By A. W. Aiken.
‘17 Cordur05 Chflrlie, TEE Boy BRAVO; or.
Ian 5 M81? Ac'r. By E. L. Wheeler.
78 Blue chk. By Ca tall) Mayne Reid.
'19 801 Ginger, Own-M By AW. Aiken.
80 Rosebud Rob; or qumNgn TEEme
8 l (2‘71:chwa JBy Ffiiwgrd L. Wheels“
Inns: 0. atain'... .
82 Kit Hareioot. B; T.  cumming
83 Rollo; the Boy Ranger. B 0 00011165.
84 Idyl the Girl Miner. By BEL. Wheeler.
86 Buck Buckram. B Cvgpt. J. F. 0. Adams,
86 Dand Book. By . sldo Browne.
The and Pirates. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
8 Photogph Phil, Tun BOY 8mm; or,
Room a sRIArpnARANOn. By E. IAWheele .*
9 Island Jim. By Bracebfidfi Hemyng.
The Dread Rider. B G. aldo Browne.
9] The Captain ot‘the C ub; or,"1‘nzYou-se
A1. Am. By Braeebri$¢§l Hemyng.
92 Canada Chet. By Edward L. eeler.
33  lilo till-inef‘l. By Edmward Ellis.
n a no In AD- om;
'l‘ImBOI Tamra. a} T. C. Hal-benign.

90 moo
G

or.

95 The Rival Rovers. Lieut. 00.1., Elmifine.

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96 Watch-Eye. m

simow. git. 1.. Wheeler.
.97 The Outlaw Brothers. J. J. Marshall.

98 Robin Hood m 0mm EARL; or. Tm;
Dinar MEN or damn.

LIBRARY.

99 The Tiger of Taos. By G. Waldo Browne. =

100 Deadwood Dick in Lealville; or, A
STnANGa u In): human. B Wheeler.

101 Jack ‘Harkaway in New ’ rk. By
Braeebridge Hemyng.

102 Dick Dead-Eye-

By 001. Inimham. ,
103 The Lion of the Sea. By 00 Della Sara. ‘

104 Deadwood Dick’s Devlre. B Wheeler.
06 Old Rube, TEE HUms. Ca t. .Holmes.
6 Old Frosty, THE GUIDE. By .C. Harbaugh.
7 One-Eyed siIn. ByJames L. Bowen.
8 Daring Davy; By Barry St. George.
9 Deadwood ick as Detective. By
Edward L. Wheeler.
0 The Black Steed oi‘ the Prairies. A
Thrillinéstorfiof Texan Adventure. By Bowen.
1 The . a- evil. By Col. P. lngraham.
The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe.
Jack Hoyle, THE YOUNG SPECll'LA'l‘OR; Or,
Tim ROAD To FOILTI'NE. By Ed. L, Wheeler.
The Black Svhoonor. Roger Starbuck.
The Mad Miner. By G. Waldo Browne.
The Hum-tar Ca tain. Col. 1’. Ingraham.
Gilt-Edged Dic , THE SPORT Da'rwnvn;
or. Tm: ROAD~AGENT's DAUGHTER. Wheeler.
Will Somers. THE BOY . Morris.
Mustang 'Sam. By Jns. E. Badger, Jr.
The Branded Hand. B F‘rankDumont.
Cinnamon Chip, mi: nu. SPORT; orl
Tm; GOLDEN IDOL or MT. RosA. Ed. L.WheeleI-.
Phil Hardy, Tun Boas BOY. By C. Morris.
Kiot a Charley, Tm: WHITE MUSTANGER.
3y '1‘. . Harbaugh.
ippy, THE TEXAN. By George Gleason.
Bonanza Bill, MINER. By Ed. L. Wheeler.
Pica line Pete. By Charles Morris.
\Vil -Fire, Boss DFTHE ROAD. By Dumont.
The Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish.
. Deadwood Dick’s Double. By Wheeler.
Detective Dick. By Charles Morris.
The Golden Hand. By Geo. W. Browne.
2. The Hunted Hunter. By Ed. 8. Ellis.
33 Boss Bob, THE KING OF THE BOOTBLACKS:
or. Tim PAWNBIIOKER‘S PLOT. Ed. L. Wheeler.
34 Sure Shot Seth, THE BOY RIFLEIIAN; or Tm:
YOUNG PATRIOTS or THE NORTH. By 011 Coomes.
35 Ca tuin Paul,TIm KENTUCKY MOONsmNnR;
O In: Y SPY or m MOUNTAINS. By Clark.
6 Night-Hawk Kit. By Joe. E. BadgerJr.
7 The Hel less Hand. Capt. Mayne Reid.
8 Blonde ill; or, DEADWOOD DIGK‘s Home
BAsE. By Edward L. Wheeler.
9 Judge Lynch, Jr.’ By T. C. Harbaugh..
140 Blue Blazes; or TEE mun 0' DAY BOYS
or ROCKY BAR. By IFrank Dumont.
141 Solid Sam, THE BOY ROAD-AGENT; or, Tm:
BRANDED Bmws. By Edward L Wheeler.
142 Handsome Harr , Tan BOOTDLACK Dn-
TECTIV'E. By Charles Oi'ris.
Scar-Face haul. B 011 Coomes.
Daint Lance, TEE or SPORT. By Badger.
Cnptu n Ferret, THE New YORK DETEC-
m; or. Boss Ben‘s Boss JOB. Bv Wheeler.
Silver Star. THE BOY KNIGHT. Coomes.
7 Will “'ildfire, THE THOROUGHBRED; or,
Tim WINNING HAND. B Charles Morris.
8 Sharp Sam. By J. exanderPatten.
9 A Game of Gold; or, meoon Dch’s
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BIG STRIKE. By Edward L. Wheeler.
Lance and Lasso. By Capt. F.Whittaker.
Panther Paul, Tim PRAIRIE PIRATE: or,
DAINTY LANCE To run Rescue. J. E. Badger.
Black Bess, WILL WILDrmn‘s RACER; or,
WINNING AGAms'r ODDS. By Charles Morris.
Eagle Kit, THE BOY DEMON. B ' Oll Ooomes.
The Sword Hunters. 1?; .Whittaker.
Gold Trigger Tm: SPORT. .0. Harbaugh.
Deadwood Dick 01‘ Deadw’ood; or.
Tan Pican PARTY. By Edward L. Wheeler.
67 Mike Merry, THE HARBOR POLICE Bomor,
THE NIGHT-HAWKS or PHILADELPHIA. Morris.
8 Fancy Frank nfflolorado. BufinlOBill.
9 The Lost Captain. By Whittaker.
o The Black Giant. By J. E. Badger, Jr.
1 New York Nell Tan BOY-GIRL Dmmrvn;
or BLAxEsLY‘s .IONEY. By E. L. Wheeler.
2 Wm Wildfire in the Woods. Morris.
3 Little Texan-rm: YOUNG MUSTANGER. A
Tale of Texan Prmries. By Oll Coomes.
4 Dandy Rock’s Pledge. By G.W. Browne.
5 Billy Baggage, THE
RUN To EARTH. By Charles Morria
6 Hickory Harry. By Harry St. George.
7 Asa Scott, THE STsAimoAT BOY. By “We”.
8 Deadly Dash. By Joe. E. Badger. Jr.
9 Tornado Tom. By 'I‘. C. Barbaugh.
0 A Trump Card; or, WILL WTLDFIRE WDIB
AND DOSES. By Charles Morris.
Ebony Dan. By Frank Dumont.
Thunderbolt Tom. ByHar St. George.
Dandy Rock’s Rival. By .W. Browne.
dob Roekett, THE BOY Donors. By Moms.
Captain Arizona. By Philip S.Warne.
The Boy Runaway ' or, Tm: BUDGANEEB
or THE BAY. Lieut. H. D. Berry U.S.N.
Nobby Nick of Nevada. in. I... Wheeler»
0:6. solitary. By ou Coomes. .
Bob Rockett, Tm: BANK RUNNER. Morris.
0 The Sea Trailer; or AVow WELL Kerr.
By Lieut. H. D. Perry. U. B. N

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rank, TEE BUOKBKIN BRAVO; or,
LADY ,LILv‘Ia Low. By Edward 1.. Wheeler.
182 Little‘ Hurricane, m BOT CAPTAIN.

33.011 memes. .
188 0 Hidden Hand. By Chas. Moms.
184 The no! Trailers. ByBadger.Jl-.

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l 85 Evil Eye, Kmor CAm’l'Hmvns- or, T3-
VULTUus arm 0 GRANDII. B F. burnout
186 Cool Desmond. By 001. Sara.
18'] Fred Holy-rd, Tim Lm BOAT BOY; or,
TIA: SIIUGGLm or m lam. By C. Morris.
188 Ned Tangle, Tm: Bonus-alloy. Hartman.
ett, TEE Quorum. By Morris.
90 Band Burke. By Wm. B. Eyster.
91 Buii'a 0 Bill , THE Boy BULLWHACKER.
By Capt. A. B. ‘aglor, U. S.A.
92 Captain Ki . fifieui. H. D. Pen-y.U.S.I~'.
93 Captain Mask, n LADYROAD-Aem; or.
PATENT-LEATHER Joe's DEFEAT. By Warm»
94 Buffalo Bill’s Bet. By Captain Taylor."
95 Deadwood Dick’s Dream. Wheeler.
96 shadowed; or, BOB Rm‘xm‘s GET m:
E. By Charles Morris. '
197 Little Grit,mWrLDRIDnn. By, am.
198 Arkansaw, THE MAN WITH Tan Km
By T. C. Harbau h.‘
199 Featherweig; t. By Edward Willow.
200 The Boy Bedouins. By Whittaker.‘
201 The Black Hills Jezebel
woon Dch‘s WARD. By Edward Wheeler.
202 Prespeet Pete, or THE BOY BRIGADE; or.
YOUNG OUTLAW HUNTERS. By 011 090m
The Boy Par-do.
Gold Plume. THE BOY BANDIT.
Deadwood Dick’s Doom.
Dark Paul, TEE TIGER KING. By 0. Morris.
Nav 0 Nick, m BOY GOLD Hl‘h‘TER. A
Taleo Arizona. By'l‘. 0. Herbs. b.

By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.
lugraham.

208 The Boy Hercules. By Oil Ines.

209 Fritz, m BOUND-BOY Damn. Wheeler.

210 Faro Frank of High Pine. B ' Eysteo

211 Crooked Cale, THE CALIIIAN or arm—1A1.
CITY By Joe. er, Jr.

212 Dashing Daye, m DANDY 13mm".
8 Charles Moms.

218 ritz to the Front. ByE.L.Wheeier.

214 “'olfgan THE RUBBER or TEE Rm;
By Captain erick Whittaker.

215 Ca tain Bullet, TEE RAIDBB KING. .By
T. .Harbaugh. I ‘

216 Bison Bill, THE PRINCE OF THE Bamdg’
By Col. Prentiss I . ,

217 Captain Crack-Shot. E. L. Wheeler.

218 Tiger Tom, TEE TEXAN ERROR. ByOB

Coomes.
219 Despard, the Duelist. By'P. S. Warns.
220 Tom Tanner, SOALAWAG AND SOAmGnAcn.
By Charles Morris.
221 Sugar Coated Sam. By E. L. Wheeler.
222 Gr t, the Bravo Sport. 13 lngraham.
223 Ozark Alf, KING or m OUNTAIN. By
Edward Willem . _
224 Dashing Dick; or, Tums Tom’s CAsTuL
By 011 Coomes. ' .
225 Sam Charcoal the Premium Dar-
ky. By Charles Orr-is.

226 Snoozer, m: BOY SHARP. By Edward L. '
Wheeler.
227 Dusky Darrell, Tamera. By E. Emerson.

228 Little “'ildfire. By 011 Coomes.
229 (‘rinison
Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

30 The Yankee Rajah.
31 Plueky Phil, or TBEMOUNTAINTRAE By

T. C. Harbaugh.
3.2 Gold-Duet Dick. By E. 1.. Wheeler.
33 Joe Buck. ofAngels, AND Hrs Boy?
“I

By C. D. Clark.

NON Nile

PAUL PownsasonNa or Tan Tm Win:
or Elam 13.3. B. Alhert w. ‘ en.

234 Old Rock 9a ‘Boyees; or Binnie. ' '
gm: YOUNG case-BREAKER. By Buckskin
am

235 Shadow 8am, THE MESSENGER BOY; or.

TURNING TEE TABLES. By Charles Morris.

236 Apollo Bill, mi: TRAIL TORNADO. Bylid-
ward eeler. '

237 Lone Star, the Cowboy (la tain"9r.
Tm: menmons RANOEERO. By lonelan-
tiss Ingraham.

238 The Parson Detective;
SHOCKY, m RANOm or RAVEN
Oll Coomes.

239 The Gold-seeker Guide: or, Tim has:
MOUNTAIN. By Captain Mayne Bold.

240 Cyclone Kit. By Edward L. Wheeler.

241 Bill Bravo and H1: Boar  ‘

By T. c. Harbaugh. ;

242 The Two ‘Bloods” or. Emma-4
dim r

BILL AND Hrs GANG. By lee M61118.

243 The Disguised Guide: or, WILD Rum:
Ten RANGER or THE Norma. ByOll Coomes.

244 Sierra Sam, Tax Fm Esau-r. By ’
Ed rd

wa L. eeler.
245 Merle, the Middy; or. m Hm or Ar.
OCEANme ByOol. P. lngraham. ' . I

246 Giant George ' or. Tin: ANG’L or Tm: Rum
By “Buckskin Sa’m." (Major Sam 3. Hall.)

ILD Humans on m Hints.
“ Bruin " Adams. Ready April 18th. =
248 Sierra Sunnis Secret.
Wheeler. Ready April 25th.

247 Old Grizzly and His Pets; or, 
' W 3Y1.

249 935,110 Bonner, m ANIMAL KING; curse

m THE Woman
Frederick Whittaker.

A new We every week. ‘ I
The Half-Dime Library is (or Gabby all

WANDmIma. ' gCaDiOin
Ready May

Newsdealers. 876 cents per copy. or sent by mail on ’

receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS,
Publishers. 98‘ William Street. New York. ‘

. \ . I . .
\I ‘ ‘r _ V ‘  a )n V

I

or. Dw
es, .

By Wheeler. -

Kate, THE GIRL TRAILER. By

or, LII-TL! ‘

By Edward rig. " '

 

 

 

 

"TR UTE ,STRAJVGEE THAN FICTION! f '

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‘lfoln '1.

 

A New Library Expressly [league] for “Our Boys”
I l ' WHO LOVE
True Stories of Stirring Lives! ,
‘ Tales of Actual Peril and Adventure!
Romance of Sport on Field and Flood!
' Daring Deeds and Great Achievement,-

0n the oceans and seas—in the deep, silent forests—on the boundless plains—in the mountain fastnesses and the untraile’d hills-—
wOVEl‘ the Wild game ranges and the cattle ranches—on lakes, rivers and lonely lagoons—over the world, everywhere; thus
being something Wholly New and Novel, and giving a literature which in quality, kind, and exciting interest is

PECULIARLY THE AMERICAN BOY’S OWN !

Each number, a. perfect and wmplefe work, from the hand of some noted and well—accredited writer, is a BOOK in ITSELF—
[literally a .halfdollar book for a half-dinw—nnd so answers the call, in this day of cheap publications, for a “Library”
that is unexceptionable in tone, thoroughly delightful in matter, and so modest in price as to be easily within the reach of
every one who cares to read. Issued weekly. '

NOW READY AND IN PRESS.

No. 1. Adventures of BuEaJo Bill. Prom Boyhood to No. 12. Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits of the
. Manh Deeds of Daring, and Romantic Incidents in the Littleton Gun Club. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.

' early me Of Wlmam F' COd'V' By 001‘ Prentiss Ingmham,’ 13. AL Rolling Stone: Incidents in the Career on Sea and
1'0“ 2' The 0°39“ Hunter“; 0" the Chase of Law?!" Land as Boy and Man, of Colonel Prentiss Ingrahnm. By

‘ . than. A Romance of Perilous Adventure. By Captain Professor William R Eyster. '
Mayne Reid. WAN. extra large number. M . ' n tel. -
No. 3. Adventures of Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince. Re— 14- fag“ 01,1 “11: PM“; 3%Aggte“ ““ 9 °P
' markable career of J. B. Hikok, (kn0wn to the world as t 3 “fl.” 0 ‘nge' y 00 ' ,
“Wild Bill”), Killing the true Story 01 his adventures and acts. 15. Kit Carson. King of the Guides: or. Mountain,

BY 001- Prentiss Ingraham- Paths and Prairie Trails. By Albert W. Aiken.

3“ 4' The Prairie Ranch; or' the Young 0““19 Herd' 18. Red River Rovers: or, Life and Adventures in
are. BY JOSBP‘I 117- Badger: Jr— ‘ the Northwest. By C. D. Clark.

No. 5. Texas Jack, the. Huston Kin . "Thrilling Adven— / ~ _ .
 ‘ tures in the Life of J. B. Omgohundrog‘qexas Jack.” By 17' P 1”“ and Plain ’ 01" wdd Adventure, of

Colonel Prentiss Ingmham, “Buckskin ,Sam,” (Major  S. Hall.) By Colonel

' . I 7 Prentiss Ingraham.
No. 6. Cruise oftho Pl awn ' or Yankee Bo s in Ge -
. j’ Ion. By C. D. 013.1%. y, ’ y y 18. Rifle and Revolver; or.‘The It‘ifiletoflkw Gtub
'- 'No. 7. Roving Joe: The History of 1:. Yo ‘ “Border, 0“ the BMW" Range- By Cal" idem "f" e"
‘ ’ ' Ruffian.” Brief Scenes from the Life of Joe. .Badger, Jr. 19, Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer; or. Life
. . By A. H. Post. in 3, Log cabin, Incidents and Adventures in the Back-
vNo. 8. The Eyawa. Afloat; or, Yankee Boys ’Round WOQdS— By Edward Wine“?
. the world“ y 0' D' Clark 20. The Dashing Dru. con} or, The Story of Gen.
No. 9. Bruin Adamo, Old Grizzly Adams’ Boy Part1. George A. Custer, rom West Point to the Big Horn.
' . * Scenes of Wild Adventure in the Life of the Boy Ranger of , By Captain Frederick Whittaker.
the Rocky Mountains. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ‘ 81. Deadwood Bide: Early we; onwm; Wild Ned
in“ 10‘ The snow T‘la‘n; 0” The Boy Hunter. 0.1.1.“? Harris the New England Farm-boy became the Western
v we figmghvelm sport and L1“, around Lake Wmnipeg' Prince’of the Road. By E. L. Wheeler. Ready May 8d.
. No. 11. Old Grizzly Adams. the Bear Tamer: or, “The No. 22. The Boy Exiles of Siberia; or. The Watch-Dog
. , . Howell of the ,Mountains.” By Dr. Frank Powell. . _ oi"l Russia. By T. C. Harbaugh. Ready May 10th.

 

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