TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION! STORIES FOUNDED 0W

 

 

 

 

 

$2.50 a. year. nered a the Post Office at New York. N. Y., as Second Class Man Matter. Copyrighted in 1882 by BEADLE up ADAMS. September 6, 1882.

 

 

.- 1 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, P 1'
V01» II. Nair: «fr. No. 93 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. V Fiverccgl’lts. NO. 39.

  AND HIS DARINGI DEEDS AND ADVENTURES IN
! THE WILDS OF THE SOUTH AND WEST.

BY COL- PRENTISS INGBAHAM,

AUTHOR OF “ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL,” f‘WILD BILL,” “ TEXAS JACK,” “BRUIN ADAMS,” ETC., ETC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“NOW, RED—SKINS, YOUR AEROWS HAVE GOT TO BE SHARP TO 60 THROUGH THIS TOUGH BREASTWORK, SO FIRE AWAY!"

 

 

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I And His Daring Deeds and Ad-
' ventures in the ‘Wilds of
L the South and. West.

 

’,BY COL. PRENTISS IN GRAHAM,
AUTHOR or; “serum BILL,” “WILD BILL,”
“TEXAS JACK," “BUCKSKIN SAM," ~‘ OLD
GRIZZLY ADAMS’S BOY PARD,” “ BRUIN
ADAMS,” “EDDY BURGESS, THE
BOY CHIEF,” “warm

BEAVER,” ETC. _

CHAPTER I.
A BOY’S SOLILOQUY.

“WELL,. what am I to do now?

, “Old Keating won’t take me back to school
after the thrashing I gave his son this morn-
ing, although he had his revenge on me.

' “ Whew! it smarts yet where the old man
' , hit me, but I didn’t wink even, for Bettie Low
told me so, and I kinder turned myface so she
would see me. ‘

“ But ,I guess Dan Keating would rather take
,thelickjng his father gave me than the one, I
r gave him, for I hammered him well, 1 can tell

you. ‘ ' V

, “ And he deserved it, too, for sending ‘that
,\ valentine to Bettie Low and signing my name
to it, just to make her turn against me, for she
believed that I wrote it until I beat him so that
he confessed.

‘ ‘1 Well, mother won’t like my being expelled,
for she wanted me to study hard and make a.
‘ygreat man; but my education is ended at old
* Keating’s, that is certain, and it is too far to
' go to any other school, so I guess I’ll have to
do as brother Frank did, just strike out for
myself. ‘

“But v‘Vhere shall I’strike for?

“ That’s what bothers me.

“Let me see. I think I could get to be 9.
~ boy herder in Texas, for I don’tygive in to any-

, {body in riding.

‘ “But Texas is a long way off; yet'I can
,,make it, and I’vegot sixty—sewn dollars saved
up, and my pony, and my gun and pistols, so

I’m rich '

 

/

“ Guess 'I’ll go to Texas, but I mustn’t let
, mother know, or she’d stop me.

f“ Brother Bill will stay with her, though,
'andybeu I sage up my money and get a ranch
' I’ll bond for— them. ‘ ' '

“Yes, that is‘what I‘ll do—I’ll go to Texas.
a . “ Bet mezsee. Mether is over at the Dodds’

‘ 30-day, so PH 1191; fetch my‘saddlo—bags, pis-
tols and pony ere, and leave them until to;
night, when I can slip out and get many miles
away by morning. is -

‘ 1“ Won’t‘Bettie Low cry when I have gone?
“But’l’ll write her a letter and: leave it with
, one formother, and that will cheer her up.

; “Ins, and I must write Bill a letter, telling
him; to be a good boy and take care of mother.
"gf‘And 'while I’m writing I guess I’ll drop a?
'  to “old Keating, and tell him“ that the whip-
 b‘e gave me made a man of me. I
. , P‘ The old fellow has been telling me for tw

 to ‘ baa man! be aman!’ and I guess
\ all be glad I’ve‘followed his advice. 4
_ .j “New Ibmust get home and' arrange for the
trip? "
" As the speaker closed his soliloquy he walked
"rapidly away through a foot—path.
, ‘ He was ' a boy of fifteen, with clear~cut
1..features, dark complexion, and hair that was
as black as ink.
'  Hinteyes were dark, restless, and full of fire,

Huh—n- l - ,

. ’ Known also as “ Texas Night-Hawk ” and “ The
Prairie Wanderer " whose real name ,of George
v-  has been almbet dro in the appellations
~_ . e has won upon the for Iron for. 4 . ,
‘ v \ George Powollle the brother of Dr. Frank Powell,
known as “White Beaver-,7” “Fancy Frank“ etc.

~,whose'life was given m’noys‘ mev No. 317 and
‘ ewe. ~ or:  awards is;
u ,‘e ,wose, ven tons" gmp
weights issued. , Tm; Au'rnoa.

 V‘ifiightel-IawkiGeorgef

 

andhis form was tall, slender, elegant, and yet'

denoted great strength." i ,

Elsi movements were quick, and somehow
reminded one of an dian, so stealthy was
his tread, and 130 straight and wiry was his
form. .

He was dressed in a plain jean suit and
“hickory” shirt, wore his pants stuck in his
boot~tops, and a soft felt hat; but his toilet
was considerably diszlrranged, for, as his words
have told the reader, he had been fighting with
a fellow schoolmate, and then received a very
severe thrashing from that student’s father,
who was the teacher of the country school.

Having been also ignominiously expelled,
while “Keating’s Kid/7118 the teacher’s boy
was called, was condoled with, the youth made
up his mind tofollow in the footprints of his
elder brother Frank, who had left his home to
make a name for himself.

" If I act square, work hard, and don’t
forget mother’s teachings, I guess I can’t go to
the bad,” he had argued in his favor, and with
a good deal of truth, too, on his side.

His name was George Powell, and his home
was in one of the wildest portions of New
York State, at the time of which I write.

His family came of good stock, and there
was a traceof Indian blood in his veins, for his
mother’s father had been a celebratedlndian
chief. , -
, His father being dead, the mother and her
three sons had dwelt upon the little farm, until
first Frank’“ had gone forth to seek his fortune,
and now George was to follow.

As the youth, with his bag of books, and the
accumulations of months in his desk, swung
over his shoulder, walked away, a man arose
from behind a huge rock and gazed after him.

The man’s face was white and haggard, his
clothing torn, and he had the appearance of
being a vagabond and a fugitive.

“At last! at lastl there is a. chance open for
me to elude my foes. >

“The boy will bring his horse and arms to
this spot to hide, and to—night will come for
them, and he will have with him sixty-seven
dollars. _

“Oh, heaven! what a sum to a starving
man.

“What a fortune—~money, horse, and arms
--for a hunted wretch. »

“Boy, you have saved me; but you stay‘

here, if I kill you, while I go to Texas.”

The man then crouched back among the
shrubs that grew about the rock, determined
tohlde his time until the'coming of the boy.

Then he would act.

CHAPTER II.
PREPARATIONS“

UPON reaching his home, which was nearly
two miles from the school-house, but which
distance George shortened ‘by cutting through
the forest, the boy found his younger brother,
Billy, seated upon the piazza, nursing a sore
foot, which had kept him from being a partici-
pator in the exciting affair with the Keatings,
father and son. ‘ r '

In a few ords, George told Billy all, and
was listened most attentively by that youth,
who said: - /

“I am glad you licked Dan, George, for he
deserved it, and as for a thrashing from old
Keating, I don’t mind ’em." '

The latter was true, for Bill had been often
the recipient of such attentions from the school-
teacher, for he was a very mischievous boy,
and took upon himself the blame, where
smaller boys, or girls were accused, when he
was really innocent. , ' ‘ m

Billy had also invented, thoughhe had not
patented it, a leather undershirt, which he
wore regularly, in anticipation of trouble, and
the result of which was that he could wink at
the boys, while Mr. Keating was laying the
rstan on the hardest; unleash”, was some—
times the case, the whip found a vital pom/t not

-'Now the famous Medicine Chief “ White Beaver,”

 

 

covered by the ingeniously manufacturedfwhfi’fie‘ ‘

garment. I _‘ R»:

Then Billy would wince, pel—
cry out, and Mrdfl'eating had a,» undred times
said: ‘ . ' '
“ Those Powell beys have hides llkeelephants’
and the game of Indians.” ‘ .
. “Well, George, what are you going to do
about it?" asked. Billy. ~

“I will not let you know yet,i»Billy, but
you just wait,” was the reply.

Billy thought that “just wait” implied‘a
threat of coming trouble for old man Keating
and his hopeful, and he said: ,

“Well, I‘ll be .with you, George, whatever
it is.” ‘ . 1

George then went to his room to pack up for
his journey.

He had a belt of arms, as fine as any Texas
Ranger could have desired, and these he care- '

"fully cleaned, loaded "thetwo revolvers, and

laid them aside. .

Then he overhauled ‘his. wardrobe, and got.
out his Sunday suit, boots and hat.

' His spurs were then brushed up until they
shone like gold, and his blankets, a red and a
gray one, were rolled up and strapped.

A pair of calf-skin saddle-bags, with the
hairy side out, were then‘ hauled out from a
closet, and filled with a couple 'of shirts, some
under-clothing, socks, ammunition, a tin cup,
plate, fork and knife, and a few other odds
and ends that he expected to find needful;

Then the boy, with tear-dimmed eyes sat
down to write to his mother.

He told her that he believed he was doing
right, and would never forget her teachings,
and soon as he was able would have her come
to him wherever he had his home.

A letter to Billy, full of advice, followed,
and then he wrote to Bettie Low, and that
young maid, who, like her sex, was at the
bottom of the trouble, was informed that he
would be true to her until death.

Calling to Billy, and telling him it was time ,
to drive over to a neighbor’s after his mother,
who was nursing an invalid, George waited
his departure, and then slipping a small re-
volver, a present from his brother Frank, into
his jacket pocket, shouldered his, traps and left
the house, unseen by the servant woman.

He reached the rock'in safety, near which
he had stood and indulged in his soliloquy, and
then concealed the things in the bushes. ‘

Returning home he set to work getting his
saddle and bridle in perfect trim, and feeding
and rubbing down his pony for the hard ride v
before him, for he intended to push ahead un-
til morning. >

As 1119 stable was locked every night by the
farm hand, George led his pon'y out, and he,
too was concealed in the'forest, near his ‘trnps.

To his joy, Billy returned to say his mother
would remain-amile night, as the invalid.
was worse, and then the boys had supper, after
which, as was his wont, his brother went to
bed, while Georgepretended to read, though ,.
his eyeswere too dimn'led by tears, to see a
line before him. , 

As soon as all was quiet he arose, threw
aside his book, took a long glance around him,
and then left the house, muttering audibly:

“‘Good-byl good-by!” , v

One lingering lock at the old homestead,
from which he was running away to take his '
destiny in his'own hands, ‘and he sped toward
the forest where were hiddennll of his earthly. 

treaem'es.

I . CKAPTER III.
[MEETING ms mam-ca.

THE nian who had heard the remarks of
George Powell, when be halted at the rock, on
his way home, waited most impatiently for
the time togoby. .  v ‘

I r a couple offbeat-s, Which seemed an
age to him, the‘boy returned, bearing the bag
gage that he was to carry with him. ~ '

These be concealed near the rock, though as,

‘ he knew few persons ever passed that way, he

hardly thought it necessary to, hide them. I

 

 

s, but never‘ ..

 

  

“and. «In. “a...

 

 

   

Again the man impatiently waited the re-
turn of the boy, and then he came with his
pony, a clean-limbed roan mare, that showed
spirit, bottom and speed. . ,

The pony Was lariated out to feed upon the

«grass,- unsaddled and unbridled, and once
' more the boy disappeared. ’

« "Now is my time, for delay may spoil all,
aud‘I may have to kill the boy to get the
things,” said the man, and he arose and went
over to where the boy‘s traps were concealed,
and began an inspection of them.

“ There are a good pair of revolvers, and the
lmife is the best steel,” he muttered, and con-
tinuing to overhaul the things, he said slowly:

“ The weapons are loaded, and here is more
ammunition. ' ,

“Yes, the boy means business, and he has it

‘ in hiaface to keep his word and make a. name

for himself. '

.“ I hate to disappoint him, but self-preserva-
tionis the first law of mankind. ‘

f‘ I have here just what I wish, a fine horse,
and all to aid me; but where is the money?”

He searched all through the traps, but
could nowhere find the money. ‘

“That he has kept with him, and without
money I cannot go, so I will wait and roll
him when he comes,” and the man again con-
cealed himself in the thicket. A

Just after sunset the full moon arose, and the
man took up his position near a tree, to await
the coming of the youth and spring upon him.

As the minutes went by he seemed to grow
more and more nervous, wondering if any
accidentrhad prevented the boy from coming,
or if he had repented of his determination to
go to Texas, his heart failing him, and would

«remain at home, intending to come after the
pony and things in the morning.

“ Perhaps he’s afraid to come into this dark
forest at night, and really I don’t blame him
much, for every shadow is a phantom to me,”
he said, shuddering as he spoke. _ '

But George Powell was not made of the kind
of stuff to back out, when once he had made up
his mind, and as for being afraid of the forests,
his youthful days had been passed in their
shadow. , "

His mother was often wont to roam about

'the country with her boys, on horseback, and
in an ambulance, and wandering like gipsies,
many an adventure they had met with, that
called forth the pluck and nerve of her sons.

’ His mother greatly liked Mr. Keating as a"
teacher, and she had always set her face
sternly against his going 08 to seek his fortune
but now that he had trouble with the school.
master, he would act for himself, and he
hoped to redeem himself in the eyes of his
mother before very long, while by going away

" he simply carried outa pet scheme be had long

thought of. . .
Leaving his home, with a choking sensation

-' in the throat, patting the faithful watch-dog

that wished to follow himyand driving him
back”, George Powell entered the forest by the

’ path which he and his brother had made in

going to and from school.
'As he approachedlthe spot where he had left
his pony he 'was greeted with a . neigh, and

. Stepping up to the tree, where‘he had hung his

saddle and bridle, he suddenly found himself
in a grip of iron. .

At first he believed it was Billy, who had
discovered his purpose and had gone thereto

“frighten him.

, But he knew Billy had no such strength, and
it flashed through his mind that it might be
the schoolmaster. '

But a ray of moonlight through he foliage
8110de him a dark-bearded, hagg d face, and
GYes that glared upon him. '

“ Boy! give me your money!

“ The sixty-seven dollars you have, give to

1119, for I am a desperate man.”

The words were hissed in the ears of the
youth, who atro’nce knew what ,he had to deal

: ywith. .

He had been seized by the throat, but not

.

effort of his, strength, which was marvelous
for one of his age, for‘the. boys had said he
could easily handle old Keating. if he had
wished to, he shook off the grasp;- and at once
began to act upon the offensive, while he
cried:

“ I’ve got the money, just that win, right
here in my pocket, and you’ve got to fight for
is.” . , v .' I

“By heaven' but you are game,” said the
man, and at once a fierce fight began.

Under ordinary circumstances the man could
have quickly conquered the boy, for he pos:
sessed a. large and powerful frame; but he had
been wandering in the woods for several days
without food, and was weak and unnerved in
comparison to his usual strength.

George Powell was, as I have said, , re-
markably strong for his age, wiry, and quick

as a flash in his movements, and though taken V

by surprise, he held his nerve wonderfully,
and wrestled, tugged, struck and bit with his
large foe with the ‘savageness of a young
panther.

Rendered desperate by the resistance \, of the ‘

boy, and with the thought of _ possible failure
staring him in the face, the man made a de-
termined effort, and threw his youthful antago~
uist heavily to the ground, falling upon him.

For an instant George Was stunned; but re-
covering himself quickly,. and finding the man
had relinquished his grip upon him, to reach
his pockets, he suddenly thrust his hand into
his jacket and drew out the mall revolver he
had placed there. ~

The man saw the act and at once grasped
for the weapon; but he was too late, for the
boy’s finger touched the trigger, the flash and
report followed, and the struggle had ended.

“ Boy, you have killed me,” gasped the
man.

George extricated himself from beneath
him, and said, as he rested on his knees looking

at him:

“ I-am sorry, air, but you are to blame.”

The man was silent a moment, breathing
heavily, and then he said:

“ What is your name, my lad?"

“ George Powell.” ,

“Well, George Powell, you have saved me
from dying on the gallows, and I thank you.

“Have you ever heard of Ben Braden-
burgh?”

“The man who killed his wife some weeks
ago in the country town, and when in‘ prison
escaped by murdering tho jailer?”

U Ya.” I 4
’ “Are you that man?”

“I am.” .

“Then‘I won’t feel so sorry, for they say
you were a‘ cold-bloodedwretch, and killed
your wife to get her money,” frankly an
bluntly said the boy. _ l '

“ Well, they tell the truth, for-I have been

/

all that was bad, and now that I-am dying, I‘

tell you to let my life be an example for you,
:3:- gambling' and dissipation brought me to

s. .

“ Perhaps, you are not dying, and the doctor
may save you.”

“No, do not go'for a physician.

“ I know I am dying, and now lam glad the
end has come.

“ I heard what you said this afternoon, and
I determined to take your horse and money
and escape, for I have been hiding in the
forests-like a hunted/deer, with the gallows
staring me in the face for my crimes. ,,

“Your bullet hit me _ just here, over the
breast, and I know Ihave but a little time to
live. . . 4 . ‘ I . -

“But stay with ,me until I die, and then go
to town and tell the constable where he will
find the body of Ben Bradenburgh» and get
your reward, for, boy, there is a good sum of-
fered for me dead or alive.” '

“ I don’t want; your blood-money,” said
George ,indignantly, and he then. tried to
make the man as comfortable as he could,
brought ,him 'a. captain; water ,from aslqu

 

with force .enough“to,harm v him, and by an;

   

   
 

    
 

and:- by, and remained by his side.  .1

x

 George; .  ,

“hangar-Moths; young man 

    
  

 \j‘v

 

For a while he spoke with rem, (and than ‘ i"
his words became incoherent, and at births ‘-
end came, and Ben Bradenburgh the double  a
murderer had cheated the gallows. . z  ,

As soon as he was convinced that he 
dead, George Powell gathered his traps to-
gethor, bridled and saddled his pony, and rode -
rapidly away from the spot. _

The country town was ten miles away, and
he kept his pony. at a lively gait until he drew
up before the mansion of the Judge. r ‘

Then he dismounted and wrote by the modem
light, and with a pencil: .

“ JUDGE errmcra: , ( ’

“ To-ni ht, on the path leading from Widow Pow-
ell‘s to e Keating school-house, I was attacked
by a man whose intention was to rob me. r _ "

“He said before he died, or I shot him in the .‘
struggle we had, that he was en Bradenhurgh, the r‘

,escz}ped murderer, and his bod will be found on
Hal wary Rock which Billy Powe 1 will show you;
“As had already left home for other  my
killing Ben Bradenburgh has nothing to do with my
absence now, and the reward oflered for‘lgllggeu’

      
     
  
  
  
    
   
  
 
 
    
   
   
    
   
    
   
  
  
   
 
 
   
  
    
  
   
  
  
  
  
     
  
   
     
 
   
   
  
  
     
    
   
   
     
     
  
  
    
   
  
   
   
      
 
   
  
   
   
   
     
   
      
   
 
     

can give to the widow of the poor iailer he ’ _ ‘
“Respectful y, ’ ’
“Guano: Pom” ‘

This letter was not written in a copper-plate -'
hand, nor was the spelling remarkable for cor-
rectness; but it served the purpose, and George‘
rung at the door of the Judge, and asked that
the paper should be handed to that august W4“
sonage. "

“ The Judge has retired,” said the servant,
who was just closing up the house for the
night. v, 

“ Wake him up then, for it is importan 3’ 
and so saying George Powell turned on his,
heel, mounted bis pony, and left the village as
rapidly as he entered it, taking a. road which
his knowledge of geography told him wreaths-I -
gost direct road from New York State to

em . ._ .

‘i

 

CHAPTER IV.
AMONG rarnvns.

A nor or fifteen, a horse, a belt of arms ‘
and sixty-seven dollars are, all told, a 
force to move upon a State with, andto ms
in making a fortune, and so George Powell.
disogvered ere he had been six weeks 11pm the
ma . '

He was compelledto eat, and so was his
pony, and this took money. .  l ,1

Then his pony began to fail him, and lie/had
‘to trade him off, and give “boot.” .' . ‘

This left him with but fifteen dollar's, but,
a. very fair animal, which the next 68y was
recognized as a stolen animal, and George‘s-ras-
pursued, arrested, and found himself in fill.
ass. horse-thief. ' ’ . ' 7'

In vain was it that he told of his exchanging ,
his pony for that one; nobody would 
him, and, as a. great many hm‘mm
stolen in the neighborhood, he was setdo I!”
the young culprit. ' i  ‘

Men looked at him through iron bars, and
when toldvthat he had a belt of onus on who);
taken, said in his hearing that he “ lookedlfln
gar-oils,” “had. a bad eye,” would mam
“ Dick Turpin,” 8. “Claude Duval,” if patients.
to prison. ' , 7., j~

The boy was sadly tempted 'to write m;
to prove his character, but what would“ ‘A
mother and Bettie Iow say? . ‘ u '

Then all of Keating’s school ,wOuld Wit;
him, so he determined to trust to himself 
and make his escape. . '_ '. ‘ ‘

This was no easy matter, for he-w'as m1 3
upper floor of the jail, and his window locked
down into the yard, where he observed, a, "
dog wm kept running loose, as\a terror to  '
prisoner meditating escape. . -  '“

Had he been guilty of the oflenso wildestthE
he was charged, George Powell; would in; r
been willing to stand his trial, for he
have been reckless of consequences; but wh 'j'
innocent, and boring refused to,ng his m
be was hentupon Waking hiselcapek .~' ‘
‘ noes;me With himwuaépalofi

       
 
 

   
 
  

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

   

w

 
 

 H, :r‘_

'  y‘ massive defies.  ‘

 

 

   
 
   
 
    
   
  
    
 
    
   
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
 
   
    
   
  

likes". culprit. ,
He had said to George upon his entering:

really sorry to see you here, my young friend.”
' “ Thank you,” said George; “ and I am sorry
' to have to be here; but I am innocent of
. wrong-doing, and shall have to make the best
of it.” ~ v ‘
‘ The two thus brought together soon became
friends, and George told the young man some-
thing of himself, but kept back his name, and
in time he learned that his prison pard had
been a cashier in a large store, where he was
loved and trusted. ' _
1 " But his father had committed forgery, to re-
- , lisve himself of a difficulty, and unable to take
1'» », Up the forged paper, had confessed the fault to
' his son, begging him to aid him.
The son had control of some funds which the
house never drew on, and he used of the
ainount enough to save his father; but the
, firm, the very next day, called for that money,
~ and the young cashier was mined, for he placed
" : f ‘ the blame upon himself to shield his father.
_ The result was his trial and sentence to
I «prison for a term of years, and in two days
 . more he was to be sent to the penitentiary.
With this young man George sympathizsd
deeply, and not feeling that he was intention—
. ally a' thief, anddisgusted with his father for
" histreatm’ent of him, he said:
 “I don’t intend to remain here and be sent
'toprisou when I am innocent, and I just ad—
visegou to go with me."
' “ ut where are you going?”
“ To Texas.” .
, '“But how?” ~
x , " That I’ll decide on when I get out.”
w I “But how are you going to get out?”
. y‘ “ I am thinking how now."
. ,And George did think, and soon hit upon a

‘ I

n.

‘ . In the jail-yard was one large tree, a chest-
~ nut, and it grow near the wall.
' But the'trunk of the tree was so surrounded
by spikes and barbs that to climb it would be
:utterly impossible.
George noticed that one limb went over the
. walla few feet, and that there were several
branches which had been broken off by a gale
'of wind, and upon one of these his eyes rested.
v - ¢ “ Do you see that limb which has been broken
of!” he asked, pointing to one on the tree,
Wine fortyI feet from his cell window.
:, ' “ Yea"!
', “That is my aim."
"  “I don’t see how."

I .“ Well, I can throw a lasso.”
7’ If I"

“Yes, and I can put a coil around that
limb.” ,
, “ But you have no lasso.”
' I “No, but I can make one.”
" “How?”
, “I’ll show you."
i" . The blankets and sheets were soon made into
_ 11063, strong rope, and with the gravy left
, their» dinner it was thoroughly greased.

'“ But the grating in the window?” suggested

: the fellow—prisoner of George. ’
3-“. See here!" .
‘ George took from his pocket a large knife
which had a strong file-blade in it.
,' 'f‘Ahl” said the young man who had sacriv
'flded himself to save his father, and his eyes
brightened as George set to work upon the
iron grating. , -
g I sIt was a long hard task, but one of the

‘youtbs relieVed the other, and at last one bar
was in two.
, Then they began on the second, and justas
«thajsiler came with their supper, it too yield-
ied to the file.
,,  jailer seemed to fancy the two young
“" 49mm, and spoke a kindly word to them be-
fore homeland. ,
'fioth however were most anxious while he
and as soon “they worelockedin.

 

- gm he took an interest, for he did not look .

“ They say misery loves company, but I am _

 

, .fl

r the night began their preparations for de-

   

 

, CHAPTER V.
a BOLD swam-z: iron mum.
HAVING collected what little they had to
carry with them, George Powell and his fol.
low prisoner awaited until the moon arose,

' which was at ten o’clock. .

Then all was still in the jail and the youth

bad light enough to see how to throw his lasso. “

To do this he had to crawl through the grat-
ing, and bang by one hand to the iron bars,
while with the other he whirled the lariat,
which was by no means an easy, task, as he
was too close to the stone walls of the jail.

But at last he made a throw and it missed.

Again he tried, and with like result.

Hauling in the slack, while his comrade
breathlessly awaited within the cell, he threw
the lariat for the third time, and it caught fair-
ly on the shattered limb.

Then he returned into‘ the cell and drew on
the line with all his might, and made in fast.

“You’ve got a cool head I hope,” he said to
his fellow prisoner, who was looking at the
taut line between the jail windows and the
tree, their only means of escape.

“ I believe I can make it,” he answered
with some hesitancy.

“Do just as you see me do. Don’t look
down, and hold on for grim death,” was the
advice of George Powell.

Getting into the window he said quietly, as
he stood on the sill, and grasped the rope:

“ If it breaks, good-by. ‘

“ If it don’t, we’ll meet outside this hateful
place.” ‘

After another test of the rope be swung him-

self upon it, and hand before hand began to-

make the perilous trip to the tree.

As he got away from the window the rope
gave considerably, but on hewant, swinging
from his perilous hight, and swaying to and
fro in the moonlight. ' ‘

Just as he reached the tree the huge dog dis—
covered him, and instantly be called to his
comrade to follow, for the brute set up a fierce
barking.

Quickly the young cashier intrusted himself
to the frail bridge, and came rapidly on, the
dog barking savagely beneath, until he brought
to every window overlooking the jail-yard, a
fellow unfortunate, who saw the bold attempt
at escape and cheered the daring man who
had ventured it. '

“Steady! come slower, or you’ll slip or
break the rope,” cried George Powell from the
tree, where he was sheltered by the foliage.

He could see plainly the white, scared face
of his comrade, and that he was clutching
wildly at the rope before him, instead of quiet-
ly and with coolness, for he was wholly un—
nerved by the loud yelps of the dog, and the
cries of the other prisoners.

But just as the tree was near at hand, out
of the lower floor dashed the jailer, and he
held in his band a gun.

The yelping dog showed which way to look,
and he threw his rifle to his shoulder:

“ Don’t shoot! he’ll surrender,” yelled George,
from the tree, and the poor man ochoed.’

“ Don’t kill me, Townsend 1"

But the flash and report came together, a
shriek followed, and down upon the herd
ground of the jail-yard, many feet below, fell
the wretched man.

With the report of the gun George bounded
like a squirrel through the branches of the
tree, ran out upon the limb _overhangiug the
wall, and with a spring was outside of his
prison, while a loud yell of delight came from
the prisoners in the cells, who saw his act, and
who had just booted the cruel deed of the
jailer. ,

“After him, Savage!” yelled the keeper,
and he hastily unlocked the iron-gate and
threw it open. ' ,

Away darted the savage brute hot on the
heels of the boy fugitive, who had not a bun-
dred feet the start of him, but who was dying

like the wind toward a belt of trees which, he
had seen from his cell ‘window, fringed the
river bank. ‘ _

 

CHAPTER VI.
'rnn' amour. '

HAD there been the slightest doubt in his
mind of the death of his cell comrade, George
Powell would have returned ‘to'have shared
his fate; but he felt that he had been hit by
the shot of the keeper, and- had he not been,
that the fall would kill him, he was assured:

So he at once looked to his own safety, es-I
caping when he knew that the gun of the
keeper was unloaded.

He heard the angry cry of the man to the
dog, and the clanging of the iron gate, as it
was thrown open, and be bounded forward
like a deer. ,

Could he reach the river he believed he
would be safe, for he was a splendid swimmer, i
and he held on for that purpose.

Hearing the yelp of the dog behind him, he
renewed his exertions to reach the river, for
be determined to drag the beast beneath the
water, knowing he could not bite him there as
readily as on shore. \

A few more bounds and he sprung into the
river, and almost on top of him came th
savage brute. ’

But George was ready for him, and as the .. ‘

dog sunk from the force of his fall, be seized

him, and diving deep, dragged him down with

him. .
There was a fierce struggle beneath the

water, a tearing of human flesh with brute

teeth and claws, and a piercing of the hairy

hide with a- keen knife, and then the battle

ended, and the boy arose to the surface.

He was panting Iearfully, and his head grew
dizzy, and he seemed hardly able to keep above
the surface.

But the cool air revived him, and the den—
ger of his situation nervcd him and he struck
out boldly for the other shore,‘ for he heard
voices approaching from the direction of the
jail.

The town lay upon one side of the river, but
upon the other bank were a few scattering
houses, and the inmates of these were soon
aroused by the alarm sounded from the jail,

and lights flashed here and there, and voices Iof '

men were heard calling to each other to find
out what was the matter. '

Knowing that it would be certain capture to
go to either shore, George threw himself upon
his back and floated down with the current.

This he continued to do until he was
thoroughly rested from the eflorts of- his strugv
gle, and then he swam with a swift, strong
stroke, until the lights of the town were left
far behind.

But suddenly his quick ear detected a sound
behind him, and in the moonlight he'discovered
a boat coming swiftly along.

That it was in pursuit of him- he was cer-
tain, so he dove deep and made his way to the
shadows of the overhanging trees along the
shore. '

Presently the boat draw nearer, and the cou-
versation .of its occupants distinctly reached
his ears.

“ Who did you say the prisoner was, Town-
send?” asked one. -

“ Why, it’s that boy horse-thief,” responded
the one addressed, and whose voice George rc—
cognized as that of the under keeper of the
jail. ‘ 

“Oh, yes; and he’s a good one to escape

,5
you say." '

“He is indeed; but I got the other one in

time.” .

“‘ You shot him dead, didn’t you?”

“ Yes; I aimed for his head, for I saw I had
him sure; but what has become of savage, I
wonder?” '

“Your dog?”

H Yes'l" ‘ .

“ Perhaps the boy killed him." ,

“No; Savage could kill a dozen boys and
not get a scratch." _ I _

“As I said at the landing, I believe the boy
crossed the river and took to the woods, and
the dog has got him tread there; but. you all

I

wanted to come down the river, so lyielded.” .. Y

‘ ‘8

  

.x

A, ,4.wmmc~_..._.f..m.. ,. .3 

 

 

 
 

  

I ', hiig‘htfiawk George} ‘ ‘

 
   

5.

 

  

“Well, let us keep npa. bright lookout,” and
v with the last words the boat passed out of the
youth's hearing, who muttered: ,
, “You are mistaken, Mr. Townsend; I am
‘ not treed, andSavage did not get away with
; one boy this time, though I did get his teeth in
- my arm and felt his claws.
“I guess I’ll take to heating again.” ,
" And down the river he floated for a mile or
more, to again take shelter in the shadow as he
, saw the boat returning and pulling slowly up
3 the stream. '
1 He smiled as he heard the disappointed ex-
‘ pressions of those in the boat at their lack of
3 success in finding him; but when he again re-
.f membered the fate of his poor prison perd, the
 smile faded quickly from his face. '
2 ,When the boat was out of sight he swam
‘ ashore, to rest himself by walking, and came
upon a pasture in which were half a dozen good
horses. V >
“Well, here is a temptation to borrow a
horse,” he said, and so strong was the tempta-
tion he even stopped and picked out the very
animal he wanted.
, “No; I was put in jail when not guilty, and
. i‘ it I am caught and have to go back I will not
have them say they knew I was a horse-thief.

“I am very tired, and I would do much to
escape, but I will not take that horse, though

s they stole mine from me, and three dollars is all
I have in the world now.” 1

He spoke in a sad tone, but walked on quite
briskly, satisfied with himself for having re-
sisted the temptation. .

After a walk of a mile he again took to the
river, and thus pressed on through the night,
alternately walking and running.

; » At last the day broke, then the sun arose,
{ and the poor tired boy lay down in a thicket
' to sleep, for he was utterly worn out, hungry,
and sulfuring from the bite in his arm.

He slept for some hours, and at last awoke
with a start, to find a man standing by and
looking down upon him.

“Well, my lad, you seek outof-the-way
places for a nap,” said the man.

“I am traveling, and sought rest in the

.most convenient place I could find,” answered
George.

“ Well, as I found you, you are my proper-
ity, so come with me, and we’ll decide what is
best‘to be done with you.

“ Come, no nonsense, for I’ll stand none.”

' George had only his knife, was weak, hun-
gry, and wretched, and arose without a. word
and walked on ahead or the man, who so un-
ceremoniously claimed the, ownership of him,
for resistance he knew was/utterly vain.

i

I CHAPTER VII.
' THE OUTLAW BAND.

IT was a walk of a mile, which the captor of
George Powell led him, to at last stop at the
door of a small cabin on the river bank.

It looked like the home of some poor farmer,
and was so supposed to be; but upon entering

‘ the, homey Greorge found there halt a. dozen

l‘Ough‘IOOleS men, and one woman.
The cabin was scantily furnished, had four
rooms on the ground floor: but the low ceiling
"indicated that there was space above, and in
fact a ladder 5‘300‘1 against the wall, and over

, . i it was a trap-door. "

Y  f ' “Well, Buck, who has yer got thar?” asked
' r ', _ , one of the men, rising from a table, upon
’ i ' which a dinner was spread, consisting of
bacon, cabbage, catfish, corn—bread and codes.

“‘ Oh, I found this babe asleep in the woods,
and fetched him home with me,” was the au-
swer." 4

“Who is you, sonny i" asked another.

“I am a poor boy, without any friends, and
am making .my way to Texas as best I can,”
was the frank reply.

“ I 311955 We’ll have the same trail to strike
,alore lens, as this country is getting pretty hot

.tor us: but you look as though you’d had a
hard tinw 91 it, Young teller.”
‘ ’ “‘ I have," was the very truthfulresponse.

 

 
  

 

 

«

yw'

 

“Been travelin’ on foot and by water, I
jedges," and the man looked at the wet, torn,
and muddy clothing of the boy. '

Ii Yes." I

“ Well, I guess you better tarry with us
awhile, and mayhap you can make enough
honest cash to help you along. '

“We needs jist sich a youngster as you be.”

“ To do what?”

“ Make a honest living.”

“ Howl”

“ Wadi, you is ’quisitive."

“ It is natural, it I get work, I should like to
know what it is.”

“That is so.

" Well, you, can stay here and help Davy on
the farm, for he and his wife needs help, as we
boards with ’em.”

Before George could- reply 9. man entered,
carrying a pair of cars on his shoulder.

" Hullo, cap’n, just in time for grub.

“But what’s the news up in the town?"
asked one of the men, and who seemed to be
the host of the cabin.

“There’s been some excitement there, for a
young horse-thief and a tellow prisoner made
a daring escape from the jail last night,” was
the answer, as the man stood the oars in the
corner. ,

“ Bully!” cried several voices, while one
asked;

“Got away. did they. cap’n?"

“» The boy did, but the young man, who was
to be sent to State’s prison, missed fire and got
shot, as he was going across a rope they say
the boy had thrown over from his window and
caught on the large chestnut in the jail-yard-—’
but, who have you there?”

“ 0h, he’s a young rooster I picked up
asleep' in the woods awhile since,” said the
captor of George. -

The man addressed as captain walked over
to where George stood and eyed him closely,
while he said: I

“I left town at sun-up, and they had a re-
ward out for a boy about your, age, with just
such hair and eyes described, hatless, wearing
boots, and jeans clothing.

“ He escaped by the river, and you look, wet,
muddy, and answer his description exactly."

“ I think I ought to,” said George.

u Why?» , ,

“Because I am the boy.”

“Well, young fellow, I can take you back
and get just five hundred dollars reward for
you.”

“ But you won’t do it,” boldly said George.

“ Well, now, why won’t I?” .

“ Because I’m not blind."

“ You don’t \look, blind.”

“Oh, no; I ‘can see through a millstone, it
there's a hole in it,” said George, with a wink
and assuming an independent swaggering air.

“ I wish you’d explain yourself youngster.”

“ I mean you wouldn’t betray a pard.”

“I don’t know you, boy.”

“But i know you.”

“ Well, who am I?”

“You just take me up to the town to get
your reward, and I’ll simply make known that
the one that claims the money has a price on
his head.” , ‘

“ Hal what do you mean?"

“I mean that while I have been in jail I
have often heard them talking of an outlaw
band of Bevan men, whom they call Captain
Lighthand and his crew, and whose rendezvous
is said to be down the river, but no one knows
where.

“ You are just seven, these chaps .call you
captain, you dwell down the river from the
town, and I am in the outlaw nest, and I’d
just tell who Wes my captor.

“ Do you see?” I *

As George spoke he winked slyly, and it was
evident that the entire party “ did see,” for
after a look and a word or two between them-
selves, the captain said: ‘
‘:Well, I’ll not give you up, if you’ll join
us.’ . * " , -

“ If I don’t?” ‘

  

 

 

“ Then you'll be floating down the river a.
dead boy within half an hour.” '

“I guess I’ll join, then.” s 

“You are wise, for you shall not regret it,
as we give youa good start in life, and you
are just about the hey we want, for they do 
say in the town that you are a. nimble little '
horse-thief."

George winced at this, but answered: .

“Well, they ought to know, for I was
caught with a stolen horse; but, as I’m a
member of the band now, I’d like something 
to eat, for l worked hard last nigh .” , ‘

The men laughed at the off-hand manner v of ,
the boy, and the woman at once set him a '
place at the table.

CHAPTER VIII.
m JAYEAWKERS AT WORK.

Wm George Powell apparently weenie
One or the outlaw band, he played a deep 1 »
game, which he hoped would in the and win  
his freedom. _ , , s

He had heard much of Captain Lighthand
and his band of burglars, horse-thieves and g
sharpers, and that they had operated succeae— 
fully through that part of the country’for
months.

The night before his arrest he had stopped ’
at a farm-house, where Lighthand and his
men were the theme of conversation, and
when he had been found with a stolen horse,
he was at first set down as of their nun»
bar, and some even hinted of setting an axe V
ample by lynching him. -

In prison be had heard both omcials and
prisoners talking of the secret band, and how
fruitless had been every effort to capture them
or to even discover their exact whereabouts.

Accident had placed him in their power,
and he held the secret, for he was convinced ,
that those at the cabin were Lighthand and his -
men; but be well knew that if he was ens; ' 
pected, he would at once he killed. .1 ’

His having been arrested as a horse-thing ' ‘ '
and then making his escape in the bold man- _ V
nor in which he did, helped him with the out. . ”
laws immensely, and they congrath than» ,
selves upon having added to their number a " ‘
youth of daring, and one upon whose head was ,
set a price. , ‘ V,

“If he don’t act right, boys, .we can Sell, ,
him for the reward, and send him in by one he
don’t know is a secret agent, and than we can ‘
go to our other retreat,” said the _ captain that “
night, when George had gone up to the garnet -
to bed, and little he thought the boy had his ‘ “
ear to a crack in the floor and heard every,
word. ‘ l

“ 0h, he’ll not right, never fear, for he’s as; .
deep in as any of us, and is only too glad to '
join the band,” said another, and this 
to be the general opinion of the vile crew." : "

For some days George remained at the»
cabin, and Captain Lighthand who went often
to town in disguise, brought the papers with
an account 0! the daring escape of the boy and
the death of the young cashier, ’ ' x ,

In the papers he was spoken of as the “Dar-‘ ' "
ing Unknown,”and George was delighted to
discover thatin no way had they lenrndd’ his ’;
name. , I

“ What is your name anyway, bonny?”
asked one of the gang. 1 ,

“Dick Turpin, Junior,” ansWered. George
without the slightest hesitation. ’ j .

“Well, you’re a good one,” was the 
join‘der, as the others laughed. ,  ,V

After some days with the band Georgegev -
elized that something of an important chamo- ~
ter was on hand, for he saw the men Win ‘ ‘
apart, and several times knew that they r
ferred to him. _ ~ >

When they had apparently decided upm’
some course the captain said: . ‘ _ k I;

“Say, Dick, how’d you like to get work ,-
out?” 

“ What kind of work, captain?’

“ Well, there isa very rich man lives do

the river some twenty miles, and we want

       
        
     
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
    
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
   
    
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
   
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
   
  
   
    
   
   
  
  
   
    
  
 

 

 
  

 

   
  

to work the place, for he keeps plenty  

 

  
     
   
  
 
   
   
    
  
 
  
    
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
    
    
    
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
    
    
  
 
    
 
 
 
 
 

. .

In “the; homegand' his vsidebo'ard
with the silver on'it.”
“You mean to rethink?”
,7 “Yes.” r' - ‘
l .“ Well, why don’t you do it?”
“We are going to, but we want you to go
“thetaget an the points down fine, and then
let us into your discoveries, and we’ll pull the
place.” ‘ . . -
“fHow am I to go there?” asked George.
_ .. “0h, rwe’ll drop you down at night in a
boat, and you can go there and ask to get
' work. , . ’ '
“The judge employs a good many people,
 he has a large stock-farm, and you can get
a berth some way, and soon post us.”
‘ “He’s 'a judge, you say?”
. »“ Yes.” '
‘ »' “Well, suppose you rig me up as a girl, for
. I’llrmakel a lively~looking one, and if I went as
I am' I might be recognized by the description
. the"papers‘ have given of me.”
f “ That’s the very thing, for you will make a
[darned pretty gal, and the old lady here can
trig you out in duds, as we have‘ brought her
“trunks lull.
 fffiereyold lady, see if you can turn this
handsome boy into a pretty young girl.“
' .‘=‘I can do it, for he’s got a small waist, little
hands and feet, and will dress up fine.”
 submitted Willineg to the metamor-
phosis, and that night he got into a boat with
as of, the band, and was rowed rapidly down
 river to a, village a mile from the mansion
the judge the outlaws intended to rob.

just groans”

 

CHAPTER IX..

‘ GEORGE POWELL’S PLOT.
~ Johan Gnnvus was one of the richest men
Tennessee, the State in which George Powell
'fidmldhls road to Texas so suddenly full of dif-
ficulties «and dangers, and his home was a.
grand one, on the banks of the East Tennessee

“0 (

Tpring at the tavern, George gave his

name 3': “Miss Powell, of New York," and was
' ' ‘ a pleasant room, in which he slept

5mm): until that relic ,ol' barbarism, the gong,.

mouthed him to breakfast.

. *3me5ng a desire to have a vehicle or-

,"dered for him", it was’soon at the door, and the

 driver was told to go to the home of

, rGervais.

p j judge was at home, and would of course

use Miss Powell, fluid the polite hegro butler;

fileeoI-ge was ushered into an elegantly-tur-

aflhsdlihrary.’ -

‘ lifudge Gervais was not long in coming, and

Winona himself in thepresenoe of udlg-

1331166, handsome man, with ulstern yet kindly

, , Miss Powell, I am informed,” he said, with
com-ti} grace. '
‘fm'lfi': that is the name I gave your but-
 but if I; am pérmitted to see you where
m assured there are node others to hear,
,  "tell ydu just who I am,” said George,
The; indigo-arched his eyebrows, but said:
We are wholly alone here, Miss Powell;”
the dge gazed more attentively into the
_, an at the‘well-dressed form of what he,
Mason Was a handsome girl of eighteen.

"“ when, sir, I may as well tell you at once If
disguise, and that 1 am here to serve
' .hnt ,I/must beg you promise in no way to
Wayne.” . . ' .

 ndg'e was',now wholly surprised, for
 ld the young girl be disguised, and
Weenid'she serVe him, he wondered.

‘ ‘Anyfoommunicatlon you have to make me
'fifll be in confidence, I. assure you, miss.”
téji‘hen, sir, I am a boy, not a girl, as my up
We, deads'you to suppose.”

wt‘boyg» , a

satin petticoats lot!" and JudgeGer-

 

 

' his visit, and

 

 

“How-you'oan’domthat is more than“. I can
find out.” ,

“I will tell you, sir.

“ Have you ever heardvof Captain
hand?" \ ' - .

“ What? that arch robber?”

“Yes, sir.” ’ l

“ Indeed I have, and would givemuch to sen-
tence him to the gallows.” '

“You may have that pleasure, sir, without
paying the thousand dollars, for I am now
laying a plot to get him into your power.”

“ The deuce you are?” , '

“Yes, sir.”

“Pray explain, miss, sir, or whatever, or
whoever you may be,” said the puzzled judge.

“I am a New York boy, Judge Gervais,
and am an honest one, and I was going to
Texas to seek my fortune, when, my horse
breaking down, I traded him of! for another,
giving nearly every dollar I had to boot.

“it seems the animal 1 thus got had been
stoleu,_and riding into K—, he was recog-
nized, and I was arrested and put into jail as a
horse-thiel.

“ Had I been guilty, I would have remained
and taken the consequences, but being inno-
cent, I was determined to make my escape,
and I did so, though a fellow prisoner, a young
man who told me his sad story, was less for-
tunate, and was killed by the keeper.”

’ “ Aha! I read all about this.

“ And so you are that daring young fellow?”

“ I am the one, sir, who made my escape as
I told you.” .

“Well. you look the one to do it; but go on
with your story, please,” said the judge, deep-
Iy interested.

“I walked along the river bank, floated and
swan: with the current until sunrise, and then
laid down to sleep, when l was found by a
rough-looking man who took me to a cabin
near- by.

“It was the retreat of Lighthand and his
men, and the captain having just returned
from town recognized in me the fugitive pris-
oner, and I confessed, and became amember of
the band.” I

“ Hal you. did this?”

“Of course, sir, for.I was among thieves,
and knew my life would be worthless it they
suspected I was not really a‘ villain like them-
selves.” ‘

“That is good reasoning; but continue your
story, for you interest me. ”

“ The captain formed a plot, sir, to rob your
house_», i

“The mischief he did!”

“ Yes, sir, and I was selected to come here,
seek employment, and learn the lay of the
land and the possibilities of entering the house.

"I was very willing to .come. for I saw a
chance to capture the band, and I selected

Light:

this disguise as one that would give me en-'

trance to the house, for I told the-men I would
pretend to have some property north, I
wished to ask you about, and here I am, sir.”

“Well, you wish to lead me. with others, to
the rendezvous then i"

“ No, sir, I wish to meet the man who came
with me, tell him what night to come, and say
that you have invited. me to stay here a few
days, and that I will let them into the man-
sion, when you can easily entrap them.”

“The very thing,'my boy, and when Light-
handand his vile crew are in my power, you
have but to ask. any fervor 01; me to have it
granted. ,

“For the present you had better, stick to
lyour'petticoats, so return and meet your com-
rade, and appoint the third night from this.

“Tell him to comexwith the others at mid—
night, to the eastern door, and you will admit
them.” ' 4
‘ After a little longer conversation with the
judge, George Powell took his leave and re-
turned to the village, Where onelof the band,
the one who had come down the riVer with
him, was waiting. , _." ' >

Unpercelved Ey others, George told him .01

t at the.judge,-swallowlfig his

’ l

   

 

    

story, and thinking he was going to make a ' ’

large fee out of an heiress, had invited him to
remain at the mansion. .

“I tell you, Buck, the captain was right
about the silver on the sideboard, [and I guess
the judge keeps plenty of money in the house,
for there was ‘a safe in the library that looked
fut,” said George, as the outlaw turned to,
depart. \

 

CHAPTER X.
THE TRAP. '

TOWARD midnight of the night appo' ted by
George Powell to entrap the burglars, a group
of men stood in the garden near the Gervais
mansion, gazing out from an arbor m'toe sum-
mer-house. . -

They were the band of Captain Lighthand, ,
and they spoke together in low whispers.

In the mansion all was dark, and as the hour
of midnight tolled from the clock in the plane
tation bell-house, Captain Lighthand said:

“ No signal yet.”

/

“ You don’t think the boy would play no ' ‘

false, does yer?” asked one.

“ No; for his neck isin the noose with ours,
and besides I don’t think he is thatrkind, for
he’s one to like just such fun as this.”

“ If he did, there hain’t one' of us but would
hang,” said another. .

“ Yes, ten times over, if they brought all of
our deeds against us; but see] was not the
'flash' of a light in an upper room?”

“Yes, captain, and there is the lamp in the‘
window, as the boy agreed," said Buck. .

“ But there’s a woman in the room,” cried
one.

“ No, it is the boy in his pettiooats.

“ Now, lads, we will reap a fortune this
night, and will have to lie low for two weeks
after our work. ‘ . I

“ Mind you, no killing unless crowded, and
then let no witness live to appear against you.”

The captain spoke sternly, and the men
growled an assent to his words. _

Soon a. dark form was seen approaching, and,
some one whispered: ' ‘

“ It is the boy,”.

Holding his skirts around him as gracefully
as though he had been brought up in them,
George Powell approached the arbor, hesitated,
and gave a low whistle. ,

“ Here we are, led, all ready, for we landed
from the boat an hour ago to be on time.

“ I’m glad to See you,” and Captain Lightl-
hend stepped forward and warmly grasped the
hand of the disguised boy.

“And I am glad to see you, captain, for I’m
tired playing girl- ' ‘

“ Are you all here?”

“Every one of us but the old woman at’the' I

cabin.” .
“ Good, for it will need all your force.”
“What for?” asked several voices in chorus.
“ To carry all the plunder,” coolly answered
George. ' , ‘
“ Are the ropes all laid?” ‘
“ Yes, all is arranged to the best of my
ability, but you must be quiet so as not to,
alarm anyol .the household, and I must have
time, after I let you in, to get back to my
room.” ' I
“Surel now lead on,” and the delighted»
burglar captain moved forward in his impa-
tience. adding:
“We’ll have a hard pull of it to reach-the
cabin by daybreak, as it is." ’ ‘ '
George Powell quietly glided back toward
the mansion, purposely dodging from tree to
tree, and as silent as specters the band of out-
laws followed him. ‘ ' ,
At last he approached the small piazza on
the east end and ascended the steps. .

When all stood in a group before the door, ' 

he gently opened it and they entered.

“ I’ll look this, as you will have to go to the " V

dining-room and can leave by that. way,” he
whispered.

The key-he turned in the Idol: and placed [it

in his pocket, and then, grasping the captain’s ;  I
hand, while the others as he did so'also caught '

 

 

 

 

 

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hold'of each'other, he led them along the hall
for a few‘feet. .

“ Walt herel” .
1; He whispered the words'and silently mov
l 3 away. i I
l Then was heard a loud clap of the hands,
;  and instantly a flood of light streamed into
. y’ the hall, and three doors being thrown back,
; ,the astounded outlaws beheld in each one of
1

them half a. dozen negroes with guns leveled at

them, while upon the stairway stood Judge

Gervais, his overseer and 'George Powell, each

with revolvers covering the hearts of the bur-
/ glare.

“ Surrender, or you are dead men l”

In stern, ringing tones Judge Gervais shout-
ed the words, and the outlaws swayed back in-
to a. corner and throw up their hands in token
of“ obedience. .

,But Captain Lighthsnd shouted: '

“ We are entrapped, and we surrender; but
. ‘I swear that traitor shall die.”

He threw his revolver forward as he spoke,
. and fired full at Georgia Powell;- who saw his
l act, and drew trigger at the same instant, so
J that the weapons rung out together.
j And each bullet sped true, for George Powell
'l
I

dropped in a heap and rolled down the stairs

to the hallway, while Captain Lighthand fell.

dead in his tracks.
"‘ Great God! he has killed the boyl
“ Seize those devils, Runyon, while I look

after the lad, and you, Abram, ride with all'

haste after Doctor Wortley,” cried Judge Ger-
vais, springing down the stairs and kneeling by
the side of poor George, who lay limp and ap-
parently lifeless upon the floor, which was
stained with his blood.

 

l

l

3 CHAPTER XI.

l , A FRIEND my mum.

i , WELL, my brave boy, the doctor tells me
you are all right again, that the crisis has

' whdlly primed, and you will be as good as new,”
and Judge Gervais entered a pleasant room in
his own mans-ion one morning, some weeks
alter the affair with Lighthand and his band.

“I owe my life, sir, to the kind nursing I

have received at the hands of yourself and
family,” Was the reply of the occupant of the

J room, and who was none other than George

Powell.‘ ,

1 He had been at the point of death from the
wound given him by Lighthand, but had
rallied at last and was rapidly recovsring.

The judge had been called away {or some
days, but returning found his young guest on
the road to rapid recovery.

“Nonsense, you saved me, my boy, more
than I can ever repay, for I know now who
this Lighthand was, and that he had not only
intended robbing me, but killing me, for‘I
r‘ sentenced him to death some years ago for a

base murder. r

“ But you killed him, and his band confessed
the whole plot of how I was to be killed.

“But the jury made short work of them, 101'
all Other law business was set aside to try
them, and they were sentenced to be hanged,
and yesterday I went to their execution.

. . “They tried hard to bring you into the
matter, but I vouched for you, kept your
name, as you asked 319,111 the background, but

l am sorry to say that the authorities at K—

hate to acknowledge themselves wrong, and

, _ they intend to push the affair against you

iv, “ But don’t feel worried, for when they send
‘ here to arrest you—”
“ f‘Dit for what, sir?” _
“They say that you had a stolen horse in
, your possession, and that you were acknow.
"‘- lodged a member of the band, and they will
3 ‘ not listen to reason, So let them go ahead.”
 “ But I would not be tried on such a charge

\.

 

 

I for the world, after leaving home as I did,
1 ‘. Judge Gervais." 
 _ “ I know that, my boy, so I have determined

‘ - ‘~ to prevent it.”

,. “But I do not wish you to compromise
' yourself, sir, on my account.”

' “Nor shall I, for I have a little plot arranged

4
1

 

that will just give those peopleyof K— the
go-by. ‘ .

“It may not be the thingfior an (ax-judge
to be thwarting the law in its course, but then
the law is wrong in this case and I shall do
it.” . ,

“ No, no, sir; I will remain and try and
prove my innocence. ‘ ,

“ If I could only find the man I traded with,
then all would be right.”

“ No; my plot is this.

“ I' have a nephew about your age, who
yesterday got a severe fall from, a horse, which
broke his leg, and will lay him up for months.

“ He has just come on to see me, and no one
knows him here, and besides he looks like
you.

“In three days my bail bond for you ends,
and then there is to be sent here an oflicer to
remain near you, so that you cannot escape.

“I will be absent, and when he asks to be
shown to the room of the wounded youth, my
butler will show him up to Harvey’s, and there
he can sit until he finds out his mistake."

“But will this not implicate your nephew,
sir?”

“ No; for his doctor orders him to keep
perfectly quiet, and he will not speak to the
officer.”

“ But then he will find out his mistake and
arrest me.” .

“ No, for how can be, when you will be half-
way to Texas.”

“ To Texas, sir?”

“Yes, is it not there where you were
going?”

“Yes, sir.” ,

“Well, I have to go down into Louisiana,
and I~will drive that far with you, for I shall
go in my carriage.

“Then, when I leave you, you will be able
to go on alone on horseback, for I shall fit you
out most thoroughly, and give you a letter to
a ranchero in Texas who will put you in the
way to make a. start in life.”

George Powell was deeply touched at «the
kindness of the judge, and said softly:

“ I do not deserve all this kindness from you,
Judge Gervais.”

“ You deserve for more, and let me tell you
that I sent a detective from Buifalo to your
old home, and he writes me that you have told
Only the truth—4’

“ Oh,.Judge Gervais!”

“Don‘t be alarmed, George, for he did not
betray you in any way, but only ferreted out
all I cared to know. , .

“ Now, my advice would be that you would
defy the people of K , stand your trial,
and come'ofl in triumph,land I would back you
in it.

“ But, as you do not wish one word to reach
home regarding you, I have done as you
deemed best, and will continue to do so.

“Now brace up, and you shall start the first
night that the oflicer comes to the house, while
I/will go on ahead of you.”

Thus it was arranged, and one week after
George Powell was on his way to Texas, the
Mecca of his hopes, having, in Judge Gervais,
found a friend in need. '

 

 

CHAPTER XII.
GEORGE’S FIRST srour ‘or RED-SKINS ON THE
Wanra'ru.

TOWARD sunset at a pleasant afternoon,
some six weeks after the departure of George
Powell from the hospitable hqme of Judge
Gervais in Tennessee, the reader might have
seen that youthful hero riding leisurely
over a Texas ‘prairie, and following a wagon
trail leading toward the westward.

Here and there oil? on the borizona timber
island was visible, and these alone broke the
'vastexpanse of flower—bespangled grass which
seemed like the vastrrolling wavos ‘oi' the
Ocean, as thaland rose into rolls, and the even-
ing breeze waved the grass until the -whole
appeared like some moving mass.

The ruddy-glow of health had come back to

, , , ..,  l _ h
1 . ‘ ,

' necessary for his wants, and though without a

prairie. .

 

 

the face of George Powell, and the southern
sun had browned him to almost the hue eta"
Gipsy. ‘ ,

He was mounted upon a long-bodied, gaunt ,
black mare, that stepped lightly over the
prairie, as though reluctant to put her iron-
shod hoof down upon the flowers, and one look
at the animal was sufficient to show her great
powers of endurance and that she could goat a
terrific speed if necessary.

Her accouterments were of the best kind, a l
rifle slung at one side of the saddle-horn, and a
Texas lariut at the other, while George had
discarded the jeans suit for the garb of a “ 
prairie man. . - - - "

He seemed provided with all that w

 
   
   
         
   
 
  
   
  
   
  
     
     
 
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
     
 
    
  
 
  
  
   
 
   
  
    
      
   
  
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
   
    
     
   
  
  
   
   
     
 

guide, and wholly alone, Was venturing ‘ ‘.
boldly westward as though fully conscious of
his own powers to take care of himselfandflnd
his way where he chose.

Several weeks before at Shreveport George '
Powell had parted with Judge Gervais, who
had insisted upon providing the boy with a
good outfit; and forcing upon him a hundred, ,
dollars, while he gave him a letter to a large , .
cattle-man in Texas, asking him to set him in x r
the right way to start in life in the‘State his
romantic love of adventure had caused himto
seek.

It was to this friend of Judge Gervais that
George was going, and he had hoped to come
in sight of the ranch that night, but failing to
do so, was aiming toward a clump of timber
where he intended to camp until the following
morning. . .

Presently the boy drew rein, for he saw fer -
off on his right a horse dash over a roll of the . i .

i

A look was sufficient to show him that the
animal was flying at his topmost speed, and . ,
was urged on at every bound by his rider. 

That rider he saw also was a female, for he
caught sight of the fluttering skirts and a mass, 1
of golden hair which had been shaken down a
from its fastenings and was flying out far he- ,
bind in the air as the horse ran. *.

What was the cause of the animal’s flight?

Who was the female thus alone on the
prairie? .

These questions George asked himself, but
could not answer. » , l' . .r ‘ .'

But he spurred forward at a gallop, to head ‘ '. “
her off, as he did not know but that wolves ' ‘
might be her pursuers, and were hidden from »  ,
his sight by the long prairie grass. . ,  

At that moment she descried him, drew“ 
rein, half turned away, and then came toward , ,
him. ' r ‘ 

As she drew nearer she waved- her hand and / , w”
shouted: " ' ‘

"Turn and fly, for I am pursued by In-
dians.” - ,. ' »

George Powell had dreamed of Indians for .. ’
years, and he had actually prayed to see the
day he might be brought face to face with
these red children of the forest.» ' '

He had seen some rough specimens of tame »
Indians, as he had come along, and been told ' r
to beware of wild ones which he might p0
sibl meet on the trail. , .

ow he was actually toldthere were Indians
near, and evidently upon the war-path, and a 1
female was flying from them for her life. 
Must be also fly? ‘ ‘

Not be, for he would not fly at hisvfirst
meeting with his longed for fees. * j A
_ Quickly he looked to his revolvers in his
belt, loosened his knife in its scabbard, just to
get all in readiness, for he hardly hoped to use
that weapon, unslung his rifle, and then glanced ,
at the coming horsewoman. - . ‘ ' -

He saw then that she was a young girl, very ,
beautiful, her face flushed with excitement,
and that she rode like one born in the saddle. ,

Her horse was a fine one, but was tagged
out, that was evident. ‘ ‘ , ’ . .r

“Turn and fly with me, or you are lost,'
cried the young girl to George, and  "
in her saddle ‘and glanced behind her. I 3 ’ 
George looked also in the direction in which, ,

  

 

 

         

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’~ and heatonce took her advieeand
spurringalongside, tied with her.
~. And no wonder. for his first glance at the
wild red-skins revealed to his startled gm fully
'a hundred warriors, urging their mustangs for-
' 1; ‘ward lnchase of the young girl at their ut-
* most speed. -

 

CHAPTER XIII.
, A BOY’S rnuox.
, HAD two, or ’even, three Indians put in an
appearance, over the rise in the prairie, George
Powell would have instantly given them bat-
v tle, and been delighted at the chance of new
. ing the fair maiden who sought his protection.
' But when scores of themrappcared, in all the
glory of war-paint and feathers, yelling like
demons, and evidently bent on life-taking and
recipe, George changed his mind with an
, alacrity that did him credit.
'  As he wheeled his horse to fly, he glanced
. ', into the face of the maiden, and sought to
' ,elteer her with:
1 . ‘_ “Don’t be alarmed, miss.”

 ‘ “.‘But I am frightened almost to death, for
, that is Blue Eye's hand,” she cried, accom-
; panying almost each word with a blow of her
- whip upon the haunclres of the straining horse.‘
George had heard of Blue Eye asbeing a
young chief of great skill as a. leader, but a
‘Very bad Indian, and felt that the young girl
had cause indeed to dread him.
I, -A glance at her as she rode by his side re-
vealed a, most graceful form, clad in a dark-
. ' green riding-habit, and a wealth of golden
I hair, which had wholly freed itself of comb
V . and hair-pins, and also was hatless.
' r ,Her face was very beautiful, and she looked
‘ ,to be about eighteen years of age.
r 1 Her horse was a fine one, but was yielding
rapidly to the hard race he had run, and
George saw that he could not stand it much
1 further, so asked: ’
' “Is there no ranch, or place of refuge
near?” ,
I ? “‘th father’s ranch is ten miles away.

» ‘flrode out with him this afternoon, and
the Indians sprung from the grass almost upon

.ufi- »
, “Father bade me fly and rouse the ranche-
, «res, and I did so, while be, after making a good
a, V fight, was captured.
.4“, ‘ “Don’t think me a coward for leaving my
father, butI felt they would not kill him at
' least now, and I knew the ranches were a] in
danger, for this raid of Blue- Eye is wholly
‘unsnspected.
’ “ But see, how fast my horse is failing me.”
V  It was evident that the animal had run his
me, for he staggered badly, and was strain-
ing himself beyond endurance, and the Indians
,swere gradually gaining.
,  v‘_'0h that it were dark,” she cried, as her
. horse stumbled badly.
‘ ‘511; will be dark in a. very short while, miss,
« for the sun has set,” said George, and then, as
her, horse again stumbled, and could hardly
"recover-himself, he continued: =
. ‘ffiere, you must ride with me, for Black
Bess can carry us both easily.”
‘ Y He rode nearer as he spoke, leant over, and
' grasping her around the waist, raised her from
her saddle, and place her behind him with a
, a strength that amazed her.
«’5 Almost instantly her horse stopped, dead
. heat, but Black Bess bounded on, her speed
but very little decreased by the double weight.
‘ V‘f Four whalebone,” sighed the young girl, as
flhe saw her horse left behind, and \then, hav—
' lug watched the Indians for awhile, she con-
, tinned:
fills/st as your horse. is going, the Indians
are gaining, for Blue Eye always has picked
menand phnics.” ‘
" Yes, Black Bess has had a hard ride of it
the put few days, and feels her double load.
‘1‘}le was rested, no horse I ever met
could run with her.”
 “She is a splendid animal, and if she saves
. y‘fathennlflajor Home.,will give you your

w.  for her.

 

 

 

   

flight-Hawk Georg, .

“ I will not sell her, miss; but is your father
Major Hume, the ranchero."

, “ Yes; do you know him?”

“No, miss; but I have a letter to him from
Judge Gervais, of Tennessee.”

“Indeed! Poor papawill be glad to see you
iflhe ever gets away from Blue Eye; but see
how fast they are gaining.” I

George looked back and saw that the red-
skins were gaining, for . Block Bess was carry-
ing double Weight, added to which he had a
quantity of ammunition in his saddle-bags and
many other things which went to weigh her
down in a struggle like the one she was then
making, and which she was hardly fitted for,
after her long days of travel.

It was now almost dark, and suddenly his
face brightened, for he had decided upon what
course he would pursue.

Before him was a. divide in the prairie, and
it ran along for a considerable distance he
could see.

“ How far is your home from here, miss?” he
asked.

“ Fully eight miles.”

“Then Black Bess could not stand it with
both of us, for we’d be caught.”

“ But what can be done?” the girl asked, ap-
pealingly. '

“I’ll drop off when we come to the divide
yonder, for they won’t see me.”

" And do you expect me to ride on to safety
upon your horse, leaving you to be killed?" in—
dignantly asked Helen Hume.

“ If you do not, both of us will go under,
and I can look after myself when alone."

/ .“ No; let me drop off, and you can return to
the divide for me when you get help.”«

“ No, miss; I’ll stay and you go on.

“It is too dark for them to see me, so I’ll
leave you now.” ~

With the skill on horseback for which he
had been noted since his earliest boyhood,
George Powell slipped from the saddle upon
the neck of his mare, clung there an instant,
with his feet hanging down, and just as Black
Bess came to the head of a. ravine, he dropped
into’it.

On sped the mate, bearing on her back the
lovely girl, and as she drew herself forward
into the saddle George Powell heard her cry:

,“‘ Good~by, and God bless you for your noble
sacrifice.”

 

CHAPTER XIV. .
IN DEADLY DANGER.

GEORGE certainly performed the act of drop-
ping from the neck of Black Bess into the ra-
vine most skillfully, and yet there was a keen
eye in the coming band that either saw it, or
thought he did, which was just as bad, and as
they came dashing up, he ordered:

“Let Bad Elk take his warriors and stop at.

divide to lodk for pale-face.”

The Bad Elk at once gave his signal tohis
immediate band of braves, some twenty in
number, and they halted at the ravine, while
Blue Eye and the remainder dashed on in put.
suit of Helen Hume, the chief the more con—
vinced that he was right by the fact that Black
Bess began to’gain on him from the instant he
thought he had detected one of the riders
dropping off, and his eagle eyes showed him
that thefluttering skirt still remained upon the
animal, and the maiden was his game.

The spot at which George Powell had left
the maiden to go on alone was the very head
of a ravine. which became larger and larger
as it went toward a distant stream of water.

Although it was deep enough at its head to
wholly conceal the youth, unless the Indians
stopped to search for him, he concluded that
he had better run away from the spot as fast
as he could, and was about to dart down the
ravine, when a sudden thought came to him to
perform a like strategy.

It was one of those sudden thoughts for
which he became noted in attenyears, to get
out of a scrape where escape seemed wholly
impossible, Land that seemed born in him to
make him a hatural. Indian fighter:

:

 

 

     

. we‘d __,. -.._

 

As soon as it cameto him {that if theIndiane I
did see him, or if they stopped to search the .

ravine, he would be discovered, he at once
threw himself down in thegrass, and with his
rifle slung upon his back,‘ crawled with all speed
away from the ravine, out upon the prairie,

He had little time to do this, for the Indians
were but a few hundred yards away, and were
spread out considerably, so that he had quite
a distance to crawl.

But he did not give up, and when he saw
that if he continued to move any longer, some
quick eye would perceive him, he laid down
flat and drew the grass around him.

One warrior was riding beyond where he
lay, he noted, and one was coming directly
toward him, but he knew he had to take the
chances.

He heard the dull thud of the rapidly
coming troop, the swish, neish, as they cut
through the grass, and‘ then came a. heavy
blow in his side, a dark object above him, and
the Indian and his horse had passed directly
over him. ' ,

Tho hoof of one of the fore legs had given
him a hard stroke in the side, almost knocking
the breath out of him, but this George did not
mind, as he felt he was safe.

Watching the dashing band, he saw that they
were pressing on after the maiden, and glancing
toward the ravine he beheld the party of Bad
Elk, and knew that he was the object of
their attention. “ '

He had been indanger before, but never had
he been aloneon the prairie at night, dis- ,
mounted, and with a bend of Indians upon
his trail, and momentarily the boy’s heart sunk
within him at the deadly danger that faced
him.

But he was possessed of a remarkable cour-
age, and self-reliance was one of the the traits
of his family, and very soon he became calm,
and set to work thinking about the best thing .
to be done to extricate himself from his
peril.

He turned his gaze upon the Indians near by
and saw that some had dismounted, to go
down the ravine on foot, and the others had
divided, and were to search the prairie on each
side for a hundred yards, keeping even with
those who followed down the gully.

“ I guess I’ll remove from this scene as fast
as I can, for I can plainly see that I am
wanted,” he muttered, and he continued to
crawl further out upon the prairie, until find-
ing he could no longer see the red—skins, he
arose and walked briskly away.

“ My best chance is to strike for the Hume

ranch, I guess, for if it is only eight miles, I:
can make it in two hours,” he said, and making
a circuit, he came back to the plainly marked
trail through the grass, where Blue Eye had
passed, and this he followed at a swift walk.

He had gone on for the distance of several
miles, when suddenly a light gleamed before
him, far across the prairie.

“ That must be the ranch,” he said.

“And if so, I am safe, for I have heard no
tiring, and Blue Eye could not have attacked

the place. ‘
“I do hepe that MISS Hume got there in
safety. I r

“If she did, I guess my saving her‘will do' “

me as much good with her father as will J udge“
Gervais’s letter.

“But they have got the major, she told, '
me—hai the light has disappeared—no, there

it is—yes, but it is gone again.” -

He halted and looked steadily before him for
a. while, and then said: I /

“ Ah! I see, there are horsemen bettveen me
and the light, and their forms hide it every
now and then. . ,

“ I wonder if it is Blue Eye’s band? I I,

“ I would like to know whether they are going
or coming.”

He watched attentively for awhile, and than, '

said, quickly: I ,
“New I am in trouble again, for they‘are
coming this way.”
He moved rapidly away until he believed

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i

"he had gotten onto: their path, and then lay
dawn in the grass once more. '

He distinctly heard the fall of heals, the low
voices of men in conversation, and just as he
hoped they would pass him, there came the
sharp bark of a coyote near by.

Instantly it was answered by the long—
firawn-out how] of the wolf, and almost upon

1m.

Quickly he sprung to his knees to get a better
view and to his horror saw that the large force
of Blue Eyes was coming directly toward him,
having changed their course, and the smaller
one, under Bad Elk, was within a hundred
feet of him, coming in the opposite direction.

He was between two fires, and the Indians

‘ were scattered so that he knew his only chance

was to remain where he was, hiding as well as
he could in the deep grass, and that chance was
a most desperate one indeed.

 

CHAPTER XV.
A DARING DEED THAT CAME T0 GRIEF.

WITH 8. great deal of'anxiety, as the reader
may readily understand, George Powell
watched the movements of the Indians.

He had hoped that they would turn upon
meeting each other and go back upon the trail,
and that thus he might escape, but to his utter
consternation, they halted upon coming to-
gether, and the chief gave a loud order, which
at once scattered the warriors.

This scattering George discovered to mean
that they were to camp for awhile, for each
warrior rode off to himself, and dismounting,
lariated out his pony to rest and feed.

In many cases the warriors spread their
blankets by the lariat-pin and laid down to
get a nap or to rest themselves, while a few,
leaving their ponies to feed, went toward a
common center, as though to hold a pow-wow.

This common center was but a short distance
from where George lay, and it seemed a fore.
gone conclusion to him that he would be dis‘
covered, killed and scalped.

“ The red-skin that makes the discovery,
though, won’t be in at my scalping,” he mut-
tered, as he held his rifle ready for use.

Finding that affairs were‘settliug down to
quietude, George determined to play a bold

, game to escape.

He noticed that now and then an Indian was
moving about on the prairie, and occasionally
a horseman would ride in, as though returning
from a scout, dismount, lasso out his pony,
and go toward the group that were holding a.
council of war not far from where he regretted
to think he was hiding.

“I’ll draw my blanket over my head end
boldly walk out, and if any warrior speaks to
me, I’ll grunt in my best style, for that is all
the Indian I know,” he muttered.

Having made up his mind to do this, he was
about to put it; in execution, when/he saw a
warrior riding toward him. " .

The red-skin came to a‘ halt, dismounted,
staked his pony—a snow-white animal—out to
feed, and walked forward to join the group,
where Blue Eye was evidently holding a con-
sultation with his sub-chiefs.

The warrior, was a chief—George saw by his
feathers—and passed within five feet of the
boy, who was now rolled in his blanket,
“ playing Injun,” for he had carried that very
necessary article with him when he dropped
into the ravine.

The chief made some remark to George as he

I passed, which was unintelligible to the boy, as

was the grunt in response to the red-skin.

Fortunately the chief did not tarry to talk
with his supposed sleepy warrior, but passed
on.
Instantly George determined to act, and, as
be fastened his eyes upon the splendid white
pony, said:

“ I guess if the suspicious citizens of K‘
were here ,now,- they’d accuse me justly of
having designs upon horse-flesh, for’I_ shall
steal that Indian’s horse, as I prefer riding to
‘walking any time.”

L George made his way to the lariat-pin of the

 

white pon

 

Night-Hawk George.

, y, and began to draw him slowly to-
ward him. 4 t v

The white pony came slowly, evidently pre-
ferring to feed, and showed spine little alarm
at discowring who it was that wanted him.

But George coaxed him and soon stood up
by his side, and adjusted the Indian saddle and
bridle.

Then he lay down in the grass again and
began to crawl toward the outskirts of the
camp, guiding himself by the different horses
here and there, to avoid going too near their
masters.

At last be deemed himself in apnsition where
he could mount and boldly ride the rest of the
way, for the suspense he was in was fearful.

Getting upon the back of the animal, who
by\ no means liked his change of riders, he
started for the open prairie by a way where
the staked-out ponies seemed fewest.

He had ridden but a few steps when, as his
ill luck and the Indian’s good fortune would
have it, the chief finished his business with
Blue Eye and come in search of his horse.

He saw that he had strayed, and his keen
eyes detected the white animal some distance
away. -

But, could he believe his eyes when he saw
that the animal held a rider?

Had any warrior of the band dared mount
the steed of Prairie Snake?

If so, he would prove to him that it was a
most dangerous undertaking.

Placing his fingers to his lips, in spite of the
universal desire for caution, he gave two
quick, shrill blasts.

Instantly, to the surprise of George, the In-
dians sprung up from the grass upon every
side, their ponies picked up their ears, and
held their heads high, while, worse still, the
snow-white animal upon which he was mounted
gave a. low neigh and bounded away like the
wind in the direction of his master. '

"I'Wish I had walked,’ ’ was the first utter-
ance of George; but he tried in every way to
check the flying animal, and‘in vain.

He might as well have pulled upon a post,
for the pony had an iron jaw, and go to his
master he would.

A cry from several warriors he passed
showed that he was recognized as no Indian,
and a shot or two, and several arrows were
fired at him, but they fortunately did not hit
him.

To throw himself to the ground, would be
to meet certain death. so he remained on the
horse, and dashed right up to the owner, of the
animal, who was now surrounded by numerous
warriors,‘ while a tall [form near him, in a pro-
fusion of feathers, evidently was speaking in
anger as George rode up.

To fire upon that crowd wouldbe certain
death, and in token of submission George held
up his hands, and kept his seat, while half a
hundred savage faces peered into his own, and
a dozen hands grasped him rudely, and as
many weapons covered his heart.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
TWO CAPTIV’ES.

THAT George Powell’s life would have been
forfeited right then and there, by the in-
furiated chief Prairie Snake, whose pony he
had appropriated, was certain; but a stern
command from the tall Indian who now step-
ped forward, stayed the hand that would have
killed.

In spite of his terrible danger the natural
humor of the boy broke out in a remark ad—
dressed to himself at the moment of his
supreme peril.

“Well, this is more Indian than I ever
hoped to enjoy,” he said.

In good English the Indian then spoke to the

- boy. .

“ Who are you?” he asked, stilf holding
Prairie Snake back. '
' “ My name is Powell,” was the cool, almost
impudent reply. ‘

“What care I for your name. I asked who
you were that thus came into my camp?" ‘

f

 

“ You are mistaken, chief. you came into
my camp, and as I was a little crowded, I
sought to leave it, when I got caught." _ I

The chief seemed struck with tie cool man-
ner of the boy and drawing closer took a good.
look at him. ‘ .

“You are a. boy,” he said.

“That’s what I pass for, Mister L0.”

The stern face of the Indian relaxed into a
smile, and he asked:

“Well. if I mistake not you are the youth
on the black horse we saw at sunset, and who
saved that girl by risking your life. " _

“I am: ut did you capture her?” ’*

“Curses! no!” . '

“ You ialk like a white man, unless Texas
Indians swear.”

“ No. I am an Indian, but I was a long time
a captive among the whites, and‘ they taught
me to swear, ’ was the quick response.

“ Well, white, black or red, what are you
going to do with me?”

“ Kill you.”

“What have I done to you?"

“ You are a pale-face.”

“If that’s the trouble I wish I was a red
skin just now.” ‘

“You’ll be less brave when you have to
die,” said the chief.

George shook his head dubiously, and the
chief asked: -

“Do you belong at xhe ranch?” , /

“ No, but I hope to.” '

“ Where are ycu going?"

“ To the Hume ranch.”

“ Where are you from?"

“ New York; ever been there?"

 

The chief did not answer the question, but

said sternly: .
"Let the Prairie Snake take his pale-lace '
captive, but he must not kill him.” ' .
“The Prairie Snake hears,” was the sullen

reply of the sub-chief, and instantly George H 

was dragged from the back of the white pony,
despoiled of his arms, and securely tied in a
way that showed him little consideration w
going to be shown him. ’

As soOn as he was securely bound Blue Eye
came forward and said something to the
Prairie Snake in his native tongue, the result
of which was that the sub-chief pieced George
upon his pony, mounted in front of him, and
rode away, followed by nearly two—score war:
nors. ,

, Presently a horse come near the white pony,
and it, too, bore two riders. ,

A glance showed George that it was a white
man, securely bound, riding behind an Indian.
and he saw that he was not alone in his cap- .'
tiVity.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
BLUE EYE. ‘

WHEN Prairie Snake set out on his retreat
with his two prisoners be pressed rapidly on
until sunrise, and then he went at a more .mod- ,
erate pace, for the party had reached ten
miles, in which there were fastnesses wheres.
small party could caisin defend itself against a
large one. .

With the first approach of dawn George
Powell looked more fiXedly at his fellow-j
captive, and found him regarding him with a
curious gaze. _

George saw that he was a man of fifty,

possessing a military air, and most kindlsg '

face.
He was dressed in blue flannel, top 

and a slouch hat, and looked like a man accusfi I

tomezl to the best walks of life. .
“ Are you Major Hume?” he asked, as they
rode along together, vholly unheeding the

scowl of Prairie Snake at his daring to address ' ’

his fellow unfortunate. ‘ ,,
“Yes, my son, I am Aleck Hume: but I ‘

fail to remember where we have met before,’

was the kindly rejoinder. . ’ ,, ,
“ We have never before met, sir, but I was

on my way to see y'ou'when I discovered yours, ‘

daughter-e” ' , , .,
“Hal you are then the dosing young man-‘2

a

 

 

 

r" '  ' . s‘ .1,

 

 

v
,

V: l   “Greergej

 

 

 

who aided her to escape, for I heard the
, 'j Indians spenkiugvof it.’.’ ' '
Y “‘ I joined her, sir, in her flight, 'and when
her. horse failed shared mine with her, until I
knew ‘we would be taken, so I dropped off and
' urged her to ride on.” ‘
.“ You are a noble fellow, my son, and did
’r what few men would have done. ‘
“ I pray God Helen escaped.”
, “I feel confident she did, sir, for without
j my weight Black Bess could easily drop those
Indian ponies, though she.had had a long and
a hard ride.” .- I
I“ Then Helen will soon get the rancheros
and their cowboys on our trail, and I can now
My understand why Blue Eye remained behind
“andsont this red devil on with us.” '
“ Why was it, sir?” ’
“To beams of us at least, by keeping in
check any force that might come in pursuit;
but; who are you, my boy?”.
“My'name is George Powell, sir, and I am
, from New York; but I stopped some time with
3 Judge Gervais in Tennessee, and he gave me a
letter to you, and said you would start me
right in Texas, for I have come here to live.”
“indeed I will, for your own sake as well
as; t at Gervuis recommends you; but I hope
 we. will get out of this, though 1 have my
fears.
“ It is n.’ pity you were taken.”
George told him just how it happened, and
F then the Indian behind whom the major was
' riding dropped back to the rear, at a sign from
' the chief.
' . A ride of an hour more and there came in
view and Indian village of several hundred
 tom, and the coming of the warriors with
two captives set the camp wild with excite-
ment. r' ‘ ,
Prairie Snake carried the'two prisoners to a
'3: fepee of logs, not doing one act to protect them
’flrom tbo‘insults and indignities of the squaws,
 then left them, bound as they were, and
 ’wlth three red«skin warriors to guard them.
1 “ I thought those squaws Were going to kill
, us," snid George, when he and the major were
alone together, for the guards stood outside of
the cabin.
“No; I heard Prairie Snake tell them not to
3 go” too far, for we were Blue Eye’s prisoners,
and he would be angry if we were hurt.”
" “You speak their language then, sir?”
" ~‘.‘I’erfectly, for I have been long on the bor-
. den” '
“And Blue Eye speaks English so well I be-
lieve he‘ is a. white man.”
' '.~,S‘No, he is a. full-blooded Indian; but a. mis—
sionary took him when he was a boy to live
with him, having found him in a deserted In-
dian camp, and he taught him to read and
.' Write, and then sent him North to school.
 “But the education he received, instead of
benefiting him, seemed to make him worse,
and he came back to his people, and at once
began to struggle for a chief’s place.

“To get this he had to“ become the bitter foe
of the whites, and thoroughly acquainted with
our Ways and homes, he did us a great deal of
as, 0;”, I , ‘ . /
' ‘3 at was there no reason for him to behave
pg? , .
lf‘Yes, to tell you the truth, there was.

‘ ~ ,“fHe. met my daughter, boldly asked her to
' , him, and when she refused, sought to
, carry her off.

“‘1 wounded him then, and he lay for weeks
at the fort expected to die; but he recovered at
last, and one night left, and soon after be
We? through the settlements at the head of

rs} hundred wmriors. I

V“ Inwas p. sad blow to us, but he won a
rchief’s rank by it.” ’

"‘ And be is now on another raid against the
whitest? , ' ' i
‘ “Want, and the purpose be had in view you
thwarted him in, for it was to capture my
daughter Halon.” , ‘
,_ After some further conversation together,
George’managed to slip one of his small hands
antic this buckskin thongs that bound him,

   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
    
   
   
 
 
 
 
    
   
 
  
  
   
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
  

g »

 

, .

and handed to the major the letter of Judge
Gerva'is. i ‘. ‘ ‘ ,

‘l‘ The judge little knew, my son, where and
under what circumstances this letter would
reach me, ” said the major, sadly, as‘he read its
contents, and having finished it looked up to
again speak to his youthful fellow—captive, to
find standing in the doorway none other than
Blue Eye himself, the Comanche chief.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CHIEF’S TERMS.

“ YOU are back sooner than I had expected,”
said Major Hume with a sneer, as he beheld
the chief, and his look and words caused George
to turn, and he beheld before him a. man of
imposing mien.

He was an Indian, there was no doubting-
that, and stood six feet in his moccasins.

Tall and straight as an arrow, he had the
shoulders of a Hercules, and the small waist of
a woman, for he wore his belt of arms buckled
tight around him as though proud of it.

He {was dressed in fringed buckskins, leggings
and hunting-shirt, and were about his neck
necklaces of bear and eagle-claws.

His moccasins were worked with porcupine-
quills, stained, and beads, and his head-dress
was a. most gorgeous affair of dyed feathers,
and fell down his back almost to his feet,
while, being free, it swayed gracefully with
his every motion.

His belt was of leather, and along the bottom
was a ghastly fringe, for it was of scalps, from
the flaxen curl of an infant and golden tress of
a woman, to the gray hair of some man who
had passed his four-score yetlrs.

This fringe went two—thirds around, but
there was a space of a few inches on the left
side that had not been filled, but the holes for
others yet to come had been out there.

The arms of this remarkablexlooking chief
were a pair of revolvers and knife of the latest
pattern.

But, strangest of all was that his eyes Were
dark blue, and really beautiful in their ex—
pression.

His face was Indian, and would have been
noble, but for its cruel and sinister look, and
his hair, blue-black, and contrary to that of
his race, was very fine and soft, while he wore
it hanging in a mass down his, back, and falling
below his belt.

“Yes; I came back as soon as I found my
trip a. useless one; Major Hume,” he answered
in dignified tones, and at the same moment he
stepped forward, and took the letter from the
bound hands of his captive, which caused the
major to say, as he saw the chief coolly read—
ing it:

“ Your training among the whites should
have taught you that it was wrong to read a
letter not your own.”

“ Yes, I did learn that among I your people,
but saw that they never carried it into practice,
any more than they did other things that they
taught.

“I leamed’ also, my dear major, that the
pale-faces profess friendship and feel hatred
for one another, and live a different life in
public from) what they do in secret, while they
rob themselves rich from their fellow-men.

“That we Indians do not do.”

George gazed at the Indian chief in sur-
prise, while the major said:

“You are as great a moralizer, Blue Eye, as
you are a villain; but you say your expedition
was unsuccessful?”

(A  7’

“Why, you have two captives here!”

“ True, and one, I see by this letter, is a
plucky boy indeed, for your friend tells how
he saved him. v

“I knew last night he had nerve in him, and

I feel sorry his career is to end so soon after

his arrival in Texas.”

“ Do you intend to kill him, as your remark
implies?” ‘ 3

“ That depends upon you.”

“ I will (19,311 I can to save him.”

“‘Aud yourself, tout] ‘

   

    

 

“ C,ertnilily.”

“We shall see, Major Hume, just what you.
will ‘do. _

“Now tell me, do you know what my raid
was intended for?” ' ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘

H No.” ‘

“ Are you sure?” , '

“ Some deviltry, of course,” bluntly said the.
major. ,

“No; it was to carry out the Wish of'myl'
heart.” "

The major turned pale at this, and Blue Eye
smiled. _ ‘

“lVill ycu that I shall tell you what that
wish is?" , - .

“ Yes,” almost gasped the major.

“ It is to capture your lovely daughter and
make her my wife.” '

“Fiend! if my arms were free I would kill
you,” said the major, hoarsely. V

“ No, you could do no such thing; but, Major
Hume, I have loved your daughter since I first ‘
saw her, three years ago. '

“ I gave her an honorable love and she re—
fused it.

“ I sought to make her my wife by force, be-
lieving that then she would love me, but you
came and nearly gave me my death wound.

“ I have not forgotten that, Major Hume,
nor have I forgotten my love for your
daughter. . . .

“Last night that boy thwarted me, or I
would have then captured her, so I have a. debt
of revenge to settle with him.”

“ Thank God, he did save her,” ejaculated
the major, fervently.

“ Well, you can save your life now, and that
boy’s, if you desire to."

“How can I?”

“Agree to my terms.”

“What are they?” r

“ Send for your daughter to meet you at a '
given point, which I will name, and let the
chaplain of the fort and a guide alone accom-
pany her.”

“ Well, Blue Eye?"

“I will meet hpr there with you and this
boy, and but two‘warriors.

“ Then, if she consents’ to be my wife, you
and this boy are free.”

“ Devil! begone from my sight,” cried the
major. ,

“ Oh, yes, I will leaVe you to think the mat—
ter over; but at sunset I will come for your
answer to my terms,” and wheeling on :his
heel Blue Eye left the cabin. '

 

CHAPTER XIX.
THE SACRIFICE.

Fon along time after the departure of Blue
Eye, Major Hume and George Powell sat in
silence, but at last the former said:

“ My young friend, I wish I could save you,
but I cannot, for that man will surely visit
upon us certain death, vhen he returns to
know how I despise to saw myself at the sac-
rifice of my daughter.” ,

“ You think he will surely kill us?”

“I know it.”

n HOW?” ‘

“By the vilest torture Indian deviltry can
invent.” ‘ ‘ _
_ George was silent for awhile, ,and then suds
denly brightened up, for a thought had flashed
through his’mind. ‘

‘ That thought he made known to Major
Hume, and they talked earnestly together
until the sunset hour, when Blue Eye again
put in an appearance.

His brow was black, and evidently he had
had something to trouble him, and the major,
noticing an excitement in the village, surmised
that a band of bowboys had followed the In-
dian trail back; but he knew the utter impossi-
bility of their attempting to come on into the , I
hills to attack the red-skin camp.

“Well, Major Hume, I have come for my
answer,” was the remark of thechief. . ‘

“Had any _ trouble to—day, Blue / Eye i”,
asked the major with a smile, ignoring his first . '
remark. ‘ I l '

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

   

I

' [prismfiaesieesse

 

 

 

 

The chief started and asked:

“ What do you mean, sir?”

“Oh! I only noticed that you looked like a
thunder-cloud, and that there had been some
excitement in camp.”

“Well, you are right, I have had trouble,
for a party pursuing us have captured halfa-
dozen of my braves.” -

a “ Good! now I suppose you will exchange us
for them 2” l

“ I will not, for they sent in to ask it, and I
refused."

The major looked blank, and l the chief
asked: "

“Are you, ready to agree to my terms,
Major Hume?"

1“ Repeat them.”

“The death of yourself and that boy by
torture, or your daughter to become my wife?”

“Chief, I’ll be frank with you,” said Major
Hume, as though moved by some sudden im-
pulse. ' I

“ I Wish you to be,” was the cold response.

“Well, I love life, and I know this poor boy
must; for he is just entering upon the three»
hold of life; but, if I thought I was making
such a terrible sacrifice of my daughter, .in
giving her to you, I would rather die than
yield.

“But the truth is, Blue Eye, Helen has
always liked you, and it was my command
that made her refuse you.”

“Liked me? so I have ever believed,” said
the chief with a glad glitter in his eyes.

“Yes, and she acted a part against you
only at my command, and now, as I feel that
she is willing to become your wife. ‘I will no—
cept your terms upon certain conditions.”

“Name them, Major Hume,” and the chief
could hardly conceal his joy.

“ You are a very handsome man, can be
the courtly gentleman when you wish, speak
English as well as I do, and it is no wonder
that a romantic girl should love you, and, as
you know, it will not be the first case of an In-
dian marrying a. pale-face, for my young
friend here tells me his grandfather was an In-
dian chief.

“But, Blue Eye, you have it: in you, as the
husband of my child, to make peace on the
border with the whites; and you must do it.”

“ I will, Major Hume, 1 pledge you the
word of an lndian chief.”

“ I’m glad to hear you say that "Blue Eye,
and I’ll give you my terms.”

“ Well, sir?"

“ I am to remain in your charge, while my
young friend here, mounted upon your best
mustang, and leading another, will go to my
daughter with a letter from me, which will bid
her come to a certain point where you will
meet her, and I will accompany you. ”

“Why not have her come here!”

' “ Because to our people it must look liken,
’ capture, you understand, but, after she is your

wife, then she can say she is happy as such, and

you can bury the hatchet along the border.”

“ When will she come?”

'“ This Youth will start tonight, and to—mor—
row he 'will reach my ranch.

“Tomorrow night he can start back with
Helen, and we will meet them halfway.

“ She will return with you, and. 1 will go
back with my young friend here; but you
must have the Mexican padre from the river
[ranch not many miles from your village, to
perform the ceremony, for you can go by
there, as all you Indians are on good terms
with him.” ‘

“Yes, he is a white man Who does us no
harm.” said the chief.

, “Well, so let it be arranged.”

“ So let it be, and, I must say, major, you

are'wise.” ‘
r “If I did not feel that Helen would be
happy, I would rather die, than consent to
an act to give her sorrow," said the major ims
r‘essively. , r .
‘ The. Chief stepped forward and at, once freed
the bonds that held George Powell, and then
:3 turned to the major and (lid likewise.

' l

 

. one too, and by hard urging manogédlo

“ You, my young friend: can start on your
errand, as soon as you have had food, and you,
Major Hume, must remain here under guard,
though I have cut your bonds.

"’ If the boy fails to return with your daugh-
ter, you shall die by torture, air, and I sWear
I will visit a fearful vengeance upon him if I
track him to the ends of the earth, and this
whole border shall runvred from my hatred.”

The chief then left the cabin, followed by
George, who walked lame from his having
been tied so securely.

But after a good supper, furnished him by
the chief, be mounted a splendid mustang, and
with his own arms, returned to him by his
captor, started upon his mission.

CHAPTER XX.
A anon FOR LIFE.

AN Indian guide had been ordered by the
chief, to see the youth, well on his way, and
then give directions which would prevent his
going wrong, fer though an apt student in
praire craft, George was by no means yet a
skilled trailer, though he had relied upon him-
self to find the Hume ranch, when he had
started there from the Red river.

Whether it was that there were warriors in
the camp, who did not like the secret way in
which Blue Eye was managing his prisoners,
or not, I cannot say; but certain it is that a
party of six started in pursuit of the youth,
determined to overhaul him, as soon as the
guide had left him to go the rest of the way
alone.

It was just at sunrise that the Indian, who
spoke a to w words of English, drew .rcin, and
said:

“Boy pale-face go now, find way by self.

“Hawk go back to village, tell chief boy
pale-face all right.”

“Shall I follow this trail, Hawk?” asked
George, pointing to a faint trail leading to the
north.

“ Yes, follow him to where chief caught
boy pale-face. ' ' ’

“ Him know way there bimeby.”

George handed the Indian 11 silver dollar,
that seemed to tickle him greatly, and rode on
alone.

But hardly had he gone far, when he heard
hoof-falls behind him, and turning in his sad-
dle saw six warriors coming on at a. gallop.

Observing that they were discovered, tone of
them cried out in English, such as it was:

“Boy chief stop. Blue Eye chief want tell
’um much.”

’Now George Powell was in a. situation to be
suspicious, and he certainly suspected the
party behind him. ‘ '

If they had come right on the trail after
him, why had they not met the guide. and he
returned with them? . ‘

He had heard all that Blue Eye had to say,
and could not think of anything that he might
have had to say, that was important enough
to send six warriors after him.

so he called back:

“No, I don’t want to hear any word from
the chief.”"

“Chief kill him if him don't stop,” yelled
the spokesman of the party. ‘
" I guess I’ll be killed if I do.
hard-looking set, so I’ll move on.”

With that he urged his horse into a slow
gallop, when at once the six warriors pressed
their ponies into a run.

George at once set out at full speed, and was
glad to see that he held hisown with them.

But they had set a killing pace and George
.was forced to keep it, or get within range of
their arrows, for they held their bows ready.

It was evident that therred-skins did ‘not

You are a

care to trust themselves too‘near the seiiler

merits, and were determined to close matters
as soon as they could, for they urged their
ponies to a speed that no animal could keep up
long, and they had picked their horses before
starting. . ' ,

The mustang that George rode was a Sect

old

; 4

     

A him, his ramming-knife,

 

  
  
  
  
   
  
    
 
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
    
 
  
  
    
 
   
 
  
    
   
   
 
  
 
 
   
   
   
   
   
 
   
 
  

his own; but the, youth saw that he washe-
coming greatly distressed, and began t9. look
about for a place of shelter, in which helconld'
remain and keep his foes at bay with his 
A run of a couple ofmiles more and he rec: » ,
ognized the scene of his flight with Helen .
Hume three days before, and he was glad to _,
know that he was on the direct trail to the '
ranch.
But his pony, though urged to his ut-
most, was only going in a slow, tired lope,
and suffering greatly, could do no more.  I
There was a heavy rise of the prairie before
him. and to aid him over ‘this, George Sprung"
lightly to the ground and ran by his side; but
this did not seem to revive the animal, and
glancing behind him after be mounted, the
youth saw that the Indians had followed, his
example to relieve their ponies of their weight.
The leading. red skin was now alum!an
arrow range, and George felt that he would-
now have to use his rifle to keep them at hay.
Suddenly his pony stumbled badly, and
hardly recovered himself before he went half ', r '
down with his rider.
“ I am sorry to leave you, pony, but I can
do better than this myself,” cried the youth,
and he got his rifle in hand, and at the next V
stumble of the animal, who was not going '
faster than a. jog trot, he sprung to the ground,
and started oil? at a run. ‘
As he did so he noticed, that the leading In-
dian had also deserted his horse, and another
was just doing so. , f
Girzling himself to the hard work, George
ran on at a swflt though easy pace, for he had
always been noted as a rapid and long runner,
and saw that he was holding his own with
both horse and footmen. ' ' ; r
But he carried his blanket, belt of arms,and ’
rifle, and these began to get very heavy. . , 3
The blanket he threw away, but his arms he ‘
dared not let go, and when nt‘last he knew he - f _
could go no further, he suddenly turned to the; ’
right about, threw forward his rifle and fired. '

 

CHAPTER XXI.
AT BAY.

GEORGE was too much shaken by his long . ,
and hard run to take good aim, and his bullet
missed its mark. - '  - '

Not discouraged, however, he walked on, to ,
regain his wind and nerve, just going, $93!; 9 '
enough to keep the tired Indians-from 1?qu
upon him. I

All of them but one were now on foot, and ' 4
they seemed elated at his bad aim. , , ‘

The one still mounted had just gotten to the ,
front, and his fony was gaining quite rapidly,- I
though it was evident that he, too, could ,not' .
last much longer in the race.  5

“I am rested a little now, and must die;
mount that fellow," muttered George, Endy‘
halting, he wheeled and fired. , i ' ’_

Down went the mustang; but the, red‘skin' ,
rider caught on his feet, and. being fresh, r - i V
started at a rapid run after the youth. - V «

Again George fired, but without injut'y,‘and ' ”
he knew that he was too shaky to take good
film. ‘ ‘;

‘-’ I know I could do better at close quarters:
with my revolvers, so we’ll let them come up,” V
be muttered, as he continued his rapid walk. » ,

Stinging his rifle at his back, he loosened his "
revolvers ready for use, and themglanced beé
hind him. ‘ » {

He saw that the leading Indian was 
quite near him, and, as he looked, the 
sent an arrow from his bow, ,  ‘

It was well aimed, and George Powell tot—-'
tered backward and fell, the arrow sticking,
apparently into his body; , , ‘

Loud was the yell at exultation 'from‘tbe
red-skins, and all ‘with renewed strength dart
ed forward, five in a bunch, and the one in lid-'1
vance some fifty feet ahead of them. ‘ '

Motionless as the dead lay George, and 
great bounds the leading Indian came to '
in hand, to coin

V I

much-coveted trophy.
_ q i _ '

 

 

 

 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

’ road , . followed, and down dropped the

 m that George had ever slain.

; Then, with the arrow still sticking in his
‘ clothing, but not,“ his-foes had believed, in
his body, aprons the boy at hey, a revolver in
each hand, and cool and almost rested.

At Once toward the red—skins he moved, and
,then came the whizzing of arrows and the rat-
tle of shots, and both did harm.
. f» Gaining the body of the dead Indian, with a
strength born of his great peril, George Powell
'raised him in his arms, and then stood at bay.
, It was a thrilling picture, with the boy
standing upright, both hands held straight out
,‘ ’5 before him, and each grasping a revolver,

V while his own arms passed under the arm-pits

" I [mite deed Indian upheld as a shield before

The head of the red-skin" was drooped for-
_ , ward, hischin resting upon his broad, tawny
7 breast, and his buckskin-clad legs were limp.
“New, red-skins, your wows have got to
bosharp to go through this tough breastwork,
so fire awayi” cried George, and his revolvers

rattled forth with deadly aim.
‘r ‘ ' It  but an instant, the hot and unequal
” fight, but in‘ that time George was several times
' . wounded, though slightly, the “tough breast—
33wer ‘” as the boy called his Indian shield, had
» .as'core of arrows sticking in him,-and three
' of the red assailants lay dead, While the re-
maining two were making rapid tracks on the
backfire“. , '
', “Run; red—skins, run! or I’ll catch and sell
you for a tobacco-store sign,” shouted George,
-- in high-glee, and he went into a loud laugh,
,‘ohlch was, to his alarm, echoed behind him.

shield .up before him, and behold several horse—
men gazing upon lrim with surprise, amaze-
‘ merit and admiration.
.=_'5They- had just ridden over the rise of the
prairie. audit was seeing them that caused
"the/two Indians who had not fallen under the
youth’s fire, to turn in rapid flight.
1' i There were‘a (ll-zen horsemen in all, frank-
 though wild—looking fellows, and that
they were
 one who had once seen these lively Texas
youths, could doubt.
A; They were all well mounted, thoroughly
"armed, and looked like a dangerous party to
Inset ina fight, and in truth they were, as the
Indians yell knew. ~
Riding forward the leader said in a cheery
 ,. “Well, young teller, you is having a picnic
"autoyOurself; but git on my mustang an’
a gem yonder two scalps as is glidin’ away
norm“, for they is yourmeat.”
‘ .' “ No; ‘I will not kill a men that is running
\ #13:}: me," said George, dropping his Indian
1: ‘ ,

, id; ,

‘f But they is Injuns.”

“It makes no diflZerence, I will not shoot an
Indian unless he is trying to kill' me."

‘fgzaordyl is you a Sunday-school kid?”

‘ . ‘f '0.” r
- 5‘ Is you the feller as help Miss Helen out o’
, a scrape some nights ago?”

. , hiya.” ‘

,“‘Then you is our pard, an’ she sent us ter
lack fer, yer, an’ we hes looked, an’ hour yer

‘ l

,3. . ‘ 
ggnn’ ’Lordy! , hain’t yer been in biz fer yer-

, 9. , I

r “I do declar’, scalps will go down in ther

ymarket. a ‘

,._“'.Uiin, jist tealp ther reds fer ther young

_ gent, en’ Bob, you an’ Dick sail out arter them

rtwoged pedestrians an’ twist ther ha’r’ around

I“

J. :“ We will wait yer hour, for I wishes a leetle
talk withthls boss young pilgrim, as holds up
him: meat for a targit for other reds ter

' W on."

3 George joined in the laugh of the cowboys,

,Vaud out of danger now, was only too

evening to meet the band’ of herders, who,

 

I

 

But suddenly the boy moved an arm, a flash-

Quickly he turned, still keeping hi human,

borders, now known as cowboys“

 

Wtfietwo gout am the fugitive red-skins

returned with their scalps, and'the dehd-beat»
out ponies, escorted the youth back to the
Hume ranch in triumph. ‘ . ’

 

CHAPTER XXII. ,
- .11 ran nannnzvous.

THAT Blue Eye was greatly pleased over
what Major Hume had told him was evident,
and he visited his prisoner over and over again
to learn all his reasons for believing that Helen
loved him.

His English education, and association among
whites, had caused him to feel disgust, almost,
for the maidens of his own people, who, on the
contrary were most anxious to win the heart
of the great chief.

With all the cunning of his race, he had
also the indomitable pluck of Indians, and
these qualities, added to his knowledge of mil-
itary tactics had gained for him the admira-
tion of his warriors, which his cruelties had
increased to idolatry almost.

That he was treacherous at heart he showed
by ordering secretly a band” of warriors to a
point near the rendezvous, to be within reach
should they be needed, for he could not but
fear treachery on the part of the youth who
had gone to carry out his mission. V

With most unusual care, though always
heat, a quality he had learned from the
whites, he dressed himself to meet his bride,
leaving 01! the war-paint that an Indian war-
rior thinks adds to his beauty, but bedecking
himself with necklaces of gold and silver, and
wearing his best buckskin suit. '

He was also mounted upon his best horse,
and as Major Hume, bound hand and foot once
more, rode by his side, he glanced into the
face of the Indian chief and noted there its
look of intense satisfaction with himself.

It was just sunset when they arrived at the
rendezvous, the chief, Major Hume and one
Indian Warrior: but the others had not
arrived.

A low word from Blue Eye to the brave with
him, sent that red skin of! on a mission, but
what, Major Hume had not heard.

He pretended not to notice the disappearance
of the red-skin, hoping to catch his Words to
his chief upon his return, for he did not doubt
but that Blue Eye had other warriors withi
call. ( '

In half an‘hour the brave returned, and the
keen ear of the major heard the low report:

“ The Prairie Snake and his warriors are
there.”

“That devil means treachery of some kind,”
muttered the major, and he kept his eyes out
upon the prairie, to notice the first coming of
his daughter and the youth. '

As the minutes crept b and they did not
come, both Blue Eye an the’ major became
nervous, and dropping his stoicism the chief
paced to and fro with angry face and lips set,
for he found that something had gone wrong.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
A DIAMOND THAT our A DIAMOND.

“Tunas: they comel” ,

It was the keen ear of the chief that had
caught the fall of boots upon the prairie, and
soon three dark forms came in sight, riding
slowly. ’

As they drew nearer both Major Hume and
Blue Eye saw that one was a. woman, and a
second was recognized as George Powell, but
the third was unknown. , .

“ It is my daughter and the boy, chief, and
the third must be a cowboy from the ranch,”
said the major.

Blue Eye gave a grunt of gratification, and
bending over quickly released the major of his
bonds, saying quietly:

“ I do not wish your daughter to greet you

in bonds.”
r It wasa clear star-light night, and as the
party came up, the major rode forward and
said: ' I '
“ Oh, Helen! my child, do you' agree to this
sacrifice?" ' '

‘.‘ Yes, lather,” was the low reply. L

 

 

H You ‘do this to save w»
“ I do. father." '

“ Helen, pause before you take the step, for /

I can go back with the chief and let him do his
worst, rather than that you should so sacrifice
yourself.”

“Hold on, Major Hume, for I consider that
your daughter makes no sacrifice. ‘

"I am an Indian, yes: but I am chief of a

mighty people, and my name has made the '

pale-faces along this whole border tremble.”

Blue Eye spoke in a most pompous, boastful
tone, and the major answered hotly:

“You are a villainous wretch, who has
stained his hands with the blood of women and
children, and should be hanged for your devil~
tries.”

“I will not quarrel with you, sir, for I am
what I am.

“Miss Hume, I greet you, and I offer ya
the love, the hand of Blue Eye, the chief, and
ask you to become my queen.

“Will you accept and go with me to my vil—
lage?” ’ "

“Yes,” came the low reply.

Major Hume muttered an oath, but turning
to his daughter said softly:

“Helen, you have made a great sacrifice,
and have saved me, and from my heart I feel
your noble act.

“ Remember, I am ever your father, and if
you tire of the life you have chosen, come to
me.

“ Farewell I"

He leaned over from his horse and drew her
head upon his shoulder for an instant, and then
she uttered some few words in a low voice, and
rode quickly to the side of the chief, who gave
a wild shout of joy at his grand triumph, and
said:

“Come, my beautiful queen of the Coman-
ches, and I will teach you how to hate the
pale-faces from whom you come. /

“ Major Hume, gel But remember, Blue
Eye, the Comanche,,never buries the hatchet
he has once taken up against a foe.”

He seized the bridle—rein of the maiden’s
horse as he spoke, and motioning to the War—
rior to lead the way, he fnoved off, saying
aloud: ‘

“ Now, my queen, we will be escorted to our

home by two-score brave warriors, who lie

hidden not far from here.”

The maiden suddenly drew rein and asked in.

a low, trembling voice:
“ VVhatl Are you treacherous, Blue Eye?”
“ Yes, to all pale—faces except you, my
queen,” was the ringing reply.

“Then thus I punish you for’your crimes,

Blue Eyel”

The words rung out in startlingly clear and
commanding tones, and following them came
the crack of a revolver, and then a second re—
port, the two shots illumining the scene mo-
mentarily.

The first shot was at the head of the chief,
and the bullet struck him squarely between'the
eyes, killing him instantly.

The second shot was at the astounded war-
rior, whose heart was pierced by the uperring
bullet. '

Bafore Blue EYe could fall from his saddle
his head was seized in the hands of his slayer.
and the long Scalp lock, with its feather of
crimson attached, was cut from his head. '

Then, springing to the ground, the maiden
did a like service for the warrior, and with her
gory trophies sprung nimbly into” the saddle
and dashed away, while wild war-cries were
heard in a distant ravine, as Prairie Snake and
his warriors, alarmed by the shots, came has-
tening to the rescue. ' ,

As the maiden dashed forward, mounted
upon a large black mare, Major Hume, who
with his two comrades had halted, apparently
waiting for him, cried:

“ Nobly done, my brave boy, and youhave
rid the border of a monster and saved my
darling child and myself.” V I . ‘.

“Yes, I do indeed owe you more than life,:’

cried a” soft, sweet voice, and the one s- pposecl '

l .

 

  

 

 

».H_‘.._.....s.. ,,

any»... ,

 

 
 

 

 

 

‘ I

 

, \

 

  
  
  

 
 
 
     

    

     
 

 

’{ ,7},

   

v

Night=fiawk 

 

 

 

to be George Powell spurred to thé side of the
person who had successfully played so hold a
game. ,

,_ “Let me offer yer mygrip, Boy Pard,”
cried the other individual of the party, and
who was none other than the leader of the
cowboys, who had with his comrades come
upon George Powell after his fight with the
Indians several days before.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the Supposed Helen
Hume, as the party sped along:

“I nearly broke up, Major Powell, at your
affecting farewell; but I’d give my rifle to be
out of these petticoats and be back in my
pants, which Miss Helen is wearing.”

“ Never mind, George, you have done good
service in my clothing, so you need not be
ashamed of them, and Ionly Wlnl] I could
have played you half as well; but hark how
those Indians yell," said Helen Hume, whose
representation of George Powell was equally
as good as was his of her.

“They have come upon the dead body of
their chief, and now we must ride for it,”
cried the major.

And ride for it they did, and in safety
reached the ranch, thanks to the daring ruse
of George Powell to save himself, the major.
and Helen, and at the same time rid the bor-
der of its most fiendish human monster, Blue
Eye, the Comanche.

CHAPTER XXIV.
ran: cownov ouinr.

FROM the moment of his reaching Hume
ranch, George Powell became a hero.

His fame spread along the border like wild—
fire, and some enthusiastic cowboy dubbed
him the Boy Terror, and to his great regret
the name clung to him.

His fight with the Comanches, when he used
one as a. shield became also the general talk,
and his clever ruse to escape with’Major
Hume out of the clutches of Blue Eye, and at
the same time rid the border of that terror,
was exalted to the skies.

'Major Hume felt that he could not do too
much for the brave boy, and knowing that his
desire was to lay a foundation for a fortune.
he at once determined to set him up upon a
ranch, and make him a present of it and the
cattle.

But' this George would not hear to, for he
would accept no favors, so the major tried an;
other plan, and one day said to the youth:

5‘ George, I have bought an old ranch, some
hundred miles west of this, and wish to stock
it with cattle, and put a good person there in
charge, allowing him a few cowboys.

“ Now, you have been with me long enough
to understand the business, and I’ll make you
the offer to run the ranch for me, and you'can
select what men you please."

This was what George liked, and ten days
after he started for the ranch, and with four
cowboys under him, drove several hundred
head of cattle along with him.

He found the place considerably dilapidated,
so at once set to work to remedy this, and it
was but a few weeks before the young cow—
boy chief had a most comfortable home of it.

As the ranch was in the vicinity of where
wild mustangs roamed in large draws. George
took the idea into his head of catching the
animals, and thus begin a little business upon
his own book.

In riding he yielded to no one as a superior,
and he also threw the lariat with great skill;
but one of his men shewed him the knack of
catching wild horses, and he soon became a.
most efllcient pupil. and whlln MEJOr Hume
visited the ranch. six months after George had
gone there, he found the place most comfort-
able, his cattle thriving well, and the youth
the owner of over a hundred mustangs Wthh
his skill had rapefl in.

Mustangs happened to be just what Major

Hume

1,

 

acted, and he bought the drove there J

and then, andepaid the highest price they,
would bring invthe market, and George Powall
had laid the corner-stone of a fortune, he really
believed. ‘ «

Upon that ranch the youth passed several
years, and in that time his name spread far
and wide for daring and Indian-fighting, for
he had organized several bands of' cowboys
into a company, and becoming known as the
Cowboy Chief, made many successful attacks
upon the red-skins, who were most troublesome
all along the border.

But George found the care of a ranch too
confining for one who wished to be constantly
on the go, only prairie and mountain, and
hence gave up his position, and sold out what
cattle and mustangs he had to the major.

The money, amounting to a couple of
thousand dollars, he banked in his mother’s
name, and then set forth upon new fields of
adventure, until his wanderings won for him

the names of the Boy Wanderer and Prairie

Wanderer, for scarcely was he ever_a week in
one place, but passed his days and nights con-
tinually upon the plains.

CHAPTER XXV.
THE NIGHT—HAWKS.

ABOUT the time that George Powell became
a. prairie rover, wandering wherever he cared
to go, over Texas, through the Indian Terri-
tory, and up into Colorado and Nebraska, he
returned to Texas, after an aLsence of nearly
a year, to find that a band of outlaws known
as the Night—Hawks had begun to spread con—
sternation along the Rio Grande country for
miles and miles. ‘ ‘

Their depredations extended back from the
river a long way, and in spite of the most
strenuous efforts to captin‘e them, they invaria-
bly escaped. “

One of their peculiarities, and which gave
them their name, was the fact that they struck
their blows only in the night, and no one had
seen them by day.

George had now grown into'a tall, handsome
young man of nineteen, and was noted as a
daring and skillful plainsman. -

He had met with many thrilling adventures
in his wanderings, and yielded to no one the
palm of lasso-throwing, riding and shootii. g
with rifle or revolver.

He was most tempernie, genial in his man-
ners, attended to his business, and allowed no
one to interfere with his. ‘

In encounters in which he had been engaged
he\ had never been the aggressor; but once
drawn 'into a fight he was known to be the last
man out of it. « .

In trading, trapping and other callings, he
had been successful, and his bank account had
steadily increased until, having the money, be
had decided to buy a ranch in Texas and send
for his mother and brother toglive with him,
for, after his first successes he had written them
of his good fortune. ,

In all his wanderings, he had seen no place
more desirable to locate than in Texas, near
the Rio Grande, and this was the place that
was now infested with the Night—Hawk Ma-
rauders. ‘

His friend of old, Judge Gervais, had bought
a ranch there, and his son was living upon it,
and several pleasant visits had George made
there, and talked over old times in Tennessee.

The", $001 Major Hume had given up his
ranch further east and established himself ‘not
far from the Gervais hacienda, and H819“,
who had married an army ofiicer, was also
living in the fort near by, so that. George felt
that he would be in the midst of friends.

Yet a curse had fallen upon this fail-land in
the raidings of the Night-Hawks.

Some said they were Texans, others called
them Mexicans, andxa few thought them In-
dians; but whatever they were, they raided
with success, pfllaged thoroughly, and left no
one alive behind them to tell who or what they
were. . , I ,
When George returned from the tip-country
be selected a most desirable locality for bid

 

 

the Night-Hanks. that many urged him not to
stay there. ‘ ~ '

his purpose from fear of personal danger, and
he went on with his work.

A lovely site was selected for the cabin
home, and workmen from the nearest villager
were sent there and set to work. V ‘

In a couple of weeks a large and comforta—
ble cabin had gone up, outbuildings, stockades‘
for the cattle, and a but on the river for the
cowboys.

and all went into working order. ‘
“Well, George, you are all ready, I seefl‘
said Major Hume, who with. young Gervais
and his son in-law, Captain Saterlee, had been
hunting in the neighborhood.
“Yes, sir, all ready, and you must remain
with me for the night.” 1
They accepted this invitation, and Were do"-

all; but they shook their heads dubiously, as

the Night-Hawks.
“When do you expect to send for your mo-
ther and brother, George?” asked the major.

Hawks.”

said Captain Saterlee, who had been a dozen
times after the Night-Hawk Marauders, with»
out success. -

“Oh yes sir, for I go on the trail of tho-
Night-Hawks tomorrow,” answered George
coolly.

“ indeed! with what troop!”

“ None, sir.”

boys?”
“ No, sir.” i . 7
“You do not mean to say you go alone?
asked the major in surprise. .
“ Yes, sir.”
“ You are mad, George.”

open of late, and I think I have a claw that
will aid me to work on.” 

“ Well, George, I have great, mnfldencojn
you, and I say go ahead; but I wish you
would let us into the secret
Major Hume. \

from to-day my brother and Billy will be
here, and my brother Frank too 1 hope, who.

and I want you all to come over to my ranch
for a week or two of sport, and Captain 
lee, you and Mr. Gervais must bring your
wives, for my cabin is
for all ”

you her adopted brother. "

but in one month, you say i” -
“Yes, sir.”, '

“And in that time you expect
this band of Night-Hawks?" asked the major.

u
w

George Powell, the young ranchmau.

CHAPTER XXVI.
xmnarrno. -
SOME thirty miles from the much of George
Powell, dwelt 3
Hart Herndon.

 

neighbors, for he had neighbors, though none
nearer than half a dozen miles. ’

He had come to Texas, won a ranch and.
cattle at cards. and taken,possession of it;

Who knew him liked him. ~ ~ «
smoking, and with a bottle of Mexicanrwmg.

.andglassuthiselbowhe saw a horseman}?

ere ingedwhlimcl l r ' i"
.9! . 099:7 Grimm”
‘Mrfingnidtohimseltz . +4.

 

Mn,

 

v:

   

ranch; but it was so near the striking pointed '

But George was not one to be turned 

Then cattle were bought; ponies caught,-

lighted .with the ranch, its new furniture and g 

they could not but feel it was a good bait for I _

“As soon as I have captured the Night?

“Then we need never expect to see them,” ,

“Then you have raised a company of cow— ~

“ I think not, sir, for I have kept my eyes

to aid ymgusaid 

“I will at the proper time, sir; but a month?

you know is making a big name for himlelf, ’

large enough you  ‘
, e. \

“Thank you, George, Mrs. Eateries   ,I‘
only too glad to come, for you know. she“, calls,

“ And Mi-s. 'Gnrvals too, I thank you, George; . ' a

to capture ,
“I do, sir,” was the resolute response of "

young man by the name of"
or his antecedents little w... known by him: é

He was handsome, but dissipated, and those :
One afternoon as he sat on his cabin m ,‘y

 

 

  
  
   
   
 
 
 
    
   
   
    
    
 
    
     
  
 
   
  
  
  
   
 

   

 

 

  
   

,‘ : “I’ll take a: look’through’ my glass at him.”
" He got a glass from a; bracket inside the

  

._ “It is, that dashing young follow the
,‘ 'Prairie Wanderer. -
I, , “ Ilik’e him, and will cultivate him, for they
, say he hoe/a snug little bank account down in
Galveston.” ' _ .
‘ " It was George Fowell and dismounting, he
, ‘t‘was warmly welcomed l y Hart Herndon, who
, lbrpught out a second bottle, and a bundle of
, cigars. ‘ ' ‘
‘ ,' r U 1711 sm/oke, Herndon, but I never drink,”
said George. , ’ '
‘ “A.- Texan never drink?” asked the other in
. surprise.
S‘Yes,‘ it is a habit I have never formed, and
mayor expect “to; but I want you to go over to
w v 3m]? ranch with me, andsee a fellow I have
 there, and whom I suspect of being a Night-
Hawk’.” v . .
/ “No, you don’t mean itl" ' , '
, “Yes, he came to my ranch with about
. _ thirty cattle and a dozen ponies to sell, well
believe he stole them. I_ told him I would
» , buy the lot, but he must wait until I got the
', money; and on my way back from the village,
I thought I would stop and ask you to go over
,and‘ ve a. look at him, as they say that you‘
got a glimpse or them one night." ‘
“ Yes, I was camping in a. clump oi! timber
_ ,one night, when in‘ rode a gang of men.
 “I’ was walking fortunately, so climbed up a
, tree and staid there until daylight, when they
,§ loft, and who they were, it not Night-Hawks,
,Icannot an.” . I . -
I “ Then you saw many of their faces?”
 it Yes.” . r ‘
“And would know those you saw, it brought
before them?”
“i Ya]! ,

' »

00k at my man.” »

, ’Hart Eemdon was most willing, for he had
justsaid he ‘wished to cultivate George Powell.
‘ 30 GE , the two young ,mon rode together,

anditflwns sunset whon they reached- the Pow-

ell ranch. , .

, )f‘Well, Powell, you are fixed up fine here,

and will be as happy as a clam at high tide, "
said Hemdun, when he entered the cabin and

’ lapsed around him at the comfortable home.

»‘§Yes, it is all very nice; but if the Night—

Hawks took it into their heads to pay me a

fisiwit would all vanish in 'a. night," answered

“Yes, and you and your cowboys lose your

him too. ~ , '

. “‘3 By the way, Powell, how many cowboys

have you here?”

“Spur, which will be enough, for my cattle,

when. my brother Billy comes on to help me."

“ Yes, but they must be on the alert, for you

tempt the Night-Hawks here", ' .

‘Ivdonot fear them; but be seated, ‘while I

 up my man. ” r

nan: Hemdon threw himself into a rustic

rocking-chair, and,th by his long ride, sunk

into a nap.

Howe: awakened by feeling a cold object
touch his forehead, and, to his amatemeut, saw

Henry-Powell in front of him, and holding a‘

revolver, the muzzle of which was pressed

against his head. I y

’ _“You are my prisoner, Hart Herndoul” said

George, quietly.

, , “Great 60d! ' Powell, what do you mean?

I“ Are you mad?” ‘ , ,

"“No, I am in my good senses, as you shall

know. , ~' . ' ' '

' “Come; Kit, tie this man."

I [tall cowboy came into the room, smiling,

and with u rawhide lariat proceeded to tie the

astouner man securely. .

’ ,Hfiwifi an adept at the work, and bound

him in the chair in a manner that admitted of

no movement even. '

Thenhelaid the prisoner’ebelt of arms upon

  

 
 

 
  

  

  

  

  

’ ""You‘l’shall ‘rue. this work, ' Powell,” said
, Wmvagely.’ ,  I. r

 

‘ _ " door and levelingit out upon the prairie, said: ‘

' "‘ Then como’over with me, and we’ll have a ‘

 

 

 

“I guess if there is any Wing done you’ll"

do;it, Hemdon. _, ‘

“ Call in the other boys, Kit,” said George.

Two more cowboys now entered, and be-
tween them was a man of large size and sinis-
ter face.

At sight of him Hart Herndon turned pale.

“Well, Herndon, here is the man of whom
I spoke. ’ '

“ He came to me asking for work, and I an-
gaged him as a cowboy, and, suspecting him
from the first, I have devoted my time to
watching him. '

“ I sent him off to buy some cattle for me,
and he returned with them; but, in disguise, I
had followed him, and I know he got them
from a. corral where stolen cattle are driven,
their brands effaced, and new ones put on.

“ Then I got him into my power, made him
a prisoner, and found on him a. strange letter,
which I interpreted into a document that would
hang him. V

“I offered him his life if he would confess
all, and threatened to, kill him if he did not.

“ The villain confesscd all I cared to know,
and then I went after you. -

“ Now what have you to say for yourself?”

“I never saw the maul” was the sullen ro-'

ply. 1 .
“I hate to tell a prisoner he lies, but you do,
and you know it,

“I know all that you are, and that you had

.me marked for the next midnight visit of the

Night-Hawks, and after that the ranches of
Major Hume and Mr.‘ Gervais were to be laid
in ashes and their owners slain.

“You are thp Night-Hawk chief, Hart Hern—
don, and you shall die for it, but you may
have your choice of death, either by being shot
or hanged, or dying by fearful torture if you
wish." ’

Evidently realizing that he need not deny
further who and what he was, Hart Herudon
asked with a sneer: I

“ Well, what am I to do for this favor you
grant me, of choosing my mode of death?”

“Write your usual orders to each one of
your band, commanding them to come to this

, ranch on a certain night.” I

“That is, betray them?"

fl Yes. ’1

“ I will not.” , ‘

“ I already know who they are, and one by
one could capture them, for this man has given

me a list of their names and the ranches they‘

live on. I

“But he tells me they obey no orders unless
they come from you and are written in a pc-
culiar manner.” ‘ ‘

‘F The treacherous houndl”'said Herndon.

"‘Oh, you would confess as he has to save
your life, and‘I now ask you to simply write
your men an order to come here, if you do not
care to go out of life by torture anIndian will
invent,’for I shall give you up, to the Apa.
ch63.” ' ‘ . 5

Hart Herndou turned deadly pale at this,
and said:

“It I does
of deathl’,’

‘5 Yes.”

“ If I confess all, will

“No, for Iknow all. ”

“ Thatman does not know all.”

“Oh, yes he does, or at least he knows
enough to satisfy mo, and I have to give him
his life, which I dislike to do, as he is such a
villain.

“But I have pledged him my word.”

“Well, I’ll do it it you let me choose the
manner of my death." ,

“I so pledge myself to you.”

“ Well, I wish to commit suicide.”

H  . . '

“Fact. I ‘will shoot myself with my re-
volver.” I ' '

“A man such as you are is a dangerous
person to trust with a loaded revolver. ”

“Yqu have pledged yourself,” eagerly said

you wish, I can have my choice

you spare my life?”

the Night.ka chief.

I “And will keep my worry- thoughl well

 

know you intended to first kill ‘me, no matte: ‘ ”

what became of you afterward.

“But I’ll see to that,” said George with
smile. * . , .'
This seemed to hit the man hard, for that

1

had evidently been his intention: but he.

asked: .
“W'ell, give me the paper and penand ink.”
The articles were set before him and his
right hand was released.
“ Now write, sir!” commanded George.
The man wrote a. few lines in cipher, and
handed it to George Powell, who said: ‘ '
“ Read it, in translation!”

“You are cbmmanded to come to the Powell. 'V

Ranch, Sunset Prairie, Sunda night, at ten o’clock.

. “ Meet in the prairie one m‘ e due north of ranch,

and wait my coming, or command. .
‘ “ CHIEF."

“ Does that suit you?" asked the chief, when
he had finished translating it.

“ Is that right, sir?” and. George handed the
paper to the man who had betrayed his 00' -
rades. Y

He saw the man change countenance, and a.
gleam come into his eyes, and instantly sus-
pected a. trick.

“ Does that cipher read as that man read it?”
ha asked, sternly. r
The man hesitated, glanced at his chief and
said: ’

“Yes.” .

“Kit, take this man out and tie him to a tree.

“Then lay your cattle-whip upon his bare
back until he knows how to tell the truth.” ‘

“ No, no! I will tell the truth, pard.”

“ Then did he translate that cipher right?”

“No, pard.”

“How does it read?” '

“ That- thc men were to come here, where
we would be found prisoners, and then we
was to turn the game’ag’in’ you.” ‘

“ Aha! Now, Sir Night-Hawk, you will
write a correct order, and I want thirteen of
them, for there are fifteen in your band, and
two of you are here.” V

“ With a muttered curse the 'chief wrote
again upon a piece of paper.

- "Now, sir, how does that read?”

“ Let that traitor translate it,” ‘was' the
savage rejoinder.

“Readit, sir!” commanded George. .

The man obeyed.

“Powell Ranch, Sunset Prairie, Sunday m

“N. ‘H.

“ What does N. H. 0. stand for?" asked
George. . i 'v

“NightHawk Captain.” ,

“ Ab! and this is a correct translation?”

“Yes, pard.”

“Remember, I shall not leave
if it proves wrong you die.”

“ Oh! I hadn’t taking no more chances,
pard, for I am in danger enough‘now.”

“You are right! , *

n

“Here Kit you. and Trim go and deliver
7 1

these papers.

’ “Here is a list of, the men who are to have
them, and the ranches they live on. . ’

, l: When you have given them all out, come,
by the fort and ask Captain Saterlec to return
with you and bring half a dozen picked cavalry»

men with him, but to keep his coming a. '

secret.”

Kit, the cowboy, took the papers, and say-
ing that he understood fully what Was to he
done, left the ranch, "accompanied by Trim,
his comrade, while George Powell and the re-
maining herder remained as guards over the
prisoners. ‘ ‘ .

 

CHAPTER XXVIi.
NIGHT~HAWK GEORGE. I

THE Sunday nightot the fatal appointment
came round, and the POWell ranch was dark
and gloomy, for no light was ,visible anywhere
about it. I ' 7 , , 

Out upon , the prairie, a mile away, were a
band or horsemen. They were thirteen in

 

 

number, well mounted and armed,  were“

idnight. “
C ' ,

you‘ here, and

      
       
    
    
   
    
   
 
    
  
 
 
  
    
 
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
    
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
 
    
     
  
 
 
   
    
  

 

 

   
       
    
   
      
         
     
   
 

 

       
      
 

 

      
            
  
      
      
      
    
 
     
    

 

  
  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
  
 

i‘sudden taking oil,” said the captain,

,, .
o». .,,

     

      



I

Hacksaw: - ’

 
 

   
 
 

 

 

' -r «neglect» in~bh9diertiOn~9£ We

3,,flthle‘ylwere the Night-Hawks, and in dbe.

dlen'ce to the order of their chief, were goin

’ upon red work, as was their wont. , ' -

They had met at a. common rendezvous, and

’then sought the designated spot.

But two of their number was absent, their
chief and one other; but it so happened that
all of them could not go every time, and their

leader they knew was always the guest of‘ the

ranch the nightjit was to be attacked.

Slowly they rode up to the shelter of the
timber, and disuiounting, hitched their'mnlesi

Then, with the, stealthy steps of panthers
creeping upon their prey, they went forward
and encircled the cabin. I
. one of the Night-Hawks then'knooked atthe
door. ‘.

Instantly the darkness. was illumined by red
flashes, and then came the roar of guns, and

- more than half the number of Night-Hawks

dropped. dead where they stood, and before
the others could fly, out of the cabin, and from
the darkness of the timber, came half a dozen
of soldiers led by Captain Saterlee.

At the head of his three cowboys, George
Powell dashed out of the cabin, and the vic-
tory Was won, for every member of the mys-

‘ terious band of Night-Hawk Marauders was

dead, or a prisoner.

“Bravo, my friend; for you have won a
great victory, and this night I christen you
Night-Hawk George,” shouted Captain Sator-
lee, as he grasped the hand of George Powell,
while three cheers were given for the gallant
young Texan’s new name—a name that has
faithfully clung to him to this day.

CHAPTER XXVlII.
' CONCLUSION. .

“Now. Night-Hawk George, what are, we
to do with these fellows, for you are the cap-
tain?” said Captain Saterlee, and he referred
to the half-dozen prisoners, and among whom
were Hart Herndon, the chief, and the one who
had been forced to become a traitor.

“ That man can go his way, for I so pledged
myself, and I warn him to mount at once, and
get as far away as he can under cover of the
darkness, for he knows his fate, if ever he is
heard of in Texas again,” said George Powell.
. “And the chief!” ‘ ‘

“ I owe him a pledge too which I must
keep.” , ‘

“ What is that, Night-Hawk George?” asked
the captain, addressing him by his new name.

“He has the right to choose the mode of

 

1 passing in his checks.”

“ You have determined he shall die then
Without a. trial?” .

“Certainly, for be is guilty of half a bun-
dred murders. ’ a

“,He wishes to commit suicide.”

“Ah! .then no one will be to blame for his
with a
smile. “

“- Only himself, and I give him just ten min-
utesto do the disagreeable work,” and Night—
ank George, as} will call him now, turned
to the chief ot the outlaws. ,

He was tied to a chair in the cabin, and sat
grim and white, when the, lamp-light fell upon

’him.

“ tam film’ldz “til 1mm

“ ous a ave t m u find] re.
spended Night-Hawk Georgap' y’ y

“"I wish no time for prayer, fox-it wo’uld‘do
me no good, after all the crimes that lay at; my
door}: ‘ ’ ‘

“ You are frank at least, and you know best.

M "'“ Here'is a revolver, and it is unloaded; but
' I here on the table onecharge of powder,
’ , a bull“. and a cap.

. “When we leave the cabin load it and end
Your wretched life. - _
“ But if you attempt any tricksyou will be

. shot down by one who will be Watching Y9“,

 you cannoteeerhim.

 afizmfi’let all 118879   I  tree.

 

Captain Eater-lee  the Jothere present I

obeyed, and ‘tvit’h’ his knife hanging coorthe
lariat that went round the chair, Nrgdunawk
George saidzyaffiln one minute I eXfiect‘you to
take your own life; ‘ » '

“Now I cut your bonds, and may God have”

mercy upon your soul, guilty as you are.”

With ‘his last word he severed the lax-lat that
bound his arms, and walked toward the door,
his revolverrready, should the Night-Hawk
chief attempt to spring upon him.

But the doomed man did not make any such
an attempt. , .

He had nerved himself to the work before

him, of calmly taking his own life, and -’

watched as he was by those without, for he
stood'in “the bright light, he won their admirw
tion, vile aslhe was. - ‘ .

With the utmost coolness be loaded the one
chamber of the revolver, placed the cap on the
nipple without a tremor of the hand, and. then
put the muzzle over his heart. '

Shaking his head, as though that might not I

be a. quick enough death, and he wished to
avoid suffering, he raised the muzzle to his
temple, involuntarily raised his eyes as
though the awful moment had forced a prayer
from him, and pulled the trigger.

With the stunning report he fell, and when
Night-Hawk George knelt over him he was a
dead man. V '

The remainder of the prisoners weretaken
to the fort, quietly tried and executed, and
Night-Hawk George kept his word in say—
ing he would free the country of the mysterious
band, and when his mother and brother arrived
at the ranch they found him enjoying the name

‘of the outlaws he had brought to punishment.

Though a Texas ranchman, Night -Hawk
George was not content to remain upon his
ranch continually, and 'his roving disposition
kept him wandering over‘ the northern plains,
prospecting in the Rocky Mountains and con-
tinually searching for new fields of adventure,
and to his dying day George Powell will be a
wanderer over the scenes he loves so well on
the wild frontierfl‘ ’

V THE END.

 

* George Powell is now living in a border State, is
married and has a pleasant home and lovely famil
adm1red and respected by all who know him. Hg
deserves the success‘he has won in life, and when
waiting his brother, the celebrated “ White Beaver,”
ayear 83,70 the author had the pleasure of mee '
him, 3311 also his younger brother. “Bronco Bill,
who is also by no means unknown to fame.

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Cruise of the Ply-away; or, Yankee Boys in Ceylon. By C. 29 The Fortune-Hunter; or, Roving Joe as Miner, Cow-Boy,,

Dunning Clark. ' Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Post.

Roving Joe: The Historyof a Young “ Border Ruflian.” Brief 30 Walt Ferguson’s Cruise. A Tale of the Antarctic Sea. By

Scenes mm the Life of Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post. C. Dunning Clark.

The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys ’Round the World. 31 The Boy Crusader; or, How a Page and a Fool Saved a. King.

By C. Dunning Clark. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

Bruin Adams. 011! Grizzly Adams’ Boy Pard. Scenes 32 White Beaver, the Indian Medicine Chief: 0r, The R0~

of Wild Adventure in the Life of the Boy Ranger of the Rocky mantic and Adventurous Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell, known on the

Mountains. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ‘ Border as “ Fancy Frank,” “ Iron Face,” etc. By Col. P. Ingraham.

The Snow Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Land. A Nal'l‘a- 33 Captain Ralph, the Young Explorer; Or, The Centipede

tive of Sport and Life around Lake Winnipeg. By T. C. Harbangb. Among the Flees. By C. Dunning Clark.

Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer; or, The Monarch of ' 34 The Young Bear Hunters. A Story of the flaps and Mishaps

the Mountain. By Dr. Frank Powell. of a. Barty of Boys in the Wilds of Northern Michigan. By Morris

Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits of the Littleton Gun Redwing. ' '

Club. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 35 The Lost Boy Whalers ; or, In the Shadow Of the North Pole.

A Rolling Stone: Incidents in the Career on Sea and Land as By T. C. Harbaugh.

Boy and Man, of Col. Prentiss Ingraham. By Prof.Wm. R. Eyster. 38 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level Head; or, Two Boys

Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur Hunter: on the who were “Bounced.” By Edward Willatt.

Buffalo Range. By 011 Coomes. 37 Old Tar Knucklewand His Boy Chums; or, The Monsters

Kit Carson, King of Guides; or, Mountain Paths and of the Esquimaux Border. .By Roger Star-buck. '

Prairie Trails. By Albert W. Aiken. 38 The Settler’s Son: 01', Adventures in Wilderness and Clear-

Red River Rovers ; or, Life and Adventures in the NorthWest. ing. By Edward S. Ellis. '

By C. Dunning Clark. 89 Night-Hawk George, and His Daring Deeds and Adventures

Plaza. and Plain ; or, Wild Adventures of “ Buckskin Sam," in the Wilda of the South and West. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

(Major Sam S. Hall.) By Col. Prentiss Ingrnhum. 40 The Ice Elephant; or, The Castaways or the Lone Coast. By

Rifle and Revolver: or, The Littleton Gun Club on the Captain Frederick Whittaker.

BuRalo Range. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 41 The Pampas Hunters; or, New York Boys in Buenos Ayres.

Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer; or, Life in aLog By T. C. Harbaugh. r I . '

Cabin. Incidents and Adventuresin the Backwoods By Ed. Willett. 42 The Boy Whaler; or, The Struggles of a Young Sailor Boy.

'ghe Duh“? Dragoon; or, The Story of General George A. By C. Dunning Clark. Ready September 27th. ‘
uster, from est Point to the Big Horn. By Capt. F. Whittaker. ,

Deadwood Dick a.- a. Boy; or, Why Wild Ned Harris, the New , , A New {Ewe Eve" webk

England Farm-lad, became the Western Prince of the Road. By BEADLES BOYS LlBRARY ‘8 f9“ “1°,by an Newme’le": fl" “an

Edward L, Wheeler, per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of SIX cents each.

The Boy Exiles of Siberia: or; The Watch-Dog of Russia. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pumsnlns,

By T. C. Harbaugh. r 98 William Street, New York.