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! $2.50 a. year, Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mall Matter. Copyrighted In 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. Apr-115, 1882.

SI 1 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS Pri
V01. In Nu; Sr. No_ 98 “am STREET, NEW YORK. ’ Five (lch’xu. N0. 17.

 

mu ANfi'me;ar,wu’Ln‘ AbVENTunEs afliucxsxm SAM,’

(MAJOR SAM S. HALL)
The Noted Dem Ranger, Scout, Guide. Ranchero and Indian-Fighter of the South-west Border.

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM,

wmn 0y “ ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL,” “WILD BILL,” “TEXAS JACK,” “ BRCIX ADAMS,” no, no.

 

 

 

SAM BOUNTED ARROW WITHOUT SADDLE OB BRIDLE AND AT FULL GALLOP PXCKED UP HIS SOHBRERO WITH EASE.

 

V ,“g-

A"

used when

' unoccupied when I came to—nig

/ I"

Plaza. and Plan.

 

 

fiat—Len..m... 

j magnum  

Wild Adventures of ‘Buokskin Sam,’

(MAJOR slur s. HALL)

~ The Noted Texan Ringer-,Scout, Guido,

Rancher.) and Indian-Fighter
' otthe South-wen Border.

BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM,
humon on "ADVENTURES or BUFFALO
m,” "ADVENTURES on WILD
4 ," “TEXAS 'JAcx,"

“Baum ADAMS,"
ETC., mo.

CHAPTER I.
run nmnronr'ssssssms.

BUCstrN SAM was, so to speak, born for
a borderman, for, from his earliest child-
hood, the surroundings of his father’s exten-
sive farm in Massachusetts was not large
enough for his rovin humor, and he was
wont to go on little pi grimages to scenes of
a wilder mature. ,

Mounted'on sporty, playing shepherd and
cattledriver to his ather’s sheep and cows, ,
he spent his time in practicing equestrian
feats, snarin birds, shooting at a mark, or
reading stories of Indians, which was the
only literature he’ cared ought. about.

At a very early age he determined to start

toWard his Mecca—the prairies of far-away
Texas.
‘ His parents opposed the idea, but Sam had
“Injun on the brain," and with his grip-
sack as his only luggage, and a few dollars,
given him by his mother, he started from
home. . ,

A, few dollars will not carry a boy far by
railroads, and Sam soon discovered this, and
to earn more became a newsboy on a train.
._,As soon as he got enough money for an-

 

 

other move, he went on to New York, and

there, through the influence, of an old play-
mate, who was located in the rest metropo-
lis, he ot a situation in a hote as a kind of
genera -do-snything boy.

This situation, however, was the laying of
the corner-stone of his future famous career,
as the reader will shortly disc-ever.

Worn out one night, ,and being off duty

“for a short while, he sligpcd into a room he
. , for a perfect rest, .
,,and where he felt he could remain undis-

knew to be unoccupie

turbed until he got his nap out.
The roomwasa large one and in an out-
of-thewafl'rtfirt of the hotel, and was. only
' house was crowded. ,
Sam had taken’a blanket and crept under
the bed, and was instantl so sound aslee

' that he was only awakene , several hours a .

tax, by hearing voices.

He soon recalled as to where he was, and
., then peeped cautiously out.

Two ménwere in the room; one of them

' was a brutal-faced ruflian in good clothes,

and the other a handsome man in undress na-

val uniform.  . '
A table‘was between them, and as Sam

woke up,,he heard the good-looking man

say:
“ Well, help me to do the ob thoroughly,
and I’llgive you the thousan .”
‘égflo- fou‘ think he has the money ,with

‘ him?” , "ed the other.

‘ “ Oh; yes, for he never would leave it;
but you are sure he said he would visit you
here?” ' . r _

“ Yes; for I told him I had money I want;
ed to invest in Texas, and wished he’d let me

‘ a; back with'him, and he said he would come

my room at twelve o’clock, after he came

I from the theater.

" I knew the location of this room, and so
gave him its number, and was glad to find it
{t.10

I x

, .

.-r» y ,

- est sound would betra

‘ glance at it.

 

, “‘ It is well suited for our plan, as‘it is ofi

to itself.

“Now it is twelve minutes to twelv‘e, so
I’ll take the closet, and you haste him;sit so
that his back will be toward me..

“ At the roper time cover him with ybur
istol, and ’1] spring out and drive my knife
11 his back.” ’

“ It must be done well, for: a loud cry

will—w” .

“ Trust me for that, for I know well how
to send a knife to a man‘s heart, having had
some experience in that way," was the grim
reply, and the man attired as a sailor arose
and went into a small closet in one end of
the room, while ‘the other took up'a paper
and pretended to read.

It was certainly a most perilous position
for young Sam, as he knew that the slight-
his resence.

Did he show himsel , he elt that his death
would follow, for those two plotti 0‘ assassins
would never allow him to betray t rem, or to
thwart them in their murderous scheme.

He covered his nOSe and mouth with his
hands to prevent breathin aloud, and waited
in breathless suspense an anxiety.

The minutes dragged away, with an im—

. patient remark from one or the other of the

men, and they seemed hours: to or Sam.

Glancing around mechanica ly his eyes
lighted upon an iron bed-wrench, that had
hegn overlooked by those putting up the
be . 1
1t lay. against the wall, and it Seemed as if
the very Contact of his pants with the carpet,
made a frightful noise, as the youth crept to-
ward what was to him a weapon he could
use with deadly force.

Hardly had his hand reached it, when a
quick, hrm step, and a shuifling one, were
heard in the hall approaching the room.

“This is number thirteen, sir," said a call-
boy, whose voice Sam recognized.

A knock at the door was answered by the
man at the table saying bluntly:

“Come in!” ' ‘

A tall‘ man, evidently by his dress and ap-
pearance a stranger to the city, entered.

He wore a broad sombrero of black felt,
his hair and board were very long, and were
sprinkled with gray, yet his face was kindly,
and his: voice not unpleasant, as he said:

“ Well, my would-be Texan, l- have come
to see vou, according to agreembnt, to an-
swer all the questions you wish to ask about
my State.”

“ Be seated, captain, and take a drink, and
we’ll talk it over,” said the intended assassin,

and he pushed a flask and glass toward his

unsuspectin visitor, and gave him the chair
with his bac to the closet. -
“Thank you, I never indulge, and that’s
the only thing I’m not a Texan in. '
“You want to become planter, or stock«
raiser, eh, or both ‘2" ’ '
‘ “ I have thought of both, sir.r r
“ See, here is a map, and if ou’ll glance
at it, on can tell me if I have one right in
m se ection of-o locality to settle.” '
0 held the map close to him as he spoke,
and the Texan bent far over the table to

“ Now,” said the .ruflian, in a drawling
tone, as though beginning a sentence, to the
Term, but which was meant as 'a signal to
his accomplice. '

Instantly the closet door swung open, and
with cat-like steps the assassin advanced to-
ward his victim, a long bowie-knife clasped
in his right hand.

But at the same moment Sam sprung out
from his lurking-place, the bed-wrench in his
hand, and gave a'cry' .of warning.

But he was toolate to prevent the blow,
and the blade sunk deep into the back of the
Texan.

Yet he tried to avenge him, and struck his

assassin a severe blow with the wrench,

which ‘brou ht him to his knees, and then
hurled the piece of iron at the other.

I

l

 

It went straight, and struck him in» the
head, felli, .lu'm like”; log, just as the-Tex-
an grasped .sm b5 the'shoulder with a.th
stren h, andl crie : « ' 1

“ old me, boy, while'I kill that mam."

He had drawn a revolver as he spoke, and
seeing it, the sailor. half-stunned by the-blow
from Sam, hounded toward the door, and es—
caped through it, closing it and lockingfit be-
hind him.

Though tlie Texanhad drawn his pistol,
he had not the strength to fire, and, with a
groan, fell to the floor, dragging Sam; with

1m.

It was with difficulty that Sam released
himself from his grasp, and mana d to:
reach the bell-rope, which he run furiously.

In a short while the night-clefir and two»
call-boys appeared in alarm, and beheld; Sam,
with the Texan‘s revolver, standingwovzer the-
now recovaning mfiian, and the victim l ing:
prone uponthe floor, bleeding profusely .om
the wound: in his back. .

In a word Sam told what had happened;
and the clerk sent for the police, and a physi'~
cian being called in, the Texan was taken to.
his own room in the hotel and mods as com«
fortable as. ossible, though it was, evident
that he could1 not live.

 

CHAPTER II.
A Bor’s PLEDGE.

“Doc'ron, I suppose my chips. are called
in?" calml asked the Texan, after-the wound
had been rcssed by the ph siciarn, whom he
addressed in the border sty e. ’

“If you mean that your wound is a dam
gerous one, I must say that it is,” returned
the doctor.

“I asked you if I could live.”

“ You want a direct answer?‘

“Being a square man and never dodging
anything, I do,” was the firm response.

“ You will not live ten hours."

“That’s flat-footed, anyhow, Doc, and I’ll
take your word for it, and set things to
rights. I

“Now see if that reptile who took me in
wilt: his want-to-goto-Texas‘plot is able to
ta ."

The doctor left the room, and Sam re.
mslncd b the side (if the wounded man,
who aske him to do so.

Soon the doctor returned and said: ,

“ You struck him a severe bIOW, sir, and
his skull is fractured.

“For awhile he seemed only stunned, but
he’s oing fast.”

“ hat! he‘ll die?”

-“Yes, sir, you killed him.”

', ' Sam was about to speak, when the Texan
, pressed his hand and gave a warning look,

which caused him to remain quiet. '
“He is unable to talk, then?” asked the

Texan. -

d “Yes, and will barely live as long as you
0 ”

“Then I shall have company along the
dark road.-

‘-‘I did hope he could talk, so as to get
some information from him about the king
bee of'this bit of deviltry, and whom I recog-
nized, but Was not strong enough to shoot, so
he got away." ,

“Will you give his name and describe him
to the police, so the can find him?” I

“ N o, for it woul do no good, as he leaves
a blind trail. \ '

“Oh, he’s a sharp one, he is; but I’ll yet
circumvent him.

"Now, Doc. if you’ve patched me up as
well as you can, leave me with this boy, for
I want to tell him something; but don’t stay
lonlgl, as I feel myself rowmg weaker.”

1e physician‘quiet y left the room, and
the Texan turned to Sam: '

“What is our name?"

“ Samuel tone Hall, sir.”

“ Where, do you hail from?" '

“I’m a Yankee boy, sir,” \ l 9

“Well, I like Yankee boys, men and'wofl‘

 

 

men, for they are square clean through when
they are your friend, and cantankerous cusses
when they are not.

“ How old are you?”

‘( ‘fteen. H

“ ell, you’ve got a sharp eye, resolute
mouth, are put u ike a mustang, and I can
vouch for your p uck, for I saw you show it,
and on did for that fellow to—night.”

“ {in did you wish to take the act upon
yourse , sir?" .
“ To save talk. V

“ I’ll make my ante-mortem statement and
show you are not to blame, and you can tell
the coroner your story, for a man isn’t dead
in these parts, until a jury has sat on him.

i “ Now tell me, what made you leave
home?”

. “”To make my way in the world unaided,

811‘.

“ B the Star of Texas, but you‘ll do it;
but a otel isn’t the place to start in.”

“ I am only here, sir, to get money enough
to go to Texas.”

“Bo , you are a brick, and your head is
as leve as the prairie before my ranch.

“ Man made this fine town, but God made
the rairies, and there is where you must go.

“ have seen you about the hotel the past
week, and had in eye on you fora boss boy,
and now you’ve one me a good turn, and I
want you to do me another. ’

“ I am willing, sir.”

“ It is to go to Texas for me.”

“ Oh, sir, I would be so glad to go, as Joe
and I have been trying to get off for weeks."

“ Who is Joe?”

” Joe Booth, sir, a friend of mine from
Massachusetts, where I lived.”

“ Oh, yes, your pard?”

“ Yes, sir.’

‘f Is he square ?"

“ Indeed he is, sir."

“ Got grit?”

“ You mean courage, sir?”

“ Yes, sand.” .

“ He is awful plucky, sir.”

“That settles it.

“ Now, Sam Hall, I want you to strike for
my ranch in Texas and take my belt of
money to my wife and daughter, and tell
them just .how I died, and also prevent a
piece of deviltry from going on there, which
I know will be done if on don’t stop it.

“are you afraid to see a man when you
are ri ht and he is a murdering villain?”

" o, sir."

“ Good! . Now I’ll tell on what I wish
you to do, and you can ta e Joe with you,
an I’ll pay the wealth for the trip."

or some time did the Texan talk to Sam,
an}; when he had made known his wishes,
sai :

“ Do you mean to do this for me, Sam?”

“I do, sir.”

“ all you hold sacred ‘2” .

“ es, sir; I pledge myself by all I hold
sacred.”

- “ Give me your hand.

“ There; now call in the sawbones and
sendthe clerk for the coroner, so I can tell
my little story, and he won’t have to sit on
me after .I’m dead.” r

Sam did as he was told, and in the presence
of Witnesses the Texan ave him his belt of
money, watch, and jewe ry, and said he had
given him instructions what to do with them,
after he had paid for his burial.

That day, just as the sun set, and clasp-
ing Sam’s hand, his spirit left the body, a
smile remaining upon the stern, handsome
face, even after death had placed his seal
upon the lips. v . ‘

In a lot in Greenwood Sam had his Texas
friend buried, and after his examination by
the authorities regarding the death of the
ranchero and his assailant, he set out with
his fast friend, J oe‘ Booth, to find a vessel
sailing for Texas. ‘

A schooner was soon found, to sail for In-
 dianola- and Matagorda, and on board of this

i
I

,. a"

sides, as the passen ers stood spe

 

Plaza and Plain.
craft the two plucky bogs took passage for

Texas, the land of flower- espangled prairies,
crystal streams and thrilling adventures.

CHAPTER III.
.4. GALLANT RESCUE.

SAM had had an idea of the sea, as well as
the prairies, and his run out to Texas on the
schooner was sufiicient for him to decide that
he would prefer roving the land, to sailing
the ocean.

There were a number of assengers on
board, one of whom, William oun , better
known as “ Old Rocky,” was a note Texan,
and from him Sam and Joe learned many
facts regarding the new country to which
they were going, and also got much useful
information to guide them after they should
get there.

Sam remembers well to this day the words
of “ Old Rocky,” as he sat on the deck one
moonlight night, before reaching the Baha-
ma Banks.

“Boy pards,” he said, “don’t yer go ter
Texas with the idee you are goin’ to kill and
scalp Injuns for a living at so much a head,
and that you can scare the white people of
that community, b showing a six-shooter,
for you’ll get far 0 the trail.

“If you get into the Injun country, why
fight 'em when you has to, and scalp them

on kill if you like such trophies of war, and
besides, an Injun hain’t good dead until he’s
scal ed. ,

“ ut' don’t say you’ve killed an Injun un-
less you have, for the boys in' Texas want
something to show for it. '

“ Don’t make yerselves sociable round
saloons, for there’s always some onnery
cusses hanging round that want to have a
row, and you mus’n’t fight unless you have
to: but if you hate to, be the last dog out of
the ti ht.

“ or convenience, learn to draw a six-
shooter and empty it quick, and be sure you
hit what you shoot at, and ’twou't go amiss
if you practice a leetle with the bowie, if
you go over toward the Rio Grande, where
you’ll find Greasers with their knives always
read to cut a throat.

“ here are good ranches where you can
get to be cowboys, and if you save your
money and buy cattle, you can get a ranch
for yourselves one of these da s.

“If you go to Texas wit 'any idee you
can lick all creation you’ll be cayote provender
before you are much older.”

This advice the two boys took to their
hearts, and it served them well in after years,
and Sam had the satisfaction long after, of
hearing Old Rocky say to him:

“My pard, you have done well, and no
whiter man lives in the Lone Star State than

 

. you are.”

Ufion arriving in the vicinity of the Baha-
ma anks a terrific tornado caught the trim
schooner in its path, and for awhile all be-
lieved that she must go down, and the pass-
engers all huddled together upon deck to face
the worst.

Throughout the perilous ordeal Sam and
Joe were perfectly cool, and the former caused
several laughs at his witty remarks.

As the storm at last swept over, and the
crew were gettin sail on the schooner once
more, a lurch o the vessel caused a hu e
wave to fall on board, which, sweeping a t,
carried on its bosom a young and lovely girl
of sixteen, who was geing to Texas with er
father for her health. .

Her shriek of terror rung out wildly in the
darkness, and cries of horror arose ulpon all

lbound
gazing at the white ass borne away upon
the ,dark waters. ‘ »

But they saw also another form upon the
mad waves, and a dozen voices cried out:

“ Two are lost! oh captain,save them!"

“No, it is Sam Hall, and he'll save her,”
cried Joe Booth in trumpet tones. ~

It was true, for Sam had sprung overboard

\   5’. ‘. .. f

 

3

an instant after the maiden, and as the white
dress disappeared from the sight of those on
the schooner’s deck, he reached her side.

“Don’t be frightened, miss, for you won’t a

drown," he said calmly, as he put his am
about her waist, and sustained by his pres-
ence and cool courage, and upheld by his
strong hand, she recovered her presence of
mind, and with him peered through the dark-
ness in the direction of the schooner.

The waves yet ran high, and the wind was
blowing half a gale, so they were tossed about
savagely in the waters; but Sam was a superb
swimmer, and remarkably strong for his age
and size, and possessed another qualit he
could rely u on, and that was wonderfu en-
durance, an he knew he could hold out for
a long time.

At last. after what seemed ages to those
two so calmly facing death, there was a dark
object seen upon the waters, and then a hoarse
hail through a trumpet.

“Here we are," shouted back Sam in his
clear tones, and he continued to call out until
the life-boat, with the captain and the maid-
en’s father in it, came down to them, and
they were taken from the sea, and soon found
themselves safe on board.

This incident made Sam a hero with all,

from the passengers to the cabin-boys, and

the father of the maiden presented him with
a well-filled purse, which was refused almost
indignantly.

But the maiden was an invalid, and that .
night of terror and struggle with the waters, ‘
caused her to fail rapidly, and ten days after
she sent for Sam and said:

4 “ You savedme from the sea, but you can
not save me from Death now.

“When I die and become an angel, if I
can, I will watch over you throu h hfe.

“Now I wish you to do me a avor.

“ Will you ?" -

Sam bowed in answer, for his heart was too
full to speak. -

“There is no minister on board, and very .

soon I will be dead, and they will have to
burg? me in the deep sea, and I want you to
rea the burial service over me.

“Will ou?” .

“ Yes, if you wish it,” said Sam, firmly.

“ Thank you. r

“ Now kiss me good-by, Sam, and 'rememv
ber I will be your guardian angel.”

He kissed her forehead and turned quickly
away and left the cabin.

Two days after she died, and the- folo
lowing night, when the sea was broken
by hard]
nished ' ver in the moonlight, Sam Hall

stood by the body of poor Felice and read, in .

a firm, distinct voice, the service for the dead,
the sobs of the maiden’s father, and others
deeply touched, alone breaking the silence of
the sorrowful scene.

Then came the fatal plunge, and down

into the dark waters sunk the canvas-wraigaed «_ 1
am

form to a grave in the ocean depths, and

Hall, boy though he was, turned away from
the vessel’s side with a memory in his heart '
that will go with him to his own tomb.

 

CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST LESSON.

UPON landin at the long pier at Indianola,
Sam and Joe fe t that they were taking the
first step toward carving out names for,
themselves in the future, and, getting their
luggage ashore, walked up the street to a ho- ‘
tel with' the air of Texans to the manor born.

Indianola at that time was a retty livel

lace, and it was the resdrt ofpmen of all

'nds, from the wealthy cattle—man and his

cowboy to the soldier and the buckskinrlad f

scout.

It was upon the latter that Sam and Joe‘
cast the most admiring glances,'for at last
they beheld before their enraptured
who had trailed the red-man to his ir, torn

q , /

1.

a ripple, and looked like bur- .

semen»_

Q

  
  

 

 

 

4,

LA

the scalp from the head, and engaged in in

‘ nunierable desperate conflicts.

One old fellow, who looked as though he
might indeed be made of buckskin, was their
particular admiration, and beholdiiig a kind
ly look in his eye, Sam approached him.

He saw that he was a man of note, for
every one seemed to pay a certain deference
to him, and while he was smokin his pipe
on the piazza of the hotel after dinner, Sam
edged his way near him and said:

I “ Are you an Indian-fighter, sir?”

' “ I have been, my boy, and it is dirty work
I am glad to be free of; but now I‘m a train
boss,“ was the reply.

“ What is that?” asked Sam, while Joe,
seeing that his pard‘s head had not been
snapped oil’ by the l'lllghty man, also drew
near. ,

“A Wagoner, or train boss, my boy, is one
who is chief of a train of prairieschoonersd”

“ Prairie schaoners 5'”

“ Yes, for we call our white-tilted wagons
that cross the plains prairie~schoonei‘s.

“lam the chief of a train ()f a. hundred
sehoonei-s that start tomorrow for San An-
ionic, and if you boys want a good trip, and
wish to learn how to rough it and become
men, you have but to ‘0 along, and I’ll get
you laces as extras to rive teams.“

“ riVe teams?" cried Sam, with delight

‘ and surprise, very willing to begin at the bot-

tom round of the ladder and go up.

“ Yes, and make boy bullwliackers.

“ What do you say, lads?“

“You say you go to San Antonio, sir?”
asked Sam.

(‘ 1")“. fl

“ Is that not on the way to Fort San Saba?”

“Yes, in lad." "

“Well, 811‘, I’ll acce t your kind offer, and
I guess Joe will, too, or we are chums.”

“Done, so consider yourselves boy bull-
whaekers, and get your traps on board my
wagon for youll mess with me; but have
you friends at San Saba?"

“ No, sir, but I have business that calls me

‘to that nei hborhood,” replied. Sam, who

then thank 'the Texan for his kindness, and
wire turning awa with Joe, when a wild-
]ooking fellow das ed up on horseback, and
with a bullwhip, in sheer deviltry, ve first
channel then the other of the boys a ick with

_, the lash that made them dance.

It was skillfully done, showing great expe-
rience in handling the whip upon the part of
the horseman, an the two blows rung like
pistol-shots, and caused the Texan to burst

‘ out in aloud laugh, in which several of his

comrades, just then dashing up in front of
the piazza, rudely joined.

Smarting with pain, Sam wheeled, and
grabbin up a. chair, started toward the bully,
who h just dismounted.

,“Boy, do er raise yer hand ter me?”
yelled the in uriated cowboy, for such he
was.

As he spoke, he sprung toward Sam, who,
undaunte , still advance upon him, and Joe

‘ Booth, still rubbing the spot where the lash

fell, came forward
“ Hold on here!”
The s aker was the wagon boss, and he
sprung etween the cowboy and his young
proteges.
“ What have you got to do with it, Injun

promptly to aid his pard.

2 Gran er?" cried the cowboy.

“ ve got this to do with it, Bob. Burt, that
on are an infamous coward to strike those
ys, and as I have them under my teaching
now, I’ll give them their first lesson with the

' bullwhip on our hide."

Quick ast e spring of a panther the man
in buckskiné—who answered to the name of
Injun Gran er, from the fact that the latter

‘ was his res ‘cognomen, and the prefix had

been bestowed from his numerous Indian
battles-was upon the cowboy, and had

'wrenched from his hand the huge bullwhip

he carried.
It was an exhibition of agility and strength

1

 

r Pleased Has.

that both surprised and pleased Sam and Joe,
for the cowboy was a much larger man than
was Injun Granger. r -

“Boys, help me out, fer ther Injun-killer
hes got me,” yelled the bully to his several
comrades, as he felt that he was in the clutch
of a giant.

There was a response from two of them,
by two sharp reports, and two bullets whis-
tled by the head of the wagon boss.

Instantly there came an answering shot,
and one of the cowboys dropped from his
horse.

“C uick as lightning and well done, boy,”
yelle the Indian-fighter, addressing Sam,
who had fired the shot, and instantly he
drew his own weapon, and another cow-
boy droppcd, while, the third wheeled his

horse and rode away like the wind, to escape

the fate of his companions.

All this had occurred in an instant of time,
and the difierent witneSses to the affair now
rushed forward and gathered around Injun
Granger, his prisoner, and the two boys.

The two cowboys lay where they had
fallen, one dead, shot through the brain by
Granger, and the other writhing in agony,
with a. bullet from Sam’s pistol in his body.

“Now, Bob Burt, I’m going to tie you,
and give these boys their first lesson, and you
deserve it, for you are the cause of the death
‘of those two fellows.

“ Give me your lariat, Tom,” and Ingun
Granger turned to a bystander who res. ily
handed the rope to him. -

The clutch he held upon the cowboy was
as though he had an iron hand and arm, and
with remarkable skill and quickness he
bound the fellow to a post of the piazza,
wholly. indifferent to the gatherin crowd,
none of whom seemed willing to interfere,
and very few of whom gave a look at the
dying man lying near.

Picking up the hu e bullwhip, which Sam
and Joe had sample to their utmost dissatis-
faction, Injun Granger gave one or two
flourishes with it showing he fully under-
stood its use. and said:

“ Now, boys, as you are going to drive
my private team for me, I want to give you
a esson in using this weapon.

“Bob Burt here, has left his mark on you,
and I see you keep nursing the spot with
your hands, and I want you to practice a lit-
tle, and then give him one each he’ll not for-
get soon.

“ What is your name, my boy?"

' “ Sam Hal.”

“ Well, Sammy, you have seen me flourish

the whip, so now see what you can do with
it.’
Havin had to drive cattle at home, and
use a whi something of the same kind, Sam
had an i ea. of the use of a bullwhip, and
learned to make it ring with a rapidity that
brou ht a cheer from the lookers on.

“ ow, Samm , there is your target, about
center between ob Burt’s heels and, head,
so let fly."

Remembering the blow he had received,
and which still felt as though a piece of red-
hot iron was burning him, Sam was very
willing to return the compliment, but said
manfully:

“ I hate to hit him when he’s tied.”

“ Well said, my boy, and I’ll untie him.

“But mind you, Bob Burt, if you start for
that boy, I’ll drop you dead in your tracks.”

As Granger spo e he untied the cowboy,
and drew his revolver and covered him with
it.

“You hain’t in yarnest ter let thet boy hit
me, Granger?” growled Burt.

" I am, for, without the s i htest provoca-
tion, you rode up and gave em blows that
I’ll warrant brought blood and blistered them,
and I say turn about is fair play.”

" Yer has kilt two of my ards.”

“That is not you, Bob urt, so shut up,
for I’m going to have my way. "

“ If he bite me, I’ll get even, and I won’t

 

forgit you neither; you hears
savagely said the cowboy.

Granger laughed, and then "said:

‘ Wow, Burt, you stand still, or by Heaven
I’ll drop you dead, and you hear me talk.

“ Turn your back, sir!" ,

With a muttered oath the cowboy obeyed,
for in the hands of Injun Granger the re—
volver was a deadly weapon, and all knew '
the man. - ,

“ Now Sammy, let him have it, and don‘t
go easy.”

Sam gave several preliminary cracks with
the whip, and then brought the lash down
upon the back of the cowboy with a report
that rung like a pistol-shot, and brought a
howl of rage and anguish from the recipient,
who was thoroughly COWed from any action,
by the revolver of the Wagon Boss.

“Well done, Sammy, you have avenged
yourself," shouted Granger, with his revolver
still leveled, and then he called to Joe. ‘

“ Now, my son, it’s your deal.”

Joe took the bullwhip. and having care.
fully observed how it had been handled,
after a few flourishes, gave his blow, which
brought another howl from the cowboy, and
a laugh from the spectators.

“Boys, you‘ll do, an’ if you keep on,Texas
will be proud of you.

“Now, Bob Burt, travel, and tell under-J
taker Simon to send me the bill for planting
youerards, for I see t'other is dead now.

E I  !ll '

The cowboy “ got,” and with a hand upon
the b0 8’ shoulders, Injun Granger led them
towar his camp.

CHAPTER V.
THE rmsr TRAIL.

THE trail by wagon train to San Antonio
was a delightful one to the two boys, Sam
and Joe, who amused themselves hunting up
the oxen, driving and cooking, enjoying to
their hearts’ content as fun what in later
years they found out to be hard work.

Arriving at their destination, they were
promptly paid off by Injun Granger for their
service, with a promise of more work when
they wanted it, and some advice from the
experienced old plainsman in regard to their
future. ‘

There was one thing that was constantly
upon Sam’s mind, and that was the pledge to
the Texan ranchero who had been so cruelly
murdered in New York.

There were circumstances connected with
the case that caused him to kee the secret
even from Joe, and to goon a one to the
ranch of the Texan was his intention.

“Joe, you know I told on I had a duty
to perform in coming to 'lYexas," said Sam
one day, the one following their arrival in

m. at,»

' San Antonio.

“ Yes, .Sam." ,

“Well, I’ve got to do it, and I move we
set to work to build us a cabin in the timber ‘
we liked so well as we came along, opposite
the Mission San Jose.”

“I’m willing, Sam.”

"Well, we‘ll dgo and buy some mustangs
and get tools an set to work.”

To decide with' Bani was to act promptly,
and that very evening found the boys en-
camped on the river bank, upon the spot .
chosen as the site for their ranch.

_At daybreak the following day they Went
to work With their axes and soon cut out the
timber, and in a week’s time had a comfort»
able cabin built, with a. stout log stable at
the back for their ponies, of which purchases
they were very proud. ,

In San Antonio they purchased what ne-
cessaries they needed for house-furnishin
and stores, and settled downwith the air 0
millionaires upon their domain.

Here it was decided that Joe should stay
and continue to set things_ to rights, while
gain went,alone upon his pilgrimage to San

abs. 4

The day of departure coming round, Sam

 

Plaza and Plain.

5

 

 

bade Joe farewell and started northward, and

ere he got out of sight of the cabin it was

hard to tell which one of the two boys was
' the most lonesome.

’Several times was Sam tempted to turn
back and tell Joe that perhaps it would be
best for him to go with him, and as many
times Joe was on the eve of mounting his
mustan and riding after his pard, telling
him he Icared to have him go on alone.

But both resisted the praiseworthy inten-
tion, and Sam continued on his way alone.

It was a most perilous undertaking for a
man to undertake, even with prairie experi—
ence, and especially for a boy, as the Com-
anches were constantly upon the war-path,
and it was no easy matter for one to follow
the northward trail. ~

But Sam did not flinch from the dangerous
prifk ahead, and held on his way most man-

u .

e was well armed, with rifle, revolvers
and bowie, his mustang was fleet, and full of
endurance, and if he was not a born plains-
man, he felt like one in his buckskin leg-
gins, hunting-shirt, sombrero, and top-boots,
with the regulation Texas spurs, not to
speak of his Mexican saddle and bridle,
and a lariat that he was constantly practicing
with in the art of skillful throwing.

His first night alone on the prairie was a
dismal one, and the wolves howled so mourn-
fully about his camp, he almost wished he
was back in Massachusetts, or had followed
the sea as a cabin-b0 '.

But the night at last came to an end, and
Sam continued on his way, following most
closely the directions given him to keep his
course.

But the second night, darkness came on
him where there was no place near to camp,
and to.make matters worse, a severe storm
swept over the prairies.

For awhile he stuck to the trail, but at last
turned aside in search of shelter from the
fierce “ norther ” that was raging. -

After several hours of wandering, he saw
timber ahead, and gladly sought its friendly
shelter, for he was almost overcome. ,

He was about to dismount and build a fire,
when he saw riding‘ through the timber not
far distant, three dark forms.

That he had not been discovered he well
knew, and he remained in breathless sus-
pense watching them, for something told him
the were Indians.

hey continued on for a short distance,
and halted at the edge-of what he now saw
was a clearing, and hitching their horses,
moved out of the shadow of3 the timber in
the direction of a small cabin he had not be-
fore discovered.

Mountin his mustang, and now not. near
as cold an fatigued as he was before, for the
sight of those Indians had made him forget
his sufferings, he rode carefully forward to
where they had left their ponies.

‘ A close glance at these showed that they
were Indian ponies.

Unhitching them, he led them back in the
timber some distance, made a circuit of a
quarter of a mile and again hitched them.

Just then, as liewas preparing to ride in
the direction of the ca in again he. heard a
shot, followed by several loud wax-whoops.

“ Those red-skins are attacking the cabin,
and I guess I can be of some service," he
cried, and instantly'he spurred forward to-
ward the clearing. . ,

CHAPTER VI.

' SAM TO THE RESCUE.

SAM had had, as the reader is aware, no
experience in Indian-fighting; but he was a
youth of remarkable nerve, had drank in all
the stories told about Indians around the
camp-fire, on the march of the‘ wagon-train
to San Antonio, and had really studied all
novels relating to Poor Lo, until he felt he
knew just what to do in a fight with red-
skins.

,

 

Recognizing Indians in'the three horsemen,
by their feathers, which he saw in the night,
for it was bright starlight, and seeing the
cabin in the clearing, he had decided that
their object was to attack the settler who
dwelt there, and his first move was to secure
the horses, and thereby prevent a mounted
retreat of the red-skins. ‘ ,

With the shot, followed by war cries, he
felt that the fi ht had begun, and hence
spurred in the direction at full speed.

A bri ht light sudden] ' leamed before
him, an he saw that the Indians had piled
wood against the cabin and set it on fire.

One of the red-skins lay dead near the door,
but the other two, from around the corner,
were dancing about like mad, yelling and
brandishing their knives savagely.

Sam was no person to weigh consequences,
where he thought he could serve any one,
and he dashed out of the timber with a yell,
and with his rifle in hand, and reins held in
his teeth.

The Indians spied Sam as he left the cover
of the woods, and with marvelous quickness
one threw forward a bow, and with the twang
of the rawhide string an arrow was sent fly-
ing on its deadly errand.

tstruck the mustang ridden by the boy
fair] in the eye, and the brute dropped,
hurling h'is rider over his head.

Sam felt himself falling, heard the trium-
phant ells of the red-skins, and struck the
groun heavily, yet though he turned a com-
plete summerset, he did not lose his presence
of mind, or release his hold upon his rifle. ‘

Fortunately he stopped turning just in
time, and was lying upon his back when he
saw a red-skin above him.

To pull the tri ger of his rifle, the muzzle
of which pointc at the breast of the savage,
and'nearly touched it, was the work of an
instant, and down upon him dropped the
body of his foe.

To extricate himself from beneath the red-
skin was the work of 'a second, and he arose
to his feet, expecting another death-struggle,
but saw to his delight the receding form of
the third Indian flying for the timber.

Drawing a revolver he ran in pursuit, firing
as he did so, more to keep him going, than
with any hope of hitting him.

Helical-d the angry cry of the Indian, as
he found the horses gone, and then listened
to him as he continued his wild flight through
the timber, evidently believing that he was
surrounded by foes.

Returnin toward the cabin, Sam saw a
woman, an a boy of ten, fighting the blaz-
ing logs, and endeavoring to drag them away
so as to save their home from destruction.

Quickly he ran to their aid, anti in a few
moments had the satisfaction of .eeing the
cabin no longer in danger.

Then the woman and the boy turned, and
gazed curiously upon the young hero, while
the former said in an earnest tone:

“ You have saved us, fyoung man, and
we’ll be your friends for li e.

“ My husband is away, and those red devils
knew it; but Freddie brought one down, and
then they tried fire on us, and we‘d have all
been kil ed but for you.

“Where did you come from?"

“San Antonio."

“Where’s your camp?”

“ I have no camp.”

“ Well; your friends are somewhere near?”

“ No, I’m alone, and on my way to Fort
San Saba.”

"Well, you’ve got more pluck than most
men, to rove these prairies alone.

“But come in and camp with us for the
night, and tomorrow my old man will be
home, and he‘ll thank you too."

Sam acce ted the invitatidn, for now he
began tofee how cold and hungry he was,

«after the excitement was over. '

But first he went with the 'plucky little
Freddie to where the Indian horses Were tied,
and brought them to the cabin. and was de-

 

lighted ‘to find in one of them a splendid ani-

mal, which would replace his own mustang. v

“ I’ll ive you one of them, Freddie," he
said, and the youngster'replied:

“ And I‘ll give you suthin’, too."

Sam went into the cabin then, and found
the good woman preparing a substantial sup-
per for him and a’ good log-fire blazin cheer—
ily on the hearth, for the norther had aft the
m ht cold. ,

' here were three other ' children, all

younger than Freddie, who welcomed him '

with staring him out of countenance;‘ but he

was in comfortable quarters, and did as he'

was told to do—made himself at home.

He had just begun his supper of bacon}
venison, hoe-cake and coffee, when Freddie
came in and said:

“I told yer I’d give
it is, for I gives you my njun’s scalp as well
as yourn.”

As he spoke he handed to Sam the bleed-y

ing scalps of two Indians. ‘

In spite of himself Sam was shocked, and
refused the valuable trophies, in Freddie‘s
eyes, and found that hisappetite was gone.

The following morning the settler returned
with his stores, for he had been to the near-
est Post to make purchases, and he grasped
saiéi’s hand hard while he thanked him, and
sai :

“You are going to San Saba, you say,

my Iggy.
“ aal, I’ll not leave yer on these wild
prairies until I see yerthar.”

And he kept his word, for he guided Sam l

the rest of the way to the fort.

CHAPTER VII.
A PUPIL OF OLD LEATHER LEGS.

 

THE arrival of Sam at Fort San Saba was _

an event to him, for he had often pictured in

his mind frontier garrisons, and longed to be ‘

one of the number that made up its gallant
defenders. ‘

When the settler made known that Sam-‘

had come on" to his ranch alone from San An-
tonio, and had saved his cabin from the
flames and his family from death, the boy
was at once a hero, and the commandant sent
for him and asked him many questions re-
garding his trip. '
“ Well, my boy, you have certainly done

well, for I doubt if my best scouts could.do_

better, and you deserve great credit for it.

“ But what could have been your motive in. 

taking such desperate chances as to come
alone?”

“ I wished to visit a ranch not many miles
from here, sir, and deliver some papers I
have for the lady living there.” i ~ '

“ Whose ranch is it, my boy?"

“ Captain Kenedy’s, sir."

“ Ah, yes, I know Kene‘di well, and his ‘
e

ranch is north of here, near t Concho, and
I’ll send a squadron of soldiers with you, for
the country is dangerousl full of Indians.” ’
“ No, thank you, sir,
alone.”
“ Go alone?” '

“ Yes, sir, for I am determined to make a .'

scout, and I can only learn by trusting
whogl‘y in myself.”

“ ell, you’ll make a scout, my boy, that
is certain; but don’t think of going alone,
for even Kenedy, as good a plainsman as be
was, when he went to Galveston on his way
to the East, got an escort of soldiers from
me.

“ Are you any relation to Luke Kenedy?"

“ No, sir. ” V ‘

"-You’ll not find him at his ranch.’?

“ I know that, sir, for he is dead.” * '

This was startling news to the colonel, and
he listened with surprise, sorrow', and indig-
nation, while Sam told him of the assassins:
tion of the Texas ranchero in the hotel’ in
New York. . .

“It will be a sad blowto Mrs. Kenedy
and Miss Kate, and I would rather you than
I, be the bearerof the sad news 

‘14

er suthin’, an’ here

would rather go ‘ I

 

..,-

a ' maze and Plain.

 

.—

 

 
  

“. Now, I suppOse Ramsey will have all his
own way.”

, The colonel seemed to think aloud the last
‘words, but Sam said quickly:

“ Ramse , sir?”

“Yes, Izay Ramse , a young ranchero
who lives near the enedy ranch and is in
love with Miss Kate, but whom the captain
never liked”. ‘

Sam said nothing more, but that afternoon
came across an old hunter who was mount-
ing his horse, preparatory to leaving the

ort. '

Going up to him he addressed the plains
veteran leasantly, and having heard of the
boy‘s ri e alone from San Antonio, and
admiring pluck, Leather Legs, as the old
man- was called, entered into conversation
,with him.

‘ “Does I know whar ther Kenedy Ranch
be, yer axes, my lad?” he said.

“ Yes, Captain Luke Kenedy’s ranch.”

“Waal, jist so'well as I does whar my
head are.”

“I am anxious to go there, and will pay
you well if you will guide me.

. “ I did intend to go on alone, so as to learn
I  . r to rely Wholly upon myself; but the colonel
, . «tells me he saw a person at the fort here a
.3 . ,few days a 0, that I thought was in New
. - York, and am in a hurry to go right on to
’ the ranch." '

“ I’l take yer thar.” '
“ _ at do you charge?" asked Sam inno-

’“ cent] . '

~ “ sisal, yer kin give me thankee, an’ ‘ef
thet are “too much, yer needn’t give me
,nuthin’." .
“But I don’t Wish you to do me a favor
I for nothing.”
- x , ” Waal, I are the fort hunter, an’ I are jist
_\ -, lightin’ out now ter fetch in aleetle game,
I k . an' jist as soon go one way as t’other, fer
‘ / game hain’t skeerce in these hcur parts.
/ “ So jist git yer critter an’ come along, an’
er won’t ose nuthin’ by goin’ with old
eather Le 6, cf I does say it myself.”

It 'took am but a shert time to get his
mustang, the best one of the three which he
had captured from the Indians, and one that
had roven a most valuable animal.

“ k’nOWs thet mustang, lad, fer it belonged
her Owl Eye, a Comanche chief, an’ I guesses
\ '. he are ther devil yer got, tho” settler Sloat
, didn’t say so."

-: ..  M . “ He called that animile Flyin’ Arrer, au’

*7  thar hain’t a sojer in ther fort, or a scout, as

'  hasn’t tried it on ter capter ther beast an’
kill old ()wl Eyes.

H « 3 “ Ef er meets Injuns while yer is on thet

boast. a l yer hes ter do are ter run, and they

, hain’t a-goin’ ter ketch yer, you may be sar-
 ‘ tin'."

' ' " Sam was already very proud of his pretty
" ,, ,, spotted mustang, and Was glad to hear

‘5‘ j ', , Leather Legs speak so highly of him.

' ’ ‘ As the rode along together, finding that

,’ the yout l was most anxious to learn all that

- iii." , he could, he taught him different signs, and

-in fact many things pertaining to prairie

craft, and when they broke camp the next

‘, . morning said:

 . “ Now, leetle pard, the Kenedy much are
~jist thar, (lue north, some fifteen miles, so
you kin find it now yerself, while I goes on
my hunt.

‘- "Good-by, an’ when yer comes back ter
, ther fort, we’ll hcv another talk together.”

4' ' Thanking the‘ old hunter for all his kind-

' . mess, Sam continued on his way alone, feel-

 ‘ ing more’self-satisfied with his recent ac-

”) ‘ cumulation of prairie knowledge, and the

' fact that he had a mustang under him that no

I horse on the border had been able to catch.

l
I .

/

 

 

 

CHAPTER VIII.
3 r i v sAM KEEPS ms PLEDGE.

/ ' E‘ ,AFT’ER several hours‘ ride Sam came in

~  , ._ ' sight of ,a wooded hill, at the base of which

I u - ~ stood an extensive cabin, with numerous out
. . I I g ‘

 

 

buildings at one side, and a stout stockade
surrounding all. _

The prairie was dotted with cattle and
sheep, and it was evidently the home of a
wealthy rancher-o. .

To his surprise he saw no cowboys in
charge of the herds, as had been the case
with other ranches he had passed, and he
rode to the stockade without meeting any
one.

The gate was half open, and riding in, he
beheld on the lawn fronting the large cabin a
score of saddled mustangs, and noticed their
riders grouped upon the piazza. ’

Riding forward, be dismounted, hitched
his horse and ascended the piazza before his
presence was noted by any one, so great was
the interest felt by the group of men, whom
he now saw were cowboys, at what was go-
in on within. ‘

i7l‘hen the turned, and seemingly with the
instinct of anger, dropped their hands upon
their revolvers. _

But seeing before them only a handsome
boy, slender as a girl, and apparently bent
on no mischief, they let go their pistol-butts,
and one said:

” Waal, pard, hev you come ter ther wed-
din’, too?”

“What wedding?” quickly asked Sam.

“'I‘her cap’n’s darter ter ranchero Ram-
scy.’

Instantly Sam sprung forward, ed ed his
way through the surprised crowd, an gazed
into the window, just as a maiden entered
the room, leaning upon the arm of an elderly

ladlyn

he room was large and comfortabl fur—
nished, for that far-away location, an in it
were four persons:

The maiden before spoken of, and a beau-
tiful girl she was, hardly more than eighteen;
the elderly lady, evidently her mother; a
man whose appearance indicated his calling
as a missionar on the border, and a young
and strikingly andsomc man.

But the faces of the two ladies were ex-
tremel sad as they entered the room, while
that o the young man was seemingly 'oyous.

“Now come before me with the la y, Mr.
Ramsey, and I will perform the ceremony,"
said the minister. ,

The young and handsome man whom he
addressed turned and said, speaking to the
cowboys gazing in the open windows:

“ Come in, boys, won’t *ou?"

“ I’ll come in, Mr. Ray 1 insey, and if you
move I’ll kill you!”

As agile as a cat Sam sprung into the win—
dow, and his revolver covered the heart of
the intended bridegroom.

The two ladies uttered a cry of alarm, the
itinerant parson raised his hands and his
spectacles in amazement, and there was a
hum of surprise ran throu rh the group of
cowboys, while the intended bridegroom
turned deadly pale.

But he hissed forth: '

“Who is this mad youth? Seize him,
boys!"

Sam sprung backward against the wall.
and still covering the bridegroom, cried
hastily:

“I am not mad, but was sent here by

laptain Luke Kenedy to prevent that man
from marrying his daughter.

“Here, madam, I have 'our husband's
watch, money and papers which he sent you,
and that man is his murderer."

“Accursed liar,“ shrieked Ray Ramsey.
and he sprqu toward Samgbut dropped at
the flush of [is pistol, and lay as though
dead.

To describe the scene that followed would
be impossible, for a dozen cowboys threw
themselves upon Sam and he’was b'ound se-
curely‘with a celerity he had not deemed
possible. .

As for Mrs. Kenedy and Kate they were
dumb with surprise, grief and doubt; but the

maiden was the first to regain her presence

l

 

gf mind, and she said, as she approached

am.

“ You have made a severe charge, young
man, against Mr. Ramsey, and—”

“ And I can prove it, miss, if you’ll make
these men unbmd me, and let me show you
the papers and things given me by your‘dy—
ing father.

“ They surely are not afraid of a boy."

“Unbind him, Jack," said the maiden, ad—
dressing one of the cowboys, who just then
came in, from havin , with others, borne
Ray Ramsey into an adjoining room.

“Now, 511‘, what proof have you?” asked ,

Kate Kenedy, who was very pale, but calm.

“Well, miss, I am a Yankee boy, and I
had a berth in a hotel, and there is where I
met our father, the captain.

“ ired out one night, I hid in a vacant
room to get some sleep, so the he s would
not find me, and I woke up to find r. Ram-
sey in the room, talking to a man I knew to
be a New York rough, as I had often seen
him round.

“ Mr. Ramse was dressed in sailbr clothes,
and he had p otted with the other man to
kill and rob your father, and hid in a closet,
when the ca tain came to the room, invited
there by the ew York sport.

“ I was under the bed and I heard all, and

I tried to save your father, miss, when he-

came in, but I was too late, for Mr. Ramsey
drove his knife in his back; but I killed the
New York rough, and as your father drew a
pistol, Mr. Ramsey ran out of the room and
lockin the door on the outside escaped.

“ ell, miss, our father lived for some
hours, and he to (1 me that Ramsey wanted
to marry you, but he did not like him, and
he didn’t think you did; but that your
mother wished you to become his wife.

“He said hard stories were‘told of Ram—
sey, and that he was plotting to make you
his wife, as he had heard of a lar e fortune
left you by an uncle in New ork, and
which your father had gone on to New York
t8 see about.

“ He knew that Ramsey had followed him
to New York to kill him, and,then return
and marry you, and your father begged me
to prevent it, and I swore to him would,
and I have done so.

“Now here is his watch, belt of money
and papers, miss, which he told me to give
your mother with his dying blessing for you.
and for her, miss.”

Sam as he finished speaking took off the ‘

heavy buckskin belt he wore under his hunt-
ing-shirt, and which contained the watch,
chain. meney and papers left by Captain
Kenedy, with a statement of the coroner,
and the burial expenses of the unfertunate
Texan.

“Mother,” and Kate Kenedy’s voice was
strangely calm. “I hope your 6 es are now
open to the wickedness of Ray ' amsey, and
I have to thank this brave youth for saving
me from a marriage to a man I never loved,
and whom I was going to marry to please
you, believing his false stor r of how kind he
had been to poor father in ew York, when
he had been struck down by a midnight rob—

“But the letters, signed by your dying fa—
ther, Kate?" urged the weeping mother, hard
to convince that her idol had been shattered.

“ If he brought you any letters, Mrs. Ken~
edy, from your husband, be forged them, f0r
I held the captain‘s hand when he died, and
all I tell you can be proved by the New York
papers I have in my saddle-bags, though the
name of the assassin was not known,‘ and
Captain Kenedy only told me who he
was. i .

“I recognized him as the man in the sailor
suit, whom I saw kill the ca tam, as soon as
I saw him standing there, an I am not sorry
that I killed him." ,

“Yer didn’t kill him. young feller," said
the cowboy, Jack, just then coming into the.
parlor. .

 

1
' l
t

 

 

5‘ ‘  ‘4

5 Plaza and Plain.

i“

7

 

 

“What do you mean?" cried Kate Ken-

ed .

XWard, Miss Kate, I has anus thought
Ramsey were slip’ry as a snake, so “when I
heerd ther tale 0’ thet youn ’un I jist went
ter see if 'he were really ead, an’ I didn’t
find him lyin’ on ther bed What we left him.

"But he had lit out."

“Escaped?” cried Mrs. Kenedy and her
daughter in a breath.

“qYas'm; the blood are thar on ther piller,
what bleeded from his head, an’ he hev

one.” . r
g “Then pursue and capture him, for the
murderer of my father shall not go unpun-
ished,” crid Kate.

“ But, Kate—"

“Mother, will you still be blind to that
man’s deviltry?

“Remember, you nearly sacrificed me to
my father’s murderer.

“He came here with falsehoods of how he
had nursed father in his dying hours, and
brought letters he said my father had writ-
ten, begging me to at once become his wife,
and all of us go on to New York to get my
fortune.

"‘Now in my mind there is no doubt, for
this brave boy brings proof, and he has noth-
ing to gain by falsehood, while, if Ray Ram-
say were not guilty, he would not have fled
as he has."

Mrs. Kenedy could no longer remain blind
to the truth of the accusations against Ray
Ramsey, and now convinced of his, ilt, the
two ur ed a hot pursuit of the fugitive.

But ack, the cowboy chief, and a dozen
of his men were already upon the fugitive’s
trail, and every hope was entertained of his
early capture and unishment, and that
meant a sudden drop mm a limb at the end
of a rope for Ray Ramsey.

CHAPTER IX.
TREACEEROUB mans.

To the regret of all, excepting the fugitive,
the cowboys returned at night to the ranch,
having been unable to find any trace of Ray
Ramsey after reaching the river.

Unwilling to leave the ranch long without
its full quota of protectors, as the Indians
had been most troublesome of late, Jack, the

 

' cowhgg chief, had turned homeward with his

com es, to report their Want of success.

They found that Sam had in the mean
time quite won his way to the heart of Mrs.
Kenedy and Kate, to whom he had more
minutely told all that had happened, and of
his trip to Texas.

The wanted to reward the youth for all
he ha done for them, but he refused their
kind offers of money.

Then Mrs. Kencd decided to at once
leave the ranch in t )0 care of Jack Carrol,
making him her agent, and start for New
York with her daughter, where, with the
fortune left Kate, they need no longer live
upon a border ranch, subject to every (1311.

er.

g Sam was asked to return with them to
New York, Mrs. Kcnedy telling him she
would adopt him as a son; but he was firm
in his determination to remain in Texas, and
told her he had left a good home and kind
parents to come to the South-west, and was
determined to make a name for himself.

He, however, said he would accompany
them to Austin, from whence they could go
b stage to Galveston, while he returned to
his cabin near Mission San J ose,

An ambulance and wagon were according-
ly gotten ready for the road, and the follow—
ing day Mrs. Kcnedy, Kate, Sam and a guard
of eight cowboys from the ranch started for
Austin, and arrived there without adventure.

There the ladies took the stage for Galves-
ton, and the cowboys turned back for the
ranch, while Sam set out in company with

» three Texas cattle-men, so they called them-

selves, for San Antonio.
The very first camp they made Sam felt he

I.

 

had made a mistake in going with strangers,
and wished that he had started alone, for he
did not like the looks, action or conversation
of the men.

They seemed to regard him in a'strange
way, and several times he caught them whis-
pering together suspiciously, which excited
his fears for his safety.

The face of one of the men seemed strange—
ly familiar, and yet he could not recall Where
he had seen it before, but he was impressed
with the idea that it hadvnot been under
pleasant circumstances.

He had met the three men at the hotel in
Austin and heard them say they were going
to San’ Antonio, and had asked to join them,
a request which they readily granted.

At first the had seemed anxious to treat
him most kin ly, and then, after being sev-
eral hours on‘the trail, their manner toward
him began to change, until when they camped
for the night they were rude and disagreeable
toward him.

Sam pretended not to notice this change,
but kept his e es and ears wide open, and
was determine at the first opportunity he
would desert such unpleasant company.

He made an excuse to get off and shoot a
prairie chicken for supper, but the man
whose face seemed familiar said abruptly:

“We don’t want no prairie chicken, an’
’tain’t good fur leetle children to eat, so set
ter work an’ build up a fire an’ I'll br’ile
some venison, an’ ef yer don’t like thet, then
yer kin go hungry."

“ All right; I like venison,” said Sam,
cheerily, and he soon built a fire, and seeing
now that it was dark and that two of the
men were playing cards, while the third was
busy cooking, he determined to make an ef-
fort to escape, for he had become more than
ever convinced that there was mischief breW»
ing toward him, for suddenly the recognition
of that face flashed upon him.

When he had seen it several months before
it had been beardless, and the hair was short;
now the hair was uite long, and a beard and
mustache disguise the man almost beyond
reco ition.

“ es, it is the cowboy whom Joe and I
hit with the bull-whip, and he swore to get
even with me; but I guess I’ll skip and save
Mr. Bob Burt, as Injun Granger called him,
the chance of wiping me out.‘

He gathered up his scrape and rifle quiet-
ly and moved toward his horse, and quickly
had the saddle upon him.

But ere he could mount his foe rushed
upon him, crying out:

“ Not so fast, youngster, for I owes you a
leetle debt I wishes to pay. Come, boys!”

The last was to his two comrades, who also
came rushing toward the spot.

Had it not been for Flying Arrow sh 'ng vi-
olently, as Bob Burt rauu . , Sam con (1 have
thrown himself into the s dle and risked the
chance of escape. I

But the horse jerked him almost down,
and lie barely had time to draw his revolver
as Bob Burt rushed upon him.

But he did have time, and just time. to pull
trigger, and the revolver exploded just as the
cowboy was upon him.

A yell of , fury and pain burst from the
lips of Bob Burt, and he threw himself upon
the boy in perfect frenzy; but the hands did
not close, and his heavy, dead weight dragged
Sam to the ground, just as the other two men
ran up and seized him. ‘

“ Waal! he hev done fer our pard, thet are
a fact,” cried one, as he saw thatBob Burt
had ceased to breathe.

"‘ Ef he hes ther money about him thet fel-
ler told us he lied, I guess we‘ll do for him;
cf not, we’ll carry him on to San‘ Antone an’
gist git ther boys ter string him up, even ef

e be youn , an’- I guess it’ll make us solid
with em
from thar.” .

,All this Sam heard, but he said nothing,
whilehis captors'searched and robbed him of

\

own‘thar, as thet gerloot were

 

his money, which was not much, and than
securel bound him, after which they buried
the y of Bob Burt and lay down to sleep
with the indifference of men born without
the shadow of a censcience. "

CHAPTER X.
CLOSE QUAR'rans.

As Sam had anticipated, he returned to
San Antonio, but not as he wished by any
means, for he went there as a prisoner.

The two men who took him there at once
made known to the cowboys at the Moodie
House, where they put up, that Sam had left
Austin in company with three of them, but
had risen at night, when in camp, robbed
their comrade, and was making his escape
when Bob Burt gave chase and was shot by
the youngster. _

This at once infuriated all against Sam,
and in less than half an hour there were sev-
eral who swore that they new him well, and a
that he was 9. 'rl in boy’s clothing, and had
come from Ga veston.

Others said he was a horse-thief from the
Rio Grande, and all united in saying that he
should be hanged for his crime. ‘ '

All this looked very blue for poor Sam, '
and for awhile his nerve almost failed him, . ‘
and not without great cause, for he was a
boy amid several score of wild reckless men,
with fearful charges made against him.

Sam appealed to them, to give him achance
to prove he was not what they said, and to
take him to parties in town who had seen
him when he was there before, and could
prove that Bob Burt had attacked him than
without cause, and swore to be revenged be-
cause he had gotten square, with him,
through the kindness of ‘Injun Granger. .

But they would not listen to him. and, in-
flamed with liquor dragged him out of the
hotel to string him 11 . .

Then indeed di Sam aze wistftu ‘
around, and seeing no frientfiy face in the 
an crowd, gave himself up as lost. "

he moon was shining bri htly, and there , '
was a tree near by selecte as the gallows, ‘
and which had been graced on many former
occasions by alike cruel scene. ‘ ‘ .- - »

Toward this the youth was dragged, a
lariat around his neck, and a man had just
climbed up in the branches to put one end
over a. stout limb, when three persons sud- .
deuly appeared upon the scenewho were not
of the an crowd. ‘ ’ ~ , _

Two 0 them were men and the third w
a youth about the age of Sam. *

All of them carried revolvers in each hand
and the weapons were seen, by the bright ‘
moonlight to be cocked. '

“ Pards, the night is no time for an execu-
tion, and besides there can be none inthis ‘
town unless a jury and judge so decides
against a criminal," said one of the men inf
loud, distinct tones. ‘ v

His words checked the acts of the lynchers
and adozen voices spoke his name aloud;

“ Injun Granger!" ‘ '

“ Yes, pards, I am Injun Granger, and
that is my boy pard you have there, and the
man who hurts a hair of his head answers to
me, so now go on with your hanging.”

“ They are but two, for the boy don’t
count, so don’t let ’cm bully you," cried one

 

of the two men who had brought Sam to'San ‘ .‘

Antonio as a prisoner.

“Waal, ef ou makes up yer mind thet
01d Leather egs don’t count in a scrim—
mage, yer makes a awful mistake; an’ I w’u’d
be pleased ter hev yer sail in with ther 
in’ jist ter conterdict yer. ,  

“ As fer ther boy, heur, thet are his 

an’ I’m thinkin’ yer’ll find him wuss ndraa  V _.

she jaguar ef yer hurts leetle Sam,”  a]:

Leather Legs, the Hunter of Fort San Saba,“ ' ‘

for he it was with Injun Granger and Joe
Booth. ' . *

Though the two men from Austin did
not know either Injun Granger or Leather _ ,
Legs. not so with the San Anton-i0 coWboys, ‘ 

 

 
 

 

1

for, they did know 'both men, and were aware
of all they could do, so they made no move-
ment furl; er tohang the youth.

“ What is it all about, Sammy, for I did-
n’t know on were in town, until Joe came
running own to the camp, and said'he had
seen you in a peek of trouble up at the
Moodie House, and Leather Legs henr, my
old pard, who was taking supper with me,
just came along to see fair play.

“ What is it Sammy?” and Injun Granger
turned to Sam, who said quietly:

' “ It’s all about Bob Burt, whom I did not
recognize in Austin, and who put 11p a job
with these two fellows to kill and rob me.”

‘ “ Bob Burt was it?”
_ “ Yes, sir.”

> “ Where is he?“

.. u Dead."

‘ Who killed him?”

d d

C u i In

“ good! what about?” ,

. “I did not recognize him at first, as his

hair and beard had grown‘ out; but the first

night, we camped I saw there was going to be

trouble for me, so I started to light out,

when Bob Burt ran on me and I shot him.
“,Then these two rascals robbed me, and

brought me here as a prisoner, but they gave

themselves away by their talk, and I found

out that Burt had got them to lay a ame
to kill and rob me, telling them had pIcnty
of money." ~

“ You met them in Austin, you say,
Sammy?”

“ Yes, sir." ' ,

, “ Well, ards, this is all clear enough that
there shou d be a hanging, Only you’ve got
the wrong one to string up.

"‘ There’s your game 3"

"As Injun Granger spoke he “threw his re-
Volvers up to a level and covered the two
treacherous rascals, whose lies had so nearly
coat Sam his life.

They attempted to draw their weapons,
but the fickle crowd was too quick for them,
and __ in an instant they were seized, bound,
and dragged up to the same tree selected for
Sam’s tsumma execution, while , Injun
Granwer said ca mlyz' ‘ '

"We do things well here, Sammy, as you
see. .

 “Now come, and we’ll get your money
back from those corpses, and your horse and
arms, which you say they have at the Moodie
House.”
‘ As they walked away Sam and Joe chatted
gany together, for the latter had become
most anxrous at his pard’s long absence, and
, had that day come into San Antonio to see it"
he could learn anything regarding him, and
was fortunate enough to nd him, and in
dead] danger too.

“ ou saved me that time, Joe, and are
even with me for the time I dragged you out
of the creek in old Massachusetts,” said Sam,
as once more in possession of his horse and
weapons, the boys were riding out of town
that night, to their little ranch on the river.
some miles distant from San Antonio.

‘ r ‘ CHAPTER XI.

3 ' ,' NOCTURNAL VIsr'rons.

. . 'To say that Sam. was delighted to again
get back to the companionship of Joe, would
be to draw it mildly, for he was overjoyed,
a’u‘d as the two rode along together on the
way to the ranch, he told his pard of all his
t adventures, and was listened to with an at-
’ V tention and interest that was most grati-

 

mg. .,

At last the two friends approached their
cabin, and Joe had his surprise for Sam, as
he had already cut down quite a number of
trees,'and done a vast deal of work for a
youth, to add to the improvement of the
place. ‘

",As the rode into the clearing their cars
were-sud enlv greeted with a series of what
' appeared to be the wildest shrieks, followed
by the rapid discharge of firearms, then

 

groans, and a terrific racket; all coming from
within the cabin.

“ The ranch is full of Injuns, Joe,” yelled
Sam, adopting the western pronunciation of
India-n, which cut it down to Injun.

Instantly he drew rein and a. revolver at
the same time. -

“ You’re right, Sam; but we’ll. fight ’cm,”
answered Joe valorousl .

But before they coul say more there was
a sudden crashing of wood and the door of
the cabin, which opened inward, was split in
two, and out came one then another, a third,
fourth and fifth of the largest wild hogs the
boys had ever seen.

“Good Lord!” said Sam.

“ Holy crickets!” gasped Joe.

Then followed several shots from the boys‘
revolvers, and three of the hogs dropped,
while the remainder soampered away squeal-
ing savagely and disappeared in the chap
arral.

Dismounting quickly the boys went to the
cabin and surveyed the ruin, for the door
was split in pieces, and a torch thrown in the
fire soon revealed a wreck within.

The store chest had been upset and the
contents devoured, the beds had been over-
turned, and a belt of pistols had been knocked
down and rooted into the fire, and this had
caused the firing which had alarmed the boys
and terrified the hogs, while a lame tin box
of red pepper had been overturned and get-
ting into the noses and eyes of the brutes,
had made them squeal and grunt with pain,
and, adding to their alarm at the firing had
caused them to dash pell-mcll at the door and
make a hast exit. .

In spite 0 their loss, and the wreck left by
the hogs, the boys sat down and made the
cabin ring with laughter at the comical oc<
currence, and thus put in good humor soon
collected their bedding and retired to rest,
not eVen in their dreams disturbed by the
nocturnal visitors.

CHAPTER XII.
A GUARDIAN ANGEL.

THE morning following-the raid of the
wild hogs, Joe mounted a mustang, and lead-
ing another, started up to San Antonio for a
fresh supply of stores, while Sam remained
behind to keep house and get things to rights.

This he soon accomplished, and then he
sat down to meditate upon future prospects,

He had sold one of the Indian ponies to
the settler whose family he had saved, for
twenty dollars, and he had as much more
money paid him by Injun Granger for his
services, and double that amount left from
his own savings, and he knew Joe had about
fiftv dollars. '

The money int-rusted to him by Captain
Kcnedy he had reli iously accounted to Mrs.
Kenedy for every ollar of, and would not
accept from her the slightest compensation,
saying that the passage of himself and Joe
out to Texas was ample compensation for
what he had done.

With their little fortune combined, Sam
thought it would be best to make a start in
the cattle business, while he and Joe could
trap for furs, kill bear, deer, buffalo and
other game for their skins, and perhaps cap-
ture a few ponies from the Indians, which
would give them a good start in life.

Having come to this conclusion as to what
was best to be done, Sam decided to practice
a feat of horscmanship he had frequently seen
performed by the Texans, with seemingly the
geatest of case.

This was to ride at a full gallo , toss his
sombrero far ahead, and swooping own from
the saddle pick it up without checking the
speed of his horse. -

It looked eas , and Sam mounted Flying
Arrow and ma e the attem t.

What success he met wit he did not learn
for an hour after, as he fell upon his head
with such force that it stunned him, and
there, lying like dead upon the prairie,.Joe

/

 

found him shortly after as he came back
from San Antonio. 1

To. sprin from his mustang and carry
Sam to. the rlver bank was an instant’s work,
and finding he was not wounded, or killed,
as he at first feared, he dashed water in, his
face and revived him.

At first Sam was bewildered, but at last
gegplled his attempted feat and said dole-
u y:

“I didn‘t do it, did I Joe?"

“ Do what?”

“Pick up my hat?” ,

“Your hat is off on the prairie,” said J 09,
thinking Sam’s mind was wandering.

“I know it, and that’s what gave me the
tumble, for I was trying to pick it up at a
gallop.”

“Oh, Sam, you’ll kill yourself yet.”

“My head’s too hard, Joe, and I bet it;
made a hole in the prairie where it hit.

“ I guess Arrow must have shied, for I
went off mighty easy.”

"And on stayed there mighty easy too,
for I thought at first on were dead.

“I verily believe, am, that—"

“That what, Joe?” asked Sam as his pard
hesitated. ' -

“ That Felice has kept her dying promise
and is your guardian angel, for you certainly
escape every danger. ”

Sam’s face clouded at the remembrance of
the beautiful girl whose life he had saved,
and 0V01"Wl1086 dead body he had read the
burial service, and rising to his feet abruptly
he said:

“It may be, Joe, and- it doubtless is her
spirit that guards me, and I have no fear of
anything now.” ‘

“ I guess she wasn’t round when the wild
hogs rooted our cabin, and—”

“ ’Sh—Joc, don’t laugh at anything so
sacred as the thought that poor Felice keeps
me from harm.” '

“I don‘t laugh at it, Sam, for I believe she
is our guardian angel, and if I had one too,
I’ be the m0st reckless boy alive, for I would
expect to escape any danger. , ,

“But cbme, let us put away the stores I
brou lit,\and~—"

“ I ark! hear that firin ,” cried Sam.

Both listened attentive y, and from down
the river came the sound of firing, and min«
gled with it wild war-cries they well knew
were uttered by Indians

CHAPTER XIII.
run nor TRAILERS. ,

BELOW on the river, and a little over a
mile away from the home of the two youths,
were the cabins of two settlers, who were
trying to gain a living by farming and rais—
ina cattle.

he men were industrious and kind-hearted
fellows, and devoted friends, who had come
to Texas to cast their fortunes together.

Their families consisted of their wives, and
three children each, and both Sam and Joe
knew that the firing and war-cries they heard
came from the cabins of the two settlers.

Had they had any doubt on this score it
was set aside by seeln a negro riding by at
full speed, and who ca led out:

“ Dem In ’uns 1s jist killin’ all do fokes at
dem cabins own do ribber.”

The recognized the negro as one that be-
longe on a ranch above them, and Sam
called out: ' .

“How many Injuns are there?”

“Dar mout be a t’ontand, but I only seen
seben." _ .

“ Then come back with us, f0r we can
beat off that many.”

“No, boss, I hain‘t huntin’ Injuns now,
but I tell ’em above‘on dc ribber for you, my
I guesses the Cowboys will come."

Away went the frightened negro once
more, as fast as his pOny could carry him.

 

and Sam turned to Joe and said earnestly; ,

“Joe, we must see what we can do."
“Yes, Sam."

\

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

r a



' t

,9

 

 

“ Come.”

Five minutes after the two bo s were fly-
ing along theriver bank, mounte upon their
inustan s.

The firing and the war-cries had ceased a
short while before, and yet they knew well
the reason, for great volumes of smoke rolled
heavenward from the midst of the timber,
showing that the cabins had been set on fire
by the red fiends.

The next moment the brave boys dashed
into the clearing, and the s' ht that met their
gaze was heartrending, an made them reel
in their saddles with sudden weakness.

The two cabins were on fire and burning
furiously, and the two settlers lay before

.their own doors, riddled with arrows, dead

' and scalped.

Near them, here and there, were their
wives and children, with the scalp~lock torn
from the head of each.

But one of the mothers
she was sinking fast, and
her faint call.

Instantly he was kneeling by her side and
heard her whispered words:

“ They were seven in all-Comanches.

“My husband killed two, and their com-
rades threw the bodies into the river.

“ They left us as on see, sacked our

homes and carried 0 the plunder on our
own ponies; but, worst of all, they have car-
ried with them my daughter, my poor Lucy,
and what will not be her fate?"

“We will try and save her,” said Sam,

et lived, though
am hardly heard

boldl . .

“god bless you! but go at once, or you
will be too late.” I

“ And you?" .

“ Leave me to die, for I will soon be out of
suflering; but save my poor child." ‘

Sam turned away, as the eyes closed weari-
’ly, and mounting his mustang once more, he
and Joe rode rapidly away. ,

Put to the test to follow a trail, Sam soon
proved that the lessons he had received from
Injun Granger and Leather Legs, not to
speak of his own experience, such as it had
been, now served him well, for he trailed the
red-skins with a rapidity that would have
'sur rised an old scout.

oing at a sweeping gallo‘p, it was not 1011
before they came in Sight 0 the Indian rai -
sets over a distant roll of the prairie.

There were five mounted warriors, and two
of these were leadin fully half a score of
ponies, laden down With-plunder taken from
.the cabins. v

The other three were drivin a few loose

onies and half a hundred hea of cattle be-
ore them, and they were urging them for-
ward at a pace as fast as they could travel.

“There they are, Joe, an we can do but
one thing,” said Sam.

“ What is that?"

“ Follow them until dark and wait for
themto camp, and then go for them for all
we are worth.”

“ They are five, Sam, and we but two."

“ They won’t know how many weare, and
twe'll make them think there are more of us.

.“ Now let us keep out of sight, so they
won’t suspect they are being pursued, and
wait for night.”

“ Do you see the captive, Sam?"

“ Yes—one of the warriors is holding her
in front of him; but he won’t hold her long
if we have our way."

And following. the Indian trail, though
keeping out. of sight, the he ‘s kept on uii-

' tiring-1y until night settled own upon the
prairie. »

 

CHAPTER XIV.
TWO AGAINST FIVE.

WHEN Sam determined to pursue the In
dian marauders and murderers, he felt that if
he and Joe could recapture the maiden, and
put the Indians to flight. it would be a great

eat for them to perform. .

Whether the red-skins knew of the scarcity

 

of men in that part of the country at the

time, or were reckless enough to be mdifier- v

out to pursuit, is not known; but certain it
is that they went into camp that night with
seeming little dread of attack.

Sam took in their camping-place well, and
then said: v .

“Joe, I guess the ’11 keep two on duty
over the cattle, and t ie other three will eta
in the timber and guard the girl, so I’ll to 1
you what we’ll do. ’

“ Well, Sam," said the ready Joe.

“You come with me and find out just
where the cattle guards are, for they‘ll not be
together.

“Then I‘ll leave you near one of them to
kill him when you hear my shot in the
timber.”

“ But, Sam—“

“Hold on, Joe, for you must hear my
plan.

“ You must lariat your pony near you, and
lilave a bead on the Injun guard, waiting my
s iot. '

“When he drops the other Will run to his-

aid for you must give the Comanche war-cry
after you kill him, and you will see him be-

fore he does you, so just knock him over-

too."

“I’ll do it.”

“ Then get on your pony and start the cat-
tle back toward home.”

“And you, Sam?"

“ I‘ll have my pony near me, and get close
in to the camp-fire and pick my Injun, and
then with a. yell will run in on the other
two, and I ain’t afraid of not hitting them.

“ They’ll hear your shot follow mine, and
think there are a number of whites after
them and stampede.”

“Suppose they don’t stampede ‘1"

“Then it’s got to be a fight between us;
and I’ll have the advantage in surprising
them.

“If they get too hot for me, I’ll call Fly-
ing Arrow and skip after you."

“ But the girl?"

“ That’s what I am most anxious about, to
save her.

“They may kill her at my shot, but I‘ll
try and be too quick for them.

“Now, Joe, remember my shot is the
signal. .

“ You have two Injuns to et away with,
and the cattle to capture, an I have three
reds andthe girl."

“.I’ll be on hand, Sam, and am read
now," was Joe’s reply, and the boy par s
crept nearer and nearer to the camp, which
was designated by a small fire, and soon get
the situation well in their minds.

The stolen cattle were feeding upon a
small prairie in a valley, and the were kept
from roving by two mounted In ian guards
upon two sides, while upon a third was the

camp in a' small copse of timber.

ng certainly had diagnosed their plan
we .

“ Here’s your place, Joe, and you see you-
dei‘ red isn’t a hundred yards away,” he said,
as the two boys glanced up from a ravine
and saw the Indian herder onlya short dis-
tance ofli, sitting on his horse.

_ “ The otherone is up the valley, and that
is the way you must drive the cattle.

“ Get ’em to going once, and if you don’t

see the other Injun, he can’t stop ’em I’ll bet‘

high."

“ I can pick 011‘ that one, never fear, Sam,
and then I’ll lay for the other, so give me the
signal when you please."

“All right; good-by," and Sam stole away
down the ravine to where he had left his
horse and the one belonging to Joe.

Mounting his own mustang, he rode cau-
tiously away toward the clump of timber
where he saw the glimmer of fire, and there
came floating toward, him the odor of broil-
ing meat. '

“That makes me hungry,” he muttered,
landladded: g I

“ I’ll hurry up so as to get their supper.”

Before himhe saw several ponies lax-rated
upon the rairie, and which he knew were
the anim s ridden by the red-skins. _

Then he dismounted and let Flying Arrow
loose, but with a command to remain where
he left him.

The intelligent mustang stood like a 5%
and Sam moved cautiously on toward
timber.

Now he was in his element, for just such
scenes of danger and darin he had read
about, and now he was the c 'ef actor in a
rescue of a maiden from cruel red-skins. V

On he went until he saw three forms mov-

was the young girl Who had been cmelifh
torn from her home. ~v

Her head was bowed and she seemed either
asleep, or, from grief, utterly oblivious to all
that was oing on around her.

Present y one of the warriors approached
her with something in his hands.

‘ ‘ He’s offering her some supper,” muttered
Sam, and he raised his rifle as though to fire.

But getting down upon. his hands and
knees, he crept nearer and nearer, until he
was not thirty pacesdistant.

Then he decided to fire, and lying flat upon
the ground, to get a perfect aim, he selected
the one that he was to kill.

chief's feathers in his hair.

He stood apart from the other two, who
were busily eating, and, was talking to the
captive, who had raised her head and was
gazing straight at him.

The aim being satisfactor
ger touched the trigger, an the flash and re-
port followed. , _ ‘ .

Dead ere he touched the ground, fell the
chief, and rightly supposing that the others’
eyes would be momentarily blinded by the
firelight and prevent their seeing

ing a series of wild yells and calling out..to
imaginary comrades to follow him. '

prairie was heard the crack of a rifle, follow-
ed by a yell, and Sam knew that Joe wasat
work, and only hoped his aim had been as
true as his own. ' -

To sa that the two red-skins were astound-

sprung to their feet at the crack of the rifle
and fall of their comrade, and one ,of them,
drawing a tomahawk, sent it flying at the‘
head of the maiden.

head quickly, and it buried itself in the trunk
of the tree within an inch of her ear.

revolver, and the red-skin drop upon one,
knee, while his comrade boun ed away like
a deer into the deeper recesses of, the timber.

Rushing upon the wounded savage, 'who
arose and faced his foe, Sam fired rapidly as
he ran, and received an arrow in return in
his shoulder.

still ran on his foe, and by a welLaimed shot
brought him again to the ground, for hesaw
that he was unable to run, his leg being shat-
tered at the knee. .

The fury of his nature was still paramount,
however, in the breast of the savage, for he
tried to drag himself quickly to the tree and

girl.
But Sam thwarted him, and he turned

his own length of the captive.
out, when, by a fourth shot, Sam sent, a, bu}.
let through his brain.

ing'voice:
“Ho, Sam! all 0. K. out here.”

 

l i Sam shoutedback that all was lovely witl ‘

ing about the fire, and sitting with her back ‘
against a tree. and a lariat binding her to it, 

It was the largest of the three, and» with a I

to Sam, his fin. '

him, Sam ' ‘
sprung to his feet and rushed forward, utter- '

Ere he had gone five steps, far off on the ,

ed wou d be to express it mildly, for they ‘

Fortunately she saw the act and moved her ‘ \

But the wound did not check him, and he I

drive his knife in the heart of the young V

Half rising, he held up his knife to fight it '

At that instant a rifle crack was heard ofi
on the prairie, and then came in Joe’s ring- _

As he threw the weapon Sam fired with his, x i I 

s «A. ‘.

upon‘him like a dying snake, when Wighint r r .

 

 

      
 

I having place
V out to Joe, he learned that the second red

b

 

him, and severing the lariat that bound the
girl, hurried her oil? on the prairie toward
.where he had left Flying Arrow, and where
were the ,Indian ponies, for he expected a
shot from the red-skin who had fled.

But that savage had strpck for the village
of his people, evidently believing scores of
fpes were u on his track, and when Sam,

g the young girl‘on Arrow, called

1guard had also escaped, though Joe felt sure
e had wounded him, as-he saw him reel at
his shot.

The young girl was most profuse in her
thanks for her rescue, and told Sam she in-

' tended killing herself as soon as she found

I them, and at dawn meta

out there was no chance of esbape for her.
Remembering the words of the old Texan,
that “ an Injun hain‘t dead until he is
seal ed,” Sam and Joe both “took the hair ”
of eir red fees, and then, as the cattle were
already on the back trail, followed on after
party of Captain
Burleson’s rangers‘in pursuit of the Indians.
The gallant Texans gave the boy pards
three rousing cheers for their daring and suc-
cessful work, and the captain said to Sam:
“Young as you are, my boy, when you
want to become a ran er, let me know."
The ear young gir was taken care of b

'the Cat olie Sisters of San Antonio, and be

found themselves heroes in the eyes of even

 the oldest plainsmen.

 

CHAPTER XV.
rim nor RANGER.
THE remark of Captain Burlesor. set Sam

I to’thinking that it would be a good thing if
oe

he could become a Texas Ranger, while
could remain on the ranch, hire a cowboy to
hell him, and keep the stone of their fortune
rd ing.

He was afraid Joe would object, so he de-

‘ termined not to ask him, but to first join the

,0
fix

company and then tell him, urging that he
should remain as a ranchero.

a tain Burleson was away when he ar-
edl,’ but he boldly made his desire known
to the officer in charge and the men.

He was laughed at, for though all had
heard of his exploit, there were many men

, who felt that a boy had no right among vet—
, eraus such as they were.

“ How old are you, youngster?” asked the
lieutenant.
 r“ Seventeen, sir, in two months.”

“If you join the Rangers you’ll never

reach it,” said one.

“ Do your parents know you are in Texas ‘2”
asked another.

“Yes, for I wrote them."

“ How much do you weigh, bud ‘2“

“Ninety pounds.” ‘

At this there was a general Iau 11, for there
Was not a man present that di not double
Sam’s weight.

I “ Oh, I’m good, what there is of me," said

. Sam, checking his anger.

  
   
   
 

V shoot, out-sleep and out-eat an

“ You’d make a better gal than yer does a.
boy, with yer slender figger, rosy face and
black eyes,” remarked an old Ranger.

 . - “ What can you do?"

The question was asked in a slighting tone,
and Sam’s reply was quick and to the point:
\ “ I. can out-run, out-ride, out—jump, out-

band for stamps or! horses, an the one that

“doubts it has but to put up his money or ‘
mustang or shut up.”

A perfect yell of hilarity burst forth at
this plucky assertion, and one old Texan

“I y, jumpin’ are my strong hold, an’

' that are my pony ag‘in’ yourn as I kin beat

er. .
-“Done1” said Sam, “if it‘s a run and
i!
um .
" at’s what it are ter be.”

I f Aline was drawn and the Texan ran about

man in this .

 

f

Plaza‘and pram.

briskly for awhile, as though to warm up his
films, which nearly three-score years were

" innin to stiffen a little.

e h held the palm as the best leaper in
the company, and he was not to be outdone
by a boy.

It was to be decided by two jumps, one of
distance and the other in hight.

The Texan went back thirt paces, took a
start and cleared the back 0 a small mus~
tang, though one foot tripped lightly and he
fell on the other side.

Then Sam shot away from the mark like
an arrow from the bow, went up into the air,
cleared the back of the mustang by a foot,
and came down like a cat on his feet.

“Len ther Leaper beat at his own game!”
yelled a voice, and three cheers were given
for the boy.

,It was evident that the Leaper was sur-
prised, and for the straight jump he exerted
himself to the utmost and made a beautiful
lea , while Sam came close on his heels and
ad ed five inches to the distance made.

“ Thet are your mustan , my lad, for you
has won him squar’," sai Len, with no ill-
feeling.

“ Now for the race,” called out the lien-
tenant, and in this a score of Rangers were
the participants.

The distance was one hundred and fifty
yards, to start at the word “Go,” and the
first one across the line was to take the lot of
mustangs, for each man put one up to form
a pool for the winner, and each one had
hopes of winning Sam's famous Flying Ar-
row.

“Going to put Black Cloud up, Martin ‘2”
asked the lieutenant of a Ranger, whose
horse, Black Cloud, was known to have no
superior.

“ Not for this foot-race. I’ll risk ,him
against the boy’s mustang, if he don‘t lose
him now, and then I’ll have the two fastest
horses on the border,” said Martin.

“Or I will,” put in Sam, who overheard
the remark.

The Rangers laughed, and the twenty-
three racers took their places, the word was
given by the lieutenant, and quick as a flash
of lightning Sam was at full speed before the
others were fairliy started.

Many steppe , for they considered it a
foregone conclusion that they could not win.

‘ But others held on in hopes that the boy
would break down.

Yet his wiry frame showed no sign of fall-
ing, and he crossed the goal far ahead of any
of his competitors, and coolly remarked:

“ If I don’t join the Rangers I’m twenty-
four horses in by this pleasant visit, anyway,
and I think I‘ll call often.”

’I‘liOse who had not joined in the race
yelled with delight to see the boy win, and
called for the next test, which was to be
horsemanship. '

But Sam’s face did not pale at this, as it
would have done some time before, for, since
the day he fell on his head, he had practiced
constantly all kinds of tricks from the back
of his horse.

At his old Massachusetts home he had been
able to ride standing up on a horse when the
animal was in a gallop, and now he seemed to
feel no dread of the result.

“All who enter must stake a pony," said
the lieutenant, who was anxious for Sam to
win, and saw that the boy’s face was full of
pluck.

Horses in Texas then ranged from ten to
fifty dollars apiece, and every Texan had
from three to, a score each, and they willing-
ly put up an ordinary mustang in the hope
that they might win, for they had confidence
in their own powers of horsemanship, and
could not believe that a Yankee boy, only a
few months in Texas, could beat them.

There were three I,ludges chosen from
among the old men, an Sam mounted Arrow
without saddle or bridle, which was the first
surprise. ‘ ‘

 

- There was then pickinsg up of sombreros at
a gallop, which all did, am among the rest,
in spite of having no saddle to cling to, but
the mane and his cat-like tenacity served him
as well. '

Then Sam, after numerous other tricks had
been accomplished by all, took the prize b
springing to his feet and riding his bare-bach
mustang at a run, a feat that the Rangers
could not accomplish, even though some fol—
lowed the boy’s example and threw aside
their heavy boots.

Amid loud cheers Sam led’his winnings
for best horsemanship—twenty-seven mus-
tangs—over to where his others were, and.
lariated them 'out.

“Now I’ll stake Arrow against all for a.
race of a quarter of a mile to five miles,”
cried Sam, greatly elated at his success.

The Rangers knew the celebrated Indian:
mustang too well to throw their ponies away
in a race with him, but all called out for"
“ Martin and his Monterey Racer.”

Martin, the man who had before spoken of ‘
winning Arrow, came promptly forward,
leading Black Cloud, a handsome animal,
glossy and clean-limbed.‘ .

Sam eyed him suspiciously, for he was a.
good judge of horseflesh, and had often heard.
of the famous Monterey Racer.

But he would not back down, and a race,
horse for horse, one mile distance, was-
agreed upon.

They mounted and with three “ starters ”‘
rode out upon the prairie to a tree just a little-
over a mile distant.

The two splendid animals bounded away
evenly together, and ran head and head to--
ward the cal, distancing the three starters,
although t ey were well mounted. ‘

As they came on the excitement in the
camp was immense.

A string had been stretched between two
stakes, which the leadin horse was to break,
and which would brea it was a question
hard to determine.

It could be seen that not an inch of advan—
tage had either the Racer or Arrow, and the
the Rangers were wild with excitement, and
hope ran high for the pluck boy to win.

s they neared the goal artin was seen to
ply the spurs and also to urge Black'Cloud
on in any way he could. .

But Sam never touched Arrow with his
spurs and held his own, though he dro ed
back quarter of a length, which caused ar-
tin to say, hoarsely;

“ I’ve got you, boy.”

Sam smiled, but said nothin , and the two
horses came within a dozen in the of the
goal, when all saw that Black C oud had a,
good neck the lead.

Then, with a yell, Sam plied the spurs,
and Arrow jumped to the fore like li htning
and broke the line. half a length ahea of the
Racer.

A wild yell broke from the Rangers, while
Martin said in husky tones:

“ You’ve won me horse, boy, and I’ll give
a cool two hundre for him.”

“ No, I don’t care to sell, even for so gen-
erous an offer,” and Sam gazed with pride
upon his splendid black. I

“ How ’bout the shootin’, youngster?” said
an old Ranger, recalling Sam from his happy
contemplations.

“ What shooting, sir?"

“ You said you could outjump, outrun,
an’ outridc any 0’ us, you has kep’ yer word
8 uar’; but now ter sec of yer kin prove yer
km outshoot us all.”

“I’ll give you a trial, anyway.”

, “Well, you’ve got an eye 0’ fire, and ther
nerve 0’ a mule, an’ l‘m thinkin’ you kin
shoot. '

“ Eatin‘ puddin’ they tells me, proves ef it
are good, so we‘ll sail in an’ tries yer fer 'one
on ther shoot.”

“ An,’ I are ther champion on ther eat an’

ther sleep, Whenger'gits ready to tackle me,” '
Ranger, who was noted as -

said a good’face

gr.
[.  \

A

no;

 

 

 

 

 

i
E

 

 

‘ ranch.

 

 

\

Pleasantl' 

   

 

the sleepiest-headed  and largesteater in

the band. I

Sam glanced at his large proportions and
sleep eyes, and said with a laugh: _ .

“ guess I won’t tackle you, but give in
on the cat and slumber his.”

The arrangements were then made for the
shooting match. .

To make it interesting, each man put ten
dollars into the pools, or there were two,
one for rifle, and the other for revolver marks-
manship, and Sam promptly planked down
his money. ‘

All of the Rangers were crack shots, and
here Sam felt a little tremulous, for he saw
over four-score of gallant men arrayed against
him.

But Sam had practiced “trick shooting ” a
reat deal, and it gave him this advantage,

or when a Ranger shot at a stationaryitarget'

with his revolver, Sam tossed up a tin cup
and sent a hole through it.

Five out of the six bullets went through
the cup, and this so pleased the “ still target”
shooters, that the readily gave him the pool,
when if he hady shot for dead center he
would have been beaten, as he well knew.

The same game he played with the rifle,
and was acknowledged the champion.

“ You won yer way in as a Ranger,
Sammy,” said the lieutenant. ‘

“ And should have been one without prov-
ing his right to membership, by laying out
the band,” said Captain Burleson, who just
then rode up, and heard of Sam’s exploits.

Sam was outwardly cool, but inwardly he'

was all excitement, and started 011 with his
herd of ponies, and pocketful of money, to
tell Joe of his good luck.

But Joe was mad at bein left out in the
cold, and for awhile refuse to look after the

But the herd of ponies, which Sam threw
in as common partnership, got him in good-
humor, and he went up to an Antonio with
Sam, to get his outfit wmplete, while he
wanted to hire two herders to help him look
after the increase of stock, as Sam invested
most of his money in cattle.

That night Joe returned with two cowboys
to the ranch, while Sam, mounted upon
Black Cloud, and with Flying Arrow follow-
ing, started for the camp of the Texan
Riders, fully equipped as a boy Ranger.

, CHAPTER XVI.
THE MEETING m DARK WATERS.

SAM had hardl become acquainted with
the routine life ofy the Rangers” camp, when
orders came from Governor Houston order-
ing the band to the front, and on the war-
path after Indians. _

They started within fifteen minutes after

the arrival of the courier with the orders, and
Sam rode Flying Arrow, and went armed to
the teeth, while in every particular he was
"the most thoroughly equipped member of
the band.
. They struck for the Llano, and camped on
its banks, for they found it a swollen torrent,
"YhICh/not even the brave Rangers cared to
risk crossing.

But 111 the night comes an alarm which
bimgs every Ranger to his feet, for cries of
.dlSt-I‘BSS are heard far away on the other
shore.

Those cries tell the fearful danger to Fort

'Mason, and mingling with them are war.

whoo s, rifle and pistol-shots.

“ en, who Will try the river to aid Fort
Mason? ‘

“Remember, I do not order you to do so,

, for I know my men would obey; but I want

volunteers, and let no man be foolhard
enough to go unless he can fully trust his
horse and can swim like a duck.

" Who goes with me?” ' r '

Thus spOke Captain Burleson, and Sam
rung out in clear treble above the others:

“ Count me in, cap’n.”' <

“ And me.” '

 

 '__

“ I’m thar, cap’n.”

“ Call on me.” i ' .

“ Yours ter death, »Cap’n Burleson."

“ Don’t forgit yours truly."

“ Yours ter command ever time, boss. ”

“ I’m yer pard fer life ever astin’.”

Such were the quaint answers of the vol-
unteers for the desperate work, and Captain
Burleson checked them ed as he saw all
were going to respond, and selected twenty-
five 0 those he thought best fitted for the
daring swim.

" Oh, captain! please don't leave me out,”
préed’ Sam, as he saw he was going to “get
e t.’

“ Can you swim, Sammy?”

“ I swam round from New York to In-
dianola,” was Sam’s ready reply, and with a
laugh the captain accepted the services of
so mighty a swimmer—according to his own
report; but the reader will remember that
Sam was indeed a duck in the water, as he
had proven when rescuing poor Felice from
the waves, that night of storm on the Bahama
Banks.

Sam was the first one in the fearful torrent
and Arrow took to it without the slightest

urging.

he captain and others fpllowed, so that
Sam was leading the we. , and as the mus-
tang swam rapidly, Bur eson called out to
him to go with the current and land where
he could. .

Arrow was certainly a rapid swimmer, as
he was a runner, and Sam soon lost sight of
the others in the darkness.

Suddenly, when two-thirds across he saw
a form near him.

It was certainly a man V on a swimming
horse. ' p 1

It could not be one of his comrades, for he

' knew that they were behind.

Nam-er came the swimming horse, and
then suddenly the rider checked him, as he
flaw Sam, for he had been looking behind

1m.

There was a rapid movement of the arms,
and then the twang of a bow-string, and the
whiz of an arrow, while Sam’s hat was
turned half round on his head.

At that instant he threw his revolver for-
ward and fired, and a wild defiant death-cry
followed and an Indian warrior fell from his
mustang’s back into the river. ~

The flash was seen by the swimming
Rangers behind Sam, and by those on the
bank they had left, and momentarily it had
lighted up the forms of the b0 ,with- his
revolver thrown forward, the Indian, rapidly
setting another arrow to his bow, and the
two frightened horses.

It was an instant’s picture, but a fine one,

arfid the Rangers could hardly suppress a cry
0 0y. , r »

Sam caught the redskin, just as he was
disappearing, slipped his lasso around his
neck, and then fastened it to the saddle it
had just fallen dead from, and catching the
pony turned his head toward the bank to—
ward which he was swimming, causing him
thus to tow the body of his dead rider.

A few moments after he reached the bank
in safety, having avoided the floating trees,
and made the gallant swim, and as the
Rangers arrived one by one they found the
brave boy awaitin, them, the two horses
standing near, an the dead Indian at his
feet, his scalp in Sam’s hand as a trophy.

CHAPTER XVII.
RANGERS on THE TRAIL.
rA’l‘ every fresh arrival of a Ranger, Sam
was congratulated upon his nerve, and the
killing of the Indian, who-was examined and
pronounced to be a Comanche chief.

“He were a-going across on a scout, so
thar must be quite a sprinklin’ of ’em in ther
mischief up near ther fort, ” said an old

ger. « -

Presently, out 11 on the water came acry
for help, and quick y Sam was in his saddle,

I r

 

\

 

 
   
   
  
   
   
 
   
  
   
   
    
  
   
   
  
   
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
    
  
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
    
  
  
 
   

with several others, and 
the drowning man. ~  , _

He was not far away, and et hemm~
found, and both horse and ii r went down
beneath the flood to be seen no more. ’ a »

“Give me a helping hand_pard, for my «
pony ve out," said a voice near Sam, and " ‘
he relinquished his horse to a swimmer, and
swam back toward the bank, arriving at the
spans time that Arrow did with ,his tired out
n er. »

A gloom fell upon the arty at the loss of
one of their number, and aptain Burleson in
counting his brave volunteers, found two
men missing, and three horses. ,

One of the riders had died without a word
in that merciless current.

“ Take the Indians pony,” said Sam toth’e
riderless Ranger, and as the animals had now .
gotten their wind after the hard struggle
with the torrent, all mounted and dashed up
toward the fort. ' .

A sad scene met their e, for men, women
and children were kill and scalped within:
a rifle’s shot of the barracks, and the 00-1 i
manche had escapai with their plunder. .y,

Leaving word for the remainder of the
Ran ers to come on, after they got across by
daylight, Captain Burleson put his best scouts
ahead, and followed on after the retreating
red-skins, who were loaded down with plun-w
der, and driving a large number of cattle be
fore them. ,

It was along, hot chase, with hard fi ht»
ing clear to the San Saba river, when, the l~
ance of the Ran are having come 11 , With a.
reserve force of volunteers, order out by _
the Governor, and which company Joe Booth {
had joined, Captain Burleson gave the In«
dians battle, which resulted in victory for
the Rangers, and the recapture of the stock.
and plunder. 5 '

But as the Comanches, even in their Right
from the field, held to their prisoners, Cap-
tain Burleson took his best men and horses
and pushed on after them to the Colorado
river.

Here a camp was formed, and‘a determine
ation made to destroy the village of Big Fobt, ‘
the noted chief who had led the raid against.
Fort Mason Settlement, and who was. also ,
called “The Phantom Chief,” as he had ~ ,
escaped so often in battle, and all the snares:
set for him. 4

Selecting their time, the Rangers made a.
dash upon the village of Big Foot, and swept“ I
through it like a gale, doin much damage,
killing many warriors, an capturing the _
plunder of a score of raids, which was carried.
back by the gallant riders to San Antonio. ‘

But the Phantom Chief once more escaped,‘
though many of his people fell. '

Returning in triumph to San Antonio, Joe . '
Booth was chosen auctioneer, from his glib I
way of talking, and sold at auction in the . I »
main plaza the booty retaken, from mules ta , _ -
moccasins, and robes to revolvers. . L‘r . I ,

Having been in the front throughout this . L '
rapid ride, and seemed untiring by night or I
(lay, my young hero was dubbed Bucksk‘m’  ,
Sam, 3 name which he is known by today,
far more than by that of Sam S. Hall.’ > ' , 1

CHAPTER XVIII.

A FIGHT WITH DESPERADOES.
AFTER a short stay in San Antonio, CapL 
tain Burleson, with sixty picked men, “of
whom one boy (Sam) was which," as the late
lamented Artemus‘Ward would say, started

for the Concho on a special scout. , ,
They struck the buffalo range, finding tens *
of thousands of those animals feeding 1113011.
the prairie, and dashing into the herd on: L"

Black Cloud, a thoroughly trained hunter, '
Sam carried off the palm by killing one hum
dred and thirty~sevcn. ., _ ~ ‘ ‘
The Rangers them camped to jerk the but“ ' ’
falo meat, and feasted for a short while on .

juicy steaks and roasts, while their 
gated and fed on luxuriant grass thatahound.
near. ,

 

  
  

,‘
n
u

‘ country, had robbed the

Plaza and Plain.

 

 

With steeds rested, riders ready for work,
arms in perfect condition, and the respect
of hard fighting ahead of them, the IHangers
Egan: start on the trail, pushing on up to
' ort Belknap. ‘ .

Near Belknap they went after a band of
desperadoes commanded by a desperate char-
acter, said to be a Mexican officer who had
deserted his army.

The Desperadoes were committing a num-
ber of lawless and murderous acts in the
stages, sacked

ranches, and killed travelers, and the set—
tlers were not strong enough to hunt them
down, when the coming of the Rangers ‘ ave
them hope that their outlaw-foes woul be
soon strung up.

.The Desperadoes knew nothing of the ar-
rival in the vicinity of the Rangers, until,
under a guide, they dashed into their strong-
hold one morning at dawn, and then followed
a hard tight, which ended in the killing of
the reater part of them, and the stringing
up 0 the few prisoners taken. .

The daring chief however managed to
escape, with a few followers, and Sam and a
Ranger by the name of Tiger Bill followed
hot on his trail, for he had seen the Des-
perado Captain shoot down, and as he then
believed,kill one of his best friends in the
band,,and who was a nephew of General
Sam Houston.

Followed hotly by Sam and TigerBill,
and believing that other Rangers were in
their rear, the Desperado Captain bade his

' men separate, and, in the heat of the chase.
/the two Ranger comrades became separated.

But Sam had his eye on the trail of the
outlaw-chief, having noted the peculiar shape
of his horse’s hoofs, and determined to fol—
low him on to the bitter end, for, to avenge
his companion, and capture, or kill the cap
tain would be a proud deed for him to ac-
complish.

Feeling that he was pursued, and not
knowin by how many, the Desperado Cap-

* tain he (1 on along the Brazos, heading

straight for the desert land known as the
Llano Estacado, where he did not believe the
Rangers dare follow him. -

'But Sam was as true on a scent as a blood-
hound, and took .a mental oath not to be
thrown off by fear, or to give up through
fatigue.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
LOST ON THE DEsEiir.

WHEN ni ht came on, Sam hold on to the
trail of the esperado Captain until he could
not see it any longer, and then, as bordermen
.sa , “ camped on his trail.”

{Vith the first dawn of day he was again
following it, and, in spite of every device to

. hide it, was not thrown off.

The horse ridden by the Desperado Cap~
tain was peculiarly shod, wearing a rough
.shoe bn the left forefoot, and smooth shoes
on the other three feet. as though he had
been brought into use before he had been
full shod all round.

'1‘ is enabled Sam to follow him easily, for
the boy had become such an expert trailer,
.-the Rangers looked upon him as a marvel of

- cunning in prairie craft.

, “They’ll not call me Yankee Sam for
'vnothing, if I ferret out this trail,” he mut-
tered, as‘he held on his way, alluding to the
circumstance of being called Yankee Sam,
and Little Yank, by some of his companions
in the troop.
All day he studied that trail for more dili-
' gently than he had a lesson at school, and
‘ again camped on it at night, so thoroughly
',unfati ed, that he was with good reason
called udrskin Sam, for his wiry frame was

untirihg .it seemed.
Black Cloud also seemed not to show signs

' of fatigue, and as the trail appeared fresher,
‘ Sam felt that he must be nearing the end, for
the tracks of the horse ridden by the Desper-
ado Captain, to the experience

eyes of the

 

1young trailer, showed signs of tagging in the
east. '

By noon the great sand desert, the Staked
Plain, the grave of hundreds of brave men,
white and red-skin alike, loomed up before
Sam.

He paused at a stream to fill his canteen,
take along draught and refresh his horse,
and he saw by the tracks that the Desperado
Captain had done the same.

“He’s about two hours ahead, I judge,"
said Sam, as he unliesitatingly mounted and
headed out upon the sea of sand before him.

He had heard the most awful stories of
that death—trap of sand, and yet before him
led a trail, and where that man dared to go,
he, boy though he was, would follow.

Going over a rise, he beheld before him,
miles awa ', a horseman.

One loo , and he recognized the iron-gray
horse he had seen dash through the line of
Rangers with a tall form on his back clad in
Mexican attire, and his face hidden by a
crimson mask.

The horseman looked back, saw him and
drew rein.

He waited, as though for Sam to draw
nearer, and then, seeing that others were not
on his trail, quietly turned his horse to the
right about.

It was a critical moment for Sam.

He knew he was going to measure a boy’s
strength, nerve and daring against a desper~
ate man. ‘ '

But he did not flinch from the ordeal.

Disinounting, he tightened his saddle-
girth, looked to his arms, and remountcd.

The Desperado Captain was not two miles
away, and coming slowly toward him.

But in that few minutes of rest and pre-
paration a change had come upon nature, for
a sandstorni, driven by the wind, was sweep-
ing down upon him.

With the fury of a prairie—fire it came, and
to meet it Sam quickly prepared.

He turned the back of his horse toward it,
and enveloped the animal’s head in a blanket.

Then he wrapped around himself a serape,
covering up his head, and waited.

Only an instant had he to wait, and then
the sandstorm struck the horse and rider,
and with a force and stinging pain upon the
animal that under ordinary circumstances
would have made him dash away with rage
and fright.

But the intelligent animal knew his dan-
ger, and stood motionless.

For a long time the sand storm raged, and
when at last the winds died down, night had
come on, the heavens were overcast, and
Sam felt that he must find his way back to
the hills.

But the sand still scurried savagely about,
and all night long the noble horse wandered,
even his instinct at a loss.

With the dawn only a treeless, dried waste
was visible.

The skies were clear, the wind had lulled,
and the sun soon rose and beat down upon
the plain.

But though the rising of the orb of da
told Sam where the east lay, he knew fu I
well that he was lost upon the Llano Estacado,
and being lost upon that desert, in nine cases
out of ten meant a fearful death.

Nowhere in si ht was the Desperado Cap—
tain, who had led Sam into his trouble, and
it was no wonder the boy murmured:

“ If I die I hope he, too, will suffer all
that I will have to suffer.” .

That was not a Christian wish, but it was
sound human nature.

CHAPTER XX.
MEETING AN OLD FOE. .
To dwell upon the intense sufferings of
Buckskin Sam the three days he was wan-
dering upon the desert would be only to
draw a picture of the misery of a brave fel-
low—being and a noble heart that none would

care to look upon. ‘

 

 

His canteen of water and haversack of
food Sam shared with Black Cloud, and yet
there was but little nourishment for either,
and the gaunt body and painful movements
of the horse, and sunken eyes and haggard
face of the boy, showed how bitterly both
had suffered, and that theifearful strain upon
them left its mark.

At‘ last Sam spied distant timber, and
urged his horse onward.

But he feared it was a hallucination, such
as had come to his fevered brain before, and
hardl ' dared hope, until suddenly Black
Clou pricked up his ears, gave a whinny of
delight, and quickened up his dragging pace
to a trot.

Then Sam gave a yell of joy, and an hour
after horse and rider had their mouths buried
in the limpid waters of a cool and rapidly
running. stream, while above them, to shelter
their heads from the hot sun, were numerous
trees thick with foliage. '

Sam said, in speaking of it afterward, that

he and Black Cloud drank so deeply that the V

stream fell an inch; but the Rangers did not
believe that story, and gave the boy the credit
of telling a good story when he did dodge
the truth.

But they drank until satisfied, and then
Sam lay down to sleep, while his horse fed
upon the rich grass near by.

It was two days before Sam left that spot,
which was a paradise to him, and then both
himself and Black Cloud had fully recuper-
ated, and he set off in search of himself, so
to speak, for he had no idea where he was.

The day following his departure from the
stream that had saved his life, Sam came in
sight of a hacienda, or ranch, and from the
owner discovered where he was, and that he
was not far from a small town that Was as
much Mexican as Texan in the habits and
nationalities of its citizens.

Riding into the place, Sam went to a hotel
and at once took his horse to a stable, when
his eyes suddenly fell upon an iron-gray
steed that riveted his attention.

The animal stood in a stall, above which
hung a superb Mexican saddle and bridle.

Sam asked to have his horse put up and
properly attended to, urging the request by
giving a peso to the Greaser groom, that at
once convinced him Black Cloud would not
suffer, and then vory coolly entered the stall
of the iron-gray. .

Raising his front feet he saw that the ani-
mal had been very recently shod, and in
fact had not been used since the shoeing.

“ Have you a good smith here?" he asked
the Greaser.

“Yes, senor.”

“ I want my horse shod all round, and if

'it can be done as well as this work on the

iron-gray, I’ll pay extra.

“ I suppose this was done here?”

“ Yes, senor, only this morning.”

“ Is the owner of the horse here?"

“ Yes, senor, at the hotel.“

“ Does he live here?"

“ No, senor, he is a stranger, and I think
an Americano.”

Sam asked the stableman no more ques—
tions but entered the hotel.

As he was at supper he saw a man enter -

that caused him to start; but he quickly
went on with his meal, and soon left the

table, without attracting the attention of the _

person.

He went straight out to the stable to see
after his horse, and found that Black Cloud
had been well shod.

While examining the work he heard the
Greaser say: '

“There comes the semi" who owns the
iron-gray. ” .

Sam looked up, caught sight of the man he
had seen at the supper—table, and sprung into
a stall.

The stran r entered the stable and ordered
liis.horse s dled. ‘ ‘ -

“ Going away, senor?" asked the stable boy.

 

 

 

 

,vast w

 

  

 

perfect Spanish

_ i

 

~ mas  ‘ '

 

 

i

“ Oh no, not with a fandango coming off
to-night at which there will be plenty of
pretty Mexican 'rls. . ' r

“ Only going gr a ride to get up a flute-
tion with some of the senoritas,” was the re-
ply, and the stranger mounted and rode
away, saying he would return by dark.

“That man is the one who murdered Cap—
tain Kenedy in New York, and he shall not
escape me now, for he is also the Desperado
Captain. - -

“ I too will go to the fandango,” muttered
Sam, as he came out of his hiding place and
entered into a low and earnest conversation
with the Mexican stable—boy.

CHAPTER XXI.
’ THE FANDANGO.

THE fandango, that the stranger had said
he intended to attend, was one of the grand-
est affairs ever known in that little border
town, and certainly had gathered there all
the pretty senoritas of the place, and from
the ranches'for leagues around.

There were also present some cavaliers,
army-officers, cattle-kings, cowboys and men
of whom nothing was knOwn.

In the stranger who had ridden the iron-
gray horse, Stun had recognized the Des-
perado Captain, whose trail e had followed
upon the desert, and also, the very man
whom he had seen drive a knife into the
back of Captain Kenedy, and Whose marriage
with the beautiful Kate he had thwarted just

 

'in the nick of time.

He had little dreamed that in the Des-
perado Captain he would find an old foe; but
having done so he was determined to capture
him b fair means or foul, for he looked
upon im as upon a mad-dog that should
have no mercy shown him.

Dressed in an elegant Mexican costume,
and looking ve handsome, the Des erado
Captain was in his element at the fan ango,
when his attention was attracted to a pretty,
slenderly-formed girl near him.

“ Who is she?" he asked the one who had

r pointed her out, his eyes wandering to more

beautiful faces present.

“She is the daughter of an Americano
cattle kin , senor, and her father is worth
millionso pesos.

“ She is lately out of a convent, and shy
as a bird, but she wanted to see a fandango,
and her father being awn , she e me
come with her, and I could ut obey. ”

“You?” asked the Desperado Captain,

' with interest. "

“ Yes, senor, for I am the cowboy chief on
one of her father‘s ranches.”

“ Ah! and she is rich, you say?”

“ Worth millions, senor.”

“ What is her name?"

“ Samita Hallaro, senor."

“She dresses very plainly." .

“Yes, senor; but she has jewels, did she
care to wear them.”

“Has she any brothers?”

“ N0, senor.”

:‘ Nor sisters?”

JNO, senor.”

She is the only heir, then, to her father’s
“ ealth?"

She is, senor, and many is the young
ranchero would seek her hand did he know
Who She was. '

“But I promised not to tell, and only
3901‘? to you, senor, because I saw you re-
gardm her so attentively.”

The esperado Captain had-been doing no
such thin , but he said:

. “Yes, was struck with her very lovely
face and form. ~ - _

:: Introduce me, please.”

“Your name, senor?"

“13011 Romero.” .

. A Mexicans, senor?” asked the Mexican
Chlaf 0f cowboys. ,

“ YES, I am a Mexican, dwellin in Texas,
35 you 830," said the Desperado aptain, in

'\

 

“ Well, Don Rsmero, ’1 will present you
to Senorita Hallaro, but I must soon escort
her home, for it is a long ride.” _ r

“ Allow me a dance first.” ,

, “ Yes, senor, if the senorita is willing, and
I suspect that she is, for I have seen her. re
garding you attentively. »

“Ah, senor, it is a fine thing to be hand-
some, as you are,” and the Greaser sighed.

The Desperado Captain was presented to
the Senorita Samita Hallaro, and instantly
he became her devoted slave.

They danced together. continuously, and
they danced well, for she was as graceful as
a gazelle. .

She was well-dreSsed, though not richly,
and wore no jewels, not even in her ears. ,

At last she said she must start home, for
she confessed frankly she had run off to
come to the fandango, and had made the
cowboy chief accompany her.

She had seemed deeply impressed with the
Desperado Captain, as he had been with her
—-money; but he also found in her a bright,
pretty girl, shy but witty, and one that
seemed most trusting in her innocence, and
he said to himself:

“ That getting lost on the desert was lucky
for me, as I am not known here at all, and I
shall make this girl my wife and leave this
country and live on her mone , for if I do
not, a rope will be my end, as can see more
plainly each day.

“ I can slip back to my stronghold, dig up
my treasure, and with it play the wealthy
American traveler and throw dust in the
eyes of her old father.

“ Yes, I will visit her to—morrow.”

“ Senor,'~I wish on were going home with
me," said the mai on with frank innocence.

“ I will do so with pleasure, if you will al-
low me. ” x -

“ Gladly, and I will confess to my father
just what I did and how I met you, and you
are such a gentleman I know he will be glad
to know you.”

“ I will have \my horse gotten ready and

join Cyou. ”
_“ h, I am so glad, and Pedro and myself
Will join you at the door.”
en minutes after the youn girl rode out
of the town with the Despera o ather side,
and Pedro, the cowboy chief, following a
few paces behind, seemingly not anxious to
disturb the teta-a—tete of two persons who
seemed to be deeply interested in each other.

 

CHAPTER XXII.
A SURPRISE PARTY.

MORE and more pleased with the heiress to
millions of pesos, the Desperado Captain rode
along with no idea as to distance, until Samita
Hallaro suddenly asked him to kindly dis-
mount and arrange her stirrup—leather, which,
he was glad to do;

“Permit me, senor,” said Pedro, riding up
quickly, as though willing to save the cave-
lier the trouble.

“ No, Pedro, the senor understands better
what to do; but you hold his horse,” res
marked the Senorita Samita, quietly.

Pedro at once took the rein of the horse,
and the pretended Don Ramero lengthened
the sti p-leather to suit, at the same time
giving t e small, neatly-gaitered foot a slight
squeeZe. .

“ I am really tired, so sup ose we halt for
a short rest,” said Senorita smite. ‘

It was a beautiful ni ht, the moon shining
with silvery luster, an the three halted to
rest beneath the spreading branches of a. live-
oak tree.

Pedro led the horses aside, and Senorita
Ssmita began to ask Don Romero if he liked
the wild hfe of Texas. I ’ ,

“ And do you 'go‘ minted, senor, as do
others that I meet here?” she asked. » , , -

f‘ Necessit \ compels it, , senorita, as,
Will know w on you have become mere in-t

- round.

you hadreceiVed

 

insured-into life outside of a. convent." ‘

“I wish I was" a good shot,.and'I shall
get you to teach me, senor, if you only
will. ’ - ' r

“ With more than pleasure, senori ;”

“ Are yours large revolvers?” ‘

“ You shall see them.” 4 ‘ .

He took two fine revolvers from beneath

er. , , _
“ They are dangerous-looking, and I hope

they are not loaded,” she said, with a shud-

der.
“They would be useless were they not,
senorita.” V . ~
She took them timidly, one in each hand,

and suddenly presented them at his head, .

while she said, sternly: ;
“ You are my prisoner, sir.” 1
The Desperado was sur rised at her sudden

his jacket as he spoke' and showed them 
h

153,

act and manner, yet coul not believe her in I '

earnest, and said, deprecatingly: »
“ I beg on not to trifle with such deadl
weapons, norita‘Samita.” ‘

“ I am not trifling, my gallant Desperado ‘

Captain, alias Ray Ramsey.

“ You are my prisoner.”

He turned deadly pale, as she saw in the"
moonlight, and seemed about to spring upon -

her, and then risk a shot, when a. lasso was
thrown suddenly over his head and his. arms
were pinioned to his side, while Pedro said:
sternly:

“The Senorita Samita Hallaro speaks the D

truth, senor, for you are a prisoner."

“ What means this outrage?” cried the 111-:
snared man, in a fury. - ' '

“ It is no outrage, but justice, senor,” said
Samita.

“ Who, and what, are you ‘2” he hissed
forth, glaring upon her. .

“I’ll answer your last question first, b
saying I am a. Texas Ranger, and, like you
have an alike, it bein Samita. Hallaro- but
my real name is Sam all, also called tithe
Yank, and Buckskin Sam, and I am at your
service." \

“ You, that accursed boy?”

“ Yes, senor."

“ You a man “I”

“ No, only a boy.”

“ It is impossible.” -

“ Oh no, for I have played girl puts be-
fore, and am used to petticoats. ' ‘

“ In fact I think I make a better-loom ‘
girl, than boy, especially when, as Pedro to

you“, I am the heiress to millions as Same-its '

ward-

“ But I've caught you, old man, and if the
Rangers don’t have a jubilee over the capture
of the Desperado Captain, I’m mistaken.

“I tell you it will be a surprise partyall

“ Won’t it Pedro?"
“ It will, Senor Sam,” answered Pedmv

who was none other than the Grease:- stable-

boy whom Buckskin Sam had taken into  l

., .

service through bribery, and ‘ with his aid
gotten feminine garb and so well played the
part to capture his enemy. "
Havi
the next ng was to get him in safety to the
Rangers’ camp, which Sam ho ed to find in
tshai neighborhood of Fort anon or San
a. '
Having changed his femininevsttire for his
own clothes; which Pedro had on his horse,
and put his own saddle on Black Cloud, for

the Mexican was riding it, Buckskin Berni

made the Desperado Captain mount the side
saddle he had been riding, and securely
bound him to it, at the same time

otten possession of his prisoner, ,

him efiectuall , to prevent any outcry to per- 

sons they mig t meet. , _
“Now, senor, we are ready for the road,
and we'll travel by night and rest b day, to
avoid trouble," said Sam, and e ' y
moved on once more, the boy trim
the Mexican re oicing over the l

, Li. J
bgbe‘h‘e
crhisservices,an the Des~'

perado Captain full of revengeful m  

_ thoughts against hm young capto’r. " .. A ‘

 

 

  

1‘4

 

‘ Plaza and Plain.

 

=5
, CHAPTER XXIII.
nonnnn JUSTICE.

, UNTIL after sunrise Sam continued his
way toward Fort Mason, and then, afraid of
meeting those to whom he could not give a
correct account of his prisoner, for fear they
might release him, he went into a chaparral
to campiuntil nightfall.

Hz The exlcan prepared breakfast, and both

)1 A 2 he and Sam par-took heartily of it, but the

Desperado Captain refused food.

Seeing that his prisoner was securely
bound, am laid down near him to rest, and
was soon fast asleep.

' Perhaps it was instinct that awakened
him, but he oIpened his eyes to find the Mexi-
can cautious y severing the bonds of the

Desgierado Captain, who, takin advantage

of am’s being sound asleep, ad oflered

Pedro a sum to release him, which his avari-

cions nature was unable to resist.

The instant Sam's eyes. fell upon the start-
ling sight he was wide awake, and his hand

‘ yes upon a weapon as ‘he half-sprung to his
eet.

The Desperado Captain saw his act and
cried out in warning, and with his drawn
knife the Mexican turned upon the boy,
while the Prisoner struggled fiercely to release
himself 0 his remaining bonds.

But the rin of Sam’s pistol was the death-
knell of the exican, and he sprung up into
the air and fell upon the young Ranger with
a force that knoc ed him down.

‘ But he cast from him the dead body, and

spfinging forward, thrust his revolver against

the heart of the Desperado Captain, just as
he had nearly succeeded in freeing himself
of his bonds.

“ Not so fast, old man, or a bullet will
at? you,” cried the young Ranger.

‘ , muttered curse broke from the lips of
- v the foiled man, and he submitted to be once
more securely bound.

For the next two days and nights Sam did
not sleep, but kept a watch on his prisoner,
and at last arriVed in si ht of San Saba,
I .where, to his joy, he foun several of Burle-

r son’s Rangers, who greeted him with yells of

:1.  delightfand told him the entire band was en-

camped some twenty-five miles away, they
having been sent there with dispatches.

Sam concluded not to await the time of
their return, and pressed on toward Fort Ma-
son. '

He had not gone five miles, when, to his
horror, he saw a band of forty Comanches
coming toward him with wild yells.

Black Cloud he kneW‘was able to leave
them behind in a run, but he was Ileading

‘ , I Pedro’s mustang on one side, and the iron-

,gra of the Desperado Captaih on the other,
‘ an would be retarded in the race for life.
The mustan he could cut loose if his pace
,was slow; but e would swing to the iron-
,‘ 'g'raytothelast. , ‘
’ “ Comet” he cried, and the three horses
bounded away together. .
=Itywas soon eVIdent that the mustang of
the dead ,Pedro‘was no' match for the iron-
gray and Black Cloud, and Sam quick]
transferred his traps from his back to his
own horse, and cut him loose.
Side by side Black Cloud and the splendid
1 animal of the Desperado Captain ran, and it
was evident that they were dropping the Co-
, 'manches ra idly. v
This the esperado saw, and glancing earn-
estly at the pursuing Indians, who were not
a quarter of a mile awa , he said:
“Boy, I know that and, and they know
'me as an ally, and I can save you. " V
“I don't ask on to.”
I “But you wi be scalped.”
“ Got to catch me first.”
"‘01:, they'll do that, for their horses are
fresh.”
Sam knew that they were not as tagged as
r ' was Cloud and the iron-gr , but he s“fight
‘ , he could hold his own tofiou, and :

/

 

 

“I guess not, for we are leaving them
now." .

“Hold, Grsywolft" .
The words were addressed to the iron-gra
by the Desperado Captain, and the resut
was a surprise to Sam, for the well-trained

animal came to a sudden halt.

Furious at him for obeyin his master, Sam
laid the lariat upon him har , but he obeyed
the voice of his rider more than the lash, and
simply reared and turned, but would not go
forward once more. ,

Sam was in despair, for the Comanches
were comin forward with renewed speed,
and wild e s broke from them.

He cou d escape he knew; but the thought
of giving up his prisoner was something he
would not entertain.

Nearer and nearer came the red—skins, and
to check them Sam threw his rifle forward
and fired.

Down went a pony, hurling his rider far
over his head.

But it did not check the band, and the
young Ranger knew it would be more than
madness to stand and fight them. I _

But suddenly he wheeled toward his
prisoner, and placing his revolver hard
against his head, said savagely:

“If you don’t urge your horse into a run
I’ll kill ou.” _

The esperado Captain saw that the boy
meant it, and being one who believed that
“while there is life there is hope,” he at
once spoke to his well—trained horse, and the
animal bounded forward once more in a
rapid min, and to Sam’s joy, he saw they
were gaining. -

“ I you try that trick a sin look out,” he
said threateningly, to the esperado Captain
who turned his head several times to look
back at the Comanches.

But the Indians seemed determined not to

ive up the chase until Mason. Barracks were
In sight, and then they drew rein sullenly,
just as two score gallant Ran rers dashed out
of a copse of timber with wil cries.

It was evidently a surprise to the Com-
anches, who had not believed the Rangers in
that neighborhood, and they turned and tied
in wild confusion. '

Pursuing u on their fresh horses the
Rangers gainc rapidly, and determined not
to be left out, Sam went to the rightabout
and gave chase too, still holding firmly to
the lariat that held the iron-gray.
~ In a short while the Rangers brou ht the
Comanches to buy and a hot fight fol owed,
which resulted in a complete victory for the
Texans, though Sam got a wound in the, leg.

After the battle the Rangers escorted Sam
and his prisoner back to camp, where the
boy was greeted with wild yells of welcome
for he had been believed to be dead.

But when he told his story, and made
known who his prisoner was, the Rangers
were, almost beside themselves with delight,
and Ca tain Burleson called atrial at once
for the esperado Captain.

Of course Ra Ramse denied Sam’s
.charges against him; but t ere were others
there who knew him as the ranchero who
had tried to deceive Kate Kcned , and the
result Was he was found ilty an sentenced
to die at sunset, for the fingers did not be-
lieve in losing time.

And at sunset he died, swung up to a tree
with a lariat around his neck, and Sam fell
heir to his splendid horse, weapons and traps.

CHAPTER XXIV.
MATCHING INDIAN GUN ING.

Bucxser SAM returned to San Antonio
after the hang;ng of the Des erado Captain,
for he was s ering consi erably from his
wound.

He found Joe Booth had enlar ed their
ranch and added to the number of cat.
tie and onies, and things looked most pros-
perous or the boy rancheros. ‘ '

Of course Searfound himself a still greater

1
l

 

 

hero in San Antonio, and, as soon ashe was ‘
able, he again joined the Ran ers and went
with them upon a march to ichita Moun-
tains, and when on guard one night was at-
tacked by a large black bear, with which he
had a desperate fight, but succeeded in kills
ing with his knife.‘ .

Sam, however, was little better than the
dead bear when the fight ended, and had to
be carried all the way back to San Antonio
by his faithful comrades, who would not
leave him to die. _

But in a few weeks after his return he was
again in the saddle, and had a race with a
prairie-fire that nearly ended his career then
and there, for his horse, the faithful Flyin
Arrow, was so severely burned that he he
to shoot him, and the blankets he had
wrap ed around himself fell to pieces when
his faithful, dyin , straining Arrow staggered
into a stream an thus saved his young mas-
ter.

Nothing daunted however by the dangers
he had faced, Buckskin Sam again joined the
Rangers on a march into the Indian country,
and one night, while on guard, played a
trick on a darin Indian that was greatly ap-
plauded by the sirens.

It seems that Sam saw a red-skin cautious-
ly creeping upon the prairie, toward the tim-
ber where he stood arding the horses of
the band, and he hid in the shadow of a tree
to see what the Indian was up to.

Like a snake the savage crawled to the
timber, and reaching the first horse belongin
to the Rangers, severed the rope that held
him to a tree, with a knife that was as sharp
as a razor.

Then he went to the next, and the next,
cuttin each horse loose, though not one of
the animals was aware of his freedom.

As the red-skin got half-a-dozen horses
away, Sam followed him, and quickly tied
the ends of the several ropes, thus securing
the horses again, almost as fast as they were
cut loose.

After the red-skin had cut the ropes of
over sixty horses, he laid down in the timber
and began to crawl back upon theprairie.

As he did so, Sam turned and lided to-
ward the sleeping Rangers, a bun red paces
distant and bade them rise and follow him
noiselessly. . ‘

Like shadows they followed after, and
hardly had they reached the horses when 8.
Coyote bark was heard off on the prairie,
and instantly it was answered from further
away. ‘ - '
Shortly after, dark forms were seen com-
ing toward the timber, and half a hundred
mounted warriors were visible, leading their
ponies. v

Nearer and nearer they came until when
within a hundred feet of the timber, they
sprun upon the backs of their ponies, and
desire forward with yells like fiends from
the infernal regions.

They had expected to stampede all of the
horses of the Texans, after the clever and
daring work of the warrior in cutting the
ropes, and thus have the Rangers dismounted
upon the prairie. far from help, and wholly
at their mercy.

But Sam’s cunning had thwarted them,
and instead they beheld a sheet of flame
burst forth from the dark timber, and one-
third of their warriors and ponies went dOWn,
while the remainder turned in wild dismay,
followed by the fierce Ran ers.

This act of Sam‘s gaine him still greater
notoriety, and when, shortly after, the eiv11
war between North and South broke out,
he was made Chief Scout of a Confederate
command, and was engaged in man desper-
ate border battles, in one of which, 1; e Lipan
fi ht on the Canadian, he first met the famous

opthern scout and Indian-fighter, Buffalo
Bil. I

Meeting as they did under 3 fl of truce,
at the burial of a man who been the
comrade of both of them, having heard many

 

 

 

\

Plaza and Plain.

I, 15

 

 

swild story told of each other around the
camp-fires, these two frontier heroes buried
the hatchet between them, and became fast
friends from that day, and I may safely say
that nothing has ever broken the link of
friendship then formed between them.

Thou h Buffalo Bill served under the
“ Star pangied Banner," and with a heroism
that is a matter of history, and Buckskin
Sam upheld the tattered “Bonnie Blue Flag "
of the “ Lost Cause." the latter regarded the
Union Scout with the same kindness that he
did his comrade in arms, the lamented Texas
Jack, to whose memory he wrote the follow-
ing beautiful lines:

BUCKSHN SAM'S TRIBUTE TO TEXAS JACK.
I * ~ 3 t I *
$31101: will heaturlil: the mild stem 0

w 00 an ye on g 0 ing '
No more t e the red-man’s Igoccaslned track,
’Mid bowostring‘s twang and riflo's crack;
NO more with rare ski] his lasso whirl,
Or thro h the air his dread bowie hurl:
No more oised on the mustang‘s back,
And drive wild hudson the northern track;
‘No more the “ black snake " deftl swing;
No more on the Lianos will his ri o ring—
The far—awn trails his feet have trod
Will know in no more—he has gone to Godl
s o a- t t o
Lay him to rest in his narrow home
Beneath the sky, earth's natural dome,
Where Southern verdure luxuriant grows,
Ne'er withered by icy Northern snows;
There, ’neath the Sganish moss and pine,
Where myriads of owering creepers twine,
Let him repose in Nature‘s wild,
Flt resting-place for Nature’s child.
There would I dig in bank,,
Afar from noisy cow- lls clack.
Where oft the red‘man leaves his track,
A fitting grave for Texas J wk.
‘ There would I lay him down to rest
Amid the scenes that he loved best;
I’d dig his lone grave ion and wide,
And in his ride by his 5! e;
I‘d coi his inriat 'round his feet,
His scrape use tor a winding sheet.
I t I it t ‘
But be his grave in wildwood made
Orin the city’s busy mart.
Carve on the stone, in words of gold,
“ mas A Noam: mar}

 

CHAPTER XXV.
CONCLUSION.

Or the gallant service of Buckskin Sam
while "wearing the gray ” I will not speak,
as it is best to

" t t d t
tar:er
where the battles were between the North-
land and the Southland.

But, incapacitated by wounds from active
service for awhile, Sam returned to Texas to
find that Joe Booth had deserted the ranch to
become a soldier, and had won the well-
dcserved title of Reckless Joe for his daring
deeds. -

With What money he had saved, Buckskin
Sam invested in the hotel business, becoming
the youthful and popular proprietor of the
Moodie House of San Antonio.

But being “mine host" suited Sam until
Cortina, known as the Swamp Fox and Cor-
tina El Ranchero, invaded Texas with a large
force of Mexicans, and then he went to the
front once more, splendidly armed and
mounfied. and oined Donaldson’s Ran ers,
of which band c was delighted to flu his
old friend, Reckless Joe, also a member.

The several com anies of dashing Rangers,
an under 0010391 0rd, marched for the Rio
Gmrgde. occupied Brownsville and took the
ills-river] tfiailnleavinighelr réd mark upon

e crue emcaua w ‘had -_
iesjsily :ith Texans. dealt so mar“

s t e colonel wished for rtic ' '
from the Mexican camp, Bneg:skiiilaS‘atir‘ii 13518-
unteered as a spy, and swam the Rio Grande at
night and entered Matamoras, and returned
With most important news.

Upon a second attempt he was ca tured,
but Pmtending to be a Mexican, and ooking
like one, as well as speaking the language

Ffectly. while he told a stra' ht story of

escape from the fierce Texas gore, he

1’88 taken to Cortina, who questioned him

 

closely and then made him a courier on his
stair. r

For some weeks Sam was forced to accept
this position, being unable to escape; but he
sought to gain all the information possible,
and was p anning an escape, when one day
he was recognized by some Memcans who
knew him and denounced him as an American

s .

pSam well knew his instant death would
follow, and to throw himself upon the back
of a splendid steed that belonged to Cortina,
and dash away, was the work of an instant.

He was quickl followed and a warm
chase was the res t, in which Sam did some
deadly flrin , and was himself twice wound-
ed, as was a his horse. ,

But he reached the Rio Grande, urged the
failing animal into the turbid stream and
swam for the other shore. ‘

But his horse sunk under him ere he got
half across and he had to trust-wholly in
himself and reached the opposite bank just
as some Rangers dashed up and drove back
his pursuers. '

But to_ dwell upon the wild, daring life of
Buckskin Sam, in the thousand-and-one dan-
gers he successfully met, would make a dozen
books such as this, and appear like one long
romance, and story of fiction, though in
reality stern truth, so I will bring my story
to an end with the information that my hero
still lives, and is only debarred from roving
the South-west prairies as of yore, from i] -
health, brought on by exposure, hardships,
and the wounds he has received. '

Joe Booth—Reckless Joe—is also alive,
and the author has often met the two pards
together, in Buckskin Sam’s home, and heard
them talk over the thrilling perils they had
known in the grand old Lone Star State.

THE END.

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