nts. the will ced Le W tel ates .¥. Cc. at_- steel $5.00 a8 r 10ce. CITY, Kact the AZo, ol a man sign ery (di to end. nips Vea ‘1ut- Lter il be elpt this irre Oc. onal who ated. ents, dian ricks le rs, 3, by ork. JOD iree, trac- r-Six rhe aud loth ch. vill be ARY york: ee low's jaree ttle > om ee eee nite “4 fone os r+ ta 4 5 } Ge wR a 7 % yu i r a aaa eres - so = se petien PS EET pe ae. chee ae Stee = aes Aen aig = fa 4000, VEN ys Booces—— VERY. QUARTER: Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1895, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. KREG... KG — Entered as Second-class Matter at the New Yori, N.Y., Post-Offce. ) nha § r i ab ili \ iN) \ 17, Y, WT 1 If | SY Vol. 11. io Roce Bhioen UT Now, wok: New York, June 1, 1895. eel ero No. 265. LOYAL TO NAPOLEON: _THE YOUNG SPY OF FOUCHE. BY ALFRED ARMITAGE, Author of “With Crusader and Saracen” and “In the Days of the Gladiators.” CHAPTER I. | home of wealthy planters and toiling black | slaves—the land of the succulent sugar-cane THE NEWS FROM FRANCE land of the terrible and deadly for-de-lance, wy that little wriggling serpent of the countless 7t~, N no part of the globe does nature | colors and spiteful tongue. Ca spread out its riches more lavishly On the morning of a hot July day in the thas in the islands of the West | year 1804—famous year in the annals of his- “<4” Indies, and among them all none is|tory—the tropical sun was shining on a fairer than the Isle of Martinique. It is | handsome white-walled villa that lay some beautiful and entrancing to-day, and it was | miles back from the west coast of Martin- perhaps more so ninety years ago. Then, as|ique. The house was built low for protection now, it belonged to France, and was the! from hurricanes, and it was well hidden ee =. “STOp hy CRIED LUCIEN, AS HE STRUGGLED FIERCELY WITH THE SLAVES WHO HELD HIM. “I WARN YOU TO STOP IN TIME, MONSIEUR ST. MAUR.” 4226 from the heat by green lattice shutters, and wide porches, and a profusion of vines and trees, On the front veranda, filling an easy- chair with his portly figure, sat the planter himself. He was smoking a long-stemmed pipe, and he madea pleasing and aristo- eratic picture in his loose white clothing, his polished boots, and broad-brimmed hat. Henri St. Maur wasa man of fifty, and the blood of one of the oldest and proudest families of France flowed in his veins. It could be seen that he had not forgotten this fact, even after years of voluntary exile from his native land. His beard and mus- tache were exquisitely pointed and curled, his hands were white and well-kept, and there was just a suspicion of sunburn on his plump cheeks. His features were haughty and fierce, and there was a look of. craft in his eyes. It must be confessed that Henri St. Maur had not lived up to the honorable traditions of his family; the pursuit of wealth had made him unscrupulous, and there was more than one black page in his life. So to-day he was. rich—richer, perhaps, than any one on the island. He owned a number of plantations, and the one on which he now resided was the largest and most valuable. He had long held heavy mortgages on it, and a year ago it had come into his possession through the sudden death of the nominal owners, Philip Bellair and his wife, This unfortunate couple left one child, a lad of sixteen, and St. Maur adopted young Lucien. He did so out of pity, he was wont to say, but there may have been a deeper motive. The planter’s wife was dead, and he had a son of his own who was just Lucien’s age. Jules St. Maur was a slim, black-haired lad, and he had inherited. his father’s haughty and passionate temper. It may be imagined that he and Lucien did not get along amicably, since both were proud and high-spirited. From the veranda where the planter now sat smoking he could look out upon a scene of wonderful and variegated beauty. In front of him stretched a garden abounding in rare plants, stone grottoes, terraces, splashing fountains and marble steps. Be- yond that, down the valley leading to the seaport town of St. Pierre, troops of half- naked negroes were toiling in the cane- fields, guarded by watchful overseers. To right and left towered mountains of richest green, and overhead the sun shone from a = of dazzling blue. ut of none of these things was Henri St. Maur thinking. Truth to tell, he was heart- ily sick of Martinique. He was rick*now, and he wanted to go home to France. But that had been impossible for years past, and was still so. He belonged to a Royalist family, and some of his relatives had per- ished on the guillotine in 1794. The restora- tion of the monarchy seemed as far off as ever, and though he might have returned to France in safety, his pride would not permit him to do so while the First Consul—the offspring of the revolution—stood in the place of the murdered king. So absorbed was the planter in his bitter reflections that he did not hear footsteps be- bind him, and he started when a hand touched his elbow.. He looked up to see Jules standing beside him. The lad made a ee picture in his cool white linen, with is bronzed cheeks and curly hair. ‘‘At last, sluggard,’’ exclaimed the planter, ina tone of mock severity. ‘‘So you have overslept yourself again! And ucien was off for St. Pierre. four hours ago. Ay, and by this time he should be back.’’ ‘‘He is coming now, father,’’ said Jules. ‘*Look yonder,’' He pointed toa little cloud of dust that was visible on the road beyond the end of the garden, The planter rose, took a long look, and sat down again. ‘‘Why don’t the lad hurry?’’ he muttered. ‘*He knows how impatient I am,’’ The dust rolled nearer, and out of it loomed a figure on horseback. Into the garden and up the drive cantered steed and rider, the latter a well-built youth, with at- tractive features, blue eyes, and hair of a rich-brown color, He was grimy with dust and perspiration. As Lucien dismounted before the porch a coal-black little negro ran around the corner of the house and took the horse’s bridle. This was Spado, formerly the property of Philip Bellair. From the time he began to crawl he had been devotedly attached to Lucien, and now he had two young masters to serve. But Spado secretly disliked and hated Jules, though he took good care to hide the fact. ‘*You should have been back half an hour ago, Lucien,’’ grumbled the planter. ‘‘What have you brought me? Quick!’? Lucien handed him a packet of letters and papers, ‘‘A vessel arrived last night,’’ he said, in ‘a voice that was full of repressed joy, ‘‘and the town was in a state of excitement. I stopped to talk to Monsieur Dupont and to hear the salute fired from the fortress.’? ‘*The salute??? Jules exclaimed, in sur- prise. : Lucien nodded as he sat down on the porch, and began to fan himself with his / Qj aD | broad-brimmed hat. He dared not trust himself to say more, though the eager sparkle in his eyes betrayed his feelings. Meanwhile, Henri St. Maur had glanced at the papers, and his trembling hands had torn open one of the letters. Now, hissing an oath from between his set teeth, he leaped out of the chair and began to tramp up and down the porch. His face was fairly purple with passion, and his breath came in sonorous puffs. ‘‘What is the matter, father?’’ Jules asked, in alarm. ‘*Knough; my boy,’’ the planter cried, hoarsely. ‘‘ Alas, poor France! Not content with the power he has already stolen, this Corsican upstart, Napoleon Bonaparte, has proclaimed himself emperor for life. Was ever such a dastardly trick? It makes my blood boil. Are there no true Frenchmen left to overthrow this boor of a tyrant—this king-killer—this low gutterling who has fouled the fair name of France?”’ ‘The emperor will be chosen by the votes of the people,’’? spoke Lucien, as he rose to his feet. ‘*They are all pleased down at St. Pierre.’? ‘*Silence, boy!’’ thundered the planter. ‘*You know not what you say. It is a mockery to talk of the vote of the people. Here is a letter that reveals the truth. Bonaparte intends to steal the throne—to make the people cast their ballots for him in the presence of loaded guns and drawn swords. What will this impious man do next??? Rage choked the planter’s voice for a mo- ment, and then he turned to his son. ‘tT will live and die an exile,’’ he cried; ‘*but I consecrate you, Jules, to the service of your country. A time is sure to come when the downtrodden Frenchmen will rise, and your place shall be with them. You shall help to restore the monarchy—to seat the descendants of Louis upon the throne.’’ ‘*T_ will be ready, father,’’ replied Jules, and there was a look in his eyes that proved his sincerity. Lucien could contain himself no longer. ‘*Why do you wish to see France plunged in evil war again?’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘Mon- sieur Dupont says that the people are hap- pier than they have ever been, and more prosperous, And when has such glory and triumph crowned the arms of France as under the republic and the consulship? And this is only the beginning——’’ “Stop, fool!’ interrupted the planter, as he raised his arm threateningly. ‘‘Do not drive me beyond endurance, So you, young as you are, have imbibed vile treason from your father and this base-born schoolmaster, Paul Dupont! You are no fit companion for my son—no decent inmate for this house.’’ ‘*I¢ is you who are talking treason—not I,’? Lucien went on, fearlessly. ‘‘Napoleon is a great man, and he has ruled France well and wisely. You should feel proud to remember that Josephine, who was born and lived. down yonder in St. Pierre, is now the empress. For my father’s sake I would like to write and tell her how pleased Iam, Had he lived he would be in Paris now, and I with him. Nota year passed but Josephine wrote him a kind letter, offering him posi- tion and fortune under her husband.”’ ‘‘Josephine!’’? cried the planter, in a sneering tone. ‘‘The creole, with the muddy complexion, who used to run barefooted along the shore with the scum of St. Pierre —the daughter of old Pagerie, the port cap- tain! She is a cunning creature, 1 admit. She first entrapped the Viscomte Beauhar- nais, and when the poor fellow perished on the guillotine, she cast her toils for this Corsican boor—an officer of the government that slew her first husband. Bah! to think of such a one as the Empress of France!?’ Lucien’s face was very pale. ‘Be careful, Monsieur St. Maur,’’ he said. ‘You are speaking of one whom I love and respect. Josephine was a dear friend of my parents. As you know, my father saved her from drowning when she was a child, and she never forgot it.’’ ‘‘He had better left her to perish!’’ snarled the planter, taking a menacing step nearer the lad. ‘‘Sir, you forget yourself,’’ cried Lucien. ‘‘The Empress Josephine is an honor to France, She is as well-fitted by birth and culture to play her part as were any of the great ladies that belonged to the court of the guillotined king, Louis XVI.’’ The planter’s face grew livid. ‘*My mother was of that court,’’ he cried. ‘*How dare you compare her to this yellow- skinned adventuress of the gutters?’ On the passionate spur of the moment he lifted his hand and struck Lucien a hard blow across the cheek. The indignity more than the pain roused the lad to madness. He instantly attempted to strike back, but the planter caught his arms, and for a moment they struggled over the porch. Then Jules interfered. He had a slender riding-whip in his hand, and with all his might he curled the lash around Lucien’s ankles. At the same instant there was a sharp cry from Spado, who had lingered with the horse to hear the discussion. This double assault on his young master was more than the devoted little negro could endure. Letting go of the bridle he sprang NEWS. they grappled with each other. They fell to | the porch, and then rolled down the steps to the ground. CHAPTER II. LUCIEN DEFIES THE PLANTER. r \ ye SHE moment he saw what was going ‘2 on, Henri St. Maur jerked Lucien out q 4°\ at arm’s length, and then swung him 7° with all his might to one side. The lad’s hold was broken, and he flew across the porch, striking his head on a shutter with such violence as to partially stun him, The infuriated planter next turned his attention to the combatants on the ground. He forced them roughly apart, and grasping Spado by the collar, he shook him until his teeth chattered. ‘*Call the overseer, Jules,’’ he cried, Jules paid no attention to his father’s command. A glance at his soiled clothing and hands added fuel to his anger. He was smarting with pain and indignation, and he wanted to take his revenge out of somebody. He dealt Spado a hard kick and then sprang up the steps to attack Lucien, remembering that he was the one most deserving of punishment. By this time Lucien was on his feet and had picked up the riding-whip. His face was white with passion, and there was a men- acing look in his eyes. As he stood there at guard his attitude seemed to say as plainly as words, ‘‘Touch me if you dare.”’ So Jules prudently stopped in the middle of the porch, and for a moment the two lads confronted each other savagely. Then the planter brutally dashed the little negro to the ground, and drawing a silver whistle from his pocket, he blew a shrill blast. The summons was answered immediately by a shout, and half a dozen huge negroes came running up the garden path from the cane-field. At their head was a black over- seer named Hercules—a cruel, vindictive fellow, who was the terror of: all the slaves on the plantation. He carried a heavy whip in his hand. ‘*You’re going to catch it now, Master Lucien,’’ snarled Jules, as he retreated to his father’s side. ‘‘ You and your dear Spado will be taught a lesson.’’ ‘*Hercules,’’ cried the planter, in a voice that quivered with rage, ‘‘have these two mutinous dogs soundly whipped at once. They made a murderous attack upon me and my son.’? ‘‘Who you mean, master?’’ asked the overseer. ‘‘This here Spado?’’ ‘‘Of course, blockhead,’’ shouted the planter. ‘‘Did I not say so?’’ Hercules looked doubtfully at Lucien. go ‘‘And young Master Bellair, too?’’ he. muttered, in surprise. ‘*Both of them,’’ roared the planter. ‘*Quick! give them twenty lashes apiece,’’ ‘* And Taye them on hard, Hercules,’’ added Jules. A cruel smile wrinkled the overseer’s face as he understood the situation. He made signs to three of his men, who instantly mounted the porch to seize Lucien. The lad had stood his ground, being too proud to es- cape, but he made a fierce resistance. He struck a couple of stinging blows with the riding-whip, and when that was snatched from him he fought with hands and feet until he was overpowered and dragged off the porch to the ground. Spado was standing on his feet, witha slave holding him at each side. The little negro was trembling violently, but he had rare pluck. Not acry or whimper escaped him as he glanced appealingly at Lucien, for whose sake he was about to suffer a ter- | rible punishment. At a sign from the planter, Hercules stood behind Spado and lifted the cruel whip. Jules moved to a better position, so that he might gloat over every torturing stroke. ‘*Monsieur St. Maur,’’ Lucien. suddenly exclaimed, ‘‘I beg that you will think well before you pony Spado. It was in my de- fence that he struck Jules. He did it ina moment of madness, and because he has al- ways loved me as a faithful dog. Nor am I to blame for my share in the trouble. I am a gentleman’s son, and you so far forgot yourself as to strike me in the face. Such an insult is not easily wiped out, but I will overlook it all on condition that you pardon Spado.’’ ‘“*You are truly generous,’’ sneered the planter. ‘‘You are a gentleman’s son! Bah! you beggarly brat! you are dependent upon my bounty for the very bread you eat and the clothes on your back. I gave you a home out of kindness, and I find I have been nursing a viper.’? ‘*It shall be my home no longer,’’ cried Lucien. ‘‘Command your slaves to release me, and I will never darken your door again. The world is wide, and I need not look to Martinique for friends.’ The planter laughed mockingly and nodded to Hercules. The whip rose and fell with a whistling sound, and poor Spado gave acry of agony as the lash raised a livid welt on his bare back. Down came the i again, and this time the scream was louder. ‘*Stop!’? cried Lucien, as he struggled fiercely with the slaves who held him. ‘‘I forward and wrested the whip from Jules. ; warn you to stop in time, Monsieur St. The latter turned upon him savagely, and Maur. If that whip falls once mare, every | 1 | | | word you spoke this morning shall come to the ears of the Governor of St. Pierre. The emperor rules Martinique as well as France, and he has a way of dealing with Royalist traitors, And I willdo more than this. I will take legal steps to find out whether this plantation belongs to me orto you. What became of the money my father saved to pay off his debt to you?’’ The planter made a step forward and stopped. Both rage and fear were, stamped on his livid countenance, and had looks been able to kill, Lucien must have fallen dead. ‘“You dare to threaten me?’ he cried, hoarsely. ‘‘You shall pay dearly for this!’? ‘‘Don’t mind him, father,’’ said Jules. ‘‘Wait until his turn comes with the lash. He will beg for mercy fast enough then.”’ ‘*He shall be punished,’’ the planter mut- tered, in an undertone, ‘‘but not now—not now. We must be prudent, Jules. This ter- rible Fouche, the minister of Bonaparte, is said to have his police spies even at St. Pierre. And that scoundrel Dupont may give us trouble if he and Lucien get their heads together. But I will guard against that. I am not a man to be turned from my purpose. ’’ He turned savagely to Lucien. ‘‘1 will find a way to break your spirit, you impudent dog! You shall lie in one of the foul cellars yonder until you are ready to creep on your knees and beg for pardon. And not until then shall you come out.?’ He stepped aside, beckoning the overseer to follow, : ‘*Hercules,’’? he whispered, ‘‘at daybreak to-morrow have all the slaves drawn up in quarters, and give Spado thirty lashes in their presence. It will show them how I punish insubordination. And hereafter see that the lad does a man’s full work in the cane fields, This lazy life about the house has ruined him.’’ ‘*Yes, master,’’ replied the negro, wreath- ing his ugly face in a smile of satisfaction, ‘it shall be done. I will take the laziness out of him.’’ In his anger the planter had spoken more | loudly and distinctly than he intended or believed. Lucien heard every word, and that moment his resolve was made. He quietly permitted the slaves to lead him into the house at the planter’s command, and thence down a moldy stairway to the cellar. It was deep and thickly-walled— having been dug for a shelter against hurri- canes—and was partly divided into dungeon- like cells. / Into one of these foul holes the slaves thrust Lucien. Then they closed and bolted the heavy. door, leaying him to solitude. The apartment was about eight feet square, and the atmosphere was close and fetid. A sickly gleam of light entered from an iron grating high up on the rear wall. The wretched lad threw himself to the ground, and for along while he lay there with his face buried in his hands, weeping bitter tears and racked with passion and in- dignation. Then bis thoughts wandered to the past that had ended one short year ago —that happy past when he lived in this very house with his kind parents. Here, on this beautiful plantation he had learned to shoot and swim, and to use the sword with rare skill; here, under the instruction of his dear friend and tutor, Paul Dupont, he had re- ceived nearly as thorough an education as he could have been taught in the schools of Paris. Was it only a year ago that his father died in his own garden from the bite of a deadly fer-de-lance, and his mother, struck speechless by the shock, followed her hus- band in three days’ time? Only a year ago that Henri St. Maur claimed and took the plantation, and patronizingly offered the penniless orphan lad a home? It seemed teB times as long, and certainly a lifetime 0 sorrow and petty persecutions had beet crowded into that short year. ‘‘T should have gone to France, as Paul Dupont advised me to do,’’ Lucien said te himself, ‘‘I see my mistake now, but at the time I was hopeful of finding this lost money. My father had been saving for years to pay off these mortgages, and only a month before he died I heard him say that he had nearly enough. But what became 0 it? Only five hundred franes were in tb? house, and if he had paid the mortgages be would have kept the receipt. At one time suspected Henri St. Maur. He was in the garden with father when he was bitten, a2 the money may have changed hands th@ day. Ink and paper were always kept 9? the table in the grotto. 5 t ‘‘But, no, I dare not accuse Monsieur St. Maur of sucha crime. I km afraid I sp? unjustly of him a while ago. Hard or cruel man that he is, he could not stoop a deed so treacherous and dishonest. aa plantation is rightly bis, and the money © we stolen from the house by some of the la —as Paul Dupont suggested. It is gone fo ever, and it is folly to think of it longer, ‘*] must escape from here to-night. M house of a Royalist is no bome for me. father taught me to believe in Napoleot and though I have tried to hide my tool. I felt that this storm must break some If Paul Dupont will help me I will peend France, and there I shall find a true ff in the empress. Can J ‘‘And now what about Spado? ate leave the poor little fellow here to be be \ it: 7 gras H and the in h noit Or: | aror to The ce, list J his hat to ind ped een ed, ~ 4? 54 les. sh. BP) ut- not ser- 1eir inst my rit, 3 of ady on. eer GooypD NEWS. 4227 like a dog for trying to help me? If I escape without him I shall be safe assoon as I reach St. Pierre. If 1 dare to take him with me we shall both be in peril of our very lives until we are safe on board a vessel bound for France.’’ CHAPTER III. AN AWKWARD MEETING FOR JONCOURT. Te UCIEN rose, and began to pace up g| ¥/ and down the narrow limits of his PS prison. Not at once could he decide a question of such vital importance. On the one hand was the prospect of certain freedom for himself alone; he knew it would be an easy matter to escape from the cellar and reach St. Pierre. Once under the pro- tection of Paul Dupont, who was now a school-teacher in the town, he could defy the planter to touch him. On the other hand, if he took Spado with him, he would be committing a serious crime at the outset. The negro was the property of Henri St. Maur, and the aiding of a slave to escape was often punishable by death in Martinique. . And what chance was there of the fugi- tives ultimately getting clear? They must elude blood-thirsty pursuers, give the town a wide berth, and trust to the chance of find- ing a vessel in the harbor that would hide them and carry them away from the island. There were other points to be considered, and mostly unfavorable ones, so that Lucien grew more sorely perplexed as the hours slipped by. When the distant blast of a horn announced that the slaves were returning to quarters, he realized how little time was left, and suddenly made up his mind. ‘*Spado shall go with me,’’ he exclaimed, in a tone of desperate resolve. ‘‘He would risk ten times as much for me, and if I left him here to be beaten half to death, I would regret it as long as I lived. We were brought up almost like brothers, and we will escape together or not at all. The empress will pro- tect us both if we get safely to France. When I tell her what sort of a master Spado belonged to she won’t allow him to be sent back.”’ With Lucien a thing decided was as good as done, and now his doubt and perplexity vanished. He sat down inacorner of the dungeon, and his keen wits rapidly evolved a course of action. ‘‘How much money have I got?’’ he mut- tered, as he ransacked his pockets. ‘‘Seven francs, ten centimes! Well, it may come useful, little as it is. I could get more from Paul Dupont, but I won’t dare visit him for fear of getting him into trouble. I must keep away from the town altogether. ‘‘I’m glad Monsieur St. Maur let me keep Hotspur for my own property, else I would have to rob ihe of a horse. It won’t be difficult to get the mare out of the stables without noise. But how about Spado? That’s where the rub is going to be.”’ Lucien found this a knotty problem, and time slipped rapidly by as he pondered it. Just as he had settled it to his satisfaction, the iron door grated open a few inches, and a slave pushed in a waiter containing a meager supper. Lucien was hungry, and when the fellow had gone away he began to eat, He pur- posely saved a portion of bread and put it into his pocket. Then, as it was still early in the evening, he concluded to take a short sleep to fit him for what was to come later. The damp floor made an uncomfortable bed, but after dozing a while he fell intoa deep slumber. He woke up with a start, fearing he had slept too long. All was quiet overhead, and not the faintest sound floated through the grating. ‘‘Tt must be midnight,’’ he thought; ‘‘and that leaves little enough time for all that is to be done. By daylight we must be hidden safe on some vessel or——”’ A cold shiver finished the sentence, and without further delay, he mounted the rear wall of the dungeon by inserting his hands and feet in the crevices of the masonry. He took hold of the iron grating, which had been there many years, and began to shake it vigorously. It soon came loose in his grasp, as be had expected it would. He easily wriggled through the opening, and lingered long enough to detach one of the iron bars. With this formidable weapon in his hand, he rose to his feet and recon- noitered. Nothing alarming was to be seen or heard, and he made his way swiftly around to the house, and thence, through the friendly shade of trees and houses, to the stables. They were not guarded, as were the slaves’ eee and Lucien entered by the main oors. He went straight to Hotspur’s stall, and the affectionate animal whinnied her recognition, as though reminding him of Many a good time they had enjoyed together In the past years. ug Quiet, old girl,’? whispered Lucien. Steady now!’ He quickly saddled and bridled the mare, €d her to an empty stall just inside the doorway, and tied her there loosely. Then ® slipped noiselessly out of the stables, Closing the doors behind him. he hardest part of the task came next, cane. Reaching the edge of it, he dropped to his hands and knees and peeped out. A dozen feet away was the big gate of the stockade that inclosed the slaves’ quarters, In front of it squatted the guard—a lazy half-breed named Joncourt, who thus turned night into day for a small wage from the planter. © He was supposed to pace entirely around the stockade at brief intervals, but now he was to all appearances sound asleep. His back was propped against the gate, and his head was sunk on his breast. One hand eee clasped the musket that lay beside im. Lucien waited and watched until he was satisfied that the half-breed really slept. Then, with a lighter heart, he circled around through the cane to the rear wall of the stockade, which was too high and smooth to be easily scaled, After a brief search he found a depression close to the ‘base of the timbers—the re- mains of a tunnel dug a few mouths ago by an escaped slave, and not properly filled in. He had counted upon this to aid him, and with quick, noiseless strokes of his iron bar he dug into the hollow. He stopped occasionally to listen, and when the hole was a foot below the level of the stockade, he dropped on his knees and burrowed deeper with both arms. The soil was loose and spongy, and it soon cayed in overhead. Lucien felt like shouting with triumph as he rose to his feet inside the stockade. There was no time to lose, and after looking about him for a moment, he entered the row of low-roofed sheds. Here, on a thin covering of straw, the brawny, half-naked slaves were sprawled about in all sorts of attitudes. ere and there one stirred restlessly, but for the most part, the poor wretches were sleeping like dead men after the day’s exhausting toil. There was slight danger of discovery, but to make sure Lucien crawled about on hands and knees. He was covered with dirt, and in the vague light he might readily have passed for a slave himself. Right, left, and in front his keen eyes roved, but without detecting Spado. He could not spare time to go over the whole ground, and when he had searched for ten minutes he felt a reluctant necessity to try an expedient which he had reseryed for just such an emergency, and which carried con- siderable risk with it, So he gave a low, peculiar whistle—a sig- nal often used between himself and Spado on hunting trips. To his surprise and joy, he. heard a response immediately, and when he had located the direction and crawled twenty feet, he found the little ae sitting bolt upright in the midst of half a dozen snoring slaves. ‘*Hush!’’? Lucien whispered, as the lad greeted him with a sob of delight. ‘‘Nota sound, Spado. I have come to take you away. Were you asleep when I whistled?’’ ‘*No, dear master; my back sting me too much, I hear you right off.’’ ‘*You will get no more lashes,’’ said Lucien. ‘‘We are going to run away, Spado. We will go to France if we can find a ship in the harbor to take us. And there you will be free.’’ ‘Free, Master Lucien, like yourself? But I shall serve you always?”’ ‘Yes, of course, Spado. Come now, and be careful how you crawl. I will tell you more when we are away from the planta- tion. Hotspur is waiting at the stables, and Joncourt is asleep at his post. If he wakes up and goes around before we get out of here we are lost.’’ Spado understood now, and after a con- vulsive shiver of delight the inherited craft and patience of his ‘forefathers came to his support. With steps that were as ‘soft and noiseless as a cat’s, he extricated himself from the circle of negroes that surrounded him, and then made signs to Lucien to lead the way. On hands and knees the two lads crept clear of the sheds, casting many a nervous glance behind lest Hercules and his fellow- overseers should have wakened—for they too were kept under guard at night. But no dreaded alarm’ came, and as soon as the last group of slumbering slaves was passed the young fugitives rose to their feet and glided swiftly to the stockade. Spado wriggled his body through the hole first, and then lent a hand to Lucien, who was quickly beside him. With eager hearts they hurried along the timber wall, intending to plunge into the cane-field at the angle of the stockade and cut straight across it, to the stables. Nota sound could be heard from any direction, and their light footsteps made no noise on the ground. But just at the corner of the wall some- thing unexpected happened. Joncourt, pacing slowly along at right angles, popped out in front of them. There was no time to avoid a collision. Lucien managed to sheer off, but Spado plumped into the half-breed with a yell. Joncourt, himself taken by surprise, let his gun fall and grabbed the little negro with both hands, at the same time shouting hoarsely for help, Lucien realized the need of desperate and his-heart beat loudly as he made a semi- Circular detour through a patch of sugar was subject to a death penalty. So, without hesitation, he rushed at Joncourt and tapped him pretty severely on the head with the iron bar. up his arms, and lurched limply forward on his face. ‘*Come on, Spado,’’ Lucien exclaimed, as he snatched up the fallen man’s musket. ‘*We’ll have ihe whole plantation at our heels in a minute. Hotspur is all that can save us.”’ As they started to run they heard shouts both from the direction of the house and from behind them. They glanced back be- fore plunging into the cane-field, and were startled to see, by the silvery light, the burly form of Hercules just rising from thé hole under the stockade! With a yell, he came in pursuit! (TO BE CONTINUED.) a {This Story will not be Published in Book-Form,] LITTLE: SNAP The Postboy of the Kanawha; : OR, THE CHAMPION OF UNCLE SAM. ict aplomtsnice BY VICTOR ST. CLAIR, Author of ‘‘Tittle Hickory of the Mountain Ezx- press,” “Zig-Zag, the Boy Conjurer,” “The Young Stone-Outter,’’ etc. (“LITTLE SNAP’* was commenced in No. 253. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents.) CHAPTER XXXVII. OLD SOLITAIRE’S SECRET. UDD GRASS turned still paler as Little Snap resolutely faced her, and the mail bag fell from her hand. ‘*You are trying to frighten me, Dix,’’ she said but the sound of tootsteps at the door caused her to leave the sentence unfinished while a wild, desperate look came into her eyes. The new-comer was Austin Goings. , ‘‘Whew! what is the trouble Dix Lewis?’? he asked. ‘‘T wish you would call in Mr. ‘Render as soon as possible.’’ ‘‘What! have you caught the thief my boy?’’ asked Mr. Goings as his countenance lightened. ‘‘In that case I am more. capable of helping you than Mr. Render. I am a post-office inspector, and I am here with full authority to arrest whomever I find has been tampering with Uncle Sam’s property. What is your charge against this woman, Dix Lewis?’’ “She has four letters in her sleeve, and I have reason to——’’ **Tt’s a mistake!’’ she broke in excitedly. ‘*Tf there are any letters in my sleeve they got there by accident. They are large—oh, my Lord, there are!’’ Tbe last exclamation was called forth by the sudden appearance of the concéaled mail as sbe held her arm so the sleeve was turned downward. Austin Goings was already entering the private office when she turned to him with an agonizing look saying: ‘(Don’t arrest me, sir. It was an acci- dent.’’ ‘*Tf it was, you shall have ample time to prove it. But for the present, Miss Grass, you must consider yourself my prisoner.’’ By that time a crowd had begun to collect about the office, among the rest Mr. Render, to whom the inspector said: ‘‘T shall have to put the office in your charge for a short time, Mr. Render.’’ As may be imagined the arrest was causing great wonder. ‘‘Have you made any further discovery, Dix?’’ asked Mr. Goings of the postboy. OS NOP Bist” : ‘‘This was a good day’s work, my boy. I hope you will excuse all uneasiness: I may have caused you, but to carry out my pur- pose it was best no one should know my identity. Mr. Calvert assured me you were all right, but I wished to prove it to my own satisfaction. If you will wait long enough for me to put this prisoner under proper care, I will ride up with you.’’ Hardly able to comprehend the strange turn of affairs, Little Snap gladly waited until the inspector could join him. ‘‘She takes her arrest hard,’’ said the latter. ‘‘Mark my word, she will soon make a confession, and if we don’t get the gang before, we shall have no trouble in hunting them down now. You have earned a good reward.’’ ‘‘She was the last one I suspected,’’ said Little Snap. *‘She always seemed so friendly, but yesterday I felt sure the trouble was there. ’’ ‘*Well, I came in the nick of time to see the fun. Calvert claimed that you could handle them, only give you time. But the Government has had so many complaints lately that it thought it was best to investi- gate. None of us dreamed that you were so well assisted.’’ 4) bo) measures. Matters had already gone so far as to be beyond mending, and if caught he The half-breed gave a moaning ery, flung | ' Hollow Tree, to see a dozen mounted men in front of the place. ‘**T sent some of the boys on ahead, for we | have got to pay Blazed Acreavisit. Hilloa! what is up?’?’ Ab Raggles had suddenly appeared upon the scene, looking more uncouth and hag- gard than ever. His clothing was torn al- most in shreds, and his hands and face were bleeding from several scratches and cuts. He seemed to see no one but Little Snap, to whom he cried: ‘Come with me, Dix Lewis, to Greenbrier cave.’’ ‘*What is it?’’ asked the postboy. **Oh, such doings! They have got ’em all fast in th’ cave. You must come to once— you an’ the rest.’ ‘‘But what is wanted?’ ‘“*T can’t tell you. Your father sent me. It’s ’em Raggles-Burrnocks, an’ yer father’s there with the rest!’’ Little Snap afterward declared that was the most terrible moment of his life. In an instant his discovery in the cave flashed through his mind. The brief rejoicing he had felt the moment before to think that his troubles were near an end, now more than counterbalanced by the feeling of dread that crept over his soul. ‘‘Let us get there as soon as_ possible,” said Mr. Goings. ‘‘I half expected something of this kind. You can go with us, Dix. I will be responsible—hello! here comes Calvert himself. He will take charge of the mail until we get back. I calculate there will be no complaining if you do not get in late to- night, with the news that you will bring.’’ sittle Snap could make no reply to these hurried words, and all too soon’it seemed to him they were ready to start toward the cave, Ab Raggles leading the way. ‘*Reckon you fellers will hev an easy time o’ it a baggin’ th’ game some one else has nabbed fer ye.’’ ‘Fast are they?’’ asked Mr. Goings. ‘*] should say so. He’s got ’em shut up in th’ cave—every galoot o’ ‘em. Jess fixed a rock so es to slide it down ever the hole thet led inter the place. Then, when they was all in he shot th’ stone on.’’ ‘*Ha! there’s th” old duffer now, a waitin’ for us!?’ They had got in sight of the cave, and sure enough, on the summit of the rock overlying the place stood the figure of the victor, as described by Ab Raggles. Little Snap looked up to, recognize Old Solitaire! The old hermit’s garb was sadly disar- ranged, and the flowing white beard and hair were hanging on one side of his head, presenting a ridiculous appearance! ‘‘We came as soon as we could, Mr. Lewis,’’ said the inspector. ‘*No need to fret, Mr. Goings, for I have them as safe as a squirrel in a box trap,”’ Little Snap started at the sound of that voice, and then as he looked closer, he cried: “*Father ! father !’’ CHAPTER XXXVIILI. THE TALK OF AN HOUR, Sr E whom the postboy had known sim- 731 ply as Old Solitaire tore off the bal- Cues ance of his disguise, and, rushing to Dix’s side, said: ‘*Thank God, my son, for this hour. I will tell you all when we get home. But now we must look after our prisoners.’’ ‘‘Did you have any trouble in catching them?’’ asked Mr. Goings. ‘‘None after I had overpowered the guard. You will find him on the shelf below. When I had secured him, I slipped the rock down over the mouth, and there they were. They have been doing some tall swearing, but they seem quiet now.”’ ‘*How had we better get at them?”’ ‘*Let all of us get down in front/of the place, and when we have moved the stone enough tell them to come out one by one. The passage isn’t wide enough to admit of more than one ata time, and I think they are glad enough to get out by this time.’’ Acting upon this suggestion, in less than half an hour it had been found that the im- prisoned men were willing to come forth upon the terms proposed. Then the inspector and his men standing in readiness to receive the outlaws, they were commanded to appear one at a time. ‘fAttempt to makea rush and we will shoot you down like dogs.’’ The first man to come forth was Bird Burrnock, and he was followed by his sons, Hawk and Buzzard. The appearance of the fourth created a sensation. It was Jason Warfield! ‘*T can explain this,’’ he said, with some of his old-time independence. ‘*So he can explain,’’ said Mr. Lewis; ‘‘but that explanation will send him t State’s prison for life.’’ Four other men were captured—all. of them belonging to the inhabitants of Blazed { cre. With what talk and wonder the return to Hollow Tree was made may be imagined. ‘‘T think there will be no more trouble,’’ said Inspector Goings, ‘‘though I ean claim small share in the honor of the victory.’’ They were still talking about the arrest of Budd Grass when they came in sight of During the ride to Daring’s Diamond, where the prisoners were to be left for safe H i i ein Se A ane A iA alti ee OE ray mee eo 4228 keeping, the wonderful surprises of the re- cent developments of affairs were talked over and discussed: The following facts were then learned by those who had not dreamed of them before, though I cannot do better than to let Mr. Lewis tell them in his own words: ‘‘You wonder, my son, more than the others, perhaps, my reason for being in this disguise. To explain it I must.go back to the duys when I lived in Boone Lick, and you were nothing more than a prattling babe. ‘