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Tip Top LIBRARY.

Issued Weekly—By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class Matler at the N, Y. Post Office. STREET & SMITH, 29 Rose St., N. Y
Entered Aceording to Act of Congress, in the Year 1896, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

August 29, 18096. Vol. 1. No. 20. Price Five Cents.

 

FRANK MERRIWELLS FRIEND:

MURIEL THE MOONSHINER.

By the Author of ‘‘FRANK MERRIWELL.’’
CHAPTER I. journey from Gibson’s Gap to Cranston’s
Cove, which was said to be a distance of

A MOUNTAIN MAID, ; bY,
twelve miles, but they were willing to ad-

**Help!”’ mit that those mountain miles were most
‘Did you hear it, Baeney ?”’ disgustingly long.
‘‘Begobs Oi did !”” They had paused to rest, midway in
‘‘And it sounded like——”’ the afternoon, where the road curved
‘“Th’ ecroy av a female woman.’? around a spur of the mountain. Below
‘So I thought.’’ . them opened a vista of valleys and
‘‘Somebody is in throuble, Frankie, me |‘‘coyes,’?. hemmed in by wild, turbulent-
eet appearing masses of mountains, some of
‘‘Jisten. We may hear it again.’’ which were barren and bleak, seamed

The two boys, who had been resting) with black chasms, above which threat-
beside a rough, steep road amid the Great | eningly hung grimly beetling crags, and
Smoky Mountains, in Tennessee, sat up| some of which were robed in dense wilder-
and listened intently for a repetition of | nesses of pine, vailing their faces, keeping
the faint cry they had heard. ‘them thus forever a changeless mystery.

These boys were’ Frank Merriwell and} Prom their eyrie position it seemed
his friend and comrade, Barney Mulloy, | that they could toss a pebble into Lost
and they were “‘tramping it’? through’ Creek, which wound through the valley
that picturesque section of the Tennessee|below, meandered for miles amid the

 

mountains. |ranges, and then suddenly sank into the
Professor Scotch, Frank’s guardian, |eaith, tunneling an unknown channel be-
had no heart for a ‘‘tour afoot’ through |neath the rock-ribbed mountains, and
the mountains, and so he had stopped at!came out again—where?
| 30th boys had been silent and awe-
him again in two or three weeks, by thejstricken, gazing wonderingly on the im-
end of which period he was quite sure | pressive scene, when the faint cry for help
they would have enough of tramping. seemed to float upward from the depths
Frank and Barney were making the/of the valley.

Knoxville, where the boys were to join

   

  
 

FRANK MERRIWELL'S FRIEND.
They listened, and some moments|her back toward a great rock, a home-
passed in silence, save for the peeping cry | made fishing pole at her feet.
of a bird in a thicket near at hand.
‘‘Begorra! Oi belave it wur imagina-|skirt being short and reaching but a little

|
|

The girl was dressed in homespun, the
tion, Frankie,’’ said the Irish lad, at last. | below the knees, and a calico sun-bonnet
‘‘T do not think so,’’ declared Frank, | was thrust half off her head.
. . |
with a shake of his head. ‘‘It was a
human voice, and if we were to shout it}clamation of admiration, for the girl made

Frank Merriwell paused, with a low ex-

might be—— There it is again!”’
There could be no doubt this time, for
they both heard the cry distinctly.

a most strikingly beautiful picture, and

| Frank had an eye for beauty.

| Nearly all the mountain girls the boys

‘It comes from below,’’ said Frank, |had seen were stolid and flat-appearing,

quickly.

‘“Roight, me lad,’’ nodded Barney.

some were tall and lank; but this girl
possessed a figure that seemed perfect in

*‘Some wan is in difficulty down there, |every detail.

an’ it’s mesilf thot don’t moind givin’
thim a lift.”’

Getting a firm hold on a scrub brush, |
a defect by the mountain folk.

Frank leaned out over the verge and
looked down into the valley.

**T’ can see her!’ he. cried.’ ‘“‘Look,
Barney—look down
rocks just below the little waterfall.’’

**Oi see, Frankie.”’

‘See the flutter of a dress ?’’

“O1-do.””

‘She is waving something at us.”’

“Sure, me.b’y.”?

‘She has seen us, and is signaling for
us to come down.’’

‘‘And we'll go.”’

‘‘Instanter, as they say out West.”’

The boys were soon hurrying down the
mountain road, a bend of which quickly
carried them beyond view of the person
near the waterfall.

It was nearly an hour later when Frank
and Barney approached the little waterfall,
having left the road and followed the
course of the stream. ;

‘Is she there, Frankie?’’ anxiously
asked Barney, who was behind.

“Can't tell yet,’? was the reply. ‘Will
be able to see in a minute, and then——
She is there, sure as fate!”

In another moment they came out in
full view of a girl of eighteen or nineteen,
who was standing facing the waterfall,

 

|
;
|
}

;
‘ever seen.
there amid thosé|

Her hair was bright auburn, brilliant

land rich in tint, the shade that is highly

esteemed in civilization, but is considered
Frank

ithought it the most beautiful hair he had

Her eyes were brown and luminous, and
the color of health, showed through the
Her parted lips
showed white, even teeth, and the mouth

tan upon her cheeks.

was most delicately shaped.

‘*Hivvins!’’ gasped Barney, at Frank’s
shoulder. ‘‘Pwhat have we struck, Oi
dunno ?’’

Then the girl cried, her voice full of
1inpatience : |

‘*You-uns has shorely been long enough
in gittin’ har!’’

Frank staggered a bit, for he had
scarcely expected to hear the uncouth
mountain dialect from such lips as those;
but he quickly recovered, lifted his hat
with the greatest gallantry, and said:

‘‘T assure you, miss, that We came as
swiftly as we could.’’

‘‘Ve’re strangers. Ef you-uns had been
maounting boys, you’d been har in. less’n
half ther time.’’

‘“‘T presume that is true; but, you see,
we did not know the shortest way, and
"We were not sure you wanted us.”

 

ye fur ef I didn’t want ye? I nighly split

‘Wal, what did you l’ow I whooped at

‘i

ti
j
|

 

 

 
 

    
  
  
    
  
  
   
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
  
 

  

cE ONT Si et tn nee getntnntahaet ine casey 11 ne te atte lage: eet

   

ce aap

FRANK MERKEIWELL’S FRIEND. 3

my throat a-hollerin’ at ye before ye h’ard
me at all.”’

Frank was growing more and more
dismayed, for he had never before met a
strange girl who was quite like this, and
he knew not what to say.

‘“Now that we have arrived,’’ he

bowed, ‘‘we shall be happy to be of any

possible service to you.”’

‘Dunno ez I want ye now,’’ she re-
turned, with a toss of her head.

‘““Howly shmoke!”’
Frank’s ear. ‘‘It’s a doaisy she is, me
b’y!”?

Frank resolved to take another. tack,
and so he advanced, saying boldly and
resolutely :

‘Now that you have called us down
here, I don’t see how you are going to
get rid of us. You want something of us,
and we’ll not leave you till we find out
what it is.”’

The girl did not appear in the least
alarmed. Instead of that, she laughed,
and that laugh was like the ripple of fall-
ing water.

‘*Wal, now you’re talkin’ !?? she cried,
with something like a flash of admiration.

‘Mebbe you-uns has got somg backbone
arter all. I like backbone.”’

‘*T have not looked at mine for so long
that Iam not sure what condition it is
in, but I know I have one.’’

‘fA n? muscle ?”?

‘fA little.”’

“Then move this rock har that hez
caught my foot an’ holds it. That’s what
I wanted o’ you-uns.”’

She lifted her skirt a bit, and, for the
first time, they saw that her ankle had been
caught between two large rocks, where
she was held fast.

“Kinder slomped in thar when I war
’’ she explained, ‘‘an’ ther big rock
dropped over thar an’ cotched me fast
when I tried ter pull out. That war nigh
two hour ago, ’cordin’ ter ther sun.”’

‘‘And you have been standing like that

fishin’,

gurgled Barney, at’

ever since?’’’ cried Frank, in dismay.
'““Lively, Barney—get hold here! Great
| Scott! we must have her out of that in a
hurry!”
| ‘*Thot’s pwhat we will, ur we’ll turrun
ith? ould mountain over!’’? shouted the
Irish lad, as he flew to the aid of his
| friend.
| The girl looked surprised and pleased,
jand then she said:
| **You-uns ain’t goin’ ter move that rock
|so easy, fer it’s hefty.”’
‘‘But your ankle—it must have crushed
your ankle.”’ :
‘‘T "low not. Ye see it couldn’t pinch
harder ef it tried, fer them rocks ain’t
built so they kin git nigher together; but

it’s jest made a reg’ ler trap so I ean’t pull
my foot out.”’

It was no easy thing for the boys to get
-hold of the rock in a-way to exert their
strength, but they finally succeeded, and
(then Frank gave the word, and they
strained to move it. It started reluctantly,
as if loath to give up its fair captive, but
they moved it more and more, and she
was-able to draw her foot out. Then,
when she was free, they let go, and the
rock fell back with @ grating crash against
the other.

‘“You-uns have done purty fair fer
boys,’’ said the girl, with a saucy twinkle
in her brown eyes. ‘‘S’pose I’ll have ter
thank ye, fer I mought a stood har con-
sider’bul longer ef ’tadn’t bin fer ye.
Who be ye, anyhow? an’? whar be ye
goin’ ??*

Frank introduced himself, and then
presented Barney, after which he ex-
plained how they happened to be in the
Great Smoky Mountains and where they
were going. .

She watched him closely as he spoke,
noting every word and every expression,
as if a sudden suspicion had come upon
her, and she was trying to settle a doubt

 

in her mind.

  
4 FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

When Frank liad finished, the girl
said :

‘‘Never heard o’ two boys from ther big
cities ’way off yander comin’ har ter tromp’
through ther maountings jest fer ther
fun o’ seein’ ther scenery an’ ther folks.
I s’pose we’re kinder curi’s ’pearin’ crit-
ters ter city folks, an’ you-uns may be
har ter cotch one o’ us an’ put us in a
cage fer exhibition.’

She uttered the words in a way that
brought a flush to Frank’s cheeks, and he |

{

hastened to protest, halting in confusion |

 

when he tried to speak her name, which |
he did not know as yet. |

A ripple of sunshine seemed to break
over her face, and she laughed outright,

 

|

}
swiftly saying: |

“Don’t you-uns mind me. I’m ses |
rough, but I don’t mean half I say. I kin |
see you is honest an’ squar, though some-_
body else mought think by yer way that
ye warn’t. My name’s Kate Kenyon, an’
I live down toward ther cove. I don’t feel

|
|
|
|

|

like fishin’ arter this, an’ ef you-uns is

goin’ that way, I'll go "long with ye.’ |
She picked up her pole, hooked up the

line, and prepared to accompany them.

companion. Indeed, Frank was more than
pleased, for he saw in this girl a singular
character. Illiterate, though she seemed,
she was pretty, vivacious, and so bright
that it was plain education and refinement
would make her most fascinating and
brilliant. .

’

CHAPTER II. ~
FRANK AND KATE.

The boys did not get to Cranston’s Cove
that night, for Kate Kenyon invited them
to stop and take supper at her home, and
thev did so.

Kate’s home was much like the rough
cabins of other, mountain folks, except
that flowering vines had been trained to

 

run up the sides and over the door, while

 

two large bushes were loaded with roses
in front of the house.

Kate’s mother was in the doorway as
they approached. She was a tall, angular
woman, with a stolid, expressionless face.

‘‘Har, mammy, is some fellers I brung
ter see ye,’ said this girl. ‘‘This un is
Mr. Merriwell, an’ that un is Mr. Mul-
loy.’”’

The boys lifted their hats, and bowed
to the woman as if she were a society
queen. She nodded and stared.

‘‘What be you-uns doin’ ’round these
parts ?’’ she asked, pointedly.

Frank explained, seeing a look of sus-
picion and distrust deepening in her face
as he spoke..

““Huah!’? she grunted, when he had
finished. ‘‘An’ what do you-uns want o’
me?”

‘‘Your daughter invited us to call and
take supper,’’ said Frank, coolly.

‘‘T ain’t uster cookin’ flip-flaps fer city .
ichaps, an’ I don’t b’lieve you kin eat ‘the

kind o’ fodder we-uns is uster.”’
The boys hastened to assure her that
they would be delighted to eat the plain-

‘est of food, and their eagerness broug
They were well pleased to have her as a} a 1eir eagerness brought a

merry latigh from the lips of the girl.
‘‘VYou-uns is consid’ble amusin’,’’ she

said. ‘‘You is powerful perlite. I asked

’em to come, inammy. It’s no more’n fair

pay fer what they done fer me.”’

Then she explained how she had _ been
caught and held by the rocks, and how
the boys had seen her from the mountain
road and come to her rescue.

The mother’s face did not soften a bit
as slfe listened, but, when Kate had fin-
ished, she said:

‘“They’re yore comp’ny. Ask ’em in.”’’

So the boys were asked into the cabin,
and Kate herself prepared supper.

It was a plain meal, but Frank noticed
that everything looked neat and clean
about the house, and both lads relished
the coarse food. Indeed, Barney afterward

 

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declared that the corn bread was. better
than the finest cake he ever tasted.

Frank was particularly happy at the
table, and the merry stories he told kept
Kate laughing, and, once or _ twice,
brought a grim smile to the face of the
wolan.

the wild mass of mountains, the peaks of
which were illumined by the rays of the
setting sun. 5

Mrs. Kenyon filled and lighted a cob
pipe. She sat and puffed away, staring
straight ahead in a blank manner.

Just how it happened Frank Merriwell
himself could not have told, but Barney |
fell to talking to the woman in his whim-
sical way, while Frank and Kate wan-
dered away a short distance, and sat on

;

some stones which had been arranged as a
bench in a little nook near Lost Creek.
From this position they could hear Bar-
ney’s tich brogue and jolly laugh as he
recounted some amusing yarn, and, when

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

;
After supper they went out in front of |

the cabin, where they could look up at

  

ttisher emote

   

5
thar’s moonshine made round these parts.
| They come round ev’ry little while to spy
}an’ cotch ther folks that makes it.’

| ‘By revenues you mean the officers of
the Government ?”’

‘Wal, they may be officers, but they’re

\a diffrunt kind than Jock Hawkins.’’
‘Who is Jock Hawkins ?”’
‘‘He’s ther sheriff down to ther cove.
Jock Hawkins knows better’n to come
‘snoopin’ ’round, an’ he’s down on rey-
enues ther same as ther rest o’ us is.”’

‘“Then you do not like the revenue
officers ?””

‘Like ’em!’’ cried the girl, starting
up, her eyes seeming to blaze in the dusky
twilight. ‘‘I hate ’em wuss’n pizen! An’
I’ve got good cause fer hatin’ ’em.’’

The boy saw he had touched a tender
spot, and he would have turned the con-
versation in another channel, but she was
started, and she went on swiftly:

‘‘What right has ther Gover’ment to
take away anybody’s honest means. o’
earnin’ alivin’? What right has ther Gov-

 

the wind was right, a smell of the black |
pipe would be wafted to them. |
“Do you know,’’ said Frank, ‘‘this|
spot is so wild and picturesque that it fas-
cinates me. I should like to stop here two
or three days and rest.’’
‘‘Better not,’’ said the girl, shortly.
‘‘Why ?”? asked the boy, in surprise.
‘‘Wal, it mought not be healthy.”’
‘*What do you mean ?”’ .
‘You might be tooken fer revenue.’
‘‘For revenue? I do not understand.”’
‘‘T wonder ef you air so ignerent, or be
you jest makin’ it?”?
‘‘Honestly and truly, I do not under-
stand you.’’ P

“Wal, I kinder “low you-uns is all

er’ment to send spies up har ter peek an’
pry an’ report on men as is makin’ a little
moonshine ter sell that he may be able
ter git bread an’ drink fer his faml’y?
What right has ther Gover’ment ter make
outlaws an’ crim’nals 0’ men as wouldn’t
steal a cent that didn’t bl’ong ter them if
they was starvin’ ?”’

Frank knew well enough the feeling of
most mountain folks toward the revenue
officers, and he knew it was a useless task
to attemmpt to show them where they were
in the wrong.

Kate went on, passionately:

‘Yes, I has good right to hate ther rev-
enues, an’ Ido! Didn’t they pester my
poreold daddy fer makin’ moonshine!

’

right, but thar’s others might not think|Didn’t they hunt him through ther

so. S’pose you know what moonshine
is?”

‘Yes; it is illicitly distilled whisky.’’
She nodded.
‘“That’s right. Wal, ther revenues say

 

 

maountings fer weeks, an’ keep him
hidin’ like a dog! An’ didn’t they git
him cornered at last in Bent Coin’s old
cabin, an’ when he refused ter come out

}an’ surrender, an’ kep’:’em off with his

  
6 FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

so he died

Hate ’em!
7

gun, didn’t they shoot him
three days arter in my arms!

Wal, I’ve got good reason ter hate ’em!”’

Kate was wildly excited, although she|they don’t know who he ts.

if she did
hear what she

held her voice down, as
wish her mother to
saying.
felt her arm quivering against his.

‘Hate *em !’
has more than that to hate ’em fer! Whar
is my brother Rufe, ther
Ther revenues come

best boy
ever drored a breath?
fer him, an’
trial, an’ they proved ez he’d been con-
sarned in makin’ moonshine.
victed, an’ he’s servin’

they got him. Thar war a
He war con-
Hate
I hate wuss on

his time.
’em! Wal, thar’s nuthin’
this earth !”’

"You have “had hard luck,’ said
Frank, by way of saying something. ‘‘It’s
lucky for us that we’re not revenues. ’’

‘Ver tight thar, = she neaned. *“"i
didn’t know but ye war at first, but I
changed my mind later.”’

Why 2?

‘‘Wal, ye’re young, an’ you-uns both
has honest faces. Revenues is sneaks.
They show it in their faces.’’

‘*T don’t suppose they have been able
to check the making of moonshine—that
is, not to any extent.”’

She laughed harshly.

‘‘Wal, I judge not! Did ye ever hear o’
Muriel ?”’

CONT OF 9

*¥emay."’

‘“Who is he?”?

‘CA moonshiner.”?

“What of him?” +

‘‘He makes more whisky in a week
than all ther others in this region afore
him made in a month.”’ “i

“He must be smarter than the others
before him.’’ sae

‘‘Wal, he’t not afeared o’ ther rey-
erues, an’ he’s a inystery to ther men ez
works fer him right along.”’ |
‘*A mystery ?”’

was |
Frank was sitting so near that he

that |

not | been abl

|
fh
|
!

continued the girl. ‘‘I)

| shoulder fer

(Ves, 9

‘“How so???

‘‘None o’ them has seen his face, an’
They ain’t
e to find out.”?

‘‘And they have tried ?”’

‘Wal, Con Bean war shot through ther
follerin’ Muriel, an’ Bink
Mower got it in ther leg fer ther same

Ittick..’

|of a society belle.

 

‘“‘T rather admire this Muriel,’’ laughed
Frank. ‘‘Heimay be in unlawful business,
but he seems to be a dandy.’’

‘He keeps five stills runnin’ all ther
time, an’ he has a way o’ gittin’ ther stuff
disposin’ of
too much, as Wade

out o’ ther maountings an’
it. But I’m talkin’
would say.”’

‘Who is Wade?’

‘“He’s Wade Miller, a partic’ler friend
o’ our’n sence Rufe war tooken by ther
revenues. Wade has been good to mammy
an? nie?” ;

‘Tt don’t blame him.
might try to bother Wade somewhat.”’

She glanced at him swiftly. It was now
but he was so near that he could
see her eyes through the twilight.

“T dunno what you-uns means,’’ she
said, slowly, her voice falling. ‘‘Wade
would be powerful bad to bother. He’s
ulgy sometimes, an’ he’s jellus 0’ me.”’

‘Then Wade is paying attention to
you ?”’

‘‘Wal, he’s tryin’ ter, but I don’t jes’
snuggle ter him ther way I might ef I
liked him right. ‘Thar’s something about
him, ez I don’t edzac’ly like.”

‘That makes it rather one-sided, and
makes me think all the more that I
should try to bother him if I lived near.

duskish,

Do you know, Miss Kenyon, that you are

an exceptionally pretty girl?’’
“Go ’long! You can’t stuff me! Why,
I’ve got red hair!’

“Hair that would make you the envy
RG oe the hamdsomest

hair I ever saw.’?

 

cn a a Re

 

 

If I lived near, T.

 

 
  
 
 
    
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
    
   
  
  
   
   
    
 

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FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

‘‘Now you’re makin’ fun 0’ me, an’ I|

‘It is a go,’’ he answered.

 

don’t like that.’’ Pte et

She drew away as if offended, and he| ‘‘Kate!”’
leaned toward her, eager to convince her} A fierce exclamation close at hand, the
of his sincerity. . cracking of a twig, a heavy step, and then

“Indeed, I am doing nothing of the/a panther-like figure leaped out of the
sort,’’ he protested. ‘‘The moment I saw dusk, and flung itself upon Frank Merri-
you to-day I was struck by the beauty of} well!
your hair. But that is not the only beauti-| epee
ful feature about you, Miss Kenyon. | CHAPTER Il.

Your mouth is a perfect Cupid's bow, and |

4 A TS VR
your teeth are like pearls, while you have | ep OOS =. eae
a figure that is graceful and exquisite.”’ | The attack was so sudden and fierce
She caught her breath. [that the boy was hurled to the ground be-
do Y >

‘Never nobody talked to me like that|fore he could make a move to protect
afore,’’? she murmured. ‘‘Round har they | himself.
jes’ say, ‘Kate, you’d be a rippin’ good| ‘‘You shall not have -her!’’ hissed a
looker ef it warn’t fer that red -hair o’| voice in his ear.
your’n,’ An’ they’ve said it so much that | A hand fastened on his throat, pinning
DPve come to hate my hair wuss’n p’izen.’’) him fast. The man’s knee crushed into
‘Your hair is your crowning beauty. It) his stomach, depriving -him of breath.

is magnificent !’’ |The man’s other hand snatched out some-
‘Say !’’ she whispered, drawing toward | thing and lifted it aloft.

him. | A knife was poised above Frank Merri-
*“What?’? -|well’s heart!
“TY kinder take to you.”’ | In another moment the blade would

Her hand found his, and they were sit-| have been buried to the hilt in Frank’s
bosom.
Without uttering a sound, Kate Ken-

ting very near together.
‘‘T took to you up by ther fall ter day,’’
she went on, in a low tone. ‘‘Now don’t} yon grasped the wrist of the murderous-

|

: : bis ca ; ;
you git skeered, fer I’m not goin’ to be | minded man, gave it a wrench with all
foolish, an’ I know I’m not book-learned|her strength, which was not slight, and °

an’ refined, saine ez your city gals. We forced him to drop the knife.

kin be friends, can’t we?’? | ‘“You don’t murder anybody, Wade
Frank had begun to regiet his openly | Miller!’ she panted.
expressed admiration, but now he said: | ‘“‘I’ll choke ther life outen him!”
‘“To be sure we can be friends, Miss/snarled the fellow, as he tried to fasten
Kenyon.’’ both hands on Frank’s throat.
**Partic’ler friends ?”’ 3y this time the boy had recovered
‘Tam sure I shall esteem your friend-| from the surprise and shock, and he was
ship very highly.’’ |ready to fight for his life.

‘‘Wal, particl’er friends don’t call each| Kate grasped the assailant by the ‘col-
other miss an’ mister. I’ll agree ter call/lar, and, with astonishing strength,

 

you Frank, ef you’ll eall me Kate.”? yanked him off the prostrate lad.
Frank hesitated. In the twinkling of an eye Frank came
‘“‘T am going away to-morrow,’ he | to his feet, and he was ready for anew
thought. ‘‘It won’t do any harm.”’ | assault.

‘Ts it a go?’’ she asked. | It came.

  
ee aoa eee
Te ge I a a IT Le CEE TE EME RS SAS a

8 FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

Snarling and growling like a mad dog,
the man scrambled up and lunged toward
the boy, trying to grasp him.

Frank wasa skilful boxer, and now
his skill came into play, for he dodged
under the man’s right arm, whirled like
a cat, and struck the fellow behind the
ear.

Spat! sounded the blow, sending the
assailant staggering, and Frank followed
it up by leaping after him and striking
him again, tné second blow having the
force of the lad’s strength and the weight
of his body.

It seemed that the man was literally
knocked ‘‘spinning,’’ and he did not stop
till he landed in the creek.

‘‘Wal,’’ exclaimed the girl, ‘‘I ’low
you kin take keer o’ yerself now!”’

‘‘T rather think so,’’ came coolly from
the boy. ‘‘He caught me foul, and I did
not have a show at first.’’

‘‘Look out fer his gun.’?

“‘T will. Who is he?”?

‘Wade Miller.”?

Frank whistled. It was a case of jeal-
ousy, and he had aroused the worst pas-
sions of the man who adinired Kate Ken-
yon. Miller. came scrambling and snorting
from the water, and Barney Mulloy
rushed toward the spot, crying:
_ “Pwhat’s th’? row, Frankie, me b’y?
Do ye nade inny av me hilp?”’

“T think not. So farI am all right,
thanks to Miss Kenyon.’?

‘‘An’ you kin fight!’’ breathed the
mountain maid, in sincere admiration. ‘‘I
didn’t s’pose city chaps tee how ter
fight.’? :

‘‘Some do,’’ laughed Frank, keeping
his eyes on Miller.

‘Pll have his life!’ panted the man,
springing toward Frank, and then halt-
ing suddenly and throwing up his hand.

“Look out!’’ screamed the girl. ‘‘He’s
got a pistol !’’

Frank knew this well enough, and he

was expecting rhs such a move, so it hap-

 

pened that the words had scarcely left the
girl’s lips when the revolver was sent fly-
ing from Wade Miller’s hand.

The boy had leaped forward, and, with
one skilful kick, disarmed his foe by
knocking the weapon out of his hand.

Miller seemed dazed for a moment, and
then he started for Frank once more
grinding his teeth.

‘‘Oh, let me take a hand in this!”? cried

Barney Mulloy, who was eager for a fight.
‘Me blud is gittin shtangant.”’

‘Keep away !’? ordered Frank.
look out for myself.”’

‘“*T7]1 kill ye! I'l] kill ye!’ snarled the
infuriated man.

‘‘Well, you have tried that trick twice,
but I do not see that you have succeeded
to any great extent.”’

‘11 hammer yer life out o’ yer carcass
with my bare hands!”’

‘‘Possibly that will not be such a very
easy trick to do.’’

“*T can

The boy’s coolness seemed to add to.

the fury of his assailant, and the man
made another rush, which was easily
avoided by Frank, who struck Miller a
stinging blow.

““You’d better stop, Wade,’’ advised
the girl. ‘‘He-uns is too much fer you-
uns, an’ that’s plain enough.”’

“Oh, Pl] show ye—I’ll show ye!”’

There was no longer any reason in the
man’s head, and Frank saw that he must
subdue the fellow some way.

Frank felt that he would find the moun-
taineer had the strength of an ox, for

which reason he must keep clear of those

grasping hands.
For some moments Frank had all ‘he
could do to avoid Miller, who seemed to

have grown stolid to the lad’s blows. At
last, Frank darted in, caught the man

behind, lifted him over one hip, and
dashed him headlong to the ground.
Miller lay still, stunned.

Wal, that’s the beatenest Tever saw! yy *

  

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determined to grapple with the boy, and.

 

 

 

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FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND. 9

cried Kate Kenyon, whose admiration for |

Frank Merriwell now knew no bounds.

‘“You-uns is jes’ a terror!’’

Barney laughed.

‘‘Whoy, thot’s fun fer Frankie,’
declared.

Miller groaned and sat up, lifting his
hands to his head, and looking about him
in a dazed way.

‘“What’s happened ter me?’ he asked,
speaking thickly.

‘Ye run ag’in a fighter this time,
Wade,’’ said the girl. ‘‘He done ye, an’
you-uns is ther bully o’ these parts!”’

‘It was an accident,’’ mumbled the

man. ‘‘I couldn’t see ther critter well,
’

5

he

an’ so he kinder got——”’’

‘“That won’t go, Wade,”’ half laughed
the girl. ‘‘He done you fa’r an’ squar’,
an’ it’s no uster squawk.”’

‘*An’ ye’re laffin’ "bout it, be ye, Kate?
Wal, I ain’t done with him.”’

The girl became serious instantly.

‘*Better let him erlone, Wade. You-
uns has made fool enough o’ yerself. Ye
tried ter kill him, an’——”’

‘“What I saw made me do it!’’ grated
the man. ‘‘He war makin’ love ter ye,
Kate—an’ you’uns liked it!”’

‘“Wal, Wade Miller, what is that ter
you-uns?’’ she haughtily demanded. ‘‘He
has a right ter make love ter meef he

wants ter.’?

“‘Oh, yes, he has a right, but his
throat’ll be slit afore long, mark what I
say!’

“Ef anything o’ that kind happens,
Wade Miller, 1] know who done \it, an’
I swa’r I’ll never rest till I prove it ag’in
ye!”’

‘‘T don’t keer, Kate,’’ muttered the
man, getting on his feet and standing
there sulkily before them. ‘‘Ef I can’t
hev ye, I sw’ar no other critter shall!’

‘Be keerful, Wade Miller! I’ve stood
all I kin from you, an’ from now on I
don’t stan’ no more. Arter this you-uns

    

| He fell back a step, as if he had been
| struck a blow, and then he hoarsely re-
| turned :
| ‘All right, Kate. But I’ll stick ter my
loath. I ain’t ter be thrown aside so easy.
| As fer them city chaps, ther maountings
\ain’t big enough ter hold them an’ me.
Wade Miller has some power, an’ I
wouldn’t give a snap for their lives. The
Black Caps don’t take ter strangers much,
an’ they know them critters is har. I’m
goin’ now, but that don’t need ter mean
that I’ll stay away fer long.’’

He turned, and, having picked up his
revolver, strode away into the darkness,
quickly disappearing.

Kate’s trembling hand fell on Frank’s
arm, and she panted into his ear:

‘*You-uns must git out o’ ther maount-
ings quick as you kin, fer Wade Miller
means what he says, an’ he’ll kill ye ef
you stay har!’’

CHAPTER IV.
FACING DEATH.

Frank Merriwell’s blood was aroused, °
and he did not feel like letting Wade Mil-
ler drive him like a hunted dog from the
mountains.

‘By this time Ishould think you would
|have confidence in my ability to take care
lof myself against this man Miller,”’
|said, somewhat testily.

‘*Yo’re ther best fighter I ever saw, but
that won’t ’mount ter anything ag’in ther
power Miller will set on yer. ._He’s pop’ler,
is Wade Miller, an’ he’ll have ther hul!
maountings ter back him.’ ~

“T shall not run for Miller and all his
friends. Right is right. and I have as
good right here as he.’’

‘‘Hang me!’’ cried Kate, admiringly—
“‘hang me ef I don’t like you-un’s pluck.
| You may find that you’ll need a friend
‘afore yo’re done with Wade. Ef ye do—
wal, mebbe Kate Kenyon won’t be fur
off.’?

 

he

 
 

 

10 FRANK MERRIWELU’S FRIEND.

““Thank you,’’ said Frank. ‘‘It is a

good thing to know I shall have one

friend in the mountains.’

‘“Huah!’? grunted. a voice, and Mrs.

Kenyon was seen stolidly~ st inding in the

dusk. ‘‘Mebbe you-uns will find my Kate
ther best friend ye could have. Come,
gal, it’s time ter g’win.”’

So they entered the cabin, and Barney
found an
Frank

‘‘She’s a corker, me b’y! an* Oi think
she’s shtuck on yez.

opportunity to whisper to

Deiter be careful,
lad. It’s dangerous.”’
**Don’t worry,’’ returned Frank.
Shortly
Kenyon declared she was tired, and in-

after entering the house, Mrs. |

tended to go to bed. She apologized for

the bed she had to give the boys, but they |

assured her that they were accustomed to!
sleeping anywhere, and that the bed
would be a positive luxury.

‘‘Such slick-tongued chaps I never did
see before,’? declared the old woman.
‘“Fhey don’t seem stuck up an’ lofty, like
Really, they

‘feel right to home in my own house!”?

_ most city fellers.

She said this in a whimsical way that!
surprised Frank, who had fancied Mts.
Kenyon had no sense of humor.

Kate bade them good-night,
retired, which they were

and they |

day.
For a little

slept soundly for hours.

Frank was awakened by a sharp shake,
and his first thought was of danger, but
his hand did not reach the revolver he
had placed beneath the pillow, for he felt
something cold against his temple, and
heard a voice hiss:

‘‘Be easy, you-uns! Ef ye make a jowl,
yo’re ter be shot!’’ _

Barney was awakened at the same time,
and the boys found they were in the
clutches of strong men. ‘The little room

‘ iS
we Me

make me!

glad to do, as|
; |there securely, and the party was soon”
they were tired from the tramp of the|

time they lay talking in|
low tones, and then they fell asleep and/|&

seemed filled with men, and the lads in-
stantly realized they were in a bad scrape.
| Through the small window sifted the
white moonlight, showing that every man
wore a black, pointed cap and hood, which
reached to his shoulders. In this hood
cut for the
slits cut for their

atrangement great holes were
eyes, and some had
“mouths,

| “The Black Caps!’ was the thought
that flashed through Frank’s mind.

The revolvers pressed against the heads
of the boys kept them from defending
They
dress after
which they were passed through the open

| themselves or making an outcry.
were forced to get up and

window, like bundles, their hands having
been tied behind them.

| Other black-hooded men were outside,
.and horses were near at hand.

| ‘*Great Scott!’ thought Frank Merri-
'well. ‘‘We are in for it! We should have
been ready for them.”’

But when he thought how tired they
that both
had slept soundly while the men_ slipped
into the
be ‘en readily and noiselessly removed.

ihad been, he did not wonder

|
> house by the window, which had

| At did not take the men long to get out
Then Frank and
placed on horses, being tied

las they had entered.
| Barney were

ready to move.

They rode away, and the horses’ feet
rave out no sound, which explained why
they had not aroused anybody within the
cabin...

The hoofs of the animals were muffled.

Frank wondered what Kate Kenyon

found her guests gone.

‘She will believe we rose in the night
and ran away. I hate to have her believe
me a coward.”?

Then he fell to wondering what the
men would do with himself and Barney.

‘‘We are harmless travelers. They will

 

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whispered to Barney.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND. 11

not dare do anything more ae run us|tended a hand and pointed straight at the
out of this part of the country. | captive boys.

Although he told himself this, he was} ‘How shall they be disposed uv?”
far from feeling sure that the men would| asked the leader.

1 ‘thing elce tea ¢ AT f a 2S- ;
do nothing else. He had heard of the de ‘They shall be hanged,’ solemnly said

| .
wn wn SOW hit Cap rae An it x 1 of |

likely that the Black Caps were any less

perate deeds perpetrated by the widely

‘Good!’ cried the leader, as if well sat-

: ie] isfied, ‘*Produce ther rope.”’
desperate and reckless. ;

1 ; Seca | Inaimoment one of the men brought

As'they were leaving the vicinity. of| sensi

y : z= \forth a rope. This was long enough to

the cabin, one of the horses. neighed| :

serve for both boys, and it was quickly

cut in two pieces, while skilful hands
1 'proceeded to form nooses.

loudly, causing the leader of the party to}
utter an exclamation of anger.

‘*Ef that ’rousts ther gal, she’s li’bu
‘Frankie,’ ae Barney Mulloy, sadly,

r)

ter be arter us in a hurry,’’ one of the |

i ‘‘we’re done for.’
men observed.
| ‘Tt looks that way,’’ Frank was forced

The party hurried forward, soon pass-|
ito admit.

ing from view of the cabin, and entering ae ‘as ad as 4
: | i wouldn’t moind so much saic
the shadow that lay blackly in the depths | : . ; :
ithe Irish lad, ruefully, ‘‘av we could kick
of the valley. | reece, Moka de ‘ ‘
: : 1’ booket foighting fer our loives; but
They rode about a mile, and then they it ; 6
itis a bit harrud ter go under widout a
|chance to lift a hand.’’
leader, and Frank noticed with alarm that} se
| ““That’s right,’? grated Merriwell, as
they had stopped beneath a large tree| é
ihe strained fiercely at the cords which
held his hands behind his feet. ‘‘It is the
death of a criminal, and | object to it.’’
The Jeader of the Black Caps rode close
cert . to the boys, leaned forward in his saddl
mitted the Irish lad. ‘‘Oi fale throuble| eta ce e,
}and hissed in Frank’s ear:

came to a halt at a command from the}

with wide-spreading branches.
‘“This looks bad for us, old man,’’ he|

‘“Thot’s pwhat it does, Frankie,’’ ad-

coming this way.’’

The horsemen formed a circle about
the captives, moving at a signal from the
leader, who did not seem inclined to waste
words. “Not murder,’’ answered the man.

“Brothers o’ ther Black Caps,’’ said the |“"We-uns is goin’ ter put two revenues

5 : j ihe aS one atia ali
leader, ‘‘what is ther fate we-uns gives|°Ut 0’ ther way, that’s all.

“Tt’s my turn now!’’
‘‘And you mean to murder us?’’ de-
manded Frank, passionately.

ter revenues ?””’ ‘It’s murder,’’ cried Frank, in. a ring-
**Death!”’ ing tone. ‘‘You know we are not revenue

Every man in the circle uttered the|spies! Men, we appeal to you. . We can
word, and. they spoke all together. It) prove that we are what we claim to» be—
sounded dismal and blood-chilling. two boys who are tramping through the

“Right,’? bowed the-leader.. ‘‘Now,| mountains for pleasure. Will you kill us

why are we assembled ter-night ?”’ | without giving us a chance to prove our
“Ter dispose o’ spies,’’? chorused the | innocence ?”’

Black Caps. The leader laughed harshly.
‘Where are they?’’ ‘“Tt’s ther same ol’ whine,’’ he said.
Phar!’ ‘’Ther revenues alwus cry baby when

 

Each one of the black-hooded band ex-|they’re caught. You-uns can’t fool us, an’

 

 

 
 

 

 

12 FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

we ain’t got time ter waste with ye.
teddy, boys.”’

About the boys’ necks the fatal ropes
were quickly adjusted.

‘‘Stop!’’? Frank commanded.
murder us, you will find you have
killed two friendless boys. We
friends—powerful friends—who will fol-
low this matter up—who will investigate
it. You will be hunted down and pun-
ished for the crime. You will not be
allowed to escape!”’

Again the leader laughed.

‘Pore fool!’’ he sneered.
think ye’re stronger an’
than ther United
Huah! Ther United States loses her spies,
an’. she can’t tell who disposed o’ ’em.
We won’t be worried by all yore friends.”’

He made another movement, and the
rope ends were flung over a limb that was
strong enough to bear both lads.

Hope was dying within Frank Merri-
well’s breast. At last he had reached the
end of his adventurous life, which had
been short and turbulent. He must die
here amid these wild mountains, which
flung themselves up against the moonlit
sky, and the only friend to be with him
at the end was the faithful friend who
must die at his side.

Frank’s blood ran cold and sluggish in
his veins. The spring night had seemed
warm and sweet, filled with the droning

‘*Do you-uns
more po’erful

of insects; but now there was a bitter

chill in the air, and the white moonlight
seemed to take on a crimson tinge, as of
blood.

The boy’s nature rebelled against the
thought of meeting death in such a man-
ner. It was spring-time amid the moun-
tains; with him it was the spring-time of
life. He had enjoyed the beautiful world,
and felt strong and brave to face anything
that might come; but this he had not
reckoned on, and it was something to cause
the stoutest heart to shake.

Over the eastern mountains, craggy,

Git |

“Tf you!
not |
have|w

 

clear notes of a bugle:
States Goverment?!

 

wild, barren or pine-clad, the gibbous
moon swung higher and higher. The
heavens were full of stars, and every star
seemed to be an eye that was watching to
witness the consummation of the tragedy
down there in that little valley, through
hich Lost Creek flowed on to its un-
known destination.

How still it was!

The silence was broken by a sound that
made every black-hooded man start and
listen.

Sweet and mellow and musical, from
afar through the peaceful night, came the

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar! Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-
tar!

A fierce exclamation broke from the
lips of the leader of the Black Caps, and
he grated:

‘‘Muriel, by ther livin’ gods!
comin’ har! Quick, boys—finish this. job
an’ git!’?

“Stop, Wade Miller!’ cried Frank,
commandingly. ‘‘If that is Muriel,
for him—let him pronounce our fate. He
is the chief of you all, and‘he shall say if
we are revenue spies. ”’

‘‘Bah! You-uns know ‘too much, fer
ye’ve called my name! ‘That settles ye!
Ye must hang anyway, now!”’

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar ! '

From much nearer came the sound of
the bugle, awakening hundreds of mellow
echoes, which were flung from crag to
crag till it seemed that the mountains
were alive with buglers,

The clatter of a horse’s iron-shod feet
could be heard, telling that the rider was
coming like the wind down the valley.

‘‘Cut free ther feet o’ ther pris’ners!’’
panted the leader of the Black Caps.
‘Work seers Muriel will be here in a
few shakes, an’ we uns must be gone. ce
ready thar! Up with ’em!”’

The fatal moment had arrived!

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FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

CHAPTER V.
MURIEL.

Ta-ra-tar! ‘T'a-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar!

Through the misty moonlight a coal-)

black horse, bearing a rider who once

more awakens the clamoring echoes with |

his bugle, comes tearing at a mad gallop.
‘““Up with ’em!’’ repeats Wade Miller,
fiercely, as the black-hooded men seem to

hesitate.
The ropes tighten.
aeeOn t

One of the men utters the command,
and his companions hesitate.

‘‘Muriel is death on revernues,’’ says
the one who had spoken, ‘‘an’ thar ain’t
any reason why we-uns shouldn’t wait fer
him.’) *

‘“That’s so.’”’

More than half the men agree with the
one who has interrupted the execution,
filling Wade Miller with unutterable rage.

**Fools!’’ snarled the chief ruffan of
the party. ‘‘Ilam leadin’ you-uns now,
an’ ye’ve gotter do ez I say. I order ye ter
string them critters up!” .

Nearer and nearer came the clattering
hoof-beats.

‘‘Av we can have wan minute more!’’
breathed Barney Mulloy..

‘“‘Half a minute will
Frank Merriwell.

‘(We refuse ter obey ye now,’’ boldly
spoke the man who had commanded his
companions to stop. ‘‘Muriel has signaled
ter us, an’ he means fer us ter wait till
he-uns arrives.’’

‘‘Wait!’’ grated Miller. ‘‘They sha’n’t
escape !”’

He snatched out a revolver, pointed it
straight at Erank’s breast, and fired !

Just as the desperate ruffian was pulling
the trigger, the man nearest him struck
up his hand, and the bullet passed through
Frank's hat, knocking it to the ground.

Miller was furious as a maniac, but, at

this moment, the black horse and the
. \

do,’’ returned

     

13

dashing rider burst in upon the scene,
plunged straight through the circle, halt-
ing at the side of the imperiled lads, the
\horse being flung on its haunches.

| ‘Wal, what be you-uns doin’?’’? de-
‘“What
work is this, that I don’t know erbout?’’
Wade Miller

cowered before the chief of the moon-

mands a clear, ringing’ voice.

The men were silent.

 

shiners, trying to hide the revolvet.

| Muriel’s eyes, gleaming through the
twin holes of the mask he wore, found
| Miller, and the clear voice cried:

| ‘You-uns has been lettin’ this critter
An’ it’s. fair
| warnin’ I gave him ter keep clear 0’ med-

\lead ye inter. somethin’!

dilin’ with my business.’

| The boys gazed at the moonshiner chief
‘in amazement, for Muriel looked no more
‘than a boy as he sat there on his black
‘horse, and his voice seemed the voice of a
| boy instead of that of aman. Yet it was
‘plain that he governed these desperate
ruffians of the mountains with a hand of
‘iron, and they feared him.

| ‘We-uns war ’bout ter hang two rev-
ernues,’’ explained Miller.

Muriel looked at the boys.

‘‘Revernues?’’ he said, doubtfully.
““How long sence ther Gover’ment has
_been sendin’ boys har ter spy on us?”’

‘“They know what happens ter ther
men they send,’’ muttered Miller.

‘‘Wal, ’tain’t like they’d be sendin’
boys arter men failed.”’

‘“That’s ther way they hope te, fool
s,4 -

‘‘An’ how do you know them-uns is
_revernues ?”?

‘‘We jest s’picions it.’’

‘‘An’ you-uns war hangin’ ’em on
s’picion, ’thout lettin’ me know ?’’

‘‘We never knows whar ter find ye, .
Muriel.’’

‘“That is nary excuse, fer ef you-uns
had held them uns a day I’d_ knowed it.
It looks like you-uns war in a monst’rus
hurry.’’

 

  
  

14 FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.
“It war he-uns,’’ declared one of the| ‘‘Thot Muriel is a dandy, Frankie!

black hoods, pointing at Miller. ‘‘He-uns| Oi’m shtuck on his stoyle.’’
war in ther hurry.’’ ‘He is no more than a boy. I wonder

‘“We don’t gener’ly waste much time | how he happened to appear at such an op-

‘ ; ; ; - = ”
in dinkerin’ ’roun’ with anybody we-uns| portune moment?
|. “Nivvera bit do Oi know, but it’s

9

thinks is revernues,’’ said Miller. |

“Wal, we ain’t got ther record 0’ moighty lucky fer us thot he did.
killin’ innercent boys, an’ we don’t begin) Frank fell to speculating over the prov-
now. Take ther ropes off.their necks.”’ |idential appearance of the moonshiner

Two men hastened to obey the order, | Chief. It was plain that Muriel must have
while Miller sat and grated his teeth. As | known that something was happening,
this was being done, Muriel asked: | and he had signaled with the bugle to the

“What war you-uns doin’ with that | Black Caps. In all probability, other ex-
revolver-when I come? Iheard ye shoot, |ecutions had taken place beneath that
Who did you-uns, very tree, for the young chief came there

an’ I saw ther flash.
shoot.at?”’ | direct, without hesitation.
| For nearly an hour they seemed to ride

through the night, and then they. halted.
The boys were removed from the horses

Miller stammered and stuttered till |

Muriel repeated the question, his voice
cold and hard, despite its boyish calibre. |
‘“Wal,’’ said Wade, reluctantly, oh

and Of a building.

have ter tell yer. I shot at he-uns,’’ and |
After some moments, their hands were

he pointed at Frank. 2 | : Bae see
; ; itreed, and, tearing away the indtolds
ee ee eee eee Hine ae fecginatoas in a low aedate
: J » . c ’ »

When the ropes were removed from the | :
‘room, with no windows, and a single

necks of the boys, Muriel directed that |
i , ; 3 r
their feet be tied again, and their eyes 72". ; 3

Eee De : With his back to the’ door stood Muriel.
blindfolded. aig

These orders were attended to with
CHAPTER VI.

great swiftness, and then the moonshiner

chief said: THE LOTTERY OF DEATH.
«(Tt yo) J te 3
Follow! The light of a swinging oil lamp
Out they rode from beneath the PEeB irr ect the seal
and away through the misty moonlight. Muriel leaned gracefully against the

Frank and Barney could not see, but! qoor, his arms folded, and his eyes gleam-
they felt well satisfied with their lot, for ing where the lamplight shone on them
they had been saved from death for the/ through the twin holes in the sable mask.

time being, and, somehow, they felt that) phe other moonshiners had disappeared,

Muriel did not mean to harm them. and the boys were alone in that room

‘‘Frank,’’ whispered Barney, ‘‘are yez} i: the chief of mountain desperadoes.,
there ?”” There was something strikingly cool

‘‘Here,’’ replied Frank, close at hand. | and self-reliant in Muriel’s manner—

“Tt’s dead lucky we are to be livin’, me something that caused Frank Merriwell to

So 1) ;

b’y. think that the fellow, young as he was,
‘*You are quite correct, Barney. I fee] | feared nothing on the face of the earth.

like singing a song of praise and thanks-| At the same time there was no air of

giving. But we’re not out of the woods | bravado or insolence about that graceful
wi | ; pose and the quiet manner in which he

 

 

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FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND. 15

was regarding them.

moonshiner was a_ living

speak the question that fell from his lips.
‘Are you uns revernues ?”’

‘Why do you ask us?’’ Frank quickly

counter questioned. ‘‘You must

that we will lie if we are, and so you will

hear our denial anyway.
you little satisfaction.’’
‘‘Look har—she tol’ me fair an’ squar’
that you-uns watn’t revernues,
dunno how she could tell.’’
‘‘Of whom are you speaking ?”’

Frank fancied that he knew, but he put}

the question, and Muriel answered:

‘“Ther gal that saved yore lives by
comin’ ter me an’ tellin’ me ther boys had
taken you outer her mammy’s house.”’

‘*Kate Kenyon ?”’

ees

‘‘God bless her! She did save our lives,
for if you had been one minute later you
would not have arrived in time. Dear
girl! I’!l not forget her!”’

Muriel moved uneasily, and he did not
seem pleased by Frank’s words, although

his face could not be seen. It was some

moments before he spoke, but his voice |

was strangely cold and hard when he did
So.

‘*Tt’s well ernough fer you-uns ter re-
member her, but ye’d best take car’ how
ye speak o’ her. She’s got friends in ther
maountings—true friends.’

Frank was startled, and he felt the hot
blood rush to his face.
ment, he cried:

“Friends! Well, she has no truer
friends than the boys she saved to-night!
I hope you will not misconstrue our
words, Mr. Muriel.’’

A sound like a smothered laugh came
from behind that baffling mask, and
Muriel said: *

‘‘Yo’re hot-blooded. I war simply
warnin’ you-uns in advance, that’s all. I
thought it war best.”’

Then, in a mo-

 

Instead of that, the!
interrogation
point, everything about him seeming to

know

That can give
!

but I|

‘Tt was quite unnecessary. We esteem
Miss Kenyon too highly to say anything
that can give a friend of hers just caught
to strike against us.”
| ‘Wal, city chaps are light o’ tongue,
apt ter think that ev’ry
maounting girl is a fool ef she don’t have
book learnin’. Some city chaps make
their boast how easy thev kin ‘mash’ such
igals. Anything like that would count
|ag’in you-uns.’’

an’ they’re

Frank was holding himself in check
with an effort.

‘It is plain you do not know us, and
you have greatly misjudged us, We are
not in the mountains to make ‘mashes,’
and we are not the kind ‘to boast of our
conquests, ’’ —

‘“Thot’s me jool!’’? growled
Barney, whose temper was started a bit.
‘‘An’ it’s mesilf thot loikes to
pected av such a thing. It
foighting blud.”’
| The Irish lad clinched his fist, and felt
of his muscle, moving his forearm up and
down, and scowling blackly at the cool
|chief of moonshiners, as if longing to
thump the fellow.

This seemed to amuse Muriel, but still
he persisted ia further arousing the lads
by saving insinuatingly:

‘‘T war led ter b’lieve that Kate war
ruther interested in you-uns by her man-
ner. Thar don’t no maounting gal take
so much trouble over straugers fer
nothin’.”’

Frank bit his lip, and Barney looked
blacker than ever. It seemed that Muriel
was trying to draw them into a trap of
some sort, and they were growing more
and more suspicious. Had this young
leader of mountain ruffians rescued them
that he might find just cause or good ex-
cuse to put them out of the way?

The boys were silent, and Muriel forced
a laugh.

‘Wal, ye won’t talk about that, an’

right,

be sus-
shtirs me

 

 

 

so we'll go onter somethin’ else. I judge

   

 

 

 
 

 

&

16 FRANK MERRIWELL’'S FRIEND.
you-uns know yo’re in a po’erful bad; ‘‘We have a right to demand a fair
scrape ?”? |deal.”?

‘‘We have good reasons to think so. | “Right don’t count in this case; it’s”

‘“‘Begorra! we have thot!’’ exclaimed) might that holds ther fcrt. You-uns

Barney, feeling of his neck, and making stirred up a tiger agi’n ye when you made >

a wry face, as if troubled by an unpleas-; Wade Miller mad. It’s a slim show that

ant recollection. lye e escape ef we-uns lets yer go instanter.
‘It is a scrape that you-uns may not be. He’d —— yer, an’ he’ d finish yer some-

able ter git out of easy,’’? Muriel said. ‘‘I) | whar.

war able ter save yer from bein’ hung ‘“We will take our chances on that.

’thout any show at all, but ye’re not much | We have taken care of ourselves so far,

better off now.’’ _ and we think we can continue to do so.
“If you were powerful enough to save All we ask in that we'be set at liberty and

us in the first place, you should be able given our weapons. ”’

to get us out of the scrape entirely.’’ | ‘**An’ ye’d be found with yer throats
“‘Vou-uns don’t know all about it. cut within ten miles o’ har.”’

Moonshiners have laws an’ regulations,| ‘‘That would not be your fault.’’

an’ even ther leader must stan’ by them.’’} ‘‘Wal, ’cordin’ to our rules, ye can’t
Frank was still troubled by the unpleas-| be released onless ther vete ur ther card

ant suspicion that Muriel was their en-/ sez so.’’

emy, after all that had happened. He felt) ‘‘The vote or the cards? What do you

that they must guard their tongues, for) mean by that?’’

there was no telling what expression the! ‘‘Wal, it’s like this; Ef it’s put ter

; oe
fellow might distort and turn against vote, one black bean condemns you-uns

them. iter death, an’ ev’ry man votes black ur
Seeing neither of the lads was going/ white, as he chooses. I don’t judge you-
to speak, Muriel went on: “uns care ter take yer chances that way?’’
‘“Yes, moonshiners have laws and regu-| ‘‘Howly Sint Patherick!’’ gurgled

lations. ‘Ther boys came nigh breakin’! Barney Mulloy. ‘‘Oi sh’u’d soay not!
one o’ ther laws by hangin’ you-uns ter- Ixchuse us fram thot, me hearty!”

night ’thout givin’ ye a show.’’ | “That would be as bad as murder!”’
¥ g ‘

‘“Then we are to have a fair deal?’’ exclaimed Frank. ‘‘There would be one
eagerly cried Frank. ‘vote against us—one black bean thrown,
“*Kz fair ez anybody gits,’’ assured at least.’’
Muriel, tossing ,back a lock of his coal-| Muriel nodded.
black hair, which he wore long enough to} ‘‘I judge you-uns is right.”’
fall to the collar of his coat. ‘‘Ain’t that | ‘‘Pwhat av th’ carruds?’?’

all ye kin ask ?’? “Ves, what of them ?”’ :
“Tt don’t know. That depends on what} ‘‘T'wo men will be chosen, one ter hold
I Pe . | ;
kind of a deal it is.”’ .a pack o’ cards, and one to draw a card
‘Wal, ye’ll be given yore choice.’ from them. Ef ther card is red, it lets

“We demand a fair trial. If it is proven you-uns off fer it means life; ef it is
that we are revenue spies, we’ll have to} black, it cooks yer, fer it'means death.”’
take our medicine. But if it is not proven,| The boys were silent, dumfounded, ap-
we demand immediate release.’? palled. 3 |

‘“Take my advice; don’t demand any-| It wasa lottery of life and death.
thing 0’ ther Black Caps. Ther more ye}. Muriel stood watching them, and Frank
demand, ther less ye git.’’ . fancied that his eyes were gleaming with

 

a
%,
ae

 

 

we! aa Se ay ee hacky

 

  
——

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

satisfaction. The boy began to believe

he had mistaken the character of this as-

tonishing youth; Muriel might be even
worse than his older companions, for he
might be one who delighted in torturing
his victims,
Frank threw back his head, defiance
and scorn written on his handsome face.
‘Tt is a clean case of murder, at best!”’

‘*WWe deserve a fair trial—we demand it!’’

 

‘Wal,’’? drawled the boy moonshiner,
‘TY warned you-uns that ther more yer de-
Pt. Be

manded ther less yer seem
fergit that.’’
‘We're in fur i

.

t, Frankie, me. b’y!”’
groaned Barney.

“Tf we had our revolvers, we’d give
them a stiff fight for it!’ grated Frank,
fiercely. ‘‘They would not murder us till
a few of them had eaten jead!”’

Muriel seemed to nod with satisfaction.
‘‘Vou-uns has stuff, an’ when I tell yer
‘ that ye’ll have ter sta’ ter vote ur take
‘ chances with ther cards, I don’t judge
you'll hesitate. It’s one ur t’other.”’

‘Then make it the cards,’’ said Frank,
a. hoarsely. ‘‘That will give us an even
show, if the draw is a fair one.’’

‘*T’]] see ter that,’? assured Muriel. ‘‘It
shall be fair.’’

5 :
: x Without another word, he turned and
a3 swiftly slipped out of the room. They

‘ heard him bar the door, and then they |
x stood looking into each other’s faces,
; speechless for a few moments.
‘‘Ti’s a toss-up, Barney,’’ Frank finally
observed.

*°Myot’s pwhat it is, an’ th’ woay our
luck is runnin’ Oi think it’s a case av
heads they win an’ tails we lose.’’

fe ‘Tt Jooks that way,’’ admitted. Frank.
ee ‘“‘But there is no way out of it. We'll
Be ees Fi have to grin and bear it.’’

‘*Pwhat do yez think av thot Muriel ?’’
**He’s an enigma.”’

 

‘*Worse than thot, me b’y—he’s a cat’s"

. . . . - }
he cried, his voice ringing out clearly. |

ter |

   

17
|cradle toied in a hundred an’ siventane
| knots. ry

| “It is impossible to tell whether he is
‘friendly or whether he is the worst foe we
|have in these mountains.”’

| ‘Oi wonder how Kate Kenyon knew
'where to foind him so quick ?”’

| “Ihave thought of that. She must
‘have found him in a very short time after
we were taken from the cabin.’’

‘‘An’ she diskivered thot we hed been
\taken away moighty soon afther we wur
| Thot is sure.”’

‘‘Remember one of the horses neighed.
It may have aroused Kate and her mother,
‘and caused them to investigate.’

‘‘Loikely thot wur th’ case, fer it’s not
|mesilf thot would think she’d kape shtill
)an let ther spalpanes drag us away av
ishe knew it.”’

‘*No; I believe her utterly fearless,
it is plain to me that Wade Miller is
the only one in love with her.’’

‘Who ilse ?”’

**Muriel.”’

*“Mebbe ye’re roight, Frankie.’’
The fellow

tried to lead me into a trap—tried to get

'gone, me b’y.

and
not

‘*It strikes me that way.
me to boast of a mash on her. I could see
his eyes gleam with jealousy. In her eag-
erness to save us—to have him aid her in
the
|pect that one of us had been making love

 

work—she must have led him to sus-

|to her.”
Barney whistled a bit, and then he
ishyly said:

‘‘Oi wonder av wan of us didn’t
bit av thot ?”?

‘‘Not I,’’ protested Frank. “We talked
in a friendly manner—in fact, she prom-

do a

ised to be a friend to me. I may have ex-
pressed admiration for her hair, or some-
thing of the sort, but I vow I did not
make love to her.’’

‘‘Well, me b’y, ye have a thrick av
gettin’ all th’ girruls shtuck on yez av ye
look at thima, so ye didn’t nade ter make
love.’”?

 
 

a:

at the door,

PAR ge Ti ald He Mean

18 FiiANK
‘“*Tt’s not my fault, Barney.’’
‘‘It’s nivver a fault at all, at all, me

lad. Oi wish Oi wur built th’ soame way,

but it’s litthle oice I cut wid th?’ girruls.
This south av Oireland brogue thot Oi
foind mesilf unable to shake counts

against ime a bit, O1 belave.”’
“T should think Miller

- would clash,’’

‘It’s plain enough that Miller is afraid
av Muriel.’’
‘‘And Muriel intends to keep him thus.

I fancy it was a good thing for us that

Kate Kenyon suspected Wade Miller of|

having a hand in our capture, and told
Muriel that we had been carried: off by
him, for I fancy that is exactly what hap-
pened. Muriel was angry with Miller, and
he seized the opportunity to call the fel-
low down. But for that, he might not
have made such a hustle to save us.’’.
“Thin we should be thankful thot
Muriel an’ Miller do not love ache ither.”’
The boys continued to discuss the situa-

tion for some time, and then they fell to)

examining the room in which they were
imprisoned. It did not seem. to have a
window anywhere, and the single door ap-
peared to be the only means of entering or
leaving the place.

‘“There’s little show of escaping from

this room,’’ said Frank.

‘‘Roight ye are,’’? nodded Barney.
‘This wur built to kape iverything safe
thot came in here.’’

A few minutes later there was a sound
and Muriel came in, with
two of the Black Caps at his heels.

‘““Ther boys have agreed ter give ye
ther chance o’ ther cards,’’ said the boy
inoonshiner.» ‘‘An’ yo’re goin’ ter have a
fair an’ squar’ deal.”’

‘‘We will have to SaaS as said Frank,
quietly. ©

‘*You will have ter let ther boys bind |

yer hands afore ye leave this room,’’ said
Muriel. eee
The men each held the end of a stout

rus
and Muriel

‘ MERRIWELL'S FRIEND. /

rope, and the boys were forced to submit
to the inconvenience of having ae
hands boutrd behind them.
tested, but Frank kept silent,
was useless to say anything.

Barney pro-
knowing it

When their hands were tied, Muriel
said :

“*Follow.’?

He led the way, while Frank came

next, with Barney shuffling sulkily along
at his heels. The two men came last.
They passed through a dark room and
‘entered another room, which was lighted
by three oil lamps The room
filled with the black-hooded mocnshiners,

 

was well

who were standing ina grim and silent
circle with their backs against the walls.

Into the centre of this circle the boys
were marched. The door closed, and
Muriel addressed the Black Caps.

‘It is not often that we-uns gives our
captives ther choice uv ther cards or ther
vote, but we have agreed ter do so in this
case, with only one objectin’, an’ he war

 

induced ter change his mind. Now we
mean ter have this fair an’ squar’, an’ I

an’ see that it is. Ther men has been ser-
lected, one ter hold ther cards an’ one ter
draw. Let them step forrud.’’

Two of the Black Caps stepped out, and
Frank started a bit, for he believed one of
them was Wade Miller.

A pack of cards was produced, and
Muriel shuffled them with a skill that
told of experience, after which he handed
them to one of the men.

Miller was to draw!

Frank watched every move, determined
to detect the fraud if possible, should
there be any fraud.

An awed hush seemed to settle over the
room. e
The men who wore the black hoods

watching to see what card should be
drawn from the pack.

 

Barney Mulloy caught his breath with

call on ev’ry man present ter watch out

leaned forward a little, every one of them —

 

 

sl ae BRR Se ee

 

 

5

 

 

 
sie nish

slik ite

af
RRR oD

 

 

‘but he did not

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND. 19

a gasping sound, and then was silent,
standing stiff and straight.
Muriel was as alert. as a panther, and

his eyes gleamed through the holes in his

mask like twin stars.

The man who received the pack from
Muriel stepped foward, and Miller reached
out his hand to draw.

Then Frank Merriwell suddenly cried :}

“Wait!
are having a fair show in this matter, why
not permit one of us to shuffle those
cards ?”’

Quick as a flash of light, Muriel’s hand |
fell on the wrist of the man who held the!

cards, and his clear voice rang out:

‘*Stop! Unbind his hands. He shall

-shuffle.’’

* sh
‘Frank’s hands were unbound, and he

was given the cards.
handle them with more
skill than had Muriel. He ‘‘shook them
up’? thoroughly, and then passed them
back to the man who was to hold them.

**Bind him!’

Muriel’s order was swiftly obeyed, and
Frank was again helpless.

“Draw!”

The cards were extended. Wade Miller
reached out, and quickly made the draw,
holding the fateful card up for all to see.

It was the ace of spades!

CHAPTER VII.
SAVED!

“Death !?’

From beneath the black hoods sounded
the terrible word, as the man beheld the
black card which was exposed to view.

The boys were doomed! .

Frank’s heart dropped like a stone into
the depths of his bosom, but no sound
came from his lips,

Barney Mulloy showed an equal amount
of nerve. Indeed, the Irish lad laughed
recklessly as he cried:

‘It’s nivver a show we had at all, at

That we may be satisfied we|

He shuffled them, |

Th’ snakes had it fixed fer
us all th’ toime.’’

‘*Hold on thar!’’

The words came from Muriel, and the

|all, Frankie.
|

boy chief of the Moonshiners made a
ispting and a grab, snatching the card
from Miller’s hand.

‘“Took

do! Let’s give ther critters a fair show.’

har!’ he cried. ‘*This won’t

)
‘‘Do you mean ter say they didn’t have
Wade Miller,
fiercely. ‘‘Do you say that I cheated ?”’

‘‘Not knowin’t it,’’ Muriel.
‘But ther watn’t fair, jes’ ther
same.’

““Warn’t tair!”?
ously. ‘Why not?”?

‘Because two cards war drawed!’’ rang
youth,

a fair show?’’ demanded

answered

draw

snarled Miller, furi-

|
out the voice of the masked

‘‘Look—har they be! One is ther ace o’

’

|spades, an’ ther other is ther nine o
l

1earts.’’

| .Exclamations of astonishment came

\from all sides, and a ray of hope shot into
Lasacree Merriwell’s heart.

Ee eee two cards?”?
Miller, as if surprised. ‘*Wal,
that? Ther black card war thér one ex-
|posed, an’ that settles what’ll be done

| .

| with ther spies.’

muttered
’

draw
what o

>

‘Tt don’t settle it!’? declared Muriel,
promptly. ‘‘Them boys is goin’ ter have
a squar’ show.”’

It was with the greatest difficulty that
Miller held himself in check. His hands
Frank fancied that
he longed to spring upon Muriel.

The boy chief was very cool-as he took
ithe pack of cards from the hand of the

were clinched, and

‘man who had held them.
‘Release one of the prisoners,’’ was his
command. ‘‘The cards shall be shuffled

|ag’in,”?
|

 

more Frank Merriwell’s hands
were freed, and again the cards were given
him to shuffle. He mixed them deftly, with-
jout saying a word, and gave them back to

| Once

 

 
 

2/) FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND. /
Muriel. Then his hands were tied, and he| ‘‘Wal,’’? muttered Miller, ‘‘what do ye |

awaited the second drawing.
‘“‘Be careful an’ not get twé cards this|

warned Muriel as he faced Miller. |

9

time,
‘“This draw settles ther business fer them-
uns. ’’

The cards were given to the man who
was to hold them, and Miller stepped for-
ward to draw.

Again the suspense became great, again
the men leaned forward to see the card
that should be pulled from the pack;|

 

again the hearts of the captives stood still. |

Miller hesitated. He seemed to feel that |
the tide had turned against him. For a|
moment he was tempted to refuse to|
draw, and then, with a muttered ex-
clamation, he pulled a card from the pack |
and held it up to view. Then, with a bit-|
ter cry of baffled rage, he flung it madly
to the floor.

It was the queen of hearts!

Each man in the room seemed to draw |
a deep breath. It was plain that some |
were disappointed, and some were well |
satisfied. |

‘(That settles it!’? said Muriel, calmly. |
‘“They-uns won’t be put out o’ ther way)
ter-night.’’ |

‘*Settles it!’ snarled Miller, furious |
with disappointment. ‘‘It war settled
afore! I claim that ther first draw counts. ’’

‘An’ I claim that it don’t,’’ returned
the youthful moonshiner, without lifting
his voice in the least. ‘‘You-uns all
agreed ter ther second draw, an’ that lets
them off.’’

‘‘Oh, you have worked it slick !’’ grated
the disappointed Black Cap. ‘‘But them
critters ain’t out o’ ther maountings yit!”’

‘‘By that yer mean—jes’ what ?”’

‘They're not liable ter git out alive.”

“Ef they-uns is killed, I’1] know whar
ter look fer ther one as war at ther bottom
o’ ther job—an’ Ill look !”’

Muriel did not bluster, and he did not
speak above an ordinary tone, but it was
plain that he meant every word.

 

mean ter do with them critters—turn ’em —
out, an’ let ’em bring ther officers down
on us?”?

‘‘No. I’m goin’ ter keep ’em till they
kin be escorted out o’ ther maountings.
Thar ain’t time ter-night, fer it’s gittin’
toward mornin’. ‘Ter-morrer night it can
be done.”?

Miller said no more. He seemed to
know it was useless to make further talk,
but Frank and Barney knew that. they
were not yet out of danger.

The boys seemed as cool as any one 1n
the room, for all of the deadly peril they
had passed through, and: Muriel nodded
in a satisfied way when he had looked
them over.

‘*Come,’’ he said, in a low tone, ‘‘you-
uns will have ter go back ‘ter ther room
whar ye war a bit ago.”’

They were willing to go back, and it
was with no small amount of relief that
they allowed themselves to be escorted
back there.

Muriel dismissed the two guards, and
then he set the hands of the boys free.

“Thar ye are,’? he said. ‘‘Yo’re all
right fer now.”’ |

‘Thanks to vou,’’ bowed Frank. I
want to make an apology.”’

‘*Rer what ?”’

‘‘Suspecting vou of double dealing.”’

‘‘You-uns did suspect me???

(Vos, ”»

“Why ?”’

‘It looked that way once. It seemed
that you had saved us from being hanged,
but that you intended to finish us here.”’

“Ef that war my scheme, why did I
take ther trouble ter save ye at all?’

‘It looked as if you did so to please
Miss Kenyon. You had saved us, and_
then, if the men disposed of us in the
regular manner, you would not be to
blame.’’ | :

Muriel shook back his long, black hair,
and his manner showed that he was angry.

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

* FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND. 21

He did not feel at all pleased to know his|
sincerity had been doubted.

“Wal,’’ he said, slowly, ‘‘ef it hadn’t|
been fer me you-uns would be gone coons |

 

now.’

‘‘Begobs! we know thot!’’ exclaimed |
Barney. ;

‘*You-uns know I saved ye, but ye
don’t know how I done it.”’

There was something of bitterness and
reproach in the voice of the youthful
moonshiner. He continued:

**T done that fer you I never done _ be-
fore fer no man. I wouldn’t a done it fer
myself!”’

Frank wondered what the
youth could mean.

‘“‘Do you-uns want ter know what I
done ?’’ asked Muriel.

‘Ves, )

“*T cheated.”?

‘‘Cheated ?’

siV es. 9

SHow??’

‘‘When I snatched ther first card drawn |
from ther hand o’ ther man what drawed |
it. It war ther ace o’ spades, an’ it con-|
demned yer ter die.”’

‘‘But there were two cards drawn.’’

‘‘No! Thar war one card drawed, an’
that war all!”’

‘*But—but you showed two!”’

Muriel nodded.

‘That war whar I cheated,’’ he said,
simply. ‘‘I had ther red card in my hand
ready ter do ther trick ef a black card war
drawed. In that way I knowed I could
give yer two shows ter escape death.’’

strange

 

CHAPTER VIII.
SUT OF Ses TRAY.

The boys were astounded by this reve-
lation, but they did not doubt that Muriel
spoke the truth. His manner showed that
he was not telling a falsehood.

 

And this strange boy—this remarkable

  

leader of moonshiners had done such a
thing to save them!

More than ever they marveled at the
fellow.

Once more Muriel’s arms were folded
over his breast, and he was leaning grace-
fully against the door, his eyes watching
their faces.

Fo1 several moments both boys were
stricken dumb with wonder and surprise.
Frank was not a little confused, thinking

'as he did how he had misunderstood this

mysterious youth. Even now Frank could
not understand him. It seemed most un-
accountable that he should do such a
thing for two lads who were utter strangers
to him.

A sound like a bitter laugh came from
behind the sable mask, and Muriel flung
out one hand with an impatient gesture.

‘‘T know what you-uns is thinkin’ of,”’
declared the young moonshiner. ‘‘Ye
wonder why I done so. Wal, I don’t jes’
know myself, but I promised Kate ter do
mny best fer ye.’

‘*You have kept your promise!’’ cried
Frank—‘‘kept it nobly! Muriel, you may
be a moonshiner, you may be the leader
of the Black Caps, but I am proud to
know you! I believe you are white all the
way through!”’

‘“Thar!’’ exclaimed the youth, with a
show of satisfaction, ‘‘that makes me feel
better. But it war Kate as done it, an’
she’s ther one ter thank; but it ain’t
likely you-uns’ll ever see her ag’in.”’

‘“Then tell her,’’ said Frank, swiftly,
‘‘tell her for us that we are very thankful
—tell her we shall not forget her. Til
never forget her.”’

Muiiel moved uneasily. He seemed
about to speak, and then checked himself.

‘“You will tell her?’’? said Frank, ap-
pealingly.

Tl] tell her,’’ nodded Muriel, his voice
sounding a bit strange. ‘‘Is that all you-
uns want me ter tell her?’

‘“Tell her I would give much to see

 

 

   

 
 

i nraha er arcane na Mg gC SLSR TONE ES RO

22

her again,’’ came swiftly from
Merriwell’s
friend, and right well has she kept that |
promise. ”’

‘“That’s all ?’’ questioned th
shiner.

Phat alt”

‘Then Ill have ter leave you-uns now.
Take it as easy as yer kin. Breakfast will
be brought ter ve, and when another
night comes, a guard will go with yer out
o’ ther maountings. Good-by.”’

He was going.

“Wait! cried Frank.
hands before you go?”?

He held out a hand, and Muriel seemed
to hesitate. After a few moments, the

‘*Will you shake

. . }
masked lad shook his head, and, without

another word, left the room.

‘“Begorra!’’ cried Barney, scratchin
Fan] wen

his head, ‘‘thot felly is worse. than Oj
thought! Oi don’t know so much about

him now as Oi did bafore Oi met him at
all, at all.”’

The boys were given much food for con-
versation. They made themselves as com-
fortable as possible, and talked over the
thrilling events of the night.

“Tf Kate Kenyon had not told me that
her brother was serving time as a convict,
I should think this Muriel must be her
brother,’’ said Frank.

‘‘Av he’s not her brither, it’s badly
shtuck on her he must be, Oi dunno,’’ ob-
served Barney. ‘‘An’ av he be shtuck on
her, pwhoy don’t he git onter th’ collar
ay thot Miller ?’’

That was a question Frank could not

answer. Finally, when they had tired of
talking, the boys lay down and tried to
sleep.

Frank was beginning to doze when his
eats seemed to detect a slight rustling in
that very room, and his eyes flew open in
a twinkling. .He started up, a cry of
wonder surging to his lips, and being
smothered there.

Kate Kenyon stood within ten feet of
him!

_ As Frank started up the girl swiftly
placed a finger on her lips, warning: him
to be silent.

Frank sprang to his feet, and Barney

* Mulloy sat up, rubbing his eyes and be-
; sinning to speak.

 

Frank |

slips. ‘*She sromised to be my |
] € j

/mouth, |
e boy moon-|tnres from Frank and the girl.
|exclamation

 

 

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND

‘‘Pwhat’s th’
Are yez—— Howly shmoke!
ee clasped both hands over his
laving caught the warning ges-
Still the
lips, al-

matter now, me. b’y?

1)

had escaped his
though it was not uttered loudly.
Swiftly Kate Kenyon flitted across the

room, listening with her ear to the door
to hear any sound beyond. After some

moments, she seemed satisfied that the
moonshiners had not been aroused by any-
thing that had happened within that
room, and she came back, standing close
to Frank, and whispering:

‘““Ef you-uns will trust me,
kin git yer out o’ this scrape.”’

“Trust you!’’ exclaimed Frank, softly,
as he caught her hand. ‘‘We have you to
thank for our ljves! Kate—your pardon!
—Miss Kenyon, how can we ever repay
you?’

‘‘Don’t stop ter talk ’bout that now,’’
she said, with chilling roughness. ‘‘Ef
you-uns want ter live, an’ yer want ter
git erway frum Wade Miller, git reddy ter
foller me.’’

‘*We are ready.”’

‘‘Begorra! we’re waitin

‘‘But how are we to leave this room?
How did you enter ?’’

She silently pointed to a dark opening
in the corner, and they saw that a small
trap-door was standing open.

‘We kin git out that way,’’ she said.

The boys wondered why they had not
discovered the door when they examined
the place, but there was no time for in-
vestigation,

Kate Kenyon flitted lightly toward, the

I judge I

y19)

opening. Pausing beside it, she pointed
downward, saying:

‘“Go ahead; I'll foller and close ther
doses

The boys did not hesitate, for they
placed perfect confidence in the girl now.
Barney dropped down in advance, and
his feet found some rude stone steps. In a
moment he had disappeared, and then
Frank followed.

As lightly as’ a fairy, Kate Kenyon
dropped through the opening, closing the
door behind her/

The boys found themselves j in absolute
darkness in some sort of a narrow, under-

 

 
 

 

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 

 

 
 
 

 

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

ground place, and there they paused,
awaiting their guide.

She came in a moment. Her hand
touched Frank as she slipped past, and he
caught the perfume of wild flowers. To

him she was like a beautiful wild flower
growing in a wilderness of weeds. ‘The

touch of their hands was electric.

--Come. *’

The boys heard the word, and they
moved slowly forward through the dark-
ness, now and then feeling dank walls on
either hand.

For a considerable distance they went|

on inthis way, and then the passage
seemed to widen out, and they felt that
they had entered a cave.

‘“Keep close ter me,’’ directed the girl.

‘‘Here, give me your hands. Now you-
uns can’t git astray.’’

Her hands were warm and reassuring
within their clasp, and the boys felt cer-
tain that all danger was past. She had
saved them, and they owed her every-
thing.

At last a strange smell came to their
nostrils, seemingly on the wings of a light
breath of air.

‘What is that?’’ asked Frank.

**Kt’s ther mill,’’ replied the girl.

‘wF he-in4ill ??”

ttVes:??

‘*What kind of a mill ?”’

‘’Ther mill whar ther moonshine is
made.’ .

“Ont?

Now the boys recognized the smell.

Still she led them on through the dark-
ness. Never fora moment did she hesi-
tate; she seemed to have the eyes of an
owl.

All at once they heard the sound of
gently running water.

‘*Ts there a stream near ?’’ asked Frank.

“Yost Creek runs through har,’’

>

_answered the girl.

“Tost Creek? Why we are still under-
ground.’

‘CAn’ Lost Creek. runs
Have ye fergot that?”’

So the mysterious

underground.

flowed

stream

through this cavern, and the cave was

near one of the illicit distilleries.

Frank cared to know no more, for he
did not believe it was healthy to know
too much about the makers of moonshine.

   

   

23

It was not long before they approached
the mouth of the cave. They saw the
opening before them, and then, of a sud-
den, a dark figure arose there—the figure

of a man with a gun in his hands!

CHAPTER IX.
FRANK’S SUSPICION.

**It’s all right.’?

Kate uttered the words, and the boys
began to recover from their alarm, as she
did not hesitate in-the least.

‘Who is it?’ asked Frank.

‘*Dummy.”’

‘*Who is Dummy ?’’

‘CA cousin 0’ mine. He’ll do anything
ferme. I put him thar ter watch out
while I war in har.”’

They went forward. Of a sudden, Kate
struck a match, holding it so the light
shone on her face, and the figure at the
mouth of the cave was seen to wave its
hand and vanish.

‘(Ther coast is clear,’’ assured the girl.

‘But it’s gittin’ right nigh mornin’, an’
we-uns must hustle away from har afore
it is light. We won’t lose any time.’’

The boys were well satisfied, to. get
away as quickly as possible.

They passed out of the dark cavern into
the cool, sweet air of a spring morning,
for the gray of dawn was beginning to
dispel the darkness, and the birds were
twittering from the thickets.

The phantom of a moon was in the
sky, hanging low down and half-inverted,
as if spilling a spectral glamour over the
ghostly mists which lay deep in Lost
Creek Valley.

The sweet breath of flowers and of the
woods was in the morning air, and from

3,

 

‘some cabin afar on the side of a distant
|mountain a wakeful watch-dog barked til]
|the crags reverberated with his clamoring.

‘“Thar’s somethin’ stirrin’ at ’Bize
Wiley’s, ur his dorg wouldn’t be kickin’
‘up all that racket,’’ observed Kate Ken-
yon. ‘‘He lives by ther road that comes
over from Bildow’s Cross Roads. Folks
comin’ inter ther maountings from down
| below travel that way.’’

The boys looked around for the mute
who had been guarding the mouth of the
cave, but they saw nothing of him. He

 
  

SNR IRE SS A ag | AEB LT a TCE EE, ME OL

   

24

had slipped away into the bushes which
grew thick all around the opening.

‘“Come on,’? said the girl, after seeming
strangely interested i in the barking of the
dog. ‘‘We’ll git ter ther old mill as soon
as we kin. Foller me, an’ be ready ter
scrouch ther instant anything is seen.”’

Now that they could see her, she led
them forward at a swift pace which aston-
ished them both. She did not run, but she
seemed to skim over the ground and she
took advantage of every bit of cover till
they entered some deep lowland pines.

Through this strip of woods she swiftly
led them, and they came near to Lost
Creek, where it flowed down in the
dismal valley.

There they found the ruins of an old
mill, the moss-covered water-wheel for-
ever silent, the roof sagging and falling
in, the windows broken out by mischiev-
ous boys, the whole presenting a most
melancholy and deserted appearance.

The road that had led into the mill
from the main highway was overgrown
with weeds. Later it would be filled with
thistles and burdocks. Wild sassafras
grew along the roadside.

‘“Thar’s whar you-uns must hide ter-
day,’’ said Kate, motioning toward the
mill. s

‘“‘Why should we hide?’’? exclaimed
Frank. ‘‘We are not criminals, nor are
we revenue spies. I do not fancy the idea
of hiding like a hunted dog.”’

‘It’s better ter be a live dorg than a
dead lion. Ef you-uns’ll take my advice,

you’ll come inter ther mill thar, an’ ye'll |

keep thar all day, an’ keep mighty quiet.
I know ye’re nervy, but thar ain’t no
good in bein’ foolish. It’]l be known that
you-uns have escaped, an’ then Wade
Miller will scour ther country. Ef he
come on yer——”’

‘‘Give us our arms, and we’ll be ready
_to meet Mr. Miller.”’

‘‘But yer wouldn’t meet him alone; |

thar’d be others with him, an’ you-us
wouldn’t have no sorter show.’’

Kate finally succeeded in convincing
the boys that she spoke the truth, and
they agreed to remain quietly in the old
mill.

She led them into the mill, which was
dank and dismal. The imperfect light

 

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

for their feet, but she warned them, and
they escaped injury.

The miller had lived in the mill, and
the girl took them to the part of the old
building that had served as a home.

‘*Har,’’ she said, opening a closet door,
‘ve brung food fer you-uns, so yer
won’t starve, an’ I knowed ye’d be
hongry.’’ . :

‘*You are more than thoughtful, Miss
Kenyon.’’

‘‘VYer seem ter nave fergot what we
agreed ter call each other, Frank.’

She spoke the words in a tone of
reproach.

‘*Kate!”?

Barney turned away, winking uselessly
at nothing at all, and kept his back
toward them for some moments.

But Frank Merriwell had no thought
of making love to this strange girl of the
mountains. She had promised to be his
friend; she had proved herself his friend,
and as no more than a friend did he pro-
pose to accept her.

That he had awakened something
stronger than a friendly feeling in Kate
Kenyon’s breast seemed evident, and the
girl was so artless that she could not con-
ceal her true feelings toward him. :

They stood there, talking in a low tone,

while the morning light stole in at one
\broken window and grew stronger and
istronger within that room.
Frank was studying Kate’s speech and
voice. As he did so a new thought came
‘to him—a thought that was at Gret a mere
suspicion, which he scarcely noted at all.
This suspicion grew, and he found him-
self asking:

 

still wearing a convict’s suit?’

- She started and looked at him closely.
‘‘Sure 0’ it??? she repeated. ‘‘No, fer

he may be dead.”’

you have not heard of his death ?”?
oe NEY: ”)
**Ts he bold and daring ?”’

swept across her face.

wa’n’t afeared o’ ary two-legged critter
livin’, an’ they war right.’’

 

failed to show all the pitfalls that lurked)

 

‘*Perhaps he has escaped.”’

‘‘Kate, are you sure your brother is

‘‘VYou do not know that he is dead—

 

Her eyes flashed, and a look of pride -

“Folks allus ’lowed Rufe Kenyon

 

    
     
   
   
 
    
    
   
   
   
     
   
    
  
   
    
   
  
  
 

 

  

She clutched his arm,
pant, as she asked:

‘‘What makes you say that? I knowed
he’d try it some day, but—but, have you

beginning to

heard anything? Do you know that he
has tried it ?”’

The suspicion leaped to a conviction in
the twinkling of an eye. If Rufe Kenyon
was not at liberty, then he must be right
in what he thought.

‘*T do not know that your brother has
tried to escape. Ido not know anything
about him. I did think that he might be
Muriel, the moonshiner.”’

Kate laughed.

‘*You-uns war plumb mistooken thar,”’
she said, positively. ‘‘Rufeis not Muriel.’

-*“Then,’’ cried Frank, ‘‘you are Muriel
yourself !”’

CHAPTER. X.
THE FUGITIVE.

Kate Kenyon seemed astounded.

‘“Have you-uns gone pluinb dafty?’?
asked the girl, in a dazed way. ‘‘Me
Muriel! Wal, that beats all!’’

“But you are—I am sure of it,”’
Frank, swiftly.

The girl laughed.

‘Well, that beats me! Of course I’m
not Muriel; but he’s ther best friend I’ve
got in these maountings.”’

Frank was far from satisfied, but he
was too courteous to insist after this de-
nial. Kate laughed the idea to scorn, say-
ing over and over that the boy must be
‘“‘dafty,’? but still his mind was un-
changed.

To be sure there were some things not
easily explained, one being how Muriel
concealed her luxurious red hair, for
Muriel’s hair appeared to be coal-black.

Another thing was that Wade Miller
must know Muriel and Kate were one and
the same, and yet he preserved her secret
and allowed her to snatch his victims
from his maws.

said

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

 

Barney Mulloy had been more than as-|
tounded by Frank’s words; the Irish |
youth was struck dumb. When he could |
collect himself, he softly muttered: .

‘Well, av all th’ oideas thot takes th’!
ake!’
Having seen them safely within the!

mill and shown them the food brought}

there, Kate said:

 

 

26

‘‘Har is two revolvers fer you-uns.
Don’t use ’em unless yer have ter, but
shoot ter kill ef you’re forced.”’

‘*Begorra! Oi’m ready fer th’ spal-
panes!’’ cried Barney, as he grasped one
of the weapons. ‘‘Let thim come on!”’

‘‘T feel better myself,’’ declared Frank.
‘‘Next time Wade Miller and his gang
will not catch us napping.”’

‘Roight, me b’y; we'll be sound
awake, Frankie.”’

Kate bade them good-by, assuring them
that she would return with the coming of
another night, and making them promise
to await her, and then she flitted away,
slipped out of the mill, soon vanishing
amid the pines.

“It?s dead lucky we are ter be living,
Frankie,’’ observed Barney.

‘‘T quite agree with you,’’ laughed
Merriwell. ‘‘This night has been a black
and tempestuous one, but we have lived
through it, and I do not believe we’ll find
ourselves in such peril again while we
are in the Tennessee mountains. ’”’

They were hungry, and they ate
heartily of the plain food that had been
provided them. .

When breakfast was over, Barney said:

‘Frankie, it’s off yer trolley ye git
sometoimes.”’

‘‘What do you mean by that, Barney?
Is it a new sell?’

‘‘Nivver a bit. Oi wur thinkin’ av
pwhat yez said about Kate Kenyon being
Mooriel, th’ moonshoiner.’’

‘‘T was not off my trolley so very much
then.”’

‘“G’ wan, me b’y!
bid-bug.’?

‘You think so, but I have made a
study of Muriel and of Kate Kenyon. I
am still inclined to believe the moon-
shiner is the girl in disguise.”’

~**An’ Oi say ye’re crazy. No girrul
could iver do pwhat thot felly does, an’
no band av min loike th’ moonshoiners
would iver allow a girrul loike Kate Ken-
yon ter boss thim.’’ ,

‘“They do not know Muriel is a girl.
That is, Iam sure the most of them do
not know it—do not dream it.”’

‘“Thot shows their common sinse, fer
Oi don’t belave it mesilf.’?

‘IT may be wrong, but I shall not give

Ye wur crazy as a

it up yet.”’

  
 

 

26

““Whoy, think pwhat a divvil thot
Muriel is! An’ th’ color av his hair is
black, whoile the girrul’s is red.”’

‘J have thought of those things, and
I have wondered how she conceals that
mass of red hair; still Iam satisfied. she
does. it.,’’

‘‘Well, it’s no use to talk to you at all,
at al?

However, they did discuss it for some)
time.

Finally they fell to exploring the old
mill, and they wandered from:one part to
another till they finally caine to the place
where they had entered over a sagging
plank. They were standing there, just
within the deeper shadow. of the mill,
when a man came panting and reeling
from the woods, his hat off, his shirt torn
open at the throat, great drops of perspira-
tion standing on his face, a wild,
look in his eyes, and dashed to the end of
the plank that led over the water into
the old mill.

Frank clutched Barney, and the boys)

fell back a step, watching the man, who
was looking back over his shoulder and

listening, the perfect picture of a hunted
thing.

‘’'They’re close arter me—ther dogs!”’
came ina hoarse pant from the man’s

lips. ‘‘But I turned on e’m—I doubled—
an’ I hope I fooled ’em. It’s my last
chance, fer I’m dead played, an’ I’m so

nigh starved that it’s all I kin do ter drag
one foot arter t’other.’

He listened again, and then, as if over-
come by a-sudden fear of being seen there,
he suddenly rushed across the plank and
plunged into the mill.

He ran fairly upon Frank Merriwell.

In the twinkling of an eye man and
boy were clasped in a close embrace,
struggling desperately.

‘“Caught!” grated the fugitive, despair-
ingly. ‘‘Trapped!’’

He tried to hurl Frank to the floor,
and he would have succeeded had he been
in his normal condition, for he was a man
of great natural strength; but he was ex-
hausted by flight and hunger, and, in his
weakened condition, the man found his
supple antagonist too much for him.

A gasp came from the stranger’s lips as
he felt the boy give him a wrestler’s trip
_and fling him heavily to the floor.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND

hunted |

 

 

The man was stunned for a moment.
When he opened his eyes, Frank and
Barney were bending over him.

‘“‘Wal, I done my best,” he said, husk-

‘ily; ‘‘but you-uns trapped me at last. I
dunno how yer knew I war comin: har,
but ye war on hand ter meet ime.’’

‘You have made a mistake,’ sajd
Frank, in a reassuring tone. ‘‘We are
not your enemies at all.’’

“What's that???

‘‘We ate not your enemies; you are
not trapped.’’

The man seemed unable to believe what

he heard.

‘“Why, who be you-uns ?’’ he asked, in
‘a bewildered way

‘‘Fugitives, like
Frank, with a smile.

He looked them over,
head.

‘*Not like me,’’ he said. ‘‘Look at me!
I’m wore ter ther bone—I’m a_ wreck!
Oh, it’s a cursed life I’ve led sence they
dragged me away from har! Night an’
Iday. hev I watched for a chance ter break
away, an’ I war quick ter grasp it when

 

yourself,’’ assured

and shook his

itcame. They shot at me, an’ one 0’
their bullets cut my shoulder har. It war
ia close call, but I got away. Then they

follered, an’ they put houn’s arter me.
Twenty times hev they been right on me,
an’ twenty times hev I got erway. But it
kep’ wearin’ me weaker an’ thinner. My
last hope war ter find friends ter hide ime
an’ fight fer me, an’ I came har—back
home! I tried ter git inter ’Bije Wileys’
this mornin’, but his dorg didn’t know
me, I war so changed, an’ ther hunters

war close arter me, sol hed ter run fer
it. ?
‘*Begorra!’’? exclaimed. Barney; ‘

we
hearrud th’ dog barruckin’.”’ ze,
‘So we did,’’ agreed Frank, remember-

ing how the creature had been clamoring

on the mountain-side at daybreak.
‘‘T kem har,’’ continued the man,
weakly. ‘‘I turned on ther devils, but

when Irun in har an’ you-uns tackled
me, I judged I hed struck a frap.”’
‘It was no trap, Rufe Kenyon,
Frank, quietly.
The hunted man started up and slunk
away.
‘‘You know me!’’ he gasped.
‘(We do.”’

2». "said

 

 

 

   
 

    
        

  

‘An? still ye say you-uns are not my
enemies. ’’

‘Weare not.’’

‘“Then how do you know me? I never
saw yer afore.”’

“"No; but we have heard of you.’

‘*How?”’

‘‘From your sister.’’

aiatet*

ne Ed! )

““She'tol’ yer ?”?

**She-did.*?

‘“Then she must trust you-uns. ’’

‘*She saved us from certain death last!room of the old

night, and she brought us here to hide till
she can help us get out of this part of the
country.”’

Rufe Kenyon looked puzzled.

‘“‘T judge you-uns is givin’ it ter me
straight,’’ he said, slowly; ‘‘but I don’t
jes’ understan’. What did she save yer
from ?’’

‘*Moonshinets.’’

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

 

 

Woe to Wade Miller when they met!
When Kenyon was calmer, Frank told
the story of the adventures which had
|befallén the boys since entering Lost
|Creek Valley. The - fugitive listened
|quietly, watching them closely with his
isunken eyes, and, having heard all, said:
‘I judge you-uns tells ther truth. Ef ]
kin keep hid till Kate gits har—till I see
her—I’l] fix things so you won’t be both-
ered much. Wade Miller’s day in Lost
Creek Valley is over.”’
| The boys took him up to the living-
mill, where they fur-
nished him with the coarse food that re-
mained from their breakfast. He ate like
a famished thing, washing the dry bread
down with great swallows of water. When
he had finished and his hunger was satis-
fied, he was quite like another man.
‘“Thar!’? he cried; ‘‘now Iam reddy

|fer anything! But I do need sleep.”

Ccrvr

“We will

ake it,’? advised Frank.

The man seemed filled with sudden sus-| watch.’

picion.
‘“What had moonshiners agin you-uns?
Be you revernues ?”’
‘‘No.: Do we look like revenue spies???
‘“Yer look too young.’’

‘Well, we are not spies; but we were)
unfortunate enough to incur the enmity |

of Wade Miller, and he has sworn to end|
our lives.’’

‘“Wade Miller!’ cried Rufe, showing
his teeth in an ugly manner. ‘‘An’ I
s’pose he’s hangin’ ’roun’ Kate, same as
he uster ?”’ |

‘‘He is giving her mote or less trouble. ’? |

‘Wal, he won’t give her much trouble |
arter I git at him. Heisasnake! Look!
har! I’m goin’ ter tell you-uns somethin’. |
Miller allus pretended ter be my friend,
but it war that critter as put ther rev-
ernues onter me an’ got me arrested! He
done it because I tol’ him Kate war too
good fer him. I know it, an’ one thing
why I wanted ter git free war ter come
har. an’ fix ther critter so he won’t ever |
bother Kate no more. I hey swore ter fix
him, an’ I'll do it ef I live ter meet him
face ter face!”’

He had grown wildly excited, and he
sat up, with his back against a post, his|

eyes gleaming redly, and a white foam
flecking his lips. At that moment he re-
_minded the boys of a mad dog.

 

 

}
|
}

‘‘And you’ll tell me ef thar’s danger?”’

‘You may depend on it.”’

‘*You-uns will watch close ?’’

‘Never fear about that.’

So the hunted wretch was induced to
lie down and sleep. He slept soundly for
some hours, and, when he opened his eyes,
his sister had her arms about his néck.

CHAPTER XI.
THE GREATEST PERIL OF ALL.

“Rufe!™

‘* Kate!”

He sat up and clasped her in his arms,
a look of joy on his face.

It is quite unnecessary to describe the
joys of that meeting. The boys had left
brother and sister alone together, and the
two remained thus for nearly an hour, at
the end of which time Rufe knew all that
happened since he was taken from Lost
Creek Valley, and Kate had been made

\aware of the perfidy of Wade Miller.

‘‘T judge it is true that bread throwed
on ther waters allus comes back,’’ said
Kate, when the four were together.
‘‘Now looker how I helped you-uns, an’
then see how it turned out ter be a right
good thing fer Rufe. He found ye har,
an’ you-uns hev fed him an’ watched
while he slept.’?

 
Qa

‘*An’ I hey tol’ Kate all about Wade
Miller,’’ said the fugitive.

‘“That settles him,’’ declared the girl,
with a snap. :

Rufe explained.

‘*Kate says ther officers judge I hev
gone on over inter ther next cove, an’
they’re arter me, all ’ceptin’
have been left behind. They’ll be back
though by night.’

“But you are all right now,
friends will be on hand by that time.’

_ es; Kate will take word ter Muriel,

an? he’ll hev ther boys ready ter fight fer

Ther officers will find it kinder hot

>

me.
in these parts.’’

‘*T’d better be goin’ now,’’ said the girl.
‘“Ther boys oughter know all about it
soon as possible.’’

‘‘That’s right,’’ agreed Rufe. ‘This
ain’t ther best place fer me ter hide.’’

‘“No,’’ declared Kate, suddenly; ‘‘an’
yer mustn’t hide har longer, fer ther
officers may come afore night. I’ll take
yer ter ther cave. It won’t do fer ther
boys ter go thar, but you kin all right.
Ther boys is best off har, fer ther officers
wouldn’t hurt ’em.’

This seemed all a and it was de-
cided on.

Just as they were on the point of de-
scending, Barney gave a cry,
Frank by the arm, and drew him toward a
window.

**Look there, me b’y!”’
Irish lad. ‘‘Pwhat do yez think av
now ?”’

it

A horseman was coming down the old|

road that led to the mill. He bestrode a
coal-black horse, and a mask covered his
face, while his long, black hair flowed
down on the collar of the coat he wore.
He sat the horse jauntily, riding with a
reckless air that seemed to tell of a daring
spirit.

“Great Scott !?’ exclaimed Frank Merri-
well, amazed. ‘‘It is Muriel!’’

That's pwhat!’’ chuckled Barney.
‘An’ it’s your trate, me lad.”’

‘*T will treat,’’ said Frank, crestfallen.
“Tam not nearly so smart as I thought I
was.”’

‘‘Muriel?’? cried Kate, dashing to the
window. ‘‘Where is he?”’

She did not hesitate to-appear in the
window and signal to the dashing | young

two what!

for your

caught |

exclaimed the |

 

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND,

moonshiner, who returned her salute, and
motioned for her to come out.

‘‘He wants ter see me in er hurry,’’
said the girl. ‘‘I sent word ter him by
Dummy that ther boys war har, an’ that’s
how he happened ter turn up. Come,
Rufe, go out with me. Muriel will be

glad ter see yer.’’

‘*And I shall be glad ter see him,’’ de-
clared the escaped convict.

Kate bade the boys remain there, tell-

ing them she would call them if they were
| wanted, and then, with Rufe following,
she hurried down the stairs, and hastened
to meet the boy moonshiner, who had
halted on the bank at some distance from
the old mill.

Watching from the window, Frank and
Barney saw her hasten up to Muriel, saw
her speak swiftly,, although they could
not hear her words, saw Muriel nod and
seein to reply quite as swiftly, and then
saw the young leader of the Black Caps
shake her hand in a manner that denoted
pleasure and affection.

‘*Ye’re a daisy, Frankie, me. ‘b’y”’
snickered Barney Mulloy; ‘‘but fer wance
ye wur badly mishtaken.”’

‘*T was all of that,’’ confessed Frank,
as if slightly ashamed. “I thought myself
far shrewder than I am.

As they watched, they saw Rufe Ken-
yon suddenly leap up behind Muriel, and
then the doubly burdened horse swung
around and went away at a hot pace,
while Kate came flitting back into the
mill.

‘“The officers are returnin’,’’? she ex-
|plained. ‘‘Muriel will take Rufe whar
thar ain’t no chance o’ their findin’ him.
You-uns will have ter stay har. I have
brung ye more fodder, an’ I judge you’ll
git along all right.’’

So she left them
‘greatly excited over
‘brother and his danger.
| The day, passed, and the officers failed
|to appear in the vicinity of the mill, al-
though the boys were expecting to see
them. os

Nor did Wade Miller trouble them.

Night came.

Frank and Barney grew impatient, for
they were far from pleased with their
lot, but they could do nothing but wait. —

Two hours after nightfall a form sud- /

”)

being —
of her

hurriedly,
the return

 

 

 
 

 

 

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

denly appeared in the old mill, rising be-
fore the boys like a phantoin, although
they could not understand how the fellow
came there.

In the flash Frank snatched out a re-
volver and pointed it at the intruder, cry-
ing, sternly:

‘Stand still and give an account of
yourself! Who are you? and what do you
want ?”’

The figure moved into the range of the
window, so that the boys could see him
making strange gestures, pointing to his
ears, and pressing lis fingers to his lips.

**Steady you!’’ commanded Frank. ‘‘If
you don’t keep still, I shall shoot. An-
swer my question at once.’’

Still the intruder continued to make
those strange gestures, pointing to his
ears, and touching his lips. That he saw |

Frank’s ‘revolver glittering and feared the |

boy would shoot was evider it, but he still
remained silent.

‘“Whoy don’t th’
cried Barney.
dunno ?””

That gave Frank an idea.

“Perhaps he cannot speak, in which
case he is the one Kate calls Dummy.
believe he is the fellow.’’

It happened that the sign language of

spalpane
‘*Ts it no tongue he

spake ?”’
has,

mutes was one of Frank’s accomplish-
ments. He passed the revolver to Barney,
saying:

**Keep the fellow covered, while I see
if I can talk with him.”’

‘Frank moved up into the window, held
Jhis hands close to the intruder’s face, and
spelled:

‘Vou from Kate ?’?

The man nodded joyfully
his hands and spelled back:

‘‘Kate send me. Come. Horses ready.

Frank interpreted for Barney’s benefit,
.and the Irish lad cried:

‘Thin let’s be movin’! It’s mesilf
thot’s ready ter git out av thase parruts
in a hurry, Oi think.”

He ptit up

p52

For a moment Frank hesitated about |
trusting the mute, and then he decided |

that it was the best thing to do,
| pauaicd that they were ready.

“Dummy led the way from the mill,

Oi

I

    

29

woay we came, Frankie,’’ said the Irish
lad, in a low tone.

‘“That’s all right,’’ assured Frank.
‘“He said the horses were waiting for us.
Probably Kate is with them.’’

The mute flitted along with surprising
silence and speed, and they found it no

easy task to follow and keep close enough
‘to see him. Now and then he looked back
to make sure they were close behind.

At last they came to the termination of
the pines, and there, in the deep shadows,
they found three horses waiting.

Kate Kenyon was not there.

Frank felt disappointed, for he wished
to see the girl before leaving the moun-
tains forever. He did not like to go away
without touching her hand again, and ex-
pressing his sense of gratitude for the last
time.

It was his hope that she might join
them before they left the inountains.

The horses were saddled and bridled,
‘and the boys were about to mount when
a strange, low cry broke from Dummy’s
a

 

|

an upris-
Frank
but it
disarmed,

There was a sudden stir, and
ling of dark forms on all sides.
tried to snatch out his revolver,
| was too late. He was seized,
and crushed to the earth.

‘‘Ha, ha, ha!’’ laughed a hatetul voice.
‘*Did you-uns really think ye war goin’
ter escape? Wal, yer didn’t know Wade
| Miller very well. I knowed Kate’d try ter
git yer off, an’ all I hed ter do war watch
her. I didn’t waste my time runnin’
round elsewhar.’’

They were once
clutches!

Frank ground his teeth with impotent
rage. He blamed himself for falling into
the trap, and still he could not see how
he was to blame. Surely he had been cau-
tious, but fate was against him. He had
lescaped Miller twice; but this was the
third time, and he feared that it would

more in. Miller’s

 

and he | tied behind their backs,

| prove disastrous.

Barney had not a word to say.

The hands of the captured boys were
and then they
| were forced to march swiftly along in the
midst of the Black Caps that surrounded

crossing by the plank, aud plunging into | them.
the pine woods.
‘*He sames to be takin’

   

| They were not taken to the cave, but
us back th’ istraight to one of the. Se sicas as: a little
     

3)

to be a wall of solid rock, a great bluff!
rising against the face of the mountain.
Thick trées concealed the little hut down |
in the hollow.

Into this hut the boys were marched. |

Some ‘‘slut’’ candles were lighted, and |
they saw around them the outfit for mak-
ing moonshine whisky.

‘Thar!’ cried Miller, triumphantly;
‘‘vou-uns will never go out o’ this place. |
Ther revernues spotted this still ter-day,
but it won’t be har ter-morrer.’’ |

He made a signal, and the boys were
thrown to the floor, where they were held |

 

When this ’job was finished, Miller
added : |

ee still ter-morrer, fer it will go up in sinoke.
Moonshine is ‘good stuff ter burn, an’|
we'll see how you-uns like it.”’ |

, At a word a keg of whisky was brought |
to the spot by two men.

ay het em. try: “ther:~strff, >’ directed |
Miller.

‘‘Begorra! he’s goin’ ter fill us up bist
fore he finishes us!’ muttered Barney

Mullov. |
But that was not the intention of the.
5 revengeful man. )
A plug was knocked from a hole in the}
end of the keg, and then the whisky was}

poured over the clothing of the,boys, wet-
ting them to the skin. |
“Soak ’em!’’ directed Miller. .
The men did not stop pouring till the

clothing of the boys was thoroughly satu-
tated. |
‘“Mhar!’’ said Miller, with a fiendish |
chuckle, ‘‘I reckon you-uns is ready fer |
touchin’ off, an’ ye’ll burn like pine)
knots. Ther way ye’ll holler will make}

ye heard clean ter ther top o’ Black |

Maounting, an’ ther fire will be seen; but

when anybody gits har, you-uns an’ this|

still will be ashes.’’
He knelt beside Frank Merriwell,
lighted a match, and applied it to the
g boy’s whisk y-soaked clothing !

CHAPTER. XII.
THE MYSTERY OF MURIEL.
Not quite! The flame almost touched

Frank’ 's clothing when the boy noe over

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND,

the moment.
At the same instant the

hut that was built against what seemed!swiftly, thus getting out of the way for

blast of a bugle

was heard at the very door of the hut,

and the door fell with a cr

poured in by the opening.
‘“Ther srevernues!’’

| Miller.

ash, while men

shouted Wade

‘“No, not ther revernues!’’ rang out a

clear voice; ‘‘but Muriel!
The boy chief of the B
there.

*fAn’? Muriel is not erlot

9?

lack Caps was

)

1e!’? thundered

another voice. ‘‘Rufe Kenyon is har!’’

Out in front of Muriel

leaped the es-

helpless, while their feet were bound reaped criininal, confronting the man who
had betrayed him.

Miller staggered, his face turning pale

‘ . > > 7
‘No, ther revernues won’t find tls} gs if struck a heavy blow, and a bitter eX-

clamation of fury came through his

clinched teeth.

‘Rufel? he grated. -‘“Then it’s fight
o>

| fer life!’

‘*Ves, it’s fight!’’ roared Kate Kenyon’s

| brother, as a long-bladed
in his ane and te thrust

of his shirt till his arm w:

the elbow. ‘‘I swore ter fit

‘

knife glittered
back the’ sleeve
is bared above
lish yer, Miller;

but I'll g've ye a squar’ show! Draw yer

o,

iknife, an’ may ther best man win!
With a snatl that mig

ee)

rht have come

from the throat of a savage beast, Miller

snatched out a revolver in
ing a knife.

stead of draw-

“T}] not fight ye!’’ he screamed; “‘but
[ll shoot ye plumb through ther heart!’

He fire d, and Rute Ken
the same time.

There was a scream of }

yon ducked at

pain, and Muriel —

flung up both hands, dropping into the

|arms aa the man belud:
Rufe Kenyon had dodge

slack Caps had

but the boy chief of the I
suffered in his stead.

his shot. he revolver fell
iand he staggered forward,
‘(Kate!—I’ve killed hes
Rufe Kenyon forgot his

The face of Kate Kenyc
**Sister!’’ panted her h

Her eyes opened, and
‘*Not dead yit, Rufe.”’

    

 

dead? Has that devil kille

xed the bullet,

| Miller seemed dazed by the result of
lfrom his hand; —

groaning :
2

foe, dropping
on one knee beside’ the prostrate figure
of Muriel, and swiftly removing the mask. |
yn was revealed! |
rother, ‘‘be ye —

dt yer?

she faintly said:

*

ee

 

 

 
     

‘Then the brother shouted:
‘Ketch Wade Miller! Don’t let ther
critter escape!”’

It seemed that every
leaped to obey.

Miller struggled like a tiger, but he
was overpowered and dragged out of the

  
  
 

in

 

man the hut

  
     
  
   
  

Frank and Barney were freed, and they |
hastened to render sucl» es yuce as they
could in dressing the wound and stanching

the flow of blood.

  
   
  
  
   
    
   

‘assured Frank.
as soon as possible, and a doctor called. I
think she will come through all right,
for all cf Miller’s bullet.”’

The men were trooping back into the

hut.
—‘Miller!’’ roared Rufe, leaping to his
feet. ‘‘Whar is ther critter ?”’

‘*He is out har under a tree,’’

one of the men, quietly.
_ § Who's watchin’ him ter see that he
don’t git erway ?’’ asked Rufe.

**Nobody’s watchin’.”’

*““Nobodv? Why, ther p’izen dog will

run fer it!’’

T don’t think h

tied him.’?

“How?”

‘‘Wal, ter make sure he wouldn’t run,
we hitched a rope around his neck an’
tied it up ter ther limb o’ ther tree. Un-

less ther rope stretches, he won’t be- able
ter git his feet down onter ther ground by
erbout eighteen inches.’

“Phen you-uns hanged him ?”?

‘Wal, we did some.”’

‘Too bad!’ muttered Rufe, with a sad

_ shake of his head. ‘“‘I wanted ter squar
counts with ther skunk.”’
*

     
    
 
    
  
  
  

auswered

    
 
   
   
 
 
  
  
  

e’ll run fur. We’ve

  
   
  
   
  
  
 
  
    
   
 
   
  
 

ote * * *

Kate Kenyon was taken home, and the
- bullet was extracted from her shoulder.
The wound, although painful, did not
“prove at all serious, and she began to re-
cover in a short time.

Frank and Barney lingered till it
seemed certain that she would recover,

  
   
  
  
   
  
 

   

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

hut, while Rufe still knelt and examined |
his sister’s wound, which was in her|
shoulder.

“‘Vou-uns don’t think that’Jl be fatal, |

do yer?’ asked Rufe, with breathless |
anxiety.
‘““There is no reason why it’ should,”’

 

31

and then they prepared to take their de-
parture.

After all, Frank’s suspicion had proved
true, and it had been revealed that Muriel
was Kate in disguise.

Frank chaffed Barney a great deal
iabout it, and the Irish lad took .the
chafing in a good-natured manner.

Rufe Kenyon was hidden by. his friends,

|so that his pursuers were forced to give

}over the search for him and depart.

| One still was raided, but not one of the
'moonshinets was captured, as they had
received ample warning of their danger.

| On the evening before Fi rank and
| Barney were to depart in the morning,
‘the boys carried Kate out to the door in
'an easy-chair, and they sat down near
her.

Mrs. Kenyon sat on the steps
smoked her black pipe, looking
and indifferent as ever.

‘‘Kate,’’? said Frank, ‘‘when did you
have your hair cut short? Where is that
profusion of beautiful hair you wore when
we first saw you ?”’ os

‘That? she smiled. Why, my har
war cut more’n a year ago. I had it made
inter a ‘switch,’ and I wore it so nobody’d
know I had had it cut.’

‘You did that in order that you might
wear the black wig when you _ personated
Muriel ?’?

GST

‘You could do that easily over your
short hair.’’

“Veg,

‘Well, you played the part well, and
you made a dashing boy. But how about
the Muriel who appeared while you were
in the mill with us?”’

She laughed a bit. HH)

‘““Vou-uns war so sharp that I judged
I’d make ver think ye didn’t know so
much ez you thought, an’ I fixed it up
ter have another person show up in my
place.’’

i SCG.
son ?”’

“Dummy.
he is a good
me?

‘‘Begorra! he did thot!’’ nodded Bar.
ney. ‘‘It’s mesilf thot wur chated, an’
thot’s not aisy.”’

‘‘You are a shrewd little girl,’’ declared

‘*She must be taken home |

and
as_ stolid

But who was this other per-

He is no bigger than I, an’
mimic. He rode jes’ like

 
  

32
Frank ;

 

‘and you are dead lucky

to es-!

FRANK MERRIWELL’S FRIEND.

|
|

cape with your life after getting Miller’s|

bullet. But Miller won’t trouble you}
mote.’’
Mrs. Kenyon rose and went into the|

hut, while Barney lazily strolled down to
the creek, leaving Frank and Kate alone.
Half an hour later, as he was coming
back, the Irish lad heard Kate saying:
“T know I’m ignerent, an’ I’m not fit-
ten fer any educated man. Still vou an’
I is friends, Frank, an’ friends we’ll allus

‘‘Friends we will always be,’’ said
Frank, softly.

‘‘Thot’s enough in this case,’’ muttered
Barney. ‘‘It’s toime Oi wur comin’

back.”’
[THE END. ]

‘““FRANK MERRIWELL’S DOUBLE; Of,
FIGHTING FOR LIFE AND HONoR,”’ by
the author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell,”’ will be
published in the next number (21) of the
Tip Top LIBRARY.

 

 

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ANUAL LIBRARY, 25 eae detect, New York,

 

 

 

 

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255

 

 

 

 

ni

 

 

6a
oe)

 

 

ese

 

eas

 

 
S
\

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THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF FRAI\K MERRIWELL CAN
BE FOUND ONLY IN THE TIP TOP LIBRARY.

PATO"

1.—Frank Merriwell; or, First Davs at | 12.—Frank Merriwell’s Motto; or, The
Fardale. By Burt L. Standish. | Young Life Savers. By the Au-
2.—Frank Merriwell’s Foe; or, ‘‘Plebe’’ | thor of ‘*Frank Merriwell.”’
Life in Barracks. By Burt L. | 13.—Frank Merriwell in New York; or,
Standish. Fighting an Unknown Foe. By
3.—Frank Merriwell’s Medal; or, | Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.’’
‘“Plebe”? Life in Camp. By the 14.—Frank Merriwell in Chicago; or,
Author of “Frank Merriwell. Meshed by Mysteries. By the Au-
4.—Frank Merriwell’s Rival; or, By thor of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.”’
Fair Play or Foul. By the
Author of ‘Frank Merriwell.”’

5§.—Frank Merriwell’s Fault; or, False

Steps and Foul Snares. By the
Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.”’ 16.—Frank Merriwell in Arizona; or,

The Mysteries of the Mine. By
the Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.”’

15.—Frank Merriwell in Colorado; or,
Trapping the Train Wreckers.
3y Author of*‘ Frank Merriwell.’’

6.—Frank Merriwell’s Frolics; or, Fun
and Rivalry at Fardale. By the
Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.’’ 17.—Frank Merriwellin Mexico; or, The

7.—Frank Merriwell’s Mysterious Ring; | Search for the Silver Palace. By
or, The Man in Black. By the the Author of ‘‘ Frank Merriwell.”’
Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.’’ =| 18.—Frank Merriwell in New Orleans;

8.—Frank Merriwell’s Fag; or, Fighting | or, The Queen of Flowers. By
for the Weak. By the Author of | the Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.”?
‘Frank Merriwell.’’ 19.—Frank Merriwell’s Mercy; or, The

g.—Frank Merriwell’s Furlough ; or, The Phantom of the Everglades. By
Mystery of the Old Mansion. By | the Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.’’
Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.’’ | 20,—Frank Merriwell’s Friend; or,

10.—Frank Merriwell on His Mettle; or, | Muriel the Moonshiner. By the
Field Day at Fardale. By the Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.”’
Author of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.”’ 21.—Frank Merriwell’s Double ; Or,

11.—Frank Merriwell’s Fate; or, The | Fighting for Life and Honor. By
Old Sailor’s Legacy. By the Au- | the Author of ‘‘Frank Merri-
thor of ‘‘Frank Merriwell.”’ | well.””

 

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