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DEVOTED

A WEEK LY PUBLI CAT ON

 

TO BORDER HISTORY

 

 

 

issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by S° TREET & SMIT H, 238 William St., N.Y.
Bxutered according to Act of Congress in the year 1904, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C.

 

No. 140.

NEW YORK, January 16, 1904.

Price Five Cents.

 

 

By the author of “BUFFALO BILL.”

 

CHAPTER I.
LOST.

“Oh, God, have mercy! I am lost on these wild, deso-
late plains!) No help is near, no human being in sight;
and yet dreading to see a human form, for fear it may be a
tedskin. Night coming on, poor Bonnyfoot worn down,
and not one ray of hope. Heaven have mercy upon me!”

A young girl of surpassing beauty, just about to cross
the threshold of womanhood, with a supple form, grace-
ful and elegant, sat on her tired horse, gazing wistfully
around upon the solitude of the vast prairies.

For miles in every direction the boundless plains
stretched away, the horizon broken only at one point,
where a growth of timber ee a prairie island or
motte.

In the west the sun was sinking to rest, and before long
darkness would come upon the face of the earth, yet not
total darkness, for the moon, a few days old, rode in the
heavens to give light for a while.

Yet what good would its silvery light be to her?

None, as all day long she had ridden on and on, striv-
ing to find her way back to her home.

With the sunrise she had left her father’s ranch, mounted
on the fleet Bonnyfoot, for a gallop over the prairie, and,
intoxicated by the fresh air, the balmy perfume of the
flowers, and the sight of a deer bounding from the grass
before her, she had given chase, and the animal had led
her far away.

Warned never to go out of sight of the ranch, she bit-
terly regretted her thoughtlessness, when she saw that she
had disobeyed the wise injunction.

A few weeks only out of boarding school in the East,
from whence her father had come to find a home in Texas,

- she had not yet become accustomed to prairie life, or

learned the craft of the border girl, though, under the
teachings of her father, who had been two years on his.
ranch before sending for her, she was rapidly becoming
proficient in the use of firearms, and was already a superb
horsewoman.

Yet, after an a!l-day’s travel upon the prairies, looking
in vain for the white walls of the ranch house, a r horse
was utterly worn out.

Her little revolver, in the belt around her | she
knew would be but poor protection against a foe, be it
human or wild beast.

  

 
    

THE BUPFALO

 

on her horse, alone
down with an ex-

It was thus that Edith Balfour sat
in the prairie, watching sun go
pression of awe upon her face.

At last it sunk below the horizon, and with its going
the praitie insects began their chirping, and the distant,
long-drawn howl of a wolf told her that night, with its
solitude and horrors, was before her.

Then again from her lips broke the cry:

“Fleaven have mercy upon me!”

With ong-drawn-out howl of the prowling wolf,
eee showed too well that he was on the hunt for food,

hether human or brute he cared not, Bonnyieot pricked
up his ears and raised his tired head in an attitude of lis-

‘ening.
Seeing the act of her a Edith Balfor

“What is it, Bonnyfoot ?’

1
tne

1 4
thas
bas

r said, quickly:

A uk neigh, just loud enough to be heard by his mis-

But it gave the girl

s the response.
agerly:
ie t, are there friends near, Bonnyfoot?”

Again a low neigh and a slight tremor of the animal.
“No, no, they are foes, for you seem to dread danger,

and your instinct gives you warning.” ,

Edith glanced nervously around her in the gathering
gloom.

nope, and

she looked again, on her ears broke that dismal howl.

The sound caused her oe to start and tremble violently.

‘Then came a faint ‘ing cry from a companion of

the’Savage brute, that co aa not be far away, hidden in the
prairie’ grass.

answe

The horse heard this whining answer of the wolf’s mate.
At once he was all attention, the fatigue seemed to drop
from him, his head was raised, and he breathed hard.

a came the howl, and then the reply, and another
and then another, until half a ape yelps were heard off
on the plains.

“Oh, Heaven! the pack are collecting, called by the sig-
nal of that one brute. What shall 1 dot what shall I do?”

This question Bonnyfoot at once answered. With a
wild snort, he dashed away, nearly unseating the girl. She
had not expected such a movement upon the part of her
wornout horse, for word and whip had hardly been able
to urge him along an hour before.

Away over the prairie he sped, fright adding wings to.
his flying hoofs.

Heari tright,
amiesa tie

ting that wild snort of
strokes, the wolf's howl bec

OL
wide came answering yelps, until fully a
é onthe trail of poor ‘Bonnytoot.’
aly known what to do, she could
sé and riddéh calmly back,
ie o aoe her path.
cowardly wolves would not be beaten off as

beasts w
Had Sak h Balfour
have halted her running hot
and sent the fierce pack
But now the

Riu STORIES:

long as there was on atom of fear shown on the part of
horse or rider

On the tired Bonnyfoot flew, straining hard, until it
seemed to Edith that nothing could catch him in his mad
flight.

Yet whither was he going? As she asked. herself this
question a sudden thought struck her.

She had guided him all day, frequently against his will.
Perhaps she had forced him away from home, instead of
toward it, as she had hoped and believed.

She would now give
mal instinct would take
lost. ;

‘She threw
he went.

Him free rein, and perhaps his ani-
him there. Otherwise she was

tha
tli

rein upon-his neck, and on like the wind

And on, tireless, and as fi€et, came the yelping pack at
his back. ‘ :

Nearer they drew, until Edith could see their dark forms
not very far behind her.

The sight brought such a chill of misery to her heart
that she nearly lost consciousness.

With a mighty effort she controlled herself, and then,
as the wolves seemed gaining, she laid the lash upon her
horse. "

Yet nearer they

At last a groan of anguish, as though wrung from mor-
came from fee straining horse.

‘Good God! Bonnyfoot is failing me again!”

This knowledge again nearly overpowered her, yet once

more she rallied.

caine.

But she knew that her noble horse must soon succumb.

He could not fast much longer, for each bound grew
weaker, and each moment his pace became slower.

One longing, wild pee she cast around over the
moonlit prairie, and yet saw no person'to yea n she could
look for aid.

Then her lips became firm set
oe and she mu hae 4

“T shall end this misery, this suspense and anguish. It:
must be so let it be now. Go on, good, noble Bonnyfoot,
and perhaps yoo may escape without me. Oh, God!
would .that other death than this were before me, and for-
give my act!” :

, her face grew white but

slower pacé, gathered her
her, and sprang to the ground, at the same
time Givi - the horse a blow that sent him bounding along.

Then she turned and faced her danger, and gazed upon
the coming, yelping wolves, that were fierce with the joy
of having run ann their prey.

She saw them, not fifty paces away, and, drawing her

She drew Bonnyfoot to a
skirts about

revolver, she placed it firmly against her temple, the small

forefinger upon the trigger.

   

 
   
  

rt of

til it
mad

ris

art

len,
her

  

 

 

 

 

she saw a tall man bound by her.

.' THE BUFFALO

“God forgive me! but not that death, torn by those cruel
fangs, no, not that!’ she said.

With a long drawn sigh, she glanced around her, and
the flash and crack of a pistol followed.

CHAPTER I.

x BUREAL OV BU i

So sudden and unexpected was the crack of the pistol
that it saved the life of Edith Balfour, whose start raised
the muzzle of her own weapon, causing her to fire it just
above her head. !

Before she could divine from whence had come the shot,
Rapidly and unerringly
his revolvers rattled upon the pack of wolves, as they
dashed up, eager to feast on human food.

Edith Balfour heard only the first few shots: The sud-
den change from despair to hope caused her brain to reel,
the blood to rush in torrents to her heart, and down,upon
the prairie grass she sank in a swoon.

Thus, unconscious, she did not see the man mee
tavenous pack and drop with his unerring aim one by.one
the wolves that came fiercely on to meet death instead of
a feast.

Finding that they had met a fearless foe instead of a

eee
Pe rie

helpless victim, the remaining wolves skurried away over

the prairie, with yelps of fear and disappointment.

When they were gone, the man went over to the pros-
trate girl and bent over her.

“My God, what a beauty!” was his thought. “But she
may be dead after all. No, there is no wound upon her
pretty head, and it was against her temple the pistol rested.
She has simply fainted, for her pulse still beats.”

_He placed her tn a more comfortable position, and then
gave a low whistle.

Instantly, out of the tall grass, where he had been | lying,
not twenty paces distant, sprang a horse.

Trotting up to Ins master’s side, the faithful animal
halted, and from a saddle pocket the horseman took a flask
of liquor.

A few drops poured in between the lips, a chafing of
the hands, caused life to stir again in the body of Edith
Balfour, and she opened her beautiful eyes.

When she looked up she beheld the uniformed, stalwart
Bere and handsome, manly face of es Bill, the army
scout.

“You are feeling better?” he asked, kindly. °

“Yes,” she answered; ‘““J—I—the wolves "

“They are gone,” he assured. |

“Oh, thank you—and you saved my life from

She did not know who the man was; but he had saved
her life, and, shaking off the oe that had held her,
Edith sprang to her feet.

 

39

 

  

BIR STORIBS. a0 3

 

Before her lay half a dozen dark objects that she knew
were wolves, and far off on the prairie was visible Bonny-
foot, returning for preter es to the side of the one who
had saved his mistress, for’ the instinct of ‘the animal
‘aught him that there lay safety for him.

“You have rallied quickly, and I am glad you have re~
ceived no harm,’ said the scout.

Edith Balfour noticed that the stranger spoke in a
strangely soft, musical voice for a man, yet it was not ef-
feminate, for there was that in its tone which told the girl
it had a volume of reserved power that danger or anger
would bring out until it rang in trumpet tones.

“I owe you my life, sir, and for such a debt thanks are
no payment,’ she said, in a trembling voice, while tears
filled her eyes. : ‘

“T am happy to have served you, miss. I saw you com-
ing, and, not knowing whether you were friend. or’ foe,
lay down with my horse to hide in the grass. That is how
I happened to be so near you at the critical time. You
have a brave heart, to seek to take ae life rather than
to meet the fate which threatened you.” ‘

Edith shuddered, but answered:

“Suicide was preferable to such a death, a thousand
times.”

“And you are brave, to be thus alone on. the ie airie. |

“T am lost, sir. My father is Floyd Balfour, and has a
ranch somewhere near here, | believe it is.”

“It is thirty miles away, farther than your tired borse
can travel; so come to the timber over there, and 1. will
build you a wickiup, give you some rations, and carry you
home in the morning. As a guarantee of Be good inten-
ey will tell you that I am Buffalo Bill, the army scout.” .

She looked at him with increased interest and admira-
tion, and again thanked him.

Edith knew how impossible it was for her to get home
that night, for she herself, without rest, was not equal to
ce ride. i

she accepted the scout’s kindly offer. Half an hour
ae she was sleeping peacefully beneath a brush shelter,
while he stood guard-over her and the horses, and paced to
and fro in the moonlight, ever watchful, yet apparently
lost.in deenest reverie.

 

CHAPTER IU

. GIVEN, FOR GOLD.

Prairie Rest Ranch was situated in one of the most fer-
tile tracts of Kansas, and from the day that Floyd Balfour
had pitched his tent there -he had been steadily growing
rich, for his herds of ‘cattle dotted the plains, his horses
were counted by hundreds,.and his tilled farm was fenced
in and producing well.

In a’grove of timber, on the banks of a small stream,
bis cabin home, commodious, comfortable and well fur-

   
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
     
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
   
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
      
       
      
         

 

 
 

THE E

 

nished, was built, and about the door were flower beds and
ornamental trees he had planted with his own hands, to
greet his datighter’s eyes, when she should come to her
far-away frontier abode fresh from the haunts of civiliza-
tion.

In caring for this new home on the Kansas border,
Edith Balfour had not seemed to miss society, and ap-

eared happy.

a horses were ever ready for a gallop, her rifles and
pistols, bow and 2rrows, and lasso, gave her pleasure as
sie tried to become proficient in their use, her flowers it
was a delight to attend to, and within doors she had her
piano and guitar, her drawing and her household duties,
with books for pastime in rainy weather.

A negro maid and old Aunt Jane, the cook, were the
only other females within fifty miles; but there was her
He for a companion, and a score of “cowboys,” or
rs, ever most polite to her, so that she seemed like a
oo of a mimic realm.
~ Reverses had driven Mr. Balfour from his home in the
Hast.

His partner had defrauded him, failure had followed,
and Floyd Balfour had been left penniless.

In this strait a friend in need was found. This friend
was a young man, a boy lover of Edith, who was then at
school. ©

His name was Roy Brandt, and the death of his father
had left him, at the age of twenty-one, the head of a large
firm and master. of his own affairs.

Roy Brandt had called upon Mr. Balfour in his trouble
and offered aid, which was refused.

“No, Roy, it is very noble and kind of you, but I have
a few hundreds left, and this sum will carry me to Kan-
sas, where I intend to settle, and
myself and child,” was the ae

, L hope, earn a living for
of Floyd Balfour.
“To Kansas!” the young man had exclaimed.

s the very thing, Mr. Balfour, and you can do
mense service there.” _

“Indeed! may I ask how?” Balfot

“T intend to start a cattle ranch th

Vou, Roy?”

Ves.”

“Is not this sudden?”

Oh, no, have. often thowent of it7
answer.

“Why,

ne an im-

r inquired,

3)

Te. {

was the‘ ready
2

“Well, how can I serve you?”

Ae know no more about cattle than

and [ need some good person to do the +

“What do you wish done, Roy?

“Vl tell you, Mr. Balfour; Uve got fifteen thousand dol-
Jars | want to invest in a éattle-ranch and stock. You
take ine money, go to Kansas, sele
fine house——”’

I do about Chi una;
fork for me.”

9.

ct a good place, build a

UFFALO.

  

BILL STORIES.

“Fine house?”

“Oh, yes, for I intend to live there, if I can, one of these
sae

The last was said i in a doubtful tone.

“Well?”

“Build a fine shanty of some kind, and you run the
place, and we will be p&&ttners.” :

“Partners !”

Yess"

“You forget I have no money fo match yours with.”

“You just said you had a few hundreds.”

“Ves, about a thousand dollars.”

“That is more than enough; put that in, and your time
and work, against my money, and we'll be equal partners.”

Mr. Balfour saw what the young man meant, and soon

found out that argument was useless, so said:

“T would not do it, Roy, unless | had some good secur-
ity to offer for your money. You forget I have just
failed.’

“Ves, but not by any fault of yours; no, sir, you must
do as I ask, and security you have.”

bee

"aes, YOu.

SNarnte it{”

The youth's face flushed, but he said, firmly:

“Mr. Balfour, I am just over twenty-one, and your
daughter, Edith, is fifteen, but I have loved her for years,
though I don’t know whether she cares for me, as she is

such a little coquette.

“But if you will promise me her hand, as far as you are
concerned, as security, we are partners from to-day in a
cattle ranch. What say your”

“T say yes, for I know you to be a noble boy, Roy

Brandt,” Mr. Balfour answered.

“Enough, then! the bargain is agreed upon, the com-
pact settled, and I draw up the papers at once; but not a
word of this now to Edith?” :

_ “No, we will keep the secret from her, at least for the
present.”

And that day the contract was duly signed by Roy
Brandt and Flovd Balfour, and Edith was pledged as se-
curity for the money invested by the young merchant.

One week after that Floyd Balfour was on his way to
the Kansas border, and nearly two years afterward Edith
joined him in his prairie home and found that fortune had’
dealt most kindly with him.

CHAPFITR LY.

THE COMING OF TOE SERPENT

_ It was toward this home in the prairie that Edith Bal-
four and Buffalo Bill wended their way the day following
the night that had so nearly proved fatal to the girl.

Refreshed by her rest, Edith had awakened that morn-

 

 

  

 

 

 

 
  

 

   
  

THE BUPPALO

 

ing to find the rays of the rising’stin penetrating her bower
and the scout preparing a oe breakfast from his supply
of coffee and crackers, atid a juicy piece of venison, for he
had shot a deer at a

A good appetite both of them had for the breakfast
Then the scout got the horses ready, helped Edith to hae
saddle, and sprang lightly upon the back of his own steed.

When they had arrived icin a mile of the ranch house,
Buffalo Bill halted suddenly. Far off at the right he saw
a faint dust cloud. It may have been kicked up by a band
of wild horses or by buffaloes or Cae animals, yet he
feared it in indica ated the position of Indians.
covey 1

une ai-

oF

iss Balfour,’ he said, regretfully, “it seems
lant in me to wish to part company with you before you

reached home. But you are safe oe and th

7

have quite r
house is in plain sight. I want to investigate the cause .
that dust cloud over there.

of wild musta es, yet my work on the border as Dect
requires me to look into everything that seems the least

It is probably made by a he:

‘i
i

suspicious. So I must say good-by here. Give my re-
spects to your father, and tell him to be always on guar
against possible danger.”

Edith Balfour looked admiringly at the scout as he rode
away, then gave the rein to her own horse and resumed
her way home.

As she thus rode on; thinking of the famous scout who
had saved her from self-destruction and from the wolves,
she became all at once aware that another man had ap-
peared on the prairie.

Ele rode out of a deep ravine, which had concealed him
and his horse. His course seemed to lie toward th
ranch house. He appeared not to have seen Edith unt:
he emerged from the ravine, when, observing that she was
also riding in the direction of the ranch house, he spurred

—

up his horse and joined her

  

As he advanced thus toward her, Edit
form, with slender waist, broac shoulders, and a
was beardless. He seenied scarcely trore than twenty-on
years of age. on had dark blue, fearless eyes, a
mouth and a general contour that m ade
handsome man.

 

ing masses upon his shoulders, while his attire was a black
velvet jacket, coming to his waist, buckskin leggi
fringed up the outer seams, and stuck in cavalry boots,
upon which were massive silver spurs.

Around his waist he wore a red sash, in which were
stuck a pair of silver-imounted revolvers and a large bowie-
knife
a bla
ae head.

Who could this dandy borderman be, thought Edith,

and she glanc ced toward his dark red bay horse, with its

S

His face was bronzed, his hair golden and worn in wav-
s
Lit

 

   

e, while his hands were encased in gauntlet gloves, aud
ck sombrero, worked in silver the ead, sheltered his

  

     

Bit 4 TORIES Os

Or

splendid Mexican saddle ard bridle, and then back
the rider.

“I am Allan Arleigh,” he said, by way of introduction.
“Is that Prairie Rest Ranch? I am on my way oe a

Edith then told him that she was the ranchman’s daugh-
ter, gave him her name and they rode together.

‘Then out toward them came, in a gatlon, two score of
men, assembled for a grand hunt for the missing girl, who
Was stipposed to have been captured by a banc of red-
skins that had been marauding the ranches of late.

Search had already been made by Floyd Balfour and

 

his | Gs until nearly all hope was given up; then the
rancheros and cowboys had asse fe ed of the trail of re-
ae . for all who knew Edith Balfour loved her, and a

vould they have visited upon the Indians
mat upon ae warpth.
ing, their ae Ae of delight Je across

  

the prairie, a ad 6
her companion.
they drew near all reined
father to first greet his child.
Such a meeting pen cannot describe, for Balfour wel-
comed back one he had given up as dead, perhaps one
who tag suffered a worse fate.
In a few words Edith told all her story, Se unstinted
lo Bul. Every eye was lookit

 

praise to Buffa
stranger.
Who was he?
Not one of tha at party. of hee ge remembered to have

 

Ina word, almost, he introduced himself. ;
A ; ee Mr. . Balfour. I ant from

“My name is Allan At
; purely for pleasure

i i

 

the East, and roving
of a wild life.”
Floyd Balfour gave the young man‘a ranchman’s warm
g and welcome. Then he added:
, as a gentleman of leisure, 1 beg you to b pecome
Pest, 2
Come, for | will not ee e no aS an answer.”
Thus invited and urged, Allan Arleigh became the

  

ig as you care to remain beneath my roo

of Floyd Balfour.
But better for Edith had she died by her own hand that

night on the moonlit all a them in that

lonely ranch had Allan A tleigh never darkened its door.

 

4

aad entered.

 

Into 1 the Te ‘St the

CA en Va
THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE.

From the day that Allan Arleigh crossed the threshold

   

f the Prairie Rest Ranch it was evident that he became
more and more interested in Edith Balfour.
And she, poor girl, strangely fascinated in his presence,

  

; eas Ba Rg ee ee ey tae eh we ce) aes are
was drawn to him by a power she could not resist.

 
 

x

 
6 THE BUFFALO

Her father watched the two with a jealous eye, for he

saw the harm that might come of this, and he could not
forget his pledge to Roy Brandt.

Of that pledge of herself as security Edith knew noth-
ing, and was free to act to sul it herself, or love where her
heart dictated.

Who Allan Arleigh was, other than that he came from
the East, she did not know.

He spoke to her of his mother, his father and a twin
brother. i

The former had been ae dead, and his father, ee
ing with misfortune, had gone from his home, none knew
where. :

His brother Edwin was in the servicerot his country,
while he was a wanderer.

Allan Arleigh had money, had evidently been well edu-
cated, and why, without cause, he had sought to roam the
wild prairies like an Indian, neither Edith or her father
could. understand.

One day he had gone to the nearest settlement with
Mr. Balfour, when one of Edith’s admirers, jealous of
his evident attentions to her, saw fit to speak of him slight-
ingly.

‘Floyd Balfour and Allan Arleigh had entered a saloon
together, and it was evident that the insulter, whom they
chanced to meet in the saloon, meant his words to be heard.

The face of Allan Arleigh flushed slightly, but the touch
of Floyd Balfour on his arm restrained his movement to
advance upon his enemy. Arleigh had called for liquor
and had raised the glass to his lips, when there came a
sharp report, and ear the glass was shivered to
atoms in his hand, ae the voice of the one oe fired the
shot was heard crying

“That is my hint that you had better levant out of Kan-
sas, you accursed adventurer!”

Allan Arleigh was as cool as an icicle, wiped the piece
of glass from his face with his silk handkerchief, then,
turning to his foe, said, with a strange smile upon his
tace’:

“I never take hints, Benson Brett, and as I like Kansas
I shall not be driven from it by you or cu of the gang
at your back.”

“Won't you? Then you shall stay here forever, as I'll
kill you. Stand aside, Mr. Balfour!”

They were the last words he ever uttered, for. with the
quickness of a flash, Allan Arleigh drew a revolver and
sent a bullet through his brain.

All was intense excitement. A “pard” of Benson Brett

at once returned the shot, the bullet striking the arm of
Allan Arleigh, and the shock knocking the revolver he
held from his hand.

But as quickly as before, another weapon was drawn
with the left hand, leveled and fired, and a second enemy

Bik STORIES.

dropped dead in his tracks, while Allan Arleigh, with one |

arm hanging limp by his side, and the same strange smile
upon his unmoved face, said, in calm tones bs

“Gentlemen, keep the fandango up, if so you feel in-
clined.” :

But no one seemed so inclined, and Floyd Balfour, who
with the others had had no time to interfere, quickly drew
Allan Arleigh away.

At the door Arleigh half turned and said, pleasantly:

“Tf those two men were poor, I will bury them
own expense.”

Instantly the rough crowd, recognizing true grit and a
generous heart in the man, gave him a cheer. |

Politely raising his hat, Arleigh left the saloon with Mr.
Balfour, who led him to the surgeon of the post, for it
was an army station, to have his wound dressed.

With a cigar between his lips, Allan Arleigh had the

ball extracted, without a wince or groan, and, mounting

his horse, rode out to Prairi
where Edith heard the story,
make Arleigh something of a hero in her romantic brain.

This Floyd Balfour saw,
. ymptly.

e Rest: Ranch with his host,

te liked Allan Arleigh, and yet there was something :

elk him which caused him to fear and doubt him; be-

sides, he had given his pledge to Roy Brandt, and he

would keep it, come what might.

\ With this determination, he sat down and wrote to Roy
Brandt in Boston, bidding him hasten the visit he proposed
to make, and come at once to Kansas, as urgent necessity
required: It. *

This letter was sent by a herder to the nearest mail
route, and then Floyd Balfour felt that he had done all
that he could do for the present.

Thus was the serpent left alone to charm the dove.

‘CHAPTER VI
THE SECRET DIVULGED,

“Edith, let me speak with you.”

Floyd Balfour called his daughter from the’ Mexican
hammock in which she was lying, lazily swung to and fro
by Allan Arleigh, who sat in an easy-chair by her side,
reading aloud.

“Pardon me, Allan,” she said, in a low tone, and, spring-
ing to her feet, joined her father upon the piazza.

At a glance she saw that his face wore a troubled look,
as he led the way into his own room.

“Sit down, my child, for I have something important
to say to you,” he said, when they were alone together.

Quietly she seated herself, dreading what was coming,
yet hoping that the ice of reserve would be broken, for
she wished also to speak to her father upon a matter very
near her heart.

at my »

which was calculated to —

and determined: to act -

 

 

See

 

 
 

 

 

10E BUPPALO

“Edith, it is two years and a half since I came to Kan-
sas,” he began.

“Ves, father, and I believe you have done weil,” she re-
plied, hardly knowing what answer to return

“Excellently well, my child, for I am now worth a cool
twenty-five thousand dollars, which I have laid up in bank,

subject to your order.”

“My order, papa?’ she asked, in surprise.

“Veg.”

“Why to my order?”

“It is to be your dowry, though, of course, when I die
you shall inhérit all I leave.”

ae are only forty-
she said,

Papa, don’t speak of dying. You
nine, and will live to see—my grandchildren,”
with a blush and a laugh.

“I hope so, my child; but here is the bank book, and it
calls for twenty-five thousand dollars, subject to your or-
der. The stock and ranch | own: vou know. but in vart-
nership with another.”

“Roy Brandt?’

eS.

“My old beau,” she said, laughingly.

“Your lover still.”

“What do you mean, papa?” she quickly as

“JT mean that he loves you.”

“T have not seen him for ne years; I was-then but
fourteen, and he was not of age.’

“That does not matter; he loves we

“How do you know that he does, pa
thoughtfully.

“From his own lips.”

“Why, papa?”
“Yes, and’ he wishes
ge ie

ia

Os

ce

’ Edith asked,

s you to become his wile.”

“Do not act hastily ; I tell you that Roy Brandt loves .

you, asks of me your hand, and will be here to-morrow,
for I have sent Pedro to the post with horses for him.”

“Father,’’ and the girl’s face fushed and paled by turns.

“My child, what ails you?’

“I do not love Roy Brandt,” she declared.

“Nonsense.”

“No, my love is no nonsense, *

“Vou do not kpow what love is.’

“Yes, I do; for I now love with all my heart.”

“Whom do you. love?’ he asked, hoarsely.

“Allan Atleigh.” :

“J feared it; fool that I was not to-end this matter
sooner.”

“Father!” and her eves flashed. »

“He is unworthy of you.”

“Father, not one word will 1 hear against Allan Ar-
leigh,” said the girl, with spirit.

“Fold! listen to me. I trusted you and I trusted him;

BILL STORIES. 7

but I have just ibaa, 2 letter from Buffalo Bill which
has opened my eyes.” . e

“Well, sir, what says your letter?” She asked, with scorn
in her tone.

“You know that Arleigh frequently takes long hunts
alone?”

“Yes, father.”

“Sometimes he is gone several days?”

“On one occasion, sir, he remained away a a

“Yes, and said he was hurting in the foothills.

“Of course he told be trot”

“He did not.”
' “Fle would be a dangerous man to tell that to, father.”

“I believe you; ay, I know that he would, for his hand is
ever ready to commit a red deed!”

“ Mather V’

“Edith, you shall hear me! At that time he ve in
town, and there he was known as the Diamond Sport.’

* 66

A sport?”

“Yes, Edith, as the most successful gambler in Kan-
sas.”

“This is ah infamous ilccliood ” she declared.

“Then tell me, as he says he had no fortune left him,
and certainly does not work, how he gets the money he
spends in handsome presents for you?”

“*T do not ask Mr. Arleigh regarding his financial re-
sources,” she returned, cold lly.

“There is no need for it, for I know; he is a A eaabier:
Edith,”

“I do not believe it, father.”

“He is worse, for he has taken life in several cases
where there was no cause for it.”

“With Benson Brett and his coe for instance ?’’

“In those cases it was self-defense, but I can give you
Buttalo Bill’s proof.”

“J like Buffalo Bill, or did until now; but since he has
seen fit to play the spy upon my movements, I hate him.”

“You are unreasonable, Edith.”

“No, father, I am just, because 1 will not turn agairist
the m ay I love to marry some of these wild border ranch-
eros.” : é

“T do not ask that, my child. Roy y Bra indt is no ranch-
ero. He 4s handsome, very rich, and an elegant gentle-
nee

“Granted ; but I donot love him!”

“You always liked: him.”

“Tike is not love, sir.” eres a

“You would grow more and more attached to him,” he
urged. : ; ;

“T tell you, father, I love this gambler, as you call him.”

“But, Edith, my dear girl, you are als oe bound to
Roy Brandt.” _

 
   

The girl sprang to her feet at the words and looked at

sher father with white face and flashing eyes.
For fully a moment Edith Balfour stood gazing into the
face of her father. ‘Then she said, in a kindly tone:
“Ny poor papa, have you lost your senses?”
No, 1 ain saner
“Then what do you mean?”
“Tust what I say.”
“Say it over again, please.”
“I repeat it, you are bound to Roy Brandt.”
“By what ties, pray?”
“My pledged word.”
“Your word, father?” .
“Ves, Edith, and more—my signature.”
“This really grows interesting, father.”
“Intensely so to me, my child.”
“Roy Brandt has, then, written to you for my hand
without consulting me?’ she said, with a sneer.
“No, Edith, he has done nothing of the kind.”
_“Telegraphed for the, honor of my hand, then, per-
hanes?

y

“No, Edith. If you will drop your scornful tone I will
tell you oe ing.”

“And I will igre en with rapt attention, sir,”

“You know my failure left me a poor man?”

“Yes, father, | know that.’

“So poor that all I had left after being sold out was your
piano and a few traps that were not taken.”

“I remember that, too, father.”

“Of your money, which | had laid aside for you as a
graduating gift, | had a thousand dollars, but Roy Brandt
came to me, offered to indorse my notes for me to resume
business again :

“That was noble of him.”

“Indeed it was; but | refused his noble offer and told
him I was going to Kansas to establish a little home.

“Instantly he said he wished to start a cattle ranch here,
and had fifteen thousand dollars to put in with me.

 

“1 told him I had no money to invest, other than a thou-

sand dollars. He replied he would have to pay an agent.

to start his ranch, so ea that [ put my money with
his, and to make it equal, I was to give my full time and
attention to'the Pignay

* Well, father?’

“T refused, for I had no security to offer, and then he

told me that he loved you, and always had done so, yet he:

didn't know whether you cared for him or not.”

“Ah! he was not then conceited enough to think that I
did?” o

“No, he only hoped so, and said if I would pledge my
consent for him to have your hand it would| be security
_ enough.”
“Ah! he did that?”

THE BURPALO BILT SPORIES.

“Yes, my child; now you know the secret.”
“And you gave this pledge, father?”

“Yes, we drew up a partnership contract, and I signed

it, giving my consent to your marriage with Roy Brandt,
as security for the fifteen thousand dollars he placed in
my hands.”

“And this holds good on your part?”

“Ves, Edith?

“You own a of this ranch, and half the cattle and
hae es upon it?’

“Yes, Edith.”

“Then give all to Roy Brandt, and, as it is worth now
three times his inve sea he cannot complain.”

“But, Edith i

cae take the oo thousand dollars in this bank
book, reserved for me, and start another ranch, father.”

“But my contract, Edith—my pledged word?”

“T decline to'be an object of barter and sale, sir,” she
asserted, firmly. :

“But Roy will never forgive me,’”’ he protested.

“Go unforgiven by him, then, and lay the biame of the
result upon circumstances, for had I not met Allan Ar-
leigh, I woud have married Roy Brandt doubtless. As it
is, knowing that I love another, if I know Roy Brandt
rightly, he will release me gladly from the bond you gave
to him.”

“I dare not ask him to do so.”

Ui shal”

“But, Edith, I forbid you becoming the mits of this
gambler.”

 

“Father, my hand goes with my heart; I love Allan Ar-
leigh and I shall marry him, for he has asked me to be-
coine his wiie.”’

“Heaven forbid! .You must not.”

“T take my happiness in my own hand, and I will bear
the consequences, father, be they what they may; so let no
shadow fall a ween Us, as my only sorrow will be in giv-
ing you up.”

Then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed
him.

But his heart was too full to make reply, and just then
through the open window they beheld four horsemen ap-
proaching. ,

“It is Roy Brandt and the two herders you sent for him,
and Buffalo Bill is with them, father,’ said Edith, calmly.

“My God! what a presentiment of evil rushes upon me,”
was the groaning response of the sorrowing ranchero.

Edith hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry when -

she saw that Buffalo Bill was with the party that was ap-
proaching the ranch house. Experience had taught her
to trust him. She had not seen him since the day he had
left her on the prairie, but she had heard of him and his
work, for he was often of late in the vicinity of the ranch,

 
 

 

 

    
 
  

 

 

  
  
  
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
   

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

     

 
 

 

 

 

     
     
     
   
   
    
    
   
   
   
  
 
 
 

 

Pee

 

Yet, as she now saw him riding toward the house, and
recalled what her father had said—that the scout had made
written charges against Allan Arleigh—she felt almost a
revulsion of feeling toward him. She might have turned
her heart against him wholly but for a lingering suspicion
that her father had not spoken truthfully in the matter.

So the party came on to the house, to be greeted warmly
by the ranchman.

Buffalo Bill was welcomed eagerly by every one.

Roy Brandt, grown more manly, dignified and hand-
some in the two years and a half that had passed since he
became the head of his late father’s firm, found a warm
welcome from Edith and her father.

And Allan Arleigh, without the shadow of jealousy,
extended to him a cordial greeting to Kansas.

As to who he was Allan Arleigh did not know, other
than that he was the partner of Mr. Balfour in the ranch.
Arleigh could but admit, though, that he ole have been
a dangerous rival, had Edith seen him but a few months
back, and not cae aed him as only a youth.

And this thought the gir] had also. Yet she was drawr
to Allan Arleigh by a fascination s!
she was determined that no power on ea
her from him,

4

‘th should take

As for Roy Brandt, he was very happy, it seemed; he
enjoyed the sumptuous meal set before.him, sang duets
with Edith, talked with Buffalo Bill and the ranchman,
and retired for the night in an apparently contented mood.

But on his heart had fallen a shadow.

.

The reason of oi was, man of the world that he had
been, in spite of his youth, he saw that Edith Balfour loved
wee Arleigh.

cet somehow it came to him that it was a species of fas-
cination she felt for the man and not. realslove, ae east not
d for her to feel for him.
of

Allan Arleigh he did

such love as he would have carec
What he had.seen in thé face o
not like,

The face was certainly handsome, almost we oy im its
beauty. But there were certain lines in it "ha ge had not
made, but which were certai: nly the footprint oe dissipa-
tion.

He had noticed that the eyes, ever restless, were, not
truthful in their glance, but seemed anxious to hide the
feelings of the heart and the thoughts of the brain.

Roy had to admit that Arleigh’s a rm ‘was elegant, and
the man graceful, but the strength seemed leopard-like,
and the grace the swaying. motions of the serpent.

“He is a bad man at heart, whatever may be his actions,
said Roy Brandt, to himself, when he had finished Bis
study of Allan Arleigh’s face and character.

And Edith?

When she had the two men face to face before her, she -

5

  

BUFFALO

he could not resist, and.

   

BEL SEORIEG. o

could but admit in her heart that there was that in the eyes
of Roy Brandt which she could not find in Allan Arleigh’s.

Yet, with a sigh, she held to her purpose, for she was
under the charm of the serpent.

: CHAP DER Vii
THE MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN,

It was a very tempting meal that Battalo Bill had sat
down to in the Balfour ranch house, and he had enjoyed
it greatly.

After the meal, and throughout
from time to time watched Allan Arleigh.

“The fellow has made that girl fall in love with him,
and I don’t like that. Trouble will come of it.”

So mused the scout, as he sat in his room before re-

the evening, he had

tiring.

‘At last he threw off his clothes and went to bed.

The windows were open, and a cool breeze lulled him to
sleep, for it tame through the flower garden and was laden
with fragrance.

How long he had been asleep Buffalo Bill did not know.
He awakened suddenly, yet did not moye.

His long experience on the plains told him that he had
awakened “from a sense of impending danger!

3ut what danger could come to him in that secure
house ?

‘As he thus thought, he lay with his eyes wide open,
looking toward the windows.

He had taken his belt of arms to bed with him; that was
his unfailing custom; and one hand was resting upon the
butt of one of his revolvers.

As he continued to gaze toward the window he suddenly
saw a form rise from the floor—the form of a man.

Buffalo Bill saw the intruder by the dim light, for it
was moonlight without, and he knew that it was the man’s
entrance through the window which had awakened him.

The man was crouching, one arm was ee ae and
in the hand was something very like a long knife.

Noiseless as a cat, nearer and nearer crept the form
toward the bed, and, in a moment, bent over the scout.
The hand was raised and there was no doubt now but that
it held a k a, ‘

Another moment’ and a death blow would have been
dealt.

When the knife was poised above him, and the assassin
had discerned the spot where to strike, it seemed as though
nothing could prevent the deadiy ac

Still ‘Buffalo. Bill did not move! He even

et
t
Cy

breathed

naturally, as one in a deep sleep. It was too dark to see
that his eyes were watching every movement of the assas-
sin,

Then there was a startling movement.
As the knife stroke was ma aa up shot the seeming sleep-

  

 
10 THE BUFFALO
‘er’s hand; a clash of steel followed; the descending blade
was caught in the guard of a revolver; a wrench of an
iron wrist snapped the blade in two; then the scout’s left
hand closed upon the throat of the midnight assailant, and
dragged him down upon the bed, where he was held in a
grasp he could not shake off,

It took the scout just two minutes to bind his prisoner,
who, wiry and strong as he was, ¢ could do nothing against
‘such giant strength.

Striking a light, Buffalo Bill turned it upon the man.

The latter turned his face away ond did all he could,
bound as he was, to conceal himself, but in vain

The scout recognized him, and said:

“Ah! it is you, Pedro Garcia, my old-time enemy when
you were scouting in the northwest!

“I thought you were dead, but I find you very much
alive? I recall that you left the fort with the murder of a
soldier against you, and I shall deliver you over to the au-
thorities, to Col. Garrett, with a list of your grimes that

will hang you.

“T saw. you this evening talking earnestly with Allan
Arleigh. I understand now what the subject of that con-
versation was, my fine Pedro.
seem to have disturbed the
ntil dawn,

“As our little fracas does not
Le. I shall not do so now, but let you rest 1
for we have some hours to sleep yet.”
securely bound his prisoner,
after which he again lay down to sleep, iin ag the man
upon the floor, groaning in agony of spirit.

Just at dawn he was awakened. When he entered the
breakfast room, to his surprise he found Edith Balfour up
and with her fies

The scout had his hand upon the shoulder of his’ pris-
wner, and in the other grasped the broken hilt and blade of

With this the scout more

the knife. |

At sight of the two both Floyd Balfour and his daugh-
ter started with amazement, the former crying out:

“My God, Mr. Cody, what does this mean?”

“Simply, Mr. Balfour, that this man crept into my room
at midnight through the open windows that look upon the
garden, and, believing 1 was asleep, sought to knife me.

“T have the happy faculty of waking up when danger
threatens, so | watched him until he sought to strike the
blow, and then shattered his knife with my revolver, as
oe See |

rm

“Tmpo yssible! That is ome of my. best.cowbovs, Mr.

Cody.”
“That may be, sir, but he serves another master as well,
the devil, as I happen to know.” Tan
No, no!’
“Yes, I recog enize him asa scou
now of half a dozen crimes he can

t the Nosh west and
e hanged for.

1 de

BILL STORIES.

“This is not his first attempt upon my life, for he is an
old enemy of mine.

“T am sorry you have been so impoeed upon as to harbor
such a wretch in your home.”

“But why did you not give an alarm, sir?” Edith asked.

“There was no need to disturb the household, Miss
Balfour,” the scout answered, “when I could manage him
very comfortably, so I bound him and went to sleep
again.”

“You are a strange man, Mr. Cody.”

Turning to her father, she continued :

“Pather, what are we to do about this act toward our
guest: eae

Before he could reply Buffalo Bill said:

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Balfour, for I shall take
him to the fort with me, and my testimony will hang him.”

The scout glanced through the breakfast room.

“By the way, where is Allan Arleigh?” he continued.

“He was up before dawn and has ridden out for a
hunt,” answered Mr. Balfour.

“Ah, he will keep away trom here for a littl e while,”
was Buffalo Bill’s thought. “Yet, s suspect him though 1
do, [ have not a particle of proof just now that I could
bring against him. Until I have, I must keep still.”

In a little while the conversation turned upon other inat-
ters, and, Roy Brandt mae joined them, the breakfast
Lae without further mention of the subject.

“l have ordered Garcia’s horse saddied for him, so you
can take him to the fort, and [ will put you in the right
way,’ said Floyd Balfour. “Yet I still cannot understand
why he should have a sh aces you. 1 always coysidered "
him one of my best men.’ ;

Then farewells were said, and, with his prisoner hound
in his saddle and riding by his side, Buffalo Bill started.
for the fort.

CRAP TER VIN
ROY BRANDT’S RESOLVE

Hardly had Buffalo Bill gone when Mr. Balfour‘called
Roy Brandt into his room and laid before him*the fuil
staternent of his investments and profits since he had been
in Kansas.

“T gent you the chec

k for your share of the twenty-five
thousand, which was half the cash received, as you see by
my books, Brandt, and my part I placed in bank subject to
Edith’s order.

“Now the place-—that is, ranch,

4

cattle and horses—is
share of this I

ae

worth more-than fifty
wish to tr vanster toeyou.’
“Why so, Mr. Balfour?” asked Roy Brandt, in surprise.
“T'll tell -you;’’ was the answer, in an embarrassed way.
“The truth is, Brandt, 1 made a contract with you that
I am not able to keep.

thousand, and my

e «

es

 
THE BUFFALO

“With your money and my time, with what little I in-

vested, I have done splendidly, but I want you to take all, :

except what I have given Edith.”

“1 shall do no such thing, Mr. Balfour; and let me tell
you now that I understand cs the position in which you
are placed.

“I was glad to invest my money here, and you have
trebled it, and more; but I never expected to’hold you to a
_ contract that would be distasteful to Edith.

“* “That I love her, I still frankly admit; but I would not
marry her for worlds without her love.

“No, Mr. Balfour, I am tired of city life, I love the soli-
tude of the prairies, and here I will remain, and we will
work together, for I see plainly we are both to lose Edith
Balfour.”

“T am afraid that is true, Roy,’ the father admitted :
“but, Roy, you are a man above all other men | have met,
and God knows I would be happy in seeing Edith your
wile.”’ |

“It is not so destined, sir,” was the sad reply.

“No,” said Balfour, “for that man has fairly fascinated
her. The worst is, I believe him to be a villain.”

Instantly Roy Brandt was upon his feet.

Vila} Se you so?”

Thdo.”

“My own,conclusion, for I am seldom wrong in reading
a face,

“T have had proof. I was warned by Buffalo Bill in a
letter, and still further by what he came here to tell me last
night.”

“What was it, Sir?’

“That the man was known in the border towns as a
gambler, roue, and desperate fellow generally. And,

though Buffalo Bill would not say so, I have a feeling that,

he hired that cowboy to try to kill the scout last night,”

“By, Heaven! he shall not marry her then.”
> “The bosay he is ever successful at cards, has killed a
number of men in cold blood, is a fearless prairie man, and
some even hint that he is leader of the Bravos of the Bor-

~ er”

“By Heaven! 1 will at once——”’

“Hold! do not be rash.”

“TI will verify those reports,” Roy Brandt declared. “I
will go on his trail; in talking with him I have learned
where he has been, and there I will go. Also, I will tele-
graph East and find out who and what he was there.

“Have you a good guide I can have to go with me, for
Tam no prairie man, you know? ‘There is no time
.to wait; I will start this afternoon.”

oe I hate for you to go,’ said the anxious ranch-
man; “but I suppose it is best, and I will send Lone Star
ee with you, for he is a fine guide, and brave as a

, lion. - I will call him.”

BILL STORIES. oe Ye

As Mr. Balfour left the room he thought he heard a re-
treating footstep, but paid no attention to it, and soon re-
turned with Lone Star Harry, his second herder, who was
a dashing young Texan of twenty-five.

A short conversation followed, and it was agreed that
Roy Brandt and his guide were to start upon the trail as
soon as dinner was over.

Shortly after the meal was announced, and Here was a
familiar face absent from the table.

“Where is Arleigh, my child?” Balfour asked Edith.

“He has not returned from his hunt, father,’ was the
reply of the girl. :

Then both gentlemen exchanged looks that showed
plainly they saw how wretched Edith was when away
from the man who had caught her in the toils of his fasci-
nations.

CHAD TTR Tx.
DARK DEEDS.

“I call a halt !? sung out Lone Star larry, as he sud-
denly drew his horse back, and with an impatient exclama-.
tion that caused Roy Brandt to-also draw rein and ask:

“Well, guide, what is it?”

“T am a consarned fool.”

Not inclining to agree to this, Roy Brandt did not con-
ae the statement, and Lone Star Harry went on:

“Pard, I have left my ammunition behind.”

peed:

“True as gospil, and I don’t often do such things,
nuther; do you see yonder clump of timbers ahead ?’’

Yes, |

“It’s just five mile from here, so you keep right on there,
while I go back. Mind you, don’t leave the timber, for
you might get lost, and thar’s whar I'll look for yer.”

“T will wait for you there,” Rdy promised.

“It will be nigh on to night afore I return, for it’s a
jump of twenty-five miles to the ranch and back, so you
might build a fire, make up a camp, and we'll stay there
all night. There is some game round, and you might
knock over something for supper.”

“I'll try, guide, but I am a poor shot,” said Roy; “yet
under: your teachings, I hope to become an expert soon.”

‘Well, do the best you can,” said the guide, “and I’ll
not spare spur.” ie

Back on the trail dashed Lone Star Harry at a rapid
gallop, and straight on to the timber rode Roy Brandt.

‘Unsuspecting danger, though he knew he was in a land
of danger, and with his thoughts bent on his mission, Roy
rode into the timber and dismounted.

It was a “prairie island,” such as often dot the prairies
of the West, and he saw that it would be a pleasant camp-
ing place, so set to work to make an ee camp.

“Well, Mr. Brandt, we are well met.”

 
    

12 THE BUFFALO

With a slight start, Roy Brandt turned to behold before

him the elerant form and smiling face of Allan Arleigh.
“T learned from Miss Balfour that you were out hunt-

ing, yet did not expect te find you so far from the ranch,”
said Roy, striving hard to conceal his antipathy for the
man.

“Oh, yes, out here on th
thirty or forty miles is nothing; and

€ prairies an afternoon gallop of
I have found my
ganie, too.”

“Indeed {”

“Yes, indeed,” and there was something in the tone of
the man that attracted the attention more particularly of
oy Brandt.

“May Il ask what your game is?”
PA ane 4

“What! have you met redskins?”

OWT Fad

“Some prowling desperado, perhaps, that 1 have heard

haunt these prairies to rob and murder.”

“Yes, one who is prowling now to the towns to rob me
ot my character,” was the significant and: sinister reply.

“Ah! I cannot further misuriderstand you, sir,’ was
TPrandt’s cool reply.

“it would be useless to attempt it, sir, for I know you.”

“Then you know, Allan Arleigh; that I am not one of
Your stripes:

“That is good, indeed; but : heard Buffalo Bill’s taik
with Mr. Balfour in his room.”

“And found true the old saying that eavesdroppers hear
no good of themselves.”

“Yes, and hearing this, | came out on my hunt, for I
well knew the trail that Lone Star Harty would bring you.
ay I ask why he returned?”

“After his ammunition, which he had forgotten.”

“Tt is better so, for I run no risk.”

‘Tl confess I do not understand you, sir.”

“I will explain. You seek to find proofs against me

that I am a gambler?”
“And worse?’

eae

“A murderer and all that is vile.”

“You are complimentar yy Mr] Brandt.”

mean ae what I say.”

Oe

“wells if you went on your spying trail against my char-
acter, you would find that I am just what Te am ae giel
toe

>)9

“Tia! vou confess it ?”

“Why deny it?”

“You are indeed a brazen-faced villain, and I am glad
that we have thus met.”

“Well, you are armed, and I suppose can use

“I am not very well a

said Roy Brandt, quickly.

customed to firearms.

   

BILL STORIES

“Perhaps you would prefer a knife, then, as I see you
wear one in your belt?” :

“T am still less acquainted with its use; but proceed,
pray.”

“Then I shall have the advantage, unless accident favors
you, as is frequently the case. 1 am a dead shot, Mr.
Brandt, and cannot withdraw from my intention because
you are ignorant of the use of the weapons you wear; so
I demand a meen with you to settle this little difference
between ts.”

“A's you please.”

“Vou certainly have pluck, sir

“And another nee which you have not.”

“Name please.’

“Fonor.’

“Bah! what is honor? Min
and I am happier since.”

92.

got tarnished long ago,

3

‘ “7 do not doubt it; but name your terms,
patient reply.

was the im-

“We will take our stands, sir, you at that tree, and I at
this, and together march toward each other, firing as we
advance, and the survivor wins Edith Balfour.”

“| have no claim upon Miss Balfour, sir; but with the
hope of saving her o you, a scoundrel. I agree to your
terms and meet you,” was Roy Brandt’s firm reply.

“There is your tree, sir,’ and Allan Arleigh pointed to
a large tree some fifty paces away.

“We step out from behind our respective trees at the
word, and advance, firing, I believe,” said Roy Brandt,
quietly.

Yes, Sir.’

Without hesitation, or dread of his foe, Roy Brandt
walked away.

With no treachery in his heart, he could not believe it
would be shown in another, when that other was a dead
shot, and he shad confessed himself an amateur with
weapons. :

As he walked away, dark thoughts flashed through the

brain of Allan Arleigh.

“That man is not the verdant youth he would pretend
he is,’ he muttered. “He is as cool as J am, and has a
nerve of iron. |

“I believe he is a dead shot, and though I shall kill him,
I cannot afford to take any chances, for I may fall, too.

“No, I will save all exposure, for what does it matter
how I| kill him, so I rid myself of him ?”

_ He quickly raised and leveled his revolver upon the un-
suspecting Roy, now some thirty paces distant, and took
deliberate aim. ,

Then his finger touched the alee the flash and re-
port followed, and without a word or groan | Roy Brandt
sunk io the earth in a heap.

  

 

 
 

 

oo THE BUFFALO

“A good shot, and that ends it,” muttered Allan Arieigh,
as he walked forward to where his victim lay.

“A handsome watch and chain, and diamond studs,
too, and a costly set of sleeve buttons; all valuable, and,
as 1 won the game, the stakes are mine.

“Ha! a well-filled. pg¢ketbook, too; one, three, seven
hundred dollars, and some’ odd change.

“Well, | was getting a little short in funds,
been losing a great deal of time of lat

“Now, to wait for the coming of shat I Lone Star Harry!
No, I believe I will leave this timber and return to ae
ranch so as not to meet him, and none will suspect me.’

He mounted his horse, which awaited him over in the
thicker brushwood, and rode away.

But hardly had he gotten a mile from the timber, when
he suddenly drew rein.

“Am I a fool?” he muttered. “Why, that Lone Star
Harry could follow my trail and easily prove who tilled
Roy Brandt.

“No, I'll not be so silly, but wait and end the career
of that cowboy, too, and then my tracks will be covered
up, as it may be days before the bodies are found.”

He returned to the timber, glanced casually at the
prostrate form of the man he had shot down, and con-
cealing his horse once more, lay down upon the grass to
patiently await the coming of his other victim.

How long he waited he did not know, fofhe went to
sleep as peacefully as though his heart held in it no red
crime, and was only awakened by the falling of hoofs
upon the prairie.

as 1 have

The sun was near its setting, for it was touching the

western horizon, and he started at the lateness of the hour,
while he muttered:

“Well, taking life serves as a narcotic for me! Yes,
there comes Lone Star Harry.

“Well, I am no assassin, so shall not shoot him down
without warning.”

Then he called out: /

Well, Harry ?”

‘Well, pard, I did not expect to see you a Vere !” cried the
herder.
“No, but you have ridden hard?”
“Ves, had to; but where is Mr. Brandt?”
“Ah, yes, he expected to wait for you sg
not, so I waited to tell you.”

“Could not wait!
gone?” asked the herder, in surprise

“Where he expects you to follow, Harry,”
cool reply.

“And where is that, pard ?”’

“To the devil, with my compliments.”

Lone Star Harry was quick on the draw, but he ca not

uspected such base treachery, and fell from his horse

%

but. could

was the

Why, where in thunder has he.

BILL STORIES. | | 3

a dead man, his hand upon his pistol, which was but hali
out of the holster.

“You go next,” said the merciless man; and he brought
down the animal of the falien herder, and then seeking
the spot where Roy Brandt had left his horse tied, he de-
iberately took out his knife and drew it-across the throat
of the beast.

“That jobs ended! Now, to return to the side of my
fair Edith,” he said, with a smile.

Then, mounting once more his own steed, he set off in
a gallop across the prairie, the gloom gathering around
him, and the remembrance of his dark deeds seeming not
to affect his light nature in the least.

CHAPTER Xt.
PE PAT AL ST aH.

Impatiently to and fro Edith Balfour paced the rustic
piazza of her cabin home, and glanced continually out
over the rolling prairie.

‘Will he never come? Has anything happened to
him ?”

Such were the que
answer.

“Edith, my child, why are you so restless?” asked her
father, joining her.

“TI do not know, papa, except that ] feel a deep oppres-
sion here,”’ and she laid her hand upon her heart.

“Vou have been keeping too close of late, and not taken
your ustial exercise.”

“No, it is not that,” she declared. a

“Vou are anxious about the return of Allan Arleigh?”’

“Yes, papa; he said he would return by dark, and it is
now after nine o’clock. I fear some accident has be-
fallen him.”

“No, no, not the slightest danger; he can take care of
himself. I only wish he could not.”

“Father!”

“T cannot help it, Edith.
man as well as doubt him—hark!

can! ee he comes, for I know the way he rides.”

Mr. Balfour said something that sounded very muci
like a muttered oath, and returned to his room and his
accounts, just as a horseman dashed up. The horseman
was Allaw Arleigh.

“Well, my sweet Edith, were you anxious about me?”
he said, pleasantly.

“Yes, terribly so, Allan; why did you stay so later”

“Got on a trail I had to run down; and now I am hun-
gry as a lost bear.” :

“Vou shall have supper, for I told Jane to save it for
you; come!” a

She ‘led the way to the dining-room, and sat at the table

estions she asked herself, to find no

I have begun to hate that

?

 
 

oa  FHE BUPFALO

while he ate a hearty meal, his handsome face showing
no trace of the tragedy that a little over three hours before
he had enacted in the timber island.

At last he arose, and taking the arm of the girl, led her
out upon the piazza.

“Edith, do you know where your friend, Roy Brandt,

has gone?” he asked.

“To get a view of the country, he said.” ,

“Tt is not the reason; he and Buffalo’ Bill have con-
cocted a plan to ruin me,”
“Ruin you, Allan?’

CYes, edith”

“How can they?”

“By trickery.”

“But Buffalo Bill will not stoop to that.”

“You do not know him.”

“I do know him, and feel that nities he nor Koy
Brandt would ever do a mean act.”

“T am glad Roy Brandt has so fair a defender,”
sneering respotise of the man.

"He deserves it, Allan.”

“Well, I heard him to-day plot wi th your father against
hie.

“Yow heard this?”

Yess?

“And my father, too?”

aes?

“Impossible.”

“Very well, I have nothing more to say.” |

“Yes, Allan, don’t be angry, but tell me all you know,”
she said, pleadingly. |

“Well, it seems your father wishes you to marry thi
Roy Brandt, and they conceived the idea that witnesses
could be brought here to swear away my character to
you, and Brandt has gone after them to the border
towns.’

“But I will not believe such witnesses.”

“Your father will make you believe them.”

“Tam not wax, Allan Arleigh, to be melded at will into
any shape,” said the girl, haughtily.

“You say that you love me?”’

“I do love you,” she answered.

“Prove it,”

“thow can 1?”

“Go with me and become my wife; then, after the
trouble has blown over, we can return and ask your fath-
er’s forgiveness.”

“Oh, Allan; 1 dare not” |

“Then do not say that you love me.”

“But I do love you with all my heart.”

_ “Fly with me, then,”
“How can IP?” i
“To-night, when your father hae renised: steal from the

was the

]

 

Bil, SORES.

house and come to the arbor on the river, and I will be
there awaiting you with two good horses.”

“And where will we go, Allan?’

“Over into New Mexico.”

Bo fair

“Tt is not any too far.”

“But to live among Mexicans!

“They are warm-hearted people, and will welcome
you.”

“But it will kill my poor father, Allan!”

“Tf you love him better than you do me, remain here
‘and become the wife of Roy Brandt. As for myself, I
leave here toShight, before [ am tempted to dye my hand
with ie blood of the man your father lye have you
marry.”

“No, no, Allan, you a not think of that.
come what may to me.’

He drew her toward him and imprinted a kiss upon her
red lips, and releasing herself from his embrace, she ran
into the house.

An hour after she stole on tiptoe into her father’ s room,
and heard him breathing as though asleep.

Bending over him, she kissed him gently, and turning,
glided. from the room, her heart full of tears and sorrow.

Half an hour after two horses were going at a rapid
gallop over the prairie.
Arleigh, and the other carried Edith Balfour, who had
taken the fatal step of her life.

When Floyd Balfour opened his eyes in the early morn-
ing it was with a feeling of unrest; and unable to close
them in sleep again, he arose, dressed himself and ‘walked
out upon the piazza.

The sun was just rising, and lighted up the prairie,
when Floyd Balfour saw a horseman coming toward the
ranch.

I will go,

He was: yet a long way of: but watching him, Mr.
Balfour saw that he rode heavily.

Then he became aware that there were two men on
the horse. They were quite near the ranch before he was
able to discéver that one of the men was Buffalo Bill and
that he was supporting the other man in his arms. :

On running out to meet them, Balfour found that the
man whom the scout was holding was Roy Brandt, who
was dangerously wounded and so weak he could not walk.

“He has been shot, and, perhaps, fatally,” said the scout.

“Call.some servants and let us get him into the house. I

found him on the prairie out yonder, but he was unable to
tell me his story.”

When Roy had been carried into the house Buffalo Bull

made another examination of the wound.
“The shot was given from behind.” said the scout; ‘and

glanced on this rib, rumning around it.and cutting its
way out just here.”

t

Upon the back of one was Allan ©
THE BUPE ALY)
“Then the wound is not fatal?” Bal-
four.

“Not necessarily so; it was well meant, and but for

he rib turning it, would have entered the heart.”

“The shock was a great one, and the loss of blood has
been terrible, but I hope he will rally all right, for he has
a strong physigue.”’

“Then are it at once, Co ree ;

4, qui

eagerly cried Mr.

id you, Mattie, tell Miss
and Balfour turned to

Edith to send me some linen
Edith’s maid.
“Missy Edie not
nounced.
“Where is she?”
Se know, sah; the bed hain’t be

“loyd Balfour turned as pale a
fie side, and tottered rather than walked t

im her room, saii,: maid an-

1 not been woe. during the night, and
ossing table was a note, addressed to him -in

well-known hi one .

e tears from his eyes, and holding it up with

trembling bide he read:

“MIDNIGHT,
FATHER: ns you have entered into a plot with Mr.
Roy Brandt to turn me against the man | love, [ prove my
confidence in a and my undying affection, by this night
leaving your home to become his bride.
“We go far from here, where you cannot find us, until
you are willing to forgive this act of mine, and welcome
baek my hus ‘band, and your loving daughter, Eprru.”

CoE

This yet it was enough to al-

Ss Wa s all that was written ;
reader go mad.

rlad it not been for the wounded man‘ lying in
house, der g his every effort to save him from death,
Floyd Balfour would have committed some desperate deed
then and there, so heartbroken was he at his daughter’s
flight.

But, with a mighty effort he gained his self-control,
and ant again to the oh of Roy Brandt, to find that
Buffalo Bill was skillfully dressing the wound.

Calling to one of his men who stood near, Balfour or-

red him to collect a dozen of his comrades, have them
arm themselves thoroughly, mount their best horses, and
tions with them for several days.

ed at the order of the ranchero, the cowboy ha

Before his return,
his back, mounted and armed, Roy Brandt had awoke a
consciousness, and Vie Balfour w
listening to a tale of horror from his Te

Buffalo Bill w anxious to hear as
this was the ta

“Ar! anc

- make the
the

TE ianding

carry ra
Surpris
tened off to ob ey.

Tt “y ~ ee pads
with his comrades at
5

as bending over him

as as as Balfour; and

Pe AT palate L Cee aL
eioh We agreed to. ight ;

14

and 1. was to walk one nd he another, and then

BILL STORIES,

He took advantage of me, and shot

2

were to turn and fire.
me in the back,

“I was shocked by the shot, and knocked brea
soon recovered consciousness, and dressed my wound as
well as I could to stanch the bleeding.

“Then I saw Arleigh returning; and hastily resumed my
prostrate position, for I ae ed not meet him in my weak-
ened -state.

“And there I lay, not knowing whether he had gone, or
il L heard him call to Lone Star

ih
cruel fire.

thiess,.but

was in the a unti

Harry, also fell unde
pS i, ne ee

as | heard him ride away

7
Wno
As soon

: 4
again dressed my
: d for the ranch.

“Tt was a long, hard ab on and instinct alone
told me which way to go. I was slowly bleeding all the
t I sank down, unable to make another

wound, and whe

time, until ae
step.”

Such was the
voice, and to it,
with intense earnest :

“Well, Roy, cheer up, for I shall leave you in charge
of a reliable man ce and he will bring you around in a
few weeks,” said the r

“And you vir, B

“Oh! I shall take
dew is still on the grass,
nd pray ior me to bring

sto ol Brandt, told in a lo Vv, we

Fl
tL

nchi inlan.

boys there. The
fine trailers.
ood tiding Ss

trail with my
and they are all

Good-by, Roy,.an back g

and my poor child.”
“Would to Heav
“No, no, you have se
Two men must go and bury poor Lone Star Harry.
rest go with me. Come, lads, let us be off.”
Throwing himself into his saddle, Floyd Balfour set off .
at a gallop, his herders following, excepting one, who had

already struck the trail of the fug gitives.

ven I could go, too.”

ei service enough for the pier
‘The

CHAPTER XT.
A PATAL 2RATG.

Upon the crest of a bold hill, many miles from the level
prairie upon which stood the ot of Floyd Balfour, a
man was leaning against a small tree and gazing intently
out over the plain at his feet.

One glance into his face, and the reader recognizes
Allaa Arieigh.

He was trave somewhat weary, but the
bold resolution and reckless daring remained, and his eye
was full ef fire as he gazed out over the prairie at a party
of five horsemen approaching

They were far fully a league, yet he recognized
the one on the white horse, for he muttered:

“By Heaven! he has trailed me hard,”

-stained and

away,

 
 

16 THE BUFFALO

Turning, he descended to a small vale beyond the crest
of the hill where stood two horses, both with bowed heads,
_as though hard ridden.

At the base of a tree, lying on a blanket and rolled in -

a serape, lay a slender form.

It was Edith Balfour, and she was asleep.

Her face was flushed, yet haggard, and she slept the
sleep of utter prostration.

“Let her sleep until my return,’ muttered the man, and
taking up a rifle from where it leaned against a tree, he
wended his way at a rapid step down the hillside.

Near its base the path led through a narrow ravine or
canyon, and here, hidden by the embankment, he took his
stand and waited.

Soon a¥®er the group of five horsemen came in sight,
one a few yards in advance, his eyes following b trail,
evidently, and his companions behind.

All wore a hageard look, the horses were gaunt and
carried their heads low, and it was evident the animals
had been pressed very hard.

Nearer and nearer the horsemen came to the hills, and
then entered the vale, and then the canyon.

Then came the crack of a rifle from over the embank-
ment, and a rider, the one on the white horse, dropped
from his saddle.

Instantly his startled eompanions drew rein, when their
ears heard the ringing words:

“Men, I-camp here; so do not press me if yee wish to
live.””

“Curse you, Allan Arleigh, you have killed Mr. Bal-
four,” shouted one.

“T meant to, and [’ll kill you, too, if you enter this
canyon. No more words now, but come on, if you like.”

They. knew him well by this time, and they fell back
out of range, carrying the form of Floyd Balfour with
them, while Allan Arleigh, seeing that they dared not
press him, bounded away unseen by them, and‘was soon at
his temporar y camp.

Edith Balfour was on her feet, awakened by the shot,
though it had been fired a long way off,

“Oh, Allan, what is it?’ she cried.

“Nothing, excepting that I shot a prowling redskin;
but come, we must be on our way, sweet Edith, for: others
may be near to follow us.’

Fle was perfectly cool, and having saddled the horses,
raised her to her seat, mounted his own animal, and set
off on a trail leading down the other side of the mountain,
the girl little dreaming of the fearful tragedy that, had
been enacted so near her while she slept.

Pressing on, at the topmost speed of their tired horses,

they at length reached a river, crossed the stream and that.

night arrived in a small New Mexican village.
Seeking the padre, Allan Arleigh bade him marry them,
which the sight of a liberal fee induced him to do, and that
night Edith Balfour dropped her maiden name and be-
came Edith Arleigh, the wife of the man who had taken
such deliberate aim and shot her father from his saddle.
Pressing on the same night, several hours before dawn
they rode up to the walls of a hacienda, situated close in
under the shadow of a range of mountains. At a call
from Allan Arleigh, the gates swung quickly open.
Leaving their horses with servants in the plaza, the
two entered the substantial building. To her surprise,

Edith

FRR eT ne mr ar ’ SO a a PEI me

BILL STORIES.
was ushered into a very luxuriously furnished
room.

“Edith, my wife, I have deceived you, for I am not the
homeless wanderer you have believed me.

“This is my hacienda, ny ranch, and upon the acres
surrounding feed my cattle, while my servants are ever
teady to do my slightest bidding. o

Poor Edith was astounded, “for she had not expected
such a glad surprise.

Her husband, then,-was no adventurer, and she would
yet have her father visit her and find how cruelly he had
misunderstood Allan Arleigh.

With such thoughts as these she sank to sleep in het
new home.

Better had it been for her had she never awakened
from that dreamless slumber.

CHAPTER Xt
A PART OF THE LONG CHASE.

The dastardly murder of Floyd Balfour aroused Buffalc
Bill to instant action.

Up to that time he had not given creat attention to the
affairs of the people of Prairie ‘Rest Ranch. He was kept
very busy by his work as a scout. Some of the Indian
tribes had been in an ugly and threatening mood, and
this required his attention; and, besides, road agent bands
had been making themselves troublesome.

He had become intimately ae with affairs. at
Balfour’s ranch, in the first place, through his rescue of
Edith from the wolves who had attacked her the night
she was lost on the prairie. .He admired the handsome,
independent girl, and conceived a warm friendship for her
father.

re had come, too, to see that Allan Arleich was a
villain; and felt sure that Arleigh had instigated ‘the mur-
derous attempt on his life that night while he lay asleep
at Prairie Rest Ranch.

He had expected to force a confession of this from the

man who had made the attempt, and whom he had taken

to the fort; but, unfortunately for his purposes, before
that confession could be gained the man esc caped, through
the eeu: of a guard. .

Buffalo Bill strongly suspected that the guard had been
tampered with, ue proba bly bribed by Allan Arleigh; but
of this he could get no Bite

So far as attempts on his own
could afford to laugh at them.
mosphere; and, while he never sought it, he seldom went
out of his way to avoid it. Only by showing the utmost

contempt of danger could he impress the wild characters
of the border with whom he almost daily came in contact.

But the murder of Floyd Balfour, and. the elopement
of Edith with the man who became Balfour’s murderer,
stirred the heart of the scout to its deepest depths.

The day after the news of the murder reached him saw
him at Prairie Rest Ranch. The herders had returned: to
the ranch, having buried Balfour in the canyon where he
fell, Roy Brandt was overwhelmed with grief, and ap-
peared not to know what to do. .

Brandt would have started forth alone; wounded as he

life were concerned, he
Peril was his normal at-

* was, for he was half insane with grief and anxiety. None

 

 

 

 

 
ee

ie
i
B%

 

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES, : 7

of the herders would go ai him, for they had learned
to fear the deadly marksmanship of Allan Arleigh.

It was at this juncture that Buffalo Bill appeared on the
scene.

He made it his first business to have a talk with Brandt.

“My God, Cody!” said Brandt. i think of him
running away with Edith,-and then slaying her father!
It drives me mad. What will happen to that poor g irks

“The influence that villain has had over her is strange,”

said the scout. “I should blame her very much, but that
ie has seemed to be hypnotized by that man; and, of
course, being so influenced and swayed by him, she is
really not responsible. But even yet, it seems to me, if
she could be made to know that Arleigh murdered her
father, she would turn from the villain.”

Rtas i going to be easy to get that information to
her; and she might not believe it if she heard it.”

“That is truc: but the thing to do is to run that devil
down. And that is what I am here for. I stand ready
to help you all in my power. Allan Arleigh will yet
dangle at the end OL a Tope.

Buffale Bill called the herders together and asked for

volunteers from their number to assist in trailing Mae

Of all the number only two men volu unteered: th
others feared-Arleich too greatly.

With these two men and Roy Brandtfor Brandt
would go, even though wounded—the scout set out and
followed the trail of the fugitives from the point where
they had been camped-at the time the murder of Ployd
Balfour was coin mitted.

The traf\ied straight away toward the southwest.

AS ae 4s the open prairie country was held to, the
work was cay

But by and by the rugeed region of the Rocky Moun-
tain foothills was encountered.

Before a time Arleich had become aware, or had
guessed, that he was being followed, and that Budfalo Bull
was Jeadi ng the pursuing party. Then he showed his

capability and he cunning. Just how he accor yplished it
cannot now be known, but certain it is that he succeeded
in stirring up a band of Utes against the pursuers.

And these Indians, who hated so idiers, and so. of course,
ie Buffalo Bill. descended from the hills and lay in

ait for the scout’s party.

iS cleverly did the Utes move that they succeeded in
effecting an ambush, in a oe defile of the <
erado foothills; and, though they were r
dozen of their number were left dead to tel
of Buffalo Bill and his companions, one of
was slain.

Even after that the scout would have pres ssed on, only
that it became evident that the persistent

oS

t and angry Utes,
who burned now to avenge the death of their friends, were
preparing other traps, and that New M lexico could not be
invaded except by a series of fights, for which the scout’s
small party was not adequate :

Reluctantly, therefore, Buffalo Bill was forced to aban-
don the chase temporari ily.

.It was only a temporary abandonment, however, for
within less than a month he and Brandt were back at the
base of the mountains. And this time they had at their
backs a small company of United States soldiers under
the command of a young officer, Capt. Carbon.

Again the Utes, who seemed to have been expecting a
return of the scout, tried the trick of ambushing.

It did not work this time. Capt. Carbon, Buffalo Bill
and Roy Brandt set themselves at the head of the troop-
ers, and charging with wild yells into the canyon where
the Indians ly in wait, they drove the redskins before
them like sheep.

Nearly a score of the Utes fell in this short, sharp
fight; and the manner in which the suryivors cut out for
the mountains showed that they had had a sufficient taste
of the fighting qualities of Uncle Saim’s soldiers.

Henceforth the way into New Mexico was open.

But the trail ce Allan Arleigh and Edith Balfour
had made in their flight to that region had long since

‘disappeared. So the only thing to do, as it seemed, was

to go from place to place in the territory, looking and
searching for Aigo and the woman who had eloped
with him. :

This consumed much time, and would have consumed
more time, but for the fortunate fact that in an encounter
with a band of Mexican robbers, who had been cattle
bee and whom the troopers undertook to punish, a
man was captured who was able to give the scout some
teen information. .

This man, and the robbers with whom the alee had
ae it, belonged to a larger band that was now under the
leac lership of Allan Arleigh himself.

Arleigh, following in the footsteps of his father (ior
his father before him was a highwayman), had no sooner
found an asylum on New Mexican soil, than he began to
gather about him many desperate characters, in addition
to those who already owed him allegiance.

Fear catised the captured Mexican to talk freely, and he
told all he knew.

“We know where the fox is holed now,’ said Buffalo
Bil, oe cing to Roy Brandt, after this interview with
the t fexican bandit: : “the thing to do now is to effect his
capture.”

‘Which will not be easy,” said Brandt, “for the rascal
has shown himself to be as slippery as an eel,”

“Leave it to me,’ returned the scout; “I will think out:

a plan.”

‘Do you suppose his wife is with him?’ Brandt asked,
anxiously. “Tha is, assuming that Edith has become his
wife?”
feel a * his stronghold, which this man teils us is in

s off there. But the trouble is, Arleigh himself is
seldom ae Ele must be sought in the towns, where he
is posing as a sport and,gambler. But we'll capture him,
no matter what disguises he may assume. Just give me
time to think out a plan.” sane

Less than an hour later Buffalo Bill approached Roy
Brandt. ‘

“T have the plan,’ -he said; “now, to put it into execu-

123

tion!
CELA PTR OUT,

A GAMBLER MEETS HIS MATCH,

In one oh the antiquated towns of New Mexico, not
many leagues from the Rio Grande, a party of natives
were assembled in their favorite drinking saloon, engaged

I A tn RR i 4

“TL don’t doubt she is married’ to ims and’ she us) 1,

  

 
 

18 THE BUPFALO
: playing monte, opens aguardiente, chatting and plot-
img deviltry generally.

Presently there strode into the room a man upon whom
every eye was turned, and a score of whispers were heard:

“Tt is the Diamond Sport.”

He glanced around the saloon, nodded familiarly to
several of the better class of rancheros and traders pres-
et and then sat down to a game of cards with several

vho seemed to have money ta “tos e, as the gambler almost
i ways won.

Hardly had the day begun when in walked a tall, heav-
ily bearded man, dressed in the garb of a sailor, and wear-
ing his hat pulled down over his eyes, as though to shade
them from the light.

He took a seat near the doot, called for a drink, in. a
foreign accent, and: glanced around the room.

Then one by one others straggied into the place, until
the saloon was crowded.

i “Who is that man, sefior?” asked the bearded stranger,
of a Mexican, who sat at. the same table with him. :

“You mean the handsome, dandified ‘chap,- who is
gambling, s

V es, 2

“He is called here the Diamond Sport, for you see he

wears the gems; he is a gambler, and a hard one to beat,
too.”’

“Has he no other name?”

“Yes, sefior; several of them, I have
him by an American name, and he is an
he speaks Mexican like a na sive?

“Ah! he lives here, en. sefior ?”’

“T cannot tell where he lives, sefior;
stantly on the moye.

“They say he has a hacienda’in the mountains, and peo-
ple talk ‘about his havi ing more herders than are neede d for
a few cattle. It is said that he and his cowboys a are
“missing sometimes for weeks, and when they come back
they are flush with pesos, and 7 euess they’ve been raiding
somewhere.

“This belief regarding him is what ha
name of the Bravo of the Border.”
Thanking his rather intelligent companion for his kind
information regarding the eambler, the stranger said,
a ‘

“As I see he has won-all the money his companions
have, I think I will ask him to play a game with me.’

“Better not, for it’s pesos thrown away, sefior; he al-
ways wins.”

eT wight 1.7

Rising, the stranger advanced to where the gambler
sat, his now thoroughly mterested companion followit ing to
see what would occur, and going up to the sport said,
quietly :

“Sefior, as I’m ashore for a little sport, and ran up here
to See the country, suppose you oblige me with a little
rame,’ .

The gambler glanced searchingly into the face of his
companion, but the hat and beard hid every feature ex-
ce cpt the nose, and answered:

“As you please, seflor; you are not a Mexican?”

“No. de

“English, perhaps?”

“No, I hail from the States.”

ie

10Ff f°

heard. Some call
American, though

you see, he is con-

as gotten him the

rel

BiG STORIES.

“Ah! and so did I once; but what brings you up to this
part of New Mexico, so far from salt water?”

“A shipmate of mine fell in love with a,girl who lives
in these parts, and married her, and | came up-to see
them; but l go back soon. Shall we have the little g game?”

"V¥es:??

“How much?’

“IT warn you not to stake all you have gor for I am.
fortune's favorite, and you are in-a strange land to go
broke in”

“T-have flattered myself that I was a favorite of fortune,
too; we shall see, though, who she loves the most.”

The game at once began, and the bearded stranger won.

Again they played, and again the stranger won.

The gam ibler looked puzzled, for it -was evident he

was nonplused by hisgloss, while the crowd gathered
around could not understand it.

“Fortune favors me, it seems,’ said the stranger,
quietly.

eK

Perhaps you do not play fair,’ was the insulting re-
mark, and the crowd swayed fe as though expecting
trouble, all seeming to know the gambler well.

“T guess I do, gambler,” was the siniling reply.
“Well, sir, we will try again.”
“Ym willing, gambler,” was the calm response.

Once more the gambler dealt the cards, and once more
the game was play ‘ed, and won by ae stranger.
“There is some cheat in your playing, sit.”

Wha-
SamMoser.

said the

“No; the only reason you don’t win is because I watch
you so ‘closely you cannot cheat.”

“Sefior, do you mean to insult me?”
face looked threatening.

“Don’t let us quarrel, but. play; try an

and the gambler’s |

other game,” was

the cool retort. . }

The gambler simply nodded his head; the game was
played, and once more he lost.

“T guess you are overmatched this time, Allan Arleigh.”

With the words there was a revolver muzzle thrust “full
in the face of the gambler.

He saw he was caught, yet-not a muscle of his face’

moved, as he smilingly replied :
“Voy seem to know mie, sefior.”
“Oh ves.”
“You have the advantage.”

“And intend to hold it.”

“Oh! 1 mean in nue me,”

“T think not, for you know me, too, only y
pect to‘see me Here,”

“Ha! I should know that voicé!". 4

“You shall know who I am, sir; but if you move, you
die, :

“I have here with me in this room a number of good
Americans in discuise, and as many more Mexicans to
aid them, and | have come here, with papers made out, to
effect your capture.

The gambler slightly paled at these words; but the smile
never left his face, as he asked:

“Well, who the devil are you?”

The stra nger, still keeping the muzzle of his revolver in
the face of the ae ibler, and unheeding the movements
and cries of the swaying, excited crowd, eg! raised his

ou didn’t ex-

AW

 

 
 

THE BUFFALO

hand to his head and face, and then removed quickly his
hat, beard and wig.

“Good God! Buffalo Bill!’’.

“That is my name, Allan Arleigh,” and the scout gazed
into the face of the gambler wih a look of triumph, for
he saw that the man yrew livid and trembled visibly be-
fore him,‘

“Now, Allan Arleigh, you are my prisoner. Show your-
selves, men !”

The order in ringing bones edused fully twoscore men to
press forward, leif of them Mexicans, half Americans,
_and at their head was a young officer of the army.

oO Capt. Carbon, we have the | lion now, so let us go to his
den,” said Buiialo Bill to the officer.

“CMs you please, Cody. I have this place under guard,
so no one can escape, and we will carry the chief with us,”
answered the young captain. |

Then Allan ‘Arleigh was placed in double irons and led
from the saloon. After that the command, led by the
young officer and the scout, mounted in haste and set off
at a rapid gallop, leaving the remaining occupants of the
-drinking shop lost in utter amazement at what had oc-
curred,

CHUAP IDR) | CLV,
A BITTER BLOW. ;

In her comfortable room, in the strong old hacienda
in the mountains of New Mexico, sat Edith Arleigh, the
wife of the master of the house.

Her face was paler than when she was taken there more
than a month before. It was evident that she had been
a sufferer, for there was no look of joy upon her face.

Around» her was el evidence of comfort, and with
one she loved she should have been happy there, it seemed.

But strange doubts of that one had come creeping into
her heart.

She wondered why he had so many herdsmen constantly
about the hacienda.

She wondered why there were so few caitle for them to
look after.

Then, again, the p

At night she uo _
where the men lived.

Her husband seemed to be held in perfect terror by all
at the hacienda.

Often he was absent for days from his’ home.

Sometimes he would return with vast sums of money.
And he never rode away without a bodyguard.

He had told her that’he had sent her pleading letters
to her father to come and visit her and see how eae she
was in her new home.

But no reply came, and no father came.

Several times she had heard from the chattering serv-
ants that her husband had deliberately shot down some one
of the herders for some trifling act.

. What did it all mean?

Such were the thoughts that crowded through the ae
of poor Edith, and sent the sharp blade of sorrow to he
heart.

“A messenger to see the sefiora!” said a peon woman,
entering.

seemed as strong as a fortress.
ard wild carousals in the wing

aN

BILL STORIES. 19

) p
“What, a messenger from my husband? Has anything
happened ?”’ she asked, quickly arising.

“Il know not, sefiora; shall 1 send the man to your”

“Yes, Lita, send: bie at PONCE,

Into the room came a tall man, clad in buckskin, and -
with long hair and beard.

There was that about him which told Edith he was no
ordinary man, and she said, politely:

“Well, sefior, vou bear a message for me?”

‘‘T have news for you,esefiora.”

“My husband?’ she eagerly asked.

“Ts well, sefiora.”

Edith gave a sigh of relief, and the man, advancing
closer to her, said:

“Sefiora, what I have to tell you will not be pleasant
for, you to hear.”

OG you come from my father ?”

“No, sehora; but 1 beg to ask you if you did not hear,
before your flight with Allan Arleigh, that he was a
oe and all that was bad 2”

‘What right have you to seek me here, sefior, and thus
speak of my hushand?” she said, haughtily.

“I do so for your good, as the rumors regarding your
husband are true, and because | would not see you suffe
with him.”

“In Heaven’s name, what do you mean?” and Edith
sank back in her chair.

“Will you hear me, sefora?”’

"ies, for your words and manner prove to me you
have not come here to play an idle part.”

“I have came here to serve you, to save you, sefiora.

~ Alan Arleigh bas deceived you from the first.

"Fie ied from his boyhood home on account of wild
deeds done then, and has gone down the ladder of crime
ever since.

his home he
murder,”

“Marriage and murder?” gasped the woman.

“Yes, he married the young daughter of its proprietor,
then killed him; and, finding out what her husband was,
his young wife took her own life.

“I shall not be such a fool,” was the grim, bitter reply.

“From this ranch he began his operations, raiding homes
and ranches until his band became known as the Bravos
of the Border.’’ ,

"No, no, no! he cannot be the chief of that band of

utthroats,”’ cried Edith, who had: been spellbound at the
wae of her visitor, not being able to deny the fearful
charees made against the man she called Hae

“Allan Arleigh, senora, has been the secret leader of
that band.” ‘

‘I cannot believe it, and I will hear no more against
him. Who ay you that dares come here to my hotse to

so accuse my husband?” and she arose angrily to her feet.

“One who has come to save you,’ was thé answer.

“T care not for such safety as you can eive.

“Edith Balfour, hear me!”

ce dith Balfour! you know me by my maiden name?”

a do.

“It matters not; I will believe not one word against my
husband, and I bid you leave, or I shall

“Hold!”

lives in he aed by marriage and

 

 
   

0 THE BUPRFALO

Ww

She halted at the command, for she had started toward
the door to call a servant.

“Well, sir Pe”

“Now, will you believe me?”

The beard and wig were removed, ahd Roy Brandt
stood revealed.

“You here, Roy Brandt?” she cried, hoarsely.

“Ves, to save you, Edith, for Allan Arleigh is all that
I say he is, and more. I came here with that noble scout,
Buffalo Bill, who is now waiting for me outside.”

She sank down in her chair.once more and buried her
face in her hands, a picture of perfect woe.

“Edith, 1 did not mean to make myself known to you
until another time, when you were far from here on your
way home; but you forced me to do so, and now. you must
~ hear the bitter story I have to tell.”

“My father! What of him?” she cried, eagerly.

“Be patient, and you shall hear ever ything, I have told
you what your husband is, and I now tell you that Buffalo
Bill gathered proots against him and came here to take
him. He arrested your husband last night, in the town
a ‘leagues from here.”

“Arrested?” she gasped.

“Yes, and he is now in irons, and with Cody’s soldiers,
who are camped but half a league from here. They are
under a young captain, and will come on soon and capture
this hacienda and its band of outlaws, who are now revel-
ing in the ruined wing, as I heard when 1 crossed the
court.

“TI came on ahead to warn you, to tell you all, and ask
you to ride out of this place with me, and forever, for
there will be bloody work here soon.’

“J will go,” she answered. “But can I see my hus-
band ?”

“T will take you to him, if you wish it, after you have
heard all.”

“Oh, God! is there more to tell?”

eV es, 39

“T will listen.”

“Be brave, be strong,” he urged, “for I have that to tell
you that will pierce your heart.

“My husband lives, you say?” she said, eagerly.

“Yes, but it were better for hirn were he already dead.

“Edith, to save you from him ‘I started out, with your
father’s consent, to trail him through the past, and learn
all I could, with proofs against him.

“T was accompanied by poor Lone Star ‘Harry, and in
the timber motte, beyond the ranch, where Buffalo Bill
saved you from the wolves, a tragedy, a double tragedy,

was enacted.”

In his calm, quiet way, he went on to tell the story of
his meeting with Allan Arleigh, the intended duel, the
treacherous shot in the back, and the death of Lone Star

_ Harry.

White as a corpse, still as a statue of marble, Edith lis-
tened, At last he told her of her father starting forth
upon the trail of the assassin.

“And from that trail, Edith, he never returned.”

She did not start at his words, did not speak, and bh
continued :

“Your father followed you, pressing his horses hard, to
_Wwhere your husband and yourself had encamped in the

Bibl SPORES.

hills, and then he met his doom by a shot from tke rifle of
Allan Arleigh. rae

“Edith, you know all that I can tell you, other than that
I wish you to return to Prairie Rest Ranch, and there
make your. home.’

She uttered no word, her face was livid, and her speech-
less, silent grief was fearful for him to look upon.

At first he feared that the shock had driven her reason
away, and to arouse her, he said:

“Come, Edith, you must leave here. a

ees, I will go with you,” she answered.

Tanne ng, she called her maid, ordered her, in a calm
tone, to have her horse saddled, and to collect a few things
she needed,

Roy Brandt, who had Pee his disguise, stood by
in silent wonder, and when she was ready, led her to the
court, where the scout was waiting.

It was not a time for words, as ‘Buffalo Bill knew.

The scout helped Roy to place her on hier horse, and

they rode away.

Arriving near the
Drat rdt asked:

“Will you cate to see your———"
“No! Let me remain in your camp until the attack is
ever. Then take me back to my home.”

It was all she said, and Roy Brandt carried her to the
secluded thicket. There he left her in charge of one of
the herders whom she knew. Then Buffalo. Bill led: the
soldiers forth to the attack.

Within a clump of bushes near the hacienda the scout
and the soldiers halted, while Roy Brandt rode ahead
and again sought admittance, telling the gateman that the
senora had forgotten something.

Recognizing tim as the one 1
ridden a the guard opened the gate, to fall dead in his
tracks, shot down by Roy Brandt.

Then, with wild yells, the assailants came swiftly on,
dashed into the court, led by the scout, and the fight be-
came hot and fierce, for the Bravos of the Border ‘rallied
after the first surprise. —

But amazed, aes and overpowered, they were soon
shot down or captured.

When the fight was over the scout left the captain and
some soldiers in charge, and with Roy Brandt returned to
the camp, and orders were given to begin the march home-
ward.

Without a word Edith allowed herself to be raised to
her saddle.

Then she spoke, asking, in a low tone, of Buffalo Bill:
J. i Where is her’

“You mean Allan Arleigh?”’

Ves. 33 ‘

“He was left in charge of Capt. Carbon.”

“What will be his fate?”

The scout hesitated,

Tell me.” she reed:

wt may be death.” oe ‘.

“He deserves it,’ she answered. '

Then on they rode, Edith remaining as speechless as a
Sphinx on the march.

It was a long, long ride before they reached the hills

where Allan Arleigh and she had encamped, and whire
her father had met his death,

hidden camp of the soldiers, Roy

with whom the sefora had —

    

  

prae

  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  

pak yy hak TA

 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
   

 

 

eet ert

rt

ne
yo?

}

THE BUFFALO BILL STORIES. 21
The party halted there for the noonday rest and meal, Upon this the eyes of Edith were turned, and she read
and Edith said to Roy Brandt: aloud:
“Remain here all night, please, Mf. Brandt, if voli can i Ain

induce the scout and the soldiers to do so.’
“They will do so, I am sure, if you desire it.” A ne
“I do desire it; { wish to see ay father’s grave.’ FLOYD BALFOUR

os will lead you a e who fell on this spot by the hand of an < ae whom he
No, I wish to go alone; I can find it,. for I remember deemedriis ea

the canyon.’
“Pp
: : 20rn in Boston, Mass. hee
Toward evening she came out of the little bower the ong A » ec. 25th, 18—,
Silled en the Kansas border, Nov. roth, 18—.’

soldiers had erected for her under instructions from Buf-
falo Bill, and was wending her way down toward the

OF

 

ly ope bake werk aad Ee,
@ canyon, where there was heard the sound of hoof falls. A For a moment after reading the inscription Edith re-
littie later up dashed five horsemen. mained silent.
At their head was the young officer who had been left No tear came to her ey re oLr
2g V eye, no word of regret or of sorrow
at the hacienda. came from her lips.
“Well, Capt. Carbon, this is an unexpected pleasure,” But at last she broke forth in ringing tones:
said Buffalo Bill, advancing toward him as he dismounted. Allan Arleigh, you saved me from death and I loved
“I regret to say, Cody, that my coming is no pleasure you,
to me, for I have to report the escape of the chief of the ‘I gave you my heart, believing you a noble man.
Pregea: “T have found you to be the vilest of the vile, a serpent,

ay, all that is »bad.

‘I know you as you are, and know that your hand took
my father’s life, because he knew you as you are, and
sought to rescue me from your power.

“Thus knowing you, I swear you shall not escape my
vengeance.

“You are free once more, and I glory that it is so, for
I Wi il have now the chance to strike back.

“Ay, Allan Arleigh, I here, above the grave of my
murdered father, swear to track you to the bitter end and
yet see you die.

“God in Heaven, register my sacred oath in the book
of doom.”

The scout could hear every word, and it made him
CHAPTER XV. - tremble with awe

‘As she uttered the last word a wild shriek broke from
her lips, and she fell forward across the grave.

After her implied threat of revenge, which was said in When he reached her she was unconscious, and raising
a manner that impressed all who heard it, Edith turned her in his strong arms, he bore her back to ee :
sage and) Salted calmly down dwaet ihe canyon: She is delirious,” he said to Roy Brandt. “I’m afraid

she will have brain fever. We must hurry on to the

The eyes of the scout followed her until ‘she disap- ranch with her.”
peared from sight. Then he hastily excused himself to That night they moved on, Roy carrying the woman
the young captain, and by a nearer cut down the mountain ‘in his arms on his horse. When the ranch was gained, she
side he sought the vicinity of the grave. _ was raving in delirium.

ee eted We shelter end bee 4 -Tenderly, through all, she was nursed by Roy Brandt

. small thicket a , and here he con vy

; ; : i eat ay and the scout, whose haggard faces and sunken eyes told
cealed himself and waited for the coming of Edith. how severe had been their vigils.

In thus playing the spy upon her actions, Buffalo Bill At last the crisis came, and passed, and Edith opened
had a deep motive, which was to prevent her from harm- her eyes in full consciousness.
ing herself, Her fever went from her, and she knew who they were

‘She had been so statue-like, so calm through all, that that bent oot her cat, and said:
I have been very sick?

“Allan Arleigh escaped ! ?”’ cried Buffalo Bill, in alarm.

“It is too true, Cody; he had plenty of gold with him,
bribed the two soldiers who guarded him, and, with
them, fled to the mountains. I hastened on after you to
give you the tidings.”

Something very like an oath came from the lips of the
scout, while Edith suddenly glided forward and asked:

“Is this true, captain?”

“Tt is,” was the answer.

“Then I shall have my revenge,” and her burning eyes
showed that she was in deadly earnest.

 

EDITH’S OATH.

he feared she had made up her mind to take her own life “Ves,” Roy answered. ~
and thus end her misery. “How thin I am!’
Her face, also, had changed from its pallor to a flushed “Veg,”

* . * be - *11 9
look, which indicated fever. | How long have I been ill?
Five weeks.

% i i nC Iking calml :

Presently she appeared, and, walking calmly up to the She ee ond aa
grave, knelt down by its side. So long ?”

At the head Roy Brandt had placed a board with the “Yes, Edith; but vou will recover now, so you must
name and date of death of the ranchero, ‘not worry or talk,” said ‘

La

 
 

22 | THE BUFFALO Bil STORIES.

“1 will be good, for I have an oath to fulfill.”

?*Sh—Edith.”

“Who have been my nurses?”

“The scout here and myself.”

“Thank you; I will get well.”

Presently she again asked:

“Where am De

“In your own room, at home.”

“Ah, yes; | remember nothing after falling upon: my
father’s grave.”

She said no more, and from that day rapidly improved:

Soon she was able to be about, and began to take horse-
back rides, which seemed to do her much good.

One morning it was found that she had mysteriously
disappeared.

She had taken her horse, her bankbook, and some ar-
ticles of clothing.

Roy Brandt trailed her to the town.

There she had sold her horse, and taken the stage to
the nearest railroad station. At that point he lost all
trace of her.

_ Roy Brandt remembered the oath she had made at her
father’s grave. He felt assured that she had gone forth
on the trail of its fulfillment, and he muttered:

“Allan Arleigh, wherever you are, that woman will find
you, and your doom is sealed!”

CHAPTER XVI.
GATHERED THREADS. rene

Now, we must gather. up in a few, paragraphs the
threads of many scattered incidents.

After his escape, Allan Arleigh went back to Kansas,
but to another part. There he gained the name of the
Dead Shot Sport, from the numerous encounters he be;
came engaged in, and his ready hand with the revolver,
and deadly aim, when his finger touched the trigger.

But his restless natura, tired of the increasing civiliza-

tion of Kansas, and next he appeared in Beehive City, a ”

mining town in the Laramie Mountains.
Here he put up at the Beehive Palace, the best hotel,
paid out his money liberally, and had not been a sojourner

long in his new home before circumstances of a deadly -

nature in which he was concerned gained for him the
sobriquet of “Grit, the Gambler.”

While at Beehive City, learning of the rewards offered
for the curse of the overland, a noted band of road agents,
who had become known as the Red Riders, he sought to
pocket the handsome sum to be paid for their capture or
death, and set out on their trail, to discover, after he had
shot down their chief, that this chief was his own father,
who, like his son, had gone to the bad.

Succeeding his father as a Red Rider, and chief, he soon
came to grief, for his pretended comrades, which were
nothing but stuffed figures, mounted on trained horses,
were run over one day by Buffalo Bill, who at the mo-
ment was driving a stagecoach.

After that Allan Arleigh, and his only companion,
Sree Snake,.a Ute chief, were forced to fly for their
lives,

But before he fled Allan Arleigh had recognized one
whom he knew could only have come there on his trail,

and of her he stood in mortal terror, though he feared’

no man alive.
That one had appeared in Beehive City as a boy, bear-
ing the name of Fred Ford. But Arleigh, or “Grit, the
Gambler,” knew that this pretended boy was his wife, on
a trail of revenge. She had become known as the ‘'Mys-
terious Boy of the West.” Utterly fearless, a superb
rider, a dead shot, Edith, dressed as a boy, drove the
six-in-hand stagecoach better than most of the overland
drivers, and evidently had some important mission in life
to fill.
Out of her own pocket she had offered five thousand
dollars reward for the Red Rider chief alive, and.a thou-
sand extra for each one of his men, dead or alive.
Upon the hotel books she was registered as Fred Ford;
and no one in Bechive City, except Buffalo Bill, guessed
that the pretended boy was a woman, whose real name
was Edith Ford Balfour, and she was on the trail of
Allan Arleigh, and behind that the Red Rider chief was
the one she sought. '
After the breaking up of the Red Riders’ mountain
camp, by the party under Buffalo Bill, of which party

Edith Balfour formed one, the beautiful woman seemed.

almost broken-hearted at the escape of the man she had
so untiringly and persistently trailed for two years.

But her brave heart rallied quickly, and bidding fare-
well to the friends she had made in Beehive City, she
again started forth upon the trail of Allan Arleigh, for
she had not forgotten her oath, made at her father’s grave.

For the story of the Red Riders of the Overland and the
complete incidents of the adventures so briefly outlined
here, the reader is asked to see No. 139 of this library,
“Buffalo~Bill’s Pluck,” which appeared last week.

And now, having brought the characters up to this
point in our story, we will proceed to unravel the other
deeds’ of Allan Arleich, alias “Grit, the Gambler,” and
the young woman who trailed him without mercy to the
bitter end,

CHAPTER: XVIL
THE DEATH STRUGGLE.

“Well, Snake, that was a narrow escape we made,” and
Allan Arleigh turned to the Ute chief, who had been his

father’s aide and firm friend, and after that father’s death
by the hand of his renegade son, the stanch ally of that

Soin)"

The two were encamped in a wild canyon of the moun-
tains, many leagues from the Red Riders’ camp, and they
had pressed their horses to their utmost endurance for
fifteen long hours.

Then, believing that they were free from pursuit, in
fact, having so covered up their trail as to have no fear,
they had gone into camp for half a day and a night’s
rest.

“Ugh ue

Such was the only reply of the Stinging Snake to Allan
Arleigh’s remark.

“I guess you would have said more than ‘ugh,’ had
they caught us, Snake.”

“Snake not ’fraid.”

“T believe you.”

“Snake big chief.”

 

 

 

 

 

di

it
  

“Correct—chief of the no-warrior tribe.”
The Indian did not master the sarcasm, and believing
it to be a compliment, remained silent.
After a while Allan Arleigh said:
“T believe, Snake, my august father gave you some pa-
pers of value, and a-mission to perform?’
Wen 1?
“Confound you, can’t you understand American Eng-
lish ?” Z z
“Veg. 22 » ;
My father, the chief of the Red Riders, whose noble
eareer I cut short with a bullet, thereby becoming heir to
his dummy ‘horsemen and effects, left you some papers to
be delivered to some one.’
Stinging Snake could not master all this,
good sen ise to remain silent.
“T say, Snake, my father gave you some papers which

 

so had the

you are to give to a paleface in the East?” '
. “Ves? ;
ee ime see t that Depa £
CNT. :
ac The devil you won't !”
1
“But you must.”
“No ”
“Look here, Indian, I am no man to trifle with.”

“Me no Injun make fun of.”
ae you! I say give me those papers,”
Allan Arleigh flashed fire.
“No, he ask me give ’em to paletace in big city; Snake
have money, go there, and give em.”

“The devil you say,”
Gambler.

“Snake talk
father”?

“That’s frank talk at lea ast; well, you’ll like me less be-
fore I am done with you,’ and without an instant’s warn-
ing he threw himself upon the Indian, his clutch upon his
throat.

Instantly, although'taken wholly by surprise, Stinging
Snake met his attack halfway, giving one loud war whoop.
Then a fierce struggle began.

Over the velvety grass they rolled, now on their feet,
then on their knees, and again roliing over and over in the
death fight.

The Indian was a man of large frame and very power-
ful, and had the courage of a lion.

The gambler was quick as lightning in his movements,
possessed great strength, and had the cunning and pluck
of a tiger.

Neither spoke, for both realized that there could be but
one end to the fight, and that one must die.

Thus it went on, the combatants panting, whirling, fall--
ing, rising, bending in their fierce combat, until the sweat
fell from their hee like rain, their eyes seemed fairly tog
emit sparks of fire, and their muscles and veins stood out
like whipcords.

Neither would yield,
struggled and strugeled, until
who could last the longest.

Had Grit, the Gambler, known the great power of the
Indian he would not have sprung upon him, but would

and the eyes

straight; no like bad paleface; kill his

neither halted for rest; but on they
it became but a question of

have shot him down.

 

THE BUFFALO

was the angry retort of Grit, the °

  

BILL STORIES: 23

The papers he knew the Indian possessed he was deter-
mined to have, and, not caring for his ad ally longer, and
fearful of treachery, for Stinging Snake had never liked
bim, he was willing to kill him then and there.

At last the red man’s muscles showed signs of weakness
under the fearful strain. Discoverirlg this, Grit, the Gam-
bler, began to press him farther.

ae the Indian struggled on, until he was bent back-
ward by his moré enduring foe, and thus held until his
last atom of strength failed.

Veeling that he must die, the redskin never winced, but
in his panting tones, growing Ww a er and weaker, began to
chant his dying song.

At last the death song died way, for the savage was ut-
terly prostrated. Then the grip ‘that held the knife hand
of the gambler relaxed, and instantly deep inte the bronze
bosom sank the keen blade.

Down to the earth dropped Stinging ae and, tot-
tering backward a few paces, Grit, the Ga unbler, sank upon
the grass utterly prostrated, and the death struggle was at
an end,

It was a long time before Grit, the Gambler, had rested
euibcic to get to his feet once more.

But at last he hs off the fatigue, took a bath in the
stream near by, arranged his toilet most carefully, resorted
to a flask of liquor or refreshment, and walked coolly over
# the side of the dead Indian, in whose broad breast the

knife still remained.

Carefully he searched the body, taking from it a leather
wallet of papers. Then into the swift, deep stream the
body of Stinging SnakeAvas thrown. With a triumphant
smile the eambler opened the wallet.

“Money! Well, that is acceptable always.”

‘Ah? here is something that interests me deeply,’ * and
he read aloud as follows

“$5,000 REWARD,
“T will pay to the one who captures alive the chief of
the road agent band, known as
THE RED RIDERS,
the sum of
FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, ‘

and to whom shall also capture, or kill, any 1....ber of his

‘band, the sum of

ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS %

aot each and every one taken or slain.
“BERT Foro,
“Beehive Palace,
“Beehive Ce

“Yes, Edith Ford Balfour Arleigh; ha! ha! ha! that’s
good.

“Well, she is really my wife, and she’s hot on the keail,
and this document, which my late worthy father picked up
somewhere, proves that she believed me to be the Red
Rider chief; she wasn’t far wrong, egad!

“But Vil dodge her now, and if abe does trail me again’
Til end Her life, that is all, though she is the only woman I
ever loved.

“Now to see what els

He ran over the pap

gQ

e this old wallet contains,”
ers careiully, finding several things

 

  
   
   

24 THE BUFFALO

that ica to interest him, and at base brought out § a
miniature likeness of his mother.

This he gazed at with a sad look upon his reckless face,
and Putered, with feeling:

“Peace to your ashes, ‘good mother; had you lived to.

guide my growing years, T would not be e the wild, reckless,
guilty being T now am.”

With an impatient oath, he shook off the sadness . that
had come upon him, placed the miniature in an inner
pocket, and again set to examining the gaia

“Ah! this one is addressed to a lawyer, the man to whom
the wallet was to be delivered.

“I remember Rule Benton; he was an old chum of my
father, and is now a lawyer, and in this letter he is urged
to hold Burt Bernard up to his pledge, ae he is mot
given the secret of that pledge; oh! the e letter ays it is
inclosed.

“Well, I will hold Burt Bernard up to the pledge.

‘Now to find that all-important paper—that Satan!
here it is.”

He drew forth the last paper in the wallet, and read
aloud once more:

“Camp in the Mountains, Sept. 1, 18—.

“I, Burton Bernard, do hereby pledge myself to give to
my daughter Helen my property only on condition that
she becomes the wife of Edwin Arleigh, the son of Hugh
and Helen Arleigh.

“Should she refuse, then not one dollar of my estate
shall go to her at my death, but all be willed to a charit-
able home for old men and women.

“And I also pledge that the marriage of my daughter
and the said Edwin Arleigh shall take place within the
term of one year from the above date.

“Burt BERNARD.”

“A nice legacy this, that is left to my virtuous twin
brother Edwin, whose twin brother, Allan, myself, has so
literally gone to the devil.

“Well, we shall see what we shall see.

“Helen Bernard is beautiful, my father said, and her

father is rich off the gold he stole from ny august parent. -

So far good.
“And Edwin, my dear twin brother one night at the

theatre, saved this lovely girl from being burned up, when ”
the structure took fire and burned down. How very TO-.

mantic?

“Her father, Burt Bernard, and my father, Hugh Ar-
leigh, were rivals for the hand and love of Dee mother,
Helen T racey; and the father of twin brother Edwin and
myself, in border parlance, got left.

“But he did not die of a broken heart, it seems, as | am
living proof to that effect, and he married a noble woman,
too, God rest my mother’s soul.

“And dear Edwin and beautiful Helen have never met
other than on that occasion of the fire; but he saved her
father’s life from an assassin’s knife, I believe, which
assassin was my father and the father of my virtuous
brother.

“The romance increases, essecalty when her father had
robbed our father of all the gold he had dug out of a Col-
orado mine, and then, as he believed, killed him.

“Well, the ways of Providence are inscrutable, and I

   

BILL STORIES.

   

 

Helen sees in dear Edwin a handsome young army officer,
the son of her father’s and mother’s old friend; and one
who saved her father’s life and who snatched her from the
flames of the burning theatre.

“And Edwin sees in Helen a lovely g irl, very rich, and
all that; and marriage must follow.

“So. be it, for my virtuous twin brother deserves his

good fortune, and I am to write and tell him about it.”

With a mocking laugh, Grit, the Gambler, put the pa-
pers safely i in his pocket, looked after the comfort of his
own and the Indian’s horse, and prepared a frugal supper,

after which he rolled himself in his blankets and dropped .

off to sleep as dreamless as though his heart and hand
were not crimson with crimes.

 

CHAPTER XVIIT,
THE DYING MILLIONAIRE,

In a darkened room of a grand old house some dozen
miles’ from Kansas City, a man lay dying.

The room was large, luxuriously furnished, the -house
a superb structure, and around it stretched away many
thousands of acres, while within there was all that heart
could desire; but the Angel of Death had given warn-

ing of his coming, and Burt Bernard, the millionaire, was

nearing his end.

A man of powerful frame, and once a giant in strength,

he now lay as weak as a little child. Ue

“Doctor, how long have I to live?’ he asked; “faintly.

“The flame is flickering, my dear Bernard, and may go
out at any moment,” was ‘the reply.

CA, presentiment t told me, when I mounted that vicious
horse, that be would. kill me, and I have long felt I would
die a violent death; but Dr. Arthur, please have my poor
child Helen come to me.’

The physician immediately obeyed the reque est, and into
the room soon after came Helen Bernard, and, creeping
softly to her father’s pecs she bent over him with white,
sad face. \

She was a beautiful a in both face and form, and
those who. knew her well said that her character was even
more lovely than her charms of person,

“Father, you sent for me,” she said, with an effort to
be cheerful.

“Yes, Helen, Dr. Arthur says that life's lamp is burn-
ing low, and may go out at any moment.”

"Oh, tather | oh, doctor! is there no hope?

‘Non 1e, your father must die,” was the frm response.

“You see, Helen, what our friend says, so let us have a
talk together while 1 can, You know [ am a very rich
man ?”’

A sob was the only reply.
“My riches, Helen, I will leave a to you, but upon one
condition.”

There was no reply from the girl,

“That condition is that you marry the man of my
choice.”

ot Rather !7 a

“Helen, do you love any man now?”

“Father !”

ve will answer for you; there is one her you have met

99

>

must not allow this well-kept secret to escape, for sweet

 

 

 

 

tench. — peak oe

d

h

th

he
THE BUFFALO

once, who saved you that night in the burning theatre, and
that man you could love.”

“Yes, father, but I do not know even who he was.”

‘or don:

“You, father ?””

“Yes; he is thé man I intend you to marry; his name
is Edwin Arleigh, and he is a lieutenant in the United
States Army.”

“Father, is this true?”

Pits; and m iore, he is the one who saved my fortune
and my life in Denver, though I have not told you his
name before. Also, he is the son of one I loved before I
met and married your mother; but let that pass, and
pledge yourself to marry Edwin Arleigh.”

“Yather, he may not care for me, and when I know him,
IT may not love him.”

“T must have the pledge, Frelen.”

MN6) no, tather{”’

“Tam dying, Helen!”
“Forgive me, my dear father; yes, yes, I pledge you
anything, anything,” she cried, eagerly.

“Thank God! now Iam content. Arthur, you are wit-
ness to my child’s pledge, and you are her guardian, and
will see that it is kept to the letter.

“Yes; your daughter shall have a second tier in me,

Mr. Bernard, for | love her as my own child,” said the
kind-hearted doctor. oi

“And, Arthur, you will inform. Edwin Arleigh of the
terms of my will, and that | leave him my beautiful Helen,
and to her my entire fortune.”

“Yes, Bernard.”

“His address take down.
—th Cavalry, Denver, Colorado.

“A fave it, Bernard.”

“And the marriage must take place within seven months
from this, for so 1 am bound by my written pledge.”

“Written pledge, father 2”

on 1 his mind 1s wandering, Helen,”
doctor.

“Within seven months from now, Helen.”

ny es, Tather:

“And you, Arthur, understand ite

“Vie oi

Uy Helen’s pledge to me is not kept, my fortune is not»
hers.

SON om. ?2 i

“Once more, my child, you will marry. Edwin Arleigh ?”

“| swear it, tather, if within my power.” @

“Tdie’ content.”

They were his last wotds, for within a few more mo-
“ments Burt Bernard, the millionaire, was dead.

It is “Lieut. Edwin Arleigh,

y 33.

 

whispered the

ChAP PRR 7 Xux.

‘THE MEETING.

“Your mistress in, Bolton?’ asked Dr. Arthur, several
days after Burt Bernard was consigned to his grave in
the family burying ground.

“She am on de place, Massa Doctor, but am not in de
house, sah,” was the remark of Bolton, the family servant.

“Well, I will await her coming in the library,” said Dr,
Arthur,

BILL STORIES.

25

“I kin go and fotch her, sah, for I knows whar she am;
she am at de grabe of her fader, sah,”

“No, she will soon be back Ah, who is this com-
ing?” and the doctor turned, as a carriage drove up the
graveled drive.

“Tt am a wehicle, sah.”

“That much I see, Bolton.”

The vehicle stopped before the door and a young and
handsome officer in uniform sprang out, and, bowing po-
litely, said : 1

“May I ask if Mr, Bernard is at home, sir?”

“He is in his last home, sir, for he is dead.”

The words of Dr. Arthur caused the young man ta
start, and he said, quickly:

“Mr, Bernard dead ?”

“Yes, sir, he was thrown By a vicious Horse and sus-
tained internal injuries that proved fatal. I am Dr. Ar-
thur, ‘sir, his executor and the as of his daughter ;
how. can I serve you?’

“My name is Edwin Arleigh, sir, and I am just from
Colorado, where——”

 

AR, Lieut, Arleigh, I am very glad to see you, and beg.

you w ill come in. Almost Mr. Bernard’s last words were

about you.”’

“He was kind to remember me, sir; we met in Colorado

some time ago, and I received a letter from him, begging
me to come on and visit him; ] got leave and here I am: :

but most deeply do I regret his untimely end.”

“You will be welcome, sir, for his daughter will most
cheerfully greet one to whom her father owed his life, and,
if I mistake not, _ to whom she owes her own life.”

“Indeed, sir, I must deny the latter, though I did have
the pleasure of serving Mr. Bernard.”

‘And Miss Helen Bernard, too, for you once rescued
her from a burning theatre,”

“By Heaven! was that young lady Miss Helen Bernard,
the daughter of my Colorado friend?”

“She was, sir;
prise and pleasure of meeting you. Here, Bolton, carry
Lieut. Arleigh’s baggage to a spare room, and, lieutenant,
as Miss Bernard is keeping house alone, I shall claim you
as my guest, for I live but a few miles away.”

Into the house the young officer was ushered. When
he had freshened up his toilet, Dr. Arthug said:

‘‘Now, come, lieutenant, and we will seek Helen.”

He led the way through the grand old park, and off to a
quiet nook in the forest, where there were a number of
ornamental trees, surrounded by a neat white fence.

It was a pretty spot, on the banks of a little stream,
whose ripple seemed. to utter a constant requiem for the
dead,

“Ah! this is the family burying ground; let us not in-
trude upon the sacred place while Miss Bernard is here,”
said the officer.

o Ves uaor I wish you to meet her here, as I have a duty
to perform.”

Thus urged, the young officer followed the doctor, and
the next moment they came in sight of the new- -made
gtave.

At its head stood Helen Bernard, She was clad in deep
black, and stood with her "head bent, gazing upon the
mound, and with her hands hanging down and clasped in
front of Her 5

  

but I forgot my hospitality, in the sur-

4

 
%

26 . THE

It was a sad, but beautiful picture, and the young officer
gazed in rapt admiration upon her.

MLiss bielen fo.

She started as her namie was called, looked up, and be-
héld the two gentlemen within a few feet of her.

Her face turned pale, and then flushed crimson,
she saw the tall, elegant. si clad in uniform.

“Miss Bernard, permit me to present to you Lieut. Ed-
win Arleigh, whom ‘Tt Sei you have meét before,” said
the doctor.

a the girl passed around the aah and, extend-
ine her hand, said, in earnest, trembling tones:

"Ves, we have met before, Lieut. i esigh, and happy
am I now in being able to offer you my heartfelt thanks,
for to your courage | owe my lite.”

“I remember that awful ni ght, Miss Bernard, and only
to-day heard you were the fair lady I was so fortunate as
to aid. I have often thought of you and wondered if we
should ever meet again.”’

“A fair beginning this,
doctor; but he said aloud:

“Helén, the lieutenant received a ne from your
father, asking him to visit Bernard Hall, and he has coine,
but now I claim him for my guest, fo I dare’ say, [
will see little of hirn.”

Helen flushed at this remark, but said:

“Lieut. Arléigh will be ever welcome at Bernard Hall.’

“Doubtless; now, leutenant, excuse a blunt question.”

"Cettainiy, eit”

“Are you a marfied man?”

The lieutenant flushed, yet answered:

“No, I am not so fortunate, doctor.”

“Then, Helen, do. your duty.”

Helen’s face became crimson, and she looked appeal-
ingly at the dector; but he said again:

Ves, do your duty: it was your father’s dying wish,
and there is no better place for you to show your willing:
ness to kecp your pledge to him than across his grave.”

Thus importuned, Helen, after choking back ‘her emo-
tions, said, firmly :

“Lieut. Arleigh, do not consider me unmaidenly, but
I made my father a pledge upon his deathbed.”

She paused, and, the lieutenant remaining silent, she
continied (.0.°"

“T will do my duty, and keep my pledge: but if there is
anything to prevent you from doing as he, my father
wished, say so frankly, and let us bury the matter forever
in the grave with him.”

“Whatever I can do, Miss Bernard, rest assured I will
do with all my heart; command and I obey, if I can serve
you,”

Helen tried to speak, but words failed her, and she
looked appealingly at the doctor, who said, in his blunt
way: : :

“Tl talk for you, Helen. You see, Arleigh, Burt Ber-
natd had a most high regard for you; loved you as a son,
in fact.

“He knew his daughter

when

very,’ muttered the blunt old

owed her life to you, and re-

membered what you had done for him.

“He knew, too, you were not rich, and he could not
offer you money, for fear you would call him out.

“In dying, he did not wish to cast Helen here, upon the
prorld, and so determined to give her to you for a wife.

BUFFALO.

“Tf you do not make her your wife within seven Laas
then she does not get a cent, and you lose a lovely girl 4
vast riches.

“Vou have seen each other, so what do you say?”

The officer saw that Helen was too deeply moved to
speak, and in his soft, pleasant tones he answered:

“Tt thank you, Dr. Arthur, for your manly explanation,
and in response would say that, since the night | bore Miss
Bernard from that burning thea atre, 1 have “loved her, and
most gladly now do I ask her to be ‘come my wife, if she
can see aticht in me to love in return.

‘Egad! s she already loves you, or I have diagnosed her
case wrong.”

Instantly Helen put out her hand and claspe ad that of
the officer over the grave of her father, while she said, in
her low, sweet tones

“TI do love you, and I will I pe your wi ife,

“Well said for both of you; it’s lightn ning
but I believe Cupid had you both in hand
of the theatre re,

“But I don’t complain, for, as an old bachelor, if you
had not taken Helen, [ would have had to marry her my-
self in self-defense.

“Now come, let us go to the
you, Helen, and then I'll tak
I guess he can find the way be

Thus did those two-meet,

grave.

‘
r love-making,
ae ce that night

a and we'll dine with
eh hom e with me ; but
norrow.”

Om

An

= fe

CHARTER AK:
TRAILED WITHOUT MERCY.

Two persons were riding slowly down a mountain trail,
the one in advance closely eying the pround, Cty)

One was a tall, splendid man in border g arb; but why
describe him, for he is known over the fend ag Buffalo
Bill,

His companion was a slenderly formed youth, to all ap-
Satie but one who had known Edith Balfour well

‘ would have said it was that beautiful woman in disguise.

After having so daringly dashed through the band of
Red Riders, and discovered the secret of the dummy horse-
men, Buffalo Bill had been solicited by Edith to ‘aid her
in following the trail of Allan Arleigh.

With the skill of the thorough borderman and scout,
Buffao Bill set to work, and scon discovered the track
taken by th® outlaw and Stinging Snake, and, in spite of
the cunning efforts of both Grit, Oe Gambier, and the
Indian to cover up all ies he slowly followed on their
course.

Arriving in the canyon, he halted-and s
ground. Edith warcict him n ervously’
about.

‘Guess we'll cat mp “here, for there’s a day’s rea ading in
signs,” he said, presently.

Edith felt that he had made some in nportant discovery,
and, springing to the groubas at once took the horses and
lariated them out.

When she returned she Head Dudes: Bill leaning

again: sta tree, and holding something in his hand.
“Well, you have made:some discovery, sir?” she in-
quired. :

“Yes, I have

rang to the
. he moved

First, here is where they camped; their

to-n
d plight their love above a:

 

 

 

 

ne

Sia

W.
he

to

 
oe

4

hea
Pas)

ZHE BOPPALO

first real camp after leaving the Overland trail. And
here is where they had a desperate fight.”

“With whom ?”

“The gambler and the Indian had it together; see that
little blood stain on the ground? Well, one died here,
and it wasn't the white man.” ye

“Thank God!”

“Here’s where the gambler walked to the bank of the
stream and tossed the Indian overboard;'see, his tracks
sink deep, which showed he was carrying a heavy load.

“There is where their horses stood, arid right here was
the fire, and just here I picked up this leather pocketbook,
which Grit didn’t intend to lose.”

She almost snatched the wallet from the hand of But-
falo Bill, and after a glance at its contents, read aloud all.
that Gambler Grit had discovered in the wallet,

“Well, I know Lieut. Edwin Arleigh, and I am sorry he
has such a brother,” said Buffalo Bill.

eee was silent a moment, Knowing well Grit, the
Gambler, she felt that he would play some deep oe now
that a Be this secret in his possession.

From papers found in the Red Riders’ camp, which she
and the scout had searched thoroughly, she had already
made the discovery that the real chief had been the father
of ber wicked husband. .

“You knew Lieut. Arleigh ?

“Yes, miss.”

“Where is he stationed ?”

“At Fort Collins, in Colorado.”

‘Ah! then there we go first.”

“You've struck a trail, miss?”

 Yesy, 2?

“Will you share the secret ?”

“Ves, I wish to save Edwin Arleigh’s life.”

“What! do you think he would kill his twin brother ?”

“Yes, Allan Arleigh would kill any one who stood be-
tween him and his purpose.’

“Vou seem to know what he'll do?!

“Ves, he will go East.”

“He'd better not; this is the safest country for a man
like Grit, the Gambler. I hepe you are certain about
thinking he is really Allan Arleigh.”

“T am sure; | have had spies at work, and letters I have
received traced Allan Arleigh to Beehive City, and Ii recog:
nized him when I saw him.

‘These papers show the rest.
warned of his danger.”

“What danger?’

“You see here that Burt Bernard binds himself to marry
his daughter to Edwin Arleigh?”

“Ves, "1 see that,’

eer fortune goes with her hone 7 :

2 eames

“Edwin is the one, ee that she should: marry, and
not his brother.” él

oer understand you.” oe

“In this wallet is a letter from Hugh anleele the

: be suddenly asked.

Edwin Arleigh must be

“father, to Edwin Arleigh, his: son,‘telling him! that he is to

marry a young lady he saved froma burning theatre, and
whom he never met but that once; also that he once saved
her father, Burt Bernard, in Denver.

_ “Now. these brothers are twins, and Allan Arleigh has
told me few could tell him from his brother, and—+—”

BILL STORIES. 27,

“By the Rockies! he’ 0 skip for the Bast and play the
lieutenant and marry the girl.”

“Just what he will do, Mr. Cody; but before he goes
East, if I do not oreatly mistake his character, he will
visit the fort, where his brother is stationed, seek him in
disguise, and take his life, that there may be no one to ap-
pear against him.”

“You are right, and we must see that he don’t do that.”

The following morning they broke off from the trail
they had been following and branched off for Fort Collins,

It was a long, hard fide, but Buffalo Bill well knew the

._ trails, and Edith’s frame had become so inured to hard-

ships she felt no fatigue.

In due time Fort Collins was reached. But there they
learned that Lieut-Edwin Arleigh had been ordered to
Fort Laramie. Thither they now went.

Arriving at Fort Laramie, they met, to their j joy, Edwin
Arleigh, and with the deepest pain he heard all that Edith,

--the wate of his crime-stained brother, had to tell him.

At first it was hard for him to believe so much of evil
against his own kin, his twin brother; but the proofs were
forced upon him, and he was compelled to admit their
truth.

“Speaking of Helen,” he said, “I remember the lady but
too well, for her image has often come before me since
that night, But I did not suspect the Be ere T met in
Denver was her father.

“How strange that I should be selected as her hus-
band.

“There is some mystery in all this.”

“And I shall solve the mystery; but will you not go
with me to the East, and thwart this devilish plot of Allan
Arleigh?” asked Edith.

“Tndeed I will; I shall ask for three months’ leave at
once; and you shall go, too, Cody.”

“T only wish I could be in at the hanging—I beg your
pardon, lieutenant, but your brother richly deserves hang
ing for his crimes.’

“Indeed he does, and no word or act of mine should save
him, if it would do so,” was the reply.

The next day Buffalo Bill, Lieut. Arleigh and Edith a
parted for the East.

CHAPTER XXL
BRO UG ATT 0 UB ALY.

From the day that the young officer became the guest
of Dr. Arthur, the guardian of Helen Bernard, it was a
foregone conclusion in the mind of the physician that
Burt Bernard had forced upon his daughter a vey nice
pledge.

“Why, they love each other devotedly already; ad as
for waiting seven months, I believe they will be married
before one month passes, for the lieutenant seems awful
anxious.”

Such was the worthy doctor’s comment upon the lovers.
He was so far right that before the lieutenant had been
three weeks his guest he said to the doctor one morning:

“Doctor, I have orders to return to my command within
ten days, as the Indians are getting troublesome, and
Helen says, as she is in deep mourning, and will have no
wedding preparations, that she is willing to marry me,
under the circumstances, and accompany me.”

i

 

 
 

 

  

   

THE BUFFALO

9°
#O

“Tt will be a rotieh life for the child out there, lieuten-
ant, but she knows “best, ” the doctor responded.

“As to that, | have promised to immediately send in my
res ignation, and we will go to. Europe for a tour of sev-

ral years! oe

“A good plan; and come back with a family to raise in
the old mansion, for this is the best climate to rear children
in, lieutenant, | ever saw.”

So it was atranged to have @ quiet marriage in Bernard
Hall, the doctor to give the bride away, and no guests to
be invited.

The day of the marriage rolled around, and Dr. Arthur
and his guest got into his carriage to-drive over to Ber-
nard Hall, As the vehicle rolled along at a rapid pace,
the driver drew rein suddenly.
>What is it, Job?” called o1 ut the doctor.

“A. obstickel in the way, boss,” was the re eply.

Before the doctor could alight, each carriage window
had a face in it, and revolvers § were thrust into the faces
of each occupant, while a stern voice said: :

“Grit, the Gambler, you ate my prisoner!”

For the first time in his life Allan Mech seemed dis-
concerted and turned pale in the face of danger.

No wonder, for he recognized in the man before him
“none other than Buffalo Bill.

In the other window he beheld a face the very coun-
terpart of his own. |
“Dr. Arthur, no harm is intended to you, sir; our abject
is only to arrest this villain,” said Bualo Bill, sternly.

“Ves, he must surrender, even if he is my twin broth-
er!” declared Edwin Ar leigh.

“Your twin brother!’ bait the surprised doctor. “Egad,
you are alike as a pair of pistols, and I am all in a heap
with astonishment, my pulse having run up to a hundred;
but let me out, eentlemen, and then we'll see who's wrong
and who’s right, for matters are mixed, decidedly mixed,”

The door of the carriage was opened and the doctor
sprang out. Allan Arleigh was sternly ordered to follow.

He obeyed, with the same reckless smile returning to his
face: but, upon beholding another person present, and that
person his wronged wife Edith, he turned livid.

“Dr. Arthur, "said Edwin Arleigh, “you see before you,
sir, twin brothers, strangely athe in face and form, ‘but,
thank God, not-alike in character. I te oret that it is my
duty to expose this man, my only brother, for playing a
devilish part to deceive you, and the lady he intended this
day to wrong by a pretended marriage, for there stands
his wife.”

Edwin pointed to Edith, who stood by calm, white-faced,
but with a triumphant light in her beautiftl eyes.

Then, in a calm tone, that often trembled with emotion,
Edwin laid bare the whole life of his guilty brother, from
his first crime afd fight from home.

In vain did the wicked wretch den} y it, and strive to say

that he was Edwin, and his brother was Allan Arleigh.
The proofs were against him, and Dr. Arthur turned
away in horror from him, while Butfalo Bill said:

“Allan Arleivh, you owe all this to your wife, and she
will be avenged when she sees you hanged.

“She has tt acked you dav and ee and now has you
in her power.

“T have a requisition here for you, and was constituted

a special officer to capture you and carry you back to Kan-
sas dead or alive,

 

  

 

BILL ie

ul, but

oy Our escapes have been numerous and: wonder’
you shall never be free again. Here, sir!”

Quick as a flash the irons were clasped upon his wrists
and ankles, and Grit, the Gambler, was a prisoner in the
power of those from whom he could expect no mércy,

CHAPTER 2% XXII.
CONCLUSION.

Words cannot portray the surprise, pain
felt by “Helen Bernard when she list tened to
truth told by one brother about another.

In a calm, unflinching way, Dr. Arthur told her all, an S
bitter was the blow; but far bitterer would it have bee
had she not beheld before‘er the man she had first loved,

and emotion
the awful

and, in looking into his earnest, honest eyes, saw there
“what she had never been able to find in his brother’s.
One day there care a telegram from Kansas.
_ It was as follows:
«Pieutenant Edwin Avleigh, U.S. Army,
Care of Dr. Abraw Arthur:
“Allan tried for killing Floyd Balfour and Lone Star

Harry, and found guilty ‘of both.

“Was sentenced to be hanged, but made desperate ef-
fort to escape, and was shot ‘dead by the keeper. I had
him buried to-day. W4ull write you. WE. Gop

“Poor, poor Allan; thus ends your evil life, but better
so than on the gallows, though your erin res deserved the
worst punishment the law could inflict.”

T hus said Edwin Arleigh. ;

Going to Dr. Arthur, Edwin Arleigh showed the tele-
eram, and, riding over to Bernard Hall, he placed it in
Helen’s hands.

She read it, the tears came into her eves, but Edwin Ar-

leigh whispered :

“Tt is better so, Helen.”

One month after there was a quiet wedding in Bernard
Hall, and Helen became the wife of the man she had
pledged her word to her dying father to marry.

The cares of his estate denianding his whole attention,
Lieut. Arleigh resigned from the army, and went on a
Western tour, accompanied by his beautiful wife and
Dr. Arthur, who had prescribed a change of climate for
all three of them

Their destination was Prairie Rest Ranch, which they
had been most cordially invited to visit by Mr. and Mrs.
Roy Brandt, who gave them the watmest of welcomes to
their Kansas home, from which the shadows of the past
were slowly oats away, for in the grave with Grit, the
Gambler, Edith 1 had buried her sorrows and aw akened
to a new life in ,the. love of her devoted husand,
Brandt, the millionaire cattle king, as he was called on
the border. : .

THE END. © 7%

Next week’s issue (No. 141) will contain “Buffalo Bill’s
Nerve of Tron; or, The Chret of the -Gotd Wolves.”, he
ereat scout’s nerve of iron was showm by his riding alone
into the midst of the Gold Wolves and taking from their
chief papers pertaining to the Ii] Omen Mine. The real
owner of this mine is a beautiful girl, and the manner in
which Buffalo Bill foiled and defeated the chief of the
Gold Wolves and gained for the girl possession of the mine
furnighes material for a first-class story.

   
   

 

  
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AND FASCINATING TALES

‘Ble

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WESTERN ROMANCE

 

345—Diamond Dick at the Circus; or, An Old Friend in a New Game.
346—Diamond Dick at Coney Island; or, A Warm Proposition Played to a Finish.

347—Diamovnd Dick’s

%

wv

2. ce ijamond °Dick’s
349-—Diamond Dick

peo. Ouanaas Dick’s
351—-Diamond Dick’s
352—Diamond Dick’s
353——Diamond Dick’s

354-—Diamond Dick’s

355—Diamond Dick's
356—Diamond Dick's
357—Diamond Dick’s
358—Diamond Dick's

359—Diamond Dick's

Skiplap Pard; or, The Cheerful Waifs Big Winning.
Stand-Off; or, The Shotgun Messenger’s Last Trip.

at Fort Piegan; or, Calling an Army Bluff.

Makeshift: or, The New Boss at Hold-Over.

Golden Spike; or, Bucking the Track Layers.

Schedule; or, The First Train to Dangerheld. |

Wild West; or, A Fair Field and No Favor.
Double-Bill; or, A Hot Turn Between Acts.

Parewell Performance; or, A Warm Go for the Gate Money.
Jago Dupes; or, The Bowery Boy and the ‘“Has-Been.”
Phantom Hand; or, The Mystery of the “Fly-by-night.”
World-Beater; or, The Race tor the Hurricane Handicap.
Boy Pards; or, The Boarding House Puzzle.

tc

360—Diamond Dick and the Safe-Crackers; or, Two-Spot’s Level Best

361—Diamond Dick’s
362—Diamond Dick’s
363-——Diamond Dick's
364——Diamond Dick’s

S
365—Diamond Dick’s
36

7—Diamond Dick

oo ie
“Sy a"
oo

7

370—Diamond Dick’s

8—Diamond Dick on . the Bar-X Range: or, Captain Fan
—Diamond Dick as a Deputy Sheriff; or, Fighting the Mob at Piute.

Last Call; or, Run Down on the Ferry.
Four-Hands-Round; or, A Game of Keeps in the Catskills.
Line-Up; or, The Young Sport’s Banner Play. a
Web-Foot Pard; or, Queer Work on the Hurricane Deck.
Run tosDenver; or, Old Sixty’s Last Mix-Up.

§6—Diamond Dick Among the Pueblos; or, A Bold Play for a Big Stake.

Captured by Flash-Light.
and the Rustlers.

Dark Chase; 3

Pair of Winners; or, Two-Spot and Nixey’s Double-Play.

71—Diamond Dick in Old Mexico; or, The Gold-Bugs of Guanajay.

372——Diamond Dick’s

373—Diamond Dick in the Field; o1
Jr.’s, New Pard: or, Brick-Top Ben and His Little Joker.

374—Diamond Dicks,

7— —Diamond Dick,
8 amond Dick,

   

~bo

 

375—Diamond Dick, Jr.’s,
76-—Diamond Dick, J
/

Treasure-Trove; or, The Secret of the Great Stone Idol.
Handsome Harry’s Peril.

Roughest Trail; or, Foiling the Governor’s Foes.
r., and the Black Riders; or, Saved by a Daring Leap.

Jr.. and the Gamblers; or, Fighting the Poker Sharks.
Jr., at Three-Ply Tavern; or, More Work for Law and Order.
ead Dick, Jr.’s, Fight with the Flames; or

, The Last Struggle with the Blacklegs

 

All’ of the above numbers always on hand.
cents*a copy will bring them to you by ay postpaid. /

SMITH, Publis

STREET

> ie = * te . x

If you cannot get them from your newsdealer. five

hers, 238 William Street, New York.

REE

Sn ine ity ass

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2

of YOUNG BROADBRIM, the famous Boy
OLD BROADBRIM, the Great Quaker.

 

 

 

 

 

36—Old Broadbrim In and Out of the Toils; or, The Pursuit of Red McMahon and His
Gang.
37—Old Broadbrim in the Eleventh Hour; or, The Mystery of the Headless Man.
38-—Old Broadbrim Following Up a Golden Clew; or, The Extraordinary Happenings at
Babbington Manor. |
39—Old Broadbyim Dealing the Death Cards;. or, a Doom of the Scarlet Stranglers.
40—Old Broadbrim Balking a Deep-Laid Plot; or, Geraldine Joslyn’s Remarkable Double
41—Old Broadbrim Tracking the Dead; or, The Hidden Battery of Doom.
42—Old | Broadbrim Always on Hand: or, The Target of an Infamous Band.
43-—Old Broadbrim in a Fi ght for Millions; or, The Daring Impersonation at Stonelow
Grange.
44—Old Broad srim at Close Quarters; oc, Ube Puzzle of the Bie Silk Cord:
45—Old Broadbrim Under Crimes TV humb: or, In The Confines. of the’ Dread ‘Circle:
46—Old Broadbrim Leagted with Nick Carter; or, The Biggest Case of Their Lives.
47-—Old Broadbrim’s Clew from the Dead: or, Two Famous Detectives on the Same Case.
48—Old Broadbtim ina Deep Sea Struggle A Helping Hand from Nick Carter,
49-—Old Broadbrim on the oe Cases or, ee After Two Years.
so—Old Broadbrim in the Dark: or, Throwing Licht on a Tangled Mystery
s1—Old Broadbrim on the Stage; or, How the Ona’: -er Foiled a Female F vend
ate Broadbrim, the Boy Detective; or, The Old Quaker’s Youthful Ally.
h Broadbrim*in Kansas. City: or, a nat Was Found in the Flood.
» Broadbiam: onan werial Trail, or he Dertible Ordeal of) Bire.
, Broadbrim & Company; or, So tee the Mysteries of Rockwood.
» Broadbrim Triumphant; or, The Girl Cracksmman.
7 Ly oung Broadbrim Fighting an Unknown Power: or, A Scientific Murderer.
s8—Youne Broadbrim on a Weird Case: or, The Mystery of the Phantom Voices.
sg—-Young Broadbrim on a oe Trail: or, Dandy ,Dick Shanghaied.
60——Young Broadbrim on a. Newsboy Mystery: or, Da indy Dick’s First Case.
6i— Young Broadbrim on fe Border: or, Catching the Smugglers of Canada.
62-——Young Broadbrim in the Lumber Camp; or, Geline the Best of Outlaws.
63—-\oune. Broadbrim and the Hotel Thieves: or, Clever Crooks Run to Earth,
64--Young Broadbrim’s Perfumed’ Clew: or, Dandy Dick’s Star Play.
6s——Young Broadbrim’s Great Duel: or, Thé Boy Detectives Abroad.
66—Young Broadbrim’s Vendetta; or, Chief Morello’s Death Plot. .
67—-Young Broadbrim on a False Clew; or, The Mvstery of the Gray House.

+

68—-Young Broadbrim’s Chance Shot; or, The Fight for the Boulder Millions.

RPS a Gay Se eI

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Ali of the alove mumbers always on hand. If vou cannot get them from your henradedler five cents & copy
will bring them to you by mail, postpaid,

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 238 William Street, New. Vork.

 

 

 

 
 

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Containing the Most Thrilling Adventures of the Celebrated |
i

e * pi iy 4 89 2 ® 4
Government Scout “ BUFFALO. BILL” (Hon. William F. Cody).) |
104— Buffalo nS in Disguise; or, The Boy. Boomer at Danger Divide. Hi
105—Buffalo Bill’s Ordeal of Fire; or, The Siege of Longhurst Ranch. © © Qj :
106—Suffalo Bill on a Renegade’s Trail; or, The White Queen of the Mandans. :
107-—-Buffalo Dill’s Balloon Trip; or, Foiling the Apaches. :
z08——-Buifalo Bill’s Drop; or, Dead Shot Ned, the Kansas Kid. 2
109—Buffalo Bill's Lasso-Throwers; or, Shadow Sam’s Short Stop. :
110—Buffalo Bill’s Relentless Trail; or, The Unknown Slayer of the Black Cavalry. i
Tii-—Oiltalo Bul aud Sile ent Sam; or, The Woman of the Iron Hand. ‘
112—-Buffalo Bill’s Raid on the Midnighters; or, Following a Specter Guide Hl

rt 3—Buffalo I Bill at Beacon Rock; or, Drawing Lots with Death.
114——Buffalo Bill and the Wolves of Mexico.
115—-Buffalo Bill and the White Buffalo; or, The Black Horse Rider. :

 

 

 

 

+16—Buffalo Bill and’the Prairie Hercules; or, The Spectre Soldier of the Overland. :
® 117—Buffalo Bill and the Doomed Thirteen; or, Out on the Silver Trail. b
118—Buffalo Bill’s Ride for Life; or, A Hard-Won Victory. He

_ t19—-Buffalo Bill’s Grim Guard; or, The Chinaman in Buckskin. ‘
| 120—Buffalo Bill’s Discovery; or, The Mystery of the Gold Treasure. 4
~ g2a1-—Buffalo Bill’s Clean-Up; or, Routing the Rascals of Gold Dust City, +
122—-Buffalo Bill’s Pards of the Plains; or, The Dread Shot Four. ;
123—Buffalo Bill’s Helping Hand; or, The Secret of Kid Glove Kate. :
124—Buffalo Bill’s Boy Pard; or, Captain Hyena and His Red Angels iF

125—-Bufialo Bill’s Sacrifice; -or, Waneta, the Indian Queen. :
126—Buffalo Bill’s Red Trail; or, The Unmasking of Captain Hyena. _ a
127—Buffalo Bill’s Death-Deal; or, The Wandering Jew of the West. ee on

128—Buffalo Bill’s Double; or, The False Guide. | i
Feo ua? Bill at Advance City; or, The Wolves of the Mennestne :
130—Buffalo Bill and the Black Trailers; or, White Coyote, the Renegade Chief. bb

131—Buffalo Bill’s Dead-Shot Dragon; or, The Man-Killer of Perdition City.

132—Buffalo Bill’s Trump Card; or, The Indian Heiress.

ae lo Bill and Old Buckskin; or, Hugh Harcourt, the Man of Mystery.
—Buffalo Bill’s Gold Trail;.or, The Desperado Dozen. i

ae eu Bill in Arizona; or, The Black Brotherhood.

136—Buffalo Bill andthe Revolver Riders; or, Kent King, the Gambler Guide.

137—Bufialo Bill,in the Black Hills; or, Red Hand, the White Mystery.
£38 ffalo Bill’s Daring; or, The Branded Brotherhood.

5.

 

 

pacar ese

exaren aoe
All of the above numbers always on hand. If you cannot get thém from your newsdealer, five
cents a’copy will bring ‘them to you by mail, postpaid.

STREET ¢ & SM ITH, Publishers, 238 William Street, New York,

 

 

 

ET
ace

   

 
   
 

b

S :

 

 

d85.
384.
385.

LARGEST CIRCULATION

N AMERICA.

TIP TOP. WEEKLY

ae

The ideal publication for the
American youth. Contains
stories ef the adventures of
Frank merriweil, the famous
Yale athlete, and Dick, his
younger brother, who is the
pride of Fardale Academy.

There ere competitions con-
tinually rumning in its columns,
whereby the successful teams
may win complete outfits, in-
cluding uniforms. The following
is a list of the latest numbers:

Dick Merriwell Surprised; or, Cap’n Wiley’s Wind Jammers.

Frank Merriwell’s Quick Move; or, Cooling Off Cap'n Wiley.

Dick Merriwell’s Red Friend; or, Oid Joe Crowfoai to the Froat.

Prank Merriwel’s Nomads; or, Cap?’n Wilev’s Cisver Work.

Dick Merriweill’s Distrust; er, Meeting the Masked Champions. -

Frank Apap a Grand Finish; or, The Independent Chauipions
of America.

 

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BRAVE AND BOLD

This line is sure to please every
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stories are long, and detail the
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The authors are the best known,
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every week.

The following is a list of the
latest numbers: :

 

 

Upright and Howest; or, Harry Hale’s Struggle to Success,
: By Heary Harrison Haines
Two Young Iixventors ; or, The Treasure of Tiree ae eee
r By Benneti
The Life of the School; or, Out for Pan and Fortune.
: by Author of ‘Bicycle Boys of Blueville.’’
Tom Hamlin, Mesmerisi; or, The Boy With the fron Will.
‘ By Matt Rayal
The Puzzle of Panther’s Rua; or, Leon Gale’s Triumph. |
x By Frank Earle
A Giri Crusoe; or, The Wonder ef tae Isle of Gnuonies.
t By Cornelius Shea

Greatest Detective Alive.

Nick Garter Weekly

No detective stories published
can compare with those pub-
lished in this library. Nick
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thrilling adventures in which he
was assisted by Chick and Patsy,
two fine, intelligent young fel-
lows. Boys, you ought to buy
this publication every week and
tead about Nick’s wonderful
escapes and captures

The following is a list of the
latest numbers:

 

 

Nick Carter @n and Off the Scent; or, The Mysterious Tragedy ai
Heraid Square.

Nick Carteron a Parisian Trail; or, Tke Death Trap of the ‘‘Sileacers’’

Nick Carter's Battle Against Odds; or, The Mystery of the Detroit
Pawnubroker. i

249. Nick Carter on His Metal. or, The Trapoiag of Cee! Kate.

350. Nick Carier’s Life Chase; or, The Shot From Ambush.

351. Nick Carter’s Chain of Gullt; or, The Robbery of Express No. &.

346.

347,
348.

 

STORIES OF THE
FAR WEST,

Diamond Dick Weekly

 

 

These are stories about the
reat Diamond Dick and his son,
ertie. Every boy will be more
than satisfied with these tales,
because they are drawn true.o
life, and are extremely interest-
ing. Diamond Dick is a dead
shot, and never allows a’ dés-
{ perado to gét he drop on him.
fe Pee The following is a list of the
FT AR ep latest numbers:
Diamond Dick’s Boy Pards ; er, The Boarding House Puzzle.
Diamond Dick and the Safe Crackers ; or, Two Spot’s Level Best,
Diamond Dick's Last Cail; or, Rua Dowu on the Ferry.
Diamoud Pick’s Four Hand’s Reund; or, A Game ef Keeps ta the
Catskilis. .
Diamocd Dick's Line Uo; er, The Veung Sport’s Banner Play,
Diamond Dick’s Web Foot Pard; or, Queer Work o@ the Hurricane
Deck.

 

 

 

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Any. Five-Cent Detective
Library Published.

Young Broadhrin Weekly

Young Broadbrim is the
shrewdest and most clever boy
detective that ever lived. His
marvelous strength and wonder-
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fear to go.

All the tales of his advencures
are absolutely new.

The following is a list of the
\atest numbers written espec-
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Young ae the Boy Detective; or, The Old Quaker’s Faithfa
Vo

Young Broadbrim ia Kansas Citv; or, What Was Found in the Flood

Young Breadbrim on an Aerial Trail; or, The Terrible Ordeat of Fire

Young isi hat and Cempany; er, Solving the Mysteries of Rock-
wood.

Young Grosdbrim Triumphant; or, The Girl Cracksman.

Young Broadbrim Pighting an Unkaown Power; or, A Scientific

Murderer.

 

‘TALES OF FRONTIER,
ADVENTURE.

Buffalo Bill Stories

Every boy ought to read the
adventures of Buffalo Bill, as
detailed in this library.

They are full of lively advent-
tre, and just the kind that thrills
the heart of every true boy.

The following is a list of the
latest numbers:

 

120.
421.

122.
123.
IZ £.
128.

Buffalo Bill's Discovery; or, The Mystery of the Gold Treasure.
Buffilo Biull’s Clean-Up; or, Routing the Rascals of Yellow Dust

\ City.

Baffels Bill's Pards of the Plains; or, The Dead Shot Four.
Buffaio Bull's Helning Hand; ov, The Secret of Kid Giove Kate.
Bufialo Bul s Boy Card; or, Cantain Hvenaand His Red Angels.
Baffale Biil’s Sacrifice; or, Waaeta, the Indiaa Queen.

 

 

 
 
 

 

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MORE READING MATTER THAN ANY Sc. LIBRARY PUBLISHED

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Tales of the thrilling Te naplises off a young detective whose
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LATEST TITLES
52.» Young Broadbrim, the Boy Detective;
or, Phe Old Quaker’s Youthful Ally
53. Young Broadbrim in ey om City;
, What Was Found in the Flood,
54, Young Broadbrim on an Aerial Trail;
| oe oe Terrible Ordeal of Fie:
Young Broadbri:n and © Companv;
ot, Solving the Mysteries & ed
Young Broadbrim Triumphant; _
ot, The Girl Cracksman.
Young Broadbrim Fighting an Unknown Power;
ot, A Scientific Murderer.
Young Broadbrim on a Weird Case;
ot, [he Mystery of the Phantom Voices.
‘Young Broadbrim at Coney Island;
ot, Dandy Dick Shanghaied.
Nouns Broadbrim on a Newsboy Mystery;
or, Dandy Dick’s First Case.

 

 

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