Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 113) (1879 09 23)
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i) a alatalalallalal| “i, ee i Re ETL lalalalalnty) < (a Wm Tah Bato re rca Wl LON 2 Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., Copyrighted in 1879 by BEADLE AND AD. Price , No. 118, Single PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. Vol. V. anew: $2.50 a year. JACK HOYLE, THE YOUNG SPECULATOR: of, THE ROAD TO FORTUNE, BY EDWARD L. WHEELER, AUTHOR OF “DEADWOOD DIOK,” ‘‘ THE DOUBLE DAGGERS,” “CLOVEN HOOF,” ‘‘ BUFFALO BEN,” ‘BOB WOOLF,” “‘ WILD EVAN,” mro,, ETC, , 4A WAS SUDDENLY SNATCHED FROM HIS SADDLE BY A ROPE THAT TIGHTENED ABOUND HIS WAIST, AND FOUND HIMSELF SWINGING IN MID-Al®
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ee ene Jack Hoyle, THE YOUNG SPECULATOR; THE ROAD TO FORTUNE. BY EDWARD L. WHEELER, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ DEADWOOD DICK,” ‘“ ROSEBUD ROB,” ETO. v CHAPTER I. A BLOW FOR JACK HOYLE. “MASTER JACK HoyiE?” “Yes, sir,” and the youth stepped from his desk in the counting-room of Hoyle and Tre- maine, to an adjoining room, or office of the firm, “What is it, Mr. Tremaine?” ‘Be seated,” the elderly gentleman said, mo- tioning Jack to a seat. ‘‘ When were you last at home, sir?” The youth looked sheepish. “Not since Wednesday; to-day is Friday,” was the hesitating aa 5 ‘So I had heard. here were you?” “Ts it important that you.should.know so much of my business, sir?’ Jack flashed back. ‘+ Certainly, sir. lam your employer, and I have a right to know.” **T do not think so, Mr. Tremaine. My father yet happens to be my manager.” “He was, but alas for you is sono more. Your estimable father is dead!” Jack staggered back as if hé had been shot, his face growing deathly white. ‘* My father dead, sir? Impossible, or I should have heard of it.” “Tt is. true, and your mother, too, is dead. Both died. within an hour of each other, and were buried last evening at sunset.” With a groan Jackson Hoyle bowed his head upon his hands, and shook with emotion. No tears came—his grief was too poignant. When he looked up, he was more composed. His frank, handsome face was very grave, but there lingered about his mouth the expression of a firm resolution. “ell me all,” he said ina choked i‘’.ec. “I want to know the worst.” Addison Tremaine cleared his throat, before answering. ““Your father died insolvent,” he said, with quiet triumph in his tones. ‘It was the blow of his financial collapse which killed him and our mother. His expenses of late years have en emer yoo have been the principal cause, rough gambling and trifling of all kinds, you have cost him a fortune.” Jack did not refute the charge. He knew that ma partner of his father had spoken the ruth. He had been a spoiled child from infancy, and was now eighteen; he had been the wildest young rascal in the city of Lowell. Spendthrift, sport and evil as he had been, it were but natural that he had gone from bad to worse, un- til no folly was too great for him to commit, His parents were both easy-going people, and after years of trial to wean Jack from his bad habits, had finally given the job up as one of the things impossible. The firm of Hoyle and Tremaine had been one of the most notable in all Lowell. For sound- ness they were considered “A No, 1,” havi unquestioned credit, and transacting a v amount of business. Edwin Hoyle had for many years been one of the leading men of the city, both in social and financial standing, moving in the best circles of society, and owning the handsomest estates, carriages, horses and other appurtenances. This fact was mainly what had kept Jack from utter ruin. For his father’s sake the ae did not wholly turn him over to the ‘*T cannot see how my father died insolvent,” Jack said, eying Tremaine sha + ee phe has been estimated ata million of dol- P “But it was a wrong calculation. A recent settlement of our business discovered the start- ling fact that your father had largely speculated and ‘lost with the firm’s money, and what with that which you have squandered, he was actually ea’ debtor ie an ws that we cover all the real estate an rsonai property he possessed. ““T suppose at can prove this, sir?’ Jack said, a quick h in his eye. ; ° ‘T'can prove it,” Tremaine said; calmly. “Your father, on settlement, gave me a mort- ggP upon all the property—everything.” “Very well. How much isthis firm indebted to Jack Hoyle, Esquire?” Addison Tremaine turned to his desk, and looked at his books, with a smile. “Sixteen cents,” he said, with a slight chuckle. “ Hardly enough to let you smell of a cham- pagne bottle,” and with a grin Tremaine poured out the requisite amount in pennies; ‘that nces accounts,” “Perhaps! but you are not done with me yet, for I shall cause an investigation of my father’s accounts, some day, and we'll see by what means you have so suddenly become possessed of all the wealth of the firm.” , a ha! you talk largely for a pauper, my a ‘**Look out, sir—don’t you dare to call me that, again!” Jack cried, aroused to sudden fierceness. ‘‘ To be sure I have but sixteen cents in the world, but that shall be the foundation of a great fortune. I shall henceforth work only to that end—money, honestly gotten, shall be my sole ambition. That you shall never foreclose that mortgage I am resolved, and when it comes due, you will find Jack Hoyle ready to show his hand.” ‘* Perhaps,” Tremaine said, sarcastically, and then he turned to his books while Jack into the counting-room for his hat and coat, and then went out upon the street. Neither looking right or left, nor recognizing his old chums, Jack hurried on to his old home —a handsome mansion set down in a park of well-trimmed shrubs and trees, on the outskirts of the town. Entering the park, Jack found the house open and in the charge of an old servant, named Ja- cobs, who had been in his father’s employ for years. ‘* Ah! Master Jack, is it you?’ the old man exclaimed, joyfully, grasping Jack by the hand, tears trickling down his cheeks. ‘‘Come back to look at the old home, Jack, boy?” “Yes, Jacobs—I’ve come back to look over the ee before 1 set out to make my fortune.” ‘Your fortune, Jack? Ah! my lad, I’m afraid it’s a sorry fortune you'll ever make, yourself,” the old servitor said, with a grim shake of his head. ‘‘Twixt you and Satan’s body-guard the pennies never gather.” “‘Oh! well, you'll see, Jacobs. I'll yet reign here at Maple Park, and have you with me. have just sixteen cents left, and that amount shall be the basis of my labors—the corner stone of the foundation of my fortune. Sink or swim fight or fail, survive or perish, ’'m going to lift this mortgage from my old home, and show the wiseacres of the town that Jac Hoyle was bet- ter than a lost trick, after all.” After looking ype the house, and gather- tes few clothes, and some relics, he took his e re. uring his first half hour’s ramble, he ap- roached the imposing mansion of Addison rne, one of Lowell’s ncial pillars and lar- gest factory owners. Mounting the steps, he rung the bell, resolved to pay the Lornes a call—especially Miss Lilli- an, whom he had called upon many times, as she seemed to like him. It had one time been reported that he and Miss Lillian were engaged, but matters had not progressed so far between them, as yet. Jack was admitted by a servant, and shown into the grand parlor, where he was left while the servant went to apprise Miss Lillian. He was gone some time, and when he return- ed he “i ed Jack wh agg ia 5 peed which Be ane read, eagerly. But he soon grew pale, — teeth shut together with an ominous eli The lotter ran as follows: “Mr. Hoyts: Dear Sm: Owing to circumstances which must be well known to you, I cannot see you oy more. It pains me to make this announcement, but the difference in our positions in life, hereafter, must be so great, that it becomes necessary to draw aline between friendship and knowledge of each other. Hoping you may succeed, I remain, truly, ‘“Lintran Lo : As he finished reading this strange note, there was a mocking little laugh, and Jack looked up to see Tom Tremaine standing just within the room, & cynical smile upon his features. Tremaine was the .broker’s son, and as vain and conceited as a turkey gobbler, consequently pao Jack had never gotten along well to- ether. ‘*Ha! ha! lost your sweetness, eh?” the cox- comb now exclaimed, with sarcasm. ‘‘It is im- ossible for Miss Lorne to see you, is it not, friend Hoyle?’ , er a ee —. ‘That is none of your business,” Jack replied, haughtily. ‘‘I am about to quit the fiela, my- self, and you can have the leavings, such as they are, if you want them.” And with a stiff bow he left the house. This was a blow he had not expected, and it stung him to see how great was the distinction between wealth and poverty. “But, never mind,” he muttered. ‘It will be queer if I don’t come back to Lowell, some day, rich enough to buy the aristocrats all out.” e was fully decided to pull out of the manu- facturing city, to seek his fortune elsewhere, and the sooner he went, the quicker he would o, Ri. his redemption of character and w ‘ He accordingly spent the afternoon in the cemetery, working over the graves of bis par- ents, and by sunset had them carefully sodded, and choice flowers planted around them. Then, sachel in hand, he started out of town, by a street leading countryward, scarcely knowing where he was aiming for. Just before he reached the outskirts of. the town he heard his name called, and found him- self in front of a minister’s cottage. On looking over into the well ke t lawn, he saw some one beckoning to him, and that some one none other. than Bessie Bond, the rector’s daughter. Entering, he was met by Bessie and the rector in person, who warmly shook him by the hand, and invited him into the cottage or. It was a cosey little place, and for the first Jack began to re ize whieh it men to ioe a home. son,” the rector, said, when, t were sated ‘Owe eS Seaentivel play ney. you, but your father was a warm friend of mine, and I naturally take an interest in you. Bessie saw ou passing, sachel in hand, and I had her call you. Leaving Lowell, my boy?” “Yes, Mr. Bond—pulling out to make my for- tune,” Jack replied, with a faint smile. ‘ Low- ell has known me while I have been sowing ‘my wild, oats, and I am going away to seek an hon- orable name and fortune. “Which is yous right course to pursue. Where are you bound?” ‘*T do not know—wherever the tide of passing events drifts me, I su ie RS" “Thear that the cial crash has swept eve thing your poor father possessed. Is it true ‘“T was told so for the first, this morning, sir after [had recovered froma spree, I di not even know till then that my parents were dead.” “Tt must be a terrible blow to you!” ‘“‘ Just how terrible, Mr. Bond, you can never, never imagine. I am not one to publicly expose my grief, but it is very deep, the same. 1 am, however, a changed boy. The Jack Hoyle of yesterday and the Jack Hoyle of to-day, are two different persons. My awakening has been a great blow, but it has made a man of me.” ‘God be praised,” the reverend gentleman said, earnestly, while gladness beamed from pretty little Bessie’s countenance. ‘I believe you are changed for the better, and I am proud of you. It is late, to-night, and you must not think of going on, any further. The Rectory shall furnish you a welcome till you choose to go on. “JT thank you, gratefully, Mr. Bond, but I had rather go on my way,” Jack declared, firm. ly. ‘No time like the present, you know.” ‘‘ Nevertheless, we shall insist upon your stay- ing here,” Bessie, the rector’s sweet-faced, sunny- haired daughter chimed in. ‘To-morrow you will feel stronger to battle with the world.” So Jack yielded, and consented to spend the night at the Rectory. . Bond and Bessie lived all alone, but Jack could not remember of ever having spent a more p t evening. The rector was a good man. and the fatherly advice he vouchsafed was such as favorably impressed Jack, and when he re- tired to rest and looked forward into the future, the undertaking did not seem half so great as it had a few hours before. : Then, Bessie was a sweet little maiden o/ sixteen, free from the formal mannerisms ot society, and she and Jack at once became {ani- ous friends. A little woman she was of great wort!. brilliant in intellect and education, and charm- ing to know, with her thoughtful consideration, her sweetness and guileless innocence. But woman-like, she was afflicted with a little curiosity, and did not hesitate to betray it. ee 0" bs ae 2 ae =f id your farewells, e?” she said, yiber the Sacto had tebhed eae 2 falfian alwe*: ap to be such a nice girl.” ‘ Appearances are often deceitful,” Jack re- erd
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lied, fatshing a little. ‘‘ At least you can see at they are in Miss Lorne’s case,” and he handed Bessie the note he had received from the great financier’s daughter. As Bessie read it through, an expression of indignation settled on her countenance, “How cruel in her,” she said, looking up, with flashing eyes. ‘If I were you, Mr. Hoyle I should hereafter count her out of my list of acquaintances.” ; resume I shall,” Jack replied, dryly. But I am not going to mourn after her. She has simply unmasked—that is all.” pleasant evening it was, and Jack almost regretted when it came time to retire, the morning, after a good breakfast, Jack bade the good rector adieu, and took his leave. Bessie accompanied him to the gate and shook hands with him for the last time. “Write to me, Jack, and tell me of your struggles, and I will answer you,” she said, and after promising to do so, Jack stole a kiss, and tramped away out of Lowell, the image of retty Bessie engraven upon his memory, and ie parting words of the good rector ringing in ears: “Be temperate, faithful and honest, Jack; seek not for friends, for friends you would most Tove to have will come to you unsought.” And with this thought uppermost in his mind, Jack Hoyle started out upon the world, to make his fortune. CHAPTER II. A “CORNER” IN CATS. Wir a brave front, Jack tramped out of the town, meeting several of his old associates but noticing none, except one, a man by the name oan Harry Hunter, who was a gambler by pro- on. “What! ain’t goin’ to leave us?’ Hunter demanded, stopping Jack. ‘Yes, as you see,” Jack replied. “Where bound?” “Anywhere where I can make a fortune,” was the reliant answer. sega old. man didn’t pan you out nothing, e “‘No! Tremaine roped in all there was.” *He’s an old rascal, take my word for it!” ““Do you really think so?” “Of course! A man who will cheat at a sociable e of eucher, will cheat at any other game. ou ought to put a tracer r this man, and your father’s property.” ‘Perhaps IL had. The mortgage comes due in five years. Tell you what I'll do—I’ll give you half of all you recover from Tremaine, that he has embezzled or fraudulently obtained from my father.” ‘Agreed. I'll have you rich again, some day, Jack. Want a little cash to help you along?” “No, I thank you. I have got sixteen cents whichis to be the basis of my fortune. Good-by, Give my respects to my friends and a smile of scorn to my enemies,” The first day of Jack’s travel revealed no inci- dent worthy of record, and he slept in a hay- mow at night. . , In the morning, he asked for one cent’s worth of milk of a dairyman, and the man being of a liberal turn of mind dealt out a quart of his richest and some bread in the bargain. While Jack was eating his meal upon the door- step, he noticed a swarm of cats, twenty or thirty, come from the woods in a sort of pro- cession, each one in its mouth a chip- munk, or a bird, or a field-mouse. Pata g cats,” Jack remarked, to the Mae d, “Och! yis, sur,” she replied, ‘‘niver a foiner lot of cats is there in the world.” When the farmer came along, again, Jack d to him: " A fine lot of cats, sir.” Humph! I wish some fellow’d take the job or drownin’ the ravenous things,” was the re- Ton buy them of ae if you will sell them reasonably,” Jack sai Allright, young feller—what’ll you give for the lot—twenty-five cents?” “Just fifteen cents, and you deliver ’em to tt Ae recd! Ati! pola Sobowa; teicledit. ‘Wh ue to- 4 ere shall T leave ‘om? ba Jack named the store of an acquaintance. “I will be there when you come.” ““ Mebbe ’tain’t none o’ my BORE, oung fel- ler, but what are you going to do wi’ Siem ser- ig SPeculate on “em,” Jack replied, as he took Jack Hoyle. Striking cross-lots from the farm-house, he struck the Boston, Lowell and Nashua railroad and following the track, reached the city of Boston early in the afternoon, without a penny in his pocket. But not despairing, he wended his way to Beekman’s storehouse in Congress street, and found his college chum, Bob an, in at- tendance. The greeting between the two young men was warm, and after some conversation, Jack suc- ceeded in borrowing ten dollars of Bob, and also a corner in the warehouse in which to leave his cats. He then visited several of the leading news- paper offices, and contracted for an advertise- ment something after this pattern: “AN EXTRAORDINARY NOVELTY.” “Just received at Beekman’s warehouse, in Con- gress street, an importation of the celebrated Belgi- um mousers—the best breed of ¢ meet hes iy J cats existence. The only ones in this country for sale. Call early for a choice. “ (Signed) Monsrtur JoHAN Hous.” This done, Jack returned to the warehouse. Just at dusk, farmer Dunean drove up with a crate full of cats, and after receiving the cats, and storing them in the warehouse for the night, Jack sought out a cheap hotel, procu a “square” meal and lodging for the night. arly in the following morning he was at the warehouse, with shears and ribbons, and soon had the Thomas cats satisfactorily clipped and named, with ribbons about their necks, and the whiskers closely clipped from the females, to give them an odd a ce. He then pe stigehy f hem upon benches, and by the time he was ready, curious people began to ia in to see the cats. ere were cats of both sexes and all colors and ie “went man from the humped-back, prowling Thomas to the purring domestic, and altogether they were an intelligent looking lot. The forenoon passed and though many visi- tors called, none seemed disposed to invest; not a sale was effected. After dinner, as he was wondering if he had not made a disastrous failure, Jack was electri- fied to gee Mr. Lorne and his gee gee of Low- ell, drive up to the storehouse, and get out. ckly substituting Bob Beekman as sales- man, Jack retired behind some goods boxes, for he had no desire to meet the haughty Miss Lillian in his capacity of cat-vender. The Lornes entered, and Bob graciously showed them the cats, pointing out the extraor- merits of each animal, and ‘ cheeking ” his way right into the confidence of the Lowell financier, “Tf you want cats,” said Bob, with great im- portance, ‘“‘now is your time to get one of the celebrated breed of mousers, as it is doubtful if the Belgian Government will allow Monsieur Holle to bring over another importation. There is the red female cat, with the almond- eyes, warranted to be a thoroughbred hunter, and also a ye family cat of cleanly habits, That is the flower of the cat flock—price $200, Any of the others we will let go for one hundred and seventy-five, cash.” “The price is exorbitant,” Lorne said, re- flectively, ‘‘ but I believe I will take the reddish cat. Can you box it and send it to Lowell, by express?” ‘Oh! certainly,” Bob hastened to say. ‘‘It wil) reach you on the first train.” Accordingly the Lowell financier paid the two hundred dollars, left his address, and then drove away. After the you are a rascal!” he ex- claimed, laughing. ‘‘I should have sold any cat in the flock for ten dollars,” ** And made a goose of yourself,” Bob replied. akech men as Lorne always pay for being rich. Toward evening an old lady from the country hobbled in, and viewed the cats, with evident tion. Her fancy seemed to be set upon one striped feline of serenading proclivities. “Let me sell you that mouser, ma’am,” Jack said, courteously. ‘ You’re an old lady: we'll sell you that cat for ten dollars, Good mouser; eats whatever you give her, and a faithful ae cat.” “‘ Well, well. That’s a big price, but I want jest sech a cat. Take nine do fer it?” om} ve us the cash, and take the cat.” The ol lady paid that sum and tucking Thomas under her arm, hobbled out. She had not got off the platform, when Bob and Jack saw farmer Duncan rush up to her, excitedly. 3 “ For Lord’s sake, mother, what are you doing with that cat?” he was heard to exclaim, “Cat?” the old lady exclaimed, proudly; “why, Josiah, that’s one o’ the Belg’um mousers w’at ar’ advertised in ther ‘Transcript. Old Lorne, up at Lowell got one, ri a wo hun- dred do fer it, an’ this animal only cost me nine dollars.” “You old fool!” the farmer exclaimed, aghast. “That’s one of our own cats, what I sold last night to that chap in the storehouse for less than a cent apiece. And he’s beat you clean out o’ your eyes!” ‘* No he hasn’t!” signi Miah the old lady, “That cat cum frum Belg’um. Didn’t I read about et in the Transcript? I reckon yer mother knows what she’s about, Josiah Duncan. [f ’arned thet nine dollars a-pickin’ berries, an’ ef I want ter buy cats with it, I’m a-goin’ ter buy cats. Come, start along, and don’t make a monkey of yourself here before folks.” The old y won the day, and the farmer went away with her, grumb mgly. “Tm heartily ashamed of that sale,” Jack said, gazing after them. “*Get out,” Bob replied. ‘‘The old lady has got a good mouser, and that’s an equivalent to er money.” Duncan, however, was not satisfied, for Jack received a note from him, which read as follows: “You're a sharp young cuss, ef I do say it, an’ when ye b'y any more cats o’ me fer nothin’, an’ sell ’em back fer nine dollars apiece, Jest let me know! ““Jostan Duncan,” No more sales were effected that day, and ying back the ten dollars he had borrowed, phe went to his hotel nearly two hundred dol- lars richer than he was in the morning. But he was destined not to make any more oui of his cat speculation, for the warehouse burnt tothe ground that night, and the “ Belgium’ cats were consumed in it, Thus the young speculator was thrown out oi’, his occupation, and was obliged to turn his wi in some other channel. For several days he wandered around the “Hub,” on the outlook for something to turn up. "One day as he was passing through the west rtion of the city, he saw a little house and lot or sale. It was dilapidated and shabby enough, but a little money and much work would put i in a habitable condition, The owner was an Irishman, who wanted rey much to sell and go back to the Emerald ‘ Accordingly Jack struck a bargain with him, and bought the place for one hundred dollars Then he bought a brush and some paint, to- gether with some other materials, and set to work improving the ope and by the time he had completed them, his means were nearly ex- hausted. The properny, however, looked a hun- dred per cent better. The house was ted inside and out, eget and thoroughly cleaned, and one day as he was finishing uP, a real estate agent came along, and stepped in to view the premises. ‘Well, well, i have wrought a change,” he said, approving “Going to live here, your- pare man?” *"No,” Jack replied, “Going to sell it, I presume?” = Lee 80, too, if I can get my price.” “How much do you want for it?” “Fifteen hundred dollars!” ‘“‘Pshaw! you can’t get a third of that!” “Then I won’t sell. It will rent for fifteen dollarsa month.” “Give you five hundred, just as it stands, young feller.” “No grim ‘‘ ee ey !’ the man went off. t Jack succeeded in renting the place for n dollars a month to a railroad mechanic, and on receiving the first month’s rent in advance, he invested half of it in insur- ance on his house. Another week spent in Boston convinced him that ke had made about all he could there {for the present, and he resolved to pull for Phila- delphia, and his luck there. luck would have it, he applied for and ob- tained a position as snare drummer in a travel- ing theatrical company, at a me gh of five dol- lars a week and and found himself one month later in Philadelphia, with twenty dollars in his pocket. It was now in the month of October; his sum- mer qoming. was getting thin; it was neces. sary to make money with which to procure pipes 1 raiment; but how to get it, was the question. In all probability he could find work, at low
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4 wages, but this was not exactly what he desired. He professed to use his wits in speculation, for with fortune to make in five years his wits must be his paymaster. Boarding at the hotels was at present too ex- pensive, and so. he rented a room over a little rocery on Race street, for four dollars a month, ‘urnished witha bed and a chair. Here he slept at night, and picked up his meals Wherever he could get them. Little by little his money dribbled away, and still no way of adding to his stock. Finally, one day he bought a small stock of tobacconist’s goods, at auction, for five dollars, rented a stall in Washington market for three dollars more, and ‘‘ went in business.” But, it didn’t pay, and he sold out within a week for fifteen dollars. With this he purchased a pack of goods, and started out on a tramp through the country; but this he found to be a very disagreeable and a poor paying avocation. ‘he first of January saw him upon the streets of Erie, Pennsylvania, footsore, with only fifty dollars in pocket as the result of over two months’ irksome labor. While eating supper in a restaurant he picked up a Buffalo daily paper, when his eye fell upon the following advertisement: ‘“WantTip: A. manager with a little capital, to take a minstrel concert company upon the road. A rare Pphoxpanli to the right party. Call at Continental He resolved to go to Buffalo, N. Y., and see the advertiser. The idea struck him as good, so he took the cars for Buffalo, _ On arrival there he applied at the Continental Totel, and found. the advertiser, a man by the iameof Worley, who claimed that he was a »omedian of no mean ability, who had met with ‘everses, but was willing to travel cheap. His sompany embraced five performers besides him- solf, all of whom were out of employment, and desired to travel. In alittle room on Mill street the company gave a rehearsal, and Jack was satisfied that the en- tertainment would “ take,” so he resolved to run them on.a trip through the oil regions of Penn- sylvania, then in the hight of their excitement. Borrowing a hundred dollars from one of the beg erty friends, and securing printed bills y ahalf advance payment, he senta man in advance to announce the show, which of course he christened with a high-sounding title. Tho first trial was to be Erie, Tn the meantime, Jack, who had assumed an- other name for the occasion, drilled his company . twice daily, added several.musicians, and finally had his * troupe” organized with ten members. The pay of these amounted to ten dollars per day, besides their hotel bills and car fares, which he calculated would average thirty more. After that, he had the opera-house bill to pay, and the expenses of his advance agent, so that upon figur- ing it all wp, he counted his total expenses at one hundred dollars per day. Seven days after his advance man had gone, he started for Erie with his troupe, having bare- ly enough money to pay the car-fare. Arrived at Erie, he found the prospects any- thing but flattering. The town was epee most intensely with cold weather; from off the lake a furious snow- storm was blowing, and the people were secure- ly housed. On inquiry he found that very little interest had been aroused concerning the show, and there were no prospects of a ‘‘ house” at all, CHAPTER II. HOW JACK GOT. A HOUSE. ““-You will do well if you get fifty cents to- night,” the r of the opera-house said, when Jack approached him on the subject. “A little one-horse troupe went to smash here, a fow nights ago, on account of the poor veather.” ‘*Tt looks dubious,” Jack was forced to ad- rit, ‘* but my isi uae shall play if every seat ; ee provided you will Not me have the ia “Yes, you can have it, if you will give me swenty per cent of the gross receipts. I may possibly get enough to pay for fire and light.” And so it was arranged. After dinner Jack raked together se money out of the company to mera hand pate 4 and about sunset the storm abated sufficient for a parade in the principal streets. All of his own company ed or sung well, and their music attracted attention. After this parade, Jack spruced’himself up and called upon Mrs. L——, one of the society “leaders” of Erie. ——— a : a J ack Hoyle. The lady received him in some surprise, and with some hesitation he made known his er- rand: ‘*T am manager of the minstrel troupe thatis to appear at the opera-house to-night, and I came to learn if it was your intention to attend?” he said, ingen Ki “Tt is not,” was the reply. ‘‘The weather is rather too cold for amusements.” “Very true. But [ would be willing to pay you to come beep rs as where you go others will go, and I can thus dang get enough of a house to pay my expenses. Otherwise, | shall have to disband my troupe in the outset. This will be very hard indeed on my excellent men.” “You are very complimentary, sir, but I care not for that. If my presence will in any way affect your receipt, it will give me pleasure to attend.” “Thanks, lady. Your kindness I shall not forget, Here are tickets for four of the choicest seats, Then Jack took his leave, wondering what his experiment was likely to amount to. On arriv- ing at the hotel, he told Worley of it, and the comedian laughed heartily. “You have cheek enough to succeed in any enterprise!” he declared. ‘‘If the lady comes, we'll do the best we know how,” From that time until dusk Jack had a squad of boys distributing dodgers around the city, thus keeping the subject of the show fresh in CR Re ae minds. en the hour for the doors to open arriy Jack entered the reserved seat office to look a the diagram. His landlord was also there, look- ing it over, with evident satisfaction. Tam “lad I consented to take twenty per cent of the gross,” he said, smiling, ‘‘ for over a hundred seats are sold—the fattest sheet, by all odds, we’ve had for a month! But what mys- tifies me, is, what brings the elite out to-night? I should sooner have expected to see Lake Erie thaw up.” Jack smiled, but did not reply. Evident it was that his little maneuver was to work him profit. The opera-house owner took charge of the ticket office, while Jack attended to the door, and it was with a thrill of joy that he watched the first customer purchase a ticket and enter. It was a new undertaking, and had looked very dubious, but his Mga began to throb once more when he saw that there was prospect of a good house. The band gave a rehearsal before the opera- house, and despite the wintry blasts attracted a large crowd; then the performers went into the theater, and the people. began to crowd the oors. Not in ones or twos, but in dozens, of both sexes and all stations in life. A dozen or more private i halted be- fore the hall and were unfreighted of well- dressed ladies and gentlemen—others came by the cars, or on foot, and paid their way into the show that had a few hours before promised to be a dire failure. A short time before the curtain raised, Mrs. L—— and her suite entered, and she smiled tri- umphantly as she caught Jack’s eye, as much as to say: ‘‘I am the cause of all this assem- bling of people.” She was a royally beautiful woman, and Jack felt that it was an honor to have her attend. At last the curtain rolled up on the handsome- ly-set first part, in the presence of a very large he sent ietor stepped in fr € opera-house proprietor step n from the box oftioe, and boked over the assemblage with an approving nod of his head: ‘Good house,” he said—‘‘good house, but. it’s miraculous, sir—miraculous!” ‘*How much are the receipts?” asked Jack, well pleased at the success. “Don’t know. Somewhere nigh seven hun- dred dollars, I reckon. Here’s a package that was left for you at the box-office,” Jack tore open the dainty envelope, and his surprise knew no bounds when he read the fol- lowing: a. -, Jan —, 18—, 1x zee! Err, Pa., January Drar Sir: The presence of yourself and com is sage. pr eee invited at Mrs. L——’s, at the Coneht- sion of the en heer Es this evening. OrpER oF COMMITTEE.” Whatever might have been Jack’s elation be- After the first was finished, he took rtunity to go behi vitation’ to the company, and they were greatly pleased. fore, it was a hundredfold increased, now. Op: the scenes and show the The entertainment was a success, and heartily applauded by the audience, and after the show had dismissed, Jack found himself the possessor of five hundred and fifty dollars as his share of the receipts; he felt that he had struck the right road to fortune. With his reine pal he then resorted to Mrs. L——’s, and found a banquet awaiting them, and also a crowd of the elite to do honor to the oc- casion. . To his satisfaction his company carried them- selves with perfect decorum, and although a trifle bashful, he managed to carry his own part as became him. Mrs. was his chap- erone for the evening, and he had the pleasure of an introduction into the first society of Erie. A ball wound up the festivities, and when Jack went back to the hotel with his company he was satisfied that he and his company had established their reputation from the start. The morning papers favorably noticed the show, and the banquet; and, wide awake to business, Jack purchased a whole edition of these, and sent them on for free distribution in the towns they were to visit. From Erie they struck down into the oil country, visiting Corry, Titusville, Meadville, Oil nao and Pittsburg, and drawing full houses in each place. The oil towns at that time were “red-hot” show-towns, and turned out liberally to patronize his entertainment. On the termination of their eng Pittsburg, Jack was taken sick with typhoid fever, and sold out his management to orley for two hundred dollars. The show went to pieces a few weeks later, in Ohio, Worley hav- ae ehee with the receipts! ut of this speculation Jack had cleared seventeen hundred dollars, which was an ex- traordinary success. For two weeks he lay very ill in the smoky city, and when he was able to get around, he left for Ohio, finally pang up in Cleveland. His illness had consumed over a hundred dol- lars of his money, and he began to look around ement in for a place to invest the remainder, lest that too, should go. The first week of his stay in Cleveland, he wrote to and received an answer from Bessio Bond. By it he learned that detectives were looking into the matter of his father’s property and that Addison Tremaine was talking of quitting Lowell. “The scoundrel,” Jack muttered; “ that fact betrays his guilt. Thope that my friend will not let him escape.” Bessie went on to say how the Lorne’s had id two hundred dollars for a cat in Boston, hat had since manifested its ‘‘ Belgian ” breed- ing, by clawing Miss Lillian in the face, going through a great mirror, and killing all of Mr. Lorne’s choicest birds. Jack was se? pemrty to poe over this news although he could but feel guilty about his cat speculation, One day he fell, and both sprained his ankle, and seriously bruised his body. He had to be carried to his hotel. A doctor was called who applied a liniment that in three days put Jack on his feet again. The liniment had wrought miracles! “What will you take for the receipt for that liniment?’ the young speculator ed, as he was paying his bill. “Twenty dollars, reserving the privilege to use it in ee practice,” the man replied. ‘Agreed. Give me the receipt, and here are your twenty dollars,” and Jack was soon in pos- session of his liquid bonanza. So, packing his trunk, he took the cars for New York at once. Tt was now in the latter part of March, and being an early spring, the weather was getting pleasant. On arriving in New York, he rented a couple of rooms, and furnished the one with a cosey bedroom set, while he fitted the other up as a laboratory. Then he purchased a couple of hundred dol- lars’ worth of materials, such as was required to manufacture his liniment. Now to get his liniment a name! He went to a well-known physician with a sample of his preparation, and offered a partnership, in consideration that the doctor would it the liniment to be named after him, would take charge of the sales and advertising business, furnish of the capital required in the manufacture, and take half the nel Ee r some deliberation the man of medicine, who was shrewd enough to see money in the adventure, consented, and gave Jack access to his bank account. Once more, accordingly, Jack found himself on the road to fortune. - Contracting with a noted glass manufactory
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for a hundred thousand bottles, he at once set to work in earnest at manufacturing his lini- ment. In _ his little laboratory he now spent the eater share of his time, and turned out about wo hundred bottles per day. The doctor at once contracted with the famous Rowell adver- tising firm for ads. in all the principal papers of the U. S., and dispatched agents to the whole- sale dealers in the various States to introduce and sell the liniment. But for the fact that the doctor had a good bank account at his disposal, the concern must have gone to smash, for the initiatory expenses were enormous, and Jack’s small pile was but as a drop in the ocean. The first month things looked desperate, and Dr. P., as we shall name him, was fully as des- pairing as Jack. The agents reported poor suc- cess, and orders came in very sparingly. * Tt’s little use to continue making what won’t sell,” the doctor said, as he and Jack consulted, in the laboratory, one day at the end of the third month. ‘I’m out of pocket about twenty thousand dollars, and the receipts have not yet reached a tenth part of that sum. I’m heartily sick of the venture, and want to sell out!” “Ditto I,” Jack replied, dubiously. ‘I’m fifteen hundred dollars deep, and haven’t got a red in my por fo-day. What will you give me for sole possession?” “A hundred dollars. Perhaps I can get back that much out of it.” nie ae take it,” Jack said, glad to get even that much. The doctor accordingly paid him over a hun- dred dollars, and, first signing off his right and title, Jack left the laboratory, and found him- self upon the streets of New York, out of em- loyment. P What next to turn to, he was puzzled to know. His latter ulation had reduced his fortune to a hun dollars, cash, and one house and lot in Boston. The rent upon this place was overdue several months, but he had left the collection in charge of Bob Beekman, and found it unnecessary to return to Boston. Reports were daily coming in of the “ red- hot” times up in the Pennsylvania oil regions, and actin bd impulse, he bought him a ticket for Oil City, Pa. Arrived there he found that he was not yetin the heart of the oil regions, and accordingly visited Titusville, Pleasantville, Shamburg and Red Hot, bringing up in the latter place for a short stay. A chance was offered in a new lease for in- vestment in shares, fifty dollars rat a fortieth share. He acco ly invested fifty, and had now twelve dollars left, which was in those days equivalent to one week’s board. He saw that work was what he must now re- sort to, and he hired out to run an engine on a pumping well, at three dollars per day and It was dirty. work, and the first year’s anniversary of his struggle for a fortune found oa as black and grimy ascould well be imagin- Resolved to be pomapersse, he associated only with those whose society was not likely to lead him into temptation. Consequently he got the nickname from the rougher classes of the ‘“ Par- son,” and it clung to him as long as he remained in Red Hot. In those days the towns of erent ee Hot and Tip-Top were acknowledged to be the wickedest in the United States, while Petroleum Center, Tideoute and Rouseville were not far behind. The men were, with the exception of a few ulators and prospectors, a lawless, dare- evil crowd; the scum and ruffianly element of the different States seemed to be concentrated in the few oil towns we have above named. To save their earnings was not the least part _ of their calculation; consequently fights, drunk- rips and sprees were the order of the our. Jack’s quietness and sobriety were a theme of conversation among the roughs, for it was some- thing beyond their comprehension. Not anoth- er young man in Red Hot who did not step up to the barand take his ‘“ rations” as often as the condition of his cash account would allow, and to have one “ teetotaler” in the town was against the moral principles of the rougher ele- ment, y At this period the notorious Ben Hogan boss- ed things in Red Hot—was feared as a despera- do and a pugilist of no mean order. One night Jack was sitting in the bar-room of 4 Jack Hoyle. the Draper House, when Hogan approached him, | his langua as usual in an intoxicated condition. ‘**See heer, young feller, you’ve got to ea w to the bar and e your whisky, to-night. Ye’ve played Parson long enough, an’ we’re go- in’ ter make ye swaller yer rations, you bet! Cum along now—it ain’t a-goin’ ter cost you nothing ter drink wi’ Ben Hogan!” CHAPTER IV. WHISKY AND OIL. ““T RATHER guess not,” Jack replied, quietly. “1 don’t drink anything, thank you.” **Can’t help thet, my younker. You’ve got ter drink with Ben Hogan, or skip out o’ the town, I tell ye! There don’t no chap sail around this town, ’cept they’ve drinked wi’ old Ben, ye know, an’ I ain’t goin’ ter allow no exceptions, I say.” You'll have to out-drink me then if I start in, before 1 give up,” Jack said, a little angered. “f presume if I was to try, I could dri six men in the town drunk and sober again.” ‘“See heer, Parson, ef that’s yer game, we'll ve ye a chance. I'll bet ye two hundred dol- ars that you can’t drink me drunk, and you stay sober.” “ Agreed, if by so doing, it will free me from yO invitations to drink, hereafter,” Jack said. “ All right! Ye shall have yer choice of bev- erage, an’ I'll take whatever you do. Ef you’ve got fourth-sand rock to git old Ben Hogan b’ilin’, "ll let ye alone in the future, and pay for the chain-lightnin’ besides.” “Then meet me here, to-morrow night, and we'll settle the matter,” Jack said, turning to his paper, which he had been reading. After Ben Hogan and his crowd had departed and the saloon was partly emptied, Mike Calla han came from behind the bar. “*So you’re goin’ ter drink ag’in’ old Ben, eh, Parson?” he said, grimly. “ Yes, that’s the agreement,” Jack replied, yawning. ‘But, I reckon yer off yer groove, Parson. Ben ll drink you blind an’ stiff, ere you know PvE her fe he \ bind See here. io ve notes you have a grudge against the old sinner. Now I want you to enter into a plot with me and I'll give you half of the proceeds. I wan to beat this man, so that he will let me alone in the future. If he gets beat, it will do him more good than asermon., We will start off on beer, can drink at least five glasses without feelin any effects. Hogan will drink the same, an each of his glasses must be liberally salted with ig I will then call for gin, and while you give Hogan the pure article, Yl take a brim- ming glass of water for mine. Now, what do you say—will you do it?” “Waal, Pll blazed if I don’t,” Callahan replied, in admiration. ‘‘ You’re a sharp young Loin an’ here’s w’at’ll tip ye the hand, fer rue, The matter was settled, and Jack went to bed until midnight, when it was his turn to go to work again. He knew this was the only way to beat the king of the oil regions, without incurring his hatred, which he was not desirous of doing. The next night when he entered the bar-room of the Draper House, he found it crowded with the roughest customers in the town, including the notorious Ben, himself. The news that the meek and quiet Parson was going to drink nst the brutal Ben for stakes, had spread like wildfire, and a delegation had come in from every town surrounding to see the sport. ‘Hello! here’s the Parson!” Hogan exclaim- ed, triumphantly. ‘Say, young feller, are you ready to test my storage capacity for beverage? I hain’t even smelt o’ a bunghole to day, jest on account of waiting to polish you off.” ‘“*Haven’t got enough money to make the wager two hun ” Jack replied, stepping up to the bar. ‘‘Callahan, can you lend me the rhino?” The barkeeper nodded, and laid a couple of hundred-dollar bills upon the counter, and Hogan instantly covered them with an equal amount, for in those days of ten-dollar oil, money was plenty out among the wilds of north- HL sities fee oF TE k turned © money deposited, Jac ned and nod- ded to Callahan: “Give us two beers, barkeeper. We will start in moderate.” The two beers were drawn and quaffed—then two more, by which time Jack noticed an ap- nie effect on Hogan. e was ’ becoming more talkative, and as usual 5 was anything but refined or pleasant to hear. “Give me straight gin, brimmers,” Jack ordered, and when they came, he made but one mouthful of his, while Hogan took his in sips, The crowd began to see which way the con- test was going to end, and cheered the Parson, accordingly. It was beyond their comprehen- sion how a man of Hogan’s caliber who was con- stantly any ey in liquor, could be beaten at his ew game by a mere stripling and a teetotaler at that. But one gin followed another at regular inter- vals, and at last Ben Hogan the notorious ruffian and pugilist fell to the floor, dead drunk, while Jack coolly pocketed his stakes, and retired te his room for the night. Not once did a suspicion enter the people} minds of the deception that had been practiced or it might not have been so well for our youry speculator. On the following day he heard that Ho had sworn to get even, but the fact that the rough had left town gave Jack hope that the threat may have been only an idle boast, With the hundred dollars he had won, and fifty he had saved out of his wages, he bought three more shares in the well, which was now sig coy f epproecnina completion. a change, it was now arranged to have Jack go on duty from six in the evening, until six the following morning, thus bringing him into all of the night work. He acquiesced, how- ever, and worked faithfully as directed. One night as he was working in the engine house, and whistling merrily to while away the time, Callahan slipped into the engine-house with a mysterious grin. ‘Sh! he cautioned, in a whisper—‘‘not a word! Ho and three or four of his gang are outside, with tar and feathers, and propose giv- ing you adose. I found it out by accident, and propose we give the divils a stame bath.” Seizing a rubber hose that was attached to the boiler, he screwed on a nozzle, and stood ready in front of the door, ‘*When I yell, ‘now!’ turn on the steam full heft,” he ordered of Jack, who stationed him- self at the stop-cock, Pretty soon the door of the engine-house was flung open, and four roughs attempted to enter, but at the signal from , Jack turned on the steam, and a scalding torrent was turned upon them, ‘ With howls of pain they staggered back—then beat a hasty retreat, and that was the last effort made to molest Jack. They had fairly found out that the Parson was able to look out for number one, A few days later the Ducky-Dear well reach- ed sand, and instantly began to spout at the es- timated rate of a thousand barrels a day, the _ jet spurting clear over the top of the der- ric The news mcens like wildfire, for this was the biggest strike yet made in the Red Hot ter- ritory, and evidenced much future prosperity to the town. When Jack heard the news, he instantly hired a hand in his place, and jerking off his greasy oe and on his better ones, he hastened to he scene of excitement, where hundreds had already preceded him, An ppering the spouting beforehand, the company had n provided with proper pipe- age and tankage, and the casing head was soon ca , and the oil run off into.a tank. e well was then re-cbristened the Clown, and afterward the Whooper. . Jack had now resolved not to work any more at manual labor, but to return to his chosen pro- fession of speculation as soon as he should re- ceive his first dividend from the well, in which he had an interest of four-fortieths. The first eg aie hours’ flow of the well yielded just one thousand barrels of first quality crude oil. ; The second day the yield dropped down to five hundred, but as the company had lands to lease in the immediate neighborhood, the fact ves suppressed from the public for several ys. In the meantime the well continued along af five hun a day for some days, wher it suddenly became dry, and not another dro of oil could be got out of it, literally speaking Part of those holding shares, were in favor having it torpedoed, while another part objea ed, and asa result nothing was ever done wit it. Six thousand barrels of oil were sold for sixty thousand dollars, and out of this, Jack realized his share seven thousand and two hundred
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6 He was now as rich as he cared to be out of oil, and with his money, he ked his trunk, and left the oil country for Pittsburg, where he stopped a week, and then went on to Cincinnat- ti, where he ran across Bob Beekman of the cat speculation. Bob was engaged with his father in the grain trade, and doing finely. hed are Su few weeks in town Jack went next into the interior of Michigan, and bought seven thousand bushels of wheat for $1.00 per bushel, and sold it, later, to the Beekmans for a figure which realized him a profit of twenty-five cents on each bushel. ‘So that on the first day of October, a little over a year after he had started out, and after numerous expenditures for clothing, he was the cca of eight thousand and three hundred ars. This he resolved to invest where it would be secure, and then start out anew. Depositing the eight thousand in the bank, he retained the three hundred, and once more set out, this time to find place to invest his money securely. It was no serious undertaking. In the thriving city of Dayton, Ohio, he found four vacant acre lots for sale at one thousand dollars apiece. He instantly purchased them as they were close to the business center, an out of the four soon had fenced off sixteen fair- sized building lots. As there were no houses upon them, he rented them to a florist for gardening and horticultural purposes, on consideration of five dollars a month, in addition to which the florist was to pay the taxes upon the property. rranging things satisfactorily, Jack then visited many of the towns in Iowa, Indiana, and Illinois, but made no further investment until ‘he came across a circus and menagerie which had encountered bad luck, in Iowa, and was in the sheriff’s hands. Taking an inventory of the stock, he purchas- ed the whole thing for tnree thousand dollars. The original cost must have been at least ten times that sum. There were thirty cages of animals, large and small, a’ chariot, tent and appurtenances, eighty horses, an elephant, two camels, and fitteen brass-band instruments. All were in good order, and Jack felt satisfied that he had made a first-class investment. Re-engaging the company, and naming the coucern after its former owner, Jack took the managerial helm of a new ulation. He had read the life of um, and it had attracted him to so great an extent, that he of a desire to sample still further the sweets of a showman’s life. They visited Dubuque, Muscatine, Davenport and Burlington, lowa, then branched off into Mlinois, doing all the towns of any importance, and meeting with fair success. Not quite satis- fied with the reodpte, Jack ane fo ae on more paper, and accordingly dou re- vions dacoess by éxtra billing, About the first of December the show reached New Orleans, where Jack disbanded the company and en- ged winter-quarters for his stoc. and wagons, aving cl two thousand dollars out of his short traveling season. It occurred to him, now, that he would like to return to Lowell and spend Christmas with the Bonds, for he had not forgotten pretty, piquant Bessie, by any means, and yearned to see her once more. During the interval of their separation he had corresponded with her frequently, and it had poe a source of pleasure to him to hear from er. So he packed up his valise, and took the first train for Boston, after which he felt better. Arrived in Boston, he was not long in steam- ing on to Lowell, and soon was heart y received by the Bonds, both of whom were evidently glad to see him. In Lowell he found matters progressing about the same as usual. He erected ac and appropriate monu- ment at the head of the graves of his mother and father; and after a week’s stay he took his osBropping off in Boston, ts ccessful in ‘Stopping 0 © was su selting his house and lot for fifteen hundred dol- a eat was all they were really worth. ' ‘Then ng the cars, he steamed back to New Orleans by slow stages, arriving there the first day of = : > he remained idle until the first of March, when he concluded to start out with his circus. Accordingly he had the show fitted out in good shape, engaged a full three-score of driv- ers and canvas men, and a company of cheap Jack Hoyle. omg iolommeda who, albeit the fact they worked or low wages, were excellent artists. One “child” artiste, aged seventeen, whose non-professional name was Lily Thorpe, was Jack’s special favorite, for she was a vivacious, intelligent little being, modest and virtuous and really charming to know. She was all alone in the world, her father, a circus Pon, having ‘recently died, while her mother ha died years before, of yellow fever. She was of Southern birth, and warm and im- pulsive of temperament, as most of the South- ern women are; then she was next to a marvel upon the trapeze and tight rope, and was equal- ly a good equestrian, dancer, singer and banjo- ist. Jack first found her performing in a concert garden, and perceiving that she was a good ‘card,” engaged her for a fair salary for the tenting season. He afterward learned her value as a modest and charming companion. Changing his name, Jack secured a full com- pany, and started upon the road by wagon, visiting such towns as had population enough to warrant a fair audience. Until May he kept among the lower States, where there was no cold weather, but met with indifferent success. In May, 1875, he rented out his menagerie to another party, and with a few tent-wagons horses and performers, pulled for Texas an the Far West. The towns were far apart, and sometimes a day was missed in which no show was given, but when they struck a town it was certain there would be a turnout, for the bordermen are lovers of a fine equestrian display, and a town of two thousand inhabitants was good for a two or three days’ stay, the receipts of each day averaging about alike. he company traveled fully equipped with arms, for they were traveling through a rough and lawless country, and knew not what minute they might be set upon and slaughtered. uring the days of traveling, the ladies and gentene of the company would practice at get shooting, and Jack and Lily Thorpe generally came » No trouble was encountered until the circus arrived in Sherman, Texas, which contains more ruffians to the square foot than any other town in the State. Then a fracas occurred, the results of which the company felt for a long time afterward. CHAPTER V. A TRIAL AT CIRCUS BUSINESS. THE show arrived about the middle of the forenoon, from the previous stand at EK] Corrale, and conductin Se ae ot Pe. troupe to rine rinci otel, Jack return superinten Anathdke athe dank gepucid. He found that although his agent had exten- sively billed the town and vicinity, the pros- were not large. _The people were general- y a rougher class than he had yet encountered, and not one ticket had been sold in advance. Arrived at the tent-grounds, where the men were busy in erecting a canvas of gigantic pro- portions, Jack found a gang of the town roughs already congregated, headed by one Big Con- nales, who literally bossed the town. A great overgrown fellow he was, with enormous head and limbs and a ere irth—a man with evil face and gleaming bloodshot eyes; with shaggy unkempt hair and stubbly bristling beard; one that no person would care to 1neet alone ina dark place was the Sherman giant. _ He was making a considerable noise, and a deal more of blow, and when he saw Jack, up to him he pranced, with a cut of the pigeon’s wing: “¢ Hello, you young rooster! I s’pect mebbe ye kin tell mé whar ’ll I find ther manager o’ this ere hippomenagerie. Jest wanter encounter im I do—wanter see an’ interview him on ther sublimest kind 0’ bizness, an’ don’t ye fergit it. Mebbe I know him, fer instance—mebbe I do fer I’m an old sarcus hoss, I am—a tted leopard, a ring-tailed babboon, an allygator an’ a baby elefant combined—you bet!” “ Well, sir, I am the one you want to see,” Jack replied, coolly. | “I’m the owner, director, manager, boss, and financial element of this show, and if you want anything of me, spit it out, and be lively about it.” “You ther prime factor o’ this sarcus!” the Texan giant d, in surprise—‘“you ther ro’ this show?’ Waal, now, I’ll be gum ‘blasted. re right ef I don’t believe ye’re . Ye cor- respond ter a capital dot wi’ ther description ther colonel give me, darned ef ye don’t.” “The colonel?” Jack interrogated, 2 ae NN “‘-Yas, ther colonel! Mebbe ye don’t know ther colonel, eh?” “Probably not.” ‘‘ Waal, J do, an’ ther colonel he knows me, and likewise do he knoweth you. An’ he sez to me, sez he: Connales, go down to the circus, an’ ef thet p’izen imp 0’ a proprietor don’t give ye the courtesies 0’ ther show, jest go ter work an’ tumble his shanty all ter tophet, an’ take abso- lute persession. An’ I reckon the old colonel’s head war purty level, pilgrim, when he uttered them words, an’ I reckon we're ther disciples 0’ his religion, we be, an’ we reckon in konclusion thet we’re a-goin’ ter take in the sarcus, free ratis, hey a kiss frum ther purtiest gal, and nce wi’ ther old clown, or bu’st up ther show. Thet’s ther doctrine preacheth I, Big Connales frum Corpus Christy. “ Karect!” Jack replied, bowing and turning away. He did not say more, for he had not as yet made up his mind which to do—let the gians and his pals in, or run the risk of a fight. His hands were all first-class men, for he had picked many of them upon the route. They were all to be depended on in a row. Big Connales hung around the grounds along with his men, and watched the mammoth tent go up with sullen impatience, The bottle was passed frequently between the gang, and evident it was that, they were gradu- ally ripening for a quarrel and a fight. “ Ain’t there no officers of the law in the town?” Jackson the tent boss asked of a bystand- er, when our young manager had told him the situation, ‘‘ Ain’t tharno sheriff, or constable, or police—{” “Reckon there’s a constable, som’eres,” the man replied, ‘‘ef he ain’t on a tear. This be his wy, fer gittin’ staven drunk, ye know.” fter the tent was up, Jack assembled the men, and made known to them the condition and prospect of affairs, and invited their, judg- ment—whether it was best to let the giant and his crowd in free, or run the risk of a ‘‘ fuss.” “Give the cuss a swack in the mouth, if he bothers you, an’ we’ll stand by ye,” said Dick Kerby, one of the leading ri ak among the men. “J reckon we allow no Texan galoots ter run this yere carryvan, ef I know it.’ And so it was arranged. The customary parade was given on the streets, but every member of the company was armed, and in readiness to resist any attack. It was customary for Little Jewel, or Lily Thorpe, to give a tight-rope ascension outside the tent, previous to the show, but Jack wisely cut this performance, for he had noticed during the yor that Big Connales had his evil gaze fixed on the charming artiste—that he was only bes for a chance to capture or assault her. The ticket wagon opened at one o’clock, and a few tickets were sold for the afternoon per- pita ces the total receipts not exceeding filty ollars. No row occurred, and Jack was hopeful that none would, but was doomed to be disappointed, for it came just after the evening performance had commenced. On being refused gratis admission to the show, the Texan giant had promptly purchased tickets for himself and companions, and had entered the tent. Closing the ticket wagon, Jack entered after them, for he now felt sure that the storm was aapenane. y moderate audience was assembled benesth the canvas, but were mostly plainsmen and settlers, but few women being present. Jack was glad of this, and sent several ushers to notify those that were present of an impend- ing row, so that they might have an opportunity to leave. Jack had calculated that the hostile demcn- stration would come when Little Jewel made her evening’s debut. The instant she came riding out into the ring upon her trained white horse, Big Connales ave a yell, and tossing his hat into the air, eaped toward the ring, followed simultaneously by a dozen of his pards. With corresponding promptness Jack’s full company, tent-hands and all, rushed from (Le dressing-room, with hand-arms of every ccn- ceivable pattern—then the crowd began 10 pour down from the lofty tiers of seats, firing and yelling as they came, On which side they were fighting, it was im- tory nid to determine, but their frying bullets d about as much damage to one party as the other. The ruffians and the tent-hands were by this time fighting like furies—the roar of fire- arms, the fe bs of the fighters and cf the wounded served to make a literal panda monium beneath the canves,
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Bravest and. most heroic of all stood Lily Thorpe upon her horse, firing right and left with her revolvers, and endeavoring to clear a passage to the dressing-tent. From a position near the Mots wey. Jack saw her wave her hand, and understood her message instantly. Running out of the tent, he drew his knife and cut every guy rope, then the cen- ter tackle rope, and down came the great spread of canvas with a rush upon the heads of the fighting, struggling mass of humanity. And that very act was the salvation of per- haps two thirds of those within, for when the canvas came down upon their heads, it attracted the attention of every ogee to his own safety —every man now sought his own escape, and in this way the battle ceased to wage. One one they cut their way out of the smothering prison, until all that were living had made their escape, by which time the canvas-top was literally slitted into ribbons. As soon as they emerged from under the can- vas, it began to rain furiously, which Jack con- sidered fortunate, for it drove those who had composed the audience to their own homes and saved any further disturbance. As soon. as he could he collected his men, and they partiully raised the tent, so that they could estimate the damage done. Big Connales and ten of his gang were either dead or upon bagi t el of dying—several of the audience were also killed, and, worst of all, three of the performers and five tent hands were dead, while nearly every one that remained had been more or less seriously injured in the fracas. Lily Thorpe had received a slight flesh wound, but declared that it did not incapacitate her for duty. Fuily believing, and perhaps correctly, that the to ple had been fighting against in- stead of for the show, Jack felt it was not safe to remain longer in the town, and ROO » selecting ten of his men who were yet able work, and also applying himself to the task, they began tearing down and pulling up. In two hours the sick and those who had belonged to the company that had met with death, were loaded into a box wagon and driven out upon the prairie, several miles from town, followed byt e rest of the wagons with the parapher- nalia. Here a camp was made, and pickets posted for the night. In the morning the dead were buried, and a eneral review of matters taken by Jack, who elt Rey dubious. Only two of his tumblers, and three of his equestrians and specialty performers were fit for service, and the stock of able tent hands was illy sufficient, but on consultation it was decid- ed to sew up the rips in the canvas, and struggle on at moderate stages. This was done, and three days later they exhibited in a town called Baosco, to $1,000 receipts. This. was the best done for many days, and Jack was hopeful that when they struck fur- ther north business would be better. Therefore he laid the route up through the Red river country and Indian Territory, into Colorado, which they penetrated, doing nearly every town of any importance in the State. 6 year’s anniversary of his struggle for a fortune he celebrated in Denver, by giving the mem of his company a banquet at one of the hotels, after the evening’s performance. Jack was now twenty years of age, and pro- bably his experience had been ter than that of any youthful sina in the United States if not in the world. On his second year’s anniversary he figured oP his profits and found that after having paid expenses, he was the possessor of six thousand dottars, in addition to the seven thousand he had invested in the lots at Dayton, and the cir- cus property. age The Peeuty was not quite satisfactory to him. At the rate of seven thousand and five hundred dollars a year, he perceived that it woul be impossible for him to make the sum of the mortgages in five years as he had hoped to do. Either he must ot ays up the hope of so large a realization, or must make money faster than he had been doing. After deliberation he conclud- ed that the former was the wisest policy. His incessant devotion to business for the last two years had worn upon him, a great deal, and he concluded that r the circus season was ended, he would rest for the winter. Although only twenty years of age, he looked five years older than that, which fact was pro- bably owing to his having raised a mustache and goatee, that any man of thirty might have been proud to possess, ; | and Cincinnati, an algoki Hey After leaving Denver, he branched eastward into Kansas, thence into Nebraska, Iowa, Min- nesota, and Wisconsin. In October he sold out his show to Kirby, one | of his employees, for five thousand dollars, and started for the t with twelve thousand dol- lars in his pocket. On the way he stop in re ah St. Louis deposited half of the | amount in different 3. With the rest he made for Philadelphia. | The approach of the Centennial induced him to | tarry there. In December he met and became acquainted with many DEORE citizens of the Quaker | city, through business intercourse in Third street, where he occasionally invested shrewdly in stocks and sold them to good advantage. In this way he managed to defra of his expenses, without breaking into his larger capi- tal As soon as the Centennial had fairly opened, he bought out fifteen huckster carts and outfits and hired trusty men to drive them, and sell ull kinds of truck in the streets. He then contracted with several Jersey and Maryland truck growers for their full supply of Vegpralise and green stuff, and also contracted with numerous hotels and boarding houses to furnish them with the same, including butter, eggs and fish. 7 ————e riage, and were whirled away into the old city, and to the police court, where Jack was | arraigned for wife desertion. ‘‘ Let the woman give in her testimony, backed by other testimony,” his. Honor said. ‘‘ This complaint of wife desertion is becoming quite too common.” Lillian Lorne was accordingly sworn, and in her testimony, stated that the defendent had | secretly marricd her, in. Lowell, two years before, and showed a marriage certificate in the handwriting of Mr. Boud, the Lowell rector. As further witness, she offered Mr. Thomas Tremaine, of Lowell. Tremaine testified that he had known of the marriage, by being present at its consummation, and recognized Jackson Bovis ie the legally wedded husband of the ti ‘“What have you to offer in defense, Mr. Hoyle, in relation to this?’ the judge inquired. ‘ Nothing, further than that the testimony of this precious pair is a square perjury. [demand that you retain them both in custody, and send to Lowell for the testimony of the Reverend Mr. Bond. He will, I am sure, disown the cer- tificate.” “Very well, sir. You are at liberty to go, under five hundred dollar bonds. The other a pe are bailable at one thousand dollars, each, Jack deposited the cash as security, and took hus he established a Reed business, which, as pea grees International Exhibition progressed, gradually increased, netting him a handsome profit without his having to expend much time or labor. To him the Centennial proved a profitable picasa and instructive period of his life, as i id to thousands of others. When not engaged in business, he spent his days within the eatin poring over the great treasures there to be seen, or dreaming away the hours in the shade of the park, watch- ing the vast crowds that surged to and fro like the white-capped waves far out upon the bosom of the restless ocean. ~ One evening while attending a representation of “Around the World,” at the Alhambra Theater, he saw a face among the many faces in the balcony tier, that looked familiar—a pale, haggard face, in which were set a poe of wild, n eyes, that glittered seemingly even more than the spangles upon the costumes of the bal- let girls, Tn vain did he at the face, but familiar though it looked, he failed to recognize the owner. The face and the eyes, however, haunted his dreams that night, and he could not forget it. The next day, as he was leaving the Centen- nial Art Gallery by the rear entrance, he came suddenly face to face with the same woman, who was accompanied by a well-known Phila- delphia detective. © moment the woman saw Jack, she threw up her arms, and uttered a shrill ery. “There he is! there he is—my runaway hus- band. Arrest hi uick, before he gets away,” she screamed, excitedly. And to Jack’s consternation and horror, the detective seized him firmly by the arm, and said: > Vo man, it is my duty to arrest you on the charge of willful desertion of your wife. You will have to come with me.” CHAPTER VI. JACK IN TROUBLE AND OUT—OFF TO THE BLACK HILLS. OF course Jack was surprised. He could not well be otherwise, since the woman was a stranger to him, and yet claimed him as her husband. “See here—hold on!” he exclaimed, as the detective was in the act of marching him off. ‘*T don’t know this woman—never was married to her—never was married. There is some mistake, here!” “Oh! I guess not,” the detective replied, good-naturedly. ‘‘ I’ve known of several such cases, before. If you will be so kind as to ac- company me to the outside inclosure, you can hire a carriage down to the Central, if you choose.” “ But tellme who is this woman—this accursed impostor?” Jack replied, hotly. “Tam 3ke that was Lillian Lorne—she whom you secretly married, because you were a beg- gar, and then deserted,” « ‘It’s a confounded lie—a plot to ruin me!” Jack nies on, man!” The detective and Jack walked side by side out of the Centennial grounds, the woman fol- lowing close behind. Outside of the inclosure they entered a car- his departure, while Tom Tremaine and Lillian Lorne were committed, in default of the re- quired bail. Jack at once telegraphed to Lowell to Mr. Bond, but presently received the answer that the reverend gentleman and his daughter had gone to the Centennial. Accordingly he again repaired to the Centen nial grounds, and in Machinery Hall, near the great Corliss engine, he ran suddenly across the rector and his charming daughter, Bessie, For Bessie had increased in loveliness—was an exquisitely graceful girl, with fair face and rich hair, and eyes of fascinating magnetism. That she had lost none of her sweetness of temper was evident by the affection she vouch- safed the rector, who was growing well on in years. “Ah! my son,” he said, grasping Jack by one hand, while Bessie claimed the possession of the other, “ we are glad to see you. We were won- dering if we should meet you here.” ““AndTam equally glad to meet you both,” Jack replied, joyfully. ‘I have not sought for many friends and acquaintances, and conse- quently have not found many. And as Iam in need of friends, you are the very ones T want, I want a little news from Lowell,” ** Ah! then, despite all your roving, your heart often turns back to your native town, eh?” ‘Indeed it does. But the news I now seek is not outof idle curiosity, but is to help me defend myself against an untrue charge.” ‘Ah! Out with your questions, and those that I can not answer, perhaps Bessie can,” the rector said, pleasantly. “Well, I want to know first of all, if you know what has become of Lillian Lorne and Pom Tremaine?” ‘No; we know nothing of them, except that they were said to have eloped together, a short time before Mr. Lorne became bankrupt, which happened a year s2? Ah! eloped, eh? What became of Addison Tremaine?” ‘* He disposed of every thing he had, and fled for the Black Hills, to escape being arrested, by one Hunter, for embezzling your father’s property. Hunter, I have learned, went on in pursuit.” “Good! I trust he will work out the reward I offered him. One more oe did you, Mr. Bond, ever marry me to Lillian Lorne, or issue a certificate of such a marriage?” “Tndeed, no! why do you ask such'a ques- tion?” the réctor demanded, in great surprise. “T will lain,” Jack said, and accordingly he related the facts concerning his arrest, and Lillian Lorne’s charge. “It’s a base plot between the girl and young Tremaine to extort money from you,” the rector said, indignantly. But, never fear, I will free you, and let them feel the full rigor of justice.” The next day J ack and the rector went beforo the judge, and matters were satisfactorily ar- ranged, and an order was issued for the re- arrest of Tremaine and Lillian Lorne, who had a short time before been released on bail. But they could not be found, and it was evident that they had taken a hint left the city. The Bonds and Jack were much together dur- tion, in time, and ing the next month, and ‘‘did” the
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; i] i] i i ! f 2 ae 8 a ee Se Jack Hoyle. Derenehes with much mutual pleasure and ro The intimacy between sweet Bessie and Jack gradually ripened into love, and when they again parted, the charming little maiden wore an elegant engagement ring, the gift of Jack, who was to come to her and claim her as his bride, at the end of three years more. The third anniversary of his ‘‘ banishment from Lowell,” as he termed it, he spent in the Centennial grounds, it occurring on memorable re day. And it was the last day he spent in Pennsyl- vania, for the next day he started for the Black Hills, having caught the then prevailing fever. His summer at the Centennial had not turned out so badly, for he had cleared a thousand oa and expenses out of his huckster specu- ion. On his way West he stopped at Dayton, and wold his lots for a slight advance on the price which he had given; he then visited Cincinnati, Chicago and St. Louis, and withdrew the amounts he had deposited; and when he arrived in Cheyenne, he found himself the possessor of about twenty thousand dollars in cash. vee hae pee gg ee his wealth ef an great, for he dressed quite plainly, and nde no pretensions. : 4 He carried his mceey in an old sachel, with the exception of what he needed for traveling — This he kept in a little leathern va- About this time, the depredations of road- agents between Cheyenne and Deadwood were everyday occurrences, and travelers all went well armed. But arms seldom availed them, for no stage went through without being stopped by one or more gangs of the knights of the trail, and those who had money always had to ‘cash up. Being something of an actor, himself, Jack hit upon a happy expedient, by disguising himself as an old preacher. Near Red Canyon their stage was promptly halted by the road-agents, and the mens were commanded to hand over their valuables in the shortest possible order. Jack immediately dropped coe his knees in the coach, as if to pray, but when nudged with the muzzle of a revolver, he handed over both his valise and the sachel. “There, most noble sir, is all I have—my money is in the valise, and my shirts and dirty socks in the sachel. Take them in welcome, but aoace my life!” he said. “Who in blazes wants yer dirty socks?” the “‘ coHector ” growled, hurling the superannuated sachel back into the coach. ‘The rhino’s what we want, I opine!” And thus, as Jack had calculated, he fooled them, there being only about fifteen dollars in the valise, while the sachel contained nearly twenty thousand dollars. Many of the passengers gave up all “e's had, the sums gating over a thousand dollars, and when the road robbers had got all they could they rode off in triumph. The stage arrived in Deadwood without fur- ther molestation, and Jack counted himself lucky that he had eo through the mountain traps without losing his ‘pile.’ Instead of stopping long in the town, which was full to overflowing with all classes of humanity, he soon adopted another plan. In his rambles among the neighboring mount- ains he had stumbled upon the entrance toa singular cave in the side of the mountain, and ups exploring further, he found it to be a sort of honeycomb of subterranean passages, the one main chamber having low, narrow, tunnel-like exits that branched off in different directions. Jack at once resolved to take up his quarters in the cave, and prospect in the vicinity for | gold and game. He accordingly purchased a patk-mule and “packed” up a number of articles from the mining metropolis, which nestled below in the gulch, four hundred rods or more. Among other things he procured himself a ‘ull hunting outfit, a hound, some camp-stools and cooking utensils, a bed, a pick, shovel, and n and es, and a moderate stock of grocer- s, and found himself prepared for life in the By the time he got things arranged in the eave to his suiting, it had a home-like and cheer- ful appearance, and he was satisfied that he could stand it as an abode for awhile, at least, unless the grizzlies should make it too warm for him. Among the first of his jobs was the one of burying his money, where no one could find it, as he did not care to carry so large asum about his person. To find a secure hiding-place in the great mountain honeycomb was a matter of but small importance, for there were many alcoves and fissures where a searcher would never think of penetrating ia quest of treasure. After arranging all at his new home, Jack | went out with his rifle and hound, and rambled daily over the mountains, sometimes bagging | some game, and occasionally bringing in a grain | of gold which he would wash out from some | rivulet. But as yet he had struck no mine, and had | made nothing to pay him for his coming. In Deadwood he saw little or no chance for investment, and he had about made up his mind to return tward, when something occurred to change his mind, and cause him to resolve to | remain longer in his quarters. One night he was visited by a strange dream Phy ir to him, because he seldom dreamed at a In the dream he found himself sleeping as usual in the cavern, when suddenly he became conscious of the presence of somebody, and | opened his eyes to find a beautiful Indian girl standing in front of him, holding in her hands a banner, upon which was inscribed in letters of | fire, the word “Gold!” The banner she waved several times to and fro; then pointed toward one of the many inter-mountain fissures, and suddenly disappeared as if by dissolving into at- mosphere. 4 This was the dream, or what Jack supposed | was a dream, its naturalness and reality causing | him to believe sometimes that he had not been asleep at all, but had really seen the visitation. What further caused him to give credence to this belief, was the fact that, when he awoke in the morning, he found foot-tracks upon the dusty floor of the cavern, which were not his own, but were such as might have been made by the pret- ty moceasined foot of the Indian maiden he fancied he had seen. At any rate, Jack’s interest was fully aroused, and he resolved to remain long enough to ferret out the mystery of the cave. The next day he <e again in hunting and prospecting, but wit r success. On his return to the cave, he was a little surprised to find it occupied by a stranger, who was seated before the fire, smoking a pipe, and engaged in roasting a piece of venison, which emitted a savory odor. A queer-looking customer he was, with a fat squatty form, clad in greasy buckskin that had evidently seen much service, and a face that was wrinkled and furrowed, and bristled to the eyes with a stubble of gray beard. The eyes | were small and twinkling, and emitted a strange fiery ae the nose was hooked, and the mouth large. In the belt about his waist he sported six re- volvers, an equal number of bunting knives, a asso, and ammunition, while on the floor at his side lay a long rifle. He looked up as Jack entered, nodded, and turned his attention to roasting the meat. * Hello, neighbor!” Jack saluted, not knowing what to make of the situation. ‘‘ I reckon you’re in the wrong pew, ain’t you?” ‘¢ Waal, I ruther gus not,” the man at the fire | replied, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, and without looking around, “But, I rather guess that you are,” Jack averred. ‘I believe I’m the proprietor of this hotel, if I know myself.” ““Ye do, eh?” laconically. “Yes, Ido.” ‘‘ Mebbe you can lick me, then,” the intruder observed, wheeling around on the stool, and gazing at Jack with his fiery little eyes. “I don’t know as I made any boast to that effect, sir!” “Oh! ye didn’t, eh? Well, then shet up. When a man ken’t lick me in a fair up an’ down scrimmage, I allow I assume absolute possession til I git ready ter puckachee. I allus drops in wharever night overtakes me, an’ ef I find ther folks sociable, like, I allus mak’ ’em feel perfect} ter home; but ef they go fer ter tryin’ ter bull- doze me, I generally boot ’em out, an make things howl. I warn’t brought up in ther woods ter be skeart out by an owl, young feller—I warn’t, an’ ef ye approach me kinder gently an’ zephyr-like, an’ don’ go ter perigrinatin’ off onter yer ear, I opine I'll sheer wi’ ye, seein’s how you ain’t a -lukin’ chap; but ef ye want fer ter claim ther boss-ship o’ this leetle shebang, T'll allow et will be healthiest fer you ter seek a more salubrious climate, an’ don’t ye fergit et, 7 I’m bizness clean to the backbone you ! CHAPTER VIL JACK’S NEW PARD. Anp having delivered himself of this eccen- tric speech, the individual turned around to- Miter the fire, again, and began’ roasting his meat, At first Jack was provoked, and had a notion to throw the illiterate stranger out—that is, if he was capable of so doing, which was a thing he was not certain about. But upon more mature deliberation, he con- | cluded that his best policy was not to have any , fuss with the chap, whose appearance seemed to indicate that he was ready for a fight ata moment’s notice. This Jack did not care to venture, knowing nothing of the prowess of the stranger, who might be the veriest coward, or a match for any half-dozen ordinary men. “Well, I expect I'd better take up with what I can get, rather than to go without anything,” he said, setting down his traps and approaching the fire. ‘‘ You are the cheekiest galoot 1 ever saw, at any rate.” “Cheek? Waal, now, look a-lyar, young pilgrim, mebbe if you had b’iled around the mines fer nigh about ten yeers, an’ fit fer yer rights at every p’int, yea be cheeky too, Efye don’t believe my philosophy, why jest go and try it. Oh! I’ve been thru ther mill, and found out that ther world’s a humbug!” ‘* And all the people in it,” Jack replied, with a laugh. “By the way, since we are to ke. room-mates, give us your handle, and your biz.” “Sartin, young felier, I allus leevemy name —should hev registered, only I couldn’t find no book. My handle is Revolver Jake, ef ther oid court knows herself, an’ then ag’in sumo’ tl er pare call me Old Firefly, on account 0’ my amb-like disposition, _ As to my biz, that’s none o’ yer biz, ner anybody else’s biz, 1 allow, though ye can ginerally find me around, some- ‘eres, when, thar’s a fight goin’ on. Now dis- charge yer cargo.” “Well, my name is Jack Hoyle, and I’m a kind of adventurer, in a modest way. _I picked up this cave for a dwelling and found cooking my own grub preferable to the hash they sling out, down in Deadwood,” “Jest my fix, perzactly,” the old man chuck- led, grimly—‘‘ jest my fix Peay an’ bein’s we agree on thet p’int, grab yer knife and help yerself ter this venison, which is ready fer dis- section.” Jack readily obeyed, and found that the roasting process had been skillfully accomplish- ed, for the meat was a marvel of sweetness and juiciness. ‘**T reckon you’ve been cook before,” Jack re- marked, admiringly. ‘‘ You excel a hotel cook. in the roasting line.” “Great jim-cracks! I reckon I orter be wuth: sumthin’, arter all the haunches I’ve roasted.. Say, young feller, @’ye know ther report about: this yere cavern? “Indeed I do not.. I was not aware that any one knew of its existence, except myself, until found you here.” “Ho! ho! I reckon you ain’t ther first. pilgrim as has been heer. An’ youre ther {ust chap as hes stayed ther second night, This yere cave war diskivered about a year ago, by a pard o’ mine, an’ when we found him hes carkass war gone, but his head sat perched up on yonder rock, a-grinnin’ at us like all creation!” “*Murdered!” Jack gasped, glancing around, apprehensively. ‘I reckon,” Old Firefly replied, munching quietly away at his meat. “Waal, next cum another feller frum ther States, an’ he sed as how he wasn’t afeard ter stay hyar, but he cum back ter town ther next mornin’ minus his scalp, an’ we couldn’t never git a word out o’ him as to how he lost et, Severial other pilgrims has bin heer, too, but one night satisfied em. They sed they see’d speerits, an’ Satan knows what all, an’ ye couldn’t a-hired ‘em ter cum back hyar, ef ye was ter give’ema good layout in pure nuggets.” ‘““Pshaw! I’ve never seenanything that look- ed worse than you or I, and we ain’t to be fear- ed,” Jack replied, laughing. ‘““hose fellers war arrant cowards, or else they lied, then,” the scant muttered. ‘‘ Down ter Deadwood they cackylate you must hev heaps 0’ grit ter continny livin’ hyar.”__ “Well, if I have grit, | baven’t manifested it yet, for | have not been hwunted by spirits of any kind. The only thing that has puzzled me since I have been here, is the dream I had last night, in which I Shoveht that a young Indian girl came and stood before me, and held a ban- ner for me to look at on which was printed the word, ‘Gold.’ After I awoke I found small foot.
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rints, and it appeared to me that there had be some one in the cave while I was asleep, at least.” Old Firefly nodded his head, “Yes! yes!” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders—‘“‘ yes! yes! sr lad. Twixt you an’ me there’s a good many things about ther caves thet ar’ mighty strange. An’ I opine you an’ I ar’ ther very condemned couple ter tackle ther case, an’ inwestigate tier mystery. What do you say, now?” “Tm agreed. Anything honest, for money or adventure, suits me, a capital dot,” Jac replied. ‘ Ti go in halves with ye in all the fortunes we find.” * All right. I’m goin’ ter turn in fer ther night, an’ you can foller suit, when ye git ready,” and Old aay alias Revolver Jake rolled himself up in a blanket, near the fire, and his loud breathing soon proclaimed him to be asleep. Then Jack went out through the cavern entrance for a breath of pure air, for that within the rocky chamber was thick and damp. Outside the air was clear and sweet, for it was now in the latter part of October, and the cold weather was rapidly drawing on in the north- ern regions. The night was a beautiful one; the sky was cloudless, and the moon and stars shone with dazzling brightness, casting a whitish illumina- tion over the ey Far below lay the little mining metropolis of Deadwood, basking in the moon’s dreamy radi- ance; the shops, saloons and dance-houses were still open and strains of music and revelry came floating up the mountain side. People were swarming in the long main street, and hurryin to and fro, their shouts and halloas faintly audi- ble to the young hermit. “I wonder why it is that I feel nervous, to-night?” he thought, pacing to and fro along a little ledge that ran in front of the cavern entrance. ‘‘Something warns me of impendin danger, though I know not what. Perhaps am sheltering a foe, in there, but he seems all right, and I cannot quite believe that he is a fraud. Ah! what was that?” A wna hg, Fe stealthy one, too. Stepping ack into a shadow, he gazed keenl around him, and soon made out a figure descend- ing the mountain side, a short distance below where he was standing—the trim figure of a ound maiden, clad in a gombon a costume of ringed, tanned buckskin, consisting of a short skirt and waist, leggings and mantle, and a jaunty pink silk Gee ; Her face he could not see, but he involuntarily ronounced it a handsome one, from the fact hat her form was graceful. “T wonder who it is, and what she was doing up here,” he muttered, as he gazed after her. ‘Perhaps she is the same one that visited me in my dreams.” : lie returned to the cavern and threw himself upon the straw mattress that composed his bed. Old Firefly was snoring loudly, and feeling at ease so far as he was concerned, Jack soon drop- ped off into a sound, refreshing sleep. When he awoke, it was with a slight start. Somebody was mo about the cavern, in a cautious manner, and that somebody he soon made out to be Old Firefly. § perfectly quiet, Jack watched him narrowly, with a great anxiety to know what nthe: of he ped with a lighted e old man was equip with a torch, and appeared to be aver in every part, using the greatest care in his movements, as if afraid of arousing a sound. First one crevice in the rocky wall he peered into, and then another, as if in search of some- thing, which he did not appear to find, as he oceasionally gave vent to a grunt of dissatis- action. Jack had but little doubt now, but what the old chap had in some way learned of his moneyed possession, and was making a search for the place where he had hidden it. At first he was tempted to shoot him on: the spot, but on further thought he resolved to let him go ahead, and if he found it, it would be time enough, then. In the meantime he would watch him, and hold himself in readiness for the eure dng f For more than an hour did Old Firefly con- tinue the search, and then, ap paigi | disgusted he thrust the torch into the fire, and prepared to again roll himself in his blanket. * t was you hunting for, so long?” Jack asked, rising up on his elbow, The old man started visibly, and turned square around as he heard the voice. “You awake?’ he grunted. “ Why didn’t you get up and help me?” © exploring the cavern. ‘** You had a dream, eh?” ‘*Nary a time. Isee’d the critter wi’ my eyes socked clean open.” ‘* What did she look like?” ** You described her karect. She luked like an Indian princess, an’ I reckon thar wern’t no doubt about her bein’ cl’ar Injun.” ‘Did she come in here?” *Yas—she waltzed right in wi’out sayin’ nothin’ ter pope an’ when I made a lunge at ) her, she slid off like chain-lightnin’ on a greased track.” “Strange! I should like to capture this noc- turnal visitant,” Jack said, as he turned over in his blanket, and made pretense of going to sleep. But no sleep visited his eyes again that night for his suspicions were aroused against the old man, whoever he might be. Certain was Jack that he had not been searching for any Indiana girl, at all, but instead, he had been searchin or the secreted money, and resolved was Jac to watch him sharply, and shoot him if he found him guilty of the suspected bet oe On the following morning Old Firefly was grim and uncommunicative, and after the morning meal announced his intention of going for a hunt. Jack concluded not to Stogyipeuy him, but resolved to remain and thoroughly explore the many intricate passages leading off from the main cavern into the bowels of the mountains. After Old Firefly had gone, he armed himself, and went out upon the mountain for pine fag- gots for torches. Securing several suitable for the purpose he returned to the cavern, and dur- ing the day explored several of the passages, with the result of finding that they all ended abruptly in the bowels of the mountains. When night drew on, 5 that Old Firefly had not returned, he resolved to descend the mountain to Deadwood to make a few pur- chases. So he clambered down to the gulch bottom and mingled with the restless crowd that sur in the long main street. During the evening he cay Sg into the Mon- itor gambling saloon, to watch the games, for although he had not played a game in the last ie se he was fond of watching others who i y: The saloon was moderately filled with all classes and ages of men, from the bloated capi- talist, to the veriest ruffian and bullwhacker and from the beardless boy to the white-haired septuagenarian—men of rough and men of pol- ished appearance—men who were scrupulous and men who were unscrupulous—a strange heterogeneous mass to be seen in no other town on the face of the globe. Men were here who gambled as a profession, and fleeced right and left, while others were there who only played occasionally, and then played a “square” game—it may be said, to heir cost, for they xerely, if ever, won. On entering the room, Jack’s attention was at- tracted to an old white-haired man, who walked upon crutches, and whose beard reached to his eyes. He was well-dressed, and appeared to be a person who had spent a life of ease, for what of his face could be seen was not wrinkled, but was smooth and fresh. He was accompanied by another man, with an equal amount of beard of a brown hue, and his dress also indicated a man of wealth. Both men drank often at the bar, and were the observed of all observers. Unknown to Jack these men both eyed him narrowly, and exchanged words in a low tone coppeentng him. : ile Jack was watching a eof poker, che old man hobbled in front of him, and also ap to be an interested watcher. n the meantime Jack was unaware that in a momen crowd in his rear, the man with the brown whiskers passed behind him, and slipped something into the capacious pockets of the blouse he wore. Perhaps nobody in the room noticed the act, nor would it have been known had it not been a link in a plot, of which Jack Hoyle was to be ea ddenl peared e old man su y ap to cited, and thrusting his hand tow pocket, he cried: “Tl bet a thousand dollars—” Then suddenly he looked surprised, and began to look upon the floor, Ww ex- his hip a oe ene, 9 ‘By Heaven! I have been robbed!” he ejacu- lated, wildly—‘T have been robbed of fifty dol. lars which | had in my hip pocket!” Instant excitement ensued, and according to the rules of the establishment the docrs were promptly closed and locked, to prevent the cul- prit from escaping. “‘T had the money there but a moment ago!” the old man declared, ‘‘ and some person imme- diately in my rear must have stolen it.” ‘* Here’s a chap that stood suspiciously close to ou,” the brown-whiskered man said, pointing Jack, ‘‘and if I mistake not he’s the same chap we saw arrested down in Cheyenne for picking pockets. It won’t be any harm to patch bite a Gentlemen, will some of you assist me ' And the speaker stepped forward toward Jack, a sinister gleam in his dark eyes. In that same second Jack recognized the man, CHAPTER VIII. WOLVES SHOW THEIR FANGS, Yus, recognized him, beneath all his bewhisk- - ered disguise, as Tom Tremaine. “Step back!” he cried, attempting to draw a revolver; but in this he was foiled, for a dozen pair of hands seized him, and held him as in the grip of a vise, and Tremaine made a hasty ex- amination of his kets. ““T told you!” he exclaimed, a moment later, as he had held up two rolls of bills which he himself slipped into Jack’s blouse pockets. ‘‘Here’s the money, just as the culprit stole . “T did not . it.” “You lie!” Jack cried, hotly. steal the money, nor did I put it in my pockets, Somebody has played me an infernal trick.” ‘Ah! that won’t work, m of the town replied. “Ef ye warn’t caught with the stuff on ye, it would be 0’ some use to talk, but as it is, l opine you’re in a fair way to stretch hemp!” ‘“Yes! yes! hang him, the rascal!” the old gray-beard cried, savagely. ‘‘Hang him at once, and I'll pay the damage.” ‘So will I,” Tom Tremaine declared, a y. ‘*Make an example of the chap by instituting a first class lynch pic-nic.” “Sorry ter say we can’t obleege ye, gents,” the sheriff replied. ‘‘ Thet ain’t my style o’ doin’ bizness, ye see. The galoot’s got ter hev a trial, afore we can boost ’im.” “Then, I subpoena every man in the room as witness that the pickpocket was caught with my money in his possession!” the man of the. ray beard cried, “Oh! there will be no trouble of making a clear case of it,” Tom Tremaine declared, exult- ingly. ‘‘ Say, sheriff, when shall we have the: pleasure of witnessing his antics in the air?” ‘When he is convicted,” the sheriff replied, tartly. ‘‘The trial will take place to-morrow.” ‘Eh? d’ye hear, you light-fingered monkey?” the younger man cried, dancing up to Jack, and shaking his fist close to his nose—‘‘do ai "amend that you’ve picked your last et “You have pinged your cards well, Tom Tre- maine!” Jack retorted, coolly, ‘but you won’t win, nevertheless. Villainy may pro for a time, but not always. If ever I get loose, you shall have a chance to test the strength of my arm. ‘But you won’t get loose, and consequently I don’t stand in the least fear of you! Off with him, sheriff, to the jail.” The officer obeyed, by handcuffing Jack, and marching him out of the saloon. Down the main street they went, followed by a portion of the crowd who could not resist the temptation of escorting the prisoner to the jail. The sheriff, whose name was Mackintosh, showed Jack to a strong cell, and removed the handcuffs from his wrists. “No use o’ your wearin’ cuffs when ye ain’t out in society,” he said, with a grim chuckle. “T reckon ye can’t dig out o’ ther coop.” ‘Nor shall I try,” Jack replied. “Bee here sheriff, give me your candid opinion in this matter. Can they hang a fellow on suspicion! ‘* Waal, I reckon they do, sometimes.’ *‘ And you think they will hang me on what evidence they have got?” “T opine thet will be ther ultimatum result. Ye see, these Deadwoodites ain’t got no purtick- ler luv fer a pickpocket or a hoss-thief!” ‘‘ But I am not a pickpocket. An infernal trick has been played upon me by this man Tremaine, who is my enemy of old. It was he, no doubt, who slipped the money into my pocket, in order to secure my arrest, and thereby satisfy his ap- petite for revenge.’ ““Mebbe ye’re right, if so be you’re honest. friend,” the sheriff ©
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ee aan ane eS ef ye git a chance to scoot,,take my advice and slide out.” And with this comforting advice, the sheriff of Deadwood’s magic city slid out yixgself, leav- ‘ing Jack to the solitude of his rude and cheerless \prison cell, which was gloomy and dismal. His situation was anything but pleasing, and ‘the prospect thereof anything but inviting. ile realized that he was in a tight place, ana | ‘that he was in the hands of foes who would be , unrelenting. That the companion of Tom Tremaine was his father, in disguise, Jack had no doubt, and he knew that the two coupled together were as strong a pair of arrant knaves as ever lived. That he would stand but little show at the coming trial was only too evident, and convic- oe in this rough city of the Black Hills, meant eath. ~ Through all the long night he sat and ponder- ed over his situation, and endeavored to con- ceive a way. out of his dilemma, but utterly failed, and at last sunk into a troubled slumber, ‘from which he did not awake until nearly noon. Mackintosh brought him in some crackers and a mug of beer, at noon, and then retired, with- out pee. ' Shortly after dinner hour, Tom Tremaine and the y-haired personage of the crutches, were admitted to the cell, the sheriff locking them in and retiring. Jack was lying stretched out upon his cot, but made no motion to rise. ‘You seem to be taking matters coolly enough,” Tom Tremaine growled, evidently nem 9 ern not to find him agitated. ‘One would naturally suppose you would be engaged in prayer. » I pray when I desire—not at the option of others,” Jack replied. ‘“ What brings you and | your evil father here, Tom Tremaine?” _ “My father?’ the younger man said, as if | surprised. “Yes, your father—that old son of a sea-cook | behind you, with the false hair and whiskers — | the runaway bank robber, whom Harry Hunter | wants to see. Oh! it’s no use to feign surprise, or to attempt to deceive me.” ‘Well, then, if you already know us, we | shall need no introduction,” the Lowell ex- | broker said, removing the long false white beard from his tace, and smiling darkly. ‘You must have a keen perception to have penetrated | so clever a disguise.” “‘T recognized your blockhead of a son, here, | and so guessed at your identity,” Jack an- | swered, “Well, laying aside jokes, we’ve got you in | a nice fix, haven’t we, now?’ “Very likely. ll give you credit for your skill in villainy.” “Which we proudly accept, my dear Hoyle. You always were profuse with your compli- ments. By the way, how do you like the idea of trying on Judge Lynch’s new style of Picca- dilly citar warranted to fit any neck?’ ““T am not afraid to hang,” Jack replied with coolness, resolved not to betray any sign of anxiety or fear in their presence. “You will change your mind, when your wind begins to fail. ‘‘ Not in the least; and when I get to the end of my journey, I shall telephone down to you how e my situation.” ‘Bah! talk is easy,” Tremaine said. ‘‘ We know that you desire to live, and therefore we pro; to make terms with you.” “Make terms?” Jack echoed. “Ay, make terms. You have money, and’can ‘well ord to purchase your liberty. In con- , sideration of the twenty thousand dollars you _— ——— “ere away, w® 0 Pod a .draw our charge, and give you your liber “* Indeed! Wil ou really do all this?’ ‘* Yes, upon our moe as gentlemen.” “How accommodating you are!” Jack | ‘said, with biting sarcasm. ‘‘I marvel that you | ran stand up under so magnanimous an offer, My great respect for you, however, prevents me taking advantage of your generosity.” Af ines you refuse?” “Most emphatically!” “Then give us ten thousand.” “1 am sorry to decline.” “You se eo will give five, then, rather ‘than to Z. “T certainly will not!” “You are foolish. How much will you give? | ‘Your life is certainly worth something to you.” | “T will not give you one cent, nor a fraction ofacent. If you came here with a view to make money out of me, you will find yourselves sadly at fault. Rather than let you triumph | outer door of the | lease, and a chance to make money. | pale-face Jack Hoyle. mee | But et would be hard to.prove sech a thing, an’ | over me in this manner, I would die a thousand deaths!” The two Tremaines looked at each other. Plain it was that Jack had balked their little game. “Well, if Ph will be so stubborn, we can not help you, and you must die the ignominious death of a dhief. I am sorry, for your father was my dearest friend. Nadia oe if I stay the proceed- ings, you will yet conclude to come down, liber- ally. “ Don’t entertain so vain a hope, I cei ag you,” Jack exclaimed, “for you will surely isap- pointed.” ‘“‘Curse you! You talk brave now, but you | will change your tune when the halter is placed around your neck!” Tom Tremaine sneered. “Come, daddy, there’s no use arguing with a stubborn mule.” “No more there is, but the mule shall die, and we will i possession of his money besides!” the elder villain growled as he followed his son from the cell, which Mackintosh had come to unlock. After they had gone, Jack rolled over on his couch, and reviewed the situation. ‘Perhaps I was foolish not to make terms with them,” he mused, ‘‘but my grit wouldn’t allow it. Curse them! Even though they des- troy me they shall not triumph in the possession of my money.” In the meantime the day passed, and the night came on, apace. When at last it grew dark, Jack’s wonder increased, for, as yet, no sheriff had appeared to lead him out to the scaffold, which was to be a oa of the programme. hat was the cause of the delay, he could not imagine, unless, as they had proposed, the Tremaines had stayed the proceedings, in ex- pectation that at the last moment Jack would come to their terms. About ten o’clock in the evening he heard the jail softly close, and hile the door of his cell as softly opened admit | some person whom he could not see, on account of the darkness. In a moment, however, a bull’s-eye lantern supplied sufficient light for him to see who his visitor was, and his astonishment knew no | bounds when he beheld standing before him the vision of his dream. dainty little feet. A slouch hat of white felt was worn upon her head, the hair of which was the color of the raven’s wing, and fell in profusion over her shoulders. Her features were well-chiseled, with eyes of jetty black, a mouth of firm yet pleasant ex- pression, teeth of pearly whiteness, and a com- plexion of nut brown. Taken asa whole she was remarkably pretty, her features being round and classical, rather than flat, like the usual features of the Indian race. Jack’s rise was so great that he could not 8 but this was not the case with the girl. “The Americano is surprised,” she said, in- terpreting his silence. ‘‘ Let him not fear, for I am Wild Flower, of the Sioux nation, and at with the pale-faces. The pale-face miners call me Wild Jo; the prisoner may do the same, for there’s nothing in a name.” ‘*Evidertly not, out in this wild region,” Jack confessed. “What can Ido for you, miss?” “ Nothing. It is I who have come to do for gou. Ieome from my father, who is the king of the mountains, and I come to offer you a re- Will the prisoner come to the Locked Valley, with Jo? ‘To the Locked Valley?” “ Ay—to the home of the king of the mount- ains, who wants to see you. He is getting old and no longer can see to read or write, and when Jo told him of the pale-face hermit, he was pleased, and said, ‘Bring him hither, and Onoboko will make him a great man,’ ” Jack gave vent to a little whistle of astonish- ment. , Here was something that savored of the fairy tale, and he was in the presence of a being ap- ntly from unknown realms. What to make of it, he did not know. If he should agree to follow this Indian girl, might he not be venturing literally out of the frying- into the fire? At any rate, his chances of es- caping death could not be any worse, among the Indians, ‘“« Where do you live, and how many are there _—— in your family?” he asked, determined to know all he could, first. ‘“‘Onoboko and Jo are alone of one family, but they have many servants, and live in much grander. Will the pale-face come? After he as visited the mountain king, and received much gold, he can return to Sis people, if he does not like it in the Locked Valley. Will he go with Wild Flower to her home?” “Yes, I will go, providin: I can get out of my present quarters.” ‘*'Then, let the pale tae remain here until an hour before daybreak, when the night is the darkest; then Jo will come for him,” the Indian | irl said, and turning, she left the cell, locking | e door behind her. 4 Jack listened until he heard her leave the jail, then he threw himself back upon his cot, re- solved to catch a few hours of sleep. He had not slept long, however, when he was aroused to find the cell filled with aekihinie be- whiskered men, who wore long black cloaks, and masks upon their faces—men who were | armed to their teeth, and as fierce-looking as proverbial brigands. “Come, young feller, git up and dust yerself,” the leader said, handing Jack his hat. ‘‘ Keep yer mouth shut, too, if, you don’t want your hrottle shut off.” ‘““Who are you, and what do you want?” Jack demanded, surprised at the strange aspect of affairs. “Well, I reckon we’re what they call road- agents, up in this kentry, an’ I, Capt’in Pete Porkypine, am ther prime factor. e want, ye ter go’long wi’ us ona visit, up ter our leetle stronghold, ef ye ain’t got no objections!” CHAPTER IX. JACK SHOWS HIS HAND. “WeLL, I suppose there isn’t any carthly use of refusing, when you hold the biggest hand,” Jack replied. “I want you to answer me one ein Sete however: have the Tremaines any- thing to do with this abduction?” . me no questions, young feller, and I'll tell ye no lies,” the captain suggested, with a chuckle, which convinced Jack that he had not guessed far from the truth, Jack’s arms and wrists were now bound; then he was led from the jail and placed upona horse, a number of which were standing near by in the charge of another road-agent. The remainder of the outlaws then mounted and filed slowly ww through the quiet main street, which was deserted at this hour of the night. The horses feet were muffled; neverthe- less the road-agents held their rifles in readiness to repel an attack, should one come, It did not come, however, and they rode safe- ly out of town with their prisoner. Jack was not blindfolded; consequently he took good care to notice all the points o route they traversed. After leaving the town the road-agents rode Md Whitewo ch to its intersection with ugget gulch, which they entered, and followed for many miles, until it ended abruptly in the face of a huge mountain. A tunnel-mouthed entrance to a mine had been worked into the base of the mountain, and Jack concluded they had about reached their destina- tion, but found that he was mistaken, when they began to work their way around the base of the mountain through a rugged and narrow path. Until daylight they continued around the mountain, when they at last arrived in a con- tinuation of the valley, which was_ timbered with a scattered collection of dead hemlocks, oe contained a large pond of stagnant, slimy water. Near the edge of that pond was a yard of con- siderable extent, fenced with long slabs which ae been split by hand and set up perpendicu- S°P ows rly. Inside this inclosure were a large number of little shanties, sheds and pens, some of the latter evidently containing wild animals, judging by Riding inside the incl th ‘Riding inside the inclosure, the road-agents dismounted, and assisted Jack to follow Their ip “Ye kin foller me, young feller,” the captain said, leading the way toward the largest cabin of the lot. ‘‘ Thar’s no use fer ter to escape, ‘fer I’ve a pair 0’ bloodhounds who’d hunt ye up, an’ dissect yer carcass in a jiffy.” Believing it PoHcy. to obey, Jack followed the captain into his stronghold, which was rudely furnished, and had anything but a cheerful ap- poaranee nor did he when he saw Tom maine and his father seated at a tab in a game of dra ker. He ly ted 2 0) w A SG caticfion froin the anchoentt ‘Wa lat? the, jell
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that the were the cause of his abduction, and that he should meet them at the stronghold, if at all. ‘Hello! Who told you to come here?’ the younger Tremaine cried, scowling, as if he had not expected such a thing. ‘I thought you were in jail over in Deadwood.” “You are a _liar—you didn’t think anything of the kind!” Jack retorted, coolly. “What! You call mea liar?’ the youny vil- lain cried, rising to his feet in a sudden passion, ** You look out, curse you, or P’il crack you one in the face!” “You dare not release my hands, and then try it!” Jack returned, defiantly. ‘Pll double- dare you to.” “Hurrah! that’s bizness,” the captain cried, excitedly, ‘‘ Let’s have some fun, to pass awa the time. Say, you Young Tremaine cuss, if I cut the feller’s bonds, durst you waltz up and slap him in the chops “Of course I.dare but I ain’t a prize-fighter, and shan’t make an exhibition of myself.” ‘‘The devil! Ye ain’t a-goin’ to crawfish, jest fer a little thing like that? ‘‘T ain’t well enough to fight,” Tom protested, «unxious in some way to crawl out, ‘You're plenty well enough, only you hain’t got the courage,” Jack suggested, sarcastically. I doubt if you have courage enough to come and strike me, bound as I am.” A “Ha! ha! Oncourse he ain’t!” the road-agent cried, dancing around. ‘‘Go at him, youn lemons, or I’ll kick you out o’ camp. I won’t have no shysters around hayr.” “T ain’t ashyster, nor am I going to fight. My arm’s lame,” Tom still protested, looking sheepish and guilt enough ‘Come! come! Tom; what are you afraid of. you booby?” his father exclaimed, in assume anger, ‘Step up and knock the whelp down end the matter. You are surely not afraid of him?” “Tf you ain’t afraid, maybe you’d better step up and face the music, and give your son an ‘xample!” Jack said, coolly, “Td just as lief polish you off as your son.’ ‘‘ Afraid of you? Certainly not!” the ex- broker exclaimed, haughtily. ‘‘ Were it not for soiling my hands on you, I’d teach you a lesson.” ‘There! you see the style of timber they’re made of?’ Jack said, turning triumphantly to the road-agent. ‘‘If I had as cowardly a dog as they are men, I’d shoot him at once,” ‘That’s bizness, an‘ ladmire yer grit, youn pilgrim,” the road-agent confessed. *‘I would- n’t own ’em, after this. But, bizness is bizness, an’ I ain’t goin’ to have no shenannigan in my camp. I’m goin’ ter cut yer hands loose, an’ both o’ them galoots has got ter get up an’ iwack ye one, or it’s them instead o’ you as will yo inter ther anamile pit, an’ don’t ye fergit et.” And with a sweep of his knife he freed Jack of his bonds, ‘There, now: I’m ready for you—come and see me,” invited Jack, turning to the Tremaines. ‘‘T am confident that I can make it extremely interesting to you, one at a time.” ‘Yas, go ahead and show Fhe pedigree, or I'll makeit a job fer you,” the captain warned. ‘* Yo struck the wrong camp ter play crawfish in, I allow, Walk up, old ‘man, and let yer j’ints lay. It’s all easy enough, when ye cum to ow how.” ‘You'll have to excuse me, really, for I never boxed or dealt any one a blow, in my life, and he would surely get the upper hands of me,” Addison Tremaine pro white as a sheet, at the poepeti= A Can't elp that!” the captain demurred, with a chuckle, as he drew and cocked a revolv- er, ‘ Yecan’tlearnany younger; so get up an’ o at it, or Pll sock a chunck of lead right a h your pulsometer, sure’s I’m a live sin- ner. ein the meantime, you Junior Crawfish, you’d better be ‘ring with some imaginary aloot, in order to git yer j'ints limbered up, fer calkylate ther rooster frum Deadwood can jest about make two mouthfuls of you. Git out, old Peper bi face ther music, if you don’t want me to salt ye. An’ mind, yeain’t to use no weepons e755 those the A’mighty originally adarned ye with, Addison Tremaine arose from the table, and approached the young speculator. He knew that he had but two choices—to face the music, _or get ‘‘salivated,” as the road-agent captain promised. Of the two evils he chose the Hoaat, fot he hoped he could defend himself be- tomate ye stood with his oung personage now wi arms folded across his breast, a cool, cynical smile upon his handsome features. Not a move did he make, until Tremaine Jack Foyle. made a lunge forward, and endeavored to sla him in the face; them his arms unfolded wit lightning-like celerity, and one knotted fist came in contact with the ex-broker’s nose, while the other dealt him a blow in the stom- ach that doubled him up like a jack-knife, and | sent him howling around the room. ““Hurra! hip! hip! hurra!” the road-agent chief yelled in delight, ‘ Thet’s ther bony-fide way to tork it. Thet’s ther way ter give a pilgrim an appetite ter his rations, I tell ye! Cum ag’in, old man, an’ git anuther chunk o’ ther same article!” ‘*No! Pve got enough! Curse the whelp—kill him—shoot him! he’s ruined my nose and my stomach forever!” the ex-broker howled, drop- ing into a chair, and groaning and rocking ike a wounded lunatic. ‘“Not much we don’t shute thet race-hoss, yet awhile,” the captain declared. ‘‘ Hayr’s anuther pilgrim ter initiate inter ther new order of knockemstiffs. Step out here, young Craw- fish, and don’t be all day about it, nuther, ef ye don’t want an ounce o’ cold lead socked inter yer system.” Tom Tremaine obeyed, his form trembling, and his face as white as a sheet, One or two faint passes did he make; then Jack’s fist caught him right between the eyes, and down he went to the floor with a crash. “That’s the checker!” the road-agent said, admiringly; ‘ ye did yer part nobly, my boy, an’ when ye’ll be so kind as to tell me whar your money is concealed, so that I can appro- priate it to my own use, you'll be set at liberty, mapegatiy P? - en I tell where my money is concealed, may I be kicked to death by mules!” was Jack’s re Whatl do you pro to be obstinate?” 7 ca probably learn that, ere you have won * But, P’'ll bet I can fetch ye ter terms!” “Pll bet an equal amount that my oath holds good; I swore not to he up the secret of the iding-place of my gold!” “Bah! talk is cheap, an’ when we cum ter ap- ply a leetle torture, ye’ll find how quick ye'll change yer mind, my lark!” ‘‘Never! You may shoot me, roast me by inches, hang me, boil me, skin me down, scalp me or freeze, but you will never learn from me that which you to know.” ** But we'll do even worse than that. I’vea pen of hun bears, wolves and bloodhounds, out here, and into that you shall be thrown, un- less you tell me where you have hid yer ne: i Jack shuddered; he could not well do less, at the prospect; but he was resolved that he would die ere he would surrender a penny to his enemies. ‘You can go into the next room and stay, if you don’t like our company,” the road-agent continued, pointing to a door opening into an inner a ment, ‘ You’ll find cheers there, atyy cer. I shell cum fer an ans’er ter- night. ack accordingly entered the room, and closed the door behind him, ferring his own com- pany to that of his rattan captors. The room was a small one, *urnished with chairs and table, and a rude cot-bed made up of leaves stuffed between a ticking of panther There was but one small window, and this was ed by heavy bars of iron. No earthly chance was there to get out except by the door he had closed behind him, without the aid of proper tools. — On Pe leaikry © his situation, Jack heartily wished himself back in the East, and resolved to make for it, as soon as he could escape, if he was lucky enough to get out with life. Enough of rough life he had. The day passed slowly. Out in the adjoining room, loud voices and the clinking of glasses proclaimed that the inmates of the cabin were having a “high old” spree. As night Lan same ati the sounds of revelry began Y he y to cease, and finally died out altogether. On listening at the door Jack could hear no sounds at all, which for a time puzzled him. What was the cause of ihe strange silence? Had they all quitted the cabin, or were they all so intoxicated that they had fallen asleep? After some deliberation, he resolved to learn the truth; so, opening the door he peered in- to the adjoining room. A scene of confusion was presented. Bottles and glasses lay strewn upon the floor—the fur- niture was upset and scattered about—the two Tremaines and the captain lay sprawled upon the slabg, dead drunk, + uh | Gluttons by nature, they had drank and ca roused until wholly overcome. “As I thought,” Jack muttered, elated at tha discovery. ‘‘ A chance is now open for escape, and I am an idiot if I do not grasp it. By as- suming the disguise ot Tom ‘Tremaine, I can make good my escape—or, can try, at least.” Spurning the ex-broker’s son with his foot, he found that he was too far gome to recover imme- diately; accordingly Jack stripped him of bis | garments, and donned them over his own, after which he appropriated and donned the young Villain’s false beard and wig, and also his hat. Properly arming himself out of Secttsction of weapoas he found on the walls and in the belts, he thea left the cabin. Outside he met several men lounging in the inclosure, but they paid him no particular no- tice, more than to nod, which proved to Jack that the Tremaines were not strangers in the stronghold. Going to the corral he ordered the hostler to bridle and saddle his horse, and the old outlaw obeyed by fitting out a handsome mare, who looked as if she might be capable of good speed. ‘Goin’ fur?” he queried, as Jack climbed into the saddle. a Yes, to Deadwood,” was Jack’s reply. ** Ain’t agoin’ ter ride around ther mountain, aire toa “ As far as I can, and then lead the horse till I reach the other valley.” ‘*Comin’ back ter see ther send-off?” “Of course,” and then putting spurs to his new animal, he dashed out of the inclosure, and away around the base of the mountain as fast as he could, leaving the stronghold rapidly behind him. But he bad not gained a mile van und, when the deep bay of a bloodhound broke upon. his hearing, and he knew that he was pursued! CHAPTER X. A RACE FOR LIFE—THE GOLDEN GULCH. Ir was to be a race for life or death! Jack fully realized this, and urged the little mare on at the top of her speed, resolving that he would race and fight to the last. He luckily had three revolvers with him, and ss rifle of the unapproachable Win- chester pattern, besides a sufficient quantity of cartridges which he had found in the cabin. With these, even if his horse failed, he calcu- lated he could ward off the grim monster, for a time, at least. The route was rough and rocky; great bowl- ders, clumps of shrubbery, and yawning seams and gullies obstructed the way, but the mare cleared them all, in flying leaps, although each moment she threatened to stumble and break her legs, if not her neck. “On, ‘Beauty—on !” Jack cried, patting her, as they dashed along. “At this rate we bid fair to outwit the devils, yet, for I doubt it another horse can follow where you lead!” The bay of one or more bloodhounds con- stantly grew louder, however, and nearer, and there could be but little doubt that they were rapidly gaining. Loud voices, too, were audi- ble, in the distance, which proclaimed that the outlaws were following in the wake of the hounds. “Hang them!” Jack muttered. ‘I wonder how they ever discovered my escape? Limagine the old hostler smelt a rat, for he looked at me sharply. He probably went at once to the era after I left, and discovered the state of On—on went the little mare, faithfully, as if aware of the danger that menaced her rider, and resolved to ¢ him out if within her power. On—on, with flying leaps where no other animal would have attempted leaping— on, on, at the very top of her speed. j At last they descended a sharp pitch, and Nugget gulch lay stretching out before them— Deatmet ten miles in the distance. But, the hounds’ deep bays now sounded with startling distinctness, and looking around, Jack saw a pair of them leaping down the mountain trail in hot pursuit. It was a moment fraught with great peril. In a minute more they would be upon him: he must stop where he was and kill them, or he could never hope to reach a place of oon A single “ oa!” served to check the horse, showing that she had been well broken. Then Jack’s rifle flew to his shoulder, and he sighted for the nearest hound, which was not more than two hundred _— distant. Taking quick aim, he ! With a yelp the foremost brute keeled over on the gr and after a few struggles, was
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, forty-eight hours, ‘“Good enough! If I shall be so lucky as to tumble over the other, [ll at once set myself u as a candidate for Creedmoor,” Jack said, wit achuckle. ‘‘ Then the outlaws can howl and tear their hair as much as they please, for the little mare can crawl right away from them.” Bang! again Jack’s rifle cracked sharply, and down went the remaining bloodhound on a run! Toen giving the mare the spurs again, the young adventurer dashed away down the gulch as fast as the little mare could go, which was not slow. Away! away! he flew, and was just beginning to count himself out of danger, when that grim foe once more suddenly loomed up in his path. A horseman rode out of a clump of bushes, drew rein, and leveled a rifle full at Jack. Jack saw the act, and ducked his head, just in time to escape being perforated by the new enemy’s bullet, which sung close to his ear. Quickly raising his own rifle, he took aim and fired, but the bullet did not take effect, evidently for the horseman sat grimly in his saddle, and fired with a revolver, the shot taking effect in the fleshy part of Jack’s right leg, making a slight scratch, Stung to madness, Jack raised his repeater again and fired, while the mare was going at full tilt, and had the satisfaction of seeing the ruffian sink back in his saddle, and roll to tbe ground. Never checking the speed of the mare, he dashed on, and as he passed the spot where the man had fallen, he saw to his surprise that it was Old Firefly, alias Revolver Jake, whom he had shot! This discovery solved the question as to the strange old fellow’s visit to the cave; he had been there, undoubtedly, at the instigation of the Tremaines. This occurring to Jack, he instantly reined in his horse, and dismounted, he traitor was not dead but had been stunned by the bullet, and was now quite insensible. A burriel search of his clothing and saddle- bags, satisfied Jack that he had not found the hidden money. Remounting his horse he continued on more leisurely toward Deadwood, for seeing nothin, of pursuit, he concluded that the outlaws ha given it up. By this time it was growing quite dusk, and he was obliged to let his horse walk, for the gulch was narrow and rocky, and the gigantic overhanging rocks in places entirely shut out what little light struggled through the approach- ing gloom. On thinking over the adventures of the past Jack concluded that it was about time for a cessation; but in this calcula- tion he was disappointed, for a new adventure befell him when he was least expecting it. He was passing in under one of the overhang- ing juttings of rock, when he was suddenly snatched from his saddle by a rope that tighten- ed around his waist, and found himelf swing- in mid-air, powerless to defend himself, for the rope that had caught him had also pinioned his hands to his side, For a moment he hung swaying in the air— ‘then he was pulled upward by some unseen ‘power—up—u up; it seemed as if he would never stop rising—as if he were being drawn up ‘to the very sky itself. He had about come to this conclusion, when ‘the heard the sound of human voices, which was a relief, Presently, more dead than alive, he was hauled up on top of the ledge, more than a hundred feet above his original starting point, and found himself, to his great surprise, in the resence of the Indian girl, Wild Jo, and a rawny copper-skinned Indian, who had evi- dently done the work of hoisting, for he was mine and blowing like a po ise. A tew sticks were dimly rip 2 near by, furnishing the only light upon the subject. “Wild Flower is glad the pale-face safely conaped, the Indian girl ssid, extending her hand. ‘' Wild Flower and Weptomo were com- our rescue, when Weptomo discovered ou riding down the gulch, and lassoed you. Is e pale-face miner glad to see Wild Jo?” ‘‘ Well, to use the vernacular of the mines, I shed opine that I am, ef so be you’ve got some b handy !” Jack replied, shaking the maiden’s “There is plenty of food in the Locked Val- ey, which is not far away,” announced the girl. “If the pale-face will permit his eyes to be blindfolded, he will soon be placed within reach of plenty of food.” Correct, little gal! I’ll trust you, I reckon, ing to Jack Hoyle. for I don’t believe you’d betray me to peril,” Jack said. ‘‘So go ahead with your Centennial clam-bake.” The brawny savage, whose name was Wepto- mo, accordingly lifted Jack upon a horse that was standing near, first taking care to blind- fold his eyes. Then Jack felt himself riding away, he knew not where—knew nothing of his strange — except that it was through a remarkably rou tract of country, which he could tell as the horse ascended or descended dizzy declivities. For hours, it seemed, he rode on, and could hear Wild Jo and Weptomo talking by his side in their Indian tongue, and so concluded that they were traveling on foot. At last the horse aren and the blindfold was removed from Jack’s eyes. On looking around, he perceived that he was in what appeared to be a deep pit, for mighty walls of rock towered =z mm mee on every hand toa hight Jack’s gaze could not fathom, in the darkness. The bottom of the strange pit or Locked Val- ley, as Wild Jo had termed it, did not comprise more than two acres of space, and was sandy and pebbly. A row of little thatched huts fringed the space, seven in number, and in front of each of these burned a camp-fire built of pitchy pine cones. At one side of the pit, a stream of water poured down in a silvery cascade, and gurgling across the bottom of the strangely locked valley, disappeared through a crevice in the rock, Mile after mile underground must this strange eat go, ere it emerged again into the outer world. ‘You are in the Locked Valley—the home of Wild Flower and Mountain King,” the Indian = explained, stepping forward and motionin r Jack to dismount. ‘‘ Dismount, and I wi show you to the Mountain - ‘Correct! I’m agreeable to that or most any- thing that savors of hash,” Jack declared. ‘*‘Somehow my stomach feels like a collapsed balloon.” “Food shall be placed before you,” Jo an- swered, leading the way toward the largest hut of the lot. On entering, Jack found himself in an Pree such as he had little expected to behold in the bowels of the mountain. A car- pet was laid upon the ground—chairs were laced around—a lamp burned upon a small eal table, while in one corner was a bedstead and bed, and in another a box-shaped case re- sembling a desk of the old-fashion pattern. A man was op len ose an easy-chair near the table, engaged in smoking a long-stemmed pipe, and looked up with a start as tered. The second glance Jack got at the man dis- covered him to be a white man instead of an In- dian, ——— his hair was black and worn down over his shoulders. His attire was that of the ordinary American citizen. ‘Here, father, is the young miner of whom I oand Jack en- spoke,” Wild Jo said, leading Jack forward and presentin him. “Tam sure you will like him very muc ‘Does the Wild Flower like him?’ the man asked, ae Jack’s hand. ‘“‘ Of course I do,” was the girl’s reply, now in pure unbroken English. “Then Oroboko will welcome the pale-face, for Wild Fiower’s choice is Onoboko’s choice, What is tue name of the young pale-face?” ‘“My name is Jack Hoyle, at your service,” Jack announced. “A name suggestive of the game of cards, sir,” the Mountain King had to declare. ‘Be seated, sir. Josie, you may bring in some meat from the cookery, and some coffee and brine girl departed with a bow, and then th © girl de , with a bow, an en the Mountain King turned to Jack. ‘Now, my friend! How like you the Locked Valley and its people?” ‘‘Don’t give me hard questions, at first, or I shall not be able to solve them,” Jack protested. *T have seen so little of the valley or its popula- tion, that Ican not say how I like either. I supposed you and the yor lady to be Indians but I ebcbiet that you ate'botl as fully Ameri- cans as myself.” “Very true. We are a Indians when we a0 fey va I am sure that you will like it oo well enough to make it your permanent ome. ‘“‘T seriously doubt that. I believe I should prefer life above ground.” “ Pshaw! you will chan you = uainted, and wealth of this pitfall.” ‘Then there is gold here?” your mind when of the golden | if ! gold in nuggets, gold in sparkling dust, gold ‘a drifted quartz. The very ground you stand upon is pregnant with the precious stuff.” “How do you get out of the pit?’ Jack de- manded. “That is a secret we must withhold from you,” the Mountain King replied, smiling. ‘‘ You might try a thousand years, and you could never get out without my aid, or that of Jo or some of the men.” “Then I suppose you and those you have | mentioned are the only ones in possession of the | SS eeenrennemeree secret of this place’s existence.” ‘““We are. No other mortal than those who are present in this valley now, know of the ex- istence of this pit of gold, or if any hunters and explorers have ever noticed it in their travels, they have paid no more attention to it than they do to a thousand and one other fissures and chasms to be found in the face-of this wild, mountainous country.” ‘* How did te discover it?” ‘Curiosity led me to lower myself down here, and I discovered my big bonanza. That was many years ago, when with a party of hs oe I ventured into this country. I immediately took possession, and have occasionally added a trusty Indian to my employ, until I have a band of ten peaceable fellows collected, who will stick by me as long:as I live.” {Then according to your story, you must be immensely rich.” “T will show you,” the mountain hermit miner said, taking the lamp and going to his desk, which he unlocked. ‘Come and feast your eyes, and then draw your own conclusions as to my pecuniary possessions.” Jack did feast his eyes, and beheld a sight of dazzling splendor, such as might have been the vision of a dream. Gold in nuggets, large and small—gold in trays of glittering sands and dust—gold in molten bars, and in pouches— more gold by far than he had ever seen. ‘That is not all,” the hermit said, with a smile. “I have more buried in strong boxes beneath the ground on which we stand—more, porters than the whole ack Hills country for the last three years. —— ield of the rest of the ‘“*Then you must be worth more than any | other man in the world—more than the famed Rothschilds or Vanderbilts!” Jack cried, won- deringly. («Perhaps — are right. I don’t know just | how many counted it.” ‘*Why do you longer remain here, when you are the possessor of all this wealth? Why not go out into the world and enjoy yourself? ‘“‘Bah! What is the world to me? I care nothing for = It treated me a same | I was poor, and now in my prosperit; y scorn it. No! no! Ishall never leave may Zoakea Valley home!” CHAPTER XI. ONOBOKO’S PROPOSAL—A MINSTREL VENTURE. At this juncture, Wild Jo brought in a steam. ing tray of roast meat, coffee and corn bread, and placed it on the table, together with plates, knives and forks and sugar, and invited Jack to ke of the re And you may besure he d so with a will, for he was very ey ee and the meal was literally too tempting for any- thing, ‘After he had satisfied his appetite, and signi- fied his desire to retire, a savage was summoned who guided him to another and smaller tent which was fitted up with a bed of leaves, furs an blankets—good a for a king to lie upon. Jack at once tumbled in, and slept soundly until morning, although he was visited by dreams of gold, in all its glittering forms, as he had seen it in the Mountain King’s cabinet. When he awoke it was still dark in the tent, but on striking a match and looking at his watch, he found it was the usual time for daylight to yen, . stepping from the lodge he found the pit enveloped ina net a! only a little better than when he entered. — — upward, he was able to catch a glimpse of the blue sky, but if was many, many feet af Even to gaze out of the pit was an ef- ort. So he concluded that it was never any lighter in the Locked Valley than at present, except when Bree’ ares pone ie De ty nF eid e ad was eviden y savages engaged on the banks of the stream, in waiting ead, while others were blasting out rock from the southern wall of the pit, each working in the light of a torch held by another savage. The Mountain ns Ny from his bdge, and a smile. approached Jack wi' ollars or cents I have; I never
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** How do you like the situation, my young friend? Do you nod find it pleasant here?” “Far from it, if you leave out agp daughter and yourself. I prefer more lig ject. ‘Ah! you will soon get accustomed to this semni-darkness.”’ ‘*T don’t care to try. When you get ready, I shall be very glad to have you drop me some- where in the outer world.” ‘Well, we'll see about that. lodge, and I will talk with you.” _ Jack obeyed, and was soon seated at the table in the lodge. ‘The reason I had you brought here,” the old man went on to state, ‘is because I am getting old and blind, and want a man to take charge of things, who is honest and capable. [ left the choice for my child to make, and she selected ou, and caused you to be brought hither. She is young, and of a faithful nature, and has al- ready fallen in love with you. I therefore want you to make this your permanent home, take charge of my affairs, and marry my daughter. You can soon enrich yourself out of the golden sands of the valley, and be as rich as I!” ‘But, what goed do all your riches do you living as you do in this isolated spot? No, { could not think of making this my permanent home, for I am already engaged to a young lady in the East, who is very dear to me, and I would be cruelly treating her, should t marry an- other.” ‘“Vory true, and you are perfectly right in wishing to return to her. To-night, after you have sworn never to mention this mine to mor- val ears, you shall be taken from the pit, and be put upon the trail to Crook City, for it would not be safe for you to go to Deadwood, at pre- sent.” ‘But, first, 1 have money to get, which I buried in the mountain cavern!” ‘“No, you have not. The cng yon buried was found, dug up, and brought hither by my daughter, to prevent its being stolen by old Firefly, the road-agent.”’ And from his cabinet the King of the Mount- ains took a brown package, and handed it to Jack, who upon examination found it to be as he had left ii—twenty thousand dollars, lacking a couple of hundred. “Ts it all right?” the hermit asked. “ All right!” Jack replied. During the remainder of the day he visited with the hermit and his pretty daughter, and examined things of interest about the pit-mine —the wondrous gold field in the bowels of the earth, As night drew on supper was all ate together, with a relish. V was dispatched, Onoboko said: : “* Now, Mr, Hoyle, before I can permit you to leava the pit, I must request you to take oath that you will never mention the existence or location of this mine to any mortal. Of course if you ever choose to return here, you shall be welcome.” ‘ The King of the Mountains then named an oath, which Jack repeated after him. He then shook hands with the hermit and his pretty daughter, after which he bade them good-by, was blindfolded by the servant, Weptomo, and led from the tent, and placed upon a horse. Tuen they started, with the servant evidently leading the horse, and although he listened and endeavored to detect the way out of the strange Locked Valley, Jack was unsu Nosound did he hear more than the tramp of the horse and that of the Indian, to betray the secre route. ¥or hours the ride continued, mostly ascend- ing. It seemed to Jack that it was a good swenty-four hours ere the horse sapped, and the Indian removed the bandage from his eyes, and freed his arms. : : : They were at this juncture in a wild mountain gulch, with pine-frimged mountains rising on either side, and a wagon-trail running before them, ‘The young pale-face is free to go,” Weptomo said, handing Jack the bridle-reins. “By fol- lowing the wagon-trail as his horse is headed, he will soon reach Crook City. Weptomo has said it. And then turning, tb down the gulch, leaving sack to porae an op- posite course, which he did with a acrity, for he was anxious to get out of the Blac country. ; Enough of roughing it he had had, to satisfy him that he was not cut out for a borderman. All the rest of the day—for day had dawned wen Weptom left him—he spent riding, and | Come to my repared, and my the meal red skin went back when night again approached, he rode into the | t on,the sub- | LE ee ee eee Jack Hoyle. | little mining town known as Crook City. Here | he remained several days, and then took the | trail and rode on for Bismarck, Dakota. One day, as he was riding along, he found in the very Kottom of his saddle-bags that what he supposed to be two hunks of jerked meat were ae meat at all, but half a dozen pouches of gold ust. He recognized the treasure as the same he had seen in the Mountain King’s cabinet! Had the old man volunteered the offering, or had his daughter stolen it, and taken this way of ex- pressing her love for Jack? This was the question. and one that Jack was never able to satisfactorily solve. Of course he could not return to the pit, and so decided that the gold was his, to use as he pleased. » It was quite an acquisition to his small for- tune; after all his visit to the Black Hills coun- try had not been so unprofitable. Before he reached Bismarck he encountered a terrific snow-storm, which delayed him several weeks—for it was now November weather in dead earnest, and he had to put up at a ranch on the way. For various unimportant reasons he did not reach Chicago until the first day of January. In the meantime, he had disposed of his gold for ten thousand dollars, so that when he arriy- ed in Chicago, he had in clean cash a trifle over twenty-nine thousand dollars. : Resolving not to let the amount decrease, he let out the whole amount except a thousand dollars. on safe security, at eight eet cent inter- est for a term of three years. ith the other thousand in store for an emergency, he began to look around for some employment for the re- mainder of the winter. Having 2couaintance in Thespian circles, he soon found a dozen minstrel performers of more or less note and engaged them at a small salary for a tour through the West. From Chicago they struck along the line of the Union Pacific, stopping at every point where a pr could be secured, whether in a city ora village. As a result they met with fair success, having the best business, of course, in the small towns. The show ran under the name of the Burton Bro’s Combination. Occasionally an amusing incident would oc- cur, which would liven up the spirits of both Spray Fe and company, and serve as the butt of much laughter, for many weeks to come. One evening an old, garrulous woman pre- sented herself at the door of the hall, in a little town called Cayote, where the troupe were to attempt a performance, with the prospect of a slim house, for the town was small, and the weather stormy. The old lady was attired in a short, woolen petticoat, with an_ ancient-patterned bonnet oe her head, and stogy boots upon her feet. She was followed by six frowsy-headed little urchins in rags, all of whom were born at one time judging y appearances! “Be you the boss of this consarn?” she asked, pausing with arms akimbo, before Jack who was acting in capacity of ticket-seller, “Yes, ma’am, I e t Iam,” Jack replied, courteously. ‘‘ Anything I can do for you?” ‘¢ Yes, on course there is!” the old lady re- plied, ‘I wanter know what sort o’ show this 1s goin’ ter be.” be A first. class, original minstrel entertain- ment,” Jack assured. “Git out—a first class original fiddle-de-de!” the woman retorted, rag ahaa “Don’t ve me none o’ your stuck up language, youn feller, fur I’m ther mother 0’ a ranch full o children, an’ ye can’t flumigate yer highfalutin’ ter me worth a cent. What I want ter know— is this a straight, up-an’-down nigger show?” “Yes, ma’am!—It’s a clean, out-and-out nig, r show,” Jack asserted, seriously. Waal, then I reckon we'll take itin. I war to a nigger show, years ago, an’ only paid two- an’-sixpense fer me an’ my beau to get How much will ye charge fer me am’ my boys? Ther rest o’ the family hain’t got here yet, ut they’ll be along pretty soon, an’ kin pay their own toll.” ‘‘Our price is twenty-five cents each; tickets for yourself and boys will cost you one dollar and seventy-five.” “Git out! What d’ye take us fer? One dol- ler seventy-five jest ter see a nigger show! Id like to see myself givin’ that—I would! One doller seventy-five, indeed! Give you __ fifty cents, young feller, an’ not a cent more. There now! Will +o take it, or shall we go hum?” Jack stepped to the door and gave a despair- ing glance up and down the street, and seeing 1S no crowd, he took the fifty cents and passed tne: old woman and her flock in. Another time, in one of the new towns along the Union Pacific, their audience consisted of one wera “8 pilgrim in slouch hat, red shirt and buckskin breeches, whom all the funniest say- ings of the end. men, or the most ludicrous, farcical situations, could not arouse into a smile. At the conclusion of the show he gave a sigh o: relief, and ‘‘ puckacheed!” Reaching San Francisco, in March, Jac‘ figured up his expenses, counted his cash. avi found himself just a thousand dollars ahead. This was not so bad, and he resolved to con- tinue on from San Francisco, up north as far as. Oregon, as spring was Speen In San Francisco he added a balloon ascen-- sionist and rope-walker, by the name of La Cruz: —a wicked looking customer, but withal a goad. performer in his line of business. Business continued fine until they reached! Portland, Oregon, when an itcident of adven- ture occurred, which Jack had been expecting. On waking one morning he found that he hai been robbed in the night, not only of his watch and money, but of a valuable diamond pin and a pair of studs, esides, Styles and Mack, the end men of the troupe, had lost their money and watches, and the barytone singer was out a dozen pairs of shirts, collars and cuffs, in addition to his. money. As the Spaniard, La Cruz, was missing, it was naturally concluded that he was the culprit. Accordingly Jack set the sheriff in pursuit, and in the meantime cruised around the neighboring towns until his money should be restored to him. This was shortly done. Cruz was overtaken by the sheriff, and promptly lynched, and the stolen goods recov- ered and restored to Jack and his company. They then pulled out of Oregon into Nevada, and then through into Colorado, visiting the principal mining towns, and meeting with abundant success. At last, early in May, Jack closed the season at Denver, and started East, over three thou. sand dollars better off than when he started out, In sas he invested a thousand dollars in a small stock ranch. As he was passing’a few days in St. Louis, he saw a chance to purchase a river excursion steamer for nineteen hundred dollars, and im mediately made the purchase. Then, with fifty dollars in his pocket, he started for as far East as his money would bring him, not knowing what next to turn to, te make money. CHAPTER XII, THE MEXICAN MINES. He lingered in Chicago and Cleveland a few weeks, doing odd ae of work, and earning sufficient money to defray his expenses. The last week of his stay in Cleveland, he met pease Hunter, the gambler-detective, from well, He did not know him until he saw Hunter's name upon the hotel register, and the man was pointed out to him, with heavy mustache and earlets, and quite a natty appearance. “T suppose you don’t know me,” Jack said, approaching him. ‘Well, no, I don’t,” the other replied, after a keen scrutiny. ‘I don’t recognize you.” ‘* My name is Jack Hoyle!” “Phew! ‘You don’t say!” and the gambler arose and shook hands, yo g ‘Where did you come from? You're the very chap I most wanted to see.” “Oh! I’ve been roughing it, here and there,” Jack replied. ‘‘I came latest from the West.” " So did I. Have been after ‘Addison ‘Tre. maine ou know, up in the Black Hills,” a With what success?” “Oh! I waylaid him, knocked him down and took possession of a round fifty thousand dollars, which I found on his person. Then |! took the first stage Kast. If you want half, come along with me!” They soon ascended to the detective’s roon. and Jack was placed in possession of half of th. amount te eg as per previous agreement, Jack felt that his prosperity was too good to be true. ad offered Hunter half he could fet of the stolen money, he had-no idea the fellow would ever get a penny. But he had, and Jack was so much the richer gain. hen he for the bar; The next qaeieee was—how and where should he invest his money to advantage, Tt was a question that decide upon, were plenty of lands in the West to be e could not readily
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——— = SS a ee a > eee eee a 14 taxes. There were other chances for investment, but Jack could see none that quite struck his fancy, 80 he headed for New York. On his arrival there he was surprised to learn that the liniment venture in which he had em- barked, a few years before, had grown into a business of enormous proportions, and that the doctor had grown independently rich out of it. Jack had suspected that he had been tricked, when he sold out so cheaply. After a week’s stay in the Metropolis, he pur- chased a half interest in a paying dry-goods business, for twenty thousand dollars; then in- vested another sum of twenty-five hundred in street railway stock in Philadelphia, which he had now chosen as his future home. He then went to Baltimore and purchased a pee orchard for three thousand dollars, and uilt a neat summer residence upon it. He then took a trip down to Lowell, to find that the Bonds had moved away, but was un- able to ascertain where they had gone. One lady labored under tho supposition that they gone upon a European tour, while another believed they had moved into some of the larger Western cities. Jack was aie ger he but, hopeful of finding them he set out for the West, and visited all the cities of any importance until he reached San Francisco, and examining the directories with- out the hoped-for result. The name of Bond proved to be an uncommon one, and nothing of the good rector and his daughter could Jack find. Discouraged at his ill-success, he began to look around him once more for a chance to speculate. Nothing offering, he joined a party of Califor- nians, who were going down into northern Mex- ico to dig for gold, hoping to be able to fight off the Greasers and reds until they could make their pile out of the rich mineral beds that lie unworked in the heart of Chihuahua. The party comprised Old Bill McKenzie, Cap. Doolittle, Jerry Renchan, Sam Piercy, Rattle- snake Rube and Bison Tom, besides Jack, mak- ing seven in all, weil mounted and well armed. ) pues down into Mexico was attended by no incident worthy of mention, and they ar- rived in the pare selected for operations about the middle of October. It was in a solemn, deserted valley, through which a stream of water flowed, and around which a is pinyon forest encircled gloomily. It was miles from any human habitation, Mc- Kenzie said, and they were in no danger of be- ing disturbed by Greasers or reds. he bottom of the valley was bedded with white sand, several feet in depth, and in this McKenzie claimed was gold enough to repay them for their trouble in ens, This statement was soon verified by washin a considerable amount of gold out of a Dents of dust. The gold-hunters before proceeding to settlei operations built them a cabin, and each agreed that all the gold divided into equal shares among the seven would be the fair way of con- ducting the thing, each man to work eight hours a day, unless sick, and to skirmish for his own ““ chuck,” After the cabin was ceatgiored, and a day’s hunt had laid in enough deer-meat to last a month, they all set to work with pan and shovel in their search after the precious metal. A good trench had been constructed leading a small eo of the valley stream into the sluice- boxes, thus making the washing process a great deal easier. The first sey labor was highly gratifying, even beyond their most sanguine expectations, for the sands of the valley-bottom yielded the golden particles handsomely. On quitting work, they all assembled in the cabin. Bill McKenzie weighed the Piss col- lection, and reckoned it worth fifty dollars to the share! ‘Oh! I tell ro we've struck a bonanza!” he cried, jubilantly. ‘“ As long as old Bill can salt away fifty a day, thar ain’t a-goin’ ter be no grumblin’ in this yere camp!” ‘“Nary a time,” Rattlesnake Rube agreed. ‘We've feathered our bed fust-class, an’ hev got it all to ourselves, an’ ther first galoot as icks or turns traitor, shall be hung up fer buz- — chuck.” ape 4 n o one seemed to have any desire to e, and for six months they worked steadify in that lone valley, without eras yor | or molestation. One morning at the end cf that time, Old Bill McKenzie came rushing into the cabin, fror ar early morning hunt, flushed and panting. Jack Hoyle. “Git yer tools ready!” he cried, “fer there’s a gang o’ Greasers comin’ inter ther valley, an’ | we've got ter fight fer it. We mustn’t give ther durned louts no quarter, or they’ll cut us all up inter mince-meat. man remember | that he’s fightin’ fer his gold an’ fer his gizzard.” | The men accordingly armed themselves, and | stationed themselves at the cabin loop-holes, | ready to fight to the bitter end. | } Let every The Greasers soon came charging down into the valley with yells and screeches—a dozen of them there were, well mounted and armed, and | as ruffianly a looking crowd as is often met, even on the far frontier. “Give it to ’em!” Old Bill yelled, as they came charging up. ‘“‘ Every man pick his galoot, and at by © question to him in a skientific manner.” | volley was accordingly poured into the | Greasers’ ranks, and six tumbled from the sad- | dle out of seven shots. The other six, evidently surprised at the sud- | den attack, turned their horses and spurred back into the shelter of the pinyon forest, before the miners could get in a second blast. ‘That settles our hash!” Old Bill cried, grim- ly. ‘*We may as well pack up our traps and git ready to skin out.” “Why so?” Jack asked. “Because we ken’t mine heer, enny more, I reckon, arter lettin’ them Greasers git Bray: They’ll send for reinforcements, now, an’ in less’n two days, or three at furtherst, thar’ll be enough o’ ther blamed cusses heer ter lick us out root an’ branch. Our only course is to pucka- chee while we’ve got a chance.” “But mebbe we ain’t got even that,” Bison Ben remarked. ‘‘ It’s likely only one o’ the gang has gone for reinforcements, while the rest re- main and look out for us.” “1 don’t keer a cuss about that,” Old Bill | nted—‘“‘ not a darned cent. I kin outwit ’em er ducats. Fetch out the box o’ gold, an’ we'll divide it, an’ every galoot kin hev his sheer. I’ve did all ther minin’ I’m goin’ ter in this yere valley, an’ them as is goin’ ter Peete wi’ me, kin git ready twixt now and dark.” As none hadany desire to remain behind with- out Bill McKenzie, there was a peda decision to get out of the wilderness while they could. he box of gold was brought out, and contents weighed into seven separate and SY divisions. They had mined one hundred and fifty-six days, and had averaged fifty dollarsa day apiece! diy to each man seven thousand and eight hun dollars in gold, or fifty-four thousand and six hundred do all told. After the division was made, each man pack- | ed up such traps as he desired to take yi with him, and when night again came, Old Bill McKenzie led the retreat Aron the valley of gold, where they had so long toiled unmolested. Through the grim pinyon forest they silently stole upon their ho: and by Old Bill’s clever planning avoided meeting with the Greasers. Early in July they left Mexico, arriving in San Francisco in August. CHAPTER XIII. OFF FOR THE OLD WORLD AND HOME AGAIN FOR GooD! THE five years of his exile now being up, and being the possessor of a considerable fortune, Jack resolved to go to Philadelphia and purchase and fit him up a home, and then search again for the Bonds. He had long since given up the hope of re- deeming his father’s estates, and knowing that he had made money cnough to support him all the natural term of his life, he resolved to take it easier. He acco ly journeyed to the Centennial city, and pure a handsome residence on an aristocratic and fashionable thoroughfare, which he furnished after a moderate style. He then began to wonder where he should next look for the Bonds. Impulse led him to take a trip down to Lowell, and while there he went to the cemetery and adorned his father and mother’s graves with several costly and appropriate ornaments. Going to Boston, he engaged ge in a steamer for Liverpool, and was safely landed, a few weeks later, in the city of London. | After viewing the sights in this city, and sur- | roundings, he visited Paris, but soon got dis- ) gusted with the French, and departed for Milan. — One evening as he was at the theater to hear | a noted singer, an usher brought him a note bearing the request that he immediately call — upon the Mile, Lcrina, behind the scenes. Not a little surprised, he followed the usher | to the n-room, and beheld there, waiting to | greet , and looking royally beautiful in her | costly stage attire, one whom he would quicker | | stage door. | ship labored very es ae have expected to find at the antipodes—little Lily Thorpe, whom he had once had as a per- former in his circus. ; “Oh! Mr. Hoyle, I am so glad to see she exclaimed, ae out her jeweled hand, ° “*T peeped from behind the curtain, and recog- nized you as one of the audience, and could not resist the temptation to call you. Will you re- main here? 1 warft to talk with you after the ou!” | opera.” ‘ Of course Jack could do no less than ecmy!: and then the operatic star danced gayly aw: y. , and soon after Jack heard her clear admiiai « voice, pocctn persed by the strains of an oper: tic orchestra. ter there was applause, and then Mile. Lorina re-entered the green-rocm. “Have I tired you? If solamsorry. The audience never knows when to stop applauding, you know, Come! my carriage awaits at the I shall appoint you my chaperon home.” So Jack accompanied her to the grand hotel where she stopped, and promised to call on the following day. He did so, and they had a long chat, together. ““T came to Milan to learn to be a singer,” she explained, in answer to Jack’s inquiries. “T had saved enough ie. to defray my ex- nses for a year, and in that time I progressed avorably, and you now see me enjoying the honors of a star. Jack very much enjoyed the renewal of her acquaintance, but a telegram summoned him back to America. It was from Bessie Bond, and stated that she was ill in Philadelphia, and desired to see him. So he bade adieu to Lorina, and took the train for Havre where he struck the steamer home- ward bound. The weather was very rough, and the steam- in the mid-ocean, but finally made New York harbor, safely. / Jack immediately went to the depot for Phila sa ary trains, to purchase a ticket. he was paying his fare, a yome lady. deeply. vailed stepped up and called for a ticket for Philadelphia, also. The moment he heard her speak, Jack thought he recognized the voice, and watched her from a respectful distance until he saw her goaboard the ferry, when he followed her, hoping she would raise her vail. But she did not, even when she took a seat in the Philadelphia train. Resolved to test his suspicion, Jack approach: | ed her, and raising his hat courteously, said: ‘Perhaps I am mistaken, but is this not Mise Bond, formerly ot Lowell?” ‘‘T am Miss Bond, yes, sir,” a faint voice re plied. ‘‘But I do not recognize you, sir.” te frebepe if you were to raise your vail, you might make-me out to be Jack Hoyle,” Jack re- plied, with a smile. The vail was thrown back instantly, exposin Bessie’s pretty face, and a soft white han sought the young yagriee = “Jack! Jack! Is it really — I am 80 glad!” Bessie cried. ‘‘T have m wishing so much you would come back.” “Well, I’ve been hunting for you, and the mo- ment I received your om ria announcing your illness, I hastened back from Europe.” ‘*My illness? my telegram?” Bessle exclaimed, putting up her hands. ‘‘ Why I haven’t written a telegram announcing any illness on my part." “The deuce you haven’t! Didn’t you send me this?’ and Jack seated himself beside her, ei gave her the dispatch he had received in an. Bessie looked it over, and shook her little head. “No. I did not send it. We have been living here in New York, until poor died, four months ago. 1 was going to Philadelphia to-day to accept a position as saleswoman in a store,” “Well, you may go, and I will install you as mistress of my household as soon as a clergy- man can tie a knot. Eh? what do you say that, my sweet one?” We will not chronicle the answer, but state that there was a quiet wedding a few weeks later, in which Jack and Bessie were the partici- nts. a id sending a detective to the house in Pbil- adelphia where he had been telegraphed to come to Jack found that the Tremaines had been there, but had gone. What — they had con- templated he could not tell, for he never heard of them again. . Here we leave Jack and his wife enjoying themselves on the wealth that Jack’s persever- ance and ind had accumulated. Long may he, and ali other boys of his stam, live and prosper!
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832 Large Three-Column Pages. ' 1.4 Hard Crowd: or, GENTLEMAN Sam's SisTeR. By Philip S. Warne. 2. The Dare-Devil: or, THE WincED Wrrow o¥ THE Sea. By Col. Prentiss lugraham. y 3. Kit Carson, Jr., Tue CRACK SxHor or ean West. By Buckskin Sam. 4. The Kidnapper: on, THe Great GHAI oF THE NorTHwust. By Philip 8S. Warne. 5. The Fire-Fiends: 02, HercuLss, THE Munoupack. By A. P. Morris. 6. Wildcat Bob, Tym Boss BruisEr: | yr, Taz BorpER BLOODHOUNDS. Edward L. Whee- | er, author of “‘ Deadwood Dick,” “ Double Daggers.” | 7. Death-Notch, Tu Drstroyrr: or, Tae Spmit Lake Avencrrs. By Oll Ceomes, 8. The Headless Horseman. A strange svory of Texas, By Capt. Mayne Reid. 9, Handy Auady. By Samuel Lover. 10. Vidocq, Tue Frencw Poxice Spy. | fm Written by himself. 11. Midshipman Easy. By Capt. Mar- vat. 12, The Death-Shot: on, TRACKED TO DuarH, By Capt. Mayne Reid. 13. Fathaway > or, Nick WHIFFLES, THE Oup Traapor oy THE NortKwest. By Dr. J. H. Rob- ‘ason, 14. Thayendanegea, THe Scource ; or, THe W4n-EaGir or THE MonAwks. By Ned Bunt- ine, author of “The White Wizard.” 15. The Tiger-Slayer: or, Eac.iz- 'Tgap TO THE Rwscur. By Gustave Aimard. 16. The White Wizard: orn, THz Great PROPHET OF THE SeminotEs, By Ned Buntiline. 1%. Nightshade, Tse Rosser Prince o* Hounstow Hratu. By Dr, J. H. Robinson. 18. The Sea Bandit: on, THE QureNn o8 THE Isuy. By Ned Buntline. 19. Red Cedar, Tus Prairie OvuTLAw. By Gustave Aimard, 20, The Bandit at Bay: or, Tux Pr- \ATES OF THE Prarrizes. By Gustave Aimard, 21. The Trapper’s Daughter: ox, tae Ovriaw’s Fars, By Gustave Aimard, 22. Whitelaw: rn, Natt or Tar LAKE tworE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson, 23. The Red Warrior: oR, STELLA DgLorme’s ComaNcaE Lover. By Ned Buntline, 24. Prairie Flower. By Gustave Ai- ward, author of “ Tiger-Slayer,”’ etc. 25. The Gold-Guide: or, STEEL Arm, wre Recutator. By Francis Johnson. | KIT CARSON, JR.—No. 3, 41. Gold Dan: or, Tar Wuire Savace j $ oF THE Great Saur Lake. By Albert W. Aiken. 42. The California Detective: or, | Tae Wircnrs or New York. By Albert W. Aiken. 43. Dakota Dan, Tre Reckiess RANGER; or, Tar Bez-Hunrrrs Excursion. By Oll Coomes, 44, Old Dan Rackback, Tur Great WRTARMINATOR; er, THE TRIANGLE’s Last Tram, By Oll Coomes, 45. Old Bull’s Erc, Tre Licrrnine Syor or roe Puaiws. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr., 46. Bowie-Knife Ben, Tue LITTLE Hunter or THe Nor’-west. By Oll Coomes. 47. Pacific Pete, THz PrIncE or THE Revoiver. By Jos. E. Badger. 48. Idaho Tom, Tuer Youne Ovurtaw OF SILVERLAND. By Oll Coomes, 49. The Wolf Demon, or, Tar QUEEN or THE KANAWHA. By Albert W. Aiken. 50. Jack Rabbit, THe Pratrim Sport; or, THe CHILDREN OF THE LLANO Esracapo, By Jos, BE. Badger, Jr. 51. Red Rob, Tue Boy Roap-AGEnT. By Oll Coomes. 52. Death Trailer, THe (Gurr or 26. The Death-Track: or, THE OU7- | ccours; or, Life and Love in a Frontter Fort, By LAWs OF THE McunTarIn. By Francis Johnson, 27. The Rpctter-Datective t oR, THE ¥rrts or New York. By Albert W. Aiken. 28. Three-Fingered Jack, THe Roap- GENT oF THE Rockies; orn, THe Roy Miner or Harp wck. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr 29. Tiger Dick, Tur Faro KING; or, Ine Casnier’s Crom. By Philip S. Warne, author of “A Hard Crowd,” ete, 30. Gospel George; or, Frmry Fnep, fax Ovrnaw. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 831. The New York ‘5S. 3? on, THE fuasH or Liautninc. By Albert W. Aiken, 22. B’hoys of Yale; or, Tum SCRAPES 4. Harp Set or CoLueGiaNs. By John D. Vose, 33. Overland Kit. By Albert W. Aiken. 34, Rocky Mountain Rob. By Al- vert W. Aiken. 35. Kentuck, the Sport. By Albert ¥. Aiken. 36. Injun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken. 37. Hirl, the Hunchback; or, THE SWORDMAKER OF THE Santer. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 38. Velvet Hand; on, Tux [non Grip or Lwon Dick. By Albert W. Aiken. 39, The Fussian Spy: on, Tar BRora- MBS OF THE STARRY Cross. By ck Whittaker. 40. The Long Haired ‘Pards;’ 08, Qeu Tamrans CF THE By Jos. BR. Badger Jr. 4 on. Wm. F. Cody, (Buffalo Bill.) we. See eee 5 i —ae =- SS <—S ~ MIDSHIPMAN EASY.—-No. 11. a LIBRARY. Each Number Complete. Price 10 cts. 53. Silver Sam; or, Tux Mreruar Deadwoop City, By Col. Delle Sara. 54, Always on Hand; or, Tun Sport: Sport or THE Fcor Huis. By Phillip 8. Wa) author of ‘‘ A Hard Crowd,” “‘ Patent Leather 7¢ 55. The Scalp Hunters. A Romancs THe Piains. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 56. The Indian Blaseppe; or, T Map Man or Tae Puarms. By W. Atl! 57. The Silent Hunter ; or, Taz Soo Haut Mystery. By Percy B. St. John. 58. Silver Knife: or, WICKLINFs, w Rooxy Mountain Ranger. By Dr, J. H. Robinsiw 59. The Man From Texas; or, Ti: OvrLaw of AgkANSAS. By Albert W. Aiken. 60. Wide Awake; or, Tum Ink © THE Biack His. By Frank Dumont. 61. Captain Seawaif, THz Privivew By Ned Buntline. 62. Loyal Heart; or, 1am TRAPPERS ++ Arkansas. By Gustave Aimard. 63. The Winged Whale. By Altvr W. Aiken, ing y 64. Double- Sight, the Death Shwi By Josepk E. Badger, Jr. 65. The Red Rajah: er, Tar Scovary or THE Inpixs, By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 66. The Specter Barque. A Thi»: or THe Pacirico. By Captain Mayne Reid, 67. The Boy Jockey: or, Homa. versus OROOKEDNESS, By Joseph E. Badger, .\s 68. The Fighting Trapper: or, Kt Carson TO THE Rescur. By Capt. J. F.C Aheur 69. The Irish Captain: A Tata « Fontrenoy. By Captain Frederick Whittaker, 70. Hydrabad, Tur Srrancumr; » ALETHE, THE CHILD of THE CorD. By Dr, i,! Robinson, 71, Captain Cool-Blade, or, Taz Ma SHARK oF THE MississipPI. By Jos. KE. Badger, } 72. The Phantom Hand, A Srory : Kaw FORe HeartTss aND Homes, By Albert | en, 73. The Knight of the Red On» or, Tae Maaiotan of Granapa. A Tale of the { hambra. By Dr. J. H. Robinson 74. Captain ofthe Rifles. A Romasi OF THE Mexican VaLLmw. By Captain Mayne Re’ 75. Gentleman George, or, Paria: Prison, Stace AND Street. By Albert Ww. Aikeoo 7€ The Queen’s Musketee:, ‘. THIsBR, THE Princess Paumist. By George Albus V7. The Fresh of Frisco, or, i). Hemess of BUENAVENTURA. By Albert W. Athi‘ 78. The Mysterious Spy: or, Goups: FATHER, THE BuccanceR’s Davemtar. By A W Grainger. 79. Joe Phenix, Tux Porice Spy, Albert W. Aiken. 80. A Man of Nerve, or, Catm,, Tar Dwarr, By Philip & Warne. Ready Nov. | \. 81. The Human Tiger, or, A Hri2: or Fix, By Albert W. Aiken. Ready Nov. 19th 82. Iron Wrist, the Swordmast: - By Col. Thomas H. Monstery. Ready December :: 83. Gold Behe SDOKt. or, THE Knies ) OF THE OVERLAND. By alo Bill, Ready Dew \ 84. Hunted Down, or, rae Wai / Wrron. By Albert W. Aiken. December 1’ A new issue every two waske. Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by « Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by males receipt of twelve cents each, BHADLE & saDaam Publishers, “S William Street. New York, Ay ’
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Deadwood Dick, TxHm Prince or THE Roap. By Edward L. Wheeler. Yellowstone Jack; or, THz TRAPPER O¥ THE ENCHANTED Grounp, By J. E. Badger, Jr. 3 Kansas King; or, Tae Rep Ricast Hanp. By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F. Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagabond Joe; Tut Youna WanpDER- ING Jew. By Oll Coomes. G Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Lirz 1 Tae Nortuwest. By Edward 8. Ellis. yd e Yankee; or, Toz Oczan Ovrcast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. My, Seth Jones; or, THE CapTivEs OF THE Frontrzer. By Edward §, Ellis, 9 The Adventures of Baron Mun- chausen. 10 Nat Todd; or, THe Fate or THE Sioux Captive. By Edward §. Ellis, 1 The Two Detectives; or, Tu Fortunes oF A Bowrry Grau, A.W. Aiken, 1 Gulliver's Travels. A Voyage to Lilliput, anda Voyage to Brobdin f 4 Hawk-eye Harry, THE Youne Trapper Rancer. By Oll Coomes, of 5 The Boy Duelist; or, THz CRUISE or THE Ska Wor. By Col. P. Ingraham. 76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By Albert W, Aiken. hr Corduroy Charlie; or, THz Last Act or Deapwoop Dick. By E. L. Wheeler. wf be Blue Dick; or, Tae YELLow Curmr’s Sol Ginger, THz Giant TRappER, By Albert W. Aiken. 80 Linhtat oF re pun 3 me E. L. Wheeler. tnin o, THt TERROR OF THE SI Pesrutyt &, Captain J. ¥. ©. Adams, Op Powper-Face. By T. C. Harbaugh. $3 Rollo, the Boy Ranger; or, Tur &4. l, the Girl Miner; or, Rosenup B ON HAND. By Edward L. Wheeler. Buck Buckram ; pe BrEss, THE F'R- 6 Dandy Kock, Tne AN-FROM-TEX- AS. by G. Waldo Browne. & = The Land Pirates; or, THE LEAGUE Photo h Phil; or, Rosesup hie bea eeinasce. By Ed. L. Wheeler. S9 Island Jim; or, THE PET OF THE Famiry. By author of “Jack Harkaway.” 90 The Dread Rider; or, THE TEXAN 9 The Captain of the Club. By Bracebridge Hemyng, (Jack Harkaway.) Canada Chet; or, OLD ANACONDA 9 3 The Boy Miners; or, THE ENCHANTED Istanp. By Edward S. Ellis. ht Jack, THe Roav-Acrent The Rival Rovers. By Lieutenant Col. Hazeltine. Watch - Eye, Tox Derecrivz. By The Outlaw Brothers; or, Tur Captrvz or THE Harpes. By J. J. Marshall. Robin Hood, THE OvuTLA WED Ear, Vatiey or Deatu. Capt. J. F.C. Adams, Old Hickory, or, Panpy EL.1s’s 6 Team. By Edward L. Wheeler. 64 Dandy Jack; or, THe OvuTLAW oF THE OREGON Tram. By T. O. Harbaugh. 67 Patent-Leather Joe; or, OLD Rat- HORN IN THE Woops. By J. F.C. Adams. VenaEance. By Captain Mayne Reid. Rosebud Rob; or, Nuceet Nzp, tax &2 Kit Harefoot, THz Woop-Hawk; or, Heiress of THE GOLDEN Horn. Oll Coomes, 85 MALE TRAPPER, t. J. F. C. Adams, or Deviw’s IsLanp. By Capt. © Reid. Durtist. By George W. Browne. 9 IN Srrrine Buiw’s Camp. By E. L. Wheeler T. C. Harbaugh. Edward L. Wheeler. By Prof. Stewart Gildersieeve. The er of T B 99 Waldo mein 80% y sisted 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville. By Edward L. Wheeler, 1 O 1 Jack Harkaway in New York. By Bracebridge Hemyng 102 Dick Dead-Eye, Tux Boy Suve- GLER, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 103 The Lion of the Sea. By Col Delle Sara. 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device. By Edward L. Wheeler. 10 5 Old Rube, Tue Hunts; or, Tur Crow Captive, By Cant H. Holmes. l s 106 OB Emap, Sle oe, 107 One-Eyed Sim; or, Tur ABan- DONED Forest Home, By J. L. Bowen. 10 Daring Davy, Tar Younc Brar Ker. BY arry St. George. _ 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. Edward L. Wheeler. 1 10 The Black Steed of the Prai- ries. By James L. Bowen. 1 Bae rey a og ¥. A . 41 QD Te Mad Hunter; or Tae Cave ‘ or Seda Pog vaee Saxe. 1 1 3 LATOR. ww Baward L. a 1 1 4 The Black Schooner, By Rocrr 1 1 5 The Bad, Hiner. By Grora: 1 16 has esuleeane Captain. By Cot. 1 1 , Gilt-Edged Dick, Tam Sport-Dr-\ TECTIVE. By Edward L. Wheeler. Will - iA ae At oe eee 1 20 The Rasen Seeaes a eee Man or Mystery. By Frank ont, 121 Ctaegnen, Chip, am Gm. Some Phil Hardy, 122 By Charles eae < en “nd Ki ley, 123 irom. Byte Hate Ti T $ A 24 Myny, the Termes es, tn Toms 12 5 Bonanza Bill, Miner; or, Ma- By fa. L. Wh pen Ms THe Femate Forexr. 126 Picayune Pete; REET, 127 Wild-Fire, THe Boss or raz Roap; or, Toe WOLvEs or SaTan’s Gap. By Frank Dumont. 12 & The Young Privateer; or, Tux pe PreaTEs’ STRONGHOLD. By Harry Cav- en ° 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double. A Story of Wild-Cat City. By Edward L. Wheeler. 130 Detective Dick; or, Taz Hzro tn Raas. By Charles Morris. 131 The Golden Hand; or, Danny Rock To Tar Rescuz. G. W. Browne 132 The Hunted Huntur; or, Tux STRANGE HORSEMAN OF THE PRAIRM, By Edward §, Ellis. 133 Boss Bob, THE Eme or tay Boorsiacks; or, THe Merrroporrran Sprorrer, By Edward L. Wheeler. 13 4 Sure Shot Seth, Tux Boy RIruez- man. By Oll Coomes, Ready Feb. 17. 1 3 5 Captain Paul, Trm Moonsaimer or KENTUCEY. ae: D. Clark. ady February 24th 1 36 Night-Hawk Kit ; or, THE DavGH- TER OF THE CWE. h E. Badger, Jr. Ready March 2d. agains <a 137 Blonde Bill, Taz Kine or raz Mines. A Tale of the Los Animas Mines. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ready March 9th. A new issue every week. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. AMS, Publishers, 98 Willtam Street, New York,