Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 1164) (1905 08)
The text was read from the page scans by machine (OCR), so it has mistakes and its columns may run together. See the pages · About this title · At the Internet Archive
Page 1
ail ch (ll Wl Nate gate eee ae Published Every Month. fe gre Me “Littl Roar iT pe x wae (JAMES SULLIVAN, PROPRIFTOR), 379 Pearl Street, New York. THE OUTLAW’S RETREAT. BY JOS, E. BADGER, Jr., AUTHOR OF ‘‘YELLOWSTONE JACK,” ETC., ETO. CHAPTER I. AN ADVENTURE UPON THE ROAD. Swarine heavily from side to side, and ereaking uneasily, as though protesting against such rough usage, the stage-coach lumbered down the steep bank. The sweat-marked leac- ers tore peronge the narrow, shallow creek-bed, anticipating the cutting lash, as they gallantly breasted the abrupt, rocky, rain-gutted ascent that led to the fair, rolling praire beyond, “As nasty a ford as you kin easy find,” quoth Ben Cockles, the swart-browed driver, as his animals settled down into a steady, swing- ing trot. ‘Chaw, stran- gers?” Two of the three “ outsides” declined; the other, a tall, lithe borderer, with long black locks streaming elfish- ly about his thin, shrewd countenance—lazily gnawed a chunk from off the proffer- ed plug. Fit ised to be a nastier hole, though, in the time o’ Ham Murden,” the long man drawled, ‘ That was Monte Pete’s corral—whar he giner- ally went through the coach whenever he thought it wuth while.” ‘T reckon you ain’t astran- ger in these parts, then?’ and Cockles darté | a quick lance at the speaker from meath his shagey eyebrows. **Not much. war ’lon when Ham went under, bac thar, two year gone by—the time Monte Pete in his checks. See, this is how the varmint spilt my beauty,” and the man chuckled grim- ly as he traced with fin- ger a deep scar upon his cheek, -hidden by the shaggy beard. ‘But I raised his pile, an’ he caved.” “Then you’re Curly?” “Volks do call me that, La yg irgnppaee” “Tvs a g enough name, but I reckon you'd better change it while you stay in these parts, Let Black John strike your trail, an’ I would- n't give a continental cuss fer your chaince.” “TD vo heard tell o’ the var- mint,” Cm replied Curly. “ But don’t know what griyige he kin hev ag’inst me. ‘‘Tt’s well know’d all over the line, so I kin tell yer. This feller, Black John he’s called, beca’se he’s a nigger, was with Monte Pete that time, What they was to each other, I don’t know, but I jedge they was extry good fri’nds, fer some time a’terward thar war a lot o’ bills stuck up’long the line, offerin’ a thousand dol- lars ef any one would tell whar Curly, or Israel Tostivan, could be found. Black John was the name signed to it. I’ve been eg a twice, the past year, by fellers what axed for Curly, but when they didn’t find him, they left us slide.” ‘“Then there is such a person as this Black John?” asked a young man, booked upon the way-bill as Kent Morgan, ‘ And he is a Road- Agent?” * Jest as I tell you, stranger. But I reckon he don’t mean to bother us on this trip, or we’d seen him afore.” ‘What would you have done in case he had made his appearance?” “~ SMM RQAD-AGENT’S ATTACK. fee vat ae eae M. J. AVERS & CO., Publishers, i. ‘TS PRICE 5 CENTS. 50c. a year. “ What else but let him work his will?’ “What? There are two young ladies now inside, in a measure under your care. And yous would allow them to be plundered. rhaps in sulted, or still worse—by these rascals, with raising a helping hand?’ somewhat hotly Morgan. ** Don’t git your back up ’thout cause, stran- er. Look howI be. I run this route every day, year in an’ year out. It’s the way I live. Half the time I only hev the mails to kerry. Then git the Road-Agents down on me, an’ whar’d be my show? I wouldn’t hev a smell, A. shot from the tall grass or bresh—an’ thar I'd be. Idon’t think I’m a coward, but I’d bea peeky fool to run my head ag’inst a bullet, jest er nothin’,” sullenly replied Cockles. ‘* There’d be no need of his help, on this trip’ drawled the third passenger, as hedrew a tiny Smith & Wesson seven-shooter from his bosom, gingerly handling it. ‘‘ I am armed, as I perceive you two gentlemen are.” “What mought you call — that, stranger?” asked Curly. ** A revolver, sir.” “Do tell! I thought is looked like a ’tatur m7 ‘* Sir, the weapon is rather diminutive in , but as a destructive engine, of almoss marvelous power. Why, sir, with that weapon I A bull-bison at a single shot, in the White Moun I paced the distance afterward —just two hundred yards, sir, “y , stranger. You're too big a shooter ferme. I reckon you're a sig tg t ye?” . *No,, sir; my name ace oF by cat ke y 1 ere is m ; Ou see, T am in the real. business; cash’ capital, ten million. As a secret, sir, I a te Iam now 100. upa 0 land —one et et miles —that I purchased of the — Government some time Ue had forgotten all tt Wie until last month It's =p \ troublesome know, to ou = remember ait’ thoes trifles,” drawled Kershaw, caressing ae pet mutton-chop whis- ers. It was too slow work for me.” ““T mean the Kansas pla- cers. Talk ’bout Californy— why, that ain’t nowhari Now, I could tell you of a ss ae I’ve run, that make you open your eyes; but I told it once, and a@ chuckle-headed fellow up an’ called it n lie. Of course, thar war a subject waitin
Page 2
Beadle’s Half-Dime = fer a crowner’s ’quest, right off; but sech little ne, tters kinder throw me off my feed, like, an’ ee don’t keer bout exposin’ my: to bein’ even ee thunk a liar.” Hi “But Iam really interested, and as I profess ee to be a gentleman, you need fear no such com- : ments on nfy part. And then, perhaps we can arrange—but of that we can speak here- : r. oak ' “Wal, I'll give it to ye kinder easy, at fust, rie an’ tell of one o’ my little placers. Jest at sun- riz’, one day this spring, I tuck my ox-wagon an’ driv down to the place. I worked mighty be steady all forenoon, beca’se I war out 0’ tobacco co an powder an’ wanted some change to go shop- a in’ with, I didn’t lift my head to see how full “i war gittin’ the bed, ontel noon. Then I start- a ed.up the ox critters. They jist laid down to i it, but couldn’t budge the wagons. The gold ' hed sunk the wheels in the solid airth, plumb , down to the hubs, So,-you see, I hed to pitch out purty nigh half o’ the dornicks ag’in, manidged to git the outfit up to the cabin, a’ter ee ulin’ the wagon-tongue out two or three = es. ‘9 ‘* But the—you didn’t leave the rest of the vs gold lying there exposed, did you?” eagerly s asked Kershaw. a *Yes—but I’m goin’ to rope it next week, ef . it don’t rain. Now you don’t want to think that ie this is the best placer I’ve got, fer it’s only one | a ‘o’ my youngest ones, an’ the stuff hain’t sca’cely ® hed timo to grow yit.” : Bo. “Thar comes the wet, strangers,” cried Cock- one ome ‘*Reckon you’d better pile inside, hedn’t x ye! , Vor an hour or more a huge mass of black ee. clouds had been sweeping down from the north- ne. west, and the air was growing rapidly cooler. : : Now, afar off over the rolling prairie, could be a seen a dense, whitish, mist-like sheet as the rain- i flood swept nearer. Joined to the sullen boom- ee ing of the thunder, whose peals were now almost aay incessant, the scene was anything but agreeable ¥ to a novice, and, as Cockles reined in his steam- _ poorm. Morgan quickly secured the curtain up- . om the more exposed side, and then spoke a & cheering word to his fair companions. A cheery gh replied, for the maidens had not yet for- : n their prairis experience of bygone days. Bie His head bowed tothe increasing blast, Cockles drove ronaty on. Behind him, crouching down ae among the mail-bags and other ‘articles of bag- ee stra upon the deck, was Curly, jea- fusly shie. nits revolvers from the fierce ting rain. Snorting angrily, the full-spi (Past dashed on, shaking the drops in torrents bs from their steaming sides, the renberans coach ec rocking and swaying from side to side ‘ke some v4 storie tinind “vessel. a an For full an hour the uncouth vehicle rumbled ee on through the storm, uninterrupted. A long, a: dark belt of trees and baccred J hes loomed 3 a moré and more distinct, extending at righ = les with the trail. Cockles bowed his head _ aes et more, and rode on with increased speed t from beneath his shaggy brows he a “Phat otight to be Little Wildcat, jest ahead Ss thar,” uttered Curly, shaking back the now os ri nt sees that had given him his-sob- ue ceil Re ‘ So it is—an’ I wish we was well over it, too. | e It’s the devil an’ all a’ter a big rain,” growled kon,’ $ oa seo gone, uneasy glances around, as though : ae | es "Be its only the crick to bother we won" | ai aw much trouble, I reekon.” gaa ae “What do you mean by only?” quickly de- manded Cockles, . “Didn't you say Black John was lookin’ fer me? Ef he is, thar’s the last chaince he’ll hey to size my pile, sence I stop at Barrett's.” ‘* Mebbe he don’t know you’re on this trip?” ‘Better fer us both ef he didn’t. It'll save powder,” was the quiet reply. “You don’t mean fight? Why he never rides onless he hes a full dozen dar’-devils ’ith him! They’d massacre the entire kit o’ us at the first blow you struck,” cried Cockles, with an uneasy r, ‘Curly Tostivan doen't: lay Gown to give the fust feller what axe: iv, his skelp. Them/’ll he fooled who think that, 3 wuth much, but it’s the best I’ve got,” and he chuckled at the idea. Cockles said no more, for the leaders plunged into the undergrowth that here brushed both sides of the coach, his voice ringing out clearly to warn the inside passengers of an abrupt de- scent. And then, seemingly about to topple over upon the slipping horses, the coach plunged down the guttered bank, and into the muddy, roaring waters of Little Wildcat Creek. With a fierce oath, Ben Cockles jerked up the plunging animals, throwing the leaders almost upon their haunches, forcing the wheelers back against the coach, and then the old coach settled down in .the middle of Little Wildcat ford, | threatening with every moment to yield to the mad rush of the waters, to be swept over the uneven rocky ledge, and carried into the deeper waters below. There was liitle occasion to ask the meaning of this action apon the driver’s part. At the same moment each one of the five passengers realized the truth, ing that command. From the rocky side of the western bank echoed a sharp, spiteful report—the voice of a revolver, A hn as bullet whistled unpleasant- ly near to Cockles’s head, causing a peculiar thrill to creep along his spinal column. He knew that this bullet was but a warning for him to halt; should he refuse, the next missile would probably pierce his brain or heart. So, throw- ing all his skill and strength into the effort, he checked his snorting animals, even as a stento- rian voice rung out, high above the roar of Lit- tle Wildcat: “Halt! ‘You carry property there that be- longs to Black John!” 1 was confusion within the coach. The abrupt halt, despite their efforts, flung May and Eunice from their seats forward upon their fel- low-travelers. For amoment the crazy vehicle stood almost on end; but“then settling down more like a sober stage-coach, the crumpled ee sengers quickly disentangled themselves, and, as they accomplished this, the ringing summons ‘came to their ears The girls shricked faintly—Kent Morgan ut- tered a low curse; but the valiant Kershaw was silent. Kent thrust a fist through the closed curtain, his revolver clicking significantly. As though in answer to the cries of the women, the Mere Pea voice from the side of the ford Ae $ ; : ‘Have no fear, ladin. Black John wars ses with those of his own sex.” ith the‘words a single man leaped lightly down the rocky bank, hting in the water, knee-deep. In one hand he carried a revolver. Another showed at his waist. A little cry of wonder parted Kent Morgan’s ae as he peered through the rent curtain. And little wonder, for truly this man was a strange-looking being. The pee seemed beyond the usual hight of man, of truly Herculean build. His garb was mostly composed of Indian dressed buck-skin, gaudi ly ornamented, and bedecked with beads, stained quills and teathers. Upon his hands were riding gloves, the fur gauntlets reaching to the elbow. A felt hat was slouched over his face, From beneath this there fell a profusion of coarse, wrinkly black hair. The face was in color that of a full-blooded negro, but with features horribly grotesque and misshapen. A font hairy wart disfigured the fh was rplish extended from eye to chin. Pettecnioegh Mane, that roteht alzncst bo | military powers at defi. anew s6 very name was a terror to ell ~ Mebbe my life ain’t | There could be no mistak- | n. right cheek. : ; teeth, th vv: se a. showed through the coarse, brist- | ly musical voice in one so repulsive, ‘‘ who have reply. aber The ladies—Ged bless the divine creatures! pay toll, fer our pockets are nearly empty. By the way, lads, just show yourselves, that ovr | friends may see the folly of attempting resis- | tance.” ‘Sa Like magic, nearly a dozen men rose from . their revolvers covering the | their coverts, was to avoid recognition. Then, as Black John. waved his hand, the band as suddenly disappear ed from view. “You see, gentlemen, I am not trying to bluff you. If you accept the situation ag PE all right; if not, the fault lies with you. To you must pay—but ‘tis a rule with us to leave every one enough dust to keep his pockets from flapping in the wind. But first—Cockles!” ‘The driver grunted uneasily. “Have you with you a passenger by the naine of Curly—or Israel Tostivan?” ‘““Hyar I be, my covey—ith four aces for your pilé!” cried a clear voice, the last words partially drowned by a sharp, ringing report as a revolver spoke from the coach root. : Black John price back, dropping his pistol, and then fell at full length in the muddy water, one hand clasped to his breast. : At the first summons Curly had flattened him- self alomg the coach deck, hidden from the Road-Agent’s view by the numerous packages before alluded to, that could not be stowed away upon the crowded rack behind. And from this covert he had answered the demand of Black John. é Without waiting to note the result of his shot, Curly turned his pistol toward the driver, fiercely erying: ‘“‘ Drive on, Cockles, or you’re a dead galoot!’* Even had surly Ben dared refuse obedience, | he could not have done so, for the now thorough- ly maddened horses plunged: forward with a vigor that strained every band and buckle, al- most dragging the driver over the footboard. The lines snapped like bits of packthread—the | erazy vehicle rocked and swayed as the affright- | ed animals madiy tore up the slippery trai. | For a moment the outlaws seemed petrified by the unexpected fall of their leader, but then as he struggled to his feet with a hoarse cry of rage, their revolvers spoke rapidly, sending a leaden hail after the coach. From the roof, Curly’s pistol mompey replied. Through the rent curtain Kent Morgan added his share to the thrilling tumult; but the jolting, swaying coach prevented any ran, os an aim, “ After them—to your horses!” yelled Black John, furiously, ‘‘ Kill every one but the w-- men. I'll shoot the one that harms a hair .'. their heads!” : ** Use the whip, Ben Cockles,” gritted Curly, sternly. ‘‘Don’t show the white feather now, or I’ll plug ye—shore! The road’s good, an’ the critters ’11 make for thar stables, it’s like. aa ‘how, ef we fall into Ais hands, we’re gone suck~ ers, Use the leather, man!” Pale and trembling, Cockles knew better than to disobey, and with a hand that even then did not forget its cunning, he plied the long-lashed whip, waking the echoes with pistol-like cracks as the wiry lash cut first one and then another of the racing animals, parting the hide like a kuife, As though trying to run through their harness, the horses anvied forward, carrying the coack over the almost level road with a truly wonder- ful d. The station was now not more than five miles away. Until that was reached the road was good, broken only by the gentle swell. ing of the rolling prairie. And tothe maddened brutes the weight of the coach seemed but a trifle, as the; turf, oiting like race-horses, the broken liucs flopping over their backs. There wasa culiar pchiabation in this mad, breakneck but how was it to end? Could the result be other than death? rs ‘You fellers inside thar—how goes it? Any . = hurt?” inquired Curly, bending over the “Tbelieve not—but yonder come those devils!” | “Tgsee’em. Whar’s that. buffalo-shootin’ fel- J lert I % heard nothin o’ him yit. It’s like — he'll hey a chance to Curly laughed rock eel | shall pass seot-free, bub the rest of you must. coach. Over their faces were black masks, upon | their hands, gloves. Evidently their object . etched out flat to the springy
Page 3
4b at Mob oN ee PAR 4 a qi to ave small. In with them. =e 5 ay ho he eagerly picked up ‘the gr t) r cked up a ‘email object, quickly hiding it in his bosom, ‘an. observ: en, as if his ore was fully at-. OW; ‘Curly upon the box-seat, though ‘he was | that th ‘* He’s under the seat—where he’s been from the first,” replied Morgan, in a tone of con- | temptuous disgust. ; Pm hunting for—for my pistol,” the valiant Kershaw explained, in a’ no very steady tone of voice. Curly’s laugh rung out clearly, as he tossed back his long hair. A bitter, vindictive yell re- 7 from the lips of Black John, as he spurred is horse on, closely followed-by his men. Yet, though finely mounted, they gained but slowly jon the coach, that, drawn by four stanch an- imals, almost flew across the prairie. “Don’t waste your powder, young feller,” | eried Curly, coolly, “ It’ll only be alittle brush for we’re not fur from Barrett's, an’ the noise’ll | soon fetch us help from thar. But keep the ladies low down, whar the baggage’ll keep the bullets from them.” A mile further on, the pistols of the Road- /agents began to speak viciously. But discharg- vd as they were at full speed, the missiles were but little better than chance shots. ‘Tauntingly Tostivan’s laugh rung out, maddening his deadly enemy. . Snarling like a wild beast, so full of rage and fear that his prey was slipping through his hands, Black John mercilessly spurred on his horse, a noble creature. Neighing with pain, the beast rapidly overhauled the fugitives. All but one of the Road-Agents were distanced. Better mounted than the rest, the man kept close to his leader’s heels. Both Curly and Morgan opened fire, but their bullets = iin wide of the mark. The swaying of the coach rendered their aim futile, and the out- laws drew steadily nearer, as yet making no at- ees to return the fire, until within a score yards of the coach. Then the revolvers were raised. Atalmost the first report a shriek of agony filled the air, and a human figure rolled from the coach-deck. It ‘was Ben Cockles. He lay in a quivering heap, but he did not feel the fall. He was shot through the brains. “Youwre my man, Curly Tostivan—remem- ber Monte Pete!” snarled Black John. ** You'll be toastin’ ’longside him at the same ‘fire this night, my covey!” retorted the tall bor- derer. ‘Thar comes our fri’nds!”’ ‘Bat not soon enough to save you /” With these words Black John forged up along- side the coach, Both pistols spoke at the same moment. An involuntary cry broke from any and the outlaw. Then other reports followed, The next moment both outlaws were down! And Curly uttered another exultant yell. Two miles orey upon a prairie swell, he , eould see a body o horsemen, whom he believed to be friends. But would they be in time to save them from destruction? The coach threat- ened to upset with every moment. At such a a the result could scarcely be otherwise than a A glance back showed him the Road-Agents clustered about the fallen forms, He knew that nothing more was to be feared from them then. If the horsemen beyond were friends, the out- 5 would have to ride fast to save their own Ves. ‘Git ready in thar for a upset, if I fail,” he ¢eried, coolly, prepared for a desperate attempt the impending Crawling to the foot-board, he calculated his chances. The chances were Greatly against him. To fail could be nothing less than death, instant and certain. And yet he did not shrink from the trial. Though unconscious of the fact, - Curly was:a hero. For a moment balancing himself, Curly leaped down upon the back of the wheeler, clinging to the harness like a monkey. The animal crouch- - ed low down, then with a cry of terror, plunged - forward, snapping both traces likespackthread. A strong hand now wound in the reins, and after a brief, thrilling struggle, the animal was held in check. A moment later, Curly had both the leading lines tight wrapped round his hands, and the greatest a was passed. Gradually he checked their speed, ur‘il, as the horse- ‘men swept up, he brought them to a stand-still. .The ,Road-Agents were just disa ing in the distance, and rei pursuit was instantly made, the Ppa ine of overtaking them was eir flight they had borne their dead While the few who remained behind were lacing the body of the ill-fated Cockles upon Tne i was narrowly searching mtly ed to where t ) liar!” ‘shot in the pees can not be my bullet touched his face, any more than Tam} slightly wounded in the shoulder by Black John’s last shot, the coach rolled on to Bar- rett’s, where an excited crowd awaited its com- ing. That night Frank Kershaw was in his glory, telling how “we defeated the rascally Road- Agents!” CHAPTER II. BLACK JOHN’S CHALLENGE, THE little dingy bar-room of Barrett's sole “hotel ”—as the swinging sign boldly proclaim- ed the rude story-and-a-half building to be— contained a much larger number of people than it usually gave shelter to, on the morning of tne day succeeding the Road-Agents’ attack upon the coach at Little Wildcat. Yet the chubby little man presiding behind the rough pine bar did not seem happy. The freshly-washed glasses were innocent of alcoholic scent—the stout bot- tles were still full to the throat. The sturdy settlers had something: of even deeper impori- ance to talk about. The news of the attack and defeat of the Road-Agents had spread like wildfire, and eager to learn the truth of the affair, the farmers and stock-breeders left their work, flocking into Barrett’s. This was the first time for nearly a year that the stage-coach had been waylaid along this stretch. And when it was known that Ben Cockles had been killed, deep and dead- ly threats were breathed, and, as if by common consent, the settlers collected at Barrett’s to consult upon the best course to pursue. Then, as had been the case before, the subject of or- ganizing a vigilance committee was broached. “T don’t say but what you're right, stran- gers,” said Curly, upon being appealed to for an opinion, * Ef you kin git the right man to lead, a vigilance outfit is a hard pill fer sech varmints to swaller, as this Black John’s boys be. But the trouble is, in matters like this, each man’s as good as his neighbor, an’ thar’s jest as many leaders as thar is noses in the crowd.” ** Will you take the office, then?’ said Thomas Harvard. i “No, I won’t. Idon’t mind lendin’ a helpin’ hand, ef it’s needed, but I’ve got business o’ my own to ’tend to, Besides, I’m a stranger to most 0’ you.” “Don’t forget that you more about gold-placers, pered Frank Kershaw. there’s money in it.” ‘** But, if I understand aright, this man— Black John I believe you call him—was killed yesterday,” observed one of the party, a stran- ger. ; ; He had arrived at « vrrect’sshortly after dusk, the night before, riding along the Denver trail. Owing to the excitement, he had been but little noticed by the usually curious settlers, yet he was a man that few persons would pass without turning for a second glance. : In stature, he was but little above the medium hight, lithely, elegantly formed, with a supple grace in every movement that was a charm in itself. His dress was plain, though of costly material, In his linen front gleamed diamond studs. An elegant chain crossed his vest. A beautiful diamond cluster-ring sparkled upon his left hand, that now caressed his smooth- shorn chin, His close-trimmed hair was jetty black, covered by a military forage cap. His face, almost classic in its contour, was very handsome, though wearing a firm, self-reliant expression, that redeemed it from effeminacy. is eyes were largo and of peculiar brilliancy, ore. to pierce through and through those upon whom their regards were turned. He had ven the name of Wayne Appleton, just from enver, bound for Fort Leavenworth. Though he had not stated as much, the impression was that he was in some way connec with the secret service, at Leavenworth. “I don’t believe the man was killed,” quietly observed Kent Morgan. ‘‘ His horse was shot, and stumbling, flung its rider. If I mistake not, we shall hear more of this affair.” - “The varmint has got as many lives as a cat,” disgustedly said Curly. ‘‘Ef I didn’t plant two bullets plum whar his heart ought to be, ’m a “Tt would not be the first time that a secret coat of mail stopped a well-aimed bullet, thought of that after your shot at the ford, and gave my last bullet at his head,” said Morgan. * «But you missed him?” asked Appleton. _ No—I made a mark,” was the quiet reply. “A good clew to work by, then, A negro, ly mistaken,” romised to tell me urly,” eagerly whis- “Tf it’s as you say, is Black John is a negro.’ gent. - Kent T am not sure that | ‘se & company A general exclamation of surprise greeted this remark, but Kent Morgan stifled the gath- rie with a gesture, Then he ad UPLy; “You had a fair view of this Black John?" **Ves—why shouldn’t I?” “Did you notice his right cheek?” ‘Yes. Ho had a great big thing like a wart growin’ thar, kivered with hair. The size of a peach split in two, I should judge,” thoughtfully added Tostivan. **You have a keen eye, Curly,” and Kent laughed shortly, as he tossed something upon the low bar. *‘ There is the wart, just as you described tt. You can see where my bullet left - its mark.” As one man, tho sattlers pressed forward, Appleton among the foremost. But his was the pay hand that offered to touch the curious- looking object. In size and shape it closely re- +g a full-grown tarantula, deprived of its egs. ‘You choose a rather inopportune moment ‘for your practical jokes, Mr. Morgan,” slowly uttered Appleton, dropping the object, with a gesture of disgust. A ey 7 *tis none of my making. Gentle- men, that is an imitation wart, mado of paste and silk, but it is the one worn by Black Jobn, as he terms himself, yesterday afternoon. When I saw that he was proof against our bul- lets when aimed at his body, I fired at his head. Isaw him start, and then something fell to the ground, leaving a clear white spot wpon his cheek! This I saw plainly, as I turned to at- tend to the other rascal. Him I shot through the body, just as Curly dropped the leader After the affair was over, I went back an searched the ground carefully, finding this mock wart, or wen. Put this and that together, and what is the result? That the outlaw is no - negro, but a white man, A‘nd, beyond a doubt. this fact has been his greatest safeguard agai discovery, for only a negro was looked for. It is easy to see now how he escaped so often. In- deed, when his disguise is once cast aside, what is there to poorer’ him. from mingling among you—even sharing in your councils, aiding you to form plots and lay snares for his own de- struction, laughing in his sleeve, all the time, at the double role ho is playing? It is nothing more than a bold, quick-witted man might do, with very little danger to himself.” ©.” “Just so—supposing him to be what you sus ou have grounds | pay and I do not deny that or your reasoning—but is it likely that so many persons could have been deceived so thoroughly, and for such a long time?” Kent Morgan turned quigkly toward the speaker, Appleton met his gaze quietly; but the words of the young man were checked by the rapid beat of horse’s hoofs along the road without. Instinctively, all eyes were directed toward the open doorway. i The shape of a horse and its rider abruptly halted at the door, so close that the long mane of the animal floated inside the room. e rider made a rapid motion with his right arm. A heavy, peculiar thud followed. Then with a single, low, taunting laugh, the vision vanished, Z ten-inch bowie-knife was nar in the door-casing, a sheet of paper fluttering upon the bright blade, And abovo the clattering of iron- shod hoofs, the insolent laugh came to the ears of the astounded settlers. . ? The affair had been so sudden, so unexpected, that the borderers could scarcely believe their eyes. And yet, scarce one among the party but had caught sight of a black, repulsive face, as the horseman glared in upon them, “ BLACK JOHN, BY THE LORD Harry!” The words were Appleton’s, as he sprung across the threshold, and into the open air. The spell was broken, and the entire party quickly followed, The daring horseman was now nearly clear of the village, and turning in ‘his saddle, he shook his clenched fist at the party, uttering a loud peal of insolent laughter that stung the settiers — to A score of revolvers began to speak, but, rid- ing erect, as though oe them, Black John uickly passed beyond pistol-range. Seein this, the farmers Neced upon such horses 4 were standing ready-saddled near at hand, and set out in hot pursuit. Still others ran afoot, until the folly of such a course cooled t blood, when they rejoined those gathered around organ, as he read the knife-pierced pa, a On it was written, in bold, clear chafac- “TO My DEAR FRIENDS OF BaRRETT'sS—GREpTING: amt Some time past you have been threatening to organ- rok vigdantes, for the expreas purpose ‘
Page 4
4, of wiping out the band I have the honor to captain. As lam curious to learn whether you are really men, iI make this proposition. To-morrow, at noon, I will be in camp at the Twin Mounds, having just twenty- one men. I shall remain there until sunset, ready to receive and entertain visitors. “T send this challenge, because your boasts and threats of what you would do—if you were able—are growing monotonous. Do uot fetch less than forty men, as my lads wish something to liven them up. Now, dare you accept this challenge? “These, from your master, * Biack JOHN, THE Roap-Acrnt.” "Twould be no easy matter to find words by which to express the wild storm of rage and fury that followed the reading of this precious ‘document. <A biting, stinging insult from first to last, the manner in which this bold defiance had been delivered added to the humiliation. Curses, loud and deep, broke from the sturd settlers, weapons were drawn and brandished, and for a few moments it seemed as though the entire party were gone suddenly mad. Again the clatter of hoofs rung through the httle village, but as the crowd glanced quickly along the road, they recognized a friend and neighbor. As he abruptly drew rein beside them, the man suddenly demanded: S408 Whar’s Tom Good eart—any o’ you fellers know?” ‘What's up now, Ike? You look as though you had seen a ghost!” asked Howard. ‘You seen my brother?’ hoarsely repeated the man. ‘* Not since the first of the week, But there’s nothing wrong, I hope?’ ** Yest’day Tom started fer here, but he didn’t git back last night. This mornin’I see’d his critter in the corral, whar she’d jum in, the saddle kivered with blood. I set the boys to work, lookin’ fer sign an’ kem on here to see ef T could Yarn anythin’,” Ike Goodhéart spoke in a low, strained and unnatural voice, and there was a strange look upon the hard, rug face, as the settle knowing the deep, almost passionate love tha bound the brothers together, read aright the slekening dread that even the stoical borderer could not entirely mask, The story of the bloody saddle told of yet another black tragedy to be added to the almost endless catalogue of crimes and bloodshed that stain the annals of Kansas, both asa Territory and as a State. “Some more work of Black John, beyond a doubt!” cried Wayne Appleton. “Men, how long are you going to submit to this—how much longer are you going to allow this devil and his imps to ride rough-shod over you? I am a stranger to most of you here, but I am ready to lend ap what aid I can. Iwill be one to pledge my ‘e and honor never to cease the hunt until ee of outlaws is broken up and destroy- A general cry greeted this declaration, and it was evident that not the slightest objection to such a decided course was felt now, whatever light have been the case a few minutes since. or a time all was confusion, each man talking, none listening; .but then, as another horseman came spurring along the road, followed by Ike Goodheart, the tumult died away, for by his tace—the manner in which the new-comer turn- ed toward Goodheart, they knew that he was he bearer of evil tidings. “You needn’t say it, Hank,” the brother ut- tered, in a strained, husky ‘tone, “Whar is @? ; “By Little Timber—throwed in his tracks,” wt peiais” SLM Gonart, amating vi'n 8 g in a uiet tone, “ you hear what so Genes this murder!” solemnly cried Thomas oward, For the time Black John’s bold challenge was forgotten, and almost to a man the settlers hastened to prepare their horses for the ride to Little Timber. Among them were our friends, Kent Mor : Curly, and Kershaw. The half-dozen 4 i miles were quickly traversed, and the creek known as Little Timber, frony the glided out from the armed to the teeth, They were those left to keep guard over the dead. _ Ike Goodheart dismounted and stood beside a ttle heap of fresh branches torn from the _ W. strange skae covering, nersating tee wii like stunted trees and shrubbery that lined its banks, | was reached. As the y ae up, = men less figure that had so recently been full of life and activity. For a moment he gazed fixedly upon the ghastly face of his dead, in silence, Then he spoke, in the same low, monotonou- 4 voice that had marked his tone since his appears ance at the hotel. You. see, gentlemen, whoever ’twar, made sure work o’ it. Thar’s whar the bullet struck —jest over the heart. I don’t reckon he ever knowed what hurt ’im.” Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. “Don’t crowd around, boys, ontil we’ve had | a look fer sign,” said Curly 'lostivan, peremp- torily. y Yor full half aa hour the vicinity was closely | but nothing was | and systematically searched found that could throw any light upon the tra- gedy. Yet this was not so surprising to the party. A simple solution for that. The settler had been shot some time during the preceding day; «ven those least skilled in gunshot wounds could tell that much. And the heavy rain- storm, that had continued long after nightfall, had thoroughly obliterated all traces left by the murderers. Tn turn the members of the party had exam- ined the corpse, merely to satisfy that morbid curiosity one naturally feels upon such occa- sions, ent Morgan was the last. He seemed not a little interested, closely scanning the body from head to foot, a peculiar light in his eyes. Quickly slipping a hand beneath the y, he gently turned it over, and then, drawing a 2, slit the clothing between the shoulders. Several of the settlers pressed forward, mur- muring, at their head was Ike G eart. Mor- gan returned their gaze paphis ‘ve found a bit of ‘sign’ that you all over- looked. The bullet that killed this man did not pass clear through his body. I can feel it now, just beneath the skin.” ‘* Stan’ aside, stranger,” muttered Goodheart “T must have the fust look at that bit 0’ lead.” With a hand firm and steady as steel, the borderer the clothing, and pressed his knife into the livid flesh. Then a bullet lay in the palm of his hand. With as much care as though this was some great treasure, Goodheart hea i the telltale ~issile, and then eyed it eenly. It was the —— of a revolver, “navy sized.” It bore the plain marks of the deeply-grooved barrel, but was not otherwise distle ed, and Goodheart’s eyes glowed vividly as he saw that the bullet was “ billeted ”—that it bore the pri- vate mark of its owner; the initials M. C. : “Them thar’s my letters, but you fellers all know how I mark my bullets,” promptly cried one of the settlers. ““T know it wasn’t you, Mat Craythone,” as preg Beye Goodheart. ‘But here, by dead karkidge o’ brother ‘Tom, I sw’ar to find out whose work it is, and to hev his life, if it’s fifty years from now!” ent Morgan examined the bullet, and then handeéd it back to eart. g around, he noticed thi _— of Wayne Appleton search- ing his face. faint smile curled his lips as Appleton turned away. What shall we do about— I mean how can we help you, Goodheart?” asked Howard. “No way, o now. ‘The boys an’ I'll attend to Tom. But Pll come over the town this evenin’. Thar’s this Black John affair, and I want somethin’ to keep me from thinkin’ too much o’ him.” Ike Goodheart mounted his horse, and then the corpse of his brother was handed up to him. pe this across the saddle, he slowly rode away. he disa: , the settlers retraced their steps to Barrett’s, conversing in low, eager tones. Kent Mor, had but little to say, and ap- peared deep buried in thought, the keen eyes of Wayne ne a often wandered to that pale, handsome face, with an expression that could not easily be read. An hour later Kent Morgan sat in his room at the hotel. Before him lay an bullet-mold and several bullets. Each one bore the initials M. C.; the same as that which had been extracted from the body of the dead man, And thus he sat thinking for a long time. by CHAPTER II. — THE DEFIANCE And griev: he been the most faithful Soe instead of a masked Ww. = eens wecece | And the brother—this Ike Goodheart—does he know or suspect the truth? That there was love of no-common strength between the two, no one could doubt, after a look at that man’s face. At least there was no counterfeiting there. And he means every word of that oath —of his vow of vengeance. But does he know— or does he believe that his brother was rourder- ed by the outlaws—by Black John? It don’t seem possible that the two could live together, be brothers, and yet one belong to such an or- ganization without the other being fully aware of the truth. Andi he does know it, then Like Goodheart knows who shot his brother—and he knows, too, why it was I sought for the marked bullet, He must know that I see through his story and know it to be false. But does he know why I held my peace and did not denounce the man all supposed to have been foully mur- dered, as a villain and an outlaw who had only met with a richly-deserved punishment? Per- haps he attributes my silence to fear—that his threats of vengeance frightened me. Well, let it be so, then. I must walk carefully, and keep oe wits about me.” ie with gaze riveted upon the marked bullets, Kent sa mused long and thought- fully. Occasionally a sentence fell sudibiy: from his lips, but there were no ears near save his own to hear it. Had there been such, the settlement of Barrett's might have gained a more correct idea of who this traveler really was. Morgan believed he could read aright the story of the past few hours—could unite the broken thread of the events that so perturbed Barrett’s. He knew that this Thomas Goodheart was none other than the outlaw who had fallen at the same moment with his leader, Black John, attacking the stage-coach. The Road- Agents had removed their dead from the field. Their next move was to avert the discovery that threatened. Goodheart was a prominent stock- raiser, respected and looked up to in the settle- ment. Should it become known that he had fallen as one of Black John’s masked riders, what would be the result? Suspicion would be aroused, and each man would become a spy upon his neighbor. And this might end in un- easant discoveries! The mask might be torn om other faces. So, at least, Kent Morgan reasoned, ’ The body had been prepared and conveyed to the crossing on Little Timber. Goodheart played his partin the drama, It had been a success in so far as the settlers:were con peak Not one among them suspected the truth. ‘Tf he was playing a part, then I must watch my steps well. Though, for the sake of his dead * brother’s honor, he’ll not dare accuse or attack me openly, he was in deadly earnest when he swore vengeance, He means to give these peo- or another sensation, with my corpus in the itle-role.. Forewarned, fore-armed they say, st cae etic wit netic takiees 0 " ue eyes sparkling brightly. as he secured the mold and bullets, and then lef the room, He had _ just remembered that he had prom- ised Mr. Howard to take dinner with him on that day, and it was full noon. The warm- hearted settler could not find words enough to genres his thanks, for be sure the young ladies had not lessened the danger they had run, nor underrated the courage shown by the male » 2d sengers. And Howard had included Frank Ker- shaw and Wayne applet in the invitation, | Morgan already knew the house—a substan- tia] stone building, standing upon the edge of a goodly-sized farm, that reached to the outskirts of the village. He found that dinner was in readiness, cigee = Sot his arrival. The stran- ger received a cordial greeting, and after being introduced fo Mrs. Howard and the host’s fas a Tandy eg a RO organ uw e g unusually si- ig = ous = his naturall i . More than once a p expression ed upon his face, as he eR across to where Wayne Appleton sat. He felt a vague remem- brance of errs met this man under other and very different circumstances; but he could go no darther. Beyond, all was confused. He obliced , too, that Appleton acted as though well uainted with the two younger ladi though it was evident that Mr. aay | never met before that day. Somehow, even while forced to admit to himself that Ap- 2 And then Ike -
Page 5
‘ * ZY Ley ee ’ Morgan would have batched heartily. Yet it was ause Wayne Appleton wore such an air of deep devotion whenever he spoke to or listen- ed to pretty May Howard, that this dislike was gaining Sep ei for, if not in love with, Kent was deeply interested by May, the black-eyed. _ Frank Kershaw was in his glory. Mischievous little Eunice was drawing him out very skill- fully, and in a manner that brought his pecu- Har foibles mto Mil prominence. Such startling soatements, sucn marvelous adventures, did he sikim over, with the half-bored air of one to whom such things were quite a matter of course. And perhaps no one around the table believed these wonders more implicitly than Frank did. It is a settled fact among those who know him—and this character is a live one at the present day, though it is far beyond the power of my pen to draw him to the life—that Kershaw can ‘ dis- count” Baron Munchausen at that worthy’s own game, with a devout belief in his own fan- tastic creations, After dinner, Morgan and Howard resumed the one subject of interest; what was to be done in regard to the challenge of Black John? Then the young folks left the room, almost unnoticed by them. : The afternoon was hazy and cool, a fresh breeze sweeping over the rolling prairie. Eunice had led Frank off to view the garden; then ae pleton spoke to May, who was now unusually he a slight shade resting upon her fair row. “Shall we walk as faras the maples yonder, Miss May? The shade will be pleasant, and there we can talk more freely than here.” ‘*T have nothing to say that all may not hear —nor do I wish to listen to—” * But you must—I mean that I must speak | out plainly now, for the last time. You cannot refuse to hear me, though those words may not be pleasant to your ears,” rapidly returned Ap- pleton, drawing her hand through his arm. | Hvidently ill at ease, after a brief hesitation, May yielded to his superior will, and they walk- ed on to where a rustic seat stood beneath the sturdy maples. At a motion from Appleton, May sunk down upon the seat, but he stood be- fore her, pale and serious, a bright light filling his eyes. “You have not a word for me now—you sit there in silence as cold as though we were per- fect strangers—as though the warm, passionate words of love had never passed between us. May—in God’s name, tell why you have chang- » ed—what is this that has come between us?’ he said, in a voice that trembled with ill-sup- pressed emotion. “Tshould not think you would need ask me ot Mr. Appleton,” coldly replied May How- ee ‘“‘T understand you,” and his proud head drooped a little. ‘‘ But I was innocent; I was first lured into drinking, and then betrayed by a man who had sworn he was my faithful friend. You hear my defense—it was published in the papers of the day, and all of them joined in laughing at and —e ridicule upon it. But | b surely you do not think I was lying?” “Mr. Appleton, why bring up this matter again, when nearly a year had sunk-it into ob- livion? Itcan do no eee can only end in disappointment for both of us. AsI told you before, the past is dead and buried forever.” “Tt can—it must live again! Think how we were then, loving and beloved. [ . happ ‘spi: Wy. ived while with you—I worshiped you—” Mr. Appleton, if this is all that you have to say to me, I will bid you good-day. I can listen no longer,” coldly said May, arising to er feet. _‘‘And yet the time was—not so many months _ since—when you told me that you loved me, ' when you fully reciprocated my vows—” “You make me speak harsh words despite myself, Mr. Appleton. As. you say, the time was—but it is not now. Then I believed you represonted yourself—a man of honor, a gen- tleman in the truest sense of the word, and not a— “Why do you hesitate?—why not finish with the words upon your tongue? When I was not a convicted felon—before I was branded with _ the name of thief—burglar! The words are simple and easy spoken; then why hesitate?’ bitterly said Wayne. ~ “You forced this upon me. I did not wish - to say so much, but you pressed me for an an- _ sewer, and I could only speak the tru 53 lied may, — f i mt Stayr—Ro not leave me yet. If I have said ” quietly aught to offend you, forgive me. My mad love. for sy so c npet me that I scarcely know pyself, And then this last year has beena Black John, the Road-Agent. TT EE—— very hard and trying one to me. I have suffer- ‘ed a thousand deaths in it, not for my bodily sufferings, though they treated me like a do until [made my escape, but because I feare that you would learn to loathe and despise me, believing me guilty -of all they said. But I swear to you now, by my hopes of a hereafter, that [ was and am innocent!’ “For your own sake, I should be glad to be- lieve this,” ‘You speak as though the matter had no interest to you—as though I were a perfect stranger!” “I speak as I feel. You force me to speak plain words, though they must be disagreeable to you. And since so much has been said, the subject may as well be settled now, once and for all, You say that once I confessed that I loved you, Idonot deny it. I was but a sim- ple country girl, unused to society. You sought to win my love, as { firmly bélieve, merely as a kill-time. You were handsome, polite, a gon- tleman in manners and dress, Little wonder, then, that I believed you, and turned a deaf ear to those who would have warned me against as you. At that time I fan- cied that I loved you—perhaps I did in a measure; but that does not matter now. You know the end. You were arrested, tried and convicted. True, you de- clare yourself the victim of a conspiracy. But other matters came out through the trial, enough to disenchant one far more deéply in love with you than I was. Tho scales fell from my eyes then, and I saw what a blind fool I had been. But thank God! the discovery did not come too late.” ‘* But I was innocent—” “Still, that can make no difference. All is over between you and I. Only that I desired to avoid a scene, I should have acted differently from what I have to-day. You have only your- self to thank for this reopening of ‘an old wound,” It was a strange sight, that proud-looking man standing there with bowed head, his face hastly pale, listening to such cutting words rom the lips of the woman he so madly loved. Arid May, offended as she was, felt a thrill of pity as she looked upon him. “You are very cruel—it is a fair face to cover such an unrelenting vheart,” Appleton said, bit- terly, his eyes beginning to glitter, his pale cheeks to flush as the words stung home, ‘“ And once I believed that you could love! But. then —I do not care to reproach you. Perhaps I de- servo it all. Yeb IL never Jike to begin a thing withouf carrying it toan end, I came here to- day, intending to learn my. fate, to ask you if he would make good your vow of last year. ask you now: May Howard, will you be my wife?” “And I answer you, no, That is my final answer, and unless you wish to insult me, you will not 4 ag me occasion to repeat it,” coldly replied ay. ‘I shall not repeat the question again. Good- May coldly bowed her head and swept past him, unnoticing the outstretched hand. —Apple- ton stood motionless, watching her until she re- entered the house, then turned and strode rapid- ly away. As the grove shut the house from view, his assumed composure vanished, and he flung himself upon the ground in a paroxysm of rage and mortification, groveling in the damp grass like some wounded snake. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the prairie waves, when Wayne Appleton returned to the hotel, But then his face bore no trace of the terrible struggle; he was the same cold, roud-mannered man of that morning, He en- red the bar-room where a number of settlers had already collected, and joined in the debate. If he possessed no other talent Wayne Apple- ton -was a good actor. The settlers around and the inhabitants of Barrett’s had collected, almost toa man. The main subject under discussion was the chal- lenge of Black John. There seemed to be but one opinion regarding it: the bold insult must be avenged. A number were in favor of riding to the Twin Mounds, and thus deciding the mat- ter by a erway battle, but others were suspi- cious that the defiance covered a trap. “We kin muster forty good men, all knowin’ how to use the we’pons f: ey kerry,” cried Abram Leigh. ‘Black John can’t hev enough to give us much bother, ‘less he’s Rot the Injuns to help ie Nea ain’t likely. Then, J say, le’s go for em ; _ But he won’t fight fair. It’s more like he'll a ’bushment ‘long the road,” ‘Bushment be durned! Ain’t thar more than one trail ’crost the prairie? More like he did & jest for devilment, thinkin’ we’d bluff.” ** May he not have some design upon the vil-_ lage here? By drawing you away to the Twin Mounds, the coast’ would be clear for him ta swoop down and work his will before we could get back,” suggested tel ‘* We kin leave enough fellows at homa to sp’ile that game, an’ still hev a-plenty to b him at the Mounds, I say—le’s go, An’ a those who don’t want to be called durned goose. livered cowards, ‘ll j’ine me,” hotly cried Leigh. That speech settled theaffair. Not one among them all would hold back after such words. Then the question was more fully discussed. . je a company of vigilantes regularly organ. Some little difficulty was found in pelea { leader, for, in succession, Curly and Howard de. clined to serve. But then, Appleton, whose counsels had been accepteble to the majority, consented to serve as captain for the time, The party then separated, returning to theiy homes to make preparations for the ride and an ticipated struggle. - With early dawn they were to take the trail. CHAPTER IV. OUTWITTED, As tho first faint streaks of gray began to brighten the eastern horizon, the sound of hoot- strokes filled the little village of Barrett's. The. vigilantes were gathering for their ride to ac- cept the challenge of Black John, There were ete and anxious faces among the women, though he tears that dimmed their eyes were not stif- fered to fall. They knew that a collision be- tween the rival forces would be a stern and desperate one, in which more than one man might lose his life, And to them the face of the dead was ever that of hiza most dear to their hearts, The only oe was that occasioned by the drawing lots to decide who were to remain as a guard at the village. Those whem fate selected were far from comers They did not relish the idea of being forced to remain at the village is inglorious idleness, while their ccmrades were enjoying themselves in the wild, intoxicatin skirmish or hand-to-hand conflict. But, thoug muttering bitter curses upon their crooked luck, not, one rebelled, ; And from the village, through the narrow tract of sparsely-timbered land, the vigilantes entered upon the broad, rolling prairie. The party was composed of nearly two-score men, self-reliant and courageous, armed to the teeth with weenons that had beengfamiliar to them since early boyhood. They were for the most part men *‘ worth their weight in wildcats ina rough-and-tumble” or hand-to-hand fight; La- tural-born skirmishers, their tactics learned from the wild beasts and the no less crafty red- skin; men who won victory in their own way not by blindly following any particular system of tactics. The party were, for the most part, mounted upon that mongrel breed of animals unsurpas ed in any country for long and steady going be- neath the saddle, the half-breed mustang—the “ Tndian pony.” With the spirit that evena long day’s travel cannot entirely subdue, the animals pranced and curveted at the unwonted restraint of a tightly-drawn rein, dashing the sparkling dew-drops from the bending blades of grass, scaring the rabbit, or occasionally its overgrown brother, the jackass-rabbit, from its form, flushing the quail and prairie-chicken from their grassy coverts. Anon a fleet-footed deer or antelope would dart out from some clump of shrubbery, disappearing over the prairie swell like some phantom of the gray dawn, unheeded, unnoticed by its usual enemy, save, pri aeine by a passing glance. For time being they may pass toll-free, for more ex- citing sport fills.the minds of the prairie-riders, Tn the midst of the party rode Frank Kershaw, far from being at ease. A “city man,” Frank was scarcely up to these free-spirited, prairic- born horses. He had been furnished by Thomas Howard with a mount second to none in tha band; but Frank failed to appreciate the kind- ness, The poor fellow was enduring the “ tor- tures of the damned.” : The pony would try to free its head, its mus- tang blood on fire with rivalry. Frank would tug convulsively at the reins until the cruel curb almost brole the animal's jaw, at the same time closing his bony legs close to the pony’s side, when the sharp sa acted as a counter-ir- ritant. A series of plunges was the result, in which, only for the high-horned Spanish saddle, Kershaw aoe scarce have escaped an igno " eo, . —er se
Page 6
**Don’t hold sucha tight rein, stranger. Durn it all—you’ll git the critter to buckin’, and then you will be gone!” expostulated Curly. “[—I don’t think well—I feel so queer,” faintly muttered Kershaw. “If I only knew the road back, I believe ’'d go home. I fear ’'m going to be ill!” “*T don’t reckon ’twould be any great loss if you was to go back,” muttered Abram Leigh, disgustediy, ‘tA goose-livered feller ain’t o much a’count whar we're goin’.” “Sir!” exclaimed Kershaw, ‘‘do you mean to insinuate that I am deficient in either moral or physical courage?” - “T don’t mean to insinivate nothin’, becaise I don’t know what the jawbreaker stan’s fer; but if it’s anythin’ onbecomin’ a man, why you lit in sayin’ of it.” “Well, since you apologize, we will let the matter drop. I’m not one to hold malice after amends are made,” jerked forth Frank, clinging desperately to pommel! aid mane, “*Pologizo nothin’! I said I didn’t think owd be o’ much a’count in a scrimmage in this lack John outfit, an’ I stick to it. I don’t swar that you're a coward, but if a feller was to pay mo to find him a raal coward, dur~ my cats if I wouldn’t ax you to go with me tu see him, anyhow.” **Peace, gentlemen,” interposed Wayno Ap- pleton, speaking in the authoritative tone of one not unaccustomed to obedience. ‘‘ This is not the time for petty wrangling among ourselvés. Save your breath; if this defiance of Blaclk John is genuine, it is very likely that you both will have your fill of fighting before the matter is ended. * All right, Cap; youre boss here just now, an’ (i walk the chalk. But this much I do say —an’ them as knows me ’Il tell whether I ever go back on my word—ef tho stranger plays his eg like a man when the pinch comes, re ax nis pardon, an’ own up ’at [ was wrong in my uess. But ef he don’t—ef he shows the white eather—ef he turns tail an’ tries to crawfish out o’ the mess, send me to everlastin’ glory, ef { don’t bore a hole through him big a-plenty to kick a yeartiv’ coléthrough.” Perhaps ’twvas as well that Frank Kershaw was so fully occupied with his native charger that. he could not reply to this threat with the retort he would otherwise have offered, for Abraham Leigh was one of those hotblooded, reckless, unreasoning animals that are seldom found but upon the verge of civilizetion. A nfan that his friends fear fully as muvu. if not more, than his enemies, because they know not at what moment, nor with what pretext, he may turn upon them, for the moment a fiend incarnate. A -man who is “sp’ilin’ for a scrim- mage,” caring little whether his antagonist be friend or foe, so long as his pugilistic propensi- ties be gratified. ** Best steer clear o’ that chap, youngster,” muttered Curly, warningly, as he rode closs beside Kershaw. ‘' He’s on it, bigger’n a wolf, he is. Thar ain’t anybody in the State that keers to cross him, when the fitison, I know you ain’t afeard, becaise I b’lieve you'd nat’rally eat him up ef onee started, but you wouldn’t like to leave his wife an’ fambly pore lone wid- ders, would ye?” ? “or their sake Tl overlook his words, Mr. Curly, provided he don’t say any more,” mag- nanimously replied Frank. ‘‘I don’t suppose he knows who i am.” ‘The sim gradually mounted the horizon, its warm rays evaporating the heavy dew. A fresh, cool breeze swept across the prairie, bow- tug the grass-tips before its breath in waves fiat seomed ficeing and pursuing, here and there, in fantastic curves and angles, or else long, regular colurans. As far as the eye could wee, there was nothing but a sea of living green, the gentlo prairie swells closely resembling the long, majestic rolling of the ocean. Not a tree or a bud was to beseen. Nothing but the waist- high grass, dotted here and there with the briiliant crest of some gaudy flower. The vigilantes rode steadily onward through tho sea of grass, following no trail, but heading direct for the Twin Mounds, If Black John had calculated upon drawing the settlers into an ambush along the regular trail, as had been suggested, he would be disappoimted in the hope. eh than one of the a chafed angrily at the deliberate movements of their leader, who, hawever, took no notice of them, until their dis- satis.action found vent in open speech, Then he drew rein, and, with a gesture, commanded attentio ee : “Gentlemen,” he said, and there was -E May lia. firmness underlying the soft, musical e, Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. that each man felt, ‘‘I hear you grumbling and complaining among yourselves. What is the matter—what is going wrong?’ ‘Tf reckon they think Black John’ll git tired o’ waitin’ fer us,” promptly replied Leigh. An’ it do look like we was goin’ to a funeral, ruther than a scrimmage.” “You are impatient to meet this bully, and avenge the insult he offered you all, and Iam glad that it is so. Though I ama stranger to the majority of you, I can sympathize with your feelings. But to be prudent is not to be cowardly. If youthink for a moment, you will see that I am taking the wisest course. In the first place you say the Twin Mounds are thirty odd miles from the village. By hard riding, we could possibly do the distance in two hours | and a half, but then what condition would our animals be in when the Mounds were reached? Totally used up, unfit for duty without a night’s rest. And if 1 am not mistaken in this man, Black John, as he is called, we will need all the advantage we may have, before the affair is settled. Is it likely that he would send such a defiance unless he felt able to make the boast good? True, if may be only a trick to give us the ride for nothing. But in that case, we will wish to return home rather than camp out for the night. And if he is there, better meet him with fresh horses, that one can depend upon, rather than broken down plugs. ‘t At the rate we have been traveling, we can make the Mounds by noon, or perhaps an hour later. His challenge stated that he would await our coming until sunset, That will give us plenty of time. “This is my reasoning, and the plan which must be followed while I am acting as captain. But, if it fails to satisfy you all, [ will resign the position in favor of any other whom you prefer as leader. I can see the fun as well, whether I be captain or private.” This terse, pointed speech was well received by the settlers, They saw the soundness of his reasoning and the folly oftheir grumbling. As one man, they promised blind obedience to Ap- leton, declaring that he and no other should ead them, and eyen Kent Morgan, who.was un- accountably prejudiced against the stranger, could not but admire his clear foresight. He seemed a born leader among such men as these, A short time after this interruption there came another that for the time bade fair to end fatally. For several miles Frank Kershaw had been progressing tolerably quietly, his horse having fretted some of his extra spirits away. Curly was riding beside Frank, pouring wonder- ful information into the greenhorn’s ear, ali the while maintaining the gravity of a statue. At an unusually brilliant word-painting of the splendor of a gold-placer that Curly possessed upon his farm, Frank’s long pent up spirits found vent in a loud hurrah! and unconsciously he pongo’ both spurs rowel deep into the flanks of his horse. Snorting with et the animal plunged forward. Naturally Kershaw jerked upon the. reins, forgetting the cruel curb bit. His mouth torn, the tortured beast reared up, Wee half round, and plunged madly for- war One hoof struck Curly full in: the side, the other alighting with crushing force upon the borderer’s horse’s head, Both horses and riders came to the ground together in a confused, struggling heap. For a minute all was confusion. Then the settlers managed to extricate the fallen mei, and raise the horses to their feet. Frank was un- injured save by a few trifling bruises, but Curly ; had fared worse. Reeling, he sunk to the ground, half insensible. The blow he had re- ceived was a severe one, and the horse had fal- len across his legs. ; A hasty examination, however, showed that no bones were broken, and after a taste of corn- whisky, Curly declared he was all right again. It was found then that his horse was unable to travel; besides. the gosh upon his head, one leg had been brokén by the A ; Still Curly declared that he would not be cheated out of the anticipated scrimmage, and mounted behind Abram Leigh. A pistol-shot put the crippled animal out of its misery, and then the party swept on at an increased pace, to make amends for lost time. But, as the numbness gradually grew less Curly began to suffer excruciatingly, until a last he was forced to cry out. It. seemed as though he had been injured internally, and the’ motion of the animal was more than he could bear. ‘*You’ll hev to leave me here, boys,” he said, faintly, though reluctantly. ‘SI cain’t stan’ a the ridin’, but mebbe I kin do better afoot. If try an’ git to the Mounds, in time to takea handin. I'd ruther lost a hand then to miss it —durn the crooked luck!” There was nothing else to be done, and so the party swept on, leaving the tall borderer gaz- ing after them with eyes almost filled with tears of eet, his chest heaving con- vulsively. et, perhaps, had he known what was to be the ultimate result of that accident, he would have been content. Only for that fact, much that follows would never have been written, It was full noon before the base of the nearest of the Twin Mounds could be distinguished, though for an hour past, their summits had been visi- ble. There was nothing remarkable in their formation, but they had become a noted land- mark from their being the only high ground for miles around. They were probably three hun- dred feet above the level of the prairie, standin side by side, of precisely the same size an shape. Their crests were covered with broken rocks and bowlders, but the sides were clothed in waist-deep grass. Not a tree, bush or shrub broke the green surface. “Thar goes a smoke!” cried Abram Leigh, as a slender column of dense black vapor steadily ascended from the top of the nearest mound. “The varmints is thar, waitin’ fer us—an’ here goes fer the fust lick at ’em!” “Halt!” rung the clear voice of Wayne Ap- leton, as his white hand caught the borderer’s Bridle, jerking the horse back upon its haunches, ‘*Do you want to spoil all by your mad haste? Wait until I give the word. © 3 ‘* Now, my friends,” he added, speaking rap- idly, ‘‘ you can see that I was right in my first plan. We are atthe rendezvous, and our ani- mals are fresh, and ready, if needs be, for a tail-on-end chase. Then surely you can trust me for the rest?” ** You bet we kin! Go on—we'll do jist as you say,” was the general cry. **Good! Ishall not betray your trust, believa me. But now listen. Yonder are the Mounds, and that column of smoke tells that our game is close ai hand. As you see, they have fair cover among the rocks, and, doubtless, upon this fact they rest their hopes of success. They depend upon picking us off as we charge the mound, And so they would were we to charge mounted, as friend Leigh here was about to do. But look yonder. The grass upon that side-hill is full three feet high. By close creeping, we can get to. within twenty yards of their position; and then, by a vigorous rush, they’re our meat, You understand me? Do any of you object te this plan?” “‘Where will we leave the animals?’ asked Howard, ‘On this side of the ravine, yonder. "T'would be hard work crossing with them, anyhow.” There was not a voice raised in objection, Appleton had acquired a wonderful influence over the rough, hardy settlers, and if his reason. ing. was unsound, they did not notice it, ven while he was speaking, the base of the smoke-column broke and left tho crest of the mound clear, the mass of black vapor floatin further and further away, growing more an more dim, until lost among the light, fleecy clouds that fiecked the heavens. Not a sign of human life could be detected upon the Twin Mounds. Only for the smoke-signals, the vigil- antes might have believed their ride had been a wild-goose-chase. But that plainly evidenced the presence of human beings upon the mound; and who else could it be but the senders of the insolent defiance? The prairies were not so densely peopled as that. ; Se Riding up to the edge of the ravine, the vigil- antes dismounted and tethered their animals to the fringe of stunted bushes that grew along the escaipment. Then, led by Wayne Appleton, they crossed the gully, and glided rapidly on toward the Twin Mounds. Their attention was mainly directed toward the nearest elevation; the one from whose summit had arisen the smoke-column. ‘‘ Look! yonder is a man’s head and shoulders!” c = cried Thomas Howard, when within several hun- dred yards of the mound’s base, : “ The challenge appears to have been made in ae faith, after all, though I must confess that doubted it,” quietly remarked Appleton. ‘¢ Shall-we begin fri nervousl ng now?” asked Kershaw, fi at ‘Don’t be a fool, man—we don’t carry cannon y with us. But one word more, my lads. Yonder — is the enemy, and if we work it right, his strong position will be no great advantage. close creeping, this grass will cover us until near — encagh to run in upon them. After that, yor —
Page 7
chapter, a change came. ‘know what to do. So scatter out and drop wown in the grass. Then creep on as close as you can, undiscovered. When you hear my ery, dart in, and when you strike, remember the insults this Black John and his band of cut- threats have heaped upon you,” hurriedly said Appleton. The vigilantes sunk down into the grass, dis- eenearing like phantoms. No sound betrayed their progress—nothing but a slight swaying, bending of the prairie-grass; and even that seemed the work of the wind. Many a time and oft had the settlers, ina like manner, stalked the wary deer and timid antelope; but nowa ye game filled their eyes. Vith the others, Frank Kershaw sunk down and began crawling along; but not for far. Of course he was not afraid; Frank would have challenged to mortal combat any one who dared hint at such a thing. But he was tired. The long ride had exhausted him. This recollection assailed him in full force as he came across a small hollow in the pas and Kershaw curled himself up in the hole, feeling much better than he did when steadily nearing the chosen fast- ness of Black John. And there he aweited the issue, : Abram Leigh was one of the foremost of the stalkers, burning with eagerness, impatiently listening for the signal of assault, even while advancing further up the mound. With char- acteristic recklessness, he crept close énough to peer into the irregular pile of rocks and bowl-. ders that thickly covered the hill-crest. Sud- denly his eyes lit up with an eager glow, and he raised the muzzle of his rifle. Scarcely ten yards from his position he beheld a battered felt hat, just above a long bowlder, As the silver drop covered this, he fired, then leaping to his feet with a wild yell, darted for- ward with drawn revolver. Answering yells came from the hillside, but none others. In amazement, Abram Leigh stood still, while his clin rushed forward, eager to meet the oe. But the mound was deserted by all save the vigilantes. Leigh had fired at an old hat upon a rock. Yet the ashes of the fire that had sent up the smoke-column were still smoldering upon the rock, and other unmistakable evidences of tho mound having been lately occupied lay upon every side. _ A tok yonder!” cried Kent Morgan, pointing toward the second mound, a distance of nearly quarter of a mile separating the two summits, as the crow flies, A There, among the gray rocks, could be dis- tinguished a number of human figures. But why had one mound been abandoned for the other, when both were equally secure? “Boys, they've fooled us!” cried Appleton rset along the back trail, as a faint yell roke the air. CHAPTER V. RACING AGAINST TIME, A LONG, exultant yell came up from the prairie—a yell that confirmed the emphatic words of Wayne Appleton. And, with that ene exception the settlers stood in speechless emazement, while their cunning foemen were reaping the reward of their strategy. Above the tops of the stunted bushes that ‘ringed the further edge of the prairie ravine or barranca, could be distinguished the horses of the settlers as they had been left. But as Ap- pleton uttered the cry that terminates the last Fully a dozen human ferms leap out into the ate from the ravine. The horses snort and leap back, but are quickly checked by their tethers, And, as the exultant yell soars over the prairie to the ears of the men upon the mound, each of the human figures leap into a saddle. Then, after a brief confu- sion, they turn and ride rapidly away from the ravine, leading with them extra animals. The vigilantes saw this, and were powerless to pre- vent it. And, adding insult to injury, once - more the loud yell and taunting laughter came floating to their ears as the enemy rode away _ upon the stolen horses. “A cute trick, an’ layed ekil to a Chayenne er a ’Rapahoe!” mu red Abram Leigh, twist- a oe mounted!” “Expecting to shear, but being shorn—'tis cursedly provoking. But we may fare better, after all. See—yonder mound is still oceupied. If we do lose our animals, perhaps we may yet accomplish our main object,” said Wayne. “Or make a clean job of it by getting whip- ped instead of whipping—for these fellows yon- pet are fully our force, if not superior in num- ars, ~ ‘* Let them be ten to one if they will—we are not cowards. Those that fear the result had better wait here until we clear the path for them,” said Appleton, with a disagreeable sneer. ‘* Tf you mean that for me, I can follow wher- | ever you dare lead,” retorted Morgan. **Purn your long-winded clickety-clack any- how—your wusser’n so many women!” disgust- edly cried Leigh. *‘ Follow me, boys—here goes for the first skelp on yonder bill!” and as he spoke the hot-headed settler leaped far down the hillside, breaking into a pace that would almost have distanced an antelope or coyote. The example was contagious. One after an- other the vigilantes sprung forward, each stiriv- ing to distance all others, and be the first wpon the secondmound. Forgetting their momentary spat, Appleton and Morgan were with the fore- most. ay The people upon the secow* sill were grouped together, seemingly ready to 1epel the assault. They plainly bore weapcxs, and were fully equal, if not superior to the settlers in numbers. This, added to their vantage of )osition, made the mad assault appear folly. The base of the hill was reached, but the set- thers did not pause for breath. They were thor- oughly aroused, and their blood ran high with rivalry. Nor did those upon the summit open fire, though their weapons were surely equal to the distance, but one of their number suddenly leaped forward with a loud, clear cry, waving above his head a whitely-tanned skin! As if by the same. impulse, the vigilantes paused, their gaze riveted upon this man, A look of doubt gradually overspread their coun- | tenances. Could it be that they had made a mistake after all? ‘That is Shika-chetish!” exclaimed Howard, blankly. **Bad-Wolf, by the jumpin’ Jupeteer!” inter- preted Abram Leigh, lowering bis rifle. The rest of the party stood in speechless amazement at this transformation of their hated enemy into a parcel of peaceful Indians. They scarce knew whether to rejoice or be angry. They were puzzled most thoroughly. ** What has the Kickapoos done that their white brothers hunt them like dogs?” demanded Shika-chetish, lowering the flag of truce, speak- ing in his own tongue, knowing that several of | the settlers understood the patois. ‘““We are looking for enemies, chief, and thought we had found them here. ago?’ promptly returned Wayne Appleton, "Yes. The mounds are not the corn-fields of the pale-faces, They are not fenced in like a corral, They are free to the foot of the Kicka- poo—or is that a crime, too?” ‘Rasy, chief; don’t get your back up for nothing,” coolly said Appleton. ‘it will save time if you answer such questions as we ask you, in as few words as possible. And for your own sake, I trust your answers will be satisfac- tory,’ The Kickapoo turned and glanced rapidly over his band, and then contrasted it with that of the force of the settlers. A grim smile briefly curled his lip; but then his face resumed its wonted expression of stolidity. Bad-Wolf is a character that many still living in Kansas will recognize. In more than one way he made his mark. Cruel; crafty, and treacherous, he was undeniably a brave man. At one time he had been a noted chief of his tribe, but when jealousy and partisan. spirit broke the tribe into different clans, Bad-Wolf found himself the leader of not more thana hundred braves. But they were the flower of the tribe, devoted to him, body and soul. Led by their idolized chief, they would have hurled themselves upon certain death. And now they stood with Were you | upon the other mound, yonder, a short time | | chief brewing—that | less in their homes. ready weapons, their eyes watching - ee ‘The sun was in our eyes; we thought you were enemies, The coyotes with the black and white faces have uncovered the tomahawk and stuck the war-pole. They say that the Kickapoo braves are in their way, and that they will sweep them from off the prairies. We thought ied they were coming to make their threats 00d. ‘“* But the smoke?” “Look!” and Shika-chetish flung out one hand, pointing to the west. Afar off over the prairie swells could be dis- tinguished a compact body of horsemen, rapid- | ly galloping down upon the Twin Mounds. For amoment the settlers were startled, believing that Black John and his band were approach- ing in answer to the Kickapoo tbe and if they were allies, there could be but one result, The chief seemed to read the doubt written up- on their faces, and quickly added: “They are my braves, They have been seek- ing the double-faced men, But my brothers need not fear; the Kickapoos are their friends,” ‘Tears! an’ of a red-skin# A leetle more sech talk, an’ you’ll git hurt, old man—you hear me?” cricd Abram Leigh, contemptuously. “This is an idle waste of time—and that may — be precious now, Ask him what connection he has with those men who stole our horses,” im- patiently cried Kent. Appleton repeated the question, but the chief did not appear to ae! ay oo him, A puzzled ex- pression rested upon his crafty features, and not until the vigilante chief reiterated his words, did Bad-Wolt make any answer. He declared that he knew nothing whatever of the matter; that he had retreated from the mound, between him and the suspected enemy hoping thus to gain time during which the rest of his braves might come up in answer to the smoke signal, U ntil that moment he had known nothing whatever of the horses being | stolen. ‘‘Mebbe thet’s the truth, but durned ’f I don’t believe you are lyin’,” candidly uttered Leigh. The chief scowled angrily, and one hand dropped to the knite-hilt at his girdle. With one accord his braves flung forward their rifle- muzzles, with fingers upon the triggers. Quick. as thought the settlers imitated the movement. A re doe deadly collision seemed inevitable, but Wayne Appleton leaped forward and ina loud tone commanded eres. After a moment’s hesitation, Shika-chetish motioned the braves back, and then, with uplifted hand, made a pe- culiar gesture, The mounted savages upon the prairie below abruptly drew rein and remained motionless, Sere of a-mile distant. ) ‘* Does that lock as though Shika-chetish was an enemy?” he uttered, in a quiet, cold tone. ‘““No—my young man did you wrong; but he did not mean what he said. We know that the Kickapoos are our friends. But listen: will you lend or sell us new horses{” ‘“No, We have taken the war-path against the double-faced men, Until their scalps drag in the dust, there is no trading or hunting in our hearts,” coldly said the chief, “We can’t force bim to do it, friends. I don’t see but that we'll have to foot it back to the village.” “And the sooner we do that, the better,, I ~ fear there is more in this matter than we see upon the surtace, I believe we have been out- witted from first to last—that Black John sent that challenge just to draw us away from home,” cried Howard, uneasily. . “But for what—what object could he have?” “God knows! I only feel that there is mis- our dear ones at home are in peril. J can’t drive the thought away—it has been haunting me since this morning when we first started.” The words of the settler found an echo in the heart of almost every man present, and a vague, undefined fear sprung up in every heart as they thought of their loved ones left almost defense- Thus it needed but the cry of Howard to set them in motion. “Come—back to the village! There's devil- try going on there—I know it—I feel it in my heart!” te ws As he spoke he darted down the hill-side, st. ing off a“ chaw.” every movement of Bad-Wolf, ready to obey his | closely followed by the vigilantes, As though But why are we standing idle here, while | slightestgesture. Both parties stood above a | taken by surprise, Wayne Appleton remained == they are every moment increasing their advan- | volcano; a single spark might eause their de- | behind fora moment, speakin rare iS age . tage?’ said Kent Morgan. — ; struction. Shika-chetish. But then he darted swiftly af, a: What kin we do, stranger?” coolly retorted “Sneak on; the ears of the chief are open,” | ter the excited settlers. c= ; Leigh. ‘Kin we outrun a hoss-critter when | he briefly said. aaa ; As he darted past the other mound, the form ees a on ee and = us eos ing; why did. you send up the smoke signal? asked Appleton, ; it’s got a good quarter the start? I reckon not. ‘Then whar’s the use o’ tryin’?” eats jor! day’s work! To set out after | of a man sprung up before him, rubbing his eyes. violently. It was shaw, who ed from his grassy nest as the settlers swept dy. glorious ~ ‘ Rete pity via fi ieee ee Bes oe Pre. wed ae
Page 8
Sec eta ater ene “Where *ve you been? grittod POY, with a suspicious glance around, the grass. You see, I couldu’t sleep last night— had the nightmare, I believe. But the— Are they killed? The Road-Agents, I mean.” “No; they are after us now. Unless you wish to be scalped alive, young. man, yow’ll keep up with us. It’s only a bit of a run—some thirty miles—and we'll be safe when the village is reached. But remember, keep up with us, or your life isn’t worth a copper,” grimly said Ap- pleton, increasing his pace, scrambling through the barranca with the skill and celerity of a mountain goat. ; ““Don’t—don’t go so—fast, please,” gasped Kershaw. “Not that I’m afi tiat—but I wouldn’t like to—deprive you all of a share in the—glory of exterminating these | aevils!” Appleton laughed shortly, and running with cnest squared and head erect, forged ahead of the young man, who in vain strove to emulate his speed. And thus, strung out as the swifter- footed gained upon the other, the settlers raced over the prairie, a sickening dread- gradually gaining ground in their hearts. It was a race such as none among them had ever entered into before; thirty miles of rolling prairie to be crossed, where there was no trail, where the ' stiff grass grew nearly waist high, twisting about their feet, more than once’ causing an awkward fall; but then another would take up the running, thus partially breaking the way for those who followed. It was a terrible, kill- ing race; but the settlers thought not of them- selves, scarce felt the fatigue that caused them to reel and stagger like drunken men, Steadily the panic had gained upon them, until, as the village was neared, each man believed that the | race would end beside the lifeless bodies of all that he held most dear upon this earth. _ As the ridge was gained from which the first glimpse could be caught of Barrett's, a gasping ery of joyful relief broke from the lips of the foremost men. The village still stood seeming- ly peaceful and undisturbed. In that moment the reaction came, and for the first time since leaving the Twin Mounds, the vigilantes drop- ped into a walk. They saw the village spring into a sudden life, and in the red rays of the descending sun they could distinguish men, women and children fiocking toward the point from which they ap- proached, “*{ reckon this hes bin a durned fool day’s work, from eend to eend,” growled Abram Leigh, hoarsely. ‘“‘ We went out on four legs, an’ come back ’th only two!” .. From out the group beside the village, a single horseman rode swiftly toward: the returning vigilantes. As he drew rein before them, they phan black news in his face, even before he 0ke, ats Boys, thar’s bin the devil to pay, here! Black John an’ his cut-throat gang hes bin here, an’ Eerried off with them Howard’s gals— took to him!” he added, as Thomas Howard started back with a faintcry, reeling, falling to the ground. : The blow had been too much for him in his ee exhausted state. It had felled him as hough with a doath-stroke. Kent Morgan and others bent over him, trying to restore his con- sciousness, while the rest formed around the _ vider with eager yea “T don’t rightly onderstand it kg he added, with a puzzled air. ‘‘ We was led o a wild-goose chase by that devil, Ike Goodheart, an’ when we got off the harm was did. May an’ Eunice was gone, an’ old man Howard was dead—imurdered by them ar’ very devils. I’m dub’ous the old lady, too, has got her death- w. They say she goes from one fit into an- a like a mad body. It’s a black, black day, ‘**But what’re we standin’ here like durned umpheads for? Ar’ we goin’ to let them cusses luff us this a-way? Somebody say what to do, for ge-minently sake!” spluttered Abram Leigh, almost beside himself. “*The boys tuck the trail an’ follered it to Little Timber, but thar it was lost in the water. or sent me back to see ef you fellers hed got back yit.” ‘**Come—if you are men, follow me!” gapped Howard, staggering to his feet, “Help mo rescuo my children from that devil—oh, God! why am I so helpless when I need all my strength!” ; *‘ Lean on us—we will take you to your house, and then we will do all that men can to find children em to you. i your ren and restore th This shall ‘be Black John’s last day of evil—we will raid—don’t think | fF on. | the affair of the Mounds was over. - ae fell asleep as we were crawling through | Morgan, hotly, but determinedly. Helpless as a child, the stricken man was as- Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. chasin’ him— Ge-thunder! sisted to, his now desolate home—the house of | greenhorn as i ge me up, skeered ’most ta mourning and of death, Once there, he sunk | death! The y coward has got skeered at S. into a deathlike stupor, from which it seemed | his own shadder, I reckon.” that nothing could awaken him. And hour after hour the kindly neighbors watched beside | the two couches, that bade fair to be death-beds before the rising of another sun. The village was left almost wholly to the wo- men and ghildren that night. 'The vigilantes, worn and jaded as they were with their long race, mounted fresh horses and scoured the | prairie for miles around, in the hope of over- taking the kidnappers, or coming upon some trace of their whereabouts. But the first rays of the morning sun shone upon them, unsuccess- ful By. this time they had nearly all learned the facts of the case; a tale of black treachery in one whom, until then, and trusted. Riding in hot haste, .<e Goodheart had re- turned to the village about the hour of noon, bearing black tidings. He said the vigilantes | had been drawn into an ambush, composed of Indians and Road-Agents, led by Black John. Outnumbered, they had ensconcedsthemselves— | those who had survived the first volley—dis- | aor him for assistance. Every man and oy capable of bearing arms had mounted and followed bis lead to the reseue. In the confu- they had all respected | | | : Even in his pain, Curly could not resist the inpiules to gave frank a scare, and, dropping duwni in the grass, he crept along to intereept the fugitive, who was running heavily and un- steadily, as though nearly exhausted. When about fifty feet separated them, Curly rose ‘erect, with leveled rifle, crying out, in menac- ing tones: ‘Halt! thar—gi’ me your brains, or I'll blow your money out!” Kershaw instantly paused, with a cry of ter- ror; but as he saw the leveled rifle, he turned and sought to flee, The rifle spoke, and, stum- bling, Frank fell, uttering a shriek as though mortally wounded, Chuckling grimly, Curly Tostivan approached him, reloading his rifle. ‘“What in thunder you lyin’ down thar inthe . grass fer?’ he gruffly demanded, as he gained | theside of the prostrate figure, touching Ker- sion of the mad gallop, Goodheart had given | them the slip, but not until they were miles from home, Scarcely had they left when a band of masked horsemen dashed into Barrett’s, and riding di- rect for the house of. Thomas Howard, entered and carried away both May and Eunice, leaving | old Mr. Howard dead upon the floor, stricken down as he strove to defend his idolized grand- aa with the feeble strength eld age had left m. s This was the blow that Black John’s challenge had masked. CHAPTER VI. BORDER VENGEANCE. CurRLY TOSTIVAN muttered more than one bit- ter curse against the greenhorn whose careless- ness had disabled him, as he saw the vigilantes ride rapidly away to keep the rendezvous, and knew that he was not to participate in the wild, exciting scrimmage that would follow the meet- ing of the rival forces. And to one of his reck- deprivation, since, now that the country was so rapidly becoming “‘ civilized,” similar opportuni- ties were few and far between. “Tl try it, anyhow,” he muttered, tight clenching his teeth, as a spasm of pain shot through his side. “T kin take a nigher cut than they kin, fer the kenyons. Mebbe I'll be in time to see the fun—ef I don’t,’ twon’t be my fault, anyhow.” Vith indomitable plucx, the borderer pressed on, at times gasping for breath that seemed al- most like molten iron when itcame. At times he was forced to halt and either support himself upon his rifle, or else sink down upon the grass the pain at his breast being so great and to bear. Yet as often would he start to his feet and press on, cursing the accident that so de- layed him. ith dogged perseverance Curly pressed on, though well knowing now that if the Road- Agents were really at the Twin Mounds, the affair would be decided long before he could gain the spot. But, ashe muttered to himself, the boys should see that it was from no lack of will that he failed to be with them in the scrim-' mage, It was during one of his copia, aa that the dismounted vigilantes passed by in their mad race for home, Though they were in sight not more than a minute, and full two miles to the right, had Curly been standing up, he must have seen them, and would have known that But he lay there buried in the yielding grass, panting, ing for breath, a blood-flecked froth tinging his lips. So strangely does Providence shape our actions, This was the second link, Ker- shaw’s careless riding being the first: the nd was to be a bia vith Half an hour later Curly paused in his pain- ful tramp, and shading his eyes, peered eagerly forward. rising the next ridge he could istinguish the head and shoulders of a man, Satta in hot haste. If his present course was maintained, the two must soon meet. “Whe is it?” Hoe’s in a hurry—bareheaded, » less, dare-devil nature, this was a very great | hard | | | ee | i inaline. Then I wheeled and fos shaw with his foot, by no means o's _ Frank slightly turned his head, ing 2 quick glance at the speaker from his nearly- closed eyes. _A snort of relief told that he rec- ognized Curly. ‘Then ‘he sprung to his feet, laughing loudly, though the voice was not re- markably feng 63 ‘¢Hal ha! I ew it was you, all the time. Didn’t I fool you nice? Good joke, ain’t it, Mr. Curly?’ “itll do for once in a way,I reckon. I thought you drapped as though you wasn’t bad ae But, say—where’s the rest o’ the fel- ers? : ‘“* What, don’t you know—haven’t you heard?’ “T don’t know nothin’—you took pesky good keer that I shouldn’t, with your durned nice ridin’, But what d@’ y’ mean by drawin’ that long face? Durn it, man, can’t ye speak out?” testily cried Tostivan. “They're dead—rubbed out—puckacheed— one to glory—departed this life from an over- ose of Black John,” solemnly replied Ker- ‘shaw. “Look here, boy—nough’s enough, but: too much is aplenty. I don’t blame ye fer actin’ the fool, beca’se I b’lieve it’s only a’cordin’ to natur’, But when I ax a straight question, I want a wasit answer, an’, to save trouble, I reckon you'd better give me one. Now whar is the boys?” quietly repeated Curly, his eyes gleaming ominously. ‘** Listen; I will a tale unfold—” “Unfold your tail here, an’ it comes off, smack an’ smooth right ahind your ears, Mind what I tell ye.” ‘““You have no poetry in your composition,” disgustedly muttered Kershaw; then, catching a glimpse of the devil glitterin in Tostivan’s eye, he hastily added: “Tl tell you all about it. We reached the Twin Mounds and found the enemy there--about two hundred strong, I should guess. ‘That is,” as the borderer made a gesture of impatience, ‘‘there may have been one or two less than that, for, of course, I didn’t have time to count them. I gave the order to charge them, and the boys nobly seconded my efforts. Up the first hill we rushed, they firing all the time, rolling some of us over at every step, and closed with them hand-to-hand. Only for a moment, however, for they fled in dismay. Assoon as we could gain breath, we followed them to the second mound. There we had it hot and heavy. We slaughtered the villains like’ a turkey-gobbler sldying grasshoppers, | Blood ran down the hillside in streams, until, upon my veracity! the mound was an island! es, sir! from that judge the prodigies of valor we performed. J never Jed a.braver squad in my life—not even at the forlorn hope of—that is, you understand me,” Kershaw added, slightly confused at the peculiar grunt of Tostivan.- fs ed *f I do, nuther, Which whipped?” “There it is! what can the bravest of men do, when outnumbered twenty to one? The villains were reinforced by about three hundred ‘men— and we retreated, in good order, though. But we found that the Road-Agents bad outflanked us and captured our animals. They tried to stop us, but we cut through them, strewing the plans with dead aud dying wretches. They fol- owed us, and we er for safety. From this point I can only tell you of my ex from that you can judge the fate of the rest. Six horsemen followed me. For two miles I raced with them, nes my own with the foremost, while the five others for him 24 “a _~ Figs ae tees ra] Gets ; HIE 4 Nee rey fo ee rejsetw Pe tert — ~~ eoeiNe rience, + were strung cue waited 7
Page 9
a . "] 2 ; P cal 4 » 1) 7 Pd ese acts an ae So ieee? “an ios ' Hye BR > . “. A 1c a ee NO M * 4 ri rs ae wPevee te fi " ‘were pleased to jest, yesterday—I shot to come up. With this revolver—at which you im through the brain. At the same moment his horse stumbled and fell, breaking his neck. Lhad meant to secure him, as I was tired going afoot. But why dilate? You seo—there is only one cherge remaining in this weapon. I fired six shots—and Ido not often miss my aim. Yet, # by aremarkable coincidence, every one of the \ 3 & under cover. . six horses stumbled and fell as I shot their rid- ers, every one breaking their necks, That ac- counts for my still being afoot.” ‘*Boy, I reckon you was a lawyer when you was at home, jedgin’ from the glib way you kin | lie. Thar—you needn’t deny it. I kin tell your story a heap straighter’n ‘om ken, though it Imayn’t sound quite as highfalutin’. You got skeered afore the Twin Mounds was reached, an’ turned tail an’ runaway. That’s my ’pinion, fer I know you to be the outlyinest coward that ever sot up tobe aman. You needn’t snort an’ git your teeth an’ look so fierce, like a sheep, er hafe a cent ’'d down ye across my knee, ai’ ye ontil yer nose bled—an’ durned ef I : as it, too, the next lie youtell me. Somind Frank wilted. He saw that Tostivan meant just what ho said, and was a man who knew ow to make his words good. Curly stood in deep thought for a few moments. Of course he Imew that Kershaw was lying, but he knew that he could not reach the Mounds in his present condition much before° midnight. Knowing ene resolved to make the best of his way back to to the village. Telling Frank as much, he added: ‘You kin come, ef you like, but I’'d’viso ye not. The boys ain’t partial to liars an’ cow- ards, an’ mebbe ’ll take a notion to give you an overcoat o’ tar an’ feathers, onless they string e up to the nearest tree, to save time.” of it. He’sa particular friend—that is—I’ll go with you,” he stammered, as Curly uttered a ic growl of warning. ogether the two started for the village, but their progress was slow. Often Curly would sink to the ground, gasping for breath, ejecting blood from his mouth. But then he would rise and stagger on, though every step was with a spasm of pain. And thus it was nearly mid- night when the two men suddenly paused with as ed air. A hollow groan came faintly to their ears. A groan like that of a human being in intense agony, yet nearly exhausted. Yet nothing but the tall; waving grass could be distinguished by _ the clear light of the twinkling stars. “Tt sounded from that direction—le’s cree around it this way,” faltered Kershaw, his teet chattering like castanets. “You're afeard—a’ter that wonderful yarn you told, braggin’ up your awful courage?’ sneered Curly, contemptuously. “T ain’t afraid—but it might be a ghost!” *T shouldn’t wonder ef *twas—the ghost o’ ‘them fellers you shot off thar stumblin’ hosses, boy. But, ghost or not, here’ goes to arn the truth. An’ you, greeny—ef you try to run afore I tell ye you may, I'll bore a hole through that gourd o’ your’n, sure /” ; Sink ing down into the grass, Tostivan crept cautiously through the tangled growth toward the point from whence the groaning sound still proceeded. At first he had vague suspicions of some trick, but as he neared the spot, he knew that the groans were genuine—that this was no counterfeit anguish. ‘The groans ceased, and at almost the same moment the borderer beheld a human head lift- ed above the grass, pale, ghastly, pain-distorted. os ery of wondering surprise broke from Curly’s ips as he leaped to his feet. He had recognized - this human head—it was that of Ike Goodheart. _At the same moment a blinding glare filled his vision, and a stinging pain shot through his face. The report of a revolver rung sharply upon the night air. ‘ “Not yet—you shain’t take me alive—the pe ain’t twisted thet’ll hang me!” hoarsely cried Goodheart, as’the hammer was raised and the cylinder revolved with a clear, metallic “‘Hold! man—be ye crazy?” cried Tostivan, leaping forward and clutching the loaded weapon. ‘‘ Don’t ye know better ’n to blaze ar at a fri’nd who’s ready an’ willin’ to help You ou’re not a fri’nd,” faltered Good- ‘heart, as the pistol was wrested from his >», ‘ _ its charge being wasted upon the the bul- ‘let whistling in close proximity to th. proximi e head of w, as that worn lay trembling eT they dare do that, the President shall hear | Black John, the Road-Agent. “Per why ain’t I? Don’t be a fool, man! What's wrong wi’ ye, anyhow?’ impatiently added Tostivan. ‘“Hoss threw me—leg broke—I—” and the | head of the traitor sunk down in the matted grass, like one dead, But it was only aswoon. In thestruggle for possession of the pistol, his right leg, broken | both above and below the knee, was twisted beneath him, and the pain was more than hoe could endure. This much Curly ascertained, and then routed Kershaw out from his grassy covert, ordering him to go and cut a couple of stout poles from a creek-bank that he knew was only a short distance ahead. Kershaw obeyed though in nowise relishing the task, since i must be performed alone. But he cared not cross the borderer. Before he returned, Curly’s face had grown | much paler; a look of horror filled his eyes as / he bent over the form of Goodheart, holding | him motionless upon his back. The traitor was | delirious, raving wildly, yet not so incoherently but that Curly knew that the wretch was black- hearted and guilty of many crimes—that blood had stained his hand—not in open fight, but the | If blood of a murdered victim; that he belonged | to Black John’s band—both himself and his | brother, so lately found dead. Swift retribution had overtaken the traitor, even as he was exulting in the complete suc- cess of his bold scheme. He had slipped-away outlaw rendezvous, to prepare for the coming of the captives, when his horse stumbled, fling- ing him violently into the rocky bed of the creek. For hours he lay insensible, and only revived as the cold dew of heaven fell upon his face. Then, knowing that as soon as his foul treachery was discovered hot and _ persistent search would be made for him, he painfully and laboriously dragged himself out into the prai- tie, in the vain hope of finding friends, He had suffered agony the most intense with his broken leg, but the bitter dread urged him on and on, until his groans brought Curly Tostivan to his side. Believing Curly knew his crime, Good- heart had sought his life, in desperation. See- ing his failure, being now disarmed, his senses had given way. Though he could only guess at the details, Curly gathered enough sense from the broken, disconnected ravings to know that a tragedy had been enacted at Barrett’s in which this man had played a treacherous part, and he resolved that those most deeply injured should be the judges to decide the traitor’s fate. “ Mebbe ‘tywar jest as well that I got that tumble, a’ter all,” he muttered thoughtfully. ““Ef I hedn’t this varmint ’d ’a’ got clean awey, or else died like a dog on the perairie. Mehbe the boys kin skeer the truth out o’ him about this Black John. Ef so, durned ef I don’t for- give greeny his: awkwardness, an’—hcilo! here he comes now.” Kershaw had managed to +ec~~e suitable poles, | and in a few minutes they had fashioned a rude litter, aided by their cuter clothing and the | stout, tough prairie-grass. Upon this they laid the cripple, and, nota little to Kershaw’s aston- ; i hment, Curly bound him hand and foot'to the | les, so that his head was the only member oodheart could move. And then, each man rearne the end of one pole upon his shoulder, while the other ends dragged upon the ground, they took up their long and wearisome journey. Though the pain in his breast seemed growing less acute, Curly was often forced to rest, while poor Kershaw, totally unused to such rough ex- periences, could scarcely keep awake, The sun was full two hours high when they first sighted the village of Barrett’s, and, com- pletely exhausted, Curiy sunk down upon the ridge, firing shot after shot from his revolver. The reports were heard, and nearly a score of men came straggling out of the settlement, half- res as though just roused from sound eep. A yell of execration greeted the pale haggard captive, and for a time it seemed as though be would be sacrificed upon the spot by the men he had so cruelly deceived. But Curly stood over him with his remaining revolver, and swore to shoot the first man who totched the prisoner to | do him injury until he had had a fair trial be- fore JupGe Lyncn. And reading death in the all borderer’s eyes, the settlers calmed down, and drag the litter into the village, others assisting ly. _ Though the rest did not notice it, one man ‘turned pale, and shrunk back as he met the gaze of the prisoner. And as the captive was carried into the bar-room, this same man glided away from the settlers his arifully-told story had de- | luded, and was riding at full speed toward the | unobserved, and five minutes later was gallop- sa Sn pa foal of from the settlement. ad he gone for lelp—or was he fleeing to save his own life? There was little delay in making preparations for the trial. Nearly all the: vigilantes who had ridden to the Twin Mounds the day before, were there. They had been snatching a few hours’ rest, when the shots of Curly aroused them, The rest of tho settlers were still in the saddle, searching for the kidnapped maidens, As order was called, it was noticed that their chief was absent. The name. of Wayne Apple- ton was loudly called; but no reply came. ind yet he had been among those who went out to meet Curly Tostivan, The captive smiled grimly as no answering voice came. Kent Morgan noticed the peculiar expression, and the old suspicion renewed itseli in his breast. But he said nothing, ‘*Whar’s the use wastin’ time?” gruffly cried Abram Leigh. ‘I move that Curly Tostivan | take the posish.” The motion was promptly seconded, and after a momentary hesitation, the borderer consented. not strictly legal, his ministrations were | prompt. ‘*Tke Goodheart, I reckon you know what | you’ve done—did you do it or not—yes or no?” “What am I’cused of?’ sullenly demanded the prisoner, ” “Of bein’ one of Black John’s gang, an’ of lyin’ to an’ foolin’ the folks of this ere settle- ment, gin’ally.” “You cain’t kill me fer playin’ off a joke, I reckon, an’ I hain’t done nothin’ more. How’d I know that them fellers was jest waitin’ for a chance to slip in here?’ ** You told a straighter story ’n that when you war layin’ looney out on the prairie yender Don’t lie now.” “T won't. I know that I’ve got my death touch, anyhow, an’ P’ll make a clean breast of it. But fust send out fer that Wayne Appleton, as yecallhim, Hk’s Brack Jonn!” yell of rage followed this communication. They believed Goodheart was maliciously lying. He added, solemnly: ** As sure as thar is a God in heaven, it’s the truth. He is our chief. He w’ars a black mask when on the road. He uses false heels to make him taller, an’ pads his body out to make him look bigger, He w’ars a vest of steellinks. Bro- ther Tom and I belonged to the gang. So does others that you think your friends, but I won’t spliton them. Iowehima grudge, or I wouldn’t ’a’ said so much. Now hang me if you will.” “Tell us whar the gals was taken to, an’ we'll let you go yet.” “T don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me what he WAS = to. Ef I'd knowed he was aimin’ at them, Ud defied him, though he killed me for’t,” was the quiet reply. ‘*Give us the names of all o’ the gang. It’s all thet kin cave you.” “Not ef you was to kill me twicet over. I leg,” was the firm reply. wf urly eerncstly consulted with the vigilantes, aif! plecded for the man’s life, since it was plain tha: death must scon claim its victim anyhow. But there wes only this concession. ‘* Tke Coodheart, here’s a pistol; which do you choose—that or the rope?” : Re eagerly clutched the weapon, grimly smil- ing, and raised it to his temples. Muttering the name of his brother, he fined ‘ =~ faint quiver, then all was still. He was ead. CHAPTER VIL SWOOP OF THE ROAD-AGENTS. Ike GoopHEART bad spoken the truth in say- ing that the man known to the settlers as Wayne notorious Black John, the Road-Agent. And now, one or two other points may be cleared up. "Black John had attacked the stage-coach, for the sole purpose of aseag Curly Tostivan, be- cause the latter had shot Monte Pete, two years or more before. Monte Pete and Black John were brothers, and the bond of love was strong between them. For a pre Black Jobn hunte far and near for the slayer of his brother, but | unsuccessfully, He lost the trail at Leayen- | worth, and while searching for it, in the char- | actor and dress of a gentleman, mot May How- | ard at the house of a merchant whose a quain- | tance he had formed. The result was that he fell deeply in love, and, for the time forget- ting his vow of vengeance, paid devoted atten- tion to the fair young school-girl. Handsome. of good address and suave manners, appearing | must go under soon anyhow—lI kin feel it in my Appleton was in reality none other than the
Page 10
i | the wealthy gentleman of leisure, a fine conver- sationalist, it is not to be wondered at that he made a desp impression sm the young, wnso- phisticated country girl who had seen so little of society, and when he avowed his love, May confessed that if was reciprocated. Yet she had sufficient strength of mind to resist his elo- quence when he urged her to elope from school | with him. ‘* Hirst gain the consent of my parents,” she said, | I will.no longer deny you. have never yet deceived them, nor will I do s0 now, though you know that I love you | | man would be invisible -dearly.” And to this resolve she firmly held, despite his specious pleadings. Still hoping to conquer | her, he continued the siege, knowing that keen- sighted Thomas Howard would not yield up his almost idolized child without closely inquiring into the character of the applicant, and he knew that his past. life would not bear tho scrutiny, cautious as he had been to conceal his connec- tion withe Kansas outlaws. In a fit of rage and mortification after one of these failures with May, he fell in with some of his old associates, and after drinking freely, joined them in a burglary. Reckless from drink, they were discovered, and after a tough fight with the police, were captured. The proof was so strong that Black John—or Appleton as he then called himself—could only put in the, ing then, they advanced to the face of the bank. \lea that he was drunk, which did not prevent | A mass of vines were lifted, revealing a dark is being sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment | opening in the ground, at hard labor. After seven months of this life he managed to escape. by killing his guard, and fled to Texas. There~he found no difficulty in etting together a number of desperaté charac- rat suitable for his work; and learning that Curly Tostivan had lately been seen near Monte Pete’s last tramping-ground, he returned to! Naturally, they were greatly terrified, though Kansas to make good his oath, assuming the | with the exception of being bound, they ha iiszuise ofa hideous negro, Through a creature | been respectfully treated by the outlaws. The of his own, he learned that Curly was booked | were deposited upon a soft pile of sweet-smell- But I | OD a } | snug hiding-place, and the hands of man now | improved upon it. goodly-sized creek traversed the prairie. At this point it seemed to have cut its wa through a considerable-sized ridge or swell, formed by a basin-like depression in the Sone the sides of which were almost perpendicular, some forty or fifty feet in hight, of a stiff, yel- lowish clay, mixed with gravel and sandstone. This basin was nearly round, sixty yards in diameter. Stunted trees.and bushes, interlaced with vines and climbing plants, covered the bot- tom and sides, Standing in their midst, a horse- Zeon the prairie above. Shallow both above and below, the creek had eaten a deep hole in the basin, so that, as its bed offered the only chance of entering, to gain the retreat, one was forced toswim. Such was the outward view of the basin. Entering the creek some distance .",0ve, the outlaws rode down its bed, the swift current speedily obliterating what faint traces of their passage the gravelly bottom received, Their animals, well used to the water, wnhesitatingly pee into the deep, dark pool, scrambling up the cunningly-contrived stone landing, that so closely resernbled the work of nature that oven a minute examination might well fail to detect the cheat. One after another the horsemen dis- appeared amidst the undergrowth. Dismount- Into this the horses un- hesitatingly glided. Tt was a spacious excava- tion, used as a stable. Upon the opposite side of the creek was another, something similar, used by the outlaws as a lodging-house, when- | ever they desired or were obliged to lie perdu. Into this place the two maidens were carried, ig the stage to Barret’s, and that May Howard | ing prairie hay, and then a dim light shone d Eunice Lee would return home by the same conveyance. Resolving to pay his debt of ven- geance, Black John stopped the coach, in dis- guise, with the result stated in the first part of this story. The reader can now understand tet he cautioned his men ‘against injuring the aches, It was a bold move’ on his part to enter Bar- ret’s as Wayne Appleton, when he knew that the country had been flooded with descriptions of that person, offering heavy rewards for his capture, dead or alive. But the sacrifice of his heavy beard and mustache had changed him sreatly, and he resolved to chance discovery. Ho still entertained a faint hope of winning May to choose him in preference to her parents, by Yvepresenting himself as the innocent victim of circumstances, though he had laid his plans for sterner measures. But this he wished to avoid if possible, knowing that such an outrage would make the country too hot for him. He failed in his attempt, for May Howard had learned to know him In his true character. Unfortunately she hesitated to denounce him, though had she known he was Black John, she would have done so. It was one of Appleton’s men who assumed she disguise of the noted Road-Agent, and de- livered Black John’s defiance at the tavern door. And Appleton cunningly worked for the settlers to accept it. Fortune favored him greatly in his being chosen leader of the vigilantes. Upon the road he contrived to give Ike Goodheart the signal, and that worthy took the first opportu- nity ‘to desert and return to Barrett’s with his ible tale, Shortly after the second party left, half of the outlaws, under Limber Dick, entered the village, finding no one to dispute their will, dashed up to the Howard place and effected an entrance before a door could be closed. Ma and Ewnice were seized and bound, Limber Dic ‘exceeding his orders, for he, too, had a taste for | “a bright eye and a rosy lip, and resolved that Eunice Lee should be the reward of his exer- 80. into their retreat. | around them as a rude lamp was ignited, There was little to be seen. They were in a small chamber or alcove, connected by a low passage with the main excavation. The place was cool, and seemingly well ventilated, though by some means not visible to them. The walls were hung with numerous garments, evidently disguises as well as ordinary wear, And among them was a large assortment of weapons; rifles, pistols, knives, and Indian weapons. But at that moment, neither of our friends heeded them. ‘Now, ladies,” cried Limber Dick, a slight- built, lithe, wiry, not unhandsome villain, “this is destined to be your home for a few days—un- til the heat of Epes and search ig over. Then, I trust you will have more agreeable quarters. You are to be kept here, close guarded, while we throw your poonls off the scent, by a false trail. You shall be respectfully treated,’ and shall have every wish gratified—save one. Your liberty will come in due time, but not just yet. As a solace during the weary hours you must have before that day comes, [let you into a little | secret. You, Miss Black-eyes, are to become the queen of our band—the bride of our noble chief, Black John—or Wayne Appleton, as you know him best. For you, pretty Golden-locks, fate has a little less exalted station—you will have to be resigned as the bride of Limber Dick —lieutenant of the band, your very humble ser- | vant,” and the outlaw bowed low, with mock humility, a laughing devil in his jetty eyes, that caused a shudder to creep over the maid- ens, for, even in that moment of terror, the read this man aright—knew him for a cruel, crafty, relentless foe, to implors mercy from whom would be an idle waste of lweath. After amusing himself with a sight of their fear, Limber Dick turned and left the alcove. A faint signal came to-his ear, and he knew that the outlaw look-outs had espied the ap- proach of some person or persons. He knew that, long ere this hour, the discovery of the kidnapping must have been made, and that | | search would be immediately made, was beyond a doubt, In expectation of bebolding a party of the settlers, then, Limber Dick ran up to the look-out: point. | A single horseman was riding rapidly along the creek-bed, heading directly for the Refuge. | The next moment he recognized his ehief, Black | John, or Wayne Appleton. : The outlaw chief could not force his animal to enter the dark pool of water, and Limber Dick adroitly passed Sealy 7 and standing beside Black —-— a without that! And then the other girl—did I tell you to carry her off, tog?” “Youre too hard, Captain John,” replied Limber Dick, in a quiet tone, but with his eyes glittering angrily at the censuring words, ‘* That old man had the strength of a devil. He knocked down two of the boys with a chair, and made at me, when I wy him; and you would have done the same, had you been in my place. As for the yellow-haired girl—surel you would not complain if a man helps himseif while doing your work, as long as that is not neglected. Perhaps I mean to retire from this life, as well as you do,” ‘Well, well—let it pass,” hastily muttered Black John, as he must be called henceforth, who well knew that were the outlaw gang to once suspect that he meant to desert them be- fore many more days, a terrible storm would be the consequence. ‘ Ifthat is the case I have no objection. Only you must deal with her honorably, Dick, since she is a connection of my wife, that is to be.” “ll follow the example you set me, Captain John,” and Limber Dick laughed significantly. ‘See that you do, But now to business, for I-must be back to Barrett’s before daydawn. The fools think me fast asleep, after our run of yesterday, from the Twin Mounds. I am run- erie risk coming here at all.” ‘The boys won't like your going back there, Captain John,” slowly said Limber Dick. And why not?” ‘Out of pure cussedness, I guess. You must know that some of them are already discontent- | ed. They seem to think you are taking it too easy—that you make them do all the dirt work,” and Dick stole a covert glance at Blac John’s face. ‘* Timber Dick,” the outlaw chief said quietly, but with deep meaning in his tone, ‘you’re a smart man, and no doubt can find out the one who is trying to sow dissension in the band. Go to him and tell him that he is playing with fire in a powder magazine, that, sooner or later, will explode and send him higher’n a kite. There can be but one leader of this band, and J am that man. Just hint to him what will be the consequence of his crossing my path. You understand me, so I think you will have no difficulty in making him comprehend.” ‘y Pll see what Iycan do, Captain. Jobn,” sul- enly. ‘ Onn right. Now: listen, and see that my in- structions are carried out. You will leave three men here besides Little Billy, Ed. Ware, Nipper Dan and Dutch Bill. Tell them from me that if any thing happens to the ladies, na! | shall answer for it with their lives, You will the Twin Mounds. ys that run off the Follow the strike for the ravine b There you will join the horses of the vigilantes yesterday. old Pottawatomie trail until you strike the Lit- tle Arkansas, then ride south to Crockford’s. Dispose of all the horses there; he will give you fresh mounts Then come back as far as the grove by Lance Poullen’s where I will meet you. There'll be no danger of the vigilantes . the false trail will catching up with you, an ; throw them completely off the right scent.” ** And you?” “T am the only one of the band that can go among them un Tam one of their best friends. I will see that they do not smell out this hole, and throw them off the scent if they press you too close. But go—there is no time to be lost, for a dozen or more of the settlers are out on the search now. If any of them sees you leave this, our game is up,” impatiently cried Black John. hough far from bein that he was allowing Black John tooutwit him, Limber Dick dared not refuse or delay obedi- ence to the chief’s commands. And as the out- law rode rapidly away, the lieutenant hastily ave his orders to them. To those who were to e left in charge of the captives, Dick was par- ticularly careful in giving his instructions, add- ing his threats to those of Black John, in case they proved faithless. And then, Plunging their horses into the water, the outlaws rode out of the Retreat, and far down the gravelly bed of the creek following the same precautions they had in entering, emerging one at a time, then | gradually coming together again upon the prai- — rie. yd As the reader has seen, a part of Black John’s — lans mis¢arried, through the capture of Dw ocdheart. ison would conf on atleast b Betray ima only to. 6 of Jong standing, ing lost he should draw take - the rest of the boys and all the animals, and . nected—and they think that. satisfied, suspecting
Page 11
i ie my idee. + gheree— w—tahiiag ieee tener owt 5. : ap ar taps, NP dae me | rode straight on to join his band, who were lay- ing. down the false trail. ay after day rolied on, dragging slowly and paintully to the captive maidens, and hope died ovt in their hearts, It seemed as though they were deserted by all earthly friends. A little boy, or rather dwarfed man, brought them their rude meals regularly, but they were never suffered to leave the alcove without at least one of the threes men as guard. And there was a brutal, licentious' glow in their beastly eyes whenever they were near the.maidens, that both May and Eunice decided to remain close prisoners rather than endure such trials. Still, more than once, they saw the ontlaws con- versing eagerly, eying them at the same time in a manner that chilled their very hearts. Then it was that they firsb bethought themselves of the weapons hanging upon the alcove walls, CHAPTER VIII. SEARCHING FOR THE LOST, Time rolled on and day succeeded day with- out bringing the bereaved parents any hope, and the vigilantes seemedas far off as ever from capturing Black John. Still, they had one slight consolation; the outlaw band no longer made the neighborhood dangerous, no longer took their pick from out the herds of cattle and droves of horses. They seemed to have left the country for good. Black John's ruse had been perfectly success- ful. The vigilantes struck his trail and follow- ed it to the bank of Little Arkansas.. Here it was utterly lost, For miles and miles the sheres were searched, but without success, Then, baf- fled and disgusted, the vigilantes returned home. Their crops urgently demanded their atten- tion. To lose more time would be ruinous, And so, though reluctantly, with a sigh for the sad fate that seemed inevitably the maidens’, the settlers once more fell into.their regular routine, with a few exceptions. ; Thomas Howard did not die, and rallied slow- ly, almost imperceptibly. Doubtless his intense’ anxiety retarded his recovery. Hour after hour he would bemoan his sad fate, cursing himself, even his God, that he was forced to lie so hel jess where determined action was needed. It was, indeed, hard, and there were those among the settlers who gaye it as their opinion that Howard would not live to see the month out, unless some tidings of bis children were gained. The wife stiil lay upon what promised to be her deathbed. Since that dreadful day, when she beheld her childven torn forcibly from her side, and saw her father lying at her feet, quiv- eriug in the agonies of death, she had not spoken a word. She lay in an apathetic stupor, mo- tionless, seemingly lifeless, only for the wild rolling of ber eyes, that never ceased save when under the influence of an opiate, Truly this household was sorely stricken. There were two persons who refused to give up the search; Curly Tostivan and Kent Mor- gan, and to these might be added Frank Ker- shaw, though his services amounted to very lit- tle. Stillit was well meant, and the two for- ' mer were pay ee to like Frank, des- ' pite his talent for asting and evident lack of courage. OTe em say what they will, Kent,” Curly would remark, quietly, ‘I ain’t satisfied that them gals is quite out o’ reach yit, I'll tell ye why. You know we marked the critter’s hoofs that Black John rid away on, the day Ike Good- heart chose the pistol. We follered it, ontil it struck the trail o’ the rest o’ the imps, nigh the Twin Mounds. We saw whar they hed been confined, waitin’ fer him, most likely. But we flidn’t find no sign o’ the gals havin’ been thar. You know how we follered them up, hot foot, an’ they couldn’t ’a’ had much the start of us. {sit likely that the gals, fresh from school, could have stood such a ride as that without givin’ out? An’ ef they hed give out, we'd hev seen some signs to tell Of it. Then look backa bit. You know how the varmints tried to break the trail in Little Timber. You know that I took and follered the dif’runt trails, an’ each one led into Big Stony. There I found whar. they left it ag’in, an’ made fer the Mounds. Ef the varmints intended to jump the country, * why did they take all this trouble and lose so much time?) Why didn’t they strike out at fust, ‘when they would be sure of a start sech as they wouldn’t need to hurry themselves? Ill give y Only a part o’ the gang ift. ther is. still some’er’ not fur off, lyin’ shady in their hidin’-places, An’ when we find that place, we'll find the gals, Thar—that’s my - nosein’ o’ the matter. _., “Th may ‘Black John, the Road-Agent ae aay be true—but I doubt it, Curly. [. __ fear they are lost beyond recovery, ‘Suis i3 not the sort of country where a number of people can easily find a covert to baffle such a search as ours has been,” ‘You heard what Iko Goodheart said afore he used the pistol—that thar was men belongin’ to the band that we all thought our good fri’nds. We don’t know who they be, an’ yit they may be hidin’ these gals an’ them as is in charge of ’em, like ’s not in thar houses, under our very noses. But I think I’ve gota clew. We'll foller it up, an’ sce whar it’]l eend, anyhow. That’s what we’re ridin’ for, now.” The friends were riding Icisurely over the prairie. Morgan asked Curly to explain his words, which the latter did. In those days, many, indeed nearly all of the better class of settlers in Kansas, possessed slaves. One of these owners was Seth Cockton, an emigre from Kentucky. He owned a mulatto, named Yel- low Ben, This Ben was in love with Abram Leigh’s girl, Wichita Nance, the colored belle of that section. In a recent visit, Yellow Ben, as the subject of the abduction came up, assumed a knowing air, saying that though the white people thought taeir negroes were fools, he was in possession of a secret worth the best farm in the territory; that one word of his could hang a dozen white men, and to insure his silence, Cockton had romised to buy Nance and give her to Yellow en fora wife. All this Wichita Nance repeat- ed to Dandy Pete, one of Howard’s_ slaves, whom she also had upon a string, and rather referred to Ben. Dandy Petes, in turn, told Jurly of this speech, and, catching at a straw, after having searched unsuccessfully for so long, Tostivan resolved to follow up the clew, though he knew that it might be nothing more than the idle boast of one who desired to gain importance in the eyes of his Dulcinea. ~ Fortune seemed to favor the trail-hunters, for as they rode up to the settler’s building, ths” saw Yellow Ben going down to the spring, a hundred yards trom the house, beside a thickly- timbered creek. Curly rode direct to the spot, and called Yellow Ben. Unsuspecting, the mu- latto obeyed. “Look here, Ben,” quoth Curly, thrusting forward a revolver until its black muzzle almost touched the mulatto’s face. ‘Did you ever seo any thing like this before?’ ‘Don’t, Mars’ Curly—it mought go off!” stammered the terrified slave, ‘*An’ so it will, ef you try to run, or tell me alice. Let that speak once, an’ you’re a gone nigger! ’D hev to sweep ye up’th a broom, sure!” chuckled the borderer. “Deed I won't lie—deed Tl say any thin’ ‘you want me to, Mars’ Curly.” ‘No, that won’t do. Iwant you to tell the truth, an’ nothin’ else. Mind, 1 know a good deal o’ the matter a’ready, an’ ’ll be sure to ketch you ef you try to lie, An’ then you're a dead nigger, as I said afore.” “ You'll frighten him so bad that he won't be able to speak, Tostivan,” interposed Kent Mor- gan, seeing how the negro quailed and trembled before the cocked revolver. ‘*Vll do more than skeer him, onless he talks straight. Now, Ben, I know you, and you know me, [ reckon. You ought to know whether I’m *customed to lie or not. I don’t want to hurt you, very much, but PU doit unless you make a clean breast of it. Now tell me: what is this secret you have found out, that makes your master afeard o’ you?’ he added. sharp and nick, Se Don’t know any— deed I don’t, Mavs’ Cur- ly,” faltered Ben, turning a shade paler. “Easy thar, boy. Smell o’ this persuader— don’t ye hear the bullet a-beggin’ me to let it out at ye? Don’t ye hear it say that you're try- in’ to Tie to me? Ef you don’t know nothin’, then what is old Cockton goin’ to buy Wichita Nance an’ give her to you fer a wife, fer? He’s ot more niggers now than he’s got honest work for ’em to do.” ‘‘ Wichita Nance done tole ye what I tole her?” gritted the mulatto, his eyes glittering snakily. “Never you mind whether she did or not; that don’t matter. Iax you what’s the reason? No foolin’, now—speak right out, flat-footed.” ; th alla lie, den. I don’t know nuffin,” sul- enly. ; ‘Hold my critter, Kent,” cried Curly, as he leaped from the saddle and grasped the slave by the throat. — Yellow Ben was no infant, and he struggled desperately, crying aloud for help; but. Curly, though not entirely recovered from his fall upon the prairie, was a giant iu strength and skill. In twenty seconds, he held the mulatto halpless on tho ground. erp the nigger while Whi -| low Ben could no lo 7 a8 an ae. PRL SIP PE ES mal “The old man’s coming, Curly,” warningly cried Kent. “Let him. I'll put a spoke in his wheel, ef he cuts up nasty. y still, Ben—ef you move, Ill flatten a bullet ag’in’ that bull-head o’ yourn, I ain’t through with you yit.” . “What does this outrage mean—what are you doing with my boy? angrily demanded Cockton, hastily advancing, with cocked revol- ver in his hand, ‘Easy thar, old man,” coolly retorted Curly, swiftly raising his weapon. ‘ Don’t &9 off a half-cock, Keep your we’pon down, or Pll make a& pepper-box 0’ * as sure, Kent, you look to talk to the old man.” at has ne done?’ asked Cockton, more calmly. ‘What business can you have with him? Have you turned nigger-stealer?” “No, nor gal-stealer, nuther. But you ax my business, Mebbe you know that the settlers hev ‘lected me chief of the vigilantes. I’m on that business now, an’ I wouldn’t ’vise you to inter- fere, or wo mought hev a word to say to you, big an’ mighty as you might think yourself, The fact is jest this; Your boy, Yellow Ben, knows a secret that we want to find out. Ef he won't tell peaceably, then we mean to whip him ontel he does tell. Now ye hev it.” ** You have no right to misuse my property, I will not stand it,” angrily cried Cockton, “* Hinder us ef you kin, old cock. Kent, you jist keep an eye on the cuss, an’ ef he shows mis- chief, down him. I begin to think we're gittin’ purty close at the truth now,” Morgan quietly covered the settler with his revolver, a stern resolve written plainly on every line of his features, Seth Cockton read this aright, and saw Curly seize and bind Yel- low Ben hand and foot, without daring to lift a finger ih his defense, Then, ashe cut and coolly trimmed a number of slender hickory withes, Cuply. Tostivan questioned the captive mulatto. ow, my boy, jest open your ears, éf dr please. You see ‘these saplings, I reckon, but mebbe you don’t know jest what they’re ‘tended for. They’re to freshen your mem’ry with, so that you kin answer the questions lax you. As a fri’nd, I*vise you to act sensible, an’ tell all you know, fer ef you don’t, you'll think that all the cuttin’s-up you ever got in your life afore, was aay buckwheat es an’ ‘lasses ’longside the one [ll give ye.” about—” ‘He knows nothin “Shet up, you! Don’t interrupt the court ¢ you please. Jest let him hoe hisown row, E ou hev too much to say, the vigilantys may 1ev a word to say to you,” pointedly said Curly; then, turning to the.mulatto: “You told Wichita Nance that you know. a secret wuth the best farm in the kentry—that one word from you could hang half adozen white men—that Cockton here was afeard of you, an’ was a-goin’ to buy her to give Now, what did you mean hy that, eh?” é Tell the truth, Yellow Ben; but if you dare to lie— “i ‘Old man, you dry up. Kent, ef he speaks ag’in *thout bein’ spoken to, down him. Now, boy? ; e “Twas jest a-lyin’ to Nance,” he muttered sullenly. “You've lied to either her or me, anyway, so. here goes!” : The lithe ey rod whistled through the air, and descended with cutting force fairl across the mulatto’s buttocks, Swiftly sueceed. ing each other, the strokes fell, and, writhin upon the ground in vain efforts to burst his bonds asunder, Yellow Ben roared like an en- raged buffalo-bull. Twice did Curly pa his work and repeat the question, but the slave refused to confess, or rather declared that he had been merely boasting to the girl, in order to enhance his value in her eyes. “Youre lyin’ yet, I know, fer Abram Leigh | told me old Cockton hed ‘bin tryin’ to buy Nance. But I reckon I kin stand it as long as you kin,” and the lashes were continued, — - During this scene Seth Cockton had chafed angrily, but the steady hand of Kent kept him covered witha revolver-muzzle, and he feared to— interfere, but the erisis was near athand, Yel- pain of the hickory gads, and cried out: “Td tell, but Marse Cockton’a kill me!” “ No, he shain’t—look out, Kent!” Suddenly jesping to one side, Cockton seized y by surp his revolver and fired at Morgan. The youn man, taken partl rise, sprung forward then fell heavily to the ground. With a shrill sereech, Curly leaped forward and closed with | the would-be murderer. As they fell to the 4 ou fer a wife, use in- er endure the stinging oy aa the pistol exploded, but without cams i i =
Page 12
ee n to his feet, and rushed for- ward to where the antagonists had rolled, but Curly cried out: ; ws Keep off, Kent—TI kin mattidge the varmint!” Nor was this any idle boast. Tostivan speed~- ily gained the upper hand, and soon choked the settler into acquiescence, ‘Gi’ me the ‘trail-rope, Kent,” he panted, still kneeling upon the settler. ‘‘ We'll put the imp out o’ the way 0’ doin’ more mischief, But you ain’t hurt?” he added, quickly. ©" «A scratch on the neck; nothing more. I saw him in time to dodge. But it’s strange no one comes from the house. They must have heard the fuss.” ** Reckon they’re all out herdin’ or at work on the farm. He ain’t got no white women. Thar —he’ll do now,” and Tostivan rose from the body of his foe, who was bound and gagged, beyond the possibility of escape, unaided. **Don’t whip me any mo’, Mars’ Curly, an’ I'll tell all I know,” pleaded Yellow Ben. ; “Go ahead, then: but be quick, an’ no lyin’ or— ; The mulatto then stated that he had long known his master was connected with the horse- thieves and outlaws—indeed, he had left Ken- tucky because suspicion was aroused, justly, that he was one of a regularly organized gang. Two days before this one, Yellow Ben saw a man, whom he recognized as one Dutch Bill, in close conversation with Cockton, seated in the house. By close creeping, Yellow Ben managed to get beneath the window, where he could hear their words. Dutch Bill was asking for some whisky, saying that it would be more than three days before Black John returned, and it was dry work watching the girls. Cockton asked where they were. Dutch Bill replied—in the bank, This was all that Yellow Ben heard, as they started for the out-door cellar for the liquor, and he feared being discovered. ‘It’s a-plenty, too, I think I know right whar to put my hands on ’em; it’s the only place nigh here that they could hide in a bank,” cried Curly, exultantly. ‘But you won’t let him loose?” dolefully ut- tered Ben. ‘ Marse ’d kill dis nigger, suah, fo’ tellin’ on him.” : “T want you to keep watch over him, boy, ontil day: then it’s like the vigilantys ‘ll come fer him. Ef you've told the truth, you're a made nigger from this minnit, but, ef you’ve bin lyin’, so help me Jerusalem oes, ak ‘Il skin you ive, an’ salt you down fer corn beef.” Yellow Ben earnestly protested that he had “told nothing but the truth, and the two vigi- Jantes believed him. Cockton was stowed away in an old “dug-out;” a hole in the bank roofed over, and Ben put be watch, Then the two trail-hunters rode away in tae gathering darkness. , CHAPTER IX. LITTLE BILLY. May and Eunice saw with sickening hearts the black peril that threatened them, drawing * closer and closer every day, every hour. At first they had scarcely comprehended its magni- tude, but the day came that opened their eyes. True they had noticed that the outlaws left in guard of them constantly eyed them with aa ME pen looks, but at length the burn- , brutal expression could no longer be dis- sed, and one day Dutch Bill threw off the in disguise. == =—s He had been drinking freely. The other two outlaws were asleep, half-stupefied with the fiery corn-juice, Dutch Bul, a gaunt, bony-framed man, bold and reckless at all times, but doubly so when in his cups, staggered into the alcove where the maidens were crouching upon their vouch of prairie-grass, terrified by the words and hints that had reached their ears from the men drinking in the main chamber. ~ With his feet widely separated, to gain a er base, Dutch Bill leered at the , hic- coughing, as he attempted to speak. He spoke in his native tongue, and this so di by liquor, that neither of them could make out his words; but there could be no mistaking his ; How the matter would have ended it is diffi- tult to say, had there not come interference at this moment. A dark figure bounded past the uneasily swaying form of the drunken brute, and <s between him and the women. It was Little Billy. By this wer alone the maidens knew him; it was what the outlaws called him, what he call- ed himself, and very likely this was the only name he had ever For Little Billy was astray. No one knew from whence he had aprung. He never knew anything of his pa- ee ene of sin and crime, Little Billy still en tine ——! Beadle’s HalfDime Library. A TT A VT I Ce RN Sm ae rents, and half-believed that he had never been born of human; far down in his wild, untutored heart was a fantastic belief—Little Billy be- lieved that his father was some lordly buffalo- bull, his mother, one of the wild, graceful, soft- eyed.does that he could never bring himself to draw bead upon. Often, crouching behind the sun-reflecting waters of the Big Stony, Little Billy would amuse himself by tracing the points of resemblance between himself and these an- imals. He had the great shaggy head, thick short neck and humped shoulders of the buffalo-bull; the large, lustrous, beautiful eyes, the slender, yet symmetrical, steel-sinewed imbs of the wild deer. Perhaps it was these points that first gave Little Billy the fantastic idea, but it was hight- ened by the contempt and ridicule that all men heaped upon him. Noone had a kind or pleasant word or look for him. He was cursed, kicked and buffeted at every turn. From childhood he had lived among outlaws and criminals. And yet, though nearly stifled beneath the weight possessed a hearé capable of fidelity and love, though un- suspected by himself, until aroused to the truth by the kind speech of May and Eunice. Though at first the maidens had shuddered at the sight of the dwarf, he did not appear so terrible to them as the others of their guards, and smother- ing their feelings, they had spoken to him kind- ly, and thanked him for the little services he on ae them. And now a brought forth fruit. . “ Back thar, Dutch Bill. cried Little-Billy, the black muzzle of a cocked revolver staring the drunkard in the face. ‘‘ You come one step furder, an’ ’ll spile you fer whisky-drinkin’. You know me—so go back, while you kin.” The outlaw spluttered forth a volley of curses and threats, but the dwarf did not quail. As the man’s hand fumbled at his belt, Little Billy quickly added: . “Draw a we’pon, Dutch Bill, an’ you won't live to fire it. ow’re actin’ the fool, now, an’ when you git sober, you'll be sorry for it. Have you forgot what Limber Dick told you the cap’n said? Ef he knowed this, he’d kill you like a coyote.” These words made an evident impression up- on the drunken outlaw, and after apa a moment, he turned and staggered back to the outer chamber. Little Billy quietly crouched down beside the entrance, with revolver resting upon his lap, He was not yet‘satisfied that the danger was past. He had heard more said that afternoon than ever before. The three outlaws, still further brutalized by constant drinking, had spoken openey of betraying the trust reposed in them by Black John, of appropriating the captives, of taking such articles and supplies from the general store as they coveted or would require, and then turning their faces toward the south, where, among the foothills, they could start in business upon their own hook. All this they had spoken of without paying any heed to the presence of Litte Billy, He was beneath their notice, ry When Dutch Bill retti ted to his comrades, after his discomfiture, they once more began ing and playing cards. The stakes were novel. They were playing for the captive maidens, With detudken gravity they played on, cheating and cheated, disputing about the score of the game, until, more than once, wea- pons were drawn and blows struck, only to end in a general reconciliation had hand-clasp over another drink. oe ratched closely. He Little Billy listened anc felt that a crisis was drawing near. And, re- membering only the kind words of the captives, he. prepared to meet it as best he might. From the weapons hanging upon the wall, he selected two small revolvers, that were in tolerable or- der, These he carefully loaded and capped. Then he placed them in the hands of May and Eunice. **Mebbe you won’t need to use ’em, but it’s best to be on the safe side. Them varmints out yonder mean mischief. They shain’t hurt ye while I kin keep ’em back, but I’m on’y a little cuss een: an’ they mought rub me out. Then, 7 didn’t hey these, you’d be goners, sure. Ef they do to tetch ye, don’t be afraid to shoot, Try an’ kill’em, Mebbe you'll mi arg iint e be mad enough to kill you, but don’ let that skeer you. I reckon you'd be better off dead than in their hands when they’s.drunk. You understand me?” _ Yes—and thank you for thinking of us. We will do'as you say. They shall not lay hands on us alive,” quietly, but firmly, replied May Howard, her courage rising as the black peril stood out more clearly before them, ‘‘ But you —they will kill you for this.” “Let ’em. Folks must die some time. I ain’ skeered at the thought o’ death. I’m only Lit- tle Billy, anyhow. What’s the def’rence? No- body wouldn’t miss me. But thar—I reckon we'd best shut ip. Mebbe the varmints cut yonder il forgit about us if they don’t hear us oe gat. for they’re sp*ilin’ corn-juice mighty “Little Billy, come nearer. I wish to speak with you,” softly whispered May. With a strange tingling in every fiber of his misshapen form, the dwarf obeyed. He knew right well what the maiden meant to say, for more than once she had pleaded with him ma like manner, though he had ever refused te grant her prayer. He said that he could rot betray his chief—could not be false to the trust reposed in him by Black John, even for thatr waned: But never before had he felt jest as he did now. The events of the past few hours bad changed him. He saw that a terrible danger threatened the captives, a danger that his singte arm could scarcely hope to avert longer. “ Little Billy, you say that you are our friend, Prove it now. Help us to escape from this ee and these fearful men. Help us to return ome, and nothing you can ask of us will be re- fused. You will find a welcome home there and warm hearts to love you for the sake of your truth tous. You live-in sin here. Surety you owe these people nothing. Surely you ca not love or respect them. "Then, listen to our prayer, and aid us now that we need your so eee You say that you love us, and w die to keep us from harm. Then why do you assist these men in keeping us captives? You know what they have threatened—you know what they are now doing—playing cards to decide which shall ess Kunice and I. They are three strong, desperate villains. You can- not hope to resist them, successfully. They — kil you first, and then—what will become of us! “Thar—don’t ery any more. I'll do what I kin, though it mayn’t be much. No—don’t thank me. Wait until Ido the work. But you must keep ready. Don’t sleep. Keep yout we’pons ready for use, if my plan fails. you see them git the better o’ me, you know what to do, Shoot them ef you kin—if not, then shoot your own selves. Better that then what come with them a-hold 0’ ye.” : At that moment Nipper Jim called Little Bil- ly. The dwarf promptly obeyed. He had formed a hasty plan, rude and frail, but he hoped to be able to carry it out, as the outlaws were pretty well blinded with drink. He lifted the stone jug to his lips, and seemingly drank freely, Then he said: ‘“* Boys, the corn-juice is gittin’ mighty scn’ce. Let’s psy seven-up to see who goes to old Cock- ton’s for a fresh lot, at say?” As he had anticipated, an eager assent fol- lowed. The outlaws, who had fully determined to break loose from all authority and possess the maidens, still hesitated about acting, while Little Billy stood their protector. They feared his fatal accuracy with his revolver. respect the dwarf had no equal in the band, while he had never beeh able to master the sub- © tle intricacies of the ‘‘devil’s prayer-book.” Knowing that they could easily beat him at that, they quickly assented. It would take full two hours to return with the whis«cy from Cockton’s. During that absence, the captives would be wholly at their mercy. In their secret glee, they readily consented to the condition imposed by the dwarf, though had their brains been clear, they must have read the truth, that Little Billy was only fightin for time. He proposed that each man skoul play a rubber, the loser of the first to play with the next, and so on until the matter was de- cided. By this means he felt that the needed time would be gained, as the sun was already low down in the west. Before beginning the last game, Little Billy made some excuse and glided in to where the captives were awaiting the result in mg om suspense. He hastily sketched the plan he formed, and told them what they must.do, It was a desperate course, but the only one that remained them. Its only hope of success lay in the semi-drunkenness of the three outlaws. — Returning to his game, Little Bily played slowly and cautiously. The first one was against him. In a well-simulated fit of anger, he flung down the cards, upsetting the rude lamp that alone lighted up the chainber, Aji was darkness the most intense. ‘ “Stay still, boys,” cried the dwarf, in aloud voice. “Tl git a light. You're too drunk~: ou’d bu’st the whole house up. Stay thar un- ill I git back.” : In that ..~
Page 13
a fa, os d ar ayy oo Tr w —_—,- “‘Hellow! who’s that? I felt somebody brush re ine jest then!” suspiciously cried Nipper m, “Tis only me, you looney,” retorted Little Billy, in a voice that trembled despite himself. ** Look out thar—yow’ll upset me with the lamp, if you don’t take keer,” ‘The outlaw subsided, and then the faint flicker of a match revealed the dwart’s features. Only for a moment, however, then it expired. So did the next three or four, Dutch Bill drunken- ly cursing Billy’s clumsiness. But at length the Jamp was ignited, and the cards resumed. Playing with unusual skill, the dwarf won the second game, After a tight contest, Nipper ‘im scored the third and last rubber, aided by “is skill at cheating. ** You're to go, lad,” he cried, exultantly. “All right. Gi’? me the jug. You fellers come to help me through the water,” quietly sh Little Billy. e plunged through the pool, going up the creek, as that was the nearest route to Bock ton’s. The jug was flung him, and then he struck across the prairie, the outlaws watching him. A few moments later he was lost to view amidst the tall grass. And the outlaws chuck- led gleefully as they felt that the only obstacle to . eir scheme was now removed from their path, ‘“‘ But we must wait a bit, fust,” said ater Jim, the most prudent one of the trio. ‘It’s like they’ll make a fuss, an’ Little Billy’s got power: sharp years. He’d make us trouble ef he heard it—he’s heavy on the shoot,” The dwarf had sunk down in the prairie- grass, abandoning the jug, and gliding ta around to strike the creek below the basin. e knew that there was no time to lose, for with the discovery would come instant pursuit. The moon shone brightly, not.a cloud obscur-° ing the sky. Little Billy noted this with a curse. A cloudy night would have insured an escape, but now— His musings ceased, as a faint rustle sounded in the grass beside him. In a low tone, he uttered the names of the two maidens. With glad cries, they rose before him. They had taken advantage of Little Billy’s upsetting the light, and had glided from the cove, through the outer chamber. Gaining the basin, they did not hesitate, but boldly plunged into the water, buoyed up by their clothes, until the swift current swept them into _ shallow water. Then they had aw. the coming of the dwarf, hidden in the : Foeling sure that their flight must soon be dis- covered, Little Billy bade the maidens follow him, and he struck off over the prairie, crouch- ing low down in the grass. The course he pur- sued was one that led them almost directly away from Barrett’s, though the girls did not notice this at first. He knew that the outlaws would believe the fugitives had made at once for their friends, and would naturally direct their search in that belief. By making a wide circuit, Bill a se to elude them. Scarcoly ‘he explained to the girls, than the alarm came to his ears. The escape had been discovered. - Little Billy led them rapidly over tho prairie. He knew that the discovery would serve to sober the outlaws, and when not under the in- fluence of liquor, they were bold, cunning men, well skilled in the craft and lore of the prairies. Let them once strike the trail, and they would follow it to the end. For over an hour they had pressed on thus. Then Little Billy paused, with a curse. At only a little distance before them, he could faintly dis- ui several dim, phantom-like forms. He believed the outlaws had intercepted them, In the faint hope of their not noticing him, he crouched down in grass, before the two maidens, his revolver cocked and ready for use. In painful suspense, they awaited re- sult. A faint rustling in the stiff prairie-grass came to Little eg Be ears. He raised his revolver. Then a dark face rose into view, and seemed to SETTING MAN-TRAP. ‘as this same hour that Curly Tostivan’' Kent Morgan rode over the prairie - Beth Cookton’s, with the knowledge they had oF from | tain cat Black John, the Road-Agent / extracted from the tortured Yellow Ben. Given an idea by the words of the mulatto, Curly was eager to test it, and now he was headed direct for ‘the prairie “ basin”—the retreat of the Road-Agents, He had noticed this spot more than ence, and hadscanned it curiously from either side, though he had never explored it. It had not seemed worth while getting a wet skin, and ho knew that the basin could not be entered without swimming. It may appear strange “zat this place had not been thoroughly searched since the abduction of May and Eunice, but’ the Road-Agents’ trail had been followed miles beyond the point, nor had they doubled upon their tracks. There was nothing to direct suspicion toward the sink. Not until he heard the words of Yellow Ben did the thought occur to him, Hiding in the bank! The nearly perpendicular sides of the basin— might they not contain some hole or cave, its entrance concealed by the masses of trailing vines and bushes? And as he could remem- ber no other spot half so likely, Curly was rid- ing thither. ‘he comrades were yet considerably more than a mile distant from their point of destina- tion, when a peculiar sound caused them to draw reinabruptly. Soaring over the prairie, borne to their ears by the favoring breeze, came the faint sound of human voices. Some person or persons were yelling or shouting angrily. “It comes from mighty nigh the sink, Kent,” muttered Curly, his ear bent in listening. “Somethin’s up.” : _ ‘Perhaps our friends have discovered the hid- ing-place, and are attacking it—come, let’s gg” Ys rly cried Morgan. ‘*Kasy, Kent. You may be right, but ’tain’t likely. kee you air, we'll in plenty time; ef not, then ’twon’t do to run the resk o’sp’ilin our chance before we be Cool an’ easy’s the word Pasa said Curly, as he sprung to the ound, ‘““What’s that for? Goin for to-night?” testily asked Morgan. ‘*Sea’cely. Git down an’ hitch your critter, Thar’s plenty feedin’ to keep ’em quiet until we're ready for ’em.” ** What under thesun are you up to, Curly? Is this your famous plan?” fumed Morgan. ‘‘Part of it. You’re too durned curious, Don’t ae know me well enough to fol- ler my lead blind fer a while? ’Light an’ tie; Tl tell you what I mean.” Kent Morgan obeyed, and while unwinding the long Seinen? and thrusting the picket- pins lightly into the earth. Tostivan condescend- ed to explain. “It’s one of two things, either the gals is hid- den in this basin or sink, or else they ain’t. Ef met 5 air, then they’re close watched, in co’se. Is it likely, then, that we could ride right up to it, ’thout bein’ seen? Sca’cely. Ef’ they ain’t thar, then we’re no wuss off than afore, ’cept a lettle creepin’ that’ll be good exercise. Now do you see it?” “ Yes—and you were right,” acknowledged Kent. Don’t talk to camp out here “Then foller me in all that I do. —save your breath ontel it’s needed more,” said oy, as he glided away through the stiff, rust- grass. ts this manner, crouching low down until their heads alone appeared above the level coat of green, the two friends “poe cautiously on, not knowing where the outlaw look-outs might be posted, Curly was one of those rare men who never throw away a chance in whatever he undertook, Though by no means feeling certain that his surmise was right, he acted as though he knew that the outlaws were actually at t basin and upon their guard. They had nearly gained the spot, when a second alarm came to their ears, this time com- ing from a greater distance than before, and from a different direction. A faint report, a series of shrill yells; then more firing, rapid and confused. With puzzled looks the two friends eyed each other. There was something going on beyond their comprehension. “Shall we make for the muss?’ asked Kent. “No. Yonder’s the sink. Finish one thing ee my ag We'll — a out eon wha ar was in the ni s words, Kee down ahind me.” se A few moments later Curly crouched down by the creek, at the point where it entered the basin. He listened intently. All was still. The ‘basin seemed deserted. Only for the double alarm, he might have abandoned the project at that Pag but he felt now that this spot con- the solution of the m r that had so bafiled them, and he to enter. ° nee ences “You'll stay here, Kent, an’ listen. Ef you hear any rumpus, make fer the hosses, an’ don’t stop ontel you rout up the vigilantes, Then lead em here, hot foot.” ** And desert you? Not much!” ‘The gals is worth more’n lam,” quietly. ‘“ Ef any 0’ the varmints is here, then it’s ten to one they’ve got the gals with’em. We're the ay ones that suspect this hidin’-place; then whar thar chaince be if we both got rubbed out?’ No, Jad, you must promise me this.” d * You're right, Curly; I will do what you say. But if you come to harm, there'll be a big price for some one to pay.” ‘The bigger the better, lad, jest soyou charge the right ones,” brimly replied Curly, as he en- a the water, holding his revolvers above his read. Silently as a muskrat, the scout swam on through the black pool, for the moonlight did not reach here, intercepted by the banks, Be- neath an overhanging bush he paused and lis- tened intently, ot a sound, save those of Nature’s voices, came to his ear. The basin seemed uninhabited save by himself, The next moment Curly uttered a low, invol- untary c As he cautiously raised his head, a dim, twinkling point of light met hiseye. And then Curly knew that he had discovered the se- cret retreat of the Road-Agents, 4 Naturally excited, he yet proceeded with cautious coolness, The first motion he made hid the light from his eyes, but he knew what that meant. A bunch of leaves had intervened. Silently he ae from the water, and then advanced toward the spot where he had seen the light. The next moment he copes sight of it agam. A small lamp sat upon the ground its uncertain light cast over a scattered deck of cards, several rude articles of war and a blanket or two. But nothing could be seen or heard of any living being. Yet the lamp, the cards, all bore evidence that such had very recently been within the den, and the probabilities were that that were still near. Perhaps they had caught some sound, warning them of an enemy’s oy. proach, and were lying in ambush. The thought was na ‘ Tired of waiting so uselessly, Curly measured his di ce, and ejected a stream of tobacco- spit so dextrously that the light, with a sudden splutter, went out. Curly knew that if the den was indeed tenanted, this occurrence would be almost certain to cause some stir or confusion among them. But all remained still. Not a sound came to his ears. he peered into the darkness, he became aware that another lamp was burning within the den; though hidden from him, he could dis- tinguish a faint, hazy sheen crossing the gloom like a ray of moonlight. “Tl risk it, anyhow,” he muttered, beneath his breath, then, with the bared blade of a stout knife tight clutched between bis teeth, he crept forward upon hands and knees, entering the den. In their discovery of the captives’ flight, the drunken outlaws bad thrust leafy screen lace it. ly for hastily aside, omitting to rep’ this fact, Carly might never have the entrance; certainly not so easily. Half-expecting to see the glare of a pistol- shot, or feel the keen thrust of the deadly knife with every movement, Curly still advanced to- ward the faint ray. Then he saw that it ceeded from a er chamber: the alcove had so recently been the prison of the abducted maidens. One quick ae showed him that it was un- cacapted and then he ventured in. He dis- covered unmistakable evidence that the lost ones had lately been there. But wheré were they now? As this thought chilled his heart, Curly heard a faint whistle from without, and recognized Kent Morgan’s signal. Feeting that this por- tended danger, he instantly retraced his steps, and splunging into the pool, swam rapidly to where the young man crouched, — ‘What is it—what’s up?” w Curly. Morgan did not ut re with a ges ture. peg tin t, Tenens in the sha of three men, ra vancing down the valley, followin the creek rt doubt, they were returning to the Retreat. “ ? The gals ‘are gone, but not m These varmints, it’s li knows whar the Bee Sak inl Ook: Nl pick OP tien tease bed. Beyond all —
Page 14
ed, and spoke quite loudly in order to own the splashing in the shallow water. As if to settle the doubts of Kent Morgan, these words camé to the listeners’ ears, Nipper Jim speaking: | “That job’s es ‘ed, then, an’ the sooner we leave this, the better. Black John ’d think wo was lyin’ to him ’bout the gals.” The reply to this, if any was made, was drowned by the simultaneous report of two re- volvers, and the bodies of Nipper Jim and Dutch Bill floundered in the water, dyeing it red with their life-blood, Ed Ware stood alone, seeming- ly B algiy with surprise and horror. " hen Curly sprung from his covert, and clutched the outlaw by the throat, flinging him, unresisting, to the shore. In a moment, ere he had recovered from his stupor, he was bound and gagged. “Ketch hoit an’ help kerry him up into the taller grass, lad,” hastily uttered Curly, with a quick, searching *glanco around, ‘“Thar’s no tellin’ how many more o’ the varmints thar may be nigh, an’ we must pump this feller afore he has a chaince to git away.’ Morgan readily lent a hand, and the next minute the scouts and their captive had disap- red amidst the rank grass. No trace was Tort visible of the recent tragedy, save in the two forms that floated slowly round and round in the eddy, gradually yielding to the influence of the current that was to bear them out into | the preee fer away from the scene of their pat a Unloved they had lived, unmourned ey died. r some minutes Curly and Morgan crouched beside the trempiing outlaw, their weapons drawn and ready for use. But no further alarm came. Ali was still and quiet over the prairie: a silence that gradually began to be oppres- sive to the two, scouts, bold and resolute as they were. : ‘Now, my man,” at length observed Tosti- van, speaking distinctly in the prisoner’s ear, “vou jest listen a bit tome. I don’t s’pose you w who we air. This man here is a Gover’- s vigilantys. So you kin likely tell jest. how much fooling we'll stand from you. It'll take a heap to make us overlook what you have then uttered; “Tf T tell all, will you let me go free, and not deliver me up to them vigilantys? They’d mur- der me!” . “?Tain’t your turn to ax questions. We don’t make tarms with no seech car’on. Don’t rile me. You mought get hurt,” impatiently mut- tered Curly, as his knife-point pricked the out- sangre Little Billy helped ’em gi ey escaped—Little Billy helped ’em give us the shi $ Son grt an boitr ago. We heard eg degeeny an’ yellin’, as we war out huntin’ er them, an’ thought the vigilantys had run ’em down, shootin’ Little Billy by mistake,” sullenly replied Ware. ‘Jest afore we opened on ye, over thar, we heard you say somethin’ about Black John’s comin’ "When ll he be here? No lyin’, now.” 3 “We lowed he’d be here sometime to-mor- row. But it’s all guess-work ’th him.” ‘“How many 0’ you is around this shebang?” * Ain’t any, now, since Little Billy runn’ off, an’ you killed Dutch Bill an’ Nipper Jim an nabbed me. The boss only left us four with the , “ Mor. tellin’ the truth. Ef so, the boys must know it allafore day comes. We can laya trap here ohn, an’ the hull outfit poy: gals must looked up. I don’t It may be p.. Anyway, they must be found you an’ fetch up the : mint ready fer totin’. You must take him to Barret’s. It’s like we’ need him fer a witness. He’s jest coward enough to blow on his com- rades to save his or’nery life.” oa Kent lost no time in obeying the advice, or rather orders, and ten minutes later he was rid- ig rapidly away over the prairie toward Bar- 8, the horse upon which the craven securely bound. you hear this. I b'lieve the cuss is Beadle’s Half-Dime Library whence had proceeded the wild night-alarm, feeling sure that he would gain some clew to the fate of the fugitive maidens, Guided by the instinct that long experience gives the true plainsman, Curly soon stood up- on the spot where we last saw Little Billy and |. his charges. With a sickening sensation osti- van bent low over the blood-stained and tram- pled grass, He saw that a tragedy had been enacted here, and he feared the worst. ‘Then he stumbled over a body buried in the grags. A sigh of relief parted his lips as he noted the large, shagey head and harsh features. He had ree lest his eyes should light upon a fairer Tel te Nie Only that one boay did he find; the mangled corse of the dwarf, Little Billy. Yet he could see where others had fallen, by the matted and | gory grass, that still retained the impress of the bodies. For an hour or more he quartered the prairie, but the sign was hard to read by the uncertain moonlight, and he was but little the wiser when he retraced his steps to the basin. And there he waited and watched until Morgan’s return, with a number of vigilantes. Others had been sent for. Before daydawn the entire settlement would be afoot, And before sunrise the trap was set, and the searchers at work. CHAPTER XI. VULTURE AND COYOTE. Yes, Little Billy was dead, had died fighting desperately, in the vain hope of saving the two maidens from falling into the clutches of the prairie coyotes, the Kickapoos. Undaunted by the score of enemies who sprung up around him as his revolver spoke the death-knell of the fore- most brave, Little Billy faced them with un- flinching courage, his pistols rapidly detonat- ing, carrying death with every bullet. The prairie-grass around him was crushed flat b the spa 3 forms. Uttering their blood-curd- ling death-shrieks, the savages fell, quivering, writhing, plucking and tearing at the stiff grass that was now dampened and dyed crimson with their hearts’ blood. And the dwarf stood there, bold, defiant, as yet unharmed. But then an irresistible rush was made, and after a brief, confused struggle, Little Billy went down before the weightof numbers. Then the writhing mass arose. But Little Billy lay motionless. He was dead. His body bled from a hundred wounds. It was hacked almost to pieces, But the scalp was left untouched. The mia, feared to take this; that would too plainly proclaim the authors of the tragedy, and they were ‘‘ at peace,” May and Eunice had been eye-witnesses of | this tragedy, spell-bound with horror, unable to take advantage of the terrible e~~fusion to flee, as they might have done. Now, as the savages drew back from the uivering, mangled corse that had once been ittle Billy, one brave, bleeding from a bullei- wound through his face, discovered them as they crouched down in the prairie-grass, . Ut- tering a shrill screech of malignant rage, he leaped forward, winding one hand in the flow- ing tresses, uplifting a blood-dripping knife, its point threatening May’s bosom. With a faint cry she sunk back, her eyes closing in expectation of immediate death. The grasp tightened upon her hair, and she was par- tially li to her feet; but ‘he blow did not A stalwart savage leaped sorward, alighting beside the wounded brave, and with a single powerful blow of his clenched fist, sent him reeling away, to fall at full length on the ground. Then this savage stood over the two e-faced maidens, with drawn knife and atchet, waving back the savage braves that ressed around, their weapons ready, their faces Bisto rted, their eyes glowing with the thirst for blood, — * Back!” this man thundered in the tongue of the Kickapoo, ‘‘ These squaws belong to Bad ‘descend, | | . more more uneasy. But then the braves seemed to remember ther allegiance, and as their weapons slowly sunk they drew back, cowed by _ the undaunted courage of Shika-chetish. For the time, at least, the pale-faced maidens were safe. Yet the chief kept close beside them, his eye watchful, his hand ready. Even better than thay, he realized their peril. He knew that the vengeance of the Kickapoos was only partially appeased, our of their comrades had taken up the long trail leading to the happy-hunting grounds, and there was only the spirit of one pence to light them along the way. Why 3ad Wolf had resolved upon protecting the women, he could scarcely have told himself. In the dim moonlight he had not recognized them; nor was it probable that he would do so, since he had not met with either of them for over two years—not since they first left Barrett's for boarding-school at Leavenworth, and these two years had wrought a great change in them. Fearing the result should the settlers discover that the Kickapoos had committed this deed, Shika-chetish gave directions for his braves to gather up their dead and obliterate all traces that could possibly serve to identify the mur- derers. The body of Little Billy was carefully hidden in the tall grass, and hoping that the dew and sun would soon obliterate the blccd- sign, the Kickapoos. glided rapidly away from. the spot, several of their number coming after the mis body, and hiding the trail as best they could, Had Little Billy been less hasty in his action, this tragedy would. probably never have hap- pened. The Kickapoos were not hunting the fugitives. That afternoon a roving band of Omahas had run off several valuable ponies: from the Kickapoo herds, and, taking their trail, the latter had followed it this far, when they noticed several forms advancing along the ridge.. Naturally they wished to learn who these were. As the dark face rose before Little Billy, he fired instantly, ere it to belong to one of the outlaws, who had discovered them, Thus assaulted, the Kickapoos thought only of re- venge. Otherwise they would have allowed the: fugitives to pass them by in peace, as they were averse to gaining the ill-will of the settlers more than they had already by their slightly enig- matical behavior upon the Twin Mounds, a wee previously, As they journeyed along, Shika-chetish grew 6 could not help but notice: the bitter, revengeful glances of the braves, more especially those bearing their dead comrade, directed toward the pale-faces. He heard too the deep mutterings, the half-audible threats, not aloue against the captives, but to- ward any who should so far forget their creed as td shield those whose hands were red wit Kickapoo blood He ‘heard this, and did not. dare rebuke the discontents. Though as brave. and daring a man as ever lived, where bodily danger alone wus concerned, Shika-chetish had one great fear. The main body of the Kicka os had been making overtures to the band un- = his chieftainship, to unite once more with them. Should they do so, Bad-Wolf would be but a sub-chief, while now he wasa king. While this matter was unsettled he must bow more or less to the will of his braves, lest they should decide against him and return to their former tribal allegiance. He felt almost certain that. his braves would demand, that the captives should be delivered up to. their bin, or Sh and he saw not how he could avoid complying. And thus all forgot the purpose for which they start- ed forth; the Omaha horse-thieves might exult. in their success, for the hour of reckoning was. stponed, : ae ; Fortunately for the captives they were not obliged to go much further on foot. Some three miles from the spot of their capture, a second portion of the band was joined. These had charge of the horses, that would only have been an incumbrance to the savages while trailing their foe by moonlight. May and Eunice were mounted upon horse- Wolf. The knife that touches them must first | back, with a warrior riding close upon either pass through the heart of your chief.” For a moment it seemed as though this com- mand would not be heeded. e uplifted weapons quivered and glanced in the pale, silvery rays of the moon. The savages cast a rapid glance around over the ghastly, motionless forms of their dead comrades, that, in their dis- torted features and limbs, seemed calling aloud | backward; the strange and un for vengeance. From these, back to the tall commanding fogm of Shika-chetish, as he s over the crouc women, his eyes flashing back their defiance, his weapons uplifted. in readiness for the collision ov | | | } | \ hand; as though to guard against any attempt at escape. Fetching up the rear were several braves sition iding the staring features and bl from view. The captives cast aay one with its blanket fiung over its head, ance the dead men riding so stiffv along in their rear filled them with horror and a.wild longing te rush forward at headlong speed—anything to — escape that ghastly escort. The sun -had alondy: risen. when rode into the temporary village of teers 4 charge of the dead. Each corpse was securely bound upon its animal, in an upright — ood-stains = y sight of —
Page 15
. more insolent. The _aland where the game is more plenty and not ” Jo-bull. a eaine into his exer, and he replied: . is a lie, deceit, where are the horses now tee 3) And here again the maidens were com+- pore to undergo a trying ordeal. As the dead raves were noticed, a wail of grief and woe went up from the squaws and pappooses, quickly succeeded by a deadly yell of vengeance as the poos. ale- faces caught their attention. And then a Sesperate rush was mado for the captives. With difficulty the braves forced back the infu- riated hags, who seemed to pay no attention to the stinging blows, even wounds, their lords and masters dealt them, intent only upon sacri- fizine the wiite squaws to the manes of their Gad braves. - Panting, trembling, half-fainting, May and Ennice found themss!ves at length in the skin tent of Shila-chetish, who still stood their shield. . But his brow darkened and grew more troubled a3 he listened to the tumult in the village with- out, the yelling, wailing and screeching of the squaws; he knew that at any moment the voices of his braves might join in the chorus, when even his life would be in danger. ‘Save us—for the love of God! save us from them!” gasped May Howard, sinking at the Kickapoo’s feet, her hands clasped, her voice trembling with a sickening dread of the future. “You hear dat? You hear what brave, squaw, pappoose all say? Shika-chetish only one man— you must die!” sullenly returned tho chief, secow- ling deeply, as he heard a loud shout come srom the lips of his warriors. Then he sprung to the lodge door and peered eagerly forth. He had understood the meaning of the shout. A body of-shorsemen was rapidly bearing down upon the village. For one mo- inert he was in doubt; then his face lightened cit 2 brill whistle broke from his lips. . Still ovedient, his warriors flocked toa common cen- ter, their weapons in ordar. Yet ney did not seem to apprehend danger, though the horsemen sontinued to approach at a steady gallop. — From the foremost came _a single cry; it was the yell of Black John, the Road-Agent. Shika- chetish promptly replied, and then the vaga- bond chief and the notorious outlaw met and clasped hands like tried and warm friends. Yet neither trusted the other further than he was absolutely obliged -to, “ Well, chief,” said Black John, glancing keenly around, speaking in the Kickapoo tongue, for Shika-chetish was not very expert in the use of the English language, its intrica- cies proving too much for his Des tongue; “‘ how have matters gone since I’ve been away?” ’ * Bad!” was the impressive reply, ‘“ very bad! The pale-faces are growing stronger and think these prairies are ickapoos have not room We are going far away, tio all theirown. The to breathe in peace, 60 wild. te “T sce you have been in trouble,” added Black John, keenly eying the stark bodies still lying out in the open air, surrounded by wailing» squaws. ‘‘ What does this mean? thought you were at peace. What does this mean?” Bad Wolf hesitated for a moment. He was tempted to tell a lie; to declare that this was the result of a battle with some of the roving Indian bands. And perhaps had he known the entire truth, he would have done so. For he did not suspect that the apterhnn was in any manner connected with the pale-%aced captives | within his tent. But he concluded % tell the truth, and did so ig se Where was this? o were they?” eagerly demanded Black John, strongly agitated. ‘* Wha was with the white squaws? ’ “ A little boy-man, with a head like a buffa- A devil to fight—as you can see, His one arm laid these braves low, before we could r n kill him. ‘‘ Little Billy!” hoarsely cried Black John, as he turned and made a gesture to his men. “Chief, you are trying to deceive me—to throw dust in my eyes! These squaws are mine —you stole them away from my men at the hole in the prairie!” ok Sika-chetish stared at the outlaw in mute amazement, as though he did not comprehend biack John’s words. But then an angry glitter ‘You say that I have a forked tongue. “That Tae not fear to speak — truth to either friend orenemy, And since you speak of ou promised me for helping you at the Two Brothers? I made my part of the bargain good; did you? No! you rode off in the night, upon my horses; and ou ge irae that I ar 2 tain, I see the girls pee at us m rond lod, whispered Limber Dick, at Black _“ Wait—keep the boys ready. We may have | springing of the trap. was mad, and didn’t know what I said, But this boy-man was one of those [ left in charge of my captives at the den. They must have bribed him to help them escape. If that is so, and you killed him, I thank you for it. He was a traitor; it saves me the trouble of punishing him. But these white squaws—let me see them. If they are the ones | think, they must go with me, If not, they are yours.” A sullen muttering ran around the line of Kickapoos, They were scowling deeply, and preparing their weapons, as though burning for a collision. Black Jobn made a rapid gesture. Like magic each of the Road-Agents held a re- volver, cocked and ready in either hand. Be- tween the two parties stood Shika-chetish, irre- solute, He knew his antagonists, and felt that victory, if gained at all, must be accompanied by frightful loss.. Waving back his braves, he said: “Té may be as ye.. say. I know nothing of that. I only know that yon promised me so many horses for a piece of work. I did it; now where are the horses?” ‘*Here—and they are yours, if you will give up the white squaws. If not, then you must fight for them,” was the bold reply. The Kickapoos glanced at each other, and seamed impressed. It was not every day that they gained such a prize; and besides, there might be danger in sacrificing the squaws. The settlers were already suspicious. ‘Bad Wolf read this decision, and like a good Snes gave in. Striding to the lodge, he agged forth the trembling eaptives, saying: “Took—are these your squaws?” “Yes!” cried Black John and Limber Dick, in a breath. *Then they are yours—when you give me the horses,” was the business-like reply. ‘*Come with us to the den, and you can have them then. It is a long ways to walk,” hesitated Black John. “No, Weare going far away. Give us the horses now. “Do it, Cap,” muttered Limber Dick. ‘* The animals would only leave a trail that might be- tray us. We can easily raise fresh ones from the settlers.” ‘Save us! for the love of God! do not give us up to that villain!” gasped May, shrinking back in terror, ‘Horses worth heap more than squaws,” coolly returned the chief, Shrinking with terror, they strove to flee, but with one bound, the Road-Agents secured thei, Haif-fainting, they sunk helpless into the strong arms. oe Vulture and the Coyote laughed dia- ically, ChAPTER XI. : THE TRAP SPRUNG. ALL was still in the ‘‘ basin,” though hearts were beating and eyes flashing with eager anti- cipation as the vigilantes crouched down amidst the undergrowth, their rifles cocked and ready for use the moment Curly Tostivan should give the signal. Half an hour before the look-outs posted upon the ridge brought word that a number of footmen were approaching the retreat. Curly at once stole out to reconnoiter them, and made out that they were the band of Black John, and that they had May Howard and Eunice Lee with them as captives. Without bothering his mint trying to account for their being dis- mounted, Curly hastened back to the mau-trap. He was now standing beside Ed. Ware, a re- volver ready to remind the outlaw of the duty expected of him. To save his life, Ware had eee to decoy the Road-Agents into the trap. e knew the agreed-upon signals, without which bene fe Black Johr woudl not venture within, _e The signals were made ana answered. Black John unsuspectingly advanced. Between him and Limber Dick walked May and Eunice, jad- ed and worn by the long march that had lasted from morn until nearly sunset. _As the Road-Agents drew nearer, Curly Tos- tivan made Kent Morgan a signal. The youn man, followed by a half dozen sturdy rae gud among them the redoubtable Frank Kershaw— dropped into the creek, emerging from the basin on the ce cosh side from that where the outlaw approached. Re: : object was to gain the rear of the Road- Agents, and thus be enabled to cut off the re- treat of such among them as survived the first This bright afternoon 15 was to see the utter destruction of Blaek John’s . notorious band of depredators. “Hello! there—Dutch Bill!” eried out Black John, pausing at a little distance, as though for the first time suspecting something wrong. ‘* Answer him—an’ mind how ye do it,” maut- tered Curly, as his pistol was pressed against Ware’s side. ‘* Hello, Cap—what’s up?” **Ts all safe? Where's the rest of the boys* How did you manage to lose thése girls?” ‘“Tt's a long story, but we kin clear our skirts Thar’s big news too; better come on in,” return ed Ware. Black John scemed satisfied and advanced. Leave them two to Leigh an’ me,” muttered Curly, in a tone barely audible to the vigilantes around him. ‘ When I fire, you plug t’other ready, Abram?” : A nod replied, and then Curly glanced along the dark tube of death, its silver drop bearing full wpen the narrow strip of white forehea left bare by the slouched hat worn by Black John. <A pressure of the finger—and the death- knell was sounded. Without a groan Black John reeled, tossing his arms aloft, then fell heavily forward, a blue, discolored spot between the eyes marking where the bullet had entered the brain. And amidst the death-hail that hurtled se thickly around him, Limber Dick stood unscath- ed, one hand elutching Eunice Lee, Giant Abram bad drawn a bead upon his heart, but the settler’s rifle missed fire. ; And then—with the shrieks and agonized groans of his fellow comrades, with the wild, exultant yells of the vigilantes, both in the basin and those under Kent Morgan who now leaped up from the tail grass in the rear of the Road- Agents; with all this around him, Limber Dick did not lose «his presence of mind. Quick as thought he flung one arm around Eunice, draw- ing her close to his breast, while his right hand clutched a long knife, the keen point resting up- on her bosom. Hold!” he cried, his clear voice ringing like a clarion note, a sneer of derisive contempt worn in the moment of dread peril, playing around his lips. ‘The first move you make will be the death of this girl. True, you can shoot me, but you can’t kill me so instantly but that 1 will have time to drive this knife home to her heart.” - ‘Dont shoot, boys!” cried Curly, anxiously. “What do you want, anyhow? Don’t be a durned fool, man! ; “Thank you—T think Iam acting very sensi- bly, indeed. What do I want? life, of course. I’m not yearning for death—nor do I suppose this lady is. Still, if you kill me, you kill hér, also, Pledge me your honor that you will give me one hour’s start, and I will free her. Then you may cctch me—if you can,” coolly added Limber Dick, “Let me talk with the lcys, fust,” said Curly. ‘* All right—but no treachery, for—” That was the last word Limber Dick ever spoke. A slender form suddenly arose behind him, and clutching bis knife-hand, wrenched the arm far back from the maiden’s breast. At the same instant there was a smothered report —a tiny puff of smoke, and with a snarling cry Limber Dick fell dead to the ground, , ‘* Hurra! leaping forward in ecstasy. It was indeed Frank Kershaw who had per- formed this bold and adroit deed. He had crept through the grass and gained the rear of Lim. ber Dick, unobserved, nerved to desperation doubtless, by the imminent peril of Eunice’ whose beauty and wit had made a deep im- pression on Frank’s heart, There is little more to be added save what the reader’s imagination can readily supply, safo return of their children, turned the scale in favor of Thomas Howard and his waite, Both were well and hearty at the double wed. ding that occurred on Christmas Eve of the same year. Maurice Clyde, the deteciive—tha. same who has been known as Kent Mergan in these pages—wedded May, the biackcyed. And Eunice, of the golden locks, took Pronk Ker- shaw for better or worse, finding him mvch bet- ter than might be expected from the part he has played in these pages, but that orc act of boldness, by which he rescued his future wife, greatly altered Frank, and he is no longer the gasconadin: braegart of doubtful courage. The “ Outlaw’s Retreat,” or one st: exists. In July, 1873, I visited it, and the fr en in the text is taken from nature; and the leading incidents in thig story are still tresb . in the memory of many of ny Kansas trienda ; ra tee YEAR oh in lr Bully for Kershaw!” yelled Curly, :
Page 16
| BEADLE'S | 8 Randwood Dich, the Prin “e of the Road. By E.L. Wheeler. Yelluwstone Snek: By Jogeph E. Budger, Teg & Kapras Kin By Buffalo BHL, (Hon, W. F. Cody.) aT he W ike. orse Munters. “aptain Frederick Whittaker. ov agabond oe, the Young Wandering Jaw. Double number, 10 cents. @ Bill Biddon, Trapper. qT The Flying VY ankee, Jolone! Prentiss In agrabinst, _ 8 Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Fronti By i) ony oneacey of Baron Munchausen : Na By Ol Coomea, By Edward S. Ellis, » Eis. Todd F The Two or, The Fate of the Sioux Ca ne ectives, By Albert W. ae Gufliver’s Travels. A Voymg e to Lilly Brobdingnag. By Dean Sy The Dumb Spy: By Oll Coomes, Aladdin ; © lhe Wonderful Lamp. . ‘The Bea- Cat. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 6 Robinson Orusoe, (27 Ik istrations.) By Defoo By E. 8. Ellis. . t, and a Voyage to 47 Ralph Roy, the Boy Buccaneer, By Col. Prentiss s Ingralam, 18 Sindbad the Sailor. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill. 20 Tho Double Daggers. By Edward L. Wheeler, 21 The Frontier Angol. By Edward §, Ellis. 23 The Sea serpent; or, The Boy Rot nCrusoe, By J, Lewis. of 16, By T, C, Harbaugh. 23 Nick o’ the Night; or, The Boy S 24 Diamond Dirk. 3y Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, % The Boy Captain. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven oof, the Buffalo Den non. By Edward L. Wheeler, a. Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide, By Oli Coomes. 28 buffalo toe, a Prince of the Pistol. By E. L. Wheelor. By Captain Frederick Whittaker, 29 The Mag Rat e, 80 Roaring Ra Roekwood. By Harry St. George, 81 Keen. K ie *rince of the Prairies.” By Oll Cooines 82 Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian. By Edward L. Wheeler. 83 The Ocean Bloodhound. By S. W. Pierce. $4 Oregon Sol, By Captain J, F.C. Adama, B85 Wi Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. By E. L, Wheelcr. 86 ‘The Bo Clo n, By Fravk 8, Finn. + ane hic ‘gen sedge. By T.C, Harbaugh, Ned W ride, the Boy Scout. By Texas Jack. $ Death- “nee, the Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler, 40 Roving Ben, By John J. Marshall, 41 Lasso Gack, the Young Mustanger. By O11] Coomes, 42 The Phantom Miner. By Edward L, as ete arilug, the Pony Express Rider. 44 Ratt! eoke, By Harry St. George. 45 Old Avalanche, the Grent Annihilator. Glass Eye, the Groat Shot of the West. By J. F.C. Adama. 47 Nightingale Nat; or, be Forest Captains. By Harbaugh, 48 Black John, the Ronad- Agent, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 49 Omnha OU, the Masked Terror. By Edward L, Whveler. 50 Hert Bunker, the Trapper. By C. E. Lasalle. @ Boy Kitless or, ‘Tle Underground C amp, By A. 52 The White But alo. By C, ©. Lasalle. 58 Jim Bindsoe, Jr., tho Boy Phenix. By E.L. Wheeler. 54 Ned Hazel, the Boy Trapper, By Capt: J. F.C, Adams. 65 Deadly-Kye, the Unknown Scout. By Buffalo Bill. 56 Nick Whiifics’ Pet. By Captain J. F.C. Adams. ie Lwoed ick’s Eagles, By Edward L. Wheeler. rhe Border King; or, The Secret Foe. By Ol Coomes. 5Y O11 Hickory; or, Dandy Ellis’s Scalp. By Harry St. George. 60 The White Indlan. By Cuptain J, F.C. Adans. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or, The Red Rifle Team. By E. L. Wheeler. 62 The Shadow Ship. By Colonel! Prentiss Ingraham. 683 The Red Brotherhood. By W. J, Hamilton. $i Dandy Jack. By T. C, Harbaugh. 65 Hurricane Bill, By 3 eee E. Badger, Jr. 66 Siugle Hand; or, A Life a a Life. By W. J, Hamilton. $5 Potent-Leather Joe. Philip 8. Warne. he Borger Robin es By Prutfalo Bill. ” +44 ifle the ee oo ter, By Edward L. Wheeler. ° Vid ae p’s Cabin. Captain J. F.C, Adains. poaware Diek, tho > Kone. Ranger Spy. By Oll Coomes. Tom Weatern, the Texan Ranger. Hy W.J. Hamilton. in oe Siena Dick on Deck, By Edward L, Wheeler. Wheeler. By Cupt, Whittaker, By E. L. Wheeler. C. Tron, T4 Hawk-eyo Marry. By Ol! Coomes, 3 Theo Boy Dnelist. Colonel Prentiss Ing-aham. v Oolt, the Crow- Pe By Albert W. Aiken. 77 ragrey Oburiiey the Boy Bravo. By E. L, Wheeler, 78 Blue By Captain Mayne Reid, TP Sol Gluger, the Giant Trapper. By Albort W. Aiken. $0 Hasebud Hob. By Edward l. Wheeler. + Lightning Jo, By’ Captain J. F. C.Adams. a eh Ths efoot the W rood. Hawk. By T. C. Harbaugh, er} Kollo, qhie Boy Ranger. By O01! Caemes. #4 Idyl, the Girl Miner, «By Edward L. Wheeler. 35 I Buek be orig By Captain J, F.C. Adina, kk, the Mau from Texas. 86 pene & By G. Waldo Brown. S87 The and J Tiraten. By wee Bye, the Shadow. he Rovers. By Lieut. Col, Hazeltine. By Edward L. Wheeler. BT The Outlaw Brethersa, By Jobn J. Marshall. 33 Robia Mood, the Outlawed Earl. By Prof. Gildersleeve. The Tiger ste nos. By George Waldo Browne. t00 Deadwood Dick In Leadville, By E, L. Wheeler. O01 Jack Harkaway in New York, Bracebridge Hemyng. O2 Dick Dead-Eye, By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, 408 The Lion of the Bea. By Colone! Delle Sara. 304 Deadwood Dick’s Device. By Edward L. Wheeler. 105 Old Rube, the Hunter, By Captain H. Holmes. 166 Old Freaty, the Guide, Hy T. Cc, Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim, By James L. Bowen. 108 Daring Davy, the Young Bear-Killer. By H. St. George. 109 Peadwood I tk as Detective. By E. L. Wheeler. 110 The Black Stood ofthe Prairies, By J. L, Boweu. 131 The Sea-Pevil. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 112 The Mad Hunter. By Borton Saxe 8 Jack Hoyle the Young Speculator, By E. L. Wheeler, 14 The Black Schooner. By Roger Starbuck. 115 Th . es Miner. By George Waldo Browne. 16 The HNussar Captain. By Col, Prentiss lugraham. 17 Gile -Edged Dic By Edward L. Wheeler. 18 Somers, the ‘Bow D-tective, By Charles Morris. 119 Mustang Sam poets The Ring ofthe Plains. By J.E. Budger. 120 The Branded Hand. Frank Dumont. W1¢ port, By E. L. Wheeler. Po mon Chip, the Sie ii Hardy, the Boss Boy. By Charles Morris. HS pl Charloy, the White Mustanger. By T.C. Harbaugh. Tippy, the Texan. By George Gleason. vein 125 Howanza Bill, Miner. By Edward L. Wheeler. 12 ej une Pete. By Charles Morris. 127 id-Fire, the Boss of the Road. By Frank Dumont, 128 The Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish. 129 Deadwood Dick's Double. By Edward L. Wheeler. 4 nae © Detective Bick, By Charles Morris. i The Salton iland. By Geo The Hunted Hanter. he ward S. Ellis. 88 Boss Bob the King of the Bootblacksa, By E.L, Wheeler. Sure Shot Seth. By O}! Cov-mes, ca Paul, By C. Dunning ia: Waldo Browne. 8 Biende Kil. 1 Coomes. ym Sport. B Captain me as ay robe & By Captain Mayne Reid and | 147 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. By Charles Morris, | 14% Sharp Sam _— By J. Alexander Patten. 140 A Game of Gold, By Edward L. Wheeler. Lance and Lasso. By Captain F rederick Whittaker, Panther Paul, the Pra Joa, E. Badger, Jr. iieck Besa, Wil! Wildt arles Morris, Eagle Kit, the Poy Demox 5 The Sword Hunters, Whittaker. Gold Trigger, the Sport. VDeadwoed Dick o £ Mike Merry, the Har Faney rank of © jolorado. The Lost Captain. By; The Binck Ginnt. By ) New York Nell. By Edward L. * Will Wildfire in =e Ww oods, By ( Charles Morris. Little Texas, the Young Mus tange r. ‘By Oll Coomes. Dandy Rock’s Pledge. By George Waldo Browne. % Billy Baggage, tle Railroad Bo y. By Charles Morris, i Mickory acey: By Harry St. George, Asa Scott, the Steamboat Boy. By Edward Wille; Deadly Dash. By Jose eph hk. Budger, Jr, ‘ornade Tom. By T. C » Harbaugh. A Trump Card. By Charles Morria. Sr Ex Or er +] we Oey pS aehitanas an ne cad Ww rood. jomek rack fe fk fh fl a - * K 7 new ~ = SL i Ebony Dan. By Frank Dumont. 2 Thunderbolt Tom, By Harry St. George. 8 Dandy Kock’s Rival. By Geoige Waldo Browne. 4 Bob Rockett, the Boy Dodger. By Charles Morris, 5 © ‘aptain Arizona. By Philip S. Warne. - 6 The Boy Runaway. By Lieutenant H. D Perry, U.S.N. 7 Nobby Nick of Nevada. By Edward L. Wheeler, S Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. By Oll Coomes. ~ Mob Rockett, the Bank Runner, By Charles eg By Lieutenant H, D. Perry, U.S Willd Frank of Montana, By Edward L. When Little Hurricane, the Boy Captain, By Oll Coomes. The Hidden Hand, By Charles Morris. The Boy arallers. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. Evil Eye, King of the Cattle Thieves. By Frank Dumont, Cool Desmond. By Colonel Dele Sara. Fred Malyard the Life Boat Boy. By Charlea Morris. Ned Temple, the Border Boy, By T. 0, Harbaugh. Rob Rockett, the Cracksman. By Charles Morris. Pandy Darke, By William R. Eyster. Ruffalo Billy, the Boy Bullwhacker, Oaptain Kit, the Wi Lo? the-Wisp. By Lieut. Perry. The Lady Road-Agent. By Philip 8S. Warne. Buffalo BPs Bet. By Captain Taylor. % Dendwood Dick’s Dream. By Edward L, Wheeler. Shadowed, By Charles Morri TAttle Grit, the Wild Rider. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Arkansaw, the Map with the Knife. By T, C. Harbaugh. Featherw bight. By Edward Willett. The Boy Bedouins. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker, The Black Hills Jezebel. By Edward L. Wheeler. Prospect Pete, of tue Boy Bal apae. By Ol] Coomes. The Boy Pards, By Joseph K. Badger, Jr. Gold Plume, the Boy Bandit, ‘By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Deadwood Dick’s Deom, By Edward L. Wheeler. Park Paul, the Tiger King. By Charles Morris. Nav ale Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter. By T. C. Harbaugh, The Boy Here ules, By Ol! Coomes, 209 F ritz, the Bound-Boy gpd By Edward L. Wheeler. 210 Foro Frank of High Pine. By William R. Eyster. Zil Crooked Cale. Lop rae E. Badger, Jr. 3 Dashing Dave, the Dandy Detective. By Charles Marris, Frits to the Front. By Edward L. Wheoler. Coiwane, the Robber of the Rhine. By Ne Whittaker. Captain Bullet, the Raider King. By T, C. Harbaugh. Bison Bill, the Prince of tho Reins, By Col. P. Ingraham. Captain Crack-Shot By Edward L, Wheoler. Tigcr Tom, the Texan Terror. By Oll Coomes. 219 eeperds tho Duelist. By Philip S. Winey 220 Tom Tanner, Aralawag. ase Scapegi ace. Ghas. Morris. 221 Sugar-Coated Sam. By Edward L. Whe er, 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport. By Col. Prontiss Ingraham. 228 Ozark Alf, King of the Mountain. By Edward Willett. #24 Dashing Dick. By Ol! Sovmes. By Charles Morris. ~ = The Sea Trailer, OST Se ee ee et LOPES CF KK Beveloyeyeyeieiese? o3 AD I 1 1 1 1 i 1 Bwew~nwwer 225 Sam Charcoal, the Preminm Darky. Snoozer, the Boy Sharp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 227 Dusky Darrell, Trapper. By E Emermon, 22S pF {ttle Wilalire, By Ol] Coomes, 229 Crimson Kate. By Colonel) Prentiss a ao The Yankee Rajah, By C. pening 251 Plueky Phil, of the Biountain Trail. T. C, Harbaugh. -Duat Dick. By Edward L. Whee er. 288 Joe Buek ef Angela. By Albert W. Aiken. 254 Old py a ** oyecs. »” By Buckskin Sam. 2835 Shadow Sam, the Messenger Boy.” By Charles Morrla, 236 Apollo Bill, By Edward L. Wheeler. 237 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain, 288 The Parson Detective. By O!l Coomes. 289 The Gold-secker Guide. By Captain Mayne Reid. 240 Cyclone Kit. liv Edward L, Wheeler, 241 RB il Bravo and His Bear ‘Pards. ' By T. C. Harbaugh. 242 The Two “Bloods,” By Charles Morris, 248 The Disgulsed Guide, By Ol! Coomes, 244 Sierra Sam. By Edward L. Wheeler. 245 Merle, the Middy. By cng te Megs) Ingraham 2146 Glant George. By Buckskin 247 Old Grizzly and His LE wy By “Capt. “ Broin” Adams, 245 Sierra Sam’s Secret, p Eabresd L. Wheeler. By @el. Ingraham, 249 Milo mee the Aetna | cing. Capt. Fred. Waittaker. 250 The Midsh bipman Mutineer. x Col. ips Ingraham. 251 Light-house Lige. By Captain J. B.C. dams, By Charies Morris, 252 Dick Dashaway. arte a ware eeler, By 258 Slerra Sam’s Pard. 254 The Half Blood, diward S. Ellis, 255 Captain Apolls, By TC. Harbaugh. 258 Young Kentuck. By Captels Mark Wik:.’. 257 Tho Lost Nuntera. By t. J. F, C. Adama. 255 Sierra Sam’s Seven. By Edward L. Wheeler. 259 ‘The Golden Harpoon, By Roger Starvuck, 260 Dare-DPevyil Dan, Ly Ol! Coomes. 261 Fergus Pearnau By George L. Aiken. 262 The Young aeefe By Charles Morris. 268 Deadwood Pick’s Divide, By Edward L. Wheoler, 264 The Floating Feather, By Col. P. Ingraham, 265 The Viger Tamer. By Captain Fred. Whittaker. 266 Killb’ar, the Guide. By Ensign Warren. 267 The Buckskin Detectlye. By T. C. Harbau: he 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trall. By E. L. 269 The Geld Ship. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 270 Bene > mi Ben, By Captain Mark Wilton, pA BL 6 Hunter. By Edward S, Bllls, Minkek: m Mike. By Oll Coomes, 2T8 Jumbo Joe. By wasans L. Wheeler. ppers. By’ bade r Lewis W. Carson. ree the Rite Kin . C. Harbaugh. Monte’ ‘« Fate. bc Cal. Prentiss a Ver Doll's Victory. By Edward L. or. Ba0 tay “we 'y © Detective. By Edward a ata 2a8 Int oe. By Major Lewis W, Carso 934 The new Marauder. By Colonel Praniles Ingraham 285 Denver Dell’s Decoy. By Edward L. Whoeler. 226 Jasnh, the Boy Ten erfoot. Ry Cap Soe Wittes, 287 iM na as dg By Colonel Prentiss 2k8 The 8c By Captain J.P. C. dy og 249 Jolly re ing: By Charles Morris. 290 Littic Foxfire, By Oll Coomes, 291 Turk, the Ferret. By Edward L, Wheeler, 292 Sanche Pedro, By Major E. L. St. Vrain, 99S Red Claw, the One-Eyed Trapper. By Captain Comstock ALF-DIME LIBRARY. as By Capt. A. B. Taylor. eueaat ~* 294 Dynamite Dan. By T. C, Harbaugh. 205 Fearless Phil, By Edward Willett. 296 Denver Doli’s Drift, By Edward L. Wheoles, 297 The Tarantula of Taoa. By Buckskin San, 298 The Water-HMeund. By Charles Morris, ' 299 A No. 1, the Dashing ToN-Taker, By Edward L. We £00 The Sky Demon, By Oli Coomes, 861 Leadville Niek, By Major E, L, St. Vraim £02 The Mountain Detective, By T. C. Harbevgh, 808 ’Liza Jane, the Girl Miner. By E. L. Wheeler. 804 The Dead Shot Dandy. By Colonel Prontiss Ing. re 805 Dashaway, of Dakota. By Charles Morris, B06 Neck-Tie Ned. By Major H. B. Stoddard, $07 The Strange Pard. By Buckskin Sam, 808 Keno Kit, the Boy Bugler's Pard, By Col. P. Ingrahare 809 Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal. By E. L. Wheeler, 810 The Barranca Wolf, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 811 The Roving Sport. By Edward Willett. 812 Redtop Rube, the Vigilante Prince. By Maj. E. L. St. Vray 818 Cimarron Jack, By Frederick Dewey. 814 The Mysterious Marauder. | By Col. P. Ingraham, 815 Ned, the Cabin Boy. By Jack Farragut. 816 Old Eell pse, Trump Card of Arizona, By T. @. Harbaugh BIT Peacouk Pete. By Lieutenant Alfred Thorne, 818 Ker-whoap, Ker-whoo! By Buckskin Sam, 819 The Black Rider. By Joseph FE. Badger, Jn 6230 The Sea Sorceress. By Jack Farragut. 821 Dendweod Dick’s Dozen. By Edward L, Wheelew. 822 Nemo, the Detective. By Edward Willett, 828 Arkansaw Jack. By Harry Hasard, 824 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Roy Detective. By (ne Morris, 825 Kelley, Hicke of Company, the Sleuths of Philadet By Edward i. Wheeler, Set r pais 826 The Ten Pards; or, The Terror of Take-Notice, Harbangh. 827 Creeping Cat, the Caddo. By Buckakin Sam, 828 The Sky Detectives. By Major Mickey Free. 829 Red-Skin Tom. By Harry Hazard, 880 Little Quick-Shot. By Edward L. Wheeler. 881 Black Nick, the Demon Rider,. By Capt. Fred. Whitect.2 882 Frio Fred. By Buekskjn Sam. 888 Brimstone Bob, and His Lightning Horse Qual tette. By Major E, L. St. Vrain. 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miver. By E. L, Wheel) 885 Old Double Fist, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 886 Big Benson. By T. C, Harbaugh. 887 Ben Bird, the Cave King. By W. J, Hamilton, 888 A Tough Boy. By Philip S. Warne, 889 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket. By Edward L. Wheeler 840 Clip, the Contortionist; By Edward Willett. 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagubond Detective. By Charles a ~ $42 The Mountain Devil. By Harry Hazard. 848 Manhattan Mike. By Edward L. Wheeler, 844 The Fighting Trio, By Bockskin Sam, 845 Pitiless Matt. By T. C. Harbaugh, 846 Rapler Raphacl. By Major H. B. Stoddard, 847 Dendwood Dick’s Ducata. By Edward L. Whestor, 848 Fire-Weels; or, Old Skinflint the Death-Shadow, Roger Starbuck, 849 Wild Wolf, the Waco, By Buckskin Sam, 850 Red Ralph, the River Rover. By Nod Buntlim, 851 Deadwood Dick Sentenced. By Edwa-l L. Whedtge 852 Tombstone Tom. By Moj. E. L, St. Vrain. 858 The Reporter-Detective, By Charles Morris, 854 Big Horn Ike the Hill Tramp. By Roger St...suck, 855 The King of the Weods; or, Daniel Boone’s Last ‘Trail By Joseph E. Badger, Jr, 856 Cool Sam and Pard. By T. C. Harbaugh. 857 The Ranch Raiders. By Buckskin Sam. £58 First-Class Fred, the Gent from Gopher. By FE. L. Wheeler 859 Duraveo Dave, the Young Wrestler Champion. By Maj. K » St, Vrain. 860 Silver-Mask, the Man of Mystery. By J. C. Cowdrick. 861 The Phantom Lighthouse. By Roger Starbuck. 862 Deadwood Dick’s Claim. By Edward L, Wheeler. 868 Little Tornado. By Philip S. Warne. 664 Snap-Shot, the Boy Ranger, By Buckskin 3am, 865 Baltimore Ben. By A. P. Morris. 866 Velvct Foot, the Indian Detective, By T, C. Har ugh 867 Wide-Awake Joe. By Charles Morris. 868 Yreka Jim, the Gold-Gatherer. By ©. L, Wheele:. 869 Shasta, the Gold King. By J.C. Cowdrick. 870 Breaker Ben, the Reef-Rumner. By Roger Starbuck 871 Kinghelt Chris, the Young Hard-Shell Detective By 3} L, St. Vrain. 872 Yreka Jim's Prize. By Edward L. Wheeler, 878 Little Jingo} or, the Queer Pard. By Philip S. Wa 874 Gold-Dust Tom. By George H. Morse. 875 Chiota, the Creek. By Buckskin Sam. 876 California Joe's First Trall, By Capt. F. Whitt 877 Bonodel, the Boy Rever, By Col. Prentiss Ing--heg 878 Nabob Ned. By Edward L. Wheeler. 879 Larry, the Leveler. By Charles Morris, 880 Avalanche Alf, By Major E. L. St. Vrain, 881 Bandera Bills or, Frio Frank*to the Front, By Bueky' Sam. 882 Geel Kit, the King of Kids. By Edward L. Wheeler 888 The Indian PHot. By Col. Prentice Ingraham, 884 Whip-King Joe, the Boy Ranchero. By Ol] Cooma 885 Yreka Jim's Joker, By Edward L,; Wheeler. 886 Captain Cutlass, the Ocean Spider. By T. C. Harder 887 Warpath Will, the Boy Phantom. By Col. P, ingeel, 888 Little Oh-my, By Philip 8. Warne A New lesuc Every Tucsdaj ‘Phe Half-Dime Library ' fer sale by all weavedean__ cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents oak. BEADLE AND ADAMB, Pu 98 Willigm Strcct, Yew By T. €