Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 126) (1879 12 26)
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iM INollelatt,?, a — i, stl tial ES a a A ee ee TY Ms, et. Tiel “tne | tt ttt ene i eo Ne | Sr an. " __ $250 8 year. s Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Matter. Copyrighted in 1879 by BEADLE AND ADAMS, December 38, iss, Single PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, Vol. V. Number. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. N 0. 1 2 6. ———— Picayune Pete; Nicodemus, the Dog Detective. BY CHARLES MORRIS, AUTHOR OF “PHIL HARDY, THE BOSS BOY,” “ WILL SOMERS, THE BOY DETECTIVE,’’ ETC. CHAPTER I. A GIRL OVERBOARD. A BROAD, sunny stream flowing by in a long curve of dimpled waters; on one side the level bottom- lands running back, clad in springtide beauty; on the other agrove of straight, tall trees; a mile to the north the roofs and spires of a city, rising out of emerald verdure; such are the main features of the scene to which we desire to introduce the reader. On the right of the grove a great boled oak rose from the river-bank, its exposed roots overhanging the waters. GAN ty * WN ' \ mae a8 ich f pactetsi>} WOSkt “THATS WHAT I KEER FOR THE PERLICE,” SAID PETE. ‘‘ NICODEMUS, HE KNOWS.” «
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In a nest of these huge roots sata boy of rome fifteen years of age, a ragged, mock, little Arab, but with a shrewd, fearless, independent look, and a sense of recklessness that flashed from his bright ETC y eyes. lie was small for his ave, vot praccful, and witha ** ongly-knit frame, while his face might have been 7. .ndsome if relieved of its dirt and its present ex- y o-ssion of discontent, (owas e in the LA let of fishing; a er ooked branch, cut from a neighboring willow, serv- i»; to sustain his home-made line; while a cork, 4 'yyed from some porter-bottle, floated in the focus «¢! anh ipo taught to deport themselves in all things as omes young ladies. We cannot ex- cuse a breach of discipline,” “That’s all right, ma’am,” said the captain. ‘I suppose you'll put her on bread and water for @ week for getting half-drowned. If she’d been whole Gere nee. gee eve na caught it! Well, good- ay, ma’am; I must go home to see if m ou ladies are out of order.” sé etd ‘*Have you Tou Saay. daughters?’ asked mad- ame, interested. ‘‘Do you send them to school? How old are they? ‘One, six months; the other, two years,” an- swored the captain, dryly. “ You spoke of young es, sir.” “ Well, ma’am, I’ve as good right to call my ba- bies young ladies as you have. Give you good- ,” and the captain walked out, grinning as if he fancied be had annihilated the madame. The dignified lady principal felt her dignity sadly There was low barometer and squally weather in school for the next few days. ; The weight of Madame Lucon’s indignation fell on all alike, neither i nor teacher escaping. The rescued child, Minnie Ellis by name, had been sec instantly to bed, for fear of some peril to her ealth, She appeared in the hall the next yore i look ing so wovoking? well, that madame seemed to see init intentional isrespect to herself, “T had intended to forbear oe to you, Miss Ellis,” she said, ‘‘ concerning the unpleasant occur- rence of yesterday, until you had recovered from the effects of your imprudence. I am gratified to reeive that it was not as serious as it might have en.” ‘‘Tam very well, I assure you, Madame Bucon,”’ said Minnie. Her impulsive nature was apt to make her speak at the wrong time. “Then, miss, you will please listen attentively to me for a few minutes,” said the austere princ “ Are you not aware of the imperative necessity ild is all right. She is coming to rap- * diminished by the curtness of the old water-dog. |
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the young ladics in my school obeying the discipli- 3 gre “Yes, madame,”’ said Minnie, meekly, “Yet, great as that fault is, it is venial compared with your acting in a manner unbecoming a young lady. Did you fora moment consider what a re- sponsible duty is imposed on me by the absence of your parent? For you to act in the hoydenish man- ner of girls who are debarred from the superior ad- vantages appertaining to my school, utterly astounds me. I would not have deemed it possible in any young ladies under my charge.” “We did not think there was any harm in a little boat-ride,” said Minnie, demurely. “ Father often took me wee “T am to think for you,” said madame, with a wave of her hand over he assembled class. ‘* You are not expected to know all that appertains to ladylike manners. This is a matter of education, and mine is a most responsible charge, to have the future social position of so many young ladies in | my hands.” ‘But you had not taught us on that point, Mad- ame Lucon,” said Minnie, a little deflantly. ‘ We can’t become ladies all at once.” *No answer was needed, Miss Ellis,” said mad- ame, with redoubled dignity. ‘*‘ And I am surprised at your saying can’t, where you have been taught to say cannot. with the rude boy who took you from the water. It was too bad that you should expose yourself to be handled by so low a creature.” “Low creature, madame?” said Minnie, quickly, a red spot appearing in her cheek, ‘*Your tone is much too pronzuaced, Miss Ellis,’ said madame, severely. “He saved my life. And I had been annoyin him, too. Excuse me, madame, but I hope you w not speak of him, that way.”’ “Tam sorry for the fact, Miss Ellis, but his beha- vior on the steamboat stamped him as rude, unedu- cated and low. I would give him some money, for I suppose that was his object. But [ must warn you against any romantic feeling of gratitude for such a creature.” ‘*He saved my life, madame,’’ Minnie repeated. “T will see that he is found and rewarded for it. I charge you to think no more of this boy of the tters, this low creature that calls himself by the barous title of Picayune Pete. If you should see him you are not to recognize him,” “T don’t care if he does call himself Picayune Pete!’ cried Minnie, tears starting to her eyes. “ He saved my life, and he is a noble boy, and I can’t forget him.” ‘You forget yourself, Miss Ellis,” said the digni- fied pe ““Your tears and your tone are alike disrespectful. And you have used the word can't again, after my remarks about the use of such words. For thisI give you one page of dictionary to learn. You have already been sufficiently punished for your other fault, You can leave the room now, Miss Ellis,”’ Miunie Ellis needed no second command to leave the room. She was a veritable little beauty as she flashed in- to her own class-room, with her bright blue eyes, her clear skin, rosy cheeks, and golden curls, But her eyes now burned, and the red in her cheeks was an angry flush, ‘The old vixen!’’ she cried to the assembled girls, stamping her little foot in vexation, “He was a good, noble fellow, now wasn’t he, girls? And she would not have cared if [had been drowned. Iam bound to find him now, that’s what I am, and to thank him, too. And I'll say e1n’t too, and shan’s too, if I want to,” ‘““Why, Miss Minnie, I am surprised,” said the uiet teacher who had the class in charge, and whom the child had not seen. “Pxcuse me, Miss Mary,” said the child, submis- sively; “‘i did not intend to speak so before you. She made me do it.” 8 | hope you will not let your feelings control you so,”’ said the teacher, who evidently oder oe thized with the child. “Madame Lucoa’s position causes her to be austere in manner, but she has really the good of ail of you at heart.’ “T won't say anything more, Miss Mary,” said Minnie, But she concealed a raging rebellion in her heart. She could not so readily forgive mad- ame’s severity. Minnie Ellis lived in the city, being only a day scholar at Mad ume Licon’s Sslect School. This gave har an opportunity of finding and thank- ing her rescuer which she would not otherwise have had—the boarders at the Young Ladies’ Seminary having very little liberty. Yet she seemed destined to be unsuccessful in her search, For more than a week she had persevered without success. She found, it is true, some persons who knew Pica- yane Pete. But the reports of these persons were -ory discouraging in character. they were all boys, as Minnie fancied that boys weetld be the best guides to the boy of her search, ** Picayune Pete!” said one, a half-grown lad who jived near her. ‘‘ Know him? I guess I do. He weated to fly my kite once, and he tore it all to bits. ‘*nen he made my nose bleed because I didn’t like | in anger. if. **Do you know where he lives?” asked Minnie, ina quaking tone. | and kicking the boys indiscriminately, I hope that is no result of contact | Picayune Pete. rejoinder. ‘I rather think so. Pete’s a horse, he is. He can ride better than a jockey, and dive deep- er than a muskrat, and he can run, and shoot, and all that, like fun.” And he’s good at all kinds of tricks; and can walk on his hands and turn summer- sets like blazes! He’s some, Pete is, if he is stunt- ** Can you tell me where he lives?” ‘He don’t live nowhere, I reckon. Anyhow, he lets on he don't. I never asked him but once, and then he blacked my eye for it, On, I tell you Pete's a slatherer.”’ = ‘* Will you tell me where I can find him, or can you find him for me? He saved my life and I want to thank him,” ‘ ‘What! are you the gal Pete swum ashore with?” “Yes. Ha» saved me from drowning,” ‘“‘Now, that’s a go. Dunno where he is, though. So there’s no use talking.” ; . Her efforts in other quarters proved equally un- successful. Plenty of boys knew Pete, but none knew just where to place that erratic individual. All had discouraging stories to tell of his pugna- city and other evil habits. He had a way of ct young rascal, a vagabond, a savage, and twenty other hard names. Yet Minnie observed that in nearly every case the boys had given Pete the first- provocation, and noné | accused him of stealing, or any other low vice. | ing to her native impulses of gratitude pumped overboard and saved my life. } | these reports, the missionary spiri Her desire: to find him was only augmented by t being’ roused in her. She hoped and prayed to herself that she might be able to persuade the boy from his bad hab- Meanwhile Pete was about town’ éverywhere, in the course ofevery day He did spend Yhore’ time in the, neighborhood of Madame’ Liicon’s™ Select School than he had ever done before: Why, he did not explain to anybody, not even to him Here Minnie never dreamed of looking for him, He was found in this locality one day by thé boy who had expressed such an opinion of his prowess. “T want to see you, Picayune Pete,” said the lat- * ‘* Want to see me, hey?” said Pete, squatting him- on a horse-block. ‘Well, divulge ‘then, my rooster; [’'m a-listening.”’ ‘“‘There’s a girl been looking everywhere for you. The one you pulled out of the water.” “A gal, hey?’ said Pete. ‘And I'd like to know what the thunder it’s your bizness?”’ “Thought I'd tell you, Pete, ’cause she asked me about you.” “What does the gal want?” “Wants to thank you, she says. And maybe to pay oa I ’spect the girl's rich ” $ : ‘ay me, is it?” said Pete, rising slowly from his seat. “T just guessed so."’ “Well, you jist tell me who axed you to guess, you thunderin’ ‘coon? Who said I was takin’ pay for pullin’ gals out of the water? If the gal wants me, she’ll find me on my beat. Tell her that. And don’t you guess any more, or I'll give you what you're a- fishing for.” *“T didn’t say nothing to make you mad.” “You did, you’possum. Git, now, or I'll bu'st 7s eye for you. Won't have no meddlin’ in my zness.”” Pete advanced with warlike look, and the bey in- continently fled. CHAPTER III. TRYING TO TAME A YOUNG VAGABOND. Mapame Lvcon’s severity was not transito She was in a chronic ill-humor for some weeks after the events of the annual school plenic. It might have been dyspepsia, but if it was, the whole school was made to suffer with her. She had discovered in some way that Minnie Elis was making efforts to find her rescuer. This seemed open con- tempt of her advice, and she caused the child to feel the weight of her displeasure. Her severity, however, produced an effect the di- rect opposite of her intentions. Minnie had been growing discourazed by the result of her inquiries, ’ and was strongly inclined to give up the quest. But there was a vein of obstinacy in her character, and this persecution of her by Madame Lucon, for yield- only strength- ened her purpose to find and thank Pieayune Pete. “Tsn’t she Rorrid?” she said to one of her confi- dantes. ‘Just to think of her telling us to be good and virtuous and grateful; but it isn’t good in her eyes to be grateful to a boy with a ragged coat and bare feet.” - ty “But he was such a dirty boy, Minnie; and all in tatters.” “T don’t care. I threw stones at his cork, and he I don’t be- ieve any of your nice-dressed boys would have done it. And, just to think of the old ogress!” ‘* Now don’t call her that, Minnie.” “T will. That’s just what she is. ” And a tyrant, “Hush! Somebody may hear you, and report.” *T don’t care!’ and the little uty flashed out “T will find Pete; and I don’t mind if he is dirty, and bad, and quarreleome. And I don’t care what Madame Lucon thinks,” She broke angrily from the room, incensed against ‘IT guess he lives out of doors, all around. I know | her lukewarm confidante. The madame took occasion to chide her that day in class, for some lack of proficiency in her lessons. “T did try hard to thought I knew it.” : 3 |. You are not giving your lessons that attention “Do I know Picayune Pete?” was the surprised ' from which alone proficiency can come,” said mad- ; him because he comes around every once in a while and wins our marbles, and beats us at ball, and licks every boy that makes a fuss about it.” She next applied toa boy more in Pete’s own sta- udy it,” Said Minnie. “TI He was -a’’ 3 eee 2 ame, woes suffer your mind to stray into unwar- ranted paths. “No, indeed,. madame,” cried Minnie. ‘“ Aunty ean tell you that I do study. And she heard meg too, and said I knew it.”’, “Which you evidently did not,” said the severe er. ‘* Ever since you have allowed your mind | to'dwell on that untidy and disreputable boy the same has been occurring. I had hoped you would take my advice.” ~““T did know it. Indeed I did,’ answered Minnie, almost in tears, ‘I answered every word correctly Miss to aunty,” “Ts t repetition a species of rebelli+ Ellis?” said the austere madame. ‘“ You will take oe seat and properly study that lesson. I shall - a judge as to whether you have a correct now! “ Minnie retired, biting her lips to repress the sharp words. that rose in her mind, and striving as strongly to restrain the tears that moistened her eyes. ~- She was unable to study, and wa3 sent home that afternoon with a cipher for the day’s record of pro- But she was more than ever determined to find édge of it or not.” For several days more her explorations continu being confined to that brief space between schoo dismissal and supper-time, _Toledo was then a small place, of only a few thou- sand inhabitants, but the erratic boy seemed pur- ‘posely to avoid her. ” Tt'was during the afternoon of a Saturday when ‘the’ weekly holiday freed her from school, and her ‘aunt's permission started her on an e& tion to the woods in search of Mayflowers, t she at fength came upon the object of her quest. ‘He was stretched flat on his back on a green , woodland knoll, playing with a little cur of a dog as unpolished and independent-looking as himself. “Thave been so wanting to see you,” she eried, running up to him with a burst of childish confi- dence, “and to thank you again and again for sav- me from toa ae ‘Pete honored this impulsive speech by rising on one elbow, while the cur sat on his haunches and looked her doubtfully in the face. “You've been wantin’ that, hey?’ he asked. “You know you were ever so kind,” she said, “and I could not be easy till I thanked you,” “Oh, you couldn’t be easy,’ said Pete, sarcasti- cally, “and it’s jist three weeks yisterday. You must been as uneasy as all blaze: .” “But I could not find you,” he continued, bend- ing over him in her eagefness, ‘I asked the boys everywhere, and no one could ell me where to find you!” “Oh! you axed the boys?’ said Pete, with redou- bled sarcasm; “and you told that gutter-snipe, Billy Devine, that you was a rich gal, and you was a-goin’ to pay me for jerkin’ you out of the Man- mee.” “Tam not rich,” she replied, with a shade of dis- appointment in her tone; “and I did not tell hin so. But Madame Lucon will see that you are re warded,” ‘ “Who's she?” asked Pete, rising to a sitting pos- ure. The dog became more erect, and looked up with @ severe expression into Minnie’s face. ““She’s our teacaer, you know, She keeps the Baler School for Young Ladies, where I go to 00) ” Minnie s tone wis slightly satirical. “Oh, that’s whit she is, hey? Well, jist tell your teacher with the High Dutch name that Picayune Pete ain’t on the make. She kin keep her money to buy sour-krout. When I pulls catties out of the water I'll take tiifor’em, But when I fish out gals they ain’t fur se.e. How’s that, Nicodemus?” The dog gave a sharp bark that made Minnie start back in dismay ‘““Bless you, gal, don’t git skeered. Nicodemus wouldn’t hurt you fur a bushel of peanuts. He's been brung up pious and respectable, and he knows when he’s in gerd. company. “Where did you ever get such a name for a dog?” “T dunno: cked it up ne Sunday they wormed me into Sunday-school. ever got sold that way but once, you bet.” “Oh, Pete!” cried the horrified child. “ You do not know how good a place Sunday-school is, I am sure, or you would not talk so. You should go, In- deed you should.” “In this rig?” asked Pete, looking down disdain- fully at his ragged suit. ‘But those are not your Sunday clothes?” she asked, doubtfully. “They ain’t, hey? I'd like to know where t’other ones are!” said Pete. He had now risen, with a growing sense of polite- ness, and was leaning lazily against a tree. “But will not your father or mother find you )et- ter clothes than those?” she asked, a disdain of tis dress equal to his own inyoluntarily showing itsel? on her face. “Never had no father nor mother, as I knows on,” said Pete; “and old Meg, as Ilive with, would see me blowed fust.”’ “Oh, dear, that’s too bad!” said Minnie, in star- tled pity. “No one to care for you. And always living among bad people, and learning nothing good. Iam sorry for you,” “What fur, I'd like to know?” asked Pete, st urdi- . “Vd like to see the feller that’s got a better e than Picayune Pete—'cept it’s Nicodemus. Me and Nick kin git along.” “But you never went to school; and you do talk 80 queer, Madame Lucon would be ho I sup- pose you cannot even read and write.” ; ;
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—— A asked Pete, “No,” said Minnie. ‘And then you are so quar- relsome. Just think. All the boys told me that you fonght with them. Now is that right? And you hurt them all, too.” “They told you that?” asked Pete paerly- “Yes; and then you live such a life, You don't work any. And youdon’t study. And you get your clothes soiled. And you don’t even care to kee your hands and face clean. I do so wish you woul try and do better and be better. I know you have 4 700d heart, and I like you, and I hope you will try and be a better boy.” “ What’s your name, gal?’’ asked Pete. “Minnie Ellis.” ““Mine’s Picayune Pete. I ain’t been brung up Hike you have, gal. I’ve been kicked up, You’re made out of fine white clay, and I’m made out of swamp mud. So we'll jist spile each other if we try to mix—ain’t that so, Nicodemus?” The dog answered with a long, dismal howl “And, there’s another thing, gal. You'd like to eome the Sunday-school dodge on me. I ain't takin’ none of that. S’pose I have got bad cronies; it’s none of your bizmess. ’Cause I fished you out the Maumee you're goin’ to come the pious on me, hey? It won’t go down, pl Can’t catch Picayune Pete on that hook. You hear all that, bats “ Yes,”’ said Minnie, shrinking from tace showed gathering anger. “Yor them fellers that buzzed to you ‘bout me \icking them, I'll give them somet to buzz about. If I don’t curry them down it’s acaution to lame ducks. You're a nice little gal, you are, and I ain’t got nothing ag’in’ you, a ou ot A come the camp-meeting game on me, outroll, outride, ve, outswim, outclimb, and outtumble all Ohio boy, whose “and a Slice of Injiana to boot, and I ain’t sellin’ out to little gals, you bet. Come, Nicodemus.” Whistling defiantly Pete walked away deeper into whe woods. The dog greeted Minnie with one re- a airs look, and then followed at his master's eels, She stood stupefied with rise at the result of her missionary effort. The thought had lurked somewhere, deep within her mind, thatif she could a oe ie she might be enabled to make a good Oy OF him, signal failure of her attempt pained and dis- eouraged her, She walked homeward utterly disheartened. She hat met a class of mind that had nothing like it in ner limited experience, and she looked upon Pete ae a being of a new, and not very enticing species. She had evidently taken the wrong course with him. All his life men had been driving and berat- iug hin. He had grown shrewd and suspicious, He could not be cured of his faults by being told of them. Minnie walked home much debating with herself, t determined not to give up her effort to aid ‘ete, and to try and make a better boy of him, She was wise enough to feel instinctively that she had somehow tried a wrong method with him, Meanwhile Pete went surlily homeward, angry with himself, and angry with his new acquaintance, He felt that he had acted very rudely. She had enly asked to thank him and expressed interest ia bim. He had behaved worse than his dog would have done to the petting hand of a stranger. But , she had aggravated him. She wasa gal, any- how, and he wanted nothing to do with gals. So ran the current of thought in Pete’s mind. The strange point in it was that his ordinary_manner now struck him as rudeness. Minnie Ellis had cer- tainly interested him, On entering the city he Paice two persons in the streét before him. img and did not notice his approach. e honored them with as little notice, and was just behind them, walking at a speed that would veon take him past them, when he was struck b bearing one of them pronounce the name then mos prominent in his mind—“* Minnie Ellis.” A slight exclamation, masked by an affected eough, evinced his mage One of the men looked sharply round. Pete taught a glimpse of a face known to him, a face with a sinister history in his mind. The boy passed on with affected indiffe waking a partial effort to catch the other face; & was turned away from him, The men suppressed their conversation while he was within hearing, a fact significant to his mind, wwaimed as he had been in suspicion, CHAPTER IV. WHAT WAS ‘IN THE WIND?” Minnie Extis had not seen her father since she was five years of age. Hehad been at one time a ~opperous merchant, but he had failed in business es pressure of circumstances beyond his con- wou He had been greatly depressed by his misfortune, and there was soon added to it a greater; his wife saddenly sickened and died. Mr. Ellis was terribly cast down by this second trouble. He could not endure the scenes which sonstantly reminded him of former happiness and present misery. California had then become the goal of men seek- ing & quick return of fortune, and also of those seking relief from sorrow in excitement. To this golden country his steps were turned. But the journey across the plains which he re- solved to take, was not fit for a delicate child of ey were busily convers- five years, Minnie was therefore left behind, in | sbe care of a married sister of her father. turing the interval which had elapsed between / Ficayune Pete. that period and the opening of our story he had not deemed it advisable to’ send for his daughter, though she received frequent affectionate letters from him. His mining adventures had not a sh He was no richer to-daythan on the day in had left Toledo. -camp rendered it no place for his daughter. In the mind of the saddened man, strivi after year tq win fortune from the rocks, this daugh- which he | ides, the rudeness of the | ' asked no questions, year ter was growing to be an angel of beauty and love; | and he the long-sought wealth should come to him, and he could be again united to his child, in some scene more attractive than the rude mining village. Minnie’s aunt received from him sufficient money for the child’s living and school expenses, and treated her with as much kindness as her nature permitted. She was a bustling, energetic house- wife, and much of the milk of human kindness had soured in her over the kitchen fire, or had dried up ae the strain of the broomstick and scrubbing- She was kind to Minnie when she had time to be, which was not often; harsh to her wher she inte7- fered with houseluoll duties: and asuativ troubled herself but little about her. Severe as 6 Lucon was, Minnie pretervec her school life, and the society of her school com- panions, to her home life Her aunt had a son, nowa man of twenty-two, who had been a thorn in the flesh of her in her earlier but who had now been for some years le, emeat eaapley epee ll-spoken bo @ was a ous, well-spoken » yet witha of innate selfishness and petty t yiaeny that ven much torment to the sensitive child who was ught up as his companion. She had not seen him for more than two years in some position in the clty of hat this dered very clear by his letters, and there were sev- eral hints whispered in Toledo that he was not very creditably engaged. He had suddenly returned home just before the opening of our story. He proved now a well-dressed and well-behaved young man, and seemed by his dis- of attention to Minnie anxious to remove the impression he had left behind him, The child was of a forgiving willing to accept the advances of her cousin, though she could not avoid a slight feeling of distrust of this new bearing of her old ,tormentor. He seemed to have money in his pocket, and showed no disposition to seek new employment. One mo , several days after her interview with Pete, the child was surprised by an unusual display of affection on the part of her aunt. This busy lady bad usua her toschool very curtly, but this mor ing she was kindness itself, ** Be sure, Minnie, and come home as soon as school is out,’ she said; “I am uneasy whenever you are late home from school.” n Ra om keeps he age pie en “She gives me s ong tasks, an cannot learn them.” oF fear she is overworking you. There, my dear, it is time you were going." She stoo with an affectionate touch on the head. ooked forward on pad to the day when | Minnie seemed walking in a dream all these days. She could not see the cause of this sudden change, and was too young to trouble herself much about logical reasons, She accepted the fact gladly and Her cousin was very attentive to her. He seemed to have noidea of engaging in any business, at least as one as he had any money in his pocket; and a tis time in the indefinite employment of ounging. His attention to’ Minnie extended to occasionally ‘ accompanying her to school, or meeting her on her position was he never ren- | ition, and quite | wy, home, innie would chat with him with childish volu- bility, and quite failed to perceive a fact which es- ca not his observant 9 This was that she was constantly followed, in her comings and goings, by a ragged, disreputable-looking boy, who was in his turn followed by as ragged and disreputable a dog. ‘Not that he appeared to be troubled about the chila. He wouid loungiug here, or hurrying for- ward there, iow selling papers ano “ow carrying 3 package; noc he was always in sight wher she wae on the street, and always kept ber in sighs unti! she vanished beamed the doors of the school or of her ome. He could see the afterward d the da everwhere, even in localities of pte poae Dy charac- ter, for the young man frequented some places and kept some company not much to his credit, This seeming persistence of the boy could not wholly be the effect of accident. Thereseemed to be too much niethod in it for that, and Minnie’s aa ee in Con secranes s the lad’s object. et, ins of speaking directly to the he broached the subject to his mother, ied “There he is now, mother,” he said, after telling her what he had observed. “I think it might be best for you to speak to the young vagabond. I am parald, that if I attempted it I might do him an in- ury. “TI don't see that there would be any occasion for that, William,” she replied. “Iknow the boy is impudent,” he said, “and I am ~ a hasty temper. e might aggravate me too much. “You should control your temper,” she answered. “‘No matter, I will speak to him. “Try and find out what his object is. I don't like his watching Minnie that way. You must forbid him from doing so, and threaten to have him arres- ted if SAS arc b **T will not only threaten, but I will do it,” she re- lied. “* Minnie’s ag is a matter of importance © us now, William, y brother, you know, is deli- cate, and may not live long.” A meaning smile passed between mother and son, as the latter turned away and passed into the ' house. | clothes, while a shock of brown hair stoc and kissed the child, dismissing her _ . n hair stocd u Minnie walked to school in a half-lazed condi- tion. to a And as for a kiss she could hardly remember ever being kissed by her before. - ee. from her aunt! What was going pen | her sternest tones. “ This is all too good to last,” she said to herself. | ** Madame will be doubly sour to make up for aunty’s sweetness, I believe the old thing has a spite against me, ry Sep But the “old thing” was marvelously sweet this mo 4 “ Have you your task ready, Miss Ellis?” she asked in a tone so unlike ber ordinary one that Minnie was at a loss to understand it. “T tried hard, madame; indeed I did,” said Minnie, | this house for three or four days? I would like to voice, “ but I am afraid I have forgot- | in a pleadi ten some of it.” “Did you find it so difficult?” “Yes, madame, I studied all evening,” said the child, in utter surprise at this unusual questioning. “Well, well, ar I did not consider your wers sufficiently. h id your best, Minni , you. e, and I may have been over- uture. “Oh, thank you, madame! You are very kind indeed!” cried Minnie. “I get such headaches, and then I can’t study at all,” ave long observed that you | The boy stood erect against the corner of an oppo- site house, watching the ceremony of unloading a | wagon at a grocer’s store near by. “IT must really speak to her,” sald the aunt. “I | Ge “! 6 was a short, sturdy, shrewd-faced fellow, the bare skin showing through rents in his uncanny like a pane through a hole in the top of his cap. His bare eet mocked at respectability. He crossed the street readily at her imperative call, whistling up his dog, who seemed doubtful about venturing into such austere company, * What is your name, boy?” ed Mrs, Denton, in ‘The lad leaned lazily against a lamp-post, and took a deliberate survey of the lady, from head to foot, bc fore answering. “It’s Peter, when folks want to be perlite, and it’s, Pete, when they’re in a hurry,” was his answor. ““ And what do you want here?’ “ Jist to see what you're a-calling me for. Noth- , ing else, I reckon,” I will make your lessons lighter in | | asked Pe * Can't, Minnie?” said madame, lifting her finger | with what seemed a gesture of playful reproof. “Oh, madame!” exclaimed Minnie, fearing that she had turned the tide of her good fortune. “It is too bad. I try to stop using that word, and I keep saying itin spite of all.” . Cannot_is more correct English,” said madame, kindly. “It is my aim to make you all polished speakers of your native tongue. Iam sure you will not offend again.” ‘No, indeed, not if I can help it,” said Minnie, sin- cere) said madame, severely, to a new-comer. Her tone had a very different strain from that which she had employed to Minnie. The child passed on into. the school more dazed than before. Were the heavens dropping manna into her empty cup? adame Lucon’s kindness lasted the day through, and for several suecessive days. And is that why you have been hanging round know what a ragged young rascal like you wants in this respectable neighborhood?" _ “ Anything to put vittles in my mouth,” said Pete, with x erace. “Had a notion maybe you'd gi’n me a job. “You are watching an opportunity to steal,” said the irate lady. “I will give you into the hands of lta if you continue to infest this neighbor- h Why “The rlice! of bis dog. The cur responded with a disdainful bark, “Stand on your head, Nick, and wag your tail,” commanded Pete. The well-trained dog performed this difficult ope- ration with apparent ease. ‘‘That’s what I keer for the perlice,” said Pete. “Nicodemus, he knows. Don’t see many dorgs like that dorg. There’s good blood in that dorg. e's a prime breed. Death on rats and rabbits, now T tell “Ask about Minnie,” whispered William Denton, peering out from a door behind his mother. He had | evidently been listening to this conversation. ly. | s Miss Brown, it is five minutes past school-hour,” “That is not all,” said the austere lady. ‘ You have been seen to follow my niece, Minnie Ellis, to and from school. Tell me, sirrah, what your designs are, or I shall certainly have you arrested. I cannot see what object a ragged vagabond like you has in such behavior.” , ““Can’t you guess?” asked Pete, with an impudent leer. , **T want no insolence, boy. I demand to know your object.” Nicodemus, are you a-listenin'?" >
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“Sometimes fellers have got to keep mum,” was Pete’s aggravating answer. 1 won't tell anybody, I don’t mind posting you.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone as he contin- ued. “Fact ma’am, the little gal and me has about eed to hitch hosses. She’s goin’ to run away with me, A reg’lar Ce ee cae now I tell you. None of your locomotive, ha i out-and-out stunner. Don’t you blow, ma’am, It’s all on the sly.” “* Why, you insolent young rascal, how dare you? What do you mean?” cried the exasperated lady, ad- vancing a step toward the imperturbable boy. Pete laughed, defiantly. “Got the kerridge ready, ma’am. It’s to be a reg’lar old-time blow-out, you bet. Two black nags aod a darkey driver, and Nicodemus under the hosses.”’ The dog, as usual, barked on hearing his name mentioned “Tf you don’t see this little gal home to supper to- night, you kin know what's up. It’s a set thing; you kin bet your bottom dime on that. Good-by, ma’am, Don’t git nervous.” Pete whistled for Nicodemus, and started swagger- ingly away. rs. Denton remained too exasperated for speech shaking her hands menacingly at the impudent young gamin, But her son ran hastily ont of the open door. ‘Hold there, you vagrant,” he cried, in a passion. ‘*T have seen you following my cousin. I am going to be on the watch to-night, and if you dare follow her again I will break every bone in your rascally none: “You will, hey? said Pete, boldly. f ““Yes, and send you to the lock-up into the bargain. I will see if young girls can’t come home from school without being dogged by vagabonds. There is something up between pon and some of the Toledo rascals. But you have all got the wrong man to deal with if you stir me o “Ain’t you a bit windy, young man?” asked the undaunted boy. “I’m afeard you won’t be able to cool your soup for dinner if you waste your breath that way.” : The angry man made a rush at his antagonist. But Nicodemus sprung between them with an angry bark, and showed his teeth in a mehacing way. “Best hold your hosses when Nicodemus is about,” said Pete, ‘He don’t allow no foolin’, Hope you said good-by to the little gal this mornin’, for her and me is goin’ to be spliced, sure /” He walked away again with a most aggravating rait. ’ That evening, sure enough, Minnie failed to return from school at the usual time. But such delay was nothing uncommon with her, and her aunt hardly noticed her absence, until the sober hour had ar- rived and she had not yet appeared. She began to grow nervous, however, as supper- time passed and Minnie was still absent. Her son William now came in, and manifested the like uneasiness on knowing of this continued ab- sence, He had not had a chance of meeting her ou her way home from school, as he had been doing during the few days past. He immediately sta out in search of her. It was two hours before he returned, having been unsuccessful. Mrs. Denton, now seriously alarmed, hastened to the school, and to the different houses at which the child had been in the habit of visiting. No trace of her was forthcoming. One of the pu- ils had left her at a short distance from the school, eclining Minnie’s invitation to visit a piece of wood- land, beyond the city limits, to gather spring flow- ers. Madame Lucon shared her visitor’s excitement on hearing of the child’s strange absence. She declared that the police must be informed immediately of this alarming circumstance, and a search of the city instituted. It was now past eight o’clock, the night was cloudy, and it had grown quite dark. The alarm spread through the town, and numbers of the citi- zens joined in the search. Evening deepened into night, the hours rolled on; yet the child continued missing. e most alarming apprehensions began to be entertained. Some fan that she had been drowned, rememberi er former escape. Others talked of murder, very contingency was de- bated. The search was extended far beyond the city limits with torches and lanterns. Tatiome Lucon now spoke out: “T have just been informed,” she said, “ that Mr. Ellis has been lately very fortunate in his gold- mining, and is now possessed of great wealth. Some villain might have’ heard of this, and have stolen the child, to exact money from the father.” She has been followed by a ragged boy, call himself Pete,” said Mrs. Denton. “He threaten me that she would be stolen this very afternoon. He must be arrested at once.” 5 The secret of the aunt’s and madame’s new kind- ness was out. They had heard of the good fortune of Mr. Ellis, but their sudden affection seemed - likely to be of little benefit to Minnie. The night passed. A new day dawned. But a a rested upon the city, for the child was still missing. CHAPTER V. PETE as A “ LION.” Tue excitement in Toledo was redoubled as the ) 20 day advanced and no trace of the child | rem gtoon The town had been pretty thoroughly \ “ Howsomever, if you | , f-cut runaways, but an | Picayune Pete. , searched, the police entering Pat & house which they had any reason to 8 t. But the search ae in vain, and the mystery deepened, hour by our. | The investigation extended to the country, the | alarm spreading for miles around the city, and | rousing a feeling of intense indignation against the child-stealers. | There was no reason to suppose that Minnie had been drowned—the wood to which she had probably gone not being near any body of water. |“ But if a child could be thus stolen from their | midst, and hidden so completely, it was a matter of the most serious character. This unknown abductor might carry off the child of any inhabitant of the place with equal impunity. The security of the whole community was endan- gered if the stolen child should not be recovered and her abductors Rage creme Several of he richer inhabitants of the place combin‘d to offer a reward, and before night the lacarded with handbills offe ng five thousand dollars reward for the recovery of Minnie Ellis and the capture of the child-stealers. Such an offer was well calculated to set all the people astir, with double agssiduity, in search of the missing child, Mrs. Denton had already made public her sus- picions of the boy calling himself Pete. His name was all she could tell about him, with an indefinite description of his appearance. Her son, William, searched the town through for him, but failed to find him. Pete had somehow made himself scarce. That night passed, and another day dawned on the oy es city. Mrs. Denton was eagerly detailing to a circle of sympathizing neighbors the story she had told twenty times already, of the threats of the ragged vagrant, and of her mental certainty that he had stolen her niece, when, to her utter astonishment, the identical individual walked up to the group. His hands were sunk in his apologies for pockets, his cap set rakishly on the back of his head, while Nicodemus, as usual, followed close to his heels. “ Heered you was lookin’ for me, ma’am,”’’ he said, *‘and thought I’d step up and report.” Mrs. Denton flung up her hands in intense excite- ment, “That is him!” she cried. walls were “That is the ,one rascal! He threatened to steal Minnie! Catch him, ps Run for a policeman! He must be ar- restec » ma’am,” said Pete, sa “T ain’t got no notion of runnin’ away. Wouldn’t ’a’ come here if I’d been afeerd: Me and Nicodemus ain’t on the run.” * Just hear him!” said one of the neighbors, ‘‘ The impudent vagabond! Mrs. Denton is right.” “Maybe she is,” said Pete. ‘* I’m in fur havin’ this bizness settled, hes hm Maybe I tuk off the gal and forgot it. Jist bring along yer perlice.” The good ladies assembled were somewhat ~ this unlooked-for wil- ngness on the part of the boy. It was hardly the demeanor of guilt. A half-grown girl had, hastily left the cirele on the first demand for an officer, and now appeared, bringing one of these im “So itis this youn marec in their convictions b rtant public functionaries. wharf-rat?’’ said the officer, on seeing Pete. “I always thought there was something wro about this one. He is always fighting and getting into scrapes. Come along, my neg offender. Who is going to appear against my?” “T am,” said Mrs. Denton, eagerly. son, also. We both heard his threats. It was only a few hours before Minuie was stolen. He said—” “That will do, ma’am,” replied the officer, curtly. “Tell the squire what he said. There is no use telling me. Come, my cove, you are wanted.” He laid his hand heavily on Pete’sshoulder. Nico- | demus growled ominously, and showed his teeth. * Best take your paw off, pees gpa you don't want a veal cutlet took out of your calf,” said Pete. ‘“‘ Nick ain’t pertickler, when he’s woke up, whether it’s Pg ag or perlice. I’m a-goin’ with you; so don’t uss.’* The officer seemed himself to think that the dog wasin earnest, and hastily removed his hand, “Come ahead, then,’ he said. “ And I want all the witnesses at Squire Harvey's office below there.” He had all the witnesses, and half the town, it seemed, judging by the throng that crowded into the } office behind him and the prisoner. The squire, a middle-aged, half-bald man, with round, consequential face, and wearing ¢ | looked up expectantly at the crowd. After the fashion of magistrates everywhere. | fines and dues were the breath of life to him, and a every new case as so much grist to his | mill. * Don’t crowd in so, good people,’’ he said. ‘We want some breath, and there’s plenty of fresh air for you in the street. Who have you there, officer?” ““A boy suspected of having something to do with | the abduction of Minnie Eliis,”’ said the policeman. | “Ha!” cried the squire, teers! up his spectacles | | “And my } “There ain’t no sort of hu | | | | excitedly. ‘‘ You don’t tell me that? Who is he?” “He is a boy who threatened to run away with my niece,” cried Mrs. Denton. ‘‘ He talked to me in the most tantalizing way. And he said—” “There, there, there! That will do,” exclaimed the squire, ‘ Wait till I ask for your evidence. Is this woman one of the witnesses, officer?” a Very well. We will hear what she has to say. in here.”’ Pete, who been mute as a mouse since being ,; brought into the office, was conducted to a con- ‘ 5 ao on he gdod lady repeated, very fairly, what Pets had d about her niece, adding to it, however, hn a dozen inferences, suggestions and conjee ures. William Denton’s testimony was to the same e& fect. He told what had passed between his mother and the boy, and of the boy’s tnsolence to himself He also described how Pete had followed Minnie te and from school, and the suspicions which had been roused in his mind. At the conclusion of his evidence there was plain ly a strong feeling against Pete. There was no other witness, except that some persons present volunteered their opinion of the regres character of the prisoner. ete sat imperturbably through it all, not speak ing or moving. ith the lack of etiquette usual in a local magis- trate’s office the persons present were not deterred by the official dignity of the squire from freely ex pressing their opinions. “ Just look at the young villain!” said one excited individual. “ You might think he was a lamb, he looks so innocent.” “He ought to be hung,” growled another. ‘‘ There must be a lesson to these rascally child-stealers There is no safety for our children.” “That's so,"’ said a somewhat tipsy fellow. got a darter of my own, and it woul eart if she’d—”’ “If she’d break the jug the next time you sent her for whisky,” said a fourth, ' This interruption created a laugh, and somewhat calmed the growing hostility to the prisoner. The squire had now finished taking his notes & the evidence, and adjusting his spectacles at a se vere angle, he called out: “Has the defense any witnesses?” There was no answer to this appeal, save a mur mur in the audience. : “No one here who knows anything about the de fendant?”’ continued the squire. “T ain't going to let a feller be sent to jail with out a word for him, blowed if Iam,” said the tipsy man, edging his way forward. “What do you know about him?’ asked the squire, severely eying this witness. ry Why, squire,’’ said the man, ‘the done some ai me only yesterday. Done it well, too,” ‘“What was it?” The man commenced to speak, then hesitated, and became silent, “Brought him a pint of old rye from Tim He gan’s, I bet a cow,” said a voice back in the crowd. “If I did I didn’t swig a drop of it,” said Per, now for the first time speaking. “ Hold Need tongue there, boy," cried the squire “Get back, fellow. I didn’t ask who you was in the habit of sending for your whisky, Bring the boy um officer; I will question him.” Pete was accordingly brought before the ster. tribunal of local justice. He did not seem partic ey awed by the squire’s dignity, however, but stood before him in an easy and careless attitude. “What is your name?” asked the squire, look ing over his spectacles at the boy. i *Pete.”’ “Pete? That's only half a name. Pete what)” rat Never had no second story on my name,” sxkf. ete. ; “Don’t you know your father’s name?” asked the squire. “Tf Thad, ““)'yp jist break my “Dunno if I ever had any,” said Pete. he emigrated afore I knowed anything. All the extra name I got is what the boys gi’n me.” “What is that?” “Picayune Pete, they call me,” A stir went through the throng at these worda, ac ey et by a loud murmur, ‘Silence there,” cried the squire, severely. ** What is the matter?” “Why, squire,’ cried one of the auditors, “ this is the very boy who saved Minnie Ellis the other week, when she fell into the river. This is all ter » thanks he gets for it, to be arrested for stealing her, | It is a blasted shame.” “Who asked your opinion?’ demanded fiw squire. ‘ Are you hea this case or me?” “ Tt’s so, anyhow,” one ted the man, “Is that the fact, boy?” asked the justice. “Dab you save the child's life?” “I dunno,” answered Pete, a doef * Speett aoe een mought have fished her out ir f “But you saved her?”’ “T jumped into the Maumee, that's sartin, aut grabbed the little girl. Didn't quite like to ser ber go to the fishes.” Pete was the most unconcerned person present. An excitement possessed the throng on finding that the child’s rescuer stood accused of being cca cerned in her loss, Mrs. Denton, with a revulsion of feeling, pres: & 2 ine cn ‘I withdraw the c 6,”’ she cried; ‘To wew hard on the boy, and that is why he was 80 inyow dent to me, I suppose.” The good lady had quick and tender feelir,; when they were once touched through her crust everyday hardness. “Very well, ma’am,” answered the squire, im tiently, “TI will never get through cave iff re are to be so many interruptions. Whar: se you live, boy?” “‘Down in Gray’s Court,” “Who with?”
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———— ——— ' mackerel, and felt most comfortably dressed tet and a well-ventilated suit.: sh ep and good tion, and the lo Soy toussd foeelt thirstings in spirit for c} wmilil Fete had passed, were Aer]. Vhe por was shred enough to keep all this to ‘himself during examination before the fac Se a tis Meg what? Do you belong to a one-named spe- les?’ “If you’d hear her once, you'd think Meg was name enough,”’ said Pete. “ What do you do for a living?” “A little of everything, and not an extra lot of anything.” “T wish no impudence. Give me an exact an- swer.”’ ‘‘T carry bundles, hold hosses, black boots, sell apers, ZO a-fishin’, play circus, ’tend store, polish meee “Hold there!” cried the squire; “that will. do. You seem to be very numerously employed. How came you to tell this lady that her niece was to be stolen?” ‘*She to worry it.” pasrerntad me ‘bout the gal, and I wanted er; that’s all. Dunno a cent’s wuth about ““ How came you to follow her in the street, then, as this other witness testified?” “ He’s a galoot, squire, that’s what he is,” said Pete. ‘*Me spend my time follering a gal! Ilike a joke, but that’s a bit too good. i’m kind of every- where, every day, and he sees dot ble sometimes, I reckon. Got too much bizness of i 'y own on hand to foller gals.” “T see nothing against the lad,” saia the squire to the audience. saving the child’s life is proof that he had nothing to do with her loss. These, wit- nesses have evidently taken too much fo. granted: : What will you do, Pete, if I discharge you: I don't like to hear of your leading the life of a vagrant. bene aey try and get into some steady employ- ment,’ “*T ain’t no vagrant,” said Pete. “I’ve got ahome for my nights, and plenty of bizness for daytime, I reckon I know what's a vagrant.”’ “Tf you come before me again, boy, I fear I will have to commit you. You are leading an indolent and dangerous life.” aes I’ve got plenty of work cut out ahead,” said ete. “What kind of work?’ “I’m goin’ for that gal, and the five thousand to bc ot; if Lain’t, ’U sell out. Bound to bring her, too. Brung her once afore, and guessI can, do if ayia.” A laugh ran through the crowd as they filed out of the office, followed by Pete, who was the lion of, the hour, Nicodemus was waiting with a warm welcome fcr him, as he passed, a free boy, into the street, acain. b ee beckoned slyly to the officer, to remain enind, ; “ Keep an eye on that boy,” he said. ‘The young’ rogue knows more than he will tell.” CHAPTER VI. PETE 18 ‘* POSED,” >pre went to work without me as he had pro- mised. Hehad a double incentive seeking Minnie |, Harvey to keep | to col Picayune Pete. eye, and a cruel expression of the mouth, that hada repressing effect.ou those who knew him, ete, in his perambulations, had often met him, though it is doubtful.if the.colonel had eyes for the vagrant who so intently regarded him. worried our young detective that he had failed to recognize the companion of the colonel on the oc- casion referred to. would have lightened his pros- pective labors to have a double trail to follow. As it was, he had but a vague idea of the hight, dress, and general appearance of the man, not suffi- cient to make him sure of recognizing him should he meet him, He must put himself on the track of Colonel Green, and see what would come of it. “ And I’ve got to be as sly as an old 'coon about it,”’ soliloquized Pete. ‘The kurnel’s a hoss that’s up to chaff; Got to watch him like an old crow watches a gunner. Guess, though, I’ve been there, Bet I sell out the kurnel. Picayune Pete’s a pony hisself; if he ain’t. I'll cave.” But it proved not so easy to get on the track of Colonel Green. Pete was ag | well acquainted with all his lounging places, but_he failed to make his appearance at any of them. He found out where the colonel lived, and sought him there. Here, too, he was astray. The object of his search had been absent from home for a week. This lack of success was rather encouraging to Pete than the reverse. There must be some good reasonfor the colonel’s suddenly absenting himself, and Pete argued that the loss of Minnie S was that reason, The boy had something of the instinct of the blood- -hound,. He was not to be deterred because the scent was cold, Several days passed. (sien Neng Pete kept up this quiet but unsuccessful search for the colonel. What would have wearied out many boys but warmed him up to his task. ** You're a keen critter, kurnel,”’ he said, ‘and I'm kinder sorry for ‘poor little Minnie. The must be skeered bad—maybe you've left these diggin’s and streaked it across. country. Won't blow to the per: lice jist yet, anybow,. .Runs in my head that the ’coon’s in Toledo. . Hope. he ain’t a the gal under the sod, or planted her in the lake. He’s devil enough fur it.. But if he has I’m fur him like p’isen fur a sick cat. I’m fightin’ fur that little gal now, Iam!” There was something dangerous in Pete’s expres- sion as he talked thus to himself, ahh he was, s face. ‘matter to do, without icions,.< | — A He was able, however, to watch him sufficiently ude that his erratic movements were sus- picious, and that there might be. something in the squire’s doubts, Pete had almost given up, his re- guise vocations, and was on the go, all day and half the ) wT Fitis. First, the interest. which he had taken in ; night; without any apparent object. : e)ild. despite his assumed rudeness, Second, the} This was, certainly suspicious, and the officer's he ¢ to gain the reward offered. : 4 careful surveillance was redoubled in vigilance, ‘The magnitude of this reward was so great, in |» Meanwhile the excitement in the city was grow- Pet's fancy, that it seemed a princely fortune to } ing in intensity as time and no trace of the hv. Five dollars was the highs’ spoke in the,| was found,..The gravest doubts were enter- wie} of fortune to which his hopes had hitherto | tained, and the whole community was shaken to its borne him, -jo4)) center with anger and fear He bet silently to himself that if he won, he was}. Not only in. Toledo, but. in the country around, ing for a double-barreled, first-rater of a gun. In | and ip all towns and cities within a circuit of a fi. far distance, too, was soe indefinite image of .a 5c OE an this imagination failed to carr j P yes ideas of luxury and of earthly grandeur were notrery extended. He could sleep soundly on ai.ard floor, dine luxuriously on dry berg and _ Yet the Serpent had entered into his Eden of sound -contented e bane of alth, “Tm — to have ey ie viewyse, d Fr sah ws his wa, expressing new-born longing. \t must be confessed that he based this assurance on very glen er foundations. He had heard the name « “innie Ellis” unced in the street. This w t)\. whole and sole fact that he had to work on, an ut he was fully s*‘usfied in his mind that it would Read him to a so’ .aon of the mystery. Hie had th' much warrant for his belief. The man who .a spoken the name bore no creditable ieracte., and his suspicious glance, and. silence cations of & mys- Ww uire, Long experience had taught him the virtues of ‘dis- cretion and a still tongue. ; “Tf I've struck a trail I don’t want no pards,” he e:id. “Guess I kin foller it without help. The man he 0 was a well-known character in Toledo; in much better known no one th A He himself Colonel Be an though tary title. As for He knew rd ie obtained his busi he had none visible to the community at large. He gave out that he was a gentleman of eans. In that case his income must have been uncertain, for at times he grew utterly shabby d threadbare, and would shortly emerge on so- Y grandeur of dress. whispered that his fortune lay in income came from the gaming- tele, \Jhispered, not spoken, for Colonel Green was some- thing of a bully, and it was dangerous to hint at his of respectability. He h Bund miles, were the people and the officials on e . » An abduction like this was most alarming and dangerous. If this child could be stolen, and hid- dén for eg from the. vigilant eyes -which had sought her in all directions, there was no safety in pan Pega the pet.of any household might be with, The reward, also, was a strong inducement to ex- men were on the alert to work up the slightest sus- picious circumstances, But, the hours and days were passing, and no dis- covery been made, no trace of the lost child foun This excitement resulted in a called by some of the wealthier cit rate sti advisable, to increase the reward. The city hall was crowded, and a number of elo- quent speeches made on the subject, in which the measures which. had been taken were fully describ- ed. There were, it is true, secret movements of the lice authorities. of which. these eloquent citizers appened to be ignorant, ut, neither secret nor open action had yet been successful in the slightest degree. young children, had been arrested in different laces, But. in every instance the child had proved o be unlike Minnie,photographs of whom were in the hands of the police. ~ The set speeches over, the meeting became more ‘the same individual who had rendered himself pro- minent by his tipsiness at the squire’s office. “ move. that we ding the lake.”’ ve n’t. we best drag the ocean and be done with it?’ asked a sarcastic person in the audience. — “It seems to me that there has been a radical de- fect in the mode of offering the reward,” said an- other. will be glad to entertain them,” remarked the chair , moreover, an evil ; man of the meeting. a i tit te A ts LL ELE AAR ’ Somie dozen or more persons, accompanied by | “Tf the gentleman has any suggestions to offer we , ST fl ee Se Se eee eee ee ee eee eee ee eee eee eee eee | en | the cleanest: sell I ever run across. e manner, and held for ransom, or foully dealt swaller it all, kurnel. Deep ones, like you, pla, treme energy in search, and thousands of shrewd | j | | : | | { Ot The person speaking rose in his seat and fronted the chairman. “The reward is offered for the recovery of the child and arrest of her abductor,’ he said. ‘This Ithink, is an error, He will certainly take good care that he is not found or the child either. But if the reward was offered for the child alone the child- stealer himself might be induced to return her, for the sake of the money. Or some party not willin to betray him might be tempted to return the child. “T think that a very good idea,” said another member of the meeting, ‘except that it would re- move all inducement to seek for the abductor him- self. I fancy our friend does not desire such a con- summation as that. My view is that a double re- ward should be offered, a fixed amount for the child, and an equal sum for her stealer.”’ _ “The gentleman speaks,” broke in another, ‘‘as . if the reward was the only inducement to this search. So tar as I am concerned, I would be sor- ry to admit that it is any inducement at all. I have afamily. Ihave children whom Ilove. Their safety is the strongest inducement to me. Fellow- citizens, shall we offer a premium to crime, by tak- ing the very action for which this villain may be waiting? He may return the child, for the sake of the reward. But to-morrow he may steal another of our children; perhaps mine; perhaps yours. Is it our to produce this result, gentlemen? I admit that I fully sympathize with the friends of this poor child. But we have a higher duty to per- form, a duty to the community at large, to which all individual claims must yield. Fellow-citizens, it may be the sole object of this vile child-stealer to obtain the reward, Shall we give him the oppor- tunity he craves by offering a reward for the child alone? No! A thousand times no! We must pur- sue him relentlessly; with the hand of the avenger, not that of the rewarder, and desist not unti all his schemes are overthrown, all his villainy foiled, and himself hunted to earth as we would hunt 4 wildcat or a panther. A loud burst of applause followed this energetic appeal, all present. sLowing that they fully sympa- thized with the speaker. the noise had somewhat subsided, a person near the door, and who had lately entered, ad- dressed the meeting. “T quite agree with the last speaker,” he said, in a courteous tone. “Every effort must be made to arrest the perpetrator of this outrage, and no at- tempt to play into his hands be for a moment per- mitted. my view of the case all has not been done that might be done,and I am here to-day to make what I consider an important proposition. Photographs of Minnie Ellis have been placed in the hands .of the police, but the pu lic ai, large, have only vague eae eT to go by. I move that the portrait of. Minnie Ellis be given to the public, ! means of the illustrated papers and otherwise. It may prove a very efficient aid in her recovery.” **T second that motion,’ cried a person near him. “You have all heard the motion of Colonel Green,” said the chairman, ‘Is the meeting pre- pared for the question?” Some debate followed, mostly favorably to the proposition, after which the motion was put and unanimously carried. At the name of Colonel Green the face of one of the crowd of, boys; who surrounded the open door peered curiously in, with a most perplexed expres- sion, “Tf it ain’t him I’m a catty,” was the boy’s men- tal sollomuy, ‘* But, how in blazes he got in with- out me twigging him, beats pigeon’s eggs. And him a-making speeches ‘bout the gal, and: wantin’ pootognenie and all that! Well, I'll sell my old t for a,puddin’-bag; if I don’t, skin me! It’s jist Don’t quite innercent, sometimes. That’s what I’ve heerd, anyhow; and [reckon I'll go for you, if you are aepese ey Os at the meetin’.”’ ‘ete Was as goad as his word. When the meeting broke up, and Colonel Green returned with the throng to the street, there was a human sleuth- hound on his track, whom he would not find it easy | to evade. public meeting, | ens, to inaugu- | more décided measures, and, if deemed CHAPTER VIL PETE GOES A-FISHING AND HOLES A SHARK. Ir proved no light task which Pete had set himself. Colonel Green’s first movement was to his home in the city. This was a half-hotel, half-boarding-house, in which it-was evident that Minnie Ellis could not be concealed, His next move was to a tavern which he wes much in the habit of frequenting, a driniing establishment of no great odor of respectability in thercity. From this he proceeded to amansioiwof more mys- terious purpose, but of whose uses the ubiquitous was well aware. was a gambling establishment in which the se, : erets of, faro, poker, and roulette, were nichtly taught phar “The poor little creature’s been drowned,” cricd | to all who were »villing to pay for their |ccowledge. “‘ Working for the dead hoss to-day,” was Pete's yy growling comment. ‘Dunno what to make of the chap, PaThOw ) Looks as if he’d nothing in hand but , : eatin drag the river; and if that won't do, ; and gamblin’, ‘cept it’s making speeches, . He lets hisself-out some «i speechifying, but I’ve a notion it was all playing "possum, i any- thing to say on that subject, Nicodemus?” The dog answered by a.series of discordant barks, “ Jist so, Nick, Jist what I think, too. You're a clear-headed dorg; if you ain’t, Pll cave. If I only | understood dorg-talk a bit better now. No matter, Nicodemus; we’ve put in our day’s work; let’s go ae and interview old Meg for supper. How’s that, orgy?”
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_é. - + Z = —a The cur gave his usual bark, on hearing his name spoken. “That’s so, Nick,” continued Pete. ‘Pity but some men I know of had your brains. You mean ou’ll git more kicks than bones, and I'll git more ngue than beefsteak. Let her wag, Nick, we're seasoned oak, we kin stand it.” He was not far wrong in his anticipations. Old Meg was exasperated by his long absence and bm) 8 ckets, and gave him a very plain piece of her mind. But Pete had heard her eloquence before, and bore it like a hero. This day was & copy of the two or three succeed- ing. Pete’s business affairs were sadly neglected. He had nobler work on hand, and stumbled into Colonel Green’s way with a persistence that must have attracted that person’s attention, onl boy’s shrewd mode of conducting the tion, Now he would be diligently playing marbles with soine of the boys, in front of the haunts of the colonel. Now he would be teaching Nicodemus some new trick. Again, the mysteries of kite-flying or ball-playing would engage his attention. On other oveasions he was practicing at circus performances, gazing with deep wonder into shop windows, or other- Wise dlgpoain of his valuable time. His com ons were surprised at Pete’s impetu- ous manner of breaking up their games, and dashing for the nvestiga- u off at a tangent in the Sideet of an interesting situa- | tion. They were not aware that the appearance of | Colonel Green in the street was the cause of these | evolutions, Despite his vigilance he lost sight of the object of his pursuit at times. It them became a matter of the first consequence to recover the trail. Pete would then glide into a suspected saloon, vite broken-mouthed pitcher, and the innocent re- mark; “Say, Mr. Finn, old Johnny Logan, what lives up there t’other side the blacksmith.shop, sent me down for a pint of ale, He’ll step ’round hisself and square off the reckonin’ with you. .So he ee Bo ‘Tell Johnny) Logan that we're doing a cash busi- ness now,”’ the innkeeper would reply. ‘And get cut that door, sudden.’ ‘‘An empty pitcher’s easier to carry than a full one; that’s logic)” was Pete’s rejoinder. ‘t Think it wouldn’t be hard to carry you, for you're the empti- 4st beat Lever did see.” Such remarks were usually followed by a hasty business call for Pete in the street. His next demand might be in some business con- acorn, “Any work. to-day for a poor boy, mister?” ‘“What sort of work are you used to?” ‘Kin do most any .» Just say what you want re for, and you kin bet I’m good at that.” ‘We beng © at to-day for nothing.” ‘* You've hit it there, mister. That's jist what I’ve een brung up to. I tell you I'm a ’coon at doin’ aothin’.” And so he would keep it up, spreading his impu- ‘once indiscriminately, until fortune brought him wzain within view of Colonel Green. associates of the:colonel: were also objects of rreat interest to him. » Not one of the more familiar of these but that Pete honored with a share of’ his special attention: But among them he saw no one reminding him of the person with; whom: he had heard Colonel Green speak of amie aitia. One day he thought he had a glimpse of this indi- vidual, the colonel in the street'with a seem- in ges ure .of recognition. But, as before, he saw only his back, and soon lost sight of that. All this: was ver mah ey me the boy, There was nothing to show that Colonel Green had any deeper interest at stake than the needs of eating and sleeping at his boarding-house, of imbibing at the tavern, or of gambling at the saloons. - His few days’ absence might have been on an in- nocent,, business; call. He had certainly spoken strongly in favor of energetic action, at.the meeting, and the ae looked on him as one favoring and oo the: most inflexible pursuit of the ab- uc * _. bt But Pete was cross-grained, and did not readily take to new viewsyr: “ All sound, kurnel,” he said to himself, ‘‘ but I’m not sellin’ out at half price. You're sailin’ smooth these days, that I'll gi’n in; but I’ve a notion there's rough waterahead.’ Can’t get over that ‘Minnie Ellis,’ . That sticks half-way down, kurnel. /Ain’t easy swallowed.» Reckon I’ gin you my valerable attention a day or two longer. The day or two more passed and then there was an explosion. Old Meg—a cross, sour, profane, dried-up house- keeper—gave Pete a very considerable slice of her mind. ‘“‘T ain’t keepi .’a boardin’-house for the likes of ou, you your ep" was her mild remark. ‘ You av'n’t brought he -vally of a cent into the house these two weeks,, Do you think, maybe, I’m goin’ to fret my life and soul out, and scrub my hands out and bother my wits out for such a dirty vagabond as you? I'll give you. ataste of the broomstick that yvu'll not forget soon if— And what are you at aoy, See ae ‘a ag Bo a a-fishin’, Meg. Want toshet u our mouth with a bi catty.” ie ‘You best be lookin’ for a job and trying to ’arn a decent livin’, instead of wastin’ your time over catties. And you’ll not bring a scale home, I know it. “Catties don’t have no scales, Meg,” cried Pete, laughing, as he made his way out of hearing of her eloquent remarks. Pete’s fishing-place that day lay down the river, Picyaune Pete. several miles from the place where the reader has already seen him making havoc among the fish. He had his usual good luck, and soon landed a r table string of fish. e had just strung these on a pliable twig, and deposited them ina pool of water, for the pu of keeping them in condition, when his attention was drawn to the figure of a man passing through the woods that bordered this part of the river. He was some distance away, and half-hidden by the trees, but there was something very familiar to Pete in the gray, cut-away coat, and the general figure and hight of the man. With the utmost haste the boy disposed of his fish- ing-tackle in a safe place, and started rapidly on the track of the person he had seen, He soon brought him within view again, and fol- lowed more cautiously, taking care to keep the tree- | trunks between himself and the man in advance, | walk through the woods. * Don’t think you'd recognize me, kurnel,” he said to himself, ‘and calculate I won't push myself on you. Mought be awkward, you know, Got my left eye on you, kurnel. When I take aim with the left eye it never misses. Hope you ain’t got no ob- jections, kurnel, You and me ain’t never been in- terduced, or I mought jine you.” The wood soon ended in an open, farming coun- try. The colonel here took a narrow lane, which led him through a range of farms, and into another piece of woodland, some two miles forward. Pete had plodded along in the rear, managing to avoid the suspicious glances which the colonel cast back, or to appear as a rustic farm-hand, without a thought above turnips. Once in the woods again, concealment was easier. On leaving this strip of woodland Colonel Green aeare ed upon the bank of the river, at a wild-look- ng place. ft was a small apeeian! which had been aban- doned, while a thick grow h of bushes had replaced the felled trees, some of whose trunks were yet visi- ble in the long grass. The line of woods stretched around it and touched the river-bank beyond. Near the river lay the deserted cabin of the set- tler, a —erings log hut. The upper story seemed to have been added more recently, and was built of roughly-planed boards. Decay appeared to have seized upon the origi- nal log structure, and the whole affair had a ricke aspect. ‘ete row | back in the shadow of a huge oak while the colonel walked rapidly across the intervening space and disap within the door of the hut. The boy remained for some time in_ his hiding- place, not thinking it advisable to show himse 0° in and indulging in one of his customary so- es. * , Kurnel Green; if you ain’t, Picayune Pete don’t know beans. I’m fur'you, hoss. You've. got the gal in that shanty, and I’m jist the feller to ring her-out of there, or blow up, ~ Look out, kur- nel, Pete’s a-co A my milintary friend, or you're sold.” e low bushes surrounding the hut nr A aeicanay ed Pete’s advance. He crept forward with: the ut- most caution, ee a, any ‘noise, and was some twe minutes in reaching the hut. — He had’ approached it from the rear, The old, moss-grown and decayed ot rose upright before him, partly covered by. climbing vines. There was no opening in the lower story, but a small window appeared in the side of the upper story just above him. r reconnoitering the house to see that there was no one on the look-out, Pete returned to the rear, The river ran here close by him, with a small sail- boat tied.to the bank. The place seemed to have been used as a sort of fishing-station, Without further hesitation Pete gn the vines gs the Se sages of the logs, and began cautious- to ascend. y With his agility and practice in gymnastic sports it was ehild’s play to him, and in a minute or two he had _ grasped the sill of the window, and swung himself so that his eyes commanded a view of the interior. A small.room was visible before him, an open door leading into.a passage beyond, while a second closed door seemed to lead to a second apartment. While he looked, this door opened and the form of Colonel Green appeared. The boy ducked ‘his head quickly down, but not too soon to catch a glimpse of another form in the rbom beyond. It was five minutes before he ventured to look ain, The room was empty. — oe eutiously raising the rit Pete slipped noiseless- ly in through the open space, and stood within the room, Before him was the passage, to his left a bolted door. CHAPTER VIII. A CAGED BIRD. We must return to Minnie Ellis, the mystery of whose disappearance yet remains unrevealed. After leaving her school-companion, whom she had desired to go to the wood with her in search of spring flowers, she had concluded to go by her- | self, It wanted yet two hours of supper-time: her cous- in had not met her on her way home, as he had been | in the habit of doing, and there was no reason why she should not yield to her inclination, It was about half a mile to the edge of the wood- land, partly through sparsely-built streets, partly | by a country lane. Tie happy child passed ranidly over this distance, ! Think Pll jist take a quiet | " eunaig her school-hat lightly in her hand, while the mild air played with her golden ringlets. It was a sha tedinie spr afternoon. The whole landscape lay bathed in the reve of a genial sun. The sides of the lane were full of the beauty of greensward and modest flowers. Bustling bees and gay-winged butterflies flitted from blossom to blossom. Birds sped from tree to tree, or greeted her from the roadside hedge with their sweetest songs. Minnie hastened on delighted. Love of Naiure was implanted in her sovl, and there was a poetic fervor in her imagination that lent a double churny to scenes like this. Within the woods the ON ry of Nature changed. but were not less delightful to her, Every patch at’ sunlight that broke through the leaves and danced upon the cool forest-floor was a delight to her ycunsg, soul, Every blue violet, every white berry-blossam was eagerly plucked. Step by step, in search of floral treasures, she sunk deeper into the woods, The thoughtless child had failed to notice that a person had followed her, and was now in the wood close behind Ler. It was not until he spoke that she became aware of the fact that she was not alone. hin Oy you so fond of flowers?’’ spoke a voice be- mn er, Minnie turned, half-alarmed, to see the well-bu'lk and well-dressed gentleman standing near her and Keep your left eye skinned, smniling at her hasty movement. She recognized him as a person she had often seen in town. Her alarm passed away on seeing a fam- iliar face. ‘**L am very fond of them,’ she answered, “But those are poor ones you have. I think F could easily find prettier,”’ “Oh, can you?" and her childish enthusiasm broke out, “ But that would be too much trouble for you. Please tell me where I may find them.” “Tt will be no trouble, I was goin the wood. There is plenty of wild honeysuckle there, and other handsome flowers.” “Why I thought I had been through the whole wood, but I know I never found any honeysuckle.” She walked eontentedly by his side. ‘‘Is it far?” * Just past that clump.of trees,” The trees were reached and passed, but the pro- mised flowers failed to appear. She looked at him in surprise. “I must. have been ken,” he said. in some other part of the wood I saw the flowers.’” “T won't trouble you, then, to show me,” site said, ‘‘and I am ever so much obliged. Ithink F must be going home now,” “There is a tree of fine dogwood blossoms,” he re- plied; ‘I can get you some of those.”’ Without waiting for a reply, he proceeded to gather, some of the white flowers, leading her still deeper into the wood. é child, in the delight of her acquisition, forgo how late it,was, getting, or how far from home she was. “Oh, dear!’ she suddenly cried out, as ¢ emerged upon the further border of the Bs 3 ‘see how low the sun is, It must be supper-time, and I am ever so far from home."’ **Don’t let that worry you, my child,” he answer~ ed. st aye a carriage close by here, and will take you home,"’ a No, indeed! I could not put you to all that. trouble,” ; ‘ en oe back to town, and it will be no rouble,” ‘You are sure it will be no trouble?” she asked. ‘Not the least. Are you not fond of riding?” * Oh, ever so fond! But I am afraid my aunt might not approve of my riding with a strange geu- tleman; Iam-sure madame would not.” “Madame? Who is madame?” “Why, our teacher. At the Young Ladies’ Select further into School, you know,” “Yes, y ; I know madame well. She woukt have no objection to my driving you home. I know your aout also. Here is my carriage, Shall ' ou in?”’ ij They had now emerged upon a country lane that ‘Now, my dear, allow me,” he said. Ere she haru-. ly realized it, he had gently lifted her, and deposited her in the carriage. ; In an instant be was beside her, and had started the horse down the road. She felt rather pleased to be thus forced, as ‘u were, to do as her wishes counseled. She was tired, and the walk home would have been a long one. | Minnie failed to see a figure that stood in the | woods, at a short distance, looking with sardonic | pleasure at this incident. It was figure of the person who had provided the carriage, and left it in | this lonely situation. } “Are you not driving in the wro | she asked, laying her small hand upon his arm. ‘‘No; the road winds below here. You will be home in twenty minutes.” “Tam afraid aunty will be wondering what keeps me. It is past supper-time now.” “Tt is not six yet,” he replied. ‘See, is not that | beautiful?” . He pointed to where the sunlight struck w1-~ » direction?” “Tt was / ee | ‘ ‘ |
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_ Oh, won't you take me home?’ She was naturally passionate, and broke into ecsta- 8 jong reach of water before them, painting the ripple with a golden luster. “Oh, charming!’ she cried. ‘And see yonder! that vessel! How prettily it stands out, You can wee every rope against the sky. Don’t: they have a wonderful number of masts, and ropes, and sails about a vessel?” “ About some vessels they certainly do.” “But see, you are surely going wrong. There is the city behind us.” “Tam not going wrong, my child. You will soon see that.” They passed several houses built by the road- side, and entered upon a more lonely reach of road. Soon the carriage drove ta piece of woodland that seamed to stretch to the water's edge. ‘Now you ave going wrong,” she said, in a fright- ened tone. “You have taken the wrong road, sity Iam sure. Aunty will be so worried about me.”’ “T believe I am wrong; that’s a fact,’’ he said, coubtfully. “I will drive down this way. I think Ieee a house through the trees there, where I can inguire."’ ‘Ye turned the horse into a narrow track through the woods, the trees on each side nearly prazing the carriage, while a misty evening gloom lay beneath the leafy arches. Minnie looked eagerly and anxiously forward for the house he had spoken of. Her clear vision vould detect nothing of the kind. “Hadn't you better turn back, sir?” asked the frightened child. “There is no house here, and it is Fonte ever so dismal,” Yes, there it is now; I was sure I saw one.” They emerged into a small open space, with the river hh the background, and a small log house in the center. “Let me lift you out now, my child. I think we «an find our way here.” “I would rather stay here, if you please,” she ovid, falteringly. ‘No, no, you must be tired of the carriage.” He lifted her like a feather in his strong arms, and deposited her upon the ground. Letting the horse stand, he grasped her hand and ied her toward the hut, Minnie held back, not yet quite sure whether she sould distrust this new acquaintance. But, heed- lass of her hesitation, he drew her rapidly forward, and in a minute they had entered the hut. They were in a sparsely-furnished room, in whose midst sat and rocked an ill-favored old woman. “Mrs, Jones,’ he said, drawing the child toward her, “TI have brought you my niece, Susie Thompson, - T promised. I wish you to take the best of care of her.” Minnie drew her hand out of his grasp, and stood looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. “Very glad to see her,” said the old woman, in a rasping voice, ‘‘Guess she and me will get along nice together.” “Why, what do you mean?” cried the child. “ Oh, sir, take me home! I must go home!’’ ‘You are home, my dear. Mrs. Jones and you will keep house together for the present.” Minnie looked from one to the other, half-stupefied with surprise. Then she turned, with a quick move- ment, and darted to the door. But her captor was too quick for her, He caught her before she could reach the door and drew her forcibly back. ““ What did I tell you, Mrs. Jones?” he said, Minnie struggled violently |o escape. “Let me go!” she cried, in angry tones, “I must go home! Iwill go home! It was too bad of you, you wicked man, to bring me here.” , ** Now, Susie, my dear niece, I am sorry to see you act so, and before Mrs. Jones!” “Tam not Susie! I am not your niece!” screamed the child, in hysterical anger. ‘I want to go home! 3 will go home!” “You see how it is, Mrs. Jones,” he said. ‘She needs correction.” “That is so, Mr. Thompson,” spoke the cracked voice of the old woman. ‘Leave her with me. I'll bring her to,” .“T fear she will be too much for you. I will have to lock her in her own room until she learns to be- nave better. : He picked up the struggling child in his arms and cavried her forcibly to the stairs. ‘* Oh, sir! don’t, don’t!” she begged, pitiably. “TI will do anything, if you will only let me go home. j am sorry, indeed I'am, that I spoke to you so.” He é€ no answer, but bore her on up the stairs and to the door of a room in the second story, This he opened and would have placed her on a chair insile, but she clung to him, tears streaming from her eyes. * Oh, don’t leave me with that dreadful old woman! He disengaged her hands, and hastened to the door. She heard the grating of a bolt behind him. He was one. " Minnie threw herself on the floor in a paroxysm of ief and fear, sobbing and moaning as if her little rt would break. The old woman brought her up some supper, left it on the table, and went away unnoticed by her. It was a dreadful night which the child passed. sies of anger, beating against the door, and scream- ing at the top of her voice. These fits were succeeded by spells of weeping, and shuddering dread. . Finally exhausted nature found its anodyne in sleep—a slumber visited by unpleasant dreams—a fitful, unrefreshing sleep. The next day passed, and the next, and the next, gud Mionie continued a close prisoner. Her fits of | m : $ ; a 4 her, Mrs. Jones visited her at meal-times, bringing her food. The old woman usually sought to enter into : conversation with her, persistently calling her by the | name of Susie. In vain she declared that her name was Minnie Ellis, that she lived in Toledo, and begged | Mrs. Jones was not to be moved by any such appeals. Days—months, it seemed to her—of this sad life passed. Her prison grew more and more dreadful piteously to be set free. ing of hatred. At length one day the opening door revealed, not , the expected form of Mrs. Jones, but the figure of the man who had torn her away from her home. She sprung forward eagerly. “Oh, sir, you are come to take mc home?” ‘*Not yet, my dear niece. take you to your right home, not to Toledo!” “Tam not your niece, and my home is in Toledo!” she cried, with tears in her eyes. “Now, Susie, if i nonsense, You will never get out of here whi nee such foolish fancies in your head.” “Tam notyour niece! ‘iy name isn’t Susie! You are a bad man, a wicked man! Oh, what did I ever do to you? Oh, sir, do take me home!”’ “T will, Susie when you come to your senses, I only wish you to forget all the nonsense you have j | toher. Her dislike of her captors grew into a feel- | | e you been talking, and remember that you are my niece, Susie Thompson.” “T ain’t! I ain’t! I ain’t!"’ she screamed, in sudden fury. _ wit never, never, never say so! never, if I die ere!” “Very well, my dear niece, we shall see.”’ He retired, bolting the door behind him. She flung herself on her bed, weeping from a re- vulsion of feeling A short time passed, when she | heard the bolt again cautiously drawn, and saw the | door slowly open. | Looking languidly up, she saw the form of Pica- | yune Pete standing just within the room. With a wild cry of hope and delight she sprung up, flew across the room, and clasped the ragged boy firmly within her arms. **Oh, Pete!’ she said, “take me from this dread- ful place!” ** Hush! hush! Minnie,’’ he said. .‘‘ That man will hear you; that blasted kurnel, that I’m a-going fur,” “‘Tam so glad to see you,” she said in lower tones. “How did you get here?” ““Snaked it,” said Pete. catamount,”’ A Yas stern step was heard in the passage be- yond. “ He is coming back!” said Minnie, frightened. ‘*Let go of me,”’ said Pete, in resolute, fierce tones. She unclasped her arms and set the boy free. “I jist clumb up like a “So, this is fine,’ said a satirical voice in the doorway. ‘‘My bird has found a mate. I will have two in the cage instead of one.” ‘ There was a devilish look upon his face as he pushed the door quickly to. Atthat perilous moment Pete’s gymnastic exer- cise stood himin good stead. With the a wild-cat he sprung against the balf-closed door hurling it wide open, and almost prostrating Colonel Green, who was seeking to close i CHAPTER IX. NICODEMUS TO THE RESCUE, CoLonéL GREEN was dazed for an instant by the suddenness of Pete’s movement, and the violence with which the door had been flung open in his face. The boy could easily have escaped during the con- fusion of his enemy, but escape was remote from his thoughts. It would have been to abandon Minnie Ellis to her foe, and Pete was too brave and daring by nature to consider his personal safety in such a ic] Ase, Instead, therefore, of maki way that la for the open stair- ile leap of | “T would pull my tongue out before I said so. | | house. at the end of the short gem he | looked round for a weapon of offense with whi ch to attack his dangerous enemy. There was nothing in sight, however, and Pete, with fierce thoughts, put his hands in_ his pocket for a large clasp-knife which he carried there. Ere he could draw it the colonel was u nm him, | and had grasped him with both hands by the collar, | grin: The athletic man lifted the squirming lad as if he had | been of no weight, and carried him toward the head of the stairs. : “T'll settle for you, you little imp,” he said, with a fierce, hissing intonation. Pete mad nor ply, but setting his teeth hard he clasped the colonel by the throat with both hands, ead ele’ himself fike a snake round the body of oe. The contortions of the boy’s limbs tripped up his burly antagonist, and down the two went at the very head of the stairs. Colonel Green tried to recover himself, but Pete writhed viciously round him; he lost his balance, and man and boy, twined closely together, rolled down the steep stairs. F Over and over they went, bumping and thumping from bony Sa step, the man getting the worst of the bargain fr onist clung to him. ruised and bleeding, they reached the bottom, with a thump that forced them asunder, flinging the boy five feet from his foe. : “ For mercy’s sake, whatever is the matter?” cried Mrs. Jones, rushing into the passage where they lay. *T'll show this young hound what’s the matter,” roared the colonel, rising angrily to his feet. “* You can’t do it, kurneL [m your hoss for a - K, ‘ { la om the closeness with which his little an- | I hope in a few days to | mu would only quit talking such | | furiated man, | strongly about Pete’s throat. @ grasping a heavy cane, which the colonel h ad left in the p e, Wrenching the cane from the boy, he grasped him by the throat with suffocating force, and drag- ged him into the adjoining room. “Now, you cub of a wild-cat, I'll settle your hash for you,” yelled the infuriated man, raising the heavy cane, while a murderous light shone in his eyes. Mrs. Jones screamed and ran toward them. “Back, woman, blast you!’’»cried the colonel, furiously. ‘Do you want a settler yourself?” At that moment a loud bark sounded outside the cabin. Pete made a quick movement of recognition, and, choked as he had been, found breath to give vent to a sickly whistle. ; The next instant the cane of Colonel Green de- scended viciously, with a blow that might have been deadly only that Pete squirmed quickly aside, The heavy weapon struck the colonel himself on the leg with no light force. Another fierce curse broke from the lips of the in- His muscular fingers closed more j He lifted the cane again with murderous intent. _At the same instant the half-closed door was flung violently open, and a small animal bounded into the room. It was Nicodemus, Pete’s faithful dog. With a single look the intelligent animal took in the whole situation, and the danger of his master. Colonel Green, hardly noticing the animal, was about to repeat his blow. But at the moment the cane was lifted the teeth of the vicious dog buried themselves in his calf. With a quick cry of pain he released the boy and turned to the assault of this new foe, kicking and cursing vigorously as he tried to get rid of his savage antagonist, who hung on with fierce tenacity. The blow intended for the master fell with spite- oe force on the dog, who rolled howling over on the oor, The fiercest passions of the man were now aroused. He grasped the cane with both hands, and glared round the room, Nicodemus still lay howling on the floor. Pete crouched in a corner, not yet recovered from the terrible choking he had received. Mrs. Jones had fallen upon a chair, her face full of terror and dismay. but in the doorway stood still another person, a man who seemed to have followed the dog into the Hie was a stout, determined-looking man. In re right hand he held a pistol, cocked and pre- sented. Tn the passage behind him stood the small figure of Minnie Ellis, her blue eyes wide open in wonder and dread, She had escaped through the open door of her prison. Pete recognized the new-comer at a glance as the policeman who so lately had arrested him. ** Now your goose’s cooked, kurnel,” he said, feebly, but with all his old vim. “’Tain’t boys and babies you've got to pier with now.” “So, it seems lam just in time to prevent mur- der,’’ said the officer, severely, advancing a few steps into the room. ‘““Who are you?” cried the colonel, his fingers clasped savagely around his weapon. ‘* What brings you here?” “Tam a policeman of the city of Toledo,” said the officer. ‘It is my purpose to arrest you as the ab- ductor of Minnie Ellis, and to shoot you if you at- tempt to escape.” His finger was at the trigger of the pistol. The look on his face showed that he meant all he said. The villain glared with a wild, desperate glance. round the room, with something of the look of a wild beast at bay. His eyes fell on the form of Picayune Pete, who was looking at him with an expression of open tri- ber ‘Drop that stick, kurnel, and give in,” said the boy, ‘‘You’re sold out, and mought as well cave. ’Tain’t no use kicking. Don’t you see that barker a- ning at you?” “That for the barker!” cried the desperate man, springing suddenly forward, and with a quick, up- ward blow of his stick knocking the pistol From the hands of the officer. The weapon was discharged as it fell, the ball whistling past the ears of Pete. The officer stepped back from this sudden assault his fingers tinglmg with pain from the blow they ha received. Colonel Green lost no time in taking advantage of the opportunity thus afforded him. j A single spring took him through the doorway, ' and he rushed desperately for the open air, followed | by Nicodemus, who had just regained his lost assur- \ ance, Seizing his pistol the officer rushed out after him. Pete, too, was eke but the face of Minnie in the passageway brought him to a sudden halt. She was pressed up closely against the wall, her face pallid with fear, her hands extended as if to ward off danger. ‘ ““Why, Minnie,” cried Pete. ‘Don’t be skeered, gal. Wobady ain't a-goin’ to hurt you. That cata- mount has made tracks, but it’s my notion that he’ll be brung up with a hitch. It ain’t no slouch, the feller that’s after him.” “Was anybody shot, Pete?’’ asked the startled child, ‘I heard the pistol go off.” * Well, it kinder scraped my ear,"’ said Pete, teel- ee is ¢
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we ee enue en a te re ee ing his organ of hearing. ‘“ Ain't no blood, though. Reckon I’m all sound.”’ ; ‘Oh, Pete, you were not shot?"' cried Minnie, in -error. “Well, didn’t I jist say I weren't? Ain't no use xottin’ skeered about it. I'm good fur a dozen of the same sort, yit.” “Take me out of this dreadful place, won't you, Pete?” she half-whispered. ‘There's the woman in that room. Iam so much afraid of her.” *‘Ain’t got nothing to be afeard of while I'm along,” said Pete, dearelng bis form 2 proudly. ‘Bet the kurnel don’t git you back— Hallo! what’s up now?” This exclamation was caused by another pistol re- port, outside the house. Taking Minnie by the hand, Pete hurried out. There was a striking scene in view as they reached the open air. Theriver, as we have said, ran close by the house, just beyond the clump of bushes that had sprung up round the old log cabin, [t was not properly the river that lay before them, however, for the clearing had been made Pe above the mouth of the Maumee, and the broad reach of water, dotted over with coming and departing vessels, that lay spread before them was Maumee Bay, the south-western extremity of Lake Erie. Near at hand was a scene of more vital excitement. About one hundred feet from the bank of the river floated a boat, of which Colonel Green was just set- ting the sail. The white sheet bad already caught the wind, and the light craft was beginning to feel its force and glide through the water. Near the center of the stream a small, gracefully- built sloop was moving up the Maumee toward the city. On the bank stood the baffled officer, having just fired at the fugitive the sole remaining load of his pistol. Colonel Green had seized the sail-boat which Pete had noticed tied to the bank, and had thus escaped his pursuer. 4 ‘*'The fellow threw me off the track by pretending to fly to the woods,"’ said the latter to Pete. ‘I chased him through the bushes yonder, But the cunning reprobate doubled on me, and was aboard the boat before I could get out of the woods again. T am afraid he has escaped us for the present.” Pete stood looking after the boat with fixed, reso- late face. Minnie was daintily brushing off her finger-tips, with a dissatisfied expression of face. ‘What are you doin’ that fur?” asked Pete, She made no reply. He looked at his own hands, end saw, with a sense of shame, that his grasp had » iJed her soft, white fingers. CHAPTER X. A STERN CHASE. Tre colonel’s sail, now fully set, was filled with the light breeze, and the sharply-built boat began to wy sence, aaoen the water, under the guidance of her helm. The disappointed A pele de looked with angry gaze efter the tent craft which was bearing from them 30 dangerous a foe. af a is this indeed Minnie Ellis?’ asked the of- ficer, gazing with an interested glance into the fair face of the arne ge beside him, ‘So far I have only guessed at i as That is my name, sir,’’ she seplies, “Tam ever so thankful to you. Tt was terrible for you to attack that man. It makes me tremble to think of it.” “He is a desperate villain, indeed,” was the re- ply, ' % What gits me,” said Pete, “is how you bounced in jist about the time I was ready to squeal. { kin tell how Nicodemus smelt me out. left ther dorg at home, but it ain’t in eoynowy.s voots to fling that dorg. But you ain’t got Nick’s omellin’ arrangement.’ “The dog followed you, and I followed the dog," said the officer. **Same as I followed thekurnel. Well, it’s a queer bizness anyhow. You must have ‘spected me.’ “TI did suspect you, ever since the day you were arrested. Iam sorry to have wronged you, but it is just as well for you, considering the way things have turned out,’ - “jist as well, and a little bit better,” said Pete. “Tt were gettin’ to be a narrer squeak and no mis- take, It’s blasted hard to see that cove sailin’ away there and we standing here like so many mice.” “et him go,”’ spoke the soft voice of Minnie. “I do not think he will try todo me any more harm.” “He is good for a rope if he comes inside of Toledo,” said the officer. “I knew the man was a villain.” “Can't we chase him somehow!” said Pete. “If I could only make the fellers aboard the sloop hear me”? As he spoke, the sloop, which was now nearly o; posite ag shifted its helm and stood aprons 9 ward their side of the river. She was soon within a hundred yards of them, standing up-stream. “Ahoy, the sloop!’ screamed Pete, at the top of his voice. ‘Ahoy, there! what’s up?” answered @ man, who was looking curiously over the side. { “ About ship and take us aboard. There’s a better eargo in the bay than you'll find in Toledo.’ gs pent a pistol-shot,” said the man. “‘ What's i00se?’ ‘We have rescued Minnie Ellis, the stolen child,” aaid the officer. “There goes the child-stealer. “By the blue blazes!” cried the man, in sudden excitement. “Bring her round!’’ he cried to the nelmsman, “Into fhe boat there, some of you. Is that the child?” - “Yes,” replied the officer. Picayune Pate. “Pll take you aboard then, and if my aon oom don't run down that fellow there's no virtue in can- The boat now appeared round the sloop's side propelled by one rower, whose athletic arms sent it rap. dly through the water. ‘Now, Minnie,’ said Pete, as it Speroerhed, “This man and me has got bizness in the wake of ear ee and we ain’t got no notion of leaving | ou here.” 4 “No, no!” she cried, ‘‘I wouldn’t for the world be | left alone with that woman. Lam dreadfully afraid | of her.” “Bless you, gal, we ain’t got no notion of leavin’ | you,” said Pete. “Seems to me though we ought to grab the old lady,” he said to the officer. ‘She } mought know somethin’ handy." The officer at once took the suggestion and started | for the cabin. He was too late. It was empty. | Mrs. Jones had taken the alarm and fled. ) ‘Quick there!’’ cried the hasty tones of the tain of the sloop. ‘*He is making headway. have no time to waste.”’ No second invitation was needed. In a minute more they were al! on board the boat and being rowed swiftly out to the larger vessel, : The captain stood at the low gunwale as the boat touched her side. ** Lift her up here,”’ he called to the policeman. Minnie shrunk back from his hoarse tones and bearded face. ; **Lord love you, child, you’re not afraid of me, I hope,”’ he pat § Age ie kindness beaming from his eyes. “I’ve got such another as you at home, and [ Ve go through fire and water for her; or you | either.’ She no longer hesitated, but suffered herself to be | handed up to the aye ore of the captain, who deposited ber lightly on the deck. ete was already on board, having sprung like a cat over the side of the vessel. In another minute the occupants of the boat were on board, the boat secured, and the vessel making | be through the water. he chase had gained considerable start during | these evolutions, and was now some hundred yards od advance, standing up the western side of the y. ! ** Bet heavy that I run him down,” said the cap- | tain, as the sail over their heads took the wind, and the sloop moved forward with increasing speed. | ‘He's got a good skiff, but the little Mary Jane is | or on a light breeze."’ ‘““Who is Mary Jane?” asked Minnie, in surprise, looking round for the person in question. The sailor laughed loud and long. ‘Bless you, child, that’s the vessel She’s a tight craft, I tell you, and I ca ~~ good wife at home.” t was now near twelve o’clock of a fine May momning, The sun stood directly overhead and | ee ou’re on, | her after | beams brilliantly down upon the water. | fore them the sheening surface of the bay stretch- | ed out, far as the eye could reach, dotted here and there with vessels heading in toward the mouth of the river, or outward bound from Toledo for some | distant lake port. The retreating lines of the boundaries of the bay were well-wooded, the ax of the frontiersmen not having yet denuded these shores of their native cov- | ering. The sail-boat, with Colonel Green at the helm, had at first kept close to the western bank, until the river’s mouth was cleared, but now stood more bold- ly out. “ He wants to get all the wind,” said the officer. “The trees cut off the breeze further in.” * Just so,’ answered the captain. ‘ Lay her off a little there. That’sabetter sailing point. The Mary | Jane is like a woman, and has got to be humored,”’ ‘*We are striking out more into the bay than the | chase,’’ said the officer. “Yes, yes, I know that,’’ answered the captain, | a little impatiently, ‘‘We will forge ahead on him, and then strike in.” ‘*He’s a cute ‘coon,” said Pete, admiringly. “ Mought think he was goin’ fishing, or to see his | al, “Do you think we will overtake him?" asked Min- | nie, timidly, standing beside Pete. “Take him?” answered Pete ‘“ We're goin’ fur him, anyhow. We'll take him if it’s in the wood.” ‘And what will be done with him, do you think?” “He'll have a hemp necktie afore he's in Toledo an hour. Don't be asking what that is, ’cause it ain’t in your jographies.” “T hope they won't hurt him, Had you not bet- ter let him go, captain? He won’t come back to Toledo.” “Let him go?’ asked the captain, in surprise. “‘ Well, he is trying to go very hard. He can go after we are done with him; but I am something fearful that he will have to be carried. Down with your helm alittle. Weare out of the shadow of the woods now and can lay for him straighter.” A broad level of green lawn lay spread out before | } | them, receding back to a stylish house at some dis- tance. “T don’t quite like that captain,” said Minnie, in a low tone, touching Pete’s hand. “ I think he is hard- hearted.” Pete withdrew his hand from her touch rather hastily, a red spot ap ing in his cheek. He ert her abruptly and walked back toward the stern, leaving her wondering and hurt by his move- ments. “We are forging up on him,” cried the captain impulsively. ‘* We've picked np a hundred yards o the distance. The breeze is a little too light for us, | but I think we will take it stronger round that point, | | leaving a long, gleaming wake “We | > | will always With a good wind I could run him down in twenty minutes." ** And here it comes,"’ said the officer, as a fresher breath of air touched his cheek. *'The sail is feeling it already.”’ “The Jane is b to dance,”’ said the captain, exultingly. ‘Go it, my friend, You've gos no creeper on your track.” The sloop was cutting a the water swiftly, n her rear. Nearly a quarter of a mile in advance sailed the skiff, rather more in shore, cutting rapidly through the yielding waters, and to all seeming not likely to be easily overtaken, ‘* He’s one of the cutest ’coons I know,’’ said Pete. “* He's not goin’ to be sold cheap.” Minnie looked round to find the boy beside her. A somewhat sheepish look was on face as he caught her looking at him. ; OE i, it queer I sneaked out jist now, didn't rou?”’ ‘“ What made you leave me so suddenly?” “Oh, nothing. Only you kin touch my paws now if you want to.” ‘ Your paws?” she asked, surprised. “Yes. 'These.’’ He showed his hands, then sud- peas SMa them, ‘Why, what’s the matter, Pete?’ she asked, pos- sessing herself of one of his hands, ‘Oh, you have been washing them, haven't you?” \ “Well, I did give them a kinder scrape. Didn't want you to be putting your nice white hands ag*tn’ ee: dirty paws.’ he looked at him with a pleased ce. ‘‘T am so glad to see that,” sne said. ‘I hope you eep them 60.” “Dunno what I’lldo. Won't make no promises,” said Pete, withdrawing his hand rather rudely. “Say there, Cap, ain’t the kurnel putting in to shore? That’s my reckonin’.”’ ‘*By Jemima Jinks, he is!’ cried the cota ex- citedly. ‘We are gaining on him too fast, and he nape notion of beaching his boat and taking to the woods.”’ ‘* He’s goin’ to head up the creek yander, ’cording to my notion,” said Pete. , The boy was righ. Both crafts had now made about a mile from their starting-point. A short dis- tance ahead opened the mouth of a creek of some width, running out of the woods, which were rather close at this point. Toward this stream the boat of the fugitive was rapidly gliding. . ‘He's going up it, sure enough,” said the captain. — “ Can we follow water?” “You'd ground, captain, before you were ten yards in,’’ said one of his men, ‘There’s no wind inside, anyhow. He's pork has | his sail now and taken to the oars,”’ said the in a disappointed tone. “The blamed dished us.’ ‘Give him a chase with the boat,”’ said the officer. ‘We will drive him to the woods and pick up his boat, if we can’t do anything else.” “Dm with you, then,” said Pete. “If he takes to © the woods, I'm goin’ to take to the woods. That. _ ‘coon ain’t goin’ to git away from this possum, Wot sO easy. There was no time to waste words on this move- ment. Pete, the officer, and two of the crew, were instantly in'the boat, followed by Nicodemus, who had been taken on board : after his master into the boat. “Now give way, lads, with a will,’ cried the cap- tain. *“ eeob him and it’s fifty dollars in each of your ets.” But he was not to be so easily caught. He was al ready out of sight up the creek. ihe sloop’s made rapid progress under the flerce impulse given it by the rowers, but failed to bring him again with- in sight. ; a guarter of a mile up the stream, After rowin they caught sight of his boat. But it was floating | down toward them, and was empty. “Dished, by Jove!” said the angry and disappoint. tt ed officer. “Put me and Nicodemus ashore,” said Pete, “I'm goin’ to track him, or else make for the railroad station and blow him. Good-by, lads, Tl fetch him yet, or else Nick and me will sell out,” / Pete and his dog were landed, according to this re- quest, and the boat proceeded back toward the sloop. CHAPTER XI. “srop THIEF !” Pere was in the heart of a thick wood, Primeval forest it seemed, for many of the trees were of such = centuries must have passed during their growth. ; Close by him ran the swift waters of the creek, — curving so that only a short reach of it lay view. Beside this liquid plain, thick woodland filled the whole field of vision. 4 And the spot was as solitary as if it had leagues from a human habitation. All animated nature seemed to be taking its noontide siesta, Not a living being was in sight, not a sound audible. ‘Kinder lonely, Nicodemus,” said Pete, ooking at his dog, who stood quietly beside him. “ Ain much of a row about are jist as mopish as vestones. Makes me feei Fg TAG Pie { ow’'s desig vb de a 6 dog answere an eager little barx, { running a short dinkanoe ahead. r 7 “T knowed what you'd say, Nick, You alwa: was a sensible dorg. Want to be goin’, ea Wel, there’s a notion der like that sna its way through my upper story; you bet.”’ ep * a ee ‘ , hy kt eae Ni ' 59 SD Le Me Does anybody know the depth of — the sloop, and who sprung within ere, I reckon. These trees : 7 iy ‘ at ~*~ “4 ie Le mn r pa" <s Bi is iN aa ‘Ss : arr J
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as eure er 7 as a“ * of a — et aa es 4 i 4 4 | greased 10 He walked after the animal, who was running along the creek bank. | Creat | Stop at ** Don’t be gettin’ your feelin’s too much worked | up, Nicodemus,” continued Pete. ‘The kurnel can’t | be far away, and he must have struck ground jist about here. inan would knife us jist as you be gettin’ excited, ows Nicodemus barked as he ran forward, . eagerly the ground. quick as wink. Don't acorns rie i? D k ag’ cried Pete. ‘*Don’t you spea in afore you're spoken to. That thunderin’ cultiraas mought be layin’ low, Nick. We've got to be keerful.’’: he dog had stopped and was smelling the bank. He seemed to have taken some scent which he was following back into the woods. Pete hurried up and fixed his sharp young eyes on the spot. The grass on the river bank had been trampled down. At the muddy edge, where the stream washed the bank, the impression of a boat’s prow was plainly visible. ‘“‘Here’s where he jumped ashore, sure enough,” cried Pete. The dog barked in response. Pete took him an- i A e back of the neck. “Didn’t 1 jist tell you to hold your tongue?” he asked. ‘Don’t I tell everybody that you’re as smart as half the men about these parts; and are you goin back on me, that way? I’m ashamed of you, Nick, Iam, after the eddication you've had.”’ The animal looked up, as if he thought that Pete was the noisiest of the two. “Now, Nick, let out with aw a four trotters, and Tli make my toes twinkle after you. And jist you raind this one thing. Little boys and little dorgs oughtn’t never to speak afore they’re spoke to.” Pete had spent some time in this confab with the dog, but he was not without his object in this delay. é knew well that it would be perilous for him to meet Colonel Green in the forest. The desperate man would think little of sacrificing his life. By holding back, and letting him reach the open country, Pete calculated to be able to call some far- mer or villager to his aid, and by giving the hue and ery, to run down the fugitive before “he could gain much the start. The dog had been trained to scent game in the woods, but this was the first time he had been on the track of any human being, except his master. He followed the scent, however, with seeming pase, leading Pete at a rapid walk through the leafy ry; | of the thick forest. “Go it, old dorg,” cried Pete, with enthusiasm. * You’re the animile for my money. 'Tain’t a *pos- sum you’re after now, Nick, but it’s a catamount on two legs. Don’t rs be forgettin’ your reputa- tion, dorg. Don’t let the old fox double on you.” Nicodemus seemed excited by his master’s voice, and traced the scent more rapid y than before. “Tt’s pet like trailin’ Injuns through the woods!”’ said Pete, japehing. “Tf it ain’t, Pl sell out. Never mind the bird, Nick. "‘Tain’t meadow-larks we're after now, butit’s an old hawk. If you stop for ’coon or rabbit now I'll dispose of you, I will. Let out, little dorg, and show your mettle. There’s the open fields, and we kin use our eyes as well as our noses.”” The woodland had ended, and an open country spread out before them. It was cultivated to some extent, but lay largely in — herds of sheep and cattle browsing here and there The course of the creek was marked by a line of _ trees that ran to the left of his position. umerous farm-houses were visible from where he stood, and about a mile distant he could see the white walls and brown roofs of a e. he country was level, but its many small groves and isolated trees prevented any very extended view. At some distance before him ran a country lane, stretching southwesterly toward the village. Helloa, Nick!” cried Pete; ‘‘ there’s a little feller crawling along that road, that mought bea six-foot- er if he was nig ae He’s creepin’ too, bout as fast as two le n let out. Ill bet a b’iled tater it’s che kurnel, and he’s makin’ for Woodville like lightnin’ along a telegraph wire. Make your old legs twinkle, Nick. He's got the butt-end of a mile the start on us, and the railroad cuts through that town.”’ The pene the dog emulated each other in the speed with which they ran across the fields. Pete He’s ee Nick. That milentary } your tongue, you noisy young rascal,”’ | went over the fences at a flying leap while Nico- | -. demus shot under them. Ditches were no obstacle to them, and hedges were passed without a pause. Yet, ere they had advanced a quarter of a mile, a shrill sound struck Pete’s ear with ominous mean- TH be fiddled to death if there ain’t a train com- a he ejaculated, ‘*and the cute skunk will catch ! t ' A brook, eight feet from bank to bank, cut the field before him. Pete doubled up like a ball run. Nicodemus was at his ten steps beyond. “ Lay out, Nick! lay out!” yelled Pete, with what breath he had left. ‘“‘ We’re runnin’ a race with the ingine. If you don’t beat it I'll sell you. Lay out, little animile!”’ Their megness was very rapid, but the long line of smoke the left was approaching with rming 8 " In a minute more the thunder of the wheels on the bri that crossed the creek was heard and the iron front of the locomotive broke into view through the line of trees that bordered the stream. The pursuers now struck the road and were able to advance even more rapidly. But there was yet nearly half a mile before them, and the roaring and ‘rattling train was flying forward . went over it at a full ; heels ere he had taken | : Picayune Pete. It rolled up into the vi e, coming to a quick the station which ay fuli within Pete’s | vision. The boy strained his muscles to their uttermost and ran on faster than he had ever run before. He was within two minutes run of the depot when the iron horse slowly emerged from behind the building, and passed with a stately motion before his eyes, gathering speed with every revolution of the wheels. Pete ran on, hoping to be able to gain the hindmost car. But, car after car = before his eyes; the rear car emerged and rolled rapidly on, its iron rail- ing just beyond the:reach of Pete’s outstretched hand. e boy stumbled and fell across the track, utterly exhausted by his excessive exertion. Nicodemus halted beside him, panting violently. “Well, that’s a narrow squeeze,” said a man on the platform. “The boy ought to have caught the train, the way he ~an for it. Never mind, my lad, there will be another in a couple of hours.” Pete rose to his feet gesticulating violently. He was too short of breath to speak, and this was the he could give vent to his excited feelings. only wa It might as well have been a A couple of hours! couple of years. The men on the platform laughed at his movements. This added anger to his excitement, and it was some five minutes before he could gather breath and com- sure to speak. The train was already beyond sight and hearing in the distance. “Don’t I tell you?” he screamed out, at length. **Don’t I tell you he’s aboard that train. And you all standin’ here like stones.” He seemed to imagine that he had been expressing his feelings in words. ‘*Who is aboard the train?” asked the man who had ken. ‘““Why, he is—the blasted, thunderin’ rascal! Ain’t none of you goin’ to do nothin’? After I’ve run a mile, too?” “ Have “ ou lost your senses, boy?” said another man. o are you talking about?’ ‘““Why, the kurnel! Kurnel Green, ain’t I tellin’ you? If I'd cotehed that train wouldn’t I have set- tled him!” “Colonel Green? Iknowhim. What do you want with Colonel Green?” ‘** Ain’t he aboard that train?” “Yes. He got on at the station here.” ““T knowed it! Iknowedit! He's got to be cotched. Ain’t there a telegraph here? We've got to send thunder and lightnin’ after him.” ‘* Blame your thick wits!” cried the man, catching Pete by the shoulder, and shaking him eas ca “What ails you, anyhow? What’s the matter with Colonel Green?” A low, savage bark at his heels from Nicodemus forced him to relinquish his hold of the boy’s shoul- er. The shake had done Pete good, however. His scattered senses returned to him, and he saw how wildly he had been acting in his excitement. “Well, I’m blamed this ain’t fey !” he said. “Lost my brains for a minute, but Picayune Pete’s hisself ag’in. If you’re in Toledo an hour from now you’ll know what the kurnel’s done.” “We will know now if you are able to tell us,” said the man. “You all know ‘bout Minnie Ellis bein’ stole, and how there’s five thousand on the head of the thief?" “Yes! yes!’ cried a half-dozen voices, in sudden excitement. “There he po in that train; slipped through your fingers like a greased eel. Blast him, if I'd only cotched him!”’ ““Colonel Green?” was eagerly asked. *That’s your hoss, for a pile of pumpkins, I tell = the gal’s found, and I’m the ’coon that done it. ere’s the telegrapher? Send word on to grab him at the next station.” ““There’s no telegrapher here,”’ said one of the station hands. ‘“‘Can’t send a message short of Toledo.” “How soon will a train be along up the road?”’ asked the first speaker. "In fifteen minutes.” “Then me and the dorg are two deadheads to Toledo, sure,” said Pete. The time of waiting for the train was spent by Pete in detailing his adventures toa small circle of er listeners. t rattled up to the station on time, and he and the dog, with nearly all present, got on board, and were borne swiftly off toward the ony At almost the same minute the sloop, Mary Jane, sailed gracefully up to her wharf in the city, decor- ated with a dozen fee which the captain had some- where hunted up. : The throng along the wharves looked with surprise on this unwonted display. In ten minutes more the surprise was exchanged to an excitement that ran like wildfire through the city. CHAPTER XII. HOW MUCH A GIRL IS WORTH. — ‘ Ir is wonderful how sometimes intelligence will pass through a city. It seems to be caught up by the wind and blown to men’s minds, so quickly does it disseminate itself. The fact of the rescue of Minnie Ellis was known to men half over the city before the Mary Jane had got fairly into her wharf. , This resulted from the intense interest which eve one felt in the matter, and the eagerness with whic wee) amy hastened to repeat the tidings he had All who had children of their own felt keenly the danger to themselves if their loved ones could be stolen from the heart of a populous city. All poe then, were gladdened at the rescue, and a revenge ‘ul hope that the abductor had been captured was at once arouse’, On that day in particular the people of Toledo were specially exercised on the matter, as some of the prominent citizens, doubting if tof effort had been made, had again called a meeting for consideration of the best action to be taken. The hall was thronged with deeply-interested per- sons, seriously Ceeeng what was best to be done, at the very time that the Mary Jane, with her precious freight, was drawing in to the wharf. One of the wealthy citizens, full of appreciation of the advantage of financial arguments, had offered on his own responsibility an additional reward, for the return of Minnie Ellis, without reference to the cap- ture of her abductor. “Tt is very well, gentlemen, to argue,” he said, “that we are offering a premium to rascality by this reward, and laying a plan to pay the villain for his crime. But, is there not another side to the question ¥ Shall this innocent child be sacrificed to our selfish fear for ourselves? Shall her family suffer because there is some faint dread of danger to our own chil- dren? You can let the reward you have offered for the capture of the criminal stand. I have no objec- tion to that. But I intend to offer two thousand more, on my Own account, for the child’s recovery, and fo some of you may add to it.”’ he latter part of remarks was interrupted b a faint murmur about the door of the hall, but it failed to interrupt the speaking. ‘*That’s the talk for me!” cried a rich old grain speculator, springing up in the hall. ‘I wouldn’t for a hundred thousand lose my daughter, and I’m good for two thousand more.’ * And I'll make up the five,” screamed another, in great excitement. ‘‘She is worth as much any day as the confounded rascal that carried her off,” “She is worth more,”’ cried a wealthy operator in pork, eagerly springing to his feet. “‘I’ve had a dear child die, and it was a severe blow to me, gen- tlemen. But I’d rather have her dead ten times than stolen in this way, and not know where she is or what is done with her. I am good for another thous?nd.”’ He had to raise his voice almost to a scream to overcome the growing noise in the lower part of the hall. The faint murmur had risen to the eager buzz of a hundred voices. ‘*Your offers are accepted,’ said the president of the ge ‘“*And I venture to return you the thanks of the community for your public spirit. But what is the meaning of that noise? We cannot go on with such an uproar.” A dozen voices were raised in answer, so confusin each other that only the name ‘‘ Minnie Ellis " coul be distinguished. “We must have order!’ cried the president. “Let some one speak, Mr. Rochester, can you tell me the meaning of this disturbance?” “There has been something found out about the child,” was the answer. “I cannot make out just what.”’ ‘“*What is it? Who knows?” asked the president, pages’ rising. re any definite answer could be had, a new ex- citement arose at the door of the hall. The crowd swayed back and forward, as if driven by a force from without, and finally split bodily asunder, some ersons without forcing themselvesiike a wedge into he mass. At the same time a chorus of shouts and cheers broke from a throng of peovle who had suddenly gathered in the surrounding'street. Whatever the cause they seemed to be wild with enthusiasm, All semblance of order in the meeting now broke up. Everybody was on his feet, all eyes bent on the door, every tongue eagerly questioning. j The new-comers pressed still forward into the body of the hall. They consisted of a half-dozen stalwart men, the foremost, a bearded, bronzed, sailor-looking man, bearing something in his arms covered from view by a light shawl. The curious assemblage made way for them, and in a minute more they stood upon the platform of the hall, facing the audience. “Now, my friends, three ringing cheers and @ tiger!” he cried, in hoarse, loud tones. ‘“ The lost is found, the dead is alive again, If they ain't, Lake Erie is a frog-pond!” As he spoke he withdrew the shawl, and revealed clasped in his strong right arm, the form, well known to many of the audence, of Minnie Ellis. Her golden ringlets, her bright blue eyes, and happy, smiling face, acted upon all present like a draught of exhilarating wine. The cheers called for rung out with a vehemence that seemed to shake the walls of the building, and the tiger ran through the room like a peal of thunder. “Three more for Captain Baker, of the good Mary Jane!’’ shouted an individual in the audience. A thundering roll of hurrahs again rung through the hall. “Don't be cheering for me. I had nothing to do with it,’ cried the honest captain, depositing Minnie upon a table beside him, where she stood facing the assemblage. The events of the last hour had worked strongly upon her nervous organization. She was in a state of almost hysterical excitement, her eyes sparkling, her li uivering, while a ee seemed to emana from ol ace, so full was it o a heed expression. “Who then have we to thank forthis happy re- covery?” cried the president, in his excitement catching up the child and eager! kissing her. This impulsive act sent another wave of excite- ment and uproar through the
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“Here he is!’ answered the captain, pointing to the sega officer, who stood beside him. **No, no!” cried the officer, wpeeents another effort to cheer, ‘It wasn’t I that found her. I was only a secondary hand in the business.” “Who was it, then?’’ roared a stentorian voice from the audience. : “It was Picayune Pete,” spoke the childish, musi- cal tones of Minnie. “He saved my life when I fell overboard, and he has saved me again now—Pica- yune Pete, the little ragged street boy.” The excited audience again cheered at the sound of her voice, The name of Picayune Pete passed through the hall in various tones of wonder, amuse- ment and recognition. “Where is this boy, this Pete?” asked the presi- dent. ** He is following the villain ae 9 the woods,”’ said the officer. “ We areafraid that he has escaped by railroad, but have sent men to telegraph to the iifferent stations.’’ ** Will not rape Baker tell us es of this affair?’ asked the person who had first offered the additional reward. ‘‘ Who was this abductor? {s he known in Toledo?” “They call him Colone? Green,” was the answer. This reply redoubled the excitement of the audi- ence. 6 name was known to all present, and a thousand diverse expressions of opinion went ina loud murmur through the assemblage. The tidings passed into the street and added fuel to the excite- ment there. “We will never get at the facts,’’ cried the presi- dent, impatiently. ‘‘ Will not Captain Barker give us the details of the recovery?” “You had better ask the officer here,” replied the vaptain. ‘‘ He knows more about it than I do.” he officer, thus brought forward, proceeded to (give a succinct description of what he knew of the ivbduction, detailing the arrest of oe bya Pete, his orders to follow him, his being led by the dog to the ' ag he and his timely rescue of the boy. 6 followed this story by a description of the chase on the Bay and the escape of the fugitive, followed ‘wy Pete through the forest. This story was not finished without many interrup- tions and expressions of approval and interest by the ‘\earers. ** Now, can we not hear from Minnie Ellis herself?’ «sked a gentleman on the floor of the hall. ‘ Will she tell how this villain succeeded in carrying Ler off?” The excited child, thus questioned, proceeded to describe her adventures, the audience listening’ with spellbound interest as her sweet, clear tones sound- ed through the hall, and reached the ears of listeners vi the street without. There was no interruption to her detailed and child-like narrative, all within hearing remaining as stillas death while she proceeded to describe her ee gy adventures, till finally discovered by Pete. he excited turmoil of voices that followed the conclusion of this narrative was broken by another incident. A man hastily forced his way into the hall, the packed assemblage making way for him as he advanced, his uplifted hand hol aslip of paper. “A telegraph Thessage!” he cried, still pressing forward. és t is it?” cried a dozen voices. “Is he cap- tured? Has he escaped? “We telegraphed on to every station where there is an agent, within twenty miles of the city,” said theman. “The only train that has gone out that he could have escaped on, so far, is one on the To- ledo and Chicago road. ‘That train has passed Mepeen's, twenty miles from here.” ‘ Any word from there?” asked the president. ‘Yes; we sent word on. He is well known to the conductor on the train. The cars were search and he is not aboard.” The excitement which his entrance had made round the door was renewed. A second person was making his way in. “A train has just come in on the T. and C. road,” he ejacylated. “They report that Colonel Green got on the outward train at Woodville. He must ave made his escape at some station between there and Morgan’s.”’ ‘“Where is Picayune Pete? Did he fail to overtake him?”’ cried the officer. ‘He followed him to the station, just too late to yive the alarm.” ‘“ Where is he?”’ asked the president. “He came in by the train. I left him at the de- ” ‘A number of persons forced their way out of the hall at these words, eager to see the boy who was the hero of the hour. A large portion of the exteri- or assemblage followed them. Minnie clapped her hands with joy, on learning of Pete’s safety. A new diversion was created by several ladies now gaining admittance to the hall, among them Min- nie’s aunt and Madame Lucon. om was made to give cet e to the platform, where they caught the child in their arms and almost devoured her with kisses, While this diversion was goin on another mes- senger from the telegraph office had entered. “Important news!” he cried. “A man answer- ing Colonel Green’s description left the train at For- est station, ten miles out Hors Toledo. He bought a rifle from the storekeeper there, and a horse from the hotel. He has put off north through the big woods that stretch up country from there. ‘“* Has the alarm been given?” “Yes; but it is feared he has esca He had a ood horse and a half-hour start. There is no tele- graphing up that way. Parties haves out in ‘ ‘ pursuit; but if he is as smart as he looks they won't tind him,” - ae Picayune Pete. “This is too bad!” cried the grain speculator, in , answer. ‘‘ Picayune Pete has earned his six thou- sand, but there is a reward out yet for that villain. The hue and.cry must be raised everywhere; the whole country must join in the search. Telegraph at once to every point. Send word out by every train, Rouse the whole country. I will be good for the expense."’ The excitement of the day. was not yet ended. Another tumult broke out at thedoor of the hall. A large throng of persons seemed coming up the street, with endless cheers and shouts. ny of those near the entrance ran out to see what was meant by this new uproar. Those remaining gazed eagerly at the door, won- dering what new event was about to transpire. The noise was rapidly approachi Now the form x a burly individual filled up the door of the assem- -room, e was a well-known blacksmith of the town, and yet wore his leather apron, and carried a large ham- mer in his left hand. But seated on his shoulder, as on a chair, and held firmly there by his bared and muscular right arm, was a ed, bare-footed, handsome-faced lad, his eyes twink ing in unbounded glee, ‘*Here’s Picayune Pete!’’ he shouted, “‘ and there's the gal—there’s Minnie! Said I'd fotch her, and I fotched her. Pete never goes back on his word, does he, Nicodemus?” Pete’s faithful ang, who had followed him in, re- sponded by a loud bark. The cheers without were taken up within, as Pete was quickly passed from hand to hand to the platform, where he stood surveying the audience with his usual independence, and with a sense of or beaming from his face. “Tell you what, folks,” he cried, “Nick and me done our level best to cotch the kurnel. We went through the woods and across pameely on like two streaks of lightning. But the kurnel flung us. He flung us , folks. Anyhow, we fotched the gal, and that’s worth nine cheersand a ree tiger. Open your mouths and let her out with a will, my no- ble feller citizens.” Again the hall trembled, as a thousand voices re- sponded in ringing cheers to this stirring appeal. CHAPTER XIII, PETE AS A GENTLEMAN OF WEALTH. Pete remained for several days the lion of Toledo. His adventures were in everybody’s mouth, and he was invited to relate them himself to persons who, a few oars before, would have scorned to look at him. But the amount of satisfaction they received de- pended very much on the manner in which they ap- prongs our young friend. He was innately rebel- ous toany assumption of superiority, and had a way of his own of putting down condescension, which people in general called impudence, but which he considered manly independence. Those, therefore, who thought to patronize him, found that they had picked up a very rough chest- nut bur, and, like the man who picked BE the hot iron, drop him without waiting to be told. But, Pete had ceased to be a person of no account. He was now a young gentleman of property, and was not going to be condescended to. Though, for that matter, Een 4 had very little influence on his man- pre itis natural sense of independence needed no stering. The aie thousand dollars which had been impul- sively contributed on the occasion of the last public meeting, was freely paid over, but the donors re- served to themselves the right of deciding what shoull be done with it. The result of their deliberation was that one thou- sand dollars should go to the policeman for his part in the affair, and the remaining five thousand should be paid over to Pete. e announcement of this fact to the boy was asif fairyland had suddenly opened to him. the sum had been a million, it would have seemed no more to Pete’s fancy than did the five thousand. The amount of his utmost fortune so far had been from two to three dollars at a time, and the breadth of gold-paved apace ae now opened before him. was ectly mitable. The gentlemen who had contributed Pete’s wealth took the further trouble to invest it for him. What this meant the boy had not the least idea, but the mystery with which it surrounded his new-gained fortune added wonderfully to the largeness of this fortune in his eyes. 7 “There ain’t no use talkin’, boys,” he said to a small circle of s friends of his own, “‘ it’s a heavy *sponsibility. 1 kin stand it, but it ain’t many fellers of my size and figure as kin. S’pose Billy Devine here was to tumble into a fortune; do you think he’d survive it? I bet high they’d be measurin’ him for a coffin afore a week. But that ain’t me, cronies. I was born with a back-bone, I were. Said I'd go fur that little gal, and I’d fotch her. It come kinder easy, boys, and I ain’t goin’ to be a bit stuck up about “Where is all this money, Pete?” asked one of the 8. Tis invested,” said Pete, with an air of dignified importance. , “What does that mean?” asked the boy, in sur- rise. Pye It means that an investment are made, and the money put init.” | “But whatis an investment?” ' “Don’t you know what an investment is?”’ “T wouldn’t have asked you if I’d known.” “See here, Joe Dobbs,’’ said Pete, rising. ‘* Will you be condescendin’ enough to explain what you means by thot Isst choos aon? Tf you think you're iy “A xi ‘ goin’ to put your sells on me ‘cause I’ve got to bea | real-estater, you're hoeing your taters in the wrong row, that’s me.” ¢ “I didn’t mean no harm, Pete." “Lucky you didn’t then,” said Pete, smoothing his ruffled feathers. ‘‘’Cause if you did I'd flatten ou down and iron you out in two shakes of acat’s 1. Wait till you git to bea real-estater, and you'll soon find out what an investment are. e gents of | property ain't takin’ poor rolks like you to school.” During these days a feeling of great relief had re- pane e former uneasiness of the citizens. The — ear that each father of a famil ‘ht himself be the next victim of the child-stealers, had produced _ | he mental disquiet in Toledo. @ rescue of — linnie, therefore, and the discovery of who the ab- ductor was, had relieved this anxiety. Even if Colonel Green was not captured he would not appear in Toledo again. The efforts to arrest him had, so far, proved fail- ures. The country to the north had neki widely scoured, and his movements had been traced in several instances, but in all cases too late. He managed to keep just beyond the reach of capture. Mrs. Jones, however, fell into the hands of the | law, having ventured into Toledo after herescapa —_ from the old house, , ip But her arrest proved of no benefit. She was sub- pected to a rigid examination, but displayed a seem- ng ignorance of the objects of the colonel, and a simplicity of manner that completely baffled her questioners, The effect of imprisonment was tried on her, but nothing was gained by it. She was either very sim- le or very shrewd, and was finally released under he belief that she was really free from any crimi- nal com ww 4 with Colonel Green. She stent! a declared that he had made her believe hat Minnie my * x4 . was his niece. What the villain’s real object had been remained a rx aegint His efforts to make the child assume a f name seemed intended to make her f her own. The most popular theory was that had been hired to make way with her by the . whom Pete had seen in company, but E formed the plan of keeping her in his own hands for future profitable employment, Who this third person was no one could conjecture, Under the theory it must be some one who hada ersonal interest in the removal of Minnie Ellis. he only person in Toledo to whom this idea could possibly apply was William Denton, her cousin. : But Pete settled this theory by denying that this person bore any resemblance to the man he had seen, res This left the theorist entirely at and it . toseem as if the villains west deatiind to Prove es ~ tter-of-fact mo- affection: — q ness to find what a wide circle of friends she and how deeply they loved her. She was at tha tender age which take ple’s words at the mean- ing given them in the dictionary. ere was one idea that was most firmly implanted in her mind, which was that she owed alargedebt of gratitude to bee hn Pete. r orts were made to convince her that he had been entirely mercenary in his intentions, and that it was the reward alone that had made him troublo himself about her. AEs “ “He ane ant his reward,” said her cousin, “andi do not see that you are under any further obliga- wert thnks he is el said Mrs, Den 4 © is very w Ms A ‘considering his sition tenet I mean.” mi ‘- id him,” said e. “T hav “T have not e not And I know he did think of even thanked me more than the money.” ‘* He would not know what you meant by thanks,” said her aunt. ‘Kicks and coppers, asthe oldsay- ing goes, are the only argument with that kind.” a. ‘I saw his face when he found me,” persisted : Minnie. ‘“Iknow that he iy ee and not of the money. And look at his orance, and the bad boys he goes with, and the bad waysho has. I would not be doing my dutyif Ididnottry to make him better.” vae ‘*Why, my cousin Minnie is not going out as 5 missionary among the heathen of the streets?” laughed William. bk! ‘T can’t help it if you do laugh,” she replied, \*{ must do some ning, es The grateful child had a harder task than sheim: agined. Pete was not anxious to be converted f the error of his ways, and was not likely to | Py, readily to her persuasions. 3 But she remembered the fact of his washing hig hands ere he would let her touch them, and fancied that she perceived in this act evidence of aninfluenca which she had already gained over him. poe She had not yet returned to school. In fact, it was how drawing near to the annual vacation, and her aunt thought it best, after the shock she had re- ; ceived, not to send her back to school during the present session. a A full detail of these facts and intentions was written to Minnie’s father in Caiifornia, and his ad- wie Sekee as to continuing her at Madame Lucon’s Meanwhile the child was busily looking through Toledo for Pete. She failed to find him: however, Re The fact was, he had gone on a short trip with the , < =7 tots
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1 captain of the Mary Jane, who had taken quite a fancy to him. Somewhat discouraged by her failure, she next asked ber cousin William to try and find him for her. The latter reluctantly consented, after Min- . nie’s earnest request. Fortune proved more favorable to him than to her, as he met Pete, who had just returned from his t trip without any effort at search. You are the young guntleman, I believe,” he said, “‘ who was so fortunate as to rescue my cousin, Minnie ; ' Pete looked up into the face of the speaker with a bic’ 4 uncompromising glance. “T'm Picayune Pete, if that’s the chap you want,” was his answer. ‘“‘ Young gentleman is a,mighty neat tune, but I don’t dance to it.” “You don’t consider it an insult to be called a young gentleman?”’ “T don’t reckon it’s the truth,” said Pete, with a rakish set of his hat. “I’m a feller that never sails ' under false colors, and you can’t h’ist any sich flag if as that at my masthead.” le Pete’s nautical experience was telling upon his conversation. ’ “My cousin Minnie is anxious to see you and hie thank you for your service to her,”’ said Mr. Denton, ea erred it est to end this interview as soon as te “Did she tell you to hunt me up?” asked Pete 1 with a show of interest. a “And to fotch me?” fat? “ Yes ” “She’s a nice gal,’ said Pete, reflectively. ‘I'll say that for her. hat’s your notion about it? Here’s me, a ragged, bare-footed, little street buily. And there’s her, a nice igh eg white-handed little lady. I don’t think it’s quite square for a feller i.” up like me to ben wi als brung up i like she, [le and water don’t mix, you know. Come Ah right out aaah now, and say what’s your notion "bout it.” ae ‘ You have got the reward, haven't you?” “T reckon. “That ought to satisfy you, then. She is, as you a ss well say, a young lady. You are a street vagrant. re ‘You hail beat keep away from her.” tite “"Tain’t five minutes since I was a young gen- te -tleman,” said Pete, with a side glance at his com- — panion. _. **¥ou took offense at that title, so I won't trouble - —- you with it again. You asked for my opinion, and he you have it.” Bef: a it your real ‘pinion? Square on the goose?” Nes i S Honest Injun?” ay ' “ANE ht then, hoss, Ain’t you afeard some of Hee your noble friends mought see you talkin’ here with | ss me? You're ‘ gentleman born, you know, and ’ma That’s your way, we'll split here. Iii. Pete suited the action to the word, and started |}. down a by-street at whose corner he had been stand- Hay “ing. ie - "fio had not taken ten steps, however, before he |. turned and looked after his late companion. ie: - “I’ve been jist "bout as blind as a mole,” he solilo- ay 8a ‘put there’s an idear creepin’ through my bead, Reckon I'll go and see Minnie, long as you don’t want me to. Got to brush u ay togs a bit, tia though,” looking down at his ashionable cos- and this is my way, and I reckon H{ fee ee,” CHAPTER XIV. MINNIQ’S ODD’ PUPIL, _ Perm wasin earnest in his promise to himself to ‘pay a visit to Minnie, but he arrived at a new con- for him, namely, that he was not presentable | « in the best society. a We must learn our deficiencies before we can cor- rect them, and Pete had just gained one useful les- 60n, which was destined to work an important change in his appearance and manners. ‘eta Reforms are of slow growth, however, and Pete’s ce suiprorornat could not be expected to progress very eee sh nay. , 4 se " Phe first evidence he had given of it was his sense of shame on finding that his hands had soiled Min- uie’s pure white fingers But he was now possessed of invested wealth, and his new consequence demanded something more ‘han washed hands, : His face and feet were alike made acquainted with 4n unusual quantity of pure water, a Veowus appli- eation of comb straightened his wild locks into some- thing approaching civilized neatness, and he induced his patrons to advance enough to set him up in a8 eeemertanie suit of clothes, including shoes and war j He ¥ uipped, Pete started off on his projected habs §, \ oe Pe) ( Thus e visit to Minuie. It was no direct route which he took thither, but he found himself bering Steen unaccustomed and slinking past places likely to be patron- his associates. ; _ If he was ashamed to present himself in good soci- ikea eke ed condition, he was equally ashamed t being seen by the boys in his ery rig. He fan- cied that he must look supremely ridiculous in store Picayune Pete. clothes, and for the first time in his life felt a sense of self-depreciation. Nor did he succeed in escaping the keen eyes of his usual comrades. ; “ Well—l’ll—be—blowed!”” came slowly from the lips of a sharp-looking youn vagrant, who, with hands on knees, stared up into Pete's face. ‘What the blazes ai's you?” cried Pete, re tea “Tf it ain’t Picayune Pete, I'll be fizzled!” and the young rascal clap his hands in enjoyment. * t if it is, big ’ growled Pete. “New shoes? ell, that’s gay! And_ store eo And a bran-new hat? And his hair slicked? ? The last exclamation was the result of a back- handed slap from Pete’s hand, which cut the boy’s eloquence very short. a k here, mon cross-eyed rat, do you know who Iam?” asked Pete. “Thought I used to know you.” “I'm Picayune Pete, and it’s my ae diet to bu’st the bD’ilers of ’coons like you. an heir, blow you, and I’m above ’sociating with poor folks. Don’t you speak to me ag’in afore you’re spoke to, or I'll spile your profile.’ Pete swaggered down the street, leaving the boy not pao oO ak, but making it up by contempt- uous motions behind his back. Minnie received her new visitor with at sur- prise. At first glance she did not know him, so met- aes was he, * ought I'd step round and see how you were get- ting on,’’ was Pete’s salutation. ‘“ Ain’t seen you, you know, since I left you on the Mary Jane and cut stick fur the woods.” “Why, if it ain't Pete!’’ she cried, her wonder giving place to delight. ‘‘ Well, I declare, if this is not too good in you! And such a change, too!” She walked round and round him, as if he had been a statue, and she an art critic. “Thought I'd git myself up a bit. Pete, backwardly. ‘' Didn’t look fit you,” “ Why, Pete, you are a real young gentleman, I had no idea what a good-lookin boy you were.” ‘Oh, now, drop all that,’ said Pete, somewhat an- grily. “Didn’t come here for you to make fun of me.”” “Why, Pete,”’ she cried, in distressed tones, ‘‘ I had no idea of such a cen 3 You are a good-looking boy, and I just mean it. Sit down, Pete; I ought not to keep you standing.” *‘Oh, nonsense now, gal. I ken stand ten hours at a stretch, and not give in. Ain't much given to cheers. ** But I tar See to sit down. It is not polite to sass ou standing.”’ “Tl squat then if that’s the how—I’ll set down, I mean.” you know,” said to come to see “Tam so glad you came, Pete. I have not seen | you, and had no chance to thank you, and I wanted so much to do so. I owe you so much, and I can | never repay you for your goodness.”’ “ Good-by, gal. hm goin to slope,” said Pete, making for the door. “Why, what is the matter with you?’ cried she, eating ae back. ‘I cannot let you go that way. at have I done?” * You're piling it on a bit too thick, that’s all. I ain’t comin’ here to fish for compliments, not me.” ‘*And you won’t let me thank you? After all you have done, too?” ‘* Haven't I got paid for it?” ** T have not paid you.” “T ain’t talkin’ about the money. That’s no ac- count. I went for you, and I brung you. That’s pay enough. AndIam going to thank you for it; and you have got to sit still and let me. You must sit there and hear just what I have to say. And I will thank an till I am tired.’ The willful little beauty placed er hands on Pete’s arms and affected to hold him in his chair. “6 Spin it out, then, quick as you know how. *Tain’t the kind of grub I’m used to. ‘**Pete, do you know you talk dreadful bad? I wish you would try and pronounce more correctly. Madame would be horrified to hear you." ‘*Madame be blowed!” growled Pete, angrily. ‘**Madame’s an old fraud. I keer more for your little er than a ship full of madames.” “T wis ou would come around here often and see me, and let me teach you. I would so like it. I'm not oing to school any more this season.” “Me keep comin’ here? A little vagabond like ss Se are not a vagabond. I won’t let you, nor , Say So. ne Why the old woman would take the broom to me, an I would have to git 1 gab Lookin’ fur her now, out the corner of my eft eye.” © She won’t trouble you. I would like to see her try it!” and her blue eyes flashed. ‘I just want you to come round here, Come every day, if you will. Iam going to teach you to be a good rae and to take the best of care of yourself, and to talk correctly, and—” She was interrupted by a low laugh from Pete. ‘‘Now what are you laughing at?) What have I said ridiculous?” ‘*Tt is all ridic’lous,” said Pete, still laughing. ‘If you ony knowed what a iy ta job you was a-cuttin’ out. You mought as well try to make a pair of snuf- fers out of a pine stump.” ; “Do you mean that I can’t do you any good?” **T think it’s sorter desp’rat’.” “Will you come and Jet me try?” **T ain’t got no objections.” ‘i “We shall see then what a grateful little girl can 0.” pte : ; Pete’s interview with Minnie did not last much longer. His store-clothes were sitting stifly upon m, and he was eager to get them off and feel like himself again. He had still other new ideas in his head, gained during the last few days. The principal of these was the importance of his going to work to make 1 respectable living, instead of indulging in the vag:a- bond life to which he had been 80 addicted. He was accustomed to a great variety of oceupa- tions, and had no difficulty in finding profitable em- a Saat or did he neglect Minnie’s invitation, Her offer to teach him had no great attraction in his eyes. Bui Minnie herself was an attraction, and her kind in periousness was submitted to by Pete with a mee: - ness that surprised himself, It would not have don: for any of the boys to try it. The boy did improve under her instructions. he most marked part of this progress, however, wa’ in his manners and appearance, which improve: eer rapidly than his speech under her gentle train- ut Pete was not able to continue this course of lil indefinitely. His new idea of making himself usefui to the world induced him to yield to the persuasions of re Baker, and to ship for a voyage on the Ma ane, His trip was to Mackinaw, and the Captain ex- d to be several weeks absent. But to Pete it was a good opportunity to earn money, make himself useful, and at the same time gratify his love of ac- venture and fondness for physical exercise. The Mary Jane was longer in discharging and mat:- ing up a cargo than her captain expected, and it wa« fount two months before she cast anchor dgain in oledo, “One of Pete’s first visits, after returning home and donning his good clothes, was to his friend and tutor, Minnie. Mrs. Denton met him at the door—a very unusual circumstance, “My niece, Minnie!’’ she said, in reply to his ques- tion. ‘Is it possible you don’t know about my niece Minnie?’ ‘““What’s wrong?” he asked, in quick i pene he x “Been away two months. Not stole ag’i:, e , a No. Her father has sent for her. She has go, « to California.”’ “To Californy?” said Pete, with a long whistle «! disappointment and surprise. ‘ Well, tha.’sa hip: ra i When did she go, if it’s a square ques- on Lh] “ Three days ago.” “She mought have waited a bit longer. How do people git to Californy?” “She went by rail to St. Louis. From there ] they will go with some emigrant train, K ly son William.” “Well, if this ain’t a queer dodge. Leave any word for me?” ‘** She never thought to trouble herself about you. Feo you done questioning? I; have no time to stand ere,”’ “Dig in, then. I don’t keer a raw tater where she goes, You kin go back to your secrubbin’ aud broomin’ soon as you’vea mind. Picayune Pete’s an Spanenaent sorter chap, and don’t keer nothin’ for nobody.”’ With this impudent fling, and without waiting. for Mrs. Denton’s sharp auswer, Pete made haste from the neighborhood, and sought his own more native haunts. te as he went, deep cogitations possessed his mind, “So she’s gone to Californy, and my son William's tuk her, hey?’ he said to himself. ‘It’s a rum dodge; if it ain’t I'll sell out. Wonder if she'll git to Calitorny with my son William? Got a notion that that young gent ain’t a cherubim. Tell you what, my cruise in the Mary Jane is sailed out, and I kin ship where I please. Guess Mr. Smith will fork over a few dingbats out of my inwestment. Cali- forny’s a mighty nice place, and if I don’t go there I'm a rooster. A young ae of my inches mought come in handy on the way, if my sen William tries any of his tricks, or if Kurnel Green turns up. I’ve a notion that little Minnie’s like a chicken among a nest of foxes. If 1 ain’t a-goin’ to cotch up to them and keep an eye on the little gal, Pll seliiont. That’s me. CHAPTER XV. WESTWARD, HO! Tr was no light task which Pete had laid out for himself. He had no clear idea, it is true, of the magnitude of this task, but iv he had known the route to bristle with dangers it would not have deterred him, To his adventurous spirit the prospect of a jour- ney across the plains to California was full of pro- mise, He had some indefinite vision of oceans of buffaloes, and throngs of wild Indians, of sterile. deserts and lofty mountains in the way. But to Pete‘ these were full of promise. He was too young and too bold by nature to consider peril before he saw it. Besides, Minnie was crossing these plains and climbing these mountains; Minnie was in da r not only from red-men, but from white savages. The boy, from ‘hating girls,’ had grown to wor- ship this one charming little girl. Where peril threatened her there duty commanded him to be. His last glance at William Denton had filled his mind with a new thought. Something in the atti- tude of the man, some warning impression perhaps, had reminded Pete of the man he aliing to Colonel Green, It was a passing impression; gone almost in ad seen t
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PoE. its Aa ae PETS) a Ls ee rk BROS ctuntly, but the boy could not get it from his nuind. A vague sense of danger to his young tutor haunt- od him and a new-born sense of ‘guty impelled him to fly to her rescue. “There's a screw loose somewhere; I'll sell my hat if there ain’t,” said Pete, to the gentleman who was acting as custodian of his funds. ‘‘Dunno what suade the gal’s father want her in Californy in sich a hurry, anyhow.” “Tt was very natural, my lad,’’ said his guardian; “after the danger she had escaped he naturally feared to leave her out of his own care.” “S’pose it was somehow that way,” said Pete. vi But f he ain’t got her in a wuss scrape, then I'll cave,” “Tt is a dangerous journey, crossing the plains, no doubt,’ said the gentleman, not arriving at his meaning, ‘Bat they will be over before the snows come, and the Indians are quiet now.” “ There's wuss than that,” said Pete, mysteriously. “ Ain’t no use blowia’ bout what it_is, but I’m goin’ to make a clean streak after that gal. Come to strike you for a little dough to help me out.” A little what?” asked the gentleman, in surprise. “A few dingbats.” “What are they?” “A trifle of the needful.” “What do you mean?” “Weill, ’'m blowed if I ’spected that you didn’t now English better nor me,” said Pete, without a varticle of reverence or respect for his guardian. “*Can’t travel on tick, you know. Want you to set me up in the necessary.” “Ts it money you want?”’ ‘“Reckon I’ve been sayin’ so enough.” ‘See here, my boy,” said the gentleman. ‘‘ Your snoney is out on interest, and there will be nothing due for six months. Ihave already advanced you twenty-five dollars from ey. own pocket.” ‘*Dunno nothing "bout interest,” said Pete. ‘I’m making tracks straight for California, and maybe you'll not see me for two year to come, Maybe never. { want a hundred and fifty, flat down, and I’m bound to have it, that’s wuss. Reckon it’s my five thousand, You kin keep the balance if [don’t come fur it.” ‘It’s out of my hands, Pete. Al! [ can get is the interest, and that not till itis due. However, if you van show me the need of it, [ may advance the sum you require,” “Maybe I’ve been a bit too fast,” said Pete, through whose mind a sense of the gentleman’s meaning began to creep. ‘Hope [ ain't been im- perdemt.”’ ** A little hasty, Pete,” said his guardian, smiling. ‘*Let me hear your reasons for needing this money.” Pete, with some mental reservation, gave his ob- jects with sufficient fullness to convince the gentie- man that it was no mere boyish whim to spend money that possessed him. He finally agreed to advauce him the money, with the proviso that he should assist him in making the necessary purchases. To this Pete readily assented. He had, in fact, no flefinite idea of the requisites for a journey across the pleins, except that he wanted a rifle and a re- volver. His mind was filled with some indefinite no- tion of fighting his way to California. He left every- thing else to his guardian, but he fancied he was a better judge of *‘shooting-irons”’ himself, and was bound to select his own weapons. A large delegation of his youthful friends gathered at the depot of the Chicago and Toledo railroad to see Pete off, and our hero, with his pioneer suit, his weapons of offense, his knapsack, and his general Kit Carsonish air, was the subject of boundless ad- iniration, Even Nicodemus, who kept close to his heels found more admirers than he fancied, and showec nis yevials more than once, to the enthusiastic crowd, A chorus of cheers rent the air as the train moved off, with our hero on board, “Keep a stiff upper lip, Pete,” shouted one of his old companions, “You bet Twill, If I don’t show a good hand sell me out, that’s ail,” was Pete’s answer, Pete hat never journeyed more than four miles in the cas vefore, and this continuous rattling over nendreds of tiles of prairie and forest, past numn- berless towns, and through great cities, was a new and astonishing experience to him, Yaicago an Se noh he had always thought to be some yuas of a city—sinking into insignificance by com- parison, But his chief wonder arose from the mnumbered ‘iles of country that fled past the rapid wheeis of iain. His lake voyage had widened the hoy’s 1s of the extent of the land of which he was a ‘spective citizen. But that was water only, Here Tend, land, land. Forest, river, plain, mountain, use, and city, rapidly succeeded each other. ‘The . 5 exept by, Morning advanced to noou. Noon on to ht. Through the long hours of ness the rolling wheels kept up their incessant » w north-western Ohio, across northern Indiana, “n nearly the whole length of Illinois, over the , oat State of Missouri, for miles without end, as it qe? mabe to the boy’s wild imagination, the train rviied on, P At length they entered a small but bustling city, vear the western boundary of Missouri, and the voy- nge by rail ended, They were in Independence, at that time the west- «rn limit of railroad travel, though projects were already busy in men’sminds’ which would carry the iron rail far to the west. But as yet only the wagon train had dared to en- 2 2 ‘2 wv | | Picayune Pete, counter the perils and interminable spread of the mighty Western plains, and the unknown dangers of the mountain chains beyond. Independence was the center of a bustling trade in emigrants’ goods, its streets were cut by the broad wheels of toiling bets Sree and rudely-dressed, dar- ing adventurers could be seen in throngs on its avenues, day and night. Emigration westward was increasing in extent yearly, almost daily. Wagon trains, supposed to be strong enough to defy Indian attacks, left the city weekly, Daily, trappers and hunters, disdaining the protection of numbers, struck off on foot or horse across the Fipine, or returned to the city, laden with the fruits of their enterprise, Pete, despite the strangeness of his new experi- ences, did not lose his native self-pcssession, ‘The uproar of the city streets, the strange scenes and rough language he encountered, were not able to confuse the boy’s clear brain, and ere he had been an hour in this new city, he was as much at home as if he had been born and bre’ there. He lost no time in making inquiries concerning the objects of his search. But people in this bustling locality seemed to have too much business of their own to know anything concerning others. Several hours passed before he gained any trace of Minnie and her cousin, At iin the keeper of a general utility store answered his question in the affirmative. “A pretty little girl, was it?’’ he asked. blue-eyed creature, with long, * Jist her photograph, for a bushel of beans!” cried Pete, ‘* You've see’d her, then?’’ “There’s many young ones pass here, easy be mistaken. store the other day.” ** Anybody with her?” * Yos, a tall, good-looking fellow, dressed in gray panis and a brown coat,’’ s ig didn’t happen to hear no na nes, mister?” “ } oO.” , **And would it be botherin’ too much to ask when this was?” “Three days “it's them or Gone out yet?”’ “Yes, ‘They left that day, in Joe English’s train. They are far ahead now, for Joe don’t lose any time.” “Tm after them, then, like lightnin’ after a tele- graph wire. Much obliged.” And Pete was walk- ing off. “ There's a train making up now,” called the man after him, ‘if you are going to cross the plains, Only you're a young one to be making that trip “A neat, yellow hair?” I might There was such a child in my ‘0,”" don’t know a catty from a perch! | without compan | to Say you're going * How soon will the train be a-goin’?”’ “ Day after to-morrow.” “Won't. gee for me, then. I'm after the train ahead. Only three days the start of me. Bet I pull that up afore a week. Good-by.” “ Why, you risky young rascal, you don’t mean to venture out alone?” “Tf L ain’t there’s no ’coons in Ohio.” “Come, come, boy, there’s a weak = in your brains. You'll be lost, or starved, or gobbled up by the Indians, long before = catch the train.” ‘“*Reckon not,’’ said Pete, boldly. ‘* Can’t miss the wagon trail, and got a week’s provender in this here knapsack. What’s more, I’m some on the trigger. The Injuns best make their wills afore they run foul of me. I’m Picayune Pete, I am. TI ain’t no slouch.” Flinging his rifle over his shoulder, and whistling up Nicodemus, Pete set off with a long stride that would soon carry him beyond the limits of the | town, St. Louis astounded him. He felt | ae Te ee aN, » fe r DEVE s ey ite Bhs ye 4d proaching. Pete obtained lodgings for himself and The man he had addressed looked after him with a surprised glance. *Wouldn’t wonder if the young brat pulled through all right,” he muttered. “He's got the right spirit, and there’s the flash of a born scout in his eye.”’ CHAPTER XVI. THE BOY PIONEER. Perr, from his childhood, had been accustomed to the most vigorous exercise. Young as he yet w his muscles were firm and untiring. The prospect o a long journey afoot was rather alluring to him than otherwise. No fear of physical weariness entered his young mind. An hour’s walk from the town brought him to the banks of a broad majestic river. It was the Mis- souri, which here constituted the border between the civilized lif of the old settled States, and the mighty wilderness beyond. r A ferry-boat soon placed him on the western side of this liquid border, and on the soil of the Territory of Kansas. : It had been late in the afternoon when he started fromm Independence, and night was now rapidly ap- dog ina public house on the western shore of the ver, The next day dawned fresh and clear, a charming September morning. The sun had only fairly risen when Pete had dispatched his breakfast, given Nico- demus the picking of some tempting bones, and was ady again for his journey. The boy looked born for the plains as he trod, with a firm step, down the hard earth road, made by the taro, Wheels of sousthoes, emigrant wagons, eaming eye and handsome face were full of ad £ ing eye ar e he fur ca fitting bo advantage, pants were ul anticipation of stirring adventures. set jauntily upon his head, the well- erer’s suit that set off his fine re to the wide-topped boots into which his thrnet, the heavy knapsack on J / ie 7 Ma S,. ‘ ‘ ee a | Oe Nicodemus trotted on at his heels with a look as 4 he did not quite understand what his master wax after, and was not satisfie. with this enforced ign rance. “Don't look so downhearted, Nick," said Pete, en- couragingly. ‘It’s all in a lifetime, old dorg: you're out of sperits now, I reckon you'll give wp the oa afore you git to Californy. Didn’t you vely pickin's for breakfast, hey, Nicodemus?” The dog barked in reply. “You know you had, you cute old raseal, If you don’t git your grub for dinner jist talk to me about. it, that’s all. But don't yoube a-lookin’ as if your grandfather was jist hung.” Thus beguiling the way with conversation, te which the dog replied with his unvarying mouosy!- lable, with songs, and with whistling, in whieh aco complishment Pete prided himself, the boy trudge on for miles upon miles through the fair fielda of Kausas. The tide of emigration, which in a few years wax to convert this rich territory into a thriving State had just fairly set in. V es of a few houses each appeared by the roadside. Several incipient towns were passed Cultivated flelds here and there broke the general rich green level of the prairie. Settlers were busy os ng houses, or breaking the virgin plain to the plow. fie passed numerous wagons on the road; somé emigrant teams, bound, like himself, further west: others the lighter and swifter vehicles of neighbor- hood traffic, Pete, with his ease at introduc himself, and readiness at making friends, soon fraternized these fellow travelers, and succeeded in several rides for himself and dog during the day. He lost no opportunity of questio concerning the objects of his journey, being anxious to learn how far ahead of him they really were. “Joe English’s train?” said a thriving farmer of the neighborhood, who was giving Pete a lift of « few miles, “TI know Joe like a book. He's a tip-top pice. Passed here—let me see—this is Thursday. assed on Monday. Bound for Sante Fe." “For Californy, I reckon,” said Pete. L “For Santa Fe, sure as shooting, Told me sw himself.” “The ones I’m after are goin’ to Californy, auy- now.” “They will have to split off then. It’s a long team and may break up,” ‘“‘ How far ahead do you think they are!" “Fifty or sixty miles, I calculate, It’s a myle train, light freight. Won't make less than twenty miles a day.” Night settled on Pete some thirty-five miles frum his starti point of that morning, more ; half of which distance he had made in vari vehicles, ‘ It was easy to get lodgings for the night. Plaow of entertainment stood here and there along the road, made necessary by the constant stream of emigration. They were destined in a few years ( become the stations of the overland stage route sa the Pacific. The next day Pete found himself in a more unset tled country. Ranches were few and far between. No villages or towns appeared. Few travelers were met. On all sides around him the unbroken prairy: spread to the limits of the horizon, covered now with a magnificent wealth of flowers, the wide expanse of nature’s rarest beauty only marred by the narrow line of the emigrant trail. He got few lifts that day, but trudged on with un- conquerable spirit. : This part of Kansas was well watered, ‘and he crossed the valleys of several large and a number of small streams. At this season of the — they ran. very low, some of the beds being nearly empty, aud there was no difficulty in crossing. Almost all the woodland of the petra br along these streams, fringes of elm and cottonw mark . aten course for miles across the prairie, tween the streams the wide plain, covered wiih its exquisite carpet, ran in long inundations, risivyr and falling like successive waves of a frozen sea. A third day broke on Pete and Nicodemus ati » trudging westward. The dog had accommodated himself to the situation, though he still wore au in- jured expression, : Pete's determination was still unconquerable; but two days of incessant travel, with a heavy wei vht on his shoulders, had taken some of the vim out of bim, and he walked on in silence. Thus until near noon they passed through almost unbroken solitude, the ranches now becoming very few, while the single emigrant wagons had almost vanished. ; They were nearing that point where travelers lad to band together for protection from possible Indaw raids. However peaceful appearing, the red-men of the plains were not to be trusted without a good show of force. “Tell you what, Nicodemus,” said Pete, at-length; ‘dunno what you think about it, but it’s my notion that this thing’s about played, We kin make ter mile a day more than that mule-train, Nick, ani that'll soon count. But I don’t see no sort of use wearin’ my legs out when there’s plenty of hoses about. There weren’t less than a hup at that last ranch. Only got ten dollars left, dorg, and that won't buy a hoss, and I’ve been brung up too pious to steal one, But you kin say what you please, Nicodemus, I’m bound to have a hoss,.” The dog barked and ran eagerly ahead, his nose in his | the air.
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L. Se ie ile he 14 “Hallo! what’s up, pagerly forward, 4 As he did he saw two graceful animals which had 4 heen grazing on the prairie before him, take alarm and bound off at a wonderful pace. Pete looked after them with astonished eyes. wh ain’t buffaloes, that’s certain,” he said. ‘i “Nor they ain’t prairie dogs. Wonder if they’re thom antelopes that fellow back there talked about." The agile animals flew on like the wind, and soon disappeared behind the wooded border of a stream, There were numerous birds flitting and singing ahout, and the boy’s senses, in love with nature as F be had always been, took in with delight these scenes of beauty. ’ But a new impulse was roused in him as the un- xs" dog started up some larger birds, which flew \., wi Nick?” cried Pete, looking aheavy flight away from him. : With the instinct of the sportsman he brought the q rifle to his shoulder, glanced along the sights and pulled the trigger. Tt was a quick and doubtful shot, as the birds were more than fifty yards distant, and flying rapidly. But Pete, young as he was, had had long practice with the rifle. His quick, true eye had taken deadly aim, The bird fell with a dull thud to the und, The well-trained dog flew to pick up the game, bg a his sportsman’s habits, hastened to re s rifle. \ Nicodemus brought in a bird utterly unknown to Pete. It was a large, mottled bird, of the size of a v thicken, with what seemed a pair of § ' on its neck, and a slight crest on its head. > “ Not a bad shot that,” cried a voice near him, as of, de stood weighing the bird in his hand, 2 - Pete turned hastily, to see beside him a man on te horseback, who had approached unobserved during bis eps @ Was a , muscular man, with heavily-bearded face, A long rifis lay across the saddle before him. ’ His right hand held the bridle of a led horse, ‘ “Wasn't a bad shot for a boy,” he repeated, “to 1} bring down a prairie hen, at that distance, on the ms wing.” st Kini is a prairie hen, is it?’’ asked Pete, holding 4 d up the bird.’ “Sartainly, Don’t know much about these dig- ¢in’s, boy, or you wouldn’t ask that, Where away? You’re a young one to be out of sight of the settle- ments alone.” “I'm goin’ to put myself further out of sight then,” said Pete. ‘I’m bound for Californy.” ; “Wheh!” whistled the new-comer, with a gesture Ack of surprise. “Tm after a train that’s forty or fifty mile ahead,” said Pete, , ““S pect to catch it afoot? The Injuns will gobble you up, sure as shooting, boy. Best turn tail and make a bee-line for the settlements. The red-sking are raising thunder ahead,” “T kin hit an Injun on the wing as well as a prairie + chicken,” said Pete, boldly. “I’m goin’ ahead if * there’s ten war-parties on the trail. don’t you turn back yourself?” “Me?” and the man laughed as if highly amused, ‘Me turn back for Injuns? Why, boy, they're my he tay cigar I generally abolish a dozen’ of the to get up my appetite for dinner, I'm Gru the scout. Mought have heard of me.”’ i AC ae Co't say as I have,” answered Pete. He ayune Pete. Maybe you mought have heered tell of me. “You're a yo hoss, Pete, I’ll bet that,” said the ed ut, lau fila. ‘Good on the trigger, and got the ‘ ight spirit in you. Goin’ West myself, and wouldn't vin’ you for company. What do you want . with the train ahead?” \ Pete, who had been greatly taken with the honest A face and free manner of the scout, made no Weary tion in relating his object. ; *““Cording to your story there's deviltry afoot,” said the scout. “ Now I’m death on deviltry. Gota hoss here, Pete, which I was goin’ to leave at next ranch. Hop on, my lively youngster. of took a liking to you. Guess you and I will ride pards for a day or two, anyhow. That your dog?” » ' " “YT bet. He’s some guns of a dorg, too. Ain't many such dorgs. 5 out for yourself, Nicode- noug.”’ Pe The dog barked loudly in response. He looked up ' gt their new friend as if he felt that he might be trusted, “He'll do,” said the scout. ‘‘Let him trot after. "Fete needed no second invitation, With the bound ms of a young athlete he was in an instant on the horse’s Grasping the re and laying his rifle and game vefore 3 he imagen, forthe road, & CHAPTER XVII. RED-SKINS AND RIFLES, Tux two new friends jogged on together with a friendliness that soon became intimacy. The scout was amused by the shrewdness and odd ways of the , and found himself liking him more and more every mile of their journey. : Pete had been dreaming all his days of wild life in P the West, and to find himself now the companion of | a real scout, and bound to that western land where by? adventures and dangers are thick as blackberries, was an experience that made him unusually garru- jous and jovial. - | Even Nicodemus seemed to think it more respect- Cm able to follow a horse than a footman, and trotted hen seemed to have given him self-satisfaction, The scout’s horses were arvellent time over the hard-trodden eart “I'm Pic- | op contentedly. His late adventure with the prairie | Picayune Pete. which had been made by countless emigrant wagons. { As they went Pete’s tongue ran on as rapidly. He | was not one in acquainting Bill Grubb, his new friend, with the circumstances that had resent enterprise, including all the particulars of he abduction. “What did you say the fellow’s name is that’s with her?” asked the scout. “‘William Denton. He's a first cousin of hern.”’ “And the chap that ran away with her. What was his autograph?” led to his | “There’s water ahead there, sure enough," cried Pete. “It’s a lake, or a sea; and ships on Se too.”’ ‘It’s a dangerous lake for the man who is thirsty, and deceitful ships for the man who would sail,” re. plied the scout. “ That’s the mirage, boy. I’ve seen it make the queerest things out of a sand-hill or buf falo, and miles of water out of a green level. It's | very like to cheat young eyes, but I’ve been thers ** He call hisself Kurnel Green. Dunno if that | were his name.’ Colonel Green, eh? And a born devil out-and- out. I know him, Pete, like a breeze. And I don’t owe him no good wishes, neither. He was in Inde- pendence last week.”’ “ Hal” cried Pete. ‘See him there?” **Bet I did. Mought have had a little Scrinigage } al’s with him too, only he slid somewhere. The rasc: got a dozen faces and twenty names. Wouldn't | wonder if he were with the train now, under false | colors." “What for?” asked Pete with a startled look. “See here, my boy, I’m a man of the world, and know what stuff men are made of. I will give youa lesson in human natur’, Su — this young one was put out of the way, who’ the next relation to her father?” ** William Denton, “The old man's made mints of money, you say, and it’s like he’s worn hisself out doing it. 8 Son now his darter would drop off, and then he’d drop off. Wouldn’t this fellow step in for the cash?” *Reckon so,” said Pete. ** Bound to, Pete,’ continued the scout. bet high that’s what the chap’s working for. He's got the right help, too, in Colonel Green. The hound’s a deeper devil than any Sioux or Cheyenne on the so far as I’ve heard,” answered “You can | Now see here: they made a desperate effort, | and fell through.”’ “Picayune Pete and Nicodemus was around,” mut- tered the 4 = “Pll go a buffalo that Colonel Green is with the train now. The two rascals have got their heads to- gether. There ain’tno Toledohere. It’s easy to lose a little gal: and there’s only the red Injuns to pick her up, if she ’scapes the wolves.” **Dunno ’bout that,” said the boy. “‘ Picayune Pete and Nicodemus is around.” The man laughed at the combined conceit and ea ess in Pete’s tone. asked. ards with a rifle. A man that can’t do better than | hat ain't no better than me, I’ve too, that’s some guns of a dorg. very showy, but he’s death on ascent. Whether it’s a two-legged or a soe critter, he’s the dorg. I'm a- in’ ‘bout you, Nick.” The boot ave his usual answer, barking and caper- ing about the horse's heels. You’re two to two then,”’ said the scout, “‘and a afeard you havea row to hoe.” ‘I’ve got more than that,”’ said Pete. Fas. | good nose and a sure eye a for something. But yen | ‘m Typ gota peed that's each Race ice me. T “T've gota ’s wu ree like me. I’ve got Bill Grubb.” The scout laughed, then struck his hand in Pete’s. aig your hoss,”’ he said. ‘‘I don’t love the colonel.’ For mile after mile the two comrades Ppt on, the strong, experienced scout, and the slight, earnest ‘or day after day they pursued their route through beautiful but monotonous scenery. Their nights were passed at the adobe dwellings of settlers—half fort, half habitation; or were spent in the mild air of the open prairie. Their meals were made off the diminishing con- tents of Pete’s knapsack, or from fresh game shot in the day’s journey. Nicodemus was alert at stirring up provender for the quick rifle of his master. The scout forbore to use his weapon, leaving the boy ev ry chance to improve in The valleys of the Big and Little Blue and of the Sandy were . The borders of Kansas were crossed and Nebraska entered. At length they en- tered the wide valley of the Platte, and the broad, shallow river, up which for many miles their route was to lay, was spread before them. The rich soil of the prairies had now changed to a sandy earth, covered with thin, sparse grass. They were at last on the true plains, the “Great American Desert” of old geographers. Leaving Fort Kearney in their rear, they struck out along the Platte. Deys of ing rime we i over the thinly of the sand-hills of this important river. Pete was daily wing more versed in frontier life and border duty, by the interesting tales with which the scout beguiled the way, an ot a dorg, here, | icodemus ain’t | | | monotonous journey- | -clad soil and in sight | the useful | instruction which this experienced companion gave | They had now reached the buffalo country, and the northward trails of these giant animals were visi- ble everywhere around them, but Pete strained his eager eyes in vain against the horizon for a sight of one of these huge creatures. He was anxious to | draw a bead on larger game than he had yet essayed. é These glances at length brousht him other objects than those he looked fer. White, moving ohiects ‘ were visible against the horizon. ood stock, and they made | read The mirage of the plain: lifted them up and gave them the strangest shapes. ey \ Fea : 5 : v *J Wa Hs ly 4. i i Rtn + ~ 7 . ie said the scout. ‘‘ Are they getting cantanker- ous?” “ Mighty oneasy, now, I tell you.” bad Who's with the California iaaund” “Tomyeh? That's cl He'll bring th “Tom,eh? That's clever. He'll bring them throug’ orhurt himself trying. Guess we'll take supper spend the night with you, Joe. Got to overhaul them a though.” at’s up? Anything loose?” “Don't know. Feared there mought be. Jump off, Pete. Our hosses are near fagged out. Give them a bite of buffalo grass, and a night's sleep, and be are good for forty miles to-morrow.” ithin an hour the wagons were drawn wu circle, to serve as protection against a possible Indian attack, the steck turned out upon the succulens grass of the plains, and the men at their frugal supper. We will not detail the camp-fire so and stories ag ae and that kept off slumber till late ia e night. The next morning dawned bright and mild. The brisk, clear, soft atmosphere of the plains invigorated the travelers as much as their plentiful breakfast. With many a loud farewell to the train hands, they rode on, Nicodemus barking good-by to the caning acquaintances he had made during the night. he freskened horses stepped out rapidly, and the slow train was ere long dropped iow the horizon. . F “There's buffalo,” said Bill, pointing to the south- ward. It was now near noon. A dozen dark forms were dimly visible against the horizon. 3 **By blue blazes!” cried Pete, rising in his saddle ‘* Let’s go for them!” *“We’re on another lay now,” said Bill, quietly. If Iain’t mistaken there will be wuss game than buffalo to shoot at before to-morrow.” “What do you mean?” asked Pete. ‘‘ Nicodemus has got a new scent in his snout. Jist look at the What's afloat?’ in s be 2 , “Injuns,” was the sententious reply. of the savage dwellers of the pla Pete was silent in the intensity of his emotions. With eyes fixed on the ground he strove to read the signs by which his companion had traced the passage ins. Nothing was visible to bis eyes but the trail, with
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dr re ) S Mey cic Daas Sa ee ee a ie omit mn aia RE a ee hpngnpsetipiemcbaras seant blades of grass. between the wheel and hoof- | ‘““Pete!”’ she said, in a half-whisper. ‘ Picayune itarks, At one side the trail lay the skeleton of an | Pete! I thought you were in Toledo.” ox. Buteverywhere along their journey such bleach- ing bones had been seen. The scout looked keenly to see how Pete would take this startling announcement, He was pleased with the earnest and fearless look of the boy, and the silent compression of his lips. “Don’t see it,” was Pete’s remark, at length. ‘“They crossed the trail,” said Bill. ‘I saw _the hoof-marks of their ponies, plain, back there. Ride a bit out to the left.’ . Pete obeyed. About a hundred yards out from the trail his eye caught that which sent the blood puls- | ing through his veins. t was the tracks of a troo 4 faintly impressed upon the sandy soil. “Here they go, due west,” cried Pete. “Plum after our California friends,’ replied Bill, ‘“No use to follow their trail, We must let out on the emigrant track.” Rejoining him, Pete gave reins and heels to his horse, and the two strong animals moved on at a rattling pace. With hardly a word ig rode mile after mile and hour after hour. Noon had long passed, evenin was approaching, yet the horizon ahead was still the same unbroken line. “ Fifteen or twenty miles’ start ain’t easy picked up,’’ said Bill through his teeth. “The Injuns_ will strike for them to-night, and we must ride on till we fetch them.” : The sun moved on to its setting, going down be- hind a long straight line several miles ahead. “Water there,” said Bill. ‘‘ Trees don’t grow here except along a stream.”’ “Them are trees, sure enough,” said Pete. ‘** And the train won't go far from them,” said Bill. “Got to camp near water in these dry diggin’s. Bet the Injuns are somewhere in that bit of woods.”’ The night had fallen, the twilight passed, when they reached the tree-lined stream. The moon was just tinging the east, but darkness yet lay on the of unshod horses, ain, The forest shed a dense gloom, into which they rode slowly. . ‘“Steddy now and keerful, Pete,’ whispered Bill. ‘We've got white men and Injuns both to look out for.” He had hardly spoken when a shrill yell broke on the air, seemingly a quarter-mile distant. It was followed by loud reports of fire-arms. “Steddy, Pete,” repeated Bill. ‘“There’s.a des- ‘rate row ahead. The Injuns have broke in early. eared of the moon, I judge.” Pete trembled with eagerness as he held in his horse at the whispered suggestions of his com- panion. They moved forward mow, shallow stream, and reaching the edge of the wood- The firing and ee ahead redoubled. Cries of white men mingled with the Indian yells. Rifles cracked incessantly. The train had evidently escap- soon crossing the ed being surprised. “We'd best make a break on them, Pete,’’ said Bill. ‘They will think it’s reinforcements, Injuns can’t stand a surprise.” “ Look at Nic ig said Pete. The faintly-visible dog was moving down the edge of the woods, his nose to the ground. “That's only somebody been in after water,” said Bill. “Let's follow. It will lead to the camp.” eee ae slowly traversed, and the flashes of rifles became visible, lighting up the dark forms of the combatants. Suddenly a shadowy object emerged from the darkness, rapidly approaching the wood. Behind it moved a second, which a rifle-flash revealed as an Indian, with upraised hatchet. The same flash enabled Pete to take with his pistol. A sharp report follow arm of the sav fell dangling to his side. The form in advance drop something which it held, and sprung for the shadows of the trees. Bill urged his horse at full speed upon the wound- ed savage, and Pete was about to follow when he saw the dog run up to the fallen object, and caper round it, with a glad bark. : A faint cry, in a familiar childish voice, met his ear at the same instant. b Pete fell, rather than sprung, from his horse, and just as the heavy horse of Bill Grubb rode down the Savage, he lifted in his arms the fallen object, around which Nicodemus was still capering. It was, indeed, a human form, and as he raised it from the ground, a flash lit up the well-remembered face of Minnie Ellis, her eyes looking into his with a glad ery of recognition, her arms meeting with a choking Clasp around his neck. , and the CHAPTER XVIII. TWO AGAINST A DOZEN. Pete’s surprise and gladness were mingled with consternation and the dangerous position In which his ee was placed. e ha ect confidence in his own power of dealing with the Indians, but the presence of Minnie eomplicated the question dreadfully. And how came she there? By whom and for what urpose had she been carried through the Indian fine, at such imminent peril?. It was a riddle he was obliged to giveup, He could perceive no answer to it. Yet he had grown very fond of this little girl, and vowed to himself to protect her with his life as he c her firmly in his arms. Wonder took the place of gladness in her blue baa ~ All this had passed in less than a minute, thought and feeling moving with lightning speed through their minds in that perilous moment. “To your horse, Pete!’ cried the firm tones of Bill Grubb. “I’m afeard the devils will take the alarm. Who have you got there?” ‘*Minnie Ellis.” “The blazes you have! Well, that’s a queer go. Here they come, lad! Up with you like a feather. Fling me the gal.” But Pete, disobeying this request, lifted Minnie to his own saddle, and sprung up after her. “The two of us won't weigh as much as you,” he said, as he grasped the reins. ‘‘Hang on to me tight Minnie. e’re going to ride hard.” ‘This way, Pete! There comesa dozen of the red villains! Let out, boy! let out! heels, Pete! Can’t loaf now.” Dark as it had been a few minutes before, the moon had now risen sufficiently to faintly illuminate objects. A dark, shadowy mass had left the scene of the conflict, and was rapidly approaching, The thud of horses’ hoofs on the yielding soil was plainly audible. But Pete and Bill were now in full flight, Minnie clinging with a firm clasp to the boy’s waist. Their horses had been ridden long and hard that day, but they had wind and muscle yet for a short burst, and they sped at a rattling pace over the level soil of the plain. The pursuing savages broke into a yell on seeing the flight of their foes. They goaded their ponies on with arrow points in pursuit. **Ah, burst your copper-lined throats, blast you!” cried the scout. “ There’s a dozen to two, or there wouldn't be no fight in you. Let out, Pete! It’s getting kind of risky.” As Pete again dug his heels desperately into his horse’s ribs, an arrow whizzed past his ear, much too close for comfort. ‘Hit, Pete?” cried Bill, anxiously. “No. Jist heard a whistle in my ear.” “Got a sharp scratch on my neck,” said the scout. “The hounds are close shooters. Head for the tim- ber, lad; it’s our best chanq >.” They were riding parallel to the line of timber, about fifty yards distant. The pursuers were some- what nearer the woodland, and seemed trying to head the fugitives from this refuge. The latter had to ride, therefore, in an oblique direction, to reach the long line of trees that rose darkly to their left, The savages at once divined their intention, and headed more in, hoping to intercept them. Pursuers and pursued now shot out at race-course ben the dull beat of hoofs on the aoe surface of the plain being the only sound audible. The savage yells, which a minute before had rent the air, were stiiled. They had no time nor energy to waste in noise. Nor was the flight of arrows re- ted. Every nerve of the fierce riders was bent to he pursuit, In that perilous moment the horses of Bill Grubb showed their mettle. Worn out as they were they ran as if fresh from a night's rest. Slowly but surely they forged ahead of their pur- suers. Foot by foot the wood was neared. For ten minutes the aticring chase continued. At the end of Dig in your that time the horses of the fugitives were within ten | eet feet of the timber, and fifty yards in advance of uick aim : their pursuers. : The wagon train was left from two to three miles behind them. With a shout of derision Bill rose in his saddle, and waved his hand to the savages. “Come on, you copper-colored devils!’ he shout- ed. “Come on, my handsome neighbors! Come on, sweethearts! Speak, why don’t you, you devil’s imps!”’ ete added his shrill tones of derision to the voice of the scout. He could feel Minnie trembling as she clasped him with nervous force. “Keep up your spirits, gal,"’ he whispered. “ Bill and me ain’t afeard of ’em.” These insulting cries were answered by the sav- ages with a fierce peal of yells. A rifle-bal!l whistled past Bill’s ear. They were not armed alone with arrows. «Strike in, Pete! Strike in!” cried the scout. They’re sending lead after us. Never saw Injuns shoot so close on horseback. Head in!” A leap or two more of the exhausted horses, and the dark line of the timber was entered. The low brush cracked under their iron hoofs. ‘Tall trees shot past them. They rode for twenty paces under the dark um- brageous arches. alt!’ was Bill’s next command. ‘To the ground, Pete. The hosses are played. Leave the galhere. Fetch est shooting-iron. We've got to tree and have a little confab with these gentlemen.” S order was obeyed as soon as given. The scout led the way to the edge of the timber, and hid his muscular frame behind a huge cottonwood tree. P ory bars no aime in following his example. aoe the inbee ly a minute since they had en Their pursuers came to a halt just outside their position. The moon had now got clear of the hori- zon, and threw a faint light through the trees upon ‘ 5 et a ee ee ee ae eee eee ae ee ee Se ee eee a ee ee ee ee eee | 15 eat 5 al LEY Srl SAINT A Re the cluster of savages. Its fulllight struck the plain some distance beyond. * Draw a bead on them, Pete,”’ whispered Bill, ex- citedly. “Take that tall fellow with the feather. I’ve got my man.” Every nerve in the boy’s body thrilled and ah ered as he raised his rifle, and felt, for the first e. that the life of a man lay in his hands. A sudden trembling took him, and he lowered the death-dealing weapon. For the moment he dared not shoot. The sharp crack of the scout's rifle roused him. What would Bill Grubb think of such childishness was now the only thought in his mind. There was the scream of a wounded or slain sav- age. For an instant the remainder huddled to- gether like a flock of startled birds, The sudden stillness was broken by the clear re- port of Pete’s rifle. The boy’s nerves now were steel, his muscles iron. The tall savage with the eagle’s feather reeled and fell headlong from his saddle. A cry broke from a comrade behind him. The ball, at that short range had passed through the body of the first, and broken the arm of a second, Pete’s first shot had done fearful execution upon their savage foes. ‘4 or you, lad. I knowed you was the mak- ing of a hoss!”’ cried Bill, ye laa pe * Use your pistol, boy. Make them think there’s a dozen of us.”* The savages had broken at this second shot, and yor riding in every direction from that dangerous ocality. Pete still held five bullets in his revolver, and he fired three of these in quick succession at the flying savages, One horse tottered and fell to the ground, flinging his rider before him, The pistol-bullet had no fur- ther effect, unless to increase the speed of the Indians. Several of the savage foe had made for the cover of the woods, and were now treed like their antago- nists, seeking for a chance to retrieve their losses, It wasa dangerous situation for the two bold whites. The darkness under the cover of the woods was their last protection. The Indians would be very heedful of their advances. “Load, Pete,”’ whispered the scout at his side, as he rammed home his own bullet. ‘Load every barrel. An extra shot might be worth a gold-mine new.” Pete hastened to obey, His native coolness had fully returned to him. Although his heart throbbed with the excitement of his new position, every trace of nervousness had left him, and he loaded his wea- pons with the steady hand of a veteran. He was by nature bold and daring, and there was no apprehension in his young heart as he awaited the onset of the foe. But the thought of Minnie came to him, with a thrill of dread, “Think the gal’s safe, Bill?’ he asked, nervously. “Wouldn’t have nothin’ happen to her, nohow. apa of feared the red-skins mought creep round nere,’ “They know where we are, Pete. The hosses are too deep in the woods. They won’t be troubled. Ain’t got no sort of fear for the gal.” Their conversation was interrupted by the ey of arifle. One of the savages had crept near them in the darkness, and had fired in the direction of their voices. Pete excitedly raised his rifle to reply, but the scout’s hand was in an instant on his arm. “Won't do, Pete,”’ he whispered. ‘Don’t fire till ou see enough Injun for a lead bullet to cover. ‘an’t you see, lad, they’re tryin’ to draw our fire? Got no ammunition to waste.’ Pete lowered his rifle with a sense of rebuke. The veteran coolness and experience of his companion gave new confidence to his young soul, He waited with the patience of an old frontiersman. Minute followed minute. Faint sounds could be heard in the wood as if persons or animals were moving through it. The savages who had ridden out to the plain had disappeared from sight. How many of them had taken to the shelter of the trees could not be told. The moon was momentarily rising higher, and ite clear luster penetrating the open arches of the woodland. The strip of timber was but narrow, and the moonlight easily found avenues through it from the east. Pete felt something rubbing against his legs, and looked down ip startled surprise. His eyes caught the small form of Nicodemus, whom, for some time, he had lost sight of. The dog ran out toward the center of the woods, and then returned to him, as if asking him to follow. Ere Pete could imagine what this movement meant, new reports of rifles were heard. Shots from two different directions passed them, They were surrounded by their foes. “Skin me, Pete, but this looks squally,’’ whispered. Bill. ‘‘ Stoop, lad, and look for the glitter of an eye.”’ Shot after shot hurtled past them. The foe was evidently working nearer. There seemed to be it least a dozen of the savages, No answer was 1¢- turned to the Indian fire. Suddenly the scout raised his weapon. The car voice of the rifle cracked through the woods. "Ihe sound of a falling body was heard. ‘* Clean through the eye,” said Bill, as he procved- ed hastily to reload. ‘That’s one of the devils ene under, But this is getting hot, boy, and I'm gtow- ing afeard for the gal and our hosses, Let’s srake back into the woods a bit.” : With a half-creeping, half-gliding motion, they slipped back from tree to tree, avoiding noise end exposure to the moonlight as much oy possible, Te AYO See
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' movement, and were their foes. Their object seemed to be to distract | e shots of the savages continued at intervals, but they had evidently not discovered this new ring at the old position of and confuse them. * Here’s the hosses, Pete,’’ whispered the scout. “Ther’s only one hoss,"’ answered Pete, springing forward, with little regard to caution. And the gal’s mone! Minnie’s gone! Do you know what’s up, ick?" he asked the excited dog. The intelligent animal replied by running toward the eastern border of the wood. Pete followed, with leveled rifle. At the same moment a loud uproar was heard in the plain to the west. Shouts, rifle-shots, and the noise of a throng of flying horses, broke on the still wight air.. CHAPTER XIX. A BRAVE BOY'S FEAT. Tar scout, leaving his young, companion to pro- med alone, listened eagerly to the sounds from the | epen plain. These were not Indian yells he heard, ut the ringing cheers of white men. There was a rushing sound as if a throng of horse- men was driving past at utmost speed. reports of rifles and revolvers rent the air. The tri- amphant shouts proclaimed victory for the whites. * on, lads! Lay on!’’ cried aloud voice, aud- ible above all the noise. .“‘ Give it to them! ket @ hoof or scalp lock escape! Bury the lead in their bloody hides!” The emigrants had evidently driven off their foes, and a mounted party was fiercely pursuing them. Bill Grubb, with an answering shout, radshed back to the edge of the wood. Out upon the plain he | gould see the foe in full flight, followed by a dozen whites, who loaded and fired as they rode, Every shot from those trained borderers killed or sounded its man. with a panic. Those who had been besieging himself and Pete in the wood had taken the alarm, and were now riding capidly in the shadow of the trees, several of them just opposite his position. A shot from the scout’s rifle emptied the saddle of | the hindmost, of these. With a loud shout of triumph he sprung for the | . htewildered horse, which had stopped y the body of tts slain rider. Tn an instant he was mounted, and urging the ani- mal on with hand and heel, loading his rifle as he ecole bike a whirlwind in the wake of the flying sav- 208, ** Pile it into them!” he shouted to his friends at a distanve. ‘The ’tarnal, copper-colored prairie rats! wive them no quarter. Shoot them like you would wolves or grizzlies!” The pursuing whites answered the voice of this un- kuown but welcome ally with redoubled cheers. The pursuit continued at a furious e over the plain, the ponies of the Indians uall gone uyon the heavy-limbed draught horses of their an- tagonisis Au thought of his young companion had vanished | from the scout’s mind in the excitement of the | evase. More than one savage bit the dust, from his unerring rifle, as he continued to load and fire. He had all the skill of an Indian in this difficult performance. ce Mounted on one of the swiftest of the Indian | ponies, he had drawn ahead of the other pursuers, | and was riding almost alone, in the rear of the sav- | res, Halt!” was the cry that broke from the midst of ; ‘the emigrant party. ‘ They’re out of our reach. If ~e follow too far they may gain heart and double on us. Best send back to the wagons.” Bil heard this recall, but he rammed his bullet home, and drew a bead on another of the fugitives , before turning. “Don’t be afeard of them!” he cried, as he wheeled | his horse around and rode for the halted party. “They won't draw rein for the next five miles, | They’re wuss skeered than a pack of antelopes. , Hiame their ugly picters, they’ve got a settler.” He rode up to the small troop, who were halted in the elear moonlight, jooking toward him with euri- -one interest. “Tom Wilson among you?” he asked, as he rode up. meet him, wee — phiz. Ought to know that voice.” oe «wp with outstretched hand, “ Bill Grubb, or I'm a catamount!” roared Tom, | the hand of the scout with a clutch that , ave broken the bones of delicate fingers. “‘ What the thunder brings you here in the nick of time? You're always turning up jist when you're wanted, Bill.” , “Bet Tam,” said Bill, releasing bis hand. “ Know it’s Tom Wilson now, if I didn’t before. It’s only one man that’s got them cast-iron fingers.” “ This is Bill Grubb, gentlemen,” said Tom. ‘‘ He's a boss. Guess you've heerd of him if you ever set foot on the plains afore. Where away, old srony ?”” ~ hm at home now, Tom. I was after you fel- “Wot on foot, I reckon? That’s an Injun critter you've got there.” ’ 4 Ro, Left my horse in the timber. And a sharp Incessant | Don’t | The Indians fled as if possessed © “Yes,” answered a stalwart man, riding out to | “I’m that critter. Close up, and let’s , uess you know me, Tom,” said the scout, riding | ; i “Yes. We left her with the hosses, ’S some | of the copper devils snatched her. Maybe they've | gobbled the plucky little rascal too. This way, Tom; we must see what’s goin’ on,” “Minnie Klis is in a wagon in the train,’’ said a | young man, riding forward, It was her cousin, William Denton. “The blazes she is!” said Bill, looking keenly in his face. “Then my eyes ain’t worth shucks, for I see'd her not twenty minutes ago.” *“You must be mistaken,” said another person, a ' tall, heavily-bearded man. ‘i saw the child while the fight was going on, She was peering out of the wagon, and I warned her to keep inside.’ 4 . yn I tel) you then that there’s some confounded devilt; through the Injun lines with on the edge of the timber. He’d gone under only for Pete and me.” “T saw the fellow break through, and felt like dropping a bullet after him. Had something in his arms, but I did not see what.” Wabi was spoken by a person further back in the throng. *‘ Blasted queer!’’ growled Tom Wilson, ‘ Did you | know the chap?”’ ‘No, He shot through like a streak.” “This way, Tom,” said Bill, heading his horse for the wood. “The boy’s game, but he might want some help." “Make back for the camp, boys,’’ said Tom. ‘ You mought be wanted there. Reckon we'll be on your trail in a whiff.” | The two scouts were soon buriedin the timber, . the crackling of bushes marking their progress. The others turned and rode back toward the camp. : But we must return to Pete, whom we left just starting in search of Minnie. _ Nicodemus still led the way with his nose to the | ground. He seemed tracking some one by scent, Pete had such confidence in the ability of his dog ' that he felt sure that he was on Minnie’s track. It occurred to him now that he had heard a faint stifled cry during the fight. In his excitement at the | time he had not realized its significance. Now a sickening fear came upon him as he seemed to see a in the arms of a fierce savage, perhaps already } slain, He sprung forward, with redoubled d, trailing his rifle as he ran, wuile Nicodemus stillled the way. “Seek her, Nick, seek her, my old friend,” cried Pete. ‘It’s Minnie, old feller. It's the little gal we fotched frcm Kurnel Green. Ain't goin’ to let no Injun gobble her up, Nick. Not if you and me | knows it. Hey dorg? Make your trotters twinkle, Nicodemus. I like you, dorg, blowed if I don’t. But I like that gal better.” There was no Qe in Pete’s voice, but hard dry earnest, as he thus urged on the dog. He ha | not felt before the full strength of his attraction to | the girl. From original dislike it had grown into almost worship. He was not a minute in crossing the almost dry bed of the stream, and reaching the further edge of the timber. The dog’s trained senses were no lon | There, at no great distance in the moonlit plain, was , the horse he himself ridden, its saddle now oc- cupied by an Indian warrior. Minnie was not visi- ble, but what seemed the skirt of a child’s dress showed by the side of the warrior. A faint cry came like the blast of a trum to Pete’s ears. He knew those accents well, and rushed across the plain with a speed that had often | excited the envy of the boys of Toledo. The worn-out horse which the Indian rode was not able to distance this rapid speed of his pursuer. Nicodemus had shot like a comet across the plain, ; and was already in front of the horse, barking loud- ly, and distracting the movements of the animal. The Indian fixed an arrow to the string of his bow, | and shot at the 7 oy dog. But Nicodemus only darted and barked the more fiercely after this mur- ! derous assault, ‘Hold up there, you blasted red-skinned, white- livered Injun!” cried Pete, in emulation of the | scout’s epithets. “ Drop that gal, or V'll bore you | like a gimlet-hole through a pine shaving. Drop | her, you thunderin’ baby-stealer, if you know when you're weil off!’ | The savage replied with a gesture of derision, and | swung the child behind him on the saddle, using her as a shield. Pete had several times raised his rifle, and low- | ered it again for fear of wounding Minnie. Now he dared not fire. He ran, however, with undiminished | speed, gaining somewhat on the fugitive. A yell of defiance broke from the.lips of the latter. He goaded the horse on with the keen point of an | arrow. Nicodemus, at the same moment, made a more _ vigorous assault upon the animal. The exhausted steed, confused by these conflicting causes, stum- bled and fell sidewise to the plain, flinging his rider with a hard shock to the ground. Minnie was saved from hurt by falling on the body of the prostrate savage. ; In en instant the latter was on his feet, knife in hand, and the glare of a demon in his eyes. He caught the child by the long, yellow hair, waved the keen blade significantly round her head, and glanced at Pete with an insulting laugh. His savage soul was doubtless amused on seeing that his bold pursuer was but a half-grown boy. Yet what Pete hid seid -» a former oceasion was | r needed, at work in your camp. Some rascal cut | er, and dropped her | een: eee . on Geer rome ee eee pace nina— eerie " + whl so wregpenerecrerneemnence Rd boy with a rifle might prove the match of a The Indian again significantly waved his deadly knife. Minnie’s eyes were turned upon Pete with a look of appealing terror, which he could recogniza even at t distance. Yet nothing could have saved the child from the bloodthirsty intentions of the savage, but for the aid of an unthought-of ally. As he raised his weapon for the third time, with deadly meaning in his eyes, Nicodemus buried his sharp teeth in the leg of the warrior. With a cry of pain the latter turned fiercely round. . That moment was his last. The only two beings Pete loved in the world were in imminent peril. He stopped suddenly in his flight, and stood for a single | instant as firm and motionless as a stone statue, Less than twenty paces separated him from the Indi_n. gg was not quicker than his aim. The savage had not fairiy turned ere a rifle bullet crashed through his brain. He fell headlong to the ground, a dead man. “Saved again, Minnie!’ cried Pete, joyfully. me v That Injun won’t go for no gal’s hair ag’in, } e eae The child was in ari instant beside her deliverer, her arms clasped round him, “Oh, Pete!” she cried, lifting her eyes, yet full of terror, to his, ‘Oh, that was dreadful! You must never leave me again, Pete. He would have killed me only for you, my dear, good Pete!” A strong shudder shook her frame as her arins twined firmly about him. CHAPTER XX. A TRAITOR IN THE CAMP. Tur fallen norse lost no time in scrambling again to his feet, and stood in a drooping attitude beside ~ om body of the red-skin who so lately had rid- en m. Not so Nicodemus. He seemed to fully compre- hend and to be overjoyed at the rescue, and fricked about Pete and Minnie as if asking that he might be allowed to share in their ay tte “A jolly old dorg you are, Nick, I'll say that much for you,” said Pete, encouragingly, “Just think, Minnie.’ The cute old feller trailed you from the woods, and led me straight as a die on the Injun’s track. Ain't many dorgs like him; and I know what a Garg is bout as well as the next boy.”’ “Good Nicodemus,”’ said Minnie, throwing her arms round the dog’s neck, a liberty he was not usually inclined to submit to. ‘“ You're a dear, good creature, just like your master,”’ ‘‘Now, now, gal, none of that,” said Pete, half offended. ‘ Don't like no soft scap of that kind. I ain’t dear, nor good. I’m a reg’lar little street rascal, and you know it.”’ “You are dear, and you are good, and I like you ever so much,” she persisted. “TI wouldn’t let any- body else run you down, and I won’t let you run yourself down, You’re a dear, good, old Pete.” ‘* Who was the feller that carried you out of the camp, and what for?” asked Pete, desirous of chang- ing the subject. ‘‘ The risky rascal liked to got him and you both a settler.”’ ‘**I don’t know,” she said, with a shudder. ‘He craenee me out of the wagon, wrapped me up so that I could not speak, and ran with me in his arms, I did not know where he took me, only that I could hear the Indians yelling and rifle shots all around us. The first I knew was when you picked me up.” ve Well, that’s queer enough,” said Pete, reflect- ai Do you know who he was?” . 4 I did not see his face, he muffled me up so quic Cie ‘** Looks deuced like some galoot tryin’ to git rid of ge ag’in. Wants lookin’ into. Lucky Picayune Pete was loafin’ around jist then. I’m goin’ to keep an eye on you till you git to Californy, and if any- body comes sich a game on you ag’in, sell me out, that’s all.” “*T don’t fear any harm while you are about,"’ said Minnie, “ You have been so good to me, and eee saved me so often, But is it not dangerous ere?’ ‘‘Not a bit. They are all t’other side the timber.” “But I can’t bear to look at that dead Indian. He looks horrible with the moonlight on his face. Let us leave this dreadful place. To think that you kill- ed him, too! . “ Couldn't i it, Minnie,” said Pete. “It was him or you. Guess you're worth a tribe of sich hounds as that.” They proceeded slowly toward the woods, the horse following. They had _ nearly reached the line of trees when the ae fe trampling hoofs admonished them of le peril. Pulling Minnie quickly after him, Pete sprung be- hind a tree, instinctively raising his rifle, It was empty! He had neglected to reload after shooting the Indian. A pang of remorse at a negligence which might prove fatal affected him. He drew his pistol, and prepared to sell his life dearly. Minnie crouched on the ground beside him. ae horsemen broke from the timber just before m. “‘There’s my hoss, sure enough. - But where’s Pete?” cried a well-known voice. ow “Somebody's left his mark here. There's dead Injun * said another. ‘Who is it?”’ whispered Minnie. ‘‘ Those are not In Ss. ‘‘Here I am, Bill,” said Pete, springing out into the open space. “Alive and Kickin’ yit, and good for a baker's dozen of the red rascals: And here’s —
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Picayune Pete. Nicodemus. Reckon you’ve seen that pots afore. If he ain’t showed his fetchin’-up to-night I'll cave. And last and best, here’s the gal, Minnie Ellis. Said I'd go for her, and Pete don’t brag. It’s my hand- writin’ on that Injun.” “If you don’t brag, you blow, and that’s about as bad,” ‘growled the coarse voice of Tom Wilson. “You've ’arn’t the right, though, so blow away, my spruce youngster. That’s the child, sure enough. I'd give a cow to know who stole her out of camp.”’ ‘““ Maybe she can tell you herself,’’ said Bill, “Can't do it,” said Pete. ‘* We’ve been havin’ a little confab about that biz’ness. She was stole, that’s square enough. But she can’t put a name to the blamed thief.”’ “TI id not see his face,” spoke the musical voice of Minnie. ‘“ He did not speak.” “There's a traitor in the camp, sure as shooting,” cried Tom. “ But we'll rake him up and scorch hin. Come, boy, jump on your hoss, and take the gal with you. We must be making back tracks for camp.” Pete needed no second order. He was soon mounted, with Minnie clasping his waist from be- hind. The horses were turned and again entered the timber, the scout securing his own horse as they passed through. The animal Pete rode was too nearly worn out for any rapid movement and he transferred himself and companion to the scout’s horse, which was fresher, leaving his own to follow at its leisure. The few miles which separated them from the camp were soon passed over, and they drove in be- hind the intrenchment of wagons, which had so well served the emigrants. The remainder of the party was already there, and the return of the scouts was hailed with cheers. There were several women and children in the ba ome by whom the return of Minnie was warmly welcomed. They were disposed to, lionize Pete, after the story of the rescue had been told; a feeling which was shared by many of the men. But the boy was in no mood for fooling as he called it, and soon crept out of sight in the bottom of a wagon, and was lost in slumber, It was not long before the whole camp was indulg- ing in that sleep from which the Indian raid had, so far, hindered them. The horses were left to crop the thin grass outside the wagons, no fear being now felt of a return of the savages. T'wo or three sentinels were posted, how- ever, as a safeguard against possible danger. The scouts, Bill and Tom, remained for an hour in close conversation, before they sought the much- needed slumber in which their weary brethren were indulging, “We've got to keep our eyes skinned,”” was Tom’s ; concluding remark. ‘‘ He was a risky critter, that’s sartain, to run, afoot, through a line of mounted In- gines.. He either didn’t know the danger, or else there’s a spice of the devil in him. There was a fel- ler seen to come back into the camp from the tim- ber, jist as we were taking to horse to chase the red- re Everybody was too busy then to take notice rs) m,.”’ “A traitor in the camp is a mighty bad bizness,” replied Bill. ‘*He’s got to be treed, that's all. Right sure it wasn't that relation of the gal’s?”’ “Yes. I know it wasn’t.” “Then I'll go my rifle on it that Colonel Green is among you. He’s as cute as a fox, and he’s got as many faces as a looking-glass. I don't owe him no good will, and I'm going to lay low for him. Don't calculate he'll shet my eye up long.” The next morning dawned bright. There had been no new alarm during the night, and the plain now, as far as eye could reach, was clear of Indian sign. Witte the women prepared a hasty breakfast, the men were engaged in harnessing the horses and get- ay bane for a start. 6 party consisted of twenty-five men and five women, besides several children. Some of the men had received wounds in the hurt seriously enough to disable them from walking. These had § arranged for them in the wagons, and the sun was not an hour high ere the train was again in motion. “Guess the bloody ne yr one will letus alone to- day,’ said Tom, as his keen glance scanned tho hor on ive miles.” . “There's worse danger inside than outside the train,” was Bill’s remark, as he left his friend, and proceeded slowly through the line of wagons. Every member of the expedition was successively examined by his keen glance. cupied in this duty. : “Can’t make if out,’ he saidto Tom. colonel’s here, he’s a_huckleberry above me. are them hurt men? Didn’t see them, Who “They're safe enough. Oneof them’s Jack Prine, | who I’ve knowed for years. _T’other’s that red- whiskered feller you caw in the fight last night. Him that said he satv the gal peeping out of the wagon. He’s sound, too.” Rey “Then I'm dished, so far—that’s all,” said Bill. Pete, meanwhile, was occupying himself in a similar investigation, and with equally whose penchant for him continued in full force. Pete was thoroughly happy, and enjoyed the ex- much troubled with notions of social equality, and | Sought his society from the pure pleasure of it as_ pedition with the keenest zest. The boy watched William Denton closely, and was rewarded, one evening, by seeing him approach a wagon that contained one of the wounded men. It was not a minute before Pete’s hands and knees had placed him under the wagon. It's twice dropped through,” he heard Denton ht, but only two were | ‘Ain't a feather or sealp-lock inside of Half the day was oc- | from the Indians, Minnie had shown her gratitude to “Tf the | Pete by seeking his society on every convenient oc- poor success. | clean, so that he no longer presented the appearance He spent much time jn conversation with Minnie, » Abe aS say, in whispered tones, ‘thanks to boy. Don’tlet the third time fail.” the wagon. Pete crouched lower, and listened intently. CHAPTER XXI. THE DOG DETECTIVE. Perr, from his lurking-place, listened attentively to the conversation of which he had heard the open- ing portion. he two men, however, lowered their voices, as if in dread they had been speaking too loud, and for several minutes he failed to catch a word. He heard occasional portions of what followed, but was able to make very little sense of it. ‘Not safe this side of the mountains,’ was one partial phrase. “The Utes will do,” followed shortly after. “That arm near well?’ asked Denton in a mock- | ing tone. : “Could fling a fifty-six pounder with it,” was the auswer. These were the only coherent sentences he could comprehend, out of the Denton moved off after a few minutes, as if not car- ing to be observed in that locality. Pete, too, crept from his hiding-place, and strolled slowly through the camp, much pig ‘* Who's the feller in the wagon?” he said to him- self; “‘that’s the next question. He’s playin’ *pos- sum, that’s sartain. I've treed some mighty black biz’ness, if I ain’t, sellme. Bet I keep half an eye on that ’coon.”’ ‘What's broke, Pete?” asked the cheerful voice of Bill Grubb. hour-old kitten. Ain't got sick of emi and wishing you was back again in the ‘**What’s a Ute?” was Pete's answer. “A what?’ asked Bill. mean?” **Dunno,"’ said Pete. Jist wanted to know. house ?”’ “Far enough west yet. quarters. Mostly in Utah.” “T’other side the mountings?” “Sartainly. where else. What about them?” “Think ve treed 3 the biggest ‘coon you ever seen,” was Pete’s reply. ‘‘ Been prospectin’ a bit.” “What is it?” asked the scout, curiously. with it.” ation, hey; tates?’ “'Spect it mought be that. Where does these Injuns keep About Brigham’s head * Out ’ Pete, thus requested, drew his companion out of | ear-shot of the others, and proceeded to tell him what he had heard. The scout listened attestively, seeming to think | Pete's discovery a very important one. ‘““There’s a mouse hid somewhere,” he said, re- flectively. “Have you seen the chap that's in the wagon?”’ is ©. Reckon I will, though, afore he’s much older.” “Keep your eye skinned, Pete. They’re on the watch for you, and wouldn’t stop long to give you a settler. Got your pistol ready?’ ** Ain’t never without it."’ “Don't let this man see you watching. He calcu- lates he’s shut our eyes up, and let him keep think- ing so, Wouldn’t wonder if it was Colonel Green himself. Just like his tricks. Think [ll interview Tom Wilson.” While the scout proceeded to seek the guide of the expedition, Pete continued the conversation with his dog, who was now frisking about his legs, as if anx- ious for a caress. * Ain’t got no time now to waste on. dorgs. not bad on ’coon and rabbit, Nick, but we ain’t on that biz’ness now. Trailing Injuns and girl-thieves and that sort of thing ain’t your trade. Best make yourself scarce, Nick. Don’t want no interfering with my reflections.” Having got off this grandiloquent phrase for him, Pete walked away ina bing dignified manner. There was a inystery extant, and Pete felt his importance as chief detective too much to associate with Nico- demus. Dogs might do for the ordina’ their genius. Pete’s walk through the line of moving wagons next brought him in sight of Minnie, who had left her usua was walking September day, over the thinly-clad soil of the plains. During the days which had passed since her rescue casion, This was partly from the lack of agreeable com- any of her own age in the emigrant train, but more rom her decided sense of gratitude to Pete, and from her wish to improve his manners, so far as lay | | in her power. | Spirit. She was still full of the missionary Moreover, Pete took was now respectably dressed, and the utmost care to keep his face and hands which had once shocked her, She liked the boy, withal, was too young to be much as from any other cause. ‘Is it not beautiful here?” she cried to him, as he joined her upon the plain. “The sun is so bright, | think ery soft aud clear. And just to | ink of our traveling days and days without seeing | and the air is so ve a@ house or mecting a person!” that direes | didn’t like their company much, then. ** Not if it’s in the wood,” came a low voice from | did not ask him twice.” Ing | with a laugh. i conversation, | ‘You look as melancholy as a two- | | kee “A Ute Injun, do you | | ly. “ He is ver | reason of her involuntary distrust o He was shrewd enough, however, to perceive that it Nobody ever heerd of a Ute any- | | object of it. | successful, : affairs of | | life, but matters like this were above the range of big “Met some Injuns, Minnie,” he replied. “And ‘Now, that is too dreadful to jest about,” she said, with ashudder. “I can’t get over the sight of that dead man. And to think of two of our friends being wounded. I would have liked to take care of them, but they would not let me.” “ Both of them?” “No. TIonly asked the one. He is in the gray- covered wagon just ahead of us. “What did he say?’ asked Pete, strongly inter- | ested. “He growled out that he didn’t want no brats of girls fooling around him. You can be sure, Pete, I * Has any one had anything to say to you about that Injun biz’ness?”’ “Do you mean about my being carried off from the wagon?” * Sartainly, that’s what I mean.” “Wh course they have, Pete,” she replied, “Nearly everybody in the train has been asking about it.”’ “Any of them act queer, or look like the feller that done it?” “Tcould not cell what he did look like,” she re- plied. ‘They have all spoken very kindly to me,” “Tf any one that you don't know says snyening | more to you, I want you to look close at him, an | § e if you've ever see d him afore, and tell me what he says.”’ “ Why, what for, Pete?” “Oh, nothing! I want to find out who the chap was, that’s all. Don’t you be gettin’ skeered and be mighty keerful you don’t say a word about this to eny body.” “Of course I won't,” she replied. ‘Iam not a bit afraid, Pete. But I will do what you want, and will very quiet,” * You won't tell Mr. Denton?” “TI never tell him anything,’ she answered quick- kind to me, and I do not know why should feel different toward him. But I never talk to him as freely as I do to you.” Pete felt inclined to give her his opinion of the her cousin. was not advisable to arouse her suspicions. She was too frank in nature to conceal such suspicion from the He must be secret if he hoped to be “Do you see that line of dim clouds away off there to the west?” he asked, by way of changing the conversation. “Certainly I do,” she replied, following the diree- tion of his hand. * You'd calculate that weren’t nothin’ but a cloud?” “T am sure it is nothing else.” “You're kind of out, then. Them clouds is the Rocky Mountains.” “What!” she cried, in wonder and doubt. “ The great Rocky Mountains? That faint, low cloud?” “Jist so. It’s all rock, and hill, and tossin’ up of the ground, for thousands and thousands of miles.” “ ¥ at you were never here before. How do you now?” ; a Grubb has been here. I have got his word or it.” “Are you not tired, Minnie?” asked the voice of _ her cousin beside them. ‘You have been walking these two hours now.”’ “Oh, no! I am not at all tired,” she replied, ‘I think I could walk two days without stopping through this soft air, Everything is so beautiful ‘A very tiresome sort of beauty,” he replied in a | here.’ F | satirical tone, “Git out, Nicodemus!” said Pete, with dignity. | ou're | Pete walked away and left them talking together. This addition to their society was unwelcome to hint, He strolled, as before, leisurely through the line of wagons. He had not gone far before he met the scout. “Been talking to Tom Wilson,” the latter said, after drawing out of hearing. ‘I’m afeared we're on the wrong scent, Pete?” **Can’t see it,"’ was Pete’s reply. “Tom says he’s known the man in the wagon off and on for years, and that he’s on the square,” “Don’t swaller that,” said Pete, positively. “If Tom Wilson says so that settles it,” replied the scout. “It ain't no roadagent that kin shut Tom's eyeup. He's sharp as a steel trap. It he 5a , man’s on the square there’s no going back of it,” perch, inside one of the vehicles, and | with keen enjoyment of the bright | “He's knowed him off and on?”’ asked Pete, “ That’s what he says.” ‘Maybe the feller was on the square when he was | on, and off the square when he was off.” “ How do you mean?”’ “He mought haye an honest man’s face anda | raseal’s face, and only showed Tom Wilson the square face. I've got a notion in my brain-box that | the feller ain’t no other than Kurnel Green, playin’ *possum.” “Tt is not him, Pete, I have just had a look at him. He is not a bit like the colonel.” * Didn't I hear you say yourself the kurnel had | fifty faces? Maybe you ain't seen more than tate nine of them. The devil that carried off the here. He’s inside the wagons or he’s outside, I bet he ain’t outside.” To render assurance doubly sure, Pete took an- | other round of the men Comp Ome the train, enter- D ing into conversation with each in succession, and using his utmost skill to discover any trace of dis- se. That Colonel Green was somewhere in the train he was sure, and if so he must be in disguise. The boy first whistled Nicodemus to his heels, He could not see what special aid the dog would be, but he had so much confidence in Wick’s ability that he :
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thought it best to give him the chance to prove his Ww ; OSS. por MILE : ta 4 “Tm goin’ to have a little round, Nicodemus,” he said, ‘{and I want you to use your eyesand ears. If ‘ouwsmell a rat anywheres: don’t: hold back on. tell- me,; You've’ got brains, — and. I want you to ow.them now. If you don’t I’'li'skin you.” his alarming threat: did not seem to have many terrors for Nicodemus. He followed quietly at his ?aaster’s heels, and gave no evidence of discovering ay suspicious characters. n: fact, he showed a strong inclination on several occasions to desert his post, and visit some more reeable- canine company in the train. These de- relictions of duty were sharply reproved by Pete, and the dog kept close to the mark. The task that Pete had set himself was not to be finished in an hour. He wished to examine every person thoroughly, and the day was done before he was half through. The next morning he renewed his scrutiny. Al- most, the first person he spoke to was a sandy- whiskered, dark-faced man, whom he did not recol- lect noticing before. The man appeared little inclined to talk, and an- swered Pete’s remarks very curtly. The boy’s keen eyes scrutinized his face closely, but it seemed an ent rely strange face to him. Their conversation was interrupted by a violent assault of Nicodemus, who had just come up, upon the, stranger. he dog sp’ round him, violently barking, and making strong efforts to bite him. if mtoond he poe — pap ails joerg cried the man, kic ere a e dog. ‘Is it your cog?’ he asked Pete. “Yes. That’s my dorg.” ‘Take him away then, or I'll give you dead dog- meat mighty soon,” said the man, in a rage. “Git out with you, Nicodemus!” cried Pete to the ys sen Git out, you rascal! Dunno what ails the it: him away from me, or I'll spoil his beau- ty,” cried the man, as the dog slunk away at Pete’s stern command. ‘It’s bad enough to be laid up a week with a bad arm, without being set. on by dogs as pope as one gets out.”’ sores “You're rig! t there, neighbor,’ said Pete. “I'll have to cure the dorg of sich tricks. Don’t like my dong to show bad manners,’’: @ turned and walked carelessly away. * You're a hose, terri ee S atclacn per erm to wo The; 's got up eat me, e ph gore you. ore et a catty thé dog’s treed Kurnel Green!” , CHAPTER XXII. CAUGHT NAPPING AT) LAS ir, ‘*Keep your weather eye on meee A said Pete to the;scout:» ‘“df-he ain't the ?coon that we've got to hole, then send me back to Toledo." eh »jist’as: sure, as shootin’,’»replied Pete, 6. Ive boot inv mat him, and.so has Nicodemus. ¢ud.so;hag.the, oLllgo my leftear ontit,:Moug ht! 7 go ’, ” * saghuD any 5 can't sheti:up the dorg’s: You ain’t never ep when there's fumabout."6 1 jor yore “Sita Vllson is. mpveabily humbuegeds'. said the 5 “The fellow must cute to shut up that critter!s, ohiet’shear youryarm.™)) 1 0, BR * orth with, proceed. to! detail the result of his jens, «which | been ‘extended over seve ys from the date of our last chapter. | at sneamy doealarbet cautiously, and no several suspicious evidences of a iam Denton. - 8 understanding with W; “Saw. ithe two doubly doubtfuk joi 0. . “Nic emus, too, A dere ty his hostility to the ang tani ested his feelings’ now by growling and showing his ‘teeth, a respect- PR ope Spe 462 20 4 3 34) io “ Never knowed the dorg to make a blunder,”’ he Us men affected to be utter strangers te | Other, which made these:hidden proofs of an ly reproved fer this dis- ful distance from the ready foot of his foe. . - was the most, suspicious circumstance of all said; and. I’ve known him ever since he. as a pup. Hadn't his es open when him and me fust ‘got’ ac- nted.,, mes froma good family, Nicodemus does, and he’s not the dorg to bark up the wrong tree, : : Te Dve known dogs to take a set against the best sontog men; without anybody kno what for,” replied the scout. . ; " aos Sores ee a it,”? —_ poe gs tiv 4 ; much, judgment for . hadthe totching up of that dorg, and what he don’t know ain’t worth any dorg knowing. Ever see him clans on his head and wag his. tail?’ ‘ oO. , “Then you don’t know what’s in the dorg, that’s “And how about the gal?’ asked Bill. ‘‘ You say she has learnt something.” “This ’coon’s been talkin’ to her, wee sweet things, and tryin’ to soft-soap her. She thinks he’s sich a nice feller. The blasted catamount has got some game in tow, and wants to get on the right side of the gal. 7 ; ‘Did you warn her against him?” “No, sir-ee! She’s jist like a looking-glass. He’d see it all in her afore he talked to her ten minutes. i want him to keep thinkin’ that she don’t know nothin’, and that yo and me don’t know nothin’. ‘There's a rat trap set for him, and he’s bound to git Se Pe eee eee Se ee ee | ee ee SS a SS ee Picayune Pete. Yet the week passed and the rat’s nose was still elear of the trap. The caravan was now in the mountain region, toiling up the gradual slope of the pass, with hardly more evidence of a mountain wane about them than they had had on the plains. Bill Grubb had suddenly changed his mind about going to Denver, and come to the conclusion to ac- company the train to California. This change of base was highly agreeable to his friend, Tom Wilson, though the latter could not guess its cause. Pete and Bill deemed it best to keep their own counsel, and not be too hasty to spring the rat-trap. Too many in possession of t pos aici would be very apt to endanger the secret. For days and weeks they toiled on through the mountain region. The wagons were light, and not heavily freighted, with four good animals in each, They made rapid time, therefore, passing numerous heavier trains on the road. Yet the distance was so at, and the road so diffi- cult, that it seemed as if the days wouldstretch into months, and the snows of winter be upon them be- fore they could reach the milder climate of the Paci- fic slope. The weather, so far, had kept unusually mild, and our two young friends enjoyed the journey with that zest which only youth can feel. « Pete and Minnie became almost inseparable com- panions, wearing away the long days with childish conversat‘on, and growing strong and rugged by long walks in the clear mountain air. Pete, much as he had learned to. enjoy Minnie’s society, did not forget the claims of Bill Grubb upon him. The veteran scout had takena strong fancy to the boy, and did his utmost to instruct in the details of border life. » Under this skilled instructor Pete rapidly im- proved: He had already not only brought down his uffalo with a rifle-ball, but had injured a grizzl bear so badly that the animal fell dead, after a mile’s chase of the one boy. ie After this exploit Pete became a hero of the camp, and wore a'necklacé of the grizzly’s claws with as much pride as a mountain Indian wears a similar bag pet a ctu “ ny Indians had been met on the journey, yet none had shown signs of hostility since the memora- ble conflict with the Cheyenne war-party: Colorado was safely crossed, and the barren soil of northérn Utah lay behind them, and yet no further attempt had béen make against Minnie Ellis.’ It seemed as if the villains had given up theirsehem when weeks ssed on without the least evidence o rc Sie Reape ie lc te pr ong nity, and he even began to oF he might/have v BHcktop as he persisted in calling him—by his doubts... . Joe 6, as:this man called himself, bore every evidenee of being a quiet, honest emigrant, and if he was disguised, as Pete had imagined, the, di was ry" , extending to his manners and speech as well as to his dress,. ' ‘But’ Nicodemus was not to be pacified by time. His “hostility~ continued undiminished, though he took good care to keep out,of foot-reach of the man, who had made more than one endeavor to bring his p hhey bad: sowenter yee ied by the now enter e on occu hiidians, vived Ag he notice new s of understa and William: Denton. ons aud night, of the two suspicious characters, serutiny was very cautiously .conducted, yet no movement of either of the shadowed characters was observed caiculated to justify suspicion. Whether ox not they had become aware of this scrutiny they certainly .showed no of. any wrongful intentions against Minnie and the lands of- the Utes were passed without, the least break in the harmony and safety of the travelers. Utah was passed and Nevada entered.. The end of their journey now began to loom up before them and the spirits of the wearied «migrants were lifted within them into pleasant expectation. Yet many weary miles still had to be traversed, and the whole rugged width of Nevada to be crossed. For miles and miles their route lay along the valle of the Humboldt river, the only greer ened a6 a barren desert. . Through. wild. canyons. in the mountains they wended their slow way, having og casionally to leave the line of the stream, and see some more ‘accessible’ cleft through the endless rocky ranges. Humboldt canyon was passed in this way, and the train emerged on the western side of the range, at a point known as Gravelly Ford. Here was the only spot of luxuriant verdure which their eyes had looked upon for weeks, and, as was the custom with emigrants, they concluded to halt here for a few days to rest and refit after their weary journey. But they had not yet left the realm of hostile In- dians. The Shoshones dwelt in this Fegioe and often roved themselves dangerous neighbors. It was | deemed advisable, therefore, to post sentinels during | the night to guard against a possible assault from the savages. This duty was delegated to one after another in the train, there being several reliefs made during the niclit, so as to avoid any danger of the sentinels SSS “This. is your night. on, Bill,” said Pete, on the last night of their projected stay. “ Yes, I h.’ take the first watch. “T ll have a good nap then. Keep a sharp eye on Bricktop, and all other dangerous critters, and stir me up when you’re ready to go to roost. Kind of doubtful of that critter yit.” <a is not the ground for him, so don’t get skeered,”’ said the scout. “He'd be scooped u by the Shoshones afore he went far; and I guess he’s got sense enough to know it.” When Bill’s watch was over he was too sleepy#and too unsuspicious of danger to obey Pete’s request. They both slept soundly till morning, The sun was not well up before the camp was astir, and the busy wagoners preparing to renew the sunny. which had been for a few days interrupt- ed. Pete took his usual morning stroll through the camp, As he approached the wagon in which Min- nie slept he looked eagerly for her bright face, which usually beamed upon him from the opening curtains of the wagon. This morning she was not visible. “Rouse up there, Minnie,” cried Pete, cheerfully. “The sun’s an hour high.” No answer came from the wagon. ‘“Come, Minnie,’ he repeated. ‘‘ Breakfast is on the table, .and your coffee gettin’ cold. Time all travelers was up.” ** She is not here,”’ replied a woman from the wag- on. ‘She must have been up before day.” “Sure of that?” asked Pete, in a tone of alarm. “She is not in the camp.” “She must be wandering outside, then, She is not here.” Pete darted off hastily, and in five minutes had traversed the entire locality. No trace of the child was visible, either in or within sight.of the camp. The frightened boy questioned every one in quick accents. No one seen her since the previous pidly became general. A thorough search of the camp was instituted, : “Who had the morning, watch?” asked Bill Grubb, ae Ee “ Joe Prime,” said Wilson. “The blazes he had! And where is he? Where is Bricktop?’’ asked Pete, angrily. All eyes looked hastily round. He, too, was not to Seen... “Tl be fiddled if the devil that. stole the gal afore ain’t stole her ag’in!’’ cried Pete... ‘And if I, ain’t goin, for him with a hot-foot, you can sell me out, 'S ” CHAPTER XXTII. THE SECRET SHOT. “Ts. there not some, mistake, some une error?” cried William, Denton, with an. air of great agitation... “It not, be-—my | co young child—who could wish ure her?” « ; body who.wanted her out,of the way,” said Bill Grubb, curtly......‘‘It ain’t. because.she’s half.a baby but because some critters are blamed rascals, that the gal’s missing." ‘This man could.haye no objectin inj her,”’ continued Denton, .‘‘He never ‘saw~ her before he joined the train, She must be somewhere about the camp. We have not searched ee ‘* You. kin hunt, till you're blind, and you won't see : », then,” replied Pete. ‘*That chap stole her,.and there ain't no use talkin’. And if I don’t know him, then e. is the hoss what t ‘him, He's ee a sharp nose tom xesnales Nick has. It’s curious to,me, he, don’t another,” , wen Dp ve t do you mean, boy?” asked Denton, not relishing Pete’s pointed manner. } st what you please. You kin wear the shoe if t 5°) ““Why, you young cub—! But it’s no time now to banter with.acrack-brained young We must to horse and pursue this kidnapper, if it proves true that he has really stolen my eousin,’’ “You'd best ve . Pica: know when you're well. off,” said the nor ‘Lknow you like a breeze, my sonny.. You *t shet my eye up.” 4) wig There was a dangerous look in the man’s eye as he turned away with an impatient shrug. .He evidently had good. reasons of his.own for not wishing to argue this question with Pete. *L'lLbe stot if the fellow ain’t kidnapped my horse, as well as the gal,” said Bill Grubb, who had_ hastily left the group a few minutes before. best animal in the train, and we'll have to ride like blazes to catch him.”’ “To horse, then!” cried Tom Wilson. ‘ We'll me shim down if there's any,luck for the right side, , ““And hang him like a thief, if there’s a tree ten foot high this.side the * said the scout, “Unhitch, lads,” cried. Wilson. ‘‘ You'll have to d a day or two more here. Half a dozen will be enough with us. .The rest of you can guard the train. Look out sharp for Shoshones.”’ While some of the Reaty. occupied themselves in be a their best horses for a hard ride, Bill ru e Pete alone, if you ad walked out some distance beyond the camp to look for the trail, He had no difficulty in finding it. There were the marks of horses’ feet, im- lanted so plainly in the soil that a child could have ollowed them. ““My own hoss, too,”’ he growled. ‘I'd Imow it in a thousand. And stepping out like thunder. We'll have to be hard on hoss-flesh, lads.”’ There were eight horsemen in the party that inten minutes was mounted and ready for the road. This consisted of Bill Grubb, Picayune Pete, Tom his nose in it afore a week.” | Leing overcome with sleep. |
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o ead : RKO ul Wiliam Denion, with four of the emi- § (Aus Wao were well versed in the perils of frontier life, Down the rocky valley, into which the trail led, they rode at headlong speed, in a few minutes pia out the train i sight, as the roadway curve The valley was here covered with a thin soil; here the bare rock emerged, Only at intervals was the ewth deep enough to return the impress of hoofs, But in all these places the tracks of the fugitive’s horse were plaint r visible. ‘Never mind the trail,” cried Tom Wilson, as he dug his heels into his horse’s sides. ‘‘ The feller’s in a a here, and he can’t ride over its edges. I’ve got hi inap in my eye. Make your critters git up and git. Ue’s got an cash or two the start.” Down the valley still they went, mile after mile. A new feeling had risen in Pete's mind, a thirst for revenge, which he had never felt. before. His lips were closely set, his face pale and eager. His fierce impulse seemed to have communicated itself to his horse, who had kept at the head of the small caval- eade. At his heels ran Nicodemus, who was not to be distanced by any common horse, Nearly beside him rod» Bill Grubb, as hot and eager as himself. The scout had taken almost as reat a fancy to Minnie as to Pete, and it was likely o go hard with the kidnapper, should he fall within range of Bill's rifle. Another of the party in whom a display of emo- tion was manifest, was William Denton. Fooling took in his face. the form of a deep pallor ant was manifested otherwise in low execrations o the villain, and fierce threats of revenge. He rode in the rear of the troop, being apparently more poorly mounted than the others. Between two sloping re their road lay, run- ning in a southwestwardly direction, It was a wa- terless, barren region, utierly:incapable of support- ing life, though roamed over by wandering Indians. They would need. to ride twenty miles in direc- tion to find water. Few words were spoken, as the stern faces, and keen eyes. The hard soil, over which they now passed, retained no mark of hoofs, n»? indication of the e of man or beast. Yet no other avenue could have been taken through t':9 mountain-girdled region, and they thundered on with unshaken confidence. *“ Here it is: ag’in,” cried Bill Grubb, as they en- toved a patch of low ken down as by some heavy tread. . ‘Let out, lads!. Let out!’? yelled Tom Wilson. rode on with * Jan t seo the critter, yet, but if he ain’t rid like | atning, we can twig him at the next bend.”’ “he bend was reached.. Before them lay a long, «'san valley, several miles in extent, sloping up to ‘ 13 mountain ranges on each side, The trained eyes of the scout read every indica- ton.of,this long avenue. They were doomed to- dis- 2.opointment.. Not a sign of life could be seen upon i 3 broad extenth Itlay in utter barrenness' under t 1) rays,of the morning sun. “Noi alive; neither wolf, grizzly, Injun or hos ol the scout. “The fellow has‘ rid hard i 1at’s sure,» He couldn't turn on us anyhow. And liare goes the trail.” “Tl. fetch him if I ride ten years straight on this line,?? ‘said Pete, between his teeth, \‘t The red-whis- ered devil; if I.don't prove sudden death to him it's «. caution, Let:out; fellers: » I'm tired of creepin’, ‘The hound can’t be many miles ahead.” Down, the long slope they plunged into the depth of the barren vallay. : A For five miles further they continued without drawing rein, sctvcely speaking. Every.step of the journey but added to. their excitement -o eet :,od stern determination to deal hardly withthe ¢ prit, should; he:be overtaken, But now the landseaps before them changed. Ths | : ingle, wide valley contracted, and seemed to divide iubo several passes, some running straight forward, others apparently cutting through the mountain panges, iwbecame doubtful what direction it was best to tixe. The stony passes were almost destitute of svi, and no trace of the trail was visible, “Straight on by this pass, I say,” remarked Tom \ilson. “It turns west ten miles: on;and opens in- | ‘) a decenter country than this, Not much troubled «vith Injans.either.”’ + But.this chap ain’t Tom Wilson, and hasn't been rung up, iu t country,” said the scout. ‘He ‘ tunno which is the best pass, and would be likely to strike west."? “He micht if he wanted to fall into the hands of iis-parsuers,” said William Denton. “It is my opinion that he has chosen the least likely pass, ich the hope to throw us off the track.” “'The-ground ain’t all as hard-hearted as this,” | » i 1 Pete; Phere’s bits of soiland brush here and ure. Reckon it’s best for us to split and hunt the cai. Mought tumble over it somewheres here- .bout,”’ “ That’s my idea,” said the scout. ‘* No use going n without we know what we're about." “All right,” said Wilson. “I'll try the onward te. The party forwith divided, two or three of them “ ccompanying Tom Wilson, while the others .oarehed the other routes. Pete struck into a narrow track running west. It ag a rocky, broken pass, almost too narrow for the oassage of a horse. ; * Nicodemus followed him, not quite so alertly as he tad moved on their starting out. The ten miles yurney had taken some of the life out of the dog. * ‘The boy moved cautiously on, using his eyes heed- r ~ - s path for the next ten miles laid out like a | brush, which had been | Picayune Pete. sry & not only for marks of the trail, but for possi- ble ndian foemen who might be in the pass before m. The bare mountain pass had but scant traces of soil, here and there, patches of sand which had been washed down from the hills in some former age when rains fell in this desolate region, The boy’s eyes, scanned intently each of these softer spots, where alone there was any possibility of a visible mark being left. The narrow pass wound up into the hills; opening out wider as he proceeded. Pete seemed utterly alone, Ce silence and solitude surrounding him. Bold of heart as the boy was, this removal from the whole human world, as itseemed, told upon his nerves. He looked forward at each successive turn with a half-fearful glance. Nicodemus drew close up, with a ye ae tendency in his tail. Pete was inclined to give up the bootless search attracted his attention, It was too slight to see from horseback, and he sprung tothe ground to examine it more closely. He stooped with eager gaze over the faint indenta- ticn, a sense of triumph growing in his mind, There it was, plain enough, the undeniable impress of a horse’s hoof, and undoubtedly that of Bill Grubb’s horse, There was a peculiar shape of this hoof-mark which the boy had not failed to notice. He arose and stood erect a moment, looking down the valley. There was a slight sound behind him. He turned hastily to look back, when the report of a rifle rung through the narrow pass, a severe blow seemed to fall upon his head, and he dropped insen- sible to the ground. His horse, alarmed by the sound, sprung over him, and ran forward into the pass, Nicodemus, on the contrary, ran backward, fierce- ly barking, and with evident intention to attack the assailant of his master. There was a momentary thunder of horses’ hoofs down the rocky pass, then silence settled upon the scene, Nicodemus returning from _ his futile assauit to lick the pata face of his master, and to awake the echoes of the lonely place by. a dog’s grievous. howl. Pete lay unmoved by the animal’s obtrusive grief. The hue of death was upomhis face. th seemed to brood over the whole barren valley. CHAPTER XXTV. THE HOT TRAIL, Brit Gruss soon found the pass he had entered to be unfruitful of results. It was the dry bed of a mountain stream, and contracted, after a mile’s de- vious wandering, into an a ere le crevice, He turned and rode back to the main valley. The pees had been difficult of ascent, and some time had ; been wasted in this exploration. | _ His friends were not, within view. Riding to the head of the ect pass, which Tom Wilson had chosen, he saw them‘nearly a mile in advance,.mov- ing slowly down the valley. ; hand was wayed to him from the party, and they rode on more a 8 ‘*Tom*has struck the trail,” said the scout, as he turned his horse down the pass. ‘‘ He don’t want to waste no time, that’s sure. I'll have to make good time to overhaul them.” : There was another person who had been left be- hind like himself, but who was within half a mile of the party.. As he approached he saw that this was William Denton, the cousin of the stolen child.. They had ridden five milés down the pass before he finally overtook his friends, .There was no vestige visible to his eyes of the trail they seemed to be fol- lowing, but the soil of the pass had. been. too, much cut up by their horses for any single track toremain discernible. : ‘* Where’s the trail, Tom?” he asked, as he rode to the head of the party.” “Is it plain?’ “No,” growled Tom, UU be. shot if it ain't pe ged out. And it was as clean cut a trail as I ever olle » “That's blasted queer. A hoss’s hoof would make its photograph on this sile. Must have took,to the hard und on the hillside. How far did you make t out?” “ Mile and a half or two mile, I reckon.” *Durned odd. Shouldn’t wonder if he’d doubled. | Where’s sg eters ca e er ‘*S’pose he’s coming down the r you. Didn't show himself afore we started.” “The dogs he didn’t!’’ cried Bill, casting an anx- ious glance kward. ‘* Hope the lad ain’t come to no harm. There’s a clear view two miles up, and no signs of him.” ‘Oh, he’s all right. S’pose he’s loping along after us.”* ““Shouldn’t wonder if he’d found the for I'll be fiddled if there’s any here,” said Bill. ‘‘ There’s & neck jist ahead of us. If he’s gone down you'll find his mark there.” They rode to where the pass contracted, two stee’ hills constricting it to within less than a hun feet of width. A thin alkaline soil, destitute of her covered this space. The two scouts Span Seo their horses, | bidding the others to keep back—and traced the whole width of the neck, not suffering a foot of the soil to escape their keen scrutiny. We're on the wrong scent, lads,” cried Bill, at “No hoof has. passed here inside a week, and maybe not inside a year, We've got to turn back onour tracks, I'll bet a pony Picayune Pete has found something.” 1 The ep passage back was traced rather slow- | at by t e horses, which had already been ridden | ebay wore at high speed. fais ei Z rere nearly an hour in reaching the poin' | at which the side passes branched off. nS 19 “Shoot me if I ain’t getting worried about the boy,’ said Bill, as they reached this point without any trace of Pete ba seen, ‘Anybody here know which pass he took?” “I saw him strike into that narrow opening to the right,’’ said one of the men, pointing to the rocky jaws of the contracted pass which Pete had taken. ‘Yes, and you can shoot me for a blind monkey if Joe Prime ain’t doubled on us!" cried Tom. ‘Here's his track, close to the rock, p’inting up the valley. He’s been hunting stony bottom, and step- ped in that patch of sand.” ‘Follow me, lads,” cried Bill, turning his horse into the pass, ‘“ Pete's I gt the best eyes in the party. If he ain't found the trail and follered it, then I don’t know the boy.” Up the rocky cleft in the hills they rode in single | file, Bill Grubb leading. The eyes of the scout were ‘ | fixed keenly upon the ground as Pete’s had been be- and turn back, when a faint indication in the sand | fore him, “©ussed stony,’ he muttered. “Ain't enough | dirt here to fill a bung-hole.” Through the rapid curves of the narrow gully they wound, moving slowly and with keen observa- tion, “Shouldn't wonder if it was a cut right through oe range,” said Bill. ‘Ever been down this way, ‘om?’ “No. But I’ve been through twenty first cousins to it. Bet it cuts through to the next valley.” The scout suddenly drew up his horse, forcing those behind him to stop with startling haste. The next instant he sprung to the ground, leaving the animal standing in the center of the pass. be | opine be i mee to Pete,” he regs ne Wa! his pard, and I'll hurt the fellar that bu lm, ** What's Ki cried Tom Wilson, leaving his horse and walking briskly forward. ‘* Bloody work of some kind, I dunno just what it. ButTPlgoa got horse that Pete’s been hurt, here’s some of his hair on that stone, just where the blood’s thick.” ‘*And, see here,’ said Tom, pointing to a small patch of sand. ‘It’s the trail ac'in or I’m a baby.” “Sure as thunder!’’ yelled Bill. That's my hoss’s rivate mark. Bricktop has ambushed here, and 1as shot Pete. If I don’t prove sudden ruin to him fur it; then go back on me,” “Where is Pete, then?” said Tom. “Blamed if ther ain’t some mystery in it,”’ “And where’s Nicodemus? And where's the hoss?’’ asked Bill. “*It’s maybe not so bad, after all. Pete's ahead of us anyhow. He ain't behind us, I'm going to pelt on if. it takes me to’Fr’is- co ” h “ And here’s with you,” cried Tom, t htening up the strap of his saddle as he spoke. “ You gentle. men can go back tothe train. Hand’ Bill and me whe grub you've got, though. We mought want “Will we wait for youat the ford?” | “No, no, I mought have to ride a hundred miles cross country. Take the train at double speed down the Humbolat, and make for Virginia City. Thére’s some of been over the route,” ) 60) O'S “Twill go with you,” said William Denton, lead- ing his horse forward. . ows . Not if Lknow myself,” replied Bill Grubb, curtly. ‘Don’t want no greenhorns with us, None of your stripe anyhow.” yOu Gad There was something in the look that he fixed on the speaker that silenced the latter. .He drew back with a flushed face, but made no answer, “Hunt out Mr. Ellis in Virginia City,” continued the scout. ‘ Tell him of the iz 0} daughter. If we don’t turn in very soon after you, tell. to send a party across toward Austin to look for us.’ I reckon the trail will lay down Reese river,. © Ten minutes afterward the two experienced scouts were riding onward down the pass, while the others had t back, and were slowly retracing their freer the train, Ju e pass om more difficult and open they advanced. hey reached its highest point about two miles forward, and began fis slight descent toward the valley to the west. “There's water ahead there, Tom,” said Bill, “I’ve a pation we'll strike soft ground inside the next half- mile,’ He was right. A small stre rising from springs in the mountains, began to trickle down their route, It was bordered by a narrow track of soil, green with thin clumps of bunch grass, The horses eagerly nipped the fodder as the two men sprung to ne ground and commenced an earn- est scrutiny of the vanks of the stream, “Here itis,” said Tom. ‘And here! and here! Sie's Gane this way sure enough. But, what track is oh] ‘** Pete’s hoss,” said Bill. ‘‘ The bo: top; or the hoss is, anyhow. Them tracks ain’t long made, I’ve a notion that the trail’s hot.” ~ “To horse ag’in, then, and let’s see what stuff there is left in these critters.” : They were forced to go somewhat slowly down the winding pass, notwithstanding their haste ; It seemed interminable. For miles they followed ie long eet the stream growing stronger as they vanced. * A half mile more will bring us out in the valley,” said Tom, “if ’'m any judge of a “The pass is wid g, if that’s anything to fe by,” said Bil. “I'm sort of anxious to reach its mouth, We mought see something of Pete.” They rode on, rather more pats ly. They had not gone far before they were startled by the sharp re- port of a rifle at no great distance in advance. The scouts looked at each other significantly, then, as if by a common impulse, threw themsejves is after Brick-
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| , | 4 i ae a A tl PE SES tne Se _ SS = ee ei sls - Fes ae ee rs 3 a ne eo a ng ee ee 20 from their horses, and ran noiselessly but rapidly down the pass. A few steps brought them within sight of its mouth, at thesame moment that a fierce mediey of yells broke on the air. The scene before them was a _ startling one. Backed up against the rock at the side of the pass stood hos ena Pete, a pistolin his hand, while his’ rile lay at his feet. Before him stood four yelling Indians, while a fifth la y prostrate on the ground. hey were armed with bows, and a stalwart sav- age had just fitted an arrow to the string, when Pete's pistol cracked, and the Indian tumbled heavi- ty to the ground. Simultaneously two rifle-shots sounded from up the a and two more of the savages fell. Pete glanced in wonder toward the two men who were running rapidly toward him. A single glance enabied him to recognize the scouts, He turned and took deliberate aim at the fleeing savage. ain his pistol cracked sharpiy, and the last of his fierce foes fell heavily to the earth. CHAPTER XXV, FOLLOWING A DOG'S NOSE. ‘‘SHosHONEES! Blame their red pictures!’ said Tom, after glancing into the face of one of the sav- ages, ‘ They’resome of your peaceful Injuns, I’ve had more than one scrimmage with them at Gravel- ly Ford. Call your dog off, Pete, the nigger’s dead as a door nail.’ Nicodemus was worrying one of the fallen savages, but slunk away at the stern command of his mas- ter, with a look as if he felt thoroughly ashamed of self. “Blow me if the boy don’t shoot straight and true!” said Bill, looking with admiration upon the fallen Indians, every one of whom was dead. *“ Have they hurt you, Pete? Your face is covered with blood.” “Them cusses didn't do it,” said Pete, stooping to wash his face in thestream. ‘Got that back in the pass. Gotmy top-knot scratched by a rifle-ball.” ‘We saw the place, Pete, and feared that you had been killed.” ““Nary kill,” was Pete’s answer. ‘ The feller shot an inch too high.” * “ Joe Prime, weren’t it?” ‘“ Who said so?’ asked Pete. “We saw the trail just where you fell, and reck- oned the balance.” “ Reckoned too fast, then. The trail went ahead of me. I cotched this scratch from behind.” “The devil you did! Who sent it?” . OnOoe knows that, 1s = it’s Nicodemus, The dorg had his eyes turned back, and mought have see'd it, Kind of depend on him to spot the feller et. ‘é “ Bet I know who done it,” said Bill, a sudden re- membrance coming to him. “Don’t be knowing too much now,” said Tom. “You knowed it was Joe Prime, an hour ago, Now you’re going to know it was somebody else. Best not be guessing.” “The dorg knows. He’s no fool of a dorg, Nico- demus ain’t, Bet my pile he sorts out the chap.” “We are losing ime here,’’ said Tom, ‘Let's look up the trail.’ “There it leads straight down-stream,”’ said Pete. “*T was follering it with my nose down, like a hound, when I was stirred up by an arrow from one of them dead Injuns.”’ ‘** And where’s your hoss?” “You kin see there, making his dinner off of bunch grass, three miles out,” Before them lay a broad valley, running south- mig 1 bordered by the mountain “ee in whose € ey stood, on the one side, and by a similar zane onthe other. In itscenter was a ht gleam, as of running water. On either side of the stream was the welcome green of fresh herbage, me = ne sober gray and brown of the desert sides o the valley. Pete’s nie was Visible in this green border of the stream, yoatty: cropping the succulent grass, Reloading their weapons, and me a hasty meal off the provender they had brought with them, they peppered to continue their journey. “I'd like to po this Injun meat under ground,” said, Tom, “if we had a kag of powder to blast them a grave. Can’t dig a hole in the solid rock.” “You're gitting soft-hearted about Injuns,” said Bill. “ Ain’t got no time to dig holes for copper devils. Hop up on my hoss, Pete. We'll catch your critter afore long.’ “No, Lam able to walk." “Hop up, I tell you. You've had one boy’s share to-day. Ride a bit slow and I can keep up with you. Our animals ain't fot much run in them now.” { An hour more elapsed ere they reached the } border of the stream, and succeeded in catching Pete’s horse. It was a narrow creek, running in 2 broad bed which in the rainy season might have been filled with roaring waters, but was now weil-nigh empty. “There’s a Nevada river for you,”’ said Tom. “They all start as if they meant work, and then die in the ditch. Bet it’s swallered u ** Does the trail follow it?” ask “ That’s the next question. Here it ison the edge of the water. But it’s lost here, The hound’s play- ing an Injun dodge on us. He’s entered the stream.” ; ‘Sure as shooting,” said Bill, “‘and the fun is to fiid where he left it. Cross over, Tom, I'll take this side. We must smell him out. He'll strike for a bit of hard sile.”’ While the two scouts walked w down-stream weading their horses, Pete took the up-stream afore ten mile.” ill. Picayune Pete. route, watching the borders of the narrow creek with all the keen scrutiny of an old frontiersman. Nicodemus accompanied him, The dog seemed to have an idea of the object of this movement, and ran along with his nose to the ground smelling every inch of the way. For half a mile Pete proceeded, with even_closer caution than that exercised by the scouts. He felt that he had a reputation to make for shrewdness, At the point he had now reached the soil had Poss much thinner, and the luxuriant herbage be- ow was replaced by occasional bunches of grass, alternating with bare, hard ground. On the opposite side of the stream it was yet harder, and destitute of grass. Pete mounted his horse and rode into the shallow water, crossing to the opposite side. Nicodemus swam over after him. “Now, my good feller,” said ‘Pete, “if you_ never showed your fotching up afore, show it now. There’s Tom Wilson and Bill Grubb, two old hands at this Spe and here’s Picayune Pete and Nicodemus, wo young hands. Are we a- oin’ to let them beat us, Nick? Irayther guess not. ’Tain’tin the wood, dorg. Use your smeller lively, and see if you can’t bring down old Bricktop.” _ The dog barked, in acknowledgment of the trust re in him, and ran eagerly a oy a short dis- tance back from the stream, trying the ground with his keen sense of smell. Pete, who had again dismounted, followed him, ae the ground with all the acuteness of his vision. He was interrupted in this by an Nicodemus, who was now running stream over a bit of stony ground, ‘* Now jist look at that dorg,” said Pete, his eyes following the animal with admiring glances. ‘‘ Bet my pile there ain’t sech another dorg this side the Rockies. Anybody that says that Nicodemus ain’t a gay old ’coon, that feller’s got to fight." The soil here was too hard for even an iron hoof to impress it, and he followed the dog for a considera ble distance back from the stream without a dis- covery. But what was this? Here was a bunch of sage brush, one stalk of which had been recently broken. Here was a faint scratch in the soil. Here—it was— by Jove it was—the well-known mark of the shoe of Bill Grubb’s horse. Pete sprung to his feet with a shrill whistle that reached the ears of his distant friends, They were still moving slowly down the stream, but lifted their heads and looked quickly back on hearing his signal. Pete was iyeoke. J his hat in wild bes pee Rpringing into their saddles they rode tily back. “What's up?” cried Bill. “Struck anything?” “Look at the dorg!” said Pete, pointing to where Nicodemus was sti ngrigr ss “The dog? You ain’t called us back because that cur has nosed a prairie fox?” cried Tom. “Took here, then, and tell me what he’s nosed,” said Pete, pointing to the footprint. ‘‘ Don’t you be calling that dorgacur. I fight for that dorg.” “By my ‘mother, Bill, it’s the trail!’’ cried Tom, ‘‘ and the dog’s nose is worth all our eyes.” “Tt is, or I never saw the hoss that made it,”’ said Bill, “Mount, lads, we don’t want our eyes with Nicodemus coursing ahead of us. The trail must be st or the critter wouldn’t found it in this hard e. ’ ‘He's strikin’ for the hills,” said Pete. “Don't see no opening.” They were now pressing over the ground at rapid speed, the dog half a mile in advance. ‘es hee a not have gone through,”’ said Bill. “If he did, the pass will soon open. The critter’s strik- ing eet over.” ut Nicodemus gradually ch his course and began to run down the base line of the hills, leading the acing over a piece of very rough, stony roun ° No trace of the trail had been seen since the one tell-tale mark, but they followed the animal with confidence. wits panei co kadinda ce Sy of miles e dog turned, and, first glancing back, disappear in the side of the hills. Hastily riding up they found he had entered the mouth of a narrow leading into the rocks, Into this they followed him. It widened as they proceeded, passing directly into the mountain range, with almost a level bettom. The now thoroughly-wearied. horses proceeded slowly through this long pass, following the dog, who slackened his pace. It was near night when they emerged from the western mouth of the pass into another valley, much wider than that they had lately crossed. The rays of the descending sun were reflected from the surface of a stream of some width that stretehed north and south through the valley. “Reese River, or I never saw it!’ cried Tom. “Bet a pony the chap’s struck down for Austin. But there ain’t no more go in our horses and we'll have to lay over for the night. There’s some pro- vender along that river for the beasts, and a bite of eatables wouldn't go bad with this Christian, jist Ww. , ‘*You’re right there,” said Bill, ‘* This day’s work isdone. Guess we can take a night’s rest in the shadow of the hill here. There ain't an Injun any- where in sight.” The night passed undisturbed, and by daybreak the next morning they were again in the saddle and riding rapidly toward the distant river. Nicodemus seemed at fault this morning. The scent had weakened in the night, and he seemed unable to take it up again. er bark from ack from the that the fugitive had made for the river. Reaching the stream they turned down its course,, and moved on with undiminished speed. “He never went up-stream, that’s certain,” said Tom. ‘“ He would strike the Humboldt and maybe run across the train.” They continued thus, mile after mile, without any evidence but their assurance that they were pur- suing the right course. The narrow river, through noe wide valley they rode, glinted silverly behind em. “There’s a Digger Injun. or I don’t know the | breed!’ cried Tom. ‘‘ Maybe the red rascal mought have seen him.” Ten minutes brought them beside the miserable . imen of humanity, who waited tremblingly for em. To their quick, decided questions he answered, a5 ‘““Me seed um. Afore last dark. Big brave ride down river. Little pappose on saddle.” “ Girl or boy?”’ ¢ One gal pappose. Brave red here. Like Injun’s ce They rode on, however, with the full confidence face. He rubbed his hand over his beardless chin. “Tt’s them, sure as shooting,” said Tom, riding on. All that day na rode forward, without overtak- ing the fugitive. The trail, however, was recovered, leading straight down the river. Shortly after noon of the next day they rode into the busy mining town of Austin, a bustling settle- ment planted in the heart of the wilderness by the presiding geniusof silver. pre through the rude frontier town they drew rein at the door of a shanty, dignified by the name of hotel, and sprung from their wearied horses, CHAPTER XXVL “on, PETE! PETE!” Arter partaking of the best dinner that the hotel of their choice afforded, and seeing that their horses were provided for, the three friends emerged into the streets of Austin on an exploring expedition. It was a rudely-built town, of low frame houses, dropped down just where it had pleased the errant will of their owners. At least half the town seemed to be made up of drinking saloons, and all the ye nies to be formed of their customers, to judge by Sepeatances: In fact, the working portion of the communit was, at this time of the day, absent in search of sil- ver at the diggings, and only the idlers remained to represent the population. “We'd best divide,” said Bill. “I’ve anotion that he’s somewhere in this town, yet. Moughtn’t intend to stay here, but ain’t had time for a good rest yet. Let’s roam round a bit and ax if anybody’s seen a fel- ler of his deseription.” “All right,” said Tom, ‘TI know a fittle about this place. I’ve been here afore, you see.” ‘* Best come with me, Pete,’ said Bill. “No. If two kin do well, three kin do better. I'l strike down this snaky old street,’ replied Pete. The avenue which the boy followed seemed built on both sides of a guich, whose bottom formed the assageway. “The Shades,’ “‘ The Gem,’ and a host of other attractive titles, met his eye as he advanced, invit- ing the thirsty to partake of spiritual comfort. 6 lad’s opti organs were keenly used as he cree scanning every face he met. Nor did he esitate to enter the various drinking establishments, take a look through their array of customers, and in- quire conce the ign pe of his search. Nicodemus followed him with a listless expression that ewer he was not greatly interested in this expedition. ‘ete, however, succeeded in finding one blear-eyed loafer who had seen a man and a girl ride into the town, several hours before. Couldn’t tell where they had gone. The man wasn’t red-whiskered, but dead black, the informant thought, Girl looked kind of droopy and scared-like. That’s all he knew about it. as dry as blazes. Wasn't Pete going to stand treat? Somewhat encouraged by this information Pete went on, still searching ard questioning. Most of the rough customers he addressed, however, had their own business to attendto. Didn’t know any- ga ae strangers, and didn’t care a fraction. This information was es with a frightful sprinkling of oaths, such as Pete, in all bis rough ex- perience, had never heard. He reached a solitary saloon on the far edge of the ae wow learning more. : This was a long, rambling, one-storied structure built of unplaned boards, oA a sign-board with the title “ The Miner’s Delight.” Nicodemus seemed rather more interested on reaching this establishment, and smelt round its doorway as if he scented game within, “Thinks he smells ‘coon, that dorg does,” Pete| said to himself. ‘ Ain’t no animiles of that sort round these diggin’s, old feller. If ths could only — Bricktop’s scent, now, there’d be some use talkin’.”’ Opening the door Pete walked boldly into the saloon. Tts occupants consisted of half a dozen burly loafers who were hanging idly about the counter, and several others seated at tables round the room. One party of four were busily ae poker, with a greasy pack of cards. A 1, black-whiskered man sat near them, overloo! their game. They looked with a careless ce round at Pete, who returned their stare witb interest. They were all unknown to him, that was certain. cerns Green, or Joe Prime, did not inbabit thas y.
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The boy moved carelessly toward the group of Joafers by the ecunter, intending to question them pare ary the object of his search. ““What in blazes does a cub like you want hero emong men?” growled the barkeeper. ‘ Ain’t got bringing up enough to shet the door afther hiin, 1 either,” ** Guess you ain’t got many men here that I'd turn my back on,” said Pete, defiantly. ‘‘’Tain’t always t\e biggest rooster that’s the best fighter.” The black-whiskered man now looked round for {e first time. He merely glanced at Pete’s face, end then quickly turned to observe the game again. **T won't be taken down in politeness, though,” said Pete. “Ill shet the door, being’s you kinder want it.” He was prevented from doing so by an unexpected accident, Nicodemus, whom he had left outside the saloo now pushed the door wide open with his nose, an ran in, He gave one smell at his master’s feet, and then hastily scudded round the room, with a movement as if he was at fault about a scent, This lasted but an instant, and Pete was hindered from closing the door by a loud barking from his faithful dog. Turning he saw tiai the animal had made a fierce attack upon him of the black whiskers, barking, springing at him, and making savage efforts to bite The man sprung hastily to his feet, with a fierce curse. “Curse the brute, what ails it?” he cried, attempt- ing to kick the dog. But Nicodemus was too spry. He kept out of the reach of the heavy boots of his antagonist, though making the most strenuous ef- forts to insert his teeth in the man’s legs. “Down with you, Nicodemus! What ails you, dorg?’’ cried Pete. But the animal was not to be pacified. He con- tinued his assault. “Blast his infernal picture!” cried the man, in a towering rage. ‘Ill settle his hash for him.” He drew and cocked a pistol as he spoke. “That's my dorg!’’ said Pete. “I fight for that dorg. Maybe you'd like to settle my hash?” Fog,” cried the man, savagely, turning his pistol on Pete, ere the latier gould draw his own weapon, There was no brava in that town. Pistols were not drawn in sport. The life of a man was taken as tightly as that of a dog. It would have been a seri- ous matter for Pete, only that Nicodemus came to is rescue. The man meant murder, and drew the trigger of his pistol with cool aim, Put at the same ‘Tnstant Micodemus buried his teeth in the fellow’s unpro- tected calf. His hand twisted upward with the pain, and the ball passed over Pete’s head. He kicked savagely back at the animal, and again aimed his weapon at Pete. But the young spy was not going to be taken twice napping. His own pistol cracked sharply, and the man's weapon propped to the floor, his right arm pag erg to his side. ‘* What the blazes is up?”’ cried the bartender, dis- playine * similar weapon. bs is what’s up,” yelled Pete, leaping athis an- tarronist and sping his bushy black whiskers, A quick pull, and beard and mustache came off to- eether, revealing the clean-shaved face, and devilish Look of Colonel Green! “* No use, kurnel; you're sold,” cried Pete. “Don't yo'\fellers be fightin’ for this rascal and baby-stealer. Tou don’t know him,” “Tf I don’t know him you can sell me out cheap!” cried opp of the card party, rising to his feet, pistol in hand, Several other weapons were displayed by the party, and it seemed as if there was going to’ be a general aff ray. The aumasted ruffian ripped out a desperate oath, and with a re movement displayed along knife in his left han ‘ An agile Map placed him beside Pete, with the knife brandished above the boy’s unprotected head, “Back down there a bit, you lop-sided hound!” cried a voice from the door, These words were accompanied by the sharp re- ink of a pistol, and the ruffilan staggered and fell dlong. Mero oat play at that game,” continued the voice and its owner stalked into the room. “I'm Bill Grubb, the scout, I’ve pinked an infernal thief and raseal’ If he’s got any friend as wants to take it up i him at ten paces.” ieee for that cnitter cried the man who had risen from the card party. ‘ Not if I knows myself. 1 know him like a book. He was hunted out of Washoe three years ago by a vigilance committee, for a bloody murder. He only saved his neck by taking to his heels.” a “He's dead as a door-nail, now, anyhow,” said the society.” ; Pete had fallen back with a nervous revulsion in a chair. He was not yet hardened to such scenes and perils. The dog was affectionately licking his hand, “You're a hoss, Nicodemus, you are,” said Pete, sith a return of his old humor. “And I owe you one, Bill Grubb. Pay it back some time before we part. Where's the gal, that’s the next question?” * «What gal?” asked the card-player, “This dead cove stole a gal from our train at | Gravelly Ford, We've chased him ever since at top speed, and jist holed him here. He’d throwed us now if it.weren’t for the dorg. It’s you I’m talkin’ | about, Nicodemus.” “It's a daughter of Mr. Ellis, of Virginia City,” | | partender. ‘I know the critter. He ain’t no loss to o's ery, Sora ty Cy = wie uy Ut aS ul: * What! John Ellisy”’ “Yes. Do you know him?” “Don’t 1? He made his fortune in these diggin's. Stole Jack Ellis’s daughter, eh? What for?” ““Donno,”’ said Pete. ‘‘Wanted to bleed the dad- dy, reckon. What did he do with the gal, that’s the question?” “In there,”’ sai! the bartender, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, Pete’s movement toward the inner portion of the house was hindered by the vision of a flying child who came bursting through an inner door, and flinging her arms with a choking clasp round his neck. ‘*Oh, Pete! Pete!” cried the well-known voice of Minnie Ellis. ‘‘Oh! I'm so glad to see you! ‘Take me out of this horrible, horrible place! Quick, Pete, before that dreadful man comes!” Pete, fearful lest she should see the spectacle on the floor, lifted her in his arms, and bore her through the gathering crowd at the door. “You'll never be troubled with him ag’in, Min- nie,” he said. ‘Picayune Pete’s about now. Don’t lose sight of a ag’in, nohow.” “Oh, Pete!” she continued, “I'll never get over my fright. He made so much of me, and coaxed me out of the wagon to see the sun rise over the mountains, and then put me on horseback and ran away with me. Oh, how I prayed for you all the dreadful days!” “You have me now,’ said Pete. ‘‘And he won't trouble you no more.” “Why? What do you mean?” “There, Minnie, my gal, don’t be askin’ questions. And here’s Nicodemus, too, you ain’t seen. The dog was fri gladly about them. Minni whom Pete had now placed on the ground, stoo and patted him with childish gladness. She had no words to express her gratitude for his deliverance, “Hurry up, Pete,’’ said Bill Grubb, who had left the saloon and made his way through the gatberin crowd, ‘* Dead men don’t kick, and it ain’t counte no harm in Austin to shoot a thief. But there ain’t no telling how people’s notions may turn; and there’s a ueer crowd here; the feller mought have friends, est hunt up Tom, and make tracks while we're on the safe side,” They bad no difficulty in finding Tom, whom they met proceeding toward the center of the excitement. | A few words revealed to him the startling success théy had had. ; People were still pressing toward the “ Miner's De- light,” and Tom agreed with his comrade that the ‘sooner they got out of the town the better it might prove for their health, . In half an hour more they were mounted and leav- ing the town, Minnie on Pete’s saddle, and Nicode- mus running proudly in advance, Fe camped out that night about ten miles from ustin. | CHAPTER XXVII. A GLAD SURPRISE. The ride over to Virginia City was long and F They proceeded slowly, Minnie Lym d too much ex- hausted by her previous journey to bear rapid trav- eling. The child had evidently suffered greatly with ter- ror, grief and weariness, and her whole nervous organization seemed to be unstrung. An involun- tary trembling possessed her, and it seemed as if the color would never return to her pallid cheeks. Her companions were all very kind to her, wrapping her carefully in their blankets at night, to preserve her from the chill of the mountain air, and being assidu- ous in their attentions to her during the day. Pete, particularly, could not do enough to make her comfortable, and she expressed her sense of his kindness by the grateful look in her large, blue eyes, and by the confiding way in which she clung to his waist during their long rides. Children soon throw off the memory and the effect of troubles, and Minnie’s spirits graduall brightened as they rode on over long, sloping val- leys, and through passes in the frequent mountain | ranges, which cover the whole width of Nevada in he shock, however, had been too great for her to recover from it immediately. “* Blamed mucky I happened to hear the hubbub at the ‘ Miner’s Delight,’ said Bill. “I was twisting down that way, you see, and the first thing I heered was the do giving tongue. I encwel ah to take a hand.” “Tt were gittin’ kinder warm,” said Pete. kurnel died game.” “Died!” repeated Minnie, with a shudder. ‘Now, now, Mi nie, gal, we’re forgettin' you, “The that’s sure,” said Pete, in a deprecating tone. | + ar i aga the feller’s been playin’ rascal all his life, and he only got what he bid for.” “Ts he dead?’ she asked, trembling. ““He’s gone under, Minnie. He pulled out a big | knife you see, and was just goin’ to carve me, when | ae Grubb drawed a bead on him and he went own,”* a Did he shoot him?” ‘Don’t talk no more about the white-livered repro- bate,” said the scout. ‘‘ He just got what he fished oie He won't trouble you nor nobody else no more, | | riding boldl ere wes | ee oose then, and trotted down just in time | Bill, grimly. a | | } ! ish r a good thing for so- ciety, or they wouldn’t have Tet us off so easy. But ' have thought we were doin | there’s no tellin* how men’s miads wih wor. .ad we're best outside.”’ “Got off pretty safe, that. cartain,’ saia Lil, juns, coming over. "Tain’v wiwgevher safe for party of our size to cross the desert, but I ain't seen nothing of more account than a Digger yet.” “And fifty miles more will take us into Virginia,” | said Tom. . | They were now a wide, level, desolate 1 | | * And ain't had the trouble 1 wes afearc, of with Ln- | | plain, with nothing resembling vegetation save an occasional patch of the dreary sage brush, which is the main vegetable production of these gions. | It was nine o'clock in the pea The sun, which was climbing up the eastern sky behind them, threw their shadows far out in advance toward the long range of hills which they could see rising in the far distance. Mile after mile they rode on toward these hills which seemed to approach with infinite : lowness. There was no water on this plain, the loose alkaline earth drinking up ite liquid treasures with the most thirsty avidity. They felt anxious, therefore, to reach the hills, with the hope of finding water and provender for their horses. It was appreaching noon when they at length drew near the hills, which loomed into double hight as they gazed upon their rocky flanks. “There's water now, or something that shines like it,” said Tom, pointing forward. It was ata point yet several miles distant, near the base of the range. A faint giimmer met their pe hen emi nature could not yet be fuily deter- mined. “Tf itis a run of water it must come from an penny in the hills,” said Bill, “We'll likely find there the pass we want.” “What is that thing close in to the rock?” asked Pete. “I jist then saw it move.” “*T saw it too,’ said Minnie. “It looked like the waving branch of a tree, or a bush.” The scout's eyes were fixed with scrutinizin glance on the point in question. He drew near to Tom and spoke to him in a low tone. ‘Hold back a bit, Pete,” said the scout. “ Let us two ride ahead.” | Pete did so without asking any questions. He had an apprehension of danger, but did not wish Minnie to become alarmed, There was nothing now visible but the bare rock. They rode forward more slowly, the two men laying thei rifles on their saddles before them, Pete emulated them in this movement. Minnie noted these actions with distended eyes, but silently. She felt that there was some new peril threatening her, but had too much confidence in her companions to give way to terror, “Hold on to me tight, Minnie," said Pete. ** Mought have to ride hard, you know.” They were now but an eighth of a mile distant from what proved to be, in reality, a stream of water, flowing from the jaws of a pass in the hills. “Swear I don’t see nothing,’ said Bill. ‘* Not even a shadder.”’ He was answered by the sudden emergence of a rren re- dozen mounted Indians, who rode out from the pars peed, and maneuvered their swift ponies - at full s i with evident intention to surround the small group of travelers. A faint scream broke from Minnie’s , as she clung with a convulsive clasp to Pete’s waist, “Don't get skeered, gal,”’ he said, somewhat stern- you can fix it.” “Quick! Into the rock! There’s a hollow there _ will Just hold us,” said Bill, hastily. ‘Don't let the , yellin’ devils pit round us,’ They were Letween the savages and the base of the , and drew _ y into the natural fastness alluded to, backing their horses up against the rock and confronting their foes. The savages rcde in a half-circle round them, with blood-curdling yells, They seemed to be endeayor- ing to frighten the whites.” Their arms only consir',- ed of bows and arrows, and the inevitable toma | ly. “A screechin'’ Injun ain’t sartain death, nohow 1 | hawk, tp succession. | “Git back now, and save your ‘tarnal throats!" cried Tom, angrily. “Tl ~ an ounce of lead into some of your bread-baskets if you don't.” “No hurt white men,” said one of the Indians, forward. ‘‘White men give us shoot guns. We let um go.” f “T bet it ain’t in your red hides to stop us,” said “ Back, now, or I'll bore you with « He lifted his rifle so threateningly that the savage drew hastily back. An arrow, the next instant, struck the rock alove their heads, as if the savages were determining to bring them to their senses. It was answered by the report of Bill Grubb’s rifle, and one of the Indian horses fell dead to the ground, flinging its rider heavily. “That's tit for tat,’’ muttered the scout. A flight of a dozen arrows followed, evidently aimed to hurt. Pete felt a sharp twinge of pain in his side. He had seated himself so as to cover Minnie. — He raised his weapon, and, with quick aim, fired back. The report was simultaneous with that from Tom Wilson’s weapon. Two of the savages reeled in their saddles. Ono | bullet.”” | fell to the ground, , ane a second flight of arrows. The discharge was answered by a revengeful yell, The sava es rode | boldly in, as if with the impression that their foe were now defenseless. They were taught better than this by the sharp re
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ae ee —— al AAR OSS ENS OBERT SON 2. Se Ee SE « ee a= ’ with a grateful look, , hana train, and came out here to meet you. Just in rts of a brace of pistols. Another of them fell to he ground, Pete's pistol wounded one of the horses, which turned and ran off at full speed. Admonished of the aap a of coming to close quar- ters, the savages hastily w off to a distance, and commenced po in their arrows at a dangerous rate, so concealing themselves behind their swiftly- running horses that no bullet could reach them. “This is getting infernal hot,” growled Tom. “Pve got a dozen nasty scratches already. We must take their plan, and make a breastwork of our horses.”’ The scouts sprung to the ground. Pete handed down Minnie to his friend, and then, for an instant, stood erect on his horse, emptyin two chambers of his pistol at the foe. One of the flying horses tum- db and fell, burying his rider beneath him. Pete sprung to the ground in time to avoid a flight of arrows. The sav were now doubly cautious. It was impossible t a safe shot at them, while they had a nea t t in the motionless animals of the scouts. t seemed their purpose to wound and stampede these animals, nor was their object unsuccessful, for Tom’s horse, restive from a sharp arrow wound in his side, tore the rein from his rider’s hand, and gal- lo out into the plain. e yell of triumph of the savages was cut short by the report of the angry scout’s rifle, which he had succeeded in Ser py The ball crashed through the head of one of the Indians, which had been for a moment shown. As if in echo of this a peal of rifle-shoi!s followed, <A fo more saddles were emptied in the savage ranks. The small remainder of the Indian party rode off in dismay, at the same time that a group of horse- men rode out from the pass, several of them chasing the fly savages, Our friends waited in wonder for the arrival of this reinforcement. Minnie clung to Pete’s hands, trem- bling violently with excitement. Nicodemus, who had crouched down by the rock during the fray, was now snarling and biting at one of the fallen Indians. At the head of the approaching party was a stal- wart, handsome man, of middle age. He rode up and scanned the sunburnt faces of the scouts. “Tam John Ellis, of Virginia City,’’ he said, as he dismounted, A faint scream from behind met his ears. Minnie leaped forward with the lightness of a fawn, and buried herself in his arms. “Oh, papa, papa!” she cried. ‘‘Oh, my dear, good papa! G And there is Nicodemus. Oh, I’m so happy!” “ And this is my little daugh fondly down on the nestling child. ‘‘ Where is the lain who stole her?” He looked around with a stern glance. “Gone under,” was Bill Grubb’s sententious reply. ‘* And you rescued her, my good friends,”’ he said, i got word by a rider from , too, it seems,” CHAPTER XXVIII. A FATHER’S VENGEANCE. An hour later they were all seated within the jaws of the rock-bound path, eating their frugal dinner beside the welcome water, and freely conversing upon the events of the last few days. The flesh-wounds of Pete and the scouts had been dressed, and the story of the abduction and rescue already concisely told. Minnie sat by her father’s side, his arm around her, nestling against him with an aspect of entire happiness, and glancing contentedly over at Pete, who sat opposite. ; Nicodemus was nestled up against his master in much the same manner, enjoying the bits of hisown dinner with which Pete regaled his faithful com- panion. “ There's one villain qe under,’’ said Bill Grubb. “There’s another afloat yit. Colonel Green was the boldest, but he wasn’t the worst of the two.” “T bet,” said Pete, taking off his cap and showin the fresh wound in his scalp. “The feller tha plowed up my top-knot that way ain’t got his rations it “Who was it?” asked Mr. Ellis, quickly. “That is what we are not quite sure of, though we've got our notions,” sail Bill. “He made that shot from behind, you see. It was somebody be- longing to the crain, that’s sure.” e proceeded to tell the circumstances attending Pete’s being wounded. “There was a fellow rode express over from the train?” he asked. “Yes, and brought us the news of my dear child being stolen. There were two, in fact. My nephew came with him.” “Your nephew? Where is he?” ‘Helping to chase the Indians out there. Why do you ask? ‘“Wondered I didn’t see him, that’s all.” “We ain’t quite blind about this other feller,” said Pete, ‘“‘ only wouidn’t like to say nothing with- out being sartain sure. Howsomever, there’s one pair of eyes seen ‘:e¢ ’coon that shot me.” ‘““Who was thas, asked Mr. Ellis. “It was the ae? papa,’ said Minnie. ‘‘It was Nicodemus, Pete’, dog.” ** And Nick a. t nobody’s every-day do we tell you,” caid Pete. ‘Ain’t many ians ge nissense. Wait till he twigs that rascal. If he now let \ Picayune Fete. ne = don't go for him like a cat for spilt milk I'll put him up at auction; if I don’t, blow me.” Mr. Eliis gazed with some interest on the dog from whom such feats of detection were expected. “He looks like a wide-awake animal,” he said, The three men who had gone in chase of the flying Indians now returned. They had not succeeded in overtaking the savages, whose fleet mustangs bad carried them beyond pursuit. They ee from their horses and joined the party, with a rapid accouxt of their enterprise. “Glad to see you again, Mr. Grubb,” said one of them. ‘‘And Mr. Wilson, too. Hardly expected to meet you :0 soon.” “Tom Wilson’s my name,’’ was the grum rejoin- der. “ And here’s my dear Minnie,”’ said ber cousin, for it was he. ‘ Alive and well, as I feared never to see her a " of oped, maybe,” said a stern voice behind him. ‘“* Here’s Picayune Pete, at your service. And here’s Nicodemus.” Denton turned, with a paling face to confront Pete, who was holding the growling and struggling dog. ‘ ‘eg dorg scents game,”’ said Pete, releasing the animal, With a low, savage bark the dog sprung forward, ner with one fierce bound from the ground. In an instant he had Denton by the collar, struggling to insert his teeth in his throat. A violent curse broke from the man’s lips as he seized the maddened animal and tore him from his hold. He fang fea fiercely to the ground, but the dog was in an instant on his feet again, and renew- ing the attack. *Give me your rifle, quick, till I shoot the mad brute!” he cried, trying to drag a weapon from the hands of the nearest person. “He's got a right to be mad,’ said Pete, confront- ing him. ‘I've fought many a time for that do 2 and now that dorg’s fighting for me. Down with ou, Nick. You’ve glee Tage e right game. Leave t to your masier to settle with him.”* ‘What does all this mean?” asked Mr. Ellis, com- ing forward. I don’t know,” said his nephew, sullenly, though his face was ashy pale. “Tt means that this chap’s at the bottom of all the plans ag’in’ Minnie,” said Pete, sternly, confronting the culprit. ‘What had Kurnel Green to make by stealing her, only that he was boughi to doit? This chap, though, heard that Mr. 8 was rich, and thought that if Minnie was out of the way he’d be the next heir.” Mr. Ellis looked at his nephew, without asking any question. ‘“* Tt’s all an infernal lie,” came through the pallid lips of the Jatter, “Ts it a lie?” cried Pete. “I'll show everybody here how much of a lie it is.” He proceeded with a rapid intonation to describe his reasons for distrusting William Denton, begin- ning with what he had overheard in the streets of Toledo, rehearsing the conversation he had listened to while under the wagon on the plains, and ae with the pes to murder him, and the shrewd- ness of the dog in detecting the vi “ “It’s true as shooting!’ roared Bill Grubb. * Didn’t I ride last down the pass to join Tom Wil- son’s party, and wasn’t this chap jist ahead of me, coming back from his attempt to commit murder?’ ar you were last maybe you did it,’ said Den- n. “Me did it! I'll prove who done it, at twenty paces, with rifles!’ cried the scout. “You go back, Bill; this ismy quarrel,” said Pet grasping his weapon. “He me a liar, Ill prove who’s the liar.” With a cry of fear Minnie ran forward and caught Pete by the hands. “You shall not, Pete,”’ she exclaimed. ‘‘ You shall not get into any more danger for me. He is punished now. See how pale he is, and how he trembles,” **Allof you stand back,” said Mr, Ellis, confront- ing his nephew. “ det word the boy says is true,”’ he continued. “I see it in your face, and I would believe a dog’s instinct sooner than your living ys nap You dare not deny a word of it.”’ e culprit stood as if overcome with fear, his lips trembling, his eyes fixed on the ground. He at- tem soy bes ag he ange aye ling “See here, gentlemen,’ e father, appea to all present. ‘ Here is my ¢ the apple of my eye, whom I trust to this fellow to bring me from the States. The bloody villain attempts to make way with the innocent child, and would have done it only his confederate wanted to keep her alive for prane of hisown. Such treachery is tenfold worse han murder. What is the just fate of such a man?” “Death!” came from the implacable lips of the stern jury. ee No, no, father!”’ cried Minnie, in accents of ter- ror. ‘Don’t, don’t shoot him! Oh, papa, I could never love you if you did!’ She clung earnestly to her father’s hand, “He deserves it, Minnie. But for your sake, and because there is some of my family blood in his veins, he shall go free. But it will be dangerous for him if he ever lets me set eyes on him again. Awa with you, William Denton, while you have this chil whom you have so wronged, to plead for you. will not answer for myself an hour from now.” The miserable culprit with downcast saa at mounted his horse, and rode with iy cae looks up the pass, never once venturing to look back. A eurve in the rocky avenue soon shut bim out from their accusing eyes. * And so he goes out of my life forever,” said Mr. Ellis. “If he h harmed you, Minnie, nothing should have saved him.” LR SESE SE even + ee _ SSS Se RAREST NAM Sd CHAPTER XXIX, DROPPING INTO + UNSHIPE, Picayune Pere had gained a warm and wertu! friend in Mr. Ellis, who felt deeply grateful to him for peachy 3 his daughter from the plots against her. He liked him, also, for his bold and manly bearing, and did not need the warm request of Minnie to in- pace him to take the boy’s fortunes into 1.is ands, Mr. Ellis was a prosperous merchant in Virgini:: City, and they were not back a week in this froxticr town ere he had Pete fully installed in his establish- ment, and taken into his house as a member of his own family. He took good care, also, that the boy should hav such advantages of education as the town affordc:. Pete had a ready, quick mind, and rapidly improv: «! under this instruction, Nor had Minnie quite recovered from her missic: - ary spirit in relation to him, but used all her ii.t).- ence over him in teaching bim to improve bis m« cic: of speech, and to reform the other rude habits i:1u which his wild life had led him. She saw, with much pleasure, that her lessons bi <i} much ter effect upon Pete than those of 1:5 school instructor. Had she been a little older +: e would have perceived that it was the feeling kno, u to Bown people as love, that made the boy so tra: t- able under her gentle training. In the store Pete developed another sidegof | i- character. He was so energetic, and made . f so agreeable to customers, that Mr. Ellis began io think that the advantage of the bargain was on Ls side instead of on Pete’s. It was evident that ti‘ pepe of the boy made things move more smooth- y and i gong Pete’s old cynicism ceenved iv have died out under the new influences which ncw beamed upon his life. _ It must not be imagined, though, that he threw off his boyish wildness at once and entirely. There would come upon him, at times, that fierce impa- tience of restraint which the caged tiger feels. In such cases he would disappear, with scant courte: y, from Virginia City, and would occasionally be abscuit for weeks. In these cases Bill Grubb was his invariable ccm- anion, The scout had taken co great a range toihe oy that he, too, had taken his abode in this Wer: ) 1 town, mou making it only a center for bis m1. - rous expeditions. The miners in the silver and gold diggings \ «it knew and warmly welcomed the two companic : ; and the wild Indians of those Western States ca). v to know and dread the crack of their rifles, which had made a widows in the Indian village. These expeditions, and the dangers he encoi n- tered, were deeply distressing to Minnie, and :)e used all her influence over Pete to induce him to settle down and give up these wild, dangerous excur- sions. But the be had another object in view besides his love of excitement. The mystery overhanging lis birth, and the fate of his parents, became a sovice of mental trouble to him, as he grew older and t«t- ter-informed, He had obtained, through old Meg, a partial clew to this mystery, and had learned that the full key to it must sought in this Western land, where he now was. The long, persistent search was finally successful, and Pete Siccovered that he had the right to cl.im as high and honorable a position in society as the best of those around him. But the story of his search is too long, and the ad- ventures it led him into too manifold, to be intro- duced here at the conclusion of ournarrative. They constituted a romance in themselvcs, and we may, at some time in the future, tell our readers the story of how Picayune Pete found his parents. We will here pass over this episode in his life, and tell how, as he grew older, he amy? handsomer, and in every way more engaging ris face, under the in- fluence of education and higher social conditicns, losing its look of wild cynicism, and becoming t1ank, manly, and attractive, The somewhat stunted boy developed eventaaiy into a full-sized, well-formed man, to whom his old epithet would no longer apply. Each advancing year also pg oe new beauty to Minnie’s charming face, untilshe became the reign- ing belle of all that portion of the Pacific slope, and of Lary Francisco, i which Mr. Ellis afterward re- moved. But no advantageous offer could swerve her soul from its old allegiance to Pete, nor had her father aught but good wishes for the growing love between his protege and his dearly-loved daughter, But Pete had become a prosperous merchart on his own account, and a highly respected citizen, when he finally won the charming girl whose influ- ence had changed him from a young savage into a polished gentleman. They now dwell in one of the most notable man- sions of the Golden City, and nowhere within the States does more happiness dwell within four walls. Bill Grubb and Tom Wilson have always a warm corner and a welcome in the house of their youn friend; and last, but not least, Nicodemus reigns lor of the hearth-rug, and of the hearts of his master and_mistress, “‘He is old,” said Pete, ‘‘ and inclines to be crusty but his heart is in the right place: and it would il become me, in these prosperous days, to turn my back on the old companion who was so faithful to Picayune Pete.” | | |
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) | i f \ } 32 Large Three-Column Pages. 1,.A Hard Crowd; orn, GENTLEMAN Sam’s Sister. By Philip 8. Warne. 2. The Dare-Devil; or, THz WINGED Wircu or THs Sea. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 8. Eit Carson, dr., Tue Crack Snort or rH: West, By Buckskin Sam, 4. The Kidnapper; or, Tue Great SHANGHAI oF THE NorTHWeEsT. By Philip 8. Warne. 5. The Fire-Fiends; or, Hercu.ess, THE Honcupack. By A. P. Morris, 6. Wildcat Bob, Tse Boss Brorser; or, THE BorpEeR BLoopHounps. By Edward L. Whee- Jer, author of ** Deadwood Dick,”’ ** Double Daggers.” 7. Death-Notch, Tur Destroyer; OR, Tue Spirit Lake AVENGERS. By Oll Coomes. 8. The Headless Horseman, A strange story of Texas. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 9, Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover. 10. Vidocq, THE Frencu Pouicre Spy. Written by himself. 11, Midshipman Easy. By Capt. Mar- ryat. 12. The Death-Shot; or, TRACKED TO Dear. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 13. Pathaway; or, Nick WHIFrLEs, THE Op TrAprer or THE Nortuwest. By Dr. J. H. Rob- inson, 14. Thayendanegea, THE Scourcs ; or, THe War-EaGur or THE Monawks. By Ned Bunt- ine, author of ‘‘ The White Wizard.” 15. The Tiger-Slayer; or, EaaGur- Heap To THE Rescue. By Gustave Aimard. 16. The White Wizard; or, THe Great | PROPHET OF THE SEMINOLES. By Ned Buntline. 17. Nightshade, Tur Rosser PrRINcE or Hounstow Hears. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 18. The Sea Bandit; on. THe QuEEN oF THE IsLE. By Ned Buntline. 19. Red Cedar, Tue Pram OvTLaw. By Gustave Aimard. 20. The Bandit at Bay; or, Tur Pr- RATES OF THE Pratries. By Gustave Aimard, 21. The Trapper’s Daughters OR, Tue OvrLAw’s Fare. By Gustave Aimard. 22. Whitelaw; or, NaAtTi£ or THE LAKE Suore. By Dr. J. H. Robinson, 23. The Red Warrior; oR, STELLA DeLoRME’s CoMANCHE LovER. By Ned Buntline, 24. Prairie Flower. By Gustave Ai- mard, author of ‘“ Tiger-Slayer,” etc. 25. The Gold-Guide; or, Sreex Arm, THE Reauuaror. By Francis Johnson. ' 26. The Death-Track; or, Tue Ovr- LAWS OF THE MounTAaIn. By Francis Johnson, 27. The Spotter-Detectives or, THE Griris or New York. By Albert W. Aiken. 28. Three-Fingered Jack, Tur Roap- AGENT OF THE ROCKIES; OR, THE Boy Miner or Harp Luck. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 29. Tiger Dick, Tue Faro Kriya; or, Tue Casnier’s Crime. By Philip 8. Warne. 2 spel George; or, Fiery Frep PE bat By Sone E. Badger, Jr. ; 31. The New York ‘Sharp ;’ or, Tue Fiase or Ligutnina. By Albert W. Aiken, 32. B’hoys of Yale; or, Toe Scrapss | or A Harp Ser or CotieGcuans. By John D. Vose. 33. Overland Kit. By Albert W. Aiken. 34. Rocky Mountain Rob. By Al- bert W. Aiken. 35. Kentuck, the Sport. By Albert W. Aiken. 36. Injun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken. | 37. Hirl, the Hunchback; or, Tue | SWOKDMAKER OF THE SANTEE. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. | By Ned Buntline, | Sport or THE Foor Huis. B 38. Velvet Hand; or, Tue [Ron Grip or Ingun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken. 39. The Russian Sny; on. Tre Brota- ERS OF THE STARRY Cross. By Frederick Whittaker, 40. The Lone Haired ‘Pards;’ or, THE TARTARS OF THE Prarns. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 41. Gold Dan; or, Tue Wuirr Savacr oF THE Great Sar Lake, By Albert W. Aiken, i | 42. The California Detective; on, Tae Wircues or New York. By Albert W. Aiken. } 43. Dakota Dan, Tur RECKLESS RANGER; or, THe Bes-Hunrers’ Excursion. By Oll Coomes. 44. Old Dan Rackback, Tue Great EXTARMINATOR; Or, THE TRIANGLE’S Lasr TRatL, By Olli Coomes, 45. Old Bull’s Eye, Tue Licntrnine Ssor oF THE Piains. By Joseph E. Badger, Jnr. 46. Bowie-Knife Ben, Tre Lirtie HunTER oF THE Nor’-west. By Oll Coomes. 47. Pacific Pete, Tur PRINCE OF THE Revo.tver. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 48. Idaho Tom, THe Youne OvrLaw OF SILVERLAND. By Oll Coomes, 49. The Wolf Demon; or, THE QUEEN or THE KANAWHA. By Albert W. Aiken. KIT CARSON, JR.—No, 8. 50. Jack Rabbit, THe Prarie Sport; or, THE CHILDREN OF THE LLANO Estacapo. By Jos. E, Badger, Jr. 51. Red Rob, Tuer Boy Roap-AGEnr,. | By Oll Coomes. 52. Death Trailer, THe Cnumr or Scoors; or, Life and_ Love in a Frontier Fort. By Hon, Wm. F. Cody, (Buffalo Bill.) 53. Silver Sam; or, Toe Mystery or Deaiwoop Crry. By Col. Delle Sara. 54. Always on Hand; or, Tue Sportive Philip 8. Warne author of ‘A Hard Crowd,” “Patent Leather Joe.” 55. The Scalp Hunters, A RoMANncE or THE Piarns. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 56. The Indian Maseppa; or, THE Map Man oF THE Piarns. By Albert W. Aiken, 57. The Silent Hunter; or, Taz Scow1 | Haut Mystery. By Percy B. St. John. 58. Silver Knife; or, Wickuirrs, THE Rocky Mountain Ranger. By Dr. J. H. Robinson. 59. The Man From Texas; or, THE OvurLaw oF ARKANSAS. By Albert W. Ailen. 60. Wide Awake; or, Tae IpIoT oF THE Buack Hits. By Frank Dumont. 61. Captain Seawaif, roe PRIVATEER. Each Number Complete, | Newsdealers, ten cents per co if Price 10 cts, 62. Loyal Fcart; cr, Tue TRAPPERS OF ARKANSAS. By Gustave Aimard, 63. The Winged Whale. W. Aiken, 64. Double- Sight, the Death Shot. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 65. The Red Rajah; or, Tnx Scourcr or tue Inpres, By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 66. The Specter Baroque. A Tate or THE Paciric. By Captain Mayne Reid, 67. The Boy Jockey; or, Honesty versus CrookrepNness, By Joseph FE. Badger, Jr. 68. The Firhting Trapper; or, Kit Carson To THE Rescux. By Capt. J. F. OC. Adams, 69. The Irish Captain; A Tar oF Fonrrenoy. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 70. Itydrabcd, Tux STRANGLER; or, ALETHE, THE CHILD oF tHe Corp. By Dr. J. H. Robinson, 71. Captain Cool-Blade, or, Taz Man SHARK OF THE MississiprI. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 72. The Phantom Hand. A Srory or ret York Heartus anp Homes. By Albert W. en, 73. The Knight of the Red Cross; or, Toe MaGicrAn oF Granapa. A Tale of the Al- hambra. By Dr. J. H. Robinson, 74, Captain of the Rifles. A Romance OF THE Mexican Va.iEy. By Captain Mayne Reid. 75. Gentleman George, or, PARLOR, Prison, StaGk AND StrEET. By Albert W. Aiken. 76. The Queen’s Musketeer, or, THISBE, THE Princess Paumist. By George Albony. 77. The Fresh of Frisco, or, Tur Heiress or Buenaventura. By Albert W. Aiken. 78. The Mysterious Spy;.or, GoLtpen FEATHER, THE BuccaNneer’s Davaurrer, By A, M, Grainger. 79. Joe Phenix, tur Potice Spy. By Albert W. Aiken, 80. A Man of Nerve; TRE Dwarf. By Philip 8. Warne. 81, The Euman Tiger; oF Fie. By Albert W. Aiken, 82. Iron Wrist, the Swordmaster. By Col. Thomas H. Monstery. 83. Gold Fullet Srort: or, raz Knicuts OF THE OVERLAND. By Bufialo Bill. 84, Hunted Down; or, THE Wuirk Wrirew. By Albert W. Aiken. 85. The Cretan Rover}; or, ZULEIKAnH, tHE BeautiruL, By Col. Prentice Ingraham. 86. The Big Hunter; or, Tar Quren or THE Woops. By the author of “ Silent Hunter.” 87. The Scarlet Captain; or, Tua PRISONER OF THE TowER. By Col. Delle Sara. 88. Big George, Tur Giant or TH Guicu; or, THe Five OvuTLAw Broturrs. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 89. The Pirate Prince; or, Prerry NELLY, Tok QUEEN OF THE IsLx, By Col. Prentisa Ingraham, $0. Wild Will, Tonk Map RancueEro; or, Tae TERRIBLE Texan. By Buckskin Sam. 91. The Winning Oar; or, Tux Inn- . Ty Albert or, CALIBAN, or, A Heart | KEEPER’s DavauTER. By Albert W. Aiken. Ready April 7th. '92. Buffalo Bill, Tae Buckskin Kina: or, THE AMAZON OF THE West. By Major Danger field Burr. Ready April 2ist. 98. Captain Dick Talbot, Kina ov THE ROAD; or, THE BLACK-HOODS OF SHASTA. By Albert W, Aiken. Ready May 5th. A new issue every two weeks. Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by al py, or sent by mail on receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, | Publishers, 98 William Street, New York,
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Roap. By Edward lL. Wheeler. 4 Yellowstone Jack; or, Tut TRAPPER or THs EncHanrep Grounp. J. KE. Badger, Jr. Kansas King; or, Tue Rep Ricut HAnp. By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm, F. Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker. ine Jaw. By Oll Coomes. 6 Bill Biddon, Trapper s or, Lire In Tam Norruwest. By Edward 8. Ellis. OvurTcastT. Col. Prentiss Ingraham. by Seth Jones; or, THE CAPTIVES OF THE Frontizr. By Edward 8. Ellis. chausen. 10 Nat Todd; or, Tae Fate oF THE Sroux Captive. By Edward S. Ellis. 11 THE Fortunes or 4 Bowery Giri. A.W, Aiken. Camver's Travels. A Voyage to aa a Voyage to Brobdingnag. 1 author of “ Vagabond Joe,” ete. 1 4. Aladdin; or, THe WonprerFuL Lamp. 15 Darren, By Capt. Frederick Whittaker, Robinson Crusoe. His Life and 1 > Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca- neer. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 1 & Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy- The Phantom Spy; or. [ae Piotr oF THe Prarrre. By Buffalo Bill. 20 The Double Daggers; or, Drap- woop Dick's Dariance. By E. L, Wheeler, 21 Frontier Angel. A Romance of 22 The Sea Serpent; or, THE boy Rostnson Crusor. By Col. Juan Lewis. 23 Nick o’ the Night ; or, Tae Boy Diamond Dixk; or, Tok Mystary oF THE YELLOWSTONE. By Col, Ingraham, 2 5 The Boy Captain; or, THs Pirate's 26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. By Edward L. Wheeler. 27 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. 4 alo Ben: or, Deapwoop Dick By Edward L. Wheeler. The Dumb e3; oR, THE DoGr’s DAUGHTER. Ps J Poe Whittaker. 30 Roaring Ralph ckwood, THE Reckiess Rancer. By Harry St. George. 31 Keen-Knife, THe Prince oF THE Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian; or, THe Girt Deap-Suor. KE, L, Wheeler. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THz Rep Preates or THE Canipsexs, 8. W. Pierce. 34 Oregon Sol; or, Nick WaHIFrLzs’ Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F. C. Adama. 3 5 By Edward L, Wheeler. THe ARENA. By Frank 8. Finn, 37 The Hidden Lodge; or, Tuk Littis Honrer of THE ADIRONDACKS, Harbaugh. 38 Ned Wylde, Tu Bor Scout. Texas Jack. Edward L. Wheeler. 40 A story of a Young American. By John J. Marshall. AL Lasso Jack, Taz Youne MusTAnG- Oll Coomes. 4.2 woop Dick’s Bonanza, By Ed. L. Wheeler. Dick Darling, the Pony Express Rider. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 4A. HAWES oF Kentucky. By Ha St. George. 45 Old Avalanche, the Great An- nihilator. By Edward L. Wheeler. West. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 47 Nightingale Nat; ox, THe Forest Mebeame By <r. ©. wy HS Vagabond Joe; Tx Youne WanpER- yf The Plying Yankee; or, Tue Ocean . By $s) The Adventures of Baron Mun- The Two Detectives; or, The b Spy. By Oll Coomes, The Sea-Cat; or, THe Wrircn or 16 Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.) 19 ages. From the Arabian Nights. Kentucky Rangers’ Life. By EK. 8. Ellis. Spy or 76, By T. O, Harbaugh. Daventer. By Roger Starbuck. By Oll Coomes, Buif. 2 tn Discourse. 3 Prarrizs. By Ol] Coomes, Wild Ivan, Tux Boy Ciaupz Duval; 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN OF By 39 Death-Face, the Detective. By Roving Ben. ER. B The Phantom Miner; or, DErap- Rattling Rube; or, THe Nicat- 46 Glass Eye, the Great Shot of the Black John, the Road-Agent. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 49 Omaha Oll; or. Deapwoop Dick In | 4) &@ Dancer. By Edward L. Wheeler. 5O Burt Bunker, THe Traprprr A Tale of the Northwest. 5 1 The Boy Rifles; or, THz Unpzr- Groonp Camp. By Archie C, Iron. 52 The White Buffalo. A Tale of Strange Adventure. Charles KE. Lasalle. 53 Jim Bludsoe, dr., Tut Boy Pxenrx; or. THROUGH To THe Deatu. E, L. Wheeler. 5 4. Ned Hazel, THE Boy TRAPPER; or, THE Peantom Privcess, By J. F.C. Adams. 5 5 Deadly-Eye, Tu Unknown Soovrt; By Buffalo Bill. 56 Nick Whiffles’ Pet; or, IN THE VauLey or Deats. Capt. J. F.C, Adams. 5 a Deadwood Dick’s aes S or, Tae Parps or FLoop Bar. E. L. Wheeler. 5 & The Border King; or, THE SECRET For. By Oll Coomes. 59 Old Hickory, or, Panny ELuis’s Scatr. By Harry St. George. 60 The White Indian; or, Tax Scour or THE YetLowsTonr. By J. F.C. Adams. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or, Taz Rep Rirte Team. By Edward L, Wheeler. 62 The Shadow Ship; or, Tor Rrvau LyevTenants. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 63 The Red Brotherhood; or, THE TwELVE AveNGERS, By W. J. Hamilton. 64 Dandy Jack; or, THE OUTLAW OF THe Orrcon Tram. By T. C. Harbaugh, 6 5 Hurricane Bill; or, Mustane Samu anp His ‘*Parp.” By Jos. E, Badger, Jr. 66 Single Hand; or, A Lire ror 4 Lig. By W. J. Hamilton, 67 Patent-Leather Joe; or, OLD Rat- "TLESNAKE, THE CHARMER. By P.S.Warne. G8 The Border Robin Hood; or, THE Prairie Rover. By Buffalo Bill. 69 Gold Rifle; or, Taz Boy DrtTrctrve or THe Buack Rance. By E. L. Wheeler. 70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, tau GREEN- HORN IX THE Woops. By J. F.C. Adams. 7 1 Delaware Dick; THz Younc Ran- arr Spy. By Oll Coomes. 12 Mad Tom Western, TrE TExan Ranaer. By W. J. Hamilton. 73 Deadwood Dick on De By Edward L, Wheeler. 7 4. Hawk-eye Harry, THe Youna TRAPPER RANGER. By Oll Coomes, The Boy Due:zist; or, THE Cruise or Tor Sra Wor. By Col. P. Ingraham. 3 7 Corduroy Charlie; or, THz Last Venarance. By Captain Mayne Reid. Albert W. Aiken, ht Jo, THe TERROR OF THE ey Kit Harefoot, THz Woop-Hawk; or, Heress of THE GOLDEN Horn. Oll Coomes, % oN Hanp, By Edward L, Wheeler, mate TRappeR, By Capt. J. F. C. Adams, The Land Pirates; or, THE LEAGUE & Photograph Phil; or, Rosesup Fasmy. By author of “Jack Harkaway.” Duruist. By George W. Browne. 9 ay Canada Chet; or, OLD ANACONDA Isuanp, By Edward §. Ellis. By T. C. Harbaugh. 9 By Lieutenant Watch - Eye, THz Drrective. By e 6 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By Albert W. Aiken. Act or Deapwoop Dicx. By E. L. Wheeler. q Blue Dick; or, Tus Ye!.Low Curer’s | 9 Sol Ginger, Tar Giant TRAPPER. By Rosebud Rob; or, Nuecer Neb, THE Linhtai or THE GuicH. By E. L. Wheeler. §1 Rare. By Captain J. F. C. Adams, Oup Powper-Fucs. By T. C. Harbaugh. 83 Rollo, the Boy Ranger; or, THE Se 4. es be the Girl Miner; or, Rosrsup 5 Buck Buckram; or, Bzss, THE F'E- 6 Dandy Rock, THE-MaAn-FROM-TEx- as. By G. Waldo Browne. ha) 9 or Drvin’s Isianp. By Capt. Mayne Reid. Ros’s REAPPEARANCE. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Island Jim; or, Tak PET OF THE 90 The Dread Wider; or, THE TEXAN The Captain of the Club. Bracebridge Hemyng, (Jack Harkaway.) 9 In Strrine Bury’s Camp. By E. L. Wheeler. 93 The Boy Miners; or, THE ENCHANTED O4 Midnight Jack, Tir Roap-AceEnt, The Rival Rovers. Col. Hazeltine. Edward L. Wheeler. The Outlaw Brothers; or, THE CaprivE or THE Harprs. By J. J. Marshall. Robin Hood, THE OuTLAWED Ear, By Prof. Stewart Gildersleeve. BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. Every one of them ‘** Live” Stories by ‘** Live®? Authors. a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price of a HALF-DIME, ] Deadwood Dick, Tax PRINCE OF THE | By C. E. Lasalle, | Each number The Tiger of Taos. By Geo 9 9 Waldo Browne. :S “gy 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville J By Edwa rd L. Wheeler, vill LOd SR tae 102 Dick Dead-Eye, Tux Bor Suva @urr, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 103 The Lion of the Sea. By Cal Delle Sara. 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device. By Old Rube, Tes Honrze: or, THE 105 Crow Captive. By Capt. H. Holmes. 106 Old Frosty, the By T. CO. ae ee 107 One-Eyed Sim; or, Tux Azan- pDoNED Forrst Home. By J. L. Bowen. 108 Daring Davy, Tue Youne Berar 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 1 1 The Black Steed of the Prai- vies. By James L. Bowen. 1 1 1 The vey eertge | or, THE Mrpsare- Man’: ACY. Col. P. Ingraham. 1 12 The Mad Hunter; or, Taz Cavs or Dears. By Burton Saxe. 1 1 3 Jack Hoyle, THE Youne Sprco- Lator. By Edward L. Wheeler. 1 1 4 The Black Schooner. By Roger STARBUCK. 1 1 5 The Mad Miner. By Groras Waxpo Browne. 7 16 The Hussar Captain, By Con Prentiss INGRAHAM, if 1 7 Gilt-Edged Dick, T=. Sport-De tEcTIvE. By Edward L. Wheeler. 1 1 & Will Somers, Tot Boy Drrro tive. By Charles Morris. 1 1 9 Mustang Sam; or, THR XING op THE Piaws. By Jos. KE. Badger, Jr. 120 The BranGed Hand; or. THE Ma: or Mystery. By Frank Dumont, 1 21 Cinnamon Chip, THE Grru Sport By Edward L. eeler. 1 29 Phil Maxdy, The Boss Boy. By Charles Morris. 1 23 Kiowa Charley, Tue Waite Mos TANGER. By T. C. Harbaugh. 124 Tippy, the Texan; or, THs Youre HAMPION. By Geo, Gleason. 125 Bonanza Bill, Miner; or, Tus Femate Forarr. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 126 Picayune Pete; or, NICODEMUS, Tne Doe Derecrive, By Chas. Morris 127 Wild-Fire, Tur Boss or THe Roap, By Frank Dumont. 128 The Young Privateer ; or, THs PrraTEs’ SrRONGHOLD. H. Cavendisi.. 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double. A Story of Wild-Cat City. E. L. Wheete . 1 30 Detective Dick; or, Tue Hrro ty Ragas. By Charles Morris. 131 The Golden Hand; or, Dan» Rock To THE Rescug. G. W. Brow ue 13 The Hunted Hunter; or, ©! STRANGE Horseman. By Ed. 8, Elis 133 Boss Bob, THE EING oF Thi! Boorsiacks, By Edward L. Wheeler: 1 3 4. Sure Shot Seth, Tur Boy Pur... MAN. By Oll Coomes. j 3 5 Captain Paul, THE Moons 5Ini. oF Kentucky. By CO. D. Clark. 1 36 Night-Hawk Kit ; or, THE Davc’) TER OF THE RancnE. J. EB. Badger, J 137 The Helpless Hand; or, Back woops RretrisuTion. Capt. Mayne Reid 1 38 Blonde Bill; or, DEADwoop D.cr’4 Fiomm Base, By Edward L. Wheeler. , 139 Judge Lynch, Jr.; or, THE Bo¥ ViaiuanTe. By T. C. Harbaugh. Ready March 234 1 40 Blue Blazes; or, Toe Barak “~ Day Boys. By Frank Dumont. Ready March 30:4 1 41 Solid Sam; or, THE Boy OvutLaw By Edward L, Wheeler. Ready April *: 1 42 Handsome Harry, THE Boor BLACK DETECTIVE. By Chas. Morrir y April 12th A new issue every week, The Half-Dime Library is for sale by a! Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by maii on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & AD‘ MS Publishers, 98 William Street, New-York,