Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 132) (1880 02 03)
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ST Ae se a \Y | it it Oy —— | TANI | Crrereeeeeeceeeee el Om Aa in in| ||| {| ita Vim mk eer | A (Rl le $2.50 a year. Copyrighted in 1880 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. February 3, 1880, Single PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, No 132 Number. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. . . THE HUNTED HUNTER: ° The Strange Horseman of the Prairie. BY BDWARD S.- BLIUIS, AUTROR OF “BILL BIDDON,” ‘‘ SETH JONES,” ‘‘ FRONTIER ANGEL,” *‘THE BOY MINERS,” ETC., ETC. ‘‘ron HE MAN OR DEMON!” HE EXCLAIMED, “YI WILL NOT CHALLENGE HIM AGAIN BEFORE I Frnz.”
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2 ~ The Hunted Hunter: The Strange Horseman of the Prairie, A Romance of the South-west Border, BY EDWARD 8. ELLIS, AUTHOR OF “BILL BIDDON,” “SETH JoNES,”’ ‘ FRON- TIER ANGEL,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. THE CONFERENCE. On a cold, rainy night, in the spring of 18—, two men were seated in a mansion occup, one of the most aristocratic portions of New Orleans. The apartment in which we find them bore evidence of t e good taste as well as wealth of the owner. Paintings by the hands of masters, sculpture from skillful chisels, and volumes whose binding alone might tempt the eye of avarice, were arranged by one who understood and appreciated their value. The elegant furniture, the yielding carpet, which gave back no sound of the tread, the ruddy glow of the grate—all these were suggestive of comfort and luxury, and upon this dismal night were in cheerful contrast to the storm raging without. The two men occupied opposite sides of a table on which stood several wine-glasses and a flagon of that beverage. Both had drank but slightly, and their manner was ee that of two per- sons about to enter upon a matter of importance. The eldest was Alfredo Seraville, who, though born upon American soil, inberited all the pride and prejudices of his Castilian ancestors, He was about sixty years of bald, and with hair almost entirely gray. countenance was devoid of that swarthy hue so generally characteristic of his people, and the golden spectacles which he wore, helped to give him the appearance of a respectable American gentleman. He seemed a courteous, dignified man—one who could never stoop to do a low, dishonorable deed; and a keen reader of human nature would have detected in his air and manner upon the present oc- casion that which told Up a there was little sym- orf between him and his guest. His dress was hat of the country in which he was born—a rich suit of black. When speaking, his accent was slight- ly foreign; but, as he rarely used the Spanish lan- guage, except when conversing with one of that na- tion, few would have been able'to judge his descent and education. As we have hinted, he was tenacious in his prejudices, and would have deemed any man his mortal enemy who dared to slight that pride of his life, his descent from the old Castilian stock of Spain—that which, with one exception, was cherish- ed beyond all others of his possessions, His wife had been dead for twelve years, and he had but one child —Irona—who was now well verged toward woman- hood. Upon her he had bestowed all the kindness of an affectionate father. All that wealth and love could do had been done forher. Only the previous year she had returned from Europe, where several ears had been spent in receiving an education. She acd left home a child, and returned a woman, Well, indeed, might the father be proud of his daughter. She was as amiable as accomplished and doubly repaid the warm love of her parent. Bub a shadow had crossed their threshold—and this shadow was the cause of the present interview. The visitor of Alfredo Seraville was a man about forty years of age—one whose precise nationality was not known even to himself. The yey ee ish, and American blood seemed mixed in his com- position, neither predominating over the other. His close-cropped hair, which grew low upon his fore- head, was black as midnight. His Indian blood was manifest in the high cheek-bones and black eyes. Beneath the latter were numerous “ crow’s feet,” while the forehead was crossed by several wrinkles, and atuftof hair upon the chin, singularly enough was perfectly gray. He seemed a person addicted to dissipation and vicious indulgence, inured to toil, privation and suffering, of a nature avaricious, secretive and vindictive, and_one whose enmity would be fatal to any man. He was able to keep his own secrets, and it was manifest he held many and dangerous ones. He answered to the truly American title of Colonel Ovation. ‘Before proceeding to business,” said the latter, with a meaning glance toward the door, ‘it’s my helief that it would be best to see that no other ears besides our own are likely to hear what is said.” “Bavesdroppers do not frequent my house, Colo- nel Ovaton.” “Oh!—it’s all right, if you say so. I’m sure it makes no difference to me. Ihave nothing to lose. Are you ready to proceed to business?’ asked Ova- = oer 8 y over his wine-glass at his com- nion, “Certainly, sir; I see no objection at all.” “Well, then, Don Alfredo,” (the appellation of Don was always pleasant to the one addressed “suppose you open the meeting by a statement o its objects, and your ideas about matters and things ge, with a head partially His o in general. ‘olone, Ovaton had emptied his glass, and he now brought it heavily down upon the table, folded his arms, and leani back in his seat, compressed his lips, and looked toward his host asif to invite him to proceed. The latt r, leaning his face upon his hand, while his elbow rested upon the table, ed downward a few moments as if perplexed and troubled. Then raising his eyes to those of his com- panion, he spoke in a deliberate and musical voice: The Hunted Hunter. “You go to Texas to-morrow?” Colonel Ovaton nodded assent. “You expect to be absent a couple of months?” “ About that—perhaps not so long.” “ How many go with you?” “Three; Pierre Choujeau, Jacques Choutier, and the o— American, Ross Welland.” ‘** Your object, Colonel Ovaton, I believe is to pene- trate a long distance into Texas—as far as the Llano Estacado, if I mistake not. You are sent out by a firm in our city for the purpose of learning more of that section than is known to us,. They wish to es- tablish, if possible, a trade or system of barter with the Indians of that section. Am I right in my sur- mises?” “Tt’s about as you say; that’s the idea of these merchants.”” “You are not sure you will be gone more than two months?” » ‘‘That is the time I have set down for the men, but it is just as likely, if I come back at all, that it will be at the end of six weeks.” “The three men who go with you—including the young American—are employed by you. They bind themselves to remain with you, no matter how long a time you may be absent. seen circumstances should compel en to remain away six months or even oF poms they bind them- selves to stay with you. Am I right in this supposi- tion?” “You are right, Don Alfredo; the men who join me on such expeditions do so for the journey,whether it be a long or short one.” ‘* Well, then, Colonel Ovaton, the object of my sending for you this evening is to induce you to re- main in Texas for si# months, at the very least.” ‘“*What!’? demanded Colonel Ovaton, looking to- ward his host in astonishment. “Don’t be surprised; I will explain all in a few moments, I suppose you can be persuaded to over- stay the time which you have calculated upon?” ‘“*T have not thought of the matter, Don Alfredo. If you will consent to make yourself clear, we will be better able to understand each other.” Seraville hesitated a moment and then proceeded: “* Of course, it is necessary that I should do so, and << will understand, before going further, that he ee is one which is entirely between, you and myself.’’ A ~~ nod intimated that that much was under- stood, at least, “To come to the point then:—It is with the great- est pain that, during the past few months, I have discovered a growing intimacy or friendship between Irona and Ross Welland, the young American. How they became acquainted I know not; it is enough to know that they are too well acquainted. It is my wish—my resolve, that all intercourse between them shall end.” “Can not the American be kept away?” ““So long as they are in the same neighborhood, they will meet, and all the world can’t hinder them. They must be separated, so far that it is impossible to see each other.” A gleam of intelligence lit up the face of Colonel Ovaton, but he waited for his host to speak further. ‘Tt would kill me to know this Americano had won the heart of Irona. The oor of my family must ople.” “is no o Pierre and Jacques—for the gold it brings him. He goes, he tells me, to see the country—to view its wonders, and in hopes of sharing some of our adventures. He has plenty gold—the American is no poor man like Colonel Ovation.” “That I know as well as yourself; but he is an American, for all that; that is why he shall never be received into my family, Of him perso z know little and care less. He is from some of the Northern States; he has been in New Orleans h: a year; for all you or I know, he may be a vagabon anda bad man. But, asl said, that matters not. 1 have given my reason for refusing to acknowledge him as a friend or acquaintance.” ‘There is American blood in me, Don Alfredo.” ‘‘And Spanish too, and from your a ey I should say about a dozen other kinds. our insin- uation is that I associate with other Americans. This is partly true. My friends, you will find, are from the country which I-claim as my own.” “T have no wish to i ma thing against your rejudi Don Alfredo. You are welcome to them, ut, it strikes me we are wandering from business.” “Very true. You must know the cause of my dis- like to this American. Can he be kept from seeing Irona, say for six months, I think he will never see her again, or atany rate not until it is too late to do him any good. This is the reason —_ I wish you to prolong your stay in Texas. Can I induce you to do it?” “Tt will be a great expense, Don Alfredo. My men will require large pay for such work, and my em- ployers may refuse to pay at all.” ‘““They must surely understand the uncertainties and dangers of your journey. But that need occa- sion you no ety. It shall bea profitable specu- rena to you. What amount will insure you against oss?” Colonel Ovaton sunk his hands into his pockets, frowned and looked up to the ceiling, as though run- For instance, if unfore- | i ning over some calculation in his mind. Suddenly oceprensiing his lips, he looked at Seraville, and re- pied: “Two thousand dollars.” , “That amount shall be yours six months from to- morrow, if you are here to receive it.” “JT doubt not your word, Don Alfredo, but in dusé- Ness, you know, pen and paper are igen It can do no hurt to put this matter in writing.” “ Most surely not. I will return in a moment.” Don Alfredo passed out of the room and was absent ashort time. When he came in he held in his hand a paper, upon which was written a pledge, signed by himself, to pay Colonel Charles Ovaton the sum of two thousand dollars, six months from date. The note was something more than a mere promissory one, as it contained a stipulation, in the form of a podiierint, to be signed by the holder, in which he agro to prece it to no one except Alfredo Sera- ville himself. This, of course, precluded him from obtaining the amount before the expiration of the time mentioned. Colonel Ovaton read it carefully, scanning its construction, and finally ended by sign- ing his name to the postscript. He knew that Sera- ville’s promise was as good as gold, and his .written pledge as valuable as the money itself. This paper was retained by Colonel Ovaton himself; but he signed another, which Seraville held. This latter was an agreement to remain in Texas for six months with his companions, and as much longer as was consis- tent with their safety. Failing to do this, he forfeited the sum of two thousand dollars. “ This agreement,1 presume,is satisfactory to you,” said Seraville, seating himself. 4 : “Yes; both of us,I believe, are secure; but it strikes me, Don Alfredo, that you can make a better bar- gain than you have just concluded,” added Ovaton, n a low, meaning voice. “Tam satisfied. Iam willing to pay you eve cent that I have promised, if you only do your part.” “You mistake me; thatis not what Imean. As hg have arranged matters now they are not certain. Thy not be certain about it?” “do not understand you. You intend to fulfill your promise, do you not?” “all abroad again. I am referring to another scheme—something entirely different.” __ ; a - a ae yourself, then, for I am entirely in the ark.” “ You see, the young American may return at the end of the six months. An arrangement might be made to ie his stay—in fact to make it—a—a good while.” ‘T am still at a loss to know what you mean.” “ Carrai/ it seems your comprehension is dull, Don Alfredo. To be plain, then, I mean that we can easily fix matters so that the American—shall—you know—shall never return! Of course, this would be a@ more im mW te of work, and of course, rae peau re a good round sum of money to carry roug he “Do you refer to murdering the man?” asked Se- raville, with a recoil of amazement. ane hist! never say murder; it don’t sound well.” “ Was that what you meant?” “ Some would call it that, but—”’ “No, sir,” exclaimed Seraville, indignantly. “You mistake me altogether, Colonel Ovaton; no such a thought has ever entered my mind. I am a man who knows such a thing as honor, and that which I have induced you to do, is no crime. Though I do not associate with the Americans, I wish them no evil. They have never done me harm, and may mr arm be palsied if it isever raised against them, A that I ask of you, is to assist me in keeping Irona and the American separate for a certain length of time. Do you understand me?” “Oh, yes; I should dislike to harm the man, as he is really a clever fellow, but I kind of—you know— hinted at the matter to see how you would take it.” a consider it a deep insult, sir,’’ said Seraville, in a heat. “T ask your agg then; Iam sorry that I should have made such a hint, when I have always been satisfied that Don Alfredo Seraville would never stoop to do anything which he was not willing to proclaim upon the housetops.” , “Give me your solemn promise that you will never do or suffer harm to be done to this Ross Welland, while he re with you.” “ _ oh) “Then there is nothing left unexplained. ae I reason to believe that the least harm would befall this man from the agreement which I have made, 1 would cancel it this instant. He goes with you for the pi of adventure and for increasing his knowledge of that country, and I know not that he has any objection to being absent for a length of time. At any rate, the motive which leads me to take this step is a pure one, and I am willing to take the responsibility. What time do you start west ay ard? cd in the morning. I shall hardly see you “Tt is not necessary. Everything, I believe, is settled, is it not?” “Yes, Don Alfredo. I will then bid you good- evening.” neg wish a pleasant and safe p ypeon to you and to all who accompany you. Good-evening.” The host accompanied his visitor where they separated. CHAPTER II. ANOTHER CONFERENCE. CotoneL Ovaton had been gone barely half an. hour when there was a summons atthe door, The servant who answered it saw, by the lamp in the hall, a figure wrapped in a cloak, whose collar, the door,
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a The re J Hunted Hunter. bee we with a large slouched hat, concealed all of his features except his eyes and nose. *Good-morning! Is Senorita Irona at home?” “She is, sir.” ‘Please hand her this card, then’’—and without waiting for an invitation, the visitor coolly stepped within and closed the door behind him, The ser- vant, who now recognized him, moved away through the hall, while he proceeded to doff his overcoat, overshoes and hat, and to close his umbrella in the frame. This done, he proceeded to the parlor, where he awaited the coming of Irona Seraville. In a few minutes a light step was heard dancing down the stairs, and, as the door opened, a vision 0 beauty seemed to float in upon the air. A slight, pelite frame, black hair and eyes, of the true Spanish type, a nose slightly Roman, a face oval, with all the clearness of the Georgian, a small mouth, with thin, flexible lips and a well-poised head—these were the noticeable features in Irona Seraville’s ap : ance, as, in a dress of the purest white, she tripped lightly into the room, ‘Why, Ross, you havecome? I had about given you up.” **As I leave to-morrow, I was kept later than I expected to be in making my preparations,” he speaker was a fair specimen of what we have heard him termed, a “young American.”’ His coun- tenance was not beautiful, but it was manly and Hots ect sma £ There was an air of confidence and self-reliance about him, and his bearing was that of a freeman—one who considered himself fully as good as any other person, but no better. He was rather tall, with a nervous temperament and a face stamped with the ruddy hue of health. He arose as he spoke, and taking the hand of Irona, seated her, and placed himself beside her. “Well, I suppose you come to bid me that fare- well we have been thinking about so a, You are to be gone two whole months! Ah, me! how shall I survive it?” Her black eyes sparkled mischievously as she gave a deep-drawn sigh and attempted a rueful look at thesame moment. The “* young American ”’ replied, with a pleasant smile: ** You can spend the months, my fair one, in com- erg the minutes and seconds that will elapse be- ore you shall behold me again.” “Yes, no doubt I shall, and in sighing away my | life at your absence,” Her clear, silvery laugh rung out at this thought and Welland, catching the contagion, was compe led to join her. “ Well, well,”’ said she, with a more serious air, “we may be jesting up. m what is a serious matter, after all. Iam sure, if I were a man, that nothing eould tempt me to make sucha journey. The Tex- ans and Mexicans are constantly at war with each other.” “T know; but recollect that we are friendly to the Texans and they to us, while the cowardly Mexicans never get as far north as we go. So you need have no apprehensions upon that score.” ‘** But there are the Comanches, and Lipans, and ‘other Indians, who, if anything, are worse than the Mexicans could be, because, while they are equally bloodthirsty, they are more daring.” “That is true, Irona; but, surely, you can not ex- pect there can be such a journey as we attempt with- out some fans See How could we have the adventure we so ardently long for were it otherwise? If I were certain that we were to do nothing but me to ride — and back again, Iam sureI should go with the party.” “T have no doubt but that you will meet with all the adventure you wish, and perhaps considerably more. ““We are well mounted and fully armed, and Colonel Ovaton is an old hand at such matters, while his two companions are equally skillful. All have had the kind of service they need, and I could not wish other company.” “Colonel Ovaton may be good enough, but I don’t like him,” said Irona, with emp q iw little one; have you and he had a falling out?’ “*T never spoke to him, and never wish to. He has been here several times.” ““ What does your father think of him?” “Thave never heard him say a word regarding him. Father has seemed troubled about something for amonth or two.” “Tam sorry to hear it, Irona; I trust that neither you nor I have been the cause of it.” * Just there you are wrong, for I am sure we two are the cause of his anxiety.”’ “Wetwo!l Why, what do you mean?” “ Can’t you guess?” asked Irona, looking up ip his face with a meaning expression. A suspicion flash- ed across Welland’s mind—a suspicion of the truth, ‘he felt 't was, as he looked down into the dark eyes of the being besidehim. ‘Ts it on account of my visi's? Is he sorry of the relation that exists between us?” “Tt is true, Ross.” . “T never suspected this before, Irona, Why did you not acquaint me with it?” “T did not know it myself.” “You should have known it, Irona; I am sorry ' that I did not.” “*T have feared that he disliked you, all along, but Inever knew it before to-day. I can not nelp think- ing that that Colonel Ovaton has had something to do with it!” ‘When was he here last?” “To-night; I heard his voice as he came in, and could not help knowing it, it is so different from other persons’.”’ “Why do you think Colonel Ovaton has influenced your father?” “*T have no reason to give except a suspicion, if that may be called a reason. I have never heard ine, speak, except at the door, when he came ere, “T presume your father had some business to ar- range with him. He is quite a naturalist, I under- stand, and he may have made some arrangement with him to procure some specimens for him.” “Very probably such is the case, Ross. I do not wish to give you an unjust suspicion. Remember, my _jeelings only are the cause of my thinking thus; and I can say, too, that my feelings hardly ever de- ceive me.” “That is,” laughed Welland, ‘‘ while you wish me to consider your suspicions of Colonel Ovaton with- out foundation, still you desire me to understand that they are true. Is that it?” “It must be, I suppose. I mean that although I have no facts upon which to hang my apprehension, I have something else equally substantial to me.” ** You spoke of your father’s dislike to me, Lrona. What cause has he for it?” “None that I know of. I only know that he is prejudiced against you.” | “To-day, for the first time, you became aware of it, I presume he gave you his reasons.” “Thave told you, Ross, that he has no reasons— they are prejudices. In the first_place, has an inveterate dislike, or coldness toward all Americans.” “No; I never knew that, before.” “Such has been the case with him, ever since I can remember.” = Why, does he dislike them? Have they ever harmed him? Why does he remain in their country ? | ey does he not return to Spain, which he so wor- ships?” ‘**Ross,’’ said Irona, sternly, “ you are speaking of my father.” ‘Forgive me, Irona; I did not think. I ask your pardon. Do not let me interrupt you again.” ‘To-day, when seated at the table with him, he | Said that the more he saw of American people the more he disliked them, and he really had serious thoughts of going back to Spain. Nothing, he added, but the fact that he had so many friends of his own kindved in this city, had prevented him from going before, I thought nothing of this—as I had often heard him make such remarks. But when he said, ‘Rather than see my Irona married to an American, I would compel her to enter a convent’—when he said that, I say, I understood what he meant. I felt as though Ishould drop to the floor. I could feel the blood rush to my face, and I knew he noticed it. A few minutes, later, as if he wished to iZ me, he oeked me when I had last seen that American jel- low.”* ** What did you answer?” “T told him the truth, of course.” “ Does he know that I am here this evening!” “ T suppose so; why do you ask?” “Tt seems strange that he did not make his ap- pearance to protect you from ‘that American fel- low.” “Ross, remember he is my father, and it is his daughter to whom you speak. I love him with m whole heart, for he is the best of fathers to me. know he has strong pride and prejudice, but I cannot bear to hear others speak of them.”’ Ross Welland was just now that unenviable person, a suspicious lover, While he had every reason to believe that his own ion for the fair girl. beside him was returned, still the unexpected intelligence that her ent entertained a strong dislike for hini, nettled him . piso ® The manner, too, in which Irona spoke of it—as though it were a matter of course—vexed him still more. These combined had | worked him to a mood in which he might be expect- | ed to say something ungallant, and to do something excessively foolish. “Let me assure you, then,”’ said he, arising to go, “that Don Alfredo Seraville need have no further | fears regarding his Irona. ‘That American fellow’ ou know he night say, will henceforth cease to trouble his house.” Have I given you “Ross, what does this mean? . r. cause for it?” demanded Irona, rising also, her eyes flashing with indignation. “T would advise him to send his daughter to a con- vent, or give her to some old, withered up, but noble | Spaniard,’ repeated Welland, aap stepping | toward the door as ha spoke. ona stood like an indignant queen, not stirring an inch, but gazing upon him with a look of mingled pain and scorn. “Do you know what you are saying?’ she asked, in a low tone. “IT assure you I have ordinary comprehension left. Good-evening.” The irate lover hurriedly donned his hat and over- | coat, jerked open the door, and the next minute was striding down the street, the storm of vexation and jealousy in his breast rivaling that of the ele- ments around him, CHAPTER Ii. A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER. Tr was not until the succeeding m — that Ross Welland entertained a suspicion that he had wrong- ly treated Irona Seraville. He may be said to have slept off his fit of jealousy, for he now viewed his conduct in its true ae re that which demanded the most ample apologies upon his part. But he had too much pride to visit a house where he knew he was viewed as an intruder, and he felt again pro- voked when he saw he had done so more t once —unconsciously to himself, it is true, but it was none the less humiliating, for that. Then he determined to address a note to Irona, but when prepared to do so, he reflected that in all he pens it would never reach her. The thought that it would be compelled | to pass the scrutiny of her father, was uot to tol- must part with this misunderstanding between them. When he returned, he trusted that it would all be adjusted again. The sun had barely risen, when a boet cast loose from the wharf at New Orleans, and steamed rapidly down the ees ki toward the Gulf of Mexico. It was a moderately-sized affair, made for coasting along the Gulf. Reaching the waters of this, ic swerved to the right, and maintaining a safe dis tance from the land, bore off toward the Texan coast. Upon this boat, among a few other passen gers, was Colonel Ovaton and his compagnons au voyage. Twoofthem—himself and Ross Welland- are already known to the reader. As the remaining two wiJl necessarily act a part in our history, we will give them a passing notice as they are stcaming across the Gulf. Pierre Choujeau was what might aptly be termed the square and silent man. He was a large, bory Frenchman—one who often from mornirg vrtil night never spoke a syllable. The most dircct question generally failed to receive the slightest cv- knowledgment, and of those who knew him, nc: ¢ save Colonel Ovaton attempted to converse wil li hira The base of his jaw being as low as his chin, and {i short hair over his forehead passirg straight acrcns it, his face in reality was sq. are. The nose, with its large but even bridge, was a parallelogram. e mouth had the appearance of a line of ink drawn 1) rule; it was never open except when eating, 0} «)« which occasion its upward and downward mciicn was as regular as machinery. When he spoke, & small orifice at one corner, as theugh made by h: pipe-stem, could be seen, from which his wor seemed to drop. Aline from the chcusder to t neck would have been perfectly horizontal. His le; having the appearance of being several inches a} at at their insertion, made his width at the shoulder waist, hips, knees and feet precisely the seme. *T latter were not tapering, and in fect every pert: of his body seemed censtructed with the one ices of making him ¢q? ore. What sing ularthevghts wore passing through that eccentric brain of his no ¢?: ¢ could ever tell, for they elways remained locl«d there. His motions were such as a beost of burceen would make. All he needed was a dirccting pow For this reason he was a most useful man to Colo: | Ovaton. The Jatter hed simply to request or cei mand him, when he woulé fo on, without turning the right or left until told todoro, He was a }k ding, persevering fellow, who krew no right er wrong save his master’s will. He was about fifi, years of ege, but like the latter, not a singie silvcr 1air gliitered on his poll. Jacques Choutier was ten years younger thr: Pierre. He was of mongrel blocd, porssersing a i: virtues and many vices, though from his peculiny secretive habits, the latter were rarely known excert to his intimate acquaintances, He was parsionsi: and vindictive when his anger was roused, but co. ordinary occasions he was gecd-natured and quit communicative. Quite a friendship had spiung vj between himself and Welland. The latter at fii- menced. It did not escape the notice of Welland that, be- sides the members of their own ccmpany, there wae another person upon the st amer—one who, frei. all appearances, had in view a journey similar to the ir own. He was accompanied a mepnificent blacic horse, was well armed, and had the fewt ensemble cf a man of the plains. Lithe, muscular end sunbuir, silent and meditative, he seemed one where hcnie was beyond the pale of civilization—in the great wilderness where the buffalo, wild horse and the red. Comanche roamed. Despite the air of interest which attached tothis man, there was an unaccountable feeling*of réepul- siveness which Welland felt toward him, Whin two persons meet for the first time, each, at a glance, forms his opinion of the other. If t] ‘s opinion be unfavorable in either case, he whe foin s it generally can give himself a reason for it. He con see what it is which produces this antagonis although he may not be able to satisfactorily exy ls. p to others what it is. It was d‘fferent, however, with Welland. He spent many am hour in the vain ef «1 to ascertain what particular qvelity cr point alevst the stranger was so distasteful to bim. Then oi: was reserved and thoughtful, yet there wes nothirg in his countenance, which Welland could see, that bespoke the villain. Compared with Colorel Ovaton, or either of his two companions, he confessed io himself that the stranger was superior in every ) c- spect. And yet this unaccounteble dislike not orly remained, but so increased that Welland felt if tLe a really intended to acecmpany them, he should be compelled to turn back. A prolonged com- ww
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The Hunted Hunter. panionship with him was impossible. He madein- yuiries of Colonel Ovaton and Jacques, but both w, or professed to know, nothing of him; the former assuring him, however, that he was not to be their companion. In the afternoon of the second day up the Rio Uolorado, Welland was passing backward and for- wvard upon the small deck of the steamer, dis hands pehind him and his head bent, in deep thought, He was reflecting, for the hundredth time, upon his last interview with Irona Seraville, partly excusing yet lamenting his own_rashness. Tne thought that he had parted from her in anger—that a thousand things might arise to prevent a reconciliation— afforded him bitter food for reflection. What she had related regarding aer father assured him that his expected prize could not be gained without effort upon his part; and, leaving her as he did, in a mo- ment of angry excitement, would she not believe his eoullition rg: gee than a momentary pas- sien? He feared that she would indeed, and that by the time he returned this would have ledfher to put away his love forever from her. Indulging in these bitter meditations, Welland suddenly looked up, and started as he saw the stranger standing a few feet from him, gazing at him with a fixed and piercing look. He turned his eyes away the instant he encountered those of Wel- land, but the latter, certain that he had been sub- jected to this scrutiny for a long time, determined o solve the pad nn at once, ithout pausing a moment, he walked directly upto him, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, asked: ““ What is your name?” “ Que?” asked the stranger, with a wondering stare. “Do you not epeex English?” asked Welland. He shook his head, as though he misunderstood the question. ‘* Budge, then, Isay! I haven’t learned enough of —— language yet to hold a conversation n it. So, ee attempting it, Welland turned and left the dec! That night a bright moon arose in the early part of the evening. The pilot having ascended above this point in the riveron aprevious occasion, with the same boat, and being well acquainted with the stream, kept her under way during the entire night. Welland was standing at the bow of the boat, gazing at. the dark outlines of the shore, as they steam up the river. Raising his eyes, he saw the stranger engagedin the same manner—not looking at him but et the shore. The moon shone full in face, and he was gazing upon the banks with an intensity of interest that made him insensible to what was pass- ing around him. It was with a feeling akin to horror that, at this instant, the conviction flashed upon Welland that thisman was to play an important part in his own destiny. He endeavored to dismiss the thought as a whim which had suddenly possessed him; but the more he reflected, the more fixed became that be- lief; and the more he attempted to think of some- thing else, the more persistently did the one trouble- some impression remain, until it occupied his mind to the exclusion of every thing else. For nearly an hour did he watch; hardly once removing his eyes from him, The stranger still scanned the shore with deep interest, and now and then moved his lips as though muttering to himself. To Welland’s utter gmasement, he distinctly heard the words, in good nglish: io We hain’t passed the point, I’m sure, and it must be hyerabouts.”’ His first impulse was to men soerare and accuse the fellow of the deception which he had practiced ; but, upon second Bonakt, he concluded to keep his knowledge to himself. Now and then Welland could see the lips part, and hear him muttering, but caught no words, All at once the stranger raised his to his forehead, and, shading his eyes, leaned over the railing of the boat, and gazed toward the shore, as if he would penetrate {rough every ob- stacle with his piercing gaze. A few minutes seem- ed tosatisfy him, when he hurriedly left his place, and shortly after, the boat stopped. In conversation with the pilot, Welland had been told that the man who troubled him so much was to leave the boat dur- ing the night; therefore he understood the cause of the stoppage. ae ame Soe wee lowered into bo a the ee ep, while We y request, accom: one. of the men to assist in rowing him to the shore. Ho sat in the stern, hol the bridle of his horse, who swam behind, and in this manner the three rapid- ly approached the land. On the shore the stranger instantly mounted his horse, and, without a syllable, cantered off in the darkness. Welland and com- ion paused by common consent until the re- Poating footsteps died away in the distance, when they rowed back to the steamer, “We are now rid of Ps. muttered Welland, “and I fervently trust [shall never meet you again.’ But he was to be disappointed. CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST ENCAMPMENT AND THE FIRST ALARM. Tar point at which the stranger left the steamer was a few miles above the mouth of the Llano branch, which puts into the Rio Colorado from the west. Above, the navigation was exceedingly diffi- eult. Indeed, there were obstructions south of Austin, which, so long as they remained, would prevent the ascent of ordinary s ers even to that int, and it was evident that even their flat-bot- tomed craft could pass but a short distance further. The boat moved slowly during the night, and in the morning the captain informed Colonel Ovaton that he should put back by noon at the latest. The | | country on. both banks of the stream was now the rolling prairie, which stretched awayto the north and south as far as the eye could reach. The air was dry and bracing, and Jacques informed Welland tbat they were aes one of the healthiest’ regions on the glo At noon the boat ran aground, and our adventurers effected their debarkation, the river being so shallow that they easily rode ashore on. their horses. As they reached d, the little steamer succeeded in backing off the bar, and, after interchange of farewells, the adventurers saw it put about and steam down the river. The men had landed upon the north-eastern shore of the Colorado, it being their intention to ascend the right bank of that river. As they are now fairly embarked upon their journey, we will ve, in a few words, the manner in which they con- ucted it. The four, as we have before stated, were well mounted and well armed, each bayer sony | a fine rifle, a brace of pistols, a bowie-knife, and an abund- ance of ammunition. Two pack-horses carried their baggage, cooking utensils, and the articles needed upon such an expedition as theirs. Colonel Ovaton was an uneducated man, and his a ers depended for their information upon the ver re- port which he was to make on his return. Conse- quently, his observations were recorded in his memory - The merchants whe had fitted out this expedition did it solely for the sey an of gain- ing more information regarding the central and northern part of Texas. The knowledge which they sought was just such as they felt Colonel Ovaton was fitted to gain, viz.: the capabilities which the comene: possessed for trade, the size of the streams, etc. In journeying, this man gene rode ahead, sweeping the horizon eases” Yo Comanche, Lipan, or wild animals. Jacques or Welland rode next, and Choujeau, the silent man, brought up the rear with the two pack-horses, Sometimes Colonel Ovaton fell behind, and it devolved upon Jacques and Welland to take the lead. Journeying thus on the afternoon succeeding their debarkation, they came in sight of the Colorado Hills stretching away to the Llano ,Estacado, in a direc- el with the river. stream near its base was lent, and the air sufficiently cool to make the warmth of a fire enjoyable. This was started in the bed of the brook, so that it could be seen but a short dis- tance away. ** The Comanche sometimes comes as far east as this,” remarked Jacques to Welland, ‘but it’s al- together unlikely that there are any within two hun- dred miles of us.” ‘** Unlikely, but by no means impossible, I presume, friend Jacques.” “Exactly, though nigh enough impossible to make me feel sate.” “T am satisfied that Colonel Ovaton would permit nothing which could endanger the safety of the party, and you must not understand me as doubting the propriety of kindling this fire. It will not be fully night for an hour or two, and I iy that we take a ramble among the mountains. ave you any ob- jection, Colonel Ovaton?” asked Welland, turning toward the latter. ‘* What do you want to go there for?” “Nothing in PS gees although I thought we might find something for our rifles.” * It’s a poor time to hunt, late as this in the oy and en likely we’d see nothiug of you ag’in t i morning.’ “T do not intend to hunt, but merely wish to have aramble through a part of the mountains.” “ There’s plenty time to-morrow,” replied Ovaton, shaking his head. Welland said no more, as he felt it was hardly proper to dispute with their leader on so small a int as this; but he could not help thinking that @ was more arbitrary than he had right to be, and as he had come upon this ex tion for his own personal benefit, he resolved that he would be his own master—going whither and when he pleased without questioning any one. Pierre was the cook of the party, and soon had toasted a Neg piece of meat, from a quan- tity which they had brought with them. This, wash- ed down by several draughts from the sparkling stream beside them, formed their teens | repast, and it was devoured with a zest by each. en finished, the four gathered around the fire, their blankets wrapped around their forms, and, producin their pipes, prepared for the evening’s pleasure. H there been a perfect friendship between the differ- ent members of the party would have been a period of the most delightful reunion. Conversa- tion would have been ind a stories and adven- tures given, and the bond of friendship strengthened by these pleasant communications. An undertak- ing which involved such personal er as this should have united any persons, but it did not. Colonel Ovaton was moody and silent, and had al- or impressed Welland with a strong dislike to- ward him. Pierre, of course, on such an occasion, was a nonentity, save that this very o— made him distasteful to one un ted with him. No one could tell what good or traits he possessed, until they were shown by action. Welland had little in sympathy with wan vt but, as he was the only one with whom he could hold converse, he felt some little fellowship for him. “Who stands guard to-night ‘ asked Jacques of Ovaton. Him,” he replied, nodding to’ ard Welland. “This is the best time for y: ,”’ remarked Jac- ues. ‘You see, *twould hardly o to uty when we were in amon the ut you on ‘omanches, Apaches, or Lipans. You don’t understand their devilments yet, and they would be sure to come same of them over you.” “I am perfectly willing, of course. I expect to share the duties as well as the pleasures of this expedition, and wish to take my turn with each of uu ” you. Colonel Ovaton grunted, as if to intimate that his wish would be amply gratified_in the future. The hour being now quite late, the fire was re- plenished, and save Welland, with their blankets wrapped about them, laid down with their feet to- ward it. Before they had done so, he asked of Col- onel Ovaton his instructions for the night. ‘“ Why, keep your peepers peeled; don’t let a bird chirp without knowing where it’s perched, and blaze ey, at any. thing you see moving.” ** Shall I not awaken you?” * Carrai! We'll wake, you may be sure. If you see a dozen red-skins, fire into ’em, or if it’s nothing but a wild horse; but, you’ll see little, I guess. If mare ng) comes, it'll be from toward the mountains yender.”’ With these instructions, Welland commenced his watch for the night. No moon or stars were visible, A bank of clouds, which lay in the horizon at sunset, had gradually overspread the heavens. These were not of a char- acter to threaten storm, and objects were faintly visible at fifteen or twenty ya distance. The horses were picketed in the bed of the stream and within twenty yards of the sleepers, their lariats al- lowing them to cross and recross the brook at will. The soft, ri pling gurgle of this, and the noise of the animals as they munched the rich grass, was all the sounds that Welland heard, save now and then when the wind swept through the Colorado Hills with a noise like the faint murmur of the ocean in the dis- tance. Welland felt there was little danger of his fall- ing asleep, yet, to sens Ly dope such a misfor- tune, he placed his rifle over his shoulder and com- menced walking slowly backward and forward, pass- ing, in his walk, from the animals to a point a short distance from the fire, This afforded him a view of the prairie on both sides, and probably was the best course that he could have adopted. He commenced his duties of the night with the firm resolve to obey Colonel Ovaton, He meant to | keep an unremitting watch until daylight, and suffer nothing at all to occur which his vigilance could pre- vent. He had no apprehension of danger, but he well knew it might threaten them, and there was no oc- casion better than the t pb rag to prepare himself for such a duty. It was all easy enough to resolve to do this, and under any other circumstances probably would have been easy enough to perform it. But, there were now two subjects of thought that_may be said to have constantly occupied his mind. These were the stranger, and Irona Seraville. Thus it was that Ross Welland, unconsciously to himself, gradu- ally fell into a reverie which, for the while, made him insensible to what was passing around. He muttered regrets for the hundredth time at his rude- ness when he had last parted from the only one whom he had ever loved. He wondered whether he would ever dare to approach her after this—whether she still cherished the affection he was certain she once entertained for him—and whether, upon his re- turn, she would consent to receive him. Musing thus for a long time, he started with a feeling of ter- ror as his thoughts suddenly reverted to the mys- terious stranger. Who and what could he be? he again asked himself. yh was he thus affected when he thought of the fellow? Why, he could not tell, but that he disliked him he was painfully cer- tain. Welland had come to the conclusion that he was some trapper or hunter, who preferred to pur- sue his avocation in solitude, and whose appearance, or manner, or both, had created this repulsion upon his own part. He felt provoked that any stranger should give him so much uneasiness, and resolved —_ and again to dismiss him forever from his m Our hero awoke from this reverie as froma dream, and felt somewhat alarmed when he reflected how derelict he had been. Several times he walked hur- riedly up and down the stream, and then paused and listened; but he saw nothing unusual, and only heard the munching of the two ack-horses—the other basing lain down for the ht—and the oc- casional sighing of the wind through the mountains above him. Being somewhat fatigued, he seated himself for a moment near the animals, and the in- stant he did so, heard distinctly a footfall upon the prairie! It was like the pons bed a horse’s hoof, and so plain that there could no mistake about it. His first thought was that one of their own ani- mals had broken his lariat, but a glance sufficed to show him his mistake. He next believed it to be nothing more than some wild beast, that had been attracted by the smell of their coo meat, and remembering the injunction of Colonel Ovaton, that if a bird cairpad to ascertain its perch, he listened for a second evidence of its proximi In a few moments a sound was heard in another direction, as if made by the hoof of some animal striking a stone, Welland arose and walked toward the spot, with the intention of ag ty gen nigh enough to ascer- tain the cause. He had gone but a few steps, when it occurred to him that he was performing an act which endangered not only his os safety but that of the entire company. Itwas bit possible that a human enemy might in the vicinity, who was maneuvering for that very purpose. He instantly turned on his heel and approached the fire, which was now so low that the forms of the sleepers were barely visible. As he did so, the foot- fall was repeated, and looking around, he caught the shadowy outlines of a mounted horseman! “Be.
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5 The Hunted Hunter. fore he could bring his rifle to his shoulder, it had vanished. To say that Welland was now alarmed would be but the simple truth, This appearance of danger was so unexpected—so entirely unlooked for, that he was taken aback for a few moments. He determined, however, to challenge it when it next appeared, and to fire if the stranger refused to an- swer. He believed him to be some Indian scout, who was seeking to ascertain whether they were upon their guard or not, although, even to Welland, it seemed strange that an Indian should endeavor to reconnoiter them on horseback. For fully half an hour did he exert himself to obtain the wished-for sight of the man, and a and again was he disap- inted. Now he would hear the tramp of the orse, and when he looked in that direction, the animal whisked from view like some phantom. He heard it descend the hollow of the brook and cross the stream several times, so that it was evident the horseman was circling around him, but without ap- proaching any closer, however. Suddenly he distinguished the head of the horse looming up in the darkness, and saw him approach until he stood but fifty feet away. As the animal faced him, his head and that of his rider were dis- tinetly outlined. “Who goes there?’ asked Welland. He waited fully a minute, but received no reply. “Who goes there, I say?” he repeated, in a tone louder than before. But the horse and rider remained as motionless as death. “Once again, and for the last time, I challenge you,” said Welland, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, ‘and give you two seconds to answer in.” Two, and ten seconds elapsed without bringing any reply, and Welland took as deliberate an aim as the darkness would permit. While his finger was pressing the trigger, the horse became so indistinct that, fearful of losing his aim, he raised his head to assure himself that his rifle was ges oe to- ward them. To his amazement, both had disap- It was not this fact alone that so agitated Ross Welland. The noiseless, imperceptible manner in which they had vanished had its effect; but there was a suspicion, which had taken the form of a cer- tainty with him, when he brought his rifle to his shoulder. He was satisfied that this horseman was a very one who had left the propeller the night be- ore! * Be he man or demon!” he exclaimed, “I will not challenge him again before I fire.” He regretted his leniency, and determined to atone for it as far as in his power. He approached some- what closer to the fire, being careful, however, to keep his own form from being seen. About an hour later, while looking carefully around him, his eyes rested upon the horse and his rider, still nearer than before—so near, in fact, that the contour of the man’s face was visible. It was indeed the man that he believed it to be! ‘*Now, my fine fellow,” thought Welland, “T'll try a different method of challenging you.” He took a quick aim and fired. The report of the rifle rung out with stunning clearness upon the still pr es air, and was instantly followed by that of an- other, the bullet of which whizzed within an inch of Welland's forehead, and buried itself in the sleeping form of Jacques. tly Colonel Ovaton an Pierre were on their feet and beside Welland, who, in afew hurried words, related the cause of his firing. The two former separated and made a cir- cuit upon the prairie, but returned without having obtained a view of the horseman. Satisfied that he would not appear again, Colonel Ovaton turned his attention toward Jacques, who was suffering greatly from his wound. CHAPTER V. IN THE MOUNTAINS—THE FLIGHT. Tre wound of Jacques, although a bad one, was not necessarily dangerous. He had been lying with his feet toward Welland, and the bullet, striking just above his knee, eg neie its way nearly to his hip, where it passed out, making an ugly flesh rip. e was unable to rise, or use this leg. The most that could be done was to watch beside him until morn- ing. Welland willingly performed this duty while Colonel Ovaton and Pierre acted as sentinels. Noth- ing more, however, was seen or heard of the horse- man, In the morning a consultation was held. ‘“*How soon will you be able to ride your horse?” asked Ovaton of the wounded man. “Tn two weeks, I s’pose,”’ replied the latter, witha roan. er Not before that, sure.”’ ‘*You needn't wait for me, howsomever,” added the sufferer; “ if you’re rather anxious to get ahead, take me and the horse up to the mountains, leave me a piece of fodder, and I'll shift for myself.”” “T protest against such an inhuman proceeding,” elland, excitedly. ‘It is nothing better than murder, and—” ““When we want your advice, sir, we'll ask it,”’ in- terrupted Ovaton. “If Jacques wished to remain thus, and we could spare him, he should do so—” “ And I should stay with him,” said Welland, in- dignantly. ‘That would be as I thought best, young feller, and I’d advise you to keep a civil tongue in that head of yourn. But that ain’t the style in whichI intend to do business, Jacques can’t be spared no more can any of us. So we'll move our cam up to the hills yender, where we'll stay till he’s able to use his legs ag*in. How does that suit, Jacques?” “Tt'll do,’ “Being light now, I'll fix up his hurt summat bet- ter than ’twas done in the night; and, Pierre, you see that we’ve something to eat, as soon as such a thing can be done.” Pierre set about this duty, while Ovaton proceeded to unloose the rough bandage of the wound and to re-dress it. This was done in the simplest manner, and at its conclusion the sufferer felt much relieved. All that was now needed was time for it to heal. Jacques had had worse wounds before, and felt no alarm for the result of this. Colonel Ovaton was talking with him, and Welland was listening, when their attention was attracted by an exclamation from Pierre. So unusual an occur- rence caused them to look instantly toward him, and Ovaton to ask: *“ What's the matter now, Pierre?’ Several miles away they saw a Stets ae ks s. t ing at a rapid gait toward the Colorado H such a distance he resembled a pigmy, but as he stood out in relief inst the clear sky 4 Aen he was so je sina A outlined that there could mistaking € person. “He is the one who fired the shot,” said Welland. Colonel Ovaton, shading his eyes, gazed long and intently at him, and finally added: “Tt’s the very same chap that came from Mata- gorda with us.” “ What I thought last night. What can he mean by following us in this manner?’ asked Welland. Ovaton made no reply, and the three sat down to the morning meal. Jacques ate a small portion. He uestioned Welland in regard to the horseman, and nally remarked: **T have seen this chap before, I’m sure,” “Where?” “T have been trying to think for the last half- a Colonel Ovaton, haven’t you seen him your- se . ie “Not before he came on the boat at Matagorda.” “ That’s a downright lie,’’ said Jacques, in a lower tone, to Welland. ‘“ I just now thought where it was we had set eyes on him, for Ovaton was with me at the time. It was in St. Louis, two years ago. Me and the colonel had been trapping up on the Platte. We made a trip up to Fort Laramie on our way back, and when we left there, that knave was there, mounted on the same black horse that he’s on this no “ He can't help it. I know he does.” “*Do you believe Colonel Ovaton knows any thing of the cause which has led him to follow us? Do you believe there is any connection between the two?” Jacques looked up with a wondering expression, and replied: “T never thought of that; it may be so.” “Tf such be the case—”’ “Sh! they are ready to move,’ admonished Jacques.” The k-horses were loaded and everything ready, with the exception of the wounded man, for a jour- ney. Welland mounted: his own horse, and assisted by Ovaton and Pierre, lifted Jacques up before him, where he held him as they rode forward. In this fashion they moved off toward the Hills. Two hours brought them to the base, and they began the toil- some ascent. One-third the way up they came to a large, valley-like depression, through which a small stream of cold and sparkling water flowed. ‘Here Colonel Overton decided to establish their camp. A sort of rude tent was erected upon the banks of the stream, where it was completely screened by the luxuriant trees and vegetation. The best of rovender was ajl around them; there was, there- ore, no anxiety on account of their horses. After the arrangements had been completed, Colonel Ova- ton, accompanied by Pierre, spent several hours in wandering over the mountains to ascertain their precise situation and to see whether there was any — of receiving a visit from the Comanches. ‘rom this elevation they were afforded a magnificent view of the surrounding country. To the north and | east stretched the billowy prairies, covered with «11 minute. We struck a bee-line for St. Louis, and | when we drove wp to the ‘Hunter’s Home,’ the very fust one we laid eyes on was that identical chap. Iremember how Colonel Ovaton axed him whether he was the Flying Dutchman, ’cause we’d made up our minds that about the shortest time ever made between Fort Laramie and St. Louis had been made by us, and hyer was that same knave in a good day ahead of us.” ** Did he talk English to you?” “Talk English? I should think hedid. We stayed there a week, and he was there when we left. spent a pilein treating us and everybody else who happened to drop in, and he used to spin some lon yarns that he said he’d heard—for he never once tol anything that he went through.” “Did you learn anything of him?” “Nota bit. I tried to pump him a dozen times, but it was no go. IT didn’t even l’arn his name, or how he floated his sticks.”** ‘ “Did you see him again before the other day?’ “Yes; Imet him last summer in Memphis. Colonel | Ovaton prpened to be with me that time, too. But, (would you believe it?) the knave pretended he didn’t know us. He stuck to it he had never met us before, and when I kind of insinuated that he was lying tre- mendous big, he clinched it by saying that he’d never been in St. Louis.” “Could you not have been mistaken?” “No, si7. If you notice, one of his eyes is gra and t’other is black, and he remembered us well enough. I offered to bring myself to his mind by | making a free fight with him, but he didn’t appear to care particularly about it.” “Well, now, a who can he be, and what does he mean by following us in this manner?” ““You may scalp me ifI can tell. I only ax ‘the chance to square last night’s account with him. He'll find out who 7 am, I'm thinking just now.” | genie your wound was an accidental one upon his part. He undoubtedly meant it for me.” “Allthe same. He fired at our party, and he hit me. Can you see him yet?” “No; he has reached the Hills and probably is ascending them. He is concealed by the bushes upon their sides.” as Wal, as we are going to them same Hills, I shouldn’t wonder if we had the chance to make his acquaintance ag’in.”’ “Ttrust not in the same manner that we did last hus You must take better aim next e. “T took as deliberate and true an aim as it is possi- ble for me to take, right at the fellow’s shoulders, os Iam not satisfied by any means that he is not urt."” Jacques shook his head. ‘You haven’t grazed “How was it that he missed me?” ** You was on the und and he fired by the flash of yourgun. You had him ag’in the » which, though vane dark then, was light enough to let you have his profile.” . heed Which proves that I could not have well missed ™. 9 “Which doesn’t prove anything. Depend on it he ain’t hurt at all. Such characters are allowed to run their race before they go under; but his time, like everybody else’s, will come sometime.” 3 ¥y Da believe Colonel Ovaton remembers him?” asked Welland, in a whisper. * How he made his living. He | | would be dengevous to repeat this experiment, as kinds of vegetation, and crossed and recrossed by streams and rivers. To the south and west the same prospect met the eye; not a sign of a human being was visible. They felt that, with their companions, they were alone in this vast solitude. On and around the mountains were found the various species of oak, tapulo, ash, gum, cedar, pe- can, and here and there mezquit trees, No signs of game were seen, yet they were satisfied there was plenty in the mountains, which their rifles would ever an unfailing reliance in obtaining. They finally descended to their camping-ground, reaching it near the hour of noon, A dark scowl passed over Colonel Ovaton’s face when he saw Welland and Jacques engaged in earnest conversation. He deign- ed no reply to the latter’s questions, and more than once made aninsulting remark to the former, who, though severely stung, —— enough prude.ce to restrain his temper. Immediately after the meal, Colonel Ovaton, refusing the company of any one, shouldered his rifle and took his departure. It is not our purpose to dwell upon all the particu- lars of this encampment among the mountains, but to give only those which directly concern the pro- of our story. A week ually lengthened nto two, and it was found that Jacques would not be fit to mount his horse until another had expired. Colonel Ovaton, who seemed perfectly satisficd to remain any length of time, announced that they should not move away until their disabled comp:uion was perfectly able to accompany them, The greater pone of the day was spent by Ovaton in wandering alone over the mountains, and once or twice he had taken Pierre with him. Although a good shot, Welland could not help noticing that he never et back any game; this duty devolvin n hi and Pierre. From this, he conclude their leader employed the time in some other man- ner than hunting. Welland himself occasionally spent an hour in an aimless ramble, and on two separate occasions did not return till after dusk. The last time, Colonel Ovaton cautioned him that it it was more than probable that enemies were abroad in the mountains. Nothing had been seen or heard of the horseman by Welland, but he had not forgotten him by any means. He believed he was not many miles away, and that he would be heard from before they were any further upon their journey. ne pleasant afternoon he ascended the mountain and took a direction in which he had been accus- tomed to travel—that is, to the northward. He also went further than he intended, and when he seated himself upon a rock, found he was at the base of the mountain upon the opposite side. While look- ing listlessly about him, he was startled by hearing the stamp of a horse’s foot. From the sound he knew the animal was somewhere near him, but wes —, concealed by the dense vegetation. De- termined to ascertain his locality, he arose and eau- tiously made his way through the shrubbery and a and had gone scarcely a dozen steps when he came upon the black horse of the hunter with whom he had exchanged shots upon the nig!:t of their first e ement! While wondering and. speculating upon this, he heard the .um of voices near at hand, and after some more careful recor- noitering, discovered the hunter himself in conver- sation with Colonel Ovaton. They were seated upo» a fallen tree, and so earnestly engaged that bovhk could have — upon by a couple of is- dians with a moral certainty of success. Welland felt the circumstaaces would have jus*i- fied him in playing the eavesdropper if it could hav> done him any good; cen a ne, a@ word ors, he found they were ing in the Spanish—a lan- gu of which he not enough knowledge to avail himself. Not knowing how soon their confc,r- ence might end, he withdrew and made his way back to the encampment. On his way thither Le had almost come to the conclusion to impart what he had learned to Jacques, but, singular as it may seem, the incidents of the last day or two had fill: 4 him with suspicion of this man, ond he resolved to keep his own counsel. An unenviable s'tuation,
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The Hunted Enunter. certainly—in a wild country with those whom he zeould no more trust than his red enemies around him, That night Ross Welland almost resolved to leave his company and return to the East. A suspicion— iin fact, an absolute certainty, that the disposition of ‘this own person was determined by Ovaton, led to this, and he made a mental vow that he would not advance a step further north in hiscompany. He could not well leave at the time he form clusion, as Pierre was acting as sentinel. and in the meantime he would keep a closer watch upon those around him. The next day assed as had many of the former | ones. Colonel Ovaton was absent most of the time, and, as good fortune would have it, Welland was as- signed the duty of acting sentinel through the night. “This convinced him that no suspicion was entertain- ved.ef his intention, and assured him that coolness ‘and self-confidence were all that was needed to in- «wure success. Colonel Ovaton was the first to fall asleep, and Pierre the next. Jacques, from sleep- ing so much through the day, was restless and | wakeful; but, at a late hour, Welland concluded matters looked favorable enough to make the at- ‘tempt, Stealing cautiously away from their rude tent, he passed out to where the horses were graz- img. His own animal was there, and mounting him, he carefully descended the mountain, reached the open prairie, and struck off on a gallop to the south- east, in a direction parallel with the Hills. Now and then he reined his animal down to a walk, and Ustened for the sounds of pursuit, but none were | *neard, and as he galloped onward, he felt little ap- prehension of again meeting Colonol Ovaton, and the re be feared Pierre. He was satisfied ‘that his life was worth nothing in their hands, and as he accompanied the expedition for his own personal | benefit, he was justified in leaving it as he chose. He determined to reach the Rio Colorado and follow it down the Matagorda, or some of the Eastern cities, where he would take the first opportunity to make hisway back to New Orleans. He would explain his haste and apologize for his rudeness to Irona— and what then? Ross Welland was suddenly awakened from these reflections by the mingled reports of rifles, faintly heard in the distance. As he paused and listened, he distinguished several sounds, as if they were the yells of Indians. They were directly ahead of him, and — that a conilict was going on at that mo- men CHAPTER VI. THE WHITE STEED OF THE PRAIRIE—AN UNEXPECTED | MEETING. WELLAND knew that the combatants, whoever they might be, were probably a long distance away. Peeling little fear of coming up with them, at least for several hours, he determined to ride forward, én the direction from which the sounds came, as jong as he deemed it expedient, when he could change his course to suit circumstances. At night the moon arose, as if coming from the ved of the ocean, and, inspired as Welland was with the thought that every hour was drawing him near- er tochis adored Irona, and increasing the distance ‘between him and his enemies, he could not resist ‘the influence of the scene around him. To the left the dark, gloomy mass of the Colorado Hills stretch- -ed miles and miles away, while on the right, in the rear, and on the front, the rolling prairie, covered with its exuberant vegetation, encompassed him, He seemed a wanderer upon the limitless sea. As the moon rose higher and higher, and the yrairie became lightened up, a view of several miles sn extent was afforded. In the midst of the ocean, sossed upon a spar, the shipwrecked mariner gains some idea of the vastness of the expanse around him, and of his own littleness in this great world of ours. So the traveler journeying along over the western prairie, feels, perhaps in a lesser degree, the mighty extent of the American continent. Hour after hour, day after — he may gallop over the mo- notonous waves of land; week kindle his camp-fire on the banks of streams and on the plains themselves, and for months he may ¢ Seadew whither his fancy Jeads him, without meet- ing one of his own kind. Naught but the wild ani- mal, and the no less wild human inhabitant of these regions, will he encounter, save, perchance, some wanderer like bimseif. Abouta mile in advance, Welland distinguished a vast tract of the prairie which seemed entirely devoid of vegetation, having the appearance of newly-plowed earth. This phenomenon was soon ex- plained by a deep, thunderinz roll, and a sudden trembling of the earth as if shaken by an earth- . quake. It was an almost innumerable herd of buf- ; taloes, who, scenting danger in the air, were plung- - ing away over the prairie, which fair 4 Heneath their tread. They tool a direction at right angles to the one he was following, and he reined up mntil they had passed before him. He then resumed his Fy ne ercssing a belt of prairie, which looked as if it had been desolated by a tornado, It was still far from midnight, and, riding steadily forward, he gave way to his feelings, and indulged in a pleasant reverie. From this he was re by the sudden she ving of his horse, and a neigh of a . At first he was at a loss to discover the ut in a few moments distin- roliening, like his own L 95%, but. p . ous " h tert, re ; re this con- | It could | do no harm, he concluded, to remain a day longer, | ter week he may | vibrated | “The Cavallo Blanco, as I live!’ exclaimed Wel- land. ‘‘ That famed animal of which I have heard and read so many marvels.” It was indeed a beautiful white horse—the veri- table one which has become so celebrated in history, and Welland now viewed him with the most fervent admiration. Once he laid his hand upon his rifle, as he reflected that it was in his power to bring down this king of the prairie, but he dismissed the thought as unworthy of a civilized being. Noone could wish to slay or maim such a magnificent beast, although baffled, many had been, in their efforts to capture him. The White Steed and that of Welland had ex- changed a friendly neigh or two, and they now gradually verged toward each other until within less | than a hundred yards. Welland endeavored to ap- | proach still Cees a the royal pacer would not | permit it, and at this relative distance they careered, the one on a swift gallop, and the other upon an easy, steady. racking-pace. As Welland viewed his unexpected but welcome companion, again and | again, he felt there could be no mistake about his supposition. This was the el cuvatlo blanco de los llanos (the white steed of the prairie), and no other. No such animal as that had ever been encountered before or since. That pure, snow-white color, the ears only being tipped with a jet-black, that form of incomparable symmetry, the long, clean, tapering limbs, the luxuriant mane that streamed far out over his back as he sped onward, the tail, so lengthy and exuberant that over a foot at least must have rested upon the earth when he was standing, that transpa- rent nostril and fiery eye, all these were character- istics of that wonderful animal which he had heard rehearsed again and again by hunters and travelers. He had heard, too, that the beast was as erratic in his wanderings as the Comanche himself. He had been seen in the Chickasaw country, to the north of the Brazos; he had ranged over the prairie as far east as the Gaudalupe mountains extended, and as | far north as the sources of the Rio Grande. He who dared to enter the Great Desert—the Liano Estacado | —had encountered him there, and the dweller in Northern Mexico recounted many a story of his fruit- | less efforts to come up with him when mounted upon his swiftest charger. The most determined efforts had been made for years to lasso the White Steed. The Comanches had pursued him again and again, but with one burst of amazing fleetness, he left their swiftest animals far in the rear. The hunters had endeavored to entrap him, but he was too cunning for them. The animal (all accounts to the contrary notwithstanding) had never been lassoed or ridden by any person. ultimately was his death no one knows, but it is cer- tain he came by it without the interposition of | : | conjuration had been at work to bring about this man, ‘* Heavens! if I only had you under saddle and bridle!” exclaimed Welland, as he again surveyed the noble horse. ‘“ Next to my own na, you are the most beautiful creature that I have ever seen. No wealth could purchase such a treasure.” Welland’s horse, which had never been left behind in a contest of speed, seemed vexed and uneasy at this strange animal maintaining his place beside him. He chafed under the bit, and would not be restrained by his rider, wers. “Well, go ahead, my good horse,” said his rider, loosening the rein; ‘“* you have never met your match before, but you will find out you now have. I have an idea, however, that you can compel him to resort | | his life. As he did so, the sharp crack ofa rifle re- to his best to keep his distance. Go ahead!” The horse headed toward the White Steed, and burst away at a tremendous gait. He graduall gained until he was within twenty feet, and Weil- and’s heart leaped with exultation at the thought that the animalhe bestrode was able to cope with this celebrated pacer, when thelatter flung his head aloft, and with a whinny that sounded like the scream of a panther, shot ahead with such extraor- dinary velocity that for a moment Welland believed | h his own horse had dropped down _ to a walk, so rapidly wes he left behind. that were told of the White steed. One that could thus travel was a phenomenon in nature which deserved mention in history. The horse, now full turned his side toward his pursuer, and prancin thus, maintained the same distance for seve minutes. Under the bright moonlight, every grace and charm were as distinctly brought out as at noon- day, and when he coursed across the prairie with arrowy swiftness, a more singularly beautiful spec- tacle could not have been imagined } neigh, as if in scorn at this attempt to cope with him, he burst away again, describing a complete circle around Welland, and approaching within a few yards of him with that dainty, delicate step which is seen when the trained horse is reined walk by his master. conscious that he was in the company of no ordinary animal, gave over his terrific efforts, and settled | down into the same easy, swinging gallop as before, | while his rider contented himself with watching the | curvetings and gyrations of the White Steed. Prancing, pacing thus, and taunting him, the latter continued his playful anticsfor over an hour, when, sending forth one of his piercing screams, he shot off upon the prairie with incredible swiftness, soon Greppoened., and was seen no more. elland judged it now to be midnight, aud deemed it best that his horse should have several hours’ rest. A half-mile ahead, a long, dark line stretched eeross the plain, blending at either end with the kness. This he knew to be a belt of .timber ining ———_ tributary of the Rio Colorado and ucce Je deternined i Valt uuti} morning. ‘thing twinkled like a firefly in the grove | bein the vicinity. Likely t. Vhat | He was determined to display his own | But, as he looked down | | and saw that he was calling his utmost powers into play, he no longer wondered at the marvelous stories | ly a quarter of a mile in advance, | With ashrill | down to a | Welland’s horse, seemingly | ' don’t choose. As herode up and down the billowy swells of the prairie, he kept his eye fixed upon it, with the ob- ect of selecting some favorable spot for his purpose. e was within several hundred yards, when some- and imme- diately disappeared. As he ascended the rise in the prairie, the glimmer was visible, and, halting a moment, he satisfied himself that he was within a short distance of some one’s camp-fire. : This was a discovery as unexpected as alarming. Welland was convinced that they were enemies— | most probably Comanches, who had thus fearlessly | exposed themselves to the gaze of any who might ey were some large war- | rty, returning from a foray upon the settlements in the east, and without doubt it was their guns that he had heard some time before. At any rate, he | determined to be assured before crossing the grove. He approached the timber in a circuitous direction, and fastening his horse upon the outskirts, carefully picked his way through it. He discovered, ina few moments, that the fire was upon the opposite side of the stream; the’latter, however, was very shallow, and he crossed without it difficuiuy. A few yards fur- ther, passed with a tread as silent as death, and he ained a full view of the fire. Instead of a party of faxeous Indians upon the war-path, he saw two white men, evidently hunters or trappers, lazily smoking their pipes. Both were bronzed and shaggy- looking, and sat gazing into the fire before them with the most imperturbable gravity, and without speak- ing a word. Welland changed his position to gain a better view, and as hedid so, discoyered that there was a third party. This was a female, sitting with a shawl wrapped around her,leaning her head for-vard, and covering her face with her hands. She was of slight, delicate frame, with black, luxuriant hair, and Welland supposed her to be the young squaw of one of the hunters. She sat as movionless as a statue, and the three, equally moveless and silent, formed a singular and picturesque tableau. At this instant a twig pa beneath the foot of Welland, and the female looked up. The light of the camp-fires shone full upon her face, and Ross Wel- land saw before him Irona Seraville! CHAPTER VII. THE HUNTERS AND THEIR ADVENTURE. THERE was no mistaking her. Thesame oval face, the same massy black hair, the dark eyes, the fea- tures all were hers. Yes, Irona Seraville was before him. Unaccountable as was her appearance, Wel- land felt no doubts of her identity, She who, be was certain, was in a distant city, where he had left her several weeks before, was here, alone with two rude hunters upon the ;rairie of Texas, What marvelous state of affairs? Were these her protec- tors or her captors? A feeling of deep disgust took possession of Welland, as he reflected that Paes she had voluntarily resigned home and foJlowed him; but this thought instantly passed, Jrona Seraville would never make one step toward any advance when she knew, as Welland did, that she was not in the wrong. No: whatever cause had bsp about this great change in her lot, he felt satisfied that it was against her wish or will. Hardly ten seconds had elapsed since this astoun- ding discovery, when Welland resolved to advance, make himself known to the hunters, and claim their companion. With this intention he stepped noiseless- ly from behind the tree, and by that movement saved sounded through the grove, and the whistle of a bullet was within an inch of his eyes. The breaking of the twig beneath his foot had betrayed his proxi- mity to the hunters, and ten seconds sufficed tor them to ascertain his hiding-place. Ere he had re- covered from his confusion created by this greeting, a dark, ball-like body bounded toward him, and leaping in the air came down like a yanther uy on iD. “ Hold!” shouted Welland, struggling in the Her- culean grasp, “lamafriend! Do not strike!” Instead of having the hold upon him loosened, Welland was dragged to the fire, where his head was unceremoniously bent down and a view of bis fe: t- ures taken. ‘White or ’'m a red-skin,” exclaimed his captor. ““What you doin’ in these parts, say?” Eefore replying, Weiland glanced at Irona, aml saw with gratification that ibe had not recogniz« d | him. Keeping his beck toward her, and partly cis- guising his voice, he answered: “I saw your cewp-fire for sme distance, and was seeking to find out whether it belonged to friends cr foes, when, it seems, you discovered me.” “Wal, we did, stranger, and rayther a dangerous diskiver it come nigh bein’ to you, didn’t it, eh?” | “More so than I care about undergoing again. “What mought be the handle you uses in these parts, stranger?’ asked the second hunter. ‘Ross Welland, sir.” . “Tf it ain't axing too much, what mought be (1s handle you uses «¢ jem, eh?” “ Why, the same, of course.” “Wa! wa! Come, now, that might do with some, but it don’t go down wiih us. Howsumever, it’s none of our business, and you needn’t tell us if you From the States, I s’pose?”’ ‘* Yes, sir.” “What mought have been the inducement for you to emigrate—house-burning, housé-breaking, _miur- der, or any of them gentlemanly amusements?” a: k ed the first hunter, with a sly look. J ‘ “T don’t understand you, sir,” replied Welland, potting an inkling of their meaning the instant he nad made his answer. “* Dou t understand, ch? tren 2? What give you the notion
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“T came to Texas of my own free will a few weeks since, with Colonel Ovaton.” ‘““With who, did you say?” quickly asked the hunter. ** Colonel Ovaton, and two of his friends.” “Colonel Ovaton, eh? And a pretty ruff’n he is, too. I cac’late if he had his dues, he’d be hung in every State, city and village between us and the Potomac. It don’t well, Mr. Ross Welland for you to tell such a story r bein’ in Colonel Ovaton’s pea tem be ‘*T know nothing of Colonel Ovaton, except that he has been employed by several wealthy merchants to examine north-western Texas. For the novelty and adventure I undertook to accompany him.” ‘* What you doin’ in these parts then, eh?” “T saw several ees about him that I did not par- ticularly like; so Ileft him in the early part of the evening.” ‘** A lucky leave, I should say, though I don’t know as the man had any fancy for you.” “T have aves ou my name, friends, and now I should be glad to hear yours.” “Ef I’m called Ned Nuggens, I won’t get mad,” re- ae the hunter who had come so nigh shooting Wel- nd. ** And yours, if you please?”’ he asked, turning to- ward the other, “By the same token, I’m called John Smith.” * John Smith,” laughed Welland; ‘it seems I have heard that name before.” * Mought be; ’'m pretty generally known in these Ss. ‘Those are the names, I presume, that you use in Toews,” said Welland, meaningly. ‘* That’s why we give ‘em.” **T won’t ask you, as you did me, the inducement that led you to emigrate, for [ cannot believe it was any crime.” “No, sir, it warn’t. John Smith is the only handle I ever used, and Ned Nuggens is the only one that Comanche over thar ever toted about. e didn’t emigrate. We was both born down ‘long the Texan coast, and we've seen some tall times in ourday. It ain’t many stran¢ers we've come across, as are from the States, but what have been sorter induced, as you might say, to emigrate. Thnt’s why I axed you, **T suppose you are hunters?” ‘Exactly. Oain’t you got a hoss?”’ “Certainly; he is picketed a short distance away. / Why did you ask?” “Only ’cause I wanted to know. Where are you bound to, just now?” ‘‘Tam on my way to New Orleans. I suppose you are on a hunting or trapping expedition?” ‘Exactly; we're goin’ up toward the upper part of the Colorado.” ‘*The Comanches, I believe, frequent that part of the country?” zi ‘Yes, but we’re used to’em; had many a brush with ’em, and jest to get our hand in we had a scrimmage to-night with a lot.” **You did? Then it was your guns I heard?” “Shouldn't wonder, if *twas about three or four hours ago. If you heerd ours you heerd theirs too, for they used ’em.” ‘““What was the cause of the affray?”’ eagerly asked Welland. ‘*‘ That piece of calico back thar,’’ replied Nuggens, in a low tone. “Ah! was shein their possession—a prisoner?” pursued Welland, unable to restrain his eagerness. “ That’s what was the matter.” ‘*Let me have the particulars, will you?” “In the morning,”’ replied Nuggens. ‘*’S too late in the evening now.” Welland deemed it prudent not to press the hunter, as he knew enough of their class to understand that it could avail nothing. He arose and remarked: “T will attend to my horse and then rejoin you.” As he sed out among the trees, he glanced at Trona. e was gazing intently at him, as though she suspected the truth, and he was tempted to re- turn and make himself known to her; but on second thought, he deemed it best to wait until morning. He found his horse as he had left him, and, satisf, ing ‘himself that he was secure until that time, he returned to the camp-fire. Here he saw that the ar- rangements for the night had been completed. More fagots had been heaped upon the blaze, a screen of brush was re-arranged so as to conceal the flame, waile Irona had retired for the night. Oue of the hun- ters’ huge blankets was spread bg the ground and formed her bed. Her own shaw] was first wrapped around her, and then the other gathered up a roll at the head forming the pillow, so that, all thi con- sidered, her condition was as comfortable as it could be under the circumstances. “John Smith” re- sembled a monstrous turtle, hermetically sealed in his shell. Neither his head nor his feet—nothing but aroll of blanket, puffed up to an enormous size. revealed his AwelEne TiN Nuggens was seate just beyond the circle of the fire, where he had set- tled himself to keep watch over his sleeping com- anions through the night. Hoping that he might £ disposed to enter into conversation, Welland ap- proached him: pF “Do you apprehend a visit from the Comanches to-ni¢ht?”’ “Don’t understand that big word you used. Speak English and I'll understand ’ : : “Have you any fear of the Indians attacking you before morning?” : ‘Me and Smith don’t fear the red-skins.” ’ That isn’t exactly what [mean. Do you believe that they will attack you?” ‘ ‘*Why didn’t you say so afore? No, don't think they will.” ‘Isn't there danger of your fire being seen from the prairie?’ The Hunted Hunter. if **T reckons not.” ** Tsaw it, before I reached the timber, and it was that which directed me to it.” “How fur off mought you have seen it?” “Tt was at no great distance, but, I should think, further than you care about its being visible.” ‘** Bein’ what?” asked Nuggens, turning toward Welland with an expression of disgust. “ Being visible—being seen, if that’s plainer.” “No, the fire can’t be visebled by any of the imps, ‘less they run right into it, which they ain't noway? likely to do. “Cause why, we've kivered it boa the brush and stuff aroun hyer. We hadn’t this here side screened as much as we ort to, and you hap- peped to strike just the p’int where you could see t J “friend Nuggens, I don’t feel very drowsy this Rita y. and, if you have no objection to offer. should like to talk with you awhile, about that girl sleeping over there.” , “T understand; you’re struck, you are. Got it strong, sure. Ever seen her afore?’ 4 ** She is an old friend—and an old acquaintance. “Not very old, I reckons, youngster, from her looks.”’ “T have been long acquainted with her.”’ “You have, eh? Why didn’t you make yourself knowed to her?” “T did intend to, but I thought it best to wait until to-morrow.” ‘“* Where’d you ever see her afore?” “Tn New Orleans,”’ “Yas,” said the hunter, nodding his head, as if penny | with himself. ‘‘That’s whar she said she come from.” “She told you, then, did she? Nuggens, can you not give me the particulars of your rescue of her, and of all you have learned regarding her?” “ You'll know it all in the mornin’. I’d tell you now, but I must keep watch till daylight, and it makes me sleepy to talk. Ill wake you up at day- light, before she or Smith are up, and give it to you, if that’ll do.” Welland signified his satisfaction with this ar- rangement and laid down. With the knowledge that Trona was hundreds of miles from her home in this great wilderness, and that moment within a dozen feet of him—with the ignovance in regard to this presence to perplex him, it may well be supposed that little sleep visited his eyes. For along time he tortured himself to explain this remarkable state of affairs, but of course without avail, and finally made the resolve that he would think no more upon it. With this firm determination he rolled his blanket more closely around him, and gave himself up to slumber. But no slumber was to visit him that night. Scarce- ly had he thus resigned himself, when he heard Nug- gens make a movement which awakened his curios- =< Throwing the blanket from his face, and looking where he was last seated, he saw him stealthily glide out and disappear in the darkness. At first he was a disposed to and follow him; but he refiected at once that such a proceeding would bring down the ire of the hunter. Accordingly he laid down and listened. The instant his ear touched the ground, he heard several pulse-like thumps as if a horse were approaching. They were heard distinctly for the space of a minute, when they ceased, as though the rider had suddenly reined up his animal. Now followed a moment of intense stillness, during which Welland heard ng cree, Steg the beat of hisown heart, and the regular breathing of the unconscious Smith. He | with his ear to the und, his whole being absorbed in the one object of listening. All at once the earth seemed to tremble, and the peculiar thumpety-thump of a horse in full gallop was heard, followed by a loud splashing through the water; but to Welland’s astonishment there was no discharge of fire-arms. He arose, and pedens beyond the light of the smoldering fire, awaited the approach of the hunter. In a moment he loomed up in the gloom, and took his seat with as much composure as though nothing had occurred to disturb him. It was im- possible for Welland to restrain his ag and cringing noiselessly to his side, he asked: “What was the meaning of all that noise?” The hunter turned toward him as if surprised at the question, and replied: “What business have you to be pokin’ round this time of night? Go to sleep.” ‘Tam certain that it would occasion you no harm to answer a civil question.” “Ugh! go to sleep; maybe you'll find out in the morn ig i No other course was left for him, and accordingly he laid down again, not in the best of moods, how- ever, at the rebuff he had received. The night | outin bold relief against the sky beyond. Hesaw i him halt several hundred yards away, when two other horsemen rode up and joined him. This latter circumstance awakened the suspicions of Welland, and he inquired more particularly in re- gard to the one who entered the timber. The hunter could give nothing more except that he wore a Mex- ican sumbrero—one with a very broadiim. The others were at too great a distance upon the prairie for him to notice the peculiarities of their dress. But Welland had learned enough. He had no doubt that the first mentioned horseman was the stranger —the one who had visited him before and who seemed to haunt him now. The other two were Pierre and Colonel Ovaton. Their knowledge of Irona was now what Welland wished from the hunters. This was unsatisfactory in regard to the great question with him, and was given ina few words. The day before, while riding along the Colorado, they discovered three Indians, in the distance. They were Comanches, and it was evident that they were impeded with a capiive. Their implacable hatred of these red-men led the hunters to the resolve to capture their prisoner and ive them a taste of their mettle at the same time. hree Comanches and two white mey formed an admirably-balanced enemy £ wi? opinion, sud there was not the least hesitancy upon the part of either Smith or Nuggens. Prudence led them to de- fer their assault until evening. Should the Coman- ches find that their captive was likely to fall into other bands, they mouficl not hesitate to tomahawk her and save themselves by flight. The hunters kept a good distance away, saw where they were likely te encamp, and as soon as it was dark, commenced their approach. They reached their camp befare the moon arose, and, contrary to thoir expectatian, found the Indians entirely unprepared for any) at- tack. One was engaged in preparing their supper, while the other two were lolling upon the grass, in ' idle enjoyment. Irona, the captive, sat a few feet away, and was unbound. This, considering the fancied security of the Indians, was not strange, as a dozen thongs could not have made her moresecure in their possession than she already was. While Smith crept forward toward their horses, which were picketed a short distance away, Nuggens ‘“drew bead” upon one of the Comanches and held his aim until the proper moment should arrive for him te fire. Smith now made some confusion among the animals, in the hope of drawing their attention to that point. The stratagem turned out just as they wished. One of the Indians arose and started toward them to ascertain the trouble. So soon as. he came nigh enough, Smith fired, and at the samc moment Nuggens did the same and rushed forwaid to finish the remaining one. The latter, however, was too quick for him. He instantly broke for cover, and before they could re- load, he was beyond theirreach. One of those slain, however, proved to be a white manin disguise. They found Irona unharmed, and grateful enough that she Was once more in the hands of the white people. She stated that she had been taken prisoner vy a band ef thirty Comanches a week previous, and that two days afterward, had been intrusted to the charge of these three. What their destination or intentions were she did not know, but believed they meant to retain her for the ransom which would offered. Beyond these mere facts, the hunters knew nothing. ere Irona was when captured, and how the portunity came to be given, she refused to tell. e offered them a handsome sum to return with her to some pointin Eastern Texas where she could make her way back to New Orleans. The hunters had consented to do it, but upon Welland’s offering him- as her escort, they willingly yielded. was agreed that he should start east with her ina few hours, while they would continue their journey to tiie. Seth ring th ig meal, hile Smith was preparing the morning me Trona awoke and looked about her. She started with wonder at seeing Welland, who approaching her,. “You are undoubtedly surprised, dear Irona, at meeting me here, but you can not have one jot of the amazement I feel’ at =r you—hundreds of miles from the home where I left you a few weeks since, and where I expected to find you upon my re- turn. I trust nothing has befallen your father?’ She shook her head with sadness, ‘“ No, I believe he is at home, indulging the belief that his daughter is safe in Avstin.” “Tn Austin! Why does he t you are there?"’ “Because he sent me there. s, do not question me now; I will explain all to you some other time, a mood to receive it.” provided ou are understood the allusion, and colored to Wellan away without further incident. At the first appear- | his temples. ance of daylight both Welland and Smith were astir. and Nuggens related to them both the particulars of his nocturnal adventure. He had detected the step of a highly-trained,horse crossing the brook, and, as he believed, approachi their camp. The noise was so slight that it woul not have been understood or even heard by an ordi- nary person. He iustantly moved off to discover what visitor he was likely to have; but the rider’s suspicions were evidently awakened at the same mo- ment with his own. The sounds suddenly ceased, and fora moment the hunter was at fault. Search- ing carefully, however, he saw the head and shoul- ders of a man, and the head of a horse, the latter standing in the center of the stream. A doubt that the stranger was an enemy restrained Nuggens from firing. He moved nearer to him, when the horse wheeled, and dashed through the timber to the open prairie. The hunter followed him, and in the bright moonlight distinguished him for a long distance, as } he ascended tie reguiar elevations and nis body eame | “I beg your forgiveness, Irona, for my conduct upon that night. was blinded by jealousy, and acted rudely, | admit. Had it been possible, 1 shouid have deferred the expedition until I could have ex= plained it to you.” “I willingly forgive you, and now let us say no ese about it. Do you accompany us on our re- umm?” “I go with you, but Smith and Nuggens proceed in the opposite direction. They are very anxious to reach some point near Mexico, and think we cam make our way back to the settlements without diffi- culty.’ “T trust so, for I am anxious enough to reack them.” “TI see they have our breakfast ready. We will Serete of something and be on our way as soon ag possible.”’ The hunters had prepared a substantial meal, of which all partook heartily. When they had finished. | Smith did up a portion of buffalo-hump for Wellané
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‘without his appearing, I “LO; 8 to take with him. Welland now noticed, with some misgivings, what had already been noticed by others, viz.: that there was but one horse for him and Irona. His , however, was a powerful one, fully capable of bearing both, and the matter vould not be mended, so he said nothing about it. Farewells were exchanged with e hunters. Irona thanked them again and again, and extorted a promise from each to visit New Orleans upon the first opportunity, she intending—although she did not mention the latter fact—to give them something more substantial than mere thanks. Our hero and heroine were mounted, the latter seated in front of him, when Smith approached and signified that he had something for Welland’s p meg ear. He leaned over and the hunter whis- red: “Tt arn't Comanches you've to fear; it’s white men. You know whoI mean. Keep a sharp look- out, fur I’m sartain they’re on your trail. they get you into tight quarters, maybe me and Nuggens will turn up for you.” Welland thanked him, promised to be on the alert, and he and Irona again bade them farewell. A minute later, their horse’s head was turned toward the east, and their eventful homeward journey was CHAPTER VIII. THE HISTORY OF THE STRANGE HORSEMAN, Tux direction which Welland took was nearly due south-east, llel with, and a short distance from the Rio Colorado, it being his intention to follow this stream, both as a gulde, and as affording the most direct route to the coast. The additional weight of Irona seemed scarcely felt by his noble borse, which required a drawn rein to keep him down to a walk. The ing words of Smith were ever present to Welland. They had changed his suspicion of the ill-feeling of Colonel Ovaton and the strange horse- man toward him, into the certainty that both were his mortal enemies. Why they felt thus, he had not the remotest suspicion. Colonel Ovaton, he believed was friendly, or, at least, indifferent toward him when the journey commenced, and his change of feeling was to be ascribed to the influence of the stranger. This man, then, concluded Welland, was the prime cause of all the mischief, and he it was who was so doggedly pursuing him. “Tt is theo sudden stop,’’*muttered Welland, wholly absorbed in revolving the question in his excited mind. “Whom do you mean?” asked Irona, “T am unable to tell you, except that he is an enemy.” “Where is he?” “Neither can [ answer that, except that he is be- hind us. He is a dark, swarthy-looking man, who is ‘ by a large Mexican sombrero.” 4 at?’ demanded Jrona, turning around and looking him in the face with the most painful eager- ness. “He is a black-looking man, who is distinguished by the large-brimmed hat he wears.” “Ts he a cross-eyed person?” “TI believe he is, one eye being gray and the other black. It seems you know something of him.” “T do, indeed. He, TI believe, was the cause of my being taken prisoner by the Comanche Indians.” It was Welland’s turn now to be astonished. “*He the cause of your being captured by them? ‘How can that be?”’ “It was he who incited them to do it, and Iam sure it was for him that they did the deed.” “Please explain yourself, lrona. Have you known this man for any length of time?” “ For several years; I knew him in Europe.” “Trona, you now can have no objection to relate all that has transpired since I left your home.” “No; I will tell all that I know of these strange vents. “ First, in regard to this stranger, as you call him. His name I believe is Juarez Vasquelon. Three ears ago, when I was at school in Madrid, I met him on the street. I remember how narrowly he watched me, and how often I found him anette | when I was alone or in the ——-. of my school- mates. He seemed to be a shadow or second self. Not a word between us; but so sure as I behind me, I was sure to see those dreadful eyes fixed upon me. This continued several months, during which I grew to fear him as { would have feared a wild animal. “But, one day I missed him, and the next day saw nothing of him, and when a week had po a an to hope that he had I never saw him in y left the city. So it prov Madrid again: “A year ago, 1 returned home to ys dear father in New Orleans. During my absence I had grown to be quite a woman, so that at first he hardly re- me. I had been at home a month or so, when, one day, father told me a gentleman, and a much friend, was to spend the afternoon with him. He said he desired to present him to me, and from several hints which he dropped I was con- vinced that he wanted me to be prepared to look upon him in the light of a suitor. “In the afternoon the man came, was presented, and he was Juarez Vasquelon! It bein ‘oO years since I had seen him, I had long to think of him, and, indeed, had nearly forgotten how he ap- peared. My agitation was so great that father be- came alarmed, and led me out the room. He had no suspicion of the true cause, and upon my recov- “ne urged me to return to the drawing-room. I «»» ‘i nov vefuse, and did so. Vasquelon remained nion of a certain gentleman, that, if | the chance is offered, his racing days will come to a | during the afternoon, and called regularly for a | The Hunted Hunter. week or two. My dislike and fear of him increased *T should not be surprised if he were. His so much, that, at last, I told father the whole truth, relating how I had seen him in Madrid, and saying that I looked — him with loathing and horror. He seemed muc — I should receive no more visits from him, they were so painful. He remarked that Vas- quelon was a + bey we of honorable stock, and he had long cherished the idea of having him for his son-in-law. He promised solemnly, however, that as I entertained such a marked dislike to him, he should encourage him no longer. “Tam sure that my father related to Vasquelon all that I had said, and told him that, under the cir- cumstances, he could permit him no longer to visit me, for he never came to the house any more. But I had my several months’ experience in Madrid over again. Icould not go out in the street without be- ing followed by him, and this continued for several months aftef you and I became acquainted. “T suspected that this Vasquelon had remained in Madrid until he learned who my father was, when he de to America, and while I was at school he was doing his utmost to — my father’s good opinion. This I afterward learned was true. He had not remained in New Orleans continually, but had been absent several times for a long period. Where he went I can not tell, and it matters not, “Tam sure that he knew of your visits to me, and,”’ added Irona, in a lower tone, “ that they were the only ones that were acceptable. That he en- tertains a deep-seated aversion to you I am certain and know he would not hesitate to do you all the ill in his power. You mentioned his wearing a large- rimmed sombrero. This first made me su: t his | identity. He wore such a hat in Madrid, and has, in fact, ever since I knew him. “About a month before you started with Colonel Ovaton to this wart. he left New Orleans, and we know that he must have gone to Texas. I saw nothing more of him until a few days since. “Three days after your departure, father asked me how I should like to visit his brother in Texas. He had resided in Austin for many years and had long held a promise that I should visit him upon my return from Europe. I am sure there was some- thing deeper than this mere promise that led my father to make this proposition, else he never would have allowed me to go without his own company, | Even now I cannot understand the cause that led him to it. It must have been a powerful one, for I know it cost him a great deal of pain to see me go, He, however, made it peice optional with me, and said that if I had any objections he advised me not to §°. At any other time, I am sure I should have refused; but, I reflected that you would be absent three or four months, during which the time would pass drearily if I remained at home. Furthermore, my own visit was to be two months only, there seemed no danger attending it, and I had a strong love for travel—so I decided to make the visit. “Two faithful attendants accompanied me, and we left New Orleans the next day. I did not know recisely what portion of Texas was your destina- ion, and had no idea that we were really following in your track. We encountered a severe storm in crossing the gulf, and were delayed several days in reac’ Matagorda, We finally ascended the river to Austin, where, upon disembarking, I learned that my uncle had been absent in Mexico for a long time and consequently had not received the letter which my father sent a month before notifying him of my intended visit. His family—his wife and one daughter—received me with the greatest cordiality, and insisted that I should remain until he returned, which they were sure would be within a few weeks. surprised, and said that, for the, Iconsented,and several days passed pleasantlyjaway, | , atten ‘**Marie—my cousin—and ed by two ser- vants, used to wander about the town toward the close of the day, and many hours we thus ed together, The second day of my arrival, I met a man in the city that I had seen before with Vas- quelon. He was small in stature, and his features reserabled those of an Indian. I thought little of it, although I remember he followed me for a con- siderable distance. “The next evening Marie and I fell into an inter- esting conversation, and extended our walk much further than we ever had before. We had just turned to retrace our en when we heard a scream from our attendants, an jooking up saw ascore of hideously-painted Indians, riding rapidly toward us, We were a quarter of amile from the nearest house of the town, and flight was useless. We there- fore stood pale and trembling until they came up. Before reaching they separated in the form of a circle and then rapidly closed around us. Instead of offering harm, one of the Indians stooped from his horse, lifted me upon it, and they all rode away. The next morning I was given in charge of three, one of whom I through his paint as the man that had followed and watched me closely the day before, My rescue from these three is already known to you.’ “Did not the Indians harm or carry away your cousin or any of the servants?” “Not one; they did not seem even to notice them. This makes me think my abduction was arranged beforehand.” “Tt was, most certainly; and Vasquelon, the vil- lain, is the one who arran it.” “Tt must be so. Until Llearned from you that he was inthis section of the country, I rr Sings it only an artifice of this white man who has been killed, to secure a ransom for me—he knowing that a heavy one could be secured. ! you do not know how much I dread to meet that Vasquelon in!” “As long as this arm has strength he not even approach you!” “Do you believe he is following us?” : ar= ticular genius seems to be that of the Ricod I think, if he really be following us, he will reach the end of the trail. He has grrr ie my life, and I am justified in seeing that another opportunity is not given him. But yonder is quite an elevation, which will afford us an extended view of the prairie. We will ascend that and see whether there are any friends or enemies visible.” CHAPTER Ix. FUGITIVES. WELLAND ascended the elevation, and with an anxious eye he swept the horizon, every part of which, from stand-point, was visible. North sou and west, the blue dome shut down, as if to wall them in from the outside world. The vast extent of prairie which lay beneath his gaze was threaded by numerous streams, and crossed by belts of timber and patches of woodland. In the west could be seen a black, undulating mass, which Welland knew to be a herd of buffaloes. To the north, at the right of the Colorado Hills, they dis- po agen another mass, more scattered than this, which was in motion, the bodies rising and sinkin with a beautiful wave-like movement over the roll ing prairie. These were wild horses. At the head, like a mass of snow, shone one of their number that took the lead. This was the White Steed. But, Welland saw no human being. “Tt seems we are alone,” said he. ‘I can dis- tinguish no person in all this broad expanse of prairie but ourselves. What is it that so interests you, Irona?”’ , She did not reply for a moment, she was so in- tently occupied. ‘“*Do you see any thing to alarm you?” : “Yonder is something that looks human,” said she, pointing to the west. “Yes, I see them—ah! ee gone again,” added Welland as he lost them. e objects, whatever oat might be, were like stars at midday. They could not be seen in the canbe of the sunlight, unless the eye chanced to look directly at them, when they were so distinct and clearly defined that Welland could only wonder why he had not noticed them at the first glance, and while wondering suddenly lost them again. “*T see them now,’ he added, wrinkling his face with his efforts to keep his gaze fixed. ‘There are two—two horsemen, I suppose.” “Two!” repeated Irona, in astonishment. ‘‘ There are surely three, riding in Indian file orin a straight e. Welland looked again and again, but he saw the two only, and these were riding side by side. What was the cause of this discrepancy in their vision? “T ll stake my life there are but two,” said he, de- cidedly. . . me Iknow there are three /”’ said Irona, as posi- tively. It proved that both were right and both were wrong, = Where is Jad hy are looking?” asked Welland. Trona pointed, and, following the direction of her finger, Welland saw, indeed, three horsemen, and Trona, under his guidance, distinguished the other two, so the discrepancy was explained. - Now, who can those different parties be?’ asked his companion. “The two whom I first saw are undoubtedly Smith and Nuggens, the hunters,” “And the other three?’ “Are Colonel Ovaton, Pierre Choujeau and Vas- quelon. The hunters appear to be going from us, as we might expect.” “And the others?” “ Are coming toward us, as also we might expect.” “Do the parties see each other?” “T think not, You notice there is a grove or rather belt of timber between them. Our pursuers are evidently aware of the proximity of the hunters and are purposely keeping themselves concealed. from their view. I am sorry for this; for had they not seen the hunters, they would still have believed . wet in se pacory sag and er an wou ave conside us too stro: nsuite with ee geek Besides, did Smith and Nuggens know who were in their neighborhood, they could have easily prevented their own presence from being known. Iam sorry at this state of matters.” “You then really believe we are pursued?” ‘* Most certainly we are.” “Can they see us?” “They can, but I do not think they do. I willdrive down the other side of the hill where we shall be se- cure from observation.” ‘How will they be enabled to find us?” “ They are on the trail of my horse, and that in- fernal Pierre Choujeau, I believe, could track a bird through the air.” “But can they overtakeus? Your animal, yousay, is a fleet one.” “Ah! my dear Irona, do you not see how utterly | unavailing his fleetness is? All three of our enemies are well mounted, and each has only his accustomed rider to . Swiftness of foot will not save us. “But you will not have the temerity to sit still and surrender?” asked Irona, with some excitement. *“ As long as I have life you shall be safe from all three of 1 trod villains. I shall do my utmost to effect our escape.” “ Forgive may suspicion, dear Ross. Pray tell me how you to accomplish it. “Té can only be done by stratagem, They must be thrown off our trail.’’ **T can not understand how that is possible. You say one of them is wonderfully skillful in tracking a person.” ‘He is, but I believe Ican outwit him.”
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The Hunted Hunter. CHAPTER X. ON THE ISLAND. WELLAND and Irona were now galloping over the | prairie in a south-east direction, at the distance of a inile from the Rio Colorado. The plain was of the rolling kind, covered with rank and luxuriant vege- tation, so that the progress of the horse was some- what labored and tardy. “* How do you hope to elude our pursuers, if not by hurrying forward?” asked Irona. ** By going backward,” replied Welland. “ By going backward!” repeated his companion, | “Ay, by that very means. To mystify you no longer, I will explain. I have been reflecting how they could be avoided ever since we started. That it cannot be done by direct flight is evident to both ef us. We must, therefore, make some move which will throw them off our trail, at least until we shall have placed fifty miles between us, which will give us abundant time to reach the frontier settlements. — are still a good distance in the rear, and we n have no apprehensions of being troubled by them before to-morrow.” ‘“* But, Ross, they do not know that I am with you, and I think, or at least hope, they will not persist in pursuing you, knowing, as the 0, that your horse cannot be overtaken by theirs.” “Most certainly they do know you are with me, or I should not care a fig for this pursuit. How they have found out I can not tell—perhaps yA the Comanche that escaped the hunters, or more likely Vasquelon himself learned it last night, although Smith seemed to think that he had but a glim at the camp-fire. No; they are certainly aware that we are together, and we may make up our minds that they will be | relentless in their attempts to overtake us. afternoon I shall drive into the Colorado, and turn | — horse’s head up-stream, ascending so far, that when we strike the opposite bank it shall be a half- | mile above the point where we entered. Atnightwe | will resume our journey, having given our animals a few hours’ rest, and before they strike our trail, I think you will be forever safe yond their reach. Now, what does ny Trona think of my plan?” asked Welland, pressing her to him. “Tt is a good one, I think; with Heaven’s blessing it will avail.” “T know it will,” added Welland, confidently. “Do not be too confident, They may suspect that very stratagem, and take means to defeat it at ence.” | “‘Tcan not think they will. They may go some distance up the bank, but they will never dream of going a half-mile.” * Will the river allow you to ascend it thus far?’ ‘*Not only that far, but as much further as we | could possibly wish. In ascending it in the steam- boat, our only difficulty was on account of the shal- lowness of the water.”’ The day was rather warm, and, ere it was quite | noon, Welland halted for a few moments to rest their horse and pameaks of the food they had brought | with them. This done, he turned the head of the animal toward the river, andin a short time had reached the bank. Welland took a careful survey of the shores, and then rodein. The sagacious animal manifested considerable reluctance to enter the water, and had Welland reflected long enough to er +4 the cause of this, he, too, would have hesi- tated. The river was very shallow, aver: Ff nari two feet in depth; but the bottom was muddy and soft, and several times the horse plunged heavily. He was headed directly across the stream, and after considerable labor had approached within a rod or | two of the land. Welland then pulled his head around so as to point up-stream, and commenced ascending the river. : , The horse seemed vexed, and was restrained with difficulty from making his way to land. He mani- fested a sort of agitation and terror that to Welland was unaccountable. Several times he snorted, shook his head, and reared his fore-feet out of the | water while his rider, losing patience at his actions, agg his spurs into him, and resolutely kept him | n the stream. A quarter of a mile was thus passed, and Welland | was now between the mainland and a low, sandy is- | land, the distance from each being about a dozen yards. The water was about twenty inches in | } depth, and very muddy and swift, The horse had uieted somewhat, although he turned toward the shore several times, and was not yet rid of his terror. | he read her question before she 3 | to both at the same instant, and in an almost inaudi- | ble whisper they repeated it: | whose depth they could not fathom, an | swarmin | of this. Irona h toward Irona, and, in her face, read their fate. She was bearing bravely up; but while he had watched the flight of their horse, she had found time to look about her, and a glance told as much as a day’s survey could. The island upon which they had taken — was about a hundred —_ in length, of an 7: ical form, and probably fifty yards broad at its widest part. It was really nothing but a sand-bar, thrown up by the action of the river. “You look despairing, Irona. I do not think we need give up hope yet. You wait here until I explore the island.’ “You can do it just as well by standing where you are.” Ms cone not. At any rate, it can do no hurt.” Welland walked over to the opposite end of the island, and then passed slowly around it, examin- ing minutely every portion. He had hoped to find some drift-wood cast upon it, but he was disap- pointed. Not even the smallest twig did he dis- cover, and when he returned to Lrona it was impos- sible to keep up the semblance of hope with which he had left her. ** We can not wade ashore?”’ she remarked, inquir- ingly. me No: for the channel of the river is between the bank and us. I noticed the horse, when running from the alligator, once sunk nearly out of sight in the deep water. This must have been the channel, and it is over our heads.”’ “And look at those,” said Irona, with an expres- sion of painful disgust, pointing out into the river, where fully a half-dozen dirty, log-like objects were gliding backward and forward, as if in search of prey. “ Alligators, certainly, and Heaven only knows how we esca them.” ‘Tt was they that frightened our horse, and they must have attacked him when he made such a spring out of the water.”’ “Will they not attack us?” *‘ Not unless we go into the water.’’ “Ts there no wood on this island, Ross?” “Not enough to make a lucifer match.” Trona looked inquiringly into Welland’s face, and keit. It occurred ‘* How are we to leave this island ?” CHAPTER XI. A NIGHT OF TERROR, “How are we to leave this island?” It was a question which neither could solve. They were up- on a piece of land which afforded no food, no tim- ber—nothing, in fact, excepting a resting-place for their feet. They were surrounded by a stream which was with loathsome monsters. A few hours et remained ere —— would come—a night that elland felt would be one of horror both to him- self and his companion. He determined, for her rece to affect a cheerfulness which he was far from eeling. ‘* Well, Irona,” said he, laughingly, “don’t you think we have outwitted them?’ ““And ourselves too, Iam afraid,’ she answered, with some buoyancy of feeling. “*T told you I could throw that Pierre off our trail, and I feel certain that I have done it. I think the island will be the last place where he will look for “* Tf he follows the tracks of our horse to the river, will he not be enabled to see us? Yonder is the spot where we entered, and it can be seen very easily from this point.” m ee so; and if he does, what good will it do em 9 “They can surely cross over to the island. They can do as much as we can.” “TI only hope they will, and those alligators will make mincemeat of them.” “It can make little difference to us, because we must either perish here or fall into their hands.” “I do not see the danger of falling into their | hands.” ““Can not they come to this island in any manner except upon their horses? Thereis plenty of timber on the mainland—enough to float them all out to us. J Welland gave utterance to an exclamation of amazement. Strangely enough, he had not thought spoken the truth; but he re- Welland was on the point of making some remarks | plied to Irona, when a ping “My God!” from her ar- rested him. At the same moment the horse uttered a scream of agonized fear and sprung several feet out of water. Welland looked down, saw the huge, cavernous mouth of a monstrous alligator, whose long tail was thrashing the water into mud and foam, and which _ Laer ey HE cee ene horse’s belly. The ponderous jaws snap ether, | and again the horse made a leap so frenzied that in | an instant Welland and Irona were thrown into the water, } In this dreadful moment our hero did not lose his presence of mind. Retaining a firm hold of Irona with his right arm, and of his rifle with his left hand, | he ste upon the crusted back of the floundering | ator, and making a leap toward the island, was. | upon its hard, compact surface in the twinkling of an eye. Looking back, then, he saw his horse, the bridie-rein streaming over his back, galloping furiously through the water, which, churned into muddy spray behind him, showed how closely the aquatic monster was pursuing him. The horse soon sprung upon the land, where he was safe, but with | every sign of the wildest terror, he went careering | over the prairie in a northern direction, until he vanished in the distance. Welland then turned | _ tions to | this isiand of the Rio Colorado.” “ After all, [do not think they will attempt it—I am Rey certain wy will not.’ te iy not? What is to prevent them?” It will prove too d rous. Remember, I have my rifle and plenty of ammunition, and ere the reach us I will pick every one off the raft.” “You may be willing and able enough to do that; but you must reflect, Ross, that there are three ainst you, and that they will be more likely to shoot you.” “We cannot tell, Irona. God only can deliver us from this difficulty, and although it looks dark enough now, somehow I cannot help thinking every now and then that we are to remain here but a short time. In the meantime do not let us borrow trouble. lt is getting dark now, and we will make prepara- pass our first and last night, I trust, upon ese preparations were necessarily very simple. The common hunter's blanket of Welland which he had pean. ae around Irona, when riding the horse was saved when thrown into the water. He scoo out a hollow place in the sand, near the center of = island, and laying the blanket in it, offered it to er. “Poor enough,” said he, laughingly; “ but I need * not tell you it’s the best accommodation the place affords.’ * And how will you pass the night, dear Ross?’’ “In watching over you.” “Heaven will do that, and I shall need no other protection.” “IT have no disposition to sleep, Irona. Should I feel drowsy I will lie down upon the sand, and slum- ber a few hours. Have no alarm about me, how- ever. I wish to be alone and think upon some plan of escape from this dreadful place. When you awaken,I think Ishall have hit upon a means of relief. So.go to sleep, and be happy in dreams.”’ Welland walked away to the opposite end of the island, in order to leave his fair companion alone during her devotions. It was over an hour before he returned, and when he did so, she was sleeping as if at home in her own father’s house. Wrapped closely in the blanket, she was indeed the picture of ‘ Sleeping Innocence.’ Her face looked sad and pale in the faint moonlight. Welland wondered how it could be otherwise. Poor Trona! How varied and si had been her fortunes during the past few weeks. The child cf affection and favor, even now a fugitive upon the iw pursued by foes whom she feared more han the wild Comanches, who so recently had been her captors. Howshe was to escape them, Welland indeed felt he could not tell; but as he looked upon the sweet, melancholy face, he vowed that while he possessed the power, no human being unless a friend should set foot upon that island. And this set him a a new train of thought. He recalled the words which Irona had _ uttered. There were three armed enemies to contend against, and it was an easy matter for either of them to shoot him from the shore.” The bare, flat surface of the sand afforded him no protection in case they had a disposition to do so. He felt certain that the keen orbs of Pierre would not fail to note the island, when, of course, he would be instantly seen. Then, too, they could easily construct a raft and float it over to the island and thus obtain Irona. This reflection stirred Welland up to more vigorous thought, and ina few minutes he had decided upon a plan to resist any approach of his enemies. A few ards from where Irona lay he commenced throw- gupan embankment. doing this he used the stock of his rifle, and as he encountered nothing but sand, it was not a work of great difficulty. He s8coo out a large space, packing the sand in front, until he had a bank some four feet in hight and as many yards in length. This he intended should protect Irona and his own person while he was firing upon his enemies—for he had fully made up his mind it would come to this. To make matters sure, he constructed a similar fortification in his rear, and upon the sides, so that should Colonel Ovaton and his friends cross the river at a point higher up, they would not be able to obtain an advantage over him in this manner. This labor occupied him some two hours, by which time the moon was high in the heavens; but its light was obscured by a number of clouds that were drifting across its face,and now and then shrouding the island in darkness. Welland was viewi his miniature fort, and en- deavoring to think of some means by which he could improve it, when he was startled by a noise in the water. Looking up, he saw with unspeakable horror a long, black object, resembling a tree-trunk, sliding over the land directly toward the spot where Trona was sleeping. The latter halted suddenly as he beheld a man before him, his fore parts balanced upon his Z-like | and ready to plunge backward or forward as his fancy should lead him. _ The light was favorable, and Welland could easily distinguish his fishy eyes fixed upon him. He was well aware of the avenue to the seat of life in this creature, and raising his rifle, so close that the muzzle almost touched him, he pulled the trigger. The animal seemed to be driven full ten feet backward by the force of the shot. He rolled over on his short legs, beat the air a moment, a spasmodic quiver ran =e his body, and he was dead. As the report of the rifle rung out over the water, Welland saw fully a dozen of these creatures swim hurriedly away from the shore, which it seemed they were upon the point of invading. There was now another cause for his gma through the night. These creatures would, in probability, ve the island a visit before morning, and prove angerous customers if not kept atar table distance. Welland carefully reloaded his rifle, and took his position near Irona. “Was that the report of your rifle that awoke me?” she asked, somewhat bewildered. “I suppose so, as I have just fired.” “* What at?” “‘This fellow here,” replied Welland. ‘He was rather imprudent in exposing himself and I thought to teach him caution.” ‘* Don’t let them come too near, Ross, they’re hor- rid animals.” “T will take good care that they do not. Lie cown again, my dear, and sleep as sweetly as you may.” Irona drew the blanket close around her, and lay back, while Welland betook himself to watching again. He carefully nba his fortification from the outside, and, satisfied t it was as impregna- ble as it could be made, he stepped within it, and kn down, placed his rifle over the top to see how well his aim would serve. The clouds at this moment drifted clear of the moon, and the dark line of the northern shore was pecreeecity & visible. His rifle-barrel glistened inthe moonlight, an following its direction, Welland saw with un le astonishment that it was aimed | directly at a human being upon the shore. Stand~
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A A a ing upon the bank, in full relief against the blue sky, Wi he form of a man, as motionless as a statue. The outline of his body was distinctly drawn, but the body itself, from _ its peculiar position, was per- fectly black, so that the features and peculiarities of dress could not be made.out. But the large flapping sombrero told unmistakably who he was. Three times the ha.umer of Welland’s rifle was raised, and three times his finger pressed the trig- ger untilit was ready to fall again. But a feeling, unaccountabl> to himself, restrained him. Perhaps it looked too much like murder, this <petigien. man without a moment's warning; but more probably it was his natural repugnance to taking human life that prevented him. “Tt will do him good if I give him warning of the risk he is running,” thought Welland, sighting his rifle again. But Vasquelon had disappeared; he had descended the bank to the water’s edge, and was hid from view by the shore itself. A moment Jater, the half-doubled form of Pierre Choujeau skurried over the bank and also disappeared. Welland rightly judged they were examining the shore, and knowing hey would attempt nothing during the night, he gave himself no immediate concern regarding them. It was well that Welland withdrew his attention to the danger that was nearer, The sei ey Trona was not six feet from him, and another huge alligator was not that distance from her, His long, shovel- like head was peep! forward upon the earth, ap- edema | slowly and with evident fear, but never- heless Spore with certainty, Welland sprung toward the monster, and ye the muzzle of bis rifle almost in his eye, sent the whole charge through the creature’s brain. The unwieldy brute died after a few struggles, and his companions, many of which were but afew yards distant, scattered to the water, frightened by the flash and report of the gun. The explosion did not fully awaken Irona. She muttered something, and merely turning her head, was in- stantly unconscious again. CHAPTER XII. THE RAFT. Ir required most unceasing watchfulness to keep the alligators at bay. It was not the death of two of their number that did this, but the flash and sound of Welland’s gun. Whenever this weapon was dis- charged, all hurriedly left the island, to return, how- ever, in a fow minutes, Welland fired in among them without.aim, as it would have been a vain ef- fort to attempt to thin them out. The bullet strik- ing their impenetrable backs glanced off as if it had encountered solid rock, and the alligators were prob- ably unaware of having been touched at all. The constant firing shortly awakened Irona, and she watched with Welland until mornmg. So soon as it was fairly light, all the allizators ‘took to the bh again, and the two were now safe at least from them, But there were foes still more to be dreaded, and Welland's attention was now wholly directed toward them. Carefully scanning both shores, neither he nor Irona could detect any signs of their presence, but were satisfied they weré somewhere near at hand. Welland’s rifle, no doubt, had revealed their hiding-place, and in all probability given them an idea of the difficulty in which they were placed. “You first saw them, Irona, yesterday,” said Wel- land, “‘and perhaps Ne will see them first to-day. Have you examined the shore yonder?” “T see nothing of them, but you notice the dirt is broken down along the bank directly opposite us. Is that the place where you saw Vasquelon and Pierre last evening ?’’ “That is the spot, and the dirt and debris must have been loosened by them. It is singular they do not show themselves. They cannot be afraid.” “Tt is some plan of theirs. They may be waiting to obtain a glimpse of you.” “Just like them. They cannot be very near the shore, as there is no place that will hide their bodics from our view. There is grass, but it is too short to answer for that purpose, and as they all have horses, they must be picketed some distance away.” ‘**Ross,’’ said Trona, as if speaking in a reverie, “look again at the spot where they descended the bank. It seems to me their tracks are visible close to the water’s edge.” Welland followed the line of the shore for some distance, but his own position being about equally depressed, he could see the trail but a few feet from the starting-point. “There is a point about a hundred feet further down-stream,’’ said Irora, ‘where it seems to me they have ascended the bank again. I think I see — prints of their feet inthe bank. In this direc- tion.’ In his anxiety, Welland forgot discretion, and arose to his feet in order to obtain a better view of the suspicious signs pointed out by his fair com- panion, * Be careful, Ross, our—” He Gropred instantly to the ground as a bullet whistled within an inch of his face, and went skim- ming over the water behind. ‘** Whore did that shot come from?” he asked, ex- citedly. ‘Ah! I see the spot.” A thin wreath of smoke was rising from the grass, at the point which Irona had pointed out as the one where Pierre and Vasquelon had ascended, and at this point Welland aimed his rifle and discharged it. A low, taunting Jaugh was the reply, as the sombrero of Vasquelon rose to view, and with a threatening gesture he retreated ont of sight. “T've been a fool the second time,” exclaimed Welland, impatiently. ‘Last night I had a chance to put that villain out of the way, and didn’t do it. SO The Hunted Hunter, - If I ever let another chance pass, I hope he will put me out of the way.” “Sh! it was for the best, and regrets can do nothing,’’ rebuked Irona. Welland and Irona, it will be remembered, were behind the embankment which our hero had con- structed. His companion, at his suggestion, seated herself upon the blanket and kept entirely out of sight. Not that he apprehended any danger for her, but he wished to he entirely alone, and rely upon his own arm in the coming danger. He was confident that their assailants would be unceasing in their watchfulness, and would hesitate at no means to outwit and overcome him. It was therefore with considerable astonishment that he saw Vasquelon appear again upon the river- bank, bearing a stick in his hand, with a handker- chief fluttering from the end as a flag of truce. Pierre and Colonel Ovaton were not to be seen, (in- deed, the latter had not shown himself at all thus far,) but Welland hesitated a moment before he no- ticed this sign. He feared there was treachery at the bottom of it and asked the advice of Irona, Sie advised him to treat it honorably, and to answer any questions of Vasquelon as he chose, but not to ex- pose his own body. “Hello, there!’ English. “What do you want?’ asked Welland, in turn. “Why don’t you show yourself? We want to talk with you.” ‘‘T can hear you as well from this place as I could by stepping out from it. If you have any question to ask, ask it, and I will do as I please about answer- ing it.” “What are you doing, then, on that bar?” me Doing nothing, except to keep you villains off of it.” **Ha! hal Howlong do you intend to stay there?” “ Until we choose to go, At present it is as com- fortable quarters as we could possibly wish.” ‘“We would like to come over and see you, if you do not care about it.” “Under the circumstances, I must positively de- cline receiving any visitors.” “ But suppose we insist?” “Then I shall resist. If the alligators allow you to put off from the shore, I think I shall have time to shoot some of you before you land, and you ma be assured, friend Vasqucion, that I shall not hesi- tate to do it.’’ “Hal ha! you talk big. The alligators sleep soundly at noon when the sun is hot, and we have no fear of them. We can easily reach you.” ‘‘And my good rifle can easily reach you. Juarez Vasquelon, there is no need of you and I bandyin words. Iknow you and your ee, and it is abou time you knew me. You are seeking Irona Seraville, and will hesitate at no villainy to obtain her, Ere you do this, you must pass over my dead body.” “Do not think, Americano, that will belong, either. Have you food on that island to last forever? Per- haps you will dine to-day off the alligators?” ‘ “ Before you shall be allowed toset foot on this little island, I will.” “A very delightful dinner for the Senorita and ou. ‘‘Make no answer to such insulting remarks,” “To Trona, ** Juarez Vasquelon,, as I trust we fully understand each other, our conversation may as well terminate.” “Your pardon, but I trust you are not in earnest in saying you wish to remain upon that horrid mass of sand,” “T most certainly am,” “But you will perish, support life,”’ ‘**T comprehend my situation as well as you do.” “*We intend no harm to either of you—we—” ‘** What meant that shot a few minutes ago?” “Tt was only a warning—an intended miss. AsI was saying, we wish no harm to either of you.” “Why do you persist in pursuing us?” “My only wish is to restore Don Alfredo Seraville’s daughter to him, for he is distracted at her loss.” “That is false,’’ whispered Lrona, “ for he ean not know any thing of it.”’ “T pledge myself to do that,”’ replied Welland. “But how? Your situation doesn’t look. much like it now.”’ This was a puzzling question to Welland, and he hardly knew what answer to make, but he was fully determined to yield nothing. pe Unfavorehte ny situation is, I will confess; but, for all that, the probabilities of Miss Seraville’s re- turn would not be increased by changing hands with you. Therefore, I must again decline receiving any assistance from you.’”’ ‘* But we pledge our honor that no harm shall be offered either of you. You will be allowed to go free and Senorita shall be restored to her agonize father at once, or you may accompany her. Senor Welland can not object to this.” “T tell you, Juarez Vasquelon, your proposals are useless, and I have no wish to converse further with you. T have given you my determination, and you aed, not think to change it. Let all intercourse now end.” “Ha! ha!’ laughed Vasquelon, with his insulting, taunting tone, ‘‘ will Senor Welland glance up the river and tell us what he thinks of what he sees?”’ A glance, indeed, was sufficient to show Welland how completely he had been duped, Right under his own eyes, in range of his unerring rifle, Colonel Ovaton and Pierre Choujeau had constructed and launched a raft with which to float out to the island. The flag of truce, the conversation, was only a ruse of Vasquelon’s to divert his attention until this con- trivance was finished. The minute Welland realized the trick whieh he had been served, he raised his called out Vasquelon, in broken There is nothing there to ‘rifle to shoot the author of it; but that individual had wisely withdrawn, and with his flag of truce was beyond danger. ad it been nothing more than a mere raft, Wel- land would have little occasion for alarm, as he could have kept them at bay with his rifle, but, as we have termed our hero’s protection a fort, this might have been called a floating erg It was constructed of light, cork-like logs and limbs, evi- dently collected with considerable difficulty, fasten- ed together, and having a breastwork erected — = be ae which the men could work it as they pleased. Now and then the head of one of the party flitted to view, and Vasquelon suddenly flitted upon it. The three then commenced their efforts to launch. Their united work sunk it into the mud, and as they dared not expose themselves, it required considera- ble labor before it was accomplished. Welland, still hoping to prevent the attempt, called out: “Colonel Ovaton, do you hear me?”’ ‘* Wal, what’s wanting, my fine fellow?” ** Do you intend to make the attempt to land upon this island?” ‘““We don’t just intend it, but we calculate to do it. If you've got any affairs you want settled, I advise you to make your HA ‘Colonel Ovaton,” said Welland, rising to his feet in spite of the remonstrance of Irona, ** Colonel Ova- ton, I have no desire for your blood, and I now give you feir warning of what I shall do. Before you ean effect a landing upon this spot, I can at least shoot one of you: if you persist, that one shall he yor, for I believe you are at the bottom of this mis- chief.” *Save your talk, for it can’t serve you any,”’ re- plied Ovaton. “Come on then,”—and Welland sunk down within his fortification. The raft at this instant swung clear, and Welland could see by the ends of the poles in their bands that they were busy guiding it toward the island. The pro- tection which they had erected upon it came about to their shoulders, so that they were obliged to labor in a stooping position. As it would be several minutes before they could reach the bar, Welland concluced to try the effect of a shot upon theconcern. He fired directly at the center of the pile of limbs and logs, and his shot had a better effect than he could have dared to wish. The fortification was meiety a loose pile, which instantly tumbled down as the ball cut_through it, exposing the three persons be- hind. Welland commenced reloading as fast as in his power, while his enemies hastily gathered the logs before them again. They threw several on top of each other, intent on protecting themselves. The consequence was that by the time our lLero’s rifle was loaded, they were safe from his aim. The current of the Rio Colorado at this point is very swift, and the time lost by those upon the raft was too great to be recovered. Stoopirg over on their knees, they plied their guiding-poles with great diligence, but, when abreast the upper part of the island, they saw their distance was too great, and crouching behind the protection, they made ready to deliver their shots in passing. Welland was expecting this, and the only incon- venience he suffered was from the sand which their bullets scattered in his face. He discharged his rifle in return, but with no effect, except to meke the three shrink closer to the logs beneath them. The raft drifted on down-stream for a cuarter cf a mile, when, feeling safe from any rifle-| vllet, the three arose and worked it in to the northern shore. ‘“‘ There is cne danger parsed,” said Welland, ‘‘ and let us prepare for the next.” CHAFTER XII. THE LAST NIGHT UPON TIE ISLAND. THe day proved to be unsually hot. The situa- tion of our hero and heroine was almost ir tolerable. The sand was burning to the touch, and seemed to give forth scorching volumes cf air that ne arly suffo- cated them. The Blanket afforded a partial protec- tion from the fiery rays of the sun. A tormentin thirst was felt b both Irona and Welland, but nei- ther spoke to the other of it. They had no wish to increase their sufferings by useless compleinings, The two alligators, stretched upon the sand, and subject to the full force of the lazing sun, com- menced to putrefy, and in a few hours were so bloated that their skins seemed distended to burst- ing. They were hideous bp ae distorted thus to such an unusual size, and Welland felt willing to risk the chance of a stray shot, if he cculd have rolled them into the river and allowed them to float away. As yet no disagreeable smell c:me from them, but another twenty-four hours wovlc be cuffi- cient to meke their presence unendurable. _ Nothing further was seen of their encn ies, and he half suspected they had retired to ««me cool spot to wait until a more convenient sea: <n before they made another attempt against hin. Still, he was too cautious to expose himself, ar he 1eso- lutely kept within his fortification for 1 carly the entire day. At sunset his own thirst war +o dread- ful, that he arose, and walking to the riv«i’s edge, lay down and quaffed his fill. The mudc) waters of the Rio Colorado tasted sweeter to him {! an could the nectar of the gods, and no pleasure «ci ld bave been greater than that he experienced v1 «» he felt that he could drink no more. Joining his } ands, he scooped up a quantity and carried if to Jicra. She endeavored to conceal ber thirst, but W: lend saw how eagerly she swallowed it, and he pcrsed beck- ward and forward several times before she was satisfied. This movement of Welland’s, made as it } roved io be without danger, convinced him of one t) ing. No further attemnt for some time would be made to
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| The Hunted Hunter. 11 land upon the island. Colonel Ovaton and his com- panions had withdrawn to some distance and would only return at occasional intervals to look at them. They would wait, until convinced that he and Irona were so weakened by suffering and privation that they could offer no resistance, when they would make their way out to them upon rafts, without | running any risk. As it was growing dark, Welland saw the sombrero ; of Vasquelon appear upon the bank, and remaining | stationary a moment, qo ore again. The fellow had come down to the bank, and satisfied himself that his victims were safely cared for, and then re- | turned to report the same to C lonel Ovaton. The whole company were probably several hundred | yards back from the stream. This night was without a moon until late in the evening. Welland had some apprehensions of his | enemies using a raft and coming down upon the island in the darkness; and leaving his fortification every few minutes, he walked to the a pe part of the island, and long and anxiously looked out in the night, fearing that every moment the dread object would loom up to view. But there were good reasons for feeling safe upon this point. The alli- | ators, formidable enemies, were active and watch- ul through the night. It was only during the mid- dle of the day, when basking in the sunshine, that they were so sleepy and indifferent as to be passed in safety. Another night upon the island! How wearily the hours dragged by; how monotonous sounded the soft wash of the Rio Colorado; how oppressive was the silence of the dark, level shore! The black masses gliding over the sand, the snouts plowing through the water, the loathsome temerity of the creatures themselves, were too horrible to be borne. For the first time he gained an adequate idea of the situation of himself and Irona. He began to feel the pangs of hunger, and the river-water could only be drank when very thirsty. What was to be the end of this? Were they to be starved until they could make no resistance? What would be done with them when they fell into their enemies’ hands? Ah, there could be but one answer to this question. Welland prayed apdontls that the attack would be made that night. While he possessed strength and ability, he longed to cope with these villains. He would gladly have permitted them to land upon the island, in- order to bring about and terminate the affray atonce. He would have gone forth and met the three Bugie-handed had it beenin his power. But no such fortune awaited him. The hours wore | on, and once more the bright sun rose upon them. The day gave evidence of being as warm and harass- ing as the previous one. The two alligators lay stretched upon the sand, having been undisturbed by their companions. They were swelled to double their usual size, and when Welland looked upon them, it was with the determination to heave their carcasses in the river. He was rising for this pur- pose, when Irona touched his arm, ee: onder is Vasquelon, if I mistake not,” said she. The sombrero was visible, and ina moment it was followed by the swarthy face of the owner himself. He stood a few moments perfectly motionless, offering a strong temptation to Welland’s skill. To the surprise of the latter, he called out: ** Are you there, Senor Welland?” “Let that answer,” said the latter, firi at his head. The sombrero suddenly du his piece ed out of sight, and a thrill passed through Welland as he thought he might be fortunate enough to have finished the rascal; but the head soon appeared ‘ain, ae That was a bad trick—a bad trick, Senor Welland. It willserve you no goodturn, It came very nigh my face.” . ‘IT only regret it failed to strike it,” called out Welland, : “Ha! ha! your gun is not true enough,” added Vasqualon, taking good care, however, that a second opportunity was not afforded to test its ac- curacy. “Howsumever, we'll let that pass. How do you like your present Bg tong upon the island? How is senorita pleased with them?” “We prefer them just now to the shore.” “T’'ve no doubt of it! I've no doubt of it. long do you intend to remain?” : “It’s time you learned that we remain as long as we choose, and besides, that we intend to keep you off equally long.’’ “No doubt of itatall. We can afford to wait, and ” are quite willing just now.” ‘Have you any further questions to ask?” * Nothing in particular that I think of just now.” “Thave afew then to propose. Will you answer them?” ' ** As well as Senor Welland has mine.” ‘When are you coming upon this island?” “We haven’t decided yet, but probably not before three or four days have passed.’ “Why not sooner?’’ “To tell the truth, Colonel Ovaton and I have found out that it is useless risk. Thatinfernal gun of | yours may by accident barm some< * us. There's no | need of that, We don't think you'll ‘eel particularly | anxious then about shooting. Gooa ‘dea, eh?” “You intend to wait till I'm star ed into submis- sion?” “That’s what we intend, I guess. “In other words, you three are afraid to attack me?’ “Not afraid—only prudent. We can well afford | to wait.” ‘Why not remain upon the bank?” “THe. ha! I’m afraid Senor Welland would hardly How ” ’ (which he had man ; tion) so as to fire at | He could make no answer to that question. | asked himself the same one more than once, and he rompers, a flag of truce if we reared it above our ** T have no further questions to ask. You can de- part now.” Fa Noe dh will wait there until we see you ain,’’ asked Vasquelon, with a beets | ugh. elland made no answer, except to adjust his rifle ed to load during the conversa- im. The villain, however, was too cunning to be caught by this stratagem. He had suspected all along that Welland had no object in continuing the discourse between them, except to ain time. He kept his eye continually fixed upon im, and very discreetly took himself away before another bullet was sent after him. “He is gone,’ muttered Welland, with some dis- appointment in his tone. ‘ He will not appear again until near night. Irona, those dead objects out there must be removed. Our situation is bad enough without having it made worse by their presence.” “Do not go out yet. Vasquelon may be hid along the shore, and waiting for you to show yourself.” ‘*No fear of that. He and the others are safe under some shade. He thinks there is no need of picking me off. He feels sure of both of us.” ** And is he not?”’ asked Irona, in a low voice. ‘*T will move those animals at once,” said Welland, hurriedly, pretending not to bave heard her PO spagcrtgs e had had not dared to reply even to himself. ‘| he truth— the awful truth was staring him in the face. He stepped over the embankment and moved away toward the alligators. CHAPTER XIV. A NOVEL RIDE. Trona’s attention was attracted by an exclama- tion from Welland. Looking up, she saw him acting like a madman. He was jumping about, dancing on the sand, swinging bis hands and making the most excited demonstrations of joy. Her heart sunk within her, as she reflected that perhays he was really insane, and for a few minutes she was unable to utter a word. Welland, his face all aglow with pleasure, approached her without speaking. ‘** What is the matter?’ she eaked, concealing her own agitation as well as she could. “What is the matter?’ repeated he. “Matter | enough! Doyou wish to remain on this island any longer?” “Not if it can be helped.” “Tt can be helped—of course it can! What a foolI was not to think of it before.” Trona all this time was ber eit watching the face of Welland to discover whether he really possessed a gp The latter, noticing this, burst into a auch. “Do you think I am crazy, Irona? I believe I am somewhat so, but I have still some sense left. Can't you understand the cause of m joy T “T certainly cannot. Do explain yourself.” “Look yonder,” said Welland, pointing to the water's edge, where the bodies of the two alligators lay. Irona did as requested, and a suspicion of the truth crossed her mind. “T see you understand,” said Welland, eagerly watching her countenance. “Those creatures that have been such a pest are to be the means of our salvation!” Trona, at his request, stepped out from the breast- work and with him approached the two alligators. They lay upon the surface of the water, where their bodies floated like corks. To show the feasibility of his plan, Welland walked out upon the broad breast of one, which was so bloated and buoyant that near- ly one-half remained above the surface. It did, in- deed, somewhat resemble a miniature flat-boat, the head serving as a prow, and the tail, drooping in the water, serving as a huge rudder, while the legs sticking up served as stanchions by which to hold on. “We will lash these two together,” said he, ““when a steamer would not carry us more safely than they.” “ But the living alligators?’ repeated Irona, with an inquiring expression. “Tt is now midday, and they are sleeping like logs. We can brush their noses without arousing them.’ “You are very hopeful, Ross; I, too, am anxious to make the attempt, as we cannot by any possible result make our situation worse.” ‘The creatures were floated side by side, and step- ping upon the breast of one, Welland lashed them rmly together by their legs and long tails, by means of strips torn from his blanket. It required but a few minutes, when the two pee upon their cu- rious boat, which, yielding to the force of the stream, drifted away. That was a novel ride, indeed! As the swift cur- rent gained control over them, they were borne rapidly downward as if propelled by the force of several oars. On every side the black, dirty forms of the os a lay, inanimate as logs. Irona looked upon these with bo spemig terror, as she expected an onslaught from them. The car- casses beneath them drifted head down the stream, Ewes by their tails! More than once they rub- the bodies of one of the live monsters, which merely floundered a little, or more often did not notice it at all. It was their sleeping-time, and something unusual was required to arouse them. Welland’s great anxiety was lest Vasquelon should return to the shore before they had gone far enough down the river to be beyond his sight. The probability was that this would ndt occur, and yet the possibility was enough to keep him in a fever of fear. He kept his eyes fixed upon the point where the villain generally made his appear- | ance, until, with unspeakable relief, it was hid from _ View by a bend in the river. After an hour’s ride | their boat swept close to the river’s bank, when Wel- land sprung ashore and soon had his unwieldy craft fast. “Now for home,” said Welland, hopefully. “TI am sure there can be no greater danger before us than the one through which we have just passed.” “T am sure there is sufficient. ere are the white men and the red-men who are our enemies.” “Very true; but the settlements can be at no reat distance. I believe we can reach them in a ay ortwo. Are you able to walk?” ‘Yes, or torun when it is necessary. I shall not tire before you do.” “We will get a little further from the river, so as not to be seen by eny who chance to be upon the other side, and we wii] then follow the course of the stream, as that is probably the most direct route to the settled parts of the country. I trust we will s00D come upon scme game, when we will enjoy a feast for the first time in a good while.”’ é it am not very hungry, but feel somewhat aint, Welland saw that his fair companion was weaker and more exhausted than she would admit; and, although progress was now the most important object vith him, he resolved to make a halt as soon as a suitable resting-place could be found, where they might rest until morning. The surrounding land was the common rolling prairie, interspersed, at long intervals, with belts or groves of timber. These were generally where a small stream flowed into the Colorado, the trees lining the banks. While on the island, Welland was enabied to see one of the oases in the distance, its soft, blue outlines blending like a cloud with the horizon. This was now but a mile or two away, and toward this he bent his foot- steps. The sun lacked several hours of setting when his resting-place was reached, and he commenced his preparations for passing the night in it. A stream of icy cold water gurgled through the center, while the trees and shrubbery fringing its banks were dense, and afforded an admirable concealment. A suiiable spot was selected, when Welland threw down his blanket (somewhat the worse for having a portion Jost) for Irona, and then departed to seek the wherewithal for the evening meal. Animallife is abundantin Texas, especially in this portion, and it was not long before our hero secured a couple of plump rabbits, so unaccustomed to the sight of a man that he killed them with a blow from Ins gun merely. Fuel was panty. and in a short time they were furnished with a steaming, nourish- ing supper, such as would be acceptable to many a person in a far more civilized country. This com- pleted, night was at band. “I think it best that the fire should go cut, as the darkness comes on,” remarked Welland, after a few moments of thought. “I will keep watch while ha sleep, Irona, for it would not do for us both to ¢ unconscious at the same time.” “You have slept but little during the past few pees Welland, andI am sure I care little about sleeping—” “Tut, tut, you foolish little thing. Be still, now, like a good little girl; say your prayers, shut your eyes and go to sleep.’ Trona evidently concluded it best to obey her pro- tector, for she said no more. Welland carefull wrapped the blanket around her, arranged her posi- tion in the most comfortable manner possible, and then kissed her a good-night. Wearied and exhaust- ed by her unusual sufferings, she soon sunk into a dreamless slumber. Welland, seeing that she was breathing regularly, and probably would not awaken for many hours, arose, and carefully made his way out of the grove. As he emerged upon the open prairie, he noticed that the night was clear, with sta light, de- void of a moon, which would not rise till far toward morning. Despite his cheerfulness of manner before Trona, Welland had pee y ee 45 s of their safety, and the observation was to satisfy himself, as far as lay in his power, upon this point. Although it would have been extremely dangerous for his enemies to attcmpt to reach him when upon the island, on account of the presence of the alligators, still they would experience little or no difficulty in crossiug the river at another point. From some cause, un- accountable to himself, the little island seemed to be Iccated in a portion of the stream we + swarming with these atrocious creatures; so that, having rater the means of his salvation in one insiance, e could now hope for no further benefit from them. Welland stood a full half-hour, carefully scrutiniz- ing every cbject around him. Then, satisfied for the present that there were no human bein in the vicinity, he moved off_toward the Colorado, searce a half-mile distant. It was his intention to make his way to it, in order to ascertain whether Colonel Ovaton and his companions had yet learned their flight. He had gone but a short distance, how- ever, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was acting very ah ae in leaving Irona alone at such a time. There might be wild beasts prowling in the vicinity, who, attracted by the smell of the roasted meat, would not hesitate to attack her, while she had no means for defending herself. More than this, he could not avoid the singular im- impression that there were human foes in the grove and that his own presence was needed. He could give no cause for this suspicion, but felt it, neverthe- less. Indeed, it increased every moment, until it had well-nigh settled into a firm belief that some great and dreadful danger threatened Irona. With a heart beating with the most painful appre hension, he hurriedly retraced his steps, pausin once or twice for an instant to listen for some sound. but hearing nothing save the almost inaudibie wash of the Rio Colorado. As he neared the grove, he
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ee eee + a 12 The Hunted Hunter. Leb ager with great care and caution, for, as its ark, gloomy shadow enveloped him, a shadow as dark and gloomy enveloped his spirit. He moved on down the little streamlet, and was now within a few feet of the spot where he had left her—the dearest object on earth. He slowly arose from the ground, and his heart was in his mouth as he detected a dark mass which he knew was bis blanket, enveloping her. Thank God, I was mistaken! gone—” He ppuce short as he rested his hand upon the blanket, for no Irona was there! I thought you were CHAPTER XV. A DEATH AND AN ALARM. For a minute Welland scarcely breathed, so over- come was he at this astounding fact. He stood with his blanket in one hand, his rifle in the other, | gazing down where he had last seen Irona lying. | What can it mean?’ he asked himself again and again. At almost any other time he would have felt nO apprehension at her absence; but, knowing that he had left her in a sleep almost as deep as death it- self, he was certain something extraordinary must have occurred to awaken her—a sleep so heavy, in- | deed, that she might be lifted and carried away | without knowing it. ‘*Oh, Heaven! after escaping these many dangers, grant that she may not be lost to me now,” he ex- | claimed, in bitterness of spirit. Reflecting that probably she was still within the | ve, he at once set about searching every part, so | ar as layin his power. He passed up and down the stream, crossed it again and again, paused and listened, and more than once repeated the loved name in a husky whisper. But no response came. save the gurgle of the brook, and the soft breath of the night-wind overhead. a at devilish invention has spirited her away | again?’ he muttered. “Tl never return without | her, or, if she is slain, without the lives of her mur- derers.”’ He was standing beneath a large tree as he mut- tered this. A few feet distant was a sapling. The | top of this he saw suddenly incline downward, as if borne by a heavy weight, and the next moment a dark figure bounded lightly down in front of him. “Ts that you, Ross?” it asked. **Good heavens! Irona, what does this mean?” asked Welland, with a recoil of astonishment. “°*Sh! not so loud,’’ she admonished, ‘There | are others near at hand. Have younotseen them?” | “Seen them? No; I had supposed you were car- | ried off.” “*T came pretty near it, I can tell you.” “Who by? nere? How was it prevented?’ *“T awoke too soon, but I will tell you all in a minute. Are you sure there isno one who will over- hear us?”’ “T have just hunted through and through the jn oe you, and have seen nothing of anybody else. | “The have withdrawn, then. They are out on | the - rie. ‘“* But I have been there, too, Irona, and saw noth- | ing of them.” “They were theré, nevertheless. saw one of them myself.” “You say they. at do you mean?” | “You must know it can no other but those | three,” replied Irona, in a meaning voice. * But. na, explain what you mean,” urged Welland, taking her hand in his, and drawing her to “T presume you left me shortly after I fell asleep?” she asked. : “Yes; [had some misgivings about those infer- nal villains that are following us, and went out on the prairie to see whether they were anywhere | near. I had been gone but a short time, when I re- flected that I was leaving you in great danger, and immediately retraced my steps only to find you gone, however, and, as I thought, irrecoverably so.” “It must have been a few minutes after you left | that it occurred, though it seemed several hours to | me. You remember I was sleeping very soundly. | I remained thus a short time, when all at once I opened my eyes, as sensible and as wide awake as Tam at this moment. What it was that aroused me I can not tell. I am sure nothing touched me, and there was certainly no noise made; but it seems the presence of danger sometimes makes itself felt. Iopened my eyes, and without moving the rest of my body, raised my head and looked around me. | Standing not ten feet distant,on the same side of | the stream with myself, I discovered the sombrero of | Juarez Vasquelon. I knew that you must be absent | or this could not have occurred. He seemed to be listening, for he stood several minutes without stirring, and then with a stealthy step he approached. How my heart beat as I saw his hated form coming , nearer bo me. I was on the point of screaming out, when he passed me and went on down-stream. The | instant I durst do so. | arose, leaving the blanket | where it lay, and hurried further into the wood; but, | fate seemed to have decreed that [should not escape him, for several times I came within a hair’s-breadth of walking directly into his arms, This so alarmed me, that I ascended this tree, and (could you believe it?) five minutes after, he passed directly under it. But I saw no more of him. I heard Pos, and took you for him until you paused here and spoke, when, as you know, I descended to you.” “You have had a narrow escape, Irona, How is it possible that Vasquelon and I failed to encounter each other when we were both searching in the Remember, I | This, I think | are pane besieged, as much as we were a ; the tree underneath which Irona lay s “One — however seems settled. Those three have learned of our escape from the island, and are pretty certain that we are in this grove.” ‘*T do not think they are certain of this, but prob, ably they have suspected we would take refuge here, and have thought they might come upon us when we were asleep, and thus secure us without trouble. is the reason why Vasquelon entered and searched the wood to-night.” “Tf he finds me asleep, I hope he will get me with- out trouble. Heavens! what a pity we couldn’t have stumbled upon each other when we were both searching for you.” “Tt is best, I think, that you did not. The others must be close at hand, and you could not have saved yourself against all three.” “We must do it, however, to-morrow, for then, I am convinced, the last stru gle—the struggle of life and death—must come. Colonel Ovaton will surely ! find out that we are concealed here, and incited, as he must be, by revenge against myself, he will leave no Means unused to put me out of the way and re- cover you. “Ts there not room for concealment somewhere | near us?”’ ‘There may be, but it can avail us nothing. We that island; but our circumstances are considerably improved, and Ihave hopes of making a better re- sistance. But, Irona, it is yet early in the night; | you are worn out and exhausted, and I have no idea what privations and sufferings are in store for you; let me insist, therefore, that you take that rest which your system so much needs.” “Tf you think it best, dear Ross, I will do so, al- though with this dreadful danger threatening us, I have little disposition to sleep.’ P a will watch over you, and you need have no ear.’ Irona obeyed him like a child. The blanket which Welland had brought with him was once more spread upon the ground, and in a few minutes she was again unconscious. Welland took his station near her, prepared to wait and watch until morning. Hour after hour wore on without anything occur- ring toalarm him. Twice he detected a plashin the brook, as though made by the step of some creature, but pening further than this. e first hour was spent by Welland in walking slowly backward and | forward, when he sat down, confident that he was | able to remain awake in that position; but a drowsi- ness gradually overcame him, and he was on the point of passing off into forgetfulness, when, for the third time, he heard the splash in the stream. He started up alert, cocked his rifle and ys ee behind eeping. He had stood here but a few moments, when he saw, rising above the bank of the stream, a broad Mexi- can sombrero. Welland’s heart throbbed as he re- flected that his most implacable enemy was now in his power. The hat rose higher and higher, until the shadowy outlines of the burly shoulder became visible. Then he sighted his rifle as well as possible. The distance was short and he was sure of his aim. He pressed the trigger—a flash, a sharp, quick re- port, a heavy fall, and then all was still. “It’s the private opinion of Senor Welland that Juarez Vasquelon cease minding other folks’ | business,” remarked our hero, coolly, proceeding to reload his rifle. “It’s a bad practice to be spying another person’s movements, and I wouldn’t advise you to try it again,” He looked anxiously at Irona, to see whether the report had awakened her; but the pale, exhausted sufferer was sleeping as soundly as ever. Having now carefully reloaded his rifle, he stood on his uard, waiting further development of matters. e fully expected the steeerante of Choujeau or Ovaton, or both; but, as fully an hour passed with- out seeing or hearing anything of them, he began to think that Irona had been mistaken in supposing them in the grove. They were probably a good dis- tance off, and Vasquelon had come forward to recon- noiter for himself. With this belief he moved forward to examine the body. He found it as he expected, lying upon its back, and stone dead. He secured the rifle and am- munition, and then dragged the body further down- stream, where it was not likely to be seen by Irona. While doing this, the sombrero dropped off. Feelin a curiosity to examine his features, Welland strnck a match and held it up to his face. To his unspeak- able dismay he saw that it was not Juarez Vasque- lon, as he had eee but an entire stranger! He had never seen the man before, and consequently knew nothing of his identity. This discovery both pleased and alarmed Welland. In the first place, he was confident he was an enemy, and he was therefore justified in slaying | him; in the second place, it convinced him that as yet his three most dangerous enemies knew nothing of his whereabouts, and for the present he was | therefore safe. ‘*On the whole, this is best as it is,’ he concluded “for we stand a good chance of still eluding Colonel Ovaton and his brother villains, as they probably have not yet suspected our flight, and may not for several days.” ‘But this pleasant illusion was soon dispelled. When the gray light of revue 3 entered the grove, he passed out to the edge of the prairie to take a view of it. His first glance showed him Ovaton Pierre and Vasquelon, mounted on their horses and riding lejsurely toward the grove. Welland was in full view, and when acouple of hundred yards dis- tant, was discovered by the latter, who pointing toward him, when all three reined up as if taken grove at the same time?” “*T think he must have gone out as you entered, or very shortly after.” aback at his appearance in this place. Our hero stepped behind a tree, and, showing that he had two rifles, called: ““T warn you to come no nearer. Itis time you understood me, and I solemnly swear that if a sitigle one of you attempts to enter this grove, I will shoot him, as sure as he is within range. You see I have two rifles; and if you wish to know whether they are loaded, you have only to approach nigher.” “And where did Senor Welland get his second gun?’ asked Vasquelon, placing his open hand be- side his mouth, as if to direct his words, “*T took a stranger for Juarez Vasquelon, and shot him by mistake.” From the sensation which this announcement made, Welland felt certain that, whoever the stran- ger might be, he was one of their men, who had been sent forward to reconnoiter, and whose return they were probably looking for at that moment. They remained consulting together for a consider- able time, and then, singularly enough to Welland, Colonel Ovaton turned tward | him and spoke: “Ross Welland, it’s about time this game was ended. None of us have had any designs upon you, but Vasquelon here rightfully claims and shall have your companion, Senorita Irona. Inow make you our last offer. If you yield her up, you will be allowed to pass unmolested upon your way; but if not, you shall never leave that grove.” The es of this insulting proposition so in- censed Welland that he raised his rifle, and was aim- ing at the speaker even at that great distance, when he felt a light touch upon his arm. Irona was stand- ing at his elbow. “Don’t fire, Ross, for the distance is too great. Wait till they come nearer. You would now miss them, and they would rush upon you before you could reload.” “IT don’t believe the cowards can muster courage to approach. They have been standing there a half- hour already, and yet they hesitate.” “They are only forming their plans—” ‘*Ah! I understand them,” interrupted Wellandin an excited manner. ‘They are ae 7% to separate - approach the grove singly, erent direc- ions.’ Such really appeared their intention, as they were already some yards apart; but their design was sud- denly frustrated. All three halted and gazed behind them, away out on the — as if alarmed at the appearance, while Welland watched their move- ments with astonishment. “They see something to alarm them,” whispered Irona; “ what can it be?” , “Tt may be only a ruse—no, it isn’t either. See! them ride together again. All three are half-fright- ened to death. How singular!” Colonel Ovaton’s arm was outstretched as though pointing to Tee gy Oe the distance, and_ his ges- tures were excited. elland looked in the direction indicated, but he could see nothing, although he began to suspect the true cause of their fear. “Danger threatens them, and it threatens us, likewise,” said he. * “What can it be?” asked Irona. “Tfeel convinced, although I have seen nothing of them, that a company of Comanches are approaching.” CHAPTER XVI. THE COMANCHES. CoLonEL OvaTon and his companions suddenly commenced riding toward the ve, wham * Halt!’ commanded Welland, stepping out in full view and raising his rifle in a threater. ng manner, They did halt for an instant. ‘‘A band of Comanche Indians are coming this way,” said Ovaton, ‘“‘and we are only seeking con- cealment from them. They a= bird this ve, and you will be glad of our assistance to repel them in that case.” “T feel able to take care of myself, and you cer- tainly ought to be by this time. I would as soon have the Comanches enter this timber as to have. you. Therefore,I warn you for the last time to approach no nigher, for if you do, Colonel Ovaton will be the first man to fall.”’ This declaration was in too decided age to be misunderstood. There was little time for the horse- men to spare in useless conversation. They con- sulted together a moment, and then, turn the heads of their animals to the eastward, they galloped away at the top of their speed. ‘““The Indians can be at no great distance,” said Welland, ‘‘and it would be best to retreat further into the wood, where there is no danger of being seen. You do so, Irona, while I will ascend this tree, and watch their movements.” Irona obeyed. orem one of the rifles over his back, Welland climbed the tree beneath which he had been standing. It was quite lofty, and he made his way to the top, where the leafy branches effectu- ally concealed him, and where he was afforded a wide view of the prairie. Loo to the eastward he discerned Colonel Ovaton and his companions ry for dear life. They were not yet a mile dis- tant, but they were Sage Hoe te the ground at a tre- mendous pace. Turning hi — to the north-west, Welland encountered a sight that thrilled every nerve in his body Not two miles distant were at least twenty Comanches coming on a full gallop toward him. Their glittering lances, each crowned with a bright, fluttering ribbon, after the manner of the Mexicans, were pointed upward, and were carried as ly as the bayonets of a marching column. Their uniforms flashed and scintillated in the sun- light, and their magnificent horsemanship made them one of the most picturesque sights that could be imagined. They had evidently seen the three whites, and without doubt were in pare, for they were going at full speed, although their bodies rose and fellas uniformly as the swells of the prairie. What was more, their splendid animals were gaining
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The Hunted Hunter. i3 0 eT SS ee ee a a REET VS nn a — upon those of the whites, and while the race might be & long one, it was plain enough what the result would be, if the Comanches persevered. Nearer and nearer came this frightful band, their dazzling dress flaunting in the air, and their horrid petates faces gan Ral all the passions of the erocious savage. Welland held his breath as they thundered past, and not till they were full a mile away upon the prairie did he breathe free again. He then descended, and shortly rejoined Irona. The grove in which our hero and heroine had shel- tered themselves, as we have already stated, abound- ed with the smaller game usually found in forests; hence, they had no anxiety or trouble on the score of food. henever this was needed it was easily rocured. On this occasion, in spite of the alarm- ing circumstances by which they had been sur- rounded, they made a nourishing and substantial meal. At its conclusion, Lrona said: “Dear Ross, you have hardly rested a moment for the past two or three days. Ido not now need rest, as I slept well last night. I hope you will, therefore, secure what you can during to-day.” Welland’s own prudence told him that the advice should be followed. After playfully bidding his companion good-night, he lay down upon the ground and slept. ona busied herself in watching over him, occasionally wandering to the edge of the tim- ber to look for signs of their enemies, and then hum- ming in a low tone some Spanish song that she had learned years before, and in far different circum- stances. Noon came and passed, and still Welland slept. She could not awaken him, for she knew he needed all the slumber that came to him. An hour or so after the sun had passed its merid- ian, Irona was standing on the n of the prairie, looking away in the horizon, when she heard the faint report of guns. They wereat a great distance, but the report was clear and distinct. Once or twice they rattled like musketry, as though numbers were discharged nearly simultaneously, and then she either heard, or fancied she did, that clear, peculiar yell which a Comanche Indian sometimes makes when attacking a foe. Afew minutes later a deep and oppressive stillness settled over the prairie. “The Indians have overtaken the whites, and there has been a deadly struggle,” she reflected, as she made her way back to where Welland was lying. “What the result has been I can not tell, but it seems impossible that either Colonel Ovaton or one of his men should have escaped. What will the In- dians do now? Will they return in this direction, and will they halt here? Heaven forbid.” It was not until night was again settling over the rairie that Welland awoke. na deemed it best ‘0 acquaint him with the sounds which she had heard some hours before, and to give her suspicion of their eause. As she expected, Welland believed them to have been produced by an affray between the Com- anches and the fugitives. ‘Whether they will return in this direction or wots why, of course, we can 0 conjecture. Shoulc they do so, and even make a halt in this grove, I do not despair of escaping them. Unless,’’—said he, as the thought flashed across him—‘“ unless they have taken a prisoner and he has told them that we have taken refuge here. I hardly think that has been done, however, and if their suspicions be not aroused, it is not even probable that t ney will discover us. Cae must have traveled a considerable distance, and wi hapaly seach this spot before to-morrow.” “ Why not to-night?” “They will encamp and not resume their journey until daylight.” “But it was early in the afternoon that I heard their guns, and they could have traveled a long dis- tance since.” “Very true, but not far enough to reach us. Re- member, their horses,were going at their best speed, and it isn’t probable they will return at that rate. “But, Ross,” said Irona, with a brightened coun- tenance, “ what need is there of our remaining here until oenine? By that time we may be many miles away, and what is to hinder us from poins? “T have thought of that course, dear but have given it up. We can gain nothing by night- traveling, while we run the of losing our way. Asl said: a minute ago, Ido not think there is any danger of the return of the Indians, for twenty hours at least. We will therefore rest contented until morning, when we will continue our journey— making many miles, I trust, before they reach ths it ” “ But will we not meet each other?” “That is the great danger, as we must ily take nearly the same direction that the, have. Our guide is the river, which here swerves to the south-east, and whose course, in all probability, has been followed by Colonel Ovaton and t ” ye it is already dark, would it not be best to re tions for spending the night?” matt yor w it. As I have just awakened, of course I have no disposition to sleep at — It is your turn, and while you slumber, I wade you. Would to heaven that I always might,” exclaimed Welland Sengenty. drawing Irona to him and kissing her fair forehead. “How my heart bleeds for you! A few months since you knew no wish ungratified; but now, by a wonderful train of circumstances indeed, you are a fugitive on the gi od for your life and honor. Kind Providence know will watch over a being as pure and as g as yourself.”” - “Don't think of me,” responded Irona; “I am in the hands of God, and feel resigned to any fate that he may decree me. With His good and your strong, noble heart to protect me, I need have no fear, no matter what danger threatens me. - Trona,” said Welland, modulating his own voice to the soft tones of love, “here alone on the broad is far distant, and when encamped, no more faithful prairies we should understand each other. I have told you how often I have thought of my last in- terview with you and regretted the temper I then displayed. 1 have felt sorry for this, I say, and you have forgiven me for it. 1lbelieve we shall both escape from this country; but, we may not. And now, Irona, will you not give me what I have never asked yet—the assurance that I possess the love of your heart?” “T do, Ross, devoutly and hak A gr Trona, in a tone which indicated the depth and the purity of her love. “T ask no more. Good-night—good-night!"’ was all the lover could utter as he drew her to his bosom, and then led her to the spot selected for her resting- _— during the night. He had made a couch of ranches and shrubbery beneath some heavy bushes, which sheltered her from the night-dews. Here, folded in his thick, warm blanket, she rested as sweetly as if in her own chamber in a distant home. Welland stationed himself a few feet distant, where, seated upon the ground, at a late hour, he fell asleep and did not awaken until aroused by the chattering of the birds overhead. Almost at the same moment Irona also awakened, and smilingly saluted him. “A long journey is before us,” said she, ‘and I believe we are to commence it as soon as ible.” “Very true,” replied Welland, ‘“‘and it will not be long before we shall be upon our way. Of course we must have our morning meal before starting.” This required but a short time, as enough re- mained of the evening’s repast to afford them all that was needed. Welland’s blanket was aeeres his back, the charges of his two rifles examined, and all pronounced ready. “Do you feel able to walk a great distance?’’ he asked of Irona, as they were about to start. “T surely do,” she answered, ‘‘ and as I am not en- cumbered by any extra weight or load,I think I shall not be the first one to give out.” “That remains to be proved,” said Welland. “And now for home!”’ “Wait a moment,” interrupted Irona; “ ought we not to examine the appearance of the prairie before venturing upon it? We know not how close at hand enemies eg Sel “T should ave thought of that before. Wait here until I return. Saying this, Welland moved hastily through the gure toward the prairie. A few rods brought him the edge of the timber, when, as he looked out on the plain, he saw, no less than a quarter of a mile distant, the whole band of Comanches galloping di- rectly toward him. He paused scarcely a second, but long enough to assure himself that their destin- ation was unmistakably the grove in which he was standing. He made all haste back to Irona, and communicated the astounding intelligence. “We cannot flee, as the prairie is so open we should be discovered almost immediately. We must secrete ourselves at once. There is no time to lose. Enter the spot where you slept last night and I will mp the bushes over you, so t I think there is no anger of your being seen.” ote oa yourself?” asked Irona, mechanically obey- ing him. “Never mind me, I will take care of myself. It would not do for us both to hide there. Quick, Trona, or it will be too late.”’ She crouched down in the bushes, which closed after her, in such a manner that there was no prob- ability of her igs discovered even by the ea of a Comanche, unless his suspicion was directed ward the spot. This was scarcely done when the tread of horses’ feet was heard, and hardly con- scious of what he did, Welland caught the limb of a tree near at hand and hastily ascended among its branches, A moment later, and the score of Comanches en- tered the grove, sprung from their horses and turned them loose, while they threw themselves upon the grass for an hour's rest. They had en- cam near at hand and breakfasted, as they made no ‘demonstrations toward —— food. They ited ox n the ground after the mannan sk a parcel of ¢ n, ng, smoking, an ng now and then in some t sport, as if with the sole object of passing away tne time. They had halted about twenty yards from where Welland was se- creted, and formed a picturesque sight. Every form was matchless in its metry, lithe, active and muscular, they would have formed a formidable body for an attacking force. Mounted on their highly-trained horses, each rider seemed a part of his animal, whose most frenzied efforts could not unseat him. But Welland had little inclination to admire their appearance at this time and in this place. In a meé rie or show, where they were safe from doi arm, he ht have had such feelings; but, the drama in which he was performing a part was far too real to admit any such thoughts, and he watched their movements with the most jealous scrutiny. He soon saw that it was not the men he had so much cause to fear as it was their horses. The former remained nearly in the same spot where they had first placed themselves, and seemed to have no inclination to wander away; but with the latter, the case was different. In browsing and cropping the herbage, they had already approached within a few feet Se’ Irone’s hiding- Nace Should these sagacious animals discover her, it was morally certain that their masters would. The horse of a Comanche Indian is generally as intelligent as his rider, and when one makes a dis- covery, it is not long before he imparts it to the other. The animal, when on the war-trail, will scent danger and warn his master of it, while yet it or unerring sentinels couid be tound. In the present instance, there being no breeze, and the horses themselves suspecting no danger, (if we can be allowed such an expression,) Irona might pass unnoticed unless they invaded the very spot where she lay. The danger of this occurring kept Welland in a fever of apprehension. She was be- tween him and the Indians, and the risk that she ran was indeed afearfulone. In his anxiety, Wel- land more than once imprudently exposed himself to the wandering gaze of any savage, and he escaped being seen only by good-fortune. After an hour’s rest, the war-party gave signs of moving, and now came the most critical moment of all. The Comanches gave a peculiar whistle, which brought most of their horses instantly to them; but there were several that, from some cause or other, paid no attention to the signal. Among the latter was one which was plucking the buds and leaves from the very bushes which sheltered Irona. He obstinately refused to leave, and when Welland saw his savage master start toward him, his trepida- tion was so great that he could hardly maintain his position in the tree. As the Comanche reached the animal, the latter, with a snort of alarm, retreated several steps, as though he had discovered some alarming object in the bushes before him. The Indian noticed the ac- tion, and taking his horse by the head, endeavored to lead him forward. At first the brute betrayed some fear, but Eocualy, quieted down and slowly sopcechet the bushes. As he reached them, the Indian vaulted upon his back, and sought to urge him through them, evidently thinking there was nothing formidable there. The horse made a step or two, and then, with a wild neigh, took the bit in his teeth, and galloped off to where his companions were standing. Here the Indian Bore gw him up to a comrade, and dismounting, walked hurriedly to- ward the bushes, ope g fl determined to satisfy self as to the cause of the animal’s alarm. Welland now seriously debated whether he should shoot the savage or not; but the certain conse- quences of such a proceeding restrained him, and tormenting as were the circumstances, he quietly watched his movements. The Comanche circled around the suspicious spot several times, and then cautiously approached it. Cocking his rifle, he reached the muzzle forward, pushed it between the leaves, and carefully gazed in. For a few seconds, which seemed minutes to the excited Welland, he stood perfectly motionless. Then with a “Ugh!” of surprise, he ye gg down, took Irona by the arm, and led her forth. CHAPTER XVIL LOST AGAIN, THE aeprarans of Irona among the Comanches, naturally created the greatest surprise and won- der. They gathered around her, questioning her captor, until he had given the particulars of her dis- covery, and then several proceeded to tho bushes and examined them. e blanket was brought forth,and new speculations wereindulgedin. Irona’s remarkable beauty made a great impression upon their savage hearts, and she was treated in reality with respectful consideration. These Comanches had descended again and again upon the Texan and Mexican villages; they had shot the men, toma- hawked the children, and carried off the young wo- men. They had kept these as prisoners, had out- raged and then slain them. Their name was a word of execration and terror along the frontier, and they had properly acquired the title of the Bedouins of America, But, in their manner toward the pee less captive now in their possession, there was noth- ing of rudeness or insult. She stood with her limbs free, and her head downcast before her captors. The leader of the company stepped forward before her and speaking quickly, in broken English, asked: ‘“ Where come from?” Irona was on the point of replying, when it occur- red to her that it would be safer to feign ignorance of the English e. She would not a false- hood to save either the life of Welland or herself; and by refusing to answer at all, she was saved the ordeal. She therefore looked up with a wondering aze,as though the meaning of the words was not own to her, ““Where come from?—who be?—what do here?” repeated the chief, bending his face close to hers. im- Still she made no reply. “ Bscucha V. lo le digo?”’ (Do you listen to what I tell you?) asked the Indian, in Spanish This was Irona’s own language, and, as she heard its musical words uttered so fluently by the Coman- che, she well-nigh forget herself; but, as before, the questioner recetved no answer. ** Habla V. el espanolo el ingles?’’ (Do you speak Spanish or English ?) The Indian, receiving no answer to this second question, repeated it in English until satisfied that his agg either could not or would not make any reply to him. He then turned te his followers and dressed to them a few words in his own tongue. Welland instantly divined what he said, from the fact that they scattered through the grove and commenced a search. It was now time to look to is own personal safety. He went up the tree till he had reached its densest part. Here he slid out on the limb, and lying down, with his arms and feet around it, awaited the result of the search. From his situation he was now unable to see the movements of the Indians, but he could hear their tread through the bushes, theirguttural exclama- tions to each other, and a word or two that the chicf now and then uttered to thesilent Irona. Ina few moments a ge clamor was heard. Welland de- scended as far as he dared, but could see nothing.
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The Hunted Hunter. From the direction from which the noise came, he concluded they had come upon the dead body of his unknown lenny, € The minute Irona saw them bringing the dead body to the chief, it occurred to her that she ht make it do Welland a good turn. If the Comanches could be made to believe that it was the dead form of her protector, they would search no further; or, at any rate, would not have so strong a belief that any one else was at hand, She therefore covered her face with her hands, and, bending her head, her whole frame shook with emotion—a genuine emo- tion, but produced by far different causes than her captors believed. his manifestation had partly the desired effect. The Comanche chief consulted with the warriors, and examined the dead hunter again and again. None had ever seen him before, although, from his dress and appearance, he was judged to be a Mexi- can. After a free interchange of sentiments, the conclusion reached was that the man had been shot by Colonel Ovaton or one of his men. The latter, when first seen, if will be recollected, were reined up in front of the grove, in parley with Welland. The Comanches had come down like a thunderbolt upon them, frightening them away, it was believed, be- fore they had time to make off with Irona. Still the chief directed the search to be continued, instructing his warriors, at the same time, to examine the trees! When this order was given, Welland had returned to his limb, and his arms and legs were closed around it, while he listened to the tumult below. The first intimation he had of the character which the search had taken, was when he caught the giicapse of a bronzed body flitting through the ‘branches of a large tree a few yards away. The savage had ascended this, as his companions were doing the others. Welland could judge by the agita- tion made among the leaves, the position of the In- dian’s bos y. He saw him go up full fifty feet above himself, where he paused a moment, and then com- menced dropping downward from limb to limb, as dextrously as a monkey could have done. When a few feet below our hero, he made a spring of nearly a dozen feet through the air, catching the branch of another tree, and going toits top with the same celerity that he had displayed before. In a few mo- ments he was in a different tree, repeating the same Maneuvers, and at the same time getting further and further from the tree which contained Welland. The reason why he failed to visit this was because it was a small one, in which he rightly judged no erson would take refuge from choice. Had Wel- and had a few minutes longer to consider, he never would. have used it for that purpose. The Comanche did bestow a searching glance upon it; but, being a considerable distance away, and having no suspicion, he failed to note the peculiar appearance of the limb which was weighed down with the weight of a man. For the space of perhaps twenty minutes Welland saw nothing more of the Indian climbers, but, during all this time, he could hear them spring- ing from limb to limb, and dropping on the ground with exclamations of disappointment. He expected every moment to see one of them Se be his own tree, and could only wonder that he escaped observation solong. ~~ From the manner in which the search was bp conducted, he felt satisfied the tree would affor him concealment but a few minutes longer; he there- fore determined to resort to stratagem to mislead the savages. The latter, at that moment, were hunting in another part of the timber, and unless a stray one of their number should wander in that direction, they would probably not return for some minutes, The tree in which he had first seen the Conaanche stood very close to his own. As this had already been searched, he concluded that if he could get into it, he would be safe, and he determined to make the attempt. He passed out on his own branch until it bent with his weight. He had brought only his rifle with him. This he carefully tossed, so as to make it fall ina horizontal position upon the branches opposite, To his dismay, however, instead of catching and remaining, it fell end over end through the limbs to the ground. Welland crouched down and listened, but the noise made was not noticed. It had fallen a good distance from the base of the trunk, and the rank grass closing over it made him confident it would not be seen unless accidentally stepped upon. Welland now made preparations for his leap. It was over six feet he had to spring, and then run the risk of sustaining himself by the twigs and branches of the othertree. He carefully measured the dis- tance with his eye and leaped outward! Whata thrill of horror sed through his body when, in mid-air, he saw he could not accomplish it! As he came down, he frantically clutched the branches, but they would not sustain him. They bent down and the twigs. slowly slipped through his blistered fingers. It was like a horrid nightmare—this fall- ing fang without power to check himself—that dreadful sinking sensation, as though dropping into some dark pit. It was no use toattempt saving him- self. Down, down he went through the limbs, and finally came to the ground in a standing position, He glanced despairingly around, and felt a faint hope, as he saw, singularly enough, that he had not been observed, Without losing an instant, he re- newed his attempt, and in a few minutes was snugly ensconced in the top of the second tree. It was not ten minutes later that a brawny Co- mancho-was on the very limb he had so recently left. Narrow, indeed, had been his escape—far narrower than he suspected; for the unusual eae of the eprraupens branches was noticed by the savage. He saw that they had been made by a person spring- ing from one tree to another; and the same saga- cious eye that showed him this, showed still further 2 ee that whoever had made the leap had failed in its execution and had fallen to the ground, If he felt surprised that a Comanche warrior should have made such a failure, he thought nothing more. There was not enough in the circumstances to make him suspect that it might have been done by a white man, and he rejoined his companions upon the ground. The search was now given over. Every tree and every nook that could have concealed a person had been subjected to the severest scrutiny, without re- berg. white man, and the Indians were convinced that their first ropncnition was right. The chief mounted his horse, lifting Irona like an infant in front of him. She struggled and made signs that she wished to remain where she was, but she was in the p of a giant and it availed nothing. Away sped the Comanches to the northward, bearing Irona Seraville with them. Welland, from his lofty posi- tion, watched them as they rapidly receded in the distance. Soon they became mere moving specks in the horizon, and finally faded altogether from view. Hour after hour he sat gazing at the point where they had disappeared. He sat motionless, despair- ing and hopeless. After a long time he drew a deep breath, and then looked around him. “Gone, gone again, when I thought the danger was passed! What will become of her? God only knows. Dishonor, death to Irona Seraville! And here I have been compelled to sit and see her carried off by those inhuman savages. Her fate must be written in the book of destiny. It is no use striving against it. I will return to the United States an forget that I ever knew her! Fo knew Irona Seraville!” repeated Welland, after a pause. ‘Not while memory lasts! And would I ever forget my own baseness in thus desertin inthe moment of direst necessity? Away with the thought! I will follow heras long as she lives. If she is dishonored, my life shall be spent in avengin her. If not, I shall never give over my efforts unti she is rescued or I have died in the attempt.” He sat a few minutes longer in deep thought, and then added: “What canI do? Ihave two rifles, it is true, but no horse to ride, while twenty Comanche warriors are opposed to me. I can not steal into their camp and rescue her by stratagem. They are too cunning for that. ButIcan follow after them. There is no dresnig what, opportunities may be offered me.” Ten minutes later and Welland was walking rapidly across the prairie in the trail made by the pa e of the Comanche horses. In the afternoon he halted a few moments, and by night had sed over a good long distance. As he expected, the trail led up to the Colorado, which it still followed when night closed around him, He intended, when starting, to travel all night, but he had already undergone too many hardships to bear this tax upon his endurance. While looking about him, he caught the glimmer of a camp-fire in the distance on the bank of the river. This he believed undoubtedly belonged to the Co- manches, and he determined to approach nigh enough to reconnoiter. Near as seemed the camp, it required almost two hours’ walking before he reached it. To his un- bounded surprise as he came up, not a rr person was in sight. This was the more surprising, as it seemed literally impossible for twenty men and horses to conceal themselves around the fire, which was kindled down the bank where there were no trees or shelter, Welland passed and repassed it several times, graduall > ge war nearer and incautiously ex- posing mself. Gnly a faint light was cast by the smoldering embers, and within the circle of this he at length ventured. He had hardly done so, when a dark, ball-like body bounded from the darkness, and alighting on his shoulders, bore him downward with irresistible strength. “T takes you for a white man,” said a rough voice, as his throat was gr ke a vise, “ but you've no business to be sneakin’ round like this. Speak quick! Who mought you be?” “T am Ross Welland; don’t you know me, Ned Nuggens?”’ “Him anJ no mistake,” replied that hunter, peer- cS in his face and then allowing him to rise. ** Where’s the gal?”’ “The Comanches have got her,” “What'd I tell you, John?” said the hunter, turn- ing toward his companion, who now made himself visible. “I know’d them ruffians had somebody among ‘em that they’d no ht to, when we met ‘em to-day. How is it they didn’t git you, too?” asked the speaker, indignantly, as though Welland had no right to be free when one placed under his charge was a prisoner. “Have he: man and you will understand it all in a moment,’—and thereupon our hero explained what is already known to the reader. Atits conclu- sion, Nuggens exclaimed: Just like the ruffi’ns; they’ve got an account to settle with us; but what are you doing here?” “T am in pursuit of them.” “Give us your hand! You've got the styfin you. You'll pass, you will,”’ “How is it you two are here? I understood your A» guseae was the Llano Estacado, when we parted. “So it was -so it was; but after we'd left you some time, John, here, said he believed there was pea steer 3 wrong going on, and the next Pea ney we turned back to foller you. That night we foun your horse. Then we know’d something was up. sure. Wewent down on this side of the river, an not thinking of looking in the river for you, why we didn’t see you on that island that you just told us about. Wewent on and hunted for you two or three days, and then thinking we mought have et that I ever her passed you, we took the back-track again. But we couldn’t see nothing of you, ’cause, like a couple of fools, we had got on the wrong side of the river. So we give it up and started for the Staked Plain, and have got this fur on the way.” “You say you found my horse some time since. What did you do with him?” “Why, kept him, of course. Such animalsare too scarce to let slip.” “‘ And is hein your possession this minute?” “Tf you don’t believe it, jest walk out there where our two animals is standing. Being we've found his owner, he’s no longer ours. “Such a turn of fortuneI am forced to believe is an augury of my suecess—”’ ‘Is what?” interrupted Smith “*Is a sign—a token of success in my efforts to res- cue Irona.”’ .“Oh!—that’s what you mean. Don’t use them big words around these parts—’cause why? no one can’t swallow ’em. But say, yeou, you don't really mean to follow them twenty Comanches alone, do you!” “Tf I started on foot with that firm intention, what would induce me to give it up now that IJ have re- covered my horse?” ‘““What can you do among such a lot of ruffi’ns?” “The chances are greatly against me, I will admit, pet I should never forgive myself did I not make an effort.” “Can your horse travel faster than theirs?” “He is fully their equal.”’ “That don’t matter. ‘“Spose you get the gal— which you never will—how are you going to get a ay from them twenty chaps?” “As I have just said, the chances are desperate, but I shall make the effort.” “ All alone, eh?” *“T expect to do so.” “*Wal, I expect you won't.” “Why not?’ asked Welland, thinking that perhaps they intended to prevent him. “Cause we goes with you!” exclaimed Nuggens, heartily. ‘When that little gal of yourn gets into difficulty, why I reckons we does too, and stays there, too, till she’s out. Eh, Smith?” “* Just so—exactly.”’ “Let's shake hands on that.” And Welland grasped hands with the two hunters CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE COMANCHE CAMP, Tx1s much then was settled—three armed art mounted white men were to pursue twenty arid and mounted Comanche Indians, with the object ¢ rescuing a captive white girl from them, fool- hardy proceeding, to say the least; but, ee. enough, Ned Nuggens, who always saw the dark side of the picture, was very sanguine of success, “Thave an idea of my own,” said he, with a wise look, the next morning, as they were about to start. “Pray, let us know what it is,” asked Welland, with some curiosity. **Can’t do it jest now,” he replied, with a shake of his head. ‘“‘ You'd all laugh at me, sure.” “Tell a feller if he guesses?” quizzed Smith, lean- ing on his horse and looking up in his companion’s ace. “Yas, don’t know but what I will.”’ “Ts it to buy her?” ‘‘Buy her! Where'd I get anything to buy her with?” asked Nuggens, in amazement. “That's what I should like to know. You Boing te make a dash SenOng 6m, do some ha’r-raisin’, and be off like a thunder-clap?”’ “ Nothin’ of the kind.” ‘“* Going to sneak into camp and steal her?” “You're all wrong ag’in.” “‘ Going to lecture ’em?—tell °em they’re bad boys and shouldn’t do such things?” “No, sir; but I'll say that last guess is the nearest you’ve come yet.” “Wh-e-w-w!” exclaimed Smith, giving vent to a long, peculiar whistle. Mea to ay oe to their better natur’, I s’pose. Hain’t you been on the prairies long enough yet to find out that Comanches ain’t human?” “No,” replied Nuggens, with a meaning emphasis. “Wal, Zhave, an you hain’t you will, mighty | soon.” “T know not what plan you have in view,” said Welland, “ but if you are certain of its success, I am emmawer satisfied. With that assurance, I shall go orward with renewed hope.” “It’s impossible to be sa: tin with Comanches ; but I feel very sartin—so much so, that if I den’t succeed I lose my ha’r, sure.” Nuggens seemed to enjoy the astonishment his words created. He added, with a meaning smile: “T'll say this much, though I don’t choose to tell youmore. The plan that I’ve hit upon doesn’t bring either of you in the scrape. For that matter, you could both ust as well stay where you are, and let me go on alone. But, let us lose no more time talk- ing. We shall have a good tramp to overtake them Injins.” ‘ Reeve gal ahead, and the two followed on lo a brisk canter. Tie cave it as his opinion that the Comanches would be overtaken at night, See they kept up their own pwing ie Pos. e trail sti Deg along the Colorado, and he felt confident that it would continue so for many miles, A few hours’ ride brought them upon the site of their last encampment, the embers of whose fires were still burning. The surrounding bs oe were carefully ex- amined by the hunters, and the Indians pronounced to be nearer than was first supposed. * At this gait,’ said Nuggens, “ we'll be onto °em by the middle of the afternoon. They’ve made quite a halt here.’ i
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STE ae “Do they always keep up that rapid canter of theirs?” “Bless you, no. Their animals get tired as well as others. They sometimes halt for three or thirty hours jest as the notion takes them.” “The Comanches are the acknowledged sover- eigns of this section, I believe?” * They’re the sovereigns—if that means the masters —though they find that question is often disputed with them. They do pretty much as they please, especially where Mexicans are concerned. The Texans are tougher customers.” “It always seemed singular to me that the Mexi- cans bore these contin aggressions of these Be- douins, as I have heard them called. A firm stand would scatter them to the winds, although they are as good riders and warriors as you can find on this continent.” . ; ‘“* That’s true, what you've said; but the Mexicans are all cowards—that’s what makes things as they are, Santa Anna and all their leaders are cowards, and the Comanches know it and despise em.” “They can be at no great distance ahead of us. Will it not be running a great risk to come unex- pectedly upon them?” “We ain’t going to do that thing.” ae “Tt strikes me that we cannot very well help it, if we keep up this rate.” . ‘*You’re mistaken. We'll come in sight of them as near the middle of the afternoon as it can be.” **Do you intend to resort to that original idea of yours immediately, or to wait until night?” *“T’ll do it at once; there is no stratagem or sneak- in’ about it.” ’ ; Despite the maneuvers to which Smith resorted, he could not induce Nuggens to give an inkling of his plan. Several times the latter laughed to him- self, as though mightily pam with it. Then he would shake his head, and look serious. . “T said there was no stratagem, as you call it, in the thing; but there is, and if the old Comanche chief finds it out, why it'll be all up with Ned Nug- gens. I’m in for it, however, and the try will be made.” f sayy “Thunder and lightning!’ exclaimed Smith, in a eat fury, “if you ain’t going to tell a feller what t is, don’t say nothing more about it.” He paused a moment, as if expecting a reply, and then added: i ; “* No one wants to know what your smart idee is, that you’re making such a fuss over.” _ Even this failed to secure the desired information. Indulging now and then in laughing conversation, In speculations and flings at Nuggens’ ‘‘ plan,” our three friends continued on a rapid canter, —= their horses forward as much as they dared. Noon came and passed, but they halted not, except to let their animals drink from the river. Their way still kept along the banks of this, and the trail of the Comanches was plainly visible, as it had not been disturbed by man or animal. In the course of ap hour or so Nuggens dismount- ed, and examined the footprints of the horses. * What's the sign?” asked Smith. * All right—ain’t fur off.” Another hour they galloped on, when another ex- amination was made. * How is it now?” ; “Close onto ’em,”’ replied Nuggens, remounting. * How close?” * Half an hour, or ron apa “ Have they encam 7 “Don’t enow: guess not at this time of day.” “As the time advanced, the three began to ride more cautiously, keeping a bright look-out for the Comanches. But the half-hour came and passed, and they were not seen. Smith waited some time longer, when, feeling a little disappointed, he re- marked: ‘ -*The half-hour has passed long ago, Ned; where’s the Injins?” i * Have patience; we'll soon see ’em.”’ “You shouldn’t have said we’d see ’em in half an hour if you wasn’t sure.” : ‘*You needn’t fret, Smith, for they are in sight this minute.”’ At this startlihg announcement, Smith and Wel- land reined in their horses, rose in their stirrups, and looked searchingly ahead. Nuggens had spoken the truth—the Comanches were in sight. They were still at. a great distance, however, and were on an easy gallop. An inexperienced person would have taken them for a flock of prairie hens, or larger ani- mals. Their heads and shculders only were visible as they sunk and rose on che swells of the prairie, and these appeared thus insignificant. ‘* How long, at this rate, will it take us to overhaul them?” asked Welland. ‘Not afore night, I’m afraid: they’re a good ways off, and traveling at a rousing pace. They’ve made a lonz halt somewhere, or we’d never come up to them as soon as this.” “I should think they would ger some time. Have they no destination, or are they always riding from place to place?” ~~ “They're nearly always riding, but they have their houses, like other folks. There’s a big Coman- che Ms about fifty miles further up the river, and that is where this crowd belongs. They’re aim- ing for the spot.” ‘ Why not wait till they are at home?” asked Wel- land, with some curiosity. : _ ‘My hair wouldn’t be worth a beaver-skin by that time. No, sir,” added Nuggens, emphatically, ‘I must be among them ruffi’ns this afternoon or this night, or that gal is gone forever.” ‘ ‘Our animals can travel faster,” said Smith, striking his into a more rapid gallop. The others did the same, and in a short time it was plain the were gaining rapidly upon the Indians. The The Hunted Hunter. bodies and horses were visible, and it was then that the three whites were called upon to admire the spiendid riding of these Western Bedouins. The whole twenty fallen into column side by side, and the rise and fall of their bodies, tozether with the rapid motions of their horses, were as regular and harmonious as the movements of a platoon of infantry, As night approached, our friends had gained so much on the Comanches, that, at Nuggens’ sugges- tion, they drew down into a walk. It had been his wish, at first, to overtake them at dusk; but he had changed his mind, and said all now depended upon not being seen before that time. The better to avoid this, they let them shoot ahead several miles, when the three rode down the river bank, and cautiously made their way up-stream. Several miles were thus passed, when the darkness had so increased that they again rode upon the rairie, and took the trail of the Comanches. The tter were not visible; but our friends had ridden only a short time, when a red light suddenly flamed up on the plain, a mile or so in advance. - “There's the camp!” exclaimed Nuggens, joyous- y. Dark, shadowy forms could be seen flitting back- ward and forward before the fire, and now and then a guttural exclamation was borne to them on the night-wind. It was plain that the Comanches had no fear of attack in this remote section. Their horses were turned loose, and were busy cropping the grass, while confusion reigned in the camp. Ten determined enemies could Eave made a terrible havoc among those twenty Indians; but the latter well knew there were no ten enemies at hand. Nuggens prepared at once to venture among the Comanches. is preparations were slight, and con- sisted-in nothing but dismounting and passing his rifle to Welland. The latter noticed a tremor in the motions of the hunter, though he did his best to hide it. The critical moment had come, and he compre- hended the perilous nature of the undertaking he had ventured upon. ““Good-by, boys,’”’ said he, taking the hand of each; ‘if i ain't back by the end of an hour, you'll know I won’t—well, I won’t be back at all.” “You expect toreturn, do you not?” “Thope I shall; but—but it ain’t certain by any means.” “Well, God go with you.” And the hunter was gone. Smith and Welland remained seated on their horses, gazing toward the Indian — awaiting the moment when Nuggens would make his appear- ance there. The latter moved directly forward, without the slightest attempt to conceal his ap- ae and it was not many minutes before the two cnew by the commotion among the Comanches that he had arrived among them. And now commenced the hour of suspense. CHAPTER XIX. CONCLUSION. Leavine Smith and Welland a prey to the most anxious suspense, we will follow the hunter into the Comanche camp. He walked directly toward the camp-fire, as we have stated, and as it was but a hundred yards dis- tant, it required but a few moments to reach it. A visit was so unexpected by the Indians that he was not noticed until he was really among them. Sev- eral at once drew their knives and closed around him, and fora moment or two his life was in dan- ger. “What seek you?” he asked, in the Comanche tongue. “Icome among you unarmed. I am on a visit to your chief, Riantonon. I would see Rian- tonon.’ At mention of their leader’s name, considerable wonder was created among those immediately sur- rounding the hunter. “Do you seek the mighty Riantonon?” said one, sepping toward him. Nuggens merely signified his assent, ‘* He is by the other fire. Follow me!” The savage moved off, and his companions made way for their visitor to follow him. A few yards brought them to the second fire, around which sev- eral Indians were reclining. “One who asks for Riantonon,” said the guide, stepping aside, and allowing Nuggens to advance to the fire. As he did so, a large, powerful, and not unhandsome Indian arose to receive him. “Ts it the great and good Riantonon that I see be- fore me?” asked Nuggens, with a low obeisance. “T am Riantonon, chief of the Comanches,” re- turned the Indian, in a voice that sounded like the rumble of thunder. “T am from Maxalhon,” said Nuggens, with an- other obeisance. “The road to my white brother’s house is long, and it must be an important wish that brings his messenger hither.’ “Tt is an important errand, the object of which has possessed Maxalhon for many days and nights.” Although the chief was curious to learn the cause of this singular visit, he was too much of an Indian to betray any vulgar curiosity. To avoid showing a weakness, he purposely prevented the conversa- tion from coming to a point. : “The path that my brother has traveled is a rough one. He may rest with us till morning.’ “The commands of my master are that I set out on my return to-night.” “My warriors are preparing food. My brother must be hungry.” ‘“*My rifle is true, and I have not wanted for food.” “But I see no arms.” “IT need no weapons in approaching the camp of | Riantonon. They are a short distance away, with my horse.”” , ‘Does not my brother desire rest before telling his wish?” “*T have ridden, and am not tired.” A silence of several seconds, when Nuggens, judg- ing that the proper moment had arrived, said: ‘A girl—a beautiful young white girl was stolen some time since, by the red-men. She was the dear friend of Maxalhon.” “His child?” asked the chief, quickly. ** Not his child, but one that he loved as much as his child. He mourns night and day for her.” *“ Why does he send to Riantonon?”’ ‘*Riantonon is the leader of a strong and valiant band of warriors. He asks that he will search for the child and bring her to him. He will give all his possessions for her.” This remark seemed to affect the chief, for he re- mained for a moment as if in deep thought, while Nuggens, with his head bent, dared not look up in his face. ‘ *Riantonon knows not who stole the child. How can he find her?” *“Maxalhon said that Riantonon and h's warriors lived upon the plains and wandered hundreds of miles. Nothing could escape his eye.” This compliment, so delicately given, had its effect upon the chief. He felt gratified, and replied: **Maxalhon spoke the truth. Nothing can escape the oe of Riantonon.” ** Will he find and return the child?” “He will,” said the chief, decidedly. “Maxalhon will then thank him with tears in his eyes, and Riantonon will receive vast : ealth.” ** My brother will stay with us till morning?” “I must return with the good news, and make the heart of Maxalhon glad with the words of Rianto- on.” With this, Nuggens made a movement as if to de- part, but the chief commanded him to wait a few moments. The hunter suspected what was coming but, of course, he affected ignorance. He hear the approach of some one, and looking up, saw Irona led forward by the chief. bt ag is the captive whom you seek,” said the chief. Nuggens exhibited the most profound astonish- ment and joy. He stepped forward, seized the hands of Irona, and congratulated her again and again upon her rescue, during the performance of which he man to put heron her guard. The quick-witted girl needed no caution, for she saw a ruse was being played, and understood how to act her part. “Great and good is Riantonon,” said Nuggens, “*Maxalhon will pray to see him.” ** Are you alone?” asked the chief, pointedly, “Two hunters were sent with me to protect me, and they are Mpa ng short distance away.” The chief shook head. Mca <a is long, and there is danger at every turn. My warriors will accompany you.” Now this, above all things, was the very proceed- ing which the hunter felt he must prevent. If the chief gave him an escort, all would be lost, for the trick that he had played would soon be discovered. ““We have come through many Conger, and we can return through them. I am sure Maxalhon would not permit the good Riantonon to send his warriors with us.” ** When does my brother return?’ ‘“‘At once, A long distance may be gained before morning.” “ ? Has my brother brought ve?’ “ag! did not expect to find her, and therefore have none.’ The chief spoke in a low voice, and one of the In- dians led forward a magnificent coal-black horse, which he hel Irona to mount. The Comanche leader himself then Jed the animal forward and placed the bridle in the hand of the hunter. “Tell Maxalhon that when the moon is again at her full, Riantonon will visit him.” Nuggens bowed and walked slowly away from the camp-fire, leading Irona’s horse. He did not hasten his walk, nor speak, nor even look up to her; but he endured the keenest agony, fearful that the chief would suspect something wrong and call him back, In such a case he knew all was lost. Then he fancied he was followed, and dared not look behind him; and then again his heart beat with hope as he re- flected how well his bold scheme had succeeded, and how a he had duped the Comanches, Great was the amazement df Welland and Smith when Nuggens and Irona made their appearance among them. “Don’t stop to talk, boys,’ said the former, “there's no time. Let's be off.”” He vaulted into his own saddle and struck off on a gallop, followed by the others. Welland took his position beside Irona. He said nothing, but reached over and took her hand for a moment. She returned the pressure he gave, and the varty rode on in si- lence. In the course of an hour or so, Nuggens reined his horse down to a walk and said: “Our animals are tired, for they have done a ‘ood heap of traveling. So here we may now halt or the night.” He turned down the river-bank as he spoke, and leaped to the ground. All removed their saddles, the horses were picketed, and a fire started. ““ We're safe from them Comanches, at least,”’ said Nuggens, “and now we'll take a rest till daylight.” Trona, by this time, had had so much experience a horse for the cap- in “camping out,” that she was provided for with- As she slept, = others gathered said: been tried, and has succeeded, out difficulty. around the fire, and Wellan “Your plan has
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SSeS anna SO i6 Nuggens, and therefore there can be no danger of our laughing at or ridiculing it. I trust you will not hesitate to give it to us.” “Yes, in course, let’s have it,’’ added Smith. The hunter laughed to himself a moment, and then answered: “Tt’s a little the best trick, I fancy, that a Co- manche was ever served. That Riantonon is a full- blooded Indian and a regular ruffi’n. He’s scalped and hacked up more white people than any man this side of the Rio Grande. Well, he’s got a half- brother, a half-breed, who’s as big a ruffi'n as heis himself. His name is Maxalhon, and he lives down on the San Antonio, where he’s got a big farm and a plenty of horses and cattle, all of which he’s got by robbing honest people. He used to travel with that old Comanche ruffi’n, but he got so rich at length that he settled down, as I’ve said. Riantonon often brings his stolen people down to his place, where he sometimes allows ’em to be ransom but not always, by no means. He gives the old chief all he wants, and so you see the chief, natural enough, will do anything for him. This I’ve know’d for over six years. When me and Smith see the Comanches, I felt pretty sure that rei § was Riantonon’s band, *cause he always takes just twenty with him count- ing himself. I’ve met ’em before, and have had such scrimmages with ’em that I couldn’t very well for- get him or his menif I wanted to, though I haven't met him so long that I felt retty sartin that he wouldn’t know me, ’cause besides, I’ve let a big lot of beard grow out on my face since then. al, when you come along yesterday and let us know what a muss the gal there was in, I see we couldn't do nothing by force, and _ the only way was to pull the wool over the eyes of the old ruffi’n, I know’d if I could make him believe I was from Maxalhon he would do anything I wished. The great danger was tnat he would see who I was, and suspicion some- thing; but when I talked with him Ikept my head pretty well down. I see four Injins there, and every One showed scars on his face that I helped make, but they didn’t know it. I talked away to Rian- tonon, and the end of the matter was tnat he be- lieved I was sent from his old brother ruffi’n Maxal- hon. He give me the gal, andif she isn’t safe home in a short time it will be her own fault.” “ Halha! what a plan!” laughed Smith. “Didn’t [say you’d laugh at it?” asked Nuggens, re Nace we ‘True, we laugh,” added Welland, smiling, ‘* but not at you, nor exactly at your cleverly-managed scheme, but at the credulity of the chief and his warriors.” The night passed away without incident, and, at the earliest appearance of light, our four friends were riding down the banks of the Colorado, Not a sign of an Indian was seen during the day and by night they had accomplished a good long distance. On the second, ers descried a war-party on the opposite side of the river, who made some demon- strations toward crossing over and engaging them; but they seemed to reach a different conclusion, upon second thought, and shortly afterward disap- peared on the prairie. On the morning of the third day, they reached the grove where Irona afd Welland had become sepa- rated. They felt relieved when it was left behind them. Of all their experiences there had been none more Bge than that spot had witnessed. Passing several frontier settlements—or rather the com- mencement of frontier settlements—our friends at last beheld the picturesque town of Austin before them. It was with a feeling of joy indescribable that our hero and heroine rode into the place. Trona led the way to her uncle’s, but ere they had reached his mansion, the two hunters halted. “Here we leave you,” said Nug ens. “What!” exclaimed Welland, you must surely f° with us to Irona’s relations. You have had a ong ride and need rest.” “We're used to that,” laughed Smith, “and don’t need rest. *“*T shall never be forgivenif I fail to let my uncle see you,” added Irona; * besides, I broiniaee youa reward—” “‘None of that,” interrupted Nuggens. ‘‘ What little we’ve done was out of good-will to you, and we doesn’t take pay for such work. We thank you as much as if we took up with your offer. We'd like to do it, but a can’t if we wanted. So here’sa good- by to both. P’r’aps we'll see you ag’in, as we some- es bring up in Orleans, and,’ pursued the hunter, with a meaning smile, ‘‘I s’pose you two will have a place of your own pretty soon. Then you may be sure we'll call on you.” “Do not fail to inquire for me. I shall always be im to see those to whom, under Heaven, I owe the ife of Irona,”’ ** Good-by.”” The parting would have been affecting, if the hunters had only allowed it to be so; but they would not. They cheerfully shook hands, and as they rode away, repeated their laughing adieus. Neither Welland nor Irona ever saw or heard of them ain. A few minutes later, and the twvu were received at the mansion of Albert Seraville, where the rea pogo of Irona was like the dead coming to life. er uncle himself was at home, and went nearly crazy with delight. , to her extreme joy, that the fact of her abduction had been care- y kept from her father. Her uncle had offered large rewards for her recovery, and more than one band of hunters, at that very moment, were scour- ing the plains in search of her, Welland, of course. received a most genuine and hearty welcome, an unknown to him, Albert Seraville placed a letter in Irona’s hands for his brother, in which he was elo- quent in the praises of the ‘young American,’ and Irona learn ‘The Hunted Hunter. which he felt confident would do much toward re- moving the prejudice he entertained against him. The two remained in Austin for a few days only, when they took passage to Matagorda. Here they were compelled to wait a week before the opportu- nity offered for reaching New Orleans. inally, they secured berths on board a steamer, and the next mornin the Gulf of Mexico. The passage across this piece of water was with- out incident worthy of note, until they reached a point off Vermilion Bay, in Louisiana, not many miles west of the entrance to the Mississippi. The weather was extremely hot, and many of the pas- sengers remained on deck through the night in pref- erence to spending them in their berths. We kept his room for several hours, when, finding it intolerable, he arose and passed on deck. He found a number slowly ing backward and forward, en- gaged in meditation, while others were standing to- gether and toes | the beautiful scenery around them, The prospect indeed was magnificent. The shore was so distant that the view on every hand was bounded by water. A few clouds were strag- gling across the sky, and the state of the atmos- here was such that the surface of the gulf seemed o reflect more light than was shed upon it. Here and there the white sails of some vessels were visi- ble, like the ppmege of some gigantic sea-bird while the black hull and tapering mast seemed as if drawn with ink in the misty air. Occasionally one of these vessels would suddenly loom up before them, approach as if about to ride them down, then glide estically by with no sound but the water as it was dashed from the prow, and with its course marked for a moment by a broad path of phosphor- escent foam. Silently they met and silently they Segre each other, never to meet or pass again, for he steamer that encountered them was approach- ing its doom!”’ elland, after gazing upon the scene for some time, turned and commenced pacing the deck. He had taken several turns, when, in whee rather sooner than usual, he came in collision with some one behind him. ‘“‘C arrai/” muttered the latter person. ** Your pardon, friend, I—my heaven!” e person before him was Juarez Vasquelon! “In the name of heaven, what brings you here?”’ demanded Welland, with a recoil of amazement. “Your pardon,” said the imperturbable Spaniard lifting his hat. ‘I did not anticipate the pleasure o meeting Senor Welland here.” “No, 1 suppose not; you believed the Comanches had finished me.”’ “Ts Senorita Irona well?” The P yeubecm | coolness of the villain tempted Welland to strike him, but he reflected that such an act could do him no good, as there was no further occasion for plotding and counter-plotting against him. He could well afford to be condescending. ‘**She is well; far better, I may venture to say, — in body and spirits, than when she saw you ast.” “I am rejoiced to hear it; she has truly had much oo or the test part of which J Vi “For the greatest part of which Juarez uelon is to be thanked.,”’ re: “T hope she will find her dear father well,”’ added the Spaniard, without noticing the pointed allusion of Welland, “Do your friends, Pierre and Colonel Ovaton, ac- company yout” asked the latter after a moment’s pause. “They are both dead.”’ Our hero could not conceal his astonishment at this remark. ‘“* Both dead,” added Vasquelon, in a business-like manner, “ from the hands of the Comanches.” ‘* Were they killed by Riantonon and his band?” bi erg were killed by Riantonon and his band.” ** And how was it that you escaped?” ‘“* My horse chanced to such speed that the Indians could not ove e him, though I must say they tried very hard.” “Did you 'see Ovaton and Pierre killed.” “Not exactly; but I saw their horses give out nearly at the same time, and that, you know, was just the same.” “What a pity yours did not do the same,” mut- tered Welland. iat go to New Orleans, I presume, Senor Wel- n ” “ That is my intention,” replied our hero, turning and eon 7 him to himself. Upon reflection, Welland came to the conclusion that this meeting with Vasquelon was without de- sign upon the part of the latter. The fact that he had not seen him before, showed that he had pur- oes kept out of sight. He resolved to say noth- of their interview to Irona, until they had ar- rived in New Orleans. As Vasquelon seemed willing to answer ‘any questions, he made inquiries in re- gard to Jacques. The Spaniard informed him that when he learned of Welland’s flight and that he was to be poe he requested to be left behind, prom- ising to follow in a day or two as he was nearly re- covered; but, from what Vasquelon remarked, Wel- land believed the true-hearted fellow had done this as aruse to get rid of them, and in all probability, after their departure had made his way back to the settlements. A few days later, and the steamer entered one of the many mouths of the Mississippi, and commenced the ascent of that might much higher than usual, and the current so swift that the progress of the boat was wearily slow. Welland had seen Vasquelon several times, but they had no further conversation than that referred to. were far out in the bright water of | river. It was found to be | On the second morning after their entrance of the | Mississippi, before many of the passengers had arisen, the steamer exploded her boiler. The explosion was terrific, the piper deck being blown upward, and the sides hurled apart in shattered fragments, with as much force as though the boiler were a aaeniic bomb-shell. At the very moment of the ire catastrophe, Welland was standing in conver- sation with one of the passengers at the bow. Amid the general wreck of flying fragments and human beings, they found themselves floating on a large box, while the screams of dying men and women were all around them in the water. To save himself, the companion of Welland succeeded in working their raftsome yards from the hulk of the steamer, where they were beyond the reach of the sinking wretches, So soon as Welland comprehended his situation, he resigned his hold of the raft and swam toward the boat in search of Irona. Twice he was seized by a drowning man and carried under, but he succeeded in freeing himself and passed around the debris without seeing her. en about to despair, he heard his name called, and turning his head, saw her clin ng toadoor. He hastened to her, and taking hold of it, commenced working his way clear of the mass that surrounded them. * Are you scalded or burnt?” be asked. “Tam not injured at all; how is it with you?” “Tam not hurt either. Yonder, I see, is a steam- er approaching so that those who have escaped need not despair.” Such was the case. The explosion had been seen by a passing steamboat, which was now making all haste to relieve the sufferers. Welland had floated several rods away from the fein we Prot when he saw Vasquelon swimming toward i e was debating with himself whether to allow him to take hold of the support of Irona, when he saw him throw up his arms. shi el Senorita Irona, and—” The closing water drowned the rest of his words. ‘*He is dead at last,’’ said Welland, in a whisper, and I am glad that it is not by my hand.” The steamer, by this time, had reached the spot and her boats were picking up those who were still floating on the water. elland and Irona were soon rescued, and that night yeached New Orleans. We pass over the amazement of Don Alfredo Seraville upon receiving his daughter, and upon learning from her the incredible experience which had been her lot during the t two months; we omit his expressions of thankfulness and his de- claration that she should never more leave his roof; we do not record his a upon reading his cherished brother’s letter; but we do say, in this last aragraph of this little volume, that his prejudice n regard to ove American, at least, was removed forever, and that to-day, were his daughter wedded to the king of Spain, he could not be more rejoiced than he is in the fact that her husband was born, like herself, on American soil, and that the old Castilian line of the Seravilles is ended. THE END. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. 125 Bonanza Briu, Miner. By E. L. Wheeler. 126 Picayune Perr. By Chas. Morris 127 Wrp-Fire. By Frank Dumont........... mess OC 128 Tue Youne Privateer. By Harry Cavendish. 5c 129 Deapwoop Dicx’sDovusie. By E. L. 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