Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 147) (1880 05 18)
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— UA Via (imma It if $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New s Mail Matter. Copyrighted in 1880 by BEADLE AND ADAMS, ->UBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND AMS i Vol. V1. om aa PU SHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, BY CHARLES MORRIS, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ WILL SOMERS,” ‘‘ PHIL HARDY,” ‘‘ PICAYUNE PETE,” ‘‘ DETECTIVE DICK,” ‘‘ HANDSOME HARRY,” ETC., ETC. i ah | ( I ides { li sales 4 in mt ebebetetist | i Hi | / " i Vif } ! ee eae at | yi li a pA »| 4 a iy! ' I! WN, ———SS=_= sa
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Will Wil Will Wildfire, THE THOROUGHBRED; R, THE WINNING HAND. BY CHARLES MORRIS, 40THOR oF “WILL SOMERS,” ‘PHIL HARDY,” “ PICA- YUNE PETE,” “‘ DETECTIVE DICK,” ‘ HAND- SOME HARRY,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. THE SCHUYLKILL NAVY REGATTA, Tuer wiad was north-west. It needed no weather- vane to prove this, nor even the sailor's traditional met-finger; for the flag that half-drooped, and half mevealed its starry field, on the steamer Wissahickon, and the long streamer that stretched lazily from the mast-head of the starting boat, pery, indicated a faint nor’-wester, strong enough to cool the Septem- ‘er air, but not to unduly ruffle the river's surface. The silvery Schuylkill was crowded with boats, of « all shapes and sizes; here with a crew of profes- sionals, or athletic amateurs; there with an awkward squad, who were adepts in the arts of oar-twisting and crab-catching. On the slooping and wooded banks of the stream wtood a host of lookers-on, op drawn there by the smere excitement of seeing a hotly-contested race, others eager advocates of the various competing ‘crews. For it was the fall regatta of the Schuylkill navy, ‘and all those with a taste for good rowing, or a pas- wzion for sport, had gathered to witness what was 2ikely to be one of the events of the sporting season. It was gro late in the afternoon. The declin- sun sent his long beams slanting through the thick-clustered woods of the East Park. sveral waces had alread #our-oared barges had co broken from the “ start” at the Falis Bridge, and were rapidly darting down the wide, straight stream. The excitement of the start over, the spectators em pte in knots to discuss the probable result, and talk over the race yet remaining. This was to be the event of the day, a hot contest between the two crack oarsmen of the navy, asingle- shell race which would decide the question of the shampionship for the year. And, although the crews themselves rowed for thonor, not for gain, yet bets were freely offered and waken among the spectators, some heavy wagers w@eing made. “Two to one on the Vesta!" cried a sturdy, mut- ——- whiskered person, attired in a light plaid suit, and with a decidealy English cast of features. “Don’t make your odds quite so heavy,” retorted a EN ae bystander. ‘Jack Boyle, of the Iris,is not going to be rowed down quite so as you think.” wes bow that Huntly distances him. Hang it, “ft any gentleman wants to bet, I'll make an even-up offer that he leads him a good boat’s length at the And here’s the stuff to back my words.” He excitedly flourished a handful of bank notes as ‘ne spoke, and looked with an air of disgust over the throng. “Well, noe,” he exclaimed, supercilio a this is what you call American spirit. hy. a t was in old England, at the Derby, I'd be snatched “up before T got ten words out—if it were for a thou- : pounds. “It is lucky, then, you are not in old England, or you might be out of pocket,’ spoke a clear-toned self-assured voice on the edge of the mass. “ie want to challenge all America, I am your ‘ from a dime to a cool thousand. Just consider _your bet taken—and you can tell me what it is after- All turned to look at the ——— who had just walked up to the throng. They were surpri at bis you a nce, for he seemed a mere ny & or at least at that indefinite, unwhiskered age in “whicti boyhood merges into manhood. But his hmndsome face, and open, en aging expression, at wmce took all eyes, while h “ well-rounded, figure seemed fitted at once for athletic ts, and for social enjoyments. He was dressed ‘4m a light, well-fitting , while a taste for orna- ment was shown in the flash of a diamond in his ‘arf pin, and in the solitaire ruby that burned redly a finger of his left hand, How’s that!” cried the English sport, in_a sur- —= tone. ‘“Haven’t you any favorite? I’m for ‘Ghe Vesta boat, high and = ** and I am for America, hot and heavy,” retorted ‘Ghe youth, as he pushed into the mass of people. “Name your bet. I'll cover it, if it is for a swallow — a crow.” sport eyed him dubiously for a minute, run- \umg ‘his eyes from head to foot of his youthful an- | agonist, with a somewhat scornful smile curling his 3P yen, will I do?’ asked the youth, quietly. “®eventy inches, from head to foot, is my measure.” “See here, young fellow,” returned the other, a ‘@itfle warmly.” “I ain't much in the habit of betting with boys. And I don’t bet marbles, or half-penny wtteces. Maybe you'd best carry your pigs to a e market.’ , *I thought so,” the youth quietly replied. ‘* Blus- -@ischeap. But you are not the man to back your blow with cash. I'll go from five dollars to fifty on ‘ne Tris, and give you a boat-length’s grace.” * Nive to fifty!" cried the sport, seernfully, ., “Saya been rowed, and three crews of | j five hundred, and there'll be some inducement for a gentleman to see you. Here’s an even five hundred that the Vesta shell beats the Iris. Is there a man here with the heart to take it?’ He turned away from the youth asif he had finally settled him. “*T will take that bet,”’ the latter quietly answered, “You?” in a tone of surprise. “Yes, me!"’ was the angry rejoinder. ‘See here, my friend, if I don’t wear side-whiskers, and a | wrinkle in my nose, my money is as good as yours. You've thrown a slur on Americans; and [ll be hanged if you haven’t to stand by your bet now—or slink out.” ‘All right, my covey,’ replied the sport, with a look of more respect for his young challenger, “Plank up the needful. Here’s my materials; and I don’t take no bets on spec, from strangers.”’ The Say replied by pulling out a well-filled pocket-book, and quickly counting some crisp bank notes of large denomination. “That the Iris beats the Vesta by a boat's length. That’s my bet,” he remarked. “And here’s the stuff to back it.” “Correct. And the boat that backs down from rowing is beat?” ‘“*T don’t think there will be much back down,”’ re- goed the youth. ‘‘ Huntly and Boyle are not of ore sort. But you can make it so. I am agree- able.” A well-known member of one of the boat clubs was selected as stake-holder, and the bet made. But the keen eyes of the young man had noticed a peculiar expression upon the face of his competitor, a sort of repressed triumph, which made him think there might possibly be some trick concealed in the terms of this wager. Why did he hint at a boat’s backing down? “It’s a deuce of a bad business,” ke & person who at this instant came up to the circle, addressing the stake-holder. ‘‘The best match we’ve had for five years clean spoiled.” “Spoiled? What do you mean? Is anything wrong?” ““Why where in the world have you been that you haven’t heard? Everybody’s wild about it. Jack Boyle has slipped and given his wrist a bad sprain, Huntly has only got to walk over the course,” “The thunder you say! And here I am holding the stakes for a five hundred bet on the race.—Is the wager off, gentlemen?” “Off? Not much!’’ replied the Englishman sneer- ingly. ‘It’s a square bet, and it stands. I’ve got nothing to do with Jack Boyle’s wrist.” “Did you know this before you offered the bet?” asked the youth quietly, but with a snap in his eyes, and a red spot in each cheek. “What has that got to do with it?’ rejoined the sport, ace - “T offered my money square- ly. It’s asquare bet; and I reckon I'il rake ia the plunder.” ‘*Maybe you will; but I reckon not.” quietly an- swered the youth. “T leave it to the referee.”’ “Tam afraid you have Icst, young man,” said the stake-holder. ‘The Iris seems to be out of the race."* ‘* What is the hour for this race?’’ “Five o'clock.” * And it is only half-past four now. Will any gen- tleman present explain this conundrum; how a race can be lost before the hour for rowing it?” “That’s so!” cried several voices, “The bet was not on Huntly and Boyle, but on the Iris and Vesta boats.” “Very true,” acknowledged the stake-holder. * And it don’t matter a pin who rows the Iris, so Se Ce joined the English * No ,” rejo e Englishman, with a sneering laugh. * All righ my friend, The Irisis not out of the race till the hour is past. You had better save your Beet ea weer th et, weer 8 er W away a . Sp step, every eye following his ab figure as it moved toward the group of boatmen near the start- ing- int of the race. tin the blazes does he mean?” asked the astounded Englishman. ‘Jack Boyle is past. row- ing, and there is not a man in the State that can handle an oar against Huntly.” “ Faith, I've a notion you are right there,” replied the stake-holder. ‘“‘Now that Boyle’s out of the race they won't stir up Ben Huntly’s match at any five minutes’ notice.”” Meanwhile the youth had joined the group of boat- men and was eagerly talking with them. And as the half-hour short of the time fixed for the race wore on, certain significant movements were observed. Could it be that Jack Boyle was going to attempt the race with a sprained wrist? It seemed incredible, yet no one could otherwise explain the rumor that was spreading through the crowd, that the race was to be rowed, “Tt will be a clean walk over for Huntly, an way,” said the English sport. ‘*I wonder that Jac will make such an exhibition of himself.” But it was not Jack Boyle, that tall, trim, athletic figure that stepped from the boat-house, dressed in crimson tights and cap, and with the knotted mus- cles swelling on his bared and powerful arms. He was at least two inches taller, and walked with a lightness very different from Jack’s sturdy tread *“ Who can he be?’ was the question that passed from mouth to mouth. The betting Englishman uneasily pressed forward, and gazed inquiriugly into the young man’s face. “Well, Pll be eternally rack-strawed!” he cried, with a start of survrise. ‘ You are not going to try this race, yourself?” YOb wert dfire, the Thoroughb ed, slide without a dash for it, you know,” drawled the youth, for it was no other than he. ‘‘Of course I don’t suppose an amateur can beat an old rower like Ben Huntly; but then, you know, a chap's got a right to try?” **Beat him? Why he can discount you, and then beat you,” retorted the Englishman, turning away | with a look of relief. A ckap can’t let a cool five nundred | Yet there was a smile upon the i man’s face as if he was not quite so sure of this result. And a wish for his success arose in the hearts of many of the spectators, who were taken captive by his grace- ful and manly bearing. Ten minutes more, and the signal was pi The boats broke away like mettled steeds, and, side by side, shot down the stream, while a shout that are the woods ring again rose from a thousand voices. : It was an exciting scene, The broad meadows and sloping woodlands‘ that bordered the stream, were crowded with spectators, the somber attire of the men in contrast with the gay apparel of the women, while the waving of hats and Piadkerchlets gave them a striking animation. The stream, sil- vered by the declining sun, was alive with boats, while a steamboat, crowded with ngers, and brilliant with flags, heaved its dark bulk tum the eurrent, keeping well behind the two competing boats, which occupied a clear space in the mid line of the river. But the vigorous rowers d little attention to all these distracting causes. The oars rose and fell with clock-like regularity, and with a long, strong stroke that sent the boats darting ahead like arrows, at every sweep of the bending blades. It was soon evident that the Vesta was not going to have such an easy walk-over as some had antici- pated. Even the boatmen who had agreed to the bey in the match were astonished at the vigor and skill with which the young stranger handled his oars. Half the course was rowed, and yet the two boats stood side by side, not a foot of gain on either side being visible. But neither seemed yet to have put his full strength into the effort. Huntly, evidently annoyed at this unexpected persistence of his opponent, now began to display some of his reserve strength, A e ck, fierce spurt sent his craft a boat's length ahead. . But his competitor rowed on with the same long, regular stroke, a smile marking his lips as if he felt that his turn was to come yet. But he was putting more strength to his work, for a his boat was again overlapping the Vesta. iuntly perceived this, and spurted again. Yet he was exhausting his reserve strength without gain- ing any permanent advantage over his opponent, whose boat crept up with a steady and ing persistence. The excitement on the banks of the stream grew intense at sight of this unlooked-for evenness of match. The change in rowers had, with a strange mental pe in am become known along the whole course, and Huntly’s reputation made people pre- dict him an easy victory. But his unknown competitor was now rapidly gaining adherents, “Who can he be?” asked a bright-eyed, fair-faced young lady, who stood with a c mpanion on the row of the bill overlooking the close. ‘I declare it is quite romantic. There they come, round the bend—and the two boats side by side!” “Oh, Mr. Huntly is only playing with him!" re- plied the lady whom she had addressed, ‘‘ He won't cour tig the honors from Philadelphia as easily as that.” ‘ “Very little,” rejoined the other, still using her glass. ‘And see! ee ces. Lucy! Isn't that mag- nificent! Look at them now!” Her exclamation was echoed by a 4 from the crowd lower down the hillside. For, at that mo- a the stranger had made a vigorous spurt, dis- ng a stre get pe Bes Ay him. or. overlap that of his sp sama Phe rapidly up. The bows lined = a: en the Iris crept ahead, slowly pass- e Vesta. | was this that had caused the ery. They were now at the head of Peter’s island, scarce a hundred yards from the end of the course, Huntly, per- ceiving the danger of defeat, put forth his remain- ing strength. But he had weakened himself b. previous efforts, and the husbanded strength of his opponent now began to vigorously tell. ch by inch, foot by foot the Iris overlapped the Vesta, e island was passed, and the clear stream beyond gained. A few more strokes of the rapidly- moving oars, and a new shout arose. Clear water ‘was seen between. the bow and stern of the two boats. The Iris was more than a boat's length in advance, A minute more, and they shot over the closing tine oman simultaneously, the Lris the winner by a full ngth. : and then acry arose to which all previous shouts had been whispers. The steamer added its shrilk whistle, and every spectator seemed wild with ex- citement. “The best rowed race in @ dozen years!” cried one excited boatman. ‘Who is he? Who is this wonderful stranger? “Only a Yale boy,” answered the youthful con- quer, as he sk wi brought his boat around to the shore. Will Wildfire, of Yale, at your ser- vice,
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“Good gracious! it’s no wonder he’s scored one against Ben Huntly! I'll be ed if it ain’t the reat stroke-oar of the Yale College crew coming ere to play with our Schuylkill amateurs! The best rower in New England!” A new chorus of shouts arose, while the name of Will Wildfire was on every lip, as the tall, graceful stranger stood erect in his frail boat, and bowed his acknowledgments, a quiet smile marking his lip. At this moment a bouquet of beautiful flowers fell at hisfeet. He hastened to pick it up, and cast his eyes up the hill slope, catching sight of a bright young face ieaning over the railing at its summit, from whose extended hand the flowers seemed to have come. He pressed them to his lips and bowed his ac- knowledgments; while the face blushingly with- drew, but not until it had indelibly stamped itself upon his mind. ; CHAPTER II. WILL WILDFIRE’S SECOND SCORE. “Dve only got one rule, and that is, to get even. Folks get ahead of me sometimes, that’s sure. But get ahead is one thing; and stay ahead is another.” The speaker toyed with a glass of ale, which stood upon the table before him. lifted it to his mouth and took a acne draught as he closed, wiping his lips with a peculiarly impatient dash of his hand, It was in what may called a respectable ale- house, one of the aristocrats of its class, and much Sok, parperngg by high-toned lovers of this peculiar ‘verage, “You did not fall in love with this young blood, then?” asked his companion, looking slyly up at the first bepeoker. “Well, not altogether and entirely. I can't “ef that I’m inoking seeand ust yet to buy him a Chris mas present; blast his picture.” He fastened his eyes moodily —_ his younger. companion. The latter was a foppily-dressed, rather good-looking young man, boasting a well-cultivated mustache, and a set of ogee J white teeth. He had a habit of showing the latter in something of a eat-like manner; while there was a dubious, uncer- tain look about his eyes, which would have warned any ae observer to avoid too close contact with him. “Who would ever have thought it wasin him? A mere boy; and to outrow an old sport like Ben Pom He tickled you to the tune of a five-hun- red e 9 “T bet he did,’ was the reply; with a sa’ scowl. “But you are not the chap to be salted easily. Was it square?” asked the young man, in his slow, penetrating tone. “Square!” ejaculated the other. “I made it square, hang me for a fool! I made it so infernally pg that I didn’t leave a pin-hole to creep out o ” “T should have fooaaht that Luke Lister was too old a bird to let himself be caught by his own chaff,” came the insinuating voice of comrade, “ Did “by never hear of setting a trap for a weasel, and get ing caught in it yourself? replied Luke, fiercely. ‘‘ Why blast it Lhad the t down so fine, t I staked my last dollar on it. e hound wiped me out, dry! Who would ever have thought of waking up the Yale champion in a b smooth-faced boy? And the worst of the w ole rascally job was to see him lift in cash, with as easy an air, hang him, as if he was in the habit of ong td over hundred-pound bills every day of e ” The baffled English sport grew er the more _ be of the cuteness with which he had sold mself, = Oh, well, there are more days than one, you know,”’ remarked his foppish companion. ‘“ He's led the left bower on you; but you might get the chance to on — hp ht edge wie y 0 Dll pepper hi ou can go your m penny on that’ and Luke Lister put on a tigerish aspect of countenance. I’ve got a crow to pick with Will Wildfire my- self,” rejoined the youngman. ‘We ht help one axiother’ to a little pier} on Gia bese co blood. But fill up; your 4 is empty.” “I don’t care if I do,” answered Luke, rapping ony. for hood oyna ge * . ou know wager he scorched you out of det to have been mine? 7 “* How in the blazes do you make that out?” blow- ing the foaming cap from his new glass of ale. Because he won it with my money,” replied the young fop. ‘I was chiseled out of the cash I ought to have had from old Harry Wildfire’s estate, and this boy has nabbed it all,” “T don’t see how 72 figure that up. Mark Pres- ton is one name, and Harry Wildfire is another. You could not have been a direct heir to the rich old *eoon , “1 was as near as this b g boy. But the old man took a fancy to his college-bred nephew, and left me out in the cold.” “Wheh!” whistled Luke. ‘The cow jumps to that tune, hey? Why sell me, if that don’t leave my puny five hundred all in the shade. But is there no pene! in the fence? Were you sold out as square as I was?” “Hardly,” replied Mark, showing his white Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. Their voices fell, as the subject of conversation became more confidential. Several minutes of low, earnest talk followed, in which the you man seemed eagerly impressing certain distasteful views on his comrade. ** No, U'li be flummuxed if I do!” exclaimed Luke, striking his hand vigorously on the table. “ It's got to be a square set-to, and no beating round the bush. You can back me up against any thing but the law. But [I’m off the rede 4 when the law is entered for the race. If it was a square-up bout with fists, now, I'd like nothing better than to take some of the con- ceit out of him.” ait You? Why he'd polish you down in a twink- “Let him try it on!” cried Luke, furiously, as he rose from his chair. isin English oak.” He walked toward the bar at the same instant that two young men entered the door of the tap- room. A glance revealed to the previous occupants of the room who they were. The shorter figure was that of Ben Huntly,of the Vesta Boat Club. The other was Will Wilciire, his late opponent in the race. They were laughing, and seemed the best of friends, as they stepped up to the bar. “ Here’s better luck next time, friend Huntly,” cried Will, cheerily, as they took up their wine- glasses. ‘‘ You would have beaten me as it was if you hadn’t wasted your strength too soon. I played an old Yale trick on you.” , “That won't do, Will,” returned Huntly. ‘It was a fair defeat. But I don’t give up the glove yet. Here’s fortune,” The two young men lifted their of the angry looks cast upon them occupants of the room, Luke's eyes glared, as he caught sight of the per- son against whom he cherished such fierce resent- ment. As for Mark Preston, he sat back indolently ouniog We mustache, yet casting a significant loo at his bluff comrade as he covertly pointed at Will. The latter had jusi lifted his glass to his lips, when his elbow was jolted with a force that sent the wine over his clothes, and over the tap-room floor. Turning instantly on his heel he saw before him the face of his opponent in the wager, with a look upon it which showed that there was design, not accident, in the assault. The red blood flushed in an instant to the boy’s fresh cheeks. “You have had the wine,” he ejaculated. ‘ You can have the glass.” In an instant the empty glass was flung with a sure, guick aim. It would have struck full the in- eulting face before him, but for a hasty stoop on the Englishman’s part. As it was it took off his hat in its flight, and splintered into a thousand tinkling ingeees against the opposite wall. 4 t's for you, for an awkward fool, or an insult- ing rascal!” cried Will. All right, my handsome covey,” exclaimed Duke, doubling fists, and advancing upon his lighter built opponent. ‘Only nobody don’t fling ne-glasses at me, and get off with whole skins. Square yourself, for I’m f° ng to settle your bacon.” ‘Come, come; none of this,’’ said Huntly. ‘Let us go, Will. We don’t want any squabbles with ay, he y, if he is so anxious,” replied Will, leaning indolently against the bar, an fixing his eyes calmly upon his furious opponent. “I’ve shown my hand, and [ am the boy to back it up.” t was evident that Luke was a practiced boxer, by his mode of approach. Huntly grew doubtful of the result, as he noticed the difference in size of the two oppcnents, and Will’s apparent ignorance of the art of self-defense. “Stand back!’ he cried, sternly. “If you touch lasses, heedless y the previous him you have me to settle witn.” “Oh, leave him alone, Huntly,” enjoined Will, p pees . “Tf he’s so hot for satisfaction let the poor evil have what he can get of it.” Luke, yet more furious at this sarcastic defiance, struck a fierce blow at the open face of his youth- ful —. But the result was remarkably different from what he had anticipated. Although Will had seemed off his , yet his keen eyes had not for a second left those of his antagonist. In an instant his right arm was > in defense; a quick side thrust had warded off the stroke, and then his own left hand shot out like an arrow. The blow struck Luke fairly in the forehead, and if it had been a stroke from a hammer he could not have gone down more we? “First knock-down for ildfire,”’ cried Will. “You see, Huntly, that rowing muscle is good ina scrimmage.” Huntly, astonished at this result, laughed, and suddenly changed his opinion as to Will's boxing ca ae: Th out! He's up again!” cried Will’s com- e. It was with the ferocity of a maddened bull that Luke now rushed at his quiet opponent. But he had learned, by sad experience, to be more wary and for several minutes blows were excha ed without any advantage on either side, Will showing * He will find what stuff there : “Tt don’t do to row against Yale, you see,” reminded Will, tnrning and casting a glance toward Mark Preston, who had sat unmoved, his eyes alone taking part in the combat. Will slightly started, as he apparently recognized him. He said nothing, however, quietly draining his glass. “Well, shall we vamose the ranch, Will?” asked Huntly. ‘‘ Or does this spert want more polishing?” **No, I think he has his rations for to-day,’ laugh- ed Will. The two young men had been gone several minutes before the fallen bu)ly recovered his senses. He sat up on the floor, still dazed, and looking around him with a stupefied aspect. Mark Preston now rose, and lent him his hand to assist him to his feet. “There is another. debt you owe Will Wildfire,” insinuated the young man. ‘ You can putthat along wit. your lost wager.” “May I be switched if I ain’t your man, Mark Preston,” cried the whipped bully. ‘Say the word and ['ljoinyou. Anything to beat this young bully.”’ CHAPTER Il. THE BALL AT THE ACADEMY, TuE silvery tones of the music throbbed and pulsed, kept time to by the beat of dancing feet, as the whirling waltzers went, in giddy mazes, round and round the broad floor of the Academy of Music; while hundreds of strange figures roamed hither and thither, inclosed within the broad circle of dancers, For it was the first grand fancy dress ball of the season, one of those hilarious German festivals in which the spirit of oddity reigns supreme lord of the occasion. Every conceivable costume adorned the merry participants in the mirthful scene; some rich in texture, and in harmonious keeping with the character; others ridiculously odd and grotesque. Knights and clowns, kings and jesters, Gipsies and savages, demons and harlequins, and other inde- scribable characters, wound out and in through the crowded maze, in a brilliant confusion of color and glitter of gems. And add to this the tones of a thousand busy voices, the constant ring of merry laughter, the echeing harmony of the music, and the well-timed fall of dancing feet, and we have a scene loug to be re- membered. Above shone the mvultitudinous lights of the grand chandelier, pouring down its luster like a midnight sun; from the galleries looked down a thousand pleased faces; on the stage was set the scene of oa undred-columned temple of the past, seeming to ex- tend the dancing floor interminably bavkward; and the interweaving of rainbowed color and jewelcd light from the thronged parterre, formed a most magnificent vision of splendor and festive gayety. On the dancing floor mirth reigned supreme. ‘The various we characters each sought to keep up the spirit of his assumed form. Here a sibyl vis reading the palm and telling the fortune of a grave old Roman. There a jester, with cap and bells, par ried jokes, or told merry truths, to all he met; yonder an almond-eyed Chinaman chattered ‘pigeon En. glish” to a pen fete Indian, magnificent in plumes and vari-colored blanket. And here lords wandered arm in arm with market women, or slip- pered pantaloons with glitte Columbines; while elsewhere one might see a jest clown graciously smiled upon by a bejeweled duchess. One character—a tall, graceful figure, attired ina suit of chain armor, whose polished rings glittered, and tinkled like silver bells at every tread*-had just broken through the circle of dancers, and was wall:- ing listlessly through the laughing crowd, nothing of his visioned face visible el a of keen eyes, and the lower part of a well-rounded, unwhiskered face. “Why so melancholy, Sir Knight?’ came a voice in hisear. “‘ Have you just escaped from the grave of ——— that you wander like a shadow through ca in Sehtly. figure quickly turned behold be- e knightly ly turned to ) side him a slender, graceful woman’s form, dressed to represent the ‘* Queen of Night,” while a vail that 8 led with stars fell to her waist, age only the faintest outlines of the face, and the dim glow uf laughing eyes. “War is for Knights, not laughter,” came back in deep tones. “ Chivalrous rete ho not gleeful sports. Fair mistress Night, if you hold beneath your shadowy canopy any maiden in distress, then call upon my sword for rescue.” “| fear it will not come," replied the musical voice. “You are already pl What is this silken scarf upon your left arm?” ¥ “He is sold!” cried a jesting voice near them. “He is sold, and a woman has bought him. Trust him not, fair. Your belted Knights are sore deceivers.”’ “Not I,” stoutly returned the Knight, addressing the Harlequin-like figure. ‘This is but my pledge to an adventure yet to be achieved. It is no bond to any lady love.” “T trust you not, Sir Knight,” rejoined the me Queen of ight ‘I have the eyes of a seeress; can read the ‘Forget me not ’so deftly hidden within that silken badge.” The Knight gave a start of surprise, till. his armor rung with a sudden clash of silvery sound. His keen = sought in vain to read the face of the vailed y. “How know you that?” he cried. “* You cannot read what lies on the inside of this knotted ribbon?” “Aha! sir lover! Have I touched you there?’ and & merry laugh came from the vailed ups. “ You ; teeth, ere’s a way of tting even. Just | a little hitch in the will, you know. But can | trust | ail the skill of a practiced boxer. = in again—this ou : this Well, if you can’t, Then that steel-like left arm time on Luke's temple. He fell like a log to the ? * What! chap? | floor, stunned and insensible. ¢ there 8 no use talking! Idon’t like himforaha’-| “1 heve, [guess that mill's over,” remarked Will, peuny. | cleeriiy, “Til.have another glass of wine, landlord, | know not all my power. I will read a chapter from I may need a friend, you see,” and the soft voice | mins got somehow spilt. Fill up again, Huntly.” your pst,” took its most insinuating tone, while a eat-like glare | 9. “Seme\wang besides the wine got spilt,’’ rejoined Sle: .zed his hand, and bent her face over the } shone in the half-lifted graybyes, ie Givi, she ung. lines npou his palm. as if eagerly studving them. ‘
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} ! } 4. W ill Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. “T see,’ she said, in a low tone, ‘‘a great con- course of people, the gleaming surface of a broad river, two slender boats flying beneath the forms of vigorous rowers! They reach their goal! Shouts {.> 2 a thousand voices greet the winner! He turns his boat lightly to the land! A bouquet of flowers fails from the cliff to his feet! He presses it grate- fully to his lips, as he lifts his eyes toward the un- known giver. But she has gone, and only the flowers, tied with ‘Forget me not’ ribbon remain in bis hands,” Her voice grew low and earnest as she repeated these words with the gravity of a sibyl. * Are you a witch?” he exclaimed. ‘‘Or no—you were there! You know me! I must see your face.” ‘*Hold,” she continued, ‘‘I am not yet done. There is more here. I see foes surrounding you, dangers threatening you. You will have to pass turough many perils. You must be wise, brave and discreet.” “Those are the virtues of a Knight,” he replied. “IT fear no foes. And nowshall L not see the charm- ing face which you keep so cruelly vailed?” “T have warned you to be discreet,” she answer- ed. “ You must not know me. There are reasons pi Ae knowledge of my face might double your dangers.” “T know you,” the Knight rejoined, with a laugh of triumph. “* I saw the face of the lady from whom eame this silken scarf. I can see the same eyes burning through that starry vail.” “Trust not a woman's eyes,’ sung a gay voice near them. ‘They are deceivers ever. Beware, Sir Knight, or the Lurli will have thee in her toils.” The Knight cast his eyes toward the singer. It was a bright, merry-faced maiden, dressed in the cos ume of the peasant girls of the Rhine, her flaxen hair dressed with clusters and leaves of the vine. It was but a momentary glance, but when he turned again to his companion she had ee In vain he sought to pierce with his eyes the wan- dering SEINE, no trace of her was visible. She had been suddenly swallowed up in a maelstrom of living forms. “Trust her not, she is aig thee,” sung the merry-German maiden. **‘ Turn hither, Sir Knight; only the blind follow the fleeing. Turn hither, and heed not the false and fitful.” With a gesture of disappointment the Knight turned toward the singer. He was-evidently vexed that he had not penetrated the disguise of the vailed sioyl. Was she indeed the lady of the cliff, he asked himself doubtfully. Suddenly throwing off this momentary gee he seized the hand of the pretty German girl, calling out merrily: “There starts the music again. Let us join in the dance. It is for the young and the gay; for the grape-blossom of the Rhine.” “And for the mate ade of the Delaware,’ returned the girl, with a signi cant look. He started again in surprise. “Does ‘all Philadelphia know me?”’ he asked him- self. ‘‘I did not fancy that a boat race would make one so famous.”” Will Wildfire—whom his knightly disguise had failed to conceal—led_ his new partner, nothing toth, to where new circles were whirling in the giddy mazes of the waltz. In a moment they two were in the heart of the dance, his linked armor yielding a tinkling sound at every step upon the elastic floor. He was an easy and graceful dancer, while his partner, whose face still wore its gay smile, responded in perfect accord to his every movement. The eyes of the lookers-on were soon drawn to this new pair, as the most graceful dancers upon the floor, following them as they whirled round and round, in the ardent circles of the waltz, Will’s armor ringing in silvery response to every aa The smile passed from his partner’s face. It gave way to an eager, flushed look, a warm, intense ex- ression, as the excitement of the dance set the lood flowing in pulsing currents through her veins. The music grew quicker, the waltz more rapid. Round and round went the giddy circles, intertwin- ing like a, living web of rainbowed meee and eye-en- trancing motion. Round and round, while hearts beat and eyes gleamed with excitement, and the music seemed to grow mad with the same intensity that possessed the dancers. And suddenly the instruments ceased. A eeonge silence fell, The dancing circle as suddenly broke asunder, and in a moment more was mingled in the strolling mass, quick breaths and flashing eyes alone remaining of the late giddy motion of the waltz. Will walked away with his partner, gayly convers- yng. “Where shall I take you?” he asked. “Here, to the left, are my friends. And now, Sir Knight, may I speak one word in your ear?” “Two. Twenty. Two hundred,” Will gallantly replied ‘* Whatever you deign to say I be hap- py to hear.” “ Beware the Queen of Night,” came in whispered accents in his attentive ear. “But why?’ he asked surprised. ‘“ Who is this Queen of Night? You know her, Tell me who she * Hal 1 see you are in her toils already. Beware! beware! Take care! take care! Trust her not, she is fooling thee!” The voice, suddenly resuming its mi tone. broke into song on these last words, while the light form moved away from his side, ina ree g id- ing motion. Wil stood with a sort of d ook, watching her as she sunk and aeeppeties into the dense throng. He felt no desire to follow ber. And et, there was something very attractive in her bright young face; something more than the simple German deeper, fuller expression, of higher culture, of more polished address. Will felt instinctively that she was playing a part easant she represented; something of in her dress which she could not play in her soul; | that there was more in her than appeared on the surface. He walked through and through the room, listen- ing to and taking part in the merry talk and laugh- ing jests, and occasionally indulging in a gay flirta- tion, or in a mocking banter, with some of the lively merrymakers on the floor. “*T wonder what as become of my friends?” he | asked himself, moving toward a portion of the room | that was comparatively deserted. Here, with a sense of pleasure, he caught sight again of the “‘Queen of Night.” She was standing in what seemed earnest conversation with a slender- ly-built figure, dressed in the costume of a courtier of the Elizabethan age. The sound made by his armor attracted her at- tention, and she turned with a quick motion toward him, extending her hands witha gesture of appeal. * Protection, Sir Knight-errant,”’ she said, with more of earnest than of jest inher tone. ‘“‘Itis your duty to render aid to the distressed. I crave your protection from this discourteous courtier.” “Tt is yours,” Will warmly replied. ‘Your foes are mine; and he who assails you shall have me to answer to.” f She glided away, but Will felt a warm grasp of her hand as she did so, given perhaps in response to the earnest meaning in his voice. “It is one thing to insult a woman, It is another to face a man,” was Will’s stern address to the masked re before him. “You had better take warning, my steel-coated friend, and not meddle with me,” came back, in bit- ing sarcasm. “There are those ready to take “p every quarrel, and who get more kicks than half- pence for their pains.” “ Bravely said,” answered Will, haughtily. ‘‘ Are you ready to administer the kicks? Or to defend ourself in any other mode?” “*T will defend myself in my own time, and in my own way,” was the fierce reply. ‘* And Tam not to be browbeaten by any bravo, or meddling ruffian.”’ “Bravo in your teeth!’’ cried Will, in an angry tone. “And if you want further warrant for de- fence, here it is for you.” He struck his foe a light blow in the face, delivered with the back of his hand, ge with sufficient force to foosen the mask and tear it from its fastenings. ‘* Aha!l’’ exclaimed Will, in astonishment, as the falling mask revealed the countenance before him. “So @ is you, Mark Preston! Itis you who oblige ladies %e seek protection from insult!” : “Yes, it is I,’’ was the bitter answer. ‘‘ And I know wae Will Wildfire, in spite of your masked face. You can safely dare me to a battle with fists, or any such work of roughs, But I do my fighting with other weapons; and I will be even with you yet for this blow.” His face was purple with anger, as he picked up his fallen mask and turned to walk away. ‘““Whenever you will and wherever you will,” answered his opponent, hotly. ‘By fair means or foul. Ifear you not, and am ready to meet you in oe ou attempt to practice.” ill haughtily walked away from the spot of the encounter, and mingled again with the mass, seek- nie in vain, for the vanished form of the ‘* Queen of Night.” CHAPTER IV. IN THE OLD TENANT HOUSE. We must now betake ourselves to a locality out- side the city limits, though in its immediate vicinity. It is a rambling old mansion, to which additions at ees periods have Ge a eee ee yt picturesque appearence. one extremity the ivy of a century’s wth mantles and conceals the original wall, while at the other the brand of new- ness marks the work of a very recent addition. It is one of those edifices which have grown as a tree ws, by successive branches, and which dis- pee tastes and needs of generations of occu- pan The grounds around it are partly pleasure parterres and ly farm lands, the latter spre out widely beyond the road in front, while the former extend around the house, and down to the narrow and wind waters of a stream, known as Darby Creek, which borders the estate to the north. Such is Wildflower Hall, as it is known to the fee le of the vicinity. It is now the arte. of Will il who has but satay succeeded to the estate pF death of his peculiar old uncle, the news of whose decease in a foreign land had reached America, shortly before the opening of our story. The brightly colored tober woods are lendi their charm to the surrounding landscape, as Will, | from the interior anda up of his friends, a and chatting on the of the house, and stand smo porch in front. ‘** A mighty clever drop you have made,” remarked Ben Huntly, who had become a warm friend of Will’s. ‘‘l know an uncle or two that I would be willing to spare, if I could exchange them for a relic of the old times like this.” * And not wet many handkerchiefs with tears, eh, Ben?” asked Pierce Browning, an indolent-looking fellow, of gigantic build, “ But it is not every chap that is born to good luck.—Is that one of your Jevng) Will? He looks as if he wanted to know you again.’ * “Tam not anxious to return the compliment,” answered Will, gon cour These words referred to a sinister aspect, who had stop rson of somewhat at the gate in pass- . ing, and was looking at Will with a peculiar inten- sity of expression. “Do you allow shooting about here?” asked Hunt- 29 ‘*T would like to go gunning after such game as that, if it flew around my preserves.” “ Oh, I suppose it is some one of the neighbors, who wants to get acquainted,” remarked Will care- lessly, turning his back to the road, and puffing a cloud of smoke from his cigar. 2 After a moment the man walked on, disappearing behind the thick bushes that bordered the road. “This way, boys, if you want to see the place,” said Will, leading down the ner to the porch, “People brag about the grounds of Wildflower Hall; but for my pert I remember very little about them.”’ They walked around for an hour or two, finding much to admire, and some little to criticise. The winding, bushy walks, and the magnificent trees that here and there rose in green open spaces, led to a beautiful declivity, by whose foot wound in @ graceful curve the bri at waters of the creek, the ground being terraced down to its banks. But there was one thing they failed to see, and this was that a pair of sinister eyes followed their every movement, and that a lur form glided from bush to bush, as if with no friendly intent. There was some hidden treachery in the air, of which the jesting young men remained in careless unconsciousness. - “It’s mighty fine,’ said Pierce, in indolent praise, as he blew the smoke in clouds from his lips.‘ But not half so pretty as the field of a billiard board. Let us get back to the house. I don’t believe Iam given to nature. I would sooner get my feet up on your porch railing and talk.” es! meditate on your sins, I suppose,” laughed untly. “Sins!’? echoed Will. ‘‘He has no sins, except a love of cigar smoke, and a weakness for prett girls. And there is nothing in that needing repent- ance.” ‘He has the sin of size and laziness,’’ remarked another of the party. ‘‘ Come, let us relieve our giant of the vexation of walking.” Pierce laughed good-naturedly at these remarks. **Go on,” he said, turning toward the house. ‘It amuses you, and it don’t hurt me.” “*T must bee you to excuse me for a few minutes," explained Will. ‘I have a short errand down this way, at my tenant house. Make yourselves entirely at home; I will join you soon.” “Had you not better have company?’’ asked Pierce. “It might be dangerous for a new-fledged on like you to wander alone through these desert Ss. “Tf I fail to return in due time you can send out pene! parties, or drag the creek for me,” laugh ed Willin reply. ‘“‘It would be positively crust to draw our friend Pierce away now, with that lazy yawn on his lips.” Will turned aside with a gay laugh, making his way toward the open fields, while the remainder o the party strolled slowly back toward the house, And the lurking form which had been eracking them step by step, and had approached close enoug to hear these last words, now glided copay away, masking himself behind bushes and borde hedges. Ina few minutes he had regained the road, showing the face of the man who had been lately observed watching Will from the gate. Here he was joined by two other men. ‘It’s all boozy,” he cried, in hasty accents, ‘‘ The cat’s got her nose in the bag. We've wy! got to pull pj Track’s the word, lads, and let out’s the style.” e next moment they hurried rapidly away, Meanwhile Will, all unconscious of these signifi- eant movements, was slowly making his way through the grounds, his eyes wandering here and por as he took in the general features of his new ate. Passing through a wicket gate he entered the open fields, and walked toward a low brick house, which stood on an elevated spot by the roadside, about a quarter of a mile distant. I hope it is in fair order for the new tenant,’’ he said to If. ‘ Butif it has been empty so long I suppose there will be some repairing necessary.” was quiet and forlorn about the empty tenant- house as he 9 ape pipe The wild-grown and weeds, the dusty and desolate aspect of the place, gave him a sensation of distaste. tramps.” The interior of the house was dismally silent, as he walked through the empty rooms, in some of which a few articles of furnifure remained. There was something so dismal and solitary, and so distressingly shadowy and silent, about the closed house, that he felt himself involuntarily wishing he had brought his friends with him. “It would be enough to give an owl a fit of the blues,” he muttered, as he ascended to the upper floor and walked through its several rooms, Yet there were noises here which he had not heard below—peculiar creakings, as if the house was set- tling bodily downward; and sounds as of suppressed breathing, as though the ghost of some former in- mate was present yet in the empty rooms. “Ugh!” said Will, with a shiver, as he opened the door of a back room. He hastened across the floor and threw open a window —s some tent the damp apart- ment. Some pieces of furniture remained in this room—a table and two or three chairs. Will seated himself on,one of the latter, and looked critically round.
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w dusting-brush and the broom, with the aid of a little sunlight,” he soliloquized. But now the creaking noises suddenly increased. They rose into steps, into a rushing sound that made Will start in surprise. In an instant the room was violently invaded, not by ghosts, but by living men. Will leaped to his fset as the intruders sprung upon him. A single glance told him that there were three of them, A aick blow from his clenched fist stretched one of em prostrate at his feet. But they had taken him too much by surprise for any effective resistance. him and hampered his limbs in their grasp; one—a ¢ t “T hardly think there is much needed besides the The other two leaped upon | small-built man—springing like a cat upon his back, | while the other seized him in front. Another feature of the case had been caught by Will’s quick eyes. They were all closely masked. All this had taken but a second. Hes led vio- lently, but three to one, and that one at a disadvan- tage, was no fair odds. The man he had floored rose | at once, and in an instant had drawn and bound his | arms behind him. The next moment he was forced into a chair, one of the brigands presenting a pistol at his head, while the others tightly bound him to the chair. “Try to call for help, and 1 will send a bullet through you,” hissed the man in his ear. “ What does this outrage mean?” asked Will, hot- - “Tf it is my purse ne want, take it and P+ er rascals, you dared not give me a air ow.”’ “We want something more than your ee said the man, sarcastically. ‘Though I won't mind tak. ing a litle remembrance out of that. Just a slight stake you owe me,” He extracted the purse from the young man’s pocket, as he spoke, and examined its contents, He care se ted a part of these, and replaced the remainder, throwing the purse upon the table. “Well?. What next?” asked Will, with great com- mand of his temper. “Only a trifle of satisfaction,” returned the speaker of the villains. “‘ You have paid me for my trouble. But I owe you a little debt which I want to pay you.” ia * Gonsive you the debt,” remarked Will, with an effort to srpcer at his ease. on ou,’ the man fiercely ma = I t ——- re making a sign Ss companions. ae minute more they had torn off the boy’s coat and'v and down his shirt, revealing the skin of his back in its naked luster and muscu- e 1 to one of the others, and drew from under coat a short, thick- lashed whip. ‘*A blow fora blow! Thatisthe measure of the Jewish law,” he satirically said, as he drew this cruel- looking weapon between his hands. Will looked, with an involuntary, shiver, on the whip in the hands of this stalwart villain. He next looked at the pistol, held within six inches of his tervaple. 2 Xu ” he remarked, setting his teeth grim- ly, “It is your day now. But mine will come, You have your Ly dap of the three hundred and sixty-five; it will be odd if 1 can’t have mine out of the remainder. I warn you in advance that if ie strike me with that whip — shall bitterly rue it." A scornful laugh came from the man’s lips. He drew back his hand, the lash whizzed a moment in jhe air, and came down with a cruel thud on the white flesh beneath it, cutting a deep red swath. “One,” said Will, without a groan, though his ton were clenched together like a vice, ‘ wo,”’ “ B*? The whip n and again descended, cutting a red welt with each blow, “That's one for each of you. I will remember the debt I owe you,” and the brave boy had a look upon his face that boded ill for his tormentors when his turn should come. “ Our debt is not yet paid,” cried the man, again raising the cruel lash. CHAPTER V. A FAIR EQUESTRIENNE. * Now I didn’t want to stir up our friend Wildfire’s de,” remarked Pierce Browning, * but I will say, tween ourselves, that be has a deuced pretty place here. If he wants to exchange I'll ie with him, even up. He sat with his chair tilted back at a dangerous angle, his feet on the rail of the porn, and his hat drawn down over his eyes. The smoke curled in lazy wreaths from his lips as he spoke. "I think Will ought to know that there's such an offer open to him,” replied Harry Waters, er of the party. “‘I mma Oe d jump for it as a mon- key jum ‘or a peanut. ¢ Ade weatitor a bowl of milk,’ suggested Huntly, laughing. “I am surprised to see such an instance Self. m “Oh! I’ve spent all my life giving myself away to m ’ rejoined ‘ierce, with a air. say much to Will about it. It might 1 with his country farm. “Which isn't his in good earnest yet,” suggested “Hey? what's that?” cried Pierce. ‘Not hist at there any break in the title?” ‘His uncle died abroad, you know. And the will was found his effects. It has not yet reached aanerees wnd our boy is only holding on the strength pete Ve ” ; “Yes. The dead man’s papers were examined a@ confidentia! friend, who accompanied him. lie | > has telegraphed the fact that Will is made full heir Huntly deftly caught it ill Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. of Wildflower Hall. He will be in this country soon with the papers.” “Wheh! cried Pie: e. ‘“ He’s only an heir by telegraph then? If I v.ere in his place I wouldn't spread myself too much. 8 on A: some flaw in the will; or a later one come to light?” ; ; ; ; had been deepened by 5 “Thanks, “A pistol is often of more an extra man.” e said. use thap Th xt instant the two were off, hastening to the gate, and down the road toward the house that stood Suppose there should | prominent on a risin ground in the distanee. : The doubts which they stil! entertained, and which ierce’s distrust, were sudden- “Te would be blamed awkward for Will,” replied ly dispelled on entering the door of this house by the tones of voices within it, followed by a peculiar ' sound, whose character they could not comprehend. Huntly. “ But it won’t turn out so. He is too open. handed and whole-souled a fellow for bad luck to chase in that way. Luck can’t turn on a chap that handles an oar like him.” “That's so, Ben. I wasn’t at the race. But they say he discounted you.”’ * Hardly,” answered Huntly, dryly. **I thought I had a greenhorn, and got bit; that was all." ‘And could have beaten him, of course, if you had only seen his game,” “I don’t say that,”’ rejoined Huntly, a little angry at the concealed sarcasm of Pierce’s words. He rose and paced the porch somewhat impa- me “What in the world keeps him?” he said. “He has been gone the big end of an hour." Here he comes!” cried Harry ‘* Or somebody who is in a great hurry.’”’ He referred to the sound of a horse's hoofs. which now rose distinctly upon the still air. It seemed to be approaching at full speed. y t comes up the road; not down,” remarked Huntly. ‘It is not from Will's direction.” The horse came momently nearer and nearer. Huntly, who was standing at the end of the porch turned his 5 An down the road. “Hallo! It’s a woman!” he cried. *‘ But isn’t she a glowing old rider! The horse is making his best tracks, and she sits the saddle like a centaur.” All but Pierce rose at these words, anxious to ob- serve this bold equestrienne. But the lazy giant re mained seated, apparently more interested in his omer than anything else mundane, 1e long striding black horse thundered up to the front of the mansion. Instead of , however, it was drawn up to a full stop by the strong hand of its rider, whose disengaged hand was extended with a beckoning gesture to standing on the porch. Ben Huntly hurried down toward the gate, His eyes were fixed with surprise and admiration on the features of the fair horsewoman, who sat her horse like a statue of grace, flushed, and doubly beautified by the warmth of exercise. He could not but ac- knowledge to himself that she was superbly beauti- ful, with her fresh young face, her red, poutin lips, and the blue luster that burned in her eyes. wealth of soft, brown hair, loosened by the violence of the ride, drooped fully over her temples, adding, a new, unstudied charm to her enly beauty. The bores | ope chog and palpitated beneath her stately form, but she sat unmoved, her only expres- sion one of excitement and poy “Mr, Wildfire!” she cried out tily, as Huntly drew near. “Ts he in the house? I must see him at once,”’ “T am sorry to say he is not,” replied Huntly. “ But he will return in a few minutes. Will you not ride in and wait?" “No, no!” she anxiously exclaimed. “ Excuse my abruptness; but where has he gone? There must be no delay.” “He waiked over the farm, toward his tenant ouse. “He is in danger! great danger!’ was her excited answer. ‘Foes who have sworn to i him are even now upon his track! He may be in their toils even while we speak! I have ridden here to warn him. Will you not at once follow him to this house? He may be in need of your aid.” “Of course,” rejoined Huntly, “if the danger is as real as ony say. But, how can you know of the a of his enemies?” “Tt is a that I know. It matters not how,” she impatiently answered, “ Will you go to his res- cue? or must I in person?” ** Of course I will go!” cried the you = | would go through fire and water for him.” **and—one word more,” she hesitatingly spoke. “T beg that you will not describe me to any one. There are reasons—I am myself in danger.” “Trust to me,” rejoined Huntly earnestly, pleased to be made the confidant of so beautiful a woman. ‘And I will instantly haste to seek him,” “Thanks! A thousand thanks!” The drawn rein wasloosened, The impatient black horse mach off in eager flight. Ina moment more the beautiful vision had disappeared, only the dis- tant thud of hoofs remaining to tell of her existence. Huntly looked after her for a minute, and then hastened back to the house. “T have been warn- o p ed that Will Wildfire is in great Sanger. He may be now in the hands of his enemies. o is with me hats a mighty tin Piece, “ ‘s to: Nag - erce, n- neh 44 mighty story,’ replied “Thin or not, [am pl man. ou, Harry, are you with me?’ oy You bet!” cried active young man, down the steps. “Tam on no such wild goose business,” remark “The girl is making game of “Very well. We will prove ws < Swer with - sis of vexation. m claimed Pieroe. you. You ma ve C) Tfe. flung towaid Huntly a small revolver, he had drawn from a rear pocket Some hobgoblins to shoot,” | | ’ ed to prove it. What | ores, 2 ed | “T am and Huntly — street, while the surroundings, , don’t be going off angry. ex. | there was about them an had better take this with eral tastefulness in the whole aspect of the rec Meanwhile, in the room up-stairs, the scene which we have already described was being enacted. The bared back of the young athlete, with its rl white skin . cut and bleeding from the erce lash, appeaicd in vain to the rancor of his enemies. The pistol at his temples still threatened him with death if he should seek to give an alarm, while the lash was again lifted in the air, in the strong hands of his implacable foe. But Will sat with the stoicism of an old Roman. He had nerved himself to the infliction, and would have died rather than let these ruffians see him flinch from pain. “Go on!” he said sternly, ‘But remember that every blow shall be bitterly revenged. Think not that you can hide yourself from me behind your masks, I will find you, and will fully repay you for this compe GA ~ A bitter, disdainful laugh came from the lips of the aires, * When your day comes,” he said. “It is our day now. Why doyou not flinch, blast — Why do you not beg to be released, or ery for 8 “* Because I would die first,” replied Will stoutl though his young heart swelled as though it w burst its bonds. ~ You may call. I hardly think aid will come,” re- turned the ruffian, again lifting the whip, which he had lowered during this dialogue. ** You lie! you infernal hound! whoever you are!” thundered fierce accents from behind the locked door, pen was grasped and violently sbaken at this instant. The ruffian dropped his lash, and looked in alarm at his friends, the unmasked portion of their faces visibly Lae re in the light that entered through the open window. {he door was now violently struck and shaken. _ Ne or we will break it down!” was the cry. “Shall 1 settle him?’ asked the man with the pis- l. “No, fool! Do you want to bang for your pains?”’ cried the first speaker, snatching the pistol from his hands, ‘ Here are stairs. We must make tracks at once. That door will not stand a minute.” The smaller member of the trio, who had ke utterly silent during this scene, was the first to take this hint, springing like a cat for the stairs. He was followed hastily by his com panions. “Never mind the door!” shouted Will, as the blows on it redoubled. ‘Down-stairs with you! They are escaping! Head them off, and shoot them down like dogs if you cannot capture them.” As he spoke, however, the poorly-fastened door gave way) and was_ flung violently open, the forrs of Ben Huntly and Harry Waters rushing into the room “My God!” cried the latter in horror, as he ob- served Will's condition. ~‘ Look here, Ben, what the devils have done!” “Never mind me!” exclaimed Will. ‘‘After them! Don't let them escape!” The sound of the slammed doors helow was hear‘. Huntly ran across the room and threw up the ts h of the open window. The next instant the crack of a pistol! sounded, as he fired at the fugitives, who were runzing hastily toward a strip of woodland, about a hundred yards away. ‘His shot was followed by a quick leap back. A pistol cracked without, the bullet pas:ing the spot where he had just stood, and burying itself in the wall behind him. During this interchange of shots. Ha had drawn a knife, and released Wiil from with quick strokes of the keen blade. _ The Toon Tan sprung to bis feet,a revergeful light filling his face. He eagerly snatched the pistol from Huntly’s band, and ran to the window, which - latter had been dubious about again approe«h- ng. A quick aim, and a bullet again cut the air to- ward the fugitives. But they were too far dist: ot for a sure aim, end m a minute more buried thein- selves in the bushy borders of the wood. “The devils!" cried Huntly, “they have ent you : If r _ had cut to pi I - ey had cut me pieces I would follow them!” exclaimed Will, springing for the stairs. CHAPTER VI. HOW PIERCE BROWNING CAPTURED THE BRIDGE. “By the Liverpool steamer of the 10th Octobe he writes,” said a middle- yp BA Bm ino er a letter sheet which she held o in her And it is now the 20th. He should be here Waters is bonds springing ) within a week. “I hope so,” replied her young lady companion. certainly anxious to know what is to be the end of it all.” It was a small apartment, overlooking a narrew and the dresses of did not betoken great wealth. Yet air of culture, and a gen which spoke of = and of a h' es standing. The youn y was ve retty, an a genial 4 , though ber kaos closely reseatbled
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; ' Will Wildfire the Thoroughbr ed. nomena mera Na ao the izore sobered countenance of her elder com- panion, *“ Heigh-ho! I am tired enough of this sort offife,” she said, indolently playing her fan, and leaning back in her chair with a careless grace. ‘‘If some fairy would only put an end to it; or bring an en- chanted island along this way.” é: Lon od fairy is coming no.;—over the seas,’ was the reply. “What, he? Big-headed and big-footed Ralph Emerson? Hea fairy?” The young lady burst into a merry laugh. ‘‘Why, mother, if he was to set that foot o whole city of the dainty creatures at every step.” The mother laughed in response. “ He is a good soul, at all events. That you must acknowledge, Lucille. And he is bringing us a re- lease from this prison of poverty.” “T hope so,”’ replied Lucille, rather dubiously. She remained lost in thought for a minute, idly playing her fan. A shade of doubt came across her fair brow. “T do wish that boy was not living so wild a life,” she at. length said. ‘‘If something coull only be done to show him the danger of his course.” “T hardly think there can be anything positively bad in him.” “Perhaps not. But bad company is often worse than bad inclinations, You remember how I warned him at the ball at the Academy, when I was playing the pretty peasant girl. That mysterious woman who appeared there as the Queen of Night—I know she is seeking to entrap him in her toils.—If I could beeeneee the hidden mystery of her life!” “It was strange that Will did not recognize you on that occasion,” “But you know, mother, that he has not seen us for years,” “Why does he not seek us out?” rejoined the mo- ther, with a show of vexation. ‘I would not have dreamed of his being so neglectful.” “Tt is the Wild blood,” answered Lucille. “They Mans but one object at atime. Dissipation has hold of him now. He will follow it until some stronger par obtains control of him.” ich will be love, F rears ng said the mother. “That is, if your mysterious woman sifeceedsin en- trapping him.—But see here, child. I have not finished ph’s letter yet. Here is a postscript.” “Of course. He always puts his most important news in a postscript.” “ *T will not come at once to Philadelphia,’ he says. ‘JT have some business of my own to transact at Lan- caster, which I must attend to first. I—’” She was suddenly ante in her reading by & rust of air, which ente the open window, and caught the letter inan eddy from her loose grasp. 'Phe whirling wind whisked it out of the window, and down the rae Maa fom her efforts to catch it, ‘*Now that too bad!” she excitedly cried. “There was something else there of importance, but I only got a glimpse of it, Run after letter, Tithe pout lady bal’ aliedlt droppin e young lady y sprung u her Sony baad ea tela Berd és 4 in't of street, eagerly ¢ e r, her golden loosened and extended Penind her till she seemed a second Atalanta, But the wind was faster than she, She could see the light sheet flying like a winged creature ahead. She saw it finally descend into the grasp of an imp- = little black boy, who had preceded her in the chase. Instead of returning it to her, however, he looked round with a laugh of mocking trium h upon his Free Fg then darted like an arrow down a side street. Hastily capturing her escaped hair Lucille turned back, a look of great discomposure upon her face, “It is gone, mother,’ she cried, in a tone of in- tense vexation. “It has fallen into the hands of that little black imp, who has been ing around here like a a and whom we suspect to be em- ployed by ark Preston for some unknown pur- pose.” ‘*Now that is too bad, Lucille. It may be ruinous for Mark Preston to get that letter. You know his unscrupulous character. If he should meet unsus- ecting Ralph Emerson in Lancaster, and by some rick defraud him of his papers, particularly of old Harry Wildfire’s will—” “Something must be done!” exclaimed Lucille with great phe “Will Wildfire must be warned of the danger.—l must go to Lancaster myself.—If that will is destroyed, this villain may come in for the estate, under the old will.” ; ‘“* And we be robbed of our legacy,” added the ‘mo- ther. ae did not catch the remainder of the post- script?” ‘No. It was something about the papers. He ‘would leave them in the hands— The letter disap- peared when my eyes had got that far.” “T hope it may be in good hands,” exclaimed Lucille, seating herself at a desk, and commencing to write ape ogg a “T am to warn cousin Will against his enemy,” said, ‘But, we have too much at stake to trust all to him, I must go to Lancaster pe on ihe 20th, and be on the look-out for Ralph imerson, She continued to write vigorously. But we must return to the lazy giant, Pierce Browning, whom we }».' imdolently enjoying himself on the porch of Wildflower Hall. He had lit another , and was puffing the smoke .n clouds into the fresh October air. “Was there ever the like of those ridiculous boys?” he soliloquized, letting a waving circle of his in fairy land, he would smash a | vapor ascend from bis lips. dead scent. Thope Ben Huntly won't put a builet in himself or some of his friends, Hey: y to trust that hair-trigge) pistolin his awkward ands.” Pierce ran his hand through his abundant hair, and sat musing, holding his cigar idly between his fingers, a deuced handsome woman that was! And, Jupiter, couldn’t she ride?’ was his next reflection. “Tt is lucky I have such long-range eyes. I made her out from the porch here, as clearly as Huntly did from the gate. It’s blamed odd what brought her here. I wonder if thee is any bottom to it, or if the Hit is a clean sell?’’ He got up and strode the porch rather restlessly, his heavy tread making the whole structure shake. “Oh, well, there’s enough anyhow! There’s Ben Huntly with ayms like steel bars; and Ha as spry as acat. Trust them to give a go of themselves against any fair odds.” He resumed his seat, and sat fora minute or two, using and smoking. “Hang it all! he exclaimed, suddenly, dashing tit cigar away asif it had burnt him. ‘ How is it when a thing like this gets into a chap’s mind it won’t let him alone, but must drag him asif he had a team of mules pulling him? It is like being drawn against one’s will, by invisible horses.” te got up and stretched his lazy length. “By thunder! I won't follow the boys to that house,”’ he ejaculated. ‘It would take the jaa off of them, and put it on me, if there’s nothing in this business. But I don’t see why I shouldn’t take a stroll around through that bit of woodland. A fellow interested in nature, as I am. And a sort of 0et, too, Yes, that’s it, 1 want to meditate on my ast poem,” With a laugh that seems to come up from the in- nermost depths of his chest, so deep and full was it, Pierce turned away from the porch, and walked big a decisive @tep toward the woodland in ques- on, This wooded’ strip bordered the creek, coming nearly to the garden wall, and ea Be a long curve ‘along the water-course until far beyond the tenant house, which it cote Ai hwy A narrow lane cut throug 8 center. a downward to where a slight wooden bridge c the creek, too narrow for bef but foot passengers. Pierce walked through the rustling leaves with which the ground was well carpeted, the October frosts having partly denuded the trees, and left an open view down the vistas of the wood. As he proceeded, under cover of the clustered trees, the elevated tenant house, which had been hid- den by a clump of low bushes, became visible to him. And his attention was particularly caught by a commotion which broke out at that moment. A group of men ran from the house, toward the shelter of the wood. At the same instant a face 7 persed at an open window. Crack after crack of od 1-shots resounded, the first face at the window ing replaced by another. ‘May I be everlastingly confounded!” he said Tee oe “if there ‘¢ business afloat there! And if I didn’t know those faces at the window, then my eyes don’t carry as far as I thought. These chaps that are on the run want a stop put to their little game, that’s clear. And it looks to me as if I was posted here to do it.” He stretched his ng frame as if he thought that Spe Sonn men one of him was only a fair match. “Where can IT head them off?’ he asked himself, es er ‘‘Ha! I have it! The bridge I saw below here! Ill bet a horse that is eh tfferes A are making for. Ho! for the bridge. The man there is the best.” He started to run through the woods with a spe of which his size did not give promise, not trou’ himself to run round bushes, but dashing throug: thick and thin lire an elephant let loose. : The ground declined rapidly toward the bridge, the wood opening out somewhat on this declivity. As Pierce reached this point, he saw the forms of three mea on the other side of the open lane, run- ning at speed for the same Lyre, iis One of these—a slight-built, agile form—was sev- eral yards in advance of the others. They saw pF at the same instant, and redoubled their efforts, But there was no indolence in the giant now. He put on his best eae, come down the hill in suc- cessive leaps, which seemed to carry him twenty feet at each jump. ** Hold, villains! Hold, rascals!” came from him, like puffs from a steam whistle. But, there was no idea of holding in their minds. The agile figure in front shot ahead like an arrow, side by side with his mighty competitor. The pen. was reached. Hed into it just ahead of Pierce, and barely beyond the reach of his hands, ‘Across the eiiee they dashed, the fugitive in ad- vance. Sudde ving up the chase, Pierce tried to sto and ea e remaining two vil . But it win Sa ann? in an instant, to overcome the impetus of ace <7 ig ond i ee e sprung w , gras tightly in, their ams, and makin strengous efforts to hurl him headlong over the sides of the bridge, into the deep 1 of water that lay below. But they Talculated without their host. Pierce’s bulk was not made up of fat, but of muscle, and his antagonists could no more*hold him than they could have held a lion, With a mighty effort he wrenched loose from their account ‘Off like spaniels on a | Waters | It was rather | grasp. and turned to face them, his deep breast eaving with the violence of the exertion, and his flashing eyes full of the spirit of the combat. ‘**So, my hearties, I am of the notion that you've — a Tartar,” he cried, grasping each of them by the throat, and paying no more heed to the blows which they rained upon him thanif they had been falling feathers. ‘*You want a little of the fun taken out of you,” he exclaimed, giving the slighter of the twomena vast impulse with his right hand, that hurled him over the unprotected side of the bridge into the deep water below f With a quick surge to the other side the more burly ruffian was hurled headlong into the same cool October pool. ““Where are they?” called the voice of Ben Hunt- ly, who had just ees on the bill. ‘Gone in for a free bath. You can fish them out if you want them,” P erce coolly replied. CHAPTER VII. WHAT CAME TO THE CONSPIRATORS. An hour afterward the form of the most agile of the three confederates appeared upon a lonely part of the Darby Road, some three miles’ from the city. ‘‘ By the blazes!’’ cried Mark Preston, for the un- masked face now showed who he was, “if those two clumsy-footed fools have been captured I pity them. l would not be in Will Wildfire’s hands, in that lone- ly wood, just now, for a barrel of silver.’’ He looked ns epee about him, as if not quite sure that the pursuit was over. _ “Td give something to be in the city,” he con- tinued. ‘‘ Here’s a three miles walk before me; or ‘ahalf hour’s wait for a street car—which I can’t venture on just now. Some of those devils may be still on my track." He turned with a quick start, as the thud of a horse’s hoofs rung from the road below him, In | dread that this was one of his foes, he had already sprung to the roadside, and was on the,point of climbing the fence into the adjoining field, when he = sight of the animal, just rounding a sharp bend in the road. “Well, [hardly think I willrun from a woman,” he said to himself, as a tall black horse, mounted by the Ee figure of a lady rider, came rapidly toward him. He looked n at the os equestrienne, and cried, with an accent of joy: “Fortune favors the brave! If it is not Clara, and her favorite epee | then I never saw them.—So,*m —_ you are out for an excursion, eh? Very well; I will relieve a of your responsibility.”’ A look of bitter malignity came upon his face. No one would have zed him now, in his rough dress, and sinister aspect of face, for the fopp exquisite which he usually appeared. Evidently Mark Preston could play two parts. He stationed himself in the center of the road as the black horse came near. ‘“Will you be kind enough to halt?” he loudly cried. “TI have a few words for you.” The lady looked apprehensively at this threatening figure, and seemed inclined to give reins to her horse and run him down. “Oh! it’sno tramp,” he exclaimed. ‘I think you might know me, Clara. And I have an idea that you may find it to your advantage to obey me,” A shudder shook the lady’s frame. Her face grew das marble. She drew up the trotting horse, ut with an air of a Evidently she did not dare to rebel against his command. He caught the bridle of the un steed, ween f holding him, and looking up with midlignant triump into her pale face. “So, my lady,” he said sarcastically, ‘you are out on a pleasure excursion, eh? I would like you to a what brings you around this way.” # inclination,’’ she ey shortly and coldly. “There was something else besides inclination,” he remarked suspicio . By Heaven, if I thought you were meddling with my work.—But you dare not.’ “Tt is no matter what I dare or dare not,” she ex- claimed. ‘Release my horse. I will not stand here to parley with, and be ited by you.” “Tam not quite ready yet, madam,” he sharpl: responded. ‘ You will be kind enough to dismoun’ immediately. I have need of this horse, You can get back to the city by the cars,” ** What, Mark mn!” she hotly cried, “ You would not be such a brute as to—” “Get down at once!” he interrupted, in a fierce tone. ‘Iam not much given to bandying words, as you know. I must have this horse.” “ But 1? she said in distress. ‘And in my riding —— Oh! hee: be so Tee i * Deuce e it, madam, what a y making about a trifle!’ he im tdentiy cried. by Take off your riding-skirt; or tuck it up; I don’t care how. I must have this horse; that’s the short of it!” - - hot flush of anger came into the face of the fair er. : “You shall not have the horse!’ was her stern nse. ‘“ Loose that bridle, sir, instantly!” respo' “Hallo! you are ‘going ‘to rebel, then, my Clara?” with a gesture of surprise and contem “Perhaps you forget whom a are dealing ? Tam not ready to Felease the bridle,” “Then take the whip!” she exclaimed, in hot St the same instant she brought. the iash down with a cut on his hand, With an exclamation of pain he loosened a oad the restless, trampling orse & , ' “you shall be sorry for this!’ was his furious ejaculation. long and '
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v ! Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. “T cannot be more sorry than for ever having seen ou,” she replied, turning her face toward him, eautiful in the flush of anger and the flashing sparkle of the kindled eyes. ‘* You cannot make me more unhappy than you have done; and you shall not make me a slave to your whims.”’ She waited for no reply. The impatient horse thundered off at a quick gallop toward the city, leaving him alone in the road, his face full of hatred and astonishment. “Sol she is turning under m grinding accents from his lips. “ escape me so easily?” He started to walk toward the city, following with angry eyes the lessening form of the black steed, until it ae ied from view at a curve of the road far ahead. : There was deep venom in the fierce oath that came from his vl oy as he pulled down his cap over his brows to avoid the rays of the lowering sun, and strode onward along the dusty road. He had proceeded about a mile in this manner, when he was overtaken by a street-car, of the half- hour line that ran to Darby from the city. An hour more had passed when Mark Preston appeared in West Spruce street, and entered a house situated upon the avenue. He was met just within the door by a mischiev- ous-looking mite of a black boy, his eyes like two a ee of chalk set in charcoal, but sparkling with the luster of delight. “*T’se got some’at, Marse Preston!” he ejaculated, with an impish laugh. “T’se done got some’at. Ain’t been scootin’ roun’ Missy Maynard’s house fur jest nuffin’. Oh, hoopee! but ain't I got some’at!” “‘The deuce you have!”’ replied Mark, to this un- expected outbreak. ‘‘What in the universe has the grinning hound got?” ‘ “De wind jest puffed um down de street, an I eotched um. An’, oh, my-ee! didn’t de young gal scoot arter um! But Pete was dar !” The boy broke into a dance of delight, as he held up a sheet of foreign-looking paper. “ What is it, boy? A letter.” “S*pec’ so. It’s all covered over wid pen scratch- es. §S'pose dat’s a letter?” Mark snatched it impatiently from his hand, and Soenes out the crumpled sheet, whose condition showed evident traces of rough ys , His eyes became fixed upon it ously, a look of ,excitement graduall i ee. into his face, as he | Pernaed Peaard WOR, te wlodiding’eoltiti. hia e ie nezro s n a stoop ure, } hands upon his knees, his gleaming ejes hited eager- ly upon the reader’s countenance, every expression of which was echoed in the boy’s face. “ By Jupiter! but this 4s a rich find!” cried Mark, in delight, as he finished reading the long epistle. “Tf we work our cards well, the game will pla straight into our hands. You're a jewel, Pete, and owe youa pal for ory a = sins “i 00 screamed the boy, nging ca) the ceiling, and leaping after it. ‘Pete knowed! You bet Pete knowed! My eye, Marse Preston, if you'd only ’a’ see’d de you al a-runnin’ arter um, wid her hair all loose, an’ de color ob a field ob corn-stalks. An’ if you'd ’a’ see’d Pete grab um, an’ scoot! Oh! lawsee! but it was de high ole fun!’ The imp danced again with a apa his midnight foot!’ came in oes she think to face distorted with laughter, until native ugliness WF a tamed hastily his eyes again fixed ark turn aw eyes on the captured letter. ~h f “The Germania should be in New York by the 25th, at the furthest,” he said. “But of course the papers will advise us of that. I must have my trap set in advance. Ralph Emerson goes straight to Lancaster, and will leave the co eee with Justice Esmond while he looks after own business, Why, he might as well leave them in my hands, I mere a& notion I can manipulate my friend, the ustice. : He walked back into the house, leaving Pete in- dulging in a series of gymnastic exercises in the marble-floored vestibule, But, while Mark Preston was falling heir to such a stroke of good luck, his abandoned friends were not faring so finely, If we return to the woodland adjoining Wildflower Hall, at a somewhat later hour than when we left it, matters in that locality will present themselves to us under a different aspect, To two smooth-trunked beeches, not far removed from the bridge, were tied the of two men, apparently these two companions of Mark Preston. But a! perp ty. -4 now mows. more clearly who they really we 6 one displayed the fea- tures of Luke Lister, the English =f from whom Will had won his wager on the day of the race. The other was the ill-favored countenance which had been seen, not lone before, spying through the gate of Wildflower Hall. And not only their faces, but their backs, were unmasked, they being sexipped to the waist; while the remainder of their clothes were §' ing wet, “If I'd had my way,” said Pierce Bro sour- ve been left to get out of the creek sail macy if one duty to ou out, I y it 1s You might take culd from this sharp with a hard look upon his Sie Me conded back was Thdden handsome from sight, but the pain showed itself in e ” he f “ has "Ken Huntly and Harry Watery stood beside the trussed-up ruffians, the first-named holding the whip which had been used on Will’s back, A revengeful light filled their eyes, as they re- membered how these ru had dealt with their friend. It was with no light weight that the whip in Ben’s strong grasp descended upon the bare shoul- ders of the sport. “One!”’ he cri 1. groan of pain came from the ruffian’s lips, Handing the whi his friend it was brought down with equal force on the shoulders of the second villain, who gave vent to a scream of Put the revengeful purpose of the friends of onl tortured youth was not so easily to be set aside. Blow after blow fell on the quivering flesh beneath them, until it was cruelly scored, and the blood flow- ray Piven t from the open wounds. t every cut a yell came from the lips of the less obdurate ruffian; but nothi could be wrung from the set ips of Will’s previous tormentor, “Ten!” cried Pierce Browning. “I think they are sufficiently punished. What say you, Will?” “Let the hounds go! Ten for three is good meas- ure’’ returned Will. ‘‘ When I have given the same enerous interest to their employer I fancy I shall eel satisfied. I hardly think these fellows will soon forget the feel of Wildfire justice.” “T have only one thing to say,’’ remarked Pierce Browning, as he loosened the bonds by which the two villains had been confined. ‘“‘ And that is, that if these i gg fall into my hands again vas | will not get out with a wetting and a whipping. I promise he pair some broken bones on our next meeting of this sort.” And the huge figure of the sseaker gave full war- rant that he was able to be as good as his word. Not a word fell from the lips of the Englishman as his punishers turned away; but his eyes were full of hate. His comrade was rolling on the grass in an agony of pain. age oer were seb to bee ee, shame, gad drag themselves painfully away from the t where out had so soon and so amply been followed by punishment, more than a groan CHAPTER VIII. A MATCH AT BILLIARDS AND AT FISTS. “I’p give my cap to know who that woman is,” said Will Wildfire, as he and Pierce Browning walk- ed down Chestnut street together, “I hate these confounded mysteries,” “Oh! bless the woman!” replied Pierce, sarcasti- cally. “Don’t worry your young head about them. Why a ~~ willis proved. His knowledge of it—the, ‘“icht go for nothing unless the will could be produced.” “T tell you what it is,” cried Pierce energetically, “that girl, whoever she is, has a level head. You had best lay your tracx for Lancaster, and take means to circumvent this worthy cousin of yours.” is my game for a thousand!” rejoined Vill. ** And now, let us have that game of billiards.” The young man laughed at the persistency of hik gigantic friend, and made no further objection to the~ proposed game. “You are a wise fellow,” remarked Will, as he took off his coat in the billiard room. “ Billiards is not one of my strong holds. You are going to beat me badly.” ““Why, of course Tam,’’ answered Pierce sti 3 ly. “tTonly pi en { have a sure thing— what in the y is this you have hidden under your coat? ekle for a friend of mine,” re- sponded Will, a si:cn look coming upon his face. He drew forth the identical whip with which twe of his enemies had been so severely castigated. “Tam prepared for my next meeting with Mark Preston,” he fiercely said. ‘It is not in the Wildfire blood lightly to forget an injury. He has had his day, let him beware. I shall pay him back with = interest.” ‘‘Why what a bloodthirsty chap you are!” cried Pierce, with affected horror. ‘‘A_ mild-spoken smooth-faced boy like you! Lanwhalf afraid to dis count you at billias rds, for fear you will grow wilé for revenge.” ““A game is one thing. A battle is another,” re joined Will, ‘‘ And you have not won yet, Take your cue.” Nor did he find winning such an easy task. Wil “Only a rod i was not quite without experience at billi and his sure eye and steady hand were able aids in the. game. Old player as Pierce was \e quickly dis- covered that victory was not to be so ‘eadily as he had anticipated. And the Yale student had learned one other lessom. nece to success in life—never to despair at one . defeat. Victory comes from perseveranc® as wel as from skill, and as the games went on and he he . came warmed up to the contest, he pusived his. antagonist closer and closer. **No discounting this game, eh, Pierce?” said Wil. on bs tor the cue, and began the best run he had made yet. Ten points scored, and Pierce began to grow ner- vous. Fiifteen—he eed the floor impatiently. Six. teen—seventeen—eighteen—and the halls in a corner. “When in the name of mercy are you going te stop?” With the e,” answered Will, trium ny nursing eg ls with a skill he had caught from opponent, ineteen—twenty—and a miss, “Good!” cried Pierce. ‘‘Three points short. of game, and he has lost the cue. Here’s for my tem run, and out." A nine run it was, some difficult shots being made. And for the tenth the balls lay in such neat position that Will involuntarily gave up the game, going te the closet for his coat. “Old birds are not to be caught with chaff, yom see,” laughed Pierce, so sure of his shot that he ball with the utmost carelessness—angy. “Nor yo! players with miss-cues,”’ Will ingly reto , returning to the table, as his vexeé opponent threw down his cue in disgust. he balls lay in an easy position. One—twe- “And game!” cried Will. “‘So much for Yak. pluck against Philadelphia skill.” “Tll be hanged if you petty the making of &., . player in you, boy!” cried Pierce, with suddex energy. ‘* Come, try your luck again.” “Not much!” rejoined Will. “A cannon-bale never hits twice in thes ~e hole, I don’t look for more than one victory, . “ne day, from the re doubtable Pierce Browning. ~*esides, look at the clock! It’s far past midnight.’ The two players had not notice. che comings and goings of other uenters of the saioon, They were quite ignorant that they had been observed by sinister eyes, and that a whispering, of no promise ie been kept up at the other end of the Their advent to the street was preceded by that of these whisperers. They quite failed to perceive that they were being d by a number of dark corms. “Here we strike off, my boy,” said Pie as th reached a corner beyond which their paths diverged “More luck to your elbow next time, You've got i* in you.” * And showed a bit of it, I fancy,” laughed Will, a= he shook hands, and they se The street into whieh ‘he turned was dark, ant seemed deserted. F it Poy - But, he had not gone a hundred the Sms of a half-dozen men emde peared before him. /. wy! Will drew slightiy to one side te,/et them pas Instead of that, however, he reeling into th- ot gt head that Si “ came a voice, which he :¢ Go tor him, tag game 8 voice, which We ke him! Hayy =sor him into a jelly” »at been, his alé trataily serv nin 00 SD y on his guard, and backed, by step, before He was =~
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e ] i 1 ee oe ‘ 8 Will Wildfire, the Thorougii antagonists, unt! he reached the shelter of the op- “posic s wou, *“Oouuco, you cowardly dogs!” he crici. . “tix toone us you are, [ don’t care a fig for the crew of you.” ng ey at him, but kep* off by his skidin the art self-defense. And now, when he felt the backing of the vall be- | hind him, he began to take the offensive, knocking two of his antagonists headlong into tie street, with two well-aimed blows. “Come on!’ cried Will, as he warmed up to the work. ‘I am ready for your whole cowardly gang.” But, six to one is severe odds. They crowded in on him in a- body, striking from every side. For ~every hit he got in he received one or two in return. Finally a staggering blow of a siung-shot, or some hard weapon, feli upon the back of his head, from one of his foes who had got partly behind him. Will was sent reeling out into the circle of his foes, whose blows now fell tnick and heavy. “ile it into him! Punch the infernal hound!” ed the Englishman, pressing forward. But, Will had recovered his wits, and dashed his left hand into the face of the sport, with a force that knocked that individual clean off of his feet. Me fell, with a heavy thud, into the stony street. “That’s for you!’ shouted Will. * And here’s for the rest of them!” exclaimed a new voice, Evidently a powerful ally had come to Will’s aid. His antagonists fell to right and left, like leaves be- fore the wind, ile an exclamation from Pierce Browning’s vigorous voice accompanied each fall. “Down, rogues! Down, dogs!’’ he yelled, as his mighty fists struck sledge-hammer blows. * And down it is!” exclaimed Will, giving the last of his foes a settler between the eyes which knocked ‘him clear out of time. “You're a horse, Pierce!” cried Will, pressing his friend’s hand, as he drew up besice him in expecta- tion of another onset from his discouraged fves. But — evidently had the fight pretty thoroughly taken out of them. They scrambled to their feet and ran in the opposite direction, as if not carin to encounter those fists of steel. The last o. m, indeed, received an aid to his flight from Pierce’s heavy boot, which raised him in a kick that sounded as if it must have broken some of his bones. “Tiow is this, boy?’ he asked. ‘Who are they?’ “The a we gave the whipping in the woods,” — ill. ‘* He has raised a gang to punish me, seems.” “ And it’s lucky I {60k the idea of coming back to invite you to dine with me to-morrow. You were in a ounded rough circle when I came up.” “T hope you will always be as close by when I get 4m arow,” replied Will, pressing his hand gratefully. re ) CHAPTER IX, A RACE AND A MATCH. Ir. was no second rate Ciuner to which Will Wild- fire had sat down with Pisrce Browning. That good- natured giant never did cnything by halves. He did mot often give an invitation to dinner, but when he #id his guest wos sure to be well served. ‘They were lingering now over the nuts and wine, egonversing gayiy over the events of the past few Ss. By the way, my boy,” said Pierce, stretching his limbs in hislazy way. “ Have you any business on band for the rest of the day?” “Nothing that couldn’t be as well done ten years from now.” “Then what do you say to a turn behind my bays? Tt isa glorious afternoon for a drive, and you haven't ‘been on the Wissahickon read yet.” “Pm agreeable,” rejoined Will. “There’s a bit of sport on the carpet,” continued Pierce. “The Engiish athletic games come off to- at Schuctzen Park.” You are not calculating to take a hand in them?” sasked Will, with a quizzical look at his lazy friend. “No, nor a foot either. I hardly think I would make my fortune on the r ., or jump; though I om be of some use if it .ame to a close hug. We will stop there, at any sate.” It was not long hetore they found themselves upon dhe road, behind a handsome pair of long-stepping » and seated in a light, one-seated ores. is what I like,” remarked Pierce, s cht ‘handling the reins, as they entered upon the smoot weadway of the park. ‘“ Walking is a very useful exercise in its place; and very necessary—where ‘ene can’t afford a horse. But I hardly think that “walking is good for my constitution.” _- “You have too much weight to carry,” said Will, at the huge proportions of his friend. “Now we Yale boys are used to that sort of exer- © ‘cise. I would think nothing of twenty-five miles on a “Twenty-five miles! whew!’ whistled Pierce, a Sook of discomfort on his face, ‘‘ What in the srid are you made of? Have you. got a private cam ne within your corporosity? don’t “2 yp any esca stéam,”’ ug.you thé. “T can do it, though; and neside.’? in Yale muscle if you choose to “GF you resum you cot! Pave relays of whedig2y good nature. i waletne a eG! ight follow you men—say yo : Ow 1ink it is all escape steam fa poate | show | eos Ge. ihc , taut as for weap or Yd j, st ike" rast : ’ , | borhood of the future Centennial buildings. With cries and curses his foes had followed, strik- | Will laughed,-and gave, his, attention to the road they were following. ’ Tnis le) turvough Une park, over the Schuylkill by : Givard Avenue bridge, and arou:d in the veigh- Open fields as yet murxed, the locality of the coming grand display of arc and industry. It was a splendid day for driving, and the road was covered With gay equipages, of ev ry shape and th size, all trolling aloug at a sober trot, under the | keen surveillance of the Park guards, who quickly | repressed any indication of breaking into a racing | speed. But above Belmont and in the broad, hillside Ivo _— ~ . “Shoot me if she ain't laughing at us!”? exclaimeo Pierce, discontentedly. ‘‘There’s something priuic about that girl, I'll swear there is. She is wortiy going for, Will.” ~ “But wha a ridiculous wild goose chase she is leading me,” rejoined Will angrily. ‘‘I hate all this confounded mystery.” “Oh! let. her uave her little fun if she likes it, amuses her and don’t hurt you,” roped Pierce, reining in his horses with a strong hand, as an- other whistle sounded from the guards. The black horse was out of sight, along the bends of the winding creek, where the romantic Wissahic- T+ av | kon comes pouring down between its lofty wooded sweep cf the road toward Chamouny, this guard | was not so rigidly kept, aud Pierce shook out some more speed from his mettled animals. They were near the steep descent to the Falls Bridge, when, from a siae-road, there unexpectedly appeared the form of a tall black horse, bearing the slender figure of a lady rider, dressed in a sweepin ee Tyr of blue, and sitting her horse with ad- mirable skill and grace, She caught sight of them at the same instant, in a quick, embracing glance. Turning her head away so as to conceal her face, she shook the reins, and | turned her horse down the steep road. “Did you see her face?” wits red Pierce. ‘“‘It is your girl, for a thousand! And she knows you. 7 how she is dashing down that hill!—Shall I fol- ow?” “ Yos,” answered Will, drawing a deep breatb. He might not have been so quick with his assent if he had known how reckless a driver Pierce Brown- ing could be. The road was steep, narrow, and broken, but he turned his mettlesome animals into it at full speed, plunging down the gorge at a fright- fully dangerous rate. : The lady rider was two thirds of the way to the bridge. She turned her head over her shoulder in a nervous glance backward, and then touched her horse with the whip, as if fearful of being crushed by this reckless team. Will, bold as he was, held his breath, looking keen- ly to right and left for the safest place to leap, when e crash which he feared should come. “Now don’t get nervous,” said Pierce, in quiet sarcasm. ‘I’ve got hold of these ribbons. Bless you, boy, I could drive these horses down a preci- pice. “ All right,’’ returned Will, in a resigned tone. “There’s one comfort; you'll smash flatter than I will if it comes to a spill.” But the bays kept their foot nobly, They reached the level ground at the bottom of the de- clivity, and were drawn up to a walk on the bridge, with a skill for which Will had not given his new friend credit. “Lord save you, boy,” remarked Pierce. coolly. “ Didn’t you see that my neck was in danger as well as yours? Now IL think too much of precious neck of mine to run any risks with it.” “ Maybe you don’t call it running risks,” rejoined Will, laug’ nly i coachman, I hardly think you would answer for the situation.’ “You asked me to overtake the girl on the black aod pg explained Pierce, as they emerged from the > . AndI pity the girl on the black horse if you had overtaken her on that slope.” ‘There she goes, on the road to Wissahickon,” re- marked Pierce. ‘‘ We’ve got a splendid level here, and the Park guards spread out thin. Shall I make another burst for it?” ‘**Let out,’? was Will’s reply. Shaking his reins, and touching the off horse with the whip, Pierce soon had the mettled bays again in rapid motion. Their perilous plunge down the. hill had excited them, and they now dashed along the level drive with a long, sweepiug stride that made little of the weight behind them. The black horse was not a hundred feet in ad- vance. But the fair rider was not inclined to be so easily overtaken. A glance backward showed her that she was again pursued, and in a moment her horse was put at his speed. It looked at first as if the bays would soon wipe out the space between them. “But when the black got fairly down to his work there was a different tale to tell. He darted along the road in an easy, far-reaching trot which left his pursuers at a respectabie di ce in the rear. “Tl be shot if that girl can’t ride!” growled Pierce, in a half-angry admiration. ‘She sits her horse as if she was born toit. But she has got to do better work if she wants to distance me. I don’t like the idea of being beaten by a woman.” He touched his horses with the whip. The fiery animals, little used to the lash, almost leaped out, of their traces, dragging their heavy load along as if it had been but a feather, The race had now become exciting. There in ad- vance went the black horse, warmed to. his work, and darting os coe a racer, While his skilled lady rider sat her e as quietly as though she was at a parade trot, A stone’sthrow behind came on the | thundering bays, burning with that spirit-of emula- tion which horses feel as warmly as man, e road, smooth, hard, and straight, was admirably fitted for such a competition, and along it they rushed = 4 breakneck pace, heedless of the whistle of the Par’ guard whom they now passes. On—on—for a mile race coe finged, the black slowly forging ahead. Strong as the bays were they were overweighted, and the rati soon began totelluponthem. T peck again. waving her. panies r ‘ : g ’ Lb the Wiseahic on road. arrow ae 2 he ognenxenne looked | “Only, if I wanted a quiet family | taco SD a slopes, giving to this portion of Fairmount Park the wild charm of the mountain brook. “How about the athletic sports of our English friends?’ asked Will. “We will strike them on our way back,” replied Pierce, drawing up in front of the Hermitage, a noted resort on the Wissahickon drive, ‘‘ We want a little refreshment first for man aud beast.”’ It was an hour afterward when they reached the locality where the games were being conducted. It was a broad level space, hard trodden, on whicit the competitors displayed their skill, while aroun them were gathered thousands of interested specta- tors. Bets were being freely offered and taken, an! it was ae» evident that many of the on-lookers lit indulged liberally in the wine-cup, or in some moie fiery draught. Pierce and Will pronect to the front of the ring cf spectators, overlooking the space in which victory was sought for in leaping, running, and stone an’ hammer throwing, and in various other athletie ex cises. A wrestling match between two vigorous chat.- pions was being contested when they reached the ground, Various comments were made and bets offered as the even character of the match became evident. With straining muscles and starting veins the cor - batants sought to hurl each other to the ground, but without success. “Do you see yonder?” said Pierce, with a nudge to Will. “It is your sore-backed friend for a shil- ling! And laying himself out for a bet, Doyou feel like accepting his challenge?” Will looked in the direction indicated, and recog- nized Luke Lister, the English spor. He was the center of a group of busily-talking men, and was loudly offering to bet. “Why are you docking: so grim?” asked Pierce. “Have you not had satisfaction enough out of the man? His right eye is in mourning yet from the sguare knock-down you gave him last night.”” - “Tt is not he that troubles me,” answered Will. “Do you see that small built, fopniebiy sroaent iu- ph to his left? The one with the waxed mus- eY “Yes. But I do not know him.” “Tt is Mark Preston—the man whc escaped the bridge. I fancy that my vow may soon complished.” “Your vow?” : “Yes, To wear this whip until I could roney hin with compound interest for the punishment he gav« me. I have a notion to add a new game to the lit on hand to-day.” : “Be careful!’’ warned Pierce, ou év e ac~ “He may be sur | rounded by his friends.” ‘*T would not care if he was surrounded by fire,’” rejoined Will, relapsing into a stern and gloomy +i- nce, The mipentting mates at this moment ended, in a fall for the lighter of the champions, The victur was greeted with a loud shout of gratulation, as he walked triumphantly from the ring E And now it was announced that the next par pets tion was one open to all comers, an overhand flinyr of a twenty-five-pound stone. ‘ “You had better t. y, your hand at bam Pierce,” said Will, jestingly. ‘“‘ A fellow of your build ougl.t to give it an amazing send.” ‘"Not much, I have not been brought up on such porridge,” replied Pierce, with a lazy stretch. “ Now a tight, trim college chap like you might go in there with some hope to win,’ “T bet aten I can beat that work, anyhow,” re- marked Will, as one after another of the competi- tors tried their skill at pouing the heavy stone. “Done,” exclaimed Pierce. ‘I take that bet, if only to see what there is in you.” ‘*T will show you that it is not brag, anyhow,”’ re- plied Will, stepping forward into the ring. Some ten competitors had entered for the game, ane ned put the seme aR vaued Suet ae = them having considerably surpasse: e others. There was some surprise manifested as Will Wild- fire walked forward and offered himself as a com- petitor, His handsome, youthful face and geuntle- mani ainire contrasted strongly with most of those who had prece m. yee mig mee from the spectators. e won't do it!’ “Yes, he will. Look at his build.” “Tl bet he hasn't the muscle. From one quarter a laugh of derision arose. It h contained Luke Lister. vatican ra is : . Ca oy ped Neat is coat, and handed it to one of the indgeen only try, gentlemen,” he ushing ee ’ ’ Sa u his can and a Wellsmodalen, Sear arm. fell upon the throng as: the, youthful com- aie ay eeaatae Uae once, ni the weight, be stepped briskly to the mark, and gavo | eteiieataeaal 2
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| spaniel = wi ll Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. 9g — = ———s a third quick, vigorous surge. Every eye followed the missile in its flight through the air, and a loud shout arose as it struck the ground with a strong thud—five feet beyond the furthest mark of the pre- vious throwers. ‘* By the Lord, he’s done it!’’ cried an admiring in- — with a vehemence that made everybody laugh. ‘And now, gentlemen,” said Will, “if there’s no objection I would like to pro another game. It is one that is not often play on this ground, but I think you will enjoy it.” “Yes! Yes!’ cameinashout. ‘ Let us have it.’ Will had been looking sternly toward the spot oceupied by his foes. Now, with a quick movement, he darted in that direction, and in a moment more came back into the ring, dragging Mark Preston by the collar. “This young gentleman,” Will explained, ‘ took the opportunity ive me a private cowhiding a week or two ago. Ihave been waiting for a public opportunity to pay him back.” s he spoke the whip which he had carried con- cealed appeared in his right hand. The astonished victim yelled lustily for help, and Luke Lister and his party sprung forward. But they were met midway by the gigantic bulk of Pierce yen a “Back!” he shouted. ‘I have a finger in this pie! The first man of you who steps an inch further will have me to settle with.” As the villains drew back, cowed by their oppo. nent’s tone and mighty bulk, Will brought his whip shrewdly down on Mark Preston’s shoulders. Stroke after stroke fell quickly, dealt with all the vigor of his arm, over shoulders, head, and face of the crouching and screaming victim. It was all so uick and unexpected, indeed, that there was little ome for any one to interfere, if they had wished. “There, gentlemen, is my game,” said Will, as he dashed his foe fiercely from him. “It is the game that some call revenge, and some retribution. I hope you have liked it. He walked away, followed by his big friend. CHAPTER X. THE GERMANIA ARRIVES. ‘*Have you read the news this morning?” asked Lucille Maynard of her mother, as she sat looking over the morning paper. “No, my dear, what is it? Not another outrage in China, I hope; or a rebellion in Russia?” “China and ! No, indeed; it is much near- er home. It is Philadelphia with which we are con- — and our own precious cousin, Will Wild- re,”’ **You don’t say!” cried the mother, holding up her hands in surprise. “ Why, what mischief the — blade been at now?” ‘Simply cowhiding Mark Preston, in the face of several thousands 0 rege ‘*Gracious, child! You don’t tell me that? W. I declare! But it was no more than he deserved. have seen the time I would have liked to do-it my- “So Will has maa | you for onee.”” ed. , I am anxious to know howit rter, The tion to his act, and med ti ie cation aoe ey and presen a way that was not likely much sympathy. “Served him right,” was likely to be all the salve which the public would pour on the wounds of Mark Preston. ‘ “* And they had such a time to escape,” continued Lucille; dropping the:paper. ‘‘ Will and his friend were attacked by a crowd of rough characters; and some others came to their aid; and for a little while there was a severe battle.” “They were not hurt, I hope?” . “Oh, no! They came out all right.’ Why, they lay before him like sardines . abox. He just mowed a clear swathe through them.” “Oh! my hard luck! Why wasn’t I there?” “I don’t say that we escaped without some severe knocks,” continued Will. ‘They were in force. But part of the crowd joined our side, and we drove them clear off the field.” % **Good for you!” exclaimed Huntly, in admira- tion. ‘Hang me if I won't let you beat mein our next boat race! [’d like to join you in your walk, Will; but I’m on business.” “Don’t let me detain you.” ‘ Huntly walked away, laughing to himself, and clap ing his knee with his hand. tt was the neatest job out,” he exclaimed. “That boy has the making of a man in him, and no mistake.’ ; Will walked slowly on, smiling at the enthusiasm of his friend. He had passed Spruce street, and was at some dis- tance in the next square, when he met a young lady, who was walking in the Si gave direction, mv who had dropped her vail just before meeting m. She seemed to hesitate as they approached. For an instant she almost ccuped and then moved quickly forward again. Will looked at her with surprise. There was some- thing indefinitely familiar in her form. ue” paused again, when she had nearly passed m. “Excuse me, Mr. Wildfire,” she said. ‘ But—I nos + hg had turned at her first hesitating utterance. ‘* Proceed, miss,” he politely remarked. ‘I shall be happy to hear what you have to say.” “Ts it true that you had that ray with Mr. Preston?’ she asked, in an agitated tone, “T punished him slightly,” returned Will. “If ou are she whom I suppose you to be you will not flame me for it.”’ ; “Tt is no matter who I am,” came the voice from behind the vail, whose thick texture permitted the merest outlines of the face to be seen. “ But you do not know Mark Preston. You have been warned ainst him before. You have had a foretaste of the lengths to which he will go. After this public di e I fear—” “T thank you for your concern,” said Will, grate- fully. ‘‘But you need have no fears for me. I fay myself quite a match for Mark Preston.” e yes! in the light, perhaps. But not in the dark. You are too open; too direct. He will not meet you openly, But beware that he does not take you unawares.’ Will smiled, and looked, in his young self-assur- ance, able to cope with a dozen such foes. Does he acknowledge to the whipping?’’ he ask- ed. “I fancied that he would have a score of rea« sons for his scarred face.” ou must obey my warning! dangerous an unecripuloye £00, And—and —do not implicate me, I pray you. It would be terrible to me should he learn that I have warned you,” “You need not fear. Particularly as you k ourself so closely concealed from me,” said wil ntentedly. ‘“‘Iam sure I made a strong eff to see rn yesterday.” “But you could not overtake my Selim, my bonny black?” ‘she rejoined, with a sudden laugh. ‘* What a@ race we had! the way you drove down that I expected nothing but that you would be dashed to pieces.”’ wy little more myself,”’ acknow War friend is a regular Jehu of a driver.” “ But he could not match my Selim on a level,” she laughingly rejoined. *You ran away from me then; I hope you will not now. How am I to avoid betraying you unless I know you?” “What a eure you would make!” replied the It was the afternoon of the day in which the events just narrated happened. Among the passen- gers who descended from the cars were two of the persons with whom we have become acquainted in these pages. One of these was Lucille Maynard, the retty cousin of Will Wildfire. The other was Mark ton, also his cousin, but anything but good- looking just at present. His hat was wn down low over his eyes. But it could not conceal an ugly scar that crossed his cheek, and which was patched up with court-plaster. He started as his eyes fell upon the fair face of the young lady, who passed him without noticing his presence. “‘ Aha!’ he muttered to himself. ‘Is that the way the cat jumps? So the pretty Lucille is bent on having a finger in this pie? Poor girl, 1 fancy you are destined to be disappointed,” He placed himself upon her footsteps, following her to a residence in one of the upper streets of the town. Lucille was intending to spend her time here with a friend to whom she had written. The spy saw her enter, but saw nothing of the st of enthusiasm with which she was welcomed y her young lady friend. He turned away with a look of satisfaction. “When you are on the track of foxes it is always best to know their reg Ney sr he muttered. “ And now for my friend, the justice.” The office of Justice Esmond was situated on a business street of the city of Lancaster, not farfrom the railroad station. That gentleman—a mild-faced, blue-eyed person, with not a particle of guile in his composition—look- og up in some surprise as Mark Preston entered his office. “T am glad to see you,” he said; ‘‘ but what in the world ails your face? A person might think you had been in a railroad accident.” “Nearly as bad,’’ replied Mark, with a weak ef- fortatalaugh. ‘‘A runaway,a smash-up, a roll down a hill. All not very comfortable, you know. And rather hard on tender skins.” “You don’t say?’ exclaimed the sympathetic justice, swallowing his lie whole. “I am sure I am very perry, | “Oh, itis nothing! It will soon heal,’’ Mark hastily “You got my letter?” ‘Yes, and the room is at your service. You will not want it long, you say?” “Not more than a couple of weeks,” rejoined Mark. “I have some b ess to in Lan- caster, and will need office room, as I wrote you.” “This will make youa very good office,’ replied the justice, leading the way to a small apartment, opening on a side street, and adjoining his own omce. “ T fancy that willdo.”” And Mark took a compre-' hensive view of the surroun , with more mean- ing in it than bis unsuspecting friend imagined. CHAPTER XL RALPH EMERSON ARRIVES. “Your dear friend and cousin will not love you any the more for the beauty marks you have Jett upon his face,’ remarked Ben Huntly, as he leaned a back in his chair in Will Wildfire’s hotel apart- ment, * “T suppose not,” rejoined Will carel “Not that I care much. Have a cigar, Ben? Here are some prime Conchas.”’ “Don’t care if I do,” replied Huntly. ‘‘I sa Will,”’—as he lit his cigar—‘‘is it true the w of your uncle has not yet reached this country, and that there has been found a previous will, This clear dre afc dedly hard,” said Will. te raws confoun x I believe there was somal of the sort. I shall have to change m. ar sto “ Well—if you don’t ee matters blamed ! on neo a like a ryt = to deal with! uy) e should manage to get hold of and destro the will, before it is Srevent!! cA “It would be deuced uncomfortable,” rejoined “Well that is some comfort.” lady, still laughing. Will, who had just got his cigar to smo easil “But that is not all the news, mother. Here isa | ‘But you cannot escape me as easily as that. I | and who femme more pleased with this suoceas than shippi — Po — an portance. ‘The Germania have our forget-me-not,”’ troubled about Mark Preston. has arriv: ew York.’ s “The Germania?” inquiringly. “Yes. Don’t you remember? The steamer that Balph Emerson was to sail in.” ch I am sure was never intended for you.” * And I have your face imprinted upon my mem- hy would not be too sure of that.” “But did you not tell me that you had received a letter warning you that some rascality was in train?’ mM A ing oy fy I had forgotten all about it.” “Hang me if I wouldn’t make a harder fight for a “Goodness! So itis! I had forgotten.” “You donot know what a quick ~t ee fortune if I was in your shoes!’ cried Huntly im- “1 must seb off for Lancaster at once,” replied | machine a pair of sharp eyes are,” laughed Will. patiently. “By what steamer is the gentleman with the young lady, rising decisively. * ‘You may be mistaken.” the letter to arrive?” Simultaneously with this conversation, Will Wild- fire was walking leisurely down South Broad street. He was decidedly at ease in his mind, the weight of disgrace which had rested ppon him having been so signally removed. ‘See here, Will,’ cried Ben Huntly, meeting him “Prove it to me, then.” “Is the face on your mental negative anything like this?” asked the lady, suddenly throwing up her vail and revealing one of the most beautiful counte- nances his eyes had ever rested upon, the eyes now sparkling with mirthful light, the lips seeking “By—let me see—by—I think it was the Ger- mania.” “* And the Germania is in.” ‘ “Well, if that ain’t rich!” cried Will, starting up so suddenly as to overthrow his chair. “ And I was to be in Lancaster to checkmate some confounded - opposite the. Acalemy of Music, “is this ster- | in vain to repress their es. scheme, that I know no more about than the man in ling, solid, bottorm-level fact? “No,” exclaimed Will, starting back with a ges- | the moon. I must be off at once. You will excuse ‘ ‘ Hardl ” smiled wee There is a coating of tate o aol and etiipation. .°3t i & faded-out mon Dow Bente ame, pens snow: mpgs’ on to skim off. - ~ fe) otograph as com with the love . “Iw go ore the next train, if I * But you salted him? That isn’t gammon? How coul sort have the heart to hide aa you,” Huntly dryly rejoined. “You are like a horse Why, I have a notion he is not feeling very com- | beauty behind that envious vail?” ; hat needs a fire built under it to make it go, but fortable just now.” ‘ “Beware!” she cried, holding up her finger in ad- | which there is no holding back when it’s once start- Give us your hand, boy! I'll be hanged if a monition, and again letting fall the vail. ‘You are ; ed.” = t thee Bp heaget = ee ! ome ime ne to be rusted, Isee. But you will remember my | side I never <4 weep than one thing ata time in my hook - a arnin ’ . Sas. That - crushed any bones. “ Why didn’t you tell Her voice took a grayver tone. | eee wedey-he renee vanast | fire vein, to do.one thing at one time, and to do (Lat delicate : 9 n me? Lwould bave given my cap to be there. I certainly shall. But you—why need you fear | with all our might, “The whole was sprung upon me,” re- | such a man as Mark Preston?” “You will have to wait two hours for the next : plied. Wil. “I would have given something for ‘Do not ask me! He has a d fearful hold | train, at an ” said consulting» r our for one ah minutes, Luke Lis- gt: wes t my es have time te ‘fish upon me!" Her voice was now. thrilling with emo- | paper tim “So you tion, as she turned and walked hastily away. our cigar, and lay out some of action.” The noon Philadel hia came cs of = iid a plan of ress trai tio staan inte Gree :" from Philadel ae action! I never action m . I go in for taking the chances, and playi and halted at one of the coolest, most comfortable- | my trump ae homered I hold them. : Eh? a tele | gram for me?” r and his of roughs lively work, I pevasee you, t fancy I got in 4 ‘e008 “half-dozen k-downs. But you should have seen lazy Pierce. fuch a wakening u néver dream ™ Pierce Brownune?" “een | looking depots on its long westward journey.
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—— 10 ed. Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbr This was addressed to a hotel servant, who had just appeared at the door. Will tore open the telegram and read ‘t hastily, a perplexed look coming upon his face. “Tg there any answer?” asked the servant. * Yes.—One moment.”’ He read the epistle again. “Yes. Send this.” He hastily jotted down a few words in pencil, and handed them to the servant, who disappeared. “Read that, Ben,” said Will, turning to his friend. 2 bie ate the deuce to pay now, or I’m much mis- taken.’ Huntly took the paper, and read its contents aloud, as follows: “Do not come to Lancaster.. The will has been stolen. It is probably in the hands of a little black boy, a servant of Mark Preston. Watch the trains coming in from Lancaster. He will likely be on one of them. Have him seized and searched, ** Luctnne MAgNAnD.”’ The two friends looked at each other, with peculiar expressions. “The ball is up,” cried Huntly. ‘*Who is Lucille Maynard?” “That is the name of a young lady cousin of mine, whom I have lost sight of,” replied W'll. ‘‘She has not forgotten me, it seems. I believe she has expectations from this will—When is the next Lancaster train in, Ben?” “Tt is due inside of an hour,” “Then let’s make for the depot instanter. If we ean only get hold of this fragment of midnight.— But A seg aps you have other engagements,” “No, Ican go with you.” Yn five minutes more the two friends were in the street, en route for the Pennsylvania Railroad depot. But the reader must accompany us to Lancaster, to trace the events which gave rise to this telezram. Vigilant as Lucille Maynard was she had yielded to the solicitations of her friend, in whose judgment she placed t confidence. They had closely consulted the time-tables to- ther, and found that there would be no through Pain from New York to Lancaster until the next a except one that would arrive late at t me is not at all likely that he will come in that,” said the friend. ‘‘ And I scarcely think you would like to be waiting for a train at midnight. ‘*{ hardly know,” replied Lucille nets ‘T will tell you what. Sup you dese this Mr. Emerson to my father. e can get him to wait for the train, and to see if your friend comes in it.” “Tf it will not be too much trouble?” “Certainly not. It will be no new experience for him to stay up till midnight.” — so i — to rr pone the brother waited Set e train, an passed e ving passengers under a announced that no such person had ved. That is what comés of using a second-hand pair of . Mr. Emerson had arrived. But the descri on.-had given the youthful look-out an utter wrong impression of him, as descriptions are very apt to do.—So that the person looked for passed under the eyes of the spy unrecognized. eight o’clock the next morning. Mark was PR ah. been for nearly an hour in his new office, adjo: that of Justice Esmond. He was busily engaged in reading the morning papers when the justice looked in upon him. ‘Karly this morning,’ was the jocular remark. “Yes. There isn’t so much comfort in a hotel, that one wants to lie abed late.” si a the face? You must have had a rascally ie.’ “It feels'something better,’ was the reply. IfI don’t have it Fenane of the horse that threw me!”’ He gave vent ‘to his ———— feelings in a fierce oath, directed against the horse. “Oh! hang it all! the poor brute did not mean any ye tulated the justice, Fa gem o, Til teach a trick worth two of Justice Esmond withdrew to his own office. Kind-hearted as he was, he felt somewhat shocked by this tone of bitterness against a brute animal. Asour smile marked the villain’s face as he re- sumed his reading. . Those white teeth of his glit- tered with a tiger-like gleam. The door of office that looked upon the side street cautiously opened, and a face peered into the room. It was asmall, round, comical-looking face, ef midnight blackness. , “Marse Preston,” came in cautious tones from ae ‘ aones th d looked up hasti ark drop © paper and loo up 4 “Is it you, Pete?’ he asked. ‘‘Come in, Don't stand grinning there like an ape.” Pete slip in and carefully shut the door behind him. He stood with his back neo it, the queer- est contortions twisting his odd features, while he kept jerking out his thumb in a pointi toward the os office, and then drawing it in again, as if afraid being caught in some unpar- sterious- ton.” tone. “ Mr, Eme “De beer siesterot an you tole Pete to look gut for. rt but I Fotched um. ’Tain’t de fust I’se see’d him, At ole Marse Wildflower’s, you know. ‘Fore de time he tole you to git. Neber for- git dat time. Neber!" And Pete clapped his sides, and gave vent to a repressed laugh, which twisted his face into the most ridiculous contortions. “See here, you blasted young imp!” cried. Mark, angrily, as he strode across the room and seized the boy by the collar. “If you speak of that again—”’ “ Oh, Marse Preston!” exclaimed the boy, in sud- den terror. ‘I didn’t say nuffin’ "bout de kickin’; cos you tole me I mus’n’t. Oh, Marse Preston!” “Hang you! Ifit wasn’t for making a noise, I’d shake the wool off pire brain-pan!’’ cried Mark, in gag 5 momen tones of restrained anger. *Marse Emerson in dar!” rejoined Pete, glad of such an opportunity to escape punishment. “Hein dar, suah. Golly! won’t de to shake Pete, cos Pete mought yell.” ** Yes, you imp of darkness; I know your tricks,” replied Mark, releasing the boy. e was not anxious for an uproar in the room, just a! ‘hat particular time. A rords ensued, in a low, cautious tone, and then ® withdrew to the street, glad to escape from choleric master, and ready to act the sp on Justice Esmond’s office with a shrewdness wit which the boy was well gifted. Mark Preston immediately had his ear to the door of communication between the two rooms, striving to gather any words which might come to him from the conversation proceeding whe fed Nor were his efforts quite without success. Meanwhile Lucille Maynard was seeking to carry out her part of the programme. She had got young Arlington, her friend’s brother, to make inquiry as to late arrivals at various hotels. In this manner she learned of the presence of Mark Preston in Lancaster. ** He must have some decided object in view,’’ she remarked, “to make his appearance here so soon after the severe cowhiding which Will Wildfire gave him. I will need to be mere yi on the alert to outwit him in his schemes. But it is strange that there is no account of Will’s arrival. Has he paid no attention to my letter of warning?” A through train from New York was shortly due and she and her friend walked to the station to mee it. The few pesneees who got off at Lancaster passed under their inspection, but there was no sign of Ralph Emerson — them. It was with a feeling of disappointment that she turned away. “May he not come by somé of the local trains from iladelphia?”’ suggested her friend. ‘He ee at have stopped over a train in that city.”’ “That may be,’’ replied Lucille, thoughtfully “Let us see when the next train is due.” They found that they had two hours to at As e train. the time approached for the coming of " Lucille and Miss Arli n again sought the station. They had not been there long when & train from Harrisburg steamed in ‘Look at that funny little black boy!” said Miss Arlington, laughing, and § igicitvend toward the ears. Lucille looked up an the lad at a lance. It was Pete, Mark Preston’s servant. The saw her at the same instant. He had seemed on the point of entering the car. But he now back- ed off, trying to look unconcerned, and loudly whist- ling a favorite street melody. He disappeared in the gentlemen’s apartment of the depot. Lueille had noticed under his arm a eege = bs about six inches square, which he clung to as tight- ly as if it contained some valuable treasure. “T don’t like that,” she said, Npaee i as she walked with Miss Arlington down the platform, and explained who this boy was. e train steamed away again. In ten minutes after its place was taken by the westward-bound train, Lucijle had seen nothing more of Pete. He had vanished. Nor did she see the person for whom she was waiting. Ralph Emerson was not on the rain. “Tt is very strange,” remarked Lucille. ‘He should certainly have been here before now. And—”’ She suddenly became silent, her face growing full of deep surprise. For there, before her, coming from the direction of the town, stood Ralph Emerson, the very person she had been seeking. Mutual expressions of surprise, and warm greet- ensued. : aS J have been looking for you. When did you ve * At midnight, last night.” “Why, Miss Arlington’s brother was on the watch for you. It is strange that he did not see you.” ** And why are you on the watch for me?” asked Mr. Emerson, in some surprise, but with a genial smile. ‘‘I did not know that my coming was so anxiously waited.” “Yes! there are reasons!’’ explained Lucille hur- riedly. ‘Reasons which respect the papers you bring concerning Harry Wil "s estate. Excuse me for asking if you have them safe?” “Not in my own hands,” he replied. “They are too precious documents for me to be carrying around in my Journeys on other business. I have left them in charge of my friend, Justice Esmond, until I get through with the Bad affair which calls me to Lancaster. You remember that I wrote to you to that effect.” “Yes! yes!” hurriedly. “‘ But—are they safe there? I have reasons for doubting—” “ Doubting what?” “Not eet friend—but a villain who will seek to self of these documents. They may be ost even now! Let us go at once to see!” She was so excited and energetic that Mr. Emer- son looked at her in greater surprise than ever. fa yay he said, “if you wish it. But I think you are frightened without any just cause.” + RS SE ELE 2 REEL TN In ten minutes they were in the office of the mild faced justice. “You will excuse me, Mr. Esmond,” remarked Mr. Emerson, with a smile. “‘ But this young lady has become frightened about the safety of the pack- ageI gave you. Please convince her that it is se- cure.” “Certainly,” replied the justice, rising, and un- locking a drawer in his desk. ‘I hardly think that the thieves who break in and steal have yet—” He suddenly stopped speaking, his face display- ing a ludicrous astonishment. e drawer was empty! The package given him in trust had disappeared ! CHAPTER XII. __ JUSTICE ESMOND EXCITED. Ir the mild-faced country justice had been stung by a hornet he could not have danced about his office more vigorously, than he did on discovering the loss of the package intrusted to his care. Justice Esmond was naturally excitable, and this unexpected loss had a remarkable effect upon his nerves. “Mein Got!” he cried, dropping into the Pennsyl- vania Dutch dialect, as he was apt to do when ex- cited. ‘I lock it up in dat drawer. It is not dere now. Dat’s very queer. I hope you don’t t’ink me at’ief, Mr. Emerson?” “Certainly not,” replied Emerson, though his face was full of anxiety and discomposure, ‘ But where can it have gone? Have you been out of your office since receiving it?’ “For one hour only. From ten to eleven. But I leave it locked up tight behind me.” Lucille, who had listened with a pale face to this short coll ny, now spoke. ** You left che door locked,” she said. ‘‘ But here is another door, where does it lead?” “Dat! Oh! dat’s locked on the other side. Dat’s the office of Mr.— what’s his name? Mr. Preston.” “Who?” cried Lucille, with sudden emphasis. “Mr. Preston, Mark Preston, from Philadelphia.” “Well, I declare!’ exclaimed Miss Arlington, breathlessly. ‘‘Is not that the man of whom you told me, Lucille? The man who has an interest in making way with eyed goa ‘* How long has he had this office?” asked Lucille. “Since yesterday.” “Then it is clear enough now how your drawer came to be emptied. Heisthe thief. He got pos- session of your letter, Mr. Emerson, and knew that you intended to leave the papers in this gentle- man’s charge. Can you notsee through the cunning plan he has laid to possess himself of them?” “‘T can!’ cried Justice Esmond, in sudden wrath. “And I'll have the law of him, too! To come into mine office! and open mine drawers! and steal mine pers! Dunder and blitzen, but it is very aggravat- ” n Fie rushed fiercely to the door of communication but it was locked, and no answer came to his violent knocks and cries for ‘‘ Mr. Preston.” After a minute thus uselessly employed, he rushed outside, and tried the street door with equa) ill- success, “Dat’s certainly very queer,”-he said, as he ex- citedly returned. ‘*He rob me, and den lock the door, and walk, Inever had no such thing happen ba before. i ie ‘I suppose not,’’ rejo merso ryly. ‘And Iwish to Heaven you had not had the c ‘t ce now, Depend upon it, he is the thief.” ““ Of course he is,’’ exclaimed: Lucille, impatiently. ‘** And he must not be permitted to leave Lancaster. Break that door down, sir, if you cannot open it by other means.” “Wait one minute only, Dere’s a locksmith just down the street.” The excited country justice left the room in a most vigorous hurry, and returned’wery soon with the mechanic in question, whom he set to work to try and open the locked door. Re 4 all gathered around, impatiently watching his efforts. “Well, if that isn’t what I call decidedly cool!” came a sarcastic voice behind them, as the street door opened and closed. “Do you think there is anybody dead in there? Or are you trying a bit of private burglary?” They turned suddenly at this familiar voice. There, before them, stood the slender, fo nM dressed figure of Mark Preston, showing is whi teeth in a peculiar smile. With him was another gentleman, whom Justice Esmond recognized as a well-known citizen of Lancaster. **How d’ye do, Cousin Lucille? I didn’t expect to see you here,” said the villain, with smiling, self- possession, ‘‘ And Ralph Emerson, I declare! Well, this is certainly a meeting of old friends!” “I’ve god him!” cried the little justice, rushing excitedly forward, and ae Mark by the collar. “The thief! the burglar! the highway robber! that comes into mine office and robs mine drawers!” ‘Let go!’ exclaimed Mark, fiercely, shaking him- self loose. ‘‘ What in the blue blazes do you me to lay hands on me in that way? I have ecchad m a better man down for a less insult.” “You rob my drawer!’’ ejaculated the justice, running across office and point to the em drawer. ‘‘ You steal mine apers! ‘You—villain |” ‘* Well, this is comfortable, ”’ Mark coolly rejoined, addressing his companion. “Is this gentleman a little touched here?” pointing significantly to’ his head. {shin opel was = reply. wrong, Mr. erson?” asked Mark gene achair, “J don’t expect to find out rom Justice ond, who has certainly been stung by a bee. But perhaps you can inform me,” -———
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ae Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. 11 Ralph Emerson's tall form seemed to grow taller, | as he looked down upon the nonchalant villain. “Tt means.” he began, with severe emphasis, “that I intrusted certain ey elev papers to this gentleman’s care; that Mark ston, who alone had an interest in their disappearance, knew they were to be left in his care; that he took an office commu- nicating with his on the preceding day. And it means, finally, that the papers are missing.” “* And that Mark Preston has stolen the last will of Harry Wildfire, which disinherited him,” supplied Lucille, in an indignant tone. “So! Now we are coming to the point of the joke!” Mark coolly repli removing his hat and placing it upon his knees, while he daintly wiped his _ searred forehead with a scented handkerchief. “Yes!’’ cried the oe shaking his long finger at him. “And Ill have a policeman in, and lock you up, and search you, and—” “There, there, there,” said Mark soothingly. ‘Do keep cool my dear sir.—I don’t relish this charge Mr. Emerson, When did you leave these papers, 0 which I never heard before, with Justice Esmond?” ‘* At eight o’clock this morning.” “Then you certainly give me credit for great skill. So I entered his office; unlocked his drawer, with false keys, under his very nose; and stole his pa- pers, unseen before his eyes?” ‘I said not so,”’ exclaimed the excited justice. “T was out of mine office. Den you come in and stole my niga 4 h! you were out of your office? When, may I as ry’? “rom ten o’clock till eleven.” * And thatis whenI broke into your drawer and stole your papers?” “Yes. Just den. ForI was in the office all the other time.” ‘‘Tam very glad to hear that,” rejoined Mark, with his tigerish smile. ‘It gives me an opening for a neat little charge against you, of making way ee with this gentleman’s papers and then try- ng to lay the theft on me.—Will you please inform these somewhat excited persons, Mr. Cummings, at what hour this morning I came to your place of business?” * At nine o’clock precisely.” “* And have you lost sight of me since?’ “ Your nst this gentleman will not hold water,” rep’ Mr. Ci turning with dignity to the excited accusers. ‘‘ Mr. Preston and I have been together since nine o’clock this morn- ing. If you want further evidence of this, I can re- fer you to Joseph Homer, ., With whom we were closeted from ten till twelve. erefore I fancy that os Preston will have no trouble in proving an alidi. The three accusers looked at each other, quite taken aback by this unlooked-for statement. “Do An. know this gentleman, Mr. Esmond?” asked Emerson. i —yes,” acknowledged the confused justice. “Mr. is a reputable citizen. His word is evidence.—But who opened mine drawer? Who stole mine papers? Will not some’ tell me dat?” “‘T would be happy to tell you, if I knew,” rejoin- ed Mark, with a sarcastic laugh. “ Perhaps you would like to search me. It may have stuck to yr moment he had unlocked and thrown open the door, * Here it is, at your service. Come in, and make your search.’ Justice Esmond followed him, hesitatingly into the offiice. Lucille was about to follow, when she was stayed by a touch on the arm from Miss Arlington. “Did you not tell me that the black boy, whom we saw at the depot, was this man’s servant?” she whispered. A fash of light came into Lucille’s pale face, The question had opened up a new field of thought hers ar escaped her during the excitement of the -hour. _ “Well thought of, indeed!” she exclaimed. “That — u Dog whole matter. Mr. Emerson,” “ e e woe was the size and shape of your package of papers It was some six inches square, by perhaps two inches in thickness.” - —— “Then the whole mystery is revealed. It is not in Lancaster now, but is on its way to Philadelphia.” She continued to talk eagerly with him in a whis- per, unnoticed by Mark Preston, who was in his own ffice, y “T believe you are right,”’ said Mr. Emerson. “Then I abel see af | to Mr, Wild- fire, to be on the look-out for him. - She hastily departed, accompanied by Miss Ar- ngton, —_—- unsuccessful in their By for the sable you im t an individual, after came in—but no Pete. In fact, their ideas of may ty were suited to the character they to eal with, Pete had received orders to great deal to the du d OME tahun ts cone: quence, while Will and his friend were quietly in- specting the pe who came through the Bate, chrough the railrced. tooienns. te way neckward, he reached the fence of this rae Hed at a distant a spot. Over this he went, with the agility of a monkey, carefully holding on to his precious pack- e “T am afraid we are on a blind trail,”’ said Will, as the passengers from the Lancaster express al passed through the gate, with no sign of their guest. ‘* Hil hil Bet a dollar nobody don’t foller Pete!” rinned the boy, at the same moment, as he reached he road on the other side of the fence. He had outwitted Lucille Maynard, at Lancaster, by charg soe along the platform, under cover of the depot building, passing around the engine, and slip- ping into the cars on the other side of the train. e had now outwitted Will Wildfire, in a similar manner, He chuckled triumphantly to himself, as he hurried along Thirtieth street, toward the Spring- Garden street bridge, not caring to risk the ger of discovery on the Market and Chestnut street bridges. ““Marse Preston says Pete must keep his eyes skinned, Spec’ thar’s somebody lookin’ fur dis little nig. Ain’t a-gwine to luff ’em cotch me, you bet. Not if I hab to swim de riber.”’ ** What's in the books next?” asked Ben Huntly of Will Wildfire, at the same moment, “There are other trains due within the next few hours,” replied Will. ‘But the young rascal may have been in before we got here. I hardly think we can afford to lose time. We had better leave our guard duty in the hands of this officer, and carry out our further plans.” Hunter he be able to recognize the boy?’ asked untly, +3 y, I never saw him, Ben. Ionly know what the telegram says. He can look out for a little darkey as well.as you or I.” “That’s true,” rejoined Ben, after an instant’s thought. ‘Let us post him then.” An hour afterward the two friends made their _ pearance in a certain ale-house, in which, as the reader will remember, Will had had a game of fisti- cuffs some weeks before. The bar-tender looked up with a smile of intelli- gence, as he saw them enter, “Do you remember me?” asked Will, resting his elbow negligently on the bar, and looking the bluff lishman in the face. **Don’t I?” returned the latter, heartily. “I haven't forgotten the neat way in which you floored Luke Lister. It does one’s heart £ to see a bruiser laid out in that fashion. And by a chap who hasn't grown a beard yet! I hardly see where you raked up your muscle,” “IT keep it here,’ said Will, smilingly, ta his arm. ‘Yes, two glasses of ale,’’ he oan as the bar-tender significantly handled a tumbler, ** You'll take ale, Ben?” ‘Guess I might venture,”’ " a right. Is Luke Lister often around this wa el “Occasionally. But I have not seen him since you floored him.” “Do you know where he lives?” asked Will, as he threw a quarter on the bar. “ Not exactly, I could come something near to the pla ce ” é ~ ae is Li e ale,” ee He as he ore ip 0} e nut-bro w “ca verage. “ for our mutual friend, aan “He is no friend of mine,’’. was the interru n. “ And I doubt if he is in love with me,” hed Will. ‘I have had some little affairs with him since. Tell me where he lives, as near as you can.” “I know it is on Somerset street, but I can’t give you the number. It is between Fourth and Fitth— nearest to Fourth. You can easily find it,” “ Thank you, I expect to have a little more busi- ness with friend Luke, and may need to call upon him. But don’t tell him to expect a visit—in case you see him. I prefer to make it a surprise.” “T see,’’ said the bar-tender, grinning. ‘“‘ There’s something in the wind?” “Tcan just smell the odor of rascality, from that quarter,” answered Will, as he finished lass. They were not quite wrong in their idea. Luke Lister had appeared to be Mark Preston’s confeder- ate in r schemes of late, and it was natural to aes that they might be leagued together in this SS. At all events, Somerset street would be a desirable place to visit. Ere going there, however, Will returned to his hotel, hoping to receive some further communica- tion from Lancaster. Nor was he disappointed. There was a telegram awaiting him. It was longer than the preceding message, and read as follows: ? eter is not to be found here. He has proba- bly su ed in some train. Mark Preston defies us, but we have him arrested at a ven- ture, on the charge of employing this boy to steal the papers. We will keep him under as lo as ible, and see that he does not correspon wi confederates. If the boy escapes you, then make all efforts to trace the papers. ey will hardly be destroyed without colar from * RatpH Emerson.” ' “Ah!” said Huntly, “your pretty cousin has got a gentleman to do hier tele aitnel Who ta fils “It is the gentleman who brvucht the will from Europe; and who certainly should. feel responsible for joss. Wi the match seems to be open, Huntly. Will bia: enter for it?’’ dicap. race between Will “The han Wildfire and Mark Preston, eh?’ queried Huntly, with a laugh. “I’m your backer, forathousand, Let us strike at once for Somerset street,” It was approaching night when they reached ts locality in question. It was a street of medium width, but not of any busy traffic. On the contrary it seemed rather slec)y and grass-grown, than active and wide-awake. I+ was, in fact, an unpretentious, down-town avcenr®, in one of those regions where the chief prodcct seems to be dirty-faced children, who swarm around door-steps and over ete wd as thickly as Lees about the front door of their hives. “Ugh! it smells bad down here,” said Will, with a sniff of disgust. “‘I wonder if the street-cleaners have not forgotten that there is such a street.” **Don’t you fancy that,” replied Huntly. “They rememeer it well enough—on salary day. They are too busy to remember it at other times.” “Hush!” hissed Will, grasping his arm, with a uick, tight clutch. ‘Do you see yonder? Look at the sable mite of humanity who has just left the door of that house near Fourth street. I wonder if he is our game?”’ * You can bet high that he’s worth running down and investigating,” cried Huntly, with energy. ‘Tt is our duty as gentlemen and Christians to overhaul and go through that African diamond.” ‘Then you follow him, Ben. Cautiously, mind. I will hurry around the square, and head him off in Fourth street. If the spry little eel suspects we ers after him he will be sure to slip through our fin- ers.”’ ** All right,” said Huntly. stir.” And Will did stir. Any one who saw him would have fancied that his house was on fire, and the news just come to him. His pace, however, became suddenly sober when he reached Fourth street, at a point several squares northward. A _— told him that all was yet in good shape. The half-grown citizen of African descent, who was the object of their thoughts, appeared just before him, progressing in wb pr moe erratic fashion, as if he was constitutionally opposed to walking in a straight line. Not far behind him was Huntly, walking with the staid, he ae step of a man of business, and appar- = te unconscious of the sable dwarf before And yet the boy seemed to be distrustful of him. He kept making short halts, to glance in a shop-win- dow, or to scratch his head a lamp-post,; and all these occasions served as opportunities to cast a quick look back at his apparently unc: nscious pur- suer. “Dat cat won't jump worf a cent,’ muttered the boy. “I’ve seen t gemman afore, suah. “Tain’t his supper he’s arter. ‘Tain’t codfish cakes an’ ‘lasses—no, siree. It’s Pete he wants. But he ain’t cotched Pete yit.”’ The boy spot his hands on his knees, and gave a shrill, elfish laugh, as if in high amusement at the —— of any one catching him. But his amusement came to a sudden termination. For a strong hand grasped him by the shoulder, and Pa rage of bright, young eyes looked sternly down “But I've cotched Pete,” came from Will Wild- fire’s lips. ‘‘ Hurry up there, Ben. Let us yank the young rascal off to the station-house.”’ Pete’s face became half-white with sudden dread. The thought of the station-house was to him like that of some giant's castle, whose hungry ¢ ~<a tor amused himself by crunching prisoners alive. He — like an eelin the hands of a fisher- man. t Will's fingers held him with a vise-like vigor. BO! lawsee, marse!”” he ejaculated. “I ain't done nuffin’; jess nuffin’ at all! Luff me Eo, please! I's a poor offin, I is, widout fader or mudder, or no- ben Oh! please, marse!”’ “You're a confounded young ** But you will have to e,” answered Huntly, pinching the boy’s ear. ‘Where have you bemet t house was that we saw you come out rs) ?”? ‘“*Dat house? Oh! don’t you know dat house?” asked Pete, innocently. “My ee ae. lib dere. She’s so ole—oh! so mighty ole!” ‘And you are mighty young to lie so glibly,” said Huntly, with another sharp pinch. “Oh! cried Pete, with another squirm. ‘’Fore de Lo'd, marse, dere ain’t no lie in it. It’s jess so.” “Your great-grandmother, then, is a bi man, with side-whiskers, and a nose like a door-knob?’ asked W nels Pete's eyes with his wantin, h Seve “ Yes,’ faltered the boy, after a moment’s hesita- je “) es—sartain—only so mighty ole. You never * Such a rascally little liar,” eng ae Will. “‘Now come, boy; if you want to escape the station-house you will have to tell the truth. What brought you down here? What did you leave with Luke Lister?” “Wid Luke Lister?” faltered Pete, turning whiter yet, in astonishment. “He's concoct another _ lie,” said Huntly. Stucenia house +0 ool here, Let us off ‘with him once. “Oh! don't, marse! Now don’t!” pleaded Pete, “T ain’t done nuffin’. I only took a—a of mut- ton from de butcher down to dat house, An’ dat's jess so. bi ofeneaans involuntary amusement. if the bo ongneuot to he etision- i ed, as the premium liar,” he remarked. “Now see here, Pete, Iknow something about a we of mutton: Itell you what sort: it came trom--You went with Shaner’ Male n, to Lancaster. Between the pair of you that pound of mutton was stolen from a butcher's stall up there, Then you brought it down to the 4
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| | | | | | Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. city, slid the back way out of the cars with it, and brought it down here for Luke Lister’s supper.”’ The boy’s face was a picture of astonishment, as he listened to this graphic account of his proceed- ings, froma stranger. It seemed to him as if this man must bea sort of magician. His looks were evidence enough that Will had hit the mark. “Dat’s jess so,” cried the boy, with his shrill laugh—after a moment’s hesitation. ‘ Marse Luke, he like Lancas’r mutton, SoI fotch him some.” “Let us search him,” suggested Huntly. “ He may still have the papers about him.” The idea was a good one, and was not difficult to put into effect, for Pete’s attire was not very com- plicated. A minute’s examination showed that there was no package of papers concealed about him. “Shall we take him to the station?” ‘ Not if he acknowledges the truth,” replied Will. “Come, now, Pete; did you give Luke Lister a pack- age of papers?” . ‘Dunno what was in ’t,’’ rejoined Pete. ‘It were all tied up, eber so tight. But he’s got um, suah.” “What instructions did you give him about them?”’ “-*Structions? What is ’structions?” asked the boy. “ Dunno what dat am, nowhow.”’ “What did you tell him to do with them?” “Oh! Is dat ’structions, den? Why, he's to keep ‘em. Dat’s all. Dere weren’t no oder ’structions, ‘cept dat.” ‘* Now, see here, boy,” said Will, sternly. ‘“ You don’t want to go to the station-house?” “Oh! lawsee! You ain’t goin’ to tote me dere arter all? Arter I’se tole eberything, jess the trufe?’’ “Will you promise not to tell about our catching you, and questioning you, if we let you off?” “Pell bout it?” erornigied Pete in a tonishment. ““*Spec Pete’s a fool? Why Marse Preston ’d mur- der me if he knowed it.—Jess don’t you tell, dat’s “You can slide then,” replied Will, laughing. He opened his hand, and Pete shot out like a swal- low, darting up the street as if he felt that the shadow of the station-house was still upon his path. CHAPTER XIV. WILL’S RECEPTION. ‘‘SomEeTHING must be done, and that immediate- ,”’ said Will to himself, as he reclined in his after- inner chair, in his hotel apartment. A night, and half a day had elapsed, since the events of our last chapter, andhe had not yet succeeded in forming any plan for circumventing Luke Lister, and obtaining possession of the papers. “To take the police there would be the signal for their destruction,” he continued. ‘“ Still, it will never do to leave them in his hands till. Mark Pres- ton gets free, or ever. gets an opportunity to send orders to his agent.. I must act at once; and the only plan I know of is to strike straight at the mark. Luke Lister ismy game; and that plumb from the shoulder,” “I'd give somet! though, to know more about the lady of the black horse,’ he mused, as another might learn some- vein of thought came tohim. “I jhing useful from her. She seems strangely con- | nected with Mark Preston.” At this instant his line of thought was broken by a tap at the door. On opening it he found there a hotel servant, who announced that a lady was wait- ing. forsee him in the parlor of the establishment. ondering who it could be, Will made his way to the apartment in question. He found it to be empty with the ye ar of one figure. This was a vailed lady; but a g ance was sufficient to satisfy him that the form before his eyes could belong to but one person—the one who had been in his thoughts a minute or two previously. Will hastened forward. “This is an unexpected pleasure,”’ he exclaimed. “T wished for you only this minute—and here you are in answer to my wish.” “Tike an old-time fairy, I suppose,” she replied in the gay tone which she often assumed. “ And serve my knight, who has called me to him with a wish?” “ By telling me how best to overcome Mark Pres- ton. You, who know him so well, may perhaps know more of his schemes than you have yet ad- vised me of.” ‘*T know him much too well,” she sadly replied. “Yet I fear that I cannot help en in the scheme of which you speak, Of late he kept his secrets from me. He distrusts me, perhaps.’ “Why do you speak thus?’’ Will impulsively ask- od, ; .% he a power over you? Why do you fear him, as you appear to do?” He took a seat and drew it up (mea A in front of ker, seeking to read the face that lay hid behind its throuding vail. ‘“‘T have every reason to fear him,” she answered. “ He has got a frightful power over me, and I dare aot resist his commands. It is this that brings me sere to-day. I have been afraid to make a confidant of my troubles. Yet I am sure, from your face, that you will not betray me; and you may be able to give me some useful ad There may bea way of my difficulties.” “T don’t fess to know one about law, if it {s that kind of trouble,” sai = young face full of sympathy. ‘ But so faras I have any judg- ment I will we vhelp you. You can: w me, Miss— ry aieeieee ene foe nate if I am right in addressing you in a manner. You arenot mar- “No, thank beaven!” she fervently exclaimed. “Bat I fear that I shall be forced to vecome his wife! It is that which brings me here. I would rather die!’ Her voice, intense with feeling, rung.in Will’s ear like the voice of one in mortal peril, ‘Tell me all," he earnestly cricd. ‘If he is per- secuting you, trust me to find some means to relieve you. But do throw off that blinding vail. I would talk with you face to face. She replied by throwing back her vail, and reveal- ing that lovely face of which Will had gained but a stolen glimpse before. It was now full of feeling but a lurking smile played about the mouth, callec up by his impulsive request. “Thanks!” he said. ‘That face would draw the sympathy of the most cold-blooded of men. Ask me to do anything for you, and I am at your com- mands.”’ A faint blush tinged the fair cheeks of the lady, but it was evident that she was not displeased. Will’s admiration was too earnest to give offense, despite his enthusiasm. “No compliments, I pray you,’ she rejoined, a smile flashing over her features. ‘‘ And now shall I tell you what is my object in coming here?” “Yes. Iam eager to know.” Will’s earnest. young eyes were bent with mingled curiosity and admiration upon the fair face before ~_ over which the shadow of sorrow had again allen. ‘**My name is Clara Moreland,” she pega. resting her hands upon each other, as she looked confiding- ly into his face. ‘I need not tell you that I am yet quite young.” “No, you need not tell me that,’ smiled Will. “T was still younger when I first met Mark Pres- ton. Iwas an orphan, with no one to advise me. He was soft-toned and specious. Is it any wonder that I grew to ps myself in love with him, or that I responded to his suit by promising to marry him? Iam not the first girl of seventeen who has been fooled by a fair face and.a gentle manner.”’ “But your eyes are open now,” protested Will, with more of personal feeling in his voice than he te “Tt is not too late to withdraw.” i ! I dare not!”’ was her sad response. ‘‘T am too deeply in his power. And he is pitiless. It would be ruin to me to defy him.” ““Peahaps not,” rejoined Will, quietly, ‘ You may b® deceived in this, too. What dreadful thing have you done?” “T have committed forgery!’ she cried, in accents of bitter pain. “I have poy fe my uncle’s name! He knows it! Mark Preston knows it! He holds the forged paper over me as a continual threat.” “Yorgery! Jove!’ whistled Will. ‘* That is a bad business. But he holds the paper, you say. What is it? A check?” “Yes. He made it a check.” She her hands in deep emotion. “It is he that has done it ali! Butitis I that must suffer. I would not for worlds have my uncle know of it!” . “But the check has not been presented for pay- ment?” “No, no! He holds it still, as a threat over me, to force me to this hateful marriage!” “Then the business may not be too late to mend,” be eoolly replied. ‘ But how came you to write t ” “Tt was done as a joke. I am very skillful with the pen. I imitated my uncle’s signature without dre: of this villain’s ro . He kept it and the bl check upon which it was written, without my knowledge, And now, that I hate and despise him, he threatens me with exposure, if I dare to withdraw from my promise to marry oe The fair young face was full of agonized feeling as she spoke. She wrung her hands unknowingly. Will, his face full of warm sympathy, drew his chair closer. ‘“Why not defy him?’ ke asked. “ Why not tell your uncle the whole circumstance?” “JT dare not,” she replied. “You do not know | my uncle. Such a cold, bitter, prejudiced mind, I fear he would never forgive me, or believe me. N 5 I must sacrifice myself to Mark Preston, hateful as he is, rather than that!” “You shall not, then!’ cried Will, impulsively rising. “* Ah! T have it! Do you know where he keeps this dangerous a Way i , “ Among his pa in his private desk, I believe.” “Then, all is fair in war, ark Preston is at pres- ent under arrest at Lancaster. There is an oppor- right to force his desk open, if need be. I would help you but I must at once seek to overthrow an- other scheme of his.” “T half fear to undertake it,” she exclaimed, her face suffused with a new light. “But, but—” “There is a little black boy,” suggested Will, who seems to know his secrets. Have you any in- fluence over him? Can you get him to bt D you?” “Little Pete,” she replied, her face lighting up. “Yes, He will do anything for me.” ute may be Preston eg Newer the end of his ay ap If you es quick and decisive you may be able to defy his reats.”’ “Thanks! A thousand thanks!” she cried, im- mae, seizing his hand. “ Oh! you give me new e! If I succeed, how can I ever repay you?” “The time may arrive,” said Wi h a slight blush, when I may ask for payment, Till then I will keep your ‘forget me not,’ ’ ; She peer rr hér vail and released his hand, as another lady entered the room, recognized at a glance by her quick eyes. The new-comer was a neatly-~iressed young lady with a very vere face, in whose features something ly over the scene before her, and a look of | ure settled upon her face, as if she was. not quite ~ precious,” exclaimed Will “ Mark > tunity for you to seek for this paper. You have the | “Then go at once. Lose no time, for every min- | familiar. Her eves) pt Sak pleased to see Will Wilcfire in the company of this young lady. “7 would like to see you for a few minutes, when you are at Ieisure, Mr. Wildfire,” she said. “Certainly, certainly,’ replied Will, in surprise. “Tn one moment, miss.” “Tf 1am to be run down with women, it is lucky they are all so good-looking,’ he remarked, to him- self, as he accompanied the first lady to the door. Don’t fail in your good intentions,” he said. ‘It may be now or never. And Jet me know the result.” ‘“*T certainly shall,’ was her reply, as she left the room. Will turned toward the other lady, who stood in a somewhat defiant attitude, scorn and anger uLon her face, “T shall be pater now, Miss— But I have cer- tainly seen you before,” declared Will, tooking earn- estly into the charming face before him. “T think you have,” she rejoined, a smile chasing the displeasure from her face. ‘I hardly thought that you could forget me.” “Ah! I have you now," was Will’s eager and joy- ous exclamation. ‘I know that roguish look of old. It is Lucillé Maynard! My fair cousin Lucille!” “Tt took you long enough to find it out,” she sar- castically rejoined. ‘*T have been on the look-out for you ever since I have been in Philadelphia,” he replied, ‘1 did not know where to find you. And you have changed so from the freckled little girl of old—and have become so marvelously pretty, that I couldn't be expected to recognize you at sight. But it is never too late to mend, Cousin Lucille,” he contnued, drawing her impulsively toward him, and kissing her. “TI doubtif you are mending, Will Wildfire,” sl.e exclaimed, releasing herself from his arm, with a flushed face. ‘‘ You have all the old impudence.” “Only cousinly affection, Lucille, If a chap can- jae an his cousin, who is he to kiss, I would like to ow 3? “The strange, vailed ladies, with whom he has rivate interviews, perhaps,” replied Lucille, look- ng keenly at him. ‘Oho! sits the wind in that quarter?’ cried Will, with a laugh of amusement. ‘‘ Why, cousin, I know no more about her, than of the man in the moon. She called to see me entirely on her own business.” “Was it that that made her fling you the bouquet on the day of the boat race? or that made her haunt you as the Queen of the Night at the masked bali?” “Why,” remarked Will, somewhat displeased, “have you been keeping a watch over me?” “An involuntary one. No more than you need, rhaps. Have you forgotten the German gitl you ced with at the ball?” * “Ah! Isee it all now. I must have been blind not. to ze you. But never mind this woman, Lucille. She is no more to me than to you. She is one of the victims of Mark Preston, against whore we are both in'arms. I received your message yesterday.” “Tt is that brings me here to-day. Have you acted upon it?” : “ Partly, I failed to catch the boy. But Lhave since learned where he left the papers.’ “Then you must lose no time in capturing them,”” she impulsively exclaimed. ‘In spite of all our efforts, Mark Preston has succeeded in sending a letter to Philadelphia. This may contain orders to destroy the package. There is no time to lose.” pas, © you know to whom the letter was addressed “Yes. To Luke Lister.” “Then the game is growing hot, in earnest,” cried Will,springing hastily to his feet. ‘‘ Luke Lister is the man who has the papers. I shall go for him at once; and have them, or know the reason why.” “Go armed then,” she quickly rejoined. “y know = Lo man, and what occasion he has to owe you -will.”’ | “YI don’t fear bim, nor a dozen such,” said Will, | drawing up his athletic form. “But. go armed,” she earnestly repeated, ‘‘ You do not know what contingency may arise. And ¢o atonce, Every minute now is precious,” “You are right, Lucille,” he rejoined, aecompany- ing her to the door, ‘‘A fortune {s worth a hard fight; and I will not let it go by the board, if only for your sake. May I claim a cousin’s privilege now, Lucille?” “No,” she replied, with a sarcastic smile. ‘ You | stole. the privilege once, and now ask me to give it to you. I cannot reward theft in that way.” “But if I circumvent Luke Lister?’’ “Ah! there will be another song to sing then,” she laughingly rejoined. ‘‘Do that, and I will for- give you a multitude of sins.” ‘“*T will, or know the reason why.” He hastened to his room as she descended the stairs, and eye dressed for the enterprise before him, not failing to na her suggestion, by placing asmall pistol in his breast et. Ina very few minutes afterward he emerged into the street, bend- ‘ing his steps, first toward a club-room in which he | expected to find some of his friends. He might have | need of them, | CHAPTER XV. WILL CALLS ON LUKE LISTER. aaa t not saved you from many a whipping, _ “T's cotehed enough, anyhow,” said the boy, with ) a bitter look upon hisface. “I's cotched’em ree dat’s sattain. ,Marse Preston, dero ain't no let up in | him, nary bit. ; | “And would have had more, except for me.” * Da’s 80, . e Clara,” replied the he grate- yr. Dunno what'd come o’ Pete, ‘cept for you. , Can’t help doin’ things; and Marse Preston, he can’t
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Wi help kickin’ me fur doin’’em. An da’s de way it “Tf I have ever helped you, Pete, you should help me now in return,” remarked Clara Moreland, look- ing the impish little rogue in the eyes. *Ts’t sumfin ’g’in’ Marse Preston?” ‘“Yes. He has treated me badly, too, I want you to help me revenge upon him.” : ‘“‘Ain’t whipped you, too?” asked Pete, with a look of astonishment. ‘‘Goodee gracious! if he’s done dat—” : 4 “Not just in that way,” replied Clara, laughing at Pete’s comical surprise. “And yet he has in- jured me, seriously.” “Don’t lub him much meself,’’ rejoined the boy. “Then you will help me?” ‘“* But s*pose him fine it out?’ queried Pete, with a grimace. ‘*Won’t he lick Pete? Lawsee, Missie Clara, he done skin Pete, cl’ar out.” “Do not fear, my boy,” she replied, with a look of kindly assurance. ‘ You shall be protected from him. If we succeed I will see that you are safe from his revenge.” : —_ him in Philumdelf yet, or in Lancas’r?”’ queried ‘ete. “He is in Lancaster; and likely to remain there; for he has been arrested for theft.” “Don’t I know?” cried Pete, clapping his hands, with a laugh of impish delight. ‘Dey’ve done cotched Marse Preston fur dem papers? Hoopee! but ain’t dat fun! An’ it were Pete done it all! Oh, Lawsee! wouldn't 1 like to see um now. Jess say what ’tis, Missie Clara. Now’s de time, while de ole boy’s in de jail. Ili do mose anyt’ing so he don’t cotch me. arse Preston in jail? Well, if dat ain’t de fun for this mists and Pete danced all over the floor in his delight. It was no easy matter, in fact, to bring the boy down to sober attention to business. He would lis- ten for a minute or two, with intense gravity, to his fair confederate, and then, as a thought of the funny situation of affairs came upon him, he would spring up and dance like a top, uttering screams of laughter. The idea of “ Marse Preston in jail’ seem- ed to him the very acme of comical incidents. It, thus, took her a considerable time to make him understand her object. But the boy was shrewd enough, despite his wild outbreaks, and his mis- chievous spirit. He saw through the scheme better than she had ig mney it possible to make him, *“Dat’s fun, Missie Clara,” he said, more soberly. “Anyt’ing ’g’in’ Marse Preston's fun. I'm jess oar to help you. An’ won’t he make de fedders y when he fine it out? You bet!” At an hour not long after this interview between Clara and her young confederate, an interview of a different character was taking place in another part of the city. Luke Lister was seated in a room in the second story of his house, on Somerset street, Rien A en- gaged in reading a letter which he had just re- ceived. He perused its contents a second tima an oath b ng from his lips, as he did so. “So he has got himself nabbed!” exclaimed the villain. “Just about what I looked for. Confound- ed fools half the men are anyhow. I bet a horse they wouldn’t have grabbed me so easily.” He looked over the letter again. “TI suppose it means that I am to make ashes of the papers,” he continued. ‘“‘A chap that’s in limbo has got to write in riddles, of course; but I judge that’s what he’s driving at.” He remained in deep thought for several minutes, “Maybe he thinks I’m a fool, and need to be coached at every step,” was the next observation, “Td be a gay old Jack if 1 didn’t know that those apers were dangerous goods. It’s lucky I have my Finiture well insured, for I am afraid there might be a fire on these premises that would be hard on both parchment and mahogany. He is the sensible man who lays his aac for danger before it comes.” “You will find in that room,’’ came a voice from without. The door op@hed, and an ill-favored woman looked into the room. “A gentleman here to see you,” she said. “Allright. Show him in.’ But a change came upon Luke Lester’s face when he caught sight of the figure of his visitor. He made a —- sign to the woman, who returned it with a look of intelligence, as she made way for the visitor. There was a stern, serious expression = ge her face as she walked slowly away, while Will Wild- fire, for it was he, entered the room, His host stood, knitting his fingers around the top of a chair, as if pee he mors to make an immediate n his ha oe. ae Will walked in as reed pone: as though they were the best of friends, and sea himself in cool disregard of the fierce looks cast upon him. ““Good-day, Mr. Lister,” He politely remarked, “I presume I can have a few minvwtes of your valu- able time.’ “What in the blazes brings you. here anyhow? hang your impudence!” roared out Luke, “To serve you right ’d brain you with this chair. ? ** Now don _ my dear sir,” returned Will. “ That’s a little bit mivice I wish to give you. Don’t. Chairs are nasty things to be flying about.” ‘iad We'll see that!” cried Luke, in a tone of exaspera- n. In an instant he lifted the heavy wooden chair —_ his head, and rushe dupon iis quiet antago- The weapon descended with a f hich might have been fatal, only that Will Wildfire. —s ape ll Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. 18 occupied the same position. It fell, instead, upon the empty chair, both of them being broken. “That is rather a bad exercise for furniture, Mr. Lister,” said Will, coolly, from another seat which he had taken. you are going to break up prea sree =i And I can give you another good reason for quitting it.” “What?” roared Luke, his face purple with rage. “Only that you are butting against the wron fence. If you try that neat little trick on again might take a hand in the game. I am afraid it wouldn’t be for your health.’ “TI don’t fear you,” cried Luke fiercely. took me at an advantage before. I am as good a man as you, any day, in a fair match.” “All right; if you think so,” responded Will, ris- ing, and preparing to throw oft his coat. “I am not much in the way of fighting with a man in his own house. But_still if you want a friendly spar, I don’t know that I have any objection to accommodate ‘ou,”’ “Friendly spar be hanged!” exclaimed Luke, flinging himself heavily into a chair. ‘* What brings you here anyhow, blast you?” ** Business, Luke Lister,’ replied Will, a stern look taking the place of his bantering expression. **T came for a certain package of papers sent you by Mark Preston, by the hands of his little black servant. You received them about this hour yester- day; and as I think twenty-four hours is long enough for you to be saddled with such a charge, I will re- lieve you of it.” He saw, from the expression of Luke’s face, that he had hit the nail on the head. In fact the villain made no effort at denial. “ What a have you to them?” he asked. “The right of ownership,” replied Will. ‘‘ You know, as well as I, that Mark Preston stole them.” *I know nothing of the sort,’ rejoined Luke. * And I will only give them to the man from whom I received them.’ * “You refuse me then?” “Yes. That’s about the way to put it.” “Very well. I wished to give you a chance to deliver them up quietly. As long as you will not I shall have the house searched by the police.” “The police be hanged !” cried Luke, snapping his fingers in disdain. ‘*Do you snppose that I’m such a green blade not to know how to cheat all the lice that were ever manufactured? I don’t care a fig for your police.” e walked toward the door and threw it open. “Stop!” cried Will. “Why shall I stop?” “Because I order you to.” “*Then you are boss here?” “Yes; so long as I hold a little persuader like this in my hand.”’ Luke had stepped outside the door. But he turned at these words, to find himself in point-blank range Meh’ revolver, which Will was quietly aiming at his “Drop that!’’ he hastil beige nc nervously ducking. ‘* The confounded th ng might ‘© off.” You're right,” echoed Will. “It might go off. I would advise you to come back, out of range.” “What do you want?” asked the cowed villain, quickly returning into the room. “Only to keep Ae eeaveny, that’s all. If you are going after those papers hardly it safe to trust you out of this room alone.’ “Blow me if I give you a paper!”’ exclaimed the villain, a look of peculiar exultation upon his face, whose meaning Will could not understand, “Very well. You will k me company then. We can be having a sociable time together while + theta 274 outside are going through your estab- lishment.” we up one of the front windows, which looked out upon the street, Will blew a shrill blast from a whistle which he took from his et. The street had seemed empty, but it was nota minute afterward when several persons appeared in it, approaching the house. “Now, my dear sir, we will see who is to win the aga remarked Will, turning quietly toward his oe. But the latter wore a look of exultation whose meaning Will could not comprehend, And there was something strange in the atmosphere of the room. It was becoming heavy and difficult to .. There was a smoky smell in the air, and a sense of ee temperature, which seemed unaccountable. Will looked at the triumphant face of his antago- nist. There was certainly someth in the wind. RE Aas does this mean?” asked the young man, ly. “ There’s something odd about it,”’ returned Luke with a sneering smile. “I am desperately afraid that the house is on fire.” His alarming words were confirmed to Will’s senses by a double evidence. For, at this same moment, he caught a lurid flash of light through the open door, from the floor below. And a pecu- oo a sound came upward from the sameé y. Simultaneously with this discovery came a cry from the street without. id “Fire! Fire! The house is on fire!” It was the voice of Will’s friends, whose efforts to enter the edifice had been un tedly defeated. An uproar instantly arose. e street filled with le, as if by magic. Hundreds of voices added e “T am afraid these are to be hot quarters,” remarked Luke, with badd aw stomapti® “ Things seem to be hot down stairs, Suppose we make tracks out of it “You | will go with you. I | ‘I'd advise you to quit it, except | | the door, | | She had | containe “Was this done by that woman?” asked Wil sternly, ‘‘I saw you signal to her.” ‘*What does that matter now? We had best slepe, before it is too late.” “ Hold, there!” cried Will, as Luke started teward “The papers!” “Tam afraid they are cinders now.”’ “You lie!” exclaimed Will, again cave his ope Dare to take a step from this room ave handed over those papers, and it will be a bullet in your head.” “Hang it!’ cried Luke in alarm. “ 4 that istol! There is only one way to escape, and it may too late if we lose a minute more.” “Sit down in that chair!” exclaimed bry. , A proaching, and holding the pistol to the head @ shrinking villain. ‘‘ That’s right,” he continued as Luke crouched down obediently. He seated himself in another chair, pistol ip hand, “The papers?”’ he said. “*T tell you they are burnt up!” “Then we will burn up too; for neither you nor I | leave this room without those papers.” A dense smoke was rolling into the room, new lurid with the red flash of Ramen. CHAPTER XVI. MARK PRESTON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, “ GoLLy, Missie Clara, but we’s de chaps!” erled Pete in delight. *Know’d I could fotch um. Been dar before, suah! Dar’s de old desk, an’ you's jist got to pile in.” Clara felt little less exultation than her . lively eung confederate, as she stood before Mark Pres- n’s private desk, which he had just contrived to pen. She felt not one moment’s hesitation, nor one ualm of conscience at this unlawful proceeding, for ood reason to believe that this receptacle the forged check which had been held in | terror over her for years, and which she saw no | other means of getting into her possession. | desk, which he | to find the concealed ** All is fair in war,’’ she remarked to the boy, who stood grinning in delight before his handiwork. “‘Mark’Preston has robbed me in more ways than one. He has papers relating to my property in that ot from me by treachery.” “Whar were de perlice, Missie Clara?’ “T was afraid of him, and dared not force him to | return my papers.” “Den go fur um now, while he’s in de stone jug,” suggested Pete. ‘Mark Preston is jess as slippery asan eel. Him mought, pop in, ‘fore we git ‘ *Tain’t de time now for foolin’.” “You are right,” said Clara, in a resolute tone, as she walked to the desk, ‘I will hesitate no longer. He has robbed me, and I am justified in recovering my own.”* ‘He'll be heah, Missie Clara. Seems to me I smell him in de air. Dar ain’t no stone jug kin hole Marse Preston. Jess you dig in, da’s all.” The desk was an upright, old-fashioned affair, with a multitude of drawers and pigeon-holes, Some former experience had apparently taught her all its mysteries, and just where she would be most likely “This must be the pers. rawer,’’ she said. ‘But it is locked.” There was a disappointed look upon her a i as e. “Lemme dar,” cried Pete, with an air of import- Mighty lucky Lemme dar.” g word. In less than a brace y minutes he had unlocked and thrown open the wer. “ Had a notion dat key 'd fotch um,” he triumphant- ly exclaimed. With a hand that trembled with rness Clara drew out the drawer. She paid no attention to its contents, however, but laid it- aside, and fixed her eyes on the cavity from which it had been drawn, “Tt is in here,” she excitedly remarked. ‘The secret drawer must be here. Fortunately Istill re- member the location of the spring.” Putting her hand into the depth of the cavity, she poet about with her fingers for a minute or two. ese efforts were followed by a sharp click, and by a noise as if something had fallen. Pete, who had been standing at her elbow, with his head stretched forward at a right angle with his body, his eyes starting, and his tongue protruded, sprung back at this sound with such indiscreet haste, that he rolled headlong on the floor.” “Golly, Missie Clara! Wa’s dat?” he cried, in tones of alarm. “Sumfin Gone off, in dar! Pete t’ou’t him were a goner, suah. Jess like a pis’l, fur - id tht Pete?” she asked, laughing at the = you, Pete?” she as at t overturned boy. bain ines gi — . ‘“* Dunno,” re ete, with an air of t gravi- , Bied to his feet, “Didnt foteh | blood. But hadn't we best be gittin’? Don’t like heah, nohow,”’ and he glanced around him with an air 0 ep Ung ry ‘ “Yes,” she cried, with glad enthusiasm, hastily examining certain papers which she had drawn from the cavity. ‘Yes! I have my papers! They were in the secret drawer, Now let k Preston do his worst; I can safely defy him!” Ha! What does this mean?” cried a voice from the door. ‘‘My room entered! My desk broken open and robbed! So, Miss Clara, this is the way you employ yourself in my absence!” The co erates turned in alarm to the door, te behold stan there the s— of Mark his face fi with anger, w his lip curled with xp ° ic triumph. “Tt is well that I came back in “*T have no objection to time,” he con- visitors, but I
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14 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. hardly like them to make themselves so very much at home.—So I have caught you in the act?’ He advanced into the room, a look of malignity upon his face. *T but recovered my own,” replied’Clara, with an effort at defiance, though her face was pale, and her lips trembling. ‘‘I have but regained what you rob- bed me of. Ihave the forged signature, and the paper relating to my property, and I shall never give them up to you again!” “You will not, eh? We shall see that!” and the unscrupulous villain advanced upon her, while she retreated until the wall prevented any further move- | ment. “Do not come near me! Do not dare lay your pol- luting hands upon me!” she exclaimed, witha gen whose effect was lost in her evident fear. ‘TI will never yield these papers! never! never!” “That depends upon who is the strongest, my dear young lady,” he weg om, 4 replied, grasping her left arm by the wrist, and seeking to wrench from her the check, which she held in this hand. At this moment Pete, who stood just behind, shak- ing his fists at his master, called out: Frow me de papers, Missie Clara! Frow’em to Pete! He can’t cotch this nig. Jess frow Pete de a ory tl he folded document relating to her property was in her right hand. i a ing it over the head of her enemy, into the reach of the a Pete caught it with the skill of a base-ball player, and at once darted for the door, crying out: “Golly, if we ain’t shet ole Marse Preston’s eye dis time, suah!”” : Mark Preston with a fierce oath, released the wo- je ghee darted quickly after the mocking boy. But he might as well have chased the wind. Pete was out of the room and rapidly gem | the pening before his master had fairly reached the oor. The latter suddenly gave up the chase, and turned back. The check was still in Clara’s hands. That he must have, or the game he had played so long was lost. ; She mae ee . the center ~ = room, look- ng eagerly around for an opportunity to escape. But there was but the one door, and the shrewd vi'- aw ag taken care not to leave open this avenue of 1 \ ey can attend to that ne again,” he said. ‘‘ Just now I must have that check.” “You shall not! You shall not!’’ she exclaimed, with wavering resolution, as she again retreated be- fore him. “Come, girl,” he roughly cried. ‘“‘There is no use pac the fool. You are in my power, and you now it. You will save further trouble by handing that over quietly.” Clara’s face was deathly white, as she looked around on all sides, like adeer at bay, for some pos- sible chance of flight. A hoarse laugh came from his lips. “Th is only one master in this house,” he sneeringly said. ‘‘My word is law here. Hand me that paper!” * Here it is, then!’’ she cried, in a tone of despera- tion. ‘‘Make the most of it!” As she spoke she quickly conveyed the check to her mouth, tore off the dangerous signature with her teeth, and chewed it rapidly into a pulp, while she flung the useless remainder of the paper into his sneering face. : “Take it, Mark Preston!” she exclaimed. ‘“ And take with it my release from your power over me! Iam no longer your slave.” * By the gods, though, I will have revenge for this!’ he begs his ous eat ae rage, as he again gras er arm in a vise-like gripe. Clara foares him at that moment; feared him more than she had ever dreaded him before, for there was the glare of the tiger in the eyes which he bent upon her. A sudden thought came to her, a hope for safety. ** All your schemes have failed, Mark Preston,” she exclaimed. ‘ Will Wildfire knows of your theft of his uncle’s will. He is at this very moment seek- ‘our agent, to force from him the stolen will.” e expression upon the villain’s face suddenly changed. Was he to lose the fortune he had worked for ere to gratify an impulse of re- venge He flung her arm fiercely from him, “T will attend to you again!” he hoarsely cried. “« After I have settled for Will Wildfire.” It was with no — feeling of relief that Clara saw him rush from the room. ie Wildfire is able to take care of himself,’’ she said. in your power again, ith a look of exultation she left the room, in which she had passed through such an intense ex- perience, While this scene was being enacted the events re- corded in our last chapter had taken place. But it was some time after the hour in which Clara had es- caped from her enemy that the event occurred with which we closed that chapter. We must now return to Luke Lister and Will | Wildfire, the former of whom we left seated cower- ing in a chair, while his youthful conqueror, with stern and resolute face, occupied a chair opposite sam with the pistol directed in deadly aim at his ead, Yet it was no comfortable situation for a quiet vis-a-vis. The room was filling with smoke, while the red glare of flames, which looked at them from the open stairway, threatened soon to cut off all hones of escape. Tn an instant she took the hint, | ““Are you mad?’ cried Luke, in despair. ‘‘ We But at this instant, with one fierce blow of an shall be burnt alive!” “All right, my friend. I can stand it, if you can,” was Will’s cool answer. “Butif you dare to stir from that chair, except to get those papers, I will put a bullet through you as sure as I sit here. AndI am not given to boasting or lying.” Will looked, too, as if he meant it. The villain’s eyes rolled in fright around the peril- | ous scene, “TI tell you the papers are gone!” he cried, with a ac, a effort. ‘It is too late to save them!” *“You lie!’’ Will sternly answered. ‘‘ The papers are inthisroom. They are on that side of the room. You cannot keep your scared eyes off the spot where you have hidden them. You can do as you lease about getting them—but I have a serious no- ion Voges we will smother or roast together unless you do. Will had guessed truly as to the locality of the = ge This was evident from the villain’s look. ut he braved it out for a moment longer, sitting sullenly in his chair, while the fire crackled an roared below, and the smoke which had half-smoth- ered them gave place to the fierce glare of the in- creasing flames, In the street the uproar grew more intense. The loud clatter of an engine coming to the fire was audible. With a bitter curse the baffled villain arose, and walked toward the spot which Will had indicated. It was a closet, within which appeared to be some secret hiding-place, for Will heard the click of a spring as Luke was for a moment hidden within the closet, “There are os infernal papers,” he cried, fling- ing toward Will a close pocksse “And now are you satisfied? Isn’t it time to make tracks?” | ax, the sash, glass and all, came crashin: ] from its frame, and a tall, gigantic form leaped through the open space into the room. A quick glance, a mighty spring, and Pierce Browning was upon the interlocked combatants. ‘“Four can play at that game,” he cried, as he caught Mark Preston with one hand, and sent him whirling like a top across the room. His other hand grasped Luke Lister in the same manner, tore him loose from his hold upon Will, and dashed him to the floor as though he had been a lifeless log. - “ Lie there, you sage aly | brute!” he exclaimed. “And if the fire es you it will be what — de- serve! Come, Will, these quarters are getting too hot for comfort.” He dragged Will—who was somewhat dazed with the heat and smoke, and the violence of his exer- | helped him out upon the ladder. tions—across the floor to the window, and hastily ** Down. it like ptaings" he cried. “The fire is licking its rounds already!” Will, whom the touch of the outer air had brought | back to his senses, lost no time in obeying this wise command. He was followed down the ladder by Pierce, beneath whose weight the slender support | groaned. “Ts there any one else there?’ demanded a fire- man, ** Yes, two hounds who ought to be roasted to burn the rascality out of them. ut you can go for them | if you wish.” here was no need to go for Mark Preston. He was already through the window and upon the lad- der, abandoning his villainous associate in his selfish | cowardice. “No. Not till [have seen whether you are play- | Luke Lister, half stunned by the violence of his fall ing some trick upon me or not,”’ Will coolly replied. ** Just take your seat while [examine this packages, “And not until have hada finger in the pie,” cried another voice in fierce accents. They turned quickly, and beheld Mark Preston, who at that instant rushed into the room, having entered the house from some rear entrance. ** You shall never leave this house alive with those papers!’’ he sternly exclaimed. CHAPTER XVII. OUT OF THE BURNING HOUSE, THE uproar inthe street was now at its hight. | | the window?” asked W Hundreds of people appeared to be before the house; engines were momentarily dashing upon the scene; the first one arrived was already pouring a | stream of water upon the flames. “Here! This way!’ yelled a loud voice, as a hook and ladder truck thundered up. “This wa with a ladder! Make hastg! There are people sti within that house!”’ Indeed haste seemed necessary, for the flames were making rapid progress. The smoke which had rolled upward in thick clouds was dissipated, but the clear light of an intense blaze shone into the room, having eaten its way through the floor in one corner. tered was already cut off by a a Se flame, prea ooting upwar e foe. It was a thoughtless movement, for Luke Lister took immediate advantage of it, by rushing forward and dashing the pistol from his hand. It exploded as it struck the floor, the bullet dart- ing harmlessly outward. It is our turn now, Luke,” ly. “Goforhim! You owe he has done to you!” a return for what elled Mark exulting- | | inevitably have peri | In an instant the two villains rushed upon their | youthful antagonist. Will was ata serious disad- vantage in one hand being incumbered with the recious Pers. He struck fiercely at Mark Pres- n with the other, but the agile villain eluded his blow. At the same instant Luke clasped him firmly around the body, hampering his further movements. “ Fling him, papers and all, into the fire!” yelled Mark. “No one will know but it was an accident. It is our turn now, Luke.” Yet hampered as Will was, it proved no easy mat- | ter to carry out their murderous project. The three foes staggered over the floor, backward and for- rent. ill being almost a match for the pair of them. “And as for me, [hope to never put myself | red gu | asthe missile ren | with tho impetus ofa b | into the street without. Yet they approached, nearer and nearer, to the If from which the flames were surging. But now, with a desperate effort, the young athlete tore loose his left arm from their hampering clasp. In an instant it was extended above his head, hold- | ing aloft the precious rece *This shall be saved, whatever becomes of me!” he cried, dashing it fiercely at the windc w. The action was gee by a loud crash of glass, its bef through a pane, fiyin et across the room, an Pi mein of baffled hate broke from Mark Pres- n’s lips. “We will settle for hi anyhow!” he ejaculated. Indecd it looked as if th almost on the verge of the flaming abyss of fire from which a scorching heat enveloped them. And Luke Lister had seized Will from behind in such a way that the young athlete was held at a serious dis- advantage. : One step more, and it seemed inevitable that he woudd be hurled into the flaming gulf. ey would, for they stood | But two firemen immediately ran up the ladder, and entered the room. Nor were they any too soon. was only now groping his way to his feet. He woulc i had they not dragged him hastily to the ladder, for they were hardly out of the room when a great of flames broke through the floor, and surged in a crimson flood to the ceil- ing. ae A devilish narrow squeak!’’ exclaimed a veteran fireman, as he directed a stream of water through the open wincow. “I s’pose you chaps were play- ee Ae game of eucher in there, by the quiet way in which you were taking things.” “What became of the package I flung through A looking inquiringly around, - “You flung through the window!” cried Mark Preston, virulently. ‘‘ You want to rob me of that, too, do you, after trying to murder me in there? Gentlemen, this man set fire to the house, and then tried to fling me into the flames.” There were some fierce looks at Will, as this accu- sation was made in tones of indignant anger. But the youth contented himself with a scornful shrug of the shoulders, and looked questioningly around him for the missing package. - “Don’t give it_to the villain!” cried Mark again. “Tt is mine, and I demand it from whoever has it.’” ‘* You had better come get it then,” said a voice mst = gs an ae pene to th speak ark turned and ran q y e person - ing, anxious to obtain | sevepe str of the precious — before Will Wildfire could again interfere. nce in his own hands he felt confident in his power out instead of iving th ted package, | ut instead of receiv e€ cove’ package, he found himself seized by the collar, a firm hand grasping him na vise-like grij e, while a voice which e now recognized called out: “Here he is, Will! The thief and hound! What shall I do with him, confound his ugly mug?” It was the voice of Ben Huntly, tained to a high pitch of indignation. . ‘*Let him go!’ yelled a fireman,” or I'll flatten ou out! Didn’t we hear that this young villain ried to murder him?” “That’s so!’ screamed Luke Lister. “ He tried it on both of us! Go for him, lad! Hustle the smooth-faced hound!” There was a surge of the disengaged bystanders toward Will, who stood unmoved; though a red flush marked his face. ‘*Hold there!’’ cried Pierce Browning, placing his huge bulk in their way. “I have a word to fay in this business. Was not I the first up the ladder?” “Yes, yes,’’ came several voices. “Well, then, I found this pair of tender-hearted cuttbroats doing their their best to fling the young man here into the fire. If I hadn’t been in time er wouldn’t now have been much left of him but ashes.” “That’s so!’’ exclaimed a fireman. ‘I was after you, up the ladder, and saw it all. They are a couple of infernal murdering raseals, and it would be only sauce to them to fling the brace of them back into the fire.” “Put them under the nozzle! drenching !”’ roaged several voices. : The hint was instantly taken. A dozen vigorous hands seized the two v ns, despite their effort to escape, and dragged them before the house, where was an open space. The eek moment a burly fireman directed toward them the nozzle of the hose with which he had been sending a hissing stream uj on the fire, and poured its drenching flood over their shrinking forms. Theit captcrs broke and ran on all sides, leaving them standing alone. In an instant they were Give them a | knocked flat by the fierce torrent of water, and half | drowned as it continued to drench them from head to foot, covering them with mud and gravel dug from the street by the hissing stream.
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Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. The two overturned villians crawled as quickly as possible out of the range of the suffocating flood, and scrambling to their feet, ran hastily into the thick of the crowd. They were followed and assailed everywhere by shouts of derisive laughter. They presented, in- deed, a sorry spectacle, with the water streaming from them in muddy rivulets, while down their faces coursed little channels of mud giving them a most ludicrous and disconsolate aspect. “Tve a notion their goose is cooked,’ remarked Pierce, who had stood by smiling, as if it would be too much of an exertion to laugh outright. ‘“ You've won the belt, Will. You're a diamond of the first water. You have got to give us a prime set out at Wildflower Hall for this.” ; ae “Won't I though!” exclaimed Will, joyously. “ We'll make the rafters ring in that old mansion, er there’s no strength in good lungs, or virtue in good cheer.”’ Sw : * And now let us be sliding,” rejoined Ben Huntly. “That chap Preston has got as many tricks as the fox of the old fable. He will work some new game upon us yet, if we stay here.” : ith a last look at the burning house, in which the flames were now slowly yielding to the gushing streams of water poured on them from every direc- tion, the three friends left the place, threading their way through the dense crowd which had been roped off from the immediate locality of the fire. | “How came you to get the package, Ben?”’ asked Will. ‘“ Did it strike near you?” “T think so,” replied Ben dryly. “‘ Near enough to take me square in the breast, and knock me as flat as a flounder. I might have known that it was your hand flung it, by the way it came.” CHAPTER XVIII. AND THE END OF ALL. A seavutiruL day in early November rested with all the soft charm of the Indian summer upon Wild- flower Hall. The brilliancy of the autumn woods which had given their charm to the landscape when we were last there, was now fled. The trees lifted their branches leaflessly into the air, shorn of all their brilliant foliage, yet, looking in the soft Novem- ber air, as if Nature had made a mistake in strip- ping them so early for the winter storms. In the large oon of the mansion a group of people were assembled, comprising most of those vith whom we have kept company through these here were Will's young gentlemen friends, Ben Huntly, Harry Waters, and Pierce Browning, the latter leaning indolently back in an easy-chair, and seemingly far more interested in his finger-nails than in what was going on. There was present, also, Lucille Maynard, her face radiant in its setting of golden hair; and her mother, dressed in her best black, and ay deeming this one of the great occasions of her life. Clara Moreland was also present. She had just ridden up on her noble black horse,and now sat some- what apart from the rest, eyed with a dubious glance by Mrs. Maynard, who was still in doubt what to make of her. This doubtful look, however, was partly intended tor Pete, her sable confederate, who was also pres- ent, and who kept close to her as his one sure friend in the multitude. “Ts not that the strange woman whose behavior we so much dis ?” asked Mrs. Maynard, in a : e whisper of her daughter, who sat ide her. “* What brings her here?’ ““ We were mistaken about her,’’ whispered Lucille, soothingly. ‘Cousin Will has told me all about her. She is another who has suffered from Mark Preston’s villainy.” — Obi" said the mother, with a periy satisfied sigh. “ But the Prey poe Is he 4 ee spy? The one that got that letter am sure he is.” “ Yes. But he is allright now. He has left Mark Preston’s service.” “T am sure I hope so,” returned the mother, with an air of relief. There were several other persons present, the one of whom in which we have just now the greatest interest being Ralph Emerson, who sat, in his quie’ dignified manner, beside a table in the upper en of the room. Upon pa table there lay opened be- fore him a number of papers. “These documents have been preserved through ti tribulation," he ~~ as he ee gy _ the as- ly, keepi on one 0} e wit had earned of the t demand ikely to arise for them I would have more careful in re- ard to letting them out of my hands. Fortunately. Eowever, they have been recovered. Otherwise i might have had a settlement to make with Mark Preston, which will not be necessary now. These are the will, and various poonenpeny ing papers, of Harry Wildfire, deceased, left by him in my care. Eazer attention was paid to him now, as he open- ed the will and prepared to read its contents. - hope it_is ‘all right," = pr Mayas, to her daughter, “but I cant he rervous. Sup we are cut off otter all Ralph may have e a mistake.” i - ere never makes mistakes,” rejoined Lucille, etly. Peon: I give and bequeath unto my cousin, Mary Ma the sum of twenty thousand ror, to be to her out of my personal estate, the steady voice of Ralph Emerson. A sudden flush en, came into the old lady’s face, as her daughter softly re : Pa “Did I not say 80? Ralph makes no mistakes. ba Wi alw:ys was a@ gentleman,” re joined the mother, decidedly. he items of several smaller legacies were now read, after which the reader came to the one most important feature of the document. ** All the rest and residue of my realestate and per- sonal property I give, devise and bequeath unto my | nephew, William Wildfire, the son of my beloved brother, John Wildfire, now deceased.” A ery of congratulation rose from all present. Ben Huntly seized Will’s hand and shook it warmly. “We'll help you spend it, my boy. Don’t you be | troubled on that score,” remarked Pierce Browning, looking lazily ~ “Golly, but I’se de boy who'd like to be dar myself,” whispered Pete, in a voice that was heard all over the room. A general smile followed the intense earnestness of the little fellow’s remark. The reader went quietly on, heedless of these interruptions. He was made executor of the will, in company with two other persons named. But the most interesting remaining feature of the docu- | ment was a closing remark in reference to” Mark | Preston. It ran as follows: “Through certain misrepresentations, whose | character it is not necessary here to detail, I was | given a false a i of the conduct of my nephew, William Wildfire, at college, and was in- | duced, in a moment of anger, to make a will leaving | all my pee to Mark Preston, whom I now know to have been the author of these misrepresen- tations. As I have, fortunately, learned the truth in | regard to these false statements, and that my pe ip has always comported himself with dignity and self-respect, I make this, my will, in his favor; and in punishment of Mark Preston, for his vile and — 8 nders, I leave him out of the list of my eirs.’ “And serves him _ right, for a confounded, two- faced rascal!” said Pierce Browning, with unusual | energy for him. “I'd feel like pe a sousing et, only that I don’t think he it very com- | ortable for the last week or two.” “Hardly,” replied Huntly. ‘Between his cow- hiding by our friend Will, his taste of prison life, and his bath under an engine hose, it seems to me that he has been repaid for some of his rascality.”’ “And the worst of it all is, that he has lost his game,” rejoined Will. “Dat ain’t de wust ob all, nohow,” cried Pete, protruding his black face from his corner. ‘* What is, then, Pete?” / “He’s loss Missie Clara, dat’s bad. An’ he’s loss | Pete; dat’s de wust. He’s loss Pete, cl’ar out. | ’Coz I's discharged um, and I’s Marse Will’s boy now.” The laugh that arose at Pete’s idea of calamity to his old master broke up a certain stiffness in the as- semblage. They mingled with each other, chatting and laughing, ill being overwhelmed with con- gratulations; of which also Lucille and her mother came in for no small share. It was not long before the youthful proprietor of | Wildflower H found himself corner by hi stately aunt, Mrs. Maynard, who poured out a series of congratulations and admonitions in a breath, which made Will wish she was on the other side of the sea. “T have always entertained the hope,”’ the good lady continued, ‘‘that you and my dear Reaanper Lucille might grow to esteem and love each other. You are only second cousins, you know; and it would be so pleasant to have the family cemented.” ““Why—yes—”’ stammered Will, taken aback by this proposition. ‘* Yes—of course—but—” “Mamma! mamma!” appealed Lucille, who had happened to overhear this remark. “How can you so? What will cousin Will think?” The young lady was crimson with blushes, and her tone full of distress. “But, child, you don’t let me finish,’’ continued the mother, mly. _‘‘I was about to say, my dear nephew, how sorry I was that my cherished idea could not be consummated. But Lucille, without | consul me, has engaged herself to Ralph Emer- | son. He is a good man, to be sure, but—” “But, ma * eried the blushing girl, “1 am sure that cousin Will must be glad of the chance to | escape me.” “Lwould not be so sure of that,” replied Will, looking smilingly into the charmi fore him. “At all events, you are too late,”’ said Mr. Emer- son, placing his arm around Lucille’s slender waist. ~ or must give this prize up to me, in return for what I have brought you from beyond the seas.”’ “T will not stand in the way of a prior claim,” re- oined Will. ‘But, if it had been an open field, I on’t know—”’ “IT know then,” replied Lucille, with laughing de- had by fiance. ‘I hardly think I could have been contract.” The next hour or two at Wildflower Hall were lively times. An el t dinner had provided, to which the ests did ample justice, wHlile jests, toasts, and all on which make time pass merrily by gave tone to the gayety of all their hearts, and made the old walls of Wildflower Hall ring with a merriment to which they had long been strangers, It was late in the afternoon when Will stood be- side Clara Moreland, on the roadside, near che gate leading into the grounds of the Hall. “Tam so glad,” he said, “ that you have succeeded in getting possession of that dangerous. paper, and thus being able to defy your unscrupulous enemy,” “I feel so free!” she rejoined in a glad tone. “True liberty has been so long a stranger to me, that I can hardly tell you how I enjoy it.” - Seren 15 “T thank you for tak the trouble to b me word of your eon And also for being “kind enough to make one of my own party of triumph.” meh ae sure I have highly enjoyed it,’’ she re- joined. ‘There is another reason,’’ he continued, moving nearer her, and speaking in a lower tone. ‘There is another cause of my gladness at your escape from Mark Preston.” “What is that?” she asked, lifting her soft brown eyes to his. “Tt is that I still retain a certain gift, bestowed on me by afair hand. You cannot know how I prise my forget-me-not. If I could but add to it—” He hesitated and was silent. ‘“ What?” she asked in a low tone, her eyes now ve at while a deep flush came warmly into her cheek. “The hand gvhich gave it to me,” he resumed. x tam fair hand, which I prize, which I love be- on —_.?? He suddenly dropped the hand he had taken, and turned away ina vexed manner, as a shrill boyish voice fell on his ear. ‘Here's yer hoss, Missie Clara. Jess as much as | Pete kin do te hold him. Ain't you ‘feared to ride sich a outrageous black critter? Golly, I wouldn’t ; ride um for a wagon-load 0’ cocoanuts.”’ “Take him away, Pete, Miss Clara is not ready for him yet,” said Will, in a stern tone. ‘Take um away!” repeated Pete, his eyes rh anya ing with half-concealed mischief. “Can't take um away. Neber see’d sich a hoss! ‘ag takin’ me away. Jess wish you'd it on him, Missie Clara; *cos’ he’s too much for Pete.” Will could not help laug as he saw the mite of a black boy tugging at the head of the great black horse, who walked up to his mistress as quietly as if it had been a fly’s weight at his bridle. “T must go,” she sa‘d,in a low tone, and with averted face. ‘‘ Will you help me on my horse, Mr. Wildfire?” Will silently led the horse up to a bank beside the fence, and quietly aided her to mount. Her face was still averted as she said, “Thank you,”’ ina searcely audible tone of voice. - He still held her hand. ‘Have you no word for me, Clara?’’ he asked. “ Not here, or now,” she answered, gathering the reins in her left hand, and turning her face toward him, a faint crimson tinging her cheeks, a light of repressed excitement burning in her eyes. e hesitated a moment, and then lifted the hand | he held to his lips. ‘*T will see you soon,” he said, releasing her. In a moment more the uneasy black steed was | trampling down the road, his fair rider not turnin, eum but leaving Will standing ina deep maze o oubt. ‘Golly, but she’s de pretty lady, Marse Will,” said Pete, his eyes rolling with admiration. “And you're a blundering black imp,” rejoined Will angrily, walking i toward the house. Pete stood in the road like a statue of astonish- ment, though shrewd eyes might have detected a con- cealed sense of enjoyment in his face, “Wonder what were goin’ on ‘tween Marse Will and Missie Clara?’ he asked himself. ‘“’Pears as if Pete weren’t wanted. Dis nig ’d better keep cl’ar of dem two, or he’ll git hisself in trouble, suah.”’ A year has since the date of this - m at dflower Hall, a year marked h many events which we have no room to detail here. Will is still in doubt whether Clara Moreland returns his love or not, — parheey but a lover might. have cone essed that he had no cause to fear. for Mar and his ally Luke Lister, have not been quiet, but have given Will trouble in more ways than one, and have effectually hindered a re- newal of his declaration of love to Moreland. But all this has nothing to do with our present story, except to show cause why Will W is still a bachelor, But he is hardly a disconsolate bachelor, for has he not his circle of friends, and do not make the rafters of Wildflower ring with many a merry song and whe Beye while music and dancing give a new youth to t staid mansion of the : As for Lucille Maynard, she is now Lucille son, and is one of the happiest of Will’s friends. And as for Pete, he is still in Will’s service, the | liveliest, most mischievous little imp that could weil be imagined. As for the villains of our story they managed to avoid punishment for their crimes. Mark Preston had escaped from Lancaster by giving bail, and as the charge of the theft was not pressed against him, he was left with the knowledge of the failure of his plans as sole punishment. And, thou there was little doubt that Luke Lister was lf the author of the conflagration at his house, yet there was no positive proof of it, and no chance of convicting him for the crime. The insurance on his furniture, which was one of the objects of his crime, has not yet been paid, but he swears privately to his friends that he will make the insurance company sweat, if it refuses to pay ap. And so we leave our friends, for the present, en- joying the fruits of their actions, good or bad, as the. case may be.
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SIE ES SO 1 Deadwood Dick, tHe Prince or THe Rotn; or, THE BLACK RIDER OF THE BLACK HiILLs. by Edward L. Wheeler. Yellowstone Jack; or, TRAPPERS OF THE EncrANTED Grounp. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Kansas Kings or, THe Rep Ricut Hanp. By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F’. Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. Mayne Reid and Captain _t'rederick Whittaker. Vagabond Joe, THE YounG WANDERING JEW; | or, PLorrrnag FoR A Lecacy. By Oll Coomes. Bill Biddon, hem 8, Tm Fae LIFE IN THE | i Nortuwest. By Edward 8S. Ellis. 4 The Flying Yankee; or, Tae Ocran Ovt- cast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 8 Seth Jones; or, THE Caprives OF THE FRON-* TreR. By Edward §. Ellis. Ps 9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen. 10 Nat Todd; or, Tue Fave or THE Sioux Cap- tives. A Sequel to Bill Biddon, Trapper. By Edward §. Ellis. 11 The Two Detectives; or, THe Fortunes or A Bowery Giri. By Albert W. Aiken. 12 Gulliver’s Travels. A Voyage to Lilliput, and a Voyage to Brobdingnag. By Dean Swift. 13 The Dumb Spy: By Oll Coomes, author of ‘*Vagabond Joe,” ete. 14 Aladdinys or, THe Wonperrc. Lamp. 15 The Sea-Cat; or, THe Wrren or Darien. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and Surpris- ing Adventures, (27 Illustrations.) By Defoe. 17 Ralph Roy, tHe Boy Buccaneer; or, THE Fuaittve Yacut. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 18 Sindbad the Sailor, His Seven Voyages. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy; or, THE PILOT OF THE Pratrie. By Buffalo Bill. = 20 The Double Daggers; or, DEApwoop DIck’s Deriance, By Edward L. Wheeler. 21 Whe Frontier Angel. A Romance or KEn- TucKY RANGER’s Lire. By Edward §, Ellis. 2?. The Sea Serpent; or, THe Boy Rosinson Crusoz, By Juan Lewis. 22 Nick o°? the Night; or, Tux Boy Sry or “76. es YT. C. Harbaugh. 24 Diamond Dirk; or, THe MYSTERY OF THE YELLOWSTONE. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 25 Tie Boy Capt inj or, PIRATE’S DavueutTer. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoof, tre Burrato Demon; or, THE Borper Vourures. By Edward L. Wheeler. 27 Autelope Abe, tar Boy Guipe. Oll Coomes, 28 Buffalo Ben, THe Prince or THE PISTOL; or, DEADWoop DicK in Disaviss. E. L. Wheeler. THE 29 The Dumb Page; or, THe Doar’s Daucu- ver. By Capt, Frederick Whittaker. 30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, THE ReEck- Less RANGER. By Harry St. George. 31 Keen-Knife, Price or rue Prarrims. By Oll Coomes. 32 Bob Woolf, tHe Borper Rvrrian; or, THE ‘ G@mu*Drap-SHor. By Edward L. Wheeler. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THE Rep Pirates or THE CARizeeEs. By 8. W. Pierce. 84 Orezon S13 or, Nick Wuirries’ Boy Spy. By Capt. J. B. CG. Adams. 85 Wild Ivan, THe Boy Cuaupe DvvaL; or, THE BrRoTHERHOOD oF DeatH. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN OF THE | Arena. By Frank S. Finn. 37 The Hidden Lodge; or, Tae Lirriz Hun- TER OF THe AprRoNDACKS. By T. C. Harbaugh. 38 Ned Wylde, THE Boy Scour. By Texas Jack. 39 Death-Face, THe Derecrive; or, Lire AND Love In New York. By Edward L. Wheeler. ¢ 40 Roving Ben. A Srory or 4 YounG AMERI- cAN Wno WANTED To See THE Word. Marshall. 41 Lasso Jack, tHe Youne Mustanerr. By Oll Coomes. 42 The Phantom Miner; or, Drapwoop Dick’s Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler. 43 Dick Darling, tae Pony Express RIDER. B ee) Frederick Whittaker. 44 Hatt ing Rube; or, Tae Nicur Hawks or Kentucky. By Harry St. George. 45 Old Avalanche, THE GREAT ANNIHILATOR; or, WiLD EDNA, THE Grew Bricanp. E, L. Wheeler. 46 Glass Eye, Tae Great SHor or THE West. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. 47 Nig eo Nat; or, Tae Forest CAPTArns. By T. C. Harbaugh. 48 Black John, THe Roap-AGent; or, THE Ovt- LAws’ Retreat. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 49 Omaha Oll, THE Masked TerRoR: or, DEAD- woop Dick IN DANGER. By Edward L. Wheeler. 50 Burt Bunker, THe Trapper. A Tale of the Northwest. By C. E, Lasalle. 51 The Boy Rifles; or, Toe UnpEeRGROUND Camp. By Archie C. Trons. 52 The ite Buffalo. A Tale of Strange Adventure in the Northwest. 2 E. Lasalle. 53 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., rar y PHENTX; OF, TuHroveH To DeatH. By Edward L. Wheeler. 54 Ned Hazel, tHe Boy Trapper; or, THE PHAN- voM Princess. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 55 Deadly - Eye, THe Unknown Scour; or, THE BRANDED BroTHERHOOD. By Buffalo Bill. 56 Nick Whifiles’ Pets; or, IN THE VALLEY OF DeatH, By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 57 Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, THE Parps or Froop Bar. By Edward L. eeler. 58 The Border King; or, Taz Secret For. By Oll Coomes. 59 Old Hickory; or, Panpy Ex.is’s Scatp. By _ Harry St. George. 60 The White Indian; or, Taz Scouts or THE YeLLOwsTONE. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or, Taz Reo Rive Team. By Edward L, Wheeler. |BEADLE'S By Captain © 66 Singie Handy; or, A Lire ror A Lirz, By | 96 Watch-Eye, 62 The Shadow Ship; or, THe Rrvay Liev- vENANTS. . By. Col. Prentiss lugraham, 63 Tike Red Brotherhood; or, Taz TweLve AvencrEns. By W. J. Harnilton. 64 Dandy Jack; or, THE OUTLAW OF THE OREGON Tram. By T. C. Harbaugh. 65 Hurricane Bill; or, Mustane Sam AnD His ‘“Parp.” By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. W. J. Hamilton. 67 Patent-leather Joe; or, OLD RATTLESNAKE, | THE CHARMER. By Philip S. Warne. 68 The Border Robin Hood; Prairie Rover. By Buffalo Bill. 69 Gold Rifle, THe SHarrsHoorer; or, Tar Boy DETECTIVE OF THE BLACK Kanox. By Edward L. Wheeler. 70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, THe GREENHORN IN THE Woops. By J. F. C. Adams. 71 Delaware Dick, tae Youna Rancer Spy; or, BROTHER AGAINST BroTHeR. By Oll Coomes, 72 Mad Tom Western, tHe Texan RANGER; | or, THE QUEEN OF THE PRAIRIE. By Hamilton. 73 Deadwood Dick on Weck 3 or, CaLamity JANE, THE Herons or WuHoor-Ur. By Wheeler. 74 HMawk-eye Harry, Rancer. By Oll Coomes. Sea-Wotr. By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam. 76 Abe Colt, THE Crow-KILuER; or, THE GREAT | FIGHTING MAN OF 1HE West. By A. W. Aiken. 77 C rduro Deapwoop Dicxk’s Last Act. By E. L. Wheeler. 78 Blue Dicks or, THe YELLOW Curer’s VEN- GEANCE. By Captain Mayne Reid. 79 Sol Ginger, THe GiaAnT TRAPPER; or, THE | FLOWER OF THE BLACKFEET. By A. W. Aiken. 80 Rosebud Rob; or, Nuacet Nep, tHe KNIGHT | or THE GuicH. By Edward L. Wheeler, 81 Lightning J», Tue TERROR OF THE PRAIRIE, By Captain J. ¥. & Adams. 82 Kit Haretc¢ot, tax Woop-Hawx; or, OL | PowvER-Face AND His Demons. By Harbaugh. 83 Rollo, the Boy Ranger; or, ‘THE HEIRESS OF THE GOLDEN Horn. By Ol Coomes. 84 Idyl, the Gir Miner; or, Rosenup Ros on Hann. By Edward L. Wheeler. 85 Buck Buackramy; or, Bess, THE FEMALE TRAPPER, By Captain J_F. C, Adams. 86 Dandy Bock, THE Man rrom Texas. By G. Waldo Browne. 87 The Land Pirates; or, Tar LraGve oF | Devin’s Istanp. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 88 Photograph Phil, tue Boy S.ievrr; RosEpup Ros's REAPPEARANCE. 89 Isiand Jims; or, THe Per or THE FAMIty, By the author of ‘* Jack Harkaway.” - 90 The Dread Rider; or, Top Texan DvE.ist. By George Waldo Browne. 91 the Captain of the Club; or, Tae Youne Riva Araieres. By Bracebridge Hemyng, (Jack Harkaway.) 92 Canada Chet, THE CoUNTERFEITER CHIEF; or, Otp ANACONDA IN Sirrine Buiw’s Camp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 93'The Boy Miners; Istanp. By Edward 8. Ellis. 94 Midnight Jack, THE Roap-AGENT; or, GopHeER Grip, THE Boy TRAPPER OF THE CHEYENNE. By T. C. Harbaugh, he Rival Rovers; or, THe FREEBOOTERS or THE Mississiprr. B Lieut. Col, Hazeltine. THE SHADOW; Or, ARABS AND ANGELS oF A Great Criy. By E. L. Wheeler, 97 The Outlaw Brothers; or, Tae Captive or THE Harprs. By J. J. Marshall. 98 Robin Hood, tHe OvtTiAwep Eart; or, THE Merry MEN oF Greenwoop. By Prof. Stewart Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of Taos; or, Wi1p Kare, Danny Rock’s ANGEL. By George Waldo Browne. 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A STRANGE STROKE FoR Liserty. By Wheeler. 101 Jack HMarkaway in New York; or, Tue ADVENTURES OF THE TRAVELERS’ CLUB. By Bracebridge Hemyng. Dick Dead-Eye, THe Boy SmvacGier; or, or, THe ENCHANTED 95 102 Tur CRUISE OF THE VIXEN. By Col. Ingraham. Lapy or San Tropez. By Col. Delle Sara. 104 Deadwood Dick’s rah deck § or, THE 105 Old Rube, tHe Hunter; or, THE Crow Cap- trveE. By Capt. H. Holmes. WHITE QUEEN OF THE BLACKFEET. Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim 3 or, THE ABANDONED For- 108 Daring Wavy, THE Younc Bear-KiLier; or, THE TrAt. oF THE BorDER WoLrF, By eadwood Dick as Detective, Edward L. Wheeler. 110 The Black Steed of the Prairies, A Thrilling Story of Texan Adventure. By James 111 The Sea-Devil; or, Tae Mipsnrpman’s Leaacy. By Col. P. Ingraham. Deatu. By Burton Saxe. 113 Jack Hoyle, THE Youne Srecutator; or, 114 The Black Schooner; or, Jip Junk, THE Oup Tar. Roger Starbuck. George Waldo Browne. 116 e Hussar Captain; or, THe Hermit 117 Gilt-Edged Dick, THE SPoRT DETECTIVE; Wheeler. 103 The Lion of the Sea; or, THE VAILED Sian or THE DovusiE Cross. By Wheeler 106 Old Frosty, THE Guipe; or, NIOKANA, THE est Home. By J, L. Bowen. 100 Bary St. George. By L. Bowen. 112 The Mad Hunter; or, Toe Cave or Tue Roap To Fortune By Ed. L. Wheeler. 115 The Mad Miner ; or, Danny Rocx’s Doom. or Heiut-Gare. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. or, THE AD-AGENT’S DAUGHTER, | HALF-DIME | LIBRARY. ' LS A AA ON LE NL SOT EN a eS SS RT | 121 or, THE THE YOUNG TRAPPER | 75 The Boy Duelist; or, Tux Cruse or roe | 129 Charlie, Tat Boy Bravo; or, | | 136 or, | 3y E. L. Wheeler. | Lore toe arrest 118 Will Somers, tHe Boy Derective, By Charles Morvis. Mustang Sams or, THe Kine oF THE Puains. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 120 The Branded Handy or, THe MAN oF Mysrery. By Frank Dumont. Cinnamon Chip, THE GIRL Sport; or, THE GoLpEN Ino or Mv. Rosa. «d. L. Wheeler. Phil Hardy, tux Boss Boy; or, Tae Mys- TERY OF THE SrROoNGEOW. By Charles Morris. Kiowa Charley, Tar Write MusTanGceEr; or, Rocky Mountain Krr’s Lasv ScaLp Hunt. By T. C. Harbaugh. Tippy, THE Texan; or, Tux YounGc CHAMPION, By George Gleason. Bonanza Bill, Mixer; or, Mapame Mys- TERY, THE 'eMALE Foreer. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 126 Picayune Pete; or, Nicopemus, THE Dog Detective. By Charles Morris. Wild-Fire, rue Boss or THe Roap; or, THE Wotves or SATAN’s Gap. By Frank ‘Dumont. The Young Privateer; or, THE PIRATES’ STRONGHOLD. By H. Cavendish. Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, THe Guost or GorGon’s GutcH. Ed. L. Wheeler. Detective Dick; or, Taz Hero in Ragas. By Charles Morris. The Golden Handj3 or, Danny Rook To THE Rescuz. By George W. Browne. The Hunted Hunter; or, THe STRANGE HORSEMAN OF THE Prarrig. By Ed. 8. Ellis. Boss Bob, tHe KInG or THE BOOTBLACKS; or, THE PAWNBROKER’s Pitot. Ed. L. Wheeler. Sure Shot Seth, THe Boy Rirteman; or, THe Youne Patriots oF THE Norra. By Oll Coomes. Captain Paul, tHe Kentucky MOONSHINER; or, THe Boy Spy or THE Mountains. By C. D. Clark. Night-Hawk Kit; or, Tae DAuGHTER OF THE RancH. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. The Helpless Handy or, Backxwoops ReEtTrRIBuTION. By Capt. Mayne Reid. Blonde Bill; or, Deapwoop Dicr’s Home Base. By Edward L. Wheeler. Judge Lynch, Jr.3 or, THe Boy Viar- LANTE, By T. OC. Harbaugh. 140 Blue Blazes; or, THe Break 0’ Day Boys or Rocky Bar. By ‘Frank Dumont. Solid Sam, THE Boy RoaAp-AGENT; or, THE Branpep Brows. By Edward L. Wheeler. 142 Handsome Harry, THz Boorsiack Dz- TECTIVE. By Charles Morris. 119 122 123 124 125 127 128 130 131 132 133 134 135 137 138 139 141 | 148 Sear-Face Saul, THE SILENT HonTeER; or, Tue Mystery or Fort Rang. By Oll Coomes. Dainty Lance, THE Boy Sport; cr, THE Bank-Breakers’ Decoy Duck. J. E. Badger. Captain Ferret, THz New York Derec- TIVE; or, Boss Bos’s Boss Jos. By Wheeler. 146 Silver Star, THE Boy Knicur. A Prairie Romance. By Oll Coomes. 147 Will Wildfire, THe THOROUGHBRED; or, 148 144 145 THe Wrinninc Hanp. By Charles Morris, Sharp Sam}; or, THE ADVENTURES OF A FRIENDLESS Boy. By J. Alexander Patten. A Game of Goldj3 or, DEApwoop Dicx’s Bie Strike. By Edward L. Wheeler. Lance and Lasso; or, Toe CHILDREN OF THe CHaco. By Capt. erick Whittaker, 151 Panther Paul, Tue Prat Pirate; or, Dainty Lance To THE Rescug. J. E. Badger. 152 Black Bess, Wo. Wivprime’s Racer; or, Winninc Acainst Opps. By Charles Morris. 153 Eagle Kit, tHe Boy Demon; or, Tax Ovr- LAWS OF THE GotD Hiiis. By Oll Coomes. 154 The Swerd Hunters; or, Toe Lanp or THE ELEPHANT Ripers. By Fred. Whittaker, 155 Gold Trigger, THE Sport; or, THe Giri AVENGER. By T. é. Harbaugh. 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwoodyj or, THE PickED Party. By Edward L, Wheeler. 157 Mike Merry, tHe Harsor Potice Boy; or, THe Nicur-Hawks oF PHILADELPHIA. By Charles Morris. 158 Fancy Frank of Colorado; or, THE TrapPer’s Trust. By Buffalo Bill. 159 The Lost Captain; or, Skmrrr Janez Corrin’s Crvise TO THE OPEN PoLaR SEa. By Captain Frederick Whittaker. 160 The Black Giant; or, Dainty Lance In Jeoparpy. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 161 New Work Nel), THe Boy-Giru Derrcrrye; or, OLD BLAKESLY’S Money. By E. L. Wheeler, 162 Will Wildfire in the Woods; or, Camp LIFE IN THE ALLEGHANIES. By Charles Morris, 163 Little Wexas, THe Youna Musrancer. A Tale of Texan Prairies. By Oll Coomes, Ready September 7th. 164 Dandy Rock’s Pledge; or, Huntep To Deatu. By G. Waldo Browne. September 14. A new issue every week, The Half-Dime Library is for sale all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. EADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. 149 150