Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 178) (1880 12 21)
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" oil af 3 tna $2.50 a year. Vol. VII. Single Number. / Uf aS Apa ass OLD SOLITARY, THE HERMIT TRAPPER; THE DRAGON OF SILVER LAKE. BY OLL COOMES, AUTHOR OF “HAWKEYE HARRY,” “poy SPy,” ‘‘ TRONSIDES, THE SOOUT,” ‘‘ DEATH-NOTCH, THE DESTROYER,” ETC. CHAPTER I, A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE, Ir was a wintry night in the year 1846, The brow of the heavens was moody and sullen. Great volumes of dark, gray clouds lay piled in jumbled masses against the northern sky, and from these, fleecy shreds detached themselves and went trooping across the heavens, trailing their tattered and torn fragments in wild confusion through the air. A damp, chilly wind swept across the plain, and rushed threateningly through the brown valleys and forest aisles, moaning bitter stories of a coming storm to habe Sy monarehs that stood writhing and Shivering in rea as (hs (a Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. > = | a a a Ws \N ~ in SO Woe . AQ V UNA W W. ORB*Co/ ial ea eta a al aa \S a A TIN i830. — = Copyrighted in 1880 by BEADLE AND ADAMS, December Price, 5 Cents. > = a p ‘ toi be) oe : x HIS EYES FELL UPON SOMETHING THAT STARTED FROM OUT THE GLOOM TOWARD HIM THAT SENT THE BLOOD IN ICY CURRENTS THROUGH HIS VEINS. a SH — SOMETHIN
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Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. Beneath that continent of clouds, the great prairie of the North-west lay, apparently ten- antiless in its murky gloom, its hills and valleys, its meandering streams and leafless mottes of timber, fading away into one dissolving view— that mysterious ocvau of darkness—the bound- ary of the vision. A waste of undulating prairie, stretch- ing its unbroken length between the English xviver and Silver Lake, in the then territory of panies oat in all the fullness of its autumnal gran eur and desolation, ready to receive the winter’s offering that was gathering in the clouds above. It wasa plain, whose continua- tion of gentle swells, or prairie waves, was un- broken inside of weary leagues, traveling west- ward from the English river. But, despite the solitude and the threatening character of the approaching storm, life was ubroad on that plain. Hoofed feet were press- ing its soil and going in a westerly course in wbedience to the guiding hand of a master. it was a solitary horseman who was making his way across that plain, in the face of the gath- ering snow-storm, He was well bundled from “the biting winds, in a wolfskin coat, buffalo sover-shoes and afur cap. Thelatter was drawn down eae ae ae, meeting almost with the apturned collar of his great-coat, and near] «oneealing his face. A red woolen scarf enaie led his neck, and its ends crossing on his breast, — under the arms and were tied behind his bay ‘The animal he bestrode showed signs of ex- haustion from long travel and the burden it bore. For, in addition to its rider, there were several large packs strapped to the saddle be- hind, while each side of the front bow was lvad- ed to its utmost capacity. Whither this solitary man was journeying was a mystery to all but himself, for the country to the westward, as far as the Missouri river, was the undisputed hunting-grounds of the va- rious tribes of Indians that dwelt to the north- eh oe who regarded the pale-face intruders with hostile jealousy. His presence there might have been a strong argument in favor of his oe ing in league With the Indians, had it not been for one thing, of which the stranger was evi- dently unconscious. Far back upon his trail, and yet within sight of him, an Indian warrior was dogging his foot- He was on foot, yet he managed to amaintain the same distance between the horse- — and himself that he had gained hours be- ore. But not conscious of the spy upon his track, ‘the rider pursued his lonely course, occasionally cousulting a small pocket-compass to direct his gs. Now and then he scanned the clouded sky. He saw the dark gray clouds trooping across the heavens, and with an eager impatience he would apply the whip and rowel to his jaded as if anxious to reach some point of safe- ty and shelter before the storm came on. As he rode on he at length noticed that it was growing darker and darker around him, and un- pleasant apprehensions filled his mind. Night was near, yet he was far from the least cover that could afford him shelter. He certainly had underestimated the distance i to complete that day’s journey to reach tho timber that bordered the western ex- tremity of the plain. A sense of fear was stealing over him. He was fully satisfied that the night would be one of extreme darkness; and what, with a blinding snow-storm beating around him, could he do yeh ny *, th all the speed that his on wi es that rm Senay could muster. There was still a hope in his breast that he might run across saanotte of timber, one of those oases that inter- ssperse these great prairie stretches. Ashe journeyed on, he suddenly found these ‘hopes realized to a certain degree, when he upon them. Yet this sparse of “‘timber” held forth no inviting in- ments asa point of shelter. At first he en- tertained a belief that it was the outskirts of a dense gh of timber, but he found on riding on a that it soon terminated in the open n. So, riding back among the burr- oaks, he dismounted with the determination of geing into camp, for upon examination he found many of the oaks were dead—having been killed by the annual fires that sweep the prairies— and being peecey dry, would answer the pur- pose of fuel. Stripping his animal, he tethered it with a lariat, so that it could crop the grass, which, though dry and brown, was readily eaten by the hungry, jaded beast. From one of the bundles the traveler now took a roll of canvas, with which he proceeded toerect atent. This he did in a speedy and novel manner; with a hatchet he trimmed all the branches from one of the oaks, leaving no- thing but the body standing. This was to be used as the central pole, and having fastened the canvas around it at the proper distance from the ground, he stretched it out at the low- er sides until it resembled a small cone, and fastened its edges down with slender iron pins driven into the ground. A small opening in one side served as the door, which was covered with a loose *‘ flap” when closed for the night. His tent completed, the traveler placed all his effects within it, then gathered from the sur- rounding bushes a goodly quantity of fuel, which he also deposited in his tent. Before striking a fire, he reconnoitered his situation, for he could not convince bimself that he was entirely free from danger. He found that the wind had suddenly changed from the north-west to the north-east—a freak very com- mon in this high latitude—and now it brought to his ears a sound like the dashing of breakers upon a rocky shore. But the sound was very .faint and was driven from his thoughts by a rand spectacle that was revealed before im. A white curtain seemed to extend from amid the clouds to the earth, resembling a mighty sail crowded to its utmost, at times bellying al- most to the earth. It required but a single glance to tell the trav- eler that it was a blinding cloud of snow sweep- ing across the plain. He could already feel the fine particles upon his hands and face, and he had Eta time to enter his tent and fasten down the door-flap when the sharp click of the snow- flakes upon the canvas told that the storm was upon him. He glanced out through a smail rent to see how his horse was taking the driving storm, but the air was so densely filled with the flying scud as to render it totally impossible to distinguish an object a rod away. Turning about, he proceeded to strike a fire. He arranged some of the fuel, already procured, in the center of the poe Then he took from an inner pocket a match, which he struck and ad to the ra dull, blue light pervaded the Bec of the place, but, as the flames gathered strength, they shot their bright, ruddy rays into every corner of the lodge, and their warm, cheerful glow was felt in every fiber of the wanderer’s frame. He removed his scarf, cap and great-coat, and laid them aside. His form and features were now — fully revealed in the ruddy glow of the e. He was a man not over eight-and-twen years of age, and his features wore that bright, intelligent expression so characteristic of men- taland social culture. His hairand beard were almost black, the latter, however, being of but a few weeks’ growth. His eyes were black, sharp and brilliant, but their lids wore a heavy, languid expression that was not natural, but was rather the result of fatigue, watching, and the want of sleep. And now, as the stranger sat gazing reflec- tively into the cheerful fire before him, he would fall into a doze from which he would start at every wail of the wind without, and stare about him with that wild, terrified look that marks the fear of one who can hear in every noise, however slight, the subdued voice of a detective, the click of a revolver, or the stealthy clasp of handcuffs, ! But surely that handsome stranger had no such fears. He surely was not a fugitive from the officers of , for his was not the face of a criminal. But why did he start, and mani- os ape restlessness of spirit and uneasiness of n As the moments wore on, he finally shook off his emotions of fear and uneasiness, and draw- ing from among his effects a of saddle-bags, he took therefrom some provisions, with which he proceeded to feast his gnawing hunger. t had been concluded, he pro- After his repas duced a pipe,and or the next hour gave himself up entirely to its companionship. And all this time the snow was falling. He could hear its continuous click upon the sides of his tent, and in several places it was drifting in- to the lodge under the edge of the canvas, ~ CHAPTER II. DOWN AMONG THE DEAD. Nieut had long since set in, ana the gloom and storm were fearful. It was not so very cold but the snow was damp and heavy, and driving and whirling in every direction in dense clouds. The wayfarer kept close by his fire, for a single glance out into the night and storm would send a chill through his frame. But at length the storm began to subside. The wind went down and the snow ceased to fall.. Finally the moon, which was in the zenith, burst through the trembling clouds and flcoded the plain wiih its mellow radiance, almost rivaling the light of day. ’ The raan arose, and, opening the door of his tent, went out. A scene of dazzling brightness and glory met his eyes. The whole plain lay wrapt in a spotless robe of white, to which the moonbeams gave a luster of blinding splendor. So sudden had been the change of the weather, and the appearance of the plain, that the trav- eler felt that he had been suddenly wafted into anew clime. Not a breath of wind was stir- ring, and, although the air was crisp and brac- ing, it was not biting cold. ut it was not the plain, nor the dazzling beauty reflected from its mantle of snow, that held our friend—if such we may call him—en- tranced, but the pillars of snow that stood around him, Every buir-oak 5 within sight of him was laden with snow, ot a limb or shrub could be seen, but each shrouded bush looked like a hewn shaft of marble, though there was a mystic grandeur about it, with which none but the hand of nature could em- bellish it. None of these spotless columns were less than five feet high, and some reached to the hight of ten feet. And while our friend stood within the silent forest of statuary, regarding each shaft with its bright, frosty sparkle, lis eyes caught sight of a beautiful arch of snow, a few paces away, that set at defiance all the beauties of the dazzling white columns. But no sooner had he discovered it, than all the beauties faded from what seemed a wonderful freak of the storm, for he at once became cognizant of the fact that his horse was the support of that arch, being too tired and travel-worn to shake the icy cover from his back. Advancing, the master soon brushed the snow from the animal’s back and body; then, with his feet he scraped the snow away from around the bush so that the animal pate’ # lie upon the grass. This act of kindness done, the man returned to his tent. He found his fire had burned low, and at once replenished it with fuel. He now began to think of lying down to get a few hours’ sleep, the want of which was beginning to tell upon him. It required but a moment to prepare a couch by spreading his great-coat and a woolen blanket upon the ground, reserving a couple of blankets for covering. These preparations completed, he was about to remove his boots when his ears caught a slight sound without. He bent his head in the attitude of intense listening. He heard his horse pawing the ground with a quick impatience. This, how- ever, he accorded to its dislike of the crunching snow under its feet, and would have thought no more about it, had he not heard the beast give a loud snort. This convinced him that all was not right, and, rising, he went out to see what was wrong. He saw his horse standing, with head erect, ears peat up and nostrils dilated, asif with af- right. Quickly the traveler swept the surrounding prairie, but nowhere upon its white bosom could he see a single object, save the shadows cast by those frail pillars of snow. Still he knew the animal scented danger, but, as nothing was visible, he argued with himself that a hun- gry wolf must have been oling Saceeways and frightened the horse, With this conviction fully impressed upon his mind, he again sought the cover of his tent and the cheery glow of his fire, only to be called out again, and that imme- diately, by another and more violent manifesta- tion of affright by his horse. He was fully satisfied that something was wrong, and he now made a more careful observation of his surroundings. Still he could see nothing but those ghostly shafts and their shadows. One of these columns, however, attracted more than usual attention from the traveler, for it suddenly occurred to him that it was closer to him than when he made his pre- | vious observation, and yet he was standing on
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the very same spot. singular, but the absurdity of the idea of its really being newrer to him, induced him to be- lieve it was only imagination. And, without giving the column a second glance, he turned and carefully swept the plain around him. But, despite his efforts to the contrary, his gaze was drawn back to that pillar of snow by some strange magnetism, and when his eyes rested upon it again, he started with an inward shudder of mysterious terror, for he actually saw the column moving ! A tearful realization rushed suddenly across his mind and to divert his suspicion he bent his gaze in another direction. Just then a solitary cloud flitted across the moon’s disk, and trailed its shadow across one of the more distant columns of snow, but, instead of the shadow moving, it seemed to stand still, while the column appeared to be moving toward him. This he knew was not the case, but rather the power of imagery, and again the traveler rea- soned with himself that it was upon the same principle that the other column had seemed to uiove. In order to leave no dcubt, whatever, he resolved to advance and knock the snow from the bush that supported it. It required but a few steps to carry him witb- in reach of it, and then, with his booted foot, he gave the column of snow a heavy kick. A low cry, as if of pain, issued from the snow pile; the snow was whirled in every direction by arms flung suddenly outward, and an Indian warrior, bideous with war-paint, stood face to face with the astonished, terror-stricken man. He saw at once the cause of his horse’s un- easiness, and that he was not in error when he imagined he saw the column of snow moving; for it was quite apparent, now, that the cunning savage had permitted the storm to weave a robe of snowflakes around him and in this manner of disguise had approached his tent. It was a cun- ning expedient, fully worthy of the subtle brain of an American Indian. The hand of the savage rested upon the hilt of a knife, and the white man comprehended his danger at a glance, and, turning, he darted into his tent for a weapon with which he could defend himself. The red-skin, however, seemed to divine his intention, and, with a fierce war-whoop, sprung after him. Before the white man could get hold of his re- volver, the savage grasped him. He turned and grappled with the a foe. Together the rolled to the earth. But the ground beneat them gave way, and, amid a cloud of dust and dirt they sank down into the black depths of what seemed a hiddencavern. The white man felt thesavage tear loose from his grasp. He heard a low cry of sudden ter- ror, mingled with the retling of dirt above him, e knew, then, that the savage had broken away, and was climbing out at the hole tease which they had fallen. This unex- pected termination of his attack had filled him with terror, and before the white could regain his feet, the crafty foe had made his escape from the pit. {t required but a moment for our friend to gain a true knowledge of his situation. Full one-half of the ground floor of his tent had fal- len in, and he was standing on the bottom of a pit over ten feet deep. All of his bundles, his weapons, and half of his camp-fire, had been precipitated in a confused mass into the hole; and the first thing he did was to secure the smoldering firebrands from among his effects, place them in a heap at one side, and kindle them into a blaze. This occupied but a minute and, as the flames grew larger and larger, an threw out their beams of light, he started with an exclamation of surprise. He found he was standing in a cavern, whose extremities were lost in the darkness far be- youd, and whose walls showed the rude handi. work of man. The passage was narrow and about six feet high, and its walls testified to its having been | glassy depths. cut through a strata of limestone. But, no- where within sight of where he stood, did This seemed not a little some arrow- heads of flint, and other things that satisfied him the cavern was the work of a people of aremote period. Continuing on, he suddenly ran across a human skeleton, that caused him to start with the feeling which one experiences when he unconsciously treads upon a ve. Without a doubt, he was an intruder in the catacomb of the dead who may have lived far back in an age coeval with the Mastodon. But it was too late to turn back now. The adventurer’s curiosity was gaining strength, and he pushed on. But he was again brought to a sudden halt by another sight. It was that of the figure of a man, of the Indian race, seat- ed in one of those little niches in the wall. His hands rested upon his legs, and his head was thrown back against the wall in an attitude of repose. He was entirely naked, and, in the glare of the adventurer’s torch, his complexion appeared to be a dusky, ashen hue. By his side lay a tomahawk, knite and stone hatchet. He appeared to be seated there asleep, but, when our friend called to him several times with- out arousing him, he saw that he was not pos- sessed of life, but convinced himself that he was an image of stone—left there to guard the dead. The adventurer advanced closer to examine the grim figure more closely. He stopped and bent over it. There was something so lifelike in its appearance, that he could not resist the temptation of putting out his hand and touch- ing it. A cry of horror burst from his lips as he did so, for, simultaneous with the touch of his finger, a current of air sucked through the cavern and the figure crumbled to dust ! What a mystery! There, for centuries per- haps, had that warrior sat, a mere handful of dust, retaining a lifelike semblance, waiting on- ly for the touch of the adventurer’s finger and that faint breath of air to destroy it for- ever. What next? The adventurer asked himself the question; then, holding his torch above his head, he peered forward into the gloom. He started violently. His eyes fell upon some- thing that started from out the gloom toward him—something that sent the blood in icy cur- rents through his veins. It was an animal—a huge monster, not unlike the hooded serpent, with the rough, scaly folds of afish. The great angular head, with its dark cowl, its open jaws and long, yellow tusks, was thrust apward a)most to the top of the cavern, It stood in the middle of the passage, as if to dispute the further intrusion of the adventurer within the silent precincts of that ancient tomb. The stranger had no desire to advance closer to the monstrous creature, for, as the rays of his torch, wavering and flickering in the cur- rents of air that was drawing through the cav- ern, fell across the scaly monster, they told him that it was aquiver with life ! CHAPTER III. OLD SOLITARY. THE time and scene of our story changes. It is autumn in all the fullness of its won- drous glory—the t’s ideal of this witchin season. The forests still retain their livery o green and russet, and the broad, sweeping prairies lie clothed in their mottled ‘hues of em- erald and brown. The rivers and brooks are flowing on undisturbed by the icy hand of the frost king. Balmy zepbyrs driff Jazily and lan- guidly across the plain, and ruffle, with invisi- le fingers, the dappled robes of the wildwood monarchs. Voices are heard in the depths of the wilder- ness and upon the boundless ocean of prairie. But they are those mysterious voices of nature that come, as it were, from out the realms of Nowhere, thrilling the breast of man with the soul of romance and the mystic glories of the material universe. Within its environs of brown bills and wooded banks Silver Lake lay like a great bed of molten silver, with the blue heavens reflected in its Flocks of wild geese, ducks and snow-whiteswans sported upon its bosom with the | as little fear as though its echoes had never been earth above the passage appear to be as thin | broken by the footsteps of man, nor shocked by as the spot whereon stood his tent. And now, as he gazed around him, all fears the crack of a rifle. From the northern extremity of this lake of danger departed Something in this eee dense woods extended away for miles and miles, i filed his mind with that fascination w eh | while from the southern shore a broad expanse draws one on, even into unknown regions amid | of prairie rolled away for weary leagues into the unknown dangers, to gratify a curiosity that is na i : MS irresistible. distance. e wooded shore was rough and precipitous, Under the influence of this fascination, our | and densely fringed with willows and water- traveler took up a torch and set off to explore | elms. These trees and bushes courting the light the cavern, As he advanced he noticed that | and freedomof the opening, had grown outward there were numerous niches in the wall, and in , over the Jake, und while their tops had shot up- wurd again, their under foliage had grown one or two of these he found a stone hatchet, Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. 3 downward, until now, in many places, the limbs trailed in the water. Under this green arch. ay sported troops of muskrats, beavers and oti rs. At the southern side of the lake the banks, !ow and marshy, were lined with a dense growth: of taJl reeds and aquatic plants that exten ed several rods out into the lake. Through ihis forest of reeds the otters and other animals | ad eut clean passages which crossed and recrcs: ed each other like the thoroughfares of a gicat city. Near the close of day, toward the latter p: rt of September, Silver Lake lay as tranquil, with flocks of fowls sporting upon its suriace, as it had lain all day; and had a traveler happered there, he must have felt the exultation of am explorer, for there was nothing to indicate tl at the solitude of that lake had ever been bro} ef by man. But whatever his feelings may lr ¥ been upon a first impression, he soon wcv} have been compelled to curb them; for, had 1i eyes been fixed upon the western shore 1: the southern edge of the woods, be would h:¥ seen a white puff of smoke shoot out from 2 clump of bushes, and, almost simultaneously, i would have heard the heavy report of a rifle come sharply across the lake. Then, as u thousand wings beat the air, as the fowls arose from the water and circled away with screams and cries of affright, the observer would bave seen a small canoe, with asingle occupant, shoot out from the shadow of the western shore and head directly te- ward a wild goose that lay beating the water im its death- throes. The occvpant of that canoe was an Indian warrior. e was painted and plumed in all the paraphernalia of the savage costume, and was armed with a heavy rifle of superior finish and caliber, a side tomabawk and scalping- knife. He wasa noble specimen of his race, tall and well proportioned, with eyes like these of the hawk. His movements were easy and graceful, and as he drove his canoe outward into the lake, he plied the paddle with such skill that scarcely a sound was made. It required but a few strokes to carry tle feathery craft within reach of the dead goose, and reaching out the Indian lifted it into the canoe. A smile of joy swept over his bronzed face when, upon examination, be found his bulle bad pierced the brain of the fowl, a feat of marksmanship, considering the distance, wortl.y of the praise of a Boone or a Crockett. Heading his canoe to the west, be soon ran ia uncer cover of the drooping foliage frcm whence he first appeared, and was lost to view. Then followed another silence, only to besoom broken, however, by the footsteps of a white man, who came from the woods, and pausing on the bank, gazed out over the lake. He was a man whose general appearanee was ealculated to enlist more than a passing notice, for he was a personage whose equal was scldcma met with upon the border, He was a man who bore the weight of fifty years as lightly as a youth of twenty. In fact, there was nothing to indicate to one that Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper, had seen two- score and ten winters but the few threads of silver among his dark-brown hair. He meas- ured nearly seven feet in his moccasins, and wus built otherwise in proportion to his bight. Muscular and sinewy, without an ounce of si- perfiuous flesh, he was a Hercules in pcint of strength, and agile and supple as the panthex. His face was well covered witha rough, Lrusby beard, that was faded by the sun and tobacco- juice, His features were rough and angular, ut wore a pleasant expression. His eyes were of a dark-gray color, keen as the hawk’s, mild and innocent as an infant’s, but withal, you could see the soul of rollicking mischief lurking within their depths, ready to burst forth in that vein so characteristic of this noted wood- man. He was dressed in a garb made after a sty le of his own, for oddity was one of his peculiari- ties, and he had a strong aversion to every thirg tending toward the Indian fashions. ‘ Around the shoulders was a cape of stiff, heavy elk-hide, and to this was attached equally around the edge, innumerable narrow strips of ribbons of some strong fabric, that reached to his knees. These being distributed equally around his body, were confined to the waist by a leather belt. Beneath this gown of ribbons he wore a wool- en shirt and buckskin trowsers. Asa protectiom to the cloth, the sleeves of the former were en- circled in a spiral form by a narrow strip of buckskin, sewed to the garment. But what was most peculiar about his dress
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Zz? 4 Old Solitary, the Hermit 1:rapper. was its colors. Every thing, with the exception | to know whether that smoke arose from the of his cap and moccasins, had green hue. This he had done to avertacontrast of color while in the forest, and to blend his own form as much as possible with the green leaves and foliage. To this was owing much of his success as a trapper, for the beaver and deer, and also the Indian, could not detect his pre- sence so readily, when the eye alone was de- pended upon. He carried no weapons that were visible, with the exception of a long, heavy rifle, whose neat- ness showed the pride of its owner. A large powder-horn was strung at his side by means of a strap passing over his left shoulder. The old trapper may have had other weapons about his person, but then he was one of the few of his class who did not believe courage and the power of intimidating an vecperg £ lay alto- gether in an ostentatious display of knives and ay This he had found, ina great measure, ‘y experience, and although he made no per- goal boast of his courage, great strength and the fear with which he knew the Indians re- gperded him, he was fully aware of his success as a trapper, and the characteristics that had made him so popular, As had become consistent with his nature fh ough force of habit and long life amid the dougers of the wilderness, he made a careful sur- vey of the borders of the lake, to make sure that so lurking red-skin was about. Finding the roast clear he stepped down to the water’s edge and began: moving around the lake, with cau- tions step. As he neared a clump of willows overhanging the water’s edge, a low, painful cry, suddenly issued from its depths. This sound was followed by a plashing in the water, and instead of halé- ing to ascertain the character of the noises, Old Solitary glided into the bushes and in a few minutes appeared on the opposite side, with a lifeless beaver in his hand. *‘ Tickle my scalp,” the old hunter said to himself, a habit which invariably forces itself spon one who has no companion but his own vughts; ‘ peltry-pickin” promises to be good this fall. But then it’s been a splendid year for fecundation, and it’s no more’n I prophesied ; for the business ‘Il be good this fall; but then thar’s onc thing that Pve noticed in the thirty years that I’ve been huntin’ and trappin’, and that is, whenever and wherever peltries are plenty, sealps are too—that is, the red-skins and white- skins will contend for the same ground, and the result wil) be contention for each other’s ha’r. Now, like as not, thar willbea pack of loafin’ varlets ‘round this lake afore long, and if they do come, thar’ll bea muss. I haven’t lived here fifteen years to vacate at sight of a pack of or- nery Ingins. No, sir’ee! Atwixt me and the great Giver of Life, Ill never quit these diggin’s while my scalp’s over a warm skull. But whar’s the use of borrowing trubble? Thar may not be a single red-skin come about. I,hope thar won’t enny come, for it might go hard on the settlers Hullo! tickle my scalp | down at Mount Prairie, if it ain’t an otter, this time.” ‘The last remark was induced by seeing an ot- ter in one of his traps. Securing the animal, he reset the trap and moved to the next. In the course of an hour he had visited all the traps set around the lake, and with the animals caught, he began retrac- “ee footsteps toward the cabin. fe moved with a step as light and elastic as a yuth, and the long strides which the length of is limbs enabled him to make, soon carried him te the summit of a bold, wooded hill overlook- my the lake. Here he nm and turning, ran Mis dark-gray eyes over the lake, upon whose rtassy bosom the shadows of evening were | aztheuing. From the lake he bent his gaze toutiward and swept the great prairie, that sexrmed like a mighty ocean charmed to plea when its billows were rolling high. Not ano ject was visible on its bosom, and turning his ga70, be'swept the dark, green woods on the op- Ppo=''e side ot the little lake. Here his keen eye caught sight of a thiu wror th of smoke drifting from among the tree- toy. and an expression of surprise and curiosity gw >) over his face on making the discovery. S.me one, he knew, was in the. timber, and hat zone into camp. Tt might be only a solita- ry lwanter, and then he thought that his worst fe2i1s were about to be realized, and that it was a@ porty of Indians come to hunt and trap about > luke. Then again, he thought it might be pos-ible that it was a party of settlers frcm the seitiement, a few miles east of the lake, eon. over to spend a few days hunting and fish- fm; a3 they had been in the habit of doing oc- easimally. Atany rate, Old Solitary resolved n dyed a pale | camp of a friend or an enemy, just as soon as | he could deposit his game at the cabin; and turning, be burried on. fm a tew minutes he came in sight of his cabiu. It was a structure of no mean dimen- sions, built entirely of logs and covered with clapboards. It was situated on a bold eminence entirely devoid of vegetation, and commanded a good view of the valleys around it. A stone chimney was one of the accommoda- tions of this solitary abode, and the old trapper was not a little surprised to see a dense column of blue smoke rolling from its top. He was sat- isfied that he had lett no fire on the hearth, and soit argued strongly that some one had taken possession of his cabin. Hurrying up the bill, he approached the hut, opened the door and strode into the apartment. To his surprise and indignation, he saw a pow ae savage warrior seated before aroaring | re on the hearth, smoking with as much calm and stoical indifference as though he had been seated in his own lodge. And what seemed the most singular piece of impudence to the old trapper, the savage scarcely deigned to notice him when he entered. A single glance around the room, told our old friend that the savage had been taking great liberties with his things. Some traps, an ax and hatchet, and other articles that he had left, he saw were gone, and he was satisfied the Indian had taken them for some purpose, in which there was a hidden meaning. As the old trapper continued his gaze about the room to see how far the savage’s liberties had extended, his eyes fell upon his couch of skins in one corner of the apartment, and his heart gave a great throb, and his eyes glittered like steel, at what he discovered there, CHAPTER IV. GREAT WOLF’S MISSION. Despite the fears that had been so suddenly forced upon the mind of Old Solitary by the discovery he had made, he permitted no look, word or action to betray his emotion. He was satisfied, by the disdainful and insolent silence he maintained, that the savage was there with no good inteutions; but, concealing his feelings of resentment from the red-skin for the liberties he had taken with his cabin, the old whe said: ‘Nickle my scalp, red-skin, if you don’t make purty free with another feller’s shanty.” “Ugh!” granted the savage, as if somewhat exaspera at being disturbed, then resumed his smoking with sullen demeanor. “T say, red-skin,” continued the old trapper, ‘** you’ve got considerable cheek ’bout you to go into one’s cabin and make yerself at home. Who the dickens are you, ennyhow?” The savage took the pipe from his mouth, and turning his head, gazed up at the trapper, as though he had just become cognizant of his presence, ‘*Who you?” he blurted out, in a contempt- uous manner, speaking in bad English. Old Solitary could scarcely suppress his emo- tions of resentment. He was sorely ar: te to strike the insolent foe down, but not wishing to precipitate the crisis which seemed inevitable, he permitted his better judgment to decide his course, and to the savage’s question he replied: *T’m Old Solitary, you red tobacker-sign. I’m chief of this shebang, and would like to know what you are doin’ here, and who you are,” The savage drew his blanket close about his —? arose to his feet and confronted our ro. He was a powerful Indian, fully as tall as the old trapper, with broad, massive shoulders, deep chest and long, muscular arms. He was, in every respect, the old sie «ate equal so far as size and muscular development were con- cerned, and if age was taken into consideration, the Indian had the advantage, for he was in the very prime of life. His face was broad and sensual, and his features and low, retreatin forehead portrayed a strong predominance 0 avimality. It was readily perceived that this Titan sav- age was possessed of a superabundance of self- conceit and arrogance. ben he arose to con- front Old Solitary, he drew himself up to his full hight, and made such an ostentatious dis- Ylay of his powerful form as would of itself, as Ge believed, be sufficient to intimidate the pale- face trapper and command a more respectful recognizance of his august proportions. But, whatever his intentions and thoughts ———$ $$ $—_ were upon this score, his sinister, serpent-like gaze whe met by the keen, bold eye of the | | trapper. | 9 ea Great Wolf,” the savage said. | ‘Great Wolf, eh?’ replied the trapper; “ wal, | I’m sure your havin’ two legs, instead of four, | doesn’t hinder you from bein’ as sneakin’ as yer brothers with the four legs and bushy tail.” “Great Wolf has not come here to idle words with a squaw,” the savage said, haughtily. “So, so!” exclaimed the trapper; ‘* then you’re my enemy, eh, Mister mahogany “The Sioux have dug up the batchet and taken the war-path. The pale-faces are grow- ing bolder every day, because they are gaining strength, and will soon overrun our land, as they did the land of our forefathers.” | The savage spoke English quite intelligibly, | yet we prefer to render the substance of his conversation in our own words and language. ‘““Wal, Injin,” replied the old trapper, “I think you’ve undertaken a job that will cost you a few scalps. There’s a right smart sprink- lin’ of the whites hereabouts, and tbar’s plenty of ‘long-knives,’ or sojers, as we call ’em, with- in a day’s ride of the lake. Now it strikes me under the scalp that you’d better trot home tell yer folks to bury the hatchet ag’in, and mind their own business.” ‘“Waugh!” ejaculated the savage; ‘‘ the white Hermit talks as though he was a host. He is but a single warrior, not equal even to Great Wolf.” ‘“Oh, what a bloat you are, Injin! You’re big, rl admit, but you're like a tent when the wind swells it up. Now, if you have any bis’nus to transact with me, co it at once and make yerself skeerce hereabouts.” “‘T’ve come on business to the Hermit be | per. These woods and the lake are all the red- man’s. He has permitted the Hermit Trapper to live here and bunt and wae for many suns, undisturbed. Dces Great Wolf not speak the truth?’ “Not edzactly, Mister Wolf. For I have a claim on these diggin’s, which, in justice to yer scalps, you haven’t disputed. Besides, you didn’t say any thing about the traps you set of lazy louts stole of me onc’t.” ‘The Hermit Trapper is growing old. The winter of life has put threads of frost in his hair and weak babble in his'tongue. He talks much and thinks little. But the word bas come to cur village that he has promised the pale-face set- tlers that he will be their chief and scout, and warn them of danger when danger is near.” ‘¢ Well, whose bis’nus is it?” “Ts it the way to repay the red-man for his kindness?” “Kindness!” sneered the trapper; ‘‘ was it a kindness to steal my traps? Was it a kindness for you durned poy to try to get my scalp over on Beaver Creek? Talk to me of kindness! If you badn’t been a pack of cowards, you'd had my sealp long ag. ‘ Age has made the trapper’s tongue loose. It says many things that bis mind knows nothing of; but, Great Wolf has come to bim with a mes- sage from Black Buffalo, the great chief of the Sioux.” “Wal, chip it out. What's ole Buff got to say? Tpnat the Hermit Trapper must leave our bunting-grounds.” ; “« And you don’t say so? Wal, if I refuse to go, what then?” “The chief bade me bring the trapper’s scalp to bis lodge.” v You don’t say! Did you tell him you’d do itt Yes.” * And do ye think ye’ve got the muscle to lift Old aaely? hair?” “Great Wolf’s strength is like the panther’s. | He can take the scalp of the Hermit Trapper.” “Ye can? Ah me, what a brick you are, Great Wolf. But, do you think you can take my scalp alone ?” “Yes; easy.” “ So ye didn’t bring any help with ye, eh?” | No. Why should I? Great Wolf is not a / coward, He does not fear an old man.” “Ye may not be a coward, Great Wolf, but | you’re an onmerciful liar.” ) As Old Solitary thus spoke, he thrust his hand into his bosom. He saw that the savage was de- termined to bring about a conflict, and he could _no longer stay bis emotions. ty the white Hermit beware,” said Great | Wolf; “the Sioux are on the war-path, and | there is the result of Great Wolf’s prowess and _ strength,” and be drew from under his blanket three fresh scalps, which, from the color of the hair, he knew had belonged to whites, and held
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Old bio ee: ~_—— them up before the trapper’s eyes, evidently to voke him to some act of violence. over the head of the savage, he bis long, flowing scalp-lock in one hand, while with the But the trapper sti!l maintained an attitude of | other he flourished the knife about the head in a | menacing manner. silence, his hand still thrust in his bosom. “Why does the Hermit Trapper not speak? Is he a coward?” the savage continued, follow- “ug up the advantage he believed he had already ained. ‘He has called Great Wolf a liar; let im prove it, or he shall die.” Quick as the lightning’s flash Old Solita withdrew his hand from his bosom with his finger upon the trigger of a cocked pistol which he leveled at his couch of skins in one corner and fired. ; A shriek of y burst from the pile of skins. There was a wild upthrowing of a pair of sav- age arms; the skins were thrown aside, and the form of an Indian warrior, writhing in his death-agonies, was revealed to their view. Old Solitary had discovered that a savage was concealed there, shortly after entering the cabin. From this he knew that Great Wolf was there for mischief. The savage giant seemed thunderstruck by this sudden movement of the old trapper, and started back appailed. But this diversion lasted only fora moment. With all the demon of his savage heart depicted in his brutal eyes, he uttered a yell, and bounded toward the old trap- per with a gleaming knife in his upraised hand. CHAPTER V. PRIDE HAS A FALL. OLD SOLITARY was expecting this movement, and was prepared to defend himself. With his left hand he caught the descending arm of the savage near the wrist, and thereby arrested the blow aimed at his breast. Then, putting all his strength into the effort, the old trapper gave the arm of his antagonist a sudden ‘‘ wrench,” sausing the giant’s fingers to relax their grip upon the knife, which fell to the floor at their f eet. With a sudden movement of his foot Old Solitary brushed the weapon into the fire that Great Wolf bad taken the liberty to kindle on the hearth. The savage saw that the least effort to recover the weapon might result dis- astrously to him, and so he attempted to ple with the trapper. The latter, however, no desire to close with him, having more confidence in the virtue of his fist than bis science as a wrestler, and with one well-directed blow full aa wee he felled the savage giant to the r’. But, quick as thought, almost, Great Wolf was ein his feet, Maddened by his repeated repulses, he made another desperate lunge at the old trapper, only to go down before another blow from the Hermits sledge-hammer fist. The bee had now gained an advantage over the half-blinded foe, and for the next ten minutes he did nothing but knock the Indian down as fast as he could get up. The face of the red-skin was pounded into a shapeless m and she blood was pouring from his mouth aad nostrils, Then Old Solitary took a cord from a pin on the wall and proceeded to make his antagonist prisoner. This he found a difficult task, for the savage had not, by any means, been outwinded ; however, after a sharp tussle, he succeeded in passing the cord—which had an eye on one end —around both of the Sioux’s arms, then formed a noose by threading the eye with the other end of the cord, which he drew up until the arms of the ae were drawn togetber behind his back, is legs were secured in a similar man- ner, and the mighty Great Wolf lay as helpless, almost, as the dead comrade near his side. “Tickle my scalp, Great Wolf, if this isn’t a different view of the matter than what you had anticipated,” the old canper said, triumphantly. “You underrated my few gray hairs, my lark. I may not be as nimble as a cat, nor pliant as a willer, but I think I can strike hard enuff to spread any Ingin’s nose over bis face, as you can bear witness.’ : “The Indian made no reply, but the wither- ing look that he gave his foe was fierce and ma- lignant, and told that his unbending spirit had not been, as yet, conquered, “T know it’s hard, red-skin, fur a big lummicks like you to have to keel under, but you brought it on yourself, and now you mus’ grin and be it. vou came fur my sealp; now, how'd ye like to go back without even your own?” here was a convulsive swelling of the war- rior’s t chest that told how hard he was struggling to keep down all outward signs of the a of tear and humiliation surging n him. Drawing from his bosom a keen-edged hunt- ing-knife, Old Solitary advanced, and bending ooo Whatever the warrior’s inward emotions were the trapper failed in forcing an outward expres- sion. At length, with a sudden whirl of the knife he shaved the entire scalp-lock from the Indian’s head without injuring the scalp. To the Indian it would only have been an addition of physical pain to have taken his scalp, and would have heaped no more disgrace upon him than by the loss of his scalp-lock—an Indian’s pride. This Old Solitary knew, and not wishing to scalp him alive, he did the next best thing, by cutting off his hair. When this was accomplished, he took the dead savage from among the robes and laid him back to back upon Great Wolf. In this position he bound the dead warrior to the living. He then permitted the latter to rise to his feet with his lifeless burden. “Tickle my scalp, if you arn’t a handsome bird, Great Wolf,” remarked the old trapper in a taunting manner; ‘‘ba! ha! bo! if you don’t trot along home purty fast, your peepers will close up till arter the funeral, for I see you’ve got ‘em in mournin’. I’m a tuff ole boy, Ingin, as you doubtless know; still, Pll let you go back to your chief and tell him that, for reasons over which you bad no control, you didn’t git my hair, and left your own asa memento. Now, Ingin, trot outen this shanty and make yerself scarce in these diggins.” The old weer opened the door, and per- mitted the defeated savage to eee out with his dead comrade lashed to his back. Then he watched him move down the hill, and disappear in the woods beyond the valley with a firm, un- faltering footstep, “To save trouble in the future, I’d ort to shot the big varlet,” the old trapper mused, ‘‘ but then I want him to feel the pangs of his defeat, and he’ll be a good source to publish among his friends, the virtue thar is in my fist. Still, I e t trouble. The devil is loose ‘mong tbe red knaves, and I ’feel oneasy "bout the folks at Mount Prairie. But I will run over now and see *bout that smoke in the woods. It may bea party of Great Wolf’s friends, and if so, I may ve another visit soon.” Seizing his rifle, and leaving the cabin, he took his course in the direction of the Jake. He moved with hasty footsteps, for by this time the shadows of night were gathering fast. On reaching the summit of the bluff, from whence he had first discovered the smoke, he halted and swept bis surroundings with an eagle-like gaze. Far across the lake in a timber, he saw through the gathering twilight the bright twinkle of a camp-fire. linultancons with this discovery he detected a vivid flash on the shore near the camp-fire, and a moment later the sullen crack of a rifle came across the water. ‘“* By the holy pocus!” exclaimed Old Solitary. “‘The Monster of the Lake must be abroad to- bt;” and he moved rayidly down toward the e, and was soon lost among the dense shadows of the woods. CHAPTER VL MOUND PRAIRIE—ITS SETTLERS—AT THE LAKE. THERE is sometimes a beauty, as well as an eran in the names applied by the earlier set- tlers of the West to the material objects of the universe. Like the red-man, they have given to the mountains, the rivers and hills, names that are in harmony with the spirit they sug- gest. This comes from a closer intercourse and sympathy with nature’s varied features, each of which, to a lover of nature, speaks in silent eloquence. Such must have been the feelings of the set- tlers residing some fifteen miles east of Silver Lake, when they bestowed upon their settle ment the appellation of Mound Prairie. For here the prairie broke into a sea of low, gradual mounds, that presented an Retecaine appear- ance to the eye, and gave relief to the monoto- nous sameness of the wave-like undulations of the plain. These mounds, averaging an acre to their surface, covered a scope two miles wide by three in length. Through the center of this tract, a small stream wound its way with the sinuosity of a serpent; and smal] mottes of oak timber, called ‘‘ oak openings,” were interspersed thickly over the mounds; and in among the in- viting shadows of these groves had the settlers erected their cabins. The settlement, or rather the colony of Mound Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. . well as she did '* but I do not know whether it wi /then it is my nature. _ foundation, Ethel.’ og | was composed mostly of families from Ohio, A few others, however, had joined the colony after its entrance into the territory, and as they had had some experience upon the frontier. their acquisition to the colonists’ force was great service to them, for, although the Gov- ernment bad purchased all that portion of the territory from the Indians, and had thrown it |; open for pre-emption, wwe purchase of the land did not insure peace to the settler. The tribe of Sioux and Arapahoes disputed the right of the Sacs and Foxes—of whom the purchase had been made—to the land; and as they had not been included in the treaty; they felt there were no restrictions that they were bound to respect. So they were permitted to remain in the territory, there being insufficient emigra- tion at the time to warrant sending an army te drive them from the country. It wanted an hour of noon on the day thai the event transpired as narrated in the preced ing chapter, when two maidens issued from on of the cabins of Mound Prairie, and saunteret Jeisurely down one of the pleasant avenues that we between two small groves of stately oaks. he eldest of the two was a woman of perhaps one-and-twenty summers. She was tall, queene ly and graceful, with dark-blue eyes, soft and mild as a summer sky. Ethel Leland was not distinctively handsome, but was good-leoking, and of a gentle, winning way, tha’ was far more bewitching to all who met her than all the beauty of a Venus. Among her male acquaintances she had many admirers, yet she was quite indifferent, for one of her entle, impulsive nature, to their attentions. me thought she was inclined to flirt, buteis was because they did not know her heart at erself; and others prophesied that she and Captain Roland Disbrowe would ‘eventually m alry. Ethel was an gay and had been since she was a mere child, but she had been anotes by her fatber’s dearest friend, Maurice Fayville. Mr. Fayville had cared for her with all the tenderness of a father. She had been educated and endowed with all the privileges of his owm daughter, Mildred, whom we now find im \Ethel’s company, and whom we will introduce to the reader. Mildred Fayville was not over seventeem years of with dark eyes full of the < of mischief; dark-brown hair, and a form sylph- like in its grace and beauty. Full of life and merriment, with a heart that had never knowm a moment’s trouble nor sorrow, she was one in whom ' spirit of joy and happiness was pre- em inent. “Oh, Ethel!” exclaimed Mildred, enthusias- tically, ‘‘are not Mound Prairie and these oalk sp a perfect paradise?” “Tt is very beautiful, Millie,” replied Ethel, quite hear the srpeliagpa your enthusiasm gives it.” “T know I exaggerate sometimes, Ethel, but I do love these groves and prairies, with their birds and flowers, and ink one’s heart must be very unimpressible. if he or she cannot see any beauty in them.” “That is all owing to a poetical tempera- ment, Millie, for, while some people can see no- thing to awaken a passing interest in the com~ monality of nature’s objects, others may become. enraptured with the same. But, sister, showd the reports that we hear nowadays—of com tags trouble with the Indians—be true, how quick would all the romance fade from these openings? Every tree we would imagine concealed a sav age, and every sound the stealthy footstep. or subdued voice of a skulking foe.” “T hope the re orts will ‘prove to be without “We all wish that, Millie; but Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper, brought the news seve days ago, and they say his judgment vf. such things is seldom at fault. However; ‘he has promised to keep a watch upon the mcvements of the savages, and warn us if they are likely te make any sudden hostile demonstraticus upom Mound Prairie. And I must say Ido not favor the idea of the men going over to’the luke on @ ares excursion.” 4 , Ethel, aré you afraid the M. aster of the Takes will catch your lover, Captiim bth browe?” and Millie laughed merfily. ‘No, not at all, Millie,” replied Ethe?. “Then you surely don’t love Roland?” _“*No, I cannot say that I do, but I 2dmire him. He is gentlemanly and kind, theu:-h a& times there is a reserved silence in his dem: ane that I cannot understand.” ‘* Well, I always supposed you loved R.’ «Da, Prairie, numbered abcut a hunéred souls. It’; sister, and would marry him’some day.” i
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| this love of yours, Ethe Oe ee — —— 6 Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. need “‘T could never love him, Millie, for my heart California, where he had accumulated a supply was given years ago to another, whom the cruel fhand of fate took from me.” “You allude to Frank Hammoud, do you not?’ 4c Yes.” “Tt always makes me shudder, Ethel, to think of that terrible Hart’s Ford murder. Wrank must have had a terrible heart to beat wand mutilate a fellow-being as he did Henry Elohn.” * “Yes, it was aterrible deed, Millie, and I can mot help but think that Frank had help in Ghat affair, if he had anything at all to do with nt “The evidence was plain against him, Ethel; and without a doubt he commiiticd tho murder, er why would he have fled the country?” ““He may havo bad ener ics tas implicated him; but, bo that asit may, witi: {1c brand of murderer upon him, [ still love Prank Ham- mond.” “Your lovs for him must be of an extraordi- mary nature, Ethel.” **T admit it is, sister. It is a love that can mever be supplanted. I may marry Captain Disbrowe, but it will only be for a home of my own.” “For a home ?” asked Mildred, with apparent surprise; ‘“‘have you not a home already, Ethet?’ ‘“Yes, a good one, too; but I cannot always be dependent on the generosity of father Fay- wille.’ “*Tat! tut! Ethel; what will I do when you Meave?” “You will marry young Harry Thomas, and will be a happy littie wife, living with the man you love.” Millio blushed scarlet, and her eyes drooped shyly; for, more than once, she hat pictured in her mind the joy and happiness that would be lhers when sho became the wife of Harry ‘Thomas, to ‘whom she had already plighted her ove. *« Bthel,” she finally said, ‘‘it has been five wears since the Hart’s Ford murder. You were scarcely seventeen then, but in love with Frank Hammond, the murderer of Henry Hohn, Ever ince then, the handsome, gallant Cuptain Dis- severe has ‘been constant in hisattentious to you, 2nd yet ‘he has not won your love from Frank. 45 isa singular caseoflove. Had he been your hasband then, there /would have been a differ- esse,” “You havea wrong ilea of love, Millie. One ©. love but once, if he or she loves truly.” “Ves, yes I know,” said Millie to herself, “bat then there is a a ha connected with ; there is a hidden se- erétia your poor heart, sister.” Willie was tempted to express these thougtts in words, and would probably have done so had she not. heard footsteps approaching them, “There comes Harry now,” said Wthel; “heis ecoming ‘to have a word with you, sister, before he teaves for the lake. Sol will leave you with foi, andireturn to the cabin,” and before Milli¢ wid ntter:a. protest, she turned and tripped TRY. Baary Thomas,.a fine handsome youth of ‘év.enty, end the lover.of Mildred c»me up and joined his little sweetheart, and together they woutinued on among the tall oaks. “Ethel intended to return to tlio house, but be- cre she had reached the door, a shadow fell vacross her path and Captain Roland Disbrowe vis at her side. : , “*Bthel, my dear girl,.I was just wishing for this opportunity,” he said; “‘ we are going to start for the lake ima few hours, ani I want to speak to you on the subject which bas been movarest my heart for five Jong years, and of which I have spoken to you mere than once.” He drew Ethel’s arm within his own, and ®ocether they walked out into the openings and eented themsélves on a fallen log, beneath the geen canopy of a wide-spreading ouk. Captain Roland Disbrowe was a man of, per- fh: ss, thirty yearsof age. In form be was tall mx commanding, and carried hiniself like one excastomed to militery discipline. In feature, €% ptain Disbrowe was called handsome, though tih-we was a little ifierceness about his dar avery eves. Avery black mustache shaded jis weanth and concealed the few traces of sen- gu ity that hovered there. lapteain Roland Disbrowe was a man of the wot. Early in life he was thrown upon his ewe resources, and by the time he wa. one and fweety he had picked up much information in tis ~« hoolof : ience. He had given himself aw fb eeral education and had traveled a great deal eiuud in Europe, and had spent a few years in of that convenient commodity known as “ filthy lucre.” It wassome five years previous to the opening of our story that he first met Ethel Leland, fell in love with her, peveaed and was rejected. Ethel told him that rank bad won her heart. Disbrowe accepted’ his fate, but shortly after his rejection, Ethel’s lover was compelled to flee the country on a charge of murdering a neighbor named Henry Hohn. About the same time Disbrowe enlisted as a soldier in the Mexi- can war, and when he returned three years afterward as Captain Disbrowe, he found Ethel | stillsingle, and at once renewed his proposal for her hand. Ethel declined to answer then, but he received encouragement enough to give hima hope of eventually being accepted by the fair object of his adoration. About this time acolony was forming in the neighborhood for the Far West. Among those who had joined it was Maurice ring Mone and in order to be near Ethel, Captain Disbrowe be- came a member of the colony also, and it is two ears later that we find them all located at ; ound Prairie, in the flourishing territory of owa. When their interview had ended under the oak, and Disbrowe and Ethel returned to the cabins, the face of the former wore a happy, joyous smile, while that of the latter was pale and sad—the index of a heavy heart. This opposition of feeling arose from the fact that Tithe had promised to become the conn wife at no distant day, and while he was happy over their betrothal, she was sad, for her heart was not given to him with her hand. She was only marrying for a home, for she was too proud-spirited to live dependent upon the gene- rosity of Maurice Fay ville. When she found herself alone in her room, after parting with the captain, she sat down and wept bitterly. “Ohl! if L only knew,” she moaned, ‘‘ whether or not [ will be committing a crime by marry- ing him! My poor heart can never stand this torture. Oh! Frank! Frank, my darling, if you are living come to me, for I know the stain of murder is not upon your hands! I know that ou—” Here ber bitter thoughts were broken abrupt- ly off by the sound of a stranger’s voice in the adjoining room in consultation with Mr. Fay- ville. There was something about the voice that startled her, for it sounded frightfully familiar, and she bent her head and listened: “ When did you arrive in this country?’ she heard Mr. Payville ask the visitor. “} arrived at Fort Dodge two days ago,” the man eee. * Well, | am glad to see you, old friend,” Fay- ville replied, **but what has brought you so far from home?” ‘Business! the same old business I always followed.” “Indeed!” returned Fayville; “‘ but I hope you don’t expect to find any roughs out this way? “That Hart’s Ford murder is not given up yet, and I think after five years I am at last on track of Frank Hammond, the murderer.” “Ob, God!” Ethel cried, wringing ber hands in anguish, ‘‘It is Dart, the detective, and upon the trail of my Frank. Merciful Heaven, will those honnds of the law never cease bunting him down for a ciime of which he is innocent? CHAPTER VII. THE MONSTER OF THE LAKE. Eacu fall during the brief time that Mound Prairie ha@ been in existence as a settlement, the settiers had been in the habit of going to the lake to lay in a winter supply of fish and nah as the country afforded at that wild game, ime. On the day that we call the attention of the reader to this settlement, a party of six men left the plaee for Silver e. Among the number were Captain Roland Disbrowe and Harry Thomas. They were all skillful hunters, and with the assistance of Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper, they had always been successful in their bunt- ing excursions. Three days later another party was to follow them with pack-animals to bring back the ame. F Captain Disbrowe had been appointed leader of the hunting-party, not because if was neces- sary to have a leader, but that the direction of fhe party might be vested in one man, and thereby avert the diversity of opinions that cenerally arise in such a crowd, as to their movements, eee The captain seemed unusually happy on this occasion, and left the settlement with a tuoy- ant heart. His companions wondered at the change that had come over him, for they never dreamed but that he had been engaged to Miss Leland for years; and they would have been surprised had they known that, not until that day had the captain received the promise of Ethel to be his wife, at no distant day. Not knowing this, however, his companions believed he was outgrowing some of those faults —for all men have their faults—in consequence of which he was losing favor in the estimation of some of the settlers. The captain had more) than a usual amount of self-conceit, and in this he had been sustained, to a certain extent, by the settlers, who had put him forward on all oc- easions. From this he had been induced to con- sider himself an exemplary man, possessed of more than ordinary decision of mind, which placed him a grade higher than his fellow-be- ings. And the result of this self-esteem was an air of arrogance and vanity that soon had a ten- dency to discredit him in the estimation of some of the settlers. But his acceptance by Ethel seemed to bave infused him with a new spirit; and now, as they journeyed on toward the lake, his demeanor was such as to regain much of the lost favor of bis companions. I said there were six of the hunting-party. This was true so far as the hunters were con- cerned, but there were seven in the party. Jabez Dart, the Obio detective, accompanied them, not because he expected to further his search for the agent of the Hart’s Ford murder, but to satisfy his curiosity in regard to the Mon- ster of the Lake, a terrible creature of the ser- part species, that haunted the waters of Silver e. The reports about this creature seemed in- credible, but when they were confirmed by such men as Captain Disbrowe, Maurice Fayville and others of equal reliability, all of whom had seen the monster, there was no denying the assertions however improbable they seemed. The dragon, as some termed it, was some ten feet in length, covered with huge scales, and See about the back like a fish. The head and neck, however, were those of a se t, the former being rough and angular, with eyes ee and fiery. rom each side, wings like those of a vampire bat, put out near the middle of the scaly mon- ster; but instead of being used to navigate the air,they were as propellers in the water like fins of a great fish. This was the description of the monster given by Captain Disbrowe to detective Dart; and, as was natural enough, the officer’s curiosity be- came aroused to the highest pitch, and he re- solved to have a glimpse at the creature, so he accompanied the hunters with this sole object in view. At least, if he had any other object under consideration, his reserved habits as a detective held him silent. The parties being well mounted, the timber bordering Silver Lake, which was only fifteen miles distant from Mound irie, was reached more than an hour before sunset; and pushing on egy 7 the wood, they finally reached the lake, the home of the mysterious Monster. Here the came to a halt, and dismount- ing, secured their animals and went into camp. A favorable spot was selected, and a pair of small tents erected to protect the hunters from the chilly air at night, for the place was to be their evening rendezvous during their stay at the lake. As it was too late to do anything that day in the obo of hunting, the party concluded to end the evening in watching for a glimpse of the Monster of the Lake. Soa fire was struck, and Harry Thomas having been appointed to superintend the culirary part of the excursion, set about preparing supper. This required but a fow minutes, for they had brought a stock of cooked food with them. Each man was supplied with a tin cup from which he drank his steaming coffee as well as his pane, which was taken as an antidote to coun- ract the effect of the malarious atmosphere along the lake. After supper, the pa gathered around their fire, some eet om, Se pes, and all listening to some of detective s wonderful stories, the facts of which came to bis knowledge while dis- charging his duty as a detective. The officer seemed perfectly at home among the hunters, for he had known most of them in Ohio, and the arns that be spun held their attention so deep- y enchained that they failed to observe that rkness had gathered around them.
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ster?” “There may be Indians about,” replied Thomas. ‘‘ There are, I am satisfied, no Indians in this neighborhood, gentlemen,” said Captain Dis- browe, in a tone intended to settle that subject at once, and for all time. ‘* But isn’t it about time we were looking out for that Monster?’ asked Dart. “Yes,” replied Disbrowe; ‘‘we can conceal ourselves near the water’s edge. The moon will soon be up, and thenif the Dragon is abroad, we will be apt to see it.” So saying, each man with his rifle in hand, proceeded to a point where the lake shore was densely fringed with willows. Concealing them- selves near the water’s edge, they waited and watched in breathless silence for the Monster of the Lake. An hour passed by. The moon came up and cast its mellow beams across the still waters of the lake. Far across upon the opposite side of the glimmering sheet, over a mile distant, the seven watchers could see the dark forest out- lined against the clear like the dark range of a distant mountain, To the southward the water and plain melted away into a purple haze, while around them, all was darkness and silence —silence, excepting those sounds peculiar to the wilderness after nightfall. Now and then they would see a solitary night- hawk skimming along the surface of the lake, or the occasional coruscation of a firefly within the belt of shadow along the eastern shore. The longer the party waited the deeper the silence seemed to grow, and the fidgety little de- tective finally began to grow restless, and once intimated that he believed the hunters were trying to perpetrate a joke on him. But, the captain managed to keep him quieted down, and assured him that the Monster was no mythical creature. As the moon rose higher and higher in the heavens, the shadows, cast by the trees along the eastern shore, crept slowly in toward the bank until there was but a narrow belt along the water’s edge. As the minutes wore away, our friends sudden- ly detected a faint plash in the water within the narrow belt of darkness, somewhere to the right. All bent their heads and listened. They could distinctly hear a light plash of something in the water to their right, and from the sound, it seemed more like the dip of a paddle than aught else. However, they waited and watched. The sound seemed to be approaching along the shore under cover of the narrow belt of shadow. At length vg 4 saw tiny waves chasing each other out into the lake, and heard them chafing the beach at their feet. Whatever it was in the water, it was hugging the shore closely, and seemed to be within a rod of them, ‘It’s it--the Dragon! the Monster!” whispered Dart; ‘‘ shoot me if I can’t feel its hot breath in my—” He did not finish the sentence, for, at this juncture, a canoe, containing half a dozen iideous-looking savage warriors, floated out from the shadows into the moonlit waters with- in a rod of the group of watchers. _ This unexpected ant filled the men with no little surprise and sudden fear, and despite their emotions, they maintained a breathless silence for the eye of “Nag Savage was turned toward the shore and in a line with the camp-fire. From this it became apparent why they were there. They had discovered the camp-fire, and were skulking around to obtain what informa- tion they could in regard to it, no doubt, with onere to a few scalps, for they were in war- paint. But whatever their intentions, they were without_a doubt, doomed to disappointment. For, while they sat in their canoe zing shore- ward, their attention was suddenly drawn in another direction by a sound in the water. The settlers heard the sound also, It came from along the + ar He a = and was a noise similar to that of a shoal of fish passing bah he shallow bar. wat st _ A low cry of terror pea rom the savages’ lips, while the hearts of the white men seemed to cease beating, for, simultaneously, both par- ties saw, bearing down upon the savages’ canoe with glowing eyes and flaming tongue, the Monster of the Lake! ioe. A BAND OF HORSEMEN. OVER the great plain, and down toward the settlement of Mound Prairie, gallo a band of horsemen at a breakneck speed. Their . half- nude forms, their painted faces and plumed heads told that they were a band of savage war- riors with mischief in their hearts, for their faces were streaked and ringed with war-paint until a | appeared like very demons of hideousness, bey bestrode strong-limbed aIORRANE Ponies, and were armed with rifle, tomahawk scalp- "fey gall ped furious til at length hey gallo uriously on until at lengt they gained the summit of a swell in the prairie, from whence Mound Prairie and the open- ings are just discernible away to the south- ward, The Sioux chieftan drew rein, and his band, numbering a score and ten, followed his ex- ample. ‘“Look away yonder, my braves,” he said, pointing toward the settlement, ‘‘ you will see the wigwams of the pale-faces nestled in among - groves where the red-man used to take the eer, ‘‘The scalp of a pale face,” replied a giant savage, ‘is worth more than the skin of a deer.” “Yes, yes, Great Wolf,” replied the chief; “but we must not trouble the settlers there yet. We must have the scalp of the Hermit Trapper first, for he is a foe to be feared more than a score of the pale-face settlers. When we get hisscalp, then will Waucosta lead his warriors upon Mound Prairie, for there dwells his heart in the breast of a pale-face lily, whose name is Mildred. And by her side grows a stately rose, whose name is Ethel, and who would make bright the lodge of Great Wolf. These flowers has Wau- costa seen while lying concealed among the bushes in the Oak Openings.” ‘“Waucosta is a great chief,” returned the greet savage giant, ‘“‘it is because he has the eart of the red man within the breast of a white man. There was a momentary silence, during which time the savages feasted their eyes upon the distant settlement like birds of st gathering strength and courage to swoop down upon the unsuspecting quarry. At length Waucosta headed his animal north- ward, and said—in plain English—which told that he was a white man: ‘“‘ Let us push on for the lake and the White Hermit’s scalp.” The whole y turned and rode away in sin- gle file, in a slow, easy gallop. They rode on in silence for several hours, and at last the timber bordering on the lake burst upon their view. Never halting they galloped on. They reach- the timber. Here they slackened their pace, but continued on until they had reached a dark and densely wooded valley, a mile or more north of the lake, where they came to a halt and dismounted. Hitching their animals under a dense clump of trees, the warriors gathered in a group near ‘« We are now less than an hour’s ride from the wigwam of the White Hermit,” said Wau- costa; ‘‘ does Great Wolf still say he will bear the me:sige of Black Buffalo to him?” “Great Wolfis nota coward. He has ised the chief to bear his message to the Trapper, and he will do it.” ‘Tet Great Wolf be careful, for the Hermit is a powerful warrior,” said Waucosta, “ And the strength of Great Wolf is like the panther’s,” said the self-conceited giant; ‘his equal does not walk these hunting-grounds,” “Then let Great Wolf be off for the Hermit Trapper’s wigwam. Tell him that be must leave our hunting-grounds. If he refuses to go, bring his scalp, and then will Great Wolf have won the honors of a war-chief.” Great Wolf arose to go. He ad his weapons, some fresh scalps that dangled at his irdie, and drew bis blanket close about_his shoulders. All these preparations seemed to have been an excuse for delay. There was an air of hesitation about him, and his facial mus- cles moved and twitched as though he wanted to say something, yet was in doubt as to the manner in which it would be construed by his companions. At length, however, he said: id There will be much plunder at the wigwam of the Hermit Trapper: had not a warrior better go with Great Wolf to help bring it away?” se vai let Great Wolf pick his warrior,” re- plied Waucosta, and the shadow of a smile hov- ered about his lips, for he saw that Great Wolf was afraid to go alone to the trapper’s cabin. rom- ermit The savage selected his companion—a smalt, wiry fellow, with eyes like daggers—and teok: his departure for the trapper’s cabin. While waiting his return, Waucosta and one of his warriors shouldered their rifles and moved away toward the lake in searca of. game for supper. Bn reaching a point overlooking the water, they were not alittle surprised to see a column of smoke drifting from among the treetops om the eastern side of the lake. They knew that some one, either friend or foe, was encamped there. But, as an Indian never permits himself to linger in doubt, the two began a careful re- connoissance of the vicinity. Keeping within the densest portion of the woods, Waucosta wg toward the camp-fire ided in his course by the ascending smoke e moved on and on, and at last came in si, hte of the camp. He was nota little surprised te see seven white men seated around the fire, As he ran his eyes hastily from face to face, an involuntary cry suddenly burst. from his when bis gaze fell upon the features of Roland Disbrowe. He apparently recognized the captain's faee, and yet he scanned bis form and features es éf in doubt. But at length be seemed to have set- tled the matter of identity, and gave himeelf to a moment’s reflection, in which the evil oF ings of his mind were expressed by the nervous twitching of the facial muscles. At length, as a grim swile that expressed some evil determination at heart, swept over tm paint-bedaubed visage, be arose, and s his. way back to where his companion was in wert- ing, proceeded with hasty footsteps to his eanip in the valley. His warriors saw at once, by the expnession. of his face, that his absence from camp bed been attended with something of an unesual character; and in this they were not in iault for, without questioniug, Waucosta a iuied them with the discovery he bad made of their close proximity to a party of bunters. “When night comes and Great Wolf bes re- turned, then will we go over to the lake em capture the pale-face bee alive. Let my braves all remember this. A murmur of general satisfaction passed from. lip to lip among the warriors, and. their eyes glowed with a fierce jcy in the eager anticdpe tion of the con ias night’s work, ‘ith gare they scanned the western sky, The sux upters. But they mwet. ung just above the treetops. It would seon go down. Anotker hour and it would be dark. But, ere half of that time had « a strange figure came from the rering wadoue of twilight, and paused in their midst. It was Great figured that it could not b the tall form and that it was Great recognized olf. olf, though his face was ec dis culiar clothing told ikem The lifeless form of his companion was laebe«t to his back. His hands were bound, ard bie head shaven of itsscalp-lock. His shculders ened breast were covered with blood, as was also the disfigured face. ““Good God, Great Wolf!” burst in prefame English from the lips of the renegade chief Wauccsta, “ what in the furies does this n eer.” ale-faces,™ ne savage giant muttered between his swollem». i ips. “* Pale-faces!” exclaimed Waucosta; “ tasx- ‘* Behold the work of the acci rsed more than one had hold of you?” “Yes; as many as there are fingers on Great Wolf's bards,” replied the savage. A scow] of vengeance swept over the savages® faces, and Waucosta censured himself fer mat having gone in force to the trapper’s eertsia. But it was too late to make amends, and Great Wolf had been freed of his lifeless bur@ex, and his bruised and lacerated fece ameint- ed with the juice of a plant, noted in Indian surgery for its soothing and healin ig atc he gave a well-constructed story of his advew ture with overwhelming numbers of the foe. Despite the condition in which he a im camp, he succeeded in renin himself waddle pe glory Ene if he had Kang h ; olitary, and in arousing the spirit of vengeanew within the breast of his Rounrarteh Waucosta dispatched a messenger at once to Black Buffalo, with the news that the war bed . begun, and requesting that he send a reimferoe- ment of a hundred warriors to the lake immed ately. The chief could scarcely restrain the emetica. of his warriors, so fierce did they beccme witi« a feeling of vengeance; but as the shades of night were already gathering around them, they relapsed into silent wrath, and began their pre- e scalp of O&b ;
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——S— half under water, w ~.aind_as it advanced toward t bea e and the water fairl parations for departure to the hunters’ camp by ‘the lake, each one promising himself a scalp, in spite of Waucosta’s injunction to take them all ve. By the time darkness had fairly settled in the woodland, the savages were in motion, mo like so many grim sbadows toward the lake. CHAPTER IX. OLD SOLITARY IN CAMP. As the reader has doubtless inferred, the sav- ages in the canoe upon which the Monster was Learing down, were a detachment of Waucosta’s party under Waucosta himself. ln skirting along the lake shore in their en- deavors to approach and surprise our friends, tuey had found the canoes lying beached under some willows. The presence of the craft there induced the chief to believe that they could ap- prouch the camp of the hunters by water with greater ease and caution than they could by ian !. Se with five of his best warriors, the chief embarked in the canoe, and coasting along with- in tae shadow of the shore until he saw, from the light of the camp-fire reflected among the branches of the trees, that they were opposite the camp, he then permitted the canoe to drop ou! inte the moonlit waters. It was at this juncture that the red-skins dis- covered the approach of the terrible Monster of the Lake. ‘ney had heard wonderful stories of this crea- tures months before, from the lips of those who had seen it, but it had not occurred to Waucosta and his braves once since their arrival there, that Silver Lake was the home of the Monster. They were, therefore, paralyzed with terror at sight of it; while upon the other hand, the band of whites bad been expecting it, and were, in a t measure, prepa for the sient though the creature was even more ter- rible than it had been represented. Tt was fully ten feet in length, and may have veen many more, for from the middle of the Lody it tapered back like the tail of a serpent, and its rear extremities may have been under water. The huge, po body was more than e the angular, mt- like head was thrust upward more than feet above the surface of the lake, From the 22d dewnward the neck grew r. It was arcned like that of a serpent preparing to strike, C) jee its ter- ribte jaws opened and closed, displaying a dou- ble row of long, white fangs, while the breath hot smoke. glowed and scin tually shooting out dull beams of lig’ reached the water before it. Short wings put out from each side of the monster, and lent an adlitional terror to its dragon-like ap - ‘ance. But these wings were used as propellers, asa fish uses its fins, and much on the same prin- viple that an aquatic fow] uses its web-feet in swimming. When the wings had spent their force t the water, they would close, dis- apoeer under ee eo i rod La ace Sy in- s'antly appear forward, when they would again spread out, strike the water like oars, and disappear under the surface and ap , like a sudden flash, forward for a new stroke, It was a terrible creature, and as it shot forward toward the savages, its breast cleav- “ins the waves like a s prow of a boat, foaming in its wake, it -owrs a sight well calculated to strike terror to - creature was invulnerable to bul the h of the superstitious savage. Even the whites were held spell-bound with a species of ‘wonder and horror, at sight of the wonderful Monster with its glowing eyes and yawning mouth. . Some of them clutched their rifles as if to sloot the dragon, while detective Dart, as if un- dcr the influence of some horrible fascination, giided to the water’s very edge, and leaning ovwara, supported by a bush, gazed with start- ing eyeballs at the creature. ‘Waucosta being a white man, and of less superstition than his savage comrades -recovered in a moment his sudden terror, an raising his rifle, fired upon the advancing mon- ‘ter. But his aim was Seay or else the ets, for it still ' came on, ; - hief seized the ~ the canoe and se Possessed anew with terror, the renegade ) sagne and attempted to ek safety in flight. But just as he had turned the craft in a course at right angles with that of the Monster, the breast of “the latter struck the side of the canoe. There “was a crash, the side of the frail bark craft was vatove in. and the next moment the savages were Geer as eer wes Old So floundering in the water, while the Monster with a pleasant chuckle, “if you love fun so sinking downward almost from view, glid away and was soon lost from the sight of our friends in the darkness along the shore. It required but a minute for the terrified savages to reach the shore and plunge iuto the dense shadows of the forest, and then our friends realized a feeling of relief—relief from i terrible silence that had been imposed upon em. “Ay, friend Dart,” said Captain Disbrowe, ‘‘what do you think of that ?” anything I ever saw; and demmy if it don’t try one’s nerves,” replied the detective, betraying some excitement, which, however, seem feigned. creature unknown to zoologists of this age. Quite a wonder, quite a terror. Ha! ha! but didn’t it make those savages git up and dust?” ‘*Yes; itseemed to have a withering effect on their nerves,” replied young Harry Thomas. “T presume.” said Captain Disbrowe, *‘ they will not venture back in this neighborhood soon getting our hair lifted by those skulking ras- cals! But, then, a ‘miss is as good as a mile,” so we may as well adjourn to our a. So saying, the party returned to the camp. The fire was replenished with fuel, and the lit- tle party again seated themselves within its cheerful glow. The Monster of the Lake now furnished a theme for conversation, The de- tective expressed his opinion freely in regard to it, and argued with ability that it was a species of the monster Saurians, ruch as those whose remains are found by geological researches in the Eocene Period, or Age of tiles. And so the conversation ran on until the Jace 8 were suddenly startled by the sound of ootsteps and a strong coarse voice. “Tickle my ole scalp, if you ar’n’t a likely set of tars to have your scalps on, when the red hounds of Satan are swarmin’ thick here- ats ‘Old Solitary, as I live!” exclaimed Captain Disbrowe, advancing with extended hand to meet the old trapper; “ right glad am I to meet you— heavens, mau! don’t crush my hand in a Ate . ” said the old tra d al, my boys, eo pper, Grop- ping the butt of his rifle to the ground, and oeeune his hands over the muzzle of the piece which he leaned slightly forward upon, “ what s’prises me is to see you squattin’ here, in camp, with yer ha’r all on. “T sup our safety is owing to the Monster of the e,” said Harry Thomas, “The Monster! Whew! have you seen that critter to-night?” “Yes,” replied Thomas, ‘‘less than an hour 0. e The dickens, you sayi That Monster makes the ice rattle down a feller’s back like rip— hullo! a stranger?’ and for the first time the old trap r’s eyes fell upon detective Dart. “A friend of mine, Old Soli , Jabez Dart, of Ohio, detective by profession,” said Captain Disbrowe. * Jabez Dart, de-tective, eh?” exclaimed Old Solitary; “glad to meet you, ole coon; give us a wag of your paw.” The detective advanced and acknowledged the pleasure of the old trapper’s acquaintance in a cordial manner, They exchanged a few words, and then all the party but Old Solitary seated themselves before the fire n. “Sit down, Solitary,” said Disbrowe, ‘‘ sit down and rest your bones.” ‘ “Nay, nay, captain; you never catch this ole carcase reposin’ in ease when thar’s kits of red- skins ravin’ around like hungry coyotes.” ‘“ Why, Solitary, are the red-skins so thick in in these woods?” asked the couse ‘Plenty as frogs along the lake. It war only a bit ago that I let the daylight out of one of the buggers, and spread the nose of another over his greasy phiz. Yes, boys, trouble ies eye expected from the Sioux now. Bullets and ha’r will fly like sand, and altho’ I have no desire to have my meat-house Precencet with a chunk of lead, I'll take my chances with the rest. No, the Sioux are not goin’ to stand by the treaty of the Fox and Sac tribes, and are determined to make their vengeance felt fur not includ- in’ them in the pow-wow. But, if deviltry’s their game, scalps is my checker, and a high ole time we'll have.” “Truly, truly.” said detective Dart, “‘ you old ec rs speak of killing and skinning In- dians like beaver. Now, if itis fun, I wouldn’t mind a short spell of it, for 1’m old ‘ pizen’ ona shot and lively times in general.” “Wal, now, Ole Pizen,” returned the trapper, **'That Monster is a terrible thing—a | again; but, by Jupiter! we came within an ace | 0 litary, the Hermit Trapper. } ao eatin BEE well, jist come with me a spell, and we’ll goand make a reconnoissance ’bout these diggin’s afore we all indulge in too much carelessness.”’ ‘“‘T’m your man!” exclaimed Dart, springin to his feet, and taking up the rifle with whic he had been provided at Mound Prairie; “lead the way, Mr. Solitary, and if I git lost just whistle.” ‘“ Whistle?” reiterated the trapper; ‘‘now Pizen, if you don’t want to lose your ha’r, don’t ; | speak above a whisper arter we are outen sight ‘Quite a drama, quite a drama, Cap. Beats of that fire. Mind ye; we can’t go callin’ to one anuther like a couhle of children huutin’ posies in the woods of Ohio. No siree; you must step like a cat, fur we’re a couple of hunters, goin” out arter scalps.” “Lead tne way, Solitary, lead the way,” re- turned Dart, impatiently. The old trapper cock the lead, closely fol- lowed by the light-footed detective, leaving the other six seated before the fire, their sides con- vulsed with yes Pre laughter over the trap- om advice and the blunt remarks of the de— ctive. The two moved slowly until some distance from the camp, when they quickened their foot- steps, and, after journeying a couple hundred yards, they pushed their way through a dense thicket and entered a little 4 de, where it was so light that the rays of the moon seemed to have concentrated there in a focus. Walking to the center of this opening, Old’ Solitary stopped, and, turning about, dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, as was his: custom when standing, and, gazing down upon: the detective—who seemed a pigmy by the side of him—said, in a slow, decided tone: ‘* And you are Jabez Dart, the detective, eh?” The detective made no reply, more than to draw a slip of paper from an inner pocket, and hand it to the trapper. “Do you know that ?” Dart asked, The old woodman took the pe and gazed at. t, the scrawling writing upon it, with that inno- cent, childlike ignorance of one who does not. know one letter from another. “Read it, Dart,” he said the detective; ‘then I can tell more about it.” Dart took the paper and read as follows: “ Janez Dart:—Come at once to Silver Lake, in. the Territory of Iowa, and you will hear something in regard to the Hart’s Ford murder. “Op SouITARY, THE Hermit Traprem” ““That’s it,” said the trapper, “‘ that’s it.” “And now, what do you know about the: Hart’s Ford murder?’ questioned Dart. ‘Sh! silence! to the shadows! I hear foot- steps!” demanded the trapper, and leading the they glided across the opening and inte: way the deep shadows. Here they listened. They heard the tread of a heavy foot. ‘*Ts it a savage?” asked Dart, in a whisper. “Not a bit of it, Pizen, An Ingin walks like: a cat, and wears moccasins, but that fellow treads like a buck, and’s got boots on !” “Verily!” returned Dart, in his careless man- ner. “ Yes, and tickle my scalp if I don’t foller him, and see who he is, and whar he’s goin’. Stay right here, Pizen; till I return.” ‘* So, so—all right.” And Jabez Dari was aione. CHAPTER X. AN ARROW IN CAMP. Arter Old Solitary and Jabez Dart left the camp, Captain Disbrowe and his party relapsed: into that ease and fearlessness that comes of a. sense of security. For, since the old trapper had made his appearance at their camp, all dangers seemed to have vanished. But this they soon found was really not the case. Something whizzed through the air and struck, with a dull thud, the tree trunk against which Captain Disbrowe was reclining. “Indians!” involuntarily burst from the lips of one of the party, and the next instant every man was upon his feet. Captain Disbrowe turned and saw, quive in the tree within three inches of where bish had reclined, an arrow. The barbed point was half buried in the wood, and around the shaft he saw something like a piece of thin parchment carefully wrapped. Snatching the arrow from the tree, the cap- tain turned to his comrades, and said: “ Boys, let us fall back under cover of the darkness: there are Indians about, and this fire will tell them where to strike.” With rifles in hand, the hunters glided inte the shadows beyond the radius of their firelight. Captain Disbrowe found that he was alone when ing it back to- LEAF }
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—~—> he had gained a point of safety, his comrades having taken a different course. With the mysterious arrow still in his hand, he moved on until he had gained a little moon- light opening, where he stopped and examine the missile. True enough, he found the shaft had been wrap with a gauze like strip of fine dressed buckskin, and on removing this from the shaft, he saw it was written on with red ink, or the juice of the wild grape, in a rude but legi- ble hand, which he was enabled to read by the moonlight, and which ran thus: “ Dear Roitt—Meet me forthwith on the peninsula, or north side of lake. Fail not ! Hoty.” The captain started, and the hand that held the paper shook like an aspen. But why should he? as the missive, couched as it was, in the lenguaes of a threat, addressed to him? Was ‘*Huldy” known to him? Did he fear Huldy? Be this as it may, he re-read the missive, then thrust it in his pocket, and, taking up his rifle, strode rapidly off through the worth: Me shaped his course toward the lake, and in a few min- utes reached its shore. Here he turned and proceeded along the bank toward the north. Rounding the north-east angle of the lake, he soon came to where a high, narrow point of densely: wooded land was thrust outward like a wedge into the clear lake. In the center of this peninsula was a little glade, toward which Captain Disbrowe pushed his way. He started suddenly back as he stepped into the moonlighted space, for he found himself con- fronted by an Indian. ‘“Let Captain Disbrowe have no fear,” said the savage, in plain English, seeing the captain’s sudden movement. Disbrowe breathed easier and advanced into the opening. Pn it possible,” he said, “‘ that I meet you us— “Waucosta,” interrupted the savage chief- tain, for he it was, ‘‘call me Waucosta, for your old friend, ‘Huldy,’ you know, was murdered. Ha! ha! ha!” m By Heaven! this beats me!” returned the ENO doubt of it,” replied the Indian, in a tone tinged with sarcasm, “‘ nodoubt of it. But time is captain, and I want to have a talk with yon aboutold times. You need not start, captair: : a» one will hear us.” Say what you have to say, for I must re- turn to camp,” replied the captain, a little rest- less. “ Rest , captain; it’s a 1 time till morni' : ed tne ead y too, bat fie no weet fret. But I suppose Ethel Leland is your wife, long ere this.” “No; she is single, and so am I.” “The Furies, you say! Honor bright, now aptain?” ‘1 am telling you the truth.” “Well, that ts me, What is the trouble?’ “ Ethel has been slow to forget ner old lover, Frank Hammond.” ‘“* And is your prospect still dark?” “No. I will wed her soon.” “Happy day!” exclaimed Waucosta, discard- ing his Indian ways, and deliberate manner of speaking. ‘I am glad to hear that, captain.” ‘“‘Why? Whatis it to you whether I ever wed her or not?” ; A ena a She has a sister, has she no ‘“* How did you find it out?” ‘‘T have been spying around Mound Prairie. I lay in the o me and saw Ethel and Millie sail by like birds of paradise, and says I to my- self, ‘Wau with Captain Disbrowe’s help, Millie Fayville shall be your wife.” “And suppose I refuse to give my help?” said ne Ob but you will! kn tain “Oh, but you ow you will, ca after what I have done for lt A cand “2 id na§ well for it,” oe Disbrowe. “You so, captain, t if you’d onl knowed how I suffe that winter, five y ago, in crossing the prairies to the east of ere, ou’d see that beg ogi id. I must have illie—I will have her, you, captain, shall do your duty.” bere was a threat in Waucosta’s words, the meaning of which Disbrowe did not compre- hend, or else he dare not refute it. There was an acquaintanceship existing between these two men that was evidently ught with some secret, which Waucosta appeared to wield with no little power. After a moment’s silence and reflection, Cap- tain Disbrowe asked: ‘What would you have me do, Waucosta?” “ Anything, Disbrowe, any thing, so I can get Millie Fayville for a wife. When I think how and his words were repeated by every man ———— $$$ - — nigh I came perishing in that snow-storm five | present. years ago, in crossing the prairie, I think I am aa bed py — fom — the re- mainder of my days happy and zunshiny. “T shall do nothing ehos ei | The captain waited for no further words upon the subject, but saddling his horse, he mounted and took his departure for Mound Prairie. He your getting her rode with all the speed of his horse, but did not if you can, Waucosta, nor will I do anything | reach the settlement until an hour after day- to help you get her.” ‘* Eh? that’s your decision, is’t?”’ “ It is,” “Then, by ge-mently, you has’n’t eajoy the eee of being Ethel’s husband!” “JT have paid you for plied Disbrowe, “and there should be honor, eveh among — “Such as you and me, captain. Ha! ha! i | light the next morning. e found the settlers all astir, and they were not a little surprised to see him there, his horse white with foam and panting with exhaustion. ‘Why, captain, what is the matter?” asked our silence once,” re | Maurice Fayville, whom he chanced to meet first. “The Sioux are on the war-path, Maurice, and [ have come to put you on your guard. ha!” interrupted the renegade chief; ‘if you | left the other boys at the lake, where the red had never drifted into this country, —— it’s robable we’d never met ag’in this side of the Primstdne pit; but as we have, l’d be a purt fool to let sich a chance fur a wife, as Millie Fayville is, go by, jist because one rascal said he’d do a favor fur anuther. Now don’t you see my point, captain?” The captain made no reply, but with the fe- sh of a tiger he sprung at Waucosta and sei him by the throat. ‘‘ Curse you,” he hissed, “‘I will strangle the life out of your body!” Waucosta endeavored to defend himself, but he was no match for the enraged captain. In endeavoring to bear him to the earth, Disbrowe a the chief across the opening into the rush. Here he tried to throw him again, but the light-footed chief — to keep erect. Slowly Disbrowe — him through the undergrowth, until finally they stood on the edge of the precipice overhanging the lake. Here a desperate struggle ensued, but Disbrowe proved the victor, by Waucosta over pe Fa ges into the e drew abreath of relief, and advancing to the edge of cliff, gazed down into the water. He saw Waucosta struggling with the waves. He drew a pistol from the breast of his hunting- shirt, with the determination of shooting the renegade. He cocked the weapon and pointed it down at the chief. But he did not fire. At this juncture he beheld two small orbs of fire come into view from around an os of the pe- ninsula. He fixed his eyes upon these objects, and back of them, he beheld the dark scaly form of the Monster cf the Lake, bearing, with swift wings, down upon the doomed Waucosta. itn ~. »ew terror—a conscience stained with crime—biauu Iisbrows surnec and fied the spot, CHAPTER Xi THE CAPTAIN’S TRIP TO MOUND PRAIRIE, JaBEz Dart waited and waited for the return of Old Solitary, until he finally began to think he never would come back. But at iength his patience was rewarded by hearing footsteps, and the next moment the old trapper was by his side. “ PBack, are you?” said the impatient detec- ve. “ ” ; ac replied the old trapper; ‘‘ but I war detained longer than I eupesen te be.” ** Well, what did you make out of that figure that us?” ‘“Siderable, Pizen, ’siderable. I’ve’ hearn lots and seen more since I’ve been gone. So Ill jist tell you what it war.” He leaned forward and eee in Dart’s a, Cg though he were afraid of other listeners abou A low exclamation burst from the detective’s lips when he had concluded his story. They conversed a few moments longer, then returned to camp. The Raniters had all recovered from their fright occasioned by the stray arrow, and re- turned to the camp, with the exception of Cap- tain Disbrowe. He was still absent, but caime ge attr the Dayo of rg Bs and 00 perfec m an -possessed. Wal, Cap, what diskivery did you make? spicuous marks for savage bullets.” - advice, Cap,” replied Old Solitary, ‘*and I’m afraid Mound Prairie will suffer for want of some one to keep them on their guard there,” . ‘“‘T was just thinking of that, Solitary, and I believe it would be well for me to mount my horse and hasten back to the settlement and put the settlers on their guard.” “I'd favor the idea, Cap,” said the trapper, >. | | } LL demons are swarming thickly.” “Great God!” exclaimed Mr. Fayville, “I hope we will not have to suffer the horrors of an. Indian war!” ‘The prospects are, alas! too favorable to be- lieve otherwise, Mr. on but let us be pre- pared to meet the foe when he comes.” ‘Yes, yes, captain, that is true. Get the men all together soon as possible, and issue your or- ders for the defense of the place. your shoulders, captain, hangs the military part of yo ith this assurance Disbrowe went to work. A block-house, surrounded with palisades, which had been erected two years previous, was one of the strongest defensive features of the settle- ment, and this was put in readiness for immediate occupation, should the stern necessity of an at- tack require it. The captain managed to keep himself busy all the time, though the responsibilities resting up- on him did not require such active exertions. But then he had a motive in this. It was the hope of meeting Ethel Leland alone. He wished. to bavea talk with her, and, in view of the threatening danger, urge her into an immediate mpartfage with him, so that she would be place@ more directly under his protection. It was near the middle of the afternoon of that same day that he saw Ethel issue from the door of a neighbor’s cabin and move away chrsugh a etuell grove; be beat hie Sootnepe ia & a small grove, he bent his footsteps in a direction that would enabie him to intercept her in the heart of the grove, where his path crossed) hers at right-angles. As he nea the place of the anticipated meeting be was not a little startled by — Jabez ide from a clump of busues a confront Ethel. ‘The maiden uttered a ‘ittie cry at sight of him, but she soon catmec cer emotions, and advancing, entered nw @ COn+ versation with him. Disbrowe stopped short. He was astonished, surprised, for he supposed Dart was still at the lake. He was where he could see them, and yet not be seen himself; and from the quick ges- tures of Dart, and the emotions of Ethel, he knew their interview must be one of an extrar ordinary nature. A secret resolve possessed the captain. Am uneasy conscience made him something —he knew not what, and crouching down, he crept were A to within earshot of Sethel and Dart, just in time to hear the latter say: ‘‘Now, don’t forget. Look in the crotch of the hawthorn by the Crystal Spring about. dark, and you will find a letter there, perhaps.” So saying, Dart moved away, and Ethel re-- sumed her homeward course. Disbrowe’s mind was too deeply involved in thought to follow either his betrothed or the detective. But their conduct seemed very strange, indeed. There was a bit of a mystery eonnected with it, and in his heart he resolved to know what secret the hawthorn would have to reveal about dark. CHAPTER XIL ON THE BAR. As soon as Captain Roland Disbrowe had left the hunters’ camp, Old Solitary ordered the fire to be put out and a change of location. ‘“‘ Thar’s slathers of red-skins about, boys, and we've got to be keerful,” he said, *‘or some of us lose our ha’r afore mornin’. They’ve got their ore on this spot, and will keep ’em ere jist as long as we spe ““Where would you advise us to seek new ?’ asked Harry Thomas. ‘* Wal, on the south side of the lake thar is a small sand-island that would be a good point te- rd against the varlets. If you want to ge» over to it, Pll bring one of my canoes around while you fellers take your hosses and hide ’em in a new place.”
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10 ‘* We'll do it, Solitary,” said Ishmael Graves, * for I don’t care *bout losin’ my skulp.” ‘Wal, move yourselves brisk. You will find me with the canoe whar the prairie jines the woods,” So saying, the party proceeded to strike their tents, pack them on the horses and move them to another point, Somethivg like an hour was consumed in mak- ing this change, and when the hunters reached the -— designated by the old trapper, they found him there with a large canoe. ‘“Now, lads,” he said, ‘‘ you fellers can take this craft and steer for the bar.” ** Are you not going with us?” asked Thomas, ‘No, siree; ’m goin’ to keep on the pa round this lake, and I want Old n to go wit me. “T’m your man, Cap,” said Dart. The old trapper now gave our friends such di- rections as would enable them to reach the island, or sand-bar, without trouble. Then, having cautioned them of the dangers that sur- rounded them all, he pushed the canoe off the beach, and the next moment they were gliding out into the lake. The old trapper and Dart now turned and plunged into the woods again. There were but five of the hunters now, and under the circumstances they felt greatly the need of the experience that enables the practical borderman to detect danger and elude it. However, they felt satisfied that, when once upon the island, their danger for that night would be over with, for an Indian could never reach them unobserved when there. In a few minutes’ paddling a dark object, lying —— the glassy bosom of the lake, ap- peared before them, and they knew then they were nearing the sought-for place of safety. And to reach it, land, and beach their canoe was but the work of a few minutes’ further time, They found the bar a small, oblong strip of yellow sand, its surface in the middle being scarcely a foot above that of the lake. It was entirely barren of vegetation of every kind, and there wasnot an object upon it large enough to conceal a rabbit. om this destitute state of the island, our five friends knew at a glance that no enemy could possibly be concealed upon it. However, had they been experienced bor- dermen, they would, from force of habit, if from no other eause, have made a careful ex- amination of the island before they could ever have felt themselves safe. But as soon as they had landed they began preparations for getting a few hours’ sleep. The canoe was drawn from the water on the south end of the bar. Some blankets brought along for the purpose were placed upon the ground for couches, and upon these four of the hunters threw themselves and were soon sound asleep, for they had grown weary with the night’s excitement and adven- tures. The fifth one of the party was placed on ard, to be relieved. in the course of an hour. he first wateh fell upon Harry Thomas, and with good cheer he took hisstation. For awhile he walked to and fro across the island to keep bimself awake, but everything had become so supremely silent that he convinced himself that danger for the night had , and.so he seated himself on the south end of the island to wait till his watch was over, The first thing he did on assuming this new position was to note the amount of territory over which he could command a view, and he found that the lower his eyes were the better he would be enabled to se Objects on the lake. As not a living object was to be seen, he bent his ear and listened. Nothing was to be heard, save the heavy i- ration of his companions and the water gently chafing the beach. With these renewed evidences of their safety, Harry relapsed into quietude of mind and body, and soon weird visions were flitting before his eyes and wild fancies crowding his brain. He was growing drowsy with slumber, and would have soon been sound asleep, had the far-off re- post of a rifle, as it came across the lake, not ken upon his ear. He started to his feet. He ran his eyes over the lake like cne bewildered. He missed the respi- ration of his comrades. He took in his sur- rounding ata single glance, and a cry of horror burst from his lips, Before him lay their canoe, but his compan- ions were every one gone ! Where were they: What had taken them away so silently—yea, pe daa ge ch While he was asking himself these questions, an additional horror forced itself upon him, by | Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper, making the startling discovery THAT PART OF Dart; ‘but suppose I go to the settlement, what THE ISLAND WAS ALSO GONB! CHAPTER XIII. OLD SOLITARY IN A ‘‘ FIX,” t AFTER they had seen the hunters off for the island, Old Solitary and Jabez Dart made their way along the lake shore toward the north. hey had gained a point nearly opposite that where the hunters’ camp had been when they came to a halt near the water’s edge. Here the old trapper produced a succession of. sounds similar to many of those of nature that can be heard in the forest after nightfall. He gave no reason to his companion for his actions, but soon the light dip of a paddle was heard to the right of them, and the next moment a canoe with a sin- le occupant came in sight from the distant shadows, Asit came nearer and nearer Dart saw that the occupant was an Indian—that his plumed head was bent in the attitude of listening. Old Solitary continued his calls until he saw that the Indian had headed his canoe directly toward them, then be ceased and advanced closer to the water’s edge. Dart now saw that the trapper’s calls had been intended for the Indian’s ears, for he—the In- dian—came on and landed where they stood. ‘Ay, you are here, Lone Heart,” the old trapper said, familiarly. the Hermit Trapper’s “Lone Heart hear calls, and came to meet him.” “ Right glad I are of it, Lone Heart. This is my new friend, Jabez Dart, Ingin.” art greeted the Indian with a cordial shake of the hand, expressing the pleasure it afforded him in making his acquaintance, a stereotyped Hea of his that had originated from force of abit. The only manifestation on the part of the In- dian was a good-natured ‘‘Ugh,” though he ve the detective a keen, searching glance as e took bis extended hand. But owing to the shadows that concealed the expression of the Indian’s face, Dart failed to observe this look of aepscoas Crees. e meeting was followed by, a momentary silence, which, however, was broken by Dart, ‘‘T must say you fellows understand each other all-fired well,” he remarked. ‘‘I presume you are in cahoots, friends—partners, eb?’ ‘‘No,” replied Old Solitary, ‘“‘we’re not in cahoots, but we’re friends. I live alone, and so does Lone Heart, but we meet often.” “ But why is it that you’re alone, Lone Heart? Hain’t you no friends “T am a Chippewa,” replied the Indian, ‘‘ and the Dacotah is not a fit companion for the Chip- wa. My tribe are dead, and I am alone and sad at heart. There is no enjoyment for Lone Heart.” ‘‘Well, that’s bad, red-skin. I sympathize with you. But I believe, if it were me, I'd let the Monster of the Lake gobble me up, and be done with life and sorrow.” “The pale-face speaks not from his heart. He knows not how dear life is, even to a poor Chip- wa. Here the Indian turned away, with an unmis- takable air of contempt and offended dignity. “Old Pizen,” said Old Solitary, addressing the detective, ‘‘ if you'll just remain here a min- ute or two, while I take this Chippewa to one side and instruct him a little, [ll be much obleeged to you.” “ Certainly, certainly,” replied Dart, wonder- ing what secrets there could be between the two. The old trapper and the Indian withdrew a - paces into, the woodsand held a low conver- sation. When they returned the Indian entered his canoe and at once took bis departure. hen he was out of sight Old So.itary turned to Dart and said: ' “A curious Ingin,a curious Ingin, But a better heart never throbbed within a red-man’s “Where does he live?” asked Dart. I see into it now. Hitk, ae I believe, and so does Lone Heart, that ‘Been bad for us if he’d got killed,” replied ° shall I report? “‘ Progress,” returned Old Soli , ‘and if I can git my clutches on Waucosta by to-morry night, I think we’ll be all set. However, keep cool as a mountain-top. Don’t let the settlers know but what you’re up here. See the gal in secret and appoint a place where she can receive another communication by to-morry night.” “All right, Solitary. I'll work the matter up to a demonstration, bet your head on that,” bay | talked on a few minutes longer; then Dart left the old trapper and proceeded to where their horses had been concealed. In a few minutes more he was on his way to the set- tlement. Old Solitary, when left alone, turned and pro- ceeded a short distance along the shore, when he came to a point where he had concealed cne of the many canoes he kept at various points around the lake. Pushing the craft into the water, he emberk- ed therein, still keeping a northerly course and well in under the shadows of the bank and its fringe of forest trees. He handled the paddle with a silence that evinced his skill in water-craft, scarcely creating asound that was audible to his own ears, He continued on until the circuit of the lake had gradually bent his course due west, then he ran inshore with the intention] of landing; but, just as the prow of his canoe touched the bank, his practiced ears caught the sound of voices calling, in a su ey 7 tone, to each other from the depths of the forest. They were not far away, and served to change the old trapper’s intention of going ashore there. So he again headed his eance westward and con- tinued on, still hugging the shore closely. At length he came to the little peninsula upon which Waucosta and Captain Disbrowe had had their fierce altercation. As it shot straight out into the lake, it made an abrupt angle in his course, changing it southward. The peninsula was principally a deposit of limestone rock, covered with a Jayer of soil that had given nourishment to trees, shrubbery and grass upon it. In some places the banks arose to the hight of twenty feet, and were either perpendicular or jutting, and their facade was covered with a dense network of vines, and fes- tooneries of a species of Spanish moss, In skirting along the base of this peninsula, the old trapper was brought to a sudden halt b the fall of a pebble in the water from the Clift above. ‘** Ah!” he said to himself, “it must be Lone Heart. He was to drop a pebble in the water if he wanted me above, and there was danger below. Ah, there goes the pebble again.” The old trapper was satisfied that his friend, Lone Heart, was on the rock above, for, on parting a short time previous, O!d Solitary had promised to meet him there upon the edge of the peninsula, or under its jutting cliffs, within the next hour, Lone Heart had informed him that danger lurked about the peninsula, and that he would determine their point of meeting by the magni- tude of their peril. If he was wanted on the peninsula, a pebble was to be drop in the water as he passed along, but if wan below, a low whistle was to be the signal. To assure himself that he had heard the fall of a pebble, he waited until he heard the sound repeated the third time. There was no doubt now of his friend being above on the cliff, and, as a double assurance of this, the light dip of a ddle drew his attention to a canoe approach- g him from the south along the edge of the peninsula. It hung so close in under dense shadows of the ledge that it was just discerni- ble, and he could faintly see the outlines of three or four shadowy form seated within it. These he knew were savages, and their presence there was probibly known to Lone Heart, who had, i. GATpEGHEROR, signaled for the trapper te meet m_ abore. icky realizing the gongs that menaced him, Oe Salltery attached t inter of his canoe a stro BK yine, then ng to his feet, he hag looking for some way to ascend the face of the rock. ~~" : The dense, black CAnORY of a-branching elm overhanging the edge of the shut out all upward view. He could see no hing of his friend above, nor the chances offered for ascent by the vines that curtained the face of the rock. But while he was thus debarred from the as- sistance of his friend, as he believed, and a knowledge of the face of the rock by the blind- ing darkness, he felt in no manner deterred in his speedy escape from the approaching Indians. But, reaching up, ho orearelt Told of the vines,
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Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. and was about to risk his ascent thereby, when he felt something drop on his shoulder. He knew at once it was a rope of bark lowered by Lone Heart to assist him in his ascent, and re- leasing his hold upon the vines, he grasped the rope, and, hand over hand, began climbing ~% ward with a cat-like celerit that was remark- able for one of his years and weight. He had made more than two-thirds of the hight of the rock, when the sudden crack of a riffe, almost under him, pealed out upon the silent hour. It was the same report that aroused Harry Thomas from his drowsiness and dreams over on the island. Old Solitary stopped in his ascent. He would have sworn it was the crack of Lone Heart’s heavy rifle, and he knew he was seldom at fault in such things. But there was a bit of mystery about it. Hither the rifle had fallen into the hands of the Indians under the ledge in the canoe, or else Lone Heart was not on the rock above ! For the first time the old trapper was in a dilemma. Hanging as it were between heaven and earth, and knowing not which way to go— whether up or down—to keep out of the clutches of an enemy, was the situation in which he found himself. He gazed up and then down, but the shadows concealed ev hing from view, and he was compelled to let his hearing decide his course. He med intently. He could hear the soft crunch of a footstep on the cliff above, and be- low he could hear the quick dip of a paddle. Neither of these sounds, however, were sufficient to decide his course. He was satisfied that there were Indians below, and since he had heard that rifle report, the conviction flashed over him that there were Indians above. But he would have to go one way or the other, and that soon. His grip upon the slender rope was slowly relaxing. Of ‘the two dangers, he concluded to choose what he believed would be the lesser, and so continued his ascent. His head soun appeared above the rock; his shoulders followed. But now he hesitated. An agony of suspense seized upon him. He strained his eyes through the oom. He saw a number of sbadows dart out rom the darkness. He heard the rush of pane ther-like feet. He felt a dozen hands grasp him, he felt a noose enciréle- his’ form;'and the next instant he was lying upon the’pen -a help- less prisoner. CHAPTER XIV. VANISHED IN THE AIR, THE forest became hideous with the demoniac ells of savage triumph when it was announced {hat Old Selitary, the Hermit Trapper, was a risoner. The announcement was first made by is captors, and as their cries ran through the woods and over the lake, they were taken up and re-echoed by savages under the ledge, sav- ages in the forest, savages on the lake, savages every where. In a few minutes the peninsula was literally swarming with Indians. More than a hundred fierce, vindictive warriors were crowding and jostling around the helpless trapper, eager to flict a blow or taunt upon him. The presence of so many Sioux was evidence itself that an- other large party had followed Waucosta there that same day. -This old trapper was dragged to the little moonlit glade where Winooete and Roland Dis- browe had met a few hours previous. Here thie _ moonbeams enabled the savages to look w their captive foe, But this light was insufficient to show the expression of the trapper’s face, for thereon did they expect to the shame of his defeat, and, the itude of his fears. So several small were lighted on the outer cir- cle of the glade, and as they grew rand the flames leaped out, sending their beams of light into the ess around, it revealed’ to tbe old trapper’s eyes a sea of oe half-naked forms seething and writhing about him, their faces fierce with indignation and malignant scowls, But he met their sinister glances with a firm, unwav ig gaze. The bold defiance i sone the revengeful fury of the adibg igh pe they endesvored by many eruel blows and kicks, to force from him some. word of fear; but they failed repeatedly, and finally subsided into silent rage. This, now, was the old tra 's moment. to follow up the advantages he had gained over the foe, and in a cool, defiant tone he said: “You blasted red imps, why don’t you go on with your infernal Lellerin’? You needn't stop on my account. [I’ve hearn sneakin’ coyotes snarl and snap afore.” The old trapper was bound te a stake that had been driven in the ground near the center of the glade. His hands were fastened at his side by cords passing around his arms and body. His feet were tied so that he was enabled to make a short step, and given rope enough to enable him to move three or four yards in any direction from the stake, He stood erect when he spoke, his head bare, and the bosom of his hunting- shirt laying open, showing the strong, massive chest that was rising and falling under the emo- tions that were surging like an internal fire within. As he concluded his defiant remarks, a savage pushed his way through the throng and confronted him. It was Waucosta. He assumed an attitude intended to inspire the old trapper with awe of hisaugust presence. But the captive still main- tained his composure, and, much to the surprise and indignation of the chief, he said: ‘Wal, now, old blatherskite, what have you to cackle?” ‘‘The Hermit Trapper’s words are bold, but his heart is wild with fear.” “The deuce you say! That’s curious, now, ain’t it?” ‘*Let the Hermit Tra talking to Waucosta, the Sioux chief.” ‘“Indeed! Then you’re the dog of that old rapscallion Black Buffalo, eh? Wal, you’rea fine- lookin’ cur, Waucussy.” “The Hermit Trapper is an old fool.” ‘*Sneakin’ dogs bark when their master has treed the bear.” “The but it took himself and several friends to defeat Great Wolf.” r beware. He is “That’s an impertinent lie, Waucussy; I | licked that hound pup, Great Wolf, myself, and let the daylight outen his friend. I can rub a dozen of your skunks into a grease-spot in a jiffy, any time.” t among the sav: at one side, and the next moment Great Wolf pushed his way through the crowd and confronted Old Solitary. ‘Ho! ho! ho!” roared the old trapper, ‘‘ tickle my scalp, Injin, if you ain’t got an ugly coun- tenance. Your eyes area leetle bunged. You must—” “The Hermit aa r can sing his death- song,” said Great Wolf, ‘‘ and not idle words.” “Oh yes! [remember you now. You're the chick {licked over at the cabin. But, Injin, you know it-owar a fair fight, now wer'n’t it, say ? : **Did the Hermit Trapper fight Great Wolf alone?” asked Waucosta. ** You bet I did, Waucussy. help to wallop sich Wolf.” “Is this true, Great Wolf? Did you not say |e Hermit Trapper and his friends beat I wouldn’t want an ole, luberdy cuss as Great ou “T did. The Trapper Hermit lies.” was a sudden heaving of the trapper’s great chest, a flash of the eyes and a convulsive movement of the whole body. The bonds that bound his armis were sna asunder by the one mighty effort, and with one well-directed blow he felled Great Wolf to the earth. ‘*How’s that for a rejoinder, my fine bird?’ the old wee r exclaimed. Great Wolf, indignant’ with rage, sprung to his feet and shot toward the trapper, only to go down beneath another blow. By this time the other savages, fearing the old tra) saigne escape, began closing in upon him. the demon bad been aroused in the old trapper’s heart, and he plied his sledge-bam- mer fists in the faces of the sa such telling effect, that, for awhile, he held them at bay. But he was finally overpowered, borne to the earth and rebound. A short consultation was now held to make some di of the old trapper. Waucosta favored his immediate execution. Others were eh ie of oink ee 2 Buffalo, ~— the 8 were a st ter eee fe ons i reat Wolf included in the number, and so the imme- diate execution of the captive was decided on. This set the mode of execution was next discussed; but in this there arose a difference of opinion from which neither would yield, and a a warm discussion it was decided to allow Great Wolf to fix the manner of the old pe per’s ‘torture. They had an object in ‘ smarting, as the giant savage was, with the pale- face's blows, they knew he would bave no mercy in his selection from the catalogue of Indian tor- tures. Death at the stake, with some slight modifica: | tions of this ancient mode of torture, was the fate that tis savage giant fixed upen for the hated foe. In fact, his burning brain couid in- -——_ e-face compares himself to a bear, | this juncture there was a slight commotion | 11 bag nothing that would be more torturing than It required but afew minutes for fifty war- riors to gather dry brush and twigs from the woods, and pile it in a circle about the old trap- per. A space of about twenty feet in diameter was thus inclosed. The stake to which the old trapper was bound stood in the center of this circle, and, before the fire was applied to the brush, the rope that bound him to the stake was lengthened out so that he could walk about over the whole of the inclosure. The captive noticed all their preparations for his execution with unwavering glances. At times his bearded lips would curl slightly with derision, then oe his bold gray eyes would snapand glow with a merry twinkle, asif in bold defiance to all his enemies’ power. Once Great Wolf, who was watching the trap- nd narrowly for some sign of fear, caught his rded face twitching with suppressed laugh- ter, and said: “ Pain will soon move the face of the pale- face. When the red flames lick his cheeks, he will not Jaugb. He will beg for mercy, but the ears of the Sioux will be deaf to his cries.” “The deuce you say! Ah, me, won’t that he bad? But, see here, you bunged-eyed, bloated- faced variet, afore I feel the flame lick my cheeks, your scalp shall hang at my girdle !” The savages seemed awe-stricken by these words; or, not the words either, but the tone in which they were spoken, and the look that flashed in his eyes. But they soon recovered from their surprise and went on with their pre- parations for the torture. At length all was in readiness, and the torch suphes in a dozen places around the eircle of The twigs were dry as tinder, and in a moment the whole space was encircled with a red sheet of on roaring, crackling flame. | Old Solitary stood within his fiery cirele, still undaunted—his face wearing that same calm, defiant expression. The savages formed in two circles around the fire. The inner circle was armed with toma- hawks, and the outer circle with knives, They stood prepared to strike the foe down should the flame sever his bonds and he attempt to esca Higher and higher rose the flames about trapper. His clothing began to smoke with the heat that was growing hotter and hotter within that red, roaring hcop of fire. Twenty feet above bis head the heat created a kind of vacuum in the air into which the flames rushed converging into an apex, and the whole mass of fire forming a pugs pyramid of flame. And in the center of this stood the dauntless trap- per. From the apex ef this pyramid of flame blue smoke and bissing sparks were whirled and shot upward into the air as though they bad been vomited from the crater of a voleano. It was a grand as well as a fearful spectacle. That aren ee of flame and that double line of painted, demoniac faces peering into it, and rendered ghastly and spectral in fhe wavering ight, was a scene that no pen can describe. he flame concealed the form of the trap from view, but they knew the air within that circle would soon beccme heated and burst into aflame. Then would the trapper’s groans peal ip mingled with the roar and crackle of the re. The moments passed by, and yet, to the sur- rise of the savages, no cry issued from, the mes. The b burned gradually out and the fire grew smaller. Here and there gaps were made in that red circle of ) and the savages enabled to see within the inclosure. The dented, and a.cry.cfitertee gedied tro their lips. Mysterious awe was written, upon their painted faces, They saw Old Solita missing from the circle © him leave, and in their superstitious hearts they believed he had Vanished into the air, amid the smoke and flame, This, however, was impossi- ble; but he was gone, and his absenee was clothed in a profound mystery. CHAPTER XV. SAVAGE CUNNING, Wuen H Thomas discovered, on apoteing from his half-slumber, that his friends were gone, and that a part of the island had also dis- appeared, a feeling akin to horror creptover him. e thought his own negligence, perhaps, had something to do withthe disappearance of his friends. His first conclusion was that they had - been drowned, for they had gone to sleep on that portion of the island that had evidently sunk beneath the waters of the lake. was gone! o one had seen
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12 What he should do he could not tell. one bewildered, he stood and gazed around him and over the lake with a feeling of horror and desolation. A sabe yell came faintly to his ears from the northern side of the lake, and aroused him from his stupefaction of awe to a true sense of his own peril. He started, grasped his rifle, and ran his eyes over the lake with a keen, searching glance. Far out upon its glassy bosom, over twenty rods from where he stood, he saw what appear- ed to be another sand-bar. He fixed his eyes upon it with a steady gaze, and as they became more accustomed to the object he saw it was a sand-island. And, what seemed the most sin- [ated about it was, that he could see the dark orms of four or five persons lying upon it, plainly outlined against the white sand. What did it mean? Our young friend cudgeled his brain for an answer, but the more he thought over the matter, the more perplexed his mind became. Still he kept his eyes fixed upon the bar. He saw that the dark figures upon it did not move, but he suddenly came to the startling conclu- sion that the island itself was moving ! To assure himself of this fact beyond a doubt he sighted an object far beyond, and in range with the island; then with steady eye he watch- ed the line, and saw that the island was actually moving. Something of the real state of affairs now rushed across the young hunter’s mind, and for Like | | | evidence of his suspicion, he turned to the north | side of the island, and began examining that portion from which a part of the whole had so mysteriously disappeared. He found depres- sions in the sand that convinced him that a flat- boat, or raft, had been lodged against it quite recently. And he now had every reason to be- lievé that the raft, or boat, whichever it was, was there when they landed; and so cunningly covered with sand as to appear, to one a stranger to the place, as a part of the island itself. In fact, there was not a single doubt of this being the exact nature of the whole case. The savages apparently suspecting that the young hunters would flee to the island, to spend the remainder of the night, had preceded them there with a float of logs, which they had moor- ed at oe end or the pee - ah ae so as to appear the part of the Zand. Where the Indians cencealed them- selves was amystery. However, had the hunt- ers been experienced bordermen, they would papel Pawn permitted themseiyes to be caught a . Harry Thomas was totally ignorant of the number of sav: engaged in towing his com- panions away. t he was a brave youth, and resolved to save his friends at all hazards, Fortunately, the canoe had mot been taken away with his sleeping companions, and in this he could embark to their rescue. It required but a moment or two to launch the eraft and enter it. Then he took - the paddle, and sent the bark flying over the glassy surface of the lake toward the floating island. When within two rods of the raft, he permit ted his canoe tocome to a stand, so that he could ascertain, if possible, the direction from whence he migbt expect trouble, and its probable mag- nitude. But to his surprise he could not see a single savage, nor from whence the floating raft received its motive power. He could see, how- ever, that it was moving, but so slowly that. there was no danger of its motion disturbing the sleep of the four hunters. ‘Harry placed his rifle in a ame to be readily grasped, then plied the paddle again. The canoe shot forward under his vigorous strokes, and in a minute its prow touched the raft. It had been his intention to arouse his friends from their sleep by a vociferous shout, but as he saw no sign of savages, even when the raft was reached, he concluded that as great a silence as possible would be more appropriate. So he reached forw with his paddle, and touched one of his companions, whom he suc- ceeded in arousing with repeated ‘‘ punching” in the back. The fellow arose to a orton 2 ptt yawned drowsily, and rubbing eyes and mut- tering to himself in an incoherent tone, , Burt!” cautioned Harry, touching him with the paddle. ‘‘ We’re in t danger.” Burt Stanley started up wide awake, and ina minute Harry succeeded in getting him to un- derstand the critical nature of their situation. No time was to be lost, and Stanley turned, and arousing his companions, hurri them and ey their effects into the canoe. Harry Thomas at once plied the | an and sent the craft back toward theisland. Burt ex- | the Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. plaining to them as they went the nature of the danger from which they had been so opportune- ly saved by Harry. They had not made more than half the dis- tance between the island and the raft, when happened to glance back and saw three Indians standing on the latter, gesticulating in a violent manner. Where they had been con- cealed, unless it was under the raft, they could form no idea. Some were for firing upon the savages, but others objected, and they pushed on toward the sand-bar. They were within fifty yards of it when they made another startling discovery. A | party of savages had taken possession of the isl- and during Harry’s absence, and a short dis- tance north of this they saw two canoes loaded with warriors bearing directly down upon them at a rapid s . “Boys!” exclaimed eaey “the red devils are after us three to one! We will have to fly and seek safety in the reeds along the south side of the lake.” ‘Yes, yes,” responded one of his comrades; “‘head thereaways quickly, Harry, quickly!” Harry headed the prow of the canoe south- ward, and plied the paddle vigorously. He was greatly assisted by his companions, who used the butts of their rifles as paddles. They did not gain upon the savages, but suc- ceeded in maintaining their distance between. It was an exciting chase, and lasted for several minutes, when our friend’s canoe glided into that wilderness of reeds that grew far out into the water along the southern side of the lake. Under this cover they entertained little fear of being found by the cunning Sioux, neverthe- less, they lost no time in working their way in- to the heart of the miniature forest. They struck into one of those passages, cut by the animals that made the reeds their haunts, and laying aside the paddle, vag Bert the canoe along by means of the reeds, this manner they worked themselves through the intricate mazes of the wilderness for several minutes, when they halt- ed to listen. But all was silent as desolation with the sin- gle exception of the ae rustling of the reeds i fa re orath ached Hasty ‘ at shall we do, Thomas; ‘‘ go on, or remain heref’ “We probably be as safe here as any- where,” replied Burt Stanley. ** Very likely,” replied another. “The whole indian nation seems congregated around this 2, ‘Yes, and I am afraid our old friend Solitary and detective Dart have got into trouble,” said young Thomas. ‘I heard a rifle-shot, and a earful yelling around on the north side of the lake awhile ago.” ‘Rest assured Old Solitary will take care of himself, but as to Dart, I—” ‘Sh! ’sh!” cautioned young Thomas; “ hark! listen!” Each one bent his bead and listened intently. They started. Somewhere within that forest of reeds they could hear a canoe yaling Serenen one of those narrow thoroughfares. e sound was so faint they could not tell the direction whence it came, but as the canoe came nearer— as they knew it was by the increased sound— ter. ound it was approaching from the south. eir first impulse was to flee, but calm_re- flection convinced them that it would only haz- ard their situation, for they could not pecs the reeds without creating a noise that would be sufficient to direct the movements of the foe. Moreover, they would be just as apt to run into danger as to run from it, and so they concluded to remain where they were. The prow of their canoe was headed west- ward, and just before it, crossing its course at right-angles, ran one of those made by the otters. It was wider than most of them, and the flags above failing to meet, a narrow belt of moonlight defined the course of the pass- age along the surface of the water. There was — a patch of light lying on the water where e two trails crossed, and this was not over five feet from the prow of our friends’ canoe, An object crossing this could be plainly seen, while the hunters were concealed within the impene- trable shadows. The raking sound produced by the approach- ing canoe, convinced our friends that it was coming up the wide, moonlit passage, crossing at their — They listened intently for some sound that would tell them whether the canoe contained friends or foes. But they could hear nothin save the raking of the reeds against the sides o the craft. They felt in hopes it was Old Solitary, though they had little upon which to maintain these hopes. For the canoe was evidently a large one, and was, judging from the slowness with which it moved, heavily loaded. Our friends awaited its approach in breath- less nse, There was not a doubt now, but that it would pass along the moonlit trail; for already they could see tiny waves dashin across the patch of light before them, and coul hear them creeping among the stalks like wrig- gling serpents. Every moment they expected it to burst up- on their view, for now it was so close that Harry Thomas, who sat nearest the passage, was sure he heard a sound like a suppressed sob. _ At length the prow of the craft came slowly into view, as did also the hands and arms of a aan who was reaching forward, hand- over-hand, and drawing the canoe along by means of the reeds. As more of the canoe came in view, it showed the savage was standing up. Behind him sat two other warriors with their backs to their course, and between these two, and two others that sat in the stern of the boat, were Ethel Leland and Millie Fayville locked in each other’s embrace and sobbing bitterly. They were helpless captives! CHAPTER XVI. THE SECRET OF THE HAWTHORN, Captain ROLAND DISBROWE went on with his ‘‘ military” preparations about the settle- ment, manifesting no uneasiness over what he had seen and heard. In fact, no one could have told his heart was in a tumult of emo- tions, and that his spirit was chafing in bitter a e thought the sun never would go down, so anxious was he to know what secret the haw- thorn back of the Crystal Spring would hold for Ethel. But when the sun had finally set, the captain stole out into the openings, and by a circuitous route reached the Crystal Spring. Forthwith he went to the hawthorn, and in the crotch of the numerous limbs that put out he found a small folded paper. With an er, triumphant flash of the e he clutched the paper and vanished from the spot. Out in the openings where the shadows were not so deep, he stopped, unfolded the pa- per, and read: “Ethel, my darling, Heaven still favors me, But one more link is wanted in the chain of evidence wo proved my innocence. ‘ “Your suffering, yet affectionate “* HusBaNnpD.” “Great God!’ burst from Disbrowe’s lips. His face grew deathly pale, and his hand trem- bled. violently. ‘“ Musband!” he hissed, be- tween his set teeth, ‘‘is it possible that Ethel Leland has a husband? Surely not! But this r is evidence to that effect. Curse the uck! am I to lose Woldcairn Hights after years of faithful labor? No, no, I shall not—I will not be defeated; b the gods of Olympus! I will not! Ay, ay, Jabez Dart! I see into your retended search for the Hart’s Ford murderer. ft is the heir to Woldcairn that you are hunt- ing, but you may yet fail.” ere was something in the tone as well as the looks of the Barmy t implied a secret re- solve—a murderous threat. For a moment he stood, as if undecided in his course, but at length he turned, and retrac- ing his steps to the spring, put the paper back in the crotch of the hawthorn. “Now,” he muttered to himself, ‘ I must find out whether Waucosta, the Sioux chief, escaped the Monster of the Lake or not.” He returned to his stable, and procuring his fleetest horse, the next minute he was moun and flying westward like the wind. ‘* Millie, will you not take a walk with me to the Crystal Spring?” “Of course I will, sweet sister; but why not go down to the brook? Will it not be a more pleasant walk?” “Tt would be, Millie, but, then, I have an er- rand down to the spring.” “Then we will & there, Ethel, but we must not stay long for there may be danger about.” The sisters each threw a light shaw! hoodlike over her head, and leaving the house, walked briskly down toward the sp . It was now almost dark, an t fear and un- easiness which seems so consonant with the loom of night took possession of the maidens. ey si at every sound and shrunk closer Cok ie. ee t len ey reac e spring, and go to the raebe iran Ethel took therefrom the mis- sive that Captain Disbrowe had read a few min- utes before,
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~- Old solitary, the Hermit Trapper. _A cry of joy burst involuntarily from her RO what is it, Ethel? what is the matter?’ asked Mildred. ‘* Oh, sister!” she exclaimed, holding out the paper in her hand, ‘‘ that paper has either good news or bad for me!” ‘* Who put it there, sister?’ “Detective Dart,” “Then it is from him?” “Tt may, and it may not be. But, sister, I will read it; then I will break to you a secret that will no doubt startle you.” Ethel opened the paper, and by the few lin- gering rays of light managed to read it. Another cry burst from her lips. It was a cry of infinite joy. “Oh, Millie,” she said, ‘ my future life prom- ises to be joyous!” ‘* As the wife of Captain Roland Disbrowe?”’ asked Millie, with a merry laugh. ‘*No, no, Millie; I will never marry Roland Disbrowe.” — ‘why not?” ** Because 1 am a wife already.” ‘* What!” exclaimed Millie, “ you a wife al- ready? Youare jesting, Ethel.” “Tam not. Five years ago, when I was sev- enteen, Frank Hammond and I were married by Parson White in secret. Those that witness- ed our marriage were all sworn friends of Frank’s, and they promised to keep the whole matter a secret until Maurice Fayville, our dear father, Millie, would sanction the union; for you know he did not like Frank, for their ex- isted an old family feud between the Ham- monds and Fayvilles.” “Yes, yes, Ethel: I see now why you have been so sad-hearted ever since the Hart’s Ford murder, and why you have not married Dis- browe.’ “That is the reason, Millie. I knew Frank was still alive somewhere. At least I thought so, and that is why I kept putting Roland Dis- browe off. But at last, with crushed hopes, I promised, in a moment of desperation, to be- come his wife. But that promise will never be fulfilled. My darling Frank lives, and may soon come to me!” ‘** But will Detective Dart not arrest him for the murder of Henry Hohn?’ “No, Dart is Frank’s best friend, and he is oing to bring a terrible piece of villainy to fight soon—something concerning the Hart’s Ford murder, and which will clear Frank of the crime.” “Tf Frank was innocent, Ethel, why did he flee from the law?” ‘Because he had a secret enemy, who impli- cated him inthe murder by u cunning trap, and this same enemy was prepared to swear him to the gallows. Frank knew it, and fled, feeling satis ed that time would put every thing ight. eDid Frank know who that enemy of his was?” “No. Nordo I. But Detective Dart does, but would not tell me. But, then, Millie, I have suspected who the person is.” ‘“ Indeed, sister? Who?” “‘T believe it is—” She did not finish the sentence, for there was a rush of feet behind them, blankets were thrown over their heads, stifling their cries; then they felt themselves lifted aloft in strong arms and borne swiftly away. They were captives, and their captors were painted and plumed Indian warriors. CHAPTER XVII. A FEARFUL ENCOUNTER. Wuen Harry Thomas saw the sava within five feet of him with his darling Hittle Mildred a captive, he could scarcely restrain the emotions of agony that arose in his breast. In fact, the feelings of all were aroused to the highest pitch of excitement and fear, for the esence of the two women there told them that Pe savages had been at Mound Prairie, and had, in all probability, destroyed the settle- t. me What shall we do, boys?’ asked young Thomas; “follow them and attempt the girls »? e “It will be useless, Harry, for there are scores of Indians within hailing distance of this spot. We will have to hunt up Old Solitar and let his superior judgment direct us in th matter. You see, if we were to attack them and be defeated, the . rescue will be hope- less, and if we should even be successful, we would be hunted down by others that would be called to the spot by the sound of the conflict. If we knew exactly what we could do, then we might follow and attempt their rescue.” ‘“Yes, yes, Burt, you are right,” replied Har- ry: ‘‘ but itis hard to sit still and see the red ae into the opening with half a dozen fierce-looking savages a of it. A terrific war-whoop burst from their lips when they saw whom they confronted, but, scarcely had its intonations died on the air, hellyons carrying away innocent girls. And | when a fourth canoe made its appearance with- I am afraid, boys, Mound Prairie is in ashes and our friends all dead or taken captives.” While this conversation was going on, the captives were being conveyed further and fur- ther away. They wept until until their eyes were red and swollen. Their hearts seemed utterly crushed, and they sobbed in each other’s arms like children. After their capture the had been placed upon ponies and hurried rapid- ly away until the lake was reached. Here the animals were given over to a part of the sav- ages, while the others took to the water. Their object in this, perhaps, was to throw any one disposed to follow them off the trail. By their hard ride the women had been nearly exhaust- ed, and it seemed to them as though they wos never survive the hardships of that night. he savage that was piloting the canoe, with the captives, through the forest of reeds, rmitted the craft to come to a stand when a ew rods past the young hunters. They listened, as only savages can listen, without breathing or moving a muscle. They heard nothing, but from their actions one would judge they suspected the presence of danger within the reeds. If this was the case, they must have drawn their inference from the deathlike stillness that hung over the lake at this junc- ture, for not even the rustle of a reed, nor chirp of an insect could be heard. When the savage pilot had ceased listening he turned and held a short consultation with his companions regarding their future course. This point decided upon, he arose and taking his position turned the prow of his canoe west- ward into another passage. Their object in making this deviation could only have been to keep within that forest of reeds, for had they continued on northward they would soon have debouched into the open lake, They dragged on a few rods when they sud- denly shot into a little moonlit glade, probably arod in diameter. This spot seemed to have been the central grounds of the otter, for, from its circle, more than a score of trails diverged in all directions through the reeds. To the surprise of the savages, the instant they shot into the upeatig, another canoe con- taining twe occupants, emerged so suddenly in- to the place from an opposite direction that the two collided with such force as to throw the savage pilot headlong into the water. Great confusion prevailed within the savages’ boat. Every one of its occupants was thrown from his and her seat. Ethel and Millie were the first to regain their feet, and, turning, they glanced at the stranger craft. A ery of joy burst from their lips, for in it they saw Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper, and an Indian, whom they knew must ie a friendly. It was Lone Heart. From their movements it was readily per- ceived that the old trapper and his red com- panion was prepared for the collision. In fact, they had seen the savages approaching alon the moonlit passage with the captives and ha brought about the collision on purpose to create confusion among the savages. Having succeed- ed in accomplishing their object, they lost no time in availing themselves of the advantage gained thereby; and rising to their feet, they sprung from their own canoe into that of the a and made a desperate assault upon em. Lone Heart brained the savage pilot while he was endeavoring to climb back into the canoe, while Old Solitary brought into use no other weapon than his sledge-hammer fist. This he drove into the faces of the savages with as much force, almost, as though it had been a missile thrown by a catapult, fairly doubling the red- skins, and sending them whirling overboard in- to the lake. Owing to the shock of the collision and the a of the canoe, the savages had not been enabled to regain their feet nor to strike a single blow, and in less time than it takes to write it, the canoe was cleared of every savage, and the terrified captives rescued. Those of the tred-skins that escaped Lone Heart’s tomahawk after Solitary’s fist had sent them overboard, sought safety in a hasty retreat among the reeds. But, scarcely had the conflict ended when another canoe was heard crashing through the reeds toward them, and the next minute it shot mm in the little opening. There were five occu- ants within it, and a shout of triumph burst froma old Solitary’s lips when he saw they were Harry Thomas and his companions! Then with a sudden leap, the old trapper sprung from the canoe in which he stood, and landed in the lake within half an arm’s length of the savages’ canoe. Half a dozen tomabawks were raised aloft to brain the trapper, but before they could de- scend he grasped the canoe by the gunwale and tilting it from him precipitated every warrior into the lake. Now began a desperate struggle in the water, the young settlers coming into the fray. The savages rallied and engaged the whites without attempting to climb back into their canoe. Old Solitary again brought his iron fist into play, while the settlers with clubbed rifles ran their canoe into the midst of the combatants and be- gan to play right and left. The next moment the air was filled with fly- ing spray, savage yells, the dull, sodden sound of bluws and the plashing of water; and, too, the ring and clash of steel, the shrieks of the wounded, the gasping of strangling savages, and the roar of Old Solitary’s lion voice made the moment a fearful one. The conflict lasted scarcely two minutes. The savages were defeated and driven away into the reeds, while, with a shout of triumph, Old Solitary threw himself into one of the de- serted canoes, an act which required great skill and agility. But where was Lone Heart? where were Ethel and Mildred? They were nowhere within the glade. “Ay!” exclaimed Old Solitary, ‘‘ Lone Heart, the Chippewa has made good his escape with the weemen. Come, lads, foller me and we'll soon find’em— Ah, there goes the Chippewa’s call now!” Old Solitary headed the canoe westward and entered one of the narrow trails. He was close- ly followed by the settlers, and in a few min- utes they had cleared the forest of reeds and were coasting along the western shore. A few minutes’ journeying in this direction and the old trapper turned the prow of his canoe toward the bank, and parting some heavy foliage before him, disa apa from sight. The young settlers follow is example, and the next instant found themselves within a dark, subterranean ger e of water extending back under the bank. Guided by the | of Old Solitary’s oye they followed on, and on, rounding a slight angle in the passage the glow of fire burst suddenly upon their view. It was burning on the ground where the pas- sage led up out of the water by what seemed a pair of rude steps. It was at the head of these steps where the fire was burning, and within its light our friends saw tbree persons. Two of them were females, the other an Indian war- rior. The former were seated near the fire while the latter was standing near the head of the steps, his plumed head bent in the attitude of leapt tem, As they drew nearer the fire our friends saw that the females were Ethel Leland and Mildred Fayville, and their companion, the Chippewa Lone Heart. A minute more and they bad landed and joined the trio, their meeting being attended with great joy and happiness. ; A few minutes later another person was added to the party. It was Jabez Dart, detective. CHAPTER XVIII. A RIFT OF SUNSHINE. From the lips of Ethel the young hunters soon learned that Mound Prairie had net been attacked by sav up to the time of their cap- ture, and from Jabez Dart they learned that there were no apprehensions of an attack being made. How Dart had obtained this in- formation they were at a loss to know, for they were entirely i of his having been to Mound Prairie since their separation on the east side of the lake. During their conversation, it was noticed by more than ore that Lone Heart’s eyes were al- most constantly feasting, with a strange = | sion in their dark depths, upon the fair, sad face | of Ethel Leland. Ethel cavgtt his glances more than once, but she experienced no uneasiness
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Old Solita Ld for she accorded his action to that opeu admira- tion so vharacierishe of tue Inala: try, came West, and took up his abode in this | which tacked about and darted toward Wau- After a while Oui Svitary und Dart stepped | aside and conversed uw iew minutes 1: tone. On rejoining the party tue oid Wwapper said: ‘‘ Friends, we’re not entirely safe here, for the skulkin’ red-skins are thick as bees avout this iake. Now, me and Lone Heart are goin’ out io make a scout. We may be back in an hour and we may not, but of ali you do, keep a ciose watch out at the mouth of the cave.” ‘‘ We'll do it, Solitary,” said Dart. The old trapper and the Chippewa descended the rude steps and entered a canoe, and the next minute they were lost from view iu the dark- ness of the watery cavern. But Stanley was sent to the entrance to keep guard until they came back, while our triends un under- | in the cavern seated themselves composedly | about the fire, and entered into a discussion of | é | been made acquainted with Disbrowe’s ne- the dangers and troubles of the night. Jabez Dart was unusually communicative, | and when Lone Heart came in as a feature of their conversation, he said: * ve been in this cavern before, friends. It’s the home of Lone Heart, the Chippewa. He’s ota snug little parlor back in one of the cham- rs, where he sleeps, cooks and so on. He came here five years ago, I think, under the most trying circumstances, and thereby hangs a tale which Vl teil you just to kill time while the —— and the Chippewa are out.” ‘Yes, certainly; tell it by all means, Dart,” said Harry Thomas, who was seated by Millie’s side on the opposite side of the fire. ‘““Well,” began Dart assuming an attitude of ease, ‘‘about six years ago a young man, whom I will call Dick, at present, was traveling in Europe. Now Dick was a wayward youth and not altogether strictly bonest. He was ambi- tious, and yet given to gambling and so forth. Now, Dick was in the South of Scotland, when he learned of the decease of the last of the lineal descendants of the grand old estate of—weil, I will call it Bonny Lassie. Who would now in- herit Bonny Lassie? was the question, for the last proprietor had died without making a will. But, upon looking over some of the fum/‘ly records, it was found that, some twenty years previous, a young man whom I will dub Scott, emigrated to America, he being a distant rela- tive of the house of Bonny Lassie, and so he would fall heir to the estate. ‘* But, who knew whether Scott was in a or Greenland? or whether he was alive at all? * Well, Dick, our American tourist, beard of all this hubbub about Bonny Lassie and Scott, the beir. As juck would have it, he knew ex- actly where Seott was in America—he was ac- quainted with him, and the devil took possession of his heart, and he resolved to make a fortune out of his knowledge—if not, indeed, obtain poss:ssion of Bonny Lassie, So straightway he went to those whom the law had epecinns to administer on the estate, and told them a very systematic falsehood. He told them he be- lieved he knew where Scott was, and offered to hunt him up and send him forthwith to take ssion of Bonny Lassie. Of course, the ap- parently learned and gentlemanly American tourist was intrusted with this mission. ‘* Dick returned post-haste to America, and found that Scott and his wife were both dead, but they had a lovely daughter— whom I'l call Margery—living, and who, of course, was next heir to Bonny Lassie. Instead of Di*k tellin ryan ad of her foreign wealth, he set to wor to win her affections and marry her, so that he could share her fortune with her, and no telling what crime lurked back of this resolve. But the scamp had a rival to contend with. Marger had a lover, whom I'll call Jack, for aeoths Dick resolved not to give up such a glorious chance for a rich wife, and so, with three ac- complices, he concocted a wicked affair which I will call The Tragedy. The consequence was, Jack had to leave the country, and this left the field clear for Dick to win Margery’s love; But Margery wasn’t so easily won as the rascal an- ticipated, and for five years he has been laying siege to the invulnerable barrier of her heart.” “Humph!” exclaimed Harry; ‘“‘L would think the Bonny Lassie administrators would get tired waiting his return with the heir.” “That is the point to which I had just come,” continued Dart. ‘One of Dick’s accomplices in The Tragedy got shot in a drunken braw!] in New York, about a year ago, and, while dying, he put me in possession of the story which I’ve narrated to von. So I went to Seotland and traced the Bonny Lassie matter-up to this lake. You see, Jack, after The Tragedy, fled the coun- caveru.” ‘And now you’re after him, eb?’ ‘“*No: lL bave come to estatlish his innocence in ‘ue Lrageady, and in order that you may un- | aboard the derstand me better, I will be more explicit in the names of the parties connected with my story. To begin with, the Scotland estate is kuown as Woldeairn Hights; Dick, the American tourist, and rascal, you know as Captain Roland Dis- browe, and—” An exclamation of surprise burst from the lips of some of the party, at mention of the iast name. And,” continued Dart, ‘the heir to the Highis, whom we have called Scott, was named Robert Leland, and his daughter Margery is none other than she who sits before you— Ethel Leland.” Another cry of surprise burst from the lips of all the party except Ethel’s. She had already farious designs by the detective. “ Well,” continued Dart, ‘‘ The Tragedy was known to you all in Ohio as the Hart’s Ford murder, and Jack, the inhabitant of this cave, was Frank Hammond, who was accused of the supposed murder,” ‘ Supposed murder?” exclaimed Harry ; ‘‘ then there was no murder done at Hart’s Ford?’ ‘‘No. It was a ‘put up thing.’ Disbrowe hired Hank Hohn, the supposed murdered man, to leave the country, and then he had two more to swear in court that they saw Hammond murder Hohn.” ‘* But there was a body found that was identi- fied as Hobn’s, by the peculiar suit he always wore,” said one of the party to whom the Hart’s Ford murder was well known. “Oh, yes, certainly,” replied Dart, ‘‘ but. the rascals robbed the grave for the body. You doubtless remember about that time one James Cross was crushed in a canal lock. It was his body, as the dying accomplice said, that was taken from the grave, dressed in Hohn’s ciptien and taken to the river near Hart’s Tord, ‘* You have already seen him,” said Dart; ‘‘ he went out with Old Solitary. Lone Heart, the Chippewa, is Frank Hammond.” A cry burst from Ethel’s lips. This much to ber bad been unknown. She had seen Lone Heart, yet his Indian disguise had been effec- tual, even to her eyes. To the whole party the story was quite ap- parent now, and they had again begun its dis- cussion, when a shout from the guard at the entrance came rolling through the cavern. ‘* Come, come, every one of you!” exclaimed Dart; *‘ we must leave here—quick!” Without adding a word, the party followed the detective to the foot of the steps, to the water’s edge, where they embarked for the mouth of the cavern. Arrived there, they ran alangulce of Stanley, the guard, and Dark asked: ‘*What’s the matter?” ‘Look! look!” replied Stanley, pointing out upon the moonlit ake. Every eye was turned in the direction indi- cated, and first saw a canoe with two occupants flying with great across the lake. The occupants were Indians. They were Waucosta and Great Wolf, and as they sped on over the lake they glanced back ever and anon with ap- rent terror, and well they might; for close ed, in hot pursuit of them, was the Monster of the Lake! A ery of horror burst from the lips of Ethel and Mildred, but Jabez Dart assured them there was nothing to fear. The Monster doubled on the savages at every stroke of its wing like fins, and suddenly its sharp breast struck the stern of the canoe, itching it forward on its beam-ends, and hrowing the savages out into the water. Then the Monster came to a halt, and the next moment our friends saw the head and shoulders of a man appear out of the back of the dragon! A loud, triumphant laugh came echoing across the water as the man continued to rise from out, the Monster, until the full pro- portions of a large man vere visible. A rifle was in his hands, and no sooner did his eyes catch sight of the struggling savages than he raised the weapon and fred. The sullen boom of the Mone mingled with the death-wail of Great Wolf, came over the water. Then the man assumed a position astride of the Monster, ry, the Hermit Trapper. ! | costa, who was endeayoring to climb into. his cance. ‘Surrender, .Waucussy!” yelled the man Monster; “surrender, or you shall die!” Waucosta heeded not his words, but strove harder than ever to get into his canoe. But the next instant the dragon ran alongside of him, a pair of strong hands grasped the chief, lifted him from the water and threw him across the back of the Monster, thereby rendering him perfectly helpless. ** Ho, for the cavern. Spirit of the Monster!” shouted Wauccsta’s captor, ‘‘to feed your ghoul’s jaws on Waucosta’s flesh.” The Monster turned and started directly toward the mouth of the cavern where our friends were. “Oh, it is coming here!” cried Millie, in the greatest fear. j “Let it come, Millie,” 1eplied Dart; ‘the Monster of the Lake is nothing but a cunningly- contrived boat. But let us hasten back to the fire, for those aboard the Monster are our friends, and tLey havea prisoner. The party turned and hastened back to the fire. They bad scarcely landed when the light of the camp-fire showed them the Monster ap- roaching along the channel, and astride of its come was Old Solitary, with Waucosta lying be- fore him a prisoner. ‘“‘ We've got the beauty, boys,” shouted the old trapper. ‘‘ Jist step down and take charge of him. The paint’s all washed from his coun- tenance,and you'll readily recognize the critter,” Dart and two of the hunters stepped down to the water’s edge as the Monster came to the landing, and took the prisoner in charge. No sooner did Dart’s eyes fall upon his face, from which the paint had been washed, than he exclaimed: ‘Yes, sir! it’s my man, Hank Hohn! Friends, this proves that the Hart’s Ford murder was all a farce, and Frank Hammond is an innocent man, for here we have the supposed murdered man.” ‘‘Pve known that these five years,” returned Hohn, the renegade chief, Waucosta, with a de- fiant leer; ‘‘the captain gave me a nice sum to leave the diggin’s, and comin’ west, I got in among the red-skins and got to be a big bug *mong ’em, Now, do what you please with me, gentlemen, if you think I’m guiliy of crime.” ‘Never mind your gab now, Hohn; /’ll tend to pour case,” replied Dart. t this juncture, Ethel, who had been watch- ing the Monster with a kind of fascination, saw its back part, as if upon hinges, and the form of Lone Heart appear from the opening. A cry burst from her lips, and she started toward him, for now she could see that Lone Heart was her darling Frank Hammond! CHAPTER XIX. SUNSHINE AT LAST. WE willnot attempt to describe the joy of the young couple on their meeting after five years’ cruel separation, but will leave it to the minds of the readers, who could not infer other- wise but that it was a happy reunion. The party spent the remainder of the night there in the cavern, and during this time the Monster of the Lake received a thorough inves- tigation by Dart and the young settlers. They found it to be a canoe ingeniously con- trived, the greater part being under the water. The hold, or cabin, was large enough for three men, and rendered perfectly water-proof. The oars were made of thick canvas, fastened to a frame, and so arranged that when reaching for- ward for a new stroke they would close like the web-foot of a fowl, then, when they made their stroke against the water, they would spanes, out like sails filled with wind. This en- abled the operator to make the forward reach under the water without retarding the n:otion of the boat. The canoe was entered from the baek, which opened on both sides, but the figure- head of the craft elicited the most curiosity from those engaged in its examination. “Say, Hammond,” Dart finally said, ‘‘is this figure-head some of your own handiwork?’ “No,” responded Hammond; ‘it is the work of a race of people that, for all I know, existed a thousand years ago.” **T thought it had an ancient look about it. Where’d you find it? Come, tell us all about where you got it.” ‘‘In this cavern. Five years ago I camped on the prairie in a fearful snow-storm, within two hundred yards of this lake. During the night a savage, wrapped in a complete sheet of snow, approached my camp, as I supposed, to get my
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‘ Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. scalp. I rushedinto my tent to get my revolver when I discovered his presence. He followed me, and we grappled in the tent. We fell heay- ily to the ground, which had been thawed out b my fire, and which gave way, and we fell thou h into this cavern. The fall frightened the savage, and he relinquished his notion of my scalp, escaped from the cavern, and, joke of it was, fled on my horse. Curiosity took possession of me as soon as I had recovered | from the excitement of the moment, and I re- solved to explore this cavern. I soon found it was the tomb of some extinct race, for I found many skeletons in a half-preserved state, and I also found one form, reposing in a niche in the wall, in a state natural as life; in fact, so life- like that I thought it a living being asleep there, but, when I advanced and touched it, it crum- bled to dust. I went on and found that figure- head and the lower half of the craft to which it is now attached. At first I thought it a living monster, for the wavering light of my torch gave it a lifelike quiver. But, on closer inves- tigation, I found it was but a canoe. From this I knew there must be water near by, and followed on until I came to this very spot. I then returned to my tent, and spent the re- mainder of the night shivering by the fire. When day dawned I discovered this lake and the forest on the north side of it, and resolved to take up my quarters here. I soon after met with Old Solitary, and, making a confidant of him, told him why I was here. He seemed to believe my story, and we became greatly at- tached to each other. He suggested the idea of turning into a Chippewa, and named me Lone Heart, a very appropriate name. He assisted me to construct the Monster of the Lake, in order to make the place a terror to Indians, so that they would not trouble me, nor trespass on his hunting-grounds. The idea worked Vike a charm, and I must say Old Solitary has been a true friend to me. Several times he has brought me papers from the Mississippi, in hopes that, through that medium, I might hear something of my friends, or of my in- nocence being proven in the Hart’s Ford murder. About six months ago, however. I was scouting with Old Solitary in the woods north of here, when, to my surprise, I saw the man whom was accused of murdering! Straightway I had my friend, Solitary, to carry a letter, signed ‘Old Nolitar , the Hermit Trap- per,’ and directed to Jabez Dart, N——, Ohio, to the nearest postal station. In the note the detec- tive was notified that, by applying to the writer at Silver Lake, he would receive some light in regard to the Hart’s Ford murder. ‘The letter brought Dart to the lake, and— well, the rest you know. The capture of Hank Hohn establishes my innocence. Still, had Inot ursued the course I did, the villains would have fad me hung long ago. They made the case so lain against me, that, though I was innocent, it would be death to stay within reach of the law.” ‘* By Heaven!” exclaimed Burt Stanley, “ Dis- browe ought to be hung, the mean villain,” ‘‘ Humph!” sneered Hohn, who had heard the whole of Prank Hammond’s story. ‘‘ You need- n’t trouble your brains about Disbrowe. If you'd taken the trouble to look at Great Wolf’s belt, you’d seen the captain’s scalp there. He was nosin’ around the lake, to-night, and got his pass with a tomahawk in his cussed brain. He pcre tp it, too, for he tried to kill me, t’other night.’ ““Yas, edzactly,” replied Old Solitary; ‘I heard your fuss and saw the captain toss you into the lake. It’s a good thing you escaped death there, for the gallows would been cheated outen one bird.” But one more mystery stands to be explained. The reader has doubtless wondered how Old Solitary escaped the night he was encircled with fire and savages on the peninsula. There was a cavern under the very spot where he stood. A large moss-covered stone concealed a small opening leading down into it, and when the fire concealed the trapper’s form from the savages’ eyes, Lone Heart pushed the stone away and cut hisfriend’s bonds. Then both es- caped down into the cavern, and the stone was replaced over the opening. At daylight our friends all took up their line of march toward Mound Prairie, where the arrived on the evening of the same day, safe and sound, amid shouts of joy. They found a arty just getting ready to go in search of thel and Mildred. Jabez Dart remained a few days at the settle- ment, and when he went East, Frank Ham- mond and his wife accompanied him. the | Ethel had no trouble in establishing her right | to the Woldcairn Hights estate in Scotland. | But having no desire of living there, she sold the property at an immense price, and invested the money in American securities. She did not forget Jabez Dart, however, and gave him for some fortune. We never heard what became of Hank Hohn, but hope he met with his just dues. | Mound Prairie was troubled no more with In- | dians. It flourished and grew into ahappy and prosperous settlement. Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper, continued to hunt and trap a few years longer about Sil- ver Lake; but game at last became so scarce that he was compelled to move into new quar- ters, and away up in the Far North Woods, we may hear from him again, dear reader. THE END. The New York Fireside Library. 1 Was Sue His Wire? By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 2 FLeEeme From Love. Harriet Irving. 3 Dip He Love Her? By ag T. Campbell. 4 A Srrance Woman, By Rett Winwood. 6 Two Grrts’ Lives. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 9 THe War or Hearts, By Corinne Cushman. 11 Tur Fatse Wipow. By . Jennie D. Burton. 12-13 Lost ror Love. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 14-15 TorLERS OF THE SEA. By Victor Hugo. 16 THe QuapRooN. By Catharine A. 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Prentiss Ingraham. 25 The Boy Captain; or, THe PrRATe’s DaveuteR. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven. Hoof, THz BurraLo Demon; or, THE Borprer VouutTures. By Edward L. Wheeler. 27 Antelope Abe, tHe Boy Guivg, Oll Coomes, 28 Buffalo Ben, tHe Prince or THE PrsToL; or, Deapwoop Dick rn Disguise. E. L. Wheeler. 29 The Dumb P e3; or, THE Docr’s Davax- Ter. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 80 Rearing Ralph Rockwood, THe Recx- LESS RANGER. By Harry St. oy, be 31 Keen-Knife, Prince or THE RIES. By @ll Coomes. 32 Bob Wool, THe Borver_ Rvrrisn; or, THE Girt Deap-SHor. By Edward L. Wheeler. 23 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, Tur Rep PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEES. By &. W. Pierce. 84 Oregon Sol; or, Nick Wuirries’ Boy Spy. By Capt, J. F. G. Adams. 25 Wild Ivan, tHE Boy CiaupE DovaL; or, Tae BroruerHoop or DratH. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN OF THE | Arena. By Frank 8S. Finn. ?7 The Hidden Lodge; or, Tae Lirriz Hun- TER OF THE ADIRONDACKS. By T. OC. Harbaugh. gs Ned Wylde, tur Boy Scour. By Texas Jack. 9 Death-Face, THe Detective; or, Lire Aanp Love In New York. By Edward L. Wheeler. 46 Roving Ben. A Story or A Youna AmMERI- cAN WHo WANTED TO See THE Worztp. Marshall. 4) Lasso Jack, tHe Youna MusTancer. By @ll Coomes. 92 The Phantom Miner; or, DEADWOOD Dick’s Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler. 43 Dick Darling, tHe Pony Express Rimrr. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 44 Rattling Rube; or, THe Nicur Hawks or Kentucky. By Harry St. George. 45 Old Avalanche, THe GREAT ANNINILATOR; or, WILD EDNA, THE Girt Bricanp. E. L. Wheeler. 46 Glass Eye, THe Great SHor or THe West. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. t7 igmeingate Nat; or, Tue Forest Caprars. By T. C. Harbaugh. 48 Black John, tHe RoAp-AGENT; or, THE Ovt- LAws’ Retreat. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 42 Omaha Oll, THe Maskep Terror: or, Dmap- woop Dick IN DANGER, By Edward L, Wheeler. $0 Burt Bunker, tae Trapper. A Tale of the | Northwest. By C. E. Lasalle. §\ The Boy REifies; or, Taz UNDERGROUND Camp. By Archie C. Irons, §2 The ite Buffalo. A Tale of § e Adventure in the Northwest. fa C. E. e. 83 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., tHe Boy PHenrx; or, Turover To DeatH. By Edward L. Wheeler. 64 Ned Hazel, tHe Boy TrappEr; or, Toe PHAN- Tem Princess. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 65 Deadly - Eye, THe Unknown Scour; or, THE Branpep BrorHerHoop. By Buffalo Bill. BR Nick Whifiles’ aa or, IN THE VALLEY oF Dearn. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. $7 Beadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, Tam Parps or FLoop Bar. Po angi ‘ eeler. 58 The Border King; or, Tae Secret For. = Oil Coomes. §9 Old Hickory; or, Panpy Ex.is’s Scatp. By Harry St. Gores. “6 The White Indian; or, Tue Scouts or THz YELLOWSTONE, Capt. J. Ff. C. Adams. @1 Backhorn Bill; or, Tpx Reo Rwwe Team. Edward L. Wheeler. #2 e Shadow Ship; or, Tae Rrvav Lirv- TENANTS. By Col. tiss In ™. #3 The Red Brotherhood; or, THe Twe.ve AVENGERS. By W. J. Hamilton. 4 Pandy Ine 3 or, Tue OvuTLAW oF THE OREGON Tram, By T. C. ; . Harbaugh. 65 Murricane Bill; or, Mustana Sam anv His “* PaRD.”’ a, Jos. E. er, Jr. 66 gi and; or, A For A Lire. By W. J. Hamilton, 67 Patent-leather Joe; or, OLD RarriesNake, THE R. By Philip 8S. Warne. 98 The Border Robin Hood; or, Tae Prairte Rover. By Buffalo Bill. 89 Gold Rifle, rae SHARnpsHoorer; or, Tar Boy D or THE BLAacK RANCH. By Wheeler. 70 Zip’s Cabin; or, Tae GrReEnHoRN IN rue Woops. By J. F.C. Adams. ae. or, Tom Western, THE Texan RANGER; %1 Delaware Bick, rue Youna Rancer Spy; } AGAINST BrotTHer. By Oll Coomes. ¥ Queen or THe Pram. By Hamilton. 73 Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, CaLamrry 132 The Hunted Hunter}; or, Taz STRANGE JANE, THE HEROINE OF WHOoP-UPp. By Wheeler. | | 74 Hawk-eye Harry, THE Youna Trapper | | | | | | | | | | | Ranger. By Oll Coomes. 75 The Boy Duelist; or, THe Cruise or THE Srea-WotF. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 76 Abe Colt, THE Crow-Kii1ER; or, THe Great FigHtTinG Man or THE West. By A. W. Aiken. bbe! Roreures Charlie, Taz Boy Bravo; or, Deapwoop Dr coK’s Last Act. By E. L. Wheeler. | 78 Blue Dick; or, THe YELLow Curer’s Vev- | GFANCE. By Captain Mayne Reid. 79 Sol Ginger, THE GiANT TRAPPER; or, THE FLOWER OF THE BLACKFEET. By A. W. Aiken. 80 Rosebud Rob; or, Nucaer NED, THE KNIGHT OF THE GuLcH. By Edward L. Wheeler. 81 Lightning Jo, THe TERROR OF THE PRAIRIE. By Captain J. F. C. Adams. 82 Kit Haretoot, THz Woop-Hawk; or, OLD PowpEr-Face AND His Demons. By Harbaugh. 83 Rollo, the Boy Ranger; y oF THE GoLDEN Horn. By O or, THe HEIREss Coomes, 84 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosrsup Ros on Hand. By Edward L. Wheeler. 85 Buck Buckramy; or, Brss, THe FEMALE Trapper, By Captain J. F. C. Adams. 86 Dandy Bock, TsE MAN From Texas. G. Waldo Browne. 87 The Land Pirates; or, Tar LeaGve or Devin’s ISLAND. A ee Mayne Reid. 88 Photograph Phil, tx Boy SLevrH; or, Rosxsvuv Ros’s REAPPEARANCE. By E. L. Wheeler. 89 Island Jim}; or, THe Per or THe Famiy. By the author of “ Jack Harkaway.” 90 The Dread Rider}; or, THe Texan DveE ist. 4 George Waldo Browne. 91 The Captain of the Club; or, Tae Youna RrvAu Atuuerrs. By Bracebridge Hemyng, 92 Canada Chet, THE CoUNTERFEITER CHIEF; or, OLD ANACONDA IN SrTTine Butw’s Camp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 93 The Boy Miners; or, IsLaND. By Edward §. Bllis, 94 Midnight Jack, THE Roap-AGENT; or, GopuHer Gin, THE Boy TRAPPER OF THE CHEYENNE. By T. C. Harbaugh, 95 The Rival Rovers; or, THE FREEBOOTERS OF THE MISSISSIPPI. ae ieut. Col, Hazeltine. 96 Watch-Eye, THE SHADOW; or, ARARS AND ANGELS OF A GREAT Crry. By E. L. Wheeler. 97 The Outlaw Brothers}; or, Tas Captive or THE Harpss. By J. J. Marshall. 98 Robin Hood, tee OvtiAwend Ear; or, THE Merry MEN ofr GreeNnwoop. Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of Taos; or, Witp Kater, Danny Rock’s ANGEL. By George Waldo Browne. 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A Srranae STrRoKH FOR Lreerty. By Wheeler. 101 Jack Harkaway in New York; or, THe ADVENTURES OF THE TRAVELERS’ éuep By Bracebridge Hemyng. 102 Dick . Dead-Eye, THE Boy Smvucc ier; or, THE CRUISE OF THE VIXEN. By Col. Ingraham. 103 The Lion of the Seas or, THE VAILED Lapy or San Tropez. By Col. Delle Sara. 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, Tur SIGN or THE DovusLE Cross. By E. i. Wheeler 105 Old Rube, tHe Hontsr; or, Taz Crow Cap- tive. By Capt. H. Holmes. 106 Old Frosty, THe GuipE; or, NIOKANA, THE Whitt QUEEN oF THE BLACKFEET. Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim}; or, THe ABANDONED For- gest Home. By J. t. Bowen. 108 Daring Davy, tHe Youne Brar-Ki1er; or, Tue TRAIL OF THE BoRDER Wo LF. H. St. George. 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective, By Edward L. Wheeler. 110 The Black Steed of the Prairies. A Toe ENCHANTED Saag Se of Texan Adventure. By Bowen. 111 The a-Devil; or, THe MIpsHIPMAN’s Legacy. By Col. P. Ingraham. 112 The Mad Hunter; or, Tae Cave or DeatH. By Burton Saxe. 113 Jack Hoyle, tHe Youne Sprecu.aTor; or, THE Road To Fortune By Ed. L. Wheeler. 114 The Black Schooner; or, Jip JUNK, THE Op Tar. Roger Starbuck. 115 The Mad Miner 3; or, Danpy Rocx’s Doom. . George Waldo Browne. 116 The Hussar Captain; or, Tae Hermr or Het1-Gare. By Col. Prentiss In m. 117 Gilt-Edged Dick, THE Sport DETECTIVE; or, THE AD-AGENT’S DavuGuTeR. Wheeler. 118 Will Somers, tHe Boy Detective. Morris. 119 ee Samy; or, Tae Kine oF THE Puains. By Jos. BE. Badger, Jr. 120 The Branded Hand; or, Toe Man or Mystery. By Frank Dumont. 121 Cinnamon Chip, tHe Girt Sport; or, Tue GOLDEN Ivo. or Mr. Rosa. Ed. L. Wheeler. 122 Phil Hardy, Tux Boss Boy; or, THz Mys- TERY OF THE StronGEow. By Charles Morris. 123 Kiowa Charley, THe Waite MusTANGer. ae C. Harbaugh. 124 1 44D J TEXAN; or, THE YounG CHAMPION. rge Gleason. 125 Bonanza Bill, Miver; or, Mapame Mys- TERY, THE FEMALE ForGER. By ied. L. Wheeler. 126 Picayune Pete; or, NicopemMus, THE Doa ®. By Charles Morris. 127 Wild-Wire, Tar Boss or THe Roan; or, THE Wotves or Satan’s Gap. By Frank Dumont. 128 The Young Privateer ; or, THE Prrares’ SrronaHoup. By H. Cavendish. 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double Guost or Gorcon’s Guicu. Ed. L. eeler. 130 Detective Dick; or, Tae Hero mw Rags. By Charles Morris. 131 The Golden Handj; or, Danpy Rock To THE By George W. wne, or, THE RESCUE. By | 161 163 165 167 168 133 Boss Bob, THe Kine or tHe Boorsuacks: Youne Parriots oF THE NortH. By Oll Coomes. 136 Night-Hawk Kit; or, THe DauGHTEeR oF RETRIBUTION. By Capt. Mayne Reid. 138 Jr.; or, THz Boy Vier 140 Blue Blazes; or, THe Break o’ Day Boys BranpED Brows. By Edward L. Wheeler. 143 Sear-Face Saul, THE Sitent Hunter; or, Bank-Breakers’ Decoy Duck. J. PB. Badger. 146 Silver Star, THE Boy Knicur. A Prairie THe Wrynine Hanp. By Charles Morris. FRIenDiess Boy. By J. Alexander Patten. Lance and Lasso; or, THE CHILDREN oF 151 Dainty Lance To THE Rescorn. J. EB. Badger. 153 Eagle Kit, tar Boy Demon; or, Tar Ovrt- THE ELEPHANT Ripers. By Fred. Whittaker. 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, Tue Nie AWKS OF PHILADELPHIA. Morris, 158 or, Skipper JaBEz By Captain Frederick Whittaker. New York Nel}, tHe Boy-Grat Devecrrve; Lire IN THE ALLEGHANIES. By Charles Morris. 164 Dandy Rock’s Pledge; or, Huntep To Ron to Eartu. By Charles Morris. Asa Scott, Tux Steamroart Boy; or,Tam Lanp Fire, By Jos. E. Badger. 170 A Trump eres or, WILL WILpFirr Wins 171 Sitver Crrcie. By F. Dumont. 173 Dandy Rock’s Rival; or, Tax Honrep Trries OF New York. By Charles Morris. HORSEMAN OF THE Prarie. By Ed. 8. Ellis, or, THE PAWNBROKER’s Prot. Ed. L. Wheeler. 134 Sure Shot Seth, THe Boy Rir_eman; or Tas 135 Captain Paul, THe Kentucky MoonsHnerR; or, THe Boy Spy of THE Mountams. By Clark. THE RancuH. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 137 The Helpless and; or, Backwoop# Blonde Bill; or, Deapwoop Dicx’s Hom Base. By Edward L. Wheeler. 139 Judge Lynch LANTE. By T. C. Harbaugh. or Rocky Bar. By Frank Dumont. 141 Solid Sam, tHE Boy Roap-AGEnt; or, Taw 142 Handsome Harry, THE Boorsiack Der’ TECTIVE. By Charles Morris. THe Mystery or Fort Rang. By Oli Coomes. 144 Dainty Lance, THE Boy Sport; or, 185 145 Captain Ferret, tHe New York Derec- TIvE; or, Boss Bon’s Boss Jon. By Wheeler. Romance. By Oll Coomes, 147 Will Wildfire, THe THoxovcsprep; or, 148 Sharp Sam} ocr, THE ADVENTURES oF A 149 A Game of Gold; or, Deapwoop Dicx’s 1k0 Bie Strike. By Edward L. Wheeler. o THe Cuaco. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. Panther Paul, THe PRarrm Prrare; or, 152 Black Bess, Wm. Wiprir’s Racer; or, WInninG AGaArnst Opps. By Charles Morris. LAWS OF THE Gotp Hinzs. By Oll Coomes, 154 The Swerd Hunters; or, Tae Lanp or 155 Gold Trigger, THE Sport; or, THe Gru AVENGER. By T. C. Harbaugh. _. Tx Pickep Party. By Edward L. Wheeler. 157 Mike CErY, THE Harpor PoLice Boy; or, Fancy Frank of Colorado; or, THE TRAPPER’S Trust. By Buffalo Bill. 159 The Lost Captain; Cor¥rin’s CRUISE TO THE OPEN PoLaR Sxa. 160 The Black Giant; or, Damsty Lance pw JroparDy. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. or, OLD BLAKESLY’s Monzy. By FE. L. Wheeler. 162 Will Wildfire in the Woods; or, Came Little Texas, tar Youna Mustancer. A Tale of Texan Prairies. By Oll Coomes. Deatu. By G. Waldo Browne. Billy Baggage, tur Rarmroap Bey; or, 166 Hickory Marry 3; or, Tyr Trai or Free. By Harry St. George. PIRATES OF THE Mississipri1. By Ed. Willett. Deadly Dash; or, FicutTmywe Fire won 169 Tornado Tom; or, Ixscun Jack From Rep Corr. T. C. Harbaugh. AnD Loses. By Charles Morris. Ebony Dens or, Tse Rrvau Leacves or 172 Thunderbolt Tom; or, Taz Wotr-Heaper or THE Rockres. By Harry St. George. Mar or Taos. By George Waldo Browne, 174 Bob Rockett, tHe Boy Dopaer; or, Mys- Captain Arizona, THe Kine Prin oF Roar AGENTs; or, Patent Leather Joe’s Big Game. 175 By Philip 8. Warne. 176 The Boy BRunaway; or, THe Buccanecen or THe Bay. Lieut. H. D, Perry, U.S.N. 177 Nobby Nick of Nevada. By Edward L. Wheeler. 178 Old Solitary, tre Hermir Trapper; or, Tur DRAGON oF river Lake. By Oll Coomes. 179 Bob Rockett, tar Bayk Runner; or, TH Roap To Ruy. By Charles Morris. Dec, 28th. 180 The Sea Trailer; or, A Vow Weir Kept, By Lieut, H. D. Perry, U.8.N. January 4th. Wild Frank of Montana; or, Tu Kine or Bucksxins. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ready January 11th. Little Hurricane, THE Boy Caprayy; or, Tue OATH oF THE YouNG AVENGERS. By ou Coomes. Ready January 18th. A new issue every week. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by rail on receipt of six cents each, BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. 181 182