Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 211) (1881 08 09)
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Crooked Cale. Crooked Cale, The Caliban of Celestial City. A TALE OF THE CALIFORNIA PLACERS, BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR., AUTHOR OF ‘‘ DEADLY DASH,” ‘‘ DAINTY LANCE,” “ROY PARDS,” HTC., EPO. PROLOGUE. THE BEGINNING AND THE END. Frre! Frre!! Frere!!! The wild cry goes thrilling through the town, still further emphasized by the continuous peals of bells from the ehureh towers and engine- houses. Men glanee upward to where the night- shrouded heavens are reflecting in blood-red | hues the danciag flames below, and either walk on in listless tadifferenee or turn and rush to- wari the scene of destruction with wildly-beat- ing heart, just as their worldly wealth is safe or seems threatened by the wanton fire-fiends. Faster and louder ring out the bells, until the very air quivers with the concussion, telling each inmate of the Crescent City that this is no | Rapidly swell the human rivers | ordinary fire. filling each street leading to the scene of the conflagration, now and then dividing and falling back to either side with cries of angry terror as the hoarse warning is bellowed through a fire- man’s trumpet, as often closing behind the rum- bling, clattering machine that spins dizzily along in the rear of the red-shirted heroes who man ihe rope and stubborn tongue—all speeding to danger, some to death. The scene of the fire is reached, and even the most callous-hearted grow interested as they AZ. . It is in one of the poorest and most densely-pop- ulated districts of the great city, where the ten- emeont houses fairly swarm with life, where the family with an entire reom to itself is looked upon as belonging to the upper crust, where hundreds ef souls are puetiebed by a single roof, Already the flames are pouring through the doors and wiadow-frames, stretehing out their serpent-like tongues in quest of more fuel—al- ready the engines are throwing streams ef wa- ter from every side, as strong arms man the clattering brakes, and send them now down, now up, so fast that the human eye can scarce- ly follow their motious—already the great crow4 is swaying back and forth with sebs, groans ai. | choking cries, for all know now that the merci- less flames are beginning to reap a harvest of death, Tossing arms and agonized faces are seen at the upper windows, their escape cut off by the savage flames, driven higher and higher by the fiery swords—only to die at last. Through the dancing flames and eddying smoke a white-clad form shoots down—down! A heart sickening thud—an involuntary recoil- ing of the crowd, then a forward rush, and the first victim of that terrible holocaust is borne away, a mangled, horrible mass of what was onee living, breathing, lovely humanity. Desperately as the firemen struggle, the flames gain upon them. It is before the age of steam —the engines are all worked by hand, and even these are comparatively few in number. The hissing stream of water only seems te render the fire mere furious, the heat more intense. The hook and ladder men are hard at work, but. they, too, are but poorly equipped for such a terrible battle. More than one poor wretch are they forced to see perish before their eyes, unable to save, risk their own lives as they may, while the strongly agitated mob sways to and fro, with shrieks and cries and sobbing | rayers. “ A white face at the window, high up amid the smoke wreaths and curling flames—the face of a girl, a child, wondrously utiful even while distracted with fear and pain. She cries aloud for help—her sweet voiee ringing clear and dis- tinct above the roaring of the flames, the hiss- ing of water, the clattering of engine-brakes and the murmur of the crowd below. She drags a helpless human figure to the window, and clasps its head to her bosom—the head of an eld man with long, white hair—of one who already seoms dead. A groan of horror bursts from those below. They know that no ladder ean reach that win- dow— A tall form bursts through their closely erowded ravks, hurling stout men aside as though they were helpless reeds. Superbly pro- portioned, a model of masculine strength and beauty. Handsome in face and form as a demi- << His blue eyes are ablaze with desperate mg, and his clear voice rings out like a trumpet note— ‘* Courage, child—I will save you!” He snmatehes up a heavy blanket which lay near, and rolls it in a pool of muddy water; then, before those who are nearest can even sur- mise his intention, he wraps the woolen cloth around his head and shoulders and plunges inte the roaring flames, rushing en what seems al- most inevitable death. Hach second seems an hour—each minute a lifetime; but then a wild, tumultuous cheer arises from the erowd, for they eatekh a glimpse of the venturesome stranger through the red- tinged smoke as he gains the side of the fair girl. They can see that his clothes are almost burned from his body—that the fragments are evea now ablaze—but they see, too, that he does not notice this even by seeking to extin- guish them. ITwstead, he removes the steam- ing blanket from his person and swiftly folds it around the form of the maiden—now uncon- scious, it may be dead. That one enthusiastic cry—then a dead silence save when a sob wells fortk from some over- charged heart, for escape seems impossible even for such a daring man. Retreat by the way he came is cut off—even now the stairs and flooring are falling! The sparks shoot out at every open- ing, and the crowd below avert their heads or close their eyes, not to look upon that death scene — but once more the loud cheers ring forth. The man balances himself upon the narrow window-sill, holding the muffled form of the girl clasped tightly to his breast. The flames are beginning to creep up and play around his feet, but he heeds them not. Bis eyes are fixed Spon one frail hope—not for himself but for er. The street is narrow at this point, but little more than an alley. Across the way stands a | flat-roofed building. Not one man in a thou- sand could leap across the intervening space, even from such a hight and wholly unincum- bered; but there is no other chance—to remain is certain death—and the brave man makes his mighty leap. von as he does so, he sees that he must fail— that he will fall several feet short and be dashed against the side of the building with his pre- cious burden. So too the spellbound spectators realize, and shudder with horror. But in. that supreme moment he makes a mighty effort to save the maiden. With superhuman strength he casts her from his arms—then strikes the building and falls to the street with crushing force—but alone! “There is no earthly hope? The fiat has gone forth, and my hours of life are num- bered?”’ The speaker is lying upon a lew couch, his form swathed in bandages from head to feot. Of all his person but one eye is visible, large, blue and lustrous, now fixed upon the face ef the physician who stands beside him. ; The latter hesitates to reply, and the invalid speaks again: “On yom honor as a surgeon, tell me the truth. hy should you hesitate? Think you I am afraid to hear my death sentence pro- nounced? To live a cripple—an object so scarred and deformed as to awaken horror and disgust in the gentlest breath—is that anything te hope or long for? Ido not ask you through love of life or fear of death, but because I wish toe set my house in order before I die.” “You may live the day out—possibly a week, by a miracle—but death is inevitable, and may come at any moment,” slowly responded the medical man. ‘*Can you insure me an hour more of life?” ‘¢With stimulants, and under Heaven, yes.” “That willdo. Be kind enough to ring tk bell and tell the servant that I am ready.” The words come fainter and with evident pain. The doctor pauses before touching the bell to administer some cordial, then gives the message to the servant. In a few moments the door opens, and several persons enter the room, all grave, one with a tearful face. The muffled form upon the ceuch speaks again. ‘*Tell them what you told me, doctor.” With more flueney the skillful surgeon repeats his fiat. His patient lies at death’s door. It is a miracle that he has lived so long—that he ever drew a breath of life after that terrible fall—but he must die before that day is spent. | writing is soon done. Low, choking sobs come from the maiden. A look of deep, almost unearthly love fills that one blue eye. **Compose yourself, Miranda,” softly uttered the helpless man. ‘‘I was enabled te save your life—for me, it matters little. I leave none be- hind me to grieve ever my fate—those in whose veins my kindred blood flows will rather dance above my grave—unless you help me te thwart them.” nh You are hastening your death by speak- ing—’ “You are pledged to give me an heur’s lease of life, and I ask for no mere than that. Senor Remirez, you have spoken to your daughter?” “Yes; her will is mine and yours,” quickly responds a tall, dark, middle-aged man. **T would not ask such a sacrifice, if there re- mained the faintest hope of my living. As it is, 1 ean give her all my wealth and a name that I at least have borne pure and unsullied as it deseended to me. I—I can say no mere now. From my papers you will learn all.” Fainter and faintor grows his speech. With n anxious countenance the doctor kneels beside im and administers restoratives. For several minutes all is suspense; then the large blue eye opens ence more, and the feeble voice says: ““At ence—they must not triumph ever me now!” A strange scene—the wedding of a young girl, almost a child, with one whe lies upon his death-bed. ‘Tearsand sobs instead of smiles and blushes. All around grave and anxious faces, while the Arg hastens through the marriage service. md when the last words are pro- nounced the young bride sinks upon the arm of her father, a lifeless, unconscious burden. “Take her away—come back as soon as you can—to witness my will,” panted the dying man. Senor Remirez bears his daughter to the door of the chamber and delivers her to the care of the matronly housekeeper. When he returns, a lawyer is writing rapidly. The invalid has little to dictate. His lawyer is master of all details, and has prepared the body of the will beforehand. The neeessar The fair young bride is made mistress of all the riches of the man who so gallantly rescued her from impending death. ‘Go, now,” breathes the invalid. ‘‘ Send Miranda—my wife—to me. There are a few things she alone must know.” ‘You must be quiet, or I cannot answer—” ‘‘ Nor need you, dear sir. My work on earth is done, and I can meet grim death now with a smile. I could have no more welcome guest, on my honor!” Cheerful, almost gay as these words are, they send a chill of something close akin to horror over the hearts of his hearers, and knowing the uselessness of remonstrance, they silently file from the room. Once again the door epens, and then is closed upon the form of the weeping, agitated bride. Wild and gloomy is the scene. Giant hills tower on every hand, rugged and recky. From the distance comes the weird heot of the horned owl—the lugubrious howling of a wolf—the angry cry of the mountain lion. he full moon looks down upon a sight that might well cause her to vail her face behind the slowly drifting clouds, A faintly wern trail winds through the val- ley. Beside this bubbles up a spring ef water around which the green grass grows short and thick. Near the spring smolder the embers of a camp-fire. To the left of this are seated two human figures. Between them lies a smeoth, ) flat rock. One is the figure of a woman, yeung and rarely beautiful despite the unearthly pallor ef her countenance. She is richly dressed. The moonbeams are reflected back from the rings upon her fingers, the pin at her throat, the jewels in her profuse black hair. The other is a man, young and coo age © neat- ly dressed though his garb is more in keeping with their surroundings, being of buckskin. His head, like hers, is bare. Upon the stone between them, stands a cruci- fix, rudely fashioned out of two unbarked sticks, Their olbows rest upon the stone, and their hands are joined ever something that bears the semblance of a book. Itis a boek—a eopy of the Holy Bible. For hours they have-been sitting thus, neither one speaking, neither one moving, their wide- open eyes riveted upon each other’s face. The wolf howls nearer, the cry of the mountain
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+ 4 | oe lidn echoes from the valley only a short dis- tance away. Yet neither one moves or speaks, Truly a strange silence, an unaccountable im- mobility ! The coals burst intoa glow—the light shines upon the face of the man, revealing streaks of dull red—of blood! Merciful heavens! it is the stillness of death ! CHAPTER I. THE HOSTESS OF THW ‘‘ SPREAD EAGLE,” “THAR she lays—the liveliest, slap-upedst town in all ’Forny!” and the burly, weather- beaten driver fixed one crooked eye upon the young man who helped him fill the box-seat, while the other Wwantlrsa off over the head of his nigh leader and settled with an admiring look upon the cluster of houses that nestled so cosily in the valley below. ‘“ Celestial City, you mean?” **T do, fer a fact. An’ I reckon when old Gabriel toots his trumpet fer the end o’ the world, them as engineers the big show ‘Il jist lift the hull town as she stan’s an’ plant her keerfully in some snug corner 0’ the garden o’ glory—they will ef they’re wise, fer I don’t reckon they could improve much on that burg —no sir!” ‘*Men and women and all?” young man. ‘“Mebbe a few two-legged critters could be sifted out as they kerried the town up, but not many. It’s a clean town, an’ mighty clean hu- mans live thar. Stranger, ef you count on stayin’ thar long, an’ want ter {ey the com- fort o’ life, pape up atthe Spread Wagle, Thar’s the purtiest landlady, the ugliest landlord, an’ the best whisky in seventeen States. Gee up thar, Turtle-dove! Stranger, hang on by your brows, now, an’ don’t draw a lop-sided breath, or over we go to glory or t/other place!” The whip cracked, the horses started, the ‘coach plunged forward until it seemed as though it must topple over upon the horses—then a minute or two of breathless suspense where each second ns gece an eternity, after which the stage-eoach rolled steadily over the level of the beautiful valley. ““Tve traveled that Devil’s Stairway nigh on- to a thousand times, an’ never hed a slip nur a bu’st-up,” said the driver, with a long breath as he twisted one crooked eye over his shoulder to survey the perilous course down which they had torn, ‘‘but each time I make my will an’ kin feel the pin-feathers o’ glory a-sproutin’ on my shoulder blades!” “We made good time, but nervous travelers might prefer more caution, even at the cost of “Two greenborn drivers from the flat coun- try tried that idee—you kin read o’ thar vartues on the slab tombstones over yender in the bone- yard. They didn’t know the fust rule o’ moun- tain drivin’: keep your hosses ahead o’ the hearse, even though ye hev to load’em upina camnon an’ shoot ’em off afore ye start the wheels. They trusted to the brake an’ ribbons an’ breast-chains—then went to glory in a heap! But yar we be—Celestial City, stranger! Ain't it a sight fer sore eyes?” There was no response, for just then the coach drew up before the post-office, and a cry of mingled wonder and delight greeted the outside traveler. “Walt Weston, by all that’s holy!” ‘* Is it possible—you here, Tom Pierson!” Lightly the young man leaped to the ground and the two long-severed friends clasped hands, the moisture of genuine delight dimming the brightness of their eyos, ese chanee meetings were too common in the land of gold for this one to attraet much at- tention, but Walter Weston caught one pair of eyes watching them closely, even eagerly—evil eyesin an evil face, and though their owner turned abruptly away as he saw that his re- gards were noticed, the young man felt that he had made a false step at the very outset of his dangerous task. 3 ‘We can’t talk here,” he said, hurriedly. “* Where do you stop?” “At the Spread Eagle, of course,” laughed Pierson. “* But you are a stranger to Celestial City, and of course don’t know—’ “About the prettiest landlady, to say noth- ing of the ugliest landlord and the best whisk in seventeen States!” laughed Weston. “ Still the same slave to beauty as of old, Tom!” “And you thesame misogynist—but your time is come, old fellow. Ten to one that, in- side of a week, you lay a captive at the feet of the fair Miranda, like every other man in Celes- tial city who has not a vigilant wife at hand to smiled the Crooked Cale. 8 keep him in order. But come; even that dash- ing, handsome, cavalier face of yours may be unable to secure quarters at the Spread Eagle, unbacked by my influence.” Thus laughing and jesting, they passed up the street to where stood a large, two-story building. A short flight of steps led up to a broad veran- da, surmounted by an arch on which perched a huge stuffed eagle, its broad pinions outspread as if in the act of taking wing. There was no other sign, but this had been sufficient for the epithet-loving miners, and so the hotel was known far and wide as the Spread Eagle. The spacious apartment, eombining office, bar and sitting-room all in one, was almost de- serted when the two friends entered it. Only two persons were there, and they so buried in conversation that the sound of footsteps passed unnoticed for the moment. *“Look your fill,” whispered Pierson. ‘Did han ever set eyes upon a more bewilderingly eautiful woman?” His words were scarcely exaggerated. Thor- oughly under control as he had believed his heart, Walter Weston felt its pulsations quicken and strengthen as he gazed upon the peerless beauty before him. Printed words at best can give but a faint and unsatisfactory idea of a beautiful woman. They can say that her form was tall and ad- mirably proportioned, each curve the perfection of lovely voluptuousness; that her hair, black as midnight, was luxuriant and soft as the finest spun silk; her a Be of jet were large and lustrous, now flashing brightly, now filling with a dreamy languor, swiftly shan varying emotions; could tell of her arched, searlet lips, her dimpled chin, her queenly throat, her soft skin just touched with a creamy tint, a relic of the warm sun that shone upon the race of her forefathers—could say this, and more, Pb fail in conveying more than a faint idea of the warm, living reality. Bnough that Walter Weston, no mean judge of beauty, in- wardl acknowledged that he had never before looked upon such a peerlesslty beautiful woman. She was seated within the inclosure, grace- fully leaning upon the low counter, her profile torned toward the door. Opposite her, and also leaning, stood a young man, his large eyes fixed upon her face with bold admiration. His dress was rich for stich an out of the mes place, but of too flashy material to be in g taste. There were rings upon his white hands, jewels in his spotless linen, and a worst gold chain crossing his vest. His face would have been handsome, only for the traces of dissipation and unruly passions, deeply — upon it. Gambler and sport; so Weston decided, and correetly. Louis Rippel had a widely extended and not too savory reputation as an expert eard-player who was not above aiding fortune by sleight of hand where the'risk of so doing was not too great. Many a time and oft had he been politely but firmly invited to leave a town for that town’s good, and though Celestial City was not celebrated for the strictness of its morals, hints had already been given that the accomplished sport was lingering too long in that neighborhood for the good of his constitu- tion. Tom Pierson coughed shortly, and the inter- esting tableau was instantly dissolved. The woman started up, the flush fading from her cheek, a look of fear coming into her dark eyes. The gambler wheeled sharply, his right hand moving swiftly to his hip as though in quest of a weapon, but as they recognized the young miner, their composure instantly returned. Swift as the change was, and sweet as was the smile with whieh the landlady greeted them, it produced a disagreeable effect upon Walter Weston. The soul of honor himself, he could not condone the suspicion of wrong or de- ceit in others, and the soft words, the bewitch- ing glances with which the hostess of the Spread Bagle rewarded his handsome face and comely form, failed to affect him as might have been the case only for that guilty start and look. A room was quickly secured, name registered, drinks swallowed and then, lighting their cigars, the two friends settled themselves in chairs upon the cool veranda. “You came, you saw, and you can conquer eee as soon as your royal highness chooses,” aughed Pierson. ‘‘ But jesting aside, what do you think of the fair Mirande—chief angel of all Celestial City?” ‘Bad medicine,” was the terse reply. “Tn a limited sense, you are right,” gravely responded Pierson. ‘‘ An inordinate ecquette, who can no more resist the temptation to cast sheep’s eyes at the latest eomer, or to make love te him furiously if he is passably good-looking, ing with her than a young duck can help taking to the water. It is second nature to them both, and is born in them, But I honestly believe she has never gone beyond tender words and tenderer looks—” ‘Then her face belied her when she heard your cough.” ‘A jealous husband accounts for that—one whose ene love only inspires her with fear. It is no secret that he has warned Louis Rippel— yonder flashy rascal—to keep awa: from the house, and I supposed they fancied it was his voice.” ‘For all that, the husband must be a meek, low-metaled fellow—” **Lock! yonder he comes now! Dees that meet your idea?” A form—it could scarcely be called that of a man or human being—came around the eorner and slowly ascended the steps—a forma such as the Bard of Avon might have had in his mind’s eye when he drew the character of Syecorax’s impish offspring; a form and face so grotesquely weirdly horrible that its hideousness seeme that of some paralyzing nightmare, rather than of living, breathing humanity. A frame that was bowed and distorted and crooked to one side; limbs even more erooked and warped; hands and face seamed and scarred, of a sickening purplish hue like uwnder- done roast beef; a nose flattened and pressed against one cheek; a ghastly socket where the left eye should have been, and half of the upper lip on the same side missiug, laying bare the strong white teeth and giving a fierce, wo'fish look to the entire face, more horrible than words can picture. No hair — u that face, and though a few stray locks depended from beneath the hat he wore, it was plain that these belonged to a wig. Of all, there was but one redeeming feature— an ey®, large, beautifully blue, lustrous as that ofa deer and almost as mournful in appear- ance. All this Walter Weston took in ata glance, then averted his eyes with a shudder of disgust, for never before had he looked upon living thing so utterly hideous. Slight as was the motion, the new-comer no- ticed it, and a harder light came into his one eye as he respectfully touched his hat in answer to the young miuer’s nod. “Hark!” exclaimed Pierson as this human monstrosity disappeared within the building. ‘There'll be music, now—and the Celestial City may lose her best poker—” A faint cry came from within—the startled scream of a woman. No doubt the fair hostess of the Spread Eagle had been surprised together with her rakish adorer. Walter Weston leaped to his feet, but Pierson caught his arm, hurriedly uttering: ‘Tt is not our quarrel—we have no right to interfere in a family matinee like this—” He said no more, for there came another in- terrupting scream, this time so full of fear or horror that both young men leaped to the near- est window, their hands on their revolvers, They saw the gambler reeling away from the bar like a drunken man and fall at full i upon the floor. But with a snarling curse, he partially lifted himself, a deadly weapon glit- tering im his right hand, the muzzle turned up- on the human monstrosity, who seemed uncon- scious of his danger as he spoke rapidly to the woman, ‘Look out, Cale!” shouted Pierson, nimbl Jeaping in through the window, closely followed by Weston. The landlord wheeled swiftly at the warning which undoubtedly saved his life, for the heavy ball from the large-bored derringer plowed through his cheek instead of piercing his brain A sound, halt-curse, balf-laugh of bitter scorn. burst from his lips as one active leap earriec him beside the gambler who was scrambling te his feet and feeling for another piste] at the same time. ‘You've had your yar Louis a 1 a now take the penalty!” he exclaimed, one blood- red hand closing upon the gambler’s throat, His right fist was drawn back, then shot for ward with a terrible force. A sickening thu followed, and the sport was knocked half-wa» across the room, where he lay quivert co) vulsively, his handsome face one mask of bloc: The landlord strode toward him, and fearin the worst, Weston made a step forward to i. terfere, but a little hand clung convulsively ix his arm, and the woman gasped: “Save me—protect me against him!” A hard, grating laugh came from the lan’ lord as he bent over his fallen foe and witness: the result of his one blow. *“Yow’ll not brag of your beauty again th’s
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A Ne ——— many a day, Louis Rippel!” he sneered, then raised the unconscious form in his knotted arms, nandling it as though a feather weight. ** Rasy, old man!” cried Tom Pierson, as the deformed giant raised the limp form above his head and shook it like a cat playing witha mouse. ‘‘ He’s got enough for one dose. Don’t hit a fellow that can’t give blow for blow!” A short, bitter laugh was the only sign that the landlord of the Spread Eagle beard this ap- peal. He strode to the door, still holding the senseless gambler in mid air, then tossed the body down the flight of steps to the street. Once more he laughed as the carcass rolled in the dust, then spat contemptuously in its direc- tion before turning away trom tbe door, The sobbing woman was still clinging to Walter Weston, incoherently begging him to protect her, and when the landlord turned to- ward them, she clung still more closely. A strange expression flitted over the blood- stained tace of the deformed as he noted her attitude. A sardonic smile lent a still more wolfish look to his exposed teeth, and young Weston mechanically braced himself for the struggle which he felt was inevitable, at the same time trying to free his arm from the woman’s grasp. “Save me—he will murder me! For the love of Heaven, senor, do not abandon me to his hor- rible rage!” ‘* Peace—he shall not harm you while I can stand between,” hurriedly assured Weston. A harsh laugh came from between those gleaming teeth. “You also, young sir? Well, one more or less, what matter? Miranda, release the gentle- man’s arm.” “Remember she is a woman—” “There is no foundation for her fear, nor for yours, sir. I love her too wholly to ever injure one hair of her head—worse luck for me!” CHAPTER II. WHO IS CROOKED CALE? THERE was an in.ensity of love, mingled with bitter despair, in these words that seemed to terrify the fair wife more than his fury, and releasing Weston’s arm, she fled from the room. “Come, gentlemen,” interposed Pierson, you are both good friends of mine, and must be equally as good friends of each other—as I amsure you will, when ounce fairly acquainted. Mr, Keystone—Mr. Weston. Come—shake hands and let’s have a drink; then, old friend, you'd beiter have that hols in your cheek look- edto. It’s an ugly hurt—” “On an ugly bit of soil, why don’t you add?” “Simply because such a thought never en- tered my mind. I know the true heart that’s hidden under the rough shell, and that’s enough for me. Come,” and Tom’s hand was placed coaxingly upon the deformed man’s shoulder, ‘jet tae past bury itself. You gave that card sharp io more than his insolence deserved, even if you broke his neck. But all the same, you want to keep on guard; he’s bad medicine!” “Thanks; I believe you are really my friend, and so, if I may ask a favor— ‘Your friend will have formed a queer opinion of—of us all, Iam afraid, but Ican trust you to set him aright? Foolish and silly the poor child has been—but no worse, nothing worse than that!” “T believe it—I am as sure of that as you can be. | But come—your wound is bleeding ter- vibly— Let it bleed. My beautiful complexion can well afford to lose a little color,” and the de- formed laughed harshly, once more the hard, seule creature terrible misfortune had made tim. The two friends both wore grave and thought- ful faces as they resumed their seats upon the veranda, after a brief glance at the little pool of blood that marked the spot where Louis Rippel had lain but was not now, ‘* A strange being—yet who can wonder, con- sidering what a terrible burden life must be to one so misshapen! And she so beautiful! Can it bo possible that they are man and wife?” ex- claimed Weston, curiously. ‘* Fast as the office of holy priest can make them! But poor Caleb was not always as you see him now. I remember my father describing him as he was—the model of manly grace and beauty. He knew bim well, and it was largely his surgical skill that nursed him back to life after that frightful accident—” ‘*Do you meaa to say that he was thus crip- pled—thus horribly detormed by an accident— and yet lived? How tenaciously the poor fel- low must have clung to life!” _ “Just the contrary—he tried hard to die, and it was only by the strictest care and vigilance through a whole year that he was kept from to the arts of her money-loving step father, smothering his feeble remnant of life--not_| kept her constant longer than she ever was be- until an always passionate love grew so intense that he felt life was worth living, even as a hu- man monstrosity. But let me tell you his ts pas most pathetic I ever knew in real ife. ‘From his very birth Caleb Keystone seemed set apart asa mark for fortune’s most spiteful darts. Those who should have been his best and truest friends, from the kindred blood that flowed in their veins, it his worst and most persistent enemies. It would be too long a story to tell it all—though I could, for often have I listened to father repeat it from begin- ar to end—but itis enough to say that all his kindred—even his mother and father—turned against Caleb, for no particular fault of his own, and hunted him almost to his grave. ‘*He fought his own way through it all, and outwardly was a blithe, happy, prosperous mer- chant, but deep down in his heart he carried a wound that rankled even more painfully than did the unnatural conduct of his parents, “There was a woman at the bottom of it, of course. My father knew her well, and from his account, she must have been the very moral of what ber daughter is now—equally as beauti- ful, as great a coquette, with quite as small a heart.” ‘You mean Mrs. Keystone?” ‘‘The lovely Miranda—yes. Poor Caleb lost the mother, but gained the daughter—better far for him had he never met either! ‘¢ She was a widow then, with this one child —her image in miniature. Spanish, fond of finery, excitement, and above all, flirting. Ca- leb was her slave. He was not so rich, then but be lavished all upon her, and she promised to marry him. Doubtless she meant it, too— until another and richer man vame along and caucht her fancy. They were married before Caleb Keystone suspected anything, and how terrible a blow it was to him, no man save my father ever knew. re “ Tor months he lay at death’s door, but then he arose, the ghost of bis former self. He made no loud complaint. He met the woman who had thrown him over, ‘and proved the truest friend she ever had. “The husband, Senor Remirez, proved a gam- bler sailing under false colors, and inside of a ag the family was almost wholly supportel y the rejected lover. There is little doubt but what he could have had ample revenge on the man who hid supplanted him, but his love was too pure for that. “Then Madamé Remirez died. Time passed on, and little Miranda living with her father and grandfather, grew more lovely and more like her dead mother. And Caleb, though double her age, began to feel more than a paternal leve for the dainty beauty. ‘* At length his business called him from the city, and he was gone for several months. Be. fore he went, he left a large sum with Senor Remirez, but that was all lost at cards the same week, and the family removed to one of the largest tenement houses until their banker could return home. “Tie came—ina most unlucky hour. He heard the bells ringing for a great fire, and bit ter fate in the guise of curiosity, led him to the scene. Almost the first sight that met his gaze, was Miranda, standing at a window of the fourth story, holding the head of her old grand- father to her breast, piteously calling for aid.” In glowing, earnest speech that told how deeply he felt the tragic misfortune of his friend, the young miner told of the daring res- cue, the frightfu wap for life and its terrible consequences, For this, and the strange wed- ding which followed, a backward glance at the prologue will suffice. “Tt was a wonderful cure,” continued Pier- son, ‘‘and proved the apex of my father’s fame as a surgeon and physician, for Ly saat a whole bone remained in poor Caleb’s body—but great as was the tribute to his skill, more than once I have heard father regret that he had not failed, for the poor fellow’s own sake, If ever mortal man endured the torments of hell on earth, Caleb Keystone was that wretch. ‘Por long months, no one, unless it was my father, even suspected what a horrible change there would be between the former Caleb and the present. All knew, of course, that one eye was gone, and that his face would always show scars, but the worst was hidden by the ban- dages which enveloped him from top to toe. **Duri-g this time, Miranda was a model of tender care and solicitude. She had ever been fond in a childish way of the handsome Hercules who could never pet her enough, and this, added fore or since. So, day by day, poor Caleb learned to love the chiid—she was only fifteen, then—until his whole soul was bound up in hers. Her soft tenderness encouraged him to believe that some day his powerful love would gain hers, and instead of longing to die, he prayed to live to make her happy. From that day he grew rapidly stronger. ‘The tears would fill my father’s eyes when- ever he spoke about the dumb horror and unut- terable disgust which came into the eyes of the young wife when she first beheld her husband arise from his bed and stand before her, his ter- rible deformity fully revealed. Tears, not for her, but him—as the poor fellow read the truth in her pale abhorrent countenance. He had been so proud of his returning strength, and in his all-absorbing love for her, had bardly noticed bis own deformity. He had planned this asa joyful surprise to his girl wife, but instead of the expected joy—Heaven help him! he knew now what he was, and, worse than all, knew how his wife regarded him. “Ugh! I was only a lad when I heard father first tell the story—ten years ago it was—but I can remember how I longed to grasp that dainty throat and choke or shake her into a full sense of her sin—for sin it was, though there was noth- ing in her actions that the law could take hold of—and I never meet the woman but I feel the old impulse tingling at my finger ends. It is that nameless disgust, I dare say, that has kept me from being one of her dangling train of lovers. “Had she only left him, once for all—even run away with one of her countless adorers—I could have forgiven her more easily, for that would have shown she had some heart, if only an evil and perverted one. “From what you have heard and seen to day, you can imagine the sort of life she led the poor fellow. He lived on in hope of winning ber love, or at least affection—poor devil! I don’t believe he bas wholly abandoned that hope, even yet! “Bah! the story sickens me—let’s cut it short, ‘* Miranda and her father were like two leech- es; she plunged in‘o every extravagance that money could gratify, he at the card-table, and in two years, though he worked night and day for her sake, Caleb Keystone was a ruined man. ‘‘ They left New Orieans, and the world lost sght of them. Last year I came to this place, and though I had never met them before, I recognized them at once. But Caleb is greatly changed from the weak, long-suffering man whom my father knew. Though his love for her could not well have been stronger, he has taught ber the meaning of fear, but she will never be other than a shallow, heartless co- quette.” ‘* Unless I read the man wrongly, she will one day go a step too far,” thoughtfully observed Weston. ‘'And if ever his rage does turn against her, the result will be fearful!” ‘| hardly think that. The woman absolutely has no heart, and is too proud of her beauty te suffer animal passion to carry her over the boundary. Then Crooked Csle—so people call him here, and sometimes, thanks to a witty fellow whose memory recalled Shakespeare’s “Tempest ” on heari: g his name, the Caliban of Celestial City—'s pretty well known as ‘a bad man,’ who is quick on the trigger and ready to fight at the drop ofa hat. They know that whoever runs away with the landlady must sooner or later kill the landlord, or be killed instead—” From down the street came a Joud, prolonged bellow, more like that of a routing bull than aught from human lungs, followed by a shrill cock crow. “Some two-legged whisky-skin_ proclaiming himself chief, I suppose,” laughed Weston, while a frown wrinkled the brow of his friend. ‘‘The stage-driver assured me that I would find Celes- tial City a very lively place, and I begin to think he told the truth.” “That’s Bill Baxter—’Patchie Bill he calls himself—an infernal, gasconading nuisance!” growled Tom. ae CHAPTER III. ‘“PATCHIE BILL, THE INJUN-EATER.” **Crar the track, fer I’m a-comin’—’Patchie Bill, the Injun-Eater—head up an’ tail a risin’! Whoo-ee /” A prclonged yell that sounded like the blare of a cracked fog-horn, terminated this unique challenge, and a moment later the redoubtable bully of the town made his appearance around re
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t — Crooked Cale. the corner, followed at a respectful distance by a few rough and ragged sateliites, who greeted his fantastic words and gyrations with admir- ing comments and fluttering laug):ter. “Rip shins au’? marrertones! Wake snakes, the winter’s bu’sted wide open, an’ yer I come, a r’arin’, t’arin’, howlin’, foamin’ freshet o’ *tarnal death an’ ’struction! Bank full an’ still a-boomin’! Sand in my teeth an’ driftwood ter ha’r! Whar’s the two-legged rock that kin spht my current wide open? is he?” “Too much foam and empty sound there,” quietly observed Weston, as the ‘ Injun-Kater” leaped high into the air and cracked his heels together before emitting another ear-splitting screech, ‘* Just my opinion, but the fellow’s big talk » and ugly looks have so far bluffed off every- body who had any pretensions to the chiet-ship of the town— By Becrae! I believe the scoun- drel means to pick a quarrel with one of us!” “Keep your seat,” and Weston laid a re- straining hand on the arm of his friend and held him motionless. ‘‘ You’re right, I dare say, but let’s hear what the gentleman has to say for himself,” They were not kept long in waiting. The bully, as though he had just caught sight of them, advanced rapidly until opposite their po- sition, then squared himself, bis feet. widely planted, bis arms akimbo, bis head cocked on one side, with his chin thrust out as he fixed his bleared and bloodshot eyes upon the stranger with an insolent stare, _ Asmile of amused contempt curled Weston’s lip as he ran his eye over the fellow—a nonce- script creature such as only the wild West could have produced or tolerated. He was a stout, bull-headed, broad-shoul &srer, bandy-legged, claumsy-looking rascal, clad ina red flannel shirt, open in front nearly to | the waist, exposing a hairy and not too clean éhest, gréusy buckskin pantaloons tucked into the tops of vadly-battered horsé-hide boots, A ragged red bandkerchief was bound turban-like around his head, from beneath which, tangled locks of Indian-like hair depended in snaky strings. A. bristling beard covered his face to bis eyes; these, with his swollen, rum-blossom- ing pose, betraved an intimate acquaintance with the liquid lightning of Celestiai City. A broad belt encircled his waist, and was literally filled with weapons; two brace of re- volvers and half that number of huge butch- er knives, : ““Whar’s the two-legged man-mountain that traveled all the way from Oroville jist to chaw me into shoe-strings? To crawl all over the back of a little baby whose breath ain’t done o’ smellin’ o’ its mother’s milk yit? Pint him out an’ let me take bis daggertype fer to seni his fr’nds afore I r’ar up an’ fall down onto him an’ make him think he’s a tumble-bug on- der a he mule’s hind paw! Stranger, is you the critter?” “T hail from Oroville—yes,” coolly replied Weston. “The king-bird o’ Placer county—high muck- a-muck o’ the Sacramento—big fightin’ chief o’ the Feather River diggings, : in’t ye? Come up yer to’nitiate us heathen into the mystifications 0’ rough-an’-tumble ology ?” ‘“Not exactly. 1 came here on private busi- ness,” replied Weston, but with a slight lower- ing of his eyebrows, as he recognized, in one of the bully’s following, the evil-eyed fellow who had scrutinized him so closely when Tom Pier- son called aloud his name before the post-oflice. Pierson opened his eyes in amazement, for his friend did not use to quietly submit to insolence, bat Weston tightened his grasp upon his arm with a meaning pressure. The bully was clearly encouraged by the qui- et disclaimer, and to complete the impression he had made, once more soared to the hights of loftiest. hyperbole. ‘*Mebbe you never hearn tell of me, stranger —thar is critters that never see the sun nor moon, never hearn the thunder ’n’ lightnin’ boom out ge’long to the ram! Jist so thar may be some poor coots as never hearn tell 0’ ’Patchie Bill, the Injun-Eater, the bloody- mouthed Db’ar o’ the foot-hillk—the rampin’, screamin’ mountain lion o’ the morning star, an’ the gully-whompiw’ catamount o* Bitter creck —whoo-ee! The doublej’inted human ma- chine what’s chawed more red-skins to glory then’d make a carpet from this to Never-come- back-ag’in! ’Patchie Bill, the ontamed, double- jawed alligator an’ moss-backed terrapin jest rom the bowels o’ the Black swamp—whoo-BE!” Again that shrill, unearthly yell, in imitation of an .nfuriated stallion, and the Injun-Eater Whar is he—whar a esas SSS SSS struck the ground violently with his hoof, his cheeks swellitg out like hairy puff-balls as he stared insolently at the occupants of the chairs on the veranda, Tom Pierson looked hot and uncomfortable, but with that firm grasp upon his arm he man- aged to keep his seat. A faint smile curled the lips of Weston as he lazily regarded the ridiculous attitude of the gasconading bully, but he said nothing, and the Injun Euter burst forth anew: * You hear me belch—’Patchie Bill the Injun- Kater! When | breathe, it makes a harrycane, an’ when I stamp my foot, it makes yearth- quakes that shakes the pig-tails oft ’m the Johns onderneath! When I blow my nose, it brings on a thunder storm—when | chomp my teeth the snow flies, an’ ef I happen to look crossways, chain lightnin’ bu’sts things wide open! Them’s me, ’Patchie Bill, the Injun-Eater—cocked an’ primed an’ triggers sprung—grim death an’ massacreation! Cl’ar the tanyard an’ fetch on a rijiment o’ your biggest an’ toploftiest fouguters—set ’em up atore me an’ see me go through ’em like a whirlygust o’ woodpeckers through a cherry-tree! Whvo-ee!” He cut a few clumsy capers, and as the ap- proving laughter of his obsequious followers rung out, the blustering tellow became more poited in his remarks. ‘*T bearn they was a boss fighter come to | town, jist ferto kerry back my skelp to his sweetheart, but ’pears like somebody told a lie. Not that | keer a dried-apple durn, only I hain’t feit a breeze ter so long that I don’t know how it'd feel. Jest to Keep from gittiz ? too rusty, I swallered a cyclone ter dinner an’ chawed upa powder-mill fer lunch, then moseyed up here fer to git a squar’ meal off o’ the boss fighter’s alabaster car! Come an’ see me, stranger! I’m the man kin lick seventeen kinds o’ stuffin’ out o’—” ** You couldn’t whip one side of a blind crip- ple with the paralysis!” came a sharp, con- temptous Voice that cut the braggart’s speech short and drew all eyes toward the doorway of the Spread Eagle. Crooked Cole stood there, his face freshly bound wiih strips of court-plaster, a burning ligh* 4 So -s a light in his cye. ‘* What does all this howling mean, any way?” he demarded. “Some o’ the boys told me they was a boss fightin’ ccck come in on the stage as made bis brags be could jest everlastin’ly git away with | my apple-cart, so I jest piked over here to take alook at the roostcr,” the Injun-Eater replied, in a greatly moderated tone, “ Well, ’Patchie Bill, Injun-Eater, as you pro- claim your titl, | want you to understand this: {do the fighting for this establishment, and though I should bate to dirty my hands with such a rascal, if you are really spoiling for a muss, you can have it on your own terms, tooth aud toe-nail, knife and skull-splitter, or pepper- box and blunderbuss!” “iif the gen’leman bully, ‘The gentleman says nothing to such as you,” sharply interrupted Crooked Cale. ‘‘ Take up your foot and travel, or you’ll get your comb cut so close you won’t be able to crow again for a month ot Sundays. And mind you—lI run the Spread Eagle, and if you or any of your kidne dare come here again to pick a quarrel wit any of my guests, I’ll wear you out against the ground—mind that!” As he spoke, Crooked Cale made a step for- ward, but the bully did not remain to meet him, With a half-defiant laugh he turned away, muttering: “‘) kin eat a Injun or swaller a Christian, but durned ef { kin stan’ a two-legged horn- toad—no, sir!” Crooked Cale laughed contemptuously, then turned toward the two. friends, his voice soft and mellow, his tones polite: ‘*T ask your pardon, Mr. Weston, if I have been too officious, but I watched your face for a moment through the window, and thought you bad some strong reasons for not wishing to punish that rascal as his insolence deserved.” ‘So I had—and not exactly personal fear, either,” Jaughed the young man. ‘**No need of assurance on that point,” quick- ly uttered the landlord. ‘‘I am a good judge of character through one’s face, and I saw that much, Had I thought you were kept quiet by fear, I should not have interfered; but I knew some powerful motive underlay all. Mind; I’m not fishing for information. Your secret busi- ness is no concern of mine. But it can do harm for you to be on your guard, Bully Bill did not come here of his own. accord—he is not says—” hesitated the no | | 5 so apt to tackle strangers until be has had time to sound the way and assure himself that he can do so without too much danger—” ‘*You are a close observer, Mr. Keystone,” smilingly interrupted Weston, ‘But may I ask why you think [ am other than a simple peepee looking for a paying lead?” ‘The sheriff of Placer county could have found that nearer home. You see, your fame and name have reached this far.” “The name is plainly written on your register—” ‘ ‘* But would it have appeared there, had not Mr. Pierson recognized you and shouted out your name before you left the coach?” retorted Crooked Cale. ‘““Why not?’ demanded Weston, his brows contracting. ‘* That is none of my business, as no doubt you are thinking at this moment—nor is it, apart from the interest I, as an honest man, feel in the welfare of justice and its officials. I only say this as a hint that may serve you. What I saw, others saw.” “ Andthat was—” ‘*' You were glad to see your friend, but you frowned when he uttered your name, and cast a quick glance around tosee if any one had noticed it. You saw one who had—Simon Quirk—and you knew that he had beard of you before. That same rascal was here with Bill Baxter—” ‘*IT saw him, both there and here; a thorough- paced rascal.” _* And one far more dangerous than ’Patchie Bill, for all he looks somean and insi; nificant. The one talks, the other acts. He, or may be those higher in autkority behind him, set Bill on to draw you into a street fiz ht. Bill is looked on by many as invincible in that line, though his reputation has been wholly won by loud tak and boasting, He bas never had a turn-up with any One Yet in this town, though half the popu- lation fear bim as they would the plague.” ‘*'You are not of that number,” laughed Wes- ton. ‘No; I never was much of a coward, even when I bad all to live for; now—l have only life, and you can guess how highly I estimate that.” With a hoarse laugh, Crooked Cale turned abruptly away and re-entered the hotel, ‘** Poor devil! it must be a perfect death-in-life sort of existence for him!” muttered Weston, pity in his tones. ‘““A hideous shell, but it covers a heart of gold!” earnestly responded Pierson. “Had there been a trace of evilin bis heart, he must have been transformed into a veritable fiend long ere this. At first, even while knowing his sad story, I could not look upon him witbout a shudder, but now Ialmost love—certainly honor and respect him.” “ He isa very close reasoner.” “Yes, and you can depend on his judgment. I am sorry I hailed you as I did, if he isright—” “He was right, and I am afraid Pll have my hands full before I can accomplish what I came here for— Hello! what’s stung you now?” he cried, as Pierson leaped to his feet, a sharp, an- gry curse parting his lips. That infernal scoundrel! Pl kill the im- pudent hound!” Weston followed the direction of his friend’s glare, and there he bebeld ’Patchie Bill, the njun-Kater, in a new role, CHAPTER IV. THE ‘‘INJUN EATER’S WOOING. *PATCHIE BILL was much quieter and had a great deal less to say for himself than usual when he and his rough cobort turned their backs on the Spread Eagle and its belligerent host, Crooked Cale. He knew that he had shown the white feather unmistakably, and knew that those now with him, friends and admirers as they professed themselves, would lose no. time in spreading the news, no doubt with racy additions. He was gifted with a certain coarse cunning, and realized how frail were the foundations on whieh rested his claims to the proud title of ‘‘cbief.” That dizzy altitude is seldom maintained for any length of time by one man. There are always plenty of aspirants for the lofty title, and let the chief meet with ever so slight a reverse, the boldest among these ambitious candidates for popular worship are pretty sure to measure their strength against his prowess, It was these reflections that put a bridle on the tongue of the Injun-Eater, and brought an uglier light into his bleared and bloodshot eyes as he beat a retreat up the street, He did nos
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6 fear a rival rising among those who followed him now. He knew that they were a cowardly lot, bold enough, some of them, to strike an enemy in the back with a silent knife when the gloom of night afforded them a safe cover under which to advance and flee, but they were not the metal out of which even a spurious chief might be made. Knowing this, and know- ing, too, that any one of them would not hesitate to snap at his haunches if they thought they could escape being crushed by his heavy heel, Bill glared at them venomously to dis- cover the first signs of merriment at his ex- nse. In fact, so disagreeably ferocious were his scowls and frowns and other distortions of his countenance, that one by one his following dropped off and skurried away before he should annihilate them, leaving him alone with Simon Quirk, an evil-eyed, black-browed, withered- looking sinner. ’*Patchie Bill abruptly halted and stared at his mate. ‘*Dad sampled ef I kin do it! Looks too much like runnin’ away. Back I go, an’ mop up the Pen with that twistificated dogger- type of a night-hoss tell he cain’t tell t’other from which! Kin I let it be said that the crooked cuss exflunctified ’Patchie Bill, the Tnjun-Eater, in a squablification? Grim death an’ massacreeation!” His cheeks swelled, his eyes rolled wildly, and a richer tint crept over the end of his car- buncled nose as he confronted the dried-up little rascal with this explosion. Simon Quirk was no fool, and not. easily im- posed upon, For a moment he hesitated, his evil eyes twinkling maliciously, and ’Patchie Biil began to fear that he had once more over- shot his mark. Luckily for his remnant of credit, Quirk always placed business before pleasure. ’Patchie Bill had a part to play, and until that was ended he must be kept in hand. ** Crooked Cale will keep, mate—don’t be in sucharush. You’ve acted tip-top so far for such a ferocious fire-eater; don’t spoil every- thing now.” * But the boys’ll say I crawfished—that I tuck water when that crumpled-up runt o’ ugly p’izen on two legs flirted his flag in my face,” de- murred Bill. “Let them say—you can have the fun of whipping them one after the other or all in a heap, and thus clear your character,” added Simon, sober as a deacon. ‘‘ What else could you do? You were under orders. Those orders were to draw Walter Weston, sheriff of Placer county: out of his shell and chaw him up—kill him if you could—but not to show your hand too plainly. You were naturally curious, as chief of Celestial City, to take the measure of each new-comer. If you could get Weston to dispute your title, that was all right. Beyond that, your orders would not let yougo, Crook- ® was not in the bargain. ft you had mixed him up in it, who knows but the plans of the boss might have been ruined? No; old ‘man; don’t be too brash. Wait until you are off duty, then you can go for that two-legged ‘rab, red-hot!’ * An’ ef I don’t crack his shell skientifically, you kin jist chaw my alabaster ear fer pig souse!” earnestly declared the Injun-Eater, once more himself. ‘ You'll set it right afore the boss? Tell him ’twas all I could do to keep ‘from bu’stin’ the breechin’ an’ crawlin’ all over the gullywhompin’ hunchupper. Only fer the boss an his orders, I’d’a’ ett my way into his meat-house, ten foot deep in less time than a hun b’ar kin bu’st a watermillion!” “ He shall hear the whole truth, never fear. sure you are on deck if wanted. The boss ‘won't give it up so easy, and you may have to try your hand again.” Binon Quirk turned abruptly away as though fearful the swelling bully should read the truth in his malicious eyes, while Bully Bill, in far ‘better humor with himself, turned in the oppo- site direction. True, he could not help knowing that he was ‘an arrart coward, liable at any moment to have his borrowed plumes strip off, but the ‘well-chosen words of Simon Quirk gave him hepes of staving off that evil hour, per- haps forever. The greatest coward is a brave man until those around him can see beneath his That afternoon was destined to be an event- ‘ful one to the redoubtable Injun-Eater. He _ oat — Simon — Bete he wand recogn an approaching figure—a soberly clad and closely val ed woman. ag owing light leaped into his red eyes, and Haone emack, ick lips closed and parted with an unc- | ee nee Crooked Cale. “The little schoolma’am! Dad-sampled ef I don’t hev some fun!” Enough has already been said to show that the Injun-Eater was not troubled with over modesty, and now that he felt sure there was a personal danger to fear, he was bold as a on. The approaching lady evidently did not no- tice him through her thick vail until they were only separated by a few yards, for then she hesitated and glanced quickly around as though | meditating retreat. It this was the case, she was not given an opportunity of putting tbe idea into execution, for Bully Bill advanced rapidly and fairly blocked the passage. ** Angelliferous madame, the sight o’ yeu is good fer sore eyes!” he exclaimed, bowing and scraping with ludicrous politeness, as the lady suddenly recoiled a pace. ‘‘I was jest thinkin’ o’ you—'deed, it’s pesky few minutes in the long day that I ain’t thinkin’ o’ thee, sweetness, ferin the middle o’ my heart o’ hearts your doggertype is printed deep an’ cl’ar as the foot of a duck in a mud puddle—” ‘Stand aside and let me pass on, sir Sharp and clear the words were uttered, with more of impatient anger in the tones than of fear, yet the speaker shrunk back as the half drunken bully came closer. ‘¢Thar’s mud to either side of us, pritty, an’ as I got a’pointment fer a high-toned ball this evenin’, you wouldn’t ax me fer to ruinate m best dancin’ pumps would ye! Now ef you ain’t too ticklish in the short ribs, an’ ’ll promise not to kick an’ squeal out loud, I kin lift ye up over my head or else turn around an’ sot ye down in the path ahind me—” ** Thank you—ld prefer retracing my steps altogether,” sharply and sourly retorted the schoolma’am, “’Twon’t do ye the least bit o’ good to run,” grinned the bully, as she half turned about. ‘I'd be after ye like a whirlygust 0’ wood- peckers chasin’ a hoppergrass, an’ as my pa’r 0’ forks is the longest, you’d git clean run over, shure!” The schoolma’am glanced around her irreso- lutely. Notanother living soul was to be seen, else her course would have been clear. A single cry for help would be sufficient, for whatever 9? other points there might be doubts concerning, her immense popularity among the masculine portion of Celestial City was beyond question Nearly a year before this date, she entered town by the Southern stage and put up at the Spread Eagle, registering her name as Miss ary Truhart. She was young and fair, but by no means such a bewildering, dazzling beauty as Miranda Keystone. The latter feared no future rival in her, and the twain soon became great friends. Miss Mary soon told her story; short and athetic. Cast down from affluence to penury, er friemds thus lost, her relatives swept away by an epidemic, her lover proving false—she had wandered toward the setting sun in hopes of finding oblivion. But now—she was penni- less; she was too proud to accept alms—she must work for her living; she hada good edu- cation—could she not start a school, and thus drive the wolf from her door? To use the vernacular, in those chivalric days, women in the land of gold “‘ had a mighty soft thing of it,” especially if said woman was pass- ably fair and undoubtedly respectable. So the word was scarcely more than spoken before there was a comfortable school-house being run up, and Miss Mary’s list of scholars filled up as fast as she could put downtheir names. It was curious how many illiterate young men—and some no longer young—there were in Celestial City who were crazy to learn, or would have been curious had Miss Mary Truhart been an ancient, vinegary old maid instead of such a trim, plump, uggable lump of humanity as she was, Somehow this was the impression she left up- on her adorers, and yet, if brought under the rule, she would have measured several inches over the medium hight of woman, and to a stranger, her superb fi , straight, erectly borne and elastic, would have been deemed haughty rather than otherwise. Her hair was brown, and worn in curling rings and waves around her head, almost boy- ish fashion, Her eyes were large, deep gray, and, while seeming innocence personified, were past masters in the art of language without words, Her face was oval, her skin clear and bor pa A her teeth good, her lips red and soft, while there was just the faintest shadow alon her upper lip. Her form was good, well-round- ed and developed, but the schoolma’am, either from economy or good taste, dressed very plain- ly, wearing no ornaments save a spray of green or a bright flower at her throat. From the very first, the schoolma’am could almost have taken her choice of every single man in Celestial City. She trod on bleeding hearts at every step she took. Two young men could hardly meet and pass each other without showing their teeth and scowling, while nearly every day there were collisions between would- be rivals on her account. But of these the fair Mary took no account save to treat the bat- tered champions more coldly than ever, until they grew tired of spilling their blood in a fruit- less cause, Yet hardly a man inal] the town but would have unhesitatingly lain down his life in her defense. The Injun-Eater readily divined the meaning of that glance, and though there was no one in sight, a single scream for help might bring a score hardy champions to the rescue. “Bless ye, honey-bird, don’t look so indigni- torious—sure, ye mought ’a’ knowed I was only funnin’,” he hastened to say, in an offensively familiar tone, but moving aside so that she could pass him by dry shod. ‘‘ Ruther then ye should run the resk o’ gittin’ yer dainty ten toes dirty, ’d lay right down an’ let ye make a foot-bridge o’ my karkass—I would se /” The schoolma’am made no reply but brushed quickly past the fellow, who, however, was not to be so easily skaken off. ‘Grim death an’ massacreeation! angeliffer- ous madam, don’t be in sech a monstrous rush!” he exclaimed, keeping pace with her and bend- ing over in an attempt to peer under her close- ly-drawn vail. ‘‘Good company ain’t so plenty in this burgh that you need hump yourself so, fer to git away from the tip-top cream—ef do say it myself. You know me—’Patchie Bill, the Injun-Eater an’ chief o’ Celestial City— built from the ground up, twenty feet in the clar, ’thout knot-hole, wind crack or tetch 0’ dry-rot—yard wide an’ all wool—pure, clean dust an‘ full weight—that’s me /” ‘“*You may be all you say, and even more, but what interest has it for me?” coldly utter the schoolma’am, “The intrust what a woman nat’ally feels consarnin’ the good an’ solid p’ints o’ her futur’ husban’—” a you crazy, sir—or drunk?” she ejacu- “*Crazy fer love an’ dead drunk on the same medicine!” frankly avowed Bill, plumping down upon his knees before the lady, his head cocked on one side, a maudlin smile wrinkling his flabby lips. ‘‘ Angelifferous madam—” He said no more. As though a double-thun derbolt had struck him, the Injun-Eater re- ceived a blow and a kick that sent him end over end from the path into the muddy ditchi CHAPTER V. THE INJUN-EATER ‘‘ TAKES WATER,” It was the sight of Billy Baxter plumpin down on his knees before the vailed school- ma’am that so excited and enraged Tom Pier- son, With the keen eye of a true lover he instantly recognized the lady, and Fae rushed to her rescue, closely followed by Wal- ter Weston. But swift as were their footsteps, they were too late to clear the narrow path of the amorous bully. An exclamation of wonder burst from Wes- ton’s lips, as he saw the Injun-Eater turn a complete back summerset, and alight on the broad of his back in the muddy ditch. He saw the swift stroke of a white fist administer- ing a dextrous ‘‘upper cut,” and beheld a neat, white-clothed ankle as a trim foot aided in the overthrow of the bully, but he could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes. What manner of woman was this, with the power and skill of a prize-fighter? ierson was not so critical, but he certainly was more wise or cunning, for almost before Miss Mary Truhart realized the approach of aid, he had her clasped in his strong arms, his lips suspiciously close to the vailed face. “Has that scoundrel dared to harm or insult you?” he cried, lifting the vail and exposing the flushed countenance of the fair Amazon. ‘‘ Yes—no—he only—oh, I am so glad you chanced along, Mr. Pierson!” hysterically sob- bed the schoolma’am, womanlike giving way as soon as the peril was over. Tom’s lips were very close to hers now, but that might have been because she seemed on the stag of fainting, and he thought she could ear his words better at short range. ‘“‘T’ll murder the scoundrel! To dare—insult you—my darling!” he uttered, between breaths, as it were. This bit of by-play did not wholly escape the
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keen eyes of the sheriff, and he began to real- ize that his friend possessed another safeguard against the blandishments of the fair Miranda, aside from his respect for Crooked Cale, but his attention was mainly given to the Injun- Eater. That worthy had raised himself to a sitting posture in the mire, and was busily clawing the mud from his eyes and mouth, uttering strange» barbarous oaths and exclamations. The alarm had quiekly spread, and a dozen men were then running to the spot, eager to see the ‘‘oireus.” The Injun-Hater heard the trampling of heavy feet, and scrambled up, glaring around him in mingled rage and be- wilderment. ‘‘Whar’s the mule that kicked me?” he bel- lowed, swelling out his cheeks and snorting loudly through his nostrils. A strong hand closed upon his shoulder like a vise, and the clear, stern voice of Walter Wes- ten rung out: “You contemptible scoundrel! ~ You have basely insulted this lady, and now you shall beg her pardon on your knees!” Until he spoke, the schoolma’am had re- mained quiescent in the arms of Tom Pierson, as though she rather liked the situation than otherwise, but at the sound of Weston’s stern voice, her eyes opened and she uttered an in- voluntary exclamation. Weston wheeled quickly,as though he thought he recognized the voice, and stood with widely opened eyes, staring upon the face of the pale schoolma’am as though a ghost of the dead past had suddenly risen up before him. But whatever the source of his emotion, it came near being his death. Despite the mud in his eyes, Bully Bill recog- nized the owner of the hand upon his shoulder, and already mad with rage, he whipped forth a revolver and thrusting it fairly against the head of the sheriff, pulled trigger. A warning ery from Crooked Cale who was pushing through the getbertag crowd, but still more the sharp click of the revolver as its ham- mer was raised warned Weston of his peril, and ducking down his head as he turned, he shot out his fist with a lightning stroke, full in the stomach of the bully, sending him backward ina doubled- up heap once more into the ditch. Even that lightning-like quickness would not have foiled the murderous attempt, but the cap failed to explode under the falling hammer. An angry, cee roar came from the crowd as they witnessed this dastardly attempt at murder, and weapons began toslip from their scabbards, but Weston, now thoroughly aroused, raised his hand commandingly. ** Leave the fellow to me, gentlemen. This is m4 quarrel, and the man who interferes un- asked, becomes my enemy!” By this time the Injun-Eater once more scrambled to his feet, though he stood with his back humped and both hands pressed upon his stomach, gasping for breath. He did not offer to leave the ditch, for he caught the ominous mutterings from the crowd, and his little stock of spirit, lent by anger, was fast oozing forth at his finger ends. ; “Make a ring and let them fight it out!” shouted a shrill voice from the outside of the crowd, and Weston’s lip curled as he caught a rial guicapes of the speaker, Simon Quirk. _ * You fellers is makin’ a powerful squabblifi- cation ’bout nothin’, ‘pears to me,” growled the crestfallen Injun-Eater. ‘Is it nothing to insult a lady?’ demanded Weston, sharply. “Who did it? Me? The critter as says so kin stretch a ounce o’ truth enough to kiver the hull State o’ Caleforny!” exclaimed Bill, in a tone of injured innocence. ‘ Did I, angellif- erous madam? Didn’t I ax you to marry me—” ‘‘And I decline the honor,” snapped the schoolma’am, dropping her vail and slipping out of the arms of Pierson. “That settles it, then!” “Not until you get down on your marrow- bones and humbly beg Miss Truhart’s pardon for daring to even think of her in connection with yourself!” cried Tom Pierson. “ It’s a durned impersition!” snarled the cor- nered bully. “A hull durned rigiment onto one man—’ ‘* Fair play!” came the shrill voice of Simon Quirk, and the Injun-HRater felt a little less ill at ease as he heard several voices echo this pop- ular sentiment, but sweeter far than all else were the words of the schoolma’am. ““T beg of you, gentlemen, to let the matter rest where it is,” she exclaimed feaplasegty- “It is all very disagreeable to a lady, and fur- ther agitation of it can only make it worse.” Crooked Cale. ‘“You have the right to command us, lady,” and Weston bowed low before the vailed figure. Injun-Eater was not utterly devoid of wit, and fancying he saw a good chance to make a point with the crowd, jumped at the chance, and before any one could divine his intention, he dropped on one knee before Miss Truhart, * Avngelliferous madam, what force couldn’t do, your kindness hes panned out. Hyer I kneel —’Patchie Bill, the Injun-Eater an’ general glorificationer o’ the fa’r sex in general an’ your own purty self in ’ticklar—hyar I kneel, an’ hihi ax your pardon fer darin’ to think 0’ love an’ you an’ myself together. Wipe your purty feet entome. Make me a scrapin’-knife fer yer delicut hoofs. Use me fer a footstool or a bootjack—” He ceased abruptly, for the schoolma’am, with a smothered laugh at his ridiculous words and corresponding gestures, turned away and disappeared amid the crowd. Bill, with a sickly grin, arose and glanced quickly around him His heart felt lighter as he noticed the general look of good-humor upon the surrounding faces. “A man what is ashamed fer to git down onto his hunkers toa lady like that splendifferous mad- am, ain’t no man at all! LIaxed her would she hev me, an’ she ’cluded she wouldn’t. I hed the right to do the one an’ she the other. We both used our right, and that settles the hull busi- ness!” ‘*Not quite,” sharply interjected Weston. “You have left me out of the question alto- gether, and I object.” *Patchie Bill turned a sickly yellow through his beard and mud blotches. There was something in the cold, composed tones and actions of this young stranger that awed him, and he inward- y cursed his amorous folly for having in- volved him in such an unpleasant scrape. But, coward as he was, he dared not show the white feather before such a crowd, after having so long lorded it over them as ‘‘chief,” sole and undisputed. ‘““Ef the lady was satisfied, I don’t see what call yow’ve got to git your back up about!” he snarled, vieiously. ** We'll leave the lady out of the question, if you please,” came the sharp reply. ‘‘I am acting for myself just now.” “Quit your quarreling and go to fighting!” came the shrill voice. ‘Tf you are spoiling to see some fun, Simon Quirk, you needn’t look any further,” cried out Crooked Cale, weaningly. ‘‘Let the little rat squeak on,” laughed Weston. ‘‘When I’m through with this dung- hill cock, Pll be most happy to pull Mr. Simon Quirk’s teeth also.” “Look out, Walt!” cried Pierson, leaping forward, but his aid was net required. A coward when fairly cornered is sometimes dangerous, and so it was with the Injun-Kater. He knew that he had some friends present on whom he believed he could depend, thanks to the bonds of mutual crime and interest, and knowing from the manner of Weston that he could not avoid a collision without fairly run- ning away, he whipped forth a knife and made a desperate thrust at bis adversary. But the sheriff was not a man to fall into the same blunder a second time, and careless as he seemed to all outward appearance, not the slightest movement on the part of the Injun- Kater escaped his notice. It is true, he did not anticipate so venomous an attack, so soon after the ignominious failure of the first, expecting rather a stroke of the fist or a grapple, but none the less he was prepared when it did come swaying his lithe body swiftly to one side and suffering the a steel to pass him by then dealing a return blow with all. the skill and power of a practiced pugilist. : For the third time that afternoon ’Patchie Bill saluted his mother earth with more empha- sis than grace. The wicked-looking knife flew from his Fad into the surrounding crowd and drew a howl of mingled pain and anger from the lips of an unlucky spectator in whose thigh the keen point was buried. ’Patchie Bill was tough as he was clumsy, and the loud laughter and jeers which greeted his downfall, rendered him almost frantic. With a howling curse he scrambled to his feet, and drawing his second knife, rushed furiously, or Sige blindly upon his self-possessed antago- nist. From whence it came, no man save he who wielded the weapon could say, but a long dagger flashed in the red rays of the sun and ’Patchie Bill felt the quiver of steel against steel—a culiar sensation that sent a cold chill along his arm and down into his very heart. It was a curious weapon thus suddenly dis- 7 played—by a curious chain of circumstances it afterward came into the possession of the writer, who has never seen or heard of its mate, Double-edged and keen-pointed, with a regular taper, each edge was regularly sealloped—not waved asthe Malayan creese. The workman- ship and stamp were undoubtedly oriental, but the marks were never translated. The keen edges would split a hair, yet the hardest steel was unable to turn them. The handle was of richly chased steel.* It was instantly evident to all those at all versed in the science of knife-play, that the Injun-Eater had now waked up the wrong man —a disagreeable faet which he was not long in finding out. An impassable wall of steel seemed built up between him and the cool, smiling man for whom he began to entertain the bitter- est. hatred, mingled with fear. Strike and thrust as he might, that gleaming weapon was ever in the way, turning his blade aside grace- fully or checking it with a force that made every nerve in his arm tingle with pain. And not only that, but he saw that this terrible stranger was only playing with him—that he held his life at his mercy whenever he chose to take it—and others saw the same thing. Time and again did that beautiful bit of steel twist around his knife, penetrate his guard and only stop when its keen point fairly pricked his skin—a cold, moeking smile playing on the lips of his antagonist, a laughing yet terrible devil in his blue eyes. “Guard yourself, Injun-Eater!” cried Wes- ton, for the first time uttering a sound since the combat began. ‘I’m going to mark you now. I’m going to mark you for life—look out for your head-light!”’ Like living lightning the beautiful weapon played, 7 ly multiplied tenfold, e8- perarely atchie Bill resisted, but in vain. His nife was cut half in two, then came a swift ass and a howl of pain burst from his lips as 16 dropped his weapon, clasped both hands te his blood-streaming face, lowered his head and plunged madly through the crowd in full flight! “Let the coward go!” shouted Weston, as some of the agers tried to check his flight, ‘1 have done all | intended—marked the rascal for life and stripped off his borrowed plumes. You know his caliber now. If ever he tries to crow in the presence of men again, clip bis spurs as I have done!” A series of wild cheers rent the air, and no voices were louder than these of the men who, an hour before, were the eringing, toadying followers of the now deposed chief.” It was with difficulty that Weston could clear the crowd, and only when he sharply bade them open a path for his passage, would they suffer him to depart, so eager were all to ‘‘treat” the man who not only “ licked” ’Patchie Bill, but had sliced off the tip of his carbuncled nose by way of private mark! “ You are ‘chief’ now, Walt,” laughed Pier- son, as arm in arm the two friends returned to the Spread Eagle. ‘ Two to one you are waited upon by a deputation and presented with the treedom of the city!” “T hope not—I have played the fool already, but that rascal stirred up my old Adam. Say, Tom, who and what is that young lady?” he de- manded, abruptly. “My wife, if she will only take me!” eame the response, ringing with an earnestness that could not be mistaken. CHAPTER VI. THE SCHOOLMA’AM AT HOM®, Tom Pierson felt just a little remorseful as he sped away from the Spread Eagle that eve- ning. He had not actually told a lie, for that was foreign to his honest nature, but he felt al- most as if he had, with his lame excuse for leav- ing his old friend and classmate, so soon. ‘Good or bad, Pll tell him all when TI get back,” muttered the young miner, as a salve to his pricking conscience. *‘ But he does run a fellow so—as if we all could carry as steady and well trimmed heart in our bosom as he—and goodness knows I’m flustered bad enough al- ready, at the bare idea of storming the castle.” That afternoon’s events had settled honest Tom’s fate. For months he had secretly wor- shiped the fair schoolma’am, but despite his almost irresistible tendeney to fall in love with each pretty face that crossed his path, Tom was painfully modest and thus far had been con- tent to sigh his love out at a distance. Nor is it likely that his passion would ever have found * This weapon was stolen from the writer, nine ears ago. If recognized by the above description, a iberal reward will be paid for the information of _ its whereabouts. Address through the Publishers,
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8 sf < Crooked Cale. atterance in plain words, only for the wooing ef the Injun-Hater and what followed. Tom held that graceful, yet firm and sub- stantial form in his arms; had felt her soft breath upon his cheek, and had even pressed her lips with his, in the excitement of the moment. A very little spark is enough to explode a wwder magazine, if rightly applied, and that ts lucky or unlucky was enough to seal Tom’s fata. His first impulse was to make a confidant of Walter Weston, and he did say enough to show that close observer he was hard hit, but he w reticent as he recalled the past. A dozen imes at least he had made similar confessions of all powerful love for some fair damsel, who reigned supreme over his heart until another tty face chanced along, when there was sure be an entire change of allegiance—each one being perfectly sincere as long as the fit lasted. But Tom had grown older, and, he believed wiser. He knew that this was no evanescent fancy. Unless he could win Miss Mery Tru- bart for his wife, life would be a blank, a dvearv desert to him. And so, dreading the satirically solemn advice which he felt from experience would be offered him by his friend, be stole away from the hotel that night soon after supper and hastened through the town, bis face turned toward that Mecca of his hopes, the cosey little log-cabin which served as the everyday casket to contain his longed-for jewel, ‘the schoolma’am. This cabin had been erected on the spot select- 2d by Miss Truhart herself—a highly romantic one, among the hills east of the town. Some of ber new-found friends and advisers thought it teo lonely and remote from aid, should such ever become necessary; but the fair, fearless rreature laughed and declared her ability to defend herself against an army if need be, and like everything else on which she set her heart, she carried her point. Bhe had only one companion; an old half- breed woman, whether of Indian or Negro ex- traction was a mystery to those few who vouch- safed her a second thought, but certain it was that she was a perfect dragon in her watch- ful care to see her young mistress was not rude- ly intruded upon. Thrice she bad repulsed half-drunken admirers who insisted on an avening interview with the schoolma’am, and on one occasion showed that she was no novice im the art of burning powder and slinging lead. dina not once did any male denizen of Celestial ity ever boast of having crossed the threshold ef that dainty little cabin, after the school- mam once took up her abode there. Tom Pierson was well aware of this fact, but mtill he did not altogether despair of succeeding where all others had failed. e had that day glasped the fair schoolma’am in his arms, had been even more daring. True, sho had been terribly alarmed, but for all that, a vague gomething in the manner of her yielding to his ardent embrace told Tom that the situation was not altogether an unpleasant one to her— and even now he could feel her red lips quiver Reveath the pressure of his—he could almost swear sho had returned his salute! Swiftly the young miner left the town behind Rim and reached the foot of the rising ground. nA above him he could distinguish a faint Might which he knew came from the one little wmdow of the schoolma’am’s cabin. Gallantly ‘be breasted the slope—at first; then slower and slower became his pace. It was not fatigue Shat troubled the young athlete, for he was i with the muscles and endurance of a , mountaineer, but his courage was gradu- ally fading away like hoar-frost before the sun, as aman, afflicted with a raging tooth- wobe, can start boldly for a dentist’s, yet find is vesolution growing weaker and weaker as te xears the inquisitor's den, just so with our yeung lover. hat if she should refuse him ‘gimittance as she had others bound on the same asivion? Or, worse yet, allow him a glimpse of 3 the casket, only to coldly refuse him the precious Jerei it contained? Byery true lover has felt this painful doubt at some stage of his amatory career, and will weadily comprehend why Tom paused when mearly at the door of the cabin, debating within ‘Sawself whether it would not be wiser to wait Sr es more auspicious moment. In fact, he was athe very point of beating a precipitate retreat, when the door was flung open, and a flood of Ggkt shone fairly upon his person, while the | meat form of the schoolma’am step over the Steeshold, her white hands extended. “ffelt sure you would come, Mr. Pierson!” a@tz exclaimed, impulsively, her rich, mellow waice falling upon his ears like sweetest music, ‘TI was watching, 1 confess, and when I saw you hesitate, I feared you had forgotten some- thing and was about to return to town without nackte. me too impulsive—too forward— Tom’s answer came in actions, not words, but was none the less convincing. He clasped the white hands in his brown palms, and pressed them to his lips, almost reverently. Miss Trubart shyly withdrew them, but did not appear very greatly offended by his warmth. “‘ Come—the night.air is cool; it is pleasanter inside.” Tom no longer thought of retreat. Surel she must know his object in visiting her, and if she had no love in her heart for him, she could not have received him thus. ‘‘You should be highly flattered, sir,” said Miss Mary, laughingly as they entered the cabin, ‘* for you are the first one of the sterner sex who has ever crossed this threshold since I took pos- session.” “T am—and yet it is a condescension that mavy be interpreted both ways—” “Take your choice between them then, and believe the one most agreeable to your vanity,” she retorted, archly, taking his hat and motion- ing him to be seated in a chair drawn near the wide-mouthed fireplace. *‘ My pleasure at see- ing you is not altogether unselfish, I have been wanting something from town, but my body- guard refused to leave me here alone,” and a wavo of her white band directed Tom’s atten- tion to the tall half-breed woman who stood across the room like a bronze statue, her eyes watching him fixedly. He is a very bold or a very careless lover who can utter his soft nothings with any effect in the presence of a third person, and Tom Pierson was neither. ‘¢ ouardian angel,” and fancied there was some deep meaning in her burning eyes—perhaps a threat for his audacity in passing the charmed portals. ‘You can go now, Karinga. few minutes to chat with your friends. Mr. Pierson will keep all barm from me, [ am sure.” Tom sunk into the chair, almost too dizzy to stand up. There could be but one interpreta- tion. If Miss Mary Truhart was not ready to turn a favorable ear to his suit, would she act and speak thus? The schoolma’am drew aside with the half- breed woman and conversed earnestly in an un- dertone for a few moments. Perhaps it was just as well that shedid. Tom had time to partially rally his sensesand recover command of his voice before the old woman departed. Then, with a low, mellow laugh that sounded on Tom’s ears like music fresh from the beaven- ly spberes, Miss Mary drew a chair for herself up before the cheerful fire, comfortable in that elevated region, though in midsummer. ‘*T felt sure you would come,” she said, her eyes meeting bis with the sweetest imaginable sidelong glance that caused her head to turn archly to one side—if nota born coquette, the little schoolma’am knew well how to use her charms. ** And yet—I fear you will give me cause to regret having been so bold,” said Tom, bis pulse beating very fast, his heart thumping like mad. The fair face flushed and the soft gray eyes looked down into the fire, Tom began to trem- ble, for he feared he had spoken too abruptly. He wanted to reassure the timid creature, but the right words would not come, A dczen times bis _ parted, but elosed as often for fear he would only make matters worse. It may be that the little schoolma’am was disappointed by his clumsy silenve, it may be that she had been puzzling her brain how to gracefully change the subject, for when she spoke, Tom saw that that chance was gone. ‘You must have thought me very ungrate- ful, Mr. ‘Pierson, to run away without even thanking you for your generous service to-day. But I was so frightened—so annoyed at being made the cent-r of observation, that I could think only of escaping from the crowd.” “TI did nothing deserving thanks—somehow I never do,” ruefully uttered Tom. ‘1 always sputter around until somebody with sound sense gets in ahead of me. Soit was to-day. I meant well enough, but Walt took the job out of my hands before I fairly knew it.” “Was he—that stranger—your friend?” and Tom felt a little wrench at his heart-strings as he noted the eager glow in those gray eyes as they met his, but atone replied: ** The best and truest friend heart of gold!” ever knew—a I could not wait—but you will think | ? He returned the keen gaze of the | Be sure and do | my errand, then, if you choose, you can steal a | | return the compliment, “You praise him very highly.” ‘‘No higher than he deserves—no more than the truth. I have tested him through fair and foul weather, and have yet to see him flinch or fail.” ‘‘Do you know, when I first heard his voice, I believed the dead had risen from the grave— and his face but deepened that wild fancy!” earnestly uttered Miss Mary, her eyes still riveted upon his, And he, too, seemed startled, when he looked upon my face. And yet—it could not be—surely the story was true—he is dead, long ago!” Tom made no reply, but sat in most uneasy silence. His blissful hopes were vanishing one by one, Truly this was not an encouraging be- ginning. “He did not speak of me?” added the school- ma’am. “Only to ask who and what you were,” moodily responded Tom. ** And you told him?” The words he had used in reply to Weston’s uestion rose in his throat, but were cl.oked act He would not be fool enough to utter them now. ‘‘Yes: what little I knew concerning you,” he said, instead. ** And he? He did not recognize my name?” “Tf so, he made no sign, Why, were you ever acquainted?” “No—it could not be—they told me the truth—he died,” murmured Miss Mary, as if unconsciously ; then adding: ‘‘ I must have been mistaken in my fancy, but he wonderfully re- sembles one whom I once knew and highly re- garded. You say he asked about me—let me What is your friend’s name and occupation, and how came he here? By your invitation, perhaps?” “*No; I was never more astonished in my life than when I saw him on the stage this after- noon. We had lost sight of each other for sev- eral years, though our brotherly love and friendship never waned. His name is Walter Weston, and he is sheriff of Placer county, with his head-quarters at Oroville.” ‘‘Ah! then he comes hither on professional duties, no doubt?” Tom hesitated, though only for a moment, but that was long enough for the keen-witted schoolma’am, and she drew a little more erect, with a touch of hauteur in her voice, ‘*T do not ask you to betray any confidences, Mr. Pierson—” ‘*Walt warned me to be cautious, but of course he did not mean—that is, it can do no harm to tell you,” said Tom, a little clumsily, adding hastily, before she could speak again: “The fact is Walt comes here on an important as well as dangerous mission. Some time ago, there was a succession of atrocious crimes com- mitted in and around Oroville, allof them being pretty clearly traced back to one man, who passed under a dozen different names, but whose right name it is believed, is Ralph Keeler,” ‘T have read or heard something of this, I believe. He escaped all pursuit, did he not?” “Yes, and covered his trail so well that many believed he was dead—killed, perhaps, in a uarrel with some one of his comrades in crime. ut they were wrong—he still lived, and is at this very moment lurking somewhere near this town; in fact, is the leader of the footpads or road-agents who were so busy last month,” The gray eyes glanced toward the window, then, with a little nervous shiver, the school- ma’am drew nearer Tom. “Tt was bad enough before, but now that I know that merciless fiend in human guise is hovering around here, I wish I had not been so notional in having my home built so far from town. But there is no doubt? He is really here—this Ralph Keeler?” ‘‘ From what Walt said, I don’t see how there can be any doubt of that. Of course itis a secret yet, and you will be careful not to breathe a word of this, even to your servant—” “‘ Karinga is my servant, not ret confidante,” interposed the schoolma’am, a little sharply. ‘“‘T always was and always will be a EE derer,” dolefully said Pierson. ‘‘ Now you are offended at me!” ‘‘No; you have been too kind, too brave and generous for a trifle to come between us,” softl said the schoo]lma’am, and her firm white Sarl was gently placed upon his arm, only to be quickly imprisoned by the brown paw of the love-sick miner. ‘‘ But tell me,” she added, bas- tily, Se cae short the tender speech that trem- bled on his lips, ‘‘how did he learn this, your friend?” “From a member of the band, whom I sup- pose Keeler has in some manner wronged or f
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—_ a offended. There was no name given, but Wes- ton is satisfied that the information is genuine, and confidently expects to capture Ralph Keeler before this week is out,” ‘*In whab manner? What is the scheme? You see,” and the schoolma’am laughed softly, ‘Tamas eager as yourself for the complete success of your friend, partly because I shall never feel easy now that I know that terrible villain is skulking near, partly becauss Mr. Weston is your friend,” and a soltt pressure from the white hand emphasized the flaitery, and sent a thrill of delight tingling through every nerve of the honest young miner. ‘*T do not know, nor do I believe Weston does,” he hastened to reply. ‘‘ The arrangement is this: the fellow who sent the information is to make himself known to Walter to-morrow night, when Weston’s movements, of course, will be guided by what he learns from the in- former.” “* Let us hopo he may meet with perfect suc- cess,” said Mary, with a long breath. ‘So handsome and gallant an officer must deserve every success—” “Shall I tell him this, from you?” “Do you think he would be pleased or feel flattered?” ‘*What man would not? Tf such words were brought to me, from your lips—” impulsively began Tom. * You would laugh at my forwardness.” **No—but I would test your earnestness, I would come to you and say that my whole heart and brain were bent on gaining one ob- ject—and would ask you to wish me success, ‘hen I would tell you—Mary, I must say it!” he cried impetuously, clasping both her hands in his and bending over the gently drooping head. ‘‘ For that papers alone [ came here this morning. What I said, I repeat. I seek } to win one prize—your love, wish me success?” It was out at last, and with his heart in his throat, poor Tom Pierson waited for the answer fatal or life-giving. The little schoolma’am seemed taken by sur- prise, and faintly strove to release her hands, her eyes downcast. Poor Tom took this as an evil omen, and straightway his heart sought to sink down into his very boots. Slowly and re- luctantly he released her hands, sighing dole- fully. ““T never dreamed of such a thing, Mr. Pier- son,” faltered the little schoolma’am, the liquid gray eyes shyly meeting his. ‘‘It comes so sudden that I hardly know what to say.” If true love is easily cast down, so a word, a tone, is sufficient to revive its drooping spirits. Tom was well-nigh despairing, but something in the tone of the schoolma’am filled his heart with hope and his soul with joy ecstatic. “Say yes—say that you will try to love me— that you will be my wife!” be suit ardently. ‘But we are almost strangers—you know so little of me—” ‘Enough to know that I love you with my whole soul!” ‘*But 1 may be bad—there may be disgrace in my past—” “Stop! not even from your lips will I listen to aught against the purity of the woman whom I love!” “; There was something close akin to sublimity in his tones and manner of uttering these im- petuous words, and a peculiar gray shade crept over the schoolma’am’s face as his strong arms clasped her to his honest breast. She shivered, too, and both together told Tom that all was not plain sailing yet. ‘There is only one thing that can part us now,” he added gravely, ee down into her eyes. ‘It is barely possible that you are bound to another—” A low laugh bubbled from her lips, but al- most instantly she was grave and solemn again. ‘“ You mean if I am married? I am not—I never was. And yet, there is something in my past life that stands between us. It may pos- sibly prove no serious barrier if your love is true and earnest—but it is there, and while there, I cannot give you the answer you ask.” “Tell me what thab barrier is, and I will re- move it if man can,” said Pierson, quietly, but with an earnestness that could not be mistaken. ** Some day—not now. The story is too lon and painful for me to tell—you have startle Do you—can you, meso, And Karinga may come back at any moment. Please go,” the little schoolma’am uttered brokenly, almost hysterically. “ Your word is law to me, now and ever. But give me one word of hope to live upon— until when?” i “* One week—give me that long tedecide, But a Crooked Cale. 9 ee rn sar remember—if fate decrees that I cannot marry | face, Weston sighed involuntarily—tzen start- you, no other man shall ever call me wife!” softly whispered Mary. One long, clinging kiss, then Tom hastened toward town. CHAPTER VII. A BLOW FROM THE ENEMY. Warm and sincere as was his friendship for Thomas Pierson, Walter Weston was not seri- ously offended when that honest young fellow gave him the slip almost directly after supper. He had been given plenty of food for thought since his arrival at Belestial City, and felt just in the mood for a sober bit of thinking, Lighting his cigar, he went out on the broad veranda, The surer to guard against unwished- for intrusion upon his thoughts, Weston carried his chair near the further end of the veranda, then leaned comfortably back against the side of the building. The cool evening air, fresh from the pine-clad mountains, was just bracing enough to render his thoughts clear and active, and keep him from falling into a dreamy reverie. Naturally he was most concerned about the success of the bold project which had brought him hither. Until now, he had never doubted but that he was working on a sure foundation of truth. The capture of Ralph Keeler would be a great feather in his cap, should this infor- mation prove genuine. But he just began to realize the many chances against bim. The letter containing the information on which he acted, might be no more than a clumsy practical joke, or it might turn out a cunning decoy to lead him to his death. This last sup- position was strongly favored by what had oc- curred since his arrival in Celestial City—by the peculiar parts played by the Injun-Eater and Simon Quirk. The “chief” had been ordered to draw him into a quarrel and then make sure work of him. Weston smiled grimly as he pictured to him- self the Injun- Eater’s amanzement at running against such a decided snag, where he had con- fidently anticipated clear sailing to a danger- Jess victory, and by a natural transition his thoughts turned upon the young schoolma’am, His brows contracted and a hard light came into his blue eyes as that fair face arose before him, and that mellow, peculiar voice again sounded in his ears, That they had met before, he felt confident; but where and when? Both face, form and voice were peculiar ones, and not easily forgot- ten or confounded with others. And as he puz- zled his brain, a sudden light burst upon him. ‘* By the Lord! that’s the solution of the rid- dle!” he muttered barely above his breath. ‘That accounts for the voice and face—and it proves that my game is really here!” On one occasion only had the young sheriff —or lawyer, since that was before the day of his election—met Ralph Keeler face to face and heard him speak, though at the time he was ignorant of the fellow’s real character. He soon afterward learned who had been his fellow-traveler, and recalled both voice and face, photographing them on his memory until he felt confident of recognizing either even after the lapse of years. And he knew now that it was this voice and face that had so per- plexed him in the case of the young school- ma’am; and right there he saw through the mystery. He remembered the sensational, almost in- credible tales which were put in circulation concerning a fair woman who had shared Ralph Keeler’s boldest exploits—one who had dared death at his side, and more than once preserved him from death, or its equivalent, captivity, by recklessly risking her own life. hether wife or sister, no one could say, but from the strong resemblance between their faces and voices, it was thought the latter; most probably they were twins. She vanished at the same time with the notorious outlaw, nor had either of them been heard of, despite the most persis- tent search, until Weston received an anony- mous note offering to deliver Ralph Keeler and his men to justice, on condition that the in- former should receive full pardon for his past crimes. Weston immediately placed this note before the governor and received all necessary papers, with authority to fill out the blank with the name of his informant, pro- ’ more, | became more outspoken than ever. | flirting was a disease, ed as he heard the sigh echoed from ciose to his elbow. “Tis only poor me, senor,” came a low, sweet voice which he instantly recognized, and turning his bead, Weston saw the fair Miranda sitting at the window close beside him. ‘“ You must not think me too bold, too forward; but I could wait no longer to thank you for so gen- erously defending me against his terrible wrath—” “You are speaking of your husband, madam,” coldly interposed Weston, more as an / assertion than a question, but the fair Miranda preferred the latter interpretation. ‘Alas! yes—a husband in name—nothing If you could only know—could only realize how bitterly—” ‘‘T have neither the right nor the inelination to do so,” be again interposed, brusquely, even rudely. Miranda heaved another sigh, but unmistaka- ble as the rebuff was, she would not accept it, but spoke again. At that moment Crooked Cale stepped upon the veranda, and turned toward Weston, but as he caught the sound of his wife’s voice, he wheeled abruptly and descended to the street. The young man’s first er was to arise and hasten after the misanthropic landlord, but a dread of being misunderstood caused him to hesitate. It was plain that Miranda had also noticed the departure of her husband, and had gained courage by that knowledge, for her language Witb her, She had inherited the monomania from het mother, so Tom Pierson assured him, Yet, as he recalled the tragic story of Crooked Cale, and thought of all he had suffered through love of this weak, silly woman, | Weston could no longer restrain his angry con- tempt. ‘You cannot imagine, ever so falutly, the un- utterable horror with which one’s soul is filled when brought into immediate contact with such an uncongenial spirit,” the fair Miranda was gently sighing. ‘‘Oh! dearly have I paid the penalty of yielding to the selfish wishes of my parent—a life in death is mine—but how utterly miserable I never realized until today! Alas! had we met sooner—” ‘Madam, it may save you some breath if you will take a gentle hint,” broke in Weston, wheel- ing in bis chair and fairly facing the landlady. ‘“T always was a fool at carrying on a flirtation, and of late years have positively sworn off, Take my advice and save your amorous ammu- nition for those too young and green to know when they are being saluted with blank car- tridges. As for me—I am a married man, and the ‘father of seventeen children!” Weston turned and left the veranda, before the amazed and insulted Miranda could. recover sufficiently to make reply. It was the first time he had ever been guilty of deliberate rude- ness to one of the weaker sex, but his conscience did not trouble him greatly. Since hearing the gloomy story of Crooked Cale, he could feel only contempt for the silly, frivolous woman, Weston had no settled purpose in view when he left the hotel, but strolled aimlessly through the town, now brilliantly lighted up and far more lively than during the day, as is general- ly the case with all mining towns. Those who had worked hard during the day, were now be- gipning to seek a brief recreation before turn- ir ig in. j Tt was natural enough for Walter Weston to seek out the street corner where his unknown correspondent had promised to meet him on the evening of the day following his arrival in Celestial City, but he did so without the faintest expectation of anything important resulting therefrom, He had scarcely reached the corner when a@ tall but stoop-shouldered man, wearing his hat slouched and his form well wrapped in a dark cloak, glided out of the shadows and paused for a moment beside him, muttering rapidly: ‘‘T was in hopes you would come to-night, I'm afraid it has got wind, or if the truth is not suspected—” ‘* Please keep your distance, ay Was fellow,” said Weston, as he allowed the light to fall up- on the polished butt of hisready revolver, ‘and don’t be too familiar on short acquaintance, have not the honor of knowing your name—” ‘‘Bab!” impatiently cried the stranger. ‘TI vided his pert of the agreement was faithfully | was to meet you_on this corner, to-morrow performe All doubts were gone now. If Ralph Keeler’s sister was here, then the brother could not be faraevar And yet—as he recalled that fair night, and say: ‘My life for that of Ralph Keeler.’ If you agreed to m *“T have ky —and that I will terms—” ers, Only lacking your name ll in the moment you deliver 7
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10 -_— ae goods agreed upon,” quickly uttered Wes- **Tt would be easily done, had you acted with common prudence,” muttered the informer, with am uneasy glance around them. ‘“ You might almost as well have published your pur- pose of taking Ralph Keeler, on every street corner—” _ “What happened was not my fault,” shortly interpesed Weston. “Talking won’t mend it, anyhow,” with an- other pervous glance around; ‘The boys know that you are here, and that will make the job harder than I thought for, but I still believe it can be done—and the sooner the better. Bully Bill was set on to cripple you up, or rub you out if the risk wasnot too great. He failed, but the next time may be better planned.” “So long as they come at me openly, I don’t care much.” “But the next may be a blow in the back— and it may fall this very night, I have noticed nearly a dozen of the boys in town to-night, and | believe they mean mischief. For that reason I looked you up. But I can’t tell you here, You are stopping at the hotel?” “The Spread Eagle, yes.” ‘A private room there will be better than the open street, Remember I am risking my life in this bit of work.” “Just as you say. You can follow me—not too close. Lbkave keen ears, and know how to handle my tools. No offense; only we are not very well acquainted yet, you see,’ “Pm not overly thin skinned. I have been a recious rascal, but I want to turn over a new eaf. My wife and children are on their way overland, and I’d hate mightily for them to find me a fugitive. For their sake I am betraying Ralph Keeler—to earn my pardon.” alter Weston was a ae judge of human nature, and he believed this man was speaking the truth. His voice and manner were not those of a man who was playing a part. And so, without thought of treachery, he turned and led the way toward the Spread Kagle, eager to get at the knowledge held by this man, Suddenly the informer, whose eyes never ceased roving apprehensively around them, drew close to the sheriff and said: ‘I fear we are being followed—we had bet- ter separate.” ‘*’'d rather not lose sight of said Weston, bluntly. ‘I’ve to lose the trail now.” “Then turn the next corner, and try to dodge them!” Weston glanced to the rear. He saw two men approaching them, the ones who had aroused the suspicions of the outlaw. At that moment, before they could advance or retreat, a neisy crowd emerged from the saloon before which they stood, and instantly closed around them, seemingly by accident. Weston, with a sudden exertion of strength nearly pushed his way hrough, when a wild scream of agony rent the air! **My God! J am stabbed!” Instantly the crowd scattered, leaving a man swaying feebly on his feet, both hands pressed upon his left side, where the hot blood gushed in a stream. One moment—then his limbs yielded, and he sunk to the ares in a heap. In that moment Walter Weston Festign teed the poor wretch—none other than his late com- panion, the informer! ‘*Murder! kill the durned ’sassin!” yelled a burly ruffian as he thrust a revolver almost into the sheriff’s face. Doubly surprised though he was, Weston saved his life by his almost superhuman quickness, Ducking his head and knocking the weapon u with his left arm at the same time, the bullet assed harmlessly through the crown of his hat. hen a swift forward leap and blow sent the ruffian headlong to the ground. Three or four pistols exploded, but the rapid movement of the young man frustrated the pur- se of his enemies, and as yet he was un- armed. A second active bound carried him clear of his enemies, but he retreated no fur- ther. His fighting blood was fairly aroused, and with a cocked revolver in each hand, he defiantly faced the yelling, cursing gang. *“Down, you curs!” he cried, his voice ring- ing out like a trumpet note. ‘“‘ The first man to raise a weapon or pull trigger dies!” One man against a dozen—yet that dozen rons my friend,” raveled too far quailed before him, and were held at bay by his threatening pistols. The alarm spread like magic. The wild, agonizing shriek of the death-stricken wretch, the pistol-shots and the loud yells rung through the entire town, and eager miners came flock- Crooked Cale. ing to the spot, anxious to see the “circus.” | And though the roughs still hesitated te attack the defiant man, a raised the cry for blood. “Kill him—lyuch hina—he stabbed a man!” The terrible cry was caught up by others who knew nothing of the real facts, but who were none the less vehement. The excited crowd was closing around Weston—his fate seemed sealed! Still he did not flinch. There was not one drop of coward blood in his veins. He knew that this was a blow from the enemy—that the informer had been right in his suspicions. Ralph Keeler, cunning and adroit as ever, had out- maneuvered him! A tall form suddenly burst threugh the line, and Weston quickly covered it with his pistol, crying: ‘‘Back! I am ready to surrender to the marshal, or any one authorized to arrest me, but no other man shall take me!” ‘‘Not while 1 live!” and Weston recognized Tom Pierson. ‘‘ Back, you cowardly ‘blood- hounds! Who dares to accuse this gentleman of stabbing a man—” **T dare—we allsee’d him do it!” blustered the burly fellow whom Weston had knocked down. ‘*Tt would be murder to hang a dog on your say so, Dan Bodkin—keep your distance, or by the Lord above! down goes your meat house! Back to back, old fellow, and we can whip the whole crowd!” ‘*T never hurt the man, but I am ready to surrender and stand my trial, if there is any officer of justice present. No mob of lynchers can take me alive.” Weston’s voice was calm and clear as though he was not in deadly peril of his life. is leveled revolvers, moving from man to man as they pressed or were crowded nearer, kept the open space inviolate, reinforced as they were by the arms of bold Tom Pierson, The yells for blood and threats of lynching still continued, but they came from those on the outskirts of the crowd, where the danger of an answer was lessened by the human wall between. Just how the dead-lock would have ended, can only be surmised, but for a startling inter- ruption. A loud, commanding voice rung out above the tumult, saying: ? ‘Hold, all! I have captured the assassin! I saw him deal the dastard blow, and his hand is still red with the blood of his victim!” The voice was that of Crooked Cale. CHAPTER VIII. , A CONFESSION CUT SHORT. Tr was indeed the landlord of the Spread Ea- gle, and as the eyes of the crowd were turned eagerly in the direction of his voice, they be- held the well-known deformed figure, pushing a burly captive before him, one hand grasping hi throat with a suffocating gripe. And they saw more. A slender, wiry form darted upon the twain, and there was an ugly glimmer of steel in the red glow of the lamps, but whether the blow was dealt at captor or captive, few of those who witnessed the venomous attack could tell. Swift the weapon fell, but Crooked Cale was on his guard, and the wrist of the would-be assassin fell into his strong right hand, the blood-red fingers closing upon the member like avise, One fierce gripe, a sudden exertion of strength, and a gasp of agony came from the lips of Simon Quirk as the bones of his fore- arm yielded with a splintering sound. With the same motion that disabled him thus, he was drawn forward, then a sturdy kick sent him headlong into the middle of the street, an enemy no longer to be dreaded. The prisoner made a desperate effort to free himself, but in vain. His feet were kicked from under him, and Crooked Cale, one foot pressing heavily upon the fellow’s bearded throat, dis- play: a cocked revolver in each hand. ** Back! don’t crowd me too close!” he cried, and there was a stern menace in his tones. ‘There's a dozen more of the gang here, but not enough to loosen my gripe on this assassin, Back! I know ye, one and all, and the devil shall have rare pickings—” ‘What's the row here?’ demanded a sharp voice, and the swaying crowd gave way before the presence of a pair of br shoulders and brawny limbs, ‘‘Having another circus, Cale Keystone” Simply performing your duty, marshal,” and there was a poorly disguised taunt in the tones of the speaker. ‘‘One man has been mur- dered and an innocent gentleman almost lynched for the crime, by the mates of the as- sassin— Neem, ane rae + eee ee eS Ko] A derisive hoot cut short his words, and a voice from the midst of the crowd shouted: ‘* You're in the same box, Crooked Cale—try- ing to save your bloedy-handed pal by accusing an innocent man of the foul murder!” ** Who’s killed, and whokilled him?’ demand- ed the marshal. ‘Dan Foree was stabbed. I saw the man that struck the blow, and followed him as he ran, while his mates closed around Mr. Weston to fasten the crime on him and aid in the escape of the real culprit. I captured the fellow, and here he lies, red-handed. I charge him with murder, and surrender him to you, as an officer of the law—” ‘** And let the real criminal escape—” ‘‘Tf by that you mean me, you lie in your teeth!” cried Walter Weston, pressing forward, ‘* And who in blazes are you?’ roughly de- manded the marshal. ‘“A man, half white and free born,” indig- nantly began Weston, but Tom Pierson grasped his arm warningly and cut short his angry speech, himself addressing the officer. ‘*T will answer for him, Mr. Morey. He is as innocent as either you or I, for as | came up, 1 saw a man running away, and saw him throw a bloody knife from bim—" “The same fellow I have here!” exclaimed Crooked Cale, removing his foot and lifting his half-suffocated captive erect with apparent) as much ease as though kandling an infant. ‘* Look! one would say the coward had been killing cm i and he held aloft the bleod- ght stained ri hand where all could see the tell- tale aye in the bright light that streamed through the open doors of the saloon. Loud cries—some of surprise, some of wonder some of grim pleasure, and still others ef denial —went up from the crowd as they recognized the prisoner, none other than William Baxter, the self-styled ‘‘ Injun-Eater!” “*Tt’s a p’izen lie—I never done it!” he splut- tered, ‘‘It’s alla dirty ’spiracy to massacree a innercent critter—” ‘“¢'The man’s alive—Dan Force ain’t dead yit!” yelled an excited voice from where the fallen man lay. ‘*Look to it, marshal!” cried Crooked Cale. ‘Keep back the crowd—make them give him air—he may be able to tell the truth, unless this fellow’s pals get ahead of you!” The first mad impulse of the mob had had time to cool, and now the honest portion of the crowd was eager only to learn the real facts of the case. They were none the less dangerous as experience told the evil disposed, and a coo observer might have noticed those who had been the foremost in raising the cry of blood against Walter Weston, gpastally edging their way through the crowd and stealing away through the densest shadows of the night. Marshal Morey pressed his way to where Dan Force lay, and kneeling beside him, raised the dying man’s head. “‘Clear a space and give him air!” he cried sternly. é + ue use—I’m done for!” gasped the informer, aintly. a Sack up, old fellow—who was it cut you?” ‘¢ T—don’t know—he struck—from behind—” “Was it Sheriff Weston?” demanded Tom Pierson. The question seemed to rouse eS Sr and in a much clearer voice y: ** No—he was ahead of me, while they struck me from behind. He couldn’t have reached me if he had tried. I don’t know whose hand cut me, but I know why it was done. Ralph Keeler ave the order—because I meant tosell— God! i ee 1” ‘“‘Water—whisky here—quick!” cried the “He must say more—spit it out, old the dying e made re- marshal. fellow!” But it was too late! n that was cut short bya A gasping, gurgling ow of blood- - then he fell back, and Dan Force was dead! One moment of breathless silence, then the fury of the mob burst forth anew, but now rightly directed so far as justice was concerned. One united rush, and almost ere he could realize the truth, Crooked Cale was thrust aside and his captive was held in the midst of two score frowning men, whose ready revolvers threatened all who dared to interfere. There were not many who would have done so, even had there been no danger. The mar- shal, Crooked Cale, Pierson and Weston—hardly another. Blood for blood was the unwritten law. The four men interchanged age but could draw no hope from what they saw in each other’s eyes. If they could gain possession of the criminal, they could close around him and
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thus fight their way through, possibly without firing a shot. But in losing that advantage they lost all. Thrice their number could not have pierced that frowning circle—to make the attempt would be suicidal. ‘“Come, boys,” said Crooked Cale, though with little hope of succeeding, ‘‘hanging is too e908 for the wretch, I admit, but don’t let's | escend to his own level. We have law here, as the past has proven, trial—” “As much as he gave Dan Force—no more!” ‘Gentlemen, let me say a few words,” uttered Weston, earnestly. you were ready to lynch me for this murder. am innocent, as the dead man declared, I He could not say who dealt the fatal blow—then | hew can any of you, who were mistaken in my case?’ ** Crooked Cale swore he saw the blow dealt— will he acknowledge he told a lie when he said so?” demanded the miner. ‘‘No—I swore to the truth,” slowly replied the deformed. ‘‘I saw Baxter cut Force, and so captured him, to save the innocent, 1 will swear the same before the court, and my oath will be sufficient to condemn him, Then why make yourselves murderers, when his crime is sure of punishment?” ‘“Why wait a week, a month, or a year, when five minutes is long enough to settle the matter?” ‘Let me tell you why,” cried Weston, with increasing earnestness. ‘‘ Because, by a brief delay, we can strike the head that planned what this wretch was only the hand to execute. You heard the partial confession he made, Let me finish it, so far as I can. ‘“* Many, if not all of you have heard of Ralph Keeler, one of the blackest-hearted and most desperate criminals that ever cursed this fair land. His worst crimes were committed in Placer county. We hunted him close, and fi- nally exterminated his gang of cutthroats, but he escaped and baffled all our searching. We were ignorant whether he lived still or was dead until I, as sheriff of Placer, received an anonymous note from here, offering to deliver Ralph Keeler into my hands, on conditions which need not be more particularly meutioned, as the man whom they were to benefit is now dead—the one you called Dan Force. “He told me he feared he was suspected and watched, and we were seeking a private place where we could talk without danger of bein overheard, when that gang set upon us ‘aia killed him. But for that crime, I would now be in possession of the knowledge necessary to capture Ralph Keeler—the chiet of the road- agents who have plied their nefarious trade in your midst for the past year. ‘‘Now we have strong moral proof that this fellow, Baxter, is a member of that gang, or at least knows something concerning them. If you murder him, you cut off the Sast hope of capturing Ralph Keeler. Deliver him to the marshal, let him be jailed and brought to trial. To save his own life, he will confess all—” ‘*We'll make him confess—nothing like a stout rope for that,” impatiently interrupted the spokesman of the mob. ‘‘ Enough talk, boys! Guard your prisoner, and shoot down any and all who attempt a rescue. On to the Death Tree!” : A wild cheer greeted this speech, and with ranks drawn closely around the wretched pris- oner, the mob moved slowly down the street toward the lower end of the valley where stood a huge, wide boughed tree whose limbs had more than once borne human fruit. A dangerous light filled Weston’s eyes, but before he could do aught, Tom Pierson grasp- ed him from behind and held his arms pinned helplessly to his sides. “Don’t be a fool, Walt,” the young miner cried, bluntly. ‘‘ You can’t save the fellow—” “T can get rubbed out in trying—loose your hold, Tom!” *“You may have the right to cut your own throat, but not mine—and I swear to follow your lead, Go, if you will,” said Pierson, relaxing his grasp. But the suicidal moment was past. Weston knew that his honest friend would do as he said, and he knew, too, that death would fol- Jow any attempt to rescue the prisoner. ‘‘The cursed fools!” he muttered angrily. “‘Qne would think they were in league with Ralph Keeler!” “Some of them are,” quietly observed Crooked Cale. ‘‘Only for that, Bully Bill would soon tell all he knows. As it is, I doubt very much whether he will be allewed to con- fess.” : Give the fellow a fair | | inent part in a forlorn hope like the present. ‘Only a few moments ago, | Crooked Cale. Weston drew a faint hope from these words, and started after the lynchers, resolved to shoot down whoever attempted to check a con- fession if this was offered. The three men bore him company, at least two of them firmly resolved to back him up in what- ever he attempted. As for Morey, though a fair marshal and a tolerably brave man where there was anything to be gained by fighting against odds, Gs was not one to take a prom- The tree of ominous name was soon reached, | and scant time wasted in preliminaries. A long, stout and pliable rope was produced, and thrown over a horizontal bough from which | dangled the frayed remnants of several similar | cords, telling a significant tele of criminal pas- sions and wild retribution. Trembling in every fiber, helpless from fear, the Injun-Eater was supported by two of his guards, while another one fitted the noose snugly around his throat, ‘Ready, boys, and walk away with the rope when 1 give the word!” cried the leader of the mob; then addressing the terror-palsied wretch: “Your time is short, Bill, If you have any confession to make, spit it out, or up you go!” The Injun-Eater glared sronad Thies: his bloodshot eyes almost starting from their sock- ets. Crooked Cale believed he read that trem- bling glance aright and called aloud: ‘* Never fear your pals, Baxter. Makea full confession and we will guard you against them. Tell all you know about Ralph Keeler and his gang of cut-throats—speak out!” ‘Take off the ae then— it chokes me!” gasped the miserable wretch, all his foolish bravado gone now that he stood face to face with a shameful death. ‘*Throw off that noose, Dick Piner,” cried Crooked Cale, his revolver clicking signifi- cantly as he raised the hammer, Off with the rope and give the poor devil a chance to save his life by making full confession — hesitate and we'll in to think you are interested in having him die with a still tongue!” The burly leader of the lynchers had visibly hesitated to remove the noose, but he dared do so no longer after this significant speech, In the present temper of the mob, to be suspected would be almost equivalent to condemnation. ‘Guard him close, boys!” he growled, cast- ing off the rope. ‘‘He may try a break—if he does, riddle him!” The Injun-Eater gasped for breath, but that look of haunting dread was still in his eyes, des- pite the assurance of Crooked Cale. His tongue seemed paralyzed with fear. “Speak up, man!” cried Crooked Cale, im- patiently. The Injun-Eater’s lips parted, but not to speak. A horrible, gurgling cry welled up in his throat, and then he sunk a dead weight upon the arms of his guards. For a moment all stood aghast. eed had heard a peculiar hissing sound, followed by a thud—they saw the rie haft of a knife protruding from the hairy throat of the pris- oner, but until he fell forward a corpse, they could not realize the truth. Then came the sharp clatter of a horse’s hoofs, we rem by a mocking laugh and taunting words, CHAPTER IX. RECKLESS RALPH AND HIS BLOODHOUNDS. ‘RECKLESS Rapa puts his seal on Bully Bill’s confession!” cried the mocking voice from out the shadows beyond the Dead Tree. ‘‘ Fol- low me, those who dare, and I'll show them some more of my hand-writing in blood!” For an instant all was confusion. The death- blow had been delivered so suddenly, so surely, that its very audacity served to partially para- lyze the lynchers, The clatter of hoofs, the mocking laugh and defiant words told them from whence the unexpected blow had come, but they stared in that direction without a thought of pursuit until the words of Crooked Cale roused them to action. Quick as thought he sent a brace of bullets in the direction of the voice, then cried aloud as he plunged through the yzed crowd: ‘Its Ralph Keeler! Chase and capture— there’s ten thousand dollars offered for him, dead or alive!” : Weston, Pierson and the marshal joined with him in forcing a passage, each one sending a shot or two through the gleom in hopes of bring- ing down the audacious outlaw, or else crip- ling his horse. But they were guided only by e deceptive sound of hoofstrokes and the wild laugh of Reckless Ralph, and but burned their powder in vain. — 28 ee eee ee ee a ee ee ee SS ee eee ee | Weston and Pierson were, the 11 Thus boldly led, and perhaps fired by the hope of fingering all or a portion of that rich blood-money, the majority of the miners poured in headlong haste after Crooked Cale and his comrades. ‘Put in your best licks!” grated Crooked Cale, as he dashed on through the night ata rate of speed wonderful in one so terribly de- formed. ‘‘He can’t leave the valley on horse- back save by way of the Devil’s Stairway—we may be able to head him off yet!” No answer was made, Breath was too pre- cious to be needlessly spent, and active as both had to strain every muscle to the utmost to keep from being distanced by the deformed. As for the mar- shal, he was panting in the rear, every moment droppirg further behind, The foot of the steep ascent was reached, but not soon enough to intercept the outlaw. Mock- ingly his laugh floated down to them, and through the clear moonlight they could see him riding up the Devil’s Stairway, turning around in his saddle and waving them a defiant adieu with his hand. In swift succession their revolvers exploded, but still the outlaw rode on, laughing recklessly as the ragged lead whistled around him, appar- ently disdaining to quicken his flight—then the black shadows once more swallowed him up as the Stairway made an abrupt curve around the hillside. ‘““The devil guards his own!” pettish] Pierson. ‘‘He must have sold his so charmed life—” ** Moonlight shooting is deceptive, particular- ly after such Ay eae Leann burst of speed,” replied Crooked Cale. ‘But we may outwit him yet. Will you back me?” ‘*'To the death!” cried Weston, breasting the steep ascent. He was not suffered to keep the lead long. Actively as an ape, Crooked Cale bounded past him, and on they pressed witb unabated speed until they reached the line of shadow into which the daring outlaw had vanished, A shrill whistle rung out Ne the still night air, and as they involuntarily paused in sur- See asingle jet of flame shot out of the gloom ahead, Weston instinctively leaped aside as he felt a. burning pain on the side of his throat, but a choking cry issued from Tom Pierson’s lips as. he staggered and would have fallen to the ound but for the prompt support lent him by Crooked Cale. “T meant that for you, Walt Weston!” shouted the concealed marksman. “ Better luck next time!” and once more the clatter of iron-shed hoofs rung through the rocky hills!” No longer thinking of pursuit, with thoughts only for his bosom friend, Weston knelt beside: the body which Crooked Cale gently lowered to the ground. Blood was flowing over the pale face from a wound in the temple where the. bullet, after grazing Weston’s throat, had struck, and apparently pierced the young min- er’s brain. To the tear-dimmed eyes of the - sheriff, his loved comrade was already dead, but Crooked Cale, cool as aniceberg, but tender as @ woman, examined the wound and con- fidently made the assertion: “A close call, but the lad will be little the worse for it in the morning—an aching head, perhaps; no more.” Weston’s heart beat more freely, but he could not yet accept the fiat, positively as it was de- livered, By this time the foremost of the lynchers came panting up, and Crooked Cale called for volunteers to press the pursuit. A few re- sponded, but the majority seemed to think it useless, and Weston found plenty of hands to. assist in forming a rude litter and carrying poor Tom back to Celestial City. # Reckless Ralph, as Keeler had termed himself, after witnessing the miscarriage of his last shot, which he had hoped would forever rid him o his most dangerous enemy, clagped spurs to his willing horse and resumed his flight in earnest, He expected persistent pursuit, and resolved not to lose a single chance, he rode long and hard, keeping to the main trail for several miles, but finally veering abruptly to the lett, winding through a rocky defile where the flint soil would not retain the imprints of his horse’s. hoofs, should his enemies attempt to follow his trail by Gaytign® After this he proceeded more leisurely, yet. with the air of one who had his destination in view, only drawing rein when at a secluded spot not more than three miles from Celestial. ity, but considerably removed from the main or stage road, ‘ cried for a
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——+— He put a small metal whistle to his lips and blew a peculiarly modulated, quavering cail, then bent his head in acute attention. Like an echo cast back by the frowning rocks there came the counterpart of his signal, and he raised his head with an air of mingled relief and satisfaction. Once more he sounded his whistle—two short, sharp blasts, and as an answer came promptly, he urged his horse forward directly toward a jhigh, nearly perpendicular cliff, whose face was densely clothed with shrubs and vines, / Dismounting, he pushed aside a mass of foliage, and his horse, without any hesitation moved forward, its iron-sbod hoofs ringing upon the rock floor with a hollow sound that be- trayed the presence of a cavern. Ralph Keeler followed and let the leafy screen fall behind him. All was intense darkness, but he spoke: ‘*How many of the boys are here?’ “A dozen, captain,” came the answer from beside him. “But the others may come in, after a bit, if there’s work on hand.” “Nothing so very urgent. You remain here and don’t answer any call from without, until ou are sureitis genuine, The hills are full of uman bloodhounds, and they may try to play some trick. Two traitors in one night! There may be others who have caught the same dis- ease.” *“'No one shall pass me alive until I know he is one of the family, captain,” was the quiet but resolute response. ‘Tf all were like you, Borden! And yet I would have risked my life on the good faith of Dan Force! Bah! every man has his price, and true as we now think ourselves, Borden, you may betray me, or I you, before the end comes,” and with a bitter, cynical Jaugh, Keeler turned away. He strode through the intense gloom for a few yards, then ee and cried aloud: “ Strike a light some of you: Wemust trans- act our business and get back to our everyday life before daylight.” A match was struck and a rude lamp ignited. Ite feeble rays scarcely dispelled the gloom, and prevented a close inspection of the cavern, but amply served the purpose for which it was in- tended. Its red, smoky beams fell upon a dozen rough forms, the majority of whom had figured prominently in the wild scenes of that night in Celestial City. Among them was the burly ruffian who first charged Walter Weston with murdering Dan Force. Beside him stood Dick Piner, leader of the mob. who had been so resolved on hanging the Injun-Eater, and so opposed to giving him a chance to confess—as well he might be, judg- ing from his presence here! ‘Thanks for your responding so promptly to mis casi. boys,” began Ralph Keeler, after mak- ing a nove of those present. ‘It proves you faithtut, at least. So may the others be, but their tailure to meet here is a point against them. ach one of you will keep an eye on them, aua if you see any signs of their commu- ‘nieating with Crooked Cale, the marshal, or that Weston, cut it short, even thongh you are obliged tc use powder and steel! Unfortunately each member ot the band holds the lives of his mates in the hollow of his hurd, and a singie traitor. { «towed full swing, can bring ns every ene to the Hangman’s noose!” There was no reply to this unpteasantiv pointed speeci., but that it struck home, was plain from the sulieo and suspimous glances which were cast around the circie Oy each man. Reckless Ralph smiled grimaty. for oe knew that ee seed he had sewn had <ailen on truittal ound. “Now to business. It we think to keep our tamily together, and contiuue iu business here, there are two m2 who mast ve put out of the way withou! deixy. You can guess who one of them is, after this night’s work; Walter Weston, saeriff of Placer. ‘He came here with the express purpose of capturing me and exterminating my band— meaning you. If left alone, he will be as good as his oath, for candidly, he is a foe to be dreaded; a man utterly without personal fear, cool and keen-witted, besides being gifted with that peculiar magnetism that enables him to collect a force of devoted followers where any other man would fail.” “ Crooked Cale is just as hard a nut to crack,” muttered burly Dick Piner. ‘Of the two, Pd rather tackle the sheriff.” ‘Tl look after Caliban, for the sake of his widow, the fair Miranda,” laughed Keeler, showing his white teeth. ‘I fancy she and I will ma amore appropriate couple than the Jagle. But let that go. ‘“Piner, you, Gomez and Fool Zimmerman will attend to the sheriff. Put your heads to- gether aod form your own plans, but bear this in mind: there is no time to be lost. If possi- ble, tako Weston prisoner and bring him here, alive. If you find that cannot be done, then kill him. One or the other must be done no later than to-morrow night. If you sucveed in bringing him here, alive, I will give you a hundred dollars apiece, out of my own pocket by way of reward.” Until now, the three men named for this delicate and dangerous piece of work, had looked anything but overjoyed; but their faces lightened at the mention of the liberal reward, and Ralph Keeler knew they would earn it if mortal men could. ‘¢ There is no:hing more to be settled now, I believe. Be on hand early to-morrow night, and if the boys succeed in capturing Weston, T’li show you some glorious fxn, Better scatter when you leave this, and then if you meet any- body, why, you have been hunting for Ralph Keeler—ha! ba!” Reckless Ralph was one of the first to leave the cavern, not taking his horse, and then the outlaws, one by one stole away through the hills, scattering widely before turning their faces toward Celestial City. Ralph Keeler, though pressing straight on- ward, observed a certain degree of caution, holding himself in readiness for either flight or fight should he come upon any of his pursuers, put fortune favored him in this respect, for not a single human being did he hear or see by the way. He reached the high hills above the little cabin where dwelt thé falr schoolma’am, and descending to the shelf on which { was built, by meats Of a winding trail, increasing his cau- tion the nearer he came to his goal. He closely scrutinized every covert where an enemy or spy could possibly be lying in wait, only advancing when he felt sure that the coast was clear. At length he lay low beneath a clump of bushes not far from the house, and took a final survey of the surroundings. Apparently he was satisfied at length that no suspicious enemy was near, for be uttered a low, quavering whis- tle. Almost immediately there came an answer from the cabin, and the hunted outlaw drew a long breath of relief. “Ye gods!” he muttered, showing his white teeth. ‘‘ If those dull-witted fools down yonder could know the truth—could even guess that I harbor so near them—they’d swell up and burst with mortification!” He glided forward and rapped lightly at the door. It swung noiselessly ajar, and a voice— the voice of a woman, soft and low—greeted him eagerly as he slipped through the opening. Then the door closed, and once more the cabin seemed deserted. CHAPTER * FACE TO FACE WtvH DEATH. SHORTLY after supper oe the evening follow- ing the one which witnessed the death of the “Toyn-Kater,” Walter Weston sat smoking his amex on the broad veranda of the Spread Eagle. He bad vot been idle during the interval. nor was ne exactly idle now, for his bram was busy layiuyg Glaus tor the esanture of the daring out- law whom be nad come so far to arrest. He and a. volunteer posse had scoured the hills and passes nearly all dav in search of the outlaw’s rendezvous, but without success. More than once they passed within sight of che cunningly chosen retreat, but always unsuspecting the truth—that there were those among thei: ranks who could, if they chose, tell them all they most wanted to know. er C—O Weston bad just come down from Tom Pier- , son’s room, leaving his friend to go to sleep. His wound was not really dangerous, Ralph Keeler’s bullet having been deflected by striking the bone, but he had a raging headache, and the doctor insisted on perfect quiet. Weston was feeling a little sad, just now, for in his half-delirium, Pierson had made full ad- mission of his love for Miss Mary Truhart, and told all that passed between them the evening before. ‘It accounts for it all, then!” he reflected. ‘t She is his sister, and no doubt is in constant communication with the rascal. She pumped Tom, and then told him— Ha! it may be that he was even then concealed about the house!” It wasa truly startling thought, and explained much that bad puzzled the sheriff most sorely. It would also explain the almost nun-like se- clusion of the fair young schoolma’am, and her persistent refusal to receive visitors. ‘“ Poor Tom! she.is playing with him likea cat with a mouse. Some day he will feel her claws, but not if I can help it—” Almost unconsciously Weston muttered these words abcve his breath, ceasing abruptly as he noticed a dark form rapidly yet stealthily stealing toward him, keeping in the shadow as much as possible, as though fearful of attract- ing observation. His band scught the butt of a pistol, and be gatbered himself up in readiness for either offense or defense, when the creeping form paused, uplifting its head so that the clear mooniight fel! fu 1 upon its features, Not a very prepossessing looking countenance, for the hairless faco was wrinkled and puck- ered into countless wrinkles, reminding one of a badly frost-bitten crab-apple. The goggle-eyes were light and fishy looking, lend- ing an idiotic expression to the whole counte- nance, that was emphasized by the name its owner wore, Fool Zimmerman. Weston had noticed the fellow ahout the hotel stables, and Crooked Cale had spoken ef him as a cunning rascal, more knave than fool, despite the name to which alone he would answer. He was given his living in exchange for acting as boy of all work around the stables. Veston smiled as he recognized Fool Zimmer- man and released bis weapon, but he was nota little surprised when he saw the idiot press one finger upon his lips, with aswift, stealthy glance around, then beckoned bim cown. He knew that Crooked Cale was absent, and half expect- ing the landlord bad sent Fool Zimmerman to him with a message, Weston left the veranda. ‘“What do you want?” he demanded, as the idiot tugged at his sleeve in silence, while nod- ding his head violently in the direction from whence he had come. ‘* He sent me—said you must ¢ome—not let anybody know,” buskily muttered Fool Zim- merman, glancing apprelensively arcund him, ‘Who sent you, and what for?” again de- manded Weston, bis suspicions being awakened by the strange actions of the fellow. “The boss—Crooked Cale—don’t tell him I called him that! He’d smash me! I didn’t mean to do it—” “Tell me just what Crooked Cale told you, or Pll mark you worse than he can,” sharply uttered Weston, tightening his gripe upon the idiot’s arm, believing fear would make him speak quicker than milder measures; and he was right. ‘‘He said go find Mr. Weston an’ fetch him bere quick as you kin—don’t stop fer nothin’, but mind nobody else don’t hear what you say. Tell him I’ve ketched the head sarpint, an’ want him to ’dentify the critter to make sure.” Weston felt a thrill of wild exultation, such as only the bunters of men when successful can realize, but his experience of the past night rendered him more than usually prudent. This message might be genuine, or it might all bea cunning ruse to put him out of the way. ‘Where is Crooked Cale? Who has he cap- tured ?” “ He’s out yender a bit, watching his pris’ner, Don’t know fer sure who it is, but he ketched him up nigh the schoolmom’s cabin—an’ I helped him, I did!” Weston was satisfied. He himself had come wo believe that Ralph Keeler would be likely to seek another interview with his sister—if sister Mary Truhart was—at all risks, and bad almost resolved to watch the cabin that night, He could understand why Creoked Cale sent for him in such a manner,and why he urged all secrecy ov his messenger. It was barely possi- ble that he had captured the wrong man, Weston could surely identify him. And then, unless he was placed in the strong jail end well guarded before the news of his capture spread, there would be double danger: that his friends would attempt his rescue, and the lynchers try to hang him. “Lead the way to where you left him,” said Weston, adding in a significant tone: ‘ Mind yOu. don’t try to fool me, if you vaJue a whole skull!” Fool Zimmerman grinned, then shambled on ahead, choosing the deepest shadow, closely fol- lowed by the sheriff who, more from habit than from any actual suspicion of treachery, kept one hand on his revolver, while his keen glances roved swiftly around him. The town was cleared without any interrup- tion, and the base of the hill midway up which nestled the school-ma’am’s cabin was neared. Fool Zimmerman turned his head as he pointed forward, and muttered:
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“Thar’s the boss—you won’t say I called him Crooked Cale?” Weston’s eyes were good, but he failed to per- ceive the person indicated, and was on the point of saying so, when the noose of a lasso settled over his head and he was hurled with stunning force upon his back. Active as a cat, Fool Zimmerman leaped upon him, kneeling on his arms and fastening bis bony fingers around the sheriff’s throat, effect ually cutting off all outery. He was almost immodiately joined by Gomeg and Dick Piner, who speedily gagged the betrayed man, then bound his arms behind his back and removed his weapons. *“Money easy earned!” chuckled the burly rasCat, “Thanks to me!” snapped Fool Zimmerman, “Bui we haven’t finished our work yet. Crooked Cale and alot of other sapheads are abroad, and if they stumble across us, we may go to where gold wouldn’t keep Jong!” It was a timely observation, and raising Wes- ton to his feet, the two ruffians supported him between them, like a drunken man, and sent fool Zimmerman on ahead to give them warning of any ugly obstaces in the road. In this manner they left the valley by way of the Devil’s Staircese, without meeting a soul, luckily for themselves. Once at the hill-top, they struck off into a side trail, and for the first time began to breathe freely. “Not much chance of a slip-up now!” ex- claimed Piner, in an exultant tone. ‘‘ Wonder what Reckless Ralph means to do with the coon, anyhow?’ ‘** Roast him, I hope!” chuckled Gomez, smack- ang bs lips. ntil now, Weston had made little or no re- sistance. The fall had partially stunned him, and left his senses confused. But now, as his worst suspicions were confirmed—when he knew that he was being taken to Ralph Keeler, there to suffer death beyond a doubt—he relaxed his muscles and fell a heavy, lifeless weight tpon the hands of his conductors. At first the ruffians were filled with surprise and even consternation, for their captive seemed suddenly stricken dead, but as they turned his face so the moonlight fell upon it, they read the truth in the dauntless eyes. If he must die, at least: he would not walk to bis grave. Dick Piner laughed good-humoredly where Gomez cursed. “ He’s game, Itdon’t matter much. We’re almost to the horses, and Fool Zimmerman can bring them up.” An order to that effect was given, and shortly the decoy returned, leading four stout animals, ready for the road. Weston was lifted into one saddle and secure- ly bound there, to guard against his falling or throwing himself off, then the party rode rapid- ly toward the rendezvous, The prisoner, though he knew there, was seareely a chance of his escaping with life from the snare into which he had so blindly blun- dered, carefully noted their course by stars and landmarks. This did not escape the attention of his guards, but they made no effort to hinder him. “Take it all in if you like,” chuckled Piner, maliciously. ‘Itll never do you any vocd, though, where you are going. Reckless Ralpb will soon blot you out.” After a few minutes of brisk riding, the ren- dezvous was reached, the regular signals made and answered, then Walter Weston found him- self face to face with the notorious outlaw. By the red light of the lamp, he saw that Reckless Ralph had changed little in outward semblance since his flight from the lower dig- ings, and he noticed, too, the close resemblance etween him and the schoolma’am. It was plain that Reckless Ralph had been drinking, both from his flushed countenance and the huskiness of his voice when he addressed the prisoner. ‘So, dear Mr. Weston, we meet at last, face to face—but under somewhat different circum. stanees from those you pictured when you took a solemn oath to hunt me down and hang me like a sheep-killing cur! You are the captive— you shall die as you swore I should—the death of a dog!” Weston was unable to. reply in words, but a scornful, defiant light filled his blue eyes—a look of utter contempt that stung the outlaw to the quick.. With an angry curse, he leaped upward and dealt the bound man a vicious blow in the face. The outlaws laughed bcisterously. There was no feeling of mercy or pity in their hearts for the sheriff. He had set out to hunt them Crooked Cale. down, and had failed. It was right that he should abide the consequences, While he lived, there was no safety for them. But Ralph Keeler quickly regained his self- command, ‘“'You hope to make me kill you, and thus break my vow,” he said, with a short, hard laugh. ‘‘I have said that you shall hang, and I mean to keep my word. To horse, boys!” There was some surprise expressed at this un- expected order, though no words were uttered, | Keeler saw this, and said: ‘We must not call attention to this spot. We'll take him down to the main road, and hang him there. there will be no signs pointing this way.” *“Crooked Cale and his gang are abroad,” ventured Piner. ‘‘ What if they should chance along too soon—” “Then we’ll make the fair Miranda a widow, by getting rid of a dangerous enemy—but no words! I command here, and while ’'m your chief, ’'ll not have my orders questioned.” and rode out of the cavern. When His bod ill k | is body will be found, but | Just as the slackened rope allowed him to fall to Ralph was in his present mood, the most daring ' among them feared to cross him. Still Ralph Keeler did not wholly neglect caution. Two scouts were sent forward to make sure that the coast was clear, while he himself rode beside the prisoner, revolver drawn and held in readiness to blow his brains out in case there seemed a chance of his being rescued. The stage road was reached witbout an alarm being given by the scouts, and the out- laws finally drew rein beneath a huge tree whose boughs extended over the trail. ‘The first stage that passes by will pick you up and give youa free passage to the nearest boneyard, deur friend,” said Reckless RaJph with a malicious laugh, as the prisoner was lifted from the saddle and stood upon the ground. ‘“ Rig the rope, Piner—lively now!” As he spoke, be cut the thongs that held the gag between Weston’s jaws, but left his arms bound as before, ‘* You see I am not so awful bard-hearted.” added Keeler. speech or confession to meke, you have that privilege. More—if you wish to send any mes- sage to your friends, or to your sweetheart, I | pledge you my honor to deliver your words faithfully—” “Honor and faith from such lips, sounds good!” sneered the undaunted sheriff. ‘‘ Do vour work—hang me! I am not fit to live, after having been outwitted by euch a coward—” Stung more by the contemptuous tone than the words, Keeler struck his prisoner a sharp blow full in the mouth. a dangerous fire sprurg up in bis eyes, and in a low, measured tone he added: ‘* Loosen my hands—or even one of them— and armed as you are, unarmed as lam, 1 will repay that dastard blow!” ‘Bah!” and Keeler laughed maliciously. ‘* You are safe in saying so, for you remember the oath I have sworn, to hang you. Only for that—” “Only for that, you would invent some other excuse to cover your cowardice. Since my hands are helpless, this for your blow!” : As he spoke, Weston spat full in the outlaw’s ace, Reckless Ralph turned pale as a ghost, and whipped forth a knife, but as the bound man did not flinch, even thrusting forward his broad | breast as if inviting the stroke, the outlaw’s hand fell. ; “Quick with that rope! I am anxious to see the dog kick!” Two lariats had been knotted together and then cne end flung over a stout limb. A noose was formed, and Weston was led up to the spot where the rope hung. ‘ Reckless Ralph himself adjusted the noose, with no gentle hand, then stepped aside the bet- ter to enjoy the spectacle, his face convulsed with rage and hatred, seeming that of a veri- | table demon. , ‘‘ Now! haul away!” he cried hoarsely. In obedience. the outlaws exerted their strength, and Walter Weston was drawn from the ground into the air. CHAPTER XI. CROOKED CALE TO THE RESCUR. Tur devilish laugh which bro e from the oo of Reckless Ralph as he beheld bis hated enemy slowly drawn up into the air, was cut short by the rattle “If ycu have any last, dying | Weston never flinched, but | of fire-arms and whistling of bullets, each one of | which seemed to have its billet. And aceompany- ing the volley rung out a well-known voice: “ Charge and surround ’em! Don’t let one escape! Shoot, cut, slash—no mercy for the cowhrdly hell- hounds!” At the first report, Ralph Keeler leaped to his horse's side and thus covered his precious person, He saw burly Dick Piner, chief amcug bis execu- tioners, drop the aa and clutch spasmodically at his breast instead, then fall heavily to the ground, followed by two more men as the death-shots rung out. Bewildered by this sudden attack, and terror- stricken by the death of their fellows, the remain- der of those who had hold of the rope, released it and plunged headlong for their horses, seeking safety in precipitate flight. Reckless Ralph was scarcely less demoralized, but he was resolved not to be wholly thwarted in his vengeance, and fired a shot at Walter Weston the ground, then leaped upon his horse. He heard a vengeful yell, and caught a glimpse of Crooked Cale rushing toward him—saw the red flash of a re- volver exploding and felt the sting of its bullet creasing his side—then waited for no more, but dashed bri rowel-deep into the flanks of his hors and sped down the road after his fleeing men, dis- charging one more shot at the prostrate form of ; - | the sheriffas he passed. In silence the outlaws prepared their borses | c Reckless | Crooked Cale paused long enough to send a brace of bullets after the fugitive, but Reckless Raiph sped on, apparently untouched by the hurtling lead, A grating curse broke from the deformed, and his one eye flashed venomously as he watched the | hated outlaw vanish around a bend in the road, but he did not attempt to follow, hastening to where Weston lay, instead. * Too late to save him, I'm afraid!’ he muttered, bending over the prostrate form and quickly remov- ing the suffocating noose. ‘‘ What the rope left undone, that cowardly devil finished with his bul- lets—” “Not exactly, friend,’’ and Weston struggled to arise. “A little uncertain about the throat, but with a whole skin!” “Thank Heaven!’ earnestly cried the deformed, cutting the thongs that confined his friend’s arms, and assisting him to bis feet. “I was afraid you were done for—” “Your men—where are they? In pursuit—” “You see the whole army—rank and file!" laugh- ed Creoked Cale, as the sheriff glanced around with a bewildered air, ‘‘Here—arm yourse.?. We may have to fight for it yet.” As he spoke, Crocked Cale removed a belt of wea- po: s frcm the dead body of Dick Piner, anc Weston accepted it mechanically. He could not yet realize that one man had effected his release from nearly a score, sirgl -banced, “Come!’’ ard Crooked Cale touched his sheulder, impatiently, “we had be ter take to cover, If these cowardly rescals stop for breath long cncough to discover they are nct pursued, they mey ) luck u couras e enough to return to solve the mystery, an that wouldn't be healthy for us.” “ He isn’t here!’ and Weston turned from the dead bodics in disappointment, to follow his bold rescuer, Who quickly reached the snug cover from whence he had made his attack. “No, though I could have sent a bullet through his heart as easily as I did that of Dick Pincr—” “Tf you only had!’ muttered Weston. * ¥cu shouldn't ecmplain,” retorted the deformed, “Dick Piner was just about to make his end of the rope fast; that dore, I couldn’t have rc uted the rascals in time to save your life. So I cpened on the rope-pullers. Reckless Ralph hears ny mark, however, J saw him flinch as | fired, though I guess it was only ascretch, Hist!” The alarm was a false one, No other sound fol- lowed, and once more the two men settled down to quiet watching, in hopes that Reckless Ralph would venture back to make sure that his relentless enemy was indeed dead, - In low, guarded.tones, Weston told his story, Crooked Cale listening intently. “They must have been sure of their suecess, else they would never have allowed you to see so much, You can find that retreat?” ' “Yes; and more—I marked every face in the rang sol can swear to them if we don’t meet fora dozen years.”’ “Good! Celestial City will be all the better for this adventure of yours. (hen. Our gain will be some other town's misfortune, though, for the rascals will hardly risk their necks by returning after thix”’ “We may catch some—perhaps Keeler himself— by watching the cave,” suddenly exclaimed Wes- ton, arising. ‘Blind fool that I didn’t think of that before)” “It’s barely roe but I hardly think it,"’ quiet- ly said Crooked Cale. ‘ Unless they knew you were dead they weuld hardly dare venture tlere, as it would naturally be the first place raided. Still, it can do no harm to try.” Thanks to Weston’s cool wits, in so carefully marking the course followed by the outlaws when they held him captive, the two adventurers found little difficulty in reaching the hidde.. retreat, in- creasing their caution as they drew near, and finally sinking Cown under cover that commanded the en- trance to the cavern. Time passed on slowly enough, but they were Maying for a beavy stake, aud the necessary pa WanGe did not failthem, Thus hovr after) ovr rolled on without any one attempting either to leave or approach the cave. Crooked Cale suddenly breke the silence, *Do you know, 1 begin to believe we have been playing the fool, most decidedly?” Weston only rrowled inarticulately. If ever a man had good cause for ill-humor, he had. He had
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| 4 14 — = suffered insult and abuse, been beaten and hung, | and after all his enemy had eluded his grasp. | vn to sour the temper of an angel! | ** We lost valuable time waiting for them to return te the tree where they almost hung you, and still | more lurking here. The first was my fault, the last } yours—so we are even on that score.’ “It’s easy enough to repeat what we have done— | not 90 easy to say what we should do,” growled the sheriff. “It may be too late now, but there’s only one chance left that I see,’ added Crooked Cale, arising. “That is to pay Miss Mary Truhart a visit of in- | quiry !”’ Weston leaped to his feet with something that sounded very much like an oath. Strange that he had not thought of this before, knowing or suspect- ing what he did. But everything seemed to go wrong with him that night, and all thoughts to come just too late to be of any service. | “Lead the way in a hurry! I could find it, but you must know the ground better than I do. A | single minute lost now may make all the difference between success and utter failure!” “Then you have hit the same trail—”’ “T know that Ralph Keeler had a twin sister, the | perfect image of himself, and I know that his face is | a counterpart of your schoolma’am’s. But there’s | no time to talk now. Travel, or we may be fooled | m Orooked Gale said no more, but led the way ata | pace that severely tested the powers of the athletic | sheriff, neither pausing for breath or rest until the hill- erest above the schoolma’am’s cabin was reached. “There's our goal: what course do you advise?” “Tf our game is inside, he can’t leave without our ne rag. If he is not there, he may yet come, | Wouldn’t it be best to ambush where we can com- | mand the door, and then wait until daylight, unless | he comes before?” | Crooked Cale nodded og ohiipe 26 * Exactly what I would have advised. If he is not there, or don’t come, he has fled for good. Wehave all to gain and nothing to lose. ollow me, and show your skill as a scout,” Weston obeyed, and the two men gradually ap- proached the lone cabin, taking advantage of every shadow and cover, finally settling themselves com- fortably in a clump of bushes only a few yards dis- tant from the cabin door. From this ambush they could command every gL ees as well as the building itself. If Ralph Keeler was inside, or if he ventured to return to the cabin, his death or cap- ture was inevitable. For some time the watchers were silent as death. | Not a sound came from the cabin. A few lights twinkled down in the valley, and an occasional drunken shout that came faintly to their ears, told them that old as the night was, some lucky digger had not yet sufficiently celebrated his “‘ strike.” “How did you happen to come across those rascals, just in the nick of time, andalone? I heard them say you were out in the hills, at the head of a | band of men—” | | “TI did start with them, but I prefer a still-hunt, and soon gave them the slip. I had an idea of my own, and it was not far wrong. Iwas close to the cave, when they took you out, and recognizing you, followed after. It was long odds, but when the hauled you up, I sailed in, trusting to quick shoot- ing, Joud yells and good luck.” The _ luck was mine!” and Weston warmly scarred hand of the deformed. “Some y I may be able to repay you for saving my & | ‘‘Hunt Ralph Keeler to the gales. and you will not only caneel that debt, but leave me your debter forever!’ muttered Crooked Cale earnestly, almost fiercely. ‘*He has given you cause for hatred, then?” “Tom Pierson told you the story of my life?” coe nodded, Kked Oale laughed lew but | rly. “T forgot. He could not tell it all, beeause no one | knows it but myself, Some day, Reenepe. I may tell | ou—not now. About Ralph Keeler. to be- ve he is my nephew; that means my deadliest foe. | I may be mistaken, for he was only a little boy when | I saw him last, but even then a devil incarnate. He | had a twin sister—" | ; on you believe this schoolma’am is that sis- | er?” “Only since yesterday, but I do believe it now . If that is true, many thimgs are explain —among others, why my wife has been made a welcome visitor here, w all others, male and female, have been rigidly excluded. She has been | tempting Miranda— Orooked Cale stopped abruptly, as though finding he on saying too much, and to relieve him, Weston Sal . “Hc must come soon,if at all. It is growing light in the east. I'm afraid though, we have | missed it again.” ‘* He may be inside. If so, we will take him, dead | or alive.”’ ‘Hardly the last,” said the sheriff, gravely. ‘He | is no coward, and ts with a halter around his | sine ,, He could e a stout fight inside those walls. “Let us prove that he is there, and half am hour | later I ean bring five hundred men to carry it by | storm, if necessary.” | Weston made no reply. His faith was about gone, | and he felt that ess Ra)ph escaped him fer good. It had been a wee Ercan; his stumbling | upon the notorious outlaw, r such a long search, and such chances rarely come twice to the same | man. | ' admittance—” Crooked Cale. a. Slowly the time passed. The light brightened in the east and at length a new day was fairly born. Crooked Cale drew his revolvers and removing the caps, assured himself that each nipple was filled with powder, then pacer fresh caps on the tubes, pressing them firmly home, like one who feels that a single miss-fire may result fatally to himself. “What are your plans?’ asked Weston, cau- tiously. “Short and sweet,” laughed the deformed, grim- ly. “Iam going over there and rap at the door for | ** And receive a bullet for answer, supposing Reck- less Ralph is inside! Don’t be foolhardy, man! Let me keep watch here while you slip away and bring the marshal and his posse—’ “To be langhed at if they found the nest empty! No; I mean to have my own way in this, Do you lie “Tf you go, I go, too,” resolutely interposed Weston. ‘ “ And so insure failure if he 7s there! I ask it as | a favor. There is no loophole, They can’t shoot | me down without opening the door, and even if | shot dead I will throw myself into the opening. | Before they can close the door you can make your rush and take him.” Without pausing for a reply, Crooked Cale strode rapidly across the interval, and reaching the cabin | unchallenged, rapped loudly upon the door, then drew his revolver and held it in readiness for instant use, CHAPTER XI. A MOONLIGHT FLITTING. Knowina, as he did from the reports of his scouts and spies, that Crooked Cale had left Celestial City at the head of a strane force, and recognizing the voiee of the deformed landlord, it was only natural that Reckless Ralph should believe the attack was made in force. Bold enough he certainly was, when | there was anything to be gained thereby, but he felt sure he had sent his first bullet home to the heart of his hated enemy, and he knew a surer way of crushing Crooked Cale than by meeting him hand to hand in a grapple of death. Diligently he spurred on in the rear of his demor- alized fellows, unconsciously increasing their fears by the rapid thud of his horse’s hoofs—magnified by their terror into the united tramp of a regiment of lynchers—until he reached the same point at which he had abandoned the main trail on the d pigeaecy J night. Here he turned aside, then pressed on rapid- ly until he neared the cavern. He dismounted and tied his horse under cover; then stole cautiously forward, knowing that it was barely prasinle the enemy might be before him. Such did not prove to be the case, and he speedily emerged from the cavern, stowing away several heavy buckskin sacks, all that had remained in the ‘treasury ” after the last division among the band. Remounti he rode rapidly over the trail by which the sheriff of Placer county had been con- veyed by his captors, not drawing rein until the | crest of the hill above the schoolma’am’s cabin was reached. According to his invariable custom, Reckless Ralph observed Poy caution in approaching the cabin, and waited for his low signal to be answered before he verntured to leave cover and advance to the door. He entered the building, but his stay was short. In a few minutes he emerged, dressed entirely Eaasnt, a full beard of glossy black hair disguising ace. Hastening up the hill, Reckless Ralph remounted his horse, passed around to the head of the Devil’s Stairway, descended it and then trotted rapidly up to the front of the Spread me The hotel was almost deserted, as he knew from experience would be the case. ‘True, the liquors with which the bar was stocked had the peppenpon of being the best and purest in all Celestial City, but the average miner is not over-critieal, and prefers to spend his leisure where he can get the most for his money. Many of the bars in town were run in eonnection with oe devices of various sorts, dance-halls and kindred seductions to the average gold-digger, and nearly every one with leisure time spent it among some of these. tveckless Ralph was well aware of this fact, and he showed an equally intimate knowledge of the ways of the Spread Eagle. e asked for a drink of the sleepy bar-tender. paid for it, then turned Seve eee leisurely ascende the stairs leading to the eping-rooms. He met ' no one, and betraying a perfect ona coy J with the butiding, opened one of the chamber doors and quickly entered it, noisclessly closing the door sc. The room was small, dimly lighted by a Pp turned low, but the rays were bright enough to show an abundance of female wearing apparel scattered around—to reveal a double bed, and a woman's head pressing one of the pillows. A single glance assured Reckless Ralph that he had vite no mistake, and noiselessly approaching the stand upon which the night lamp , he turn- ed on the b c The bright rays, falling full upon the faee of the sleeper, broke the chains of slumber, and Miranda— for she it was—started up on one elbow, her eyes wide open with mingled surprise and terror. “For your life, not a word—not a sound!” hissed Reekless Raiph, slipping off the hairy mask with one hand, while the other hovered over the face of the terrified woman. It was well for him that he had taken this pevent:. tion, for Mi instead of being tranqu by the sight of his face, as he had expected, seemed more alarmed than ever, and only for his quick, firm grasp, she would have shrie aloud for aid. “Come, don’t be such a fool!” he muttered, an- ily, one palm over her mouth, the other holding erhands. “If you raise the house, [ can escape by leaping out of yonder window, but you can’t dodge the consequences so easily. I haven’t time | to argue the case clean through, or to be as polite as usual, but I'll make amends in the future. Lis- ten. Iam going to take my hand away, but if you attempt to ery out, or to speak above your breath, you are ruined. Crooked Cale may overlook your flirting, but a midnight interview in your ehamber with a lover—never!” Terrified as she was, this taunt roused Mirauda, and she indignantly cried: “Go! you have basely insulted me—I never wish to set eyes on your hateful countenance again!” “T intend to go, and that shortly,” was the cool response. ‘But when I do leave the Spread Eagle, | its fair and aecomplished landlady goes with me—” ‘* Never!” and for once in her life the silly woman was in earnest. ‘“Please moderate your voice, my dear, unless you are anxious to have curious listeners, i seldom say a thing I don’t mean, and I repeat that when I leave, you will bear me company.’ ‘*Go—for the love of mercy, go and leave me}”’ sobbed the wretched woman, every moment realiz- ing more and more suey the double peril which threatened her. ‘If he should return—’ “He would be very much surprised, of course, and not a little shocked,”’ coolly interposed Reekless Ralph, his lawless eyes admiring the half-hidden charms of his victim. Tel] me why you come here,” demanded Mira*da, with a calmness lent by desperation, ‘‘ What are your demands?” “That you get up, dress and elope with me,” promptly. ** And if I refuse?” “You will not, but if “a should pursue a course so suicidal, 1 will wait here until Crooked Cale re- turns. If he gives. me time, I will tell him all—who Iam, why I am here, how long you have known me as I really am—”’ ‘He would kill me and you!” gasped Miranda, shuddering. “Unless I got beforehand with him, yes. Most certainly y.w would never escape his vengeance!” “ Tnever sinned against him—”’ began the wretched woman, but the outlaw ruthlessly interrupted her. ‘** Would he believe it? He knows that you alone have been received at the cabin where I lay hid—he knows that you have spent hours there at a time. He knows, too, that I am, by birth, his bitterest enemy. Put this and that together, and a far less jealous husband than Crooked Cale would condemn an angel fresh from heaven on such evidence! And you are not exactly an angel, Miranda, though lovely as one, and a thousand times more lovable to aman of my disposition. I own frankly that I be- lieve you have never yet broken your wifely vows, eat as has been your temptation, bound to such a ideous caricature of humanity. but I have sworn bitter revenge upon Crooked Cale—you have heard me tell why—and through youl mean to strike him. After he has suffered enough, I will not hide from him, and when he is once safely under the sod, you shall become my wife.” Stunned, bewildered, the wretched woman whose ot sin was the prime cause of her present misery, listened to the diabolical plans of Reckless Ralph, hardly able to comprehend them, utterly unable to resist his iron will, At any moment her dreaded husband might return, and she knew his terrible temper would never suffer him to hear her explanation. She had given him too much cause for doubting her. Passionately as he loved her, he would take her life. ““Come—every minute spent here is at the risk of your life, Miranda,” added Reckless Ralph, believ- ing the time had come to press matters. “ Greoked Cale may return at any moment, and you ean guess what would happen then. Get up and dress yeur- self—there is no time for mock modesty, Refuse, and I will raise the alarm—let the boarders see me leave your room—and let Crooked Cale and you set- tle the business between yourselves.” ‘*T will not go—I fear you even more than I do him —for he loves me!” gasped Miranda, shrinking away. Swift as thought Reckless Ralph grasped her throat with one hand and poised a glittering blade over her bosom. “Refuse, and by the heavens above us! I will send this knife home to your heart!” he grated. ‘‘ Swear that you will obey me in every particular!” It was the last struggle of a weak will. The fear of death which she saw,hovering over her, proved too strong for the miserable woman, and Reckless Ralph saw that he had conquered. : Removing his grasp and replacing his knife, he took down a crucifix from where it hung against the wall,and held it to Miranda’s lips. Half unconsciously she kissed the sacred emblem of her religion, then Reckless Ralph tossed it convemptuously aside, with a mocking laugh. “Now get up and dress yourself, my darling. Make short work of it, too, or Crooked Cale may drop in upon us, after all. Never mind me—I have some writing to do.” : Reekless h seated himself at the little stand, and tearing a blank leaf from a Bible lying there, he wrote rapidly. Miranda, pale as a ghost, but more composed now - that her oath had been given, slipped out of bed and hurriedly dressed. herself. ; “Good!” exclaimed Reckless Ralohy en finding her ready dressed when he completed his note. “Take what money and jewels you have—and you may open Crooked Cale’s safe, too, Remember ysur
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Crooked Cale. 15 oath!’ he added, fiercely, as the woman recoiled from him with a shudder of disgust and aversion. “* Obey, or I'll use my knife even yet!”’ As he spoke Reckless Ralph placed the note he had written upon the stand and dreve his dirk through the center of it, turning away with a low, mocking laugh, and addressing Miranda. “Come. We'll pay the safe a visit, then get horses and shake the dust of Celestial City off our feet for- ever!”’ The lamp was extinguished, the door opened and the guilty couple stole softly to the stairs. They de- scended and entered the office, being greeted by a sleepy stare from the bar-tender, who, recognizing the landlady, again drooped his head and resume his fitful slumbers, satisfied that all was right. Miranda opened thesafe and handed several bags of gold-dust to Reckless Ralph, who quickly disposed of them upon his person, The clook showed how late the hour was, and he began to fear that Crooked Cale would even yet make his appearance in time to foil his diabolical revenge. Grasping Miranda’s arm, he hurried out to the stables, where he soon equipped two of the best horses and led them forth. Swinging Miranda into the saddle, he mounted the other horse, and holding her bridle-rein, urged the animals up the street at full speed, caring little now whether he aroused curiosity or not. It would be a bold man that ventured to check him now! CHAPTER XITl. CROOKED CALE IN PURSUIT. Bur the precaution taken by Crooked Cale was unnecessary. The echoes awakened by his loud knocking died away, but no sound of human voice or of footstep came from within the little cabin. Again and again he knocked, but still no answer came, and then he drew back a pace and flung him- self with all his force against the door, It had not been locked or barred, fastened merely with a latch and as this yielded, Crooked Cale plunged at full length across the room, over-setting table and chairs with a fearful clatter that deceived Weston into the belief that the deformed had fallen into a trap laid by the cunning outlaw. Rushing forward with ready weapons, the sheriff leaped across the threshold just as Crooked Cale arose from the debris, Both saw that the cabin was deserted, tenanted only by themselves. Upon the bed and floor lay scattered articles of male attire which Weston found no difficulty in re- cognizing as the garments worn by Reckless Ralph but a few hours before. “That settles it, then!” growled Crooked Cale, when his companion pointed out this fact. ‘We had only this one chance left. We’veslipped up on that, and we might as well go down to the hotel and et some breakfast. Ba and baggage, family and all!" ut Weston was not Mog wholly satisfied. He closely examined the walls and floor in search of some secret hiding-place, but without success. Nor did he neglect the little, dark loft overhead, only leaving off when thoroughly satisfied that by no ossibility could a human being be hidden around he cabin. Sullen and disappointed, the two men left the cabin and descended the hill, neither ppeakiog a word until after yes reached the hotel. Crooked Cale passed behind the bar and quickly mixed two strong drams, pushing one across to Weston. ‘*Swallow that, and then I'll see about the sub- stantials.”’ , ““My eyes need doctoring more than my stomach,” laughed the sheriff. ‘Ill turn in and take a nap be- fore I do anything else. Here’s better luck to us both, next time!” lt was clear that Crooked Cale also began to feel the want of repose, and he bore We8ton company 4 the stairs, proceeding straight to his wife's chamber. ; Weston paused at the door of the room occupied A his wounded friend, listening to discover if possi- e whether he was awake or asleep, when a sharp ery from the direction taken by Crooked Cale tled him. Insurprise he turned toward the hamber, but the sound was not repeated at once, and he ss or to think he had been alarmed for resem. et so sharp had been the cry, that it aroused severai of the lodgers, including Tom Pier- son, and drew them from their rooms in airy un- dress. They began to pelt Weston with eager questions, but before he could answer even the first, another and wilder yell came from the chamber en- tered by Crooked Cale, followed by a heavy fall and the crash of furniture. The same thought occu red to each one of the men —that Crooked Cale, ina mad fit of jealousy was murdering his wife—and as one man they rushed forward, burst open the door and entered the cham- ber, Walter Weston in the lead. They saw Crooked Cale prostrate upon the floor, writhing and twisting in a horrible manner, bloody froth flying from his lips—the picture of a raving demoniac. “He hasa fit—he’ll kill himself!” cried Weston leaping forward and grasping the sufferer. ‘‘ Help me, somebody—” With a howl of indescribable fury, Crooked Cale turned upon the man who was trying to relieve him, his bony fingers almost uniting in the flesh, his’ strong teeth seeking to close upon Weston’s throat. Strong and active as the sheriff was, he found him- self as helpless in the hands of the madman as would a child in the grasp of an infuriated giant, and if left to themselves, Crooked Cale would liter- ally have torn him limb from limb, azed, bewildered, the lodgers stood in open- mouthed wonder for a moment, but then Pierson, Reckless Ralph has levanted, | catching up achair dealt Crooked Cale a terrible blow upon the head. The chair was shattered into a dozen pieces, and Crooked Cale fell forward upon the sheriff like a dead man, but even then it was nearly impossible to tear et his terrible grasp. Bruised, bleeding, gasping for breath, Walter Weston was rN from beneath the seeming hed org by his friend. But even in this sore extrem- ity he did not feel anger toward the man who had so nearly cut short his life, Look to him—somebody,”’ he gasped. only a fit—but he’ll go mad—if left to lay there.’ Tom Pierson was more concerned about his youuger friend, and half led, half carried him to his own chamber, only leaviug him to look after Crook- ed Cale when Weston declared himself all right and sound, save for a few bruises. Thus reassured, Tom Pierson returned to the other chamber, where be found Crooked Cale sitting upon the floor, staring around him with a dazed, almost idiotic stare, a stream of blood trickling down over his scarred face, Tom knew that this came from the heavy blow he had dealt him in order to save the life of Walter Weston, and he felt almost like a murderer as he noticed the vaeant look in the one eye of the unfortunate deformed, He spoke to him gently, but Crooked Cale only answered with an idiotic glance and laugh. **Go for a doctor, some one,”’ cried Pierson, kneel- ing beside the landlord. ‘ And if you see her, send up his wife—"’ That word broke the stupor which had fallen upon the brain of Crooked Oale, and hurling Pierson aside, he leaped to his feet and dashed from the room, growling and snarling like some maddened wild beast. As rapidly as possible, Pierson followed, but too late to arrest Crooked Cale. He had rushed out of the hotel, into the stable, and as Tom reached the veranda, he saw the madman riding a bareback, bridleless horse, dashing up the street like a thun- derbolt, Tom Pierson had hardly left his friend alone, when the latter made a startling discovery. His throat and breast paining him, Weston opened his clothing, and a crumpled piece of paper fell out upon the bed. Despite his pain, he wondered how this had come there, and opened the paper. It was the note written by Reckless ph, the dis- covery of which had drawn the first cry from Crooked Cale’s lips, and reading the contents had thrown him into that horrible spasm, Weston read the note, his cheeks paling, his heart beating like a trip-hammer, for he now knew the truth. He heard the deformed rush down the stairs, and thrusting the fatal note into his pocket, he hastened after, Joining Pierson. ““Mad—mad as a March hare!’ ejaculated the Aid miner, ‘‘ Wonder what caused it—can you ell?’ turning to Weston. ‘His wife has eloped—” ““T knowed it!” exclaimed a digger, who had just comeup. “I said so last night, or rather this morn- in’, seein’ it wasn’t fur from daylight when I met ’em—’’ “Met who? What do you mean?” sharply de- manded Pierson. ** Crooked Cale’s woman an’ another feller—a man with a heavy baird, ridin’ hosses full split like they was in a monstrous hurry—” “In which direction?’ asked Weston. “ By the upper road—same as Crooked Cale tuck.” “Come, Tom—we must follow. He will murder them both. For his sake, not theirs, we must pre- vent that if possible,’ hurriedly uttered Weston, hastening toward the stables. In ten minutes more they were both mounted up- on good horses, riding swiftly along in pursuit of the pursuer. T's ’ CHAPTER XIV. RETRIBUTION. TuE sun had just set, its last red rays gilding tho rugged mountain peaks and from thence reflected into the valley, where sit a man and a woman near a bepooes | spring, talking earnestly, Not far away feed two horses, whose appearance betray long and hard travel. The man is Reckless Ralph Keeler, his face no longer hidden behind that black mask of hair; the woman is Miranda Keystone, wife of Crooked Cale, Her face betrayed no token of the regret or remorse one would naturally expect. Frail and fickle al- ways, there were smiles upon her countenance, soft words dropping from her lips. Crouching behind a rock not twenty feet from the couple, was Crooked Cale, more than ever like a wild beast, for now the light of reason had fled. A stinging, mocking allusion to himself, at which Miranda laughed merrily—then the avenger made his leap. . Almost ere he realized his peril, Reckless Ralph was grasped by the madman, raised aloft as a strong man handles an infant, then hurled to the ground with terrible force. 7 The woman shrieked with horror as she recogn'zed her husband, and attempted to flee, but his hand, firm but gentle stayed her flight. ae “Sit dowm. You have a part to play in his pun- ishment.”’ The words were spoken calmly, but the woman trembled with a vague yet sickening fear, and her limbs failed her. Crooked Cale never glanced toward her, as she lay a nerveless heap upon the stones, but turned to Reckless Ralph. A stranger looking at his careful manipulations, would have thought him devoted to the senseless man, but Miranda read him aright, and her brain reeled. =e When her senses returned, Reckless Ralph had re- covered from that terrible shock; though pale as death, it was not through fear, for he was laughing malignantly in the face of the avenger. One arm hung in an awkward position, having been crushed by his fall. ‘“* Work your own sweet will, Caliban,” the outlaw was saying as Miranda raised her head, ‘You have the upper hand now, and I'll never complain— last of all beg for mercy. I’ve had my inning— short but glorious, From my youngest days I have been (taught to hate you and yours, and in learning this, T learnt all manner of evil. Tam proud of it. I glory ‘in the evil | have done, and the sweetest thought of all is the knowledge that I have helped to make your life aliving hell. Ha! ha! little did you think why it was that the tair Miranda spent so much time at the schoolma’am’s cabin—she came there to see me! And between our passionate leve- kisses, we laughed at you, grim, hideous, horned Caliban—”’ Never another word came from those mocking nt Crooked Cale, unable longer to bear his taunts, pierced his brain with a revelver bullet, outwitted te the last. Reckless Ralph, knowing that escape was impossible, forced the madman sto slay him pain- lessly. Crooked Cale turned to where Miranda crouched sobbing and shivering with terror. Gently he raised her from the ground, turning her face so that the full moon could shine upon it, 'Tenderly, almost rever- ently, he touched his pie to her fair brow. Aspasm of pain still further distorted his features, but only foramoment. Then, his voice cold and iey calm, he spoke: “That is the last time, Miranda, And with it take my forgiveness for all the wrong, all the and sorrow you have caused me since that ill-fated day when our fates were linked together—” “Thank God! you forgive—you will not harm me!”’ gasped the poor, weak creature, hope spring- ing up in her heart anew. ‘They know all—they know that you fled from hid husband for love of another man, They are aughing and jeering at us both even now. Then would you live on, bearing such an awful brand of shame?”’ **Merey! he forced me—I did not want to go—let me live—let me live! I am too young to die! Mercy, husband—”’ *Stop!”’ and the fires of madness flashed up anew in Crooked Cale’s oneeye. ‘* Never more that name! I have no wife—I am no husband—only an avenger! You fled with him. He is gone, but you cam over: take him. You loved, or played at love here—you two can be wedded in the fand of spirits!" A black cloud crept slowly over the face of the moon. Heart-sick and awe-stricken Walter Weston and Tom Pierson looked upon the terrible scene, just as the morning sun rose above the mountain peaks. As soon as they could break the spell whieh had fallen upon them, they hollowed out as beneath a huge bowlder, gently P yrs the body of the ill- fated woman at rest, and covered her remains for- ever from sight. “The other, too—for poor Cale’s sake,” said Pier- son. In silence they returned to the death altar, Then Weston pointed down at the face of the dead man, and spoke: “Look close, and tell me what thought strikes you, Tom.” ‘A face that strongly resembles that of the dear little woman whom I hope to one day make my wife,’ was the grave reply. ‘They may have been related, but that makes no difference in my love, She may have harbored him from his enemies—from paige but blood is thicker than water, and I honor 1er all the more for her faithful, sisterly devotion.” “Dear Tom, old friend, you know I would not give you pain needlessly,” said Weston, his voice un- steady, “but you must know the truth sometime, Better now, and have it over with,” As he spoke, he handed Pierson the piece ef paper that had fallen so strangely into his poasession—the note which Reckless Ralph had written, which Crooked Cale clutched in his hand when he fell to the floor in a fit, and which had, during his fierce struggle with Weston, slipped into the sheriff's bosom. Space will not admit of its reproduction here, and a few words will give all thatis necessary. It was a terse account of the writer's career, with his reasons for playing the peculiar part he had, He spoke of his having to flee from Placer eounty, together with his sister, who had been severely wounded in their last conflict with the officers of eet A month later, his sister died. He was hunted hotly, and as a better disguise, he resolved to ene the part ofa woman. He discovered his uncle, Yrooked Cale, and then set about a diabolical re- venge. To better insure his success, and cover his exploits as a road-agent, he lived a double life, no one save his faithful servant, the old balf-breed woman, even suspecting that he and Miss Mary Truhart were one and the same person, Crooked Cale was never after seen or heard of by mortal man. It is almost certain thas, his awful vengeance accomplished, he took his own life; but how and where no man knows. Tom Pierson soon recovered from the shoek of his discovery, and found a wife who adored him, even as he did her. Walter Weston returned to Oroville, where he prospered greatly, but he never forgot the strange sicuy of Crookep CALY, THe CALIBAN o” CBLESTIAL Y. THE END,
Page 16
By Edward L. Wheeler, Yellowstone Jack, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm, F. Cody). Khe Wild-Horse Hunters. By Captain Mayne Reid aud Captain !'rederick Whittaker. Vagabond Joe, THE Youna WANDERING JEW; or, PLOTTING FoR A LeGAcy. By Oll Coomes. Bill Hiddon, Trapper. By E. 8S. Ellis. - wN = cast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Seth #omes. By Edward §. Ellis. 9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen, 10 Nat Todd. By E.5. Ellis. i The 'f'wo Detectives; or, Toe Fortunes or a Bowery Girt. By Albert W. Aiken. Gulliver’s Travel«. By Dean Swift. The Dumb Spy. By Oli Coomes. Aladdinys or, THe WonpEeRFuL Lamp. The Sea-Cat, By Captain Fred. Whittaker. Robinson Crusoe, (27 Illustrations.) Ralph Roy, tHe Boy Buccaneer; or, Tag Fueitive Yacut. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Sindbad the Sailor. His Seven Voyages. The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill. The Double Daggers; or, DEApwoop Dick's Deriance. By Edward L. Wheeler, Whe Frontier Angel. By Edward 8. Fllis. The Sea Serpent; or, THe Boy Rosinson Crusoe. By Juan Lewis. Nick o° the Night} or, Tar Boy Spy or "%6. be C. Harbaugh. iamond Di:k. By Colonel P. Ingraham. The Boy Captain. By Roger Starbuck, Cloven Hoot, THE BurraLo Demon; or, TRE Borper Vouutures. By Edward L. Wheeler. Antelope Abe, tue Boy Guipe. Oll Coomes, Buffalo or, DEApwoop Dick iN Diseuise. FE. L. Wheeler. The Dumb Page. By Capt. F. Whittaker. Roaring Ralph Rockwood, THE RECK- LESS RaNGER, By Harry St. George. | Keen-Knife, Prince or THE PRainigs. By Oll Coomes. Bob Woolf, THz Borprer_ RvrFrin; or, THE Girt Deap-SHot. By Edward L. Wheeler. WORD RO we SOM SOUR wI we ) 2 2S WKH WKH = SS Sb Hom — w 33 PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEES. By §. W. Pierce. 34 Oregon Sol; or, Nick Wuirr.es’ Boy Spy. aS ot. J. F. ¢. Adams. iid Ivan, THe Boy CLAupE Douyvat; or, THE BrRoTHERHOOD OF DratTH. By Ed, L. Wheeler, The Boy Clown. By Frank S. Finn. The Hidden Lodge. By T. C. Harbaugh. Ned Wylde, tHe Boy Scour. By Texas Jack. Death-Face, THe Detective; or, LIFE AND Love In New York. By Edward L. Wheeler. Roving Ben. A Srory or a YounG AMERI- CAN WHO WANTED TO SEE THE WoRLD. Marshall. 41 Lasso Jack. By Oll Coomes, 42 'The Phantom Miner; or, Dick's Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler. 43 Dick Darling, THe Pony Express Riper. S4 4 iA 4 RReww w CeO o DEADWOOD By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 44 Rattling Rube. By Harry St. George. 5 Old Avalanche, THE GREAT ANNIHILATOR; or, WiLD Epna, THE GirRL BRIGAND. E. L. Wheeler. 6 Glass Eye, THe Great SHOT oF THE WeEsT. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 47 Nightingale Nat. By T. C. Harbaugh. 48 Black John, THe Roap-AGeEnt; or, THE LAws’ Retreat. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Our- 49 Omaha eg THE MASKED TERROR: Or, DEAD- | woop Dick In Dancer. By Edward L. Wheeler. 50 Burt Bunker, tue Trapper. C. E. Lasalle. 51 The Boy Rittes. By Archie C, Irons. 562 The White Buffalo. By ©. E. Lasalle. 563 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., tHe Boy PHENrx; or, THroveH To Deata. By Edward L. Wheeler. 54 Ned Hazel, tHe Boy Trapper; or, THe PHAN- Tom Princess. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 55 Deadly <- Eye, THE UNkNown Scour; or, THE BraNpDED BroTHERHOOD. By Buffalo Bill. 56 Nick Whifiles’? Pet. Capt. J. F. C. Adams. | 57 Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, Taz Parps oF FLoop Bar. By Edward L. Wheeler. 58 The Border King. By Oll Coomes, 9 Old faraites ve By Harry St. George. 0 The White Indian. Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 1 Buckhorn Bill; or, Tae Rep Rice Team. Edward L. Wheeler. 62 The Shadow Ship. Py Col. P. Ingraham, 63 The Red Brotherhood, W. J. Hamilton. 64 Dandy Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh. 65 Murricane Bill. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 66 Singie Hand. By W. J. Hamilton. 67 Patent-leather Joe. By Vhilip 8. Warne. 68 Border Robin Hoeod. By Buffalo Bill 69 Gold Rifle, THe SHarpsnoorer; or, THE Boy DETECTIVE OF THE Buack Rance. By Wheeler. 70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, THe GREENHORN IN THe Woops. By J. F.C. Adams. 71 Delawwre Dick. By Oll Coomes. 72 Mad Tom Western, Tae Texan RANGER; or, THE QUEEN OF THE PRarrIz. By Hamilton. 73 Dendwood Dick on Deeks or, CALAMITY JANE, THE HEROINE OF WHOoP-UP. 74 Hawk-eye Harry. By Oll Coomes. 75 The Boy Duelis:; or, Tue Cruise ofr THE Sza-Wotr. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 76 Abe Colt, tHe Crow-KILier; or, THE GREAT FIGHTING MAN of i1HE West. By A. W. Aiken. 77 Corduroy Charlie, Taz Boy Brayo; or, Deapwoop Diox’s Last Act. By E. L. Wheeler. 78 Blu Dick. By Captain Mayne Reid. 79 Sol Ginger, Grant TRAPPER. By A.W. Aiken. 80 Rosebud Rob; or, Nuacet Neb, rae Knieut o¥ THE GULCH. By Edward L. Wheeler. 81 Lightning Jv. By Captain J. F.C, Adams. 5 6 7 The Viying Yankee; or, Tur Ocean Otvrt- | 8 By Wheeler. | Kansas King; or, THe Rep RicuTr Hann. | Ben, THE PRINCE OF THE PISTOL; | The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THE RED | | | $7 Khe Land Pirates, By Capt, Mayne Reid. ' 90 Whe Dread Rider. | 91 The Captain of the Clubs; or, Taz Youne | 97 The Outlaw Brothers. By J. J. Marshall. | 101 Jack Harkaway in New York, By | 103 BEADLE’S | HALF-DIME | LIBRARY. Deadwood Dick, thm: Proce or rHr Roap. ) 82 Kit Maretoot, tHe Woopn-Hawk; or, OLD Powper-Facre anp His Demons. By Harbaugh. | 83 Rollo, the Boy Rauger. By Ol] Coomes. 84 Idyli, the Girl Miners or, Rosenop Ros ON fine. By Edward L. Wheeler, 85 Buck Buckramy or, Bess, tHe WEMALE Trapper, By Captain J. F. C. Adams, 86 Daudy Rock. By G. Waldo Browne. 88 Photograph Phil, tHe Boy Srevrs; or, RosEevuD Ros’s REAPPEARANCE. By E. L. Wheeler. 89 Island Jim. By Bracebridge Hemyng. By G. Waldo Browne. RivaL ATHLETES. By Bracebridge Hemyng. 92 Canada Curet; or, OLD ANACONDA IN SITTING Buuu’s Camp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 93 The Boy Miners, By Edward §. Ellis. 94 Midnight Jack, THE RoAD-AGENT; THe Boy Trapper. By T. C. Harbaugh. 95 The Rival Rovers. Lieut. Col. Hazeltine. 96 Watch-Eye, THE SHADOW; or, ARABS AND ANGELS OF A GREAT Criy By E. L. Wheeler. or, | 98 Robin Hood, rHe OvuTLawepd EArt; or, THE | Merry MEN or GREENWOOD. Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of Taos; or, Witp Karte, DANDY Rock’s ANGEL. By George Waldo Browne. 100 Deadwood Dick in LeaJvillé; or, A | STRANGE STROKE FoR Liserty. By Wheeler. Bracebridge Hemyng. 102 Dick Dead-Eye, THe Boy Suvcater; or, THe CRUISE OF THE VIXEN. By Col. Ingraham. The Lion of the Sea. _ By Col. Delle Sara. Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, Tue S1GNn oF THE DovustEe Cross. By E. L. Wheeler. Old Rube, THe Hunter. Capt. H. Holmes. Old Frosty, THE Guipr. By T. C. Harbaugh. One-Eyed Sim. By James L. Bowen. Daring Davy, Tue Youna Bear-KiLuer; or, THE TRAIL OF THE BoRDER WOLF. H. St. George. Deadwood Dick as Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. O The Black Steed of the Prairies. A Thrilling Story of Texan Adventure. By Bowen. 1 The Sea-Devil. By Col. P. Ingraham. 2 The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe. 3 Jack Hoyle, THe Younc SPECULATOR; or, THe Roap To Fortuns. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 1 The Black Schooner. Roger Starbuck. 5 The Mad Miners; or, Danpy Rock's Doom. 6 i 8 104 105 106 107 108 109 By George Waldo Browne. The Hussar tg »tains; or, THE HERMIT Gilt-Edged Dick, THE Sport DErectTiIvy; or, Tue Roap-Acent’s DavGHTEerR. Wheeler. Will Somers, THE Boy Drergctive, Morris. 9 Mustang Sam, THe Kine oF THE PLAINS. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 0 The Branded Hand. By Frank Dumont. 1 Cinnamon Chip, THE Giri SPorT; or, THE GOLDEN IpoL or Mr. Rosa. 'd. L. Wheeler. Phil Hardy, Tux Boss Boy; or, THe Mys- TERY OF THE STRONGBOW. By Charles Morris. Kiowa Charley, THe Waite MusTrAancer. By T. C. Harbaugh. ol. Prentiss Ingraham. 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 or HELi-GATE. 1 1 1 1 2 124 Tippy, THE Texan. By George Gleason. 125 Bonanza Bill, Miner. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 126 Picayune Pete; or, Nicopemus, tHe Doa Detective. By Charles Morris. 127 Wild-Fire, BossortHe Roap. By Dumont. 128 Whe Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish. | 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double} or, THE | Guost or Gorcon’s GutcH. Ed. L. Wheeler. 130 Detective Dick. By Charles Morris. 131 The Golden Handj3 or, Danpy Rock To | THE Rescug. By George W. Browne. : 1382 The Hunted Hunter. By Ed. §. Ellis. 133 Boss Bob, tHe Kine or THE BOoTBLACKS: or, THE PAWNBROKER’s Piotr. Ed. L. Wheeler. | 134 Sure Shot Seth, tHe Boy RirLeman; or THe YounG Patriots OF THE NortH. By Oll Coomes. 135 Captain P»ul, rae Kentucky MoonsHINER; or, THe Boy Spy OF THE Mountars._ By Clark. 136 Night-Hawk Kit. By Jos. EB. Badger, Jr. | 137 The Helpless Hand, Capt. Mayne Reid. | 138 Blonde Bills; or, Deapwoop Dicx’s Home Base. By Edward L. Wheeler. 139 Judge Lynch, Jr. By T. C. Harbaugh. 140 Blue Blazes; or, Toe Break o’ Day Boys or Rocky Bar. By Frank Dumont. 141 Solid Sam, THE Boy Roap-AGENT; or, THE Branpep Brows. By Edward L Wheeler. 142 Handsome Harry, THE Boorsitack Der- TECTIVE. By Charles Morris. 143 Sear-Face Saul. By Oll Coomes. { 144 Dainty Lance, THe Boy Sport; or, THE | BanK-BreEAKERS’ Decoy Duck. J. E. Badger. 145 Captsxio Ferret, tae New York Derec- TrvE; or, Boss Bos’s Boss Jos. By Wheeler. 146 Silver Star, THE Boy Knicur. A Prairie Romance. By Oll Coomes. 147 Will Wildfire, THz THokoUGaBRED; or, Tae WrxninG Hanp. By Charles Morris, 148 Sharp Samy; or, THE ADVENTURES OF A FrienpDuzess Boy. By J. Alexander Patten. 149 A Game of Gold; or, DeEADwoon Diox’s | Bie Strixe. By Edward L. Wheeler. 150 Lance and asso. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 151 Panther Paul, THe Prati Prrate; or, Dainty Lance To THE Rescue. J. E. Badger. 152 Black Bess, Wr. Witprme’s Racer; or, Wiuxninc AGAINstT Opps. By Charles Morris. 153 Eagh Kit, tHe Boy Demon. By Oll Coomes. 154 The Swerd Hunters. By F. Whittaker. 155 Gold Trigger, THe Sport. T.C, Harbaugh, 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, Tae Prokep Party. By Edward L. Wheeler. 162 | 163 | 197 | 207 Navajo Nick, THE Boy Gotp Hunter. 157 Mike Merry, THe Harsor Potice Boy; or, Tue Nicut-HAWKS OF PHILADELPHIA. Morris. 158 Fancy Frank of Colorado; or, THE TRAPPER’s Trust. By Buffalo Bill. 159 Whe Lost Captain; or, THe Open POLAR Sea. By Captain Frederick Whittaker, 160 Whe Black Giant; or, Damry Lance In JEoPARDY. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 161 New York Net), rue Boy-Girt DEereorivA; or, OLD BLAKgSLY’s Monty. By E. L. Wheeler. Will Wildfire in the Woods. Morris. Little ‘Texas, THE YounG MusTaNGER. A Tale of Texan Prairies. By Oll Coomes. Dandy Rock’s Pledge. By G.W. Browne. | Billy Baggage, THe Rarmroap Boy; or, Row To Eartu. By Charles Morris. Hickory Harry. By Harry St. George. Asa Scott, THE Sreameoat Boy. By Wiliett. Deadly Dash. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Tornado Tomy or, Insun Jack From Rep Corg. T. C. Harbaugh. A Trump Cardy; or, Wm. Wivprimea Wins AND Losrs. By Charles Morris. Ebony Dan. By Frank Dumont. Thunderbolt Tom; or, Tat Woitr-HERDER OF THE Rockies. By Harry St. George. Dandy Rock’s Rival. By G.W. Browne. Bob Rockett, THE Boy Dopaer. By Morris, Captain Arizona, By Philip 5.Warne, The Boy Runaway ; or, THE BUCCANEER o¥ THE Bay. Lieut. H. D. Perry, US Near Nobby Nick of Nevada; or, ‘THE Scar OF THE SreRRAS. By Edward L. Wheeler. Old Solitary. By Oll Coomes. Bob Rockett, tHe Bank RunNER. Morris- The Sea Trailer; or, A Vow WELL Kepr. By Lieut. H. D. Perry, U.S. N. Wild Frank, THe Buckskin Bravo; or, Lapy Liny’s Love. By Edward L. Wheeler, Little Miurricanme, THE Boy Captain. By Oll Coomes. The Hidden Hand3 or, Wu. WiLprFirs’s REVENGE. By Chas. Morris. The = Trailers; or, Damvry LANCE oN THE WarR-PatH. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Evil Eye, Kine or Carrie Tmeves; or, THE VULTURES OF THE Rio GRANDE. By F. Dumont. Cool Desmondy; or, TH® GamBLER’s Bia Game. By Col. Delle Sara. Fred Halyard, tse Lire Boat Boy; or, THe SMUGGLERS OF THE INLET. By C. Morris. Ned Temple, True Borprer Boy. Harbaugh. Bob Rockett, Tar CracksMAN. By Morris. Dandy Darke; or, THe Ticers or HiaH Pring. By Wm. R. Byster. Buffalo Bill re THE Boy BULLWHACKER- By Capt. A. B. Taylor, U. 8. A. Captain Kit, THE WILL-o’-THE-WIsP; or, Tae Mystery oF Montauk Point. By Lieut, , Harry Dennies Perry, U. 8. N. Captain Mask, THe LAapy Roap-AGENT; ¢ PaTENT-LEATHER Joe’s DereatT. By Wart Buffalo BRill’s Bet; or, THe GAMBLER Guivx. By Capt. Alfred B. Taylor, U. 8S. A. Deadwood Dick’s Dreamy; or, THE RivaLs of THE Roap. By Edward L, Wheeler. Shadowed; or, Bos Rockert’s Fiaut FoR Lire. By Charles Morris. Little Grit, THz WILD RIDER; or, THE Stock- TENDER’S DavGHTER. By Col. P. Ingraham, Arkansaw, THE MAN WITH THE KNIFE; or, THE @UKEN OF Farre’s Revence. By T.C, Harbaugh. Featherweight; or, THe Boy CHAMPION OF THE Muskinaum. By Edward Willett. 200 The Boy Bedouins,. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Dreap woop Dickx’s Warp. By Edward iL Wheeler. 202 Prospect Pete, or THE Boy BricabE; or, Tar YounG OurLaw Hunters, By Oll Coomes, Om eS COD oe AAAS i) om Nl a Ek ed | aE abagadeg abee 03 SF Qokew a os @ 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 198 199 ' 2038 The Boy Pards; or, Damnty Lance Un- masks. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 204 Gold Piume, tHe Boy BAnpit; Kip Guove Sport. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom. A Tale of Death Notch. By Edward L. Wheeler. 206 Dark Paul, THe Ticsr Kine; or, Cavent IN His Own Trap. By Charles Morris. or, THR A Tale of Arizona. By T. C. Harbaugh. 208 The Boy Hercules; or, THE Prarri Tramps. By Oll Coomes. 209 Fritz, THE Bounv-Boy DErTsEcTIvE. L. Wheeler. 210 Faro Frank of High Pine; or, Danpy DARKE’s Go-pown Parps. By W. R. Eyster. Ready Aug st 2d. 211 Crooked Cale, THe CaLiBan or CELESTIAL City. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. August 9th. 212 Dashing Dave, tHe Danpy DETECTIVE. By Charles Morris. “ Ready August 16th, A new issue every week. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by al) Newsdealers, five cents per Cony or sent by mail op receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, By E, ; Publishers, $8 William Street, New York. i \