Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 283) (1882 12 26)
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‘ WRSS & ™ 8 — NY i al a ry rise | me Entered at tthe Post Office at Nev w vce N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. _ eer in 1882 by BEADLE AND ADAMS. _ Dece ember 26, 1882. mbes PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE. AND ADAMS, Price, N No, $8 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK, 5 Cents. INDIAN JOE; or, The White Spirit of the Hare A SEQUEL TO “« THE THREE TRAPPERS.” BY MAJOR LEWIS W. CARSON, bi ti i, | hi z Wa “Wf ’ We j of Fg (as { win) y/ Yy ; Av, . ‘ Wie 4 RG ( s Uy Mee) Ze Yy “ ie eee { Ee, 5 : NT f ag, i on Wy) Z G//) " : jr a ““WHERE DO YOU GO?” SHE CRIED. ‘ HALT THERE. OR YOU ARE DEAD MEN,” THE BEAUTIFUL VISION CALLED OUT.
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-_— .snorted the Dutchman: Indian Joe; oR, The White Spirit of the Hills, A Sequel to **The Three Trappers.” - BY MAJ. LEWIS W. CARSON. CHAPTER I. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. “Wake up, man! The bears will be after you before you know it.” The speaker was stoonsng rapid stream, shaking of t b who lay there asleep. The person who spoke was a young fellow in a hunting garb, with a rifle in his hand and a knife in his belt. His a by the side of a © shoulder a man Ss frame was strong and ‘well made, his face manly, and his general appearance prepossess- ing. The man at his feet, who did not wake even when the hand was laid upon his shoulder, was one of whose nationality there could be no doubt. Hewasa Dutchman, having the marked characteristics of his people. He had a rather 2 here , indolent face, and as his eyes at ast open lazily, as the other shook bim roughly, considerable cunning: was displayed in their depths. , Ly “Vy you shakes me,’ den?” demanded. the ’ sleeper in an injured tone. “I nefer done nottings mit you.’ s Wake fen tben: “Vake oop! vake oop! Vy shall I vake oop, unless I vants to? Now, see here; you coes avay now—right now, vile I dalks mit you. you no go avay yoost now, I vill get oop unt preak your het mit mine goon.” ‘“‘Oh,-no,” said the young hunter, laughing. “T don’t want to quarrel. But you are not safe here. I should really dislike very much to see & nice, good-looking fellow like you gobbled by @ grizzly bear. Don’t take any chariots on sleeping out in this way, without a guard ” ““A crizzly pear! Vat is dat?’ demanded the Datebman. “That is one of the mbst savage animals on the face of the earth,” was the reply, ‘The strength of a man is nothing when once he falls into his hug. Strong! That is not the word, Nothing can describe his strength and ferocity.” “T dinks I don’t vant nottings to do mit crizzly pears,” said the Dutchman, rising. ** Vell, who are you anyvay?” ‘“My name is Daniel Crowley,” replied the young man,” ; ‘Vat you do?” “T am out on a huntin company with a party of Perens and guides. Will you join us/ “Vell, L don’t care. I cooms avay from St. Shoseph, in Missouri, pecause efery yon is so rem off a man don’t bay somet’ivgs mit de Government efery dimes hé sells a class of ager. P ‘Then it appears that matters not uncon- nected with the excise question sent you out on the plains?” ‘ “Yaw; I vas mat mit eferypoty, unt so I gets my gun unt dinks I vill co mit Californy. Vas it a good vay off, you dinks?”’ “A good way! I should think so; a trail a thousand miles long, through the desert and prairie, haunted by Indians who do not know Nek Foner? means. What is your name?” *Yos la for his own bleasure, eh? Ro ven you can’t drink it unless some Common for Peart “ t da ts ed i tee many of them on’t; replied “Den a creat many off dem are’ vools!” “Vat! not likes coot | greasy man. | this season he’s a Dutchman,” yf‘ Keep quiet, Jeff Rooter,” said Dani, ‘ Don’t ee with my protege.” r ; lgmateage Indian Joe. . peer, vat foams from a parrel like snow, unt runs down the throat like oil, so creasy unt coot? Vy, I nefer sees how a man can lif mitout peer. I don’t know how I does mitout it here. : “Now, I want to ask you a question, sir. Some people eee to say that a man can’t get drunk on lager beer. never drank any, so—” ““Goot Lort!” ejaculated Yost. “What is the matter?” said Crowley. f Teter trink any lager peer?” cried Yost, “ 0. ‘Nefer in all your life” ‘Not a glass.” f Den I vonders as you ps not deat; now vile I dalks mit you. Nefer trinks any lager peer in all. his life! Gootness cracious! dat ish so funny.” “IT was going to ask you a question,” said Crowley. “There are those who say that peo- le ‘can hot get drunk on the stuff they call ager beer; others say you can, What is your opinion?” * Vat you call him?—shtuff?” ‘I beg pardon—the drink called lager.” “Tdells you vat I dinks. Der is no delling off a man could not drown himsel. mit lager, yoost de same as he might do mit vater. ow den, lager is not made to sim in. Vater ish petter vor dat, Lager is made totrink, Off a man sits town, unt trinks his deux or tri dozen classes off lager, it vill not burt him. 1 nefer trinks more ash yorty mugs mineself.” “Ts that all?” said Daniel, laughing. “Dat is not mooch, A man never ought to make a hog of himself.” - “That. is true,” said Daniel, repressing a strong inclination to laugh. ‘* Come along. e may as well go to camp.” Yost shouldered his rifle which had lain at his feet during the conversation, and followed the speaker, . The stream on which they stood ran through a beautiful prairieland, spread out, before them like a great map, In the distance, the lofty peaks of the mountains could be seen. The prairie, in the bunting season, is one of the most remarkable sights ever seen by mortal eyes. Daniel Crowley was a lover of nature. His dark eyes rested approvingly upon /the beautiful landscape, and he drew a long sigh of pleasure, and turned to his Dutch friend for* sympathy. As he did so, he laigbed outright |- Jeff rushed forward. an at \he expression of his face. He had been studying for some time on the wouder of a man who had lived to the age of twenty-five, and dad never tasted the delectable drink called ager. ‘Nefer trinks lager peer in his life! Goot cracious, vat a man!’ Crowley had his laugh ou§ and then walked slowly away up the stream, He had, not gone very far frou the camp, and in fifteen minutes they entered it together. There were four men in all. Two of them were the ordinary trap. pers of the Northwest, clad in buckskins and movcasins, Another was a half-breed, a yells known guide over the bunting-grounds west 0! the Mississippi: A tall, with a keen, re blood in the « i . a ° 3 R co e Zh He cast a droll loo! came up, ‘ EE: “ What hev ye got thar, Dan?” demanded the “PH: bet every cussed pelt I git er—which?” yelled Jeff. “Oh, good cious! Git me an ear-trumpet, so thet I kin catch the sound of thet ar’ word. ‘Proto— hal’ ae ye'll be the death of me,” 66 ive if to you right under the ear-if you’ . This man is going to join us. ‘se “Waita minit, mister city man,” said Jeff, suddenly assuming an expression of di ified anger. ‘ What mout that tect remark of yours ified? Say it ag’in, an’ say it slow. Didn’t I hear some remark ’bout givin’ it to some one under the ear?” “T think you did,” said Dan, “This man is 3 , ppae my protection, and hesball not be trou- “That's a big word. Which ear mout ye pre- fer, Mister Crowley?” “Don’t bother we, Jeff You can’t quarrel with me, if you keep your own side of the fence. But, if you get over on miye, it might make a row. Now be civil. Don’t mix your- self in with this man, 1 want him well used.” ‘* Whose a- hurtin’ of him; say?” ; “Nobody,” replied Dan. ‘And f propose to see no y does.” “Ob. Yer a sort.o) gardeen of his’n, Now Jook hyar. Laio’t a quarrelsome man, f ain’t. But [kin go through any man, big or lettle, old or young, the younger an’ spryer the better I like it, thet goes to put on style over me. Yes, sirree, I ain’t nothin’ but a léettle cuss, but thet thing I kin do, Which way will ye hev it? Nip an’ tuck, square-hold, side hold, or with bare fists? Any way you like. So's yer suited, 1 ain’t.partic’lar.” ‘A truce, Jeff. You and I have no right to quarrel.” “Then let Dutchy take bis own part,” grum- bled Jeff. . “Vat you mean by dat?” said Yost, who had been measuring him with his eye for some time. ‘“ Vhat you want mit me?” ** For heayen’s sake don't ‘talk to him now, Yost,” said Dan. *‘‘ Keep quiet.” * Let me spoke a few dimes mit him,” said the Dutchman, quietly. ‘* He spoke at me good many dimes, unt I no says notings. I’m not afraid mit him. He dalks too much mit his mout’,” “Keep back, every man of ye, while I thrash the ground with a Datehman. Git out of the way, ’cause I don’t want to spatter his blood an’ bones an’ brains all over yer good close. Now, Dutehy, hiadn’t ye better say yer pra’rs?” ‘Vat for?” said Yost, who did not seem in the least frightened. ‘‘ Inefer says my brayers mitt’e daytime, Vat ye goin’ to do?” “I’m goin’ to wipe the ground with yer karkidge.” ‘‘Vat for?” asked the Teuton, in the samo tone, his army swinging lazily by his side. “Vat I done mit you?” “You've got to be ’nitiated,” replied Jeff. ‘*Pm the man to doit. Once pay yer entrance an’ it’sallright. But, the timehascome, Git ready. Pm goin’ to wrastle ye down,” fastened on the Dutchman by the shoulder and elbow. Yost ney r made a struggle, but ‘stood like a rock, smiling calmly at the efforts to overthrow him ‘on the part of the greasy hunter. Jeff got very red in the face, . **T'll wrastle dle,” he panted. ~ yedown ef I nd youdo, unt I find it ous, I vill t’row you over der moon,” said Yost. Jeff Rooter tugged and s ed with any perceptible effect on the equilibridm of the Dutchman. “Go avay,” said the latter, getting weary of the ;port. ‘You can’t do nottings mit ‘nie. Dake avay your hands” : “T’m goin’ to throw ye, anyhow,”. said Jeif, ey his struggles, - “‘T dells you vouce more, go avay, ven I dells you, eta { “T won't,” a ; rie d the of his flew into deposited on the He wa his feet ntagonist around ad’ such a possessed in wrest- now on guard and had his rite hold. The left arm’ of Yost was rown about.’ his neck and his right hand grasped bis wrist in an iron clasp. Bor five minutes they danced up and down upon the ‘turf, and then, to the surprise and joy of every one, the heels of Jeff Rooter suddenly flew into the air, as he went over the hip of the Dutch- man. Derisive Yells grected the fallen hero, as he rose slowly from the grass, ‘ CHAPTER I. : THE GREAT AMERICAN PARTRIDGE. JERP was at first inclined to be angry. But, at the bottom of his bravado, th re was a real admiration for a spirited act, and, before the laughter had subsided, he extended is hand and shook that of the Dutchman wa: v. Thet’s right, old man,” he said. ‘I like a man with pluck, anyhow. Ye throwed me. fa’r nn’ sqnar’, Idon’t say nothin’ ag’in it, Let's be friends."
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‘ ‘“Shoost ash you like,” said Yost, returnir the cordial pressure, ‘‘I nefer like to quar mit no mans. You s very strong mit your arms. Von dimes I dinks I c’u’d t’row you, unt anodder dimes I dints you cud trow me. Vat you do ous here anyvay?”’ “We ar’ on a hunt,” saidJeff, ‘ That young chap come out alonger us arter deer, grizzly an’ boffler, I’ve told him thar ain’t much safety hyar, ’cause the red niggers is thick ez flies on sp’iled bacon, Howsomever, ef he ain’t afraid, Tain’t got no call to be, seein’ it’s the life [ lead all my time thet an? way " said. thanks |
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4 Jeff. ‘‘Seems to me ef ye didn’t want the bird ye moat ‘a’ said so.” “T gifs him to you. Vat you mat apout? Dat ish nice pird.” “Of course,” replied Jeff, with a doubtful look, ‘‘Thar ain’t no nicer. Ext a piece.” “ Tain’t hoangry mineself. 1 nefer vas hoon- gry dis night. gifs him to you; eat all you vant.’ The grin which had been getting broader every moment, suddenly broke out into a loud | Jeff looked round upon the circle of grinning faces with anything but a pleased ex- pression. But the humor of the thing at last affected him. The grin became reflected on his own face, and, breaking into a laugh, he threw the bugzard at the head of one of the guides who was laughing loudest, and shook Hoppen heartily by the band. From that hour they were warm friends, and proved so to each other in many a trying situation, CHAPTER IIL THE MIDNIGHT MESSAGE. Daw CROWLEY took his Yap on guard that night, as his turn came. is companion on the watch was the half-breed, Joe Lane. This re- markable man was at one time well known in the section traversed by the employees of the Northwest and Hudson Bay Companies at the Three Buttes or on the Red river. He was very taitnyn, and it was a remarkable thing that he should choose for a companion a man like Jeff Roover, who was .a continual and untiring talker, But, they had been friends for many years, and bad traversed the country, in all its parts. Now you would hear of them at the ‘Three Buttes; then they would be trdversin the fearful region of ice and snow south “udson’s Bay. These men often accomplished wonderful journeys, to which the Magazine journeyings are mere child’s play. Over icy waters, by the side of bottomless lakes, living for days without food, eating with ravenous appetites a frog or snake which fortune threw in their way, and through all maintaining a cbeerful temper, which would have stood them even in a dying hour. * If the histories of such men could be once sought out and written, what a record of hum- ble liergisiun, of devotion to the cause of friend- hit. of steady bravery in the hour of danger, tueir story would show. It is the duty of the avvelist and the writers of every class to rescue from the depths ‘of forgetfulness as much as possible of the story of a race of men who are grand tn many of their characteristics, ** Do you think it probable that we are in any danger, Joe?’ asked Crowley. * Perhaps. Good many Blackfeet on the trail now. (to out to hunt, and carry scalping- knives under their blankets. All same. Bad blood now. Chief killed up at Snake river one day. Bad Indian, but the Blackfeet like him. See how it is? They like any bad man. Some Indian, myself; some white. But my white Reared for the gfeater portion of his life among the tribes, Joe had never been able to get over their sententious mode of speech. He was a curiosity as he sat there, with his elbows on his knees, and a long, reed-stemmed pipe in his mouth, puffing out columns of smoke goffaw. : Indian Joe. up, and a mellow radiance fell upon all around. A hundred yards away they saw something moving slightly. The next moment a fi appeared 6n horseback and was off like the wind. Joe sprung to his feet, and ran after it with leveled rifle. But he did noé fire, not knowing what danger the report of a rifie might bring upon them. Dan followed him on a run and they reached the spot where the figure had stood.. Something white fluttering near the ground attracting Lane’s attention, he stooped | | and took it up, and found’it to be a small piece of paper, attached to a stick thrust into the ground. “Ha!” said Dan. “‘ Looks like a letter,” said Joe. ain’t a scholar myself.” Dan took the paper, and found it written in a female hand. Lifting it in the moonlight, he made out the words: “Go back to your homes, Danger is about you on every hand—danger which will end in your destruction. I have warned you. Be- ware!” Looking at the half-breed in the moonlight, Dan saw that his brown face had turned a little pale. “T don’t understand this,” he said. ‘Do you, Joe?” ‘* Yes,” said the half-breed. £ ‘* What have you there?’ * Read it; “It is the White Spirit.” “The White i ah “Yes, Something haunts the hills. Comes in the night to camp and warns people back. | If they don’t go, some of them, and sometimes all, are killed before many days. Came to me once near this very spot. I was out with Jeff Rooter and two others, The Spirit came and warned us. In two days the other boys were robbed and murdered. We took the hint and dug out.” ‘Have you ever seen the figure?” “Only at night, as we saw it now,” replied oe. “The White Spirit certainly writes a very pretty hand,” replied Dan, smiling. ‘I see ou are a little imbued with Indidn superstition, oe, If this were a spirit, there would be no occasion to resort to the very earthly process of writing letters. If there had been a postscript or two, I should have thought it was a woman.” He turned the paper over again and found a little more writing. ‘YT am your friend; J] would save you, I pray you go away!” ‘ There it is,” said Dan. ‘It is a woman.” Joe lookedsullen, ‘‘ Perhaps you want to say next I never see it. Come often, tell you. Jeff bas seen it. Always in moonlight. ives some sign of danger and rides away. : “Don’t it seem a little curious that a spirit needs a horse?’ asked Dan. “Don’t believe me. Wait; stay here and lose your scalp. May if you want to,” “Don’t get angry, Joe; I mean no harm. But I am not to blame if I do not_believe in ee | I was taught the other way. Shall we wake the rest and tel! them?” “ Do you mean to stay?” ‘*Certainly; I mean to have my “Then keep still; don’t tell. 1 ies leave you if they hear you see the te Spirit. They believe; they know., Seven times the hunt out.” trom his nose, a habit acquired among the savy, | White Spirit come down from the hills. Seven | times the camp is full of sorrow. Some man ages, “Jt would strangi+ me to smekein that way,” | dead; sometimes all. said Dan, langhing. bree. “* Like it now. tribe, Like the Nez Perces, too. ches and Arapahoes ave thieves aud nurderers. Got to lock out for them, or yon will get, into trouble. Blackfeet jus’ as bad.” “Texuected danger here. Some young fel- land si Ido, at any rate; and | Jows rather Jike it. think you like jt too.” * None of our hoys will flinch, trail long time. bat, when time comes, keeps his mouth sbut as well as any m2v. «Goo man, Jeff.” ‘What you think of the Dutchman?’ “Dow t know yet. Study bim,” said Joe. ‘You think he needs study, then?” “Yes. Shoots well: fooled Jeff; wrastled him down; no fool do that.” “ We will keepan eye on him. “Guess so. him. Very strong.” “‘ He is, indeed. I wonder what be meant falling asleep by the river?” ** One eye open, pre,” men do that, Wait! ti ‘thing ont thar?” Is he asleep?” The night was clear and still. The moon was | his blanket, blissfully unconscious of any dan- If he good man, glad to have Their bones bleach in the | sun because they would pot take warning, like ** Learned if among the Crows,” said the haif- | you.” The Crows are the best | ‘Tne Coman- | ard? [ Been on the | Jeil talk great deal in camp, | | in the face. ' trees, and they hear the words you say. will carry your words to the as many of my words as | ' they like. this” White Spirit before we return, I will make | and uttered a defiant snort. ' you a present of my rifle. You have often said | horse would have been on the alert for a bite or | itisa } “And if you do, I wir eee you ten prime | attention, until the roan darted out | beaver pelts. That’s agreed.” | neck by, | The | proac seid ee ono | Ea Reece aati A eh cee Be your ic any- | i say who it was, and when . | Bd at the oa every man lay wrapped in “Would you have me run away like a cow- We came out here to bunt.” “Tf yon not afraid, neither be I,” said Joe. Go back to camp. Keep your letter.” “Til bet you the price of a new rifle I. see k with your White Spirit before we eTgocakeenl “4 i - ‘ toi ‘ou crazy, I guess. “Dare you bet?” mi : ‘Speak to it! You die! ite Spirit!” * Let them But if do mot see and speak with good piece.” went back to the camp. ees, No man look spirit There are spirits in the rocks and | They | As they ap- | with extreme agility, acted a charade upon ed it, they saw some one moving back on At that distance it was | ger. The Datchman especially was snoring iu | such a way as to awaken the mirth of Dan.. The performance of a new beginner on the trombone was nothing to it. .A gurgie, a gasp, and then a rolling snore, formed part of each bar of the concerted piece he was performing upon the instrument which had “schmelled somet’ing ” wrong in the turkey*buzzard. | ‘Who was it that left the camp just now and | came in before us, Joe?” said Dan. Y “Don’t know. Thought it was Dutchy. Hé sleep pretty sound.” : ae Yes. ” ‘‘Don’t you think he sleep too sound for so early-in the evening?’ said Joe, in a slightly suspicious tone. ‘‘Tnever should have thought of that,” said Dan. ‘No, I don’t think there can be any doubt as to the reality of that snore.” ‘All right, perhaps. I don’t know. Don’t talk tome. I want to think.” Through all that tedious night-watch the half- breed never spoke to his companion, but sat with his head upon his knees, smoking in that odd way of his, and apparently plunged deep in thought. As the proming came, the men be- | gan to stir, and Jeff rolled lezily out of his: lanket, with a snort and gasp. | Yost was still snoring. j ‘Dinna ye hear the pibroch?’ said Dan, wink- ing at Jeff. | © What's the broth?” said Jeff. | ‘The Scotch bagpipes.” | “Bagpipes? It’s a wind-barrel. Hark to him. boys. ear the Dutchman tune his fiddle. Ob, | pallory, ain’t it just splendid! Ef I ain’t | charmed, durn me for a fool. Give him a dig- in the ribs, Joe.” : The half-breed did as desired, and Yost sat | up with a rumpled head, stretching himself and. distorting his Visage in an odd manner. Some of the party laughed. “You besser look a little ovs, vat you do? I pain der heaviest sleeper mit America. Yaw.. r ish,not so mooch ash von fe‘ler vat kin. sleep so long vat I can.” ‘Were you not up during the night?” asked the young man, looking at him keenly. The face of the German did not change. “Up? Yaw. clouds. I yas asleep.” ‘You are sure of that?’ oak nefer vas sure mit anyt’ings,” replied Yost. “I lies town here unt den I forgits vea- der I vas asleep or not, I nefer vakes oop to } I vas up. I vas up in der “ You are a wit, I see,” “A vit? Vat ish dat?’ ‘*' You make jokes.” ° ‘‘Shokes? I nefer makes a shoke in mine life. | Ashoke? Ven I dalks mit you, I dalks trut’— | notting but trut’, So I dells you.” ; | ‘ Umph!” grunted Joe. ** No more talk. Get | ready. Off this morning.” | ‘“Whar we gwine at now, Joe(” asked Jeff | Rooter. ‘ | “Higher id the foothills. Git some place | where we safe. Guess we find a place, eb, Jeff?” | “ You bet ye! Is Dutchy goin’?” ““S’pose so,” said Joe. “ Jus’ as he likes.” aw,” said Yost; ‘I coes mit you. I nefer “Yaw,” said Yost; “1 it you. I nefe likes to shtoy ous here mit ter pears. I vill shoot a pear some day mit mine.cun, “Treckon ye kin,” said Jeff. ye shot that ar’ buzzard.” “Creat American pattridge,” said Yost. “ Yaw, I shoots him.” Rooter looked particularly foolish, He had hoped that Hoppen would forget the ngme he hai alg the turkey buzzard. } 4 by, yes,” he said sheepishly, ‘‘ we call ’em turkey buzzard out byar, sometimes.” “Vell, dat ish not so goot name, I calls dem | creat American pattridge.” | ** He has you, Jeff. You may as wellown up. | Get.out your ‘horses, boys. Hoppen, yonder is | your horse—the roan with the white star in his: | iorobshad: Look out for him. There is no bet- ou are once in: “T mind how | ter horse in the foothills when the saddle, but he is hard to ba j Yost approached the roan with a hesitating | step. The horse threw his ears back viciously judge of a kick. The Dutchman did not seem to pey any is long and made a savage bite at him. Hoppen, his name, Ang the posture of the father of evil in the garden of Eden. ‘The roan ran to the ex- treme length of the lariat and made two or three f nced athim. The next moment the two were down together on the green sward.
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\ ¥ and he rose and stood panting. Hoppen threw How it was done no one could say. They saw the brawny hand of Hoppen shoot out and seize the leg of the roan, and the next moment he was sprawling on the grass. A shor struggle took place, a trial of brute force and masculine will, and manhood tri- umphed, : ost rose, and the roan lay trembling at his feet. The Dutchman touched him with his foot on the saddle-cloth, put on the saddle, looked at his teeth, tightened the girths, and sprung upon his back, They saw ina moment that he was a prac- ticed horseman. There was another thing which puzzled Dan. This was the ease with which he adapted him- self to the Mexican saddle, which at this time was hardly used except upon the plains. Hop- | en seemed to know all about it, and lengthened is stirrups after the manner of mountain men, in a way entirely different from the manner of the old school of horsemanship, “ Where did you learn to ride?” asked Dan, as the party rode away beside the shining stream. Hoppen looked up with an odd smile. There was something so cunning in it that Dan felt more and more the conviction that this man was not what he seemed. But the first words he spoke were so transcendently Dutch that he was immediately ashamed of bis suspicions. “T learn mit St. Shoseph. I lifs ous of town mitavarm. I keeps goot many horses. I nefer vinds von I vas afraid to ride,” “How did you tame that fellow? I was a little afraid you had more than your match.” “T t'row him down,” said Yost, nodding. “Solsaw. Buthow? That isa strong horse and you are not a very large man.” Hoppen stretched out an arm for Dan to in- spect. He ran his fingers along the powerful limb above the elbow, and felt the muscles, hard as wrought iron. “You are very strong.” | ‘A little. I trow Jeff eas Now look. He Root man ; he drue man, put he fool too mooch, Get hurt some day, Vere you coes now?” | ‘Into the mountain, to bunt for the best | ‘known as the Indian devil—the Carcajou, I hope we may find one.” “‘Nefer see von?” “No, By all accounts, they are not the most lovely thing in the world to tackle. But 1 want one, and I'll have bim.” an CHAPTER IV. THE MOUNTAIN PATH. Trey left the plains behind and entered the of the hills. On yrise a rose rugged cliffs, with low growths of pine and spruce upon the sides, A monly place. Dark shadows fell upon the path they trod, from cliff and pine tree overhanging it. In some places the road was 80 narrow that they were forced to advance in Indian file. Joe rode in front. Dan followed, ~ext tohim Yost. The two guides and Rooter wrought up the rear. They were a strong and well-appointed body of men for that region, and men whom a band of savages would have hesi- tated long before attacking. Their knives and pistols were of the most approved manufacture, and any one of them could hit a man with a rifle-ball at six hundred yards, “We orter know this hole, Jeff,” said Joe, looking back at his comrade. ‘This is the | place where we lost two of our boys, Never understood how it were done.” — “Twas the White Spirit,” said Jeff. ‘ You know it were, Joe Lane.” , “So twas,” said Nat Farrel, one of the guides, “Tnever thought of that. The White Sperrit haunts these hills. I don’t like it overly well.’ “Nor I nutber,” said Jim Arnold, the other guide, “Say, Jeff, I s’pose you couldn’t find no other place to hunt only here.” “ Didn’t Dan say he wanted to track a carca- jou? I only ask you fair, Jim Arnold. Do you know any better place to look for the Indian devil? Bay, now? “No, I don’t,” grumbled Jim. ‘ But I don’t like to face the White Sperrit.” “No more dol, Jim. But, we must hev the carcajou. Didn’t Dan say that ef we tuk one, it would be two hundred dollars right in our fists? Ain’t that sumthin’?” “All right, Jeff. Never thought of that. White Sperrits be eussed. Whose afraid? aio’t, fer one. Thats fifty dollars apiece. git that, an’ I ever hold kivgs and ag’in in old sledge, I won’t back down acause I ain’t got money enough. Now you bet.” “Them keerds wiil be the death of you yit, = a 5. ever you git any money in your fist, what must | or yon are dead men,” the beautifal visior you ing to fill. u kain’t allus do it, and ef you do, 0 but § your pi eon kings and, calculat- | called out. oO Astonishment kept them silent. Such a vi- somebody will be sure to draw a flush hand and | sion as this, appearing te them in the midst of then whar’s Hood kings and, eh? I don’t say nothin’ ag’in keerds. They ar’ a providence to us trappers and guides. Like ez not we would git into some diviltry ef it wa’n’t for an honest game of poker or old sledge, But, bet in rea- son, Jim,” . ‘*T don’t reckon thar’s any man that sails un- der the name o’ Jeff Rooter kin lick me at keerds. I calculates I’m the best poker-player in this kentry. Yes, I do.” “All wrong, Jim. All ye know of keerds I told ye. Yeo kiow thet.” “ Don’t lie now, Jeff. I kin lick any man that | sez I ain't a better player than any of the Rooter family, father or son.” “That means ye kin lick me, don’t it? Jest jump off that mule and send for me one’t. You don’t know me, I reckon, I’m the great Pray- hary Flower. I’m the boss scrimmager of the Rocky Mount. You’ve hern tell of the man that took a buffler-bull by the tail and knocked out his brains ag’in’ a pine stump? "EP wasn’t much to do, but I did it. ‘*You don’t say,” muttered Jim, climbing slowly from his horse and throwing the bridle to Nat. ‘Git down here. I’m the Almighty Catamount of the Big Red. I don’t back down on no man. You took an insignificant little buffler-bull by the tail and knocked out his brains, did you? That ain’t nothing, that ain’t. Did you ever see me pull up a tree & the roots? Oh, git down.” eff was off in a moment, but Hoppen jumped down and catching the two men by the breast, held them at arm’s length, in spite of their stragelee. “Kill the durned Dutchman,” roared Jim; ‘“what business hez he to interfere with white men?” ““Yoost you keep shtill, or I knocks your heat against der rock,” replied the Dutchman, coolly. *Coom, coom. Vm not afraid mit you. Keep shtill. Vat you vant to fight for?” “ Didn’t he call me a liar?’ roared Jeff, strug- ling to get away. ‘I want his skulp. Wa- Roo! Yip! Let me gitathim. He desarves to die. ‘He said he could beat me at poker, he did,” shouted Jim, “T knocks your heats togedder off yeu don’t keep shtill. Now you listen mit me. Off you bromise me not to fight mit each udder, [ let you co.” ‘This is sheer nonsense, Jeff,” said Dan. “I am ashamed of you.” . Jeff began to be a little abashed now that his anger began to cool. “Tain’t got nothin’ ag’in’ Jim,” said he. ‘ But he ain’t got no call to crow over me, hez he?” “T tell you what to do,” said Dan, “ Let it | rest until you go back to St. Louis after this trip, and then play against each other. don’t fight.” - “Good enough, old man,” said Jeff. agree. Do you, Jim?” ; “Shake!” said Jim, rere his hand. Their little difference adjusted, they became better friends than ever, and for hours they rode side by side through the mountain. pass, where it was wide enough, boasting of their ex- ploits in these regions. oa aes listened with a quiet smile. Dan, who had been watching him up to this tim>, rode ie Aa and entered into con- versation with bim, e found, under the rude phraseology ot the German, a vein of native cunning and shrewd good sense, which did not so much astonish bim after what he had seen him do that day, and the evening before. Jeff regarded him: with some doubt. The ease with which he bad ‘held both himself and the other uide had astonished him, at the same time giv- ng bim.a high opinion of their strange com- panion’s physical strength. The party passed through a narrow defile in the mountain and entered upon a verdant table. land, a thousand feet above the level plain which they had quitted half a day before. At this moment a clear, sweet voice called them to ahalt. Turning in surprise, they saw a woman standing on a flat rock a hundred feet above them, leaning upon a small rifle and looking down at them. A glorious woman! Her hair unconfined, was lifted by the passing breeze, and swept in waving curls about her symmetri- calform. Herdress was a sort of tartan, anda sash of the same material was thrown over her shoulders and knotted at her waist. Her feet were smalk and shod in dainty boots, slashed and embroidered in a fanciful manner. But “ I ‘the men I have with me. the savage scenery, throned on a great rock, might well surprise them. Dan was the first to find his voice. “You ask us where we are going with the air of one who hasa right,” he said. “Weare go- ing on a bunt,” “Turn back then, while there is yet time,” she said. ‘I warn you back from this terrible lace, as I have warned many another. If you — ke my advice, it shall be well with you. ‘The prairies are broad enough for us all. Leave to to those who claim it the right to patrol these passes, as they have done for years.’ ‘‘ Others claim the pass, then?”* “Yes. They are not the ones to warn vou back. That is my office. If you are foolhzidy enough to keep on, after what I have said, you do it at your peril.” ‘We accept the peri], and refuse to go back, unless we know what we have to fear. You -ce They ere uct the’oues to go back without reasons. You must give them to us,” “Other men have acted as you do,” replied the girl, with an angry flush. ‘I have no more tosay. I leave you to your own devices.” “Stay,” said Dan, as she turned to go away. “A word before you go, Was it you who sent us the warning last night?” “ Ask no questions, for I will answer none. You have marked out your own course, Walk it, if you will. For my part, I have done all in my power to save you. But you will not be saved. Go your ways and I will go mine,” While she held them in conversation, Jetf Rooter had ridden forward at a‘qnick pace, As she turned to go away, he suddenly appenred beside her on the rock and seized her in his arms before she could use the rifle. - ‘‘Loose your hold, rascal. How dare you touch me?” sbe cried, Unheeding ber words, Jeff raised her in bis arms and descended the cliff rapidly, while Dan called out to him angrily to Jet her go. Shortly after he ap red among them, panting for breath, and holdivg ber firmly. , “Thar,” be said, letting her feet rest on the ground an! still bolding her hands, ‘Now you’ve got her, Make her tel] what she means.” ““Release her, Jeff,” said Dan, pushing his companion back. ‘ How dare you tusult a wo- man Jeff released his hold and she stepped back with leveled rifle, looking angrily at the party. 1am here,” she said. “What do you want with me?” j * Nothing,” replied Crowley. “You are rev,” . “Thank you, I know you, Rooter. I will teach hen better than to lay hands upon me. It is well for you that you held me, or I would have shot you down like a, dog. No one ever yet touched Maid Marian in anger who did not repent it at some time.” ; ** Ef you let her go, I won’t be responsible for the result,” said Jeff. ‘‘ She kin be made to tell you what you want.” : “Dot's right,” said Yost, ‘‘ Make her shpeak. Vat right hash a yooman to holt her tongue! V. her ef she von’t shpeak.” ee P “Be silent, fellow,” replied Dan, in “Believe me, miss, this rudeness was oT apol for my- “T know him well enough,” she replied, * al- though he does not know me, I will never for get this insult on his part. Am I free to go?” of phon i replied Dan, She turned to go away, but came back, The generous behavior of the young man had touched her, and she wished to do something to repay it. “T wish you would take warning,” she said. “There are dangers here of which you have no conception. ‘Dangers unseen, and of which T cannot speak. I would do it if 1 could. It ought to be enough for you if I warn you that these mountains are fatal to all who enter,them,.” “We are grateful to you for your interest in our welfare, but we will not go back. If you know those from whom this danger is to come, let me warn them. We are not men to be trifled with, and will not submit tamely to be robbed or murdered, Let them remember this,” “You wili not be warned, Farewell, then and when the time comes, remember that Maid Marian warned bie in the Robbers’ Pass.” She turned and darted up the roeks with the agility of the mountain goat, Upon the summit Jim Arnold, Don’t 1 know you! As’ soon as} ‘* Wheredo you go’ she cried. ‘‘Halt there, | sue paused and made them a mute gesture of
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6 ‘arewell, which was full of dignity and grace. The next moment the rock was vacant, and the party stood dumfounded, gazing at the spot where she had stood. “ Now let me ask you why you didn’t keep the durned witch?’ growled Jeff. ‘You see if trouble don’t come out of it.” ’ ‘Don’t let me see you take hold of a lady in that way again, Mr, Rooter, while you are under | my orders.” “Oh. You don’t say! A lady, too! That devilsays she knows me. I don’t know her. But, if you don’t wish you’d kept her for a safe- guard, then my name ain’t Jeff Rooter. Come along.” CHAPTER V. A NEW-COMER. THEY made a camp in a secluded pass‘among the mountains, not a mile from the spot where they had seen the mountain maid. Jeff Rooter was the leading spirit of the camp, and the ether guides naturally looked to him for advice, unless he assumed too much, when they at once . asserted their own dignity, after the manner of free trappers and guides. “Thar’s a man in these yer regions I'd like to kev in the camp, ef he c’u’d be got,” said Jeff, ene day, as they came back from a deer-hunt. ‘*He’s the best man amongus. None of the, boys are at all afraid to allow thet old trapper Ben is the boss.” Yost drew near with an appearance of in- terest, which did not escape the attention of Dan, who was watching him closely. “Trapper Ben?’ said Dan. _‘* Whois he?” “Ben Miffin is hisname. He’s tramped these plains time out of mind, an’ thar ain’t a man atween Laramie and the Coming thet don’t know him. He’s been a Crow chief in his time. That ain’t all. He hates Blackfeet like death, an’ he reckons it’s his duty to see thet nobody e wronged by ’em hyarabouts. [ wish he was yar.” “Do you know where to find him? I would pay him well to join us.” “*T don't know where to placa him jest now. Last time I seen him was up on the North Red, treppin’. Thar used” to be famous huntin’- grounds hyar, but they ar’ nigh about cleaned out. I don’t reckon you’lt object to lettin’ the boys work fer themselves when they ain’t hunt- , in’ fer you?” “ Not at all,” said Dan. * Because, ef they kin pick up a little some- thin’ by the’rselves, aside from what you pay ’em, it’s so much cl’ar gain. The ground ain't nigh so good ez twas onc’t, but it ain’t quite bad. Thar’s han’some felts to be got by them thet’s thrifty. Yost took to the work with unusual aptitude, . which awakened the suspicions of Jeff Rooter more and more. His success was something almost wonderful. It was rather early for trapping, but the nights were very cold, though no snow had fallen as yet. Besides two or three packs of beaver-skins, Yost secured a number of martins and mink, and several other skins, But the Dutchman had an enemy who was more than his match. Nearly every day one of his traps which he had set in a favorable place, was dragged out of the water and its contents devoured. It was no buman thief who did the deed, for they would never have torn the skin into shreds and patches, and left the bones scat-~ tered on the ground, gnawed clean of flesh. The thief was partial to that particular trap. Not aday passed but Yost suffered loss both in bis pockets and morals. For every beaver lost caused him to Swear terribly, a habit which was fearfully developed in him, He told bis troubles to Jeff Rooter, and the old guide went out with him to view the ground. “Tknow what it is,” said he, looking at the scattered remains of a fine beaver. ‘* Only one animile c’u’d hev the heart to do it.” “ Vat is it?” ‘ “Tt’s a wolverine, an’ no mistake.” said Jeff. “Pll bet money a wolverine knows more than any man in this camp.” “Vat ish a wolverine?” ‘Don’t you know? It’s one of the durndest thieves ye ever saw in the shape of an animile, Steal! Good Lord, they’ll beat a Blackfoot, chaw me into inch pieces ef they won’t. The durndest critter? ow many times hev she ae out b ga trap?” ** More ash seven dimes, so help me cracious,” said the Dutchman, thy * : “Yes? An’ she'll do it every time thar’s any- thing in it so long as you set a trap for beaver. Why don’t ye set a deadfall for her?” ““T don’t know him,” said Yost, ; | “Tl show it to ye, then,” said the other. | ver-skins so easy ash notting vas. Coom; ve ‘‘Durn it, we kain’t be eaten up by the varmint. Show me whar she comes.” | They went up the canyon about a quarter of |a mile. The trap was set in a sheltered nook | close to the base of a rocky bluff. Jeff laughed _ heartily to see so many bones scattered on every , band, the remains of the wolverine’s visits at various times, " “You may laff off you vants to, Sheff Rooter. Shpose dese vash shtole from you, maybe you laff t’other side off your mout’.” “T kain’t help havin’ a laugh about sech a sight ez thet thar. Don’t stop me. Let a chap | laugh, kain’t ye?” “*Dere!” cried Yost. Look at my trap.” There indeed was the article in question, pulled up out of the water with the bind legs of a hs beaver sticking in it, the result of the last raid. ‘ ‘¢ Oh, cracious to gootness!” cried Yost, ‘ vat a sight ish dat vor mineeyes to see! I dinksdat ish vorsé nor any ings vat Isees. Dat peaver vash te pig feller vat I dries to get so long. Ach, mein Cott! Let us catch dat wolverine unt Shim shall cook him, unt so help me cra- cious ash I vill eat bim.” Jeff showed him how to do the work, and he set about making a deadfall. In an hour it was done. He wanted to stay and see the wolverine come into the trap, but the trapper would not let him doso, / “Don’t ye try it,” he said. ‘The cunnin’ varmint kin smell a man haifa mile off, easy enough. Ye kain’t think how much they know. A man ain’t got any chaince with them, ‘cause they won’t come within gunshot unless they’re pooty hungry. *Tain’t off’n we kin git a wolver- ine. Come away. I ain’t sure the deadfall will fetch her. Ef thar is any way to git under it, | er over if, sho’ll do it.” The bait which Yost had placed on the end of the deadfall was so arranged that if anything pulled at it a weight fell from the other end of the log and it dropped across the body of the thief, generally breaking its back. The trap he built was a good one, and he had great faith in its success, During the afternoon he went up to see if anything was in thetrap, Jeff was with him. As they came near they could see that the log had fallen. ¢ “Ve've got him!” cried Yost. * Don’t too sure of thet,” replied Jeff. ‘Ye kain’t ketch a wolverine every day.” He was right. When they came to the spot, |} they found the trap empty both of thief and ; meat, Too cunning to go under the log, the wolverihe had gone on it, and pulled at the ; meat front above. Of course the trap fell, but the thief, after eating the bait, walked coolly away. Yost was in a rage. He swore oaths which none but German lips can attain without incurring the danger of lockjaw. He called down all kinds of anathemas on the bead of the unfortunate thief, while Jeff stood by, shaking with laughter. “T judge ye ain’t answerable for swearing after sech a loss as thet ar’,” said he, “‘ ’dsw’ar tod. But what ar’ ye goin’ to do?” “T fix him dis dimes, so ash my name ish oni apems Vait; it ish getting late. I fix im. ‘He went back to camp, and returned shortly with a lariat and some more bait. He then loaded his gun, putting in a double charge of powder and a bandful of buckshot. He then climbed a tree and suspended the gun to a limb by means of. th~ lariat, in such a way thaf a pull on the muzzle would discharge it. To the muz- zle he attached a piece of meat in a tempting manner, ‘‘ Dere!” he cried, contemplating his invention with, great pride. ‘‘You see vat ish done. Pymepy cooms volverine, dakes holt off’n de meat. Pop! bang! She keels over, Dat ish goot. Yaw!” by “Thet’s a good trap,” said Jeff. “I judge thet will fix her flint eternally. Efitdon’t, ’m aliar, Let’s go back to camp.” They did so—Yost looking back lovingly at his invention, and Seriahains Jone in relation to its merits. On their way back they stopped at such, of their traps as lay between them and camp, and took out the spoils found there. Jeff had just taken a fine beaver froma trap, when he heard the report of the gun they- had left. “Thar she goes!” he cried. ‘Anyway, yer trap hez not failed to git the gun off.’ _ “Vat you pets dat I haf not Kill von volver- ine?” cried the Dutchman. “Tl bet five beaver pelt ag’in’ ¢ single one,” | said Jeff. i “ I dakes dat pet, Sheff. ““He’s peen here agi’n. I makes finiff pea- ons unt prings in my volverine.” t was now dark, and Jeff did not care to go back. But he had bet, and wanted the bet de- cided. So there was nothing for it but to go. It did not take long to reach the place where the trap had been set. The gun no longer bung in the tree. The wolverine did not lay dead at the roots. But there lay the gun, as it had fallen. “The cute varmint!” said Ben. she’s done!” The animal bad climbed the tree and gnawed off the lariat, letting the gun fall. f course it went off, and before the trappers arrived upon the scene the strange beast was away into the depths of the forest, carrying the bait which she had so richly earned. The rage of poor Yost passed all description, As before, he danced about, swearing his entire vocabulary of choice Dutch oaths, much to the delight of Jcff, who stood near enjoying the scene, ‘ “ This yer is too tough a colt for ye to man- age,” he said. ‘‘Let me take hold of her, I judge thet thar is only one way to fetch her, an’ now thet she hey bothered ye so, I’m the man to ketch her. It’s an old head too; none of yer fools of animiles; ye bet.” “Vat ye do, Sheff?” replied Yost, in high dis- pleasure. ‘You no petti\r ashI pe. You can nix catch her. She pees too much vor you.” ‘*7 calculate not, coleman. P chen ye don’t know me. Now stand aside and let a feller work as knows how.” The first thing he did was to bend down a small tree toa level with the stump of a tree whicb he had cut down, and fasten it tightly so that it could not seriog back. In the top of this tree he placed a large trap, one of the strongest he had, which pumenes to be set near at hand. This he baited ‘with a choice piece of meat. "When al] was done he undid the fastenings ahd placed it in such a way that. the moment the trap sprung "and the animal caught began to struggle the tree would spring: into air. The trap itself was so buried under the leaves that an animal, to reach the bait, must get upon the body of the tree and cross it. When all was ready Yost accompanied the trapper back to camp grumbling at the ill suc- cess of his last trap. Jeff said nothing. “T dells you tish no goot,” said the » Dutcb- man. ‘ Youcan nixcatch her, anyhow. Dcn’t I know? S'’pose I peesa vool? Dish ish no vol- verine dat dakes mine peaver; dat ish al) vool- isbness; dis ish yon tuy el, unt noiting else; dat ish vat I dinks; yaw.” 5 Tl] ketch bim ferall that,” said Jeff. ‘‘ Does e know whol learned the trick from? "Twas rapper Ben; old Ben Miffin, as I was tellin’ ye "bout. He’s “bout the cutest varmint ye ever see, that old Ben.” ‘“*T likes to see him.” ‘They say he’s got a new cummerade lately —a big Dutchman named Svyder—Jan Snyder. I never see him, but they do say he’s nigh about ez smart ez the old man hisself.” *Doochmans smart? ‘You’s voolin’ mit me now, Sheff.Rooter. You nefer dinks a Deoch- mans ish smart.” ‘“Yes I does; you be, fer one. Bnt never mind thet, You want to see me catch a wol- verine the way old Ben does it. You jest lay low an’ keep shady; old Jeff kin doit. They kain’t fool bim wuth a cent.” a po it to-night,” pleaded Yost, ‘No, to-morrer.” They returned to camp and said nothing about the wolverine. ext morning, quite early, they started for the trap. Jeff, noah to the disgust of Yost, insisted upon stopping every nov. aud then at bis traps and taking out the captives. ‘He wa’s’t goin’ to lose bis time,” he said. In vain Yost begged him to roceed, for he was in a hurry to get to the Trey and see if the animal was taken. At length they reached the trap, and Yost uttered a wild shout of triumph. / The top of the tree was swaying in the air, and there, dangling by one foot, hung the wol- verine, her feet just brushing the earth below. It. was a huge animal, and she turned her vicious head from side to side to catch a glimpee of the new-comers. Jeff echoed the cry of his companion arid started forward on the run. The wolverine began to le, knowing the fate in store for it, and sent up its low, peculiar note of alarm. “Thar sbe bangs, the cantankerous reptile,” said Jeff. ‘‘Now d’ye say I kain’t ketch a wolverine?” “You did it bully, Jeff,” said some one near them, in a quiet tone. Jeff looked up quickly, “See what F: s d k ‘ 1 f t ] ] i
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and brought his rifle forward, but checked him- self when he saw who the nhew-comer was, darted forward, and began to shake hands with him earnestly. It was an old man, hale and strong yet, with many streaks of gray run- ning through his once raven locks. The face was a peculiar one, but full of spirit, and the black eyes had fire enough in them yet. His dress was that of the trapper aud guide, He carried a rifle of the most approved make, | and a splendid revolver bung in bis belt. ‘*Ben Miffin! By gracious, I’m glad to see ye.” ” “Same to ye, old boy,” replied Ben. ‘Come out with a huntin’ party of boys from the towns, I judge?” ‘*Jess so, Ben,” “Likely to lose yer skulps, too, It beats all human natur’ how resky boys will be.” “T ain’t quite a boy, Ben Miffin.” “Yes ye be. Yer a boy to me, Jeff Rooter. Qh, git out. ve tramped these pararies too much not to know.what Pm talkin’. Danger! That ain’t no word fer it, Jeff. Don’t think I’ve bin asleep. Ive bin a-watchin’ ye, mighty clost. I knowed of danger ye didn’t know nethin’ *bout. Yes I did.” “Then why didn’t ye come an’ tell us, Ben?” said Jeff, reproachfully. “Teach yer grandmother, Jeff Rooter. I sorter reckin | orter know when to speak an’ when to keep still. Mout be: ye’ve seen the White Sperrit.” “How did ye know that?’ “Never you mind. Didn’t it warn ye to git up an’ dust? Now, why didn’t ye take advice? I ain't overly fond of these youngsters thet eomes out hyar so off'n nowadays. They drive all the game from the plains, ime was when 1e@u’d drop a deer ora buffler on any spot of | ground I liked. I kain’t do if, now, an’ ’'m minded to travel furder west. It’s gittin’ too closely settled about yer fer my way of thinkin’,” | Closely settled! Jeff could not forbear a smile as he looked about him. There stood the eternal hills, as they had stood for ages. The river flowed at their feet,.and the trees hung heavy upon the mountain side. “Yer thinkin’ it don’t look none too much like bein’ settled about yer. Mebbe it don’t look so to you, but does to me, [ve seen the day when to see a white man in this region twice a year would bea wonderful thing. ’Tain’t so now. An’ besides, thar’s more hyar than you think, ; ** Who bé they?” | “T ain’t goin’ to tell ye now. "Twould only make ye uneasy like, an’ that wouldn’t do no ood. No, wait ‘ill the time comes. Though *m jubous it would be better ef ye would couple up an’ leave.” CAM nights shay ef yeilike:1/ain'h goin’ be “All right; stay ef ye like; I’ain in say aebhy? ag’in’ it, am I? Not a bit, But look yer.. I’m goin’ to watch ye. When I hol- ler, look out fer danger.” “‘ You'll let us know?” y “You bet ye. Old Ben, Miffin is old Ben Miffin yit, an’ he ain’t goin’ to stand by an’ see wrong done to any one, not ef be knows it. ‘Specially a white buman. I’m gardeen of every one thet resks his neck among the Black Hills. They will do it, These young men will come hyar, though ’ve warned them not, ag’in and ag’in. But sence they do come, old Ben Miffin is the’r ae ho but he! Does ye see this yer rifle “Sho 43 a beauty, Ben. Gosh. I wish’t I owned sech a one.” ‘ ‘It’s five year gone by when the boy ez sent me thet shook bands with me at old Laramie an’ see’d me go out on the plains. Morris his name is; Bentley Morris. A brave lad an’ true —a chap thet it wouldn’t hurt a man so much to lose his life fer. Wal, I stood by him iu danger an’ he stood by me, Last spring when I went to Laramie the cunnel sez to me, ‘ Ben sez he, ‘thar’s a packige hyar fur ye.’ Now thort a packige was one of them steamboats thet run up an’ down the river, an’ I told bim I didn’t want to go nowhar. ‘ You're mis- taken,’ sez he. ‘Some one hez sent ye some- thin’.’ An’ he brung it out, Thar was a note from her, in her own hand-write, the gal thet was with us in danger.” “ Who’s she?” “Her wame was Milly. *_A beauty, she was. Not sech a beauty ez the White Sperrit, ye un- derstand, ‘cause she lays over anythin’ I, see, She wasn’t proud like the White Sperrit. But she used to call me father Ben, an’ that took me, somehow, Ef I ever wish’t I had a darter truly, it were then. A lovable gal like that 7un wakes a man feel queer.” ‘* Ye’ve bin married, though.” ‘‘T guess so. My wife was a Crow. The Gree, aake washer name. A lively eritter, she was. I'll back her to make things lively furany man. [ve traveled round some, my- self, an’ I’ve tried to trade off that woman to any responsible human, but I kain’t doit. She ain’t a bad-lookin’ female, fur an Injun, but Lord! When did any woman hey her tongue? She'd talk a Sshaanbla man stone-blind in half a year’s time. I’ve been lookin’ round fur a deaf man thet would like to tackle her. A deaf ’un would be a good joke on her, I'll bet.” ' “So ’twould!” said Jeff, laughing. ‘*L tried to sell her to Jan Schneider onc’t,” said Ben with asly glance at the immoyable figure of the Dutchman who stood leaning on is rifle during the conversation, and making no attempt to join init. ‘I told him about her, an’ blame my cats ef he’d give a knife fur ber— jest a common buck-horn handled butcher- knife. He wasa queer ‘un, Never knew Jan, did ye, Jeff?” “Never,” said Jeff. ‘I were speakin’ to this man ’bout hima minit ago, His name is Yost Hoppen. Dutchy, this yer is Ben Miffin, what I told ye about.” ‘“* How you do, Penn?” said Yost, calmly, and with asmile which Jeff could not fathom. ‘I hope you pooty vell.” ‘“*Sarvice to ye, mister what’s yername, Um comfortable enough. Hope yer pooty peart, Ye make me think of Jan Schueider. oe ez like ez two, peas.” ‘Vere Jan now?” asked Yost. “He ain’t fur away,” said Ben, with a sly wink. “ Not overly fur. I kin git him by a whistle, ef ’'m minded to it. Wal, onc’t more, Jeff, look out fur yerself, Thar’s them in these hills ain’t overly fond of ye, an’ mout be ye’ll git into trouble. But ef {ha wust comes fo the wust, yer party is all men, and men ar’ easier to handle than females,” *‘ Won’t ye come in an’ see the boys? Thar’s some among ’em would be glad to see ye. So would the gentleman. He was a-sayin’ no later than day before yesterday thet he would give money. to hey you with us,” ‘Would he though?” “ You.kin bet on it.” “Then I’m ther man,.sure., I'll go in an’ see what they’ve got to say. Ff so be Bed keer to hev me, I’m open to make honest money any way I kin, | heern tell ye was minded to take *Tain’t every one knows. whar to ‘Come along. Yer the man we want,” They entered the camp together, where Yost triumphantly produced the ears of the wol- verine as an evidence that he would eat no more beaver. The simple faith and readiness of Ben stru¢k the hunters favorably and he was en- gaged to slay with the party while in that re- gion. He claimed the right to go away for three days first, promising to eome back at the end of that time, He left the camp just at dusk. Not long after Yost strolled out alone toward the river-side. An hour » and Jeff went to look for him. He searched high and low in vain, The Dutchman was gone. ‘CHAPTER VI, A VISITOR. THE surprise occasioned by tho sudden de- parture of the Dutchman passed away after a day or so, Free trappers get used to these things, and they consoled themselves with the sepposison that he had left behind the results of trapping since they had come to the camp. Opening the cache with theintention of dividing the spoil pring, Sopcunelees, their pur- poe changed. Every skin belonging to Yost ad disappeared, He was honest enough, how- ever, to refrain from touching any thing which did not belong to him. The traps which had been lent him by Jeff Rooter arid the rest, were left where he had sét them. “He'll come back,” said Jeff. “T ain’t off’n fooled ina man. He’ll be sure tocome back; ef he’s gone away, he’s gone fer a good reason. Don’t go back en him too soon. He don’t look like a bad man; Ben Miffin said sa.” “He went away soon after Ben did,” said Daniel. musingly. ‘There may be something” in it. Let us wait.” : - *‘ Somebody coming,” said the half-breed at this moment, raising his hand ‘for silence. The talking ceased, and every eye was turned toward the entrance to the canyon. The rapid beat of coming hoofs could be heard, and in‘a moment a white horse dashed into the valley, bearing upon his back the girl knownas the White Spirit. 7 She was looking aver her shoulder in an atti- tude of fear, and Dan sprang into the saddle closely followed by Jeff Rooter and the half- breed. Just then the heads of other horses eppeaed at the entrance of the canyon, and three Indians, with lances at rest, came on in pursuit of the flying girl. Seeing the determined attitude assumed by the trappers and hunters, whom it was plain they had not expected to see, the Indians drew rein, and fled back over the path they had so lately traversed at their best speed. By the ‘ame they bad turned, Dan Crowley had reached the side of the girl, and laid his hand upon her bridle-rein, It seemed to him that she looked more beauti- ful to-day, flusbed by the exercise of hard rid- ing, than she had that day upon the mcuntain- side. Her eyes were downeast before the boli orbs of the young man, “You were in danger,” be said. ‘‘T am ‘glad you came upon us so luckily. You are sate here.” “T thank you, sir,” she said, ‘‘ You have in- deed rendered me u service. But that my horse stumbled in coming up the pass, [ should linve escaped easily. But Gipsy sprained her ankle badly. You will allow me to proceed,” “Tf you must hurry away, there is no man here who would attempt to stop you—not even Jeff Rooter, who was inclined to keep you as a hostage the other day. He will not do it again, “No,” said Jeff, “ though I hold to it vit, thet ef we cud keep her in the camp we sh’u’d be safe.” ‘“You know much of the secrets of the hills,” she said, ““but you vo not know all, Ishould be a living, breathing ¢alamity to you,” “Then don’t stay.” said Jeff, ‘*Do ye know a man called Ben Miffin?” “T have seen him often. He sayed me from death by the feet of a herd of buffaloes. I hayo much to thank him for,” ‘Fe is goin’ to be one of our party in a dev or two,” said Jeff. She looked at him angrily. d ‘It seems to me that every one I care for in the least_ will perish by getting himself-into danger, Bop to annoy me, Why have you entrapped that brave old man? He knows the danger better than any of you, and yet he will run his head into if in this blind, reckless way, Why place me under obligations for which I feel that I must make a bese return?” ‘You have done no harm to any one here,” said Dan. : : “Have done, You know nothing of it, 1 warned you all, as far as lay in ay Paes I would have saved you, but what could [do when all were against me? My power extends onl thus far; I can warn you; if you refuse to take warning, be it on your own heads. But Ben Miffin must not come among you.” ome ‘In two days he will be here and hake i lead of the party,” said Dan. “[ do not upderstand your warmth, Is he not a worthy man?” ited al “None more so; and therefore I would save him,” she replied. vad “From what?” ; “ “T have not the power to fell.” * om ‘ Let it pass then., Do you know the tribe of the Indians who pursued you just now?” “Certainly; they were Crows.” ‘ * Might thev not have been Blackfeet?’ “‘T do not fear Blackfeet; these were Crows,” sbe answered. Dan looked at the half-breed. “White girl right,” he said. Blackfeet.” J ‘“We shall be in danger from them,” said Dan, mysingly. ‘‘ We thought ourselves safe from intrusion here; it seems that others know these passes as well as you, Jeff.” “T didn’t think it,” said Jeff, looking crest- “Crows; no fallen. thought fur, an’ he war right. I ain’t sure we orter stay hyar, but now we've got in, don't let us be iriv out by nobody.” , ‘* Why should you be so obstinate?” said the irl. ‘IT have kept your fate away from you age? than you think; [can not aid you much longer.” “Will you alight and eat? We were about to partake of food,” said Dan. y “Thank you, |, will do so; and I hope, too, be- fore I go, to persuade you that this is no safe place for you.” : “Tam ready to listen Lo.reason,” said Dak, as he assisted her to alight. “Which means, in p'ain Evelish, that J am an unreasonable female,” said the girl, accepting, ‘Ben said thar war moré about then |
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sv - hunter’s garb. 8 — Indian Joe. his hand in alighting. ‘Do not think so: Iam earnest in my desire to be of service to you.” “T donot doubt it,” he said, bringing her near the fire. ‘‘ Jeff, take care of the lady s horse, if you please. Give me that buffalo-skin, Nat; now my saddle. There; that is ascomfortable a seat as I can give you.” “ Thanks seein; you are only too kind to one who could aid you, but dare not. Do not put yourself to so great trouble on my account; I do not deserve it. ** Allow me to be judge of that,” said Dan. “You are welcome to our camp, and we will do all we can to make your stay here acomfortable one. Our accommodations are not good, but such as they are, they are at your service.” ‘You are very kind, sir—too kind indeed. It makes me feel the obligation all the more. Will you add to it by asking one of your men to look at the horse? 1 am afraid he is badly hurt.” ‘Let me do it,” said Jeff, starting up, hastily. “Pm an out an’ outer with a hoss; an’ if any thing kin be done for the animile, ’m the boy to do it, you bet. I wish’t Ben was hyar; he’s the boss feller to take keer of a hoss.” “T know him well; and unworthy as I am, the old man idolized me,” said the girl, softly. “Do you know that Trapper Ben is my type of an honest man? He is brave to a fault, gener- ous to a fallen foe, and faithful toa triend, even to the death.” ¢ “You k well of him.” “Who speaks ill? All the world does not con- tain a nobler beart. Rough, to be sure, and rude of speech, but he has a heart which would do credit to aprince, I am sorry he is.coming here.” ‘You are a riddle I cannot read,” said Man, quickly. “ Your vague warnings, while they may make us uneasy, can not drive us away. I am having rare sport here. Buffalo, deer and bear are the captives of my bow and spear. The men have a good supply of peltries, and when we kill a carcajou [shall be ready to return.” “T hope you may kill one speedily, then,” said the girl, ‘‘Do you not hear horses’ feet?” ‘** Yes; they come this way.” As he spoke, the coming horsemen rounded the point of rocks and appeared in the valley. They were three in number and were well armed and appointed. The horses they rode were of the mustang breed, strong-limbed and fleet-footed, Two.of the new-comers were or- dinary-looking fellows enough, dressed in Bat the man who rode in front was a remarkable person to meet in the back- woods. His frame was robust, and evidently hardened byfatigue and hardships. His face, which was almost fvuitless in its contour, “was browned by exposure to the sun and wind of many climates, He wore no beard, but silky mustaches of the deepest black hung as low as the base of the neck, giving bim a brigandish air. His dress was of dark green cloth, care- fully fitted to his person. A belt of black leather was strapped about his waist, and held a beautiful pair of revolvers of the most ap- proved make. His keen, dark eyes surveyed the pat th» fire for a moment, and then, signing to his c,»mpanions to halt, he ‘rode for- ward aloue, ‘‘Good-day to all here, gentlemen. Ah, my dear Marian, [ am glad to find you safe. Some one saw Fe go up the pass, and directly after three Indians followed you. Were you pursued?” ‘Yes. These gentlemen drove back the say- ages. Did you not meet them in the pass?” ‘Doubtless they heard us coming and con- cealed themselves. My thanks are due thse gen- tlemen for your rescue. Perhaps they will fa- vor me with their nates.” ‘Lam called Daniel Crowley,” said Dan, act- ing as spokesman. ‘The others are trappers and guides. This is Jef? Rooter, this Ka this Indian Joe, and this Jim Arnold. our party areabsent. Ben Miffin and a German, ‘Yost Hoppen by name.” ** Yost Hoppen?” oe Yes.” ** A new-comer in these hills,” said the visitor. ** At least, I never saw him.” “*He has but lately arrived here,” said Dan. “He left us somewhat abruptly.” “ What sort of a fellow. was he?” Dan described the German. | | f Adams, | Two of The eyes of the | _ man brightened and he took off his cap and ran , jbis fingers through his hair with a smile. Ashe | pag they sew that he wore his hair in short curls, “IT know who this is,” said he, ‘‘Confound his impudence. Do you know who I think it is? He left about the same time with Ben Miffin, did he not?” ‘ ‘Soon after.” —a “Then it is Jan Schneider, the Dutch friend of Ben Miffin. They are both tricky customers, but the Dutchman is the worst. “And if you would believe me, when he came out on the fone he was as perfect a specimen of the native utchman as you would wish to see.” “We thought him so now,” said Dan. ‘‘ Con- found him, tr should like to trounce him. What could have been his object?” “Pure deviltry, and nothing else. People used to practice on him when he came out first, and he likes to return the compliment.” ‘““Haw, haw!” roared Jeff. ‘You don’t tell me the Dutchman fooled us all? Bully for him. He ain’t no slouch or he wouldn’t be ‘with Ben Miffin, }allow, You ain’t told us your name, mister.” ““My name? Call me what you will, name will do,” replied the other. “Not prezactly so, mister. Dan Crowley hez been mighty free with our names. Stands to reason you orter return the compliment. Let’s hear.” “Tm called Conrad Vesey.” ‘Never mind what ye’r’ called. name?” “*T have given it,” “All right. Glad to see ye. Them men of yours out thar—who be they?” “Never mind that. They are trappers in my What's yer employ. -Do you often exercise your question- | ing were in that manner, Mr. Rooter?’ “ hb ny “T should not think it would pey you. I have seen a great deal of life,and I never knew a man to get very rich or very great by asking questions, solutely necessary for my own comfort and well- being.” ‘ “Close, ain’t ye?” said Jeff. “ Rather,” replied Conrad, ‘ Now, Marian, if you are quite rested, I think we had bettér go.” “Thad accepted the invitation of these gen- tlemen to take some food.” “Do you need it?” “Certainly Ido. J have been riding all day.” “You ridetoo much for your own good, Maid Marian,” said Conrad, with a strange, dark smile, which Dan did not like, “I think we must limit you somewhat.” ‘“T will go now, Conrad,” said the girl, quick- ly “Gentlemen, I thank you for what you have done. Is my horse fit to go, Mr. Rooter?” ‘“*Course he is. He aint hurt a bit: He gota gravel stone in bis foot, I took it out, an’ he’s all right. “ He kin go.” “Thank you, Mr, Rooter.” Dan advanced to assist her into the saddle. But Conrad leaped to the ground and thrust himself between them in a manner almost | amounting to rudeness. “Excuse me,” be said. ‘No man touches her hand bit 1. Allow me to aid you, Marian,” “You presume almost too much upon my Sek ohn Conrad Vesey. Mr. Crowley, may ask your aid in mounting?’ Dan 2 ong came forward, and helped her to the saddle. The other man stood by, looking savagely at the young gentleman. His color Any. Inever did, upon my word. For my | part, I never answer any more than I think ab- | came and went in fitful flashes, and his eyes | looked like turning coals, and looked at bim with a glance as bigh as his own. ““You know that I will make this a bitter thing to you, wy dear girl,” he said, laughing in a short, fierce way. “T kvow that you have the power, Conrad Vesey. I know my power too.” ‘None so well as you. your power to mold me for than vourself. Beware o take.” ‘Are you ready, sir?” she said. “Tf you are.” “Then mount and I will follow. I have a few words to say to these gentlemen, and beg you to ride on. minutes,” “Twill not do it.” “You heard the lady request you to ride on,” said Crowley. laying bis hand upon the arm of tbe other. ** Do as she bids you.” ** And who gave you the power to command me?” said Conrad, throwing off his hand. ‘ By the life of my body, you are bold. Men have died before now, for half that you have done to me.” ood or evil better “*T tell you to go and let the lady speak,” said Dan, whose bl was thoroughly up. ** And if I do not go?” “1 will compel you to do it.” Conrad, never removing his eye from the face of the speaker, thrust his hand into the 4 1 will not detain you five | H She saw his anger | breast of his coat aud drew forth a silver bugle, which he made a movement to raise to his lips. At the sight of the bugle, Maid Marian sprun from the sdddle and seized him by the arm. He shook her off. “Do notsound, Conrad. I pray/you by every thing holy and pure which you once knew, by your patron saint, by the holy cross, by the name of — mother, do not sound.” “Twill, It is better to make an end of this at once. Ihave borne enough, and more than enough already; No man shall come and play Fernando to your Miranda, while I have the un- pleasant role of Caliban. Let me alone, I will sound the call.” ‘You shall not.” ‘“Then beg my pardon for the insult you have offered me but now.” “‘T was wrong, Conrad. I acknowledge it. See. Ihave dismounted. If you are ready, so am I. You may put me into the saddle.” He passed his arm about her waist, raised her from the ground, and placed her lightly in the saddle, with a glance of triumph at Dan. Then the party rode away together, without a word of farewell on ber part. “The durned hound,” growled Jeff. “Wd like to put a bullet right through bis p’izon kar- kidge. Whar did he come from?” ** How can I tell? said Dan. bas he over that sweet girl?” “Tt beats me. He’s a’tarnal critter. orter be skulped,” said Jim. “Yer mighty right,” said a voice close at hand. “Yaw!” cried another. ‘““What power He CHAPTER VII. EN PERIL, i TuHeY turned at the sound, and saw Ben Mif- fin standing near, with a smile upon his face, and, close beside him, the man they bad known as Yost Hoppen. “You are here, Ben. I am glad you have come. As for the person with you, I shall need some explanation of his conduct before I will consent to receive him among us,” said Daniel. ‘Very goot,” said the German. ‘ Vat you say mit me?’ “Did you give me your right name when we had you in camp.” ‘‘ Nein,” repted the other, with a broad grin. ‘““My name ish Jan Sclineider.” “Very well. What was your motive in try- ing to deceive us in that manner?” *“Yoost vor vun,” said Jan. “ Pendells me to co und git into t'e camp unt vind ous who you vas. I coomes auver ber, unt town py ter rifer I makes pelieve I valls asleep. I nefer pees asleep at all; I vas in fun.” “You did not deccive us entirely; I suspected that you knew more than you showed upon the surface, and so did Jeff. You had no sin- *T does vat Pen dells me,” said Jan. ‘ Now I dells_you, I peen mit ‘Pen more ash fiviff year. He port mans, he help me goot many dimes ven I peen in trouble. He save me ve der Injun come, he save me vrom der vasser, he save me vrom der volfs, he bulls me ous vrom der mut ven Shules Tamant leaves me dere; unt ven he says, ‘Do dis,’ I does it, yoos | ister motive, then?” | ash he says.” Ab, no one knows | “That's the way of it,” said Ben. ‘‘ Don’t you bother Jan. He’s a good feller, an’ will stand by yoe ez long ez Ido. Iset him on you myself, an’ he did jest ez I told bim. Ef I quit ye, so will he. I’ve tried to make the durned Dutchman understand thet I ain’t wuth a cent, but he won’t believe it; be’s so set in his way, | the contrary cuss. Don’t say no more about it, the course you | When you talk of me, you must count in Jan along with me, for I kan’t git rid of him, an’ I don’t know ez [ want to.” Dat ish drue, vat he says,” said Jan. ‘I nefer leaves him vile I lifs; he too goot to me.” “Let thet go. Ye’ve hed visitors, I allow,” continued Ben. ~ “Yes; did you see them?” ‘* Bet yer life I did; I was hid in the bushes, an’ seen the hull affair; an’ ez true ez you live an’ breathe, I thort ye’d git yer gruel when yo put the gal on the hoss. Ye don’t know thet p’izon sarpept ez well ez I do.” “To whom do you refer? The man called Conrad Vesey?” \ “You bet; though he ain’t got no more claim to thet name than many another; he pe by a dozen; the Blackfeet: call him the weepIDg Eagle; he calls hisself Conrad Vesey; his true name is Will Markman, an’ a more pizon snake ain’t to be found on the ery I know him. Some call him Will ’a the ae ‘Who and whai is he?”
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Indian Joe. ——— free pe ae killin’ he does thet; but ef thar’s any danger in leavin’ em alive he robs, then they may as well count themselves dead ’an buried. He don’t make no more account of takin’ a life of a man than I do of skinuin’a beaver. The blood on his hands is enough to sink an honest man; but he ain’ got a grain of horesty in his dirty kar- kidge. It makes me the madder acause he’s got it inhim to be a good man. He’s got a han’some face, an’ he’s quick an’ bright. The world’s afore him to make an honest livin’, but he won’t. I wouldn’t like to say how rich he’s got. He’s got an agint in every large town along the river, to gif rid o’ tho pelts he Steals, an’ it brings him in piles of money.” “Do you mean to tell me that the fellow lives regen by robbery and sy urder?” “Course he does. Itain’t peltries alone he takes; all’s fish thet comes to his net; guns, clothes, ammunition, traps, anything. He hardly ever teches a camp until the'r about to brea up; thet’s his nateral gait, you see. He lays back till all the work is done, ’an then he gobbles up the bull party. Durn his picter, he stole a lot of pelts from me onec’t upon a_ time, ’an ef I it a chaince at him I'll fix his flint etarnally, Thad half a mind to pull on him while he stood thar; ef it hadn’t ’a’ been fur the gal, I'd ’a’ done it.” ‘* Who is she?” “*She’s got a strange rem L hez thet gal; she ~war found wanderin’ about in the snow on the prary down thar, a gal about eight year old; she’s nigh onto seventeen now, though she’s got the courage of a man. Conrad Vesey found her, an’ he brung her up. He’s a man of fu’st rate eddication, an’ he teached her every thing. She’s apt to l’arn, an’ so it needn’t surprise ye thet she knows so much. It was his kindness in takin’ car’ of her thet established a sort of claim on her.” “‘T see,” said Dan; “and on the strength of this he has obtained a power over her. She isa noble girl” ‘* She’s all that. She don’t know the half his ‘leviltries, though she knows he’s bad enuff. I’ve he’rn her beg of him to quit this life, an’ foller some honorable imployment; but he won’t; robbin’ an’ murder is jest bis strong suit, you understand, an’ he ain’t goin’ to quit it jest yit. He ain't rich enuff to suit him, though I can’t see what he wants withany more. He bankers arter it.” “ And this beautiful woman -must pass her life in the seciety of-such a man as that?” cried Dan. ‘tis horrible. Can nothing be done?” “She would call it desartin’ a friend to leave him now. He found her perishiu’, an’ took keer on her. She never knew how she cum on the prary. I opine she was one of a party of immi- grants, an’ got strayed away somehow, or else the rest of the party got cut up, an’ she ran away. ‘Tain’t nothin’ sure. But whoever she is, a braver gal don’t live on the airth, or a beautifuller. Gosb! ain’t she han’sum?” “She is indeed.” ‘She tries her best to save ya age thet’s how the story of the White Sperrit got about. She’s usen to come by night an’ try to warn men agin’ campin’ hyarabouts. A many of ’em take warnin’ an’ quit. She wouldn’t’’'a’ come to ye ag’in ef ve hedn’t helped her out of the hands of Jeff Rooter. ror t yé tech her ag’in, Jeff, or Ill be in yer wool.” **T ain’t goin fer,” grumbled Jeff. “I didn’t see any better way; an’ I say yit, thet ef we had her, Vesey wouldn’t dare to strike at us.” “She shain’t be hurted. 1 like the gal; she’s kind to the old man. She told ye *bout my savin’ her life. "Twa’n’t Don’t you’ deny it; ef ye do. thar ain’t nobody hyar is goin’ to believe ye.” ““Dowt you go to lie on yourself, Pen Mif- tin,” me Jan. ‘You s’pose der young lady ton’t know who saved her? I dells you vat it is: off you dink you can put efery t’ing off on me, den I lets you know ash I vill’not stand it. You safes der fraulein yourself; now den.” | T'Il leave it out to the comp’ny,” said Ben. “She'd got into the track of a herd of _buffler, an’ Jan an’ me see them a-comin’. We rode down to see the fun, an’ while U took the bridle of her horse an’ led bim away, Jan shot & mad bull thet was comin’ at us full tilt.” , “Liar! liar!” shouted Jan. ‘‘ You runs right 4n der herd of puffaloes, unt dakes der girl ous; off course I shoots der pull. I shoots any pull nsh dries to putt me.” : ‘*T have no doubt you did good service. both of you,” said Dan. ‘‘ The young lady spoke of it; but how is it that she can live among this party Of rough and brutal men? For I take it been mighty some story me; “twas Jan. * ‘with him.” “You bet, The roughs an’ villains of the Nor’-west jine him. He’s got a camp in one of the valleys north of this, an’ thar they camp, Don’t think thar ain’t no ~vimmen thar. Most of the men hez got wives of the’r own. ‘Thar’s every nation under the sun in that gang. A story could be writ about ’em. They’ve built up a village, an’ thar they live. They ar’ great chums with the Blackfeet, an’ this Mark- man holds the title of chief. When Whirling | Breeze—thet's a Blackfoot chief—ain’t strong enough to do any job, he calls on Markman to help him.” * Indeed?” “Yes; an’ef you was to show fight hyar, why, ten to one he calls in Whirling Breeze to help him. It ain’t no tew to one he don’t dew it anyhow, ’cause he will kill ef he can, an’ he'll want to lay it to the Blackfeet, ‘cause the gal likes you, don’t you see?” “Do you think we are in danger of an attack?” said Dan. “T should rather guess you was; no man ever insulted Will Markman vit, thet didn’t git the wust of it. No, sirree!’ He'll be down on you like bricks. Bet yer life. He holds a grudge forever an’ a day. I don’t think I sh’u’d be above the sod ef the gal hadn’t stood my friend. By the same token, I'd ’a’ put a ball through his hide long ago, ef it hadn’t been for her, So 1 guess we ar’ nigh ’bout even.” ‘‘ This is the strangest tale Lever heard. Why do not the trappers unite and put these scoun- drels down?” “ Phey tried that onc’t. But the brigade had hardly got together when the cusses vamosed the ranch. When we got to the place we couldn’t find hide nor hair of them. We han- kered round the place a week but it wasn't no use; they wouldn’t come back. An’ when we commenced to scatter they jest give us tar. We lost a good many of our boys that trip. That’s the’r best hold; cut an’ come ag’in.” “Do you expect an attack soon?” “Kain’t say. We must git ready fer it. I know them. T’ve got a place up byar a bit kin fore We'll do it too, an’ then let ‘em come. That's enough talk. Jan, give us a song. An’ ef anybody byar hez got a flask of whisky, let him s it over, I’m awful dry after so much talkin’.” ‘Vat I sings?” asked Jan. “Any thing. I ain’t particular. Now you keep still, all of you. Thet’s whisky, is it’ Here’s yer health,” Ben took the flask which Dan passed to him, and elevated the bottom at an angle of forty- five degrees. A musical gurgle followed. Jan, who was about to commence his song, paused in the act and looked at Ben. “Ts dat visky, Pen?” he said. ‘The besp you ever see,” said Ben, applying the mouth of the flask to his own, : *T ton’t peleave ash dat is visky,” said Jan. “T never peleaves any t’ings unless I taste him.” “Take some,” said Dan. ** You are welcome, and perhaps you can sing the better if you have a drink.” A tale baad . ‘Yaw, I sings petter,” said Jan, eagerly. ‘Speak to Pen. Pas drinks him all.” ” Jeff Rooter seized the flask and drew it from* the reluctant band of the other, and passed it over toJan. He took a bearty drink, drew a long breath and winked at Ben. “T dakes some ‘OTis visky, sure,” he said. more.” But Jeff, who had been anxiously waiting, snatched the bottle from bis band. By the time it had gone the rounds there was a great vacuum in the upper part of the ffask. “‘ Now the song,” said Ben. Don’t keep us waitin’, yer.” Jan straightened up, and begun to sing in rl awe with his irrepressible Dutch accent, which set the whole camp in a roar, The song being finished, every one clapped the melodious German on the back and entreat- ed him to give them another. But be was not to be coaxed, ~ “Tsing no'more now. Blenty song I got; sometimes I sings, udder dimes I notsing. Pen can sing no more ash yot vrog. Put der young mans can sing. He got singing face.” “What do you mean by that?’ asked Dan. _ “Vy, you can dell by der face off a mans can sing. Auvery Doochman sings. It is yoost so natural ash preathing vor a Doochmahs to sing. Put dat ish not all. Dey, know some- times vat dey sings. Put a Yankee nix sing goot vor nottings unless he be trained good vile. Now yoost let der young shentlemans sing méa song, unt den 1 sings anudder von.” “We ar’ ready. is) that this scoundrel must have a large party 9 In order to get another song from him, Dan began a sentimental ballad, to which the Ger- man listened with great pleasure, for Dan had a very sweet tenor voice, and the clear notes awoke pleasant remembrances of songs in which | he had joined with old companions de the Rhine. When Dan had finished, Jan sung a German melody: ‘‘ Where is the German father- land?” It was something so touching, so full of mel- ancholy yearning for the dear old land, so far away, that every man in the company began to like the Dutchman better, as a man who tae cling to his love of country in a foreign nd. “That's somethin’ like it, old mim,” said Ben. “Thank ye, I’ve roved ye, old friend, I know what ye ar’. gad or alive, we are al- ways friends.” The two clasped hands across the fire. Their hard, brown faces were a little troubled. They had fought and worked side by side through many a weary year, and knew each other well. : 7 ‘“Yes, Pen, The Doochman you pick oop in der peer saloon in St. Louis vill shtand by you, coom vat vill.” ‘That's right, boys,” said Dan. ‘“‘ Now, it you are ready, we will see this place which you think will do to fortify, Ben.” The trapper rose and Jed the way up the stream. Every one else followed. They kept on for half a mile, and reached a place where the stream widened and ran in two channels, leaving an island in the center—a_ rugged, ir- rere. little place covered with rocks and loose slate, ein said Dan, ‘* we can make a fortress of at. a “That's what’ 1 thort,” said Ben, quietly. “We kin try it, anyhow.” CHAPTER VIII. LOOK SHARP! Tuery set to work in good earnest. Before three days had passed they had finished their fortification. It extended round three sides of the little place. In the rear rose the huge bar- rier of the mountain range, vast and high, The fortification they had built crossed the Ww ass'in front at a place where, defended by cr four resolute men, an army might have been kept’ at bay. Down the mountain it was almost impossible for enemies to come, for hu- man feet bed never trod that place, ed with considerable admiration at the work, when finished, “Tis nice,” said Ben, “Pm ghee build- to many a in’ forts, Lreckon, Pve helped one in my time. So's Jan.” “Yaw,” said Jan. ‘I helps Pen always.” “So ye hev, old boy. But the time hez come to show what's in ye now, ef ever. Wesha’n’t — be left alone much longer. I’m goin’ out on a scout, You'd better cOéme with me. The rest of ye stand to yer arms, an’ ef ye hear my rifle, then look out for dahger.” 4 The two scouts shouldered their rifles and marched away. They took a course down the mountain side, an had not gone half a mile when the thunder of coming hoofs caused them to look up, and they saw Maid Marian coming toward them at a hard gallop. She drew u the panting steed close beside them and asked, ** Where are they?” ‘1 don’t reckon I orter tell ye, my beauty,” said Ben. ‘ Yer in the sarvice of the in’my.” “Not willingly, Ben. You know that itl re- main with them, it is because I believe that I can do good. And Conrad is not so wicked when I am kind to him, I am under owes tions to that man. He took me up, a lit houseless, homeless wanderer, and gave me a welcome and a home, Since that time he has taught me, loved me, me, and sought in on way to put me under obligations to him, He has done it. I cannot repay him by ingratitude 7 ‘But you know what he is,” said Ben. , “Tyne, I know he does wicked things. | Crimes at which the heart grows sick are on | bis soul. I have saved many, but my time is | nearly past. They are Somip , and woe to | these men in the camp, Turn back and warn : “And is ‘Will o’ the W: them.” l ? coming? Now, may the black curse fall on him and all bis vil- | lainous crew. Jan, turn back. *Tain’t no use to go on say further, ez I see, But ef seo ©’ the Wisp,’ tell him this po me. I’ve had a -bullet molded for'him this many a | long day, T’ve gotit now. An’ ex sure ez he : gives me a shot at him, jist so sure T rnb him
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10 me He knows whether I kin shoot, his own £6) “Here they come,” eried Maid Marian. “ Away!” A confused tramping of horses’ feet sounded on the mountain path, and the next moment the robbers n to troop into the valley. They raised wild shouts of triumph at the sight of the two scouts, and rushed to seize them. But Ben Miffin was not the man to be taken readily. Shouting to Jan to follow, he dashed into an irregular path up the mountain side, known to but few. Before the horsemen had reached the spot where they had stood, they were half- way up the steep. Here they made a stand, and their engmies, rough and savage as they were, dared not follow. “Vy you no cooms oop here?’ shouted Jan. * Yoost dry it vance. Ve makes you veel pad off you do.” The wild band gathered at the mountain foot, Truly, as Ben had said, they were a motley group. There was hardly a nation under the sun unrepresented here. Indian, Negro, French, German, Spaniard, English, and half-breed rode reund the mountain-base, and shouted uncouth eaths at the two men perched upon the moun- tain-side, laughing at them. ““Who is it?” said Conrad, riding up at this moment. ‘‘ Jasper Verton, do you know them?” The man addressed as Jasper Verton was a le-faced, slight youth, who looked as if he had ut lately left a college. Yet he was the most deliberate villain in the band, and was the second of ‘' Will o’ the Wisp” in his villainies. “T know them yery well,” said Verton. “That scoundrel Miffia and his Dutchman, [I think it would be better not to come in my way wien I attempt to finish a fellow again. He would have been a dead man only for you.” ** Marian took his part.” “So. And when Marian takes the part of any one it is understood that they are safe. Shall we follow those rascals? They are laugh- ing at us.” , ‘Follow the devil! How old Ben Miffin would Jaugh to see us dismount and begin to clamber up the rocks. They would kill us off, two at a time, before we could reach them. No. Let us on about the duty we have to perform. It will be all the easier that they are not of the party. ; = Hon Mifflin gave me a message for you, Con- rad Vesey,” said Marian. 5 “And what was it?” “Say to ‘ Will o’ the Wisp,’” he said, “ that ‘Ihave a bullet run for him, and if he gives me a shot at him | mean to rub him out.” A slight paleness showed itself in the face of the listener, but was gone ina moment. ‘The rogue dares to threaten me, then? I will make him ony for that before many days. Forward, lads. ere is much spoil in the camp of the enemy, and it is ours.” _ Marian accompanied the band, and they rode into the deserted camp. On every side they saw evidences of a hasty departure, Broken traps were scattered here and there, drinking-cups battered out of shape, pieces of lariat and straps, and a number of condemned skins of many kinds. But the birds had flitted. “This is your work,” said the leader in a hoarse whisper, turning to Marian. ‘* You have warned them to go away.” 7 “Not I,” said Marian. “At least not since the day you saw me here.” ‘*T believe you lie.” “ee Lie 1” bt 9 nef your pardon, Marian. I should not have said that. But you annoy me beyond de- seription. Ican not bear it. Now those people are ne and who is to blame?” ‘Maid Marian generally has her own way in the end,” sneered Verton. ‘‘Shesaid you should do these people no wrong. Conrad, a word ia your ear. “No, I wish to speak with him,” said Ma- rian, . “IT beg your pardon, Miss Marian, but what I have to say is of interest to the whole band. It will take me but a moment. Now, Conrad.” The two went aside together. Verton’s face looked like that of an Iago in conference with one of his fools, “Tf you r:member rightly,” said he, “ there is @ fellow among these hunters who is a handsome it, suited to a maiden’s eye. What if I were to: tell you that it is tor hes sake she wishes to save these peo- ple. ‘*Tt may be,” said Con begi to flush. ; She, showed bim Paw lbaigacarny BB her ere. ‘ ‘Certainly. He knows the ways of the world and how to talk to an unsuspecting forest-maid like this. His education is superior, and he is one of those trim young fellows apt to take a woman’s eye. Now you are rather a good- looking fellow, Conrad, but there is a little too mueh of the corsair about you, and she has lived long enough here to know you exactly as you are. the most enticing in the world.” “Is that what you called me here to say?” said Conrad, ; “Not at all, Icalled you here to inform you that the girl loves this Yankee fellow. I do not think she knows her own heart yet. But I have read human nature too long and too deeply to be deceived in this. I tell you she loves him.” “Tf I thought that,” began Conrad, layin his hand upon a knife, ‘as God is my judge, think I would kill her.” ‘None of that,” said Verton. ‘None of the band would see you do Maid Marian an injury. Revenge yourself upon the man, if you like, but do not touch the girl.” ‘* What is that to you?” said Conrad, fiercely, half drawing the blade. ~ “Do not think to frighten me, Conrad Vesey. You ought to know me by thistime Yousball not hurt the girl.” “Hurt her! As if I could! I tell you my life is bound up in hers. But why need it trouble you? Do you want her yourself?’ The sudden question startled Verton, and nearly threw him off his balance, for he was conscious of this thought when the question was put. His first slight confusion over, he turned it off with a light laugh of derision. “I! You know wellenough that Maria would murder me if I dared to look at another wo- man. I meant this for a warning, * Watch this young scoundrel well, for I believe he seeks to rob us of Maid Marian.” “The bare idea is enough. He may count himself a dead man if I penetrate the camp myself and kill him. Let the men encamp here. Pick ont eight or ten of the best scouts and search for the trail. I will go out alone and look for it, See that Marian does not Jeave the camp.” “If she will go, I do.not think I can stop her,” said Verton. ‘Let me speak a word with her before I go. If you find the trail, fire three guns, That will briag me back. Send Marian to me.” The girl came to him with downcast eyes. She did not know what he had to say, but partly guessed iti, ° ‘* Marian,” he said, “‘Iam foing to look for the camp of these bunters. Be assured that I shall find it. If I do, it remains with you to say what shall be the fate of its occupants,” ““ With me?” if “With you. It is a long time since Isaw you first. You were a winning creature then, and I felt a thrill ina heart ong dead to human sympathy, as I lifted you to the saddle before me and you to my breast. I have seen you grow up like a flower; I have taught you, and seen your mind expand; my love has grown up with you, and I will be set at rest. You complain of the life I lead.” “Yes, Conrad,” she said, in a subdued tone, At I do.” . “And you have guod reason. I am willing to change this life, to sever forever from these wild associates, and go out into the world. I have wealth enough to make me welcome among men—for money, after all, is the power which moves the world.” “Ah, Conrad, if you would make this change!” y “Would you £3 with me?’ “Yes, Conrad.” “ As my wife, I mean.” . “No, ne, no! as your sister. I love you in that way; I can never love you in any other. I will go with you to the world’s end as your sister. I will love you always, but I cannot marry you.” ; @ staggered like a man half drunk and leaned against his horse for support. It was a rough awakening from a long life-dream. All his hopes were scattered .in a moment by those sad words. ’ “You do not love me, then?” “T am grateful to you, Conrad. You took me when a little child and made me what I am. In the midst of wickedness, and doing it your- self, you taught me nothing but that which was good and pure, All that I am I owe to you. But I cannot forget what you have been.” “T can change.” , “Can you blot out the past? Can you make And you don’t think that your life is | which you boast? Conrad, let us out to- gether, with no wealth except our hands and our brains, give up this ill-gotten booty to the poor, and make ourselves a new name on earth.” “Think what you do, Marian. This has been the hope of my life. For you I have toiled; for you I have sometimes even stained my hands with blood, This gold—what did I care for it, except that you would some time share it | with me. As for the world, this life is pref able, for the world so wronged me before I fl: to the wilderness that I swore an oath to be revenged upon it. Change your purpose; say you will be my wife,” ‘“*T can not do that.” “Then give me your reasons.” “T have given them.” ’ d “Then I will add another. This airy hunter, who saved your life, and who took you out of the hands of Jeff Rooter, has a warmer place in your heart than I have,” ce oad least, he never insulted me,” said Marian, angrily, we Tntaed Verton was right, then,” “Verton is a villain; I have told you again and again not to trust him; he will do you some great wrong yet.” “No fear of that.” ‘He will betray you; I know that he is a villain to the heart’s core. He has lied about me, it seems.” “T think not. But let us say no more of this. I swear never to rest until this dandy hunter is in my power; and when he is—” The expression of his face told the probable fate of Dan, if by any chance he fell into his enemy’shands. He flung himself into the saddle and rodeaway. At length he reached a place where a path mounted the side of the bill; there he tied his hcerse, and looking at the pistols in his belt, he saw that they were capped. His knife was in its sheath, and the hilt of a long bladed stiletto showed itself in the breast of his bunting-shirt. The path up which he climbed was an irregular one, and dangerous to unwary feet. But he had suspected the place to which the party of hunters ied gone, and knew that he could approach it in this way without being seen. He had just drawn himself up toa plat- form of rock from which he had a view of the camp, when a band was laid upon his shoulder and a voice said: _‘ What do you want here?” - He started to his feet. Dan Crowley, the man he had hated from his soul, stood before him. At first his hand fell upon his knife, and then he mastered himself with an effort. “ Ah. it is you, sir,” he said. ‘‘ You startled me at first.” ““You have not answered my question,” re- ated Dan. “TI asked you what you wanted ere, “T might ask you the same,” “‘Certainly—you might; and I might give you an honest answer. But as my question came first, so be good as to answer it at once.” “death! I have as much right here as you —a better, in fact.” “That is no answer to my question,” “Then my answer is, attend to your own affairs, and let me attend to mine,” “That is speaking to the point; but, happily, I am attending to my business. Scoundrel, I know you! Thief, robber and murderer; con- sort of Indians and horse-thieves, you are in bad hands. Surrender, you disgrace to human- ity! surrender, and thank my good nature that I did not cut you down without question.” “T am glad this has come so soon,” hissed Conrad, snatching fa pistol from his belt and cockies it with his thumb. In his burry, the cap fell from the tube. Before he could get at the other pistol, Dan got in a blow with his left hand, which sent the rascal staggering. It was ovly for a moment, and then ef closed. If Dan Crowley bad calculated upon an easy victory over Conrad Vesey, he reckoned with- out his host. The momenthe felt the grip of that strong arm about his waist, he knew there would be a fight for it. Each had got a knife out, but the knife-hand of each was inclosed in the grip of the other, and in this position they struggled for the throw. Dan, an adept in every sort of violent exercise in the States, rarely had met his equal at wrestling. But Conrad was fully bis match, Upand down the flat rock they tramped, their eyes gleaming, their teeth clinched, and their breathing short and quick. Neither of them saw that Ben Miffin and Jan had come down the mountain side and were interested spectators of the struggle. “T have you,” said Di 5 “Wait,” said Vesey. ‘You must win me me forget how you acquired the wealth of | before you wear me.” ————
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—— CSS — “*T will do it soon.” “Then you must struggle for it,” said Vesey. “1 will make you rue pie} day that you wres- tled with me. ‘You don’t know me, Will o’ the Wisp,” re- plied Dan, putting forth all his powers, ‘‘ Look out for yourself.” Chey were well matched, but Dan, in makin a feint, caught his foot in a projecting point o rock and staggered. Conrad threw his body forward to finish the struggle, but, by a dex- trous sleight, Dan turned him as they fell, and came down uppermost, “Good boy,” shouted Ben. “ Thet’s right; stick the condemned critter. Stick him, Dan!” But.the wrist of Crowley’s right band ‘was still encircled by the iron hand of Conrad. “You have set your rtiffians’on me, coward,” he hissed. ‘Dll die game.” “ Rise,” said Dan, freeing himself with an ef- fort. ‘I take no unfair advantage.” Conrad was on his feet in a moment, and raising the knife above his head, made a tiger- like bound, and would have buried the steel in the unprotected bosom of his antagonist. The blow fell. But Ben Miffin’s hand and eye never failed, and the knife was shivered into pieces against the silver-bound stock of the rifle, whieh he thrust between them. Then, whirling the rifle over his head, he knocked the rufflan sense less, “Thar he lies, the condemned critter,” he said. ‘ Not the kind of an animile a man would like to meet without weepons. Id like to finish the dirty hound.” ‘*T hopes he deat’,” said Jan. “T hope not,” said Dan. ‘Thank you for your timely aid, Ben. [t saved my life.” “T wouldn’t ’a’ chainced sp’ilin’ this yer rifle only for that,” said Ben; ‘1 hold it to be a sin to strike at one of God’s creatures without just cause. This yer thing desarved wuss than he got. Ef be comes to life, an’ you an’ he hez a turn-up ag’in, stick! Stick bard an’ deep, fur he never will give yon the second chaince ef he gits ye down, I kain’t make it out. ’Tain’t offen a trapper holds a grudge ag’in’ another for nothin’, He seems to hate you without rea- son.” ““Tdells you,” said Jan; “it vas all pecause of der young fraulein.” “The gal?” “ Yaw.” / ‘The Dutchman is right, Dan. Blame my eats ef he ain’t. Now don’t thet beat all natur’? *Tain’t right; 'tain’t Christian. Now an Injun, ef ye hurt him, always remembers it, till he hez yer skulp. But durna white man that harbors sech a sperrit. Don’t say nothin’ to him. Only keep cool, an ef it comes to blows ag’in, give him tar.” : “He yoost like Shules Tamant,” said Jan. “Yes: an’ Jules was a geod chap till the Blackfeet cum. That reminds me that I expect Whirling Breeze out this way soon. He’s a Blackfoot tat don’t owe me any good-will, I helped t’ar his company all to shivers one day. He an’ this devil hunt in couples; an’ ‘1e’s the likeliest man of the two.” “What shall we do with this man?” “Keep bim; he'll be a hostage for the good conduct of the rest. Ef they come at us, we'll put him out in front of the stockade an’ let him feel the bullets first. Give me that thar lariat, Jan.” The Dutchman obeyed, and he cut it into three pieces. One of these he tied about the arms of their captive near the elbows. The second about his waist, to drive him byyand the third was Kept for his feet when they reached the camp. * Git FA” said he; “don’t fool: you ain’t hurt so bad but you kin stand.” 4 “Will of the “Wisp” rose sullenly, ‘‘ What do you intend to do with me?’ he said. j “You ar’ my pris’ner,” said Ben. ‘‘I'm ju- bous you mean some devilment. I won’t be ‘sure, but that is what Ithink. ’Tennyrate, I’ve got ye, an’I mean to keep ye safe. Keep an eye on him, Jan, an’ ef he goes to stir, shoot him through the head,” ‘I vateh him like von cat,” said Jan; “‘T no ? - let him vool me,’ Don’t. Now git on, you. “That's right, Down that path.” Ben took the loose end of the lariat fastened about the waist of the captive, and drove bim before him down the slope toward the camp. Tbe inmates hailed their coming with wild shouts as they saw the captive. At the same moment Joe, whe was on guoerd, shouted to some one who was coming to halt. ; “T must come,” replied A sweet voice, which Dan knew well, ¥ . 3383833833333 8338S Indian J oe. 1 Joe stood aside, and at the same moment the beautiful horse of Maid Marian cleared the low breastwork at a bound and stood before them. She started as she saw-their prisoner, and beck- oned to Dan to come to her, ‘*What has he done?” she said. ‘He attempted my life and we took him.” “Do you mean to harm him?” - “ Not unless he attempts to escape.” ‘You took him in good time. The entire band are here, a hundred men in all; and they are searching high and low for you. I see you are prepared.” “They will have to fight for us,” said Dan. “ Brave, but too rash. If they can not take you in that way, they can besiege you andstarve you out; or they can call in tbree hundred In- dians to aid them. company of his braves will be here to-morrow, I pray you, if escaps is possible to attempt it,” * How is it possible? No doubt they hold all the passes.” **You should have taken my advice before,” she said; ‘‘f meant it honestly, and for your good. I come now to warn you to summon all your fortitude, and to fight bravely against the enemy, and save yourself if youcan. I would ask you to surrender, but I fear you would not do that.” “You judge us rightly. What chance would we have of life if we yielded unless we join this band of professional murderers?” “There is something else,” she said, in a slight- ly tremulous voice, ‘I know my actions may, nay, must seem unwomanly—” “To me?” “You would, of: course, deny it. I would have you and all here judge me as leniently as you can, I was not born for this. To bea companion of savage men, without the pale of society, fugitives from justice with the ban of the law upon their guilty heads. But blind fortune has made me what I am, and I cannot break the tie which binds me to them.” “Lady, will you bear me?” ‘Let me finish. Iam bound by a tie of grat- ifude to yonder man. Inever knew until lately what he is. I did not believe it possible, for, savage as he is to his enemies, he is gentle to me.” ‘Are you his wife, lady?” ‘* Fis wife? No, no; never that tie. I have not time to tell you: ow. It is enough that my fortunes are linked with his, and [ cannot for- sake him. If I could turn him from this wicked life, it seems to me I would be willing to die. But good-by. We may never meet again on earth, but I shall not forget you.” a Lady—” “My name is Marian Delisle, Call me by my first name. Iam Maid Marian téall the band.” ‘* And Maid Marian of Sherwood Forest was + fairer than she of the Black Hills,” said an. ‘ “A truce. If Tam Maid Marian, yonder man is no Robin Hvod, nor are his followers such men as feasted in merry Sherwood, You see I know the history of the worthies to whom you would compare us. Let that pass. I have bid- den you good-by.” J “But not forever,” cried Dan. ‘“T will find you and know you better.” “No; never—never more! aoek yt me pe » be: When you are gone from is, thin sacibooes of the poor girl who would have been a better woman if fate had not been too strong: for her.” He would have detained her, but she turned her horse’s head and put him over the breast- work in. eh she had dropped a small dagger, which he snatched from the ground and put into bis bosom. As he rose, he saw the black eyes of the prisoner fixed upon him in speech- less malignity. ‘* Come here,” he said. Dan walked slowly to his side. “Give up the dogger. Curse you, do you think you can keep anything that belongs to ber? I will have it i¢ you hide it in your heart, for there I will dig: for it.” me, no heroics,” said Dan.’ ‘I do not propose to give up the weapon. It is all I have as a remembrance of a woman whom you keep’ with you only b peaince ’ y the strength of gratitude. You do not suppose she will fall in love with she character? lve up the d coward, liar! Witia iy" it oh i> in the pete rt and I will put yo i a ie you where Yon know you come.” T say. Fool, hound, hands, and let: us fight of your hired bullies, you will never entra foolish girl again. Yon devil! have me fast, but my time may Whirling Breeze and a large | ee ee eee “ Silence, sir. Iam not fool fave des croatia Habe ro bare you safe. The time for d me by. “Yes; with cowards,” “The day may come when you will find whether I am a coward or not, sir. It does not matter. In the meantime, keep a. civil tongue in your head, or you may chance to suffer by it. It you disturb the camp I will have you gagged.” ** Dan,” said Ben, ' come byar.” The old trapper was standing on a point of rocks from which they had a view of the valley below. Dan hurried to his side. They could see the entire band gathered upon the plain, at the mouth of the pass, in conference. Just then Maid Marian joined them. “They hev found us,” said Ben. “So it seems. Ha! Do you see there?!” He pointed to the south. And there, filing into the valley, they saw a band of warriors, larger than the force of white men on the plain, The reinforcement had come abead of time, “Whew!” said Ben, “Thet’s Whirling Breeze. Now we ar’ in fer it. “Look out fer trouble to day.” “*Do you think they will attack us?” ‘“You bet. They won’t do nothin’ else. . Btar- nal goslins, look at them Blackfeet! How man more? Swear to gracious ef I don’t think thar's. nigh two hundred of them,” The two parties met and exchanged greetings. These were hardly over when Verton detached . hite flag in en at once himself from the company with a bis hand, and came up the pass. left his elevated position, and taking his rifle, called to Dan to accompany him, and ran down to the first barricade to meet the envoy,, When Verton came in view, Ben was sitting on top of the barricade, in the most. nonchalant, manner possible, with bis rifle across his knees, smoking a pipe. WHello, you thar,” said Ben, in rathera cava- lier manner. ‘* What ar” you arter?” ‘“* We claim this ground.” “Go to Halifax Av’ ef Halifax ain’t warm enough, go to the devil's. kitchen an’? make brot) for him.” r “You old ruffian, we do not come bere to ’ parley and badger words with you, As leader of the Free Rangers Ldemand that you yield everything in your camp—traps, guns, ammu- nition, pelts, and the like. "You will be regard- ed as prisoners of war aud your lives spared,” ‘You don’t tell me! S’pose we ain't eki! to the task of throwin’ ourselves away that fashion? What then?” , ‘* We shall come and take you. If we do, and you kill any of our men, you need expect no quarter.” , “Dew tell! You’ll come in yer best clothes, I suppose, ’ca’se ~~ a capting, now that we've got the rea) cut-throat-bere as a will ye give us a call?” ; “Tn a half-bour’s time, you old fool, if you don’t yield!” ‘* Jess so! jess so! Mister Bri er fiddle along; do, fur yer capt may want to dance a jig in the air,” ‘What do you mean?” ‘He means,” said Dan, stepping to Ben’s side. “that we shall puta rope around your captain’s neck and string bim up on the first sign of your attempt to force an entrance to our camp.” “Ts your name Crowley /” oo Yes.” \ “Then I have a message for you. You have seen Maid Marian, She says that while in’ camp she pres a cornelian ring, with a heart foracrest. I take it that you have the rin upon your little finger.” “ Give it to the Tady. Dan drew off the ring. saree Mae ea, m went with my compliments, away. Fé “That was your own ring,” said Ben, in some surprise, ‘She didn’t lose no ring.” “No,” said Dan. “She has my ring; I bave her dagger.” ‘Good enough, an’ ef you hev yer way, it. —_ have her as well, I see that in your ace, Dan smiled, and the old man answered by ,a broad’ grin, as he hurried back to the can and returned directly, accompanied by his prisoner and Jan, who brought his rifle and ammunition. ; Ben took a heavy batchet in his hand and climbed a small tree which ‘grew close to the barricade, One in the tree, he lopped off the twigs from a strong branch, leaving it im full view of the enemy as they came up the pass. “Make a running noose in that fan’ put. it over that devil’s head, Jan,” said he, Jan obeyed without a word. “ Now, toss it up hyar.” ier. Bring een that used to f . guest?’ When ~ pte . y
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. ee Maite had not spoken a word; as the rope was passed over the bough, he understood his dan- r. oe What are you going to do?’ he gasped, be- ginning to be frightened. ““T reckon we are going to hang you ef yer friends down thar pitch into us. Ketch the end of this lariat, Dan.” - 4 When this was done, Ben dropped from his \ ereh, and lifted the prisoner to the top of the Larricade, : Ere long, several horsemen appeared in the pass. Beholding the perilous position of the captain, they paused and uttered various ex- clamations, “What do ye mean?’ shouted one of the borsemen. ‘Let the capt’in down ef ye want to live.” “We won't let him down, Tommy Turtle,” cried Ben. ‘‘ An’ look you: you go ber every mother’s son of you, or I'll push him off the bar- vicade, Now git! Don’t stay too long.” “But I want to talk with you, Ben,” said Tommy Turtle. ‘‘ We don’t mean you no harm; but we don’t want the capt’in burt nuther. We ar’ too fond of him. Thar ain’t a man in yer gh we've got any thing ag’in, unlest it mout me The rest sha’n’t be hurt. Ain’t that so, Lieutenant Verton?” “Certainly; no one shall be injured except that fellow Crowley.” “They are hot ag’in’ you, Dan,” whispered Ben. “It’s got-to be a fight, sooner or later, for they have a great likin’ tor this skunk we've got yer, cuss him.” Sey do not know why they hate me,” said an. * Because the capt'in hates ye. Verton pr~- tends to, but I don’t believe it. Come,Tommy,” he. continued, raising his*voice, ‘‘ that cock won’t fight. We know you too well, we do, One’t you git us into yer hands, ye’ve got bad memories, an’ would forgit all ’bout what you promised, Git 'way back!” ‘Now look here, Ben, this won’t do. You let the capt’in go; we must hey him.” “We ain’t safe ef he goes; we kain’t do thet. Ar ye goin? Ef ye be, allright; ef not, I push him off; an’ I'll do it now ef Nat Summers don’t pout back the rifle he’s tryin’ to cock behind yer JACK, : The man, who had been detected in the at- tempt to get a shot at Ben on the sly, relin- quished the design with a sheepish look. “The durned pup sees every thing,” growled Tommy Turtle. ‘* Don’t try that on ag’in, Nat. You can’t fool the old man‘acent’s wuth. What a man he would be ef we c’u’d git him to jine us, I wish we only could. Capt’in?” - “What do you want, Turtle?” “What kin we do? Give us orders.” “You must & ‘back, boys,” said Conrad. “If you can think of some plan to get me out of the clutches of these fellows, do it.” “ An’ bear tliis in mind,” ‘said Ben: ‘‘the fust time we hear an alarm, | mean to: shoot him right through the head.” ** Good-by, capttin,” said Turtle. ‘ We will try what we kin do.” As he gr a horsemen began to file out 6 present danger was over. — ‘CHAPTER IX. IN THE TOILS. Tuex took the prisoner inside the barricade and nd him to a tree. Night came on, and such a they have in winter in the prairie ‘and—clear and cold, with a bright moon. plained bitterly of the uncomfortable vave him, and they took him into the little bi hut whieh had been built, and tying him again, al- lowed him to liedown. Jan was Maced on, guard, up and down by the barricade, wait- ing for an attack, which he thought they might the night. Jan sat down in the doorway of and laid his rifie across his knees. This strange fellow had come into the prairie country an orant man in the wiles of trapper and hunter ife, but long companionship with Beh Miffin had le him eanel to the best, But then he was gifted by nature with a good quantity of native shrewd- over. He and heavily. If he sat down was in of falling asleep at any moment. Ben knew f times deceived, ost and Ben found this to his cost be- fore morning. c i | SR 8 Jan did as directed. ja this time Conrad | The brigand saw that Jan was likely to go to jeep, and suffered him todoso. Jan lay upon the nd not far from the prisoner, sleeping soundly, An hour ‘ged by, and Conrad raised his head. He knew by the heavy breathing of the Dutchman that his senses were locked in slumber. The _pris- oner’s feet were not bound, and rising to a oe sture, he bent his head, and seizing with bis teet the hilt of a knife which protruded from his breast, he drew it from its sheath and SrEet it over his shoulder within reach of his hands. Taking it in his left hand, holding the point up, he managed to insinuate the point into the knot which Ben had tied. The blade was a keen’ one, and the buckskin parted with a slight noise. He fell back immediately, fear- ing that Jan would awake, but he did not. © lay there for ten minutes, although the knife had percee him in the thigh as he fell backward and his lood was soaking into the ground as he lay. © Satisfied at eng that all was safe, Conrad took off the lariat and thrust it into his pocket. He had no time to stanch the wound. Opening the breast of his coat, from a secret pocket in the back he took out a small case containing two small bottles, From the smallest of these he took the stopper and poured a little of the contents upon a handkerchief. This done, the unmistakable odor of chloroform began to spread through the hut. Rising to his knees, he crept to the side of Dan, and waved the handker- chief to and fro before his nostrils for a while, with- out touching his face. When satisfied that the subtle drug had done its work sufficiently to prevent the easy awakening of the victim, he pressed the handkerchief lightly on his nostrils, and held it there for several moments. The work was done at last, and Jan lay helpless beneath his hand. The eyes of the man began té gleam and_ he clutched his knife viciously. He would have liked to plunge it to the hilt in the bosom of the sleeping man. But just as he half raised the knife he heard the sound of coming feet. Cursing the comer heart- ily, he darted to his place and lay down im the same position as before, holding bis hands behind him, he comer was Ben, who looked into the hut, and seeing the patnont: lying quietly on his back, con- eluded that he was asleep and did not disturb him. The great fear which haunted Conrad was that the old man would smell the chloroform and_ enter to find the cause, He clutched his knife firmly, and if Ben had entered then his life would have been in danger. But he remained at the door a moment, looking smilingly into the face of the sleeping Jan, and then went back to his post. The moment he was gone the prisoner crept to the side of Dan, who was sleeping close at hand, and eperated upon him in the same manner as upon Jan. As far as these two were concerned he was free already. But, the old man outside was the man to be feared the most. Hehurriedto the side of the hut opposite the barricade, and cut out two heavy boughs, leaving a passage large enough for him to emerge. He crept out cautiously. an hour after Ben again looked into the hut. Jan had fallen over on his back anil was sleeping heavily. Dan was asleep. But the prisoner was gone! With a shout of rage, Ben sprung in and shook Jan Herp The effect of the drug had nearly passed, but it was some moments before he was fully awake. The tumult Jan made aroused Dan, who started up. ‘What is this?” he cried. “The prisoner gone?” “Thanks to this durned Dutchman,” growled Beu. “Tmout ‘a’ know'd he'd go to sleep, Don‘) you smell something queer ?"* “Put to sleep?” “yon “Pen,” said Jan, ‘don't dell me dat der mans gits avay because I gone to sleep. I neferdinks. I vorks pooty hard lately, unt I pees asleep pefore [ knows. Vell, he gone, Cut off mine heat unt t'row it ous from der door. Ino Spee to ti 4 now." * Don’t take it too hard, old man. Yer to blame, but ef the durned purp meant to drug _ ye, he'd ‘a’ done it anyhow. at puzzles me is, how he got out of the hitch I put him in. y mout well call him ‘ Will o’ the Wisp’.”’ “He is gone, We may look for an attack flow, since he is safe.” “Hark to that,” said Be his hand for silence. A tremendous about, Lira filled the valley from end toend, was heard in the direction of the robbers’ camp. : ‘He's jest j'ined ’em now,” said Ben. “Thar’s whar he got out. He's took the back track, climbed the mountains, an’ went down the path whar ye had the fight with him, to cp car of this old man. Never mind. I'll hey him yit, before I go to grass.” “Thope you may. Let us prepare for an attack. We need another man here. Let Jan go back for Indian Joe.” e Jan ran off, eager to atone for the evil he had unwittingly done, and came rectly with the half-breed. They had hardly reached the barricade when a horseman ap! in the gap. He went down at the crack of Ben Miffin’s rifle, while the stern old man began to reload his piece, without a smile or frown on his face. ‘ “He brung it on hisself,” said he. “They won't come up so brash after that.” He was right. Awed by the fate which had over- taken their companion, those who followed him paused and drew together. In this position they took the fire of the other three rifles, All were good shots, and the foremost men paid dearly for being in the forlorh hope. There wasa backward move- ment, and at the same time Jeff Rooter and the omeeerue up on the run, eager to take part in the conflict. cuneate cried Dan. “ We have been drug- | | by the determined rifles of the hunte | driven back with loss. Several wounded men lay | sunk so low that you will slay a wounded man?” ‘“Why did you come?’ demanded Dan, “You would have done better to stay at camp.” “We wanted a hand in the fun,” said Jeff Rooter. “Thar ain’t a man hyar thet ain't lost something, one time or another, by the hands of these same varmints. So don’t drive us back; now don’t,”* “Stay, since you are here. Ned, I detail you and Jan to load the spare rifles for us. In that way we shall always keep two charges ready, When a man fires, give him another rifle. Getready. They are gathering for arush. Thank fortune, they can only come three at a time.” Coming on with wild shouts, the robbers were met and again groaning in the pass. Three were slain outright and a number of others had been barked to a considera- ble extent. 4 “They are game,” said Conrad; ‘*I should like te have that old man Miffin in my band. Heisa gal- lant fellow. Tell Marian not to go beyond the range of those rocks.” The brave girl was there, running from one wound- ed man to another, giving them drink from a can- teen she carried in her hand. As fast as they fell, some of the men carried them to the shelter of the rocks and placed them in her hands. Rough, bearded men, most of them ruffians and murderers, looked up in her face with a smile of thanks before they closed their eyes forever on the world. The combat was atits hight Shrieks, cries of agony o rage, and terrible battle shouts, rung in her ears She had been in scenes of battle before, but never ir one where the rangers were as sturdily met as now, She saw the tall form of Dan at times, reared above the barricade as he made ready to fire. His face, flushed with the ardor of battle, looked grand to her. She began to compeenend Mas she though’ more of this man than she would care to show. The rangers were crowding forward now, bu were beaten back before the fatal rifles of the hun- ters. Conrad whispered a low order in the ear of Jasper Verton, and hurried away. . From that time there was a Jull in the battle for half an hour, A silence which bad reigned for a few moments was suddenly broken by a terrible battle-cry —a cry which made the woeds ring. At the same moment a band of nearly two hundred Blackfeet, with Will o° the Wisp and Whirling Breeze at their head, cume down upon their rear |} “ Borne down by that vast wultitude, Some found their graves where first they stood." Assailed in front and rear, they stood bravely up to the work and fought with a determination worthy of a better fate. It was vain, Tom died upon an Indian spear: Joo waa di tely wounded by a rifle-ball; Jeff Rooter lay wounded on the sod; Dan. though hurt in two places, still stood up. But Jan and n, unwounded, holding their clubbed rifles with steady hand, fought desperately, seconded by Dan. The great y of the enemy closed in upon them, and Dan was borne to the earth. Conrad stood above him with a dogger in his hand. That had been Dan Crowley's mo- ment of life, but that help came. The dagger was raised, and he had lifted his feeble hand to ward off the blow, when Marian darted in and seized the knife-hand at the wrist, “This isa brave deed, Conrad Vesey! Have you He looked abashed. “IT was heated by the battle,’ he said, sulkily. “Tam glad you came between.”’ “Listen to me, Conrad, If one of these prisoners is harmed through your means, be sure of this: you n.” | will never see my “TL have nothing to say in the matter, beyond m own vote, How many are killed? Where are the Dutchman and Ben Miffiny” “ Fighting yet,” she said, looking up. “ Oh, save that brave old man.” History can‘show no braver deed than this. Ar old man, past his sixtieth year, and an po. ecg German, standing up alone before the ick Ov nearly three hundred men, To be sure, the agsail- ants fought at great disadvantage on account of the narrow pass. Just as the girl cried out to save them, the two went down under the determined efforts Of their assailants, Half a dozen tomahawks were leveled at them, but a lithe young warrior, with a handsome face and form, darted in between them and their leveled weapons. “Back, warriors of the Blackfeet! ik, sons of the pale-face! No harm. must be done to such brave men.as these. The Panther, son of Whirling Breeze, has said it, and he will keep his word. These prisoners are mine.” ‘Have your own way, Panther; we don’t care for these two; they are in good ds,”’ said Conrac, “ Besides, they were taken by our red brothers. The rest of the prisoners are mine.” “Tt is well,” said Whirling Breeze, the chief who a the Blackfeet. “My brother is just tothe In- ans. e They spent the rest of the day in collecting the int and peltries scattered about. Janand Ben looked on in silence, and noted that there was one cache which they had failed to find. “Tt seems to me that there were more furs than this,” said Conrad. * You don’t seem to remember that it’s mighty *arly in the season, mister man,” said Ben. We ain't trapped so much ez hunted, We was hired to unt.’ ‘True,’ said Conrad. “It is not so strange, after all, I want to make a proposition to you, Ben, You see how you are situated. It will impossible for you to get away from Whirling ‘ ‘
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Breeze, and tke probability is he will roast you. Now, you.are too old a man, and too brave a one, to be finished in that way. I want two such men as you and your companion in my band. I give you the opportunity of joining us, hirling Breeze will do anything for me.” “What would I be called on to do?” asked Ben, “A little of every thing—much the same kind of work you have seen us do. It is Limenes In less than two years, if you are saving, you will have enough to make you comfortable. What do you say?” a pris’ner I'd bu’st ye right in the snout fer sayin’ thet to me. Jjine a lot of thieves an’ murderers thet ain't fit to live on the face of the arth! J make one of sech a gang! Now, look yer; I’ve bin a man all my life thet tried to live my life out f'ar an’ quar’. T'm a free trapper. I’ve made the broad | i iny home, an’ no man ever come to Me an’ I don’t want to a thing afore. Git out! Ye ain't fit to live.” ye, y Conrad left him in a rage, and went out to the | Thre he saw a sight which Dan had béen so wounded other side of the camp. nearly drove Wim mad. as to be unable to walk, and was sitting under a tree; | and near him, seated on a great stone, Was Maid | Marian. The eyes of Vesey dilated, and shot forth gleams of light. He made a few rapid strides and seized her by the shoulder. “What do you mean, girly Was it not enough that you followed him up and down with your ac- cursed warnings and* prophecies of danger, but must yeu play nurse to him in my camp? Away with you!” “Take your hand from my shoulder, Conrad,” she said, calmly, He removed his hand. “Go away at once, Marian; you know not what you do. Lam nearly mad now with yourconduct. It Will take but little to drive me to a deed at which even I shudder.” “JT shall not go away. Iwill take care of this prisoner, and see that he comes to no harm. A woman, goaded by a sense of wrong, can do much, Conrad, My grativade for your kindness is fast being buried under the indignities you heap upon me.”* 3 “ Will you come with me? I wish to talk with you,” be said. “Certainly. Any duty you can claim of me which a brother might have, Iam ready to grant.” He led her apart from Dan, who had been boiling | with indignation during the interview. “You think me harsh,”’ said Vesey, as they stood alone. “Ido not desigu to be so. nature, dear girl, When TI love, it is with a power passing the lové of women; and it is for your good I seek to separate you from this young man. What do you knew of himt’’ ‘The new line of tactics rather disconcerted ber. She was compelled to say that she knew nothing of ahi avhat she had seen of him tor the last three WEKS, “And is it jast in you, Marian, to throw aside the passion of years for the love of one who may not care for youy” “You assume too much, Conrad, when you say I would show love for one who made no return.” “Does it not show love to follow him from camp to camp; to warn him of dan at every opportu- nity, to send for a ring from him?" “Oh, Conrad!" “Silence. You sent for his ring. You know it.” *T did, Conrad, but— * You wear It still,” he persisted. “When I used that su fuge to get something from him fora e, | believed honestly that [ should never see face again. I acknonieaes that I care for him more than any other man, for he has saved my life.” “And did not I” 5 *T have tried to repay you for that,” she said. “1 give you my confidence,’ “Away with it! What dol care for that? I have had enough nonsense. Now listen to me. [ have not waited all these years for you, fo_be balked at this of the e, nor will Lbe. Look to your- self. Ine you be, by fair means or foul,” “You to show your true colors, Courad Vesey. Iwill never be your wife.” ** You shall, by heaven." “We shall see, Not while 1 have strength to kill myself, or you. Beware of me, You have trained me up in your way of life, and we sball see whether or no I will do justice to your teachings. * Do you think I fear you, girl? [am determined to make you mine. For the present, I leave you. But it will not be for long.” He walked hastily away. Directly after a man rose from the shelter of the rocks behind which he had been lying and walked toward her. It was the lieutenant of Vesey, Jasper Verton. She heard his step and turned, ‘There was a leer upon his face which she did not like. ; * And how is Maid Marian to-day?" he said. “ We have done our work well here in the Black Hills.” Too well, Jasper Verton, Iam sorry for it,” she said. “Ok, their time had come. You remember the old saw, ‘What will be, will be.’ It was their fate | to fall *as it may be ours to die here or in another piace. Can you spare me a mement, of your company? I have something to say to you.” on “You are short with me. To be plain, I have overheard your conversation with my worthy cap- tain. ™m “Yon are startled.” “Tsay that you ar’ a dirty hound, qn’ ef I wa'n't | You know my | Indian Joe. “So you are one of the kind to lie hid under the rocks and listen to a private conversation. I thought better of you than that.” 7 | “Nodoubt We will not say in what manner I | happened to overhear your conversation. It is enough for me that I did overhear it, and now tell you of it, Isee you have no great affection for the captain. Iam glad of that, Now, 1 wish to be » your friend, Miss Marian.” “T am willing to be friendly. But your manner of obtaining information is not creditable, I assure you.”* z “Perhaps not. I wanted to say to you that if I can be of service to you, I will be ready. If you ask so much of me as to pub yonder ruffian uader the sod, I will do it.” ““Who do you mean?” ‘ “Vesey, *Willo’ the Wisp,’ Markman, or what you will. If you want him put out of the way, Iam the man to do it,” ‘ “ Put out of the way!” she said, bewildered, ‘* What do you mean?” N ** Put to sleep; sent down below; killed, in point of fact,"’ said he, coolly. “The fellow has gone to the | length of his rope. Rather put him out of sight, than leave him here, an eyesore to you,” “Wretch!" she cried, **Do you come here with such a cold-blooded proposition as thaty For what do you, take me, rascal? Not only do I spurn your infamous proposition, but I think it no more than just _to denounce you to Conrad.” “You would not do that, surely?’ he muttered, turning pale. ‘I meant it for your good.” ** How low I must have sunk in the eyes of all, if such a proposition as this can be made to me for my good, The proposition to kilk tbe man who has reared me, when he might have left me to perish, | If Thad a weapon in my hand, I do not think you would live to insult another by such an offer,"’ ny be, your pardon,” he said, humbly. “I was I betrayed to this through too great zeal to do you service. hope this may not be used to my dis- credit.” * Not if you ey repent.” “IT do indeed. was mad, Marian, The ground you tread is sacred to me. you how I love you.’” “Silence! Do not goon, It seems to me that all the men in this‘camp are going mad together,’’ ‘May I not even tell my love?" | “Itis hopeless.” | The man stood with bent head, so that she could not see the savage flash of his eyes. In this | Sition he rernained for a moment, and then looked | _ There was not a trace of passion in his white ace. “ That dream is over,’ he said, “You will shake hands with me, I hope."’ She did so, glad that he took it so easily, But she was mistaken. In that moment she had’ made au enemy more flerce than even Conrad Vesey could be, for, though he hated all who loved her, at least, he never hated her. But Verton, who was of a vin- dictive nature, would have been glad to sce her lying dead at his feet. He went away, and drew Conrad aside with a horvitied face. “Lam afraid to speak it,Courad, But there ig something you ought to know.” “ Do not fear. Out with it, man.” “ You will not beangry with mer" he said. “No. Goon.” “A few moments agol met Marian among the recks yonder, She was very angry at something; | that I could see in her faee as I came up. “*Have you a mind to do me a service, Verton?’ she said. “Of course I told her yes. - “<T will teach Conrad Vesey that I have some wer in this con she said. ‘I told him so be- ore, and he shall know it. Do you eare for me ehough to put him under the sod?’ " 0 Stop!" thundered Vesey. ‘ Who said that?" * Marian Delisle.” “You must think mea fool to come to me with & story like that.” \ “Then go your own way, Conrad Vesey. I thought to do you a service, but it seems you do not care for such, * But what is this you impute to Marian Delisle? ft is terrible; I would believe Bias for you have always been true to me; but Marian never liked you. - on, will you swear by the holy saints that this is rue?" Verton readily took the oath. He would have sworn to anything then in his hate of 4 “And so she is as far gone as that!’’ muttered Conrad. “I love her, God knowsehow much. 1 doubt if this fellow whom she loves cares a pih’s weight whether she lives or dies. I will “punish her. Conrad Vesey will be true to himself. Verton!”’ My captemn?” “ Will you be true to me in this business of mine? | [must do something to repay this cruel girl in kind. Will you stand by me?” “Through blood and fire. } course,” said Verton. Z fe. not accuse her, I think. Let it work itself out. I am not myself to-day. My brain is in a upon ti whirl. Ithink we will begin ese two hunt- ers. It would bea fine thing burn them before T love you, Let me tell She will deny it, of her.” | “It would be better to burn the wounded fellow, | Crowley. And ps this Jeff Rooter.” | “His time will come. The two. hunters are to- gether in yonder hut, I thinky" “Yes.” “Ben Miffin refused sis en us esterday. Per- | haps he will like it x at the ; {th these words he ed back toward the hut in which Ben was confined. eo oer pcs ore SS ay Sl PS a IT A RS CE a ES ae 13 CHAPTER X. IN For Tr! i Brew was half lying on the floor of the rude hut. He was not alone, for beside Jan, who sat near him, there stood the young warrior who had saved his life in yesterday's battle. The young chief was en Bl " “My father has done wrong,” said the Panther. “Why did he not listen to the voice of the White Spirit and go away?’ ‘ “We were going pootty soon,” said Ben, “I'm right sorry we waited so long.” ‘The eyes and ears of the Blackfeet are always open. They heard the call of their friends from afar and came. White man, years ago you saved my life. The Panther cannot forget.’ : “Trememberit. "Twas at the time when Jules Da mand was here.” - “The Double Tongtte, Whirlin; He will do what is right, and he wi upon the man who saved bis son. a wrong to the great nation.” , y “My son speaks well,” said Ben, “IT am a with- ered pine, matters not how soon I fall to the zround an’ am seen no more. When do we leave his place?” j “ The Blagkfeet go to-morrow, Good-by, Panther will see you again.” ‘The young chief walked away. Ben crawled te the door and looked into the Indian camp. He saw that it was really a hunting party, but the hunters: of the Blackfeet are easily turned aside by the a ae of aa e ng a Mths sect tae 4 the camp, hurrying here and there, lau iz an talking. Jan looked at them in considerable aston- ishment. “Tnefer sees sech vomans in all my life,” whis~ pered Jan. “‘ Dey make more noish dan a windmill. Off dey vash any of dem mine I would make ‘en. shut oop.” “Ye kain't stop an Injun woman's to @ no- how,” said Ben. ‘Now thar was my-wife. I've Breeze is just. not be too hard. But he cannot dcv seen women before now thet could diow, but, whew! Her tongue run tike the machin of a fust-class ingine in a quartz mill. “Twa‘n’t very pleasant nuther. I ¢’u’dn't stand it, myself.” “T not likes dat kind off vomans,"’ said Jan. “Dey- no goot,’* “T've allus thought,” said Ben, “ thet my wife *uc! turn up ag’in some time and go-fer me, Ive beem afraid of it a long time. I guess I'm pretty safe mary “Because they'll probably roast us in the morn- ing. I kin see blood in their eyes, every man of ‘em."” * ‘ “Now ton’t, Pen, font! I can’t sthand such dala: ash dat, . don’t be yoolin’, Vat you means: py talking dat way all de dimes? Roast a mans) & hefer hears such Vings vile I lifs. So ton't you say’ wat Ralnet help tt. 1 he truth anylio < n't help must s the anyhow. I judge thar aint any thin’ Blackfeet like se well as. a) cc igard eb gt They fea’ go etl on - ° ra) Y e me, but roast Fer the'r best holt , “ Now, look here, Pen Miffin; I won*t sthand any such nonsense. [I'm ash goot ash anypotty, and T vont be dalked mit dat vays otty. Dey vefer roasts anypotty. Dat ish alt’ dak ‘Hev yer own way; yer own way. It don't make no difference. Ye'll make jest ez good a fry. An" talkin" of thet, T'sh’u'd think they'd be a-picki” yp shtwood round here som/'er's to build the fires. I judge it’s the’r best holt tg hev it ready an’ not. waste time,” “ Vell, off I vash vot tied mit my hants unt feet I. yould smash you right square mit der mout’, Dat. ish b lyould io, Thiheahiy'™* “No ye wouldn y,’ said Ben, **No ye wousdate It’s hucky fer ye Tet I'm tied, or I would mash ye, Yes I would, Yes indeedy. Take care What Fe say.” Nothing could quell the P ipa onan irit of the trapper. His eyes roamed over the ¢: faces of the Indians as if desirous of finding one to whom a. fight would be a pleasure. No doubt he could be accommodated in short/order if but no time was given to get up the rrel. The two men were tr into a lodge and left tied. Half an Gor the lodge-curtain was lifted and Con rad V. appeared. He had thrown away his ca and wore instead a feather head-dress, after the manner of a Blackfoot chief. Ben sat upon *tle round with his back against the le, lookisr’: efiance at the intruder, He folded nike. arms ari looked down on the two prisoners with an AO = sion of malignant pleasure. Neither of the ‘prem ers 2 oke = word. : mm “ Good-day, my ve friends,” said he, “ Now see seat aad. ond “We don’t wart any thin’ to say to you. Conrad Vesey. You better go. You date not come to say what you did this mornin’ My hands ar’ tied now, but ez sure ez ye try thet on, jest so sure I take ye hy the throat an’ choke the life out of ye, when I git loose,” “Scoundrel. Do you threaten me? You do not know my power here.” : ; “Yes Ido. Ye kin have me roasted at the stake ef ye like. I know that right well. But what does it matter? A man can only die once,” “Icame to say to you that it, is best for you to preeer te ee i atid ba ys the Panther. e Wo p you e could, bu’ wer is on] ted after ni ern 4 limi You must burn. * Let it come,” said Ben, stoutly. “I have looked _ on d re. eath before. “You are right. And today you shall look on i for the last time. Maid Marien shal stand by anid see you die.” —
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a veg “You seoundrel! You have lived the life of a wolf, and like a wolf you willdie, Ido tf I must die, there ain't a man in the Black more ready. Ez fer you, I’ve got a word to say," “You are doin’ this fer the love of a woman. Yer afoot, That ain’t the way to win a girl like Let her come; let her see my di and she will go away hating you like death. I t she begins to hate you now.” ‘ “Silence!” shouted Vesey, “ or I will cut you down ¥ iere you stand.” “ T won't be silent,” said Ben, Vesey drew a knife and rushed atthe speaker. At | this moment the Panther darted in and struck him down witha hatchet. “Dog!” he shouted. “ A Blackfoot woman would not strike a prisoner unless at the torture. What do you here?” ; “Good blow!” said Ben. ‘Hit him ag’in. Now I’ve got the chaince I mean to give him a my mind, He's a low-lived sneaking purp. ot noheart. A rattlesnake hez more, I'll go my bottom dollar he kin squirm like a snake.”’ Conrad sprung up. There was a re] mark on his head from which the blood was trickling slowly to the ground. pocket and bound it about the wound. The soon changed the color of the cloth completely. He wiped it from time to time with his fingers and they became stained by the flowing tide. A more hor- rible picture is seldom seen. He stole out of the lexige like a bloody specter, leaving the Panther alone with the prisoners. “ Be of good heart," he said. ‘My father loves me and do much for me. 1 will save you if I can, With these words he left the but and for a few momentsnot a sound washeard. Shortly after they were taken from the but and again tied to trees, Ben was glancing quickly from side to side, when he heard a shrill cry and felt a pair of bony hands seize him. He.turned with an exclamation of sur- prise which changed to horror as ‘was. A middle-aged Indian woman, with a hooked nose, keen black eyes, and a shrill voice, was the person who had claimed his attention. It was noother than his much-feared and long- | megroted Indian spouse, the Green Snake! ” emitted one long, shrill whistle of astonish- ment as he recognized her and struggled to free his arms from her grasp. But she had lost her white chief too long to yield him lightly. “Gone jong time, Strong Buffalo! Come back now. Glad to see you. Heart very sad dis long time. Weep rivers of water.” “ Durn my buttons ef it ain't the Green Snake!’’ cried poor Ben. “Git out. What d'ye hang to me fur? 1 guess I’ve been away from ie long enough fur ye to git another husband, ain't I?’ “No husband come,” replied the Green Snake. “'Praid to take away squaw of Strong Buffalo. He | him great chief. Love his squaw, Com» back, find ‘nother brave got her, kill ‘nother brave. ‘Nother brave no want. Git plenty wifehe own. Let Green “Snake be."' “IT wish the Lord they _hedn't been so durned squeamish abont it,’ said Ben, ‘“*Come, Don't be so blamed affectionate. Lain’t used to it. Git out. Wimmen don't hang on to warriors at the stake.” “No burn. Green Snake go to PES. Breeze. Be; husband's life. Never let-him go till he say he no burn, “Don’t do it,” said Ben. “ By jinks, I'd jest ez li’ve burn ez not. “Tain’t much when you get used wit. Durnit, no, It's fun;ecrackfun. A little fire an’ a good deal of water go a great pays. “No burn, tell you,” persisted Green Snake. “Save pe self. Go now to Whirling Breeze.” Ben hesitated. Death itself was preferable to again suffering the Green Snake to get him in her «latches, but might he not make use of her in getting free? He thought it over and told her to go away for the present and come to him ina half-hour. Green Snake came promptly at the time. “ flow kem ye hyar?”’ demanded. Ben. “ When I left the Crows yewere thar, all right.” “We went out on a hunting party. Whirling Breeze killed all the braves and took us prisoners. I am _a Blackfoot now. I hate thé Crows. I love the Blackfeet. But husband no come till now.” “Tm in a pooty fix,”’ mutteréd Ben, fairly sweat- ing with agony. “Ef she gits me, I’m a ruined man forever. I must git cl’ar of hersomehow. An’ at the same time—_ Green Snake?” “Yes, Strong Buffalo. My ears are open.” ‘An’ yer mouth too, most of the time,” grumbled Ben. “Anyhow, come hyar. I want ye to go to I or ad reeze an’ claim me, Don’t let up on ma.” Green Snake started to RO. “Holt on,”.said Ben. “Wait a jiff. Let me run the matter over. I want to think ef I’ve got any echaince to git away after I’ve done the deed, [ don’t perpose to s y hyar with her, ef I kin git away. But I'm afraid I’m a goner. 'Tisn't much I believe I'll resk it.” Dink off me, Pen,” said Jan. “ Holt on!” said Ben, “I've got it. Say, Green Snake. Ye never relished me much anyway. What would ye t of thet thar chap fer a husband?’ oe b Vv ” sald Green 6, nodding approv- mR bbe ye'd jest ez li’ve change. Take Jan an’ Jet them do what they durn please with me." . “Dat ain’t fair!” shouted Jan, in mortal terror. “Tnefer does so long ash life. T not likes In- jun voomans. e her yourself.’’ “ Don't be so bashful, Jan. Don’t allow yer feelin’ agin robbin’ a friend of a good thing to influence ece of | e ain't | He took out a piece of cloth from his | he saw who it | — . — ———— | ae Think of the stake an’ the fire, the arrers an‘ an emale to yer buzzum ullets, take this blushin’ female to bi —an’ ef ye don’t wish ye’d got a red-hot stove instid, I lose my guess—oh, git out! Don’t thavk me. . It’s pas Be ht, Take her, my boy, an’ take my blessin’ ith her." “Tnefer dakes no sooch voomans, I dinks I'd ‘oost as li’ve tie ash do dat. No, dake her avay. ‘at! Didn't I tell Katrine Schooner ash I would eas Big ven I domes pack from der vest*"" on t don't make any difference. Marry Katrine | when yego back. Mebbe the Green Snake will let ebbe she won't. I judge it’s more the last ‘band somehow. If one, all right. If other, jess as good. All same," | This accommodating proposition did not find favor in the eyes of Jan, who shrunk from her ap- proaches. * Tt's to Save yer life,”’ said Ben. “T don't cares oottings ‘bout it. I don't vant to | | save life. 1 von’t haf her,” shouted Jan, | “Ye hear him, Green Snake. Then go.an’ claim | me. Is’ pose I’ve got todo it.” | The woman darted away, and shortly after they heard her assailing Whirling Breeze with all sorts of clamorous demands for the surrender of her hus- bend. It may as well be known that the Green | Snake was a sort of elephant in the Blackfoot vil- | lage. They had taken her and did not know what | todo with her. None of the braves wanted her for | a wife on account of her bitter tongue, which no | personal danger could deter her from using freely | on all occasions. The arguménts she advanced | were conclusive to the Indian mind. Ben was her | husband. There was no one to keep the lodge-fire ' bright. Let him go free and there would be another | lodge in the village, hirling Breeze took her by the band and led her to the tree to which the prisoners were bound, back to back. . “Wife?” said Whirling Breeze in a questioning tone, pointing at the Green Snake. Ben hesitated a moment, fearing to commit himself, and finally said “ves” ina very doubtful tone of voice. ** Husband?” said the chief, pointing to Ben. ** Yes,” said the Green Snake, promptly. Whirling Breeze cut the cords which bound him to the tree and thus addressed him: ‘ You are now a Blackfoot. While you remain with us and do not attempt to escape, it is well. When you try to es- | cape you are again a white man and, we will kill you,” aa What ar! ye goin' to do with my friend?’ said en, “* Big man, eh?” “Let him be Blackfoot too, if he will. It is better than killing. My son loves the Strong Buffalo well, and he hates Conrad. Let Strong alo beware of *“*Tll do thet,” said Ben. “Let my friend go.” The chief cut the cords which bound the Dutch- man, and he was at liberty. Conrad saw the action with anger but just then it was not his cue to inter- | fete. e had hot even attempted to avenge the blow the Panther had dealt him. That revenge | was allowed to sleep for the present. Ben was standing by himself, and Green Snake at | a little distance, endeavored to attract his attention. He id no attention to the telegraphic signs she | used, and shé came néar and shouted in hisear, He | Jupped. as if cana BA a snake. “Oh, I forgot. hat the devil do you want?” *Ah-ha! Runaway,” she screamed. “I was the | daughter of a Crow chief.’ Warriors fought for my hand. And I, who might have been the squaw of Big Head, chief of a Crow village, became your uaw. ou are a coward.” ‘Oh, shet up,” said Ben, “ Ain*t it enuff that I allow ye ar’ my wife, but ye must holler it to every | one in camp? Git out!” “Oh, snake in the grass!” yelled the irate female. “Dog of. pale-face, The medicine man put cramps in your bones. You will cry like a little child. Bah! I spit at you.” y “Don't go on so, Snakey. *Tuin’t no use, I tell ye,” said Ben. : “And where is tere’a wretched woman who has a husband who does not love her? Leave me, liefore I tear the éyes out from your head, and throw them to the dogs.” “T know'd it,” said Ben. “I know’d I couldn’t stand this yer. I orter be burnt twice over, fer givin’ up a good thing when I had it. Burnin’ would only last a little wile, an’ ye kain’t bet a cent on this. What ef I should hev to stay with hera month! Td achaince, They'll let me go out on a_buffler hunt mebbe, and thar’s the chaince of gittin’ stamped to death. That's a good way. I'll try thet, ef she gits too hard on me.” “Ah, wretched one that I am!” said the Green Snake. “Oh, sad being! The husband in whose lodge I must sit and make the fire bright, cares not | forme! He hears my cries, he sees my tears, and he laughs! He is cruel as death! He hates me!" Then changing her tone suddenly: “1 will tear out the eyes of the man who has insulted the daughter of a Crow chief. Let me chow you that I have the heart of a brave in my bosom.” And if Ben had not departed in hot haste, there is reason to believe she would have been as good as her word. As it was. she attacked poor Jan, who could not Bt S a of her way, and pulled outa double o 4 *Ah-ha!l wreteh! companion of the miserable man who does not love his wife!” . “Git ous!’’ shouted Jan. “Vat ter tuyvel ye mean?’ I am not your huspants, Dat ish him vat ish running yonter. So help me ash I vould not marry you off you vas wort’ a hundred million tollars in money.” She made another dash at his hair, and Jan fled incontinently, folowing his companion, Two or three young Indian women, who saw the fracas, laughed heartily and showed their white teeth. Jan oeeetner Ben near the center of the camp, out cf breath, | “T’d yoost ash soon fight arother ecrizzly bear ash to marry dat vooman,”’ said he. hair mit de pack off mine heat?" ‘Never mid, Jan; bear it to-day, and to-morrow may see us somewhar else. I've got an idee. They'll watch us pooty clust, but not so clust as ef we war reg'lar pris‘ners., If we git to the hills, I'll save Dan ‘Have I got any | asked not even a promise from Crowley, or die a-tryin’.’ | “I does anyt’ing to get avay vrom de vomans vat | bulls mine hair. Ach! tev tnyvel dake der Creen Snake!” The night came on. Dan Crowley lay wounded in | the other hut. He had cunningly misrepresented | the extent of his hurt, and was really in good con- dition, and on the alert for anything te turn up. In a | the middle of the night, he was startled by feeling | cold hand peed upon his mouth. He would have cried out, but that a voice whispered in his ear the word “ Ben,” He understood it then; it was the old ide, ‘Come!’ he whispered. Dan rose and fol- owed him without a word. They passed stealthily | through the recumbent groups of robbers, picking their way carefully without a sound. Ben took the lead, Jan came next, and Dan brought up the rear. Ben knew the ground well, but that did Hot pre- vent meeting a guard, A leveled rifle menaced them, and a voice cried.out to halt, There was no time to dally, and Ben knocked the rufflan down without scruple. Then, taking the hand of Dan in his, he hurried on until they were fairly on the mountain side. “Take your ease now,” said Ben. fools enough to foller us byar.”’. “What do you propose to do? I must ask the question, for I will never leave this region until I have seen Marian again.” “Trust me,” said Ben, ‘ Ef E ain’t mistaken, to- morrer night the Prairie Rangers will be swept from the airth. Foller me.” CHAPTER XI. A THUNDERBOLT AND A CALM. A TERRIBLE confusion reigned in the camp of \the robbers. The man who had been knocked down magereed to his feet, yelling like a mania¢. The whole ‘band, Indian and white, mingled, and crie:| out in rage. ‘lhe Indians were especially angry ; but, what words can t the ire of the Grecn _— eee she Seog ae her oF) oa grea again given her the slip? my sought out Whirling Breeze, with eyes full of rope. “ Chief, see the end of the foolishness which in- duced you to trust that old fox, Ben Miffn. You that he would not attempt to escape; and you see the result.” e what I have done,” “How ean he better it! “They ain't “My brother does not said the Whirling Breeze. His own prisoner is gone.” “ Let‘Will-o’-the-Wisp 5) to a man who tears him not,’ said the Panther, ‘ Ir our prisoners have escaped, is it anything to him? Let him look to his own.” “You crow well, young chicken,” said Conrad looking at the young ebief with a moody brow.“ Ii Ido not cut your comb within a week, say that my knife is dull. I do not forget a blow.” **We will stay here no ce pe than the morning,’ said Whirling Breeze. ‘‘My brother is angry ai those who are lords of the prairie. If he wants the help of the Blackfeet, let him come to them.” At early morning the chief gathered his band, took his share of the spoils, and rode away. Con rad was not illypleased to see him go. had a plan in his head which the chief might have inter- ered with. The moment he was gone, he called to one of his desperadoes, a small, old man, evi- dently a Spaniard. 4 **Gaspard,” he said, ‘‘ take my horse and ride f your life. Kind the priest, Father Sala—you know where he is likely to be at this time, Bid ji: mount, and come to me without a moment's dela) . Take a led horse with you, in case should 1 ' have one; choose the best. Away! and see Ll. bea dead man long afore thet time. Anyway, thar’s | you are back by four o'clock," The man knew his master too well to hesita|. . | In five minutes he was spendin, out of the ps, leading a horse by the bridle. The leader smile, and turned toward the door of the little margu-¢ which was always carried with the band for the ux« of Maid Marian. She stood in the doorway. He laid his hand lightly on her arm, and led her iio the marquee. ‘**So your lover is gone,” he said. ‘* It seems that he cared little for you, since he d ou,”’ ‘* Better I never looked upon his face again, than that he should remain in your hands,” she said. “You are bold,” he replied. “Then you do not deny that you love the fellow.” “No; why should I deny it, even to you? He is at | least a gentleman.” “Jtseems hard tome that Marian Delisle should sink so low ab to love unasked,” he sneered. never told you that he loved you.” “That is false.”* : “When?” ** While I tended him, wounded.”’ ‘Ha! events march rapidly, then. I see that 1 must be hasty to secure my bride. Marian Delisle, you are fallen low, even in my esteem, 4 will marry you, not because [love you asT did, but in
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—— np» >=: —=—___ 7 ireuance of a vow. You conspired with Jasper bt to take my life.” “You! Do notdeny it, He took an ‘oath by all the boly saints that you proposed to him my murder —to ‘put me under the sod '—those were the words. Oh, Marian, I loved you dearly, bad man as I am. But you shall be mine, and when we are married I will humble your proud head as low in the dust as you would have laid mine.” “Stop! You say that Jasper Verton swore that T Pegicees, your murder.” “He swore it on the holy saints.”" “Dare you set him before my face?" “T dare.” “Then let it be done. From this, indeed, I will clear myself, whatever may be my after fate." “Twill call him.” He went to the door and called Verton. He came in with a hesitating step, and bis hand in the bosom of his coat. He lrokedae the ground, for be feared to face the eyes of Marian. “ Jasper Verton,” she said, ‘look at me.’ “What do you want?" he said, without raising his head. ‘I can hear you.” “Tam accused of a hideous crime of which you know Tam not guilty. Dare you face me and ‘say toot He is truey"’ | **T dare.”’ “Then look me in the face and say it. If you do, I will marry this man without a murmur." If she had studied for years for a test which he | could not bear, she could never have chosen a stronger one. If she had asked him to swear upon the Bible that his story was true, he would have done it. If she had called the most horrible impre- cations on his head if he spoke false, he would have uttered the oath. But to say the words which would bind her to another—he could not do it! He re- | mained with bowed head, and that stealthy hand still in the bosom of his ccat, ey t means this?” cried Conrad, »me, Verton?” ‘He proposed the murder himself, and said he loved me!” cried Marian, i Another?” cried Conrad. ‘! Fool! Take your death |’ . The hand of Verton sprang from his bosom at the word, and two pistols were leveled. Conrad's aim was true, and Jasper Verton, shot through the head, bounded into the air and fell dead. Marian ran to lift his head, but he was Rone. ba! | am sorry I spoke. Oh, Conrad, what have you done? ; “Ihave killed a vile traitor. Touch him not. I am glad you are absolved from this stigma, my dar- ling. Tam your lover again, But, haying sent for the priest, the marriage shall go on,” “Tt shall not,’ she said. “Tt shall.”’ ’ She laid a hand upon the forehead of the dead man, : “I swear, by the blood you have shed so unpity- ingk that i will die, sooner than be your wife, Con- rad Vesey!’ ‘hen’ m = ped must be carried out. I have sent for Father Sa! You know him well enough to be sure that po protestations on-your part will move him in any way. He will marry us, be assured, Ho, there! come in, some of you.” y Several of the men who had heard thé pistols and cone to the door, but had not dared to enter, obeyed dhe suminons, , “What has he done?" asked one. “He attempted my life, and was a traitor to the band,” said Conrad, “I will proye it in the next council, Take him out and bury him, Whatever -wealth he possessed will be divided.” The men took up the body and carried it out. “ Be ready at four o’clock. At that time you will be married,” the brigand chief said, and followed the men. Calling the band sogather, he told them to march for their old camp atthattime. Heappointeda new lieutenant in the place of Verton, an wait for the coming of Gaspard and the priest. They were on hand half an hour before time, and came at once to the captain, The priest was a tall, savage looking fellow, with a sensual face, He St em with a light laugh, ill becoming his priestly office. i “T cannot speak to yqu now, Father Sala. Imust #1 the men in eonon* Geert go to Lieutenant ‘Turtle and tell him to march at once.” ‘The freebooters rode into the defile and were seen nomore. At the same time the leader turned into “Have you Sat down to the marquee, followed by the priest and Gaspard. | F Marian rose at their entrance, pale as death, “You do not mean to carry out your hideous threat?” she said, ‘a “IT mean to marry you. That is enough for me. “Do not so desecrate your priestly office, Father Sala. Ido not wish to marry him. Surely you will met Yo no St bet priest. “And you ‘ou are angry now, the priest. * = foolish, I am under the orders of Captain esey. Coniadl seized her hand, “Go on with the cere- | ‘mony, priest.” in that desperate moment, she snatched a knife from his belt and struck at him. But Heaven pre- served her from that crime. The point of the wea- - Indian Joe. Conrad released the In a moment he was the path. and darted from the room. the saddle and dashing down As he came into the open 15 DAIS’ BEADLE AND prehended all. The * Trapping Brigs ee had been | STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS inet by Ben Miffin and was now engaged in combat with his men, He saw that his bandits were beaten and flying in every direction, and that Dan, Miffin, Jau, and three other horsemen had separated them- selves from the rest and were coming down toward ‘him ata gallop, He turned back, and reached the | spot where Marian stood. “Run for your life, Sala. Upthe mountain, You know the passes well. The Hina | ‘Brigade’ has ow and my men are scattered the four winds,” He leaped from the saddle and caught Marian in his arom, She struggled, but she was powerless in his grasp. Just as he began the ascent, the three friends came into the pass and saw him. Leaping | from their saddles, they gave chase. None of them | 40 (Tis Bur 4 Lrrrue Papen Frowrr and 50 others -pon struck theshilt of his breast-knife and glanced off. Before she could repeat the blow he had her in his arms, pinioning her hands to her sides. “Now, Sala. Goan. I will hold her.” She was crying out in frantic accents for mercy, wien the rattle of rifles in the valley below broke upon their ears, It was followed by another volley, and then succeeded the sound of a general combat. | dared to fire, for fear they might injure Maid | Marian. Ben did not run so fasf as the others and kept his rifle ready. The pursued reached a place so steep that he was forced to put Marian up first, Before he had taken a step to follow, a ritle cracked, Conrad Vesey threw up his hands, and uttering a terrible ery, fell into the canyon by the side of Which he had pursued his flight, “Tae stream: below re- ceived his body, and bore it away. “His bullet was “T told him so,” muttered Ben. run long ago, an’ now he's gotit.” They found Marian panting on the rock above, Dan her tenderly and carried her down to the camp. The combat in the valley was over and the Prairie Rangers existed only in name. The Trap: ping. Brigade had fully revenged the slaughter of many au innocent. They released Jeff Rooter and Indian Joe, who had been placed upon mules, though wounded. They were well cared for. Ina few days Dan set out on | his return. It is always easy, in a tra) ping brigade, to find members who are sick of the life before it is fairly commenced, and seven men besides Jan and Ben rode back with them ‘to the forts, upon the phy of a large sum of money from Dan, Jeff oter received payment for what he had done, and remained with the brigade. Joe did the same. Ben Miffin went on to St. Louis. Dan waited long enough to have a suitable outfit made for Marian, and they were married. He had no one to interfere in his choice of a wife. A few friends were wit- nesses of the bridal. Ben stood near the door nudg- ing Jan from time to time, to ask if ‘Maid Marian wa'n’t astunner." And Jan would answer, “ Yaw." That night the two got gloriously drunk in the beer ‘saloon of “‘ Yawcob’ Post,” one of Jan’s old friends. In a day or two the hunters wearied of the city, and with a general good-by to their friends went back to the Black Hills. THE END. 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1 peoae ood Dick, THe PRINCE oF THE Roap y Edward L. Wheeler, Vallow stone Jac ef By Jos. E, Badger, Jr, | Kansas King. Buffalo Bill. The Wild-Horse Eth ators. Mayne Reid and Captain Frederick Whittaker. o By Oll Coomes. goin Pie ya 10cts. ill Biddor —— e ore 8. Ellis. The Flying Yankee, Col, P. Ingraham, Seth Jones. By Edw at %. Ellis. 6H TS | 0 Nat Todd. By E. 5, Ellis. The wo Detectives. By A.W. Aiken. Gulliver's: Travels, By Dean Swift. The Dumb Sp By Oll Coomes. Aladdin; or, HE Wonperron Lamp. The Sea-Cat. Hobinson Crusoe, (27 Illustrations.) Kéalph Roy. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Sindbad the Sailor. His Seven Voyages. The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill. Whe Double Daggers. By E. L. Wheeler. ‘whe Frontier Angel. By Edward 8. Ellis. ‘The Sea Serpent. By Juan Lewis. Nick o? the Night. By T. C. Harbaugh. Diamond Dirk. By Colonel P. Ingraham. The Bo wee so — jt ee ee Oloven Wheeler. Antelope leases ioe Going. Oll Coomes. Buffalo Ben, By Edward L. Wheeler. The Dumb Page. By Capt. F. 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J. Hamilto a Phill 8, Warne, Hit ae Sol Sol Ginger, G iy Hob. By Edward L- Whecier. Li Diehe tning Jo. By Captain J. F.C. Adams, Kit Haretoot. By T. C. h. Rollo, the Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes, Idyl. the Girl ge ope By &. L. Wheeler. Buck Buackram, re t. J. F. C. Adams, Rock. aldo Browne. nd Piratee. By By Sept ayn Mayne Reid. h eeler. Island Tin . By Bracebel Hemyng. 0 The Dread Hider. By G. Waldo Browne. 91 The sate Aepice of the Club} or, THe Youne Rrvat Atauetes. By Bracebrid, Hemyng. 92 Canada Chet, By Edward L. eeler, 8'The Boy Miners. By Edward 8. Ellis. a Midnight Jack, By T. C. Harbaugh. 95 The RivalRovers. Lieut. Col. 96 Watch-Eye, THe Sxapew. By E. L. Wheeler. 97 The Outlaw Brothers. By J. J. Marshall. 98 bin Hood, Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 e Tiger of Taos. By G. Waldo Browne, 100 poy Dick In ‘Leadville; ate: SrroKE ror Linerty. By Whee ROMO Mw OH wars sHaveSrEcy! J 101 Jack ‘Markaway in New von By | | 208 The Braceb | 20 21 00d Dicks iy By Wheeler. | | 21 103 Dick pe aha By Col. In 3 —_ ofthe Sea. By © ene Gare, By Captain | Vagabond Joe, THE YounG WANDERING JEW. | 9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen, | | By Captain Pred. W hittaker. | azeltine, | } | The Black Steed of the Prairies. Tt Story of Texan Adventure. By Bowen. The Sea-Devil. By Col. P. Ingraham. Whe Mad Hunter, By Burton Saxe. Sack Hoyle. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Black Schooner, Roger Starbuck. The Mad Miner. By G, Waldo Browne. The Hussar Captain, Col. P. Ingraham. Gilt-Edged Dick. By E. L. Wheeler. Will Somers, rue Boy Derecrive. Morns, Mustang Sam. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Cinnamon Chip. By Fdward L. Wheeler. Phil dardy, Tue Boss Boy. By C. Morris, Kiowa Charley. By T. C. Harbaugh. Tippy, tHe Texan. By George Gleason, Bonanza Bill, Mier. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Picayune Pete. By Chasles Morris. Wild-Fire, Boss ort: Roap, By Dumont. The Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish. 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C. ee GESTS UI ah ah he phe she th he ee COO OGD SOG GO GED DD HS BO OS BS ROO OS a tt pt FB EIA BOO Toe SEE Pre rE reer SS ORE S Qoakeew 8 ef ost Captain. By Whittaker. Thée Black Giant, . ee Badger, Jr. 1 New York Nell. By E. L. Wheeler. 162 Wi1ll Wildfire in the 2 echadape Morris. 163 Little Texas. By Oll Coom 164 Dandy Rock’s Pledge. B G W. Browne. 165 Bill Charles Morris. 1 15 159 160 16 t, THE 68 Deadly Dash. 69 Tornado Tom. A Card, y St. George. pare Pm Rival. By G.W. Browne. Bob ‘-kett, rar Boy DopGEr. Captain Arizona, By Phili = The Boy Runaway. By Nobby Nick of Nevada, EF. L. L. Wheeler. Old Solitary. By Oli Coomes. Bob Rockett, THe — Rouyner, Morris. The Sea oto ee 7 Lieut. H. D. Perry. Wild Frank. ward oS Wheeler. Little etarsaemmes By Ol! Coomes. ‘The Hidden Hand, By Chas. Morris. The Boy tte? of By ne ate Evil Kye, Krxe or Carrie THIEVES; VuLruRES OF THE Rio GRANDE. v9 ae Cool Desmond, By Col. Fred Halyard. By Charles Morris Ned Tem CHOWMH CMOS wWHagadagayadadatad SODA Ue ONH OU DDH wee We arne, 194 endiiti BIIPs Bet. Ry Captair, Taylor. 195 Deadwood Dick's Dream, by Wheeler. 196 Shadowed. By Charles Morris. | 197 Little Grit, raz Wry Res. By Ingraham. | 198 Arkansaw. By T.C. Harbaugh. 199 Featherweight. By Edward Willett. 200 The Boy Bedouins, By Whittaker. 201 The Black Hills Jezebel. By Wheeler. 202 Prospect Pete. By Oll Coomes, 203 The Boy Pards. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. | 204 Gold Plume, raz Boy Banvrr, Ingraham. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom. By Wheeler 206 Dark Paui, THE TicEeR Kina. By C. Morris se 207 Navajo Nick. By'T. C. Harbaugh. Boy Hereules. By Oli Coomes. Fritz, Tae Bounp-Boy Drrxcrive. eeler. Faro Frank of High Pine. By Eyster. 1 Crooked Cale. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. H. Holmes. | | 212 Dashing Dave. By Charles Morris. 5 Deadwood Dick ax Detective. Edward L. Wheeler. By | 213 Fritz to the Front. = = L. Wheeler. THE RHINE. ai elt a nts elorick Whitt Whittaker. 215 Captain Bullet. By T.C. Harbaugh. > | A | 218 (219 | 221 | 229 The peep Mand. By Frank Dumont. | | 225 | 228 } 229 By Coomes. | | 260 Dare-Devil Dan, 216 Bison Bill, THe Prince or THE RE By Col. Pre mtigs Ingraham, Captain Crack-Shot, BY ©. 1, Wheeler Tiger Tom, THe Texan Terror, Coomea. Despard, the Duelist, By P. 8. Warne, Tom Tanner. By Charies Morris. Sugar Coated Sam, By E. L. Wheeler. - Grit, the Bravo Sport, By Ingraham. Ozark Alf, Kine or THE MovuntTaIn. By Edward Willett. Dashing Dick. By Oll Coomes. Sam Charcoal,’ By Charles Morris. Snoozer, tue Boy Saarp. By £. lL, Wheeler. Dusky Darrell, Trapper. By E. Emerson. Little Wildfire. By Oll Coomes, Crimson Kate, THe Grr TRAILER. Col, Prentiss Ingraham, The YVankee Rajah, By C.D. Clark. 231 Plucky Phil. ByT. ©. Harbaugh. 232 Gold-Dust Dick. By E. L. Wheeler, 233 Joe Buck, of Angels, By. A W. Aiken, 234 Old Rocky’s *‘ Boyees.? Buckskin Sam. 235 Shadow Sam. By Charles Morris. 236 Apollo Bill, rue Tram Tornavo. By Ed- ward L. Wheeler. 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Harbaug! 280 wom Ie Fates or, Paar, THe e's Pride. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 281 miaiver a, Victory ah ah SKULL AXD Cross-Boxes. By Edward L. 282 wean: the Boy Tramp; or, ‘Tae TxPo Detective. By Edward Willett. 283 _——, Joe; or, 7 Warte Spirit oF THE By Major L. n. 284 rhe. Beat Marauder or, Menix Monve’s By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. A. new issue eoery week. we peony ae Library is for Fe le b So ve ce! ber copy, or seni AS receipt of cents each. LE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.