Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 290) (1883 02 13)
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SKCoxD KDI) ‘ om oe ooo ep lyZ i | ate =~ SE z in ra . | ¥ z : | SONATE ADIN ' % , y -_—= ASS : mg ag is Vat ease . mn | amt oat Le wer iS _, 280 @ year. le PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS ‘Price, Vol. XI. ember No, 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. No. 290. LITTLE FOXPIRE, THE Boy SPY; “uz,cau™,annoess BT OLL COOMES, AUTHOR OF ‘ VAGABOND JOR,” “THE DUMB SPY,” “‘ ANTELOPE ABE,” “‘ KEEN-KNIFE,” ‘‘ PROSPEOT PETE,” ETC., BPO. SOMETHING LIKE THE TALONS OF A DRAGON CLUTCHED LITTLE FOXFIRE’S SHOCK OF FROWSY HAIR,
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2 2 THE BOY SPY: oR, Old Caleb Arbuckle, Mountain Detective. BY OLL COOMES, AUTHOR OF ‘‘MINK-SKIN MIKE,” ‘‘ VAGABOND JOE,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. THE TRAGEDY IN THE VALLEY. > MH ‘was a summer day in the year 187-. Down the valley of the Arkansas river, in rado, a light vehicle drawn by two spirited black horses was moving at a frightful s Two men were in the conveyance. ablon Jayne, the eldest of the two, was a man of fifty ears, His general denoted intelligence and orce of character, notwithstanding bis bearded, dust-begrimed face, wore a look of uneasiness, He was dressed in the plain suit of a miner. Across his lap lay a Winchester rifle. In his belt were two revolvers. Jack Miles, Jayne’s companion, was a younger man. een wes ressed in a pales te though he | @ appearance of a born bor- sree He, too, hor red excited, for he urged on the horses with lash and tongue. vebicle—a light ‘ buck-board”— On their were strap a roll of blankets, a couple of picket-robes, and a small box of provisions, oth men were covered with dust. Their horses were covered with sweat and foam. They were following a dim wagon-trail that wound along the valley. 7 Ever and anon Mahlon Jayne glanced un- easily behind them, and suddenly, as he caught sight of some moving objects in the distance, he exclaimed: “There they come, Jack, around the point. There is no mistaking them, either. They are Indians!” As he spoke he took up his spy-glass that lay on the seat, wiped the dust from the lens, and then took a careful look at the horsemen sweep- ing down the valley after them. “ Yes, yes!” he finally cried, “they are sav- | ages, and in war-paint, too, Jack!” “Then, by Engg we're in for it, friend Jayne,” asseverated Jack Miles, ‘“‘ and somebody’s goin’ to git killed.” Ob, Heaven!” exclaimed Jayne, ‘‘are we to be butchered alive by savages? Jack, can you ses any hope for us?” Jack Miles was an old Indian-fighter, and had never known fear before; but something or other now impressed his mind with gloomy fore- ings. Gar only show, Mahlon, is to etop and fight,” be replied. ‘*The longer we run the worse it is for us, in my opinion. We’d just as well stop and have it over with, one way or the other, first as last. Yonder is a ‘blow-out,’ Mablon—shall we take refuge in that?” ‘*Just as you say, Jack.” Jeck turned the team and drew up or the edge of the ‘‘blow-out.” Alighting they un- hitched the horses, drew the ‘‘buck-board ” by | hand down into the hole. Then the horses were led down and secured. i In a few moments they were ws for the oncoming savages. They were about two miles from the river and quite a mile to the first bluffs. Their retreat was of oblong shape, of perhaps rer 4 feet in width by sixty in length, and six feet deep. Tho sides were ndicu- lar, The west end sloped gradually down to the center. The east end opened into a narrow rift which, ruoning back toward the plains, apo grew to the prominence of a canyon hat cut in twain the great bluffs beyond, This would have afforded a fine avenue of escape had they been certain that they could have made their way on horseback out of it. Without a halt the savages, a dozen strong, came sweeping on, yelling like infuriated de- mons. When two hundred yards from the blow- out the two whites opene’ fire upon them. Both were armed with Winchesters. Jack Miles was a crack shot—Mr. Jayne was good, and at the first fire two savages tumbled from their nies, But this only seemed to exasperate their eo who urged on their ponies at renewed spe In rapid succession the defenders poured shot after shot into the ranks of the foe, and when almost on the very brink of the “blow-out,” cartes the miner. ‘“ me! will never .know how I died; and think of it, Jack, in a few days they will be in Leadville to join me, and if I should never return—oh! I canngt think’of it!” © ‘*Can’t you think of some way to leave a record of bow we fit and died, ! lon ‘*Yes, but those red flends would destroy it’ unless we concealed it, and then it might never be found by friend or foe. See! the red de- mons are circling around—going to surround us. Ob, this is dreadful, adful! Jack, I can’t die here without leaving some kind of a record of our impending fate, and trust in Provi- dence that it may fall into friendly hands.” He sat down, and taking a small ee from his pocket opened it, and as bis eyes fell upon the last entry therein his lips quivered with emotion. Fully an hour passed, and in all this time he was busy with his record. The Indians seemed in no hurry to renew the attack although they were now fully thirty to one. Jack Miles watched them closely, and just awhile before the sun went down behind the distant mountain range, he took the glass and scanned the savages closely. A cry burst from bis lips as he looked + or a little group on one of the nearest bluffs. “9 ’ “‘ Mighty Moses, Mahlon!” he exclaimed, turn- ing to his companion, “ take a look at that knot of horsemen yonder. There’s a white man among them who, I verily believe—yes, know, is the man whom above all others you have re- ded asafriend. He is net a captive either, ut a free agent,” ; ‘ Jayne took the glass and scanned the y. A cry burst from his lips, and in the rays of the setting sun his face looked ghastly. Turning to Jack, he said: « wa te “eT. “c Trea chery ry? ing down the | ; he his memoranda. ~~ vay | the miner turned and walked around 2 one of his horses leaving Jack to watch the oe, \ Ten minutes had elapsed when the two men were startled by a sound—a human voice, Turn- ing they were utterly surprised to see a lithe figure—that of a mere boy—issue from the mouth of the channel opening into’ the ‘* blow- out, Ps : And, a strange looking little creature he was, He could not have been over fourteen or fifteen ears of,age and was even small for his years. is head was covered with a shock of fiery red hair, and his round, good-natured-looking. face ‘ lashed over with freckles. His steel- shaded with white brows and The collar of his hunting jacket lay ealing slender throa was armed with a light, breech-loadin round his waist was e belt filled with loaded cartridges. He alsocarried a hunting-knife and a pair af pistols. * be lad was the first to speak, so astounded were the men by his presence there. “ Strangers,” he exclaimed, ‘‘ the Ingins have got you cor-reeled. ar’n’t they?” ‘Yes, my boy, they have,” responded Jayne; “but, where in the world did you come from and who are.you?” . “TY come from up that canyon. 1 see’d you war in a fix and I come down to help you out. I’m a rattlin’ Ingin-fighter if I am small—been in lots of fights, and the way I socked the lead to the varmints beat a pine woods afire. M name is Jim Rassalls, but they call me Little Foxfire ’cause I’ve got sich a blisterin’ red head. But say, mister, did ye get one of your horses shot in the shoulder there?” : - Neither of the men answered his question, for neither of them regarded him—boy that he was —as any great factor in the impending strug- gle. In fact, they regretted that he had joined them, for they had made up their minds, if f ‘stood champing their bits as if eager to and white’ sd | alive, when night set in, to mount the borses and make a dash for safety; and while they -could not think of leaving the lad behind, he ‘would nevertheless be an additional burden to one of the borses. The harness had already been removed from the animals’ backs and the restless uneas _* off. The sun was down and in a few minutes more it would be dark enough for the besieged to move, but before that time had come—as if an- ticipating their intentions—the Indians, at a preconcerted’ signal, uttered a wild, fiendish yell and went thundering down toward the blow-out. ; ‘“‘ Hoopee!” exclaimed Little Foxfire, “ they’re comin’ like a herd o’ buffaloes,” Yelling like demons and brandishing their weapons the savage line closed in upon the “miners. ® : ‘* Friend Jayne, it looks bad for us now,” re- marked Jack, ‘‘but we can give them the best we've got.” The miner’s horses became alarmed as the savages approached, and rearing and plunging both brokeloose and dashed away like the win over the “ior Be “‘My God, Jack! our last hope is now gone!” cried Mr, Jayne; ‘‘ we are indeed doomed!” “Tt does look bilious, men,” decided the strange, undaunted boy, Foxfire. ‘'‘S’pose we dodge into the canyon and mebby we can give ’em the slip.” | The miners hesitated a moment, then darted into the narrow rift, preceded by the boy. - But, already the earth was trembling under the thunderous tread of the savages’ horses. The crisis was coming. Like a fox the boy glided along the great ditch, followed by the men. Suddenly they came face to face with two en warriors coming down the canyon, on 00 A yell burst from the savages’ lips, but it was their last, for the next moment they were shot down by the miners. But the report of the weapons, had directed the other savages to the spot. Ina minute the whole of the bloodthirsty horde were upon the banks of the rift. Little Foxfire glided like a chipmunk under one of the Pro ecting walls unseen, but, just as he did so, the bank gave way and tons of dirt, ponies and savages were hurled in one promis- cuous heap into the canyon, burying the boy from the sight of human eyes. Jayne and Miles stopped and fought like mad- men. Savage after savage fell under their un- erring aim or powerful blows; but at length a flying tomahawk cleft the brain of Jack Miles, A few moments later and Mablon Jayne sunk lifeless, pierced by a dozen bullets, . The savages had at last triumphed over the two brave and gallant whites. Fierce and wild theif demoniac yells now pierced the sky. Night came on. The stars came out; the moon came up—coyotes howled in the distance, But the scene along thet canyon has changed. Not a savage is to be seen or heard, but a silent horror lies revealed in the moon’s mellow light, The forms of the dead miners lie motionless in the canyon, mutilated, beyond recognition, by the barbarous hands of the savage: And hard by their bodies, a human head sits, or appears to sit, upon a bank of fresh earth. It isa head covered with a shock of hair. A face that looks ghostly stares up at the moun. It is the head and face of Little Foxfire. A wolf approaches the rif(j, On the bank it stops and staring at the head and face, licks its chops and tting on its haunches looks ir doubt at the object, Then, suddenly, it starts 3 again, utters a snarl and trots off, for it sees the face move—twitch with life. Little Foxfire was not dead. The earth fal)- ing over him, but not upon him, hed saved his 6. Digging his way out, the lad found dimself alone with the dead strangers in the great val- ley under the blinking stars. CHAPTER II. THE WILD HORSE MYSTERY. TuREE years have passed singe the massacre in the Arkansas valley, and I would, for awhile, take the reader to the head-waters of the South Fork of the Republican river, ; Ina clump of cottonwood trees, surrounded by plum and bazel thickets, two men are en- camped. Three fine-looking horses are tethered to grass hard by the grove. Two fine, larga Mexican saddles are lying in camp. Attached
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—- to one of these is a lassé such as the wild-horse hunter uses, Within the cool shade, for it is a summer’s day, two men are reclining in positions of ease and comfort. One of these is a young man, the other @ld Caleb Arbuckle, then known along the Canadian and Arkansas rivers as a noted wild-horse hunter. The latter is a man of fifty- five, tall and slender, with rough bearded yet pleasant face, a keen eye and steady nerve. ‘With the exception of a wide-brimmed straw hat painted green, his suit is entirely of buck- skin. The old horse-bunter’s conypanion answered to the name of Dr. Fred Dumont. He was a man of perhaps five-and-twenty, remarkably prepos- sessing and with a strongly intellectual face. His hair and mustache were of a dark-brown; his eyes were of the same hue. , By profession Fred Dumont was a physician but a close application to business and har study had sent him into the West to seek rest and restoration of health in the salubrious cli- mate of Colorado, He had met the mustang- hunter at Fort Lyons, and a mutual friendship sprung up between them, which ended in Du- mont’s accepting an invitation to go on a wild- horse bunt, and thus we find them in camp on the afternoon of the day they arrived in the Re- publican valley. As to ‘their future actions, we will listen to their conversation, ‘We'll rest to-day,” said Caleb, ‘‘and to- morry go into action, pervidin’ we can find a herd to act on.” “I believe you told me the Republican before, di Dr. Dumont. ‘Never on a hoss-hunt; been up here after ouf’loes and red-skins; but I’ve raked in herds 0 critters down on the Canadian and Arkansas. And there be plenty of them there yit, but I come up here jist out o’ curiosity. I’ve been hearin’ ’Rabian Night stories of a wonderful fine black hoss runnin’ wild with a herd o’ mustangs - here, and I’ve beard it’d been said by some ole hoss-hunters that lightnin’ couldn’t catch it. But I conceit that my mare, Posey, right.out thar, can pound’sod as hard and quick as any critter that ever switched a tail, and that if we git a fair shake we can takein ibe Black Beauty, as Joo Bilders calls it. It’s a large American hoss, and Cep Sawyer, the surveyor, said that when he war surveyin’ up hereaways he see’d the hoss, and with the aid of bis spy glass saw that it had harness and saddle-marks upon it. If so, it’s acritter that’s got away from some immigrant or soldier, or buflo-hunter, and’s taken up with the wild hosses. Why, I’ve found old work-bosses, and even mules, among the wild critters, and if you’d believe it, I’d ruther catch and break areal wild hoss than a tame one gone wild.” “Well, I should like to see the chase,” de- clared Dumont. “In fact, ’manxious tosee you throw a lasso, Caleb.” : * You'll see it, boy, no perventin’ Providence, afore many days rolls over your head.” Thus the two conversed for some time. Fi- a Dumont arose, and, taking up bis rifle, “Tm going to the top of this bluff to take a look at the valley, and if I should meet a deer, Pll down it,” “ All right, Doc; I’ll rub old Posey down, and overbaul my lasso, and see that all’s in bang-up order for work.” Dumont departed; and he had been gone but a few minutes, when he came hurrying back to camp in no little excitement, saying: ‘Caleb, there’s a small herd of wild — this very moment, within a mile of here, an with them is a large, black animal, without doubt, your Black Beauty!” “‘ Holy tallahoopers! you don’t say!” replied the hunter, glancing at the declining sun, “Ill declare, I wasn't expectin’ sich news, and I don’t know what tod’, either, Old Posey’s not in trim for ftust class work, for we rode like Satan this forenoon, and I wanted her to. rest up. But I hate to let the chance at that Black Beauty slip, and I'll tell ye what I'll do: I'll ‘crease’ him—or try it, at least.’ ‘« What’s that?” asked the young doctor. _ ‘““Why, hav’n’t ye ever manne o’ ‘creasin’’ wild horses? It’s shootin’ ’em in the neck. It’s nice work, you can bet—takes a neat shot to do it; but I’ve drapped many o’ them, and some come out all right, and some never kicked after they fell. i You see, the aim has got to be exactly so as to graze the spinal column. The shock para- lyzes the critter, and he’ll drap as though the bullet’d gone through his heart. And then, be- | ou’d never been on you not?’ observed Little fore he recovers—if he ever does—you can have him haltered and hobbled, and at your mercy. “Yes, yes—I understand it now,” said the medicine-man; ‘ but it certainly does require a fine shot.” ** Wal, doctor, I don’t stand back for any critter on the plains when it comes to chuggin’ in bullets, no matter what’s the game—and so here goes for Black Beauty. Come along with me to the top o’ the hill, Doe.” Taking up his rifle—a Sharpe’s improved—he set oft up the bill, accompanied by bis young ard. ‘‘Yonder they are,” the doctor said, when they had reached the top of the bluff. ‘* You’re right, you are, young saw-bones,” the old mustanger exclaimed, his eyes aglow at the sight before him; ‘‘and that is the Black Beauty, and I'm goin’ to take it im, dead or alive. Wait here vill Lreturn,” He |.nrriedly retraced his steps to camp and v idle, y returned, with Posey saddled and r Qu. ‘Now, Doc,” he said, ‘‘’m goin’ to crawl around to get a position where [can getina ‘creaser,’ and just as soon as you hear the bark o’ my gun and see Black Beauty drop, for drop he will, you mount Posey and, ride down to where the hoss is as though all the Ingins in America war after you. I want the bridle and lariat to clap onto the critter if I don’t break its neck.” 4 “All right, Caleb!” replied. young Dumont, eager to see the eccentric old horse-hunter dis- lay his marksmanship in ‘‘ creasing” the wild orse, Mounted upon Posey, ready to go at the crack of the old mustang-hunter’s rifle, he waited and watched. A ravine skir with bushes ran along the valley in the ishmediate vicinity of the herd, and Dumont concluded that the mustanger would keep under cover of this until the desired point was reached. The sun was nearly down. Already the dis- tant hills threw their shadows across the val- ley. Although in a position where he could com- mand a fair view of the valley and ravine, Du- mont saw nothing of old Caleb after he left him, but suddenly he saw a cloud of smoke burst from the bushes at a point nearest the herd, he saw Black Beauty drop in its tracks, and, even before the report of the rifle rolled up to his ears, he saw the Pen in motion, The next moment the young physician put whip and went thundering down the long slope and across the valley. A few moments sufficed to carry him to the side of the hunter, who was Save standing by the prostrate body of Black eauty. sii | taal it, boy!” the old sportsman ex- claimed, his eyes radiant with {oy as he stripped the bridle from Posey’s head. .‘‘It war a leetle strong, but a safe shot, By the holy tallahoopers! isn’t it the sleekest daisy ye ever see’d, doctor? I do b’lieve it’s a blooded racer, and if so, Caleb Arbuckle’s got a Bank o’ California—a ull gold mine—a National Bank.” It required but a few moments to place the bits in the animal’s mouth and hopple it, al- though it was several minutes before it showed signs of recovery from the shock of the bullet. hen it did, however, and finally regained its feet, it made one or two feeble and ineffectnal attempts to get away, and then succumbed to the skillful management of Old Arbuckle, To Dumont, however, it was plainly evident that the animal could not recover for some length of time from the effects of the cruel bul- let that rendered it so inert and fn one With but little difficulty the animal was led behind Posey to camp, when the two men gave it a careful inspection. ‘It’s "bout eight years old,” observed the hun- ter, counting the wrinkles about its eyes, ‘‘ and this is not the fust time it’s been in the power of man, for here’s saddle marks and harnes3 marks onto it, sure enough.” ‘ Yes,” replied Doctor ‘‘and here’s an ugly calloused bunch on the shoulder. I do a the animal’s been shot there, some time or other. ‘*Guess it has,” affirmed Caleb, feeling the Jump. ‘‘I can feel somethin’ like a flattened bullet layin’ right under the skin. Wonder if some fool’s been tryin’ to ‘crease’ the critter? But, see here, Doc, that bullet’s got to come out o’ thar, and right away, too, while the animal’s still stupid. Get out pour knife, saw-bones, and whack it ont, and V’il hold the beast.” Taking out his pocket-knife, the young man Foxfire, the Boy Spy. SATS proceeded” to perform. the desired operation, Catching up the skin between his thumb and fin Fer, he made an incision across the supposed bullet. Then he endeavored to press the substance out, but finding it had become encysted, he had no little difficulty in doing so. But when he had finally forth se A he found, to his utter astonish - Ene, that it was nota bullet, but a tiny golden eu ! “Why, great holy tallahoopers!” burst from Old Mustang’s lips; ‘“‘have we struck a gold mine, or jewelry shop?” : ‘Well, we have got a locket out of that ani- mal’s shoulder, sure!” declared Dumont, as he stood gazing at the trinket in wonder; “and while it is evidence of the horse pers ip man’s hands before, I don’t understand why is is the animal’s shoulder’s been made a depository for hal ‘“Tbar’s lot’s for you to arn "bout horses hd my boy,” affirmed Old Caleb. ‘Now If thi that locket’s been put there to cure the hoss of ‘sweeny.’ It’s an old-fashioned cure to make a downward incision with a knife, behind the of the shoulder, and drap a silver dime or quar- ter into it. I reckon the owner o’ this hess had more lockets than dimes or quarters and drapped it in. It’s a ‘sweeny’ cure; that’s a! it mounts to. Posey, thar, has a silver dime in each of her shoulders this holy minute. put in lots o’ ’em for folks, but [ never putin a gold locket or stem-winder watch. Boy, you can take that locket bome ’ith fie and give it to yer ery: Vl tars See roy, 4 m going to open the ed Doctor Fred. ST here may be pommel ng inside of it . that will give us some light.” With his knife he succeeded in prying the tiny affair open, , To his surprise, a small bit folded paper out of it. Taking it up, he fully “ ' ded it. ped. his, i + me : cry esca ® Baw per ae with wilting: in a fine, nervous an ° / “Great Heaven, Arbuckle! There is a mys- tery. about this horse and this locket!” ° ; “What does the document say, Dumont? Read .it out.” palm of bis hand, Spreading the paper on the Dr. Dumont read as follows: “*Ty a“ pLow-ouTt "mv Ark. VALLEY, t June 17, 187—. Miles and I are surrounded by sav. death 1s inevitable. Oh! my poor wife and children! I fear we are victims of treachery. A white man is among the Indians; it looks like Daniel ‘Martelle— | Jack saysitishim. Have left a full record ina bob- tle buried in this blow-out. Are going to make a dash on horses as soon as night sets in—If we. fail, perhaps this may reach some friendly eye, If so, pray God finder send it to wife, at ress, Tenn. N JAYNE. **P 8, Just as I close, a small boy has’ joined us. ys name is Foxfire. Poor boy—is a brave, manly little fellow.’ ” t - “Well!” exclaimed the old hunter,,»when Du- mont had concluded the m “Vl be dogged if that don’t break me all up into confu- sion!” e *“Tll tell you, Arbuckle, there is a ry—no doubt a dark mystery, too, connected with this horse and locket—a mystery we:should evideav- or to solve.” ‘ In this the old mustanger ag , and the next morning when the borse-hunters broke camp, they rode eastward in the direction of the nearest point of civilization. CHAPTER III A RATHER PECULIAR MEETING. On the very edge of a high crag over jutting a dark, deep rift in the grim old bills, ce tain goat with eye and ear on the alert. as ipopandt had suddenly detected the presence of anger. , But no other sign of life was visible around until a white cloud of smoke burst from the side of the mountain, and the crack of a rifle went crashing in prolonged echoes through the ie ith a wild bleat the Ss leaped into the air and then shot omega own into the dark rift, with a bullet through its heart. The next moment a lithe figure eme from the bushes under the little cloud of smoke and glided along the mountain side, It was the figure ofa young girl—a dark-eyed, sun-browned little beauty. of perhaps se summers. Perc as Rows: c a suit ol a huntress—a was wp ock, buckskin leggings and moccasins, and a» jaunty little cap, beneath which hung a profue sion of short, dark hair,
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4 a She carried a small, breech-loading rifie, A knife was in her girdle, and hanging at her side, by means of a strap passing over her shoulder, was a neatly wrought pouch in which she car- ried her cartridges. A look of disappointment clouded her pretty face as in doubt she walked to where the goat had stood and red over the precipice into the dark abyss. But seeiug nothing of the animal, she turned and started down the mountain-side, a vexed look upon her face, Lightly she picked her way along the de- clivity, balancing berself by bough or vine— sprin ing from rock to rock with the agility of a Tre. Yanall she reached the fovt of the hill and started in search of the animal which she still believed she had killed. The sound of a little stream that came singing down the mountain-side, caused her to glance toward it. As she did so a cry escaped her lips, for she found herself face to face with a young stranger —a boy of perhaps eighteen, clad ina full suit of nen ite and armed with rifle, revolver and e. And a strange-looking youth he was, He was rather undersized. His head was covered with a shock of fiery red hair and his face was splotched over with freckles. His big gray eyes seemed fairly scintillating with boyish surprise and mischief. ‘How do you do, miss?” be accosted her, bow- ing, hat in band. nvoluntarily the maiden started back, but as the color came back into her face, her eyes be- gan to flash and her lips curling with scorn, she derisively: ‘* You're. a horrid, mean robber, and I’vea notion to shoot Jae ’ a os our on, miss, but [m no sucha ag M ry replied. “You needn’t fly into a whirlwind for oxfire Jira’ll not harm a hair of your bead, “You're not Little Foxfire!” declared the girl, “Oh, I ain’t, ain’t I? Well, I reckon then I’m lost, and 1.don’t know wholam, Mebby ~ i et me who I y m penis et a airy, ar ou're a good fairy you me whet be, anit take care of me. "Sat doesn’t you see og. complexion of this hairf Can’t you see ‘*Could if you’d washed your face,” snapped the girl. 2 Gyhew! You're a sass-box fairy, ar’n’t ye? 1s’ you consider ae several of the gal popalation of Leadville?” ‘ You'can’t find out anything about me,” re- torted the maiden. “Oh, smoky ruins!” exclaimed Little Foxfire, for Foxfire the boy was, “ you’re a mulish, con- trary mess, gal! Come, can’t you givea boy a uare answer? I’m no road-agent. he girl burst into a peal of laughter that — merrily through the hills, dispelling the vshadews from the boy's breast. “You're a great fellow, Foxfire,” she then said, “I keew you, but you don’t know ana, althougl you rode in the stage with mother an Helen aad me all the way from Denver, and have eaten meals at our house several times “Ob, bless my soul! You're that little mad- cap-mischief that made fun of me on the atage th they called Gypsy Jayne. Well, di i ever! 8 y ruins! how you rk el gal; didn’t know you from Mrs, Lot. Hav’n’t seen since, as | remember, if I did eat at your ree Ar’n’t as pretty as you used te be, are you ‘*And you don’t know any more than you did, do you?” was the curt retort. “Well, don’t let’s have a quarrel here, Gypsy: but tell me, did you shoot that goat lying yonder?” ‘*T did, and come to look for it.’ ‘J beard your gun, bat the way that goat me ker-smash down there I s’posed it jumped off the moon. But I reckon everytbing’s lovely in Leadville? I hav’n’t been there for a coon’s ” “The girl answered with a nod of the head. Then, in a thoughtful voice, she asked: “ Are you a bunter, Foxfire?” ’ “No,” he answered. “A miner?” “ No.” “Then you must be a robber or road-agent,” and Gypsy looked at him querulously. ‘No, ’'m not, Gypsy; but you'll never tell if 1 tell you, will you?” ‘No, *pon honor, I won’t,” the maiden de- clared. ‘* Well,” added the boy in a lower tone, ‘J am a spy!" | away at a breakneck spee Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. nn a spy?” % Yes, in the ——. of the Vigilants of Den- Leadville. [ve been at Denver for some time, but warsent down here to help work up some outlaws and murderers that they say’s gittin’ bold and bad. I’m on my way to Lead- ville now, and great gospel! if the thugs find out I’m ufter’em, they’ll more than kill me. And say, Gypsy, you ought to be careful ’bout ramblin’ ’round in these bills, or some day you'll come up missin’ in the power ov the cutthroats. They’re pizen on pretty gals.” “Thank you, Jim. Foxfire, for the warning and the complime t, and if I—” ** Harkee!” suddenly interruped Foxfire, and the two listened. Hoof-strokes were heard coming up the canyon. “Back {nto the bushes there, Gypsy!” ex- claimed the boy, The maiden glided into the thicket and Fox- fire was about to follow her, when three masked horsemen swept into view. At sight of the lad they quickly drew rein, and the next moment three revolvers covered the me breast, and a v' ‘commanded him to stand. ‘* That’s that little sorrel-top flend, Foxfire, now, as I’m a born mountaineer!’ declared one of the men. “Young man,” said the leader of the trio, “we want you. ‘* You'll have fun a-gittin’ me alive,” retorted the boy, grasping bis revolver. The outlaws, for such they were, laughed at his bold reply. “ Oh, he’s all lains in an unde he’ll shoot, too.” By this time Little Foxfire bad satisfied him- self that the maiden bad escaped unseen by the outlaws, and he would have darted into the bushes, also, had he not been afraid that the foe in pursuing him would discover the presence of the girl. As it was, however, he could only stand and face the music. Presently one of the ruffians dismounted, and advancing toward the boy, said: “Boy, you’d as well put tp that iron, for you’ve got to fo and don’t forgit it.” They were the last words the man ever spoke, fora rifle in the thicket behind Foxfire rung out, and he fell dead! grit,” declared one of the vil- rtone to his companions, ‘‘ and This shot was a startling surprise to the other two men, who quickly turned their revolvers from the bo and fired into the thicket. Taking advantage of this diversion, Foxfire shot into the bushes where be was met by Gypsy. se) pop him, didn’t I, Foxfire?’ exclaimed the wild little madcap in great excitement. ‘‘Yes, but we must rup for it, Gypsy,” the boy announced, t this juncture, three more mounted men came upon the scene of action, and togetbér the five charged into the thicket, determined to eee boy and his be it Sob emp: down. 6 young spy anticipating this very move- ment, had dashed on with Gypsy into another thicket below. Hard by, its rein now caught on a bush) stood the dead outlaw’s borse, snorting and rearing with affright, “* Here, Gypsy !” said Foxfire, seizing the horse’s rein, ‘‘mount this horse and flee down the canyon as tho’ Satan was after you!” Mechanically the frightened girl advanced to the side of the borse, and was assisted into the saddle by Foxfire. Then, as the boy handed her the reins he turned the borse’s head down the gorge, gave it a blow with his open palm that sent it bounding d. But Gypsy was a fine rider and she clung to the saddle as though firmly lashed to it. Foxfire watched her for a moment, then turned and entered the thicket. But at this moment two of the outlaws who had dismounted leaped upon him like tigers, and despite the vouth’s desperate resistance, he was forced to ; succumb. One of the mounted outlaws gave chase after Gypsy, but he soon feturned, cursing with im- potent rage his ill luck in the girl’s escape. The disposition to be made of Little Foxfire was now discussed by the ruffians. The boy had been long ‘‘a thorn in the flesh” to them, and now that he was in their clutches they proposed that he should not escape. Two of the crowd, exasperated by the death of their comrade, were in favor of hanging the young epy then and there, but the others ob- jected to this, claiming that by carrying him against thers, and the names of the leaders of thosé movements, and thereby elude detection by the lynx-eyed Vigilants. So, it being decided, bis hands were bound at his back; then be was placed on a horse behind one of the outlaws, the dead outlaw was thrown on behind another, and all set off up the canyon. | The man with the prisoner rode in front + / that all the rest could watch the movements « the fettered youth, and shoot him down shou | he attempt to escape. Had he been the worst desperado on earth greater precaution could not have been observed, And, in view of all this, the young spy began to realize tbat he was in imminent peri]. From what he had overheard among the outlaws be ecncluded that the villains mistrusted him of being connected with some work or scheme of which he knew nothing, yet which, if effected, would give them trouble. The outlaws did not remove their masks but rode on as rapidly as the way would permit— sometimes at a gallop, then at a trot, but most of the time at a walk. The canyon grew narrower, deeper and more tortuous as they proceeded back into the hiDs. At times the walls crowded so close upon them as to compel riding in single file, and ever and anon a jutting ledge compelled the riders to lean forward to pass under. The shadows, too, seemed to deepen as they advanced. To the prisoner the way seemed a fitting retreat to the dominions of Satan, and be began to have gloomy forebodings. Would he ever pass that way in? Was he entering the be 8 of shadowst—leaving all hope bebind? While these bitter thoughts were revolving themselves in his mind, the man with whom he rode quickly threw himself forward on the neck of bis horse, shouting out: ‘‘ Lean forward! lean forward!” They had come to where a series of ledges jutting out from either wall of the canyon almost formed a natural bridge over the way, and where the shadows were deep as twilight. All the outlaws leaned forward, but Little Foxfire did not stoop quick enough and bis head bum against a rock knocking off his hat. At the same instant something, like the talons of a dragon clutched Little Foxfire’s shock of frowsy bair; he was jerked bodily from the horse’s back, swung outward over the canyon and landed sprawling on the top of the pee ae tae A yell of fury from the Hps of the outlaw who felt bis er pulled away from bebind him. And at the same time neither he nor his companions had seen or knew whither he had so suddenly vanished. Little Foxfire could not des for pain. His whole head seemed torn , and in a dazed sort of a way—his eyes swimming in tears— he gazed around bim, “Busy, kid! Lay low and they can’t see tts!” a low voice warned. Then, ate the mist in his eyes, the Boy Spy saw the long, gaunt figure of a stranger lying on the rock before him. On his rough- bearded, time-searred and homely face was a broad, bland smile of triumph that dispelled Foxfire’s fears. ; “It war a leetle rough, I admit,” the stranger went on, ‘to snatch a boy outen a deefickiley by the hair 0’ the noggin, but it was the best way I could see so J snatebed.” “It’s all right, mister,” returned Foxfire; “ mebby my sealp will grow fast again. But, stranger, who are you, anyhow?” ‘*Caleb Arbuckle, once the old mustang-hun- ter of the Arkansaw, but now known as Colone! Caleb Arbuckle, Mountain Detective; an’ I’m t pow in search of one little vagabone of a called Foxfire Jim, the Boy Spy, and I’m thinkin’ I have—” ‘‘Found him,” declared the boy, his eyes sparkling with 6 Pt Sword of Cideout Foxfire James, you red- headed, freckled-face imp, I—shake!” And fying there flat upon their stomaches— looking into each other’s eyes with a light of joy upon their faces, the hands of the man and boy—the famous old detective and the noted young spy—met for the first time in a wartma and friendly grasp. CHAPTER IV. TAKING UP THE TRAIL. ‘““FRED Dumont, M. D.” This was the plain, unostentatious sigu flung to the breeze one fine morning in the new town of Leadville, and the passers-by noting the handsome, manly and intelligent face of the
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Doctor Fred was in fine health and spirits since his ramble over the plains of Colorado in <ompany with Old Caleb Arbuckle, and while he was delighted with the great west and its salubri- ous climate, he had, when he entered Leadville, no thought of cee there for the practice of his profession. His object in going there was a solution of the mystery surrounding the death of Mahlon Jayne as brought to his notice by the strange finding of the golden locket in the shoulder of the horse, After leaving the plains he proceeded to Cypress, Tennessee, and found that the family of Jayne had gone to Leadville some three years previous, and were living there then. So he followed on to the great mining city, and there found the widow and her two daughters, Helen and Gypsy. They had landed there poor and almost friendless. They found a note awaiting their arrival, writ- ten by Mablon, saying that he bad gone to Fort Lyons to see a dying brother, and would be iback soon; but he never came. Subsequent investigation proved that his brother had never been ill, and that he had been the victim of some foul treachery. In hopes, however, tuat he might return, Jayne remained in Leadville, and, assisted by her brother, Ellis Grabam, started a boarding- house for day-boarders. Her daughter Helen, besides doing her part of the household work, did considerable sewing for the miners, Doctor Dumont, on his arrival at Leadville, en- gaged a week’s boarding at the widow’s house, Tt was bis intention of making known his dis- «overy of the manner of Mahlon’s death at the first call, but for certain reasons he changed his mind. ‘(me of those reasons was that he found Daniel Martelle, the party mentioned as the treacherous friend, in Mahlon’s note, an inti- mate friend of the widow’s. And another was the beauty of Helen Jayne, with. whom he be- came enamored the first time he met her. As he did not wish to be classed as a gambler or dead-beat, as most men were who had no ~ visible means of support, he rented a cosey little office and put out his ‘‘ shingle.” Nor had he long to wait for a call. Thatsame day, late in the afternoon, Ellis Graham rushed into his office and said: ‘Doctor Dumont, you are wanted at once at the residence of my sister, Mrs, Jayne!” ‘Indeed? On professional business?” “Yes, sir; her daughter of sixteen is, as you are aware, a wild little madcap, and has been in the habit of taking ber rifle, with which she’s a ine shot, and goiug out into the hills hunting, To-day she was out and hai met with a boy galled Foxfire, and they were talking when three masked men came riding up the canyon. Gyp hid, and the outlaws were going to kill the boy w the girl actually up with her rifle and shot one of the villains dead from her con- eealment. Then she and the boy dodged the others, and finally they got around and caught the dead outlaw’s hurse, and Gyp mounted it and escaped. She rode so hard in her fear and excitement that the animal fell dead in the val- ley, just outside the town. But she ran on home, and almost out of breath told of her ad- “venture, and when the last word had fallen from ber lips she fell senseless, and [ don’t know whether she’s dead or alive.” ‘“Nervous prostration!” decided the doctor, ‘*for that was a desperate adventure for a deli- cate girl. But, Mr, Graham, were you sent out fat arene doctor, or for me, particu- lar Miss Helen suggested you, and the rest con- ~urred.” Dumont’s heart gave a bound, for to him the iand of fate seemed plainly visible. For Helen Jayne to choose him in preference to older pbhy- sicians was all that his heart could have wished for, and pocketing his medicine-case, and writ- ing oa the slate on the office-door, ‘* Be back soon,” burried uway with Graham. “Its a wonder,” said the latter as they walked along, ‘‘ that the girl’s here at all. Vve warned her, and her mother and sister have warned her, that she'd meet with trouble yet, romping around in the hills; but she’s headstrong and wayward as a woods afire; aud I don’t care if she is the Idol of the Camp there’s enough villains ‘round here to do her harm. Why, if it hadn’t been for that boy, Foxfire, she’d be—well, God only knows where.” “What became of the boy?” the doctor asked. ‘She didn’t say.” The two soon reached the widow's home. The doctor was ushered into the sick-room by Helen, a fair and lovely girl of some nineteen ; Foxfire. the Boy Spy. years, with a stylish-like form and a face serenely beautiful in every outline. Gypsy lay unconscious on the bed, while her mother stood over her in great distress. The doctor removed his hat, sat down by the sick bed and examined the girl’s pulse, ** Quite a nervous shock!” he remarked. “Is there no hope, doctor?” asked the dis- tressed mother. “Indeed there is no serious danger, Mrs. Jayne.” glad ery burst from the mother and sister’s lips. The doctor removed the patient to a lounge near an open window where the cool, mountain breeze could fan her brow. Then her collar was loosened and cold water sprinkled on her face and neck, In a few minutes she began to show signs of recovery. The young pbysician then adminis- tered restoratives, and in less than half an hour the girl had so far recovered as to be able to speak, A score of eager anxious miners stood outside the door discussing in whispers the illness of the Idol of the Camp, and waiting impatiently for the doctor’s verdict, while others were com- ing. Finally Helen went to the door and an- nounced: ‘‘Gentlemen, Gypsy has recovered conscious- ness jaud the doctor says she’ll be out to-mor- row.” The miners tossed their hats into the air, but subduing the yell that hung on their lips, they turned and walked away. The treatment of Gypsy proved the most gratifying act of Dr, Dumont’s life. To hear the words of joy and thanks from the Jipsof the widow pre a fair and lovely daughter, was all that his heart could desire. ‘ Leaving some medicine, with directions for giving the same, Doctor Fred rose to leave, At this juncture the widow, im answer toa soft knock, admitted a man whose general ap- pearance struck the doctor as being quite re- ys eee . t " . ‘ 8 was of perhaps thirty-five years of age, with a tall, commanding figure, a dark eye, a long black beard and mustache well ‘ oiled” and brushed, He had the air and the qwove- ments of a gentleman. He entered the house and was received as an old and welcome ac- quaintance. The widow turned to the doctor. “Dr, Dumont, permit me to introduce you to our friend, Major Daniel Martelle.” “Major,l am glad to wake your acquaintance,” and Dumont extended his band; ‘I have heard of you before, I believe, sir, as the proprietor of the Red Rock mine, now the wonder of all Leadville.” ‘Yes, sir,” responded the major with some digany. ‘*T have the good fortune to own the Red Rock; but, how is littl madcap, Gypsy, doctor?” ‘On the way to a speedy recovery.” Dumont took his departure, and as he wended his way back to his office be seen ed to see more clearly the movements of the hand of fate on life’s- chess board His wild-horse bunt, the finding of the golden locket, bis meeting with Helen Jayne, and bis love for her, all combined to flood bis .soul with a radiance over which there hung but a single cloud and that was the face of Major Daniel Martelle! Before be was scarcely aware of the fact he had reached the office, where he found two per- sons awaiting bis return, ; One was Caleb Arbuckle and the other Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy! ‘ “ Roarin’ glad to meet you, doctor,” ex- claimed the old Mountain Detective, extending bis big hand, ‘‘and, permit me to introduce to you the redoubtable Boy Spy, Foxfire Jim.” Dr. Dumont grasped the boy’s band, and, as a look of joy and admiration beamed upon his genial face, he said: “Foxfire, I never was so glad to meet any one as you. Ihave bad great curiosity to see you these many days.” : “Smoky ruins!” exclaimed the lad; ‘I’m no great shakes when you do see me.” “ Ay, sir,” continued Dumont, ‘you've got a reputation that is enviable. Besides I want to see you on business.” ‘That's what Mr, Karbunkle told me,” re- plied the lad; ‘‘soif I can be of any service to you I’m ready.” ei. ‘‘Then you have not spoken to him of.our secret?” turning to Arbuckle. “Not a word, doctor; I just met him a few hours ago back in the bil)s where I yanked him 5 out of the power of some outlaws by the hair of the head.” “Yes, I heard you had been having some trouble,” Dumont said to Foxfire. ** Who told you?’ “* Gypsy Jayne told her folks and they told a) ’ “Bully! I’m glad the gal got home all safe— awful glad,” and a smile passed over the youth's face. *‘Go on now, doctor, and tell me what you want of me,” The doctor closed the door of his office and drawing a chair up. before the young spy sat down, and began: ‘‘ Foxfire, three years ago this summer were you surrounded in the Arkansas valley by In- dians along with two men?” Tbe boy started, flung his cap on the floor and looking Dumont square in the eye, replied: “Yes, sir, | was!” ‘“The men were killed, were they not?” “‘ Yes, sir, butchered in cold blood!” “Did you know the men—hear their names mentioned ?” ; ‘No, sir; I only know they died fighting like heroes. I got into the blow-out after they were surrounded by the Angins. and as things were hot when I got there I had no time to ax ques-' tions. ‘Do you know whether either of those men buried anything in that blow-out?” ‘‘ If they did it was before I got there.” ‘What kind of horses had they?” ‘‘Two spankin’ nice black horses,” answered the boy, and then he went on and described the entire outfit of Jayne and Miles. ‘“Yum, yum,” and Old Arbuckle smacked his lips; ‘*we’re goin’ to get outo the doctor.” ‘‘ Foxfire,” continued Dumont, ‘‘did you see one or botb of them cut one of their horse's shoulder and put something into the wound?” ** No; but I remember seein’ one o’ the horses’ shoulders bleeding, and I axed if it ’d been shot, and they didn’t answer yes or no, but told me to watch out for the Ingins, and while I war doin’ so, they worked with the horse—had quite atime with it. I s’posed they were doctorin’ it. But how did you hear ’bout that affair, doctor?” Doctor Dumont told the lad of his finding the Iccket in the horse’s shoulder, and of its mes- sage, and of the startling fact that one of the men was the father of Gypsy Jayne. Little Foxfire was so astounded by his story that he could scarcely believe it, but after the doctor bad produced the locket and bit of paper it contained, he could no longer doubt his word, Finally tie boy began and gave a detailed ac- count of the conflict, the charge of the Indians, the breaking away of the horses and the death of the two men and his own miraculous esca ‘‘ Have you ever told any one of that co before, Foxfire?” asked the docior. ‘Lots of them; but then so many. men are killed in this country that folks pay little atten- tion to the death of one or two men,” ‘Well, do you think you oould find the ‘blow-out,’ Foxfire?” asked Old Caleb, “T might, and I might not, seein’ there’s hundreds of just such in that valley; and then, three years makes great changes sometimes, - That ‘ blow-out’ was more of a‘ wash-out,’ for it war a round hole at the end of a canyon that run away, way back through the bluffs into the plain. So you see the floods of the past three years may have filled the hole up with drifts or ripped it all out, and that bottle may be ground to dust and the dust may pow be in the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. Howsumever, we can o and look for it and be sure. But, does Gypsy’s olks know ’bout it, doctor?” “No; but we're goipg to break the news to them this afternoon, and then we propose to get ready and go in search of the buried papers, aud we want you as guide,” ‘‘What’ll the papers ’mount to when you git them?” asked the youth. ‘* It seems that Mr. Jayne and his companion were the victims of some white man’s treachery, But, by the way, did you bear them mention any name while you were with them?” “ No, sir, I did not,” answered the boy; ‘‘ but if I can be of any use to you in that matter, I’m ready. I’m oe in’ for somethin’ excitin’,” ‘“* You red-headed scamp!” exclaimed Ar- buckle, ‘‘ then you don’t call the bout you b. ith them outlaws excitin’, eh? Don’t call ‘ lifted by the hair o’ the head fun, do ye, ye freckled-face vagabond?” Foxfire laughed heartily at the jolly old de- tective’~ simulated anger, then replied: ‘That's motbin’ new, for me and the road- agents have it hot and heavy every few days, jo) ied
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fire. _ hind that dust- though 6 —_—_—_—-—— ee - ena —— Taey dos’e seem to like me, for Pve led the sol- diers #ud Vizilants into their nests lots of times. When «’ye think you'll start for the Arkan- saw “In a few days—can’t say eertain to-d rh hut before we go we want you to do some of the work in which they’tell me you are an adept.” ** Name it,” demanded the boy as if ready for anything. ° “ Do you know Major Dan Martelle?” **T should speculate I did! He’s the owner of the Red Rock, and one of the richest men in the Ha'l diggin’s, they say.” 2 “Well, we wart you to manage to secrete yourself in his office this evening between the hours of four and five o’ciock, if you ened can, and make a note of all you can hear or see, ; The boy’s eyes opened, and, as a thought flashed through his quick brain, he remarked: ‘““Ah! you suspect the major of being the cause of them men’s death, don’t you?” “Time will tell, Foxfire,” replied Dumont, evasively; ‘but I want you todo me that fa- vor, At the time I have mentioned, I learn that the major is invariably alone, looking over his books of the day’s transactions. We propose to hayé a letter of some kind handed him at that time which may touch him in a tender spot.” ‘Zou mean,” observed the boy, ‘ that you’re guin’ to throw out a feeler.” ‘* Bxactly.” “Pll try it doctor, though daylight jobs are hard to engineer; but I’ve never failed yet in gittin’ my work in when I set out to do it.” “Report here as soon as you can,” ordered Arbuckle; ‘‘this’ll be head-quarters for the present.” “All right,” replied the boy; ‘‘so I guess I'll take a promenade down in the direction of the 7 eR office.” e lefé the doctor’s office, having surely im- pressed his two friends that he was a strange and remarkable boy. CHAPTER V. THE BOY SPY AT WORK. MAsor DAN MARTELLE was seated in his pri- vate office alone. His clerks had closed their vooks for the day and gone away to their lodg- ings. The ae sat calculating the cost of some new macbinery that be was thinking of intro- ducing to enable him to develop more rapidly the wonderful hidden wealth of the Red Rock mine, of which he was sole owner. The figures seemed to involve him in deep and perplexing thougbts, for be did not notice the presence of a boy, who had came shyly into the office, until the boy had spoken: “Please, Mr. Major Martelle, don’t you want te hire a good a oe keep your office clean and work in the Red k?” The major raised his eyes and glanced con- temptuously at the intruder for a nioment, then thundered out: . “Get out of bere, you young vagabond, or Til lift you out on the toe of my boot!” “* Good-by,” said the boy, as he turned away his eyes sweeping the room as be did so, and walked out of the office, whistling as merrily as he had struck paying dirt. He walked across the street and sat down on the doorstep of the ‘* Best Chance Saloon,” from whence to watch the major’s door. He had sat there but a few minutes when a man came along, put his head in at the door of Martelle’s office and said something to the Ma- jor, who shouted back, “ All right, judge.” Immediately’ Martelle came ot, and, taking the other’s arm, the two walked over to the Best Chance and entered. The boy arose and sauntered aimlessly, yet rapidly, down toward the major’s office. Near the entrance he stopped and looked up and down the street. Scores of men were hurrying to and #ro, but each seemed intent upon his own thoughts, and so the boy strode into the office. In one corner of the room hung a long, rub- ber coat the tail of which covered the tops bs a pair of big rubber boots that stood on the oor. Rl Turning the boy quickly backed himself into tie corner then raised one foot then the otber and set them down in the bit boots without moving them, Then he-lifted the coat out from the wall, pressed himself into the corner and allowed it to fall back into its natural posi- tion, covering bis lithe, slender form so that no ene would ever have suspected that Little Fox- the Boy Spy, stood in those big boots be- vered coat. It was several minutes before the major came back, and be had searcely been seated when he a a Little Foxfire, the. did return, before some one else entered, say- ing: ‘*Mr. Martelle, I have a letter for you.” “Thank you, Mr. Graham, thank you,” re- joined the major; *‘ but, by the way, how’s lit- tle madcap, Gypsy?” “Nearly as frisky and frolicsome as ever,” answered her uncle, for he the man was; ‘‘ but she’s mournin’ the loss of her rifle, and declares she’ll go back after it alone if somebody don’t go for her.” ‘Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the major, breaking the seal of his letter and glancing at the name of the writer, when uvthoughtedly be said, ** Ah! this is from Helen!” “* Yes, sir; good-evening, major,” and Graham left the office. Turning to the light, within a few feet of the young spy, the major, in a spirit overflowing with good feeling, read in a half-monotone, as follows: **Masor MARTELLE:— “Dear Str:—Would you believe me, our old sor- row for our lost father has been renewed this after- noon by learning some of the particulars of his dis- appearance. opes of his returning are forever gone. He was killed by the Indians, and, it is thought, through the treachery of some white man, The chances are that a full account of the massacre and the parties involved will be brought to light. Under the circumstances, and knowing your gener- ousness of heart, I must beg that you defer for a few weeks longer my answer to your proposal for my hand in marriage. “Yours in deep sorrow, HELEN JAYNeE."’ “My God! can this be so?’ the man muttered when he had concluded the missive, ‘‘ or is it simply an excuse to prolong that answer? But I must know more about that—” He did not finish the sentence for, at this juncture, a man bolted suddenly into the office, and adyancing put out his hand sayings ‘* My dear old Martelle, how do you o?” Martelle took the man’s hand while he stared up into the stranger’s bearded face in per- plexity. ‘Don’t know me, do you, major? Don’t — you're old, old pard, Jerrold Tweed, do you! “Great Jehoviah!” exclaimed the major, in apparent joy, ‘‘how’s this, Jerrold? Why, old boy, ’'m glad to see you out in the free air again! How is it? Here, sit down—I'll sbut the door; wasn’t you sent upfor twenty years?” ‘*T should ponder! Twenty full round years, major, but you see consumption set in—ha! ha! ha!—and they seen I was going to die, and so the Governor pardoned me out on the certificate of the prison surgeou, the noble old soul! [ve been out these six months—out in the mountains inhaling the free fresh air till I’m as good as new, ‘I'm glad to hear it, Jerrold, old boy.” “And I’m glad to bear the Red Rock’s the bonanza of the country. But, bow’s the Cap Sheaf panning? Ha! ha! ha! that was the clever- est exchange I ever heard of.” “You want to be careful, Jerrold, for there are folks in Leadville that might want an inter- est in the Red Rock. But, by the way, I just received a letter informing me that Mablon Jayne’s family had at last learned, through some source, that he had been massacred by Indians, through the suspected treachery of some white man. “The deuce you say!” exclaimed the man Tweed. ‘Oh, well, but thunder! J don’t b’lieve they will ever git down to bed-rock facts in the case, soI +ha’n’t worry myself tryin’ to investigate a three-year-old murder. But I see Mr. Jayne’s family are here, I saw them to- day—took dinner at the widow’s house, and I must say she’s got two of the sweetest girls I ever saw. By Jove! I’m goin’ to win and wed that Gypsy. She’s my style, darn her little picter! ut, look here, major, I promised the prison surgeon five thousand dollars—upon my word and honor—if he’d make my case out serl- ous enough to touch the Goyernor’s pardoning sensibilities, and he done so, and I haven’t adol- lar to my name, Haven't bad but one dollar in my pocket in six months, and that I stole from an almond-eyed Chinee. And now you can guess ry mission here to see you.” ‘You want to borrow the money of me?” asked Martelle. “Of you, major,” was the laconic reply. rp major’s brow darkened in spite of him- self. ‘Well, Jerrold,” he said. ‘‘I’m a little cramped at present. I’m buying an immense amount of costly machinery for the mine.” ~ *Can’t help it, major, the money must come. I'm going to keep my word with the surgeon if it takes all Leadville, Silverville and Goldville mi — to do it. I’m a man of my word—you know that, major. Besides, my dear friend, ar’n’t Ie kind of a silent pardner in this Red Rock busi- ness?” . ‘“‘ Jerrold, I hope you haven’t come here to make me trouble.” **God bless your big soul—no!_ IT only want five or six thousand dollars now, and a little social backing at the-widow Jayne's, for ’'m set on marrying that musical little Gypsy. With the money and the girl 1’d be willing (o ship for » Honolulu or Jericho. But they say all the old St. Joe boys but you and I are dead, major?” ‘So I understand,” shortly. “Then you don’t roam around like you did?” ‘““No,” as if to say, ‘‘ Quit treading on my toes.” “I'm going to quit it, too, so you needn’t be afraid of me killing the dodo that lays the golden egg; nobody sball ever find out from me that we are working the other mine.” “Tsay, Jerrold,” said Martelle, fidgeting in bis chair. ‘ l’m going to investigate this report: about my friend Jayne’s death, and if the way is all clear still, I can fix you out, I think, band- somely. Come around at four to-morrow even- ing, and P’ll see what can be done.” ‘All right, Dan, I guess I can wait, on a pinch. Good evening,” and Jerrold Tweed arose and departed in no very pleasant mood. Major Martelle arose from his seat and paced the floor impatiently, uneasily. A frown was upon his brow, a look of fear in his eyes. Books and figures no longer were of interest. to him, and putting on his bat he left the office, closing ‘and locking the door behind bim. Scarcely had the key been withdrawn from the lock, when the rubber coat in the corner was pushed aside, and the Boy Spy stepped out into the room. “Locked in, by scissors!” he soliloquized, stretching bimself to drive the ache out of bis legs, arms and body; ‘‘and how’ni I to git out?” e Jooked around the room. There was no outlet save through a window opening on the street, and as passers-by were still numerous, he dare not attempt to go out that way yet. His only chance was to wait until darkness set in, and then raise the sash and leap to the ground. So he sat down in the major’s office-chair, threw his feet on a table, and looking into a small mirror that hung facing him on the wall he adjusted his wig of short, brown bair, bowe to bimself; winked, then indulged a silent laugb- He was compelled to remain in the office for two hours. Darkness had now set in, and rais~ ing the window, he propped it up, and ther leaped to the ground and scampered away. n less than ten minutes be knocked at the door of Doctor Dumont’s office, and wes ad- mitted by Caleb Arbuckle. He found a nice lunch and a cup of cold coflee awaiting bis return. ‘* What success, Foxfiref asked Doctor Fred. “'(Jood—glorious, better than you ever dream- ed of!” replied the spy. “Then sit down and eat a lunch before nar~ rating your adventure, for you must . hungry.” . The boy was bungry and partook of the viands. with a keen -relisb. After be had finished, be turned, and in a low tone, gave a detailed ac- count of all he had heard in the major’s office. “Sword of Old Gideon!” exclaimed Old Ar- buckle; when be had finished bis story, “I! should say vou did get a whole volume of facts, you young Modoc!” ‘From that something more than the death of Mablon Jayne may be developed,” remai kee Dumont. ‘ What kind of a looking man was that Jerrold Tweed, Foxfire?” “T couldn’t tell you, doctor, I could only see the face of the boss of the Red Rock, with one eye at that, and I war too afraid to move the coat so’s to git a squint at Jerrold’s face. 1 don’t think it was an exquisitive, lovely face if it is like his heart. I tell you, he talked straight at the major, who squirmed like a tramped-on, worm. ButJerrold had a peculiar voice that I'd recognizs in bedlam, a hundred years from now.” “Yd give my interest in the Polar Sea Ice Company,” said old Caleb, “if we could only put our hands op Jerrold Tweed. He aud Martelle must be old chums, the way they talked, and his demands on the boss of the Red Rock may bring about a rupture between them, when Tweed might squeal. If I could get some of the bottom facts—Sword of Gideon! would~ Ad we create a sensation throughout Lead- ville? “And so the major is uneasy over the news of the discovery of Jayne’s death and the sus-
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ee picions of white man’s treachery? By'the courts of justice! Dumont, we’ve circumstantial evi- dence enough now to make an arrest; but, then, we'd better try and get the bald-headed, open- faced, clear-cut facts if we can, first; for, if we should make the arrest of a man like Martelle, , whose wealth and standing commands such a wonderful influence, we could never convict him on circumstantial evidence, and our failure would result in our being fired out of Leadville, orswung to a limb, for daring to cast reflections on the ‘foremost and purest man in the camp.’ **T know how these things work. A man’s wealth buries outen sight a great multitude of sins. ‘‘We must have Jayne’s other record, if it can be found; then, with it and Foxfire’s evi- dence, I think we can bring the wolf to bay.” ‘*Tnen we had better start day after to-mor- row,” advised Dumont; ‘but, as I promised Mrs. Jayne that I would visit her as soon as Little Foxfire came back, I had better be going. And, Foxtire, I promised Gypsy that I would bring you along.’ “Good ‘for you, doctor!” exclaimed the boy. +1 Vil be awful gloriously glad to see that little So washing his’face and brushing up his hair, he was soon ready to go. The two took their departure, leaving Ar- buckle to await their return. They walked briskly along the now almost deserted streets in silence, and in a few minutes reached the widow’s residence. The boarders had all left long since for their lodgings. @ moon was up, and her mellow beams, falling to earth, lit up the door-yard with al- most the brightness of day. On the door-step stood little Gypsy, looking uite pale in the moonlight. At sight of Fox- she advanced to meet him, saying, in a thoughtless, -girlish “e “Oh, Little Foxfire! I am so glad to meet you again, for I was afraid them horrid outlaws would kill you, How did you get away, any- ow “ Well, I was just snatched away,” the boy replied, stopping, and taking off his cap, while the doctor passed on into the house. ‘A fellow named Arbuckle just reached down from a neck, grabbed me by the hair, and swung me into liberty.” ‘‘Oh, dear!” cried the maiden. ‘ But, Fox- fire, they tell us you were present when poor, dear papa was killed by the Indians?” ‘“‘T guess I was, Gypsy,” with a tinge of sad- ness in his voice. ‘Ob, poor papa!” sighed the maiden. “We have wai'ed and waited so long for his coming! Foxfire, I want you to tell us all about his death, will you?” “Some time I will, Gypsy, but I can’t now, very well.” ‘“Well, you don’t want to forget your pro- mise, now,” the girl reminded him; then chang- ing the pitch of her voice she asked: ‘‘ when are ou going to start in search of the records papa eft in the Arkansas valley telling all about his death and the bad white man that had the In dians kill him?’ ‘Sh! Gypsy, don’t speak so loud,” cautioned the boy, as a man ina long coat with the collar turned up and his hat slouched, walked slowly by within a few feet of them; ‘‘ws may start day after to-morrow.” Thus the two conversed for several minutes when Gypsy conducted Foxfire into the house and introduced him to her mother and Helen. In the course of an hour Dr. Dumont and the boy came out of the house and in silence re- traced their footsteps back to the office, Dr. Dumont entered first and as Little Fox- fire was about to follow, the figure of a man brushed past him, glancing into the office and hurried on. The Boy Spy recognized it as the same dis- guised form that had os when he stood in the widow Jayne’s dooryard talking with Gypsy, and he would have staked his life on the man being Major Dan Martelle! The wolf was restless—uneasy else he would never have been prowling alone under the mid- night stars. CHAPTER VI. A FEARFUL RIDE. Five days succeeding the events narrated in the previous chapter, three persons well armed and mounted, with two pack animals. lightly ested. were riding slowly down the Arkansas valley. They were Little Foxfire, Dr. Fred Dumont and Caled Arbuckle, and they were in search of Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. the ‘ blow-out” wherein Mahlon Jayne and Jack Miles had been killed by the Indians. It was the middle of the afternoon. The weather was warm yet a pleasant air was blow- ing up the valley into the faces of the dust-cov- ered horsemen. Little Foxfire had little recollection of the ex- act location of the scene of the massacre, nor could he even tell within fifty miles of where it occurred. His greatest hope lay in the’ possi- bility of being able to recognize the place when he came upon it; but, even in this, the chances were against him for the floods of the past three mda may have, completely obliterated the low-out. Besides there were so many bluffs, creeks, mottes of timber and blow-outs along that great valley having such a close resem- blance that it would be difficult for him to desig- nate the right one, since, when the massacre took place, he was but a mere child. charging his mind with none of the particulars of the place of the conflict and its surroundings. So far their journey had been a quiet and pleasant one. The Indians off in the hills to the westward they knew were, and had been ever since the new mines had opened, in a condition bordering on open hostilities. But from this source Arbuckle, who had of late been watch- ing the movements of the red-skins, apprehend- | ed no danger. It is true a number of miners, singly and in small parties, had been murdered | while prospecting in the hills contiguous to the | Indians’ country, but to molest them the In- | dians would have to come a long ways out of their range. Little Foxfire, however, contended that no one in the valley of the upper Arkansas would be safe from Indians until the Indians were all safe in death, and in this the boy was found to be right, for, suddenly, as they rode along, he reined in his horse, saying: d ‘Pony tracks! or [mas blind as a snake in dog-days:” “There are pony tracks, by the sword of Gideon!” declared the old detective; ‘‘but I reckon it’s been a berd of wild ones.” ‘“Nary wild pony thare, colonel,” the boy decided; ‘‘a herd ’d ‘a’ straggled out more than them did, and cropped the grass as they went along, for ce been walking. If they'd been running then [ wouldn’t argify with you, colo- nel, for a feller couldn’t a’ told much ’bout them then. Still, I don’t want to hold my judgment up against a feller that’s older than I be.” “Well, we had better rake sure of these tracks before we proceed any further,” said Du- mont. ‘This valley has always been set with death-traps ever since Columbus discovered the continent.” The river lay over a mile to their right, while two miles to the left the aes gradually ris- ing, terminated in a range of low bluffs cut in twain in places by deep canyons. Now and then a creek flowed down through one of these gaps and found its way into the river. Before our three friends, not over a mile away, was one of those creeks, whose banks were fringed with thickets of dense brush, with now and then a motte of fair-sized timber. And out a ways from the creek, near the foot of the bluffs, was a little chaparral. All these afforded admirable hiding-places for a lurking foe. After a few moments’ discussion Little Foxfire dismounted, and, giving his horse 11to Ar- buckle’s charge, be shouldered his rifle and set out to reconnoiter the timber along the creek and ascertain, if possible, the truth concerning those pony tracks. He did’ not follow the tracks, but strack out straight for the creek, up which he turned as soon as under cover of the timber. With all the care and caution bora of a life amid constant dangers, the youth glided through the thickest of the shrubbery, stopping now and theri to listen, Finally he came to a beaver-dam, on'which he crossed to the opposite side of the creek, and turned into a narrow raviné that led away from the stream. He had followed this per- haps a mile, when he heard what appea red to be the sound of horses’ hoofs, and, climbing up the bank, he crawled along, under cover of some | bushes, to a point whence he could obtain a view of the great plain on his left and the valley on the right, ’ To his surprise he saw a herd of wild horses sweeping over the pldin toward the river ina course that would bring them close to where he lay, closely pursued by a horseman, in whose hand was held a lasso ready for the throw. There were some twenty in the drove, and they seemed to have been hard-pressed, for the mus- tanger had already passed a few of the hind- . 7 ee most, and was forging on ahead, sate Kio ee upon catching the leader, a noble ck stud. They were half a mile away when first dis- covered, The young spy could not tell who the mustanger was, but it occurred to his mind in an instant that it was Old Mustang Sam, a noted horse-hunter of the Arkansas, whom they all well knew. He concluded to make his pres- ence known to the man, but then, upon reflee- tion, he thought that such an act might be the means of the hors’:-hunter losing a prize for which he had undoubtedly given many an hour’s hard riding, To Foxfire’s surprise, however, the hunter compe so fast upon the black stud that, when ut a few rods from where the boy lay, the lasso shot from his hand, and, true to the aim of that skillful arm, the noose fell about the pony’s neck, which the next moment was down struggling in the fatal toils. With an involuntary ery of joy Foxfire sprung to his feet and ran out of the bushes, for he had recognized the man as Old Mustang Sam. sure enough, and resolved to assist him with his pony; but at thig instant, before Old Sam had seen the boy, a wild, savage yell rose upon the air, and then from a chaparral not four hun- dred yards away burst a band of a dozen mounted savages, who came thundering down toward the horse-hunter, co like demons. One glance back over his shoulder tol: the mustanger of his peril, and whipping out his knife he cut the lasso loose from his saddle, set- ting the wild stud free. But before the animal could regain its feet Old Sam saw the lithe fig- ure of a — glide from the direction of the bushes and leap upon the back of the wild rrse, ‘* Holy thunder! it’s Little Foxfire!” cried the mustanger, as he put spurs and dashed away. * Bet it is, uncle Sam!” answered the boy, as the pony, frantic with fear, leaped to its feet ands away like an arrow, the lad clingins; to its long mane and sitting as firm as a young centaur. With his knife the boy eut the rope about the pony’s neck, giving it greater freedom, which it enjoyed in a few frantic leaps into the air; but failing to dislodge the burden from its back, and terrified by the yelling savages, it straightened out and sped away like an arrow. For a short ways Old Sam and the boy rode close together, and even spoke a few words, but finally the stud sped away from the mustanger’s horse. Still Old Sam followed on behind, but only for a short distance, for suddenly the un- governable stud struck off on a tangent to the right, and as be did not consider the course the sultest one, he kept on directly southward. The Indlans at once divided, the greatest part of them following Little Foxfire. This the pur- sued quickly discovered, and as Foxfire could do notbing toward shaping the course of his horse, he felt that he was, indeed, in a serious predicament, for the rate at which the stud was exerting itself could not last long. It finally took a straight course toward the river, and as it sped across the level valley its daring rider no- ticed, with no little elation of spirit,that it was gaining on the care but as they neared the niver the boy began to entertain fears from an- other cause—-that of the stud, in its wild, head- long race, plunging into the river, ' To avert such a danger the boy attempted to draw his pistol so that he might. shoot the ani- mal when near the stream, but in doing so he — dropped the weapon to the ground, and nothing now but a knife remained in his possession. But before he could draw this the few scatter- ing trees along the river bank swept past him and the next moment pony and rider went tne into the water over a ten foot embank- ment. Both borse and rider sunk beneath the waves and when they appeared om the surface again, they bad parted company. .The pony bad) be- come turned in its mad leap and at once struck out for the shore from whence it bad just come. But Little Foxfire did not follow. Despite his fall and ducking, he received no injury, and maintaining his presence of mind he threw bim- self on his back and swam like a beaver for the opposite shore. wd The river at this point was deep but not over one hundred yards wide, and being a remark- ably fine swimmer the boy succeeded in reach- ing the bank and sonar | himself ina clump of bushes, before the red-skins came up. The pony had been less fortunate, for the our- rent had carried it down the stream to where the bank was so high it could not climb out. The Indians diapouaved it the moment they. cams
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‘gone off; then he rose, and moved away u _ river, believing his friends were in that - ae the and believing the boy w dismounted and ning along the like hounds searching for a trail. Suddenly an exclamation burst from a war- rior’s lips, as be ted down the stream, on whose current Little Foxfire’s hat was drifting away. Believing the boy’s head was in it, a dozen shots were quickly fired through it, but with no satisfactory result. From bis covert on the opposite side, the boy sat and watched all these movements with a smile upon his face. But while watching them, he was startled to see a white man ride up on the trail of the sav- ages and address them in an excited yet, to Fox- fire, inaudible tone. The boy shook his head. ‘‘Shoot my shadow !” he mused, ‘‘ if there isn’t a white renegade with them red demons! Heavens and earth! what if the doctor and Old Caleb Arbuckle should go like Mr, Jayne and his friend?’ But then they’ll have to do some fightin’ afore they git that pair o’ folks. But let’s see—where are the boys? Dogged if I didn’t whirl and dash and gcoot around over that valley so fast that I’ll be chawedall up if I know whether my friends are above or below me; but on a hop, skip and a guess, [ should say they are above. But I do wonder how Old Mustang Samuel come out in bis end of the race? Hope he’s been as lucky as I, for Ido ‘want to press the old posey’s palm again.” The boy remained in concealment until the Indians had given up the search for him and the irec- tion. He burried along for an hour or so, keeping a sharp watch across the water; but as he went on and on and saw nothing of his friends, he be- gan to think that he might have made a mis- take, and that they were down the river instead of up. Finally he stopped and glanced toward the west; The sun was hanging just above the top of the dim mountain range. Night would soon be upon bim. He became restless and uneasy. He had no sign of a weapon, having lost his knife in the river. What should he do? Which way should he go? As these thoughts were revolving through his mind, he heard a sound like the dip of a paddle. He turned quickly, and glancing up the stream beheld a long log canoe, or dug-out, coming down the river. Pade It contained three occupants, and to the lad’s surprise he saw that one of them was a temale, The boat was standing well out in the river. One of the men handled the paddle, while the other sat facing the female, whose very attitude told that she was a captive. The Boy Spy’s blood fairly leaped in his veins. The very faces of the men convinced him that they were outlaws or renegades, carrying into captivity some pure and helpless girl. But what could he do toward aiding her? He was wea- , powerless. His trusty rifle lay in the shes on the bluff miles away. He crept as close as he could to the water’s edge and peered through the bushes at tle boat. When it came opposite him the bowed re of the captive mov Then she lifted her face and glanced toward the shore, as if intuitively con- scious of a wild young heart beating in sympa- thy for her there. At sight of her sad face Little Foxfire started up, his eyes glaring, his fingers clinched, while a half-subdued cry escaped his drawn lips. He recognised that white face. It was that of Gypsy Jayne, the Idol of the Hills! CHAPTER VIL. THE BOY SPY TO THE RESOUE. Lrrrtze Foxrrre could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes—that Gypsy Jayne was before him hundreds of miles from home— a captive in the power of those villainous-look- ing strangers; but{when he had fully realized that such was the case, and that he was power- less to aid her, he could scarcely restrain his emotions. He bit his lip that the thoughts surg- ing through his brain might not find expression imap outburst of words. He clinched his fingers till the nails almost cut into the palms, and, half-crouching, he stood glaring through the ‘bushes at the boat like a wounded tiger prepar- en 4 leap upon the offending hunter. - canoe floated some distance before be Then, crouching still lower, shadows, resolved to fol- Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. low the craft even though it went down to the ocean. His movements were as noiseless and yet as rapidas the fox’s, Every faculty was on the alert—every fiber of his body strung to its highest tension. : 6 followed along for half a mile, when to his happy surprise, he saw the boat suddenly turn toward theshore. It touched the beach in front of a bigh chalky bluff that rose up among the shrubbery some thirty feet back from the water. Creeping as close as he dare, the youth watch- ed the movements of the men. For awhile he was in doubt as to what they intended to do, but he finally diseovered that they had halted for the night. ‘*Thank God!” was the lad’s mental ejacula- tion; ‘‘ I shall now wait and watch for an op- portunity to act.” The men landed and drew the boat partly out of the water. Gypsy was then given her choice of remaining in the boat or going ashore. Sae made no reply to the man that addressed her, but burying her face in her hands, she bowed her head and burst into tears. Her sobs reached the ears of Foxfire, and again aroused that de- mon of revenge in his young heart, Some provision was taken from the boat and offered the captive, but she declined it. But the men sat down and ate heartily, con- versiug, in the meantime, in a tone that was in- audible to Foxfire. The darkness of the night soon blended all in a confusion of shadows; but it was not long un- til the moon came up shedding her soft beams full upon the river, the boat, the girl and ber captors. Gypsy still reclining in the canoe sobbed her- self to sleep, when one of the men arose, took a blanket from the boat and laid it over her little form. An hour later, Foxfire, who bad dared to ven- ture still closer under the shadows, heard one of the men say: ‘*We had as well let her rest in the boat as she is sound asleep. I’m afraid she’s goin’ to pine herself todeath. But Budd, you lie down and sleep and I'll take the first watch.” ‘*All right,” said the other taking up a blanket, “Tl lie down here at the foot of Old White Chalk where many a night the gay outlaw, Night Hawk, and his bold band have slept in days gone by.” ** Better not get too close there if you don’t want to get mashed, for I noticed when we landed that the face of Old White Chalk is nearly ready to scale off in ten ton chunks,” The man glanced up at the broken, shaky facade of the rock that gleamed like marble in the moonlight, then deliberately went and laid og at its base and drew his blanket over im. The other taking his rifle seated himself on the beach near the prow of the boat. Between the two men was a level strip of white sand nearly two rods wide, so that to the watcher in the bushes all appeared quite dis- tinct in the moonlight. By this time the young spy had decided on his course of action. It had been suggested by the outlaw’s remark concerning the danger of lying under the rock. He only waited for the proper moment to strike. An hour went by. The figure in the boat, the watcher on the beech, the sleeper under the rock were all motionless. Crickets in the crevices of the cliff chirruped unceasingly. Tree-frogs on tle boughs over- head piped their doleful lays. Little Foxfire now rose from his seat, He glanced around him and then up at the clear dome of heaven. He saw a star leave its orbit in the zenith and go trailing down the southern sky. His pulses quickened and his eyes bright- ened, for that to a plainsman was an omen of success. Turning the boy crept with the silence of a shadow to the top of the chaJk cliff that was erowned with the shadows of overhanging bushes. Creeping to the edge he peered down upon the sleeping outlaw, then dodged back and on his knees he began crawling about feeling around him fora rock. It was several.minutes before he found one to suit him, and when he did he lifted it with great effort and moved back to the edge of the cliff and dropped it over. As the stone tore down the face of the broken, shaky cliff it started tons of spalds and toppling blocks of the great rock that fell like an ava- lanche on the sleeping outlaw. At the sound of the crashing stones the man on the beach started up and turned toward the cliff. A perfectdog of dust and dirt was boil- ing up from its base, and from out that fog came groans and cries for t ‘*Great God!” cried the guard, in a tone that sounded strangely familiar to Foxfire, ‘I told him not to lie down there!” Gypsy was aroused by the man’s cries of agony, and flinging aside the blanket that covered her, she rose to a sitting posture and gazed around her in bewilderment. She saw a lithe figure dart from the shadows across the moonlit beach, snatch up the rifle of the guard, who now stood in the cloud of dust trying to extricate his friend from beneath that heap of rocks, throw it into the boat, sbove the craft off into the water, leaping into it as he did so. > All this had been done s0 silently and in such a brief space of time that the canoe was a rod from shore ere the terrified, bewildered girl could realize the fact. And so deeply engaged was.the outlaw digging for his friend that he had not discovered the escape until it was half across the stream, Then with an oath he ran for bis rifle. Pre- cious moments were spent in looking for it, but he found it was gone and then bis fury knew no bounds. He became almost frantic. The escape of the captive and the groans of bis companion set him wild. He drew bis revolver and run- ning to the water’s edge fired at the receding oat. A mocking laugh and the echo of his weapon came back to bis ears. Not until Little Foxfire had spoken to Gypsy did she realize the situation, and that he was actually present. “Ob, Foxfire!” she cried, ‘‘ you brave little man; tee it be possible that you bave saved me again ‘It’s a solemn, sober fact, Miss Gypsy,” the youth replied, ina tone of manly pride, ‘‘ and I hope I may never have to do so again.” “Oh! I knew God would help me! He sent you to rescue me, as I prayed that He would.” “That’s it, Gypsy; a gal’s prayers and a boy’s pluck never fail to win. But I expect I started a landslide that smashed the life out o’ that sleepin’ outlaw. I never liked the idea of ; illin’ a foe in his sleep, but in this case I think the end justified the means. But I don’t care now, for I expect they’ve treated you mean— Zip! ha! ba! ha! bang away, you gal thief, you can’t burt a Christian!” The boat soon shot into the shadows of the op- ee shore and touched the bank, when the ugitives quickly landed. Then removing the blankets frpm the craft and concealing them in the bushes, Little Fox- fire shouldered the captured rifle and with his fair little protegee burried back into the timber through fear that other dangers might be lurk- ing along the shore, hen they reached the edge of the timber they sat down to rest, when Foxfire asked: ‘What on earth does this mean, Gypsy— you're being a captive here?” “IT really don’t. know, Foxfire,” the maiden replied. ‘The first night after you folks left Leadville, I stepped out of the back door short- ly after dark to feed my pet deer, Fanny, when a man sprung from the shadows of the building, threw a blanket over my head and shoulders, and ran with me to where a man on horseback was waiting. Tbe horseman took me in his arms, and galloped away into the hills, and wandered around and around all night—oh! I don’t know where, Foxfire, for I was uncon- scious half the time. “The nex: day I was placed in a covered wagon drawn by two mules, and carried away, traveling both day and night, with a short stop now and tben to feed the animals. We met no- body, for we followed no road or trail; and it was just this morning that we took the boat. ‘“Who the men are I know not; and why they are taking me away, and where to, I know vot. They talked kind to me, and tried to be kind to me, so far as words and acts were concerned. But they were not kind in taking me away by force, and I knew by that they were bad men. ‘Of course they are, Gypsy—they’re villains of the first order; but if one »’ them ever gits out of the Arkansaw valley again, he'll go on a blanket.” : Arkansas river, is it, Fox- “Then that is the fire?’ “Yes, ma’am; and old Caleb Arbuckle and Dr. Dumont are scattered ’round here some- — wheres—don’t know exactly where, but we’ll find ’em to-morrow, if not to-night yet. I tell you I had an awful ride to-day, Gypsy, to git away from a gang of Indians. But, after all, I see now that the Lord had something to do with it, for it finally led to your rescue. Glad I got me, another gun, too, for I was clean out of
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I see it’s a Winchester, and the maga- ’s full to the muzzle. “Ob, smoky ruins! if we could only find Old Caleb and the doctor now. Wouldn’t they open their eyes and ponder at seein’ you down here three hundred miles from home? But, G psy, L s’pects we'd better be movin’ along, and find the boys, ifwecan. I’m sure now they are down the river, or they and your captors would ’a’ collided as you came dow,, if adware above,” | “JT am ready to follow you, Foxfire, wher- ‘ever you may lead; for I am not afraid of any- body vow. Oh! I do hope I will get to see the place where papa died. But my poor, dear mother! how she will mourn, I know, over ™ geal ith a proudly beating heart, the young spy drew Gypsy’s arm within his own, and then they set off down the river. bey kept within the shadows of the woods, and as they advanced they finally discovered a light ahead of them, and, feeling satis'‘ied that it was the camp-fire of their friends, Dumont rs Arbuckle, they shaped their course toward t. CHAPTER VIII. MEETING AS FORS—GREETING AS FRIENDS. Arter Foxfire bad left them, Dumont and Caleb Arbuckle rode over to the river, and dis- mounting in a motte of timber, unsaddled and unpacked their animalg, tethered them to grass, and made all other necess»ry arrangements for the night. They had been there but a few minutes when they were startled by the far-off yell of Indians, and looking away in the direction whence the sound came, they discovered a number of say- ages in pursuit of a borseman. ‘aking up his glass, Dumont closely scanned both pursuers and pursued for several moments. “T’ll declare, Arbuckle,” he at length said, “if Foxfire bad not left us on foot, ’d swear that fugitive were the boy. Here, take a look!” The old detective took the glass and brought it to bear on the pursued horseman. ‘By the Toledo blade o’ Gideon!” he ex- claimed, “‘it is the boy! He’s on a black pony without bridle or saddle—bet « dollar and forty *leven cents he stole it from the red-skins.” “The little dare-devil! what does he mean?” “Seems as though he meant to have a race, and’s havin’ it, too, with the chances in his favor.” “Yes,” answered Dumont who had again taken the glass, ‘‘be made a good selection, for he is undoubtedly gaining on the savages. But I say, Arbuckle, it begins to look to me now as though we were to have a bit of trouble before we got through in the Arkansas valley.” “YT wouder if the Jayne-Miles tragedy’s to be re-enacted?” questioned Old Caleb. ‘*Time alone will tell.” iy es § under cover of the timber, the two men watched the race with breathless interest. The racers were some two miles away headed toward the river. Dumont and Arbuckle were in a quandary as to what they should do, To venture out to his assistance would be suicidal in the face of such odds; and since the boy appeared in a fair wa to distance them in the race, they concluded it would be best for them to remain where they were, and be ready to receive the Indians when they came up, as they had not a doubt but that the boy would eventually lead them around = wiper ut to r surprise, the boy and the Indians disappeared behind a cluster’ of trees, nor did they appear in sight again. They waited and watched with anxiously beating hearts. An hour went by, when to their horror, they saw the Indians ride out from behind the grove, and go galloping back across the aes umont care- fully scrutinized the party with his glass, and, although he could see nothing of Foxfire among them, he felt none the less fearful of his hav- ing been slain. ‘I’m afraid, colonel,” the doctor said, seri- ously, “that our little hero and guide bas met with his fate.” **Too bad if so, doctor,” replied Arbuckle, “* but with the advantage the boy had when we last saw him, I can’t think he’s gone under.” ‘*T hope not—I pray not, colonel; but in view of the fact that we are in how danger, had we not better arrange some kind of a defense?” ‘“We’ve a spade with us, doctor, and by dig- in’ a rifle-pit [ think we’ll be in good shape to ck a dozen or two red-skins, though I’m not goin’ to invite them to a battle.” With the spade the two, taking turns at the . work, proceeded to dig a rifle-pit. They la- bored {rdustriously for some hours and when Fin Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. their work was done they removed their effects into the pit and secreted their horses in a dense plum thicket. . By this time it was sundown and with the shadows of night the gloom of a dreadful fore- boding settled upon the minds of the two men. They could not dispel the thought that Little Foxfire was in trouble and that their pee was sorely needed; and so it was finally decided that Arbuckle go out in search of the boy while Du- mont remained to watch the camp. As soon as the moon came up the old detective set off up the river on foot, e carried no wea- pon but his revolver. To him a rifle was a **cumbersome, awkward tool.” With rapid strides he pushed on some two or three miles when he stopped to listen. But all was quiet. He walked on until he was be- ond, he thought, the point where the boy must ave struck the river. Then he turned and crept down to the water’s edge and again lis- tened. Sicill all was silent save the gentle flow of the water. He looked up and down the stream. Half-hidden in the shadow of some overhanging boughs he saw a long, log canoe lying close against the bank. He advanced closer to the craft and examined it. It con- tained a single paddle, and whether it had been left there or had drifted there he could not tell. But be that as it might, he resolved to take possession of the craft and paddle back to camp. It might stand them in need should they be atticked by the savages. Stepping down the bank he entered the craft, seated himself, took up the paddle and swung the boat around. But the craft being longer than he supposed its prow in swinging around became fouled in some drooping vines and brought to a stand close alongside the bank. This threw the old detective into the shadow of the overarching boughs, which he regarded as a fortunate mishap for the next instant he heard the tramp of approaching feet. Sitting motionless he listened. Some one was advancing with stealthy footsteps along the bank. The sound came nearer and nearer and finally ceased near the prow of the canoe. The next moment Old Caleb was violently shaken by the unknown leaping into the opposite end of the boat. The detective drew his revolver, and was in the act of demanding who the intruder was when the agitated boat swung out from the shore into the moonlit waters. But no sooner had it done so than the un- known’s body was covered by the revolver of the old mountaineer, who hissed out: “One word or one movement and you’re dead!” : The stranger gave a sort of a gasp and his form became as rigid as stone. And as the boat drifted out still further into the moonlight the two sat motionless, glaring into each other’s eyes. It was a double surprise, but @ld Arbuckle had got the drop on the intruder. But his ad- vantage was Only momentary, for, quick as the lightning leaps from the storm-cloud, the long arm of the stranger swept around and Ar- buckle’s revolver was knocked from his hand half across the river. ; Then, with a snarl like that of a tiger the man dashed at the throat of the old detective, but the latter was as quick, and when they came together both were on their feet. With their left hands they grasped at each other’s throats, while with their right fists they began to desl each other lusty blows in the face, Their tall forms swaying so violently set the boat to rocking and the next moment the craft upset and both men fell into the river. But this did not end the struggle. They rose to the surface still fighting. The water was over their heads in depth and they soon went down again. But when they arose the second time they were parted, and before they could come together again the upturned canoe drifted between them. Each laid a hand upon the boat while with the other he reached for the throat of his foe. A hand of each became fastened on the collar of the other, and thus locked together over the slippery bottom of the canoe, the struggle was renewed with desperate ferocity. With the right hand they struck fu- riously at each other’s face and head, though the rocking of the boat made their forms un- steady and their blows uncertain. Arbuckle, in the mean time, had discovered that his foe was a white man, and no mean an- tagonist, for he was giving him all he could well stand, “* Cuss net baton picters!” the old detective finally ee out, as he to get in a square ck, “I'll fix you/” ae “Oh, ye will, eh?” re the other, and by an ovelteteoks gave Old Caleb a resounding whack on the head. Thus blow after blow was given, though at such a disadvantage, that little real injury was inflicted upon eitber. With their arms resting across the canoe they were kept from sinking, and for awhile it seemed that the result of the contest must be in favor of the one possessing the atest endurance, But, suddenly, Ar- buckle managed to get a pretty fair blow at bis antagonist, when he again bissed out: “You'll spout wuss nor that, you cachalot, before you are done with, Cale Arbuckle.” As the old detective pronounced bis na the other released his hold, and dodging ano blow, exclaimed: “You, Arbuckle? Cale Arbuckle?” “Yes, you prowlin’ assassin—didn’t know you were right in the clutches of a prowlin’ wa —an octophus, did ye?” ‘Caleb Arbuckle, you’re a blasted old foolt” blurted the other, ‘for I’m Mustang Sam, the hoss-bunter!” ** What?” “Tt’s a fact, you’re an idiot!” Arbuckle released his hold upon the collar of his foe, and then the two panting men rested their bands upon the drifting boat and glared across into each other’s faces, the very pictures of idioti : ridiculousness, They had no difficulty now in recognizing each other, although they had not met for two years. They were old-time friends, and would ave suffered death rather than struck each other in anger. Arbuckle was the first to break the silence that followed the recognition, “ Sone @ monumental old ass, Sam!” he de- clared. er ou, colonel, are a splay-hoofed pyra- midal jackass.” ‘* Shake, old wild-hoss! God bless you!” “* Amen, old Shackles!” And as the two clasped hands over the turned boat, they laughed like a pair of school- boys over their ridiculous blunder, Finally they turned the canoe over, assisted each other into it, and again shook hands, and had anotber hearty laugh over their mistake. ‘‘For the Lord’s sake, Sam, don’t mention this to a livin’ soul,” leaded Caleb. “The idea of a detective and a famous horse hunter pum- melin’ each other for an bour before findin’ out they were friends, is disgraceful enough to send you, Sem, over to Mexico, But what war you snookin’ ’rcund here for, anyhow?” “Why, you pesky old bone-rack, I'd just passed by this canoe and seen it empty. Five minutes later I was back lookin’ into the muzzle o’ your revolver. But what are you doin’ here, “Caleb? On a trail?” ‘Vm up here lookin’ for a red-headed boy.” “Who! Little Foxfire?’ A ““Yes; know anything about him?” Sam narrated, briefly as ible, bis and Little Foxfire’s adventures with the wild horse and the savages. “Well, Ill swear by the prophets, that boy's aregular terror; but where can be now? But, Samuel, I’m glad I met ‘ith you. Doc Du- mont’s down the creek a ways, and he’s been a- wishin’ for the last three days that he could meet you.” “Great gumption! Doc Dumont out here? exclaimed the mustanger. ‘‘ The young scamp! Vil bet he’s out here lookin’ up the secret o’ that golden locket that I heard tell he found.” “ That’s jist what be’s doin’, Old Lasso,” “By thunder in the valley, let’s be off. I want to see him and press his hand, for he’s got a heart in him, Cale, bigger nor an ox’s, as I well know from ’sperience. I don’t believe you can do anything to’rds finding that young bur- ricane before daylight, though be may find you, In fact, you migkt find bim at camp when you got back.” With their barids they paddted the canoe a:hore and were soon moving down the river. Before they had gone a mile, they, too, sawa light in the woods ahead of them. ‘“What’s the meanin’/” asked Old Caleb. “Surely Dumont wasn’t gump-head enough to strike a fire to invite all the Ingins in this valley to lift bis skulp? But 1’ll swear, I believe it isin or near our camp.” ; ‘*To make sure of tbe situation, let’s steal along a leetle zepbyrish, colonel, for I’ve had ’sperience enough with the red-skins today to do me a lifetime. I got cleaned outen hoss, carbine, pistol—everything but breath and I had to wrassel for that jist ’bout as lively as ou ever see’d a lover o’ horse-hoofs. But say, uckle, what on yearth’s brought these lam.
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/ ad basted red-skins into the valley again all to once—without warnin’? I hav’n’t heard o’ any threatened outbreak, and [’ve been circulatin’ all around the kentry with eyes and ears open. D’ye think it’s a ginuine outbreak, or jist a | spasmodic spurt 0’ a gang o’ fractious young bucks on a sort o’ a scalp-knife bender?” “Can't say, Sam, what it does mean, for sure, but they seem to be on the fight,” Thus they conversed until they came within a few hundred paces of the light, which they saw | | was from a camp-fire, and around which they could see shadowy forms moving. “Pll swear I believe it’s in onr camp,” de- clared Arbuckle; ‘‘and yit we want to make e. With the silence of shadows they crawled along bebind a cluster of bushes within twenty paces of the fire, and, on looking through at the light then, they started with horror at the sight that met their vision—the sounds that greeted their ears. To an immense tree stood Dr, Fred, tied hand and foot—his body bared to the waist—while before him stood eight or ten Indian warriors, painted and plumed, and each with a drawn tomahawk in hishand. Around the head of the | captive—the points driven deep into the tree, | was a circle of long, glittering knives, the keen ge of one of which pressed so close against the doctor’s temple that drops of blood were trickling down his cheek and falling upon his white breast. perry f CHAPTER IX, STRUCK BY A WHIRLWIND. , For a moment Old Sam and Old Caleb stood motionless—rooted to the spot, it seemed, by the sight before them. Among the savages they saw a white man disguised, who took no part in the torture of the captive, but looked on with evident de- light. ‘The red-skins were all impulsive young war- riors, bloodthirsty and fiendish. How long they had been indulging in their devilish amuse- ment of hurling their knives and tomahawks into the tree around Dumont’s head the watch- ers could noi tell. They saw, however, that the captive was cool and undaunted «nd faced them with a fearless look that seemed to defy them to do their very worst. Leaving the knives bristling around the cap- tive’s head, the savages had stepped back to | et. the amusement by trowing their toma- | wks, Fred Dumont’s face grew a shade paler, but there was no flinching when the first weapon struck with a thud within an inch of his face. Another warrior stepped to the score, and, with wonderful precision, sent his hatchet so close ie the captive felt the wind of the weapon on a cheek, Another and another was thrown until seven tomabawks, alongside of seven knives, were sticking in the tree—the tomahawks just out- side of the knives. Elated by their remarkable skill the savages were advancing .to secure their weapons to repeat the exercise when a groan suddenly startled them. It came from, out in the dark- ness behind them, and involuntarily every red-skin turned his face in that direction. Another groan, then a huge hand reached Thy around the big tree-trunk to which umont was bound, seized and withdrew one of the knives sticking in the tree. stant the prisoner’s bonds fell at his feet and he stood a free man! The next ig- »m~ But before be could fully realize the fact, a ad ” rifle in the darkness rung out and the savage nearest to him fell dead in bis tracks. A yell of wild, demoniac fury rose on the night and the red-skins sprung for their toma- hawks. But to their horror they found them- selves confronted by Mustang Sam and Dumont with uplifted tomahawks. At the same moment @ld Caleb Arbuckle, with the roar of a wild bull, rushed from his concealment on the opposite side, and snatch- ing a club—one end of which was ablaze—from the fire as he came, he fell upon the savages and dealt them unmerciful blows right and left. “Hoo-raw!” yelled the old mountaineer; “into them over there, Old Lasso! Chop them —carve them, Pill-bags! Scatter their brains— all over—Cafga—do—o—0!” To still add to the fury of the whirlwind that bad struck the un ting savages, Little Foxfire suddenly gli from the shadows and oined in the conflict, At sight ef him Old leb Arbuckle became so elated with joy that nig valle might have been heard twenty miles, red-skins taken completely were the by Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. surprise, and that, at a time when their toma- hawks—their favorite weapon in a close en- counter—were out of their possession, that they could only act on the defensive by dodging the blows of their enemies and breaking for the shadows at the first opportunity. But, all did not escape, for four of their hum- ber fell dead within ten feet of each other. A yell that fairly rent the sky burst from the lips of Old Arbuckle and Mustang Sam. **By heavens, Saw-bones!” the mustanger finally said, ashe advanced to where Dumont stood—his brain almost dizzy with tbe terrors and excitements of the past hour, ‘‘ how do you do, old pard?”’ “Tm better than I was, Sam,” replied Dumont with a faint smile; ‘ that I can assure, my dearold comrade!” ‘“*1) should say so, boy, but ’m glad to meet you again, God bless you.” ** Boys!” cried Caleb Arbuckle, looking around him in surprise, ‘‘ where’s Little Foxfire?” ‘Gone after an Ingin, I reckon,” suggested Old Sam. No one had seen the boy leave, but in the midst of their excitement over bis disappear- ance the boy returned, leading into camp, Gypsy Jayne! ‘*Great heavens!” cried young Dumont. ‘Sword of Gideon!” from Old Arbuckle. The three men stood like dumb statues gazing upon the boy and girl before them. “My God, Gyp-y! what has brought you here?’ Dumont finally found speech to inquire. ‘Oh. Dr. Dumont!” the maiden replied, as she azed up into his white, blood-stained face, ‘‘I Rave had such a dreadful adventure since you left Leadville! I was carried away by bad men and I am afraid it will kill mother.” ‘‘ My dear girl, come and sit down,” said the doctor tenderly; ‘‘ you are excited and nervous. Foxfire, will you look about our horses, my noble lad? We left them in the thicket down toward the river.” “Doctor,” observed Old Mustang, ‘“ you are not an Injun-fighter, I see. You forget we are in great danger here. We had better change our quarters .and that ’mediately, for the savages may return with help; besides, them dead ones are not for a gal to look upon.” “You are right, Sam,” replied Dumont. ‘TI must confess that I have passed through such an ordeal within the last bour that my senses seem deserting me. Let us move at once.” To bring up their borses and load their effects upon them was the work of but a few minutes, and then all started off down the river. About a mile from their old camp they again halted in a little chaparral. Old Sam now volunteered to stand guard, he having armed himself with the best of the dead Indians’ weapons. Then the other four sat down, and entered into conversation. Gypsy told the story of ber abduction, andall the incidents connected therewith, up to the te of her rescue by the gallant Little Fox- re. ‘*Caleb,” said Dumont, when she had con- cluded, “‘I am afraid we will be outgeneraled yet by—by somebody.” “‘Jist say by Dan Mar'elle,” suggested Old Caleb; “for, by thunder and gumption! I'll bet he’s at the bottom of the gal’s abduction, if not the movin’ spirit in this Injin deviltry. I am beginnin’ to think Helen’s note may have put him on his guard, and that he, too, bas had a boy-spy aft work, and got at the hull of our scheme, I tell you the major’s as deep as we dare be, and ’s a cussed sight meaner.” ‘“* There’s a leak somewhere, colonel,” observed Dumont, ‘and if Martelle should find out the object of our mission down bere, and secure those buried papers, we would be badly left. There’s something wrong somewhere, but where it is I can’t conceive, for the life of me. And it is also very true that if Martelle could com- mand the assistance of the Indians in a scheme of murderous villainy three years ago, he can do the same to-day.” ‘‘ Well, if they crowd us, Doc, paralyze my liver if we don’t strew this valley with death and deestruction, now mind what—” He did not finish the sentence, for the spiteful crack of a rifle stung through the night, and was followed by an unearthly scream out in the chaparral. CHAPTER X. TWO VILLAINS PLOTTING. WE will now return, for a brief space of time, to Leadville, that we may watch the move- ments of ef Poche fo) telle, whose suspicions and fears been so aroused by the letter re- —— eee eee eee ee ———— eee ceived from Helen J pynqrand the visit of Jer rold Tweed; for he had, from the moment the latter called at his office, mistrusted his old-time friend whom he bad supposed safe in prison for twenty'years, if not for life, as having furnished the Jayne family a clew to Mablon’s death with the intention of extracting blood-money from him. The first thing the major did after locking his office-door on the Boy Spy was to put a detect- ive on the track of Tweed, while he himself shadowed the Jayne family, and watched evesy movement around their house, From the unguarded conversation between Little F. xfire and Gypsy Jayne, which he had overbeard in passing by, he learned that Dr. Fred Dumont was the leading spirit in the pro- posed investigation of the mysterious disappear- ance and death of Mahlon Jayne. ; He also mistrus ed, after a glance into the doctor’s office that same night, that Old Caleb Arbuckle and Little Foxfire were assisting him, and this made him all the more men ey About midnight that same night he had a con- ference with the detective he had sent to watch Tweed, and from the latter’s movements he he- came satisfied that he had accused him wrong- fully of having furnished the clew to Jayne’s death. But in the mean time he had learned that Jerrold had lied to him about bis escape from prison, for in a Denver_paper he read that night of the desperado, Jerrold Tweed, having killed a guard and escaped from custody, and that a reward of one thousand dollars was offered for his apprehension and return to prison. This discovery furnished him some relief, so far as Jerrold was concerned, but it left him still deeper in mystery as to how that clew to Jayne’s murder had been found. The detective was next sent to shadow Dr. Dumont and his party, and when he met the major the next morning he had some informa~- van for that worthy that caused him to turn pale. At sharp four o’clock the next day Jerrold Tweed, in disguise, made his appearance, as per agreement, at the major’s office, “Thunder, Jerrold!” Martelle exclaimed, as he closed the door. ‘‘I’d given a thousand do}- lars if you’d come around this morning.” ‘““Why, my dear major, what’s up?” replied Tweed, blandly; ‘did you get in a wild hurry to accept my proposition?” ‘Proposition, the devil! Jerrold, why did you lie to me yesterday?” “What about?” ‘* Your being pardoned out of prison. to this.” The major took up the Denver paper, and in slow and deliberate tones read the account of Jerrold Tweed’s escape and the reward offered for bis arrest. Tweed whistled an exclamation of surprise. ‘‘ That’s what you lied about,” the Sane went n rope is tam Ito Listen on, ‘* when a life sentence or a hem staring you squarely in the face! understand by it?” : ‘Well, after all,” Tweed argued with remark- able indifference, ‘‘ I’m not much worse than some others, major, and if you'd ’a’ shelled out last night I’d been in Japan before this.” “You want to getaway from here in a hurry, if you get away at all,” in a tone that implied a threat. ‘<}’]] never do it ‘less I go with the collaterals to start in business with elsewhere,” was the firm response. ‘¢That you shall have on one condition.” ‘* Major, I don’t propose to load myself down with promises; but you can name your condi- ccc ke th ] h ; “Take that girl, G Jayne, with you. “‘Oh-ah! that’s See ae But what’s in the wind now?” “Nothing; only I want an excuse to get away from Leadville for a week or two at least. It concerns you, too, that I want to go. Last night I learned that one Dr. Dumont, accompanied by the old Mountain Detective, Caleb Arbuckle, and Little Foxfire, starts soon for the Arkansas va)- ley in search of some record left there that gives an account—a bistory—of Jayne’s massacre and other facts connected therewith. If they find such a history it must never come to the light of a court of justice.” ‘¢ Why need you be so uneasy, major? The Ingins killed the men,” remarked Tweed, with a facetious grin. ‘‘T have learned that my name has been con- nected with the deed in instigating the Indiane to the murder.” , ‘How in Satan’s name could such an impres- sion get out?” - ‘ g ‘Po be honest, I first mistrusted you were at
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the bottom of furnishing the clew, for a clew they have undoubtedly got hold of; but I con- fess now I wronged you. ““7T should say you did, major; but, mebby some of the Indians have been converted and made a clean breast of the whole affair?” “Not an Indian save the chief, Black Owl, ever knew the truth of that affair, and he was killed, you remember, in the attack on tbe min would have to creep backward—not being sure that he could get off at all without a dangerous leap by going ahead. The lad not ex to hear an that: would be of more interest than he had heard, ms so he waiting and watching for a a 5 rode, 1 beneath had died down until
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smokin’ ruins! we'll beat old Martelle yit, gurrou , While waiting a favorable moment to act, Foxfire was suddenly startled by a slight sound as if of some soft-footed animal beg reg | upon the log he was on. He dare not raise his head to look alo the tree, but he listened more intently. The soun —the merest vibratory sound—was coming closer, Was it a wild-cat? or a panther stealing along the log on its velvet feet? ¥ 8 these questions revolved through the young apy’s mind something touched his head. Then he heard a suuffling around him, and the next moment /the animal, Nin heady Say it was, i its Pie paws upon e an nm soit ting it first with one foot, then the other. ” . By this Foxfire knew what the animal was—a k/ Full many 4 time as he lay wrapped in his nket under some sheltering tree or ledge, or by tke side of a camp-fire asleep, had he been awak- ened by these pestiferous animals walking over him, or patting him in their peculiar way. He knew that so long as he remained quiet he was in no danger of its terrible weapon of defense, but it was torturing to him to have to lay there with the animal thrusting its nose into his face and sniffling and patting around. His quick mind, however, was mever at a loss for an e ient, and he soon re- solved to rid himself of the skunk. Acting upon this resolution, he swung his hand quickly around, and gave the animal a vigorous blow, that knocked it from the log down into the very midst of the savages, The presence of the animal created almost a panic among the red-skins who started back with cries of disgust, while up on the airinto high heaven rose an odor that fairly sickened the little hero lying upon the big log. In fact, it soon became more than his olfactories could stand, and rising to his feet while the savages were, still in commofion over the sudden appearance of their odoriferous visitor, he darted along the log and leaped out into the shadows. A savage yell pealed out from the sink-hole. The lynx-eyed warriors had seen the boy, and instantly they swarmed out of the “hole” like wolves, and dayted away after him. ut as well might they have pursued the cunning fox as that lithe-limbed, swift-footed boy; but this they soon learned for the second time, for in a few minutes they all returned with disappointment writ- ten on their sullen faces, Little Foxfire made his way back to his friends, who were eagerly and anxiously awaiting him since they had heard the distant yells of the red-skins. ‘The lad was in high spirits, and seat ng himself he narrated his adventures at the Indian bivouac, the discover of Dan Martelle among the Indians, and what he had heard. Doctor Dumont could scarcely restrain his emo- tions aro by the boy’s story. He could not find Janguage to express his feelings toward the treach- wrous, murdering Martelle, All were completely at aloss to know how the vil- jain had ever learned that they were in the Arkansas valley in search of evidence to convict him of a dark, and foul crime; but since he /4/ know their mission there, and seemed to even surmise that the blow-out . where Jayne died was their objective point, it be- hooved the doctor and his friends to act speedily. So esa some discussion, Little Foxfire, accom- pan y Old Caleb Arbuckle, was sent down the bn’ to search for the blow-out, and if they should find it, then all would move to the coveted spot. Dumont and Mustang Sam kept a close watch over camp and the fair little Gypsy who lay sleeping soundly on a couch of grass an blankets, under the arching boughs of a great cottonwood. Scarcely an hour had passed when the scouts re- ‘turned to camp flushed with joyful excitement. “We found blow-out, folks!” announced Little Voxfire. “Glory! glory!’’ exclaimed Doctor Dumont. “ Hallalujerum! hallalujerum!"" added Old Sam. “Tt isn’t over a mile from here,” the young spy continued. ‘“ I knew it the moment I entered it. walked into the mouth o’ the rift and looked up at the moon and stars, and it seemed that I could almost see those dead miners feyin’ there still. The place hasn’t changed a whit in three years. By the s! We must breakfast in that blow-out.”’ 4 “Then let us make for it at once,” enjoined Doctor Dumont. In a few minutes the horses were brought up, ‘pridled, saddled and packed. The three canteens hk the party were filled at the litcle creek, a bundle of dry twigs secured for fire, should they need one, and then all set off led by Foxfire. A few minutes’ brisk traveling sufficed to bring them to the end of their journey, and in a few minutes more they were encamped in the very re- treat where three years before, Mahlon Jayne and his friend gave up their lives to the treachery of a fellow-man. But they had been there but a few moments, when _—" was enjoined upon all by Little Foxfire, who “ Hark! what noise was that?” All listened. The faint trampling of hoofs fell ‘wpon theirears. Their horses tethered near, pricked up their ears and snorted with alarm. ‘Looking westward over the valley, they plainly aaw in the moonlight, a body of horsemen riding toward them, and at a glance they knew it was Crow Dog and his warriors, led by Major Dan Martelle! XII. BA G FOR THE ** BLOW-ovT.”* . ** Brine in the men!” cried Old Caleb, “ for ‘we're goin’ to have to fight for our position.” Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. nothing but a heap of red coals gave light to the ee The horses were quickly led into the blow-out and secured iu the rift opening into it. Then every man looked to his rifle, and was ready for the cenflict which did not come, The sav had discovered, when some distance away, that the blow-out was occupied, and turning they rode away without a shot boo | fired. “Ha! hal ha!” laughed Dumont, “the boss of Red Rock, like the king of France, with forty In- dians, marched up the valley, and then~marched back again!”’ Old Mustang and Arbuckle, by turns, stood guard the remainder of tl.at night, Little Foxfire being permitted to lie down and rest. By daylight the next morning they had break- fasted on cold viands, and then proceeded to strengthen their position of defense, for they mis- trusted that the Indians would make an attack upon them during the day. In the mean time Foxfire was sent to reconnoiter the canyon running back from the blow-out, to make sure that no enemy was off in that direction. Finally Dumont took up the spade they had brought with them, saying: ‘Now, boys, I’m going to begin the search for the Lottled records.” Before he had made a single movement toward it, a wild, savage yell mingled the crack! crack! crack! of rifles fell upon the ears of the party; and drop- ping his spade the doctor took up his rifle. urrying to the top of the blow-out the party looked across the valley and beheld a white horse- man flying at the top of his animal's speed, hotly pursued by a dozen savages, “Hal” exclaimed Old Sam, ‘‘some unfortunate devil's gettin’ it as Foxfire and I got it yesterday. If he’d only come this way we could cover his es- cape to our defense in handsome style. I'll wave ~~ hat to him.”’ Stepping out a ways the mustanger waved his hat above his head until he had the satisfaction of see- ing the stranger veer his course and ride directly toward him, Then Sam turned ia how “Now to rifles, boys, and let’s show them red-skins when they come close enough that it’s easier for us to hit than to miss.” With rifles in hand the three men stood ready for the ‘* fun,’ and when some three hundred yards in- tervened between them and the red-skins the opened fire. The pony of the foremost savage fell, throwing his rider headlong to the earth from whence the latter arose in a sort of a bewildered state of mind. Every savage quickly drew rein. The unhorsed warrior was en on behind a comrade and the whole pare turned and fled back toward the river. The fugitive swept up to the blow-out, drew rein and dismounted in a state of great excitement—al- most falling out of his saddle. He was a man of perhaps five-and-thirty, with keen, gray eyes, and snortly-cro d brown hair. His face was covered with a short beard of but a few weeks’ growth. He was dressed in a suit made up of the odds and ends of the suits of a banker and a borderman. He was armed with a rifle, knife and revolver. His animal was a pony well caparisoned. To the saddle was tied a ro and gum coat. “Stranger, they made they?’ was Old Sam’s gree ‘*Gol-dang the red pests!’’ the man said; ‘ they ve me goss, folks; and, if it hadn’t been for you reckon I'd been a dead duck afore many hours. I thank you, gents.”” ‘*T war in a like boat yesterday,” noplied Old Sam, ** and I had to dle her alone; but I got out, with the loss o’ my -+hoss and outfit. But who might ye be, sti r? “ Hank Luven, on my way to Leadville,” was the reply. Wal, Mr. Luyen,"’ said Old Caleb, ‘“‘ make yer- self to home while ye’r’ withus, We hav’n't too containing a blanket ye hump yerself, didn’t ing. many friends jist now.” “Thank ye,” replied the man, hoppling his Pant ing horse and turning it loose to graze; ‘I'll be giad to stop awhile.” The man was conducted into the blow-out, and he and Dumont sat down and entered into a conversa- tion about the Indians, whose outbreak was as great a surprise to Luven as to the doctor. Arbuckle and Old Sam walked over to where Gyp- sy was seated near the mouth of the rift. The girl arose, and going close up to the old detective, said, in a whisper: ‘““Mr. Arbuckle, that man’s voice sounds like that of one of the men who carried me a captive down the river.” The old detective was somewhat startled by the girl's words; but, after a moment's reflection, he asked: ‘Wal, can’t yetell by his clothes, Gypsy? Didn’t ye see the man’s face?” “Yes: but they both wore long beards and un- kempt hair,and they might have been disguised,” replied the maiden. ‘Yes, they might—that’s so; but I guess you're mistaken "bout this man bein’ one of them,” “Oh, I hope so!” ee the girl. ‘But I do bree 5 what keeps Little Foxfire? I hope he’s in no rouble.” “All but that, Gypsy; don’t worry "bout that young fox gettin’ caught. But precious time’s bein’ wasted, and I’m goin’ to diggin’ for that bottle my- Turning, the old detective took up the de, ad- vanced to the center of the padica, eat the blade full length into the earth. sien be ng orp upon , raising a Jarge lump 0: whic he pitched to one side. As he did as acry burst from his lips, for the dirt falling apart, revealed in its midst a small glass bottle ta which he could see @ roll of dark, moldy-looking paper. “Eureka! Eureka!” shouted the eld detective, holding the bottle up tc view. ‘“ Hail, holy light! Dumont, the papers are found with the first spade- ful of earth. o says the Lerd ar’n’t favorin’ us? Now for some revelations that’ll beat that o’ Jobn the Baptist!" Dumont and Luven arose and walked over to where the detective stood, fairly dancing with glee. Breaking the bottle on the spade-handle, Arbuckle found that the roll of papers co of a number of leaves that had been torn from a pocket diary. Glancing at the last one he saw written thereon name, MAHLON JAYNE. “ Yes, sir,” the detective announced; “ we've found them, Ay ‘Struck a windfall, boys?” asked Luven in aso- cial tone. ** No—just some evidence that'll lead to a down- fall,” replied Old Caleb, handing the papers to Du- mont. Little Gypsy clapped her hands and fairly shouted with joy. At nk juncture Little Foxfire came bounding back from up the canyon, and from the lips of Gypsy learned of the finding of the papers, The boy tossed his cap—self pe erm es out of a piece of blanket—into the air and shouted with joy. ‘* Foxfire, you missed some fun, you brat, awhile ago,” ematied Old Sam; “the Ingins chased this gentleman into our camp, and when they came a- snortin’ up close enovgh we carefully drew a bead on them, touched the trigger and--never touched an Ingin. We killed a hoss, though, and then the roses o’ the hills turned and fled. But say, Mr. Luven, this is Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy, one 0’ the bravest and cutest little cusses that ever raised Cain in an camp, or trailed an outlaw to his den,” Luven advanced and taking the boy’s hand said: “Glad to meet you, Foxfire, for I’ve heard of you before, my boy.” Foxfire started suddenly back and glanced u searchingly into the man’s face; then recovering CO PARTE, he replied: tai oa ee a stranger in these parts, ain’t you, Mr. uven ‘“* Yes, sir; but for all that Little Foxfire’s name is known hundreds of miles down the Arkansaw. Yes, I’ve worked several years on a ranch over in Kansas, but got tired of it and concluded I'd strike for Lead- ville alone and unattended. But the Ingins took a notion this morning to attend me, and give me a close race.” Dumont walked to one side to look over the pa- ars. Luven’s eyes followed him with an anxious ook, and finally the latter turned and walking to the top of the blow-out, took off his hat, ran his fingers through his short hairand gazed at his heppled pony in a thoughtful, meditative way. Little Foxfire plucked Old Caled Arbuckle aside and in a whisper said: ‘“By smoke, colonel, that man Lvven is Jerrold Tweed, the escaped convict, and er in crime with Dan Martelle! I reco, ed his voice the in- stant he spoke as the same feller that held the inter- view with Martelle in the latter's office. You know, I told you I'd recognize his voice if I should hear it distinctly even in . And I'm satisfied now that he was one of the two villains that had Gypsy in charge the other re though he was disguised in a long beard and hair.” ‘Then, by the sword of Gideon! Gypsy was right,” declared the old detective, “and Luven's my meat. That Ingin-chasin’ affair was all a blind. e the scoundrel! He's acting queer now—no doubt givin’ some signal to his friends, I’m goin’ to salt him, Foxfire.” So saying the old detective turned and walked out of the blow out and up to Luven, and thrusting a der- ringer in his face, said: ‘ “ Jerrold Tweed, you're my prisoner!” The man sta with a sort of a gasp, his face turned pale, his eyes glared while his hand involun- tarily sought bis revolver at his hip. “No use,sir; you’re the man!" continued Arbuckle looking him straight in the #ye. “ You’re little game is gauzy enough to us now.’ Sir,’ asserted the man, “you're barkin’ up the wrong tree- you're mistaken in ycur man.’ ‘No he’s not,”’ put in Little Foxfire. *‘ You're the very fellow that was in Major Martelle’s office a week or s0 ago. I was there, old feller, heard that interview, if I didn’t see you. And besides, you're one of the two cappiey that carried Miss - sy here away from home, ané camped with hernight afore last at Old White (halk "’ The man grew pale and black by turns as the boy stood before him, thus brancing him of his sins, Guilt was plainly written upor every lineament of his features, and when be again atiempted to deny the charge, the old detective ste wen him, and crder- ed him to hold up his hands, with which order he sulkily complied. ; Then Caleb disarmed him and searched his pockets. A number of rifle cartridges, a map of the tei ritories and a pocket-knife were found. A rope was taken from a saddle and the villam bound hand and foot. His horse was caugbt,brought into the blow-out and secured. ‘ But scarcely had this been done wher an exclamia tion burst from the lips of Little Foxfire, wha pointing across the valley, said: ** Smokin’ ruins! the Ingins are comin’!” True enough, two-score savages were sweeping down toward them like the wind. A devilish smile passed over the face of Lewen, who, turning his head, hissed out: _ “* You will need my help now before you're done with this, geutlemer,”’
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CHAPTER XII HUNTED DOWN, “To arms! to arms, everybody!” cried Mustang Bam, “ for the tug of war ig comin’!"” In a moment every man had seized his gun and stood ready for the fray that would undoubtedly settle their fate one way or the other. ‘*T can shoot, too!" cried Gypsy Jayne, taking u the Evans’ rifle that Luven had been relieved of, and examining the magazine which she found nearly full of cartridges. ) On swept the Indians, and when about three hundred yards from the blow-out every man of them threw himself forward and lay close upon his pony, face downward, while fiendish yells that seemed to come from the earth rolled over the — But the whites had heard that yell before, and | they stood firm and undaunted and nerved to des- peration, Waiting until the foe were within a hundred yards, Old Sam gave the word to fire, when five rifles rung out almost as one. Three of the foremost ponies fell, and over their bodies and those of their riders others stumbled and rolled and jumped, creating an unexpected confu- sion in the savages’ ranks, which the besieged did not hesitate to take advantage of by shooting down the enemy’s horses. The defenders were all armed with breech-loadin rifles, which enabled them to keep up a steady deadly fire, All fought with the coolness of veterans. Even the hervic little Gypsy never flinched from her post, but stood there as her father had stood on the same spot three years before, and faced the advanc- ing foe undaunted and unmoved. e havoc of death in the red-skins' ranks was frightful, yet with desperate courage they charged on, but when almost onthe very of the blow-out, when some of them were so close that they could see the defenders, they turned and fled more rapid than they had ‘Ghenuanella Jerrold Tweed, who had been left outside the blow- out, had, during the conflict, thrown himself on the ground, and, valticg over, had succeeded in getting some distance from his captors, and as the Indians turned to flee, a warrior drew up by his side and en- deavored to assist the villain to a seat on his pony. But before he could accomplish his pu four rifles were turned upon him, and the next instant, savage, pony and Jerrold Tweed fell dead. “Hoorah! vietory: and glory!’’ shouted Old Mus- tang Sam when the day had mn won, and Caleb Arbuckle and Little Foxfire joined. with him in rounds of lusty cheers. Dumont walked over to Gypsy and said: - You are 4 good Indian-fighter, Gypsy—a heroic girl. * re eee blesa her sweet soul!” exclaimed Old Sam, ‘I never see'd hing look so heavenly as she did when we war beitin' it to them red-skins. If I wer'n’t so danged old and ugly I'd set my cap for you, gal, I would, by snakes! Oh, ye needn't look 60 cross; I mean jist what I soy. Ha! ba! ha!" And, in spite of herself, Gypsy could not help too at the odd old horse hunter. what do you think, Arbuckle, "bout them red-skins attacking us again?’ asked Dumont, “They'll never come nigh us without big re-en- forcements," replied the old detective; ‘but pass me your glass, + I see a horseman watching in the edge of the grove over yander, and I want to see who— Oho! I see, I see! "Tis a white man; and, would you believe it, it is Major Dan Martelle) Oh, that red-handed hellyon! You see now, don’t you, that he’s directin’ the attack on us as he did on Jayne three years ago. That dead Luven was chased here to gain some information, which he un- doubtedly communicated, to him by takin’ his hat off when he up there. But he’ll not fool around another mule’s heel soon, for he’s deader'n the mother o' Pocahontas: The major must feel bad to see so many of bis friends returning licked outen their m: ; “Yes, and his time will come, too,’ added Du- nont, bitterly. ‘I bave read the diary of Mahlon Jayne, which convinces me—in connection with what the ae overheard—that Jayne's death was caused he might become the owner of Jayne’s mine, which, it seems was wonderfully rich. flow the change in the title to the mine was eifected gan only be guessed at. But these papers will I guard most sacredly until they are presented in evi- dence against Martelle.”’ “What if the major don’t come back to Lead- ville?” asked Old Sam. “No danger but he'll be back to the wealth of the Red Rock, for he undoubtedly thinks he is playing adesperate game in which bis hand is not seen, But now, friends, the next thing is for us to begin our homeward journey.’ i “Yes, yes,’ decided Arbuckle, ‘“‘ and I’m a leetle afraid we'll have to fight every mile of the way if we keep the valley.” ‘ “We can do that and flourish,’ averred Old Sam, “for we're a band of fixhters, from ugly Old Caleb down to that sweet little bit o’ a female gal. But T would not advise starting until night sets in, and then I’d never foller the valley, where so many good laces afford the Ingins an ambush. I tell ye they'll os the rest of their fightin’ under kiver. I'd suggest we fall back ten or twenty miles and take the range for it. I'm at home on the open plain, whar I can have elbow room to spread myself.’ . Old Sam’s suggestion was favorably received, and the party nym & decided to act upon it as soon as ht should set in. a ery thing was made ready while it was yet Ban, assigned the place he was to fill dur- ittle Foxfire, the Boy Spy. ee nqenrepye— ana e of the plain Mus- Dr. Dumont and while or- In view of his perfect knowled tang Sam was assigned the lead. the old detective were to ride with Sven, Little Foxfire was to bring up the rear. Int der they finally set off as soon as it was dark. Their horses being fresh they rode rapidly as was consistent with their safety, and when morning dawned they were many long miles away from the blow-out. Contrary to their most sanguine hopes, however, they discovered, shortly after daylight, that the Indians were hot on their trail. A race en- sued which ended in the fugitives running across a body of United States soldiers that were then out in search of the raiding red-skins, who at sight of the soldiers vanished and were seen no more by Dumont and his party. Thus ended their troubles from the redskins, and - We course of time the little band reached Lead- ville. The news of Gypsy's return spread like wild-fire through the camp and soon half of the population flocked to the widow's residence to congratulate the mother and look again upon the Idol, And among the very first to come and the last to leave was Major Dan Martelle! He had been back for two days from his prolonged “search for Gypsy in the fastnesses of the great mountains."’ In fact, he was the last of all the miners who had gone out in search of the maiden to return, and in consequence of the neglect of his great interest in the Red Rock for so many days, it was regarded as a great, self- sacrificing act that was so characteristic of the man’s big, kind and generous heart. . ut a surprise awaited the public as well as the self -sacrificing major, Dumont and his party kept their secrets until the major was just leaving the widow's house, when Old Caleb Arbuckle confronted him with the announce- ment: “Major, I arrest you for the murder of Mahlon Jayne!” CHAPTER XIV, THE WOLF AT BAY. Tux arrest of the proprietor of the Red Rock for murder created a wild sensation throughout the camp. It was discussed in every cabin, saloon and by rey camp-fire, and the general 0 nion Ke a to be that there WAP @ CODRPES headed by mont against the major. t meetings were held here and there, The doctor was openly insulted sneered at and hooted on the street; but he bore it all with the defiance of one Wehee sanecience was clear —satisfied that the trial of Ne would establish his honor in the matter, and the guilt.of the major. Martelle himself was quite indignant. He did not believe that Dumont had any prima jsacieé evidence against him, When in the valley he had sent Jerrold Tweed to the blow-out to watch the doctor and his friends and see, if they unearthed any evidence there against him, and although Tweed was defeated in his game of perionase he felt satis- fied by a personal examination of the blow-out af- ter Dumont's party fled that. they had found noth- ing for the ground was undisturbed. And suppos- ing, furthermore, that his presence amo the Indians had been kept a secret, he returned to toad ville fearing DO The day of mere iminary trial came. The court- room was packed almost to suffocation while hun- dreds failed to admittance at all. Major Mi came into the court-room calm, cool and defiant, His presence elicited a murmur of applause. He was accompanied by one of the ablest lawyers in the camp. When Dr. Dumont came in he was greeted with hisses, groans and other demonstrations plainly por- traying the feel against him. He was accom- anied by Old Caleb Arbuckle, who, being a criminal wyer of no mean pretensions, was to prosecute the case for the State. In his information the old detective c ‘ed_ the risoner with inciting the Indians to murder Mahlon ayne and Jack Miles, and in illegally and fraudu- lent ing himself of Jayne’s mining claim now known as the Red Rock. Dr. Dumont,was the first witness called for the prosecution, He testifled as to the finding of the | golden locket in the wild horse’s shoulder, some | weeks previous while horse-hunting in company with Arbuckle in the Republican valley. He pro- duced and read the slip.of. paper fouad ib the locket. giving him the clew to the death of Jayne and Miles, and which clew he had, with the assistance of Colonel Arbuckle and Little Foxfire followed up to the end. The doctor was subjected to a rigid cross-exami- nation in which Martelle and his lawyer endeavored ite the brow-beatings to get him confused, but des e came out cool, calm he was forced to submit to, and triumphant. Old Caleb was next placed upon the stand. His | evidence was simply corroborative of Dumont’s con- cerning the finding of the locket and the paper, Then Little Foxfire was called. As the boy advanced to the witness stand the lauded him, spectators deliberately and loudly ap ero of Gypsy | for he was.at. that time regarded as the | Jayne’s rescue. A dead silence fell u that could be heard n all when, in a clear voice, over the court-room, the boy | began his evidence. i “About two weeks ago,” he said, ‘Doctor Du- | mont asked me to help him and Colonel Arbuckle in working out the mystery to Mahlon Jayne's death, seein’I was present at the time the Ingins . killed him and his friend, though I didng know then who they were, I consented to,help, and the doctor Major Martelle. I sent me aga to the office of h ge after the major re- hid behind a coat on the wall, i a a ae 13 a pair of bi ‘While there a man came in and handed the major a letter. “The major was tickled so that he read it aloud to himself. “But he wasn’t tickled so much as he was, after he’d read it, for it was a letter from Miss Helen Jayne informing him of the recently-discovered clew to her father’s death, and the news set him a-fumin’; but before he'd done much of it a second man camein. I couldn’t see him, but it was some moments before the major recognized him as an old chum, Jerrold Tweed by name, whom he sup- posed was in Pan for twenty years for murder. “Tweed told the major he’d bribed the prison sur- geon who'd got the Governor to let him out on the grounds of his dyin’ with the consumption. He was to give the surgeon five thousand dol- lars for his work, and called on the major for the money. But the major grumbled, and said he was short owing to the pur chase of some’ expensive machinery for the Red Rock. Tweed claimed a half interest in the Red Rock which his sentence for twenty years to prison had deprived him of. The major did not dis- pute his claim, but told Jerrold of the reported dis- covery of Jayne’s massacre, and the suspicion of his having been the victim of a white man’s treachery. Tweed said he wasn’t afraid of an investigation, and oromised that he would never reveal the fact that he major was working the o/ier mine. Finally the major told Tweed that he was going to investigate the report about Jayne's death, andif his way was still clear, he would furnish him all the cash he needed.”’ “You'll now state when and where you last saw Me re Mantelle outside of Leadville, Foxfire,” said eb. “ A week ago last night, when we were encamped in the Arkansas it I was sent out to reconnoi- ter a grove ’bout two miles from camp, and came upon an Ingin camp in a dry sink-hole, and with them Ingins was jor Martelle.”’ A buzz of excitement ran through the audience; the major’s face turned visibly pale; the judge knitted his brows, “I overheard the major givin’ Crow , the chief,’ Foxfire went on, ‘a sharp talkin’ to for at- tackin’ Dumont's while travelin’ doin the valley—and then told him he wanted him to wait un- til Dumont turned up the valley before attackin' him. Finally he came to the conclusion ee were travelin’ to the blow-out where Mr. Jayne was killed, and said if there were any rs_ buried in that blow-out he'd have them first. back to our camp, told my folks what I'd h and we ushed out at once, found the blow-out and the uried papers, too.’* pe f As he concluded, Martelle started violently, for this was the first intimation he had bad of the papers being found. . Colonel Arbuckle now arose and said: “Your Honor,I desite now to offer in evidence ex- tracts from the diary of Mahlon J found in the blow-out where he was killed on the night of the seventeenth of June, 187—."" The judge ordered the colonel to read them. He read as follows: “* June 10. I have worked hard on my claim all day—have named it ‘The Cap Sheaf.". My friend, Martelle, calls his the Red Rock—they lay side by side. Martelle just come in: he’s discouraged; thinks. jnis claim worthless. “* June 11, To-night I am rejoiced; Martelle's dis- es It has been demonstrated by assay that my m is a big bonanza. I mvst comply with registration law aud register my claim. at once. **June 12, The Cap Sheaf’s my fortune. Re- ceived a letter from dear wife and children and have written them te come on to Leadville via U. P., at once “* June 18. Sad news has reached me that m brother, Dave, of whom I had not heard in years, ‘A dying at Fort Lyons. A special courier brings the news. Brother Dave wants me to.come at once to his bedside, I must Mg at once, but my claim is not registered yet, nor is it safe to leave It without—some unscrupulous man might take advantage of my ab- sence and jump it. But I'll arrange that; friend Martelle register his to-morrow and I will have him register mine at same time, Jack Miles just comein. He's foing with me to see Dave. “*June 14, camp on way to Fort Lyons w Martelle before I left this morning— he promise to register my claim, and should my family com« look after their welfare and explain cause of my ab- sence. Left a letter also. “* June 15. Traveled sixty miles to-day. Am feel- ing well, but anxious about bg Pe? gre Poor boy! an June 16. Another big day’s travel and all's well.” “* June17,. In blow-out in Arkansas valley sur- rounded by a horde of Indians, Unless succor comes we are lost. They charged us once but beat them back with loss of several warriors. They are now waiting no doubt for darkness to aid them. Oh, that I could leave a record of our fate, should we die, that my family might know the truth. Miles hes suggest- ed that we bury a record in a bottle we have in our possession trusting in the Lord that it may at some time fall into friendly hands. We see a white man among the Indians in the valley. I have scanned him closely with my glass. It looks for all the world like my friend Daniel Martelle, but it cannot be. Miles has just jpaked. He declares it is Martelle—I look again, and my God! I see it is my friend! What does it mean? Miles declares it’s treachery. him of the trust I imposed on I tell the morning
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14 and he swears that Martelle pro- claim. But Jack is certainly too severe on Martelle. He says he got a dislike to the major from his associations with Jerrold Tweed who murdered in cold blood, a friend of his. Ah! I now see rtelle directing the movements of the Indians! Why is he doingso? Is he trying to save us, or destroy us?—ah! here they come— Another attack has been repelled. Night is coming on, and we intend to try and escape on horseback, Jack @sthert another novel suggestion—that I place an- we left to own m ‘Yather record inside of a tiny locket in my possession aod slip it into an incision under skin of horse’s # oulder so that if this record is never found, i¢ may animal escapes the savages. The idea is possible. I look at the face in the locket, It is that of my little daughter Gypsy. Poor child! she will robably never see her father again. May God pro- dect her! Jack has just intimated that I may have been decéived into coming here by a false report of my brother’s sickness. Jack is a strange fellow, but a true and brave man. His prejudices against Mar- telle make him suspicious. Can he be right? Can 4t be Martelle is at the bottom of all this? and, if so, is it that he may possess the Cap Sheaf? But this is «nly speculation. The only thing I can be certain of artelle’s presence among the savages—a free «gent, too, This is all I shall probably write herein, and so I subscribe my name, “*ManLON JAYNE.’”’ When the colonel concluded, a deep and deadly over the court a nee. Dan Mar- telle loo like a demon at bay; but sudden! ee nei rpms te iy ng and hands lin he fixed his eyes on Dumont and roared Sais whole frame iyo with on: “It’s aforgery! This whole affair is a conspiracy and I will prove it before this matter ends, and . his accusers and a rope ae judge adjourned court was nearly n C) rned co til nine o'clock the next Serine sheriff taking of the ng oma Dumont, Arbuckle, Old Sam and Foxfire repaired at once tothe doctor's office, and were discussing the when the door opened and a man inthe uniform of a United States soldier entered. “*How are you, doctor?” he said advancing with extended toward Dumont. , “Why, it is Captain Barclay |"" exelaimed the doo- wr, ig. Captain Barclay was the commandant of the soldiers they had met on the — the next morn- ing after = | had started on their return from the Arkansas valley. ** Yes, sir,” the captain answered; ‘ but I didn’t to be in Leadville so soon when I last met * “@unshot wounds with little ho ry Nl -" but that's only my opinion. erent,’ ‘ The doctor procured his surgical instruments, his medicine case and then he and Captain Barclay left the office. The soldier led the way through the town and down a ravine to where his company was encamped in a around a long log hut the soldiers had found vacant. . ' By this time it was dark, and a light was aglow in the hut into which the soldier conducted the doctor. under a smoke-hole in the roof, a fire of pine sticks was burning, diffusing its light through- out the room. In one corner of the apartment on a couch of dlankets lay a man with his head bandaged. The doctor advanced and looked down into his face, and despite his ogee pinched features and sunken eyes, he recog: him at a glance. It was Jerrold Tweed! OVERWHELMED AT LAST. Doctor Dumont started. epee Barclay smiled. ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed the doctor, ‘that was left for dead in the Arkansas valley.” “Twice left for dead, doctor,” said Tweed, start- ing at the sound of the doctor’s voice; ‘‘ you left me once and the goles Major Martelle left me again.” “Tweed, I do not understand you,” observed Du- mont, confused. “Well, you folks’ bullet-wounded me, but I fell and lay feigning death for fear you'd finish your work. Some time after you left, Martelle and the Indians came up. I called to them and the major came down to whereI lay. I told him you folks had - sagan He swore and fumed with rage—cursed me or making a failure of the work assigned me. I asked him to help me—told him I was seriously hurt. “Curse you!’ he said, ‘ you’ll be an incumbrance on my hands, that I'll be better off without in more ways than one;’ and he drew a pistol and shot me, and turned and left me for dead. The soldiers came along and found me. I told them all, and prevailed on them to bring me here that I might geteven with Martelle; and they done so, carrying me on a litter between two horses,. I am told that the major is now under arrest, and having a preliminary trial.” ‘* Yes, he is,"? responded Dumont. “T want you to summon me as a witness, doctor. 3,’? was the ou may think Tean’t live, and I know it; but neither shall Mar- ie ’ “Tweed, let me examine your wounds; perhaps there may be some hopes,” dine right, doctor; but I'd as lief die now as any e."” Little Foxfire, the Boy S eee | The doctor, assisted Le Pe dg , examined the man’s wounds, and shook head. “There's no chance for you, Tweed,” he said. “Had you been taken when first wounded, you might have been saved. Gangrene has set in, and your time is short.” “I know it, doctor; but ‘keep meé alive, if you can, a day or two.” The doctor dressed his wounds, and gave him a stimulant. Then he took his departure, and, obtaining a sum- mons, had it served on the dying man. The doctor found his friends awaiting him at his office when he returned, and the news he had for their ears fairly confounded them. But little sleep came to their eyes that night, for they now felt sure they had a witness, whose evidence, as a dying con- fession, could not be impeached. In every place where two men were met the trial was discussed, and the general opinion seemed to orevail that Dr. Dumont was an adventurer, and that Jajor Martelle would come out triumphant in the end. .But they little dreamed of the new witness to | be put on the stand on the morrow, providing his life was 8 . By nine o'clock the next day the court-room was packed to its utmost. Martelle, looking unusually well, was in his place with his attorney at his side. Dr. Dumont and Caleb Arbuckle, on entering the room, were greeted again with low hisses and mur- murs of indignation, ‘Have gt geen any further evidence to pftert the judge asked, when the court was duly open ' ‘Yer honor,” answered Arbuckle, ‘we have one more witness to put on the stand, and ask the pa- tience of the court for a few minutes until he can be prrbe he ti ted, and Little Fo. © necessary time was. granted, an le Fox- fire at once left the court-room. D tho intermission the buzz of voices was heard all over the room, and bets were freely made as to who and what the next witness would be. Major Martelle talked with his attorney in a low tone, and laughed as though he regarded the whole affair a good joke; but at the same time he kept his ears open, to catch the sentiments of the crowd that was freely discussing the trial. : Bets as to the general result were made, and Du- mont h one fellow offer to go two to one that the doctor would be hung by a mob before night- And thus matters ran, until the bailiff was heard bacis: A - 6 way here, gentlemen, for these men!" Instantly the crowd in the direction of the door oe abagen when, down the ning thus made, marched our soldiers carrying a litter on which lay the form of a man, A dead silence, broken only by the shuffling of the soldiers’ feet, fell upon the house, and everybody craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the new witness. But his face was covered with a silk hand- kerchief, and they were to be kept in a dread sus- pense for some moments. None were more curious than Martelle himself. In fact, the judge, who was watching him closely, saw that_he became nervous and pale. A long table used as a writing-desk was arranged for the wounded man to lie upon; and when he was placed upon it, and his head gh up with a chair an blanket, the handkerchief was removed, and the pale, hollow-eyed face of Jerrold Tweed was revealed tothe gaping audience. And yet Dan Martelle did not recognize the face of the man until Tweed, raising his finger and point- ing straight at the major, fairly shrieked in a wild and almost frenzied tone: I still live, Dan Martelle!’’ “My God, "tis Jerrold Tweed!” Po the major, clutching at his throat as if su ocating, while his eyes, seemed to turn glassy, and become set in his For several moments Jerrold Tweed held his fin- ger pointed st ht at the prisoner, his sunken eyes gleaming with an unearthly light. It was a tragic scene—one never to be forgotten by those who witnessed it, and had that extended finger been the flaming sword of the avenging angel, Dan Mar- telle would not have cowered under it with more ab- ject fear and terror. When Jerrold Tweed removed his finger, he raised his hand, and turning his head, said: “Swear me, judge.” The judge administered the oath. “Jerrold Tweed,” said Colonel Arbuckle, “how ing Tere you known the prisoner at the bar—Dan “T have known him for ten years,’ replied the wounded man in that strange tone which denotes the presence of death. e Where did you first meet him?” asked the colonel. “In St. Joe, when I enlisted under him in the famous band of outlaws known as the Kansas re aden He was our leader, Captain Night awk,”’ This evidence fairly electrified the audience. “ Of all the old band of Nighthawks,” the witness continued, ‘“‘ the major and I are the only ones alive, After our band was broken up we came to Leadville. to boom. The The place was eck then beginn major took a claim alongside that of one Mahlon Jayne. He called it the Red Rock and Mr. Jayne called his the Cap Sheaf. The two men became acquainted and their uaintance grew into a warm friendship. I kept Fuckin, about through the mountains look- ing for somet better and found nothing. In the mean time, Mr. Jayne and Martelie bunked Nae Mr. Jayne was a good, kind-hearted man and he got to pc op hy much of a confidant of the major as to tell him about his family and friends. He told bim he had a brother named David of whom he had heard nothing for years except that he had heard incidentally that he was in the standing army some- where on the plains. Hy ne “In the course of time it was found that while Mr. Jayne’s claim was a rich strike, Martelle's wouldn't pay the expenses of working. The major bscame discouraged. He sent for me one day and told me his disappointment and that he had con- ceived a plan by which he could easily and for a small sum, possess Jayne’s claim. He told me that if I’d help him he would make me a half partner in business. LI consented. He then wrote a letter pur- rting to come from the commandant at Fort yons saying that his brother David was there slowly dying and wanted to see him before he de- parted this life. I disguised myself and as a special earrier dashed up to their cabin one day, handed Jayne the letter and then rode away before he had time to ask any questions. “The ruse worked like a charm. Jayne showed the letter to his friend Martelle who was very bi for him. The next day Jane set out with one Jac Miles for Fort Lyons, but before he left asked Martelle to have his claim registered under the — ion laws of the camp. This was a stroke of luck we had not counted upon, and so the major in the descriptions of the claims changed the name of his claim to that of Jayne’s and rp See to his, so that the Cap Sheaf became the Red . But this did not complete the work, Jayne must be got rid of ‘and the major concluded to intercept him in the Arkansas valley and put him out of the way. And to makesure of his work he struck out for the Indian vil I oing with him, to secure the assistance of 1- ns to do the work of death. In the days of the Nighthawks we always found the viliage of Black Owl a safe retreat. Martelle had a wonderful in- fluence over the chief. ‘*On our way we met Owl and nearly a hundred warriors on the lookout for miners reported pros- upon his grounds. Martelle made his wants nown to the chief who readily consented to grant his favor, and away we went to the Arkansas valley and after a hot chase of two days came upon the miners and them in a blow-out where they'd taken shelter,” Here Tweed stopped and was given a sip of water to moisten his parched lips. p The silence in the room was tne ee gg oe Martelle leaned over and whispered to his lawyer who shook his head. “Well, what followed the death of Jayne, Jer rold?”’ Arbuckle asked. ** Martelle and I came back to Leadville, and that same night I had a difficulty with a miner and killed him, for which I was sent to the penetintiary for twenty years. A few weeksago I escaped and came to Leadville, and found my friend Martelle the pro- rietor of the Red Rock. As an escaped convict I new I could not become his partner as we had pre- viously arranged, but I asked for some financial help. He reluctantly agreed to give it | poh naees J I would assist in another scheme—that of abducting Gypsy Jayne and car—’’ ere heewas interrupted by an outburst ‘of indig- oes that required the stern order of the judge to subdue. ‘*T consented to assist him again,’’ Tweed went on. ‘* His object in having the girl carried away was that he might have an excuse to leave the camp—ostensi- bly to hunt the girl—but that he might again get into the Arkansas valley to repeat his crime of murder to cover up the murder of Mr. Jayne. He had learned that a clew to Jayne’s murder had been found, and through his detective,who crept under the floor of Dr. Dumont’s office and a is ear to a crack he learned the whole culars of the movement on foot against bim. He learned that Mahlon Jayne had seen him among the In di their movements, and before his death had left a record in a bottle of the whole affair, c g Martelle with treachery. The finding of another account of the affair ee wild-horse hunters led to a know]l- edge of the bottled paper being buried where Jayne was killed, 60, in view of these facts, Martelle not only wanted those popes. but Dr. Dumont and his friends, Foxfire and Colonel Arbuckle, out of the way, 80 that his title to the Red Rock would never be questioned again. We succeeded in abducting G and escaping with her to White Chalk, a bluff on the Arkansas, where Martelle was to have met us and paid me some money. But that aw my companion, the major's deteetive, was ed by some falling rocks, and, while 1 was digging him out Little Foxfire spirited Gypsy away—" “Hurrah for Little Foxfire!” yelled an old miner. “Fine me for contempt, judge, if you like, but it had to come out or it 'd'a’ me. The judge warned him not to repeat the contempt and then told the witness to afc on. “T waited at White Chalk,’ continued Tweed, “until the major came; but when he found Gypsy gone and his detective dead his fury knew no bounds. He refused to give me the money he'd promised me until Dumont and his party was out of the way. I went with him to the camp of the Indians that he had again pressed into his service. He then suggested that, as I was unknown to the doctor and his f*ien I go to Dumont’s camp, which was in the blow-out where Jayne was killed, and communicate to him by certain motions the force of Dumont’s party, and the best time to dash upon them. This I did, but Little Foxfire recognizad me, and Caleb Ar- buckle arre me just as I was about to signal that the papers had:been found. I had voohgpey’ Soa naled for the Indians to charge, and soon
Page 15
was bound, they dashed out of the woods and rode furiously toward the blow-out. But they were beaten baek when victory seemed in their grasp. An In- dian rode up to me-—I having rolled myself some distance from the blow-out during the fight—and endeavored to assist me on his horse behind it, but a volley from the blow-out killed the Indian and seri- ously wounded me. Ilay there, apparently dead, until night. I heard, and even saw Dumont and his party leave under cover of night, and some time afterward, Martelle and the Indians came up. called to the a He came cursing to where I laid. I told him I was wounded and asked him to velp me. He said I should no longer be an incum- brance, and drawing his revolver, he shot me, dead, as he supposed, and left. The next day the soldiers came along and I appealed to them for help and mercy, and they gave it. On a litter between two horses, they carried me hundreds of miles, that I wight testify ainst Dan Martelle. And this I make under oath, on the Me Loy of the grave, as a dying confession. Oh, my 1, have merey on me!”’ Ashe concluded, the audience seemed to resolve itself into a wild and frantic mob which only the judge with the assistance of the sheriff, with two draw” revolvers could quell after several attempts to get at the prisoner. e tide had turned and Martelle was doomed. The villain saw it, and snatching a pistol from the sheriff's belt turned and drew it upon the heart of Dr. Dumont, but his murderous design was thwarted by the quick hand of Caleb Arbuckle. But before the weapon could be wrested from him, he placed the muzzle to his own head and fired, and without a moan sunk lifeless. And thus by his own motion had the case against him ended here to be renewed again at the bar of God. Dr. Fred Dumont had thus accomplished the work he had set out to do, and in which he would have failed had he not been a man of iron nerve, indomit- able will, and called to his help brave, fearless and skillful assistance. And while the young. doctor could not restore to Mrs. ee her beloved husband he had the mine for which his life had been sacri- ficed, ppronah an order of the court, turned over to her with all its improvements and appurtenances. And for all his troubles in the matter he felt that he had been abundantly rewarded when, a year later, he led to the altar of married bliss the fair and lovely Helen Jayne. : The name of the Red Rock mine was changed to that the Gypsy Jayne, and Dr. Fred Dumont became its superintendent. : Old Mustang Sam returned to the calling he loved so well and is now somewhere on the southern pam- iCelcinel Arbuckle, the Mountain Detective, is still **in harness’ the terror to evil-doers, road-agents and outlaws. - Little Foxfire has grown to manhood. Through the influence of Dr. Dumont the boy gave up the nomadic life and calling at which he had won dis- tinction as a Boy Spy, and became deeply interested in obtaining an education and a rps of the business affairs of life. And besides these nobler aims, the future holds in store for him a rich’ reward in the love of the bright and beautiful girl, Gypsy Jayne. ._ THE END, The Great American Story Paper!. 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g7 Hdward L. Wheeler. 2 Vetlowstone Jack, ¥ Kansas King. By Buffalo Bill. 4 The Wild-Horse unters. Mayne Reid and Captain Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagxbond Joe, THE YounG WANDERING JEW. By Olt Coomes. Double Number, 10cts, 6 Hill Biddon, Trapper. by E. 8. Ellis. 7 The lying Yankee. By Col. P. Ingraham. § Seth Jones. By Edward 5. Ellis. 9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen, | 0 Nat Tedd. By E. 6. Ellis. 1 The fwo Detectives. By A.W. Aiken. 2 Gulliver’s Travel«, By Dean Swift. 3 The Bumb Spy. By Oli Coomes. 4 Aladdiya3 or, gE WONDERFUL LAMP, The Sea-Cat. By Captain Fred. Whittaker. Robinson Crusoe. (27 Illustrations.) Ralph Roy. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Sindbad the Sailor. His Seven Voyages. The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill. The Double Daggers. By E. L. Wheeler. Whe Frontier Angel. By Edward 8. Fllis. The Sea Serpent, te Lewis. y T. C. Harbaugh. Keen-Kuife, Oll Coomes. Bob Woclt,. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Ocean Bloodhound, ‘8. W. Pierce. Oregon Sul. By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams. Wild Ivan. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Boy Clown. By Frank S. Finn. The Hidden Lodge. By T. C. Harbaugh. Ned ey Tne Boy Scour, By Texas Jack. Death-Fave, THE Derective. By Wheeler. Roving Ben. By J. J. Marshall. Lasso Jack. By Oll Coomes. The Phantom Miner. By E. L. Wheeler. tee as at oe 3 — t. a Whittaker. attling Fuabe. By Harry St. George. Old Avalaache. By Edward L. Wheeler. Glass Eye, By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. Nightingale Nat. By T. C. Harbaugh. Black Joha, THe Rosp-Acext. By Omaha Oll, By Edward L. Wheeler. Burt Bunker, rat Trapper. C. E. Lasalle. The Boy Rities. By Archie C. Irons. The White Buffalo. By C. E. Lasalle. Jim Bludsoe, Jr. By Edward L. Wheekr. Ned Hazel, 7 Cat . F. C. Adams. Deadly~-Ey+. uffalo Bill. et. Capt. J. F. C. Adams, Nick fiies” Deadwood Dick’s = es. By Wheeler. é Oll Coomes. r By me St. ndian. pt. J. F. C. Adams. Buckhorn Bill. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Shadow Ship. By Col. P. Ingraham. The Red Brotherhood. W. J. Hamilton. Boney Jack. urric Single Hand. By W. Patent-leather Joe. By Phili Border Rubin Hood. B Geld Bifle. By Edward L. eeler. Old Zip’s Cabin. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams, Delaware Mick. By Oll Coomes. Mad Tom Western. By W. J. Hamilton. Deadwood Dick on Deck. By Wheeler. Hawk-eeye Harry. By Oll Coomes. The Boy Duelist. By Col. P. Ingraham. Abe Colt, tuz Crow-Kruuer, By A. W. Aiken. Corduroy Charlie. By E. L. Wheeler. Blue Dick. By Captain Mayne Reid. GIANT Thpene. By_A. W. Aiken. Sol Ginger, Rosebud Rob. By Edward L. Wheeler. Lightning Jo. By Captain J. F.C. Adams. Kit Haretoot. By T. C. Harbaugh. Rollo, the Boy Kanger, Oll Coomes. Idyl, the Girl Miner. By E. L. Wheeler. Buck Buckram,. B Capt. J. F.C. Adams. Dandy Rock. By G. Waldo Browne, The Land Pirates, By Capt. Mayne Reid. nL” Phil. By E. L. Wheeler. Island J .« By Bracebridge Hemyng. The Dread Rider. ay G. Waldo Browne, The Captain ofthe Club; or, THe Youna RrvaL ATHuETES. By Bracebridge Hemyng. 92 Canada Chet, By Edward L, Wheeler. 93 The Boy Miners. By Edward §&. Ellis. 94 Midnight Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh. 95 The, RivalRovers. Lieut. Col. Hazeltine. 96 Watch-Eye, THE SHADow, By E. L. Wheeler. 97 The Outlaw Brothers. By J. J. Marshall. 98 Robin Hood. By Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of Taos. By G. Waldo Browne. The Border King old Hicko) The White Or Or Or Or Gr Gr Or Or Or Or ibe she ihe i i ihe ee COE COREE EOGNGS «GOAN Rohe a SOI AT HOO HOO SIO eON MOO DUO He OMe SSDASAEHSMHSOOIHSrmeowwe SE2E 64 5 69 SOM DODO OSL SL HS Gah nF aFa Fo FoF ahah uF a} MOC DAAT Ee OW HH SCOSWIAMH WNW ES 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A | STRANGE STROKE FOR Liserty. By Wheeler. Jack Harkaway in New York. By Bracebridge Hemyng. Dick Dead-Eye. By Col. Ingraham. Whe Lion of the Sea. By Col, Delle Sara. Deadwood Dick's Device. By Wheeler. Old Rube, Tax Hunter. Capt. H. Holmes. 106 Old Frosty, THe Guine. By T. C. Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim. By James L. Bowen. 108 Daring SS ie By Harry St. George. 109 Deadwood ek as Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 110 The Black Steed of the Prairies. A 5 agg ag Texan Adventure. By Bowen, L11 The a-Devil, By Col. P. Ingraham. 112 The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe, 101 102 103 104 105 1 Doadwood Dick, Tar Princt oF THE Roan | By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. | By Captain | 3 Jack 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, THE Boy Detective. Morns, Mustang Sam. By Jos..E. Badger, Jr. The Branded Hand. By Frank Dumont. Cinnamon Chip. By dward L. Wheeler. Phil Hardy, Tur Boss Boy. By C, Morris. } Kiowa Charley. By T. C. Harbaugh. 4 Tippy, THs Texan. By George Gleason. 5 Bonanza Bill, Miner. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 6 Picayune Pete. By Charles Morris. 7 Wild-Fire, BossortTHe Roap,. By Dumont. 8 The Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish. 9 Deadwood Dick’s Double. By Wheeler. 30 Detective Dick. By Charles Morris. 1 The Golden Hand. By Geo. W. Browne. 32 The Hunted Hunter. By Ed. 8. Ellis. 3 Boss Bob. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 4 Sure Shot Seth. By Oli Coomes. 5 Captain Paul. By C. Dunning Clark. G6 Night-Hawk Kit, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. “ WO SO HWA ore BS ROS OS RS OS 0S BS OS OD re bt eet et et et et wenn « ~ we ANA CODE Grime WwOSwDUSomwWWHS Tie WW SS DAIAM HW OS Wali me OW mMOCMDIH im mt ra mee mnt emt em mt eee emt ee ts eos tee ee ee ee tl atl eel eel cece cect cee ered cell col ee ee ae an’ Ake HW OD SBOS SO SSH WH SEF SMH M Mada kaha ahaa ¥FaFBADADADDADAD SS Se Sree e Oe Se thee she sh shin shee nh hm hw nn ne OS 7 The 1 Hand. Capt. Mayne Reid. 38 Blonde il!. By Edward L. Wheeler. 9 Judge Lynch, Jr. By T. C. Harbaugh. Blue Blazes. By Frank Dumont. Solid Sam. By. ward L Wheeler. Handsome “yo By Charles Morris. Scar-Face Saul, Ol Coomes. Dainty Lance, THE Boy Sport. By Badger. Captain Ferret. By Edward L. Wheeler. Silver Star, THe Boy Kynieut. By Coomes. Will Wildfire. By Charles Morris. Sharp Sam. By J. Alexander Patten. A Game of Gold. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Lance and Lasso, By Capt. F.Whittaker. Panther Paul. By Jos. r, Jr. Black Bess, Wit Wrprre’s Racer; or, Wixwine AGamst Opps. By Charles Morris. Eagle Kit, tHe Boy Demon. By Oll Coomes, The Swerd Hunters, . Whittaker. Gold Trigger, Tar Sport. T. C. Harbaugh. Deadwood Dick of Deadwood or, Ture Pickep Party. By Edward L, Wheeler. Mike-Mferry. By Charles Morris. Fancy Frank ot Colorado. Buffalo Bill, The Lost Captain. By Whittaker. The Black Giant. > J. E. Badger, Jr. New York Neill, By E. L. Wheeler, Wtll Wildfire in the Woods. Morris. Little Fexan. By Oll Coomes. Dandy Rock’s Pledge. By G.W. Browne. Billy Baggage. Se Charles Morris, Hickory Harry. y Harry St. George. Asa Scott, Tue Boy. By Willett, Deadly Dash. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Tornado Tom. By T.C. H A Trump Card. By Charles Morris. Ebony Dan, By Frank Dumont. Thunderbolt Tom. 8t. George. Dandy Rock’s Rival. By G.W. Browne. Bob Rockett, tae Boy Dopoer. By Morris. 5 Captain Arizona. By Enilip 8.Warne. The Boy Runaway. By Lieut. Perry. Nobby Nick of Nevada. E. L. Wheeler. Old Solitary. By OH Uoomes. Bob Rockett, THe Bank Runner. Morris. The Sea Trailer. By Lieut. H. D. Perry. Wild Frank. By Edward L. Wheeler, Little Murricane. By Oll Coomes. The Hidden Hand. By Chas. Morris. The Boy Trailers. By Badger, Jr. Evil Kye. By Frank Dumont. Cool smond, By Col. Delle Sara. Fred Halyard. By Charles Morris. Ned Temple, TH: Borper Boy. Harbaugh. Bob Roekett, rap Cracksman. By Morris, Dandy Darke. By Wm. R. 4 Buffalo Billy. By Cant. Taylor, U. 8. A. Captain Kit. By Lieut. H. D. Perry,U.5.N. Captain Mask. By Philip 5. Warne. Buffalo Bill’s Bet. By Captain Taylor. Deadwood Dick’s Dream. By Wheeler. Shadowed. By Charles Morris. 7 Little Grit, rz Wimp River. 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, THE Boy Banprr. Ingraham. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom, By Wheeler 206 Dark Paul, Tue Ticer Kina. By ©. Morris 207 Navajo Nick. ByT. C. Harbaugh. 208 The Boy Hercules. By Oll Coomes. 209 Fritz, THe Bounpv-Boy Detective. Wheeler, 210 Faro Frank of High Pine. By Eyster. 211 Crooked Cale. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. | 212 Dashing Dave. By Charles Morris. 213 Fritz to the Front, 214 Wolfgang, THE RoBBER OF THE By Captain Frederick Whittaker. RHINE. | 215 Captain Bullet. By T. C. Harbaugh. | 216 Bison Bill. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. | 217 Captain Crack-Shot. | 218 Wiger Tom, THe Texan TreRRoR, Coomes. | 219 Despard, the Duelist. By P. 8. Warne. 220 Tom Tanner. By Charles Morris. 221 Sugar Coated Sam, By E. L. Wheeler. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport, By Ingraham. By E. L. Wheeler. | | 294 Dynamite Dan. By E. L, Wheeler. | 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 Ozark Alf, Kine or THe Movurrarm, By Edward Willett. Dashing Dick. By Oll Coomes. ; Sam Charcoal, By Charles Morris. Snoozer, THE Boy SHarp. By E. L.Wheeler, Dusky Darrell, Trapper. By E. Emerson. Little Wildfire, By Ol] Coomes. Crimson Kate. By Col. P. Ingraham. The Yankee Rajah. By C. D. Clark, Plucky Phil. By T. C. Harbaugh. Gold-Dust Dick. By E. L. Wheeler. Joe Buck, of Angels. By. A W. Aiken. 234 Old Rocky’s *‘ Boyees,’? Buckskin Sam, 235 Shadow Sam. _ By Charles Morris, 236 Apollo Bill. By Edward L. Wheeler, 237 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain 3; or, THE MysTerious RANcHERO. By P. Ingraham, The Parson Detective. By Oll Coomes, The Gold-seeker Guide; or, Toe Losr Moonrar. By Captain Mayne Reid. Cyclone Kit. By Edward L. Wheeler. Bill Bravo and His Bear Pards. By T. C. Harbaugh. The Two ‘ Bloods. By Charles Morris, The Disguised Guide. By Oil Coomes, 244 Sierra Sam. By Edward L. Wheeler. 245 Merle, the Middy. By Col. P. Ingraham. 246 Giant George. By Buckskin Sam. 247 Old Grizzly and His Pets. By Captain “ Bruin” Adams. 248 Sierra Sams Seeret. By E. L. Wheeler. 249 Milo Romer. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 250 Midshipman Mutineer. By Ingraham. 251 Light-house Lige. By J. F. C. Adams, 252 Dick Dashaway. By Chas. Morris, 253 Sierra Sam’‘s!Pard. By E. L. Wheeler. 254 The Half Blood. By Edward 8. Ellis. 255 Captain Apollo. By T. C, Harbaugh. 256 Young Kentuck, By Capt. Mark Wilton. 257 The Lost Hunters. By Capt. Adams. 258 Sierra Sam’s Seven, By E. L. Wheeler, 259 The Golden Harpoon, ByR. Starbuck. 260 Dare-Devil Dan. By Oll Coomes, 261 Fergus Fearnaught, By Geo. L. Aiken, 262 The Young Sleuths. By Charles Morris. 263 Deadwood Dick's Divide. By Wheeler. 264 The Floating Feather. By Ingraham. 265 The Tiger Temer. By Capt. Whittaker. 266 Killb’ar, the Guide. By Ensign Warren. 267 The Buckskin Detective. By T. C. Harbaugh, By 238 239 240 241 242 243 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail. Edward L. Wheeler. 269 The Gold Ship. By Col. P. Ingraham. 270 Blizzard Ben. By Captain Mark Wilton. 271 The Huge Hunter. By Edward S. Ellis. 272 Minkeskin Mike. By Oll Coomes. 273 Jumbo Joe. By Edward L. Wheeler. 274 Jolly Jim. By Charles Morris, 275 Arizona Jack. By Buckskin Sam. 276 Merle Monte’s Cruise, By Ingraham. 277 Denver Doll. By Edward L. Wheeler. 278 ©he Three Trappers; By Major Carson. 279 Old Wineh, roe Rute Kime. By T. C. Harbaugh. 280 Merle Monte’s Fate. By Col. Ingraham. 281 Denver Doll’s Victory. By Wheeler. 282 The Typo Detective, By Edward Willett. 283 Indian Joe. By Major L. W. Carson. 284 Whe Sea Wlarauder. By. Col Ingraham. 285 Denver Doll's Decoy. By E. L. Wheeler. 286 Josh, the Boy Tenderfoot;, or, Tur Wirp Mew or Buzzarp Bar. By Mark Wilton. 287 Billy Blue-Eyes,. By Col. P. Ingraham. 288 The Scalp King. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams. 289 Jolly Jim’s Job. By Charles Morris, 290 Little Foxfire. By. Oll Coomes. 291 Turk, the Ferret, By E. L. Wheeler. 292 Sancho Pedro, tHE Boy Banprr. By Major E. L. St. Vrain. 293 Red Claw, THE Onx-Evep Trapper. By Captain Comstock. By T. C. Harbaugh. his nil; or, THE K I ¥e ss Foams Raion Willett. mene cm. Quam 296 Denver Doll’s Drift. By E. L. Wheeler. 297 ane Tarantula of Taos, By Buckskin m. 298 The Beach Pirates. By Charles Morris. A ner 4sgue every week. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five vents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. RFADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.