Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 295) (1883 03 20)
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enw Se apres pi \) ; hi 1S ay ne ream | m Ne vA (Raat (ia Pe _Entered at the Post Office PERCE N. . Second Class} Mail Rates. win bonren he March 2, 1883. Ss PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMB, Price, Vol. XII. Single met 80 Witheceaietaee em nieces Perey’ 0 Ae eis FEARLESS PHIL: or, The King of Quartzville. SE DW A RD) WW 2 i ees AUTHOR OF “OZARK ALF,” “‘ FREATHERWKHIGHT,” * ASA SCOTT, THE STEAMBOAT BOY,” ETC,, ETC. the pte att eee aa Pee nebo he oad BUT THE DOG RIP, WHO HAD BEEN WAITING FOR A GOOD CHANCE TO *! CATCH ON,” LEAPED AND FASTENED HIS TERTH IN THE HORSEMAN’S ARM. 4
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z Fearless Phil; i: The King of Quartzville. BY EDWARD WILLETT, AUTHOR OF ‘THE TYPO DETECTIVE,” “ OZARK ALF,” “* FEATHERWEIGHT,” ETC., ETO, CHAPTER I. ; AN ATROCIOUS BARGAIN, ‘‘ Wri, I must say that you are a sweet- scented scoundrel.” : “J suppose [ am. Some of my friends call me Frangipanni.” “You are the blooming flower of rascality, Bert Otis.” ‘‘ A specimen of stephanotis, you may say. ming flower is good, though. Go on. he two were seated near the remains of a camp-fire and the remains of the supper which they had cooked and eaten, and both were young, ‘‘ yet not-alike in youth,” as Byron says. The younger could hardly be, more than twenty-one, and he had light bair, clear blue eyes, and a face that was full of the winning freshness of youth. The otber was probably ten years older, and was of tall and athletic build. His hair and eyes were. intensely black, and so was bis heavy beard, and the portion of his left cheek that was uncovered showed a deep red scar. Both were clad in rough but serviceable gar- ments, and were armed with the bestof modern weapons. The younger was named Albert Otis, and the elder was David Darke. What were they? Anything and everything. They considered themselves fitted for anything and capable of everything. Miners, prospectors, naturalists, bunteis—they were daily ting to ‘‘ strike it rich” in something that would suit their , several capacities. As yet they had not suc- ceeded, Bert Otis, his back see a cottonwood, and bis feet toward the fire, was smoking his pipe with the air of a persou who has not a care in the world, Darke, who had let his pipe go, out was looking at his young companion as if he would search his inmost thoughts. “We will have to dissolve partnership right here and now, Bert Otis,” said the latter. “ Why so?” * Because you have proved yourself a coward and a villain.” . * Have I?” ‘You tell me that you have made a bargain with Pete ao, preg om Pete I believe they him, and I know him to be a rascal—to waylay a train and carry off a young lady, and hand over to that wretch.” “ Well, Dave, I believe that is about the size of : ‘* Does not that prove you to be a villain and acoward?” gine ‘‘I suppose it does; but that is not all, old man. I may show up pretty well as a villain and a coward; but asa liar I can give myself art ay each of those characters, and win every “ What do you mean, young man!” “ Ananias was not a buckle rry to my per- simmon. If I had stood in the sandals of that cbampion liar, a sudden and easy dea‘h would have been too good for me. Nothing sbort of burning at the stake would have filled the bill. Ob, 1 am a sweet-scented villain and coward; but as a liar I smell to heaven.” ‘*What do you mean?” demanded Darke, asa puzzled look crept over bis face. ‘* Just this, old man. When I made that bar- ain with the gentleman from Arkansas, I lied him l-ke a dog—like a big brindle bulldog. I lied to him shamefully and without remorse, and I must confess that my conscience has not ' worried me even yet.” “Do you mean to say, then, you a fraud, that you do not intend to do the “Ob, no; I intend to do it, but perbaps not in the style that would suit my friend from Ar- kansas. He commissioned me to enlist a few rascals like myself to capture the train and carry off the girl.” “*So you told me,” ~ ** Now I must find my rascals, and it strikes me, Dave, that you are al to any half- dogsn ordinary scoundrels, If you will join the band, I may consider it comple You will be w mazi ob?” ell paid. “YT will, willl? What will I get?” *‘ Well, the gratitude of a lovely and | vable Fearless Phil young woman, such as I understand this girl to , might not add anything count, if you had one, but—’ “So you want to save the girl, not to destroy his face to your bank ac- her?” eagerly exclaimed Darke, as brightened. ‘*T seem to be squinting that way.” David Darke reached out his band to his friend, who leaned forward and took it. It was a firm and hearty hand-grasp, and there was moisture in the eyes of the elder man. ‘‘T humbly beg your pardon,-my dear boy,” said he, ‘‘for baving allowed myself to doubt for a moment your character as a decent white man; but you described that scheme to me 80 pod y and in such dead earnest that you took me in.” ‘‘But I gave it to you solid, Dave. I am tackling the truth now, and the only botber arose from the fact that you didn’t wait for me to finish my story, but flew off the handle a little too suddenly.” *“T understand you now, my boy, and you may consider me enlisted in the band of rascals and subject to your orders.. But you should re- flect a bit, my boy. That Pete. Bolger is a des- perate scoundrel, and is surrounded by scamps as desperate as himself. When he finds out that you bave swindled him—and he must learn that fact—he will hunt you to the death. Ought you to put yourself in such peril?” ert Otis smiled as he knocked the ashes ‘out of his pipe. j ‘“Come, now, Dave,” said he, ‘‘ that is a little too much. Would you caution yourself in that way? Did-youever yet know me to be afraid of any man, or set of men?” ‘©Of course not.. You are brave to rashness, But then—” ‘“‘ And I have you to back me up,” interrupted rt. “To an unlimited extent, my boy. I prom- ised your mother that I would look after you as if you were my own child, and I would stand by you against all odds for her sake, if not for yourown. But itis no light matter in this re- gion to provoke the enmity of Arkansas Pete.” “ All right, old man. e long ani the short of itis this: I wouldn’t miss attending to that bit of business for a gold mine, and if Pete Bol- ger tries to worry me, so much the worse for the gentleman from Arkansaw.” Between these two the will of the younger te of the experience an usually prevailed in Dec oecanie on this occa- satisfied. He sound judgment of the elder. sion David Darke was not yet satisfl thought he might strike a new vein. “ Have you ever seen the girl, Bert?” be asked. ‘Never have.” ae ‘‘Heard her described, perhaps?” ae ks ** Yes, after a fashion.” a “Did you judge from that description tha A arg wee ee CHAPTER II. FEARLESS PHIL. Over a broad plain, and near the course of a small stream that was ligbtly fringed with cot- tonwoods, a small train was slowly moving westward. The train, outside of its attendants, consisted of but two covered wagons. The foremost wagon was heavily lo»ded with housebold goods and provisions. Rae hindmost one, besides car- rying a supply of provender, was fitted up with sleeping accommodations for one person. That one person rode neer the wagon, mount- ed ona fine bay mare. She might have been about twenty. years. of age, and was a fresh, bright-faced blonde, with a wealth of golden hair that was prevented from flowing over her shoulders by one knot of ribbon, Although somew bat irregular as to her features, ber clear blue eyes and animated expression made her handsome, at times strikingly so. She was attired in a close fitting, serviceable dress, and sat ber horse splendidly. This was Mebel Vintrey, and she was on her way to join ber father, in charge of her uncle, John Hackett, who controlled the train. Near ber rode a beardless youth of eighteen, whose bronzed face told of much exposure to wind and weather on the plain. Yet be was by no means an ill-looking young fellow, and his aes and mouth told of determination and da J / Fg plainly enough dressed, in corduroy. trowsers over which bis high boots were drawn, blue flannel shirt, and dark felt bat. A heavy blanket was strap to his saddle, a belt of cartridges encircled his waist, a knife anda re- volver were visible, and a repeating rifle rested on the saddle before him. This was Phil Henning, who bad been enlisted as one of the trainmen. against the wish of Sam Spurl the guide, by John Hackett, who had taken a fancy to the lad. As he rode near Mabel Vintrey be was down- —_ and silent, and there wasa ioubled look on is face. “What is the matter with you, Philf’ asked the girl. ‘You have not a word to say for yourself to-day, and you look worried,” “I am worried, Miss Mabel.” ‘“‘ What is it that troubies you?” “1 don’t want to frighten you; but I am d | afraid that there is something wrong.” “In what way, P “We are out of our course. We left the reg- ular trail two days ago, and are getting further away from it every hour. I don’t know why this should be so.” sca you suppose the guide has made a mis- e@ ‘No, indeed. He knows well enough what he is about,” she was very pretty?” “Well, po ged her to be at least good | “Have you asked him why he does this!” looking. But that has nothing to do with the ‘Yes, but be will give me no reason. He matter, old chap.” dislikes me, and be knows that I gar bim.” ‘* Perhaps it hasn't; By the way, Bert, fe “3 erhaps you had better 5 to uncle don’t Ar Pete do this » himself? He obn. abundantly’able to.” . “J will I have been waiting, in hopes ‘* He seems ees a certain delicacy about | that the guide would take us to the appearing it bus eS tee ween) wail.” = 5 ee a ‘Ho is the last man I sh fo gg ti of | . The otber two trainmen were riding near the sort of delicacy; No scruples of conscience, I | wagons, and John Hackett was advance. sup : Sy | Gaels ie: “Bam ri was not visible any where. ** Well, : y. What a fool [ am, Davel, Jobn ckett_wasa bluff, hearty, middle-aged I have fai give you the whole of Pete. , with grizzled hai ‘and beard rd. He was con- Bolger’s little es fter I and my rascals | sidered an easy-going fellow not easily worried, hae apa fag ana ae | ee | i nde ate ‘al mn us recapt er. us y | Bu e when riled.” | Senden from Avenel ie toappear in the| ‘‘ Well, youngster, how goes it?” be cheerily Guhretier of a hero.” _ | asked, when Poil Henning Pet Hel ' “S$, now L understand the matter. It is} “I am afraid, Mr. Hackett,” replied Phil, ccc 5 Bert. a gree daylight” ; sf that eet is eer ee nowt” “ All right, man. now for a snooze. Something wrong a Here, Rip t+ pa & meas - ae bagi ay ioe that your guide intends A tall and powe og 0 mastiff breed c e train. trotted up, and looked in the young man’s face “Whatl—Sam Spurl—treachery? What do as if a you mean, boy : “Tt ig your turn to take the first watch to-| ‘* You know, sir, that we left the regular trail old boy,” said Bert, ‘‘and you must get ary Tyke ‘ty business, as this is a skittish part ofthe a a iaared to understand bis orde e a un D rs, and tour tices hé did understand them. He trotted off to the horses, and came back wag- ging bis tail, as if to indicate that all was right n sai quarter. Then he took up a position as sentry. : The two men wrapped themselves in their eo oe were soon rag y. With the first signs of dawn they were awake and ip a short time they had prepared and eaten | | their breakfast, and were riding away toward the north. two days ago, and now we are many miles to the north of it, That trail would have taken us direct to Quartaville, and on to Mr. Vintrey’s ranch, which is, I believe, some ten miles beyond Quartzville. I can think of ne good reason for coming up here out of our course.” “Perhaps Sam is taking a short cut,” sug- ted John Hackett. — : “Has he explained it to you, sir?” “No; but Isup he knows his business.” *‘[ have no doubt of that; but does he mean fairly?” " Why shouldn’t he? We have no nder orth taking, and what could be gain by betray- we ing us?”
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* T don’t know,” answered Phil; but he glanced over his sboulder at Mabel, ‘‘Have you asked him about it?’ inquired John Hackett. ‘‘Yes, sir; but he shut me up at once, and would give me no sort of satisfaction.” ‘‘ Well, Phil, I see him coming, and I will speak to him ahout it, as I have a right to.” In fact the guide was then plainly in sight, be rsh leisurely toward the train, which he soon ined. arr Spurl was a tall and brawny man of middle age, weather-beaten, and bronzed to an extreme, and his long black hair and half-civ- ilized garb Rave him te appearance of an In- dian. Ata little distance he migkt easily have been mistaken for a ‘ hostile.” Seeing John Hackett and Phil conversing in advances of the train, he rode up to them. ‘* Where have you been, Sam?” demanded the leader, “ Jest a-scoutin’ around a bit. ‘This yere’s a resky reach o’ kentry, and it stands me in hand to be kinder keerful.” “‘The trail was safe enough, Why did you take us off the trail and bring us so far to the north?” Sam Spurl darted a malevolent glance at Phil Henning. “So that young scalawag thar has been buz- zin’ in your ear,” said he, ‘‘He tackled me on the same p’int a while ago, and Igi’n bim to on- derstand that Sam Spurl knows his biz too well to fool with any meddlesome young upstart. And I reckon I ort to know it, as I’ve been on the plains and in the mountings sence I was a boy, and ken tell the whole reach like a book, from the Yallarstone to Pueblo,” ‘Never mind the boy, Sam. It is a fair ques- tion that I asked you, and I have a right to an explanation,” *‘ And it’s sech a simple thing, boss, that I’m e’ena’most ashamed to explain it, . This is a mighty dry season, and water is powerful sca’ca on the reg’lar trail, and water’s a thing wo’re bouad to have. Thar’s water,” he added, point- ing at the cottonwoods that showed the course of the stream. ‘‘ I allowed it would be a good thing to strike that river and foller it up a while, to make a sure thing on the water.” “ What is the name of that river, Sam?” asked John Hackett. ‘‘ Mike Garry’s Branch is the name I know it by. I wonder, now, ef young Koow-it-all thar is satisfied.” ‘I think we would have found water enough on the trail,” briefly replied Poil ‘You do, do you? al, now, as you're so smart and so peart, s’posin’ you just turn in and be the guide fur this yee outfit. I’m em 4 to resign in yer favor, I reckon you wouldn’t be afeard to do it, as folks Phil.” , , Phil Henning ror sony yaw his head down, ne rip papa whether.he should not accept omer. “There is one thing Iam afraid of,” he said, ‘ T amafraid to risk any other “Then you had better leave the business to them as onderstands it. I reckon you are satisfied, boss,” added the guide, turning to the er. ‘I don’t know but I am,” replied John Hack- ett, though the troubled leok in his face did not 7 agree Migs ra words. , am Spurl suddenly turned upon Phil Hen- ning with a burst of et By , ‘You p’ison young scamp!” he exclaimed. “You've done nothin’ but make misch:ef sence we Stet. I'm @ great_.mind to break your ead.” Phil turned so as'to face the infuriated guide, and smiled a most aggravating smile, ‘¢T will do it, too, by ——!” shouted Spurl, as a spurred his horse forward, and raised his big st. But Phil was too quick for bim, and the lev- ee Darrel of a revolver almost touched his reast, “If you are tired of life, pitch in!” quietly re- marked the lad. A ie c ‘Quit that, both of you!” commanded John ATH b figh: # ave no fig in this train, and no ee either. Moke no. A ys about that : Phil put up, his pistol, and Sam Spurl turned away, Peuttering to himself, you Fearless The guide at least partly..proved his sincerity |. by bringing tbe train to a halt i ee | ‘the cottonwoods, and. the. tired cat of tired cattle, turned loose, gladly waded into the shallow stream. Your guide, Pete Paes a Fearless. CHAPTER II, “@eT OUT OF THIS!” HARDLY had the train gone into cam two horsemen were discovered in the coming from the south. Jobn Hackett first discovered them, and pointed them ouf to the guide, who looked at ar anxiously, a heavy frown on his dark ace, “Only two,” he muttered. ‘“ What can that mean?” “Thar’s two men comin’,” he said aloud, ‘and they’re likely to be Injuns.” ‘‘T wo white men and a dog,” said Phil Hen- ning, whose young eyes were noted for their strength and reach of vision. Sam Spurl turned angrily upon the lad, and looked as if he would be glad to choke tim; but he suprressed his passion with an effort, and repli) quite calany: "> o young feiler’s eyes may be better’n miue ‘ho said, ‘‘ but ef those men are white I am ken to bet that they ain’t a good sort, and we had better warn ’em off.” ‘*T don’t see what call we have to be afraid of two men,” remarked John Hackett. ‘‘Thar’s no tellin’, boss. They may have pardners layin’ about, ready to jump on us ar- ter those two sneak into the camp. This is a resky kentry, and decent white men are e’ena’- most as sca’ce as good Injuns!” . “Tt is easy to make sure,” said Phil. ‘I will ride out and see who and what they are.” He had not, unsaddled his horse, and was in- stantly mounted. “‘ Hold on thar!” ordered Sam Spurl, ‘‘ Thar’s no good in that. It takes an old head to jedge those scamps.” ‘‘ Let the boy go if he wants to risk it,” said John Hackett. It was clear that he did vot fully trust the guide, who cast an angry glance at him, and then looked gloomily aft r Pail. Tho lad had started off without waiting for pennies, and in the course of half an bour be rought to the camp David Darke and Bert Otis, with whom he was chatting familiarly. It needed but a glance to assure John Hackett that they were no prairie robbers or hard cases of any kind, and he welcomed them cordially. *We are wanderers,” said Darke, ‘‘ and see- ing your train we thought we might find some iy th to cheer us up.” ‘Glad to see you, young gentlemen. Light down, and you will welcome to the best we've got.” They dismounted, and gave their horses to Phil Henning, who, as. he gathered the bridles, whispered a few words to Jobn Hackett. The leader stepped aside a little way, and was followed by Bert Otis. “T am sorry to tell you,” said the young man, ‘‘ that you are in great danger. .We have come to warn and to help you.” “What's the matter?” _, “Do you know a certain Pete Bolger, other- wise known as Arkansaw Pete?” **Can’t say that I do.” “ But he knows you, or knows of you, and he knows of that young lady yonder,” Honest John Hackett’s face blanched. It struck him for the first time that there was a motive for villainy which he had not suspected.” There was a sort of choking in his t as he uested the young man tw go on and tell what he knew. “That same Pete Bolger,” said Otis, ‘‘ wants to get possession of the young lady I speak of— for what reason I don’t know—and he’s hired a rascal.to enlist some other rascals for the pur- se of striking this train and_ carrying her off. am the rascal be employed, and my friend onder is the rest of the rascals, The gentleman Eat Arkansaw happened to get hold of the wrong man—that’s all.” John Hackett’s clinched hands and com- pressed lips showed how strongly he was excited by this plain statement. ; “TI don’t know why any man should wish harm to that innocent child,” said he, ‘and no man shall ever barm her while I am able to lift a finger. My young friend, your face and your voice tell me to tru t you, and IT am in- clined to believe what you say; but—” “But Ihave not told you all, Mr. Hackett. Sam Spurl, isin the plot, He is in y, and it is to help the scheme en your train far out of the pro- when istance that be has per course.” A fierce light flamed in John Hackett’s eyes. “T see it now!” he exclaimed, “Stranger as you are, I believe you. Whathad 1 better do” ‘‘ T will settle the matter if you will allow me ‘ 3 to,” replied Bert, ‘Tbe first thing is to get rid of your treacherous guide, and I will undertake that task.” “Allright. lam with you.” Bert Otis started for the spot where Sem Pes was standing, closely followed by ackett. | David Darke in the mean time had sought out the guide, and had endeavored to engage bim in conversation, but with poor success, Spur! eyed bim suspiciously, and gave bim short an my answers, hen Bert Otis approached, with John Hackett just behind bim, the guide looked at them closely and anxiously, He evidently be- lieved that there was sometbing unusual in the air, and wondered what it was. The two other trainmen were occupied with their duties, and Mabel was partly concealed behind one of the wagons, curiously inspecting the strangers. Bert Otis advanced toward Spurl with a smile on bis face, and Darke stepped asice a few paces. Mr. Spurl,” said Bert. ‘1 ’ a -evening, am glad to see you. ; ‘Don't say,” was the growling reply. “Yes, Mr. Spurl, I bave beard of you, and I say again that lam glad to meet you. But I suppose that we are not the men you had ex- pected to see.” ** What man had I expected to see?” “Why, Arkansaw Pete and bis pards.” The guide started back as if he had been shot, and a fearful storm of catbs burst from bis lips, “What do you meen by that?’ he shouted, “What have I got to do with Arkansaw Pete?’ * Don’t fly into a passion, Mr. Spurl,” replied Bert, smiling yet more pleasantly. ‘‘ The erti- est way is the best, I assure you. Your little game bas been found out, and is ina fair way to be shut down on. Your friend, Mr. Bolger, talks a little too freely to strangers. What you bave to do now is, to get on your horse and get out of this right away.” Another stream of oaths poured from the lips of the guide, and bis hand Ait ee to his pistol. ‘* Don’t draw that, you scoundrel!” shouted a voice that bad the tone of command, Spurl looked around, and saw that be was covered by David Darke s rifle, and Bert Otis’s revolver was bearing on bim thé next instant. Phil Henning was also there, and ready for ac- tion, The other two trainmen had bastened to the scene cf action, and hesitated, as if ancertain which side they ought to t ke, “There is nothing here to worry you, boys,” said John Hackett. ‘Saddle Sam rl’s horse, and bring him here.” . Perceiving that he was cornered, the guide changed bis tone. “T'd like to know what this means, boss,” said be, 3 use two strangers—and nobody knows who they are—come here with a pack of lies, do you want to turn me adrift?” 1,” replied Hackett, any man who would “Tt means, Sam 8 “that I could easily kill lot against my sister’s child, and I can bardly Keep rom shooting you down as you stand!” “But these men are strangers, and they don’t fetch no proofs, I am a known man, and I came to you with a good character.” “You bave lost it, then. You sbould never have brought my train up here, if you meant fairly.” “You are wrening ste in words, Mr. Spurl,” raid Bert Otis, “There is nothing for you to do but to get out of this.” The guide’s horse had been brought to him, and be mounted it. “Tt is a bard thing,” said he, “to drive a man off jest as night is comin’ on.” “Tt is too easy for you,” replied Bert, “and you bad better be thankful that te can get off so easy. You know the way well enough, and vou will gO straight to your friend, Arkansaw Pete, Tell him that the next time be wants to bire a rascal, he should be careful not to strike the wrong man!” The discarded guide turned in bis saddle and glared at them all, : ‘*Cuss you for a set of fools and sneaks!” he exclaimed. ‘Ef you badn’t stole the drop on me, you wouldn’t be standin’ thar. You shall suffer for this, as sure as my name is Sam Spurl! You sball pay for it, every motber’s son of you —yes, and every mother’s daughter, too!” The last words excited John Hackett to frenzy, He raised his rifle, vy would have shot down the speaker if he had not been restrained by- Bert Otis. ' Sam Spurl rode ayy. rapidly in the twilight, his course pointing due south west.
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me et ee ee tn one SNR CHAPTER IV. THE KING OF QUARTZVILLE, Tuer Gold Brick saloon stood alone, at a con- siderable distance trom any other house, on the outskirts of the town of Quartzville, It was in a queer place for a saloon, but it attracted a peculiar kind of custom, and no small amount of it, as it was one of the favorite resorts of Pete Bolger, otherwise known as ot ama Pete, and styled the King of Quartz- ville. He was well entitled to that unofficial dignity, as he bad now ruled Quartzyville with an iron hand for more than a year, and as no man in that rapid and thriving “ city ” was more fear- ed and consequently more respected, He bad come to Quartzville with quite a “ crowd ” of his own,and bad started a gambling house and established three drinking saloons, one of which was the Gold Brick, These enterprises of themsely-s gave him a large following, and he had increased it by selecting as his associates and aids the most vici- ous and desperate characters in that ii econ of whom looked up to him as their “ ” and rendered him implicit obedience. Thus it was that the town of Quartz- ville came under the rule of the roughs. They might not have been as numerous as the orderly and law-abiding people; bat they were more self-asserting, and they knew how to make peaceable people afraid of them, As for the King of Quartzville, it may be said that he looked the part well. He had but little of the appearance or manner of a rough Tall and of Jarge frame, with a fine form and com- mending. figure, he was always well-dressed and carried himself with a stateliness that well became him, and was calculated to impose upon a stranger. Yet under this fine exterior there was a lurk- ing devil in his heart, concealed as his weapons usually were, but ready to spring forth at any moment and do deadly harm, It seemed to bea rather exclusive company mice ws res at “pe Gold Brick at noon on that day—in fact, a select party. They were nine in number, jocltioe Arkan- saw Pete, and not counting Dan Gilligan, the barkeeper, and they were seated around a table at the far end of the room, consuming a sub- stantial luncheon. Their nine horses were feed- ing under a shed back of the shanty. n Gilligan, when he was not occupied in serving the party with liquid refroshipents, was looking out of the dirty window, taking note of the infrequent passers-by. _ Thus Arkansaw Pete and his friends could wae is i algood place to stay. Pete,” sald 0 a ace to stay, sald one of them; ‘‘ but I'd a hea rater be ’tendin’ to business and ’arnin’ a litile money. I allowed _ we'd be on the war-path afore now.” ‘‘Don't be in too much of a hurry, Jack,” re+ plied the leader. ‘‘ There is a chance that the may prove a tougher one than I am calcula- ng on. I didn't expect to hear anything be- fore this time; but now [ am looking for news.” ?. comes somebody,” said Dan Gilligan, 4 and he’s makin’ for the Gold Brick, licketty t. ’ The galloping of a horse could be heard by those inside, and a man rode up to the wanty, dismounted, hitched his horse, aad entered the room. “Give me a stiff born of the toughest p’ison zonive got!” he shouted, bringing his big fist wn on the counter with a thump. _. He tossed down the fiery liquid at a gulp, though it nearly srangied hiat “ ef I don’t feel as ef I’d swallered a red-hot poker,” he said, ‘Kin you tell me, young man, whar I'll find Pete Bolger?” ) nsaw Pete had already forward with some of his party, and he held out bis hand as he recognized the speaker, ‘““Why, Sam Spurl! I am ever so glad to see you. I was expecting a messenger from your way, but never thought you would send corel. Is all rigbt, old hoss?) Have you got r ‘*Got nothin’,” replied the guide. ‘ They’ve me, “* What do you mean by that?” the train—resigned my posish.” rifi-s and revolyers to back the order, and, as ught I had “But why was that? How did it happen?” “Jost all along o’ your durned foolishness. ——— le a —— Fearless Phil. It seems pagel dn run across some young chap somewhar, give away your game to him, and hired him to help you kerry it out. So the young chap and his pardner struck the train Fer arter we’d gone inter camp and blowed the bull business, and that settled the case of Sam Spurl. He told me to go to you, and to tell you that the next time you hirea rascal you ort to be keerful not to strike the wrong man.” “What did he look like—that young chap?” on” Spurl. gave a good description of Bert s. Arkansaw Pete ripped out some savage oaths before he calmed down, “TI did put my foot in it then,” he said: ‘ but I was sure that the young fellow was all right and on the make. To think that such a young- ster should fool this hard old head! But I will make him pay for this, and he will wish he bad never meddjed with me.” “TPve got a hefty account to settle with that crowd, too,” said Spurl, “specially with the chap who swindled you, and one other young- ster. What are you gwine to do now, Pete?” ‘**T don’t mean to cry over spilt milk. I told the boys that this might turn out to be a tougher job than | had calculated on. There is only one thing for it now, and that is to play the Injun game. We must light right out, too, as there is no time to lose. Will you go with us, Sam, or are you tired out?” ‘Nothin’ tires me, as you know; but my hoss is pla yed.” ‘Leave him here and take Dan's,” ‘‘Whar’s the Injun rig?’ ‘Right here, plenty of it. We will each take a disguise, and will put them on when we need them, Take another drink, Sam, and you shall tell me the whole story as we ride.” CHAPTER V. PETE BOLGER’S BLOW. “IT RECKON we’ve done right,” said Jobo Hackett, as his treacherous guide rode away from the traincamp, ‘In fact, I don’t feel a doubt of it.” ‘There is not the least doubt of it,” replied Bert Otis. ‘Let us sit down, and I will give you all the iculars as far as I know them.” They sat down and Otis gave a full account of his meeting with Pete Bolger, the plot dis- closed to him by the King of Quartzville, and the part that he was to take in carrying it out. ‘That's as straight as a shingle, and I believe every word you tell me,” sai John Hackett. ‘‘ But I haven't got hold of your names yet, my friends,” Bert Otis introduced himself and his com- nion. Pe Otis,” mused Hackett, ‘That is a familiar name tome. I knew an Otis right well once. His name was Ben Otis.” i Did he live at Wellsville, Ohio?” 8, “That was my father,” said Bert. ‘He married Sarah Emmons,” “That was my mother.” “Give me your hand, my boy! I knew there must be sométhing that made me take aes and trust youso. Your father was one of the and truest men I ever knew, ani your mother was a sort of a relation of mine. ere, Mabel! Come here! This is an old friend of mine, or the son of an old friend,” Mabel was right at hand. She had been wait- tng close by, near enough to catch a little of what was said, and she stepped briskly forward, smiling and blushing. She was made acquainted with the young men, and as Bert Otis gazed into her bright face his blusbes were quite as visible as her own. ‘I want to thank you both for your t kindness in coming to us,” she said, “I have kept my eyes and ears open, and learned much of what was going on, and what I did net find out for myself Phil told me. But what can that man have wanted of me, and do you sup- pose there is any more danger?” Bert did not try to answer her first question, though he could easily guess what Pete Bolger might want of her, and he hesitated over her second question. ‘‘T am afraid that we are not out of the woois yet,” he replied, ‘‘That scoundrel may not give up the game because I have gone back on im, and there is no doubt that he is a rate hardly know what is and dangerous man. best to be done now.” “that we ougbt to get back into the regular trail, and I suppose we can strike it by taking a southerly course.” é “ But that trail leads to Quarteville, Mr. Hack- no |e | notion,” remarked the leader, is my ’ r'| six men (of course counting Phil Henning as a ett, and the question is whether it will be safe to go through that town or near it. Arkansaw Pete is known as the King of ae, and you can have no idea what his influence amounts to. “He does as he pleases there, and nobody dares to call him to account. It seems to me that we had better keep to the north and try to pass around his dominions.” * Why do you say we?” asked Hackett. “ You almost make me think that you mean to go on with us.” “Of course we do, sir—both of us do. Nothing short of death shall prevent me from seeing this train safe to its destination.” Bert spoke so earnestly and decidedly that John Hackett looked at him in surprise, but a closer observer would have noticed that the young man was gazing at Mabel Vintrey, who answered his gaze with a blush. ‘““'That would be more than we would have a right to look for, and your friend may object,” said Hackett. ‘Not I,” replied David Darke. ‘‘I back Bert Otis to any extent, and I think he is quite rigbt when he advises you to go around Quartzville. If you should aim for the trail you would go to- ward Arkansaw Pete, and he might have you just where he wants you. The only ques- tion is whether you can find your way around.” Phil Henning then spoke up. He had a pretty Need ant web knowledge of the country, and be- jeved that he could at least pilot the party without getting them lost. } It was settled that Phil should act as guide, with the advice and assistance of Darke and Otis, and early the next morning the train again started on its slow journey toward the west, scouts riding abead and atthe south to look out for danger signs, : It was plain enough sailing for the prairie schooners over the rolling plain; but nobody pretended to say what they wonlddo when they reached the hills that loomed be hens distance, where they were not likely to any sort ofa w roa othing unusual was noticed until late in the afternoon, when David Darke, who had been scouting at the south, rode up and reported that be had seen @ man peering over the edge of & rise in that direction, He had ridden up the rise to get a better view, but the man bad dis- a having | bly taken refuge in a be t of timber ng robe 7 “ He looked like an Indian,” said Darke . “Tt is more likely to have been Sam Spurl,” remarked Phil. ‘You may bet your last dol- that be is not going to leave us alone. If it is Siam, there are more behind bim, and they mean business.” It was agreed that the best thing to be done would be to halt the train right there, and make the best preparations to fight off any foes that might be lur about. The cattle were driven down to the branch, and the horses were concealed in the timber at a distance from the camp, which was located on high and open ground. 2 anople supply of water was brought in, ens oe nds at work to fortify the po- on. The camp was made as small as possible, the wagons, 8 of their covers, being drawp up on two sides, and all available articles bein for a barricade. At each end the turf was torn up, and a trench was dug, on the outer edge of which the earth was piled. After supper the camp-fire was extinguished and two sentries were stationed outside, with orders to rin in at once if an attack should be made. It was the opinion of all that, whether gen- uine Indians or white men in disgulee were lurking about, they would adopt the Indian method and attack under cover of the night. The night was favorable for such a pas There was no moon, and clouds were blown across the sky, at times elegy Bae entirely. Bert Otis’s dog Rip proved be the best sentry. When the night was at its darkest, and when the men outside were unable to see any sign of life or motion on the rolling plain, Rip’s dee Shia was beard, and then his heavy, warning bark. Otis, who was outside, called to the o:ber sentry to go in. : “The dog knows what he is about,” said be, “and you ‘may bet thet he don’t bark for nothing.” . The others were instantly aroused, and the pi took the stations that had been to them. : Anxiously they waited, but it seemed to (icin ie! } de ; " * ates «t
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on that hardly tive minutes had passed when their enemies were upon them, ., The soft bad deadened the sound of horses’ feet, and the best eyes were unable to penetrate the darkness to any considerable dis- tance. Suddenly, as if they bad emerged from a cloud,a number of Lorsemen were seen, sweeping down on the camp with savage yells, accom- panied by the flashes of firearms and the sing- ing of bullets. ; The rifles in the camp answered rapidly and effectively; but the rush was so swift and cer- tain, that some ot the horsemen dashed in over the earth barricade at one end of the camp, and there followed a hand-to-hand fight about the wagons, The first man over fired his pistol right in the face of John Hackett; but his horse stumbled the next instant, and he was shot down by Phil Henning. Mabel Vintrey had been protected from chance shots by a pair of mattresses; but she rose up in her excitement, and a large man, mounted on a powerful horse, seized ber arm as he dashed through the camp, and attempted to swing her up on his horse. But the dog Rip, who had been waiting for a good chance to ‘‘ catch on,” leaped and fastened us teeth in the borsem n’s arm. With a curse he dropped the girl, and Bert Otis, who bad just settled one of the raiders, caught her and drew her away in time to pre- vent her from being trampled to death. The tall horseman turned with leveled pistol ‘Here’s your dose, you young sneak!” be shouted in a voice that surely had nothing of the Indian about it. ‘‘ That settles your ac- count.” He fired, and Bert Otis fell on the ground by the side of tire swooning Mabel. But though John Hackett and Otis were down, the men who guarded the camp had the best of the fight. Their rifles had done sharp work as the enem came on, reducing the number of their assail- ants, and those who got into the cam were so huddled together that their fighting chances were Himited. Phil Henning, when he had shot down the rst man over, dashed at the others like a tiger that has tasted blood, emptying. bie revolver with wonderful quickness, and David Darke, cool and calm, mads his shots count as if he were shooting at a mark. The two trainmen were also active, and. the tall horseman, when he had struck down Bert Otis with his single shot, saw that the struggle was over and the game was up, He called to his followers, and those who were able to do so galloped away with him into the darkness, By this time the wind had blown the clouds away, and under astarlit sky the victors were uble to appreciate the defeat of their foe and to tuke vote of their own losses, CHAPTER VI. THE UNKINDEST OUT OF ALL, Pur, HENNING grabbed bis rifle, and was hastening to send a parting shot after the fly- ing raiders, when his attention was attracted by Mabel Vintrey and Bert Otis, who were ly- ing together on the ground. 8 dro ped by the side cf Mabel, and hastily examin er for a wound, but found none. He guickly procured a cup of water, which he dashed in her face, and she revived, sitting up and staring about as 1f she were dazed. Then ber gaze rested on Bert Otis, who was ‘ing lifeless at her side, the blood oezing from { is head, and ber piercing screams brought all vee friends to her, ; ‘‘ He is dead!” she shrieked. “That brave and noble young man who came to save us and risk his life for us is dead, and he died for me!” ** Merciful Heaven!” exclaimed David Darke, as he knelt by bis friend. ‘“‘The dear boy is seas. How will I ever break this to his mo- ther “Not yet, Dave,” came faintly from the lips of the dead man. ‘Lift me up, old man.” Darke raised his friend’s head, and called for water, with which he washed the blood from the wound, discovering that the bullet bad glanced off from the skull, leaving an ugly ook, ‘He thought he had saved ms,” murmu Bert; “ but shot a bit too bigh. I feel, though, asi kicked me, fa mule Dave put his brandy to the young man’s lips, and he was soon on his feet and walking a while friend was looking for adhe- Handing waa nudged by one of the train~ Pearlass Phil. men, aud followed him to where John Hackeit's body was lying in the trench. The leader of the train had been shot through the head, and life was entirely extinct. he lad threw a blanket over the body, un- willing that Mabel should see it then. ** And this,” he said, spurning with his foot a dead man lying near, *‘is the scoundrel who killed him, and whem I shot. He looks like an a aoe papi sure as you live, Hank, it isSam ur t was, indeed, Sam Spurl, and it was the general opinion that he at least bad perished none too soon, with his vengeance incomplete, There were two other bodies inside the camp, clothed in Indian garb, and with their faces yvainted; but a cara investigation proved them >» be unmistakably white men. ‘*It was nothing but foolishness for them to try the Indian dodge,” said Phil Henniog. “They would have done just as well to play their game openly.” ** They should at least have held their tongues,” remarked Otis. ‘'1l know well enough that the man who shot at me was Arkansaw Pete. His voice gave him away.” It was necessary to inform Mabel Viutrey of her uncle’s death. Otis and Phil broke the sad pews to her as gently as possible, and led her to his body. The r girl burst into a passion of tears. “ What will become of us now?” she despair- ingly asked, when her sobs allowed her to speak. ‘My poor, dear uncle Jobn is dead, and bow will I ever get to my father?” ‘“You have some true friends left, Miss Vin- trey,” said Bert Otis. ‘‘ Mr, Darke and I will stand by you while there is life in us, and so, I am sure, will the others.” ‘* And here is one man—for I will never again call hin a boy—” said Darke, laying his hand ou Phil’s shoulder, ‘‘ who can be depended on, and whose courage and skill are such as any ‘rown man might be proud of. Come, now, sort, and let me dress your head.” The body of John Hackett was buried, and the grave was marked; but those of the marauders were treated with far less respect. At an early hour in the morning the train again took up its tedious journey toward the west, all the party saddened by the absence of him who had been left behind, and by the thought of the difficulties and dangers that might yet be in store for them, Mabel was inconsolable at first, breaking out every now and then in fits of weeping; but Bert Otis and Phil were at her side, doing their best to cheer her up, and sbe gradually re- covered her spirits, making much of Bert's big dog, whose teeth had done her such good ser- vice the night before, The day passed, as the Pees day had, without any alarm or sign of danger, and when the train came to a halt, toward the olose of the afternoon, it had reached the broken ground near the hills that rose gradually toward the west until they formed part of the great moun- tain range, “1 cin’t guess bow we-are to find or make a wav for the teams from this on,” said Phil Henning, as he sat on his horse and sadly look- ed westward, “ But, if we get through the night safely, some of us must scout around and try for a trail.” “Tf no other way offers,” suggested Darke, “we can skirt along the edge of the hills until we strike a trail to the southward,’ . The camp was lecated, as that of the previous night had been, on high and open ground, and was similarly fortified, except that deeper trenches were dug, and higher earth barricades made, at each end. The cattle were driven into the cottonwoods that lined a small'stream, and the horses were concealed in the timber further away, ; Two sentries were stationed on the outside, and the rest of the tired party fell asleep, for- getting for the time the terrible scenes they had passed through and the dangers they expected to encounter. es oe it was Rip that aroused the camp, and at about the middle of the night. ; He was on the north side of the camp, and his attention was turned toward the stream near which the cattle were tethered. All strained their eyes and ears to look and to listen, but could neither see nor hear any- thing in that quarter. ; Yet the big dog’s excitement coptinued, and bis warning bark spoke plainly of danger of some kind, ** Rip, knows. his business,” soraeieed Bert Otis. “‘He never fooled me yet. We mev be sore that there is somebody prowling about,” re ae peo 5 an eee ence cee ane “| think there mast be something the matter with the cattle,” said Phil Henning, as he picked “I will go down there and squint wp his rifle, around,” “I will go with you,” said Bert. ‘No, Mr, Otis, There may be some risk in it, and it is not worth while for more than c1u than one can.” *Neitber of you shall go, if Ican help ii,’ declared Darke, ‘‘If our enemies are thav they coula easily shoot you down from tle cover of the timber, and then they would mihe no bones of c: pturipg the camp, e can efferd to love anything rather than our men, ano cir only chance is 10 keep together and defend tle camp and Miss Vintrey.” Mabel added ber entreaties to David Derke's arguments, and tke young fellows si ffi.1red themselves to be persuaded, After a while the dog ceated his warning bark, and all was quiet until morning. The worried Faxiy, were thankful that they bad not been attacked during the night; but none of them bad the faintest hope that their difficulties were at an end, As soon as it was light enough for the purpc se Phil Henning and Bert Otis set out for the stream, ser ding Rip ahead as a scout, The deg gave no warning of danger, and they went direct to the place where the cattle had been left. All were gone! They bastened up the stream to the place where they had corcealed the horses. Not a boot was: left! All their means of locomotion, except their own legs, bad been spirited away in the night. They fcund themselves set afoot, in an un- known region, with no certainty of anything but enemies. CHAPTER VIL A FLANE ATTACK, Ar tbe foot of the mcuntain range lay Frank Vintrey’s cattle ranch, a fair e e of bill and dale, forest and pasture land, The house, a commodious and respectable wooden building, stood at the edge of a grove, and a few large trees scattered before it gave the ap- peerance of a Jawn, The sun was just about to rise, but all con: pected with the ranch were early astir, and the proprietor, stepping out on the broad covered porch, looked up for weatber signs. The morving was clear, and the day promised to be fine, Frank Vintrey was a healthy and hearty mid- die-aged man, with nothing striking in his ap- “Rigen or character, except that he bad plen- y of pluck and determination, He had taken up the land that formed his ranch with the inten- tion of establishing a large cattle farm, and neither the dangers of tte early settlement nor the temptations ef mining speculation Lad caused him to vary from that setUed purpose. As soon as he considered the country suf- ficiently safe and himself sufficiently prnepers ous be bad sent for bis motberless daughter and his wife’s brother, Frauk Vintrey was seas a bright, checrful, matter-of-tact man, but this morning his trow was clouded and his mind was troubled. because of a dream. As his foreman, Stephen Hersey, ce me nv ar the porch Mr. Vintrey beckoned to him. “Come here, Steve; I have something to tell you,” be said, and the two men seated tLim- selves on the hiae-bottcmed cbairs, “Thad a strange dream last night,” said Mr. Vintrey, ‘‘and it troubled me more than } like to own up to,” Steve Hersey happened to be a strong Leliever in dreams and omens, and he was natural y cn- rious about this dream, so Mr. Vintrey went on and related it to him, \ “You know that I am expecting my brother- in-law and my daugbter from the East. I am looking for them every day. I dreamed that they were in great trouble at a place you and I know well. You remember where we had a little difficulty last fall about some stray steers (” es. nnd all a ‘*‘ That is the place. I dreamed that the trein was attacked at night by white men ised as Indians, that John Hackett was ki and that the leader of the attacking party was Ar- kansaw Pete,” “*D» you know him?” asked Hersey. “No, T never saw the man, to my knowl- edge. You know that for a long time I have preferred to go further for my supplies rather . than to trade in Quartzville, while rowdies mle | there, and I have not been near the town, hub
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6 s — — — —— --—. ee pe paceciasnrTeemnpaese ee oO ne rene: something told me that the man I speak of was rkansaw Pete,” “Can you tell me what he looked like?” Mr. Vintrey described the man of his dream. “That's the King of Quartzville himself!” ex- claimed Hersey. ‘Idon’t wantto worry you, Mr. Vintrey, but there must be something in that dream, since you saw in it a man you never saw when you were awake. There’s a good bit in dreams, anyhow.” ‘*T believe there is, in some dreams,” replied the ranchran, “and this dream has troubled me so that [am going to ride into Quartzville, and perhaps further. The trail that my folks ought to take leads through that town, though they seemed to be so far trom it in my dream. I shall not feel easy until [ see them or hear from them.” Frank Vintrey saddled a bay mare, and rode away toward Quartzville, reaching that town before noon. He hitched his mare in front of a store, and was looking about for somebody who would be likely to give bim information, when he was rudely accosted by a rough-looking man who carried two revolvers in plain sight. wil aay stranger, ain’t your name Frank Vin- ey ” “Yes,” replied the ranchman, “Thought so. You're jest the galoot I’m lookin’ arter. I was gwine to ride out to your place—I and some other fellers.” ** What is your business with m>?” Jest a little law business. I’m Jeems Jobe, the sheriff, and I arrest you on this yer war- rant, “* Arrest me? Me? What for?” ““ Cattle-stealin’.” A cattle-stealing? What sort of joke is this’ “har ain’t no joke about it, It’s dead ‘arrest, as you'll find out.” ‘* But this is absurd. Why should I want to steal cattle? Ihave plenty of my own.” “Too many, some folks say, and that’s what's the matter.” “There is something wrong about this,” in- sisted Mr. Vintrey. “If it is not a joke, it must he a mistake. Is it really a warrant that you bave there?” “You jest bet it is. Thar you see it in black an’ white, with Jedge Toler’s name at the bot- tom. Come along and see him, now, and don’t ite to make trouble, or you'll git the wust of t. As quite a crowd of men had collected about them, all of whom evidently sided with the sheriff, there was thy 3 for Mr. BAe A to do but to go with that oflicial, accompanied by the crowd. dge Toler, so-called, was found in his of- fice, a shanty adjoining one of Arkansaw Pete’s saloons, He was a short, bulky man, with a fat face, smal] eyes, and a bulbous red nose, Jim Jobe produced his prisoner, and handed the writ to Toler, who indorsed it, “ Sarved by ketchin’ bim and fetchin’ him.” “Now,” said the court, ‘we will hear the case of the people of Quartzville aginst Frank Vintrey, charged with cattle-stealin’.” “Tf you please,” remarked Mr. Vintrey, “as this is a strange and unexpected accusation, I would like to have the assistance of a lawyer.” “You don’t need to worry about a lawyer,” replied Toler. ‘Chance enough for that afore hangin’-time comes. This yer is only an exam- ination pro forma sine quinine. That’s Latin, and I reckon you don’t onderstand it; but the court does, and that’s enough. Whar’s the wit- ness, Blue Tophet?” One of the roughest of the crowd stepped for- ward, and Mr. Vintrey recognized him asa well- known cattle-thief and desperado, who was known in those parts as Bine Tophet. He was the same fellow with whom the ranchman had d the ‘‘little difficulty” about some stray steers, of which he spoke to Stephen Hersey. Mr. Vintrey jumped up, thoroughly angry. “T would like know,” he demanded, ‘« whether the evidence of such a rascal as that is to count against a respectable white man?” “Set right down, prisoner,” ordered Toler, “Tt is contempt of court to abuse the witnesses for the persecution, and it will only make-the thing wuss for you; so you had better keep quiet. Thé witness will tell bis story.” Blue Tophet proceeded to testify to the effect that in the fall of the previous year he bad been the owner of half a dozen steers, and that he was driving them to Quartzville for the purpose of selling them, when be was set upon by the bagel and two other men, who forcibly took cattle from him and drove them away. He Fearless Phil. es had since learned that the prisoner had sent the cattle to the East with a drove of his own. Mr. Vintrey asked the witness a number of questions; but, though he kept his eyes fixed on “aA ape he stuck stoutly to the story he had told. “The court is dry,” remarked Toler at the close of this cross-examination. ‘ Mr. Sheriff, step in next door and tell Tom to send me four fingers of the same.” The ranchman rose and made a little speech for himself, He said that he was known in those parts to be an honest, law abiding and responsible man, and that his word ought to be worth at least as much, if not a great deal more than the word of such a person as Blue Tophet, who was known to be neither honest nor law-abiding nor re- sponsible, The cattle in question, he stated, were stray steers of his own, and he could prove that they belonged to him by his foreman and others, if he should be allowed to send for them. When he hunted the cattle, and found Blue Tophet driving them off, he simply took possession of his own property, as he had a lawful right to do. To this there was no reply. The ‘four fin- gers of the same” which the court had ordered was brought in, and was speedily absorbed. “The fact is,” said Toler, ‘‘that this sort of thing has been goin’ on too long. A good many folks have wondered how it is that the ranch- men about yere raise so many cattle, and git rich off o' nothin’. A reliable witness has jest showed up one way they have of doin’ the trick. What the prisoner says for himself ain’t evi- dence, and don’t count. Thar’s only one wit- ness, and he’s for the persecution. So I must send the prisoner to jail, to stay thar ontil his reg’lar trial comes off.” Mr. Vintrey was astounded. He had under- stood that Quartzville was ‘‘run” by the hard cases of the town, but had not supposed that things were as bad as this. It seemed to him that Toler’s proceeding must be intended to ex- tort money from him, or for some worse pur- pose, and that it was useless to resist it or protest against it. He looked around for a friend or sympathizer, but found none. The room was filled with the rowdy element, and he could hardly t to find any friends in that town, as he did uot trade with its merchants, and was unknown in its saloons. But he saw in the front of the crowd a tall and large man whose appearance startled him. It was Arkansaw Pete, the man of his dream! The ranchman sprang forward, pointing his fingers excitedly at the tall man. ‘Ts it you, Jim Boyce?” he exclaimed. “Is this your doing? What infernal deviltry have you got on foot now?’ Arkansaw Pete started back and turned pale at this assault, but quickly recovered himself. ‘Ts there any man here named Jim Boyce?” he asked, as he looked around. “Looks as if the prisoner mought be a leetle off his nut,” remarked Toler. ‘‘Take him to the cooler, Mr. Sheriff.” Frank Vintrey was led away, followed by the erowd, to the Quartzville jail, a substantial log building. He had set out to search for his daughter, and had succeeded in getting into prison. CHAPTER VIII. WILD JIM, THE SOLITARY. Bert Oris and Phil Henning’s report of the disappearance of all the stock caused great con- sternation inthe camp. It was the general con- clusion that the enemies who had attacked them the night before had adopted that sneaking scheme in the belief that they would thus have the party at their merey, and would be able to capture them at their leisure. The two trainmen, who regarded being “‘ set afoot” as the greatest of evils, were utterly bewildered by the turn affairs had taken. “What can that man want of me, and why does he persecute us sof” despairingly exclaimed Mabel. ‘““We sreic a deuce of a pickle now,” said David Darke. But Phil Henning and Bert Otis were inclined to take a more cheerful view of the matter. “There is one consolation,” remarked Phil. “T couldn’t guess what we would ever do with the teams when we got into the hills; but we won't be bothered ahout that now, anyhow.” “That's so,” said Bert. ‘‘ We may say that rauitp foot loot, and ee ie LO erin teat e roves , rtba' could have happened to us. Among the hills and ravines we ought to be able to keep out of the reach ef those scoundrels, and I can’t see why we should not find our way to Mr. trey’s ranch,” “But how will we live while we are wander- ing among the hills?” asked Mabel. ** Oh, that is an easy question to answer, We will take a supply of provisions from the wagons, and if that gives out we have our rifks, Dave and I have traveled ever so far without coming in sight of a settlement.” : It was clear that it would never do to stay by the wagons and fight it out there, as their ene- mies, if so inclined, could easily cut them off from water, and their only chance of safety was to push on into tke hills. bis being settled, the sooner they were off the better. The men strapped blankets on their backs, loaded themselves with as much food as they could conveniently carry and a supply of am- munition, and the party trudged away toward the west, occasionally looking back gloomily at the wagons, Shortly after ay had passed out of sight of those monuments of disaster, they were aig he to a standstill by finding themselves at the edge of a canyon. It was not one of the monster canyons that excite the wonder of those who see them for the first time, and they could easily enough descry the bottom of the valley where a rapid stream tumbled over rocks and bowlders; but it was, as Bert Otis said, ‘‘ no slouch of a ravine,” and the side on which they found themselves was very difficult of descent. They scattered along the edge, looking for a break in the wall of rock, and Phil Henning was the first to find what was considered a practica- ble route. The men climbed down laboriously, but witb- out incurring serious danger, and Mabel’s task was considerably lightened by the assistance of Bert Otis, who stayed at her side and helped her over the worst pleces—an assistance which she seemed rather to court than to decline. So they safely reached the foot of the declivi ty, and were proud of the feat when they Jooked back at the point from which they had started, ‘‘Don’t you see that we are better off than we were with the wagons?” asked Phil. ‘If those scalawags bunt us again up ho they will never get their horses down here, and it will worry them to follow us, anyhow.” A‘ter a rest and a lunch they went on, work- ing their way down the valley. t was difficult‘and tedious traveling; but the consoled themselves with the reflection that it would also be difficult for others if they should be pursued, and that by am bob the course cf the stream they would probably be drawin nearer to the vicinity of Frank Vintrey ranch. As the day drew near its close they began to look about for a suitable shelter for the night, or at least for a better camping place than the stony bottom of the ravine afforded. Phil Henning, whose eyes were of the sha est, spied a hole in the rock, part way up the cliff, and called the attention of his companions oO it. ‘¢Buch holes often open into caverns of some size,” hesaid. ‘If that one does we may find a hiding place as well as a shelter.” “Provided that it is not already occupied by some wild beast,” suggested cautious David Darke. ‘« Well, it is worth looking into, and here goes for a squint at it.” Phil clambered up the rocks, followed by the others. Mabel, who insisted on going with the rest, was considerably assisted by Bert Otis. The hole was Jarger than it had seemed to be when they locked at it from below, and Phil erceived that he could easily enter it on bis ands and knees. He crawled in, and quickly whispered back to: those behind him: “Jt isa big hole, sure enough, and f believe there is a light in there, It looks like it, any- ow,” , He went in further, and called baek to his companions: ““T guess you may come in. This is ne wild beast’s den, I am pretty certain.” David Darke and one of the trainmen en- tered the hole, and Bert Otis’s curiosity was so strong that he could not help followin 1m. Phil, who was still in advance, stumbled over something, and feltofit. — It was ya of man's bandiwork. In fact, it was a ’ ~ “We must try to get a light somehow,” said: Phil “This hole is inhabited, or has been.” —
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Yes, it was inhabited, as they speedily had reason to know. The light which Phil had noticed quickly grew brighter, and from some recess in the rear darted out an old man, with white hair and long white beard, clothed in tattered garments. ln his left hand he held a vessel filled with melted ,in which floated a burning wick, and his face was red with passion. “Who are you?” he furiously demanded. ‘What are you doing here? Get out of my house!” The men he addressed were too much aston- ished to answer him immediately, and he seized with his right hand a cord that bung against the rock, “Do you see this string?” he shouted. ‘The walls of this place, right where you stand, are charged with blasting cartridges. If I pull the string, you will never know what hurt you. Get out, then, before I pull it!” David Darke made a step forward, and spoke in calm and persuasive tones, “Listen tome a moment, old man. I want you to make no mistake about us. We are qaiet, peaceable and decent people, who mean uo barm to you or anybody else. We did not know that you lived here, as we discovered this place by accident. Weare endeavoring to es- cape froma band of rascally white men, who attacked our camp night before last, and killed our leader. Last night they ran off our horses and cattle, and we were obliged to leave our wagons on the plain and come down here afoot. Weonly ask a shelter for the night, and are will ing to pay for it.” “T want none of your money, and I want none of you,” fiercely replied the old man. ‘‘ Look out there, all of youl I can see every move you make. If one of you tries to lifta weapon, I will pull the string and send the whole pack of you into eternity.” “There is a young lady with us,” pleaded Darke—“‘a tender and delicate girl. Those ruffians are pa a capture her, and it is for her sake that we ask a shelter.” Mabel had followed Bert Otis into the cavern, unseen by him. She now stepped quickly for- ward, and fell at the old man’s feet. “ Have pity on me!” she implored. Cre ee by Villains, and am in sore erp. ] He lowered his light, bent forward, and gazed earnestly in her face, Then he dropped the string. “You may stay,” he said very softly. ‘‘ May the others stay?’ she asked. ‘They may all stay. I will put this string out of the way before it does danger. You must pardon my rudeness, nity ne I have tried to keep this place a secret. en know me as Wild Jim, and some call me Crazy Jim; but none of them know my bome. But you are welcome for the sake of this sweet child.” He took Mabel’s face in both his h nds, and tears came into his eyes as be gazed at her. “T am of CHAPTER IX. MORE TROUBLE FOR MABEL. “FKottow me,” said Wild Jim, as he gave Mabel his arm, and led the way toward the back part of the cavern. After proceeding a short distance, he turned to the left, and entered a larger and higher apartment, in which were several articles of ae ae a trunk, and many blankets and SKINS 3 “Tt is damp here,” be said. it, and don’t mind it; but child we must have a fire.’ He took wood from a pile in the corner, and soon had a brisk fire burning against the rock, casting a cheerful light into every corner of the cavern. Supper followed, and then the old man asked David Darke for the particulars of the attack and pursuit of which he bad spoken. The entire story was told to bim, and he be- eame almost frantic when the name of Arkan- saw Pete was mentioned, uttering the most thy imprecations against the king of Quartz- ville. “ Villain is too good a name for that infernal fiend,” he exclaimed. ‘lt was he who ruined “T am used to tor the sake of this my life and made me what lam. I was mining not far from here with my son, as fine a young man as ever lived. We had good luck, he end I, and worked hard, and were fairly prosper- ous. One say, tier Ma took a bag of gold, and went to Qua © to make some hases. That infernal fiend had just opened a gambling- ‘house in the town, and my Ben was ed to go there and play. He soon saw that he was i ES Fearless Phil. = ee being shamefully swindled, and exposed the cheat. That cursed scoundrel at once drew a istol and shot him dead, and the bullies and oafers of Quartzville upheld him in the coward- ly murder. “Tt upset me. I was wild for a while, and I now fancy that at times 1am not right in my head. But you may judge whether I have cause to hate that wretch. I will be rer on him yet. I don’t know when; but the time is sure to come.” As the fugitives were weary after their toil- some tramp, they made couches of skins and blankets, and laid down to sleep, thankful for Mabel’s sake that they had found so good and safe a shelter. If the scoundrels who had been persecuting them should capture their deserted camp that night, they at least could not descend into the ravine, or make any other attempt to follow them before morning, . Wild Jim was astir at an early hour in the ah in spite of the darkness of the cavern, and Phil Henning also jumped up, as he had a task in view which he wished to attend to at once, His purpose was, as he believed Mabel to be safe for the present, to set out and find her father’s ranch, intending to return with horses and assistance and take her to her new bome, He explained this purpose to the others. “Tt will be a Jong tramp,” he said, ‘‘and I can’t guess when I will get back.” “You need not make ita tramp,” said the old man, who was then on the best of terms with his visitors, ‘1 bave two horses concealed down the canyon, and you are welcome to use one or both of them,” The old man also had a general idea of the location of Frank Vintrey’s ranch. He directed Phil to keep on down tke canyon until he should come to a break caused by a stream that came in from the west. He was to follow up the break, and near its head be would find a trail that would lead him to Vintrey’s ranch, or to some place where he could get further direc- tions. He showed Phil where the horses and their a age could be found, and the lad took Han eir, one of the trainmen, and set out on his journey, leaving Mabel joyful in the — of soon meine ber father, n the course of the morning Wild Jim de- veloped a remarkable and almost childlike curiosity concerning his guests, He asked Mabel her name, her father’s full nama, her mother’s maiden name, and many particulars about her home at the East. He was ee, inquisitive, if not’ more so concerning rt Otis, and David Darke, an Tom Mab hy the remaining trainman, were put through a similar course of questionings. Then he turned again to Mubel, whom he could not admire sufficiently, declaring that in his younger days he had seen just such a face, and it seemed that he would never tire of ques- tioning Bert Otis concerning bis people in Ohio, They submitted to this good-humoredly, as to the whim of.an eld man who was a little ‘‘eracked,” but had been very kind to them, “You are a nice pair,” he said, and the remark made Mabel blush, while Bert looked not a little confused. ser Mabel, on her part, was a little inquisitive. ‘““Where does the smoke go to?” she asked, looking wonderingly at the fire, E ‘It finds its way out tbrougb a crack in the rock,” replied the old man. ‘‘ Water comes in through the same crack; but it gets out by another crack.” “ Are you always alone here, sir?” “Not quite. There is an Indian boy who stays with me—an outcast from a tribe that used to roam about here, I picked bim up when he was starving, and named him Pedro, and be is faithful to me. He has now gone to Cbhuckaluck for supplies.” . “Do you. expect to live and die here?’ she asked again. ‘‘T am living here, as you see, and I give my- self no trouble about where or how I shail die, I feel sure that I will not die until my son’s murderer is punished, and that is enough.” All this was rather monotonous to Tom Wiley, who went to the mouth of the cavern early in the afternoon and posted himself where he could look out in the valley. He had been there but an hour or so when he came running in to bis companions with the re- port that a number of men were coming down ~ must be searching for us,” exclaimed Mabel. ‘I am afraid that they may come up here and find us.” 7" 7 ‘*Rest easy, my dear child,” replied the old man; ‘there is no danger of that.” ‘‘But they may be attracted by the hole in the rock, as we were,” suggested Darke, ‘We will soon settle that matter. Come with me. Close to the opening was a fiat stone, which could be easily moved, and which, when maser in position, so nearly filled the hole that it was not at all likely to be noticed from below. Through the chinks that were left they watched the party that was coming down the canyon—all except Mabel, who shuddered at the thought of seeing her persecutors. ‘Nobody doubted that the men in the canyon were Arkansaw Pete’s ruffians, They could not be prospectors or hunters, and the leading man walked as if he was following a trail, while the others looked about on both sides, carefully ex- amining tal rock and crevice in the canyon. If there had been any question on this point it would have been settled by the action of the party when they came opposite to the cavern. They stopped there and looked up at the bluff so keenly that those inside might well be ex- cused for stepping back as if fearful of being discovered. They were so close too that nearly every word they said could be plainly heard by the watch- ers , ‘This is one of the cussedest trails I ever struck,” remarked the leader. ‘Arter nigh breakin’ our necks to git down yer, we’ve got a trail that leads over rocks, and stuns, and don’t leave no show.” ‘‘Durned if I believe they came this way,” said another. “They did, though. I’ve picked up a sign yer and thar; but sometimes I git stumped, ez 1 am y jest now, Ne ay they’ve tuck to the water to hide the ail. Tbhar’s » woman with ‘em, and it will be queer if we don’t ketch up.” The speaker again looked closely at the bluff, and led the way down the canyon. Arkansaw Pete was not in the party; Bert Otis was sure of that. ‘‘I am giad of it,” said the old man, ‘I en ct have been tempted to shoot him down, and that would have given up the secret of this hiding-place.” Toward nightfall the Indian boy, Pedro, came in with supplies from Chuckaluck, and was both surprised and pleased to find strangers in the cavern. Another migee was passed in peees and safety, and the next day Mabel began to look anxiously and impatiently for the return of Phil Henning with ber fatber. It was near the close of the day when Phil and Hank Weir arrived. They were loaded with provisions, but no person accompanied bem. *¢ What is the matter!” eagerly demanded Ma- bel. ‘Did you find the place? Did you see my father?” ‘We found the place,” slowly replied Phil; “but we did not see your father, @ was not at the ranch.” ‘“Where was he? Did you leave word for him? When shall I see him? Will he come here for me, or will you take me to him?” Phil was in no burry to answer, and there was a troubled look in his face that made Mabel change color. ‘* What ts the matter?” she again demanded. “There is something wrong, I am sure. Is my father alive?’ “*T believe he is.” ‘You believe he is, about him, then? Phil Henning?’ “Lam going to tell you. The fact is, Miss Mabel, that your father isin trouble. It is a bad piece of business, and I must beg you to sit down and be quiet and bear it as well as you can. ‘*Go on, Phil,” she said in a despairing tone, ‘‘T heard it all from Mr. Hersey, bis foreman, Your father bad a bad dream about you and the train. Indeed, be saw in bis dream what really happened. Why don’t you tell me Do you want to kill me, search of you. He had bardly reached the town when he was arrested on a charge of cat- tle-stealing.” “ Arrested for cattle-stealing? My father?’ “Just so. One of the men employe cndipe ranch was_in Quartzville, and he news to Mr, Hersey. The charge f something that occurred nearly # ‘*If they have, we will pick it up arter a bit. . ey It troubled him so that Le’ mounted bis horse and rode into Quartzville, intending to inquire about you or to go in
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a known thief was the only witness. There is every reason to believe that the arrest was the work of Arkansaw Pete,” * That Laity age Why does he pursue us 50%” *No doubt has a grudge against your father. In fact, Mr. Vintrey charged bim with the dirty work, and called him by a name which nobody there had heard before. It was Jim Boyce.” ‘Jin. Boyce!” exclaimed Mabel, starting up. “Tf that is the man, he surely hasa grudge against both of us.” “Mr. Hersey thought,” continued Phil, ‘and I believe your friends here will think SO, too, that it will be best for you to pes New a you are safe for a while, until—until—something can be done,” “I suppose you are right. Where is my father now?’ ‘*In the Quartzville jail.” ae “We must get him out of there,” said Bert tis, ag ‘Of course we must,” responded David Darke. a CHAPTER X. TWO INTERVIEWS, FRANK VINTREY found bis imprisonment in Quartzville worse than monotonous. His anxiety concerning the fate of bis daugh- ter and the plottings of the man whom he be- lieved to be the cause of his trouble was ex- treme, and vearly drove him frantic, He was guarded like a man who had been convicted of murder, and upon whom the ‘‘death-watch '' is set. Two armed men were constantly in the room with him and a sentry was stationed at the outer door of the jail. {f he bad any friends in that town they were afraid to show their sympathy, or even to go near him, He had endeavored to secure the services of a lawyer, but had been bluntly told by one of his guards that there was no lawyer in Quartzville mean enough to take the side of a cattle thief, Tois meunt that nobody dared to befriend bim. But he had a visitor before long—no other than Arkansaw Pete, the King of Quartaville, who turned the guards out of the room, closed the door, and quietly seated himself, “It is you, then, Jim Boyce!” exclaimed Vintrey. ‘“‘I thought so, I recognized you as s00n as I saw you in that bogus court-room.” ‘Between you and me,” replied his visitor, ‘*Y don’t mind admitting that you were right; though Judge Toler would be bard on you it he knew that you bad called his court a bogus one,”’ “T suppose, then, that you are working out ati Old grudge. How long is this ching to /ast, and how far do you expect to carry it? You know well enough that I never stole any cattle.” “Do I? The proof was pretty plain, and that seems to me to be a question for a judge and a jury. But [ think I have influence enough to get you out of the scrape, if you will agree to my terms,” ‘Your terms?) What are your terms, then? Let me know the extent of your deviltry.” “JT don’t think it deserves to be called devil. try. You are expecting your daughter on hore from the East.” A look of horror came into Frank Viutrey’s face. “My daughter!” he exclaimed, have you to do with her?” ‘Not as much now as I hope to have here- after. My proposition is that she shall become my wife.” “Your wife? Yours? Do you mean it?’ meee demanded the ranchman. “Yes, honestly and fairly.” “Ag it there was any hovesty or fairness about you—you, who ought to be in the Ohio State prison.” “TI suppose I would be there now, Frank Vintrey, if you had your will. You sent me there once.” “Yes, because you robbed me.” “That's what the jury said. But I stayed only a little while in that State prison. When I get out I hunted up your , whom I head always been fond of. [told bor that I had *¢ What eee te eet een OEE SRN EL me ane fe Gaertn gtt tt ee meme t e a a en ee ee a Fearless Phil. SaaS NE cn a eaP ear eae a heavy grudge against you, and offered paper a wipe it off the slate if she would marry me,” ** Really!” sneered Mr. Vintrey. ‘Yes, I was disposed to be liberal. But she flew at me like a spitfire, called me a thief and a State prison bird, and all that sort of thing, and vowed that she would not even wipe her foot upon the hand I offered her.” ‘*So that gave you another grudge tosettle.” “Just so. Iwas bound to get even with both of you, if the chanee ever came, and it has come. Istraggled out here as Pete Bolger, and got the name of Arkansaw Peto. I don’t | know why, as I never set foot in Arkansaw; but it hasserved me well. You see that [ am quite willing to give you the points of my game. I am now a rich man—rich and powerful—and I make you a fair offer to marry your daugh- ter and call it square on all old grudges.” “T would rather see her in her grave,” sternly replied Mr. Vintrey. “Very well, You can a miullsh about it if you want to, but that won’t pay. If you re- fuse to give her to me, I will bave to take her.” ‘*You have already tried that,” exclaimed the ranchman. ** What do you mean?” ‘** You tried it the other night when you at- tacked the camp where she was, at the bead of a gang of scoundrels disguised as Indians, and | killed her uncle.” | Arkansaw Pete turned pale, and stared bard | at the speaker. ‘‘How do you know that?’ he demanded, ‘She can’t have got to your ranchso soon, nor could you heard from her, if she had got there, Who told you that story?’ “Tt is enough that I know it,” replied Mr. Vintrey, perceiving that he had scored a hit, and rightly judging that Arkansaw Pete had not yet succeeded in capturing Mabel. ‘‘ You missed your stroke that time, and you had bet- ter not try any more rascally games, as the day of reckoning is sure to come.” “You are talking foolishness, Frank Vin- trey,” said the other, who was again calm and cool. * Don’t you know that I am the King of Quartzville?: I run this town, and am mon- arch of all I survey. You will be hung for cattle-stealing, if I say the word, or I can break up your business, and ruin you.” “And you propose to go straight ahead with your deviltry unless you marry my daughter?’ ‘That is about the size of it.” “Do your worst, then! You sbafl never even look at her if I can help it.” “You will be sorry for this, Frank Vin- trey,” said the King of Quartzviile, as he rose togo. ‘*As you refuse a fair offer, I shall take my own way of getting what I want.” He called the guards, and went out, leaving the prisoner in a very uncomfortabie frame of mind. At about the same time, an event of some interest was taking place at the Gold Brick saloon. Dan Gilligan, the barkeeper, was alone and lonesome. It was two or three hours since be had seen a customer, and he had exhausted all his expedients for passing the time. “’m gittin’ durned tired of this,” he mut- tered. ‘A feller might as well be in jail as shut up here; and it don't look like goin’ straight, nohow, to stand in with sech a set as Arkansaw Pete and his gang. Though Lain’t crooked, ’'m mixed up with a crooked crowd, Reckon the best thing for me will be to leak out and float away. Hello! here comes some- body at last.” A tall and swarthy man entered the shanty, acd stepped up to the bar. At the sight of him Dan Gilligan's eyes opened wide, and a broad smile spread over his face. “ Blest if it ain’t Mr. Darke!” he exclaimed. The stranger also recognized the barkeeper, and beld out bis hand. “Why, Dan Gilligan! Iam glad to see you. I had never thought of meeting you out here,” “Nor I you, sir; but here we both are, and what'll you take?’ Joe <0 = enema ae tap “Tf you have any whisky that won't kill on sight, I will sample it.” Both sampled the fluid, and Dan begged his visitor to sit down and have a chat, “Tt is all-fired lonesome here,” he said, “and I was just thinkin’ about quittin’ this place and floatin’ off. When any folks do come in, it is a bad crowd.” “I hope you haven't gone wrong again, Dan,” remarked David Darke, “Not a bit of it, sir. When you got me out of that bad serape at the East I promised you that I would never go crooked again, and I have kept my word. But this place belongs to Arkansaw Pete, and the wust of his crowd come here, and it is bad enough to serve out drinks to that sort and know too much of their goia’s on.” ““I suppose you know considerable about their performances,” said Darke, musingly. ‘““By the way, Dan, you are just the man I want to help me in acertain matter, if I can get you.’ ‘‘Help you, sir? J help you? If Icando that, it is the best news I bave heard for many aday. You can depend on Dan Gilligan, Mr, Darke, to the last drop of blood in his body,” “But in this affair, Dan, you would bave to go dead against Arkansaw Beto,” ‘‘ All the better for that, He is a bard rock to run ag’inst; bat I am ready enough to break with him and his gang. What’s the biz, Mr. Darke?” “In the first place there is something about a wagon train from the East, and a girl, and an attack by white men cisguised as Indians. Perhaps you bave heard of it,” “ Heard of it? I know all aboutit. It was fixed up in this room, and they started from here.” ‘Dan, that girl is a particular friend of a partic ular friend of w ine, and he and I helped to fight off those scoundrels,” ‘“‘Thunderation! If ('d known that, wouldn’t I ha’ put a spider in their dumplin’? But they didn’t git her.” ““No, and she is safe for the present. It is her father who is in trouble now. Arkansaw Pete bas had him arrested on a false charge of cattle-stealing and locked up in the Quartzville jail.” ‘‘T know about that, too, Mr. Darke. Whea I heard that the girl’s father bad been locked up, I put this and that together, and ’twas easy to guess that ’twas on her account, Everybody knows that Mr. Vintrey is a square man, aud the cuss who swore eg’inst him is meaner’n a coyote. Arkansaw Pete is up to such games, and that one disgusted me so that I am keen to quit. What are you goin’ to do about it, sir?’ “My friend and I have come here for the purpose of getting Mr. Vintrey out of that jail, and you can help us if you will. - ‘“-You can bet on me, Mr. Derke, and I am likely to be able to do as much as either of you,” ‘When can you get off from here, Dan?” ‘‘Right now. Iam goin’ to leave this whisky- mill, and never see the inside of it again.” Dan Gilligan put on his coat, took his revol- ver and cartridges, and stepped behind the bar. “Tt almost seems as if I ought to clean out the money drawer,” he remarked. ‘*No, Dan, Don’t give anybody such a hold on you as that. Come on, if you are ready, I want you to show us where to bide our horses, and as you are going with us we'll need another horse.” ‘All right, sir. There’s a splendid crittur here that a man named Sam Spurl left.” ; Dan locked the saloon on the outside, and put the key under the step, and on the un- painted door he scrawled these words: “ This Bare is Shot Up.” CHAPTER XI. ESCAPE AND DISASTER. Ir was night, and late at night; but sleep and silence had vot extensively settled dowa
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! Fearless Phil. + wpos the stirring town of Quartzville. Tho real life of the place did not begin until after dark, when the miners and cowboys flocked in for dissipation and excitement. The Quartzville jail was notin what may be Sam smacked his lips as he passed the whisky. **My gullet was nigh growed together,” he said; “but that opened it up right quick. Seems, though, it has a sorter queer tasta called the “ business” part of the town. It | Don’t you think so, Bill?” was within hailing distance of the glaring ‘* Mebbo it does taste a leetle pecooliar,” re- lights of its drinking-saloons and gambling- | plied the other; ‘‘ but I’m too human a critter houses, but was comparatively secluded and | to ever find fault with whisky.” ‘solitary. Though business had brought Dan Gilligan | The sentry who was stationed in front of the | to the jail, he seemed to be in no burry to at- door sighed as he paced his beat with his rifle | tend to it. He did not proceed to ‘'dentify on his shoulder, and occasionally looked long- | the prisoner,” nor did he even look at him, ingly at the lights which spoke to him of jolly | but entered into a chatty conversation with crowds, | the two guards, who soon finished the bottle. It would be so much better to be there, he | After a while they began to yawn, stretch thought, than guarding a gloomy Jail. their hands, rub their eyes, and show in vari- The only animate object that could interest | ous ways that drowsiness was overpowering him about there wasa large and handsome dog, | them. which came trotting up the street, stopped in Dan watched them, ‘slowing up” in his front of the jail, took a good look at it, and | talk, until Sam fell from his seat to the floor, went on. and lay there. “ Splendid dog that,” remarked the man. The other, who was not quite so far gone, In a few minutes the dog came trotting | roused himself, and stared at Dan with sleepy back, went nearer to the jail, passed around | eyes, it, returned, took another look at the build- “W'ot’s er matter?’ he drowsily asked. ing, and seemed inclined to remain in the | ‘‘Hev yer been a-p’isonin’ of ust” vicinity. “Not a bit of it, Bill,” answered Dan. ‘“‘ Wonder what that dog is hangin’ around ‘¢Then it’s some durned hocus,” here for,” sald the sentry. ‘‘ Wish I owned Bill rose from his seat, and Dan rose at the that dog. Never saw him in Quartaville | same time. afore, MaybeI can coax him up and ketch The young man passed his arm around the him,” body of the guard, tripped him, and laid bim He tried various blandishments such as are | gently on the floor, where he was soon quiet supposed to prevail with dogs; but this one, | enough. though he wagged his tail and did not appear to ‘« What does this mean?” demanded Mr, Vin- be unfriendly, kept well out of the reach of | trey, as Gilligan turned and faced him. his perfidions flatterer, “Tt means, sir, that your friends have come Tbe attention of the sentry was then at- Hollow me, and tracted to a young man who came walking down the street and approached the jail. A warning bail brought him to a halt. “Why, don’t you know me, Bill Quaid?’ he asked, The sentry lowered his rifle. “Its Dan Gilligan,” said be. “Glad to see you, my boy. How’s the Gold Brick, and what are you doin’ yer at this time of night?” “Tbe Brick is all right, Bill, and I am here on biz,” “ Queer sort of biz it must be.” “Not very. The bors sent me to ’dentify the prisoner in there—to see if I know him, | backer,” be said. 30's I can be « witness aginst him.” Placing his rifle against the door, he went “The boss,” was one of the titles of Arkan- | down into his pockets for a plug of tobacco saw Pete, and Bill Quaid respected it acoord- | and a knife, and helped himself liberally. ingly. As Dan was a barkeeper for “the As he turned to get his rifle he was startled boss,” his word was sufficient. by a savage grow], and saw the big dog which “That’s all right, Dan,” said Quaid. ‘I | he bad coveted facing bim, and showing a dan- say, Dan, as you are a barkeeper, you might | Berous set of teeth. have a bit of whisky bandy.” He reached again for the rifle, and the dog Dan produced a bottle, and the sentry took | made a fiercer demonstration. a hasty swig. “Seems like that dog don’t want me to “I shall have to lock you in,” he said, as he | touch that gun,” he said. ‘ Wonder if he opened ths door, ‘* Knock when you want to really means it?” come out.’”? A few feints toward the rifle convinced him Gilligan went at once to the room in which | that the dog really did mean it. Mr, Vintrey was confined, “Maybe he’s mad,” muttered the drowsy That gentleman lay on a rude bed, with his | sentry, ‘‘ Reckon a pistol bullet will fix him, clothes on, apparently asleep. The two guards | anyhow.” were nodding on chairs against the wall, But, as he moved his hand toward his pistol All of them, including the prisoner, started belt, the dog darted forward, as if ready to up when Gilligan entered, and the guards ex- | spring at his throat. pressed both pleasure and surprise at seeing “He won’t have that, either,” said Bill him there. Quaid, ‘Looks like I’m treed. Queer dog “The Boss told me to come and ‘dentify the | that. I may as well sit downa bit, and maybe prisoner here,” replied Dan. he'll go away.” “I wonder now, Danny,” said a guard, “‘if | He sat down and fell into a doze, anda man you’ve got a bit of the Gold Brick about you, | stepped from the sbadow of the building and lyin’ around loose in your pockets or tied up | watched him. in anythin’,” The sentry awoke in a start. “Pve got a bit of it wrapped up in glass- “ There’s that cussed dog yet,’’ he muttered. ware,” be answered, as he produced his bottle. | ““Reckon I'll have to holler for help. I feel « Bill Quaid outside took'a turn at it, and you | powerful sleepy, somehow. Don’t know what’s are welcome to what is left if you want | got into me.” it. Reckon you find it right tiresome here, Three raps on the door within startled him, to take you out of this place. step up lively.” Mr. Vintrey, nearly overcome by joy and surprise, at once followed bis deliverer to the front door, at which Dan gave three distinct raps. In the meantime a somewhat different scene had been acted outside. The sentry, though he bad not drank heavi- ly of Dan’s “doctored” whisky, found himself growing ‘drowsy, and paced his. beat’ more rapidly to keep awake, But bis drowsiness in- creased, ‘“Reckon Vl have to take a chaw o’ ter- boys.” and he staggered to his feet. “+ Mighty slow,” said one of the guards, as “ All right, Dan,” he said, aa be felt in his he raised the bottle to his lips, pocket for the key. At that instant two men irushed swiftly and “Hold on, Sam!” cried the other, as the h siloatly from the two sides of the house, seized contents of the bottle disappeared rapidly. eer on ee ee ener tn eo tem tm ter 8 0 nest eeny stem eh a some onan eee renee ae stern ea 9 eee ctor = te eeuereeemewe ete es oe oy ——— aera ee eneiee s him, and bound and gagged him before he could utter a cry. “Quiet, now, Rip!” said the younger of the two, as he pulled out the key and opened the jail door. Dan Gilligan emerged, followed by Mr, Vintrey. ‘Who are you, and what does this mean?” asked that gentleman. ‘“We are triends of your daughter, sir, and have come to take you to her,” replied Bert Otis. ‘‘ Please hurry, sir, as there is not a bit of time to lose.” A glance at the two men assured Mr, Vin trey that they did not belong to Arkansaw Pete’s crowd, and he followed them without further question. They had to run about a hundred yards 4e a hollow where their horses were concealed. As they crossed the road they heard shoats at a little distance. As they emerged from the hollow and mounted, they heard the’ clattering of hoofs coming from the direction of Quartaville, “They are after us,” said Das. “Quick work that, Follow me, now, I know the short cuts, and can give those cusses the slip.” Dan took the lead, and struck off into the hills at the north, soon reaching a ravine which seemed to be impassable in the darkness, But he pushed bis horse into it, skilltully winding his way among the obstructions, followed closely by the others in single file. Before reaching the head of this ravine be turned sharply to the left, ascended a wooded ridge, and kept along its summit for a little distance. Then he desceuded to another rav- ine, which was traversed with comparative ease, and finally brought the party out in what may be called their own canyon. Their pursuers were powhere in sight or hearing, nor had anything been seen or beard of them since leaving tbe first ravine. : “We did give’em the slip,” said Dan, as the party came toa halt, ‘They must ha’ beaded nor’west, while we have been goin’ about nor'- east. We are all right now, But--hellol— one, two, three—wwhar's the fourth man ?” CHAPTER XII. PHIL AS A FORLORN HOPE, ALL looked about in amazement, and per- ceived for the first time that Bert Otis was not with them! The nigbt was so dark, and all had been so closely occupied in picking their way and fol- lowing their leader, that they had not thought of each other, and the absence of Otis was a blow quite unlooked for, jf ‘He may bave straggled bebind,” suggested Darke. ‘‘ Let us wait bere a while, and he may come up,” ; They waited, but he did not come up, and a sense of calamity settled down upon them heavily. ‘‘When did you see bim last, Mr. Darke?” asked Dan Gilligan. “T bave not seen him since we struck the ravine where we bad such rough work, You were in the lead, Mr, Vintrey next, I was third, and Bert brought up the rear, He was well able to take care of bimself, and I never thought of looking after him.” ‘‘Each of us had as much as be could do to look after himself, and that’s a fact.” “ What do you suppose has become of him?” “ Well, sir, I reckon he has either lost his way, or his borse has tumbled, or they’ve gob him.” ‘That last thought is terrible, Dan, I am | going back to look for him.” ‘No you won't, sir, beggin’ your pardon for” plain speakin’.. You would be sure to lose your way, and the chances are that you would git picked up by the Quartzville crowd,” “T can't bear to go on without him, Dan,” «But you’ve got it to do, sir. Nothin’ can be done to-night. I cenldn’t begin to foller our track back, myself. We must trust to Inck and to-morrer. I bope the young geutleman
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‘They will use him horribly. ~ better go alone. wise ‘bas only lost his way, and will show up afore ” " David Darke was convinced against bis will, and rode on with the others, sadly and silently, After a while he roused himself, and satis- fied Mr. Vintrey’s curiosity by telling that gentleman who he and his friend were, and how they had happened to join John Hackett’s train. He then gave a full account of their subsequent adventures, down to the expedition to Quartzville. “ It is to you brave fellows, then,” said Mr. Vintrey, “that I owe the safety of my daugh- ter, and my own liberty, if not my life. And now one of you, I am afraid, is in yet greater danger than I was in, and on my account. He shall be saved, if it is possible to save him. The ranchmen about here will make common cause against the scoundrels who run the town ‘of Quartzville. They are bound to do it. They have been plundered and bulldozed too long. { will start out in the morning and get them together.” - That was all very well, David Darke sadly reflected; but it would take time, and in the meanwhile what would become of poor Bert Otis? The party reached Wild Jim’s hiding-place before morning, and the meeting between Mr, Vintrey and bis daughter was a joyful one. Mabel’s delight was unbounded. She not only saw her father for the first time after a jong separation, but he had just been rescued from a great danger. She kissed David Darke’s hand, and covered it with tears. “ But what is the matter?’ she asked, ob- serving his sad face and downcast eyes, ‘‘ Has anything happened? Where—where is your friend? Whereis Bert?” ‘* He is lost!” ‘Lost? Then those villains have caught him. How could you lose him? Merciful Heaven! this terrible. We are no sooner clear ot one trouble than another comes. They will kill him, Mr. Darke. They will murder him. Father, can nothing be done to save him?’ “‘T will do all I can,” replied Mr. Vintrey. “TI am going to set out as soon as possible to raise the ranchmen, and I think they will be ready enough to fight. But, as Mr. Darke says, that will take time.” “He must be saved!” cried Mabel. is killed, it will break my heart.” “But, Mabel, my dear child, everything that is possible shall be done.” “Something must be done quickly,” said David Darke. ‘I will set out at daylight, and will ride to Quartzville. I will save my friend, er will perish with him.” Phil Henning stepped forward, and laid his hand on Darke’s arm. “That is hardly the right way to talk, sir,” said he. ‘“‘ We have no lives to throw away to please those scoundrels. You bad better leave that job to me, Mr. Darke.” “Tf you want to go with me, Phil, I will be to have your company.” “ That’s not what I said, sir. “Tf he I think I had You are pretty well tired out, and I am fresh. Some people in Quartz- ville might recoguize you, and it is not at all whikely that anybody there knows my face. Two would be of no more use than one in that crowd, and they might get in each other's way. ™ You all know me, friends, and I hope you can trust me, though I am a young chap.” It was clear enough that all were disposed to trust him to the fullest extent, and David Darke was finally persuaded to allow Phil to . undertake the enterprise alone, especially as Mabel expressed the greatest confidence in the youth, and declared that no person could do more to save Otis than he could. ; Phil proceeded to disguise himself to some extent, not that he feared he might be recog- _ wized, but because he wished to present such an appearance as would satisfy the ordinary Quartaville rounder, © With the aid of some of Wild Jim’s old ee ee ner eee tins <=. : meme d ~ = -: aecanee — ; Ed mnnes css rags, @ liberal supply of: dirt, and a smashed hat, he transformed himself into such a loafer as might well pass muster in Quartzville, and before daylight he was ready to start. “JT shall want the best horse I can get,” be said. “Take mine,” said Dan Gilligan. ‘‘ It is the boss crittur, I am goin’ to ride part of the way with you and try to cover the ground we passed over last night; but it won’t be safe for me to go nigh Quartzville.” Phil left the cavern, followed by the tearful prayers of Mabel and the best wishes of all. Dan accompanied him the greater part of the distance, following as near as he could the route he had taken in the night, but they saw no trace of Bert Otis. ' Within a mile or so of Quartzville Dan pressed his companion’s hand, wishing him food luck, and the daring young fellow went on alone, SHAPTER XIIL QUARTZVILLE LAW. DAN GinuIGAN had given it as his opinion that Bert Otis had lost his way, or his horse had fallen, or he bad been captured. Two of éhesewontingencies bad occurred. Riding in the rear of his party, he had dis- covered, shortly after they entered the first ra- vine, that his horse was lame, He would not for a moment think of: pre- venting or retarding the escape of his friends, so he made no mention to them of this misfor- tune, though he feared that he would not be able to keep pp with them. This fear soon became a certainty. The lameness of bis horse increased, and he. Jost sight of those ahead of him. At the same time he could hear the pursuers coming on rap- idly. He was about to abandon his borse and trust to his feet and the darkness, when the animal suddenly stumbled and fell, throwing his rider over his head. Bert was stunned by the fall, and when he recovered his senses he found himself a pris- oner in the hands. of two men, who, as he could not doubt, belonged to Arkansaw Pete’s gang. ““So you’ve come around, my gay galoot,” said one of them, “I was beginnin’ to be afeard that we mought miss the fun of hangin’ yer.” Bert felt for his pistol, but of course it was gone, “Hope ye didn’t think we was green enough to take any chances on yer,” chuckled his cap- tor. ‘‘Not much, We hain’t bad a hangin’ bee in Quartzville now for quite a while. Come along, sonny, and don’t try no tricks.” Bert was mounted bebind one of his captors, around whose waist his arms were passed, and his wrists were securely tied. The other brought up the rear, leading the lame horse, which was pronouneed ‘‘ wuth savin’.” The captive understood from their talk, as they went along, that the rest of the Quartz ville horsemen had gone on in pursuit of the fugitives, leaving kim in charge of the two men who had the poorest horses. The journey to Quartzville was a slow and | tedious one, and was peculiarly unpleasant to Bert; but the procession at last reached the town, and the prisoner was consigned to the jail, the door of which he had left open with the key in it. Both the drugged guards had been taken away, with the bound and gagged sentry at the door, and Bert and the two men who bad brought him there were the only occupants’ of the prison. His prospect was far from a cheering one; but be bad reason to hope that his friends had got away safely—and in that there was much consolation. There was no use in fretting. If it came to the worst, he would meet his fate like a man, ‘and why should he worry about what he could not help? — es With this reflection he laid down on, the rude bed, and was soon sound asleep, Early in the morning one of his captors brought him a hot and substantial breakfast, “ Ez Laliow to go an’ see yer bung to-day,” | said tbe, man, “1 ort to pay su’thin’ fur the sight; so I’ve brought yer some first-class. | grub.” | It was quite a good breakfast for Quartz- ville, and Bert ate it heartily and enjoyed it | thorougbly. | At about nine o'clock he was taken into town | by a strong guard, and was soon surrounded by a crowd of rough-looking men, who eyed him maliciously, and made remarks upon his personal appearance that were intended, to be severely sarcastic. It was clear to him that he would find no friends jn Quartzville. Well, he had not expected to find any. He was taken into the office of ‘ Judge” Toler, but not for the purpose of a legal exam- ination by or before that magistrate. Arkansaw Pete bad returned from the pur- suit of the fugitives, as one of his followers expressed it, ‘‘chuck full of cuss.” He was tearfully angry because he had lost them, and determived to vent his wrath upon the one prisoner who bad fallen into his hands, He said, and caused his words to be repeated on the street, that aman who would help a | cattle-thief to break jail was worse than a cattle-thief, and hanging was too good for him. If outside galoots were to walk into the Quartz- ville jail and walk off with its prisoners, there was no use talking about law and justice any more. Anexample was needed, and the pris- oner was a fitting example, especially as he and his partners had poisoned the guards in the jail, so that at ove time they were not ex- pected to live. The course of the law was too slow and uncertain for such an offender, and nothing but a lynch court could be relied on to do justice speedily and surely. This was the substance of the King of Quartzville’s arguments, as repeated in various forms by his followers, and the result was that when Bert Otis was taken into Toler’s office he found everything arranged there for the exe- cution of lynch Jaw. A burly ruffian sat in Toler’s seat as the representative of Judge Lynch, and twelve ‘‘rounders,” who looked as if they deserved hanging, occupied a bench as a jury. The respectable people of Quartzville kept aloof from Arkansaw Pete and all his proceed. ings as much as they could, satisfied if they were left alone. Where was Bert’s dog Rip while his master was in trouble? When Bert was captured a pistol-shot that grazed his skin bad forced Rip to seek a place of safety; but be soon returned, and followed the prisoner and his captors to Quartzville, He stayed near the jail until Bert was brougbt out in the morning, and then followed the crowd into town, but at a safe distance, as he recognized them as enemies, and did not care to scrape acquaintance with any of them, Not far from Toler’s office be was accosted by a rough-lcoking young man on horseback, who did not seem to belong to the crowd. ‘Hello, Rip!” said this person, as he dis- mounted and bitched bis borse. The dog recognized the voice, if not the face, of Phil Henning, to whom he had taken a great fancy in the cavern, and went up to him, wag- ging his tail. | “Keep off, sir!” ordered Phil. ‘You area suspicious character in Quartzville, I say, old boy, you must look out for yourself. You may stay around here, but keep your eyes peeled.” Rip moved away, as‘if he understeod what was said to him, and Phil went into Toler’s office, and pushed forward to a front plece, = as Bert Otis was arraigned before Judge Lyneb. ¢ j ‘Is this a legal court?” demanded the pris- oner. “If it is, I bave a right toa lawyer and to challenge the jury.” pte
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‘It is a good enougb court for you, young feller,” replied the ruffian who presided, ‘‘and the jury is made of squar’ men, chose out of the citizens of Quartzville. You are charged with breakin’ the jail and runnin’ off a cattle- thief. What have you to say ag’inst it.” “Tf this is a lynch court, | suppose you have the business all cut and dried, and it would be useless for me tosay anything. But I have not broken any jail, and have not run off any cattle-thief.” “Let the witnesses come forrud!” One of the guards related how he and bis partner had been dosed with drugged liquor; but he said that it was Dan Gilligan who had done that trick, and admitted that he had not seen the prisoner. There was evidence enough against Bert, however. The man who bad acted as sentry at the jail door had retained his senses suffi- ciently to recognize the prisoner as one of the two who pounced upon him and bound and gagged him. A man who had been walking near the jail testified that he witnessed the scene at the door, and saw four men run away from the jail. He at once gave the alarm, which was answered by some mounted men who were coming down the street. Bert’s captors testified that they were of the party that pursued the four men, and that they caught the bhindmost one of them, who was the prisoner. Arkansaw Pete then stepped forward, be- stowing upon the prisoner a look of triumphant malice, which Bert returned with a scornful glance. The King of Quartzyille said that be was one of the pursuing party, and that he had_re- cognized the prisoner among the fugitives. He also knew him as @ liar and a bad and danger- ous character. He proceeded to make a short speech, de- claring the necessity of making an example of somebody, for the purpose of terrifying the cattle-thieves, their aiders and abettors. At this the jury, some of whom knew quite as much about cattle-stealing as anybody, looked very solemn, if not very virtuous. ‘It is a clear case,” said the ruffian who oc- cupied Toler’s seat. ‘‘ The jury will. settle it now inside of five minutes.” The jury retired into a corner, and Bert Otis stood up and looked around the room. In the front of the crowd he saw the young man who had spoken to Rip outside, and he thought that he recognized him. A scarcely perceptible wink told him that he was right. Yes, it was Phil Henning. It was a consolation to Bert to know that one friend was near; but of what possible use could that friend be to him? Phil would at least be able to report to his friends that he met his fate bravely. The jury retired to their place, and one of them stepped forward to report their finding. “The jury say that the prisoner is guilty, and must be hung right off!” CHAPTER XIV. A HANGING BER, Tae verdict of the packed jury excited no surprise. The proceedings had been ordered by the supreme authority, and there was noth- ing for them to do but hang the prisoner, if they had felt inclined to do anything else. Bert was asked, as a matter of politeness, what he bad to say for himself. “It is late in the day to speak of that,” he replied, “since I have been condemned with- out a chance to say anything or defend myself. Wouldn’t it be better to hang me first, and then ask questions?’ “This ain’t no jokin’ matter, young feller,” said the Judge Lynch of the occasion. ‘‘If you have got any thing to say, spit it out.” ‘There is much that I might tay, if there was any use in say it, But I see that neither law nor justice is to be had here. If were present—” The speaker was interrupted by a howl of indignation from the mob, who rushed upon him, hustled him about severely, pinioned him, and dragged him into the street. There a procession was formed, headed by the man who had acted as judge, and the jury sur- rounded the prisoner, while the ‘ citizens at large” joined in and straggled along as they pleased. A rope bad been already prepared, and was carried conspicuously before the eyes of the victim. The business men of Quartzville kept within doors, and had nothing to say. It would be well for them if the excitement of the hanging should not result in a general row and the gut- ting of some of their establishments. Phil Henning, who had ways of his own of ingratiating himself with the rough element, mounted his horse and rode on with the rest. He was the only man in the crowd who was not afoot. Rip skirmished about the edges. The procession halted at the edge of a bluff about half a mile from the town, where a stout branch of a large tree extended over the road. It was a capital tree for hanging purposes, and bad more than once been utilized in that way. The prisoner was stationed under the branch, with the rope around bis neck, He was pale, but his look was still proud and defiant. Bot it was a hard thing to die when he was full of youth and hope, and yet harder to meet such an ignominious death, at the hands of such a scoundrelly crew. He looked for Phil Henning. There stood Phil inthe front of the crowd, chewing a straw with an air of utter uncon- cern, A man was about to climb the tree with the end of the rope. “T say, boss,” remarked Phil, ‘‘s’posin’ we put the cuss on a hoss, and drive the hoss out from under him. That’s how we do it up Chuckaluck way, and it’s a mighty good me,” Phil had made several friends in the crowd, and his appearance commended him to the rest, as he had ‘all the symptoms” of a hard ease, So his suggestion was received with favor. ‘‘Whar’s a hoss?’ inquired the late Judge Lynch. “Take mine,” replied Phil him.” fe brought bis horse in through the crowd, and ranged him under the branch at the side of the prisoner. A large and handsome dog quietly followed him, but attracted little attention, owing to the interest that was taken in the preparations for the hanging. “ Lift the cuss up,” said Phil, “‘and one of you take the rope up the tree.” “ Ain't you afeard your hoss’ll run away when he scoots out?” asked one, “IT kin ketch bim. Never mind the hogs. Anythin’ to make the fun lively.” The prisoner was lifted on the horse, and a man began to climb the tree, Phil stood at the bridle, and it did not need his quick glance to assure Bert Otis that be meditated some desperate deed. Rip stood near, watching him attentively. “Ist ! came sharply from between Phil’s closed teeth. Rip dashed at the crowd like a mad dog, snapping and biting in all directions, and scaltering them so that they tumbled over each other. As quick as’ thought Phil jerked the noose from Bert Otis’s ueck, stepped forward, and eut the cord that bound tbe prisoner’s hands with a sharp knife he had concealed in his sleeve. Almost at the same moment he drove the knife into the horse’s haunch, With a snort of pain and fright the animal dasbed away at the top of his speed. “Pll fetch 11 Phil burst through the thinnest part of the crowd, and leaped out over the bluff. Fhe attack of the dog had so disconcerted the lyncbers that this sudden change of scene paralyzed them for the moment, ; At first it was not easy to shoot the dog without hitting each other; but when they had scattered he was made a target of, and was quickly riddled with bullets. But Rip was not yet dead when bis master escaped, and Bert was swiftly passing out of range when rifles and pistols were brought to. bear vpon him. As soon as his arms were freed he had seized the bridle-rein, and he drove his heels, from which the spurs had not been removed, into the sides of the terrified animal, increasing his speed. None of the hasty shots that) were fired struck the flying mark, and Bert was soon out of reach of his enemies, among whom there was not a horse for pursuit. Others of the lynchers turned their attention. to Phil Henning, though his sudden action and bold leap caused them tv lose several valuable seconds of time. The bluff at that point was some thirty feet high, and atits base lay a piece of bottom land, covered with trees. Phil had not leaped blindly, or without due precaution. He bad Jooked over the edge of the bluff, fully considered his course, and set- tled on the exact locality where it would be safest to jump off, He alighted on the soft turf, springing asfhe touched it, and thus saving bimself from a fall, while at the same time he increased the dis- tance between himself and the lyncbers, He then ran on at the best of his speed, choosing a course at right angles to the bluff, as that gave him the best chance to get, out of range of the rifles that were beginning to rain bullets about bim. Fortunately the bottom at that point was heavily timbered, and the fugitive dodged about among the trees, aiming to keep as many of them as possible between himself and bis foes, and giving them a poor opportunity to prove their skill as marksmen. ; Every step he took added to his chances, and — in a'very short time he felt himself safe from the bullets of those on the bluff. But a hasty glance backward had shown him @ Dumber of men scrambling down the bluff, with the evident intention of following him on foot. With Bert Otis a!l was plain sailing. He was free, be knew his route, and be had a good horse uoder him, while the enemies from whom he had escaped had none, He had nothing to do but to ride right on and rejoin the friends who were perhaps mourning bim aa dead. Only one thing troubled him, but that was enough—what had become of Phil Henning? He had thought of that when the style of ee- cape planned by Phil was suddenly made plain to him; but he would have been powerless then to refuse the aid that was offered, or to stop his friend’s self-sacrificing effort, The work bad been done 80 quickly that he was off and away before he fully comprehended what had happened. But he hoped, and had reason to hope, that. the young guide, who had shown himself so daring, active and ready of resource, had left. a way open for his own escape, Bert was compelled to admit that he could not imagine what that way was, but in the hope that there was such a way he rode on at his leisure when he was convinced that he was beyond pursuit. He was right in supposing that he was mourned ag dead by his friends in the cavern. None of them had any hope of seeing him alive again, with the exception of Mabel, who believed largely in the skill and courage and devotion of her friend Phil, The gloomy looks and despondent, tones of the others scarcely shook her confidence, avd she prevented David Darwe from setting out
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———— 12° — - oo ath te eee ae ee wens - on a forlorn and hopeless quest by assuring bim that Bert would soon retarp, and all would be wight Every now ard then she took her station at the mouth of the cavern and looked down tho canyon, that sbe might be the first to announce the arrival of tbe Jost one. At length sbe ran in, clapping her bands ex- *eltedly, and almost in bysterics. “Somebody is coming up thia way!” she cried, and ran back as fast as she had come. *“T suppose it is Phil Henning,” muttered Darke, as he went to join her at the opening. But he had not reached that place when be was startled by ber joyful cry. “Tcis Bert! Itis Bert! Heissafel God!” And she covered her face, to hide her fast- flowing tears of joy. Dave bastened down to meet his friend, took eare of his horse, and brought bim up to the cavern, where he received the warmest wel- ome possible. In response to eager inquiries he briefly told the story of his capture, sentence and escape, “What bas become of Phil, then?’ de- manded Mabel, when he had hardly finishe«|. “I don’t know,” sadly replied Bort, ‘‘ He isa wonderfully smart and daring young fellow, and T hope that he had a plana laid which would get bim safely away from bhat gang; but I can't guess what sort of a plan it could have been, or what bas become of bim.” ‘(This is dreadful!” exclaimed Mabel. ‘ No sooner is one of us saved from a terrible dan- ger than another is caught iv a trap When will we get clear of our troubles?” She declared that she would be quite happy if she could only know that Phil was safe; but there was no happmess for ber while his fate was in doubt. So Jelt the others, and Bert Otia was the most uneasy of all, and the rest of the day was dismal enough. Darkness bad settled down upon the canyon, when a faint hail was heard outside, and Darke and Otis hastened to the mouth of the cavern. ‘Who is there?” demanded Dave, “Is that you, Mr. Darke?” answered the well-known voice of Phil Henving. ‘‘ Please come and help me to get up there. I am played out.” Thavk CHAPTER XV. THE RANCHMEN’S CAMPAIGN. Jy Phil Henning had had any doubt of the estimation in which he was beld by bis friends, it would have been dispellid by the warmth of bis reception. He was made as comfortable as possible, and was given the best the cavern afforded to eat and drink, and questions and congratula- tions were showered upon him. But he was too tired and footsore and lame to give more than a very brief account of his escape. . “ After I jumped the bluff,” he said, ‘I ran my best, and was soon pretty safe among the trees. I was not a bit worried when they came down und ran after me, as I knew what my legs were wortb. **But when I bad passed the creek and crossed the bottom I ran against another bluff, and I knew it would never do to turn to the right or left, as they would be sure to cut me off. So there was nothing for it but to climb the bluff, and that was a mighty tough scram- ble, I can tell you, and the bullets struck too durned close to me before I reached the top. ‘¢ When I bad got up there I felt safe enough, and stopped to rest a bit. Then L only had to be careful not to break my neck or lose my way, and I am a pretty good hand to strike the right course and keep it. ‘T aimed for the break in this canyon that took me to Mr, Vintrey’s ranch, and found it, but nearly brok» my leg in falling inte a gully, and it was as much as I could do to get here.” 4“ Weare all very thankful for your safety,” daid Mabel: ‘1 was saying awhile ago that. it nn _ af SS ee : ¥ Fearless Phil. a fo eae ee ey eneee menete « seomed that whenever one of us was saved from danger another waa sure to get into trouble. But it is a great blessing that you have come back to us,’ ‘There is one of us gone, though,” replied Phil. * Who is that? Weare all bere, except my father. Has anything happened to him?” “ Not that I know of. It is a four-footed fellow that I speak of. Mr. Otis’s splendid dog, who made the fight that saved his master, had no chance in that crowd. They must have closed in on him and filled bim fall of lead in next to no time,” ‘““My dear, brave dog!’ exclaimed Bert, as the tears came into his eyes. “Well, my friend,” said Phil, “he did the best kind of work, and made a glorious die of it. Let me sleep now, and I will be all right in the morning.” Nothing bad been heard from Mr. Vintrey, who had left the cavern directly after Phil started to Quartaville; but he bad not been idle. He perceived the supreme necessity of com. bining the ranchmen for their own protection, and it was bis business that day to see as many of them as possible and induce them to rise io rebellion against the King of Quartzville, He found most of them ready enough to be persuaded. Under the rule of Arkansaw Pete, Quartzville had become a rendezvous for cattle- thieves and all sorts of marauders, and its rep- utation in that respect was daily growing worse, The ranchmen, whose herds of cattle were really the wealth of the district, were compelled to seek more distant and inconvenient points for their supplies. They bad suffered from de- predations until they were tired of being plundered, and the outrages reported by Frank Viotrey gave them to understand that the rule of the rascals might be forcibly impressed upon their homes and families unless they should combine to break it, The only difficulty lay in the large amount of country that bad to be covered in order to bring them together; but Frank Vintrey rode fast, and sent Stepben Hersey to some places, and hurried the most influential of his recruits off to otber points, so that a good deal of work was done in the course of the day. At an early hour a reliable man was sent into Quartzville to sound the business men there, and learn if they would support the out- siders in an effort to rid the town of the raf- fians who ruled it, It was supposed that if Arkansaw Pete in- tended to carry on the war he had begun, be would strike a blow at Frank Viutrey’s ranch, and that place was appointed as the rendezvous of the gatbering clans, Before night numbers of ranchmen and cow- boys had come in, and had begun to fortify the ground about the house, Others arrived during the night, and amoug them came the agent who had been sent.to Quartzville. He reported that the respectable citizens of that town were anxious to be emancipated from the rule of the roughs, and would gladly co-op- erate with the outsiders if an attack should be made, The ranchmen then considered themselves strong epough to assume the offensive, and a forward movement was ordered for the next day. - At an early hour the next morning Frank Vintrey appeared at Wild Jim’s hiding place. He had ridden down three horses, and had scarcely taken a cat’s nap since he began his task; but he seemed to be still fresh and hearty, and fit for anything. When he had welcomed and congratulated Bert Otis and Phil, he told of what he had done, and of the preparations that had been made to clean out Arkansaw Pete ard his ng. aaa is an infernal shame,” he said, “that IT dou’t dare to take my daughter to my own house, aud that she is forced to hide like a rabbit ina bole. But sbe is safe here, [ be- things, If any of you young men want {to go with us to strike those scoundrels, you are wr)- come to do 80; but I don’t press tt on you,” They all volunteered, and set out with Mr. Vintrey to join the force that was moving on Quartzville, When the ranchmen and cowboys were united, and were joined by these welcome allies, they were seen to be a formidable band of good fighters, and it was betieved that they would be abundantly able to do the work they had set out to do, if the assistance of people in the town was to be depended on, So they rode forward covfidently, dividing into squads and choosing officers as they went. But they were still more than a mile from Quartzville when they were met by & mau trom the town with bad news, Their purpose was known, be said, and the roughs were ready for them. One of the business men who had been ; trusted with the secret of the expected attack, doubtless wishing to curry favor with Arkan- saw Pete, had told bim of the movement and explained its object and plan. The result was that the King ot Quartzville and his gang had ordered all tbe peaceable citizens to shut up their houses and remain within doors under penalty of being shot on sight, and bad even taken possession of some of the more substan- tial buildings for defensive purposes. This bad news caused the leaders of the ranchmen’s party to hold a conference, and it was unapimousiy agreed that since they had gone so far it would never do to back out. If they should retreat without a fight, Arkansaw Pete and his followers would be encouraged to commit greater outrages, and the decent peo- ple would be correspondingly dispirited. The messenger from Quartzville suggested that in case of failure, the people of that town would be treated more rougbly than ever. ‘We can’t help that,” replied Frank Vin- trey. “If those Quartzville folks are too cowardly to strike a blow for themselves, they deserve to be sat down on, Come on, boys! We wil] give those rats a shaking, anyhow!” CHAPTER XVI. A DRAWN BATTLE, WHEN the ranchmen’s party reacbed Quartz- ville, the truth of the information that had been conveyed to them was made evident, Quartzville was as silent and apparently as ewpty asa dead town. The main street was deserted, the business houses were closed, and even the drinking saloons and gambling places were as quiet as death, There could be no doubt that the roughs were concealed in the houses, ready to open flre on the invaders from their shelter, as soon as they should fairly enter the town. This state of affairs called for consideration, and the ranchmen held a consultation, at which it was decided to enter and clean out every honse as they reached it, on both sides of tha main street. Thus they would leave no ene- mies on their flanks, and might finally force their foes to an open fight, The plan worked very well for a while, and was carried forward easy enough, the bouses that were entered being either deserted or oc- cupied by peaceable peop-e. It was not until the assailants bad nearly reached the center of the town that the trouble began, . A saloon tbat was broken into contained several armed men, aud a brief fight began at that point, The men in the saloon were soon Overpower- ed, part of them making their escape by the back dvor; but the battle bad then become general, and from windows and doors along the street there came a hail of bullets, To make matters worse, severa) of the roughs tumbled boxes and bales out of a store, making a*barricade from which they could sweep the street with their fire, The attacking party soon hegan to brleva lieve, and we. will seon change the styte of | that they were getting morse than they bad !
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bargained for, and were forced to adopt the tactics of their adversaries and seek shelter, Then was presented the curious spectacle of a street fight, in which most of the combatants were witbin doors, and a cross flre was kept up from each side of the street, while the men be- hind the boxes and bales made it unsafe for any person to show his face outside, This kind of warfare was not very sanguin- ary; but there were a number of lesser combats about the houses in which blood was shed freely. Phil Henning distinguished himself by sneak- ing around and entering the rear of tbe store, in frout of which was the troublesome barri- cade, Passing unobserved to the front, he rapidly emptied a revolver among the men who were concealed there, and ran back to his friends without receiving a scratoh. Several of the cowboys—rough and reckless fellows, who cared nothing for orders or dis- cipline—mounted their horses and galioped up the street, firing right and left as they went, and repeating the bravado as they returned; but this produced no visible effect except a loss of men and horses, and the ambition of the co boys was discouraged. While this skirmishing fight lasted, the forces of the ranchmen were making no progress. In fuct, they were rather losing ground. The Quartzville crew had so greatly the ad- vantage of position, and were so well acquaint- ed with all the ins and outs of the town, that they were more than equal to their assailants, man for man, it seemed, too, as Frank Vintrey afterward sid, as if all the cattle-thieves and cut-throats aud marauders and roughs of all sorts in that whole region had been emptied into Quartz- ville, Under the circumstances the best thing for the attacking party to do was to back out, and the signal for retreat was given. The retreat was conducted cautiously, as much as possible under cover, and in good or- der, though the retiring party were subjected to a galliog fire, which they returned with epirit. The last person bit on their side was Dan Gilligan, who had shown splendid courage all through the fight. A rifle bullet struck him in the’ breast eas he faced the enemy, and he fell back- ward. 4 David Darke and Bert Otis, who were near him, picked him up and carried bim out of range. ‘Let me down,” he said, faintly. goner.” They knew well enough when they laid ri on the grass that he had but a moment to ive, David Darke held his head, and Bert knelt at bis side, “Its all right, Mr. Darke,” he said, as he gasped for breath, ‘I’m dyin’ ‘honest.” Yes, he died honest. He had gone far tothe bad in bis early days, and bad since had a bard struggle to be honest, and it was surely a con- solation to him to feel that be died honest. David Darke insisted upon placing Dan’s body on bis horse, for the purpose of taking it away and giving it a proper burial, Tne retreating party halted to ‘take account of stoek,” as their antagonists seemed to be in no humor for pursuing them. Several good men were missing, but they had the consolation of knowing that they bad left nene of the wounded to fall into the bands of their foes. “We missed it that time,” said Steve Hersey, as he shook his fist at Quartzville; ‘but it is do or die with us now, and when we strike again we will hit bard. Tbe boss fight of this range is yet to come off.” The defeated party spent the night at Frank Vintrey'’s ranch, guarding the house and dis- cussing plans for the’future. They were not at all Goclined to be jolly, and could not see ’ their way clearly to clean out the Quartzville “T'm a —— ee Fearless Phil. the work must be done. But during the night they received unex- | pected reinforcements, Men from Quartzville came dropping in, at first by oves and twos, and then in squads. They reported that they bad been terrorized | by Arkansaw Pete into taking no part in the | recent struggle, but bad reason to bitterly re- | pent their inaction, To use their own words, hell had broke | loose in Quartzville, The attacking party had hardly got out of | sight when the roughs “took the town.” The | saloons were thrown open, and a scene of the wildest debauch ensued. Stores and houser belonging to those who | were most obnoxious to the ruling party were | entered and plundered; some citizene were | severely beaten, and others were compelled to fly for their lives. When they reached the camp at Vintrey’s ranch they were not only willing but anxious to fight their oppressors, Before morning the army wes considered strong enough to capture and occupy Quartz- ville; but it was decided that the men should have a good rest, and that the next attack should be timed so as to take the roughs when they were recovering from the effects of their spree, Urder the circumstances Mr, Vintrey be- lieved that it would be entirely safe for him to bring his daughter home, and at an early hour in the morning he set out for Wild Jim's cavern, accompanied by Darke, Otis, Phil Henning, and two other good men. They took a straight course tothe break that led to the big ravine, and followed it down to the canyov, up which they rode briskly, rejoic- ing in the prospect.of a speedy termination of: their troubles. The sun was about four hours high when they reached the locality of the cavern, and they halted and. looked up at the blaff for the hole in the rock. There was no hole in the rock to be seen! They stared at each other in surprise and consternation, and looked about to make sure that they were at the right place. ‘“What is the matter?’ demanded Mr. Vin- trey, in a hoarse and broken voice, ‘Surely we have not lost our way.” They dismounted, and examined the locality more caretully. After noticing that there were fragments of rock at the foot of the bluff which had not been there before, they climbed up and dis covered that the entrance to the cavern was filled with similar and larger masses of freshly broken rock. “Merciful heaven!” exclaimed Mr. Vintrey, ‘““ what bas bappened now?” CHAPTER XVII. WRECKING THE CAVERN. Trerr was one of Arkansaw Pete's followers who was not engaged in the Quarteville battle. This was Blue Tophet, otherwise known, because of his prowling and sneaking propen- sities, as Coyote Bop. Although not noted for bravery, he was one of the most trusted aids of the King of Quartz. ville, and could always be depended on when there was any dirty work to be done. He was away on one of bis prowling expedi- tions when the big fight occurred, and did not return until the warriors were exhausting themselves in a vain endeavor to kill all the whisky in Quartzville, On any other occasion Blue Tophet would at once bave begun to ‘‘even up” with the others by pouring into himself suddenly as much liquor as any of them bad drank; but now he bad an important matter to attend to, and the seductive beverage was untouched, He sought Arkansaw Pete, and demanded a private interview, which was at once’ aceorded. “it's about that gal, boss,” he remarked, and.“ the Boss” was all attention. desperadoes, though they were convinced that | | ee ee ee a EE See ee Oe OeeeEeEeEEEEEE—EeE_E_—_—_—E—EOOEEEEeeeeeeeee | hurried to you with the news, “The gal you was arter, you know, whose camp we struck one night up on the plain,” . ‘* 'Yos, I understand,” ‘*Mebbe it mought be wuth suthin’ to you to find that gal now.” ‘Yes, it would.” “If TLkin tell you whar to find her, boss, so’s you kin git her, w’ot’ll you gimme?” “Piflty dollars,” “ Double it.” ‘I will double it as soon as I get her.” “All right. It's a sure thing. She is hil in a canyon, not many mile away, I was comin’ down the canyon, and see’d her } eekin’ outer a bole in the rock, I sneaked «ff and I reckon she’s alone; but if thar’s anybody with her it’ be an easy job to smoke ’em out or shut ‘em up.” ‘« T wil) take a party and strike for her right away, and you must go with us, Blue, to show us the place.” The King of Quartzville took balf a dozen mounted men picked from amorg the soberest of his followers, and including Blue Tophet, and set out for the canyon, It was Jate at night when they started, and the journey in the darkness was 80 difficult and — slow that it was broad daylight when they drew near to Wild Jim’s cavern, ‘ *‘Thar’s the gal og’in!” «xclaimed Blue To phet, pointing ahead ; Arkansaw Pete also saw her, and the party pressed forward until they reached the cavern, “'Thar’s the hole,” said the guide. ‘ The rabbit's inside, and all you've got to do is to haul her out.” All dismounted, and Blue Topbet was left to hold the bourses while the others went up to re- connoiter, It seemed to be an easy affair enough. There was the hole, the girl was inside, and there seemed to be nothing to oppose their en- trance, But she might bave friends with her, who could make it bot for the invaders, and it was well to be cautious, The leader was in no hurry to expose his person to a possible bullet. from within; but oue of his reckless followers crawled into the opening without stopping to consider the point, “Tos all right,” said the man, \‘‘Come along!” Arkansaw Pete pushed his big body through the hole, and found himself in @ cavern where he eould stand upright, The next moment he was confronted by an old man with white hair and beard, who held a light in bis left, hand, ; He was at the right place, for it was no other than Mabel Vintrey whom the.guide had pointed out from the canyon below. Sbe bad watched the departure of ber father and friends the previous moruing with many misgivings, because she knew that they were going to fight, and feared that some of them might not return to her, t might be her father who would not return, or it might be Bert Otis. On those two her thougbis were fixed, and she prayed earnestly that they migbt be safely delivered from the difficulties and dangers that beset them there. The old man did bis best to make her com- fortable and entertain her, and Pedro, the In- dian boy, was ulways ready to humor her slightest whim; but she. was sorely troubled, and occupied herself during the entire day in going to and from the mouth of the cavern to watch for the return of her friends. The day closed, and the night came on, and still they bad not arrived; and her anxiety in- creased to such an extent that she passed a nearly sleepless nigbt. Early in the morning she was up and out at the entrance, still Jooking for those who, as she feared, might never retarn, Soon she came running back to her compan- ions, with a Jook of fear on her face that startled them, ‘‘There are some men riding up the can- yon,” she exclaimed in tones of terror, “and I am sure that they are not our people. #
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14 ——., aoe Pre ch rarer mane er i SE A A to “Bay “and I will soon see who and what they are.” When he returned, his face was paler than | sickening odor. ‘ere, my child,” said the old man, / The other part of the cavern was untouched, Fearless Phil. but was filled with smoke and dust and a Not until this had partly sub- usual, and wore a look of settled determina- | sided did the Indian boy permit Mabel to re- tion. “You are right,” he said. not our friends. * Those men are and some of his gang, and I believe they are | <oming here.” ‘Now I am indeed lost!” deapairingly ex- cuimed Mabel. ‘‘They have kilied my father and all my friends, and are coming here for me. They must not be allowed to yet in. Have.we no guns or pistols? [can shoot if I xroust. We can kill thom as they try to enter, and we must kill them! We must!” “Calm yourself, my child,” said the old man. ‘ Leave the business to me, and all will be well. Take this, and fasten it securely up- on your person.” He took from his breast a bag of deerskin, tight!y sewed up, and gave it to her. “Take care of this,” he said, ‘and give it to your friend, Albert Otis.” “Are you going to leave us?’ she asked. “(What do you mean to do?” “T am not going to leave you. I have waited long for that man and now he has come. Leave him to me. You shall suffer no harm. Go into the corner there with Pedro, Hurry, now, as I must go and meet ' him,” ‘She shrunk away into a corner, feeling that gome fearful event was about to occur, and seated herself close to Pedro, as if there might be safety even in the presence of the poor In- dian boy. The old man hastened into the other part of the cabin, and Mabel could hear every word that was spoken there. “Who are you, my friends, and what do you want?” be asked, as he confronted the in- vadera, ‘We are seoking a lost girl,” replied the jeader, ‘and we understand that she has taken refuge here.” ‘There is indeed a young woman here,” the old man admitted, ‘‘and she may be the one youseek. She had some friends, but they have left her.” 4“ That is the girl.” “T hope you mean well by her.” (“Is it possible he means to give me up?” whispered Mabel to Pedro.) “Of course we do,” replied Arkansaw Pete, “Then Iam glad to see you. Callin your friends. Come in, all of you. You are wel- ©ome to my poor abode and to the best of food and drink it affords.” “Too much talk, old man, Where is the girl?” TEN, “You sball see her directly. She can’t get away. You shall have some hot breakfast too, Let me see—aré you not Arkansaw Pete?” “Men call me so.” “Tam glad to see you—very glad to see you. I have lovg desired this bonor, and now I am thankful for it. My name is James Otis, 1 had a son, Ben Otis, a very likely young fellow, who was enticed into your: gambling- den shortly after you came to Quartzville, and ‘was persuaded to play there. He accused you of cheating, and you shot him dead, murdered him in cold blood. At last you have put your- self in my power, and have given me a chance to settle that account.” “What do you mean, old man?” demanded Arkansaw Pete, (* He is going to blow up the rock,” whis- pered Pedro to Mabel, as he threw a blanket over her head.) ‘I mean that your time has come!” solemn- ty replied Wild Jim. He pulled a cord that he held in his right hand. There wae a terrible shock, followed by a heavy roar and the crash of rending rock. The sides and roof of the cavern fell in, and the space was choked up with masses of shat- ‘vered rock, im which no sign of life was visi- ble. mv . move the blanket from her head. She took a light, and went to see what ruin They are Arkansaw Pete | had been wrought. One glance was sufficieut, and she fell on the rock in a swoon, When she came to herself she was lying on a pile of blankets, with the Indian boy at ber side. “We can get out,” he said. .‘‘ We can pull away the rock and leave this place.” He at once set at work to make a passage, and Mabel went to help him. Blue Tophet, holding the horses on the out- side, was aware that a fearful disaster had oo- curred, and was not long in ascertaining its nature and extent. When he perceived that his comrades would never retura to him, he began to consider his own interests. ‘I don’t take these yere hosses back to Quartzville,” he muttered, as he mounted bis animal and led the others up the canyon. CHAPTER XVIIL CONCLUSION. “The old man must have blown up the cavern,” said Phil Henning, as he stared at the mass of broken rock, ‘Then my daughter is dead,” declared Mr. Vintrey. ‘* Perbaps not,” replied Bert Otis. “I think the rock was loaded only near the mouth of the cavern. He scrambled up to where the entrance had been, and called Mabel at the top of his voice, She answered with a joyful cry. ‘Ts that you, Bert?” she asked. ‘* Yes; Lam here with your father and friends. Are you burt?” “No. Pedro and I are trying to work our way out.” “Don't worry about that. We will soon clear a way to you.” The six men outside set to work with a will, taking turns at pulling out the broken rock and throwing it down to the base of the bluff. In a short time they had so far cleared out the entrance that Mabel could see the light of day and easily bear the voices of her friends. She told what had happened, as far as she knew it, and vividly described the scene be- tween Wild Jim and Arkansaw Pete. Soon the workers, began to uncover the crushed bodies of wen, and the last one they found was recognized as that of the redoubt- able King of Quartaville, who bad been in ad- vance of his comrades when the crash oc- curred. As Bert Otis conjectured, the rock of the cavern had been charged only in the outer apartment near the entrance, and the other portions had not. been damaged by the explo- sion. Whether Wild Jim had intended to bury himself in the same ruin with his enemies could not be known with certainty; but their fate had been his, and he was found covered by broken rock, though not so heavily as the others, The task of clearing a way into the cavern was laborious aud tedious; but it was finally accomplished, and Mabel and the Indian boy were brought down into the canyon. She was overjoyed at meeting ber father and friends, and listened with the deepest interest to the thrilling account of their attack and re- pulse at Quartzville. ‘*But that horrid man is dead now,” she said, ‘and I hope we will net have any more trouble.” *I believe we will not,” replied her father, “and we must hurry home and inform our friends of what has happened.” It was late in the day when they reached the camp at the Vintrey ranch, where they found the friends of law and order greatly ex- cited over their absence, and wondering what had become of them. Their arrival was a great relief, and the story they had to tell put all in a good humor. **The boss fight of the range will not come off this time, after all,” remarked Steve Her- sey. It did not come off. The news of the death of Arkansaw Pete found its way to Quartzville, and when the little army marched into town the next day they met with no opposition. The worst of the scoundrels had taken timely warning and decamped, and those who wera left were ready to offer their submission and accept such terms as were imposed upon them by the committee which was chosen to reorganize the affairs of Quartzville, At ler father’s ranch Mabel Vintrey gave Bert Otis the bag of deer-skin which had been handed to her by Wild Jim, and they opened it together. It contained several papers, one of which proved to be ‘‘the last will and testament of James Otis, formerly of Obio,” bequeathing all the property of which he died possessed to his “dear nephew, Albert Otis.” Another paper gave directions for finding a quantity of gold which the old man had concealed io his cavern. Bert went with a party to the canyon, where he buried the body of his uncle, and dug up the concealed treasure. Its value was about ten thousand dollars— not a large fortune by any means, but sufficient to give the young man a good start on a ranch. As it was soon settled that he was to marry Mabel Vintrey, this windfall came in quite opportunely, David Darke took up his residence in Quartzville, where he became an enterprising and respected man of business. The Indian boy, Pedro, found a bome with Bert and Mabel, and he could not have asked for a better one, Phil Henning was rewarded in more ways than one for what he had done and undergone, and resumed his active life on the plains, THE END. The Great American Story Paper! Beatles Wee The Best Weekly of Popular, Entertuin- ing and Useful Literature Pub- lished in America! Its Unrivaled Corps of Contributors, almost all of whom write erclusively for its publishers—embraces the following authors of world wide repute— nel Prentiss Ingraham, Al W. Aiken, Capt. Fred. Whittaker, Capt. Mayne Reid, Joseph E. er, Jr., Edward L. Wheeler, Charles Morris, Oll Coomes, ct Dunning Clark, Buffalo Bill, White Beaver, Buckskin Sam, Major Dangerfield Burr, TC, Harbaugh, Philip 8. Warne, William R. Eyster, Antbony P. Morris, Launce Poyntz. Each and all of whom give to BeapLe’s WEEKLY their very best productions in all the varied fields of Border and Wild West Romance— Adventure, Exploration and Sport— City Life, Character, Courts and Ways— Detective and ‘Shadow’ Revelations— Stories of the Great Deep, etc., etc. 80 that each and every number is overflowing | with reading of the most interesting and exciting nature; while in its Special Departments, covering all the needs, and adding to the general interest and usefulness of the pular journal, BEADLE’s WEEKLY is the pap=r of others for your weekly reading and entertainment. Beapize’s WEEKLY is published at the following rates: For Four Months.......... wpa siee vacaltath- aap $1.00 98 William street, New York.
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= 1 Adventures of Buffalo Bill, From Boyhood to Man BOY'S LIBRARY. 88 The Settler’s Son; or, Adventures in Wilderness and Clear- hood. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ing. By Edward S, Hilis. 2 The Ocean Hunters; or, The Chase of the Leviathan, By | 39 Night-Hawk George, spd His Daring Deeds ard Adventures Captain Mayne Reid. (Qy" An extra large number. 59 in the Walds of the South and West. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham, 83 Adventures of Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince. Remarkable | 40 The Ice Elephant; or, The Castaways of the Lone Coast. By career of J. B, Hikok. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Captain Frederick Whittaker, 4 The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle Herders. By Jos. | 41 The Pampas Hunters; or, New York Boys in Buenos Ayres. EK. Badger, Jr. By T. C. Harbaugh. 5 Texas Jack, the Mustang King Thrilling Adventures in | 42 The Young Land-Lubber. By C. Dunning Clark, the Life of J. B. Omohundro, “ Texas Jack.” By Col. P. Ingraham, | 43 Bronco Billy, the Eaddle Prince. By Col P.!)¢™! 0m. 6 Cruize of the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys in Ceylon. By C. |44 The Snow Hunters; or, Winter in the Woods. i.) Barry Dunning Clark. De Forrest. f 7 Roving Joe: The History of a Young “ Border Ruffian.” Brief | 45 Jack, Harry and T om, the Three Champion Brothers; or Scenes trom the Life of Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post. Adventures of Three Brave Boys with the Tattooed Pirate.” By 8 The Flyaway Afloat; or, Yankee Boys Round the World. Captain Frederick Whittaker. By C. Dunning Clark. | 46 The Condor Killers; or, Wild Adventures at the Hquator. 9 Bruin Adams, Old Grizzly Adams’ Boy Pard. By | By T. C. Harbaugh. Col. Prentiss Ingraham. | 47 The Boy Coral Fishers; or, The Sea Cavern Scourge. By 10 The Snow Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of Fur-Land. A Narra- Roger Starbuck. tive of Sport and Life around Lake Winnipeg. By T. C, Harbaugh, | 48 Dick, the Stowaway; or, A Yankees Boy’s Strange Cruise. 11 Old Grizzly ae the Bear Tamer ; or, The Monarch of By Charles Morris. the Mountain. By Dr. Frank Powell. Tressell, the Floater; or, Fortu d Misfortanes on — 12 Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits of the Littleton Gun Ae Pr Mississippi. . By Wawara Willace. th ge itty: Club, By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. | Inciderits in the Career on Sea and Land as | 50. The Adventurous Life of Nebraska Charlie, or BE 13 A Rolling Stone: Boy and Man, of Col. Prentiss Ingrabam. By Prof.Wm. R. Eyster. 14 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur Hunters on the Buffalo Range. By Oll Coomes. 15 Kit Carson, of Guides; or, Mountain Paths and Prairie Trails. By Albert W. Aiken. Red River Rovers; or, Life and Adventures in the Northwest. By C. Dunning Clark. , 17 Plaza and Plain; or, Wild Adventures of “ Buckskin Sam,” (Major Sam 8. Hall.) By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. Rifle and Revolver; or, The Littleton Gun Club on the Buffalo Range. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 19 Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer. By Ed. Willett. 20 The Dashing Dragoon; or, The Story of General George A. Custer, from West Point to the Big Horn. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 21 Deadwood Dick asa Boy; or, Why Wild Ned Harris, the New England Farm-lad, became the Western Prince of the Road. By Edward L. Wheeler. 22 The Boy Exi'es of Siberia. By T. C. Harbaugh. 23 Paul De , the French Beast Charmer; or, New York Boysin the Jungles. By C. Dunning Clark. 24 The Sword Prince: The Romantic Life of Colonel Monstery, (American Champion-at-arms.) By Captain Fred. Whittaker. 25 Round the Comp Fire ; or, Snow-Bound at “Freeze-out Camp.” A Tale of Roving Joe and bis Hunter Pards, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Snow-Shoe Tom; or, New York Boys in the Wilderness. A Narrative of Sport and Peril in Mainn. By 'T. C, Harbaugh. 27 Yellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the Pawnees. The Ad- venturous Career of Eddie Burgess of Nebraska, By Col. Ingraham. 28 The Chase of the Great White Stag and Camp and Canoe. By C. Dunning Clark. 29 The Fortune-Hunter; or, Roving Joe as Miner, Cow-Boy, Trapper and Hunter. By A. H, Post. 30 Walt Ferguson's Cruise. A Tale of the Antarctic Sea. By C. Dunning Clark. 31 The Boy Crusader; or, How a Page and a Fool Saved a King. ; By Captain Frederick W hittaker. 832 White Beaver, the Indian Medicine Chief: or, The Ro- mantic and Adventurous Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell, known on the Border as “ Fancy Frank,” “‘ Iron Face,” ete, By Col. P. Ingrabam. 33 Captain Ralph, the Young Explorer; or, The Centipede Among the Floes. By C. Dunning Clark. 34 The Young Bear Hunters. A Story of the Haps and Mishaps of a Party of Boys in the Wilds of Michigan. By Morris Redwing. 35 The Lost Boy Whalers; or, In the Shadow of the North Pole. By T. C. Harbaugh. 36 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level Head. By Ed. Willett, 37 Old Tar Knuckle and His Bog Obamas ov, The Monee: of the Requimaux Border, By Roger Starbuck. 16 18 Burgess.) By Colonel Prentiss Ingrabam, 51 The Colorado Boys; or, Life on an Indigo Plantation. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 52 Honest Harry; Charles Morris. 53 The Boy Detectives; or, The Young Californians in Shanghai. By T, C, Harbaugh. 54 California Joe, the Mysterious Plainsman. By Col. Ingraban, 55 Harry Somers, tbe Sailor-Boy Magician. By 8. W. Pearce. 56 Nobody’s Boys; or, Life Among the Gipsies. By J, M. Holf man. 67 Th> Menagerie Hunter; or, Fanny Hobart, the Animal Queen, By Major H. Grenville, ‘‘ Sea Gull,” 58 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines, By Charles Morris. 59 Lud Lionheels, the Young Tiger Fighter. By Roger Starbuck, 60 The Young Trail Hunters; or, New York Boys in Grimly Land. By T, C. Harbaugh. 61 The Young Mustangers. By C. Dunning Clark, 62 The T Hunters; or, The Colorado Boys in ee"hans. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr, 63 The Adventurous Life of Captain Jack, the Border Boy. (John W. Crawford, the Poet Scout.) By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam. 64 The Yourg Moose-Hunters; or, Trail and Camp-fire in the New Brunswick Woods. By Wm. H. Manning. 65 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker; or, Two Brave re or, The Country Boy Adrift in the City. By to the Rescue. By Roger Starbuck. 66 Little Dan Rocks; or, The Mountain Kid’s Mission, By Morris Redwing. 67” e Lije; or, How a Rough Boy Won His Way. By C. Dunning Clark. 68 Flatboat Fred; or, The Voyage of the “Experiment.” By Edward Willett. 69 The Deer-Hunters; or, Life in the Ottawa Country. By Jobn J. Marshall. 70 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle of the Plains; or, The Boy Trappers of Oregon. By Roger Starbuck. A Now Issue Every Week. Baaptz's Bor’s Lisrary is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each, BEADLE AND ADAMS, PusLisHERS, @8 William Street, New York.
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OOO ad ay adeagas aye CONS EOD WAS Weare re oe Deadwood Bick, tax Privocm or THY ROAD | 1 By Edward L. Wheeler. 2 Vellowstone Jack. 3 Kansas King. By Buffalo Bill 4 The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Captain Mayne Reid and Captain t'redevick Whittaker. & Vaxzabond Joe, THE Youna WANDERING JEW, By Of1 Coomes.” Dowll+ Number, 10cts, Bill Biddon, Trapper. By E.5, Ellis. The Fiying Yankee, By Col. P. Ingrabam. Seth Jones. By Edward 8. Ellis. Adventures of Baron Munchausen, 30 Nat Todd. By E.5S, Elis. li The Two Détectives, Py A.W. Aiken 12 Guiliver’s Travels. By Dean Swift. 13 ‘Khe Dumb Spy. By Oil Coomes. 14 Aladdin; or, Tue WonversvL Lamp, 15 Whe Sea-Cat. By Captain Fred. Whittaker, 16 Robtnson Crusoe, § (27 Llustrations.) 17 Kalph Roy. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 18 Sindbad the Sailor, His Seven Voyages, 19 ‘Khe Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill. 20 The Double Daggers. By EF. L. Wheeler. 21 The Frontier Angel, By Edward 8, Ellis, 22 The Sea Serpent, Ey Juan Lewis. 23 Nick o° the Night. By T. O. Harbaugh. 24 Diamond Dirk. By Colonel P, Ingraham, 3 The Boy Captain, By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoot. By Edward L. Wheeler. 27 Antelope Abe, cue Boy Guipe. Oll Coomes, 28 Buffalo Ben. By Kdward L. Wheeler. 29 The Dumb Page. By Capt. F. Whittaker. Roaring Ralph Rockwood , THE RECK- Less Rancen. By Warry St. George. Keen-Knite, By Ol] Coomes. Bob Woolt. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Ocean Bloodhound. §. W. Pierce. Oregon Sol. By Capt. J. F. GC. Adams. Wild Ivan. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Boy Clown. By Frank §&. Finn The Hidden Lodge. By T. 0, Harbaugh. Ned Wylde, TH: Boy Scovr, By Texas Jack, Death-Face, tHe Derectiryx. By Wheeler. Roving Ben. By J. J. Marshall. Lasso Jack. By Oll Coomes. The Phantom liner, By E. L. Wheeler, Dick Darling. “e a Fred. Whittaker. Rattling Rube. By Harry 8t. George. Old Avalanche, By Edward L. Wheeler, Glass Kye. Capt. J. F.C, Adams. Nightingale Nat. By T. 0. Harbaugh. Black John, Tar Roap-Acrent, By Badger. Omaha Ol, By Edward L. Wheeler, Burt Bunker, Tae Trarrer. C. EB. Lasalle The Boy Rillies. By Archie ©. Irons, The White Buffalo. By C E. Lasalle. Jim pindeee, Jr. Ne J : ward L. Wheeler. Ned Hazel, y Cay C. Adams, Deadly-Eye. affalo Bill Nick Whifiles’? Pet. Capt. J. F. C. Adams. Deadwood Dick’s Eagles, By Wheeler. The Border King. By Ofl Coomes. Old Hickory. By Harry St. George, 60 The White Indian. Capt. J. F.C. Adams, 61 Buckhorn Bill. By Edward lL. Wheeler. 62 The Shadow Ship. By (ol. Ps Ingraham. 63 The Red Brothcrhoo W. J. Hamilton. 64 Dandy Jack. By T. O. Harbaugh. > Murricane Bill. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr 66 Single Hand. 2 . J. Hamilton. 67 Pateut-leather Joe. By Philip 8, Warne. 68 Border Robin Hood. By Buffalo BIL 6Y Gold Rtfle. Kdward L. Wheeler, 70 Old Zip’s Cabin, i} Delaware Dick. SRSA ON SOD IAT ON MOOD OOD EON KOO DUID RON MOC EIS COVEY SY STOUT TOT ON ihe he he si ide em OHO KOEN OOOMEEKS 4,Hawk-eye Harry. ‘The Boy Duelist, Abe Oolt, ram Crow-Kiz Corduroy Charlie. Blue Dick, Sol Ginger, Giant y A.W. Rosebud Hob, iy Gan L. Wheeler. * Lightning Jo. Kit Haretoot, Rollo, the Boy Banger. it Idyl the Girl liner. By Buck Capt. J. F. C. Adama, T. C. Harbaugh. Ooomes, Backram, Rock, h. Ph. = 89 Island Jim. By Bracebri ige Hemyng. 00 The Dread Rider. By G. Waldo Browne. 91 The Captain of the Club; or, Tae Youna Rrvat ATHLETES. © By Bracebridge Hemyng. 92 Canada Chet, By Edward L. Wheeler. 93 The Boy Misers. By Edward §. Ellis. 94 Midnight Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh. 95 The RivalBRoyers,. Lieut. Col. Hazeltine. 96 Watch-Kye, THE SHaipow. By E. L. Wheeler. 07 Whe Oatlaw Brothers. By J. J. Marsbell. $8 Robin Hood, By Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of Taos. By G. Waldo Browne. 300 Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A ; STRANGE STROKE FoR Liserty, By Wheeler. 01 Jack Harkaway in New York. By Bracebridge Hemyng. 102 Dick Dead-Eye. By Col. Ingraham. 103 The Lion of the Sea. By Col. Delle Sara, 104 Beadwood Dick’s Device. By Wheeler. 405 Old Rube, rae Hunter. Capt. H. Holmes. 106 Old Frosty, THE Guine. By T. C. Harbaugh. 107 One-Kyed Sim. By James L. Bowen. 108 Daring Davy. By H St. George, | 309 Deadwood Sick as Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. ‘ 1L0 ‘fhe Black Steed of the Prairies. A ‘Thrilling Story of Texan Adventure. By Bowen, 311 The Sea-Devil., By Col, P. 3112 whe Mad Munter, By BurtonSeax, By Jos, E. Badger; Jr. | Captain J. F.C. Adams, | L. Wheeler. | 3 Jack Moyle. By EdwanL. Wheeler. } Whe Black Schooner, Roger Starbuck. 5 The Mad Miner. By G, Waido Browne. 6 ‘The Mussar Captain. Col. P. tograham. 7 Gilt-Kdgved Dick. By E. L. Wheeler. & Will Somers, tH» Boy Detmenve. Morns Mustang Sana. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. The Branded Mand, By Krank Dumont, Cinnamon Chip. By 'dward L. Wheeler. Phil Mardy, Tue Boss Boy. Kiowa Charley, By T. C. Harbaugh. Tippy, van Texan. By George Gleason. Bonanza Bill, Mixer. By Ed. lL. Wheeler, Picayune Pete, By Charles Morris. Wild-Fire, Boss or THe Roap. By Dumont. Tio Young Privateer, By H. Cavendish. Deadwood Dick's Double, By Wheeler, Detective Bick. By Charles Morris. The Golden Biand. By Geo. W. Browne, The Hunted Hunter. By EX. 8. Ellis Boss Bob. By Ed, L. Wheeler. Sure Shot Seth, By Olt Coomes. ‘Oaptain Paul, By C. Dunning Clark, Night-HMawk Kit.’ By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 7 Khe Helpless Hand, Capt. Mayne Reid, Blonde Bill. By Edward L. Wheeler. Judge Lynch, Jr. By T. ©. Harbaugh, Blue Blazes. By Frank Dumont. Solid Sam. By Edward L Wheeler. Handsome Harry. By Char'es Morris, Scar-Face Saul, ¥ Ol Coomes. 4 Dainty Lance, THe Boy Sport. By Badger. Captain Ferret. By Edward L. Wheeler. Silver Star, THe Boy Knxiaur. 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. ¥. Whittaker. Panther Paul. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Black Bess, Wm. Wovrme’s Racer; or, WINNING AGAINST Opps, By Charles Morris. Kagle Kit, raz Boy Demon. By Oll Coomes, The Sword Hunters, By Whittaker, Gold Trigger, THB Srorr. T.C Harbaugh. Deadwood Bick of Dead \woody3 or, Tur Prcxep Party. By Edward L. Wheeler. Miike Merry. By Charles Morris, Fancy Frank of Colorado. Buffalo Bill, The Lost Captain. By Whittaker, Whe Black Giant. By J. FE. Badger, Jr. New York Nell. By E. L. Wheeler, Will Wildfire in the Woods, Morris. Little Texas, By Ol) Coomes, 4 Dandy Rock's Pledge. By G.W. Browne, Billy Baggage. By Charles Morris. Hickory Harry. By Harry Bt. George. Asa Scott, Toe Steampoat Boy. By Willett, Deadly Dash. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Tornado Tom. By T. C. Harbaugh, A Trump Card. By Charles Morris. Ebony Dan, By Frank Dumont. Thunderbolt Tom. By Harry St. George, Dandy Rock’s Rival, By G.W. Browne, 4 Bob Rockett, Tx Boy Doverr. By Morris. Captain Arizona. By Philip 8. Warne. The Boy Runaway. By Lieut. Perry. Nobby Nick of Nevada, FE. L. Wheeler. Ss Old Solitary. By Ol Coomes. Bob Rockett, THe Bask Roxner. Morris, The Sea Trailer. By Lieut. H. D. Perry, Wild Frank. By Edward L. Wheeler, Little urricane. By Oll Coomes, The Hidden Hand. By Chas. Morris, The Boy Tratlers. - By Badger, Jr, Evil Eye. By Frank Dumont, Cool smond,. By Col. Delle Bara. Fred Walyard, By Charles Mortis. Ned Temple, THE Borprr Boy. Harbaugh. Bob Rockett, tm Cracksman. By Morris, .Darke. By Wm. R. Eyster, By Cant. Taylor, U. 8. A. ND tt ek tet eet pet pt et ~- is a SY ree . B= SOSA Wie — BekOQoe wveos mw Bw SS S44 QM HHODS+I00 PISS Seas = SUSU See Se Or abe ah nee bin aie adie abe he he the OO GOGO GO OE GO CE PE PO PS RE - SDD MEO Hw HW Has ahadakagaseeH Geass Mak Dorme Ay SODA WDPRBIAMOROWHK OD z 3 & 4 Buffalo Bill’s Bet. By Captain Taylor. Shadowed, By Charles Morris. Little Grit, rss Wiip River. By Ingraham, 8 Arkansaw.. By T. C. Harbaugh. 199 Featherweight. By Edward Willett, 200 The Boy Bedoutins, By Whittaker. font at ht ju a jd ht ffl df ur Set ft uf fp tt et td Pl Raa If lh fh lt eh ltl pl tf St nt pd fl hr a WATe ee SeeS>ocosos | | | | 202 Prospect Pete, By Oll Coomes. ' 208 The Boy Pards. | 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom, By Wheeler | 206 Dark Paw, vu Tiaer Kina. By C. Morris 207 Navajo Nick. By T. C, Harbaugh. | 208 The Boy Hercules. By Oll Coomes. | 209 Fritz, rH Bouyy-Boy Detective. Wheeler. | 210 Faro Frank of High Pine. By EFyster. | 211. Crooked Cale, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 212 Dashing Dave. By Charles Morris. | 218 Fritz to the Front. By E. L. Wheeler, | 214 Wolfgang By Captain Frederick Whittaker. BS Captain Bullet. By T.C. Harbaugh, | $36 Bison BIL. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. | 217 Captain Crack+Shot., By BE. L. Wheeler, | |'218 Tiger Tom, Tse Texan Terror, Coomes. ‘219 Despard, the Duelist. By P. & Warne, { 220 Tom Tauner. By Charles Morris. | 22) Sugar Coated Sam, By LE. L. Wheeler. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport. Sy Ingrabam. jeut. H. D. Perry,U.8.N. Deadwood Dick’s Dream. By Wheeler. 201 The Black Hills Jezebel. By Wheeler. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 204 Gold Plume, tue Boy Banprr.. Ingraham. mm Rosser oF THE Rune. ' 228 Little Wildtire, By C. Morris. | | 230 The Vankee Rajah. ' 2382 Gold-Dust Dick. | 233 Joe Buck, of Angels. } E Merle Mlont:’s Cruise, | } | | 223 Ozark Alf, Edward Willett. | 224 Dashing Dick, 258 Sierra Samm 259 The Golden Harpoon. By R Starbuck. ) | Kine or rae Movuntvans, Ry By Ol Coomes, 225 Sam Charcoal. By Charies Morris, 226 Sneoozer, tHe Boy SHarp. By BE. L. Wheeler, 227 Weusky Parrell, Trarrer. By EF. Emerson. By Ol] Coomes, By Col. P. Ingrahara, By ©. D. Clark. By T. C. Harbaugh. By BE... Wheetes By. A W. Aiken. 284 Old Muochky’s * Boyees.’? Buckskin Sam. 235 Shadow Sam. _ By Charies Morris. 236 Apollo Bill., By Mdward L, Wheeler. 237 Lone &tar, the Cowboy Captain ¢ or, Tsx Mysrerious Rancurno, By P. Ingraham. 238 The Parson Detectiv*. By Oll Coomes, 239 The Gold-seeker Guide; or, Tre Losr Movntain.. By Captain Mayne Keld. 240 Cyclone Kit, By Edward L. Wheeler. 241 Bill Bravo and His Beur Parda-. By T. ©. Harbaugh. 242 The Two * Bloods’, By Charles Morris. 2413 The Disgzuised Guide, By OD 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 Sicrra Saim's Secret. By FE. L. Wheeler. 249 Milo Homer, 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 Malf Blood. By Edward 8, Eis 255 Captain Apollo, By T. ©. Harbaugh. 256 Young Kentuck. By Capt. Mark Wilton, 257 The Lost Hunters, By Capt. Adams. n’s Seven, By EK, L. Wheeler, 229 Crimson Kate, 231 Plucky Phil, 260 Dare-Devil Dan, By Ol) 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 Tamer. By Capt. Whittaker. 266 Killb’ar, the Guide. By Ensign Warren. 267 The Buckskin Detective. By T. U. Harbaugh, 268 Deadwood Dick's Death Trail. By Edward L. Wheeler, 269 The Gold Ship. 270 Blizzard Ben. By Captain Mark Wilton. 271 The Wuge Hunter. By. Edward 8. Ellis. 272 Minkskin Mike. By Ol Coomes. 273 Jumbo. Joe. By Edward &. Wheeles 274 Jolly Jim, By Charlies Moris, 275 Arizona Jack. By Buckskin Sam. By Ingrabam. 277 Denver Boll, By EKitwart L. Wheeler. 278 The Three Trappers. By Major Carson. By T. Cc By Col, P. Ingraham. 279 O14 Winch, raw Ruve Kia, Harbaugh, 280 Merle Momte’s Fate, Py Col Ingraham, 281 Denver Doll’s Victory... By Wheem, 282 The Typo Detective. By Edward Wiirett. 283 Emdian Joc. By Major L. W. Carson. 284 The Sea Marauder. By. Col Ingraham. ¥85 Deriver Doll's Decoy. By E. L. Wheel. 286 Josh, the Boy Tenderfoot; or, Tr: Wi» May or Buzzarp Ban. By Mark Wilt 287 Billy Blue-Eyes,. By Col. P. Ingraham 288 The Scalp King. By Capt. J. FO. Adams. 289 Jolly Jim’s Job. By Charles Morris, 290 Little Foxfire, By Oll’Coomes. 291 YVurk, the Ferret. By EF. L. Wheeler, 2092 Sancho Pedro, tax Boy Banvrr. By Major BE L. St. Vrain. 293 Red Claw, THe One-Byrp Trapper, By Captain Comstock. 294 Pynamite Dan. By T. C. Harbaugh. 295 Fearless Phil} or, Tar Krva or Quarts virus. By Edwar Willett, 296 Denver Doll's Drift. | 297 The Tarantula of Taos, Sam. 298 Kho Beach Pirates, By Charles Morris A nen teeug every week. | The Balf-Dime Library is for sale by ali Newsdealers, five vents per copy, or sent by mail on | receipt of six cepts each. SADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 6 William Street, New York. By ©. ¥.. Wheeler, Ry Buckskin