Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 2) (1877 10 19)
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ie Bala ilies tans stilt Single Number. BEADLE AND ADAMS, EEeeeey \ ty ie Ylltb a at a et a al at al a at a al al al et Copyrighted in 1877, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, CHAPTER I. THE POUDEREE. “Tt’s no use—in less’n three shakes we'll ketch it, hot an’ heavy!” “But, Harris, we must reach the shelter of the rocks. Look yonder—’tis a hurricane! It will be death to meet it here, unprotected. Look beyond the point—see! the trees uprooted, the very rocks carried like feathers before the blast! there—it’s life or death now, boys!” ‘*Mules is poor critters to buck ag’inst the wind in a race, boss—but hev it so, though I ’vise ye to turn the critters head in, like a corral, sorter. Thar’ll be On—whip up , the devil an’ all to pay when the animiles feel the fust lick—they’ll stampede, shore!” “Too late—we haven't time—our only chance is the rocks yonder. Maynard—look to the democrat —push on ahead and save the girls—quick!”” Vith hoarse shouts, angry curses and impreca- tions, mingled with and given force by the stinging * blacksnake,”’ the sharp crack of which echoed from side to side of Shicha-chetish* pass, the teamsters urged on their snorting, terrified mules, pausing not to pick the smoothest way. over the bowlders that thickly strewed the level bottom. Of the six vehicles, five were huge, clumsy, ie bedded wagons—true “ prairie schooners ’’—heavi loaded, drawn each by six stout mules. Their SSS PUBLISHERS, CSD \! A || 1) Ge mow XW. DBB=To Ww but bounding recklessly | drivers, each bestriding his ‘‘ near-wheeler,” plied | tongue, spurs and whip without cessation. men ran alongside, flogging the bewildered animals ricking them with knives until their sides an aunches were washed with blood. * Literally, ‘‘ Bad Wolf,” though why so called, I do not know, ther | The unusual noise and confusion had so alarmed them that the utmost endeavors of Terence M’Carthy only served to keep their heads directed toward the overhanging cliff beyond. Shicha-chetish pate or canon, as it might almost as well be termed, closely resembles a gigantic letter Y, with its base pointing nearly due west. Upon either hand, divided by nearly one hundred feet of chalky soil, thickly strewn with bowlders of various sizes and shapes that had fallen from the sides of the pass, rose abruptly the walls of the canon, in a se- ries of gigantic steps or plateaus. The first and | largest step was considerably over a hundred feet in hight, clear-cut and perpendicular, so smooth and regular that a cat could not have scaled it, unless aided by the scanty, straggling growth of parasitic plants that clung to the face of the ch rock, Above this rose another and another step, until the
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2 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. top, where a dense wth of scrubby pines, cedars and pinons crowned the ny The base of the Y is some two miles in length; the arms a trifle longer. The lower branch—or the one tending to the north- west—was the one along which the emigrants had wound. An hour ae rey the day had been all that is expected of latter June; clear, warm, and inspirit- ing. But there came a sudden change. The sky darkened, the sunshine assumed a blood-red tinge, the air suddenly died away to almost suffocating still- ness. Men and cattle felt oppressed. They breathed with difficulty. Their skins were and parched, The searing atmosphere prevented perspiration. Instead of being among the mountains, where their yearning gaze could even then rest upon masses of cooling snow, they seemed to be in the midst of a desert, beneath the simoom’s withering breath. Bob Harris, an old trapper who had been picked up by the way, wounded, almost pbs 1 though he had managed to escape with his scalp from the Blackfeet who had robbed him of a traps and peltries, told John Warren that he believed a storm—the terrible poudereet—was brewing. The guide, Chris Camp, scoffed at this idea, A snow- storm in summer—bah! “Nobody but a fool—or wuss—’d want us to camp hyar, whar the reds, ef so be they’re nigh to han ked bag us easy ’s fallin’ off alog. They ked craw up ‘ithin forty foot o’ us, unseen—an’ squash us like tum’le-bugs onder a wagon-wheel by rollin’ rocks down on us from up thar. You say you're a fri’nd old man—you talk more like one o’ them cussed white Injuns!”’ Warren checked the quarrel that threatened to end in bloodshed, by swearing he would shoot the man who first struck a blow, and then the train slowly moved on. It was but natural that Camp should be believed before Harris, since he had been with the train from Council Bluifs, while the other was a stranger. But as the party entered the main portion of the ass, the sky ‘w more and more threatening. he oppressive heat subsided. Instead, came an icy- cold current that chilled man and beast to the bone. The fitful gusts increased in power and frequency, striking the emigrants fairly in the face, almost carry- ing them from their feet. The sun was hidden be- hind dull leaden clouds. Far away, just above the western horizon, could be seen a black cloud, rapid- ly increasing in size. Still Camp declared that they could reach the mouth of the pass in time. Upon the open ground, even if they had not time to reach secure shelter, they would be safer than in the nar- row canon where the hurricane would be doubled in its force by the high walls. The cloud advanced with frightful nie wry 8 Then came a dull, rumbling noise that resembled the thun- ders of a distant ca ract, ever and anon breaking into ayn om echoes like the roll of thunder. The whir gusts of wind blended into one steady blast, cold as the breath of an iceberg, seeming to pierce the very marrow—to cut the sensitive flesh like a keen knife. Footmen were prostrated—horses and mules staggered back—the canvas tilts of the wagons were torn into shreds. “ Then came an abrupt lull. This blast was but the avant courier of the hurricane—of the pouderee. And in this interval were spoken the words that head this es The mouth of the was now in full view, scarce a quarter of a mile distant. Through it could be dis- tinguished the abrupt spur of another mountain ridge, rising ee ee ee from the level. Under lee of this cliff the emigrants would be com- paratively well sheltered from the storm. The first force of the pouderee struck the projecting mass of verdure-clad rock. The deep, sullen wa: of the hurricane abruptly changed its note— there now came the , electric reverberations of a prolonged roll of musketry. The stiff, stubborn trees upon the mountain side were lashed furiously to and fro, then either broken short off or else torn up by the roots and carried far from their birthplace upon the ty breath of the storm demon, and rewn thickly over the plain. Huge bowlders were wrested from their repose and sent thundering adown the sloping mountain side and hurled bodily over the precipice. Clouds of dust, leaves and bro- ken branches filled the air, as though seeking to hide this dread desolation from the eyes of man. Then the cloud deepened—the mountain spur faded from view—the vail was no longer of dust. It was of snow, of sleet and ragged tones. A moment later, and the pouderee swallowed up the emigrants. Its effects, though instantaneous, must be described in detail. Frank Ma , the young, man whom John War- ren had bidden look to the safety of those occu the “ democrat,” was a little in advance, moun upon a stout horse. The blast struck him, crushing both horse and rider to the earth with as little re- sistance as a blade of grass gives to the foot that rests upon it! The occupants. of the democrat were prostrated upon the seats, and the wind burst the stout oilskin curtains from their faste . The one upon the Jeft side gave way first, and to this fact is probably owed what followed. Instead of being upset, the wagon was lifted up and whirled half-way around, so that it pressed firmly against the rock wall of the pass. The horses were thrown from their feet at the same oe and half-rolled, -dri over over, until their heads were pointing in the di- rection of the back trail. The foremost wagon was served even worse. ‘Fhe mules, staggering eath the first shock, whirled + I spell this as it is pronounced; whether correct- ly or not, I do not know. abruptly to the right, ‘cramping * the wagon as it turned broadside to the hurricane, lifting a wheel clear off the ground, And thus the huge mass was prostrated Even above the roar of the tornado, the crashing | of wood, there arose a shriek of agony. Somebody —at least one human being had been stricken down by the falling wagon. Mules, horses and cattle were overthrown. Men were carried from their feet and then dashed vio- lently to the ground or against the jagged bowlders, yards away. Fragments of rock an to thunder down the series of gigantic steps, t tening the unfortunate emigrants with new peril. Snow and sleet and hailstones—the latter rough and ragged, as though composed of several smaller ones, frozen together as they came in contact, form- ing masses of ice large as a man’s clenched fist*— were driven with frightful force. Death seemed inevitable. Fortunate indeed was it that these masses of ice were only carried upon the front of the tornado, A single moment—then there came a brief lull; the lull before the tornado. Yet in that single moment the bewildered horses that were attached to the democrat struggled to their feet, bruised and bleeding, half-mad. e sud- den start onan Terence M’Carthy forcibly from the seat upon which he was lying, even in that dire confusion mene. clutching the reins. He was hurled headlong beneath the fore wheels. Then the fierce wind again howled through the | It struck the democrat, | — with renewed vigor. It i i sean Pome light vehicle against the trembling ani- mals’ bounded forward, by what seemed a miracle, pass- ing over the struggling pile of mules attached to the vaio wagon, and then disappeared in the storm. Only one human 4 = had seen them dash by. Frank Maynard had n hurled from the saddle, and thus escaped being crushed beneath his falling horse. He managed to scramble to his feet during the momentary lull. It was more than the love of life that inspired him. He was thinking of others— or rather of another—of Minnie Warren. With a desperate wrench he half-lifted his con- fused animal erect, and leaped into the saddle as he saw the democrat and its priceless freight dash past him. And then, as the renewed blast struck him, he plun his spurs more deep into his horse’s flanks, and darted forward. All this transpired with the rapidity of thought. Scarce ten seconds had elapsed from the first strik- ing of the pouderee till the strange chase was hidden in the storm-cloud of snow and hail, of twisted boughs and shattered rock. It was a wild, reckless chase—one that no really sane man could have attempted with any hopes of success. Yet Maynard never once gave thought to his own danger. He only knew that his more than life was threatened with death, and he plied spurs and bridle-reins, hoarsely shout to his horse, that, mad with terror, plunged blindly forward, stumbling over bowlders and limbs of trees, slipping upon the hailstones, yet, through some strange prov- idence keeping its feet. Surely ‘twas neither its own activity nor the skill of its rider that avoided a fall, where to fall would be death. Yet a gleam of reason returned to Maynard in time to prevent a fatal error. As they neared the spot where the arms of the Y merged into the main stem, the horse naturally hugged the ht-hand wall; for that was the course he had followed in coming—he was upon the back track. Maynard laced down. He saw that the tracks left by the emocrat in the snow and hailstones bore to the | left. Tho there could be no doubt of th around toward the upper and fell to its knees. But the taut rein lifted him forcibly, and the next moment he plunged into the unknown pass. $ Whither did it lead? What would be the ending of this mad, reckless chase? The pass was — much like the one already de- scribed, excepting that it was on a smaller scale. The width o steps or plateaus, was barely fifty poe and fully h so rapidly es y . And he wrenc one-half of this was barred and chok - by the f ents of soft rock that had fallen from the cliffs. Yet, through this narrow the mad- dened horses had evidently carried the light spring wagon with its precious freight, for now, despite the | “ivir y sna ‘could plainly eA ear the dri snowstorm, he trail—he even fancied he could unches. With a mad scream in unison, they | pass his animal’s head | The horse stumbled | level ground between the towering | | especially wagon. The terrified horses were still fleeing at to speed, aided, rather than retarded, by the democrat. At times a flerce gust of wind would hurl the vehicle fairly inst their haunches. They could not have peneee n their mad career, while the tornado urged hem on,and keep their feet. To fall would be almost certain destruction. The back curtains were driven in by the force of the wind. Maynard could just distinguish the light Se ofa woman. It was the dress worn by Ada ixon. Minnie—where was she? He could see not of her. Had she been thrown out during the mad race? Had he passed her unseen along the trail? Bob of heartrending agony burst from May- nard’s lips as the thought struck him. A vision of her mangled body lying among the cruel, jagged bowl- ders danced before his eyes. It seemed so real, that he reeled in his saddle—the rein dropped from his benumbed hand—and as his horse stumbled, the young man was cast forward upon the animal’s neck, Mechanically clutching the thick mane, Maynard slipped back in the saddle as his horse arose. And the mad race swept on. “Help! for the love of God! Frank, save—” The words came indistinctly to his ear, and he saw Ada slightly lift her head: but then a severe jolt again cast her beneath the seat. The appeal thoroughly aroused Maynard. He saw that at least one life depended upon his exer- tions. With a cry of encouragement he urged his horse on. A ray of hope flashed upon him. He saw that tk ended oak, a few hundred yards ahead. He could distinguish a low line of something dark—it — be bushes, growing upon the open ground be- yond. Then a fierce blast of wind drives the snow-cloud aside, Acry of horror bursts from hislips. He draws his knife and mercilessly pricks his horse. Death— a horrible death yawns before the runaways and their helpless freight. The bushes are tree-tops, whose trunks are hidden from view! They grow in a ravine, or upon the side of a fathomless canon. a terror-blinded animals plunge furiously to- ward i He thrusts his knife deep into his horse’s hip, and leaves it rankling in the wound as he draws his revol- ver. The horse shrieks with pain, but he can do no more, where he is already doing his best. The hammer falls. The cap explodes—but no re- port follows. And the mad animals plunge on to their death! CHAPTER II. “BIRDS OF A FEATHER.” “THe dogs are b ning to growl, are they? Let them dare show their teeth to me, and the devil will have a feast before his time! Chief I am and chief I will be; enough for them that I lead the way.” These words were uttered sotto voce by a man who stood leaning carelessly against the trunk of a cot- tonwood tree, his dark eyes roving over the scene be- fore him, one hand instinctively caressing the polish- ed butt of a revolver. There was nothing remarkabie about this person- age, if his eyes be Gere sae, They were large, un- usually brilliant, of a jetty biackness. At times lan- guid, sleepy, they could fill with a mesmeric fire werful enough to subdue the risi ions of a ungry wild beast; at such times the twin orbs seem- ed to pieroe one through and through, to read one’s inmost thoughts, to awe the most reckless spirit. He was neither handsome nor ugly, in face; of medium size, though rather broad-shouldered, Hig frame was one that would not attract a second glance in a crowd, yet a connoisseur would have declared howd man possessed of extraordinary strength and ac- ivity. Before him, stretched at ease upon the greensward in the shade cast by a group of young cottonwoods, were > seoreof men. Their masks of shaggy, ill-kempt r and beard more than their color or dress, proclaimed these men of Anglo-Saxon a Their garb partook more of the savage—only no In- dian could curse and blaspheme so fluently, One of them, a squat, red-haired Caliban, seemed ntented, and his voice was louder than he probably intended, as he uttered the words: “T say it’s too durned thin! What'd he promise us? Money, hosses, mules, goods—lots o’ it. Whar | is it? Jest whar it war afo’ we started. Whose fault frunder of iron-shod hoofs before him through the | deafening clamor of the raging tornado, And with ho > in his bosom he urged . He deree, though it was fast stiffening his every He had thought only of his loved one and her peril. He leaned impatiently forward and sought to jerce the cloud of w airly dist: either hand. dri snow and clatterin a sudden Thoug seemed to in In front there seemed nothing crease, if anything, the hail "iene Ce rasions cae ke from Maynard’ cry broke from Ss lips. He could now distinguish the sleet-coated * A party was caught in a similar hailstorm while cutting hay on the Raneas prairies, in 62, We saved ourselves by crawling beneath the half-loaded wag- on, Two of vur horses were killed by the hailstones. A man and his horse were found dead; his skull was fractured. After the storm, we icked up hailstones larger than a man’s clenched fist.—AvurTHor, on his terrified | d not feel the icy breath of the Fa - | mb. ling snow. He could not | the towering cliffs that were ue u hailstones. Then came the force of the wind | ceased and | is it? Our’n? Not much! It’s his, We hed the chaince las’ night—we hev the chaince now : why don’t he let us bounce ’em? Mebbe he wants the red-skins to git in ahead 0’ us. Who is he, anyhow? MD Ginees Ye; Ficotop-—took ** Cheese p—look yender!” has tered one of the discontented villain’s Ho ya ly turning a dirty gray, as he quickly rolled away rom the spot. Firetop glanced up, and then his brilliant crest dropped. A revolver muzzle was staring him full in the face, held by the man who still leaned carelessly ainst the tree-trunk. The magnetic black eye one like a coal of fire above the polished tube. and held the gaze of the discontent, surely as the ing bird, orbs of a rattlesnake enchain the flutter- ‘I can tell you, Sandy Ben—your master, dog! Stand he org d’y’ think I'll give ye time to dren that pistol? Hold up your hands—I’ll not warn ye twice. There—now me your questions,” The squat ruffian sullenly rose erect and held up his unarmed hands as ordered, though it was evident he would gladly have rebelled, had he seen one chance of doing so successfully. But he knew that any such attempt would be rewarded with a half- ounce of lead.
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Yellowstone Jack. s ak up! what were you growling about?” a Ty ou heered me at all, you know well enough,” sullenly. ‘No impudence—I've asked you twice, The third time ’twill be through my revolver.” “°F you're sp’ilin’ to shoot, why don’t ye blaze "away? *Twon't be the fust time ’at I’ve smelt burnt wader. PeeThis will be the Zas¢ time, if you don’t—” “Injuns! look out, Cap—ahin ye, thar!” sullenly yelled Sandy Ben, leaping quickly aside. The leader of this rough band involuntarily turned his head, to glance behind him. And a revolver-bul- let grazed his cheek, severing a lock of the silken whiskers in its passage. Quick as thought the half-dropped pistol was lev- eled, and a second report followed the first, like an echo. Without a groan, wr nags ee wheeled half | around, throwing up his arms, the still smoking re- volver dropping from his nerveless grasp; then he | upon his face, dead, shot through the fell forwar brain. The chief was still leaning against the trunk, nor did he move as the men simultaneously sprung to their feet with drawn et og other than to lift the hammer of his revolver. His face was calm, though ue eyes seemed to emit a phosphorescent gleam, as e spoke. ‘A shot for a*shot—’tis true prairie law. But if any one of you object, I will be happy to accommo- date you.” “The boss is right, boys,”’ said a tall men of humanity. “Sandy Ben ull sence the durned greeny that, why, he’d orter kick the bucket. of a man at fifteen yards—git out!”’ This characteristic speech turned the tide, and the threatened mutiny died out. The slayer of Sandy Ben now appeared an entirely different person. He was as affable as he had been stern and haughty. “Thank you, my lads—we’ll get von fine iy now. Sandy Ben was the only fool among you--he thought he could drive me, by hot words. But enough of him—roll the carrion into the creek—then listen. I will tell you, now, just what my plans are. I intend- ed doing so all along, but ie would have said that fear of him made me. ‘*You know this much, that my name is Mat Mole, that I hired you at fifty dollars per month, to do a job of work for me. You know that this job is connected with the emigrant train ahead of us, but nothing more. As the hour for windi is now at hand, I’ll tell you my whole plans, “You know that John Warren is boss of this train, He is my enemy. The man that shows me his scalp I Ml pay double wages when we return to Council Bluffs. “There are two women with the train—Warren’s daughter and niece. His daughter—the brown-haired one—must be mine, unharmed. The other you can aunt speci- ed fust—an’ Miss the size choose ““Warren is bound for the coast of California, | where he expects to make a fortune in the hide and tallow trade. His brother wrote him to come—that he had made nearly a million in five years. Warren sold out, and is ree his mone over two thousand dollars in gold with sum you can divide between you. I ask nothing, only that you help me in pos his daughter.”’ e men cheered loudly at this intelligence. that moment they would have charged death itself, had Mat Mole desired them. “You have wondered why I did not strike at once —why I have delayed so lon many fair opportunities. likes to make all sure, before I show my hand. Not one of this are nearly = them, as we might have done a score of times here would have been a tough fight, and some o them might have got away. Now, if they escape us, os Indians will pick them up before they can reach safety.” ‘*What’s to hender the varmints from pickin’ us up, as well?’ asked Tobin, the tall man. “We are in the Blackfoot country, and I can do with them whatever I will. They will aid, not oppose us. Their de is in my pay. You see how far they have waurared from the Hen trail. Well, we have Chris Camp to thank for that. You know the trouble I have taken to lay false ‘ gn ’ around their camps. Chris read that asI bade him. Under the pretense of giving the Blackfeet the slip, he has led them pA must escape with their lives. They into the very heart of the Blackfoot country. This | “. if everything works well, we will finish our job, and—” A low, peculiar whistle echoed from down the | shallow stream, interrupting Mat Mole in his speech. The men seemed to recognize the signal, but when it | was repeated, with a erent ence, each man | sprung for his rifle. Even Mole ap startled. The next moment a tall, lithe glided into view, and approached Mat Mole. “ What is it, Vern?” asked the leader. “ Indians—two-score—t us,” was the quick reply. “Blackfeet, I think. They were too close for oe lose any time. They are painted for the war- they “Then it’s allright. Boys, I see you forget what I told you. These Blackfeet will be our : ies, not enemies, if we will share with them. The need not know anything about the gold—you can afford to let them have the mules, t cache yourselves, and wait. Watch me close. Agree to everything I say, and all will be well.” “We can whip them, captain,’’ muttered the scout, “No need, Don’t you see we can make these fools | play cat to our monkey? They may burn their fin- couldn’t shoot no better’n | up the job | dispose of—by drawing lots, or by cards, just as you | along. He has | This At | and thrown away so. Well, I am a man that | ouble our force. Even if we had sur- | Besides, we have a friend with these emigrants. | but they will do our work and save us much | gers. But there—I must go trouble and some few lives. meet them.” Mat Mole ore down the creek, quickly disa) pearing amid the undergrowth. His men promptly | cached themselves, their weapons in readiness for use | in case their leader’s confidence should be misplaced. The scout alone appeared dissatisfied. He would rather have met the Blackfeet as enemies. And when it is said that his father’s scalp hung in the smoke of a Blackfoot lodge, the sentiment is not strange. Vernon Campbell was a character in his way. Ten years before—when he was barely fifteen—his last relative had been killed, and he taken prisoner by the Blackfeet. Six months later he managed to es- cape, by killing his adopted father and _ brother, eer a couple of horses, and reached the settle- ments in safety, though pursued for two days and ights. Since then he had devoted his life to huntin Indians. =. as he was, his deeds were we known amoung the Blackfeet, and his name was a terror to them. He had joined Mole, on learning they were bound for the Blackfoot country, without asking the object of their journey. | He was tall, lithe, straight as an Indian, an adept in all athletia sports, a perfect master of his wea- ns, and one of the surest trailersin the West. His | features were regular, almost classic in their out- | line. His fair hair hung in slightly-curling locks, be- low his shoulders. His face was perfectly smooth. Like the Indians, he assiduously plucked all super- fluous hair from his face. is garb was plain, formed wholly of Indian-dressed- buck-skin, neither fringed nor ornamented. A round, 4 pm skull- cap of buck-skin covered his head. His eyes needed no protection. Ifneed be, he could gaze at the noon- = sun without dimming their luster. lat Mole glided —— down the creek-bank, using considerable caution, but more as if from force of habit than because he apprehended danger. And yet he was almost within hearing of a Blackfoot war-party—those most inveterate enemies of the wie. nantsed th f the undergrowth. Be- € paused upon the e of the undergrowth. fore him lay full half oie of valley that was per- fectly free of trees or bushes, the und covered with naught save a short, close-curled grass. Up | this valley the pale-faces had passed on the preceding evening. Their trailers will not be far in advance,’ muttered Mole. ‘‘They won’t dream we are so near, as the | trail is full fifteen hours old. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble, though ’tis ten years and more since I left them.” A few moments later Mat Mole saw two footmen enter the open ground, fiiding rapidly forward, their heads bowed like hounds running by scent. Before these trailers had passed over half the space, astrong body of horsemen followed upon their track. Mole gazed keenly at them, but the bright rays of the sun linting across the freshly-painted and oiled faces affled him. He could only tell that this was indeed | a Blackfoot war-party. bine om | a hand to his mouth, Mat Mole pealed forth the shrill, unearthly war-whoop of the Kainna Black- feet. It was heard distinctly, and the savage riders me: drew rein, toward the Salk . sur- prise. en came a long-drawn, peculiar ye i | away in a quavering wail; a yell that bon chilled many a bold heart—for it was a startling imitation of the panther’s cry. It was Mat Mole’s *‘totem.”’ The Blackfeet seemed to recognize the yell, and as the white man boldly emerged from the brush a slight exclamation of joy broke from Mole’s lips, for he recognized in the chief an old-time friend an | comrade, Neepaughwheese, or the ‘* Night-Walker.”’ The meeting was cordial upon both sides, and | quite a long conversation ensued. The Blackfeet | were glad to learn that Creeping Panther was still living, though they had heard he had long since been dispatched to the happy hunting-grounds by a white snake, who, fearing to meet the eye of a brave, crept up and struck him from behind. On the other hand, ees had not forgotten his red brethren, but had brought them a band of stout braves, whose hearts were red, though their skins were e, to help fight their battles. And, too, he had driven be- | fore him a rich wagon-train filled with goods, and attended by plenty of good scalps, to prove that he had not forgotten his red friends. He had kept the hatchets of the Atoes and Sioux away from them, that the Blackfeet might not be robbed of their prize. The Blackfeet were to have the horses, the mules, the goods and + pe dinmy her 3 except two poor squaws that he had said must help fill ] . This h was most graciously received. The Night- age net we himself to t ree | Panther’s warriors as brothers; together they woul despoil the train. And with this understan the party hastened on up the creek. Nearing camp, Mole gave the signal that all was well, and a minute later the allies were grouped to- — on the most amicable footing, All except ernon Campbell. He stood apart, sullen and dis- contented, his weapons ready for use in case he should be recognized. But he had changed greatly since his captivity, and not one of the Blackfeet sus- pected this hie f peg, ome of that dreaded sco of their race, Pacanne-puck-on-che-luk, or the “ Man that drinks blood.” Evidently Mat Mole distrusted the self-control of Vernon, for he bade him set forth and pt Be emi- ts to their ee As though glad to put femptation behind him, Campbell left the camp. Mole and_ the Night-W er quickly arra their plans, Mole translating the ent for | followers’ benefit. The Blackfeet were to do the | most of the work, which was but natural, since they Pe genet chief galloped forward to meet him, | | an’ tell the brigade of our find? | sheer ‘Il be smaller, but we'll be wie ats 3 os were to have the largest share of the plunder, if not the most valuable. The council was abruptly broken up by the storm, that had long been brewing. Warned by the weath- erwise Indians, the adventurers took their horses down the valley to the open ground, and then threw them, securely tying their legs. Shrouded in their blankets, the men crouched down behind their ani- mals’ bodies, arkd awaited the pouderee. It came in all its fury—the wind, the sleet, the snow, the hail—not even Night-Walker had ever wit- nessed such a terrible storm. It seemed as though the end of the world had come. CHAPTER Ii. THE SPIRIT OF THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. ‘“Waau!”’ “ What is ‘t, boyee?”’ “ Sign—Blackfoot, I reckon.”’ “Two sizes—toes p’inted up, to’rds our cache—no back trail. A blind man could read it, boyees. These imps may not hev come hyer lookin’ for us in preticklar, but they must ’a’ see’d our sign up the valley, ‘less they’re plum blind. What then? Why they J uckachee a’ter help to come back an’ raise our s* da: reckon we'd better puckachee,* then,’ suggest- one. “An’ J reckon no. We've struck a fat streak in hyar. A pelt a trap fer a week runnin’ ain’t to be sneezed at. Then shell we puckachee jist beca’se we run on a couple o’ Injun huff-marks in the sand? I reckon you're jist a-coddin’, Brindle Joe.” “ Jist es you say, Yallerstone—don’t matter to me.” ‘“Waal, hunker down hyar; the varmints mought sight us afore we got a good ready. Now, lis’en. You fellers said you'd let me choose our trail on this trip. You see’d that I didn’t lie to ye "bout the fur hyar. You know thar’s plenty more ‘round. Now, shell we stick it out a little longer, or shell we go f they come, our h then ell we to laugh at the hull Blackfoot tribe. 0?” “Do jist es you say, old man,” promptly replied Brindle Joe, a “T knowed it—I knowed you was true grit, cl’ar to the backbone! Ef you'd ‘a’ said defrunt, Brindle Joe, I'd ’a’ bin disa’p'inted in my old pard. But thar—I reckon we've got other work than to gass all day. Joe, you an’ Me come wi’ me. oosier, you an’ Heelyt Hank cache hyar, an’ ef a red comes down this way, save ’im ‘ithout burnin’ powder, ef posserble, but save *im dead to rights. On erstand?” Yellowstone Jack and his comrades glided ——- but stealthily up the valley, leaving their two frien in ambush behind them. These men, with one other, who had been found, arrow-pierced and scalpless, upon his ‘‘run,” three days before, had joined the brigade under command of the veteran, ‘Old Jim Bridger,” for the “ spring | hunt.” Yeliowstone Jack, a “ prime hand,” despite = prea had gained leave to take a few comrades w him to visit a secret preserve of his own. Brid- er granted this request the more readily that he ew the Indians, into whose country they had pene- trated, were most likely fully. e ed with their hunting further south-east. Until this ‘‘ meat-mak- ing” was completed, they would have little time for 7 else. e little met with extraordinary success. Scarce a trap was set that did not nightly contain a beaver or an otter. And though sp furs, being | lighter, are less in price than the winter pelts, the venturers were in high glee as they calc’ ted the profits of the trip. How many pleasures—what glori- ous how many nights of delirious gaming could be had with their earnings! Yet all was not serene, here was something about them that they could not understand. i the past two weeks they had caught occasio glimpses of a woman—of what appeared to be a mar- velously beautiful and graceful girl. But could a human being ap and vanish so abruptly, so mys- teriously? Was it not—and those bold hearts, who would have faced scores of bloodthirsty enemies with- out ae hair’s-breadth, drew closer together as they read the same suspicion in each other's eyes— was it not rather a spirit ? A trapper is nothing, if not superstitious. Then came the murder of their comrade. He had been shot with an arrow, then scalped. But the fatal weapon had been carefully removed from the wound. The banks of the stream bore no impression of hu- man feet, save those of the unfortunate trapper, though the body lay in open ground, a score or more yards from the water. Gould warrior have passed over that sward of soft yo grass without leaving a trail? Yet those keen-eyed men, their perception pan ere a burning thirst for revenge, could dis- cover no ‘ Still they continued their rounds, but always ren- dezvo' at a given point before venturing into the valley where they made their head-quarters, lest an ambush should have been laid there to cut them off one by one as they returned from visiting their traps. Yellowstone Jack peered cautiously from his covert behind the point of rocks that barred from view the upper end of the romantic little valley, or ae, to speak more correctly, that served as their retreat. A deadly fire kindled in his blue eyes as he hastily withdrew his head. “The varmints is sneakin’ down this way—ready, * An Indian term equivalent to bea a hasty re- treat, to ‘‘skedaddle,” “* vamose,”’ etc. ough de- rived from the Kickapoo, this term is in general use among both red-skin and white. + Gila—pronounced “ Heely ” by the the mountain- eers.
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4 boyees!” he gritted, drawing the stout-bladed butcher-knife from his belt, and preparing for a for- ward leap. Only a few yards off two dusky, shining-skinned forms glided crouchingly along through the scattered shrubbery. They were Indians—the same, beyond a doubt, who had made the trail that sharp-eyed Brin- dle Joe detected. The trappers had only one thought. Vengeance for their murdered comrade was within their p. It was enough that these intruders were -men, They could not be friends. “Sock it to ’em, boys!” gritted Yellowstone Jack, as he leaped. upon the foremost savage with the un- erring aim of a lurking carcajou who for hours has —— watched for the unconscious victim to pass neath its perch. There was little or no struggle. Quick and deadl as the lightning’s flash, Yellowstone buried his knife haft-deep in the savage’s heaving chest, and then bore him heavily backward, stifling in his throat the convulsive death-shriek that otherwise would have rung out in all its fierce agony. 'Then—with one hor- rible shudder, the Se limbs relaxed. The spirit of the red-man had fied. “Whoo-oop!” uttered Yellowstone, but in a sub- dued tone, as he turned around just in time to see Brindle Joe arise from the corpse of his aniegenms “T reckon Fatty Smith ’d grin now, ef he could on’y see how we e our Wo! good—though his skelp was wuth a dozen sech pelts es these /” “ Oarrai /” you big varmints don’t give a little man fair show—you take all the fun, like boys!” grumbled the little Mexican, Chavez. * Better luck next time, babby. Thar wasn’t time fer drawin’ lots. But see—lift thar ha’r, while I go see ef all’s right wi’—”’ ‘*Ge-thunder! look yender!” muttered Brindle J pointing across the valley, his deeply-bronzed an grotesquely-freckled face—from which his nom de i was derived—turning a shade lighter. P The—the spirit!’ breathed Yellowstone, in a tone of awe. Upon a slender point of rock that jutted out from the face of the almost perpendicular cliff, stood a fairy-like figure, clearly outlined against the gray rocks. The figure of a woman, or rather that of a girl, just budding into womanhood. Her features could not be distinguished clearly, though the awe- stricken trappers could see that her skin was dusky, olive tinted ; y was jetty black. Her garb was plain, unornament- ed, even rude. genes | composed of skins with the hair still on, her arms bare to the shoulder. In one hand she held a white bow; the other was just lucking an arrow from the quiver at her back. en the bow was bent until the feathered shaft fairly brushed her ear, and when the string relaxed, the missile hurtled through the air, quivering deep in the ground several yards behind the trappers, as she uttered, in a clear, musical voice, speaking the Kain- na-Blackfoot dialect: “IT have warned you—beware!” “Thar’s somethin’ fastened on the arrer-head,” oe red Brindle Joe, whose eyes were like a wk’s. Yellowstone Jack, closely followed by his com- rades, ran to the spot where the arrow had fallen, and as the young trapper pulled it from its earthen sheath, he detected a strip of buck-skin wound round the shaft. Unloosening this, he eagerly gazed upon the small, curious symbols portrayed in red ees the white skin. Then the puzzled trapper turned to Brindle Joe. That —— was staring in open-mouth- ed astonishment, Epes toward the cliff. The had vanished. ‘I knowed ‘twas a spook—reckon we'd better a afore wuss comes on ’t,’’ he muttered, oarsely. ~* Yender comes the boys—mebbe they’ve see’d it, As Yellowstone Jack spoke, the other two trap- pers came up the valley, their faces we a pegs) uneasy a It was plain that they odin seen the spirit, and knew not how to account or it, S **D’y’ see the thing go?” faltered Hoosier, glancing nervously around, as though half-expecting to be- = the mysterious being suddenly reappear at his Ww. ** No—how was it?’’ Yellowstone asked. “Jest nat’ally riz an’ flew up to the top thar—an’ you kin see, a mountain goat couldn’t find toe-holt whar she went,” uneasily replied the Hoosier. ‘She ust made a few signs, like she wanted to do some- n’ an’ then faded away like smoke.” “I reckon she wanted us to mind what she on this bit o’ hide—look at it. Mebbe you kin make somethin’ out o’ it—I cain’t.” “Tt’s ’ritin—I know that much,” slowly replied Heely Hank. “I’ve kerried more’n one bit 0’ sech like, what Old Sam slung off, when we war skrim- ’ wi’ the Greasers fer Texas, But I cain’t read sech sign—it’s a blind trail to me.” AS old man was powerful on them things, but somehow I never was no gre’t shakes at it,’’ feebly muttered Hoosier. ‘Er “twas beaver now, or red-skin—but never mind. I'll keep it anyhow. Don’t reckon it kin hurt a feller, ef ’t did come from a t. Idon’t reer ater “i Blkckioot howe ter arrer a leetle c r. s ’ em the kind we mountainee men call er hair, floating free in the light breeze," | her, an’ I kin find it by goin’ over the ridge. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. into the boiling, bubbling caldron. And the next if it takes my last ante. Yallerstone Jack sais it— which is me/” The men stared at him in mute amazement. They could not understand this kind of co e. Not one among them but could have faced death without a tremor, but this was different. What could skill or brute cape avail against a spook—a spirit? ““Mebbe she is a spook—I don’t know. They say there is sech things in these parts. But I b’lieve she’s a good one, then. I don’t think she’d do a feller any real hurt. Anyhow, I’m goin’ totryiton. Ef she’s human, she’s bound to leave some sort o’ trail ahind Ireckon, You fellers kin stay here; ef I don’t come back—” “Ef you’re bound to go, Yallerstone, I'm wi’ ye. Brindle Joe mayn’t be much a’count, but he don’t go back on a pardner,”’ = ad said the trapper, though his cheek was still a8 e. “We'll go in a caboodle, then,” added Heely Hank. “Five mountain men ’d orter be a match for the devil hisself, let alone a teenty spook like that.” “‘Le’s pitch this car’on into the bresh, then. Thar ain’t time to clean up the muss, but I don’t reckon any one ‘ll come this way afore we git back,” ob- Fg Yellowstone Jack, setting the example him- self. A few moments later the little party had out of the valley, reaching a point where the south- ern ridge might be scaled by an active, quick-eyed, sure-footed man, and then they peered curiously down into the adjoining valley. In this valley they had first noticed the spirit, who had as suddenly disappeared, without leaving any trace behind her, had vanished as completely and = Saar atecrd as though she had dissolved into thin r The apexgunnee too, were well calculated to arouse the superst tion of the trappers. This valley had a reputation second only to that popularly known among them as the “ Devil’s Kitchen,’ near Eustis Lake. Many an unlucky trapper had jour- neyed thither to “‘make medicine” at the yo re | Springs: many a fabulous tale was solemnly told o: the strange sights witnessed, of the maddening temptations resisted, of the marrow-curdling com- bats with spirits, spooks, goblins, and even with the master of evil himself. Implicit belief in these wild legends and traditions is a genuine mountain man’s religion—too frequently his only one. "Twould be a bold man who would openly doubt these marvels. “*T cain’t see any livin’ critter, onless *t mought be them black-tail,”’ muttered Yellowstone Jack. ** Look beyond the white mound, yender—I kin see somethin’—looks like a two-legged critter squattin’ in the shade o’ that bush-pine,”’ added Brindle Joe. “IT cain’t match eyes wi’ you, pard—on’y wish *t I could. But ef you say so, I reckon it’sthar. Come— we kin git down under kiver o’ this bresh easy enough, an’ then creep up ahind the mound.” Now, that they had fairly entered upon the adven- ture, not one of the y betrayed any hesitation. Yellowstone Jack led the way, the others close at his heels. Nor did they neglect any of their usual precautions, but kept a keen look-out in every di- rection, not kno what moment might bring a score of vengeful, bloodthirsty enemies upon them. The bottom of the valley was almost devoid of living vegetation. All around were scattered little mounds and miniature hills, of a dirty, ashen-gray hue, that afforded the trappers sufficient cover, thoroughly skilled as they were in the art of stalk- ing. Here and there ey jets of ee eee, issued from the cracked surface. A dull, subdued. rumbling sound came from beneath their feet, and more than once the crust seemed to shake beneath their stealthy footfalls. Cautiously Yellowstone Jack skirted the curious, truncated cone, that seemed composed of a dirty soda, and ieexet around the base of a broken column. A little cry of wonder broke from his lips. He saw two strange figures runni swiftly toward him. One was age ag the spirit they had seen upon the face of the cliff. e other appeared to be an old woman, wild and weird-looking, her long snow-white hair floating behind her, her limbs only partially protected by rudely-stitched skins. The two avenge betngs ran swiftly on until nearly opposite the trappers. Then they paused upon the He ang of a large Hoili spring, which, in _— ages, had thrown up a icareous deposi ‘orm a “curb” nearly ten feet above the level. Upon this “curb” the two women now stood, g upon the astonished trappers, who had not moved a muscle since their appearance. The eldest ing grasped 1 - bow held by her com- panion, and notched an arrow, as she uttered a few words in a shrill, cracked voice. Though evidently addressed to them, the trappers made no reply. In- deed, had not they been so bewildered, they would not have known what to say, since the words were to their ears, ““Go—leave this place—the Queen of the Boiling ——- warns you—beware how you anger her! uttered the younger being, in the clear, musical voice they had heard before. “The devil, more likely!’’ muttered Chavez, too much of a daredevil for aught to cow him long. “I have one silver button left—I’ll try her with that.” “Hold! don’t fire, man—they’re wimmen!”’ cried Yellowstone Jack, st up the leveled _ rifle, though not in time to save the shot, though the sil- ver button whistled far aboved the head of the witch. His hand was still grasping the rifle, when a flash of light seemed to blind his eyes, and he back. Chavez aii id his hands and fell back, without a groan, a feathered shaft transfixing his bess ““My God! look yender!” gasped Brindle Joe. With a shrill, eldritch scream of laughter, the h eadforemos raised her hands and then plunged moment the ‘Ratges being followed her example. A sullen splash—nothing more. Then all was sti CHAPTER IV, A FRIENDLY ENEMY. A cry of horror broke from the lips of Frank Maynard as the faithless pistol failed him. A cloud seemed to before his eyes. Fora moment it seemed as though he would have fallen from the —— as his tortured horse plunged blindly for- ward. The terrified animals that were attached to the democrat still dashed on, each bound carrying them still nearer the frightful death that now seemed in- evitable. With an effort of will almost superhuman, May- nard crushed down the horror that well-nigh para- lyzed both hand and brain, and once more leveled his revolver. The chance was a faint one, A wound, unless pon ear ggg A fatal, would only precipitate the catastrophe. Yet it was the only chance, ‘God have mercy on them now!” These words burst from the young man’s lips, as the hammer fell, for the second time, with a sullen click upon the tube.. He knew not that his weapons had been rendered useless by the driving rain that had heralded the terrible pouderee. And, knowing that he was werless to aid, he covered his eyes with his trembling ‘hands. The sharp, spiteful crack of a rifle saluted his ear, even above the howling of the tempest, and, amazed, he uncovered his eyes. At first he could distinguish nothing save a confused, struggling mass, rendered indistinct by a flurry of snow, borne 7 e the win of an eddying whirlwind. Then, with an arm o iron, he checked the mad career of his animal, just in time to keep it from stumbling headlong over the upset democrat. at had pars cae When the maddened horses were seemingly just about to plunge down the canon—when less than a dozen yards of level ground divided them from the abyss, a single rifle-ball whistled from behind a a bowlder hard by, and tore its way through the near horse’s brain. With one spasmodic bound it fell dead, dragging with it its mate, whose hoofs slipped ed on the carpet of snow and ice. e light wagon was whirled sideways, and over- turned. The occupants were cast out with violence. The off horse scrambled to its feet, and, madly plunging, sought to free itself. The traces held rm. e light wagon was jerked along. The dead horse was moved a few feet. One of the insensible women was rudely twitched around, so that her head pointed toward the abyss. It was Minnie. She had managed to secure the reins, and, winding them around her arms, had tried to check the runaways. Even now, while uncon- scious, her fingers closed tightly upon the leath- ern lines. And the terrified plunging of the shriek- ing animal threatened to drag her over the escarp- ment—to death. Thus matters were when Frank Maynard checked his horse and leaped to the ground. But he was too late to rescue his loved one from the danger that threatened. The animal gave one terrific bound, then stood upon the very edge of the precipice, rearing, pawin the empty air furiously with its fore-feet, as thoug striving to retreat from a danger just r ed. One The frost-eaten iron-shod hoof ey tape rock cracked and crumbled beneath the strong pres- sure. A wild, almost human shriek of horror and fear broke from the | of the animal, as it felt itself overbalanced. And then, with a mighty leap, it sprung from the crumbling rock, far out over the canon’s depths, dragging with it the dead horse, the wagon. One more scream—blood-curdling, intense- ly orrible—and then came a dull, crashing sound as the branches of the trees below gave way beneath their weight. Upon the very verge of the abyss stood a tall, lithe figure one arm supporting a drooping form, the other clasping a bright knife, flung back to re- store his balance As the horse leaped to its feet, a man dashed out from behind the bowlder, dropping his still smoking rifle, drawing a keen knife from his belt. He reach- ed the insensible maiden, Pod as the mad animal plunged into the abyss, and with a swift stroke sev- ered the reins that bound her wrists as his left arm sed round her waist. But it seemed as though fis bold adroitness would be all in vain. The terrible strain upon the reins had dragged the maiden to the very escarpment, and, though he managed to check his rush just in time to avoid in- stantly following the horse, the stranger found that the lifeless weight upon his left arm was dragging him down—was surely destroying his balance, despite his utmost exertions. In vain he strove to leap back from the yawning abyss. An invisible power seem- ed restraining him—to be drawing him, slowly, sure- ly down to death. With every muscle strained to the utmost tension—he could not take the single step that would carry him back to life, to safety, Instead, he was siving Ms His tall form was slow- ing further 1 bowing, ben over the dizzy depth, cure own by the helpless body that ung so quietly upon his arm, Without that, he could have easily saved himself. By simply straightening out his arm, all would be well. And pane she was dead. It might be a corpse that he held. She was so pale, so quiet. Not a muscle moved. Surely she could not be alive? Should he give his young life for a stranger—and that stranger one whom his sacrifice could not save? That these thoughts should have flashed across
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Yellowstone Jack. the stranger’s mind at such a moment is no stain upon his manhood. Life is sweet to all—even to him | who had braved death a hundred times, who lived only for revenge. What had he, the death-hunter, to do with saving lives? : Yet he banished the momentary temptation, and clinching his teeth until it seemed as though they would be ground to powder, he continued his silent, horrible struggle. Then he was suddenly drawn back from the abyss, and sunk breathless upon the ground. A dark re seized the drooping maiden from his arm, quickly, almost rudely. Frank Maynard had reached the stranger just in time to drag him back from death. The stranger griped his knife more firmly, and seemed about to leap upon Maynard, but then the fire died out of his eyes, as he heard the soft, caress- ing words that fell from the young man’s lips. He | saw that this man was her friend, and said, coldly: “Take this—it is good whisky. If the lady is only in a faint, that is the best medicine. I will see what can be done for the other.” Maynard accepted the proffered flask, without so much as glancing up at the donor. He had no thoughts for other than the maiden who lay so white and cold upon his lap. Vernon Campbell—for it was the young scout who had so opportunel appeaned upon the scene—glided over to where Ada Dixon was lying. He st suddenly and tenderly wi away the blood that slowly oozed from an ugly ruise upon her forehead. As though the touch of his hand had restored the spark of life, her eyes opened, resting wonderingly upon his face. “You need not fear, lady,” said Campbell, in a soft, reassuring tone. ‘You are safe—the danger is past.”’ , ““But Minnie—oh! I remember now!” and a shud- der of horror agitated her form. “She is safe—and with a friend of yours yonder.” “Then Frank—he was in time to save us?” ““Yes—but do not think of that now. See if * ee have escaped serious injury. "I'was an ugly fall—if you have escaped with whole bones, ‘twill be almost a miracle.” With these words Campbell offered his hand and Ada rose erect, though not without some little diffi- culty. She was stiff and sore, though there appeared to be nothing more serious than a few bruises. ‘*Minnie—l'rank, she is not—not dead?” faltered Aga she reached Maynard's side. **No—thank God! her heart beats—and see! she opens her eyes!’’ joyously cried the young man. Vernon Campbell turned abruptly away, and reach- ing the bowlder that lay under an overhanging ledge where he had sought refuge from the pouderee, he icked up his rifle, and first running the wiping-stick ove the tube, carefully reloaded it. Then his eyes rested upon the trio who still knelt beside the abyss. The still-fierce wind that poured through the nar- row carried their words from him, so that he could not hear what they said. Yet their actions ke avery £ and seemed to give him pain. A faint sigh parted s lips. memories of the dead past arose before him. Time rolled backward and he saw himself a child, careless, happy, little dreaming of the future before him. He saw his gentle mother, his bold, handsome father, his pretty, artless sister. Had she lived, she | would have been about the age of these fair maidens.. Then he would have had something to live for. But then came the surprise—the massacre. He saw his 1oved ones fall beneath the hatchet—he saw their ponte torn from their heads. His eyes filled with But he had drunk deep of revenge—a Blackfoot warrior had fallen for every year of their lives. At this thought the tall, athletic iow grew more erect, his blue eyes gleamed like polished steel, he half fesse his rifle as though beholding an enemy before m. It was only Frank and Ada, assisting Minnie to- ward the sheltering rock, and the wild fire gradually died out in the scout’s eyes, as he silently made away. Mm Vingyen’t thanked you yet, sir,’’ began Maynard, when he was rudely interrupted. “Wait until you’re asked- time enough then to speak of thanks. Never mind what I have done— forget it, as I shall. Only pray that the time may not come when you will curse me for having put out a hand to save you.” “What do you mean?—you speak strangely. I cannot understand you. ho and what are you? added Frank, wonderingly. “You would not recognize my name were I to men- tion it. The Blackfeet know me; they call me Pe- canne-puck-on-che-luk—the ‘ Man that drinks blood. But, le cae pees. You ask what Iam. Your enemy, I suppose, since I act as guide to those who are tracking you to your death. But I will play my hand openly, since you are white, like myself. Listen now, andremember that I am giving 7a a chance for life. There—if you interrupt me, I will leave you in the dark, and the death of these women will be upon 7 head. wt Listen, There is a traitorin your camp. His name is Chris Camp. He is there only to betray you. For this he has led you miles and miles away from the right trail. You are now in the very heart of the Blackfoot country, Camp was placed among you by a man who calls himself Mat Mole, who com- mands the band of white men I guide, We laid the false trails that alarmed your people, and Camp in- terpreted them according to his instructions. Mole has eyes that look far ahead. He means to wait un- til failure is impossible; then he will strike. The Blackfeet will aid him. A strong party joined him only this day. They will attack your people soon,” | ‘“ Why do you tell me this, if you are the enemy you say?”’ ‘*T don’t know—because Iam a fool, maybe. But itis true. The blow will come—the sooner you pre- pare for it, the better. But there—I wash my hands ~ the matter. You are warned—act as you please. pes listlessly, Campbell shouldered his rifle, and facing the bitter storm, took a step toward the pass, when Maynard spoke hastily: - Wait—you admit yourself an Sey, Aa threat- en us with death. Then why should I let you gofree to carry out your plans?” Campbell turned his head, but made no effort to avoid the loaded revolver that covered his back. fon i was a cadence of contempt in his voice as he replied: ‘I took you for a white man. You talk like a Blackfoot. If I have made such a mistake, I deserve the worst you can give me.” With these words, the young scout walked slowly away, disappeared in the pass, boldly facing the howling tempest that drove the mingled snow and sleet furiously before it. The three friends crouched under the lee of the bowlder, but it afforded scanty protection from the storm. Maynard removed his coat and wrap it around Minnie. He looked around for his horse, meaning to secure the saddle blanket for Ada, but the animal had disappeared. Unmurmuringjhe took off his knit blouse and wound it around the half senseless maiden. Then he crouched down, bend- ing over them as much as possible, seeking to inter- cept the cruel, cutting wind that almost pierced their bs marrow. at was a terrible, trying hour. It seemed as though all was lost—that they were doomed to per- ish. The sharp, stinging sensation of pain gradually became less poignant. Their limbs grew numb. A drowsiness stole upon them. The fierce howling of the tempest changed—it seemed to lull, to become soft and musical, like the gentle zephyrs of sp: murmuring through the freshly-leaved tree-tops. stupor stole over their brains. Unconscious of their danger, they yielded to it—to the stupor that pre- cedes death by freezing. A strange sound rose above the wailing of the winds. A shrill, piercing cry as of some human be- ing in terror or intense bodily agony. Mingling with this was a dull, crashing jar. The alarm roused Maynard, and he quickly lifted his head. He had been bending over the women, and as he rose, his temple came in violent contact with asharp corner of the bowlder. A tiny stream of blood trickled down his face, as though a vein had been punctured. oy foe a doubt this saved his life, for it dispelled the death stupor that was stealing away his senses. He cast a bewildered glance around, but could see nothing. Then he realized the peril that threatened the wo- men. He saw that they were a senseless—in that sleep which ended in death. He remembered the flask that the scout hdd handed him. He ran to the spot where it had been ups end found it. A musical gurgle met his ear. He knew that enough remained for his pesrcee, He rudely shook both Minnie and Ada. They re- plied to him, but in vague mutterings. He forced open their lips and poured the strong liquor down their throats. A fit of coughing ensued. The wo- men were awakened. In eager words Frank reveal- ed the danger that threatened, and finally succeeded in getting them upon their feet. With one upon each arm, he walked to and fro, unheeding their prayers that they might be allowed to rest—to sleep. The povderee had spent its force. The heavens be- oo to clear. The snow and sleet ceased to fall. ough the wind was still powerful, it seemed less cold and piercing. The little snow on the level, rocky floor an to melt. “Look yonder!”’ abru: tly cried Ada, at the end of a longer turn than Rosen 4 ‘A man—” ** An Indian—back—hide behind the rock,” rapid- ly paeeeer. Maynard, freeing his arms and drawing a revolver. The head and shoulders of an Indian rose from be- hind a long bowlder. The black eyes were riveted upon the pale-faces, with a strange expression. Maynard thought it hatred, and leveled his weapon. For the third time that day it failed him. He forgotten that the rain had rendered it useless. With a grating curse, he drew his knife and leaped forward. The Indian lifted an open hand, and muttered a few words in a harsh, guttural la: , unknown to Lg | oe reason "— now revealed. A hea rock en across the savage’s bod inni him to the ground. yy ‘Help him, Frank—look at his face. He must be ene fearfully,” murmured Minnie, gliding for- w “Tt is a Blackfoot—our enemy. You know what po een ket Be eg rospe “It wo murder! wo never r us with such a cold-blooded crime upon our souls” ““And were we to free him—if he is not nf injured—what would be the result? e would shoot you down from ambush and scalp you, as a reward. ‘He does not look like a bad man—see! he seems to understand our words—”’ Pe al ne is that?’’ ft In e rattle of firearms—the shrill whoops 0 ¥ dians, mingled with the hoarser shouts of white men; such were the sounds that came to the ears of the little , “Hooh! Blackfee - pale tacos You help me—I the savage, in imperfect save you,” sudd English, ~_ | is the democrat? I set nm the CHAPTER V. AN OLD FEUD REVIVED. Owtne to the formation of the hills surroun the valley in which the outlaws—for such in tru they may be termed—led by Mat Mole had pitched their camp, they felt the force of the pouderee much less than the emigrants. Indeed, after the first furi- ous blast, the men arose and watched the tornado passing far above their heads, —— the hill- crests clean, tearing huge trees up by the roots, twisting the — trunks asunder, hurling them hither and yon like jackstraws. But the terrible a speedily drove them to cover again, while Mat Mole crouched beneath a jutting point of rock that securely sheltered him. His brow was clouded; something more than the storm was troubling him. The few audible words that dropped from his lips proved this. “T was a fool not to think of that before—and now it may be too late—the chief will not be held back long, after what [ told him. If I could only—and why not? Mat Mole does not look much like Gerald Manners—the eyes of love itself couldn’t see the like- ness! And I'll find no such eyes there—at least, eyes that sparkle for me. Then—I’ve not forgotten my old tricks. I can do it—I will do it!” Mat Mole left his covert and crept toward the spot where his horse-equipage had been secured, and then, — a stout skin-pouch, he returned. Pouring a few drops of a thick fluid from an antelope horn bottle, he rubbed his face, neck and hands with it. His peculiar, sallow complexion was dark- ened almost to the hue of an Indian. Bits of wrap with cotton, were thrust into his nostrils. Mat Mole chuckled grimly as he peered into the bit of scratched mirror he held in his hand. The quills had altered his voice, giving it a peculiar nasal twang, far from pleasant. Mat Mole spoke a few words to Night-walker, and then gave his lieutenant, Van Tobin, certain direc- tions, after which he picked up his rifle and facin he storm soon disappeared from the curious gaze 0: men. An hour later he was threading the pass through which the emigrant-train had toiled earlier in the day. Fortunately for him the powderee had spent its first pg or he could never have made headway against i The sound of excited voices came to his ears, and a minute later the confused wagon-train loomed up through the ven Fam pol aha gs bien gen et man s ring to and fro, struggling to keep their feet against the Sotous windstorm. “ Hello, thar! you fellers!’’ shouted Mole, but the howling tempest drove the sound of his voice back. The outlaw gained the hindmost wagon before an one paid him any attention. Even then no wo were addressed him—only a brief stare of surprise. The emigrants were just recovering from the shock. Their first thought was of the wildly-struggling. moaning, terrified animals. Twisted and entan led in the harness, the creatures were perfectly helpless. As though desirous of making a favorable impres- sion, Mat Mole lent a hand, working as faithfully as though his own property was concerned. Only once he stopped to hiss a few words into the ear of Chris Camp. The traitor-guide stared in open-mouthed amazement, but a peculiar gesture checked the ex- clamation that trembled upon his tongue, and he bent once more to his ing me is bronzed cheek was a shade paler than before. The animals were freed and led behind the wagons that still stood upright. Two of them had broken limbs, and were put out of their misery. Many of the others were lamed. The overturned wagon was ried up far enough for the led body of the un- ortunate teamster to be dragged out. It was asick- ening sight, that ee mass, so recently full of life, spirit and sensibility. ‘““My God!” suddenly cried John Warren, “‘ where had reached the hill yonder, but I can see nothing of them!” ‘There is McCarthy—just getting up—he can teil, I guess.” The. by sono epee fan to beng —_ on crou , groaning w: in, an eman child. Poor Terennetaltercd out ail he knew; he had been thrown to the ground, ani had caught a ee of the spring wagon as it vanished up the pass. th these words the poor fellow fainted. : ** And we have been dali here—while my poor a was dashed to pieces! in mercy protect er He ss to his horse, shouting for men to fol- low. Half a dozen obeyed him, among them Chris Camp. Mole —, to his side, and muttered a word in his ear; mp started and his by em foot dropped from the stirrup. As Warren leaped into the saddle he noticed this action, and in a hoarse, unnatural tone shouted: “You, too, Camp—we may need you.” Mole had turned aside. Camp hesitated for a mo- ment, then leaped into the saddle and dashed after Warren. ‘The outlaw chief uttered a fierce curse, his eyes flashing fire; but at that moment a firm hand was Dee upon his shoulder. ‘How did you come here—a stranger? But never mind—you acted like aman in len us a hand in without waiting for an introduction.” ‘Mount’ in law sais—put @ inemy én diffikilty when- ever you kin, but a fri’nd outo’ one. That's my style, boss,”’ quietly ~— the outlaw, ‘ Difficulty enough, heaven knows! I never wit- a storm to ew es, I ‘on ‘twas a pritty fa’r puma. Talk oul y’ur northers 0’ the sou’west—they cain’t shine in the little puffs o’ wind we sometimes git up hyer in the hills.” “You look as though you had fared hardly, too!” nD
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Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ; “T did git a taste. Was ridin’ ‘long, keerless like, thinkin’ to ketch up wi’ your train afore the storm broke, when the wind ketched me an’ rolled both me an’ Patchie—my hoss, that is, boss—chuck over the aidge o’ the kenyon. I manidged to ketch holt o’ a bush, an’ saved my meat, but I reckon Patchie has sue straight to hoss-heaven, ef thar be sech a ce.”” “Catch up with us—but we have no canon lately,” echoed the emigrant, Al Zimmerman. “Tuck a short cut—kem through the upper pass,” hastily explained the disguised outlaw. “You were following us, then?’ asked Zimmer- man. ““Yes—but who’s that feller—the big varmint, who's gawpin’ at us’s though he’d never see’d a free trapper afore?” abruptly demanded Mole, his voice chong: “That—Bob Harris, he calls himself. He joined us the other oy; wounded; had some trouble with the Blackfeet, I believe. Why—do you know him?” “Not by that name—though seems to me’t I’ve met him some’r’s—or somebody a good deal like ‘im. Told ye I was a free Seeger wo weeks back the red-skins smelt me out, and lit onto me hot an’ heavy. They was led by a white feller. I puta lead-pill under his hide. Thort I’d made ‘meat’ o’ him, but I mought ’a’ bin mistaken. Didn’t hey much time to take notes, but I’d sw’ar ’at he was like one to hat feller yender, to be his twin-brother,”’ quietly snuffled Mole. “Tt may be—I have had my suspicions about him. He puts himself too forward. e finds fault with our ate that none “but a fool or a traitor would have led us this far north. But hist—he is coming this way,” and Zimmerman dropped his voice. The mountaineer, Bob Harris, who had for several minutes been closely oe the outlaw, now ad- vanced toward them, a iar light in his keen his feaed ldepest Cee hock. sa though to gen te clas e lock, as thoug t from the driving particles of snow. “Hullow, Zene Kalloch—kem hyar to settle up hev ye?”’ he uttered, in a quiet, peculiar tone tha thrilled the emigrant strangely he knew not why. “TI reckon you're yelpin on the wrong trail, stran- ger,” peel responded Mole, and the nasal twang was now plainer than ever. ‘I was chris’ened by the name o’ Hurraw Jake—that is, ef I war chris- ‘ened a-tall, which I cain’t justly sw’ar to, bein’ as I was so young like. As fer settlin’, I’m a free trap- r—none 0’ your shif’less squatters. Wharever my oY is sot, thar I settles fer the time bein’.”’ “Hurraw Jake's good—so’s free trapper—so’s cheek. Funny what big mistakes a feller will make sometimes. Knowed a feller one time what made hisself b’lieve he war another man—fact! Most ’s big a mistake es I made jes now. ‘D ’a’ swore you was a Blackfoot sub-chief!” “Some folks hes queer [dees o’ fun—I reckon you're one on ’em, stranger. But see! I’m a babby, mildes milk, when I ain’t riled—but then ag’in I’m a ay airthquake on wheels! *Nough’s enough, but a moma a nest ‘ bi me ——— ng eee = anything else you like, jest so ye don’t go fer - sinivate as {’m sech a outdacious pizen riptyle es a Blackfoot! That riles me—it does so/’’ twanged Mat Mole, puffing out his cheeks peeeny. “T said a chief—but I hedn’t heerd your tongue work. A squaw ter. But le t go. You k. A *d be bet But let that go. You’d orter know me better than to try to bluff me on Jack high an’ nary a pa’r, Zene Kalloch—fer I b’lieve you ve him. Ef so, no man ’d dirty his han’s wi’ rubbin’ you out in a stan’-up fight. He’d do like I've swore to do—put his heel on your head an’ squash all the pizen out o’ it! Thar—you needn't Sager your knife. I ked blow ye through afore ye ked draw it. Waita bit. These fellers ‘pear curious to know what’s up. I reckon I'll spin ’em a bit of a LSet ged to ixplain why I’m down on Zene Kalloch, ou lis’en , Hurrah Jake—an’ when I’m done. ef you kin still say ’at you’re not my game, then I *pologize any way. Pin will—wi’ knives or rifles, to suit,’’ quietly said Bob Harris, as the emigrants be- gan to gather around. “Thar, old man—that’ll do. You’ve tuck your own skelp. You needn’t look no furder. We'll jest play ’at I’m the feller you're» lookin’ fer. Which shell it be—hot lead or cold steel?” “Then you giv’ up ’at you're Zene Kalloch?” “Give up nothin’! I’m Hurraw Jake, but I'll stan’ in this feller’s moccasins ontel you’re satisfied.” “Don’t be snatched, B oot—you’l) find the time quick enough a-comin’. Gentlemen, you want to know what’s up, an’ I don’t blame ye. Felt the same way more’n once’t myself. "en, Won't keep ye long, ’ca'se this—gentleman—'pears in a hur- “Nigh twenty years ago I fust met Zene Kalloch, when we was both consid’able younger ’n we be now. I saved his life in a Injun sc when, his skelp hed fa’rly started, I nussed him like a mo- ther, ontel he was a man ag’in. I shared my traps wi’ him, while he made pelts enough to git a outfit o’ his own. We was like sworn brothers fer over two years. Itold him all bout my folks to the set- tlements jest above St. Louey, ontel it ’ like he was one o’ the fam ly. I tuck him home wi’ me, an’ told ’em all he was my brother, an’ they treated him as sech. ‘He was jest in time fer my only sister’s weddin’. She married a young settler, poor, like we was our- selves, but true-h an’ honest, But thar—I don’t reckon as you fellers feels much intrust in sech old matters. I won’t try to tell everythin’ that happen- ed. Only you mustn’t jedge altogether by this crit- ter, es he is now. ““Wal—two years a’ter, Mary run away wi’ the euss—tuck her little babby along. We hunted ’em —me ‘nd Jethro Cowles, her husban’—but ’twas no use. We lost the trail. For a poms, hunted night | an’ day. ThenIl’arnt he’d struck out fer the Black- foot kentry. I follered, but missed him, though I heerd enough about him. He had turned prairie pi- rate, and hed bin choosed a sub-chief 0’ the Black- feet, who called him Creepin’ Panther. “But I needn’t tell ye o’ all I did; o’ the long. weary years I spent in s’archin’ fer the sarpint. t never set my eyes on him but once. I was tuck by the Blackfeet then, an’ oneo the braves!recognized me. I hed sent a few o’ his kin yelpin’ ‘long the last trail, an’ Eber saved me to put me to the torments in style. I found Zene och in the camp then. He kem an’ taunted me wi’ what hed happined. He told me that he hed soon tired o’ Mary, an’ as she bothered him wi’ her tears, he jest sold her to a half- breed Kanuck. He said she killed herself that same night. Es fer the kid, that he hed giv’ to a Injun squaw, years ago. “T stood this es long ’s I could. ThenI bu’st loose and struck the devil down wi’ his own knife. I thort I'd killed him, an’ made a break fer liberty. I jum ed on a hoss, an’ got away By, the skin o’ my teeth. It was a year or more afore I ’arnt Kalloch was still livin’. I’ve hunted him ever since—but never sot eyes on him until this day.” “*A solemncholly slory, but it don’t prove me to be the feller you’re lookin’ fer,” quietly observed the outlaw. ‘Lift up the ha’r over y’ur left ear. Ef thar ain't the mark o’ a skelpin’-knife, then you ain’t Zene Kalloch,”’ grifed Bob Harris, leaping forward and clutching the long black locks. A simultaneous cry broke from the emigrants, as | the telltale scar was revealed. But before one of their number could raise a hand, a long-bladed knife flashed in the air and was buried to the very hilt in the trapper’s throat. : “ Thai’s my answer, Bob Harris—curse ye!”’ cried Mat Mole, as he freed his hair and darted away from the wagons, running along the pass swiftly as a moun- tain t, leaping from side to side to avoid the bul- lets that were hastily sent after him. The stricken mountaineer sunk to the ground, a frothy blood oozing from his lips as he gasped: i ’s curse rest on him forever! he’s killed me, too—Mary—sister—I am—coming—com—ah|”’ His head drooped. He was dead. CHAPTER VI. LEGEND OF THE MEDICINE SPRING. Tue five trappers stared in opened-mouthed amaze- ment. For the moment they a incapable of either motion or speech. The fall of their comrade the abrupt disappearance of the weird woman and her beautiful ee, held them spellbownd. Yellowstone Jack was the one who first cast off the uliar sensation of awe. “Gone in swimmin’, I reckon, boys; le’s see the fun,” he muttered, with a sickly’ smile, as he firmly advanced toward the mysterious boiling spring. This action fully proved his courage more 2 ainly than if he had c a war-party of Blackfeet In- dia: ~~ . Yellowstone Jack was super- stitiohs, all of his class. He placed implicit faith in “ medicine,” good and bad. e believed in spirits, in spooks and hobgoblins, just as he did in powder, it and steel. Yet he strode forward and quickly sealed the curious-looking parapet or “curb,” that surrounded the ine: The basin was nearly circular, probably twenty-five feet in diameter at the widest part. The water was almost rfectly transparent. .Yellowstone Jack could look down into the beautiful ultramarine depth to the very bottom of the basin. The sides were or- namented with coral-like forms of a great variety of shades, from pure white to a bright chrome yellow, while the blue sky reflected in the transparent water he an azure tint to the whole far surpassing art. ear the center of the basin, the water was in a state of ebullition, forming a minia ountain, some three feet in hight. Around this the water sparkled and efferv something similar to,, 7 in a lesser degree, the far-famed Sprin, of Bitter Root river. A thin vapor hovered over this spot, and the water really had the appearance of boiling. J “What's the sign, Yellowstone?” called out Brindle 0e. “You kincome up. They’ve puckacheed—but how ? That gits me /” “Spooks is spooks—an’ so’s medicine,’’ quoth Hoo- sier, uncovering his head with an action that was almost reverence. ‘This is a big medicine spring— what ‘dit be ‘ithout its sperits? This ‘ne ’s got two, I reckon.” “They handled thar bow-arrers powerful like hu- man critters though—I didn’t know sperits needed to use sech t . An’ yit—whar kin they ‘a’ gone? We kin see the sides an’ the bottom, every inch, Thar ain’t no hole ‘cept that ’ne at the bottom whar the water bubbles up, an’ it ain’t big es a man’s fist. A mortal critter kedn’t go through that. They jumped in—they didn’t git out ag’in, or we'd ’a’ see’d em. Ireckon you’re right, Hoosier—we’ve see’d the epestia 0’ the Medicine Spring,” gravely muttered éllowstone Jack. “Did ary one o’ ye notice thar right paws?” sud- denly put in Heely Hank. ‘This is the place whar old Black Harris kem to make medicine that time!” The trappers in ed quick glances. The lines upon their weather-beaten faces deepened. The expression of awe now naar one of fear. Yellow- stone Jack uttered, in a tone of forced raillery: *You’re wuss’n a —— Heely Hank—you’d wake a dyin’ man up to ax e he b’lieved in the devil! But thar’s Mexy—we’ve clean forgot the pore feller.” What meaning was hidden beneath the words of Gila Hank? A wild, fantastic legend. To explain the | long run of ill-fortune, he effect of his words upon his comrades, I will give a brief sketch of it here. Black Harris—so called from his dusky complex- ion—was a noted er pe and mountain-man, the comrade and friend of such noted men as Kit Car- son, Jim Beckwith, La Bonte, Sublette, Greenwood, Bridger, Old Marblehead, Bill Williams, and scores of equally well-known heroes of the West. Like the majority of his class he was superstitious, believed in “medicine,” and one time, after an unusually ourneyed to the En- chanted Grounds to renew his ‘‘medicine.’’ Near- ing the Boiling Spring, a young white woman sud- denly barred his path. She was dazzlingly beau- tiful—an * oy *jithout wings,” as Harris was wont to declare. She told a pitiful tale of peril and priva- tion. Her friends had been massacred by Indians. She was carried into captivity. A week before, she managed to escape, and had wandered through the mountains ever since, starving. Black Harris forgot his mission, and kindled a fire by which he roasted a ptarmigan. He sat at her feet and watched her eat. Then she began to sing—a low, weird melody, strangely sweet, soothing to the senses as the gen- tle murmur of the summer breeze eddying through the foliage of the mountain pines. The trapper’s head slowly bowed. His soul seemed floating upon a sea of ecstatic bliss. The soft white hand fluttered over his head. The warm, slender fingers caress- ingly smoothed his long, tangled hair. His head sunk upon her lap. e song grew fainter, as though coming from a distance. A vail seemed settling over the trapper’s brain. The hand glided down over his cheek, but it no longer felt so soft—it seemed to scratch—to sear his skin as it touehed his throat. He felt something touch the knife at his belt. His 5 th opened. An arm lay before his face, It was no longer white and delicate—it seemed to be black, covered with stiff bristles. He sawa bon leg—a cloven hoof. The truth flashed upon h mind, as he felt the knife slowly slip from its sheath. He sped the handle and tore it free. <A horri- ble yell smote upon his ear, as he leaped erect. A frig tful object confronted him. “T knowed what it was in a minit,” Black Harris was wont to say, ‘fer I’d see’d the picter 0’ the devil in a paper at Taos. I jest giv’ a Kimanche ell an’ lit onto the critter. We hed it red-hot, then. reckon we fou’t fer nigh a hour. I've fit Kiman- che, ’Patchie, "Rapaho and Blackfeet, but they wasn’t a primin’ to him/ I reckon he'd ‘a’ bin too many fer the old man, only his foot caught in a hole, an’ I downed him. I sent my butcher up to Green river twicet, an’ then he sickened. He giv’ a yell and then skooted over the mount’ns. See— arr see this claw? I cut that off when I jerked my ife loose,”’ the old sinner would add, holding u a crooked claw, that hung suspended around his neck by a piece of sinew. One man—a stranger to Black Harris—swore that the claw had come from the foot of a carcajou. The irate trapper denied this, by driving his knife hilt deep in the man’s breast. After that no one doubted the st story, and it passed into tradi- tion. Even at this day the legend may be heard around the camp-fires. I was told it by a trapper who devoutly believed in its truth; yet he was a keen-witted, shrewd and sensible man, in everything except his strong superstition. Yellowstone Jack and his comrades had often heard this legend, and mo a! that this was the very spring mentioned by Black Harris. The strange scenes they had witnessed—this beautiful woman and her marvelous disappearance had fully aroused their superstition. They found Chavez, the Mexican, dead. The arrow Hi er a bl a a aR ey y an re astily away fro: a Lk gp t, i ra 4 i. shrill, piercing, taunting laugh came to their ears, as they passed down the valley. Turning, they beheld a weird figure Gym ey the mound they had te up behind. It was that of the old hag—the witch of the Boiling Spring. Bh org Roast - sell wen a cain’t breathe easy in it,’’ huskily mutter ellowstone Jack, has- tening forward with his burden. x This belief seemed shared by his comrades, since their pace was acceler’ .ted, nor did one of them cast another look backward or poe for breath until they had sed an abrupt d in the valley that shut off all view of the = oe Yellowstone Jack paused ide a large bowlder that stood upon one end; at its base was a small hol- low. The men read ht his questioning look, and nodded assent. With their knives the hollow was deepened, the loose earth carefully placed in a pile. Then the body was deposited in the trench and a few leaves and twigs strewn over it. The dirt was pushed back and pressed down. Then the four men leaned —- against the bowlder until it slowly toppled over, forever concealing the ere from human eyes, “He desarved a big monniment ef human critter ever did,” said Jack, brushing the perspiration from his brow. “He was a squar’ man, clean through, ef he did hev greaser blood in him.” “ Big es the rock is, twon’t keep him down, I’m dub’us,”’ gloomily muttered Brindle Joe. “A mur- dered man cain’t rest peace’bly long’s the one what rubs him out goes onpunished. But kin we take the skelp o’ a eens Not much!” “I don’t know—mebbe we was too = in gittin’ skeered—thar’s a pesky lot o’ humbug in this world, Mind, I don’t say ‘t this is a humbug—but I do say ’t I'm goin’ to lopk inter it a little closter afore long. Chavez was too good apard to let go so . But it’s time we was gittin’ back to quarters. ‘sa storm brewin’—I kin feel it in my bones!” Half an hour later a glorious prospect was opened before the eyes of the trappers. They stood upon a
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e of rock that ran partially around the fore them, to the right and left, miles narrow | mountain. Yellowstone Jack. | | judice. However, I will set you free, if I can. The and miles of ground seemed spread at their feet; of | hills and ridges, broken and wild, of valley and mini- ature plain, tertile and lovely, of deep, winding can- ons, oomy and forbidding—all these were spread before them. ‘‘ Ge—thunder! look in Bad Wolf kenyon—see the white wagon-kivers—a emigrant-train!” exclaimed Brindle Joe, in astonishment, ‘*Skelps must be plenty wi’ them sence they kerry *em to sech a market as this. But look—the storm’s comin’ like fun! We must cache—in a hurry, too. Ef we're ketched hyar, it’s good-by John!” The trappers now began “he new descending, leap- ing from ledge to ledge, alighting upon rocky crags that would scarce have afforded footing for a moun- tain goat, letting themselves down by bushes and creepers. They knew that this was no common storm, that a human — upon the mountain, un- provided with shelter, would stand but a faint chance of escaping with life. ‘““Hyar we be—an’ none too soon, nuther!”” Jack, as he crept into a roomy cave half-way down the mountain side. ‘“* Jess lis’en! it’s a game 0’ ten- pins wi’ dornicks fer balls an’ trees fer pins!” Huge bowlders thundered by. Great trunks of trees, splintered and cracked, were hurled past the cave-mouth. Theicy-cold blast eddied through the den, chilling the men to the bone, until they were glad to huddle close together. Yet, whenever the roaring of the elements would admit of audible speech, they discussed the sight they had just witnessed—that of the white-tilted wagon- train. Its presence in that remote region, so far from any recognized emigrant-trail, was indeed remarka- ble. They could not understand it, knowing as ee did how implacable the Blackfeet were toward all pale-faces not actually adopted into their tribe. It seemed a miracle how the travelers had escaped massacre thus long. ‘*Mebbe it’s one o’ them ’splorin’ outfits, though what they want hyar, Idon’t know. They say thar is sech things, but I cain’t see what fer—onless to keep the Injins stirred up, or to make game an’ bea- ver skeerce.”’ ‘* Mought be a gov’ment-train to ’stablish a tradin’ post,’ feebly suggested Brindle Joe. “T didn’t see no sojers—but it may be. Anyhow, they're white. S’posin’ we giv’ ’em acall? Mebbe we kin make a raise 0’ some powder an’ whisky.” This clinched the matter. The decision was unani- mous—they would visit the train as soon as the storm | would permit. The trappers did not wait — before starting forth, though the pouderee was still raging furiously. But it was freezing cold within the damp den, and they preferred risking the danger of being crushed by some of the many storm missiles; or be blown over the edge of some canon, to freezing. Exercise would prevent that. The nature of the ground, broken, intersected by almost fathomless canons, forced them to make a wide detour. They reached the upper pass at last, sound in limb, when the storm was nearly over. * Look yender!”” suddenly cried Brindle Joe, point- ing Bt a point of rocks. ‘White men, by mighty!” PAW red-skins, too! Thar’s goin’ to be a fust-class muss thar in jist three shakes! Boys—they’re whites—shall we let °em be wiped out like that?’ : : , Yellowstone Jack’s comrades replied by gliding*to- ward the spot where the rival races had come into collision. And the wild sounds of mortal strife arose even above the clamor of the elements. CHAPTER VII. A DASTARD SHOT. FRANK MAYNARD was not a little surprised by this abrupt speech of the Indian, and foramoment made no reply. te anktect~pale-faces ~~ cae over dere. One git killed, oder come here. Plenty mad, den—eyes blood. No stop to talk—strike fust—strike hard, too. Better we go hide, den. Dat why Pethonista he say —you help me—I help you,” rapidly added the sav- age, with evident difficulty. “Were I to set you free, we would only have one more enemy to deal with,” hesitated Maynard. “Help him if you can, Frank,” interposed Minnie, “Think how he must suffer beneath that rock!’ ‘He don’t look like such a very bad Indian,’’ mur- mured Ada Dixon, then shrinking back as the keen black eyes of the savage were turned upon her; | there was a glow of ad tion in their depths that chilled her blood. “*Pethonista he chief—he no got crooked tongue. What he say, he do. He no want you’ scalps. He ot plenty strong voice. All he need do is holler foud Blackfoot hear—dey come—ax what chief want. He say—tek ep pale-faces—you kill quick. Pethonista don’t yell—don’t say tek scalp—den he you’ frien’. Dat my talk.” , ““Well, red-skin, you may be honest—and I more than half believe you are—but mind this. If I set ou free from this hobble, and you try to play us alse, I will kill you like a coyote—mind that.” “No need talk so—a chief don’t lie,” coldly re- the Blackfoot. Spine sounds of firing still continued, though at longer intervals, and the faint yells could occasion- ally be heard, Evidently the struggle still con- Oeethat remains to be seen, chief, though I must say that your tribe has not a remarkal M savo’ reputation; but the devil is not as black as he’s painted, and this may be a good deal owing to pre- ae rapidly awa: Look! thar itcomes! | | raised his arms. rock is a big one, and Iam only one man, after all.” aa and I will help you, Frank,” said Minnie, eagerly. , Won't need much lift. Me fall in hole here, else rock kill me plenty quick. It hug down tight, dough,” interposed Pethonista, bracing his hands —- the rock. aynard secured a firm hold upon the smaller end of the oblong bowlder, and then, exerting his utmost power, succeeded in raising the stone a few inches. Ada and Minnie lent their mite, and Petho- nista, with an agile, snake-like movement, writhed his body out from a little hollow into which he had fortunately fallen. A single foot to either side and | ad ‘yy ac by bowlder would have crushed him eath. He did not speak, but bowed before the women, lightly pressing their hands to his bosom, as though vowing fealty to them. Then drawing the Sess = his girdle, he held the handle toward aynard, “Let my white brother take this knife, and if he sees a single black spot in the Eagle’s heart, let him strike hard and wipe it out.” Though he spoke in his own dialect, there could be no mistaking this action, and whatever of suspi- Pas Maynard may have entertained was now ban- to ‘*No, chief, keep your weapon. I don’t believe rs would turn it against the breasts of those who ave befriended you. But see—the firing has pty 3 en The fight must over. If I only knew how it ended—!”’ added Frank, anxiously. *“No—um go on ag’in. Dere rifle—some one git killed den, I reckon,” coolly returned Pethonista, or the ws ge) as that title may be interpreted. “Only for—’” and Maynard looked wistfully upon Minnie and Ada, who had scught shelter from the cutting wind behind a point of rock. ‘I would go and see if I could not help the whites. They must _ friends—perhaps some of our people searching or us.” ** You lose scalp dere, sartin. Big warriors, Black- feet—fight like debble—love white blood. Bes’ we hide now, till kin git back to you’ fr’en’s. When dark comes, den me show you trail. Be snake now —dat bes’. Dat my talk.” “Then we had better hide until after dark?” “Me t’ink dat bes’ trail—save scalp, den, sure. Mebbe kin save it anyhow, but not sure. Pethonista chief, but he act now like common brave. Kouton- ipi lead Blackfeet now. But come—fight come dis way. quick—we bes’ go hide, while kin,” hurriedly added the Indian, after a moment’s pause. Maynard did not hesitate long. He also could tell that the combatants were geey, nearing the spot, one party evidently being forced back. The Eagle appeared to have fully decided upon his course of action, for he did not hesitate a moment after the young man mutely admitted his trust, but from the spot. Maynard fol- owed close upon his heels, assist Minnie and Ada over the inequalities, striving to lessen, if not dissi- pate, their natural fears. Gierguaaroe van baxted.-aive token Comonti coolne, er p was , the abru en 2 Pethonista chuckled at a blank ‘ook that Maynard cast upon , and stooping, he lightl dropped over the edge of the Bo Sern nal asled scarce mer Hy Aeon 5 ied Marvact “You must be mad, chief,” ¢ ard, an ; in answer to the Blackfoot, who sactioeed nen 3 pass the women downtohim. ‘ You would both fall and be dashed to pieces. No, you must find some better trail than that, or else we stay here to face whatever may come.” ethonista made an impatient gesture, then dropped from his 4 gg to another some six feet be- low. Drawing h lf up again by the strength of his arms, he uttered: “Dat way, I mean. You give squaw—I put her down dere. Den you come—we go, too. Allright den —plenty room—wide trail. tter dan wait fo’ Blackfeet come scalp.” “He is ht, Frank,” interposed Ada, “If we trust him at all, why not entirely? I do not believe he Jong tap es I hod ae me. ‘al, - © Eagle gave an emphatic nt of approval, an Maynard ielded, and towered Ada over the escarpment. Pethonista held her lightly for a moment, then dropped her to the second Ky: “IT was right—there is a good, safe path here,” the brave girl cried, the next moment. Thus reassured, Mmnie was quickly placed beside her cousin, and Maynard followed. Pethonista dropped to the ledge, and then led the way. e@ scene was peculiar. The little party, with their de, were gliding along the perpendicular face of the canon, several yards below its top. The abyss yawned below them, dark and gloomy, The bushy tops of trees swayed to and fro below them in the eddying wind, though scarce a breath touched the fugitives. The wall above shielded them. After following this precarious trail for half an hour, Pethonista pa and said that they might now wait until the shades of night should settle down we the earth, under cover of which they could gain the wagon-train undiscovered by the B eet. Though the trio were so anxious to seen their friends, who would be dreading the worst from their long absence, they could not object to the Eagle's reasoning, and composed themselves to wait. The sort of a niche in which they paused was well sheltered, even if the storm had not entirely ceased. The air rapidly grew warmer, the cleared and the sun shone htly as it neared the horizon. While waitin, ethonista, who yes to bein unusually -humor, and to feel kindly toward those who assisted him, explained to the reason why he, though a chief of the Siksikaga Black- feet, was forced to use so much caution, instead of igig foc 2 them to their friends. A Blackfoot brave had brought a white scalp to his village, and said that he knew where more pale- faces were hidden, trapping. A war-party was im- mediately made up, ard, guided by the brave, start- ed at once to ree the interlopers. They met Pethonista, who had been out hunting alone, and he resolved to join them, though knowing that, in ac- cordance with the rules of the tribe, he must serve as a common brave, subject to the orders of Kou- ig a@ sub-chief, really far below him in rank. On the morning of the storm, Koutonipi sent out scouts to learn whether the trappers had taken the alarm and fled at the death of their comrade, while the main body remained behind to await the report. Pethonista wandered away from them, when the storm caught them. He heard the rifle-shot and struggle upon the edge of the canon, and crept for- ward, hoping to oo ascalp. But a loosened bowl- ave way and crushed him to the ground. é wanted you’ scalp den,” the Eagle confessed, with refreshing frankness, ‘but you help me. Now me fight fo’ you. You my brudder—me like you heap! Koutonipi no take scalp, while Eagle live. But bes’ wait—den slip by in dark. Den no trou- resumed their ble.” As the sun sunk to rest, the — way. Pethonista said that a few hundred yards more would carry them to a point where they could easily regain the level ground, and then a couple of hours would see them safely to the train. The girls, though stiff and sore from the bruises they had received during their fearful ride, as well as when they were cast from the overturned “ demo- erat,’”’ bore up nobly under the fatigue, for the thought the worst was past—that all danger was le behind them. Little did they dream of what the fu- ture had in store! Pethonista suddenly paused and crouched low down, throwing forward his rifle. A suspicious sound—like the sharp click-click of a rifle being cock- ed—met his ear. But he was too late. A loud report—a blinding sheet of flame. A shrill cry of agony followed. Frank Maynard flung up his hands, and, tottering for a moment, fell backward over the escarpment, down—down! der “ CHAPTER VIII. THE WITCH OF THE BOILING SPRING, WaEN the reader is informed that the story told by the unfortunate Bob Harris was true in every ekg rt the emotions of the disguised outlaw, at Mole, can readily be imagined. Yet, naturally brave, despite his villainy, he did not suffer a chance to escape , even while expressing pantomimic ridicule of the trapper’s words. He knew that both could not live through that interview—that the death of at least one must be the finale. He had visited the train to make arrangements with Chris Camp for the final blow. The traitor-guide was gone, so that object was a failure. Thus he was ready when the crisis came, and plunged his knife to the hilt just over the trapper’s collar bone. Then, with a ra bound, he passed the two gr ood who stood tween him and the pass, and was beyond arm’s length before a hand could be interposed. rene swiftly from side to side with the skill and wond ty that had gained him a name even among the athletic Blackfeet, he darted down the pass. Several bullets, hastily discharged, with little or no attempt at aim, whistled harmlessly past. And a taunting cry broke from his lips, so assured was he of ultimate escape, knowing as he did that none but draught mules remained with the train, the saddle-horses having been ridden by the emi- grants setting forth in quest of the runaways. He continued his flight with a swiftness the best Indian runner might have envied, covering the ground with long, swinging strides sg 4 resem- bling those of a hotly-hun moose, until the di- vision of the pass was gained. Here, for the first time, he oo No a Mek sight. He placed one ear e ground, but could distinguish no sound above the how winds. “* Sensible—they haven't chased me!”’ he muttered, with a satisfied chuckle. ‘‘Guess I astonished them a little by my style of shaking moccasin, Then I did kill t varmint! Else he would have followed me, even though my trail led to Hades itself! Ugh! how my blood chilled when I first met those eyes! And I had believed him wi out, years since, Well, he’s taken up the long trail at last—1 wish the fiend joy, of his bargain! all a Warren— what if I should meet them coming back? What story could I tell them? If I could only tell which pass they took.” Mat Mole closely i found nothing to Th snow had been swept clear bythe wind, the hail- wane hea. gad vhower ar a e, he found places where rate e rocky und, but OEY a a a a taty dl : is one,” he fi decided, fearing to delay longer. “ It i the shortest, and even _ a took it, I may reach open ground before they Had he chosen the upper pass, Mat Mole would have come in contact wi iar nant, Pethonista and the two women. As it was he chose the lower, thus follwing direct upon the trail of John Warren and his “Curse that Chris Camp! why did he go off when I told him—but I could not have told what I wanted, anyhow, so after all it don’t matter. Yet twas a fro day’s work! ube best I ever did—since now know that infernal bloodhound is dead. *Twasn’t for nothing my dreaming of him so often of lat but I'll never again wake up with the feeling of his
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8 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. iron fingers throttling me. Ugh! what fools men are sometimes. Just see what bother and trouble that bit of nonsense has made me. Yet what was she, after all? A dainty bit of flesh and blood, no more. If she had been free I don’t suppose I’d have os her a second thought—but I wanted to spoil that good-natured fool’s happiness. Yet he must have thought a heap of her—to go crary over it! But there—confound it all! how the subject does run in my brain—I can’t drive it away. Because of that big brute, Harris, I yee e outlaw seemed desirous of forgetting the mat- ter, and muttered to himself of a dozen different ghings, but the memory could not be entirely ban- ished, curse it as he might. Was it a presentiment— a shadow cast upon his spirit by what the future had in store? As he reached the mouth of the pass, Mat Mole heard the click of a hoof upon rocks, and glanci hastily to the left, saw a number of horsemen rid- ing toward him, though still at a considerable dis- tance. He recognized the party of emigrants, and crouching low down, ran swiftly away, taking a ledge that he believed would carry him far beyond reach of the mounted men, even if he should be dis- covered. But afew moments showed him that the one abruptly ended. Seemingly a portion of the rock had been broken off during the storm by a bowlder falling from the hights above. The hoof-strokes sounded louder, and served to sharpen his wits. To retreat would be to court a collision that would be awkward, to say the least. a pany he glanced over the ledge. A iy light filled his eyes. a yeaeny | a point of rock, he quick- ly lowered himself over the edge. Clinging thus for a moment, he dropped lightly and then cautiously — along a narrow trail unti hidden round a slight nd. “Tf they feel like se ae | me now, all right. My men will have a few less to deal with to-night,” chuckled the bandit, looking to the caps of - volvers. - But Mole had deceived himself. The horsemen had not observed him, and rode on, the sound of their animals’ hoofs rapidly dying away in the dis- tance. Yet Mole did not retrace his steps. He crouched there upon the rocks, shielded upon both sides by jutting points over which he coul r if necessary. He seemed deep buried in thought, and the minutes gradually w into hours unheeded. Then the outlaw awoke to a sense of his surround- ings. A suspicious sound had met his ear. He glanced quickly over the point of rock, and a wild glitter filled his eyes. If ever human being was pos- sessed of the devil, Mat Mole was that man then. A horrible expression distorted his face; hatred, re- venge, venomous delight—all gathered into one writhing, working mask. Quick as thought he lifted his rifle and fired. A horrible shriek followed—then a dull, crashing sound as a dark body plunged swiftly down the depth. Crouchi own below the rock, the outlaw ut- tered a sh ete whoop—the same that had so startled the Night-walker, earlier in the day—the war-whoop of he tata Panther, the white sub- chief of the Blackfeet. “It’s the Eagle. I don’t think he'll dare dispute my will, after what has passed between us, but if he does—well, I will lose an Indian brother, that’s all,”’ muttered Mat Mole, as he drew a revolver and stood erect, though all but his head was concealed behind the rock. “You seem surprised to meet me here, brother,” the outlaw said, using the Siksikaga dialect, which is but little different from that of the other two divi- sions of the Blackfoot tribe. “There is a cloud between us,” gloomily replied the chief. ‘‘ You have killed a brave who was under my protection. The pledge of a Blackfoot chief is not to be broken like that of a pale-face squaw.”’ “T have taken the life of an enemy—of one who has long followed my trail with blood in his eyes. Would you have me sit still and let him tear off my sealp? Is that the advice you give a brother?” Pethonista hesitated, and cast a — back to where Minnie and Ada crouched so gay the ledge, tight locked in each other’s arms. in a quandary. There is one especially sacred bond among the Blackfeet. Itis where one brave declares another his brother by a aged ceremony. He fills his mouth with pure water, winds his arms around the chosen one’s neck, and while kissing him, ejects the liquid into the other’s mouth. If swallowed, the pledge is ratified, and the chosen brother has entire control over the other’s future life. His will is law, in small as well as t matters. An Indian would suffer a thousand ths rather than disgrace himself and family by proving false to his pledge.* Mat Mole had once saved the Eagle’s life, nearly losing his own in the attempt, and the grateful sav- age had proclaimed Creeping Panther his brother be- ee aig tribe. Upon this pledge Mole now epended, e had fired upon the impulse of the moment, directly upon recognizing Frank Maynard, whom he regarded as a successful rival. Knowing that Peth- onista was an inveterate enemy to all pale-faces out- side of his own tribe, he naturally pupposed the chief had captured them, and as an Indian is bound to de- fend with his life, if need be, the captive who has yielded to his prowess, Mat Mole feared to await re- cognition, lest his enemyjshould escape him, through the Eagle’s sense of honor. Pethonista silently bowed his head at this hint of e seemed the bond between them, and Mole saw that his words had not been in vain, *A fact, An instance was known as late as the spring of ’68, ‘Let my brother, the Eagle of the great Blackfeet, listen,”’ continued the outlaw, resolved to strike while the iron was hot. ‘A hunter finds him a fine, fat deer. He sets out upon its trail and never pauses for rest or food or drink, but keeps on and on until the swift deer tires and ws weak, until its steps are short and feeble and it is ready to lie down and die. Another hunter comes by, and puts out his hand and catches the deer that is too tired to escape him, just as the first hunter comes up. Now will my brother tell me which one of the hunters has the best claim upon the game?” abruptly concluded Mat Mole. inne long trailer,” promptly responded Pethon- “Good! the eyes of the Eagle are reo se 4 can read the truth through the deepest cloud. Brother, J am the long trailer—you are the hunter who puts out his hand to stop the game I had rundown. For six moons I have been on the trail of this deer; which is best—your claim or mine?” Pethonista cast a quick glance back upon the sob- bing, terrified maidens, and then keenly gazed into the outlaw’s eyes. His eyes were boldly met. Mole = playing for a high stake, and had summoned all wits. “The le is right. The brown-haired squaw is the game I have trailed so long andfar. She belongs to me. Whose right is better than mine? If m brother started the game first, let him speak, and will give way to him. If not, then he must not inter- fere, unless he has forgotten that we are brothers.” “A chief never forgets,” coldly replied Pethonista. “The light-haired squaw is my brother’s. But he pe not speak of the other. Does he claim her, as well?” **No—I care not for her, though she is fair to look une She would fill the lodge of a Blackfoot chief we ” “A Blackfoot. chief does not hunt a squaw among the enemies of ,his people,” coldly returned Pethon- ista. Mat Mole —— He cared little for the Eagle’s ill-humor, provided that worthy did not interfere further. Bold as he was, he knew that the chief would be more than his match, if they ever came in- to collision, * Well, chief, ’tis a bargain, then. I will take my captive—you can do what you like with the other,” said Mat Mole, gliding round the point of rocks, and approaching the cowering girls. ‘‘Come,” he added, roughly, while Pothonista gloomily watched them, “enough of this nonsense. What are you whining about? Because that fool fell over the rock? Bah! there are plenty more men in the world—and better men, too, by long odds. But see—’tis getting dark, and there is a long trail before us. Come—or must IT help you?” “Who are you—what do you want?’ faltered Minnie. “T’m your master at present—until I take you to my master. What I want is that you follow me, without any more whining. Do you want to stay here all night?” alow take us to our friends, and we will bless—’ “That’s just what I mean todo. Your friends are waiting for us, anxious enough, no doubt. Come!” “He is lying, Minnie—he is trying to deceive us!” cried Ada. ‘‘ He is no friend—he shot poor Frank.” “Your tongue is too free, girl; but never mind. The chief will bridle it, He means to make you his ’ uaw—’ a Creeping Panther lies!’’ fiercely interrupted Pe- thonista. “T only wanted to close her mouth, chief,’ said Mole, but the devilish glitter in his eyes belied the humble words. ‘See ere,” he added, turning to Minnie, impatiently, “take your choice. Either walk with me quietly, or else I will you in my arms, though upon such a narrow trail we will be more apt to find the bottom of the canon together than to reach level Pp a But I will wait no longer. Will you walk, or shall I—”’ “T will walk. If you mean us evil, may God punish you as you deserve, ’’quietly replied Minnie, arising. “Thanks for your good wishes! Chief, will you come?” Pethonista simply bowed, and then extended his hand to aid Ada round the point. She at him keenly for a moment, then accepted the proffered assistance. Something told her this man could be Mole led the way, back over the route he had come, followed by Minnie, behind whom came Pe- thonista and Ada. In a few minutes the place where Mole had descended was reached, and climbing up first, he assisted the others. Then he turned to the Eagle and said: ‘Will the Eagle walk with his brother, or does his trail lie in another direction? He would be glad to have the ga chief show us how to strike the pale-faces to-night, though Night-walker is with us. ” “Pethonista is not needed where Neepaughwheese fights; he will follow his own trail,” was the cold reply. fiat Mole smiled grimly. He was tent that the matter should end thus. He he ow to look upon the chief as an incumbrance inst of an ally. Vel, chief, as you please. I will take my squaw and go—you can work your pleasure with the other. Remember that she has friends near, who are look- ang foe her, though they will not be able to trouble us long. We strike them this night, and if you would like to win a scalp or two, you can come and show my braves how to fight.” en he drew Minnie’s hand through his own and strode away, stilling her pl not to be separated from Ada, with bitter curses significant threats ht well con- that caused her blood to run cold. Little did she suspect who this rough man really was—least of all recognize in him the polished Gerald Manners, who, a few months previously, had made ardent love to her, who had seemed fairly heart-broken when she refused his proffered hand. “Where are "0 taking me—what have I done, that you should treat me so cruelly?” tremblingly asked the maiden. “Pm ine ys where you'll be taken good care of,” responded Mat Mole, nasally. ‘‘ Where you'll be treated like a lady. As to what you’ve done, I reckon the boss ’ll tell you. My idee is that you’ve jilted him some time or another, and he takes this way to get even. I don’t know whatelse he followed he clear from the States for,” coolly responded ole, with a covert glance. “There is—there must be some mistake. I have "ee nobody—you must have been sent after—” os 2 our name e—daughter of old John War- ren?” Yes, but—” “Nary mistake, then. You're the bird the boss wants.’ ‘** Who is this man—your master, then?” ‘*Well, you must know it anyhow, before long, so I guess there’s no harm in saying it’s Gerald Man- ners. **Tmpossible! you are trying to deceive me—Ger- ee is a gentleman,” cried Minnie, impuls- vely. Ves, I reckon he is—after a way. Anyhow, he means to treat you right. The moment you say you'll es him, you will be free as air to go where you will.” : ‘*T cannot believe that he would stoop to such wickedness—such meanness. But if he should, it would avail him little. Is this the way to win the love of a woman—by—” “ There—your voice is sweet and musical, lady, but ou raise it too loud for our safety. These rocks ave ears—these hills are full of enemies both to ou and me—of cruel, bloodthirsty Indians, who would glory in tearing off that pretty head of hair— or in treating you even worse. We have had talk = for a time—please let your tongue rest. I should hate to gag a lady, but needs must when the devil drives.” The outlaw abruptly paused and glared keenly around. Was it fancy, or had he indeed heard a low chuckle at his last words? He could see nothing to confirm the icion—all was still save the mornin wind. And with a curse he thrust back the half- drawn revolver, and strode rapidly forward, holding Minnie firmly by the arm, She also was silent. Something in the bandit’s tone told her-that it would be dangerous to cross his will now. Besides, the terrible trials that she had that day undergone, had completely broken down her spirit, and she almost unconsciously dragged her heavy feet along. Mat Mole seemed in a hurry to reach his camp. Better for him had he used more caution, if he had cast an occasional glance behind him, Though *twould have taken a keen eye to detect the dark fig- ure that dogged their steps. Silently as a shadow the phantom-like form followed them, now almost within arm's length, now lingering behind, almost fading away as it seemed. But after dogsing them thus for nearly two miles, through the is, the shadow stealthily drew near- er, and then, with a shrill, eldritch scream, leaped forward, an ealt the startled outlaw a fearful blow upon his head, felling him like alog. The heavy club was again lifted, and the fiery eyes glared down upon the fallen man, like those of a maddened beast. The outlaw did not move. The blow appeared to have been fatal. And then the threatening club sunk, as the strange being withdrew its foot from the lifeless form, turning to where Minnie had sunk to the proses in a swoon on hearing that horrible, unearthly cry. The blood-stained club was lifted threateningly as Soeriee about to dash itself upon the maiden’s de- fenseless head, but then, with a low, indescribable ae the shadow caught Minnie up and glided away. And the moon ag orca shone out, revealing the wild figure of the Witch of the Boiling Springs! CHAPTER IX. THE CRAWL OF THE SERPENTS, Petuonista quickly grasped Ada by the arm, as she sprung forwrana to join Minnie, when Mat Mole alf-dragged, half carried her away through the darkness. Her atrnceiee for freedom were in vain— firmly, though gently, the Eagle held her captive. Then, with a warning cry, the maiden sunk a lifeless weight upon the chief’s arm. e Blackfoot found himself in a dilemma—one anything but pleasant. He pently lowered Ada to the gress and then, while staring at her with pu = eyes, the Eagle diligently scratched his ead. A Blackfoot squaw is not civilized enough to know how to faint. en if she did understand the fash- ionable art, it’s odd that the first trial would satisfy her—her lord and master would undoubtedly apply the lodge-pole remedy—rude, but very effec tre Pethonista would have tried something of the kind with a squaw of his own people, but he was almost afraid to touch this package of delicate white clay, and it was with positive joy that he heard Ada utter a faint moan, at the same time lifting her head. “Squaw needn’t be ’fraid,’’ Pethonista hastened to assure the maiden. ‘Creeping Panther he gone "A Begte take the squaw to frien’s, plenty ulele.”” ‘Take me to her—to Minnie—do not se us— and I will thank you,” brokenly pleaded Ada, “No, Eagle he big fooldo dat, You hear he say
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Yellowstone J ack. 9 dat ee aie. wid him? Night-walker i; are —tek plenty scalps—fight like debble. But he bad eye for white squaw. He see you—dat makes his eye full of fire. He say—you go my lodge—you be squaw chief. You say no—fo’ Night-walker not look good; got only one eye, no nose. Then he cuss —say must. Den Eagle say no—’cause you my brud- der now, since you tell white,brave lift rock ’way. —Night-walker he say yes. Den we fight, mebbe. Heit killed, den—surve. Dat make le outlaw— no more be Blackfoot chief. Night-walker’s braves dey tek bot’ squaw an’ chief—tie ’em to tree—den we burn. Dat why Eagle he say no—won’t tek you after Creeping Panther.’ “Then let me go by myself. If you are really a for me saving your life, I pray you give me reedom—let me go back to my friends!” ‘Where frien’s?”’ quickly demanded Pethonista. *T don’t know—but I will find them. Only let me fata frighten me!’’ murmured Ada, nking ack, “TLis’n. Eagle frien’—no en’my—no want to skeer squaw. He chief—no got crooked tongue. What he say, dat straight. Tell me where you los’ frien’s. Pethonista take you dere. He swear it by Great Spirit—what you call God,” earnestly replied the “Blackfoot. There was something in the young chief’s tone that told Ada he was not seeking to deceive her, and after a moment’s hesitation she described, as near- ly as she was able, the pass through which the trail led. The chief’s face brightened, for he easily recog- nized the description. “All right now—me know dat place—dey stop at spring, where water plenty fo’ hosses. We find ‘um frien’s dere. Den you know dat Eagle no lie—dat him heart open to pale squaw.”’ “Can you—will you take me to them?” eagerly cried Ada. ‘‘And right away—I am strong now— can walk very far and fast. And they can save Minnie—on horseback they can overtake that dark man!” “Yeh—me tek you. Don’t know ‘bout ketchin’ Creeping Panther—he good scout—kin hide like snake. Den mebbe you’ frien’s have plenty work— han’s full. You hear him say—strike pale-faces to- night? Dat mean Blackfoot want scalp. Tek ’em, too—dey fight like debble, when see blood in dere eyes. Tek yours, too—don’t know squaw from brave, when mad. Eagle like you heap—he you’ frien’. He t’ink you bes’ hide in rocks till *nudder day. Den, if Blackfeet don’t tek all scalp, you kin go to frien’s. If do—den Eagle he t’ink some odder way save you.”’ “*No—take me to them, as you promised. If they are fated to be murdered, why should I live? I have no other friends—I must share their fate.” ‘Eagle no lie—he do what you tell. But hesorry heap sorry. uaw no good when dead,” slowly said the chief, betraying a degree of emotion seldom exhibited by a brave. ‘Eagle know where Night-walker stop—know trail he take to git to pale-faces. Den bes’ we tek nud- der trail. meet Injun, den Eagle have to say you his captive, or dey kill squaw, plenty quick, cause dey not my braves. Don’t like Eagle much —Night-walker’s braves,’’ tersely added Pethonista, as he took Ada’s hand and left the tina direc- tion nearly opposite to that taken by Mat Mole and Minnie. The trail they were forced to follow was long and tortuous, rough and almost impassable for a woman, more es cially when so nearly exhausted as Ada. Despite her feverish anxiety to reach the train that men might be at once sent in pursuit of Minnie’s abductor, she was forced frequently to pause to take breath. Nothing but an unusually strong will kept her from breaking down agg yn the Eagle lent her all the assistance in power, short of carrying her in his arms. Since sunset, the sky had suddenly become over- cast with clouds, broken and fast-scudding, yet dense enough to almost entirely shut out the light of moon and stars. Thus groping through dark- ness, despite his thorough knowledge of the ground, Petho a was forced to advance cautiously, lest a misstep should precipitate him into one of the man awning ‘‘man-traps’’ that lay upon either hand. Ro it was that they did not reach level—compara- tively—ground again until eg midnight. A few minutes afterward, Pethonista suddenly paused, with a contemptuous grunt, as he uttered: *“See—dere you’ frien’s—by spring. Big fools, dough! T’ink Blackfoot need to see how lift scalp!” Aga gave a £220 of joy. Before them—though still nearly a mile distant—she could just distingu: the faint gleam of a camp-fire. Beyond a doubt it was, as the chief said, the camp of her friends. No Indian would have set up such a n in an enemy’s country. “Thank God! at last! Oh, hasten—hasten! I must tell them about poor Minnie.” “Too fast—too slow; both bad. Don’t know— mebbe Injun out dere hunting for scalps. Plenty room—dark hide ’em. We run, dey hear steps,—go slow—creep like snake, den no hear, no se uaw t through all right. Dat my talk,” interrup Pe- honista. ** But you—I am afraid to go alone now, since you think there are Indians there,” faltered Ada. ‘“No go ‘lone—Eagle go, too. Not inside cam dat bad, cause pale-face Eagle's en’my, too. But squaw mus’n’t be scare’. Mus’ be quick, cunning, same like snake. Mebbe no Injun—mebbe not git here yet. Mus’ act like dey was, dough; sure not git fooled, den.”’ Though trembling with fear and exhaustion, Ada the sense of Pethonista’s reasoning, and endeav- | they suspec pod veg down like thing suspicious. The ored to conquer her weakness. Crouchin tened intently. No suspicious sound broke the air. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet. Yet this only served to confirm the chief’s suspicions that his brethren were even then creeping upon the doomed train, What had silenced the querulous yelping of coyotes that nightly surround a camp, renderin night hideous with their howling, snapping cries? score of coyotes will surround a wounded buffalo, in diabolical concert. But, let a huge wolf appear, and they draw off, dumbly sitting upon their-haunches, patiently waiting for the remnaxts of the feast. More than’ once Pethonista had known | as to render their arrows nearly useless, though one white man fell, bullet-pierced. The Indians charged boldly—their evident ho was to alarm the pale-faces into seeking safety in flight, when the nimble-footed braves could easil | pick them off in detail, bothered _as they would be ay or black | them to show the same deference to the two-legged | wolves, and he believed ‘twas the case now. With an uneasy glance at Ada’s light-colored dress, he crept noiselessly on toward the faint twinkling point of light. The maiden imitated his example as closely as possible. They had crossed nearly two-thirds of the distance without seeing or hearing anything beyond the com- mon, when suddenly the full moon sailed from be- neath a dense clou , pouring a flood of silver light over the scene. A cry of surprise rose to Ada’s lips, but quick as thought the "Ragle’s broad palm rested upon them and forcibly held her close to the ground. The level before and upon both sides of them was dotted with scores of dark, oblong figures. Not one moved, not one gave the slightest indication of bei: other than inanimate objects, but Pethonista we knew that they were Blackfoot warriors, thirsting for blood; that they had been stealing up to the camp, when the flood of moonlight caused them to lie motioness and still as stones. The wagons were drawn up into a corral-like shape, Prime f close against the wall of rock. The only evidence of life was in that tiny fire, built close outside the row of vehicles. Then the tableau changed like magic. A single jet of flame issued from the corral—a loud, clear voice uttered a defiant shout that mingled strangely with the shrill, unearthly scream as one of the dark figures lea) tore and bit the hard ground in its death-agony. AS vig 9 this was the signal for which they were awaiting, the crawling serpents changed to bound- ing cougars as they sprung forward to the attack, yelling, screeching, shouting—the mingled war-cries of both red and white savages. Again that clear shout from the corral—and the dark line seemed oncoming mass of demons. The savages hesitated—faltered—their yells of ex- pectant triumph changed to cries of surprise. A cheer went up from the corral. The emigrants believed the victory won. That sound turned the scale. The savages a, madly forward. Blood was in their eyes. They thought no longer of themselves—paid no heed to the storm of revolver bullets that saluted them—dashed on with deep, snarling cries, deter- mined to crush the hated invaders who had stricken them such a deadly blow. Pethonista leaped erect at the first shot, his chest dilating, his - glowing, every muscle working, his magnificent form all ina tingle as the hatchet flashed from his girdle. The wild, thrilling war-cry that had caused many a bold foeman’s heart to beat uicker broke from his lips, and he seemed about to | | moment, Then the oin in the charge. But a little hand clutched his ankle—a tremblin voice besought his protection. And as he looked down and saw the pale, terrified countenance, the fire gradually died out of his face. He remembered his ledge. Fierce warrior though he was, he could not orget that. with their horses. But, though well enough intended, the plan failed, since the ecm, instead of givi way in confusion, leaped from their animals an sought cover behind the nearest bowlders, then marked down the savages as rapidly as a bead could — drawn upon any of the rapidly-flitting, dusky 1es. Such was the sight witnessed by Yellowstone Jack | and his comrades upon the afternoon of that event- | was their hereditary enemy. | Yellowstone’s heels. ful June day. They did not hesitate lony. One of the parties, besides being much the more numerous, the Blackfoot Indians. “T reckon we'd better make it a free fight, boys,” quietly uttered Yellowstone, gliding rapidly forward, “charging ’’ border fashion, by keeping securely covered while rapidly nearing the foe. His comrades were nowise loth, and kept close at Not five minutes were used in getting within range, and then the four trappers each selected his prey. Then, mingling their pecu- liar war-cries with the still reverberating echoes, the hunters charged. This attack in the rear threw the Indians into mo- mentary confusion, and almost before they could re- | alize the truth the trappers were in their midst, rap- | idly emptying their revolvers, leaving a trail of | blood behind them. Nor were the whites much less | a convulsively into the air, then falling, | astonished. They stared at the daring men, forget- ting to use their weapons. “Sock it to em, lads!” yelled Yellowstone, laugh- ing shrilly and tossing his long hair back as an ar- | row tore through the tangled locks, grazing the skin of his cheek. “Thar’s Fatty Smith to pay fer, yit!"’ “Me, too—Jack, the varmints hes throwed me!” Gila Hank, the leveled pistol falling from his as he reeled back, a feathered shaft quivering = in his chest. ellowstone Jack caught the dying man upon his left arm, and with a snarling cry, sent a revolver | bullet through the throat of the Indian who had sped the fatal arrow. “Don’t let °em git my skelp,”’ faintly breathed the dying trapper, his eyes closing, the blood gushing | from his lips. fairly grilled with fire, as twenty rifles vomited forth | their contents, hurling death and confusion into the | He glanced toward the corral. The Indians and | their white-skinned allies had just reached it. And then the moon sailed beneath another cloud; all be- low was cast intoadense gloom. Yet the foemen, though standing so close to each other, held their blows fora moment, They gazed upward in mute amazement. A shrill, eldritch peal of laughter came to their ears. Standing upon the very pinnacle of the hill, was a weird figure—a smaller form crouching at her feet, with arms outstretched toward the wagon-train. Again that maniacal peal, and a few shrill words oa down from the dizzy hight; then the moon hid i ; And the struggle was renewed. Pethonista caught Ada up in his arms and ran swiftly across the point of rocks. Passing round this, he deposited her upon the ground, beneath an over- hanging rock, bidding her keep perfectly still until he returned. Then he sounded his war-cry and hasten- ed to the fray, as a lover hastens to his bridal. Ada cove eyes and ears, seeking to drown the devilish sounds, but in vain. en, worn out, terror- stricken, she must have swooned. Whether minutes or hours had elapsed, she never knew, when rude hands seized her. A hideous face—burning eyes and gloating look; this much she saw—and then felt herself clasped to a broad breast and borne swiftly on through the night. CHAPTER X. THE LOST TRAIL. A party of horsemen, whites, about a dozen in number, riding along at a slow pace, over a rocky difficult trail; nearly twice as many Indians, in the savage glory of be pe and feathers, crouch- ing behind a pile of bowlders beside the winding trail; some distance off, ina ravine where they were scarce- ly hidden from the white men’s sight, were a number of mustangs, The whites abruptly drew rein. Beyond a doubt ted some trap, or had observed some- unable to restrain a panther lying in wait for its prey, Pethonista lis- | their hatred, opened fire, though at such a dist. | your wagons and | come so opportunely to “They must take mine fust! Brindle—Hoosier— hyar they come! Stan’ fast—sock it to em!” The Blackfeet, seeing the fall of one of the dare- devils, seemed to forget their first foes, and with ex- ultant yells, rushed upon the three men, seemingly bent upon crushing them to the ground with the mere weight of numbers. The defiant yell of the trappers replied. Standing around the stricken man they met the assault brave- Mingled with the revolver reports, came a sharper, louder detonation, and a tall brave who was leveling a blow at Yellowstone Jack, fell back, dead. A loud, fierce shout drowned all other sounds and a tall, lithe figure lea into the very midst of the Indians. One hand plied a long, heavy knife, the other clasped a revolver, whose every report sound- ed the death-knell of an enemy. A dread fear seemed to ogre ge the Indians for a broke and fled, with cries of dismay, mingled with a name that had often caused terror to Blackfeet hearts of late years. * Pacanne-puck-on-che-luk/’’* But they were not to escape so easy. The emi- grants had, by this time, recovered from their double surprise, and as the sav broke, they were met upon every side. For a few minutes it was a mas- sacre. Then half a dozen of the Blackfeet succeed- ed in cutting their way free, and gaining their ani- mals, fled with the speed of despair. Vernon Campbell quietly reloaded his weapons, and then picking out the braves who had fallen be- neath his hand, he stripped them of the prized oy. ellowstone Jack, after t ring in vain to discover some traces of life in the y of his fallen comrade, strode up to the young scout with extended hand. “Putt it thar, boss! You're a hull train, wi’ a yal- ler dog under the wagon to boot! From the very way you putt in the double licks, I don’t wonder ‘at the varmints mistook you fer the Blood-Drinker.” ‘They call me that, sometimes,” was the quiet reply. R You ain’t—thunder! a young feller like you—” “Tam old enough to have won that name from my enemies—and I am proud of it, too, since it shows that I have drank deep of the vengeance I swore to take for my murdered kindred.” The three trappers looked at the young man with feeli somewhat akin to awe. John Warren ap- proached and started to thank the men who had his assistance. Campbell abruptly checked him. “Spare your thanks, sir—I did not attack those curs through any friendship for you. Indeed, if, as I believe, you belong to the wagon-train that passed over this trail to-day, I have been aiding your worst enemies ever since you left the settlements.” ‘* My enemies—and yet—” stammered Warren. “T don’t mean Indians—it is because the party I was with has made allies of the Blackfeet, that I tell you this much. I hate them—my whole life is de- voted to slaying them whenever we meet. But leq that pass. You are in danger. The Blackfeet will be upon you to-night. Your only chance is to corral ht them to the last, unless you wish to abandon but yeur horses, and trust in their speed to carry you beycud pursuit,” * Literally, ‘‘ The Man who Drinks Blood,”
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10 mies? You have told me too much, young man, not to say more,”’ added Warren, suspiciously. 2 - ! iow can you make me tell more than I wish to admit of my own free will? Do you think I fear death? Don’t try to ride over me, rough-shod, as or you'll get hurt.”’ sneered os “We're losin’ time, boss,”’ ay in’Chris Camp, un- easily. ‘‘The wimmen may be in danger.” “You are looking for two ladies—and a youn pa a abruptly demanded Campbell of the emi- grant. ; ““Yes—my daughter and niece. They were run away with—”’ “They are safe enough, old man, though they had a narrow ron Wait—you can ask questions af- terward. I tell you they are safe enough. If you an- swer my questions freely, then I'll tell yousomething that may be of use to you. First, do you know any- thing of a man named Mat Mole; middle-sized, black hair, eyes and beard, hook-nose, rather good-look- ing, about forty years old?’ *No—I don't reco e the description.” “You have asbrother in California, who wrote for you to come out there, to join him in business?” “Yes, but how could you know this? I—”’ “T do know it—that’s enough. Listen now, and mark what I tell you. This band of land-pirates. I acted as their guide, because I knew we would see something of the Blackfeet. We have driven you from the right trail, by false | which were read to you, as we intended, by a man Mole has in pa camp. To-day Mole was joined by a band of Blackfeet; that’s why I have de- serted him. To-night they mean to attack you. You will find all el spare ammunition destroyed. That is to be the work of Mole’s man, your false guide, who calls himself—” "7 thar, old man—you're wuss'n a rattler, fer he shakes his tail afore he strikes!’’ yelled Yellow- stone Jack, and a man was hurled headlong at the young scout’s feet, a long knife flying before the quivering form. * Brindle—Hoosier—close up! He saved our ba- con—ef these chaps mean to bounce ‘im, they must ere vin A Sal Wick ora added Jack, sprin - ng before Cam wn weapons, promptly backed up by his comrades. The emigrants started back and drew their wea- | weg Fora moment there seemed a fair prospect ‘0 r another duel to the death, only between those of | the same color. “What do you mean?”’ demanded Warren, of Jack. “What ’d he mean, by tryin’ to stick the young fellow here? From behind, too—the pizen snake!”’ “*Tt’s true,” observed Russel. ‘I saw it all.” * Wait,’ uttered Campbell. ‘This man must be the ena I spoke of. None other could have an (oe for st pping my tongue. If so, his name is ‘amp.’ “That is his name; but he came to us well recom- mended.’ “ Exactly so—from Mole, who signed himself Cap- tain Luke Harding, U. 8S. A.,” sneered the young scout. ‘ But there—I have warned you; heed it or not, as you please. You will find your friends either on their way to your wagons, or at the head of the upper pass. I left them there two hours since. our horses and wagon, though, are at the bottom of Chetish canon.” ** You will lead us there? I will pay you—” “T work for revenge, not pay. These hunters can rage you. Good-by, now,” and Campbell strode rap- away. vor little I’d stop him,’’ muttered Warren, doubt- ing] .. “I don’t hatt like his story.” vise must walk over me an’ my pards, then, boss,” quietly returned Jack. ‘He saved our ha’r, an’ Shell hev fa’r play, ef it costs a lawsuit. I reckon you'd better look to that snake yender. I hit him chug, but his head’s harder ’n a nigger’s.”” Camp had partially recovered from the heavy blow dealt by Yellowstone Jack’s iron fist, and hur- riedly secured the knife that had fallen from his grasp. It was this movement that drew forth the ea exclamation, arren seemed in doubt what do to. The words of the stranger, added to the scout’s attempt upon his life, had made some impression upon his mind, = the guide had played his part so well as to gain e opinion of nearly all the emigrants. It did not seem possible that he could be such a double-dis- tilled traitor to the men whose bread he ate. ““Who was ’t hit me?” growled Camp, glarin around upon the little party, an evil light in his blood- ot eyes. “You needn’t look no furder ’n me,” promptly re- plied Yellowstone. “I hit ye—jest as I woul other snake as I see’d crawlin’ up ahind a man to strike ‘im unbeknown, like. Ef a feller wants to be so pizen mean, he ain’t wuth bein’ treated like a hu- man critter.” “ Better pray ‘at the fancy don't cost ye too dear, young feller,’ nned Chris Camp, with a sickly smile. ‘I don’ = blow very soon. gen’ally fergit Mebbe I’m slower ’n pe Pa 0 debts—I do, so /” “T lent ye the lick out 0’ pure love, old pizenness. I'd do a heap fer ye, I’ve taken sech a fancy fer yer in- nercent-lookin’ mug; I hev, so. But yit, I’m’ ’com- modatin’ to fri‘nds. *F you think you owe me any- thin’, now’s y’ur chaince to settle. Rifle, peeps, or butcher—a-critter-back or afoot, white man’s style or Injun fashion—jest say the word, and Yellow- stone Jack’ll do the best he knows to make it inter- estin’ fer ye.” ‘ “Not now; [said I kin wait. was a man. I'd like to do ye kin, Wouldn’t ’sult ye by fightin’ ut I al’ays pays my You look like you nigh = as I ye at e-cock. Beadle’s Half-Dime Libr “From the settlements—then who are these ene- | ole is your deadly | enemy. He has followed you from Omaha, with a _ neve’ £ yin ary. so to speak. You lent me a mule-kick. My head’s | | settle that—by takin’ a look where the outfit dizzy, my han’ tremb’les, an’ I don’t reckon I could fetch out your hull style as I'd wish. Onless you're drawled Chris Camp. “Right you air! One thing fust—I fergot you’d promeesed old Go ae ae tae the varmint’s name—to spile these fellers’ powder,” gs os the ae pa “Some folks ’d say a man was a durned fool to © an’ drive the nails in his own coffin—but you on’t *pear to think so, Yellowstone Jack,” and the ide smiled again—a peculiar, sickly smile that ded danger. “Come,” impatiently interrupted Warren, “you ean settle this quarrel some other time—or now, if you wish, but we can’t stop to see it. If there is any truth in what that man said, we have no time to lose here. He said you men would know the way to this upper pass. Is there any nearer way than by going along this pass, then up the other?” “Not fer hosses. I'll show ye the way, ef so be ou'll wait long enough fer us to plant poor Heel ank hyar, whar the reds won’t stum’le over his top-knot.”’ ‘Make haste, then. I'll ride on to the train and see if they have got back. If they have, I'll send word to you where the canyon divides.” arren rode rapidly away, and the emigrants busied themselves in looking after their dead and wounded. Three had been killed—making four with Gila Hank, the ig / nee They were all single men, since Minnie and Ada were the only women accom- the train, and so it was deemed best to ury them where they had fallen, rather than to carry them to the wagons. “Tt’s rough lines on us, boys,” said Yellowstone Jack, sadly, as they composed the limbs of the dead trapper in a deep cleft in the rocks. ‘‘Two boys rubbed out in one day—hafe of our party in a week. *Pears like this was goin’ to be a costly trip fer us.” “Hank went under like a true mountain man, jest as he’d wished fer this many a year. He made his coup fust. I don’t reckon the varmints ‘ll hey much to brag on, when all’s counted. But thar was Chavez —he didn’t die right. I’m dub’ous his sperrit ‘ll ha’nt us,’’ muttered Brindle Joe. ‘“*Not ef 7 kin help it. To-morrer I'll take the trail —I'll try that witch—spook—whatever the critter is —an’ see ef I cain’t rest pore Mexy. Ef I kin borrer a silver dollar, to run up, I'll be all right,” said Yel- lowstone, thoughtfully. ‘Goin’ to jine in wi’ these fellers? Ef what that feller—the Blood-Drinker—said is true, I reckon thar’s goin’ to be the tallest kind o’ fun round hyar *fore long.”’ “Ef they needs it, Hoosier, mebbe we'll lend ‘em a hand—but not inside their durned corral. I fights free, J does.” “Whar’s that pizen snake—the critter you hit, Jack,” demanded Brindle Joe. ‘‘I don’t see him—” “Yender he goes—give me—too late! He’s under kiver. So much fer bein’ a durned fool! my way, he’d ’a’ croaked "fore this. Wal, they'll hev lowstone, as he saw the form of the traitor guide vanish among the rocks. Chris Camp had indeed slipped away while the men were busy with their dead. Pursuit was idle, considering the route he had chosen, and the party at once entered the pass. At the division they met Warren, who spurred up, pale and breathless. Nothing had been seen or heard of the women, and dreading the worst, the party rode on through the — pass. ey saw blood-marks, traces of what might have been a death-struggle, but nothing more. Warren — with agony, and nearly fell from his animal. ‘** Don’t take on so, boss,”’ said Yellowstone, sooth- ingly. ‘““Mebbe they’re all right yit, an’ hyar’s me an’ my mates is ready to take the trail—or ruther to hunt for the one we've lost—an’ ef they’re above airth, we'll find ‘em. Meantime you'd better go look to the wagons, for you’ll smell burnt powder afore mornin’, sure. Corral them by the spring, under the rocks, an’ keep good watch, ef you want to see day- light ag’in.” “T'll pay you—I have money—” “Wait ontel we do the oe sta: Seed dollar—thanks ! ow go—the own.’ Warren finally yielded, and rode back to the wagons, ; ef you hev a sun’s most CHAPTER XI. SCOUTING AND FIGHTING. “T RECKON I’m up a stump, fer once,” grunted Brindle Joe, disgustedly rubbing his head. “A owl couldn’t foller a trail now, even a’ter ‘twas found, which this ’ne ain’t, by a pesky sight!”’ “°F these critters ’d on’y wore shoes like the hosses—but ain’t enough on ’em to make a trail on fresh snow. I reckon we're played, boys,” com- mented Yellowstone Jack. “T've got a idee, mebbe ’tain’t wuth much; I don’t let on to be much a’count, onless it is on a trail. But I don’t reckon thar’s anythin’ else we kin do, sence the varmints ain’t a-goin’ to trouble the train fer some hours yit, anyhow? What say, boys?” “Reckon you'd better let us see this idee, fust: ee we kin tell better,” dryly observed oosier. ‘*Was thinkin’—but thar, You heerd what that feller said—him as called hisself the Blood-Drinker. Yuu kin tell es well es me whether he was lyin’ or no. You kin see, too, that somethin’ has gone over the ridge o’ the kenyon hyar. Mebbe it’s only the hoss-critters ~ mebbe ressin’, we'll wait a bit—say ontel mornin’,”’ | Ef Id hed | | often deceived in a man,” quietly one more to fight, that’s all,’’ disgustedly cried Yel- | prey, tersely added Camp ra the gal-critters | trappers were forced to was in the wagon. Thar’s on’y one way to stopped. It’s dark now to look further fer a trail on these rocks. We kin go up the kenyon to a point whar we kin git down it, take a look at what thar is b’low hyar, an’ git back in plenty time to take a hand in whatever fun thar’ll be goin’ on at the train yender.” **Sound hoss sense, an’ well put, Brindle Joe,” cried Yellowstone, ‘I reckon I know the right trail; come on.” Indeed, there seemed erae | else that could pos- sibly be accomplished that night. For over an hour the three trappers had been closely searchin he ground in the vicinity of the upper pass, withou success. The flinty wet sod retained no footprints. The perilous trail followed by the fugitives had been overlooked, for the trappers could not know that a Blackfoot chief had been guiding them, and there seemed scarce ne a cat below the escarp- ment. They began doubt the truth of what Campbell had told them—to believe that the depths of t a canon contained the corpses of those they sought, Yellowstone Jack led the way, proceeding rapidly, for a considerable detour must be made before they could reach a point where a descent into the canon was possible. And, despite the mere losses they had | sustained, not one of the trio but was anxious to | take part in the anticipated conflict at the corraled wagons, Somebody burnin’ powder,” suddenly uttered Yel- lowstone, The report of a rifle rung out upon the evening air, its reverberation awakening a thousand echoes among the hills, until one could fancy the skirmish- ing line of an entire rtd at its deadly work, The trappers tried to settle the point from whence the shot bac snay nn but in vain. The thousand echoes completely bewildered them, and a few moments later they resumed their course. It was this shot that hurled Frank Maynard down the canon. For nearly an hour the trappers pressed on, with- out further interruption, but then Yellowstone mares quickly aside, crouching behind a bowlder, ssing: ** Cache, boys, there’s a varmint just ahead!” “Easy, friends,” promptly replied a clear, not un- musical voice, from the gloom beyond. ‘“ There’s no quarrel between us, that I know of.” “Who air you, then?’ demanded Yellowstone ack, ; “A friend to all those who are not in | e with the accursed Blackfeet. You saw me to-day when your comrade was rubbed out.” “The feller what called hisself the Blood-Drinker —but don’t trust him /oo fur,” muttered Brindle Joe. ““F you're alone, step out. I reckon we've got a crow to ae wi’ you,”’ added Yellowstone, uncock- ing his rifle. ‘Iam alone, but I’m not afraid to trust you, I set you down for true men, oy and I’m not Ra bea d Campbell, ad- 1c « Polks is sometimes peskily bad fooled. You | don’t look like your tongue was crooked, vat you put e . > a false trail to-day,” dryly replied ack, “There is some mistake here—”’ ; “Jest what J thort—a blamed big one, too. Didn’t you say you left them -critters all safe? Then whar be they? They ain't whar you said, nor at the emi t roe Rs oe i told you the truth. I saved them from being dashed into the canon, by shooti one of their horses. They were all right when I left them. Be- sides, I warned them of the presence of enemies. It may be that they have been captured. These hills are swarming with their enemies, both pale-faces and Blackfeet.” “Look here—you say you've quit these fellers!”’ ““Yes—they have banded with my deadly enemies, the Blackfeet. For ten years past I have never miss- ed an opportunity of taking a Blackfoot’s scalp; is it likely, then, that I would “fight with and for them, now? ‘Will you lend us a hand, then?” bluntly asked Yellowstone. “In what way?” ‘*“We was goin’ to take a look in the kenyon—” “That would be a waste of time. Those you seek are not there. If they have not reached their friends, then some of Mole’s men, or some of the Blackfeet have captured them. I will do better. I will show you their camp.” “*T don’t know much about ye, stranger. You talk slick enough, an’ I'd hate to think o’ you as a traitor. But thar’ll be three fellers nigh to ye; who’re tol’able quick on the trigger, an’ who kin hit the bigness of a man when it’s cluss enough,” slowly uttered the llowstone ba nt “Nor am I used to such threats, I don’t ask you to trust me. You need not accept my offer unless et gg pe ga Campbell. ‘"’F you mean right, thar’s no ‘fense intended. What say, boys? Shall ‘we go wi’ him?” 69 “You =! a ae Ps: “3 are be that a-way,"’ p y re rindle Joe, and Hoo; - timated a sinier belief, : a “Come, then; the trail is a roundabout one and the coyotes will soon be creep up to surround their oan , leading the way, at a e. hough the sun had set clear, the heavens were rapidly becoming ree the full moon o shone forth at rare intervals. Vernon Campbell led the way with acelerity and promptness that told how well he knew the country, and even the well trained admire his noiseless progress. ———
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Yellowstone Jack. More like a bodiless phantom than substantial flesh and blood. Just as he gained the entrance to the little valle in which we first beheld the outlaw band, Campbell, with a warning Gesture, sunk quietly down behind a large bowlder. He was closely imitated by the trap- rs, who had also caught the muffled sound of orses’ hoofs. Lying thus, within ten feet of the narrow trail, the four scouts clutched their weapons, resolved to strike one re es before death, in case they should be dis- covered. Riding two abreast, the horsemen filed past, speak- ing not a word, only a dull trampling sound betrayi their passage, for their animals’ hoofs had been muffled. And the scouts lay there outlined against the gray rocks, scarce daring to breathe, lest the sound should betray their presence, The edge of the swiftly-moving cloud grew lighter and lighter; still the shado riders glided by like some never-ending chain. With the first moonbeam, discovery would inevitable, unless—thank God! they are past! ot one moment too soon—the silvery rays of the moon already outline the prostrate figures. But the night-riders do not glance back—they pass on, bent upon their mission of death and plunder. “A close shave,’ muttered Campbell, with a long breath. ‘ But a miss is as good asa mile. And now the trail is open to us—though I fear we will have little reward for our trouble. I counted them as they rode by, and I don’t believe any were left behind at the camp. If so, and there were no captives with them just now, Iam puzzled to guess what has hap- pened to your friends.” “Waal, sence we’ve come this far, reckon we'd bet- bad e° on an’ make sure,” interposed Yellowstone ack, “Keep close to me, then. The camp is—or was— close by, in the grove, yonder.” Half an hour later the scouts stood within the de- serted camp, moodily eying the few dying embers. A thorough scout through the valley left no room for doubt. The allied outlaws and Blackfeet had left, apparently for good, and had taken their cap- tives with them, if any they had. “*Tt’s useless looking for a trail or to waste time in trying to read signs on such a night asthis. Besides, ti wing late, and the fun will open up over _ er before long. Wecando no good here—per- aps we can be of use to these emigrants.” “It’s poor manners to o old one’s wound up—but I don’t see what else we kin do. Besides, they'll be kinder lookin’ fer us, an’ ‘ll need all the “ean they kin git ef the lot we see’d all do thar best. I reckon you're right, boss.” Without any more words the scouts retraced their steps, and were soon gliding along through the deep ss, using all possible caution to avoid running nto the enemy, at times forced to pause until the moon again hid itself beneath a cloud, lest the keen- eyed savages should glance back and discover them. Suddenly they found themselves almost in the midst of a lot of mustangs, who snorted and pawed the ground suspiciously. These had been abandoned by the Indians and outlaws when the scout sent in advance brought in their report. Though the wagons were parked, everything was quiet in the camp, and the usual fires had been lighted. ee to surprise the emigrants, the savages had dismoun’ ed, leaving their animals unguarded, though secure- ly tied to the rocks around. The scouts qauety understood this, and Yellow- stone was in favor of stampeding the herd, but Campbell demurred. “That would spoil our plans, don’t you see? The reds would know then that the whites had friends at hand, and would be on their guard. As it is, when they are at it, hot and heavy, we will come down on n a new trail afore the them with revolvers, and as we've all got pretty sound lu we can make ’em believe they're at- tacked by a regiment.” “Your head’s level, old man! I knuckle under— Ireckon I'll jest you boss all the time!” said Yellowston mg in a tone of admiration. Campbell still led the way, and a few minutes more of cautious creeping carried them out of the pass and into the broad, level before the cor- . Crouching beside a bowlder, they patiently waited for the moon to show itself, in order to fn an accurate idea of the enemy’s position. ey were not kept long in suspense. e light came, revealing to them the same sight that so astonished Pethonista and Ada, Then came the single shot from the wagons—the clear, defiant shout, mingled with the death-shriek of the stricken savage—the wild, charging cry of the enemy as they darted forward—and then the with- ering volley—the s sight upon the peak; and then the moon hid i once more, as though loth to gaze upon such a terrible scene. *“Keep close to me—not a word until I shout; then 0 in mpbell. The men glided rapidly forward. They had not noticed the weird being above, and were puzzled by the abrupt pony in the fight. But this was only momentary—then the horrible death-struggle for possession of the barrier was resumed. A clear, phe echo voice rose high above the devilish din, and carried a thrill of terror into the Blackfeet hearts. One of their number fell, pierced ingly composed of many voices, arose, and a death- ball swept through thelr crowded ranks. Ragin hig i pe 1 fi rile bell leaped into e a ve en ea) their m nobly seconded by Yellowstone and his from every side, but comrades, They rained pad not for long. or all you’re worth!” hurriedly muttered | | hear the bell—Doll | fore I died—when I was happy with him/ Ah! why A cry of terror went up from the savages, and as with one accord they broke and fled, the white out- laws promptly imitated their example. But, close upon their heels trod the avenger, terribly vindicat- ing his name and reputation. CHAPTER XII. THE SACRIFICE. Wirn a stre and activity that was little short of marvelous, the weird woman, still holding the half-senseless maiden in her arms, glided rapidly away from the spot where lay the still of Mat Mole. breasted the steep incline, leaping t point with the activity and sure foot of a mountain oat, or lightly scaled the piles of broken rock, seem- ngly gifted with the powers of a cat, in more senses than one. a she paused, allowing Minnie to sink to the cold rock beside her. Leaning upon the heavy staff that had stricken Mat Mole senseless, the weird be ee stared fixedly before her, into the dense gloom. Minnie stirred uneasily. Theshock of her fall had, in a measure, broken the spell that had fallen over her mind. She stared wil around. She could barely distinguish the form of her strange popes, and might probably have taken it for another of the fantastic rock ey that stood upon every side, only for the words that dropped unconsciously from the weird woman’s lips. “Speak plainer—how can I understand when you whisper so low? It makes my head hurt—my brain whirl and dance and ring—yes, it rings now! I can wore it—my cow. That was be- don’t you peak clear—you are hissing like a snake —andI see it now! A snake! see it crawl—it comes nearer—it touches me—it winds about me—ah! ‘Tis a snake—slimy and hideous, but wears his head—the devil who ed me! Down—down! Ha! ha! you creep in the dust—your head is bruised and bieeding —like my heart!” The weird woman dealt fierce blows upon the rock with her staff, then sunk suddenly back, with a low — intense suffering, both hands pressed to her reast. Minnie had been a terrified witness of her raving, but there was such a tone of suffering in the last words that she forgot all else, and strove to comfort the weird woman. “You are ill—can I help you?” she faltered. There seemed a magic in the words. The woman’s trembl ceased, a low, grating cry broke from her lips, and two bony hands clutched the maiden’s king figure, drawing her forcibly forward, until their faces nearly came in contact. The weird woman's — filled with a phosphorescent light that oe urn deep down into the terrified girl's ra “Now I understand—now I know what iy food master meant! He says sacrifice—sacrifice! atis why he has sent you to me—I can read his sign stamped upon your forehead. It tells me that you must die. Come—don’t you hear him calling? He will be angry if I delay. And then he will put an- other queen over my head,’ muttered the weird lifting Minnie to her feet. — —I was yous once. Young, loved and fair to look upon. Yet I died—yes, I died—yes, Idied! He killed me. He made me sleep first— where I had such bright, blissful dreams—where all | seemed love and happiness—where his voice sounded like the softest music—his features those of an an- el. Ah, had it only lasted—could we have only drifted on forever in that land of dreams! But that was not to be. Something broke the spell. The music was the chorus of ken devils—and then his mask fell off—it was the horrible head of a ser- sa § that Isaw. And then I died—yes, I must have ed, because I never saw him again—for whom I gave up my immortal soul. The serpent came in- stead—slimy and loathsome. And then—my head turns round and round and mixes the words all up. I can’t tell what came next—only I know that he killed me. He struck me on the head—here,” and the weird woman pressed Minnie’s finger into a deep furrow upon her head. ‘“ That’s what makes it so light. Sometimes I have to tie it down to the rocks, to keep it from flying ’way off up there—where the bright star shines. Those are the times that my master comes to me—and we go fioating all over the world, noting down the names of his new slaves. Tis glorious sport! He talks plain, then, while now he only whispers—ha! you hear? He says sacrifice— ifice/ Tam a queen, but he is my master and I obey his commands.”’ “Tis only the wind that howls through the “Ha! ha! r, silly fool—to think to deceive me —think you I know not the difference between his voice and the muttering of the wind? No, no—ye want to escape me and make him angry—you think that he will make you queen of this land, over my head, then. But I say no, you must go when he With a low, laugh, the weird woman the OM ngs Ba a few steps, then m with arifle-shot. Then a wild cheer, long and seem- | pe: holding her erect with that wonderful stre sO many maniacs are gifted with, despite Minnie s d rate struggles io teen herself; and then, exhausted, the poor girl lay half senseless in the weird woman’s vice-like grasp. “Look! Mb eigy is my master—he is waiting for you! See floating in the air below us? t is a good sign. Cease your trembling—there igmothing 11 | tofear. He is in a good humor to-night—see him quivering form | rning aside from the plain trail, she | rom point to | | Jagees | erect, and smile—he does not mean that you should die—he will catch you as you fall. Perhaps he has need of another queen—yes! see! he holds a crown for ees. ‘Tis smaller than mine—but that is just, since I am his favorite vassal, Do yousee him? Answer me— I command you!” ‘“*Mercy—have pity on me! I can see nothing, nothing but death!” moaned the poor girl. “*Then—but no—he motions for me to wait. The moon is just coming from under that black cloud, He means for me to wait until you can see what the future has in stove. Stand up—he hates cowards,” ggg added the maniac, roughly shaking nie. The dark cloud swept swiftly on. Its ragged edge grew brighter and brighter, until the broad silver moon moved majestically from behind the murky v * Now, a can see—look quick! he is growing im- patient—he beckons—you must obey!” shrieked the weird woman, lifting Minnie by the shoulders clear of the rock, holding her at arm’s-length over the frightful abyss. hey were upon a narrow point of rock that over- hung an almost fathomless canon. A fall from this would be inevitable death. The breath of life would have departed the body long ere it touched the rocks below. terror-stricken glance did Minnie give, then closed her eyes in horror; almost unconsciously a ° rae parted her lips. “* Mother in heaven! protect va poor child!” These simple words produ a strange effect upon the madwoman. e wild light faded from her eyes, the frenzied look gat Seg from her wrinkled features, and with a gasp ig cry she tot- tered back from the dizzy verge, sinking to the rock beside the maiden. “You have a mother—you pray to her?” ‘“My mother is dead; an angel in heaven,” Min- nie faltered, almost fearing to speak, though a won- derful change had come over the weird woman. “T had a mother once, and she died; he told me that it was my bad conduct that broke her heart. She was good and pure and holy, Often when my brain is well, I wake up from a pleasant dream, and feel her warm kiss upon my brow, just as she placed it there when she bade me good-night. She didn’t dream how wicked I was, or ‘twould have been her curse instead! And that night I stole away like a thief. I was a thief, for I robbed them of their earthly peace for all time to come! And I was called mother, too, by a little angel; I don’t remem- ber why she ieft me. I was ve ' kind to her. I would have died for her sake, and for his. But she went away; = oy oe mother called her. She thought | would each her to be wicked like myself, per- aps.” : here was something peculiarly touching in these words, uttered as joy Bsn in a subdued, mournful tone by that strange being, as she sat rocking to and fro, weeneeng her hands ceaselessly; and Minnie felt a choking at her throat, as she mastered her terror sufficiently to say: “As you lov ro child, by the memory of the mother that loved you, I beg you to have pity upon me; I never did you harm. I would like to be your friend, and help you if I could. I pray you let me return to my friends.” “Who re that begs mercy of me?” abruptly interrupted the weird woman, springing to her feet, her eyes again filling with the fires of insanity. ‘‘ Ha! I remember—you are one whom my master de- manded as a sacrifice? Come—he is all-powerful— he must be obeyed!” and she dragged Minnie for- ward to the edge of the rock, paying no heed to her broken sobs and prayers for ang 2 The moon was again hidden behind a cloud, but the madwoman bent far forward, as though trying to pierce the intense gloom below. Then she rose one hand across her brow with an impatient gesture. “T can see nothing—he is gone—there is only that hideous serpent writhing around, biting i with its bruised, bloody head. Master! I am here, read to obey your will. I will give way to no more foolish dreams of the dead past. Tell me what to do—ah, poem ge gt master! I was afraid you were an- gered with me. See—here is the sacrifice you de- manded—I send her to you—” but the weird woman held Minnie half suspended above the abyss for a moment, without relaxing her iron grip. “Ha! he shakes his head—he points toward the Enchanted Valley—he vanishes! What does he mean? He rejects the sacrifice—or wishes it at his home. That’s it—at his home!” and laughing shril- ly, the weird woman flung the helpless girl across her shoulder, and darted from the spot, crossing the rough country with an ease and ce — fairly mar- velous, avoiding the many pitfalls, as if by instinct. Minnie was aroused from her stupor by the sound of shrill ey and rifle-shots, and as the madwoman dropEes er to the rock, she caught a brief glimpse of the plain below. She ized the white tilted wagons, and knew that friends were almost within reach. e stretched out her arms with a — e for help, for the moment forgetting that the - — were in nearly as re peril as herself; and en, as the moon hid itself, the weird woman ceased her mad ravings, — —_e = the girl in - arms, pressing on with una’ speed, despite the distance she had aiady. traversed. Minnie took no note of the lapse of time, so utter- ly proaeen was she, both from bodily exhaustion and mental anxiety. At times, when the ground was more level, the madwoman set her upon her feet and half half her along, never ausing after leaving the pi le above the attack n- train until she reached the valley of the Bolling
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j | _ reached the 12 Spring, where the unfortunate trapper, Chavez, had met his death some hours before. The weird woman dragged Minnie up to the pecu- liar curb that surrounded the spring, and then held her erect a the edge. The uliar vapor, the strange bubbling, hissing noise of the troubled water fairly aroused the maiden. “Tis here that my master declares the sacrifice must be made,” spoke the old woman, in a cold, stern voice, greatly differing from the excited tone she had hitherto ve “This is his favorite place of repose. He comes here when he wishes relaxation from the care and trials of his government. He has said that you must die. There can be no appeal from his de- cision. Are you ready?” ‘*Mercy—by the memory of your mother, mercy!” “T do not know the name. I am only a subject, though a queen. I can =, obey my orders.” The strong hands closed upon the trembling form and raised the maiden from her feet, holding her oised above the bubbling waters for a moment. en the helpless girl was flung into the midst of the Boiling Spri ng. A single half-stifled shriek—a slight splashing—a few heavy blows of the blood-stained staff; then a wild laug . And the moon hid itself behind a black cloud, CHAPTER XIII, IN STRANGE COMPANY. Down—down through the empty space whirled the body of the helpless young emigrant. A scream of a oh dull crashing sound as the body ree-tops. The brittle pine boughs splin- tered and bent beneath the weight, though offering more and more resistance as the body neared the jagged bowlders that so thickly strewed the canon , until, at last, the bruised, bleeding, senseless emigrant swayed up and down 2 ae a sturdy bough, as - few feet above the jagged rocks. e life-blood trickled from his temple and showed in a dozen places upon his person, where the cruel boughs had torn his garments and lacerated his skin. And thus, with oe decreasing undulations, the — figure ung doubled across the limb, while e last gleam of departing day faded. A shadowy shape stole silently along the bottom of the canon, gliding in and out, noiselessly passing from bowlder to bowlder, pone nearly at ever: step to peer keenly ahead, above, around, as thoug poten some enemy’s attack. Bilently the shadow ides on ionless body. Again that quick, burning glance around—then upward. A drop of blood falls upon the upturned face. The shadow flattens itself to the ground, and the muzzle of a rifle instantly covers the shapeless mass suspended in mid-air. For a few moments, he stands staring at the gent- ly swaying body, then drops his rifle, and nimbly scales the tree that bears such strange fruit. The limb bends and creaks beneath its double weight, but the adventurer manages to grasp the emigrant’s collar, and then with considerable address, draws the senseless form toward him. He brushes back the long, matted hair, and eagerly peers into the blood-stained face, a strange, snarling sound rum- bling from the massive chest. Then the man cautiously worked his way to the ae bearing the inanimate emigrant over his oulder. Securing his rifle he retraced his steps up the canon, winding between or around the ragged masses of rock with an ease and celerity that proved his thorough knowledge of the trail, and still the red drops trickled from the young man’s head, falling upon the rocky ground, and leaving a bloody trail behind them. For fully half an hour the stranger bore Frank Maynard on through the night, then turned abruptly to the left, as ge about to scale the almost per- ndicular wall. ter scrambling up a few steps, e stoo low down and parting a leafy screen where the wild po agiben covered several stunted pines, he lowered the body from his shoulder. A few embers smoldered at some distance, and b aid of these, the stranger soon lighted a rude wic that was stuck into the hollow of the rock, filled with grease. Dr ng Maynard where the feeble light fell up- on his face, the stranger hurriedly wiped the blood from his pale features, and gazed long and keenly upon them. A half-sigh parted his lips, and as if un- consciously, he muttered: “ Not yit—not ro How much longer must I wait? When’! the devil put him in my grip? ’Pears like I'll go crazy ef this lasts much longer. Crazy—ha! ha! They did call me crazy once; but they lied— could a crazy man do what I did? No—no; I'd ’a’ burnt up, too, like they did—but I fooled ’em! The thought ‘twas my bones they found—jest’s though omni while he lived!’’ and the man laughed y. A feeble moan parted Maynard's lips. The cold water used in cleansing the blood from his face had artially restored his consciousness, for despite his | rightful fall and the outlaw’s treacherous shot, | Frank Maynard was not dead. This sound seemed to calm the stranger, and he bent over the body for a moment eagerly. He could feel the faint fluttering of the heart, and the bright surface of his broad-bladed knife was dimmed. “‘ He ain’t dead yet—who knows? Mebbe the good Lord sent him to tell me whar I kin find him!” For nearly an hour the stranger worked before his efforts to restore life were rewarded. And then, af- ter a few incoherent words and a dazed s around , the young emigrant’s head sunk slept—a pep that closely resembled death. And the stranger crouched beside him, never once removing ~ eyes from the pale face through those long, weary then pauses directly beneath the now mo- k and he | iercing | Beadle’s | ours. It was broad day in the outer world, though within Half-Dime Library. the rocky den a light was still necessary, since the bottom of the canon was never reached by the sun’s rays, when Frank Maynard awoke to consciousness. “Where am I—what has ha pened?” he murmured faintly, striving in vain to arise from the rude couch of leaves. “You’re in good han’s, I reckon, an’ ‘ll git along all right, if so be a *bey orders an’ take things easy,”’ promptly replied the stranger, appearing far j | cinating him. “But is it true what you told him | about that man?” , he seeks—who knows? more like a sane man than when he had last spoken. | “Twas falling—I had been shot—yes! I see it now!” and Maynard shuddered convulsively. “We were dashed down from the ledge—down a horrible And she—Minnie—was she—did you find **T only found you, swingin’ *twixt heaven an’ earth on a pine branch. I don’t reckon thar was any one else. You're all mixed up in the mind, Ireckon—an’ leetle wonder a’ter sech a fall as that! But thar—I most forgot. Stranger, on’ out yender. lived a hour longer on’y I got you down, brung you hyar an’ doctored up your hurts. You wouldn't lie to me, now, would ye?” ‘ I have nothing to conceal—why should I tell you a lie?” ‘Nor laugh at me? They all do that—they think it’s fine fun to lie an’ laugh at me, ’cause they think I'm crazy. was—then mebbe I might fergi/. But I cain’t—I kin see everythin’ that happened jest’s plain now as that | her tightly Thar—don’'t look at me so dub’ous like,” | exclamation sounded faintly in her ears as she yield- black day. and a threatening glow ee to fill the great eyes. * What is it you want? sore and aching all over,’ replied Frank, pettishly. “Tell me whar he is—Zenas Kalloch?” **T never heard the name before; I know no man who goes by that name,’ replied Maynard, after a moment's thought. “Don’t say that—don’t, stranger! I tell ye I ain’t a, A on’y Jet Cowles. Jest think how long I’ve hunted fer him—a lifetime—fer years an’ years, night an’ day, never restin’ or sleepin’ or eatin’. Then don’t tell me that—a’ter I’ve lotted so much on what you’d say when you woke up. Mebbe he’s fooled you, too, with his soft tongue—mebbe you think he’s your fri’nd. An’ yit you’ve got a good face—it’s like an honest man’s face. ou cain’t know what a wicked devil he is—but I'll tell ye. My brain’s clear now—I kin see it all, jest as it came about. ‘*T was married—Mary an’ me, an’ we was so happy —tell he came. He was better-lookin’ than me, an’ hed more book-l’arnin’. We alllikedhim, An’ then —why don’t ye laugh, stranger? Ain’t it fun to seea big cuss like me wi’ tears in his eyes? But thar—I cain’t help it! Whenever I think o’ that time, when we was all so happy an’ contented, it makes a babby o’ me.” ‘He stole her away from me,” continued the man in a harsh, strained voice. ‘Her an’ the babby. i thurts me to speak—I am | “The canon is full of snakes; he may find the one C But, that does not matter. I wanted to get rid of him without trouble. And why, do you think? Because my master does not wish his secrets known. He bade me tell that man what I did, that he might not witness the sacrifice.” “The sacrifice?’ echoed Maynard, bewildered. “Yes; didn’t you hear him—my master—whisper? all | He said, ‘Send me this young man.’ That means. you. Only spirits can go to him; so I must kill you.’ These words were spoken in a low, even tone. Frank knew not whatto think. It seemed like some fantastic dream. But, as the weird woman crouched lower as if for a spring, and the dull glow of the | lamp-light fell are a long knife, Maynard realized fer me, you'd ’a’ died | You was bleedin’ fast—you couldn’t ’a’ | | you demanded! | | | | | Justful glare. his peril, and wi fend himself. The woman sprung upon him, holding him down as easily as though he had been an infant, while the venomous blade was raised above his bared chest. “T obey thee, master; see, I send you the spirit ’ screamed the crazed creature. h a faint cry, strove to arise and de- CHAPTER XIV. HOW THE EAGLE KEPT HIS PLEDGE. A nipgous face, with burning eyes and gloating But I ain’t—sometimes I ’most wish *t I | expression—this much Ada Dixon saw as two power- ful arms caught her be from the ground, pressin to his naked chest, and a deep, guttur ed to a strange, deathlike faintness. And with long, loping strides the savage sped on through the night as though dreading immediate pursuit, On through the hills, winding, turning and twist- ing like one who seeks to throw a deadly enemy off the scent, the savage passed, never once halting un- til he had gained his mountain retreat. With a shuddering, asping moan, Ada opened her eyes, half-blinded by the cold water the savage had - cast into her face. Brushing the icy drops away, she glanced hastily around—then shrunk back, trem- bling in every limb. She was reclining upon a level rocky surface. A small fire burned brightly beside her, faintly reveal- ing the surroundings. At her feet crouched an In- pian; a monster, rather. A massive, deep-bronze body, marked with near- ly a score scars of bullet wounds and knife-cuts. ong, knotted limbs. Soiled ribbons and well-worn plumes decorated the grizzled scalp-lock. The one eye—a white, sightless ball marked where the other had been—was riveted upon her face with a burning. The thin lips were parted in a bro grin, revealing the broken, tobacco-stained fan that served for teeth. A blood-red patch filled the | middle of his face. It was where the nose had been. know that much—then somethin’ went crack in my | head. When I woke up, I was shut up in a big stone house, an’ they saidI was crazy. But I knowed they lied—’twas some o’ his doin’s, to keep me from tear- in’ his black heart out. I waited a long time fer him, but he didn’t come. Then I set the house on fire an run away. I hed a dream that night, an’ the good Lord told me he was up hyar in these parts. I cain’t find him, though I’ve bin lookin’ ever sence. But ou’ll tell me whar he is—you won't try to hide him rom me, now I’ve told you what a black heart he’s ot?” and the harsh voice softened and an imploring ook rested upon the rugged features. “Tf I knew, I would tell you gladly—butI don’t. I never met any such man—” began Maynard. “You're lyin’ to me—I kin see it in your eyes! Tell me the truth, or I'll tear you limb from limb!” cried the madman, his eyes glittering viciously. “Who dares raise an angry voice in my dominions?” cried a sharp voice, as the leafy screen rustled and a human figure stepped into the den. It was the weird woman—the witch of the Boiling She stood leaning u in her eyes. ‘Who air you?” muttered Cowles, passing a hand across his forehead with a puzzled air. “Your me,” was her staff. “Who air you? How'd you find this place?” “Ha! ha! what would be the use of being a queen, unless one knew everything?” “Do you know Zenas och? Kin you tell me whar I kin find him?” ay brief cried Cowles. * Kalloch—Kalloch—is he a snake, too?” slowly uttered the weird woman, her voice changing. ““Yes—a pizen snake—tell me quick!” e angry reply, as the weird woman shook — n her long staff, her | | thorn-covered head flung proudly back, an insane fire queen—bend your knee when you address | ' then, as if unable longer to restrain his evil passions, Either disease or the weapon of some foeman had robbed the savage of this useful feature. Little wonder that Ada shrunk back with a ery of terror and disgust. It was Beauty and the Beast —Day and Night—Innocence and Guilt—Hyperion | and Satyr. “Kneel down there, and kiss the hem of my robe; | then I will know that you are a true and loyal sub- | ject. There,’ and she laughed shrilly as the mad- man tremblingly obeyed her, ‘‘arise. You know where the dead pine stands between three black rocks, up the canon?” “Yes, yes, I know,” hurriedly muttered Cowles. “You ‘will find the snake there. I bade him await sy 4 ee but you will do just as well.” ethro Cowles caught up his rifle and darted through the entrance. The weird woman nei | low, but with a peculiar cadence that caused a th apprehension to creep over the wounded | of vague man. Nor was this lessened when the strange in- truder glided close to his leafy couch, crouching low down with the catlike movement ofa velvet-pawed panther stealing upon its prey. “You are not one of my subjects; I never saw you before!” she muttered, peering keenly into his face. “T’msure we never met before,” said Frank, with a queer as though the glittering eyes were fas- | me mean. In that moment of horror, the maiden recalled the words of Pethonista, and she knew that she had fal- len into the ruthless hands of the Night-walker., The chief chuckled with glee as he saw Ada lift her head. She had lain so long without motion that he began to fear she would never awaken to life. He uttered a few rapid sentences in his own tongue, but as Ada only stared at him in mute terror, he added, in detestable English: “Squaw open eye—dat good. uaw no right sleep when chief want talk. Dat right—open ear— lis’en now to what chief he tell.”’ “Ohief Neepaughwheese—what you call Night- walker. Got plenty big voice—what say, dat mus’ be. Blackfoot nation lis’en sharp when Night-walker talk. If tell braves go hunt scalp—dey tek de war- path. He say kill—tek pris’ner, it jest so. He say make fire—burn, pris’ner roast quick. If tell squaw —go to dis lodge—cook dat brave’s meat, she go panty fast. Dat what it mean tobe chief. You un’- stan’ al Ada managed to utter a faint negative, as she caw the grim chief expecting an answer. “You big fool, den,”’ angrily replied the Blackfoot; he added, rapidly, in a tone that could not be mis- | taken: ‘Dis what Night-walker mean. You nice gal You’ —mek chief good squaw. Den got no fadder, no mudder. ht-walker can’t go hang presents by lodge door. hang knife on dis rock—dat he lodge. You tek dat down, give it back to chief—den we married quick. Dat what Ree all killed— As he uttered these words, Neepaughwheese drew the scalping-knife from his belt and thrust it ina crevice beside Ada, then stepped back with folded arms, complacently eying her trembling figure with his one orb. The maiden hesitated only a moment, then gras ed the weapon, standing with her back against the rock wall. : “Back!”’ she cried, as the chief extended a hand with a guttural exclamation of satisfaction, evi- dently believing this action an acceptance of his rude suit. ‘Back, Isay! My arm is strong enough to | drive this knife to your heart—and I will, you dare lay a hand upon me!” The chief’s extended hand slowly dropped to his side. His one aye was fixed admiringly upon the defiant maiden. If he had coveted her before, she was doubly precious in his eye now, and he smiled with grim satisfaction at the strength of her spirit. ‘““Wagh! the snow-face wears the heart of a Black- foot warrior beneath the face of a squaw. It is well —be fitting mate for Neepaughwheese and shall be-
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come the mother of great and wise chiefs. Nee- | ughwheese is— «A coyote that is very brave when he sees noth- ing but a rabbit, but who runs to his ‘hole, trembling with fear when the shadow of a brave crosses his trail,” added a clear, distinct voice, contemptuously. Night-walker turned abruptly, his somred features rendered still more hideous by the scowl of convulsed them. The exclamation that trem- bled upon his nee was changed to one of surprise as he recognized the ciously concluded the speech he began. “ Pethonistal. he utte’ hatchet. “Save me, Eagle—save me from that fearful man!” gasped Ada, her new-born courage deserting her as she recognized the Indian chief. “Squaw have Eagle’s pledge—he save her,’ was the quiet reply. : “She is my captive—what right have you to come between us!” haughtily-demanded Neepaughwheese. “She was mine first—you stole her away from where 1 placed her while I helped fight the pale- faces. My right is better than yours,” coolly re- plied Pethonista. “The Eagle is only a crow, and talks words that have no sense in them, Let him fly away to his own nest, or the Night-walker—" and the scarred chief shook his tomahawk significantly. * 4 squaw uses her tongue,"’ retorted Pethonista, drawing his knife and flinging it at Ada’s feet. “ Now, is Night-walker afraid to meet a chief?” * The giant chief sprung forward, and aimed a deadly blow at the Eagle's head. The stroke was adroitl arried, swiftly returned, and then the rival chiefs stood foot to foot plying their weapons with marvelous skill and celerity. Sparks fell upon every side in showers, the clash of steel rung out lone. It was a duel to the death, dimly lighted by the red glare of the tiny fire. And Ada, crouching close against the rock wall, breathlessly watched the issue that was to decide her fate. The stage was small for such a struggle, scarce | ten feet in breadth, nearly square. Upon three sides a perpendicular face of rock, upon the other — othing save empty space, until, near one hundred yards below, the jagged bowlders that strewed the canon bed would welcome to certain death the one who should be forced or hurled over the escarpment. Suddenly Ada gave a cry of pain, and sunk down, rtially stunned. The hatchets had met with such orce that the Eagle’s weapon was torn from his grasp and hurled forcibly against the maiden’s head. Before Night-walker could fairly realize his ad- vantage, Pethonista closed with him, forcing him heavily against the wall. The shock caused Nee- ughwheese to mt his weapon, and striving to tar the sinewy hands away from throat, a fear- ful struggle for the mastery ensued. Though taller and heavier, Night-walker was neither so supple nor active as his antagonist, and the trial was more even than one at first glance would have believed. First one and then the other was forced back a pace, their limbs locked together, every muscle strained to its utmost tension. They fell heavily to the rock, tearing, wing, snarlin: e maddened beasts, first one on top, then the other, They rolled over the heap of glowing embers, scarce hee the scorching pain, and then, still locked in tight em- brace, they staggered to their feet, only to fall again, with crushing force. - The embers were scattered in every direction. Ada could just distinguish a Lip iineo 4 mass. She could not tell which was which, though she saw one form half-arise and with a killing exertion of strength hurl the other away into the darkness. A brief space—and then came a dull thud from the canon below. And then the victor staggered to his feet, with a faint, breathless ly a of victory. A ery of terror and despair broke from the maid- en’s lips. She fancied she recognized the scarred chief’s voice. Those few moments were full of bitter anguish for her. She could hear the heavy, labored a of the victor, and expected with each instant to feel his brutal grasp upon her person. But, instead, there came the words: “No need be skeer any mo’. Night-walker he dead—Eagle keep his pledge. Squaw plenty safe now. The maiden’s brain whirled, and she bowed for- ward with a low sigh. Her strength, both of mind and body, had been sorely tasked during the past fif- teen hours. She had undergone enough to prostrate a strong man. There was a gradually widening gray light in the east, when she returned to consciousness. At first she could not realize what had occurred, but then, as Pethonista, bleeding from half a score wounds, rose before her, a glad cry broke from her lips. “You will save me—you will restore me to my | friends?” . “ Yeh—what le say, he do. Frien’s live yit, dough had big eae Fight like debble—you’ frien’s a a Blackfeet,” and the chief’s brow darkened. esi oar Saab aet Riarats SaaS die ’ : n e e Polonia Tel the Way along ethonista le e€ way along a narrow, winding ledge that finally carried them to easier seanveling. Then the chief briefly told her how he rescue her. The trail was a ong and rough one, and twice the Be ge were forced to hide order to escape seen by some of the scattered Blackfeet and once to make a wide detour that consum fully an hour. From a high peak, as he neared the , Pethonista could see that it was guarded by In- and after a little reflection he told Ada that e that | bold intruder who had so auda- | | red, flashing forth his | Yellowstone Jack. 13 they must give upall hope of eg her friends | that day, or else take the perilous trail that wound along the right wall of the canon; that upon which they stood when Maynard was shot. Ada besought him to take this trail—anything was preferable to longer separation from her friends, And thus they crept along the narrow ledge. Along the face of the canon, at that hight, each footstep was one of peril, where one f step would doom the one taking it to a horrible death up- on the rocks below. Then the ledge widened. They proceeded more rapidly. Pethonista suddenly s' ered back. A | shrill yell burst from his lips. He flung aloft his arms and then disappeared over the escarpment. A | sullen thud. 2 Ada sunk fainting to the ground, a rifle-crack ring- ing in her ears. CHAPTER XV. CAMPBELL COUNTS A COUP. YELLOWSTONE JACK and his comrades closely fol- | lowed bsnl tage J avenger’s advice, and when the war- | ery of th dreaded enemy was recognized, so ably seconded, the savages broke and fled in hot haste. The trappers and Campbell were warmly greeted by the survivors of the fight. On counting heads, it was found that four emi- | grants had been killed, nine more wounded, one mor- tally. This heavy loss, together with the unknown fate of May and the two women, cast a gloom over all. During the night there had been a consultation be- tween John Warren, Campbell and the ig pers. It decided pong for the day. If possible, Ray were to leave the train and search for the missing ones, | though there would be considerable danger of being aes off by some of the scattered Blackfeet. The lackfeet would never rest until they had avenged | the death of their brethren. Though not stron enough to venture another attack, they would tare around the trail until they could be reinforced. Be- ond a doubt, some of their best runners were on e way for assistance. ““Whar’s Hoosier?’ suddenly asked Brindle Joe, as the party was about to start. ‘“ He ain’t hyar!’” “T reckon he’s all right,’ quietly replied Yellow- stone Jack. ‘‘Mebbe he's gone on ahead to see ef thar’s any snags in the way. It was in the gray of dawn. The wees ag thought it best to leave the corral undiscovered, if possible, and so set out early, at first gliding directly away from the point were the trail had been lost on the preceding a9 A few hundred yards would carry them to the broken ground, where they would have good cover to aid them in passing whatever spies the ey have Cie the look-out. As both Campbell and Yellowstone were well ac- — with the ground, little time was lost, every step leading in the right direction. Yet the sun was two hours high before they reached the mouth of the Wolf Pass, having done a great deal of cautious skulking in order to escape being seen by the In- dians whom they discovered stationed at different points. “Tam puzzled,” frankly admitted Campbell, after a considerable time spent in trying to recover the lost trail. ‘‘I can’t see into it. Where can they have gone? I left them here, alive and well, with the worst of the storm over. It’s strange—very strange!”’ “ Strange things is mighty apt to happen in these parts, stranger,” quietly observed ellowstone. ‘I’ve see’d stranger things ‘ithin the week. An’ that makes me think—yes, hyar ’tis. Mebbe you kin tell me what them crooked scratches mean,” and the scout produced the bit of white buck-skin that had been wrapped around the arrow sent over his head by the strange maiden of the valley “It's writing!” exclaimed John Warren, taking the skin. ‘“ What does it mean? It says: “*Your lives are in danger, The Blackfeet have found our trail. To-night they will attack you. Your only oe, is in instant flight. From one who wishes you we “ Kin a sperrit write?” abruptly demanded Jack. | “That’s a question you can answer as well asI. But why do you ask?” demanded Warren, curiously. ““Nothin’—never mind. The — fust, I reckon. | Imove we take a look down the kenyon.’ Warren turned pale as death, for he could not help | but read the trapper’s thought. Indeed, it was pos- sible that the lost ones had been swept from the rock by the fearful tempest. And there seemed no other solution to the mystery. Had they left the spot by any other way, surely the keen-eyed scouts would | have detected some signs of a trail. And there were none to be found. “Look yender!’' muttered Brindle Joe, after they had traversed something over a mile. “See that | varmint, by the scrambly pine on the rock. I kin _ *im from hyar,” and he handled his rifle eager- ly. “Don’t be a fool, Joe; we don’t want the hull kit on our backs, when we get in the kenyon. Mustn’t burn powder ef it kin be helped—mind that.” * Yellowstone is right. e are not our own mas- ters now, until this matter is fairly settled. After | that there will be time enough for paying off old scores. I think we can menage to by without | being discovered; if not, then leave to me,” said managed Camp follow Neepaughwheese through the nightin time to | In single file the quartette glided along, taking screen them | advantage of every rock and bush to selves from the roving gaze of the savage | upon the point of rocks. This maneuve hed con- | sumed time, but it was finally successful, and then, | when the look-out was safely passed, our friends in- creased their pace, and soon reached a point where they could descend into the canon. | At some distant age, this canon had evidently been the channel of some powerful stream. The sides of rock were worn and eaten curiously, and some of the larger bowlders that thickly strewed the bed were worn smooth and round. Others had more re- cently fallen from the hights above, and were still rough and ja; There was a thin deposit of sand and earth along the bed, and this had, in places iven growth to shrubs, vines and even goodly-sized rees. “We could play hide-an’-hunt-us hyar wi’ the hull Blackfoot tribe fer a month o’ Sundays!”’ observed Brindle Joe, curiously noting some of the coverts. “Ontel they’d roast us out, youmean. This stuff *d burn like wood, in a fa’r breeze.” A low exclamation from Campbell, who was a few yards in advance, interrupted the iggy He was bending over a blood-stained rock that had barely dried. “Sign—and it came from up there,”’ he slowly said, pointing upward, where the bent and broken branches of the tree lent emphasis to his words. *“*Cain’t be; thar’s no gittin’ ’*ithin half a mile o' the edge up thar,” positively returned Jack. “Yes there is; i know a trail that would lead one right above us, though ’twould require strong nerves and a steady hand. And some one has tried it, a you see.” ‘Must ’a’ bin the devil, then, fer no human critter could fall down frum thar an’ live a’ter. Yit hyar’s a trail, one a blind man could foller,” retorted Brindle Joe, aes to a few drops of blood that his keen eye had discovered, leading away from the spot. Campbell and Yellowstone eagerly bent over the trail, and Warren waited for their verdict with beat- ing heart. Yet it did not seem possible that his lost ones could have reached this spot. “We'll see where it leads, anyway. Brindle Joe, will you trail, or shall I?’ uttered Campbell. “You lead; we'll kiver you. Thar may be var- mints at t’other eend o’ this. Old man, you kinder keep ahind, so’s not to spile the trail. Now, stranger, spread F Bonne But Campbell found little difficulty in following the trail. The blood-drops were never more than a yard apart, sometimes even closer, and a far Jess experi- enced eye than his would have sufficed for the task. ‘* Bleeds like a stuck pig!’ muttered Brindle Joe. ‘*Must be a healthy critter, to walk so fur an’ so stiddy, a’ter a tum’le like that,’’ added Yellowstone. The trail led on for over half a mile, then seemed to end all at once. The blood-drops were no longer to be seen, until Yellowstone pointed to aplace where the wall slanted abruptly down to the canon bed. His keen eye had detected a tiny blotch of blood. ‘* He’s in them bushes, I reckon,’ muttered Jack. His voice was abruptly drowned by a half-stifled shriek, coming from the point toward which their faces were turned. Then the words: “ Mercy—would you murder me ?”” “Tt’s Maynard’s voice—I know it!” cried Warren, leaping up the rude steps and tearing aside the vine- wreathed bushes, revealing a dark cavity. “ A’ter ‘im; he'll git into a pizen scrape, the old fool!”’ gritted Jack, as he sprung forward. A strange scene lay before them. The weird wo- man clutc a knife, bending over the feebly strug- Gling emigrant. She had heard the cry of John arren, and turned her head in surprise. The emigrant sprung forward and wrested the weapon from her hand, hurling her with violence pekinese the rocks. She dropped in a heap, senseless, “Thank God! I owe you my life!” faintly uttered ’ Maynard. ““My child—Minnie—where is she?” cried the al- most-distracted father, staring wildly around, as though hoping to discover his lost ones hidden within the cave. “*God knows!” brokenly replied the young man. “They were with me when I was shot—then I fell down from the ledge we were upon. A strange man ad me, and brought me here. Then she came, and—” “Whar is he? Mebbe he kin tell us somethin’,” syed Yellowstone Jack, as Warren sunk to the oor. At this moment a rifle-shot sounded from without, mingled with a shrill yell of mortal agony; and a moment later there came a dull, heavy, sickening thud upon the rocky bed of the canon. “Come out here, you fellows—I've made a —_ found a prize!’ cried Campbell's voice, exul antly. As the trio emerged, they saw him bending over a horribly crushed and mangled corpse, coolly tearing ee Ler pice “held up the fa chief—see!"’ an e storted his pale lackfeet; and he was in pk od while a fiendish expression ea You see the ledge above—it’s ures. “A chief of the nice business, too! where the blue line of rock ends. He was upon that, with—now, old man, don’t go into a fit—she’s all right, though she did fall back out of sight—I said he was with a woman—a white woman, You’re ht, old man—'twas one of those we were looking for. The jeg peel ee — Po eee groan of agony burst m Warren's lips; bu then he quickly b y. htened up. bec 2 Campbell had seen on] one, ft was possible that Minnie was also there. At least Ada would be apt to know where she was to be found. “‘ Quick—we must rescue her—oh, hasten mn , old man—thar’s the young feller an’ ie"? “Thar goes the witch!” yelled Brindle Joe, point- ing along the canon bed. “ How'd she s Pp Pp us?” ‘You fellers kin see to the gal—I’m goin’ to ketch that witch,” gritted Yellowstone. ‘ Thar’s Chavez to pay for yit!” e darted away, closely followed by Brindle Joe. ’
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| } } | | ee 14 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ! ‘* We'll have to leave the young man, since he is unable to walk,’ said Campbell. ‘‘We can send beer for him after we rescue the lady. I'll tell m,.” Maynard gladly consented to remain behind, when he heard what had happened. Campbell left him a revolver, to defend himself with, in case of need, and then left the den, accompanied by John Warren. “ Now, old man, put your legs to good use. The sooner we get up thar, the easier I'll feel,’’ muttered Campbell, darting away. CHAPTER XVI. YELLOWSTONE JACK AND THE WITCH, YELLOWSTONE Jack and Brindle Joe pressed for- ward at top s upon the trail of the weird wo- man. Yet their progress was comparatively slow, the bed of the canon ee more obstructed b bush and bowlder the further they advaficed, au at last, the two trappers could not proceed faster than at a walk. The woman had disappeared, but Jack could hear her forcing a passage through the vine-clad bushes, whenever he paused to listen. Nothing would be easier than for her to +e: into some of the numerous coverts that lined both sides of the canon and lie still until the trappers had passed by, then take the back trail and give them the “ty * lhe could once drive the game from the canon, he felt confident of the re- sult. Surely two trappers could run down a woman in a fair chase. Separating, he and Joe advanced leisurely, thoroughly beating the cover before them, to make sure the game was still afoot. Owing to their ac- 3, 7 they still advanced at a fair rate. “Yonder she goes!” cried Brindle Joe, pointing ahead, where he had just caught a glimpse of the woman fleeing with unabated speed and vigor. “Make for the spot at once, then: no need 0’ wastin’ time beatin’ up whar we know she ain’t,” replied Yellowstone Jack, increasing his speed. ttle did either of the trappers dream what a prize they had missed by leaving this patch of brush unsearched, Even at that moment a pair of dark eyes were glaring at them from the cover. At any other time the acute sight of Brindle Joe would have detected signs of a fresh trail, but now neither he, nor Yellowstone had eyes for aught other than for the slayer of their comrade, Chavez. “Tl raaly b’lieve the critter is a spook!” muttered Brindle Joe. ‘Look how she holds her own—we'd ‘a’ run a buck Injun down afore this, an’ she don’t r to be fagged one mite!”’ “Spook or human, I’m goin’ to see the wind-up, or e bu’st somethin’,”’ grated Yellowstone Jack. “oF T cain’t ketch her a-runnin’, I'll try what vartue thar is in a quarter-ounce 0’ lead.” “Wish *t you’d ’a’ run up that silver dollar,” mut- tered Joe, dubiously. ‘‘ Lead’s no good thar!” “Don’t know—the old man handled her like she was flesh an’ blood. Don’t reckon a spook ’d ’a’ fell so solid as she did y boy the rocks. But thar— spread out. We must keep her afore us ef we want to make a coup.” In this manner the chase lasted over nearly two miles of the canon bed. At times the trappers would lose sight of the woman, and fearing she had sought some covert, “o% thus to give them the slip, they would beat the bushes, peer into eve rocky niche as they passed and presently catc a glimpse of their game far ahead of them. Then another spurt would end as before. Yet they knew that this could not last much longer, for the canon ended less than half a mile further, after which the und was more open. And upon this, they hoped soon run the woman down, unless, indeed, she should prove the witch they had at first believed her. iy Jest look at the pizen cat!” exclaimed Brindle Joe, in a tone of wonder, pointing ahead. Active and quick-foo almost as the mountain t, the witch of the enchanted vailey was i e rocks that blocked up the end of the canon, As Brindle Joe spoke, she gained the top, and waved her staff with a little ery of triumph toward the pur- sue rs. “Ef ye’re human, hy’ar’s what'll make ye a sper- rit in good airnest "gritted Yellowstone Jack, as he hastily leveled his rifle at the witch and fired. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing to be seen but rocks and bushes. The trappers glanced at each other. The same thought might have been read in the eyes of both. Their superstition was fully aroused. *“°T went smack through her an’ she didn’t winch,” muttered Brindle Joe, nervously. “T drawed a fair bead—nur I ain't in the habit o’ missin’ marks o’ that bigness so clost by. Ef she's human, I’d ’a’ downed her, shore!” ‘* Reckon we'd better take the back trail. I don’t like this kind 0’ business overly much—’t don’t set well on my stom ” added Joe, with a sickly grin. “You kin, ’f ye like, but I won't. I'll see this thing amps or bu’st, I sot out to foller the—the critter, an’ foller her I ef she leads me to the very gates o’ Hades itself,” deliberately uttered Yel- lowstone Jack, as he carefully reloaded his rifle. Though his face was pale and set, there was & look of determination in his eyes that Brindle Joe could not mistake, and he knew his comrade too well to yes aremonstrance. Instead, he said: “So be it, then. Brindle Joe mayn’t be much a’- count, but he’s too white to sneak out 0’ a scrape his eeyed means to face. I reckon you ’n’I’d or- ter be a match fer the old ’un, even ef she does lead us thar—so pitch y’ur jinny!’* Cautiously the rocks, Yellowstone Jack peered over the top. He could see nothing of the “*“ Pitch our jinny” a once popular bit of West- | ern slang, though from what derived, I cannot learn, | woman, but he did discover something else that drew a cry from his lips as he scrambled forward. Several drops of fresh blood were sprinkled up- on the white rocks, It was here that the woman pes last been seen. Beyond a doubt this blood was ers. ‘“How air you, spook!’ laughed Jack, his face brightening. “ Now what ye think, Brindle Joe?” ‘*T reckon we've bin makin’ pizen fools o’ our- selves,” quoth the trapper, after closely examining the telltale spots. ‘‘Spooks don’t hev blood—least- wise so Black Harris sais. He said he rammed day- light clear through his spook, at the medicine spring around dozen o’ times, an’ nary a drap o’ blood di it let out. I reckon we’ve struck a crazy critter, | *stead o’ a spook.” we y Or not, she rubbed out mgt Don’t fer- git that,” quickly replied Yellowstone Jack. “Thar she goes!’’ cried Brindle Joe, —— ahead. ‘Makin’ fer the medicine valley, too. ° she gits thar fust, it’s agen fl John!"’ Yellowstone made no reply, but sprue forward at full _— after the flee ng woman. eir delay in reloading and examining the rocks had given the chased woman fully a mile start, and she was run- ning swiftly, heading for the valley of the Boiling a now not more than two-thirds of a mile dis- Yellowstone Jack was a lendid runner, and adually left Brindle Joe in the rear, rapidly gain- ng upon the te che He was not more than two hundred yards behind when she entered the valley, and strained every nerve to its utmost tension, hop- ing to overtake her before she could reach the spring where she had so mysteriously eluded him once be- fore, even dropping his rifle in his erness. The witch g: the curb surroun the spring, and flung herself headlong forward. ut just at that moment the strong hands of Yellowstone Jack closed Myer her skin rments, and he strove to drag her his shin, knocked his feet from under him, and then both fell together into the Boiling Spring. A cry of horror burst from Brindle Joe’s lips as he saw them Gioonnees and saw thespray dash up, tell- ing him that both had fallen into the medicine spring. And the superstition that was his second self whispered him that Yellowstone Jack had fallen blindly into a trap set for him by the spook, who had led them on in this wild race for no other purpose. And still, while believing this, the faithful fellow ran forward and scrambled be the curb. He stood there as if petrified. Then a violent trembling seized whe peti « ietly bubbli in the cent es was quietly bubbling up in the center, as nde ft i limpid. S waters were clear an The | bottom was clearly visible, as well as the sides. There was not a trace of either Yellowstone or the witch! Where had they gone? With a ery of horror Brindle Joe tumbled down the white curb and dashed swiftly down the valley. But he did not run far before he checked himself, and glanced back. Then he uttered, huskily: ““Durned ef I do! I tole Yellowstone I'd see it through, an’ I will—or die for’t! He's gone—I feel it in my bones. ‘Tain’t likely he'll ever be let come back, but she will—she did oncet, fer this makes twicet I’ve see’d her a in thar. An’ when she does come, she'll find me. ebbe "twon’t do no good —but Ill shoot her ef powder an’ lead kin do the job, | S’posin’ it don’t—what then? Mebbe she’ll take me to whar Jack is!”’ and, strange as it may seem, the rough trapper found consolation in the idea! It was no common bond that united the trappers. Their love for each other was stronger and purer than that existing between most brothers. Brindle Joe retraced his steps and crouched down beside the curious mound already referred to. Then, with cocked rifle he watched the medicine spring. He had sgh fag himself in this position, when he sprung to feet with a lowcry. A st e sound came to his ears, faint and ind ct, but in- describably sweet. It seemed like one singing in the distance, nor could he tell from what direction the sound proceeded, though he slowly circled round the mound. He could see nothing unusual. The valley seemed uninhabited save by himself. “It’s some spook business,’’ he muttered, as he d ly seated himself in ‘his former position. ““Mebbe they want to skeer me away—let ’em skeer an’ be durned!” The sinaing coated as abruptly asit had , and then Brindle Joe heard a faint sound just above his head. Glan up, he saw a figure standing upon the gee an quickly flung up his rifle. But be- fore he could shoot, the — disappeared. Now thoroughly aroused, the Seeupet dropped his rie, and wit red knife clenched betwixt his teeth, he scaled the mound. This was a difficult task for the sides were hard and slippery, save here and there a slight knob or projection. As he eeu the + a cry of astonishment broke from his lips. his mound has been spoken of as a sort of trun- cated cone, evidently composed of the same sub- stance as that surrounding the Boiling Spring. But now Brindle Joe found that the cone was but a shell - -that it contained a hollow, shaped like the inside of an iron pot, sides were smooth and even; a few points or knobs could be seen, but nothing enough toconceal a kitten. And yet there was noth- ing to be seen of the figure that he had just caught a glimpse of. Little wonder that he was surp’ “*Tt’s the devil’s work!” ny Joe, tremblingly. “Yit thar’s Yellowstone! Mebbe thar’s a hole or a “e down thar—mebbe it’s only tricks, a’ter all.” ith this the trapper attempted to descend the hollow. His foot slip and he bum down with more than comfort. Disre; g his bruises, Brindle Joe carefully searched on every side for a | hidden opening, but in vain, Not even a crack in ' ack, She kicked vigorously, and striking | the hard, smooth snbstance could he discover. Mad with disappointment, he stamped heavily upon the side, It seemed solid. There was no echo. CHAPTER XVII. AT LAST, Fortunate indeed was it for Mat Mole that the weird woman did not repeat her blow. As it was the outlaw lay senseless for more than an hour, and it was nearly twice that length of time before he recovered wins f to resume his course. He had not caught a glimpse of his assaiiant, but immediately jum to the conclusion that it was | Pethonista, the Blackfoot chief, wH@had dogged his steps and felled him with a coward’s blow, that he might carry out his first intentions. e position of the moon told him that a long time had elapsed since the stroke; far too long for him to hope to overtake his assailant that night, | even if he could strike the right trail, And so he | made the best of his way through the hills toward his camp. Atleast John Warren’s party should not escape him. But, as the reader knows, he was doomed to dis- appointment in this matter, also. Before he could reach the valley in which he had left his followers and Blackfoot allies, he heard the sound of firearm and from the direction, knew that the emigran train had been attacked. He knew then that the impetuous Night-walker had grown impatient at his long absence, and had made the attempt. He knew, too, that his men would not allow the Blackfeet to attack alone, lest they should discover the chest of gold he had spoken of. “They'd no right to move without my orders, curse them!’’ snarled the outlaw. ‘‘ But then, maybe *tis for the best, after all. I don’t believe the girls have had time to reach the train, since that traitor Eagle struck me such a foul blow, and if not, we can easily Mg them up to-morrow. Guess I'd bet- ter go look after the boys, anyhow. Ten to one oe ll get to blows among themselves over the Zo. Age But the worthy Mole was taking far too much for nted. Instead of finding his men quarreling over their booty, he met them straggling back, badly whee fully one-half of their number being killed or disabled. They had fought with uncommon dar- ing, pressi to the front to be the first ones to 5 the golden prize, and had suffered in propor- on. As this is not intended for a Billingsgate diction- ary, the reader will understand why I pass briefl over the proceedings of the outlaw and his confed- erates during the remainder of that night. Cer- tainly the office of recording angel was no sinecure. Assuming command of the remnant of the defeated — he stationed men at all points of observation o watch the emigrants and to await reinforce- ments, for which runners had been dispatched. This done, the renegade then had time to think of his own personal affairs. Where was Minnie? Where the Eagle? Had he borne her away? If so, where, and for what pur- se? Was it possible that the chief was befriending he girls and was aiding them to reach their friends? Reasoning thus, Mat Mole scouted through the hills and around the emigrants’ camp, in hopes of solving his doubts one way or another. A little after day- break he struck the trail left by the weird woman, some distance beyond the point where she had sa- luted the rival parties fighting for possession of the train, and his keen, well-trained eye soon discovered the prints of a small, slender foot, that he knew could only belong to one of the two maidens. Hoping it would og to be Minnie’s trail, he exerted his ut- most skill for over an hour, losing the trail fully as many times in a hundred rods, finally being thrown entirely off the scent. For more than an hour he searched for the contin- uation of the trail, but in vain. And then, as one is apt to do when sorely puzzled, be wandered on aim- lessly, deep buried in thought. All at once he gave a start and stooped over some object that caught his gaze. “Tt’s the same track—only I don’t see the girl’s!” he muttered, eagerly. “Still, she is such a light weight, this ground wouldn’t take much of a trail from her. I'll follow it, now, or bu’st something.” Calling all his skill into play, Mat Mole did follow the trail until it led him to the foot of a pile of rocks that he knew formed one end of Bad Wolf canon. They evidently passed over this, and after some hesi- tation he resolved to follow it to the end. Once in the canon he soon picked up the broken trail, and found less difficulty in following it, though still he Pen see no signs of Minnie’s having along ere. Shortly after this Mat Mole heard a rifle-shot, min- led with a shrill yell that could only proceed from fhe lips of a death-stricken Indian; and knowing that the enemies of the Indians were equally his foes, the outlaw lost no time in caching. sd dhant & wiv), Seearcetigre, Wiis chuie aoe an en a , Strange e glided swif asi his covert. The brief glim * had did. not iar tion with it, and he believed the fugitive was an Indian. He had about decided to follow af- ter, to learn what had occurred, when he heard ra id footsteps, and cowered back. Yellowstone Jac and Brindle Joe dashed t him. Mole had never met them before, nor did he care particularly about making their acquaintance. He heard a rifle-shot from above, and then started on down the canon, thinking he thad better make eg his retreat before the mountain men should re- urn. He could see now, from the fresh trail as he passed over a moist, sandy spot, that the fugitive was the person he had been trailing, consequently there was nothing for him to hope from that quarter.
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He would make the best of his wey ose of the canon. and return to his camp, trusting that matters would tome all right in due course of time. And so he blindly rushed upon his doom! Suddenly Mat Mole crouched down beside a rock, half-raising his rifle. But after a keen glance at the suspicious wi er he arose and advanced. “A body—that then accounts for the shot and yell I heard,” he muttered, as he stooped over the mangled heap. ‘As I live, tis the Eagle!” he added, in surprise, catching up the left hand and looking at it closely. ‘‘The middle finger missing, and here is my name, as I ae Sa it the day we took that oath to be brothers forever.” p , Mat Mole was so aN, interested in this discovery that he did not hear the faint rustling sound as the bushes parted behind him, nor the stealthy step as a wild-looking figure stealthily glided nearer and near- er, an expression of horrible exultation resting upon the haggard features and glowing in the large, sunk- en eyes, Then a hoarse, snarling--cry sounded in his ears, and he was forced to the ground, while iron fingers seemed fairly tearing his throat out. In vain his struggles—though more than ordinarily strong, the outlaw was now in the hands of one beside whom he was a very infant. “At last—at last! I’ve got ye at last, Zene Kal- loch!” snarled the giant, Ltr J his captive over upon his back, and glaring into his face. ‘‘ Look at me—do ye know me? Hev I changed so much? It’s your work, then—you made me what I am—an’ now you've got to pay for it, Zenas Kalloch!” “T ain’t Zenas Kalloch, There’s some mistake,” faltered the outlaw, as his throat was released. “Don’t lie—don't lie to me. I know ye—an’ you know me, too; I kin see it in your eyes. An’ now I've got ye d’y’ know what I’m goin’ to do, Zene Kal- loch? I’m goin’ to kill ye—not all to onc’t. No—no! that’d be too great a biess in’ for sech as you. I’ve got to pay ye fer all—fer her—fer Mary, fer her mother, who died o’ a broken heart over her child's fer myself—fer everythin’. It’s a big debt, but it’s got to be paid, es far es your or’nary life kin per See—this is the way I’m goin’ to pay it—by nches!”’ CHAPTER XVIII. RETRIBUTION. Hasten as Campbell and John Warren might, fully an hour was occupied in traversing the ledge to the point where the scout’s too fatal aim had killed Eagle while nobly keeping his pledge. Campbell drew back, a finger upon his lips. “* Be cautious—she is there, and seems to be either sleeping or in a faint. If awakened suddenly, like as not she will rush over the ledge before she knows it, thinking you are an enemy, Creep past me, and stand si Sri can catch her if she springs up.” John Warren obeyed, and then called the maiden by name. She did not answer, but lay still and mo- tionless as though dead. A wild fear assailing him, he stepped forward and grasped her arm. ith a low cry of terror, the girl awoke, and struggled des- perately to free herself. Only for Campbell’s pre- cautions another tragedy would have occurred. As it was, Ada soon recognized her uncle, and sunk sob- bing aoe his breast, nor could she answer his ques- tions for some minutes, She had been sorely over- tasked, since the bursting of the pouderee, and when she saw her guide and protector hurled over the ledge to death, she fell back in a deathlike swoon. From that she fortunately sunk into a heavy sleep, else, in her half-distracted condition, she would have fled from the terrible spot, only to fall a victim to her agitation along that perilous trail. “Wait until we get up to the level ground,” im tiently said naan ell, checking the emigrant in incoherent questions. ‘We are in danger here, and discovered good-by to our lives as well as the hope of regaining your daughter.” e young scout lent Ada what assistance she org with a quiet respect that was very grate- A wild yell came from below—one of agony the most intense, followed by a burst of devilish laugh- ter. The men interchanged glances. The same —_ could be read in their eyes, They believed the shriek came from the lips of Frank Maynard, “We can do him no good now,” muttered Cam bell, gloomily. ‘‘’Twould beall over before we could return, Besides, he isa man; and we havea helpless woman here to save. We must push on. As Ada could scarcely move one foot before an- other, the emigrant raised her in his strong arms, and the party progressed more rapidly, Thus placed more at ease, Ada briefly told her story, de- ant, as well as she was able, the man who had parted her from Minnie. “Tt’s Mat Mole—the man who has followed you so far,” said Campbell. ‘There is one comfort in it, though. Her life is safe in his hands. So cheer up, old man. Your daughter shall be restored to you, if mortal man can do it,” An hour later they safely entered the corral. While Warren was busy attending to Ada, Camp- bell briefly told what had occurred, and asked for volunteers to return to the canon, to rescue Frank Maynard, or if dead, to give his body Christian burial and take what vengeance they could upon his mur- derers, As one man the emigrants stepped forward, but Campbell did not deem it prudent to weaken the train much, so he only poled men. These he believed would be enough, since his object was to avoid, rather than court, a collision. Campbell, led the way round by the upper end of the canon, followi noes directly upon the foot- Steps of the doomed outlaw. ey had not followed the canon for more than a few hundred yards before they were interrupted by Yellowstone J ack, faint cries and screams from ahead, There could be no mistaking this. It was the complaints of some one who was being subjected to torture. Though expressing intense agony, the voice seemed that of one well-nigh exhausted. . ““There’s the devil’s own work going on there,” muttered Campbell, hoarsely. ‘‘ Look to your wea- wens, but don’t burn powder until I give the word,” ded the scout, ashe resumed his progress, A few more minutes sufficed to carry them to the point from whence the torture could first be seen, and the entire party abruptly halted, fairly sicken- ing with horror and disgust. The naked body of a human being was suspended by the feet to a pine tree, his hands bound firmly to the trunk, so that he was held motionless, head downward. Before him stood a wild, blood-stained figure, flourishing a keen knife, with which he was literally flaying the eae alive, by inches atatime! Long strips of skin swayed to and fro as the bared muscles quivered with the torture. The victim was a mass of blood from head to foot. His voice was faint and weak. Evidently his race was well-nigh run, “ eep under cover,” Campbell whispered, to his men. I believe I know both those men, If so, our young friend may be safe yet.” ° Drawing a revolver, the scout aes rapidly yet cy anna A nt Da keeping behind the madman, who was busily engaged in his long deferred ven- eance to take heed of aught else, and then Camp- li dealt him a quick, heavy stroke upon the back of his head with the brass-bound revolver-butt that felled him like an ox in the shambles, ““Come up, lads, and help me loose this poor de- vil, though I don’t suppose you'll fee much sympa- thy for him when you know it’s Mat Mele, the same one who has brought all your trouble upon you.” The moaning wretch was gently lowered to the bloodstained ground, and then Campbell added: “Dose him; if possible, I want him to answer me | add a Bi the ese _ mer how, while see oung Ma Ss ight.” yo bell. found tank in a sort of stupor. The horrible cries and sounds from without, unable as he was to learn their cause or purport, had thrown him back not a little. Fearing lest Mole should die too soon, the scout returned to question him, But the outlaw was insensible to pain, and a few minutes later drew final breath. Campbell had learned what a sad error he had made in shooting the Eagle for an enemy, and buried his mangled corpse in a deep cleft, covering it with boughs, rocks and earth. In another spot the out- law was buried. Then a rude litter was made, and Maynard placed upon it. The giant, who seemed now another per- son, since the outlaw’s death, was. unbound, and though watched, quietly walked beside the rest. The wounded man was safely conveyed to the cor- ral, where he was greeted as one mn from the dead. But he still remained buried in that deep, heavy stupor that looked like death. CHAPTER XIX. YELLOWSTONE JACK IS ASTONISHED, Ir was with a sensation of unutterable horror that Yellowstone Jack felt himself drag; into the Boil- ing Spring by the weird woman, but the catastrophe could not be avoided, struggle as he might. d then he felt the bon, and tearing at his fl riated animal. A dim, peculiar light—like the “shadow of a light "then slowly dawned upon him. A strangely sweet sound came indistinctly to his ears, drowning the painful ringing inthem, Wild visions seemed to float before him, alluring, tantalizing. But when he strove to grasp them, he found his bs powerless. A spell seemed upon him. And yet he could move his eyes, he could breathe; the atmosphere was warm, there was a peculiar odor perceptible. What did it all mean? Could this be the “ other world?” Was he dead? If not, then where was he? No, Yellowstone Jack was not dead, though for some time he was in great doubts upon this point. But then as his brain grew clearer, the unearthly sweet sound changed to the voice of some one = ing a plaintive air at no eas distance, and he could see that he was beneath the ground, his feet still ] in the water. “Some more spook business, I reckon,” the scout muttered un y, feeling at his belt; then as he found his knife still in its sheath, he gained more confidence. ‘‘ Black Harris whipped one on ’em wi’ a knife, an’I reckon I’m es good a man es he is; anyway, I'll make ites lively es I kin for’em, ef they think to play off any o’ thar tricks on me.” The had now ceased, and Yellowstone could just ish two voices, as though in conver- sation. Drawing his knife, he crept forward as si- lently as possible. His progress was almost imme- diately checked by whaf. seemed to be a rock-wall. The voices appeared to pass through this. Yet, as he carefully felt of the obstruction, he found it a. retreated upon either hand, like an enor- —- co, oar tg ag z the right hand curve, e trapper foun the light s ily increasing in brilliancy; then he abruptly paused, with difficulty checking an exclamation of wond he ghee And truly ‘twas a strange scene that met his gaze. A rude, gourd-shell lamp was ded in the air, casting a flickering, uncertain light around. The floor here, that had been gradually rising ever since Yellowstone Jack left the water's edge, was eleva- ted nearly to the hight of his head. e walls were hung with skins, furs, articles of Indian dress and use, various kinds of weapons, such as bows and ar- rows, hatchets, knives and even rifles, fingers of the hag clutchi like the claws of sone inf. Seated upon a pile of furs, were two human Kes —or “5 is, as the superstitious trapper devout believed—conversing together. Though widely-dif- fering Oe ag they were both beautiful—in that flick- ering light, startlingly so. Blonde and brune; the one in ci costume, though sadly worn and frayed, the other in Indian dress, beaded, em- broidered and feather-worked. This last, Yellow- stone Jack had seen before. She it was who sent him the warning note. “You sigh,” suddenly said the drune, in a clear, musical voice that strangely thrilled the listening trapper. “And can you wonder—after what I have told you? Just think what has occurred since yesterday morning! The storm—the frightful runaway and rescue from what seemed certain death—then he was murdered—!”’ “Do not weep,” soothingly uttered the other, ca- ressing the soft, brown i locks of her companion. “At least your life is s “And for what? Better had you let that fearful woman kill me at once—what have I to live for now? Nothing—all are dead—all murdered! And I am here—’ “With one friend, at least, lady. Mother has had spells—at their worst when the moon is full—but I can do anything with her. Now that I have claimed ou as a friend, she will never lift finger against you. Ve will try and make you happy until you can be restored to your friends,” “‘T have none—they are all dead—murdered!” “Perhaps not. ‘lhey were strong in numbers and courage. They inay have defea the Indians. I asked mother to learn what was the result when she went forth this morning. She should have returned before this. Perhaps I can see her.” Yellowstone Jack saw the girl move toward him, ands < back tremblingly. He was not yet fully assured of her being mortal flesh and blood. She did not follow him. stead he heard a faint, creak- ing noise; and then, a moment later, the figure re- appeared, seemingly excited about something. “There’s a man ten gay ges 2 8 the very one who treated you so rudely,”’ she whispered, breath- der. Yellowstone Jack did not flinch, though he held up his open hands in token of amity. “T don’t mean either on ye no harm, leddies—'f I'd ’a’ hed my way, I wouldn’t ’a’ come in a’ tall. Fact is, | was brung hyar mightily aginst my will.’’ js “Who are you—what do you want?” demanded the rune. “Tm a man—leastwise I try to be one. Folks call me Yallerstone Jack, though my old man an’ woman they called me John Henery Andrew Jackson Har- vey. As to t’other question, that’s easier answered. I want out.” At this moment there camea mg gr ry etn from the wall behind Yellowstone Jack, and — quickly, he started back with a low cry, involuntari- ly drawing his knife. A shado apne brushed him and sunk down upon the of skins, with a faint moan. It was that of the weird woman, who had dragged the trap- per into the spring. - eer: cried the dark maiden, kneeling be- e her. “Peace, child—you candomeno good. The shades are gone now, and I can see things clearly. I am dying—there! Why should you cry out and start back like that? Did I not say I was going to rest— to peace and everlasti se? Blessed be the hand that sends me to rest at last!”’ ~ es are bleeding—what could—” ** Peace, Kate—I am beyond your aid, and I thank God that it is so. And you, stranger,” she add feebly beckoning to Yellowstone, ‘“come nearer. know you now, for an honest trapper, for I am no longer mad. I believe I can trust you—I must— there is no one else. . ‘*Hold my hand, Kittie, pet—I am sinking fast. I can feel a dropping, dropping here—in heart— that tells me my utes are numbered. your tears—why do you weep at my fortune? And they pain me, too. I would not like to leave you weeping. And listen—I have much I would like to tell you before I go home.” “"F you swaller a little o’ this it ‘ll give you stren’th,” ventured Yellowstone, producing a small leathern flask of whisky, some that he pro- cured at the train. ‘‘Thanks—I may need it. Now, Kittie, listen.” The d woman in a faint, husky voice thus told the story of her life; a sad, mournful tale of sin and suffering. The er will not require its repetition here, since portions of it have already been recorded. She was the sister of Bob Harris, the wife of Jethro Cowles, the woman who ran away with Mat Mole— or Zenas Kalloch, as he was ly named. of her finally, he sold her to Nee; wheese, the mutilated t chief of the Blackfeet, and when she had reproached him with what she had given ~ 4 for his sake, he struck her a brutal blow that tled her brain. Shortly after she fled from the Indians, taking with her'a captive called Kittie, who, for several years, had called her mother, who, in- d had never known other kin “No, you are not ~ child, Kittie, though I have ever loved you as though you were,” the dying woman add “IT do not really know who you are,
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4 f { 4 \ 16 Beadle’s Half-Dime Libaary. though the Blackfeet believed you the sister of the man they call the Blood-Drinker. At least you were captured at the same time with him, while almost an infant, and Neepaughwheese, whose favorite squaw nee just lost her first-born, preserved you to e its ace. “You have an honest face,’ turning abruptly to the trapper. ‘I have nooneelse to look to. CanI trust you?” “Treckon you kin. I don’t brag much in the way 0’ bein’ a —s man, but this I kin say, I never stole another feller’s er or furs, onless mebbe ‘twas a ine’s. I never killed a livin’ critter ’cept in fair fight. Inever—” “*T will—must trust you. These helpless beings— vill you—protect:and—try to restore them—to— “Pll domy best,’’ quietly responded Yellowstone. “Kittie—my child—your hand, It’s growing dark ~2 ” Her head fell back. The weird woman was dead. Kittie flung herself upon the corpse, weeping bit- erly. Minnie gently motioned to Jack, and drew aside. the anxiously questioned him, and great was her joy Yhen he assured her that her father was still alive nd well, And when the trapper went on to tell how he had left friends about to rescue Ada, how the had found Frank Maynard alive, though wounded, it seemed as though her heart would burst. She covered his hard hand with kisses, eine by hang- Sg round his neck and sobbing hysterically. nd Jack—poor fellow!—stood there almost fear- 1 to move, feeling So queer and yey end rable, something rising in his throat as thoug trying to choke him. And then, with a snort that would not have disgraced a grizzly bear, he began blubbering like a whipped schoolboy, to keep Minnie company. ng this interesting bit of by-play, neither of ‘them had noticed the continued thumping upon the wall, and just at this moment, when Jack's fortitude gave way, a square portion of the wall suddenly gave yay and a dark re shot down through the open- ing, witha apne of surprise and horror. ‘Brindle Joe, by the jumpin’ gemineezers!” “Yellowstone Jack—I thort the spooks—oh, thun- der!’ and the trapper jumped to his feet, eying Min nie dubiously. “Spooks is spooks, Joe, but this leddy hain’t none. A fri‘nd 0’ mine, pard—you've hearn tell on her; the same as the boss offered us the five hunderd fer git- tin’ back ag’in, ye know,” laughed the trapper, en- joying his comrade’s dismay at the unexpected com- pany in which he found himself. ‘Bein’ as you're all right, reckon I'll jest take a look a’ter our rifles,” muttered the abashed trapper, retreating. “Now that we know how to git out o’ this queer hole, I reckon the sooner we start the better, miss,” observed Yellowstone. ‘“‘I wouldn’t be s’prised ef the Injuns was to tackle the train ag’in to-night, an’ mebbe you'd be safer hyar, but I spose you cain’t rest onte] you git back to them.” “Yes—let’s go at once! It seems an age since I left them, instead of only afew hours. But—” and she looked doubtfully toward the still weeping maiden. ‘You must talk her over. She cain’t stay hyar alone. Tell her she will be wi’ good fr’inds; besides, the old leddy wished it. Go now, while I take a look outside.”’ It was nearly an hour before Minnie could get Kit- tie to listen to reason, and then only by repeating the last wishes of the dead. But at length she raised her head. **T will obey, since she wished it, though it is like tearing the very heart from my ‘body 0 leave her and this place. Iwas happy here for years. She was ever kind and gentle toward me, even when the bad spell was upon her. And now—dead—dead!”” “She is better off,” softly uttered Minnie. “You heard her say that she welcomed death as a happy release from a living death.” The body was soarpcats and wrapped in the furs that had often served as its bed. What tomb was so secure, so fitting, as that in which she had found “ae for so long? Kittie knelt, with Minnie, and breathed a prayer for the re of the dead, and then signified her readiness to depart. Passing through the square aperture, Kittie raised the cover that secured the spring which held it in its place. And the tomb of the weird woman—of the Witch of the Enchanted Valley, was forever closed, never to be entered again by mortal being. Yellowstone Jack and Brindle Joe gallantly assist- ed the women to descend, and then the quartette, with the keen-eyed trapper in advance, started for the emigrants’ camp. CHAPTER XX. VICTORY IN DEFEAT. YELLOWSTONE JAcK and Brindle Joe brought into play their utmost skill, and managed to convey Min- nie and Kittie safely to the emigrant camp, with- out coming into collision with any of the skulking enemy. And yet the qoune trapper had found time to solve the mystery that still hung around the Boil- ing Spring. A few adroit questions to Kittie brought it about. There was no further need of conceal- ment, since ‘twas very unlikely that she would ever revisit the retreat. By means of a piece of pre hide, the weird woman had hidden an opening in the side of the spring toward the mound. Firmly ss to the rround, a foot below the surface of the spring, and . cighted at the lower edge, the skin curtain ung clmost motionless, or if it did sway a trifle now an ‘ren, it seemed but the reflection of the effervesci ater, By diving into the spring—which was no ‘boiling ” from heat, since this spring had long been (and is still) noted for its magic powers, both as a tonic and a means of ‘“‘making medicine,’’? and men came scores of miles simply to quaff its waters—and pressing against the skin, the running water would quickly carry one into the mound. This also had been a spring, in ages gone by, and gradually sub- siding, by some strange freak had left this refuge= like some gigantic glue-pot, seething in its hot wa- ter receptacle. A rg og had been cunningly cut through the wall. A light horse-hair lasso also aided Kittie and her adopted mother. . The reader must imagine the joyous meeting be- tween father and daughter, for my pen is not nim- ble enough to do the matter justice. The greatest drawback was that both Ada and Frank were lying quite ill. The first transports over, Minnie quietly took her station as nurse, nor did she once abandon her post ack all the excitements and horrors of the coming night. It would have been impossible to move the wound- ed youth, even had the on ee believed it prudent to resume their journey while so many of the enemy still hovered aroundthem. So they contented them- selves with strengthening their defenses and seeing that their weapons were in readiness for use. Vernon Campbell, who seemed to consider himself as one of the party for good or ill, warned them that they might expect an attack that night, since the reinforcements could be brought up by that time, as the nearest Blackfoot village was not more than fifty miles distant. And thus in watching and waiting the day slowly wore away. The emigrants were calm and com- sed, though the chances were greatly against hem. Yet they were men, and could die, if die they must, like true prisoners. The sun set, givi 8 ge: of a clear, cloudless night, nor was the pledge belied. The moon arose, bright and beaming; the little plain before the cor- ral was rendered distinctly visible. The emigrants’ osition was such that ag could be attacked only rom in front, and to do this the enemy must fully ping their bodies to the deadly aim of the pale- ‘aces. There were those in the corral who secretly hoped and believed that the savages would not venture an attack under these adverse circumstances, but both Campbell and Yellowstone Jack ed different. The Blackfeet had suffered a heavy loss, and would be wild to wipe out the stain. “They'll wipe us out this time, or bu’st,’”’ said Brindle Joe. “*Mebbe they'll bu’st, then,”’ chuckled Yellowstone Jack. ‘‘Wouldn’t it be a sniptious sight—them all bu’stin’?”’ The hours rolled rapidly by. Midnight came and se tae by, without sign or sound of the enemy. Yet he emigrants held their posts, wakeful and vigilant. No danger of their growing careless while three men like ge ie and the trappers were on the alert. Then, all at once, there came the rapid thud of many hoofs upon the hard und, and a dark mass burst out from the pass, and scattering, dashed furi- ously down upon the corraled wagons. The wild yell of the Blackfeet broke the air. é criticalsmo- ment had arrived. The enemy was upon them. No man’s pen could desc what followed. An active mind might grasp the idea—a vivid imagina- tion realize some of the scenes—but words are pow- erless to picture the wild, terrific, sublime and horri- ble whole. The headlong charge of the Blackfeet and outiaws was met by a deliberate, closely-aimed volley from the emigrants’ rifles that covered the und with dead and disabled horses and riders. But the rush was not even momentarily checked. The survivors yelling and screeching like veritable demons, dashe on as though they meant to override the substantial wagons. eng their animals —— the vaaee, the foremost leaders leaped from the saddle, endeav- oring to scale the barricade. They were met by pistol-shots, blows from clubbed rifles and home-thrusts. Still a few gained an en- trance, and recklessly attacking the emigrants, forced them to turn from the barricade, in order to defend their lives. And taking advantage of this, the Blackfeet, with every moment, dropped into the inclosure. Vernon Campbell raged like a lion, and wherever his tall, lithe form passed, there death reigned tri- be geese His wild war-cry rung out at rg ang and even in their madness the Blackfeet woul shrink back from the terrible, dreaded Blood-Drinker. Yellowstone Jack and Brindle Joe fought side by side, carving their mark in bloody, indelible charac- ters oe the bodies of their foes. And yet there was one who sw them all in acts of daring, strength and blo ess, This was the giant, Jethro Cowles, His madness seemed to have returned with the sounds of battle and he plunged into the melee with a frantic delight that found vent in hoarse, roaring shouts. His wea- pon was an iron crowbar that he had picked up from where it had been used to roll over stones to strength- en the barricade. This he wielded with as much ease as though it had beenareed. He never had need to repeat a blow. Wherever the iron descend- ed, death followed. Heads were shattered like go limbs were crushed to atoms, and bodies mangl beyond recognition. Two arrows already quivered feather deep in his broad _ chest. Blood. streamed from a'dozen other wounds. Yet no savage arm seemed strong enough to touch his life. And thus the furious death-grapple raged for full half an hour. But bravely, desperately as the emi- grants fought, they were terribly outnumbered. Al- ready their ranks were fearfully thinned, while two savages seemed to spring forward to take the place of every dead brave. Theendwas near. They must soon yield to the pres poner ay, force that hemmed them ata every side. But hark! that sound—what means it? ‘* Hooray fer Hoosier!” yelled Yellowstone Jack, in wild delight. ‘Sock it to °em, boys—hyar comes the Brigade!” And, far above the thunder of he: fs, ~bove the din of the death-grapple, there came he clear, ringing cheer that only white throats can iter, as the Trap- ping Brigade under gallant Jim Bridger rushed to he rescue. From a fight, the affair ym to a massacre, That night was a black one in the annals of the In- dians. The trappers paid off many an old score. To use their own phrase, “ha’r jest more’n went wolf- in’!”’ It was full daylight before the pare of trappers all returned from their pursuit of the Indians. And not a girdle among them all but bore at least one bloody trophy. Yet, alas! all was not joy. Over a dozen white bodies were placed in a ghastly row, awaiting burial. CHAPTER XXI. GATHERING THE THREADS. JetHro Cow tes had fallen; the rest of the dead were emigrants. They were buried close to the spot where vent Bae in the shadow of the great rock. Yellowstone Jack had dispatched Hoosier to see if he could find and induce the Brigade to come to the assistance of the emigrants. Lest he should fai] in finding them in time, Jack did not think it proper to excite hopes that might never be realized, and so had told no person of what he had done. The trappers, under Jim Bridger, agreed to see the train safe back to the regular trail, as their trapping season was nearly ended anyhow. And by early dawn of the next day they were en rowie, Ada and ag bo being conveyed in easy litters. ittie, between whom and Minnie there had sprun, up an ardent friendship, decided to cast her lot wit the maiden whom she had rescued from the insane gi * of the weird woman. at evening, when they encamped, Campbell was told of the words spoken by the weird woman, and after some time, by questioning Kittie concernin the past, he became convinced that she was inde his long-lost sister, whom he had thought dead—mas- sacred with his mother and father. It was an affect- ing scene. ae Warren, who had so much cause for feelin grateful toward the young man, despite the fac that he had first been allied with the enemy, made Campbell a generous offer if he would continue with them, at least as far as their distant destination, And, if only for his new-found sister’s sake, the oung scout resolved to bid adieu to his terrible life, eeling that he had long since kept his vow of ven- geance, In due course of time the pete departed, but not until the emigrants had fallen in with another train; with their combined forces, there was no dan- ger to be apprehended from the Indians Does the reader think it strange that Yellowstone Jack joined the train as hunter? Of course Brindle Joe cast his lot with his “old pard.”’ And of all those who were pleased with the young trapper's decision, assuredly Kittie Campbell was not the least. Though there had been no word of love spoken be- tween them, the time could not be very far distant when it would be. And though Vernon Campbell shrewdly Saas the truth, he did not choose to interfere. erhaps he knew how to sympathize with Jack. At least so Minnie mischievously whis- pered to the blushing Ada. Both Ada and ‘Frank soon regained their wonted health, And the terrible past was, by mutual con- sent, never alluded to. It was not until he reached California that John Warren ve understood Mat Mole’s object. Then he learned all. His brother was dead—had been brutally mur- dered. Suspicion had fallen on bis overseer; whose description exactly coincided with that of Gerald Manners—or the man of many names. Itseems that Warren had been quite ill, and, fearing death, had made his will in favor of Minnie, his niece, who had ever been his favorite, because she was the youth- ful image of her mother, whom both brothers had loved, though John won her heart and hand. He wrote a letter to John, and hired Mole to convey it safely, in case of his death. But he recovered. Then Mole murdered him, took what ready money he had, and fled. On the road he forged a letter, re- questing John Warren to come to California. This he delivered, as Gerald Manners, and paid assidu- ous court to the unknown heiress, but in vain. Frank Maynard already possessed her heart. Then he concocted the diabolical plot which he afterward attempted to carry out, ending in his discomfiture and horrible death. John Warren proved his relationship and came into the murd man’s property. Six months later there was a triple wedding on the cattle-farm. Need I give the names? Maynard and Campbell have been taken into part- nership by Warren, while Yellowstone Jack is their trusted overseer and “head man.” Brindle Joe still leads a single life, but sticks close- ly to his old pard. Wild horses couldn’t pull him away. He is self-constitutrd “head nurse” of the establishment—and has his hands full, too. Brigham Reha 3 can scarce boast a larger family of “ olive- branches.”’ THE END. No, 1—Dead wood Dick, the Prince of the Road; or The Black Rider of the Black Hills. No, 8—Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand. By Buffalo Bill, —e eee