Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 343) (1884 02 19)
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y ANN | het a etl ———EE7E wl aS te ee fri) = Th nal | ’ ‘ f <9 A a . ie ae ‘ | Ua sh Vm ag Sk a a a jae cement wa LI al jee a ' a | , $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. February 19, 1884. Single PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS Price ‘ Vol. XIV. Sages. , Price = No. 3438. No, 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. | ae MANHATTAN MIKE, THE BOWERY BLOOD; °srrrrcozr case, | BY EDWARD L.. WHEELER. | AUTHOR OF ‘‘ DEADWOOD DICK” NOVELS, “ROSEBUD ROB” NOVELS, “ DENVER DOLL” NOVELS, ETC., ETC. ~ Sy J piases ‘fil H 7 inal SNe, Scr ; <P S O < THE “ WANTED” MAN SPRUNG UPON THE BOWERY BLOOD, AND LIFTING HIM BODILY IN THE AIR, AS THOUGH HE BAD BEEN AN INFANT, FLUNG HIM OVERBOARD, IN THE PATH OF THE BOAT, WHICH WAS BEGINNING TO MOVE OUT FROM HER PIER
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|” He had serenely: Manhattan Mike, the Manhattan Mike, THE BOWERY BLOOD: OR, “ Working-Up” a Difficult Case. ! A Metrcepolitan Detective Tale. BY EDWARD L. WHHELER, AUTHOR OF ‘‘DEADWOOD DICK” NOVELS, ‘*ROSEBUD ROB” NOVELS, ETO., ETC, CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNING OF A PECULIAR CASE. “I’m Mahattan Mike, of the Bowery—oh! Whatever I do, I dlways make go, I'm a werry fly lad, But you bet I’m no cad— I’m Manhattan Mike, o’ the Bowery—oh!" THE sing-song tore in which the above verse was uttered, together with the reckless aban- don of the singer, proclaimed that he was a lit- tle, if not considerably the worse, from the ef- ects of Bowery stimulant, Yet, in every sense, the young man evidently understood what he was about. Hew as one of that species of humanity, the rather “loud” and “fast” young man of the Metropolis, with the shrewdness, ready wit and common sense of an experienced man of the world. Somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one years, and not bardly of the average stature, he was, withal, possessed of a wiry and graceful figure, which, ‘dressed to kill” as it was, Showed plainly, that the owner was not a stranger to physical-exercise, In tace, he was not to say handsome, although a keen observer would have found features very pleasing to the 6ye. ; It was rather a hawkish face—that is to say, rsonate, c vaded one of the numerous saloons that flank either side of the Bowery, \ ‘and after casting a furtive glance at the few rough-looking customers the place afforded, he a ap: up to the bar, and uttered the single word, “6 Whisk!” The bartender, a ‘largely-built, hard-faced rane who bad plainly passed through some of e's ash lance, 3 * Hello! Is it you, Mike?’ he demanded. ‘** What’s come over you, boy? Not on another racket, I hope?” _ * You hope ?” Mike echoed. ‘‘ You must have struck the wrong vocation, Terry, to hope a feller hed shet down on booz, Has Talmage or Beecher been wras’lin’ wi’ ye?” ‘‘Oh no! But, you see, Mike, you’re dif- ferent—you’re too cute to let whisky befoggle yer brain. What iver in the world set ye off?” * Well, I'll give ye a friendly tip, Terry—me mother bas declined earthly ousekeepin’, an’ I’m an orphan heir to a million!” “G6 way with you! Ye never had a mother an’ father, I believe, an’ are less likely to ever have a dollar to spare, in yer pocket!” “Now, look-ee beer, Terry; I don’t owe ye fer a ‘ rat,’ do I?” ‘Not a one,” _“* Then pide out the white-wheat essence, You've got off your ker-base,'seems to me, to be lecturin’ yer superiors!” Terry laughed, j ¢ so, Mike) But I hev a sort of likin’ By to see ye dowell. night. That’s @nough. Don’t make a fool of cette inant per sharp, noe sherais right prospects ahead for you ou on seize hold of ’em. Brace fy Mike—let sae ying experiences, gave the young blood. You have had a tankful, to alone, end go to work. If I had the wit ye have I'd not be here sellin’ liquid dynamite!” “‘ We work?” and cocking his hat over his left eye, Michael placed bis thumbs under his arm- pits, and bracing back, stared in astonishment at Terence Reilly. ‘tl work? Well, I should shiver, if | work! I allus paysmy ante, don’t I? Ye never saw me without boodle enough fer a twenty-five cent lodgin’, did ye?” And, as if to enforce his argument, the youn * Blood” teok from his pocket, and display before Terry’s gaze, a large roll of bills. ‘ Where did ye git ’em, Mike?” the bartender demande, suspiciously. ‘Oh! J took a rib in a policy brace, down on Houston street, last night, and, waded out with a joint thet would keep a feller fer six months. I say—I sha’n’t ax ye ag’in to trot out the corn-- field sympathy!” ‘*Nor need you, Mike. You'll get nothing to Bowery Blood. | will, but Manhattan Mike checked his energetic movements with a gentle reminder. ‘*Not so fast, me buck-o!” he said. “Pvea productive cornfield under cultivation where you're plowin’. Then, too, I’ve got a flea for your ear.” Pat looked up with a speculative squint. ‘* Phat is it?” he demanded, ‘Be yees Man- hattan Mike?” ‘*T happen to be that same majestic being, at yer service,” was the reply. ‘I got wind of the job up here, and I am before you in all my pris- tine glory.” ; ‘Sh! Kape a still tongue on yez, Wohin the clock yonder strikes ten, give yer card to the clerk an’ tell him that yrz want to see Mr. Peleg Prancer. Whin ye see bim ye must make yer own bizness,” , ‘Bet I'll do that, if there’s any to be done,” Mike assured, with a wink. ‘‘ What’s the nature drink, to-night, from your old friend Terry | of the beast?” Reilly, and don’t ye lose yer elevated train on that!” The dispenser of convivial cheer spoke so posi- tively that the Blood of the Bowery looked a little more sober and considerate. **Thet’s so; you have always beén sort of a friend to me, baven’t you?” he acknowledged. ‘**Torten’t to forgit it, an’ I don’t. What's the jig, though, Terry, that makes yer so specially interested? ‘*A good reason, Mike. There’s better and more profitable employment for you than soak- in’ yerself with bad rum. Yer as cute a detec- tive, Mike, as ther’ is in New York, and there’s a field open ter sling yerself in!” Mike’s eyes kindled with enthusiasm, “Ts there a job to be done, Terry, that I kin git away from the regulars?” ‘You bet there is! and I judge it is a fat one, too! You know that me brother Pat is porter up at the Hotel Devonshire, Forty-second street an’ has a clipper eye for all that’s going on. Well, here’s what he has telegraphed me!” He handed Mike an American Rapid tele- gram, which was worded as follows:. — “Trrry:—Send up the fellow ye call Manhattan , Mike, Tart job for him. “ Pat Reruiy.” The Bowery Blood scratched his curly bead, perused the pene a second time, and then glanced at his handsome gold Watch. “Tt’s not. late Pa and I'll trot up and see what’s wanted, There ain’t much show for me unless the job’s private, for the regular force contrive to ring in ahead of me at every oppor- tunity. Bob Driscoll is mainly the cause of it, too. Ye know he an’I ain’t on lip-smackin’ terms, an’ bein’ in withthe regulars an’ the pe ce, ry eapin — ra he a be ae a, pa 8 whatever plans ush for- ward.” Ny chy ““ Why don’t yez black his eye for him?” Terry emanded, indignantly. “Sure, ll be afther oin’ it if be runs afoul me,” “T’ve got it in for him!” Manhattan Mike de- clared with a nod, “but prefer to catch him in some crookedness an’ get bim bounced, rather than have a scrappin’-match with him, Well, I'm off after the job, and will wait till I’m done before you set out the decanter!” And with a peculiar smile upon his hawkish — he left the saloon, at a rather unsteady Walking down the Bowery to Grand street, he took the up-town elevated cars, and was soon landed at Forty-second street, near the Grand Central depot, From here he made his way“ direct to the Devonshire, but a few yards distant. Entering the office he made an examination of the register, purchased a cigar, and seated bim- self to wait for the appearance of Pat, who was not present. hile puffing at ‘‘the weed,” he made a close optical inventory of the several persons who were lounging about, and came to the in medi- ate conclusion that none of them were in need of a detective’s assistance. ¥ He was unacquainted with the hostelry’s frigid clerk, and concluded that about the most sensi- ble thing he could do was to make bis inquiries of porter Reilly. 5 That individual soon appeared, and was 4 burly, Np oo pita Lette fellow, with the map of Ireland indelibly engraved upon his countenance. ; As he appeared to be at Jeisure, Manhattan Mike hopped into the boot-blacking chair, and signaled Pat to give him a shine, knowing be could thus engage him in conversation out the usual bad results of being scowled at by the hotel clerk. Pat produced his tools and set to work with a / ‘‘Ocbh! bedad, aw’ it’s a quare one he is; frish from the ccunthry too, an’ as green as a bié o’ shamrock.” ‘‘He’s my mutton, then!” Mike declared. ‘I’m particular fond o’ tecklin’ cases where the plaintiff don’t know more’n the counsel,” After his leathers were polished up like a mirror, Mike proceeded to the office counter and threw down his card. ‘“M. MAVERICK, ** Priwate Detective,” was what was inscribed upon it. ‘*Be kind enough to send that up to Mr. Prancer—Room 28,” Mike said, referring to the register. : he clerk gave him a searching stare, and touched the bell for a call-boy, whom he dis- patched with the card. “Do you know anything about thé party in 282” the clerk asked, still regarding Mike with freezing keenness, 5 ‘tT have not that honor, I believe,” the Bow- ery boy replied. ‘I was sent for, and bence, I am here.” ‘“Mr. Prancer sent for you, eh?” ‘T presume.so, What of it?” “Oh, nothing in particular, only that I re- ig him as an exceedingly eccentric person. e came rushing into the hotel to-day, like a Texan steer on the rampage, and it was some time before we could get bim quieted down suffi- ciently to send him to a room. Unless you work the collattus before you do the case; I'd advise , Tt amuehina Ih bed te Clerk Wicegly 021 ankattan Mike e e clerk sharply, only concealing his Grpeies by an effort. - That a hotel clerk, especially one belonging to such an establishment as the Devonshire, sbould contribute such a remarkable bit of ad- vice, was beyond Mike’s understanding. He was just Gelinas ing. on what answer to make, when he was saved the trouble by the call-boy’s return. . ‘Mr, Prancer will see the gertleman in his room. This way, sir,” and the bey led off. Mike followed, and was directly ushered into the presence of Mr, Peleg Prancer, of Porcupine Corners, Vermont. Mr. Prancer was lying. upon a sofa, and mo- tioned Mike to a seat without arising. Rist a long, ae iy ffetirne Yankee, of uncertain age, probably past: y years, yet not over fifty. - ‘His angular features, with bigh cheek-bones, sunken eyes, a capacious mouth, and a stubble of yellowish beard of three weeks’ growth, made it pretty bard to guess whether be was @ young or a middle-aged man. His hair was of the same color as his beard, and bad evi- dently not known the use of acomb or brush for a long time, per He was dressed in a suit of coarse homespun stuff—wore stogy boots of large size, a flaring red necktie, a buge steel wa chain; anda battered, ancievt-style plug bat, and time- worn umbrella lay upon the floor, beside the pce ) was a curiosity upon country appearance, and which -Machettan Mike feasted his eyes with avidity. Pe His Tomespan suit was well dusted with flour, a fact that tended to indicate that Peleg Prancer was the miller of that far-away burg, Porcupine Corners. - «Waal, young man, what d’ye Peleg Prancer demanded, turning su tly to get a fair view of the oe Owery de- ety peli my card exp : nat eve my : ''be nature of my errand,” Mike responded, the while taking in the “ points ” of the Yankee. “TI believe you are in need of the services of a detective.” uch, All in all, he had a decidedly backwoods.
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Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. EE TEES OT Maen HOM ae “ Darned ef ye hain’t bit the nail plum on the head, young feller! That’s jest the thing I do want, Reekon you count yerself competent to fillthe bill, eh?” ‘*T have chosen that line of business asa profes- sion,” Mike assured, with asmile, ‘and am open for engagement whenever or wherever my ser- vices are needed.” “Waal, I'll swow! Ye don’t look big an’ strong enuff ter milk twenty cows, darned ef ye do,” ‘‘T hope I may never be called upon_ to pase through so trying an ordeal,” Mike declared. ‘“ What! didn’t ye never milk cows?” “Oh, no! that.” “ Been fetched up in a college, an’ fed on sponge cake, hey?” ‘Cert. Bin through Harvard, Yale, Black- well’s Island, the Royal Conservatory of—” “Great Jeminy! Ve don’t tell me!” ‘* You have heard me articulate.” ** An’ so yeou hey turned out a detective, hey?” ‘ ‘IT am proud to say I have. So's in years, though I am, I am proud to say that Iam fore- most in the first-class ranks of the detective ele- ment. It will be but the matter of a few days until I become chief of the whole detective force of this vast city.” “Waal, by gol! ye don’t say so? You're the very chap I’m arter then. I want a feller that is smart as chain-lightnin,’ ye sea, an’ I suppose you calculate ye kin fill the bill?” “Tf I can’t, Honorable Mr. Prancer, there isn’t a chap in New York that can!” Mr, Prancer seemed deeply impressed at hav- ing honorable prefixed to bis title. “ By the way, sir, bow is your milling busi- ness getting on at Porcupine Corners?” Mike pursued, ‘I have frequently seen your name mentioned in New York papers as a producer of the finest flour in Vermont.” “Indeed!” Mr. Prancer looked a little doubt- ful about this. ‘‘Thet’s the furst I ever knewd I was so fur known from home. I suppose tho’, et aire so. Ye see, I don’t take no back seat at grist-grindin’ nowhar over the State o’ Ver- mont, ‘Oh! that is a well-known fact. You see, it doesn’t take a manof your well known business standing long to get free advertising in mer- cantile circles. I presume if half of our reputed rich men of New York had as good a poguing to-day as you, Mr, Prancer, Bradstreet’s woul not have to chronicle so many failures. But, now, let us get down to business, Business is business, ye know in the Metropolis, and we of the perfesh don’t have much time to do chores, except for money. You, | believe, are in want of a detective?” ** Lord a’mighty, yes!” ** When did ye arrive here, Mr, Prancer?” ‘This mornin’, from Hartford. I cum thare from Porkypine Corners.” ‘‘] suppose, accordingly, your mission is a very important one?” ‘Dll be gol-darned ef it ain’t. I never was so mad afore in all my born days. I s’pose I acted kinder mad down-stairs, but J was mad, an’ when Peleg Prancer gits mad, he’s wuss ’n a Mexican lion!” Whether Mr, Prancer’s education in natural history had been sadly neglected, or whether he intended the reference to the Mexican lion as a bit of Yankee facetiousness, Manhattan Mike was hardl sic ys to judge. Prancer’s face betrayed nothing. “| hear you was rather violent below,” Mike said, “‘ and would like if you desire to emplo me, to have a brief explanation of the case have to undertake.” Prancer took a chew of tobacco from a tin box and then began: “Waal, I cackilate what I tell to ye won’t go no further?” | “Certainly not, except that necessity requires it to advance the case. % ‘Kerect. Ye see, I want the thing did up in brown shape, an’ "tain’t no use ter hev every- body stickin’ their snoot inter the bizness. Ye know my name—Peleg Prancer, Eskwire, 0’ Porkypine Corners, Vermont. Guess most nigh everybody knows where Porkypine Corners is, *ea’se there’s more porkypines killed tharabouts neh it © Sad thun in any other part of the State, _ “Waal, I own the grist-mill thar, an’, ef I do say it, I hey laid away quite a snug sum fer a rainy day, an’ we allers bas plenty r eat in the bargain. On course we don’t dress ter kill, but [ll give ye a friendly tip on ~ allers hes enuff on so we never freeze our sbins in cold weather.” ae take it you are a Benedict?” “Gol-darn yer picter,no/ I'm a Prancer, every day in a week and twice on Sunday. Old Jake Benedict, the infernal mean skunk, lives a mile below me, an’ he’s meaner than thunder, he is. Why, would ye b’lieve.it, he goes an’ let’s down the rail fence arter dark, an’ lets his cows inter the neighbors’ grain.” “But, sir, you misunderstand me, I—” “No sech a darned thing. I know jest all about it. Ther’ ain’t only one Benedict in the neighborhood, an’ that’s old Jake. Everybody knows him, He’s the dirtiest scalawag in Ver- mont.” “But, let me explain: here, in New York, we have a fashion of calling married men Ben- edicts. I meant to propound the idea, sir, thet ye were a married map.” “Me married? Gosh all-fish-hooks, I should say so! Why, young feller, I’ve got a gal as ig es you, an’ it’s all on account o’ her thet I am heer!” “Ab! yes. Now you’re gettin’ down to busi- ness. Go ahead.” ‘*An’ so ye call married men, Benedicts, d’ye, hyer in New York?” ** Of course.” ‘* Waal, let me tell ye one thing, Seeae feller —don’t yer never come up ter Porkypine Cor- ners an’ call none o’ the married folks Benedicts, ef ye don’t want ter git yer carcass filled full o’ buckshot. Why, ef ye’d calla feller a Benedict, thar, ye’d get tar-an’-feathered quicker’n the jerk of a lamb’s tail—an’ a fine-wool ewe lamb, at that!” Manhattan Mike did not smile. He was the one person of a hundred who could compose his features, even when he was ready to burst with laughter. He saw that the Vermonter was liable to prattle on all night, without coming to the point, if he was not checked, ‘*Well, what about this girl of yours?” “Ob! yas. Waal, she skipped.” ** Ah! eloped, eh?” ‘*That’s what ye call it, Isuppose. ‘ i te is good enough fer me. est ter think— fetched thet gal up ’cordin’ ter Scripter, till she was seventeen, an’ then she up an’ left ber hum’ an’ parents. Heer, read this letter—et will tell ye a darned sight more than I kin, in an hour’s talk.” : He took a couple of sheets of paper from his rae whicb were covered with writing, and anded them to Manhattan Mike. That individual took time to light a cigar, and then began the perusa', The letter was written in a fine, clear style of chirography, and ran thus: : “ August 10, 188-. ‘Dear Farurr:—By the time you receive this, you will, doubtless, have learned that I have left my home, forever. It will be useless to search for me, for I have gone in quest of him whom I love better than I do the happy home I have always had —until recently. You know to what I refer, by this, and it is useless for me to say more, on the subject. in all my youn fe, was I ever more shocked than when your hand turned against poor Hal? It paar & drove me frantic, but [had courage enough to aid him to escape the harsh penalties of a terrible accusation—an accusation as unjust as the world is unmerciful. “Then, too, other troubles have been weighing me down. I have left behind me letters that ve received during the last two months—letters and newspaper clippings, which, though a mystery to me, are of course intended but for one purpose—to forever ruin my life, and happiness. I dare not re-_ main to face it all; my heart is broke—my existence r ga, one ig i ond ying f li to forgive ‘} ) all, and praying for all to v me, whom may have disgraced by this step, I am ing away. I shall fin or persecutors, be they pon he aed A, “qd CHAPTER II. SIFTING! MANHATTAN MIKE read the letter but once, then looked suddenly up from the missive and gave the Vermonter a keen glance. ‘Who is this Gracie?’ he demanded, sbarply. The Yankee’s face did not change an iota from its original and usual expression of stolidity. “Who is she? Darn it, all, didn’t I tell ye in the fust start she was my darter? What more d’ye want?” “Excuse my Sebo wl and the Bowery Blood gazed bard at the floor. ‘Gracie is your daughter. She had a lover, and his name was J ed?’ ‘Yes. Ned Shields.” ‘Edward Shields?” ‘fold safer ‘* Yas—Ned, fer short.” “ Jud ing by the tone of your daughter's let- ter, Edward was accused of doing something naughty ?” ‘‘Gol-darn his picter, yes! a out-an’-out thief /” 4 Ab! What were the circumstances of the case?’ ‘* Waal, ye see, this feller Shields, was a nephew of old Simon Sanger, at the Corners, an’ used to post his books. Sanger war a sp: cil- later, an’ one thing another, and, next to me, was the richest chap there. Ned was a poor relation, ye see, and was sorter took in ter his uncle’s employ, for charity’s sake.” ‘*T see. Go on.” ‘* Waal, old Sanger an’ I warn’t much friends, ye know, an’ the old cuss objected ter Ned’s comin’ to see Gracie, an’ I perfectly egreed with him, on that, an’ Ned an’ I bad sum words, an’ darn bis picter, he sweared he’d bave my gal, in spite of me! Then, I booted him off ’m the place. Next thing we knowed, thar wasa big rumpus. Old Sanger and Ned bed bad a split up, an’ Ned were bounced, an’ ther report were thet Sanger’s discarded son were ter come back. But he didn’t, tho’, for some reason, or other, ‘Waal, within a day or two, there was an- other sensation. Some one had entered old Sanger’s house, through a window, an’ st le two thousan’ dollars. Ther same night, my best sorrel boss was stolen, and ’spisbun turned to Ned Shields. A warrant was sweared out, an’ [ bein’ constable, I was sent after him. But, darn bis picter, he was nowhere to be found. The post-offis clerk sed he bad beerd him speak o’ comin’ ter New York. Next day, my gal she cut sticks and run, an’ that’s the bull of it, ‘cept thet I’m heer arter ’em, an’ ef I find that darned thief, I’ll set him up in the business, ye kin bet, purty lively.” ‘You think he came to New York?” “Yes,” ** And the girl, too?” aR On course she did. She was spooney after im. ‘* What about the letters and newspaper clip- pings, she alludes to?” ti : * Didn't find none, ‘cept one, and heer that is! : He extended to Mike a soiled sheet of letter- paper, on the top of which was printed: “WARREN & CO., Stock Broxrrs, “1441 Hester St., N. ¥.” The letter ran as follows: ** MADEMOISELLE GRACIE:— “Once more I warn you that if you do not come to me, and fulfill your promise of marriage, I shall send an officer after you, and there will quite a scene in your bome. * Your complicity in executing the forged draft on the bank on Wall street, is sus- pected, and detectives are on their way to your — If they gobble onto you, it will be your own ault, for not coming here. Hurry and. execute that check on the First National o Ifast, Maine, and then Bent out, and come here. It is a hundred- ere, for those of our craft. Mind! If they latch you don’t you give me away, and polit now. He wera thief— = a of the mee oney, — and nfluence & power, now 8, you Should you come, write first, addressing °B. Y.Z., 12 N. ¥. (down town) Heruld office,’ sta hour arriy Your Own, forever, “ Sourrzrx.’* This letter was penned in a dasbing style of via, ye eatarecan pr & man’s hand- writing. A fafat smile was on Manhattan Mike’s face, as he read on. “This was the only letter you found?” be berry nally, putting the missive in his pocket. ‘ Yas. “Was your daughter always at home?” “On course’she was,” ‘* Did she have any regular company ?” “Not by a darned sight. We allers fetched her up ’cordin’ to Scripter, an’ she never had a feller ‘cept Ned Shields,” “This letter is dated New York, July 7th. dirs Shields in Poreupine Corners then?” “Yas, ‘Then you don’t suspect him of being in any way connected with the writing of this letter?” ‘*Guess not, onless he had some cuss heer, a-doin’ the job.” ‘“What could be bis object in doing such a thing? Linfer, from your mention of him, that he loved your daughter.” “*Cuss his 3 penn that’s what he sed. He luved her enuff, anyhow, to steal my horse and skedaddle.” ** Are you positive he was the culprit?” “On course. Who else did it?” f “A thousand persons might have done if
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| - Never condemn a man until sure you have good cause to do so, by the possession of proofs, In my opinion, this Shields is not the man he is pictured.” Mr. Peleg Prancer evidently did not regard this view with any too much favor, “TI ‘spect et ain’t none o’ yer b zness, ef he is or not!” he growled. ‘ Yer hired ter find him —that’s all. D’ye see?” “Certainly! "You pay me to find Mr. Edward Bhields and turn him over to you.” “You've hit it now!” ‘¢ And you, likewise, want me to find your daughter?” “On course I do!” ‘‘ Well, is that all?” 4‘ No, by thunder, no/ When she scooted, she tuk a little tin trunk or safe, containin’ papers of the utmost value to me. Them must_ be found, ef we hev ter raise every stone in New York!” Prancer had arisen, and spoke with unusual vehemence—excitedly, nervously. His hitherto inscrutable countenance, now wore a hard, grayish expression, that forcibly indicated bis nature to be not of the meekest— mor did Manhattan like the glitter of bis eyes. “What are these papers?” Mike asked quietly, ‘* None of yer bianess. They haven’t nuthin’ ter do with the case, I want the feller an’ gal —that’s all!” At which it became apparent to Mike that Prancer was playing a part. ‘* | suppose ye’r’ aware that in acity like New York, it will not be an easy job to find ’em?” ‘That ain’t none o’ my affairs. You get paid to find ’em, an’ that’s your lookout,” “You can give an accurate description of the parties?” “Yas. Shields is of medium figure, an’ light- complected, with brown hair an’ mustache. He is twenty-four years old, comin’ January, an’ aire sort of spruced up, like yourself. The gal is seventeen, an’ dark complected. She’s the urtiest gal at the Corners—has black eyes and ir, and is smart as chain-lightnin’.” “f presume a detective needn’t look an hour without findin’ ’em, ef he went by that descrip- tion,” Mike observed, dryly, “* Have you pho- tos of this precious pair? ‘* Yes. Heer they aire!” He handed Manhattan Mike two cards which evidently had been recently taken. P The one was of a remarkably pretty youn lady, of pleasant face—a decided brunette, an one whom it would not be hard to remember, when once seen. The other portrait was of a man answerin somewhat to Prancer’s description of Ned Shields—the picture of a -looking young fellow, who appeared anything but of a villain- ous type of character. Although he resembled a hundred and one men to be met daily upon the streets of the Me- srvpolie, he had one distinguishing peculiarity, mbined with an aristocratic, cultured ex- — of countenance was a piercing look of he eye, so intense that it would seem it was the intent of the owner of the photo-face to magnet- ize whomsoever his geze rested upon. Manhattan Mike’s experience in the business be had chosen as & profession had not been ex- tensive, but he was naturally a keen student of buman character, and his attention was cen- tered for several moments upon the two pic- tures. Peleg Prancer at length interrupted him: “Well, what d’ye make out?” ‘(Qh! nothin’ much, I was memorizing the faces, so I would know them shou I by acci- dent lose the photos,” aS “Ye'r’ cute, you aire! Dye think ye can find the pair?” Exe a ‘*T presume likely I. I think L have seen this “ Mister Shields! aal, I mean to call that scalawag , . “Certainly. Mr. is a mark Of respect that every one ought to use, no matter what be he oo rete an Beat ah, ‘4 “You're @ quare one. may petere e see him?” : s Seti ‘That isa part of my ow fessional busi- ness. I am not supposed to my secrets gratuitously.” haf “Ob! ye hain’t, eh? Yo want a feller ter es yea dinner on green re ye cum r time?’ fF the, ‘No, sir. Testimate my expenses on a case, make my charges ac ordingly, and, if I bave anything to part with, I let er gO. My motto, however, is: ‘ Find out much an’ give away lit- tle till the pie is done.’ In other words, the quiet hog drinks the better share of the swill, att tide path ae e «4 us | and puts better and more penne pork on the | market than the squealer does.” | ‘Dunno but ye’r’ right. Now ter_bizness. What will ye produce the feller, the gal, an’ the box an’ papers for, within forty-eight hours from now, without fail?” Manhattan Mike took a good look at the Ver- monter, then glanced at his watch, “To night is August 20th, and the time is ex- actly half-past ten. Within forty-eight hours from date, for the sum of three hundred dollars, I will produce before you_ Edward Shields and Grace Praneer. Terms: Half cash in advance; balance on delivery!” , ; Mr. Prancer rapped upon the table before : u -l’ which he now stood. A closet door opened, and a man stepped out into the room. ‘‘Bob Driscoll!” Manhattan Mike uttered, springing to his feet. ‘* You bet!” that worthy uttered, “and I un- derbid you, just an even hundred,’ ““That would be nothing new for you to do,” Manhattan Mike cried, bis eyes flashing with indignation. “If you want the job, Sneaker Driscoll, you are perfectly welcome to it. Mr, Peleg Prancer’s bit of Yankee strategy has sat- isfied me that I should not desire to work up his case for him at any price. Sothe field is entire- ly open to you,” , “‘Lookee here!” Driscoll cried, belligerently, “ What d’ye mean by callin’ me ‘ Sneaker?” ‘‘T believe tbat is a title you are very well known by!” Mike retorted, coolly, “and I have a special penchant for the term—it fits ye as closely as though ground in by an emery-wheel.” ‘¢Cuss your impudence, I'll thrash the life out of you for that, Mike Maverick!” and Driscoll looked savage. He was a heavy-set young fellow, possibly three years the Bowery Blood’s senior, with a beardless, bull-dog sort of countenance, devoid .of refined outlines, and a pair of snaky eyes that -were by no means of honest expression, His attire was neither neat nor attractive, and he looked what he was—a typical rowdy- ing, bullying city rough, person would have been Jed to suppose that he was an overmatch for Manhattan Mike in a fight, but the Bowery boy was evidently not of that opinion. : “You use pretty strong words, Mr. Dris- coll!” he said provokingly. “It has never been your peivilsee to thrash Manhattan Mike, yet, that I am aware of,” ‘““Mebbe ye think I can’t do it?” Driscoll snarled. “If I were to express my opinion candidly, it would likely surprise you!” Mike smiled, tantalizingly. “‘‘Let me tell you, Bob Dris- coll, that I ‘don’t fear you at all, and though you have used every means to spoil the suc- cess of my adventures, heretofore, I accredit it to the fact that you are a rough, ignorant lout, jealous of every one’s superior accom- plishments, and malignant toward those who are better than you, because. you are too mean a sneak and loafer to help yourself out of the unenviable sphere you occu yi With a vengeful fervor akc Manhattan Mike utter these words;—he meant every W to count, and it did, ss Driscoll’s brow grew, literally, as black’ as a pt ra ga and he doubled up his fists threat- eningly. ; ~ PParn ye to bla’guard me, ye low lived Bowery bum!” he ered: “Tl spile some 0’ your fine feathers, now that I’ve a chance.” “That’s right, Pitch in, boys! The feller that licks is the feller | want!” Peleg Prancer declared, getting near the door, either with a view of shutting off the chance for either of the men to escape, or else taking the position with a view of escaping, should an assault be made upon him. Driscoll my no reply, rushed fiercely at the Bowery boy, intent upon knocking him out, | in short order; but Mike was not knocked out by any means, His black eyes were fixed upon “eae rival detective and as he rusbed forward he young blood leaped lightly to one side, and adroitly tripped the bully. Down, with a crash, that jarred the floor, went Driscoll, striking fairly upon bis face, and causing a jet of claret to spurt from his nostrils. A low laugh escaped the Bowery boy. Quickly regaining his feet, with an infuriated cry, Driscoll once more sprung toward his ad- versary. Then there followed an exchange of rapid blows, and violent curses on the part of Bob. One terrific blow canght him on the right eye, another on the left, a third upon his bleed- ; } ‘i me sf ; f oan gli ogre aN on eke eRe eo iit SOO —- a blow or scratch. ‘* When the bums begin to drap, And good b’hoys begin to scrap—” he sung, turning to Peleg Prancer, with a wink, ‘“‘ Ef ye don’t b'lieve it, jest drop down in the Bowery, some night, and l’ll show ye bow we train fleas, down there. Have the kindness to step One side, Mr. Prancer. I will bid you good- eve! ““What! ain’t ye goin’ ter undertake the job?” Prancer demanded. ‘‘Not muchly, old gristmill! Ye deceived me by having’ an eavesdropper, and I don’t have no split ticket when J vote. Mebbe I'll look up the case, but if I do Ill look deeper into it. You hire Driscoll fer two kundred. I'll work for notbin’.” “What d’ye mean?” ‘‘T mean, thet I don’t take five cents’ worth o’ watered-stock in you, sir, and I ain’t hitchin’ on. In my private opinion, publicly expressed, y ou’re a first-class fraud!” And trushing past the Vermonter Manhattan Mike left the room. CHAPTER III. NORA AND HER MISSION. MANHATTAN MIKE went direct from the Hotel Devonshire to his lodgings, in a Hester street tenement, near the Bowery. He had one apartment here, on the third flight, which, though by no means first-class, was comfortably furnished with a bed, chairs, table, and warmed by a grate fire. The walls were covered with lithographs of various celebrities; and here and there were odd little articles, peculiar to the tastes of the city Bohemian, roducing his pipe, the young detective turned on the gas, and seated himself at the table. A thoughtful expression was upon his face, as he sent up columns of smoke, “Pye lost the job!” he soliloquized, “but [ ain’t certain that I’m sorry about it. I didu’t quite catch as lively an interest in it as I might, ef any one but that Peleg Prancer had been connected with it, It is evident that he wants the girl bad, He wants Ned Shields not quite so bad, and he wants thet box of papers a good deal more than either girl or man.” His reverie was ieee fly by a rap on the door, to which he called out: ** Who's there?” In the particular neighborhood where his lodgings was located, society was not exactly established on a Christian footing, and it was but prudence to be careful. The denizens of the vicinity were not noted for good character or respect tor law. _ “It’s only me, Mike. Can I come in?’ a girl- ish voice cried, “Certainly. Come in, Nora, Your rap sounded unfamiliar!” Manhattan Mile respond- ed, heartily. The door bad opened, and a girl entered the room—one, too, whose appearance was some- what a contrast with that of the well-dressed Bowery Blood, ’ + was pt pacer Ag tt as age, of grace- | e, yet evidently she bad always been proline to hard work. N She was rather shabbily clad, showing that poverty was no stranger to her. Yet, beneath her well-worn hat was a pretty, 1 yee face, with a perfect mouth, attractive lue eyes, and a fair forehead, fringed with charming shingled ‘‘ bangs” of brown color. A gleam of pleasure shot athwart Manhattan Mike’s features at sight of her. . “Well, Nora, how did peanuts and candyjand fruits sell to-day?’ be asked, pushing her for- ward a chair. ‘“‘ Not very well, Mike!” and a serious expres- sion crossed her face. ‘‘Thére’s an Italian “Yes, Mike, I’ve sold out, an’ shet up shop?” i s-F - 4-- oe ik a ee ee ee + ~ a ters Mh ee : - hE ys 2h yr is Se -.
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ates = a oe) eels 5 fe 1 _—~ ~~ Y ee Saeed an cece ct ee cS ee 4, Manhattan Mike, the ~ ‘* But I don’t understand you. What in the world are you going to do without your busi- ness? ‘‘ Why, would you believe it, I've got a splen- did situation, Mike, as clerk. up at Macy’s on Sixth avenue. Jest think of it! 1 get five dol- lars a week, and can wear good clothes!” Mike smiled. The idea of wearing good clothes and living on five dollars a week was something beyond his comprehension. “T’d like to know how you got a situation, there! he said incredulously. “ Weil, a nice-dressed gentleman came along, and the crowd jostled a bundle he earried into the gutter. I picked it up and wrapped it ia another paper, and he thanked me awtul nice. Pretty soon he came and bought some nuts, and asked me if I wouldn’t like a better job. He told me he could get me one, no doubt—so I said yes, He went away again and came _ back about dark, and said he was interested in mo and bad obtained me a situation at Macy’s. He said that I was to report to-morrow morning, with better clothes. So I just sold out the stand to Mom Maguire, and I’m going to Macy’s.” The expression on the young detective’s face showed that he did not approve of the change. ‘“‘What was this fellow’s name?” he asked, ‘and what for looking man is he?” ‘‘Ob! he’s jast serumptious—-and he said his name was Tracy Travis. Ain’t that a nice name? Oh! he’s a daisy, Mike—nice-formed, well-dressed and good-looking in face, with a black mustache, black eyes, and black hair. Ob! I tell you he’s a real nabob!” * Undoubtedly!” Mike assented dryly—‘‘ one of the sortof nabobs who have naught to do but fasten their evil gaze upon every pretty Sb face they see. You take my advice, Nora—look out for Mr. Tracy Travis and don’t let him insnare you! Goto Macy’s,if you like, but bave nothing further to do with the fellow. Pu wager a new dicer he don’t mean you any Nora’s face flushed, and a grateful expression passed over it, ‘You bet I'll take care of myself, Mike, I’ve not been on the streets all these years without learnin’ how to do that. 1 am much obliged for bead kind advice, Mike. You were ever good me. “T always took an interest in your welfare, Nora, because you had no one else to do so.” ‘¢ And, Mike, I've got something else to tell you, DPve had another adventure.” : “So? Well, let’s bear it!” “Obt it’s funny. A man ped at my stand just as I was about leaving it, and asked me if 1 knew of a smart, keen-witted youth of honesty and integrity, who was well posted about the city?” ** Indeed?” ; ‘*Yes, and I axed him what he wanted o sech-a boy, and he said that he was hunting for a person, and wanted to bire a shrewd, wide- awake young man in preference to employing & detective.” ot ee Mike had become deeply inter- ‘* Well, whatdid you tell him, Nora?” ‘“Why, what d'ye supports I told bim?—that I didn’t know of any? You bet Ididr’t, I just told him about you, and told him you'd fill the bill, and he said he thought you would, and fer _ you to meet him at the Astor — in the morning at nine.” ‘* What's his name.” “Divid Dore.” ** Front door, or back door?” **T don’t know about that, but I should ’spect back-door, as he’s from the back woods— way up in. Vermont!” ‘* Ha! you don’t tell me?” “That's what he said.” ‘Did be mention what kind of a person. he was in search off” “No, not’s I know of, ’cept it was a girl.” . Manhattan Mike dashed the ashes out of his pipe so vehemently that be broke the clay stem n to dozen pieces. ‘‘Why, what’s the matter?” Nora asked excit. edly. “Nothing! nothing!” he replied excitedly, “only ve got aease which is wortby of my steel, Ob! I'll work it up!” : Manbattan Mike was one of the gay birds of the Bowery, whom sleep seldom troubled. If _ever be did indulge in that luxury, it was geu- erally in the daytime; for every night saw him roaming about the city, in the sections where the most excitement prevailed. It was bis custom to make a midnight tour of the down-town police stations, and examine the ‘ + a _ yegisters, in which way be was able to keep bimself pretty well posted as to doings in crimi- nal circles. He also frequently posted himself as to the arrivals at the various first and second class hotels, and picked up such news everywhere, as might prove of interest to him in bis profes- sional calling. After Nora’s departure, although it was near midnight, he sallied forth, from his lodg- ings, and made his way upon the Bowery, where the crowd was but little less dense than earlier in the evening. Great volumes of bumanity pulsed along, in either direction, without seeming to have any particular aim, except to move on—on—on. Manhattan Mike was familiar with the loca- tion of nearly ever den of sin and vics iv thatsec- tion of the city, but it was not because he was a frequenter of these dens except in pursuance of the interests of bis profession, or, in otber words, to find some one whom justice ‘* wanted.” Although of a rather wild and reckless dis- position, he was not the young man to be led away by any one of the various phases of vice with which he came in contact, from which fact he commanded a certain degree of respect from the rough class with whom he occasionally mingled. Of all the resorts that he was familiar with he knew of but one where he could get what he would probably need. This was an up-stairs poker-room, run by a native Vermonter, named Jim Luce. Luce was a wide-awake man of the world, a thorough-bred sharp, and yet a perfect gentle- man, with many good qualities not to be found in the average gambler. He liked books and purchased them, He ran a quiet poker game, and sometimes dealt in a brace at faro; but every one voted him as square as a cube, Through saving him from falling into the ri er, at a Jersey City ferry-slip, Mavbattan Mike had come to know him, and the two had since been on very friendly terms, Remembering that Luce had a Vermont Di- rectory, Mike made his way to the resort, which was located over a clothing store, on the east side of the Bowery, below Prince street. Understanding the signal, be gave several peculiar raps upon the door, and was admitted, The room was not very large, but contained a bar, and a number of tables and chairs, and the windows were closely curtained, lamps dif- fusing all the light permitted. The tables were surrounded by players, most of whom were well-dressed men, who looked as though they might possess some means to gam- ble on. Mike gave them but an idle glance, for they were but types of a thousand and one similar getherings he had seen, in different places of the in i Jim Luce was loanging behind the bar, enjoy- ing a cigar, and nodded, as Manhattan Mike approached bim. * Howdy, Mike! What's the word?” the gam- bler saluted--a large,powerfully wrought feliow, be was, with sandy beard, and keen gray eyes. ‘Oh! things still move!” Mike replied good- naturedly. ‘* My business is a little dull, how- ever, and I thought I’d come up and *‘ pull’ your place, and make a spec, you see.” Luce looked serious, ‘Ye know l’ye had a notion you would be doing something like that, one of these times!” he said, earnestly. Mike laughed. “If 1 was in that line of business, there's plenty I’d single out before I'd tackle you,” he said. ‘By the way, I’ve another mission, to- night. Luce!” * What is it?” ‘* You bave a State Business Directory of Ver- mont?” ‘*No, I have, however, one of each county, in separate volumes,” “That, perbaps, will do as well. I want to find a town, village, or hamlet, known as Por- cupine Corners.” Luce looked at the Bowery Blood rather quizzically. “Porcupine Corners?’ he echoed. “ Why, what in the world is the matter with you? There isn’t such a place in all Vermont, I'll take an eatb.” ** Are you sure?” *T am. Here is a set of volumes, giving every pestal address, town and hamlet, in the old ‘fine wool’ State, and if you will find Por- cupine Corners there, I’ll treat.” Mike examiued the books. Each volume rep- resented a county of the State, with the popu- lation of each village, town or precinct. Bowery Blood. ee eee EO _ eee eee , ee ——'t 5 He ran over these directions with a critical glance, while Luce watehed him, with a strange- ly inquisitive expression. List after list of names the Bowery Blood scanned, but no expression of bis hawkish fea- tures told that he had found the place he sought for. He finally closed the books, and stacked them. up on the bar. ‘‘No Porcupine Corners there, I am sure!” he said. ‘That settles one point in my mind. That son-of-a-gun of a Yankee is a fraud. .Are you sure, Luce, that there isn’t some little coun- try gathering of houses by that name?” ‘* Tf there is, boy, it bas recently sprung into existence, I have traveled over nearly every foot of ground in Vermont, before 1 came here, two years ago, but Vill take an oath I never beard of Porcupine Corners before.” “Did ye ever know of such a man as Peleg Prancer?” be demanded, “No, Thbat’s a make-up name, sure. What are you trying to follow, Mike—a false trail, or are you overloaded?” “Nothing of the latter!” the Bowery boy re- plied, positively. ‘I had a pretty good jag om board, the early part of the evening, but I struck a scent, and I’m smelling it up, with clear nostrils.” “ What’s the racket?” “Td tell you, Jim, as quick as any one, but this is a case I’ve got to work up, on its merits, und be rewarded, accordingly. It isn’t a snap, by any means, and for a time I’ve got to goit blind, and sift every speck carefully.” “All right, Mike, l approve of your spunk, There's nothing like chasing the game close, whether you win or lose.” “Right you be. But, Jim—” ‘‘Hold up a bit. D’ye see that fellow yonder, at the back of the table? He’s bad devilish poor luck, and the ‘timers’ are working bim for all there’sin him!” — “Never mind him!” Manbattan Mike said, calmly, without taking bis eyes cff from the Yankee gambler’s fece. ‘‘I am not interested in the fortunes and misfortunes of cards, just at the present moment. I have come to the con- clusion that you can give me a little informa- tion on a matter of importance.” Luce eyed him, sharply. ‘* What d’ye mean?” he demanded. ‘Nothing much. I merely want to ask you —do you, or did you ever, know a man by the name of David Dore?” The rapid, uninterpretable expression that shot athwart the poker-man’s countenance proved that the name was familiar to him. And, with his lynx like eyes, Manhatten Mike took note of the fact. ; CHAPTER IV. ON THE SCENT. “ You knew David Dore—you do know him!” be exclaimed in an undertone... “ Let me know where he lives.” ‘““What d’ye want to know?” Luce growled, all of the babitual pleasant composure gone out of bis face, leaving a hard, cold expression, there. “What d’ye want to know, about David Dore?” “Simply bis address, Jim. I see that in connection with the name, you bave some secret. you would not “ue? disclose. Give me the man’s address, and I willask you no more, at present!” A grim, threatening glitter entered the eyes of the gambler. *‘ Are ye workirg against me?’ he demanded, fiercely, bending over the bar. ‘No, Luce, Iam not. Only for an intuition, caused, perhaps, of knowing that you werea Vermoncter, I should not have suspected that you were ever acquainted with the name of Dore!” The gambler did not appear entirely satisfied, He knew that Manhattan Mike was literally as keen as steel, and he eyed him, doubtfully, for several seconds. “‘Give mean insight into why you want to know anything about David Dore?” he said, shrewdly, ‘‘ Nary an in!” Mike decided, * The case is mine, not yours, and if I can make anything out of it — shouldn’t I? So far as I know, now, you will not be interested in it, whatever your past may have been!” “But why do you seek information of David. Dore?’ P “That. 1 cannot tell you, until [ work up the case.” — ? “You're a shrewd ore. You must have some urgent reason for wanting to know about as - ss *. wiper To = a =e
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anhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. ——— — EE ee ae — him. Last I knew of him, he lived up near Gceafton, in Vermont.” “ Are you well acquainted with the people of that immediate section?” ‘*T was, a few years ago.” ‘''You’re sure, then, toat you never heard of such a man, there, as Peleg Prancer?” “Positive of it,” “1 am much obliged to you for_your infor- mation. How large a family did Dore have?” **One child—a daughter.” " Correct. Did you ever know that he had a sonf’ ‘Pye an idea he did, once, but believe he j died, some years ago.” ‘‘ Well, I guess that is all I need to know just at once. Give me a cigar and I'll takea skip. Join me?” nd he threw down some change, and selected one of the cigars handed him. “Now, then, what about the fellow, you spoke about getting fleeced?” “Ah! yes—the one at the back of the table, yonder. He’s as reckless as blazes, or he'd plainly see he’s getting swamped. Some tellers don’t seem to care, whether they lose money, or not,” Minhattan Mike took a careless glance at the person indicated by the gambler—then, he gave a perceptible start. What strange fatality was this? The reckless young man was a decided counterpart, in face and general appearance, to the peomerepe the young detective had received from Peleg Prancer! There could be no mistake, in this respect; the features, the eyes, and their expression, were the same asin the photograph. The young man had plainly been upon a protracted spree, for both bis face and eyes were red from the effects of drink, and his whole appearance spoke of a reckless regard for himself, such as is peculiar to the average hard drinker. lf this was Ned Shields, he was certainly in bad lucx, and did not appear to care whether he lost or won. Manhattan Mike eyed him, attentively, and finally siw him draw a purse from his pocket, and extract a single new crisp note. “It’s all I have left,” he said, ‘“and if I lose it, I'm broke. Til go it, however, that my hand goes out!” The gamblers about the table exchatged lightning glances; then, one of their number said: “Til just have to take you on that, my friend; put up!” The money was staked, and the gambler laid down bis hand, in triumph. He held everything, nearly, worth holding in the game. Shields threw down his cards with a curse, and arose from the table. “Cleaned out!” he cried grimly. .“‘ Served me right for being fool enough to play with a pack of sharpers!’ “Bee here!” the winner of the last stake cried, springing to his feet; ‘we don’t wapt no insinuations, my friend. ny one as dares in- timate we don’t do the square thing, generally off with a cracked skull.” “Indeed” Shields retorted, evidently in no wise alarmed at the other’s frightening aspect. a presumpe likely the skulls of your previous cracking were somewhat softer than you’d find mine, As for your square playing, allow me to inform you that I am perfectly well aware that the whole gang of you played as much as possi- ble into each other's bands.” “You are a liar!” the gambler declared, fiercely. ‘You're another!” Shields retorted, coolly, his penetrating eyes flashing brilliantly. Tae gambl+r, whose name was Burke Bren- nan, uttered a fearful oath, and bounded forward. His onslaught appeared’ savage enough to carry a larger man than youn Shields from his feet. But the young man did not stir out of bis tracks, He waited until the proper ‘opportunity ar- rived, then his fist shot out with sudden veloci- ty and caught the gambler between the eyes, laying bim back senseless upon the floor, ith revengoeful cries, the other card sharps rushed toward the young stranger, but they ana when Jim Luce stepped from behind the ar and confronted them with a pair of six- shooters, one in either band. ** Back!” he ordered sternly. ‘None of this sort of thing in my oe If you want to fight, go charter a tug and go down the river.” “We'll punch the head off’m the dirty bla’- guard!” one of the sharps declared savagely. “No, you won’t—not here!” Luce assured, positively. ‘ You've got his money, and that’s enough, Young man, you git out now, and I’ll see that these fellows don’t barm you.” ‘I’m not afraid of the whole gang!” Shields declared pluckily. “Maybe not. You go, however; I don’t want any further fuss.” “ Very well; to accommodate you, | will go. But recollect, it’s not because I wouldn’t like to lay ’em all out, like I did that one sucker!” And shaking his fist at them, he left the room, bey would have followed, but Luce’s warn- ing shake of the head admonished them that it would not be a healthy undertaking. Manhattan Mike also quitted the poker-room, and descended to the street. He meant, if pos- sible, to keep track of the young Vermonter, if it were indeed he, Not that it was his present intention to arrest him, for he bad little faith in what he had learned from Peleg Prancer. Young Shields might be a culprit, but Mike was not quite sat- isfied that it was any of Prancer’s business whether he was or not. Shields was already a considerable distance away when Mike reached the street, and was hurrying along rapidly down the Bowery. Striking into a brisk gait, Mike took to the opposite side of the street and followed. He hoped, by keeping Shields in sight, to learn where he lodged, and thus, perhaps, the where- abouts of the missing Gracie Prancer would be cleared up. Unaware that he was followed, the object of the young detective’s search kept on steadily, without once looking back; and Manhattan Mike pursued as perseveringly, without once losing sight of his man. Through the Bowery contined the chase, into Park Row; thence to Broadway, to Courtlandt street, and through the latter street to the ferry- house. ‘* He’s going to Jersey City,” Mike concluded, ‘and like enough is going to take the Pennsy!- vania Railroad, to some other point, Il find out, anyhow.” Shields entered the ferry-house. Mike remained in the rear. He saw Shields purebase only a ferry-ticket. He did not ap- proach the railway ticket window, but passed on into the inner ferry-room, Mike then en‘ered, purchased a ticket, and waited in the firstapartment until the clang of the bell announced the arrival of the boat. _ He then entered the waiting room and min- gled with th : crowd,taking good care to keep out of the sight of the young Vermonter. When the gate opened, there wasa general rush on board the boat, and the sleuth succeed- ed in getting aboard without being spied by Shields. m5 el As usual, when the boat steamed out from her slip, what passengers were not in the cabins were on the front end of the boat—with one ex- ception, ed Shields remained at the rear end, looking off into the water as if ithad a peculiar attrac- tion to him, The night was so densely foggy that only a few feet from the boat could the human eye reach, and a constant succession of whistles were heard from the various crafts plying upon the river— precautionary magnate, whereby collisions could better be avoided. Manhattan Mike stood in the shadows of the carriage-way, watching his man like a hawk. His mind was already made up in regard to what was Shields’s pnrpose—that his objective destination was not Jersey City, but a watery grave. . When about in mid-stream, Mike saw bim raise his eyes heavenward, as if he were uttering a prayer. ith a swift and stealthy stride, the detective reached him, and firmly seized bis arm jast as be was about to make the fatal leap. ‘““T wouldn’t, my friend, if I were you!” Mike said, quietly. ‘“‘The fish get plenty of better bait than you, and the Morgue supplies more floaters than the hospital dissecting-rooms can use up, you can bet. So there’s no room for ou!’ . Shields wheeled about, with an angry excla- pa and evidently recognized the Bowery lood. “‘ Let go my arm!” he cried, savagely. ‘‘ What d’ye mean by interfering in what don’t concern ou, you in—” ’ “Tut, tut! no back talk!” Mike interrupted. “Tf you don’t want me to arrest you for at- tempted suicide, you behave voprwelt like a Ply- mouth church deacon, Here comes one of tue boat-hands,” : The admonition appeared to have a wonderful- ly soothing effect on the young man, so Mike re- leased his grasp. The boat-hand, in passing, eyed them sharply, but speedily returned to the front. . Why did you interfere?” Shields demanded, again, when they were alone. " “ Because I don’t like to see a nice fellow make a confounded idiot out of himself without cause.” “You little know what cause I’ve had.” _ “‘Mebbe not; again, mebbe I know consider- ably more about it than you think I do, Mr. Shields!” : No perceptible sign did the young man evince that he had ever heard the name before. ‘‘T presume you’ve mistaken me for some other person,” be said, with unruffied com- ure. ‘My name is Gresham—George Gres- a 7 “Obltis it? Now, Neddy, my chum,I don’t look like a greenhorn, do I/~don’t look like as if I'd eat cream biscuit and think they were plum-puddin’, do I!” ‘‘T don’t understand you.” “You do! Yecan't foolme. You take me for a regular Weehawken flat, you do.” “Nothing of the kind, sir, but 1 must admit that your actions are somewhat eccentric.” ‘Oh! you're a good ‘un, you are! But, Neddy, it won’t wash. You're Edward Sbieids, of Grafton, Vermont, or thereabouts, an’ there’s no sort of use of your trying to deny it!” The would-be-suicide uttered .a metallie sort of laugh, that but strengthened Manhbettan Mike’s convictions. tes ‘“‘T am sorry 1 cannot agree with you, my friend. You are either laboring under an at- tack ef dementia, or else are outrageously mis- taken. George Gresham is my name, and dou’t you forget that,” ‘Oh! well; if that’s the case, I’m on the wrong track!” Mike said, apologetically. “Nothing more positive!’ Gresbam assured. ‘« Ah! here we are at the ferry-slip. And lam still alive. I hardly know whether to thank you or not?” “Ob! suit yourself about that. If you con- template attempting suicide again, I hope you will first recollect that Gracie is here in the city, looking for you!” “ The devil, you say—” He suddenly checked bimself, and looked confused. P Mike laughed triumphantly. t “Now, there! I thought I'd trip you, Neddy. dear, though you were ever so careful, you know!” ““Confound you! What do you know about her?’ the young man demanded, frowning fiercely. ‘Out with it, or Pll throw you over- board!” “Ob. don’t be so awesome! You don’t make even a two-cent shiver run down my spine, and don’t forget that. If you want to know any- thing about your darling Gracie, all you’ve got todo is go back to New York with me, un- bosom yourself, and we'll compare notes. Come! let’s get off! No, stay here. We will go back on this boat!” “What, without a: 4d fare!” “Cert. Live in New York as long as I have, and you'll catch onto the ropes, I'll guar- antee.” ‘“Who are you?” ‘‘ Manhattan Mike, the Blood o’ the Bowery, and as gallus a b’hoy as you often pick up. In other words, more to the point, I’m a detec- tive. An assurance which did not seem to favorably impress the Vermonter. ** What d’you think you’re going to make by dogging me?” he growled, his former fierceness returning, 1 : “That isn’t decided yet, I believe!” Mike re- pied, composedly, ‘It altogether depends on ow you pan out, my friend. If you balance the scales, at good honest weight, all may be rigbt. If there's too much alloy and a lacking of good coin, things may be different.” Gresham, or Shields which ever he was, ut- tered another of his metallic laughs. There’s one thing you'll find l’m not lacking in!” he hissed, as with lightning-like agility the «wanted ” man sprung upon the Bowery Blood, and lifting him bodily in the air, as though be bad been an infant, flung him overboard, in the path of the boat, which was beginning to move out from her pier, into the stream. There was no cry; simply a splash; then Gresham darted back into the carriage-way, in. the nick of time to escape being seen by several passengers, who came out from the cabin, to the fore part of the boat.
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‘me lin . could remember, He weuld not part with it + SS Manhattan Mike, the Bo Gresham joined them directiy. He was pale, for love or money ;—it was his talisman! That but otherwise strangely composed. The boat was already passing over the spot where Manhattan Mike had struck the water. A hundred chances to one, he bad been crawn in under the wheels, and crushed to death, “Qa! they'll bound me, will they?” the Ver- monter muttered under his breath, ‘* More tban one, then, shall pay a hard penalty for bis folly. New York is a big place to fiad a man in!” CHAPTER VY. MIKE’S NEW TRAIL. MANHATTAN MIKE, through the experiences of an even ful career, had learned one valuable lesson, and practically perfected bimself in it— that was, in a time of emergency, to think and act with rapidity. Therefore, when he found himself going down into the river, he knew his danger was imminent —not, particularly, because he could not swim, | for there were few better men fish than he in the city; but he was aware that unless he got out of the slip in an incredibly short space of time, he would be run down by the New Bruns- wick, which was the name of the buge craft from which he had been hurled. The distance to where he could round the piles and get out of the path of the boat was not great to the eye; yet to swim it would require some lively work, as the great wheels of the boat were already beginniug to churn the water into a foaming vortex. “Siok or swim!” came to Mike’s mind, and he struck out manfully. Never before did he put forth as much exor- tion as now, On—on! bis head making but a tiny speck in the dark water, and the great monster sweeping after bim, as if eager to ride him down, He could see the passengers at tha front of the boat, but they saw bim not. To be sure, a er for help might bave attracted attention, but it is doubtful if it would have done any good, as the boat could not have been instantly stopped. On—on! He felt a terrible suction of water tagging at him, asif to pull him backward, in uncer the wheels. The broad prow of the boat was hovering close over him, **My God! I’m lost!” be thought. Nol be would make a superhuman effort! He did! He reached the end of the piling on the right hand of the crib, and whirled partly around it, He could go no further, for the other boat loomed up, speeding into the next Slip. Ku he could do was to throw his arms about the outer pile aud cling to it, and this he did with desperate strength. It was his salvation. When the New Brunswick was out of the slip he swam across and still further on down- stream, and soon struck the docking a few rods below the ferry-house, Knowing well he would attract attention if he attempted to cross,on the ferry again, be was at a loss what to do, after clambering out of the water, but finally, seeing no other plun to pursue, he bolted into the ferry-house, pur- shaged his ticket, and got aboard the next Several curious ones asked him how he got wet, but in each case he answered them evasive- ly, so that they got no satisfaction. On engine the gee York mie be made his way, by unfrequen eets, to his lodgings in Hester stedeb' it * > Fiovit The next morning he was abroad bright and early, and looked none the worse for his ducking the previous night. He bad been baffled, seem- ingly, at the begiuuing of the case; but the fact ouly nerved him to @ greater resolution, to assiduously stick to the trail until he bad up- raveled the mystery. As yet he could see no clear way ahead, and be was pretty well satisfied that be had tackled a harder job than any other he bad eVer under- taken. e knew, however, that many a detec- tive had worked himself up to fame and fortune by fu llowing the merest shadow of a clew; why could be not do the same? ‘To be sure, he had no present surety of get- ting paid, or even of being thanked, for his efforts, but be knew he bad sufficient movey to carry him through for awbile, and by the time it was exbausted, something, ‘* Micawber ’-like, might turn up. If not, it would not be the first time in his experience that he had been reduced in his finances to a single cent. This cent—an ancient-dated, old-fashioned per—he bad worn, suspended to a small- ed god chain, about his neck, ever since be ———$> $$ there was any special significance in its posses- sion he was unable. to say, as be bad never known his parents—bis earliest recollection dating back to a period when he was a tiny street waif, supporting himself by selling news- papers. In the case now before him, he was fully de- termined to leave no stone unturned, until be had sifted out all that was possible to learn of old Peleg’s game, of Miss Gracie’s history, and Ned Shields’s roguery. Bright and early, therefore, he sought the nearest telegraph office, and sent the following message: “To Postmaster, Grafton, Vermont. ;— * Does man live there named David Dore, or Peleg Prancer? Is man wanted named Edward Shields or George Gresham? Mixe Maverics, ** Detective.” He then lounged about the office, until he thought an answer ought to reach him, and sure enough, he got one. It wus worded as follows: “M. Maverick, Defective;—Do not know the - ties named, nor of them. yee ** Justas I thought,” Mike muttered. ‘‘ Thore’s a deep-seated game here, now I knowit, Mr. David Dore and Peleg Prancer are both very mysterious gentlemen. They are both playing a game.” membering that he was to see David Dore at nine, he at once set out for the Astor House. If be found the gentleman, it was barely possi- ble that he might learn something applying to the case, even if it were but little, He found Dore’s name upon the register, and opposite it, ‘Grafton, Vermont.” His room was 56, Mike hesitated a few minutes; then sent up his eard, He was not positive whether he should profit by forming Mr. Dore’s acquaintance or not, The hotel boy soon returned, and Mr. Dore ac- companied him. He was a good-looking, well-preserved man of five-and-forty, robust of figure, and on the whole, rather prepossessing of appearance. He was nicely dressed, and seemed at least to be a person who was well-bo- lo, He eyed Manhattun Mike sharply, as he ap- proached, as if ‘sizing ” him up. ‘You wished to see me?” he interrogated, in a pleasant tone, { “Yes, sir—that is, if you are Mr. David Dore?” ‘That is my name, sir. What can I do for you, may I ask?” ‘I ealled to see you in reference to your want of a young man—” ‘Ab, yes! yes! Isee. Thefruit girl recom- mended you. Come into the reading-room.” They were soon seated opposite each other. with a table between them, and Dore produced some fragrant cigars, “I was expecting you,” be: said, by way of breaking a momentary silence, during which be bad regarded Mike ioiently. ‘1 su pose you think you are competent to fill the bill! M * Judging trom what Nora told me, I presume very likely I can suit you. I don’t often go to sleep over.a job,” ** That’s what | like to hear. When I employ a person I expect bim to be wide-awake, Have you ever done detective work?” “Ona small scale. What is the nature of our case?’ and with a professional air, Ma»- attan Mike took a note-book and pencil from his pocket, and made readv to jot down any notes he thought worth while. ‘“My case can be summed up in a few words —a girl missing.” “Yes? The neme, please—” “Dora G, Dore.” ‘* Your daugbter?” ‘‘VYes—that is, my adopted daughter,” “For bow long bas she been your adopted daughter?” ‘Since infancy. I took her from a foundling asyluw, in Boston, sixteen years ago.” * Her age consequently is—” ‘* A little over seventeen.” ‘* How long has she been missing?” “Two weeks, to-day.” “What are the circumstances of her flight— as 1 infer that she fled from your home!” “She did. and very suddenly at that. She stole away in the dead of night and when we discovered her flight no trace whatever could be found of her.” ‘ Did she leave nothing behind relating tothe cause of her flight? Was she content with her home and surroundings?” wery Blood. | 7 *, “Perfectly so. The only clew she left behind was this note.” : He handed Manbattan Mike a half-sheet of note paper, upon whica was written the foliow- ing, in a good hand: *\ Dear Papa:—By the time this is found I shall be far away. Why I am going, 1 cannot explain to you, and you will never know. Do not seek to know or to find me, for it will be useless. 2 “Dora.” The chirography was alike to that in the . letter Manhattan Mike had received from Peleg Prancer! . There could be little doubt but what one person haa written both letters, Mike was puzzled, and knew his face betrayed the fact, but Mr. Dore evidently did not take notice of the fact. ‘Let me see. You live at Grafton, Vermont, I be.ieve?’ Mike proceeded. ** T do, sir.” “And your there?” “She did.” ‘‘What business are you engaged in, Mr. Dore?’ ‘‘lam a farmer, but on rather a retired scale, however.” “That is to say, you have a plenty of this world’s goods?” ‘* Certainly. the case.” ‘*Perhaps not. We detectives have a great habit of asking questions, youknow. Did your daughter move in society, or have any particu- adopted daughter fled from But this does not touch upon lar gentlemen friends?” “None. She was always at home,” ‘“What were your relations to her—fatherly, or loverly?”’ “ Well, of late years, 1 have grown to look forward to a day when | could make her my wife.” “Did she know this?’ “Yes. 1 think she favored my suit—or would have done so had 1 made a formal decla- ration.” sae you know who were the parents of the r ‘I donot. She had been taken in by the In- stitution as a nameless waif.” ** Have you any idea where she went to?” ‘“Ttis my opinion she came here. very ambitious to work, altbough | always kept her well supplied with money, and | once beard her say she would like to work in one of the great stores in tbis city.” ; Manhattan Mike took a note of this. ‘‘ Have you a picture ef ber?” he asked, “Yes. Here itis, Sbeisa very pretty girl.” Mike nodded, as he gazed at the photograph. In his pocket he curried a duplicate of it, ‘* A face that, once seen, could not easily be forgotten!” be said. ‘Are you aware, Mr, Dore, of having any epemies who could have an object in abducting ber?” “No, indeed! I-don’t know that I have a foe on the face of the earth.” Manhattan Mike was silent a few moments, glancing over his notes and thinking. ‘Well, Mr. Dore, I suppose you want to find this girl?” : ‘I do, indeed. If I succeed in so doing, it will be the realization of one of my fondest hopes.” “ I suppose you must have some ulterior. ob- j ct—something more than your actual interest in the girl, That alone could hardly tempt you t» follow, her up, especially when her flight proved tbat she cared nothing for you?’ “You wisconstrue my motives. I want to save the poor chiid from a li'e of drudgery, perbaps of temptation and sin. Besides, she took with her some papers that are of great valne to me,” “Ah! what were th. y?” ‘Merely papers of personal importance to me, buf in no way touching upon the matter of the girl. Why she should bave taken them I cannot understand.” ** Well, Mr. Dore, do you want me to take hold of the case?” “I do, yes. If you find Dora for me, you shall be well rewarded.” Manbattan Mike uttered a peculiar laugh. “I dare say you won't find any New York detectives who will do your joband depend on their success for their pay. At least, 1 shall want a liberal sum down before 1-can under- take it,” ‘** How much?” ‘* Not less than a couple of hundred dollars, which I will need for incidental expenses.” ‘‘Very well; you sball have it. When will you set to work at the case?” ’ “Toa. depends upon circumstances, I shall She was } ee
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8. Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. a I ig le ER firé require to know who you are, sir, and where you reside.” Dore started violently. “What do you mean” he demanded angrily, his face flushing. ‘*T mean that, did I know where to find the girl this minute, I should not turn her over to | you until 1 had some proof of who and what you are, as a guarantee of good faith.” ‘‘ You are insulting, youog man! Have | not already told you about myself?” * You have told me a falsehood!" Manhattan eye returned promptly and fearlessly. wr! ‘Oa, don’t look as if you could bite my bead off, for'I ain’t one of the skeery kind! You will perhaps be surprised to know that another party is wanting tnis same girl, under a different name. Believing bim a schemer, I refused to have anything to do with him, When I| heard about you, it rather struck me you might be another of the same breed; so I sent a tele- gram to Grafton to inquire about you and Prancer.” ‘** Prancer?” ‘‘ Yes, Prancer. That's t’other fellow. Here is the reply I received.” David Dore took the telegram and glanved over it. His face was flushed, ‘* You are really too cute to live!” he uttered grimly, when he had perused it. * Ib don’t mat- ter, however. l’ll give you five thousand dollars cash to find me that girl, no matter who 1 am or where I hvet” Manhattan Mike eyed the man curiously. It was evident the missing girl was more to Dore than to Prancer, and that the former was in dead earnest, He meant to have her if money could ascer- tain her whereabouts, ‘*T shall have to consider,” Mike returned; “ I will let you know my decision some time to- morrow.’ : He then arose, and bowed himself out of the bogus Vermonter’s presence, a 3 CHAPTER VI. THE ‘‘ FIND,” MANHATTAN MIKE had long wished to get on favorable terms with the chief of the detective- police of the city, but had bitherto been unable to gain anything like a friendly footing either witb him or Superintendent Walling, owing to the fact that Detective Bob Driscoll was im- mensely popular with the police captains of the different precincts, and influenced them against the young Bowery Blood; and they, in turn, gave Mike no favorable airing to the higher officers. Despite this, however, Manhattan Mike was well known to all, and. made it a point to so keep himself before the offivers of the several —- that there should be no possibility of is being bes gone Imagine his surprise then, when, later that day, he was accosted by Superintendent Wal- ling, as he was passing through City Hall square, ‘*Good-afternoon, Roane man, A, word with you!” the dignified official said. , Mike eo with 4 bow, and awaited in re- spectful silence. “JT hear you have been giviog Driscoll a black rag !’ the superintendent continued, rather severely, “Is that so? I haven’t seen him since he pitched onto me and got laid out. He was fresh enough to suppose I'd let him bully me, and got left—that’s all.” “Tam sorry for the trouble, and hope noth- ing of the sort will occur again. Driscoll is one of our shrewdest men, and we shall miss him, as he will not come out-of-doors again for several days. Tbe blow has all upset him.” “Can’t help it. Maybe he will know better than to pick me up for a fool, again. By the way, sir, I’ve done several little deserving jobs for the city—one or two of which, Driscoll has received the credit of doing. Don’t you think I ought to have a badge, backed by a little power _ to act?” There! It was out, and Manhattan Mike was es of it, no matter what answer might follow. 6 had long had itin mind to ask for an author- izod tion, ant he knew if any man could get it for him, Walling could. “Tt was in reference to having you work up Mike pore him a card, with his addres scribbled on the back of it. “Ym usually to be found there, when I’m mot roamin’ about town!” nt nen \ ia ¥ } % of 4 + gly. ot Yee ( Ns te ae : 0 * he, . . “ grate t, ‘ e/ Jee eae 7 we Nera t ee . “Pa g Soha ta etek why aaa ee cada t Bee £IS ‘reid “> ~ As. Oe te oe . ‘“Well, this is what I have to say: It bas been brought to my notice that, despite all ar- rests recently made, and the absence of a cer- tain man from the city, there is stilla large | traffic being done, in the sale of lottery tickets. The mayor has, consequently, ordered that strenuous measures be taken to break up this nefarious business, and rid the city of it, as quickly as possible,” “Yes, sir. How do you propose to do it, may I ask?” ‘* There is but one way to accomplish much— that is, to onee more hunt up and arrest those dealing inthe fraud. Several detectives have been detailed to look up the matter, but have thus far failed to find a case.” Manhattan Mike laughed quietly, ‘Tt isn’t often a detective gives away all he knows, when a millionaire corporation keeps plenty of greenback ‘soothing-syrup’ afloat!” he said, dryly. ‘*T hardly like your insinuation, young man, So far as we are able to judge, 1 believe we have a special force admirable for honesty and integrity. Then, too,I find, by inquiry, that you are quite likely to be better posted in re- gard to lottery and’ policy-dealers than every Bobemian one meets.” *: Perbaps I could name a few!” Mike replied, nonchalantly. “Why have you not reported them, at head- quarters, then?” ** Because, being naught but a private detec- tive, I did not feel called upon to wage @ per- sopal war on a class of men, who, at best, are uisavory characters. But, with the commis- sion of a detective, and the pay thereof, to- pe with the backing of the city authorities, could put your sleuths on the track of eigbt or nine ticket dealers, almost within the shadow of your City Hall!” The superintendent looked incredulous, “Tf you can do that, lose no time about it, oung man!” “Til tell you what I'll do: you secure me a commission as a regular, and I'll tell you the name of ten dealers and where they can be found. +I will not, however, participate in als who’d make New their arrest, as they’ve can’t be spared just York too hot for me and now.” ‘*Give me the names. Proper men shall be set to work the matter up, and if they are suc. cessful you will receive your badge and papers to-night.” Without further hesitancy Mike wrote out the names and *‘dens” of such lottery-agents as he knew, on a leaf of his note-book, and gave it to the superintendent, who received it with a bo-w, and the two parted. The Blood realized that he was doing a per- fectly proper thing, because he had long felt it to be his duty to give up the several sharpers who were swindling greenhorns out of money in more than one way than through means of the “ Louisiana lottery.” Then, too, the adyantage of being promoted to a“ regular,” with the power and pay belong- ing to the position, wis an advantage not to be despised. The balance of the day he spent, in idling about town, in a questioning mood, How to gain further clews in working up the case of the missing girl, was apuzzler to him, That nothing could be elicited by bothering with either David Dore, or ew | Prancer, seemed certain—yet, where could be expect to find anything to help him, in any other source? New York was a big city wherein to search for one girl, and she, too, evidently trying to lose herself from being found. He did not desire to make an attempt at find- ing her, in any of the stores, until he was pos- sessed of his badge, which would secure bim more privileges, than though he had none. About five o’¢lock in the afternoon he visited his lodgings, and there found a large official- looking envelope, which contained bis commis- sion-blank and badge—the former to be executed and returned, whereupon he would be duly in- stalled as a ‘‘regular.’ As he had yet some time to spare, he placed this badge under the lapel of his vest and sallied forth. Among the places he visited were the larger dry goods and trimming establishments, among them Denning’s, Macy's. Ehrich’s, Simp- son, Crawford and Simpson’s, O'Neil’s, Hearn’s, and Jones’s, and simply through possessing bis badge, was he able to gain access to the books containing the names of all the emplovees. But he failed to find either the name of Dora Dore or Gracie Prancer, : As closing time prevented a further search, he cencluded that nothing more could be done AT nA oa gan x oy a) ar ar - KAGAN Yi de tea wi ; TE aie tone : ys ~ r 1 No ay erie eee in, a ee ey Ma until the morrow, when he must visit the es- tablishments further down town. Fatigued with what he had done in the way of travel during the day, he started back for his lodgings early, resolved to get a good night's rest, Then, too, he rather expected be would re- eeive a call from Nora, She often dropped in, | for a little chat, as they had known each other since childhood. He was passing along the Bowery, which was densely thronged, when his foot kicked some- thing, and he perceived it was a pocket-book— one of the long, side-pocket sort. Happening to have his handkerchief in his hand, he dextrously dropped it so it covered the wallet, and stooping jammed them into his pocket, and hurried on, witbout any one paying particular attention to him, Within the security of his own apartment, he was soon seated, with the prize laid out before him. ‘* No poor man lost this!” he muttered, as he took off the rubber strap, which held it shut. ‘“'There’s money in here, and loads of it, too, I reckon,” The wallet contained two hundred and fifty dollars in bank-notes, of ten dollars denomina- tion each, and a few dollars in change. There were also a number of slips of paper, unen- veloped notes, and postal cards—also a sealed, stamped letter, directed to ‘‘ Stephen Dore, No. 8— 120th street, city.” ‘By Jehosaphat Jobnson! Here’s another clew, at last, and if I don’t work something out of this, Py a royal rhinoceros from Rantoul! Stephen. Dore, a That sounds respectable, alongside of David, though I b’lieve David was a Bible hero—got into a lion’s cage, or something of the sort. Stephen! Let me see: Stephen is rich, and saicsiell-—otsd is goin’ to die—or lost a child, years ago—or—or—hang it, I’m as deep in the mud asever. I mustexamine.” ~ He went over the other papers and postal cards, carefully, and considerately. There were three postals, One was post-marked Chicago, and addressed to ‘Leonard Lentonville, Post-Office, New York.” It read as follows: “‘ Len:—Things loom up no better. The change, to there, is imperative. The M—— has offered big. * Low.” The second card was to the same address, and bore the following: look, The third was to ‘‘ Mr, Tracy Travis, No. — 120th street, city.” Post-mark, New York. It simply said: ** Meet me at Grand Central Hotel at once. “ Cam ” Manbattan Mike was as acute of understand- ing as the ordinary youug man, but be had to scratch his bead reflectively cver the contents of the cards, and turn to the papers for relief. They were of no Len porta with one excep- tion, being receipts from ifferent parties to Tracy Travis. The exception was a document ceuehed in the following language; ¢ zaaviet we all _ a Sys war the an ot a gener ol W 2) expect. yoy the er, thea is nothing more to report. “DAVE.” This was all there was of importance, exce tbat upon the lapel of the wallet-book, were the initials, ‘T. T.” “That means Tracy Travis,” Manhattan Mike commented, deliberately. ‘Tracy, the lad, dropped this boodle, and is no doubt even now mourning over its joss. Let me see, Travis! That is the name of the snoozer w got Nora into Macy’s.” ” , “You bet it was Mike,” a voice cried, and the door opened, and Nora herself entered the room, ‘Ha, ha! I caught you talking to your- self again. Ob my! where did you get that pocket-book?” j “Among tbe ancient i tian rc — replied, quickly putting it in his et. ** Hee no questions, me darlint, and Pil tell yez no lies.” ‘‘ Avast! you pirate, you’ve been wrecking some “hip!” cried Nora, tragically striking an attitude. “Ob! you can bet on that!” Mike responded. “¢ How's caliker sellin’ ter-day, Nora?” “ Bully, Mike! The foreman sed I did just elegant. I got away with thirty dollars’ worth of paper-cambric, all in one lump. You ean calculate I’m solid at Macy’s, too.” ** Don’t be too sure, Nora.” ‘But Lam! I sha’n’t stay there long, mebbe. picked both. op, - “ Len:—It is useless to delay longer, Expect and © Raceep.”
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- oo - ‘= - —!, Mr, Travis binted that if I wanted to we might pet married pretty soon, and I could live in a orown-stone house, and have servants. Ob! you bet he’s a daisy !” ‘‘ And you're a fool!” Mike declared, bluntly. ‘* Why, you crazy girl, can’t you plainly see that he is an unscrupulous villain, whose sole aim in knowing ¥ou is to entrap you?” **Oh, no, no! e is too nice a gentleman to have any wrong intentions, Mike, He is per- fectly lovely.” ‘“ Youll tind your mistake when too late,” Mike gritted.. “If I see the snoozer, you can bet Pl sp’ile some ofhis loveliness.” 3 if you touch him, Mike, I'll never speak to you,’ ‘* Ten you won't, that’s all. By the way, do you kuow a girl at Macy’s named either Dora Dore or Gracie Prancer?”’ ‘* No; Lain’t much acquainted. Only know one girl—a new-comer, like myself. The bands that have been there awhile, look down on late arrivals as if they were of no account.” ‘* What’s this one girl’s name?” “Carrie Chase.” ‘* Belong in the city ?” ‘‘No; but she didn’t tell me where she came from.” “Ah! Does this picture look like ber?” and he showed her the picture he had received from Peleg Prancer. Nora uttered a surprised exclamation. ‘+ Why, that’s Carrie, as sure as the world, Where did you get her picture?” ‘*Never mind where. I am working up a case in which sheisconcern, Sha isa wanted person, You keep mum and helpme. To-mor- row night I want you to bring her here.” ‘*Mebbe she won’t come.” ‘But she will, though, if you tell her that you want her to accompany you to see a par- ticular friend.” ** Well, Vil try. Whenshall we come?” ‘¢‘To.morrow evening at eight. Bs sure to fetch her here, and I will make it worth your while,” Conversation drifted onto other topics, and a yan who had been crouching in a listening at- titude, im the hall, by the door, stole cautiously away. It was Bob Driscoll, detective! CHAPTER VII. A REVELATION, Arver Nora’s departure Manhattan Mike re- tired for the night, in order to be rested pre- paratory to a bard day’s work on the morrow. Although he had no idea just how his case was going to end, he knew that he had struck a trail in the finding of the pocketbook, which was likely te be worth following. There were two persons whom he must inter- view, besides Dora Dore, or, as she was now known, CarrieChase. They wereStephen Dore and Traey Travis. Just what connection they might have with the case was not clear, but that some connection they did have, the detective was perfectly well satisfied... After a hasty breakfast the next morning, Mike took a ride up to the Hotel Devonshire and made an inquiry after Mr, Peleg Prancer. Mr. Prancer had taken his departure, stated the clerk; it was not known whether he had left ihe city or not. ’ ae pane not!” was Mike’s decision, as he out of the hotel. ‘In fact, [hardly know what to make of Mr. Prancer, of a puzzle than Davy Dore,” Being so far up-town, be concluded to kill two birds with one stone, and call upon Stephen Dora. On arrival at the correct address, he found there an elegant and imposing mansion, plainly the home of some man of considerable wealth, A servant answered the bell—a real tony- looking African, who assured tbe caller, in the blandest of tones, that Mr, Stephen Dore did re- side there, but was vot io. 5 Mike knew it was yet early in the morning for a retired nabob to be out, but, as the darky was positive about the matter, what could he do about it? : “Is Tracy Travis in?” Mike asked. “What you want of him/’ the servant de- manded, bluntly. : “Look-ee here! I want to see Travis, you black skunk, and it’s none of your business what for, neither! Are you going to admit me, or shall I pitch you head -over-beels out of doors?” _ ** Marse Travis am not ip!” Pompey protested. “ Haf to call, sah, some odder time.’ _ Julius, what’s the trouble?” called a voice He is even more Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. | 9 from inside. the person in, of course. Julius scowled, but opened the vestibule door wide enough to allow Mike to enter. ‘Step right into de parlor, sah!” he said, throwing open a side door. ‘‘ Find Marse Travis there, sah,” Mike obeyed. The parlor was a magnificently furnished room, but was so darkened as to shroud all its objects in half gloom, A young man was sitting in a Juxurious easy- chair with a newspaper spread out before him, while a young woman was reclining upon a sofa, and was covered up with a rich oriental shawl, in such a way that none of her features were visible to Mike’s keen gaze. Mr. Travis was a dapper individual of de- cidedly ‘‘dudish” appearance, and, although he was well dressed and rather good-looking, there was anair of snobbishness about him that one would hardly fancy in a respectable business man, He nodded, without arising, at Mike’s en- trance, * Be seated, sir. “If it’s any one to see me, show ’ Excuse our servant—I sel- dom am in forenoons, hence bis mistake. What can I do for you, Mr. Maverick ?” Manhattan Mike was electrified. How came he to he known to this person, whom he could not renember of ever having seen before? ““T called on alittle matter of business, sir— that is, if you are Mr. Travis. It seems, how- ever, that you bave an advantage over me, in previously knowing my name.” ‘‘Oh! yes. You were once pointed out to me as being a promising young detective. I, too, have beard a young friend of mine mention you.” ‘ + ‘You refer to Nora?” ‘I do.” ** It is partly on her account, Mr, Travis, that want to see you. She has been orem me of you, and having for a long time kept a friendly eye on her, I want to know what you are up tof” Keen and to the point were the tones of the Bowery Blood, showing that he was thoroughly in earnest, Tracy. Travis’s face flushed, and a hard glitter entered his eyes. “T don’t know what right you kave to in- trude here, sir, for the parpose of demanding to know concerniug what is none of your business!” he cried hotly. ‘‘T have the business, sir, of looking well to it that no harm comes to that orphan girl,” cried Mike, sternly, ‘‘ through the dishonorable intentions of one who, but for an evil purpose, would never stoop to notice her.” * You k altogether too fast, young man. You bad first better prove that my intentions are not perfectly g and honorable, befoie you exercise your mouth quite so freely !” **Do yuu mean to say it is your intention to marry her, then?” “If I choose to do so!” “Tf you choose to do so, eh?” “That's what I said, I believe. If I don't choose, I shall not. I don’t know it to be a matter of compulsion either way.” “You will find out differently, perhaps, Mr. Travis. Let me give you fair warning, now, And you will do well to heed it! If ever it comes to my hearing that you have not acted honorably toward that girl, ll have your life, if I hang for it the next instant!” “Very dramatically delivered!® Travis steered. ‘You should study up in tragedy. I suppose I may now consider our interview at anend” . . ‘“ Not yet, dear Travis; I rather revel in our society. I thought I'd call and ask if she as arrived yet!” “ Whom do you mean—what do you mean, sir? You,speak in riddles.” “On! I guess not. I mean your foreign friend, called ‘Lulu,’ ‘ Ragged,’ ‘ Camille’ and so forth!” Travis uttered an oath, “By Heaven! i have found my pocket- book, haven’t you?” he gasped. “T don’t know. Is your name Leonard Len- tonville?” “No, it is not. There were articles to such an address in my pocket-book, however.” “What were they doing there? That is em- phatically what 7 want to know.” ** It is emphatically none of your business.” * Then, if that’s the case, you'll get no pocket- book. You see, my dear Travis, the fact of the matter is, you are liable to get yourself into a peculiavly unenviable box if you don’t go smooth!” 7 ‘** Do you think sot I am surprised to bear it. Could you enlighten me as to your meaning once more?” “Tf it will oblige you, I can possibly give you. an eye-opener!” “Doso. My curiosity is great!” Travis was provokingly cool. Manhattan Mike could have choked him with a good will. “Well, I wished to know how the thing was working,” Mike returned, as if he fully under- stood the subject he was talking on, ‘“‘so I paid a visit to Prancer after his arrival bere. and one to David. They were both anxious t get the girl, but were not up to the requirements with collat’?, Therefore, 1 couldn't do anything for ’em!” Travis ground out a dry cough, and eyed his visitor sullenly—viciously. ‘‘T see ylainly that you’re considerably in the dark,” he observed. **1f you've undertaken to stick your nose into a furnace, don’t blame any one but yourself if 1t gets singed off.” ‘*Ob, certainly not! 1 ratber despaired of working out the biz, on the slender thread I had first, but I feel considerably assured to-day. After an interview with Mr. Stephen Dore, I presume there will be less of a mystery for me te work up than now!” ‘“You had better not fool around Mr. Stepben Dore, or you'll get hurt!” Travis advised, savage- ly. “Furthermore, I presume, you'll learn that you’ve been rubbing against the wrong porcupine, ere long.” “Tf I do, I sha’n’t have to visit Porcupine Corners!” Mike laughed, arising. “I'll bid you — day, sir. Bear in mind my warning about ora! “Your warning, as you call it, will not bave a passing consideration,” Travis replied. ‘“‘ So there will be no further possible reason why you should cal] here again! Mike did not reply, but quitted the house, and returned down-town, feeling that be had de- rived little satisfaction from his morning’s per- formances. He had little idea that he was followed, until he entered a concert garden, near Union Square, for the purpose cf seeing who might be lounging there. After purchasing a cigar, and taking a look around, be was about leaving, when he felt a tap on the shoulder, and saw to his astonish- ment, that he was confronted by Julius, the waiting servant of the Dore mansion. ‘Why, hello, stove-black—what are you do- ing here, I should like to ask?” Mike demanded. “T was sent after you!” the darky ‘replied. ‘De young missus wish to see you.” **De*young missus, eh? Who's that?” “Missy Ada, sah—de Missy Ada.” “You mean David Dore’s daughter, or Stephen's, Julius?” + M Stephen's, sah. She wants to see you, ** Where is she?” 7 . **She waits in de back, sah, outside. You git in, sah, an’ she explain, while you ride toward Central Park.” ‘*T wonder if this is a trap?’ Mike mused, eying the negro suspiciously. ‘T'J] look in the carriage, before I get in, I'll bet.” Aloud, he said. ‘“*AH right. Lead ahead, Josephus. I’m al- lus willing to accommodate the ladies, you can They left the garden, ; A back was awaiting, outside, and the win- dows were closely curtained, Attached to the vehicle was a of h spirited horses, which were in turn managed a negro servant, in livery. ahd Julius opened the door of the back, and Man- ot Mike took a sharp look inside, ere he en- He saw a young and beautiful girl, of seven- teen or eighteen, who was richly attired, and bore every indication of being a cultured and refined person. k She smiled him a welcome, and he no longer hesitated to take a seat beside her in the hack, and they were whirled rapidly away. ““T wanted to speak with you, and I did not know of any way I could do so better than to follow, and ask you to take a drive with me!” the young lady explained. “‘I am Ada Dore + daughter of Stephen Dore, whom you called 0 see.” “Tam very much pleased to haye the honor of your acquaintance!” Mike responded. “TI judge you are the same young lady who was present, reclining upon the sofa, during my in- terview with Mr, Tracy Travis?” “Tam. He supposed I was sound asleep, as I had taken an opiate, a short time before, hav- ae s
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10 ing been in need of quiet and rest, after a severe attack of neuralgia. As it was, I heard every word of your conversation. I then pretended to arouse, as you left the room, Tracy was deceived nicely.” ‘What relation does he bear to you, Miss Dore?’ ‘‘ He is my betrothed husband, and is also my own cousin,” , ‘*Indeed! I presume, then, it is a sort of family match?” ’ **It is, You see, my fatherisa very rich man, and isso far along in years, that be don’t ex- t to live a great while longer. Being very ond of Tracy, it is his desire that we cousins marry, and keep the money in the family.” ‘* Ab! yes; I see. I suppose you acquiesce, then, to his wishes?” ‘*T have never refused, sir, belisving Tracy to be a nice, bonorable man. But, since your visit to-day, I have been assailed by fears that all is not as 1 have aright to hope and expect. It is on account of these feelings of uneasiness that l ordered my cab, and followed you.” “Well, 1am sorry, Miss Dore, if my call this morning has alarmed, or worried you. If in my power, | will try toset to rights anything I may bave unwittingly said or done to offend fou. ‘ Ob! it is not that, sir. Your conduct did not offend me—but it was some reference in your conversation, which caused me much un- easiness, Tell me, has Tracy any interest in * any other girl?” ‘* That I could not advise you about, for any- thing like a certainty!” Mike answered. ‘* But you made mention of the names of sev- eral women—Lulu, Camille, Nora, and so forth. Who are these persons, sir?’ ‘* Who the first two are, I know not, further than that I found articles in Travis’s pocketbook so signed, Nora is a personal friend of mine whom Travis has lately procured a position for in a dry goods store. She tells me he has hinted of marrying her, and of their living in a brown- stone house with servants, and so forth. Be- lieying he meant her no good, I took advantage of an opportunity of giving him a timely warn- ing, as you heard.” ‘What are you, sir?—what is your business?” Miss Dore asked. ‘Tam a detective.” 4 “‘T thought you were, because you alluded to the clearing up of amystery. What is it, Mr. Maverick?” ‘That is more than I can tell you. It is con- cerning a case I am endeavoring to unravel, and with which I have good reasons to beli-ve our betrothed busband is closely connected, cause of the l-tters 1 found, Do you know that ong father cver had a brother, Miss Dore?” A strange start came over the young woman. ‘*Oh! yes, sir. There were three brothers of them—papa, uncle Divid, and uncle Thomas!” Manhattan Mike begun to feel elated. ** Are these uncles living now?” *Oaly one of them—that is uncle David, He is a very bad, wicked man.” “Would you mind giving me the family his- tory, so far as you know it, Miss Dore?” ** Not if it will be of any use to you,sir. I don’t know that I am perfectly posted on it, but I will tell it to you as I understand it.” ** Do so, and I shall be ever so much obliged to your” Mike declared. “ My fatber and his brothers were Virginians of poor parentage, and together with their fa- ther tilled a small plantation. “When the gold-fever of ’49 was raging, grandfather Dore went to California, and did not return for several years, when he brought back with him a fortune of two million of dol- lars, A few months after bis return he died, and when his will was opened, it was found tat he had left all Lis money to his elder son, my uucle Thomas. “As naturally was to have been expected, there was a bitter dissatisfaction on the part of my uncle David end papa, and uncle David, whe was of a naturally rash nature, swore Thomas should never live to enjoy the undivid- ed fortune, “Thomas married and moved to the West, but was followed by David, and my father was afterward notified that Tbomas bad been killed, together with his wife and child, by David, and that the latter was a hunted outlaw in the far West for the crime. ** Thomas had made a will, which, in event of the death of bis wife and child, left the fortune to my father during bis life and then to bis heirs immediate, My father went West, settled up the affairs, and returned here, ENED DOR al Pye p. A. \ jim ee am “My uncle David went from bad to worse, until when last heard of he was the chief of a band of counterfeiters, and was wanted in sev- eral different States for various crimes, He has written threatening letters to papa several times, which seemed to worry him very much, but I never saw any of them, and do not know their contents.” ‘*At last I think [ see the beginning of the end!” Manhattan Mike mused to himself. ‘It is by no means certain that there isn’t work to be done, however. David Dore may not be the only black sheep in the flock I sball. have to en- counter.” CHAPTER VIII. THE BROTHERS’ COMPACT. Tue ride continued as far as Central Park and back, but Manbattan Mike learned litte more of imporiance from Miss Dore, and but little further conversation ensued relative to matters concerning the cise further than that Mike candidly expressed his deep distrust of Tracy Travis. Miss. Dore seemed much shocked at Travis’s apparent faithlessness, and declared her inten- tion of communicating her doubts to her father. But Mike advised her not to do this until he personally had a further opportunity to inves- tigate the case, and she accordingly promised. hen they reached Union Square on their return, Mike bade her good-day, and made bis way toward Macy’s. Enterin this emporium, he went at once up-stairs, and was not long in finding Nora’s stand, where he began pricing some goods, as a pretext by which to gain time to talk with ber. ** Where is Carrie Chase?” be asked, after the first greeting. ‘‘ Have you spoken to ber about ro ‘*Yes, She has no objections to coming. She has been removed to one of the other rooms—I don’t really know which.” “TI will look about and see if I can get a glimpse of her,” Mike announced. He went from department to department of the great store and scrutinized the faces of the many pretty young sales-ladies, but failed to find one answering to Dora’s photograph. Leaving Fourteenth street, he once more set out for the Bowery, where be entered the same up-stairs gaming-saloon in which he had first met George Gresham, or Ned Shields, H: was not there, however, nor had he been there, said Luce the proprietor. Not knowing what else to do, Mike turned his footsteps toward the Astor House, desiring to know if David Dore was yet stopping there. If he was, it was his intention to telegraph to Chicago for an ordee for bis arrest. ns undoubt- edly he was pretty well known there; but the frigid clerk informed the inquirer that David ao had been a guest at that hostelry but one av. Mike felt disappointed, but he based great ex- pectations on what he might learn from pretty Dora at the forthcoming interview. In the mean time, an interview was taking place which it becomes our duty to chronicle, as it bas direct connection witb the thread of our narrative, Two men were seated at a retired dining table ina down-town restaurant, Wine and glasses were before them, showing that they bad al- ready dispatched their meal. Both were enough alike in face, figure and general appearance to be pronounced brothers, and such they really were. The younger of the two, was David Dore. The elder person, whose hair was more silvery, and beard heavier, was Stephen Dore, the wealthy retired merchant of 120th street. He was a somewhat nobler-looking personage than David, but his face was now clouded and gloomy, while that of David bore unmistakable traces of triumph in its expression. j “Yes, Stephen; your fencied security is but a fancy, for, as you perceive, your affectionate brother bas returned to you.” “IT would to Heaven you had never lived to reach here!” Stephen Dore replied passionately. “Why in God’s name were: you. not content to remain where you were, and not to intrude vous villainous presence where it is not want- e * Ob! I've tired of being a wanderer on the face of the earth, Stephen, and want to settle down and enjoy myself. Your money bags are sufficiently full, as I have several times written for you to open your folding-doors to me, and penne as you would an aged father. To sure, | haven’t been really as good asa par- Bu te Tt 7 PRG ae! _ Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. son, since we last met so long ago; but 1 pre- sume it won’t matter particularly to you, since you are not the most perfect man in Christen- dom. “Were la king among scoundrels, you are too bad to come within my notice or charity!” Stephen replied bitterly. ‘* You murdered my brother, and have inherited my everlasting curse!” David uttered a sardonic laugh. “What an idea!” he declared, without ap- aring to get the least ill-humored. ‘t Why less your dear heart, Steve, you were just as much interested in poor Tom’s taking off as I was. To be sure, I got the credit of doing the job proper, but, where did you ring in, except for the fortune, when cruel justice was doing a good bit of advertisin’ for my scalp? Ob! I’m a bloody red-banded villain, Steve, but you’re a cunning scamp, and my even match!” “Tam uoscamp. I am an honorable gentle- man!” the elder brother asserted, his scowl deepening. “In whatinstance can you find me guilty of a disreputable act? Not a one, sir, I have always lived an upright life!” be.“ Ob, yes, without a doubt, How about the fortune you fetched away from that far Iowa town?” “T was informed that Thomas was missing together with his child; that his wife was found murdered in their cabin home; that a paper urporting to come from you stated that you fad killed them all out of revenge; that my poor brother’s will had been found, leaving bis wealth tome. Of course | went West. I found Tom’s wife dead and buried, and Tom and the child missing. Sbreds of their clothing had been dis- covered, which confirmed their fate, even though no trace of their bodies was found. The money was handed over to me and I came East. Now, then, what was there wicked about all that, on my part?” ‘This much: you offered an extra reward for my arrest and conviction, knowing if you could get me out of the way, you would never have any trouble—your right to the money would never be disputed.” ** Well?” “ Was it well? I am not sosure,old boy, that it was well for you. You knew you had a scheming brother, but you little reckoned on all there was in bim. You fancied yourself safe, and tc make yourself still safer, you did something very, very funny.” *“1 don’t know what you mean, sir.” ‘Bab! You lie—that’s one polite fact. You speculated on the money for a time, until you evriched yourself off from it—then you convert- ed it into railroad bonds, in the name of your daughter. Very cute, wasn’t it?” ‘Well, I pride myself that it was a business- like move—yes.” “ Exactly. Ifan heir to Thomas Dore’s money shculd turn up, be, she, or whoever it might be, would bave a jolly good time trying to reclaim the heritage, eb?” Stephen Dore smiled complacently. “Well, David, I perceive that you are not quite so dull of comprebension as I rupposed you were,” be said, with a chuckle of satisfac- tion. ‘lam glad you are satisfied how really absurd it would for any perscn to try to wrest Tom’s fortune from my Ada, now.” “‘T don’t see it in the same light as you do!” David responded, coully. “I may know con- siderably more about the matter than you im- agine. For instance—tbat will you found was an old one, and does not bold. There was a later one—leaving everything to Tom’s young daughter and his adopted sen, provideil’ they married when the girl became of age?” ‘* Bab! you are lying!” ** Don’t you wish you could pring yourself to think so? But you can’t. You have always really believed ‘that another will existed, else you would not bave bad a private search made when you were in Iowa.” ‘Pooh! you are talking to idle ears. Sup- pose such ajthing were possible as the exis‘ once of a later will—bow would it affect me?” “Tn a way you little dream of. Stepher you have, sooner or later, got to give vp ‘iom’s money, principal and interest, and don’t y ou for- et it.” a Who to, pray!—you ?” “Qb, no! I’m out of the question. I'm a wandering rogue, with a reward on my bead, and due publicity might give mean undesirable vacation behind prison bars, I can, however, put you up in points, and perbaps win a suffi- ciency of your favor, in this way, that you wouldn’t hesitate to give me a lift toa few buu- dreds,” ; “Your bright anticipations are doomed to %
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Sree et ee eclipse, sir, I assure you. However, if you have anything further to. communicate of in- terest, go stead.” “Well, I suppose I might as well do it!” and David Dore glanced on either side to see if any- one was witbin ear-shot. ‘‘ First, however, we had better begin somewhere near the beginning —for instaace, at the time of the murder,” he gan. **Go ahead!” '“* Well, with revenge in my heart, I followed our brother West from Virginia, 1 found bim Jo- cated upon a new farm, in lowa, milesfrom any other habitation. This satisfied me that I could effect a successful consummation of my scheme. Before visiting the cabin, I got nerved up, bya eae supply of whisky, and then set forib. found Tom’s wife alone, at the cabin, and when she refused to give me up the money, I brained ber, 1 had learned from her that Tom was at work, in a distant water-course, secur- ing fire-wood, The children were visiting at a neighbor's. I left a paper, proclaiming my crime, Whisky made me glory in such an act of bravado, I then went in search of Tom. I found him, and a desperate struggle ensued. I thought I had killed him, finally, and hid the body in a lonely swamp. I then bided my time, waylaid the children, and captured them, and bore them miles and miles from the scene of my crime, I had no intention of killing them. For years I kept them well-cared for, but really imprisoned, in a wild mountain retreat, I bad no desire to slay them, for I bad secured Tom’s latest will from the cabin, and meant to turnit to good use, when they grew up. Mi As they B svwd older, they came to regard measa hated enemy, und on five or six differ- ent cccasions esca me, but by a liberal use of money, I always succeeded in recapturing them, On the last occasion, however, when they esca they visited my own quarters, to kill me, resume, but I was away; so they stole the tin safe, containing Tom’s will, and some other papers, which will enable the girl, with her sharp wits, to pick out who and what sho is, and where ber fortune ties.” ** And you have not found her?” Stephen Dore uttered these words in a gasp- ing, spasmodic sort of way. His face was not as florid as usual, and it was lain that be began to apprebend unpleasant pending results. “No! she has not been found. I, myself, have traced her bere, to New York, but there the trailends, I have feared to employ regular de- tectives, as there was danger of getting the mutton into the fire. I tried to work in ashrewd young fellow, but he was too much forme, He st telegraphed and found out that I did not belong where I claimed to, and then denounced me as an impostor, and refused to work for me, “That is strange. How came he to do this?” “Simply from the fact that another party had previously tried to engage him, to work up the same case!” “The deuce! Who is this other party?” “My bitterest foe, and everlasting pursuer. He is a Chicago sleuth, and he searches for me witha ketful of charges, and requisitions from different States, for my arrest. He is known as Peleg Prancer!” “Ah! then be is not after the girl?” ** Aio’t he? Well, I should smile, if be wasn't! Stepben, he wants the girl as bad as either of us—and for natural causes, too!” Stephen Dore glared at his brother inquir- ingly. David nodded and smiled. “You are not slow to comprehend, no more than I am!” he averred. ‘it is Ke, sure enough!” f “Ten thousand furies! Where is he?” ‘(He arrived in New York about the time I did, having come from the Exst, where the game was caged.” ‘** Do you not know his present whereabouts?” “Not to-day, I expect to, soon, however, He has employed a detective name Driscoll, to work for bim. I have hunted Driscoll up, and bribed him to my side. He is a keen devil, and open to money. I offered bim five thou- sand dollars to make Mr. Prancer the subject for an inquest, and another five to deliver the girl to me, together with the safe.” “Gooe! It is plain you have not lost all your Jodamesnt, Have you an idea where the rl is i “Not exactly. If Driscoll cannot find her, mo one can.” **Does be suspect her actual valuef” *’ Not that I am aware of.” Manhattan Mike, the “And what do you propose to do, if she is delivered to you?” “Simply this: make myself solid for life, by forcing you to divy up Tom’s boodle, and then “ee girl over to you,to do with as you will! “So! so! You are playing a cute game, ain’t you? What if I refuse?” : “Then, I'll produce ample proofs of who the girl is, and she shall turn vou out of doors, and I'll kill you in the bargain!” ‘*So you think you’ve got me, dead to rights, eh Whatif I should raise an alarm, and give you into the custody of the police?’ David Dore laughed, grimly. ‘It would be the last act of your life, I warn you. I amabad man to trifle with, as you'll find out, if you are squeamish, in the least. So you bad better play safe with me, for half, than play for the whole, and lose all!” ‘“‘T am notso sure of that—yet I must have time to consider. Where is this step-son of our brother—or adopted son. I never beard of him, before.” “Didn’t you? Well, he is known as Edward Shields, and was with Dora, when they escaped. The girl came here, andI dare say Shields has joined her.” Stephen Pore poured out a glass of wine, and lit a cigar, “Tt is plain that wo must work to save an unwelcome accident!” he said, his brows drawn into a scowl, ‘Therefore, I will take you into ye sehr and when we are mutually satis- ed that all obstacles have been positively removed, beyond peradventure, "ae and I will share the inbertgance equally. see no other way to prevent a disgraceful explosion.” “You have good judgment, worthy of a king!” David asserted, rabbing his bands with lee, ‘I will, then, in foreign climes, snap my ngers at the law that would crush me here,” ** Well let us adjourn then. When you learn more you can notify me by mail.” “*Correct! But, Stephen, considering all the expense and trouble I have been to, can't you put up for Driscoll’s services?” ‘*T have no such amount of money, with me. We will meet here to-morrow, and fix the matter up.” Tobey then arose and quitted the restaurant, not suspecting that a person had been swallow- ing a square meal,a few feet in the rear of where they had sat, and had, likewise, been swallowing almost every word they had uttered, for they had not spoken cautiously and he listened with intense solicitude, This person was Manhattan Mike, He bad at last “dropped” upon a windfall, having been seated there before the entrance of the Dores, as if directed by some invisible good genius, CHAPTER IX, DORA. WarrtinG until the two Dores had fairly left the restaurant, Minhattan Mike arose and fol- lowed them, at a respectful distance, not de- siring to be discovered by them, They soon separated, however, Stephen Dcre taking an up-town elevated train, and David Dore proceeding further down town, on foot, It was him Mike desired to trace to his lair, for knowledge of his whereabouts might prove invaluable ata later stage in the drama. First, Dore went to Broadway, and visited several steamship offices, along that busy thoroughfare; ‘*T smell a large-sized rat!” Mike mused as he kept in the background, ‘‘ Davy the duck, pro- poses to get off of terra firma, as soon as he clinches onto the divy his brother has promised him. A cunning duffer, is Davy, and I shall have to watch out be don’t get ahead of me.” After his visits to the ticket offices, Dore made his way to a cheap lodging-house, on the Bowery, and disappeared therein Knowing the manager of the place, Mike bad little diffi-ulty in finding the location of the villain’s apartment, and also learned that he had paid for the room a week in advance. Satisfied that he needed no particular watch- ing, for the present, Mike then made bis way toward his own lodgings, where he putin the balance of the day in sleep, and in figuring out the singular case with which be bad been con- nected, Not until fouro’clock in the afternoon did he again venture forth to a make a tour of such r sorts as he judged either Ned Shields or Peleg Prancer might frequent, but up to night- fa)l, be had found no trace of them. Then he returned to bis room, to await the coming of Nora und Dora Dore. They made their appearance at the proper | Bowery Blood. SS TUE time, Nora ushering the pretty beiress into the young detective’s presence with an air of triumph. Miss Dore grew pale, at sight of Manhattan Mike, and made a movement to escape from the room, but Nora prevented, by ciosing and lock- ing the door and putting the key in her pocket. **Don’t be skeart, Carrie. This is my best friend, Mr. Mike Maverick, better known as Manhattan Mike. He’s a perfect gentleman, and ye needn’t be afeard of him.” ‘*But you have deceived me, Nora. I sup- posed I was to meet one of your lady ac- quaintances,” ‘I didn’t tell you so, did 1?’ “‘ No—but—” ‘Pray be seated, Miss Dore, and have no fear of me, for you will find in me your warmest friend!” Mike said, politely. Dora started and grew still paler, as she stared in alarm at the Bowery Blood, Sbe was by allodds the aye girl he bad ever encountered, thought Mike, even though her attire was not as fine as rightfully became her station, in life, “Sirf Why—bow—!” she stammered; words refused to come to her aid, and tears sprung into her eyes. ‘*] pray you will be seated, dear lady,” Mike urged, placing ber achair, ‘Instead of being lured into the trap of your enemy, as you seem vo believe, you have been brought to one whose special object it is to right your wrongs. Wili you not accept tbis brief explanation, until I can furtber convince you?” She sunk reluctantly upon the seat, very lit- tle of the pallor leaving her otherwise rosy cheeks. “You will pardon me, sir, but to me it seems incredible that you, a perfect stranger, could be my friend.” “No doubt of it, in my mind, dear Miss Dore. Iam aware of many of the trials you bave had to undergo, because of your uncle’s villainy, but, I assure you as a friend, and asa detec- tive, that there is an end to all things, and so there is an end to David Dore’s machinations!” “ Are you a detective, sir?” * T have the honor of being one of that craft,” ‘““You bet, Mike’s just a daisy detective!” Nora assured, proudly, ‘Mike and I are old chum,sand I expect be’ll be making a detectivess out of me one of these days.” ‘‘Is David Dore dead, sirf’ Dora asked anxiously, without noticing Nora’s remark. ‘** No—hbe’s just as lively as a flea, bat bis live- liness is going to get bim into trouble, before many moons, and don’t you forget it! Do co know anything in respect. to your early life, Miss Dore?” ‘‘] know that I was abducted, together with my adopted brother, and was told that my fatber and mother bad been killed. David Dore told us this. For years he held us as. captives. The reason be assigned for this was, that the man who bad murdered my parents, was searching the world over, for us, with a desire to take our lives, and it was necessary to keep us secreted in order to escape his vengeance. ‘As we grew older, we grew to disbelieve, and to regard our uncle as a wicked, and de- signing man. Onenight we overheard him talk- ing in his sleep, and learned enough to cause us to believe that he was the murderer of our parents, and that we were heirs to a Jarge fortune, leff by my fetber, and that David Dore was withholding from us our rights, in order to perfect a pecuniary scheme of his own. ‘Time and again we tried to escape our cap- tor, but in every instance he succeeded in re- taking us, and each time punished us more and more severely, until endurance ceased to be a virtue. It was useless, bowever, for us to seek to baffle or elude bim, for be was a very demon on our trail, Our last incarceration was im a supposed private asylum run by a D ctor Santley, in New Hampshire—an asylum only in name, however, as no demented, or diseased patient ever entered there, it being merely a prison for victims of evil and designing persons, who were willing to pay the ‘ Doctor’ for Lis accommodations and vile services,” ‘*'Yours has been a sad Jot, Miss Dore. What ou have told me is not pew to me, although t has been known only a few hours, I heard David Dore réciting tbe whole remarkable story to his brother, this very afternoon,” ‘* His brother?’ “ Yes—Stepben Dore—your other uncle, who possesses all your father’s wealth.” ‘**T was not aware I had another uncle, sir!” “Then David Dore has no doubt kept you in ignorance of the fact. Your father had two brotters. The way matters have finally been
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, i ie ee ———— PROP A REE EE RS. sete, Le I a NE tt, patie : REPS Sneha BE RSS Aa ee 2 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. ——— arranged between them is for the two brothers to share the wealth equally, and that you and another are to be captured and forever put out of the way.” Dora’s lip quivered. * You do not mean to tell me, sir, that another terrible murder is contemplated?’ ‘* Just that, Miss Dore. Were you to fall in- to their hands, your life would not be worth speaking for.” “Merciful Heaven! am I yet to be bunted down after my long years of suffering and sus- pense? I shall go mad, sir, if I have to stand the worriment much longer!” “Do not worry in the least, dear lady. In me you have anearnest friemd, who is as true as ateel, Trust tome and I will bring everything to rights, in due time. If you follow my direc- tions they’ll have a good time-finding you. D» you possess the trunk—a small tin safe, I be- lieve—which contains among other documents, your father’s last will?” ‘*No, my adopted brother, Ned, took charge of that when weseparated for the purpose of throwing pursuers off the track. fs was to meet me, per appointment in Herald personals, as soon as he arrived from Boston, but he did not, and I have not heard from him since we p irted.” “J rather opine he’s here, though!” Mike announced. ‘* What sort of a snoozer is he, any- how?” ‘Ned is a nice, kind young man—a little wild sometimes, but good-hearted and trusty. We liave both been buffeted about since infancy, you know, and Ned has a violent temper, and a sort of mania—an abhorrent dread of my terrible uncle. I do believe he fears my uncle more than apy other being upon the face of this earth” © ** He's a queer ’un, anyhow. I got on his frail other night. He was gving to commit suicide in the river, but I stopped him, and he got mad and pitched me overboard in front of the boat. **Ob! mercy!” “Fact! I got out, though, a wetter but wiser man. Since then I haven’t seen his nibs.” ‘It is very strange he should have attempted to commit suicide,” Dora said, ‘‘although he ‘has several times become very melancholy over being a bunted man.” **T suppose — have examined the contents of the safe—that is, you know it was your father’s wish that he should become your foster-brother’s wife?’ “Yes, That is known to me, but it is a matter of very little importance, as Ned and I have both agreed that such a match is undesir- able for either of us. Ned bas sworn to stick by me, Satie be thick and thin, but he loves a ‘Western girl, and will marry her some day, no doubt.” “Well, before we can do much for you, Miss Dore, it will be necessary to find this fellow, Shields, and obtain the last will of your father. This will not be the hardest job, however. How we will force Stephen Dore to givé up your rightful fortune, except by law, is rot quite so plain to me,‘and you are aware that the law is a tough customer to fight, except you have all the right on your side, and a power of money to back it up.” **T reckon, young feller, it won't be of any need fer ye ter go ter Jaw!” a disagreeable voice cried, and the door was burst open, and half a dozen rough-looking rowdies entered, headed by Bob Driscoll! Each man grasped a dirk-knife except Dris- coll, who instantly covered Manhattan Mike with a bull-dog revolver, ‘*Not a peep, ye bla’guard!” the villainous detective growled. ‘‘Ye know none of the neighbors loves ye, an’ ef ye try any monkey bizness we'll leave two of ye for the coruner to look at tc-morry!” Manhattan Mike was taken so wholly by sur- eles that they had an undeniable ‘‘drop” on im before he could make a move, His courage was not daunted, and he put on a bold front. ‘Hello! What the blazes d’ye call this sort of thing?” he cried siernly. ‘‘ What d’ye mean by breaking into my rvom in this fashion?” _ * We mean that ther por telongs to We, Us and Company!” Driscoll declared, grimly, ‘an’ swe mean business, If ye try to raise an alarm, ve kin bet you'll never raise another one. Boys, lind and gag the bloody Bowery cuss. Hf he attempts resistance I’ll puta bullet through him. No fear any one will inquire into the cause of a pistol-report in these quarters, I assure you. If there is any trouble, there is more ways than ou, out of this building.” Oe en, rer Ser es — Manhattan Mike at once saw that resistance was next to useless, Driscoll’s companions were of the roughest characters from tbe slums, and fit for any crime that would yield them gain, and Mike knew only too well that their leader was no better than were they Should he attempt to fight them off, there seemed little doubt but that be would -be disabled—perhaps killed, while it was possible that both Nora and Dora would be used even as badly; so, when the roughs advanced, he made no move to frustrate their intention, until— A sudden thought occurred to bim. Directly behind bim was a window ‘which opened into a court, or area, which was a dis- | tance of about twelve feet to the pave, Daring his knock-about life, Mike had not failed to learn his little mite of athletics and gymnastics, and a sudden resolve entered his mind; he would try a desperate undertaking. If he received injury, it was no more than be was likely to be subjected to at the hands of Bob Driscoll. As the roughs came toward him he suddenly turned a backward somersault. There was a crash, and a eer of window-sasb, glass, Manhattan Mike, and all. The astonished roughs, with a their head, sprung to the opening, with cries of as- tonishment, and glared down into the darkness below. At the bottom lay the fragments of the win- dow-sash, but the daring detective was not to be seen. ‘*He bas escaped!” Driscoll cried, with an oath, ‘Quick! we must get out of this!” They turned, seized Dora, threw a shawl over her head, and carried her bodily from the room. A blow from Driscoll’s vicious fist laid Nora senseless upon the floor. Darker than the shades of Styx was Hester street that night, and the villains bad no diffi- culty in getting their captive into the close cab that was waiting by the curb. Driscoll and another man also got in, and the vehicle drove off. At the corner of the next block, a sturdy and yet stylish figure darted out from the shadows, and began to give chase, He found, however—for it was the Bowery Blood—that he was mo match for the two horses in the race, and finally stopped, out of breath, and very much disappointed. “They’ve got her, sure enough!” he gritted, ‘and Heaven only knows where they will take her. Forthe present Iam baffled, but Pll swear it shall not be long. Ill yet find her, or it will be something queer for a Blood like me, from the Bowery.” Seeing no possible chance of immediately learning whither Dora was to be taken, Mike set out on his return to his lodgings, to see how Nora had fared; but on arriving at his room, be found Nora gone, and thet none of the other occupants of the tenement appeared to know anything of what had occurred. After a few moments of deliberation, he once more started forth. PE ae, was undoubtedly safe; but what of Dora ore She must be found, and that too, very soon or the chances were she would never be heard of again. First he made his way to a telegraph office on Broadway, and sent the following message: * Jo Tae Mayor or Curer or Potice 6f Chicago, Tl; “Is David Dore, criminal, wanted? If ‘so, for what, and price?’ sf He then burried back to the Bowery, and to the lodging house where Dore’s room was lo- cated, Inquiry of the manager revealed the fact that Dore was still in his room, which Mike regarded as good news. ‘It is now but a matter of time and circum- stances!” be muttered. ‘1 have got to watch the every movement of Davy, in order to find out the whereabouts of Dora. Driscoll, or some of bis gang, will surely communicate with David, and that. too, very likely, before any harm is done to Dora.” And, just one hour later, Mike bad the satis- faction of seeing Dore leave the lodging-house, It was now to be a game of shadowing! CHAPTER X. ON THE TRAIL. On leaving the ery pe anger David Dore looked sharply around him as if suspicious that watchful eyes were upon bim; but Manhattan Y.-S ee EE ee ae eee Mike was quartered in a dark doorway across the way, and the keen gaze of the arch villaiu failed to see his enemy. Walking along the Bowery to Prince street, and thence to Crosby street and thence into Marion street, David Dere entered one of the groggeries on this street, and remained within the ordinary space of time for a man to quaff a glass of beer, He then reappeared, end looked cautiously up and down the street. In a doorway, where shadows were dense enough to conceal a human form, stood Man- hattan Mike, watching his prey with the ey mage — ) |
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in - “and the girl took then with the ~ “Well, to tell the truth, I propose to slam Mike went through his work without arousing it!” Mike declared, grimly. ‘‘ That is to say, I mean to go trapping for foxes, and collar a lit- tle fur, to line my pocket-book. Did you ever see this?’ amd he exhibited his badge, whereat the lodging-house manager whistled. “T see! Isee!” he commented. : | | Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. 2 the sleeper. When David Dore awakened, be found the Bowery Blood sitting on the bed beside him, toying with a dangerous-looking knife. ‘Sh! Not a peep or I'll stick ye!” Mike ad- monished. ‘I mean bizness, Davy, and if you ‘*And you likewise perceive the enormity of | don’t want to die before the law gives you a the importance of my present visit. rascal, Dore, is a villain of the first water, and it is my business, as a representative of the re- quirements of legal jurisdiction to investigate the way and means of Davy’s manner of sub- sistence, and so forth. Therefore, suspecting that David will soon return, laden down with the spoils of a nocturnal pilgrimage, I desire to be granted the: privilege of concealing myself in his room, hoping to hear much that will in the future embellish the police records, and make for the penny daily periodicals of the present time.” : y And after delivery of this bit of talk, Mike seized upon his jaw, as if in fear it would break. Jem June put up his hands, imploringly. “Don’t!” he said. ‘‘ Another infliction of that kind, will be my death.” “Well, Pll drop on the dictionary, then. In lain, solid Latin, I want you to let me into re’s room, so that when be returns, I can hear and see all that transpires. I’m working up aserious case, Jem, and my success all de- pends on getting into his room.” . “Can't do it, young man—can’t doit, That would be an offense for which I might get a long term of imprisonment!” ‘Bah! Nonsense! What are the laws? Is not every citizen expected to lend justice a helping band‘ I say, Jem June, i’m goin’ to occupy David’s room, and if you don’t aid and abet me in my plans, I'll pull you up before police eourt for being Dore’s accomplice in crime. Oh! but there’s nothing slow about me ?? June was not a city-bred individual, nor was his intellectual accomplishments of the highest order, and he really knew very little about the laws: hence, was not certain but what Manhat- tan Mike could make him trouble, of which, in his honest heart, be had a great horror. : After a little parley, he consented to Mike’s proposition, and within a few minutes the de- teciive was under the bed, which Dore was to occupy, should he come In, eee It was a cramped and uncomfortable posi- tion; but with true detective patience, the Blood of the Bowery waited, satisfied he would learn enough to repay him for his trouble. It was three o’clock in the morning, ere a key turned in the lock, David Dore then entered the room, closing and securing the door after him. Mike got a glimpse of his face, to see that it reflected sat arn and triumph in a superla- tive It told to Mike that the villain was cognizant of Dora’s capture, and had very likely seen r, Dore a; fatigued, however, and threw off his coat with a growl. f “Well, the once more, and if muttered. dog, and he'll not be apt to let her escape; when by vigilance for a short bey he can lay his hand upon ten thousand ollars, Ob, no!” nO Delaecne the jailer ehf’ Mike mused, gi still alive and safe. So far, so ood! The important thing is to find out where iscoll bas his bird caged. If Dore can’t vouch- safe me the information, there’s another way to find out. In r Byrnes can easily fur- nish men to watch Driscoll’s movements.” Dore did not further pr he bis thoughts in words, but took a drink of liquor from a pocket- flask, and then threw himself upon the bed, without arching, F If the sleep of the unrighteous is not sound. Dore’s case must have been particularly an ex- ception, for his peery snoring soon proclaimed him to be in a deep sleep. The first streaks of early dawn began to shoot at the window, ne pila oe that what was to be done must one quickly. Creeping cautiously from beneath the bed, he a good look at the sleeper to make sure that he was wholly unconscious; then he looked some means of binding Dore’s at ols ing more convenient, he bound the two iow bs a rack, which he then tw or the purpose. ie i Dore haa ieabibed. helped to dead on his slumber, so that he did not awaken, and we eT This royal | chance, you’ll be discreet. Otherwise the coro- ner will’ be culled here to make an inquest dur- ing the coming day. D’yehear me?’ “T fancy I am oot deaf,” Dore growled, mak- ing an unavailing attempt to burst his linen bonds. “‘ You infernal young whelp of Satan, what do you mean by this sort of business? Re- lease me, at once!” ““When the swallows homeward fly, Davy, rhaps I may—that dependin’ altogether on ow you conduct yerself. Ye see, Davy, I’m dead on ter yer little racket, an’ I intend ter work ye the same asI would a gold mine, If ye pan out well, so good! It ye don’t, all hopes o’ yer bein’ a success, aire a dead open-an’- shut failure. So you see there’s but one course fer you to pursue, an’ it behooves you to tra- vel along it faster than on a jog-trot, you bet.” ‘‘Bah! You are a barking cur. If I get free [’ll make you sorry for this indignity!” the villain declared, savagely. ‘I'll cry for help and have you arrested, curse you!” “Try it on, old rooster. If you try anything of that sort, [ll mighty quick shove ye inter the Tombs for the murder of Thomas Dore’s wife!” Mike warned. ‘‘ The factis, Davy, your ball of yarn aire about run out to the end,and ye might as well make a clean out an’ out breast of matters, an’ thus stand a chance o’ getting legal leniency.” “Tl do nothing of the kind,” the villain de- clared. ‘'D’ye think I fear an upstart like ou? I guess not! You'll find you’ve got hola of the wrong sort of a bad man when you try to work me.” “That's where you mistake, Davy. A man of you’re bad character is the just the sort of a hairpin I like to bend into shape, Ye see, there’s more fun in working a real out-and-out- er, than there is a tame, ninety nine cent vil- lain—more real enthusiasm ina victory of this sort, And, as it happens that I have you com- pletely at my mercy, you will see that I've every reason for enjoying the situation to a greater extent than youcan.” ‘*You are remarkably good of gab, for a green kid; but, pray tell us how you presume to have gained any power over me?” ‘* Kasy enough. lieving you are wanted in Chicago, 1 have telegraphed declaring my capa- bility of laying hands on you at a minute’s notice, I expect an answer early in the morn- ing, announcing that an officer has been sent te take you to the scene of your former crimes!” Dore looked uneasy at this. “ You lie!” he gritted. A “Bet your life I don’t! Mike calmly as- sured. “TI overheard your interesting conver- sation with your brotber Stephen yesterday, and concluded it was about time for me to take a band in the game. It’s a real dramatic scheme you've F 5d up against Dora Dore, ain’t it? But you'll find to your sorrow that it won’t work.” “* Won't it, though?” ‘* No, it won’t it! I'll knock smithereens out of that scheme before I’m off this trail, you can bet on that! Now, sir, what I desire to know is—where ’ve you got the girl shut up?” ‘‘ What girl?” “Ob! don’t be so innocent! Where is Dora Dore?” woke @ sup I know, confound you! D'ye think I’m a general directory ?” $ ‘You're a general idiot to suppose that you can shut my eye up. Dora Dore was abducted last night—for it’s now ’most morning, from my room, and Driscoll abucted her for you. You afterward went to the place where she is held a captive. I dogged you for a ways, but final lost track of you. When you re-entered th room awhile ago, I heard you say that she was caged, which proves that you were at the cage. Now, sir, you’ve got to tell me where Dora is secreted |” ** May I never see another sunrise if I do!” the villain sneered. “ ou think T’d give up the game, young feller, when it’s all in our own ante, you're the most mistaken youthful jack- ass that ever brayed.” ‘*So you are inclined to be mulish, are youf” Mike growled, bis face hardening. ‘It won't work with me. Davy, I’m not a perfect saint by any means, and I give you fair warning I don’t get a straight and truthful answer from Kon you will get seriously burt.” ** I'll never tell you—I’ll see you in purgatory / 13 first, a hear me, you whelp!” and the desper- ate schemer looked decidedly as if he meant it. Manhattan Mike allowed no trace of disap- pointment to cross his face. ““Pvea mind to knife you for your obstinacy !” he declared grimly. ‘“ lvea better plan than that, however. I'll go out, get an officer, and escort you to ‘ess comfortable quarters at one of our police stations. When the proper authority arrives from Chicago, you will undoubtedly be treated to a picturesque trip across the conti- nent, as far as Cnic-ia-ago!” And rising from the bed, he made a move to leave the room. Sa Dore flung a torrent of curses after im. “Go on with your apple-cart! You'll see where you'll come out. Put me in jail, if you dare, and I'l! outwit you then. Go abead, I say, but look you out for your life once I get my freedom! I’ll cut your heart out as sure’s there ; isa sharp Knife to be found in America!” CHAPTER XL. CAGING A ** CORKER.” MANHATTAN MIKE paid no attention to the threat, but left the room and locked the door behind him. Descending to the office, he foand the light turned low and Jem June‘snoring away,.as he sat tipped back in bis office chair. Awakening bim by a rough shake, Mike gave him the keys, and said: “Mind, now, if there’s anynoise up there, you go and make the fellow dry up. Ili be back to arrest him directly.” He had fully made up his mind on this course of action as being the most sensible thing he could do. To allow David Dore his freedom once more would be literally equivalent to signing poor Dora’s death-warrant. Straight to the nearest police-station he went, and after making a complaint against Bob Dris- coll, returned to the Bowery, accompanied by a couple of officers. Dore was taken in custody and conducted to the station-house, but not without his treating M Sorte and the policemen to.a fearful torrent of abuse. Warning the sergeant not to allow the pris- oner to be admitted to bail if it could be helped, until he (Mike) got advice from Chi the Blood once more took himself back the Bowery. It was now broad daylight, and Mike’s first action was to get away with a good breakfast at one of the respectable restaurants, His next move was to visit, the helepalsoeniny from which he had dispatched to Chicago, A message bad just been received, which said: “Dave Dore wanted. Hold him until special offi- cer with requisitions arrives.” It_was signed by the chief of police. “He don’t mention any reward!” Mike mut- tered. “I'll bet, if there is one, Pll sock in my claim for it. This playin’ detective for nothing, and boarding one’s self in the bargain, aint hardly what it’s cracked me to be. Reckon, mebbe, ef Dora gits her rights, she’ll divy up sensible-like,” ‘ This, however, was something akin to count- ing chickens before they were hatched. ‘om the telegraph office be made his way to Sixth avenue and Fourteenth street, and spent a full bour in ree the sal Ss as they came along and entered Macy’s to begin their day’s work. ut, though he watched, be saw nothing of Nora, and at once formed the conclusion foat some ill had befallen her from the trouble of the previous night. owing where she dwelt, he turned his steps toward the dismal street, and hurried along anxiously. In passing a police station be was in time to see a trio of men carrying a man inside from an ambulance, Some intuition he could not account for caused him to follow into the station to get a glimpse of the unfortunate’s face. What, then, was bis sur- prise to see lying upon the stretcher no lessa personage than the redoubtable Peleg Prancer! He was insensible, and bg his brow was a ragged wound, where he had been struck by some rough instrument or object, “Hello! I know this man!” Mike cried. “His name is cer, Where did ye find bim?’ “ Lyin’ down es 0’ the East river docks,” was the answer. uess some one tapped him | an’ throwed him imto the river, and he crawled outa for his clothes. He’s the second hos pital case this morning.” , is 2 £ ai a ie we
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14 ‘* He must not go there!” Mike said, exbibit- ing his badge. ‘There is important bu iness ou foot for him, and I do not believe his injury wiil disable him after he recovers consciousness, I will see that he is cared for.” Restoratives were promptly applied, and in due time Peleg Prancer opened his eyes. He looked grimly enough at the officers, but his face lighted upa little at sight of the Bowery lood, ‘*By hokey! Is thet you, younker?” he cried, sitting up and grinving at the young blood as if pleased. ‘Glad to see you. What's the mat- ter of me?” ‘* Nothing much, only some one has been rap- ping you on the head. Didn’t you know about it?” Prancer scratched his head, ‘‘ Well, now that I come to think about it, I ' reckon I do, I had an appointment to meet some one down by East river last night, and was waitin’, when, furst I knowed, [ didn’t know nothing. I was conscious of tumbling in- to the river, and had sense enough to get out. That’s all [ remember occurring until now.” ‘1 presume you have an idea who assaulted you?’ Mike said. ‘‘I have.” ‘It does not matter!” Prancer hastily replied, ** Come along with me boy, till I get my wound tinkered and we can get matters fixed up later op. The officers were not inclined to let Prancer go, but at Manhatten Mike’s demand Prancer was permitted to accompany him from the sta- tion-house, They went to the nearest doctor, where the wound was dressed, after which they set out en route down-town, Mike having abandoned the idea of hunting up Nora for the present, On the way the subject of the assault upon ncer was more fully discussed, ‘*You were to meet Bob Driscoll, weren’t you?” Mike asked. “Yes, I was. What of it?” ‘Lots! I thought you’d soon get your fill of that snoozer!” ** You think he struck me, do ye?’ ‘J should snicker! He’s as bad at heart as any cut-throat in the city. D’ye miss any col- lat?” “No. I didn’t have much with me, and there’s none of it gone.” ‘*What were you to meet Driscoll in such an out-of-the-way place for?’ Mike queried, eying’ the Yankee keenly. “ He claimed he had found where my dangh- ter waa, andif I met him there he would take me to her.” ‘*Hal hal hal And you were fool enough to believe him?” : ‘*T considered his word good, although my confidence in him has not been growing since jast I met you.” “T was afraid you'd get bit. It’s lucky, how- ever, that you're no worse for wear. I know this Driscoll and all about him, and I trust that we'll find him behind the bars before sunset!” ‘Ye don’t say? What will that be for?” ‘For deviltry in general, but most important just now, for abduction.” ‘© What?” ‘For abduction.” **Not—not of my Gracie?” “ No—not of your Gracie, but of your daugh- = a Mr. Thomas Dore!” and ke 1] . The Yankee started violently, and gave Mike a sharp, searching glance, ‘* What d’ye mean?” be growled, evidently in bad bumor, ‘* I mean that the Prancer racket won’t work worth a cent. Its b’iler is cl’ar bu’sted, and ‘tain’t fit for use no longer, Ye see, I’ve inves- tigated the bull affair, mas, and all thet I have found out wouldn’t go inside of a diction- ary. Prancer are very good to stuff turkeys with, but no good fer stuffin’ Bowery shang- highs, you can bet! So you see, you and I might as well understand each other, first as last. You’re Thomas Dore, an’ ye seeketh fer can pagel brother, David, and your daughter, ora The scowl did not leave the man’s face. ‘* Well, what if all you say is true?” he de- manded curtly, , ‘* A good deal to you, mebbe. If you expect to win a respectable show in the game, you orter to hitch onter the right feller as can hel ye to pal through. The fact is,.Thomas, all your when I first met you was bosh. Why were you searching for Gracie?” ; “Gracie is Dora Grace Dore.” “ a see y” “* Well, you’ve cheek enough, that’s one fact,” Manhattan Mike, Dore retorted, still in ill-humor. ‘‘I am rather averse to young men who cut their wisdom teeth a week after birth. They generally bave a superfluous sort of idea that they know more than their elders.” ‘* And in many instances such is the fact of the case!” Mike unblushingly declared. “I don't pretend to be the seventh of a seventh, nor nothin’ like that, but I generally know how to relish a square meal when I see it, or kick a square package lying on the sidewalk when | want to let my toes know they are growing too progressive.” ‘Well, go abead and let me know how well you are informed about my business, since you claim it to be so much to my interest,” “Tl do it. I know that David Dore killed you, or thought he did—killed your wife, an’ abducted your gal an’ your foster-son. On comes your t’other brother, finds a will leavin’ him all yer collat, which he appropriates like a little man, and makes bimself comfortably safe from bein’ troubled by David, by offerin’ a big standin’ reward fer him, Daviddon’t keer. He hangs on ter yer progeny wi’ an eye ter the fu- ture. The aforesaid prog. escapeth David, and the upshot of it is he turns upin New York, business and blood in his eye.” Thomas Dore’s face grew inexpressibly stern, just then. Sor aro sure he is here?” he gritted, sav- agely. ‘“‘ Just as sure as T am that Christmas comes but once a year. I had the pleasure of seeing him locked up, in a police-station, not over a couple of hours ago.” ‘Hal then, take mo there, at once! For many a year I have longed to confront bim, the accursed viper!” ‘‘Whoaup, now! Don’t get excited! You've got to let me run this machine, or I kick, at onc’t.’ “Go ahead, then, boy! Out with all you have tosay. Where is my child?” “That’s jest sum’thin’ I can’t perzactly tell you, because I don’t know,” He then went on to relate about how he had heard the compact between David and Stephen Dore; about his encounter with Ned Shields: and about the abduction of Dora, the night be- fore, which later had resulted in the arrest of David Dore, : 7 When the young detective had finished, Thomas Dore seized bis hand, warmly. ‘* Young man, you are well worthy of your small amount of self-conceit, and you’re one after my liking. Uninvited you have taken hold of a case of but little interest to the ordinary detective, and developed much out of it. [heartily thank you. Henceforth, we will work ftogetber, hand in band, but you shall have the guide, for I believe your knowledge of city life gives youa great advantage over me. But no time must be lost.” “Right you be, A minute lost, now, is very apt to be a mile, Before anything can be done, we must await thefarrival of the Chicago offi- cer, with the requis Se peucte aonat is, before anything can be done with David Dore,” * Not so. I am possessed of the power to ar- rest him, and take him back to Iowa, What charge did you have him arrested on?” ‘*Wife-murder!” Thomas Dore smiled, “Did you mention whose wife he murdered?” ty y ove! I did not. That’s sufficient to me, im, if nothing else is preferred against m. ‘* Perhaps, x The best thing we can do is hasten to the hearing!” Mike glanced at his watch, ‘You are right. We haven’t a minute to spare. After we get that arreuget, we must turn our attention to your other brother, Stephen Dore. It may not be amiss to keep a lamp sbiniog on bis movements, I reckon.” They burried on at a brisk pace. Directly, Manhattan Mike once more glanced at bis watch. ‘*Something tells me we shall be too late!” he said. ‘‘My watch was stopped, when I looked at it, a few minutes ago, It is really later than I had any idea of.” At the first opportunity, they ascertained the time, and found it was nearly after the time when magisterial hearings usually commenced, When they arrived at the room where the police-court hearings took place, they learned that, as nO one was present to appear against Dore, when his case was called, bis bearing had been postponed one day, and the Honorable Stephen Dore bad gone bis bail in the sum of two thousand dollars, Sadly disappointed, the two searchers left the the Bowery Blood. 3 court room, and adjourned to a neighboring saloon, to compare notes, ‘‘Something must be done, instantly!’ Mike declared, ‘‘ or it will be too late. No doubt an immediate attempt will be made to'spirit away your daughter, or kill ber, as you must see that David wil! svek to escape with great haste, re- gardless of two thomsand dollars bail, which is comparatively an insignificant sum, under such circamstances.” . “You are right, what can we do?” ‘The only thing T see to be done, is for you to go and swear out a warrant for his re arrest, showing your authority and stating your rea- sons for doing so. A general alarm will then But, what sball we do— be given!’ : this was at once done; then, at Mike’s sug- gestion, they made their way to the residence of Stephen Dore. Pompey, the negro servant, answered the summons, and bowed politely. ‘‘TIs Mr, Stepben Dore at home?’ Mike askea. **He am not, sah!” “Could you inform me where I will be apt to find him?” 6 septs T can not, sah. Marse Dore in town, sah,” ‘“‘ Has be an office in town!” ** No, sah.” ‘Does he ever hang around Wall street?” “Dunno!” ** Ts Miss Dore in, then?” “No, sah—nobody in, sab!” And bang! went the door, in the faces of the callers, ** Confound the = of blackness, Fetch bim to the door again while | choke the gizzard out of him!” Thomas Dore fumed. ‘* He’s non est now!” Mike said. ‘We will do Wall street, and maybe find Stephen there.” They did goto Wall street, and spent a couple of hours there, looking into the *‘ pens” and ‘*dens” of the ‘ bulls” and “ bears,” but no- where did they find Stephen Dore, “I fear we're on the wrong track,” Thomas Dore said, in a tone plainly telling that he was discouraged. ‘“‘ My poor daughter may be mur- dered before we can get to ber rescue.’ “We must not despair. We may run upon the much-wanted clew before we have the least expectation of so doing.” nd he was right. They bad not ig two blocks, when the suddenly saw Bob Driscoll and Ned Shiel coming down the ew side of the street. ‘In here,” Manhattan Mike gritted, pulling Dore into an Office area, ‘The game is at last ours, oe CHAPTER XII. THE TRAIL NARROWS DOWN. Driscoll and his companion passed on down the street. “Where are they bound for?” Thomas Dore demanded, glaring after them. “That's something I’m not just prepared to tell—its what we must find out,” Mike replied. “Do you know that man who sccompanies Driscoll?” “ Not that Iam aware of. Who is be?” “Your adopted son, of yore— Edward Shields!” ‘What? And be with Driscoll? Then Dris- coll is not false to me.” “Don’t you fool yourself; Ned Sbields is wanted out of the way nearly as much as you are yourself, or your daughter, and I'll bet a new hat against a Bowery bat that he’s now be- ing. led to the slaughter, There’s work before us. ‘*You bave told me that Ned mere the will, Although I still live, it may be necessary for me to possess that.” “Right again. We must follow them, and not lose track of them. We sball bave to be very careful they don’t scent pursuit, and throw us off trail.” ~ They took up the pereu keeping far enongh behind Driscoll and his companion to preven the chase being discovered. Tt was a long pursuit. It really seemed that the renegade detective —for he was really that—was trying to throw pursuers off the trail, for be changed the course from one thoroughfare to another, until it really would have puzzled the wits of a sur- veyor to decide their ultimate destination. They frequently dropped into saloons for a drink, and ere long, by bis unsteady gait, it be- came evident that Ned Shields was feeling the effects of bis potations—a fact which caused Manhattan Mike to remark: “You see bow reasonable is my opinion of aug
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Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. Driscoll, don’t you? He is getting Shields peralyzed, and no doubt will treat him to the same dose that he did you!” But little doubt now tbat Driscoll had some evil intention in view. ‘ts Slowly but surely they were proceeding in a northeasterly course, and nearing the East river. It now became noticeable that nearly every saloon was visited, and that Shields was reall getting beastly drunk—so much so that Driscoll had to take him by the arm. ‘The puddin’ is gittin’ pretty near ripe enough to dip!” Mike observed. Sodvare right. If that scoundrel pushes the boy overboard, I'll shoot bim.” “No you won’t!” “Why not, pray?” “Because in losing him, we are losing the best possible opportunity of findin’ Dora.” “True enough.” “Youbet. You jest let the Blood of the Bowery manage the helm. I£ Driscoll pushes the pigeon in, we'll be there, and you'll rush forward to the rescue, I'll keep glim. Driscoll will take leg bail forsecurity. Vll take the same kind of bail, after bim, and if I drop his trail Il never tackle another one. After you et out of the rescue biz, you come to Thirty- Ninth street and North river and wait about the vicinity until I join you.” It was so settled. The chase seemed nearing its end, as the pur- sued approached the water-front. Driscoll evidently had ‘‘ timed” his arrange ments perfectly. They soon went outupon a pier, where there were no visible signs of business in the imme- diate vicinity. Far below was to be seen the skeleton struc- ture of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was noontide, and a man could have dropped into the river and drowned at that particular point, with little possibility of any one noticing the mishap or crime. Driscoll was talking to his more than half- stupefied companion as they advanced upon the wharf. What he was saying was apparent to his pursuers; he was telling Shields that they would row across the river. As they neared the water’s edge, Driscoll gave a searching glance around; then suddenly throwing his leg in front of Shields, be tripped him, and sent him spinning headlong into the fast flowing tide, and instantly turning, skur- tied from the vicinity, like a frightened deer, looking neither right por left until be consider- ed himself out of danger. He then slackened his pace and gazed search- ingly around him, é¢ was no longer in sight of the dock, and he saw no one in pursuit of him, he resumed his journey at a reasonable pace, looking back only now and then, and at § times seeing no sign whatever of pursuit. et like an avenging Nemesis, the Bowery _ Blood was on his trail; surely and cautiously he was dogging Driscoll to his den. The latter, as Mike bad surmised, was mak- ing his way toward Thirty-ninth street and the North river. _ Here, then, or somewhere adjacent to the vizinity, was Dore conceal It he failed to find her, Mike was ready to de- clare that he would five up the profession, The fair face and winning manners of the young heiress, had deeply impressed him, and although he had no aspirations so high-minded as giving her more than a ing thought, he was eager to be instrumental in restoring her to her rights. The pursuit was kept up without discovery or incident worthy of mention, until they were near the North river. P Then greater caution became more impera- tive; it was too risky for the young detective to get near enouzh to the object of bis pursnit to be recognized, and therefore he had to keép at a considerable dist@nce bebind. Finally, when Driscoll was pretty close in the vicinity of the river, he suddenly wheeled ab- ak ruptly and looked steadily back. otbing doth, Mike came steadily on, and ~ finally knew» that bis advance had lulled any suspicions Driscoll may have entertained; for he turned and -entered a house near where he. had halted. Koen as those of a lynx, were the eyes of Manhattan. Mike, and their gaze never left the doorway where Driscoll bad disappeared, until they bad marked out, beyond mistake, the ex- ect location, leading to the renegade’s rendez- 4 ements, and cecupied by a number of families, although the house that Driscoll entered had more the appearance of bein tenantable for but one family, as a defaced bill of ‘‘To Let,” was pasted on the door. ‘‘That’s the place!” Mike muttered, ‘‘and it now is but a matter of time ereI win. It’s wait, be watchful and patient!” He did not approach nearer to the dwelling,via Thirty-ninth street, but retraced his footsteps, a ways, and took up his position where he could keep a distant eye upon the building, with little | danger of being particularly noticed. For over an hour he kept up bis vigil, and then, to his surprise, he saw no less a person than Nora, the ex-peanut vender approaching, *“Oh! I’m so. glad to find you,” she said. “I know where Dora is concealed !” ‘*Humph!”’ and he chucked her under the chin, “Sodol. But how did you find out?” “T tracked Driscoll this morning.” “I tracked him awhile ago. I’ve been shadowing here, since. whether David Dore is down there or not?” ** Don’t think he is, I’ve been spying around, too, but I’ve seen no one come in or out, except Driscoll, and a nabob-looking man, awbile ago.” | * Ah} te Yes ed “That was Stephen Dore!” Mike mused un- der his breath. Then aloud to Nora: ‘* Has he come out, yet?” ce No.” - ‘Then we want to shadow that building with unceasing Vigilanee. Ah! here come Thomas and Ned.” It was even so. Thomas Dore and Edward Shields now came up, both wet; but as the weather was warm, it mattered not. Ned’s unceremonious ducking had thoroughly dissipated the effects of all of the liquor he had imbibed at Driscoll’s expense, and he was “right side up with care,” once more. After a short chat, and mutual explanations, it wasagreed that all hands should keep a close watch apa the den, where Dora was impris- oned, and thatno one should be permitted to escape, without being arrested. The first man to leave the house was Stephen Dore, and as he came up the street, Manhattan Mike intercepted him. , “One moment, Mr. Dore!” he said, in firm but respectful tones. ‘‘I shall have to request you not to proceed further, just yet, without my pensar ope q “*Indeed! Who are you?’ was the haughty Did he have gray hair and beard?” demand. “J, sir, am generally dubbed Manhattan Mike—Michael Maverick, at your service. I = & detective, sir, and place you under ar- rest. : The rich man’s face paled somewhat. “What d’ye mean?” he growled, frowning. ** This is nonsense!” “‘Nothingof the sort, sir. When I tell you that Lovyerheard your conversation with your brother, David, yesterday and that I know that Dora Dore is imprisoned yonder, and that it is designed to take ber life, tonight, you will see how well I am posted. Mr. Dore, do you want the world of New York to know of your complicity in a murder?” The proud man shuddered, ““By Heaven! no!” be uttered boarsely. **Of course you don’t. Perhaps there is a possible loop-hole for you to esca Out of pity for your daughter, I may be able to spare you. Is David Dore down yonder?” se oper” **T give you my word.” **D> you know where he is?” “Tdonot. I expect he is laying low.” ** He'd better. the girl there?” **She is.” ‘* Safer” “ As far as I know, for the present.” . ** Driscoll is there. ‘*No. He slid out the back way, and has gone in search of David.” “Ts the girl alone?” “Yes. She is bound, and chloroformed, or drugged.” “Stephen Dore, tell the honest truth—don’t bows feel ashamed of yourself for having any nd in this most infamous scheme?” Dore looked guilty. “You are right, ldo. I cannot account for my strange weakness.” ‘Well, be that as it may, there are possibly two chances for you. You see that man over yonder?” “ Yes,” " “That is Thomas Dore!” . Have you any idea | * Well?” “He wants his money and bis daughter. Will you give him up every cent that is his, if | he will allow you to leave New York, and avoid | the disgrace you deserve?” For a moment the man hesitated, and then answered: ‘* By Heaven, I wil?!” ‘*Then await me here, until I find if Thomas Dore agrees to the terms.” Mike crossed the street, and had a long and earnest conversation with Tbomas Dore. When he again returned he said: ‘*Tt is thus settled, for your part. Thomas is | to get his rights, and you are to remain or go, | as you please, but there is never to be any tie of relationship recognized between you hence- forth and for al) time.” Why write more in detail. Dora Dore was promptly rescued from her captivity, and a joyous reunion took place be- tween her and ber father and foster-brother. Then, after setting the police to watch for | Driscoll and David Dore, Manhattan Mike es- ecorted Dora to the St. Nicholas, while Thomas Dore and Stepben set out to effect a proper restoration of rights; and it was, as far as was ever known, satisfactorily settled. At any rate, Thomas Dore got his money back, with interest, and when a short time after, Stephen Dore left New York, accom- panied by his daughter, it was not as a poor man, | Tracy Travis turned out about as badly as the average young man of bis unscrupulous class; gambled, drank, married twice in a month, and had to suddenly disappear. Two days after the settlement, among per- sons who viewed two corpses that lay in the Morgue, were Stepben and Thomas Dore. The unfortunates bad been found drowned in North river, and were David Dore and Bob Driscoll. Probably the two Dores were the only ones who ever really knew their identity, and they locked the secret in their own breasts, To say that Manhattan Mike received a sub- stantial reward would be ‘drawing it mild,” for be could afford to retire from the “‘ perfcsh’ and marry; and marry he did—Dora!/ And Nora so captivated Ned Shields that he got over bis unsteady habits, and became a shin- ing light in business circles. t was afterward found out that David Dore and Tracy Travis were both connected in tbe heiress scheme as well as in a counterfeiting business, to which the letters in Travis’s pocket- book undoubtedly had reference. ; THE END. Beatles Weekly The Best Weekly of Popular, Entertain= ing and Useful Literature Pub- lished in America! Its Unrivaled Corps of Contributors, almost all of whom write ercliusinesy for its publishers—embraces the following authors of world wide repute— Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Albert W. Aiken, Capt. Fred. Whittaker, Capt. 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Ingraham, 265 The Tiger Tamer, By Captain Fred, Whittaker. 266 Killb’ar, the Guide, By Ensign Warren. 26T The Buckskin Detective. By T. C. Harbaugh, 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail. By E. L. Wheeler, 269 The Geld Ship. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 970 Bliszard Ben. By Captain Mark Wilton, 871 The Huge Hunter. By Edward 5. Elli, ; 272 Minkskin Mike, By Ol) Coomes, 278 Jumbe Joe. By Kdward L. Wheeler, 274 Jolly Jim. By Charles Morris 275 Arizona Jack. By Buockskiz Sam, 876 Merle Monte’s Orulse. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. RTT Denver Doll, By Kdward L. Wheeler, 278 The Three Trappers, By Major Lewis W. Caren. 279. Old Winch, the Rifle King. By T. C. Harbaugh. 280 Merle Monte’s Fate. By Oo). Prentiss Ingraham. 851 Donver Doll's Vistory, By Edward L. Wheele, 282 The Type Detective, By Edward Willett. 288 Indian Joe, By Major Lewis W. Carson. 284 The Sea Marauder. By Colones) Prentiss Ingraham, 285 Denver Doll's Decoy. By Béward L. Wheeler. Bk6 Josh, the Boy Tenderfoot. By Capt. 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Buffalo Ben, the Prince of the Pistol; or, Deadwood Dick No. 8. Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Cooma Wo. 9 Ned Wylde, the Boy Scout. By “Texas Jack” (J. 3B. Ome 808 The Mountain Detective, By T. C. Harbaugh, $08 "Liza Jane, the Girl Miner, By E. L. Wheeler. 804 The Dead Shot Dandy. By Colonel Prentiss! Ingraham 805 Dashaway, of Dakota. By “>arles Morris. 806 Neck-Tie Ned. By Major H. B. Stocanra. B07 The Strange Pard. By Buckskis Sam. 808 Keno Kit, the Boy Bugler's Pard. By Col. P. Ingraham 809 Deadweed Dick’s Big Deal. By K L. Wheeler. 810 The Barranca Wolf. By Joseph EB. Badger, Jn 811 The Roving Sport. By Edward Wilictt. 312 Redtop Rube, the Vigilante Prines. By Maj. EB. L. St Yrata. 818 Oimarron Jack, By Frederick Dewey. 814 The Mysterious Marauder. By Col P. Ingraham S15 Ned, the Oabin Boy. By Jack Farragut, 816 Old Eclipse, Tromp Card of Arisona, By T. C. Harbangh. 81T Peaceck Pete. By Lieutenant Alfred Thorne. 318 Ker-whoop, Ker-whoo! By Buckskin fam, 819 The Black Rider, By Joseph E Badger, Jz, 8320 The Bea Sorceress. By Jack Farragut. 891 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen. By Edward lL. Whesie, S23 Nemo, the Detective. By Edward Willett, 828 Arkazssaw Jack. By Harry Hazard, 324 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective. By Une Morris, 825 Kelley, Hickey & 06 Philadelphia By Edcard L) Wiesler, ”? Raped 6 The T 896 The Ten Pards} or, The Terror of Take-Noties, By 7. @, 827 Orecping Cat, the Caddo, By Buckskin Sam, 888 The Sky Detectives, By Major Mickey Free, 829 Red-Skin Tom. By Harry Hazard, 8806 Little Quiek-Shot. By Edward L. Wheeler. 881 Black Niek, the Demon Rider, By Capt, Fred. Whittaker, 883 Frio Fred. By Buckskin Sam, ri 888 Bematese Beh ant His Lightning Horse Guar. St. Vrain. 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner. By BL. Wheeles, 885 Old Double Fist. By Joseph B. Badger, Jz. 886 Big Benson. By T. CO. Harbaugh. 887% Bon Bird, the Cave King. By W. J. Hamfltea, 888 A Tough Bey, By Philtp 8. Warns. 889 Kangaree Kit’s Racket. By Edward L. Wheels, 840 Clip, the Contortionist, By Kdwerd Willett. 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagabond Detective. By Charles Mews, 848 The Mountain Devil, By Harry Maszaré. 848 Manhattan Mike. By Edward L. Wheel, 844 Ratticenake, the Tonkaway.’ By Buckskis fam, S45 Pitiless Mats. By T. 0: Harbaugh. A Now Inoue Every Tuesday, The Half-Dime Library % fr sale by al newsdealors sents per copy, or sent Dy mal! en receipt of atx conte onch, - BEADLE ANP ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New Yoot,