Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 424) (1885 09 08)
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asarst | in De pe gp x —— = slats = \ i ld X SS 1 wn = 4 ( a wae tore Be re Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. ——ely ——_—_ (mle ac se)! ial a Copyright, 1885, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, September 8, 1885. _]% $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, A Vol!XVIL a Year. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. No. 424. SW EXXR j \\ \ AY JN \ Va NN \\ \\ \ \\ \\ \ \\ \ SN a AUSTRIA \\ AY se \\ \\VAY\ \ \ \\ \ ee NI \WA A \ \ \ \\\ Xo NUMA Yh WW \ \. S XS X\\ \ WAY ‘ URE MAG m Cactus Plains’ OR, Red-Hot Times at Ante-Bar. BY J. C. COWDRICK, \| aurHOR OF ‘THE DETECTIVE’S APPRENTICE,” ETC., ETC. f \\ K Ny > AY \ SS ’ ft AH \ * = Fea Lbemamed 4h tet \\\\ OR : Y \\\\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \\ Ny Ss ih i If! h WS Wow: : v7) WiLL Ye ' / SR Y Y/ | ha Yi Yh ; Yy 4 i . (, “if Y) ij ’ / A ‘A, / , TL), Ot), eH i TAY TERS \ hy. \ . I WYN WY Wo \ \ \ AN . ‘ } A \ FDA. | AS \j . Wet iin, j) \\ \ ~ | a ™ yy - ih N i ) tif, ad /7//f Uy AO KE Wife Ein mee. Ma ( CHAPTER I. TROUBLE BREWING. ‘‘ComE! you red-haired, big-eared, broken MU Tf Zz (sa =s=, Z Ze —_ Laleil ss, F » | \ {t, eS public thoroughfare with me, and we'll have a schottische mazourka by the light of the risi moon! Or, in plain, flat-footed, square- English, just trot your carcass out into the read . here, and we'll havea regular old-time walle around! Come! Docome! Just to oblige mel I am not much on the fight, but I have an idea ——_— that I can make it highly interesting for you CIBUTA, WITH HIS HUMILIATED PRISONERS, STARTED FOR ANTE-BAR, while it laste, Come! you bow-legged son of a Wy x
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Yob-tailed centipede! and Pll stick you so full of st an prickles that you can’t sneeze! I’m Cibuta ohn, the Prickly Pear from Cactus Glains!” _ Such was the generous and whole-souled invi- tation that was extended one evening to the bully of the town of Ante-Bar; and the man ‘who held out such alluring inducements in con- nection with his vehement and urgent request, is worthy of description. He was of medium hight, with a supple, ath- letic figure, broad shouldered and straight. His dead was of splendid shape, modeled in bold lines, and poised with an easy and unconscious ignity and grace. ' is face wasa bold patrician-like and hand- some one, the features being clear-cut and regular. His eyes were black and bright, his complexion was dark, a wealth of dark-brown hair rested upon his shoulders, and a gracefully curving mustache shaded his mouth. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age; certain- ly not more. He was attired in a rich, full Mexican cos- tume, and wore a costl sombrero upon his head, while attached to his heels were a pair of hand- some silver spurs. At first glance, any one would have taken him to be a Mexican gentleman. No Mexican was he, however. He was an American, born and bred—a genu- ine son of old ‘‘ Kaintuck.” Why, then, his Mexican attire? Because, for several years just previously to the time we write of, he had been a sojourner in that land. He was jut from the town of Cibuta, in the Sonora country, where he had received the euphonious appellation he bore— ** Cibuta ” John, His title fitted him well, and the latter portion of it especially so. He had, on one occasion, single-handed and alone, in fair fight, whipped four of the worst characters of the town—veri- table “ Greaser” gorillas; and from that mo- ment he was called the ‘cactus espinoso of the Uano cactus.” Or, as the Americans rendered it—the ‘ prickly pear of the cactus plains,” His fame had spread for miles and miles around, and he was alike feared and respected. It had not, however, preceded him to the town of Ante-Bar, which lies many miles distant from Cibuta, in a northeasterly direction. This man’s Christian name was—a very popu- lar one—Jones; simply Jones. Nota very strik- ing name for the hero of a story, we will admit; but the veracious historian must not deviate from grim facts, and the grim fact in this in- stance is, the man’s name was simply John ones, The ‘other feller,” he of the red hair, big ears, etc., needs no description. The verbatim exclamation with which this chapter opens, portrays him perfectly. We may add, however, that he was almost a giant in size, big of bone and strong of arm ee Se with whisky and chock-full o e was the terror of the town, And, strange tosay, his name, too, was Jones. Not only that, but it was John Jones, There y hangs a tale. Throughout this story we will distinguish them, onefrom the other, by using the adjective profixes to their names—*‘ Cibuta” John and ‘Giant” John; for “Giant” the bully was called. This, the first scene of the romance, is laid in the -office at Ante-Bar. e stage-coach had arrived a short time be- fore, and the postmaster had just distributed the mail. The moment he had so done, and had opened his window to the public, the first man there had been Giant John Jones. Giant John had been a citizen of the town about two pag and in all that time had never once missed being the first man at the post-office piace every mail-day the moment it was opened, aN ever in all that time though had he received a letter, postal-card, paper, or anything else. Judge of the surprise then when on this par- ticular evening a letter, a dainty, white-envel- oped missive, had been put into his ungainly paw. Even he himself had seemed greatly astonish- ed, and had acted as though he hardly knew what to do with it. There it was, however, a letter; and, for him! And he had strutted away from the window ‘with aS pompous an air as though he owned the whole world and a little more. The next man at the window had been ** Cibuta” John Jones, ee ee ee ee , 2 Ed wh ERs John, wi he ore Te tome hy ayY Cibuta “Have you a letter for John Jones?” he had asked, And the postmaster had answered: ** [had sich a letter a moment ago, But it was called for, my dear sir, an’ so, Iam sorry to say, it is gone.” Here we must digress again for a moment, to introduce the postmaster. He is worthy of our notice. Imagine a tall, thin-faced, white-haired old man, with a long, white beard, and you will see him, in your mind’s eye, exactly as he was, and is. His name is Daniel Derrick; better known as ‘* Uncle Dan.” Unele Dan has a hobby, and that hobby is poetry. Poetry, to him, is food and drink. It is everything. His whole soul runs to poetry, and his poetry and he are together running to seed, Not to say that he does not still court the gentle muse, for he does; but his ardor is not as it was in the elysian days of his youth. Far and near, Uncle Dan is known as the ** Poet o’ Ante-Bar.” ‘** Poet,” however, he can not, with strict re- gard for truth and SE gl be called. He is, to the true poet, what a common fiddler is to an expert violinist. He is a rhymester; nothing more, Uncle Dan hasarhyme for every occasion. He seldom speaks except inrhyme. Ask him a question, and he will answer you ina jingle of verse; iambic, trochaic, anapeestic, or dactylic— in measure of a go-as-you-please sort. en- ever he has an odd moment, he can be found writing; and some of his effusions bave actually found their way into print. So much for ‘‘ Uncle” Daniel Derrick. Cibuta John had been not a little rk arp to find himself answered inrhyme. It had sur- prised him more, however, to learn that a letter addressed to him had been called for. Let us mention, right here, that Cibuta John had just arrived in town. He had come in the stage-coach mentioned as having arrived a few minutes before. “Will you please tell me who it was who called for the letter?” he had asked, And again had Uncle Dan answered in rhyme, pointing the man out as he did so, as follows: ‘* Dye see that big man over thar, i’ stogy boots an’ fire-red ha’r— Ther one wi’ no hat on? Wal, he’s th’ one who called fer it, His name’s John Jones; ter him it fit. We call him ‘ Giant’ John.” ‘Did you notice the post-mark?” Cibuta John had next asked, The reply had been: ‘* Sich trifles seldom miss my eye; Tt was from Tiptonville, K——y.” ‘Then, by heavens! it’s mine!” and Cibuta John had at once strode over to where Giant votBir ho bad said, politely, “ ir,” ho sa. itely, ‘“‘is your name John Jones?” cgtr “f ‘““Yes, sir; it are!” the bully had answered. “ And you have just received a letter?” ery es.” “Well, sir, as my name, too, is John Jones, and as I expected to find a letter here for me, it is quite possible that the one i mine. Will you allow me tol “No, sir; nary a look!” “Sir! you are unreasonable!” “*Not a bit, Iain’t! Iam the John Jones o’ this heur burg, an’ this heur letter says ‘John Jones, Town of Ante-Bar;’ tharfore, it must be mine! Yow’re no citizen heur!” ‘True, [am not; but I am here now, and I expected to find a letter awaiting me on my ar- rival. The postmaster tells me this letter is from Tiptonville, Kentucky. _ There is where I expect one from, and now I demand to see it! ‘You kin demand, an’ keep on demandin’; but you won’t see it!” the giant bully had cried. And he crushed the letter in his hand and thrust it into hispocket. ‘‘Come! Git out o’ my way, you Mexican cuss with a Yankee name!” And as he spoke he gave Cibuta John an angry push aside, and strode toward the door. Then it was that Cibuta John, white with rage, had clutched the giant by the arm and whirled him around, exclaiming: “Come! you red-haired, big-eared,” etc., ete, The bully fairly howled with rage! He turn- ed green! He, the bully—the king-bee of the town, to be insulted thus! It was too much! “*T don’t keer a Fourth o’ July continental!” he cried, ‘‘ whether you’re Cibeauty John, Ci- beauty Ji ake, or Cibeauty Jim; or what kind of a ‘beauty’ ye are; ye can’t skeer me! Pm Giant J ohn o’ Ante-Bar, J am, an’ don’t you fur- it it! en And I don’t care if you area giant, you’ve i ou received is at it?” ‘to? Can’ta man got to fork over that letter! It is mine, and you’ve got to give it up! Come! you loud- mouthed, slab-sided, lantern-jawed, crooked- backed son of a Texan tarantula, you! Come/ Just ma yourself out here into the highway, and we’ll dance a Portuguese polka in six-eight time! Iam, usually, one of the most peaceable fellows you ever saw, but when a great, big, anima and ungainly mountain of ignorance like you ay me a push, said mountain of ig- norance got to fight! Now, if you won come out, I'll get down to business right here! I'll polish up the floor with you till you can’t stand on it! Comeout! Docome! Iam fairly aching to pitch into ec and I want plenty of room! I also want that letter, and I’m going to “Wal, I'd like ter see ye git it! You're mighty fly with your tongue, but you can’t skeer Giant John fer a cent! Why! you cussed, Mexican-dressed dude! ef I went out inter th’ road wi’ you, thar wouldn’t be enough of you left ter hold an inquest over! You don’t know me! I’m th’ boss o’ this heur town, J am, an’ don’t you furgit it!” ‘‘ That suits me all the better! I always like to begin right at the top of the pile! Come now, hand over my letter, come out and fight, or else take a ‘ licking’ right here!” **T tell ye th’ letter ain’t yourn, an’ I ’peal to th’ crowd! Say, feller-citizens, don’t it stand ter reason that this heur letter are mine? I have lived heur fer two years or more, an’ every- oe knows John Jones o’ Ante-Bar.” ot a man in the crowd dared to raise his voice against the giant. His prowess was too well known. “Tt certainly looks ez ef it hed orter be yourn,” said one Jem Patterson, ‘seein’ ez it are th’ first one that ever kem fer ye, fer ye’ve watched ther mail purty faithful fer two years.” * And,” said Cibuta John, ‘does it not stand just as much to reason that the letter is mine? I came here expecting to find one, and the post- master tells me this one is from the very place I pareunest mine to come from. Besides, if this galoot has never before received a letter, the chances are that this one is not his. All I askis to see the letter, and then if it proves not to be mine, I will shut right up and treat the crowd, Is that not fair enough?’ ‘¢ Yes,” some one ventured to say, “ that’s fair! Giant John can’t object to that!” “ But Giant John does object to it, Bill Twick- er,” the bully retorted; ‘‘an’ he won’t show it terno man! What’s this heur town a-comin’ y it a letter *thout havin’ ter show it ter pe 8 jackanapes as wants ter see it? This heur dockyment is in my name, an’ no other man kin have it! That’s flat! Git out o’ my way, ye half-breed Greaser! I’m ge! home!” And once more he gave Cibuta John a push aside. That push capped the climax. The fun began in earnest. CHAPTER II. A WHIPPED ‘‘ TERROR.” ‘Ou! you cross-eyed son of a ring-tailed chim !” Cibuta John cried. ‘You will have it, will you?” And, clutching the et by the neck, he swung him around and wafted him out through the open door with an ease that was ‘surprisin or, did he let go his hold till he had landed his man clear out into the middle of the road. ** Now! you hump-backed son of a whisky still! ee got to fight! If you don’t, I'll e you y the slack of your breeches and the back of your neck, and run you into the creek!” The creek mentioned was a lively and deep one, only a short distance away. The bully needed no further invitation. His Dutch, or Irish, or whatever blood he could lay claim to, was rine i “He, the bully of Ante-Bar, to be insul mauled around, and generally mussed-up thus! He could not—would not stand it! The taunting cries of his fellow-citizens ring. ing in his ears only served to anger him the more, ““Good-by, John!” Bill Twicker had crted, as Cibuta snatched the giant out of the room, “Don’t stay long!” Jem Patterson had added. And a dozen other exclamations had greeted his ears. “* Look out fer yerself!” he cried, ‘‘ I’m a-comin’ fer ye!” And he came. He swung his ponderous arms around, and made a rush for Cibuta John, evidently expect- ing to annihilate him wholly at one fell swoop. Ferg he had never made a greater mistake in s life,
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epee | 7 Nie TS es ait Cibuta John. Cibuta John met him more than half-way, and a blow from his iron-like fist laid the bully out flat upon his back in the twinkling of an eye. ‘* Come to time, Giant!” cried Bill Twicker. ‘‘ What be ye a-doin’ down there?” asked Jem Patterson. ‘‘Climb right up, Sally, an’ git in yer fine work,” some one else called out. And so it went. The crowd cheered and hooted like wild men, Giant John sprung up with a_ howl of rage and pain, and made another terrible onslaught. Again he went to the ground in a most in- glorious manner. Come! you mighty chief, you terror of the whole town!” cried Cibuta John. ‘* Why don’t you stand up long enough to give me a little tun? J] can’t get any enjoyment out of you this way, not a cent’s worth. Come. Do come! Dll make it pleasant for = I assure you.” How the crowd around did hoot and yell! To see the terror meet his match at last, was rare enjoyment indeed! The whole town turned out, and came rushing to the scene of action. **Come, Giant John! scramble up an’ go in!” cried Bill Twicker. ‘‘Why, my little dorg Sancho heur, kin make a better showin’ in a tight than you are makin’.” Again the bully sprung up, but this time he did not pitch in with such ardor. He realized that he had met a tough cus- tomer. Getting himself into position, he approached cautiously, his arms well in advance, and swing- ing his body in true pugilistic style of the brag- ' gadocio sort, And as he advanced, he cried: ** So, you’re up to a little science, be ye? Wal, Tll see what ye kin do this heur time. Look out now!” And he struck out. ‘Yes, I’m looking out,” Cibuta John_replied, as he parried the blow with ease. ‘‘ What is it you want me to look out for? For you? Well, am looking out. Come, now; let’s see what you're going to do.” ° What he wanted todo, Giant John was trying hard to show by practical illustration; but somehow he couldn’t make it work. He did some fine sparring, and sent in some terrible blows; but his adversary never happened to be there when the blows arrived. ‘Well, you are a healthy specimen to be called the bully of a town!” Cibuta John cried, tauntingly. ‘* You would make a good man to drive hogs to feed, you red-nosed porpus! But as a fighter you don’t amount to shucks, Come! Wake up!” And the Giant diil wake up. Cibuta made a charge; he struck out with his left, followed it up quickly with his right, and Giant John turned a complete somerset and Janded upon his back with a force that made him groan; he had reason to think a mule had kicked him. * Are ye comin’ back this week?” Bill Twicker cried out. . Again the crowd roared with laughter, *‘No,” said one Jeff Parsons; ‘I guess he'll stay over Sunday!” _ “Shall we send yer clothes?” asked Jem Pat- terson. Giant John sat up and glared Eochiaaty moet *‘ Did anybody see a mule kick me?” he asked. *‘Did a flash of lightnin’ cut th’ pigeon-wing around my head? or was it acan of diameter exploded? “‘ Have he had enough?” asked Cibuta John. *Bnough 0’ what?” the bully inquired, look- ing around in his direction. . ‘Enough fight. Enough Jeft-handed and right-duked proboscis lubricant. Come! don’t keep the audience waiting! Besides, I haven’t had any supper!” “ Much ’bliged to ye,” said Giant John, with a sickly grin, ‘‘but I guess I won’t come, I’ve got enough. I don’t want no more.” “‘ Fully satisfied, are you?” “Yes, I've got a stummickful. I don’t want no more at all.” : ait “Oh! come, Giant!” cried the irrepressible Bill Twicker, ‘‘ don’t ed it up so! Wade in once more, jest fer luck. ne ‘No saréot No more wadin’ in fer me!” *« Jest one more round, Giant!” pleaded Jem Patterson. f ‘“Nixey! I’m done! No more fer me this evenin’, if ye please!” And as t ‘bully replied, he got upon his feet again and proceeded to straighten the kinks out 0 . “Then,” said Cibuta, ‘‘ perhaps you have con- cluded to hand over that Metter and let me see it” ‘*Oh! thunder! I had forgot all about th’ let- ter, in th’ excitement of our little walk-around! Yes, I have concluded that it must belong ter you. Heer it air, a little rumpled up, but I guess th’ stuffin’ is all thar. I figgered it out ez fur ez ‘My dear John,’ an’ as nobody ever calls me ‘ dear,’ I guess it’s yourn.” And the bully passed the letter over to its rightful owner. ‘*Now, gentlemen,” said Cibuta John, “‘if you will step. back into the post-office with me for a moment, I will tell you whether this letter be- longs to me or not. If it does not, then I shall be most happy to return it to Mr. Giant John, and ask his pardon. I think however, there is no doubt about its being mine.” The crowd followed him back into the post- office. There Cibuta unfolded the letter, and immedi- ately said: ‘Yes, gentlemen, it is mine. I can easily prove it to you. ere are other letters from the same person, addressed to me at Cibuta, You can see at a glance that the writing is the same.” And as he spoke he drew from his pocket three or four other envelopes, all in the same hand-writing and all bearing the same post- mark, ** Are you satisfied?” he asked. “Yes,” some one answered, “it is clear that the letter is yours.” The crowd echoed their acquiescence in that opinion, and the postmaster remarked: ‘Yes, feller-citizens, it seems cl’ar Th’ letter belongs ter this man heur. These older ones heur that bear his name, All are written jest about ther same. But, if he intends ter settle down An’ become a citizen o’ this town, I have got an idee in my mind To stop further trouble of this kind. An’ then, when a letter comes, I'll know To which man I am ter let it go. Let one have ‘ John Jones’ writ tharon; > The other one ‘ Cibuta John.’” “That isa good idea,” said Cibuta. ‘ I will notify my correspondents at once. I certainly expect to settle down here, and remain for some time.” ““T guess there won’t be much trouble about our letters,” remarked Bill Twicker. ‘‘ Giant ohn never gets any.” The postmaster now called the attention of the crowd, and said: ‘“* Heur, pards, is a letter from afar, Fer Daniel Derrick o’ Ante-Bar. I think ’tis about that schoolmarm biz; But [ll open an’ see jest what it is.” Cibuta John was about to leave the post- office, but, hearing the word ‘‘ schoolmarm,” he stopped and turned back. Uncle Dan opened the letter, and, perhaps la- menting the fact that it was not written in rhyme, read as follows: “ Omana, Nes., ' “July 6, 18—. * DANIEL Renn, NG, * Chairman of oard of Educaticn, ‘*Town of Ante-Bar:— ‘Dear Sir:—I am en voule_to your town to accept the position. Having carefully ‘studied the route and time-guides, I expectto reach there on the 16th. ‘Very truly yours, “Ciara Sr. Cure.” “Bully fer Clara!” shouted Bill Twicker. ‘‘ Forty years of age, wears blue spectacles, an’ carries a green umbrella! That’s her deoctts) Tl bet my dorg Sancho ag’in’ a? jack-rabbit! That’s yer shemale schoolmarm, out an’ out!” “Yes,” added Jem Patterson, ‘‘red ha’r, freckled face, an’ tall an’ angular, wi’ anangelic expression of countenance sour enough ter scare th’ kids 0’ this town intofits, Isthat right, Bill?” “That's her, right to a dot!” cried Bill. “‘ An’ say, Jem, Jeff Parsons heur orter slick up a bit, an’ maybe he kin ketch her fer a wife.” “ That's so, Jeff; i must trot out that frilled shirt 0’ yourn, sure!” Bill and Jem were both married, and each had a large family. Jeff Parsons groaned aloud at the prospect, “Oh! notany ferme! Not any fer me, if ye ease!” he exclaimed. ‘‘Heur’s Tom Billings, pagh he might—” j “Nol not any fer me, neither! I don’t want one!” the man mentioned assured at once, ‘‘ Not any fer me !” : Nis “When does th’ letter say she’ are a-comin’, Uncle Dan?” Bill Twicker asked, _.. And the aged dispenser of exterhporameous poesy immediate'y replied: Th’ sixteenth, if Lread aright; <1, Am that will be ter-morrer fight.” ‘Tt don’t give us much time ter fix up for thy occasion, anyhow,” said Jem Patterson. ‘‘ You young fellers will have ter dust around lively.” “ har'll be no fixin’, ez fur ez J am concern: ed,” Jeff Parsons declared. ‘‘No, nor wi’ me either,” decided Tom Bil- lings. Several others of the young men of the Bar echoed similar sentiments, Cibuta John, meanwhile, simply listened and smiled, ‘ ‘* Well,” said Bill Twicker, ‘I s’pose we fel- lers of th’ Eddication Board will have ter do suthin’, eh?” ‘* Yes, I s’pose so,” supplemented Jem Patter- son. ‘Th’ school-marm are a-comin’ an’ we'll have ter welcome her,” Uncle Dan closed the debate by saying: ‘* We'll meet after supper at th’ store, An’ talk ther little matter o’er.” CHAPTER ITI. THE SILVER DAGGER, AntrE-Bar, at the time of which we write, was a town of perhaps five or six hundred in- habitants. ‘ e And a lively little town it was, too. Of all the towns for miles and miles around, it stood at the head. It had passed bravely through its mushroom period of existence, and now seemed an assured and permanent success. Something tangible. Something that could be got hold of and realized to exist. , : All around it, towns of the to-day-we are-here- but-to-morrow-we’re-gone sort had sprung up, flourished for a brief season, and then passed quietly away—like a blade of grass, which. springeth up in the morning and in the evening is cut down. But Ante-Bar had marched slowly oe baat onward to success from the very start. It was a town about seven years and its citizens had begun to feel the need of a school. The children of the town were all running wild, and steps must be taken to bring them up in the way they should go. A meeting was called, and it was decided to build a school-house. Accordingly, one was built. Then a teacher was wanted, One was advertised for, and a dozen or so of applications came in. hen arose the question of which one to choose, Each of the applications seemed to represent an able teacher, and it was no easy matter to de- cide. Some of the citizens favored a man for the place; others, a woman. And so it stood. At last a Board of Education was elected, and the members thereof settled the question by a series of games of ‘‘ séven-up.” The choice fell to a lady applicant, Clara St. Clare, of Tiptonville, Ky. e most distant of all the contestants for the place, : She was notified at once by Uncle Dan Der- rick, and in due time a reply came from her that she would come immediately. And now this letter from Omaha showed that she was on her way, and would no doubt arrive by the stage-coach next evening. ; Everybody wondered what she would look like when ot arrived, and nearly everbody accepted Bill Twicker’s idea of her appearance as a pretty correct guess. So much in way of ex ation. When Cibuta John left the post-office, he went at once to the principal hotel of the place, the ‘“*{ ew-drop Inn.” ; He dropped in. And having done so, be called for supper and engaged a room. When he had satisfied the cravings of his in- ner man, he went forth to take a survey of the town, and at the same time enjoy a quiet “i ee The full was a lovely evening, e moon was about an hour high, and flooded the valley in wade the town lay, with its golden, mellow ight. he Dew-drop Inn was located at the north- ern end of the town, and on leaving it, Cibuta turned his steps up the creek, soon leaving the tor eh a acriy wil sahy alcog. dons | e was walking slo y alo ee. ly buried in_ thought, when of a sudan be caught the gleam of something bright before his eves, a heard something strike ground near his Tteet, — Glancing down, ho beheld a tiny silver dagger sticking up in the sod directly ints path . He stooped a a it up. — " Around its handlo was carefully wound a. slip of paper. This he removed, and then discover- ed that there was writing uponit. . | |. Cibuta John was surprised. Where had tie dagger come from? . é syed vr. : i : NY ath +4 A ax: Pht % * “ -- ¥ it. . ‘ apes chaaenemenan © pe ey
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oa Not a person was to be seen, and the nearest house was a quarter of a mile away. ee A short tance behind him, along the 4 path he had come, stood a large cottonwood tree. He retraced his steps to that, and looked up, but he could see no one, Where the dagger had come from, was a mys- tery. Step aided note. It was written in a plain, bold feminine hand, and ran as follows: - “Sro:—You are in danger. You have made an enemy of the worst manin Ante-Bar. ‘Giant’ John is as treacherous as a snakeinthe grass. He will oe nae ee oe of a geIthog ing ut into the full moonlight, and y the light from his cigar, he read the cy. strike when you least expect it. Be on your guard on every moment, night and day. v1 “From one who would be— ‘* Your Frienp.”’ : Cibuta John was now rised indeed. iq Who could his unknown friend be? We That it was a female, the writing indicated, | but, who was she? : “At any~rate,” he thought, “I am very much obiiged for the warning, though I am not enerally to be found ane with both eyes shut. I will look out for . John Giant—or i Giant John. I wonder who the writer of this can be? I must look around and find out. I seem to have a strange fatality for getting into _ @ mess of adventure and mystery whenever [ strike a new town, Well, so be it. If Mr. it Giant John chips in again, though, I'll give him a taste of prickly-pear that he won’t relish,” While his thoughts ran thus, Cibuta had re- ( sgumed his stroll along the bank of the creek. } Presently he came to a point where the — began to grow narrow, and where huge bowl- wee ders lay around in wild confusion—some of them A blocking his pathway. ' His cigar*was growing short, and he was just } on the point of turning to retrace his steps, when, pe two masked men sprung out from behind a large rock and confronted him . with drawn revolvers. ia “Whoap! Hold right up heur!” one of them x cried. ‘‘We wants a leetle intervoo wi’ you, Mr. So-beautiful John, or whatever ye calls yerself! Hold right up, now, an’ don’t kick over ther traces!” Cibuta John recognized the voice of the ker:—it w@s none other than “ Giant” John ones, “Well, Giant,” he said, coolly, ‘‘ what is it you want to interview me about?” Giant John was not a little surprised to find that he was recognized despite his mask. He put on a bold front, however, and answered: “Wal, we wants ter know what it is brings you ter this heur town o’ Ante-Bar?” ‘* Business, my good John; business !” ‘* An’, none 0’ our business, may be? That it?” “ Exactly.” “‘ Wal, now, look ’e right heur! I want ye ter pack up yer gripsack an’ mosey right out 0’ heur! D’ye see?’ Bas ‘*- Yes, John; I see, and I don't see.” Bit ‘‘ What is it that you don’t see?” j **T don’t see what right you have to waylay a th stranger like this, and order him to leave town. Who are you, anyhow?” a ‘“‘Wal, afore you kem along I war th’ king- ty bee o’ Ante-Bar. Fer two years I have been cock o’ th’ walk heur, an’ I don’t propose ter al- Pe: low a bantam like you ter come in at this late AN day an’ clip my wings! Ob! no, not much! Bi. You've got ter pack right up an’ make yerself ne scarce heurabouts! You hear me /” ‘elves “‘ My dear Giant,” returned Cibuta, ‘ you may algae keep right on being king-bee of the town. You yy may be the chieftain of the whole valley, the >. \ monarch of al] you survey, if you want to; so “as ‘ong as you do not interfere with me and my in- b terests. I am the most peaceable fellow you WW -' ever met. All I want are my rights, and just es room enough to prance around in without pan rrowding any one, or being crowded myself. “Yas, I see. An’ don’t you see thet we've got ther dead-wood on ye?” . “a The what?” ‘* Ther dead-wood—ther drop.” AS laid “Oh! yes, I see! But, bless you, boys, that . . ‘es not frighten me; not a bit. I’m used to i ‘' Don't ye know that we mean ‘ shoot?’” “No; do you?” “You jest bet we do! Now, jest look ’e heur! ‘We mean business! We want you to pick right _ up an’ skin out o’ this heur a jest ez soon ez yekin! D’ye onderstand that Bercy | A WT ee Se OS i ee = she | ee . Cibu ** And, what if I don’t?” “That’s ther proper ques ter ask, every time! If yesay ye won’t go, then we propose ter make cold meat of ye right heur. ow, ye've heard my little song; what d’ye say to it? ‘“What is your partner’s name?” Cibuta asked, indicating the giant’s companion-in- arms. ‘*Oh! it don’t matter ter you, who he are! He echoes my senterments, you kin bet on that! Now, open yer head an’ sing yer little ditty. Will ye go, or not?” ““Why! you knock-kneed, double-twisted, red- handed sons of Mexican horse-thieves, you, no/ What do you take me for? Do I look like a tenderfoot? See anything about me to indicate that ’m just from her ersey? If you have picked me up as a tenderfoot, you'll have to on me as a hard-shell. Why, I’ve traveled the highways and byways of the wild West so long that my soles are as tough as cowhide! The thorny ways, rocky roads, ups and downs and vicissitudes of life don t make any impres- sion upon them. . I— Hi! look out!” And suddenly perry 3 beyond the two men, Cibuta John ducked his head and sprung a step backward. It was the old, old trick—old, yet ever new. Giant John and his companion looked quickly around, and the moment they did so Cibuta drew a pair of revolvers and ‘‘ covered” them, exclaiming: ** Now, tetioe? you cripples—dance! Be very careful not to move your hands, though, for if you do I'll bore you, as sure as you’re born! feel like ‘shoot’ all over. Now, let your pop- guns drop right down upon the ground!” The two men obeyed. Too cowardly at heart were they to think of wan otherwise. “There! that’s right,” Cibuta assured. ‘‘ Now, ner’s hands behind his I want = ee ta John. Giant, you tie your back— No, don’t take off your masks, you just as you are, in all your beauty.” ‘*T ain’t got nothin’ to tie him with,” the giant protested, sullenly. ‘‘ Tear a strip off of the mainsail of his shirt, then. Anything will do.” But some stout cord was quickly produced, and the giant set about his task; the man’s hands were securely bound. Then in turn Cibuta secured the hands of the iant. “There!” he exclaimed, when he had finished, ‘“ now we are ready to go to town.” ‘¢- You don’t mean ter take us back to ther Bar this way, do ye?” Giant John asked, “ Certainly I do!” ‘¢- Wi’ these here masks over our faces, too?” “ Yes.” “Don’t, pard; don’t, fer heaven’s sake, do it!” “Why not?” ‘¢ They'll take us fer highwaymen.” ‘‘ Ha, ha, ha! Well, what else ave you? Did you not waylay me?” ‘*-Yes, we done that; but don’t let it out that we was masked. That is the wu’st part of it. “Can’t help it, boys; it is your own funeral. You have brought it upon yourselves, Come, now! forward, march! And, don’t forget that Tam right behind you!” And Cibuta, with his humiliated prisoners, started for Ante-Bar, he having picked up their weapons from the ground where he had ordered them to be dropped. The two men begged hard to be “let down easy,” and promised eterna] friendship to’ Cibu- ta Tut he was not to be moved. To town they had to go, and masked, too, just as they were. When they arrived at the Dew-drop Inn, Cibuta approached a man who was standing on the porch, and said: ‘Sir, will you please tell me where I can find the mayor of this town—the alcalde, the burgo- master, or Whatever you call the first officer of the place?” es” the man answered; “very likely you can find him down at Burdock’s store, There is some sort of meeting going on there in regard to school matters, I believe.” Cibuta John thanked the man, and then set out to find the store, When he arrived there with his two prisoners Uncle Dan Derrick, ‘‘th’ Poet o’ Ante-Bar,” was just closing the meeting with the remark; ‘* An’ now, ter-morrer when she comes, We'll not meet her wi’ fifes ; -” drums; But let each man be neat an’ clean, An’ try.ter act in nowise mean. An’, right heur, let me say ter you— Respect is to a lady due; So, fer this once, all you galoots Jest wear yer pants outside yer boots!” Reena ies mye Le 3 RETO Rete, CHAPTER IV. THE FATAL BRAND. Bos Burpock’s store was, in a way, the town-hall of Ante-Bar. There the leading citizens generally congre- gated of an evening, and there the public busi- ness of the town was usually transacted. *) this night in particular the store was well All eyes were turned upon Cibuta John and his prisoners, the moment they entered, When the postmaster ceased speaking, Cibuta John asked: ‘“‘ Will I be interrupting the meeting if I toot my bazoo now?” ** No,” was the reply from a dozen or more ati once, ‘‘ go right ahead.” were anxious to hear his story, and to know all about his prisoners. ‘¢ Th’ public business now is o’er, An’ you, my dear sir, have the floor,” declared Uncle Dan, as he sat down. “Such being the case,” responded Cibuta ‘*Tll come to the point. First of all, though, t want to see the mayor of the town; the mayor —marshal— buccaneer —bailiff—bumbailiff— or whatever you call your chief citizen. I was told that I-would be likely to find him here.” “ Judge Hucklebee, he must mean you; you’re: sheriff o’ ther town,” said Uncle Dan, as he rose to his feet again and glanced over to where sat: a large, fat, bald-headed man, with a face as round and merry-looking as a stove-polish pic- ture-sign on a board fence. rose Pa stand up a moment, sir, "ll quickly ‘knock you down.’” Mr. Huckle arose at once, and the post- master continued: ‘¢ This man, sir, is Judge Hucklebee, Whom we ez sheriff owns; Judge Hucklebee, Cibuta John: Whoee maiden name is Jones.” With a flourish of his hand then, Uncle Dam again took his seat. . ou, sir,” said Cibuta “Tm happy to know John. ‘‘ Allow me to ask whether you recog- nize these two gentlemen?” indicating his two risoners, “*T think I do, sir, although they wear masks. Their figures are quite familiar to me. They are ‘Giant’ John Jones and Billy Bobsled—twoe of the worst characters of the town.” So Judge Hucklebee replied. an! wilt now remove their masks,” announced Cibuta John, ‘and then you can all identify them positively.” And as he spoke he pulled the masks from the two villains’ faces, _ “Yes, they’s the very men!” cried everybody in one voice. ‘** How’s this, Giant?” asked. Bill Twicker. “You been a-tryin’ ter pluck prickly-p’ars ag’in?” ‘“‘Hain’t ye both old enough ter know that: rickly-p’ars is sharp things to fool with?” Jem atterson added. ‘ Th’ man what rubsa prick- ly-p’ar th’ wrong way, is bound ter git stuck, more or less, every time.” _ Both Giant John and Billy Bobsled glared around them in sullen defiance. Neither had a word to say. ‘¢ Now, sheriff,” said Cibuta, ‘Tl lay the facts of the case before you. ‘After eating my supper at the Dew-drop I lighted a cigar and started out for a stroll up the creek. When I reached a rocky place a short. distance above the town, these two peach-blos- soms sprung out upon me, each with a pop-gun in hand, and ordered me to stop. ‘* Naturally, I paused. “Then I was informed that I must_at once pack my gripsack and leave town. Yes, sir; actually tdld that I must ‘ git’ right up an git “* Now, what I naturally want to find out is this: Are these two blooming primroses au- thorized to dictate to a pilgrim in this way?” ‘“‘No, sir!” answered the sheriff, ‘ they*are not; nor any one else, so long as your said pil- grim does not run counter to our rules and regu- lations.” “ Just what J thought, and somehow or other I changed places with these two lilies-of-the-val- ley. That is to say, I got the drop on them and hore they are.” ; ‘“ And you desire to turn them over to me?” Judge Hucklebee asked. , * Well, that is what I did think of doing, sir; but if it will put you to any inconvenience, I will punish them payselt. On second ought perhaps that would be the better way. It wi teach them a lesson they won’t forget.” ‘* How will you punish them?” “Why, I'll take them right out in the street here, and whale the daylights out of them! The ¥
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Cibuta J ohn, , h ere) eit TES a RS A: prea 5 '3 : more I think of it, the more it strikes me I’d ought to do it. What say you, gentlemen? Shall I take them both out and have a triangu- Jar hoe-down with them? or, turn them over to the sheriff?” ** You don’t mean ter fight ’em both ter wunst, «do ye?” Bill Twicker asked. “Certainly Ido. Why not?” “Wal, its a purty big job ter undertake, that’s all.” Giant John and Billy Bobsled cast a glance at each other in a knowing way. They just ached for such a chance to get even with Cibuta, If they could get at him together, they would make him think there was an earthquake. Giant John had had a taste of the Prickly Pear, ’tis true; but now, with Billy Bobsled to back him up, he felt that sweet revenge was at hand. Oh! he just panted for the fray! ‘‘ Well, which shall it be, gentlemen?” Cibuta again asked. He knew well enough what the answer would be, ere he asked, for such crowds are always eager for excitement. “The fight! The fight! Whale ’em! Give ‘em prickly-p’ars till they can’t rest!” and so forth, were the cries heard on every hand, ‘**So be it,” assented Cibuta. ‘Some of you just go through their clothes and take away every weapon they carry while I surrender mine to some gentleman willing to hold them, and then we'll get down to real old business,” Bill Twicker and Jem Patterson performed that office, and took away everv weapon the two bullies had about them, as far as they knew. Cibuta John, in the mean time, had turned to Judge Hucklebee, and asked: ‘Will you take charge of my revolvers and knife, sir?” ‘* Yes, with pleasure,” the judge replied. ‘“ Well, here they are, sir; two revolvers and a bowie; and— Oh! just take charge of this, too!” and he drew from his pocket the dagger that had come into his possession in so myste- rious a manner, and held it out toward the judge. c The judge had accepted the revolvers and the bowie, het now put out his hand to take the dagger; but the moment he saw what it was he sprung back, his face assumed a deathly pale- ness, and he cried: ‘“My God! the silver dagger !” Instantly every voice in the room was hushed. The place became as silent as the grave. Cibuta John looked around him in utter be- wilderment, What could it mean? He noticed that more faces than one had paled at mention of the silvor dagger. ‘* Well,” he presently said, ‘what is there ae the silver dagger to paralyze you all like this? ** My God! do you not know?” Judge Huckle- ‘bee cried, ‘No; the dagger just came into my possession a short time ago.” ‘Read the inscription on its blade.” Cibuta John at once held the dagger up to the light, and there upon the blade, finely engraved, was the following legend: “ Though this be buried deep from sight, Yet shall it come again to light; And when again you see the brand, Prepare! for death is near at hana!” Cibuta John read it out aloud. “Well!” he cried, ‘that takes the cake! I might say it gobbles up the whole lunch-basket, pie included! What does it mean?” “Tt means just what it says, sir,” answered Judge Hucklebee, solemnly. ‘*Pshaw! You don’t take any stock in such nonsense, do you?” “Tt is no nonsense, sir, We, too, scoffed at at first, but we have seen its work.” ‘© Ah! Then the silver dagger has a history?” “ Yes.” ‘¢Will you repeat it to me? I would like to hear it, I am sorry to keep you waiting,” turn- ing to Giant John and Billy Bobsled, ‘* but Iam: deeply interested in this matter. T will attend to you a little later on.” ‘ _ “ Certainly, sir,” said the judge,“‘if you care to hear the history of the silver dagger I will re- Pet About four years ago there came to this town a woman, a very Strange woman. She ‘was a gambler by trade, for a trade it is with ‘some, and she opened here a gambling palace. “Tt was a Seat detached place, and became very popular. “One thing strange about the woman was, ‘she always wore a mask. No one ever saw her face, until we saw it cold in death. Then it was found to be a very handsome one.” ** Ah! she died here, then?” **'Yes; and by the silver dagger.” ‘‘Goon! Goon! Iam deeply interested! I shall not interrupt again.” ‘* Well, as I said, she o alace, and conducted it well. ul from the start. ‘**One night there entered her place a hand- some, well-dressed stranger, at sight of whom the woman was heard to utter a low exclama- tion. Those who heard it knew that the stran- ger was no stranger to her. ‘** Presently the man sat down to play at the table over which she presided in person, ‘From the very start, he lost. Luck was wholly against him, and at last he declared that he was broke. ““Then the woman sprung to her feet, drew ae silver dagger from her bosom, and cried out: **And now, you die! ITam—’ And as she sprung upon him and plunged the dagger into his heart, she whispered her name to him, ““*My God! You/ he cried, and then fell forward dead. ‘*The crowd started forward, but she drew a revolver and bade them stand back, ‘* Then she told her story. ‘“*The man—she would not tell his name, nor hers—had wronged her, and she had sworn to kill him. She had kept her vow, She told her story at length, and when she concluded, she ned a gambling- She was success- id: ‘*** And now, nothing remains for me but— death. When I am dead, take this silver oe ger and melt it, Do not let it longer exist. Jt is accursed |? ‘* As she uttered the last words, she raised the dagger and plunged it into her own breast. ‘* We buried them side by side, and no one knows who they were. ‘The dagger was not melted. “Strange to say, no one discovered the en- graving on the blade until a year later, when it had done further bloody work. “For a long time it disappeared; but one evening it came to light in one of our saloons, and the legend it bears was then first discovered. ** We laughed at the idea at first, but at last we learned that there is truth in it. ., That same evening a quarrel arose, and the silver dagger found a victim. It was buried to the hilt in the breast of one of the best young men of the town. : ‘‘ After that it was buried, and none knew where, save him who did the work. ‘‘ Again for a long time it was not seen, and it came to be almost forgotten. No one ever ex- scted to see it again, ** At last, however, once more it came to light. **T scarcely need tell you how it sent a chill to our hearts to see it. ’ ‘“‘ There was at that time a pure and hand- some girl living here. Her name need not be mentioned, She had many admirers, and two especially devoted lovers. Those two young men were deadly enemies. $ ‘On theevening when this silver dagger came again to light, the young men mentioned met in this store, and hada violent quarrel, “ At last one drew a bowie-knife and sprung upon the other, who, being unarmed, snatched up the dagger as it lay near him on the counter, and with it met his rival in mortal combat. “Their fight was a short one. In a few mo- ments one threw up his arms and fell to the floor—dead. In his breast the silver dagger was buried. “The killing in that instance was considered as done in self-defense, and the man went free, He afterward married the young lady, and they went East soon afterward. “This dagger, accursed weapon that it is! was thrown into thecreek. How it has come to light now, I do not know, ‘* You will now understand why we were hor- rified at seeing it again, “ Certain it is almost that it will find another victim. : ‘* Who will it be? _ **T know not how it has come into your pos- session, young man; but if you take my advice you will put it beyond reach, and at once.” CHAPTER VY. A TERRIBLE FIGHT, _ When Judge Hucklebee finished his recital, no one spoke for several moments, Cibuta John stood with the silver dagger lying across the palm of his hand, gazing at it ina state of abstraction. How had the fatal brand come to him so mys- belgie after having been thrown into the cree : ~ He could not answer. z “Well,” he presently said, “it is very mys- terious, to say the least. Still, lam not afraid of its doing any mischief while it isin my pos- session.” ‘*-You had better let us melt it at once, as its ori inal owner wished us to do,” said the judge. it? “Very well, sir;*but I fear you will repent it, Have you any objection to telling us how it came into your possession?” ** Certainly not. I will tell youall I can about it. While l was walking aiong up the creek a short while ago, as I told you, the dagger was thrown from somewhere, and fell directly in front of me in the path, sticking up in the sod. Where it came from, I do not know.” ‘** Perhaps one o’ these heur p’izin cusses throw- ed it at yer,” remarked Jem Patterson, indica- ting Giant Jobn and Billy Bobsled. “No, I think not,” returned Cibuta. ‘‘In fact, I am sure they did not.” “Wal, its a me pone A anyhow,” decided Bill Twicker. ‘In ther first place, how did it git out o’ ther crick?” ‘Give it up!” Cibuta John responded. And he continued: ‘* But, this is not attending to business! These two tulips have claims 29 my attention which cannot be longer defe .” And as he spoke, he waved his hand in the direction of his two pris- oners. ‘* Who will hold this dagger for me whila I attend to them?” No one said ‘‘I.” Instead, all drew back. Na one present would touch it. ‘* Well, you won’t of course object to my lay- Fe up on a shelf here until the fracas is over, will you?” he queried, addressing Bob Burdock, the proprietor of the store. ** Certainly not,” Mr. Burdock replied. Thereupon Cibuta John stepped behind the counter and put the dagger away, high up on one of the shelves. ‘* Now,” he announced, as he stepped back and pulled off his coat, “‘we are ready to let slip the dogs of war.” ‘Here!” exclaimed Jem Patterson, “ let me hold that for you.” And he held out his hand for the coat, Cibuta John tossed it to him. No one observed a slip of paper that fell from one of its pockets as he did so, and which flut- tered to the floor. A few moments later that paper Was picked e by Judge Hucklebee, whose face, as he glanc ed at it, grew red and white by turns. ‘*Now, my pippins!” Cibuta Jobn crie “we're ready! Some one please cut their bond and let them come!” And he went out into the road and brace himself for the encounter. The moon was now sailing high and bright and it was almost as light as day. It was a most auspicious time for such 4 scene, Presently, out came Giant John and his part ner with a rush, ‘Come right along, Giant,” Cibuta called out ‘Bring your Bobsled right here now, and we’) all take a ride, That’s right! Put up your lit, tle hands, my cherubs, and wade right in!” Just what the giant and his pard were pre paring to do, ‘ They began to dance and skirmish around, trying to find an opening to get in a blow. t seemed an unequal contest. Either of them was larger than Cibuta John, and it looked as if the latter would fare badly ere he was done with them, If he was at all alarmed, though, he did not show it. : He was as cool as an iceberg. ‘* Come now!” he cried. “ All hands around! Dotesy-do! Swing your partners!” And he, too, began to caper and antic around in imita- tion of the two bullies, ; It was too ludicrous for or ghroet The crowd fairly howled itself hoarse with laughter. ; i ‘*“Come! you pretty jumping-jaeks!” Cibuta cried—‘‘ do come! here ain’t but one of us, and you can’t get at me on all sides at once; so cut right in anywhere. Now you're beginning to warm up! again, my daisy! me—office-hours, from two to two G. bar pba oe of charge!” eb- seeing, as he supposed, an opening, B sled had ‘‘ cut in” as invited. 6 The next instant he was lying sprawled out om the flat of his back, seeing more stars than ha had ever thought the firmament contained. “Thar goes ther Bobsled!” some one shouted, No,” Cibuta John replied, vey prefer to keep | Ah! that’s the idea! — : Come — I’m right here where you left © iL, and = ’ ». { ” ‘ \
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* Feteh w _ Back! Ve 0 ‘Site ie and , his 27 d q ay | ' 3 ia _ the crowd remarked, “ you co man from his nei, yer Bobsled, Giant,” some one else called out, ‘ an’ take another ride!” “Rah! fer Cibuter John!” “Three cheers fer th’ Prickly P’ar from Cac- tus Plains!” **Whoop-ee/ All hands around ther nine- pin!” etc., etc., were the cries heard on all sides. “Come! my ergo, 3 arbutuses—my lamb- kins—my hunnysuckle-buds! Do come! You are not making things half lively enough!” Cibuta invited and proclaimed. And, all the time, the two men pitted against him were “coming,” to the very best of their ability; but the trouble seemed to be, they couldn’t “ git thar.” Around and around the hero of the hour they danced, trying to catch him foul if possible, and ducking and bowing and sparring and whooping yelling all the time. But Cibuta was not the man to be caught foul. He had é very clever knack of coming around face to face with the right man at the right moment, that was truly wonderful. A ara over went the Giant. “ He,he,he! Haw,haw,haw! the crowd roared. **Come, Bobsled!” cried Jem Patterson, ‘* cather up yer pardner an’ go in ag’in!” ‘Prickly-p’ars is good eatin’, if ye kin only Ycape ther prickles!” suggested Bill Twicker. St nell I send my dorg, Sancho, in ter help e? ‘*Come ter time, Giant!” ‘« Belt him one under the left lug, Bobsled!” **Sally come up, cog come down!” * Whoop-ee / Bully or our side!” All such cries, and a hundred or more others, were heard all around, “Come, you_fire-eaters! Why don’t you come?” Cibuta John invited again. ‘I am get- a a ga of waiting for you. Come! you mean- looking, dog-faced, pacrot-toed, sickly-looking sons of crawling bed-bugs, you! Docome! Ah! coming at last, eh? ell, here am I! Livel music, now, and all sashay!” And having his opponents in just the right position, he struck out suddenly and sent m both to grass at once, “That's the idea!” he eried. ‘Now you're doing something! Now you're giving the au- dience their money’s worth! Come, now! up again, my chirping bluebirds! Choose your partners, and form for a waltz-quadrille, with one of ‘quads’ left out; call it a trirille if you like, or any other kind of a dance! Pump ourselves now, my daffodils! All ready, now? Lot her gq; then! hoop! Bow to the corners! Bow to your partners! Heads forward and back again! Forward again! Waltz your pardners! Forward right and left! Back to your places! “Well done, my whippoorwills! Now comes our turn! Sides forward! Back! For- ward again! Waltz! Back! Forwardrightand left— Hello! Whereareyou? Weare nothalf done yet!” Truth was, both men were once more upon their backs on the ground. With the words ‘right and left,” Cibuta John’s arms had shot out in that order, and down the bullies had dropped. But they were up again in an instant. Both were boiling over with rage, and both rushed in blindly. Oh! but the crowd did whoop, and yell and cheer! They just enjoyed it immensely. Not only did they enjoy the fight in itself, but the eotlandiah exclamations of their hero tickled them highly. ey: And ars interesting it was, decidedly. The two bullies pitched into Cibuta John for all they were worth. ; Their eyes were fast closing, their noses were bleeding freely, and the blood, mingled with sand and dust, was smeared all over their faces, In the moonlight they look like very demons, and like demons they rushed at their enemy. “Come, my little darlings—my little cock sparrows, come !” Cibuta cried most tauntingly. Come right up, and we'll finish the measure! Now, then, forward fours! Back again! For- ward and waltz corners! Oh! you know the figure, do you? Don’t need any one to call off, eh? All right, my wild-eyed gazelles! Go right ahead! Rightand left! All around! The other way! Whoopee! All sashay!!” For about two minutes then, as some one in ‘t tell tiother ghbor.’ " “Go it, Cibuter!” **Give ’em Hail Columbiar!” “Ten to one on ther Prickly P’ar!” “Give ’em some more chin!” etc., were the eries of the crowd. } . Cibuta was too busy just then to talk, how- ever, ’ } ce] ty rae ay He had his hands full. Just about two minutes it lasted, and then— Well, Sibuta John stood there with his arms akimbo, while Giant John and Billy Bobsled lay at some distance away, once more upon their backs. But with true bull-deg tenacity they sprun up again, dashed the blood from their eyes, an rushed at their enemy once more, ‘‘ Here you come again, eh?” cried Cibuta. ‘* No time allowed for refreshments, eh? Well, my tri-colored rainbows, wade right in!” And, ‘‘ wade in” they did. , Cibuta John was forced to fight hard and furiously, which he did not hesitate todo. He sent in some tell ng blows, and, strange as it wf seem, oscaped being struck in the face him- He. received several hard knocks upon his arms and shoulders, but his face bore not a single mark! Again, for a minute cr so, the battle raged furiously, The result, however, was the same as before. Once more the bullies were sent to earth. Up they sprung again, once more dashing the blood away from their eyes, and then— But an awful cry arose. ** Look out, they have Inives !” It was true. Hach of the cowards had drawn a knife from his boot, where it had been secret- ly hid, and with murderous intent they rushed upon their enemy together. Revolvers were drawn, but no one dared to fire for fear of hitting the wrong man. It was an awful moment. “Oh! my God!” cried Judge Hucklcheo, ‘‘ he is doomed! Jt is the work of the silver dagger again!” At the same moment a woman’s piercing scream was heard, and a lovely girl of eight- een rushed forward and fell upon her knees, ' It was Nettie Hucklebec, tue judge’s Caugh- iz ““Oh! save him!” she cried. ‘‘Men of Anti- Bar, save him!” ‘* Oh! you cowards!. You curs! Cibuta John had cried out at the first momentof alarm. And he prepared to meet the danger. As the men rush upon him he sprung aside, and they miss- ed him ‘Throw me a knife!” he cried. Instantly a dozen were lying at his foot, but, ere he could stoop to pick one up, the villains were upon him again, i Again he dodged, barely escaping; and then seeing a chance, he sprung quickly forward and dealt each of the cowards a blow in the face. And terrible blows they were. They sounded like the loud cracking of a whip. And they did their work. Both men dropped back insensible, their faces almost crushed. “Oh! Thank God, thank God!” cried the beautiful girl, and springing to her feet she bounded away from the scene. The cheer that arose from the crowd, when they realized that their hero was the victor, was almost deafening. A hundred men sprung forward at once to grasp Cibuta’s hand. As soon as he could, Cibuta John made his way into the store, where he sat down and asked for a drink of water. Something stronger was offered, but he declined it, and so the water was provided, And as he sat and calmed his nerves, and regained his wind, those around him discussed the fight. All agreed that it was truly a wonderful one, and that they had never seen its like before. And Unele Dan Derrick, the ‘poetic postmaster, remarked: “This ain’t th’ sleepy town it war! ce kem this stranger from afar,— ‘ Cibuta John,’ th’ ‘ Prickly P’ar’— Thar’s red-hot times at Ante-Ear!” CHAPTER VI. A GIRL’S CONFESSION, JupGce HvucKLesBere did not return to the store after the fight was over, but started home at once, : He sent Cibuta John’s revolvers and knife to him, however, and complimented him on his having come out victorious. There was fire in the judge's eye. He was in no pleasant frame of mind, He walked with a rapid, nervous stride, and his lips were peeps compressed. Something had disturbed the usual serenity of his nature, No doubt the reader will readily guess what that something was. It was the conduct of his daughter, SS ee ee ee eee ee - pa Ee ee ee eee Cy puta Jon. It will be remembered that he had picked up a slip of paper in Bob Burdock’s store just pre- viously to the street fight—a slip of paper that ca his face to turn red with anger. It was the paper that had fallen from Cibuta John’s pocket when he threw his coat to Jem. Patterson for the latter to hold for him. That, however, the judge did not know. What he did know, though, the instant he glanced at the writing, was, that it had been written by none other than his daughter Nettie, When he had read the note, he easily guessed the rest. He entered the house in no gentle mood, ¢ The first person he encountered was a servant. ‘“ Where is my daughter?” he demanded. ‘*T think she is in her room, si,” the seryant replied. ‘Tell her to come to me at once!” The woman hurried out to obey, wonderin what could be in the wind to cause such a clouc of anger to hover over the judge’s usually placid brow. In a short time Miss Nettie came down, and entered into her father’s presence. ; She was about eighteen years of age, and of medium stature. Her figure was exquisitely proportioned and perfectly rounded, giving promise of magnificent womanhood. Her com- plexion of delicate red and white was marvel- ously clear; her hair was golden in color, and rich and lustrous, while her eyes were of a love- ly deep velvety blue. some girl, “ What is it, father?” she asked, half-timidly, her eyes seeking the floor. ‘What is it, Indeed!” tho judge cried. ‘‘ Well enough you know what it is! Why did youmake such an exhibition of yourself a few minutes ago. in the street?” ‘“Oh! forgive me, father!” the girl cried, as she advanced and sunk down upon her knees at his side, taking his hand in hers, “forgive your child! I was near the store when the fight be- gan, and when I saw those cowards draw their knives, I wasso frightened I scarcely knew what I was doing.” So frightened that you had to rush forward, fall upon your knees, and ery out ‘Oh! men of Ante-Bar, save him!’ What is he to you?” ‘¢ When I saw his deadly peril, father, I could not help doing as I did. Will you not forgive me?” “You were so frightened,” the judge contin- ued, ‘‘that when the danger was over you u‘- tered a fervent ‘Thank God!’ Again I ask, what is this handsome adventurer to you?” ‘‘ What can he be to me, father? I never saw him before to-night.” ‘What can be be to you? He can be nothing to you—he shall be nothing to you!” “Oh! father, I—” ‘*Stop! Listen tome! Nettie, my child, you have disgraced yourself—and me. Your name is upon every tongue in Ante-Bar at this mo- ment. Every man is saying to his neighbor: ‘Why did Judge Hucklebee’s daughter do as she did? What is this stranger to her? Nettie, again I ask you, what is he to you?” “ Father, how can you—how ean you think he is anything to me?” ‘Because, this leads me to think so!” the judge answered, and drawing the crumpled slip of paper from his pocket, he held it before his daughter’s astonished eyes. ‘Where did you get that?” the girl demanded, and snatching the paper from her father’s hand, she sprung to her feet. “ Did you write it?” “Yes. But, tell me, where did you get it?” “Whom did you address it to?” the judge asked, not heeding his daughter’s questions. “ Answer my question, father, and I will an- swer yours,” retorted the young ‘lady, spiritedly.. “* Well, I found it,” “Where?” ‘ ‘In the store. Think of the shame, Nettie. Suppose you had signed your name to it, and some one else had found it!” “Oh! do give me the credit of having sound sense, father, at least!” the girl cried. ‘And now, to answer your questions, First, 1 did write it, father; and second, I addressed it to ne 7 ‘‘ Whom did you intend it for, then?” ‘“* For—bim,” * For Cibuta John?” “Yes, father.” y “Tt is as I thought.” “‘ Listen, father. ing, and Giant John was making awful threats against Cibuta John. Then I thought I would warn Cibuta of his danger. I wrote the note, and then watched for him to come from the She was truly a hand-. T heard those two men talk- ~ ey ~ ee ee 4. =
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oe en apes 4 ae, Pe er buta John. 7 Dew-drop Inn. When he came out he went up the creek. lI hastened around by the path that leads to the hollow cottonwood tree, concealed myself in the tree, and when the man came along I threw the note out in front of him. He did not not see me, nor.does he know where the note came from. It must have surprised him not a little when the silver dagger fell before him in the path.” “* The silver dagger !” the judge cried. ‘* How came you by the silver dagger?” *T bought it to-day of some boys who found it while bathing in the creek.” ** And do you know its history?” “No, father.” “ Why did you throw that to Cibuta John?” “*T tied this note to its handle, and used it to earry the note swiftly and straight to where I wished it to go.” ** And, still you tell me you have no interest in this bold adventurer—” ‘*T have not said so, father.” ** Ah! then you acknowledge that you have, eh?” The girl made no reply. ‘* Nettie,” said the judge, “listen to me: In this matter you have acted so strangely unlike our usual self, that I know some secret is at he bottom of it, Now, [demand to know what itis!” The girl raised her head, and her eyes flashed as though she were about to make some angry re- ply. Instead, however, she again sunk down at her father’s side and cried: ‘‘Oh! father, I cannot rule my heart. J love him !” To'say that Judge Hucklebee was surprised at the pies tleman’s feelings. little expected. ** How could it be possible?” he asked himself. “ How could it be that his child could be in love with this stranger who had been but scarce four hours in the town?” A solution to the problem suggested itself. Up to within a year or so of the time of which we write, Nettie Hucklebee had been away at school, and the thought which struck the judge was this: ‘* She must have met him while at school.” Immediately then, however, he recalled the fact that she had said she had never seen him before this night, and knew that Nettie never spoke aught but the truth. It was something he could not understand. When he could speak at all, he said: ** Nettie, you say you never saw this man be- fore to-night?” ‘“‘ Yes, father, I never saw him in my life be- fore.” ** And still you say you love him?” iT) Yes.” ** How can it be?” , ““T donot know. As I said, I cannot rule my heart.” “Tt is strange, very strange. spoken to him?” ‘No, sir, never!” “T cannot understand how it canbe. You say you have never before seen him, have never spoken to him, and— Ah! have you ever heard of him before?” The girl did not reply. “ Nettie,” said the judge, kindly, ‘‘ I am your father, and you are my child. Than I, you have no better friend in all the world. I would do nothing but for your good. Can you not confide in me? Now, I demand to know the whole truth of this matter, from first to last.” The girl was now weeping. Her father’s kind words had more weight with her than his harsh ones, ‘¢ Forgive me, father,” she sobbed. “ I will tell you all.” . 2! ‘Pray do so, my child. You may trust me The girl be e gir an: es ea “a Mother Wolf, father—” “The old witch of the mountains l—ye3, curse her! What nonsense had she been telling you?” ‘*¢She once told me my fortune.” “Bah! School-girl folly! But go on and let me hear it all.” “One day early last summer, shortly after I came here from school, I was out upon the mountain, when a shower came up and sought shelter in Mother Wolf’s cabin. While I was there she offered to tell my fortune and I allowed her todoso. She filled a small tub with water, performed a sort of incantation over and around it, and then told me to prick my finger and allow one drop of my blood to drop into it.” **Pshaw! Such folly.” “T did so. Then Mother Wolf stirred the It was a revelation he had Have you ever ssion, would but ill express the old gen- | | me, day and night, ever since. Ci water, repeated some mysterious words as she did so, and then darkened the cabin. I was frightened. Outside the storm was raging furiously. The loud thunder was rolling and crashing incessantly. midnight. I begged the old witch to let me go, but she laughed at my fears and assured me that I was safe. ‘** Presently she bade me look into the tub. I did so, and saw that the water it contained was xrowing luminous. It became brighter and Srihien until at length it glowed with astrange, phosphorescent-like light that partly illumed the whole cabin. “Then Mother Wolf again performed her incantations, and there in the tub I plainly saw—” ‘¢ What?” ‘* Tsaw the likeness of a man.” ‘* Whose likeness was it?” ‘Then I did not know. It was the likeness of a handsome man, one seemingly a Mexican. He was of medium hight, his complexion was dark, he wore a mustache, and his hair was so long it rested upon his shoulders.” ** Cibuta John!” ** Yes, his likeness it was.” ** But what did it portend—what did the old witch prophesy?” ** She said that one day he whose likeness it was would become my—my husband.” ‘*A thousand furies! And did you believe such nonsense?” ‘No, father, I did not.” ‘“ Why, then, your interest in the man?” ‘*T will tell you. I did not believe im the old witch’s charm, but I could not forget the pic- ture [hed seen. It has been constantly before I tried to forget it, but [ could not. The handsome face and the bold, black eyes, found place in my heart, and I could not dislodge them. I found that I could not shake off the spell, and at last I would not have done so if I could. I knew that the feel- ing I possessed for the man whom I had seen in shadow only, was love; and though I might never see him, love him I ever would. “When this Cibuta John came to town this evening in the stage-coach, I recognized him at once, and— Put, you must forgive me, father; for in this matter [cannot rulemy heart. Now, father, you have heard the truth, and you know my secret,” Judge Hucklebee was sorely troubled;—he hardly knew what to do in the matter. He realized that he would have to move very carefully, and do nothing to incite his daughter to defy his authority, for well he knew where love rules, all other thoughts and acts become subservient to that passion. For some moments he was silent, and then he said: ““ Nettie, you love your father?” A pair of arms instantly thrown around his neck, and a kiss pressed upon his cheek, were his answer. 7 ** And you will obey me in all things, know- ing that i will ask nothing of you that is not for your own good and welfare?” **T shall strive always to obey you, father.” ** Pay attention, then, to what I have to say. “Your feeling for this strange man is not love —it is merely infatuation. In time it will have passed away, and you will then see its folly.” ‘* Never! father, never !” “'Tut—tut! I am older than you, my child, and know more of the world and its ways, “But you have not a woman’s heart in your breast, father, and you cannot understand mine.” “T can, and do, understand your heart, Net- tie; far better than you can understand it your- self, at your age. I deeply regret, too, that your dear mother is not living to advise and guide you in this matter. You could not then bring such an argument to bear against the rea- soning of an older head. ‘“‘In most of cases, Nettie, you have proved yourself a very sensible girl; I hope you will prove the same in this instance. Now, listen to reason. We know nothing about this handsome and daring stranger; we know not what he is, who he is, nor anything else. Who can say that he is not a vile, bad man‘~a thief, or even worse?” ** Father!” “Tt may all be true of him, my child, and I must caution—nay, I must forbid your making his acquaintance,” “Such caution is not necessary, father, I have no intention of making his acquaintance. I told my secret to you because you command- Within all was black as | ed me to tell you all; but my secret it shall still remain. I believe this Cibuta John to be an honest man, but I shall not put myself in his way. Heshall never know my heart’s secret, nor one word of what I have told you. Pray do not be angry with me, father, nor imagine that I shall forget the respect that is due you, or that I will knowingly or willingly do anything to displease you.” “My daughter, I believe you!” the judge ex- claimed; and drawing her to him, he embraced her. ‘You may now go.” ‘*T thank you for your kindness to me, father,” the girl said, as she rose to go. ‘I Me never attempt to deceive you again, Good- night. m Good-night.” When his daughter was gone, Judge Huckle- bee paced the floor in no easy state of mind. In his heart he cursed the old witch of the mountain, while at the same time he wondered at her art. ‘“She must be in league with the devil!” he finally exclaimed. One thing he decided upon. If this man, Cibuta John, intended to remain at Ante-Bar, he and his daughter would go, : Little he imagined what Fate had in store for iim. CHAPTER VII. ANOTHER LEGEND. In the mean time ‘‘Giant” John Jones and Billy Bobsled had been picked up, still insen- sible, and taken to the lock-up, where they were incarcerated. The citizens of Ante-Bar were exceedingly ex~ asperated at their treachery in drawing their concealed knives during the fight, and Judge Hucklebee had promised to deal with them sum- marily next day. As he had told Cibuta John, they were two of the worst characters in the town. The law-abiding citizens had heretofore dealt too leniently with them, and had put up with their insolence and abuse in no small degree, for the sake of peace; but now the last straws had been laid on. The fact that they had waylaid a sojourner cs they had, and with their faces masked, too, was of itself enough to cause their expulsion from the town; and added to that misdemeanor, was this latter act of treachery. It was decreed that they must go. “You're right, Poet!” exclaimed Jem Patter- son, in response to the postmaster’s remark in rhyme. ‘ Things és red-hot heur ter-night, for a fact!” “Tt war too bad,” Bill Twicker declared, “that them ’ar p’izen cusses hed knives hid in the’r boots. Ef Jem an’ me hed once surspect- ed it, we'd ’a’ had ’em out o’ thar, you bet!’ ““Tt was a close call for me,” said Cibuta John. ‘If they had pines their knives on me a little earlier in the fight, when they were in fresher condition, they would have made it hot for me. Had I suspected such treacher ; I would have struck harder blows. Something like the last ones I gave them.” ‘Yes; them last blows did ther biz!” “You may talk about the treachery of the red-skin Indian,” Cibuta continued, ‘‘ and you may talk about the treachery of the yellow-skin Mexican; but no kind of perfidy is so purely cussed and mean as the treachery of the white man. It crops out when you least expect it.” “That’s about whar you’re right!” Bill ad- mitted. ‘‘When a white man is bad— Wal, he is bad; that’s all!” ‘“By the way,” said Cibuta, “who is the young lady who was so excited by the fight?” “Ther one that fell upon her knees out thar?” 56 Yes.” ‘“ Why, she are Nettie Hucklebee, ther daugh- ter of Judge Hucklebee, She’s as fine a gal as ever lived, too.” ‘* She’s the old judge’s daughter, eh?” “Yes; an’ mighty proud he is of her, Ther gal has got no mother, an’ ther judge fairly dotes on her. She keeps house fer him.” ‘* Where does the judge reside?” ‘Did ye notice ther white house jest this side ‘0’ ther Dew-drop Inn?” ‘Yes, I think I did.” ‘* That’s th’ place.” “‘ Truther thought that you must know ther judge’s gal,” Jem Patterson here remarked. “Why?” Cibuta John asked. ‘“‘*Cause, th’ way she kem out an’ howled fer us ter save ye.” ‘‘No, I never saw her before in my life,” Cibuta declared. ‘* Wal, it’s queer. She ain’t ther sort ©’ gal
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\ ~~ -been made one, Sall ter cut up that way fer nothin’; not by a long si What I tell you, is true,” Cibuta John in- sisted, ‘‘I never saw her before,” “Oh! don’t think I doubt yer word!” Jem ex- claimed. ‘‘I mean it’s queer why she—why—” ‘‘ Why she should be interested in me then, eh? That’s what you would say?” nk «Wal yes; er somethin’ ter that effect.” Well, I I am sure I do not know. Perhaps prin ee watching the fight, and when she saw my danger she became so excited she did not know what she did. Women do strange things sometimes, you know.” So Cibuta John spoke, but it was not what he believed. He believed there was something back of it all which did not appear upon the surface. He now had an idea where the silver dagger, with its mysterious note attached, had come from, “Yes, that may be it,” Jem admitted. ‘Ez you say, wimmin is queer critters, Some wim- min kin kill a b’ar; but jest let a poor little skart-ter-death mouse show itself, an-— Wal, they’re done fer! There’s my wife, Sall Ann, fer instance. If any one kin explain why she will dodge inter a closet, an’ stand thar fer two mortal hours in th’ heat, wi’ th’ sweat a-pourin’ out all over her, an’ all jest because she’s seen a flash 0’ lightnin’ , er heard a clap o’ thunder, I’d like ter know it. She don’t know, that’s sure; an’ if I ax her she gits mad. Does she think that ar’ same flash is a-cavoortin’ round yet, after it’s come an’ bin an’ gone, lookin’ jest Fe miens fer her? Ez you said, pard, wimmin ueer,’ ‘She ain’t afeerd o’ you, though, be she Jem?” Bill Twicker asked. * Afeerd o’? me! Yas, jest about ez much ez I’m afeerd o’ your dorg Sancho, thar.” Truth was, when Jem and Sally Ann had Ann had at once assumed the responsibility of being that one. She still held the position. ‘* Well,” Cibuta John presently announced, “T guess I will go up to the Dew-drop, and turn in tor the night.” And he rose to go. ‘* Hold on, pard,” said Bob Burdock, the store- keeper, Wf sp-4. a off an’ fergit this heur silver “ig n’t want th’ cussed thing around eur ‘*Oh! yes, I had forgotten it.” And Cibuta went to the shelf an aoe the dagger down, thrusting it into his pocke “Well, good-night, fr jena! !” he said, and went out; a hearty ** sood-night” following him from every man in the store. He went at once to the Dew-drop Inn, and re- tired to his room. There, as he recalled the events of the even- ing, ho once moro examined the silver dagger. ‘* Strange stories they tell of you,” he said half- aloud addressing it. And once more he read the legend it bore. ‘* The stories are true, I do not doubt; but is it fate? or mere chance?” As he turned the mysterious weapon over and over, he presently thought he detected more en- graving near its edge, If engraving it was, it was so fine as to defy the naked eye to read it. Besides, it seemed to be Beaks worn away in places, Cibuta John had a small magnifyin “glass, and taking it from his pocket he placed the'dag ger under it. Instantly he was enabled to read: “ When five have fallen by this brand— And five most surely will - Unless it be too soon destroved— *Twill work no further il!.”’ “ Well, this 7s a mystery,” Cibuta_mused, as he sat and stared at the dagger. ‘‘ Let me see: Four are known to have fallen by it since it came to this place. Is there still one more to follow? or, did it find a victim previously to its advent here? “As the gambler queen said, it is truly ac- cursed, ‘* Now, what am J to do with it? Shall I fear the legends it bears, and throw it away? No, never! I will keep it! ‘* What it has done in the past has been the re- sult of mere chance; and, even though there be some truth in the legends, I do not know but that the fated five have met their doom. “Tf so, and this last poetic effusion is to be re- lied on, the silver dagger’s work is done. “T wonder how it came to me? Was it J udge Hucklebee’s daughte te who threw it? If so, wonder where she was at the time? I could see no one around, I must find out. A fine-looking oy is Miss sie ean to judge by the glimpse I d ot her. quaintance? I wonder if I shall make her ac- “Well, silver dagger, you are something of a = Cibuta = ae 3 a a linia ME, mystery; but, keep you I will.” And thrusting the dagger into his pocket, he put out his light and retired to bed for the night. Like Judge Hucklebee, little he knew of what was in store for him. When morning came, with it came the recol- lection to the people of Ante-Bar that two pris- oners were in the lock-up awaiting sentence. “Trial,” think you, would be a more fitting. word? Notso. No trial was deemed necessary. The proof of guilt was too evident and conclu- sive. Nevertheless, Judge Hucklebee opened court in due form. Judge Hucklebee was only a sheriff, ’tis true; but to be the sheriff of the town of ‘Ante- Bar, was to be its governor. In truth, the latter would have been a far more fitting ‘title. Court, by the way, was held in the post- office. When Judge Hucklebee had taken his seat, errea the prisoners were arraigned before him, he sai ‘* Acting in my official capacity as Sheriff of this town of Ante-Bar, prisoners at the bar, it becomes my duty this morning to pass sentence upon you for two several offenses, ‘“*The first i» this: Last night, you, with masks over your faces, did waylay aa threaten a gentleman who had come here to sojourn fora time in our midst. You threatened his life. ‘For that offense you both merit permanent expulsion from this town, ‘The second offense is as follows: After your arrest for the crime aforesaid, you were gwen the alternative of fighting your captor, or taking your punishment at our hands. ou chose the former. In that fight, like the cowards at 9 wi that you are, you drew knives and at- ee to murder your opponent. ou are guilty of both charges. ‘* Now, therefore, inasmuch as you have part- ly suffered punishment for the first cffense, the ourt decides as follows: That the said first offense be thrown out, and that sentence be ae upon you for the second offense only. ave you anything to say as to why you should not now receive the sentence of the Court?” Judge Hucklebee’s address was in some re- spects a remarkable one. “Ef I may now be Eran ston ter yawp my awp,” said “‘ Giant” John Jones, ‘‘T reckon as Theo some remarks ter make, Ter begin with, this heur are a queer old trial anyhow! Nothin’ hez bin proved. Who makes ther first charge ag’in’ us? That’ar black-an’-tan Mexican half- breed thar?” pointing to Cibuta John. “* Him ? Wal, kin he prove it? Proof is what we want heur, an’ no One-man’s story biz! Kin he prove what he sez? Ef he can’t, then—” Here “the Court ” stopped him ‘*Please bear in mind,” he said, first charge has been thrown out.” “Oh! oh! Bin throwed out, eh? Oh! ‘skuse me! Wal, then, what is ther other one? Who sez we used knives, eh? Jest trot out ther man w’at sez SO, an—” Again he was cut off, ‘‘ Perhaps,” said ‘‘ the Court,” “your friend, Mr. Bobsled, would like to make a few remarks. Your own do not seem to keep to the point. Mr, Bobsled, have you anything to offer? Mr. Bobsled had not; he was the silent part- ner. “Then,” said the judge, ‘‘ the sentence of this Court is, ‘that you both be conducted five miles away from this town, turned face to the east, and set free, never more to be allowed to return. And may fod have mercy upon your souls.” The judge then appointed the guard who were to do the “conducting,” and closed the case by saying: x Mr. J ones, you may now take your Bobsled and ‘slide.’’ The chad understood what was required of them. They procured two strong poles, put one prisoner astride of each, tied his feet, and then lifting the poles to their shoulders, marched out of town, half the population of the place fol- lowingythem. It was what is called “ riding on a rail.” As they were lifted up to the shoulders of those who carried them, Giant John turned to J udge Hucklebee and ¢ibuta John, and cried: “Cusses on ye both! “Ti fix ye, er my name ain’t Giant John!” And he continued to curse and threaten as long as he could be heard, The town congratulated itself that they were gone, Later in the day Cibuta Jobn, who had that morning boughta horse, mounted his animal and rode away to the south. Where to? “that the a CHAPTER VIII. A DARING DEED. Late in the afternoon of the same day, the Ante-Bar stage-coach was rolling northward along the same road which Cibuta John had set out upon in the opposite direction about an hour earlier, This coach carried the mail, and was drawn by four fine horses. It carried also some six or eight passengers, some of whom we must here introduce. On the box beside the driver sat one Gerald Keyne. He was a fine-looking man, perhaps thirty years ofage. He was tall and dark, and a charming mustache. There was Ss sna him however, a certain something that be- spoke, to the practiced eye, the gentleman ee, ” Such he was. m the top of the coach were three men, evil ently miners. Inside, the first to be mentioned, was a young and handsome woman. This lady’ was Clara St. Clare, on her way to Ante-Bar to become the ‘“‘schoolmarm” of the new school. She was about twenty-four years of age, though she did not look to be more than twenty. he was a pa eet brunette. Her luxuriant hair was a very dark brown in color, and her eyes, as black as jet, were as bright and flashing as diamonds. rier! was truly beautiful, both of face and of orm, Beside her, on the same seat, sat an old negro. His name, or rather the only ‘one he knew, was Snowball White. A blacker “ ni ger ” than he, never lived. He was so black, that one might have supposed charcoal would make a white mark on him. He had been born and reared as a slave. He was to Clara St. Clare a servant, companion, body-guard and protector in one. The lady’s father had once been a slave-owner. and Snowball White his best, most faithful, and most trustworthy slave. When freedom’ had been declared, Snowball absolutely refused to accept his, He preferred to remain as he was. He was now Dateline with his young mistress in the capacity named. The next to be mentioned, was a little, dried- up-looking man, who rejoiced in the name of Phineas Skynn. Mr. Skynn was a lawyer—at least he claimed to be. The other mone 252 was an old Jew, The lady was reading, the old darky was doz- ing, the lawyer was eepin ng soundly, and the old Jew sat with his hands crossed over the head of a heavy cane, evidently lost in thought. Outside, the men on top were enjoying a game of “ penny-ante,” while Gerald Keyne and the driver were having a quiet talk and smoke to- gether. And the stage, as stated, was rolling along. Its d was neither fast nor slow, but a happy medium gait between the two. Presently, as it rounded an abrupt bend in the road, a startling sight met the driver’s gaze, “Whoap! Hol’ up!” he cried, putting on the brake with | his foot, and pulling back hard upon the reins. ‘‘ Whoap! you critters! Heur’s a toll-gate!” And in a moment, the stage was at a stand. Just ahead, in the middle of the road, was a most r emarkable-looking being. It was presumably a man; but if so, he was most unbecomingly attired. He was dressed in a green and red striped Mother Hubbard gown, had an old-fashioned sun-bonnet of the same material on his head, and over his face wore a mask. In each hand was a revolver at full-cock, botk leveled straight at the driver’s head. The moment the stage came to a stand, this stran e individual cried out: ‘“‘ Ah! there, my size—ez near eg I kin judge! T'll—not steal you, but I'll drill ye ez full o” holes ez a culinary skimmer, onless ye put up yer little paws an ez meck ez lambs! Ant at’s right! It does my heart good ter meet a driver like you! You know your biz, you do! You know jest what’s required! Way, 2 wink is jest ez good ez a nod, ter you, every bit I’m ’most tickled ter death ter make yer ac quaintance! An’ yer passengers, too! All so sensible an’ obligin’! can’t begin ter tell ye how proud I am, Really, gentlemen, ye must ’a’ bin thar before, every One 0’ ye; you’re so well posted. All I "pad ter do war ter stand heur in the road, wi’ my batteries exposed, an’ ye stopped *thout my sayin’ a word. Now, ef yell keep yer cot Mgnt up, thar won’t be a ole 0’ Blood Ef not— But, pshaw! I may ez well beow eetait I kin see at a glance that ye know jest inert et, so Pll say ne more about that. It mi o ter mention that six good rifles are a-loo iw at ye though, each one on ’em ready ter puke up a chunk o’ lead em pe a eee aanigscoene ats * are «PtQ- Pay Cre iy 8, he eat satel i cal \ e, ol ay = _
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~ ye a £ opt ‘ Jee os ond eared ss =e Sie Oa ee es Se nn ee appease a2? pare! wake ce Der St Saw Det nae ome F ae : ale shies big ez your thumb; so, be very careful ter keep yer han’s well up. Ef ye doubt my story, bein’ ez ye can’t see ther rifles mentioned, jest put one han’ down fer th’ fraction o’ a second—th’ six- teenth part o’a split red ha’r o’ time, an’ ye’ll be wafted inter port across th’ big divide afore e kin say ‘ Rob Jackinson,’ er any other man. h’ rifles aforesaid are a-lookin’ at ye, like real old grim Death. Don’t let that escape yer mind fer a moment! “Come, now! Git right down an’ out o’ thar, every one o’ ye, maskerline an’ femernine alike!” The moment the stage had stopped, all within it was confusion. Outside, the cause bein Merve seen and understood, the men had rais heir hands at once, and each remained quiet. ‘*Oh! what can the trouble be?” cried the lady, as she closed her book quickly. <“Wh—what’s matter? at’s up?” queried Phineas Skynn, the lawyer, as he awoke sud- denly from his sleep. ‘‘ Are we there?” ‘* Moly Hoses!” cried the old Jew. pe a robber?” The old darky said nothing, but prepared to defend his young mistress against anything that might come to pass: hen came the words of the road-agent, as given. ‘“Oh! mine goodness!” cried the old Jew, “ it isa robber!” And he drew a well-filled wallet from his pocket and slipped it into his boot. ** Wh—what do you say?” gasped the lawyer. ““A robber, mine frient; a robber! Petter as you blace your bocket-pook in your poot, same as med” ‘* A_-a—robber.? oh! heavens!” And with trembling hands the lawyer followed the Jew’s Can it advice. ‘© Oh!” the lady cried, ‘‘do you think we will be robbed, sir?” ‘** My tear lady,” the Jew answered, “TI t’ink ve vill. Petter you vas blace your waluables in your—your—” ‘“*T don’t wear boots,” the lady said quickly, to help the old man out. “Vell, t’en, I vill allow you to blace your mon- ish in sf poots.” “‘No, I will try and defend it myself. Oh! he orders us to get out! Shall we?” ‘** Pet your schweet life J will,” the Jew cried, “ aoe mighty gwick!” And he tumbled out with as The lawyer followed at once, **Come!” cried he in the Mother Hubbard own. ‘“‘ Everybody out! I don’t want ter de- ay ye any longer than necessary. Git right out, every one of ye!” ‘Come, Snowball,” said Clara St. Clare, ‘“‘ we must obey.” And she stepped out. “Ah! a lady! pardonme, madam. I will put you to as little inconvenience as ible, h! a uigger, too!” as Snowball clambered out. “Hullo! Snowball, how are ye?” ‘For de lub ob goodness, now yo’ know my name?” the old darky cried. And then as he saw the threatening revolvers, he jumped in front of his mistress, and shouted: “Took out dar, ol’ woman, whar yo’ is a- ‘intin’ dem ar guns! Hain’t yo’ got no sense? k out, I say! Turn ’em some other way! Dey will go off de fu’st yo’ know, an’ den some one will get hurted, shua !” Jest you hold **Don’t be uneasy, Snowball. up yer han’s, an’ ye won’t git hurt.” ““How yo’ come ter know my name?” the darky asked again. ss Why, I guessed it. Any feller 0’ your shade o’ color is ’titled ter a white name, seein’ ez it’s th’ only way ye’ve got ter indulge in sich a shade of purity. — ‘“Come, Jew, git up! Don’t get down thar in ther dust an’ s’1le yer breeches.’ The old Jew had fallen upon his knees and was begging heartily to be spared. ‘‘ Now,” the robber continued, “form in line heur, an’ I’ll call ye up ter me one at a time. That's right, only jest turn about an’ face t’other way. Thar! Now, stan’ jest ez still ez ye kin, an’ don’t budge. Remember thet rifles are a- pintin’ at ye from this heur clump o’ bushes, an’ if one 0’ ye moves down he’llgo!_ Keep’em coy- ered, boys!” addressing his men in the ambush as though ey Seely were there, instead of be- ing mere bugbears of his imagination, invented for the occasion; ‘‘an’ if one on ’em turns his face this way ter see what is poe on behind ’em shoot him!—an’ shoot ter kill!” | There ney all stood in a row, with faces turn- ed toward the long stretch of road over which they had come, and behind them, at some dis- tance away, stood the man in the Mother Hub- bard gown, laughing heartily but silently as he watched the trembling legs of the lawyer and the old Jew. ' j net ei Vaeg Wale" = Cibuta John, _ When he had enjoyed himself for a few mo- ments, he said; ‘Now, Jew, come here!” With a groan, and with face as white as it could turn, considering its natural yellow hue, he obeyed. ‘**So help me—” he began, but the robber bade him shut up. “Come, fork over you wealth. Don’t try to hold any back. Lively! Snake off them ’ar boots first! I have an idee thar’s spondulix in them.” With many groans, and all the while pleadin in a whining tone, the Jew obeyed. e coul not well have done otherwise. ‘Now, git back ter yer place,” the road- agent ordered, when he felt satisfied that the Jew had given up his all. ‘‘ Hold on, though,” he added, “‘ what is your name?” ** Levi 'Poppenheimer,” the Jew answered. The agent made a note of it in a little book. ‘“‘That’s all,” he then said. ‘Git ter yer place!” And he added: ‘* Now, you preacher cuss, er lawyer, er what- ever ye be, you come up an’ disgorge!” Mr. Skynn quickly came up. ‘*Off wi’ them ’ar boots!” was the order. **No doubt or follered the old Jew’s example, er else he follered yours. Off with them!” It could not be helped, and the lawyer surren- dered his wealth. ‘“* Now, your name?” ‘*Phineas Skynn.” “Skynn, eh?” said the robber, as he noted it down. ‘“‘Skynn by name and a ‘skin’ by na- ture, perhaps. Well, Mr. Skynn, you have been ‘skinned’ this time, sure. Git Tadle ter yer place.” With a sorrowful heart the lawyer went ck The next one called was Gerald Keyne. Him the highwayman searched himself, and the first thing he found was—in the right-hand- side pocket of his loose jacket—a small self-cock- ing erringer. ‘Ah!” he cried, “I suspected it! If I had allowed you to put your hand in thar, no doubt you’d ’a’ taken th’ risk an’ plugged me, Now ante up! If thar’s anything I’ve missed, jest preduce it!” This man’s name was asked too, but refused. ‘Tell me yer namo, er die !” cried the robber, as he thrust his revolvers squarely under the man’s nose. The name was given, And so it went on until all had been called save the lady and her negro servant. These the road-agent called up together. “Now, fair lady,” said the agent, ‘I must trouble you. And you, nigger, you pony right up; er die right down!” Even as he spoke, though, he raised his finger and warned the lady not to speak, Then in a very low tone he said something to her which caused her to start, and fora brief instant he raised his mask. Instantly the lady grasped his hand. Then he hurriedly explained something to her, to which she nodded yes, and smiled, “Come, nig! Don’t be all day!” this myste- rious robber then cried aloud. And he added: *“ You other fellers, thar, you jist stand still, an’ keep yer han’s up ez straight ez ye kin. It’s kinder rough on ye, I know; but I'll soon be done. Come, lady, be ez quick ez ye kin, An’ you, nigger, you jest hump yourself! ‘You're too blamed slow ter drive pigs!” While the wearer of the Mother Hubbard was thus exhorting, however, the lady was leading her servant rapidly away up the road. For a short distance they proceeded, and then they turned suddenly from the road and disap- peared. “Look out, Jew!” the bold agent continued. “ Kee Phd han’s well up! Come, nigger, come natch off that ’ar other boot! Now, lady, your earrings, please. Boys, keep your eyes upon ther driver an’ Mr. Keyne, especially. Ef they turn the’r heads, fire !” Then all was silence, “And the silence con- tinued. Nor was it again broken. In truth, the daring road-agent had hurried silently away from the scene, CHAPTER IX. A RED-HOT SCENE. A OnE—two minutes passed away, and still"the weary travelers stood there in a row. Phineas Skynn, the lawyer, was perspirin from every pore. His jaw was hanging, an his tired arms were bound to come down, de- spite his resolute efforts to wie them up. Levi Poppenheimer, the old Jew, was in no better condition. If anything, he suffered the worst of all, for his legs were growing weak at the knees. He could hardly stand, All the others suffered more or less, and the hot sun beaming upon them as it neared its setting, caused their perspiration to flow freely. It was nothing short of torture, but thus far not one had dared to move. What puzzled them was the profound stillness that had suddenly fallen over the scene. Not a sound could be heard save the champ- ing and pawing of the horses, and an occasional rattle of the harness. : ‘Great thunder an’ minw ins!” the driver exclaimed at last. ‘*‘ How much longer?” No reply. ; ne Keyne ventured to turn his head a ittle. sic that he was not instantly killed, nor even challenged, he was encouraged to turn it a. little more, Then he turned clear around. ‘Well, by the infernal!” he cried, as he drop- ped his arms, ‘‘ the cuss is gone!” What a sigh of relief went up from that crowd! ‘* But,” Keyne added, ‘ where’s the lady and the nigger?” They all looked at one another in blank sur- prise. What could it mean? The driver was the first to catch on to the spirit of the thing in its ridiculous light. “Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha!” he burst out. “Oh! Don’t we look sick and silly? All of us! Every one of us! I include myself, too! Ho ho, ho! Ya-a-h!” And he hugged himself and laughed long and uproariously, “Tt seems to very funny for you, mine frient,” said the old Jew. ‘* Funny! Lord bless your soul! what else was it? The idee o’ us a-standin’ heur a-boldin’ up our han’s, all in a row, fairly quakin’ in cur boots, an’ nobody around ter make us do it!’ And again he roared. Some of the others laughed with him, they could not help it; but neither the lawyer, the Jew nor Gerald Keyne could force a smile. The lawyer and the Jew had lost their all, and that, to them, was ers biker rag while Keyne was concerned about Clara St. Clare. **T would give a fortune,” he cried, as he drew a revolver and glared around, “if that man would come back! I could now meet him on an equal footing. I wonder which way they went? There must have been at least a dozen of them, to get away with both the lady ard her servant without making a sound. Come! Spread out, men! Let’s rescue that lady or die!” ‘* Mighty brave all to wunst!” the driver re- marked to some of the others, aside. ‘‘ Come, though, an’ we'll see what we kin find out.” Half an hour they spent; and learned to their satisfaction and chagrin that the man in the Mother Hubbard gown had been entirely alone. They found his gown aud hood a short distance away from the road, but they could not follow the trail. The ground was rocky, and none of them were expert at trailing. It was a mystery. They had to give it up. So, getting aboard the stage again, they continued on their way. Barely two miles further had they traveled, when out into the road ahead of them rode four masked men, each one beanies repeating rifle, ‘“* Stop! and throw up your hands!” came the ringing order. And it was obeyed. d ‘Great guns!” cried the driver. ‘ Things is lively on this heur trail ter-day, er I'm a royal liar!” ‘‘Get down and come out!” was the next or- der, and it, too, was quickly obeyed. J As soon as they were on the ground, with ‘hands up,” one of the masked men dismount- ed and prepared to search them. The Jew happened to be the first. “Say, old Israel, whar is yer wealth?” the man cried, after he had examined almost every pocket the Jew’s clothes contained. ‘Mine frient,” the Jew replied, “it ish gone; you vas chust @ leetle too late.” ‘What d’ye mean?” ‘“*T means some other feller vas Been got ahead mit you. Ve haf peen alreaty robbed.” “Git out! you're joking!” And the man glanced at the others. ’ ‘No choke at all, mine frient.” Solemn truth, sure’s ye’r’ born!” declared the driver. 4 A ‘By heavens! I don’t believe it!” cried the leader of the band. ‘‘ Search them, every one. If you don’t get it then, search the coach.” order was obeyed. Every man was searched, but nothing of value was found,
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Then attention was turned to the stage. That, too, was turned almost inside out, but the re- sult was the same. To use a Westernism—there was some tall swearing done. ‘“Where were you stopped?” the leader asked. ***Bout two miles back,” the driver replied. ‘How many agents tackled you?” ** Only one.” “Only one? Thunder!” * Jest prezackly.” ‘**T don’t believe it. You are trying some cute game with me.” ‘“ Wal, ye’re welcome ter search us ag’in, ef ye like.” That was useless, ‘* Well, we'll give you up this time,” said the leader of the band. “If it is a trick, it is a mighty good one, and you deserve to go free. Get in, and go ahead.” The travelers obeyed, and the stage was soon on its way again, making good speed toward , ef this heur trip don’t beat all!” the driver broke out, as they were rolling along. “Two stops within an hour! It beats anything that J ever heard happen afore, an’ I’ve met quite a few gentlemen o’ th’ road in my time, too! Lordy! what a figger that feller did cutin this heur gown!” “Tt is certainly a mystery,” said Gerald Keyne. ‘I cannot understand how he could spirit away that lady and her negro servant with no help. I thought he must have ten or a dozen men atleast! It puzzles me completely.” “Give it up!” said the driver. ‘ He did it, thet are sure.’ ‘* Wal, let’s have a little fun ourselves, now,” said one of the men who rode on top, ‘ seein’ ez ther cussed agents hez had theirs! Jest hand thet ’ar gown an’ bonnet over heur, an’ Pll put ’em on an’ go ter town in ’em!” ‘* fa, ha, ha!” one of his companions laughed. “™het would be fun, Jim; but Pll bet two dol- lav3 you ain’t got ther cheek ter do it!” _vhar’ll ye git two dollars?” asked he called rs hig ee ‘Wal, that’s so; but Pll bet my hat ag’in’ your boots, anyhow!” ‘*Done!” cried the other, man ter dare me wi’ a bet! gown, an’ on it goes!” The driver handed the striped gown and the bonnet over to him, and the fellow put them on. He was as homely a man as ever lived. His hair was red and long, his skin was red and patched with great freckle-blotches, and his eyes were of a color best defined as bottle-green. is nose was long, and his mouth was one broad slit, almost from ear to ear, The moment he was attired in the uliar pea every one who could see him Vemehed eartily. ey could not help it. As the driver said, it was enough to make a sick dog laugh. “Oh! Ain't I a beauty!” the man exclaimed. * AintIadarling! Oh! My! Don’t some one want ter kiss me?” And he smiled and nodded around upon them all, causing a fresh burst of laughter. The man’s face happened to be clean-shaved, he having indulged in the luxury of a shave at the last station, and he looked for all the world like an old woman. He made fun enough, during the rest of the journey, to cause his companions to forget their troubles, At Ante-Bar, in the meantime, all was ex- pectation. Almost the whole town was out to greet the new schoolmarm, and to have a look at her. The young folks of the town were es- pecially interested, A place was all prepared for her at Jem Pat- terson’s house, where it had been decided she should board, and Sally Ann had a steaming hot supper ready for her. But, the stage was late. All were impatient. Each minute seemed ten. At last, however, just about an hour after dark, the stage came rolling into the town and drew up in front of the post-office. The postmaster stepped forward, hat in aand, and ti the door. ; Out came Phineas Skynn and Levi Poppenhei- No lady was there, and great was the dis- oo Geproeepen the postmaster felt. he stepped back, however, the passengers on top were just getting down, and he caught gght of thered and green striped Mother Hub- rd gown. Quickly soe forward he held up his pands, and said: ‘* Allow me, ma’m, ter help ye down, ‘An’ welcome ye ter this heur town;—” He got no further. “T don’t "low no Hand over ther mer. The man who wore the ' — —_ ; Ee eet te Sy we \ Cibuta John. peculiar rig glanced down, and then in a high and half-cracked falsetto voice, cried out: ‘““Oh! Don’t mind me, old hoss! Don’t mind me! Ikin git down from heur ez slick ez a cat kin lick her paw. Don’t mind me!” And he clambered down. The poet fell back with a groan. “Great jumpin’ William Hennery Czear!!” cried Bill Twicker. ‘‘ What did I tell ye?” “Oh! Great Scott, an’ all ther hull fambly!” gasped Jem Patterson. And a hundred other exclamations followed. ‘Wal, what on ’arth ails ye?” the man in the gown cried out, still in the disguised voice. ‘‘ Be ye all gone crazy?" ; ines as a whole, was completely para- yzed. The poet of the Bar tried to speak but could not. ‘Wal, great snakes an’ bug-juice!” cried he in the Mother Hubbard and sun-bonnet, ‘‘ what does ail ye? Hain’t yenever see’d a woman afore? Does my natural beauty o’ face an’ form stagger ye? Thatit? Thunder! Wait till ye see me in my Sunday-go-ter-meetin’ rig! Then ye’ll stare, you bet!” Judge Hucklebee was the first to find power to speak, ‘* Madam,” he said, ‘‘ is it possible that you are the lady who expects to become the school-ma’m here.’ Now, the fellow named Jim was quick-witted, and he saw it all ata glance. He was mistaken for the lady passenger. Here was a chance for sport that was not to be missed. ‘*O’ course Lam!” he eried. ‘*Great horned toads! What did ye expect? Did ye expect ter see a rosy-cheeked little dame o’ sixteen, er thar’bouts, wi’ a mouth ez purty ez th’ red side 0’ a ripe peach? Sey! Don’t my appearance suit ye? Think I cin’t purty? Wal, ye don’t know nie yet, that’s all! Whew!” and catching up the trail of the gown the man whirled around on one heel, ‘‘ I’m a daisy from’way back, J am, an’ don’t ye forgit it! Say, aim’t ye goin’ ter re- ceive me? Show me th’ manas has charge 0’ this heur affair!” That man was Uncle Danicl Derrick. He had been standing at one side, trying to realize his awful position, but at this last demand he fainted dead away. “Wal, hang my old stockin’s!” he of the Mother Hubbard cried. “This goes ahead of all! I knowed I was purty, but dast my garter- buckles if I ever thort I was purty enough ter cast sich a spell over a crowd ez t have casted heur!” The other passengers of the stage-coach, who saw how it was, laughed till they cried. “Holy smoke!” cried Jem Patterson, ‘‘she can’t come ter my house, that’s flat! She'd skar ther kids inter fits, an’ Sally Ann would scalp her on th’ spot. She'd snatch her bald- headed on th’ fu’st round!” “Say, Jeff,” said Bill Twicker to Jeff Parsons, “maybe you an’ Tom Billings will change yer minds now, an’ try ter marry her after all.” The young men both groaned. And groan in spirit did all the people of Ante- Bar who were present. ‘Wal, ef this heur ain’t a sociable lot o’ he critters, I never chawed terbakker!” cried the man inthe gown. ‘I expected a royal recep- tion heur, an’ what do I git? Say, you galoots! Is thar not a single one among ye that is man enough ter ax me up ter drink? Ef thar is, let him sing out. CHAPTER X. 4& WELCOME SURPRISE. Just how it would have terminated, we will not venture to predict; but there came new actors upon the scene, and the fun was stopped. Some water sprinkled in Uncle Dan’s face hail brought him quickly to his senses again. He was soon on his feet. The new-comers were—first, Cibuta John, leading his horse, At his side walked a negro, none other than Snowball White. Upon the horse rode the negro’s mistress, Clara St. Clare. In front of the post-office, between it and the coach, they stopped, and Cibuta helped the lady w n. ‘“‘ Citizens of Ante-Bar,” he said, ‘‘ allow me to introduce the lady who is to become school- mistress here—Clara St. Clare.” The lady bowed and the crowd gave vent toa lovid cheer. ‘That cooks my goose!” said the man ‘ Jim,” and quickly he threw off his bonnet and striped own. : Uncle Daniel Derrick was now himself again, and stepping to the front he doffed hishat, made a bow, and said: nn t=] ** Welcome, fair lady that ye are, Welcome heur to Ante-Bar. We welenme ye—” But his address was far too long to be given in full here, It was expressive of welcome, hope for health, happiness, success, etc.; and ran on, rhyme after rhyme. Vhen he had done, the lady said in reply: ‘Sir, it would be folly for me to attempt so eloquent a speech. In truth, I will attempt no speech at all. I thank vou, one and all, for this kind welcome to Ante-Bar, and hope that at wished for me may fall athwart my path. Ican say no more. I am very tired, and beg to be akan to my stopping-place. To-morrow, I hope, I shall meet you again, to make your bet- ter acquaintance.” Judge Hucklebee then spoke. He introduced Jem Patterson, and explained that arrangements had been made for her to put up at his house. Like the postmaster, he wished. her happiness and success. Then he bade her good-night. Jem Patterson then conducted her to his home and introduced her to his Sally Ann, who welcomed her heartily. “Now, gentlemen,” said Cibuta John, the moment the lady was gone, ‘‘I have a little business. to transact right here and now, anda little speech to make. I hope all will pay at- tention. Wait! Tl mount my horse, so that all can seo and hear me.” And he did so, ‘* Now,” he continued, as he took a small note- book from his pocket and glanced at a page of it, ‘‘is there present a man named Levi Pop- penheimer?” ‘“‘Dat ish me!” exclaimed the old Jew, as he pushed to the front. ‘* Vat ish it, mine frient?” ‘‘Well, Mr. Poppenheimer, I have here a little property belonging to you. Please examine it, right hero in the presence of all, and say whether or not it be all right.” And as he spoke he placed into the old Jew’s hands the very thin that had been taken from him by the road- ent. . V’y! bless mine soul!” the old Jew cried. ‘Mine goot frient, how ever did you get dis for me? Pless you! mine goot mans, pless you!” “Ts it all there?’ Cibuta asked. ‘¢ Yes, mine frient, it ish all here, efery t’ing v’at vas daken from me py de robber.” ‘* All right. Now, Phineas Skynn will please step to the fore.” Mr. Skynn stepped. é “Ts this your proper holding before him the things of which he had been robbed. “Yes, oh! yes, sir!” cried Mr. Skynn, most joyfully. Cibuta delivered it to him, and the lawyer ac- tually shed tears of joy. Gerald Keyne was the next called, and he ac- cepted his property with as good a grace as he could command. And so, in turn, all of the men who had been robbed were called up, and their property was returned to them in toto. It was a most welcome surprise to them. ‘‘ Now,” said Cibuta John, when he had de- livered the last man his money and other effects, ‘no doubt you are ready to hear me explain this little matter.” ‘Yes! yes!” cried everybody at once. “Well, gentlemen, it is easily done. This forenoon I overheard four men, right here in town, plotting to waylay and rob the stage; and I resolved to take a hand in the game myself. I rode dow? ‘rail beyond the point where I had bear. ) en say they intended stopping the stage. i in \.hen it came along I stones it myself. Then I robbed every man aboard, making a safe deposit company of myself for the time being. Having seen me return the property to each man, however, you of course understand my object.” : ‘ “ But,” queried the driver, ‘‘ how did ye git hold o’ sich a disguise ez ye had on?” “That was arig that ] had made some time ago to wear at a masquerade down at Cibuta, I had it in my atinaene and it came right into use.” “Wal, you're a plucky cuss, anyhow!” the driver declared, ou saved our wealth fer us, ez sure as guns! We was stopped ag’in by four fellers, an’ I tell ye they looked sick when we told ’em our leetle story. It war a good joke, all around!” “Three cheers fer Cibuta John!” some one cried out, and the three cheers were given with a hearty will. ‘There is one thing that J cannot understand, sir,” said Gerald Keyne, ‘‘and I'd like to ask a question.” : ‘‘ Fire away!” replied Cibuta, least a shadow of the good things you have — ee ee
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‘ “Well,” said Keyne, his face flushing, ‘‘ what I would ask is this: How did gn get ‘Miss St. Clare to leave the stage coach and go with ou?” “Why, I hurriedly explained things to her, } E 4 2. i ® a | s + e ~ 5 =$—™$SSS eee Such is human nature. Could Nettie have known exactly how the sit- uation stood, however, she would have felt more: contented, Between Cibuta John and Gerald Keyne no words ever passed. Keyne took care to avoid the ‘‘ Prickly-Pear” as much as possible. He evidently had no desire to come in contact with him in a hostile way, and there was little pros- pect of their ever coming together in any other. As for the two ladies, they met frequently, and were, to all appearances, quite friendly. On the part of the school-mistress the appearances. were genuine, And Nettie— Well, she could but admire her new friend, but— ‘ But "is an expressive word. ~~ was the situation at the end of the first: week, Times at Ante-Bar continued to be what the: citizens called ‘‘ red-hot.” The new school run- ning; the night school at fever heat; a spelling- bee one evening; a recitation by the postmaster: on another; all in all, it was a live town. Late one afternoon Cibuta John was return-: ing to town from a short prospecting tour in quest of silver, when he was suddenly startled. by hearing the beating of a horse’s hoofs at full run just.ahead of him, and coming in his direc— tion. A moment later the horse burst out into sight, and he recognized its rider as Nettie Hucklebee. The moment the horse came in sight, Cibuta John saw that he was beyond the control of his; mistress, and running away. At the same instant, Nettie cried out: ‘‘Oh! Save me! Save me!” Her danger was great and imminent. Both horses were upon a narrow ledge of rock that lay about twenty feet above the creek, a ledge where it required the greatest care for two: riders to pass when they happened to meet on the trail at this point. Cibuta John had but an instant in which to act. Slipping from his horse he took a step for- ward, and grasped with one hand the root of a stunted tree that grew out of a crevice in the rock, Barely had he done so when the maddened horse was upon him, and then with a spring as quick as a flash of lightning he caught the young: lady around her waist and snatched her from the very jaws of death. The next instant the runaway steed struck Cibuta John’s horse, and both animals rolled over the ledge and fell with a sickening crash to: the rocks below. “Thank God you are safe!” Cibuta cried, fer- vently, as he held the lady for a moment in his arms and gazed down into her frightened eyes. * Are you injured?” To Nettie Hucklebee it was a moment of hap- piness unspeakable. ‘“‘No,” she replied, ‘Iam not at all injured; only terribly frightened.” And she taleaneh herself from hisarms. ‘‘Oh! How canI thank you, sir?” “ By allowing me to escort you to your home,” Cibuta John replied, ‘ aod tna by per- mitting me to make your acquaintance after- ward in due form.” ** The first is granted, sir; but the second, b) hans “Well?” ‘*T cannot promise.” “Why? ‘Because, my father will not approve of it, T fear.” “Such being the case then, I shall enjoy the privilege you grant, for the present; I warn you though that shail not give up the second- named condition by which you are to thank me.” And he glanced at her laughingly, One of the horses had been killed outright by the fall, and the other had both of its forelegs broken. That one Cibuta John put out of its pain by a bullet from his revolver, and then he and Miss Hucklebee started on foot to return to the town. Nettie was supremely happy. _At last she was walking with and talking to him whom she had loved for many a day in secret. It was fully two miles from the scene of the accident to the town, and the two walked very aupely by mutual though unspoken agree- ment, Neither was anxious to hasten the termination: of their first’ meeting. When they came near to the big cottonwood tree that has been mentioned before, Cibuta John was bending his head and talking earnest— ly to the beautiful girl at his side, and she, with her cheeks all aglow, looked ten times prettier than ever.
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Neither of them saw Judge Hucklebee stand- ing there until they came full upon him directly under the tree. The old gentleman’s face was white with rage. Here was a sight he had little expected to see. In his blind ion he believed that his daugh- ter had deceived him, and that this was not her first meeting with this good-looking stranger. In no gentle tone he bade the girl go home at once. e tried to explain, but he would hear nothing. He bade her go. So, with a parting glance at Cibuta John, she went on alone. “T was not aware, sir,” the judge exclaimed then, “that you had made my daughter’s ac- aquaintance.” : ‘‘Nor had I, an hour ago,” Cibuta replied. “*T have just saved your daughter from a horri- ble death.” ** ‘You have?” “ Yes. ” “* How— where?” Cibuta John explained; and when he had dione, the judge said: “T can never repay the debt of gratitude that I owe you, sir. ad my daughter been killed it would have been a death-blow to me. I must forbid, however, your making her acquaintance any further. She is yet but a child, and her heart is not to be trusted. To be frank with you, sir, your good-looking face might play the deuce with her happiness. You are surely -world-wise — to see my meaning in its ‘true light, and hope you will respect my “wishes.” 3 “Then you do not consider me worthy of her love, if she were to honor me by bestowing it upon me?” ‘““You must remember, sir, that you are a stranger to me.” ‘* Then I shall at once take steps tosatisfy you as to who and what I am, sir, and that lam an ‘honorable man; for I tell you plainly that I shall use every honorable means to win your daughter, I love her.” Judge Hucklebee was struck dumb. ‘* How can you love her, when you have been ‘but a week and a day in the town?” the judge asked. ““You shall know, sir. My love for her was not born in an hour. A little over a year ago sir, I had the strangest experience of my life. I was riding along the main street of the town of Cibuta one day, when suddenly I fell into a trance. I fell from my horse and was carried into a house, where for a quarter of an hour or more I remained unconscious. While in that state I had, we will say, a dream. I dreamed ‘that I was in an old cabin. It was almost dark at first, but it soon became light enough for me to see. Outside, a furious thunder storm was raging. As TI looked around the cabin my eyes ‘suddenly rested upon the face of a beautiful ‘girl. For several moments I gazed at her, and then the vision vanished and I came to, “That face has been constantly before me ever since; and, sir, it was the face of your daughter—Nettie Hucklebee.” Judge Hucklebee’s face was as pale as death. “Was it fate? Was the old witch’s prophesy to be fulfilled? No! He would not have it so! “My daughter can never be anything to you,” he cried. ‘I forbid your ever speaking to her again!” s ‘¢T am sorry to have to set aside your authori- ty, sir, but you have heard what my inten- ‘tions are.” y ‘“‘T say it shall not be!” the judge exclaimed, in loud and angry tones. ‘‘ It shall never be!” ‘‘T have every reason to hope that it shall be,” said Cibuta John, ‘I think she already re- gards me with favor, She it was, sir, as I have since learned, who threw this silver dagger at my feet almost under this very tree on the night of my arrival here.” And as he spoke he took the dagger from his Vee mi and held it by its point for the judge to see it. ‘* And, sir, the ‘note that was attached to its handle was written by her.” “My God! Again the silver dagger!” And \with face more pale than ever the judge re- coiled from it in horror. ‘“‘Why do you not banish the accursed thing?” At that moment other persons appeared upon the scene. ; They were Gerald Keyne, Bill Twicker and Jem Patterson. ; eet! they paused. What could this “mean? hy the judge’s pale face and angry, excited manner? Had he and Cibuta John quarreled? It certainly looked so. ‘¢ See!” exclaimed Keyne, ‘‘ the fellow has a ‘dagger in his hand! Was he about to commit a crime?” as * No, it cannot be!” said Bill Twicker, ‘ Ci- eter ¥ a eee Cibuta John. buta John is not that sort of man. See! his face does not look ez though he wur in a passion!” “Tl bet they’ve had a rumpus 0’ some sort though!” Jem Patterson declared. At sight of the new-comers the judge turned and walked away toward his home by a narrow th that made a circuit of the hotel, and Cibuta ohn continued on down the road toward the hotel, speaking to the three men as he met and passed them. “*There’s a look in his eyes that I don’t like,” Gerald Keyne declared. Both Bill Twicker and Jem Patterson, how- ever, failed to note any unusual expression in them, thcugh they felt satisfied that there had been some angry words between Cibuta John and Judge Hucklebee. CHAPTER XII. A MURDER FOUL. EarR.Ly next morning the town of Ante-Bar was thrown into a fever of excitement such as it had never before experienced. The people stood with blanched faces, and with hearts fairly chilled with horror. A cowardly murder had been committed right in their very midst. The victim was Judge Hucklebee. Atanearly hour his servant rushed out into the street with the cry that the judge was dead —that he had-been murdered. Few people were around at the time, but the news spread like wild-fire, and ina short while a great crowd stood before the judge’s house. The servant said she had gone up-stairs to call her master at that early hour, ashe had directed her to do, and that she found him lying in bed cold in death, with a knife of some kind buried in his breast. No one, thus far, had gone in to investigate the matter. The crowd needed a leader. Presently Uncle Daniel Derrick, Bob Burdock, Bill Twicker, Gerald Keyne and one or two others arrived upon the scene, and they entered the house without delay. The servant at once conducted them to the judge’s room, There be his bed the judge lay, cold in death—as the servant had iad and buried to its hilt in his breast was—the silver dagger. At sight of it the men—except Gerald Keyne —drew kin horror. The latter Sc aa to it, oie at the same time looking at Bill Twie er, said: ““'You remember where we saw that last, do you not?” ‘Yas, I reckon I do,” Bill replied. ** And you remember the circumstances that attended?” ** Yas—yas.” Poor Bill was greatly grieved. He had taken a strong liking to Cibuta John, and it was hard for him to believe him guilty of a crime like this. Bili knew that his own evidence would be most damaging to Cibuta, but he resolved to modify itas much as possible, and to work for the defense. ‘* Well,” said Keyne, ‘‘ let us look around here and see what clew we can find. Let nothing be disturbed, however, till we get down to business officially. Ah!” And with the last exclama- tion he sprung forward to the window and pick- ed up somethi ng from the floor, ‘What is it?” asked Bill. ‘**Look and see for yourself,” the sharp an- swered, and he laid a peculiarly-shaped piece of silver in his hand as he spoke, Bill recognized it instantly. It was a piece of a Mexican spur—a piece of the very spur worn by Cibuta John. ‘“Your first duty, gentlemen,” Keyne con- tinued, ‘tis to arrest Cibuta John, that fancy, Mexican dressed man who last had this dagger in his possession, and of whose silver spurs this seems to be a piece.” Several more men had made their way into the room by this time, and some of them were ready to follow Keyne’s advice. ‘It is plainly your duty,” the latter went on, “plainly your duty as law-abiding citizens, If tho man is innocent, h» will have every chance to prove it, and he will be none the worse off. Come! if you want a leader follow me!” “ Jest hold yer h right thar fer a minute, abe till ye hear me talk once!” said Bill wicker. “It happens that I am next in office to ther unfortunate jedge thar, an’ ef ye please, Til take this—this heur dilemmer by ther horns an’ have a tussle with it. Am I right, boys?” “Tn course you are,” said Bob Burdock. ‘Tt strikes me that us citizens o’ Ante-Bar kin at- tend to this case.” And Uncke Dan Derrick added: * Yes, Bill is right, ez he always are; An’ we ther citizens o’ ther Bar Kin take this case an’ put it through, An’ ax no mele dear sir, from you.” This was decidedly a set-back for Gerald Keyne, but he took it in good part. ‘*That’s all right,” he said. ‘‘ I’m glad to be let off. As no one else seemed to e action though, gentlemen, I felt it my duty to make a move in the matter. No offense, I hope.” ‘*That’s all right, too,” said Bill Twicker. ‘* Don’t think because we wur set back at first an’ didn’t make no move, thet we are a-goin’ ter do nothin’. Not much! Heur is a murder most foul, an’ we means ter know who done it. What you said about arrestin’ Cibuta John was all O. K., but ez I am now sheriff o’ this town, Pll take ther lead myself.” Gerald Keyne stepped back with a good grace. The men looked carefully around the room, but nothing further was discovered, except that the murderer had evidently gained entrance into the room through the window, having climbed to the top of the piazza in order to do SO, “Wal, pards,” Bill Twicker presently said, ‘*we must do our duty. We must find and ar. rest Cibuta John. Two of you stay heur, an’ don’t allow a thing ter be touched,” and having named the two men whom he desired to have stay in the room, he went out, followed by the crowd. He went straight to the Dew-drop Inn, ‘*Is Cibuta John up yet?” he asked. Bill had no suspicion that his man had left town. He could not think him guilty. There- fore he was not surprised at the reply: ‘No, he has not come down yet.’ ‘¢ Then show me to his room.” The proprietor of the hotel obeyed, and in a few moments Bill was knocking at the door of Cibuta John’s room. There came no answer. Bill knocked again. Still no answer came. Then he gave a series of raps that resounded all through the house. ** Hullo!” a voice within eried out, and they recognized it at onceas that of Cibuta John, ‘Hallo! what’s up! Who's there?” ** It is me—Bill Twicker.” * All right. Half a minute, pard,” said Cibuta and he sprung out of bed and hurriedly slipped his clothes on. In a moment he opened the door. He was greatly surprised to see 60 great a crowd, Dut he calmly asked: ‘* Well, friends, what is it?” He noticed that more than one had revolvers in hand. ‘*Pard,” said Bill Twicker, as sheriff heur, it is my duty to arrest you.” ‘* Arrest me ? What for?” “On weil pane thet you are th’ murderer o’ Jedge Hucklebee.” Cibuta John’s face turned deathly pale. ‘Good God!” he cried? ‘‘Do you mean it? Has Judge Hucklebee been murdered?” ‘“Yes, pard, an’ surspicion pints direct to ou.” “ How—why?” _ “Because th’ silver dagger, which was last seen in your possession, is th’ weepin’ that did ther deed; an’ because this heur piece o’ your spur war found on ther floor in th’ room.” Cibuta John cast a quick glance to where his boots lay. True enough, one of the spurs was broken, and this was the missin rt. . ies x you will give me a fair trial?” he ‘* Jest ez fair a trial, pard, ez possible.” ‘* Then I submit to arrest, Iam innocent of this crime, and I have no doubt that I can prove it to your satisfaction. Disarm me, gentlemen and then allow me to finish dressing and I wi be ready to go with you.” He was quickly disarmed, and then he put on his boots, coat and hat, and was ready. He was conducted at once to the Hucklebee place, and to the bedside of the murdered man. ‘“My God!” he cried, “this is a horrible crime! Does Miss Hucklebee know of it yet?” ** Yes,” answered the woman servant, ‘an’ she has been out o’ her mind ever since told her.” ‘*Some one go down to Jem Patterson’s at once,” said Cibuta, ‘‘ and tell the school-mistress to come here immediately. Tell her that'I send for her, and that Miss Hucklebee needs—” ‘“* No need to send,” said a voice at the door “for Tam here.” And Clara St. Clare en the room. ‘‘ Where is Nettie?’ she asked. __ ‘‘In her room,” said the servant. ‘*Come with me,” rae Cea Bak ee Bae " PI PY tas ae | aie! af ro ie 1 es ee ae, an | a eC Res 7 | ee nm J - se =
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ot ’ he - Me A ' i { ft }. a % ‘ } | i it he qt vg mg ee (i { ? a 3 \ ee NT eG : a) ; be \ =" mE By i io oe p> of i 4 {a » Y - 4 i a. H | ai’ v7 ae ~ ao > - +4 we bs ra, ales iy ft -—? Dalal va , 4 ‘ ies oo ee io a ey it ey hy ref {te v r oe ws sual Sat And she led the way. ‘Poor girl!” said Cibuta. ‘‘ It must be a terrible trial for her. ‘* Well, let us come to business, gentlemen,” he continued, after a moment of silence. ‘‘ I suppose you intend holding an inquest, and if so I hope you will make haste with it, put me in jail if hee will, and then turn your attention to the ding of the murderer; for I—I swear it—am innocent!” In due form then, the inquest was begun. The jurors were chosen, and Bill Twicker acted as coroner. The first witness was Gerald Keyne. He tes- tified to the scene between the prisoner and the judge on the previous afternoon. He said that the judge had seemed very angry, and that his face was e, as though the prisoner had threatened him, The prisoner had held in his hand the silver dagger. He, Keyne, said he had been among the first to enter the room after the crime, The deed had been done with the silver dagger. Upon the floor he had found a piece of a silver spur. The piece exactly fitted one of the prisoner’s spurs where it had been recently broken. Jem Patterson was next called. He corrobor- ated the testimony of Keyne in regard to the scene under the cottonwood tree. Then Keyne motioned that some one else take the chair, and that Bill Twicker be called as a witness. This was done, and Bill, too, corroborated the story told by Keyne and Jem Patterson concern- ing the scene under the tree. He added, howev- er, that Cibuta John had not seemed to him to be in a passion, and that he did not think he had threatened the judge. The woman servant was next called. She said Judge Hucklebee had retired at his usual hour on the previous night, telling her to call him early. en she went up to call him she found him dead. : Then Cibuta John was called. He said he had retired at ten o'clock, feeling very sleepy. Had fallen asleep at once, aud had slept unusually sound, In fact, had not awakened once until he was called by Bill Twicker. He swore that when he retired to bed the silver dagger was in his pocket, and that neither of his spurs was then broken. When questioned about the scene under the cottonwood tree, however, he refused to say anything. He admitted that the judge had been angry. He alsoadmitted having the silver dag- ger in his hand, but said part of the conversa- tion was concerning it. hen asked, he also told about saving Miss Hucklebee’s life. The case was given to the jury, and they de- cided that the judge had been foully murdered, and that there was sufficient evidence to war- rant them in holding Cibuta John for trial. Accordingly the prisoner was put into jail. There he was afterward visited b wyer Phineas Skynn, who, in return for the favor Cibuta had done him b sohbing hin in order to save his money from being taken by real rob- _ bers, offered to defend him when his case came to trial. He also expressed his sincere belief in his entire innocence of the crime, and Cibuta re- tained him for the defense. On the following day Judge Hucklebee was buried, and the next day was set for the trial. CHAPTER XIII. THE TRIAL. THE greatest day that Ante-Bar had ever seen was the day of Cibuta John’s trial. “ No building in the town was large enough to accommodate one-tenth of the crowd, and so court was held out of doors, At nine o’clock sharp the new sheriff of the town, Bill Twicker, took his seat, and without any preliminaries whatever announced that ‘‘This heur court is now open fer biz.” When Cibuta John was brought out it was noticed that his face was slightly pale, but oth- erwise he was the same as usual. © looked to Bee ay ting but a prisoner about to be tried for e. Several times he had been visited by the school-mistress, Clara St. Clare, and once—this very morning—by Nettie Hucklebee, , had given the people of the Bar plenty to talk about, and the general impression was that Nettie did not think him guilty of the crime. Not until all was in readiness for the trial to begin was it discévered that no one appeared as prosecutor, § ‘‘ Wal, what's ter be done?” asked Bill Twicker. ‘If it please the Court,” said Gerald Keyne, “« J will act the part of prosecutor.” “ All right,” said Bill; ‘‘take right hold.” Then the battle opened. Witnesses were called in about the same order as at the inquest, except Bill Twicker, who de- oy Ss Cibuta John. cided that ‘‘no jedge could be a jedge an’ a witness ter wunst.” At length Nettie Hucklebee was called. She was not present, and some one was sent to bring her. What she was wanted for was not plain, but Keyne kad called for her, and she must be brought. When the man who had been sent for her re- turned, however, it was reported that she could not be found. Such being the case, the prosecutor closed without her testimony. Then Lawyer Skynn took hold. The first man he called was Mr. Keyne himself. “ Where were you and the other gentlemen going,” he asked, ‘‘when you came upon the prisoner and Jttdge Hucklebee under the cot- tonwood-tree?” ‘*Going to look at a piece of land, sir,” was the reply, ““Very good. Now, sir, please tell us where ou were on the ee of the murder—I mean, ow and where did you spend the night?” ‘*T retired to my room about eleven o’clock, sir, and slept soundly till four o’clock in the morning. Then I arose ard went out. I slept at the Dew-drop Inn.” ‘You heard no sound during the night?” ** None, sir.” ** That is all.” The next witness was Levi Poppenheimer, the old Jew. ‘* Where were you on the night of this crime?” Skynn asked. ‘* At de Tew-trop Inn,” the Jew answered. ‘“Your room was right next to the one occu- pied by the prisoner, was it not?” “Tt vas, sir.” “Well, Levi, did you hear any sound in the prisoner’s room during the night?” ‘*Vonce I heard a slight noise, put it vos not much.” ‘* What was it like?” ‘* Vell, it vas like someting vas drop on de floor.” “Not a very loud noise?’ “* No, only a schmall noise.” _ The next witness was Clara St. Clare’s negro servant, Snowball White. ‘* Where did you sleep on the night in ques- tion?” was asked. ‘* At de Dew-drop Inn.” ‘Your room, too, was right next to the pris- oner’s room, was it not?” ‘* ‘Yes, boss.” ‘¢ Well, did ba hear any noise in that room during the night?” “Yas, I heard dat ar’ ae. sound what de Jew jes’ tol’ you erbout, Sh: ‘* What did it sound like?” ““ Wal, kyan’t jes’ tell, boss; but it war erbout like yo’ dra pee yer boot on de flo’.” “that will do.” The next witness was Jeff Parsons, “Mr. Parsons,” said the lawyer, “‘ you were instructed to make certain investigations at the Dew-drop Inn. Tell us what you discovered.” “Wal, sir, an’ Bill, an’ gentlemen o’ ther jury,” Jeff began, ‘‘I’ll tell ye ther hull story. Under the directiong o’ ther lawyer thar, me an’ Tom Billings we went ter ther hotel ter look inter this heur matter a leetle. We went up ter Cibuta John’s room first 0’ all. Thar we see thet a feller might easy git inter a winder offen ther shed roof. We got out thar an’ looked around. We found some marks ter prove thet some one had got in that way lately. Then we looked all around close, and found thet ther man hed climbed up one o’ ther posts, An’ right at ther top o’ ther post thar was a nail a--stickin’ out, an’ thar on that ’ar nail we found this.” And he held up a strip of common cloth about one inch wide by three inches long, on one end of which was a button. This evidence created a great stir. Next called was Tom Billings, who told the same story. Then the case closed. Tn his address to the jury, Keyne said : ‘Murder is seldom committed without a pow- erful motive. In this instance we ere at a loss to account for the motive which led to the crime. That there was a motive, however, and a powerful one, we are fully satisfied. We know that the prisoner and Judge Hucklebee had a quarrel on the afternoon preceding the crime, and it has been shown that the prisoner had the silver dagger in his hand at that time. Who can say that the coming of witnesses upon the scene did not save the life of Judge Huckle- bee then and there? “On the mornin prisoner—where? In bed! He claimed to be asleep, We had to knock the house almost down to rouse him, That, gentlemen of the of the crime we found tho. jury, to say the least, looks suspicious. Was he not feigning sleep? How, when the town was in an uproar, and all the doors in that hotel were on the wing, slamming and banging cs people came hurrying out—how, I say, could ke wae on? ‘“Now, let us picture him as he appeared when he did this hellish deed. He waited, no doubt, until the whole town was .wrapt in sleep. Then he left his room by a window, and de- scended from the shed roof to the ground by one of its posts, or supports. Witnesses have sworn to having seen marks that prove some one actually did descend from the shed that. way. Who was it if not Cibuta John? The iece of cloth and button—pshaw! A shrewd wyer’s trick! ‘““Going to Judge Hucklebee’s house, he climbed up to the roof of the piazza and entered. the window of the judge’s room. Softly then he crossed the floor, raised his arm and plunged the silver dagger to its hilt in the sleeping man’s breast. ‘Gentlemen of the jury, it was a horrible mo- ment. Little wonder the man hastened away leaving the dagger there. Little wonder that he broke one of his spurs in climbing through the window, and left a portion of it on the floor. Little wonder that, when he returned to his: room he was so nervous that he made a noise in. undressing and getting to bed. ‘* Gentlemen of the jury, there is but one course: open to you. You must bring ina verdict of murder, or forever be the laughing-stock of your fellow-citizens.” Such was the sum and substance of Keyne’s: argument. hen he had done, lawyer Skynn rose up with a smile of contempt upon his lips. ‘*Gentlemen of the jury,” he began, ‘‘as the learned gentleman for the prosecution has sagely observed, murder is seldom committed without some powerful incentive. But he has failed, ut- terly and miserably failed, to show you whet the incitement was in this instance. at why? Because, as he had to acknowledge, none can found. Hehas told you that there was a mo- tive, however, and a powerful one; of that he is fully satisfied. And so am I. But, that is no proof that the prisoner at the bar is the man who did the d Before we can believe him guilty, we must know, positively know, what object he could have in committing such a crime. Finding no motive, we are bound to believe him. innocent, ‘The learned ape iecoan has told you that the prisoner and Judge Hucklebee had a quarrel on the afternoon preceding the night of the crime. How does he know this? Does he produce wit- nesses to prove what passed between the two mem at that time? No, he does not! We know that. the two gentlemen were seen standing under the big cottonwood tree up the valley yonder, and that Judge Hucklebee seemed greatly excited. Shall I tell you the cause of his excitement? I can do so, and will. It was this: The prisoner at the bar had just saved the judge’s daughter from a horrible death. Relating the circum- stances to the judge, in all the horrible reality, was the cause of his pale face and his horror- stricken attitude. You all know how dearly the judge loved his daughter. Imagine then what is feelings would naturally be under the cir-. cumstances. ° “Tt has been shown, too, that the prisoner held the silver dagger in his hand on that occa- sion. And how was he holding it? I will tell you. He held it by its point, with the handle of it toward the judge! Does this look like threatening the man’s life? Does it not rather look as th gh he was offering the weapon to him? Of course it does. “Let us now go forward to the morning the crime was discovered. Where was the prisoner found? In his bed! Does this look as ore he were guilty? Were hea murderer would he not have made his escape ere the crime was found out? Common sense will answer the question for you. Because he happened to sleep soundly that morning, should you accuse him of feigning sleep? What was his conduct when ar- rested? Look at him now, gentlemen. Does his face indicate that he is guilty? or, rather that he is innocent? He is innocent, gentlemen of the jury, as innocent as you are! Le Who, then, is the guilty one? I wish I could ou. ‘“‘The learned prosecutor has pictured him to you in the act of taking the life of your most worthy citizen. He presented a picture that should cause the very soul of every honest man to recoil in horror. He showed ‘how he crept ‘from his room in the dead of the night, crept ‘down from the shed roof to the ground, climbed a
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‘up to the piazza roof of Judge Hucklebee’s | made no error in acquitting him. And in con- house, entered the room and killed its inmate. “Can you believe this? No, of course you cannot! ‘*Supposing it to be true, however, for sake of argument, let me call your attention to one or two points. You know the prisoner to be a cool, brave man. Is it likely that he would allow anything to so alarm him that he would Jeave the room in such haste as to forget the dagger, which was known to have been in his possession? Is it likely that on setting out upon such a mission he would have gone with a pair of jingling spurs attached to his heels? dive these points your attention, and you can but ac- ‘quit him. ** Allow me, gentlemen, to call your attention ‘to what the learned prosecutor is pleased to call *the trick of a shrewd lawyer’—thanking him for the compliment, the strip of cloth found by Jefferson Parsons and Thomas Billings on the roof of the shed of the hotel, What does this ‘tell us? I will tell you whatit tellsme. It tells me that this strip of cloth came from some part of the clothes worn by the murderer of Judge Ttucklebee. “Twill give you my theory of the crime. Some person who had cause to hate or fear both Judge Hucklebee and Cibuta John, climbed to the latter’s room and purloined the silver dag- ger. He also broke one of his silver spurs and took the piece with him. Then he went to Judge Hucklebee’s house, killed him, leaving the dag- ger in his breast and ar opp ine the piece of spur upon the floor, knowing full well where suspi- ion would fall. Then he made his escape. “ Find the man who wore the garment from which this piece has been torn, and you will have the murderer. “Again, would not the act of breaking the ‘spur have caused the noise heard by Levi Pop- penheimer and Snowball White? nd, would not some sleep-producing drug have prevented the noise waking the p mer, and also caused his sound sleep next morning? Ask yourselves these questions. “Tn conclusion, gentlemen of the jury, lct me warn you that you can only decide this case in one extreme way—guilty cr not guilty. To de- clare the prisoner guilty is to send him to death upon the most trifling of mere circumstantial evidence.” And so, efter seven long hours, the case closed. What we havo given of it here is but a bricf synopsis of it as a whole. It was a case of many peculiar points and errors and misrulings, which can be accounted for in two ways: first, by lack of legal knowledge on the part of the judge and the prosecutor, and second, by cute- ness on the part of lawyer Skynn, who only called attention to such points as did not favor his case. Gerald Keyno made a few final remarks, and then Judge Twicker charged the jury as follows: ** Pards, th’ case is now drawed down to a fine pint fer you ter settle. Jest grapple wi’ it now, an’ give us yer honest opinion strictly ’cordin’ to th’ evidence. Did Cibuta John kill Jedge Hucklebee, or did he not ? That is the question that now troubies th’ public mind 0’ Ante-Bar, an’ it is fer you tersay. Use one side o’ ther pick jest th’ same est’other. Make no difference atall. Now, git yerselves inter ther school- house, an’ when ye’r’ ready wi’ yer verdict we'll let ye out.” e twelve men rose up, marched to the schocl- house, and entered. Five minutes later they had agreed and were allowed to come out. When they had returned to their places the judge said: ‘‘Pards, hev ye ’greed?” ‘“* We hev,” the foreman answered. ‘Then stand up. An’ you, prisoner, stand up an’ face the jury. Now, pards, let’s hear it.” Clearing his t t, the foreman said: “Your Honor, an’ pards all, we found ther evidence strong—mighty strong, and our verdict is "—and he held the word for a few seconds, enjoying the awful suspense—‘‘ not guilty.” The shout that arose was deafening. The verdict ex the public opinion exactly. With wild cheers Cibuta John and Lawyer Phineas Skynn were lifted upon the shoulders of ‘strong men and carried to the hotel. CHAPTER XIV. A HANGING-BEE. Sucu red-hot times as these the town of Ante- Bar had never seen. When the excitement had somewhat subsided, Cibuta John made a public address. He thanked the bgp for the fair trial they jhad given him, and assured them that they had clusion he swore to hunt down the murderer of Judge Hucklebee, if it proved a life-long task. Three rousing cheers were given as he con- cluded. ; ‘*One thing I want,” Cibuta said, when he could again make himself heard, ‘‘ and that is— the silver dagger.” ‘* By heavens! pard, I think we’d best put th’ cursed thing whar it will never come to light ag’in! It has worked ill enough in this heur town!” So spoke Bill Twicker, and many of those present echoed his opinion. ** Now, pards,” said Cibuta, ‘“‘I don’t blame you for wanting to get rid of the thing, but I want it for atpurpose. I want to use it in my man-hunt. I want to use it in my search for the murderer of Judge Hucklebee.” ; ‘‘Thet bein’ ther case, ye shell hev it!” Bill declared. “Who has got it now?” ‘Tt is now in my possession,” said Gerald Keyne. "Then please hand it over ter Cibuta John,” Bill requested. Keyne did so, and at sight of the hated blade, a solemn hush fell over the crowd. Cibuta glanced at it as he took it, and as his eyes fell upon the inscription on the blade, he exclaimed: ‘*Heavens! What means this?” ‘What be it, pard?” was asked. “Why, the inscription here on the blade is not what it was!” ‘Ther devil! What is it now?” Cibuta held it up and read aloud: “The silver dagger’s work is ended, Blood shall ne’er more stain the brand; A charm for good ’tis now intended— Him who keeps it near to hand.” Tere was amystery indeed. One after an- other examined the weapon, but not another word could be found. When and how had this change been made? No one could say. The dagger looked just the same as ever in ever other way, and the inscription looxed as thoug it had been there for years. No new cutting was it. Then arose the question, ‘‘ was this the same silver dagger?” ‘*T can swear that it are ther same one thet killed Jedge Hucklebee,” declared Bill Twicker, ‘‘for thar’s a private mark thet I put onto it myself!” ** And [ can swear that it is the original dag- ger,” said Cibuta John. ‘‘I noticed that small dent near its point when first it came into my possession.” f It was a mystery that no one could solve, As Uncle Dan Derrick, the rhyme-making postmaster remarked: “* Thar are some things in this heur land, Which human man can’t understand,” And verily the old man was right. As it wasafter four o’clock when the trial had closed, the afternoon was now almost gone. The general excitement was slowly abating, but all of a sudden it was again raised to the highest point, when it became eh around that Clara St. Clare and Nettie both missing from the town. _Inquiry proved that they had not been seen since early morning. What could it mean? Search must be made for them at once! Before action could be taken, however, the crowd near the hotel was startled by a wild, weird shriek close at hand, and the next instant a wild-looking creature sprung into their midst. It was an old woman, barely half-clad. Her hair was long and uncombed, her hands were like the claws of some wild beast, and her face wore an expression that was almost hideous to look upon. : ‘* Mother Wolf!” ‘The Mountain Witch!” Such were the cries heard on every hand. The old hag paid no attention to any one in articular, but stretching forth her arms in an impressive manner, she cried: “ Half a mile beyond that big tree up yon valley are the women ye seek, and they are in deadly peril. Fly to their aid at once! Do not lose a moment—an instant!” Some one in the crowd tried to put a ques- tion to the old woman, but again she veined her arms and cried: “Go! Go! GO!” And as she uttered the last word she again gave vent to her wild shriek, and ran away. ** What means this?” asked Cibuta John. “ Is she crazy?” “Tt means that we’re wanted up the valley, ucklebee were | John If. 3s Ind ed ankl ld bare = Ee VPGe poe: and wanted bad /” cried Bill Twicker, in reply, ve ** Come!” > Cibuta John and a score of others were with And he started off on a run. ree) him instantly, and away they sped like thewind. __ When they had gone some distance they were urged to still greater speed by hearing a wom- an’s voice crying loudly for help. On they flew at their highest possible speed, and still endeavoring to increase it by every effort. Presently they came upon a most startling sight as they rounded an abrupt bend. There stood Nettie Hucklebee, with a revolver in each hand, pointing straight at the breasts of two men whom she was holding at bay, while at her feet lay Clara St. Clare. f ‘‘Thank Heaven! help at last!” cried Nettie. ‘¢ Take those two men prisoners, men of Ante- Bar, and hold them to account for the murder of my father!” The hands of the two men were instantly se- curely bound. They were no strangers. to the men who had thus come so timely upon the scene. In truth, they were well known to them aaa were “Giant” John Jones and Billy Bob- sled. : Cibuta John bad instantly knelt down beside Clara St. Clare. ** What has happened?” he asked. ‘‘Are you injured?” ; ‘**T fell and have sprained my ankle so badly that I cannot stand,” was the reply. ‘* Well, we'll carry you home then,” said Ci- buta. And calling two of the men to aid him, the lady was lifted up tenderly, and all started for the town. ‘‘ Wal, leetle lady,” said Bill Twicker, “‘ what means this heur, anyhow?” “* Just what I was about to ask,” said Cibuta ‘Shall I tell you now, or wait till we get to the Bar?’ Nettie asked. “Spin it right out now,” said Bill. most anxious ter hear.” ‘‘ Well,” Nettie began, ‘‘I will tellyou. I did not believe Mr. Cibuta John guilty of murder- ing my father, and so this morning I asked the school-mistress to go with me to see old Mother Wolf. ‘““We set out early for the old witch’s cabin, and when we arrived there, we told her our errand. She brought out her magic tub, and showed us a likeness of the real murderer, It was Giant John, assisted by Billy Bobsled.” ‘““Ther deuce! An’ you two gals sot out ter find ’em?” } “Yes, sir. Mother Wolf told_us ps where to go, and we resolved to do it. We had a very long walk, but we found and captured our men —as you see. We had them thus near to town, when my companion fell and sprained her ankle, and then we were in a bad fix. . All I could do, was to stand and hold my prisoners at bay, and at the same time scream loudly for help. And, “We are thank heaven! you came.” “ And it was Mother Wolf who sent us to our aid,” said Cibuta John. ‘‘TIndeed! Then she must have watched over us!” ‘So it would seem.” The two ladies were taken to the Hucklebee house, where the women of Ante-Bar, gave every attention to the ‘‘schoolmarm’s” sprain- ankle. The men then turned their whole attention to their prisoners. ' Both stoutly denied all knowledge of the crime. They claimed that they had been pros- pecting just beyond their five-mile limit of ap- roach to the town, when the two girls sudden- y appeared, both armed, and got the “drop” on them. A fe “Do you swear you are innocent of this crime?” asked Cibuta John. “Yas, I sw’ar it!” cried Giant John. \ “ And you are willing to do almost anything to prove it?” k ““Yas—yas! Anything!” “Well, then,” and Cibuta drew forth the sil- ver dagger, “‘ we, the people of Ante-Bar, de- mand of you that you sit all night upon Judge Hucklebee’s grave, holding this weapon in your hand. As you are innocent, of course you will not have any fears—” ’ 4 But the giant had fears, as was plainly evi- dent. His face had turned deathly white, his legs began to weaken under him, and he could ly stand. a Tiundet !” cried out Billy Bobsled. ‘‘T can’ stand St heur! And he did so. It will be remembered that when these two — men were carried out of the town on a rail, th made threats against both Judge Hucklebee anc Cibuta John, And thus they had carried their © is Re a 7 } ; ; Tl confess ther hull biz.” ; » it ene - = So eae a ae Sante, 2 y pet eS a a2 = % : is Ly _ ee > ws on . 2 ai ei Sam ood eee Ye - re ois eee ee ee ae ' a + ath os : 25°%, he. uA ry ght nate Yee ran proey ES —) Ss betwee Le, eld } dit, ey ~ RN * Py i AE eh! Pah, +e: See re ae % aig " ae? be! 7 ; » Vy ‘ a! V4 Pity. ia cre bit . : t i “ aa git i eop ing py - hy HM. Boy ns. + Tey 4 “ hs rv - an) a ant, yy my Se eae / " se - h et) a J ’
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ie threats out. Coming to town in disguise, they had put up at the Dew-drop Ina, at least had taken supper there, and during that meal Billy Bobsled s pee a sleeping-potion into Cibuta John’s cup of coffee, Then about midnight Giant John climbed up to the shed-roof of the hotel, and entered Ci- buta John’s room. There he secured the silver dagger, and broke a piece from one of the spurs to leave in the judge’s room. He meant to kill two birds at one shot. He would kill the judge, and Cibuta John would hang for the crime. “Tt’s a lie! A lie!” Giant John screamed aloud in terror. ‘Perhaps this is a lie too, my friend,” said Jawyer Skynn, as he advanced and fitted the lit- tle piece of cloth with the button attached—the a that had been found by Jeff Parsons and om Billings—to the very place in the giant’s ‘* Perhaps coat from where it had been torn. this is a lie, but I rather guess not !” It was proof conclusive, and both men confes- sed their guilt, at the same time begging for mercy. Every man present was of one mind. Ropes were quickly procured, and taking the prison- ers about half a mile up the valley, out of sight of the women and children of the town, they had a grand ‘ hanging-bee.” The two rascals were buried side by side, and not even a stone placed to mark their unhonored craves. ‘That settles that case,” said Bill Twicker, as they returned to town, ‘‘and Jedge Huckle- bee is avenged!” ‘An’ ther country is well shut o’ ’em, too!” declared Jem Patterson. And yet another surprise awaited the people of Ante-Bar that night. When the stage-coach arrived, init came an old man who at once inquired for Levi Pop- penneimer, Mr. Poppenheimer was right on hand. The two shook hands, and then entered the post-office where quite a crowd was waiting for the mail. Gerald Keyne was there, and the old Jew di- rected the old gentleman’s attention to him ina careful manner. ** Yes,” said the old gentleman, ‘‘ it is he.” __ Instantly the old Jew crossed the floor to where (Keyne stood, and *‘ covering ” him with a cocked revolver, exclaimed: ‘‘Gerald Keyne, alias Rodney Blake, bank- thief and forger, you are my prisoner And ere the man could recover from his surprise, handcuffs were snapped upon his wrists. ‘© Who are you?” he cried. The supposed old Jew threw off his disguise, and answered: ‘*T am Bill West, the detective!” Keyne gave up at once. Then the old gentleman came forward and ex- plained. 4 He was the president of a Western bank, and Rodney Blake had been its cashier. Some months previously he had absconded with about fifty thousand dollars of the bank’s funds, and Detective West had been on his track eversince. How well he played the part of an old Jew, has been shown. Keyne was lodged in jail, and the next stage took him away from Ante-Bar to serve many & year in prison. His mad love for Clara St. Clare had brought him to Ante-Bar, and the same cause h urged him to work hard to secure Cibuta John’s conviction for murder, thinking if he were re- moved his chance for winning the lady would be better. ‘* Good-by, honored sir,” Phineas Skynn said, as Keyne left the town, “I would enjoy being for the prosecution on your trial) I can assure you. Oh! Wouldn’t I make it warm for! you! Good-by.” “Good-by, lawyer!” » called out Detective West. ‘Don’t forget your friend—the old Jew!” And the stage was gone. CHAPTER XV. CONCLUSION, Oncr more Ante-Bar settled down to its usual state of peace and quietness, and several weeks slipped quickly by. Clara. St. Clare had recovered from her in- jury, and the school was in a flourishing con- ion. The school-mistress had chan ed her quarters, and was living with Nettie - John was ged in the love of both. Snowball White was there too, their servant and protector. It was generally known now that Cibuta John’s choice was Nettie, and many were the hays Neng hearts that longed for Clara st. Clare. broken. Clare, and Snowball White, too, all came down to the post-office to meet the stage-coach. rally supposed that some one was expected to arrive. usual gathered there that evening. door was opened out sprung two merry chil- pete one a boy of six and the other a little girl of five. caught them in her arms, covering their faces with kisses, thirty years of age, who had to assist himself with a cane. into his arms, felt like going down for their weapons and de- manding satisfaction there and then, But they evidently thought better of it. if radiant face toward the crowd, ond said: my hus men, is my husband, Mr. James St. Clare. And these are my children.” terson. And they were given with a will. It was noticed, however, that Jeff Parsons and Tom Billings did not join in with their usual vigor. make himself heard, ‘‘ allow me to inform you, kind friends, that Mrs. St. Clare is my sister.” ly ae school-teacher, their advertisement happened to fall under Cibuta John’s observation. ‘He at once forwarded it to his sister, Mrs. St. Clare telling her to apply for the place, and he would go to Ante-Bar to protect her. cident, and had been unable to work more than a year, and the lady gladly applied for and ac- cepted the situation. made their home at the Hucklebee mansion, an Mr. St. Clare looks after the late judge’s inter- ests for Nettie, assisted by Cibuta John. now, and was recently elected to the office of sheriff of Ante-Bar. wedding at Ante-Bar, and Nettie Hucklebee will become Cibuta John’s wife. likely to come true: mountain, and is kindly cared for by th of the town, yo cad yw eer ucklebee. The two were now the best of friends, and Cibuta | I+ 4 oy : ; " 4 <<, i & A aye J ’ et ai Cibuta J ohn. But at last one day the charm was rudely Cibuta John, Nettie Hucklebee, Clara St. This was an unusual event, and it was natu- Out of pure curiosity a larger crowd than At last the stage came, and the moment the Instantly Clara St. Clare rushed forward and Then followed a handsome man of about Instantly the ‘‘schoolmarm” threw herself Jeff Parsons, Tom Billings, and a dozen others In a moment the school-mistress turned her “People of Ante-Bar, allow me to introduce nd and children. This man, gentle- ‘‘Three cheers 0’ welcome!” cried Jem Pat- “And,” said Cibuta John, when he could Three cheers more were in order, and prompt- was even so, And now to explain. When the people of Ante-Bar advertised for a Mrs. St. Clare’s husband had met with an ac- fr. and Mrs. St. Clare, with their children Cibuta John has large silver interests there At some, not-far-distant day there will be a Mother Wolf’s prophecy seems in every way The old witch still lives in her cabin on the Phineas Skynn has an office at Ante-Bar, and gets along fairly well. He isa “character” in every sense of the term. Jim Patterson, Bill Twicker, Jeff Parsons Tom “ary 0 Bob Burdock and others are still citizens of Ante-Bar, and still strive to uphold the honor and dignity of the town. And Uncle Daniel Derrick, the rhyme-making postmaster, Heaven forbid that we should for- get to mention him! He is still postmaster at the Bar, and as full of rhyme as ever. A hundred times a day choice gems of poetry fall from his lips. Nor would it do to close our romance and !not give one more selection from his bounteous store. But what shall it be? Ab! Here is just the thing—the remark he made when told of the execution of ‘Giant ” John Jones: Now, when come letters from afar— Marked fer John Jones at Ante-Bar, Pll know they’re fer Cibuta John; Because th’ other John is gone.” Our story is told, Often of an evening, when the citizens of the town congregate in Bob Burdock’s store, to ‘*smoke, and tell lies,” their conversation turns upon the incidents we have related; and it gives them pleasure to tell, to the gaping tenderfoot, of the ‘‘red-hot” times at Ante-Bar that fol- lowed the coming to their town of Cibuta Jo the Prickly Pear from Cactus Plains. a THE END. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. BY ROGER STARBUCK, 5 The Boy Captain; or, The Pirate's Daughter. 2 114 The Black Schooner; or, Jib Junk, the Old Tar, 259 The Golden Harpoon ; or, Loat Among the Floos, 848 Fire-Heela; or, Old Skinflint, the Death-Shadow. i 854 Big Horn Ike, the Hill Tramp; or, The Odd Parda. B61 The Phantom Light-hounse, B70 Breaker Ben, the Reef-Runner. BY WM. G, PATTEN, 489 The Diamond Sport; or, The Double Face of Bed Rock 519 Captain Mystery ; or, Fi B81 Dalsy Dare the Sport from Denver, 5ST Old is 604 Iron Fern, the Man of Fire. 619 The Boy T ve in One, ombeshell, the Ranger Detective. ramp Detective; or, The Double Grip Witness. BY MAJOR E, L, 8T. VRAIN, 292 Sancho Pedro, the Boy Bandit. B01 Leadville Nick B12 Redtop Kube, 888 Brimstone Bob, and His Lightning Horse Quartette, B52 Tombstone Tom, the Arizona Boy of “ Sand.” B5Y Durango Pave, the Youn, Chany ion Wrestlers B71 Kingbolt Chris, the Young Hard-Shell Detective. 880 Avalanche Alf, the Foothills Guide. 890 Jaguar Joe, of the Mountain Mall-Line, the Boy Sport. the Vigilante Prince. BY CAPT. J. F. 0. ADAMS, n Sol; or, Nick Whiffles’s Boy Spy. “ Crese pre ine oo of the West. 64 Ned Hazel, the Boy Trapper. Be Nick W hiffies’s Pets or, Ix The Valley of Death, 60 The White Indian; or, The Scout of the Yellowatone, 20 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, The Greenhorn in the Woods, 1 Lightning Jo, the Terror of the Prairie. 5% Ruck Buekram ¢ or, Bess, the Female Trapper, 2ATZ Old Grizzly and Mis Pets; or, The Wild Huntress, 251 Light-house Lige; or, Osceola, the Firebrand. 257 The Lost Hunters; or, The Underground Camp. 288 The Scalp King; or, The Human underbolt, BY J, 0. COWDRIOCK. 860 Silver-Mask, the Man of Mystery. B6Y Shasta, the Gold King} or, For Seven Years Dead, 420 The Detective’s Apprentice; or, A Boy Without a Name. 424 Olbuta Johny; or, Red-Hot Times at Ante Bar. 4389 Sandy Sam, the Street Scout. 467 Disco Dan, the Daisy Dude. 490 Broadway Billy, the Bootblack Bravo. 606 Redlight Ral ee the Prince of the Road, 514 Brondway Bi 524 The Engineer Detect 586 Broadway 648 Mart, the Night Express Detective. 557 Brondway Billy’s Peath Racket. 444 Air-Line wake the hb ag Kens tos OO an 5 ‘he Chimney Spy; or, Broadway y’s Surprise-Party. 592 The Boy Pinkerton, 605 William 0’ Broadway; or, The Boy Detective’s Big Inning. 615 Fighting Harry, the Chief of Chained Cyclone. ly’s trp ve. Billy’s ‘ Dittkilty.” BY EDWARD WILLETT. 167 Asa Scott, the Steamboat Boy. 199 Featherweight. the Boy Champion of the Muskingum. 228 Ozark Alf; or, Featherweight Among the Outlaws, 2k2 The Typo Detective; or, Weasel, the Boy Tramp, 295 Feurless Phil; or, The King of Quarteville, 811 The Rovin h 822 Nemo, the Detective; or, Kit Kenyon’s Vendetta. 840 Clip the Contortionists or, ‘The Montana Vigilantes. Sport; or, The Pride of Chuckaluck Camp, MISCELLANEOUS AUTHORS. 4 The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Frederick Whittaker, 9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen. 12 Gulliver’s Travels, By Dean Swift. 14 Aladdin; or, The Wonderful Lamp. 16 Robinson Crusoe. (27 Illustrations.) 18 Sindbad the Satlor. His Seven «Ab 22 ‘he Sea Serpent; or, The Boy Robinson Crusoe. By Juan Lewis. 88 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, The Red Pirates of the Carribees. By S, W. Pierce. 86 The Boy Clown; or, The Queen of the Arena. By Frank 8. Finn. 88 Ned Wylde, tho Boy Scout. By Texas Jack. 51 bg 7 Boy Tides; or; The Underground Camp. By Archie ‘, lrona. 95 The Rival Rovers; or, Tho Freebooters of the Mississippi. By Lieut.-Col, Hazeltine. 98 Robin Hood, the Vutlawed Ear); or, The Merry Men of Green- wood, By Prof. Gildersleeve. 105 pe es on the Hunter; or, The Crow Captive. By Captain amilton Holmes. 112 The Mad Munter; or, The Cave of Death. By Burton Saxe. 124 Tippy, the Texans or, The Young Champion. By George Glevson. 128 The Young Privateer; or, The Pirate’s Stronghold. By Harry Cavendish. 148 Sharp Sams or, The Adventures of a Friendless Boy. By J. Alexander Patten. 227 Duxky Darrell, Trapper; or, The Groen Ranger of the Yo! lowatone. By Edward Emerson. 261 Fergus Fearnaueht the New Yirk Boy. By @, L. Aiken, R26 Killb’ar, the fh de; or, Davy Crockett’s Crooked Trail. By Ensign . Warren, 208 Red Claw, the One-Eyed ‘Trapper; or, The Maid of the Clif. By Captain Comatock. B17 Peacock Pete, the Lively Lad from Leadville. By Lieu- tenant Alired Thorne. 828 The Sky Detectives or, A Boy’s Fight for Life and Honos, By Maior Mickey Free. 850 Hed Ralph, the River Rovers or, The Brother's Re- venge. By Ned Bun thine. 865 Baltimore Ben the Bootblack Detective. By A, P, Morris, 874 Pe lgaass Toms or, Ben's Double Match, By George H, NoTee, 876 Callfornia, Joe’s First Trail. By Colone] Thomas Hoyer Monastery. 418 Billy Bombahell, the Cliff Clim*er, By F. 8, Winthrop. 475 Vhe Black Bhi. By John S_ Warner. 454 Comanche Die and His Three Invinclbles By Henry J, Thomas. HAR Wizard-Arm, the Dandy by fy Arthur F, Holt. B82 The Cowboy Duke. By Edwia Brooke Forrest. H52 Artel the Athlete, By David Droid, 685 Will Waters, the Boy Ferret. By H, Enton, A New Issue Every Tuesday. The Halt-Dime Library \s for sale by all newsdealers, fiv eonts per copy, or sent by mail on recelpt of slx cents each. ? \ BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, pests . 98 William Street, New York.
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“- Neo ak “at BREADLE'S* H ALF-DIME* | IBRARY. Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at tne Uniform Price of Five Cents. 7 us a = ¢) No Double Numbers. BY EDWARD L. WHEELER, Deadwood Dick Novels 1 Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road. 20 Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance, 28 Buffalo Ken; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise. B& Willa Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval, 42 Phantom Miners or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza. 49 Omaka Oni or, Deadwood Dick in Danger. 57 Deadwood Vek's Eagles; or, The Pards of Flood Bar. 78 Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Calamity Jane, the Heroine, 77 Corduroy Charlie; or, Deadwood Dick’s Last Act 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville. 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, The Double Cross Sign. 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. 129 Dealwoed Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s suich. 188 Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base, 149 A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike, 146 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood} or, The Picked Party, 195 Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivals of the Road. 201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Deadwood Dick’s Ward. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Ad- venture. 217 Captain Orack-Shot, the Girl Brigand. 2 Sugar-Coated Sam}; or, The Black Gown. 282 Gold-Dust Dick. A Romance of Roughs and Toughs, 268 Deadwood Dick's pivides cr, The Spirit of Swamp Lace. 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail. 809 poadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick of regon, 821 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flats, 847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Dig- ings. 851 Hhendweea Diek Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vendetta. B62 Deadwood Dick’s Claim. 405 Deadweod Dick in Dead City. 410 Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds. 421 Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A “ Cute Care,” 480 Deadwood Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained Hand, 448 Deadwood Dick, Jr. 448 Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Defiance. 458 Sunflower Sam, of Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Full and, 459 Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Ronnd- Up. 465 Philo Fly, of Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Racket at aim le 471 Bozeman Bills or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Corral. 476 Humboldt Harry the Hurricane; or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Dog Detective. 481 Moll Myatery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Deadwood, 491 Prince Pistol, the King of the West; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’a Compact. 496 Monte Cristo, Jr.: or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Inheritance. 500 Deadwood Dick's Dgpings 5 or, Dr. Death-Grip’s Swoop. 508 Deadwood Dick’s Deliverance. 515 Deadwood Dick’s Protegee. 522 Deadwood Dick’s Three. 529 Deadwooa Dick’s Danger Ducks. 544 Deadwood Dick’s Death Hunt, 589 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Texas. 544 Deadwood Dick, Jr. the Wild West Vidoeq. 549 Deadwood Dick on His Mettle. 554 Deadwood Dick, Jr. tn Gotham, 561 Deadwood Dick in Boston. 567 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Philadetphia. 572 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Chicago. 578 Deadwood Dick, Jr. Afloat. 5S4 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Denver. 590 Deadwood Dick, Jr's. Decree. 595 Deadwood Dick Jr. In Beelzebub’s Basin, 600 Deadwood Dick Jr. at Coney Island. 606 Deadwood Dick Jr’a Leadville Lay. 612 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Detroit. 618 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Cincinnatt., 624 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Nevada. Other Novels by E. L. Wheeler. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Buffalo Demon, 82 Bob Woolf or, The Girl Dead-Shot. 89 Death-Face, Detective; or, Life in New York. 45 Old Avalanche; or, Wild Edna, the Girl Brigand, 58 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., the Boy Phenix. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or, The Red Rifle Team, 69 Gold Rifle, the Sharpshooter; or, The Boy Detective, 80 Rosebud tet gS or, Nugget Ned, the Knight, 84 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand, 88 Phetograph Phil; or, Rosebud Rob’s Reappearance, $2 Canada Chet 3 or, Old Anaconda in Sitting Bull’s Camp. 96 Watch-Eye ¢ or, Arabs and Angels of » Great City, 118 Jack Hoyle the Young Speculator. 117 Gilt-Edged Dick, the Sport Detective 121 Cinnamon Chip, the Girl Sport, 125 Bonanza Bill, Miner. 188 Bows Bob the King of Bootblacksa, 141 Solid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent. t Ferret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s Boss Job. 161 New York Nell, the Boy-Girl Detective. 177 Nobby Nick of Nevada; or, The Sierras Scamps, 181 Wild Frank, the Buckskin Bravo, 209 Fritz, the Bound-Boy Detective. 218 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventriloquist Hunter, 226 Snoozer, the Boy Sharp; or, The Arab Detective, 286 Apollo Bill, the Trail Tornado. 240 Cyclone Kit, the Young Gladiator. 244 Sierra Sam, the Frontier Ferret. 248 Sierra Sam’s Secret; or, The Bloody Footprints, 258 Sierra Sam’s Pardy or, The Ange! of Big Vista. 258 Sierra Saim’s Seven; or, The Stolen Bride. 278 Jumbo Joe, the Bey Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs, 277 Denver Doll, the Detective Queen. 281 Denver Doll's Victory. 25 Denver Doll's Decoy ; or, Little Bill’s Bonanza. 291 Turk, the Boy Ferret. 296 Denver Doll’s Drift; or. The Road Queen. 299 A No. 1, the Dashing Toll-Taker. 808 'Liza Jane, the Girl Miner; or, the Iron-Nerved Sport. 825 Kelley, Hickey & Co., the Detectives of Philadelphia. B80 Little Quick-Shot; or, The Dead Face of Daggeraville. 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner, 889 Kangaroo Kit’« Racket. 848 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood, B58 First-Class Fred, the Gent from Gopher. 868 Yreka Jim, the Gold-Gatherer}; or; The Lottery of Life B72 Yreka Jim’s Prize. B78 Nabob Neds or, The Secret of Slab City. BS2 Cool Kit, the King of Kids; or, A Villain’s Vengeance, B85 Yreka Jim’s Joker; or, The Rivals of Red Nose, 889 Bicycle Ren; or. The Lien of Lightning Lode, 894 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam. 400 Wrinkles, the Night-Watch Detective. 416 Wigh Wat Harry, the Base Ball Detective, 426 Sam Slabaldes, the Beggar-Boy Detective, 484 Jim Beak and Pal, Private Detectives, 488 Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher. 486 Seulskin Sam, the Sparkler, oe Wee BY CHARLES MORRIS, 18 Will Somers, the Boy Detective. 22 Phil Hardy, the Boss Boy. 26 Picayune Pete; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective. 80 Detective Dick; or, The Hero in Rags. 42 Mandsome Harry, the Bootblack Detective, 47 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. 152 Black Besa, Wi) Wildtire’s Racer. 157 Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy, 162 Will Wildfire in the Woods, 165 Billy Baggage, the Railroad Boy. 170 A Trump Card; or, Will Wildfire Wins and Loses, 174 Bob Rockett} or, Mysteries of New York, 179 Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner, 188 The Hidden Mand3 or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge. 187 Fred Halyard, the Lite Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers, 189 Bob Rockett; or, Driven to the Wall. 196 Shadowed; or, Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life, 206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King. 21iZ Dashing Dave, the Dandy Detective. 220 Tom Tanner; or, The Black Sheep of the Flock. 225 Sam Charcoal the Premium Darky. 235 Shadow Sam, the Messenger Boy. 242 The Two “ Bloods ”; or, Shenandoah Bill and His Gang. 252 Diek Dashaway ; or, A Dakota Boy in Chicago. 262 The Young Sharps: or, Rollicking Mike’s Hot Trail. 274 Jolly Jim, the Detective Apprentice. 289 Jolly Jim’s« Job; or, The Young Detective. 298 The Water-Hound; or, The Young Thoroughbred. 805 Dashaway, of Dakota; or, A Western Lad in the Quaker City. 824 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective. 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagabond Detective. 858 The Reporter-Detective; or, Fred Flyer’s Blizzara. 867 Wide-Awake Joe; or, A Boy of the Times. 879 Larry, the Leveler; or, The Bloods of the Boulevard, 408 Firelly Jack, the River-Rat Detective. 428 The Lost Finger; or, The Entrapped Cashier. 428 Fred Flyer, the Reporter Detective. 482 Invincible Logan, the Pinkerton Ferret. 456 Billy Brick, the Jolly Vagabond. 466 Wide-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive. 479 Detective Dodge; or, The Mystery of Frank Hearty. 488 Wild Dick Racket. 501 Boots, the Boy Fireman} or, Too Sharp for the Sharper. 566 The Secret Service Boy Detective. 596 Jimmy the Kid; or, A land Among Wolves. BY OLL COOMES. 5 Vagabend Joe, the Young Wandering Jew, 18 The Dumb Spy. 27 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide, 8L Keen-Knilfe, the Prince of the Prairies, 41 Lasso Jack, the Young Mustanger. 6S The Border King; or, The Secret Foe. 71 Delaware Dick, the Young Ranger Spy. 74 Wawk-eye Harry the Young Trapper Ranger. $8 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. 184 Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman, ‘ 148 Sear-Face Saul, the Silent Hunter 146 Silver Star, the Boy Knight. 158 Eagle Kit, the Boy Demon, 168 Little Texas, the Young Mustanger. 178 Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. 182 Little Murricane, the Boy Captain. 202 Prospect Pete 3 or, The Young Outlaw Hunters, 208 The Boy Hercules: or, The Prairie Tramps. 218 Tiger Tom, the Texas Terror. 224 Dashing Dick; or, Trapper Tom’s Castle. 228 Little Wildfire, the Young Prairie Nomad. 288 The Parson Detective; or, The Little Ranger. 248 The Disguised Guide 3; or, Wild Raven, the Ranger, 260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Young Prairie Ranger, 272 Minkakin Mike, the Boy Sharpshooter. 290 Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. 800 The Sky Demon 3 or, Ruinbolt, the Ranger. 884 Whip-king Joe, the Boy Ranchero. 409 Werecules; or, Dick, the Boy Ranger. 417 Webfoot Mowe, the Tramp Detective. 422 Baby Sam, the Boy Giant of the Yellowstone. 444 Liitle Buckakin, tue Young Prairie Centaur. 457 Wingedfoot Fred}; or, Old Polar Saul, 468 ‘Lamarac ‘Tom, the Big Trapper Boy. 475 Old ‘1 Rattler, the Red River Epidemic, AS2 Stonewall Bob, the Boy Trojan. e 5662 Blundering Basil, the Hermit Boy Trapper. BY T. ©. HARBAUGH, 28 Nick o’ the Night; or, The Boy Spy of ’76. 87 The Hidden Lodge; or The Little Hunter, 47 Nightingale Nat; or, Tne Forest Captains, 64 Dandy erat or, The Outlaws of the Oregon Tralt, 82 Kit Harefoot the Wood-Hawk. 94 Midnight Jack 3 or, The Boy Trapper. 106 Old Frosty, the Guide; or, The White Queen, 128 Kiowa Charley the White Mustanger. 189 Judge Lynch, Jr. or, The Boy Vigiante. 155 Gold Trigger, the Sport; or, The Girl Avenger, 169 Tornado Tom; or, injam Jack From Red Core, 188 Ned Temple, tle Border Boy. 198 Arkansaw ; or, The Queen of Fate’s Revenge, 207 Navajo Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter. 215 Captain Bullet; or, Little Topknotv’s Crusade, 251 Plucky Phil; or. Rosa, the Rel Jezebel, 241 Bill Bravo; or, The Roughs of the Rockies, 255 Captain Apolic, te King-Pin of Bowie, 267 The Buckskin Detective. 279 Old Winch; or, The Buckskin Desperadoes. 294 Dynamite Dany; or, The Bowie Blade of Cochetopa. $02 The Mountain Detectives or, The Trigger Bar Bully. 816 Old Eelipae, Trump Curd of Arizona, 826 The Ten Parda; or. The Terror of Take-Notice. B86 Big Benson; or, The Queen of the Lasso, 845 Pitiless Matt; or, Red Thunderbolt’s Secret. B56 Cool Sam and Pard; or The Terrible Six. BE6 Velvet Foot, the Indian Detective, 886 Captain Cutlass; or, The Byccaneer’s Girl Foe. 896 Rough Robs or, The Twin Champions of Blue Blazes. All The Silken Lasso; or, The Rose of Ranch Robin. A418 Felix Fox, the Boy Spotter. 425 Texas Trump, the Border Rattler, 486 Phil Flash, the New York Fox, 445 Vhe City Vampires; or, Ked Rolfe’s Pigeon. 461 One Against Fifty; or, The Last Man of Keno Bar, 470 The Boy Shadow; or, Felix Fox’s Hunt. 477 The Excelsior Sport; or, The Washington Spotter. 499 Single Sight, the One-Eyed Sport, 502 Branded Ben, the Night Ferret. 512 Dodger Dick, the Wharf-Spy Detective, 521 Dodger Dick’s Best Dodge. 528 Fox and Falcon, the Bowery Shadows. 588 Dodger Dick, the Dock Ferret. 548 Dodger Dick’« Double; or, The Rival Boy Detectives. 558 Dodger Dick’« Desperate Case. 568 Dodger Dick, the Roy Vidocq. 578 The Two Shadows. 582 Dodger Dick’« Drop. 594 Little Lon, the Street-Singer Detective. 610 Old Skinner, the Gold Shark; or, Tony Sherp on Guard. BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM, 7 The eins Vankee; or, The Ocean Outcast, 17 Ralph Roy, tile Boy Buccaneer; or, The Fugitive Yacht, 24 Diamond Dirk; or, The Mystery of the Yellowstone, 62 The Shadow Ships or, The Rival Lieutenants. 75 The Boy Duelist; or, The Cruise of the Sea-Wolf. 102 Dick Dead-Eye, the Boy Smuggier. 111 The Sea-Devil; or, The Midshipman’s Legacy. 116 The Hussar Captain ; or, The Hermit of Hell Gate, 197 Little Grit; or, Bessie, the Stock-Tender’s Daughter, 204 Gold Plume; or, The Kid-Glove Sport, 216 Bison BIL, the Prince of the Reins. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport; or, The Woman Trailer, 229 Crimson mates or, The Cowboy’s Triumph, 287 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain. 245 Merle, the Middy 3 or The Freelance Heir. 250 The Midshipman Mutineer ; or, Braudt, the Buccaneer, 264 eon Floating Feather; or, Merle Monte’s Treasure sland, 269 The Gold Ship; or, Merle, the Condemned. 276 Merle Monte’s Oruise; or, The Chase of “The Gold Ship. 280 Merle Monte’s Fate; or, Pearl, the Pirate’s Bride. 284 The Sea Marauder; or, Merle Monte’s Pledge. 287 Billy Blue-Eyes, the Boy Rover of the Rio Grande. 804 The Dead Shot Dondys or, Benito, the Boy Bugler. 808 Keno Kit; or, Dead Shot Dandy’s Double. 814 The Mysterious Marauder; or, The Boy Bugler’s Long Trail. 877 Bonodel, the Boy Rover}; or, The Flagless Schooner, 888 The Indian Pilot; or, The Seareh for Pirate Island, 887 Warpath WII, the Boy Phantom. 898 Seawalf, the Boy Lieutenant. 402 Isodor, the Young Conapirator; er, The Fatal League, 407 The Boy Insurgent; or, The Cuban Vendetta. 412 The Wild Yachtaman; or, The War-Cloud’s Cruise, 429 Dunean Dare, the Boy Refugee. 488 A Cabin Boy’s Luck; or, The Corsair. 487 The Sea Ralder. 441 The Ocenn Firefly; or, A Middy’s Vengeance. 446 Waphazard Harry ; or, The Scapegrace of the Sea. 450 Wizard Will: or, The Boy Ferret of New York. 454 Wizard Will's Street Scouts. 462 The Born Gulde; or, The Saiior Boy Wanderer. 468 Neptune Ned, the Boy Coaster. A474 Flora; or, Wizard Will’s Vagabond Pard. 488 Ferrets Afloats or, Wizard Will’s Last Case. 487 Nevada Ned, the Revolver Ranger. 495 Arizona Joe the Boy Pard of Texas Jack. 497 Buck Taylor, King oi the Cowboys. 508 The Royal Middy; or, The Shark and the Sea Cat. 507 The Hunted Midshipman, 611 The Outlawed Middy. ; 520 Buckskin BIL, the Comanche Shadow. 525 Brothers in Buckskin. 580 The Buckskin Bowers. 585 The Buc .skin Rovers. 540 Captain Ku-Klux, the Marauder of the Rio, 545 Lieutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte. 550 Lafitte’« Legacy; or. The Avenging Son. 555 The Creole Corsair. 5660 Pawnee BIII, the Prairie Shadower. 565 Kent Kingdon, the Card King. 570 Camille, the Card Queen. 575 The Surgeon-Scout Detective. 580 The Outcast Cadets or, The False Detective. 586 The Buckskin Avenger. 591 Delmonte, the Young Sea-Rover. 597 The Young Texan Detective. 602 The Vagabond of the Mines. 607 The Rover Detective; or, Keno Kit’s Champions. 617 Ralph, the Dead-Shot Scout; or, The Raiders and the Red Riders of the Kio. BY BUFFALO BILL (Hon. Wm. F. Cody), 8 Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand. 19 The Phantom Spy: or, The Pilot of the Prairie. BS Deadly-Eye, the Unknown Scout, 68 Border Robin Hood: or, The Prairie Rover. 158 Fancy Frank of Cotorado; or, The Trapper’s Trust, LATEST AND NEW ISSUES. 626 The Champion Pards; or, The Lucifer of Silver Bar. By T. C, Harbaugh. 627 Tom Bruce of Arkansas; or, The Wolfin the Fold. By Charles Morris. 628 Broadway Billy’s Dead Acts or, The League of the Sworn Seven. By J. C. Cowdrick. 629 Violet Vane, the Velvet Sport; or, The Jubilee of Jacktewn. By Wm. G, Patten, 680 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in No Man’s Land; or, Golconda, the Gladiator, By Ed. L. Wheeler. Cat’s Terrible Task; or, The Cowboy Detective’s or fey By Lieut. A, K. Sims. Ready August 27. 682 The Dead Detective’s Double. By Gerald Carlton. Ready September 3. >Iueky Paul, the Boy Prospector; or, The Deadwood Des- see ee Last Innings. By J. W. Oabon ” Ready September 10, 4 Cache Carl, the Chico Giant; or, The True Hearts of Red ed Eye Roost, By Buckskin Sam, Ready September 17. 5 Oklahoma Hi, the Blue Coat Scout; or, The Boomers Last 68 Saitle. By P. 8.’ Warne. Ready September 24. A New Iesue Every Tuesday. The Half- Dime Library 1s for sale by all newsdealers, five conte per copy, or sent by mall on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street New York. a ee ee