Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 426) (1885 09 22)
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THIRTEENTH EDITION. = ae yao wy VY ASS Se thst Vil Jal VT ae eK at Fn lV! SS 8 Za ANN ee Copyright, 1885, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, September 22, 1885, $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS Price, a Vol. XVIL a Year. No, 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. ; 6 Gents. N oO. 42 6. , Vj \\ e AON rWS ‘ \ KE AS WO NS Aa YS Gpy= AW, » PES |THE BEGGAR-BOY DETECTIVE The Blind Man’s Vengeance, BY E. L. WHEELER, AUTHOR oF “DEADWOOD DICK”’ NOVELS, * RosmaUm ROB’ NOVELS, ETC., ETC, CHAPTER I. A SUICIDE INTERRUPTED, Sonset! And such a sunset, too. The western horizon was fringed with pines, and half of the sun’s face was dipped behind this line of = } — h somber green. ——— — \y : AY > || The sun itself was a hall of fiery red, such as only ; ye S, Sat Mi can be seen in the season of a drouth. d the Western The reflection of the rays lit u itttle heavens luridiy, and touching rifts of gray clouds, reminded one of the light of a burning vee i ar ae eee a per Boyd ae ai 8 nea e oO} e@ setting sun. “WARY A GO!” SAM REPLIED SAUCILY. “ir you’RE GOIN’ TER DROWN YERSELF, ’'M the most beauteous valleys in the Grass State, GOIN’ TO SEE THE FUN, 80 GO ON WI’ THE FUNERAL,” flanked by two pine-crowned ranges of hilla, ~~
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ay 5 Sam Slabsides, the well populated, Agriculture was an art, almost, here, and everywhere were unmistakable evidences ‘of thrift and prosperity Through the valley, in a zig-zag course, ran a high- way, bordered with well-kept fence, and on either side of this thoroughfare, were large ficlds of ripen- ing grain, tasseling corn, and billowy meadows; then, too, there were stately farm-houses—those famous New York State farm-houses, after which so many Southern homes talie pattern, so white and neat, with their many wings and gables, porches and green blinds—and coflazes, out-buildings, gi- gantic barns, granaries, and so forth, But it is not of these we would write. As the road wound in its serpentine course, through this smiling vale of Nature, it bordered a little lake, on its right, looking West—or, perhaps we should say, a pond, for the sheet of water did not cover more than a couple of hundred acres, It was surrounded by sloping grassy banks but for one thing, was a remarkably pretty lakelet. It was the dark color of the water that gaveit an ominous appearance. The water was almost black, to look at, and yet it was not of a sluggish or stagnant nature, for the beach was hard and pebbly, and there were no water-weeds to be found anywhere along the shores. Even the glinting rays of the degprting sun did not serve to dispel the somber appearance of the water, as a brisk breeze pushed the tiny waves with a mu- sical ripple against the emerald tinted border. This was known as the Dark Pond, and for genera- tions it had borne tnat name. The oldest inhabitantsjof the locality averred that there was a legend connected with the pond, which ran something as follows: Once upon a time a tribe of Indians had dwelt upon the eastern borders of the pond, and had sub- sisted chiefly upon the fish, with whieh it was then plentifully supplied. In these days of their peace, a white man, accom- panied by a beautiful daughter, had settled upon the western shore, and set to work to ‘clear’ him- self a farm. The Indians and the pale-face became friends, and the braves lent a helping hand toward building tne new-comer a cabin. So charming was the settler’s daughter, that the stalwart young braves grew to fairly worship her, and many were the pres‘nts, in the ee of game, and trophies, that found their way to settler Baker's cabin, The most ardent of these copper-colored entbusi- one was old chief Sesquemona, and his son, Light- oot. The old chief had no less than four squaws, but he felt that Ruth Baker would be a decided ornament to his home. Lightfoot also loved her, in his humble way, and as a result, father and son quarreled, and Lightfoot was banished from the tribe. After Lightfoot’s departure, the old chieftain pro- sed to Ruth, and of course, was rejected. He hen asked Mr. Baker for his daughter, and was re- fused. In the dead of one night, shortly afterward, he and his braves made adescent upon the settler’s cabin. Baker was killed, and Ruth captured, and with her a prisoner, old Sesquemona started across the pond, in a canoe. He was not far out upon the water, when another canoe shot out from the shore. It was Lightfoot, in pursuit. Being young aud strong, he gained rapidly on his rent, PAvhen near enough, he manned his bow, and sent an arrow whizzing through the moonlight, Instead of striking Sesquemona, it pierced the brain of Ruth Baker. Furious with combined grief and anger, Lightfoot drew his bow once more, and sent an arrow quiver- ing through the body of his parent, fie then plunged from the canoe into the crystal waters of the pond, never to rise again, From that time forward the waters were dark and ominous in appearance, Tho last rays of sunlizht were lingering upon the Dark Pond, when a young man dashed down the country highway, on horseback, and drew rein ata point where the water approached the road the nearest, Dismounting, he tied his horse to the fence, and then vaulted over, and walked down to the water's and litue edge, Here he stood, for several minutes, gazing into the dark depths before him. He was a trim-built young man of about twenty and dressed in a manner that indicated wealth, for he wore diamonds and gold Ate sh His face was handsome, though the whiteness of his skin gave him rather an effeminate appearance, His eyes were blue, his hair of the blonde type, and his teeth as white as the whitest pearls, e also sported a neat little flaxen mustache, that was most becoming. All in all, he was a person whose appearance would impress favorably. For fully five minutes he stood upon the grassy border, as if endeavoring to penetrate the dark water before him with his keen gaze. There was @ wild, unnatural look in his eyes,—a pained, sorrowful expression upon his forehead, That he was troubled about something was plainly evident. Not. until the nearly last rays of sunlight had dis- appeared from the surface of Dark Pond did the The valley was many miles in length, fertile, and | young man lift his gaze from the water and look toward the opposite side, whers a pretty little cot- taze stood only a few feet from the water’s edge. “Ah! Dolly Denning, you know but little what fate you have driven me to!”’ he cried aloud, elinch- ing his hand and raising it on high. ‘‘Oh! Dolly! Dolly! how could you be so cruel, when you knew how passionately and devotedly I loved you!” Then he cayered his eyes with his hands, anda tremor passed ‘ever him, caused by the intensity of his emotion. ‘*Oh! God, why was I ever born?” he went on on, *“‘to suffer this torture—why, why was I ever born? I cannot live and see Dolly my own father’s wife—no! no! vo/ ll carry out my original plan, that brought me here. I will put an end to my misery, and when Frank Jamison’s lifeless body is found floating in Dark Pond—then, perhaps, Dolly will know how much 1 loved her, ‘It is best [should do this. The Bible commands us not to commit murder, but I can’t help that. I could not live and know that Dolly was father’s wife—no, never! Jf I were to live, 1 would go crazy —I would kill them both, perhaps. Dead, I can harm no one, and they can live together, in peace and plenty, when I am forgotten, “But, why stand here, like a driveling fool? I know what I’ve got to do, and I will doit. Iam not afraid to die. I’ve led a good life, so far, and death has no terrors for me!’ Tt was evident that Frank Jamison had nerve, and that he had fixed purpose. He took off his coat, resolutely, and examined the contents of the pockets. He laid the coat on the grass, took off his vest and | disposed of it in the same manner, and then sat down and took off his shoes. Rising, he raised his eyes heavenwar’, where the sun still reflected myriads of colors; he uttered a silent prayer; then, with a firm step, he strode down the grassy slope toward the water, That he would have plunged recklessly into the dark, sullen pond, seemed evident, had not some- thing arrested his attention. The something was a voice, that uttered the sug- gestive inquiry: “Say, mister, where d’yer think you'll be, when yer get thar?” The effect of the words upon Frank Jamison, were electrical, He wheeled about, with an exclamation, some- what vexed, and considerably seared. The object that his gaze rested upon was truly a refreshing one, for that locality. Seated upon the top board of the fence, near to where the horse was tied, was a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age. In hight he had nearly attained the average of manhood, but so thin and lank was he that he appeared taller than he really was. In face he was not exactly homely, nor was he by ony means handsome. is features were clearly-cut, his eyes brown and ? keen, and his hair of a like color, while there linger- | ed about the corners of his larged-sized mouth an expression of humor and good-nature. * is attire consisted of but three articles, namely, an old felt hat, a ealico shirt, and a pair of pants much too large for him, “Hal who are you /’’ young Jamison sharply de- manded, ‘**Who am I?” echoed the boy with a grin, ‘* Why, I’m Samuel Slabsides, member of Congress, Who are you?” ‘Nonsense! What are you doing around here?” “Oh! I’m jest takin’ a rest, while the old man’s restin’, an’ seein’ you here, I tho’t I'd see how the thing works, asI might want to try me hand at it, myself, one of these days.” “ What do you mean sir?” “Why susanside—susanside, 0’ course! Never see’d no one do thet act, an’ et struck me as how et would be wu’th lookin’ at. But, I say, mister, how "bout them togs, an’ shoes? Ef ye’r’ goin’ to shuffle off this mortal coil yer won’t have no more use fer ’em, nohow, an’ yer might give ’em ter me. I'ma lone orphint, without any relashe, an’tho’ T ain’t stuck on me ‘shape, I’ll bet a billion I’d look jest ripe in them clothes, Ef ye’r’ goin’ ter croak, ae might as well leave ther trowsers behind too, fer it’s a pity ter break ther suit!” “You'll not get the clothes!’’ Frank Jamison de- clared angrily. ‘‘Get off that fence and go along about your business, or ’1—” “TA otye vou preat ehineshing (” ‘T'll give you a great thras “Ho! ho! Willyou?” “Yes, I will!’’ “Bet you on that! Bet I can skip all around you, without yer ketchin’ me, jest like a lively flea. Oh! I'ma reg’lar daisy-bender, you bet!” “Confound you, get off that fence, and go alon about your business,I say!” Frank cried, growing exasperated. ‘*Nary a go!” Sam replied saucily, ‘If you're goin’ ter drown yerself, I’m goin’ to see the fun, so goon wi)? the funeral, Wade right in and 1l'll see that yer shoes an’ togs is well taken care of.” Frank Jamison glared at his youthful tormentor a minute, as if he could annihilate him; then with some unintelligible exclamation, he sat down upon the grass, and began to put on hisshoes. ** Hillo!”? ejaculated Sam, with a whistle of sur- prise. ‘‘ Changed yer mind, bev yer? Ain’t goin’ ter commit susanside jest because Dolly—Dolly—Dolly is goin’ ter marry yer old man? Now, that’s what I call good, every-day hoss sense. Ther idear of a feller kerflummigatin’, jest ‘cause a gal goes back on him, ain’t ’cordin’ ter scripter, ner Queensbury! 3 | Begrar-Boy Detective, | laugh, that fair! He Jewhittaker! I bet Dc.7 would laff her socks off ef she knew ‘bout what yer was goin’ terdo!”’ Frank Jamison finished putting on his shoes, arose, and donned his cvat and vest. **See here, boy!’ he cried, riggs 2 on Sam Slab- sides, half-fiercely. ‘‘I s’pose you'll go blab this matter to the first person you meet?” “Dunno *bout that, boss, Hain’t much on the tattle, I ain’t, but I would like ter ‘tell Dolly, jest fer ter see her laff. I do jest like ter heer a ga) Taff. Et puts me in mind of an Irish bagpipe playin’ the highland fling.”’ “If you ever mention a word of this to her I'll murder you!” Jamison declared, passionately. “You would, hey? Now, Jamey, old stockin’, you don’t know me—iiai’s pat, When yer try to skeer Sammy Slabsides out uv a year’s growth, that’s jest where yer make a mistake. I wasn’t fetched up in Philamydelphy, ter be skeered by a coun Senet nohow. I'm like er Zoologi- cal catnil—ef ye rub.me skin wi’ silk plush or a feather.duster, ’'m jest as docile as a lamb, I'll even stand bein’ curried with a U. S. greenback. But when ye cum ter tryin’ ter soothe me wi’ a sharp-too'hed garden-rake, then ferbearance ceases ter be a virtue, and I kick!’ “Then, do I understand that for a money consid- eration, you will hold your tongue?”’ ‘*Nixee! Couldn’t do that. y tongue and I aire solid pals, and I wouldn’t hold ’im, fer nothin’, Ef you have got more money than yer don’t know what ter do with, yer might slip me a couple o’ milyun, an’ I won't say nothin’ ’bout yer ’temptin’ susanside tho’.”’ “Tf you will promise not to say anything about this mye I'll give you ten dollars.” ‘Ten?’ ** Yes,"’ ‘Phew! But, you’re a liberal snoozer! Now, do I resemble a ten dollar cigar-store Pompey? Do you see anything about the cut of my jib that reminds rou of a ten-dollar clothing store dummy? Do I ook as if ten dollars and I had allus bin strangers? Waal, mebbeI do, Hard times and adversity levels ther mightiest, Felix sez, But, howsumever, not- withstanding, ye make er colossal mistake when yer think (’d deprive myself uv red-ripe fun, jest fer a ten-dollar note!” **Confound it, what do you want, then?” “The earth, and a thousan’ shares o’ preferred stock in the atmosphere!”’ ‘You'll get it, too!’ young Jamison gritted, springing over the fence. “Ill ride down to R——, and send a constable after you, to arrest you for vagrancy,” * All right. over at Dolly’s! be so cruel?” And then the young vagabond burst into a merry iy infuriated the would-be suicide. untied and mounted his horse, with nervous agility, and spurred away down the road, in mad 1aste, While Sammy Slabsides gazed after him, his lips puckered up, as if he wanted to whistle, ‘Well, lll be hugged ef that feller ain’t as cranky as ye find ’em,” he soliloquized. ‘*‘He must hev the love complaint fearful, or else he’s off his base. Wonder ef he would really hey tried to drown him- self, ef I hadn’t come along? Kinder reckon he would, fer he ’peared dead inearnest, An’ his name is Frank Jamison, an’ he’s in love wi’ Dolly, an’ so’s his old man, an’ it pears the old man is rather get- tin’ the best 0’ the race—scoopin’ the sweepstakes!” Here the boy glanced toward the west. where dark banks of clouds were rolling up, and then sprung down from the fence. ‘Goin’ to be a thunder-storm,” he commented ‘“‘and a hard one too. Guess J better go rouse old Felix, an’ te lookin’ up some place fer shelter, The old man ain’t so strong as when we started out on the tramp, an’ et won’t do him no good ter get wet. Phew, but a good rain would do heaps of good ter my complexion!” And many e farmer, that evening, looked at the banks of clouds in the West, and echoed his words less the complexion. The ground was parched, and vegetation was fairly burning up, for want of rain. None had fallen, for weeks, and all nature seemed more or less affected by the drouth, _— CHAPTER II. A STRONG ASSERTION. Har a mile down the valley, from the Dark Pond, and ironting upon the highway, was a handsome and eostly residence, of modern construction. It was built upon a sloping shrub-dotted lawn, which was, in turn, surrounded by a pretty iron fence. Everything about the place betrayed wealth and superior taste. he dwelling, the stone carriage barn and other outbuildings, were of tasty design; the grounds with their walks, drives, beds of exotic flowers, and shrubbery, all showed the care of an experienced gardener, This was the and the new residence had only recently su ed an old mansion, that had oceupied the site. Judge Jamison ‘thad been for a number of years, the judge of the Supreme Court of the circuit where he resided, and in addition to owning ‘ Larch- mont,” his handsome and extensive Coney es- tate. was is yo to be worth somewhere in the neighborh of half a million of money, He was a widower, having only one child, an ate tractive girl, now nearing her majority. When he comes for me tell him I'll be Oh! Dolly! Dolly! how could you home of Judge Lennox Jnesivan
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| His home, however, was also the home of two | adopted sons, who answered to the pbames of Frank and Ralph Jamison. | They were twin brothers, and had been adopted Sy the late Mrs. Jamison, when they were infants, | at which time their parents bad been killed by a | wailroad accident. | Judge Jamison had not always beenrich. Indeed, | ~t was only within the latter few years that he had | amassed his wealth, cleared off the taxes and mort- | gages on his estate, and built the sumptuous home he | now occupied. That he had acquired his wealth through being a judge of the Supreme Court was not probable. for the salary was not large; hence it was a matter of | conjecture how he got bis money, in so brief atime, | Some av.rred that he gambied in stocks; but, if 80, he did it in such a quiet manner that no one at home could prove anything of the sort. Mrs. Jamison had died fifteen years before, and shortly after her decease, Jamison had placed the children at school, and gone West. He was absent about a year, and when he return- ed he was said to be. as poor as when he went away. Somehow, he had managed to get into politics, however, had studied law, and finally made rapid | strides, until he became judge. It was not until long after this, that prosperity seemed to smile on him. About three hours before the meeting of Frank Jamison and the young tramp, Sam Slabsides, upon ‘tthe shore of Dark Pond, Judge Jamison sat by a window, in his. elegantly furnished parlor, looking | out upon the lawn. He was a large, massively built man, of imposing and stately appearance. His head, a trifle bald, was well developed, and his face fw and round, with large gray eyes, whose natural expression was wather cold and stern, His hair was frosted with white, and his well-trim- med mustache was the same, His dress was suggestive of quiet but particular taste, and he wore a costly diamond ring and pin. There was a look of displeasure upon his face, as he gazed from the window, upon the lawn. “lt is too aggravating to bear with any longer!’’ he said, aloud, ‘* and we may as wellcome to an un- derstanding, at once. I have formed my resolution, and it shall not be broken.” He touched a cal!-bell, near at hand, and afew minutes later, a negro boy, in livery, entered the room, ** Julius, is Master Frank about the house?’ the judge asked, without diverting his attention from the awn, * Yes, sah. He is out at the stable, sah.” “Go tell him, then, that I want him. Where is ‘Ralph?”’ **Gone to the city, sah!” ‘Ah! Julius, did he come in late last night?” ‘* After two, sah.” **Had he been drinking?” “Deed, I don’t know, sah. I didn’t smell him bref!” “That will do. Go tell Frank to come here.” The servant nodded, and took his departure. In the course of five minutes Frank Jamison en- tered the room. 5 * Did you want me, sir?” he inquired, pausing near ‘the judge, hat in band. “Yes, I want you, was the reply. “I have —-- you were at Ivy Cottage again last night? * Yes, sir, I was!” Frank assented, flushing slightly. **Ah! then the report was true. I believe it was jess than a week ago, Frank, that I hinted to you that you could please me best, by keeping away from Ivy Cottage--was it not?” ’ _T believe you did hint something of the sort, r “And yet, knowing this, you went there in oppo- sition to my wishes.” Frank's cheeks flushed still rosier, and his eyes sparkled with spirit, “*T have always been an obedient son, I believe,” the said; “even more so than Ralph. But, now I have arrived at an age, when I consider ita matter within my own jurisdiction, where I go, and with ag pare Lite ‘*Indeed! You are carrying your ideas quite too high, sir. You will remember lon are er twenty- one yet!’ : * But I am so near to it, that there’s no fun in it!” “That matters not. Tas good as ordered you to keep away from Ivy Cottage, and you shoud have heeded me, You aroaware that [ have been paying amy addresses to Miss Denning, with a view of bring- ing her to Larchmont.’ “And you are aware, sir, that Dolly and I have ‘courted for the last two years! ‘Bah! bosh! you, a mere chit ofa boy!) Wh , sir, marriage should be the last of your ambitions. Whet in the world have you got toward supporting a e?’ ‘* A stout heart, a willing mind, and a strong pair of arms, sir.” “Nonsense! You'd make a fine husband, to drag a pretty girl down to a life bordering on pauperism, For, of course, you could not expect me to counte. nance your marriage, no matter who you might re * Nor should I as’: you, sir, Iam thankful for all ou have ever done for me, but you will please bear in mind, that, since I was fifteen, I have never asked you for a cent—not one! What money, wt ye | ard trinkets I have had, have always been tendere me, without my asking.” \ The judge winced, for he knew this to be the Unlike his brother, Frank had grown up rather in- pe. iy asters ather than ask for anything he needed, he would go without it, * Oh! well, that’s altogether a different matter!’’ the judge said, off-handedly. ‘‘No doubt you like Dolly, as she is a very charming young girl, but you see this thing of your visiting lvy Cottage when she is really not at berey to entertain you, is neither right nor honorable in you.” ** Why hasn’t she a right to entertain me?” Frank demanded, hotly. ‘I am always welcome when I go there!” ‘In a formal way, however. Dolly is a very con- siderate girl, and she feels compelled to act friendly toward you, from the fact that you have grown up together. That your visits to Ivy Cottage should cease, however, you must know, when I tell you, sir, that Dolly Denning bas promised to become my wife within the month!’ * What!” The announcement appeared to daze young Jami- son. ** Just as I say,” the elder went on, with a spice of triumph in his tone, ‘She already has the engage- ment-ring in her possession. So you see, that all hopes of your winning her are futile, and you might as well take matters coolly and sensibly.”’ Frank made no reply. He stood staring vacantly at the floor, powerless to express the feeling that rose within him. ““You know, Frank,”’ Judge Jamison continued, ‘*that I have always planned that you and Jessie should marry. Of course—” ‘Enough!’ Frank cried with sudden force, ‘‘Jes- sie and I are practically sister and brother, and could never marry. Dolly Denning lovés me, and [love her. What power you have exercised to compel her to marry you, 1 know not; but I do know that she shall never become your wife, sir, if I have to kill her at the altar, and then kill myse!f!” And, with these words, the adopted son turned and left the parlor, leaving the judge in what might safely be termed, an unenviable frame of mind. CHAPTER IIT. THE MYSTERY OF THE MANSION. Tur highway ran along theshore of Dark Pond, until it reached its southern extremity, whence it continued on in an irregular cour e through the fer- tile and populous valley, where were located many happy and picturesque homes, At the southern extremity of the pond the road ran around the base of a biuff of considerable mag- nitude, that rose precipitously on all of its sides, and covered an area of about two acres, It was a singular landmark, rising as it did from an almost level valley-bottom, and what by no means detracted from its novelty was the fact that there was located on top of it, fully thirty feet above the level of the pond or highway, a large, square, barn-like house. 7 It was evidently an “ old timer,” for the paint had long since become worn off by the attacks of the elements, and there was scarcely a whole p-ne of glass to be seen in the numerous windows, and sev- eral of the shutters hung by one hinge, That the place was untenanted appeared evident. After leaving the scene of his interview with Frank Jamison, Sam Slabsides, the young tramp, trudged along thedusty road until he came to the base of the bluff. Here, seated by the roadside upon a plot of grass, was an old, gray-haired man, If appearances went to indicate anything, he had long since turned the shady side of sixty, for his once tall and stately figure was painfully bent, and ne membled as if his nerves were entirely shat- ered. His beard, like his hair, was long, white and mat- ted, and covered the greeter portion of his face. His eyes he kept tightly closed, from which fact it ecame apparent that he was blind. Hat he wore none, and his clothing was about as ragged and scanty as that of young Slabsides. ASsnaried staff upon the ground beside him indi- cated that he was too weak to travel without some artificial support. His face had been reating in his hands, but as Sam came - he slightly raised his head, “Is that you, my son?” he inquired. * Yes, Fox, it’s me, of course, long?” “Not very long, Sammy. I. was dozing, when some one Frode by on horseback, and awakened me,”’ } ‘*Yas; that war ther covey as wer’ goin’ ter com- mit susancide back here & piece,” “Hal what say you?” “TI sed it wer’ the feller what wer’ goin’ ter ker- mit susancide back heer on the lake-shore, only I skeert him out o’ it, by lettin’ on Lwanted ter see how the racket worked. Jest like sum chumps— jest ‘cause a feller wants ter pick upp inters about gclentifie matters, they change color an’ play mu- sh ** Who was going to commit suicide, Sammy 9” * Oh! a gailus-lodkin’ young chap what calls his- self Frank Jamison, You see, he fell in love with sum gal, an’ the gal gives Frank the mitten, an’ goes in fer Frank’s old man, who I ‘spect aire a big- ger bug than Frank is. An’ so, Frank gits jealous, an’ makes up his mind ter put an end to hisself by an eternal soak in the pond. When he found I was sizin’ up his racket, tho’, an’ calculatin’ how near his shoes and cast-off garments would fit me, he got his mad up. mounted his horse and rid off, like he was chased by a band 0’ Injines.”’ “St e that a young Man should seek to take his own life}’’ old Felix said, slowly, * That is a Been awake er aa SN i ca ei ese 120 PI , Re: °% ee ‘i matin’ 4 Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. 3 rievous sin before God. Even I, sinned against ag have been, and for years suffering the tortures o the a would scorn to make an attempt on my life.”’ * Yas, but you ain't everybody, Felix. Some fel- lers gits the love complaint so bad, that they’re clean gone off their base. But come! We can’t stay here chinnin’, fer there’s goin’ to he a rain- storm, an’ we wanter be findin’ shelter. Ye know yer instytution are so frail that, if you wer’ ter git a soakin’, yer might kick the bucket.” “No, no! There is no fear of my dying yet—none whatever. T cannot die until I have obtained my re- venge—I cannot die until I have obtained my re- venge!”’ “Oh! well, we'll jest let the revenge take keer of itself for the present, while we lcok out for shel- ter.’ - “So be it, my boy—it shall be as you say, But the hour of my revenge is not far off. Something tells me that 1 am nearing the end of my journey, and that the hour to strike is not far off. But, lead on, my boy. You have stuck by old Felix Jacobs like an own son, and your reward shall come when yor least expect it.”’ “There, now, give ’s a rest on that, Felix: You know you haven't got anything to leave be- hind when your claim here below peters out: so what's the good o’ yer makin’ promises? “Why, yer ain't even got er clean shirt to git lanted in, an’ ef beggin’ don’t pan out no better in he next few days than it has in the past, we won't pals enuff moncy ter rent a spade ter dig a grave er ye.”’ “Never mind—never mind!"’ the old man mum- bled, as he got on his feet. .‘‘ You’ve been a good boy to me, and you sha’n’t go unrewarded,” ‘You'll have to be gittin rich purty soon, then, that’s my say!”” Sam declared. ‘For Vl bet you can’t make a showin’ of enough cash ter b’y a meal fera mouse. Sol ain’t goin’ ter take no stock in inheritin’ yer imaginary riches. That ain’t w’otI shook the dust.o’ Philymedelphia off me gaiters fer -~—nixee! I allns make et a point ter summer in the rural deestricks, like all the high toned Congress- men, an’ that was my ideer afcre I run across you.” **But you won't leave me, Sammy—you won't leave me, until I reach my outers end?” the old *man tremulously demanded, * Waal, that depends suthin’ how fer off that end may be,” the boy replied, with a shrug of. his shoul- ders ‘‘ When ther snow begins ter gather under foot, Treckon I'll be makin’ tracks toward the city, where a feller kin keep warm on the lunch-route, besides turnin’ in an occasionnl dime at shinin’ shoes. But, et will be some time afore winter!” ‘““Ay, ay! so it will, and ere that time arrives my mission will be accomplished.” ‘*Good gracious! I hepe so, But, ccme! there’sa house up this biuff, and’ by the looks, I don’t reekon any one lives init. If not, it will make a daisy place to spend the night.’’ And grasping old Felix by the arm, Sam assisted him to climb up a rugged sort of path that ascended one side of the curious hill, The clouds had now overcast all of the Western horizon, and it was rapidly getting dark. The thunder rumbled more noisily along the hori- zon, and zig-zag streaks of lightning began to play across the face of the clouds, When they arrived at the top of the hill, Sam found that his surmise about the old house was correct, It was untenanted, and probably had been so for several months, if not longer; for the grounds were grown up waist high with rank weeds, and the front double-doors stood wide open, A piazza ran entirely around the house, which, Sam judged, must contain a great number of rooms, At that hour, and with the storm and darkness coming rapidly on, the place had a desolate and un- canny appearance, to say the least, and the young tramp suryeyed it with a speculative whistle. ** Looks like it might be a reg’lar old ghost-roost,’” he silently commented. ** Wonder why no one don’t live here? Et would make a hossy place, wi’ a little fixin’,”’ When they reached the house, Sam bade old Felix be seated On the piazza, while he made a recon- noissance, And while he enters the house, let us refer more particularly to old Jacobi. He claimed, that several years before, he had been attacked by bighwaymen in the West, which he was leaving at the time, the bearer of a fortune accumu- lated by mining. After robbing him, the chief of the highwaymen had, in revenge for Jacobi’s havin killed two of his men, touched the pupils of Jacobi'a eyes with vitriol, and left him blind and helpless in the mountain wilds. After months of suffering and Lovable he man- aged to reach his home in Connecticut, which he had left twelve years before to £0 to the mines, At that time. he had Jeft behind him a ay con- sisting of a wife, a maiden sister, and two children, these latter a girl of seven, and another aged four ears. " ‘As bis family kept a little st. ‘1, from which they derived a comfortable living, Le did not send an money home at all until the fifth year, as his wife wrote that it was not necessary, At the end of the fifth year, he sent home a sum of ten thousand dollars, and had it deposited to his credit in the home bank, the deposit being made by his wife to his credit. Not long after this, he received the/intelligence that his entire family had been swept away by typhoid fever, and buried in the fa cemetery his informant being his only direct relative, a seco) cousin, named Milo Mitchell. ‘ Shocked beyond expression, Jacobi had sent on » a
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liberal check to Mitchell on the home bank, ordering balance of his money was safe at interest, to allow it to so remain. As the gold excifament was waxing hot at this time, and having io ties to take him back East, Jacobi resolved to remain in the mines indefinitely, and did so. At length, at the end of twelve years’ absence, all teld, having amassed another fortune of twenty | thousand dollars, he drew it from his western bank and set out or. horseback for the nearest railroad station, eastw'ird bound. It was whil’, thus en rou/e, that he was attacked by the highwayrnen, and subjected to the terrible indig- nity that lost him his sight and his fortune as well. A tale fu'J as strange as that awful experience that had b +fallen himself, awaited his home-coming. He lear’ ed that neither his wife nor any of the family hy 4 died at the time such news had been sent him, buf. that Milo Mitchell, by altering the check sent hi) 4, bad drawn all of Jacobi’s money from the bank, and, accompanied by Mrs. Jacobi and her young est daughter, had fled to parts unknown. Rey ort had it that, not many months afterward, Mrs. Jacobi and her daughter had been seen witha stro/iing band of Gypsics. That was the last ever sees: and heard of her, while nothing was known of Mitchell's whereabouts. Hiancy, Jacobi’s maiden sister, had also disap- peared from the home, taking with her the elder grughter of the unfortunate miner, whom Mrs, acobi bad left behind. Such was the story the blind beggar had told Sam Slabsides, He also averred, that he had had a revelation in a dream, that it was really Milo Mitchell who led the highwaymen inthe western outrage, and who had put out his sight and that, if he kept on wandering about the country, he would eventually find his man, and the erpcemary: to visit vengeance upon him would be afforded. But, as yet, that opportunity had not come, and it did not look probable that old Felix would live long enough to hunt down the scoundrel who had done him such hideous wrong. When Sam Slabsides entered the spacious hall of the old mansion, he was surprised to find that it was carpeted! To be sure, the carpet was old, dusty, moldy, in laces,and scattered over with leaves that had drifted nat the open door; but it was a carpet, all the tame, and extended up the broad staircase. This surprise, however, only partly paved the way for others that were to follow. Turning off from the hall, he entered the parlor. Mere,an %c--'*tion burst from his lips. Although dus. and (d were conspicuous every- where, the parlor was grandly furnished with an- cient, but B scorer furniture, P ctures, rich curtains and ornaments, and a splendid velvet carpet of light color covered the floor. It appeared that whoever had formerly occupied the house had decamped, leaving nothing behind. Although tho light was somewhat dusky in the room, Sam was able to discern all this, and also saw two things, not usually included in parlor furnish- ing. Bending downward, half-way from the ceiling, to which it was attached with a screw-hook, was a rope, the lower part being formed in the shape of a a ne noose. irectly under this there was a large, dark-red stain upon the carpet, which had been caused, with- out a doubt, by bloodshed. Attached to the rope was also a card; upon it was traced, in bloody letters, tho following: * John Van Gelder, Here, Took His Own Life, Beware. And Keep Away From This Haunted House. I Am Present, Even In Death. Jonun Van GEeLprErR.”’ “Oh! ye are, hey?” Sam soliloquized, on reading the card. “If vHat’s the case, 1 reckon thet’s why people don’t hang their hats up, an’ stay awhile around here. Dunno, tho’, "bout ghost bizness. I never took much stock in such things. Maybe it’s ‘cause I never see’d one. Hello—J pte hidy Little wonder he uttered this sudden exclamation, for some invisible hand, or something that felt like pa had slapped him a stinging blow upon the chee He wheeled completely around, but could not see a sign of human presence. Who had struck him? Or, what had struck him? This was 4 puzzling question, which Sam had no means of answering. He had been standing in the center of the room, at the time of receiving the blow, with his back turned to the door, but it was impossible that a man could have dodged out the door without being de- tected. And yet there was no other source of escape for the eo who had dealt the blow. “Well, I'm darned ef that ain’t funny,” Sam ejaculated, staring ey around, and at the game time feeling of his cheek. ‘I'd jest like to get @ squint at the snoozer that lammed me. Where are yer, ye sneak? Come out heer, till I size yer up, an’ squirt terbaccy juice in yer eye!” ' No answer to this challenge. * Kinder looks as if et were & ghost, or something funny,"’ Sam muttered; ‘‘ but if there's any humang ‘tp here I'm g: in’ to know it.” With this resolve he left the parlor, to make an in- him to erect tombst’ nes for the dead, and as the | -_-_-_--———— Say, hello! j vestigation of the other apartments cf the strange old mansion. It was growing darker and darker, and he knew he could not make a tour of all the rooms, before it would be too dark to see anything; so he hurried his movements through the lower apartments, and found that they were empty, not one of them except the parlor before described containing any furniture whatever. So Sam was about returning through the dark hall, to the front of the house, when he felt a rush of air before him, as though some one had hastily crossed his path. He made a sudden bound forward, and his out- stretched hands touched a garment which he con- cluded was a woman’s dress. Another bound brought him still nearer, and his hand grasped a small shoulder, and brought the owner to a halt. At the same instant there was a tremendous crash of thunder, a vivid flash of lightning, and a wild, blood-curdling shriek, that fairly made Sam Slab- sides’s hair stand up on end. While the lightning flash revealed to him that the rson whose shoulder he grasped was a young and uteous maiden! CHAPTER IV. FRANK AND RALPH. We have said that Ivy Cottage was across the Dark Pond, from the point where Frank Jamison attempted suicide, and that the old deserted man- sion loomed up on the bluff, at the southern ex- tremity; that the road kept around the base of the a 7 and wound on in a zig-zag course, down the valley. Branching off this highway, half a mile from the bluff, was a wide lane, which ran up the shore of the pond, until it reached Ivy Cottage, where it widen- ed, and surrounded the dwelling where half a hun- dred stately maple trees bordered either side of the lane, rendering cool and complete shade, in the sun- niest weather. This lane was not a public thoroughfare, but be- longed with the property on the west, to the Ivy Cottage farm, which comprised about a hundred acres of very fertile land. The shade of the lane. however, was so tempting that strolling bands of Gypsies frequently camped therein, for a day or two, during which time they attracted numerous visitors from the village of R——, a mile below—romantic young folk, mainly,who came to have their fortunes told by Gypsy queen; or, now and then, a horse-jockey, who came to get up a ‘swap.’ .hese Gypsies were generally a well-behaved lot of wandering traders and tinkers, whose usurpation of the maple lane was never particularly objected to, by Miss Priscil'a Tangle._ot, the ancien. maiden hee whe owned Ivy Cottage, aac vhe lands at- ed. Priscilla could usually make an honest penny, by selling milk and other little luxuries to the nomads, and if there was oue thing above another that Pris- cilla liked to do; it was to capture that honest pen- ny, and hoard it away fora nce f day. Next to her money, she probably doted upon her niece, Miss Dolly Denning, who was not only the belle and the beauty of that section of the country, but was Priscilla's prospective heir. This fact alone, was enough to draw her plenty of suitors, let alone her beauty, educations! accom- plishments, and charming manners; for, besides owning Ivy farm, clear, Priscilla was believed to have quite a number of thousand dollars stowed away. She had bought Ivy Cottage farm, a nuumber of years before our story opens, and b judicious man- agement, had got every cent out of it that was ob- tainable, without running it down. Ivy Cottage was a pretty structure of modern de- alge and conveniences, and its porticos were overrun th flowering ivy and climbing roses, while white beds of flowers lent an additional charm to the place. The day that ushers in our story found a camp of considerable magnitude located in Maple Lane, for not only did the tribe have a score of good wagons, but their horses were of fine stock, and in excellent condition, and the nomads themselves were better dressed and more intelligent-appearing than the general run of their race. There were twenty families, averaging four to a reridly; with the female sex slightly predominat- ng. The afternoon of the day of their encampment brought a merry crowd of # pinged people down to Maple Lane, from R——, and as she knew many of them, Miss Dolly Denning joined the gathering in a stroll through the camp. She was a decided blonde, of attractive form, charming of face, and tasty of dress, and wherever she went, she attracted attention and admiration, It was so at the Gypsy camp. There were séveral stalwart and duskily handsome young fellows among the band, who had a keen eye for beauty, and they took occasion to stare at Miss Denning in a way that was not pleasant to er, So, seeing Mr. Ralph Jamisoh present, she accept- ed of his offered protection, and he returned scowls for the admiring stares of the Gypsies. Ralph Jamison, in personal appearance and dress. was an exact counterpart of his brother, Frank, and not two out of every ten persons who saw them could tell them apart, so alike were they. It was by their difference in temperaments that they were distinguishable, for, while Frank was hab- itually mild and retiring in his habits, Ralph was of a somewhat wilder nature, and more inclined to be reckless and jolly. As he d some, and Frank was a total abstain- Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. er, some of the farmers had been known to say that “they could pick out Ralph by smelling his breath, if in no other way.” Ralph Jamison had another peculiarity; se much sought after by the ladies, he was practically not so much of a lady’s man as his brother, and seemed to prefer the companionship of his gun to that of any one of the many pretty girls who would have been delighted with his society. He had often said he would not marry the hest girl in existence, and the belief prevails that he meant what he said. His lack of appreciation of the fair sex, however, did not prevent his being a polite and agreeable chaperon when occasion demanded it, and he did the: escort for Dolly pe ywsey about the camp in a way that made many of the fellows envy him. “T suppose you have had your fortune told al- ready ?'’ he remarked, as they sauntered along. **Oh! no, sir; I never had it told, as aunty says it: is all nonsense.”’ ““Ah! Isee. That's because aunty has got a busi- ness eye after the everlasting penny,’’ Ralph laughed. “TI don’t know, I’m sure. Of course, aunty is. close in some things, but she is liberal and kind in others,”’ “TI think I could tell your fortune pretty well,’” Ralph chatted on. ‘ You are soon to be married— that is, if that is any indication,” and he pointed to a solitaire ring upon her finger. “That should not be construed as having any sig- nificance,” she said, looking confused. “ y, who: in the world should I marry?” ‘*Whom you should marry, and whom you will marry, are two different things. I suppose if youare hankering after love in a cottage, you should be- come Mrs. Frank Jamison, but I have understood that the peoreees are more favorable for your be- coming Mrs. Judge Jamison.” Dolly made no reply, although her face assumed‘ a pained expression, and she soon adroitly changed the conversation to another nee During the afternoon she visited the tent of the Gypsy queen, in company with Ralph, to have her fortune told, nearly all her girl acquaintances havy- ing had their fortunes expounded. The Gypsy queen proved to be quite an invisible person, for she was attired in a robe of somber black,, and her face was obscured from view by a thick vail, through which two round holes were cut for the eyes, and a third one for her to speak through. Her hands also were gloved in black kids, and, al} considered. she might well be said to be a somber- Dame of Fortune. ; At her request Ralph Jamison retired from the ent. What she then said to Dolly Denning he had no: means of knowing, but when the girl came forth all the roses had left her cheek, and in their place was an unnatura! pallor, “Why. what 1s the matter, Miss Denning?” he quickly asked, stepping forward. ‘‘ Notking!” she gasped. ‘'Take me as far as the somage. and, for heaven’s sake, say nothing to aunt: Priscilla that I visited the Gypsy queen.” ‘‘Of course not. But, tel) me, as a friend, did she: do or sa ones to you that necessitates her chas- tisement? If so, by Heaven, for Frank’s sake, I'll turn the whole Gypsy crew from this lane at the: point of my revolver!” “No! no! For my sake say nothing. Only I —_ go home. Ask me nothing, but take me ome.”* He took her arm, and they walked silently away toward Ivy Cottage. Once or twice she shuddered on the way, and when they came near to the cottage she thanked — dismissed him, and entered the cottage grounds: alone. “Strange, what the G ueen said to agitate her so,” Ralph muttere PY. 44 like to know, for I always fancied there was some secret connected’ with her life.” He turned to retrace his footsteps, and, as he did 80, 8aw a man standing but a few steps away, bis: figure ly screened from view by the trunk of one of the huge maples. . He was a Gypsy, of commanding figure, and evi- dently of great muscular strength. s skin was as Rwarthy as a native Italian’s, his face a coarse. evil- expressioned one, with gleaming black eyes, a. coarse, sensual mouth, with pearly teeth, and shaded by a fierce. black mustache. His hair, of a like hue, fell in waves over his shoulders. He was, apparently, some thirty years of age, and was attired in rather fantastic Gypsy garb, and wore a broad-rim hat, pinned up at one side. He was gazing after Dolly Denning’s retreating form in a way that caused Ralph Jamison’s blood to fairly boil in his veins. i ‘See here!’ he cried, stepping quickly toward the. Gypsy, whom he remembered as being one of those whose staring had annoyed Dolly at the camp, ‘who are you, and what do you want?” The Gypay folded his arms across his breast and surveyed his accoster. “‘Lam Gril Guyandotte,” he announced, coolly. “You are, eh? And what do you mean by dogging me and this young lady?” “T haven’t been ooeeing you.” ‘None of your lying! You were in your camp when we left.” “ And took # notion to walk this way.” : ¥ one Then why were you standing behind the ree?” ‘That's none of your business, sir." “Tsn’t it? Ill show you whether it isn’t. Youget back toward your camp or I'll send a bullet through ou!” 4 And by a dextrous move Ralph Jamison whipped
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@ revolver out of his hip-pocket and leveled it at the dashing Gypsy. Gril Guyandotte only smiled, disagreeably. “Oh! put up your weapon!” he said. about to turn back when you saw me.” “Then go! and see that you keep wide away from yonder cottage, if you value your personal safety.’’ Guyandotte made no retort, but turned and walked leisurely toward the camp of his people. Ralph Jamison followed, and passing on through ‘the camp, continued on down the lane. **T don’t like the looks of that Guyandotte a bit!” hesaid as he strode along. ‘ He has an evil eye in his head, and had a motive in seeing where Dolly went. I hardly think, however, he’d dare make an attempt to nang, her. Such things used to happen in days gone by, but the law is too wide-awake in these times for such ruffian’s work.” And so he dismissed all thoughts of the matter from his mind. “It would, indeed, have been a bold attempt to make, and there was no probability of its being made. Just before he reached the connection of the lane with the main highway, Ralph was surprised to see his brother step out from behind a tree, There was a wild, unnatural gleam in Frank’s eyes, and he was white with passion. ; “Hold up!” he said, grimly, stepping out into the road. ‘So I caught you at it, did 1?” He uttered the interrogatory in a hoarse, unnatur- al tone, which caused Ralph to flush with surprise for he and his brother had always been on gooc ‘terms. “Why, caught me at what, Frank?” **In company with Dolly Denning!” “‘Yes, I was in her company for a short time, She ~was afraid of some of the Gypsies, who stared inso- dently at her, and I offered her my protection.” “Indeed! You took her home, too?” ‘Nearly so. Something the Gypsy queen said caused her great agitation, and she was weak and trembling, and asked me to see her home. Il am sure there’s no harm in that, Frank.” ‘*Tain’t so sure. I want it understood that no fos- ter father, brother, nor any one else, shall stand be- tween me and that girl.” * Pshaw! Frank, you're excited. You know I don’t want her. I’ve enough to do to look after Ralph Jamison, without bothering my brains with a matri- mnial incumbrance.”’ Allright. Ihear. But I want you to hear also, ‘The first man I catch talking to her dies! She has deceived me, but she shal] never show favor to an- other. Ihavesworn to it. So beware!” ** And as he uttered the words, ina ringing tone, A man came driving into the lane ina handsome car- riage, drawn by a am of high-stepping horses, and overheard the loudly spoken words, thereby causing a dark scowl to darken his brow—a scowl betoken- ing no good to impetuous and jealous Frank Jami- son, The man, of course, was Judge Jamison. He was attired with scrupulous neatness- and was going to Ivy Cottage to see Dolly Denning. “Tl was . CHAPTER V, FLOSS. Sam SLassipes had hardly exnected to see a bona fide spook, when he grasped hold of that which had hurried past him, in the darkness; hence, his sur- prise was great, when he beheld a girl of about bis own size and age, in the illumination of the vivid lightning flash. A Nor was it this girl from whose lips had pealed the blood-curdiing shriek. ‘ That had appeared to come from out in the dense ‘darkness of the night, where the rain was now pour- ing down in torrents. * Hello, sis, who are you ?’' Sam demanded, keep- ing a firm gripe upon her shoulder. ‘‘ None 0’ yer squirmin’, now, fer ye can’t git away, till yer give an account of yerself,’’ “Oh! please, sir, let me go. if you don’t!” was the reply. * Allright! Exercise yer bugle as much as yer like, fer all ther good et'll do yer. 1 ain’t no pirut, so yer needn't be skeered. I’m jest a senator what dropped in heer out o’ the rain, and as the ghosts hev bin raisin’ hob around here, I’m in fer investi- I'll scream for help gatin’ matters. Did yer hit me a peg ‘longside the | jaw. a bit ago?” “No, Ididn’t. Let me go!” “ Now, don’t git inahurry, Et is rainin’ like Ju- iter, an’ yer don’t wanter gitwet. Jest be sociable- ike, an’ tell me who ye air. an’ I won’t hurt yer. My name is Samuel Slabsides, an’ I’m what ther high-toners call a wis 3 ,But, that’s nothin’—I'm is good as they are, What's your name?” “Floss!” f “Phew! yer don’t say! That’s a crackin’ purty name. Knocks the tariff all lopsided on Slabsides, don'tit? Ef yer is as purty 85 yer Dame, you're a stunner, I'll bet. Ah! ] havei! ** What?” “A match! I want a better look at you;” and as he spoke, he struck the match on the wall, and pro- duced a light that lasted Jong enough for the two to get a good look at each other. The girl was about sixteen, trimly built, and qnite pretty, having a brunette complexion, and dark hair flowing over her shoulders to her waist. She wore a plain chintz dress, a jaunty straw hat, ‘but no shoes or stockings. To Sam Slabsides’s eye, however, she was a ver- itable beauty, and he gave a prolonged whistle of surprise, Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. bass SR EES TAREE SS ci Ne ——— “Well! Ill be gobbled up by dog-ketchers, ef you ain’t a reg’lar daisy \’’ he ejaculated. ‘* What d’yer think o’ me fer good looks?” “T could tell better if your face was clean,’’ was the STORES response. “Shouldn't wonder a bit. I wears dirt on my face ter keep from gettin’ tanned and freckled. Sure preventitive fer sun-stroke, too. Live ’round these iad Ne >, *? *“Ye don’t? Where do yer live, then, and what aire ye doin’ in this ghost-trap?”’ “I belong with the Gypsy camp, below here. I came up here to sell some beads, and found no one at home. So I looked through the house, and it got dark so quick, [ nearly lost my way.” “Yedon't say! An’ ye’r’ a Gypsy gal?” we Yes,”’ ‘*Gosh, that’s nice! D’ye know, I jest dote on Gypsies, I do! Come nigh joinin® ’em, last year, when [ was on the tramp, jes’ ’cause I fell in luv wi’ a gal ‘bout yer size She was the queen, tho’, and high-toned as a owl on er telegraff pole, an’, so, as I didn’t know how ter steal hosses, the capting allowed I’d better mosey, an’ I did. He wore an or- ful big boot, too, Say, hoe fur’s yer camp?” ‘“*About a mile distant—in the maple lane, below 2 ” ‘* Allright. Mebbe I'll drop down an’ see yer, ter- morrow. Wait. I'll get yer a chair.” ‘*No! no! I must go.” “Nary a time, 'til it stops pourin’, I'll see yer part way hum, then. You’ll wait, won’t ye?” ‘“*T—I— I'm afraid they will be alarmed at the camp.” “Nixee! They'll know you've sense enough to stay under shelter.”’ And so Sam darted into the parlor, snatched up a couple of chairs, and got out again, in double-quick order, considering the darkness. “* We’)l go out on the veranda,” he said, ‘My old nen 5 iy Felix, is out there." * Who?” “Old Felix. He’sa r old beggar, that’s trav- elin’ ’round the hemisfeer wi’ me—blind in one eye, and can't see out o’ t’other. Come on, he won't hurt you.”’ 4 The Gypsy girl seemed to have confidence in the young tramp, for she followed and was soon seated on the veranda of tie lonely house. Sam then began to grope about in quest of Felix. ‘Hello! Where air yer, Felix?’ he cried, ** Bet a buttermilk bonbon he’s fast asleep. Hey! Felix!’’ He called loudly but there was no answer, ‘‘Drat it, I left him right here a few minutes ago. I pons believe he’d go away. I wish it would light- ning! He got his wish a few seconds later, when there were several vivid and lengthy glares of heaven’s pyrotechnics in rapid succession, By this light Sam was ‘able to see that old Felix was not on the front or either side piazza, nor any- where to be seen in front of tho house, “Well, I'll be jiggered! Ain’t that queer’ he said. ‘“*What d’ye suppose could have become of my old pal?” **T’m sure I don’t know,” Floss replied, ‘TI heard a shriek when you caught hold of me, Maybe some harm has befallen him.” “That wasn’t his shout. He couldn’t raise sech a squeal as that ef he wastertry. He’s too old an’ feeble. Thet was ther post as velled.” “There are no such things as ghosts!’’ “Ain't ther’? Waal, now, that idea I’ve always carried, but I’ve found out different. There's a pre- Scription put up in ther parlor as sez as how this house is ha'nted. Some feller committed susanside, an’ I reckon got inter a hot climate an’ is glad ter come back.” — “ [saw the notice, but there is no such a thing as a ghost. Perhaps your friend fell off the cliff.” “Mebbe, Ill go reconnoiter. Will you wait for me?”’ LO “Sure, now?” 4 Yes,”’ “ Allright. I won't be long.” Then Sam plunged away in the pouring rain, By the time he reached the verge of the cliff there was more lightning. Thus he was enabled to see below, But no trace of Felix was visible at that point, so Sam moved on through the pouring rain until he bad made an entire circuit of the bluff-top. But all in vain. ‘ “ge plainly had not fallen over the side of the uff, Where was he, then? Had he wandered into the house at some other point than the main entrance? This seemed the only probable way of accounting for his singular disappe®rance. Sam had not been in the house over fifteen min- utes, at the most, so it would seem that Felix could not have gotfaraway- . Sam went back to the piazza. Floss was still there. ‘*‘Did you find him?” she asked. ‘**No—nary a trace of him.” “Very strange; what could have become of him?” nic should smile. Did yer hear any more ghosts?” “No. Then he told her of the mysterious slap he had got in the parlor. orig ‘“Now, ef there ain’t dead ghosts ’round here, there’s line ones,”’ he said, ** an’ I'll bet on it.” ‘Live ones, more likely, though I was all through the house and didn’t see any one,” “Well, I’m goin’ to investigate, Jf Felix ain't in the place, somethin’ ’sterious has happened to him,” “You're not going to venture into the house is the dark, are you?” Pa if I can find anything to make a torch ou rs) Ps He once more went around to the rear of the house and made a search in the shed. As luck would have it, he found an old tin Jantern which con- tained both oil and wick. Returning to the piazza, he lit it, and was ready to set out on his tour of investigation, “ As it is raining hard yet, I will accompany you,” Floss said. “Allright. Keep yer eyes peeled fer ghosts, and if we kin run one down, we'll have a ghost bar- becue!” tas then entered the mansion. Their first investigation was throurh the parlor, where Sam had got the mysterious slap in the face, but nothing new was discovered. The room presented the same’ appearance as be- fore, except that the two chairs were gone. The other rooms of the first floor were next searched, and the plucky couple even ventured down into the cellar. ’ Here they found a multitude of bottles, barrels and champagne baskets, which seemed to indicate that the previous owner of the place had been a bibulous individual. Among a lot of rubbish, Sam picked up a letter. The envelope was addressed: ‘*Lennox H. Jamison, R——, Ky.” Sam thrust it carelessly into his pocket, and they went up-stairs. Their next venture was into the second story where they visited room after room, examin closets, and every cubby-hole that could contain a rson, “What are you going to do, if you fail to find your friend?’ Floss asked, as they pursued their search, “Dunno! Give it up!’ was the reply. ‘‘There’s somethin’ mighty mysterious about et, or I'll be mistook fer the sident. Ef I can’t find no trace of Felix, he’s been tuk prisoner, an’ hain’t fur from this immeget neighborhood, an’ I'll bet the eysters onet. Anyhow, I don’t leave these parts till I find out what’s become o’ Felix.” He spoke in gamma and as he was the ve sort of a lad who once he had said a thing woul eae it, it looked favorable for Felix yet being ound. They next began to explore the third story, but the result was similar to that which had greeted them elsewhere. There was no one in the house, so far as they could find out, nor were there any signs of any one having recently been there. “This ‘ere mystery takes the bunion!"’ Sam com- mented, as they made their way down-stairs. “It looks as if the earth hed opened an’ swallered Felix. Ef it did, et must ’a’ bin hard-up fer suthin’ to eat, fer there weren’t enuff meat on his bones ter satisfy an ordinary Jersey muskeeter.”’ “TI am also singularly impressed by his strange disappearance,’ Floss said. ‘Some mi heees 4 does seem to hang over this old house. Perkaps in the morning you will find Felix at some neighboring farm-house,”’ “Hope so, but don’t half expect to!" Sam said, grimly. ‘I reckon mebbe the spooks collared onto him jest because he was gettin’ old and helpless.” By this time they had got down-stairs, and they went out on the piazza once more, As he did so, Sam pointed to where he had previ- ously placed and left the parlor chairs, at the same time uttering the startled ejaculation: **The chairs are gone!” And it was true; vhe two chairs had been removed from the piazza! Floss turned pale, and Sam's eyes were literally as Oe as saucers, ‘** Worse, and more of it, by “There’s no use of chinnin’! haunted!’ The rain had ceased to fall, the lightning to flash, and the thunder to reverberate. Darkness reigned deep and intense. “lm going!’ Floss said, with a shiver, place is no place for me.” “W ita minute, and ’'lgo part way with you!” Sam exclaimed. He darted into the hall, and flashed his light into the parlor, It took but a glance for him to discern that the chairs had been replaced in the original positions from which he had taken them. This was enough! He returned to the piazza. “We'll get out of this!” he said. “I'll postjourn my investigation till to-morrow. Then, ef I don't do some big figgerin’,my name ain’t Sam Slabsides, nohow!” “If T can steal away maybe I'll come and help ou,”’ Floss said. Then they left the piazza, and advanced toward the edge of the bluff. As they did so, there issued from the house s series of wild and blood-curdling sbrieks, that were so awful that wat caused the two to quicken their footsteps, while their hair literally had a tendency to rise on end. “Oh! meal away!” Sam muttered. “EfI don’t find out who’s doin' that catwaulin’, ye can call me a slabsided N. G. chump from Weehawken!” ingo!”* he gasped, he old rat-trap is ** This CHAPTER VI. THE JUDGE GOES CALLING. JupGE JAMISON was seen by Frank and Ralph, al- most 28 soon as he saw them, but he drove straighe JNA. Pre ~-
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are A RAIS ARNE SO ARE ) along, and passed them, nodding to Ralph, but pay- ing no attention whatever to Frank. When he had driven on, Frank Jamison shook his clinched fist after him, “Go on, foolish man, if you t'ink you are well off!’ he hissed, savagely. *‘It’s Jittle 1 owe you—or Sa either, Ralph, for you know that uncle John Yan Gelder. was supposed to have left money be- hind, to be yee ge to our benefit.”’ “Iknow there was such a story, Frank, but I guess it was all nonsense, for it never could be roved that uncle John owned a cent in the world, eyond the old house on the bluff, at the time of his suicide.” ‘Because, it was Lennox Jamison who discovered and cut down the body, and if anything was left be- hind, itis probable he took care of it, and destroyed all papers.” “You should not talk this way, Frank. It is not just, or right.” “Oh! well, have your own way, if you like—it matters not to me, nor does it change my opinion, a particle. All you need do is to see that you keep clear of Ivy Cottage.”’ “Don’t fear, Frank. I shall not bother your in- amoaita; but for God’s sake, and your brother's sake, do not stoop to do anything rash, or criminal.” “Don’t lecture me, Til do as I please about that!” Frank declared, independently, and turning, he walked swiftly away toward home, Ralph followed, thoughtfully, and ata much slow- er gait. In the mean time, the judge drove on, toward Ivy Cottage. The grim expression of his countenance lifted somewhat, as he held his prancing steeds from trotting, but the light of his cold gray eyes was none the less stern and intense—eyes that were fur- tive in their glance, and suggested that there were few if any ennobling passions in his heart. Ile was an imposing-looking person, however, and as he drove through the Gypsy camp, he and his cquipvage attracted much attention, Amo.g others who saw him, without being seen, was a man who stood partly in the shadow of one of the wagons. He gave alow whistle of surprise, and his teeth went together with a click, Judge Jamison drove on, to Ivy Cottage, without knowledge of this fact, however. Arrived at t.e. cottage, he got out of the carriage and tied his horses; then walked up the grayeled path to the vine and rose embowered porch, where Miss Priscilla Tanglefoot was. seated, in her clean calico wrapper, picking over some raspberries, for tea, Miss Priscilla was a typical old maid, Forty odd years had passed over her head—if, in- deed, not fifty, odd—and left her a tall, angular wo- man, with a spare amount of flesh, and a thin, vine- gary visage, with prominent high cheek-bones, a pointed chin, and iron gray hair. ** Good-evening, Priscilla,” Judge Jamison salut- ed, seating himself on the lower step. ‘‘ This has been a scorching hot day!” ‘*Yes, but we have not minded it so much, here, judge—we have so much shade,” “Yes, indeed. You madea wise choice in making this your home. I see you have another Gypsy band, down the lane! Why do you allow so many of those vagabonds to camp there, Prisciila?”’ “ Well, you see, judge, the lane never gets turned to any real account, otherwise; and, I'll tell you, I make quite a few pennies off the Gyrsies, by selling them farm products. They generally have money, and pay for what they get. And every penny counts, nowadays, judge—every penny counts.” “Yes, I suppose it does. But, what’s all these ennnigs going to benefit you, if you never enjoy em?” “Oh! well, Dolly will have them, you know. Everything will go to Dolly.” “By the way, where is my fair Dolly, now?’’ ‘Dear me! she’s up-stairs, lying down with sick headache, judge. She would persist in going to see the Gypsies, and I expect it overcame her,” The judge slightly frowned. “T don’t care about having her running about ‘these encampments!” he said. ‘There is nothing beneficial to be learned at them. Has Frank been here within the past three or four hours?” ”“ ” “Tt is well. Do you think she saw him at the amp?” “rs am quite sure she didn’t. She always tells me, when she sees him, Then, too, she is never down- | spirited, after meeting him.” ! She is down-spirited, then, when she does not meet him?” ‘ “Sort of.” ** Well, she will have to get over this, \Frank’s case, effectually, I think.” * Indeed!” L “Yes, You see I gave him the hint, the other day, }that I desired him to discontinue his visits, here,” “T know; but he, came,” : “Well, I had an interview with him to-day, and commanded him to keep away from here. told him thatI was engaged to Do ly, and that we were to be married, within the month.” ‘¢ What did he say?” “Practically, nothing. He appeared rather dazed — walked out of my presence without the violent manifestation I had looked for.” “Likely, then, he will not come any more.” “J think not. If he does come, they must not ” I’ve settled eet. “T will try to prevent it, judge.” “ Of course, like the sensible woman you are. You (gee, if a meeting can be avoided, it may be the means Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective, of causing much trouble. Do you think Dolly has quite settled herself down to the fact that she is to marry me?” “Tam pretty sure. She is a sensible girl, and I keep. praising you, and counseling her, until I am satisfied all will be well.” ‘*it would be a great disgrace if she should back out. I have publicly announced our engagement, and made arrangements for starting on o: r Euro- pean tour, immediately after our marriage.” a) Yes > dab *“ And Iam anxious for the day to come. Yousee I siall not be positively sure of the girl, until we are legally bound. Do you think there is any like- lihood she could be urged to name a sooner date, Priscilla?’ “Tdon’t know, I’m sure. Why sooner?” “* Well, you see, my dreams haven’t been of the pont order, lately. I need not ig magn more, ut you can understand. 1 shall not be positive- ly easy until I put the Atlantic between me and America.” “Then, in case anything should happen, all the trouble—” ‘*Nonsense!”’ the judge interrupted. ‘“ But, let’s drop the subject. 1t’s not pleasant to dwell upon. Go call Dolly and tell her I want to see her.” ‘‘ Hadn’t you better jet her rest, judge? Her head aches, and I can tell you, from experience, that sick headache is not agreeable.” * Bah!” was the heartless reply; ‘‘she must not have time to rest. Rest gererates thought, and thought might play the devil with my calculations. Besides, I’ve got a present for her.” Priscilla set aside her berry dishes, rose and enter- tered the house. She was gone several minutes, but when she re- turned she was accompanied by her niece. Dolly was looking little less pale than when she had emerged from the tent of the Gypsy pe: and she scarcely nooded, when she saw the judge. “Ah! dear; Iam so sorry to hear ynu are not feeling well,” ke said, making room for her on the step. ‘““You should take great care nct to fatigue yourseif with over-exertion, for what shouldI do were I to lose my bonnie little betrothed?” “Hunt up another. I suppose,”’ Dolly replied, pass- ing her hand over her brow, wearily. “Tut! tut! That is idle jest, deafest, for you know I might search the world over and not find one who could fill your place in my heart. {ee, I have brought you a little gift as a token of my affec- tion. And he placed a magnificent velvet-and-gold wateb- case in her hands, at the same time touching a spring and causing the lid to fly open. Inside, among the satin cushions, nestled a beau- tiful ladies’ watch and chain, of gold, elaborately set with tiny sparkling diamonds, It must have cost several hundred dollars at the least, and was a gift fit for a princess. “*Tsn’t it prety the judge asked, eagerly. “Very,” Dolly replied, oddly—** too prety, by half, for me to wear.” ; “Say not that, darling. ‘There is nothing too pretty for you, and when we return from our wedding tour, you shall have the handsomest horses and car- riages, money can procure, “ By the way, that calls to mind, the object of my visit here, to-day. I have learned, that, by sailing considerably sooner than we had originally intended we will arrive in England in time for the Derby races, Which Isuppose you may have_heard, is an aristocratic event, in British life. So T want to ask you if we cannot arrange it to be married without delay, so as to take in one of the great attractions of our European tour?” “No, I cannot consent to an earlier marriage day than the one already settled upon,” Dolly said, without hesitation. “But, why not? Sufficient costumers can be pro- vided to fit out your wardrobe within a few days’ time. “Tt is not that. The time is short enough, that I am to remain single, and I would *twere even longer. So I cannot think of making it evem\a day less.” She spoke firmly, and the judge had sense enough to know that he would not gain anything, by persis- tency. * Oh! well, then, we will try and omit the Derby. But would you not like to accompany my daughter Jessie to the sea-shore for a couple of weeks, and stop at New York, on your reed back, for your trous- seau? This humdrum life at home must be dull for one so young and vivacious.” “You are very kind, sir, but I prefer to remain with aunty, until my marriage. Indeed, I think T should scarcely appreciate the European trip, I am such a homebody,” “Oh! that is because you have never traveled any. Once you travel you will like it, I will not de- tain you longer, dear, if your head aches, forI feel for you, But, if I were you,I would not go tothe Gypsy camp. again, Tike not the looks of those swarthy vagabonds, Say the best one can, of them, they are most undesirabie persons.”’ Dolly did not make answer to this advice, but re- tired to her own room, The judge looked somewhat anxious, after her de- parture. “She looks more worried, than sick,” he remark- ed, to Priscilla. Confound it! can it be that she regrets her promise, and is pining after Frank?” “Indeed, I don’t know, judge—indeed I don’t know. Girls are so strange, now, to what they used to be.” ‘¢ Well, I'm blamed if I know what todo. Iam in fidgets lest something happens, You see she refuses en earlier ceremony !”* “T had an idea she would.” ‘And to me it looks suspicious—as if she were stillin love with Frank, and was loth to place the barrier of matrimony in the way of her freedom to enjoy his society.” **It may be so.”’ ‘*Something must be done!” be gritted. ‘ It will neverdo for me to lose, now How would it do to keep her shut up In her room?” Priscilla smiled—one of those vinegary smiles, it was, for which she was locally noted. “That would end all your chances of ever making her your wife,” she said. ~- “Prue, I might have known that. Well, I wilk see Imust do something.” And with this conclusion he bid Priscilla adieu, got into his carriage, and drove away toward ** Larchmont.” His face was dark with commingled passion and anxiety. *T do not like the outlook,” he muttered. **Prank’s words, to-night, prove that he is hence- forth my enemy, and he may cause me trouble, Something must be done—but what? He has led such an exceptionally good life that no charge can be brought against him that would make it necessary forhim to leave this vicinity, to get out of the way of thelaw. If—” But he did not finish the sentence. ““ What the “if” might have implied could only be left to conjecture. But the strange glitter which flashed in the judge’s: eye, suggested that some evil thought had occurred. to him, which, if put into execution, would rid him of the cause of his present anxiety. CHAPTER VII. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Sam SLABSIDES accompanied Floss, the Gypsy girl, to the vicinity of the tribe’s camp, and there took leave of her, she promising to ade Bim on the mor- row, at the deserted mansion, if possible. After she left him,Sam began to cast about for some place to spend the remainder of the night, for he had no desire to return to the ghosts’ head- quarters. Shelter of some sort was to be desired, in preference to sleeping on the damp ground. Following the road for a short distance, he found what was evidently a hay-barn, and not located very close to any habitation. After scouting about the place, he discovered an. open door, and soon after was ensconced upon a mow of newly-mown hay, which made the most. comfortable bed he bad enjoyed in months. Here he lay. for fully an hour, in speculation as to- what had become of old Felix Jacobi. “Fer a rip-ripe myst’ry et takes the tar-heel!”’ he muttered; “‘andJ’m a Philymedelfy magistrate ef I know w’ot ter make uv it. Old Felix has evaporated from view, like steam from an engine. What makes it so curious is ’cause he allus did jest as I sed, be- fore. Ef I told him ter set, while 1 went on a forag- ing experdishun, he allus sot, an’ 1 found him thar when I cum back, Then, too, he wer’ purty well fagged out ter-night, an’ he wouldn't ’a’ felt much like waltzin’ off on his own hook—no, sir-ee! ‘“Thar’s some ’mighty queer goin’s on up at thet: ‘ouse on the hill; an’ ’tain’t no use talkin’, I b’lieve old Felix hev been gobble up by somebody or suthin” right bout them premises, But, w’ot fer? He ain’t wu’th two cents in money, 'ca’se I’ve got the seven cents we captured to-day. He ain’t no good fer soap-fat, *cause he’s leaner than a Jersey shrimp, an’ he ain’t the lost Charlie Ross, ’ca’se he’s too old. Don’t reckon the doctors would steal him fer his: skeleton, an’ he wouldn’t elope wid a pretty gal, *cause he couldn’t see what colorshe was. Sow’ot’s: a feller ter think? ‘Then how ’bout thet ghost racket? My Gypsy mash let on ske didn’t b’lieve in ghosts, but them last yowls made’r kinder pale ‘round the gills Guess: she’s got a different opine now. But ther’s some perts 0’ that aire ghost racket w’ot don’t jibe, ‘* How the dickens is er floatin’ speerit, w’ot’s thin- ner thun er ten-cent zephyr, goin’ ter pick up two twenty pound chairs, an’ Carry ’em inter a parlor ? An’ how’s sech a critter goin’ ter haul cff an’ hit er feller a crack ‘longside the jaw wi’ ther force 0’ » Sullivan? ‘Pears ter me, too, thet them ‘ere ghosts weren’t trubbled wi’ consumption, ther way they yell. But—hello!” This exclamation was caused by hearing a groan, To such a state of excitement had the young tramp’s nerves already been wrought up that night, that the sound caused a chill to run down bis back. It was undoubtedly a groan, and an unearthly one at that. As near as Sam could judge, the sound came from the barn floor, at the opposite end of the building from the door where he had gained entrance, “I wonder what's the next thing on the pro- gramme to frighten a feller out o’ his wits?” he owled. “Can et be the ghosts hev follered me eer? Don’t reckon et was & fost what give thet groan. Sounded like some feller as hed a gripe: thro’ eatin’ watermellon.” ; A moment later there reached his hearing another groan, similar to the first. 5 “There et goesag’in! ‘Tain’t no ghost. Mebbe somebody’s hurt!” He had brought his lantern with him, unlit. Groping about, he soon found a beam on which he- could strike a match, and he had the lantern litin a jiffy. Then he slid from the mow to the floor. As he did so, the light he carried shone upon @ startling spectacle. Lying upon the floor, face upward, and covered ; UG SRL LE PT BRE +v
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Sam Sla ; a: Ro sauceganer Wes a0 ee, “t weg bsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective, “4 with blood from head to foot, wasone of the Jami- son boys. Blood had oozed from a knife-wound in the side of his neck, and another in his breast, and blood was smeared upon his face and hands. His eyes were wide open and glassy, as they lared at the light, and it needed but a glance to tell at the poor fellow was dying. Depositing the lamp on a box, Sam quickly knelt beside him. “Good gracious!” he gasped, ‘‘it’s the feller as was goin’ to commit suicide—Frank Jamison! He went an’ did et, sure enuff.” A groan escaped the sufferer, and his eyes became fixed upon the beggar’s boy. “ Say! can yer talk?’ Sam demanded. The victim shook his head, and raising his hands, put them to his throat, Then he rapidly went through a series of motions with his fingers. “Oh! ye mean deaf an’ dumb alfybet, eh?” Sam asked. An affirmative nod of the head. * Allright. I can understand, if yer go it slow.’ The fingers worked again. This was the result: ** Thave been murdered. Run, quick, for help {” **Murdered!’? Sam echoed. *‘ Why, didn’t you do this you-self?”’ * Nol not Quick! run! before I die!’ was the an- swer, with the fingers, Sam quiekly sprung to his feet, and darted from the barn, leaving the lamp burning. Over the fence he leaped, with the agility of a monkey, and away down the road, leading to Larch- mont, He knew there must be a farm-house not far away, and he ran like a deer torfind it. Less than a quarter of a mile on he came to one, He pounded on the door, making enough noise, literally, to raise the dead. In a few minutes an upper window was raised, and a voice called out: * Who's there?” ** VVhere does Frank Jamison’s folks live?” ‘*Two houses below.”’ ‘* Well, I have jest found ’im layin’ in the barn, up the road, murdered. You’d better go see to him, while I go tell his folks.”’ Then away darted Sam. Tae next household he alarmed, and then sped on. It will be remembered, though incidents had per! ign close together, that it was not yet mid- night. When Sam reached Larchmont there was a bright light in the parlor, and music of a well-manipuiated piano floated out through the open windows, upon the night—gay, operatic airs, that should have been a funeral dirge. Sam, greatly excited, sprung over the low iron fence, thence up the lawn, onto the veranda, and without waiting for ceremony, jumped through one of the open casements, into the parlor. Judge Jamison sat in an easy -chair, smoking. Jessie, his pretty daughter, pre ided at the piano, The sudden advent of Sam Slabsides caused both to spring to their feet, with startled cries. ** Are you Jamison Sam breathlessly demanded. “T am Judge Jamison, sir. What do you mean by this unseemly intrusion?” * Are ye Frank Jamison’s father?’ **’'Yes, yes!” ““Then, come! Yer son lies murdered ean’ dyin’, in a hay-barn, up the road. I jest found ’im, He’s all stabbed up!” Jessie Jamison uttered a scream, and sunk to the floor in a swoon, The judge pulled a bell, then seizing his hat, cried: “Lead on, Lam ready.” mee, hastily left Larchmont, and hurried up the road. ‘*How did you come to find him?” the judge de- manded. “I was huntin’ up a night’s snooze, an’ entered the barn, { heerd a groan, an’ on ‘vestigatin’, found *im,’ ‘ How do you know it's my son?” n res him to-day, an’ talked wi’ him up at the ond, Sam made no further statement. He was too much out of breath, When they reached the barn, several neighbors were already there, with lanterns, “Is he dead?” cried the judge, rushing into the building. ; “Yes, judge, he breathed his last a moment ago,” a grizzled old farmer said. The judge knelt by the body, with an audible groan. his face as white as death. “Frank! Frank!’? he gasped, and then buried his face in his hands, and shook with emotion, But there came no answering voice. Death had stolen away the spirit of the young man, and left behind but the chilling, lifeless clay, The eyes, wide open and glassy, gazed straight up- ward, accusingly. - For several minutes, the judge remained kn=eling, and during this time, the other spectators stood by, maintaining a grave silence. Finally, however, the judge arose, and said: This is terrible, It isthe worst blow] have ex- erienced since the death of my wife. Who, in all ‘his community, would have grudge enough against Frank to have perpetrated this fearfu! crime.” ** Alas! we know not when we have enemies among us,’ old farmer Norris said, with a wise shake of his head. ‘* When did you see Frank, last?” Just before dark, in Maple Lane, not far from the ? Gypsy camp. He and Ralph were there, conversing together. la ‘ x * “ , wt ta eu j jot sh ih aR “3 : sda | a “Where is Ralph now?” “TI do not know. He generally spends a good share of the night at R——.”” The judge then turned to Sam Slabsides. ** Who are you, sir?” he demanded. “My name is Sam Slabsides.”’ “Where do you live?” “In the winter, I blacks boots, in Philymedelfy. In the summer, I travels in the country, doin’ odd jobs for my livin’.”’ * You are a tramp, then?” ““S’pose that’s w’ot big-bugs would call me.” “*Do you belong to the Gypsies?” “Nary! I travels on me own hook,” ‘**You found my son here?”’ “Yes. Iwas up at an old house, *bove here, *fore the rain. Intended to hang up my hat there, fer the night, but spooks skeered me out, an’ so Il cum down here, The soft side o’ a hay mow struck me as bein’ a snap, an’ 1 come in the barn, an’ got on the mow.”’ oe Well?” ‘** Well, [lay awhile, without gittin’ asleep. Byme- by I heerd a groan—then, another ’un. Then, I lit yonder tin lamp, which I found up at the spook- 10use, an’ I found yer son layin’ there.” ‘**Did he speak to you?” * Not wi’ his mouth. Taxed him could he speak, an’ he shook his head. Then, he sed, in deaf an’ dumb signs: ‘I’ve been murdered; run, quick, fer help!’ Then, I axed him didn’t he do it hisself. He sed ‘No! no! quick! run before I die!’ So you bet I lit out, lively.’ * eae tell you his name was Frank Jamison?’ No. “Then, how did you know it?” “Tsee’d him up by the pond, at sunset. He was goin’ in swimmin’, but he see’d me sittin’ on the fence, an’ wouldn't go m. Guess he was afraid I’d steal his shoes—but I wouldn’t. We had a talk, an’ I found out his name.”’ The judge turned to farmer Norris. *Norr's, you take charge of this lad, and keep a close watch over him, till the inquest to-merrow. His testimony may be valuable. We willtake Frank home, and hold an examination, at ten, to-morrow, “Very well, sir. Bub, you come along home with me,”’ the farmer said. “All right. S’pose you'll give a feller somethin’ to eat, won't ver, fer IT hain’t bin feedin’ high, sence I struck into this valley?” ‘* Yes, you shall have all you want.” So Sam accompanied farmer Norris to his home, one of the most suhstantial in the valley. The other neighbors raised the corpse from the barn floor, and forming a strange nocturnal proces- sion, wended their way down the road, toward Larchmont, Judge Jamison stalking along in front, grim and silent. Was he thinking: “Well, the barrier has been removed, and there is nothing, now, to prevent my union with Dolly Denning.” If his tiought did not run in such a train, he could hardly regret that the hand of the assassin had done its work, that dark night; but, stern man of the world though he was, it must be that he wished those staring glassy eyes would once more sparkle with the radiant light of life! CHAPTER VII. GUYANDOTZE’S GRIP, Wir# an author's privilege, we will make a slight and necessary retrogression, for all the incidents of that eventful night have not yet been chronicled. ‘Some two hours previous to Sam Slabside’s hast visit to Larchmont, the Judge sat alone in his hand- some parlor. His daughter was out calling at a neighbor's, and the servants were all in their quarters at the rear of the house, The windows were open, aad. the lights burning with medium brightness, and the judge, his chin resting on one hand, appeared absorbed in a rev- eric. A man came down the dark road, and paused in front of the house. It was Gril Guyandotte, the Gypsy. His face wore a sinister expression, and his eyes gleamed cunningly. From where he had paused a good view of the in- terior of the parlor was obtainable, and Judge Jami- son could be seen sitting in his easy-chair, After satisfying bimself that vhe judge was alone, Guyandotte stealthily entered the lawn.stepped upon the piazza, andin a moment stood within the parlor, A low laugh on his partcaused Jamison to look up, and he immediately afterward sprung to his feet witb an oath. ‘“ yw!” he uttered. “Tl! Guyandotte declared. “Don’t you dare!” This, as Jamison’s hand made a move toward his pistol-pocket fcr a weapon, Jamison desisted. He caught the gleam of some- thing silvery in the Gypsy’s hand, ‘Sit down!” Guyandotte ordered, helping himself to a chair—‘‘or first, fetch out a bottle of wine. *Tain't often I drink wine, and when I do, I like to drink it with an oll friend, and a gentleman. This idea of tippling over a bar is for common folk, you now,’ Lennox Jamison crossed the room to a magnificent ebony cabinet, and returned with a bottle of Monte- bello and glasses, which he placed upon alittle stand he wheeled between them. Then he dropped into a chair, * Well,” he said, “ what brought you here?’ “Horseflesh, wago s and fate, I suppose,” the other replied, none alantly. * By the way, smoke!’ and the judge laid a hand ful of cigars on the table. “They’re good—you know I always was a martyr to good weed.” His unwelcome guest took tne proffered cigar, at the same time remarking: * And’ so I find you here, settled down like a lord, in fancied security.” Hy Why not? Is there any reason why I should not?” ‘Well, that’s a matter of question. Of course. I never expected to sce you again, but blundered ac- cidentally against you. Others, you know, might do the same.” “ Bah!” ; **Oh! well, of course I don’t say it to frighten you. You didn’t use me and the boys quite right; still, I bear you no particular animosity.” The disagreeable expression upon Jamison’s face did not indicate that he placed mucb faith in the latter assertion. He took a pad of paper from his pocket, wrote upon the front page, tore it off, and handed it to Gril Guyandotte. ‘*In conversing, refer to numbers,” he said; “ for you must be aware that 1 am not alone in this 10us8e.”? 5 geome regarded the paper with a peculiar smile, **T sec!” he said, dryly. “You ought to. You have it plain enough. Now then, what reason have I to feel concerned?” “Well, in the first place, in our wanderings last summer, we stru'k a little town in Connecticut, where Number One once:lived, and I found out that he had been back there within a couple of years, and found out considerable more than he had known be- fore,”’ “The deuce!” “Yes Well, I picked up what I could, and found there was not a pleasant prospect in store for a cer- tain party, if ever found.” “Goon!” *T am high-cock-a-lorum of the Gypsies, and I sought to get on track of Number One, and by dint of luck, more than good management, suc- ceeded.” “ Ah q* “You bet! us a queer journey, we without some tidings of of anything of the sort.” * And you have kept track of him todate?” Judge Jamison cried, excitedly. ** Yes—that is, until quite recently.” ** Where is he now ?” ‘*What would you give to know?” The scowl deepened on the judge’s face, * So, ‘hat’s your racket. isit?’’ he gritted. ‘If so, you’ve come to the wrong place to work it,” ‘*Pshaw! you talk er I never met a villain yet, but what he was suspicious.” “Sir-r-h!” “Oh, excuse my intimation that you were a vil- Jain. I know better. I know you to be a model gentleman, So am I. Ostensibly a wandering Bo- hemian, I can be as fine a gentleman as ever graced a drawing-room—ay! have been, and you know it. I have not yet lost my faculty of filling old gaps, though I’ve led a checkered life. Who was it, though, who gave me the position of brakeman (from whieb I was advanced to associate manager) on the great incline road, over which the passengers are nine times out of ten taken but one way—down-hill? I don’t think you would have to rack your memory much to remember,” * Enough of this, sir!’ Jamison cried, angrily. ‘I seriously doubt if the party lives, or, if living, that you know anything of him.”’ “You are welcome to your doubts.” ‘Where is he, then? Ill give you a thousand dol- lars 'O put me on track of him!”’ * Agreeable always to money consideration, I ac- cept the offer, But, you will have to wait a day or two, until Isend my time-tried scouts to ascertain his exact whereabouts. Calculating time, I do not think he can be more than twenty miles from here I kept on track, and though he led rospered, and I was never im, though he had no idea now. So, when I locate him, I shall expect my money.”’ “ And you shall have it.” “Very well. I will take you at your word and act accordingly,” ee was a brief silence, and then the judge said: “What of Two and Three?” “*T know nothing about them. The world has swal- lowed them up, I guess.” “Better so,” was the remark that followed, ping “Oh, I don’t know. They were not to blame. It was @ damnable deception. and I wonder you live to-day to remember it, considering that at that very time you had a trusting wife and child living.” Jamison grated his teeth. His eyes flashed fury, and he would have tried to kill the cool Gypsy opposite, but for fear of being killed himself. “T saw Four to-day, also, much to my surprise,” Gril Guyandotte went on, triumphantly, ‘‘ Of course I knew her, for she has not changed, except in size. Judging from what I know of her residence, it would not be a hard matter to find Five! “There! don’t get mad, judge, but let your pas- sion cool off 2 ¢r you are in a fit condition to con- sider. Then, I haven’t a doubt you will be ready to agree that, if used right, I will be always aright bower, I’m for camp, now "—rising—‘‘ and don't worry; we'll fix things all right—but quietly, you know. If you meet me in the camp, of courge we are strangers. I suppose I might take this Momte- bello, along, eb?” “Yes!” gruffly, * and this, too.” hott iwc +» a a were es D4 di RS
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8 Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. a —_———_ —_.—-@o.-—— The ju drew a roll of bills from his pocket as large as his thumb and forefinger could encircle, and tossen it on the table, “Thanks! I’ not forget you,” Guyandotte said, and then left the parlor with eyes that scintillated like diamonds. The judge was left alone.to his reflections. CHAPTER IX. SAM “STRIKES "ILE."’ Sam Suapsipes would have doubted if it was his best policy to accompany farmer Norris home, had he not taken a sudden liking to the gray-haired old man, who had the general appearance of sturdy honesty, seen in but so few. Nothing in particular was said, until the twain reached the farm-house. Here Sam was conducted into the large, airy kitchen, seated at the table, and liberally supplied with rich milk, bread ani butter, and a whole lus- ey pumpkin pie, with the command to help him- Be) Then the old farmer seated himself and lit his pipe, while nodding his head rather mystericusly. ‘Yes! yes! it’s a strange thing,” he said, slowly, “‘astrange, strange affair.” ‘* What's strange?’’ queried Sam, with his mouth full of pie. “This murder. Frank Jamison was a nice young man, and highly esteemed by everybody. Who could have been cowardly enough to have raised their hand against him, surpasses my comprehen- sion, There m™ not a young man in the county who could hold a candle to him in point of uprightness of character,"’ “Yer don’t say! Guess, ’cordin’ ter that, his bro- ther aire kind o’ a black sheep?” Sam suggested. “Yes. Ralph is more wild, spirited, and reckless. I would not have thought it strange if it was him who had been murdered, for he drinks, and gam- bles, and has been in several shooting affrays. How- ever, it ain’t established whether it is Frank or Ralph who is dead.” “Fe hain’t?”’ “By no means, prove it.” “Why so?” “Because Frank and Ralph were exact counter- parts in every particular. In face, in form, and mannerisms, and in dress they were just alike. If one had a photograph taken, there wes no use of the other one sitting, for the result would be an ex- act duplicate. So positively were they alike that the judge took pains that their attire and jewelry should correspond, to a dot. Their hair and eyes were alike, and the former combed alike. They were of the same size and weight, and one could not be told from the other, except that Frank was of more quiet, easy temperament than Ralph, and that Ralph had a liking for wine, cards and hunting, and a distaste for female society, where Frank had not,” ‘Phew! that’s funny. Then, they’ll have to ax the t’other brother whether he’s livin’ or dead?” ““They will have to take his word, to a large ex- tent, as to whether he is Frank or Ralph, and judge the balance by observation of his habits. Soif the one that is living wanted to play off that he was the other, it would not be a hard matter by any means.” Sam had made up his mind to keep mum, for the present, about Frank Jamison’s attempt at suicide, until he saw how matters turned ont. ‘Say! how about the racket up at the old house on the bill?’ Sam asked as he finished his supper, or breakfast, whichever it might most appropriate- ly be termed. ‘* What sort of acircus d’ye call it, anyhow?”’ ‘armer Norris smiled. “Well, now, you’ve asked me a question hard to answer,” he said. ‘‘John Van Gelder commiited suicide there three years ago, and since that time there’s been some curious rumors about the place, and no one could ever be tempted to buy, or rent the premises. Two or three families moved there first along, but not a one of em stayed a week out.” “ Durned ef I blame’em, I was goin’ ter hang up my hat there last night, but changed my mind pritty sudden.” ‘*Why so?” ‘* Weil, in the fu’st place, I wisited the parlor, an’ re’d ther notis, an’ see’d where Van Gelder spilt himself inter kingdom come. While { was standin’ in the middle o’ the room, a-viewin’ ther sitywation, some ornery mean rabbit hit me smack ‘longside the jaw, that made my teeth chatter. I looked around quicker than a wink, an’ I'll be hanged ef there was a soul near me.” “You don’t say!" , * But Ido tho’, an’ I'll be skinned fer a shad ef I ain’t givin’ et to xe straight.” ‘Well! well! hat next?’’ * Waal, I went ter nosin’ ’round, ag’in, an’ I heerd a screech that made goose-quills rise up On me head. Then I tuk chairs out on the peazzer an’ sot down, Then I tried another investigation, an’ when I cum back, the chairs hed bin tuk back inter the parlor, an’ put where I got ‘em from. Then ther’ wer’ more shrieks an’ yellin’, an’ I concluded to light out, fer better ’commodations. So I hit the barn, an’ run onter @ corpus, or purty near one. Durned ef I ain’t a reg’lar red-combed rooster fer gittin’ inter scrapes.” é “It would appear so. These mysterious things have been going on at the Van Gelder mansion, for so long, and have time and again so baffled investi- gation, that no one goes near there sry meore except strangers, for many believe the devil the place. Van Gelder was a hard drinker, and not wellliked. The Jamison boys were his nephews— And it may prove difficult to SS es i | as change of | found it?¥ for I suppose you don’t know that they are but bare ee sons of Judge Jamison?”’ “sé 0,” ‘““Well, they are. The old mansion belongs to them, but is of no salable value. There are many who believe that Van Gelder left a fortune when he died, but no trace of it was ever found.” * Was Frank and Ralph good friends?” ‘* Yes—the bestoffriends. Inever heard that they had a quarrel.” They conversed awhile longer and then Sam said: “T hain’t told ye quite all, Mister Norris,an’ if you won’t say nothin’, I'll tell ye somethin’ else that’s happened, Of course, ’tain’t a secret, but I want a chance to consider, before I give the matter away to everybody.” ‘*Go on, my boy; I will do as you wish.” ** Well, you see, since I started out on the tramp this season, I’ve bin travelin’ snucks wi’ an’ old blind beggar, named Felix Jacobi.” ‘A blind beggar?” ‘* Yas—blind as a no-eyed bat. He an’ I met, compared notes, an’ he allowed he’d like to hoof et along wi’ me. So we made a bargain, and set out. Yer see, a few years ago Felix was robbed of a for- tune by highwaymen, an’ vitriol was throw in his eyes, destroying his sight!’ ** Horrible! horrible!” ‘‘ Well, I should smile! You see, epee ot gt Ja- cobi’s home had been broken up, and other money of his appropriated, by a distant relative, and Felix lays the later crime to this same man—is positive *twas him. So, since that time he’s bin wandering around the country begging, in hopes he will yet run across this man, He sez ef he ever hears his voice, he will know him. {f took a notion to the poor old chap, and so hev helped him along all I could.” “You are a noble-hearted lad, sir—you are to be most highly commended. But, go on.” ** Well, ye see, Felix an’I struck the spook-tra to-night together, and allowed et would & ZOO place to put up, and git out o’ therain. So I left Felix settin’ on the peazzer, while I went inter tho house, to size up the ’commodations. When I come back—wasn't gone over twenty minnits all told— Felix was gone!” **Gone?” ‘Yes, he was. I was skeered, an’ tween flashes o’ lightnin’, I searched the bull premises, outside the house, even lookin round the bottom of the bluff, but couldn’t find no trace o’ him. Then I found a tin lamp, lit it, and explored the house frum cellar to garret, but nary a Felix couldI find.”’ ** Why, this is certainly strange.” ‘Lam me fer a lobster, ef et ain’t. No, sir, I couldn’t find Felix nowheres, an’ hed to give et up as a bad job.”’ ‘* Why, surely he must have wandered away!” ‘“* Don’t b’lieve nothin’ o’ the sort. He wa’n’t that sort uv _a hair-pin. Allus when [| told him ter wait fer me, he did et, jest like pie. Ther wasn’t nothin’ crazy ner one-hoss about him, and he wern’t fond °’ welia: around alone, fer fear he’d break his neck.”’ “Then how do you account for his disappear- ance?” ‘Dunno, Looks queer as a cat on er clothesline. I’ve got au idear in my head that ther ghost bizness is all skim-milk bosh, and that there’s some sort of a gang hangs out there, an’ they collared on ter Felix fer some purpose or other.”’ “Oh! I guess not. Folks did think that once, but a close examination of the house and grounds was made and nothing was discovered.” ** Well, then, ’'ve been floored wid another idea, Mebbe old Felix’s enemy lives around these parts, an’ got wind of Felix bein’ in ther vicinity, an’ kid- napped him,” “ Ther’ might be something inthat. What was this enemy’s name?”’ **Milo Mitchell!” ‘* Milo Mitchell, eh? Then I can answer that no such person lives within twenty miles of here, for [ know the names of every inhabitant of the town and county. ** But it ain’t likely Mitchell would go under his own name.” ‘Perhaps not.”’ ““Well, {'m goin’ to find old Felix ef I have to send ter Philamedelfy for the hull detective force,’? Sam said, with determination, ‘ I ain't the sort uv a shoe- black as would sneak off an’ leave an old feller like him in trouble. Nix-e-/”’ “ 4 good resolution, Samuel,and one well dust of support. Iam much interested in the case, and as long as you remain in this neighborhood you must make your home with me, and I will do what I can to assist you. I have no one but my hired help, and like young company,”’ “ All right, boss. Just as lief put up here as any- where else, and I’m much obliged fer the offer.” A little later the conversation began to lag, and telling Sam to lie on a comfortable lounge, in the kiteLen, Mr. Norris went off to bed in another part of the house. Sam did not immediately lie down. He sat for some time in meditation. Then he thrust his hand in his pocket and drew forth the letter he had found in the cellar of the Van Gelder mansion. **T had forgotten all about this,” he said, survey- ing the superscription on the envelope. with one eye partly squint-d. ‘Lennox H. Jamison, eh? That must be thechap they call Judge, and who looked at me as tho’he weren’t favorably impressed wi’ my senatorial aspect. Wonder who’s bin writin’ to the judge, an’ how the letter come to be where I He tore away the envelope and unfolded the half- shcet of paper it had contained, The next moment a strange cry burst from his lips—a cry of commingled Joy and surprise. And little wonder, for this is what he read: ‘* Lennox H, JAMISON, clius MriLo MircHeLL:— ‘Tf you do not call upon me at once, and pay me the hush-money you promised, I will have you land- ed in jail before twenty-four hours more pass over your accursed head. I mean business now. ‘** Joun VAN GELDER.”’ “By the holy smoke of sacrifice!’ burst from Sam’s lips, ‘‘ I’ve struck ile, sure’s there’s muscle in a mule’s hind lezs. Ag’in does it occur to me thet I never goes anywhere but what suthin’s to pay. Jewhittaker! here’s ripe old news for old Felix, ef I only knew where to find him. He sed he thought he wasn’t fur from his destination, an’ he was right. Glory hallelujy! I feel like er comet or a mornin’- star!” And it was evident he did, for he sprung to his feet and danced about the room, flourishing the letter inthe air, while his eyes gleamed with excite- ment, Remembering clearly and concisely the story offold Felix Jacobi’s life, as it had been told him, it was not strange that the sudden discovery developed by the letter set him in a triumphant mood. Finally, however, he ceased his gyrations and sat aown, “Samuel Slabsides, coming senator,” he said, ‘*you’re arrived at er period in life when yer orter make some sort 0’ a splurge thet would win yerself fame an’ fortune, an’ git yer name inter politics. Thar is various avenues fer reachin’ fame, but ther majority uv ’em leads ye ti] ye fetch up behind iron bars. Thet ain’t yer ambition, by a long shot. Here’s er opportunity ter constertoot yerself inter a detective an’ do ther honest Injine by old Felix, who can’ttell flies from blackberries when he’s eatin’. Yes, sir-ee! here’s a ripe chance fer ye ter show ther kind o’ kids Philamedelfy erty an’ make a high-toned willain pull down his sails ter ‘he tune 0’ the Rogue’s march. It’s settled—by gum! it’s settled! Dig yer head, Sam’l, an’ henceforemost ’stonish ther nation by showin’ ’em thet ye’r’ a son o’ Justice, a cousin ter Law, an’ the every-day mash uv ther Godess o’ Liberty. Hip! hip! hooray!” And unable longer to restrain himself, Sam gave the cheer with a vengeance that speedily caus: d farmer Norris to pop into the kitchen. “Why, boy, what on earth is the matter?” he de- manded, ‘‘ Have you gone crazy?” “Tle! ile! ie /” yelled Sam, dancing about. ‘I’ve struck ile, an’, by cracky, she’s &@ seven-hundred- bar’! spouter, too!” CHAPTER X. THE INVESTIGATION. WHEN the next morning had dawned over that beauteous Kentucky valley, the rumor had widely enn that Frank Jamison had been foully mur- ered, Quiet and unassuming as his habits had been, Frank was widely known, much of his popularity coming from the fact that he was a decided favorite among the ladies, both old and young; and what power can make a man famous more than the gen- eral esteem of the tender sex? At Larchmont Ralph Jamison had not returned until three in the morning, and then in such a stupid state that he was scarcely able to get into the li- brary, where he fell upon the sofa, and into a state of oblivion. ; No one went near him, except one. 3 Judge Jamison had retired to his room; Jestie wasin her apartment, grief-stricken; the servants of Larchmont were in the kitchen, in grim and low- toned council—and Doctor Kendall, of the neighbor- ing town, who had been summoned by the servants, when Jessie swooned, kept watch over the body of the dead. A young man in years and practice, he was yet the Jamison family physician and a friend to the boys. e bad offered to watch over the dead, and the offer was not refused. it was Kendall who had let Ralph in, seen his con- agi and guided the drunken unfortunate to the sofa, Then Kendall took a chair, sat down, and studied the liquor-inflamed face. For minutes he would sit thus, then he would spend similar time in the grand parlor, where, upon a white-covered double table, lay the body of the murdered man. The face and hands had been cleansed, and the neck-wound covered over, Otherwise, according to the law, the body was in thesame condition as when found. Kendall spent the hours intervening between three o’clock and four in this singular observation of the two persons, But at last he ceased his flitting movements, and shook his head as if in doubt. He did not do this until he had examined every pocket of the drunken man, and found nothing, The dead man’s pockets had been searched, with a like result. After finishing his scrutiny, Doctor Kendall sat for some time in a deep study, then he prepared a pow- erful liquid mixture, small in quantity but numer- ous of ingredients, and forced it into the drunken brother’s mouth. . He then laid down and awaited for the coming of morning. . Day dawned cold and gray, considering that it was Summer, and the sullen appearance of the sky seemed to indicate there was in prospect a steady rain of several days’ duration, The household at Larchmont was astir earty, and,
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before he left, Doctor Kendall got Ralph Jamison out of his drunken stupor, and took him in where his brother Jay white and rigid in death. That Ralph wasshocked and horrified was evident, ve he gave away to no outward expression of emo- ion. He appeared to utter a silent prayer over the dead; then, with a groan, he turned and walked mechanically from the house. The morning passed rapidly, and when the time arrived for the coroner’s inquest, at least a couple of hundred people gathered at Larchmont, eager and curious, When the county coroner arrived, a jury was at Once impanneled, and the body of the murdered man was viewed. The crowd then adjourned to the big hay-barn, where it was thought best to hold the inquest. The premises were viewed, and a new discovery made, namely, that there was a trail of blood from the highway to the barn! Therefore it was evident that the murdered man had been attacked while walking along the road, although there were no other signs than the blood of a desperate struggle having taken place. After some little delay the examination began, and Judge Jamison took the stand. | His name was Lennox H. Jamison, he stated, and he was the foster-father of the deceased, and like- wise of the brother of the deceased, the two oe men being known respectively as Frank and Ralph Jamison, Was the judge positive that the murdered man was Frank, and not Ralph? Yes, he thought he was, although he could not swear to it, as he had not questioned his living son, mor had anything been found on the murdered man’s person to identify him, and it was a well known fact that the brothers were exactly alike. Were the two brothers on friendly terms? Yes, entirely so. When had the judge seen them last, together? The night previous, near the Gypsy camp, where they were conversing. ad he seen them later, separately? Only Ralph, this morning, when he was recover- ing from a spree. 4 ‘we the judge any idea who committed the mur- er None whatever. Farmer Norris testified that he bad been aroused from bed by a young lad, who had stated that there was a murdered man at the barn—Frank Jamison. The boy had gone on to notify Judge Jamison; Nor- ¢is and his hired men had hastened to the barn, and found Frank Jamison b eathing his last. Some other like testimony followed and then, Sam Slabsides was put on the stand, and told substan- tially the same story as on the previous night. He was cross-questioned, by the coroner, but nothing was gained by it. ‘** Fhis boy is rather a doubtful character!” Judge Jamison said, “ and is the only one who seems to know much about the mysterious affair. Therefore I deem it necessary that he be held in custody, pending a further investigation. ‘You will have tosecure a warrant for his arr-st,” said farmer Norris, “and in that event I will go his bail, m any amount. So there’s no practical use of bothering the boy. It is not at all reasonable to ear that the boy was concerned in the murder.” don’t know about that. “It won’t do any harm to make sure. You seem to havetaken a peculiar interest in the vagabond, Norris?”’ “So lhave. He isa worthy Spi pete ‘* Well,” the coroner said, after Doctor Kendall had testified to the cause of young Jamison’s death, “is there any one else who knows anything about the matter?’ “I’ve got suthin’to sav,’? a rough-dressed fellow said, stepping forward. “I’m Jim Bilks, an’ I work fer Priscilla Tanglefoot.’’ ** Well, sir?” “Well, late yesterday afternoon, I was mowin’ in a field *j‘inin’ t © lane, an’ nigh the cottage, when I see’d Dolly Denning an’ Ralph Jamison comin’ from the direction o’ the Gypsy camp, an’Isee’d one 0’ the Gyps sorter doggin’ em. It *roused my curios- ity, an,, hid by the fence to see what was the racket. ** Well, sir, how do you know it was Ralph Jami- son, who accompanied Miss Denning?” **Because, when they got opposite me, the young man sed he guessed he wouldn’t go no further, an’ Dolly sed I’m ever so much obliged to you, Ralph, good-afternoon;” then she hurried on, ‘to the cot- tage.”’ ae Well?” ‘‘ Well, when Ralph turned to go back, he saw the Gypsy standing behind a tree, close by. Ralph made for him an’ demanded who he was, Gypsy sed he wasGril Guyandotte. Ralph wanted to know what he meant by dogging him. Gypsy said he wasn’t dogging—that he had come for a walk, Ralph good. as told him he was a liar, and drawing a pistol, told him to get back to camp, or he’d pata bullet through him, and to keep away from the ecot- tage, if he valued his personal safety. The Gyps went, but he looked as if he could murder Ral with a good will. That’s why I reckon it’s Ralph that’s murdered, an’ not Frank.” “Ido not believe it. Frank never drank, and Ralph. did.”* Judge Jamison spoke up. * and Ralph came in, this morning, in a beastly statc of intoxi- cation. ‘* Where is he, now?” ‘He is here!” a voice cried, andthe young inebri- ate walked unsteadily into the coroner’s presence. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked rather hagga ee Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. Lae Cae eG “eft Te 9 re Are you Ralph Jamison?’’ the coroner demand- ed. * I am.” “Where were you last night?” ** In R——, playing cards and drinking.” “When raphe see your brother, last.” **At Maple Lane, just at dusk. He was angry at the judge who he claimed had robbed him of Dolly Denning’s affections and made threats upon the judge’s life. So great was his anger, that he left me, and walked rapidly toward home. I followed, slowly. {passed Larchmont, and went on to R—, but saw nothing of Frank about the house.” “Is this story about your encounter with Gril Guy- andotte correct?” “ Yes,” * Then there is no longer any doubt but what the dead man is Frank Jamison?” ** None, whatever.” “Have you any idea who could have committed the crime?”’ “That question can better be answered at court. I could not give an opinicn at present, as I might be dead wrong.” The coroner then charged the jury, and they agreed upon the verdict that Frank Jamison came to his death through the fatal effect of three dagger wounds, administered by a party or parties un- known. When the verdict had been rendered, farmer Nor- ing arose to depart, but Judge Jamison called him ack. “T have ordered Constable Sager to arrest this boy, Sam Slabsides, on suspicion of ae been concerned in the murder, and shall take him at once to R—— for a hearing. If you propose to go his bail, you had better go along.” And so to R—— the majority of the crowd went. Sam Slabsides was taken before a magistrate, and had a hearing. It is useless to recount it here, He was rigidly examined, and gave precisely the same general story he had told at the inquest. All the cross-examination failed to divert his testimony in the least, and the occasional witty answers he pave, or his outlandish phraseology, won him many ends. Nevertheless, he was bound over to court in the sum of two thousand dollars’ bail, Being rich, farmer Norris pleasantly qualified with bail bonds, and Sam was released. The suggestion having been put that Gril Guyan- dotte might have murdered Frank Jamison, believ- ing him.to be Ralph, @ warrant for his arrest was promptly sworn out, and the constable and a posse of men sent to arrest him. As soon as Sam's bail was fixed, he and farmer Norris set out on their return to “ Honeybrook,”’ the good farmer’s home. : It might as we!l be added, right here, that Norris knew all about the letter Sam had found, for the young tramp had shown it to him. ‘* He, he!’ Norris chuckled, as they trudged along the dusty road. ‘Jamison tried hard to get you committed to jail, Sammy, but old John Norris ‘has got as much power as he has.” ** Yes, an’ ye’r’ the best friend I ever had,’ Sam re- plied, gratefully. ‘‘I'ma swearin’ senator if I won’t make it warm for his judgeship, ‘fore I'm ninety year old. D’yer know, I believe 4ée knows where old elix is?’’ “That’s what I think, and that he has caused him to be put out of the way. Knowing that you were with Felix, and fearing that you might know too much, he wanted to get pi into jail on a serious charge, where you would have no power to harm him.’ “By jingo! That's it, you bet. But he didn’t come it, did he? Nix-ee! An’ now, when I git my detective machine workin’ right, there'll be a s’prise round these diggin’s, eh?” “Yes, my boy: but we shall have to go slow—we shall have to go slow. I’m your friend, and will help you what I can; but we must plan well before we pitch in. There isno doubt in my mind now but what Milo Mitchell is a desperate man, and your movemenis must be guarded with extreme caution. Ir Jamison or Mitchell really suspects you of know- ing anything of Jacobi’s story, and that you have an eye on him—the judge—he will not hesitate to plot mischief against you.. The first, and only thing to he done, seems to me, is to find Jacobi.” “ Yes,”? Sam assented, thoughtfully—‘ that’s what is on the bill for first act. What will foller will hev to be found out by ’sperience.” His head was full of jostling thoughts in connec- tion with his new detective enterprise, and it was liable to take some time to get them straightened out so they would run smoothly, Onee he succeed- ed, he surely had grit and push enough about him to make something out of the case before him, CHAPTER XI. THE CONFAB IN A CORNFIELD. Tur party that left R——, headed by Constable Sager, to visit the Gypsy camp, did not meet with the success they had anticipated. On arriving at the camp, they found everything uiet and orderly, but their inquiry for Gril Guyan- dotte was met with the assertion that Gril was not in the camp, had not been since daybreak, and that nothing was known of his whereabouts since, Nevertheless, a thorough search was made, and Jim Bilks, who had come along to identify Guyan- dotte, failed to find any one resembling him, So, in order to get further orders from the sheriff, the party returned to R——; the con: table, however, ordering the Gypsies not to move from their en- ene until further notice, under penalty of arres The fact that the Gypsy was not to be found at the camp, seemed to indicate that he was hiding somewhere, and if hiding, why, unless he was guilty of the murder? Accordingly, the sheriff bad a reward notice posted at every approach to the town, and for miles around during the day, and the excitement ran high. Numerous parties, covetous of the money offered for Guyandotte’s capture, started forth in search of him, and the surrounding country was scoured thor- oughly, but without result. At Honeybrook farm, Sam Slabsides put in the ance of the day quietly, after returning from to. In under the shade of a great oak tree upon the lawn, he lay stretched out upon the grass, busying his brain both with conjecture, and forming plans. He had made no attempt to visit the Van Gelder mansion, for one of the scouting parties had gone in that direction, and he concluded he had better keep away from the place, for the immediate present, at any rate. : oward evening, farmer Norris called him into the ouse. **Sammy, can you ride a horse?” he asked. “Can I?’ exclaimed Sam, * well, I should murmur and blush! Why, I’m a reg'lar daisy-bender, you bet. Used ter ride in a circus, couple seasons ago, till the show bu’sted, an’I had ter fut et home. Don’t know much ‘bout ther good p’ints uv ther anymile, but I kin ride like a reg’lar ranchero.” “Very well. I want you to ride over to R—— and mail a letter for me, which I forgot to do to-day. While you are there, get yourself a serviceable suit of clothing, shoes, shirts, a hat, and whatever you may need. If there is any money left, you-can keep it for pocket change.” And Mr. Norris Jaid a stamped letter in Sam’s hands, and on top of it a fifty-dollar note. Sam’s astonishment can better be imagined than described. **Why—why I don’t wanter take this!’’ he said, “These ’ere togs are big enough fer me.” * No, they arenot. You are deserving of better ones, and you are welcome to the money; and now peg 50 as to get back before it is long after ark.’ After thanking his benefactor gratefully, Sam went out to the stable, where he found a saddled horse in waiting for him in the charge of one of the farm hands. Mounting, Sam galloped away toward R—— in high spirits, When he reached the town, he first of a}l visited the post-office and deposited the letter, then, he set about making purchases. ‘* Thar ain’t no sorter use 0’ my making a dude out o’ myself by sportin’ around in expensive togs,”’ he argued, ‘tan’ so I'll go lightly an’ have some money left.”’ Accordingly, he was judicious in making his pur- chases, and when he was supplied with a suit of clothes, shirts, collars, hose, shoes and hat, he still had over twenty-five dollars left. Hiring an expressman to deliver the articles at Honey brook farm, he next sought a hardware store, and here purchased a revolver and cartridges, a bull’s-eye lantern and some strong cord. The clerk, who had been present at the hearing, looked doubtful when Sam asked for the articles. “T don’t know as 1 have any business to sell such things to you,” he said. ‘ What do you want them for? Are you going to start forth as a highway rob- ber, or what?’’ “Tm goin’ ter start forth as what /” Sam replied zood-naturedly. *‘ Just you toss out the articles, and your cash is ready.” ‘But, I want to know what you are going to do with them?” “Well. if. you wanter get down that fine, I don’t mind tellin’ you that to vindicate my character, I’m goin’ ter hunt up Gril Guyandotte, who is accused of the murder. Thar ain’t nonoose goin’ around this senatorial speakin’-tube of mine—not if I know it, So, Guyandotte bein’ a desprit character, I s’pose I might have to face him with a steel muzzle,” The argument favored Sam, and he got the ar- ticles he desired. He then remounted his horse, and rode back to- ward Honeybrook farm. It was not his intention to stop at the farm, but to fo on to the Van Gelder mansion, and there subject the place to another careful exploration. He changed his mind, however, and stopped at the farm long enough to stabl> the horse, and tell farmer Norris of his proposed venture. You had betier be careful, my boy,” the farmer said, advisingly. ‘*The place, as you know, is sur- rounded with mystery, and there is no telli.g what trouble you may get into.” ‘*The more the merrier,” Sam replied, “I’ve got a ‘pop,’ and if the ghosts come skylarking around me, they will get all the cold lead they need asa tonic, Guess ther ghosts won’t git no chance to erack me alongside the jaw to-night—not ef I know myself.”’ So, after supplying himself with some matches, Sam left the farm-house, and took his way toward the alleged haunted mansion, He had not gone far, when he heard a girlish voice eall out: ‘**Sam! Sam! Is that you?” ‘You bet it’s me; but who and where are you?” Sam replied, gazing about him inquiringly, for it was so dark he could scarcely see ten feet before him. A moment later his query was answered, in the shape of Floss, the Gypsy girl appearing before him. “Now, do you see who J.am?” she said, with ¢ musical laugh. ‘I had a premonition that you
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y) ‘10 Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective, would come this way to-night, and I’ve been watch- ing for you for nearly an hour. Oh! isn’t it awful about the murder?” ‘‘Werry!” Sam assented. ‘There is a myst’ry about that thing, an’ a deep one, too, or my sena- torial brain ain’t in workin’ order. Where is Gril Guyandotte?” “That is the very thing I came to see you about. Are you my friend?” “Are I? Well, I guess. Youand I are too good lookin’ to be enemies. Fer instance, jest size up my Henry Clay phiz, and tell meef I look like a sweet- scented sardine as wouldn’t fight his finger-nails off fer a purty little dame like yourself.”’ ‘*Then, if you do like me,I will tell you some- thing,” Floss said, with childlike simplicity, ‘Gril Guyandotte wishes to see you.” ‘* Wants ter see me ?”’ “ Yes.”’ “What fer?” ‘*He will make that known when you meet him. He is hiding, but Sam, it was not Gril who killed Frank Jamison.” **How do you know?” **i do not know, more than that I believe his word next to Gospel. Although to the world a Gypsy and at one time in the wrong, he has now reformed his habits, and leads a life withouta blemish, To him mother and I are indebted for many kind- nesses.” ‘*Keerect! He's the very chap I wanter see, Where is he?”’ “You will not give him up?” “Not if he is a friend of yours—nix-¢¢! So lead ahead, I’m on the war-path, gunnin’ for points, and all I want is a kok at Grilly, to size him up. Where is he?”’ **Come with me and I will show you.’ They walked down the road, until they came to a large cornfield, in the vicinity of the barn where the murder had been committed. Climbing over the fence, they walked down one of the aisles, until they came to one of the center fur- rows, following which they soon came to where Gril Guyandotte sat upon the edge of a corn-hill, his jetty, gleaming eyes distinguishable in the dark- ness. When, by a touch on the arm, Sam Slabsides was made aware that he was near the Gypsy, he opened the cap of his lantern, and caused a flood of light to descend in the pa h ahead. The light was so suddenly produced, that Gu-an- dotte sprung to his feet, with an unintelligible ut- terance. “It is J, Grill’? Floss said, whereupon the Gypsy assumed a Jess defensive attitude, “Is this the boy?’’ he demanded, scrutinizing Sam, keenly. “This is the identical chap,’ Sam responded good-naturedly. ‘“‘I am Samuel Slabsides, the slab- sided future senator from Slumgullion. What der yer wanter inter view me about?” “A matter of importance.’’ Guyandotte replied. *“*Sit down, and turn that light lower, I see your broadcloth will stand dirt.” Both Sam and Floss became seated upon the corn- hills, and with the lantern in the furrow between them, the trio made rather a weird group. , ‘ Yes, my togs hev made the acquaintance of dirt, before this, ef Paci anything about it,’’ Sam said. *°Tain’t bin one o’ my misfortunes ter sleep on the soft side of a mattress, very “weng & Good everyday hemlock barn floor has stood in fer me, wi’ once in a while a sprinklin’ 0’ hay, fer sheets, But ther river is clear 0’ boats—so sail ahead. What der yer want with me?” *“T wanted to have a talk with you, regardin’ the murder of the young feller. A warrant has been is- sued for my arrest, has there not?” “T believe there has; anyhow, there’s bin some tall huntin’ for you for the most o’ the day.”’ “So Iam aware. But they didn’t find me, nor they wouldn’t have taken me alive, if they had. For I had no hand in the murder, and I don’t intend to be hauled up for it.” ‘*- You didn’t commit the murder?” “T did not.” ‘* Well, then, what are you hidin’ fer?” ** Because, ote having pointed toward me, from the simple fact that one of the Jamison brothers quarreled with me, I deemed it necessary not to ex- pose myself. Being a Gypsy, and consequently one of a class of people thai are none too well thought of, I was fearful that were I to be caught lynch-law might be brought into play.”’ ““Mebbe it would. The people aire up on their dignity. You kin bet yer life, an’ P wouldn’t ive much fer the murderer’s chances, when he’s ound.” ; **That was what I presumed. So I kept out of sent, Have you any idea who committed the mur- er? “Dunno as I have, in partic’lar,—that is, none that I’d want to sling around loose, jest at present.”’ “Still, you have an idea?’ *“Mebbe.”’ “* And so have I, my young friend. I want you to take me os the hand and believe that 1 am your friend. and then we will set to work together, to bring to justice one of the worst villains that was ever a disgrace to society. Will youdoit? ITamno murderer, although up toa coupl» of years agol led a wild and not altogether an honest life. Two years ago I changed my habits and although I still remained a Gypsy, I have since led a life beyond To the truth of this statement, Floss, here. will certify.” “ Yes, Gril is telling you what is so,”’ Floss said. “He has been very kind to mamma and 1.” “That settles it, then,” Sam said. “Ef you say ’ so, thet’s all ther insurance I want, youbet! Soput *er thar, mister, an’ ef Sammy Slabsides can do ye avy good, he’s yer mutton, ev'ry stew.” “Good!” Gril Guyandotte cried, putting out his hand, and warmly shaking toat of the younger Bo- hemian. ‘* You'll lose nothing by accepting of my frieudship, [don’t suppose you have any idea that I have been cognizant of your every movement, for the past two months, and that at no time has our Gypsy camp been more than twelve or fifteen miles away from you?” **Git out!”’ “It is true. Ihave had spies keep track of your route, from day to day, and report to me at ee ht and we have arranged our route according 7 ; “Ye don’t say so! An’ what hev ye done that er?’ “So as not to lose track of the blind beggar, Felix Jacobi.” Sam gave vent to a prolonged whistle of sur- prise. **D’ye know him?” he demanded. ‘““Not as a personal acquaintance, nor does he know me. I know of him, however, and of the man who was the cause of his ruin,” “ Then, you’re the very hairpin I want to see—jest the werry old pompadour pin. Kinder struck me I hadn’t got ther luck ter start gunnin’ ’thout hittin’ a bird. So you know ther story o’ Felix’s misfor- tunes, do you?” “Yes. Doyou?” + i Yes, IreckonI do. At any rate he told me about ‘In the main, he no doubt told you a correct story. But there are some parts in which, I dare say, he erred.”’ “Dunno *bout that, I’m sure, Felix ginerally spoke dictionary facts.” ‘Of course, but even the most truthful of people, often make sad mistakes. Now, where is the old man?” ‘*That’s the very thing I want to know. He’s missing, and I'll bet he’s met with foul play.’’ Sam then went on and narrated the circumstances relating to Jacobi’s mysterious disappearance. ‘** Floss has told me of this,” Gri] said, when Sam had finished, ‘‘and I agree with you that some secret disposal has been made of Jacobi. Are you aware that his enemy and the direct cause of all his Om lives scarcely more than a stone’s throw from 1ere,’ ‘* You mean Milo Mitchell?” “oe Yes,.”’ “*Kerect. I know where he lives, He’s known around these ’ere parts, as Judge Jamison.” Wager And on Jacobi’s bard-earned money he is playing off gentleman. I know it, now, but until yesterday I had no idea of his whereabouts, I then saw him driving through the lane, but he didn’t see me. Last night, I paid him a visit and we had a little talk, during which I gave him several little reminders that I was not any too friendly to- ward him, Finally, he made me an offer of money, if I would put Felix Jacobi out of the way. I al- lowed I would accept ic, though at the time I had aoe the slightest idea of doing anything of the ind, **Then, it don’t look as if Jamicon had had a hand in Felix’s disappearance, after all.” ** Don’t deceive yourself, on that point. Knowing that Felix was in the vicinity, and ascertaining that he was not with you, I naturally took the cue that something had happened. So, last night—previous to the alarm of the murder—I visited Jamison at his home, and made known to him t' at Jacobi was in the neighborhood, bent on revenre. I sized up his surprise—rather, his assumed surprise, and came to the conclusion that he was not so much surprised as he let on to be, Floss, here, had previously told me of her meeting with you and of your missing Felix, and of course it did not require much thought, on my part, to lead me to suppose that Mitchell had be- come apprised of Jacobi’s coming, and adopted Seengen measures to provide forhis summary dis- posa ioe - Sam whistled again. “Say, lookee here!”’ he ejaculated, ‘* be youa col- lege professor, or a walkin’ dictionary? Them jaw- breakers 0’ yourn don’t correspond wi’ yer profes- sion.” Guyandotte smiled. ‘“*T was not always a Gypsy,’’ he assured. ‘Once upon a time I moved in the society of upper ten- dom, but it did not benefit me, for it was the cause of my making a move that took me down hill, un- til I did not amount to much in the eyes of honor- able people. Once down—and, you will do well to remember it, my boy—it is a hard thing to rise. And thus it was, with me, I was ashamed to make the effort, after once going astray. SolI joined the Gy peies and am now the leader of the party camped in the lane—a more respectable set of wanderers than whom it would surely be hard to find. “Sines [ have reformed, I have undertaken to right the wrong that I was party to, several years ago. With that view, I never wholly lost track of Felix Jacobi, after he was blinded. I believed that sightless though he was, he would eventually find Milo Mitchell, and I was not wrong, After many wearisome miles of wandering, he came so near to the lair of his enemy that I was able to lay my eyes upon that enemy, And having done that much, itis my intention vo bring matters to a just Cndting- Re- cognizing your assistance to Jacobi, asa guide, it is an honor to know you, and therefore I propose that we work hand in hand, to the end of seeing that the fearful outrage visited upon Jacobi by Milo Mitchell be avenged, ‘*Keerect, old stockin’! That's where you hit me for a home run!” Sam declared. ‘‘’Tain’t often I tackle onter hullsale partnership, but when I do, E freeze faster than a Cape May crab. So go ahead wi’ yer talkin’ masheen, an’ let’s heer what ye think is ther best thing ter be did, under the circum- stances, I’m wi’ yer fer any kind 0’ sport, from a torchlight parade, to a funeral procession!” And Sam turned the light of his lantern a little brighter, and waited for Guyandotte to proceed, CHAPTER XII. MORE MYSTERY. ‘Wet, I do not know exactly what plan of action to advise, just yet,’’ Guyandotte said, after some deliberation, *‘ because we neither of us know just where Jacobi is, or what has happened to him. If we were positive, as regards these points, it would be a far easier matter for us to lay our plans.” “That’s so. I’ve got it fastened ter my noddle, tho’, that Jacobi is hid ’round the haunted house remises, and I sha’n’t give up that opinion untib ‘ve made the trap another ‘vestigation. I was goin’ there when I met Floss.”’ “ Are you not afraid to go there alone?” “Nixee! I’ve got a revolver, an’ ef ther ghosts come foolin’ around, I'll give ’em plumbago by the ounce,” “Floss was tellin’ me about the ghosts and their vocal manifestations. That’s all nonsense. There is no such thing as ghosts!” ‘“*That’s what I thought, until cne of "em hit me a sockdolager alongside me jaw; then 1 changed my tune from A to B-flat, which was purty near bein” flat—fer when I looked ter see who had struck me, I couldn’t see no one,”’ ‘So Floss told me. But there is no such thing as aghost. It stands to reason that the manifestations at the mansion are wholly human, and your idea that Felix is a prisoner about the premises is quite lausible. In order to make a positive move against filo Mitchell, with any degree of success, we will have a great deal to contend with. In the first place, we will have to locate Felix Jacobi, and, in doing so, use the utmost caution, in order that I be not discovered, nor that_Jamison’s suspicions be aroused that we know of Jacobi’s whereabouts, lest he put the poor old fellow entirely out of the way.” am ihe you don’t think he has caused him ter be cilled?’ “No, The terrible job he did out west must nat- uralty have preyed so upon his mind that he would hesitate to actually commit murder. It is far more: probable that Jacobi is held as a prisoner.” **But where?”’ “That's fer us to find out, if we can. It appears: quite likely that, as he disappeared up at the mar- sion, he isn’t far out of that neighborhood now.” “Tt looks that way, I[know. But Floss and I ran- sacked the place from top to bottom, without find- ing anything.” “Even so, but that does not gainsay that another search might not result in a discovery. There is likely some secret apartment or other arrangements, that, if thoroughly examined, would explode the ghost business. If I toought I woulda not be in dan- ger of being discovered, | would accompany you now. “Dunno how that. would be. You'll have to run your own risks. There might be some one up at ther old ghost-trap, an’ ag’in there might not.” “T think I'll go along with you anyhow, Iam armed, and not afraid to face the music, if it comes to that. Floss, you had better go back to the camp. a No, Iam going with Sam,” the girl said, spirit- edly. “Yas. Floss an’ Tis pards,” Sam spoke up, ‘‘ an” I want her ter go along.” So the trio set out. A considerable part of the way to the foot of the bluff, on top of which was located the mansion, could be traveled by way of the cornfield, not neces- sitating getting out into the highway. The night was pretty dark, however, and when they left the cornfield there was not much danger of their being seen. ‘“Who do you think killed Frank Jamison?” Sam asked of the Gypsy, as they hurried along. “Well, if I were to express any opinion, I shouldn’t hesitate to poirt my finger at Milo Mitchell. I hear that both were rivals fora girl’s hand in marriage, and Mitchell is a man who hates to be balked, and I don’t think he’d hesitate at any crime, where a pretty woman was concerned.” “It struck me be might know es much erbout it as any one else. But how’s er feller ter fasten it onter him?” ‘*Tt will not be an easy matter, Ican assure you. He has power and influence, and we have neither, Were he to get me into jail, he would center all his power against me, to secure my conviction, you may rest assured,” They resched the base of the bluff in due time, and toiled up the precipitous path to the level above. Though the deserted mansion loomed up grim and forbid.ing, the gloom was not as dense as on the pre- vious nig t, and there was no lightning or thunder to add to the uncanniness of the situation. “Now, then, ef the screechin’ will begin, we'll try an’ keep our hair from stan’in’ on end! Sam Slabsides declared, grimly. ‘So sail in, Mister Ghost, an’ spa yer bugle from ear to ear,” They cautiously approached the house, which Le eye the same appearance as on the previous night. When they stepped upon the veranda, Sam paused to light his lantern, Floss keeping by his ide, as though she deemed him her natural protec- or. :
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TEMES FURS 1L gloomy hall, fearlessly, “Let him go!”’ thought Sam. ‘I'd rather snort ef jie’d git lambasted alongside the jaw!” A moment later, a startled and fierce cry was heard, and the Gypsy reappeared, in hot haste. “*Hillo! what’s the defickelty?”” Sam demanded. “Quick! bring the light!’ Gril gasped, drawing his revolver. ‘*Some one struck me, curse him!” They hurriedly entered the hall, and Gril led the way into the parlor, Here Sam turned on his light, at full head, and flashed it about the room. But, although they all gazed searchingly about, the offender was nowhere to be seen, nor was there any obstacle in the room behind which a person eould be hidden, without risk of detection. ** He's gone, curse him!” Gril cried vengefully. * Who?” demanded Sam. : ‘*Why, the man who slapped me!” “Git out. It wasn’t no man. I got slapped in the same way, last night, an on looking around in- stantJy, there wasn’t a soulin the room. There’s no way 0’ gittin’ round et, Gril—et were a ghost that hit you, an’ he kin hit like a prize fighter, too,” “Ghost be hanged! There is no such thing as ghosts! Give me that lantern!” He took the light, and examined the room ecare- fully. He sounded the walls, and the floor, looked he- hind the pictures and furni'ure, and finally uttered an execration: “Jt beats the devil!’ he declared, ‘ There’s no explanation to the mystery in here, that I can see. Come! Let’s proceed. If there’s any secret ‘com- partments to the house, yoy can bet I'll find them)” “ Bf you do, yer eyes will have to be sharper than T think they are,’’ was Sam’s opinion. ‘I’m bettin’ I kin look as fur inter a bowl 0’ eyester soup as any one else, but I've been left on seein’ ther eyester, many a time. But, steer ahead, me boy. Mebbe you're more of a ferrit than | take yer ter be.” They went over the same course that Sam_had pursued the night before, visiting the remaining rooms on the first floor, then exploring the cellar, and finally the upper stories. The = fe in particular, Guyandotte spent some time in examining, but nothing was found to indi- cate that the place was not all bona jide cellar. Three hours of rigid examination of the premises supplied but one re:ult—that of deciding there were no secret compartments, cellars, or other places of concealment, Where one or more persons could exist in hiding. “Well, I’m satisfied on one pcint!” Guyandotte announced, finally, when they had gained the piazza once more. ‘‘Old Jacobi is no prisoner around the premises.” ‘He ain't?” ‘Not much! He has been spirited away. Our search has been 60 thorough, that, were he secreted ea tla we should have been sure to discover m. “T don’t know about that. the slap on yer jaw?” ‘*That? Well—well, that is the only thing that mystifies me. It must be some person was in the room and dodged out, before I could see him.” ‘“ Thet langwidge an’ logic might work on Fegees, an’ sech like, but 1 don't tackle to et, fer a cent. When I got slapped, I wheeled around quicker’n a cat could wink ‘er eye at a spring chicken, an’ I was allalone, Ltell ye, [believe theplace is haunted, an’ ther ghosts aire like cannibals—allus on the gobble.” ‘Nonsense. There are no ghosts. Neither have I heard any of their vocal manifestations yet, either.” As if to give the lie to his words, there pealed forth, at this juncture, a shriek so blood-curdling pe awful, that even Guyandotte started, with an oath, “Thar! now ye hear it!” Sam cried in triumph. “That war the ghost gittin’ up on his mad, cause you ‘lowed he warn’t er co’poration by hisself. Or, mebbe ye think et was er Thomas Cat, or some strange angel out serenadin’,”’ Guyandotte did not answer, but drew his revolver again, and looked atit to satisfy himself that it was in working order, : The yell of the disturbed spirit, whether it was embodied or disembodied, had sounded down from above them, and it was plain it had not been uttered from the ground floor. “You stay here with the light!” Gril ordered. “Ill be cursed if I don’t find out what the racket is before I leave the house. He pulled off his heavy boots and left them on the piazza, then, with bis weapon in a firm BTAsp, he tip- toed into the hall, and the last seen of him he was going up-stairs. Sam Slabsides chuckled softly as the Gypsy disap- peared, ‘Just wait a bit,” he said to Floss. “Ef the spooks don’t skeer the life out 0’ him et will be a queer thing to me, I tell yer.” me “IT hope he won’t get into trouble,”’ Floss replied, “or turn up missing, like Felix did, for without him mother and I would fare badly. He has been very kind to us, sir.” “Ob! he'll not git lost, like Felix, fer he’s gone up above, an’ there ain’t any way fur him to get down except by the stairs. Ef he don’t come down ’em three at a time, I’in off my guess.” Just then from the upper and front portion of the house there broke forth a wild, demoniac laugh, as if some one were in triumphant glee over something that had happen: d. “Guess Gril must be ticklin’ ther ghost!” Sam ested. eon! maybe the ghosts have captured him!” How d’yer ’count fer | “*Don’t fret, Floss. Ef tbe feller don’t come back purty soon, we'll go and investigate.” Then they sat down on the steps and waited. Five minutes passed. _All remained silent within and without the man- sion. The stillness finally grew so impressive that Floss laid her hand upon Sam’s shoulder. “Oh! Sam,” she said, ‘1 fear something really has happened to Gril. \on’t you go see?” ‘Wait a bit. He hasn’t had time to look into half the rooms yet. He’ll be down purty quick.” But fully five minutes more passed without the seeing or hearing anything more of Guyandotte; then Sam did not offer to delay any longer. “Coma!” he said, rising, “We'll go up and see what yer Gypsy frend is up to, anyhow.” They entered the hall, and with the lantern to guide them, ascended the stairs. At the top of the first flight they paused and lis- tened, but could hear no sound of footsteps, nor, in- deed, any sound at all, ‘*Mebbe he’s layin’ in wait fer the spooks,’? Sam suggested, although, in truth, he was not free of misgivings as to Guyandotte’s strange absence. ‘*He want’s ter hear where the yell comes from, so he kin blaze away. We'll see which room he’s my They visited every room and looked into every closet of the second story, but Gril was nowhere vis- ible, They then ascended to the third story and began their investigation there, And it was only when they searched the last room that Sam’s hope gave way to unbounded sur- rise. ' Guyandotte was nowhere to, be found, nor any trace of him. He was notin the second story! He was not in the third story! What did it mean? — Had he been mysteriously swallowed up, the same as old Felix Jacobi? “Oh, dear! oh, dear! Where is Gril?’ exclaimed Floss, wringing her hands and alfmost erying. ‘I told you something would happen, Sam!” Sam puckered up his lips and looked puzzled. ‘*Yer can set me down fer a red-hot stove-lid, ef there ain’t something all-fired queer about this mat- ter,” he replied. ‘‘Mebbe, tho’, we’re cryin’ afore the milk is spilt. Gril might ’a’ tip-toed down-stairs en’ goin’ ter searchin’ ther rear o’ ther house, *thout our hearin’ him. Come!” They hurried down-stairs far more anxious than when they had ascended. When they reached the ground floor, a glance showed them that Guyandotte was not on the veranda, The lower rooms were then all subjected to a sbaret; but to no purpose; no Guyandotte was to be ‘ound. Thoroughly excited, now, Sam rushed to different com's of the house, and called the Gypsy’s name, po in vain; the echo of his voice was all the answer e rot. **Oh!t dear! oh! dear!’ Floss cried, ‘what shall we do—oh! sir, what shall we do?” and she burst in- to tears. 3 “What shell we do?” Sam_ replied, as they once more sought the piazza. ‘ Why, Is’pose you'll do what you've allus done, won't ye?” “Oh! sir, but you don’t understand, There will be trouble with tne Gypsies if Gril cannot be found. You see, the majorityof them are notin favor of mother’s being their queen, ’cause she has always kept them from stealing. It was only because they fear Gril that they have not turned mother off, be- fore this. If they find Gril has disappeared for good, we shall be turned out of the camp, on the pitiless world, friendless and without means to help ourselves !"? ‘Ye don’t say!’? Sam exclaimed in answer. “Well. if that’s the racket, don’t let it worry yer little head, one bit. Et aire a fac’ as plain’as er celefant’s nose, thet Gril has disappeared, more ’steri- ously then er hobgobblin in a fairy play, leavin’ no Choctaw trail behind him. Thet ain't sayin’ he won't he found, tho’. An’ ef he ain’t, d’'ye know what I'll do?” ‘“No, What?” ’ * Why, I'll jest step inter Gril’s cast-off pants, an’ espouse yer ‘mother’s cause, by bein’ boss of the camp, myself, Mebbe Gril’s pantaloons might be a mite too plethoric fer my corporosity, but, when et comes ter fightin’, an’ runnin’ er town, Slammy Slabsides is the werry chap fer bizness, But—hillo! D’ye see thar? Gril’s boots have also eloped!” n entering the house, the Gypsy had left his boots upon the veranda, as we have stated, They had now as mysteriously disappeared as bad the bandit himself! "9? CHAPTER XIII, THE GYPSY QUEEN, THE astonishmenf of Sam and Floss, as they made the last discovery, was unbounded, and they stood for several minutes staring at each other, in silence. The boots were certainly gone from where Guyan- dotte had left them, and as Gril had disappeared, it was but natural to suppose that, whoever had cap- tured him, had also captured his boots, ‘Oh! this is terrible. What is to be done, Sam?” Floss asked, now the Peon of despair, “I'll be blamed ef 1 hardly know,” Sam replied, rather dubiously, “I'm a slabsided senator from Slumegullion. ef this ain't ther ripest case fur pure ninety per cent cussedness thet I ever got hold of, ** What! would you leave Gril, here, in the power of enemies, Sam?” * Nix-ee!—not ef I could help myself. No more would I leave Felix in ther same perdickyment. But, what’s a feller ter do? Hain’t we s’arched an” acer and found nary a hide nor hair o’ either of em?” “True; but it seems hard to leave them to an un- known fate.” * Fact, sure; but, what else kin wecdo? We might jest as well set down an’ suck our thumbs, as ter’ s’arch any furder. Felix an’ Gril hev either evapor- ated, an’ gone up the spout, or else they’ve been sch an’ tooken prisoners. Ef the latter's the: case, t 1eir captors will keep ’em hid so we can’t. find ‘em, you can bet yer bangs.” “Well, then, what shall we do?” ‘* About the best idea is fer us to git away from here, before we get into a scrape, ourselves. I want: ye to take me to yer camp, an’ let me see yer mo- ther.”’ * What for?” ‘Oh! I want to see her, I’ve got kinder of an. idea I can help her. Yer see, old Norris, where I’m puttin’ up, might be persuaded to take you an’ her” in, as housekeepers. He’s rich, an’ what’s more, he’s kinder s uck on me, an’ guess he would do any- thing I asked him ter.” **Oh! do you really think he would take us in, so» we could leave the Gypsies?” **Yes, I do. He's a boss old chap.” ‘** Then I will take you to see mamma,” They left the bluff, and bent their steps toward: the Gypsy camp. Little was sald on the way, for Sam’s mind was: 0 preoccupied that he had no time for conversa- ion. When they entered the camp in the lane, Sam's» eyes lit up with enthusiasm; camp-fires burned brightly, reflecting a vivid glare against the sky, and on either side were the white, canvas-covered wagons. Flitting about in the firelight were num- bers of the dusky nomads; others were tucked away in their wagons, There were but three tents, the larger one on renner evidently belonged to the queen of the» tribe. The Gypsies eyed Sam curiously, as he accompa- p'ed Floss into the camp, and they were near the queen’s tent, when a man stepped forward, and laid his hand upon Floss’s shoulder. ‘*My child,” he said, reprovingly, “where have you been at this late hour, again?’ And there was an angry scowl upon his sun-tanned, beardless face. He was a tall, angular man, attired after the style of a clergyman of bygone days, and, at the ago of forty or thereabouts, lacked considerable of being” of prepossessing appearance. “Let me go! Take your hand off my shoulder, Parson Jim!” Floss cried, with flashing eyes. ‘‘ Yow have no right to touch me, sir.’’ “Haven't I? Well, we will see about that, my ert miss. I happeu to have charge of this camp, voring Gril Guyancotte’s absence and I intend to» rule as I see fit. Where have you been?” “To look for Gril, if you are so particular to» know!” rp ye have, eh? Did you find him?” “No.” ‘*D’ye know where he is?” “That’s my own business, sir. wrenching herself from Parson Jim’s hurried toward her mother’s tent, Sam the rear. “Hold up there, boy!’ Parson Jim cried, authori- tatively. ‘*Come here; I want you!” * Do ye?” Sam flung back. “ Well, you go beat your brows with a brick-bat till I come back,” and. with this he entered the tent with Floss, Peering out, he saw the parson sit down bya. camp-fire, evidently to wait for him to come out. When Sam turned around from the eniranee, he: found himself in the presence of the same dark-clad woman who, in some as yet unknown manner, had wrought such violent agil ation to Dolly Denning. The fortune-teller was now taneai however,, and wore no bonnet. The light of a lamp upon a stand near her showed her to be a woman of some forty years, and there were lines upon her forchead that betrayed her fa- miliarity with trouble and sorrow. Once she had been a woman of marked beauty,, and still retained her good looks to a considerable extent, for her eyes were brilliant and her features of pleasant expression. : aking Sam by the hand, Floss led him forward, “Mamma, this is the ung. gentleman I was tell- ing you about,” she said. * Sam, this is my mother, Queen Sheba,” “Tam glad to see you, sir,” the queen said, put- ting forth her hand. “Floss seems to have taken a. liking to you, and her friends are my friends,” * An’ I'm crackin’ glad to see you, ma’am, for you see, Ian’ Floss make a hull team, 'cept she hatn't: got as much nerve as she has good sense, "Spose she's told you "bout things up at the ha’nted ouse?”” “She told me about the singular disappearance: of an aged companion of yours. I don’t think you mentioned his name—did you, Floss?” . “No, mamma. I told Gril. first, and he said l’d better not mention the name.” “Gril did? Why, that is strange. What was: your friend’s name, sir?” and the Gypsy queen look-- ed inquiringly at Sam Come, Sam!” and rasp, Floss: ringing up»
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12 Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. Sam hesitated, as if doubtful if he had better out ‘with what he had to say or not. “Well,” he said, finally, ‘‘ ef my calculations ain’t off their base, you uster call my old side-pardner Snusband! His name was Felix Jacobi!” The Gypsy queen uttered a startled cry, and made an attempt to rise, but sunk back upon her chair, * What?” she gasped. “Jest as I sed,” Sam replied. ‘ Felix and I have been a snucksin’ it, sence snow went off. Tho’t you know’d et, ’cause Gril did.” “Thave been aware that Gril was shaping his route so as to keep on track of the poor old man, but I did not suspect he was so near. And my sur- prise is greatest that I—”’ “That you should be ’spected by me, 0’ bein’ Felix’s former wife?”’ + Yes.”’ ‘Well, ye see, when Felix an’I set out on ther tramp, he told me his story, an’I never fergot it, So, as we tramped tergether, I kept a weather eye out, hopin’ we might run across Felix’s enemies. When we got hereabouts, et turned out we weren’t fur off track; so, considerin’ things thet have trans- pired, an’ what I’ve found out, an’ puttin’ this an’ that together, I arriv at the conclusion that you were Jacobi's wife, an’ thet Floss was his daugh- ter.’ “Indeed! You say you beard Felix Jacobi’s story?” ‘**Yes’m; the bull yarn!” “Did it reflect any discredit on me?”’ “He did not know that you were alive, until two orthree years ago. Then he learned that, instead of bein’ dead, you hed skipped ther tra-la-lah-loo ‘wi’ Milo Mitchell.” A groan of anguish escaped the Gypsy queen, and she buried her face in her hands, When she once more raised her head, tears glist- ened in her eyes. “Great God in Heaven! what a hideous wrong ‘the scheming of one villainous wretch can accom- plish!”” she moaned. ‘*Oh! boy, I have been fear- fully wronged, I as well as Felix. Can you give me a brief account of what he told you?” ** Guess so, tho’ Lain’t much o’ a talker. Wouldn’t %a’ never learned how to talk, myself, ef it hadn’t ‘been for my own gumption. * But, ter begin: Felix sed he went West, years ‘ago, ter seek his fortin’, an’ left you an’two girls ‘behind. You had a payin’ store, an’ did not need for anything; so ther first few years he was in the West, he didn’t send any money home, but banked itwhere he was. At the end of five years he sent ye home ten thousand dollars, directin’ you ter deposit it to his credit, in the home bank.” * He did, and | acted according to his wishes.” * Well, it wasn’t long after this that he got notice from his cousin, Milo Mitchell, that you, your two daughters, an’ his sister, had died o’ typhoid fever, and were buried in the family cemetery. .Having no ties now ter draw him immegetly back East, Fe- lix sent Mitchell a good-sized check on the home bank, ordering him to erect grave-stuns over yer rave. aie "Bout seven years later he started for the East wi’ another fortune of twenty thousan’. He was sstopped by highwaymen, robbed, an’ the leader of the gang put vitriol in his eyes, which blinded him. They then cleared out, but, as Felix remembers, the voice ov the chief an’ Milo Mitchell’s were just alike. Well, Felix swore he’d have revenge, if it took him all his life, and set forth as ablind beggar. For the last few years he has wandered from place to place, finally reaching his old Eastern home. Heer a sur- prise was waitin’ fer him. * He learned the deaths Mitchell reported had never taken place—that Mitchell had enlarged the check Jacobi sent him ter the full amount 0’ the bank account, and that you and he had eloped, tak- ing one daughter with you. His sister had also de- camped with the other daughter, and that was about all that was known. * Still revengeful—mecrea so now than ever—Jacobi set out, in the belief that Providence, as he called it weuld yet guide h's footsteps ter where he would meet those who had wronged him. This spring I met him, an’ we’ve tramped together sence till last night, when he so mysteriously evaporated,” re Le 4 er eae you mean?” ‘*Yas, tho’ evaporated hits it, too.” “Did Felix have any idea how near he was to us?’’ ‘** Yas, I think he did, fer he hed been sayin’, ther past week, that intuition told him he was nearin’ the end of his journey. This, I took it, meant his ever- lastin’ ysis fi fer the o d gent has been goin’ down hill fast fer some little time, an’I didn’t ’spect ter hev his company very much longer,” A look of unutterable sadness passed over Mrs, _Jacobi’s fac». ‘Poor Felix!’ s’e said. ‘‘God grant he may live until all can be explained. And, now, my dear boy, erhaps you would like to hear my story. It isn’t ong. and maybe you will not believe it. Lut, as God is my witness. it is true.” ‘** Of course I'd like to hear et, ma’am. Tain't one -o’ them kind as will b’lieve a!l o’ one side o’ a story without hearin’ t’other side.” “You are very sensible. My husband did go West, as you have said. He was ambitious to ac- «quire a competeucy, and the gold fields offered the most attraction. encouraged him, and he went. T had a little store that brought myself and children in a comfortable living, and there was no need for him to send his earnings home. We corresponded regularly, and all went well. After five years’ ab- ‘sence, he sent me the ten thousand, and it was de- “posited to his credit in the home bank, as I was not an need of it, “Shortly after this, he wrote me he was about to enter a mining syncicate, and needed every cent he could get—or, at least, I supposed he wrote the letter, until I found different when too late. He told me to dispose of all we had in the East, draw the money from the bank and join him in the West, bring Florence with us, and leaving Dora behind, in Judith Jacobi’s charge, until she should finish her studi.s. ** Milo Mitchell was named to help me, and to see me safely West, and the check sent was payable to him, my husband saying he could take better care of the money én route. “T had been acquainted with Mitchell but a short time, and knew nothing particularly about him, and trusting implicitly in my husband’s good judgment, I made hasty preparations and we started. “Tt was not till we were beyond the railroad ter- minus, alone on the prairie that Mitchell made known to me the terrible truth. My husband, he de- clared, was dead, and the letter a forgery, per- petrated by his, Mitchell’s, own hand, with a view of securing the whole fortune. On leaving the East, he confessed that he had caused to be left behind undeniable proof that I had eloped with him, thus having ruined méin the eyes of those who had al- ways known me to be a true and honorable woman. So, the only refuge left for me, he declared, was to settle down with him in the West, under another name, and live with him as his wife. * You can imagine my horror and indignation. Of course I scornfully refused to accede to such a proposition, and thereupon, he deserted us in mid- prairie, without food or means. We managed to get back to the bounds of civilization, whero I sold my jewelry, realizing enough money to provide for our immediate needs, “To test the truth of the scandalous report he had told, I caused a home paper to be sent to me. Then I saw he had not lied. The Re peee gave a glaring account of the elopement and said were either of us to show our faces at that place again, we would be tar-and-feathered. “Of course I did not return home. I wrote to Judith, but never received an answer. I wrote to California, to Felix, but never got a word in return. The trouble so wore on me that I think I should have committed suicide, had it not been for Floss, here, Finally, I met a schoolday chum, who had turned Gypsy, and after hearing my story, he in- duced me to join the tribe. I did so. As years passed by, the tribe grew large and a division was deemed advisable. It was made, and I was made quee. of the new tribe, which position I have since occupied. ‘ sf gee three years ago Gril Guyandotte joined us, and I learned that he had recently left Milo Mitchellin the West. From him I ascertained that my husband wes not dead at all, and also was told of the terrible indignity that had been prac- ticed on Felix. Guyandotte, for some years previously to that outrage, had_ been Mitchell’s valet. After that crime he was so ho'rified that he resolved to lead a life of honor and repentance, After finding me and hearing my story, he joined hands with me in swearing that Mitchell should be punished. ; * After much roving w®9 got on track of Felix—not until he had reached his Eastern home ! owever,and learned, as he supposed, of my infidelity. But Mitchell we could not find. After getting on track of Felix we never lost it. Time and again have I prayed to go to him, get down on bended knees, and try to convince him of my faithfulness, and of how much we have both been wronged, but on every oc casion Guyandotte has restrained me.” ** What for?” : ** Because, he argued that the proper time had not yet_come for a reconciliation and reunion, ‘ Wait,’ said he, ‘and be patient. Assure as I believe in an All-wise Being, I believe that Felix Jacobi will, in his wanderings, yet guide us to where Milo Mitchell is living in luxury on bis ill-gotten gains, Then, vengeance and vindication can be accomplished at one and the same time.’ So I desisted, though it wrung my heart to do so.” E “Then you do not know that Gril’s prophecy turned out O, K?” ** Yes, I know that Milo Mitchell lives here, under the alias of Jamison. Gril made this Ciscovery.”’ “So did I, an’,as sure as there’s hair on a cat, we'll make it hot fer the judge, afore bong!’ Sam declared. He then went on and apprised Mrs. Jacobi of the singular disappearance of Guyandotte. She was greatly alarmed. “Oh! this is so unfortunate!’’ she said, explaining the feeling in the camp against ber and Floss. ‘Parson Jim is my bitter enemy because I refused to marry him, and he swore to-day, if Guyandotte did not putin an appearance before morning, he’d drive us from the camp.” ‘He won’t have the chance!’’ Sam declared. mak- ing the same proposal to her that he had to Floss. **i’m sure farmer Norris will take you in,” “You are very kind; but are you not exceeding your authority? I could not think of going there without being positive that I would be allowed to tender my services in return for our food and shelter.” ’ “Oh! that would be all rizht, without the least doubt. Eut, tersatisfy ye, ’1 go and see, an’ then come back for you.” ‘ “Very well. We will await your return, anxious- y And so Sam Slabsides left the tent. As he did so he saw Parson Jim skulk away into the shadow of a wagon. That he had been listening to the conversation car- ried on within the tent was evident, Sam set his teeth, grimly. **That chap is a rascal!”’ he muttered. ‘* But he’d better not offer to harm them.” CHAPTER XIV. SAM GOES FISHING. Sam Siapsipes went at once to Honeybrook farm, and finding farmer Norris still up, apprised him of all that had occurred since he set out to the Van Gelder mansion. The farmer listened attentively, and when Sam had finished he nodded his bead slowly. ‘Strange! strange!’? he said. ‘‘ We pass through this life with but a vague idea of what is going on ‘around us, Astounding villainy and horrible crimes creep close to our hearthstones, and yet we aro oft'imes unaware of the fact—unmindful but what the world is as fair and peaceful to all others as it is to ourselves.” “Yas, mebbe that’s so,” Sam admitted; ‘but thar’s a heap o’ diff’rence twixt livin’ in luxury, an’ bein’ grow'd up in the gutters uv a big city from ther time ye’r’ the size uv a cigar stub. We gillies w’ot wer’ fetched up in ther lap of an alley, ’stead o’ the lap o’ luxury, don’t ferget thet thar’s folks gittin’ knocked around the world—not by a jugful! But say—what "bout Mrs, Jacobian’ my chum Floss?” “Bring them here, most certainly. My home shall be theirs as long as they choose to remain, and if this singularly separated family can be united, nothing in the world will do old John Norris’s heart more good.”’ And so Sam went back to the Gypsy camp and conveyed the good news to Mrs. Jacobi and Floss, and bundling up the few effects they had, they started toaccormpany Sam from the camp. They were intercepted? however, by Parson Jim, who, with an ugly scowl upon his face, stepped in ibeir path, ‘* Hold up, here!” he commanded, authoritatively. ‘*May I make bold to inquire where you are going, madam?” “Tam goin to leave camp, sir. You said if Guy- andotte did not return before morning you would drive me out. So I will save you the trouble.” ** You cannot go.” ** What?” “You cannot go. I rule this camp, now, and my word is law. Return to your tent at once; and as for this young ragamuffin—”’ and Jim turned to glare savagely at Sam. His expression changed, however, and he uttered a broad oath. This was caused by his discovery that a revolver was leveled directly at him by the young tramp. The weapon was cocked, too, and Sam looked as if he would rather pull the trigger than not. “Say, lookee heer, mister !’’ he cried, ‘‘ der ye see me gun? Ef ye do, an’ yer know which side yer bread is buttered on, you’d better take a quiet sneak! Mebbe Sammy Slabsides is a rag’muffin, an’ all that sorter thing, but he ain’t afeard o’ no long- geared giraffe like you / So you step aside, and let us pass, or by the great high-kickin’ Christopher Columbus I'll shoot the eyewinkers off’m you. Git/ There’s not a minute to spare!”’ That Sam meant business, Parson Jim did not seem to doubt, for swearing roundly, he stepped to one side, and allowed the trio of friends to pass out of the camp. “Oh! ( tell yer, when I git me dignity up I’m er reg’lar daisy-bender!’’ Sam chuckled, as they hur- ried away toward Honeybrook farm, ‘*Mebbe my senatorial phiz ain’t as classic as that 0’ the Jersey Lily, but my inflooence is jest as sure ov the per- simmons.”’ They reached Honeybrook without further inci- dent, and here Mrs. Jacobi and Floss were so heart- ily welcomed by the sturdy, big-hearted old farmer, that they could not help but feel at home. Several days passed. : : ¥Vrank Jamison was buried. his funeral being one of the largest ever known in those parts, Neither Ralph Jamison nor Dolly Denning attend- ed it, although the former spent an hour of silent mourning before the coffin of his murdered brother, prior to the services, which were held at Lareh- mont. As for Dolly Denning she could not attend, for when the news of the murder reached her, she was prostrated with grief, and fever and delirium set in, making it necessary for her to have the attendance of a doctor. Doctor Kendall was her attendant. his services having been provided by Judge Jamison, Although the local authorities were wide-awake, hoping to capture Gril Guyandotte, they were, of course, unsuccessful, Guyandotte was nowhere to be found, This fact did not seem to dispel the belief that he was hiding in the neighborhood, and would yet be secured, The general belief was that the dashing Gypey was the murderer, and should he be found, there were large chances that he would never be given a legal trial, but would be hanged to the most con- venient tree. 5 x oN what was Sam Slabsides doing in the mean ime Practically nothing. It was not because he was not eager to proceed with his case, but because he did not know just how to ses to work in a way that would entail any cer- tainty of success. He flit'ed here and there, about the reighborhood, seldom putting in much time at the farm: he had examined the Van Gelder mansion twice, by day- light; he had lurked around Larchmort. and spotted the movements of the judge; but all to no use,
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' He knew just as much at the end of the four days succeeding Gril Guyandotte’s capture, as he had known before—and no more. The Gypsy camp still remained in the lane. by order of the sheriff, while at Honeybrook farm, Mrs. Jacobi and Floss had settled into their position of housekeepers for the farmer, and they wrought such a bright and cheerful change in the plaee that Mr. Norris was more than pleased. “Tt seemed like old times, when Betsy was alive, an’ sprucin’ things up,” he remarked, with enthu- siasm; and as for Sam, the old man seemed to take a keen interest in him. Early in the morning of the fifth day succeeding juyandotte’s disappearance, being tired of racking is brain with thought, Sam concluded to rest him- self with angling for some of the varied species of fish said to exist in the Dark Pond. So he rigged himself a rod, attached bis line and hook, secured some bait, and set out. After wandering along the shore of the pond for some time, he finally found a shady nook, just back Bs Ivy Cottage, where he felt sure the fish would bite. Sam had learned from farmer Norris of the vin- egary nature of Priscilla Tanglefoot, and he con- cluded that before he began to fish, he had better by and strike up a bargain with her, or there might war. So approaching the cottage, Sam found the spin- ster ina rear a”bor, where she was v gorously ma- nipulating a churn handle. ‘ Bhe stopped short, when she saw Sam, and eved him suspiciously. Mornin’ to ye, ma’am!’’ Sam said, doffing his hat in true Chesterfieldian style. ‘‘ be you the perprie- tor o’ this ’ere Garden o’ Eden?”’ ‘‘T am the proprieéress/” Priscilla declared, ‘I am Miss T nglefoot. What do you want?” “Tanglefoot did you say ?”’ ** Yes!” *‘ Jehu! but that’s a reg’lar o'd daisy-bender of a name, ain’t it? Reckon yer paternal pergeniter must ha’ bin a rail-ferce contractor, eh?” “‘Noneof yourinsolence, sir. What do you want?” ‘Me? Why, I want to strike up a bargain wid ” ** What lind of a bargain?” : ‘* Waal, yer see I spied a place back o° yer house, where I calculated fish might bite. So, bein’ a square sort 0’ a rooster, I sed ter myself, sez I: *Sam’l Slab- sides, et wouldn’t be right fer yer ter makea mo- nopoly 0’ this thing, an’ ketch all ther fish wi’out dividin’ ther spoils, like ev’ry Senator does. Fer instance, heer’s a poor lone widder '—” * Widder!’ fairly screamed Priscilla. ‘* Why, you impudent hussy, I’m no widow. I’m a respectable maiden lady.”’ “Ye don't say!” and Sam with difficulty choked back a snort of laughter. “Why I thought you’d been married. Yo look it. But, as I was sayin’: ‘Here’s a poor Jone maiden lady. an’ mebbe she hev a tooth fer fish’; an’ so I jest trotted up ter see ef | cculdn’t get yer consent ter let me fish, an’I go halvers with ye.” ‘You give me half you catch?” oe Yes, that’s my way ov doin’ business wi’ wim- men,’ SANT right, sonny—go ahead and fish, You ap- pear like a nice, honest sort of a boy, and I'll send you out a bowl of buttermilk, pretty soon. Do you like buttermilk?” “You bet! I jest dote on et. An’ ef ye should make a mistake and put a hunk o’ bread into it, ’'d peels et, an’ say you were a saint, or suthin’ o’ the sort.”’ And wi'h a laugh, Sam skurried back to the fish- ing-grounds. ‘min luck,” he muttered. ‘I’ve made a mash on the old maid, oe ings She didn’t kinder sweeten to my ‘ widder’ racket, but I guess it’s all right, an’ I'm solid fer the buttermilk,” When he had fairly got settled down to fishing, Sam found that he had not overestimated the spot. The fish bit splendidly, and in an hour’s time, he had called in quite a number of the finny tribe, some of which were bass full two pounds in size, Fishing was a prime sport, with Sam, and he be- came 80 engrossed in his occupation that he was unaware of any one being near at hand, until a leasant voice caused him to look around and be- Pid a young lady sitting on thegrass just behind him. Tne young lady was Miss Dolly Denning, and be- side her, on the grass, was a little pail of butter- milk, <, “Phew! hills!’ Sam ejaculated, staring at her. “T thought you was sick. “You did? Why, how do you come to know any- thing about me, sir? f “Oh! I've heard 0’ you. Yer Dolly Denning, ain't you?” fe “Yes, sir. But who are you?” and Miss Denning regarded the boy eagerly. his was the first morning she h1d been able to be out of doors since the murder, thanks to Dr, Ken- dall’s efficacious treatment. She was looking pale and wan, and there was a look of deep sorrow about her eyes and mouth. ‘I'm Sam Slabsides,” the young fisherman re- plied. “Onless you aire familiar wi’ Senatorial government matters, guess you never heard 0’ me. Glad ye’r’ gittin’ better, tho’. ‘Spect yer tuk it orful hard about Frank’s death, eh?” “It was @ great shock to me," Dolly replied, her li uivering. But, you speak as though you knew him?’ “Kinder reckon I did. ‘Twa’n’t but a few hours before I discovered the murder that he an’ J had a confab over yender, ’cross the lake.” Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. 13 ‘*You did?” ‘* Yes’m,” ‘ “Then, you are the boy who discovered the mur- der?”’ ‘** You bet.”’ “What were you and Frank talking about, over yonder across the lake?” *“Dunno’s I orter tell you. Yer don’t look well.” **Oh! tell me! tellme! I can bear anything now for I have become reconciled to my loss,” “Ye liked Frank, then?’’ ‘*Ay! Iworshiped Lim!” “He didn’t think so. He found out that you was givin’ ther judge a show in ther game. ‘**But Vil tell yer bout the lake. I found Frank over yonder jest in ther act o’ gittin’ ready ter com- mit susanside.”’ “ What dd “Yas, he was takin’ off his togs an’ waa goin’ ter drown his sorrer in ther pond. He got all ready nigh "bout ter shuffle off: then, lookin’ over here, he raised his hand on high, Jike a Bartholdy statue an’ sez: ‘Qh, Dolly! Dolly! Dolly! how c'u’d yer be so cruel, when yer knew I luved yer so!’ or suthin’ ter that effect; then he spouted a lot about yer marry- in’ the jedge, an’ allowed he’d give ther fish a square meal by soakin’ in ther bottom 0’ the pond, ‘Jest then, I, Sam’! Slabsides, who was sittin’ on ther fence takin’ it all in, axed him hed he any ob- jections ter my ’propriatin’ bis earthly togs ter me own use, arter he war safely tered on t’other side o’ Jordan, When he see’d me he got mad as a hornet an’ concluded ter posusne the job. He tried ter bribe me not ter tell on him but couldn't, an’ that made him madder yet, an’ mountin’ his horse ue rid off like greased Jightnin’ after a speckled en.” “This is very strange; I never gave him any cause to believe but wat he was my preference,” ‘Pears he’d got et inter his head thet yer was engaged ter marry the judge.” “TI was forced into that promise,” Dolly said, growing slightly paler, “‘but I never intended to eep it, as Frank should have known. Do you think, then, that he committed suicide, and that no one murdered him?” ee Nix,”? **Why not?” ; ““*Cause I axed him ef he did et an’ he sed no.” “Poor Frank!’ Dolly said, and she held her handkerchief to her eyes. “ Iloved him so much.” “Don’t Ce a Sam said. “Tain’t no use cryin’; besides I'll lose all appertite fer the buttermilk. Jest hand et heer, an’ see me make et evaporate.” “Oh! Leannot! I cannot believe that it is Frank who is dead!’ Dolly sobbed. “Yer can't?” , “No, no! I try to believe it, but something seems to whisper to me—“ No, it is 70¢ Frank!”’ Sam finished the buttermilk—a good three pints of it, too—and wiped his mouth on his shirt-sleeve, “Well, now thet yer come ter speak about et, J don’t believe et wer’ Frank, neither.” “*Oh! don’t you?” And Dolly looked up with piteous eagerness, * Oh! I’m so glad!’ “Yas, I've hed my doubts all along ef et were Frank whois dead.” **But the one who i# a claims to be Ralph!” “Yes, I know he does, but et has struck me he was playin’ the part fer @ purpose. ’Pears Frank sed the day of the murder, that you shouldn’t marry the judge, if he had to shoot ron both at the altar. Mebbe he’s playin’ off Ralph n order that he may wait for that time to come, “T don't think that could be his object. Oh! sir, I wish you would see him and tell him that I want to see him on a matter of importance. If I could only have a few minutes’ conversation with him, I could settle all doubts as to his identity,” “Tl doit, by Jingo! When as want any trottin’ neha did jest callon me. When d’ye want to see m?”’ ** Any time he can make it convenient to call.” “Allright. You can bet I'll see to it jest as soon as I kin get me peepers sot onter Ralph-—as he calls himself.” Dolly went slowly back toward the cottage, a gleam of hope in her sad eyes, Sam gave up fishing, and dividing his large mess with Miss Priscilla, much to her gratification, he set out for Honeybrook farm, with his mind on his splendid catch rather than on matters more important, CHAPTER XV. saM ‘“‘ FAVESDROPs,”’ At Larchmont, after the funeral, things took about their usual course. It would be some time yet until the sitting of the Court, and the judge kept closely to home. Indeed, after the funeral, he was not seen to leave the premises at all, and, if he did, it was at sucha time as he would not be observed, This seclusion, some of the neighbors alleged, was owing to Frank’s demise. Jessie also remained chong within the house, and as for Ralph, the only place he did po was to R—, where he drank more moderately than had been his wont, and positively declined to join his old asso- ciates at the gaming-table—* on account of Frank’s ina staat, DS nat a ae @ was m an mmunicative, and more seas une ae hinted that something’ was wrong wi m. Just after lamp-light, the evening following the occurrences last narrated, Ralph wan lounging urion ata +. the parlor at Larchmont, with a book in and, He was not reading, but appeared intent upon studying the outlines of a shadow upon the celling,. caused by the chandelier. The entrance of the judge caused him to glance at that personage, but he made no effort to rise. As for the judge, he drew a chair near to the sofa, back of which was a er Phir l the thick lace curtains of which fell just behind the sofa, ‘*What’s the matter. Ralph? Are you not feeling as well as usual since Frank died?” “As well as usual—yes.”’ “Then why are you so gloomy? Something must disturb you, for you were always light spirited.” “* Frank’s loss, of course, oppresses me.”’ “Tam sorry to hear that. Now, Ralph, I’ve cota communication to make to you that may startle you. Can I trust you to keep forever the secret I am to tell you—this, when I tell you that for keeping that secret you will, in avery short time, become sole owner of Larchmont, and have five thousand dollars to jingle in your pocket?” “You can!’ was the unhesitating reply. “Tm not so scrupulous at trifles as Frank was.” “Showing that you have sound sense. But, to- explain: Circumstances have arisen, owing toa past which you know nothing about, that make it im-- erative I should get out of this country without delgt: When I go,I wish to take Dolly Dennin with me, but, I fear she will refuse to leave on suc short notice, or to marry me at all, But she must. I will not be baffled!” “T understand, sir.”’ “Very well. Here is my plan, and you must help» me to carry it out. To-morrow evening early, you are to visit Miss Denning, announce to her, in secret, that you are really Frank Jamison, instead of Ralph, and propose to row her across the pond,, to the opposite shove: where a minister is in waiting,, and there be married.”’ “She will refuse, of course!” “Don’t fool yourself. With regret I am forced to acknowledge that she loved Frank ate f and her promise to marry me was extorted by threats: on the part of Priscilla Tanglefoot. On_ finding Frank alive, she will be cverjoyer and a little per- suasion on your part will induce her to take the trip. rer’ a oe eng er to keep the marriage asecret.’” ca e bd , ‘Well, when you are about in the middle of the ond, you are to ask her to smell of a handkerchief will furnish you, which will be highly perfumed. One sniff will place her in the power of a potent drug, and she will take another sniff, declaring the perfume to be delicious, and then, without suspi- cion, she will soon become unconscious."” Well?” “Well, twill be close at hand in a boat, relieve you of your charge, and that will be the last you or an one else will ever see of us on American soil. have my plans all laid, and shall not fai], After I'm one, Larchmont and five thousand in the R—— Fenk to your credit, are yours.”’ ‘But I guess not! Howam Ito account fer the girl’s disappearance?” ‘Oh! that’s easy. Your call at the cottage must be short, and, in that interview, you must arrange matters to have Doliy slip out of the house at. eleven, and mect you on the pond shore. * Priscilla and she occupy different apartments,, and the former invariably retires at nine o’clock. So she'll be asleep when Dolly leaves; and when it turns out that both Dolly and I are missing, it wil? naturally be concluded that we have eloped, and no blame will fall op you.”’ “AndIam to receive five thousand dollars and. Larchmont for this?” a Yes.” ““What’s to become of Jessie?" ‘*Let her get married.”’ “This is to be done to-morrow night?” “Yes. There is another thing I will let you into when you promise to do as | have outlined.” **T promise, certainly. I'd be a fool not to.” “Very well. That part of it is settled, then, and Ishall depend on you. Now forthe other: Have you had any suspicion that, for a couple of years: ack, a counterfeiting plant has existed in this town?” teg.'7 \ “What gave rise to such a suspicion?” “That ghost racket up at uncle Van Gelder's mansion ’ “Well, you areright. A gang has existed, and the thing has worked mighty successful, Besides myself, I have three confederates. They do the work; Iam the boss—they simply are my employees. “Indeed!” “Yes. The plant is so securely hidden that alb search has failed to find it, Ithas ran me in riches. WhenI am gone do you want to fill my po- sition?” *T do, you bet!" ‘ “Very well. I willarrange it. When I am gone one of the men wiil wait upon you, in the dead of night, and conduct you tothe scene of the opera- tions.” ; ‘* How about the ghost business?” “That’s all easy. Pipes run between floors and ceilings, so that any person in the mint can cause & yell to go to any - of the house. The mysterious parlor slap, that has: puzzled so many, is adminis- tered by one of the men, the quickest person you eversaw. He can slap you and disappear through a noiseless trap before you can turn around. e trap is not in the floor, but in the side of the wall, directly in the opposite direction ag would be look- ing when you wheel around after ing sapped. ‘The trap is a thin rubber panel, dividing in the center. when pushed nst, and is painted so as to resemble a solid panel of woodwork. A noiseless leap carries him through this panel, which instantly
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«closes, leaving no sound or trace of the mysterious as*silant.” *- A clever invention I should say.” “Yes, When you come in charge, all that will be necessary will be to frighten people away from the lace, by the methods that have been resorted to, neretofore, and to be careful not to get nabbed, in circulating the bogus. Icannot stop to explain more fully. now, for I have some other business to attend to. But I shall expect you to fulfill your promises, and keep my. secrets.”’ ‘To the letter!” Ralph assured. “I like money and luxury, and shall not be backward "bout avail- ing myselt of opportunities of getting those commo- dities,” **Correct, I shall depend on you, and what ar- rangements are needed, I will attend to, to-morrow. With the understanding that all is settled, (lgoand attend to some other business, now.” And arising, he left the house, by the front way, and went up the road, toward the Van Gelder mansion. As he did so a figure climbed out of the window, in the rear of the sofa where Ralph Jamison was lying, and followed the footsteps of the judge, like -@ grim shadow. t was Sam Slabsides! Bound to get hold of such points as he could as ‘well as to see Ralph, he had lurked in the vicinity of Larchmont, fiom the time it became dusk; then, seized with a sudden impulse to know what was going on in the mansion, he had easily gained en- trance to the parlor, through the bay window. and so had overheard every word that had passed be- tween the’ two, and, as may be imagined, it was a very edifying conversation to hear, So when Judge Jamison left Larchmont, Sam went after him, like a sleuth, his face flushed with excitement, and his eyes gleaming. At last, he was on the true trail! Judge Jamison undoubtedly was about to vis- it the secret mint; and if so,Sam meant to be not far behind. His surmise he found to be correct, for the judge went straightway to the bluff, and ascended the path. When he reached the top of the bluff, he halted, sand gave three low whistles. A moment later they were answered by two other ~whistles, of like nature. These seemed to be signals inquiring and an- «swering if the coast was clear; for the judge now strode rapidly forward, and entered the mansion. Sam Slabsides was notslow to follow. When the judge entered the parlor, Sam oppee noiselessly in after him, and hid himself behind the sofa, as the on darkness permitted him to do. . Tho judge seated himself on a chair, and gave a couple more whistles; then a minute later Sam be- come aware that a third party had entered the room, “Ts that you, Tighe?” the judge asked. ‘*You bet,’ was the reply. ‘Isn't it dangerous for you here?” “ Why?” **Some one might come prying around.” “Bah! The coast wasclear when I came, Arethe other boys below?” ‘*No. There was no work of their kind, ready for *%em, so they went off hunting, to-day. * You shouldn’t have allowed that.” ‘© Why not?” ** Because they’re not so trusty as you, Tighe, How are the prisoners?” ‘* The Gypsy is furious, and I wouldn’t want to be in the neighborhood were he to get loose. He’s got a fearful temper.” “Humph! You've got him caged so there's no ‘possibility of his getting free?” **T should smile! But, he raves about like an en- raged lion, judge.”’ “Tet him rage. How is the old man?” Feeble, sir. very feeble. His confinement seems to bear heavily on him, and I don’t believe he will live two days more.” “So much the better!” the judge declared, unfeel- ingly. *‘* When heis dead, sink himin the pond, As for the Gypsy, if you 7ron’¢ kill him, why, there’s no other course to pursue but to hold him a pris- oner. ‘* About the best plan, I guess. I ain’tstainingm hands wi’ murder, these days!’ Tighe asserted Sith ‘spirit. * Did you see your son?” “* How about it?” ‘Oh! he will succeed me, when I am gone, and ‘you can keep right on at work, as usual.” “Allright. Only, can he be trusted?” “Certainly! Heis red-hot for gain, and will not give a thing away if there’s money to be made out of it, you may bet!”’ * Very well. How about that young tramp?” “Why, if he comes nosing around here, any more, secure him, also, It will not do to run any risks, and if there is any liability of the mint heing dis- covered, sink the whole plant in the lake, and skip!” oF I should smile.”’ “TI must be going now, and it is not probable I shall visit yon again. So, I'll bid you good-by, and wish you good luck.” ‘“*Good-by, Cap! We'll stick by the new same as we did by you, ’long’s he treats us right,” The two shook hands, then the judge took de- parture, while Tighe walked to one side of the room and ie ‘“*Oh! I’m onter ye, culiy!” Sam mused, “ Yer a reg’lar cute daisy-bender, but yer kin bet yer but- ttons yer ain’t cute enuff ter waltz around Sam Slab- ‘#ides, when he’s got his Senatorial saffron dusted Sam § Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. over his phizy—nix-ee, Sarah Jane! I’m gotfn’ ter in- vestigate ther mint, or bu’st my b’iler in the at- tempt!”’ : CHAPTER XVI. A BOLD VENTURE. TicHE had as good as said, in his conversation with the judge that he was alone, It was this fact that decided Sam togo to the res- cue of old Felix Gril Guyandotte. Tighe did not appear to be a large, or powerful man, and somehow, it occurred to sturdy Sam that he could handle him. When Tighe had been gone some ten minutes, Sam emerged from behind the sofa, and stole to- ward the point where Tighe had last been seen, In the center of the side of the room, where Tighe had disappeared, was an open fire-place, with a marble mantle above it. At either side of this fire-place, broad panels of plain walnut ran from floor to ceiling. It was one of these panels that, instead of being wood, was simply two wide hinged strips of rubber, so artistically painted as to resemble and correspond with the other woodwork of the apartment. Barren Sam reached the panel, he paused and list- ened. Not a sound could he hear, to indicate human presence, on the other side. Pressing his hand slightly against the panel, he saw that it was indeed rubber. He did not immediately attempt to push through, however, for it occurred to him that such an action might be dangerous, but soon he made up his mind to go it whole hog or none!”’ “T'll make the attempt, ef I git the hull top 0’ me head blowed off!” he said, grimly, and the next minute, with his revolver firmly grasped, and mney for use, he pushed steadily against the panel, The novel door parted in the middle, and opened, inward, and Sam stepped across the threshold, allowing the rubber to spring noiselessly back to its place. Sam had imagined his move would bring him into impenetrable darkness, but he was agreeably disappointed. He found himself in a small apartment, some ten feet long, by four wide. On one side were the clap- boards of the house, on the other the partition that separated the room from the parlor, A lantern suspended from the ceiling, furnished a dim light. _ There was a floor to this room, and a carpet upon it. At the further end, a steep staircase ran down- ward, ever so far. After taking a survey of his surroundings, Sam peri tac to the stairway, and began a cautious de- scent. What might await him, below, he had no means of knowing, but he was keenly alert to his situation, and nerved for a struggle. Down! down! he went, step after step—it seemed as if the staircase was endless. He passed below what he calculated must be a line of the bottom of the cellar of the mansion, and after a descent of a few more steps, came to the end of the staircase. He now found himself in a large underground room, lit by a lantern suspended from the ceiling, and saw at once, that he was in the counterfeiter’s den, for tables, stools, and the paraphernalia of the profession, were scattered around on every hand. At the further end from where Sam had halted was a rude sort of desk. Tighe was seated at this, with a lamp before him, and his back was turned toward the spy. As near as Sam could judge, he was sorting over a wr of money. efore making any further move, Sam took a keen survey of the apartment. He concluded there was another cellar, for there was a door, at Tighe’s right, which was closed and secured witha = Having completed his observations, Sam stole cau- tiously toward where Tighe was seated, It will be remembered that the boy was in his bare feet; consequently, his footfalls were so noise- less the counterfeiter could not hear them, When Sam was within a few feet of his man, he leveled his weapon, and cried: ‘Tighe, you are my prisoner!” With a startled oath, the counterfeiter sprung to his feet and gazed around, only tosee the polished steel tube leveled full at his heart. ‘Stand and deliver!’ Sam continued. ‘“ Make a move to disobey, and you’re a dead man!”’ “Ten thousand curses!’’ Tighe gasped. ‘* What do you mean, you accursed rat?’ “T mean that I’ve caught you right in your trap!” Sam declared, triumphantly; “and the only thing for you ter do is ter cool down and come ter time, like a little man. I’ve got the bead on you, and if you try any monkey bizness with me, I'll put the contents o’ this _rewolver inter yer corporosity, quicker’n scat. D’ye hear?” ‘i po deuce take the luck! What brings you ere?’ “T’m in ther hullsale detective an’ rescuin’ biz- ness at present. I want a couple 0’ friends 0’ mine, ee al that I propose ter pull this heer j’int, you ‘For the love of God, spare me!” Tighe groaned, “Tfit were to get to my wife and children that I am ones in this business, it would kill them!” “*That’s none 0’ m)" bizness. mister, Yer orter tho’t o’ that afore this, Efyou’ve got any weapons about yer duds, jest fling ’em on ther desk thar; an’ remember! my finger’s on ther trigger!’’ Tighe immediately obeyed, by drawing two revol- . { gratitude, Sam and pa from his pocket, and depositing them upon the esk, “Thave no intention of resisting!’ he declared, “but I pray to God you will spsre me. Think how heavily this disgrace will fall on those who are dear tome. Spare me, and | swear before the Almight I’ll leave off this sort of life, and forever after this live honest and upright.” ** Well, we’ll see about that, after a bit, Tiger, old boy. Fer the present, ther’s matters 0’ more ime portance ter attend to. Git yer key ter thet door, and unlock it!” Tighe hesitated, “Tf I set the prisoners free,you won't let the Gypsy assault me, will you?’ he demanded, uneasily. ‘*No, Go ahead.” Tighe then drew akey from his pocket, and un- locked and opened the door; then, taking the lamp, he led the way into another but smaller cellar, off «f which, were built two stone dungeons, with iron- grated doors. The counterfeiter unlocked these, and flung them open. “Come out!’ he cried. “Your freedom is at hand,” Gril Guyandotte promptly stepped forth, and the moment he saw Sam, he sprung forward, with a glad cry. + ‘*My true friend!’ he cried. ‘‘So 1 owe my liberty to you, eh?”’ “Sorter,’’ Sam replied. ‘This feller, Tighe, "pears repentant, so we'll be easy on him. Felix! come out!”’ Thesound of the lad’s voice caused the old man to hobble forth; but his step was feeble, and he totter- ed, unsteadily. ‘Ts that you, Sammy?” he asked, faintly. “Yes, Felix, it's me, all right side up with care,’ ot oan went forward and took the old man by the and. ‘How aire ye feelin’ Felix?” “Very poorly, lad, very poorly. I cannot live but a few hours longer,I fear. My strength is nearly gone. Some one has been telling me of all the vil- lainy of my enemy, Sammy, and that my wife was not untrue to me.”’ “T have explained everything to him,” added Guyandotte—* things you have nct yet learned.” “I know all,” Sam replied. ‘Mrs. Jacobi and Floss are even now under my protection.” Then turning to Felix, he added: * Yes, Felix, it is true. Your wife proves to have been sinned against, fully as much as yourself, by ther son-of-a-gun, Milo Mitchell. But, Milo’s rope is peterin’ out toward the end, an’ "fore many hours more he’ll be in prison.”’ “No! no! that must not be. Law must not touch Jim, for such would not be the vengeance of Felix Jacobi. Take me first to my wife and children, that they may be near me when I die. When I have heard their voices I shall be happy. Then I want Milo Mitchell brought before me, and forced to de- liver up all the money he robbed me of.” * All right, Felix. e will arrange et all O. K.” Sam and Gril then went one side. ‘* What does he mean ,by children?’ Sam asked. ‘* Does his other gal live around here?” “Yes. She is called Dolly Denning, her real name being Dora Denning Jacobi. The Priscilla Tangle- foot of Ivy Cottage is really Judith Jacobi, Felix’s sister, She conspired with Mitchell to ruin Mrs, Jacobi, and no doubt received a large sum of money.”’ Sam then made known the plot he had overheard, concerning Dolly’s abduction, “Do you believe Ralph means it?’ Gril asked. “No!” ‘““ Why not?” ‘** Because I believe the present Ralph is in realit Frank, and hating the judge, he has grasped at this opportunity to get the bulge on him.” “If so, and we could get the young fellow on our side, that would be our prime chance to nab the judge, and force him to restitution.” ‘You bet!” “Then you see him, and arrange it. Take Jacobi to his wife, and bid him be kept out or sight, so that no one knows he is there.” ** And fe ” : “Land Tighe will remain here, and capture the other two counterfeiters when they come—that is, if he will help me, for his liberty,” Tighe was called and questioned, and readily con- sented to assist to capture his two pals, on promise that none of them should be brought to court. The capture was to be made in order that no word should reach the judge, to alarm him to hastier ac- tion that might enable him to escape. After the plans bad been arranged, Jacobi was given a swig of brandy, and then Gril and Sam carried him out of the cellar and to the foot of the bluff, where he was placed upon his feet, and Sam cuniated him to walk slowly toward Honeybrook arm, In balf an hour the blind father and husband was locked in the embrace of his wife and daughter, Though tears were freely shed, they were tears of joy and forgiveness, and all was happiness and farmer Norris & Dearly as much interested in the gladsome reunion as the par- “cthants themselves, A elix asked for his elder daughter, but was told that that would not be pepe ple quite yet, and was finally prevailed upon to lie down, as if was feared that after the first excitement had worn away he would be weaker, and such a sudden relapse might prove fatal. ‘*Of course I can’t see you,” he murmured, “ but I cannot. complain. has been merciful and blessed me by restoring you to me in my last days, , peat od 48 <). bulimia od, | ny - i a Riis hs | Se Slt AE teat ls ik Diilies 3 rn av oe nn eens er
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¥ >. ; { Sam Slabsides, the Beggar-Boy Detective. LS eetieenaned andIamcontent. As He has been merciful to me, so will I be merciful to mine enemy. He smote me sorely with affliction. I will retaliate by allowing him to go hence in search of a better life. The thought of his villainy will be more punishment to him than all the horrors of a life of imprisonment.” And perhaps his was the truest and best vengeance —who shall say? CHAPTER XVII. CONCLUSION. THE next a eine, bright and early, Sam set out in search of Ralph Jamison, and found him lounging in under the trees, in front of Larchmont, Ata motion from the boy, Ralph arose, and fol- Jo'ved him down the road. Here a halt was made, under a big maple tree, and Sam came to the point, like a little man. ** Jamison,”’ he said, *‘d’ye know what I think o’ you?’ **No. What?’ “TI think ye’r’ too cute ter live!”’ ; 7 De you, really? What causes you to believe that?” “Ther racket ye’r’ playin’. ’Tain’t right, tho’, fer a man w’ot’s a corpse, ter be cuttin’ ‘round like vou are. In short meter, sir, I know you're Frank Jamison, and that it was Ralph who was killed!” ** You do?” *“T do, you bet!”" : ‘*, Well, since you're such a knowing lad, wkat of t? “Good bit. Why don’t ye go ter Ivy Cottage, like a man, tell Dolly ther truth, an’ make her happy? She's pinin’ away like a wilty flower, fer you.” **She is?” ** You bet!” ** How do you know?” ‘***Ca’se I had ainterview wi’ her, an’ she sed she loved yer, an’ wasn’t goin’ ter marry the jedge— thet she’d been forced ter make the promise; thet she didn’t believe you were dead, an’ she wanted me ter git ye ter come an’ see her.”’ ‘* Did she tell you this?” “Hope I may never see Christmas, ef she didn’t! It would do her more good than forty doctors, ter see ye. Come, now, you’re Frank Jamison who was #oin’ to commit suicide, ain’t ye?” The young man remained silent a moment, and ‘then he nodded assent, ,, L know’d it. Know’d it all along, But, how *bout thet bargain ye made wi’ ther jedge, last night?” “What?” _“*Thet bargain ye made wi’ yer dad? Oh! I know ail about it, so yer needn’t be s'prised. I was right 4ehind the sofiar an’ heard every word!” ‘The deuce you say!” _ ‘Oh! you bet, I’m a reg’lar daisy-bender at find- in’ out such things, I am! But, I tho’t I twigged yerracket, Yer didn’t like ther judge sev'ril hun- dred weight, an’ when yer see’d a chance ter get him into yer power, yer jumped at it.” * You’ve hit the nail pradeely on the head, my young friend. You could not have guessed closer.” = That’s what I tho’t. Now, will yer hey patience, an’ listen ter a little story I’ve got ter tell yer, that will prove yer foster-father ter be one o’ the most cussed mean rascals thet ever lived?” *“Yes...Go ahead,” So Sam did go ahead. He began at the beginning of the Jacobis’ stories, and touching all points and incidents, as he pro- ceeded, told the whole singular history through, now and then, by some odd expressions, relieving the narrative somewhat of the monotony of its shocking details. Frank Jamison listened without interruption, un- til Sam had finished, when he said; “This is certainly a remarkable case, but I’ doubt net its truth. For several years I have been im- erg | with iis opinion ar pe toot: had a dark - Bo Jaco roposes € € judge : shy aa hee Pig pa wain tot “* Yes—that is, if the judge refunds all the stolen money, which, with ai eo and all, amounts to in ther neighborhood o’ forty thousan’ dollars,” ‘* He can do that, for he has twice that amount jn the bank. Well, go ahead, and let Jacobi secure hig Peet: Then, I shall have a word to say,” . at?’ “T shall have the judge arrested, on the charge of tmourdering my tinetfeee rs se ** Do you think he did it?” “Yes. He bore me no good will, because I wag Dolly’s suitor. He no doubt laid in wait for me, and seeing Ralph, pounced upon and killed him, in ‘© supposition that it was 1.” + ., How came you at R—, that night? I was discouraged, disheartened and reckless, and thought I’d try getting drunk, to drown my gor. row. The cure was worse than the disease. When I found Ralph had been killed, I concluded to step into his place, so as to better observe the judge’s in. tentions, that I might baffle them.” After some further consultation, it was fixed that Frank should row out in the boat that night, but instead of taking Dolly with him, Sam and Grii were to be his passengers, and they were to surprise and capture the judge, m then returned to the farm-house. About noon, Gril Guyandotte put in an appear. ance. Tighe’s two pals had been taken, he said, and under solemn promise to lead better lives. had been left at the den under Tighe’s surveillance as it was thought best that they should remain there and | keep up appearances, in case the judge might take it into his head to pay another visit. Frank Jamison called during the afternoon, and stated that Jamison was locked in his room at Larchmont, and appeared to be making prepara- tions for a journey. He had, during the forenoon, drawn all his money from the bank at R——, and no doubt, when he was captured, it would be found about his person. Night drew slowly on, dark and threatening a storm, At the farm-ouse the friends waited anxiously for the hour for action to arrive. It came at last, and found Frank Jamison, Sam and Guyandotte on the shore of the pond. Thoroughly armed, the two latter lay down flat in the skiff, while Frank took the oars,a dummy woman had been improvised for the occasion, and lay partly on the bow of the boat. Guyandotte, who was an expert at lasso-throw- ing, was armed with a strong line, which he was to bose?) in case Mitchell should attempt to drown him- self. Thus equipped, the little craft pulled out over the dark surface of the pond. Half-way across a low whistle was heard, which Frank answered; then a voice called out: “Straight ahead, Ralph!” ** Ay, ay, sir!” was the response. Then, a moment later, the outlines of the judge’s figure could be discerned, as he stood up in his boat. ** Have you got her, Ralph?” **T have.” “*That’s right. Pull close alongside!” Just then, Gril and Sam arose, and the snake-like lasso shot throuzh the air and pinioned the villain’s arms to his side, * Stand and deliver!’ Sam ordered.‘ Make noef- fort to escape,” he cried, ‘‘ or you will be shot full of holes.”' Mitchel] swore fiercely, and tried to jump over- board, but he found himself in the strong arms of Gril Guyandotte, who fiung him flat in the bottom of the boat, and held him there, while Sam bound him, hand and foot. The capture had been neatly made, and Milo Mitchell was at the mercy of those whom he had so foully wronged. To relate, in detail, what followed, would be, in one sense, to go over what we have already nar- rated. Mitchell was taken to the farm-house, and there confronted by those whom his machinations had caused so much sorrow and suffering. Sam acted as spokesman, and preferred the charges with the pointedness of a criminal lawyer. With a stolid, sullen face, Mitchell heard, making no denial, saying nothing, excepting to occasionally utter an imprecation. When asked what he had to say, his reply was: “Nothing. Ihave no regrets to make, only that it is not in my power to kill youall. Do your worst. Force me even to the gallows, if you will. As boldly as I've lived, that boldly will I die!” He seemed utterly bereft of care what became of him, his brutal instincts now so held the mastery. When told that the Jacobis would press nocharge against him providing he gave them forty thousand dollars, and furnished ten thousand additional, for the maintenance of his own daughter, Jessie, anda like amount to Frank, he at first refused, but final- y consented, and paid over the sixty thousand dol- ars. Frank then ordered him to leave the country, un- der penalty of hanging, for killing Ralph. As ma * supposed, he lost no time, in accepting this advice, One year later, he died In New Orleans, on his death-bed confessing to murdering Ralph and John Van Gelder. The disgrace fell so heavily upon Jessie that she pined away, and died, and Larchmont fell to Frank, who, when he made known his identity, was regard- ed as a prince of brave fellows. Although Felix made no effort to injure her, Ju- dith Jacobi left Ivy cottage, and no one ever heard of her afterward. With their restored fortune, the Jacobis and their two lovely daughters, had nothing more to desire, The Van Gelder mansion was purchased, remodel- ed, and now isa grand home, Felix spent his last days there, dying not long after being reunited to his ‘family. Subsequently, after a proper period of mourning, Do ly was married to Frank. And there are two more weddings likely to come off, at no far distant day—that of Gril Guyandotte to Mrs, Jacobi, and Mr. Samuel Slabsides to Miss Floss Jacobi! For be it known, when farmer Norris passed away to his last home, he left to the tramp detective all his real and personal property—quite a nice for- tune, And, as Sam is a promising citizen, it is to be hoped that his ‘‘ senatorial’’ aspirations will some day be realized. THE END Beadle’s Half-Dime Library BY ROGER STARBUCK. 25 The Boy Captain; or, The Pirate’s Daughter. 114 The Black Schooner; or, Jib Junk, the Old Tar. 259 The Golden Harpoon; or, Lost Among tha Floes. 848 Fire-Heela: or, Old Skinflint, the Death-Shadow. 854 Big Horn Ike, the Hill Tramp; or, The Odd Pards. 861 The Phantom Light-house, 870 Breaker Ben, the Reef-Runner. BY PHILIP §. WARNE, 67 Patent-Leather Joe; or, Old Rattlesnake, the Charmes., 175 Gaprntn Arizona; or, Patent-Leather Joe's Big Game. 198 Captain Mask; or, Patent-Leather Joe’s Defeat. 219 Desapard, the Dueliat; or, The Mountain Vempires. 888 AT i Boy 3 or, The Dwart’s Revenge, 868 Little Tornado}; or, The Outcasts of the Glen. BTS Little Jingo; or, the Queer Pard. 888 Little Oh-my 3 or, Caught in His Own Trap, 401 Little Shoo-Fly , or, A Race for a Ranch. 408 Little Leather- Breeches; or, Old Jumbo’s Curse. 481 Little Ah Sing or, The Curse of Blood, 451 Colorado Kate. A Tale of the olines. 480 Three Jolly Parda, 517 Jim Gladden’s Deputy. 527 The Jolly Pards to the Rescue, BY HARRY ST. GEORGE. 80 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, the Ranger. 44 Rattling Rube; or, The Nighthawks o Kentucky, 59 Old Hickory; or, Pandy Ellis’s Scalp. 108 Daring Davy; or, The Trail of the Horder Wolf. 166 Hickory Harry ; or, The Trapper-Brigade’s Spy, 172 Thunderbolt Tom: or, the Woll-Herder. BY MAJOR NENRY B. STODDARD, Ex-Scout. 806 Neck-Tie Ned? or, The Dug-Out Pards. 846 Rapier Raphael: or, The Swordamen of Zacatecas, 891 Kid-Glove Kit, the Dandy of the Rockies, B98 Kid-Glove Kit and Pard; or, The Gold King, 406 The Mad Man-Hunter; or, The Mystery of Golde) Gulch. 505 Powell’s Pard; or, The One-Armed Giant. BY CAPT. J, F. 0. ADAMS. 84 Oregon Sol; or, Nick Whiffles’s Boy Spy. 46 Glass-Eye, the Great Shot of the West. 54 Ned Hazel, the Boy Trapper. 56 Nick Whililes’s Pet or, Ir The Valley of Death. 60 The White Indlan; or, The Scout of the Yellowstone 70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, The Greenhorn in the Woods. 1 Lightning Jo, the Terror of the Prairie. 85 Buck Buekram; or, Beas, the Female Trapper, 2AT Old Grizzly and Hia Peta; 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 Thunderbolt, BY MAJOR E. L. ST. VRAIN. 292 Sancho Pedro, the Boy Bandit, BO0« Leadville Nick, the Boy Sport. 812 Redtop Rube, the Vigilante Prince. BRB Brimstone Bob, and His Lightning Horse Quartette, 852 Tombstone Tom, the Arizona Boy of * Sand.” BOY Duvaiaece teaves the Yours Shan n Wirestier. 871 Kingbolt Chris, the Young Hard-Shell Detective, BSO Avalanche Alf, the Foothills Guide, B90 Jaguar Joe, of the Mountiin Mail-Line. BY JO PIERCE. 897 Bob o” the Bowery ; or, The Prince of Mulberry Street. 415 The Vagabond Detective; or, Bowery Bob’s Boom. 452 Wotspur Bob, the Street-Boy Detective. 460 The Lawyer’s Shadow; or, Luke’s Legacy. 472 Jaunty Joe, the Young Horse-King. 494 Surly Sim, the Young Ferryman Detective. 504 Five Points Phil. 509 Jack Jaggers, the Butcher Boy Detective. 516 Tartar Tim; or, Five Points Phil’s Menagerie. 526 North River Nat, the Pier Detective. 588 Wreatling Rex, the Pride of the Sixth Ward, 541 Jeff Flicker, the Stible Boy Detective. BY ALBERT W. AIKEN, 11 The Two Detectives; or, The Fortunes ofa Bowery Girl, f 76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. ) 7P Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. 288 Joe Buck of Angels and His Boy Ferd. 447 New York Nat. A Tale of Tricks and Traps in Gotham. 458 New England Nick or, The Fortunes of a Foundling. 464 Nimble Riek, the Cireus Prince. 498 Taos Ted, tav Arizonn Sport. 510 Cool Colorado, the Hal!-Broed Detective. 515 Cool Colorado in New York. BY BUCKSKIN SAM (Major Sam. 8, Hall.) 284 Old Rocky's * Boyees 3” or, Benito, the Young Horses Breaker. 246 Giant Georjres or, The Ang’l of the Range, 275 Arizona Jack 3 or, Giant George's Par. 297 The Tarantula of Taos; or, Giant George’s Revenge. 807 The Strange Pard; or, Little Ben’s Death Hunt. 818 Ker-whoop. Ker-whoo; or, The Tarantula of Taos, i 827 Creeping Bat, the Caddo} or, The Red and White Pards, BR2 Frio Fred? or, The Tonkaway’s Trust, | 844 The Fighting Trio; or, Rattlesnake, the Tonkaway, B49 Wild Wolf; or, Big-Foot Wallace to the Front, ; B57 The Ranch Ralderes or, Th Siege of Fort Purgatory. 864 Snap-Shot, the Boy Ranger. 87h Chiota, the Creek 3 or, The Three Thanderbolts, B81 Bandera Bill; or. Frio Frank to the Front, 892 Romeo and the Reds; or, The Beleaguered Ranch, 404 Little Lariat; or, Pecan Pete’s Big Rampage, 414 The Dalay from Denver, 427 The Three Trailers; or, Old Rocky on the Rampage. Bluff Bil; or, The Lynx of the Leona, 455 Little Lone Star; or, The Belle of the Cibolo, BY EDWARD WILLETT. 167 Aan Scott, the Steamboat Boy, 199 Featherwelght the Boy Champion of the Muskingum. 228 Ozark Alf’: or, Featherweight Among the Outlawa. 282 The Typo Detective; or, Weasel, the Boy Tramp. 295 Fenrless Phil; or, The King of Quartzyille. ae R1L The Roving Sport; or, The Prive of Chuckalnck Camps 822 Nemo, the Detective; or, Kit Kenyon'’s Vendetta. $40 Clip, the Contortioniats or, The Montana Vigilantes. A new issue every Tuesday. The «se hp Library is ie roll Newsdealers, five cents per copy. or S¢ ' i on receipt of six cents ca BEADLE & ADAMS Puplishers, 98 William street, New York.
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| BEADLE’S+ H ALF- DIME* LIBRARY. Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at tne Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers. BY EDWARD L. WHEELER, Deadwood Dick Novela. 1 Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road. 20 Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance, 28 Buffalo Ken; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise, 85 Wilda Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. 42 Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza, 49 Omaha O11; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger. 5&7 Deadwood Dick'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’« Device; or, The Double Cross Sign, 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s Gulch. 188 Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base. 49 A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike. 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, The Picked Party. 195 Deadwood Dick’« Dream; or, The Rivils 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. 221 Sugar-Coated Sam; or, The Black Gown. 282 Gold-Dust Dick, A Romance of Roughs and Toughs, 268 Deadwood Dick’s Divide; or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake. 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail. 809 Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick of Dregon, 821 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flats. 847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Dig- ings. 851 Deadwood Dick Sentenced} or, The Terrible Vendetta. 862 Bondweed Dick’s Claim; or, The Fairy Face of Faro ats. 405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City, 410 Peadweod Dick’s Diamonds ; or, The Mystery of Joan orter. 421 Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A “ Cute Case.” 480 Deadwood Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained Hand. 448 Deadwood Dick, Jr. 448 Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Defiance, 458 awe: Sam, of Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Full dand, 459 Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Ronnd- 465 Philo Fly, of Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Racket at Claim 10, 471 Bozeman Bill; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Corral, 476 punspete Harry, the Hurricane; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s og Detective, 481 Moll Mystery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Deadwood. 491 iyo Pistol, the King of the West; or, Deadwood Dick r’s Compact. 496 Monte Cristo, Jr.: or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Inheritance. 944 ay Na ds Digpings ; or, Dr. Death-Grip’s Swoop. eadwo ck’s Deliverance. 515 Deadwood Dick’s Protegee. 522 Deadwood Dick’s Three. 529 Deadwooa Dick’s Danger Dacka, 584 Deadwood Dick’s Death Hunt, 589 Deadwood Dick Jr, in Texas, 549 Deadwood Dick on ile Mettle: endwo ek on & ettle. 554 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Gotham, 561 Deadwood Dick in Boston. 567 Deadweod Dick, Jr. in Philadelphia, 572 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Chicago. 578 Deadwood Dick, Jr. Afloat. 584 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 eee oe Jr’s Leadville Lay; or, Bristol and c. Me. 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 Qld Avalanche; or, Wild Edna, the Girl Brigand, | 58 Jim Bludsoe, JIr., the Boy Phenix. | 61 Buckhorn BIL; or, The Red Rifle Team. | 69 Gold Rifle, the apa pele or, The Boy Detective, fob: r, Nugget Ned, the Knight. ! 84 Idyl, the Girl Miner}; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand. 188 ¥ hetenrape Phil; or, Rosebud Rob’s Reappearance. ' 92 Canada Chet ; or, Old Anaconda in Sitting Bull’s Camp. 96 Watch-Eye; or, Arabs and Angels of a 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 Boas Kob the King of Bootblacks, 141 Solid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent. 145 Captain erret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s 08s Jed. 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 G)adiator. 244 Sierra Sam, tho Frontier Ferret, 248 Sierra Sam’s Secret; or, The Bloody Footprints, 258 Sierra Sam’s Pard; or, The Ange! ot Big Vista, 258 Sierra Sam’s Seven; or, The Stolen Bride. 278 Jumbo Joe, the Koy Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs, 277 Denver Doll, the Detective Queen, 2S1 Denver Doll’« Victory. ; 2X5 Denver Doll’ 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. $08 ’Liza Jane, the Girl Miner; or, the Iron-Nerved Sport. 825 Kelley, Hickey & Co., the Detectives of Philadelphia, 880 Little Quick-Shot; or, The Dead Face of Daggersville. 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner, $89 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket. 848 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. 858 Firx«t-Class Fred, the Gent trom Gopher. 865 Yreka dim, the Gold-Gatherer}3 or, The Lottery of fe 872 Yreka Jim’s Prize. B78 Nabob Ned; 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, B89 Bicycle Ben; or. The Lion of Lightning Lode, 894 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam, 400 Wrinkles, the Night-Watch Detective. 416 High tat Harry, the Base Ball Detective, 426 Sam Slabalides, the r-Boy Detective. 484 Jim Beak and Pal, Private Detectives. #33 Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher. Seulskin Sam, the Sparkler. - _ ee SET EE a Sy Te ks . y ——— ee4is Sy BY CHARLES MORRIS, 118 Will Somers, the Boy Detective. 122 Phil Hardy, the Boss Buy. 126 Picayune Pete; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective, 180 Detective Dick; or, The Hero in Rags. 142 Handsome Harry, the Bootblack Detective, 147 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. Slack Beas, Will Wildfire’s Racer, Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. WIL Wildfire in the Woods, Billy Baggage, the Railroad Boy, A Trump Card; or, Will Wildfire Wins and Loses, Bob Rockett; or, Mysteries of New York. Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner, The Hidden Mand; or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge. 7 Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers, Bob Rockett; or, Driven to the Wall. 6 Shadowed ; or, Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life. 206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King. 212 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 Dick 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 Jobs 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 Blizzard. 867 Wide-Awake Joe; or, A Boy of the Times. 87Y Larry. the Levellers; or, The Bloods of the Boulevard. 408 Firefly Jack, the River-Rat Detective. 423 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 *ervice Boy Detective. 596 Jimmy the Kid; or, A Lamb Among Wolves. BY OLL COOMES. 5 Vagabond Joe, the Young Wandering Jew. 18 The Dumb Spy. 27 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. 81 Keen-Knife, the Prince of the Prairies. 41 Lasso Jack, the Young Mustanger. 58 The Border King; or, The Secret Foe. 71 Delaware Dick, the Young Ranger Spy. %4 Hawk-eye Harry the Young Trapper Ringer, 88 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. 184 Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman. 148 Secar-Face Saul, tle 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 Hurricane, the Boy Captain. 02 Prospect Pete ; or, The Young Outlaw Hunters, 208 The Be Hercules: or, The Prairie Tramps. 218 Tiger Tom, the Texas Terror. 224 Dashing Dick; or, Trapper Tom’s Castle. 228 Little Wildfire, the Yeung Prairie Nomad, 288 The Parson Detective; or, The Little Ranger. 248 The Disguised Gulde; or, Wild Raven, the Ranger, 260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Young Prairie Ranger. 272 Minkekin Mike, the Boy Sharpshooter. 290 Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. 800 The Sky Demon 3 or, Rainbolt, the Ranger. 884 Whip-King Joe, the Boy Ranchero, 409 Hercules; or, Dick, the Boy Ranger, A1T Webfoot Moxe, the Tranip Detective, 422 Baby Sam, the Boy Giant of the Yellowstone. 444 Little Buckskin, tne Young Prairie Centaur, 457 Wingedfoot Fred; ¢r, Old Polar Saul, 468 Tamarac ‘Tom, the Big Me 2 Boy. 478 Old Tom Rattler, the Red River Epidemic, 482 Stonewall Bob, the Boy Trojan. 562 Blundering Baaill, the Hermit Boy Trapper, BY T. C. 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 Dand Fock 3 or, The Outlaws of the Oregon Tral. 82 Kit Harefoot the Wood-Hawk. 94 Midnight Jacks or, The Boy Trapper. 106 Old Frosty, the Guide; or, The White Queen, dacderderd dondaalaa DRNMIIS SY Reo _ cz S 802 The Mountain Detective: or, The Trigger Bar Bully. 896 Rough Roms or, The Twin Champions of Blue Blazes, 411 The Silken 486 Phil Flash, the New York Fox. 445 The City Vampires; or, Red Rolfe’s Pigeon. The Last Man of Keno Bar, ‘er Dick, the Boy Vidocq. 578 The Two Shadows, 582 Dodger Dick’s Drop. 594 Little Lon, the Street-Singer Detertive. BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRANMAM, 7 The Flying Yankee; or, The Ocean Outcast, 17 Ralph Roy, the Boy Buccaneer; or. The Fugitive Yacht 24 Diamond Dirk; or, The Mystery of the Yellowstone, 62 The Shadew Ship; 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, ‘Ihe Hermit o! Hell Gate, 197 Little Grit; or, Bessie, the Stock-Tender’s Daughter, 204 Gold Plume; or, The Kid-Glove Sport. 216 Bison Bill, the Prince of the Reins. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport; or, The Woman Trailer. 229 Crimson Kate; or, The Cowboy’s Triumph. 287 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain. 245 Merle, the Middy 3; or, The Freelance Heir. 250 The Midshipman utineer 3 or, Brandt, the Buccaneer, 264 The Floating Feather; or, Merle Monte’s Treasure siand, 269 The Gold Ship; or, Merle, the Condemned. 276 mene Monte’s Cruise; or, The Chase of “The Gold Ship. 280 Merle Monte’« Fate; or, Pearl, the Pirate’s Bride. 284 The Sea Marauder; or, Merle Mente’s Pledge. 287 Billy Blue-Eyes, the Boy Rover of the Rio Grande. 804 The Dead Shot Dandy ; or, Benito, the Boy Bugler. 808 Keno Kit; or, Dead Shot Dandy’s Double. 814 ee Mysterious Marauder}; or, The Boy Bugler’s Long rail. 877 Bonodel, the Buoy Rover; or, The Flagless Schooner. 8838 The Indian Pilet3 or, The Search for Pirate Island. 887 Warpath WIII, the Boy Phantom. 898 Seawalf, tke Boy Lieutenant. 402 Isodor, the Young Conspirator}; or, The Fatal League 407 The Boy Insurgent; or, The Cuban Vendetta. 412 The Wild Yachtamans or, The War-Cloua’s Cruise, 429 Duncan Dare, the Boy Refugee. 488 A Cabin Boy’s Luck; or, The Corsair. 487 The Sen Ralder. 441 The Ocean Firefly ; or, A Middy’s Vengeance. 446 Haphazard Horry 3 or, The Seapegrace of the Sea, 450 Wizard Will: er, The Boy Ferret of New York. 454 Wizard Will's Street Scouts. 462 The Born Guide; or, The Sailor Boy Wanderer, 468 Neptune Ned, the Boy Coaster. 474 Flora; or, Wizard Will’s Vagabond Pard. 488 Ferrets Afloat: 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 of the Cowboys, 508 The Royal Middy ¢ or, The Shark and the Sea Cat. 507 The Hunted Midshipman. 611 The Gutlawed Middy. 520 Buckskin Bill, the Comanche Shadow. 525 Brothers in Buckskin, 580 The Buckskin Bowers. 585 The Buc: skin Rovera. 540 Captain Ku-Klux, the Marauder of the Rio, 545 Lieutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte. 550 Lafitte’s Legacy; or. The Avenging Son. 555 The Creole Corsair. 560 Pawnee BI, 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 Rever Detective; or, Keno Kit’s Champions, BY BUFFALO BILL (Hon. Wm. F. Cody) 8 Kaneas King; or, The Red Right Hand. 19 The Phantom Spy! or, The Pilot of the Prairie. 55 Deadly-Eye, the Unknown Scout, 68 Border Robin Heod; or, The Prairie Rover. 158 Faney Frank of Colorado; or, The Trapper’s Trost. LATEST AND NEW ISSUES. | 608 The Pitcher Detective’« Foil; or, Double Curve Dan’s Double Play. By Geo, C. Jenks. 609 Bolly Dorrit, the Veteran Detective; or, Little Lightning’s Invinei*les. By John W. Osbon. 610 Old Skinner, the Gold Shark; or, Tony Sharp on Guard. By T. C. Harbaugh. 611 Bildad Barnacle, the Detective Hercules; or, The Tussle at Tible Mountain. By Lieut. A. K. Sims. 612 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Detroit; or, Turning the Tables on Satan, By Edward L. Wheeler. 618 Billy Blazes; or, The Skeleton’s Legacy. By P.S. Warne. 614 Whistling Jacob, the Detective’s Ald; or, The Queer Com- bination. By Jo Pierce. 615 Fighting Harry, the Chief of Chained Cyclone; or, The Heathen Chinee’s Mission, By J.C. Cowdrick. 616 The Ocean Detective: or, The Last Cruise of the Black Bear By Geo. C. Jenks. 617 Ralph, the Dead-Shot Scout; or, The Raiders and the Red Riders of the Rio. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 618 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Cincinnati; or, The Clineher Campaign. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 619 The Boy Tramp Detective; or, The Doubie Grip Witness. By Wm. G, Patten 620 Little Lightning’s League; or, The Mystery ofthe Island. By John W. Oshon, 621 Truthful James, the “Pecooliar” Man; or, The Spoiler Dispoiled. By A. C. Grissom. 622 Texas Tom-Cat’s Triad; or, The Queer Affair at Tomb- stone. Bv Lieut. A. K. Sims. 628 Buck Bumblebee, the Harlem Hummer; or, The Old Captain’s Moving Miracle. By Jo Pierce. 624 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Nevada; or, The Preacher of Pokerville. By E. L. Wheeler. 625 Chincapin Dan, the Boy Trailer; or, The Hero of the Crater, By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. 626 The Champion Pards; or, The Lucifer of Silver Bar, By T.C. Harbaugh. Keady July 23, 627 Tom Bruce of Arkansas; or, The Wolfin the Fold. By Charles Morris. Ready July 30, 628 Broadway Billy's Dead Acts or, The League of the worn Seven. By J-C. Cowdrick. Ready August 6, 629 Violet Vane, the Velvet Sport; or, The Jubilee of Jacktown. By Wm. G. Patten. Ready August 18. 680 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in No Man’s Land; or, Golconda, the Gladiator, By Ed. L. Wheeler. Ready August 20. A New Issue Every Tuesday. The Half- Dime Library 1s: for asle by all newsdealers, five. cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street New York.