Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 485) (1886 11 09)
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HURLTH bLULTLUN a ee ih RE ho , ae eee ToleMaflal allele ale =a \\ ; > Ae ‘ee \y : mettre \ - SOREN WUE UMD” HA ete Z iksté: XA. ORR=Go _—- — = - eee 4 ~ “> f = Na a SS Ta | (ns al tH i iF TH i i SCO Ua. ig & Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mal! Rates. RN TREN Copyright, 1386, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS Price : Vol. XTX, a Year. No, 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. No. 485 — SS eae EN atti TheBOY OARSMAN.DETECTIVES = —— << 2 ah = = 3 | DOUBLE PULL. BY GEORGE C. JENKS. CHAPTER I. A BUSINESS INTERVIEW AND A MysTrrRy. So you think you can beat our man with an un- known, do you? These unknowns are always being rung on us, but when it comes down to business, they ain’t there, as a general thing.” ** Well, money talks,’’ was the response, “Certainly. “Where’s yours?” le YF? e last speaker put down a large roll of bills, an SSS looked into the ener of the other with an expen of determination that could not be mistaken, SIX MORE STROKES! ONE! TWO! The scene was the private office of the editor of a THREE! CRACK! ONE OF OWNEY’S OARS HAD BROKEN SHORT OFF!
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re sporting journal, and there were four persons pre- sent Two of them—the men whose conversation opeus | this chapter—were typical “‘ sports.” One was a big, burly fellow, with heavy red mus- tache, strongly-marked features and keen black eyes ever on the watch for some slip on the part of those with whom he was dealing. His dress was a busi- ness suit of brown and white check, surmounted by a white plug hat, with a broad black band, This was he who had expressed his contempt for ‘ un- knowns.” The other was a little, weazened, dried-up speci- men of humanity, in asoft hat and shabby clothes of BO pga pattern. The remaining occupants of the room were the editor himself—a young man of fashionable appear- ance, aod a well-known pugilist, who had come with the little man to see that he got “a square deal.” * Well, now, how much is there in that pile?” cme the big man, as he gazed at the money on the table. . * Five hundred dollars. ’’ “ And what do you propose?” “To row your man three miles with a turn, regu- lar racing shells, over the Hulton course, Pittsburg, for twenty-five hundred dollars e side, race to take place within sixty days from date.” “Um! You have it down fine.” **T mean business.” “You bet yer life we do.”” put in the pugilist. ‘‘1 en’y wish it were a scrapping-match, ’stead of one @ these here rowin’ rackets, on’y fit for kids.” “Shut up, Jim Cripps! You don’t know nothing about this matter, and you don’t want to put in your oar at the wrong place,” warned the little man. Jim ip aa the prize-fighter, who couli have smashed the little man with one blow of his brawny fist, but who evidently stood in awe of his diminu- tive companion, promptly obeyed; he ‘‘ shut up.’ “Tl cover your money. We'll put up in the hands of Mr. Wolf, here, but you'll get badly left, 2s sure as my name is Frank Burton. Stretcher Bull isn’t going to be laid out by any unknown. Any- how, it is a soft enough thing forus. I would like to mike a side bet of a thousan’ with you that we beat you by at least half a length.” * Done!” assented the little man. In a few minutes Mr. Wolf, the editor, held three thousand dollars—one thousand being a deposit, and the other two the side-bet between Frank Lur:on and Scrawny Will, which was the elegant pseudo- nym to which the little man answered among his acquaintances, “T suppose this will be satisfactory to Stretcher,” said Scrawny Will, as he parted from Burton on the steps of the office. “Ti like to know what he has got to do with it,” /was the con emptuous reply of Burton, ‘All he ' has to do is to row when and where he is told. I pay ‘ him for it, and that is enough for him.” “So long!” and Scrawny walked away. *- Now, Jim, you pee want to keep that big mouth of yours shut, and I will let you _into a good thing,” he said, as he and Cripps started down Broadway. “Thanks, generous captain, and what do you want me todo? Youain’t the kind of man to give me a good thing ‘less | do something to earn it, Who do you want me to lick?” “Lick? You’re always thinking about licking somebody.”’ ; “Certainly, That’s my trade.” ‘* You are a goon friend of Stretchker’s, ain’t you?’ asked Scrawny, not hee ing Cripps’s last remark, “Ay. Had many a lark with him,” “Can you see him to-night?” “Dunno. Burton’s a-handlin’ of him, and he keeps his man mighty close.”’ * You know where he is?” “Yes. They’ve got him ‘own to Mooney Baggs's dive, on the Bowery. They don't let him drink nothin’, but they are fili g him up with raw beef- steak and oatmeal mush, and makin’ him use the elubs and bells nearly all the time he’s awake, They can’t do nothin’ with him unless they keep him in trainin’ all the while.” “Ah! They'll train him down too fine, if they don’t watch it.” 5 “Ob,no, They let him take a spin occasionally. He has had two cr three serub races lately, Then he manages to get out once ina while when Burton is away, and gets on a tare, killing all the trainin’ he has had for a week.” ry ad! You must get at him to-night,” “Ph try.”* * Keep him sober until you can fix things with ‘* But what do you want me to do?”’ ** Stoop down. ' Cripps did as requested, and Scrawny whispered something in his ear. ' The pugilist started, “Ts that straight ?” “ Straight as a string!” st * And there’s five hundred dollars in it for me?” “Tf you don’t make an idiot of yourself and spoil the lay.” **You can depend on me, Cap.” “It’s the last job you get from me if you spoil it. “T won't spoil it. But you had better give me a few more pe ters.”’ “ All right. Let’s step in here.” The two turned into a small saloon to which en- trance was obtained by a narrow doorway that would hardly be noticed save by one already aware ofits presence, long hallway, dim and close, ended in a door a dirty window on which the words Beyond } »? could be faintly discerned by the light with- ' / | Scrawny led the way and pushed the door open | with the air of one familiar with the place, closely followed by the pugilist. | A small bar, behind which the closely-cropped | head of the bartender, bobbing about as he mixed | a drink for a solitary customer, could be seen shin ing like a danger-signal] on a foggy evening. In a corner of the apariment was a little closet with just room for a table and three chairs. Here the two companions seated themselves and having been served with their favorite drinks they proceeded to business, The solitary customer before referréd to—a shabby genteel man, who looked like a book-agent out of luck, and who had probably se: n bett: r days, leaned avainst the bar and seemed to be absorbed in the occupation of re his mixed drink last as long as possible. while the red-headed bartender amused himself by playing solitaire with a much- used pack of cards on the end of the bar. ‘“*Of course Stretcher has to lose this race,’’ com- menced Scrawny. ‘* Course,’’ was Cripps’s sententious reply. “T feel certain my man can beat him anyhow, but I must make quite sure.” * Course,’ asserted Cripps again, “The race is to come off on the 26th of July. This is the 80th of June. Guess we can get everything fixed in tha’ time.” ** Course.” “Now, you must see Stretcher to-night, get him fixed, th n make an appointment for me. We can’t co it at Baggs’s? It wouldn’t do for me to be seen around there now. Let him meet me here any time he says.” “ All right.” ‘‘The trouble is Stretcher issuch a fool that I doubt if he knows how to give away a race,”’ mut- tered Scrawny, reflectively. “Tf he don’t co it up in good shape, I’ll break: his face,’’ and Cripps brought his fist down cn the table with a crash that made the shabby-gentee] man start and the bartender lose the combination in his game of solitaire. ‘*¥ou won't do anything of the kind. When I want youto break anybody’s face L’ll let you know. Do as 1 tell you, and keep quiet.”’ ' “You are always telling me to keep quiet,’? whined Cripps, in aggrieved tones. ‘*Guess I know how to keep my mouth shut. When did I ever give any- thiug away?” **How about the Montville Bank job?” put in a hollow voice that seemed to come from under the table. ‘* What d’yemean?” yelled Cripps, starting up and lool. ing vindictively at Scrawny. ‘‘Why can’t you let thiugs sleep?” But Serawny was evidently as much surprised as his companion, as he gasped: “IT didn’t speak.” * You lie!’ In an instant Serawny held a bull-dog revolver un- der Cripps’s nose. He did not fire, however. ‘You are a fool, Jim Cripps, and I know it, or I would put you where you’d never cali another man a liar,’ said Scrawny, coolly, as he returned his weapon to his pocket. “I tell you I did not open my mouth.” ‘Well, «rho did?” asked the now thoroughly cowed prize-fighter. He looked into the bar room, but the bartender was deep in his cards at the other end of the bar, while the solitary customer had dropped into a chair and was snoiing as peacefully as a child on its mother’s breast. “Mighty strange thing. Somebody spoke, sure,” averred Cripps, as he looked under the table and then glanced suspiciously at Scrawny. The shabby-genteel man snored louder than ever. Cripps walked over to him anu shook him, but the sleeper did not respond, “Let bim alone, Cripps. You don't think it was him as spoke, do you?” said Scrawny. *Can’t most always tell. The voice came from somewheres,’? and he gave the snorer another vig- orous shake, but beyond a few incoherent exclama- tions could get se out of him, Cripps was troubled. He did not know what to make of it.. He suspected Scrawny, but dared not charge him again with having uttered the m; steri- ous words. It was whispered among Cripps’s frien’s that he had been concerned in one or two safe-blowing op- erations, | ut no one had been able to prove anything of the kind, and he always posed as a strictly honor- able man, . * Well, do you think you can work it with Stretcher to-night?” asked Scrawny, resuming the original conversation. “TH try.” ‘*“You must not fail.” “Allright; 1 wov’t fail.” “Remember, Five hundred dollars for yourself on the day we beat Stretcher Bull on the Hulton course,”’ “You ean consider him beaten.” “ Well, it is four o’clock now. You had better be getting toward Baggs’s. The sooner you commence operations the better. Be careful and keep your mouth shut,” Trust me,” said the prize-fighter as he sauntered out. “Yes, I'll trust you just as long as I can see you,” was Scrawny’s inward remark, as the door closed behind Cripps’s retreating form, ‘ You are too fond of blabbi»g to suit me. Now, let me see,’’ he mut- tered, as he consulted a bulky note-book and made some memoranda. ing, to find out how he got alow As soon as that matter is off my 1 will Cri in the morn- ve ewith Stretcher. d I must get off ? a rs pd “ to Pittsburg to look after the boy. My! Won’t thes’ crowd be surprised when they see my unknown! They’!l be still more astonished when they find out | tnatheis only a boy. Al! But such a boy! He | don’t snow hifnself what he can do, and Tain't going to be fool enough to teil him. He's the coming carsman though, sure!” |, Scrawny rubbed bis hands aud chuckled to him- self in intense enjoyment of his thoughts. Had he not been so closely absorbed he would have noticed that the shabby genteel man was watching him keenly, * Well, I must Le going,” continned Scrawny as he replaced his note-book in his peckct and arose from lis seat. “I wonder who made that remark that upset the slugging friend. so? I cidn’t hear the words myself, bet they seemed to hit | im in a ten- der spot. 1 gucss it was only this drunken fool snoring,” giving the outstretched feet cf the appar- ent sleeper a vicicus kick as he passed. ‘Cripps has a bad conscience. Thank my stars, I have al- ways acted square, aud pevple’s snoring don’t trou- ble me.” No sooner was Scrawny outside the door than the shabby g: ntcel man started up, very wide-awake, and made for the door. In the hallway he ew poral. ¢ in a mysterious way, for the person who followed Screwny Will ivto the street was a young f. llow not more than eighteen roe of age, vith harcsome f atures, short curling londe hair and with the ligi.t springy step of an athlete, : His clothes, with the exception of the plug hat, which he had exchanged for a soft low crowned ar- ticle were those of th s! abby genteel man, but no one would have said the two meu were One and the seme person. “So my disguise was a good one and I have found out inore than I expected. Scrawny Will may discover that I know more about myself (han he suspects. Score one for Owney the: Oarsman] He'll “ git thar ” every time.” CH: PTER I. A WRESTLE AND A FIGHT. Ir was cight o’click inthe evening of the day on which occurred the incidents narrated in the last chapter. Mooney Baggs’s sporting saloon on the Bowery had not yet awoke from the lethargy that gencrally overcame it during the day. A hvely place was Baggs’s about midnight. Then it was that men well known in racing, boating, box- ing, cock-fighting, ccg-fichting a:d other select circles fuvored the dingy little ber-room with their presence. There was an aimosphere of sport at Baggs’s onl exceeded by tha: of stale beer, whisky, and dead- and-gone cigars which always hung over it. ‘The wails were of course decorated with the usual colored prints of fistic, aquatic. and other heroes, interspersed with portraits of noted turf- flyers doing a fast mile, or standing still to be ad- mired in a vividly green paddock. At the back of the bar-room, and divided from it by a wooden screen, was a spacious hall, witha small stage at the upper end. chiefly devoted to ex- hibilions of sparring, agreeably relieved by an occa- sienal ballad, rendered by a ,entleman in a greasy dress suit and a red nose, who acted as waiter when he was not singing, and sung when he was not waiting. The customary small tables. smeary with the umblers and surrounded by wood- marks cf man a Seat chairs, completed the furniture of the nall, ‘ The red-nosed singer was moving aiound, putting the chairs straight, while Mooncy Baggs himself. a short, thick-set personage, with an ¢normous dia- mond in his shirt-bosom and another on one of his chubby fingers, walked up and down, with a cigar between his teeth and his eyes bent on the ground, as if in deep reflection. some half-dozen patrons of the house lounged around the room, killing time until the stage per- formance should commence. and there was a gen- erally tired appearance ov‘ rhung everything. : ‘*Where’s Mooney?” ask: d a gruff voice in the bar-room, “Well, he’s here, tending to business,” sung out Mooney. ‘You'll always find him at the post of duty, and don’t you forget it. Why don’t you come in. Jim Cripps. . “Is there any rope tied to you?” Jim Cripps barged the screen door open and grasped the hand of Mooney Baggs with more than usual affection. “Why, Mooney, how goes it, and bow’s Stretcher to-night? Don’t see him around,” and Cripps glanced over the room, “Don't, eh? That’sfunny. When a mani is be- ing made fit for a race it’s a pity we don't let him lay around the bar-room for every loafer to get a chance at his drinks,” “What d’ye mean?” ‘Oh, now, Jim Cripps, you are not a baby on the turf, any more than Iam. You have known medi- cine put into a manthat would knock bim cold for a month, and do up any training you could put him through. Seems to me you worked a fellow that way yourself once when two Texas boys met for a scrap out in Illinois State,” suggested Mooney, with a meaning glance at bis companion. “Well. let's take a drink, aryhow,” said Cripps, leading the way to the bar-room. } The two sports disposed of their “ benzine ” with- out winking. One drink led tomore, and by nine o’clock, when the curtain rose for a bout between | the “ Russian Sockdolager ” and the “ London Tap- per” both sports felt ** comfortable,” “Couldn’t you let me see Stretcher a minute?”
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wo “y, , aay *.; At OR “hdd - — asked Cripps. ‘“‘lhave a family matter I want to speak to him about. You know his half-brother was married to my sister-in-law’s second cousin, so that Stretcher and [ are relutions ” *T didn’t know that, Jim, but of course if it is true you must love each other very much,” and Mooney’s grin was assuring, “You bet your boots we do! Blood is thicker than water, and Stretcher and I’d like to be together ail the time.”’ ‘“*What’s the time?’ asked a muffled voice from under a pile of heavy blanketsin a small cot bed, ten minutes later, as Mooney Baggs and Jim Cripps entered a room onthe second floor, where Stretcher Bull was kept as carefully guarded as if he were some precious work of art. “Oh, it’s early yet, Stretcher. Here’s a relative o’ yours as wants to speak to you,” “ Where?” ig walked forward with as ingratiating a smile as his bull-cog countenance could assume, and held out his hand to Stretcher, Stretcher’s response was to turn himself wround with a bounce, so that the back of his head was turned to the smiling Cripps. ‘*Don't seem very glad to see ycu, does he?’ re- marked Mooney. Cripps bent down and touched Stretcher on the shoulder, ' “*Come, Stretcher, turn over and be sociable.” *“‘Ain’t feeling sociable to-day, and don’t want nothin’ to say to you, anyhow. et me alone and get out! [’mkept here shut up like a wild beast, and | ain’t good company for any one. After the 26th of July I'm going to quit rowing. There’s no money in it for me, and I don’t propose to work for others no more.” “Say, Baggs, can t you let him come down stairs for a while to-night? Jt will make him feel good and won’t do him no harm,” pleaded Cripps. “T dunno,” replied Baggs. “Frank Burton left orders that he was not to go out o’ this room while he was away, and you know what Frauk is if you go back on his orders.” “He wouldn’t know nothin’ abouti . Keep Stretch- er up in one corner of the hall, Thenif Frank should happen in, we could sneak him up-stairs easily, and nobody would know.”’ “That’s what,” putin Stretcher. ‘I ain’t had a drink since I was a kid, seems to me.” “Well, now, you don't get no drink, les ‘het,’ declared Baggs. drinks.” “All right. T @on’t care,” returned Stretcher, “fas long as | get something to wet my tongue,” A stout, well-formed fellow was Stretcher Bull when he turned out of his cot bed and stood up in his trowsers and undershirt. The museles of his arms could be seen moving sinuously beneath the thin gauz> of his shirt-sleeves, and his mighty chest heaved in reguiar cadence, showing that his wind was in perfect order. ‘*You are in pretty good condition, ch, Stretcher?” asked Cripps, 2s he looked the oarsman up and down with a practical eye. “Oh, a trifle soft, but T’llstiffen up all right when I get to work in the boat,”’ was Stretcher’s reply, as he threw on a heavy sack coat. “They are sweat- ing down my weight and it tells on a man,” When the three men took their places in a retired corner of the ball down-stairs the red-nosed waiter was singing “Only a Pansy Blossom "’ with a nasal intonation that was very effective, but did not pro- cure him an encore. Then the masrer of ceremonies stépped on the stake and announced that professor Foldum of Chicago would wrestle three fails ‘* catch-as-catch- ean” with any gentleman in the hall. A carpet was hastily Fer He the stage and Pro- fessor Holdum himself, airily attired in white drawers and undershirt, and with bare feet, stepped on the stage. There was a silence, for Professor Holdum was known as a holy terror, and no one seemed anxious to tackle him. “*Can’t hi gita man to face me? Hi hassure you, gentlemen, won’t ’urt you,” the professor an- nounced, encouragingly, ~ “ll try it,’’ said a voice at the back of the hall. “Come hon, then, What’ll hit be for—love or money?” e ich you like.” j “No money on it, gentlemen, We only give ex- hibitions her ', remember,” called ont the master of So that set- “At least, only soft ” _ceremonies, suddenly appearing on the stage to say this, and then retiring, f The hardy individual who thus offered himself as a prey for the professor, walked toward the stage, the center of all eyes. A youngster of eighteen, with blonde hair and short curls—in fact, no other than the young fellow who had referred to himself as “‘Owney the Oarsman.” ‘Looks tough as hickory,”’ was Stretcher’s com- ment, as Owney took his place on the stage in shirt and drawers, ready for the struggle The wrestlers fell into the regulation position, each bending forward until their foreheads touched, while their hands moved stealthily but rapidly, as they “felt fora hold.” Suddenly the right hand of the professor shot out like lightning, and grasped Owney by the neck, while a twist of the professor’s foot took his antag- onist’s right leg from under him. The two fell to the floor, but Owney was not “thrown”? in the technical sense of the word. ' Both shoulders and one hip, or both hips and one ghoulder must touch the floor before the referee would grant a “fall” to the professor, and this ap- to be more than he could force on Owney. The two gladiators writhed and struggled in fierce a contest on the floor of the stage. Sometimes the professor, with a tug, would get Owney on his back, but before he could push him flat down, the boy would “bridge” himself—that is, brace himself on his hands and heels—where he could bid defiance to the professor. “That boy is a good one, TI tell you!” decided “ Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. 3 Stretcher, who was following every move in the | f I ‘ | dressec | and with that indescribable suggestion of a life in contest with deep interest. ‘* Who is he?” “Dunno,” answered Baggs, hefore. But he is giving the professor a tussle, sure,” ‘Hi, there! the boy has thrown him!” yelled | Cripps, as a sto-m of applause broke from the crowd, ‘ One fall for the stranger,’? announced the mas- ter of ceremoni s, and the two contestants sat down at opposite sides of the stage to get their wind for the second bout, “T thought I'd ‘git thar,’” the young athlete re- marked. Pree more the professor and Owney faced each other. There was a dangerous gleam in the professor’s eye now. He did not like being laid low by @ mere boy, and it was evident that he would try his utmost this time to turn the tables. In a few seconds the wrestlers were in each other's grasp again, tugging, pulling, twisting, panting. Owney had the professor down, under- neath, and was trying hard to push him back, when suddenly a little man with pinched features dashed on the stage and seized Owney by the back of the neck. At the same moment the professor, with a superhuman effort, lifted the boy off his feet, threw him over his head, and flung him, senseless, flat on his back on the stage, , “Foul Foul!’ shricked Stretcher Bull, as he broke away from Mooney Bages and Jim Cripps, and clearing the rope stretched across the stage at a bound, apetr upon the little man. “Stand off!” warned the little man, who was no other than Scrawny Will. Iam doing” “So do I,” retorted Stretcher Bull, as with one hlow of his brawny fist he sent Scrawny flying across the stage. Stretcher was not to have it all his own way, how- ever. Jim Cripps, always spoiling for a fight, was on the stage almost as soon as Stretcher, Instinetively everybody in the hall became silent, They knew that a desp ‘rate combat was impending, and that Stretcher and Cripps were well matched. “ What did yer hit the man for?” “ None of yer business.” * Stand off! I know what The question and answer were given short and sharp, like pistol-shots; then there was a crash, as the men came together. Half a dozen sledge-hammer blows were exchang- ed, and Stretcher’s face was covered with blood. Then the master of ceremonies rushed between the combatants. ‘Hold!’ cried an authoritative voice, sounding loud and clear above the din, as Frank Burton stepped on the stage, cool as a cucumber, but with an air of quiet command that showed he was accus- tomed to obedience from those he addressed. Stretcher Bull tried to shirk away, but Burton put his hand on bis shoulder. “*Go up-stairs, Stretcher! I will see you later.” As Mooney Baggs led the discomfited oarsman ae the room, burton and Scrawny stood face to ace, * What are you doing here with my man?” asked the former, fiercely. “Nothing. I was looking after my property. This boy belongs to me, and I want to know what you were doing with him?” ‘* What boy do you mean?” ‘‘ Why, this boy, that you trapped into this place to spoil him. The boy lying over in that corner.” Scrawny stepped over to the spot in the shadow of the wings. Then he started back with an exclama- tion of astonishment that he could not repress. Owney had disappeared, and what cay! had supposed was the boy, turned out to be only the rotessor’s clothes, which he had thrown there when e stripped for the wrestling contest. ‘Where is he?” shrieked Scrawny. No one could answer the question, not even the shabby-gent+eel man, who might have been a book- agent out of luck, who was quietly passing through the outer door of the saloon at this moment. CHAPTER III. THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. THE young oarsman, securein his disguise as the shabby-genteel man, walked slowly. up-town to Union Square thinking deeply. His thoughts were of a mixed character, and perhaps the reader will be surprised to learn were not altogether of wrest- ling, boat-racing and kindred matters. They took a turn entirely independent of such things, as the fol- lowing muttered thoughts will show: ‘*T must strike a clew very soon, or it will be too late. It is a great piece of luck, Scrawny Will's taking hold of me for a rowing match, because it enables me to combine business with pleasure, I shall have to explain my presence in New York in some way. It was the funniest thing I ever saw in my life, his look of astonishment and disgust when he caught sight of me on the stage at Baggs’s! I wish I had not been quite so forward about wrest- ling with that English professor, Iy may give me trouble yet. but I never could keep quite when there was a little sport in_the wind. That was a heav fall I got thet time. It stunned me forthe moment. I expect Scrawny thinks I was nearly killed.” The young man laughed to himeelf at the idea of ‘* Never saw him | ——— Co se a ER ey See en ae a afalion his head being sufficient to crush out his vigorous young life. Then he looked around as if expecting to meet some one. * Well?” It was a woman’: voice, * Nothing, so far,” replied the man as he turned around and saw. in the brig: t glare of an electric light, a lady and gentleman, both elegantly dressed, which money is lightiy made and lightly spent, which distinguishes the majority of theatrical people. ’ The lady and gentleman were husband and wife— to of the best known and most popular artisis on the American stage. * You are working up the case, I suppose?’’ the | lady asked. * Certainly.” “And you think you will recover the diamonds?” **T hope so, as soon as I catch the thief, But it is never certain. The stones may be om their way to Europe by this time.” The Jady tossed her head impatiently, * You know I will pay well for the recovery of the necklace,” she said, * especially if I can get it in its original form, with the setting not touched. As for the thief, I do not care anything about him, He may go if I only get my diamonds.” *T will Jo the best Ican,” said Owney, “but I am afraid you will only get the stones, without the set- ting. That has been melted down long ago. As for the thief, you may push the case against him or not, just as you please, but it will be a strange thing to me if Ido not know something about him that wiil be enough ro hold him or whoever he is. My motto always is to git thar.” : ‘Well, we cannot stand talkin gentleman, sp: aking for the first time. into Ricadonna’s and have some supper. can tell us all about it.” *1 have nothing to tell at present,” returned Owney with a smile, * but I do not mind eating a little supper. I was just thinking of taking some refreshment.” The three stepped across the square to the well. known Italian restaurant and seated themselves at a table in the rear of the long room, Owney with his back to the entrance, but facing a huge mirror on the wall, so that he could see everything tran- spiring in the restaurant. The room was crowded. It was past eleven o'clock by this time and a number of little supper parties, composed of people who had been to the different theaters, occupied the tables. “Well, now,” said the lady, when the waiter had put the first course before the party, “ what have you found out about the diamonds?’ “ag I told you before, nothing,” replied Owney. “You say the necklace was taken from your trunk after nine o’clock on Saturday evening, when you took it off vour neck in the theater in Pittsburg, and that you did not miss it until noon on Monday. when you ke the trunk in the theater in New York.” * Yes.”” **Do you not generally make sure that your jewels are safe before you lock on trunk? To me it seems a dangeraqus thing to leave five thousand dol- lars’ worth of diamonds in a) trunk at all,” said Owney. Tt was a noticeable fact that the young oarsman, when he put on the ring and assumed the disguise of the shabby-gentee! book agent, managed to drop all the characteristics of a young and active athlete, and to appear in very truth a seedy man of middle age with whom the world had gone hard. Just now, talking earnestly, he was full of basiness, and there was nothing in him to suggest the lithe, steel- muscled opponent of the professor of wrestling an hour or so ago, am “T do not often leave my diamonds in the trunk,” said the lady in reply to bis lest remark; “ there- fore, it makes me think that they were taken by some one who either saw me put them there or found out in some way that 1 had done so.” “Did you inquire at the theater and hotel?” “Of course. I telegraphed at once,” put in the gentleman. * And the result?” “Nothing,” “What did you do next?” “Put the case in your hands,” a ait right.” “Tf IT understand youcorrectly, you have no doubt about being able to eventually find the stones, at least,” said the lady. , “Tdo not say that, altogether,” returned Owney. “ because no one can be quite sure of success, but I have my suspicions with regard to their present whereabouts, though the suspicion is such a vague one that I do not feel justified in calling it a clew, But I will git thar if possible,” There was a slight bustle in the restaurant at this moment, as two persons were shown to a small table just vacated on the right hand side of tha room, and almost behind ites “But what are your suspicions founded on?” here,’’ said the “Let us go Then you asked the lady when the bustle had somewhat sub- sided, Owney did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the new-come?!s in the mirror. They were evidently from the country. A man and a young girl—he an elderly, hard-visaged indi- vidual, who might have been &) prosperous farmer— she a young girl, shrinking, rosy-cheeked and blue- eyed, who seemed to feel sadly out of place ®™ the crowded restaurant, with its lights, its mirrors, its gay decorations and its loud-talking and laughing company. : - Father,” she was saying, ‘when are we going home?” ly ( ‘ are) ajee- bhes a ee ~. Pig: ae ns B. I - ee es =
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“Home?” repeated the hard-visaged man, ‘‘ Why are you in sucha hurry to go home? You always wanted to come to New York to see the sights, and now you are here, going to theaters and having a general good time with your father, you are always wanting to go home.” * No, Lam not, father. I only asked you. I am enjoying myself very much,” “You are, eh?’ was the surly response. ‘ Well, eat i rect as if you liked it and don’t worry ”’ “Miss Vavasour,” said Owney, addressing the lady by her name—her stage designation—for the first time, ‘‘ I think I shall be able to give you some news of your diamonds within a week.”’ ‘Do you think so?’ responded Miss Vavasour, de- lightedly. " ** You must not be disappointed if I do not, ‘“‘re- marked Owney, “ but 1 hope to have good news for you in that time.” The farmer and his daughter were quietly eating some cukes and ice-cream, the farmer washing it down with claret. Owney was ieee ry in the face of the girl in the mirror, but without her observing him, ‘* Where have I seen that face before?” he asked himself as he played with the spoon in his coffee, which the waiter bad just set before him. Miss Vavasour and her husband professionally known a» Basil Montgomery was chatting away on theatrical subjects, unmindful of Owney, who was too much absorbed in poe ray ope of the face of the girl behind him te join in the conversation, even if he had been interested in the theme. Suddenly he started as his eyes dilated wiih as- tonishment, Miss Vavasour and Basil Montgomery continued to chatter away and did not notice him, The farmer was slowly sipping his claret, while the girl looked timidly in his face occasionally, as if mutel sppening to him to take her home, She had thrown open a light opera shaw] which rested on her shouldeis, and it was when she made this movement that Owney had started. “ Always something coming up whcn you least ex- pect it,’ thought Owney. “ll git thar yet.” * Well, Mr. Pearson,” said Bosil Montgomery, as Miss Vavasour signified her desire to go home, “if you have anything more to communicate, you can nd us at our old address, on 373¢ street,”’ The two got up, said good-by to Owney, glanced carelessly at the farmer and his daughter as they passed and disappeared, Owen Pearson, took out a notebook and selected a certain page for reference, “ Here it is,” he said, June 2th. Have a reed to row a match on the Hulton course with any one— William Skinner, known as ‘Scrawny Will,’ shall select—I to receive five hundred dollars if I win, with all my expenses for training, etc., and fifty collars as payment for my services in any event. That is cll right as far as it goes,” he added, as he returned the notebook to his pocket. ‘*But I must take care that it does not interfere too much with my_busi- ness. Scrawny Willis a deep one. and he will try and use me asif I were a mere machine unless I teach him that I have some will of my own,” The farmer at the table behind Mim had finished his claret, and was sixetching himself as if in pre- paration for departure. Owney watched him closely. “You had better fasten that shawl of yours,” said the farmer, in his gruff tones to the young girl, * ‘Yes, father.” She lifted her hand to frase the end of the shawl, and again Owney started, with the look of intense oe shment that had passed over his face once be- ore. “Surely I saw it,” he thought. * Are you ready?” asked the farmer of his daugh- ter, * Yes, father.” “Well, come on, then.” He walked over to the desk to pay for his refresh ments, and the young girl fastened her shawl. ‘I must find out whether I was right, somehow,” thought Owney. He glanced at himself in the mirror and saw that, as a seedy book-agent, his appearauce was not very Hk geocomeny he would frighten the girl if he spoke © her, even supposing he had a good excuse What should he do? The farmer was still at the desk, waiting for his change, and had his back to the table where the young girl sat arranging her shawl. Owney was quick at expedients. The girl's handkerchief lay at the edge of the table. e got up, walked carelessly past, and man- aged to brush the handkerchief to the floor with his coat; then immediately stooped and returned it, with a bow. ; The girl thanked him, and was passing on. Then, he paused sudcety and said: “T beg P ied pardon; I think that Ge in your col- lar is unfastened, and you may lose it,” She put up her hands to her throat, displacing the ae ition she bree ‘ ‘ 2%, wney’s eyes dila as he turned away an we oy donk, pecan poe emer face to face i : ous was right,” muttere wne Lineal’ now what am I to do?” : What was it that had caused him so much aston- ishment, and what was the suspicion that had been a when the girl had fastened the pin at her throa’ Bue wore the stolen diamond necklace around her neek. There was no doubt about it. Owney had had it carefully described to him, and could not be mistaken, It consisted of three pendants, the one in the cen- “ Git Thar” Owney, the Un i known. — oo ter being made up of one large stone surrounded by smaller, the whole in the shape of a heart. Those on each side were a cross and anchor respectively, the three representing the emblems of Faith, Hope and Charity. There was yet another peculiarity about the necklace—one which made Owney quite certain as to its identity. Standing out distinctively from the string of stones that formed the necklace proper, and apparently supporting the center pend- ant, was a superb emerald. Its rich green bues were shown to advantage among the ever-changing rays of light from the diamonds, and attracted the atten- tion of the observer despite his will. How had this young and apparently innocent girl come into possession of the jewels? Owney could see only one solution of the riddle, and that was that, if she were uot a thief herself, she had been made the tool of unscrupulous people, One thing was certain. He must never let the girl out of his sight until he gained possession of the necklace, He could have arrested her then, but he felt sure s°mehow that she was not the guilty one, and though he desired to regalh the property, he looked upon the arrest of the thief as at least of as much importance, e stood at the desk and asked what he had to pay, but was told by the cashier that the gentleman with him had settled for everything. **Do you know that person who just paid that bill, and who is with that young lady over there?”’ asked Owney, crease The cashier was an old New Yorker and knew all about confidence-men, bunco-steerers, and such like, and Owney,in his book-agent character, did not mica ay prepossessing. So he answered rather shortly: ‘Farmer, I guess, but I do not know him. He may be a detective for aught I know. The police put on strange disguises sometimes,”’ ‘Exactly. Owney smiled an inward smile as he thought how near the cashier had hit the mark about police officers and their disguises. The farmer was near the door, and Owney turned away from the desk to keep him and his daughter in sight, while the cashier at his desk watched him gy oe seg ‘Guess he will rope the old fellow in,” thought the cashi-r. ‘'I can’t help it, though. It is none of my business, and New York is a place where a stranger must take his chances,”’ Down the steps to the street went the farmer and daughter, Owney close behind. There might be trouble before the night was through, and Owney felt in his pockets to make sure that his pistol, handcuffs and other articles he might need, were haniy, and that his credentials as a On officer of the law were safe in his inside pocket, “Guess you want to go to bed, don’t you, May?” said the farmer. ** Yes, father, I am very tired.” ‘Well, we will go down to the Sinclair House and you can go to bed. We will go home to-morrow probably.” ‘Crook Cripps, I want you,” suddenly came from the lips of a quiet-looking man, rather below the medium hight aad with the appearance of a solid merchant as he placed his hand on the farmer’s shoulder. The farmer glanced hastily over his shoulder with the half-terrified, half-deflant look of a hunted animal, Then, with a mighty effort, he tore him- self loose, aimed a blow at the quiet-looking man’s face which fell short, and sped down toward Fourth avenue at the top of his speed. with the quiet-look- ing man and a dozen others in pursuit. The whole incident had taken place in a few seconds, and Owney had never taken his eyes off the rl. She seemed dazed and faint, as Owney put out his hand to save her from falling and found himself alone with the possessor of the diamond necklace who seemed to be now utterly friendless, late at night in tue heart of a great city. “* Hero’s a pretty fix,” said Git Thar Owney. CHAPTER IV. D HOW SCRAWNY WILL AND CROOK CRIPPS FOUND THEM- SELVES IN A TIGHT PLACE. Wuen Scrawny Will recognized the fact that Owney had given them all the slip, his weazened features were distorted almost out of all resem- blance to humanity by disappointment, rage and mystification. e looked at Frank Burton scowlingly, but it was evident that the latter s ared in the general aston- ishment, and knew no more what had become of Owney than any one else in the room. The spectators in the body of the hall who had risen to their feet in the excitement of the moment, had quietly settled back in their seats. A row more or less at Baggs’s was not a thing to make a lasting impression, tretcher Bull having obeyed the order to go up- stairs was out of sight, and Jim rps stood at one side of the stage waiting anxiously for the next move of Scrawny Will, who somehow held the giant in complete subjection. : “Get out of this!” was Scrawny Will’s order to Cripns. ‘Where shall I go?” “To the —” Cripps did not ask for the conclusion of the sen- tence, but sneaked otf the stage and sat down at a table in the rear of the room, where he could ep his eyes on Scrawny Will without being near enoug to get asnub occasionally from the irascible little: man. “Now, Frank Burton, what have you done with my boy?” asked Scrawny Will, as the two moved to the side of the stage, out of sight of the audience, while the master-of-ceremonies announced asong by the red-nosed waiter. ** What boy?” “Why, the boy who was wrestling with that pro- fessor, as he calls himself,” “TI told you before that I do not know anything about him, and I repeat it. Now, I do not want you to ask me that question again. If you do there will. be trouble. and you know what that means when Frank Burton says it.”’ Scrawntly Will looked straight into Frank Burton’s eyes, and the latter returned tbe glance unflinch- ingly. Frank Burton was undoubtedly speaking the truth. “I believe you,” said Scrawny. ‘“‘Shake!” _The two shook hands and came down through a. side door into the auditorium. Frank Burton went up-stairs to see Stretcher Bull, while Scrawny looked around for Jim yrieg “Are you looking for me. captain?’ asked Cripps, as he stepped up in front of the little man. “Yes. Come along,” ‘Wait a minute. I’ve just ordered a lemonade,” said the pugilist. ‘Have one with me.” “No. We have something else to do besides: drinking,” was the stern reply. ‘‘ Let the lemonades: v9) ’ Jim Cripps did not like this arrangement, but he dared not resist the orders of the little man, who held him down with such an iron hand, despite the pugilist’s brute strength, so he followed him into the street su bmissively. “You are starting in well to earn that five hundred: dollars, ain’t you?” said Scrawny, sarcastically, as- soon as the two were outside. “Well, how could I help it?” ‘Did you say anything at allio Stretcher?” “No. How could I? I'd jist got him down-stairs, and was jist goin’ to spring the layon bim when that there professor commenced a-poundin’ and an” a-wrestling with the ycung feller, Yhen you come in an’ interfered, an’ Stret ber jumped onter you,, and I jumped on ter Stretcher, and there we all was. “Well, you will have. a harder job now than ever, because Burton will watch his man closer, but you must get at him scmelow. He must not win that, race, I have too much up already on the unknown.” ‘Well, what are yer lettin’ yer unknown go ‘roun’ the Kowery at nights for? Don’t ye think it may spile him a little?” “Yes. Confound him! I thought he was safe in Pittsburg. Ycou never know when you have these young fellows. I must find out where he is and take care of bim_ myself until I want to use him. That is one thing I want you fcr—to help me find him. I will telegraph to Pittsburg in the morning and see if X can learn anything about him. I really do not know much about him anyhow save that he lives there witb his widowed mother.” Cripps was about to say something in reply when afarmer-looking man walking swiltly toward them jostled Jim Cripps rather rude his eink: ‘* Where are yer shovin’?” was the latter's indig- ne ot ey 7 : ¥ at's that?” said the stranger. Then he started back with a cry of recognition. *“ Why, Jim!” * Hallo, Josh)” “Hush, the cops are after me, on that Montville bank job.” “Shut yer mouth, can’t yer,” said Jim Cripps, looking fearfully around. “Don’t ye see as there is a gentlemsn present. and it isn’t perlite to talk over family mstters before him?”’ “Isn’t he cnto the racket?” ‘ Scrawny, this is my brother, Josh, generally known as Crook Cripps. ‘cause his big toé isa little . crooked,”? said Jim, with a grin, ‘Josh, let me make you acquainted with Scrawny Will, a square man and a sport from the ground up.” The two men shook hands, and then Crook Cripps said: ‘Jim, those cops are not far cff. andI had to leave May by herself on the street in Union Square,” Ty Ry herself ?”’ “Yes, I could not do anything else.” “ Dangerous for a young sinh “1 know it, but the cop had bis hand on my shovl- der and I just had to run.” : Scrawny stood quite still during the foregoing conversation. He prided himself on being a square man, who never did anything to make him afraid of a policeman. At the same time he was not above associating to some extent with those who put their hands to shady jobs, when it suited his purpose, so tbat it was generally considered safe to talk before im. ‘Now, what do you propose to do?’ inquired acco 6 ‘Go back by a roundabout way and look for =, Oe said Crook. ‘‘I can’t leave the girl by herself without trying to find her.” _ The three turned into a side street, and walked rapidly in the direction of Union Square. awny was looking for Owney, end he thought he would be just as likely to come across him in one direction as another. He had no particular expec- tation of finding kim_on the street, but he felt too nervous and exci sleep, and trisk walking suited him better than anything else, “Look out! Separate!” suddenly cried Crook. as he made a dive for an open doorway they then chanced to be passing. ' : ; : ;
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Ay aa 4 Ge - \ .* “Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. - _, Scrawny, hardly knowing what he did, followed ‘Crook Cripps into the doorway and hastily but soft- ly closed the door, He found bimself in darkness black as Erebus, through which he could hear the rapid but suppress- ed breathing of Cripps. There was the noise of feet outside the door, and then a voice said: “They must have gone into one of these houses. Isaw three of them, and one I would swear was Crook.”’ “What would he be doing around here?” asked another voice. ‘* Didn’t you have your hand on him in Union Square not an hour ago?’ **T know it, and didn’t he get away from me? I tell you he is in one of these houses, and I am going to have him out. He is too good a haul for me tolet him go when I bave him right in my grasp.” There was a subdued rattling as a key entered the lock, * Why didn’t I bolt that door?” muttered Scrawny to himself. “This is a nice position for a square man to find himself in.” The fumbling at the lock continued, but so far the door had kept fastened. ‘Suppose we will either be arrested or shot for burglars,” grumbled Serawny. under his breath. **Darned if I won’t make that big fool, Jim Cripps, pay for this!” The place was evidently a large boarding-house where the sound of people walking about the hal and stairs at all hours of the night and morning was too common to excite comment or inquiry, ‘** Cripps!” whispered Scrawny, softly. “ Well?’ replied that worthy, ‘“* Where are you?” ** At the foot of the stairs.” ‘What are we to do?” ‘*Dunno, The cops will be in here directly. They seem to know where we are," returned Crook Cripps, as he moved quietly up two or three stairs, He had made up his mind to a plan of action and Scrawny would have to look out for himself. The old saying that there is “honor among thieves’ has been long sincs proved to be a mere empty phrase. Your professional crook is an essen- tially selfish creature, and will as a rule sell his best friend to save himse’f. i Scrawny was crawling along the wall toward the staircase, He, too, had resolved to seek safety by way of the stairs. The fumbling at the door continued, The officer was evidently determined to gain ad- mittance and without disturbing the inmates of the house. Crash! The door flew open suddenly, and the stout, quiet- looking man, who had attempted to arrest Crook Cripps in Union Square tumbled headlong into the hall, closely followed by a tall, slim officer, apparent- ly under command of his companion, There was a :cuffling on the stairs, as Cripps and Scrawny tumbled against each other in their mad haste to retreat. “There they are!’? ejaculated the stout officer. “Where is your lantern?’ The slim man produced a bull’s-eye lantern, and turned the light on the top of the first fhght of stairs where two pairs of heels were just disappearing around the corner. Up the stairs ran Scrawny and Cripps, and after them went the two ofiicers, There were no carpets on the stairs and the shoes of pursuers and pursued made a tremendous noise. but it did not seem to disturb any of. the sleepers in the house. Serawny and Cripps both had the same object in he gt reach the top floor and thence get to the roof, \ Once among the ch mneys, sloping roofs and par- \apets, they hoped to be able to give the officers the slip. *Tt’s no use, Crook Cripps; the game is up,” puff- ed the stout officer, as the r. ys of the lantern show- ed the farmer like habiliments of the former whisk- ing around the corner of the last flight. “Dunno about that,” muttered Cripps, between his set teeth. ‘‘I’ll have a fight for it, anyhow.” He reached the top floor and looked up in the dim light derived from a window on the staircase. There was the trap-door leading to the roof, half- open, and just strugeting through it by the aid of a rope, was Scrawny Will, : : The rope was still hanging down, and Cripps grasped it. ‘ Then, it was snatched from his hands from above, as the trap shut with a bang. “Surrender, Crook,” ssid the officer once more, presenting a pistol full at Cripps’s face, “Never!” shouted Cripps. ‘You haven’t got me yet. Tom Blodgett.” ~ He threw himself upon the officer and seized the pistol hand, while he shot out his f_ ot and entangled it in the slim man’s long legs. Down went the slim man in the corner, while Cripps and the stout officer, Tom Blodgett, struggled a, vg for the possession of the pistol, By “y swayed to and fro on the narrow landing, but without saying a word, and not making as much noise as might have been expected, — It was more a dead solid pull—a direct trial of the comparative strength of muscle between the two m-n—than anything else. } The slim officer was wedged in between a table in the corner and the wall, and cou!d give no assistance to his brother officer, Cripps seemed to have sinews of steel and Tom Blodgett could not get his pistol turned on his ad- versary for a second. At last, by a superhuman effort, Blodgett forced — a eee nn | Cripps back until he fell against the stair-railing that protected the edge of the landing. There was a crackling noise, an ejaculation from both the officer and his adversary and down went Cripps to the stairs below, while Blodgett just man- aged to save himself from plunging over also. The stair rail had been smash:d and torn into splinters. Cripps, by sheer good luck, had fallen on his | feet. He was unhurt. “By Ceasar! he shall not get away,” said Blod- gett, as , leveled his pistol at Cripps’s flying form and fired. The ball tore into the wal) at the side of Cripps | and sent the plaster in all directions, but did no fur- ther damage. “Not yet, Tom Blodgett,” yelled Cripps, with a sneering laugh, as he reached the halland dashed toward the street, . . | The door was open, and Cripps was safe for the present. ‘*Wooled, by gracious!” said Blodgett, as accom- panied by the slim officer, he walked slowly down the stairs, in a blaze of light derived from a dozen lamps and candles in the hands of boarders who had come out to see what the firing and seuffling meant. ‘*What is all this?” said one stout lady in a long crazy-patch wrapper, who was evidently the landlady. “ Police!” was the reply. ‘Please call at the 106th Precinct Station in the morning, and ycu will be recompensed for damage,” said Officer Tom | Blodgett. Good- night.”” And no one noticed that standing in the doorway of a room on the top floor, where the scuffle between “Sorry to have disturbed you. Blodgett and Cripps had taken place, was,a pale, | frightened virl, who had seen her father in deadly pa and yet had not dared to say or do anything in ris behalf, The pale, frightened girl was Crook Cripps’s daughter May, whom we last saw standing in Union Square at midnight, with “Git Thar Owney,” the | Oarsman. CHAPTER V. OWNEY GETS A CLEW AND LOSES IT. Wuen Crook Cripps beat such a hasty retreat from Union Square, with the officers in pursuit leaving his daughter to fate, Owney felt that he had | struck good luck, evenif attended by embarrassing circumstances. He bad seen a valuable diamond necklace (the hope ) of recovering which had brought him to New York) | around May’s neck, and he argued that as long as he had bis eye on her he was sure to be near the neck- laee, and could claim it whenever he saw proper to do so. “Your father has left you rather unceremonious- ly. Where co you live?’ asked Owney, when the young girl had alittle recovered herse if, and was feakine helplessly around. “T do not know,’’ she answered, simply. ‘* We live in Pittsburg when we are at hom-, but in New York I only go where my father takes me, rived here yesterday morning, and he said he was going back to-morrow. But now—he—he—seems to have got into some trouble, andI don’t know what to do. my he girl wrung her hands in an agony of terror as the full realization of her situation seemed to over- | whelm her, Owney’s heart was touched. He was only twenty years of age, and looked a good deal younger, and though he had been a deteec- tive for two years past, and in that time had seen enough of crime and misery to make him callous under ordinary ¢ reumsiances, he never could gaze on innocence or distress unmoved. His youthful appearance had acquired for him the sobriquet of the ** Infant Detective,” but his prowess in all kinds of atiletic sport, particularly rowing, roved that he was anything but an “infant” as ‘ar as thew and sinew were concerned. “Whet hotel has your father been stopping att” asked Owney. “We did not stop at any hotel, but ata private house somewhere near Sixth avenue,” replied the rirl. ‘He said to-night that we should go to—to— the Sinclair House, I think was the name.” * Well, you had better Ict me take you there, so that you can find out if he has made any arrange- ments for you.” said Owney. ‘My name is Wilson, and Iam a drygoods clerk.” _Owney wisvbed to resssure the young girl, even though he felt compelled not to cisclose his real name, x But he need not have troubled himself. May pri was too innocent and unsophisticated to have any fear. She accepted Owney’s offer, and trotted away with him to the Sinclair House as trustingly asif she had known him all her life. They walked through Union Square and turned the corner of Fourteenth street into Broadway. That part of the city was lively enough. asit always is in the summer, and Owney and his companion threaded their way among the couples going home from the theaters, knots of young men making a night of it, and raising as much noise as they dared inthe presence of the members of the Broadway olice slowly perambulating the stately thorough- og and the miscellaneous wayfarers indigenous to the metropolis. ‘ ‘* What is your father's business?” asked Owney. ‘*He is an agent.” “*What kind of an agent?”’ “T don’t know.” We ar- | “Um?” a A qenexs) agent, [have heard him say,’ added | the girl. | _“ Mighty convenient business, an agent,” muttered | Owney to himself. | “Does he often come to New York?” “Ob, yes; very often.” ee thought 80,’’ was Owney’s inward remark, ‘* By the way,” said Owney, aloud, “I saw that | you had a very pretty necklace on when you were | sitting in the restaurant. I suppose it was a present from your father,” | ‘** No,” returned the girl. “He did net give it to 'me. He only told me 1 could wear it a little while. It does not belong to him, be says. It is my Uncle Jim’s, and he brought it to New York to give him.” Owney pricked up bis ears.. * Where is your Uncle Jim?” ‘* He lives somewhere in New York, but we have not seen him since we have been here,”’ Owney whistled softly to himself. He did not believe the young girl knew anything about her father’s misdoings. Had | e thought so he would have put her under arrest at once, f ‘ But he felt sure that with her unconscious assisc- ance, he would be able to unearth a nest of thieves who had engineered more than one neat job in Pitts. burg and sur ouncing towns, Of c-urse it was possible that he might be mis taken in the girl, and that she was playing a deep game to throw him off the scent, but he could not | look into her child-like face and harbor such a sus- Ppicion, and he dismissed it as utterly unworthy of a second thought. **Ob, look!” suddenly shrieked May, as she started back in horror and pointed to the horses of a car- | riage that was coming briskly toward them. They were spirited animals and the colored coach- | man, half-asleep, did not seem to have them as | thoroughly in hand as he should. | They were clattering over the stones, tossing their | heads and evidently in a hurry to get home, | But whet had caused May to utter her cry of dis- may was the danger of a woman who had slipped down on the road just in front of the prancing, rear- | ing horses. The driver saw the ay rate woman just as May 1is uimost to hold his horses | eried out, and tried | back. His efforts were futile, however. it seemed as if nothing could save her from being | trampled to dvath. Paw th one bound Owney wes in the road, One hand grasped the bridle of the nearest horse, while the other, with a mighty pull, lifted the wo- man out of danger. The horses dashed on, setting the coachman at de- fiance, and the wheels grazed the temple of the woman as she lay on the stones. It was a narrow escape, Owney assisted her to her feet, and saw that she was a comfortable-looki: g matron of perhaps fifty years of age. “ Indeed, then, sir, ’m much obliged to you. If you hadn’t hauled me eway just when you did, them pesky critters would have put their feet right on me | chest and I would have been smashed flat as a griddle-cake. | **Glad to have been of service to you,” said | Owney. , “ Service, is it? "Deed then, it was a service, and if there is anything that Mandy Wilkins can do for | you, why just call at my house over on—”’ Owney cid not catch any more, because he ran hastily to the sidewalk where he bad left May. She had stepped back toward the hovses when Owney ran into the road, and was so intent on his | movements that she had not nceticed two flashily- | dressed young men who had stopped too, ard were now starding one on each side of her. But Owney noticed them. He suspected mischief. and that was why he did not wait for the conclusion of Amanda Wilkins’s remarks, . But hewas too late, = The young men disappeared before he could get to May’s side. Where bad they gone? Owney looked at a dcor which apparently belong- ed to a respectable picture-store, and understood at ones where the young men had gone. He also knew that it would be no easy matter to catch them now. even if he wanted them, ‘“What did those fellows say to you?” he asked May. ‘** Nothing.” “Ah, the impudent rascals! It isa wonder they didn’t,” said the matron, joining in the conversa- tion. “I guess they were just pickpockets. They scare me’most to death, especially when I’m out late like this. I've just been over to Sixth avenue to see my daughter, which is very ill, and I must be getting home, and you'd better be m your father there take you home, too. It’s no time of ni ht for a young thing like you to be on the street.’” Owney smiled to himself at the idea of his being taken for the father of a girl only two or three years younger than himself; but the old lady’s mistake oved to him that his disguise was @ good one, and e was satisfied. The smile soon faded, however. ; ' An exclamation from May checked every ten- | dency to mirth in his bosom. , **My necklace!” “* What!’ screamed Owney- \ * My necklace!” ** Well?” “Tt is goneY”’ “*Gone?” a ee Ee ee io reste
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“Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. ** Gone—!ost—stolen!” wailed the girl. ‘*Hey-day! What is all this?’ said the old lady, lifting up her hands in astonishment. “ Are you sure it is gone?” asked Owney. ‘Feel carefully around your neck.” y Though Owney told her to feel for the necklace as a forlorn hope, he felt too certain that it was indeed stolen to expect: that May was mistaken. The two young men who had stood for an instant so close to the girl bore to bis experienced eye un- mistakable evidences of being swell pickpockets. He knew, too, that their delicate, trained fingers sould easily remove the necklace on that instant without May having the least warning that she was being robbed. “ Yes, it is gone,” announced May, after a feverish search about her neck and in the folds of her shawl anddress ‘Oh, my! what shall I do? My father gone Idon’t know where, and now Uncle Jim’s necklace gone!” ‘Keep up your courage,’’ said Owney. wili be all right to-morrow, no doubt.” “Where's her father gone?’ put in Amanda Wil- kins. ‘‘Ain’t you her father? What’s all this? Things seem to be all mixed up like.” Owney explained in a few words, saying that he was a stranger to the young lady, but wanted to place her somewhere in safety for the night, and help her to search for her father in the morning. ‘Well, let her come home with me. I keep a boarding-house just off Fourth avenue, and I can give her a bed for the night. It is no use bothering about hotels. It is time she was in bed, and sbe will be better in a private house than in a great big hotel. She can sleep with my daughter Juliana, and then to-morrow we can see what is best to be done.” Both May and Owney were glad to accept the offer of the kind-hearted Mrs, Wilkins, and in another fif- teen minutes Owney had left them at thedoor : f the boarding-house, which the reader has already visit- ed in company with Scrawny Will and Crook Cripps. af ow for that necklace,” thought Owney. ‘It seems to me lam playing to terribly hard luck all around, but I'll get on the trail +f those two young “Things Ppa as sure as my name is Owney Pearson. I'l show them that the ‘Infant Detective’ has cut his eye-teeth anyhow, and that he can keep his end up in New York as well as in Pittsburg.” He walked briskly along, as if he had a certain destination in view. he had. He retraced his steps to the spot where May had discovered the loss of the diamond necklace. The house looked quiet, and might have been uite empty for euytaing that could be seen from the outside. The door through which the two pick- pockets had been apparently swallowed up was se- curely shut and fastened. but Owney had been through that doorway be- fore and knew tbe trick of it. There was a rusty nail driven into the door- t so that only just the head showed. Owney put his finger on the nail-head, and in an- other moment or two the big door swung noiselessly open, Re Great thing, electricity,’’ muttered Owney. When the door opened it disclosed a long, dark hallway, at the end of which was a glass door with the words ** Sample Room " painted on it. It was the place in which Scrawny Will and Jim Cripps had held their conference when Cripps was 89 disturbed over the mysterious reference to the Montville Bank job, uttered by an unknown voice, The red-headed bartender was alone and was still playing that interminable game of solitaire. the looked up and nodded carelessly at Owney as the latter entered. : ** Any of the boys been here to-night?” asked Owney. The red-headed bartender gave the othera swift glance of suspicion, * What boys?’ he asked, ina surly tone. ‘“‘ Dunno what boys yer mean. There has been one or two entlemen here to-night, but they has all gone, and was just a-thinkin’ of goin’ myself. I’ve been here since noon, and I’m tired.” : “Who have you got in that room?’’ said Owney sharply, looking fuilin the bartender’s sleepy eyes, and pointing toward the little closet where Scrawny Will and Jim Cripps had had their conversation in relation to Stretcher Bull. * No one,” said the bartender. “Let me see,” said Owney. ‘ “ Can’t yer take a feller’s word for it?” asked the the “Do yer mean to insiniwate that 'm a np a Owney did not answer. He walked over to the little room and pushed the door. As he expected it was fastened. * There is some one in that room,’ said Owney the Oarsman. ‘Is there? Well who’d have thought it?” re- marked the bartender sneeringly. ‘ And if there is, have you got any right to push your way into a pri- vate party?’ O yney stepped close to the bar, leaned over, and in a low voice, said: ? “Look here. | have met you before, It was in Western Pennsylvania late at nipnt, in a barn, and 70 had matches in your hand, I am not alone ere, and if you don’s want to find yourself in the police-station before morning you had better be civil, Here is the proof of what I say.” Owney drew a small silver badge from an inside pocket and showed that it was his official emblem. as detective. The bartender waa completely cowed. That attempt at arson to which Owney referred ' had a ng hung over him in the shape of a threat of State Prison. Owney was sure that the two pickpockets had | been in this quiet saloon, even if they were not here now, which he strongly suspected, In any case he felt that the clew to the diamond necklace must be followed up from here. Young though he was, he had been through many desperate adventures, and the fact that he was utterly alone in a house of doubtful reputation. in the dead of night, did not turn him from his resvlve to find out who was in that little room, He pushed the door. It was firm as a rock to any ordinary exercise of strength. But Owney the Oarsman was an athlete, and pos- sessed more than ordinary strength. Drawing his pistol ready for emergencies, he held it in his right hand while he put his knee and his two hands against the door. He could hear muttering inside the room, He gave one push with all his might. There was 2 crackling as the wood started at the hinges and lock. Another shove. The door burst open. Then—there were two reports as Owney’s pistol was twice discharged. Before he could fire again a sack was thrown over his head, while ropes were pulled around his limbs so tightiy that they cut into the flesh, and amid the mocking laughter of three or four men in which he could plainiy distinguish the hoarse tones of the red-headed bartender, ‘* Git Thar” Owney realized that he was trapped and helpless. CHAPTER VI. AN OLD FRIEND SAVES SCRAWNY WILL’S LIFE—JIM CRIPPS'S TREACHERY. “Wet, if things hasn’t taken a nice turn,’ was Scrawny Will’s disgusted comment, as he sat down in a gutter between two sloping roofs, after pull- ing the rope out of Crook Cripps’s hands and sbut- ting the trap. .“'Streccher Bull pot fixed and my own man loafing around New York, taking part in catch as-catch-can wrestling scraps and playing the deuce with his constitution generally. Lucky thing he always keeps himself in condition, so that a week’s training will make him all right fcr the race. If he loses it I will make it ho. for that blundering fool, Jim Cripps. In his vexation and excitement he had uttered the last two words aloud. “Halio, Cap,’ said a voice he recognized as that of Jim Cripps himself. ‘‘ What do you want with Mi Where did you come from?” asked Scrawny “Where did you come from yerself?’ was Jim Cripps’s response. “I’m surprised at a gen’elman like you sittin’ aroun’ in dirty gutters on tops o’ houses in the moonlight like a cat as has lost its boardin’-house.”’ “Shut your mouth,”’ said Serawny Will. “O° course. Same old chestnut. Shut yer mouth. Pity I wasn’t deaf and cumb.” grumbled Cripps. “How did you get up here?”’ asked Scrawny Will, “Why Icame up ttrough that house on the corner. The cops was gettin’ too close to be healthy, and I see the door o’ that boardin’-house ajar, and I sors o° quietly sneaked up-stairs and out on the roof, I guessed that was your game, too, and I thought I might meet you here.” “Tf you’d done that job right with Stretcher Bull we would never have got into this muss,” growled Scrawny Will. “That's right. Blame ir all on me.” ** Well, it was your fault.” “ Not «uch it wasn’t.” *Didn’t I tell you to get Stretcher Brll by him- self and fix it with him to throw the race?” “And wasn’t I gettin’ him by himself, and wouldn't I have fixed bim if it hadn’t been for you comin’ in there and jumping on the stage the way you did?” “* Well, L had to do it.” “ Why?”’ “Because they would have spoiled that boy if I hadn’t interfered.” ‘I don’t see as you’ve helped things much. You os know where he is now,” suggested Jim ipps. “You needn’t tell me that. I have you to thank for it as I told you before,” Jim Cripps had been peeping over one corner of a low wall dividing the roofs of two houses ig | the foregoing conversation, while Sere W: had remained in his original position seated in the gutter. The pugilist now stepped over to the side of Will and looked down at bim with a peculiar gleam in his eye, asif a new thought had just struck him. “ See here, Cap,” he said, “ I don’tlike to have no Se eo. on me all the time, and I want you to quit it.” ; “ Quit what?” said Scrawny Will, looking contemp- tuously at his companion. “Why, quit this always tellin’ me to keep my mouth shut, and blamin’ me for things I don’t do, and treatin’ me asif I was a big mummy, as don’t know anything only to do as I am told; that’s what!” . Jim Cripps was @ powerfully built man, and as he stood clearly outlined against the bright moon, he looked to Serawny Will like a very giant. And the giant was mad too. wi are you talking about?” asked Scrawny He did not like the attitude of his big friend- and he could nos afford to quarrel with him—just yet. ‘“Serawny Will. I have done a many little ‘jobs for you that you wouldn’t want everybo..y to know about.” ‘““and you have been paid for them, too,” put in Scrawny, “*Zackly. I’ve been paid for them, I know, and got about half what the jobs was worth,” ““Won’t five hundred dollars pay you for the Stretcher Bull racket?” *P’raps it would if I could work it.” * Well, darn your ugly picture, you've got to work it,’’ howled Scrawny, forgetting all about the disad- vantage at which he stood in relation to the prize- fighter away up on the roof of a tall house with no one to whom he could appeal for protection in case of anattack by Cripps. He could only remember that he had risked dinost every dollar he had in the world on the success of his “unknown,” ‘ Git Thar Owney,’? and that there was danger of his being beaten unless the redoubtable Stretcher Bull could be bought. **As I told you before, it was you as interfered with the job when I was getting my man just where I wanted him,” growled Cripps, sullenly. ‘**Now, look here, Jim Cripps, we may as well un- derstand each other. I’ve made you a fair offer, and expect you to live up to the contract. If you on’t—” * Well, if I don’t, what then?” “1ll find means to get even with you.” ‘Get even, will yer? As how?” “*T have a way of doing it,” ‘* Blow the gaff on me "bout su’thin’, I s’pose that’s what yer mean, ain’t it?” Jim Cripps was moving nearer to Scrawny Will, as he spoke, and the red, bleary eyes, set deeply in the round head, gleamed dangerously, “Don’t come too near just now, Jim Cripps,’ said Serawny Will, ‘‘Ican hear you just as well where you are.” Still the pugilist moved nearer, with a soft, stealthy step. like that of a cat who has a mouse almost in her claws. “Keep back, I tell you!” said Scrawny, as his right hand crept behind him toward his hip pocket. “Do you mean to say tha’ you'll give me away if I aint able to fix Stretcher Bull?” hissed Jim Criy Tek “ erbaps.” ; With a bound the pugilist was upon the other, pe a him by the throat with a hold that meant eath. No chance for Scrawny to draw the pistol upon the butt of which his fingers had rested when Cripps sprung at him, The little man had enough to do to catch his breath, with those merciless fingers on his throat. ‘*Scrawny Will, you have ke pt: me under for near- ly a year, and now it’s my turn.” Serawny Will could only roll his eyes in agony. ““Y. u've been a-pretendin’ as you knows things about me, and hintin’ as you’d give me over to the cops at any time unless I did as you told me, and makin’ a slave of me in every way.” Be image Will gurgled. His face was turning ack, ‘*Now I’m going to stop it for good.” Cripps forced Serawny Wiil down on his back in the gutter, and would undoubtedly have ended the latter’s career then and there if wnexpected relief bad not arrived. Just as ea S was preparing to get a better grip on Scrawny Will’s throat, something seized the pugilist by the coat between the shoulder-blades and dragged him from his prostrate would-be vic- tim. ' ‘““A thousand devils! What is that?’ howled one ; here was_ no answer, nothing but a burning sen- sation in his back, as if two white hot pieces of steeh were searing his flesh. He tried to turn his head sufficiently to see what new foe he had to contend with. But he could not see anything, though the burning steel was still in his flesh, and was cragging him, back from the gutter where Scrawny lay, slowly re- covering his senses. ; ‘‘ Let go!” gasped Cripps. No answer. a What is it? It is tearing me to pieces,” he howl- ed. With a superhuman effort he tore himself loose and swung around until he could see what the pieces of white-hot steel were, They were the yellow fangs of an immense bull- dog. If there was anything of which Jim.Cripps stood = eee terror it was a strange dcg especially a ull-dog. ; The animal stood | him, with his four feet. firmly planted as if ready for a spring, and his ter- rible yellow t+eth bared threate gly. Cripps moved back a little. The brute growled. : “Poor dog! Good dog!” said Cripps insinuating- ly, adding to himself: ‘‘ I’m afraid to shoot, ‘cause it would bring everybody up here to see what was the matter, or I’d put a bullet in your ugly carcass in a second,”’ Cripps again tried to edge away. The dog followed him. Serawny “ill. who had somewhat recovered him- self, was sitting up in the gutter looking around in @ dezed kind of way._. 2 _ He realized that Jim Cripps and a bull-dog were in the neighborhood but he was too bewildered by his recent choking to feel sny terror of either. | * What the dickens shall I do?” muttered Cripps. _— + ae ~ mae 2 we i git A et ES OO A A CE a ah —_——
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| | _ your acquaintance a great deal, oughtn’t T?” It would not have interested him if he had. He had his attention exclusively engaged by the bull-dog at that moment. “ive got to do something. till breaktast time lookin’ at a buli-dog. It’s mest dayiight now and I want to get out o’this ’fore people is around.” Thus soliloquized Jim Cripps, keeping a wary eye on his canine enemy the while, while Scrawny Will, | himself again by this time, had just grasped the situation and was enjoying it in his dry way. “ Jim, what are you doing with that dog?” The pugilist started and half turned toward Sorawny, who had risen to his feet. The dog growled and made a movement, Cripps stopped and faced the dog. “Jim, Laskei you what you were doing with that dog?’ repeated Scrawn y: **Can’t yer see What I’m doin’? I’m a-mindin’ him until his owner comes,”’ said Crip. s. * Well, you'd better tie him up and leave him. He can’t very well get away from here, and it’s no use you wasting your precious time.” Scrawny spoke slowly and sneeringly, and if Jim Cripps had dared look away from the dog a minute he would have showed Scrawny a face so disturbed by rage and terror that it was scarcely human. “Afraid of a dog, eh, Jim Cripps?” said Scrawny. ‘““Maybe you’d be afraid of him ;erself if you'd | felt his teeth in your back,” “Guess you must have teased him or he would not have bitten you.” **Gues; you don’t know anything about it.” ‘*Perhaps not.” ‘“*Scerawny.”’ AOWElL “T’m kinder sorry.”’ “Sorry? What for?’ **Wor what I did just now.” ‘What?’ “Why, chokin’ yer” *“‘ What made you do it then?” The buil-log growled. C:ipps bad moved slightly, in the interest of his eulogy with Scrawny, and the animal resented the iberty. “Darn that dog!’ hissed Jim Cripps, through his closed teeth, “You had better keep stil], Jim. The dog doesn’t want to be slighted,’ sneered Scrawny. ‘*Scrawny,”’ said Cripps. “Goon, I’m listening.”’ *T’m sorry I choked you that time.” “You'll be more sorry before we get through,” “Well, why did you make me so mad?” * Just for fun,”’ Tt was evident that Scrawny would not advance half way to meet Cripps’s attempts at conciliation. i Scrawny.”’ | “a ” “What am I to do?” “Tdon’t know. Didn’t you say you were minding that dog for some one. I’m going.” ** Well, but you ain’t goiu’ to leave me here, are | you? You wouldn’t go back on a chum like that, | would you, Scrawny?”’ * You a ea great chum, you are. I ought tovalue | “‘ Look here, Scrawny, let’s {ux this thing somehow. Can’t you get behind that dog and club the brains out with a brick or something?” ‘* You must be sick to tuink er I would go fool- ing with a strange bulldog,” said Scraayny, as he moved away, as if to leave Crinps to his fate, “Scrawny, are you goin’? I daren’t look ‘round, but I can hear you movin’.” : * Yes. I'm goin’. I guess everything is quiet on the street by this time, and I have got a good deal of business to attend to.” ' “What kind of business?” “Well among other things to call on a certain captain of police and tell him where he will find a man he wants on the roof of a house, having fun with a buildog.” | | Jim Cripps started, and the dog growled menac- ingly. ” * Scraw ny. “ What is it?” “Tf you'll help me out of this I'll never go back on you again.” | “T ain’t afraid of you.” . “Well I mean I'll never try it.” Scrawny Will stepped up to Cripps and stood close behind him while he spoke in his ear: “See bere, Jim Cripps, I’ve been a good friend to you, and I’m willing to continue so if you behave yourself, I’ve given you a job that will pay you | well, and I want you to attend to it. But you must understand that when you are working for me you must obey orders.” 4 *“ Talways do, don’t a? “ Well, is it a go?” i “Ts whata go?’ asked C ne still with his eye | fixed on the dog, who stvod like a statue facing “Tf I get you amy from this dog you will not try | any more mutiny, It won’t do you any good if you | do, because I always have friends within cail who will put you in boc so quickly that you'll never know what caught you.” | saloon, “Tl do anything, Cap, only get me out of this.” Without another worl, Scrawny fixed his gaze on the-dog, walked slowly up to him, and pu: his finger — between the two rows of sharp yellow teeth, ! that the little man was sitiing up. | mean time go and get some sleep.” 1 | I can’t stay up here | “All right, Cap. I’m goin’” said Cripps, as he disappeared behind a stack of chimneys. “Sting, you’re a good dog. You have saved my life before. 1 knew youas soonasI saw you But 1 should like to know how you got all this way from Pittsburg ’’ said Scrawny Will as he fondled the ter- rible creature whica hal appeared on the scene so | opportunely for the little man. he dog whined with pleasure and rubbed himself against Scrawny Will’s knees. He had not had time to show his recognition of an oid friend while was making up for it now, | “That big tool would have choked me, Sting, i? | it hadn’t been for you, do you know it?’’ continued LScrawny, patting the great head, while the dog looked u») at him with an intelligence that was al- most human. Suddenly the dog raised its head, while the ner- | vous movement of its ears gave premonition of danger. , Then like a flash a rope was thrown over the ani- | mal’s head, end a slip-knot drawn tightly around Ins throat until bis eyes started from their sockets, while almost at the same instant two powerful hands seized, Scrawny and hurled him headlong from the roof, fifty feet above the cobblestones of | the street, ‘Fixed you this time, Scrawny Will!” cried Jim Cripps, as, with a demoniacal smile, he once moro retreated behind the stack of chimneys and sought the trap-door in the roof of the corner house. CHAPTER VII. IMPRISONED. Wuen Owney was so unexpectedly entrapped, he felt quite certain his assailants were the two young men who nad stolen the diamonds. him he could only conjecture. It could hardly bave been to save themselves from arrest on account of the theft, because they could easily have avoided him. No; there must be some other reason. What that reason was, Owney felt sure he should find out in good time. Just now, his first thought was to get out of his unpleasant predicament, He had been thrown flat on the floor, and after the bustle of the first onslaught had subsided, a death- like stillness had prevailed. : Owney strained his ears in the effort to catch some scraps of conversation that might help him i determine what his enemies intended to do with im. Not a sound, save the slow ticking of an old-fash- ioned clock which he had noticed standing in a cor- ner of the bar-room, This he could hear in a muffled way, coming through the thick sack that covered his head. The door of the closet was open, then; that was evident. But where were the young men and the red-headed bartevder? That they were all working together he knew, be- cause their triumphant laughter had intermingled } when be first found himself in their power. The two young men were professional pickpockets and swell mobsmen, who followed circuses and were | always ready for business at race-me tings and other well-attended sportiag events. Owney had seen them dozens of times before, and if he could only get out of his present fix, had no fear about catching them and holding them for the robbery of | the diamonds. But he must also recover the jewels, and that quickly. Though he knew Scrawny Will was onl ing on his ability as an oarsman, and would not care if he were killed five minutes after winning the forthcoming race, Owney felt that his own honor was concerned in the matter, and determined to be on the Hulton course at Pitts urg in his boat, cn the 6tin of July, come what might. muttered, as be tried to catch his breath in the sut- focating folds of the sack, The ropes around bis limbs were cutting deep into his flesh and he began to feel stiff and sore. speculat- | he had Jim Cripps on his hands as it were, but he | 66 : ee oe : ‘ : eS Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown, v4 cnn Sap RN ae PER WN EE TS. ee me SR. A a SR ER a ae Se — ep. Sceeipancinapes-anaenichoesionss-aeoateaipephapaprcia-aniemaainieeieenadansaaeieaietoeaetetpeta — His back was toward Scrawny and he did not see | at the Broadway place at six this evening. In the ‘This isa nice way to drop people into a cellar 1 ‘ must say,’ thought Owney. ‘* What can they be going to do with me? T'il make it lively for those fellows yet. They will bardly dare to murder me, J guess. even if they had anything to gain by it. No. They want to keep me safe until they can get rid of those stones and find their way into their holes somewhere, Tbat is their game.’ Still the platform kept on sinking, “Gewhitraker! How much lower, I wonder!” thought Owney. ‘lt is time l reached the floor of the cellar,” Lower and lower yet! Owney was not easily seared, but this was an en- tirely new experienc, T. e stifling folds of the sack were rapidly exhaust- tS mat and the ropcs were cutting deeper into his flesh still his narrow platform continued to move down- ward, shaking more and more as it proceeded, Ah! it stopped! What » ould be the next thing? Suddenly Owney realized that he was not alone, Fingers were moving stcalthily over him from head to fool. Owney felt that his revolver and handcuffs were being removed from his pockets, His credentials as an officer, and his money were safely hidden in a small bag fastinea like a garter around his ‘ez, and which he on'y used oecasionally, when he knew that he was going into a dangerous locality. It chafed the young detective to feel that he lay there like a trussea chicken, while bis enemics went | through bis pockets at their own sweet will, OWNEY BEGINS TO UNDERSTAND THE REASON HE IS | What their object was in blindfolding and binding | But he could not help Lin self, The ropes were so tight that even if they had been removed at that instant he could not have done any- thing. His blood was stagna:ed in his veins end his who'te body was numbed. Besides, there was that terrible sack over his head, which would long since have reduced vo insensibility anybody with less vi- tality than the wiry young athlete. During the time that the hands moved over him, feeling in every pocket and searching his clothes for hidden receptacles. not a word had been spoken, Owney fancied there were at least two peonls with him, but he could not be sue, the hands moved so lightly and quickly over him. “They are old pickpockets. that is certain,” he thought. ‘* They do their work very neatly.” i uddenly the sack was pulled off his head, while a blinding stream cf light fell full on his eyes. it was the flash of a bv ll’s-eye lantern, He could not see anything els+, as the ropes that bound him were swiftly removed. Then the platform quaked once more and he sunk rapidly, looking straight at the light, as if fascin- ated. Further and further went the light. as he descend- ed untilat Jast he stopped with such a viclent jerk as. to throw him off the platform, while the li¢ht suddenly disappeared and he heard a sound as of a elcsing door or trap above him. The platform had reached the bottom of the shaft or cellar, or whatever it was, anv when Owney was thrown off he found himself lying on the camp earth. Where could he be? All he could do for a few minutes was to be stil and let his benumbea limbs regain a little of their normal feeling. But he could think the while. The result of his cogitationus was s: en when, having recovered somewhat, he stood up and felt to make sure that his credentials were safe, Yes; they had not been disturbed, But there was something else besides money and apers in the secret canvas bag which was of more importance to him just now thon anythirg else. A small silver match-box and a few inches of wax taper. e lighted the teper and examin: d his prison. A small chamber iuclosed en three sides by solid walls oppaicntly of rock. The fourth side of brick had an archway about four feet in circumference, ; | leading be could not tel where. “Tli git thar, assure as my name is Owney!” he | It was evidently one of these seerct hiding p'aces fs miliar to so many criminals in New York, where ' safety can be found for a time when the law presses | too hard. He tried to :cll over toward the right, but found that he was hedged in on that side by the legsot the table, which were fastened to the floor, On the other side he was jammed tightly against the wall. He was almost as firmly fixed as if in a vise. What was that? Surely he felt the boards trembling beneath him, What could be the cause? Was it an earthquake, or was the strain on his | limbs and the almost unbearable suffocation of the sack turning his brain? He t_rew all his energy into the effort to move. But in vain! He was helpless! : There it was sgain' That horrible trembling! Heavens! The floor was slowly sinking, and he was going with it! Down, down it went, and a Tlast of cold air told Owney that he was below the level of the floor of the | How much of the floor formed the platform on whicb he was descendirg he could not tell. but he knew it could not be more than two feet wide, be- cause that was the extent of the space between the The dog licked his hand. legs of the tabl« and the wall, and the table was not “ Well, Gap, if you ain’t a daisy,” was Cripps's ad- miring comment, * Now, 7 ’ id r , ia act) a aerate 4 WS ree oe a PAS at | going down with bim. There was a damp, moldy smell, and the cold be- t, Jim, as soon as youcan. I'll meet you | came more aud more marked as he got lower, Owney tried to peer into the archway with the aid of his lighted taper. . All be could see was a thick blackness. The archway was not a straisht road, as he had hoped at first, but was Luilt on the edge of an abyss —how deep be could not tell. ) He put in his hea’ end listened, Yes; as he suspected, there was water below. He could hear it deshing aleng and the rank smell told him it wa: part of the sewerage system of the city. No hope of escape that way. Again he walked arcund the smell cell and stum- bled over a mattress in one corer. “*Good idea,” thought Owney. ‘I am too tired to think properly now, ‘Il lie down end take a snooze, for an hour or twe. Perheps by that time they will let me out. If they do. it is of no use my botherin myself with trying to escape; and if they con't, shall be better able then to doicmcthing for my- self. I'll git thar somebow. 1 ain't the boy to get badly left on anything.” Owney was a philosopher. He had been in plenty~ of tight’ places before, and he had always manag to get out. Hedid not feel any particular fear in his present situation. Be looked upon it as only a question of 1ime when he shovld recover the dia- monds and see the thieves safely behind the bars, Then he would devote all his time and attention to. 0g Or ren ret 0 le 5 vi = )
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oo @ — 4 of times, and then put the sack over his head, and he was all suft like, when we let the elevator drop with him.” * Good.” Af I suppose I’d better give him something to eat, * Yes. I've brought something with me; I didn’t know whether you might have any grub handy.” * All right, colonel,”’ * Here it is—a loaf and a bologna sausage.”’ * Shall I throw them down?” “ No May as well be decent about it asfaras you can,” returned Frank Burton. * All right, eclonel.”’ ; Owney lay still. He could just distinguish in the space above him that the blackness was not quits so dense as elsewhere, and he thought he could make out the outlines of two heads in a shadowy sort of way. Frank Burton and the red-headed bartender were in the cellar immediately over him, but had not brought any light. The shadowy figures disappeared for a faw mo- ments and retursed, Tnen he could hear the bartender puffing and straining as he lowered something into the subter- ranean apartment, * Hallo, colonel! This cord is not long enough by several feet. I’ve go. the loaf on afish-hook. Shall I shake it off?” ‘*No. Tie on another piece of striug.”’ * Ain’t got no more string.”’ ‘*Well, take this rope, then.” * All rigot, colonel.” Another pause while the bartender fastened the rope to the cord, and then Owney felt a loaf on his face. He did not touchit, because he thought it best not to let the others know that be was aware of their presence. “Darn that fellow. Hesleeps like a log,” said the bartender, as he shook the cord to disengage the oaf, It fell by the side of Owney’s head. Then the hook was drawn up and the sausage lowered in the same way. The next thing was a tin-pail of water." * Jerusalem! the whole business!"’ ejaculated the bartender. “What made you do that, you fool!” said Frank Burton, savagely. “T couldn’t help it, colonel. I don’t see what you want to cali a man a fool for, just because of an uc- cident,” returned the bartender. “Oh, well, let ic go, and shut down the trap.” * All right, colonel.” Bang went the trap and Owney sat up on his mat- tress. He felt for the loaf and pulled itin two. He was hungry, and the food was welcome. He put his fingers into the interior of one-half of the loaf to pull out a mouthful, when he found in his hand a piece of paper. Owney did not. eat any bread just then. Instead, he lighted his taper and examined the scrap of paper. As he expected. there was writing on it. It was a miserable scrawl, but the words were | straight tothe point. It read: “ Open the sausage, but don’t eat it. all right.” Owney looked at the paper from every point of view, and siudied it long and eevuestiy’ 10 the en- deavor to determine from whom it came, but in vain. That it was from someone who wished to save him from a threatened disaster he could not doubt, but who?” He did not waste much time in trying to answer an unsolvable conundrum, but set his wits te work to decide on what he had better do. The sausage! — He was co open it. Aight he took it up and broke it in half. length. & file! The bread is I’ve dropped the rope and cord and | [ ; and May moved over to it to cool her flushed That’s a useful implement at ull times,’ muttered Owney, ‘and may help me to git thar on this occa- sion. He took a draught of water and slowly munched the bread as he reflected on nis situation. It was all plain to him now why he had been put down below the surface of the earth and made such a close prisoner. Frank Burton was Stretcher Bull’s backer, and he i The best way to insure this was to get his opponent out of conditi m when there would be no time for him to train for the eontest. “Tl euchre you yet, though, Frank Burton, as sure as my name is *‘ Git Thar Owney,’*he muttered, Hulton course on the 6:h of July. **Owney, come to the arch,” said a voice, which sounded strangely hollow and supernatural, at this moment, a3 Involuntarily Git Thar Owney ran ward the archway, and listened, but nothing could be heard save the turbid waters of the sewer ruslAyg on their | darksome way to the river. CHAPTER VIII. | SCRAWNY WILL’S AND MAY CRIPPS’S EXPEDITION AND WHAT CaME OF IT We must now return to the young girl, May, whom we 1 ft in the boarding-kouse just as her father, Crook Cripps, managed to eluds the grasp of Tom Blodgett, the policeman, When she saw that her father was safe she went | back into ber room and thought over her situa- | world, save her uncle Jim, Can’t you let them down with a string? | tion. What was to become of her? Ste was alone, in a strange city, with very little money, and her father, her only relative in the was she knew not where, . She could not expect to siuy !ere very long. with- out paying for her boar, «yen had she desired it, and if she could get back t» Pittsburg she would not know where to go. Hor father had only hired fur- nished rooms for them since they h: d lived there— now two years—and he had given them up when they started on this trip to New York. “*Oh, mother, mother, if ycu were alive now. how your poor little May woull rush t> your arms,” wailed the girlin her agony of spirit. She walked to the window end leok«d out into the darkness, just broken by the first’ streaks of dawn, She stood there for a long time, thinking of her forlorn condition, when a thumping and scratching | at the door recalled her to herself. Then she heard the subdued whining of a dog. * Why. it must be Sting,” she exclaimed, joyfully, as she opened the door, It was Sting, and mighty glad Sting was to see her, The fierce buJl dog was as gentle asa kitten with her and she kissed his ugly head as affectionately as if he had been a baby. ‘Why, I declare. I had forgotten you, Sting. How did you find me here? I missed you when father and I went into that restaurant,’ she said, as she fondled him. 5 Stiug did not answer save by o low wail. but if he did not unders and her his locks belied his intelli- | gence, She felt stronger now that the dog was vith her, He had been her best friend and protector since the death of her mother, and she never feared anything while he was near, The room she was in bad a sloping ceiling on one side, showing that it was buiit on the roof, and in the sloping portion a littl window opening on | hinges looked onto the roof. | | | The window had been opened to let in the air cheeks. t What was the matter with the dor? He was standing with his four feet planted firmly on the floor, and growling in alow hut fierce tone that indicated something unusual. May could not hear or see anything, but she knew the instinct of her brute friend was seldom at fault, and she waited patiently for developments. — They soon came, With one bound Sting flew through the little aper- ture in the sloping roof, and was, as we know, just in time to save Scrawny Willfrom Jim Cripps’s murderous fingers. Y May heard the scuffling and voices, mingled with an occasioval growl from Sting. Then there was a silence, followed by ® crash, and &@ man’s form came down from the roof in front of the window looking toward the street May involuntarily closed her eyes, as she thought of the terrible mass of mangled flesh that would be picked up from the stones below. ‘ When she ventured to open them again she saw something that almost froze the blood in her veins, The man was still banging head downward by one foot in front of her window, He was holding to the sash as well as he could, and was locking at her with a white, drawn agony on his face to which its inverted position lent some- thing horribly ludicrous, with an intensity that pleaded for help more piteously than could any spoken appeal. She must save him! But how? The first thing was to open the window. She could not raise or lower either sash, That Something hard ran through its entire | would very likely throw him down at once, She must take them riz't out. Witha di xterity neov.crl) h rd'v have expeseted ull on the | of a young, inexperienced girl, May took out both sashes carefully, so as not to shake the man hang- ing so precariously vetween life and death. “*Now you had better let’ me draw your head and shoulders as far into the room as I can, and then loosen your foot,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s all right,’ returned Serawny Will, ‘*but perhaps my foot will not come loose.” ‘* t must,”’ was the quiet, but resolute reply. **Good; you have gritin you, and I always did like you for it,” said Serawny. May had been very much surprised when she recognized in the man hanging ouiside her window a frienu of her fatier’s whom she had often seen in Pittsburg, but this was no time to talk about it, “Can you let me pull ) ou in a jittle further?” she asked, as she tugged at Scrawny Will’x shoulders. “Tf you don’t | shall drop into the street, sure,” he answered. She gave one more determined pull, and Scrawny’s foot was released from the crevice in the para eb which had sav d Lim from instant death, and he lay sprawling and gasping on the floor of the room. ‘*May. you have saved my life this time,” said Scrawny Will, ‘and some time perbaps I shall be able to do some little thing like that foryou How did you get here?” May teld him in a few words how her father had left her in Union Square, and how a young man, who said he was a dry-goods clerk, had come to_her assistance, and how he had arranged with the lady of the house to let her stay here until her father could be found. “ Where is this dry-goods clerk?’ asked Scrawny. “Oh! my necklace Some thieves stole it, and I think the young man has gone to see if he can hear anything about it.’ said May, simply. “"Um!. You shoulun’t trust strangers quite so cot 2 May. This youngman may be a thief him- self, “Oh, no. I’m sure he is_ not, ard you cught to have seen how he saved Mrs. Wikins from the horses on Broadway. And I believe he is in disguise for some teason, because |! saw that he had light, curly hair under the wig be were, and he had very bright, blue eyes, and his hands looked too hari for a dry-gocds clerk’s. and there was a small anchor and two letters on the back of one of his hands,” *Wiat were the two letters?” asked Scrawny, eag rly. “TIT could not see them very plainly, but I think one was en ‘O,’” ‘ Of course it was. and the other was a ‘P’; I know it was,” said Serawny. **T believe you are right.” “T know I'm right. Muy. I've got to find that young man, and you must help me.” ‘ How 9° * Well, in the first place, go to bed and sleep for a few Lows. Iwill eome for you about four or five o’clock this afternoon. Don’t be afraid. You will be all right now. We will find your father easily enough, and until we do, why, Scrawpy Wil) will never go back on Crook Cripps’s little girl—even though he bas it in deep for his brother Jim,” he added to himself. May was putting in the sash of the window, but Secrawny rushed over and took the job out of her hands. She had given him some, valuable informa- tion, and he felt that he could not show her too much a'tention, * Where can Sting be?’ said May. “Lore, yes. [forgot the dog,” said Scrawny, “It is a shame, too. for Sting turned up at a very lucky moment for me,” : 2 He went to the small window in the sloping ceiling and crawled out on the roof. In a moment Sting came beunding into the room, wagging his stumpy tai! and looking as happy as if nothing had occurred to disturb him. * Found bim with a rope Orne tight around } is neck, but Sting don’t mind a little thing like that,” said Scrawny, as he crawled back into the room. It wes now nearly broad cavlight, and Scrawny Will, telling May fo try and sleep soundly until he came for her, ] fr her and Sting together until he should ccme beck in the afternoon. Promptly at five o’clock Scrawny Will returned. He, also, |.ad been taking sonie much-needed rest, and fe.t ready for whatever the night might bring forth. All he wanted was to get hold of “Git Thar” Owney, take him back to Pittsburg, and see that he was placed properly in training. Then he could re- turn to New Ycrk and try and fix Stretcher Bull him- self, as his connection with Jim Cripps“must neces- sarily be at an end since the latter’s desperate at- tempt to murder him, Ten minutes later Scrawny Will and May were on the street, walking in the direction of Broadway, ‘You think you would know the place where you were robbed May?” asked Scrawny. ‘Oh yes, I’m sure | should,” returned the girl A little more questioning convinced Scrawny Will that he knew the spot, and when he stopped in front | of the saloon on Broadway where the red-headed bartender was such a prominent feature, she said without hesitation, that they had come to ‘the right ace. * | thought so,” said Serawny Will. ‘* Should you know the young men who robbed you” ““Good!”” : “Do you think I shall get my necklace back?” “Yes, if you do as I tell you.” “T will.” ‘That is right.” 4 ‘What do you want me to do first” ** Follow me.” “Tnto a saloon?” tes
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a %6 it Thar” Owney, the Unkno - ” ** But I don’t like to go into a place like that.” ** Isn’t Sting with you?” “ss Yes.”’ * And do you think I would lead you into any danger?” “No,” hesitatingly. **Come on, then.” Scrawny Will meant business, and he did not want to have his arrangements upset by a girl’s scruples about entering a saloon. He walked down the dark hall where the reader has already been several times, the girl timidly fol- lowing with Sting close at her heels. She derived much more courage from the presence of the dog than from that of Scrawny Will. Scrawny Will paused when he reached the inner door and peered through the red glass on which was painted the words, ** Sample Room,” ** Both in there, by Jiminy!’ he exclaimed. He pushed the door open, after telling the girl to wait in the hall, and entered. ‘* Hallo, Scrawny!” said the two young men who had robbed May, who were leaning againt the bar in conversation with the red-headed bartender. “Hallo, yourself,” was Scr i.wny’s gruff response. ‘Where Lave you been, Scrawny ?’’ asked the bar- tender. * None of yer business,” ‘* Well, what'll you drink?” asked one of the young men. ‘* Nothing, just now.” “Kinder out of sorts, ain’t you, Scrawny?” “Kinder.” ‘© What’s up?” * Come here, both of you. I want to speak to you privately,” said Scrawny. ‘‘Come outside in the hall,” “Say, Scrawny, this ain’t no give-away is it?” asked the other. **No might be if you don’t do as I tell you,” returned Scrawny. ‘Come out in the hall, I tell you.” Whatever may have been the nature of the mys- terious power which Scrawny Will seemed to hold over so many of his associates, it was evident that | the two young men were thoroughly under its in- fluence. : They followed him out in the hall without another word. « Sting gave a little growl. Both the young men started. Then May stepped forward into the light and they started again. “Scrawny,’’ said one. give away?” “Didn't . tell you it wasn’t?” “Yes.” *‘ and do I ever lie to you?” “No, Scrawny, of cours* you don’t, You know, I never said you did; now did I, Scrawny?” The young man was evidently anxious to mollify Scrawny. ‘ ‘*Now, where is that necklace?” said Scrawny, suddenly. ‘What necklace?” “‘No fooling. Where is that necklace?’ ” The two young men looked in each other’s faces, and then one of them, stooping. slowly and reluc- tantly drew the diamond necklace from his boot. May uttered a cry of poy When she saw her neck- lace again, and put out her hand to Scrawny for it. “Never mini, May. I’!l take care of them for the present.” said Scrawny, coolly, as.he ‘placed the diamonds in an inner pocket “They willbe safer with me than with you until we find your father.” Then he turned to the young-men again. “You know something about a friend of mine,” he said, suddenly. : * What friend are you talking about?” ‘* A man who was with this girl when you hooked her necklace.” : “JT don’t know what yon are talking about,’ said one of the young men, with a look of injured inno- ‘* You are sure this ain’t a “He was last seen in your company.” “He wasn’t. Hs went out on Broadway and svoke to a dozen people after he left us." Scrawny Will chuckled to himself. Owney had been with them then. He had only surmised it be- fore. but now he knew it. “T want that young man, and I’m going to find out from you where he went.” “How do we-know where he went? He left us and walked away. New York is a big city, and he might be anywhere for what we know.” * Perhaps right under our feet,” said Scrawny. The two young men turned pale. Was Scrawny Will a very devi, that he could find out anything? ‘ Not at ail. Scrawny was talking at haphazard, and, as is often the case, bad accidentally and un- knowingly come near the truth. “Are you going to tell me?” asked Scrawny. ** Remember, Phave this young lady here ready to make a charge against you.” The young men knew that Scrawny Will did not often indulge in idle threats, and they also knew that he could have them both in the hands of the police in thirty seconds if he chose. “Look here, Scrawny,” said one, after they had whispered together for a minute, “I'll tell you all about it, but don’t give me away, or by Cesar, Ill be a dead man.” ‘That's just what you will be if you say another word,” interrupted Frank Burton, as he suddenly ap- | peared in the doorway and covered each of the young men with a heavy ‘** bulldog” revolver. it ain’t as yet, but I don’t know what it | } CHAPTER IX. OWNEY TAKES A TERRIBLE TRIP IN COMPANY WITH AN OLD GRAY RAT. *“Coutp I have been dreaming?” said Owney to himself. *‘Ican swear 1 heard some one telling me tocome tothearch. But there is nothing but darkness, and I don’t see how anybody could be speaking to me here.” He was perplexed. Could there be any way out through this arch, and was the owner of the voice a friend who desired to help him out of his predicament? It certainly looked hike it, And yet, on the other hand, from all he could make out by the dim tight of the taper, there was not a vestige of foothold for any one under this mys- terious archway. The file was in his hand, A sudden thought struck him. He would not wait for avy further help than he had already received. He would try and get out himself. The arch must have been put there for some pur- pose, and he would endeavor to determine its use. If nothing more came of it, it would occupy him while he was waiting for release. He had noticed, on the ground by his side, when he had lighted his taper to read the note sent in the loaf, a huge stone. He brought it over to the arch, and with it ham- mered the sharp end of the file—a very stout one— inte the mortar between two of the bricks of the wall. ‘That will do!’ he exclaimed, as he tested its strength and found that it would easily bear his weight. ‘* Now for the rope.” He examined the rope which the bartender had accidentaliy dropped, and saw that it was some twelve or fificen feet long—much more than he would require, ‘ With a practiced hand, he fastened one end of the rope securely to the fil+ and let the other dangle into the pit just through the arch. He heard the rope strike the water below and saw that the strong current was causing it to drag out from the wall to which it was fastened. That did not trouble him, however, would make the rope han straight. He was going down into the pit tose», or rather feel, what sort of a place it was, and whether there was any chance of escape that way. Seizing the rope firmly with both hands, Owney let himself down, hand over hand, until bis feet touched the water, Then he threw himself around in every direction trying to find a resting-place for his feet. Nothing but water! Where did the voice come from that called bim to the arch? As he hung on the rope, swaying to and fro he His weight glanced upward. All was blackness, and— No! Stay! He could dis- tinguish a gleam of light high up in the vault of gloom! : A small star it appeared at first. Then as his strained eyes grew more accustomed to the shadows he saw that the light came from a square opening leading apparently into the outer world: ‘** Owney, where are you?” The voice came echoing down to him, muffled and throaty, like that of a ventriloquist. Then he saw a round object partly obscure the square opening. The round object was a man’s head, and the mys- tery of the voice was explained. ‘““Owney, where are you?” repeated the voice. “Come to the archway!” ‘Hello, above, there!” yelled Owney, in return. “Who is that?” “Never mind. You'll know some time, and I don’t want to sing out my name now. I don’t know who might hear me,” returned the voice, in the same strained, muffled tones, : “Did you send me a message?” asked Owney, as he still kept bis feet moving in the hope of finding some support, “Yes; that’s all right, [like to give amana square deal, and I don’t allow noman to be worked foul in a race with me.” ‘ ‘* What, are you—?” “Hush! S-s-h!” eried Stretcher Bull for he it was as he bent further down over the sewer drop, * Don’t mention my name. It is all a put-up job to knock eee out for the race, and I’m going to help ou ow 3: Thanks! Do as much for you some day, per- haps.” said Owney, briefly, for he was beginning-to get a little tired, strong and vigorous as his muscles were. Holding to a rope, without any otber assis- tance is fatiguing work “That's all right. Now listen.” as m listening,” returned Owney. ‘: Let yourself down to the water.” p I'm there already.” Good It isonly about three feet pro The deuce!” ejaculated Owney, as he immedi- ately dropped into the water and’ stcod on the bot- tom of the sewer. ‘* What's that splashing?” asked Streteher Bull. Nothing of any consequence,” said Owney. “ All rig ot. Well, the only way for you to get out of that, unless you want to stay there a couple of weeks, is through the sewer,” ‘Through the sewer?” ‘“*That’s what I said.” “ Why can’t I get up to where you are?” “°’Oause you can't. This is a sewer drop in a nar- rowalley. ‘There wouldn’t be hardly room for you ' to get through even if you could climb up here, which you couldn't.” wn. 9 ‘“W. ll, [guess you know,’ said Owney, resigned- “Guess I do.” “Go on with your scheme.” ‘*Tt’s just this. That sewer runs into the East River,” ** Well?” ‘“* But it’s a long way from where you are.” “T know it.” “You'll have to walk along until you get near the outlet.” **Go on.” “When you ge. within a few feet, unless the tide is very low, you will have to dive.” *- Well?” “But you might have room to swim right out if the water isn’t up to the top of the sewer arch,” “Got to take chances, of course,” said Owney. ‘* Course |’ ‘ ‘Much obliged to you, old man” | “No you ain’t. When anybody tries to do any funny business overa race as I’m in, I’m goin’ to | give them the ‘dcuble cross,’ every time, you can bet. Besides, I saw you lay out that English wres- tlin’ professor, an’ I’ve kinder took a shine to you, d’ye see?” ‘Glad of it,” said Owney. o“ Say )? ‘** Hallo!” 3 apes you can swim?”’ ‘Oh, yes.” “That's right. Well the sooner you start the bet- ter, an’ you'll strike it right at low tide.” “All right. Ill goright now. I ain't got much baggage to take with me, that’s one comfort.” said Owney. ““My motto is ‘Git thar,’ and you bet Pll do it.” “Darned if you ain’t a gritty young one,” said stretcher Bull, admiringly. **Good by!” yelled Owney, as he prepared to walk along the dark water-tunnel by which he hoped to regain liberty and upset Frank Burton's scheme. “Hold »n a ninute,” said Stretcher Bull, “ What’s the matter?” “ 'There’s rats down there.” “Ts that so. I ain’t seen any yet,’’ returned Owney. ‘ “P’raps not, but you might feel’em before you git through.” **Can't help it. no rats.” ‘* Yes, but see here,” ‘* Well?” “Tl throw you down a knife wrapped in a hand- kercher, so it won’t hurt if iit bits yer. Are you ready ?” ** Let her come,”’ responded Owney. Splash came something in the water, and Owney found himself in possession of a dirk-knife in a case wrapped in Btretcher Bulls handkerchief. He tied the handkerchief tightly around his waist and stuck the knife, sheath and all, in it, “ Good-by,” he yelled once more to Stretcher Bull. ‘*Good-by, young one.” returned Stretcher Bull. **Good-luck to you, and ' hope to row a square race with you on the 6th of July.” The next minute Owney bad passed under the arch, and | is perilous journey to death or liberty had commenced, Carefully he felt his way along. His taper had been extinguished, but he had taken the precaution to put that and bis water-tight match- box in an upper vest-pocket. For some distance he walked along in a straight line. He could barely distinguish the bricks arched above his head by a dim, phosp! orescent light which doubtless arose from the foulness in the sewer, The water, swiftly flowing in the direction he was going, toward the river, varied slightly indepth here and there, but never got more thansix inches higher than the three feet. ; Owney had the handle of his knife ready to his grasp. but so far had not met with any enemy upon whom his safety would require bim to use it. Fortunately the sewer was well flushed, and the water moving quickly, prever.ted the accumulation of gases and foul odors that might have suffocated the young Oarsman Detective, and brought his career to a premature close, Strong-nerved as be was, however, he could not help thinking with horror that perhaps more than one victim of lawless revenge had been thrown from the arches of the cellar from which he had just es- caped., to float down with the water of the sewer and be afterward found in the river—a case of unknown death. He knew that the archway being open at all was a violation of city ordinances, and that it could only have been left in that state for the furtherance of criminal designs. “Tl visit that place again when I get out of this,” he muttered. “Ard I just want to get one plug at that red-headed bartender,”’ + He had by this time reached a turn in the sewer, The slight phosphorescent illumination suddenly ceased, as he realized that at the turn the archway became much lower—so low that he had to stoop as he passed around the corner, I’m bound to ‘git thar,’ rats or the water up to his ches’, and he took the taper and matches out of his pocket as the slimy, cold torrent threatened to reach them. For some twenty yards he proceeded in this way. Then the low arch came to anend and he could once more stand up to his full hight. The phosphorescent light, too, returned, but the water was at least a foot higher than it had been at any time before, showing that he was slowly but steadily getting nearer to the river x Suddenly he jumped with an exclamation of orror. a ~ 1e attitude he was compelled to assume brought,
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¥ ; vere 7 — ‘ Be : { ak ai 10 : | Something soft and active had dropped on his | bare neck and then jumped with a splash into the water. Owney drew his knife from its sheath and tried to | look into the shadows above him, | Again! Another squirming, hairy something came on his neck, while what felt like the end of a wetrope | struck him on the cheek! “Rats: shrieked Owney. The thing like the end of a wet rope was a rat’s tail, and the terrible creatures were falling on him | from all directions Great, powerful creatures, as large as good-sized | cats—fierce, cruel and eager for blood. Se far they seemed to be heedless of his pres- ence, They were ee ping from above and alighted on | his neck and shoulders apparently by accident. Owney had been carrying the taper and matches in his left hand, while bis right held the knife, He put the former in his pocket and pressed rap- idly on. Soon he came to another smaller archway, though not as small as the former one, The rats continued to fall on him occasionally, | each time causing him to shrink and flourish hi; | knife with the uvutterable horror: that the bravest of men feel of these pestilent vermin. How much longer should he be before he reached the outlet? And when he did get there, would it only be to | meet with a horrible death below the foul waters? Owney was no coward, ani he looked on his chances with a calmness that is but seldom at- | tained even by men who bear a fair reputation for personal courage. Stili he did not hide from himself that his situa- | tion was a desperate one. To go back would be impossible, while in going | forward he knew that at any moment a rise in the | river from any one of a multitude of commen caus¢s wonld mean a back-water in the sewer, that would drown him in spite of all his efforts. “Tt don’t make any difference,” said Owney to | himself, as these thoughts rushed over his brain. | ‘*T said I'd ‘ git thar,’ and I’m going to do it!”’ The rats kept on playing around him, and in the phosphorescent light he could distinguish one great gray brute, with yellow fangs showing beneath his whiskers, and sharp eyes that ssemed to be trying to read his thoughts, leaping, swimming, splashing along by bis side, asif with the intention of accom- panying him to his journey’s end. More than once Owney swung his knife aloft as he thought the gray rat was about to attack him, but each time he found his apprehensions were need- less. The gray rat’s intentions were evidently peace- able—so far. ‘ The water was getting deeper, and Owney began to think he must be reaching a point where the end of the sewer should be visible, The arch was larger than any through which he had yet come, and as he arrived at another bend he saw in the distance a faint glimmer of light on the surface of the tumbling water, like a suggestion of the moon’s rays. The gray rat by his side saw it, too, for he sprung far out of the water and swam ahead of Owney, as if anxious to.reach the spot. Owney could hardly walk now. to his armpits. A few more steps, and, with his knife thrust into the bosom of his vest, the young osrsman threw himself forward and struck out for the beacon light which \e hoped would show him the way to liberty. The light became plainer as he swam rapidly on with the current. He could see that it streamed through a narrow space between the surface of the water and the top of the sewer arch, Not more than an inch or two of space was there, and Owney felt a shudder run through him as the truth was forced upon him that there was not room enough to swim through. He would be compelled to dive for it! The old gray rit was still swimming by his side, eee so near that his body toue oie Owney’s ace. He kept his eye on the glimmer of light, and tried to ealorinte when he should plunge under so as to rise outside the sewer. nm as this thought struck him, the light disap- ared. In another instant it was there again. Then it again vanisheu—this time fora longer pe- riod than at first. Horrors! The river was rising and filling up the opening of the sewer. He would be drowned like a dog in’ a sack unless he acted quickly. It was pitch-dark now. The light had gone alto- gether. For the moment even Owney’s strong . nerve threatened to desert him as he felt the gray rat rub- bing against his face in that supernatural darkness, and he felc as if he must shriek aloud! But he restrained himself. “Tll git thar’!’’ he hissed to himself, ‘They can’t knock me out so easily.” The water was getting higher and higher as he neared the river, until he felt the top of the arch grazing his bair. He must dive now. He calculated that he was near enough tothe arch to clear the edge when he came up if he struck it The water was up just right. ) Should he miss it, however, and hit the arch inside it would be certain death! | He could not swim any further, The water was | getting higher every second, and the top of the arch was forcing his head down. The gray rat was close to his face, like fate. ‘* Now for it,’? he thought. ‘ Now to prove that ‘Git Thar’ Owney is worthy of his name.” _ The foul, rushing water had reached Owney’s It hung to him lips. The fateful moment had arrived. Owney pushed the gray rat away with his right hand. e did not want to be bothered with any- | thing just now. He felt like aman about to cross swords with a | foeman whose prowess had been tried in a hundred battles, while he was but a novice in combat. There was no more time for hesitation. He turned over on his back and floated for half a minute, to gain strength for the approaching or- deal, Then he drew in a long breath, gathered all his nerve, and with a strong effort, plunged beneath the water, Down, down he went, until bis hands touched the | bricks at the bottom of the sewer. The gray rat was still with him! Owney swam as swiftly as he could, with the wa- ter thundering in his ears and the gray rat rubbing against his face, Would he be able to swim far enough to clear the sewer, cr would he find bimself inside when he tried to rise to the surface, and b* held beneath the foul flood until he floated out at low tide a corpse? The thouzht was horrible! He was a strong swimmer, but he was fighting | against fearful odds. The water se-med to be pressing on his head red- hot. lise molten leai, and his eyes and ears felt as .f they would burst! He vould not stand it much longer! Would the gray ratrubbing azainst his face attack him as soon as it discovered, by its wonderful in- stinet, that he had given up the contest? The thought nerv: d Owney to further endurance! “T will * git thar!’ by heaven, I will!’ he deter- mined as he made a few more strokes, Then he was obliged to concede that nature could stand no more, and he slowly rose. The thick water precluded the possibility of his seeing anything. He would know in a few seconds whether he was rising to death or liberty! — If his head struck the arch it would be all up with him! Two more strokes and it would be decided! One! Two! His head hit the arch! He was inside the sewer, and the turbid waters would share their prey with the gray rat! CHAPTER X. . A DOG-FIGHT AND A ‘' SCRAP.”? Waren Frank Burton appeared on the scene in the hallway of the Broadway saloon and so effectually closed the mouths of the two pickpockets with his revolver, Scrawpy Will was mad enough to have killed everybody present if Le had had the power. As it was, he knew he could not helo himself, and, with a muttered threat that he would beat Frank Burton at his own game yet he told May to follow him and went out on Broadway. He felt satisfied on one point. He had possession of the valuable diamond necklace, and unless Crook Cripps could prove very conclusively that it was bis Ste PeOpeEays honestly obtained, he meant to ceep i Scrawny Will’s principle was to take everything he could get, and to hold on to it to the lust possible moment, He walked slowly down Broadway with May, try- ing to think what he should do next, Sim Cripps of course could not be used now to try and fix Stretcher Bull. Tbe quarrel which had so nearly culminated in murder on the roof of the boarding-house could never be patched up, and he would not employ Jim again. “T shall put him in jail as soon as I have a little spare time,”’ was Serawny’s amiable reflection. “At present [have too many other matters to at- tend to, so he can enjoy his liberty for a few weeks longer. The bloodthirsty, ungrateful scalawag!” * Where are we going?’ asked May, timidly. “To find your father.” “Do you know where he is?” ‘*T chink I know where he may be.” “Tn New York?” S ¥es,"? “How far is it?” “Not far.” * Can we walk there?” *¥Yeu;?? 2 May did not trv to get any further information from Scrawny. He was evidently out of humor and was not inclined to answer questions, ** Hallo, Scrawny!” : Both May and Scrawny Will turned quickly. ‘Father! was May’s delighted exclamation, ‘* Well, Crook, where did you spring from?” said Scrawny. ““ Why, May. where have you been, and how is it you have found an old friend?” “Tt’s a long story, Crook,” said Scrawny Will. “We were just going down to Baggs’s to see if they had heard anything of you there.” ‘** Not much,” returned Crook Cripps. ‘‘T dasen’t go there just now. Things are altogether too warm. My main object is to keep out of the way of Tom Blodgett. e wants me, or thinks he wants me, for one or two jobs.” “Only thinks so, I suppose Crook,” said Scrawny, sarcastically. ; wt . / ; » i ¥ : i ; i a Faia Aa og { ~ be: orn ss, (ere, Pa Pee. * ‘ P iy ah ‘et “Be 4g ie pe ee — Ay, RET: a * To-night,”’ “Oh, that necklace. Will you give it to me now, please?” said May, addressing Scrawny. “ What necklace?” said Scrawny, innocently. ““What necklace is that?’’ put in Crook, anxious ly. im You have that one I gave you safe, | hope, ‘** Well, Crook, it is safe enough, because I have it. But it looks very much like one my aunt lost a week or two ago, and Lam going to show it to her,” said Scrawny Will. sueeringly, . “Scrawny Will, I want that necklace.”’ said Crook Cripps, in a dangerously soft and sweet voice. “Crook Cripps, you will get tuat necklace when my aunt says it does not belong to her,” replied Scrawny, in the same tone, “T]i go with you to your aunt's,” said Crook Cripps, as_he made a motion to walk on with Scrawny Will. “All right, Crook; come along. She lives next door to a police station, and her liusband is a police- man who was detailed to work up the Montville Bank ease at the time the job was done, and who gives all his spare hours new to Jooking up points connected with it. Comealo-g. Ill introduce you to him and to my aunt, too, You'll find them very nice people.”’ Crook Cripps ground his teeth. p * See here, Crock,’ said Serawny, cunfidentially. “It isnouse getting mad, I'll take care of this necklace for a few weeks until [meet you in_Pitts- burg. I don’t believe it is my aunt’s. and Tll fix things all right with you on the day my boy wins thet race from Stretcher Bull, Do you tumble?” “You mean—”’ “ That’s it.” “That your boy has got to win?” “Exactly,” ** Honor bright?’ “Straight up and down.” ** Where is the boy?” ‘| hat’s what I don’t know.” “Think any one’s been fooling with him?’’ “ That’s whatI do,” said Scrawny, scowling fierce- ” ” ly. be Who?” ‘Never mind. I know.” * But who d’ye mean—Frank Burton?” ‘“*Curse him! Yes.” ‘““Why don’t you get even, by working his man?” ‘“*T will, if I can,” “Trouble is, Stretcher Bull is so ridiculously square that you can’t do nothin’ with him,” said Crook Cripps. **T know it,” acquiesced Scrawny, disconsolately. The three were walking slowly down Broadway during this conversation, when suddenly a great hubbub and shouting behind made them all turn. * Call your confounded dog off!" said a handsome gentleman with plug bat and fashionable garments, as Crook Cripps met his eye. In an instant Crook, Scrawny and May compre- hended the trouble, - : ! Sting. who had been modestly walking behind them, attending strictly to bis own business, had been attacked by a little yelping black-and-tan, who had presumed to bite him on the leg. No well-regulated bulldog could stand such an in- sult, and so Sting had gaught the other dog by the neck and was giving him a wholesome shaking. For the moment it looked as if Sting would be ealled off too late to save the life of the yelper. When a brides shakes anything he does it for all that is in him. However, Crook rushed at Sting, caught bim by his leather collar, and with some difficuity pulled him off the other dog. 2 The black-and-tan shook himself together and ran yelping behind a handsomely-dressed lady who was with the gentleman. The lady and gentleman were our old friends, Miss Vavasour and Basil Monto ys the actors. who had commissioned “Git Thar” Owney to fiud the stelen diamonds, **Oh, my poor little Juno,” said the lady, lookin down at her still whining dog. ‘They have kille ou!” ; * Not a bit of it, madame,” said Scrawny, with a low bow ‘The dogs was only playing.” Miss Vavasour gave Scrawny a look of indignant ‘contempt, which suddenly changed to one of eager astonishment. “Basil,” she whispered to her husband, breath- lessly. “* Well, my dear?” “] know where my diamonds are.” “The deuce you do! Where are they?” “That man has them.” ( Scrawny had turned away, and with Crook Cripps and May was walking slowly down town by this time. ‘*What man, my dear? I’m afraid the unpleas- antness betw:en Juno and that bulldog has wpe your nerves so much that you imagine things which do not exist.” ‘ “No, I do not,” said Miss Vavasour, positively. “*} know that little man has my necklace. Moreover, f have seen that other big fellow before.”’ : “ Where?” ' “T don’t know exactly, but somewhere.” “Tn New York?” ““N—o—o,”’ hesitatingly.” | , | ;
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i ee *¢ Philadelphia?” “ ” “Boston, Chicago, Brooklyn, Frisco, London, Jer- sey City, Timbuctoo?” *‘No—no. And I think you are very unkind to laugh at me,” said Mi:s Vavasour, getting ready to cry. where do you think it was?”’ “T have it!’ “Thank Heaven!” *“T know where I saw him!” ** Where?” ** Pittsburg.” ** Pittsburg?” “ Yes, ” * Where did you see him there, and when?” “The last time we were there. He was loafing around outside the theater, and I believe he had something to do with stealing my necklace.” *“*T do not see why you should suspect him, be- cause he happened to be outside the theat-r, and is now in New Work, Everybody comes to New York | at some time or other,”’ said the gentleman, with a cool smile that aggravated his better half to an al- most unbearable extent, “Basil Montgomery,” said Miss Vavasour, solemn- ly, ‘‘ that litile man has my necklace.” ‘* How do you know?” “T saw it.” “© What?” “J saw it when he stooped just now.” “ Nonsense!” “No nonsense at all. He has it in one of his up- er vest pockets, and when he bowed to me in that nsolent way, Ljust caught a glimpse of the stones shining there.” Basil Montgomery laughed aloud. ““My dear girl,” he said, “you are an or'ginal. You see something glistening in the vest pocket of a man—a perfect stranger—and you at once jump to the conclusion that he is in possession of some diamonds that you lost several weeks ago ina city | nearly five hundred miles away. \Vhy, even allow- ing, for the sake of argument, that he had some diamonds in his pockss. you have no particular rea- son to suppose that they were yours. Do you know how many million dollars worth of dressed dia- monds there are estimated to be in the world?” “Now, Basil, you need not try to change my opin- ion by talking statistics.” “T only wanted to show you that with the num- ber of diamonds in existence, you could not be sure that you saw your particular diamonds in that man’s pocket, That was all.” “Tt wasn't the diamonds that I noticed,” ** What then?” ** My large emerald.” *“* Your emerald?” *6'Yes,’’ “ Are you sure about that?” ** Positive.” Basil Montgomery whistled thoughtfully. “That alters the case,” he said, ‘ I will soon find out what he has in his pocket,” “How?” ; ‘*{ will ask him, and if necessary, charge him with theft,” returned Basil, determinedly. ‘You walk on slowly. I will hurry after him,” “Allright, dear. If you get my necklace back, I will say you are better than the whole detective force,” said Miss Vavasour, with a delighted smile. Basil Montgomery, though his friends said he was a dude, who thought more of the curl of his mus- tache and the set of his collar and necktie than any- thing else, could be serious enough when he chose, Moreover, beneath the surface of carelessness and laziness, there was a good deal of manhood. He was a dead-shot with the revolver, could row a mile with the best amateur who ever sat in a boat, and could handle the gloves like a professional pugilist. He was a dange ous man to fool with when his blood was up, as more than one “tough” had discovered to bis cost ere now. He walked swiftly down Broadway through the crowd, trying to catch sight of Scrawny Will and his companions. It was no easy task, and he had traversed several blocks before he saw any signs of them. Then he saw them just turning a ccrner. Yes, there they were, walking rather faster than there seemed any occasion for, He quickened his pace, and saw that Crook was looking over his shoulder as if apprehensive of pur- t. ms Hallo, there! Stop!” cried Basil holding up his and, 3 But Crook Onppes only response was to take May by the arm and hurry still more, He evidently did not wish to have anything more to say to Basil Montgomery. Serawny Will was several steps ahead of Crook and May, and was making better time than any one. “ Hold on there, I tell you!” called Basil again, as he broke intoarun. He was rapidly diminishing the distance between himself and the othersand was just about to grasp Crook Crinps by the shoulder, when a burly fellow, just stepping out of a doorway, came right in his way and jostled against him. “Who are yer shovin’?” said the burly man, “Get out of my road,” said Basil. 3 “Git out o’ my road,” said the other.“ Guess you ain't got any mortgage on this sidewalk, hev yen?” Basil Montgomery saw that Crook Cripps was get- ting away from him, and that Scrawny Will had already disappeared,’ ‘mpetuously he put his hand on ay stranger’s breast and gave bim 4 vigorous ush. z Like a flash the right hand of the other shot out Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. and gave Basil a stinger in the mceuth that jarred him until he thought every tooth in his head was loosened. Basil did not stop to groan, however, handy with his fists for that: The knuckles of his assailant had hardly touched his face before Basil had countered and put one in the big man’s eye that sent it into mourning right away. **Oho! my fine sweil! You think you can spar, do you? Come on an’ I'll paste yer till yer own mother won’t know yer from a plate of Hast side hash.” It was a quiet side-street, and not a soul besides themselves was to be seen. Scrawny, Crook Cripps, May and the bulldog had all got clear away. Basil needed no second invitation from his big antagonist, and at it they went hammer-and-tongs. The blows flew thick and fast for a second or two, and then both men bad acquired a good deal of re- spect for each other’s science. The stranger, who had every appearance of the toughest kind of ‘sport,’ was rather surprised that a dudish-looking, well-dressed gentleman like Basil Montgomery, could give him such a whirl, while the latter realized that, however ignorant and unedu- cated the big man might be, he had certainly mas- tered the science of boxing. They sparred for breath, walking cautiously around each other and trying to get an opening. Then Basil’s left hand reached the other’s chest, while hie rizht lifted him under the chin. In return he got a crash on the forehead that made his head- ache and sent his silk hat spinning into the middle of the street. Slap! Slap! Crash! Crash! He was too Bang! Bang! A well-directed blow, straight from the shoulder, and Basil stretched his antagonist at full length on the sidewalk, his head striking a lamp-post and knocking him insensible for a moment. Basil Montgomery picked up his hat and tried to smooth his ruffled plumage, just as Miss Vavasour arrived on the spot and fainted away at the sight of the blood on her husbana’s face and the apparently dead man at bis feet. “Oh, Basil! What is the matter?” * Nothing, my dear, only I have lost track of the little man who has your necklace,” said Basil, look- ing rather ashamed of himself, ** But, Basil, you are hurt!” ‘“No, mum, be ain’t hurt,” said the big man, on the sidewalk, as he sat up and felt his head. ‘ But I’m dog-goned if he aint hurt me. He strikes a blow like a thousand of brick, and I respect him. Didn’t think any swell could lay me out like that, An’ if there’s anything as Jim Cripps kin do ter oblige you, he’s goin’ to do it, now. ou hear me, I saw a feller runnin’ away from you who I thought was dead, as he ought ter be. If you want to get the nippers on him I'll help yer all 1 can.” “That little man—do you know him?” asked Basil, as Jim Cones arose to his feet. “Know him! Well, I guess there ain’t no one as knows Scrawny Will better nor I do, and he’s played dirt on me. too,”’ * Can you tell me where I can find him?’ asked Basil, eagerly. - **] know where you can find him next week,” said Jim Cripps. ** Where?” “* Pittsourg.’ ‘© You are sure of that?” “Yes, He’s a engineering a boat race there for the 6th of July, between an unknown and Stretcher Bull, an’ he’ll be there right along until the event comes off.’’ ° “I’ve got five hundred on that unknown myself,” said Basil, “but I didn’t know that litthe man had anything to do with it. Could you go to Pittsburg with me next week if I made it worth your while?” * Tl go anyhow. though in course I ain’t above making a ten-dollar bill in an honest way,” returned Jim Cripps. “Very well, Then call on me at ten o’clock to- morrow morning at 702 87 street, and we'll make further arrangements,” said Basil Montgomery. * Good-night.”’ * Good-night,” answered Jim Cripps, as the lady and gentleman sauntered away, adding: ‘*Gosh! He does strike a heavy blow, Id like to see him in full trainin’, Well, the two of us ought to be a match for Scrawny Wil, even if he can fall off a house without gittin’ hurt.” CHAPTER XI. THE DIAMOND NECKLAOE TURNS UP AGAIN. WueEn “Git Thar” Owney_ felt bis head strike the arch and found he could not get his mouth and nostrils out of the water he gave himself up for lost. He had held his breath so long that his brain was reeling. The force with which he had come in collision with the arch when he arose was sufficient to send him down again several feet. He ceased struggling for he felt that it was of no use trying to swim any longer, and besides it is doubtful if he could have done so anyhow, for his senses were fast leaving him, while the fearful singing and rumbling in his ears were getting louder and louder * He seemed to forget where he was, and the pain of suffocation that had at first caused him such agony was giving way to an almost pleasurable sensation, while. like & panorama all the events of his short but busy life passed in review before him, He saw himself. a curly-herded boy playing at his mother’s knee, in far-away Pitrsburg. Then he was trying his streng'h and skill with the oar on the forest-lined waters of the Monongahela or be- tween the grassy slopes fringing the Ohio. Anon he , 1k ——___— \ saw himself asa detective bunting down criminals in theslums of Pittsburg or among the disused | coal mines and woods of the surrounding country. Next a sweet face that he had seen only a day or two before, but that had impressed itself upon his youthful imagination like a beautiful dream, effaced everything else, and he thought he was talking to May, the young, mnocent girl whom he had found so suddenly and strangely throwr on his protection in alarge city. ‘Ihen—bluckness! He lost consciousness, with the water gurglin in his ears and his eurly hair thrown hither an thither across his white face with the action of the stream, while the gray rat swam around him and seemed to be wondering whether he was really dead, “Haul up, Dave! By Jehoshaphat, I believe I’ve got something.” i “What is it?” “TC you tell me I'll give it to you.’ re What do you think it is?” “Tl tell you in a minute.” The speakers were two men, ip a stout yawl, who were fishing for anything that might turn up at the mouth of a great sewer in the East River. Their fishing tackle consisted of two stout ropes attached to a large round basket, with grappling- hooks hung around it to seize any stray article that might escape the basket. The sewer where they were fishing was that through which “Git Thar’ Owney had been trying to make his way to the river. The men were of the regular river rat description. All was fish that came to theirnet. Sometimes it was jewelry, sometimes bank-notes, sodden and almost destroyed, but which could often be redeem- ed. when the printing and numbers could be de- ciphered at all by the aid of powerful magnifying glasses. Sometimes bundles of clothing, table linen, dry goods, or what not. stolen in some midnight raid on a large store, and which the thieves, not dar- ing to keep on account of a hot pursuit. had dropped. into the ever convenient sewer, Sometimes the “fish” would be «f a ghastly kind—the corpse of some victim of robbery and murder, sent to find a nameless grave in the river that flows so swiftly to: ward the Atlantic. Whatever the ‘'fish”’? might be, it could nearly always be turned to the profit of those who angled for it. ‘*ivs mighty heavy,” said the man called Dave, as he tugged at the rope. “Never mind; pull away.” responded the other. “One more, arnd—there she is.” ‘*¥You're wrong. It ain’t no she. It’s a_ he,” laughed Dave, cheerily. *‘* Blest if I didu’t think it was a stiff, from the way it pulled.” “Tt'sa por Dave.” ‘Well, I know it. A blind man could see that, Give me a band till we get him into the boat.”’ The two men seized Owney, and, with a simultane- ous swing, lifted him over the gunwale and laid him flat on the bottom of the yaw]. ** Guess he’s a goner,” said Dave, looking down at Owney’s white face. “Dunno about that. He ain't been in the water very long. that’s sure. 1t’s worth trying. Grab that other oar and give way.” Without another word the two men dropped into their places at the oars, and with a few long, power- ful strokes, rowed to the dock near where the mouth of the great sewer was hidden under the water while Owney’s white face shown like a marble mask in the cold moonlight, For half an hour did the two rough but kindly ‘fishermen ” apply all the orthodox remedies for the restoration of the apparently drowned, The rolled the patient on a barrel; they rubbed an pounded him; they stood him on bis head to pour the w: ter out of him, and they lifted him to his feet to try and set bis heart and brain working. “Tm afraid he is gone, Dave,’ said one of the men, as Owney still showed no signs of life. ‘Dunno but what he is, myself,” responded Dave, regretfully. * Ahoy, there!’ shouted a voice from the river, bs mani answered Dave and his companion in & reaib, A man in a light boat. resting easily on his oars, was visible in the early morving light. He wore simply an undershirt and drawers, and was evident- ly an athlete taking his daily practice, “What are you doin’ there?” asked the man in the beat. “Trying to worry scm life into a drowned boy.” WV ithout another word the man in the boat pulled vigorously to the shore. and ran up the water-worn steps of the dock to where Owney and his would-be rescuers were. The new-comer gave one swift glance at Owney's pallid face, and said: ** Just what I thought.” “What?” asked Dave. “Look here. stranger,” said the athlete. “I know » this boy, and he’sas square a man asl ever met, We have go/ to bring bim arourd, Stretcher Bult ain’t goin’ to see him wiped out ‘47s way if anything can save him,”” * Gosh! Are you Stretcher Bull?” asked Dave, in admiring tones, *'That’s what I am.” “Then let me shoke hands with the squarest mar as ever stepped into_a boat. I ve gota fifty up on you for the sixth of July race, and i know you will win my money for me.” “Tl try,” replied Stretcher Bull, as he permitted the other to wring bis hand. ‘But that ain’t the | point just now I want to save this boy.” As he spoke Owney heaved a faint sigh. | “Jump into my boat and give me that brandy
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¥ we ed Had ee 12 under the seat, guick /”’ cried Stretcher, as he sprung over to Owney an. commenced rubbing him al over. The bottle contained brandy, smuggled into the boat by Stretcher for his own delectation, A few drops poured down Owney’s throat revived him, and soon he was able to stand up and look wildly around, Then he recognized Stretcher Bull. * Hallo, Stretcher, how did y,0u get here?” * Just by accident.” **T guess I was nearly a goner,”’ observed Owney, passing his hand across his eyes, ‘Guess you were. But I’m mighty glad you pulled through, all right,’ returned Stretcher Bull. “*I see the opening of the sewer is away under water. How did you get out?” * Pll never tell you.” “ Well, never mind, as long as you made it, Where are you going now!” “Oh, I'll get back to Pittsburg. I have to meet you on the 6th of July, and I can see thatif I’m going to stand any show with you at all, I’ll have to la ae training right away,” said Owney, with a smile. ** Well, I'm goin’ to give you as good a shake asI can, that’s a fact,” returned Stretcher Bull. “Well, young one, you seem to be all right now, and if you are a friend of Stretcher Bull’s I know he will look after you.” “You bet!” declared Stretcher, emphatically. “ Good-by,” said Dave, and his partner, as they jumped into their boat. “* We have soma business to attend to up the river.” “* Well, look here, Call at Mooney Baggs's to-night and ask fori:, and I'll make it all right with you for what you’ve done for my friend here.” “We don’t want nothin’ for that,’ answered Dave, * but we’!l call.ani see yer just for friend- ship. like. Good-by!" **So-long!”” **Wish yer luc’, younz ona.” “Same to you,” responded Owney, “Now, you had better k-ep a sharp watch on Frank Burton. because he’ll trap you again if he can. I koow him,” said Stretcher Bull to Owney, as they were alone. ‘‘He has an idea that the men what’s handlin’ you have been tryin’ a foul move, and Frank is a terror when he gets that notion. I think your best plan would be to get to Pittsburg and go into trainin’ at once. And whatever you do, don’t let Frank Burton ever know that [helped you out of the scrape.” ‘*“What do you take me for?” “Do you think you can meet me h‘rein an hour ora little more?” asked Stretcher. “i'll take my boat home, get some clothes on and bring you soma money to take you to Pittsburz.” *J don’t need money. I have enough,” returned ‘Git Thar’ Owney, “but I think rou il the sam>. Tf all sports were like you, it would baa cood deal better for the professiom and we souldn’t all be | looked down on as we are.” “You are right about that,” said Stretcher Bull. “Well, see me here inan hour, anyhow. You ain't well enough yet to get walking around much, and you may just as well sit here on a barrel and rest yourself on a barre! until I get back. Besides, I want to give you some dry clothes, anyhow.” Just as you say,’’ returned Owney, as he sunk down on a barre! wearily. His exertions and his narrow escape from drown- ing had exhausted him more than he had at first imagined. He watched Stretcher Bull as he pulled away with along easy stroke, and he admitted to himself that he would find his work eut out for him on the Hulton course on the 6th of July. The day was warm, and as the sun got nigher in the heavens its grateful rays exercised a somnolent influence on “ Git Thar’? Owney, and he dropped on the ground in the shadow of the barrel upon which he had been sitting and half-dozed. Suddenly he heard footsteps, and then a voice that thrilled him through and through. It was the voice of May Cripps. ‘When are we going back, father?” she was say- ing. “Ah, she has found her father, then,” thought Owney. ‘1 won’t show myself just yet.” ‘**To-day,” was her father’s gruff reply. ‘* There ain’t nothing to stay here for now. I'd like to find that Scrawny. He was tomeet me here and tell me about his scheme, and then we were to make ar- rangements for certain business to be done in Pitts- z. Crook Cripps was talkiug more to himself than to his daughter\ evidently. “T wish I knew what that scheme was,” thought Owney. “I geppoee it is some monkey business on the race, but_I’li euehre them on that, sure as my name is ‘Git Thar’ Owney.” He was about to rise aud speak to May when he ‘saw something else that made him drop again in sheer astonishment. Walking slowly toward him, with his gaze fixed so intently on somethi-g in his hand that he did not notice Owney |) ivg in the shadow of the barrel, was Scrawny Will The something in his hand was the diamond neck- lace, which Owney supposed had long since beeu broken up and the stones sold by the two swell- mobsmen. CHAPTER XII. THE PLOT TO “KILL” “GIT THAR’: OWNEY’S BOAT AND HOW IT WORKED. Tue scene shifts toa sporting hotel on the banks of Alleghany River, and the time to the evening of “ Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. the 5th of July—the night before the great boat-race between Stretcher Bull and “Git Tuar’? Owney on the Hulton course. Owney isin his training-quarters _ He is put to bed every night at nine o’clock. He is made to eat plain mutton-chops and beefsteaks. He has been compelled to take brisk walks wrapped in blankets. He has practiced with the dumb-bells and the clubs, and he has taken a daily spin on the river, until his trainer, who is also the proprietor of the hotel, has pronounced him in the very pink of condition, ‘* Well, Owney, how goes it this evening?’ asked Scrawny Will,as he entered the young oarsman’s | private room, where he was sitting quietly looking over the river «nd thinking of the morrow’s work. “Allright,” said Owney. ‘1 guess I'll ‘git thar,’ Pll try good and hard.” e “That’s right, my boy—that’s right. Stretcher Bull thinks he is a good man—and so he is—but he does too much rowing with his mouth, We can get away with him.” Scrawny Wil left the room, and Owney muttered: “Yes, but you can't ge* away with me, Scrawny Will, though you may think you can. Vil win this race for you because my reputation is staked_on it, and because | am square, But, afterward, if I dor’t get that necklace, you will find yourself in jail in | Pittsburg before you know what bas struck you. am watching you. You think I don’t k..ow anything about it because I haven’t menti ned it, but got you right in my clutch, and Git Thar Owney sel- dom gets lefr.”’ From this it wiil be seen that Owney had not let ; Scrawny Will know thatJeh2d seen the neecilace in his hand on the dock. in N w York. Pittsburg, and was sure that the necklace was still in his p ssession. Crook Cripps had been to see kim once or twice | with Scrawuy ‘ill since Le Lau settied Cown io training, bit he had never s en anytl of May, thouzh he heard she wasia tho ciiv widht.er father. * Git Thar’? Owney sai an bh ur or wore looking out of the window, aut] the gha:lows that had been spreading from East to West settied over the river, and warned im that it was tinie to re’ire. Serawny Will entered the room again to see that | his man was safe in bed. Owney turned in, sbut his eyes, and, with a heal- | | thy fatizue that made his rest enjoyable, cropped to sleep as he heard Scrawny Will locking the aoor on th outside, preparatory to going to sleep in the outer room himself, How long “Git Thar’? Owney had been asleep when he awoke with a start he could not tell for cer- tain, but he calculated that it must have been be- tween three and four hours, which would make it now something after midnight. What had awoke him? He could net tell! But as he sat up in his bed a figure suddenly ap- peared at his winjow end looked into the room, dimly lighted by a coal-oil Jamp turned very low. His room was on the top floor of the building, a frame addition to the regular hotel, and slightly overhung the water. In the apartmeut immediate- ly beneath were stored boats, oars, and rowing- tackle generaily, the racing shell in which Owney was to try conclusions with Stretcher Bull on the morrow, carefully shrouded in canvas, occupying a large portion of the space. How could this person have reached the window, so far from the ground? Owney was not the one, however, to remain long | in doubt. He sprung out of bed in his undershirt and draw- ers, and ran to the window. Then he almost sunk to the floor with astonish- | Sead as he recognized the face pressed against the glass. It was the face of May Cripps! She held up her finger to warn him against mak- ing any noise, and motioned to him to raise the window. * He silently obeyed. “* May.” he said. “Hush! Iam here to help you. I have climbed up this ladder because I knew I must act quickly if I was to do any good.” ‘* What do you mean?” “ They are going to spoil your boat.” oe Who dad ‘* frank Burton and Jim Cripps.” * Jim Cripps—your uncle?” “ es , “ How do you know?” “T heard them talking about it.” “But I thought Jim Cripps was’ a friend of | Serawny Will’s.’’. ** He was, but is not now.” “ Why b ii “ Oh, they bad a terrible quarrel some weeks ago, in New York, and now Uncle Jim would do anything to hurt Scrawny.” ‘* Why did you come to warn me?” The young girl blushed, It was not for her to tell the gallant young oarsman that he had made an impre-sion on her maiden heart; but ‘Git Thar” Owney had tact enough to understand, more per- haps because a new ad strange thrill had passed through his own being at sight of the modest girl who had taken so much trouble on his behalf, than from anything else he could see in her manner. “T did not want to see you lose a race through no fault of your own, when you had been so kind to me,” she said. ** And you surely will if you do not prevent their carrying out their iatentions.” * What are they going to du?” ‘Frank Burton and Uncle Jim will get into the Ps have | He had kept | a close watch on Sciawny since they had come to | room where your boat is to-night,and will bore three , or four holes in the bottom.” | “The scoundrels!” ejaculated Owney. | ‘Then they will fill the holes with a composition that will melt in the water in a short time.” **The old scheme,” he said; ‘‘but it won’t work | this time.” | ‘Uncle Jim is smart at anything like that.” | ‘“*The deuce he is!”’ * Yes, and he will put varnish and such stuff over the places where the holes | ave been made and | fille up, and no one will be able to see it has been touched.” ‘Thank you, May; you are a good girl. I shall know what todo. Now, ycuhad better go. This is | abad time of night for you to be out. Ihope you ; will get home safely.” ‘** Never fear,” she replied. ‘‘ No one will interfere with me. But you—beware! Frank Burton and ia aie are desperate when things go against them, “All right, May. Good-night.” said ‘‘ Git Thar” Owney. “Carefully down the ladder.” She went down two or three steps and then paus- ed, looking up at him, “Would you—would you—wear a ribbon to-mor- | row if I gave it to you?” she asked, falteringly. ‘Would 1? Of course I would,” returned Owney. ‘** And I would carry it past the judges’ boat first in the race, too, as sure as my name is ‘Git Thar’ Owney.”’ “Then here itis. Itis blue. I made it up into a | bow in the hope that you would wear it in the race.” | She handed it up to him with a smile. | He took it carefully and pressed it to his lips, as he waved a fre well, He watched her until she disappeared in the shadows Then gently placing the bright blue rib- bon on the table. he made prepara:ions to thwart en Burton and Jim Cripps in their nefarious designs, | Sirst he armed himself with a heavy revolver and ! 1! editk-knife given to him by Stretcher Bull m New , York, and with which he had never faltered. | _ Then, with a bull’s-eye lantern that was part of | the furniture of the room, in his hand, he crept out | of the window, and went softly down the ladder. “T could have got Scrawny to help me if I had wanted him, I suppose; but 1 prefer to do this. job alone, soI won’t disturb him. He is asleep in the | outer room, and he can stay there.” | When Owney had got half-way down the ladder, he was opposite a window in the ‘storage-room where his boat lay. He easily gained entrance. ‘* Now for this ladder, We don't want that here,” he thought, as he gave ita shove and sent it spin- ning to the ground. ‘‘I guess I shall give Frank Burton and Jim Cyipps a little surprise to-night. They | haven’t laid® out ‘Git Thar’ Owney this | time.” He looked around the room with his lantern. Yes, there was his boat, in its white canvas cov- ering, looking ghastly in the dim light of the bull’s- eye. He examined the boat critically. It had not been tampered with, so far. But it would not be long before the two men would be there to carry out their villainous scheme, They were determined to ma e Owney lose the ; race somehow—Jim Cripps to spite Scrawny Will, | and Frank Burton to win the money he had put up ' on Stretcher Bull. | Basil Montgomery had been unable, owing to rofessional engagements, to come to Pittsburg yet, ut he would be present at the race '0-morrow, to get his wifc’s diamonds from Serawny Will, or put him in jail. Scrawny Will was being closely pursued, and by two people whom he did not suspect—* Git Thar” Owney and Basil Montgomery. The latter had “hedged” all his bets on “ Git Thar” Owney, so that he would not lose anything whichever way the race went. “1! must hide somewhere.”’ thought Owney, “so that I can jump out on them as soon as they get to work and catch them in the act,” “Git Thar’ Owney laughed softly to himself as he gga of their probable consternation when they saw bim. “‘ Here’s the place. right behind the boat,’””»he mut- tered. ‘“ Here is a little hole made on purpose. And, by gosh! here they come.” He hastily stowed himself away in his ambush, and felt that his revolver and knife were ready for ins‘ant action, just as he heard a noise as of a rope being thrown against the wooden side of the house. “Trey are t ing to hook ropes to the window- sill,” he thought. ‘Pretty cute trick.” In another minute the hooks canght in the wooden window-sil! and he heard a scuffling outside as of men scrambling up the ropes Then Jim Crips’s burly form appeared at the win- | dow, which Owney had closed when he entered. | Jim Cripps raised the sash and et inside, Hardly had he done so when Frank Burton climb- ' ed up and stood beside him. : : | ‘Now, Jim, be quick. There is no time to waste,” said Frank Burton. “Oh, give us a res*,” was Jim Cripps’s surly re- sponse, “I know what I have .o doand I can do it | in good shape, but I don’t want to be hurried and | flurried. There is no danger. No one can hear | anything, Besides I sha’n’t make any noise.” | He drew from beneath his coat a long auger and @ _ small bull’s-eye lantern, “Now, Fran. ,”’ he said, ‘you hold the lantern and show me a light where I want it.” Frank Burton obediently took the lantern. He knew that for the time being he must humor Jim ' Ce
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~s =e a Sat Cripps, and he never let his temper run away with bis policy. “That's right,’ said Jim, ‘* Holdit right there while T lift off the canvas.” With dexterous hands he removed the canvas oe the boat and showed her beautiful smooth keel. “Seems almost a pity to spoil it, don’t it, Frank,” said Cripps. ‘ Darned if she ain’t a picture,” “Yes, it’s a pity to spoil it,” said Frank Burton, sarcastically. “‘Leave it as it is, so that Scrawny Will will make a pile on the race.” ' * Curse him!’ hissed Jim Cripps. _“ Where's that auger? I wish I was goin’ to dig it into his heart!” He placed the point of the auger against the var- n'shed surface of the boat’s keel. One twist and a hole would be bored clean through, But the twist was never made. “Git Thar” Owney was only waiting for the critical moment to show himself. As soon as he saw in the light of the lantern that the work was to be done, he acted. Acted swiftly and surely ! Jim Cripps dropped iike a log! “Git Thar’? Owney bad given him a rap with the butt of his heavy pistol that made his head ache and stunned. bim for t:.e moment. “T guess Mad thar’ just in time, eh?” said Own- ey, with a smile. . “Don’t know about that!’ exclaimed Frank Bur- ton, as he sprung upon Owney and bore him back- ward to the ground, . The attack was so sudden that “Git Thar” Own- ey had no opportunity to defend himself. * Now, I could kill you, if I wanted to,” hissed Frank Burton in Owney’s ear, ‘‘and no one would be any the wiser.” ‘Could you?” said Owney, sarcastically. “Yes; you know I could.” ““Why don’t you do it, then?” * Git; Thar’’ Owney’s reckless courage would not allow him to ask mercy of any one, least of all of a man whom he had caught in such a despicable act. “Curse you, I will do it!” howled Frank Burton, ina perfect frenzy of rage, very different to his usu- ai cool demeanor. He drew a bowie-knife from an inside pocket, and made a lunge at Owney’s throat. The young oarsman threw up his hand and ar- rested the blow. It was but a momentary respite, however. Owney’s left hand was doubled underneath him, sothat he could not get it out, and Frank Burton could easily hold his right. Again the knife was raised. *Good-b , old world,” gasped Owney. I’m gone this time!” There was not a shadow of mercy in Frank Bur- ton’s blazing eyes. Nothing but a fierce, murderous thirst for * Git Thar ’* Owney’s life. Things did indeed look critical for Owney. Frank Burton poised the knife in the air for a mo- ment. He meant the blow to be sure, He must strike to kill! Tf Owney escaped, it would be to blazon forth to the world that Frank Burton—who had always boasted that he was & ~ square”” man—had been eaught trying to “ kill” a boat just before a race. That would be hisrum as a sport, and he could not stand it. Down came the knife. But only agit 7 An oar was sudc nag Be Sara out from the dark- ness. and knocked the knife out of Frank Burton’s nd. Then another blow from the oar stretched him senseless by the side of Jim Cripps, who was just regaining consciousness. “Git Tnar’? Owney was on his feet in a second. Who was his unknown deliverer? He just caught a glimpse of a female figure climbing out of the window, and heard a soft voice ** Guess say: ey am going home now.. I was afraid they might rhaps be too much for you, and so I watched, Don't be angry. Wear my ribbon in the race, and win if you can.” And she was gone! “Yes, May, I will wear your ribbon, and if I win the race I sha! know that it was through you I was enabled to git thar,” murmured Owney, as he turned to look after his two foes, ‘Here, quit that, Jim Cripps,” he said, sternly. “You can't play any monkey business with me. Put that auger down or I'll shoot you through the head as if you were 4 rat. Jith Cripps dropped the auger with a discomfited air and looked at the shining barrel of Owney’s pis- tol which showed plainly in the moonlight. “I've got the drop on you, Jim Cripps; so climb out of that window.” beg! dod did as he was told, went down the ladder and disappeared in the darkness. “Now, Frank Burton, it is your time,” said Owney, as he saw that the other was beginning to realize that he was alive. # ‘What are you going to do? asked Frank Bur- m, + oJ “TI could kill you if I wanted to,” said Owne ironically. as he pointed his pistol full at Frank Bux. ton’s head. Bors writhed as he heard his Own words re. Pe But T don’t mean to do it,” 98 Git Thar» p= ae Pr least, not this time. “+ Git Vid | | 3 “Do you mean to give me away?” asked Frank Burton, as he edged toward the window, with his eye fixed on the barrel of the revolver in Owney’s hand. “Graft? “All right! I'm sorry I tried to fix your boat. You are full of grit and darned if I don’t admire you. Will you shake?” holding out his hand. *Grrerhy’ Frank Burton “ got.” CHAPTER XIIL THE LAST OF JIM CRIPPS. Wuiz “Git Thar” Owney had been going through the adventures narrated in the last chapter Scrawny Will had not been so quietly sleeping in the outer room as Owney had supposed. Scrawny had other business to look after. He had staked nearly his whole pile on “Git Thar” Owney, and he meant to win. Certainly his man was in good condition, and everything pointed to sur. victory. But, on the other hand, Stretcher Bull had never been beaten yet, and was said to be trained to ex- actly the right point, without an ounce of super- fluous flesh, and with his muscles hardened to a st: el-like pitch of perfection. His training quarters were about a mile below those of Owney’s, and he had been kept down to work steadily for the last month * Don’t like it,” thought Scrawny, with a dubious shake of the head, after he had locked Owney in his room. The more Scrawny Will thought over it, the less he relished the idea of Stretcher Bull being so “ fit” for the race. He would have liked his man to have all the odds inp favor, so that his defeat would be an impossi- ty. He backed Owney’s "ges | because he believed there was money in it, and cared nothing at all about the development of the highest physical man- hood, which is, or should be, the true object of ath- letic sports. “T must get at Stretcher somehow,” reflected Scrawny Wil. But how? ‘ He would go for a stroll and reconnoiter. Owney was safe enough in his room, and there was no risk in his going away for an hour or so by himself. He qui tly slipped down the stairs and out into the night. Everything was still, the only sounds being the murmuring of the summer breeze through the leaves of the sycamores, willows, and maples and the gentle rippling of the waters of the river. Scrawny walked along the river-bank until he came toa small, but well-built shanty-boat, half in, half out of the water. In this amphibious dwelling Stretcher Bull was being got in shape for the race with the boy-oars- man, * Git Thar” Owney. All was dark save one small window near the stern, which lay out in the water. **Too bad!” muttered Scrawny. “If that light was on sh-re instead of out in the river, I could peep in and perhaps get a chance at Stretcher.” He sat down on a piece of lumber that had been washed ashore in a freshet at some time or other, and thought over the situation. Ah! A small boat! He just. caught sight of it, moored to the shanty- boat on the other side. Scrawny Will did not hesitate to ep he the small boat. There was no one around, and it would enable him to do what he desired—get to the win- dow where the light was still gleaming like a bright star; so he stepped softly into the boat and unfas- tened the rope by which it was secured, There were no oars, but Scrawny did not care about that; he could guide himself to the stern of the shanty- boat by holding to the sides and passing himself along hand over band. i“ sn afew minutes he had gained the desired posi- on. Cautiously he drew himself up until he could just peep in by neo to the window-sill, € was compelled to lift his feet out of the small boat, but he found aledge on the large one on which he could just rest his toes. By Cesar, there he is!’ ejaculated Scrawny de- lightedly. ‘ Alone, too!” € could see Stretcher Bull’s magnificent physique lying easily on a cot-bed. with the light of a lamp on the table shining full in his face. Yes, he js ‘fit,’ that’s a fact. Owney’s a good boy and will row to win, I know; but I am afraid of aman who looks as well as that. Z must get athim !” Stretcher Bull t rned over and tbrew one of his hands carelessly above his head. The slight noise Scrawny had made had disturbed him. but he did not open his eyes. “What shall I do next?” thought Scrawny Will, as his foot slipped and he almost fell into the river. Stretcher Bull settled the matter for him by sud- denly opening his eyes and looking straight into his face ace, ““Who are you and what do you want?” roared Stretcher. springing form his cot and coming to the window, which, by the way, was open, to air the small apartment. “Nothing, Stretcher,” said Scrawny, apologeti- cally. ‘‘I just wanted to see how you looked, that was all,”’ “Oh, that was all, was it?” said Stretcher, mock- ingly, TYes, that was all; and I'm glad to see you are in such good condition,” < ™ “ : - aus . 4 35 nia a Pee ae ee “Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. er a le oc in ha SEE A CS... Te eee ee ee i co 13 — * Oh, you are?”’ “ Yes.” ‘Tt pleases you better than if I was all broken up, does it?” **Why, of course, I don’t care about the money I haveup. I just want toseea good square race be- tween youand Owney, and I want to see the best man wip, whether I make or lose.” ‘That's it, is it?” “Sure as you are born. Scrawny Will, * You lee!” P Stretcher Bull hurled this at Scrawny Will with a venomous intensity that was in awful contrast with the smiling mockery in which he had indulged previously. Scrawny Will’s small eyes blazed for an instant, and if he could have reached bis pistol he would un~ doubtedly have sent a bullet crasbing through Stretcher Bull's brain. But he had to hold on with both hands to keep himself on the narrow ledge, wd was powerless to resent the insult. As soon as he bad caught his breath he was thank- ful that he had not been able to give way to his. vengeful feelings. “There is no sense in your talking that way,,. Stretcher,” said Scrawny, with an injured air, ‘*Yes, there is plenty of sense in it.’ replied Stretcher Bull, ‘“) know you, Scrawny Will, and F know that if you were an honest man you wouldn't be sneaking around my training quarters in the middle of the night. That’s what! And I want you to get out of this right away.” “I don’t believe I can,” said Scrawny, as he: looked down and saw that the small boat had floated. away. “Why not?” asked Stretcher Bull. “Because the boat I came in has drifted down- stream. Can’t you let me come through your room?” Stretcher Bull’s only answer was to give Scrawny a sudden and violent push that sent him sprawling into the river. Fortunately for himself, Scrawny Will was a good swimmer. He struck out for the land and in a few minutes was safe on shore, where he could yet hear Stretcher Bull’s mocking laughter echoing in the night air. } “Very well, Stretcher Bull,” he muttered vindic- tively as he shook his clinched fist at that part of’ the shanty-boat where the woman's room was situa- ted. “You sha’n’t win the race now, Yl beat yow at any cost. It is no longera question of money with me, but revenge.” He sat down on the bank in his wet clothes and tried to decide what he shall do, Could he get at Stretcher Bull’s boat? No; that was too well taken care of. He didn’t even know where it was. It would not be produced until just in time for the race, Streteber had been practicing in it for the last few days to get used to it, he knew. but it was always taken away as soom as the oarsman stepped out of it and even Stretcher himself did not know where it was kept. Frank Burton was a man who did not put temptations im the way of his adversaries if he could help it. No he could not hope to ‘‘ fix’ the boat But Stretcher! He might yet be able to give him» something that would make him sick. He sat still for an hour, thinking- thinking! “Tl try it again!'’ he ejaculated, at last spring- ing to his feet. ut how to get around to the window! Honor bright!’’ returned was entirely lost for the present. He must hit upon some other plan, Scrawny Will was fertile in expedients. In a minute he had made up his mind what to do; The moon was rising and shed a faint glimmer on the scene over the edge of a bank of clouds, “That’s all right.’’ thought egos § “There is not enough light to give me away, and it will help me to see where I am going.” } He way softly on board the shanty boat—on the end that lay asbore—and, with the agility of a cat, climbed on the roof of the long cabin that ran to the extreme end, in the water. Cautiously he stole along until he knew that he pao pee ately on Stretcher Bull's portion: of the. craft. Was the oarsman asleep again? That was the first thing to find out. Scrawny Will lay at full length on the roof of the- cabin and noiselessly put his head over the edge un- til he could look, upside down in the window. Stretcher Bull was lying on the cot bed again, fast. asleep. o His little controversy with Scrawny Will seemed to have added a zest to bis slumbers, for his sleep. were sounder than befere, “That’s all right ” muttered Scrawny. “I'll fix you this time, Stretcher Bull, and don’t you forget aoe took off his shoes and put them down on the of. Then he hastily let himself down until his feet. were on the window-sill of Stretcher Bull’s cabin. Another movement and he was inside the room. He walked softly to the side of the sleeper, and, bending down, listened for a few seconds to his regular breathing. He is safe enough for three or four hours unless there is an earthquake or somebody fires a cannon at hisear. He sleeps like a log,” By the side of Stretcher Bull, on his small table, was a glass of water, in which floated a lump of ice. Scrawpy took up the glass and looked at ita contents thoughtfully. ; ; * " . 3 or a ee eg ee The lirtle boat had drifted away down-stream, and.
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ee ee — a aa 2S Tae rae han tee whe? tks 14 ‘*Tee-water,” he muttere. “Um! Guess Stretcher Bull don’t take much stock in such a thin drink as that, but I suppose he can’t get anything better while he is in training.” He put the glass down and felt in a pocket in- side his vest. * Yes, here it is.” ms He drew forth a small vial, containing a color- less liquid. ** Looks like water, but a darned sight more use- ful,” he soliloquized. Again he bent down to listen to Stretcher Bull’s breathing. All safe! Then he went to the window ang looked out. Tiere was nothing to be seen save the water shimmering in the moonlight and the forest-fringed shove on the other side, The door? Locked! ] Stealthily Scrawny Will uncorked the little vial and poured a dozen drops of the colorless liquid into the glass of ice-water. “Now,” he muttered, exultingly, ‘‘let Stretcher Bull drink that water and if he does not break down unaccountably before the end of the race, fay nanie is not Scrawny Will.” ad e shook his fist at the sleeperin a spirit of tri- umphant deviltry that made him look more unpre- possessing than usual, *Yes,’’ he continued, ‘I do not study pharmacy for nothing. No poisoning or anything of that kind, Too dangerous altogether. But a little medi- cine, that will not take effect until the patient is warmed up by violent exertion. Then, at a critical moment, an unsccountable giving out all over—a weakening of muscles, a shortening of wind, and the man out of the race. Oh! Ill fix you, Stretcher Bull, and peorle will swear you gave the race away. That will hurt you worse than anything, and I shall make the money.” Scrawny Will nearly chuckled out loud as he thought of the trick he was playing. But, hold! How did he know that Stretcher Bull would drink the water? He must make sure of that before he left. He looked sharply around the small room and smiled as he obs rved the dishes and fragments of Stretcher Bull’s supper in one corner, The very thing! Among the articles on the tray was a salt-cellar. He put some of the salt into his left hand and stepped to the side of the bed. Then he took a pinch of salt in_his fingers and rubbed it gently between Stretcher Bull’s lips. The sleeper moved slightly and licked the salt from his lips. Scrawny Will grinned a diaboiical grin. He put more salt on the sleeper’s lips and ran it down into the mouth, ¢ He repeated this several times, until Stretcher Bull had consumed about a teaspoonful of salt. “There,” said. Scrawny, with a sigh of satisfac- tion. ‘‘Now when he wakes he will be so thirsty that he will jump for that ice-water first thing, and feel like drinking a bucketful afterward. He shook his fist once more close to Stretcher ‘Bull’s unconscious face, and turned away to make his exit through the window. Then he stopped, while his face was turned with a horror-stricken expression toward the door. It was not ordinary fear that showed in his dis- tended eyes and blanched cheeks. It was an awful terror, such as might have been provoked by some supernatural apparition! He seemed frozen to the spot on which he stood! Involuntarily his lips seemed toshape themselves to words he could not utter. What did he see? : He saw a face, flushed and yet rigid, with eye- balls, bla ing like those of a hungry tiger, rolling in blood-red sockets, with a mouth distended so that two rows of grinning teeth were exposed and with foam bubbling from the lips as the face work- ed in insanity. Too well Scrawny Will knew the symptoms. They were those of hydrophohia! Te face was the face of Jim Cripps, and the ef- fect of the bites Sting had given him in New York weeks ago was just becoming visible. With a howl that was half a bark, he leaped to- ward Scrawny Will. Scrawny sprung back and stood trembling in a corner with his eyes fixed in fascination upon the distorted features of Jim hr ’ ** What’s the racket?’ said Stretcher Bull, sitting up in bed half-asleep, and trying to comprehend the reason for Cripps’s and Scrawny Will’s presence. Jim Cripps’s right band was grasping the edge of the table so tightly that the knuckles were white, as his poling cxvonile roamed from Scrawny Will to Stretcher 1. ‘Hold him!” gasped Scrawny. “It is hydro- hobia. The dog went mad three weeks ago and ‘was shot. Hold him!” . Stretcher Bull did not seem to understand. Suddenly Jim Cripps caught sight of the ice-water in the glass. ‘ His convulsions returned with tenfold violence. With one sweep of his hand he knocked the glass to the floor smashing it into a hundred frag- ments. “What's the matter, Jim?” asked Stretcher Bull, soothingly.’ “‘ By the Lord, he’s got ’em azain.” The only explanation Stretcher could offer for Jim Cripps’s iusanity was whisky. | ; e thought it a case of delirium tremens. With another howl, Jim Cri iene at Scrawny Will again, overturning the table. Scrawny Will managed to evade him, and rushing “Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. | past him and Stretcher Bull gained the door, bang- | ed it shut, and five minutes later, was ashore. ‘““Whew!” he gasped, as he walked swiftly away, with an occasional glance over his shoulder to make sure that he was not pursued, ‘“‘that was a close out Jim Cripps is as good as dead; that’s one com- fort. now. And I guess he can do it!” CHAPTER XIV. THE RACE. THERE was a big crowd at Hulton to see the great match between Stretcher Buil and the **unknown,”’ who was now no longer an ‘‘unknown,”’ but Pitts- burg’s pet oarsman, “ Git Thar’? Owney, the ‘‘ Boy Oarsman-Detective,” also known as the “Infant Detective.” Pittsburg furnished a large proportion of the spectators, but there were “sports” from New ork, athletes from Philadelphia, speculators from Chicago, and lovers of manly contests from all parts of the United States. Basil Montgomery was there, partly to see the race, in which by reason of his hedging, he had no longer a pecuniary interest, and-partly to tr and recover his diamonds, which Owney had confidently declared should be restored within an hour after the race. Jim Cripps, as we already know, had developed violent hydrophobic symptoms, and was Cying in a hospital, where we will leave him. Crook Cripps and May were thero, the latter eager to see wheth*r “ Git Thar”? Owney would wear theo | ribbon she had given him the night before, when ; she had risked so much to warn him of the plot against him. Mooney Baggs was there, of course, and Frank Burton and Scrawny Will nodded to each other in a friendly manner, as if neither had been trying | every foul trick they could think of to cheat the other in the forthcoming race, The start was to be made at five o’clock in the | afternoon, when the rays of the sun would have lost much of their power. “How do you feel, Owney?” asked Scrawny the trainer was rubbing down in his quarters, ‘**Fit as a fiddie.” was the re Rly. Joe,” he added to his trainer ‘“ You can’t hurt me and you can't rub me down too much.” “The boat looks splendid,’’ said Scrawny to him- self, half an hour later, as Owney, with May’s blue ribbon on his breast, rowed up to the judge's boat, ready for the start. A volume of cheers for the gallant young oars man arose from the crowd, which ‘‘Git Thar” ac- knowledged with a graceful bend of | is head. The next instant Stretcher Bull leisurely paddled into view, and was almost as loudly cheered as his adversary. * Darn his picture!” muttered Scrawny, under his breath, ‘‘Heisas strong asa bull. I don’t wonder bi call him one. If it hadn’t been for that craz fool, Jim Cripps, I'd have fixed him allright. As it is, he may make it mighty interesting for Owney.” At a signal from the starter, Bull and Owney took their positions. : “Go you an even hundred on ‘Git Thar,’” said Basil Montgomery to Frank Burton. “Done!” The bet was booked. The betting, started in the group in which Basil | pind Magpie and Frank Burton were standing, was quie sand dollars even were wagered in their immediate vicinity. paihved te could see that it was going to be a re- markably close race. y Pittsburgers knew that in their boy oarsman they had a wonderful rower, and they also knew that, so far, Stretcher Bull had never been beaten, though he had met some of the best men in the coun ry. : The excitement was red-hot. ‘*Oh, I hope he will win!’ said May to herself. ‘He is so handsome and so good! 1 shall die if Stretcher Bull beats him!” May Cripps was only a young girl, and she was just as unreasonably prejudiced as any youn girl; she argued that Buil must be a ‘ horrid old thing’ because Owney was so nice. “Are you !eady, gentlemen?” asked the starter, looking down from the judges’ boat at the two con- testants, whose brawny, muscular arms, bare to the shoulder, glistened in the afternoon sun, * Ready!” answered Bull. ‘Ready !’’ echoed Owney. Bang! went the pistol. They were off! The great race had commenced. | Both men settled down to their work in a business- | like manner. Bull had slightly the advantage of the start. He took the water first, and in five seconds was half a boat’s-length ahead of Owney. This advantage he held for half a mile, but could not increase it. “Gosh!” muttered Scrawny. boy can’t catch up.” ¢ ut Owney's face wore a confident smile. The race was only begun; he was saving his strength. “T’ll bet five to four on Bull,’’ loudly prociaimed Frank Burton. Me hundreds?” questioned Basil Montgomery. , ‘ es. ’ ed Done, with you!” And another bet was booked. Burton believed in Stretcher, but Montgomery had If he hadn’t upset that water and spoiled my | scheme on Stretcher Bull, I wouldn’t have cared. | Well, Owney will have to win the race on his merits | el as iving the young oarsman a last | “Rub away, | taken up by cthers, and soon several thou- | “Tt looks as if the not lost confidence in Owney. He felt that thé boy would win the race as easily as he would get the necklace; he would have bet all he had on both events. The two oarsmen reached the turning buoy in the same 1elative positions. And then Owney got further behind. He did not turn very well, and when he com- menced the home-stretch his ‘boat was a clear length in the rear, at which Frank Burton offered to bet Montgomery a, thousand to five hundred on Stretcher Bull, and Basil took the bet. The race was not over yet. Poor May Cripps began to feel terribly dis- heartened. \would not Owney carry her ribbon to victory, | after all? ‘**Do you want to increase your bet?” asked Frank Burton, with a sneer. “Ill go you another thou- sand to five hundred on Stretcher, if you like.” “Tl go you!’? answered Montgomery, excitedly. “That boy is going to win this race!”’ Scrawny Will was scratcliog his head with appre- hension. | “Oh, why didn’t I fix that drink last night, and then pour it down his throat?”’ he hissed to himself. | “He would be just breaking down now if it hadn’t been for that blundering idiot, Jim Cripps.” The two oarsmen were coming down the home- stretch easily but swiftly. “Oh, why don’t that boy put onaspurt? Surely he can do better than that,” moaned Scrawny. “Good boy. Stretcher!” was Frank Burton’s ap- | proving comment. ‘Save your strength until you need it, old man. That's right!” The crowd howled in its excitement. A few minutes more would decide the race, and | thousands of dears would be won and lost. | Lay down to it. Owney! Git.thar, boy!” yelled the friends of the Boy Oarsman Detective. | ‘Keep it up, Stretcher! You've got it already,” | was the cry of the opposite party. | The two contestants made no sign thar they heard. They only were the persons who knew that the race was a vigorously contested one; but Own- ey, with a checrful smile on his honest young face, evidently believed in himself yet. | | _ Stretcher Bull’s teeth were set hard; he was go- ing to get in ahead if the thing was in him, About half the return distance was covered. Three-quar'ers of a mile more! Suddenly the smile died out of Owney’s face, as he bent himself, like Samson of old, and put nearly the whole of his reserve force into bis work. His stroke quickened, and the white foam in the ; wake of his boat grew broader and fiercer as he shot ahead and decreased the space between him and the Bull to half a length, | Stretcher instantly responded with a _ similar | spurt, bur he could not shake the boy off, | The half-length was not increased, Owney evidently meant to ‘* git thar.” Scrawny Will could not contain himself. “That's right, Owney!” he yelled. ‘Do that | again. Another spurt and you'll make it.” | May Cripps could only clasp her hands and watch the blue ribbon on Owney’s breast. How fervently she prayed that he would be suc- cessful! The pace now was tremendous! It looked as if both Owney and Stretcher were at the limit of their powers. ‘“*Owney, can’t you put on a little more steam?” howled Scrawny Will in agony of areit as he feared | that the half-length distance woul still exist when | they i ire the post. and that ‘Git Thar” Owney | would be defeated by that difference. Frank Burton smiled coolly; he was quite com- fortable about the result, ‘* Want to go another five hundred?” he asked of Basil Montgomery. | ‘Well, no,” returned Basil; “I don’t care about | any more.” “Tl give you odds of three to one,” said Frank Burton, ‘Fifteen hundred to five?” “ Yes.” “Tl go you!” And that further bet was made. Montgomery had seen a something in the work of Owney at that moment which had renewed his con- fidence in his young champion. There was only 4 quarter of a mile left, but could not the race be saved on that stretch of water? He thought so. Was he right? It looked like it. Again Owney made that sudden bend, and again his boat shot aberd in obedience to the “ spurt ”’ un- til he was level with Stretcher Bull. : As before. Stretcher tried to take the half-length away from Owuey, and as before he failed, “Hurrah, Owney! Good boy! Keep it up!” yell- ed Scrawny. ‘Keep it up! The race ours} Keep it up!” “Shut your mouth!” growled Frank Burton, an- _ grily. ‘‘ What are you howling about?” | But Scrawny could not be restrained, He felt sure of victory now, and did not care for anything else. een Do you want to bet three to one on your man now?” asked Montgomery of Frank Burton, with a uiet smile. i i “*No!” returned Burton, fiercely. | “I should like to invest another five hundred,” | persisted Montgomery. ‘“*T tell you I don’t want to bet any more,” retorted Burton, witb a baleful glance at the other. ‘Isn’t that plain enough?” “ All right.” ¥ “Stretcher!” ‘‘Owney!’? “ Let yourselves out!’® Zt Sins he past AR a PI WS 4 eed ae ,
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sehr anh aceon ieee a x a " . 15 “Git Thar” Owney, the Unknown. Lay down to it!” cried the crowd, in a hundred different voices. **Oh, he'll put my ribbon in first—I know he will!” thought May, with a delighted smile dimpling her pretty tace. For the third time ‘' Git Thar’ Owney bent down, and the .pectators then saw him Jeap ahead with a feeling of irresistible admiration of his splendid row- ing, no matter how their interests were affected. Bull gamely tried to get level with a “ spurt’ that made the muscles on his arms and neck look as if toey would burst through the skin, In vain! He had been using every ounce of strength he had before, and he could not add to it. Owney had been saving himself a very little, but just enough to give him something for the last few ards, * Half a dozen strokes and he would pass the post with Stretcher Bull half _a i behind, “Three cheers for ‘Git Thar’ Owney!’’ yelled some one in the crowd. * Good boy; good boy!’ chuckled Scrawny Will. “*T knew it was in him!” Six more strokes! One! two! three! Crack! One of Owney’s oars had broken short off! CHAPTER XV. OWNEY ‘'GITS "HAR”’ IN A DOUBLE SENSE. Wuen the accident happened Scrawny Will gave a yell of disappointment and horror almost simultane- ously, with the crack! — Just when victory was in his grasp! When he could almost feel the money in his hand, and in imagination hear the crisp rustle of new bank- notes! It was awful! ; “ Scrawny seemed to live ten years of agony in a second. . . , He turned his eyes away from the scene in very despair. : » . e was ruined—irretrievably ruined! Then, like a volley of artillery, a roar went up trom the multitude. ‘“*Ob, no; [can speak before Owney. He knows all about the business,” “Oh!” ‘Where is he?’? demanded Basil Montgomery, Ga some impatience, after waiting a few minutes onger, A rap at the door, ** Come in,” ** Somebody to see you,” announced the porter, **Show him in!’’ A shabby-genteel man, who might have been a book-agent, stepped into the room. Scrawny Will and Basil Montgomery both started, * What do you want?” faltered Scrawny- *Scrawny Will, I charge you with being in unlaw- ful possession of a diamond and emerald necklace, the property of Basil Montgomery,” said the shabby- genteel man, ‘It is a lie!” yelled Scrawny Will, ‘“‘Tt’s the truth!” said the shabby-genteel man quietly, “There are the diamonds, glistening in your inside coat pocket, Ican see them.” Scrawny Will involuntarily tried to hide the open- ing of the pocket, and thus tacitly admitted the possession of the property. ‘* Come on!” commanded the shabby-genteel man, producing a pair of handcuffs, “Iam going to take you to the station-house,”’ Scrawny Will was thoroughly cowed. He dropped on his knees and held up the neck- lace in his hand, Montgomery, with a cry of pleasure, seized the jewels that had been missing for so long. The necklace was intact—just the same as when he had last seen it, ‘*See here! I have surrendered the property,” said Scrawny. “I was only minding it for a friend of mine—Crook Cripps.” ? “A nice friend! A man for whom I hold a war- rant, and whom I will arrest to-day,” was the shabby-genteel man’s reply. ‘“*T hope you won't press any charge against me,” said Scrawny. “I never did anything crooked in my, Pa I am just a sporting gentleman—not a 1eT. “Oh! let him go!” urged Montgomery. “Ihave 121, Cinnamon Chip Edward L. Wheeler’s Deadwood Dick Novels Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. 1. Deadwood Dick; or, The Black Rider of the Black Hills. : 20. The Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance. 28. Buffalo Ben; or. Deadwood Dick in Disguise, Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval; or, The Brotherhood of Death. 42, The Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza. 49. Omaha Oll; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger. 57. Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, The Pards of Flood Bar. 73. Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Calamity Jane, the Heroine of Whoop-Up. 77. Corduroy Charlie; or, The Last Act of Dead- wood Dick. . Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A Strange Stroke for Liberty. . Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, The Sign of the Double Cross, . Deadwood Dick as Detective. the Girl Sport; or, The Golden Idol of Mount Rosa. . Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s Gulch. . Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home A aie of eeeee, ot vr ehem i of rage, of con- | got the anale and I don’t care about sending the Base gratulation, of adulation ? man to the Penitentiary. ¢ = ‘ ae : ‘Rah for ‘Git Thar’ Owney! The champion of | At the word Penitentiary Serawny Will wilted. 1m, aS i of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick's Big the S:ates! **Can’t you let him go, officer?” asked Montgom- strike, “ Well rowed, Owney! Well rowed, old man!”’ “He was too much for yer, Stretcher!” ‘‘Owney go’ thar, you bet!”’ ‘‘*Rah for the Boy-Oarsman!”” “Git Thar ” Owney had won, Y-s, in spite of his broken oar, he had managed to pass the post first! : He nad kept the nose of his boat just a few inches in front of that of Stretcher Bull, but it was enough to give him the race. The impetus given to the boat by the three strokes before the breaking of the oar had sent the light shell flying forward and put it past the goal almost before Owney realized that bis oar was broken, It was a narrow escape Had the oar broken a second sooner it would have been Stretcher Bull’s race. As the two oarsmen turned around to paddle back to the judge's boat--Owney getting along as well as he could with his one oar, Stretcher rowed up to ea and put edge ravens wney grasped if warmly. ; “ Well, Sats one,” said Stretcher, “I didn’t think you could do it, but Ican sé@fely say it was a square race and was won on its merits.” ery. ‘*T guess so,”? answered the shabby-genteel man. “*T happen to know that he is telling a straight story for once. Scrawny Will, I'll let you off this time ” Scrawny Will jumped to his feet and wrung the hand of the shabby-genteel man. “You are a square man,” he cried, ‘and I am your friend from this out. There is only one other erson in the world that I feel as well disposed to as co to you.” ‘* And his name is—* *** Git Thar’ Owney!”? The shabby-genteel man turned aronnd, went through a few rapid movements, and faced them again, Scrawny Will’s eyes seemed about to fly out of his head with surprise, while Montgomery said some- thing under his breath that sounded’ like * Great Ceesar!” The shabby-genteel man had converted himself ence” Men Thar’? Owney, the Boy Oarsman-Detee- ive The money that Owney received for winning the . Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, The Picked Party. . Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivals of the Road. The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Deadwood Dick’s Ward. . Deadwood Dick’s Doom; Jane’s Last Adventure. . . Captain Crack-Shot, the Girl Brigand; or, Gypsy Jack from Jimtown. Sugar Coated Sam; or, The Black Gownsof Grim Gulch. Gold-Dust Dick. Deadwood Dick’s Divide; or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake. Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail; or, From Ocean to Ocean, Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick of Oregon, or, Calamity 282. 263, ‘Yes, -I ess it was, Stretcher, I was bound to | race and for recovering the diamond necklace, put $y? ° we git thar if I could,” returned Owney. “Though I | him in comfortable cireumstances for a few touths eyes tent ns ae Dozen; or, The Fakir of uess I would have been badly knocked out if it antom Jats, adn’t been for you getting me out of that scrape in independently of his income from other sources asa member of a private detective agency. . Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days ' New York.” Crook Cripps disappeared on the day of the boat in the Diggings “Shut your mouth about that,” said Stretcher, | race. He got an inkling that a detective was " ood Dick § F i sy aoy, wanted to see you get a square deal, that | on his track and that he would be arrested on — * tta Dick Sentenced ; or » The Terrible was alt ; ° hi &:'6 ee oy ote aed hp neo y itis a servant Ls ob. ~ i cS) a ‘, * The judges formally awarded the race to Owne e left a letter addresse crawny Will, in which eadwood Dick’s Claim; or, Th iry and complimented both him and Bull on the gal- | he said that May was not his daughter, but that of a of Faro Flats. jor, The Fairy Face lant manner in which the contest had been carried out, Scrawny Will fairly hugged Owney when he step- colonel under whom he had fought in the late war, and who, dying on the field of Gettysburg, had in- trusted his infant child to Crook Cripps. Crook Deadwood Dick in Dead City. Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds; or, The Mys- ed out of the boat; but May had disappeared. Cripps was a better man in those days, and had ‘ Phe had seen that her bine ribon tad been borne | willingly undertaken the trust, To his ovedit ft mnat tery of Joan Porter. — to victory, and she had run home quite contented, be said that he had always been verv good to May. | 421. Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A Cute “ Serawny, I ban le A you. said Owney, as Sour espouses Sacer cominelied tiie fe leave her now, Case. soon as he had re is clo 4 and he asked Scrawny to gee that she was proper ¢ - 7 “All right, Owney; of course, T want to talk to taken care of until the present trouble a out. the 430. or Dick's Dust; ah, The Chained ou.” - “Yes, and I want to speak a few words to you,” added Basil Montgomery, who had overheard the last remark uttered by “ill. “To me?’ asked Scrawny. bank job blew over. Scrawny Will found himself ina quandary. He could not leave the girl alone, and he did not know what to do with her. \ Montgomery came to his relief. His wife had | Deadwood Dick, Jr.; or, The Sign of the Crimson Crescent. Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Ae Troy a Cag put in Owmey, “we may as | 2kcn.s taney to May's appearance and she would \ Defiance. oe: a : ‘That's right, ° ema ake the girl as a companion, to accompany her on wer Sam, of asta ; rood swell make a friendly party of * I have some busi- | her shopping expeditions, help her dress at the 453. as Full Hand ; or, Deadw ye ness with you, Serawny, and I don’t object to Mr. | theater, and so forth. ; be Montgomery being present.” | f May gladly accepted the offer. _ | 459, Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick “Well, where shall we go?”’ asked Scrawny. As for Owney, he was delighted to learn that May Jr’s Big Round-up. - Why not come to my room at the Monongahela had secured a good home. Te House?” suggested Moatgomery—“say at eight | He still wears her blue ribbon under his coat, and | 4 rae a of Phenix; or, 5h gaat Dick : o'clock to-night?” is a frequent visitor to Montgomery’s hotel, wi er- rs Racket at Claim No, 10. rye ‘All right,” assented Owney. ever he and his wife happen to be, turning up in | 471. Bozeman Bill of Big Brace; or, Deadwood | peBBaIRPE DS Sek ray waa conduct | Siegal over te country with ah he cools ime |“ Dick d's Corral ‘a0 t eight o’cloc e aginable, ‘ J by a porter to Montgomery’s room in the great oe does not confess that he comes to see May. In | 476. Humboldt Harry, the Hurricane; or, Dead- Pittsburg hotel known as th.» Monongahela House, | fact, he always says it is detective business that | wood Dick Jr’s Dog Detective, Owney had left him down-stairs, saying he had to brings him. ~~] iv») we iv] 2 ; SNF A S step —. writing-room and would follow him in mars radiant rey blushing face belies this yee A The Shore are for sale by all ey . ; a minute. : ment, however. and any one can see that she has a | five cents a co poe i, 1 ? » Where's Owne y?” asked Montgomery, as Will more’ than sing interest ip we movements of | six cents each. PY> 7; on receipt of ered the room, IT ys WNEY, THE 7 rons ‘ | bas He'll be here directly. Do you want to Say any- | Tvs. ARS: : me | ee et pea THE END. 98 William street, New York, : x ih ; Aer eS a Che " ageen xy a aa a ake mn 2 + oe : . 4° ae ~ ¢y R me f y " te er Oe Soe MEER ery mr et
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ca et ae ie ee — = ee ~ ‘a>. BEADLE’S« H ALF- DIME« LIBRARY. Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers. BY EDWARD L. WHEELER, Deadwood Dick Novels. 1 Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road. 20 Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance. 28 Buffalo Ben; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise, 85 Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. 42 Phantom Miner}; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza, 49 Omaha OL; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger. 5¢ Deadwood Diek’s Eagles; or, The(Pards of Flood Bar. 78 Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Calamity Jane, the Heroine. 7 Cordurey Charlie 3 or, Deadwood Dick’s Last Act, 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville. 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, The Double Cross Sign. 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double ; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s Gulch. 188 Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base. 149 A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike. 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, The Picked Party. 195 Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivuls of the Road, 201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Deadwood Dick’s Ward, 205 Deadwood Dick’s Boom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Ad- venture. 217 Captain Crack-Shot, the Girl Brigand. 221 Sugar-Coated Sam; or, The Black Gown. 282 Gold-Dust Dick, A Romance of Ronghs and Toughs, 268 Deadwood Dick's Divide; or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake. 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trall. 809 Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick of regon, 821 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flats. 847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Dig- gings. 851 Deadwood Dick Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vendetta. 862 Taewoun Dick’s Claim; or, The Fairy Face of Faro ata. 405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City. 410 ead aee Dick’s Diamonds ; or, The Mystery of Joan orter. 421 Deadwood Dick tn New York; or, A “Cute Care.” 480 Deadwood Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained Hand. 448 Beadwood Dick, Jr. 448 Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Defiance. 458 Suntower Sam, o! Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’sa Full and, 459 Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Ronnd- Up. 465 Philo Fly, of Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Racket at Ain . 471 Bozeman Bill; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Corral. A476 Humboldt Marry, the Hurricane; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Dog Detective. 481 Moll Mystery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Deadwood. 491 Prince Pistol, the King of the West; or, Dendwood Dick Jr’s Compact. 496 Monte Cristo, Jr.: or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Inheritance. 500 Deadwood Dick’s Diggings ; or, Dr. Death-Grip’s Swoop. 508 Deadwood Dick’s Deliverance, 15 Deadwood Dick’s Protegee, 22 Deadwood Dick’s Three, Other Novels by E. L, Wheeler. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Buffalo Demon. 82 Bob Woolf; or, The Girl Dead-Shot. 89 Death-Face, Detective; or, Life in New York. 45 Old Avalanche; or, Wild Edna, the Girl Brigand. BS Jim Bludsoe, Jr., the Boy Phenix. 61 Buekhorn Bill; or, The Red Rifle Team, 69 Gold Rifle, the Sharpshooter; or, The Boy Detective. 80 Rosebud Rob : or, Nugget Ned, the Knight. 84 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand, 88 Phetogra h Phil; or, Rosebud Rob’s Reappearance, 92 Ounada Chet 3 or, Old Anaconda in Sitting Bull’s Camp. 46 Watch-Eye 3 or, Arabs and Angels of a Great City. % Jack Hoske the Young Speculator. Gilt-Edged Dick, the Sport Detective Cf oamon Chip, the Girl Sport. Bo :anza Bill, Miner. K. -« isob the King of Beotblacks. Solid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent. Captain Ferret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s Boss Job. 1 New York Nell, the Boy-Girl Detective. 7? Nobby Nick of Nevada; or, The Sierras Scamps. 81 Wild rank) the Buckskin Bravo. 209 Fritz, the Bound-Boy Detective. . 218 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventrilequist Hunter, 226 Snoozer, the Bey Sharp; or, The Arab Detective, 236 Apollo Bill, the ‘Trail Tornado. 240 Cyclone Kit, the Young Gladiator. 244 Sierra Sam, the Frontier Ferret. 248 Sierra Sam’ Secret; or, The Bloody Footprints. 258 Sierra Sam’s Pard; or, The Angel of Big Vista, 258 Slerra Sam’s Seven; or, The Stolen Bride. 278 Jumbo Jee, the Boy Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs. 277 Denver Doll, the Detective Queen. 281 Denver Doll’s Victory. 255 Denver Woll’s Decoy ; or. Little Bill’s Bonanza. 291 Turk, the Boy Ferret. 296 Denver Doll's Pratt or, The Road Queen. 299 A No. 1, the Dashing Toll-Taker. $08 ’Liza Jane, the Girl Minor; or, the Iron-Nerved Sport. 825 Kelley, Hickey & Dempes » the Sleuths of Philadelphia. BO Little Quick-Shot; or, he Dead Face of Daggersville. 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner. 889 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket. 848 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. ‘ B58 First-Class Fred, the Gent trom Gopher. 868 Yreka Jim, the Gold-Gatherer$ or, The Lottery of Life. 2 Yrek im’s Prize. \ rh Nites ey 3 or, The Secret of Slab City. f BR2 Cool Kit, the King of Kids; or, A Villain’s Vengeance. B85 Yreka Jim's Joker; or, The Rivals of Red Nose. 889 Bleyele Ben; or. The Lion of Lightning Lode. 894 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam. 400 Wrinkles, the Night-Wateh Detective. 416 High Hat Harry, the Base Ball Detective. 426 Sam Slabaides, the Bezgar-Boy Detective. 484 Jim Beak and Pal, Private Detectives. 488 Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher. 486 Sealskin Sam, the Sparkler. emai moe tt PRESEDe BY ALBERT W. AIKEN, n The Two Detectives; or, The Fortunes ofa Bowery Girl. 6 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. ; 79 Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. 288 Joe Buck of Angels and His Boy Pard. 447 New York Nat. A Tale of Tricks and Traps in Gotham. 458 New England Nick; or, The Fortunes of a Foundling, 464 Nimble Nick, the Cireus Prince. 498 Taos Ted, tae Arizona Sport. 510 Cool Colorado, the Hall-Breed Detective, 518 Cool Colorado in New York. ee ES eee BY COLONEL PRENTISS FNGRAHAM, 7 The Flying Yankee; or, The Ocean Onteast. 17 Ralph Roy, the Boy Bucean. er; or. The Fugitive Yacht, 24 Diamond Dirk; or, The Mystery of the Yellowstone. 62 The Shadow Ship; or, The Rival Lieutenants. 75 The Boy Dnelist; or, The Cruise of the Sea-Wolf, 102 Dick Dead- Ere, the Boy Smuggier. 111 The Sea-Devil; or, The Midshipman’s Legacy. 116 The Muasar Captatss or, The Hermit of Hell Gate, 197 Little Grit; or, Bessie, the Stock-Tender’s Daughter, 204 Gold Plume; or, The Kid-Glove Sport, 216 Bison BIII, the Prince of the Reins. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport; or, The Woman Trailer. 229 Crimson Kate 3; or, The Cowboy’s Triumph, 287 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain. 245 Merle, the Middy ; or, The Freelance Heir. 250 The Midshipman utineer 3 or, Brandt, the Buccareer, 264 : a Floating Feather; or, Merle Monte’s Treasure sland. 269 The Gold Ship; or, Merle, the Condemned. 276 Merle Monte’s Cruise; or, The Chase of “The Gold Ship. 280 Merle Monte’s Fate; or, Pearl, the Pirate’s Bride, 284 The Sean Marauder; or, Merle Monte’s Pledge. 287 Billy Blue-Eyes, the Boy Rover of the Rio Grande. 804 The Dead Shot Dandy; or, Benito, the Bey Bugler. 808 Keno Kit; or, Dead Shet Dandy’s Donble. 814 The Mysterious Marauder; or, The Boy Bugler’s Long Trail. 877 Bonedel, the Boy Rover; or, The Fiagless Schooner. B88 The Indian Pilot; or, The Search for Pirate Island, 887 Warpath WILL, the Boy Phantom. 898 Seawalf, the Boy Lieutenant. 402 Inodor, the Young Conspirater 3 or, The Fatal League. 407 The Boy Insurgent; or, The Cuban Vendetta. 412 The Wild Yachtaman; or, The War-Cloua’s Cruise. 429 Duncan Dare, the Boy Refugee. 488 A Cabin Boy’s Luck; or, The Corsair. 487 The Seca Raider. 441 The Ocean Firefly; or, A Middy’s Vengeance. 446 Maphazard Harry ; or, The Scapegrace of the Sea, 450 Wizard Will; or, The Boy Ferret of New York. 454 Wizard WIIl’s Street Scouts. 462 The Born Gulde}; 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, ; 511 The Outlawed Middy. 520 Buckskin Bill, the Comanche Shadow, 525 Brothers in Buckskin, BY CHARLES MORRIS, 118 Will Somers, the Boy Detective. 2 Phil esearig the Boss Boy. 126 Pieayune 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. 152 Black Beas, Will Wildtire’s Racer. 157 Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. 162 Will Wildfire in the Woods. 165 Billy Baggage, the Railroad red 170 A Trump Card; or, Will Wildfire Wins and Loses. 174 Bob Rockett} or, Mysteries of New York. 179 Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner, 188 The Hidden Hand; or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge. 187 Fred Nalyard, the Life Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers, 189 Bob Rockett 3 or, Driven to the Wall. 196 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. 285 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 Sleuths; or, Rollicking Mike’s Hot Trail. 274 Jolly Jim, the Detective Apprentice. 289 Jolly Jim’s Job; or, The Young Detective. 298 The Water-Hound; or, The Young Thoroughbred. 805 Dashaway, of Dakota; or, A Western Lad in the Quaker City. 824 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective. 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagabend Detective. 858 The Reporter-Detective; or, Fred Flyer’s Blizzard, 8867 Wide-Awake Joe; or, A Boy of the Times. 879 Larry, the Leveler; or, The Bloods of the Boulevard. 408 Firelly Iack, the River-Rat Detective. 428 The Lost Finger; or, The Entrapped Cashier, 428 Fred Flyer, the Reporter Detective. 482 Invincible Logan, the Pinkerton Ferret. 456 Bill Briek, the Jolly Vagabond, 466 Wide-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive, AT9 Detective Dodge; or, The Mystery of Frank Hearty. 488 Wild Dick Raeket. 501 Boots, the Boy Fireman ; or, Too Sharp for the Sharper, BY JOSEPH FE, BADGER, JR. 65 Wurricane Bill; or, Mustang Sam and His Pard. A 119 Muatan vere Pi The King of the Plains. 151 Fpather Paul: or, Dainty Lance to the Reseue. 855 The King of the 449 Kit Fox, the Border Boy Detective. ; BY EDWARD 8. ELLIS. 6 Bill Biddon, Trapper. 8 Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier, 10 Nat Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive, 21 The Frontier Angel. 8 The Boy Miners; or, The Enchanted Island. 182 The } matt Hunter} or, The Strange Horseman. 254 The Walt-Blood; or, Th Panther of the Plains. / 271 The Huge Hunter; or, The Steam Prairie Man. BY BUFFALO BILL (Hon. Wm. F. Cody). 8 Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand. 19 The Phantom Spy: or, The Pilot of the Prairie. 55 Deadly-Eye, the Unknown Scout, 658 Border Robin Hood; or, The Prairie Rover, 158 Faney Frank of Colorado; or, The Trapper’s Trust. 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 Musianger. 58 The Border King; or, The Secret Foe. 71 Delaware Dick, the Young Renger Spy. 74 HNawk-eye Harry, the Young Tapper R nger. ' 88 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. : 184 Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman. : 148 Scar-Face Saul, the Silent Hunter, 146 Silver Star, the Boy Knight. 158 Eagle Kit, the Boy Demon. 168 Little Texas, the Young Mustanger, 178 Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. 182 Little Hurricane, the Boy Captain. 202 Prospect Pete; or, The Young Outlaw Hunters, 208 The Boy Hereules: or, The Prairie Tramps. 218 Viger 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 Guide; or, Wild Raven, the Ranger, 260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Young Prairie Ranger. 272 Minkskin Mike, the Bey Sharpshooter. 290 Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. 800 The Sky Demon} or, Rainbelt, the Ranger. 884 Whip-King Joe, the Boy Ranchero. 409 Hercules; or, Dick, the Boy Ranger. 417 Webtoot Mose, dhe Tramp Detective. 2 Baby Sam, the Boy Giunt of the Yell wstone. 444 Little Buckskin, tne Young Prairie Centaur. 457 Wingedtoot Fred}; or, Old Polar Saul. it 468 Tamarac ‘Tom, the Big Trapper Boy. ’ 478 Old Tom Rattler, the Red River Epidemic, 482 Stonewall Bob, the Boy Trojan. BY T. C. HARBAUGH, 28 Nick o’ the Night; or, The Boy Spy of ’76. 87 The Hidden Lodge}; or The Littl Hunter. 47 Nightingale Nat; or, Tne Forest Captains, 64 Dand ‘ack or, The Outlaws of the Oregon Tralto. 82 Kit Warefoot the Wood-Hawk. 94 Midnight Jaek ; or, The Boy Trapper. 106 Old Frosty, the Guide; or, The White Queen, 128 Kiowa Charley the White Mustanger. 189 Judge Lynch, Jr. or, The Boy Vizilante. 155 Geld Trigger, the Sport; or, The Girl Avenger, 169 Tornado Tom; or, tad Jack From Red Core. 188 Ned Temple, the Border Boy. 198 Arkansaw ; or, The Quen of Fate’s Revenge, 207 Navajo Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter. 215 Captain Bullets; or, Little Topknot’s Crusade, 281 Plucky Phil; or, Rosa, the Re | Jezebel. 241 Bill Bravo; or, The Rowghs of the Rockies. 255 Captain Apoll», the King-Pin of Bowie, 267 The Buckskin Detective. 279 Old Winch; or, The Buckskin Desperadoes, 294 Dynamite Dan; or, The Bowie Blade of Cochetopa. 802 The Mountain Detective; or, The Trigger Bar Builys- 816 Ola Eclipse, Trump Curd of Arizona, 826 The, Ten Pards; or. The Terror of Take-Notice. 886 Big | Benson; or, The Queen of the La so, 845 Pitiless Matt; or, Red Thundertoli’s Secret. B56 Cool Sam und Par’; 0 The Terrible Six, 866 Velvet Foot, the Indian Detective. 886 Captain Cutlass; or, ! he B ccaneer’s Girl Foe. 896 Rough Rob; or, The !'win Champions of Blue Blazes. 411 The Silken Lasso; or, The Rose of Ranch Robin. 418 Felix Fex, the Boy Spotter. 425 Texas Trunip, the Border Rattler. 486 Phil Flash, the New York Fox. 445 The Vine Sleuths; or, Red Rolfe’s Pigeon. 461 One Against Fifty; or, The Last Man of Keno Bar, 470 The Boy Shadow; or, Felix Fox’s Hunt. A477 The Excelsior Sport; or, The Washington Spotter. 499 Single Sight, the One-Eyed Sport. 502 Branded Ben, the Night Ferret. B12 Dodger Dick, the Wharf-Spy Detective. 521 Dodger Dick’s Best Dodge. LATEST AND NEW ISSUES. alcon, the Bowery Shadows. 5&8 Wrestling Rex, the Pride ofthe Sixth Ward. By Jo Pleree, 584 Peadwoed Dick’s Death Hunt. 585 The Rue akin Revers. By Col. Prentiss In 586 Broadway Billy’s “ Dimkilty.” By J. C. Cowdrick. BR? Old Buckeye, the Sierra Sleuth. By J. ‘W. Osbon. 4 Dodger Dis? os er tae By -< aon ye 89 Deadwoo ce rey in Texas. By er. 540 Captain Ku-Kinx, ‘the Marauder of the Rio. By Colone®’ Prentiss Ingraham. 541 Jeff thay oe pane Boy Osteen dy Pierce, 542 The Canyon Parda. By eric 5 548 Dodger Dick’s Double. By T. C- Harbaugh. 544 Deadwood Dick, Ir., the Wild West Vidocq. By Edwere L. Wheeler. 545 Lieutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte, By Col. P. Ingrahar- 546 Captain Cactus, the Chaparral Cock. By Lieut, A. hy Sims, Ready January 10. BAT Sandy Andy; or, A Good Man Down. By P. S, Warne. ‘Ready January 17. 548 Mart, the Night Express Detective. By J. C. Cowdrick. Ready January 24. 549 Capt. Crimson Cowl, the Road Raider. By E. L, Wheeler. Ready Jannary 31. \ 550 Lafitte’s Legacy: or. The &vengingSon. By Col. Preutiss: Ingraham. Ready Februrary 7. A New Issue Every Tuesday. The Half-Pime Library is for sale by ait newsdealers, five eenta per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New Yorke