Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 48) (1878 06 25)
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Vol. II. Single Number. Black John, The Road-Agent : THE OUTLAW'S RETREAT. BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR., AUTHOR OF ‘‘ YELLOWSTONE JACK,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER IL AN ADVENTURE UPON THE ROAD. Swayina heavily from side to side, and creaking uneasily, as though protesting inst such rough usage, the stage-coach lumbered down the steep bank. The sweat-marked lead- ers tore through the narrow, shallow creek-bed, anticipating the cutting lash, as they gallantly breasted the abrupt, rocky, rain-gutted ascent that led to the fair, rolling prairie beyond. “As nasty a ford as you kin easy find,” quoth n Cockles, the swart-browed driver, as his animals settled down into a steady, swing- ing trot. ‘Chaw, stran- gers?” Two of the three ‘‘ outsides” declined; the other, a tall, lithe borderer, with long black locks streaming elfish- ly about his thin, shrewd countenance—lazily gnawed a chunk from off the proffer- ed plug. “Tt used to be a nastier hole, though, in, the time o’ Ham Murden,” the long man drawled. ‘‘That was Monte Pete’s corral—whar he giner- ally went through the coach whenever he thought it wuth while.” “Treckon you ain’tastran- ger in these parts, then?” and Cockles darted a quick lance at.the speaker from neath his shagey eyebrows. “Not much. war ‘lo: when Ham went under, bac thar, two year gone by—the time Monte Pete in his this is how the sp’i beauty,” and the man chuckled grim- ly as he traced with his fin- ger a deep scar upon his cheek, half-hidden by the 8 beard. ‘‘ But I raised his pile, an’ he caved.” “Folks do » en you're Curly?” call me that, pr I h ‘Tt’s a good enough name, but I reckon you'd better change it while you stay in these parts. Let Black ohn strike your trail, an’ I would- n’tgive a continental cuss fer your chaince.” “T’ve heard tell o’ the var- mint,” quietly replied Curly. “But I don’t know what grudge he kin hev ag’inst me, Copyrighted in 1878, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, —— S pmo ooo lp JF Wy, ™ i) Oe | A re Li Price, 5 Cents. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK, “Tt’s well know’d all over the line, so I kin tell ‘yer. This feller, Black John he’s called beca’se he’s a nigger, was with Monte Pete tha time. What they was to each other, I don’t know, but I jedge they was extry fri’nds, fer some time a’terward thar war a lot 0’ bills stuck up ‘long the line, offerin’ a thousand dol- lars ef any one would tell whar Curly, or Israel Tostivan, could be found. Black John was the name signed to it. I’ve been et ae twice, the past year, by fellers what axed for Curly, but when they didn’t find him, they left us slide.” ‘‘Then there is such a person as this Black John?” asked a young man, booked upon the way-bill as Kent Morgan. “ And he is a Road- Agent ?” ‘Jest as I tell you, stranger. But I reckon | he don’t mean to bother us on this trip, or we’d seen him afore.” ‘What would you have done in case he had made his appearance?” ee \\ THE ROAD-AGENT’S ATTACK, “* What else but let him work his will?’ would allow them to be plunde sulted, or still worse—by these raising a helping hand?” somewhat hotly cried Morgan. ** Don’t git your back up ’thout cause, stran- r. Look howI be. I run this route every year in an’ year out. It’s the way I live. the time I only hev the mails to kerry. t the Road-Agents down on me, an’ whar’d be my show? I wouldn’t hev a smell. A shot from the tall or bresh—an’ thar I'd be. I don’t think I’m a coward, but I'd bea esky fool to run my head ag’inst a bullet, jest er nothin’,” sullenly replied Cockles, “‘ There’d be no need of his help, on this trip,” drawled the third passenger, as hedrewa tiny Smith & Wesson seven-shooter from his bosom, gingerly handling it. ‘“‘ I am armed, as I perceive you two gentlemen are.” “What mought you call that, stranger?’ asked Curly. ** A revolver, sir.” “Do tell! thought it looked like a “’tatur pop- “Sir, the weapon is rather diminutive in size, but as a destructive engine, of almost marvelous power. Why, sir, with that weapon I killed a bull-bison at a single shot, in the White Mountains. I paced the distance afterward —Jjust two hundred yards, sir ““T pass, stranger. You're * too big a shooter ferme, I reckon you’re a_preacher’s son, ain’t Dia ‘No, sir; ay name is Kershaw — Frank Kershaw. There is my card. As you see, I am in the real estate business; cash capital, ten million, As a secret, sir, I don’t mind telling you, I am now looking up.a bit of land —one hun miles square —that I purchased of the Government some time ago. I had forgotten all about it until last month. It’s so troublesome, you know, to remember all these trifies,” drawled Kershaw, caressing his pet mutton-chop whis- kers, “Then you ain’t in the gold-minin’ business?” “No, not now. I sold all my shares in the California mines, It was too slow work for me,” “IT mean the Kansas pla- cers. Talk bout Californy— why, .that . ain’t- nowhar! Now, I could tell. you of a mine that I’ve run, that would make you open your eyes; but I told it once, and a chuckle-headed fellow up an’ called it a lie. Of course, thar war a subject waitin’
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2. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ————sa8 fer a crowner’s ’quest, right off;, but, sech little SF apn lhe : ‘ow nile- off m Sept an’ ont keer’ bout exposin’ myself to bein’ even thunk a liar.” ~ | : f 4 ‘“But I am really interes and as I profess to be a gentleman, you need fear no such com- ments. on kos = oe then, perhaps we can arrange— ‘ we can speak here- after. ms . “Wal, I'll give it to ye kinder easy, at fust, an’ tell of one o’ my little placers. Jest at sun- riz’, one day this spring, I tuck my ox-v an’ driv down to the place. I worked mighty steady all forenoon, beca’se-I war out.o’ an’ powder an’ wanted some change to go sho ry with. \ I didn’t liftmy head to see how war gittin’ the bed, ontel noon. Then I start- ed up the ox critters. They jist laid down to it; but couldn’t bade the ns. The gold hed sunk the wheels in the ‘solid -airth, plumb down to the hubs. So, you see, I hed to pitch out purty nigh half o’) the dornicks ag'in. I manidged to git the outfit up to the cabin, a’ter ae the wagon-tongue out two or three ‘imes. fa atone poral gy the rest of the gold. lying there e ,-did-you?” eager] asked Kanbaty ¥ ““Yes—but I’m goin’ to rope it hext week, ef it don’t rain, Now you don’t want to think that this is the best placer I’ve got, fer it’s only one o’ my youngest ones, an’ the stuff hain’t sca’cely hed time to grow yit.” “Thar comes the wet, strangers,” cried Cock- 1, *Reckon you’d better pile inside, hedn’t ye For an hour or more a huge mass of black clouds had been sweeping down from the north- west, and the air was growing rapidly cooler. Now, afar off over the rolling prairie, could be seen a dense, whitish, mist-like sheet as the rain- flood swept nearer. Joined to the sullen boom- ing of the thunder, whose peals were now almost incessant, the scene was anything but agreeable to a novice, and, as Cockles reined in his steam- ing horses, the two younger men hastily de- scended and entered the coach. The back seat was already occupied by two passengers, of a class not often met with in the stage-coach of that date. They were both young ladies, neatly but plainly attired, and from their smiles, as the men entered, it would seem they were mutually acquainted. Yet, two days before they met for the first time. Since then they had been companions in traveling, and un- der, no circumstances are acquaintances more quickly made, or characters read. May Howard and Eunice Lee were life-long friends and uaintances. Eunice, though an orpnae: had found a father in Thomas Howard, a nt relative of her mother. For two years girls had been at boarding-school in Both were more than usually comely, endow- ed with considerable good sound common sense, though re past their teens. May was a brune, a trifle the tallest, of a round, lithe form; Eunice a blonde, slighter in build, seemingly more fragile. More or less all were affected by the coming storm. Morgan quickly secured the curtain up- onthe more exposed side, and then spoke a cheering word to his fair companions, A cheery laugh anus for the maidens had not yet for- gotten their prairie experience of bygone da His héad bowed to the increasing blast, Coe drove rape on. Behind him, crouching down among the mail-bags and other articles of bag- gage re i ba the deck, was Curly, jea- ously shielding his revolvers from the flerce Iting rain. Snorting angrily, the full-spirited orses dashed on, shaking the drops in torrents from their steaming sides, the lumberi rocking and swaying from side to side storm- vessel. For full an hour the uncouth vehicle rumbled on through the storm, uninterrupted. A long, dark belt of trees and undergrowth loomed w more and more distinct, extending at right. les with the trail. Cockles bowed his head more, and rode on with increased speed but from beneath his shaggy brows he kept a ing quick, uneasy glances around, as though at ease. “That ought to be Little Wildcat, jest ahead thar,” uttered Curly, shaking back the now dripping chevelure that had given him his sob- riguet. t So it is—an’ I wish we was well over it, too. ln Pte devil an’ all a’ter a big rain,” growled kles. “* Ef it’s only the crick to bother us, we won't hev much trouble, I reckon.” coach some va the he pee Now they were returning home for a ‘““ What do.you.mean by. only?” quickly de- manded Cockles. ‘ “ Didw’t you say Black John was lookin’ fer./.offer these people no “My lads,” said Black John, slightly turnin his head as he spoke, ‘‘keep your places, an harm unless they attempt me? Ef he is, thar’s the last chaince he’ll hev to | to make mischief. Now, Ben Cockles,” he add- size mye , sence I stop at Barrett’s.” ‘* Mebbe he don’t know you’re on this trip?” sf a. fer Aig both ef ne didn’t. Ill save powder,” was the quiet reply. “You don’t mec fight? Why he never rides onless he hes a full dozen dar’-devils ’ith him! They’d massacre the entire kit o’ us at. the first blow you struck,” cried Cockles, with an uneasy air. “Curly Tostivan don’t lay down to give the fust feller what axes it, his skelp. Them/’ll be fooled who think that. Mebbée my life ain’t wuth much, but it’s the best P've got,” and he chuckled at thé idea. Cockles said no more, for the leaders plunged into the undergrowth that here brushed both sides of the coach, his voice ringing out clearly to warn the inside passengers of an abrupt de- scent. And then, seemingly about to topple over upon the slipping horses, the coach plun down the guftered bank, and ‘into the muddy, roaring waters of Little Wildcat Creek. With a fierce oath, Ben Cockles jerked up the plunging animals, throwing the leaders ost upon their haunches, forcing the wheelers back against the coach, and then the old coach settled down in the middle of Little Wildcat ford, threatening with every moment to yield to the mad rush of the waters, to be swept over the uneven rocky ledge, and carried into the deeper waters below. There was little occasion to ask the. meaning of this action upon the driver’s part. At the same moment each one of the five passengers realized the truth. There could be no k- ing that command. om the rocky side of the western bank echoed a sharp, spiteful report—the voice of a revolver. A ragged bullet whistled unpleasant- ly near to Cockles’s head, causing a peculiar thrill to creep along his spinal column. He knew that this bullet was but a warning for him to halt; should he refuse, the next missile would probably pierce his brain or heart. So, throw- ing all his skill and strength into the effort, he checked his snorting animals, even as a stento- rian voice rung out, high above the roar of Lit- et Halt You carry here that be- : t! ou roperty there longs to Black John!” aie was confusion within the coach. The abrupt halt, despite their efforts, flung May and Eunice from théir seats forward upon their fel- low-travelers. For a moment the crazy vehicle stood almost on end; but then settling down more like a sober stage-coach, the crumpled sengers qnickly disentangled themselves, and, as they accomplished this, the ringing summons came to their ears. The girls shrieked faintly—Kent Morgan ut- tered a low curse; but the valiant Kershaw was silent. Kent thrust a fist through the closed curtain, his revolver clicking significantly. As though in answer to the cries of the women, the pppoe voice from the side of the ford ed: “Have no fear, ladies. Black John wars pag gc heat ip gh on tye ped light! i e'words a e man lea down the rocky bank, aighting in the ioe f knee-deep. In one e carried a revolver. Another showed at his waist. A little cry of wonder Kent Morgan’s ~ % as he peered through the-rent curtain. An little wonder, for truly this man was a strange-looking being. The be seemed beyond the usual hight of man, of y Herculean build. His garb was a composed of Indian dressed buck-skin, gau ily ornamented, and bedecked with beads, stain a and feathers, Upon his hands were riding gloves, the fur gauntlets reachin to the elbow. A felt hat was slouched over From beneath this there fell a profusion of coarse, wrinkly black hair. The face was in color that of a full-blooded negro, but with features horribly grotesque and misshapen. A t+ hairy wart disfigured the right cheek. 6 mouth was large, with red, swollen lips, drawn far down upon the left side, where a broad, er my scar extended from eye to chin. Uneven, lored teeth, that might almost be termed tushes, showed through the coarse, brist- ling beard and mustache. could be no mistaking the person. This man was the notorious outlaw, B John, upon whose head was placed almost a fortune in rewards; the man who, for two years past, had set both civil and mi tary powers at defi- ance—whose very name was a terror to all peace-loving settleys._ a ed, addressing the driver, speaking in a strange- ly musical yoice in one so repulsive; ‘‘ who have you along with you on this trip?” . “Two ladies—three men,” was the prompt reply.. : re The ladies—God bless the divine creatures! shall pass scot-free, but the rest of you must y toll, for our pockets are nearly empty. By e way, lads, just show yourselves, that our friends may see the folly of attempting resis- tance.” Like magic, nearly a dozen men rose from their coverts, their revolvers covering the coach. Over their faces were black masks, upon their hands, gloves. Evidently their object was to avoid r tion, Then, as Black John waved his hand, the band as suddenly disappear ea Yor. seen geutl I t trying to “You see, gentlemen, 1 am no o bluff you. if you accept the situation quietly all right; if not, the fault lies with you. Toll you must pay—but ’tis a rule with us to leave every one enough dust to keep his pockets from ee in the wind. But ockles?” e driver grunted uneasily. ; ‘Have you with you a passenger by the name of Ourly—or Israel Tostivan?’ ‘“‘Hyar I be, my covey—ith,four aces for your pile!” cried a clear voice, the last words partially drowned by a sharp, ringing report as a revolver spoke from the coach roof. Black Jobn gered enw 'f dropping his pistol, and then fell at full length in the muddy water, one hand clasped to his breast. At the first summons Curly had flattened him- self along the coach deck, hidden from the Road-Agent’s view by the numerous packages before alluded to, that could not be stowed away upon the crowded rack behind. And from this covert he had answered the demand of Black John. 2 Without waiting to note the result of his shot, Curly turned his pistol toward the driver, fiercely crying: ‘* Drive on, Cockles, or you're a dead galoot!” Even had surly Ben dared refuse obedience, he could not have done so, for the now thorough- ly maddened horses plun forward with a vigor that strained every band and buckle, al- most dragging the driver over the footboard. The lines snapped like bits of packthread—the crazy vehicle rocked and swayed as the affright- ed animals madly tore up the slippery trail. For a moment the outlaws seemed petrified by the unexpected fall of their leader, but then as he struggled to his feet with a hoarse cry of rage, their revolvers spoke rapidly, sending a leaden hail after the coach. From the roof, Curly’s pistol promptly replied. Through the rent curtain Kent Morgan added his share to the thrilling tumult; but the jolting, swaying coach prevented any bese, Bn an aim. «After them—to your horses!” yelled Black John, furiously, “ every one but the wo- men. I'll shoot the one that harms a hair of their heads!” . “* Use the whip, Ben Cockles,” gritted Curly, sternly. ‘‘ Don’t show the white feather now, or I’ll plug ye—shore! The road’s good, an’ the critters ll make for thar stables, it’s like. Any- how, ef we fall into his hands, we’re gone suck- ers. Use the leather, man!” Pale and trembling, Cockles knew better than to disobey, and with a hand that even then did not forget its cunning, he plied the long-lashed whip, waking the echoes with pistol-like cracks as the wiry lash cut first one and then another of the racing animals, parting the hide like a knife. As though trying to run through their harness, the horses d forward, carrying the coach over the almost level road with a truly wonder- ful The station was now not more five miles away. Until that was reached the road was good, Token only by the gentile swell: ing of the rolling prairie. “And tothe maddened brutes the Weight of the coach seemed but a trifle, as they stretched out flat to the springy turf, running like race-horses, the en lines flopping over their backs. ‘There wasa peculiar e ration in this mad, breakneck race—but how was it toend? Could the result be other than death? “You fellers inside thar—how goes it? Any one hurt?’ inquired Curly, bending over the rail “T believe not—but yonder come those devils!” “JT see’em. Whar’s that buffalo-shootin’ fel- ler? I hain’t heard nothin o’ him yit. It’s like he'll hev 4 chance to try his pop-gun now,” and Curly laughed reckleaafy, ae ne
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AA et SE A a po cried Curly, Boole “ Trl only WOES ese “ He’s under the seat—where he’s been from the first,” replied Morgan, in a tone of con- See disgust. “Pm hunting for—for my pistol,” the valiant Kershaw explained, in a not very steady tone of voice. Curly’s ney rung out clearly, as he tossed back his long hair. K bitter, vindictive yell re- pied from the lips of Black John, as he spurred nis horse on, closely followed by his men. Yet; bar. 9 finely mounted, they gained but slowly on the coach, that, drawn by four stanch an- imals, almost flew across the prairie. “Don’t waste your powder, young feller,” be alittle brush for we’re not fur from Barrett’s, an’ the noise’ soon fetch us help from thar. ’ But keep the ladies low down, whar the baggage’ll keep the bullets from them.” A mile further on, the pistols of the Road- Agents began to speak viciously. But discharg- as they were at full speed, the missiles were but little better than chance shots. Tauntingly Tostivan’s laugh rung out, maddening his d y enemy. Snarling like a wild beast, so full of rage and fear that his prey was slipping through his hands, Black John upcllasily spurred on his horse, a noble creature. fod tag with pain the beast rapidly overhauled the fugitives. Al but one of the Road-Agents were distanced. Better mounted than the rest, the man kept close to his leader’s heels. Both Curly and Morgan ye fire, but their bullets s wide of the mark. The swaying of the coach rendered their aim futile, and the out- laws drew steadily nearer, as yet making no at- erupt to return the fire, until within a score yards of the coach. Then the revolvers were raised. Atalmost the first report a shriek of agony filled the air, and a human figure rolled from the coach-deck. It was Ben Cockles. He lay in a quiverin but he did not feel the fall. He was shot the brains. “You're my man, et 4 Tostivan—remem- ber Monte Pete!” snarled Black John. **You’ll be toastin’ "longside him at the same fire this night, my covey!” retorted the tall bor- derer. ‘* Thar comes our fri’nds!” “But not soon oie Sill save you |” With these words Black John forged up along- side the coach. Both pistols spoke at the same moment. An involuntary cry broke from Curl and the outlaw. Then other reports followed. The next moment both outlaws were down! And Curly uttered another exultant yell. Two miles away. upon a prairie swell, he could see a body o horsemen, whom he believed to be friends. But would they be in time to save them from destruction? e coach threat- ened to upset‘with every moment. At such a spent the result could scarcely be otherwise than ré ‘ A glance back showed him the Road-Agents clustered about the fallen forms. He knew that nothing more was to be feared from them then. If the horsemen beyond were friends, the out- dete would have to ride fast to save their own ves. “Git ready in thar for a mpest, if I fail,” he cried, coolly, prepared for a desperate attempt to avert the ie tags ier J ril. Crawling. to the foot-board, he calculated his chances. he chances were tly agai him. To fail could be nothing less than death, instant and certain. And yet he did not shrink from the trial. Though unconscious of the fact, Curly was a hero. For a moment bereges I himself, Curly leaped down upon the back of the wheeler, clinging to the harness like a monkey. The animal crouch- ed low down, then with a cry of terror, plunged forward, snapping both traces like packthread. A strong hand now wound in the reins, and after a brief, thrilling struggle, the animal was held in check. A moment later, Curly had both the leading lines tight wrapped round his hands, and the greatest age: was passed. Gradually he checked their speed, until, as the horse- men swept up, he brought them to a stand-still. The Road-Agents were just disappearing in the distance, and though pursuit was instantly made, the prospect of overtaking them was small. In their flight they had borne their dead m, hea rigs: with the While the few who remained behind were placing the body of the ill-fated Cockles upon he coach, Kent Mor n was narrowly searching bia na Presently 8 on quickly hiding it in observed, Then, as if his object was fully at- tained, he returned to where th stood, ing. That night Frank Kershaw was in his glory; telling how “‘we defeated the: rascally Toad Agents!” CHAPTER II. BLACK JOHN’S CHALLENGE. Tue little dingy bar-room of Barrett’s sole ‘‘ hotel ”—as the swinging sign boldly proclaim- ed the rude story-and-a-half building to be— contained a much larger number of people than it usually gave shelter to, on the morning of the day succeeding the Road-Agents’ attack upon the coach at Little Wildcat. Yet the chubby little man presiding behind the rough pine bar did not seem happy. The freshly-washed glasses were innocent of alcoholic scent—the stout bot- tles were still full to the throat. The sturd settlers had something of even deeper impo ance to talk about. The news of the attack and defeat of the Road-A gents had spread like wildfire, and eager to learn the truth of the affair, the farmers and stock-breeders left their work, flocking into Barrett’s. This was the first time for nearly a year that the stage-coach had been waylaid ret this stretch. And when it was known that Ben Cockles had been killed, deep and dead- ly threats were breathed, and, as if by common consent, the settlers collected at Barrett’s to consult upon the best course to pursue. Then, as had been the case before, the subject of or- ganizing a vigilance committee was broached. *T don’t say but what you're right, stran- gers,” said Curly, upon being appealed to for an opinion. “ Ef you kin git the right man to lead, a vigilance outfit is a hard pill fer sech varmints to swaller, as this Black John’s boys be. But the trouble is, in matters like this, each man’s as as his neighbor, an’ thar’s dest as many leaders as thar is noses in the crowd.” ‘“ Will you take the office, then?” said Thomas Harvard. **No, I won’t. I don’t mind lendin’ a helpin’ hand, ef it’s needed, but I’ve got business o’ my own to ’tend to. Besides, I’m a stranger to most 0’ you.” “Don’t forget that you more about gold-placers, es Frank Kershaw. here’s money in it.” “But, if I understand aright, this man— Black John I believe you call him—was killed yesterday,” observed one of the party, a stran- ger. He had arrived at Barrett’s shortly after dusk, the night before, riding along the Denver trail. Owing to the excitement, ie hid been but little noticed by the usually curious settlers, yet he was a man that few persons would pass without turning for a second glance. In stature, he was but little above the medium hight, lithely, elegantly formed, with a supple ace in every movement that was a charm in itself. His dress was plain, though of costly material. In his linen front gleamed diamond studs. An elegant chain crossed his vest. A beautiful diamond cluster-ring rkled upon his left hand, that now caressed his smooth- shorn chin, His close-trimmed hair was jetty black, covered by amilitary forage cap. His face, almost classic in its contour, was very handsome, though wearing a firm, self-reliant ote that redeemed it from effeminacy. eyes were large and of peculiar brilliancy, seeming to pierce through and through those upon whom their regards were turned. He had ven the name of Wayne Appleton, just from enver, bound for Fort Leavenworth. Though he had not stated as much, the impression was that he was in some way connec with the secret service, at Leavenworth. ‘“*T don’t believe the man was killed,” quietl observed Kent Morgan. ‘‘ His horse was shot, and stumbling, flung its rider. If I mistake not, we shall hear more of this affair.” ‘The varmint has got as many lives as a cat,” i tedly said Curly, ‘‘ Ef I didn’t plant two ~ at plum whar heart ought to be, I’m a iar ‘Tt would not be the first time that a secret coat of mail sopned a well-aimed bullet. I thought of that after your shot at the ford, and gave my last bullet at his head,” said Morgan. “‘But you missed him?” asked Appleton. *“No—I made a mark,” was the quiet reply. ‘‘A good clew to work by, then. A negro, shot in the face, can not be easily mistaken. “Tf so Lon hn A But I am not sure that my bullet touched his face, any more than Iam that this Black John is a negro,” romised to tell me urly,” eagerly whis- “Tf it’s as you say, Black John, the Road-Agrent. 3 A general exclamation of wurpeiee greeted this remark, but Kent Morgan stilled the gath- ering with a gesture. hen he addressed 1 Curly: ow You had a fair view of this Black John?” ‘*Yes—why shouldn’t I?’ ‘“‘ Did you notice his right cheek?” “Yes. He had a great big thing like a wart growin’ thar, kivered with hair. The size ofa peach split in two, I should judge,” thoughtfully added Tostivan. “You have a keen eye, Curly,” and Kent laughed shortly, as he tossed something upon the low bar. ‘‘ There is the wart, just ido described it. You can see where my bullet left its mark.” As one man, the settlers pressed forward, Appleton among the foremost. But his was the only hand that offered to touch the curious- looking object. In size and shape it closely re- Pee a full-grown tarantula, deprived of its egs. you choose a rather inopportune moment for your practical jokes, Mr. Morgan,” slowly uttered Appleton, dropping the object, with a gesture of d t. “Tf a jest, ’tis none of my making. Gentle- men, that is an imitation wart, sake of paste and silk, but it is the one worn by Black John, as he terms. himself, yesterday afternoon, When I saw that he was proof against our bul- lets when aimed at his y, I fired at his head. Isaw him start, and then something fell to the ground, leaving a clear white spot u his cheek! This I saw plainly, as I turned to at- tend to the other rascal. ° Him I shot through the body, just as Curly dropped the leader. “After the affair was over, I went back and searched the ground carefully, finding this mock wart, or wen. Put this and that together, and what is the result? That the outlaw is no negro, but a white man. And, beyond a doubt, this fact has been his greatest safeguard against discovery, for oak. a negro was looked for. It is easy to see now how he escaped so often. In- deed, when his disguise is once cast aside, what is there to prevent him from mingling among ou—even 8 re in your councils, aiding you 0 form plots and lay snares for his own de- struction. laughing in his sleeve, all the time, at the double role he is playing? It is nothing more than a bold, quick-witted man might do, with very little danger to himself.” “* Just. so—supposing him to be what you sus- pays and I do not deny that you have grounds or your reasoning—but is it likely that so many persons could have been deceived so thoroughly, and for such a long time?” Kent Morgan ed quickly toward the ona Appleton met his gaze quietly; but the words of the young man were checked by the rapid beat of horse’s hoofs along the road without. Instinctively, all eyes were directed toward the open doorway. The shape of a horse and its rider abruptly halted at the door, so close that the long mane of the animal floated inside the room. e rider made a rapid motion with his right arm. A heavy, Daal thud followed. Then with a single, low, taunting laugh, the vision vanished. ten-inch bowie-knife was quivering in the door-casing, a sheet of paper fluttering upon the bright blade. And above the clattering of iron- shod hoofs, the insolent laugh came to the ears of the astounded settlers. The affair had been so sudden, so unexpected, that the borderers could scarcely believe their eyes. And yet, scarce one among the party but had caught sight of a black, repulsive face, as the horseman glared in upon them. ‘* BLACK JOHN, BY THE LORD HARRY!” The words were Appleton’s, as he sprung across the threshold, and into the open air. The spell was broken, and the entire party quickly followed. The daring horseman was now or ager of the village, and turning in his saddle, he shook his clenched fist at the y, uttering a loud peal of insolent laughter that stung the settlers to A score of revolvers began to speak, but, rid- ing erect, as though despising them, Black John ckly passed yon ier Seeing this, the farmers leaped upon such horses as were standing ready-saddled near at hand, and set out in hot pursuit. Still others ran afoot, until the folly of such a course cooled their blood, when they rejoined those gathered around Kent Morgan, as he read the knife-pierced pa- = On it was written, in bold, clear.charac- “To MY DEAR Frienps OF BARRETT’s—GREETING: Some time past you have been threatening to organ- ize acompany of vigilantes, for the express purpose
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of wiping out the band I have the honor to captain. As I am curious to learn whether you are really men. I make this proposition, To-morrow, at noon, I will be in camp at the Twin Mounds, haying just twenty- one men. I shall remain there until sunset; rea to receive and entertain visitors. ' “Tsend this challenge, because your boasts and threats of what you would do—if you were able—are growing monotonous. Do uot fetch Jess than forty men, aS my lads wish something to liven them up. Now, dare you accept this challenge? “These, from your master, * Buack JOHN, THE RoaD-AGENT.” *fwould be no easy matter to find words by which to ere ie the wild storm of rage and fury that followed the reading of this precious document. A biting, stinging insult from first to last, the manner in which this bold defiance had been delivered added to the humiliation. Curses, loud and deep, broke from the sturd settlers, weapons were drawn and brandished, and for a few moments it seemed as though the entire party were gone suddenly mad. Again the clatter of hoofs rung through the httle village, but as the crowd, glanced quickly along the road, they recognized a friend and neighbor. As he abruptly drew rein beside them, the man suddenly demanded: ‘‘Whar’s Tom Goodheart—any o’ you fellers know?” ‘‘What’s up now, Ike? You look as though you had seen a ghost!” asked Howard, ‘““You seen my brother?’ hoarsely repeated the man. ‘‘ Not since the first of the week. But there’s nothing wrong, I hope?’ ‘* Yest'day Tom started fer here, but he didn’ git back last night... This mornin’ I see’d his critter in the corral, whar she’d jum in, the saddle kiyered with blood. I set the boys to work, lookin’ fer sign an’ kem on here to see ef I could Varn anythin’.” Ike Goodheart spoke in a low, strained and unnatural voice, and there was a strange look upon the hard, rugged face, as the settlers, knowing the deep, almost passionate love that bound the brothers together, read aright the sickening dread that even the stoical borderer could not entirely mask. The story of the bloody saddle told of yet another black tragedy to be added to the almost endless catalogue of crimes and bloodshed that stain the annals of Kansas, both asa Territory and as a State. “Some more work of Black John, beyond a doubt!” cried Wayne Appleton. ‘‘ Men, how long are you going to submit to this—how much longer are you going to allow this devil and his imps to ride rough-shod over you? I am a stranger to most of you here, but I am ready to lend you what aid I can. Iwill be one to pledge my life and honor never to cease the hunt until this gang of outlaws is broken up and destroy- ed. A general cry greeted this declaration, and it was evident that not the slightest objection to such a decided course was felt now, whatever might have been the case a few minutes since. For a time all was confusion, each man talking, none listening; but then, as another horseman came spurring along the road, followed by Ike Goodheart, the tumult died away, for by his face—the manner in which the new-comer turn- ed toward Goodheart, they knew that he was the bearer of evil tidings. ‘You needn’t say it, Hank,” the brother ut- a in a strained, husky tone. ‘‘ Whar is e “ By Little Timber—throwed in his tracks,” was the terse reply. “ Fri’nds,” said Goodheart, speaking in a strangely quiet tone, “you hear what. Hank says. Brother Tom hes bin rubbed out. Will some 0’ ye go ’long 0’ me to Little Timber? Mebbe your eyes ’ll be sharper fer sign than mine, to-day, fer somehow I feel a bit off my feed; reckon it’s the ager ag’in.” ‘That we will—and woe be to those that have done this murder!” solemnly cried Thomas Howard. _. For the time Black John’s bold challenge was jforgotten, and almost to a man the settlers hastened to prepare their horses for the ride to Little Timber. Among them were our friends, Kent Morgan, Curly, and Kershaw. The half-dozen miles were quickly traversed, and the creek known as Little Timber, from the stunted trees and shrubbery that lined its banks, was reached. As the y rode up, two men glided out from the undergrowth, armed to the teeth. They were those left to keep guard over the dead. _Tke Goodheart dismounted and stood beside a little heap of fresh branches torn from the sur- rounding trees. With a strange gentleness he reinoved this covering, revealing the stiff, life- less figure that had so recently been full of life and activity. For a moment he gazed fixedly upon.the ghastly face of, his dead, in silence. en he ke, in the same low, monotonou- voice that had marked his tone since his appears ance at the hotel. “You see, gonsemen, whoeyer ’twar, made sure work .o’ if. Thar’s whar the bullet struck —jest- over the heart, I don’t reckon he ever knowed what hurt ’im.” “TDon’t crowd around, boys, ontil we’ve had a Shag fer sign,” said Curly ‘Tostivan, peremp- torily. For full half an hour the vicinity was closely and systematically searched, but nothing was found that could throw any light upon the tra- gedy.. Yet this was not so rising to the ag simple solution for that. The settler had nm shot some time during the preceding day ; even those least skilled in ot wounds could tell that much. And heavy. rain- storm, that had continued long after nightfall, had thoroughly obliterated all traces left by the murderers. In turn the members of the party had exam- ined the corpse, merely to satisfy that morbid curiosity one naturally feels upon such occa- sions. ent Morgan was the last. He seemed not a little interested, closely scanning the body from head to foot, a pee light in his eyes. Quickly slipping a hand beneath the body, he gent y turned it over, and then, drawing a ife, slit the clothing between the shoulders. Several of the settlers pressed forward, mur- muring, at their head was Ike Goodheart. Mor- gan re ed their gaze page ‘‘ ve found a bit of ‘sign’ that you all over- looked. The bullet that killed this man did not clear through his body. I can feel it now, just beneath the skin.” ‘* Stan’ aside, stranger,” muttered Goodheart, ‘“*T must have the fust look at that bit o’ lead.’ With a hand firm and steady as steel, the borderer parted the clothing, and pressed his knife: into the livid flesh, ena bullet lay in the palm of his hand. With as much care as though this was some great treasure, Goodheart washed the telltale missile, and then eyed it keenly. It was the pellet of a revolver, “‘navy sized.” It bore the plain marks of the deeply-grooved barrel, but was not otherwise distt ed, and Goodheart’s eyes glowed vividly as he saw that the bullet was “ billeted ”—that it bore the pri- vate mark of its owner; the initials M. C. “Them thar’s my letters, but you fellers all know how I mark my bullets,” promptly cried one of the settlers. “T know it wasn’t you, Mat Craythone,” as ee ee rea Goodheart. ‘‘But here, by the dead kidge o’ brother ‘om, I. sw’ar to find out whose work it is, and to hev his life, if it’s fifty years from now!” ent Morgan examined the bullet, and then handed it back to Goodheart. Turning around, he noticed the wn of Wayne pais a search- ing his face. faint smile his lips as Appleton turned away. What shall we do about— I mean how can we help you, Goodheart?’ asked Howard, “No way jest now. The boys an’ I'll attend to Tom. But I'll come over the town this evenin’, Thar’s this Black John affair, and I want somethin’ to keep me from thinkin’ too much o’ him.” Ike Goodheart mounted his horse, and then the co of his brother was handed up to him. Balancing this across the saddle, he slowly rode away. he disappeared, the settlers retraced their steps to Barretit’s, conversing in low, eager tones. Kent Mor had but little to say, and ap- peared deep buried in thought. And the keen eyes of Wayne Be Paige: often wandered to that pale, handsome face, with an expression that could not easily be read.. An hour later Kent Morgan satin his room at the hotel. Before him lay an bullet-mold and several bullets. Each one bore the initials M. C.; the same as that which had been extracted from the body of the dead man. And thus he sat thinking for a long time. CHAPTER III. THE DEFIANCE ACCEPTED. _“T pip not think I could be mistaken; at first sight I felt that I had seen him before, and that quite recently. The bullet explains it. This man was with Black John, yesterday. He is the one I shot down as he rode beside the coach. And yet—these men grieve over him as though he hae been the most faithful and honorable of — instead of a masked renegade and out- Ww. * Beadle’s HalfDime Library. = ++ “And the brother—this Ike Goodheart—does he know or. suspect the truth? That there was love of no common strength between the two, no one could doubt, after a look at that man’s face.. At least there was no. counterfeitin there. And he means every word of that hath —of his yow of vengeance. But does he know— or does he believe that his brother was murder- ed by the outlaws—by Black John? It don’t seem possible that the two could live together, be brothers, and yet one belong to such an or- ganization without the other being fully aware of the truth. And if he does know it, then Ike Goodheart knows who shot his brother—and he knows, too, why it was I sought for the marked bullet. He must know that I see through his story and know it to be false. But does he know why I held my peace and did not denounce the man all sup to have been foully mur- dered, as a Villain and an outlaw who had only met with a richly-deserved punishment? Per- haps he attributes my silence to fear—that his threats of vengeance frightened me. ‘Well, let it be so, then. -I must walk carefully, and keep my wits about me.” pring, “So 55 gaze riveted upon the marked bullets, Kent ee mused long and thought- fully. Occasionally a sentence fell audibly from his lips, but there were no ears near save his.own to hear it, Had there been such, the settlement of Barrett’s vg on have gained a more: correet- idea of who this traveler really was. Morgan believed he could read aright the story of the t few hours—could unite the broken thread of the events that so perturbed Barrett’s. He knew that this Thomas heart was none other than the outlaw who had fallen at the same moment with his leader, Black John, attacking the stage-coach. The Road- Agents had removed their dead from the field. Their next move was to avert the discovery that threatened. Goodheart was a prominent stock- raiser, respected and looked up to in the settle- ment. Should it become known that he had fallen as one of Black John’s masked riders, what would be the result? Suspicion would be aroused, and each man would become a spy upon his neighbor. And this might end in un- easant discoveries! The mask might be torn rom other faces. So, at least, Kent Morgan reasoned. The body had neen a ared and conveyed to the crossing on Little Timber. And then Ike Goodheart played his partin the drama. It had been a success in so far as the settlers were con- one Not one among them suspected the truth. “Tf he was playing a part, then I must watch my steps well. Though, for the sake of his dead brother’s honor, he’ll not dare accuse or attack me openly, he was in deadly earnest when he swore vengeance. He means to give these peo- eo another sensation, with my corpus in the itle-role. Forewarned, fore-armed they say, and we'll see which comes out first b » mut- tered Morgan, his blue eyes sparkling brightly, as he secured the mold and bullets, and then left the room. He had_just remembered that he had prom- ised Mr. Howard to take dinner with him on that day, and it was full noon. The warm- hearted settler could not find words enough to oxErens his thanks, for be sure the young ladies had not lesseued the danger they had run, nor underrated the courage shown by the male pas- ‘sengers. And Howard had included Frank Ker- shaw and Wayne Appleton in the invitation. Morgan already knew the house—a_ substan- tial stone building, standing upon the edge of a goodly-sized farm, that reached to the outskirts of the village. He found that dinner was in readiness, awaiting only his arrival. The stran- r received a cordial greeting, and after being introduced to Mrs. Howard and the host’s fa- ther, the table was occupied. Morgan talked but little, being unusually si- lent for one of his natural y, careless spir- its. More than once a riteak expression rest- ed upon his face, as he glanced across to where Wayne apres sat. He felt a vague remem- brance of having met this man under other and very different circumstances; but he could go no her. Beyond, all was confused. He noticed, too, that Appleton acted as though well acquainted with the two younger ladies though it was evident that Mr, Howard had never met him before that day. Somehow, even while forced to admit to himself that Ap- pleton was very handsome, witty, and a good conversatio: , Morgan began to feel a pecu- liar dislike for the stranger, and to watch him with suspicious doubt. Had = one hinted at this feeling being the offspring of jealousy, Kent
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Black John, the Road-Agent. gmconet ve laughed heartily. Yet it was use Wayne Appleton wore such an air of deep devotion whenever he spoke to or listen- ed to pretty May Howard, that this dislike was gaining ground, for, if not in love with, Kent was deeply interested by May, the black-eyed. Frank Kershaw was in his plory. Mischievous little Eunice was drawing him out very skill- fully, and in a manner that b t his pecu- liar foibles into full prominence. Such startling statements, such marvelous adventures, did he _ skim over, with the half-bored air of one to whom such things were quite a matter of course. And perhaps no one around the table believed these wonders more implicitly than Frank did. It is a settled fact among those who know him—and this character is a /ive one at the present day, though it is far beyond the power of my pent draw him to the life—that Kershaw can “ dis- count” Baron Munchausen at that worthy’s own game, with a devout belief in his own fan- tastic creations. After dinner, Morgan and Howard resumed the one subject of interest; what was to be done in regard to the challenge of Black John? Then a young folks left the room, almost unnoticed ‘The afternoon was and cool, a fresh breeze sweeping over the rolling prairie. Eunice had led Frank off to view the garden; then a, pleton spoke to May, who was now unusually sabdnions a slight shade resting upon her fair row. ‘Shall we walk as faras the maples yonder, Miss May? The shade will be pleasant, an there we can talk more freely than here.” **T have nothing to say that all may not hear —nor do I wish to listen to—” “But you. must—I mean that I must speak out plainly now, for the last time. You cannot refuse to hear me, though those words may not be pleasant to your ears,” ae returned Ap- mn, drawing her hand through his arm. Evidently ill at ease, after a brief hesitation, May yielded to his superior will, and they walk- ed on to where a rustic seat stood beneath the sturdy maples. At a motion from Appleton, May sunk down upon the seat, but he stood be- fore her, pale and serious, a bright light filling his eyes. “You have not a word for me now—you sit there in silence as cold as though we were per- fect strangers—as though the warm, passionate words of love had never passed between us. May—in God’s name, tell why you have chang- ed—what is this that has come between us?’ he said, in a voice that trembled with ill-sup- pressed emotion. “Tshould not Lo gp would need ask me po Mr. Appleton,” ly replied May How- ‘*T understand you,” and his proud head droo a little. ‘ But I was innocent; I was first lured into drinking, and then betrayed by a man who had sworn he was my faithful eect e of t > a of them jo insleneiiembaeanaene ridicule n it. But surely you do not think I was lying?’ **Mr. Appleton, why bring up this matter ; when nearly a year had sunk it into ob- livion? It can do no —it can only end in disappointment for both of us. As I you before, the past is dead and buried forever.” “Tt can—it must live again! Think how happ. we were then, loving and beloved. [ 0 ved while with youI worshiped you—” “Mr. Appleton, if is all that you have to say to me, I will bid you . I can listen no longer,” coldly said May, arising to her feet. “And rt the time was—not so many months when you told me that you loved me, when you y reciprocated my vows—” “You make me words despite myself, Mr. Appleton. As you say, the time was—but it is not now. Then I believed you represented yourself—a man of honor, a gen- tleman in the truest sense of the word, and not a—” “Why do you hesitate?—why not finish with the words upon your tongue? I was not a convicted felon—before I was branded with pn an age so Tha sim ken; then w bitterly said Wayne, 7 Wa “You forced upon me. I did not wish to say so much, but you pressed me for an an- replied te I could only speak the truth,” quietly may. ‘ Stay: not leave me yet. If I have said aught to offend you, forgive ma. My mad love for you has so changed me that I scarcely know myself, And then this last year has been a very hard and trying one to me. I have suffer- ed a thousand deaths in it, not for my bodily sufferings, though they treated me like ad until lmade my escape, but because I f that you would learn loathe and despise me. believing me guilty of all they said. But if swear to you now, by my hopes of a hereafter, that I was and am innocent! “For your own sake, I should be glad to be- lieve this.” ** You as though the matter had no interest to you—as though I were a perfect stranger! . ‘I speak as I feel. You force me to speak lain words, though they must be disagreeable to you. And since so much has been said, the subject may as well be settled now, once and for all. You say that once I confessed that I loved you. Ido not. deny it. I was but a sim- le country girl, unused to society. You sought win my love, as I firmly believe, merely as a kill-time. You were handsome, polite, a ~ tleman in manners and dress. Little wonder, then, that I believed yl ond turned a deaf ear to soba: Whe on ge at ne against ts | you. t t time - cied that I loved you—perhaps I did, in a measure; but t does not matter now. You know the end. You were arrested, tried and convicted. True, you de- clare yourself the victim of-a conspiracy. But other matters came out thro the trial, enough to disenchant one far more ly in love with you than I was. The scales fel m my eyes then, and I saw what a blind fool I had been. that can make no difference. All is over between you and I.. Only that I desired to avoid a scene, I should have acted differently from what I have to-day. You have only your- self to thank for this reopening of an old wound.” It was a strange sight, that proud-looking man standing there with bowed Yead, his face hastly pale, listening to such cu words ‘om the lips of the woman he so y loved. And cape offended as she was, felt a thrill of pity as she looked upon him. “You are very cruel—it is a fair face to cover ae gy es heart,” Sy eo — bit- terly, eyes inning to glitter, hi e cheeks to flush as the om. neiaes §¢ And ut n iO BES COTE Se TERROR OR. “And I answer you, no. That is my final answer, and unless you wish to insult me, on will L not ive me occasion to repeat it,” coldly re Pee ‘ "I shall not repeat the question again. Good- y- May coldly bowed her head and swept past him, unnoticing the outstretched hand. Apple- ton stood motionless, watching her until she re- entered the house, then turned and strode rapid- ly away. As the grove shut the house from view, his assumed composure vanished, and he flung himself upon the of rage and mortification, groveling in the damp grass like some wounded snake. The sun had natty mannered behind the waves, when Wayne Appleton returned the hotel. But then his face bore no trace of the terrible struggle; he was the same cold, -mannered man of that morning. He en- the bar-room where a number of settlers had already na mages New joined in the debate. If he possessed no other talent, Wayne Apple- ton was a good actor. The settlers around and the inhabitants of Barrett's had pe pans Roem toaman. The main sub under on was the chal- in @ paroxysm ess he’s him, which ain’t likely “‘ But he won’t fight fair. It’s more like he'll try a ’bushment ‘long the road.” ‘ Bushment be durned! X 5 one trail ’crost the prairie? More like he did it jest for devilment, thinkin’ we'd bluff.” . “May he not have some design upon. the vil- lage here? By drawing you away to the Twin Mounds, the coast would be clear for him to swoop down and work. his will before we could get back,” suggested aoe ay > ‘““We kin leave ae, fnows fmng to ‘ile that. game, an’ still hey a-plen iim at the Mounds. I say—le’s go. aaa those who don’t want. to be called durned goose- livered cowards, ’ll j’ine me,” hotly cried Leigh. That speech settled the affair. Not one among them all would hold back after such words. Then the question was more fully discussed, on a company of vigilantes regularly organ- Some little difficulty was found in pate | a leader, for, in wees Curly and Howard de- clined to serve. But then, Appleton, whose counsels had. been acceptable to the majority, consented to serve as captain for the time. i The party then separated, returning to their homes to make pr parations for the ride and an- ticipated struggle. With early dawn they were to take the trail. CHAPTER IV. OUTWITTED. As the first faint streaks of gray began to brighten the eastern horizon, the sound of hoof- strokes filled the little village of Barrett’s. The vigilantes were gathering for their ride to ac- cept the challenge of Black John. ‘There were e and anxious faces among the women, though e tears that dimmed their eyes were not suf- fered to fall. They knew that a collision be- tween the rival forces would ‘be a stern and desperate one, in which more than one man might lose his life. And to them the face of the dead was ever that of him most dear to their hearts. The only delay was that occasioned by the drawing lots to decide who were to remain as a guard at the village. Those whom fate seleeted were far from pleased. They did not relish the idea of being forced to remain at the village in inglorious idleness, while their, comrades were enjoying themselves in the wild, intoxicating skirmish or hand-to-hand conflict. But, thoug muttering bitter curses upon their crooked luck, not one rebelled. And from the village, through the narrow tract of sparsely-timbered land;the vigilantes entered upon the broad, rolling prairie. The party was composed of nearly two-score men, self-reliant and ee pe armed to the teeth with weapons that had been familiar to them since early boyhood. They were for the most part men “ worth their weight in wildcats ina rough-and-tumble” or hand-to-hand fight; na- tural-born skirmishers, their tactics learned from the wild beasts and the no less crafty red- skin; men who won Victory in their own way, not by blindly following any particular system of tactics. The party were, for the most part, mounted rer that mongrel breed of aeons unsurpass- in any coum for long and steady going be- neath the saddle, the half-breed mustang—the “Indian pony.” With the spirit that evena long day’s travel cannot entirely subdue, the animals pranced and curveted at the unwonted restraint of a secret beer rein, dashing ‘the sparkling dew-drops from the bending blades of grass, scaring the rabbit, or occasionally its overgrown brother, the jackass-rabbit, from its form, flushing the quail and prairie-chicken from their grassy coverts. Anon a fleet-footed wt pe arn her coe ump 0 ry over the irk swell like some phantom of the gray as unheeded, unnoticed by its usual enemy, save, hance, by a ‘passing glance. For time being a may pass toll-free, for more ex- citing sport the minds of the prairie-riders. In the midst of the party rode Frank Kershaw, far from being at — gp wipe Rie beg was scarcel to these free-spirited, prairie- born Bbelous” He had been furnished by Phoinas Howard with a mount second to none in the somite pour teliow tan exdningtiee 9a ness. poor fellow was en - The p bens oad te é head, its w to free its he mus- tang tilood on fire with rivalry. Frank would convulsively at the reins until the cruel curb almost broke the animal’s jaw, at the same time cl his bony legs close to the pony’s side, when the mary spar acted .as a counter-ir- ritant. A series iP nges was the result, in which, only for the high-horned Spanish saddle, Kersha have escaped ‘an igno- w would scarce minious tumble.
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F Las “Don’t hold such a tight rein, stranger. Durn it all—you’ll git the critter to buchin’, and then you will be gone!” expostulated Curly. “J—J don’t think I’m well—I feel so queer,” faintly muttered Kershaw. “If I only knew the road back, I believe ’'d go home. I fear ’m going to be ill!” ‘“‘T don’t reckon ’twould be any great loss if you was to go back,” muttered Abram Leigh, disgustedly. ‘A goose-livered feller ain’t 0’ much a’count whar we're goin’.” “Sir!” exclaimed Kershaw, ‘‘do you mean to insinuate that I am deficient in either moral or physical courage?” “T don’t mean to insinivate nothin’, becaise I don’t know what the jawbreaker stan’s fer; but if it’s anythin’ onbecomin’ a man, why you lit in sayin’ of it.” ell, since you apologize, we will let the matter drop. m not one to hold malice after amends are made,” jerked forth Frank, clinging desperately to pommel and mane, “*Pologize nothin’! I said I didn’t think ou’d be 0’ much a’count in a scrimmage in this lack John outfit, an’ I stick to it. I don’t swar that you're a coward, but if a feller was to pay me to find him a raal coward, durn my cats if I wouldn’t ax you to go with me to see him, anyhow.” “Peace, entlemen,” inte Wayne Ap- pleton, speaking in the authoritative tone of one not unaccustomed to obedience. ‘This is not the time for petty wrangling among ourselves. Save your breath; if t efiance of Black John is genuine, it is very likely that you both will have your fill of fighting before the matter 7 rari right, © ‘re boss here just , right, Cap; you’re boss here just now, an’ ’ll walk the Chalk. But this much I do say —an’ them as knows me ’II tell whether I ever go back on my word—ef the stranger plays his like a man when the pinch comes, I'll ax pardon, an’ own up ’at I was wrong in my ess. But ef he don’t—ef he shows the white ‘eather—ef he turns tail an’ tries to crawfish out o’ the mess, send me to everlastin’ glory, ef I don’t bore a hole aa him big a-plenty to kick a yearlin’ colt through.” Perhaps ’twas as well that Frank Kershaw was so fully occupied with his native re oa that he could not reply to this threat with the retort he would otherwise have offered, for Abraham Leigh was one of those hotblooded, reckless, unreasoning animals that are seldom found but upon the verge of civilization, A man that his friends fear fully as much, if not more, than his enemies, because they know not at what moment, nor with what pretext, he may turn upon them, for the moment a fiend incarnate. A man who is “sp’ilin’ for a scrim- mage,” caring little whether antagonist be friend or a long as his pugilistic propensi- ties be a , “ steer clear o’ that chap, youngster,” muttered Curly, warningly, as he rode close beside Kershaw. ‘ He’s on it, bigger’n a wolf he is. Thar ain't anybody in the State that keers to cross him, when the fit ison. I know you ain’t afeard, becaise I b’lieve you’d nat’rall eat him up ef once started, but you wouldn’t like to leave his wife an’ fambly pore lone wid- ders, would ye?” “For their sake I'll overlook his words, Mr. Curly, provided he don’t say any more,” mag- nanimously replied Frank. ‘‘I don’t suppose he knows who [I am.” The sun gradually mounted the horizon, its warm rays evaporating the h A eavy dew. fresh, cool breeze swept across the prairie, bow- ing the grass-tips before its breath in waves that seemed fleeing and , here and there, in fantastic curves and les, or else long, regular columns. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a sea of living green, the gentle irie swells closely resembling the long, suajestiostiling of the ocean. Not a tree or a bud was to beseen. Nothing but the waist- high grass, dotted here and re with the brilliant crest of some gaudy flower. ~ The vigi oe ace y onward through ~ the sea of grass, following no trail, but bh win If eading direct for the Mounds. Black John had calculated upon drawing the settlers into an ambush along the regular trail, as had been suggested, he would be disappointed in the hope. ited than one of the sai m found vent in open speech. Then : me rein, and, with ‘tion. +lemen,” he said, and there was a - <8 underlying the soft, musical fons: Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. that each man felt, “‘I hear you grumbling and pees ees | among yourselves. What is the matter—what is going wrong?” “T reckon they think Black John’ll git tired 0’ waitin’ fer us,” promptly replied Leigh. ‘* An’ it do look like we was goin’ to a funeral, ruther than a scrimmage.” “You are impatient to meet this bully, and avenge the insult he offered you all, and Iam lad that it is so. Though I ama stranger to he majority of you, I can _ thize with your ——_ But to be prudent is not to be cowardly. If you think for a moment, you will see that I am taking the wisest course. In the first place you say the Twin Mounds are thirty odd miles fromthe village.. By hard riding, we could sng | do the distance in two hours and a half, but then what condition would our animals be in when the Mounds were reached? Totally used up, unfit for duty without a night’s rest. And if I am not mistaken in this man, Black John, as he is called, we will need all the advantage we may have, before the affair is settled. Is it likely that he would send such a defianee unless he felt able to make the boast ? True, it may be only a trick to give us the ride for nothing. But in that case, we will wish to return home rather than camp out for the night. And if he is there, better meet him with fresh horses, that one can depend upon, rather than broker down plugs. ‘© At the rate we have been traveling, we can make the Mounds by noon, or perhaps an hour later, His challenge stated that he would await our coming until sunset. That will give us plenty of time. “This is my reasoning, and the plan which must be followed while I'am ‘acting as captain. But, if it fails to ong you all, [ will resign the position in favor of any other whom ‘you prefer as leader. I can see the fun as well, whether I be captain or private.” This terse, pointed speech was well received by the settlers. They saw the soundness of his reasoning and the folly of their bling. As one man, they promised blind obedience to A: leton, declaring that he and no other should ead them, and even Kent Morgan, who was un- me gees ap udiced against the stranger, could not bu ire his clear foresight. He — a born leader among such men as ese. A short time after this interruption there came another that for the time bade fair to end fatally. For several miles Frank Kershaw had been progressing tolerably quietly, his horse having fretted some of his extra spirits away. Curly was we pey Soper Frank, pouring wonder- ful information into the greenhorn’s ear, all the while maintaining the gravity of a statue. At an unusually brilliant wo yom of the splendor of a gold-placer that Curly possessed upon his farm, Frank’s long mont up spirits found vent in a loud hurrah! and unconsciously he plunged both spurs rowel deep into the flanks of his horse. Snorting with a the animal plunged forward. Naturally Kershaw jerked upon the reins, forgetting the cruel curb bit. is mouth torn, the tortured beast reared up, whirling half round, and plunged madly for- ward. One hoof struck Curly full in the side, the other alighting with ee force upon the borderer’s horse’s head. Both horses riders came to the ground together in a confused, struggling =e ? For a minute all was confusion. Then the settlers managed to extricate the fallen men, and raise the horses to their feet. Frank was un- injured save by a few trifling bruises, but Curly had fared worse. Reeling, he sunk to the ground, half insensible. e blow he had re- ceived was a severe one, and the horse had fal- len across his legs. A hasty examination, however, showed that no bones were broken, and after a taste of corn- whisky, Curly declared he was all right again. rea found ae that his ae was una as vel; es = upon his head, one leg had been broken by t é fall. Still Curly dec that he would not be cheated out of the anticipated oy ae and mounted behind Abram Leigh. A pistol-shot t the cri animal out of its misery, and hen the swept on at an in pace, to make amends for lost time. But, as the numbness grad grew less Curl to suffer excruciatingly, until a bear. ‘You'll hev to leave me here, boys,” he said, faintly, though reluctantly. ‘‘I cain’t stan’ the ridin’, but mebbe I kin do better afoot. Tl try an’ git to the Mounds, in time to take a hand in. Id ruther lost a hand then to miss it —durn the crooked luck!” There was nothing else to be done, and so the party swept on, leaving the tall borderer gaz- ing after them with eyes almost filled with tears of ey Sore his chest heaving con- vulsively. et, perhaps, had he known what was to be the ultimate result of that accident, he would have been content. Only for that fact, much that follows would never have been written. It was full noon before the base of the nearest of the Twin Mounds could be distinguished, though for an hour past, their summits had been visi- ble. There was nothing remarkable in ‘their formation, but they had become a noted Jand- mark from their being the only high ground for miles around. They were probably three hun- dred feet above the level of the prairie, peso side by side, of precisely the same size an shape. Their crests were covered with broken rocks and bowlders, but the sides were clothed in waist-deep grass. Not a tree, bush or shrub broke the green surface. ‘ “Thar goes a smoke!” cried Abram Leigh, as aslender column of dense black vapor steadil ascended from the top of the nearest mound. “The varmints is thar, waitin’ fer us—an’ here goes fer the fust lick at ’em!” “Halt!” rung the clear voice of Wayne Ap- pees as his white hand caught the borderer’s ridle, jerking the horse back upon its haunches. “Do you want to spoil all by your mad haste? Wait until I give the word. ‘* Now, my friends,” he added, speaking rap- idly, ‘‘ you can see that I was right in my first plan. e are at the rendezvous, and our ani- mals are fresh, and ready, if needs be, for a tail-on-end chase. Then surely you can trust me for the rest?” ‘You bet we kin! Go on—we'll do jist as you say,” was the general cry. *Good! I shall not betray your trust, believe me. But now listen. Yonder are the Mounds, and that column of smoke tells that our game is close at hand. As you see, they have fair cover among the rocks, and, doubtless, ae this fact they rest their hopes of success. They depend upon picking us off as we charge the mound. And so they would were we to charge mounted, as friend Leigh here was about to do. But look — The grass upon that side-hill is full feet high. By close creeping, we can get to within twenty yards of their position; and then, by a vigorous rush, they’re our meat. You understand me? Do any of you object to this plan?” ‘‘Where will we leave the animals?’ asked Howard. «On this side of the ravine, yonder. ’T'would be hard work crossing with them, anyhow.” There was not a voice raised in objection. Appleton had acquired a wonderful influence over the rough, hardy settlers, and if his reason- ing was unsound, they did not notice it. Sven while he was ing, the base of the smoke-column broke and left the crest of the mound clear, the mass of black vapor ss further and further away, growing more an more dim, until lost among the light, fleecy clouds that flecked the heavens. Not a sign of human life could be detected upon the Twin Mounds. Only for the smoke-signals, the vigil- antes might have believed their ride had been a wild- hase. But that plainly evidenced the presence of human beings upon the mound; and who else could it be but the senders of the insolent defiance? The prairies were not so po peopled as that. Riding up to the edge of the ravine, the vigil- antes dismounted and tethered their animals to the fringe of stunted bushes that grew along the escarpment. Then, led by Wayne Appleton, they crossed the y, and glided rapidly on toward the Twin Mounds. Their attention was mainly directed toward the nearest elevation ; the one from whose summit had arisen the smoke-column. * Look! yonder is a man’s head and shoulders!” cried Thomas Howard, when within several hun- dred yards of the mound’s base. * challenge ap to have been made in good faith, after all, though I must confess that doubted it,” quietly remarked Le ego ‘“‘ Shall we begin now?” asked Kershaw, serhner =f “Don’t be a fool, man—we don’t carry cannon with us. But one word more, my Yonder is the enemy, and if we work it right, his strong ition be no great advantage. By close creeping, this will cover us until near enough to run in upon them. After that, you
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Black John, the Road-Agent. 7 know what to do. So scatter out and drop down in the Then creep on as close as you can, undiscovered. When you hear my cry, in, and when you strike, remember the insults this Black John and his band of cut- throats ,have heaped upon you,” hurriedly said Aapplatin. © vigilantes sunk. down into the grass, dis- appearing like phantoms. No sound betrayed their pr nothing but a slight swaying bending of the prairie-grass; and even that ‘seemed.the work of the wind. Many a time and ofa bad the cays tee a like manner, the wary deer and timid antelope; but now a higher game filled their re: ith the others, Frank Kershaw sunk down and be; crawling along; but not for far. Of course he was not afraid; Frank would have challenged to mortal combat any one who dared hint at such a thing. But. he wastired. The long ride had exha him, This recollection assailed him in full force as he came across a small hollow in the prairie, and Kershaw curled himself up in the hole, feeling much better than he did pH steadily nearing the chosen fast- ness of Black John... And there he awaited the Abram Leigh was one of the foremost of the burning with eagerness, impatient] listening for the signal of assault, even while advanc further up the mound, With char- acteristic recklessness, he crept close enough to peer into the irregular pile of rocks and bowl- that thickly cov the hill-crest. _Sud- denly his eyes lit up with an eager glow, and he raised the muzzle of his_ rifle. cely ten leaping to his feet with a wild yell, darted for- ward with drawn revolver. ‘hos enrades rushed forward, eager to meet the oe. But the mound was deserted by all save the tes. Leigh had fired at an old hat upon a rock, Yet the ashes of the fire that had sent up the smoke-column were smoldering upon the rock, and other unmistakable evidences of the mound having been lately occupied lay upon “Look yonder!” cried Kent Morgan, pointing toward the second moar, © distance of nearly quarter of a mile separating the two summits, The Set, me h rocks, could be dis- _ there, among the gray tinguished a number of human .. But why had one mound been abandoned for the other, when both wer A fren 4 secure? * Boys, they've..f-.led us!” cried Appleton inting along the back trail, as a faint yell roke the air. CHAPTER V. ' RACING AGAINST TIME. A LONG, exultant yell came up from the ° that confirmed the emphatic ayne Appleton, And, with that ers stood in speech] one exception the se : ess amazement, while their foemen were reaping the reward of their strategy. Above the tops of the stunted bushes that the further edge of the prairie ravine or barranca, could be di ished the horses of the settlers as they had been left. But as Ap- pleton uttered the cry that terminates the last chapter; a change came. Fully a dozen human forms leap out into the open, from the ravine. The horses snort and leap back, but are quickly checked by their tethers. And, as the exultant yell Sate Ores fue Pena oo, Gee ners ot the men upon the mo each 0 uman figures Fao a saddle, Then, after a brief confu- sion, they turn and ride rapidly away from the ravine, leading with them extra animals, ) tes saw this, and were powerless to pre- vent it. And, ore insult to injury, once more the loud yell and taunting laughter came floa: to thei ears as the enemy rode away upon the stolen horses. g “A cute trick, an’ played ekil to a Chayenne or a ’Rapahoe!” muttered Abram Leigh, twist- ing off a“ chaw.” Pre But why are we Pendin ing idle bane, wae are -momen: van- ies a Sea ie What kin we do, stranger?” retorted pe aes ’s gota e on not. Then whar’s the use 0” Ty ““A glorious day’s work! To set out after Road-A, ents, and haye to return home dis- mounted!” ‘“Expecting to shear, but being shorn—'tis ours provoking. But we may fare better, after all. See—yonder mound is still occupied. If we do lose our ani », ber’ we may yet accomplish our main object,” said Wayne. ‘‘Or make a clean job of it by getting whip- instead of whipping—for these fellows yon- er are fully our force, if not superior in num- ‘* Let them be ten to one if they will—we are not cowards, Those that fear the result had better wait. here until we clear the h for them,” said Appleton, with a disagreeable sneer. ‘“‘ Tf you mean that for me, I can follow wher- ever you dare lead,” ‘sotuatotl Morgan. “ Durn your long-winded clickety-e, how—your wusser’n so many women!” disgust- edly cried Leigh. ‘‘ Follow me; vate wemoeges for. the first pcap on yonder hill!” and as he spoke the hot-headed settler leaped far down the hillside, breaking into a pace that would, almost have distanced an antelope or coyote. The exaniple was contagious. One after an- other the vigilantes sprung forward, each striv- ing to distance all others, and be the first. upon the secondmound, Forgetting their momentary Ta Appleton and Morgan were with the fore- any- most. The people upon the second hill were grouped together pel 8 ly ready to repel. the assault. They plainly bore weapons, and were, fully ual, if not superior to the settlers in numbers. is, added to their verge of position, made the mad assault appear folly. The base of the was reached, but the set- tlers did not pause for breath. They were thor- oughly ar and their blood ran high with rivalry. Nor did those upon the summit open fire, though their weapons were surely equal to the distance, but one of their number suddenly | leaped forward with a loud, clear cry, waving above his head a whitely-tanned skin! As if by the same impulse, the vigilantes used, their gaze riveted upon this man, | A’ ook of doubt gradually overspread their coun- | tenances. Could it be that they had made a mistake after all? ‘‘That is Shika-chetish!” exclaimed Howard, blankly. eee y oe oie ponent 5 age oda inter- ram owering i Miho Tet ofthe, chless y stood in speec amazement at this transformation of their enemy into a parcel of ful Indians. They scarce knew whether rejoice or be angry. They were puzzled most tho hly. « $ at has the Kickapoos done that their white brothers hunt them like dogs?’ demanded Shika-chetish, Haw ering fee flag of truce, speak- ing in his own tongue, knowing that several. of the settlers understood the patois. ‘“We are looking for enemies,. chief, and thought we had found them here, Were Pi upon the other mound, yonder, a short ago?” promptly returned Wayne Appleton. “Yes. mounds are not the corn-fields of the pale-faces, They are not fenced in like a corral. They are free tothe foot of the Kicka- r is that a crime, too?” : chief; don’t get your back up for ,” coolly said Appleton. “Tt will save time if you answer such questions as we ask you, in as few words as possible. And for your CRE ater ash 7 aux Aeweee p satisfac- e Kicka turned and glanced. rapidly over his band, and then sonteeoked it with that of the force of the settlers. A grim smile briefi curled his lip; but then his face resumed i wonted expression of stolidity. Bad-Wolf is a character that many still living in Kansas will recognize, In more than one way he made his mark. Cruel, crafty, and treacherous, he was undeniably a brave man. At one time he had been a noted chief of his broke the tribe into different found himself the leader of not more thana hundred braves. But they were the flower of the tribe, devoted to him, body and soul. Led by their idolized chief, the would have hurled emselves upon certain dea And now the stood with ready weapons, their eyes vaihinn every movement of Bad-Wolf, y toobey his slightest gesture. Both parties stood above a voueane a single spark might cause their de- “sg on; the ears of the chief are open,” he y said. s PL: | were on pote 4 and ay maces, ing; w ou send u e smoke signal soeed apetetcd, . tribe, but when jealo and irit clans, Baa Wolf “The sun was. in our eyes; we thought you were enemies. The coyotes with the black and | white faces have uncovered the tomahawk and stuck the war-pole.. They say that the Kickapoo braves are in their way, and that they will sweep them from off the prairies. We thought that they were coming to make their threats “But the smoke?” “Look!” and Shika-chetish flung out one hand, pointing to the west. Afar off over the prairie swells could be dis- tinguished a compact body of horsemen 3. ly galloping down upon the Twin Moun or a moment. the. settlers were »startled, believing that Black John and. his’ band were approach- ing in answer to the Kickapoo si and if they were allies, there could be but one result. The chief seemed to read the doubt written up- | on theix faces, and quickly added: ‘They. are my braves... They have been seek- ing the double-faced men. But: my brothers | need not fear; the Ki are their friends.” ‘Fears! an’ of a -skin? A leetle more sech talk, an’ you'll git hurt, old man—you hear | me?” cried Abram Eeigh, contemptuously. ‘This is an idle waste of time—and that may | be precious now. Ask him what connection he _ has with those men who stole our horses,’’ im- patiently cried Kent. Appleton repeated the question, but the chief did not appear to comprehend him. A puzzled ex- | pression rested upon fea and not | until the vigilante chief reiterated words, | did Bad-Wolf make any answer. He declared that. he knew nothing whatever | of the — ek mnibed negates from the mound, between hi suspected enemy hoping thus to gain. time during which the rest of raves ht come up in answer to the smoke signal. ntil that moment he had known’ nothing whatever of the horses being stolen, om | .‘*Mebbe thet’s the. truth, but durned ’f I Comic hepers you are lyin’,” candidly uttered chief scowled ly, and one hand dropped to ‘the knife-hilt at his girdle. With one accord his braves flung forward their rifle- muzzles, with fingers upon the tri Quick as thought the settlers imitated movement. Ad rate, deadly collision seemed inevitable, but Wayne Appleton leaped forward and ina loud tone commanded peace. After a moment’s hesitation, Shika-chetish motioned the braves back, and then, Ae aeied hand, made a 7 culi ee. e mounted savages upon the prairie below abruptly drew rein and remained mo} uarter of a mile distant, ** Does look as though Shika-chetish was an enemy?’ he uttered, in a quiet, cold tone. ‘‘No—my young man did. you wrong; but he did not mean what he said. We know that the Kickapoos are our friends. But listen: will you lend or sell us new horses?’ “No. We have taken the war-path against the double-faced men, Until their scalps drag in the di there is» no ing or hunting. in our hearts ® coldly said the chick “We can’t foree hin to do it, friends. I don’t see but that we'll have to foot it back to the J ‘And the sooner we do that; the better. I fear there is more in this matter than we see upon the surface. I believe we have been out- witted from first to last—that Black John sent that challenge just to draw us away from home,” | cried Howard, uneasily, a et for what—what object could he ve ‘‘God knows! I only feel that there is mis- chief brewing—that our dear ones at home are in peril. I can’t drive the thought away—it has been haunting me since this morning first started.” The words of the settler found an echo in the heart of almost every man present, and a v: " undefined fear sprung up in every heart as they thought of their loved ones left almost d less in their homes. Thus it needed but the cry of Howard to set them in motion. i : heres i knowin s-ideadeda say ing on w it— t in my heat? As he ke he darted down the hill-side, | closely followed by the vigilantes. As } ! when we taken by surprise, W: behind for a moment, Shika-chetish. But then he settlers. ter the excited ” As he darted past) the other mound, the form of a man sprun, before him, rubbing his eyes violently. It ioe Prank Kershaw, wilo started from his grassy nest as the settlers swept by.
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: : ' | { 1 | H | your children shall be Black 8 “Where *ve you been?” gritted Appigten, fiercely, with a suspicious glance around. “TI fell asleep as we were crawling through the grass. You see, I couldn’t sleep last night— had the tmare, I believe. Butthe— Are they killed? The Road-Agents, I mean.” ‘“*No; they are after us now. Unless you wish. to be alive, young man, you'll keep up with us. It’s only a bit of a run—some , thirty miles—and we'll be safe when the village is eathed. t But remember, keep up with us, or your life isn’t worth a copper,” grimly said Ap- his , scrambling through the. baranees with skill and celerity of a mountain goat. **Don’t—don’t so—fast, please,” Kershaw. “Not that Dut afraid don't think that—but I wouldn’t like to—deprive you all of po sa exterminating these Appleton laughed shortly, and running with hest squared and head erect, forged ahead of e before; thirty of rolling ie to be pre pee deny ry. ‘wale high, ‘terieting grass w nearly x about their feet, more than once causing an awkward fall; but then another would take up the: —, thus partially breaking the wa for those who followed. it was a terrible iill- a but the settlers th t not of them- ee felt the fatigue that caused them enpanieshead pete ‘heim; ubidl, ‘onthe e e upon them, until, as the i inch than believed that the that he held most dear upon this earth. As the ridge was gained from which the first glimpse could be caught of Barrett’s, a gasping cry of joyful relief broke from the of the foremost men. The still stood seeming- ly peaceful and undistur In that moment bre page rer and ten first time since ore e Twin Mounds, the vigilantes drop- per ore> Ahectriblitge ing into a sudden lif ey saw the spring a en life, and in the red rays of the sun they could di men, women and children flocking toward the point from which they ap- proached. I reckon this hes bin a durned fool day’s to eend,” growled Abram From out the group beside the village, a le horseman rode ewiftly toward the Rearing vigilantes. As he drew rein before them, they read black news in his face, even before he spoke. ‘* Boys, thar’s bin the devil to pay here! Black John an’ his cut-throat gang hes bin here, an’ kerried off with them Howard’s gals— Thar! look: to him!” he added, as Thomas Howard started back with a faint cry, reeling, falling to the ground. The blow had been too much for him in his — exhausted state. It had felled him as ough with a death-stroke. Kent —_— and others bent over him, to restore his con- sciousness, while the rest formed around the rider with r na ys | don’t. righ y onderstand it “myself,” he added, with a puzzled air. ‘‘ We was led off on a wild-goose chase by that devil, Ike Goodheart, ar’ when we got off the harm was did. May an’ Eunice was gone, an’ old man Howard was dead—m by them ar’ very devils. I’m dub’ous the old lady, too, has got her death- blow. They say she goes from one fit into an- —— like a mad body. It’s a black, black day, “But what’re we standin’ here like durned ——— for? Ar’ we goin’ to let them cusses - us this — Neuere i? von’ intent or ge-minentl e!” spluttered Abram ‘ almost beside himself. “The boys tuck the trail an’ follered it to Little Timber, but thar it was lost in the water. ee me back to see ef you fellers hed got it.” “ Comie—if you are men, follow me!” g Howard, ring to his feet. “Help me rescue my from that devil—oh, God! ew so helpless when I need all my “ Lean on us—we will take to your house. and then we will do all ti mén can to find and restore them to This John’s last day of evil—we will Morgan, hotly, but determinedly. Helpless as a child, the stricken man was as- sisted to his now desolate home—the house of mourning and of death. Once there, he into a deathlike stupor, from which it seemed | that nothing could awaken him. And hour after hour the kindly neighbors watched beside too! Kin it be that the boys haye. been whi ped out?’ muttered Curly, uneasily, . as watched the man. “ Looks like some y was chasin’ him— Ge-thunder! it’s that durned eet og as crippled me up, skeered ’most to eath! The coward has got skeered at his own shadder, I reckon.” Even in his pain, Curly could not resist the impulse to give Frank a scare, and, droppin the two couches, that bade fair to be death-beds | Boi in the grass, he crept along to in | vila, A, who was running heavily and un- 'y, as though aor exha . When before the rising of another sun. The village was left almost wholly to the wo- men and ehildren that night. The vigilantes, worn and ed as they were with their long race, moun fresh horses and scoured the rairie for miles around, in the hope of over- g the kidnappers, or eg A some trace of. their whereabouts. But first. rays of the morning sun shone upon them, unsuccess- ful. By this time they had nearly all learned the facts of the case; a tale of black treachery in one ph until then, they had all respected and ? Riding in hot haste, Ike Goodheart had re- turnéd to the village about the hour of noon, bearing black tidings. He said the vigilantes had been drawn into an ambush, com of Indians and Road-Ageiits, led by Black John. Outnumbered, they had ensconced themselves— those who had survived the first volley—dis- pounins him for assistance. Every man and capable of bearing arms had mounted and followed bis lead to the rescue. In the confu- sion of the mad gallop, Goodheart had given them the slip, but not until they were miles from home. Scarcely had they left when a band of masked horsemen dashed into Barrett’s, and riding di- rect for the house of Thomas Howard, entered and carried away both May and Eunice, leaving old Mr. Howard dead upon the floor, stricken down as he strove to defend his idolized grand- = with the feeble strength old age had left m. This was the blow that Black John’s challenge had masked. CHAPTER VI. BORDER VENGEANCE. Curty TostrvaN muttered more than one bit- ter curse against the greenhorn whose careless- ness had disabled him, as he saw the vigilantes ride ra vey to keep the rendezvous, and knew that he was not to participate in the wild, exci that would follow the meet- ing of the rival forces. And to one of his reck- less, dare-devil nature, this was a very great deprivation, since, now that the country was so rapidly becoming “‘ civilized,” similar opportuni- ties were few and far between. a “Th 1 oe how,” he oes Ves aon as @ spasm rough by side. ‘I kin take a er cut than they kin, fer the kenyons. Mebbe I'll be in time to see the fun—ef I don’t,’ twon’t be my fault, anyhow.” ith indomitable pluck, the borderer pressed on, at times ing for breath that seemed al- most like iron when it came. At times he was forced to halt and either support himself upon his rifle, or else sink down upon the pain at his breast be so great and to bear. Yet as often would he start to his feet and press on, cursing the accident that so de- laye him. ' ith d perseverance Curly pressed on, though well knowing now that if the Road- Agents were really at the Twin Mounds, the ‘air would be decided long before he could ~ the <a But, as he muttered to himself e boys should see that it was from no lack of will that he failed to be with them in the scrim- mage. It was during one of his ear gry that the dismoun vigilantes passed by in their mad race for home. Though they were in sight not more than a minute, and full two miles to the right, had Curly been standing up, he must have seen them, and would have known that bo ~ awe < the ete bine over. But he lay re buried in the elding grass, panting, gasping for breath, a blood-flecked froth tinging lips. So strangely does Providence shape our actions. This was the second ae Ker- shaw’s careless riding being the first; the end was to be a 2 sti Curly paused in his - ful tramp, and shading iieeren eagerly forward. Ju. rising Lin peed ae pr could distinguish an ders of @ man. evidently in hot haste, If his present course was maintained, the two must soon meet. "Who is it?’ He’s in a hurry—bareheaded, | about fifty feet separa’ them, Curly rose | erect, with leveled rifle, crying out, in menac- | skeered. tones: ‘Halt! thar—gi’ me your brains, or I'll blow your money out! : Kershaw instantly Beg rte with a cry of ter- ror; but as he saw the leveled rifle, he turned and sought to flee. The rifle spoke omy stum- bling, - fell, uttering a shriek as hou mo: y wounded. Chuckling y, Curly Tostivan eo him, reloading his rifle. “What in thunder you lyin’ down thar in the ss fer?” he gruffily demanded, as he gained the side of ‘the p te figure, touching Ker- shaw with his foot, by no means Sg Se Frank slightly turned his head, ga uick glance at the — Pe et Rg aeed eyes. A snort of relief told ‘he rec- ognized Curly. Then he sprung to his feet, pee a ly, though the voice was not re- markab “Hal ha! I knew it was you, all the time. i I fool you nice? joke, ain’t it, Mr. “Ttll do for once in a way,Ireckon. I thought you drapped as hac you wasn’t bad —_ But, say—where’s the rest o’ the fel- ers “ What, don’t you know—haven’t you heard?” **T don’t know nothin’ u_ took P scan good keer that I shouldn’t, with your durned nice ridin’. But what d’ y’ mean by drawin’ that long face? Durn it, man, can’t ye speak out?” testily cried Tostivan. “They're dead— rubbed | out—puckacheed— to AB A gee this life from an over- dose of Black John,” solemnly replied Ker- shaw. “Look here, boy—nough’s enough, but too much is aplenty. 1 don’t blame ye fer actin’ the fool, beca’se I b'lieve it’s only a’cordin’ to natur’. But when I ax a straight question, I want a awh od answer, an’, to save trouble, I reckon you'd better give me one. Now whar is the boys?” quietly repeated Curly, his eyes gleaming ominously. “ Listen; I will a tale unfold—” “Unfold your tail here, an’ it comes off, smack oe restr right ahind your ears. Mind what tell ye.” “You have no in your composition,” y mititgaeed ershaw; the: haerenat a glimgee "Of the desil glittering in Tostivan eye, he hastily added: *‘ Tl tell you all about if. We reached ‘the Twin Mounds and found © the enemy there—about two hundred strong, I should guess. That is,” as the borderer made a gesture of impatience, ‘‘there may have been one or two less than that, for, of course, I didn’t have time to count them. ve the order to —— them, and the boys nobly seconded my effo Up the first hill we Srereieauie all the time, rolling some of us over at every step, and closed them hand-to-hand, Only for a moment, however, for they fled in dismay. As soon as we could gain breath, we followed them to the second mound. There we had it hot and heavy. We slaughtered the villains like a turkey-gobbler slaying pers. Blood ran down the hillside in ams, until, ai ay veracity! the mound was an island! es, sir! from that judge the prodigies of valor we performed. I never led a braver ts eer my life—not even at the forlorn hope of—that is, you understand me,” Kershaw added, slightly at the age grunt of T “Durned ’f I do, nuther. Which “There it is! what can the bravest. of men do, when outnumbered twenty to one? The villains were reinforced by about three hundred men— and we retreated, in order, though. But we found that the Road-Agents had outflanked us and captured our . They tried to stop us, but we cut through them, the iain with lead and dyin Mp ape” ait fol- 0 us, and we a or safety. 1m this point I can only tell you of my ex i from that you can judge the fate of the rest. Six horsemen f ed me. For two miles I raced with them, holding my own with the foremost, while the five others were strung out inaline. Then I wheeled and waited for him
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Black John, the Road-Agent. 9 With this revolver—at which you were pong to! jest, ‘yesterday—I shot’ him through the brain. At) the same moment: his horse stumbled and fell, breaking his neck. Thad meant to secure him, as'I was tired going afoot. But why dilate?) You see—there is only one charge remaining in this weapon. I fired six shots—and I do not often miss my aim. Yet, by a remarkable coincidence, every one of the six horses stumbled and fell as I'shot their rid- ers, every'oné breaking their necks. That ac- counts for my still being afoot.” _ | “Boy, I reckon you was a lawyer when you was at home, jedgin’ from the glib way you kin lie, Thar—you needn’t deny it. I kin tell your story a heap straighter’n Fey ken, though it mayn’t sound quite as highfalutin’. You got skeered afore the Twin Mounds was reached, an’ turned tail an’ runaway. That’s my ’pinion. fer I know you to be the outlyinest coward tha’ ever sot up to bea man. You needn’t snort an’ it your teeth an’ look so fierce, like a sheep. er hafe a cent I’'d down ye across ty knee, an’ —— ye ontil Fhe nose bled—an’ durned ef I = it, too, the next lie youtell me. So mind Frank wilted. He'saw that Tostivan meant pn what he said, and was a man who knew ow to make his words good. Curly stood in deep thought fora few moments. course he knew that Kershaw was ying, but he knew that he could not reach the Mounds in his present condition much before mi ht. Knowing ee resolved to make the best of his way back to to the village. Telling Frank as much, he added: ‘You kin come, ef you like, but I'd ’vise ye not, The boys ain’t partial to liars an’ cow- ards, an’ mebbe ll take a notion to give you an overcoat o’ tar an’ feathers, onless they string ye up to the nearest tree, to save time.” “Tf they dare do that, the President shall hear of it.. He’s a particular friend—that isI'll go with you,” he stammered, as Curly uttered a “—- growl of warning. ‘ogether the two started for the village, but by progress “7 slow. Often oe jenna to the ing for breath, e blood from fis mouth. But then he would rise and r on, though every step was with a Spasm pain. And thus it was nearly mid- night when the two men suddenly pa with & st air. A hollow groan came faintly to their ears. A groan like’ that ‘of a human being’ in intense the tt yet nearly eeescort «oH Yet acter waving grass co distinguish the ~ a ight of the tw stars. “‘It sounded from that direction—le’s — around it this way,” faltered Kershaw, his tee’ chattering like castanets. “You're afeard—a’ter that: wonderful yarn you br ete up your awful courage?’ sneered ly, contemptuously. “T ain’t afraid—but it might be a ghost!” -“T shouldn’t wonder ef ’twas—the ghost 0 fellers you shot off thar stumblin boy. But, hae or not; here goes ‘to Varn the th. An’ you, greeny—ef you try to run afore I tell ye you may, I’ll bore a hole through that 0’ your’n, sure !” 8i down into the grass, Tostivan crept cautiously h the tangled growth toward the point from whence the ing sound still proceeded: At first he had 6 suspicions of some trick, but as he neared the spot, he knew that the groans were genuine— this was no —— anguish. @ groans ceased, and at almost the same mene eo borderer beheld ~e Soeuia tietceveck above the grass, pale, y . Acry of wo rise broke from Curly’s lips as he leaped to his feet. sip ille Goatttanl this human head—it. was that of Ike eart. At the same moment a blinding glare filled his vision, and a g pain shot through his The report of a revolver rung sharply upon the night air, ‘‘Not yet—you shain’t take me alive—the ain’t twisted thet’ll hang me!” hoarsely a Goodheart, as the hammer was raised and the cylinder revolved with a clear, metallic ‘Hold! man—be ye crazy?” cried Tostivan. leaping forward and clutching the loaded weapon. ‘ Don’t know better ’n to blaze oa at a fri’‘nd who’s ready an’ willin’ to help e “ You—you’re not a fri’nd,” faltered Good- heart, as pe he te ami ee ce the bul- let gen bh close proximity to the head of Frank K w, as that worthy lay trembling under cover. to come up. “Fer why ain’t I? Don’t be a fool, man! What's wrong wi’ ye, anyhow?” impatiently added Tostivan. “Hoss threw me—leg broke—I—” and the head of the traitor sunk down in the matted grass, like one dead. But it was only aswoon. In the struggle for ion of the pistol, his right leg, broken Poth above and below the knee, was twisted beneath him, and the pain was more than he could endure. This much Curly ascertained, and then routed Kershaw out from his covert, ordering him to go and cut a couple of stout poles from a creek-bank that he knew was only a short distance ahead. Kershaw ee | though in nowise relishing the task, since i must be performed alone. But he dared not cross the borderer. ; Before he returned, Curly’s face had grown much paler; a look of horror filled his eyes as he bent over the form of Goodheart, holding him motionless upon his back. The traitor was delirious, raving wildly, yet not so incoherently but that Curly knew that the wretch was black- hearted and guilty of many crimes—that blood had open figh but the blood of a murdered victim; that he belon to Black John’s band—both himself and his brother, so lately found dead. Swift retribution had overtaken the traitor, even as he was exulting in the complete suc- cess of his bold scheme. He had slipped away from the settlers his ty eae luded; and-was riding at speed toward the outlaw rendezvous, to prepare for the coming of the captives, when his horse stumbled, fling- ing him violently into the rocky bed of the creek. For hours he lay insensible, and onl revived as the cold dew of heaven fell upon his face. Then, knowing that as soon as his foul treachery was discovered hot and persistent search would be made for him, he painfully and laboriously dragged himself out into the prai- rie, in the vain hope of finding friends. He had suffered egon the most intense with his broken leg, but the bitter dread urged him on and on, until his groans brought Curly Tostivan to his side. Believing Curly knew his crime, Good- heart had sought his life, in desperation. See- ing his failure, being now disarmed, his senses had given way. Though he could only guess at the details, Curly gathered enough sense from the broken, disconnected ravings to know that a traged had been enacted at Barrett’s in which this man had played a treacherous part, and he resolved that those most deeply injured should be the ju to decide the traitor’s fate. ‘*Mebbe ’twar jest as well that I got that tumble, a’ter all,” he muttered thoughtfull ; ‘Ef I hedn’t this varmint ’d ’a’ got clean away, or else died like a dog on the perairie. Meb the boys kin skeer the truth out o’ him about this Black John. Ef so, durned ef I don’t for- te greeny his awkwardness, an’—hello! here erdhaw bad managed to table pol w secure suitable and in a few minutes they had fashioned «rude pore a aided by their outer clothing and the stout, tough prairie-grass. the moe phe nota little to’ Kershaw’s aston- Though the pain in his breast seemed gro less acute, Curly was often forced to rest, while poor Kershaw, totally unused to such rough ex- periences, could scarcely keep awake. The sun was full two hours hi men came out of the settlement, half- fe oy as though just from sound eep A yell of execration greeted the pale va ge captive, and for a time it seemed oe thon he would be sacrificed upon the spot by the men he had so cruelly deceived. But Curly stood over him with his remaining revolver, and swore to shoot the first man who touched the prisoner to do him injury until he had had a fair trial be- fore JupGe Lynon. And reading death in the = borderer’s Rg an peers calmed down, dragged to the village, others assisting Curly. Though the rest did not notice it, one man turned pale, and shrunk back as he met the gaze of the prisoner. And as the captive was carried into the bar-room, this same man glided away story had de- | unobserved, and five minutes later was gallop- ing swiftly’away from the settlement. ftad he gone for help—or was he fleeing to There the little del making ti ere was little delay in ing preparations for the trial. Nearly all the vigilantes who had ridden to the Twin Mounds the day before, were there. They had been snatching a few hours’ rest, when the shots of Curly aroused them. The rest of the settlers were still in the saddle, searching for the kidnapped maidens. As order was called, it was noticed that their chief was absent. The name of Wayne Are ton was loudly called; but no reply came. And yet he had been among those who went out to meet Curly Tostivan. The captive smiled grimly as no answering voice came. Kent Morgan noticed the eae and the old suspicion renewed itself is breast. But he said nothing. ‘“*Whar’s the use wastin’ time?” gruffly cried Abram Leigh. “Imove that Curly Tostivan take the posish.” The motion was promptly seconded, and after a momentary hesitation, the borderer consented. If not strictly legal, his ministrations were prompt. “Tke Goodheart, I reckon you know what you’ve done—did you do it or not—yes or no?” ‘What am I’cused of?’ sullenly demanded the prisoner. * bein’ one of Black John’s gang, an’ of lyin’ to an’ foolin’ the folks of this ere settle- ment, gin’ally.” “You cain’t kill me fer playin’ off a esa I reckon, an’ I hain’t done nothin’ more. How’d I know that them fellers was jest waitin’ for a chance to slip in here?’ “You told astraighter story ’n that when you war layin’ looney out on the prairie yender. Don’t lie now.” “T won't. I know that I’ve got my death touch, anyhow, an’ I’]l make a clean breast of it. But fust send out fer that Wayne Appleton, as ye call him. Hr’s Buack JoHN!” yell of rage followed this communication. They believed Goodheart was maliciously lying. He added, solemnly: ‘¢ As sure as thar is a God in heaven, it’s the truth. He is our chief. He w’ars a black mask when on the road. He uses false heels to make him taller, an’ pads his body out to make him look bigger. He w’ars a vest of steel links. Bro- ther Tom and I belonged to the So does others that you think your friends, but I won’t spliton them. Iowe hima grudge, or I wouldn’t ’a’ said so much. Now hang me if you will.” “Tell us whar the gals was taken to, an’ we'll let you go yet.” “T don’t know.. He wouldn’t tell me what he was up to. Ef I’d knowed he was aimin’ at them, I'd defied him, ’though he killed me for’t,” was the quiet reply. “Give us the names of all o’ the gang. It’s all that kin save you.” “Not ef you was to kill me twicet over. I must go under soon anyhow—lI kin feel it in my leg,” was the firm reply. ly earnestly consulted with the vigilantes, and pleaded for the man’s life, since it was plain that death must soon claim its victim anyhow. But there was only this concession, “ Tke Goodheart, here’s a pistol; which do you choose—that or the rope?” He ly clutched the weapon, grimly smil- ing, and raised it to his temples. Muttering the name of his brother, he ‘ .m faint quiver, then all was still. He was CHAPTER VII. SWOOP OF THE ROAD-AGENTS. Ike GoopHEART had spoken the truth in say- ing that the man mown. to the settlers as Wayne Appleton was in reality none other than the notorious Black John, the Road-Agent. And now, one or two other points may cl “Pelack John had attacked the Rage-con, for the sole paren of sare 3 ie ostivan, be- cause the la’ had shot Monte Pete, two years or more before. Monte Pete and Black John were brothers, and the bond of love was vanes | between them. For a year Black John hun far and near for the slayer of his brother, but unsuccessfully. He lost the trail at Leaven- worth, and while ing for it, in the char- acter and dress of a gentleman, met May How- ard at the house of a merchant whose acquain- tance he had formed. The result was that he fell deeply in love, and, for the time forget- ting his vow of -vengeance, paid devoted e tion to the fair of good address young school-girl. Handsome and suave manners, appearing a!
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oe ~~ ee one Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. the wealthy gentleman of leisure, a fine conver- sationalist, it is not to be wondered at that he made a deep impression pe the young, unso- phisticated country girl who had seen so little of society, and when he avowed his love, May confe that it was reciprocated. Yet she had sufficient strength of mind to resist his elo- quence when he urged her to elope from school ve Rist gain th t of ts,” sh ‘Firs e consent of my paren C) said, ‘‘and I will no longer deny you. But I have never yet. deceived them, nor will I do so now, though you know that I love you dearly.” And to this resolve she firmly held, despite his spocions pleadings. Still hoping to conquer her, he continued the siege, knowing that keen- sighted Thomas Howard would not yield up his almost idolized child without closely inquiring into the character of the applicant, and he knew that his past life would not bear the scrutiny, cautious as he had been to conceal his connec- tion withe Kansas outlaws. In a fit of rage and mortification after one of these failures with May, he fell in with some of his old associates, and after drinking freely, joined them in a burglary. | Reckless from drink, they were discovered, and after a tough fight with the police were captured. The proof was so strong that Black John—or Appleton. as he then called himself—could only put in the lea that he was drunk, which did not prevent | is being sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment at hard labor. After seven months of this life he managed to escape by illing his Dp? and fled to Texas. There he found no culty in tting ee a number of desperate charac- an suitable for his work; and Ppasping Shs Curly Tostivan had lately been seen near Pete’s last tramping-ground, he returned to Kansas 2 pee g' his fh om ing the pr ye ise of a hideous negro. Through a creature of own, he learned that Curly was booked for the stage to Barret’s, and that May Howard and Eunice Lee would return home by the same conveyance. Resolving to pay his debt of ven- geance, Black John stopped the coach, in dis- guise, with the result. stated in the first part of isstory. The reader can now understand why he cautioned his men against injuring the es, It was a bold move on his part to enter Bar- ret’s as Wayne Appleton, when he knew that the country oa been flooded with descriptions of that person, offering heavy rewards for his capture, dead or alive. But the sacrifice of his heavy rd and mustache had changed him reatly, and he resolved to chance discovery, fie still entertained a faint hope of winning May to choose him in preference to her parents, by representing himself as the innocent victim of circumstances, though he had laid his plans for sterner measures. But this he wished to ayoid if possible, knowing that such an outrage would make the count: hot for him. He failed in his attempt, for May Howard had learned to know him in his true character. Unfortunately she hesitated to denounce him, though had she known he was Black John, she would have done so. It was one of Appleton’s men who assumed the disruie of the noted Road-Agent, and de- livered Black John’s defiance at the tavern door. And Appleton cunningly worked for the settlers to accept it. Fortune favored him greatly in his being chosen leader of the vigilantes. Upon the he contrived to give Ike Goodheart the signal, and that worthy took the first opportu- nity to desert and return to Barrett’s with his plausible tale. Shortly after the second Party, left, half of the outlaws, under Limber Dick, entered the Ze, ding no one to dispute their will, dashed up to the Howard place and effected an entrance before a door could be closed, ae and Eunice were seized and bound, Limber Dic exceeding his orders, for he, too, had a taste for a bright eye and a lip, and resolved that Eunice Lee should be the reward of his exer- tio Leaving old Mr. Howard lying dead up- on the floor, a bullet through his brain, and Mrs. Howard in convulsions, the outlaws rode swiftl eyed: dak epeiiting, Sbehnit ating tn 1 grveily se g, one- up its grave bed, e other down. At intervals a single horseman would ride out from the creek, strik- ing over the prairie, leaving as faint a trail as possible, by muffling the animals’ hoofs. And s0, one by one, long after nightfall, they rode into their retreat. in This was a peculiar t, and well worthy a brief description, even did not the events yet to be narra’ demand it. Nature had made a onte | snug hiding-place, and the hands of .man now re aa upon it. goodly-sized creek traversed the prairie. At this point it seemed to have cut its wa through a considerable-sized. ridge or swell, formed bya basin-like depression.in the ground, the sides of which were almost perpendicular, some forty or fifty feet in hight, of a. stiff, yel- lowish clay, mixed with gravel and. sandstone. This basin .was nearly round, sixty yards in | diameter. Stunted trees and bushes, interlaced with vines and. climbing plants, covered the bot- tom and. sides. Spans in their midst, a horse- man would be invisible fromthe prairie. above. Shallow both above and below, the creek had eaten a deep hole,in the basin, so that, as its bed | offered the only chance of ente , to gain the retreat, one was forced to ‘swim. outward view of the basin. Entering the creek some distance above, the outlaws rode down its bed, the swift current speedily obliterating what faint traces of their passage the gravelly bottom received. Their Ep well Dae to sp wetet, unhesitatingly plun into t eep, pool, scrambling up the cunning! pe ola stone Yonndin that so closely. resembled the work of nature that even a minute examination might, well fail to detect the cheat, One after another the horsemen dis- appeared, amidst the undergrowth. Dismount- ing then, they advanced to the face of the bank. A mass of vines were lifted, revealing a dark opening in the ground. Into this the. horses un- hesitatingly glided. It was a ious excava- tion aaa as a stable. Upon the opposite side of the creek was another something similar, used by the outlaws as al -house, when- ever they desired or were obliged to lie perdu. Into this. place the two maidens were carried. Naturally, they were peeny terrified, though with the exception o rene, bound, they ha been. respectfully treated by the outlaws. The were deposited upon a soft. pile of sweet-smell- ing prairie hay, and then a dim light shone around them as a.rude lamp wasignited..— . There was little to be seen. aney were ina small chamber or alcoye, connec by a low passage with the main, excavation... The place was cool, and seemingly well ventilated, though by some means not visible to them. ew were hung with numerous, garments, evidently disguises as well as. ordinary wear. And among them was a large assortment of weapons; rifles acta knives, and i weapons. But at nds heeded hat moment, neither of our them. ‘Now, ladies,” cried Limber Dick, a: slight- built, lithe, wiry, not unhandsome villain, ‘‘this is destined to be your home for a few days—un- til the heat of pursuit and, search is over.. Then, I trust you will have more agreeable quarters. You are to be kept here, close guarded, while we throw your ple oft the scent, by a false trail. You ber y and shall have every wish gratified—save one... Your liberty will come in due time, but not just. yet. As a solace during the weary hours you must have before that day comes, [let you into.a little secret. You, Miss Black-eyes, are to become the queen of our band—the bride, of our noble chief, Black John—or Wayne Appleton, as you know him best, For you, pretty Golden-locks fate has a little less exalted, station—you will have to be resi as the bride of Limber Dick —lieutenant of the band, your very humble ser- vant,” and the outlaw bowed low, with m humility, a laughing devil in his jetty eyes, that caused a shudder to creep over the maid- ens, for, even in that moment, of. terror, the read this man aright—knew him for a cruel, crafty, relentless foe, to implore merey. from whom would be an idle waste of breath. After amusing himself with a sight of their fear, Limber Dick turned and left the alcove, A. faint si came to ear, and he knew that the outlaw look-outs had espied the ap- proach of some person or persons. He knew hat, long ere this hour, the discovery of the kidnapping .must have been made, and that search would be immediately made, was beyond a doubt. In expectation of beholding a mh e of the settlers, then, Limber Dick ran up Beary 8 qv yi id sin, orseman was riding ra’ the creek-bed, heading pe ag He the Rate The next_moment he recognized his chief, Black John, or Wayne Appleton. The outlaw chief could not force his animal to enter the dark pool of water, and Limber Dick adroitly, passed throug, entrance, and standing beside Black John, latter, in a hard, stern. voice, uttered: ; ‘You have overdone the matter. Why did you kill that old fool? Surely you could have uch was the | mani without that! And then the other girl—did I tell you to carry her off, too?” : ‘“You’re too hard, Captain John,” replied Limber Dick, in a quiet tone, but with his eyes pterten? angrily at the Spam | words. ‘That old man had the strength of a'devil. He knocked down two of the boys with a chair, and made at me, when I —— him; and -you would have done the same, you been in my place. As for the yellow-haired girl—surel you would not Complain if a man helps himse. while doing your work, as long as that is not neglected. Perhaps I mean to retire from this life, as well as you do.” ‘Well, well—let it pass,” hastily muttered Black John, as he must be called henceforth, who well knew that were the outlaw gone to once suspect \that he meant: to desert them be- fore many more days, a terrible storm would be the consequence. ‘‘ Ifthat:is the case I have no, objection. Only you must deal with her honorably, Dick, since she is a connection of my wife, that is to be.” ‘Pll follow the example you set me, Captain John,” and Limber Dick laughed significantly. th that you do. But now to business; for I must be back to Barrett’s before daydawn. The fools think me fast asleep, after our run of yesterday, from the Twin Mounds. I am run- ing a risk coming here at all.” ‘The boys won’t like your going back there, Captain John,” slowly said Limber Dick. * And why not?” ‘‘Out of pure eussedness, A ate You must know that some of them are already discontent- ed. They seem to think you are taking it too easy—that you make them do all the di work,” and Dick stole a covert glance at Bl John’s face. ‘*Limber Dick,” the outlaw chief said quietly, but with deep meaning in his tone, ‘‘you’re a smart man, and no doubt can find out the one who is trying to sow dissension in the band. Go to him and tell him that he is playing with ‘fire in. a powder pecs yon that, sooner or later, will explode an send him’ higher’n a kite. There can be but one leader of this band, and J am that man. Just hint to him what will be the consequence of his crossing my path. You understand me, so I think you have no difficulty in making him comprehend.” jethia see what I can do, Captain Jobn,” sul- ye ‘All right. Now listen, and see that miy in- structions are carried out. You will leave three men here besides Little Billy, Ed. Ware, Nipper Dan and Dutch Bill. Tell them from me that if any thing happens to the ladies, they shall answer for it with their lives. ou will take the rest of the boys and all the animals, and strike for the ravine by the Twin Mounds. There you will join the boys that run off the horses of the vigilantes yesterday. Follow the old Pottawatomie trail until you strike the Lit- — tle Arkansas, then ride south to Crockford’s. Di of all the horses there; he will give you fresh mounts Then come back as far as the grove by Lance: Poullen’s where I will meet you. There'll be no danger of the vigilantes catching up with you, and. the false trail will throw them completely off the right scent.” ** And you?” ‘“‘T am the only one of the band that can go among them Pee er ty they think that Tam one of their friends. I will see that they do not smell out this hole, and throw them off the scent if they press you too close. But go—there is no time to be lost, for a dozen or more of the settlers are out on the search now. If any of them sees you leave this, our game is up,” impatiently cried Black John. ough far from being satisfied, suspecting that he was rape be 4 Black John to outwit him, Limber Dick dared not refuse or delay obedi- ence to the chief’s commands. And as the out- law rode rapidly away, the lieutenant hastily ave his orders to them. To those who were to left in charge of the captives, Dick was par- ticularly careful in giving his instructions, add- ing his threats to those of Black John, in case they proved faithless. And then, pl g their horses into the water, the outlaws 6 out of the Retreat, and far down the gravelly bed of the creek following the same precautions they had in entering, emerging one at a time, then a y coming together again upon the prai- e As the reader has seen, a part of Black John’s g © Ca of Ike pions through th uld conf t least eotains ~ to wo ess, OF a a re) satisfy a of long Z; Bink Joke fled for dear life. an lest he should draw suspicion upon the Retreat by pausing there, he
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5 : ‘Black John, the Road-Agent. 11 rode straight on to join his band, who were lay- sr, heeds he false trail. Ss ay after day rolled on, dragging slowly and i to the captive maidens, and hope died ovt in. their henrta: It seemed as nie they were. deserted by all earthly friends. little boy, or rather dwarfed man, brought them their rude meals regularly, but they were never suffered to leave the alcove without at least one of the three men as guard. And there wasa brutal, licentious glow in their beastly eyes whenever they were near the maidens, that both May and Eunice decided to remain close prisoners rather than endure such trials. Still, more than once, they saw the outlaws con- versing rly, eving them at the same time in a manner that chilled their very hearts.. Then it was that they first bethought themselves of the weapons hanging upon the alcove walls. CHAPTER VIII. SEARCHING FOR THE LOST. Time rolled on and day succeeded day with- out bringing the bereaved parents any hope, and the vigilantes seemed as far off as ever from capturing Black John. Still, bowed had one slight consolation; the outlaw band no longer made the neighborhood dangerous, no longer took their pick from out the herds of cattle and droves of horses. They seemed to have left the for good. John’s ruse had been perfectly success- ful. The vigilantes struck his trail and _follow- ed it to the bank of Little Arkansas, Here it was utterly lost. For miles and miles the shores were searched, but without success, Then, baf- fled and disgusted, the vigilantes returned home, Their crops urgently demanded their atten- tion. To lose more time would be ruinous. And so, though reluctantly, with a sigh for the sad fate that seemed inevitably the maidens’, the settlers once more fell into their regular routine, with a few exceptions. Thomas Howard did not die, and rallied slow- ly, almost imperceptibly. Doubtless his intense anxiety retarded his recovery. Hour after hour he would bemoan his sad fate, cursing himself, even his God, that he was forced to lie so ag less where determined action was needed. It was, indeed, hard, and there were those pine the settlers who gave it as their opinion tha Howard would not live to see the month out, unless some tidings of his children were ed. The wife still lay upon what ae ised to be her deathbed. Since that dreadful day, when she beheld her children torn forcibly from her side, and saw her father lying at her feet, quiv- ering in the agonies of death, she had not spoken a word. She lay in an apathetic hig m0o- tionless, seemingly lifeless, only for the wild rolling of her eyes, that never ceased save when under the influence of an opiate, Truly this household was sorely stricken. There were two tas who refused to give up the search: Curly Tostivan and Kent Mor- mn, and to these might be added Frank Ker- aw, though his services amounted to very lit- tle. Stillit was well meant, and the two for- mer were ually learning to like Frank, des- pite his talent for ng and evident lack of courage. : ‘Let ’em say what they will, Kent,” Curly would remark, quietty, “T ain’t satisfied that them gals is quite out o’ reach yit. I'll tell ye why. You know we marked the critter’s hoofs that Black John rid away on, the day Ike Good- heart chose the pistol. We follered it, ontil it struck the trail o’ the rest o’ the imps, nigh the Twin Mounds. We saw whar they hed been confined, waitin’ fer him, most likely. But we didn’t find no sign o’ the gals havin’ been thar, You know how we folle them up, hot foot, an’ they couldn’t ’a’ had much the start of us. Is it likely that the gals, fresh from school, could have stood such a ride as that without givin’ out? An’ ef they hed give out, we’d hev seen some signs to tell of it. Then look backa bit. You know how the varmints tried to break the trail in Little Timber. You know that I took and follered the dif’runt trails, an’ each one led into Big Stony. There I found whar they left it ag’in, an’ made fer the Mounds. Ef the varmints intended to jump the country, why did they take all this trouble and lose so much time?” Why didn’t they strike out at fust, when they would be sure of a start sech as they wouldn’t need to hurry themselves? I'll give ‘ase fort. Pother is still somnvier? hex tur off, Iyin’ shady in their hidin . An’ when we find that place, we'll find the gals, Thar—that’s my nosein’ 0’ the matter. “Tt may be true—but I doubt it, Curly. I fear they are lost beyond recovery. This is not the sort of country where a number of people can easily find a covert to baffle such a search as ours has been.” “You heard what Ike Goodheart said afore he used the pistol—that thar was men belongin’ to the band that we all thought our good fri’nds. We don’t know who they be, an’ yit they may be hidin’ these gals an’ them as is in charge of ’em, like ’s not in thar houses, under our very noses. But I think I’ve gota clew. We'll foller it up, an’ see whar it’ll eend, anyhow. That’s what we're ridin’ for, now.” The friends were riding leisurely over the prairie. Morgan asked Curly to explain his words, which the latter did. In those days, many, indeed nearly all of the better class of settlers in Kansas ssessed slaves, One of these owners was Seth Cockton, an emigre from Kentucky. He owned a mulatto, named Yel- low Ben. This Ben was in love with Abram Leigh’s girl, Wichita Nance, the colored belle of that section. In a recent visit, Yellow Ben, as the subject of the abduction came up, assumed a knowing air, saying that though the white people thought their negroes were fools, he was in possession. of a secret worth the best farm in the territory; that one word of his could hang a dozen white men, and to insure his silence, Cockton had pone to buy Nance and give her to Yellow n for a wife. All this Wichita Nance repeat- ed to Dandy Pete, one of Howard’s slaves, whom she also had upon a string, and rather referred to Ben. Dandy Pete, in turn, told urly of this speech, and, catching at a straw, after having searched unsuccessfully for so long, Tostivan resolved to follow up the clew, thou he knew that it mult be nothing more than the idle boast of one who desired to gain importance in the eyes of his Dulcinea. Fortune seemed to favor the trail-hunters, for as they rode up. to the settler’s building, they saw Yellow Ben going down to the spring, a hundred yards from the house, beside a hickly- timbered creek. Curly rode direct to the spot, and called Yellow Ben. Unsuspecting, the mu- latto obeyed. ‘Look here, Ben,” quoth Curly, thrustin forward a revolver until its black muzzle almos touched the mulatito’s face. ‘‘Did you ever see any thing like this before?” ‘Don’t, Mars’ Curly—it mought go off!” stammered the terrified slave. ** An’ so it will, ef you try to run, or tell me alie. Let that once, an’ you’re a gone nigger! ’D hev to sweep ye up’th a broom, sure!” chuckled the borderer. “Deed I.won’t lie—deed Ill say any thin’ you want me to, Mars’ Curly.” “No, that won’t do. I want truth, an’ nothin’ else. Mind, 1 know a good deal o’ the matter a’ready, an’ ‘ll be sure to ketch you ef you to lie. An’ then you're a dead nigger, as I said afore.” “You'll frighten him so bad that he won’t be able to speak, Tostivan,” inte Kent Mor- an, seeing how the negro quailed and trembled fore the cocked revolver. ‘*[T'll do more than skeer him, onless he talks dey gon Now, Ben, I know you, and you know me, [ reckon. You ought to know whether I’m *eustomed to lie or not. I don’t want to hurt you, very much, but [ll do it unless you make a clean breast of it. Now tell me: what is this secret you have found out, that makes your dae afeard o’ you?’ he added, sharp and ick, : am ete ap any—deed I don’t, Mars’ Cur- y,” faltered Ben, turning a shade paler. ve thar, boy. Smell o’ this persuader— don’t. ye hear the bullet a-beggin’ me to let it out at ye? Don’t ye hear it say that you’re try- in’ to Tie to me? Ef you don’t know nothin’, then what is old Cockton goin’ to buy Wichita Nance an’ give her to you fer a wife, fer? He’s t more rs now than he’s got honest work er ’em to do.” “Wichita Nance done tole ye what I tole Bet ee the mulatto, his eyes glittering y. ‘* Never you mind whether she did or not; that don’t matter. Iax you what’s the reason? No foolin’, now—speak right out, flat-footed.” “Tt’s all a lie, den. I don’t know nuffin,” sul- lenly. “Hold my critter, Kent,” cried Curly, as he leaped from the saddle and grasped the slave by the throat. 4 Say Bee was a Boer wr ana he ag esperately, c ud for help; but ys though not, enthrele recovered from his fall poe the prairie, was Pe in strength and In twenty seconds, he held the mulatto helpless on the groun “The old man’s coming, Curly,” warningly cried Kent. “Let him, Ill put a spoke in his wheel, ef he cuts up . Lay still, Ben—ef you move, I'll flatten a bullet ag’in’ that bull-head o’ yourn. I ain’t through with you yit.” “What a ge y demanded Cockton, hastily advancing, with cocked. revol- ‘* Rasysthar, old man,” coolly retorted Curly| swiftly raising his weapon. “Don’t go off a; half-cock. Keep your we’pon down, or I'll make a pepper-hox 0’ Bh sure. Kent, you look to the nigger while f talk to the old man.” + at has ne done?’ asked Cockton, more calmly. ‘‘ What business can you. have with him? Have you turned nigger-stealer?” “No, nor gal-stealer, nuther. But you ax my business. Mebbe you know that the settlers hev ‘lected me chief of the vigilantes. I’m on that business now, an’ I wouldn’t ’vise you to inter- fere, or we mought hev a word to say to you, big an’ mighty as you might think..yourself. The fact is jest this: “Your boy, Yellow. Ben, knows a secret that we want to find out. Ef he won't tell peaceably, then we mean to whip him ontel he does tell. ‘Now ye hey it.” ‘“-You have no right to misuse my property. I will not stand it,” angrily cried Cockton. ‘Hinder us ef you kin, old cock. Kent, you jist keep an eye on the an’ ef he shows mis- chief, down him. I begin to think we're gittin’ purty close at the truth now.” Morgan quietly covered the settler with his revolver, a stern resolve written plainly on every line of his features. Seth Cockton read this aright, and saw Curly seize and bind Yel- low Ben hand and foot, without daring to lift a finger in his defense. Then, as he cut and coolly trimmed a number of slender hickory withes, Cont Tostivan questioned the captive mulatto. ‘Now, my boy, jest open your ears, ef you please. You see these saplings, I reckon, ut mebbe you don’t know jest what they’re *tended for. Ling to freshen your mem’ry with, so that you kin answer the questions I ax you. As a fri’nd, I’vise you to act sensible, an’ tell all you know, fer ef you don’t, you'll think that all the cuttin’s-up you ever got in your life afore, was ot! buckwheat es an’ ‘lasses ’longside the one I’ll give ye.” ‘He knows nothing about—” **Shet up, you / n’t interrupt the court if you please, Jest let him hoe his own row, f you v too much to say, the ev a word to say to you,” pointedly Curly; then, turning to the mulatto: “You told Wichita Nance that you know a. secret wuth the best farm in the kentry—that one word from you could hang half a dozen white men—that Cockton here was afeard of you, an’ was a-goin’ to buy her to give you fer a wife. Now, what did hg mean hy that, eh?” “Rell the tru , Yellow Ben; but if you dare to lie—” ‘Old man, you up. Kent, ef he ks ag’in | *thout bein’ spoken. to, down him. Now, boy? x Iwas jest a-lyin’to Nance,” he muttered enly. “You've lied to either her or me, anyway, so here goes!” ii The lithe bickery rod whistled through the air, and descended with cutting force Saini across the mulatto’s buttocks. Swiftly succeed- ing each other, the strokes fell, and, writhing upon the ground in vain efforts to burst his bonds asunder, Yellow Ben roared like an en- raged buffalo-bull. Twice did Curly pause in his work and repeat the question, but the slave refused to confess, or rather declared that he had been merely boasting to the girl, in order to enhance his value in her eyes. ‘“‘ You're lyin’ yet, I know, fer Abram Leigh told me Cockton hed bin tryin’ to buy Nance. But I reckon I kin stand it as long as you kin,” and the lashes were continued. : a at th edi oes f Ki Sone hha i 6 y of Kent kept him covered with a revolver-muzzle, and he feared to interfere, but the crisis was near at hand. . Yel- low Ben could no 1 endure the stinging 8, and cried out:. Cockton’d kill me!” Suddenly leapin : his revolver and fired at Morgan. The young As they f ground, the pistol exploded, but without doing any damage. oes this 5 sar mean—what are ~
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—— 12 Beadle’s: Half-Dime.; Library. Morgan sp’ to his feet, and rushed for- ward 46 where the antagonists had rolled, but (Curly cried out: ‘Keep off, Kent—I kin manidge the varmint!” Nor was this any idle boast. - Tostivan speed- ily gained the upper hand, and soon choked the settler into acquiescence. “Gi me the trail-rope, Kent,” he panted, still knéeling upori the settler: ‘‘ We'll put the imp out o’ the way o’ doin’ more mischief. But you ain’t hurt?’ he added, quickly. , ‘A seratch’ on the neck; nothing¢more. I saw him in time tododge. But it’s strange no one comes from the house. They must have heard the fuss.” “Reckon they’re all out herdin’ or at work on the farm. He ain’t got no white women. Thar —he’ll do now,” and Tostivan rose from the body of his foe, who was bound and | gageed, beyond the possibility of escape, unaided. ‘Don’t whip me any mo’, Mars’ Curly, an’ Pll tell all I know,” pleaded Yellow Ben. “Go ahead, then: but be quick, an’ no lyin’ or—” ’ The mulatto then stated that he had long known his master was connected with the horse- thieves and outlaws—indeed, he had left Ken- tucky because suspicion was prsceeric ate that he was one of a rogue organized gang. Two days before this one, Yellow Ben saw a man, whom he ized as one Dutch Bill, in close conversation with Cockton, seated in the house. By close creeping, Yellow Ben managed to get beneath the window, where he could hear their words. Dutch Bill was asking for some whisky, saying that it would be more than three days before Black John returned, and it was work watching the girls. Cockton asked where they were. Dutch Bill replied—in the bank. This was all that Yellow Ben heard, as they started for the out-door cellar for the liquor and he feared being discovered. , ‘Tt’s a-plenty, too. I think I know right whar to put my hands on ’em; it’s the only place nigh here that they could hide in a bank,” cried Curly, exultantly. “But you won't let him loose?’ dolefully ut- tered Ben. ‘“ Marse ’d kill dis nigger, suah, fo’ tellin’ on him.” . | “T-want you to keep watch over him, boy, ontil day: then it’s like the vigilantys "ll come fer him. Ef you’ve told the truth, you’re a made r from this minnit, but, ef you’ve bin lyin’, so help me Jerusalem palpate Pl skin you ative an’ salt you down fer corn beef.” Yellow Ben earnestly protested that he had told nothing but the truth, and the two vigi- lantes believed him. Cockton was stowed away in an old ‘‘dug-out;” a hole in the bank roofed over, and Ben phlte watch. Then the two -hunters rode away in the gathering darkness. ; CHAPTER IX. LITTLE BILLY. May and Eunice saw with sickening hearts the black peril that threatened them, drawing closer and Gloser every day, every hour. At first they had scarcely comprehended its magni- tude, but the day came that opened their eyes. True they had noticed that the outlaws left in of them constantly eyed them with strangely intent looks, but at length the burn- travel expression could no longer be dis- and one day Dutch Bill threw off the He had been dri freely, The other two outlaws were asleep, half-stupefied with the fiery corn-juice. Dutch Bill, a gaunt, bony-framed man, bold and reckless at all times, but doubly so when in his cups, staggered into the alcove where the maidens were crouching u their couch of prairie- , terrified by the words and hints that tad feachott their ears from the men d ing in the main chamber. With his feet widely sepatated, to na steadier base, Dutch Bil leered at the ad , hic- pany ome as he attempted to speak. e ke lin native tongue, and this so di by liquor, that neither of them could out his words; but there’ could be no ng his ac som How the matter would have ended it is diffi- cult to say, had there not come interference at this moment. A dark figure bounded past the uneasily swaying form of the drunken brute, and stood between him and the women. It was Little Billy. By this mam6 alone the maidens knew him; it was what the outlaws cafled him, what he call- ed himself, and very likely this was the only name he had ever For Little Billy was astray. No one knew from whence he had sprung. He never knew anything of his pa- } you forgo rents, and half-believed that he had never been born of human; far down in his wild, untutored heart was a fantastic belief—Little Billy be- lieved that his father was some lordly buffalo- bull, his mother, one of the wild, graceful, soft- eyed does that he could never bring himself to draw bead upon. Often rch eae A behind the sun-reflecting waters of. the Big Stony, Little Billy would amuse himself by ene the points of resemblance between himself and these an- imals, He had the great shaggy head, thick short neck and humped ‘shoulders of the buffalo-bull; the large, lustrous, beautiful eyes, the slender, yet symmetrical, steel-sinewed imbs of the wild eer. Perhaps it was these points that first gave Little Billy the fantastic idea, but it was hight- ened by the contempt and ridicule that all men heaped upon him. Noone had a kind or pleasant word or look for him. He was ¢ kicked and buffeted at every turn. From childhood he had lived among outlaws and criminals. And yet, though nearly stifled beneath. the weight of sin and. crime, Little Billy still possessed a heart capable of fidelity and love, though un- sus by himself, until aroused to the truth by the kind speech ot ay. and Eunice. Though at first the maidens had shuddered at the sight of the dwarf, he did not appear so terrible to them as the others of their guards, and smother- ing their feelings, they had spoken to him kind- ly, and thanked him for the little services he ss aa them. And now this brought forth “Back thar, Dutch Bill!” cried Little Billy, the black muzzle of a cocked revolver staring the drunkard in the face. ‘‘ You come one step furder, an’ I’ll spile you fer whisky-drinki You know me—so go back, while you kin.” The outlaw spluttered forth a volley of curses and threats, but the dwarf did not quail. As the man’s hand fumbled at his belt, Little Billy quickly added: “Draw a we’ live to fire it. when you m, Dutch Bill, an’ you won't ou’re actin’ the fool, now, an’ t sober, you’ll be sorry for it. Have what Limber Dick “told you the cap’n said? Ef he knowed this, he’d kill you like a coyote.” These words made an evident impression up- ou the drunken outlaw, and after eens a moment, he turned and staggered back to the outer chamber. Little Billy quietly crouched down beside the entrance, with revolver resting upon his lap. He was not om satisfied that the danger was past. He had heard more said that afternoon than ever before. The three outlaws, still further brutalized by constant drinking. had spoken openly of betraying the trust reposed in them by Black John, of Ab adegpeose the captives, taking such articles and supplies from the general store.as they coveted or would require, and then turning their faces toward the south, where, among the foothills, they could start in business upon their own hook. All this they had spoken of without paying any heed to the presence of Litte Billy. He was beneath their notice. When Dutch Bill returned to his comrades, after his discomfiture, they once more began drinking and playing . The stakes were novel. They were pla for the captive maidens. With en gravity they played on, cheating and cheated, dispu about the score of the game, until, more than once, wea- pons were drawn and blows struck, only to end in a general reconciliation and hand-clasp over another drink. Little Billy listened and watched closely. He felt that a crisis was drawing near. And, -re- membering only the kind words of the captives, he prepared to meet it as best he might. From the weapons hanging upon the wall, he selected two small revolvers, that were in tolerable or- der. These he carefully loaded and_ capped. Hewes he placed them in the hands of May and unice. **Mebbe you won’t need to use ’em, but it’s best to be on the safe side. Them varmints out yonder mean mischief. They shain’t hurt ye while I kin keep ’em back, but I’m on’y a little cuss ony nowt an’. they mought rub me out. Then, if you didn’t hev these, you'd be go sure. they do to tetch ye, don’t be afraid to shoot. Try an’ ’em. Mebbe you'll oe an’ they'll be mad enough to kill you, but don’ let that skeer you. I reckon you'd be better off dead than in their hands when they’s. drunk. ‘You understand me?’ “ Yes—and thank you for thinking of us. We will do as you say. They shall not lay hands on us alive,” quietly, but firmly, cee Ma Howard, her courage as the black stood out more clearly before them. ‘ But you —they will kill you for this.” ‘Let ’em.. Folks must die some time.. I ain’t skeered at the thought o’ death. . I’m only Lit- tle Billy, anyhow. -What’s the def’rence? No- yo | wouldn’t miss me. But thar—I reckon we'd best shut up. Mebbe the varmints out yonder ’ll forgit all about us if they don’t hear oe es for they’re sp’ilin’ corn-juice mighty “‘ Little Billy, come nearer,. I wish to speak with you,” softly whispered May. , With a strange tingling in every fiber of. his misshapen form, the dwarf obeyed. He knew right well what the maiden meant to say, for more than once she had pleaded with him ina like manner, though he had ever refused to grant her prayer. . He said that he could not tray his chief—could not_be false to the trust reposed in him by Black John, even for their es. But never before had he felt just as he did now. The events of the past few hours had changed him. He saw that a-terrible danger threatened the captives, a danger that his single arm could scarcely hope to avert longer. , “ Little Billy, you say that you are our friend. Prove it now. Help us to escape from. this lace and these fearful men. Help us to return ome, and nothing you can ask of us will be re- fused. You will find a welcome home there. and warm hearts to love you for the sake of your truth tous. You live in sin here. Surely you owe these people me Surely you can- not love or respect them. , Then, listen to our prayer, and aid us now that we need your hel so waaty- You say that. you love us, and woul die to keep us from harm. Then why do you assist these men in keeping us captives? You know what they have threatened—you know what they are now doing—playing cards to decide which shall possess Eunice and I. They are three strong, desperate villains. You can- not het to resist them, successfully. They bi kil you first, and then—what will become of us!’ “Thar—don’t cry any more. I’ll do what I kin, though it mayn’t be much. No—don’t thank me, Wait until I do the work. But you must keep ready. Don’t sleep. Kee Pata Mind pos ready for use, if my plan fails. you see them git the better o’ me, you know what to do... Shoot them ef you kin—if not, then shoot your own selves. Better that then what’ll come with them a-hold 0’ ye.” At that moment Nipper Jim called Little Bil- ly. The dwarf promptly obeyed. He had ormed a hasty pian, rude and frail, but he hoped to be able to carry it out, as the outlaws were pretty well blinded with drink. He lifted the stone jug to his lips, and seemingly drank freely. Then he said: tle intricacies of the ‘‘devil’s prayer-book.” Knowing that they could easily beat him at that, they quickly assented. It would take full two hours to return with the whisky from Cockton’s. .During that absence, the captives would be wholly at their mercy. In their secret glee psa 4 readily consented to the condition imposed by the dwarf, though had their brains been clear, they must have read the truth, that Little Billy was only fightin, for time. He prope that each man shoul play a rubber, the loser of the first to play with he next, and so on until the matter was de- cided. By this means he felt that the needed time would be gained, as the sun was already Wharee Wouter? he last game, Little Billy ore i the e, Li made some excuse and Nided dn to where the captives were awaiting the result in I suspense. He hastily sketched the plan he formed, and told them what they must do. It was a desperate course, but the only one that remained them. Its only hope of success lay in the semi-drunkenness of the three outlaws. Re to his , Little Billy played cautiously. The first one was In _a well-simulated fit of anger, he flung down the cards, upsetting the rude lamp that alone lighted up the chamber. All was darkness the most intense. 2 . “Stay still, boys,” cried the dwarf, in a loud bin Mitt t Be Sonne Sep drunk— ou’d. bu e whole house up. thar un- di T git back.” me ae slowly st wT
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“wT 13 “*Hellow! who’s that? I felt somebody brush ast me jest then!” suspiciously cried Nipper im. “‘Tt’s only me,’ you Jooney,” retorted Little Billy, in a voiee that trembled despite himself. ‘* Look out thar—you’ll upset me with the lamp, if you don’t take keer.” 6 outlaw subsided, and then the faint flicker of a match revealed the dwart’s features. Onl for a moment, however, then it expired. So did the next three or four, Dutch Bill drunken- ly cursing Billy’s clumsiness. But at length the lamp was ignited, and the cards resumed. - Playing with unusual skill, the dwarf won the second game. After a tight contest, Nipper Jim scored the third and last rubber, aided by ~is skill at cheating. through the pool, going up the creek, as that was the nearest route to Cock- ton’s. The jug was flung him, and then he struck across the prairie, the outlaws watching A few moments later he was lost to view amidst the tall And the outlaws chuck- led gleefully as they felt that the only obstacle to their @ was now removed from their path. “But we must wait a bit, fust,” said Nipper Jim, the most prudent one of the trio. “It’s like they’ll e a fuss, an’ Little Billy’s got powerful sharp years. He’d make us trouble ef he heard it—he’s heavy on the shoot.” The dwarf had sunk down in the prairie- grass, apres te jug, and gliding swift) around to strike the creek below the basin. e knew that there was no time to lose, for with the discovery would come instant pursuit. The moon shone brightly, not a cloud o - ing the Little Billy noted this with a eurse. A cloudy night would have insured an escape, but now— His musings ceased, as a faint rustle sounded in the grass beside him. In a low tone, he uttered the names of the two maidens. With glad cries, they rose before him. They had taken advantage of Little Billy’s oe the light, and had glided from the cove, through the outer chamber. Gaining the basin, they did not hesitate, but boldly plunged into the water, nef up by their clothes, until the swift current swept them into shallow water. Then they had awaited the coming of the dwarf, hidden in the grass. Feeling sure that their flight must soon be dis- covered, Little Billy bade the maidens follow him, and he struck off over the prairie, crouch- ing low down in the grass. The course he pur- sued was one that led them almost directly away from Barrett’s, though the girls did not notice this at first. He knew'that the outlaws would believe the fugitives had made at once for their friends, and would naturally direct their search in that belief. By making a wide circuit, Billy hoped to elude them. Scarcely e explained to the girls, than the alarm came to hi been discovered. Little a hee them rapidly over the prairie. He knew that the discovery would serve to sober the outlaws, and when not under the in- fluence of liquor, they were bold, cunning men, well skilled in the craft and lore of the prairies. Let them once strike the trail, and they would follow it to the end. For over an hour they"had pressed on thus. Then Little Billy _ with a curse. At only a little distance before them, he could faintly dis ti several dim, phantom-like forms. He believed the outlaws had intercepted them. In the faint hope of their not noticing him, he crouched down in the grass, before the two maidens, his revolver cocked and ready for use. In suspense, they awaited re- t. A faint rustling in the stiff prairie-grass came to Little Billy’s ears. He raised his revolver. Eden a dark face oe into view, and seemed to u them. The pistol Riioked A shrill screech of death- agony followed, as the face disappeared. Pandemonium seemed turned loose upon earth. Wild, horrible yells filled the air. Dus! forms sprung forward. Little Billy arose, wi a revolver in either hand. With every report a foeman fell, dead or dying. CHAPTER X. SETTING A MAN-TRAP. Ir was this same hour that Curly Tostivan and Kent Morgan rode over the prairie from Seth Cockton’s, with the knowledge they had ears. The escape had Black John, the Road-Agent extracted from the tortured Yellow Ben. Given an idea by the words of the mulatto, Curly was eager to test it, and now he was’ headed direct for the prairie ‘basin ”—the retreat of the Road-Agents. He noticed this spot more than once, and had scanned it curiously from either side, though he had never explo it. It had not seemed worth while getting a wet skin, and he knew that the basin could not be entered without swimming. It may appear strange that this place had not been thoroughly searched since the abduction of May and Eunice, but the Road-Agents’ trail had been followed miles beyond the point, nor had they doubled upon their tracks. ere was nothing to direct suspicion toward the sink. Not until he heard the words of Yellow Ben did the thought occur to him. Hiding in the bank! The nearly perpendicular sides of the basin— might they not contain some hole or cave, its entrance concealed by the masses of ili vines and bushes? And as he could remem- ber no other spot half so likely, Curly was rid- ing. thither. he comrades were yet considerably more than a mile distant from their point of destina- tion, when a peculiar sound caused them to draw rein abruptly. Soaring over the prairie, borne to their ears by the favoring breeze, came the faint sound of human voices. Some person or persons were Jolling or shouting y. “Tt comes from mighty nigh the sink, Kent,” muttered Curly, his ear bent in listening. **Somethin’s up. ‘* Perhaps our friends have discovered the hid- ing-place, and are attacking it—come, let’s hurry!” eagerly cried Morgan. eo ent. You may be right, but ’tain’t likely. bf you air, we'll in plenty time; ef not, then ’twon’t do to run the resk o’ sp‘ilin our chance before we — Cool an’ easy’s the word a? | said Curly, as he sprung to the un. ““What’s that for? Going to camp out here for to-night?” testily asked Morgan. ‘“*Sca’cely. Git down an’ hitch your critter. Thar’s plenty feedin’ to keep ’em quiet until we're ready for ’em.” ‘* What under thesun are you up to, Curly? Is this your famous plan?’ fumed Morgan. “Part of it. You’re too durned curious, Kent. Don’t howe know me well enough to fol- ler my lead blind fer a while? "Light an’ tie; I'll tell you what I mean.” Kent Morgan obeyed, and while unwinding the long trail-ropes, and t ing the picket- pins lightly into the earth, Tostivan condescend- ed to explain. “It’s one of two things: either the gals is hid- den in this basin or sink, or else they ain’t. Ef they air, then they’re close watched, in co’se. Is it likely, then, that we could ride right up to it, *thout bein’ seen? Sca’cely. Ef they ain’t thar, then we’re no wuss off than afore, ’cept a lettle ore that’ll be good exercise. Now do you see it?” “Yes—and you were right,” acknowledged mt. “Then foller me in all that I do. Don’t talk —save your breath ontel it’s needed more,” said Curly, as he glided away through the stiff, rust- grass. n this manner, crouching low down until their heads alone appeared above the level coat of green, the two fends lided cautiously on, not knowing where the pees look-outs might be . Curly was one of those rare men who never throw away a chance in whatever he undertook. Though by no means feeling certain that his surmise was right, he acted as though he knew that the outlaws were actually at the basin and upon their guard. They had nearly gained the spot, when a second alarm came to their ears, this time com- ing from a greater distance than before, and from a different direction. A ‘faint report, a series of shrill yells; then more firing, rapid and confused. With puzzled looks the two friends eyed each other. There was something going on beyond their comprehension. “Ss we make for the muss?” asked Kent. “No. Yonder’s the sink. Finish one thing ow Ma my ete. We'll soon find out, er what thar was 6 er’s wor ee down ahind me.” nee = ri A few moments later Curly crouched down by the creek, at the point where it entered the basin. He listened intently, All was still. The basin seemed deserted. ‘Only for the double alarm, he might have abandoned the project at that Lyn but he felt now that this spot con- tained the solution of the mystery that had so long baffled them, and he pro to enter. % fee: ‘You'll stay here, Kent, an’ listen. Ef you hear any rumpus, make fer the hosses, an’ don’t stop ontel you rout up the vigilantes. Then lead ’em here, hot foot.” : ‘“And desert you? Not much!” ‘The gals is worth more’n lam,” quietly. ** Ef any 0’ the varmints is here, then it’s ten to one they’ve got the gals with ’em. We're the only ones that suspect this hidin’-place; then whar’d thar chaince be if we both got ru out?” No, lad, you must promise me this.” “You’re right, Curly; I will do what you say. But if you come to harm, there'll be a big price for some one to pay.” “The bigger the better, lad, jest so you charge the right ones,” grimly replied Curly, as he en- oe the water, holding his revolvers above his head. ; = Silently as a muskrat, the scout swam on through the “black pool, for the ‘moonlight did not reach here, intercepted by the banks. Be- neath an cvernaene ush he paused and lis- tened intently. ot a sound, save those of Nature’s voices, came to his ear. The seemed uninhabited save by himself. The next moment Curly uttered a low, invol- untary cry. As he cautiously raised his head, a. dim, twinkling point of Hight met hiseye. And then Curly knew that he had discovered the se- cret retreat of the Road-Agents. Naturally excited, he yet proceeded with cautious coolness. e first motion he made hid the light from his eyes, but he knew what that meant. A bunch of leaves had intervened. Silently he, crept from the water, and then advanced toward the spot where he had seen the dim light. The next moment he a sight of it again. A small lamp sat upon the its uncertain light cast over a scattered deck cards, several rude articles of war and a blanket or two. But nothing could be seen or heard of any living being. Yet the lamp, the cards, all bore evidence that such had very recently been within the den, and the probabilities were that that were still near. Perhaps they had caught some sound, warning them of an enemy’s proach, and were lying in ambush. The thought was natural. ; Tired of waiting so uselessly, Curly measured his distance, and ejected a stream of tobacco- spit so dextrously that the light, with a sudden splutter, went out. Curly knew that if the den was indeed tenanted, this occurrence would be almost certain to cause some stir or confusion among them. But all remained still. Not a sound came to his ears. As he peered into the darkness, he became aware that another lamp was burning within the den; though hidden from him, he could dis- tinguish a faint, hazy sheen crossing the gloom like a ray of moonlight. “Tll risk it, anyhow,” he muttered, beneath his breath, then, with the bared blade of a stout knife tight clutched between his teeth, he crept forward upon hands and knees, entering the den. In their discovery of the captives’ flight, the drunken outlaws had thrust the le screen hastily aside, omitting to replace it. Only for this fact, Curly might never have discovered the entrance; contents not so easily. Half-expectin see the oon of a pistol- shot, or fee] the keen thrust of the deadly knife with every movement, Curly still advanced to- ward the faint ray. Then he saw that it- pro- ceeded from a smaller chamber: the alcove that had so recently been the prison of the abducted maidens, One quick glance showed him that it was un- occupied, and then he ventured in. He dis- covered unmistakable evidence that the lost ones had lately been there. But where were they now? : As this thought chilled his heart, Curly heard a faint whistle from without, and recognized Kent Morgan’s signal. Feeling that this por- tended danger, he instantly retraced his steps. and plunging into the pool, swam rapidly to where the young man crouched. “What is it—what’s up?” whi Curly. Morgan did not ut replied with a ges- ture. Following it, Tostivan made out the shapes of three men, sig aor advancing down the valley, following the creek bed. Beyond all doubt, they were returning to the Retreat. “The gals are gone, but not many hours. These varmints, it’s likely, knows whar they be, an’ we must find out. I'll pick off the fust, you *tend to the hinder one. The middle one we must take pris’ner,” hurriedly muttered Curly. *‘ But_ maybe they’re honest men—friends.’ * “Don’t be a fool! Hist! now,” continued Tostivan. The men were talking earnestly as they ap-
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te Beadle’s Half-Dime proached, and spoke quite loudly in order to drown the splashing in the shallow water. As if. to settle the doubts of Kent Morgan, these words came to the listeners’ ears, Nipper Jim speaking: ‘That job’s pie ed, then, an’ the sooner we leave this, the better.’ Black John ’d think we was lyin’ to him ’bout the gals.” The reply to this, if any was made, was drowned. by the simultaneous report of two re- volvers, and the bodies of Nipper Jim and Dutch Bill floundered in the water, dyeing it red with their life-blood. Ed Ware stood alone, seeming- ly peated with surprise and horror. hen Curly sprung from his covert, and clutched the outlaw by the throat, flinging him, unresisting, to the shore. In a moment, ere he had recovered from his stupor, he was bound and pegged. “Ketch holt an’ help kerry him up into the taller grass, lad,” hastily uttered Curly, with a quick, searching glance around. ‘Thar’s no tellin’ how many more o’ the varmints thar may be nigh, an’ we must pump this feller afore he has a chaince to git away. Morgan readily lent a hand, and the next minute the scouts and _ their captive had disap- ed amidst the rank grass. No trace was eft visible of the recent tragedy, save in the two forms that floated slowly round and round in the eddy, ually yielding to the influence of the current that was to bear them out into the prairie, far away from the scene of their death. Unioved they had lived, unmourned they. died, ‘or some minutes Curly and Morgan crouched beside the trembling outlaw, their weapons drawn and ready for use, But no further giatin came, All was still and ee over the prairie: a silence that gradually began to be oppres- sive to the two scouts, bold and resolute as they were, “Now, my man,” at length observed Tosti- van, § i distinctly in the prisoner’s ear, “you jest listen a bit tome, I don’t s’pose you know who we air. This man here is a Gover’- ment detective, sent out to Varn the rights o’ this Black John business. I’m Curly, a sort of a guide to him, an’ now the my 4 of the Bar- rett’s vigilantys. So you kin likely tell jest how much fooling we'll stand from you. It'll take a heap to make us overlook what you have did; the fust thing for you to do is to answer our questions. Now tell me, whar is them gals you helped steal away from Barrett's?” As he spor’, waEty released the from the distended jaws. . Ware gas for breath, then uttered: “Tf I tell all, will you let me go frée, and not deliver me up to them vigilantys? They’d mur- der me!” “Tain’t your turn to ax questions. We don’t make tarms with no seech car’on. Don’t rile me, You mought get hurt,” impatiently mut- tered Curly, as his kni e-point pricked the out- law’s throat, ‘““They escaped—Little Billy helped ’em give us the slip, not more’n an hour ago. We heard istol-shootin’ an’ yellin’, as we war out huntin’ er them, an’ thought the vigilantys had run ’em down, shootin’ Little Billy by mistake,” sullenly replied Ware, ‘Jest afore we opened ©n ye, over thar, we heard you say somethin’ about Black John’s i a en ‘ll he be here? No lyin’, ““We lowed he’d be here sometime to-mor- row. Butit’s all guess-work ’th him,” “How many 0’ you is around this spaces) OM “ Ain’t any, now, since Little Billy runn’ off, an’ you killed Dutch Bill an’ Ni per Jim an me. The boss only left us four with the gals.” ‘‘Morgan, you hear this. I b’lieve the cuss is tellin’ the truth. Ef so, the boys must know it all afore day comes. e can lay a trap here fer Black John, an’ bag the hull outfit easy. Besides, the gals must looked up. I don’t like the rumpus we heard over thar, It may be that the varmints is back ahead o’ thar sa oe mebbe a skulkin’ band o’ red-skins has r ed ’em up. Anyway, they must be found. Go you an’ fetch up the critters. I'll fix this var- mint ready fer totin’, You must take him to Barret’s. It’s like we’ll need him fer a witness. He’s jest coward enough to blow on his com- rades to save his or’nery life.” Kent lost no time in obeying the advice, or rather orders, and ten minutes later he was rid- ing rapidly away over the prairie toward Bar- rett’s, cade the pede: ha which the craven un After watching for a moment, Curly Tos- tivan glided over the hill toward the point re Ware was whence had proceeded the wild night-alarm, feeling sure that be would gain some clew tothe fate of the fugitine maidens, Guided by the instinct that long Gg gives the true plainsman, Curly soon up- on the spot where we last saw Little Billy and his char; With a sickening sensation Tosti- van bent low over the blood-stained and tram- pled grass. He saw that a tragedy had been enacted here, and he feared the worst. Then he stumbled over a body buried in the grass. A sigh of relief parted his lips as he noted the large, shage head and harsh features. He had ote lest his eyes should light upon a fairer ace. Only that one body did he find; the mangled corse of the dwarf, Little Billy. Yet he could see where others had fallen, by the matted and ory grass, that still retained the impress of the es For an hour or more he quartered the prairie, but the sign was hard to read by the uncertain moonlight, and he was but little the wiser when he retraced his steps to the basin. And there he waited and watched until Morgan’s return, with a number of vigilantes. Others had been sent for,. Before daydawn the entire settlement would be afoot, And before sunrise the trap was set, and the searchers at work. CHAPTER XI. VULTURE AND COYOTE. Yus, Little Billy was dead, had died fighting deeper ately in the vain hope of saving the two maidens from falling into the clutches of the rairie coyotes, the Kickapoos. Undaunted by he score of enemies who sprung up around him as his revolver spoke the death-knell of the fore- most brave, Little Billy faced them with un- flinching co e, his pistols rapidly detonat- ing, carrying death with every bullet. The rairie-grass around him was crushed flat. b he a forms. Uttering their blood-curd- ling death-shrieks, the savages fell, quivering, writhing, plucking and tearing at the stiff grass that was now dampened and dyed crimson with their hearts’ blood. And the dwarf stood there, bold, defiant, as yet u ed, But then an irresistible rush was made, and after a brief, confused struggle, Little Billy went down before the weight of numbers. Then the writhing mass arose, But Little Billy lay motionless. He was dead. His body bled from a hundred wounds. It was hacked almost to pieces, But the scalp was left untouched. The eornas feared to take this; that would too plainly proclaim the authors of the tragedy, ‘and they were ‘‘ at peace.” May and Eunice had been eye-witnesses of this tragedy, spell-bound with horror, unable to take miep as os: of the terrible confusion to flee, as they might have done. Now, as the savages drew back from the uivering, mangled corse that had once been ttle Billy, one brave, bleeding from a bullet- wound through his face, discovered them as they crouched down in the prairie-grass. Ut- tering a shrill sereech of malignant rage, he lea forward, Meg one hand in the flow- ing tresses, i a blood-dripping knife, its point threatening May’s bosom. With a faint cry she sunk back, her eyes closing in expectation of immediate death. e asp tightened upon her hair, and she was par- ially li to her feet; but the blow did not Ok walk art leaped f pars aligh Ww savage lea orw tin, beside the wounded brave, and with a single powerful blow of his clenched fist, sent him reeling away, to fall at full length on the ground. Then this say stood over the two e-faced maidens, with drawn knife and atchet, waving back the savage braves that prsged around, their weapons dew their faces rted, their eyes glowing with the thirst for blood. “Back!” this man thundered in the tongue of the Kickapoo, ‘‘ These squaws belong to Bad Wolf. The knife that touches them must first pass through the heart of your chief.” For a moment it seemed as though this com- mund would not be heeded, e uplifted weapons quivered and glanced in the pale, silvery rays of the moon, The savages casta rapid glance around over the ghastly, motionless forms of their dead comrades, that, in their dis- torted features and limbs, seemed calling aloud for vengeance. From these, back to the tall commanding form of Shika-chetish, as he stood over the crouching, trembling, half-fainting women, his eyes flashing back their defiance, his weapons uplifted in readiness for the collision that seemed impendins. | But then the braves seemed to remember their allegiance, and as their weapons slowly sunk they drew back, cowed by the un aunted courage of Shika-chetish. For thé time, at least, the pale-faced maidens were safe. Yet the chief kept close beside them, his eye watchful, his hand ready. ven better than they, he realized their peril. He knew that the vengeance of the Kicka was only partially appeased. Four of their comrades. had taken up the long trail leading to the happy-hunting grounds, and there was only the spirit of one pete to light them along the way. Why ad Wolf resolved, upon protecting the women, he could scarcely have told himself, In the dim moment he had not recognized them ; nor was it probable that: he would do so, since he had not met with either of them for over two years—not since they first left Barrett’s for boarding-school at Leavenworth, and these two years had wrought a prey change in them. Fearing the result should the settlers discover that the Kickapoos had committed. this deed, Shika-chetish gave directions for his braves to ather up their dead and obliterate all traces t could possibly serve to identify the mur- derers, The body of Little Billy was fully hidden in the tall grass, and hoping that the dew and sun would soon obliterate the blood- sign, the Kicka lided rapidly away from the spot, Several oF their number coming after the main body, and hiding the trail as best they could. Had Little Billy been less hasty in his action, this tragedy would probably never have ha med. e Kickapoos were not hunting the ugitives. That afternoon a roving band of Omahas had run off several valuable ponies from the Kickapoo herds, and, taking their trail, the latter had followed it this far, when they noticed several forms advancing along the ridge. Naturally they wished to learn who these were. As the dark face rose before Little Billy, he fired instantly, panera it to belong to one of the outlaws, who had discovered them. Thus assaulted, the Kickapoos thought only of re- penige- Otherwise they would have allowed the fugitives to pass them by in peace, as they were averse to gaining the ill-will of the settlers more than they had already by their. slightly enig- matical behavior upon the Twin Mounds, a wee previously. As they journeyed along, Shika-chetish grew more and more uneasy. e could not help but notice the bitter, revengeful glances of the braves, more cially those bearing their dead comrade, i toward the e-faces. He heard too the deep mutterings, the half-audible threats, not alone agai the captives, but to- ward any who should so far forget their creed . as to shield those whose hands were red with Kickapoo blood He heard this, and did not dare rebuke the discontents, Though as brave and daring a man as ever lived, where bodily danger alone was concerned, Shika-chetish had one gest fear. The main body of the Kicka- ad been making overtures to the band un- er his chieftainship, to unite once more with them. Should they do so, Bad-Wolf would be but a sub-chief, while now he was a king. While this matter was unsettled he must bow more or less to the will of his braves, lest they should decide against him and return to their former tribal allegiance. He felt almost certain that his braves would demand that the captives should be delivered up to their ven ce, and he saw not how he could avoid complying. And thus all forgot the purpose for which they start- ed forth; the Omahe horse-thieves might. exult in their success, for the hour of reckoning was postponed. Fortunately for the captives they were not obliged to go much further on foot. Some three miles from the spot of their capture, a second portion of the band was joined. These had charge of the horses, that would only have been an incumbrance to the savages while trailing their foe by moonlight. May and Eunice were mounted upon horse- back, with a warrior riding close upon either hand, as though to guard against any attempt at escape, Fetching up the rear were several braves in charge of the dead. Each corpse was securely bound upon its in an upright ition, with its blanket flung over its head, hiding he staring features and_blood-stains from view. The captives cast only one glance backward; the strange and un y sight of the dead men riding so stiffly along in their rear filled them with horror and a wild longing = escape that ghastly escort. The sun had aeenay risen when we porty rode into the temporary village of the Kicka-
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——— wR a Black John, the poos. And here again the maidens were ¢om- led to un a trying ordeal. As the dead ves were noticed, a wail of grief and woe went up from the squaws and pappoosés, quickly succeeded. by a deadly yell of vengeance as the. e- faces ca their attention.. And thenia esperate rush was made for the captives. With difficulty the braves forced back the infu- riated hags, who seemed to pay no attention to the stinging blows, even wounds, their lords and masters dealt them, intent only upon sacri- ficing the white squaws to the manes of their dead braves. ‘ Panting, peice: i half-fainting, May and Eunice found themselves at length in the skin tent of Shika-chetish, who still stood their shield. But his brow darkened and grew more troubled as he listened to the fumult in the village with- out, the ye , wailing and screeching of the uaws; he knew that at any moment the voices of his braves might join in the chorus, when even his life would be in * ‘“‘ Save us—for the love of God! save us from the gasped May Howard, sinking at the i s feet, her hands cla her voice ti with a sickening dread of the future. “You hear dat? You hear what brave, squaw, pappoose all say? i only one man— ou must die!” sullenly returned the chief, scow- i , as he heard a loud shout come from th Cele ea lodge. door and peered : s oor and pee cagerly f He had understood the meaning of the shout. A body of horsemen was rapidly down upon the village. For one mo- ment he was in doubt; then his face lightened and a shrill whistle broke from his lips. Still obedient, his warriors flocked to a common cen- ter, their weapons in order. Yet they did not seem to apprehend danger, though the horsemen continued to approach at as y gallop. From the foremost came a “ingle ery; it was the yell of Black John, the Road-Agent. Shika- chetish promptly replied, and then the vaga- bond ‘chief and the notorious outlaw met and ¢ hands like tried and warm friends. Yet neither trusted the other further than he was absolutely obliged to. “Well; chief,” said Black John, -glancing keenly around speaking in the Kickapoo tongue, for Shika-chetish was not very expert in the use of the — language, its. intrica- cies proving too much for his guttural tongue ; < rth 9 ie a gone since Soonigh away? : was. t pressive” y, “Vv bad! The pale-faces are growing, stronger to more insolent. They think these prairies are all their own. The Kickapoos have not room to breathe in We are going far away, to a baer A Bs he game is more plenty and not “T see you have been in trouble,” added Black John, keenly eying the stark bodies still lying out in the open-air, surrounded by wailing squaws. ‘ What does this mean? thought you were at Beane, What does this mean?” Bad Wolf hesitated for a moment. He was tempted to tell a lie; to declare that this was the result of a battle with some of the roving Indian bands. And perhaps had he known the entire truth, he would have done so. For he did not suspect that the Road-Agent was in any manner connected with the e-faced captives within his tent. But he concluded to tell the truth, and did so, briefly. “Where was this}. Who were they?” ber Sf demanded Black John, ngly agitated. ‘‘Who was with the white squaws? ‘* A little boy-man, with a head like a buffa- lo-bull. A devil to fight—as you can see. His one arm laid these braves low, before we could kill him.” - “‘ Little Billy!” hoarsely cried Black John, as he turned and made a gesture to his men. “Chief, you are to deceive me—to throw dust in my eyes! squaws are mine —you stole them away from my men at the hole in the prairie!” Shika-chetish stared at the outlaw in mute amazement, as though he did not comprehend Black John’s words. But then an angry glitter came into his eyes, and he replied: “You say that | have a forked tongue. That is a lie. I do not fear to speak the truth to either friend or enemy. And since you speak of deceit, where are the horses you promised me for helping Pa: at the Two Brothers? I made my part of the bargain good; did you? No! you rode off in the night, upon my horses; and now you come here and say that I lie!” “ Captain, I see the girls peeking at us from ye. lodge,” whispered Limber Bick, at Black ’s elbow. ‘* Wait—keep the boys ready. We may have to fight these devils,” muttered the outlaw; then ning once more to the chief; ‘‘I was wrong, Bad Wolf, and I ask your pardon. I was mad, and didn’t know what I said. But this boy-man was one of those I left in charge of: ~~ captives: at the den. .They*must have bri him to help them escape. that is so, and you killed him, I thank you for it... He was a traitor; it saveg me the trouble of punishing him. But these white squaws—let me see them. If they are the ones I think, they must’ go with me, If not, they are yours.” A sullen muttering ran around the line of Kickapoos.. They were’ scowling ois. and preparing their weapons, as though burning for a collision. Black John made a apid gesture. Like magic each of the Road-Agents held a re- volver, cocked and ready in either hand, Be- tween the two parties‘stood Shika-chetish, irre- solute. He knew his antagonists, and felt that victory; if gained at all, must be accompanied by fright loss. “Waving back quis braves, he éaid< “Tt may be as you say. I know nothing of that. I only know that. you promised me so many horses for a. piece of work. I did it; now where are the horses?” : “Here—and they are ‘yours, if you will give up the white squaws. If not, then you must fight for them,” was the bold reply. The Kickapoos glanced at each other, and seemed aoe Bo It was not every day that they gained such a prize; and besides, there might danger in sacrificing the squaws. The settlers were already suspicious. Bad Wolf read this decision, and like a goéd werels gave in... Striding to the lodge, he dragged forth the trembling captives, saying:* ‘*Look—are these your squaws?” Yes!” cried B John and Limber Dick, in a breath. ‘Then they are yours—when you give me horses,” was the business-like reply. “Come with us to the den, and you can have them then. It is a long ways to walk,” hesitated Black John. “No. We are going far away. Give us the horses now. “Do it, Cap,” muttered Limber Dick. ‘‘ The animals would only leave a trail that might be- trayus, We can easily raise fresh ones from the settlers.” ‘*Save us! for the love of God!. do not give usup to that villain!” gasped May, shriviking back in terror. ‘Horses worth heap more than squaws,” coolly returned. the chief. P Shrinking with terror, they strove to flee, but with one bound, the Road-Agents secured them. Half-fainting, they sunk helpless into the strong arms.. . . . And the Vulture and the Coyote laughed. dia- bolically. he » CHAPTER XII. THE TRAP SPRUNG. ALL was still in the “basin,” though hearts were beating and eyes. flashing with eager anti- cipation as the tes crouched down amidst the undergrowth, their rifles cocked and ready for use the moment Curly Tostivan should give the si 5 . an hour before the look-outs posted upon the ridge bronght word thata number of footmen were approaching the retreat. Curly at once stole out to reconnoiter them, and made out that they were the band of Black John, and that they had May Howard and Eunice Lee with them as captives. Without bothering his mind ing to aceount for, their being. dis- mounted, ly hastened back to the man-trap. He was now standing beside Ed. Ware, a re- volver ready to remind the outlaw of the duty expected of him. ‘To save his life, Ware had A ahs to decoy the Road-Agents into the trap. e knew the agreed-upon signals, without which bs aged , Black John would not venture The signals were made and answered. Black John unsuspectingly advanced. Between him and Limber Dick walked May and Eunice, jad- ed and worn by the long march that had lasted from morn until nearly sunset. : As the Road-Agents drew nearer, Curly Tos- tivan made Kent Morgan a signal. The youn man, followed by a half dozen sturdy men—an among them the redoubtable Frank Kershaw— ped into the creek, emerging from the basin on the opposite side from that where the outlaw approached. object was to gain the rear of the Road- Agents, and thus be enabled to cut off the re- treat of such among them as survived the first springing of the trap. This bright afternoon Road-Agent. 15 was to see the utter destruction of Black John’s notorious band of depredators. “Hello! there—Dutch Bill!” cried out Black reg A roan at a little distance, as though for e ime suspecting something wrong. “Answer him—an’ sted how ye do it,” mut- tered Curly, as his pistol was pressed i Ware’s side. ** Hello, Cap—what’s up?” “Ts all safe? Where's the rest of the boys? How did you manage to lose these girls?” “‘Tt’s a long story, but we kin clear our skirts. Thar’s big news too; better come on in,” return- ed Ware. Black John seemed satisfied and advanced. ‘* Leave them two to Leigh an’ me,” muttered Curly, in a tone barely audible to the vigilantes around him. ‘When I fire, you plug t’other; ready, Abram?” em and then Curly glanced along the dark tu death, its silver drop full upon the narrow og eg white fi left bare by the slouched hat worn by Black John. A pressure of the finger—and the death- knell was sounded. Without a Blaek John reeled, tossing his arms aloft, then fell heavily forward, a blue, discolored t between the eyes marking where the bullet entered the brain. == _ And amidst the death-hail that hurtled so thickly around him, Limber Dick stood unseath- = one hand clutching Eunice Lee. Giant Abram had drawn a bead upon his heart, but the settler’s rifle missed fire. ' : And then—with the shrieks and agonized of his fellow comrades, with the wild, exultant yells of the vigilantes, both in the basin and those under Kent Mo who now leaped up from the tall grass in the rear of the Road- nts; with all this around him, Limber Dick did not lose his presence of mind. Quick as a he flung one arm around Eunice, draw- ing her close to his breast, while his right hand clutched a long knife, the keen point resting up- on her bosom, “Hold!” he cried, his clear voice ringing like a clarion note, a sneer of derisive contempt worn in the moment of dread peril, playing around his lips. ‘‘The first move you make will be the death of this girl. True, you éan shoot me, but you can’t kill me so instantly but that I will have time to drive this knife cane to her heart.” “Dont shoot, boys!” cried Curly, anxiously. “What do you want, anyhow? Don’t be a durned fool, man!” “Thank you—I think I am sting ve y sensi- bly, indeed. What do I want? My life, of course. I’m not ak for death—nor do 1 Euppoee this lady is. Still, if you kill me, you ill her, also. Pledge me your honor that you will give me one hour’s start, and I will free her. Then you may cotch me—if you. can,” coolly added Limber Dick. ‘Let me talk with the boys, fust,” said Curly. “All right—but no treachery, for—” That was the last word Limber Dick ever A slender form suddenly arose behind him, and clutching his knife-hand, wrenched the arm far back from the maiden’s breast. At the same instant there was a smothered report —a tiny ery of smoke, and with a snarling cry, Limber Dick fell dead to the ground. “‘Hurra! Bully for Kershaw!” yelled Curly, leaping forward in cmreg 5 ; t was indeed Frank Kershaw who had per- formed this bold and adroit deed. He had crept through the grass and gained the rear of Lim- ber Dick, unobserved, nerved to desperation, doubtless, by the imminent peril of 3 whose beauty and wit had made a deep im- pression on Frank’s heart. : There is little more to be added save what the reader’s imagination can readily supply. The safe return of their children, turned the scale in favor of Thomas Howard and his wife. Both were well and ee double wed- ding that occurred on as Eve of the same year. Maurice Clyde, the detectivé—the same who has been known as Kent Morgan in these pages—wedded May, the blackeyed. And Eunice, of the golden locks, took Frank Ker- shaw for better or worse, finding him much bet- ter than mice be expected from the part he has played in these pages, but that one act of boJdness, by which he rescued his future wife, greatly altered Frank, and he is no longer the gasconading b of doubtful courage. The “‘ Outlaw’s Retreat,” or prairie sink, still exists. In July, 1873, I visited it, and the de- ai in the text is taken from nature; and the incidents in this are still fresh in the memory of many of my friends. THE END.
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BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. Every one of them ‘* Live” Stories by *‘ Live» Authors. Each number a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price of a HALE-DIME. DEADWOOD DICK, Deadwood Dick, THe PRINCE oF THE Roap. By Edward L. Wheeler. Yellowstone Jack; or, Taz TRAPPER oF THE ENCHANTED Grounp. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr., author of “ Pacific Pete,” etc. 3 Kansas King; or, Tur Rep Ricut Hanp. By B o Bill (Hon. Wm. F, Cody), The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagabond Joe; THe Youna WANDER- ina JEW. By Oll Coomes, 6 Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Lire In THE Nortuwest. By Edward §. Ellis, 3 The Flying Yankee; or, THe OcHAN Outcast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. > Seth Jones; or, THE CAPTIVES OF THE Frontier. By Edward 8. Ellis. 9 The Adventures of Baron Mun- chausen. 10 Nat Todd; or, THe Fare or THE Sioux Captive, By Edward 8. Ellis. 1 1 The Two Detectives; THE Forrunrs or A Bowery Grau. By Albert W. Aiken, author of ‘‘ The Spotter Detective,” etc. or, = BUFFALO BEN.—No. 28. » ' i yoy Gulliver’s Travels. A Voyage to ~ Lilliput, and a Voyage to Brobdingnag. The Dumb Spy. By Ol] Coomes, author of ‘‘ Vagabond Joe,”’ ete. 12 1 1 4 Aladdin; or, THe Wonprrru. Lamp. 1 5 The Sea-Cat; or, Tae Wircn or Darian. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. Robinson Crusoe. His Life and Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.) 1 e Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca- neer; or, THE FuGrrivE YAcat. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 1 bag Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy- ages.. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy; or, Tax Por or THE Prargre. By Buffalo Bill. 20 The Double Daggers; or, Drap- woop Dicx’s Derrance. By Edward L. Wheeler, author of ‘‘ Deadwood Dick.” | 21 Frontier Angel. A Romance of Kentucky Rangers’ Life. By Edward 8. Ellis, author of ‘* Seth Jones,”’ etc, 222 The Sea Serpent; or, Tux Boy Rosrnson Crusoz. By Col. Juan Lewis. Nick o’ the Night: or, THz Boy Spy or 76. By T. C. Harbaugh, Diamond Dirk: or, THz Mystery oF THE YELLowsToNE. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, author of ‘ The Flying Yankee,”’ etc. 2 5 The Boy Captain: or, Tue Prnate’s Daveuter. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. Edward L. Wheeler 2Q7 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Coomes, By Pistol: or, Drapwoop Dick IN Roaring Ralph ood, THE Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian: Rep Pirates oF THE CaRIBBErS, By Samuel Wild Ivan, Tue Boy CiaupE Dovat; wood Dick Romance No. 4. By Edward L. Wheeler. By T. ©. 38 Ned Wylde, Tux Boy Scour. By QR Buffalo Ben, the Prince of the Disevuise. By Edward L. Wheeler 29 The Dumb P 3 on, THE Doace’s Daveuter. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 30 Reckiess Raneer. By Harry St. George. Keen-Knife, THe PrINcE OF THE Prairies. By Oll Coomes. 3 or, Toe Girt Drap-Snor. By Edward L. Wheeler, author of “ Deadwood Dick,” éte., ete. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THz W. Pierce, author of ‘‘The Boy Detective,” etc., etc. 34 Oregon Sol; or, Nick Wxrv.zs’ Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams. 35 or, THe BrorHerHoop or Drats. Dead- 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN OF THE ARENA. By Frank 8. Finn. 3 7 The Hidden Lodge; or, Tux Litttz HUNTER OF THE ADIRONDACKS, Harbaugh, author of “ Nick o’ the Night,”’ etc, Texas Jack. 39 Death-Face, the Detective; or, Lire anp Love in New York. By Ed- word L. Wheeler. Roving Ben. A story of a Young American who wanted to see the world. By John J. Marshall. 41 Lasso Jack, THE Youn@ MustTane- ER.’ By Oll Coomes. The Phantom Miner: or, Dap- woop Dick's Bonanza. By Ed. L. Wheeler, 43 Dick Darling, the Pony Express Rider. A Story of the Overland Trail. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 44 Rat Rube: or, Tae Niaut- HAWES OF TUCKY. By Harry St. George. + ae aN YAN NAY WAY ** ANTELOPE ABE.—No, 27. 4 5 Old Avalanche, the Great An- nihilator: or, THE Grru BRIGAND. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ready June 4th. 46 Glass Eye, the Great Shot of the West. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. Nightingale Nat: on, THz Formsr A'7 Cuneo By T. C. Harbaugh. 48 Black John, the Road-Agent. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr., 49 Omaha Oll, the Masked Terror. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ready July 2d. 5 Burt Bunker. By Charles E. La- 51 The Boy Rifles. Iron. Ready July 16th, salle. Ready July 9th. By Archie C. 52 The White Buffalo. By Charles E. Lasalle. Ready July 23d. A new issue every week. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by aly Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on | receipt of six cents each, BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. ROBINSON ORUSOE,—No, 16.