Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 501) (1887 03 01)
The text was read from the page scans by machine (OCR), so it has mistakes and its columns may run together. See the pages · About this title · At the Internet Archive
Page 1
POORTE Enuraion, Seereen=ct My, \ ANY NS Z x x a x = \ Ny “y NY \ « \ Ay IU UMMA” QU, NAGE HU, 7A F a et i a a SS KS y| & Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. ¥., at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyright, 1887, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, March 1, 1887. 2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BR: 1E AN AMS i Vol. xx. s SH x Y BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, No. 501. a Year. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. TAA ASST ; S RAG \)\ WAN AS =2 IN GAA QR Se SS — KX QT . TOO SHARP FOR THE SHARPER, BY CHARLES MORRIS, AUTHOR OF “ pETECTIVE DICK,” “‘ PHIL HARDY? . THE BOss BOY,” ‘‘ WILL WILDFIRE,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER If, ROOTS ON ‘THE MACHINE.” THIRTY or forty years ago a far more wild and lawless condition of affairs ruled in our large cities than at present. Those were the days of the volunteer fire- companies, Against these in themselves we have not a wordto say. They were 0 : BOT IN THE OENTER OF THIS REALM OF FLAMES WAS A SPECTACLE THAT GAVE prety Js} oo usefulmess, which in their , B : . a OOTS SUCH sa WEART AS HE HAD NEVER BEFORE EXPERIENCED, ut the rivalry between the various com i ~.
Page 2
’ the heavy hand-engine was dragg: 2 —— panies, and the enmity between many of them ‘gave rise to groups of quarrelsome adherents, who were ever ready for a fight or a riot. In those days the police service was much less efficient than it has since become, and the excite- ment occasioned by a fire was apt to find vent in a desperate quarrel which the guardians of the Jaw were powerless to quell. Buildings were set on fire by lurking villains for the purpose of bringing out the companies, and the wild rush through the streets of long rows of men dragging the ponderous engines, the shouting and the roar of fire-horns, the alarm of the bells, the struggle of rival companies for precedence, the street, races, all roused a fierce excitement, which needed little to stir it up into a desperate fight, during which the flames were occasionally permitted to gain unquenchable control of the burning building: Such were some of the scenes of the days of volunteer fire organizations, evils for which the members themselves could not be held responsi- ble, but which were mainly the work of the crowds of lawless adherents which attached themselves to every company. It is in this period that our story lies, and in the Quaker City” of Philadelphia, which was then the scene of many a disgraceful fire-riot, though it was also marked by much noble and disinterested service by the volunteer fire organ- zations. It wasa dark night in the month of April, 18—. The streets of the Quaker City, then marl lit up with gas lamps, were full of pa which the electric beam now dis- S. “ The moonless and heavily-clouded sky added to the darkness. There was a threat of rain in the air, and few passengers were abroad, al- though the night was yet young. But such people as were in the streets were suddenly startled by a loud, quavering cry of ‘‘ Fire! Fire! Fire!” as a man came dashing on- ward at full speed, making the air vibrate with his wild clamor. Men started and looked round them eagerly as he passed. Some asked him questions which he used not toanswer. Others gazed anxiously r the glare of a conflagration, or broke into a full run for the locality of the nearest engine company. Among the latter was a half-grown boy who had been coiled up in a window embrasure be- hind a tobacconist’s sign. He 2 aig with a bound to his feet on hearing the alarm-cry, looked around him with an excited sparkle in his eye, and then dasned wildly after the man, echo- ing his cry of “Fire!” in a tone of elfish de- ight. “is evidently was a street vagrant, judging by his mop of hair covered with a greasy slouched hat, and his clothes so full of rents that they stood out like sails in the wind as he,ran. But his most noticeable feature was a pair of boots, much too large for him, and whic came up far above his knees. These were kept on by pieces of rope fastened to the straps and carried over his shoulders like a of improvised suspenders. he little ‘‘ Arab” clutched these roe with both hands as he ran, his heavy boots clattering on the pavement. Yet. he made good headway despite his difficulties, and yelled as lustily as the man whose footsteps he closely followed. Many an eye turned to look at him, and many a smile broke out on bearded lips, as the comical figure clattered by, as full of energ, and excite- ment as if on an errand of life and death Helio, Boots!” cried one person who seemed to know him. ‘Port your helm, youngster! Whereabouts is the fire? ** Dunno where!” yelled the boy back, ‘‘ Don’t keer where ’tis so it’s a bu’ster.” “ Where are you going, then?” “Goin? fur the Indy. This hoss runs with the Indy, every time.” As he spoke the doors of a fire-engine-house at no great distance abead were, flung open, and out with a whirl, with half a hundred men at the rope. It was the ‘ Industry,” a well-known engine of that part of the city. At the end of the Fope ran a stalwart man grasping the stout fire horn, through which he roared hoarse orders to his followers as he tugged at the load. J Those behind him yelled excitedly, until the street became a tempest of clamor. The heavy machine bounded over the stones, new persons flying to the rope until full a hun- dred men and boys tugged it onward. And now the deep-toned State House bell, and smaller bells in other parts of the city, pealed out their alarm, rowsing everybody to the con- Boots, the Boy Fireman. sciousness that the demon of fire had seized upon some home or workshop, and calling everybody to the desperate struggle with the fire. The tocsin of the fire-bells has since been re- placed by the silent message of the electric wire. Butin those days all the citizens were warned of the danger to their homes, and thou sands rushed to the scene where the great mass of the people now remain in ignorance that any- thing unusual is taking place. Through street after street sped the engine, with its yelling host at the rope, behind whom the omg fachiné bounded like.a thing of no weight. But what had became of ‘ Boots,” whom we left running toward the engine-house, as he gave vent to his lusty yell of “‘ Fire! Fire!” Ah! the little gamin knows what he 1s about! There he is, perched’on the engine, to which he has climbed with the agility of a cat. The young Arab, in fact, has gained the sum- mit of the tower or galley in the center of the engine, where he is perched like a king upon his throne, clinging fast despite the bounds and jerks of the rattling machine. ‘¢GQuv it to her, lads!” he shouts. a Go it, you jolly cripples! ‘* Make her Lay down! aay down, Indies!” “Who's that!” cried one of the firemen an- ily, as he looked around. “Hallo! It’s 30ots!” ‘© - You bet!” rejoined the independent vagrant. ‘I'm boss o’ this yere injine. ‘‘Let ’er rip! Yander come the Goodies. Ain’t goin’ to let ’em lay us out, are ye?” The Good Will engine, of which he spoke, now swung from a side street into that occupied by the Industry, and the next moment a lively but good-natured race had begun for the scene of the conflagration, Side by side they rattled over the rough cob- ble-stones of the street, each dragged by fully a hundred men and boys, all yelling together at the top of their lungs, while boarse orders came at intervals through the brazen fire-horns. Boots had much trouble now to keep on his perch, being flung into the air in successive jolts as the engine bounded over the rough stones. Yet he clung to his seat like an Indian to his horse, and grew wild with delight as the In- oseetd showed signs of drawing ahead of its rival. ‘‘ Hooray for our side!” he shouted. ‘‘ We're fetchin’’em, Indies. We're fetchin’ the beggars. Scrouge %*m! Scrouge ’em inter the curb! Jolly, lads! Let her rip!” As he saw that his side was gaining in the race he could not contain his exultation. He sprung to his feet and danced on the unsteady surface of his perch, shouting down taunting remarks to the rival company. It was too much for flesh and blood to bear. A half-brick, flung by a sure hand, came hur- tling through the air toward’ the insulting youngster. Only an accident saved his head from the dangerous missile. The engine gave 4 rough bound over a high stone, flinging the urchin from his feet just as the brick hurtled past his ead. Headforemost downward went the boy Anto the depths of the engine, his body sinking out of sight, his boots sticking up into theair, while loud roars of laughter at his misfortune broke out from every side. Tt was no time now to stop to extricate him. The engine bounded onward, leaving him to get out of his difficulty the best way he could, his boots wildly kicking in the air, w ile smothered cries came from bis voice below. The next moment the engine whirled round another corner, leaving the ‘‘ Goody” twenty feet in the rear. _ The street now entered was crowded with ex- cited men, while the glare of a burning house sent its lurid flash far through the darkness of the night, lighting up the whole vicinity with the beacon-light of destruction. ‘Make way there!” yelled the leader, as he rushed on without pausing to see if his order was obeyed, The crowd fell back to right and left as the engine plunged onward, preceded by a light hose carriage, which had just then reached the scene of co tion. A few bounds more and the Industry came to a halt, while the firemen in their heavy coats and helmets rushed to their duties, some to aid in at- taching the hose, some seizing axes and flying to the burning edifice, some preparing to work the pumps of the cumbrous machine. he Boots yet occupied his awkward position, little more of him than his leathern extremities being visible, his head being wedged fast somewhere ——— ——————SS in the depths of the engine, from which he seem- ed vainly struggling to extricate himself. Cries of entreaty, of anger, and of impatience came in smothered accents from his invisible lips. With a loud laugh one of the firemen sprun upon the engine, caught him by the boots, pi with a strong jerk extricated him from his awk- ward attitude, setting him on his feet with very little ceremony. ‘‘ Hallo! little Flippit! Where’ve you been all this time?” demanded the rescuer. ‘‘I kind of missed you.” Boots looked at him with a spiteful snap of his. eyes, and then turned toward the rival company ~ which had just arrived. ‘‘ Where’s the feller as flung that brick?” he shouted. ‘* I bet that coon’s got cross-eyes and a bull-frog mouth, Jist p’int_the bow-legged monkey out to me so’s I kin make hash o’ him. T’m goin’ to lick that galoot till he wouldn’t sell for a rotten apple at auction.” They were all too busy now to pay much atten- tion to Boots’s indignation. He gave vent toan- other growl which was cut short by the man who had rescued him, ‘Cork your pipe!” cried the latter, sharply. “ Down with you, youngster, or you'll be churn- ed into mincemeat.” He caught the boy by the collar and dropped him unceremoniously into the street. Tn a minute more the firemen had sprung to the handles of the engine, and were rattling them up and down with the full strength of twenty pairs of vigorous arms, while the stream of water from the attached hose began to swell out the leathern tubes leading to the burning house. In another minute a stream was directed upon the fire, which gaye out a spiteful hiss as it felt poe first touch of the liquid fingers of its deadly 0e. Boots was too full of life to stand still while such exciting events were in progress. He con- sidered himself one of the niost important mem- bers of the ‘‘ Indy ” fire company, and was bound to bear a full hand in the labor. He wormed his way through the dense crowd with the agility of a weasel till he reached the front of the house. It was a three-story brick, standing alone, there being a wide alley on either side, Flames were pouring in torrents from the third floor windows, while a dense cloud of smoke, lit by lurid gleams, rolled from the win- dows of the second floor. Firemen were rushing into and out of the building, ladders were raised against the house, and men with axes and hose were climbing up to the windows. With the quickness of a rat Boots plunged in- to aa burning house and disappeared from g CHAPTER II. : IN THE DOOMED HOUSE. WE must go back an hour or two in our story to consider some events which preceded the scene just described. Then the house which we have just seen burst- ing into flames stood dark and quiet, with no in- dication of its coming fate. It was a large and highly respectable brick edifice, standing alone, as we have said, being separated by five feet wide alleys from the olbar buildings on the street. The windows were curtained, the shutters pes bowed, and not a ray of light indicated hat there was any life within. In fact the occupants of the house at that mo- ment consisted of two persons only, and they were seated in a rear room on the third floor, the lamp which burned on the table between them sending its light only out into the rear yard. These men were greatly contrasted in appear- ance. One of them was a handsome, well-built gentlemanly person, with a frank countenance, et a look as if he would be able.to bold his own in any difficulty that called for decisive action, The other was a spare, Wiry individual, with a bony face, whose most noticeable feature was a pair of sharp, ferrety eyes. His thin lips wore a smile which was not a very agreeable one. These persons had apparently been engaged in a long and exciting conversation. ‘My dear Benson,” said the handsome-faced man, “‘ don’t take into your cranium the idea — IT am denying anything, or that I am playing in any way a double gam. I have the document. You did not fancy that 1 was fool enough to get rid of it?” “fT have no doubt it is your game to sa so,” replied Benson, in a satirical tone. ‘But this matter is a little too importantto take any man’s word for it, You have been a roving that & ¥
Page 3
" ; ; a ‘ oe -_ blade, John Huntly. paper.” ‘** Then you would like to see it?” “That would be the easiest way to satisfy me,” ** Would it?” rejoined Huntly, with a scorn- | am afraid you are not | ful laugh. ‘ Then [ going to be satisfied, I can tell you this, it is in my possession at this moment. But there is only one condition under which you can see it,” ** What is that?” Ps That you tell me what you did with the boy. : **T have told you that already. He is dead. He died ten years ago.” “You lie,” answered Huntly, harshly, fixing his eyes keenly on the sharp fave of bis oppo- uent.. ‘* You lie, amd you dare not deny it. And if you consider that an insult I am ready to give you any satisfaction.” ‘You are, are you?” rejoined Benson, with a sullen sneer. ‘* You are twice my size, and you think you are safe to quarrel with me.” ** My fighting is done on the square, and yours | on the foul, so that makes you quite my match,” was the disdainful answer. ‘‘1 am not here to quarrel, though, but simply to tell you a thing or two. I say that you lie when you say the boy is dead. He is alive,and I know it. Produce him and I will quickly prove to you that I still hold the document,” ** Will you put it into my possession?” ““Not much. It will be yours on the day ‘when you undo the evil you have done, and restore that estate to its rightful heir.” ** Suppose I claim that I have done nothing wrong, and that the estate is justly mine?” **T will make you squeal, that’s all. I know where to put a certain little scrap of paper where it will do the most good. have only one thing further to say, Phil Benson. If you try any of your tricks on me you will find that you've waked up the wrong customer. You can put that in your pipe and smoke it.” Benson answered him with a loud laugh. He rose from his seat and slapped him with a show of heartiness on the shoulder. “You're the same old Jack Huntly, I see that,” he remarked. ‘“‘ Straight up to the mark always, and nota twist in your composition. Well, I am ready to settle in any reasonable way, as long as you areso confounded contrary. But this is a dry talk between two old friends. Suppose we wet our lips before we go any fur- ther.” He walked towards a closet at one side of the room. Opening this he took from it a bottle and # brace of glasses, with a covert movement of his hand over one of the glasses. Returning to the table he placed these articles upon it, “You used to be fond of a glass of old cognac, Jack,” he said pleasantly, ‘‘and this is seven years old, Let’s wet our whistle and see if we can’t get on without quarreling.” Huntly looked with an air of dry suspicion at ‘the bottle. i a I am not in the humor for drinking,” he said, ““That’s a new tune with you, my boy. Very well, I'll have to drink alone to the old days.” He poured himself out a wine-glass of the strong liquor, and sipped it down with a show of great satisfaction, — f Huntly watched him with less suspicion in his eyes. afc To return to that psper,” remarked Benson quietly. ‘* Between you and me I don’t think it of much importance, but would not object to ‘paying a reasonable price for it, ‘To make a false will is an every da busi- hess, of course,” sneered Huntly. ‘To te a man’s name is what every dee doing every day, no doubt. And yet, somehow, our courts re an odd way of looking at that sort of thing. “Forgery be shot!” rejoined Benson, with a light laugh. ‘Never say anything you can’t prove, my friend. Men like me never leave an open track behind them,” He poured out another glass of the brandy, which he slowly sipped as he fixed his eyes on Huntily’s face with a smile of concealed inso- lence. Huntly looked at him angrily. An oath of impatience broke from his lips. With a hasty ttle and poured movement he snatched up the . out a glassful of the liquor, ** Anyhow, there is remarked in an in ss I doubt very much / that way,” declared Benson, whetber you have held fast to a useless piece of | al ———$———$—$— ee Boots, the Boy Fireman. smoothly, as his visitor quickly emptied the glass to its dregs. Huntly looked up with renewed suspicion. ** Hillo!” he cried. ‘* You are trying that in- nocent dodge on me, are you? Isthere anything in that brandy, you villain? It has an ugly taste.” “*If there is I am doubly in’ for it,” rejoined Benson, as he finished bis glass. ‘‘I have taken a double dose. And my head was never as strong as yours,” ‘**But you are such a deep rascal that one never knows when to trust you.” “Here’s to the old days again, at any rate,” laughed Benson, filling his glass once more. “I'd drown myself in brandy before I'd talk that way to an old friend.” They continued to converse in a desultory manner, the momentary suspicion passing from Huntly’s face. Benson sat back in his chair, glass in hand, his eyes fixed with a curious gaze on his com- panion, After a few minutes Huntly ceased to speak. There was a drowsy, glazed look in his eyes. Hisdingers drummed in a nervous manner on the table. He roused himself with a sudden effort. “* What ails me?” he cried. ‘* Was that liquor dosed, after all? By Heaven! if you try any game on me, you rascal, there will a pair of us kick the bucket together.” He drew a revolver from his pocket, and laid it on the table, fixing his eyes fiercely on the smiling countenance before him. ae go under, I will not cross the river alone,” he declared, cocking the weapon. “T am afraid that brand of cognac is too strong for your head,” replied Benson. ‘I had better put away the bottle before it upsets your wits.’ : He took up the bottle and glasses, and walked back with them to the closet. Huntly followed him with a doubtful gaze. But the next instant his head drooped again, and the glazed look re- turned to his eyes. Benson fumbled about the closet while covert- ly watching him. There was an ugly smile upon his face. In a minute more Huntly’s chin fell upon his breast, his eyes closed, and his arms dropped helplessly by his side. ** The fool!” sneered Benson, with the look of a tiger. ‘To trust himself alone with me! He has not wit enough to know that a glass may be — and a bottle innocent. The idiot has put imself in my power, and I will have that docu- ment if I have to search every inch of his cloth- ing. I am never for a moment safe while that awkward paper is in existence.” He returned to the table and removed from it the revolver which had fallen from Huntly’s nerveless grasp. Then he looked sharply into the face of the sleeping man, He even caught him by the shoulder and shook him, calling him by name. Only a groan came in response. Huntly was fully under the influence of the drug which had been placed in his glass. “Safe!” muttered Benson, paper.” he search which ensued was a most complete and thorough one. The promise to search every inch of the sleeping man’s clothing was fully kept. From head to foot he was examined in the most thorough manner, the lining of his oe and the soles of his shoes not being neg- ected. Yet nothing was discovered. Finally Benson desisted from the search. “Now for the * “He lied!” came in hissing accents from his lips. ‘It is not about his person. He may have left it elsewhere. But what if he has? No one but he knows the meaning of it, and he is not the man to put his game in any other man’s hands.” A look of strange meaning came into his eyes as he continued to gaze on the helpless sleeper. “* One thing will make me safe, and one only!” he hissed. ‘‘ While John Huntly lives I will’ be always in danger. If he were out of the way I would fear no man. He is in my. power Shall I be fool enough to let him escape? He continued his gaze, while the gleam in bis eyes grew fiendish. Hastily starting from his constrained position he hurried to the closet. In & moment he emerged with some pieces of strong twine, with which he proceeded to bind his vic- tim firmly to the chair, This done he walked to the door of the room, pausing but for a single glance back. ‘While he lives T am on the edge of a preci- pice,” he hissed. ‘If I do not push him over he will push me, John Huntly shall never be heard of again, ” eae Po. left the room, locking the door behind im, Z An hour passed by. Huntly still lay in his swoon. At the end of a half-hour more he showed signs of wakefulness. His eyes opened. His limbs stirred. He endeavored to rise. lt wasa vain effort; he was firmly bound to his chair. But his opening eyes had fallen upon a fright- ful spectacle, Here and there tongues of flaine were darting through the floor. A stifling heat filled the room. Clouds of smoke rolled up- ward. There could be no question of his terrible peril. The house was on fire,and he was left there, tied hand and foot, to perish in the flames. The strong man struggled with the vigor of'a giant. But hedid so in vain. His bonds were too strong to be broken by his utmost efforts, He lay back and groaned in agony. The flames were within an inch of his person. ‘* Fool and idiot as I was!” he cried out. ‘To put myself alone in that man’s reach! I am but paid as I deserve for my folly.” Yet a lingering source of hope remained. There came to his ears from the street the roar as of a multitude of men. Bells were ringing, shouts rising, the hiss of water mingled with the roar of the flames, Yet there seemed no hope for him. A wall of fire shot up between him and the window. Tongues of flame lapped the door. His clothing caught fire. ‘ At that instant the sound of an ax was heard. The door flew open. “No one in there,” cried a fireman’s voice. “That room is past hope.” He turned away, while the doomed man fell back with a hollow groan. CHAPTER ITI. THROUGH SMOKE AND FLAME. Outside the burning house a half-dozen en- cines and hose carriages had collected, and others were momentarily dashing up to the scene. Hundreds of people were crowding into the adjoining streets so closely as to greatly impede the efforts of the firemen. But the latter used very little ceremony in making their way through the curious throng. The flames were momentarily climbing higher andsending a broader glare over the midnight scene. As yet the water had very little effect over its ancient foe. We left Boots just rushing into the burning building. Inside the doorway he ran plump ageist a rg fireman, who had entered an instant be- ore. Glancing down at the comical figure by his side the burly fellow caught him by the collar with an oath. ‘* What brings you here, you bottle-stopper? Git out with you now, “fore I kick you out! “Like ter know what fotches you here,” re- torted Boots. ‘‘Guess if you’ve got a front seat, I kin squat in the peanut gallery.” Drop your jaw, you Jack on a stick, and git} Lively, I tell you.” ““Dunno how I'm goin’ to git while you're a- holdin’ me. Le’ go my collar now "fore I bite.” “Slide, you ring-tailed monkey,” snarled the fireman, releasing his squirming captive. “Don’t show your dirty face here ag’in. you do Ill fling be in the ingine, and shoot you out through the nozzle.” “Got to ketch yer weasel "fore you kin skin him,” retorted Boots, with a laugh of scorn. “T run with the Indy, I do, and if you was put up at auction I wouldn’t guv a off a pig- pen fur your whole corporation.” He made a dart into the house. The fireman stepped hastily forward to stop bim. But the boy was right in comparing himself with a weasel. With a sharp turn he darted between the legs of his opponent, nearly upsetting him in the effort. An oath like a peal of thunder rolled from the fireman’s lips, but it was wasted on the active urchin, who was already clattering up stairs with his heavy boots, Reaching the floor of the second story he found himself in a dense cloud of smoke, while the heat was stifling. Yet a dozen firemen were there, some in the adjoining rooms. W clear flame had taken the place of smoke, some breaking open the doors of apartments as yet free from the demon of fire, Where Boots stood no one could have sur- vived more than a minute or two. The smoke was smothering. 5 He darted blindly forward in search of purer
Page 4
a air, and quickly found himself at the foot of an- other flight of stairs. The form of a fireman was visible near the top of the stairs. Boots plunged up after him. en about half-way up he heard the loud stroke of an ax, and the splintering of wood as a door was dashed open. A glare of fiames broke out into the hall, light- ing up the scene with startling brilliancy. ‘No one in there,” cried the fireman as he dashed onward. ‘‘ That room is past hope.” Yet a sound came to the ears of the boy which had escaped the fireman,a sort of smothered groan. It was followed by acty for help, that was half lost in the roar of the fire. Boots, who had paused in his speed, started forward at these sounds with the agility of a cat. “If there ain’t nobody in there then I don’t know beans from ’taters,” he muttered. In an instant he reached the door of the room. There was nota second to lose, The flames were ini more and more the mastery of the oomed house. Just inside the door a line of flames seemed to cut off the interior of the room. Toward the window was a glaring background of fire. The heat was stifling. But in the center of this realm of flames was a tacle that gave Bootssuch a start as he never before experien Ina chair sat the forms of a heavily-built man, whose ghastly, horror-stricken face leamed out with ghostly distinctness from the es, Another loud cry for help at that instant came from his lips. “What you yellim’ fur? Why don’t you ey * up an peg out 0’ that?” demanded Boots. “Tt is inypossible. I am bound hand and foot, = Several of the companies, however, had given that edifice up as a hopless task, and were direct- ing their attention to the neighboring buildings, in an effort to prevent the fire from spreading. ““No use wasting any more water there,” cried one red-shirted fellow. ‘‘Let it alone. The sooner it burns itself out the better.” ‘‘ There go the stairs,” cried another, as a roar and a blinding surge of flames succeeded. ‘*Ts there pe Be inside?” “Reckon not. *Cept he’s a salamander.” “‘ You bet there is, then,” yelled a man, who at that instant darted out through the open door, “Two fellows went down with them stairs. I saw them.” A groan of horror rose at this startling infor- mation. Sure on’t? Who were they! Firemen?” “No. One was aman, t’othera boy. Look- ed like that little gutter-rat they call Boots.” A yell rose from the ‘‘ Indy ” firemen on hear- ing this. Boots had long been a favorite with them. With haste the stream from the nozzle through the cellar windows, in the vain hope of in some way benefiting the doomed boy. Vigorously as they had worked the handles before, they did so with terfold strength and rapidity now, while the water poured in a tor- rent from their swollen hose. But it was evidently useless, The flames swelled in volume with fierce rapidity. They were now pouring in a floed from the roof. In five minutes afterward the upper floor pw 7 with a crash, carrying down the one be- iow it. Almost the same instant the upper half of the rear wall toppled inward and sg with a thundering crash upon the floors below, hurling them in a blazing mass into the cellar. The last hope was now gone. The brave boy and the rescued victim of villainy seemed lost beyond recovery. Only their scorched bones could now be sought in the ashes of the ruined edifice, CHAPTER IV. THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. On the skirts of the throng that had gath- ered to gaze upon the burning house § the spare figure of Philip Benson, crouching back in a shadowy corner as if afraid that his murder- ous deed might be revealed in his face. He listened eagerly to every word that was said, gloating inwardly as he learned that the fire had spread beyond control, and that the efforts of the firemen were useless. “‘ Jack Huntly will never cross my path again,” he muttered. “ For the first time in ten years I feel safe.” As if drawn by some horrible fascination, he glided step by step toward the house. He strove to cling to the pavement with his feet, and to hold himself back, but the attraction was too strong for his will, and drew him onward in spite of himse!f. Through the crowd he wormed his way, until he found himself in front of the mansion to which his own hand had applied the torch. His face was now scorched with the fire he had kin- dled, and he found it impossible to remove his eyes from the whirling and eddying sheets of ame, He seemed to see in them the face of John Huntly. From every whisp of flame this face looked out, distorted with agony, yet glaring on him with eyes full of revengeful fire. The superstitious villain, scared in every fiber of his frame, put both hands to his face to shut out the frightful spectacle, and groaned aloud in his terror. ‘Hello, governor, what’s wrong with you? cried a good-natured fireman, giving him a shake, ‘’Tain’t your house, is it? What’s the use 0’ whimperin’, anyhow?” ‘*Ts it sure to burn down? asked Benson, eagerly. “Tf you ain’t got it insured you best rum right off and git it done, that’s all I got to say.” The face of the villain was white as chalk when he drew down his hands. “ But—but,” he stammered, ‘was there any- body in the house? Are the people saved? Are nee all out?” here was a horrible suggestion in his face as he glared eagerly at the fireman. ‘“ Hello, old hoss, what you lookin’ at a feller that way fur? Ain’t got the colic in your stom- jack, have ye? I’m ’feard there was a chap in- side. When the floors went down he was seem to drop through inter the cellar.” “Ts there no hope for him? Can he not be saved?” ‘Don’t want to hurt yer feelings, but if he’s any kin 0’ yourn you’d best say your prayers for him. I don’t s*pose there’s nothin’ left but bones.” ““You lie!” broke out Benson, with a wild yell, carried out of his senses by his fears, ‘There he is! Don’t you see him? That is his face in the fire! Look how he glares on me} Oh! save me, save me—save me from his ven- geance!” He broke away and dashed at full through the crowd, his eyes glaring like those of a man, and cries of terror bursting from his ps. A hundred eyes looked after him in surprise. The fireman touched his hand significantly to his head, ‘‘He’s gone here,” he remarked, meaningly. ** Thought so when I first see’d him. Be’n on & tear, I reckon, and got snakes in his coffee.” The sturdy men around him, however, had too much on hand to long heed the vagaries of a. madman. They continued to pour water on the flames in hissing torrents. Now that the woodwork of the house had fallen in the fire began to yield to the liquid streams, The flames diminished in volume, and clouds of white smoke and steam rose densely into the air. *¢ Poor little Boots,” remarked one of the boys of the Indy. ‘We won't never have him dance heel and toe fur us ag’in. He’s gone under.” “Got to give him a funeral, anyhow,” replied another. “Is’ we can pick out enough of his bones to make some sort o’ show in a coffin.” ‘Tf we can only save his boots, it will be some- thing,” broke in an unsentimental fellow. “‘We can put them in a glass case in the engine house, and write on ita graveyard sign: ‘Here lies r Boots!” “You lie yerself. Nobody never cotched Beots in a lie.” These words, in the well-known voice of the lost boy, seemed to come out of the ground be- neath their feet. Every one present sprung back as if a ghost had appeared. in their midst. They stood with fixed and frightened eyes, looking strangely at one another and at the giound beneath them. “* Aint goin’ ter leave me here to be drownded, are ye? Bad ’nough fur a chap to git fricaseed. Jist shet off the water, ’kaze it’s risin’ here am inch a minit.” The asteunded firemen darted forward a and gazed eagerly down at the surface 0 street, whence the voice seemed to rise. They quickly perceived there, under the mud and dirt, an iron grating, the entrance to a coal v Can’t it be saved?” in the ault. All at first seemed dark below, but a surge of flame now sent its light through the grate, and the peering eyes caught a momentary glimpse of a small spare face, “Ts that you, Boots?” “Reckon taint my granddaddy.” “How did you get there?” ‘Best ax how I’m goin’ to git out 0’ here, if yeu want to talk sense. “Hold your level. We'll soon yank you out.” Several of them thrust their fingers through the openings in the grate, and strove with all their strength to pull itup. The effort proved useless, It was too firmly fixed to yield, “ Horry up, *fore we're drownded or bled alive,” cried Boots. There’s apair o’ us in here, and it’s wuss nor bein’ arat in a rain-water hogs ead!” “A pickax! A wrench! Something, quick!” cried a dozen loud voices. ‘‘ Tear up the grate. Rip up the street! We'll have Boots out or uu ore All ee Ninh Ee
Page 5
: from his perilous marrow opening in the cellar wall, c In all directions they ran for implements, ‘work on the Industry engine ceasing in therush of this new excitement. Members of other companies ran to the spot, and for the moment it seemed as if the fire would be forgotten, in the desire to rescue the owner of the voice under the street. While they are thus occuped we must return to Boots and the man whom he had rescued sition, and follow them in their escape from the devouring flames. When we last left them they were tumbling with the falling stairs into the cellar of the burn- ing mansion. he heavy mass broke its way through the charred floor and dropped in a heap to the cellar, flinging its occupants to the floor of the front part of this underground space. The wet earth on which they fell was cool in comparison to the point from which they had just descended. Yet it was still of a scorching heat, while clouds of smoke rolled over their heads, No human being could have survived for five minutes in that situation. But lying on the water-soaked floor as they -were, the thickest of the smoke was above their heads. And fortunately the next minute a stream of water from the Indy hose poured in upon them, drenching them completely, and re- lieving the intense heat which seemed to boil the blood in their veins. In a few minutes more the rear portion of the floor fell with a crash into the cellar, But the front timbers still held up and protected the fugitives from the crushing weight. hey occupied now a narrow space, as yet free from the flames, and cooled by the streams of water that descended there from all parts of ‘the house. The water gathered in that low spot indeed, until it was quickly a foot deep. et, though this liquid had protected them from the viru- lence of the flames, it was itself scorching hot and only the cold stream from the Indy saved the fugitives from being boiled alive. *‘ We can’t stand this,” cried Huntly. ‘‘ Some- thing must be done. Three minutes more here ‘will put an end to us.” ** We're goin’ to be burnt, b’iled or drownded, and we kin take our choice,” rejoined Boots, glaring around him eagerly with his sharp eyes. The spot had been darkened by the rollin smoke, but at that moment this partly clear away, and the gleam of the flames brightly illuminated the whole space. ‘“* Jolly papers!” cried Boots. ‘‘ See yonder! Dive in, old hoss!” There was revealed by the pone | light a osed just Boots darted against this and inside by a door. : A broad cavity appeared be- shoved it open. yond, ; Dragging Huntly, who seemed partly stupe- fied, the lively urchin sprung into the open space, and closed the door bebind him. It fortunately fitted so closely as to keep out the greater part of the smoke. For the first ‘time since their fall they could breathe with freedom. But the water from the cellar had poured sti "aes space until it now stood two feet in epth. t was very hot. They could not have borne it under ordinary conditions, but they had grown accustomed to severe heat. ““Reckon this’s a sort of a coal hole,” sur- mised Boots, as he stumbled over the stony lumps that covered the floor, ‘And don’t ye see the light for’ard there? That’s where the puts the coal in, and where we're goin’ to clim ‘out, You bet I got both my boots full 0’ b'ilin’ water.” : r. Huntly made some vague answer. He seemed nearly overcome by the effect of the heat and the smoke. 2 « Ain't goin’ to’cave in now?” demanded Boots inalarm, ‘Don’t drap down, ’kaze if you do, it'll be all up with you. Guy me yer flapper. Let’s dig for’ard.” Catching his comrade’s hands, the brave little fellow led him forward to the grate, which oc- cupied the outer edge of the pavement, and through which the gleam of ght came down. The water was momentarily a higher and growing hotter, and it seemed as if they would ‘yet be drowned or scalded to death. Resting his exhausted companion against the outer wall of the cavity Boots Jooked eagerly upward through the grate. : _ The noise of the engines reached his ears, and fne could see the shadows of men in busy motion, ‘The voices of persons in conversation quickly Zollowed, Boots, the Boy Fireman. ,s a Great as was the peril the daring boy could not avoid the desire to indulge in chaff, when he found that he was the subject of their conversa- tion. The scene which we have above described fol- lowed. There passed hardly a minute, however, from the time of the boy’s first remark to the hasty search of the firemen for implements. In a minute more the iron grate was fiercely attacked with axes and crowbars. ‘*Let up on that ax business,” cried one stal- wart fellow. ‘I’ve got a purchase on it with this bar. Lend a hand one or two of you, and we'll yank it out ina jiffy.” Three pairs of strong hands grasped the ex- tremity of the bar, while the axmen fell back. A fierce surge, a rending sound, and the grate with its surrounding stones gave way, so sudden- ly as to fling the workmen to the ground. But they had gained their end. <A broad opening yawned in the pavement. The face of the ee are ve boy appeared just below. One of the Indy lads _stoo down, caught him by the arms, and lif him bodily through the narrow aperture. ‘‘Gay and happy!” cried Boots, breaking into a lively dance. ‘* We’re the coons, now you bet. Dig down ag’in. Ther’s another feller in there, that’s a’most out.” The form of Mr. Huntly was plainly visible, supported by the wall, yet to all appearance in a senseless condition. Lying down, the man who had rescued Boots managed to grasp the arm of his insensible com- panion. Another fireman assisted him, and be- tween them they managed to lift Huntly to the level of the opening. _ Other hands were now thrust downward, and in a minute more the inanimate man was safely lifted to the street, being dragged through a hole that appeared too small to let his body pass. Benson’s murderous scheme had fallen through his victim had escaped, and the two imperi ed fugitives were safe once more in the open air. CHAPTER V. AN ENGINE-HOUSE FROLIC, WE must pass ie eld over the month that succeeded the scene of the fire. Of the two fugi- tives from the flames, whose narrow escape we have cbronicled, both are still to some extent in the invalid state. Mr. Huntly was serious!y burned, and greatly affected by the action of the smoke and flames. His life was at first despaired of, and he is still under the doctor’s hands, though now rapidly recovering. Boots is nearly himself again. In spite of his courage, he had been so burned and scalded that after the momentary excitement of his escape he had fallen into a swoon, which ended in a high fever. or weeks he had been delirious, \ during which interval he raved about his boots, as if those ey ed articles constituted the whole sub- ject of his thoughts. His young blood and naturally hardy health carried him at length past this state of danger, and at the period we have now reached the boy was himself again—the same jolly, irrepressible, we es young rogue as of old. Jhile Mr. Huntly occupied a room in a neighboring boarding-house, Boots, who had no lace that he could call home, had been taken into the engine-house, where he was cared for as tenderly by the firemen as if they had been trained nurses. The boy was a favorite with them all, and his late exploit had made him a young hero in their eyes. Boots was not likely to be left to suffer while the ‘“‘ Indy” engine boys kept up their organization. : ** Whar’s my boots?” he called out, one morn- ing at the end of the period mentioned. “Tm tired 0’ goin’ barefooted. ’Tain’t ’spectable.” “What do you want with boots, you little donkey?” demarded Joe Bunting, one of the firemen. ‘‘ Here’s a pair of slippers. That’s what sick folks have got to be broke in with be- fore they can come to boots.” ‘* Who's sick folks, I'd like to know?” queried Boots, indignantly. ‘‘ Don’t ax me to swaller no sich gammon as that. Bet you I kin stand on my head longer nor any feller here!” The youngster tried this evolution in his bunk, with with very ill success. He tumbled in a heap on his back, while a loud laugh from all present chronicled his failure. ‘“Tt’s jist "cause you ain’t b2en half-feedin’ me,” declared the undaunted youngster. “A feller can’t ’spect to play circus on spoon vittals, Anyhow I want you to fotch them boots here so’s I kin see’em. I’m ’feard some galoot ‘Il be stealin’ ’em.” To quiet the young invalid one of the firemen brought in his boots, which had been carefully kept among the kee es of the engine-house. . They were more dilapidated than ever, from the soaking and scorching they had gone through, yet the boy gazed at them with eyes full of affection. ‘* Reckon I'll have to stuff °em with some new straw,” he muttered. ‘‘T’other’s played out. Ain’t none o’ you fellers goin’ to grease cm up fur a chap?” They certainly needed it, and Joe Buntin good-naturedly undertook to give them a gi coating of grease, the boy looking on with de- lighted eyes. ‘That's hokey!” he cried. ‘‘ Them’s boots as is boots. You bet I’m goin’ ter have ’em on to- morrer.” It was a week, however, before he was able to perform the head-standing act, and the firemen would not let him resume his boots until he had reached this point of convalescence. It was a happy day when he reached this stage. Stuffing thé boots with straw until they reasonably fitted his feet, he fastened ropes to the straps and hitched them over the shoulders, Without this device he might as well have tried to wear flat-boats on his feet. A regular jollification in the engine-house followed. The fire lads lifted Boots to a chair that stood on the head of a hogshead, and dubbed him master of ceremonies. A fiddler occupied a similar throne at the other end of the room and rattled out the gay- est of dancing tenes from his well-stretched strings. All between broke into a lively dance, yelling, capering, and flinging their heels, until it seem- ed asif the floor would break through under their weight. ‘Let her rip!” yelled Boots, in an ecstasy of ° delight. ‘Swing corners! Heel and toe! eh Ohl collars! Pile in, Indies! Let her slide! He continued to yell and they to dance until the whole neighborhood rung with the uproar. Finally Boots sp from his chair, kicked it over among the wild dancers, and na break-down on the top of his circular throne bere as much vim as the liveliest man on the oor. Any one entering at that moment would have supposed them a party of lunatics, or of men full of wine. They were, in fact, intoxicated — excitement, and Boots more so than them all. His heavy boots fing Be hammers on_ the resounding top of the hogshead, which kept time like a base-drum with the music of the violin. ‘‘Hurra for the Indies!” he shouted, flinging his hat in the air. “We're the boys as fears no noise, and never cries to go home.’ ‘At that instant there came a loud crasb and the excited urchin suddenly disappeared from sight. The top of the hogshead had given way beneath his weight, and tumbled in, letting the wild young dancer drop through in a heap. A roar of laughter at Boots’s misfortune went up from every part of the room. In an instant a group of the rough fellows sprung to the hogs- head, overturned it, and began to roll it in all directions over the floor, heedless of the yells of the youthful prisoner. For five minutes this horse-play continued, though some of the soberer members of the com- pany tried to put a stop to it. Finally Boots rolled out like a sack of potatoes from his awkward prison, none the worse for avear, and laughing asif he had been through the most delightful experience. ‘* Jolly papers, them is,” he shouted. “ Can’t discount Boots that style. I’m all Indy rubber, Iam. I’m on the bounce, every time.” The wild sport which we have described cor=- tinued until midnight, though Boots declined to take a seat on the other end of the hogshead, to which he had been invited.. “That was jolly fun,” he declared, “ but one dose ’s enough for one night.” On the second day after that of the dancing frolic Boots went to see Mr. Huntly, at the re- quest of the latter. : He found his companion in misfortune ve much better. The invalid was still weak, oot and thin but he was rapidly improving, and promised to have his old strength back in a week or two more. “T am ever so glad to see you, my_ brave young rescuer,” he declared, grasping Boots’s band in a warm pressure, and looking gratefully at JNA
Page 6
—~ LS a : Neale es - _ from his chair. into his face. ‘* Only for your courage and sense I would have died a dreadful death. Do not think that I shall forget the debt I owe you. ‘Oh, drop all that gammon!” cried Boots, peeing himself in a chair opposite his new riend. ‘It were a narrer squeak, I’ll guv in to that. But I was only lookin’ arter my own hide, and I’d ha’ beena hog not to let you come ci gi r. Huntly looked him in the face with an amused smile, “‘That’s your way of looking.at it, then? Well, it isn’t mine. See here, my boy, are you ready to answer me a few questions?” “So you don’t ax me what I’m goin’ ter have fur to-morrer’s dinner, Try an’ hit somethin’ easier nor that.” : “All right. Let me seé if I can’t suit your ideas. In the first place, do you remember how you found me in that room?” : Tied fast to achair. Didn’t tie yerseif, did ou? ms I hope you haven’t talked about this. I would prefer to keep it a secret.” **Dunno as I’ve let it out,” replied Boots. “Been out o’ my head most o’ the time since, and the fellers say I talked more ’bout my boots than anything else.” ‘** By the way, how come you to wear those ridiculous boots? Why don’t you get a pair o’ shoes? Throw them away and I will buy you shoes,” “Throw ’em away!” cried the boy, springing indignantly to his feet. ‘Not much, if the court knows herself. If you ax me ag’in ter git rid o’ them boots I'll cut you off o’ my visitin’- card.” “You certainly don’t set any store by a pair of worn-out men’s boots?” ** Ain’t half-wore out,” answered Boots stout- ly. ‘‘ What’s more, them’s all my dad left me when he kicked the buck2t. He said I was to wear them boots, and I been a-wearin’ ’em ever since. I’m a-goin’ to stick to’em till they tum- ble apart.” “Your father is dead, then, and you have in- herited his boots,” said Mr. Huntly, with a look of interest. ‘‘ Is your mother living?’ **Never had no mother!” answered Boots. What?” “Never as I knowed on, anyhow. S’pose I mought had one somewhere away back.” ** But you have relations?” ** Nary one.” **-You have a home, at all events?” **T bunks round the engine-house cold nights. When it’s warm, I sleeps out. Gits my grub wherever it’s handy. I ain’t a bit proud or sassy.” «Boor little waif,” remarked Mr. Huntly with a pitying look. ‘‘ You certainly need somebody to look after you. I am not the wealthiest man in the world myself, but what I have I am ready to share with my preserver.” “ Reckon I kin git along,” declared Boots, in- dependently, “ Ain’t out on a beggin’ scout, nary time.” “Tf you have nothing else, you have a name. What is it?” “Boots is what everybody calls me, Ain’t heered no other name fur a year.” ** But you have a name?” **Dad’s name was Johnson. Jerry Johnson they called him when he was sober, and Old Jerry when he was drunk. Dan was what he used ter call me. Dan Johnson I s’pose’s my name.” Mr. Huntly made no reply for full a minute, He had fixed his eyes on the intelligent face of the boy with a strange gaze, as if he was looking for something there that was not easily to be recognized. Something in the name seemed to have struck him with surprise, Boots soon grew uneasy under this intent scrutiny. an “Guess I'll be gittin’,” he declared, springing “Don’t b’lieve you’re as wellas you was,” Mr. Huntly seemed to break with an effort from his secret thoughts. “Don’t go,” he replied. ‘‘I have something more to say to you. First, you must promise not to speak to any one of the way you found me in the burning house.” “*Jist as you say,” answered Boots, ‘TI kin keep a secret with the next feller.” ** Next, I want you to do something private and important for me.” “Pm on hand, if ’tain’t too heavy.” “There isa man watching this house. He is a middle-size, spare, thin-faced person, with sharp eyes, and without beard or mustache, He is dressed in a reddish-brown suit, with a sack- $$ Boots, the Boy Fireman. coat and silk bat. He wears a blue necktie, with a small diamond pin. Do you think you could recognize him from this description?” “T could try.” “* Very well. I want you to keep a secret watch on that man and follow him to his home. When. you find out where he lives, come to me for further instructions. Do you understand?” **You bet. I’d be a donkey if I didn’t.” Five minutes afterward Boots left his new friend. CHAPTER VI. ON THE TRACK OF A SECRET. Two days afterward Boots called again on the invalid. e found Mr, Huntly looking much better and more like himself than on the former visit. But the boy was too full of his own busi- ness to pay much attention to this. “Tve twigged him,” he declared eagerly, “Got him down fine. See’d him sneakin’ past a i a sly old fox. You bet I follered rim. ‘“* Are you sure it was the right person? Did he answer to my description?” **Dunno how he answered, ’ka’ze I didn’t ax him nothin’. But Joe Buntin’, of the injine house, see’d him, too, and he says he’s the same chap as come round, the night 0’ the fire, stark crazy, and actin’’s if he’d jist murdered some- body.” ‘*Ha! I heard of this before. That is the man. You tracked him to his home, then?’ **Reckon I didn’t do nothin’ shorter. I axed all about it, too. It’s a sort o’ high-toned board- in’ house, down Spruce street. One of them ’ristocratic places where they guvs them dried apples for breakfass and cold water for dinner, and lets ’em swell up for supper.” Mr. Huntly laughed heartily at his descrip- tion. He was more like himself again than he had been since the night of the firé. ‘** Listen to me, Boots,” he ‘said. “I take it that you are a wide-awake, sharp-witted boy. and I have something for you to do that will need your sharpest wits.” “I’m yer hoss,” answered Boots, confidently “‘T dunno as I’m so smart, but I wouldn't *vise anybody to buy me fur a fool, ’ka’ze they mought git cheated.” ‘* Sit still then for a minute and let me talk. What I am going to say may prove to your ad- vantage for all the rest of your life. If I revea to you an important secret can I depend upon your silence?’ ‘*Maybe you’d best not. I mought be leaky. Ain’t bad at holdin’ my tongue, but sometimes it git’s loose.” “I think I ‘can trust you,” answered Mr. Huntly, with a smile, ‘I want to tell you why I was tied in my chair end left to be burned to death in that house.” “* That’s jist what I’ve been wantin’ ter know ever since.” , “Tt was done by the man you have just seen Philip Benson. e got me to drink drugged liquor, and while I was insensible he tied me fast and set fire to the house.” ** What for?” demanded Boots, eagerly. ‘* Because I knew him to be a scoundrel, and might force him to yield up his ill-gotten prop- erty, if not send him to prison. He drugged me to obtain a paper which he fancied I had about me. He was disappointed, for I had no such paper. He then tried to get rid of me, as a deadly foe.” ’ “You don’t mean to say as he tried to burn you up "bout a bit o’ paper? Well, that was rough!” declared Boots. ’ “It was a paper full of danger to him. But he was rnd in one ah LI did not have that paper, though I made him believes», In fact, he has it himself. It is in his own posses- sion, though he is ignorant of the fact.” ron could only whistle in his astonishment at is, ** He does not know he has it, or it would soon be given to the flames. Now, listen to me, boy. Since Phil Benson tried to murder me, I have |. sworn to be ee on him. I see my way, clear to bring him to his deserts if, I but had that paper. at I must and will have. AndI want you to get it for me.” Boots whistled again. The plot was thick- ening. ne 4 know where it is, which he don’t,” contin- ued Mr. Huntly. ‘“‘ Among his effects he has a small writing-desk, which once belonged to me. Do te ame what a writing-desk is? ** Reckon so,” answered Boots, with an offend- edair, “Ac ap don’t have to go to college to Yarn that much. ‘This one is made of a handsome red wood, and the top inlaid with tortoise-shell and pearl, It will be no trouble to find it if you get into his room. He told me that he still has itin use, But though he has used it for ten years there is a se- cret about it that he has never discovered,” ‘* Must be a greeny,” muttered Boots, ‘‘Not at all. It isno open secret. The desk has a false bottom, yet there is nothing to indi- cate it. There is only one way of opening it, and Benson has not discovered that. That false: bottom hides the paper which he would give half his life to gain possession of.” ° Boots listened now with the deepest interest. He had drawn himself to the edge of his chair and sat with his feet perched on the rounds, and. his chin in his hands, looking into Mr, Huntly’s face with wide-open eyes. | : ““Y am going to let you into the secret,” con- tinued thes eaker. ‘‘The only way to open it is to take the desk between your knees, and press with all your strength on the twoends, This way.” He took a box from the table, placed it between his knees, and pressed them upon it to show Boots what he meant. “Tf you squeeze that way hard enough, you will see what seems to be the bottom of the box. fly up. Under it will be revealed a flat folded paper. Take this out and conceal it about your person. Then release the pressure and the bot- tom will drop back again, and there will be noth- ing to show that it has ever been opened. Do you understand?” ** Well, I should smile. If I couldn’t take that in, I wouldn’t be fit fur a job o’ *tater diggin’.” ‘*Tf you succeed in getting the paper you must: hide it somewhere very securely. If Benson discovers you there and suspects, your object, he will search you most thoroughly.” ‘** Bet you high I countermarch on him,” said Boots, confidently. “How?” The boy stooped down, slipped off one of his boots, and pressed with his thumb on the sole, It opened a crack, showing that the stitching had given way. “That's my hidin’-place. think o’ lookin’ in there.” **I don’t believe he will,” rejoined Huntly, with more confidence. ‘* Will you undertake the enterprise, then? I dare not attempt it myself. It will not do to rouse his suspicions. I must trust to somebody that can play cute and inno- cent, ‘*T’m yer hoss,” answered Boots. “Very well. Now let me hear from you, What is your plan? How do you design to get into Mr. 5 a 08 am room?” ‘* Don’t s’pose I’m a anaconda, do ye, with a box fullo’ plans to fit anywhere? I’ve been a- listenin’. Ain’t been a-thinkin’. It mought take me a day, and it mought take me a week. Ain’t goin’ ter jump inter no frog-pond till I know where "bouts the bottom is,” “Good for you, Boots! You are just the boy I want. Take all the time you need, and don’t make a move till you are sure of your game, One thing more. Keep out ‘of Benson’s sight. Don’t come here again. Or, if you have to come, you must be very secret about it. He must not see you entering this house.” “Tf I come it'll be after dark, and I'll leave my boots at home,” answered the boy, ‘No body won’t know me *thout them.” “Good. Do you understand everything now?” ** Got it all down fine.” “Then get the landlady to let you out the back way. It might be dangerous for you to go out by the front door.” _ Boots obeyed the suggestion, and soon found himself in the street again, with his brain full of new projects and ideas, For the next two days the boy spent most of his time in his bunk at the engine halts bufily thinking and plotting. : He was using all his brain power to devise some scheme to get into Philip Benson’s room at his boarding-house, and have a half hour’s. spare time to work, é Yet nothing came of it. He devised fifty romising schemes, only to throw them over- Reard when he came to think them out. They he all too deep, and all had some defect that might prove fatal. What's the matter, sey Te Joe Bunt- ing. ‘ Ain’t playing sick again f Jist taicint i Sond think, that’s all.” “Think you could run if the fire-bells rung? “Try me, I reckon I'll be thar every time,” “‘ Jump then, you cricket, for there they go,’ In fact, at that very moment a neighboring: bell rung out its wild pealof alarm. The men in thc engine-bouse hastened to get out their machine, Boots the most eager of the whole, They had not fairly done so ere other mem He won't never
Page 7
Sg ape came running in, and in five minutes the Indus- try was whirling down the street. e alarm proved a false one. There was no fire, and no excitement except a fight between two hostile companies, in which bricks flew freely, and more than one man measured his length on the pavement. But nobody was seriously hurt, and only some bloody heads remained as testimony of the affray. : This event broke up Boots’s thinking scheme. Tt was a waste of time, he could hit no promis- ing plan, and he concluded to trust to chance to achieve his object. He began to roam around the house on Spruce street, to which ‘he had tracked his prey. For several days he continued this exercise, watch- ing every one who went in or came out, and try- ing to form an opinion of their characters. _ ‘That gal as’tends on the door is a stupid- lookin’ ¢ritter,” he said, reflectively. ‘* Don’t bheve it?d take much trouble to work a gum ame on her. But I can’t think o’ nothin’. Never was so empty-headed in my life afore.” He had particularly watched the movements of Mr. Benson, noting his hours of entering and leaving the house, and trying to get some idea of his general habits. : This personage proved very irregular in his movements, yet could be counted on to be ab- sent two or three hours at each time he left the house. It took Boots a full week to get thus far in his enterprise. During that time he had been act- ing the part of a bootblack, taking a stand nearly opposite the house in question, and ply- ing his vocation with great industry. ’ At the end of the week he had made up his mind what to do. Giving up all his deep-laid schemes as un- workable, he concluded ‘to try one of the sim- plest plans that had come into his mind. He no sooner decided on the scheme than he receeded to put it intoexecution. Waiting till r. Benson had gone out one afternoon, the bold boy walked up to the door and rung the bell with the utmost assurance. He had his boot-blacking box still strung over his shoulder. The stupid-looking girl whose mental caliber he had been measuring opened the door, and stood looking at the odd visitor with surprise and a show of disdain, “This where Mr. Benson lives—Mr. Philip Benson?” asked Boots. ** Yes; but he is out. hour or two.” “ That’s what he said. He come to me at my stand t’other side the street. S’pose you’ve seen He won't be in for an me there. Hetold me to wait for him till he come in.” “You? Wait for him?” “* Jist so. ‘Scuse me, miss. Don’t like to keep a pretty gal like you talkin’ to\a ragged chap like me. But he’s ’gaged me as a sort 0’ errand boy. Says I'm too big fur boot-blackin’, and T’m to wait in his room till he comes back.” The girl looked at boots from head to foot, her eyes opening wide. Why, rou’d be a disgrace to the house,” she cried. “He must be crazy.” “ Calklate I’m good-lookin’ ‘nough,” declared ' the boy, pushing into the hall, ‘ Ain’t got no better clothes nor these, but he’s Jgoin’ to dress me up spruce, so’s you'll think [m a young lord. Told meas there was a nice young lady as had to tend to his room and things, and it was too hard on her.” ‘“‘ That’s a fact,” said the girl, with a pleased smile. ‘It’s me he means, and he’s dreadful hard to please.” ‘Can't tire me out easy,” declared Boots. “Tet me see his room anyhow. Maybe I’ll take the job and maybe I won't.” He pushed into the house, the girl following with an irresolute face. It seemed to dawn on her stupid soul that this was not just the thing, but the boy took the law into his own hands in such a way as to not give her time to think. ‘‘ Up this way?” he asked. Thus he led rather than followed her to a pom on the second floor. She opened the oor, “This is Mr. Benson’s room,” she said, “ But —I don’t know—you’d best wait down in the kitchen.” N on h, Tl wait here,” he said carelessly, ** Won't be long. He’s comin’ back in half an hour. Ill jist fill the time in blackin’ up his shoes. They want it mighty bad, now I tell ou. Without hesitation Boots grasped a pair of soiled shoes from near the wall, seated himself Boots, the Boy Fireman. tween his knees, and began to make prepara- tions for a job of blacking. ‘**Don’t wonder he said it was a _nice-lookin’ young lady,” remarked the shrewd boy, looking up into her flattered face. ‘‘ Don’t offen see ’em as good-lookin’. You needn’t wait. I kin put in a good half hour over these shoes, an’ fixin’ things up.” At that moment the door bell rung again. The girl started. “T’ve got to go to the door. You'd best come down.” ** Don’t mind me. Tl wait for him here.” She left the room with a doubtful look, as if she felt that this was not just the right thing. Boots had gained his end. He was left alone in Philip Benson’s room. CHAPTER VII. @ BOOTBLACK’S IMPUDENCE. OF one thing Boots was very sure, which was that he had no time to spare. He was not afraid of the proprietor of the room returning. But the girl might be back at any moment. _He must make the most of his opportunity. Dropping the box and shoes, but leaving them so that he could return to them at a moment’s notice, he sprung to his feet and looked eagerly around the room. It was furnished as a gentleman’s sleeping apartment, with neat though not expensive fur- niture. Part of this furniture evidently be- longed to the house, but some, as the boy con- jectured, was the private property, of Mr. Ben- son. Of the latter were some pictures of California scenes on the walls, and a small book-case with a desk front, and holding both books and papers. But he had not yet seen what he wanted, the inlaid writing-desk. He looked around more closely, on -the tables and in the wardrobe and closet, without success. Below the revolving desk front were several drawers. He tried these in succession, but found them all locked except one. The latter yielded and came open to his hand. He looked eagerly in, and to his delight caught sight of the desired object, a small writing-desk of a brownish red wood, and with a handsomely inlaid top. But at this instant of discovery there came a sound from the hall without that caused him to close the drawer with the utmost haste. it was the sound of approaching footsteps. With a light spring he boy was back to his box and on his knees on the floor, brushing away for dear life at the soiled shoes. The door opened and revealed the form of a stately lady, dressed in black silk, but with rrr gc. of the landlady expression in her ace, She gazed at the scene before her in the greatest surprise. ‘Who are you, boy? And what brings you here?” she asked tartly. Boots lifted his head as if he had just now dis- covered her presence, *“Seuse me, ma’am, I didn’t know you was there,” he said with a great show of politeness. “Tf you want ter see Mr. Benson he ain’t in jist now, but he said he mought be back'any minit.” ‘“Who are you, I say? What are you doing here?” ‘*T’m a-blackin’ Mr. Benson’s shoes,” answer- ed the boy innocently. ‘‘T’’m his boy. He's hired me to run arrands, go ter the post-office, and do all sorts 0’ odd jobs.’ “Strange he didn’t tell me,” she answered sourly, “Its kinder queer, that’s a fact,” acknowl- edged Boots. “Thought everybody knowed all *bout it. When he brung me here jist now he never said a word ’cept I was to brush up his taings and shine his shoes.” ‘He brought you here?” ‘“Didn’t spose I come here myself?” asked the unabashed boy. “T ain’t got that much im- perdence. But he oughter ‘ranged fur grub and sich things. I can’t never get along without b, nohow. "Spect he’s going to when he comes back, ’kaze he said he was in a big hurry.” “Tt’s extraordinary! Truly extraordinary!” declared the offended landlady. ‘‘I never had anything of the kind to happen in my house before. Mr. Benson must explain this. What was that noise I heard here when I came to the door?” she asked suspiciously. “That noise? You heered a noise?” “Yes, What was it?” “Guess it must ha’ been me rappin’ fur tother shoe. Allersraps on the box when I gets one shoe done, fur t’other foot. 7 “*Oh, that was it?” ‘Yes, mum. If youll come in and take a cheer, mum, I’ll tell you all "bout the way us bootblacks does.” The lady smiled, rather sourly, at this sugges- tion. ‘*T do not wish to go into that line of business just at present,” she remarked, ‘‘ You may go on with your job, boy. But Mr. Benson must explain this, i do not intend to have my house taken possession of.” She shut the door and walked away. Boots dropped his brush and gave vent to a low whistle, while his face took on a comical grin. “Things is gettin’? kinder mixed,” he re- marked. “Got ter get through and git out *afore old Benson comes, or somebody mought cotch me in a lie, And that wouldn’t be healthy.” The footsteps of the retiring lady had no sooner sunk into silence in the distance than Boots was on his feet again and at the door. He listened intently. There were some slight sounds down-stairs, but everything seemed silent on that floor. He thought that he heard a door open and close below, and then there came the sound of voices. They seemed to be the yoices of a man and woman, one low and deep-toned, the other sharp and loud. “That’s the old woman, I bet,” he muttered, “Don’t matter, anyhow, so she lets me “lone fur ten minutes.” He glided swiftly to the book-case, shuffling his boots over the carpet, so as not to make a noise. Reaching it te opened the unlocked drawer, and took out the small writing-desk. This was locked, but the key had not been re- moved. He hastily turned it, and threw back the lid. The desk proved to be well filled with papers. These Boots removed without ceremony, seating himself on the floor with his prize, and flinging them on the carpet. In a minute the desk was empty and the bot- tom revealed, At first glance he thought that he must have been fooled. There was no indication of any false bottom. The opening appeared to be of the proper depth, and the bottom seemed solid and substantial. “Wonder if he’s got two on ’em, and I’ve got holt o’ the wrong ’un? Here goes, anyhow. Ther’ nothin’ like tryin’.” He placed the box bevween his knees, so as to get a purchase on itstwo ends. This done, he squeezed with all his strength on the pliant wood. , A slight snap followed. The false bottom slid out of a groove in the side of the box, and bent upward, revealing a very narrow opeping be- low. Within this space the eager eyes of the boy saw the edge of a thin, folded paper. tn his haste to seize it he released the pressure on the box, and the bottom slipped back into its place so quickly as to give his fingers a sharp inch. arr Ouch!” he cried, thrusting the aching fingers into his mouth. ‘The critter bites. It’s guv me a blood-blister on every finger.” Admonished by his disaster he went more care- fully to work. Another pressure revealed the paper again. This time he drew it out very carefully. It was a thin, yellowish document, folded into about four inches square. Boots looked at it ag if he had discovered a magic talisman. He was interrupted in his admiration by new sounds in the hall without. They were the voices which he had recently heard down-stairs. They had now ascended to the level of the second story and seemed approaching Mr. Benson’s room, There was not a second to Jose. He hastily folded the paper urtil it was not more than an inch square, and deftly slipped it into the crack in his boot-sole, pushing if back until it was completely out of sight. By this time the voices had reached the door. ‘“T tell you it is impossible, madame,” came a loud, decided man’s voice. “I never en ae any such character, and such impudence is im- possible. You must have been dreaming.” ‘* Very likely. indeed,” answered the landlad scornfuily. ‘‘ Look for yourself, then, and see it is a dream.” “Why, if Ifound any such insolent young scoundrel in my room I would break every bone in his body.” “Very well, you can have the opportunity,” said the landlady, seizing the door handle. ‘ no, you may open it yourself, since you have Got inter sich doubted my word.” She released the in the niddle of the floor with his box be-! a way of it that I has to do it.” Sx oa ; *
Page 8
rs * 8 Boots, the Boy Fireman. This interval of conversation had been dili- gently improved by the shrewd boy. He threw the papers back into the box with the utmost haste, shut down the lid, and turned the key. He had closed the drawer of the bookcase. There was no time to open itagain. He laid the writing-desk ona small table beside him, and sprung to the window, witha momentary im- pulse to make a leap for life. A glance out showed him that this would be dangerous. He must face the music. He shuf- fled rapidly back to his box, and in an instant was actively engaged in his boot-shining avoca- tion. All this had been the work of a minute, while the landlady and her boarder were engaged in altercation at the door. .. It opened at this instant, and the thin, sharp face of Philip Benson looked in, marked with a doubt that instantly turned to anger. The landlady stood triumphantly behind him. ‘** Was I dreaming?” she asked, scornfully. ‘* Well, may I never!” cried the boarder, in astonished anger. ‘“‘Who are you, you young villain? What are you doing?” ** Polishin’ um now. Blacked ’um a bit ago.” ‘Who told you to doit? How dared you say that I hired you? Do you know what such a false statement is?” “A lie, I s’pose,” answered the boy, polishing away for dear life. ‘How dared you come in here witha lie in your mouth?” *“*Cause I hadn’t nothin’ else in it, I reckon. You dunno how hungry Iwas. Thought maybe if I brushed ’um up fine you mought guv me a reg’lar job, or fork over a dime anyhow.” fir. Benson took a step back in his surprise. The landlady held up her hands in dismay. ‘* Well, if lever! Talk about impudence!” she declared. ‘* He is here on a thieving trip, I believe,” cried Benson, ‘‘Ha! what is my writing-desk doing on that table? He has been at work already.” He took a step toward the table, but instantly returned, with a cunning look. ‘*No, I will wait here,” he remarked. ‘‘ The door must be guarded till the young thief is searched, Mrs. Jones, will you send John up from below? This must be looked into.” While these words were being said Boots con- tinued to rub away at the shoe in his hand, with as innocent an expression of face as if he had not a care in the world. Yet there was a look in the corner of his eye which told that he was not so docile as he seemed, ‘he cunning youngster was watching his op- portunity. ‘““How'll that do, Mr. Benson?’ he asked, springing up, and offering the shoe to the sur- prised gentleman. Benson was so taken by surprise that he invol- untarily held out his hand for the shoe. Boots dropped it into his hand, and then with a weasel-like whirl darted past him into the hall, He did not get far, however. Mr. Benson sprung after him and hurled the shoe which he held with such sure aim that it took the boy in the neck and stretched him sprawling on the floor. He made a hasty effort to squirm to his feet again, but before he could succeed his pursuer was upon him, and had seized him by the most available part of his person, which happened to be one of his boots. A rapid struggle ensued, the boy rolling and squirming, and the man trying to get a surer hold upon him, It ended in the boot coming off in Benson’s hands, together with the rope which attached it to the boy’s shoulder. Springing to his feet Beots made a rush for the stairs, down which he plunged with one booted and one bare foot, with his pursuer close upon him, But the boy had the start, and in a minute more had darted from the front door into the street, leaving one of his cherished boots as a trophy in the hands of his pursuer. CHAPTER VII. A PRECIOUS PAIR OF BOOTS, Mr. Huntiy had rapidly regained strength during the period of Boots’s detective service. When the boy called on him after his escape from Benson’s pursuit it was to find the late in- valid fully himself again. He was walking the floor very uneasily when the boy entered. He was not quite satisfied in mind with having revealed his secret to this reck- less youngster, who might spoil everything by imprudence. e therefore sprung forward eagerly when the boy entered, his face lighting up with hope- fulness, ‘* Back again,” he exclaimed. ‘‘I am ve glad to see you. What have you been doing all last week?” ** Workin’,” answered »oots, briefly. Mr. Huntly held the boy off and looked at him with eyes of surprise, ‘Well, you’re an odd-looking youngster, Where’s your other boot?) What are you stump- ing in this fashion for?” e laughed heartily as he gazed at the comical figure of his visitor, with one foot bare and the other booted. ‘*Guess a chap as ain’t got but one boot, can’t wear two,” rejoined the boy, with an offended air. ‘‘ Jist squat down and [ll tell you all bout it. Old Benson’s. got my t’other boot; but I’m bound to have it or split.” ‘* Benson has it?’ ejaculated Mr. Huntly, in great surprise. ‘““You bet. Jist wait. Goin’ to tell you all ‘bout it. You never heered o’ sich a queer dodge.” Boots proceeded to describe his adventures to his highly interested auditor, stretching out his story at full length, in spite of Mr. Huntly’s anxiety to hear the climax. ‘*Good!” he exclaimed, when the story reached its conclusion, ‘*Spendidly done! I had no idea you were so wide awake. But you have lost one of your boots, and it may be the one with the document hidden in it.” ‘Don’t think it is,” answered Boots with some confidence. ‘‘ Ain’t sure, ’%kaze both my boots is shaky ’bout the soles and I jist took the fu’st one that come. But I’ve got a sneakin’ idea as this ’un’s the right ’un. He slipped off the easy-fitting boot as he spoke, and proceeded to investigate its sole, Mr. Huntly bending over and looking on with great eager- ness, As the boy had said there was a decided crack in the sole, where the stitching had given away. It opened to the pressure of his thumb, and he peered eagerly in. He shook his head with a in Pr air. ‘*?Tain’t there,” he muttered. ‘** Are you sure?” queried Mr. Huntly anxious- ly. ‘Look deeper. It may have slipped further in. ‘* Nary time,” declared Boots. ‘‘ Got the wrong one. Old Benson’s got the right’un. But I’m goin’ to git it back, now you bet. He ain’t got no right to keep my boot. Don’t b’lieve it’d fit him. And he couldn’t git long with one boot, nohow.” ‘*Give me the boot,” cried Mr. Huntly impa- tiently, snatching it from his hand. ‘This matter is too important for any half-way work, I must be sure the paper isn’t there.” He had taken out his knife and was opening it as he spoke. oy Eat you goin’ ter do?” demanded Boots in alarm. ‘‘ That’s my dad’s boot. Don’t you cut that up.” “Tam only going to cut the stitches,” an- swered Mr. Huntly. “I want to make a thorough search of the sole. I won’t hurt it.” **Don’t you do it! Ill jist be goin’ flip-flap every step.” “Shut up, youngster,” rejoined Mr. Huntly, as he proceeded to rip open the sole, *‘T will send it to a shoemaker and have it sewed up again.” ‘‘ All right,” answered Boots. ‘ But I won’t let nobody sp’ile my dad’s boots, as he said I was to wear till they was wore out.” A few minutes sufficed to cut the whole circuit of stitches. The lower sole dropped loose from the upper, leaving a gaping space between. Mr. Huntly turned the boot over, but nothing dropped out. He looked into the cavity, but no trace of the paper was visible. ‘You mought ha’ b’lieved me,” said Boots re- proachfully. ‘‘ [told you it weren’t there. It’s in t’other boot, an’ you kin bet a pig and a pen that old Benson’s got to fork over that there boot.” ‘* At any rate, a shoemaker can soon repair this damage,” rejoined Mr. Huntly, who was still examining the boot. ‘What's this? It looks more like parchment than leather.” He drew out a thin, flat mass, that had occu- pied part of the space between the soles. It was blackened with mud, yet had a papery appear- ance, “Tsn’t this the lost document?” he asked, “No. Lain’t been in no mud.” ’ “Then I suppose its a shoemaker’s trick, to make paper do the service of leather. But it is worth looking into.” He washed off the discolored surface in a basin of water, and then carefully opened the closely- folded mass. It Vole a parchment-like rustle as it was opened, the discoloration had been outside. Inwardly it appeared clean. ‘* Tt is parchment, ‘And it has writing onit,” remarked Mr. Huntly, ‘Well, that’s mighty queer,” declared Boots, “* But I s’pose its nothin’ ’cept a sell.” ‘* We shall soon see.” Mr, Huntly began to peruse the strangely-dis- covered document. As he did so, his expression changed, his eyes grew eager, his breath came more quickly, He ended with a whistle that had in it some- thing of the triumphant. ‘*What’s it all *bout?” cried Boots, eagerly. ‘“‘ Let me see it. I kinread as well as the next feller.” : “Wait a minute,” answered Mr. Huntly. ‘I want you to answer me some questions. You say that your father left you these boots, saying that you were to wear them?” “Yes. Jist fore he pegged out.” ‘*Didn’t he consider that they would not fit you?” ‘* Maybe he meant I was to wear ’em arter I’d grow’d up. But I got out o’ shoe leather, and thought I’d sooner wear my dad’s boots than go barefooted.” ‘“‘ Was that all he said? Did he hint at any se- cret connected with the boots?” ‘“Nary time. Reckon he mought ha’ wanted to, fur he tried hard ter say say somethin’ more, But he kicked the bucket too soon.” ‘* He died and left his story half told,” rejoined Mr. Huntly. ‘ There was a secret, and a very fi ag one, and that was why he wanted you to keep the boots. Leave this paper in my hands, my boy. You would not understand this, but I do. Don’t you think you can trust me?” *Reckon I kin. ou freeze on to it, Mr, Huntly. I only want to ax one question. Is it *bout me?” ‘* Tt will be the making of you, if I am not mistaken, And it may te the ruin of Philip Benson.” i That’s all O. K. I don’t like him fur noth- ay.” ‘* But we want that other boot.” “Goin’ to have it, too. He ain’t got no biz <r my boot.” ‘““You must manage somehow to recover it. But you can’t go barefoot, or go stumping about in this fashion. Come with me, and I will have you fitted with a pair of shoes.” In half an hour afterward the boy was trans formed, Mr. Huntly, after providing him with shoes, decided that ragged clothes and new shoes did not harmonize, and did not stop till he had the boy rigged out from top to toe in new gar- ments, The new suit had a wonderful effect on hisia eeesees He came out a handsome, sutightly ad. ‘“*None o’ ther boys won’t know nie,” said Boots, rather doubtfully. _‘‘ S’pose some on ’em- ll holler dude arter me. But the chap as does it'll git his mouth bu’sted. Good-by, Mr. Hunt- ly. I’m goin’ arter that there boot.” “* Good luck go with you, my boy,” Boots walked away rather proudly, ‘He felt like a butterfly that has come out of his ragged caterpillar skin. Mr. Huntly followed him with his eyes. ** All is going well,” he muttered. ‘' This has been a week of surprise and discovery.” An hour afterward Boots found’ himself im front of the house on Spruce street, the scene of his late adventure, Without a moment’s hesitation he step up to the door and rung the belf. Mentally he was utterly without a plan of procedure, and left all to chance and his quick wits. The same girl as before opened the door, She looked at him, but évidently did not recog- nize him, “Come ‘round arter my boot,” he said, in a matter-of-fact manner. “What?” ““My boot; as I left the last time I was here.” “Well, I declare, if it isn’t that rascally little thief and robber as tried to steal from Mr. Benson! The impudence of you to come here! way at once before I send for a policeman!” “Now that’s a nice way ter talk to a good- lookin’ chap like me, with nice clothes on, that only axes fur his boot. And arter I told old Benson what a nice-lookin’ gal you was, and he said you was ugly as mud. And there wasn’t no stealin’ ‘cept he stole my boot, And I want my boot as he stole.”
Page 9
/ | ee ee The girl looked at him with less spitefulness. The compliment had toned her down somewhat. **T don’t know anything about your boot,” she declared. ‘“Won’t you hunt it up fur me?’ asked the boy, persuasively. ‘“‘It sp’iles the pair to lose one. Dll guv you half a dollar if you'll git it, ?Tain’t no sorter use to old Benson.” The girl opened her eyes at his offer. ‘* Where can I find you if I get the boot?” she asked. ‘* Jist down here, round the next corner.” **T can’t go out. But give me the money and Tl tell you where to look—” She was interrupted in what she intended to say by the sharp voice of the landlady, from the rear of the hall. e av ho are you talking to, Kate? Whois that boy?’ MH is asking to see Mr, Thomson?” said the girl, demurely. “Well, there isn’t any Mr. Thomson here. Ha! where are your eyes, gait It is the little villain that tried to rob Mr. Benson! Catch him, and drag him in, and then run for a policeman! Don’t let the rascal escape!” She bastened forward as she called this out in a shrill voice. But Boots was not to be trapped so easily as that. He sprung from the step, and put his thumb insolently to his nose. ‘* Better cotch yer temper, ma’am, It’s run- nin’ from you, and you'll lose it if you ain’t wide awake. Good-by, I’m a-goin’. Ill drop round ag’in when you're in a better humor.” He walked away whistling and paying no at- tention to the loud-voiced vituperation of the landlady, which continued till he had disap- peared aroung a neighboring corner. He did not go far around the corner, but stood there peeping out until he saw Mrs. Jones re-enter the house. Then he returned to the street he had just left. ‘*No use talkin’, but that half dollar’s bound to fetch it. I could see it in that gal’s eyes. Wonder what she was goin’ to say when the old woman bu’sted in? Anyhow [’ll wait round here. I bet Dll see her peepin’ out ’fore long.” He lounged about the vicinity, with his eyes mainly fixed on the locality of the house. In front of its an ash-barrel, waiting for the coming of the ash-cart. An Italian with a bag on his shoulder had just stopped at the barrel, and was probing among its contents. An idea came to the boy’s mind, “Maybe they’ve flung it ’mong the ashes. Shouldn’t wonder if that was what the gal was goin’ to say.” He was making his way toward the barrel as these thoughts passed through his mind. He had just reached it when the rag-picker’s stick drew up something heavy. In a minute more the boy, to his surprise and delight, saw his lost boot dangling in the air. It was white with ashes, but was unmistak- ably the desired article. He sprung forward with the leap of a cat, sand seized the dangling prize, so precious in his eyes. . “‘That’s my boot!” he cried. “ Tt’s mine-a!” screamed the Italian, snatching at the rope that was fastened to the boot-straps. **T found-a it! Let-a go.” “Not much,” rejoined Boots. ‘It’s mine, I say. If you don’t drap that rope I'll plug yer eyes chock full o’ ashes,” “Tt’s min-a, and I won't let-a go! It’s my boot-a.” ** You lie, you plug ugly.” The screaming voice of. the Italian had now brought anotber of his countrymen to his side. The odds began to gather against the anxious boy. it struck him that diplomacy was the best course for him to pursue. * Took here, you dago, what do you want fer that boot? ’Tain’t wu’th much without its mate. But I'd sooner guv yer five cents fur it than fight ’bout it.” ‘““T want-a ten cents. 1 wont-a take less than ten cents,” f * Allright! Here’s yer dime. Let go, now, *kaze the boot’s mine.” ; The ragpicker did so, and the triumphant boy fairly danced with delight as he brushed the ashes from his recovered treasure. ‘* Made a clean forty cents on it,” he declared, * An’ that gal’s out o’ pocket a half, And, oh! lawsee, ain’t I worked it neat on old Benson!” He hurried away form the spot, in fear of some reverse of fortune. In a half-hour afterward he broke into the room occupied bs Mr. Huntly, whirling the boot in triumphant circles around his head. Boots, the Boy Fireman. ‘‘ Here it is! I nailed it!” he shouted, as he danced over the floor. ‘‘ And here’s yer paper, jist where I put it. You bet we got old son where the hair’s short this time!” He drew out the concealed paper and handed it to Mr. Huntly, whose eyes blazed with eager joy. CHAPTER IX. A DESPERATE STREET BATTLE, Ws must go forward a month in time. Dur- ing that period nothing of importance had hap- pened to our characters. Between the two mortal foes, Benson and Huntly, all seemed at rest. Nothing further was seen of Benson. If he was still keeping up his system of spying on Huntly he had employed some other agent than himself. As for Boots no inducement could make him wear his new clothes on week-days. He laid them aside as a Sunday suit, and returned to his rags and his boots, for which his affection was redoubled. ‘“‘T know the next thing some feller’ll be callin’ mea dude,” he declared. ‘Then that feller’ll git his snout caved in. Anyhow I don’t want ter go round like a frescoed pig. I’dsooner stick to my old bristles.” During this interval Boots did not forget his old friends of the “‘ Indy” engine, He was as ardent a fireman as ever, And in this Mr. marr f had joined him. He seemed to have no special business, and spent many of his spare hours in the engine-house, Meanwhile a state of fierce excitement had grown up among the Industry boys. A year before they had had a hard fight with the West End engine, a company stationed in the vicinity of the Schuylkill. In this quarrel the Wests had been badly worsted and their engine so seriously broken up as to render it useless. They had sworn revenge, and as the anniver- sary of the fight came near the Indies were on the alert, expecting an attack from their old foes ‘his preliminary is necessary to explain what followed. At ten o’clock on the night of the 20th of June the wild alarm of the fire-bells called the members of the Industry to their duty. Fifty stalwart fellows were in the house, doz- ing, chatting, or card-playing. They had gath- ered in force, in expectation of mischief. In an instant they were on their feet, array- ing themselves in their fire capes and hats, and listening intently to the message of the bells, ‘‘ Northwest. Somewhere about Fairmount,” cried one. ‘‘ Right among the West-Enders.” ‘Then you bet there’s fun a-brewing. We'd best get ready.” By the time the rope was manned new-comers came dashing in from the outside. “ Tt’s the old lamp-black factory near the wire bridge,” cried one of these. ‘Set afire by the Wests, to fetch us out there,” exclaimed Joe Bunting. “’Tain’t the first time. Look lively, lads. We're in for a row.” In two minutes afterward the engine whirled out into the street with sixty strong men at the rope. Among these was Mr. Huntly, who had been seated chatting in the engine-house when the alarm sounded. Boots, as usual, was not far away. As the engine rounded with a swing into the street he made his appearance from some dark covert, grasped it from behind, and was jerked so sud- denly from his feet that he was hurled head- foremost into the box of the engine. By the time he had regained his equilibrium fhey were a hundred yards down the street. The shrewd youngster concluded to stay where he was. There were enough hands at the rope to pull him and the engine both. he hardy fellows who tugged at the rope did so with set lips and determined looks. They were sure that this was a ruse to bring them into the territory of their enemy, and they scented danger in the air, It would not be the first time that a building had been set on fire for a similar pu ; Some of the older and wiser heads of the company had attempted to dissuade them from making the run, saying that there would be enough engines out to handle the fire. But this advice was lost on the ardent spirits of the younger firemen. That the Industry should be recreant to her duty was not to be thought of, and if their foes wished to attack them, they might have the opportunity. The time sak never been known when a Phila- 9 delphia fireman held back for fear of a fight, and it was not in the blood of the Indy boys to set such a cowardly example. Away they rattled over the rough cobble- stones. The streets were not then gridironed in every direction with car-tracks, and it needed lenty of hard muscle to drag one of these heavy nd-engines to a fire. A half-hour’s sharp run brought them to the vicinity of the conflagration. It was in a dan- erous district, just the locality for an ambush. he low-lying region was covered with houses of dilapidated appearance, and cut into a multitude of small streets, courts, and alleys, inhabited by a lawless population. At that period there was no more dangerous locality in the whole city. As the engine rattled along through this dis- trict, groups of men could be seen at the en- trance to every court and alley. And had the firemen been behind the scenes, they would have discovered that signals were being transmitted in advance of their arrival. They were evidently waited for, and their approach was heralded to their enemies ahead. Several other engines had reached the fire in advance, and streams of water were already be- ing thrown upon it as the Industry dashed up to the vicinity of the conflagration. The point they had reached was dark and dis- mal. The gas-lamips were out, and probably had been purposely extinguished. As they came whirling up, it was to find the street occupied by a dense crowd, while from every lane-like opening glared dark and scowling faces. It appeared the lull before the storm. Every one seemed hinges 3 for some warlike signal. Several men had sprung upon the engine and were prepared to attach the hose the instant they reached the desired locality, Joe Buntin stood on the galley, grasping ,the goose-neck o the engine, while he shouted out some directions to those below. At this moment a sharp shrill whistle sounded from somewhere in the vicinity. It was instantly succeeded by a shower of stones and bricks flung as it seemed by hundreds of hands, and hurtling among the men at the rope, many of whom were felled to the earth. Joe Bunting, the most exposed — of all the Indy crew, was a fair target for the missiles of the foe. A brick, flung by a sure and stron hand, came whirling through the air an struck him in the back of the head with such a resounding crack that it seemed as if his skull must have burst open. He fell as if he had been shot, headforemost to the ground. As it napgeens there stood below him, near the side of the engine, an empty flour barrel, with its headed end upright. Plumb on this Read struck Joe’s” hard poll. It gave way beneath the blow, and into the barrel he plunged, the loosened staves tum- bling in a shower upon him. One would have thought that after such an experience Joe was well “out of the fight,” even if he was not killed outright. But to think so would be to take slender account of the hardness of Joe Bunting’s skull or the valor of his spirit. In an instant the shower of staves which covered him rose as if lifted by an earthquake, and the fallen man sprung to his feet with eyes that blazed with warlike fury, He grasped one of the staves as he rose and whirled it around him with an energy that soon gave him a clear space, No less than four men fell, hurled to the earth by this novel but effec- tive weapon, and in much less time than it takes to tell it Joe was master of the field, his enemies crowding back in terror from his war- like fury. ; While this incident was taking place a desper- ate battle was going on all around the engine. The showers of stones had driven the men from the rope, but they trowded around the engine, while the sharp crack of pistol-shots filled the air. The Indies, destitute of other missiles, freely used this more dangerous weapon. For five minutes one of the most desperate firemen’s fights that had ever taken place in the streets of Philadelphia raged around the bat- tered engine. Dozens of men were stretched upon the ground, some to rise again, others with all the fight taken out of them. The volleys of stones had somewhat dimin- ished, but the pistol-shots rose into a regular fusilade, and bullets flew with perilous free- dom through the thronging mass. Mr. Huntly, who found himself in the midst of the combat, fought for his side with as much vigor as any of the combatants. He had a loaded cane as Weapon, aud with this he warded
Page 10
10 eee ET off all assaults and quickly felled half a dozen of his opponents. Yet there was one foe whom he failed to ob- serve. The dark, cat-like face of Philip Benson lared out from the midst of the enemy. From Fis expression one would have thought that the whole affray had been stirred up by himself to ive him an opportunity to get at his mortal oe. His movement was the sly, gliding one of a tiger-cat as he wormed his way through the fighting hosts to the back of his enemy. Jnconscious of his peril Huntly continued to face outward, dodging the hurtling stones, and easily fighting off every one that attacked him. At this moment a sharpcry of alarm, in the shrill tones of his young friend Boots, met his ear, “Look out, Mr. Huntly! Stoop down, or you’re a goner!”’ He involuntarily sought to obey, but he was too late. A stunning blow, hard enough as it seemed to crash in his skull, fell on his head from behind, hurling him prostrate and sense- less to the ‘stones of the street. Benson had struck him with an iron bar, wielded with all his strength. With the brutal instinct of the murderer he lifted his weapon again, hoping to safely dash out the brains of his foe under cever of the fight of the firemen. But he failed in his deadly purpose. For at that instant Boots sprung into the space beside him and with a quick leap grasped the uplifted weapon, dragging it from his hand. ** Looky here, Phil Benson, you can’t murder Mr. Huntly while ’m around. And if you don’t make tracks your goose’s cooked.” The indignant boy whirled the bar round his head as hespoke. Benson cast one glance at him, recognized the boy of the boots and hastily darted back from the avenging blow. ‘“‘-You'd best slide,” yelled the indignant boy after him. ‘‘ You can’t git nothin’ ‘to boot’ this time, from this coon. And if you’ve hurt Mr. Huntly I’m a-goin’ fur your bacon.” As Boots spoke he found himself forced back by the retiring ranks of his friends, The enemy had proved too strong and were driving them back step by step, more than half their number being already prostrate, and most of the others wounded. And now a crowd of yelling and triumphant foes sprung out and grasped the rope of the en- gine. Ina minute more it was jerked beyond " the reach of its friends, and was being dragged rapidly through the dark street, amid yells, whistles, and every triumphant and derisive sound, CHAPTER X. A SAVAGE SCENE. Tu firemen of the Industry, led by Joe Bunt- ing, made a desperate charge to recover their engine, on seeing it hauled away in triumph by their foes. But the odds were too great against them. A throng of friends of the West Ends filled the street from side to side, closing up behind the captured engine, and choking the avenue so as to render passage impossible. With feet and fists, with clubs and spanners, with stones and bullets, the Indies fought their foes, forcing theiy way step by step into the heart of the throfig, knocking down dozens of men in their fierce assault. Yet the effort was hopeless. They were out- numbered five to one, and the crowd was so dense that it was impossible to retreat, even if defeated, Nor was success entirely on the side of the In- dies. One by one they went down under the blows of their enemies until their numbers were so reduced that the brave fellows were forced to give way before their foes. They slowly withdrew, utterly worn out with their efforts, and sick at heart with the loss of the engine which they loved as the apple of their eye. ’ While this affray was in progress the captured machine was nant hauled in triumph through the streets, a hundred men and boys manning the rope, and as many others running wild] alongside, almost splitting their throats with elling. “ Along Callowhill street they rushed to the wire suspension bridge, which at this date crossed the Schuylkill near the Fairmount Water Works. Over the bridge the heavy engine was hurled as easily asif it was of a feather’s weight, anc to the unsettled ion beyond, where a steep hill tried the strength of the captors. Reaching the level beyond the hill, they Boots, the Boy Fireman. turned to the right, hauling their prize over the rough ground west of the river until they had gained the rocky summit of a steep ledge that here bordered the, stream, fifty feet in perpen- | dicular hight. Here the yelling crew came toa halt, after whirling the captured machine to a point with- in three feet of the brink of the cliff. Theu plans had evidently been laid in ad- vance. Some of them at once produced axes, Others went in search of inflammable materials. The utter destruction of the captured engine was contemplated. One huge fellow, with a whirl of the ax round his head, brought it down in crushing fury on the handsomely-ornamented side of the doomed machine. The stroke had an unexpected effect. Out of the box-like cavity at the rear of the engine there suddenly rose a shaggy head, followed by a diminutive body. ° It was the face and figure of Boots, clearly re~ vealed in the blaze of the torches which had now. been kindled. ‘‘Like ter know what’s up,” he demanded, with great indignation. ‘‘’Tain’t no square dodge, nohow, ter hit somethin’ as can’t hit back. Git out, you pirates, or I'll fotch the chap as hits that injine ag’in!” A torrent of angry sounds rose in response to this defiance. ‘*Who is it?’ “Fetch him, lads!” ‘‘ Knock his brains out!’ ‘‘Toss him over the rocks!” ** Go for the fool!” ** Come abead!” yelled Boots, valiantly. ‘‘ ?’m an Indy boy, every time. I’m a .hoss as never cries to gohome, Trot out yer fighters if you want to see fun.” At this instant a stone whirled past the head of the defiant youngster, causing him to sud- denly dodge. A shove in the rear from the end of a club completed his discomfiture, and sent him sprawling to the ground. A dozen angry assailants instantly rushed up- on him, but they were stopped by the man with the ax, who held the handle of his weapon cross- wise before him, ‘“*Git back!” he cried hoarsely. ‘‘ Don’t you see it’s only a wiffet of a boy? Let the little cur snarl if he wants to, We ain’t come out here to fight with gutter-snipes.” his contemptuous address settled Boots. His intended assailants turned from him with an air of disdain, and bent their attention on the des- truction of their captured prize. The boy fairly danced with rage at being treat- ed with such contempt, and dared the whole crowd on to tight, with the courage of one of Ho- mer’s heroes. But as no one paid any more attention to him than if he had been a yelping terrier he subsided into silence, and stood looking with angry eyes at the ruin of his favorite machine. A half-dozen axes were now at work, rending and tearing the devoted engine into firewood. Its handsomely painted sides and galley, its brasswork polished until it shone like me) all that had made it the pride of the company that owned it, rapidly vanished under the blows of these remorseless axes, Yet it was possible that the Indies might get aid and come to the rescue. More radical work was needed. ‘Back there! Giveusa chance!” cried a party who ran up with their arms full of kindling- wood, The axmen stepped back as these fellows pushed their inflammable stores under and heap- ed them upon the engine. Then the torches which had been previously kindled were thrust into the mass, which quickly burst into flames at a dozen points. The wood was dry and splintery, and the blaze shot through and through the mass, climbing up- ward incurling flames. Ina minute this des- tructive element was licking the wooden sides of the engine, and kindling the splinters which the axes had made. . Within five mtmutes of the time of applying the torches the whole pile was a blazing mass, the flames shooting twenty feet high in the air, curling, hissing, and roaring as if in the triumph of victory. E The river gleamed with the lurid reflection, and far and wide around the whole locality was lit up with the destructive glare. , Never did Indian warriors dance with more savage joy around the fire that consumed some ceptured foe than did the West-Enders around their burning prize. . Dancing, singing and yelling, in the red light of the whirlin flames, that flickered on trees and rocks and human forms, no wilder or more savage scene could well be imagined, and the spectacle seemed more like the war-dance of a host of savage warriors than any action of civilized men. It was more than Boots could stand, Find- ing that no one paid the slightest heed to him he darted away in a bursting rage, promising dire revenge in the name of the Indies. But the victors were too good-humored over their triumph to heed his boyish clamor. “Best hold on, Boots, and see it out,” cried one, ‘‘so’s you can tell them all about it.” “Tf you find any of the Indy roosters fetch them along,” advised a second, ‘“‘ We've given their engine a roast, and we'll give them a fry.” “Shet up yer grace i me cried Boots, furi- ously. ‘‘Jist you see if the Indy boys don’t git even fur this—and ‘fore long, too. You bet, when you wake up them coons you can’t rock em to sleep ag’in easy.” A roar of derisive laughter followed, as the boy dashed away, wild with the anger that pos- sessed him, He had not reached the bridge in his retreat when he met a group of the defeated firemen, led by Joe Bunting. They had somehow got round their foes. ‘You come too late,” cried Boots, sadly. “Tt’s all up with the old Indy. And ther’s enough o’ the dirty pirates there to eat you up.” ‘‘ Hillo, Boots!” cried Joe,in surprise. ‘* You here? I thought you were kissing the cobble- stones back yonder. What: do you know, youngster? Tell us all about it.” While Boots was relating to his friends the scene he had just witmessed the work of de- struction continued. The flames soon began to sink for want of fuel, while the ruined engine appeared in their midst a blackened and useless mass. Its woodwork had been turned to ashes, and the yet more valuable iron and brasswork was dropping asunder, all the finely-fitting valves and joints ruined by the action of the heat. But the revengeful intentions of the West- — Enders had not yet been consummated. Obtain- ing some strong poles from the vicinity they set them against the side of the destroyed engine, and thrust with such force as to send it toppling over the edge of the cliff. A fiercer shout of triumph than ever arose as they heard it crunching on the rocks in its fall, and reaching the bettom with a dead crash that was the sweetest of music to their ears. ‘That settles the hash of the Indy engine,” cried the fellow who had saved Boots from the fury of the mob. ‘‘ She'll never squirt a stream on a fire again, and we've paid our debts in a way they won’t soon forget. Now let’s slide, fellows, Our night’s work is done.” This wise advice was obeyed by the greater part of the mob, only the wilder and more revengeful portion of the crowd remaining. These, not content with the damage they had done, made their way to the bottom of the cliff, intent on insulting the remains of the senseless object to which they had wrought such ruin. There were some forty or fifty in this gang but their sport was not of long duration. For saddanly, from the top of the cliff. there came raining down upon them such a volley of stones, sticks, and blazing fragments of the late conflagration, that fully a dozen of them were hurled senseless to the ground ere they could es- cape from the dangerous locality. Rushing back with wild yells they attempted to make their way to the top of the cliff again, but they were met with still fiercer yells, and storm of missiles against which it was impossi- ble to make way. The Indy boys, led by Boots, had reached the scene, and were revenging themselves upon their triumphant foes. The fight continued sharp and fierce. The Indies were doubly outnumbered by the West~ Enders, but they had the post of vantage, and they held their own against every effort of their foes to charge up the hill. The locality was eet strewn with small stones, which furnished them with an abund- ance of weapons. Every mouse some of the West-Enders were hurled prostrate by the volleys that rattled in rofusion down the hill, and before five minutes hey were forced to turn and take to flight, pur- sued by their fierce foes, who kept up the battle with undiminished energy. Not until every man of the defeated party. except those who lay insensible where they bad fallen, had been driven from the scene, did the Indies return to the locality of the lawless out- break.
Page 11
Boots, the Boy Fireman. Then they gathered sadly around the ruins of their beloved engine, as solemn as a group of mourners at a funeral. They were more de- pressed and downcast, indeed, than if the chief member of their company were being consigned to the grave, : The iron and brass-work of the engine la before them, utterly ruined, and heaped together in an indistinguishable mass. An _ vccasional gleam from some fragment of the yet burning woodwork served to hght up the distressing scene. ‘Here’s the name-plate, anyhow,” cried Joe Bunting. ‘‘ We'll take that home and keep it for anew engine. For you bet high we're not the boys to let the old lass go under without getting a new one to take her place.” The brass name-plate, with the word “ Indus- try ” in displayed letters, was recovered, and the arty sadly turned their steps homeward, as if hey had bid good-by to the corpse of their best friend. On reaching the engine-house they found that many of those who had been wounded in the fight had returned, some of them seriously hurt, but most of them bleeding from. superficial wounds. Several had been carried back, too badly in- ured to help themselves. Among these was Huntly, who yet lay in a senseless state from the severe blow which had been dealt him by his mortal enemy. CHAPTER XI, A GREAT NIGHT FOR THE INDIES. Ir was a rainy night in lato August. The In- dustry engine-house was empty, with the excep- tion of half a dozen sickly-looking individuals, who had not yet recovered from their injuries in the great West End fight. Mr. Huntly was among them, weak and ema- ciated. He had been seriously injured, and though he was now able to go about, he was yet suffering from the effects of the stunning blow he had received. All the able-bodied men of the company were out. An alarm had sounded two hours before, and though they had no engine they could not resist the instinct to proceed to the fire, They had sworn revenge upon their foes, and the hope that some opportunity might be pre- sented was one of the motives that took them to the scene. It was nearly eleven o’clock when they re- turned, dripping with rain, weary with their labors, yet full of joy and excitement. ; They came bursting into the house, all talking at once, and as enthusiastic as an army just re- turned from victory. “What is the matter?’ demanded one of the invalids. ‘Stop your clatter, and let’s hear what’s up. Haven’t been swallowing whisky by the bucketful, have you?” ‘“*Nary a drop!” cried Joe Bunting. ‘ But we've got even with the bloody Wests, and that’s better than mint-juleps and cocktails,” The men in the house sprung to their feet excitedly at these words, their faces lighting up with joy. “What is it? none 0’ you hurt.” ** There weren’t no fight to speak of,” answer- ed Joe. ‘‘ They didn’t stand on the’r mettle fer acent. We made a rush, and swept them off the rope like so many onions,” ** And you smashed and burnt their engine?” “Reckon not!” exclaimed Boots, springing forward with a eat show of indignation, “You never see’d sich soft-hearted fellers. They was afeard they mought hurt somebody or somethin’.” ' “Dry up!” exclaimed Joe, angrily. ‘Put a stopper on that ae nozzle, somebody. We did all we could, fellers. There were five hun- dred atter us, and we had to make time. We run the West End machine down to the Arch street wharf, and give it a send over into the Delaware. It’s floating down-stream among the fishes now.” ‘ A chorus of cries, hurrahs, and wild shouts of y followed this yey semen | the excited en dancing over the floor with the wildness of lunatics, “She oughter been chopped up and burnt,” persisted Boots, who was not going to let him- Self be sat down upon. ‘‘ That’s what they done to the Indy. Them coons’I] jist fish the’r ma- chine outer the river, and she'll be as good as ever. Them ain't my notions ’bout gittin’ nies a ‘ “Dry up, roared Joe. Let it out! There don’t seem tell you, you squealing shoat!” “See oa fellers. We mought have given her some chops with the ax, but I hadn't the heart to do it. I’m a fireman to the iL bones, I am. I'd as lieve hit a baby with an ax | a voice in that vote. It is my desire to keep as an injine. I ain’t no fire runt like them Schuylkill cusses,” ‘“*Good for you, Joe!” exclaimed a dozen voices. ‘*Them’s our sentiments. That's the talk of a true fireman.” ***Tain’t my idear,” persisted Boots. “ Titfor tat’s my idear.” “You bloody little nannygoat, if you don’t cork your windpipe, I'll use you to plug upa broken pane of glass in the winder,” declared Joe, in a rage. ““Got ter cotch yer weasel fore you kin squeeze him,” cried Boots defiantly. ‘‘ What do ed say, Indies? Ain’t ther’ nobody on my side?” A chorus of ‘* Yes” and ‘‘No” rose from the assembly. It was plain that Boots was not alone in his ideas, but that many of the firemen were of jhe same opinion, ‘* Ther’ weren’t none 0’ you over at the old quarry, where they chopped up our ingine inter mince-meat, and then sot her afire,” declared Boots, ‘‘ I see’d all that, and I ain’t goin’ to let up with no dive in the river.” The irrepressible yas 4 had almost stirred up a quarrel in the room. Excited conversation was going on, and the firemen seemed divided into two parties, who were getting heated in argu- ment, «‘*Stop all this debate,” exclaimed another voice. ‘‘ Not aword more, Boots, you have said enough, Listen to me, gentlemen. I have something for your ears,” It was Mr. Huntly who had spoken. The con- versation instantly ceased, and the firemen turn- ed to him with respectful and attentive looks. They could not help feeling that Mr. Huntly was their superior, and that they were honored by his presence, “*T have several things which I want to say to you,” he began, ‘“ In the first place I am satis- fied that the affair in which your engine was wrecked was the result of a plot aimed at me.” ** At you?” they cried in chorus. *“Yes,. I have learned that Philip Benson, my enemy, isin alliance with your foes. It was through his arts that the lampblack factory was set on fire that night. He knewthat I had made some runs with the Industry, and wanted to bring me out to that locality.” ** What for?” ‘To kill me, if he could. And he came near Boots here saved my life.” “But that didn’t make them burn the Indy,” declared Joe Bunting. ‘‘They had that down for od t gave them the opportunity. Now I’ve got one thing to tell path 2 v5 Te whe my fault that you lost your engine, and it’s my duty to provide you with another.” “No! no! It ain’t square! We won't let you!” came the excited cries of his hearers. **One word more, boys. Don’t fancy I can’t afford it. I know whatI am doing. I ordered you a new engine a month ago. It is finished now, and only waits for the old name plate of the Industry. And then you will have the handsomest engine in Philadelphia.” If a keg of powder had exploded under the floor of the engine-house it could not have pro- duced a greater effect upon all present. The whole assembly like one man’ sprung to their feet, and a wild chorus of hurrahs went up that seemed as if they would lift the roof from the building. “Three cheers for John Huntly, the best fel- low in the United States! Hip! hip! hurrah!” yelled Joe, in stentorian tones. The cheers that followed were loud enough to have come from a regiment. S ‘ Three more for the new Indy engine!” cried Jake Brown, another of the firemen. These were given with equal vim and yolume, “Three for suecess to our friends and confu- sion to our foes, and down with all murdering interlopers like Phil Benson!” Once more the room resounded with the wild cheers of the excited firemen. ‘And a tiger for Boots!” yelled that irrepres- sible youngster, springing to the seat of a high chair, and crowing like a cock. The tiger that followed could hardly be deliv- ered for the shouts of laughter that accompanied it. Such enthusiastic joy and wild good-humor had never before reigned within those walls, “‘ What shall it be, lads? A dance? <A torch- light parade? Say something before I bust,” screamed an excited fellow. ‘‘I can’t nohow keep still. 1 vote we lift our benefactor on a Platform, and carry him on our heads round the Square.” ** Second that motion,” cried a domen others, “No, no,” exclaimed Mr. Huntly. it. “T want ! a capitalist, quiet in this business, my good friends. And. besides I am in no condition for such a mad demonstration. You forget that I am an in- valid.” “That’s so, lads,” declared Joe Bunting. “Wait till we bring the new engine home. Then we can have our fling. You bet welE make Rome how] then.” “*T want you all to sit down and keep quiet,” continued Mr. Huntly. “I have something more to tell you in which you will all be inter- ested. It is something about this little chap: here.” He laid his hand on the head of the boy beside him. ‘***Bout me?’ cried Boots, in astonishment. “You don’t know nothin’ *bout me?” ** Ain’t I told you to dry up?’ declared Joe. “Go on, Mr. Huntly. We are all listening.” **T need not tell you that Philip Benson hates me,” began Mr. Huntly, as the firemen seated themselves and listened attentively. ‘**'The reason he hates me is because he fears: me. He has in his life done many rascally tricks. One of those tricks was a criminal one. He committed a forgery to get possession of a valuable property. And he put out of sight the heir of that property, then a mere child. ““That forged paper fell into my hands. E lost it again, but the villain did not know that. He tried to murder me, but failed through the courage of this brave boy.” “Dunno as I done much,” muttered Boots. “Had ter git out o’ that there fiery furnace my- self, and didn’t mind your comin’ *long.” **Won’t somebody choke that boy? or give: him a bannanar to keep his jaws busy?” queried: Joe, with a humorous grin. *““As I have said, I had lost the paper he wanted. Since then I have recovered it. It was in Benson’s own possession, though he did not know it. I obtained it through the aid of this boy, who proved himself as sharp-witted as: he had already proved himself brave.” “Now that’s all gammon,” muttered Boots. ‘Tt didn’t take no great smartness to discount old Benson. That ain’t nothin’ ter brag on. You oughter see what I kin do when I wake up. ‘* Just fling that boy here, Jake, till I swallow him,” roared Joe. “Nothing else will shut him up. “T reckon if you do ‘you'll have a wuss time: inside yer corporation than the whale as swal- lered Jonah!” retorted Boots. ‘“*T recovered the lost paper,” continued Mr. Huntly. ‘‘But that was not all. I obtained another paper equally valuable. I am not. only in condition to make the villain yield up» his ill-gotten wealth, but I have discovered the heir to that wealth, the child whom he kid- a and sent out of the way.” e breathless silence of the auditors showed: their deep interest in this narrative. “It was in the Far West that these events took place,” continued the speaker. ‘ The child, then about five years old, was stolen by a villain. in Benson’s pay. He disappeared, and for many years vanished from sight. Yet the ruffianly kidnapper had some conscience. He prepared a per containing a confession of his villainy. e hid this in a secret place, and died before he could reveal the secret to the boy, who had al- ways looked upon him as his father. ‘“‘ By the strangest accident I discovered that: paper. I have it in my possession now. Where- do you think I foundit? And who do you think is the lost heir?” All disclaimed any idea on the subject. Boots for the first time kept perfectly still, Yet he- had never been more excited. e began to see at what Mr, Huntly was aiming. “Jerry Johnson was the name of the kidnap- per,” announced Mr, Huntly. ‘He hid the con- fession in the sole of one of his boots, and left these boots as a legacy to his reputed son. It was there I found it. This is the boot in which the valuable paper was hidden, aud this boy is heir to the estate stolen by Philip Benson,” He pointed to the boy beside him, and to one of his ts as he spoke. The repressed excitement of the listeners could no longer be contained. A roar of surprise came from their lips. Like one man they rose, caught up the willing boy and tossed him above their heads, singing. a wild air of triumph as: they marched with him round and round the room. “This is just the biggest night the Indies ever’ saw,” is Bes Bunting. ™ % “And I'm jist the bi a to wear out his dad y’s lighted boy. oungster as ever tried ts,” yelled the de. “Tell yer what it is, fellers, if I’m. Pm a-goin’ to pay my sheer on that
Page 12
Boots, the Boy Fireman. ‘new injine. Tllbuy it all if Mr. Huntly ’ll only let me. Reckon I oughter do that much for the old Indy.” ‘* And them’s our boots!” cried Joe Bunting, springing to the boy and dragging them from his feet. ‘‘ We're going to keep them in a glass case in the engine-house, and we'll have Boots’s picture painted on the new engine, boots and all. Won’t we, boys?” A shout of assent to this proposition followed. Boots was for once in his life a hero, and be en- joyed it with all the zest of young blood, as the excited firemen kept up their frolic until long past midnight of that eventful occasion. CHAPTER XII. BRINGING HOME THE NEW ENGINE. THERE had never been a livelier and merrier “day in thea Quaker City than that in which the Industry fire company brought home their new engine. t was made the occasion of a firemen’s parade on a small scale, all the friendly com- panies turning out to accompany the new ma- chine to its housing. Long lines of stalwart men marohed in pro- cession through the streets, in the bravery of their holiday costumes, some as pioneers with shining axes on their shoulders, others manning the double lines of rope eS which the engines and hose-carriages were drawn through the streets. : : These useful machines were in all the bravery -of their holiday attire, shining as if their brass ‘was gold and their iron silver, while they were half lost under the wealth of flowers which had been profusely showered upon them. The day was bright and clear, and every street through which the procession passed was crowded with spectators, men, women, and children, all as happy and enthusiastic as if they themselves owned those glittering and flower- laden machines. But the principal enthusiasm was reserved for the new Todostry engine, which closed the parade, and which was voted by all observers the handsomest fire-engine the city had ever possessed. In this case the flowers were reserved for the jovial firemen, some of whom seemed to bend be- neath their weight of wreaths and bouquets, ‘while the engine was left unadorned that every -one might see its beauty. It was all polish, glitter and gleam, a fresh- ness that would disappear im its first service at a fire, but which now called forth the acclama- tions of the crowd. On its sides were painted vignettes, of which one was a portrait of Mr. Huntly, the other the picture of a saucy-looking youth, ragged in his attire, and wearing a pair of boots six sizes too large for him. Whom the picture represented most of the spectators knew. And those who did not know had no difficulty in discovering. For seated on the galley of the engine appeared the form of the original of the picture, dressed in_ his best and adorned with flowers, but wearing his boots, with as much pride as if they had been the foot- gear of a king. Mr. Huntly had positively declined to take any part in the parade, but Boots was not go- ing to be cheated out of his share of the fun and lory, and had jumped at the proposition of oe Vantin that he should occupy de position which we have described. , Some inkling of the story which Mr. Huntl had told in the engine-house had got abroad, with the general conception that Boots had fall- en heir to a large fortune, and that his first use of it had been to present this royal gift to his old firemen friends. He received, therefore, such an ovation as few of his age and station had ever known, shouts and cheers greeting him at every point, and the beauty of the engine was to many lost in their admiration of the young hero who rode on it as ona throne of triumph. When the procession ended and the new engine poabaad into its future home, leaving the escorting companies to proceed to their respec- tive houses, Boots sprung hastily down from his perch, his face red with mortification, ‘I never knowed I was such a fool afore,” he angrily declared. “If I'd had the sense of a suckin’ pig I’d never Jet you stick me up there fur all them folks ter look at and howl at. If that’s what you call glory I’ve got enough of it. Sooner been down blackin’ boots than up there fur a pack 0’ fools to stare and yell at.” ‘‘That’s what we call glory,” replied one of the firemen. “It isn’t every boy of your size and style that can have the chance you’ve had te-day.” ** Any boy as wants it could ’a’ had it, if he’d only spoke in time,” declared Boots, ‘‘ He could ’a’ had it furan even swap, without any boot. You bet when you git this coon ter go through that sort 0’ thing ag’in it'll be arter folks quit eatin’ ice-cream with a spoon.” A roar of laughter followed Boots’s vigorous declaration of principles. ‘*“Where’s Mr. Huntly?’ demanded Ha White, one of the firemen. ‘‘ We left him here when we set out.” ‘**T reckon he’s like Boots, and don’t take no stock in glory,” answered Joe Bunting. ‘‘ He’s slid, for fear we’d be giving him a bucketful of blarney.” “*Then he’s got more sense in his little finger than I’ve got in my whole corporation,” remark- ed Boots. ‘‘ But the next time you git this cus- tomer to ride round the streets like a monkey on a donkey, it'll be arter persimmons begin ter grow on chestnut trees.” The boy, in fact, was thoroughly disgusted with his ovation, and had enough glory of that kind to last him for the rest of his natural life. It was not in his disposition to enjoy being made a show of. The events of that day were not yet ended. A firemen’s ball had been arranged by the Industry lads for the night, and it was not till the next day dawned that the stalwart fellows were ready to go home, having danced out their overflowin spirits and their shoe-leather together, in one o the wildest frolics the city had ever known. Toward evening of the next day a group of the firemen gathered again at the engine-house, having slept off their fatigue. Boots was present, but Mr. Huntly had not yet put in an appearance. His continued ab- sence excited remark. They could not under- stand why he kept away from them on such an occasion. ‘* Maybe he’s like Boots, struck comical with modesty,” suggested Harry White. ** Took sick, maybe,” remarked another. ‘‘ He was far away from being strong.” ‘** Tm a-goin’ ter see,” cried Boots, jumping to his feet at this suggestion. ‘‘ If he’s sick I reck- on as how I’m wanted. It’s queer as that idear didn’t come inter my brain-pan afore.” ‘*There’s no room in that top-loft of yours for many ideas at once,” retorted Joe Bunting. ** You've been too full of glory to think of any- thing else.” ‘*Anyhow, I’m done with glory,” rejoined Boots. ‘‘ Don’t want no more o’ that kind o’ sugar in my coffee.” Fle left the house in his independent way. The wayward boy had become almost a man within the last few days. He had ceased to be the care- less street Arab of a month or two before. An hour elapsed before he again made his ap- pearance. Then he broke into the engine-house with hasty steps and an excited face. Several of the men sprung up in alarm on ob- serving him. ‘“‘What is the matter? Has anything gone wrong with Mr. Huntly?” “Dunno. Only he went out yesterday arter- noon, and ain’t showed hisself since. And he wasn’t in no shape to be flirtin’ round on an all- nighter.” ‘*Oh, that’s nothing. He may be visiting some of his friends.” ‘‘Nary time. He told the folks as he’d be home right arter supper. But that ain’t the wu’st ont. They found this letter on the table in his room.” He handed a ee sheet to Joe Bunting, who ran his eye hastily over its contents. ‘Read it out, Joe” cried one of the others. ‘‘ Has somebody been playing iton Huntly? If there’s anything in the wind they’ve got to steer clear of the Indy boys.” “* This is the way it reads,” remarked Joe, pre- paring once more to peruse the document. “DeAR Huntiy:—I reached here from Denver last night, and heard that you were here. I would have hunted you up, but am over head and ears in business. You know the sort of a chapI am, with never & minute to call my own. “T want to see you bad, and I know you always have lewd of spare time. Can't you take pity on an old friend and run out here and see me? I want to have a long talk with you on old times, and there is a trifle of business we might settle. Don’t fail, “Your old crony, “941 Gentry street. Witt Bisxop.” ‘*There’s nothing left-handed about that,” remarked Harry White. “ You couldn't get anything squarer.” “Tell you what it is,” declared Joe, ‘ this Benson is a deep one. He’s a forger too, Mr. Huntly said. e knows no baby play will fool Huntly, and maybe he’s forged a letter from an old friend of Huntly’s to decoy him into a scrape.” “‘T calculate Mr, Huntly knows what he is about,” rejoined Harry, ‘‘He’s no gudgeon, to be took with a bare hook.” “Yet he did not come back last night, as he promised. And he isn’t back yet.” ‘* He may have more business then he calcu- lated on with his old friend.” ** And he may be lured into a hornets’ nest.” “I'm a-goin’ to find out,” cried Boots, who had listened attentively to this conversation, ‘*T know whereabouts Gentry street is, and it ain’t no shakes of a street neither. There’s some queer holes in it.” ‘That’s so,” declared Joe. ‘‘I wouldn’t like to trust myself alone in some of them houses.” ‘““Here goes on that lay,” exclaimed Boots. “T'll fotch you back what p’ints I pick up.” They saw no more of Boots that night. It was late the next day when he made his ap- pearance, Several of the Indy boys were present. They had not yet got sufficiently over the recent ex- citement to return to their daily labor. “What luck?” they cried. ‘* Jist as Joe Bunting said. It’s all a dodge.” ‘* The deuce you say! Let it out then. What have you picked up?” ‘* Nine forty-one Gentry is a ’spectable-lookin’ shanty outside, but it ain’t nothin’ to crack on inside. It’s alongside the old paper-mill, that’s been shut up and tumbliln’ to pieces this ten ear. I couldn’t work no game to git in. hey’ve got their eye-teeth cut, and aresharp as ten razors.” **Didn’t you find out anything?” **In course I did. What do you take me fur? I axed the neighbors all "bout it. They ain’t seen much, ’cause all’s been mighty quiet, but one on ’em’s seen a man round there that’s as much like Benson as two peas. And they all say it’s a squally shanty. inder mysterious, you know.” ‘““Then, by Jupiter, something’s got to be done!” Huntly’s n decoyed there by his ene- my, and he may be a dead man if we don’t rescue him.” ‘* How is it to be done?” ‘*That’s what we want to settle on. Set down, fellers, an’ let’s talk it over. I reckon there’s enough of us here to rig up some plan.” A long conference ensued which lasted till af- ter dark. A dozen projects were discussed, from breaking into the house and rescuing Huntly by main force, to setting it on fire and saving their friend during the confusion. : Eight o’clock came and they were still debat- ing, without having reached any definite conclu- sion. At half-past eight their conference was broken up by the sharp clamor of the fire-alarm bells. A conflagration had broken out somewhere, and the new Industry engine was called to its first duty. CHAPTER XIII. THE BURNING OF THE OLD PAPER-MILL. For two months the Indy boys had not been out for a run, and they were in the highest of spirits at their present opportunity. No engine had ever been whirled over the cobbie-stones of the Philadelphia streets with such rapidity, Several other companies attempted to run with them, but were soon left in therear. The Indies were on their mettle. This speed brought them to the scene of the fire in advance of any other company. To the surprise of those who had taken part in the late conversation the conflagration proved to be in the vicinity of Boots’s recent scout. ; In those days there was no telegraph service to advise the fire companies of the exact local. ity of a fire. The bells rung out the direction and the city district, giving a number of strokes for the district and another number for the di- rection. But the firemen were left to find out for themselves just where the fire existed. It was with surprise, therefore, that the Indy lads discovered that the present fire was in Gen- try street, the locality in which they were so strongly interested. Their surprise became greater when they learned that the burning building was the old paper-mill, adjoining the house to which Mr. “Square things sometimes have dodges hid in | Huntly had been decoyed, them,” returned another. They looked at one another with a peculiar
Page 13
Boots, the ___ Boots, the Boy Fireman, i i‘ (wttst—i Fireman. ‘intelligence in-their eyes. Could any member of the company have started this fire? That was impossible; they were not that kind of men. But less scrupulous persons sometimes made their way into the engine-houses. And several of these lawless individuals had been present that afternoon. Was this fire the work of one of them? The Indy boys did not stop long to ask them- selves these questions. The fire was burning, and it was their business to put it out. Some hose companies had reached the scene and made attachment to the fire plugs, and ere many minutes the new engine was showing her pow- ers, in sending a rapid stream of water upon the flames. The deserted and half ruined factory burned liked a dry torch, the fire spreading with great rapidity, the flames soon pouring m profusion from windows and doorways. The new Industry did her duty nobly, but the conflagration had gained too much head to be extinguished and the hissing streams that pour- ed upon it seemed wasted in the blazing void, the water rising a in white clouds of steam. “It’s waste work, lads,” cried White. “That building is past saving. We best let it burn and look out for the other houses.” ‘The roof of that next building is in a blaze,” cried another. “Turn your stream that way, Joe. You're _—- water now.” unting, who was e stream, Ne once adopted this porn The building whose roof was on fire, was that to which Mr. Huntly had been decoyed. Were he and his enemy still within it? If so why did not they make their escape? A half dozen of the firemen ram to the door of this building, and shook it violently. It failed to ield to their strength, and seem to be firmly erionded within. The shutters were also closed and fastened. No signs of life were anywhere visible. The impatient firemen hammered and yelled, but n> response came from inside. The house appeared to be deserted. eanwhile the fire had fai caught to the roof, and seemed to be sp despite the efforts of the firemen. “Bring an ax here!” cried* ‘a burly fellow. ‘¢ We must get into that house. “Where are the hook and ‘ladder fellows?” yelled another. ‘* Here they come! Yank a ladder this way like "age ightning!” ile this conversation was going on the West End engine came whirling up to the scene of the fire, and was maliciously jerked over the swollen hose of the Industry, a leak that cut off half the stream. _ This was more than Indy flesh and blood could bear. A fierce uproar tly ensued, curses being followed by blows. In less time than it takes to tell it, a sharp fight had arisen between the hostile companies, the fire being forgotten while they fought out their old feud. To what peagthe it might have gone was not easy to tell. I ull stream —— the Fairmount engine was turned upon the quarrelsome rivals, drenching them ip a moment eee head to foot and cooling their ardor in the quickest time possible. They separated and fied hastily from the drenchin flood, while the shrewd fellow who had trea them to this shower-bath called out Be ‘Blast your eyes! is that what you’re here for? Put out the fire, and then you can fight yerselves ae During this interval the fire had spread with great Pesidiey. The roof of the house was now a sheet of flames, which seemed to be working their way to a lower level. ™. The effort to enter the house had been dis- turbed by the quarrel, and it still continued closed and defiant in aspect. wees a eae e a > pear pises in the condition One pe oe wes De wm imaide the oh ong is Wi Ss a per- sonage than Boots, who was too much interested in are of Mr. Huntly to let anything dis- tract him from urpose. While the fio were engaged in front, he _ had made his way to the rear of the building. ee ee here as firmly as in front. a led up to a shed over the of the windows the active and quickly gained the shed, up which he scram- bled to the window. The sash of this proved to be fastened, but there was no time to stand on ceremony now. A few blows from a club that Boots had brought with him made short work with the glass. An- other blow smashed through the framework. Tn an instant more he crept through the open- ing and was safely inside the burning house. Where he stood all was still and shadowy, though partly lighted up by the indirect glare of the flames. The adventurous boy stood for several minutes to regain breath after his exertions, and to await developments. At first the room in ‘which he stood seemed dark, from the brilliant gleam of the flames to which his eyes had been exposed. But after a minute or two he grew accustemed to the situation, and found himself in a agi room whose door opened into a narrow ent: He listened intently for indications of li e in the house. But the noise in the street and the roar of the flames drowned all minor sounds un- til he had advanced from the room into the en- ‘hen faint undertones came to his ears, which he quickly distinguished as the voices of men though they were nearly lost under the external noises, They seemed to come from a point in advance. He moved forward until he found himself beside eg door, that was nearly but not entirely ce Now the voices came clearer and louder. Boots stood and listened intently, his face lightning up with intelligence as he recognized familiar tones. It was a moment for action rather than rest and attention. The house was b over his head, and the roof at any moment might fall in and crush the floor below it. Yet what he heard was too important to be missed, and he stood listening pe mt a thought of rid. he voices continued, the listener drawin; nearer and nearer to the’ crack in the door, an displaying every minute more eagerness and excitement. At le the scene here appeared to have reached its culminating flash of intel- ligence over the li i face, he open- the door with a quick push and entered. t he saw and what he did were matters of the utmost importance to the characters of our story. But the detail of these events we must leave to a new chapter, and must first go back and describe what it was that had made such an impression on the youthful listener. CHAPTER XIV. THE TRIUMPH OF HONESTY. THE surmise that Mr, Huntly had been de- coyed by a ag oe yok forged by his enemy, was correct. He been lured to the house on Gen street, and was there at the moment that the Industry rushed up to the scene of the conflagration. He was not there willingly. The trick had quickly become apparent to him, but in his state of physical weakness he was no match for enemy. On discovering that he was in a man-trap he had made a desperate effort to escape, but with- out success. A severe nba had taken place, ending in his being felled to the floor by an instrument resembling a slung shot in the hands of his foe. scan was .7 uickly on his feet again. and had eavy chair as a weapon, but ere he aaa renew the fight Benson slipped from the room and locked the door. The decoyed man was a prisoner. The door was not a particularly strong one, and with his ordinary h he could kave broken it down. But just now he was too weak and exhausted for such an effort. The window was nailed down, too was closed for him to move the sash. And outside it was c with strong blinds which were likewise nail fast. Just then it was beyond his power e escape. He passed a Sleepless night. He was too much excited and troubled for slumber to visit his eyelids. Moreover he was afraid to let him- self go to sleep. Foolishly he had kept about him the noe bog eae pers which his enemy | sought to ob yielded to slumber tty Beene Sakon from him while in an scious state. news cue gp he dere ye of drowsi- a eens ir despite his pNgt Rp oF to ae cones: “iin ist a keep himself awake, yet involuntarily his step- wavered and his eyes grew heavy. He felt that he must yield to slumber, but: with one last instinct of caution he took the pers from his ket and concealed them neath a heap of loose papers in the drawer of a. bureau that formed part of the furniture of the» room. Ten minutes afterward he was fast asleep. Night had fallen before he awaked. He had , been locked in slumber for hours, end darkness: * was now upon the earth. i Yet the room was not dark. A peculiar lurid glare made its way in through the closed blinds: of the window. Bens noises were audible The paper mill was in flames and the: street was full of excited spectators. Disturbed by this strange light and the sounds which accompanied it the newly awakened man — ted to rise, but found it impossible to do. e seemed to be glued fast to the bed on Wiel he lay, and could move neither hand. nor foot. A peculiar, demoniac laugh met his ears. He- turned his eyes toward its direction, and there: saw the tigerish face of his enemy, Philip Ben- SOR. “You here again!” cried Huntly, sharply,, shaking off the remnants of bis drowsiness. “You could not have better company,” sneered the villain. ‘‘ Why do you not rise to: greet your guest?” Huntly made another effert to obey this sug- gee, ut with the same ill-fortune as before.. ow perceived what his sleepiness had pre— viously rigs ta He was firmly bound down. on the by length after length of ro which had been wrapped around him and bedstead. His na had taken advantage of his sleep to bind him movelessly to his couch. He was help- lessly in the power of his mortal enemy The face of the entrapped man Seen with: fury as he looked into the sneering and trium-- umphant eyes of his foe. ‘* Devil!” he hissed between his teeth. “That name will do as well as any,” replied’ outside, e Benson. “I am not particular. hope you enjoy the situation.” ‘““You dare not release me and give mean Boa chance, you villainous coward! No, my pies fellow, and I have something else for your private ear. The building next to: this is on fire. The roof of this building is burn— © ing. In ten minutes the fire will be down to thisroom. You escaped me once, John Huntly. I fancy it will not be so easy to escape again.” ‘* Hound! would you leave me here to burn?” “T am not anxious to harm you, Huntly. We. were good friends once. But you have chosen: to put yourself across my path, and I have no tak on any man who does that.” t was your friend while you was an honest mi You may as well save your breath from rak- ing up old scores, Huntly. You hold me in your- power with that forged paper. I have turned the tables and you are in my power now.” “Did you dream I was the man to help you in our aT That helpless child whom yow ere stelen—I have discovered him. Do you wrk fered I shall let you enjoy the fortune of you robbed him?’ we I know all that, Huntly. You have talked a little too much for your own good. know,. moreover, that you have certain papers about: ou which are of great importance to me. ve searched you for them during your sleep.”, ** And did not find them!” exclaimed Huntl y, with a laugh of triumph. ‘ You have missed it: in that, Benson, The papers are in good hands. Your only way of recovering them is to release me. If any harm comes to me the la holds them will proceed against you wit er who out de- la Tis auee was echoed by a sardonic one from his enemy s That ¢ me won't work, John Huntly,” he re- plied. t gar luckily for you, I bappen to know where they are. room is not as secret as ou imagine. I saw bag hide them, and they are in my ion at this minute.” ion ly involuntarily turned his eyes toward the bureau drawer in which he had hidden the: papers. For the moment he taken by surprise. % flash of intelligence shot across Benson’s cuuniag face. With a quick lea the drawer on Phich had Sheri sprung tly’s eyes begam fixed themselves, tore it open, mae its contents to the floor. Within a Joinate he had emptied it a ish yes
Page 14
1» YF ‘ we 14 Boots, the Boy Fireman. “them with frantic haste, while an oath of anger and dismay broke from Huntly’s pallid lips. ‘‘T am wonderfully obliged to you, friend Huntly,” remarked the villain, with a smile of devilish malignity on his face. ‘‘ But you ‘would have done better to have bought your liberty with these papers. I am under no promise to you now.” ‘* Devil! You are not going to leave me here ‘to burn?” ‘*T am not safe with you at liberty. I do not intend to run any risks. Your fate is sealed, aJohn Huntly.” : ** Hound and demon!—what ails those lagging firemen? Why do they not break in?” ‘*T intend to provide against any such con- tingency,” said the sneering villain. ‘‘ You escaped me once. You shall not again.” He laid the recovered documents on a table, athered up the heap of papers, and thrust hem under the bedclothing. ~then struck a match and touched the flame to the paper. Tn an instant it blazed up. ‘*That is the fate I intend for you, John Hunt- ly. Good-by for this world.” As he spoke these words the door of the room flew open, and Boots, who had been listening to this conversation outside, sprung into the room. The first movement was to snatch the papers from the table, and thrust them into the leg of one of his boots. ‘*T wouldn’t say good-by jist yit,” he mock- ingly cried. ‘‘ You’re goin’ a bit too soon,” * Boots!” yelled Huntly, in sudden hope. ** Come here! Cut me loose! Stab that hound if he interferes!” Ere the boy could draw his knife to do so, Benson had sprung with catlike fury upon him, Boots wielded his club freely, yet he was no match for his assailant, who in a moment had clasped him in his arms. But other hopeful sounds were now audible. At that instant there came a loud crash from below, and the noise of running feet was heard -on the lower. floor. And at the same moment the top of a ladder struck the house beside the window, and active feet ran up its slender rounds. A yell from the boy followed these welcome sounds. The approaching steps could be heard on the stairs. Yet the blazing paper had set fire to the bed- clothes. The bound man was in deadly peril. And Benson, strong with fury, had snatched the boy from his feet, and was carrying him in fury ‘to the blazing bed. One further yell broke from the lips of the alarmed youth. At the same moment a man sprung through the open door. Others were visible behind him. One glance revealed the situation. It was Harry White who had entered, and they were Indy boys who followed, With a ery of astonishment and rage the ac- tive fireman sprung to the bedside, drawing his knife as he did so, One quick movement of the sharp blade sever- ed every strand of the rope. Huntly, released from his bonds, sprung hastily to his feet. But instead of sgt hr 4 the instinct of esca he leaped through the flames on his foe, who was at that moment in the act of flinging his youthful captive on the blazing bed. The onset carried Benson to the floor and Teleased his prisoner. A half dozen of the Indy firemen were now in the room, facing the discomfited villain. Draw- ing a revolver from his pocket he sprung for- ward, yelling: “Make way there! I’ll shoot the man that dares to stop»me!” As he spoke the shutter was torn open with a crash, the sash dashed in, and several men jumped from the ladder into the room. Heedless of their coming H. White hurled ‘the heavy knife in his hand at the villain, with such sure aim as to knock the pistol from his grasp, and leave him unarmed, ‘*Take him prisoner! he is a robber and murderer!” cried Harry. ‘To the rescue, West-Enders!” screamed Ben- son inreply. ‘*These men are trying to kill me. Save me from them.” The Indies turned and saw that they were confronted by a force of their foes, the ladder- men being members of the hostile company, A fight at once commenced, fierce blows being given and returned, The cunning villain, whose cry had given rise to it, took mstant ad- vantage of the opportunity to seek to escape. He dashed hastily past the combatants and through the open door, followed only by Boots and Mr. Huntly, who alone had kept clear of the combat, Buy y ‘ ~ y Se ie ih Sr eee Along the outer hall the escaping villain flew, toward a stairway which descended into the rear end of the building. He had the start, and had gained the head of the stairs by the time that his pursuers were fairly outside the room. They went no further. At that instant they beheld a terrible vision that could never again be wiped out from their memories. For just then the roof, which had burned with particular fury at that point, sagged in, its sup- porting beams giving way. In its fall the weak party-wall between the house and the old fac- tory gave way, and a blazing void was revealed, into which the escaping villain was helplessly hurled. The spectators of this terrible scene for the moment closed their eyes to shut out the dread- fnl sight. They then ran back to the room which they had just left. ‘*Stop your fighting!” cried Huntly, in tones of authority. ‘‘There is a horrible business here. The wal] has given way, and Benson has been hurled into the sea of fire. The villain has met a dreadful fate.” At this thrilling announcement the fighting firemen rushed forward, forgetting their feud in the new source of excitement. A single glance proved to them the truth of what Huntly had declared, The man for whom they fought was lost beyond recall. And danger surrounded them where they stood. The fallen wall had weakened the floor which was sagging downward. It might yield and fall toward the burning factory at any mo- ment. ‘Get! for your lives!” cried Harry White. ‘* We'll all follow Benson if we stay here.” Two minutes sufficed to empty the house of all its inmates. And they were but little too soon. For quickly afterward the remainder of the arty-wall fell, and the upper floors sagged down into the blazing factory. It was impossible to do more for factory or house. The firemen now turned their attention to the surrounding buildings, their efforts bein directed toward preventing the further spreac of the conflagration. Two hours afterward the Industry company returned home, whither Boots and the rescued captive had preceded them. ith the death of the villain and therecovery of the papers, which the boy had shrewdly thrust into the wide leg of one of his treasured boots, our story ah sg ends. We must be very brief in describing the future history of our characters, The property whieh Benson had gained by forgery, and by the kidnapping of the child who was left under his guardianship, was a valuable one, amounting to nearly one hundred thousand dollars in value, Mr. Huntly was thoroughly acquainted with all the particulars concerning it, and with the aid of the papers which he had recovered, and other evidence which he easily obtained, he bad no difficulty in proving Benson’s villainy, and that the boy we have known as Boots was the true heir. After a thorough investigation the courts de- cided the case in the boy’s favor. One of the first acts of Boots on becoming a “‘ capitalist” was to insist on paying the full cost of the new Industry engine. But, as for his yal- ued boots, he did not give them to Joe Bunting for his glass case, but insisted on keeping them himself, as one of his choicest treasures. Under the care of Mr. Huntly the street Arab was well educated, and to-day, under his proper name of Horace Wilson, could never be recog- nized by any who knew him under his old cogno- men of Boots. He is now an active business man, married and living in a handsome mansion, with a fam- ily growing up about him, Mr, Huntly forms one of his family, and is his most cherished friend. As for the Indy engine-company, it bas ceased to exist. The steam engines and the paid fire de- partment have driven the old volunteer organ- izations out of existence. But Horace Wilson is still Boots to his old friends of the company, and it will be a long day before he lets wealth make him forget the friends of his days of poverty, n THE END. Edward L. Wheeler’s Deadwood Dick Novels Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. 1. Deadwood Dick; or, The Black Rider of the Black Hills. 20. The Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance. 28. Buffalo Ben; or. Deadwood Dick in Disguise, 35. Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval; or, The Brotherhood of Death. 42. The Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza. 49. Omaha Oll; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger. 57, Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, The Pards of Flood Bar. 73. Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Calamity Jane, the Heroine of Whoop-Up. 77. Corduroy Chariie; or, The tone Act of Dead- wood Dick. 100. Deadwood Dick in Leadville; or, A Strange Stroke for Liberty. 104. Deadwood Dick’s sea or, The Sign of the Double Cross, 109. Deadwood Dick as Detective. 121. Cinnamon He the Girl Sport; or, The Golden Idol o Mount Rosa. 129, Deadwood Dick’s Deuble; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s Guleh. 138. Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base 149. Apeme of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big trike. 156. Deadwood Dick of Deadwood; or, The Picked Party. 195, Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivals of the Road. 201. The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Deadwood Dick’s Ward, 205. Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Adventure. 217. Captain Crack-Shot, the Girl Brigand; or, Gypsy Jack from Jimtown. 221. Sugar Coated Sam; or, The Black Gownsof Grim Gulch. 232. Gold-Dust Pick. 263. Deadwood Dick’s Divide; or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake. 268. Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail; or, From Ocean to Ocean. 309. Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick of Oregon. 821. Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flats. 347. Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Diggings. 351. Deadwood Dick Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vendetta. 362. Deadwood Dick’s Claim; or, The Fairy Face of Faro Flats. ; 405, Deadwood Dick in Dead City. 410, Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds; or, The Mys- tery of Joan Porter. 421. Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A Cute Case. 430, Deeerort Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained and. 443, Deadwood Dick, Jr.; or, The Sign of the Crimson Crescent. 448, Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Defiance, 453. Sunflower Sam, of Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Full Hand. 459. Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Round-up. 465. Philo Fly, of Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Racket at Claim No. 10. 471. Bozeman Bill of Big Brace; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Corral. 476. Humboldt Harry, the Hurricane; or, Dead- wood Dick Jr’s Dog Detective. 481. Moll Mystery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr in Deadwood. 491. Prince Pistol; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Compact. 496. Monte Cristo, Jr.; or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Inheritance. dwood Dick’s Diggings: 500, ae * (as Swoop or, Doctor The above are for sale by all newsdeale five cents a Copy, or sent by mail on receipt o! six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PuBLisHERs, 98 William Street, New York.
Page 15
a. ee tr ee ~~ eaatael a a he BY PHILIP 8. WARNE. 67 Patent-Leather Joe; or, Old Rattlesnake, the Charmer. 175 Captam Arizona; or, Patent-Leather Joe's Big Game. 198 Captain Mask; or, Patent-Leather Joe’s Defeat, 219 Despard, the Dueliat; or, The Mountain Vempires, B38 AT ough Boy} or, The Dwartf’s Revenge. 888 Little Tornado}; or, The Outcasts of the Glen, B78 Little Jingo; or, the Queer Pard. BSS Little Oh-my 3 or, Caught in His Own Trap. Awl Little Shoo-Fly ; or, A Race for a Ranch. 408 Little Leather: Breeches or, Old Jumbo’s Curse. 481 Little Ah Sing or, The Curse of Blood, ; 451 Colorado Kate. A Tale of the olines. 450 Three Jolly Pards. 517 Jim Gladden’s Deputy. 627 The Jolly Pards to the Rescue. 647 Sandy Andy; or, A Good Man Down, #56 Lariat Lil; ‘or, The Cast for a Life. b74 Old Weansel-top, the Man with the Dogs | 593 Keen Clem, the Ranch Imp. 599 Jim Dandy, the No-Name Sport. BY CAPTAIN FRED. WHITTAKER. | 15 The Sea-Cat; or, The Witch of Darien. 29 The Dumb P 4 Be The Doge’s Daughter. 48 Dick Darling, the Pony Express Rider. 150 Lance and Lasso; or, The Children of the Chaco. 454 The Sword Hunters; or, The Land of the Elephant Riders, 459 The Lost Captain; or, Skipper Jabez Coffin’s Cruise to the che Roy Bedouln 200 e Boy Bedouins$ or, The Brothers of the Plumed Lan 214 Wolf; ang, the Robber of the Rhine. x3 249 Milo Romer, the Animal King; or, The Round the World 265 The Tiger T e Tiger Tamer ; or, The League of the Jungle. 881 Black Nick, the Demon Rider, 7 . B95 California Joe’s War Trail. BY BUCKSKIN 8AM (Major Sam. 8, Hall.)) 284 oe Reeky's **Boyeess; or, Benito, the Young Horse reaker. 246 Giant George; or, The Ang’l of the Range. 275 Arizona Jack or, Giant George’s Pard. a 297 The Tarantula of Taos; or, Giant George’s Revenge. 807 The Strange Pard; or, Little Ben’s Death Hunt. B18 Salm Ker-whoo} or, The Tarantula of Taos. B2T Creeping Cat, the Caddo; or, The Red and White Pards. 8 ‘red or, The Tonkaway’s Trust. B4 } ighting Trio; or, Rattlesnake, the Toukaway. B49 Wild Wolf; or, Big-Foot Wallace to the Front. B57 The Ranch Raiders} or, The Siege of Fort Purgatory. £64 Snap-Shot, the Boy Rangers B75 Chiota, the Creek; or, The Three Thunderbolts. - 881 Bandera BUI; or. Frio Frank to the Front. B92 Romeo and the Reds; or, The Beleaguered Ranch. 404 Little Lariat; or, Pecam Pete’s Big Rampage. 414 The Daisy from Denver. 437 The Three Trailers; or, Old Rocky on the Rampage, ) Bluff Bill; or, The Lynx of the Leona. 455 Little Lone Star; or, The Belle of the Cibolo, BY EDWARD WILLETT. 467 Asa Scott, the Steamboat Boy. 199 Featherweight the Boy Champion of the Muskingum, ae Ozark Alf; or, Featherweight Among the Outlaws. ‘282 The Typo Detective; or, Weasel, the Boy Tramp. 295 Fearless Phil; or, The King of Quartzyille. 811 The Raving Sport; or, The Pride of Chuckaluck Camp, » B22 Nemo, the Detective; or, Kit Kenyon’s Vendetta. 840 Clip the Contortionist; or, The Montana Vigilantes. : BY J, ©. COWDRICK. 860 Silver-Mask, the Man of Mystery. B69 Shasta, the Gold King}; or, For Seven Years Dead. 420 Re Raleires Apprentice; or, A Boy Without a A424 Cibuta John; or, Red-Hot Times at Ante Bar, A899 Sandy Sam, the Street Scout, AG67 Disco Dan, the Daisy Dude. 490 Broadway Billy, the Bootblack Bravo. &06 Redil ht Ral » the Prince of the Road. Bhd Whe tneinesr Detective. e Engineer Detective. 586 Broadway Billy’s ‘ Difikilty.” 448 Mart, the Nicht Express Detective. ta Broadway Billy’s Peath Racket. : r-Line Take the Young Engineer. . 5444 The Chimne Spy; or, Broadway Billy’s Surprise-Party. e ° (605 William o aa aol or, The Boy Detective’s Big Inning. oot Bos BY JO PIERCE. wi ob o” th , The Prince of Mulberry Street. 415 The Vagabond Sricctives cr, Bowery Bob’s Boom. Pry! Cay or! Bob, the Street-Boy Detective. 60 The yer’s Shadow; or, Luke’s Legacy- Za Barly Bim, ths Voces Farcrema thiect u e Yo 504 Five Points Phi. 7 ™" Deectre Jack agers, the Butcher Detective. 516 Tartar Tim; or, Five Points Phil’s* Menagerie. 526 North River Nat, the Pier Detective. S88 Wrestling Rex, the Pride ofthe Sixth Ward. 541 Jeff Flicker. the Stable Boy Detective. 551 Nick Nettle. the Boy Shadow. } hr Harlem Javk, the Office Boy Detective, ‘ 14 Brooklyn Ben, the On-His-Own-Hook Detective, . BEE Povoment cts the Undettes tromes +0" - Le a 608 ide-Awake Bert, the Street-Steerer, oo BY CAPTAIN MAYNE RE, or, The Yellow Chiefs Ven trates $ or, The League of Devil's Island. * 3_or, Backwoods Retribution, -seeker Guides or, The Lost Mountain, BY MAJOR WENRY B. STODDARD, Ex-8cout, e' The Dug-Ont Pards. pen Rap Satis "or, ‘The Swordsmen of Zacatecas, “Glove Kit, the Dandy of the Rockies. d-Glove Kit and Pard; or, The Cold King, he “Mind Man-Hunter } or, The wlystery of Golden 505 Powell’s Pard3 or, The One-Armed Gisnt y BY MARRY 8ST. GEORGE. oaring Ralph Rockwood, the er. Rube or, The Nighthawks of Kentucky, Hekory 3 or, Pandy Ellis’s Scalp. Rabo m + OF, e r- '. spay omy or, the bitHerder BY ALBERT W, AIKEN, 11 The Two Detectives; or, The Fortunes ofa Bowery Girl. 76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. 79 Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. 248 Joe Buck of Angels and His Buy Pard. 447 New York Nat. A Tale of Tricks and Traps in Gotham. 458 New England Nick; or, The Fortunes of a Founuuuge 464 Nimble Nick, the Circus Prince. 493 ‘l'nos Ted, toe Arizona Sport. 510 Cool Colorado, the Hall-Breed Detective, 518 Cool Colorado in New York. BY GEORGE WALDO BROWNE, 86 Dandy Rock the Man from Texas. 90 The Dread Rider; or, The Texan Duelist, 99 The Tiger of Taos; or, Dandy Rock’s Angel 115 The Mad Miner; or, Dandy Rock’s Doom, 181 The Golden Hand; or, Dandy Rock to the Rescue, 164 Dandy Kock’s Pledge}; or, Hunted to Death. 178 Dandy Rock’s Rival; or, The Haunted Maid of Taos. BY CAPT. J. F. ©. ADAMS. 84 Oregon Sol; or, Nick Whiffies’s Boy Spy. 46 Glan Ey the Great Shot of the Wate 54 Ned Hazel, the Boy Trapper. 56 Nick Whitlies’s Pet; or, In The Valley of Death. 60 The White Indian; or, The Scovt of the Yellowstone, 70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, The Greenhorn in the Woods. 81 Light gz Jo, the Terror ot the Prairie. 85 Buck Buckram ; or, Bess, the Female Trapper, 247 Old Grizzly and His Pets; or, The Wild Huntress. 251 Light-house Liges or, Osceola, the Firebrand. 257 The Loxt Hunters; or, The Underground Camp. 288 The Scalp King; or, The Human Thunderbolt, BY ROGER STARBUCK. 25 The Boy Captain; or, Tile Pirate’s Daughter. 114 The Black Schooner; or, Jib Junk, the Old Tar, 259 The Golden Harpoon; or, Lost Among the Floes, 848 Fire-Meels; or, Old Skinflint, the Death-Shadow. 854 Big Horn Ike, the Hill Tramp; or, The Odd Parda, 861 The Phantom Light-house. 870 Breaker Ben, the Reef-Runner. BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER. 190 Dandy Darke ; or, The Tigers of High Pine. 210 Faro Frank}; or, Dandy Darke’s Go-Down Pard¢ BY COLONEL DELLE SARA. 108 The Lion of the Sea; or, The Vailed Lady. 186 Cool Desmond ; or, The Gambler’s Big Game. BY JAMES L. BOWEN 107 One-Eyed Sim; or, The Abandoned Forest Home. 110 The Black Steed of the Prairies, A Story of Texas, BY ©. DUNNING CLARK. 185 Captain Paul; or, The Boy Spy of the Mountains, 280 The Yankee Rajah; or, The Fate of the Black Shereef, BY GEORGE ©. JENKS, 485 Git Thar Owney the Unknown. 492 Git Thar Owney’s Pledge. 518 The Demon Doctor. 581 Double-Curve Dan, the Pitcher Detective, 598 Flute, the Singer Detective, BY CAPT. ALFRED B. TAYLOR, T. 8. A, 191 Buffalo Billy, the Boy Bullwhacker; or, The Doomed Thirteen. 194 Buffalo Bill’s Bet; or, The Gambler Guide. BY CHARLES E. LASALLE, Kurt Bunker, the Trapper fo " , A Tale of the Northwest, 52 The White Buffalo. BY JOUN J. MARSHALL. 40 Roving Ben. _ A Story of a Young American. 97 The Outlaw Brothers; or, The Captive of the Harpes, BY WM. G. PATTEN. 489 The Piamond Sport; or, The Double Face of Bed Rock 519 Captain Mys $ or, hive in One. 1D 4 Pare the Sport from Denver. 587 Old Bombshell, the Ranger Detective, 604 Iron Fern, the Man of Fire. BY MAJOR E. L. 8T. VRAIN, ° 292 Sancho Pedro, the Boy Bandit. B01 Leadville Nick Bill Biddon, Seppe, e Prairie Man, BY MAJOR LEWIS W. CARSON, Three Trappers; or, The M onstex, i Vt Ra Joo; or, RRs White Spirit of the Hilin BY FRANK DUMONT. ded Wand} or, The Man of M ise Wild Fires the Boss of the Reed. tne 140 Blue Blazes; ot, The Break o’ Day Boys of Rosky Baw 171 Ebony Dan; or, The Rival Leagues. 185 Evil Eye; or, The Vultures of the Rio Grande, BY CAPT. MARK WILTON, ik , The Red Lasso, ro Fauve Keate . ah Tire Riot at Keno Camp. 286 Josh, the Boy Tenderfoot. BY BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG, 89 Island J) , The Pet of the Family. 1 The Gavtain of the Mab 5 or. The Rival Athletes, 101 Jack Harkatvay in New York. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR, 2 Yellowstone Jack; or, The baa tg 48 Black John, the Road-Agent; or, The Outlaw’s Retreat, 65 Hurricane Bill; or, Mustang Sam and His Pard, 119 Muatang Sam 3 or, The King of the Plains. 186 Night-Ilawk Kit; or, The Daughter of the Ranch, 144 Dainty Lance the Boy Sport. 151 Panther Paul: or, Dainty Lance to the Rescue, 160 The Black Glant; or, Dainty Lance in Jeopardy. 168 Deadly Dash; or, Fighting Fire with Fire. 184 The Boy Trailers ; or, Dainty Lance on the War-Path 208 The Boy Pards; or, Dainty Lance Unmatks. 211 Crooked Cale, the Caliban of Celestial City. 810 The Barranca W olf; or, The Beautiful Decoy. 819 The Black Rider ; or, The Horse-Thieves’ League. 885 Old Double Fist; or, The Strange Guide 855 The King of the Woods: or. Daniel Boone’s Laat Teal. 449 Kit Fox, the Border Boy Detective, BY W. J. HAMILTON, 68 The Red Brotherhood; or, The Twelve Avengem 66 Finale Hand; or, A Life for a Life. . 72 Mad Tom Western, the Texan Ranger. 887 Ben Bird, the Cave King; or, Big Pete’s Scoop. BY JACK FARRAGUT. 815 Ned, the Cabin Boy. 820 The Sea Sorceress; or, The Boy Skipper, BY LIEUT. i. D. PERRY, U. 8. N. 176 The Boy Runaway; or, The Buccaneer of the Bage 180 The Sea Trailer; or, A Vow Well Kept. 192 Captain Kit; or, The Mystery of Montauk Point. BY HARRY HAZARD. 828 Arkansaw Jack; or, The Scourge of the Mines, 829 Red-Skin Tomy; or, The Demon’s Trail, 842 The Mountain Devil; or, Yellow Jack, the Outlaw. BY COL. A. F. HOLT. 899 Black Buckskin; or, The Masked Men of Death Canyeo. 419 Kenneth, the Knife-King. 485 Little Lightfoot, the Pilot of the Woods, BY J. W. OSBON. 469 The Rival Glants« of Nowhar’. 498 Cactus Burr, the Man from Hard Luck. BST Old Buckeye, the Sierra Shadow. 564 Powder Phil, the Boy Miner. BY FREDERICK DEWEY. 818 Cimarron Jack, the King-Pin of Rifle-Shote. 478 Tangemund, the Desert Detective. 542 The Canyon Pards, BY ARTHUR C. GRISSOM. 440 Little Foxfoot, the Gold Bowie Kid, 558 The Sure-Shot Parda. BY LIEUT. A. K. SIMS, 546 Captain Cactus, the Chaparral Cock, 568 The Dandy of Dodge. 576 The Silver Sport. 588 Saffron Sol, the Man With a Shadow, 559 Tom-Cat and Pard; or, The Dead Set at Silver City. 601 Maver. Hans, the Dutch Vidocg; or, Red-Hot Times st ound-Up. MISCELLANEOUS AUTHORS. 4 The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid ew Frederick Whittaker. 9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen. 12 Gulliver’s Travels. By Dean Swift. 14 Aladdin; or, The Wonderful Lamp. 16 Robinson Crusoe. (27 Illustrations.) 18 Sindbad the Sailor. His Seven Ea Sa) 22 The Sea Serpent; or, The Boy Robinson Crusoe, By Juan Lewis. 88 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, The Red Pirates of the Carribees. By S. W. Pierce. 8¢ be; Boy Clown; or, The Queen ofthe Arena, By Frank nn . Finn. 88 Ned Wylde. the Boy Scout. By Texas Jack, 51 ape Boy Rifles; or, The Underground Camp. By Archie >. trons. . 95 The Rival Rovers; or, The Freebooters of the Mississippi. By Lieut.-Col, Hazeltine. 98 Robin Hood, the Uutlawed Earl; or, The Merry Men of Green- wood. By Prof. Gildersleeve. 105 Old Rube. the Hunter; or, The Crow Captive. By Captain Hamilton Holmes. 112 The Mad Hunter; or, The Cave of Death. By Burton Saxq, 124 Tippy, the Texan; or, The Young Champion. By George esson. 128 The Young Privatecrs or, The Pirate’s Stronghold. By 148 shar ‘aan or, The Adventures of a Friendless Boy, By J. Alexander Patten. 827 Dusky Darrell, ; or, The Green Ranger of the Yel- By George Le lowstone, By Edward Emerson. 261 Fergus Fearnaught the New Y srk Boy. Aiken. 266 Killb’ar, the Guide; or, Davy Crockett’s Crooked Trail By Ensign C. D. Warren. 298 Red Claw, the One-Eyed Trapper; or, The Maid of the Cliff. By Captain Comstock, 817 Peacock Pete, the Lively Lad from Leadville. By Liens tenant Alfred Thorne. 828 The Sky Petective; or, A Boy’s Fight for Life and Hones, By Maior Mickey Free. 850 Red Ralph, the River Rovers or, The Brother’s Re- venge. By Ned Bun tline. 865 Baltimore Ben the Bootblack Detective. By A. P, Morris 874 Gold-Dust Tom}; of, Ben’s Double Match, By George Hi Moree. 876 California Joe’s First Trail. By Colonel Thomes 418 Billy Bombshell, the Cliff Climber. By F. 8, Winthrop. om ie mber. oe iB The Biack Ship. By John 8. Warner. Comanche Pie Henry J. Thomas. B28 Wizard-Arm, the Dandy ire By Arthur ¥, Holt. 582 The Cowboy Duke. By Edwin Brooke Forrest. 552 Ariel the Athlete. By Dovid Druid. 585 Will Waters, the Boy Ferret. By H. Enton. A New Issue Every Tuesdays The Half-Dime Library is for sal all newsdealers, Gve eents per copy, or sent by mail ca vecetes of ate Vaan eath. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New Yosh. Pee. cata Sp Be Breer, BEADLE'S* HALF- DIME* LIBRARY. Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers. ‘ and His Three Invinciblese By b+ A
Page 16
} BY EDWARD L. WHEELER. Deadwood Dick Novela 1 Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road. 20 Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defianca 28 Buffalo Ben; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise, 85 Wilda Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. By 42 Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza, a! 49 Omaha O11; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger. 5z Deadwoed Dick's Eagles; or, The Pardes of Flood Bar. 78 Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, Calamity Jane, the Heroine. %7 Corduroy Charlie; or, Deadwood Dick’s Last Act, 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville. + 104 Deadwood Dick's Device; or, The Double Cross Sign. 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s suicn. 188 Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base, 149 A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike. 156 Deadweoed Dick of Deadwood; or, The Picked Party. 195 Deadwood Dick’s Dream; or, The Rivuls of the Roa 201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Deadwood Dick's Ward. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Ad- venture, 217 Captain Orack-Shot, the Girl Brigand. 221 Sugar-Coated Sam; or, The Biack Gown. 282 Gold-Dust Dick. A Romance of Roughs and Toxghs, 268 Deadweed Dick's Divides or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake. 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail. 809 Readweed Biek’s Big Deal; or, The Geld Brick of Vregon. 821 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir ef Phantom Flate. 7 Deadwoed Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days im the Dig- ngs. B51 Ronaweee Dick Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vendetta. 862 Deadweod Dick’s Claim; or, The Fairy Face of Fare Flats. 405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City. 410 Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds; or, The Mystery of Joan Porter. 421 Deadwood Dick in New York; or, A “Cute Case.” 480 Deadwood Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained Hand. 448 Deadwood Dick, Jr. 448 Nickel-Plate Nedj or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Defiance. 458 Sunflower Sams, oi Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Fall Mand. 459 Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Reand- " Up. y 465 Philo Fly, of Phenix; er, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Racket at Fi lain 10. : 471 Bozeman Bill; or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Corral. 4 476 Humboldt Harry, the Horricane;. or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Dog Detective. } 481 Moll Mystery; er, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Dendwood. 491 Prince Pistol, the King of the West; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Compact. 496 Monte Cristo, Jr.: or, Deadwood Dick Jr's Inheritance. " 500 Deadwood Dick’s Diggings or, Dr. Death-Grip’s Sweep. 508 Deadwood Dick’s Deliverance, 515 Deadwood Dick’s Protegee. 522 Deadwood Dick's Three. &29 Deadwood Dick’s Danger Ducks, 544 Deadwood Dick’s Death Hunt. 589 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Texas. 544 Deadwood Dick, Jr. the Wild West Vidooq. 549 Deadwood Dick on His Mettle. 554 Deadwood Dick, Jr. tn Gotham, 561 Deadwood Dick in Boston. 567 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Philadelphia, 572 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Chicago. 578 Deadwood Dick, Jr. Afloat. 584 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Denver. 590 Deadwood Dick, Jr's, Decree. 595 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Beelzebub’s Basta. 600 Deadwood Dick dr. at Coney Island. 606 Deadwood Dick Jr’s Leadville Lay; or, Bristel and Bucket’s oom, Other Novels by E. L. Wheeler. 26 Cloven Heof, the Buffalo Demon. \ 82 Bob Woolf; er, The Girl Dead-Shot. ‘ 89 Death-Face, Detective; or, Life in New York. 45 Old Avalanche; or, Wild Edna, the Girl Brigand, 158 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., the Boy Phenix. 61 Buckhorn Bill; or, The Red Rifle Team. | 69 Gold Rifle, the Sharpshoocter; or, The Boy Detective, 80 Rosebud Rob; or, Nugget Ned, the Knight. ’ | 84 Idyl, the Girl Miner} or, Rosebud Rob on Hand. | 88 Phetograph Phil; or, Rosebud Rob’s Reappearance, ' 92 Canada Chet ; or, Old Anaconda in Sitting Bull’s Camp. { 96 Watch-Eye; or, Arabs and Angels of a Great City. ' 118 Jack Hoyle the Young Speculator. 117 Gilt-Edged Dick, the Sport Detective & 121 Cinnamon Chip, the Girl Sport, 125 Bonanza BIL, Miner. { 188 Bora Bob the King of Bootblacks. 141 Solid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent. 145 Capyeta Ferret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s oes JOD. 161 New York Nell, the Boy-Girl Detective. 177 Nobby Nick of Nevada; or, The Sierras Scamps, 181 Wild Frank, the Buckskin Bravo. 209 Fritz, the Bound-Boy Detective. 218 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventril 226 Snoozer, the Boy Sharp; or, The Arab t 286 Apollo Bill, the Trail Tornado. A 240 Cyclone Kit, the Young Gladiator. 244 Sierra Sam, the Frontier Ferret. 248 Sierra Sam’s Seeret; o1-The Bloody Footprints. 258 Sierra Sam’s Pard; or, The Ange! ct Big Vista, 258 Sierra Sam’a Seven}; or, The Stolen Bride. 278 Jumbo Joe, the Koy Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs, 277 Denver Doll, the Detective Queen. 281 Denver Doll's Victory. 255 Denver Doll’« Decoy ; or. Little Bill’s Bonanza, 291 Turk, the Boy Ferret. 296 Denver Doll's Drift; or. The Road Queen. 299 A No. 1, the Dashing Toll-Taker. 808 ‘Liza Jane, the Girl Miner; or, the Iron-Nerved Sport. B25 Kelley, Hickey & Co,, the Detectives of Philadelphia. B80 Little Qui ck-Shot er The Dead Face of Daggersville. Z 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner, ‘ 889 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket. 848 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. 858 First-Class Fred, the Gent from Gopher. (a 865 Yreka Jim, the Gold-Gatherer; or, The Lottery of Life \ 872 Yreka Jim’s Prize. au B78 Nahob Ned; or, The Secret of Slab City. B82 Cool Kit, the King of Kids; or, A Villain’s Vengeance, BS5 Yreka Jim's Joker} or, The Rivals of Red Nose, 89 Bicycle Bem or, The Lion of Lightning Lode. 94 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam, 400 Wrinkles, the Night-Watch Detective, 416 High Wat Harry, the Base Ball Detective, 6 Sam watetes, e -Boy Detective, Jim Beak and Pal, Private Detectives, 8S Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher. in Sam, the Sparkler. uist Hunter, elective, BY CHARLES MORRIS, 118 Will Somers, the Boy Detective. 122 Phil Mardy, the Boss Boy. 126 Picayune Pete; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective, 180 Detective Dick; or, The Hero in Rags. 142 Mandsome Harry, the Bootblack Detective, 147 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. 152 Black Beas, Will Wildfire’s Racer. 157 Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. 162 Will Wildfire in the Wooda. 165 Billy Baggage, the Railroad Boy. 170 A Trump Card; or, Wi! Wildfire Wine and Loses. 174 Bob Rockett; or, Mysteries of New York. 179 Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner, 188 The Hidden itand; or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge. 187 Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers. 189 Bob Rockett; or, Driven to the Wall. 196 Shadowed ; or, Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life, 206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King. 212 Dashing Dave, the Dandy Detective. 220 Tom Tanner; or, The Black Sheep of the Flock, 225 Sam Charcoal the Premium Darky. 2835 Shadow Sam, the Messenger Boy. 242 The Two “* Bloods 3 or, Shenandoah Bill and His Gang. 252 Dick Dashaway : or, A Dakota Boy in Chicago. 262 The Young Sharpe: or, Rollicking Mike’s fies Trail 2T4 Jolly Jim, the Detective Apprentice. 289 Jolly Jim*s Job; or, The oung Detective. 298 The Water-Hound; or, The Young Thoroughbred. 805 Dashaway, of Dakota; or, A Western Lad in the Quaker City. 824 Ralph Ready, the Hetel Boy Detective. 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagabend Detective. 858 The Reporter-Detective; or, Fred Flyer’s Blizeara, 867 Wide-Awake Jue}; or, A Boy of the Times, 8ty larrz. the Leveler; or, Thé Bloods of the Beulevard, 408 Firefly Jack, the River-Rat Detective. 428 The Lost Finger; on The Entrapped Cashier, 428 Fred Flyer, the Reporter Detective. 482 Invincible ‘an, the Pinkerton Ferret. 456 Billy Brick, the Jolly Vagabond. 466 Wide-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive, 479 Detective Dedge; or, The Mystery of Frank Hearty, Sol Beet the Hacket Too Sh for the Sharper, oota, the Boy Fireman; or, Too Sharp the 566 The Secret service Boy Detective. 596 Jimmy the Kid; er, A Lamb Among Wolves. BY OLL COOMES, 58 The Border King; or, The Secret Foe. 71 Delaware Dick, the Young Ranger Spy. 74 Hawk-eye Harry the Young Trapper Ronger. 88 Rollo, the Boy Ka r. 184 Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman, 48 Scar-Face Saul, the Sifent Hunter 146 Silver Star, the Boy Knight. 158 Eagle Kit, the Boy Demen. 168 Little Texas, the Young Mustanger, 178 Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. 182 Little Hurricane, the Boy Captain. Pros t Pete ; or, The Young Outlaw Hunters. 208 The Boy Hercules: or, The Prairie Tramps. 218 Tiger Tom, the Texas Terror. 224 Dashing Dick; or, Trapper Tom’s Castle. 228 Little Wildfire, the Young Prairie Nomad. 288 The Parson Detective; or, The Little Ranger. 248 The Diaguised Guide; or, Wild Raven, the Ranger. 260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Yeung Prairie Ranges 272 Minkekin Mike, the Boy Sharpshooter. 290 Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. 800 The Sky Demon ; or, Rainbolt, the Ranger, 884 Whip-King Joe, the Boy Ranchero. 409 Hercules; or, Dick, the Boy Ranger. 417 Webfoot Moxe, the Tramp Detective. 422 Baby Sam, the Boy Giant of the Yellowstone, 444 Little Buckakin, tne Yeung Prairie Centanr, 457 Wingedfoot Fred; er, Old Polar Saul. 468 Tamarac Tom, the Big Trapper Boy. 478 Old Tom Rattler, the Red River Epidemic, 482 Stonewall Bob, the Bey Trojan. 562 Blundering Basil, the Hermit Boy Trapper. BY T. ©. HARBAUGH, 28 Nick o’ the Night; or, The Boy Spy of ’76. 87 The Hidden Lodge; or The Little Hunter. 47 Nightingale Nat; or, Tne Forest Captains, 64 Dandy Jack; or, The Outlaws of the Oregon Trait. 82 Kit Harefoot the Wood-Hawk. 94 Midnight Jack 3 or, The Boy Trapper. 106 Old Frosty, the Guide; or, The White Queen. 128 Kiowa Charley the White Mustanger. 189 Judge Lynch, Jr.i or, The Boy Vigilante. 155 Gol Tr r, the gins or, The Girl Avenger. 169 Tornado Tom; or, Injun Jack From Red Core. 188 Ned Temple, the Border Boy, 198 Arkansaw ; or, The Queen of Fate’s Revenge. 207 Navajo Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter, 215 Captain Bullet; or, Little Tonknot’s Crusade. 281 Plucky Phil; or, Roen, the Re iwWezebdel. 241 Bill Bravo; or, The Roughs of the Rockies, 255 Captain Apoliv, tne King-Pin of Bowie, 267 The Buckskin Detective. 2TY Old Winch; or, The Buckskin Desperadoes. 294 Dynamite Dan; or, The Bowie Blade of Cochetopa. 802 The Meuntain Detective; or, The Trigger Bar Bally, 816 Old Eclipse, Trump Card of Arizona, 826 The Tem Parda: or. The Terror of Take-Notice. 886 Big Benson; or, The Queen of the Lasso, 845 Pitiless Matt; ov, Red Thunderholt’s Secret, 856 Cool sam and Pardt or The Terrible Six. 866 Velvet Foot, the Indian Detective. 886 Captain Cutlass; or, The Brecaneer’s Girl Fee. B96 pough Rob: or, The Twin Champions of Blue Blazes. A411 The Silken Lasso: or, The Rove of Ranch Robin. 418 Felix Fox, the Boy Spotter. 425 Texas Trump, the Border Rattler. 486 Phil Flash, the New York Fox. 445 The City Vampiress or, Ked Rolfe’s Pigeon. Trey 3 or, The Last Man of Keno Bar. 477 The Exceisior Sport} or, The Washington Spotter. 502 BR ded Ben, the Night Ferret. 51 odger Dick, the Ledge ed Detective. 521 ger Dick's Beat ec. ane os and Forces, the Soaety Shadows, r ick, the erret, 5 oor Dick’« Double; or, The Rival Boy Detectives, + * ro a her Vee Case. er « the idoeq. 578 The Two Shadows. Dodger Dick’s Prop. 594 Little Lon, the Street-Singer Detetive, BEADLE'S«H ALF-DIME*«[ IBRARY. Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers. BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM, 7 The Flying Vankee}$ or, The Ocean Outcast. 17 Ralph Roy, the Boy Buccancer; or, The Fugitive Yachts 24 Diamond Dirk; or, The Mystery ofthe Yellowstone. 62 The Shadow Ship3 on oe Rival Lieutenants. 75 The Boy Duelist; or, The Cruise of the Sea-Wolf, 102 Dick Dead-Eye, the Boy Smuggier. 111 The Sea-Devil; or, The Midshipman’s Legacy. 116 The Nussar Captain ¢ or, The Hermit of Hell Gate. 197 Little Grit; or, Bessie, the Steck-Tender’s Daughter. 204 Gold Plume; or, The Kid-Glove Sport, 216 Bison BIll, the Prince of the Reins, 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport 3 or, The, Woman Trailer. 229 Crimaon Kate; or, The Cowboy’s Triumph, 287 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain. Merle, the Middy ; er, The Freelance Heir. 250 The Midshipman utineer ; or, Brandt, the Buccaneer, 264 ; we Floating: Feather; or, Merle Monte’s Treasure siand, 269 The Gold Ship; or, Merle, the Condemned. 276 Merle Monte’s Cruise; or, The Chase of “The Gold 280 Merle Monte’s Fate; or, Pearl, the Pirate’s Brida, The Sea Marauder; or, Merle Mente’s Pledge. 287 Billy Blue-Eyes, the Boy Rover ef the Rio Grande. 804 The Dead &hot Dandy ; or, Benito, the Boy Bugler. 808 Keno Kit; or, Dead Shot Dandy’s Double. 814 wae Mysterieus Marauder; er, The Boy Bugler’s Long Tall. 877 Bonodel, the Boy Rovers or, The Fiagleas Schooner. 888 The Indian Pilot; or, The Search fer Pirate Island, 887 Warpath WIII, the Boy Phantom. pred Goawalt, the Uey ry jam sodor, the Young Conspirator; oe, The Fatal League, 407 The Ber Insurgent; or, The Cuban Vendetta. 412 The Wild Yachtaman; or, The War-Clouu’s Cruise. 429 Duncan Pare, the Boy Refugee. 488 A Cabin Boy's Luck; er, Tne Corsair. 487 The Sea Raider. 441 The Ocean Firefly; or, A Middy’s Vengeance. 446 Haphazard Harry; or, The Seapegrace of the Sem 450 Wizard Will: er, The Boy Ferret ef New York. 454 Wizard Will's Street Scouta, 462 The Born Gulde?¢ or, The Sailor Boy Wanderer, 468 Neptune Ned, the Boy Coaster, 474 Flora; or, Wizard Will’s Vagavend Pard. 488 Ferreta Afloat; or, Wizard Will's Last Case, 487 Nevada Ned, the Revolver Kanger. 495 Arizona doe the Boy Pard of Texas Jack, 497 Buck Taylor, King of the Cowboys. 508 The Royal Middy ; or, The Shark and the Sea Cat. 507 The Hunted Mid«hipman. 511 The @utlawed Middy. 520 Buckskin BIL, the Comanche Shadow. 525 Brothers in Buckskin, 580 The Buckskin Bowers. 585 The Bucuskin Rovers, 540 Captain Ku-Klux, the Marauder of the Rio, B50 Ledtice Lewes or th + rset So nfitte’s YY: or. The Avenging Son. 555 The Creele Corsair. 560 Pawnee BIII, the Prairie Shadower. 565 Kent Kingdom, the Card King. 570 Cumille, the Card Queen. 575 The Surgeon-Scout Detective. 580 The Outcast Cadet; or, The False Detective. 586 The Buckskin Avenger. 591 Delmonrte, the Yeung Sea-Rever. 597 The Young Texan Detective. 602 The Vagabond ofthe Minca. — 607 The Rever Detective; or, Kene Kit'e Champlona BY BUFFAL® BILL (Hon. Wm. F. Cody 8 Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand. 19 The Phantom Spy: or, The Pilet ef the Prairie, 55 Deadly-Eye, the Unknown Sceut. 68 Border Robin Hood; er, The Prairie Rever. 158 Fancy Frank of @olorade; or, The Trapper’s Trost, LATEST AND NEW ISSUES. 608 The Pitcher Detective’s Fell; er, Deuble Corve Dan’s Double Play. By Geo, ©. Jenks. 609 Bolly Dorrit, the Veteran Detective; er, Little Lightning's Invinei*len. By John W. Onben. 610 Old Skinner, the Geld Shark; er, Teny Shorp on Guard. By T. C. Harbaugh. 611 Bildad Barnacle, the Detective Hercules; er, The Tussle at Tuble Mountain. By Lieut. A. K. Sims. 612 Deadwood Diek Jr. In Detroit; or, Turning the Tables on Satan. By Sdward L. Wheeler. 618 Billy Blazes; ©, The Skeleton’s Legacy. By P.S. Warne. 614 Whistling Jacob, the Detective’s Aid; er, The Queer Com- bination, By Jo Pierce. 615 Fighting Harry: the Chief of Chained Cyclone; or, The Heathen Chinee’s Mission. By J, C, Cowdrick. 616 The Ocean Detective; or, The Last Cruise of the Black Bear By Geo. C. Jenks. 617 Ralph, the Dead-Shot Scout; or, The Raiders and the Red Riders of the Rio. _ By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 618 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Cincinnati; or, The Clincher Campaign. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 619 The Boy Tramp Detective; or, The Doubie Grip Witness, By Wm. G. Patten 620 Little Light ning’s League; or, The Mystery uf the Island. By John W. Oshon, 621 Truthful James, the “Pecooliar” Man; or, The Spoiler Dispoiled. By A. C. Grissom. 622 Texas Tom-Cat’« Triad; or, The Queer Affair at Tomb- stone. By Lient. A. K. Sims. 628 Buck Bumblebee, the Harlem Hummer; or, The Old Captain’s Moving Miracle. By Jo. Pierce. 624 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Nevada; or, The Preacher of Pokervitle. By E, L. Wheeler. 625 Chincapin Dan, the Boy Traller; or, The Hero of the Crater. By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. 626 The Champion Parday ©, The Lucifer of Silver Bar, By T.C, Harbaugh. Keady July 2%. 627 Tom Bruce of Arkansas; or, The Wolf in the Fold. By Charles Morris. Ready July 30. 628 Broadway Billy’s Dead Acts or, The League of the Sworn Seven. By vc. Cowdrick. Ready August 6, 629 Violet Vane, the Velvet a yt) The Jubilee of Jacktown. B . Ready August 13, 680 wood Dick, Jr. in No Man’s Land; or, Golcon ty heed By Ed. L. Wheeler. Ready August 0, ee A New Issue Every Tuesday. The Half- Dime Library ‘s for sale by all newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of aix cents each. BEADLE ANP ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street New York.