Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 50) (1878 07 09)
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\\ S\ . f WME, NITRO TEE iit lt ot at! it a TSS Copyrighted in 1878, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. Vol. II. Single Number. Burt Bunker, | THE TRAPPER. A Tale of the North-west Hunt- ing-Grounds, BY GEO. E. LASALLE, CHAPTER I. A LIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE. Op Burt Bunker had roamed the prairies and mountains for thirty years, and seen many strange sights, anim and men, and his had been the lot to be the hero of man a thrilling adventure; but that upon which his eye was now fixed was the greatest mystery of his life, and he found himself totally at a loss to under- stand what it all meant. It was a starlit night, with no moon, so that the keenest vision of man could not pene- trate far upon the prairie. Old Burt was mounted upon his faithful stallion, Honey- comb, and was on his wa toward the trapping-groun and beaver-runs of the Yel- lowstone. He was all alone with his horse, without even so much as a dog to keep him Pe He had lain by during the day, on account of “ powerful signs” of the Blackfeet, and when night came down upon the prairie, he mounted his animal again and rode forward, both rider and beast knowing the route so well that there was no fear of their going astray on this quiet autumn night, _ Burt was riding dreamily forward, his animal at a moderate gait, while he was smoking his short black pipe when he detected far ahea on the plain, a tiny point of light, which: at first glimpse, he concluded was a star low down in the horizon; but, as his horse continued Sch toward it, he y awoke to the fact that it was also coming toward him. Fi- nally he reined up his horse for the purpose of examining it. Now that he was station- ary himself, he sould see that it was mo , which showed that it was carried by some nero or wisn It had a cing, flickering appear- ance, which, while it owed it was constantly changi its position, showed also tha it was not carried in the hand of a person, so that it could scarcely be a lantern, borne by some ignorant wayfarer in this Sask of the world. “Skulp me—but that is quar!” muttered Burt, after BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, Price, 5 Cents. he had contemplated it several minutes in silent cropped out in the appellations he gave to differ- ‘““T’ve never see’d that kind of wonderment. cree afore.” tur’ in these Brave as was the trapper, there was a vein of superstition that run ugh his being, as is often the case with a daring but ignorant man, and a shiver shook his Herculean frame, as he reflected that this might be some supernatural creation wandering over the western prairies. By the camp-fire and in the settlements hehad | , wild tales of indescribable beings, | heard stran a glimpse of whom had been detected as they whisked with the speed of the wind over the rairie. ‘*Mebbe it’s one of ’em!” he growled, a min- | ute later, ‘‘and ef it’s so, thar ain’t no use in p’intin’ Betsey Jane at it.” This female personage, we may explain, was the appellation which the old trapper always applied to his rifle. Indeed, there seemed to a tinge of poetry or romance in his nature which Gi FA. 2 0, ZF —Z ent objects. He had instinctively drawn his rifle from over his shoulder, at the moment of reining up his horse, and he now sat grasping it with both hands, so as to hold it ready for instant use. ** Betsey Jane,” he added, as he looked loving- ly down at the deadly weapon, ‘‘ you and me have tram many a mile together, and you’ve let daylight into enough red-skins to make a stack as high as the Big Mound, and the rule has been when you barked somebody or some- | thin’ has bit the airth; but I’m afeard you’ve met more nor your match.” The trapper looked furtively about him, as if seeking some place to which he could retreat, but he saw none. He was in the middle of a | broad, level stretch of prairie, and he knew, cir- cumscribed as was his vision, that there was no water or timber within miles, **T can’t hide,” he continued, giving utterance to his reflections, ‘‘for any creetur’ that’s got an eye like that can see anywhar; and ef I should get behind a tree, he’d come and look right through it at me. Skulp me! but it’s comin’ right toward me.” Whatever doubt there might be about the former conclusion of the hunter, there could be no question- ing the truth of the latter. That strange, dancing light, that had first attracted his notice, was speeding directly toward him, and, a few min- utes more at the furthest, would be upon him; so it only remained for Burt to put the best face possible on the matter and brave it out. “Td rather meet a stack of red-skins,” he fairly ed, as his horse walked slow- ly forward, ‘‘ than to meet ‘ou |” As the best he could do, the trapper determined to face the coming danger, and. if really a “‘ spook,” he would make tracks when that was the only horn of the dilem- ma remaining for him to take. “They say rits don’t make no noise,” soliloquized Burt, as he caught the clamp of a horse’s feet upon the prairie. Cautiously listening, while his own animal] stood still, he could hear its steady ap- proach, and by and by was able to discover the outlines of a horse, with some sort of figure astride of it. The same starlike glimmer was “iscernible, advancing stea- dily, until he saw that the terrible object the real shape and contour of a man. But what meant that red. Zi tL Za Zo ath : APSE,
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2 fiery eyet Could any thing mortal possess such a iarity. he trapper was more terrified than eyer, and really believed that his end was near at hand; and at the same time he could not help reflect- ing that if he should possibly be spared to get out of this, what a terrible tale he would have to tell among the settlements and around the ‘* Hello dar! who’s dat?” This came from the mysterious thing, and it was ad unmistakably to Burt, who was inexpressibly relieved at finding he was dealing with a veritable human being, albeit there was still something unexplainable in his appearance, The horse of the stranger had halted, and it was lain that he had caught sight of the trapper for he first time. The latter once more grasped Betsey Jane. His confidence in his rifle was restored. “'T say, stranger, who mought you be?” ‘*Tt’s me—me; don’t be skeart!” was the re- ply, in such a tremulous tone as to show that the speaker himself was excessively fright ened. ™ Who og oo you be?” ‘‘Me—me; Pomp Augustus Brown.” ‘““What in thunder is the matter with your wool? Has somebody set it afire?’ demanded the indignant hunter, as he rode toward the trembling negro, who expected assuredly that his life would pay the penny, of fre nhening the grizzled old prairie veteran so terribly. “Dat yer whar dis chile allers carries his lantring; I put it up dar, whar it’s out ob de way.” Or That’s.a leetle ahead of any thing this cha ever see’d,” muttered Burt, partly to himse ashe contemplated this novel arrangement of the darky. e latter was a short, heavy-set fellow, with huge, rolling eyes, which, on a closer approach, ost rivaled the bull’s-eye lantern itself. ‘“ What do you want of that thing, anyway?” asked the trapper, after he was enabled to com- prehend it. »‘ Dat’s to see wid.” “What be yer lookin’ fur?” ‘Our folks; dey’s lost.” ‘‘T should think you war the one as war lost; win Ps yer b’long to, and what ar’ ye doin’ ar Mf I b’longs to Cunnel Mulford, and I’s lookin’ his darter Olive and me mudder, Polly Brown.” After considerable questioning, Burt got the truth from the negro, who. allowed himself to be persuaded that life was not in imminent place near a beautiful grove of timber. ughter, tego himself from the pure, bracing air. er mother being dead. age, a widow, with a huge, good-natured son ganerally known as ‘“ Pomp,” although, as we ve shown in another place, he was the owner of a somewhat more extensive title. Colonel Mulford, being an Indian agent, it may be. supposed that he knew too much to place his beautiful and beloved daughter in per- sonal danger. He selected this site, not alone for the of its atmosphere, but on account of a spring of water, that considerable medicinal qualities, and from which he himself had derived no little benefit. This was the great inducement. Furthermore, it was removed from any im- mediate danger, as his own agency was the nearest. point to which the Indian generally came; but there remained that ever-present danger, peculiar to the American Indian, and ting from his roving disposition. There was no telling whither their: nomadic propensi- ties would lead them, as they have a w ess of using the entire West as their pees ‘ound ; but her be rig Fac, health decided to take her with him. position as Indian agent brought him into such intimate connection with the joining tribes, that he was quite confident Sone forestall any hostile movement upon But Colonel. Mulford, like many other men, committed a sad blunder, the worst of which was that he cou d know nothing of it until in all probability it was too late, Beadle’s Half-Dime Library += On the afternoon of this day, Olive Mulford was taking her usual ride over the prairie, ac- companied by Pomp and his mother, all of them mounted upon horses. They had made a circuit of several miles, and halted in a small grove, somewhat similar to the one in which their house was located. The air was quite cool, and Olive decided to kindle a fire. Pomp went ranging through.the grove in search of fuel; and had scarcely, got beyond sight of his friends, when a of Indian horsemen swooped.down upon them, seized Olive, and her servant, Molly, and were off. with them like a shot. f Fearful of pursuit, the réd-skins did not pause to secure the other member of the party, but took the two females and their animals, and were gone as rapidly as they came. Pomp heard the sound of their horses’ feet, and the outcries of the women, and got back just in time to see them vanishing over the prairie. It was now growing dark, and very naturally Pompey was taken all aback at this catastrophe. He took fully an hour to decide what he should do, if, indeed, he could do any thing at all; En- tirely uainted with the ways of the prairie Indians, he-concluded that his mother and mis- sus would soon be. set free, when they would set out for home, and would be yery. yee get lost without his assistance. So. he “ fired up” the little “‘ bull’s-eye” lantern, which he always carried. with him in his trayels, and set out to search for them, which brings us back again to old Burt, the trapper. ‘‘T reckon you hain’t lived in these long,” said the latter, after he had patiently lis- tened to the story of the negro, ‘* Not wery,” was the reply. “Wal, the fust thing you do is to snuff out that ’ere conflygration in yer wool; such a trick as that is a sure sign of a thunderin’ fool.” “ But—but how will de folks see me?” asked Pomp as he tremblingly obeyed. ‘* That won’t help ’em any, and it'll be likely to draw a red-skin’s bullet smack and clean through that skull of yourn,” The negro did as commanded, and then, as the two horsemen sat side by side, he asked: ‘ What dis chile do?” *'Whar’s the curnel?”’ “At the Beaver River Agency; know whar dat is?” ‘Yes; it’s bout forty miles fromhayr. The best thing yer kin do is to strike a bee-line fur home, and tell him what the red varmints have been doin’.” ‘But I dunno de way.” “Come ‘long then with me; I’m goin’ purty noe it, and take you nigh ’nough fur yer to nd it. ‘ ‘* Does yer know Curnel Mulford?”’ “Tve heerd of him; they say he’s a and just agent, and the Lord knows them kind of in- dividooals is skarce ‘nough to make me feel like ridin’ forty miles to see such a cur’osity.” Fie sy you'll go wid me?’ asked the joyful rky. But the trapper shook his head. “Tt’s gettin’ late in the fall, and ’'m two weeks later nor I war last year, and I obsarve that it feels like snow in the air now. I hain’t got the time, Woolly Head, fur I ought to been at the beaver runs a month ago. Howsumever, I'll take yer as near as I kin; so come on.” They had hardly started, when the keen-eyed trapper discovered a bright light in the West. “9 scanned it closely a moment, and then ask- ‘* Which way does yer cabin lay from yer?” ‘Off dar, whar de moon is arozin’.” ‘‘That ain’t the moon,” replied Burt; ‘ that’s yer house itself gettin’ riz so high, that you won’t be able to tell where it coke to-morrer. ” “Golly!” Pomp, scarcely able to real- ize the extent of the loss, ‘‘ dat te orful ; I’ve got a new pair ob trowsers in dat house, an what’s goin’ to come ob dem?” * yer ain’t in the trowsers; it’s gettin’ late; come on.” Both were mounted upon good animals, and they struck into a rapid canter, which bore them swiftly forward toward the north-west. This was. the direction leading to the beaver Pa $1 the readies and so ee pper making. way to ilous regions, that he would permit nothing to draw him aside from his object. The abduction of Olive Mulford was a ease that powerfully ap- _— to his sympathies, and he had never yet ed a deaf ear to the cause of imperiled inno- cence; but he was yvéry willing to ‘‘kill two birds with one stone,” and he sped the more swiftly onward, as the direction of the Beaver | companions with him on | than it was.forty years before. rial loss jof time in reaching his own ultimate destination. A little more speed was all. But this veteran wanderer over the prairie was not the man to use up his horse without cause; and when the ihe ia | pine had con- tinued for several hours, and it was not far “Don't you tink J’s wuf all de hosses in dis untry?” asked Pomp. Yer might be to put in a show, but fur nuthin’ else.” Ai CHAPTER II. = ON TOWARD THE NORTH-WEST. Op Burt Bunker was at home on the prairie. For thirty years, as we have said, he had wan- dered back and forth over the mountains, set- ting his traps by the streams which have their rise in the Roc Mountains, braving death from ‘ yous tener | tribes thre 4 chatty rritory he was com to pass, and li carrying his life in his hand, in the shape of his trusty rifle. His hardened frame was.scarred by.many a bullet that ‘had plowed its way through flesh and muscle, and h ed: beard scarcely con- cealed.the slashes and wounds that cr his face in. every direction... He had met. the In- dians in the hand-to-hand encounter, in the lonely forest; he had spiinaee ‘through: ing snow and sleet, thankful for the midnight dark- ness that made his escape so easy. Such, in brief; was the life-history ‘of old Burt Bunker; and on the day when we introduce him to the reader, he is'‘a man close on to half a cen- tury in age, and-his face is set, toward,.the head- waters of the Yellowstone, and he is going on his annual expedition to these far-off trapping- grounds, where he expects to spend the winter, and when laden with furs and peltries in the spring, with phen an extra horse picked up in the wilds, he ‘start for St. Louis : It was in the year 1843, and the great ‘North- west was known scarcely any more at that day Fremont had accomplished nothing in the way of enlighten- ing the world as to the character of that great western half of our continent, which of late has made such prodigious strides in advancement and wealth. : Therefore, Burt was little disturbed by the tide of emigration rolling’ westward. 8 be rode along on Honeycomb, that had been his companion for half a dozen years, he occasion- ally caught sight of a settler’s cabin that he did not remember ever having seen before, and here and there he saw the smoke of the emigrant- train ascending from some clump of trees. He made it a principle to avoid all these un- eet ights as much as was in his power. If ascending column of smoke was in front of horse’s nose, he turned aside, and made a wide detour, so as to escape meeting the stran- gers. If perchance he encountered some of these pioneers, he scowled savagely at them, gruffly answered their salutations, and passed on. They weren’t Foine to inveigle him into any conver- sation; that wasn’t his business in part of the via aad : otit b ‘They hain’t got no ri ere, noways,” he occasionally muttered, after he had given & some presumptuous stranger the go-by; “this part the world war made fur hun and trappers, and such gentlemen. I s’pose the ‘reds Bong hyar too,” he added, after a little longer reflec- tion upon it, “cause ef they didn’t I don’t s’pose they’d be hyar: but then, why don't they be- have themselves? That’s what gits my time.” This was the question which the rude philoso- her could not decide for himself; and so, when e reached this after-phase, he was generally sen- sible enough to give it up and stop thinking about it. Where the old trapper origi came from was unknown; but it was ce , to those who | took the trouble to think about him, that it was | not from St. Louis, where he always made his home. He was very reticent about his early | history, and the suavity of no one, as yet, had | been sufficient to trate the shell of reserve | ny shed Fopeieod pal Aitte ts to “ pump” e re several attem him, with such sav. “flerceneds, that no a attempted it a second time, and so, by the time he reached middle life, lie was annoyed very little in that way. : It was known years before that he had had his extended explora- ppeared. River Agency could be followed without mate- | tions of the West; but they had all disa
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ee ae Mil A lla Ay, ta > Some had died in the natural course of events, and others had met with violent deaths at the hands of the treacherous red-skins, who would rather hunt a white man than any game that their country afforded. There were some who said he had once a wife who had died long years before, and had left a child behind, and he had died also, in his youth, so that; if such were ‘really the case, there was a partial explanation of his disinclination to the society of his’ kind, and his love for the wild adventurous career to which he had devoted himself so long. It was with a mental test that he consent- ed to the temporary society of the negro Pomp on the present occasion; but, with all the trap- per’s oddities he was kind at heart, and when he refused to consort with those of kind whom he encountered in the West, it was when he was certain they were just as well off without him as’ with him—so that no harm ’was done to any one by his course. Burt Bunker eget kindled a fire at night when he made his halt, but he did not do so upon the présent occasion, as he had no use for it, and the story that the negro had told con- vineed him of the r there was to # - hend from the Blackfeet, who rarely ven so far south of the agency. The two horses were turned loose, the er feeling no uneasiness about his animal straying off, while Pomp pretended to feel the same about his, although he had more cause to suspect his wandering away upon the first opportunity. So they merely wrapped their blankets around them and lay down upon the earth. **Golly! s de Injins come?!” the negro, from beneath the folds of his b t. ~ Let ’em come; Honeycomb will give us no- ice— ““Who is he?” asked Pomp, in amazement. * Go to sleep, and I’ll tell yer in the mornin’,” Old Burt was about lying down, when he felt somet cold upon his hand, and looking Gaickly, saw that it had been struck by a snow- ake. The air was full of snow that was sifting silently downward, and by morning the prairie might be covered to the depth of several inches. ** This yer’s bad fur Olive Mulford!” muttered the r, as he drew his blanket over his face. ‘‘ This will cover up the trail of them var- And ‘with ‘this philosophical conclusion, he turned’ on his side; and speedily sunk into a The trapper shook the snow from his blanket. as the lion flirts the dew from his mane, an then roused the negro, who was still slumberin, heavily.’ ‘The fellow was greatly frighten when he found that the storm had caught them. ‘*Come, ‘hunt: up: that hoss of yourn,” said Burt, “fur we don’t git any breakfast till we reach Beaver River A, Mo ‘e “Go | I'feels kinder faint already.” ut; though the hunter quickly vaulted upon the back of his animal, there was nothing to be seen of the other one. Pomp stared around in amazement, and then exclaimed: ““T bet your hoss eat mine up.” ** Mebbe he did,” was the of the imper- turbable hunter; ‘look ’ro and see whether y The n ero did sonreok but, of with e ne as ut, of course little pra ent. |The snow was. falling uite fast, and look in whatever direction they chose, nothing’ was to be seen’ of ‘the missing orse, He had evidently wandered away, and there was no means of recapturing him. 4 Pomp was in a dilemma. % y! I'll hab to walk!” he exclaimed. «‘ Jump aboard; it won’t hurt Honeycomb to carry you a few miles.” ; Z it: the invita- no time in behind him. The power- to feel the tional weight, and at a word m his master, struck into a sweeping gallop toward Beaver River mcy. t was snowing harder than ever, and the wind was direct; y in their faces. The eddying flakes were whirled about their ears, and spun through the air with a swiftness that soon in- cased their bodies from head to foot, old Burt receiving the largest part by virtue of his more e d situation. ow and then, when Pomp ventured to peep | going Burt Bunker. over the shoulder of the burly trapper, he was | be accomplish met with such a rush of sk ing snow-flakes, as to be blinded, and he foun see a rod in any direction. ‘The wind was blow- ing strong, the huge spats of snow seemed to pass horizontally, and even upward in the | air, tossed and blown hither and thither, until | the atmosphere was able to hold no more, and a fell to the ground from the pressure above them. ‘* Hebens o’ na’th!” exclaimed thedarky, as he shrunk ‘up behind the hunter, ‘‘ it’ll neber’snow *in, fur dere won’ be any snow left, when dis » Burt Bunker paid no heed to the lamentations of his sable companion. His face was set like a flint toward Beaver River cy; and. he was not to be deviated or turned his course by any such flurry of the elements as this. reat as was his knowledge of the wilds through which they were journeying, he was compelled to use his eyes to the utmost to'preventi himself astray; for, it was more difficult to pro- ceed in such a tem in the daytime, than it was in the still and night. But assisted by the sagacious Honéycomb, who appeared to comprehend his wishes, they kept ight onward, the animal keeping up a —_ walk, and in the course of the forenoon reined up in front of Beaver River Agency. a eae eae asi at oapremt strongly built a:garrison of a score oF men, all of whom being accustomed to a frontier , Were abundantly able to hold their’ own against any combination of Indians, They had been attacked times without number; but the architect who planned this Government building, made it also impregnable, and it was "To this building’ und military ‘o g, under a. escort, the Government sent casnttally the’ sup- lies ‘for the: Indians, and Colonel Mulford was he authorized agént for ae and dis- tributing them; and in fort, at this time, were stored: ammunition; whisky, hatchets, blankets, beads, trinkets, tobacco, and. the thousand and one articles in demand among the red-skins, and all under the charge of the colo- nel and his men. The r saw no:living person, as he paus- ed with his horse's nose almost t ing the gate of the stockade that surrounded the bui : but, he had scarcely halted, when he was hailed and his business demanded. His answer was such as to convince the garrison that he was. a friend, and the gate was thrown open and he was itted. t- _ * Whar’s Colonel Mulford?” was the first ques+ tion. ‘*He isn’t here,” replied a man, with the shoulder-straps of a captain of the regular arm . “1 didn’t ask» where he warn’t,” roared irate trapper. ‘I asked where he war,” The eyes of the officer twinkled, as he replied. ‘*T can’t tell you ome where Colonel Mul- ford is. He started for Washington yesterday ‘Why didn’t he come home fust?” interru ed Pomp, who couldn’t understand, why he should not have called and bidden his family -by. ‘He was sent for in urgent haste; the dis- patenee were so delayed in reaching him, that e found he had not a minute to spare, if he was to reach Washington in time, So he mounted the fleetest horse at the fort, took a couple of men, and darted for Washington like a streak of lightning. I:don’t think there is: much chance of overhauling him between here and that ” city. T Didn't he luff.any word. fur. us?” . asked Pomp. tt Yess tr to ride out nen heen or to- morrow, and carry a message ter— “Golly! no use in dat!” added the darky, with a shake of his head. “What's the matter?” ‘* Miss Olive and me mudder ain’t no more.”) ‘* What!” demanded the officer. ‘‘Dead?’., ‘Golly, no; I mean dat dey ain’t home ony more. house am burnt down, and de In hab run off wid ’em bofe, and y can’t; tell whar dey hain’t gone to.” » ‘ ‘““What does this mean?’ asked the captain, toward the trapper. The latter explained what is already known to the reader, and as'ma: be su the ca Jn wraps pposed, p- tain was _ “Good heavens! what can be done?’ he ex- claimed, in t excitement. ‘‘ I warned Col- onel Mulford a dozen times about leaving his daughter there; but, what can we do?” : An exchange of news followed, in which Burt gave it as his opinion, tha:nothing at all could it impossible ‘to | 3 ed, unless some friendly Indian could be engaged to take the matter in hand. “« The has been kivered by the snow,” he added, ‘and so thar ain’t nuthin’ to be ed ; thar. You’d better take an Injin to hunt up the gal; do you know of any such critter?” The captain was silent awhile, as ii in deep | thought, and then he replied: “There is one they the Antelope, that has done us a turn or two; but no one can where he is, or where to look for him.” ‘*He’s yer man,” said the trapper, and feeling that he had done all that was possible under the circumstances, he invited himself to partake of dinner, after which he mounted his horse and left the fort. He was canta <». urged to stay and take'part in the rescue of the captive; but he would not.consent, declaring that he had left St. Louis behind time, and had got more and more so on his way thither, until it was impos- sible to ‘‘ catch Up , Once, more on the back of his powerful Honey- comb, ‘the trapper turned his face again toward the north-west, and rode eloeg at an a lop.; The snow; had ceased falling, and he no- ticed aa he gaieonied that it grew lighter, 3 finally he reached clear open. prairie again. storm had. been Sate he muttered to himself in his own iar way. As the shade of night began settling over . prairie, the trapper looked about him for. some suitable. camping-place, and was. fortunate enough to discover,a small gore of timber a short distance to the right. He headed toward and,had. nearly reached: it, when he espied an antelope coming full speed. toward him, “ That’s lucky,” he exclaimed, as he: grasped his rifle, ‘if he. will only keep, in , direc- tion. The graceful animal bounded swiftly on, un- til within a hundred yards, when it — sight of the horseman for the first time. _ I tly it wheeled. to. run, when Burt ed the trigger, and eomeng a few steps, it dropped dead in its trac The next minute the trapper was on the ground beside it. He was already leaning over to his knife into its body, when he start- ed back with the exclamation; “ Reds ag’in, or I’ll beskulped !” That which caught, his sight, and caused this cry, was the sight of another bullet-hole in the neck of the. antelope, from which the life-blood was also flowing. CHAPTER III. THE CAMP IN. THE TIMBER, , As old Burt, the trapper, stood beside . the dead antelope, with knife in hand, and witness- ed this proof that some one else was. not. far away, he thrust back his knife into his belt and caught. his. rifle,. which he had reloaded while hastening toward his prey. The gloom of night was already se the prairie, and he glanced with some hension at the grove in which he had deci to camp for the night; for he was near enough to be brought down by a well-aimed rifle, and there was no telling but that a whole horde of Black- feet were swarming in the gloom among the trees. ; He turned toward his horse, whose keenness of scent was an infallible at such times. One glance was enough toshow that he had de- tected ethi ious. was rais- ed, his nose pointed toward the timber, while he snuffed the air and gave utterance to.a faint w . : j si What is it, Honeycomb?” he asked. At the same instant Burt looked toward a over the solitude of the great wilderness, ‘ The young man walked unhesitatingly for- ward until he was directly before the trapper,
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q { f f , t when he extended his hand, with the pleasant salutation: *Good-evening, sir.” Burt could not réfuse the proffered politeness, although he replied rather gruffly: ‘* Good-evenin’.” “Tt hardly’ expected to meet you here,” con- tinued the other, in the same gentlemanly man- ner. * And T didn’t re to see you hyar; whar did ye come from?” : “F am on my way to the Beaver River A n ——?? TDi you come alone? Whar’s yer animile?” interrupted the trapper, in considerable aston- ishment, ‘(Hold on,” replied the other. ‘I joined an emigrant or exploring train that was going to make the attempt to reach Oregon. I kept with them until this morning, when we were within a short distance of the fort, and I concluded to indulge in the luxury of a hunt. I reached the ve there this afternoon, dismounted, and mally eaught sight of the antelope, which I managed to get a shot at, only to have it turn and ‘rush to you, doubtless knowing that you Were a much more skilled hunter than I.” A suspicion was in the mind of the nig rr “What mought ye be goin’ to the ver River Agen ” “JT am going there to see Colonel Malford, and then intend to spend a few days at his house in the society of his daughter. aioe be you and the gal engaged to be mar- ried? It was evident that thestranger was somewhat touched at the acer] erat omy of the hunter; but he kept down his feelings and answered, laugh : ; Powate as a question, my friend, that you are hardly authorized todo; 1 cannot say, owever, that we are not engaged.” “But, yer expect to see her, don’t yer?” “Tdo; that is my principal object in coming to this section.” “Im sorry fur yer,” said the trapper, with coum pity. “ Colonel Mulfordis on his way to ashington, and yesterday a party of Injins come tearin’ down on that gal, and took her and the wench away.” “What!” exclaimed the young man, leaping Ik, Burt Bunker went over the story again, and the stranger listened like one enchanted and fascinated. Then followed rapid questions, ut- tered in great excitement, and finally his feel- ings were calmed somewhat, and they talked and rationally. Se What's yer ef” ed the trapper, in his abrupt manner. ‘“« Rugene Mentrose.” “Eugene, eh? I like that name, because— wal, never mind,” he hastily added, as he man- aged to choke down his emotion; “ thar’s only one thing yer can do.” ‘‘ What's that? Go tothe fort and get a party of rescue?” The trapper shook his head. “No; the trail has been snowed under and lost, so that none of ’em can’t find it nor do nothin’.” ‘¢ What is it, then?” “Thar’s a phe eee et somewhar about. Ef er can only find and put him on the track, ell do more nor a dozen whites.” iad tis his name?” * He’s called the Antelope.” “T know him!” exclaimed Mentrose. ‘Whar did yer ever see him?” “He came from eee with us, and we ag compan y morning; we struck up quite a friendship. We have had many & hunt together, and I am satisfied he would do any thing in his power for me.” “Whar did he go?” tidde Mt eating good by, and tant, was. the Orse, r sa. -by, an was the last of him.” ‘You'd better mount yer animile, ride on to Beaver River Agency, and thar yer can git some one to put yer on the track this An’ lope. He’s the red-skin to help yer, and yer can’t do nothin’ without him.” Mentrose stood a few minutes in silence, and then looked up. “Pll take your advice. I know the direction to this Indian Agency, but do you think I can reach it to-night?” ‘No; you'd better wait till mornin’, and then take a clean start, and yer can make it afore noon. The night is goin’ to be dark, and you'll be likely to go astray.” Old Burt disliked very much the idea of hav- ing a companion any longer than was positively Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. necessary ; but he felt guilty at the thought of turning away this young man whom he had en- countered in such an unexpected manner. He debated.a moment, and then said: ‘It’s late, and I ain’t goin’ no furder than the grove yonder, andef yer a mind, yer can stay with me till mornin’.” ‘*T will be glad to do 80,” said Mentrose, quite pleased at the invitation, *‘ for it’s lonely enough in this country without refusing the companion- ship of a man when you ean get him.” “That looks like a prime antelope,” said the bois ped glancing at the outstretched animal in the darkness, “‘ and we'll make a supper of him. I — , do you smoke?’ “Sometimes,” replied the young man, as he produced a cigar and offered it to hunter. “Ugh! git out! I never could stand any of that city ; use the pipe, and will wait till I’ve throwed myself outside my supper. Woof} I've got a holler under: my coat that I could Cyne Seapgiat cenghit aupthe aacilges a) e trapper caught up the an ung it over his Shoulder, and walked sevens thie grove, Mentrose keeping hy his side, while Burt’s horse followed his as obediently as if he were a dog. The t was and. clear, and, as they entered the small belt of timber, the gloom around them was so great, that they could searcely distinguish the trees; but the trapper ‘* A short distance away—fastened to a tree.” ‘Take miné out to him and interduce:him, so that they can git acquain fur ef yer keep ’em — my animile will be oneasy all night, and be apbto think thar ar’ varmints’round, when thar ain’t.” that the hunter was earnest in;his re- quest, Mentrose conducted his horse to where his own was cropping the grass. The brutes snuffed, and were a little suspicious of each other at first, but they speedily got on good terms, and so he left them. When he returned to the fire; the trapper was busy, broiling several huge slices from the ante- lope, and the smell of the meat made a most re odor through the e. hin: sling Gave full ope ‘hs young aasy yor upon the young man, “‘ yer didn’t seen no sign, did 5 yer?” = out on the perairie, some ways, and walk ’round the timber, and whether er can see much of this candle, ’cause we’re in © Blackfoot country, and we must be keerful.” This was rather'a cool request on the part of the trapper, in the words in which he uttered it; but Mentrose saw that he was no more than prudent, and he unhesitatingly obeyed. It took some time for him to perform the duty required of him, as he w: out over a hun- dred yards upon the prairie and then moved around the grove. caused him to describe a very large circle, and he proceeded slowly, so but the November ‘stars twinkled a in the vault overhead, and a keen eye could make out objects to some distance upon the —_—— A cold wind was now and then gently b wing, and the listening ear of Mentrose caught i mournful sighing, as it moaned through the trees that inclosed their camp-fire. As he walked around the grove, he looked right and left—out upon the prairie and toward the timber—each time searching for something |» Me ees sertlaliy 2 tified. In the first direc e@ was y n the - tion, as far as ‘tere could extend, nothing was visible but the blank, impenetrable dark- ness, No distant, glimmering os the shouts of no careering horsemen, nor the sound of their animals’ hoofs, caught eye or ear. There was no sign of their foes at all. ircling around the — in the manner de- scribed, he found that their own camp-fire was almost invisible; but, once or twice, he caught its starlike glimmer between the trees and t h the undergrowth—beacon-light enough to de the prowling savage who might be searching for his prey. When the circuit was completed, our hero made his way back to his frien who had ust finished the cooking of two huge slices from e choicest portion of antelope. “Thar!” said he, as he handed one of them to his companion, ‘‘I reckon from the looks of yer mouth, Mint Rose, that yer know: how to chaw, ’cause if yer don’t you’ve no business in this part of creation.” “TPH soon show you,” replied the young man, who, with a sharp Bening ste and appetite, began eating the meat. It was ney cooked, a and juicy, and both men ate until they de- sired no more. ine until they had finished did the trapper ‘““Didn’t yer see nothin’ out on the perairie?”’ “Nothing of Indians; but I caught once or twice the twinkle of the camp-fire.” ‘*In course I knowed yer would. I only sent yer out to give ree little walk and appetite afore supper; but I’ve let the fire go downso thar ain’t any likelihood of its being seen by the varmints,” The fire had been allowed to sink down toa mass of glowing embers, which, with their blankets around them, made them as. comfort- able as they could wish. The trapper had filled his short clay pipe, while Mentrose was puffing at a cigar, so that, considering their circumstances, they were as cheerful as poets: The young man was op- pressed by the astounding news he had received regarding Olive Mulford, but still he had stron hopes that she would be speedily recovered, an that the wooing which he had n under such favorable circumstances, might be concluded, As the two reclined upon the ground, the vappeee remarked, inqnirinely: ; ‘“* This looks like an old camping-ground, Burt; I see boxes here and there, and Shere are black, dead embers scattered around, as if made by a fire that had been kindled and that had died a as he emitted a heavy volume of smoke. “ Fifteen years, ago this fall, 1 made my first camp hyar, and I haven’t missed a year since.” ‘Is it possible?’ exclaimed Mentrose, in as- tonishment. ‘‘ Have you always been alone?” ‘Not ‘zactly,” replied, Bunker, with an odd smile. ‘“‘ Thar have three of my men wiped out ’round this camp-firé, and all three of ’em — sot right squar’ whar you're sittin’ now.” _ “ What?’ exclaimed the young man, spring- ing up as if he had felt the twinge of the Blac - feet’s bullet. ‘‘ All killed at once?” ‘The trapper laughed heartily at the alarm of ry ion, and motioned him to, take his seat & n. : “The fust man killed war Black Dick, and it war fifteen P aaa nape, ie fust. time I'd ever struck my flint in this timber. Me and Dick war younger then than now, and had hunted to- ether for years. He sot i thar, whar you , talkin’ and: laughin’ and smokin’, when he all at once and went over backward. I somethin’ whiz, and as I looked up, I see’d the feather of an arrer stickin’ out of breast, while the head was on t’other side of him, and I knowed the varmints war onus. I didn’t stop to git my hoss, but made ps fur the trees, and done some tall walkin’ afore I got out of that hornets’ nest.. I had to go it alone that winter, but I managed to conatan Injun pony, — took quite a lot of peltries into St. he “Tt wa'n't till three years arter that I got cotched in another muss, and that war so much like the fust, that it ain’t hardly wuth tellin’. The only difference war that it war in the win- ter time, and the snow war two feet deep or ee pene Jim Johnson war pinged, Dy: oe n ets, and I got a couple in my , but I got off with ’em.” The hunter paused, as if lost in reverie, and after a few minutes, Mentrose said: ‘“*T haven’t heard the third instance.” “See hyar,” exclaimed the trapper, fiercely, while the tears glistened beneath his shag: eyebrows, ‘“‘don’t yer ever ax me that = 4 ’cause I can’t stand it—mebbe Ill hurt yer ef ae furgit.” . entrose apologized for the unpleasant re- iscences he un witti eaused. He saw that the third death had ‘* hit” theold trap- per in some way that he could not understand, Burt Bunker sat silent for some time, and then, looking toward his companion, quietly re- marked in a low tone: : “Set still; thar’s an’ Injin within a dozen feet of yer!” CHAPTER Iv. THE PRAIRIE CAPTIVES. ‘OtivE MULFORD was a beautiful woman some twenty years of age, when her father, Colonel Mulford, was appointed Indian agent,
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‘with his head-quarters at the fort on Beaver ver. Being a widower, with but this single child, he loved her with all the fervent affection of a kind father, and there was nothing in his power ‘that he could do for her welfare, that was not done. He had been a ee officer in the Florida war, and stood high with his Govern- ment, who gave him this 6 en po at his request, tuntil he could recover from several wounds, ‘that had caused him considerable trouble for several years. Besides this, Olive showed a predisposition to consumption—the same fell disease that had carried away her mother—and knowing how ‘beneficial the air of the Far West was to weak lungs, his main object, after all, in going west- ward, was for the benefit of his daughter. After reaching the Beaver River Agency, he kept her, and her two servants—Pomp his mother—at the fort until the mild weather set in, when he removed them to a cabin, which he had had built in a romantic grove, by a spring pomeesing remarkable medicinal powers. ere — ed she should remain until cold weather set in. Colonel Mulford was warned of the danger incurred by this course, and he was too experi- enced a soldier not to comprehend the situation fully; he admitted that there was r in — such a distance between him and daughter, but he believed it was not of such a serious character as to cause The few months that he had occupied the office of Indian nt, had been ‘sufficient to make himself well acquainted with the tribes with whom he was brought officially in contact, and to win the golden ——_ of the dusky dogs with whom he had dealings. They saw in him a fearless, honest, upright man, who de- sired their as well as his own. With the genuine warriors of the different tribes he was soon friends, so that he concluded there was to fear from them. The real danger was from the straggling, lawless mem- bers of the Blackfoot and other tribes, whose in- cursions, however, were so rare as to cause him little apprehension. Olive derived such immediate and great bene- fit from the waters, and the rose-tint of health flushed her cheek so rapidly, that he saw her health would be ore restored by a few months’ residence in this wild section. Scarce- ly a day passed, that the colonel, with one or two of his men, did not ride out to the cabin and d pexeeet hours there, frequently remaining The building was so constructed that it could the uty. at any time. this p20 my Pram into consideration by Col- onel Mulford. concluded to run the risk, es- pecially as his daughter urged him to it, and ex- coaned. no fear at all. e and her servants were furnished with a fleet horse ~ mere so that if their foes should a -_ in the ime, they believed they had little cause for fear. We have referred, in the first chapter, to the sad mistake committed. Olive Mulford had been The n had scarcely disappeared, when a oan of Blackfeet swooped down upon them like e whirlwind, seized her and Polly, placed each upon her —— and were off again a shot. The course of action adopted by the astonish- ed Pomp has already been make known to the ive had b ae Soa ne 9 in the use of a 6, e m given the opportunity, she would have convinced these lawless in skins of the fact; but no such occasion came to her, and, ere she was aware, she was as helpless as an t in the hands of the Blackfeet. Polly Brown, her servant, was furious, She was a bony, muscular n as black as ebony, with a gun, also; cee | unfortunately, she had home—so that she, too, was powerless to accomplish her ish an: captors. “Oh, massy!” growled between her Burt Bunker. 5 neck ob dat nigger a-settin’ on his hoss dar! U the tew olly and Olive were allowed to ride side by side, while the Indians were all around them. The unconscious object of her wrath was a huge, pate eae a — lifted oe from — ground and slung rather roughly upon her animal, He was riding at a moderate gait, a short distance ahead, and’ talking in his own tongue with one or two of his comrades. ‘* Jes’ see de n warmint grin!” she ex- claimed, <own h “Td like to break a hoe- handle ober his head, an’ put de hoe in his big mouf.” “Sh!” interposed Olive, who was just in- ning to realize the peril of her position; “they may hear you.” “Do you s’pose I keer if dey do?” demanded Polly. ‘‘ Td like to see one ob ’em lay de weight ob his hand on me or you.” “What could you do?” ““Me? [Id scratch his eyes out!” replied the lady of color, looking very much, just then, as if she could carry out her threat. Eo! “T am afraid it will go ill with you, unless ou curb your temper. These Blackfeet are bad Indians.” Pale “So dey are—one is jes’ as bad as de oder.” “What will father do when he learns this?” sighed Olive. “He must soon learn abouftit. e hasn’t been to see us to-day, and will surely come over to-night.” “ He’ll shoot ebery one ob de red niggers— jes’ as sure as you’re born!” was the emphatic response of her servant. t was growing dark at the time of the cap- ture, so that our heroine was not without of a speedy pursuit and rescue. She little dreamed that at that moment her father, mount- ed on his fleetest horse, was g eastward as fast as his animal could carry him, and with no thought of the fearful peril in which she was ao Had she known this, her heart would ave sunk with despair. They had gone but a mile or so, when they noticed that two of the Indians turned to the right, and gallo away at a which quickly carried them out of sight in the dark- ness. They had no suspicion that their errand was to burn the building that had afforded them such pleasant shelter and repose for so many weeks; but such was the case, and it was not long before their solitary house was wrapped es, and burned to the very ground. The Blackfoot party numbered eight, and they were as villainous a set of dogs as ever sat a horse, painted, bedaubed, and izened in the most grotesque manner, and were well-cal- culated to te any person not accustomed to seeing such mens of the human race. Olive judged them to be Blackfeet from their dress and general appearance, and while she knew that, as a tribe, they were friendly dis- ea he her father and herself, yet she had enough at the fort to understand that they numbered some of the most desperate and lawless characters to be found among all the tribes of the North-west; so that she had eve reason to pray for a speedy rescue from their power. The Indians pursued an eastesly course for some time after dark, when they made a sh turn toward the left, deviating shortly more in that direction, so that the route became toward the north-west—a course which led to- ward the principal hunting-grounds of the Blackfeet. Once within this country, they would be invulnerable any force that the United States Government could a against them. In fact, with the facilities a’ their command, it may be said that they were so from the first. The ee Ae le by eould be over- derstood their ——— method of fighting. As the night waned, the degkuee increased until the captives could scarcely discern their captors. Both of the former were without blankets, but one of the savages threw his over the shoulders of Olive, and another did the same for her sable companion. “‘ Gracious alive!” exclaimed the latter, not a little rised at the un kindness of the Blackfeet “IT tink dem red niggers must be git- tin’ sick.” “Don’t show such ingratitude’ for their clenched teeth, “ wouldn’t I like to wring de — ‘What was it like?” “Sumfin’ hit me on de cheek; dar it is ag’in!” ‘*T felt it too—” ; “Dar it is ag’in—heigho! what’s de matter?” “Ttis snowing! exc ed Olive; “look u ward and you will feel the flakes fast enough. So it proved; the same snow-storm that caught Burt Bunker and Pomp had now be and the feathery flakes were coming faster an faster. With the increase of the icles in the air, the darkness deepened until our friends were unable to distinguish each other, even when rid- ing closely as was possible. ut they knew they were environed by sava- ges, whose guttural words were ever audible. and the sounds of whose horses’ feet were heard upon the soft prairie. By and by the beer came to Olive Mulford that this darkness might be the means of escape. All she wanted was a fair start, and she was certain her horse could hold his own against the best one in the possession of her captors. And she saw no reason why she should not in the nec start. A sudden wheel, a s word, and he would be off like the wind. But what of aaa She could not desert her, when the very act of doing so would most probably bring down their fury u her guiltless hea She had ee iere tae 4 Eng isks spoken by her captors, but, for all that. ar ot 90% that some of them knew something of the lan- guage, and if they chose, could e their own meaning known in it. Such being the case, she ran great risk of making her project known to them when. she should communicate it to Polly, as she had de- termined to do from the first. Still, the whole proceeding was fraught with risk, but she did not intend to hesitate upon that account, ‘*Polly,” she called, in a tone that she believ- ed could reach no other ears. “T's a-listenin’;” she replied, in a somewhat louder key. “Sh! not so loud—” “Do you s’pose I keer ef de critters do hear me?” continued the servant, elev: her voice with each word, “I don’t keer ef dey do— “But J care,” was stern response of Olive. ‘* Wal, dat makes a difference ob de sarcum- stances ob de transaction,” replied the negress, a lower, meek tone. “Listen carefully; for I wish no one to hear me but you.” The servant leaned her head as far toward her mistress as she could, and gave her to under- stand, by a sort of aspiration, that her wishes were respected. “Tam going to try and get away from these Indians.” “ac Yas.” “ And I want you to go with me.” “So does I.” “Now, listen again; in a few moments I am going to turn my horse’s head about and start im offonarun. The instant Ido so, you must to het I dees, and Tl foller mighty quick.” : oes, an oller mi ; “Very well; when you thee ithe Belek to my animal, that means that the time has come, and if you wait a second it will be too late.” ‘ we right,” was the confident response of olly. Olive Mulford’s heart trembled at the ‘ht of the attempt she was about to make. e spent several moments in earnest prayer for success, and then gave her horse RA oe Jen ~ a sharp word, and wh his abou The obedient animal showed almost human intelligence in his quickn on of the ess O wishes of his rider. He whirled on his hind feet, and made a furious plunge ht outwar knocking several rel ns trom bis path, away he sped over the prairie. “Come on, Polly!” shouted the girl, as she sped swiftly onward, with her heart i ae with sudden hope thus raised in her breast. ere was no nse from her faithful frien but she heard ito trae a, were tea h the blin snow in their Ne xing Siroug ding Hope fluttered in her breast for awhile, as the fearful sounds seemed so close, but she had not gone far when her heart lightened, as she became certain that her enemies were gradually falling d. “Go it, good Dick!” she exclaimed, as she patted tho animal’s neck; “ broad prairies id not your equal. , even after all sounds of pur- On, on she
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Hl ! , } . that is seekin 6 Beadle’s _Half-Dime Library, suit had died out, with undiminished, speed, un- til finally she reined up the panting steed and listened. All was still save the soft rustle of the snow upon her garments._No sound of the running horses’ feet, or shrill whoop of the Indian, reached her ears. All was still; she was free. But where was Polly? Had she followed her? Or had she been frustrated in the attempt, and was she still in the hands of the Indians? These..were the, questions that our heroine asked herself, and which she was unable to an- swer satisfactorily. She felt that. she could not desert her friend, who was so_ready to risk her life for her sake. Polly would have perished rather than have in such a manner toward her, and in one sense the girl would have looked upon herself as the cause of the death of the poor creature. All was darkness around her, and she had only a general idea of what part of the country she was in. She could only guess.at the course for her to take, and choosing that which she be- lieved to be the right one, she turned her horse’s head about, and allowed him to walk slowly forward. shat! She heard some one cough, It sound- like Polly. She listened; yes, she heard the tread of some animal in the snow; surely it was her. sound came nearer. She called her name, at first low and cautiously, and then louder, Yes; it must be her, _ Polly, why don’t hae answer me?” “Ugh! sind in mee e-face!” exclaimed the gut voice of a Blackfoot warrior, as he seized e bridle of her horse in his iron grasp. CHAPTER V. THE BLACKFOOT ANTELOPE. A COLD chill crept over Eugene Mentrose, as he heard the trapper announce that an Indian was standing so near him. Coming on the heel of his statement that he had three companions shot dead in the same spot, it would have taken a man of more than ordinary nerve to sit quiet. “Don’t stir,” added Bunker, a moment later; ‘it’s a friendly Injin, and ef I ain’t powerful mistook, though I never see’d the critter, I think it’s the varmint they call Antelope.” Mentrose could stand it nolonger. Springing to his feet, he turned his head, and, by the light of the camp-fire, saw the dim outlines of an Indian standing stationary beside a tree, and apparently looking with great interest at, the two men, His image was so indistinct that he could not make sure of his identity, but he ran the risk. BS Belin, Antelope, why don’t you. come for- But the Indian never stirred or spoke. Mentrose called him again—but the tree-trunk beside which he was standing was not more mo- tionless than he. A shiver of sabes enenaioe ran over our hero, and he w to the trapper: “That isn’t Antelope; it’s some infernal dog our lives.” “Be careful he don’t drive his tomahawk into your head-piece!” “Tf he doesn’t answer I'll fire—” While speaking to Burt, Mentrose had stood ba fe Mag bel tp the pote aig most un- unter-like proceeding, as it gave the savage all the rtunity he could wid to drive Ny bam ahawk into his brain, and while standing th he noticed a peculiar var ee poepe on the g Ae “ot the trapper, which he failed to comprehend, But, when he turned back again, there stood the Indian within arm’s length of him, a_posi- tion to which he had glided with the silence of a ping A ig Fiance beh bles, marred that it was ty) en n whose_ rather handsom: iy ill yer i By He war himself "bout. me. It wouldn’t take an fay long to see thar war ut you.” the hint, Mentrose introduced the gruff old trapper and the light, grayhound-like Blackfoot, who returned his cordial salutation with equal cordiality. ‘*Burt Bunker great hunter,” said he, as the two genanert hands; ‘‘ kill much Blackfoot.” “Wal, L,.don’t deny it,” replied the trapper, as his enormous mouth grew..more enormous from. its, tremendous grin; ‘‘I’ve guv the key- note fur the Blackfoot death-chant more times than I kin count; but Antawpe won’t deny that I have allers let ’em alone, when they’ve sarved me in the same fashion. People in the settle- ments speak about the rattlesnake, and yet the riptyle never druv his fangs into the chap that didn’t ’sturb him, and. that’s the way with me and the Blackfoot.” ‘‘My brother talks. true,” replied me 2 ‘much bad. Blackfoot—hurt white men—dey hurt him—all right.” “Yer talk like a man of sense,” said Burt; ‘set down, and we'll give yer a bite of yerself, Antelope eat antelope, hi, yi!” The Indian was not backward at all in accept- ing the invitation. He was any hungry, and seated himself upon the ground, while Burt busied himself in cooking a piece of their game. Mentrose looked on, with pleasure, for he was glad to see two such representatives of the con- testing races in the West, mingling so fraternal- ly together, Each had heard of the other long before, and ther conduct showed a mutual re- t such as two brave men, even if enemies, hold toward each other. While Burt was occupied with his culinary duties, Eugene conve with the swift-footed Indian, inquired how it was that they met again, when he had thought their separation was.a complete one, The Antelope ‘explained in his characteristic manner, that he was now upon his own hunting- d. .. His village, where his squaw awaited is coming in her lodge, was about a hundred miles further. north- west—a trifling distance to an Indian. He had asingular adventure, which was the cause of his being in this place. He was riding rapidly over the prairie, dur- ing the early part of the forenoon, when he caught sight of a small party of Indians in the distance, whose manner was such that he sus- pected they had some prisoners: or booty with bsg he that they were hurrying homeward with i The Antelope at once gaye, chase, and soon came near enough to see that they had two ca tives with them. The Blackfeet seemed to averse to receiving any more company, and they continued at such a rapid rate over the prairie, that he gained quite slowly upon them. But he was gaining surely, and would have overhauled them eventually but for the accident that befell his horse. While going at a tremen- dous speed, his fore-feet pl into a dee hole in the prairie, that was hidden by the mat- ted and he fell with such violence as to br his neck on the instant, His rider shot a dozen feet over his head, but his remarkable agility caused him to light on his feet without injury. Such was the wonder- ful fleetness of the Antelope, that. he meditated CRE UING the pursuit on foot, confident that he could ily overhaul the —but their di- rection indicated that their destination was his own vi , 80 he chose to wait. Seeing that his horse was dead, he picked up his rifle, and took it afoot. He was thus far on his journey, when he entered the grove to spend the night, having no suspicion of the camp-fire there, until he came directly upon it. The narrative of the Antelope, as may be sup- pored. was listened to with the most intense in- rest by Eugene Mentrose, who did not: doubt for an.instant that the friendly Indian had seen the Blackfeet party pearing away Olive Mulford and her servant Polly. 6 tra) ne had caught the last. part of the recital, and © showed no little interest in the matter. : When the Antelope had finished, he.exclaimed: “ Thar’s yer game! Thar’s .whar the gal is!” The friendly Blackfoot was now made ac- quainted with what was known of the abduc- on of Olive Mulford, and he at once agreed with the that he had come very near overtaking very captives about whom they had been conversing and about whom the young man was so greatly concerned. By this time the meat was pra and the showed his keen appetite by devouri pie particle of it with almost the quickness a wild but he declined mo: re. It was far into the night, and before lyi down, both the trapper and Blackfoot ~h nw circuit of the grove to discover whether there danger to be apprehended from their “Nothing of an alarming nature was discover- was any ed, and, at a late hour, it. was decided safe for all three to lie down, and secure sleep while. it was in their power to do so. ‘ The night passed away without the least dis- turbance of any kind, and at an early hour in the. morning, the three hunters were astir and ready for the duties of the day. There was little ceremony in the. separation of the party. After taking their breakfast to- gether, Mentrose and the friendly Indian bade good-day to the trapper, and, moved out.of the ove. ott had been arranged that they were to take the trail of. the party spoken of by Antelope, and follow this with all speed, neither doubting for an instant that they were thus thrown pro- videntally ape. the trail of the very ones whom, otherwise, they might have searched for in vain during many days. , : Mentrose offered to share his horse with his comrade, or to alternate with him in riding, but he smiled and shook his head. ‘Much slow,” said the Antelope. ‘‘The horse cannot catch the Antelope.” : As the red-skin made this boast several times, Mentrose was rather anxious to take the conceit out of him; He was mounted on one of. the fleetest and most powerful animals of the West —one that he was certain could, at a moderate gallop, leave him far behind. He said noepines owever, until he saw that the Indian was - ly bantering for such a trial. : Mentrose had become so intimate with the Blackfoot, since leaving St. eure that he un- derstood im thoroughly, and not fear to- speak his mind freely. ; ; “The Antelope ‘talks as the child,” said he; ‘he is swift of foot, but the horse can leave far behind.” ‘ f “Try it,” replied the Indian, with an impu- dent look, peculiar to himself. ; They passed over a small ridge of hills, and were now u a broad sweep of level prai- rie. Mentrose hesitated a moment, and then struck his horse into an easy gallop, which the Indian easily equaled. y The rider looked down with no little admira- tion at the clean-limbed Blackfoot, running at his side with the apparent ease of a grayhound. There seemed to be scarcely any effort at all on the part of the runner, who finally increased his pace so as to slightly draw ahead of the horse. ‘There is too much conceit, altogether in you,” reflected Mentrose, as he witnessed. this performance, ‘“and there will be as long as I am soindulgent with you.” He gave his horse a quiet jerk, and he increas- ed his speed fully twent rcent., so that in a few seconds he was beside the Indian again. ** Come, you had better knock under,” called out the horseman; ‘‘ you will be so exhausted that: it will, take you a day to get over it.” Antelope looked up as if he did not com- prehend the meaning of this. Then he suddenly wheeled and ran backward, not only keeping even with the galloping horse, but actually drawing away from him again! This proceeding somewhat startled Mentrose. If aman could run backward with such velocity, what speed could he not attain when running in the natural manner. ‘‘Doubtiless he has practiced that outlandish style,” thought the young man, ‘‘until he is as that way as the other, and he has now put t on oe effect. He's a — mice | The horse was now going at a spanking " but nothing like a fullrun. They had gone the Sie Seiteleng-qcinictuen hightoneonmaeaiias tantalizing grin upon hi was. back at his opponent. Prinally he beckoned for him:-to come on. Mentrose laughed, and — sharply to his — determined to end this farce, in short meter. pire ree a ae ear settling down © long, easy of the accus- tomed to tuting, and faster and faster emer the Blackfoot, varying his R by running backward, then forward, deoging high in the air, spinning round and round, whooping and beckoning to his friend to;ome on. — “A mile ahead was another high ridge in the irie. The Antel pointed to it, and nod- Fed his head to ignify that was the goal. ‘*Pll show. you!” exclaimed Mentrose, now fully aroused. He gave elation urged him to a run, coming, up rapidly his antagonist and finally passing. L.% BB ‘Sorry to do it,” laughed; our hero, as he came abreast, ‘‘ but it is time I'took a little wind ae ae nk al on he . was a ce ahead of the Blackfoot, who; lah ceechnniaes was putting forth his utmost exertions, in vain.
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But ah! Eugene Mentrose had not yet learned all the tricks of the cunning dog, who had per- mitted himself to fall behind for the purpose of “‘ shutting the eye” of the confident horseman. A sudden wild whoop, that rung far out, caught the ear of the confident rider, and glanc- ing over his shoulder, he saw the Antelope com- ing like a meteor. The horse seemed to compre- hend the nature of the contest; and to enter thoroughly into its spirit. He plunged ahead at the top of his speed, but, do his utmost, he could not keep the Blackfoot in the rear. The latter already gained upon him, and as steadily him, the Indian for the first time calling into play his extraordinary activity and won- derfut fleetness. tet Mentrose'was never so amazed in all /his life. He had not even heard of such speed before, and he looked upon the Antelope with a wonder which it would be difficult to express. The Indian was done trifling. He never abat- ed his tremendous d in the least, until he sped like an aerow to vias top of the ridge, a hundred yards ahead of the horseman, and turning round, beckoned to him come on. “T never was so beaten in my life!” exclaim- ed Mentrose, as he thundered up beside him and’ drew rein. ‘I don’t believe there is a horse, or any creature living, that can outrun you. I half suspect that. you could run away from a bullet fired after you.” ‘ “Dat so,” was the complacent reply of the Antelope, who, with all unequi attain- ictor was not particularly overburdened with modesty. This curious race was witnessed ‘by another party:—po less a personage than Burt Bunker, he trapper, who Rad taken ap his geet again toward the North-west almost immedi- ately after the departure of his friends, and who, reaching a spur or ridge of hills that com- manded quite an extensive view of the surround- ing country, reined up for a short time and look- ed off upon the plains. He watched the two men a few moments, and although they were a long distance off, it aid not take him long to unde d what was going on, and he felt no little interest in the result. *I don’t wonder that they’ve christened that varmint the Antelope, ’cause he’s the swiftest critter in the West, and I don’t b’lieve thar’s nothin’ that travels on legs that kin beat him.” He watched the men a few minutes longer, pe then, as was his custom, muttered to him- self: ““Quar; I wonder ef that Mint Rose ar’ the chap he calls himself? Wonder ef he noticed me, when I fust got a eos look at him by the fire?. Skulp me! but don’t they look alike! It beats all natur’! Why didn’t I ax him? No, no, no—what a fool I am!” 6 turned about, dashed away the tears that were ree. Gen is bro cheeks, and compressin lips, started on toward the bea- vers runs of the Yaliwatons) But there were wondrous events close at hand, of which he little dreamed! CHAPTER VI. IN THE BLACKFOOT COUNTRY, , after the asto i exhibition of his s that we have mentioned, disdained to take any rest, but re- sumed his walki which he had never seen before. There were broad stretches of plain, but none of them reach- ed out to the horizon, as he had been accustomed to see, when journeying further south. The cloud-like peaks of the mountains looked blue and filmy in the great. distance, although he knew their tops were covered with snow. beyond these lay the Blackfoot village, toward which they were journe 4 This was a Nha A undula’ portion of the country, being broken wu into prairie, mountain, wood, and stream, and they could not ey ad to make any thing like the progress they desired; but the Antelope said that two days’ rapid traveling, without any accident, would take them to the where, undoubtedly, the two captives were held. The kfoot Indians are to-day the most dreaded red-skins of the North-west, as, beyond uestion, they are the most powerful. Twenty- five rears ago, which, it be remembered, is the time of which we are ing, there was no tribe that had any claim to being their peer. They roamed over thousands of’ apere miles of terrk tory, dwelt in many differen ea. ee w ? waged an unrelenting war upon all whether in the shape of hunters, explorers, or heir hunting- grounds. The fleet-footed Antelope had been termed a friendly Indian—an appellation which must not be understood as implying that he was unfriend- ly to his own people. e had simply declined to act as an enemy to the whites, and, on sever- al occasions, during the past few years, he had senely befriended them. e had a wife and several children, who dwelt undisturbed among the Blackfeet, and he invariably made his home there, when not en- don the scout. It was well known among is on that he was well disposed toward the whites, .but no one troubled him on that account. He had an eloquent story of being saved from death by a party of hunters, and of his promise to them that he would never raise his hand against their race, unless it was done in self- defense. This was the note that struck a responsive one in the breasts of the Blackfeet. ey could understand the emotion of gratitude, although they were not particularly affected with it themselves. So long as the Antelope did not choose to in- terfere with any of their schemes, so long was he safe; but none knew better than he the dan- er he would incur by crossing their pam eir fleeing from him showed that, while hold- ing the female captives, they did not desire his company. He was prevented, or more proper- ly induced, to forego his intention of overhaul- ing them, on account of the accident to his horse; but he a’ proached near enough to iden- tify several of the Indians as. members of his = clan, and dwellers in the same village with The Antelope was now engaged on one of the most dangerous e itions he had ever under- taken; for it was his intention to do all he could to rescue both the white and black cap- tives from their ke no matter how great the personal risk thereby incurred. He had held but comparatively a short companionship with Mentrose, but it had been long enough to develop quite a strong friendship between the two As they were now in the heart of the Black- foot country, Mentrose was in more personal danger than he spagined, the presence of the Antelope affording him less security than believed. The journey during the forenoon was over the same broken country to which we have already referred, and Mentrose u his com- panion to ride upon his horse; but the other per- emptorily refused. ‘When Antelope tired—den ax to ride.” “There is no use of waiting until then. I have ridden so long that it would relieve me to ve lk den,” h bl ‘Walk den,” was the sensible response. ** Will you ride?” “ No.” ‘Then I’ll keep on my horse,” said the young man, who, while willing to walk, still though it better to ride, so lo as his animal showed no signs of fatigue, as he had no gait short of a most exhausting one that could equal the pecu- liar, light step of the Antelope, whose muscles seemed made of steel, ever elastic, ever tireless and in their normal condition when in rapi motion. The journey was continued, with scarcely an interruption until noon. Buffalo, deer, and an- telope were encountered at all times, and could have been easily shot, without moving from their path, but Lice passed them by without disturbance, until they were ready for dinner. It was a pleasant day, with a clear sky and mild sun, that made walking or riding a pleas- ant recreation. Numerous streams of al] kinds were encount- ered, and near noon they came upon the banks of one of a size large enough to bear the name of river. While going up the bank of this, search- ing Site! good fording-place, they came upon a cam p-fire. The Antelope was the first to discover it, in the shape of a mass of smoke, making its way through the tops of the trees. e smoke was White man!” exclaimed the Blackfoot. ** Don’t be in such a hurry. T’d advise you to wait till you know something abont it.” " i know,” was “= emphatic response. dias wager my horse go our you don’t know, and that it is an Yndian” The Antelope unhesitatingly accepted the bet, each party mentally resolving that if he won, he would not claim the stakes. The two began — a 7 ——s through the grove from which the smoke. issued, and simultaneously discovered that both were wrong, and consequently each had lost his wager. There was one man stretched out in front of the big fire, whose appearance showed that it had been burning some time. That man was the negro Pomp, the servant of Colonel Mulford. His horse was contentedl cropping the grass and herbage near at hand, while the darkey himself had wadded up some leaves for a pillow, and was as happily sleeping as if in his own trundle-bed at home, with no such thing as Indians or the Blackfoot order in existence. Mentrose and the Antelope looked at each other, and could scarcely keep from laughing out, at the scene before them. It was so un- expected, and each had been so completely deceived, that it presented itself in all its absurdity to both of them at the same moment, ‘““Who he?’ asked the Blackfoot, laying his hand angrily upon his knife. “He is a friend,” said Mentrose, who recog- nized Pomp. ‘I have seen him before. ‘Who he?” repeated the Indian. “Wait and you'll see.” At the same time he moved forward and gave Pomp a shove with his foot. It required con- siderable more vigor than this, before he was aroused, and then he stared around some time, apparently at a loss to understand who he was, and anxious for some one to introduce him to himself, ‘Hello! dat you, Masser Mentrose?” he finally asked, rubbing his eyes. ‘Yes; what are you doing in this part of the world?” “*T don’t know—yes I does,” he added, as his faculties began to brighten up. ‘I's lookin’ for Missus Olive and me mudder.” ‘Where are they J “Dat jist what I'd like to know.” After the departure of Burt Bunker from the fort at Beaver River Agency, Pomp was left without any one to advise him. He was wel- come to remain there as long as he chose; but he could not do so while his mother and Olive Mulford were in amg He was allowed to take one of the horses belonging to the colonel, and started on his search. He had learned, since living in this wild regio that the Blackfeet came from the north an north-west, and he concluded, very naturally, that his friends were in that direction. So A started off with no very well-defined idea of how he was to attain his object, but with a de- termination that it should be done scmehow. And so he had drifted forward, hilting and resting whenever he felt like it, unti. he built his camp-fire Lia J the trees, where its smoke caught the eyes of the Antelope and his com- panion., Of course, this was an unexpected addition to the party, and Mentrose was undecided whether to permit him to bear them company or not. The Antelope gave his consent with considerable hesitation, but it was finally agreed that the darky should go with them, As it was high-noon, the pursuers made their dinner in the grove, from the game which Pompey had brought down, and with only a short pause they resumed their journey. As they progressed, Mentrose saw that they were indeed penetrating deeper and deeper into the Blackfoot country. Every now and then they caught “sign,” which tell the experienced hunter so plainly that his enemies are near him, and it required no little care on the part of the Antelope to avoid them, Pomp Neve a very tractable member of the . He now and then put forth some origin- al schemes for the pursuit and recapture of his friends, but, as they received no attention from | his companions, he did not urge them very strenuously. Several streams of considerable size were forded, and the country became more broken and undulating. At night they had etrated so far to the northward, that, after se orang oy most secure hiding-place, the Antelope forbade them building a fire. : “Blackfeet have eyes of les!” was the forcible reason for this prohibition, and no one ventured to dispute him, So they lay down supperless, a trial which seemed to affect Pomp only, he declaring that he hadn’t used to ving on nothing, and did not care about | i t age. The Antelope uring the dark- ness, for, although he said os pr to his com- ew hours. be- sar et he had discovered a ore that they were in the vicinity of a large war-party of his people, who would make short
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8 work of Mentrose and Pomp, if they should dis- cover them. It was an anxious night for the sentinel, and never did the lioness watch its young more more faithfully than did he. The proximity of a canyon, with its incessant roar, prevented his agape & reliance upon his acute sense of hear- ing, and he offset this disadvantage by making a circuit around them every few minutes through the entire night. His friends had been aslee hours, when he discovered t snow was again drifting down among the trees. It was in fine silvery particles, and the air became quite cold. The snow continued falling all night, but so lightly that when morning dawned only about an inch covered the ground. This, however greatly increased their danger, as the could not avoid leaving such a palpable trail, that if it were crossed or seen by any of the roving Black- feet about them, their identity would be discov- ered on the instant. What to do was the all-important question. The Antelope, however, proved equal to the emergency. He decided that their horses must be aban- doned, and left where they were until they could return and claim them, after the recapture of the fugitives, They were near quite a large stream, one of the main tributaries of the upper Yellowstone, which made a long detour toward the north be- fore it made its genus bend, and emptied in- to this great river of the North-west. It was his purpose to reach this as steathily as possi- ble, and then proceed as far as practicable ina canoe, It will be seen at once that there was an im- mense advantage in this, as they escaped alto- gether the necessity of leaving a i hind em—that betrayer of hundreds of explorers who have ventured into a savage wilderness, and whose death has followed from its discovery by their foes. There were still two obstacles to overcome, which, slight in themselves, still might prove serious ones before they were surmounted, The distance intervening between them and the river was the dangerous point, and after reach- ing the stream there was a probability but no certainty of finding the indispensable canoe. Mentrose and Pomp th conformed to the usages of the country so far as to wear moccasins, although the negro’s feet, very naturally, were of enormous size. For the pur- ered of misleading any who might discover heir trail, the Antelope instructed them to turn their feet neither in nor out, while walking. Mentrose found no difficulty in obeying him but it was not so easy for Pomp. “My feet’s ’customed to turnin’ out, and it takes a deal ob work to turn ’em in,” he remarked, as he did his best to obey. However, they hurried forward, and reached the river without disturbance or difficulty. Here their good-fortune was such that they found the very canoe, within a few feet of where they struck the bank. In a few minutes all three were in it, and the Antelope showed scarcely less skill in handling the oar than he did in handling his legs. mya ed by the current, the boat skimmed rapidly forward, the Blackfoot keeping close to shore and never relaxi watchfulness. At noon ory. halted, kindled a fire and cooked some fish that their guide had caught. Finally, when it began to grow dark, the An- tel landed once more, with the announce- ment that the river could help them forward no further, and all they had to do was to content themselves in patience until his return. Mentrose and Pomp were within ten miles of the Blackfoot village, and here they were to wait through the long, dark hours, until the re- turn of the Antelope and the captives He had mised to be back by daylight, with news of eir friends, Tt was a hte night, with no moon, and er had been forbidden to start any fire, so that they could do was to wait and watch, wait and wai enough indeed for Mentrose, pita feelings were wrought up to painful in- nsity. Pony wrapped himself up in his blanket, and was soon sound pag w Mentrose paced back and forth, by the bank of the silently sweeping river. his thoughts far away. Beautiful Olive Mulford! How he had loved her when he was thrown into her enchanting society, many hundred miles from here. How she had been ahs after by scores, who were no less fascinated by her less face and form than by her rare amiability and matchless grace of manner. about a couple of Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. He had sought her with the undeviating affec- tion of the true lover, until her eye had learned to brighten at his coming, and he had begun to experience the blissful certainty of love’s young , with the more blissful consciousness that it was returned by the object of his affection. And then had come the sudden summons that removed her so abruptly that he was pane gen the time to hasten home and bid her good-by. As he had declared to the trapper, they were not betrothed—that is, the irrevocable word had not been spoken, but each loved the other with the whole warmth of their pure, generous na- tures, and had not Colonel Mulford been called away so suddenly, the betrothal would have ae Patt hour passed in this lonel our r hour in onely pacing —hour after hour, until it began to grow light, and then ae. the dim, misty gray, the fig- ure of the Antelope appeared. And this was the import of his message. Neither Olive Mulford nor her servant were in the village, had not been there, nor did the Blackfeet know where they were! CHAPTER VII. THE PRAIRIE STEED. WHEN assured of her escape from the power of the Blackfeet, Olive Mulford had fallen into their hands again. Be) “ge can ae the age desolation of at came over her, as the savage gri the bit of the horse and announced Bees in the words which we have given. She was so completely overcome, that for a few moments she was entirely helpless and ess. Not until her captor led her animal some distance, did she fully comprehend her situation, and that she had utterly thrown away the golden opportunity that she had in her grasp. Back again to captivity, with all its attendant horrors! She would not do it; she would escape again! The Blackfoot still held the rein in his hand, when she gave it a jerk, and called to her horse. Obedient to her command, he made a plunging leap, but the wily red-skin was prepared for this, and’ with his iron grasp, Speedily brought him down to subjection again. Mn Kill | pale-face!” he muttered. ‘‘ Keep still we Ki me then!” exclaimed Olive, in the depth of her di ir and woe; but the Blackfoot un- qnestionably meant it as an extinguisher of any scheme of flight that she might entertain. The driving snow and cold air gradually cool- ed the fever in the veins of Olive Mulford, and she soon saw the unwise and sinful feelings that had held sway in her breast a short time before. Back pe Penta baat pete Nee Ac 4 that had upheld pee: indeed, but the same hand would not forsake her then, and er thus far, something like a reaction from the despair which had pressed her down came over her, and “‘ eter- nal hope ” sprung: up the Flinding snow and dark- On, on throug ness tramped the horses, more wearied with the constantly accumulating snow beneath their feet than an hour’s full run over the open prairie could have made. On, on, hour after hour, until Olive wondered by what subtle instinct the Blackfoot could keep the right direction, when there were no stars and no guiding-mark at all. He must be going astray; she was sure of it. Oh, if he would but only fall into the common mistake of wandering in a circle, and the day would give her another opportunity to make her attempt to escape. aeey be, cone not be going aright with no landmark to guide him. Such were the thoughts that passed through the mind of Olive Mulford, as she took her me- morable night-ride in a snow-storm, with no companion but a Blackfoot Indian. Tt was a long and dreary night, thus plodding onward h the snow and darkness, an she felt no little cocapatee for her horse, who had been on the go for so many hours, and to bo the savage did not show the least pity or ulgence, timed ge cig lightening of the darkness resp f that day was b , and shortly af- ter the storm decreased at that point which had been reached by the two, although, as will be remembered, Burt Bunker and Pomp scarcely got out of it before noon. nothing of the rest of the Blackfeet, and was be to hope that they had wandered hopelessly away from the one with her, when captor in- -| which was continued until This interchange of signals continued for some time, the sounds showing that they were gradu- ally approaching each other, until our heroine ee sight of the entire party, with her ser- vant Polly among them. ‘* Lor’ bless yer! w’at did yer come back fur?” demanded the negress, as she recognized her. ‘**T couldn’t help it—” Her feelings, suppressed so long, now over- came her, and she sobbed as if her heart was breaking. Melted with pity, Polly moved her horse toward her, for the p of taking her head upon her shoulder and offering her sympa- thy, but she was rudely thrust. back by one of me Ww d ? d ded th a’t do yer mean?” deman C) tera glaring at the Blackfoot like a tiger. ‘‘ Y’wre nuffin’ but a red nigger, any way The savage pl his hand very threatening- ly upon his knife, and alarmed for the safety of her Friend, Olive looked up, and besought her to be quiet for her sake. ‘““Wonder ef dat ole fool t’inks I’s afeard ob him?’ growled Polly, as she scowled sideways at him. ‘‘I’d jest like to tear his eyes out.” ‘‘ For my sake, restrain your temper,” plead- ed Olive. ‘Tl do’t, Lor’ bless yer soul; I’ll do any thing fur yer,” gee Polly, giving way now to her selina but speedily gaining the mastery of em again. The onward journey was resumed, and in the course of an hour they reached ground where scarcely any snow fallen, and where the storm entirely ceased. Selecting a good Consmtngs Siti Balt was Gate ani at dis- moun Both Polly and Olive were so chilled from riding on horseback through the cold for so many hours, that they could ely stand. They were a-hungered, and sorely in need of rest and refreshment. The Blackfeet speedily had a large fire kin- dled, and a dinner preparing, while the captives warmed themselves as best they could at the fire. When a bountiful supply of meat was pre , they were given all they could desire, and neither hesitated to eat her fill. Olive was not a little surprised at the good treatment she had received up to thistime. No insult had been offered her, and considering that she was in the power of one of the most ous and erous of the Indian tribes of North-west, she had raoba® Gi gn to be teful for the lenience they displayed m the very moment of her captivity. It was a wonder indeed, when the action of Polly especially is called to mind, that some of those who understood her words and spirit, did not bury their tomahawks in her brain. Per- haps they were only ‘ biding their time.” like an hour’s halt was made, and then the journey was resumed. The substan- tial meal, and the warmth of the roaring camp- fire, caused the captives to feel quite comforta- ble, although they could not feel otherwise than heart-sickened. at the knowledge that every hour was taking them further away from friends, and all prospect of rescue. The Blackfeet seemed to have no fear of pur- suit, and kept along at a moderate pace, their horses scarcely ever go: faster than a walk except when they reached a broad stretch of prairie, when they were put to the highest rate of for an hour or more. methi With the disappearance of the er, the Blackfeet settled down to their old steady gait, noon, when another nel ad an hate ce ah wee santa and dinner eaten. They had scarcely started when Olive dis- covered that some was the matter with her horse. He shive and red in such a way as to alarm her and a he attention of the Indians. She saw that he was likely to - any moment, and she prepared h for Sure enough, in less than a mile he sto bg gave a more violent shiver, and then fell, and rolled over so suddenly that Olive had barely time to save herself from being crushed beneath him. The animal was evidently dying, and his rider was never more to ride him. Several of the Indians dismounted, and a the beast to examine him. It too ¢ a few moments for them to see that nothing to be of him, Blackfeet, with commendable his keen tomahawk into the head of the animal,
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, Burt Bunker. with such fearful force, that his suffering was ended at once and forever. Olive was not a little affected at the loss of her favorite horse, but a singular discovery quickly changed her feelings. She was placed upon the back of a small, black, fiery imo, one of the cleanest-limbed and swiftest animals that ever existed: but, as she was about to mount him, she recognized the horse as her own property: It was he that had been presented to her, by her father, when she first came into this soli- tude. Colonel Mulford had bought him of a Texan ranger, and knew him to be one of the fleetest and most enduring animals of that famous breed. He soon displayed a deep and inte nt affection for his mistress, who valued him above any thing else of the brute creation that she had ever owned. She frequently rode him without any bridle, his obedience to her voice being perfect. He would run to her whenever she came from the ho and was never so happy as when she was fondling him, or when mounted upon his bac he was careering with the speed of the win over the prairie. The Re of Olive Mulford therefore, will be uidattood, when, one morning, Pet, as she had named him, failed to answer her call, and the discovery was soon made that he had been stolen. An examination of the ground showed that a single Indian had entered the stable dur- ing the night, and made off with him. Colonel Mulford made every effort to recover the mustang. He offered a large reward to all the Blackfeet, with whom he came in contact at the mey, for his return; but he heard nothing of him, and finally gave up the search. Months had passed, and now, a curious concurrence of circumstances, Olive Mulford was upon his back again! What was better, Pet also recognized his mistress, showing it in a manner that could not be mistaken, garcering, curve’ and whinnying his joy, and ready do her bidding, and waiting only mand, Indeed, the animal had known her from the first, and made more than one effort to approach her, but the iron hand of his master curbed = and his manieetetion oe delight, until now when they were brought together again. Sauenoe or other, the very instant Olive mounted him, a curious, exultant feeling came over her. It was not the natural pleasure that was to be e from the mere reunion of the two friends, but something deeper than that. In truth it was an expectation, amounting al- most to a certainty, that this same a oe x eg the means of her escape from the eet. So great was her faith in this, that the fair girl could not restrain her delight. Her face lowed, and the old smile came back so radiant- y that Polly noticed it. “* Lor’ ’a’ , Miss Olive, what’s de matter?” “‘ Nothing; *hy do you ask?” “T never see’d Phe look so happy like. If it war me, I should feel orful, after de red nigger had scalped my hoss, but you don’t seem to mind it a bit, ’eept to feel better.” “Have you ever seen this pony before now that I am riding?” Polly scanned it a moment, and then ex- “De Lor’ be praised if it ain’t Pet!” “T thought a good deal of the other horse,” said Olive, ‘‘and I am sorry he had to be killed, but I never loved him as I do Pet; and now, Polly,” she added, in a cautious tone, “if you once get a chance to run away on your horse, do so, without waiting for me, for I'shall follow as soon as I can, as you must do, if I get the The ne nodded to signify that she under- stood matter’ and that she woul do her part better than ore, if the opportunity should for the com- wilder than any over which In some able for flight, while it was also disadvantageous other Olive y determined to make her attempt just as were going into camp, as the confu- sion at a time seemed more y to be fa- vorable, She managed to apprise Polly of her intentions, and told her that in case she succeed- ed, she would await her coming on the bank of the large stream that they had crossed early in the afternoon, near where the large oak stood that had been shivered by lightning. It was early in the evening that the Blackfeet drew rein, near a small stream of water, and began dismounting. They were all about Olive, for ae evidently felt the necessity of watching her. nder some pretense, she to keep upon Pet until all the others were upon the ound. Then, when their attention was with- rawn, she gave the word to the mustang, and off he bounded like a meteor. It was _a brilliant coup, and succeeded by its very boldness. The Blackfeet were all admira- ble riders, and a half-dozen vaulted upon the backs of their animals and were off ina twinkling; but, quick as they were, the fugitive had gained a good start, which was improved to the utmost. The mustang seemed to be wild with delight, at the consciousness that he bore his beloved mis- tress on his back, and his magnificent powers were put to the highest stretch. Never before had he flown over the earth with such marvel- ous swiftness, and the furious Blackfeet saw the horse and its fair rider speed up the hill, and then both were outlined for an instant. against the starry sky beyond, when they plunged down in the darkness and errs Reaching the top of the hill, horse and rider had vani were seen no more, Higher and higher rose the spirits of Olive Mulford, as she flew over the ground, and she did not draw rein until she had gone several miles, when she gradually slackened the speed of her mustang down, at to a dead halt. By this time there was no light, except the feeble glimmering of the nor did an sound reach her ears. She was free again, ani not likely to commit her former blunder of run- ning back into the hands of her enemies. “Now, if Polly can be equally fortunate,” chenghs she; ‘‘ she has as a horse as any of the Indians, and only wants such a start as I had to pet away.” Carefully she watched the landmarks in coming, in view of such a necessity as this, and she saw that she was adhering to the trail—a course that Polly would be obli to follow to ga hes Ekg ' tti er mustang to an easy gallop, she Saginuat her flight until she heard A spon owe of the river, when she proceeded more cautious- ye make sure of reaching it at the proper ording-place. There was where she had agreed to wait for Polly, but prudence led her to cross to the other bank, The stream was quite shallow, and Pet was enabled to and carry her across without per- mitting the water to touch her feet. On the other bank she halted and waited for the coming of Polly. It was dreary waiting, and her horse spent the time in cropping the while she walked back and forth, ever ant to be sure that no bary! stole upon her unawares. ‘* Hello, dar, Miss Olly, whar be yer?” It was the voice of Po y that came across the water, sounding far above the flow of the river. ‘Are you alone?” called back Olive. Teale Lis; who do yer s’pose would be wid me = wer’ on, then.” a few moments the two were clasped in each other’s arms, “Tt made such a high old row, when F na etweed away so bootiful, dat I t/ought de time ob chile had come, and I ed my hoss and put, too. Dey didn’t keer so much ’bout me as dey did ’bout you, fur dar was only one dat chased me, and he shot his gun at me, as long as he could see me; but t’ank de Lord, I got away and here I is,” CHAPTER VIII. A STRANGE ADVENTURE. Waite all these things were place, Burt Bunker, the trapper, mounted on his pow- erful Honeycomb, was leisurely pursuing his way toward the beaver-runs of the Yellow- stone, The ht part that he had borne in the inci- denis ae we nore Fg ahaa somewhat at ne gee ead my impressi: him, an a& was his custom, he pu Seer beled dates with the other thousand and one incidents of bis career. But as he rode al on the back of his he found that there’ was one person at | whom he could not drive from his mind. H thought of the An a ; ordinary telope, as one of those extra- such as he had encountered | before, although none mapaied him in his great attainment of running; he recalled Pomp, and smiled at the recollection of the manner in which a first encountered; he regretted that Colonel Mulford’s daughter had been run away with by the Blackfeet, but hundreds of girls had undergone the same ordeal, and he hoped she would be as fortunate as some of them, and get out of their clutches again. But Eugene Montrose—what was there in his face that haunted the trapper? When he shut his eyes, it seemed to flit before him, and his thoughts wandered back to the camp-fire, where they had sat opposite, and the dark eyes and handsome features were turned earnestly upon him—and then back, through the long years, to another—how like! ‘What made me let him go?’ he asked him- self, impatiently. ‘‘I thought of it then, but it didn’t strike me so hard, and skulp me if it don’t keep growin’ onto me all the time.” ow and then he heaved a great sigh, and then, in the hope of driving the troublous thoughts from his mind, he hurried his animal onward. All day long, with scarcely an interruption, the journey was continued. When darkness put a stop to further progress, he had not = ed his destination, and he encamped on the shore of a river—so unknown that to this day it has not received a name. He was in the Indian country, and he did not forget his caution and prudence. These, by the blessing of Heaven, carried him — the night, and the sun was hardly up, when he was en route again. At noon the journey was ended; he was on his favorite pq Races Away up in the North-west, near the base of the cere 9 Moun in the very heart of the Blackfoot country, where the trapper had spent the winters of many past years, he had come again to engage in the perilous task of catching beaver and otter. As Burt dismounted from his horse, he looked about him, as does a man when he returns to his familiar home. ‘Tt don’t seem that the varmints have ’sturb- ed nothin’,” he muttered, as he looked around preainry to unloading his horse. ‘I take that as very lucky—hello!” This exclamation was caused by the discovery that the large hollow which for several years had served as his wilderness home, was demolished. It had been shivered to fragments Lh. Sa bolt of lightning, so that scarcely any sem- blance of a tree remained. “ Now that’s qu’ar,” soliloquized the F “smashed by lightnin’; ain’t it fur me that I wasn’t in thar about that e, and didn’t Jeave my traps thar? But I take that as a sign that this will be the last winter I’ll ever spend in the pag Np ee SED Whether I’m to under or git wiped out, or whether somethin’ is to happen that’s to stop me some other me I can’t say—but I know it will be one or t’oth- er, This curious presentiment seemed to weigh him down for the time, but he resolutely faced the duty which lay before him. Remounting his horse, he continued along the river for a m -mile or al when = — toa high, precipitous bank, rocks of whi t back for a considerable distance. Some tance from the shore, he again halted and be- gan unloading Honeycomb. This was soon completed, and then he carried his luggage into a rough cave, which was of considerable extent, and with but one opening visible—through which he made his entrance by ing considerably. His blankets, extra ammunition and other I were thrown down in one corner, and n he came outside t vegetation, even at this late season of the ear, and aboun¢ turn: over, unless sooner n Then he returned to the cave, and brought forth a ~ aged of mantis Be . The ae Soe was in placing an them, - fore it was tall dark, he had this part of his duty finished. that now was to await the favors of fortune. refully reconntitered, the noighberhood to carefull learn w er there were any “ ” of Indi- vans waa the Sitdatlons cf a successful ds” bore no - ance of recent visi from the Blackfeet, 5 ee ee
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10 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. while there could be no question but the fur- pearing were all about him in large numbers. When he reached his cavern-home, it was en- tirely dark. He kindled his fire and made his supper upon several plump fish that he had cau my then, as he felt somewhat restless, he lit his pipe, and wandered down toward the river of which we have spoken. All was still, and impressed by the sublimity of his surroundings, the trapper sat down upon the rocks, still thoughtfully smoking his clay i . Uaschend the stars twinkled, undimmed by a single cloud, while the soft murmur of the oe river at his feet was the only sound that reach his ear. Turning his eyes to the left, he could follow thé stream by reflection of the stars for some distance, until it wound around and dis- a among the woods and mountains. Looking again to the right, the same view met his But hold! While his eyes were wandering mechanically upward, to where the river seemed to issue from the darkness itself, he suddenly saw a light flash out, as if a torch had been lighted and held aloft. Instantly the trapper was alert. What did it mean? Looking earnestly at it, for full a minute, he made the discovery that it was stationary. This'was a proof that it was either a signal or a camp-fire. ‘That means red-skins,” he muttered, as he still scrutinized it, ‘‘and that looks as though the varmints war comin’ a leetle too close.” A few minutes more enabled him to locate it. It was on the opposite side of the river, and sev- hundred yards up-stream. Kindled close to the river, only a slight undergrowth intervened to obstruct the view, and this did it so imper- fectly that now and then he was enabled to dis- inguish a figure flit before it. “Skulp'me ef the varmints ain’t thar sure,” continued Burt. ‘‘Thar’s half a dozen of ’em, too.” So much decided, the trapper was not the man to rest until he had discovered more. “Wonder ef my canoe is whar I left it?” As noiselessly as a phantom he stole down from the rocks, whereon he had been resting, and made his way some distance up the bank to a dense mass of shrubbery that overhung the water. A moment’s search was only necessary for him to find the small birchen canoe, resting overturned and in precisely the same position he had left it the preceding spring, when, through with his winter’s trapping, he concealed it, and, thering his peltries together, started on his omeward trip to the States. The trapper seemed quite pleased at the dis- covery, and he launched it with a science that would not have alarmed a listening Blackfoot, had he been no more than a dozen yards away. Lifting the long, Indian paddle, he was about to step into it, when he drew back, startled at a so that had reached his ears. That ripple which can be made only by the flirt of a paddle, was the sound that had arrested him so suddenly. Listening intently, he detected the steady movement of the oar, and discovered still further that it was co bet the direction of the camp-fire and towar ia ocpnlly Rigrextiasy inate toetamalfet, other, equally impo F ma and that was that there was asecond canoe, and it was pursuing the first. Neither of the boats was visible, but in the stillness of the night, it was an easy matter to locate them by the ear. “That looks as ef thar war whites somehow mixed up in this bus’ness,” muttered the trap- as he quietly stepped into his canoe, and Rela himself ready to join, or to refrain from joining in the contest. it happens that thar be them of my own race,” add Burt, ‘it’s my principle to go in and help lift ha’r.’ The y, rapid sweep of the oars could now be plainly heard, and suddenly, from the dark- ness above, shot the shadowy form of a canoe, in which were seated three individuals, one only of whom was , and he handled the oar with a dexterity and skill which proved that he was either an Indian himself, or an experienced hunter,, As the boat came nearer, the tr it closely, and was not ane in that the man who was using the long paddle with such rare skill was really an ; Burt Bunker growled in aes “ Tt’s dog eat dog, and hyar’s as hopes they’ll keep it up till thar ain’t none of ’em left to plague hunters like me.” hen the foremost canoe was nearly abreast, the trapper made a second discovery, which wrought quite a change in his feelings. One of the other inmates of the boat, at least, was a white man, and consequently the Indian with him was a friend. ; ‘That thar makes things look different,” con- cluded the trapper, as he gan moving his boat along the shore, so: as to keep nearly abreast with the other, and hold himself ready to parti- cipate in the encounter, whenever the opportune moment should come. Only a few seconds elapsed, when the second and the pursuing canoe came in sight, and in it were visible the tufted heads of four red-skins, two of whom were using their paddles with rare strength and skill. Here was an interesting state of affairs, and the trapper came to the conclusion that he had a duty to perform in the matter. It happened that both were going against the current, which being more rapid in the center, caused them to work at less advantage than Burt, who plied his paddle with noiseless skill, and experienced no difficulty in equaling their speed. The trapper made sure that one of the fugi- tives was of his own race, and that all of. the se tome? were “varmints;” and when he had one this, he had selected his friends and ene- mies. His next point was to ascertain the degree of danger in which the fugitives were placed, which was to be done by comparing their respective rates of It required but a few minutes to do this, and the result was the knowledge that the larger party were gaining quite slowly, but none the ess surely upon the other, and it followed, as an inevitable co uence, that, unless the latter oe in shore, and took advantage of the many acilities for concealment, they would soon be overhatiled. As silently as the sweep of the swallow’s wing skimmed the canoe of Burt Bunker. He had been up and down this river so often, that he could traverse it as well at night as during the daytime, and it would have seemed marvelous could one have seen the manner in which he _ in and out, following the windings and jurnings of the shore, with a mathematical ex- actness. “Skulp me! why don’t they give ’em a ri and then dodge in to shore?’ exclaimed Burt, who could not see how any thing was to be ained by the fugitives in such ac as this, ‘Bf they don’t do it purty soon, I will.” Not the crack of a rifle, nor a solitary yell came from the pursuer or pursued, They were all too deep in dead earnest to waste their time in useless demonstrations, and each saved his strength for the final assault. curious chase was continued in this man- ner for fully a quarter of a mile. The fleeing Indian had shown such surprising dexterity in the use of his paddle, that by the help of one or two “spurts” he had lost a much less part of his advantage, than the bide 3a had anticipated. But the fact was none the less positive, that the foremost canoe was losing ground. ere seemed tobe no one in it, except the savage, who was capable of using the implement with any effect, while the dead weight of the other two was too much disadvantage for him to over- come. There must be a termination of this race very soon. ‘Muscles of steel could not stand the strain to which the fleeing Indian had put his limbs ever since the chase began. The marvel to the —- was that he could hold out; even for so short a time. Burt Bunker laid down his paddle, and took up ‘ Betsey Jane,” his long, formidable rifle, For one instant it was pointed like the finger of fate, out in the darkness, then there was a flash, a sharp crack, followed by a wild yell, and one of the pursuing Indians flung his paddle overboard, rasan ings his death-frenzy plunged headlong af- r it. “ Come this hyar way!” called out the trap- per to the fugitives, who were scarcely less amazed than were their enemies. ‘ Come this way, and be powerful quick ’bout it, too!” But there was no supposing that such a voice belonged to an enemy, and there was scarce an | instant’s hesitation upon the part of the fore- most canoe, whose prow was turned to the left. in obedience to the imperative command that had out with such startling effect upon the still night-air. Tipe; ai te tioen eof the deadly bullet tol canoe, a rge 6 ‘ol- lowed by the thunderous command of the trap- The Indian was found to be quite dead, but they retained him, so as to prevent his prized lock f into the hands of an enemy. e killing of the Blackfoot, the recovery of his body, and the resumption of the paddles oc- cupied nearly a minute’s time. The consterna- tion of the Indians had not been of that bewil- dering character that caused them to. lose sight of their foes. They saw the turn of the canoe, and it had scarcely glided into the bank of ow thrown out by the vegetation along the shore, when they were after it. urt expected this, and the instant they touched land, the fugitives sprung out, and ran over the broken, hilly ground, and through the vegetation, that was so intricate in some piece as to seriously retard their progress. ey were at no great distance from his cavern home, and seeing that the only safety lay in reaching that place, he headed straight for it. cite me, and Ill fake, Beet of ‘ihe pert out, seeing some di on upon. the of his companions to “ pine Ha i There were scarcely two of the company who could run at the same rate of speed, but they persevered, and finally reached the refuge. The trapper placed himself by the door, and glanced at each as he dodged in, the faint starlight just enabling him to do so. 7 Skul me, ef there ain’t the darky, and thar follers Mint Rose, and that air streak o’ light- nin’ mounted on legs, that goes by the name of the Antelope.” The carne was right. The three individuals, identified his characteristic way, were his guests for the present at least. CHAPTER IX, BURSTING FROM COVER. A FEW words are needed at this poset by way of understanding the incidents that follow, When the Antelope made his stolen visit to e, he learned from those whom he could implicitly trust, that the captives had not et reached the village, nor had anything been eard of the party, who, there was reason. to believe, had them in hand. This much learned, nothing was to be gained by remaining longer in the vil The Ante- lope, therefore, spent a half-hour with his fami- ly, and then set out upon his return. A half-mile or more out on the way, he en- countered three mounted Blackfeet re to the vi . He exchanged salutations with them, and was not long in learning that. they belonged to the marauding party who had ab- ducted Colonel Mulford’s daughter and_her ser- vant. _He learned further that the two had effected their escape in a clever manner, and that the rest of the had gone in pursuit, while they, considering their services not need- ed, and having been engaged on a long expedi- tion, were returning home, The Antelope had learned all that was pemible or necessary, and he returned with the to the village, where he selected a horse and set_ e out to rejoin his friends, who were ask pee: him. When near Mentrose, he dismounted an pe om him on foot, so as not to alarm him into discharging his rifle at him, under the im- pression that he was a hostile Blackfoot stealing upon him for the purpose of murder, ( discovery necessitated. a total of tactics. While there was every reason to rejoice at the flight of Olive Mulford and her servant, there were still praunds for the gravest. appre- hensions for their safe They had been so far to the north- ward, and so entirely away from that portion of the country with which they were acquaint- ed, that it was hardly le for them to find their way back to Beaver River Agency without assistance, ‘They were so well moun ed, that there was little fear of their being over- hauled in a fair chase, the Pusan Ae Bye, especially, being so fleet and long-winded, tha nothing on the plains could hope fo rival her. But, in their wanderings over the, prairie, they would be certain to. become bewildered, entangled, and very likely inextricably lost. Such the case, there could be little doubt but that the cunning Blackfeet would be enabled i '
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to trap them again. It was, therefore, decided by the Antelope to start also upon the back- trail, in search of the fugitives, avoiding at the same time making themselves visible to the Blackfeet—a a. difficult undertaking, when it is remembered that the latter were be- tween the fugitives and Antelope and his party. The disparity of the opposing forces was such that pothings could be hoped for in the way of a, siderably. running or stand-up fight. The great object of the pin Ae therefore, was to come up to Olive Mulford, and then act as her escort to the fort. A hasty breakfast was eaten, and by the time it was fairly light, the three were under way. The Blackfoot gained a general knowledge of the course taken by the other party, which fortunately led them near the grove where their horses cot been left, thus enabling them to ‘‘ kill. two birds with one stone,” Instead of calling into use the canoe, which had done them such a good turn, they struck straight across the country for the timber, where they hoped. their animals were awaiting them. . The Antelope refused to mount his horse so long as his companions had none, and Pomp and .Mentrose took turns, the former doing about three-fourths of the riding that was done, Their Indian guide kept about a hundred yards in. advance, so as to detect the very first sign of danger, and thus to prevent their run- ning blindly into it. re Pomp was not of much account, it is true, and it will h remembered that he was not the first choice as a companion in the business; but having once secured his presence, he could not very well be di with, and there was no telling but what the time was at hand when his services could be made useful. It. was quite early in the forenoon when the timber was reached, where to their delight. they found the two horses undisturbed, and very little discommoded by the slight fall of snow. Ina twinkling, all t were mounted, and. each sessing a goodly rifle, they were ready for rs work before them. ‘Golly! jis’ let °em come!” exclaimed Pomp, as he swelled up at the idea of his own impor- tance, ‘* What will you do, if they should make their ap ance?” asked Mentrose ; ‘I'd lebe” was the truthful reply. “Dis yah hoss knows how to run, and I’m de one dat would make him go, ef I got de chance,” “You will doubtless get all the chance you want,” responded our hero, “‘ butdon’t be in too much of a hurry to get away. Wait till you leaving before you run.’ “Oh, golly, Pil stick to you, ’cause I know ou’s goin’ on a hunt for my mammy and de lessed Miss Olly dat’s wid her.” “Yes, Pomp, and if you have any love for them, you now have a chance to show it. You must be brave, and do whatever the Antelope commands,” “ Dat I will.” The negro was earnest in his promise, and if he could screw up his cor the ey point, it was by no means le that might be his fortune to handle his rifle to some advantage. Numerous trails were crossed; so numerous indeed, that had Mentrose been alone, he would have been hopelessly bewildered; but the Ante- lope gave them scarcely more than a glance. On, on they alloping where the ground would permit, and only walking their animals when compelled to do so. It was about noon when they descended a small wooded ridge of hills, “ev the Antelope gave a suppressed ECR What it?’ asked Mentrose, hastening to e. The Blackfoot pointed to the ground, where the imprint of boise’ feet could iE platy seen, He we further that this was the back- trail of the tives themselves. Over this d Olive Mulford had passed when fleeing m her captors, and the horse of the negress Polly, led by some strange instinct, had followed in the footsteps of her mustang, so that from this point the jaa trails were side by side, The warmth of the sun, slight as it was, soon dissolved the thin sheet of snow with which the earth was covered, but the track of the fare, ing and pursued horsemen was so distinct that even the stupid Pomp could see it, and no im- ent at all to their speed was caused on ie elie the stream, where Polly joined ¥ where Polly jo Debit a PhS tk ite the. fugitiv e her igre it was not long dicated tives had already gone astray. Where she ought to have turned to the ht, Olive Mulford had gone to the left, and, where she doubtless imagined that she was rap- Burt Bunker. idly approaching Beaver River Fort. — minute was earrying her further away from it. The pursuit was continued all through the af- ternoon, and at nightfall the signs indicated that they were close upon their friends, and consequently closer still to the Blackfeet. Indeed, the indications became so distinct that the Antelope slackened the speed of all con- Late in the day, he ascended an- other ridge of hills, from the top of which he caught sight of the Blackfeet, encamped a short distance away on the bank of a large stream; but he could detect nothing of the fugitives themselves. He made a careful scrutiny of the camp so far as was possible in the gathering darkness, but could learn nothing regarding the friends whom they were so anxious to reach and help. He surmised, however, that they were nota great distance beyond, and further up the stream. Acting upon this supposition, he was about to complete his reconnoissance on foot, when his mind was changed by his stumbling upon a canoe. Concealing their horses as best they could, they cautiously ascended the stream until oppo- site the camp-fire, when they began reconnoiter- ing the red-skin party, and almost at the same moment were discovered by the Blackfeet, who instead of firing into them from the shore, an killing the whole three, as they easily could have done, began a pursuit the particulars of which have already been given the reader. Burt Bunker no intention of being her- metically sealed up with his companions in the cavern. He had not selected it with any design of standing a siege, it being his purpose to keep such a watch of ‘‘sign” as to prevent the possi- bility of such a thing occu 4 Once within these stone w 7 they were de- prived of the means of obtaining food and water, and could fire at none of their enemies except such as should be kind enough to present them- selves in front. Instead, therefore, of following his friends in- to the cavern, the trapper waited on the out- side. He stood with rifle in hand, prepared to shoot the first red-skin that showed himself, in the hope of driving back the party for the time a But no tufted, coppery head presented itself, and he e true reason. Thrusting his head into the entrance that led into the cavern, he called out, in a suppressed voice: “See hyar! the varmints have gone back fur the rest, and it won’t do fur us to be cotched hyar. Git yer guns ready to travel.” “Golly! I sh’d like to have sumfin’ to eat afore I goes,” whined Pomp. ‘‘I feels orful holler.” ‘Keep that black mouth shet, or Ill make ye holler more yit,” growled the eget There was wisdom in the words of the griz- zled old hunter, and the Antelope would have proposed the same thing as soon as he could ave precisely learned what the situation was. The cavern had been resorted to as a temporary refuge, to be held only while the peril was so imminent. Once outside, Mentrose briefly explained what had happened since he separated from the trapper. Before the latter made any reply, he led them some distance away, where the whole pny. were concealed among the closely-grow- in % I see,” he returned. ‘‘ Yer arter the women Be neck ane she white one. my fe pecially de black one,” interposed Pomp. “Tt seems to me that they can not be far away,” interposed Mentrose; ‘‘ at least, the An- “tg = e Antelope is right, as a red-skin is apt to be in such ind of business. The wo- men can’t be fur away, and if we kin only find ’em we won’t want nothin’ better.” eres look.” n ore any one could interpose, the friendly Indian had vanished like an arrow in the forest. “Now, what shall we do?” asked Mentrose. “Stay here till he comes back?” “és ch side of the river are yer animiles?” “On this side; when we found the canoe we went over the other side, toward the camp- It took but.a far siaaes to sarang ss — procedure, an ies se , rough but Hod-ieareel arene faithfully went from trap to trap, and sprung each and every one, to make sure that there was no possibility of any of the innocent beavers dying a Janguish- eath through his remissness. Then he hunted up his horse, mounted and rode him to the place that had been upon as a ren- dezvous. Mentrose and Pomp were awaitin him, but none had seen or heard any thing o the Antelope. No little caution was necessary in moving about at such a time as this, as the Blackfeet on the other side of the stream were alert, and: there was good reason to believe that some of them were scouting and prowling about on this side of the river, preparing to make a swoop on the party of whites that would not leave one of them ae But the darkness of the night had been turned to such good account that the whereabouts of our friends remained unsuspected up to this time, but there could be no certainty as to how long it would continue. e three were seated upon the backs of their horses, that were reined up under a cluster of trees, where the shadows were so dense that they could make sure of being invisible to any one a dozen feet away. Men and the An- telope had been together so long, that a signal had been arran, between them, and upon thas alone our hero depended for the guidance of their ally to their hiding-place. Burt Bunker felt that his presentiment was about to be verified. He sat on his horse, with his rifle grasped, and his face turned toward the south-east, where lay the home from which he had strayed forty years he The trapping-season just begun; but he felt no reluctance at leaving the had no desire even to conceal his canoe and traps, as had always been his custom when starting for the States, but left all (except the mere springing of the traps) as he had often fan- cied that it would be bis fate to leave them, when he should finally go under, ‘‘ wi out’ by the ball of some vengeful Black oot, who had dogged his footsteps like the famishing prairie-wolf. Whence this feeling? What meant that shiv- er that now and then shook the immense frame of the trapper, as he otherwise sat so motionless upon the horse? Why did he turn his eyes with such earnest longing upon the figure of comes Mentrose, as he could barely discern it in the darkness? Such strange emotions swayed him to the very soul that he could scarcely refrain from crying out. Memory was busy with the teem- ing id so well did she do her duty, that her scenes were fearfully vivid, and cau to — for the time that they were indeed real. But the strata of many | his heart diet bree: not break but n. The tem was past, e swaying oak righted eet, with its roots as firm fon | far- reaching as ever. Burt Bunker was himself again—hard, stern and immovable. “If the Antelope only discovers Olive Mul- ford and her servant?” “Then we’ll jine in and strike a bee-line fur Beaver River Agency, fur I don’t s’ ye like this part of the country well ’nough to settle down in it.” “T rather think not.” “Thar be ruther too many of the varmints to make it jist the place to put up a country-seat —leastways, till some more of the reds git wiped out. Every now and then Mentrose gave utterance to his —a whistle, such as more than one species of nightbird is frequently heard to make at night. As yet there had been no re- sponse; but suddenly there came a reply, so clear and distinct, that all knew their friend could be but a short distance away. Suddenly the Antelope bounded among them, apparently in great excitement. ‘White woman woman, ober dere— c close by—come He had y uttered the wo when he had vaulted upon his horse and was thundering away, with the rest plunging after him. CHAPTER X. THE HOUNDS UNLEASHED. OLIVE Mvtrorp and her servant were sorely in need of help. They had been mr me of their weapons, when captured by the Blackfeet, so they were destitute of that means of procur- ing food. i ce. a le little trouble until they very that they had gone alto- made the
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, \ gether astray, and had not the remotest idea of he direction to take in order to reach their friends. The consequence was that they found them- selves in constant danger of being recaptured by Indians, who kept appearing at the most un- expected times, and in the most unlooked for paom Sometimes they seemed to spring up ‘om the very ground, and came thundering to- ward them, with such frightful shrieks and yells, as almost to terrify them into submission. But it was sport to the mustang, who shot away again and again, like the arrow from the bow, and whose wonderful speed so fired up the other that he did passing well: The superior speed and endurance of their horses proved their safety again and again; but they were almost worn out by the constant watchfulness thus im- More than once were they fired at by the yelling demons, and frequently it seemed as if they were saved by the direct interposition of Providence, . When their hunger became great, they lived upon wild berries that were found growing here and there. As they had nomeans of obtaining any of the fish or wild game, so abundant about them, this was the only suste- nance possible. Polly showed a most decided affection to her young mistress, All the hardihood and endur- ance for which the African race are noted seem- ed gathered in her. She appeared absolutely incapable of fatigue, and compelled Olive to sleep, when the latter insisted upon alternating with her. ‘““Bress you, little honey!” she would exclaim, as she drew the beautiful head over in her lap “T doesn’t want to sleep; I couldn’t do itif I tried. Jes’ shet yer eyes, say yer prayers and wake yer when the time comes.’ ** Don’t es Polly; for you know we have no guns, and, under Heaven, we must depend upon onr horses. If there comes the least dan- ger, 2 must not fail to wake me.” ‘There, there! shet yer purty eyes; you’re talking too much. [I'll sit here and pray, and be sure to wake you when I orter.” And then the hearty negress would sit through the long hours of the night, scarcely stirring, for fear of awaking her. As the solemn time went slowly by, the devout soul was almost con- stantly sending up petitions to the only Ear that could hear earns for her mistress, for her “‘baby boy” Pomp, for Colonel Mulford, and lastly for herself, and for guidance to their distant home. ; ‘*Oh Lord, send us some good friends, dat will help us git out ob dis bad country. Hullo!’ urely she heard the tramp of the horses’ feet. Yes; the Indians are coming again. She arouses Olive, and both spring to their feet. Too late; they are surrounded. Polly and Olive both sink upon their knees; they can do nothing but pray. One of the horsemen dashes forward, and seems about to ride over them; but he springs to the ground. “Olive! Olive! don’t you know me—Eugene en The half-fainting girl looks up wildly at the dark figure, and the next moment is clasped in his arms. “And, oh goll acious! dar’s my blessed old mommy!” ye Pomp, as he flung both arms and legs around the good old soul, and almost squeezed the life out of her. ‘‘ Ain’t I glad to see yer, ’cause I know [ll git sumfin’ to eat, sure.” And he squeezed her harder than ever. ‘* What’s de matter, you big fool!” demanded ein as, << ee mane —_ from the vise- i asp of the y, she gave him a sounding wae on the ears, fo ovred by another. ‘*Bang away, mommy. I lub you more dan dinner,” called. out Pomp, hugging and almost a a = with os fe lchinraads olly ng away with suc r that Pomp was compelled to duck his head and get out of her reach. “Dat’s her!” he exclaimed, as soon as he reached a safe distance; ‘I know her by de p. Dar ain’t oder old woman in de United States of Africa dat can whack like her. She kin wear out de seat ob my trowserloons in five minutes, by de style ob her spankin’.” For a few moments Olive was speechless and helpless. The revulsion from despair to joyous hope was so great that she was totally over- pa ge Rete es and meee calling he e pale, white i r by name, until she came back to herself, and pronounced his name in return. While this was going on, the Antelope was moving around, on the alert for signs of the ing scene. across his eyes, and one who stood near might have seen something sparkling on his cheek in the faint starlight. ‘““Skulp me! but it’s thunderin’ qua’r,”* he muttered, snuffing his nose as though troubled with a severe cold. In a few moments a lull came upon this tem- pest of feeling. Mentrose and Olive talked together in low tones, and it required but a very few minutes for them to understand each other perfectly. In that time, they learned the prin- cipal history of each since their separation months before. In the mean time the Antelope showed signs of uneasiness. He was riding back and forth on his horse, and looking ye at those who were still standing upon the ground. Final- ly he spoke to Burt. “Yas; we must git out of this infarnal coun- try. Come, folks, onter yer animals, fur the varmints are powerful clus.” “Blast it; I think it’s time we hed supper,” called out Pomp, very naturally in a ravenous state just then. The trapper was about to make some rough reply. when Mentrose rode up beside him. ‘Olive and her servant here have had noth- ing but a few berries to eat for several days; they must be starving.” ‘*Skulp me, but I never thought of that!” ex- claimed the trapper, considerably astonished; ‘*howsumever, I allus make a practice to car- ry a cold lunch with me, when a fellow gits in such a scrape as this, and it’s sure death to stop. Let ’em swaller that, and it’ll do till we git a good chance to halt.” ‘* Why didn’t you give me some ob dat afore?” demanded the wrati Pomp; ‘‘ you knowed I was sufferin’ drefful.” ‘Woof! you’ve ’nough fat aT to keep yer a month. Ef we don’t git a good chance to stop afore long, I’m goin’ to shoot yer, and roast yer on the run, after we eat this yer’ lunch.” While speaking, Burt produced several slices of cold, well-cooked venison, which he handed to Mentrose, who hastened to divide it between — and Polly. The latter, as might be ex- , gave the lar; part of hers to Pom who devoured his with a huge appetite, and a compunction of conscience, and looked wistful- ly for more. But Polly’s affection did not prompt her to such self-denial, unless there was ter occasion for it, and so Pomp was obliged content himself with only a half-appeased ap- petite. It so came about that the horses were com- paratively fresh, and they oped out from the wood at a good ewinging ait, the Antelope, as usual, taking the lead, while the trapper came next. The di ion was due south, the pur t out of this rugged, broken coun ry, unted by the vengeful Blackfeet. The night still remained clear and starlight, not a breath of wind blowing, while the atmo- sphere was sharp and frosty. Most of the party had ridden so much during the last few days we ref the females) that they were natural- ly , but they were able to stand much more before giving out entirely. Over , and wroaded ridges, through groves of timber, across streams an nee and level stretches of prairie, they continu hour after hour, the keen faculties of the Antelope leadin, forward with the certainty of a blood-houn upon the trail. Never once did he pause in doubt or hesitation. He knew the route too well to deviate in the least, except when temporarily compelled to do so, by the natural obstacles that threw themselves across the track. But there were two unto whom this long night-ride was memorable on account of its hap- piness. They had been ae het long, and strange adventures had befallen Olive Mulford; but the all-merciful Providence who guides all our actions, had overruled every thing for their welfare, and here they were together with every prospect of remaining so, and of reaching safety. They rode as closely side by side as Me? oy ble, and they seemed never weary of ng. Mentrose felt that he could thus ride on forever by the side of the fiery little mustang, when he carried his fascinating mistress. In another way, Pomp was scarcely less pleased with the society, except now and then when, by way of a reminder, Polly reached over and gave a resoun box upon his ears. She was a , well-intentioned soul, and now and then she gave utterance to her gratitude in the fervent way peculiar to her race, her no unmusical voice ringing out with strange power upon the still night-air. **De Lor’ he was unto me true, He brought me all my trouble frough, And when it comes my time to die, He'll take me to his home on high; Noah's ark move it, move it, move it, Children move it.’ The last two lines were pe ee as a refrain to each verse, and occasionally Pomp joined in with her, although she cautioned him to “shet up,” unless he could sing more in tune. All night long the ride continued, and when it was fairly light the Antelope halted, selecting for his camping-place the top of a high swell in the prairie, with a few stubby trees growing, without grass or water, and with scarcely any advantage except the one single one which de- cided the Blackfoot to select it. Its elevated pen enabled him and his party to —— t ro a — — eve Seo and consequently it wo mpossible for an of the Indians to steal upon them unawares. Th As the halt was intended to last but a short time, this was the first thing to be considered and Burt Bunker complimented the wisdom of the Indian in doing as he had done. “No danger of the varmints droppin’ down on our h hyar,” he remarked to Mentrose, as they were dismounting. At the hill-foot ran a small brook, sufficient to furnish all the water needed for the horses and for the use of the camp. There was good pasturage also, and quite a growth of cotton- wood, the bark of which is in repute as a —_ of fodder for the animals in crossing the ns, 3 All the horses were tethered at the base of the hill, and there the fire was kindled, so that, after all, the camp proper was there. But while the Pp mbps were going on, Antelope remained on the hill-top, scanning the chery: ie in every direction, on the alert for his indred, who, he believed, would soon be on the trail of the flying party. Just before halting he had left his friends for a few minutes, and when he returned he bore = aaa wee of plump buffalo across 3 orse, an olly was now in prepar their breakfast from thia. = When it was all ready, he was summoned to come down and join them at the meal; but he waited until they had finished, and then making sure that no foe was in sight, he called to Pomp to come and take his place, while he ate his breakfast, The negro promptly came to his side and pro- mised to keep a watch until his return, to do which he seated himself flat upon the ground, and stared hard in every direction. When his meal was finished, the Antelo started up the hill again. The country was still so broken and interspersed by ae and stretch- es of timber, that at several points his view was so shortened, that he had good reason to fear, while so stupid a sentinel as Pomp was on duty, if even for a few minutes only. As he neared the top of the hill, he saw Pomp lying flat upon his side and motionless, The heart of the Blackfoot gave a thrill, as he sus- cted that the work of bis kindred was manifest in the dead form of the African stretched out be- fore him. It looked as if some stealthy red-skin had crawled up to Pomp and struck him from behind. The cries 2° looked stealthily about him. He had heard the treacherous shot from the am- bush before, and he knew thatif any of his own tribe or clan caught him in questionable com- pany, they would spare him no quicker than they would spare them. It was his wish and 2 our pose to conceal his identity from the Blackfeet, whenever he was exposed to their scrutiny, and to accomplish that end he had made several per eno changes in his dress and a rance and especially in the manner in which he placed the t upon his face. e walked very slowly up the hill, looking furtively about him, for he had no desire to run into any masked battery. Once or twice he was on the point of retreating to and alarming friends—on their account more than his own —but he kept on up the hill until he reached the top. Not a muscle of the stirred, but as the Indian gazed abruptly at him, he could detect a slight rising and falling of the chest, as though he were breathing. “Not dead, but nearly so,” thought the An- telope, as he crept nearer, Still advan , like the crouching panther, he finally reached out his hand so that e could he seize his shoulder and draw him over. = sts discovered that Pomp was not dead— ! “Black white man no good!” exclaimed the
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Burt Bunker. ee — —s a dis, Blackfoot, as he gave the negro an im- patient kick. But the next instant he discovered that real danger threatened him and the little band un- der his care; for on the crest of the nearest hill he detected several small objects moving swift- ly along, sometimes sinking out of sight and then coming to view at some other point further away. The experienced eye of the Antelope told him at once that these were the tufted heads of so many Blackfeet, who were riding along on the other side of the crest a short distance from the top. They undoubtedly belon to the of pursuers, who had learned where the fugitives were, The Antelope at once descended his side of the hill, until certain of not being seen by his kindred, when he ordered Pomp to return to his mother, and beckoned to Burt Bunker to ap- proach. It required but a moment for the tra to get an accurate idea of the situation of affairs. ~ ‘* Yas; they’re thar, and they’re yender too,” he replied, as he pointed to a hill, nearly in an copastte direction from the first, and looking t ere, these two veteran hunters saw unmistak- able “ signs.” of their enemies in that place. _ “The fact of it is,” added the per, as _in- differently as if he were discussing the number of poe he expected totake during the season, “if I ain’t powerful mis we're surrounded, and we’ll never git out of this muss without the hottest kind of a fight.” ‘* Dat’s so,” assented the Antelope, with con- siderable uneasiness in his manner. CHAPTER XI. AT BAY. ' Hap there been no females in the Party, the fugitives would have had no hesitation as to the course for them to follow. Although literally surrounded by Black- feet, they would have made a h through them, even though at the risk of losing one or two lives, and of being dismounted by the shooting of their horses, ut the presence of Olive and her servant precluded thought of such a course, and it only remained for them to fortify themselv and take all precautions against an assault unti they could reconnoiter and obtain a correct idea of the strength and intentions of their ene- mies. While, therefore, the Antelope maintained his watch, the others came to the top of the hill, and the men began rolling the large stones in a ore of Ler ng behind which the women Poking placed, with warni inst e em- selves to the Seite dians’ Pellets one a oubtless would be soon flying about their heads. Under strong and wi arms, it was but a short time before the fortifications were com- plete, All that remained of the cooked buffalo was brought within the “ fort,” begether with such water as they were able to hold in their t in a condition to stand a siege of several days’ duration, beyond bly last. at the bottom of the hill, where they were con- sidered as safe from the Blackfeet as it was pos- sible for them to be. They could only be stam- peded by their foes e ing themselves to the rifles of those on the hill who would be paways chary about protecting such valuable property from such treacherous foes, The fear: of the tra was that instead of stampeding, they would attempt to shoot their horses; but to do this, they could scarcely avoid exposing themselves to the same danger from ves, all these preparations were making. the Blackfeet soatnaty showed themselves. On- ly now and then could a glimpse of their to knots be caught as they circled back and forth on the op te side of the hill: it was evident that they had a healthy fear of the rifles of the wales men. 2 rar ee Vv thing ing ready, it only remained for our friends watch and wait. Pomp had scarcely finished his share of the work, when he was sound asleep, with his head in the lap of his mother, who, poor so’ ave way to the sound slumber of-which she been deprived for so long a time. Olive Mulford was thoughtful and anxious. The knowledge of what Eugene Mentrose had chivalrously undergone for her sake, sealed the attachment she had long felt toward him, into a on all-pervading and pure love, such as would have made it arcu to die for him; and, as it is true that the object which we have sought to benefit and protect becomes, thereby, the more endeared to us, so our hero felt the same self-sacrificing devotion toward the beau- tiful and Y eapabery: girl, who now, more than ever, was dependent upon his courage and skill in defending her against the ruthless Blackfeet. pursuing her with a eee yy of enmity that seemingly would not be denied. i ‘““Why so sad?” he asked, when, their active work ceased, he found occasion to sit down for a word or two with her. She smiled and made a manifest effort to cast off her gloom, but failed. **T do not know; but I have a presentiment that one of us will never get away from this lace,” she replied, vainly striving to keep back er tears. Mentrose laughed, for he was really in the best of spirits. **-You have been under such excitement, that this is but the natural reaction; you will soon feel different. Don’t allow yourself to give way to such fancies.” “*T have done my best to overcome them, but I can not.” ‘*¥You are wearied out, as any man would be,” said he, fondly kissing her forehead. ‘‘ Wrap this blanket about you and secure some sleep while the opportunity is given you.” She protested that she had no desire, but con- sented, to please him, and he was wiser than she; for in a few minutes he saw that she had sunk into a quiet, refreshing slumber. “Poor, persecuted one,” he mused, as he look- ed my crage | Ao the pale, sweet face. *“You have suffe a great deal, but you are near your rest.” As he uttered this, a chill went through his heart, as he recalled the foreboding words he had uttered, so different from the meaning he intended to express. ‘Tt can not be,” he thought, with a heavy sadness upon his heart ‘‘ that there is any thing to come from such gloomy thoughts. It is but natural that her spirits should be depressed, after such an experience as she has endured.” He moved away, but, as he did so, he was conscious that the same dark shadow was thrown across his path; the same chilling at- mosphere that had enwrap her had dropped about’ him—and it seemed a Shadow whose name was Death. Several hours passed, without any thing ad- ditional being seen of the Blackfeet. Indeed, they scarcely showed themselves at all. ** What do you suppose they are waiting for?’ asked Mentrose of the trapper, who was seated a one of the large stones, quite moody and sul- en. ** Night,” was the reply. ** Ah! I see it will be more favorable to them. Do you think that we shall be left undisturbed until then?” | “Can’t say,” replied Burt, who experienced | a strange melting influence, when face to face with the young man. “Skulp me, but it’s hard to understand all the ways and devilments of the varmints. Ive had business dealin’s with these Blackfeet, off and on, fur the last thirt years, and thar be some things about ’em that don’t yet understand by no means.” ““Have you any idea of their number, Burt?” “T guess it’s something like a dozen, but it mought be thar’s double that, ’cause i guess only from what I’ve see’d with my own eyes.” ** How are we going to find out? “The Antelope thar will soon learn. He’s waitin’ fur a chance to crawl out—but I don’t b’lieve he’ll git it afore dark.” At this juncture, Pomp awoke, and rising to his feet, began to yawn and stretch himself, all- unmindful of the ger in doing so. Mentrose was about to remind him of his peril, when crack went a rifle, and the bullet missed his eyes by scarce a hair’s breadth. “Golly! somebody’s careless wid dar blasted guns!” exclaimed the darky, as he quickly drop- ped out of sight. Scarcely had the sound of the Indian’s rifle died away, when that of the trapper was dis- charged. He had seen the wreath of thin blue smoke carne upward from the adjacent bill and had caught a glimpse of the bronzed head of the red at the same moment. With lightning-like ickness, his rifle was at his shoulder, aimed and fired. The aim was unerring, and the bullet crashed through the brain of the Blackfoot, who gave utterance to his ear-splitting shriek, threw up his arms, and fell over dead on the instant. During all this time, the fugitives—with the exception noted—carefully screened their bodies from observation. The bowlders were so ar- ranged that they could command every point from which it was possible for the Indians to at- 13 tack them, and it was out of the question for any of them to attempt any scheme that would — the scrutiny of Burt Bunker and the An- telope. ore than once, Eugene Mentrose, suddenly turning his head, found the eyes of the trapper fixed upon him with a curious intensity that caused him to wonder and feel some uneasiness, for he had no suspicion of what it meant. At. the same time, independent of this, he was sensible of a sin emotion upon his own part. When he looked at the scarred and griz- zled face, it seemed to him that there was some- thing in it which bore a familiar ap; ance— faint, but none ‘the less real, although it:was so intangible that he could not seize and hold it. “*T have seen it before,” Eugene had said to himself a dozen times; ‘but when, where, un- der what circumstances?” gain and again he asked himself the ques- tion, but was unable to answer, and finally came to the conclusion that it must have been in the mystical region of ‘dreamland, ny rate this explanation only partially satisfied hi As the afternoon waned away, those within the fortifications partook sparingly of the food. ** Don’t see de use ob lebing any ob it,” growl- ed Pomp, when informed that he had all of his stipend. ‘Ef I don’t eat no more; ll be hun- gry now and hungry to-morrer, and dat’s de = it will be wid all ob yer.” ut this original reasoning convinced no one but himself, and secured no more food’ for him on that day. It was hardly dark, when the meee £7 man- aged to steal over the ~~ unobserved by the enemy. No one but he could have accomplished such a feat, but he did it so well that he return- ed at the end of half an hour, having succeeded in making a complete reconnoissance. He brought back unpleasant tidings. Instead of a dozen or twice as many, there were full Blackfoot Indians surrounding the little band of fugitives. All were well-mounted; as a matter of course, and well-armed, and: the situ- ation of our friends was critical in the extreme. The question now was whether these Black- feet intended to make an assault ing the night, or simply to wait until the defenders should be starved into submission. It looked asif the merciless red-skins had their choice of either method, and that ‘either would be equally effective. “Thar ain’t nothin’ too bad that yer kin say about the varmints,” remarked the baie go as he sat a , conversing in a low tone wi Men- trose, ‘‘ but, skulp me ef thar ain’t one thing yer can’t call ’em and tell the truth.” “What's that?” Begs “Tf the Antelope is a specimen, they are as brave as men can be,” said dor neko in the same low, cautious voice, taking care that Olive, ad was wide awake now, should not overhear em. “He ain’t no braver than the rest of ’em. I’ve crossed knives with lots of ’em, and old Betsey Jane has barked at as many more, and I never yet met the one that war a coward,” ‘“Then it looks as if ny these, attack us.” ‘** Dunno,” returned the trapper, thoughtfully. “T think it ruther looks the other way, and I see the reason.” “What is it?” ‘“Them varmints are arter the gal thar, and they want her alive and well and not dead.” “God forbid!” exclaimed Mentrose, glancing toward Olive, who could be seen'a short dis- tance a conversing earnestly with Polly Brown, and all u icious of the words that had just been utte . “That must never be, Burt. Promise me that you will help me to de- fend her.” i The trapper turned his grizzled face wonder- ingly upon the excited young man, as if he did understand him “What do yer mean?” ‘Forgive me, but you do not know how I feel, Burt, in this matter. I could never live if she should fall into their hands again.” “ She ain’t a-gwine to do it!” said Burt Bunk- er, in a voice that was low, but terrible in its earnestness. — Mentrose waited for him to say more by ba A of explanation, but he did nof, and he co only surmise the truth, and in doing so he only iv guessed it; for the trapper not only meant he would stand by her so | as any hope remained, but he meant still further, that if the moment did come when the fair girl could no longer be — out of their hands, then would he turn and deliberately shoot her through the heart! She had been treated leniently so far, when in the hands of her captors, but only be-
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cause they chose to wait until she was domicil- éd among them as a Blackfoot squaw. The experienced, hunter was thankful that she had been saved thus far, but he had resolved that the fifty howling wretches should never lay hands “ee her again, alive, so long as he re- tained the power to aim his rifle and pull the trigger. ut there was no necessity for Mentrose knowing this, and so the trapper refrained from berry, ‘‘T beg: your forgiveness,” ‘added. our hero, after a moment’s pause, ‘‘ for seeming to doubt you, I know you are true, but my anxiety overcame my j ent for the moment,” “Tt’s all right,” returned Burt, and then he seemed to relapse into a sad mood, so deep that he paid no attention to several questions put to him by his young companion. The latter was about. to move away to to Olive, when the trapper looked up, with a curious sudden- n ess, “* See on will yer answer me two or three questions Any thing at all that I can answer I will do 80. Twice the hunter made as if to , but checked. himself each, time, while Mentrose awaited his words, ‘*T am waiting,” he said, speaking gently, in ee of encouraging him, but he still hesi- ta ‘‘ Nos: wait till some other time.” “Why not now?’ asked our hero, whose curi- osity. was not a little aroused. ‘Ef both of us live to git out 0’ this muss, I’ll tell ior the first good chance I git.” ‘* But suppose one of us should get killed?” “ Then it can’t make no difference, No; let it go fur the present, fur it’s’ taking too much of our.time now. We must look sharp, and not let a chance slip by, fur I kin tell -yer, younker, we're in just as bad a fix as we kin be. Whar’ the Antelope?’ he asked, looking around. ‘He is gone,” re ied Olive, who had. over- heard the question. iN Whar?! ‘¢T don’t. know. .I saw him crawl under that stone, or rather between the two, and that was the last of him.” ‘How long ago?” A an hour.” , ‘“‘Quwar,” muttered the trapper, who did not seem pleased with the information. “Undoubtedly he is off on another reconnois- somes! ven Mentrose, but Burt shook his “Not that; it looks bad !” ‘“*What do you mean? Do yous +; him?” demanded his alarmed and a compan- ion. ‘*T don’t say, but remember this,” replied the trapper, in his most impressive manner, ‘ that ved-skin has done us a good turn, and we. all thank him; but he lives among his people, his squaw and pappooses are thar. He knows it won’t do fur him to be catched in this muss.” But his people know he is friendly to the whites.” “T know all that, and they don’t care as lon as he don’t do too much of it, or cross thar pati too often. , It wouldn’t be healthy fur him to be cotched inside of this ring, when the last tug comes, nor healthy fur his family either.” ‘Then you that he has betrayed us?” ‘No; he wouldn’t do that; but he’s found out thar’s no hope fur us, so he’s just crawled out and left to save himself and family, and I don’t know as I blame him fur it, arter all.” ——_ CHAPTER XII. FATHER AND SON. i {qe TowarpD midnight the new mooit- came up, and this, added to the bright starlight and clear atmosphere, made objects visible for a consider- a istance. ihe orses, ome ane now uie lying down m the ground, were plainly visible from ‘the fort on top of the Burt Bunker’s apprehension was that an at- tempt would be made to stampede or capture the animals, as it would look like quite an easy matter for an Indian to steal forward and cut the lariats, after which a slight effort would suffice to drive them beyond the reach of their owners. Twice the trapper had detected the shadowy form of a Blackfoot slowly and stealthily crawl- ing over the ground toward the horses, and twice had he brought Betsey Jane to a level, ao Arsen a bullet through the audacious red- Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. . This, united with his other shot, had served as a wholesome reminder of the vigilance of the fugitives, and of the risk inc by any ap- proach, however cautious, to their defenses. Mentrose had spent an hour or two in converse with Olive, whose head was now in the lap of Polly—and both were asleep, Pomp hi wrapped up and unconscious upon the ground— so that. the. two white men were the only ones who were awake and on i The absence of Antelope caused our hero not a little uneasiness. He could admit thathe was justified in withdrawing as he did, but there was no denying that his course bore a cowardly and unpleasant look. urt adhered to his opinion as expressed in the last chapter, and would not admit any other explanation, and Mentrose was compelled to confess its probability. “Tt Genatbs Cmte may be right,” he mur- mured to himself, ‘‘ but I didn’t expect it of the Antelope.” The trapper was moody and uncommunica- tive again. He resisted all efforts to open com- munication, and occupied himself solely in keep- ing guard over those who, by a si con- currence of circumstances, were placed under his protection. Again and again did the young man attempt to unravel that mysterious fee that came over him when he gazed upon this hunter—to unravel that. web whose woof seemed constantly dangling within his eager grasp, and yet always eluded. it. ‘*Skulp me!” x What We it <i poe this sudelene qeclemin on upon the part of the trapper, and his spring- ing to his feet? His ptt heard and saw nothing unusual. * at is it?’ asked the latter. ‘‘Thar’s somethin’ the matter over thar! Hark!” A tread of many horses, as if rushing to and fro, was heard. It came from the other side of the hill, where all the Blackfeet evidently had gathered, ‘“They are going to attack us.” “ Hark ag’in!” Crack, crack, bang, bang, went after gun, and war-shouts were mingled with the increas- ing fray. There was a fight going on—a fight ween the Blackfeet, and an attacking party of white men. The next instant Eugene Mentrose threw his hat high in the air, danced hither and thith- pais and shouted in a voice that awoke all about “Saved! saved! saved!” “Yer right, and it’s the work of the Ante- lope,” responded. the trapper, as his face was OV PR BPOR A by a huge grin. “Where now are our gloomy presenti- ments?’ demanded our hero, as he caught our heroine in his arms, and threatened to press the life out of her, covering her with kisses and dancing with joy. “ But who are our rescuers?” she asked, still hesitating to accept the joyful truth. ‘* COLONEL, MULFORD AND HIS MEN!” shouted Burt Bunker, as he caught sight of an officer, followed a dozen men, thundering down the hillside. Straight onward dashed leader, and leaping from his horse, sprung among the tives. My daughter! my daughter! Olive, where are you?” “Here, dear father!”, was the reply, as she threw herself in his arms. The confusion soon quieted down and then the tale was told. When Colonel Mulford started eastward, in | obedience to his dispatches from Washington, he was met on the border by counter-dispatches, directing him to return, he forthwith start- ed with his small escort. He had gone but a short distance, when he encountered a party of hunters, direct from the Beaver River Agency, who informed him of the abduction of his daughter by the Blackfeet, and volunteered to accompany him on an expedition for her rescue There was little time lost by these prairie | coursers as they sped over the plains toward the Blackfoot country, The experienced hunters of the party detected the presence of the Indians before the latter saw them, but they could hard- ly have a suspicion of the truth. They halted, and as several of the number were preparing to move forward upon a recon- noissance, the Zucloye eppenred among them, aot speedily made own the true state of affairs. For the safety of the friendly Blackfoot, whose position was understood by Colonel Mulford, it was arranged that he should move forward with them, but somewhat in advance, and by appris- ing his people of their coming, win for himself their confidence, and, at the same time, really befriend the fugitives. The scheme succeeded to a charm. The an- nouncement of the Antelope was followed by the resistless charge of the bordermen, and the scattering of the Blackfeet to the winds, and among them went. the Antelope, and kept with them until he rejoined his family among the mountains of the North-west. The party remained where they were until day- light, when the homeward march was,resumed and two days later they safely reached the fort at the Beaver River Agency. Here the trap- pers and hunters took their departure, but not until each had received a handsome present from Colonel Mulford, who felt he could never repay them for the service they had done him, in the recapture of his beloved daughter from the power of the Blackfeet. On the day suc the arrival of our friends at the Beaver River Agency two horse- men rode out from it, side by side. They con- tinued at an easy gallop until they had over a large swell that shut them out from the view of any who might be curious, and there they reined up, and dismounting ‘from their horses, stood face to face. They were Burt. Bunker, the trapper, and Eugene ae cay ages ve brou er hyar, an the r, ‘cause I don't Peart ‘fe saspelns to hear Ghat we've got to say. Be yer now ready to answer the questions that I want to ax yer?” ‘More than ready.” ‘Ts yer real name Eugene Mint Rose?” The young man ' ‘*What'reason have you for asking that?” ‘“‘ Yer promised to answer me.” ‘*No; it is not.” ‘“ What mought it be 7” Eugene hesitated; he certainly had no antici- pation of any such questioning as this, when he ve his promise; but the trapper said nothing ut calmly to await the expected reply. e name is Eugene Wentworth.” “Wat !” exclaimed the trapper, in great amazement, and with no little excitement. ‘Yes; that is my real name. nm I was baptized, my friend had the name Eugene Mentrose Wentworth given me.” “ %, have yer called yerself, then, by t’other handle ?” . ‘*Mentrose was his name, and it was given out of compliment to him. He was the brother 3 my mother, who died before I can remem- r. “Yes; and what else?’ said Burt, vainly seeking to repress his t excitement. ‘He was a merchantin Cincinnati, and made me his junior partner when I became old enough. He requested me to wear his name, until I should find my real father; but as there is little pros- pect of that, it looks as though Tam to be known as Mentrose for a long time.” ‘* Did he ever tell yer anything ’bout yer dad?” The young man lowered his head as if in medi- tation. “T cannot’ recall an ytbiite of any account; but, somehow or other, I gathered the idea that he was dead.” Ate “Wal, he isn’t.” ‘* How do you know?” “ Cause he stands afore yer !” It is not often that a man is rocked and sway- ed by such a very earthquake of emotion as was the trapper. therto he had stood stationary, the master of himself, but now the emotion mas- tered him. He was shaking like a leaf in the tempest, while his cheeks and beard were be- dewed with tears, such as had not flowed like that for years. Indeed, it looked for a few mo- ments as if he would fall to the ground from very weakness. And his comrade was equally agitated, al- though in a different way. He sat staring and edge Fer eyes, as if he failed to comprehend the words thaf had been uttered; but now the meaning of that dim, familiar look in the face of the trapper was explained. Surely he had seen him before, many long, long years : when, but an infant, he had ‘heen dandied Be | that knee. ‘* FATHER!” He pronounced the word, and then placing his arm over his neck, their tears flowed together. It was a long time before it was all under- | stood, but in time father and son gained the whole truth. ; ~
Page 15
~ Lae REIS A bee He who has fi Bunker was. really very young he had formed a taste for hunting, and adopted the perilous life of a trapper. This he followed.a number of years, until he came across a beautiful girl, living on the border with whom he fell deeply in love, and who lov him as deeply and truly in return. ; They were married, and for a year or two were as happy as two mortals could be. Burt concluded to give up his wandering life, and set- tled down as a staid husband; but affliction came. Providence removed his wife, leaving him with but the infant boy, Eugene. For a time he was like a man out of his mind, and then he suddenly disappeared with his child. No one knew where they were gone, and after a time he was forgotten, except by a few of his intimate friends, who were never able to learn any thing re ing him. ut the stricken father had gone at his old business of trapper in, and, strange as it — seem, had taken his little child with him. fe) mother could have cared for it more tenderly than did he, and like the boy of the wild Indian, it grew and’ strengthened the health-giving air of the mountains. But the hand of affliction was upon the tra per, and one night, as he was encamped in the very grove where, years after, as we have re- lated, he sat talking to the grown-up man, a party of Blackfeet rushed inte the grove, fired upon him, and dashed away with the child. When the trapper recovered his senses, it was morning, and he was wounded ‘nigh unto death, and there were no signs of his darling boy, He had no wish to get well, but his hardy constitu- tion brought him through, and in a few days he was almost as well as ever. Then he took his horse, with the determina-, tion to follow his enemies to the death, but he soon lost the trail, and was thus deprived of that consolation. Dating from this time, the nature of the man seemed to undergo achange. He me reti- cent and moody; he gave himself another name, that no one should recognize him as the once happy Burtis Wentworth, and spent his time in solitude. Only when compelled to do so, did he visit the border, and then, as soon as he had dis- posed of his peltries, he was back again to the mountains. During the warm season, when there was lit- tle or no trapping to be done, he. occasionally appeared among the frontier settlements where he was unknown, and where he made certain that no one should know him. In this manner some twenty odd years of his life passed. He never once entertained the thought that his boy was alive. It seemed in- credible to him pip Ae oe of Indians would spare the life of a child, when there was no parent with it to give it attention, and he would have died in the implicit belief that his child had long preceded him, but for the circum- stances which have been narrated at length in the preceding ya The hand o vidence was visible through- out. The Blackfeet who attacked the ees sal and ran away with his child, were themselves attacked, three or four hours afterward, by a party of hunters returning to to the States, who took the boy from them, carried it to St. Louis, where it fell into the hands of its own uncle, who made every effort to find its father, but failing to do so took the boy to Cincinnati with him, educated him, and eventually made him his partner in business, A handsome, kind-hearted, chivalrous, full- grown man. ‘Thus came to the scarred and weather-beaten father the little boy that had been so ruthlessly torn from his arms years be- fore, among the wild solitudes of the great North-west. ne and Olive were united as man and bright gr L and then he quietl loved wife who / y years, ine poclently to await the coming of the other lo ones, when He, in his own good time, should say, ‘‘It is enough; come up higher.” | Burt Bunker. THE NEW YORK Fireside Library. 1—Was She His Wife? 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Wa Beadle’s Contents of No. 1. Angel Gabriel, Auld lang syne, A good time coming, Barbara Allan, Billy Larkin. Come, gong awa’ wi’ me, 8, cheer, Co-ca-che-lunk, “Crooked whisky!” Call me when breakfast is ready, French and English, Gay and happy, Hoop-la, Heather Jock, I knew that I was dreaming, I muse on thee, Johnny, —_— been a bad boy, Juliana Jones, Jim, the carter lad, Let the girls alone, Landlord, fill your flowing bowl, Land of m le Lord Lovel, Miss Gruber’s boarding house, My pretty red rose, Molly Bawn, Poor Jack, Pull down your vest, Put me in my little bed, Rose of paraey Roll out! heave dat cotton, Rhine vine Sharley, See that my grove 's kept green, Sweet by and by, ra 2 a ay ler, ) ©, sing ‘en minutes too late, The man in the moon is looking, ove, o> two stools a man goes to the ground,” They all do it, The railroad engineer’s song, ine nightingale i nay ey borrow, but never re’ The butcher bo: A The hazel dell, The vacant chair, Tom Bowling The midnight bugle, e tempest, The drunkard’s raggit wean! Twinkling stars, The Marseilles hymn, The old English squire, Under the willow she’s sleeping, Whoa, Emma Oi version Whoa, Emma original version), can t I have a beau? Waltt Who Contents of No, 2. A cushla gal mochree, A motto for every man, Babylon Is fallen, Beautiful Rose, hitter beer, Beside the sweet Shannon, Captain Cuff, Constantinople, Captain Spike of the musketeers Captain 8, Dandy Pat Dandy barber Joe, Gentle Jennie Gray, George Constantine McKeown, Home again, Herp ht smile haunts me still, I'm looking at you now, I know when I’ve enough, ina, lonely since my mother for pa ll care for mother now? pa hae ye m r sheese Little waxed mustache, My vife is so awfully thin, May the best man rh Norah, the pride of Kildare, One by one they crossed the river, Pull down the blind, aut dat ticklin’ me, binson Crusoe, ices gu E Lullaby, Sweet vision of childhood, Shall we ever meet again? Single blessedness a fib, Lhe fields of home, fhe march of the Cameron men The style in which it’s done, The five cent shave, ‘Tne merry widow, The Donegan light guard, The pilo The erac’ The king’s highway, The O’s and the Mec’s, The steam “he sparkling solitaire, gnele Tom's lament, ' eat be doing, en the pi La to fly, Vithin a mile of mboro’ What were all the world without Thee? You make me laugh, "2 get more like your dad every y; Contents of No 3. A national song, Bold Robin Hood, Bryan O’Lynn ifly Grimes, the rover, le, cackle, cackle, Coaxing with a kiss, Camptown races, Father will settle the bill, Good-by, John, God bless the littlechurch, etc Hildebrandt Montrose, He isn’t as rich as he used to be, He was such a nice young man, Human nature, Hail to the chief I do feel so awfully loose, Is there any such place? {t’s nice, Tll be watching for you at, etc. It’s naughty, but it’s nice, I love my native land, I’m in it, 4 u —_ er beer song, Little maid of Troadae, Mary McGinnis, Mary of the wild moor, Massa’s in de cold ground, Mine host! mine host! come, etc. My brudder gum, Mary Avourneen, Nancy Lee, Never despair. Our army and navy of blue, Only a flower there, Old folks at home, Peter Gray, Pink dominoes, Pane says I may, a a waite and blue, ng! sing! sing Song of the locomotive, Ss) of shillelah, Shall we know each other there? The Gainsboro’ hat, Terrance Muldoon, The fireman’s boy, The summer of love, The runaway mare The roast beef of old England, The timid awkward squad! The boulevard The low back’d car, The Campbells are comin’, The Yankee boy, The fighting dog, The brave old oak, The hag A When the flowers fall asleep, waka! Dinah, Diet ’ Why have my loved ones gone Whisper it softly, Yankee ship, and a Yankee crew, Contents of No, 4. After toiling cometh rest, A starry night for a ramble, Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, Auld Robin Gray, Broadway promenade, Bashful young man, eee syee violets, Bob Ridley, Down the shadowed lane she goes Darling old stick, “Fifth avenue George,” Few days, Faded flowers. Good-by, Charile, Good-by till I see you again, Hail, Columbia, Home, sweet home, Hard times. In her “little bed” we laid her, I po waiting, Essie dear, *T cannot sing the old songs,” Johnny Morgan Little green vail, Looking back, Lather and shave, Mollie Brady, Nelly was a hy f Oh! re pretty jue-eyed witch, r boys, Old Rosin the Beau, Over the left, Pop goes the weasel, Par excellence, “Put the brake on when, etc. Row, row, Rory O’Moore, Rosa Lee, Ridin’ in a railroad keer, Sparkling moselle, Sleighing with my girl, Sper g, gentle spring, Si ‘eyshee banner, The ng of trumps, The ocean burial, The Brooklyn fire, The miller of the dee, The minute at sea, The other side of Jordan The old oaken bucket which pune in the well, The rollicking old man, There are kisses waiting for me, The monks of old, The fine old English gentleman, The fine old Dutch gentleman, The fine old Irish gentleman, spider and the fly, “There’s nothing succeeds like Contents of No. 5. Annie Laurie, A sailor’s life for me, Answer to Kate Kearney, A bit of my mind, A thousand a year, Buttercups and daisies, Bessy was a sailor’s bride, — te _~~ | Gome, maiden, with me, Battle of the kegs Be sure tag Rey ‘ht, etc. Be kind to thy father and mother, Come to the ole gum tree, Call her back and kiss her, Come where the moonbeams, etc. Don’t marry your mother-in-law, Eulalie, Flow t peenred sweet Afton, Fair sabelle, Good news from home. Gentle Annie, Haunting eyes He led her to the altar, I’ll strike you with a feather, Isle of beauty, { never refuse, Jocky hat and feather Jeannette and Jeannot, Jamie! Kitty Kimo, Kate Kearney, Lord Bateman and fair Sophia, My heart’s in the Highlands, My dear old mother, My eye and Betty Martin, No one to love “Our laddie’s dead, Jem,” Ob! I shall call dada, Rather too “heavy ” for me, Sleeping, I dreamed, love, Say, bird of summer, Silver ppognilgnt oe, “Sparklin, per Heidesick,” Ship a-hoy Sword of Bunker Hill, Since Terry first joined the gang, “ Strike the iron while it’s hot. The star that leads to thee, The household clock, ’Tilda Horn, "Twas like a spirit’s sigh, *Twas rank and fame, The way $0 be hai e way ppy, The pirate’s serenade, The belle of the ball, The sweet, sunny smile, etc. Ten o'clock; or, remember, ete. The sea king’s burial, The old man’s got to go, To the love of my youth, etc. on rapes and seventy-two, wenty years ago, Uncle kaa Woodman, spare that tree, Contents of No. 6, “A lock of my mother’s hair,” Alas! my love’s away, ‘Answer to a thousand a year, Away down East, A life on the ocean wave, Ada, with the golden hair, Ben Bolt, By the sad sea-waves. Brown eyes has that little maid- I want to go home to mamma! I wish I was in Dixie’s land, I’ve only been down to the club, : I really don’t think I shall marry “John Barleycorn is a hero bold,” Keep on kissing me, Kicking a man when he’s down, Katy did, Katy didn’t, Kind and true. ng, Song of Blanche Alpen, eet lo ‘The scam al The little blacksmith The merriest girl that’s out, The goat, The dashing gay brunette, The female smuggler, “Unsophisticated love,” Vegetable Joe, Victorine, | Wait till the moonlight falls on the water, Contents of No. 7. Annie of the vale, Awfully awful, America, American vocal melody, at in the surf, Bear it like a man, Crazy Jane Dat’s der kind of mans I am, Dreaming and drifting, Every inch a sailor, Grease the griddle, birdie, Dar- ling, He knows how to do it, I know you'll be true to me, Robin, I hold the winning hand, T'll remember you in my pray- ers, Jeremiah, blow the fire, Little diamond dewdrop, Like a Turk! Mother, dear, I’m thinking of you, My pretty little blonde, Marriage bells, Mr. Finagan, Never push a man because he’s poing down the hill Oh, George! beautiful George! On! I'm going home, ae asa RICERES, “Pulling ard against stream,” Pretty little primrose, : Remember you have children of your own. Spooning on the sands, ak to me, speak, Stick to your trade and be true, The belle of Rockaway, That’s the — for me, boys, Taffy was a Welshman, Take this letter to my mother, The blonde that never dyes, Tassels on the boots, e big sunflower, The rollicking rams, The Mulligan guard, The blue and the gray, ake your coat up to your uncle, The old folks are gone, The little ones at home, The belle of Pleasure bay, Uncle Sam’s farm Winter—sleigh-bell song, What is home without a mother, Wait for the wagon, Would you if you were me? Widow Machree, the Contents of No. 8. ing again, Erin,” Dot German band, Dat gay old nigger ball, Don ve up the ship, Good- lovely Lou, ezekiah I’m going home to Dixie, Isn’t he a darling? Jordan is a hard road to travel, Killarney, Kitty Clyde, Little more cider, La e Micks, Minnie Dear, Muldoon, the solid man, - own, my guiding star, gal, nna, Minnie Rooke, My little wife ashore, Nobody’s darling but mine, Old Black Joe, Our girls, speak kindly to me, On the beach at Long Branch, “Oh wouid I were a bird!” Our captain’s last words, One hundred year Pat Roach at the play, Row, row your boat, Schaky Grampuaets. The finest police in the world! That’s the proper caper, The teetotal society, The candidate for alderman, The it ow, The little ones asleep, The city boliceman, Tra-la-la, George! The ee of the day, The dear little shamrock, There is no harm in kissing, The Irish emigrant’s lament, The harp and sword of Erin, Those dark eyes, Up with the lark in the morning, Uncle Pomp’s return, bone ce eremiah, Wait for the turn of the tide, Willie, we have missed you. When the blossoms are white in the orchard, When Brown comes rolling pom, | Would I were with thee, | Young fellah, you’re too fresh, Sold by all newsdealers, five cents each; or sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of six cents per copy. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street. N. Y Half-Dime Singer's Library. = FIFTY OR MORE SONGS IN EACH ISSUE, Contents of No, 9. Brother, tell me of the battle, By de Sr ot of de moon, Balm of Gilead, Casey’s whisky, Come home, father, Chiekabiddy, Dear old words, Dermot Astore. De ole corn mill, “De bad Bob Lee,” b : pay Jones,” Eily Darling, Echoes Ever of thee, Even ehts alleweil! ht, Hark! T hontai ls Hold the fort, indi T’ll meet you on Broadway, I miss thee so I wouldn’t iff could, alee me ‘ ain, aty Darling, Kafoozleum, Katie Lee and Willie Gray, Kitty McGee, Keep a little corner in your heart for me, Leaning on a balcony, Lora Vale, My sweet Polywog, Merit commands success, My own native land, My sweet girl, Not before Pa, dear, Our =! Ann, Oh, let him rest, Pretty Jemima, don’t say no, Playing in the hay, Shy young girl; or, Du-da, da, She was clerk in a candy store, Shakey Dinkelsptel, Still I love thee, Shells of the ocean, The Hills of New England, The Pope he leads a happy life, The pir on the wire, The bell goes orineing, for, etc. The old folks we loved long ago, The bashful girl, The gallant brigade! The fellar that looks like me, The bird song, nd ring, The old farm house, The old pla ground, Up in a ballon, Uncle Ben, the Yankee, “Up a tree!” Write to me often, darling, When the little birds are sing- ne in the den ! Whisky, you're the divil When ohny comes marching ete - ‘Will a monkey climb a tree Your pocket-book is your, etc. Contents of No. 10. A merry Gips rl Baby’s got S tooth 6 Billy Johuson’s ball, Breeze of the night, | Colleen Avarra, Coming home from the ball, De gospel car, “ Douglas tender and true,” Dark-eyed No Dutch onion vender, | Down the river, Eilleen Allanna, E Pluribus Unum Farewell song of Enoch Arden, From Madison to Union Square, ereves of ‘ poUnne en appy-go-luc Hels soth a lovely waltzer! Her front name is ‘‘ Hannar,” Dale, Little Nannie. Let me kiss him for his mother, Little Maggie May, Minnie Crees dear little Mollie Malone, Mill May, M. e by my side, Paddy’s the boy, Pretty blue-eyed belle, Rather too old for me, Susan Jane, fhemy oe oe She’s handsome as a rose, The Hoolahan musketeers! : “That's what our papers say,” The door ajar, That girl across wey: The fisherman’s daughter, The lake-side shore, Bonaparte, ’ The Newfoundland dog The lass that loves a Victory at last, Why don’t im come and see me, What care I how fair she be? When the Gann tovtas 05 play e ban ns play, Wearing the blue, — here there’s a will there’s, etc. or, Whe | Willie’ll roam no more,